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Hessian

Colossus VIII

14 Oct 2012 / Soldier Field, Chicago, Illinois (seats 61,500)

To Life After Death

Even the end has a beginning, but for a man whose life had forked towards numerous premature conclusions during his many years, this night perpetuated an indisputable sense of finality that distinguished it from the previous occasions. The closing of a chapter. The end of a story. Another remnant of a life not lived since 2005 that had been lost as the sands of time slipped through his weathered fingers.

The mysterious, elderly antique shop owner of Asian orientation sat in silence behind an ancient oak desk. It was cliched, but it was an existence that allowed him to indulge in one of his true passions in the aftermath of an event where so much that he held dear had been ripped from his heart. He loved to hoard and collect antiques, whether they were artifacts of historical significance or cheap collectables spawned from corporate largesse. They cluttered the shop, a small establishment that bore all the hallmarks of a creepy little outlet selling items of undefined evil from an episode of The Twilight Zone, which was now his home.

He felt like a ghost, floating somewhere in-between the waking world and the landscape of dreams. Nobody knew him as Hin See, not here.

The attempt on his life in 2005 changed everything. Hin See may have been frail and his hearing wasn't as reliable as he would have liked, but his other senses didn't betray him. He could smell the gasoline, seeping from the deliberately ruptured fuel line as he approached the limousine. He tried to raise alarm, but he was too late. An agency-hired chauffeur turned the key in the ignition and within an instant, the luxury carriage had been transformed into a fireball, engulfed in flames and death. Hin See was barely out of the blast range when it did so, the sheer force of the detonation blew the trademark, custom ten gallon hat from his head. He never saw it again.

In a state of shock and unsure who could be trusted, he fled. Not just from the scene, but from everything. For the right money, the right people could protect him. They could tie the multitude of loose ends that trailed from his complicated and damaged previous life, providing closure. In that sense, Hin See perished at The Great American Nightmare. The solution was supposed to be temporary and somehow Hin See always intended to one day emerge from hiding in some perverse modern resurrection and return to his throne and his family once the perpetrator had been found and neutralised. But as the days and weeks became months and years, it became clear that a police investigation, riddled with corruption, procedural flaws and hidden agendas, would never yield the outcome needed. That's the problem with solutions. They don't always work out.

The man who remained lived a semblance of a real life, confined to isolation. A being who transcended the grief and tears that followed.

Taun Pham returned to Japan shortly after his father's funeral service and took control of the day-to-operations of The NuPham Corporation, the corporate powerhouse whose assets enabled the father/son duo to create PRIME in the first place. It was the role his son had been bred for. He excelled at it, channeling his feelings of loss and anger into a business that soon confined the wistful dreams he once held of conquering the wrestling industry, to the faintest of notions. Taun had married a Swedish investment banker and gone on to father three children with her. Hin See had decided years ago that the devastation he could cause by stepping back into his son's now blissful life was simply too great to risk.

Toshiaki Motoki fared less prosperously. Heavily invested in GlobeTech, his fate was sealed when an FBI-led investigation into the nefarious corporation exposed multiple levels of fraud, financial irregularities and breaches of medical standards and practices, specifically citing violations in the code regulating human genetics and research. When this proverbial house of cards came crashing down in early 2009, Motoki tried negotiate his way out of the situation and apportion blame on his business partners in a deal with the authorities to seal a series of high profile prosecutions. He failed. On October 8th, Toshiaki Motoki was found dead in his cell, poisoned by water tainted with a lethal blowfish toxin that had somehow evaded the scrutiny of his high security surroundings. The subsequent trial took place, but the case against it's main players collapsed.

As for PRIME. It had been too painful to follow the cherished promotion closely, but news of it's imminent closure filtered through and inevitably, although the announcement filled Hin See's heart with sadness, it was accompanied by a sense of immense pride. He was proud of how the dedicated personnel left behind had held the place together in its darkest hours and taken his creation in new directions, far beyond simply steadying a sinking ship; they re-floated it and sailed for new horizons. This wasn't a failure. PRIME's story had simply reached it's conclusion.

His own horizons, meanwhile, were bleak and the few years of his muddled existence that remained were surely fleeting. A gentle purr emanated from below as a small, but pampered cat danced around his feet on arthritic paws, preening to be fed. It reminded Hin See that he wasn't alone and he addressed the animal as if it were an old friend, a remaining link to his former life.

He crossed the room, using his walking-cane as an aid. The cat followed his owner, the bell on it's collar jangling along the way, adorned with the name "Beau." As Hin See retrieved a tin of food from amidst the store's clutter and placed it on the counter, it occurred to him that the cat should probably be more concerned about the end of PRIME's run than he was.

After all, Mr. Bojangles probably still held shares in the company.

The tacky Godzilla lamp sat on the counter, the same ever-present office lamp used during the old PRIME tapings, flickered with a diminishing light, casting an inconsistent shadow from the glass of Bourbon nearby. Hin See clutched it with what Ian English once described as his "thin, claw-like yellow hands" and raised the tumbler to his lips, smiling a thin, satisfied smile as he made a toast.

To life after death.

The Second City Swan Song

Devoid of sound, the screen fades in on a dilapidated sidewalk in a run-down, neglected city, home only to abandoned cars and unoccupied stoops under a blank, gray sky. The one glimmer of hope arrives in a young girl, maybe eight years old. She presents all the qualities you might imagine in an adorable child: bright blue eyes, golden locks tied in pigtails, small pink t-shirt and jeans with sneakers that look two sizes too big. She drags her feet down the broken concrete, deflated and bored. As the soft piano of Shinedown's "Unity" breaks the silence, she looks up on a whim, noticing that's she's come across a modest store-front with "Public Library" etched into a worn, wooden sign above a red door with cracked paint.

Intrigued, the girl climbs the pair of steps in front and pushes with all her tiny might on the old red door. Her eyes widen and gleam as the music rises. She takes wonder-filled steps inside, fixated on the towering book shelves, taking little notice to the aged bookkeeper behind his desk, a knowing smile hiding behind his heavy, white beard. She wanders up and down the aisles, scanning the hundreds of dusty spines and letters, until she comes across a large hardcover in blue on the second shelf. She reaches high, balancing on her tippy-toes to pull it away. It breaks free, falling heavily to the floor. Her curious blue eyes read "PRIME" in bold, black letters outlined in gold on the cover.

"I found a note with your name and a picture of us.
Even though it was framed and covered in dust.
It's the map in my mind that sends me on my waayyy..."


She flips the book open, landing to a page reading "Colossus II." She puffs up her cheeks and blows the dust off the pages, flipping through with excitement, more pages emerging with chapter titles like "ReVolution 50," "UltraViolence 2006," "Great American Nightmare 2," "Overkill," and "Culture Shock 2011." As she reaches the end of the book, she pauses on a page reading "Colossus VIII," her mouth falling agape as she reads.

"They say it's never too late to stop being afraid.
And there is no one else here, so why should I wait?
And in the blink of an eye the past begins to faaaade..."


Unbeknownst to our enamored little friend, the library around her starts to transform as the voice of Brent Smith and the musical stylings of Shinedown rise once more. Books slowly fly off shelves, the walls dissipate to the outside world, and the floor swirls away beneath her.

"So have you ever been caught in a sea of despair?
And your moment of truth is the day that you say 'I'm not scaaaaared!'"


Her eyes bulge as she lifts her head from the pages, finding herself in a magnificent, beautiful forest, sun shining bright through the canopy and bathing the ground in a golden hue. She twirls around in wonder, her smile a blend of indescribable awe and incredible joy.

"Put your hands in the air, if you hear me out there!
I've been looking for you day and niiight!!"


As she spins around, she suddenly stops in her tracks, her head craned upward at the next amazing discovery. The enormous, fifty-foot tall bodies of Troy Douglas and Kaiser Vashaun stumble through the trees, arms grappled to each others shoulders as they shake the Earth beneath them, knocking over trees and sending animals running for cover. The girl dodges massive wrestling boots and sprints between them, escaping the danger as the two continue to battle through the woods.

"Shine a light in the dark, let me see where you are!
'Cause I'm not gonna leave you behiiind!!"


She runs through the trees, climbing a small hill and looking over her shoulder, stopping to catch her breath and convinced that she's safe. Something startles her below her feet, however. She looks down to the hill she stands on, and soon realizes it's not a hill at all, as a pair of eyes open up and blink away a long slumber.

"If I told you that you're not alone,
and I show you this is where you belong."


She backpedals back down the level forest floor, watching the large form of Nitz Donnelly rise to a seat position from his rest against a tree. He grins at the little girl and reaches out for her, but she is out of reach, sprinting away once more.

"Put your hands in the aaaaiiir!
One more tiiiiime!!"


The young girl weaves her way through the thickening brush, the faces of past PRIME legends forming in the twisting vines. Images the likes of Xavier Kannon, Angelo Deville, Nova, Boda, Ivan Stanislav, Tony Rolo, Jason Snow and Sonny Silver.

"I've seen a million miles, met a million faces.
Took all I knew to reach all these places."


She doesn't seem to notice those faces as she finally breaks through the mangled path, leaving those faces smiling behind her.

"And I'd do it again if it brings me back to yooouu..."


She pauses as she reaches a dirt road, looking left, but before she can step onto it a giant carriage pulled by a pair of brown horses rumbles from the right carrying the ramshackle and haggard looking frames of High Flyer and Tony Davis, who are far busier shoving and stiff arming each other in the face, causing the carriage to tilt and veer every which way. Clear of the danger of the cart, our small hero steps onto the road and follows it with quick little steps.

"So have you ever been caught in a sea of despair?
And your moment of truth is the day that you say 'I'm not scaaaaared!'"


The road eventually leads to a small clearing where what appears to be a giant work boot sits like an oddly shaped house, windows near the laces and a doorway on the sole. After a curious pause, she makes her way across the field toward the awkward building.

"Put your hands in the air if you hear me out there!
I've been looking for you day and niiight!"


She inspects the house as she approaches, peering into the windows and knocking on the door, though an enormous shadow steals her attention, and she backs away in fright, staring up toward the sky.

"Shine a light in the dark, let me see where you are!
'Cause I'm not gonna leave you behiiiiind!!"


The gigantic body of Wade Elliott looms toward the boot-house and proceeds to shove his right foot inside, kneeling down to lace it up. The girl runs out of the way, clear of Wade's colossal steel-toes as he rises and strides off into the distance.

"If I told you that you're not alone,
and I show you this is where you belong."


Seeing nowhere else to go, our diminutive heroine looks back to the forest, which has taken a much darker, scarier tone, and runs back into the trees.

"Put your hands in the aiirr!!
One more tiiiiiiiiiiiime!!"


The bridge of the song leads us to a scary stumble through the dark forest for the little girl. She weaves her way through, flinching and reeling at frightening sounds and shapes. She is soon stopped by the two nightmarish figures of Devin Shakur and Tyler Nelson, rising from the shadows and looming over her. They draw closer from either side, but before they can reach her they are thwarted by golden arrows flying down from the trees. Two hooded figures drop down between Nelson and Shakur and the girl, brandishing swords and pushing the evil men back to the shadows. They turn their heads toward her once the coast is clear, removing their hoods to reveal themselves as Chandler Tsonda and Tyler Rayne. She beams at her saviors, who both bow low and swing out their arms, guiding the way out of the forest, and she complies, stepping past the Viet Viper and The Golden Boy.

"Put your hands in the aaaaiiir!!!!!!"


Escaping the dark forest, more amazement arrives in the form of a gargantuan beanstalk rising from the ground high into the clouds, though she's given little time to take in the site, as two massive fingers pinch the back of her shirt and lift her into the air. She struggles to no avail, and holds in a scream as the fingers lift her in front of the face of a larger-than-life Hessian. A big grin from The Murder Show relaxes the girl a bit, and he tosses her onto his giant shoulder. She holds onto the fibers of his tunic.

"Put your hands in the air if you hear me out there!
I've been looking for you day and niiight!!"


Von Kelsig begins to climb the beanstalk, the girl holding on tight as they soon breach the clouds. They emerge in front of a glorious castle in the sky, much to the girl's delight. Hessian gently lowers her to the cobblestone walkway, and she's quick to run toward the breathtaking structure.

"Shine a light in the dark, let me see where you are!!
'Cause I'm not gonna leave you behiiindd!!"


She gazes all over at the wonders of the castle once inside, making her way toward the main chamber, which is guarded by the duo of Killean Sirrajin and Tchu, both clad in brilliant gold-lined armor. They smile down at her and step aside, the engraved wooden door slowly swinging wide.

"If I told you that you're not alone.
And I show you this is where you belong."


She smiles and giggles as two court jesters, the likes of James Farwell and Clyde Walkins, bound in and away with goofy movements of the arms. They skip out of sight, leaving no obstacles to fantastic throne seated by the one and only Lindsay Troy, a silver crown tilted slightly to the side and a scepter in hand.

"Put your hands in the air!!
One more tiiiiime!"


The young girl's eyes grow huge, smiling ear to ear as she approaches the beautiful Queen of the Ring. Troy grins down at the child as she climbs the steps up to the throne.

"Put your hands in the aiiir!!!!"


Troy raises her scepter and lowers it slowly to the girl's shoulder, creating a golden, blinding flash.

"One more time."


And just like that, the child finds herself in the library. She blinks, looking around to see the books and bookshelves, then down to the heavy book she had been reading. She looks up to the bookkeeper, who winks behind his small glasses.

The Final Welcome

Nick and Richard are probably yelling a welcome right now, but you wouldn't know.

You know what you're hearing instead:

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!
YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Not over the millions...AND MILLIONS...of PRIMEates' war cries. Not over pyrotechnics that simply canNOT be legal. Not over the collective sound of a federation going out on its own terms.

Not over the celebration.

And like that, with the crisp snap of the invisible hand's fingers:

PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT!

The camera whirls around, trying to catch as many of these wonderful lunatics as possible. A kid in a bald cap and a fake giant muscle suit is clearly paying homage to Johnny Noble. A giant "K-WOLF, WE HAVE TO GO BACK" sign dominates one section of the audience. A gentleman in the upper decks is sporting a particularly terrifying Cozen cosplay costume, much to the delight of beer-swigging bros in his section.

There is this, too: everyone looks like Christmas morning.

Smiles. Real, honest-to-Hoyt smiles on the faces of all. A couple douchebags get caught on the PRIME*View tweeting about tonight, and are playfully booed. When the giant screen shows any offenders putting their phones into their pockets, there is a COLOSSAL eruption of cheers. All, amidst a unified sea of sound:

PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT!

It has become weaponized in the hands of the people. It is spreading.

PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT!

The camera zooms in on what appears to be a mother with her son. She, in a Three Amigos t-shirt (yes, the one where they all have their shirts off, CALM DOWN, LADIES). He, in a mega-badass t-shirt that just features the terrifying mug of Hessian.

He is not chanting. Looks like a good kid. The mother is restraining herself, because dammit, good parenting still means something. The people around them notice that neither is chanting. They good naturedly encourage the pair to join in, the mother putting on a "Thanks, but don't bother me, I'm parenting" smile.

But the swell continues, and they stay on the PRIME*View.

The mother takes a deep breath and grabs her son by his shoulders, explaining something that we can't hear. Maybe something about how there are rules, and one of them is no four-letter words EVER in the house or at school. Maybe a bit of a "Listen, just because everyone else does something does NOT make it okay, young man."

A grin spreads over the young man's face, as the mother takes a deep breath, shrugs her shoulders, and nods towards her little one.

Exceptions must be made.

They join the horde, both issuing fist pumps on each of those three mighty fine words:

PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT!

PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT!

PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT!

"Ladies and gentlemen..."

A voice over the PA: Nick Stuart's. The chant parts to let Nick into the now cavernous void of sound.

Nick: My name is Nick Stuart, and it has been my life's work to see this company rise into the product you see before you.

"I'd just like to say something serious for a moment."

Richard Parker's voice, the old dog.

Richard: If there are any slutty moms in attendance tonight - yes, I'm looking at you, leopard tube top eleven rows behind the northwest corner of the ring...

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

C'mon. They're still wrestling fans.

Richard: If there are any slutty moms in attendance, I will be drinking Don Julio in a locker room backstage after the show.

Nick: Right. (shakes his head, smiles) He is Richard Parker. Together, we have tried to help you make sense of this wild ride. And tonight...

The moment you have been dreading. Nick looks down at the announce table, pursing his lips for the hardest words he knows. In the potentially awkward silence of watching someone fight back tears, that weird telepathic wrestling chant thing happens, and from nowhere appears a massive sound:

NICK AND RI-CHARD! [clap clap clapclapclap] NICK AND RI-CHARD! [clap clap clapclapclap]

This bring a relieved, tearful laugh from Nick Stuart. Richard leans in and gives his partner a legitimately warm pat on the back.

Nick: I'm afraid it's going to be one of those nights, friends. [sniffs, clears his throat] BUT we will walk to the edge with you tonight.

Richard: You want some of this, big weepy?

From underneath the desk, Richard produces a shiny silver flask.

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick: Screw it, they can't cancel us.

He takes a small pull from the flask, coughing upon recoil, much to the delight of Richard and the PRIMEates. As Nick coughs, his oft-crude partner addresses the fans.

Richard: What we're trying to say is thank you. It's a selfish and self-involved thing to even think that we get to thank you. But selfish and self-involved are kinda my bag. (grins) I'm Richard Parker, dammit, and I'm a PRIMEate.

Nick: I'm Nick Stuart, and I too, old chum (puts his hand on Richard's shoulder)...am a PRIMEate.

No surprise what comes next.

I'M A PRIME-ATE! [clap clap clapclapclap] I'M A PRIME-ATE! [clap clap clapclapclap] I'M A PRIME-ATE! [clap clap clapclapclap]

Richard: Listen to these animals!

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick: I have a feeling we'll hear them all night, as we look at one of the best slates PRIME has ever put in front of its fans.

Richard: You are a company sucktit blowhard right to the end, Stuart.

Nick: Accurate, inappropriate, and totally getting us an FCC fine - Richard Parker, you are the most consistent thing in my life.

Richard: Your blow-up Ellie~! Kannon doll is going to be pissed when she hears that.

Nick: Really going all out tonight, are we?

Richard: Senior spring, baybay! Let's put a live cow in the principal's office and set off smoke bombs in the middle of the band's spring concert!

Nick: That sounds incredibly dangerous.

Richard: Thats what they said to Napoleon, Nick. And that tiny little demon Frenchmen nearly ruled the world.

Nick: This seems like the point where we should...you know...

Richard: Get this bitch started off right

Nick: Start the show, yes.

Richard: IT'S KAISERIN' TIME!

Nick: That it is. We've got two former champions to kick off an INCREDIBLE farewell show. Shall I do the honors?

Richard: You've never called a good show before, Nick, so let's stick with what doesn't work!

Nick: Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, on behalf of Blaine Blair, Devin Shakur, Lisa Tyler, Prometheu....you know what, on behalf of any of the dozens of people who've brought any of our previous shows to you...

The cheers rise.

Nick: WELCOME TO COLOSSUS!

And the thunder rolls:

PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT!

PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT!

PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT!

Finale Ultimo

"All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us." -- J.R.R. Tolkien

Troy Douglas (V/O): The toughest thing a man can do is walk away from something he loves. The best thing a man can do is walk away with no regrets.

The soft opening notes of "Some Nights" by fun. accompany a series of still pictures that fade onto the screen.

Troy Douglas at five years old, a too-big football jersey pulled over his upper body.

At 13, a wide-open smile with braces showing as he holds a gigantic foam finger into the air while in the front row at one of his first wrestling shows.

At 18, embracing his father at center court after winning the North Carolina state basketball championship.

Douglas (V/O): For as long as I can remember, my life was a competition. Being good at something was never good enough for me ... I had to be the best. I always had to go one step beyond the guy before me. To be honest, it's probably why I haven't always been the best guy to be around, but I make no apologies for it. It's just who I've always been.

Troy in college, front-and-center in a locker room celebration after winning a conference championship.

With friends and family inside his home after receiving the call that he'd been drafted into the NFL.

Douglas (V/O): But, you take enough risks, and sooner or later one always comes back and bites you in the ass.

Veterans Stadium in Philadelphia. A silent stadium watches an unconscious, unmoving Troy Douglas lie prone on the AstroTurf.

Announcer: Douglas is down ... and he is not moving, folks. He took a frightening shot to the back of the neck, and landed hard on that unforgiving turf. I ... I just don't know if he can even get up from something like that. Troy Douglas is seriously hurt.

Douglas (V/O): You don't even see the thing that changes your life forever.

Doctors at an operating table, opening an incision near the base of Troy's spine.

Troy in a wheelchair, struggling through the halls of a hospital.

Troy with a grimace of pain on his face as he goes through rehab to learn how to walk again.

Douglas (V/O): But sometimes ... sometimes it changes your life for the better.

Six months later, Troy slumped in the corner of a wrestling ring, a layer of sweat soaking through his gym clothes.

Troy in his first professional match, coming off the ropes with a flying crossbody.

Douglas (V/O): Sometimes, something you loved watching as a kid becomes something you can't imagine life without as an adult. And sometimes ... well, sometimes you're lucky enough to have millions of people watch you do it.

Troy standing on the top turnbuckle, smiling as he plays to a standing-room only crowd.

Troy in his PRIME debut at Culture Shock 2008, delivering a gutwrench powerbomb to Hoyt Williams during the Dual Halo.

Douglas (V/O): In this ring, you live for the ups ...

Troy holds up the Intense Championship after defeating Dusk for the title at Ultraviolence 2008.

Douglas (V/O): ... and the downs.

Troy crawling on the mat at Colossus V as Kaiser Vashaun poses with his newly-captured Intense title.

Douglas (V/O): You come to crave the adrenaline. It's what gets you through the injuries, and the heartbreak. It's a way to escape, for just a little while, everything that happens to you when you're not inside that safe haven of the squared circle.

Troy holed up in his house, unshaven, sitting on the floor in front of his sofa, knees drawn up to his chest.

Douglas (V/O): But, here's the thing. What we do in that ring hurts, but that doesn't mean it's not a fantasy. It's life in front of the cameras, but real life is what happens when nobody's watching. And at some point, you've got to step out of the spotlight and live in the real world. And when you do, sometimes you find things that can make you even happier than the jolt that comes when the red light on the camera turns on.

Troy at his wedding, arm-in-arm with his wife, massive smiles decorating both of their faces.

Troy watching his two kids, a twin boy and girl, as they sleep soundly.

Douglas (V/O): And when that happens, then it's time to step aside and give the spotlight to somebody else.

The photos stop scrolling, the music stops and the picture changes to Troy Douglas, sitting on a bench in his locker room, finishing his pre-match wrist-taping ritual.

Douglas: So, here we are. It's funny, I've talked about "the end of the road" so much during my career, that it's reached the point that I can't even talk about myself in those terms.

Troy smiles, shakes his head and looks down at the floor.

Douglas: This is the end, in a lot of ways. For me, for PRIME, for a whole era of professional wrestling that I'm damn proud to be a part of. Yeah, I screwed up along the way. I burned some bridges, I had my problems, but when it came down to it, when that bell rang and I got in the ring, people knew they were going to get a show. People knew they were going to see something they'd never seen before.

Troy raises his head, looking directly into the lens of the camera.

Douglas: It's been one hell of a fun ride, folks. Thirteen years of my life devoted to getting in that ring and topping what I'd done the night before, and now I've reached the final act. One last night, one last effort. Not for a title, not for pride or for respect. This is for a legacy. This is for a lasting impact in this industry. This night is to ensure that as long as there is such a thing as professional wrestling, no one will EVER forget what Troy Douglas was all about. And if I've got to crack Kaiser Vashaun's skull in two to leave that legacy ... all the better for me, all the worse for him.

Troy stands, tears off a final piece of athletic tape and flicks it to the floor.

Douglas: Consider this my final bow. One last night, then the curtain closes. One last night ...

...

And it's the end of the road.

Kaiser Vashaun vs. Troy Douglas

Vince Howard: The following is your opening contest at Colossus VIII, live from Solider Field in Chicago, Illinois, and it is scheduled for ONE FALL!

Richard: Hell, it's my last night, so I'm just gonna go ahead and ask ... why the hell does he have to ANNOUNCE that it's a one-fall match? Ninety-nine percent of matches are for one goddamn fall!

Nick: How long have you been waiting to ask that question.

Richard: Like 10 seconds. It just occurred to me.

Nick: Oh. Alright then.

Vince Howard: Introducing first ...

The lights in the arena go out, casting the building in complete darkness. Then the PRIMEview comes to life, a black and white image of a raging fire acting as the only light.

As the sounds of "Jackson, Mississippi" begin to play, the fire on the screen slowly starts to gain color, till burning an intense orangeish hue. When the heavy beat to the music kicks in, the PRIMEview is taken over by the black&white "KV" angel wing image, and Kaiser Vashaun emerges from the back, a white glowing spotlight highlighting his arrival.

While making his way to the ring, the only light comes from the PRIMEview and the spotlight, which itself, blinks on and off, and fires from different locations in the arena. The result is an alternating image of compete darkness with that of Kaiser's journey occasionally being lit from above.

The spotlight captures every second or third step he takes, giving Kaiser the appearance of moving without being seen.

Once to the ring, Kaiser will step onto the ring apron and lean against the ropes. Standing under the spotlight, he will bow his head, looking towards the ground for a moment. As the lyrics blast out "I FEEL LIKE JACKSON, MISSISSIPPI!", Kaiser will quickly raise his head and fire his arms towards the rafters, roaring as the spotlight gives way to the arena lights which flicker rapidly, casting the ringside area in a white strobelight effect.

Vince Howard: Standing six feet, five inches tall and weighing in tonight at 262 pounds. From Jackson, Mississippi ... "THE NEXT IN LINE" ... KAAAAAISSSEEERRRR VAAAASSSHAAAAUUUNNN!!!!!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

Nick: "The Next in Line" is certainly an unpopular man in the Windy City tonight, Richard.

Richard: Well, these people eat pizza with a fork, so there's no accounting for taste.

Vince Howard: His opponent ...

END.

OF.

THE.

ROAD.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMM!!!!


Fireworks cascade all above Soldier Field as "You Know My Name" by Chris Cornell crashes over the PA system. For a moment, no one appears, but after a brief pause the figure of Troy Douglas emerges at the top of the ramp, pacing back and forth and refusing to lift his eyes from the floor.

Finally, as the song reaches its second chorus, Douglas stops in the middle of the stage, briefly nods and throws his head to the sky, shouting to the crowd as he begins a slow march down the ramp toward the ring for his final night as a professional wrestler.

Vince Howard: Standing six feet, five inches tall and weighing in at 247 pounds, from Greensboro, North Carolina ... TRROOOOOOOOOOOOYYYY DOOOOUGGGGLAAAAAAASSSS!!!!

RRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!

Nick: Troy Douglas has been a professional wrestler for nearly 13 years, entering the sport after a severe neck and spinal injury put an end to his professional football career. Since rehabbing from that injury and making his debut in early 2000, the man since dubbed as "Megatron" has won titles across the world, including the PRIME Intense Championship just months after debuting for this company in the spring of 2008. Tonight, he wrestles what he has announced will be his final match -

Richard: - Against the guy who took that Intense Title from him by turning him into an unconscious pile of frog spawn.

Nick: That match was at Colossus V back in 2012 in Douglas' home state of North Carolina, one of the most physical Intense Title matches we've ever seen, and one where, as my partner correctly indicated, Troy Douglas passed out under the pain of a cloverleaf from Kaiser Vashaun rather than submit. The sting of that match - and Vashaun's actions when these two were paired together on ReVolution a few weeks ago - have given Douglas cause to request this very match as his final bout.

Richard: Yet again proving that, even as he faces retirement, Troy Douglas is still the single biggest idiot in the world of professional wrestling. He'll be leaving the sport after tonight, but odds are he'll be doing it unconscious on a stretcher.

Nick: Richard Parker, the eternal optimist.

Richard: You just completely missed the point of what I said, didn't you?

Nick: I see that sarcasm detector's still in tip-top shape as ever, eh Richard?

Richard: One of the few things about me that is.

In the ring, Douglas has finally finished a lap around the squared circle and is pacing back and forth in his corner, while across the ring Vashaun is sitting on the top turnbuckle, smiling placidly, not phased at all by the situation. Referee Max Newell checks both competitors for foreign objects, Vashaun smirking throughout the inspection, and signals for the bell.

DING! DING! DING!

Nick: We are underway at Colossus! The last night of PRIME, the last night in the career of Troy Douglas ... AND THERE GOES MEGATRON!

Richard: Geez, did somebody hit the turbo button on this guy?

The crowd roars as Douglas bursts out of the gate like a bull, charging at Kaiser and ramming "The Next in Line" back-first into the turnbuckles with enough force that the ring appears to wobble. Not letting Vashaun get any breathing room, Troy drops down and drives his shoulder into Vashaun's gut three times in succession, then backs away. Vashaun takes a step out of the corner, but walks straight into a hard right cross from Douglas that hits Kaiser square on the jaw and causes Vashaun to drop straight to the mat and roll under the bottom rope to the floor.

LET'S GO TROY! LET'S GO TROY! LET'S GO TROY!

Nick: Douglas out of the gate with absolute fury! He decked Kaiser with that right hand, and Vashaun needs a second to shape the cobwebs out.

Richard: I don't think Dougie likes that plan, Nicholas.

Vashaun tries to take a second to recuperate, but as he pulls himself to his feet on the floor and shakes his head, Douglas takes advantage of the momentary lapse in concentration to hit the ropes and come charging with a baseball slide dropkick that connects with a SMACK! to the side of Vashaun's head and sends Kaiser careening into the barricade.

Nick: Troy Douglas is not giving Vashaun a second to catch his breath in the opening moments of this one. He's nearly 15 pounds lighter than his usual fighting weight, and maybe he's using that as a way to try and push the pace a little more and try to use some speed to keep Kaiser on the back foot.

Richard: Or, maybe he's been pigeonholed into a society obsessed with body image and is giving into peer pressure to try and fit some unrealistic ideal.

Nick: This public service non sequitur has been brought to you by Richard Parker.

Richard: The more you know, kids. The more you know.

Nick: Douglas out on the floor to go after Kaiser ... grabs him ... and whips him back-first into the ring apron. Keeps hold ... and does it again! Troy going right after Vashaun's back, and that could be a telling sign for Douglas' strategy. Four years ago at Colossus, Vashaun made Douglas pass out in the cloverleaf after badly injuring Megatron's knee. Tonight, Douglas may want to go out forcing the same fate on Vashaun with the Scorpion Deathlock.

Richard: Don't they pay me for that kind of analysis.

Nick: Yes, but that usually just degenerates into dick jokes and blatant homerism.

Richard: Oh, yeah. This job definitely had some perks.

Douglas rolls Vashaun back into the ring to break a count from Max Newell that had reached five, but doesn't give up the attack, backing Kaiser into the corner and lighting up his upper body and head with a series of hard forearm blows. Troy then whips Vashaun corner-to-corner so hard that Kaiser bounces straight back into the middle of the ring, where Douglas charges to meet him and connects with a flying knee strike to the side of the head.

Nick: BIIIIG knee from Troy Douglas! Quick cover ...

1 ...

AND A HALF!

Richard: You are terrifyingly exact with those counts.

Nick: I have a flawless biological clock.

Richard: And I have a flawless bullshit meter, so cram it, partner.

Nick: Troy Douglas dominating things early on here. Pulls Vashaun straight off the mat, front facelock ... and a BLISTERING snap suplex! Douglas tried to break the ring with Kaiser Vashaun's body!

Richard: Good thing he didn't. We've kinda got a few more matches left, and since this is the last night of the company, I'm guessing we don't have the backup ring here in Chicago.

Douglas sits Vashaun up and hits a pair of roundhouse kicks to the back that elicit a loud THWACK that draws oohs and ahhs from the crowd. With Vashaun reeling, Megatron hits the ropes and comes charging forward to connect with a running knee strike, but the Next in Line drops straight to his back, and manages to thrust his right foot forward, directly underneath Douglas' left kneecap.

Nick: There's the opening Kaiser needed - by targeting the very same knee he injured more than four years ago!

Richard: My boy's playing the long game, Nicky.

As Douglas drops to one knee to deal with the sting of the pain, Vashaun rolls to his feet and begins to stalk his prey. Before Troy can stand, Kaiser's on him with a hard kick to Douglas' bad knee that forces Megatron to flop face-first back to the canvas. With Troy down face-first, Vashaun grabs his left ankle, hoists it high into the sky and drives Douglas' kneecap straight into the canvas five times in a row, leaving Douglas howling in pain.

Nick: Just like that, Kaiser Vashaun has turned this contest right around, and Troy Douglas is in a world of trouble right now.

Richard: I hope Dougie enjoys the idea of going through retired life with a cane or those Forrest Gump leg braces.

Vashaun keeps hold of Douglas knee and quickly drops into a grapevined leglock, but Troy is close enough to the ropes that one lunge is enough to grab hold of the bottom cable and force a break. That doesn't buy him much time, however, as right when Troy gets to his feet, Kaiser connects with another hard kick to Douglas' left leg, and after a couple of hard forearms to the side of Troy's head to soften him up, Kaiser grabs Douglas' weakened leg, lifts him into the air and drives him down with a shinbreaker.

Nick: Right down on that wounded leg again! Kaiser Vashaun is absolutely going to town on Troy Douglas!

Richard: You and your tortured metaphors, Nicholas.

Nick: Douglas is hobbled ... Kaiser's got him - OVERHEAD BELLY TO BELLY! And Douglas went straight across the ring and his left leg snapped right over the top rope!

Richard: This has gotten fun in a hurry. I think I'm gonna like this show.

Nick: Vashaun not wasting time, here's a cover ...

ONE...

TWO...

NO!

Nick: Douglas kicks out at two!

Richard: Eh. Matter of time until it's over now.

Vashaun keeps pressing the advantage, grabbing Douglas' left knee while he's down and grinding the point of his right elbow into the back of Troy's left leg. Douglas kicks free for a second, but before he can scramble to his feet, Kaiser stomps on his left knee again, then spins into position for a figure four leglock.

Nick: Vashaun with the figure four - NO! Inside cradle by Douglas!

ONE ...

TWO ...

NO!

Richard: OK, I'm filing an official protest against Patented Megatron Superman Hulk-Ups tonight.

Nick: Douglas NEARLY caught Vashaun there with the small package! Troy is up, but he is still clearly favoring what has become a very serious left leg injury in a very short time.

Richard: A little bit of focus works a lot of magic.

Back to his feet, Troy stumbles backward into the corner and tries to take a moment to recover, but he doesn't get it as Vashaun charges straight at him - only to be cut off with an elbow to the side of the head from Douglas. Troy pulls himself up to the second rope and leads forward with a shoulderblock, but Kaiser catches him by the waist, lifts him high into the air and drives Douglas into the canvas with a high-angle spinebuster.

Nick: WHAT A SHOW OF STRENGTH FROM KAISER VASHAUN!

Richard: WHY ARE WE SUDDENLY SPEAKING IN ALL CAPS?

Nick: ...

Richard: Did I just break the universe with a fourth-wall joke?

Nick: Nope. Frog in my throat.

Choosing not to go for a pin, Vashaun yanks Douglas straight to his feet and bulls him into the corner, then proceeds to light into Troy with punches and forearms to his upper body. An Irish whip sends Douglas from corner to corner, and as he stumbles out, Vashaun charges with a flying forearm - but Douglas manages to roll underneath and Vashaun faceplants into the top turnbuckle.

Nick: Big swing and a miss from KV!

Richard: Umm ... insert poorly conceived sabermetrics joke here.

Nick: It really has been a long time since we've done this regularly, hasn't it?

Richard: Yeah, we were gone so long I forgot how hard it was to carry you during these broadcasts.

Nick: You know what? Maybe that break wasn't long enough.

Stunned, KV wobbles backward, giving Douglas a chance to drive his good knee into the small of Vashaun's back, doubling him over. Limping slightly, Troy maneuvers around to line up with Vashaun's head, grabs his neck and drives him down to the mat with a swinging neckbreaker.

Nick: Douglas pressing the advantage, here's the cover ...

ONE ...

TWO ...
POINT FIVE!

Richard: Awww ... too bad, so sad.

Still favoring his left leg, Douglas doesn't let up his punishment of Vashaun, bringing the Next in Line to his feet and drilling him in the chest with a knife-edged chop.

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

Richard: Wow. I really missed that chant. Not.

Nick: Douglas firing up in his final trip inside the squared circle! Another chop! Now a forearm blow ... and another ... and another!

LET'S GO TROY! LET'S GO TROY! LET'S GO TROY!

Richard: Yeah, there's another chant I could do without.

Nick: Douglas backs Vashaun into the ropes ... Irish whip ... HERE COMES TROY ... BIIIIG LARIAT! Even in his final match, Troy Douglas throws that lariat as hard as anyone in professional wrestling.

Richard: And yet nobody's ever diagnosed the cause of his recurring rotator cuff problems. Strange.

Vashaun staggers to his feet, and Douglas doesn't waste time pouncing with a kick to the midsection that softens him up before hooking KV's head, hoisting him into the air and driving him down to the mat with a brainbuster. With the crowd roaring, Douglas rolls over and hooks Vashaun's leg.

ONE ...

TWO ...

OOHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

Nick: So, SO close for Troy Douglas with the brainbuster after the lariat!

Richard: And yet, no cigar. Pity.

Vashaun sluggishly rolls away, but Douglas pounces again, grabbing the Next in Line and backing him into the turnbuckles. A whip sends Kaiser across the ring, and Douglas waits in the opposite corner, raising his right fist to the crowd and stomping his good foot against the canvas.

MEG-A-TRON! MEG-A-TRON! MEG-A-TRON!

Richard: I hate Michael Bay.

Nick: That's apropos of nothing, Richard.

Richard: I know. I just hate Michael Bay and I thought everyone should know that.

Adequately fired up, Douglas charges across the ring with a violent corner splash. Troy backs away and Vashaun stumbles forward, walking straight into a spinebuster.

Nick: BOOM! Spinebuster from Douglas!

Richard: I don't think you needed to pick that moment to break out the onomotopaeia.

Nick: Douglas has Vashaun down ... Scorpion Deathlock time!

Richard: Just to note, Scorpion Deathlock Time is approximately 7:31 p.m., Chicago time.

Nick: Douglas trying to lock up the hold he's perfected over nearly 13 year - but Vashaun is fighting ...

Violently flailing his legs, Vashaun manages to to thrust a boot into Troy's right side, breaking the attempt at the hold and sending Douglas stumbling back.

Nick: Kaiser's out, now he's up ... but here comes Troy Douglas. Lariat attempt - NO! Vashaun with a desperate kick to Troy's injured left leg!

Richard: Persistence always pays off, Nicky.

With Douglas wounded once again, Vashaun stalks his prey, drilling Troy with a couple more hard kicks before scooping him off the mat and planting him with a Saito suplex.

Nick: Massive suplex from Kaiser Vashaun! Here's the cover...

ONE ...

TWO ...

THR-NO!

Nick: So VERY close for Kaiser Vashaun, but Troy Douglas WILL NOT be put away!

Richard: Why NOT?

Nick: Douglas still down ... and Vashaun sees his opening! He's hooking Troy for the very Texas cloverleaf that won him the Intense Championship at Colossus V!

Richard: Sometimes, professional wrestling really is poetry.

Nick: Douglas is HOWLING in pain! How much longer can he take this?

Richard: Hopefully not too long. I've got dinner reservations.

PLEASE DON'T TAP! PLEASE DON'T TAP! PLEASE DON'T TAP!

Richard: Stop willing him on, troglodytes!

Nick: Douglas is fighting for the ropes, DESPERATE to get there, but Vashaun won't stop cranking on this hold.

Richard: Tear his leg off and chew on it if you've got to, KV!

PLEASE DON'T TAP! PLEASE DON'T TAP! PLEASE DON'T TAP!

Nick: Douglas fighting ... reaching ... almost there ...

And with one last desperate grab, Troy Douglas clamps his right hand onto the bottom rope.

RRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!

Richard: Damn. Damn damn. Triple damn.

Nick: Troy Douglas forces the break! He WILL NOT give in to Kaiser Vashaun!

Richard: And you people wonder why I still hate guys like him.

Max Newell gives Douglas a second to recover from the hold, backing Vashaun into the center of the ring. With a burst of energy, Troy charges toward the center of the ring and winds up for a European uppercut, but Kaiser cuts him off solidly with a boot to the stomach, then hooks him in a fireman's carry for the Weight of the World

Richard: This is the end, my sweetest friend, the end.

Nick: Kaiser has him up ... WEIGHT OF THE WORLD - NO! Douglas elbows his way free! Boot to the gut from Troy ... double underhook ... End of the Road '08 -

Richard: - DENIED!

Nick: Vashaun slips free ... AND HITS A FULL-NELSON SLAM! He absolutely PLANTED Troy Douglas into the canvas!

Richard: I think I can see brain matter. Sweet.

Nick: Could this be the end for Troy Douglas? Cover ...

ONE ...

TWO ...

RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!

Nick: HE KICKED OUT! TROY DOUGLAS KICKED OUT AGAIN!

Richard: He chooses today of all days to become an unkillable RoboZombie. Megatron? MegaCrap.

Nick: Say whatever you like, Richard, but Troy Douglas is feeding on this Chicago crowd tonight at Colossus. His knee has been BADLY ripped apart by Kaiser Vashaun, but in his final match, Troy Douglas will not stop fighting!

Richard: Quiet, you.

Furious, Vashaun grabs the wounded Douglas and ragdolls him into the corner. When Troy stumbles out, Kaiser slips behind, hooks in a waistlock and launches Douglas with a MASSIVE release German suplex that sends Megatron careening violently into the corner.

OOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

Richard: Turn out the lights, the party's over!

Nick: That was just SICKENING impact! That's gotta do it - Kaiser Vashaun certainly thinks so! Just drapes his arm over Douglas' chest ...

ONE ...

RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!

Richard: All hail our new RoboZombie overlords!

Nick: DOUGLAS KICKS OUT AT ONE!

Richard: I, for one, welcome our mechanical undead saviors.

LET'S GO TROY! LET'S GO TROY! LET'S GO TROY!

Utterly shocked, Vashaun goes right back at Douglas, hooking him for another German suplex, but Douglas slips behind and hooks Kaiser for one of his own - only for the Next in Line to break free by again kicking at Troy's left knee.

Nick: Back to the knee again ... now a kick to the gut ...

Richard: WEIGHT OF THE WORLD, BABY!

Nick: Kaiser DRILLED him with the Weight of the World, and Troy Douglas' career HAS to be over!

ONE ...

TWO ...

THREEEEEEEEE ...

FOOT.

ON.

THE.

ROPES.

Bedlam in Chicago.

RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!

Nick: THIS MAN IS NOT HUMAN!

Richard: Toldja.

Nick: Troy Douglas has been hit with shot after shot from Kaiser Vashaun, but Kaiser can not keep his shoulders down for three seconds!

Richard: My suggestion? Nail gun. Maybe a welding torch.

Nick: My suggestion? You need to get a psych evaluation.

By this point, Kaiser Vashaun's eyes are bugging so far out of his head you could peer into the holes and see his brain stem. Douglas can barely crawl to his feet, and Vashaun grabs him and throws Troy shoulder-first into the ring post.

SMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMAAAAAAAACCCCCKKKK!!!!

Nick: HORRIFIC IMPACT OF SHOULDER TO STEEL!

Richard: Again with the shouting. You have a MICROPHONE on. They can hear you, numbskull.

Nick: Vashaun's got him ... gutwrench position ... could this be the NRC3?

Richard: That'd work for me.

Nick: Vashaun yanks Douglas up - TROY SLIPS OUT!

Richard: STOP DOING THAT!

Nick: Douglas ... boot to the gut ... underhook - BRAINBUSTEEEEERRRRRR!!!

RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

Nick: End of the Road Oh-Eight from Troy Douglas! And - he's going up top?

Richard: Stupid until the end.

Nick: Troy Douglas has Kaiser Vashaun prone on the mat! He's up top, surely he can't be thinking ...

Richard: Oh, he is ...

And then he leaps forward, but flips backward, and Solider Field falls silent.

...

...

...

RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!

Nick: SHOOTING! STAR! PRESS! UNREAL!

Richard: I hate him. So much.

Nick: I do not believe what I'm seeing here! Troy Douglas hits the shooting star press ... and he hooks Vashaun's leg ...

ONE ...

TWO ...

THRRRRRRR ...

Richard: HA! FAIL.

Nick: TWO POINT NINE NINE NINE NINE NINE!

Richard: That's frighteningly exact.

Now it's Troy Douglas' turn to look utterly bewildered. That was almost the last trick in his bag.

Almost.

Nick: Douglas is running out of options here. I don't care how much fight he's got left, if he doesn't end this soon, I don't think that knee will hold up.

Richard: Stop doing my job, selfish bastard.

A pained expression on his face as he drags Kaiser Vashaun to his feet, Troy manages to his a couple hard forearms to back KV into the corner. Then, at more of a hobbled jog then a flat-out sprint, he charges across the ring and puts just about everything he has into a Yakuza kick that nearly knocks Vashaun's head off his body.

Then comes the set-up for the four words that have defined Troy Douglas for more than a decade.

END.

OF.

THE.

ROAD.

Nick: Douglas has Kaiser on the second rope, he's got the double underhooks in! End of the Road coming up! YES! YES - NO! Vashaun got his hands on Troy's left knee and jammed it off the ropes! Down goes Troy Douglas!

Richard: Strategy is a brilliant thing, Nick.

Nick: I'm pretty sure that's desperation, Richard.

Richard: Strategy.

Nick: Desperation.

Richard: Strategy.

Nick: Desperation.

Richard: Strategy.

Nick: Duck season.

Richard: Duck season - DUCK SEASON?

Nick: It's not my bit, but it's still funny.

Vashaun gingerly steps down from the second rope and smiles and he glares down at Douglas. He has time to toy with his food, but doesn't. Up he goes with the fireman's carry, down he goes violently, spiked with the Weight of the World.

Nick: Vashaun with the Weight of the World one more time! The cover ...

ONE ...

TWO ...

THREE ...

RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!

Kickout.

Richard: INCONCEIVABLE.

Nick: Troy Douglas will not stop! What in the WORLD is willing this man on here tonight?

Richard: Rampant idiocy.

Vashaun glares a hole through Max Newell, mouthing "You've got to be fucking kidding me" at the veteran PRIME official over and over again. All Newell can do is hold up two fingers in front of the Next in Line's face.

Nick: Kaiser Vashaun can't believe this. Neither can I, neither can my broadcast partner, neither can the thousands on hand here at Soldier Field.

Richard: Does anyone have a large mallet to hit Douglas with? Or perhaps a spare volcano we can dump him into?

Nick: Kaiser Vashaun's only got one option here - he's got to keep punishing Douglas until he can't move anymore. But at this point, I don't know what he can do.

Richard: MOAR VIOLENCE.

Nick: Vashaun pulls Douglas up, Troy can barely stand - AND HE SLAPS KAISER RIGHT ACROSS THE FACE!

RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!

Nick: Kaiser with the boot right to the gut ... Weight of the World AGAIN - NO! Douglas out! Double underhook time! He's got him up ...

And that's as far as it gets. As soon as Troy gets Kaiser off the ground, Douglas' left knee gives out and Megatron crumples to the mat. Vashaun doesn't even attack. He knows he's already won. He just waits for Troy Douglas too look at him and peers down with a smug smile.

Then Troy looks up - and smiles back.

Smiling through his tortured grimace, Troy crawls to his feet. The camera pulls in, and lipreaders can make out the three words Douglas has for Vashaun.

"Finish it. Please."

And then Troy Douglas hauls back and punches Kaiser Vashaun in the mouth.

RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!

With one last serene smile, Troy Douglas drops his arms.

Boot to the gut.

Weight of the World.

ONE ...

TWO ...

THREE!

DING! DING! DING!

Richard: OUR LONG NATIONAL NIGHTMARE IS OVER!

Nick: I don't know what came over Troy Douglas, but when his knee went out for the last time, he just stopped fighting.

Richard: Maybe he realized that evil will always win, because good is dumb.

Vince Howard: Here is your winner ... KAISSSSSSSSEERRRR VASSSSHAAAAAUUUUUNNN!!!!

Nick: I don't know what that was, ladies and gentlemen, but Troy Douglas may have just realized that if he couldn't win this match, he was going out with one final act of defiance. What a match, and what a way to kick off PRIME's final night.

Max Newell raises Vashaun's hand, and the Next in Line rolls out of the ring and heads to the back. On the canvas, Troy Douglas finally pulls himself to all fours, then manages to stand as chants of "THANK YOU TROY" fill Soldier Field. With great pain, Troy steps back through the ropes and, refusing medical attention, walks up the ramp. He doesn't stop to shake any hands or share any hugs. He just trudges his way toward the back, and when he finally gets to the top of the ramp, he sits down, unties his boots and pulls them off, looking at them.

From his first match to his last, Troy Douglas only ever had one pair of wrestling boots. And as he walks to the back, those boots are the only thing to remain on the stage.

And that's the end of the road.

The Big Reveal

Nick: I'm getting word we're about to go backstage where we'll be hearing from Hessian...

Richard: Why are you getting word? Don't segments like that normally just...start?

Nick: I'm getting word because Hessian isn't actually backstage.

Richard: So no one took the big guy up on his challenge huh? Ain't that a damn shame.

Nick: I don't know about that Richard, there's been a lot of speculation surrounding Hessian's match tonight. Take the two-hundred-fifty prize winners of the free ticket competition that was held via Twitter, we know they're here in attendance and there's no way Hessian would set something like that up and just abandon it at the last second.

Richard: I guess, but man that would have made an awesome heel move back in the day.

On cue the PRIME*View lights up and a deep chorus of cheers rises up all over Soldier Field as a close-up image of the Murder Show fills the screen. With a microphone in hand he gazes into the arena, swaying gently from left to right.

Hessian: Well, well, well my ears must be burning. Nick? Richard? Do I have your attention?

The commentators look puzzled for a moment before the telltale static pop of their headsets being channelled into the arena's PA clues them in on the proceedings.

Nick: Oh, uh, yes Hessian we can hear you loud and clear.

Hessian: Alright that's a start. I was just watching on the monitor here and I heard you asking about me so I thought I'd patch in and give you and everyone else the low-down on my match which, yes Richard, will be going ahead tonight.

Richard: Oh, great. Glad to hear it.

A wry chuckle wafts through the crowd at Richard's enthusiasm as the close-up shot on Hessian is pulled back to reveal the giant's surroundings and the reason why he's swaying the way he is. A clear sky fills the screen behind his wide shoulders while polished fibreglass walls and walnut floors make up the rest of the setting that, as it sways in time with the giant, reveals in the top left corner of the screen a pocket of waves bobbing into the shot every couple of seconds.

Hessian: As far as my two-hundred and fifty prize winners go, I guess now is as good a time as any to explain their involvement plus all the other details of the match. (Speaking to the cameraman and pointing at himself) Keep it locked right here buddy.

As Hessian saunters forward moving past the camera the shot is blocked by his massive back as the operator follows closely. Stopping after a few steps the giant takes a deep breath an off-camera he can be heard saying "Ready?" before he turns on his right foot to the side, holding an arm out and introducing the world to his creation.

A huge eruption of cheers echoes out over the Chicago sky as all the fans in attendance at Soldier Field lay eyes on the big reveal and curse themselves for either not entering the competition or being chosen as a winner. Equally as loud are the 250 fans all seated or standing around the ring where Hessian will be wrestling, or not as the case may be as this particular squared circle has been overlaid with a huge spider web of barbed wire suspended from each of the turnposts and interwoven with many more lines of barbed steel making it something of a majestic nightmare. Behind the ring, built over what looks like a covered pool is a structure roughly three quarters the size of the ring and three times taller to boot. Composed mainly of steel struts and rigging, the scaffolding is topped with sheets of plywood offering none of the support of the mat canvas on the ring below. To top it off Hessian swings the camera around prompting the operator to catch a 360 degree shot of his private arena, which with every passing detail becomes glaringly apparent to be taking place on the rear deck of a magnificent super yacht on the very waters of Lake Michigan! There's even an empty commentary table sat in position facing the ring.

Hessian: Drink it in guys. What you're looking at is the culmination of weeks of preparation and hard work. In case you haven't guessed already my final match in PRIME isn't taking place over there with you guys at Soldier Field which, as you can see, is pretty much a stone throw away from where we are now on the lake. No, I'm going out in style just like I said on ReVolution, so to whomever picks up the gauntlet to face me, know that you'll be facing me one on one in a match that hasn't been seen on TV since Skitzo defeated Rent-A-Hero at PCW's Shanghaied pay-per-view. The stipulation is a spider net match, and the venue is about, what, two-hundred-eighty-one metres above my opponent's watery grave?

Nick: I'd say so. It's a very extravagant set-up Hessian, but why out there on the water? Why not here in Soldier Field?

Richard: Yeah what about all the fans here in the arena who were looking forward to seeing you wrestle in person?

Hessian: Come on guys, it's a no-brainer. This makes the match stand out and tips the show over from great to "holy-shit-that's-awesome." Colossus Eight has to be the ultimate show for us and I've guaranteed that with this. From not having an opponent to having the greatest stipulation and setting on the card, I'll make sure Colossus is as big as it deserves to be. As for the fans in the arena? The ones lucky enough to be sitting there in person watching the match on the big screen while millions more watch from their sofas at home? I think they'll be fine. We've got all we need out here; a ring, some barbed wire, some fans...hey let 'em hear how loud you guys can be...

RRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!

Hessian: And we've got me. The only things missing are my opponent...and of course...

Suddenly the roar of an engine fills the air as a private chopper lifts off from the helipad at the bow of the yacht and zooms overhead past Hessian making a beeline for Soldier Field.

Hessian: I'm gonna need someone to commentate this match. The chopper will be waiting for you in the parking lot Nick, Richard, so while they play that pre-match vignette or talk to whoever in the back about tonight, you boys can make your way outside, jump in your ride and fly your asses over here because trust me, you don't want to miss this for the world. Don't worry about missing your cues, I've got this beast rigged up just like the arena there and it's only a two-minute heli-trip.

Richard: We're flying out there? AWESOME.

Nick: That does sound pretty awesome, haha!

Hessian: You better believe it, and hey if you happen to find my opponent wandering around backstage like a lost puppy just drag him out here with you.

Nick: Still no word on our end of anything like that but we'll keep you posted for sure if we find him.

Richard: Yeah with that set-up I wouldn't be surprised if Bob DeNiro turned up to hunt you down Cape Fear style.

Hessian: I doubt it Rich, I'm writing a script tonight that would put all the horror writers in Hollywood to shame. Now I got a few loose ends to tie up, I'll see you boys at show time.

With that the PRIME*View blinks off to show the logo once again, while another static pop confirms that the commentators' headsets have switched channel again.

Nick: Well, haha there you have it Richard. Hessian versus unknown opponent in a spider net match on Lake Michigan. Doesn't get more colossal than that my friend!

Richard: Screw that we get to ride in a helicopter! Onto a super yacht! It might not be on a set of tracks but this'll damn sure do for a Hess Express tonight!

Zing

A security camera mounted on the exterior wall of the arena narrows in on a purple 2009 Camaro convertible zooming into the parking lot. It releases one last purr as it soars into a vacant spot before screeching to an awkward stop. The female driver known only as the gorgeous Katterina Wylde bounces up in her seat with the curt halt of the motor. At first glance, she appears to be alone as she sighs passionately, her fingers combing through her hair, but an auburn haired bombshell soon rises back to the passenger seat and leans back in the chair.

Roxy Phoenix wipes the edges of her lips with her finger tips and moans.

Roxy Phoenix: Oh, Kitty Katt, what did I tell ya? Every Happy Hour has a "happy ending."

Katt is breathing heavily as she slowly takes her foot off the brake pump. She glances over to the beauty sitting next to her and shoots a wicked grin. The Dark Angel manages to control her breathing long enough to let a few words escape her black glossy lips. However, she is still gasping.

Katterina Wylde: Oh fuck...I almost...crashed...but it was fucking...worth it...

She suddenly had a shocked look in her eyes and her body went tense, straightening up and suddenly, her tone changed to that of worry.

Katterina Wylde: Oh shit...I think I hit an old lady.

She suddenly shrugs, letting an evil smile creep across her beautiful face.

Katterina Wylde: Oh well...acceptable casualty.

Pleased with her lascivious actions, Roxy giggles and stretches within her seat to reach the frame of the front windshield. She pulls herself up to her feet and with one last wink at Katterina, she straddles the passenger door slowly before climbing out of the door. The Bulgarian Bombshell can't be bothered with the traditional nonsense of opening doors... it's nowhere near as sexy.

Roxy Phoenix: God, our last match in this hellhole, Katt. Can you fucking believe it?

Phoenix's hand dips into her purse with the slightest bit of ease to pull out a cigarette. Ever at the ready, Katt's fingers meet the end of the butt with a lighter.

Katterina Wylde: I can't think of a better way to go out either. Wait, who are we even wrestling tonight?

Katt scratches the top of her head as she tries her best to remember the names of her opponents. She laughs, before rolling her eyes and yawning in a manner that exudes of sarcasm and mockery.

Katterina Wylde: Actually more to the point...who the fuck cares?

Roxy smirks with a nod of her head in agreement.

The door swings open, and Katterina slides out the car. Phoenix kicks the door closed behind her, and Wylde leads the way through the door to the arena. Whipping out her cell phone and flicking a few ashes at the "No Smoking Inside Arena" sign posted on the glass, Roxy follows behind the Dark Angel.

Roxy Phoenix: Fuck, like I even gave a shit about getting out of bed this morning.

Katterina is about to say something when Matt Mills appears. A sigh escapes the mouth of the Dark Angel as he approaches.

Katterina Wylde: Fucking hell...what the fuck do you want, Mills?

Matt Mills: Katt, Roxy! I wanted to get a word about tonight's event. You two are booked in a tag contest that management is keeping under wraps, and Tyler Rayne will face Wade Elliot and on a night where Tchu will take on the one and only Lindsay Troy....

Roxy Phoenix scoffs, not looking away from the screen of her smart phone.

Roxy Phoenix: ...And on a night I still don't give a shit. *sighs* I have never cared about Lindsay Troy now or ever, what makes you think tonight'd be any different?

Katt rolls her eyes.

Katterina Wylde: Look, you know the deal, sugarbear. Ty's been with her for awhile now, and she's going nowhere anytime soon. They're good for each other, and she's cool as fuck, so you might as well shut up and accept it already.

Mills - ever the shit-stirring idiot - raises an eyebrow at that comment. He gives a little smile before bringing his official PRIME microphone to his mouth.

Matt Mills: Is that the small hint of jealousy I detect in your voice, Roxy?

Katterina Wylde: Oh no you didn't...

Roxy regards her phone with a lightly chuckle and takes another drag on her cigarette.

Roxy Phoenix: Don't really have any need to be jealous of her... don't really care who either of them fuck. One another or themselves.

Exasperated, Roxy shoots Katt a glare, raising her eyebrow and questioning if she's the only one getting annoyed by this mouth-breather. Flicking her tongue against the back of her top row of teeth, Phoenix narrows her eyes at Matt Mills.

Roxy Phoenix: You can be included in that lot, as you can go off and fuck yourself too.

Matt Mills: You're telling me that...

Katterina Wylde: Mills, what part of go fuck yourself do you not understand?

Matt Mills: But I just...

Katterina Wylde: Mills...fuck off.

Mills is quite persistent, which angers both Roxy and Katt even more. The Dark Angel shoots Roxy a glare and walks towards Mills, grabbing him by the throat.

Katterina Wylde: Excuse me, babe. Gotta get rid of this cancerous growth we seem to have both inherited all of a sudden.

With that, Katterina drags Mills away. He struggles, but Katterina is far stronger than she appears, and her grip never once relents. She angrily tosses Mills against a wall, his head smacking hard off it, causing him to stagger about like the proverbial drunk man.

Katterina Wylde: That never ceases to be fun.

Wickedly nibbling her finger, Roxy snickers and gestures for Katt to get her phone out.

Roxy Phoenix: Got this earlier, you'll love this.

An alert draws Katterina's attention to her phone, and she pulls it out of her back pocket to see a very naughty picture of a young tattooed girl with raven hair in a compromising position.

Katterina Wylde: Mmm.

Not far from the Dark Angel, a small crack pierces the air followed by an abrupt and raucous crash and a series of curses in a foreign language. Katterina Wylde swings around to find Roxy Phoenix sprawled out on the floor, and her belongings scattered about in different directions.

Katterina Wylde: What the hell happened....MILLS!

We see a hurt Matt Mills staggering around like an alcoholic who just spent a day in a Jack Daniels factory. It seems after his little journey into a wall from Katt, he had somewhat recovered, trying to walk as best he can and somehow, inexplicably sent Roxy crashing to the ground in a heap.

Katt rushes to her side to help her to her feet, but Roxy Phoenix bats away her hand and screams as she climbs to her feet. Her pride put aside, she clutches onto the shoulders of the Dark Angel to hop on her good foot. Phoenix swings the foot in the air to show her the heel of the black boot has cracked in half.

Roxy Phoenix: Fuck you, you fucking piece of shit! My fucking ankle!

Katterina Wylde: Watch where you're going, you stupid dick!

Matt Mills: I, I... didn't...

Katterina scowls at the interviewer as Roxy Phoenix clutches the wall in the background and hobbles toward her locker room. The Dark Angel scoops up Roxy's items from the floor, and Matt Mills continues to babble.

Matt Mills: Is she...? You gotta tell... Lisa... she can't wrestle...

Frustrated with his stammering from his joggled brain, Katt smacks Mills in the head with Roxy's purse. In seconds, his eyes roll in the back of his head, and he falls to the ground.

Curious, Katt pulls a hot pink metal flask out of Roxy's purse, slightly smiling at Roxy's ingenious resourcefulness for curing her thirst and knocking out an irritating staff member.

Roxy Phoenix: Fuck!

Phoenix beats on the door to her locker room, hoping it will magically open.

The hot pink and white smart phone that was once glued to Roxy's hand was now in Katt's, and a mischievous grin snakes across the lips of the Dark Angel. She looks over at Roxy, then back to the phone as she types something into the screen. Once finished, she tosses the phone back into the purse and swings the bag onto her shoulder next to her own.

Katterina Wylde: Comin', sugarbear!

Pleased with herself, Katterina smiles as she walks skillfully down the hall to assist the Sofia Spitfire into the locker room, and the camera fades to black.

High Flyer vs. Tony Davis

Split screen footage. Tony Davis on the right, wearing an amateur wrestling singlet and a towel over his head, shadow boxes. He still wears that felt fake black goatee, and pauses to stroke it menacingly. On the left, Jack Harmen slung his head low. While he physically looked exactly as he did the day he entered PRIME, emotionally he was a shattered mess. He seemed listless. A stark contrast to Tony Davis knocking out his invisible friends.

Nick: Up next is a day we never thought we'd see here in PRIME. Team VIAGRA, three time PRIME tag team champions, are set to do battle, perhaps tarnishing their legacy as the greatest tag team here in PRIME's history. These two will DESTROY each other. It's not only the end of PRIME, but the end of Team VIAGRA. The potential end of both these brothers' careers.

Richard: I did some research.

Nick: You did?

Richard: Well, some anonymous schmuck on the internet did it for me. But apparently these two have been at each other's throats before. They had two one on one matches, splitting those decisions. This is a rubber match that's taken twelve years to happen.

Nick: Tony Davis has been wrestling since 1989. High Flyer first started in 1993. Viagra formed in 2000. We could see all of that legacy end tonight as these two brothers set to tear each other apart, limb from limb. Let's head to Vince Howard.

Vince Howard, center of the ring, adjusts his tie and clears his throat.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, this next contest is scheduled for one fall, with a thirty minute time limit. Introducing first, the Special Guest Referee!

"Mother Earth is pregnant for the third time..."

An amazing array of strobe lights and smoke machines, coupled with a massive pop and a chant of "NOOOVVV-AA!"

"...for y'all have knocked her up. I have tasted the maggots in the mind of the universe, and I was not offended...for I knew I had to rise above it all...or drown in my oooooowwwwn shit."

Vince Howard: The RISEN star, former 5-Star, Intense, and UNIVERSAL Champion, the In-NOVA-tor, NOVA! And accompanying him ringside, the special guest time keeper, the plucky Tiny Attorney, Mary-Lynn Mayweather!

As the fog dissipates, Nova steps out from the back, cigarette in tow. He drops to one knee, and then stands after a brief moment. "Noooo-Vaaaa" chants ring out, cause the microphones on the feed to peak or become distorted. As he exhales from his cigarette, the smoke machine's go into over time. Nova steps through the fog. Following him is Team VIAGRA's usual attorney, Mary-Lynn Mayweather, carrying her clipboard and coughing up a storm.

Richard: I wish they were chanting "Fuck You Nova!"

Nick: I'm sure you do.

Richard: He used to be so cool!

Nick: Nova, who won the 5-Star title in his SECOND match, went on to become the Universal Champion in 2007. Long before Team VIAGRA had ever stepped foot into PRIME. Eventually, Nova and High Flyer formed another tag team in NFW, Superfly Express. I believe that's what set off Tony Davis, the fact that he was being replaced.

Richard: What would you think if I went ahead and got a new broadcast partner and started working with Joey Melton after this is all over? Wouldn't you feel betrayed?

Nick: No, we're fired after this. Flyer made a choice to try something new.

Richard: Leaving his best friend and brother-in-law out on the streets fending for himself! Face it, Flyer thought Davis was the weak link, and wanted a stronger partner cause he ain't as spry as he used to be.

Nick: C'mon, Richard.

Richard: You can't tell me you don't think Nova is a better wrestler than Tony.

Nick: Well...

Richard: See! Team VIAGRA live simulcast funeral is all Nova's fault. And everyone loves Viagra, right?! C'mon you people! "FUCK YOU NOVA!" *CLAP CLAP CLAPCLAPCLAP* "FUCK YOU NOVA!" What? No one?

Nick: Sit down!

Nova walks by the announce booth and fakes a punch, causing Richard to fall back into his chair in fear. Nova smiles, climbs onto the ring, and puts on a black and white striped referee shirt over his official NFW Superfly Express shirt.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: You shouldn't have done that Richard. Nice to see you again Nick. Family well?

Nick: Indeed. We're being joined by the Mary-Lynn, a student of some of PRIME's finest including former Universal Champions Sonny Silver and Lindsay Troy. The manager of Team VIAGRA watches on helplessly as her clients are set to tear each other apart in their final PRIME moment. I'm sure you didn't expect it to end like this.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: They're my friends, Nick. And they're quarreling. I just hope they can get it out of their system like any other brothers would.

"ALLL ABOARD... AH HA HA HA HA HA HA HA..."

A single burst of fog from a smoke machine streams upward, resembling that of a locomotive. Jack Harmen, better known to PRIME as High Flyer, steps out from the backstage area. He snarls, tossing his right hand up in his trademark devil horn taunt. He wears his snowy pants and WHAT--?!

**CRACK**

A steel chair bent over the back of Jack Harmen's head sends him crumpling to the ground. Standing over him tossing the chair to the rampway is the jealous felt goatee'd Tony Davis. Davis grabs Harmen by his snowhawk and locks in a double underhook.

Nick: Tony Davis not even allowing the bell to ring! Equalizer! High Flyer's head was just compacted onto that entrance ramp!

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: *Sigh* Tony, what are you doing?

Richard: He's doing whatever it takes to prove to the world he's not only as good as High Flyer...

Nick: And AGAIN! Equalizer on the ramp!

Richard: ... but BETTER.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: Nova wait!

Richard: Uh, he can't hear you.

Nova has left the ring. He turns to the announce booth and wear see his mouth say, "Don't worry. I got this." He turns and charges up the entrance ramp. Tony grabs Flyer, attempting another Equalizer. As Tony lifts, Nova pulls Flyer down, and then grabs Davis and pushes him away.

Nick: Davis in tantrum mode. Oh! He took a swing at Nova!

Mary-Lynn: Not smart! Nova likes the taste of metal, but usually only from a pipe not his own blood.

Nick: BOURBON FOR BREAKFAST! On the entrance ramp! I'd say that about evens things up, wouldn't you Richard?

Nova lifts a limp Davis and puts him onto his shoulder. Nova carries him to ringside, and slips him underneath the bottom rope. Nova then returns to the entrance ramp, and begins to help a groggy Flyer make his way to ringside. Flyer shakes the cobwebs, climbs onto the apron, and then inside.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: That's my cue.

Nova signals for the bell, as a crawling Tony Davis looks up to a standing, yet loopy Jack Harmen.

Mary-Lynn: C'mon Jack... Be the bigger man.

Mary-Lynn rings the bell. High Flyer takes a deep breath in. He extends his hand to Tony, to lift him to his feet. Tony is apprehensive, but eventually takes it.

Only to get a short arm clothesline for his trouble.

Mary-Lynn: Dammit!

Nick: Flyer with a quick shooting star press into a lateral cover! Nova with the count, only gets two!

Flyer gets up with his back to Davis, a little dizzy. Davis from behind with a school boy, he grabs the tights.

Richard: One, two, NO! Another kickout.

Mary-Lynn: Neither man's fighting fair.

Richard: So that means it's a fair fight, right?

Tony Davis to his feet and tosses a snowball into the eyes of Jack Harmen. Flyer backs off, stunned, only for Davis to charge and lay into him with vicious rights and lefts to his gut. Then, a double leg takedown sends the Lunatic to the mats.

Nick: Tony Davis with the OPPOSITE of a fireball. I'm assuming he stole the snow from Flyer, but where did he keep it cold?

Mary-Lynn: Tony has a cooler built into his ring pants. You never saw him snacking on ice cream bars on the apron when Flyer was the man in peril? We must have a very good camera department.

Tony floats over into a side headlock, grounding the Lunatic.

Nick: This is exactly where Flyer doesn't want to be right now.

Mary-Lynn: Tony, for all his disinterest and quirks, can still outwrestle almost anyone when his mind is focused on that task. You know he was an Olympic hopeful before he first tore his rotator cuff?

Richard: Really?

Mary-Lynn: What he tells me anyway.

Harmen tries multiple counters to Davis' ground work, but can never quite get free from Davis' grasp. Even when he does, it's because Davis let go of the clinch to lock a different one in as Harmen scrambled to get away. Defeated, Flyer spins himself and slams his leg onto the bottom ropes. Nova is quick to start a five count, which Davis breaks at four.

Nick: Both men to their feet, Harmen swings with a wild high leg kick that Davis ducks. Davis charges, clothesline ducked by Flyer. Flyer off the ropes, returns, Davis with a drop down as Flyer goes over top. Back off, BIG back body drop, but Flyer lands on his feet. Flyer with a rear waist lock, Davis into the ropes and hooks them. Flyer can't land the German suplex, so he rolls through, only to eat a HUGE powerslam when he charges Davis!

Richard: And Davis has Harmen, lifts him and POWERBOMBS him onto the turnbuckle. Then charges and SQUASHES him before hitting a bulldog.

Mary-Lynn: Davis isn't going for the fall though.

Davis lifts Flyer up in a vertical suplex, and holds the Lunatic upside down. While the crowd would have once gone "Ooooh," they now "Booo!"

Nick: The blood rushing to Flyer's skull, and after an eternity, comes CRASHING down. Davis floats over into a cover. Nova counts, one, two... kickout!

Richard: C'mon! Slow count ref!

Mary-Lynn: Tony's making that case himself.

Nick: I found that count perfectly fair.

Mary-Lynn: It was a perfectly cromulant count.

Nick: He should keep his mind focused on the match.

Davis turns back to Flyer, and gets LOW BLOWED. Flyer to his feet, grabs Davis by his neck.

Nick: Cold Snow! Cold Snow! Flyer's desperation counter he's used so many times to get himself back into a match. He's fighting back to his feet, stumbling as he does. He starts stomping his foot onto the canvas. This crowd stomping and clapping alongside. He's revving up the Locomotive!

PITCH BLACKNESS.


Nick: Did we lose power?

Richard: We're still broadcasting.

Nick: Folks, the lights have been cut.

Mary-Lynn: Where's the Ultimate Warrior's trap door?

AND WE HAVE POWER.

Stunned, High Flyer looks around the ring. He only has a second to realize, and not a second to react to the oncoming Busaiku Knee Kick, just as his legs get chopped out from underneath him.

The fans react with deafening boos. I mean, we are not in New England or anything.

Nick: SIMON KNOX! CONNOR O'REILLY! The Princes of New England! They just caught High Flyer with the Boston-Providence Intersection Knee Kick! He's out cold!

"Cult of Personality" by Living Color blares over the PA system. The Princes of New England stand victorious over the fallen Lunatic. Dressed in their trademark Colossus outfits, main color white with flame/crown color silver, they help lift Tony Davis up off the mat. The Princes begin to pat Davis on the shoulder, raising his hands and telling him to cover Flyer.

Richard: Did Tony Davis pay the Princes of New England to attack Flyer?

Tony stares at Connor and Simon, then back to the fallen Lunatic.

Tony Davis: You two? You did this?

Tony Davis snarls.

Tony Davis: This was MY FIGHT!

Nick: Davis attacks the Princes!

Richard: No! Why would you do that!? I thought you paid them off!

Nick: Clothesline to Connor.

Richard: You were so close to awesome!

Nick: Right hands to Simon, whip off the ropes, no, a reversal! Kick to the gut by Simon, Connor comes over to double team... BOSTON MASSACRE! Dual fisherman's buster lays out the other half of VIAGRA!

Miranda O'Reilly shows up at ringside, wearing a large flowing layered fluff white gown. She waves to Mary-Lynn at the announce booth.

Mary-Lynn: Miranda! How you've been!

Miranda: Great! Nice shoes! We'll catch up!

Mary-Lynn blinks.

Mary-Lynn: Wait! HEEEEEY! What the Fu-!

Miranda walks up the steel steps and onto the apron. She turns to Mary-Lynn and shrugs.

Miranda: I know! They still hold a grudge. What can you do?

Miranda enters the ring as Simon Knox stands over Tony Davis and places his foot onto his chest. Connor turns his back to do the same on the opposite side of the ring to Flyer. That's when Simon Knox lost his wrestling tights to reveal a small banana hammock underneath.

Nick: LEGENDARY DEPANTS COMBO FROM NOVA! Connor is clueless! Nova, Bourbon for Breakfast! Nova has just taken out the Princes!

Richard: What's Nova doing interfering in this!

Nick: The Princes started by interfering themselves!

Richard: Semantics. And Simon isn't done, he's fuming, taking the time to readjust himself. He charges, and Nova side steps...

Mary-Lynn: Horizontal Face-Pull Neck-Stretch Inverted Hurt-Plex Lock Bomb! And he SWISS BANKS IT with a dragon hitch on top of it!

After a few moments of Simon screaming and writhing, Simon's hand hits the mat three times. Nova doesn't let go right away, but when he does, Simon rolls out of the ring, clutching his shoulder. Nova stands to his feet, looking at the carnage surrounding him. He signals to Mary-Lynn, who drops her head set and walks over to the time keeper's table.

Nick: Looks like this match is going to end in a no contest.

Mary-Lynn grabs a microphone, and returns to the ring. She hands it to Nova, who taps it twice.

Nova: By official referee's decree, because I can do that sort of thing, this match has been declared a NO CONTEST!

Mary-Lynn Mayweather rings the bell three times, signaling the end of the contest. Nova walks over to Miranda, who stands dead in her tracks. She smiles and waves.

Nova: Since your boys spoiled the party, why don't we...

Nova leans in, and whispers to Miranda. After a moment of confusion, she nods.

Miranda: -- that's fair."

Nova turns, a huge smile over his face. He waves his hands to the crowd.

Nova: Introducing, your next match, scheduled for one fall... Team VIAGRA versus THOSE DOUCHEBAGS!

Richard: Can he do that?!

Nick: He just did!

NOVA: Alright Court Jesters of Providence, get to your corner.

Connor gripes on his way, rubbing the top of his head.

Connor O'Reilly: This is hardly fair.

Miranda sticks her tongue out at Connor. Simon climbs onto the ring apron with the help of Miranda. On the other side, High Flyer sits in his corner with his arms draped over the middle ropes. He rubs his jaw, his bottom lip swollen and cut. Tony is on the outside of the ring, reluctant to climb on the apron. Flyer uses the top rope to pull himself to his feet, and nods to Nova. Nova turns to Mary-Lynn, who rings the bell three times. After, she returns to the commentator's booth.

Richard: This is hardly fair! The Princes of New England didn't expect to be WRESTLING tonight. They figured they'd just come down, spoil the party, then be on their way! I mean, when was the last time they were in the ring?

Nick: Are you asking me?

Mary-Lynn: The last time they were in a PRIME ring was August of 2008 at Great American Nightmare. Team VIAGRA regained the tag team straps from them, and they were never to be seen again. Except once every other Tuesday when Miranda and I would Skype.

Nick: Looks like it'll be Connor and Flyer starting out.

Flyer goads Connor into attacking. He turns to Tony on the outside and sees he's still not on the apron. Nova shouts over to Davis to climb up. Flyer tells Nova to calm down, then leans through the middle rope and extends his hand. Davis lets out a smile, and takes it, letting Flyer pull him onto the apron. Once there, Davis rips off his felt goatee, high fives Flyer's extended hand and enters the ring with a legal tag.

Richard: C'mon! All it takes is a handshake and they're all lovey-dovey again?

Mary-Lynn: The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

Richard: That's why Davis should be on the Princes side!

Davis and Connor circle, with the fans stomping their feet in anticipation. The climax comes when they collar and elbow tie up. Connor gains the advantage with an arm wringer, and gloats to the fans. That's long enough for Davis to slip out and behind Connor, locking in a hammerlock. Davis lifts Connor off his feet by his wrist, putting pressure on Connor's elbow. Davis does this a second time. A third time is countered by Connor grabbing Davis' in a headlock and rolling through, snap marring Davis over.

Nick: Connor showing he's no slouch in the amateur department, Tony up with a headlock however, catching the showboating Connor. Connor backs into the ropes, blind tag by Knox, Davis shot off the other side. Indian arm drag, RIGHT into a Simon Knox powerbomb! Knox on top, one, two, Flyer breaks it up! And now Flyer clotheslines himself and Connor up and over the top rope and right by the feet of Miranda!

Mary-Lynn: Run girl! Why would she wear heels today?

Inside the ring, Simon Knox starts to toy with Davis, slapping the recovering Davis on his head.

Simon Knox: You guys got REALLY old!

Simon slaps Davis' head once more, before Davis charges, throwing his shoulder in Knox's gut. They spill to the outside, landing right next to Flyer and Connor. As the four men recover, a good ol' fashion fist fight breaks out.

In the ring, Nova calls for a beer and a seat. He pops the cap and plants himself, watching the pier six brawl.

Richard: This is hardly the way an official should behave!

Nick: You're just jealous he didn't buy you one.

Richard: I tried to start the Fuck You Nova chant and everything...

Simon catches Davis in the eye, blinding him. Simon turns to Flyer and SHOVES him into the ring post, back first. Connor and Simon grab Davis, taking him over in a vertical suplex on the outside.

Meanwhile, Harmen fights to his feet and looks up to see Miranda.

Miranda: Hello!

Flyer: Hi. I think.

Flyer shakes out the cobwebs.

Flyer: You know Simon likes you.

Miranda: Yeah. We're friends.

Flyer: No. He really likes you.

Miranda: I know that. We're best friends!

Flyer: He probably wants to fuck you.

Connor: WHAT?!

Connor and Simon both over heard, and stare at Flyer. Connor, in a blind rage, charges Flyer. The Lunatic with a drop toe hold on Connor sends him sprawling into the announce booth. Simon grabs Flyer and shoves him in under the bottom rope. Flyer up quick, bounces off the far ropes. Knox follows inside, Flyer ducks a clothesline and then hits a front flip splash to the outside on Connor O'Reilly to cheers.

Nick: BIG Move from Flyer! And Simon better keep his wits about him!

Simon: Miranda! Don't listen to him! He's just -

Miranda: WATCH OUT!

Mary-Lynn: NO DON'T!

Nick: Tony Davis from behind, kick to the gut... EQUALIZER! Davis keeps it hooked, and HITS ANOTHER! Nova dives for the count! One! Two!

Richard: Get there Connor!

Connor tries to slip in under the bottom rope, but High Flyer hooks his ankle.

Nick: ... THREE!! Team VIAGRA has done it! They've beaten the Princes of New England, and reformed on the grandest stage of all!

Mary-Lynn: Time for some celebration. Nick, always a pleasure. Richard? Never a pleasure.

Mary-Lynn's headset drops as Richard scoffs. She enters the ring as Team VIAGRA's hands are raised by Nova.

High Flyer stands staring at Davis, and then extends his hand.

Tony Davis: Brothers don't shake! BROTHERS GOTTA HUG!

Tony wraps Flyer up in a bear hug, lifting him off the mat. Nova pulls out some sticky green, and the camera quickly cuts away before the lawyers have to add drug use to the parental advisory warning at the front of the show.

Nick: The Princes of New England not only spoiled Team VIAGRA's implosion, they very well reunited the greatest tandem PRIME has seen!

Richard: Wait, Nick. I thought that was us!

These Two Again? Get The Bodybag...

Opening on a shot of employees huddled in a circle reminiscing makes certain fans understand the true gravitas of tonight; it will be the last time a lot of these individuals will see one another. Sure, there will be a once in a while gathering among close friends to catch up, e-mail exchanges, Facebook likes, maybe even Twitter follows, but the environment they create outside PRIME's walls will pale in comparison to the one they've crafted over a decade. This place has been home, a steady paycheck, and a chance to have a second family.

"The Nova Jello shot night back in San Diego."

"Oh God, man, we had to roll him out in a wheelbarrow before they shut the lights off. He was so fucked up."

"How did he even make it back to the plane for Reno?"

"He hitchhiked with that Nazi sympathizer couple, remember?

"The pictures. Oh shit, man. Nova as Hitler, could you imagine?"

"Thank God Twitter wasn't as big as it is now, right?"

A collective laugh.

Their happy reminiscence is interrupted by a black Ferrari tearing down a parking ramp and making a hard 90 degree turn to get into the last unoccupied space for tonight's talent.

Let's face it. You didn't think a cameraman was out here for the sole purpose of hearing employees trade stories did you?

At a brisk pace, the cameraman gets into position and focuses on the vanity license plate with the driver's last name.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Spoiler: It's not Mr. Burns.

The driver's side door rises and allows its owner to step out. Devin Shakur isn't showing up halfway through the show because he's being a pompous douchebag. Rather, he was ordered to show up at a specific time and he's honoring that commitment. Management didn't want him infecting the locker room, especially on the company's last show.

Even though he's been relegated, the man still knows how to dress. Black Armani from head to toe. He pushes a button to open the trunk, reaches inside, pulls out his bag and freshly pressed identical garb for his battle tonight.

He shuts the trunk. All of the employees are doing their best to ignore him. They don't want to engage him because who knows what his frame of mind is given the finality of what's hanging over his head.

He wheels his bag in and takes a look at them. He couldn't tell you any of their names and wouldn't recognize them if he ran into them at a restaurant ten years later, but he knows they are talking about him. Who could resist knowing it is the absolute last time anybody will ever see him?

He pushes open the entrance door and sees business as usual. Everybody is looking to ensure their job is done correctly and avoid scolding by management. They are desperate to have a clean break and send PRIME out with prestige, evidence enough by keeping him away until the absolute last possible second.

He maneuvers and spins around equipment being rushed by him and eventually finds a direct path to the wrestling locker rooms.

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

It also happens he's walking straight into the path of his most hated adversary, Tyler Rayne, sitting atop a stack of crates.

Cognizant of the reaction, Shakur spies him after a few glances and can't resist egging him on one more time. He wheels his bags over and stops a few feet from where he figures Rayne will jump off.

Nick: Shakur isn't in the building five minutes and he's already going to start a fight. Well, it'll be interesting to say the least.

Richard: You want interesting? I'll give you interesting. Fun Fact: If the female screams in an average PRIME audience when Tyler Rayne appears were converted to electrical power, it could run 88 DeLoreans.

Nick: ... What?

Richard: You think I'm lying, go ahead and try it. I'll wait.

Nick: Where did you get that sheet?

Richard: It's on his Wikipedia page.

Nick: You are resorting to Wikipedia now for information?

Richard: I'm getting paid regardless of whether I do a good or bad job tonight.

He figured the sounds and his general aura of being an asshole would get Rayne's attention, but it didn't. So -

Shakur: ... Douche

Rayne does not look up from his iPhone. He drags his finger across the screen and lifts. The sound of what could be an enraged avian crashing into a precarious tower of blocks and swine squawks out from the little speakers.

Rayne: ... Emo

Shakur: You know, it's funny. People have called me that for years, but never in my almost six years here did I sit on top of crates and play a fucking guitar like you did.

Rayne: It's all about perception, kid. You just look the part of a whiny bitch. I, on the other hand, look like the rugged and handsome model on the cover of a trashy romance novel. Besides, bitches love guitars. You know I just do that shit to get laid.

Shakur: And look how that turned out for you. You tried to court Hoyt knows how many bitches in your time here and now you are the bitch of the relationship.

Rayne: There was just the one. And I got her. But I understand how it could be difficult for you to count that high, what with the brain damage and all.

He slides the iPhone into a pocket in his leather jacket and hops down from the crates. Tyler takes a long moment to look over Devin Shakur. First the head-to-toe shakedown. Then tilting his head to get a better look at the fine tailoring on the suit. He leans in to admire the buttons on the vest. Reaches out a hand to straighten the lapel of the jacket. Shakur swats at his hand.

Rayne: You look cute, Emo. Almost like a real boy now. So... what? You come to start some more shit? Didn't get enough of an ass beating the last time.

Shakur: The last time?

Rayne: When you broke into my house.

Shakur: When I broke into your house?

Rayne: You kicked my door halfway into the goddamn living room.

Shakur: I ghetto knocked. If you want to be ignorant to other cultures and their customs, I can't help you there.

Rayne: I don't want to ignore other cultures. Just you.

Shakur: And plus, what the fuck do you expect, for us to bust out a boombox and sing a song about getting high with dinosaurs?

They both look into the camera and then back at one another.

Rayne: Dinosaurs are fucking rad, asshat. But since you've now admitted that you kicked in my door, on camera, in front of millions of people, I can serve your ass with this...

He reaches into an inner pocket of his jacket and pulls out a piece of paper, handing it to Shakur, who snatches and unfolds it.

Shakur: The fuck is this?

Rayne: The bill.

Shakur: What bill?

Rayne: The bill for the repairs to my beach house. Had to replace the door and the whole frame. Scratched the floor all to shit. Had to pull that up. It was like a whole weekend of work. Pay up, asshole.

Shakur: You are seriously going to try and make me pay for this?

Rayne: You're the one who kicked in the door! Ergo, you are responsible for any damage caused.

Shakur: And you didn't get enough payback during that fight?

Rayne: This has nothing to do with the fight. You kicked in my door and crashed my party. Anything I did during that fight was in an effort to defend myself.

Shakur: Hold on. Defend yourself? Motherfucker, you tried to run me over with a goddamn tank. Where in the book of self-defense is that?

Rayne: You sent me through the bottom of a plane, threw me off a building during rush hour, and tried to hang me from the tailpipe of a car.

Shakur: You tried to have me drawn and quartered and when that didn't work you slammed a fucking barbed wire bat into my balls.

Rayne: You no sold it.

Shakur: I've been coughing up blood for the last 40 hours.

Rayne: After the fact doesn't count. You still no sold that shit.

Shakur: I had a surge of adrenaline because you tried to throw me into the fucking Blue Oyster Bar not a minute earlier!

We'll give you a minute to look that up.

Done? OK.

Shakur: And besides, YOU TRIED TO RUN ME OVER WITH A TANK!

Rayne: Like anyone would have missed you. Well except all the disappointed patrons at Blue Oyster. You should consider that a favor, anyway. Hair like that, I'm sure you made all kinds of new friends there.

Shakur: ...

Rayne: Look, I was just trying to get you laid. I know it's been rough since Sunny up and left your ass. Well, I mean, I assume it has. I don't actually know because no woman has ever left me... but that's neither here nor there. You aren't putting any more ads in the casual encounters section on Craigslist, are you?

Shakur: We reconciled.

Rayne: No shit? Well who's the bitch in the relationship now? You know, I heard when it comes time to do the deed, you're the one who ends up wearing the geisha makeup and fishnets when... Actually, no. I'm going to stop myself right there before I say some shit that'll give me nightmares.

Shakur: If that's your first thought, I'm glad I never paid attention to the rumors about you.

Rayne: The rumors you and Parker started that night after I found you two cuddled up in that hotel room with two empty bottles of Ciroc?

Shakur: REGARDLESS, you tried to run me over with a fucking tank. That should make up for at least 70% of the damage.

Rayne: I'm not paying for 70% of that shit.

Shakur: Do you really want me to go and take that to court? Uh, yes your honor, I believe Shakur should have to pay for the damage because of self-defense. Oh, but I shouldn't mention that I went outside the realms of self-defense and straight into potential homicide by fetching a MOTHERFUCKING TANK.

Rayne: One more question about the Blue Oyster.

Shakur: Oh for fuck's sake.

Rayne: Do you get a discount on drinks because Daniels is a member?

Shakur: If I agree to pay 50% of the damage, will you stop with these asinine questions?

Rayne: Perhaps

Shakur: Fine, 50% it is. Make a copy of the bill and mail it to my attorney.

Rayne: Pleasure doing business with you.

Shakur goes to pick up his bag and head toward his locker room. But a hand clutches his wrist and then shoves him toward the wall. Shakur regains his balance quick, but finds that he's now stuck between the wall, those crates Tyler had been standing on, and Rayne himself who has closed off the only avenue of escape. Because let's be honest. We can't have the last verbal interaction between Tyler Rayne and Devin Shakur end with agreement, right?

Rayne: Oh, there is one more thing, Emo.

Shakur: Wonderful, another Tyler Rayne soliloquy spiel.

Rayne: We've known each other for a long ass fucking time now. Real long time. But when we leave this building tonight, there's a good chance we're never going to see one another again. And I'm almost saddened by that. End of a fucking era and all.

Shakur rolls his eyes.

Rayne: Do that again and I'll make sure they don't come back around. You've done some pretty fucked up repugnant shit to me in this place. Smashed me with ladders. Slammed me with doors. Cracked me with chairs. More than a concussion or two on account of you. And there was something else, too. What was it? Some... thing. Seemed like a big deal... Oh. Yeah. You broke my fucking legs and killed me. See, after that last fight I sorta thought I was over all that. Got it out of my system. But being back here... back in PRIME... all the nostalgia. The memories. Those I have left, anyway. Good thing we have helpful video packages for the parts where I blacked out. And the more than distraught re-telling of the tale from Uni on how she had to watch me die. Yeah. There's just something about being back here that makes me think I'm not over it after all.

Nick (OSV): Uh oh.

Rayne: Unfortunately for me, Killean wants you at a hundred percent. Tip top shape for when he beats the Kong shit out of you. No excuses and all that. And I'm obliged to grant his wish. Suppose it's selfish to think I'm the only one 'round here wants to see you bleed.

Shakur: You've already gone and told me that you aren't going to do anything now so go ahead and make your final threat.

Rayne: Lotta people on this roster wanna see you bleed. Shit you've done. People you've hurt. Screwed over. Gods damn, kid, I think just about everyone has been given at least one reason to hate you just a little. Guess that's what happens with a madman in charge. For most of them, tonight's their last chance to get revenge. And as there will be no PRIME after this, I'm thinking none of them are too worried about repercussions. So way I figure it, ain't shit I gotta do, anyway. This whole damn company is lining up for a chance to smack, bite, and claw your shifty little sleaze ass. And I'm gonna let 'em. I'm gonna watch 'em. And I'm really, really gonna enjoy it.

Tyler takes a step closer, though there's not much space at all to step. His boot falls lightly over Shakur's well-polished shoe. Shakur tries to step back and create some distance, but his foot goes nowhere under Rayne's boot. Shakur stumbles and reaches out to the crates for support, which of course topple over and send him falling to the ground. Tyler stares down at Shakur for just a moment. The hardened gaze plants the Man in Black in place. He stares back. Undeterred. Unafraid. But at this particular moment, Tyler Rayne does have the advantage. Best to wait for a more opportune moment to push him. So Shakur remains on the floor. And Tyler crouches down, bringing himself closer to Devin, his voice a firm and quiet threat.

Rayne: But when it's over... when all those other people come 'round and take turns reminding you what a twat you've been... when all those people you've dicked over come back to beat the piss out of you... when you're left broken and crawling across the ground like that fucking biker gang you hired left me... that's when I'll find you. When everyone else is gone and you think the worst of it is over. When you think you've taken all that PRIME could throw at you and you're still breathing... I'll be there. I will take advantage of the fact that you are weak. Vulnerable. Helpless. I will find you... on the ground... just like this... and you will wish to whatever fucking god you worship that you'd never fucking heard the name of Tyler Rayne.

Rayne walks away, toward the locker rooms, while Shakur is left to pick himself up, grab his bags and head in the opposite direction.

This Will Still Only Be Funny To Five People

Tony Reali walks into a production truck and greets everybody GoodFellas style, handing and taking money when necessary. He walks over, hands a sound guy $20 and sits down in his chair.

"Ergonomics. I like it. They spare no expense in the land of PRIME. Is this the Tempur-Pedic TP 9000? I needed this."

He leans into the microphone that reaches all the speakers in the backstage area.

"Devin Shakur is about to attempt the unthinkable - A successful BACK TO BACK. Can he do it? Let's go find out while I sit here and sing a song: HOO HAA HEE HEE HAA."

With Tyler Rayne finally out of the picture, Shakur can at least make his way to the dressing room to catch a few moments before having to come out for his scheduled interview.

He clutches the handle on his rolling bag and wheels all the way to the door. He opens it and steps into his lap of luxury with the finest furniture, television, and decoration money could by.

Awaiting him inside are three people familiar to the ESPN audience – Bomani Jones, Dan LeBatard, and his father Gonzalo, better known as Papi.

Here is a picture of the trio.



Bomani is the black one. The man in the middle is Papi and the guy on the right is the most popular substitute in PTI history, Dan LeBatard.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Thanks Reali.

"Anytime."

Bomani is sporting a replica PRIME Universal Championship and his PANKY RANG. Dan is checking his phone while Papi is crotch chopping the air.

Can you imagine that portly gentleman doing crotch chops? Well here's a video.



Bomani stands up and exchanges dap with Shakur.

Bomani: That was intense, man. I thought I was gonna have to send Dan out there to break it up.

Shakur: Nothing I'm incapable of handling. How you enjoying yourself?

Bomani: These some sweet digs man. I thought everybody hated you so how'd you manage to swing this?

Shakur: Contract language. Believe me, the powers that be wanted to give me the cruddiest accommodations possible, but they don't want to deal with a breach so they gave in but said I had to buy my own swag.

Bomani: Gotcha. I need some grub, where's the eats at?

Shakur: I'll take you there. Let me just drop this off right quick and we'll go.

He swings his suitcase around and unzips it, filing a few things inside and taking out a few hangers with his black Armani ring attire.

Dan glances up from his phone and is confounded.

Dan: Your ring gear is the exact same stuff you have on now.

Shakur looks over at Bomani and shakes his head.

Shakur: Papi, you having fun?

Papi: Si, si, I saw Roxee Pheenix and Katarena Wild earlier. Oh, you never know what they gonna do next.

He delivers a few more crotch chops, earning a WTF stare from Bomani while Dan hides his face in embarrassment.

Dan: Dad, no!

Papi: Wha, wha's wrong? We're on PPV.

Dan: Yeah, but... you can get away with that on ESPN, not here. These are real athletes who aren't afraid to show you how they feel.

Papi: I'll be glad to let Roxee feel me. HAHAHA!

Shakur covers his mouth with his hand, stifling his laughing fit as best he can. Papi motions for the cameraman to come over.

Dan: Oh, no.

Papi: Hey Roxee, I give you my hotel room key and then rise like the Phoenix for you.

Dan puts his head down on the table in disgust while Papi mugs for the camera.

Shakur: Come on guys, let's get down there before they take all the good entrees.

Meanwhile a few halls down heading in the same direction...

"Are you sure you aren't a reverend? I know I need to go to church more, but this isn't the way to go about it."

The unmistakable voice of Tony Gamble.

"No, no, that's just a nickname."

The easily mistaken voice of another ESPN stalwart, Bill Plaschke*



*Image may or may not actually be Plaschke.

Walking at Gamble's other side is the greatest man in the history of the world, Woody Paige.



Paige: I like the way you think, Gamble. You are open to suggestions. The last time I was here, I got stonewalled by Lindsay Troy when I tried making modifications to her schedule.

Gamble: I'm just a laid back G, makin' my own rules.

It doesn't take long for Shakur's entourage to catch up and meet Gamble's near the promotional green screen. All of the ESPN guys exchange salutations and greetings while Shakur and Gamble glance at one another.

Gamble: Sup playa?

Shakur: Sup?

They exchange dap. Shakur then glances at Gamble's entourage and -

Shakur: OHMYGODITSBILLYJOEL!

- Proceeds to lose his fucking shit.

Production comes to a halt as everybody looks at fanboy Devin Shakur.

Plaschke: No, no, I get that all the time. I'm Bill Pla-

Shakur: Dude, you have no idea how big a fan I am.

Plaschke: I'm not -

Woody: Ah come on, Billy, don't spoil it for him yet.

Shakur: I've seen you at Madison Square Garden five times, man.

Plaschke: Stop egging him on. I'm not Billy Joel. I'm Bill Plaschke from ESPN's Around the Horn and the Los Angeles Times.

Just as fast as Shakur slipped into fanboy, he slips out and points at Plaschke.

Shakur: So that's not Billy Joel?

Bomani shakes his head.

Shakur turns his head and looks at Plaschke.

Shakur: So you didn't go uptown ridin in your limousine?

Plaschke: No!

Shakur: And you aren't wearing fine Park Avenue clothes?

Gamble knows his BFF all too well and aptly steps out of the scene.

Plaschke: No, what are you talking about?

Shakur: No Dom Perignon in your hand and a spoon up your nose?

Plaschke: Why would I have a spoon up my nose? This is ridiculous.

Shakur: HIYAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

He absolutely MURDERDEATHKILLS Plaschke with a right cross.

Dan is shocked. Woody can't believe what he just saw. Bomani is laughing his ass off.

Papi is getting Angelica Brooks' phone number. Be jealous, Tyler Rayne.

Shakur: Because you had to be a big shot, didn't cha. You had to open up your mouth.

And a boot to the head.

Shakur: Well, you will wake up with your head on fire and eyes too bloody to see.

He takes a stagehand's cup of coffee and pours it on Plaschke. You can figure out the next lyric.

Shakur: YOU DO NOT FUCK WITH MY BILLY JOEL FANDOM!

Papi walks back over to the group, ignoring the unconscious Plaschke.

Bomani: How'd your flirting go?

Papi: Got the digits.

Dan: Mom is not gonna like that.

ALL OF A SUDDEN

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

*THWACK*

Someone just came flying from behind the green screen and smashed a garbage can lid over Shakur's head.

Who you ask?

Jay Mariotti.

We told you in the title. Go back and read UltraViolence 2008.

Shakur turns around, no selling like a champ, and points at Mariotti.

Mariotti: DEVIN. Hey buddy it's good to see you.

He looks at the dented lid.

Mariotti: Oh, that? I... I didn't mean.

Shakur: I'm gonna git you sucka.

Mariotti shows his athletic prowess by running ten steps before tripping over himself. Woody is overcome with joy.

Woody: This is gonna be just like old times.

Bomani: Beat em down?

Shakur: Oh yeah.

Bomani: BEAT EM DOWN!

Shakur: Dan, watch the hall, your line won't be coming for a good long while.

Mariotti continues crawling while Shakur, Bomani, and Woody catch up in five steps and hover over him. Bomani does an Ali shuffle while Woody limbers up. Shakur steps on Mariotti's left hand and then his right to a rousing ovation.

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Shakur jacks Mariotti up and allows Bomani to deliver an exquisite karate chop to his neck. Mariotti slumps, but Shakur isn't letting him off that easy. He keeps him up and slams him into the wall. He follows in with a brutal knife edge chop. Mariotti jumps in place while Bomani motions for Papi to come and get him some.

Reali chimes in over the loud speaker.

"Don't finish him off yet, I gotta get some of this for the YouTube channel!"

Papi makes the Earth shake with his epic splash and Mariotti is flat as a pancake and stiff as a board. He falls to the floor. Papi stands over him delivering more crotch chops.

Woody grabs hold of Mariotti's right leg, turns him over and begins applying the figure four when Dan walks into the shot.

Dan: LT is coming.

Shakur's face looks like a kid who just found out Santa Clause isn't real.

Shakur: Seriously? FUCK! I don't want to deal with the other half. Bomani, we gotta check out.

Bomani: Why I gotta go?

Shakur: She doesn't like you either.

Bomani: Why she don't like me?

Shakur: It's better if you just take my word for it.

Bomani: You paying for my food then.

Putting some pep in their steps, Shakur and Bomani make it off screen and toward catering just as Lindsay Troy makes her arrival on the scene.

"RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

From the other side of the camera, Anthony Joseph and the Technicolor Dreamcoat Reali -

BA DA BUM.

- Walks into shot at the same time with his Mute button. He flips it over to Troy, who catches it. Woody cinches in the Figure Four. Papi continues crotch chopping while Dan shakes his head and hopes the heads of ESPN aren't watching. Troy leans down and cracks a smile at seeing Mariotti with tears rolling down his face.

Mariotti: Not again! Why does this happen every time I come here?

Troy: Probably because you're persona non grata around these parts now.

Mariotti: I'm just a humble reporter from LA via Chicago looking to -

She drops the Hammer of MUTE on him.

Woody: You should have LOOKED AT THE SCHEDULE, MARIOTTI! We all knew it was gonna happen.

Papi: WHERE'S YOUR MICHAEL JEFFREY JORDAN NOW? HAHA!

Crotch chops ahoy.

Troy puts boots to Mariotti while Reali holds out his phone and gets a snapshot of the festivities.

Reali: New background.

Troy: Think we can get some points over here?

Never one to forget his joystick, Reali reaches into his pocket and pulls it out, hovering over Mariotti.

Reali: Feel the burn and deja vu Mariotti! This never fails to put me in a great mood.

[SFX: Ba-boop, ba-boop, ba-boop]

Reali: This is definitely an Around the Horn record for most points in 60 seconds.

[SFX: Ba-boop, ba-boop, ba-boop, ba-boop, ba-boop, ba-boop, ba-boop, ba-boop, ba-boop OVERLOAD!]

Mariotti is on the verge of passing out.

Troy: Alright, that's enough.

Woody looks up and gives his "I know what's best" face.

Woody: It's never enough.

No longer able to stand the pain, Mariotti's eyes roll back in his head and he passes out. Woody keeps it on a few seconds longer before releasing him and standing up. He brushes the dust off his clothes and grins.

Troy: Great catching up, Woody.

They shake hands.

Troy: Always a pleasure, Reali.

Another handshake.

She gives a nod to Papi and Dan before exiting the shot and heading off down the hall.

Dan waves Shakur and Bomani back in from the vending machines. Shakur walks over with a Cherry Coke while Bomani has a Sprite, two cafeteria workers walk behind with their dinner. They walk over and look down at Mariotti.

Bomani: Boy got tore up.

Shakur rolls Mariotti onto his stomach and reaches into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet which is full of 100s. He takes them out and waves them on his face like a fan.

Shakur: Hard work right there. Alright, everybody gets a cut. We end this Ocean's Eleven style, all go our separate ways.

He hands out the money evenly to Bomani, Reali, Woody, and Papi. Each take a long look at Mariotti before heading back to the locker room. Shakur waves Dan over and hands him his cut before joining his entourage.

Dan takes one look at the fallen Marriotti and, with all the grace he's exhibited so many times before, whips out the double gangsta finger guns.

Dan: BAM!

An Awkward Understanding

This certainly wasn't the anticipated course of events the Sofia Spitfire had predicted for the night. She was hoping to be on the delivering end of battering and bruising. The desired location was also to have been inside of a ring with the gorgeous Katterina Wylde at her side. Roxy Phoenix hadn't even stepped a few feet within the arena before wiping out gracefully in the hallway. The only thing battered was her ankle after the heel on her Michael Kors' boots cracked in half, with a just as equally bruised ego. Of course, she doesn't need to regale the tale again with the young Asian girl filing her nails; the entire world saw it live for their disgusting enjoyment.

Sighing, Roxy casts a look to the left ankle propped up on two pillows with a giant mountain of bagged ice atop it. The large bottle of Absolut at her right hand side has served as an excellent pain killer, but she doubts that will cure the embarrassment of having to cancel a match.

A knock at the door pulls her focus from the stabbing pain at her foot. The last thing she needs is that piece of shit Matt Mills barging in and asking her how she "felt" about face planting, or someone's opinions on her canceling the match due to injury. He and everyone else could just about kiss her debilitated ass.

Unfortunately, the visitor did not take her lack of a response as an answer. The door swings open, causing Roxy to scowl.

Roxy Phoenix: Fucking Christ...

Lindsay Troy is probably the second-to-last person in PRIME that Roxy wants to see, but nonetheless the Queen is in her presence. Troy regards her with a smirk as she strides into the room. The nail tech looks over at the new arrival with a sideways glance but says nothing, continuing on about her business.

Lindsay Troy: You keep glaring at me and your face is gonna freeze like that.

Roxy raises an eyebrow with an uncomfortable smirk. A sting burns at the joints in her ankle - no doubt she's torn something, but she disguises her wincing with a cool, slow lick of her cherry red lips.

Roxy Phoenix: Don't you have some admin bullshit to take care of? I'm sure there's some Make-A-Wish kid trolling about the halls without a chaperone in hopes for Hessian's autograph.

Lindsay Troy: I know I used to call Lisa Tyler my "Mini-Me" and all, but it's sort of adorable that you're the only one who still mixes the two of us up. What a talent you have.

She notices a folding chair in the corner.

Lindsay Troy: Mind if I sit? (beat) Don't get up, I've got it.

Troy walks over, grabs the chair and walks back toward the couch. She unfolds it and plops down on its seat.

Well, shit. Roxy gnaws on her bottom lip, cursing the fact that she didn't locked the door. She surveys the progress of the nail technician, who was nowhere near applying the first coat of polish on her fingers.

An unfinished manicure and only one working foot... stuck in the spot on that nice comfy black couch for as long as Lindsay Troy cares to prattle on about whatever half-wit nonsense she's willing to tout that day. Roxy already has a throbbing pain in her ankle and she doesn't need a pain in her ass to boot.

Roxy Phoenix: Funny, I don't recall inviting you in... or to stay, or even asking you to come by. What are you doing here?

Lindsay Troy: Why don't you tell me? I got this "Match Canceled. Fuck off." text message from an unknown number, which I was going to ignore until Tyler pointed out that it was from you. Then I got to wonderin' why you'd even bother sending it in the first place. Must be a reason, since you went to the trouble to get my number from someone. I'm going to guess it was Katt.

Roxy scoffs with a roll of her eyes that land on her purse, hoping for a nice cigarette to float into her mouth. But as it doesn't happen and she isn't about to beg her Highness to get one for her, she sighs in frustration.

Roxy Phoenix: Quite right, for once. Why would I text you? Why would I care? I wouldn't. Obviously a prank, now get the hell out.

Lindsay Troy: God, you're so good at deflecting everything and everyone away, it's a wonder why anyone even bothers with y-

Troy stops herself short of finishing that sentence, as the proverbial light bulb goes off above her head.

Lindsay Troy: Katt. Katt sent that text, not you.

Roxy frowns at that comment, nearly insulted that she would insinuate that Katterina Wylde would subject the Bulgarian Bombshell to Lindsay Troy's nagging.

Roxy Phoenix: The fuck Katt would do that... she...

For a moment, Phoenix pauses, staring at the nails soaking in the cold white bowl filled with water. Katt couldn't... she wouldn't... would she? Son of a bitch.

Roxy Phoenix: Well, then. No need to indulge whatever fantasy she and Ty have cooked up... Now that the caper's been solved, get the fuck out.

Lindsay Troy: (laughs) You think Tyler cares whether or not you and I can have a civil conversation?

At the thought of that, Roxy chuckles as well. The "fantasy" to which she had imagined Ty and Katt's involvement had very little to do with talking.

Roxy Phoenix: Hm, no, I can't imagine he would, or that we should either...

She curses under her breath again. The stress of the situation and the nagging pain in her ankle calls out for a nicotine fix.

Roxy Phoenix: (mumbling) Fucking cigarette... fucking ankle... fucking shoes.

Lindsay looks at Roxy, really looks at her, and notices both the discomfort from her foot injury and the awkwardness of this conversation painted across her face, best as the Sofia Spitfire is trying to hide it. There's been a breach of trust on Katt's part, and Roxy is clearly out of her comfort zone with her here - especially since she can't run from the confrontation.

The Queen stands up and, without a word, crosses the room and retrieves a black Fendi purse from the top of a small vanity. She walks back toward Roxy and holds it out for her to take. When Roxy doesn't move, she places it on her stomach before sitting back down and crossing her right leg over her left.

Confused by Troy extending an olive branch, Roxy raises a brow inquisitively. As she removes her right hand from the water bowl, she watches Troy intently... not sure what to make of what just happened.

Roxy slips the damp hand into her bag to retrieve a cigarette from the pack. She sandwiches it between her lips and lights the end. Almost orgasmic, she exhales softly and billows a smooth flow of smoke out of her lips.

Roxy Phoenix: Oh, fuck.

The Queen would have to accept that as gratitude. Complete and total appreciation, because the Sofia Spitfire would never utter the words, "thank you." Not to her, not to anyone.

Lindsay Troy: Anyway, not that you give a damn about anything I have to say, but you probably shouldn't be too pissed at Katt for meddling. It's pretty obvious she cares, even if her methods are a little sneaky.

Roxy narrows her eyes and sighs, not wanting to reflect on Katt's underhanded though well-meant intervention. Her intentions and their motivations were still to be weighed.

Where Roxy would normally exit the room or stomp off to the door and wave the beloved Queen of the Ring out of the room with a nice middle finger, she is still stuck. Thankfully with her booze and cigarettes, but stuck nonetheless.

Roxy slides her hand to her side to grab the bottle of Absolut Raspberry and cock back a shot or two. She winces as the delicious cocktail burns its way down her throat.

Roxy Phoenix: Oh, God.

She releases another drag on her cigarette with a wicked grin.

Roxy Phoenix: I don't really care, ya know... 'bout fucking him... or 'bout who or what he fucks. I just enjoy pissing him off. Ty makes it too easy.

Troy folds her hands and places them on top of her knee. She watches the smoke trail upwards from Roxy's cigarette and thinks for a moment about her response.

Lindsay Troy: I never cared that the two of you were a thing once. I'm not that girl who has a complex about her man's exes, and I know there's nothing there between you two now. I don't tell Tyler who he can and can't be friends with, same as he doesn't tell me whose company I should or shouldn't keep. I put up with your antics because I know he and Katt care about their friends, and without them you'd probably be half-dead in a ditch somewhere. I don't have to like you to understand that, or to know that Tyler is stubbornly, sometimes irritatingly, loyal.

Shaking her head, Roxy takes another drag off her cigarette and scoffs at that comment. Ty was stubborn alright, just as damn hard-headed as she and Katt too... which was probably why they were so damn inseparable. Irritating the piss out of one another one minute and closing down bars with drunken bliss the next.

Observing that the nail technician was nearing completion on the manicure, she began massaging Roxy's hands.

Roxy Phoenix: So, uh... get what you came for or whatever?

Troy shrugs.

Lindsay Troy: Don't know. But you didn't give me a migraine so I guess I can put a check mark in the "Win" column.

Roxy licks her lips with an awkward chuckle.

Roxy Phoenix: Wish I could say the cigarette is easing the searing pain in my ass... but I'll manage.

Her glance travels to the hands resting on Lindsay Troy's lap. They were clearly in need of some desperate attention. She found it impossible to restrain the disgusted grimace plastered on her face.

Roxy Phoenix: Christ, Troy, have Mai take a peek at... that mess. Your nails look like shit.

Troy stands up and smirks at Roxy's attempt to return things to normal.

Lindsay Troy: And jack up the polish while I'm punching Matt's face in? I think not.

She turns toward the door and walks out into the hall.

Roxy shakes her head with an equally self-satisfying smirk. So they now knew where they stood, and where they would stand in the future. As awkward as that interaction was, it was inevitable. The Sofia Spitfire was furious to have been blindsided by Katt's meddling, but she would likely get off with a light spanking.

Another sting shot up Roxy's leg, and she turned her attention to the swollen ankle. Well, while the nail technician was there, there was no reason why her feet couldn't look damn fantastic once healed.

My Way

Matt Mills stands in front of a blue backdrop with a PRIME logo hanging over his head.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, Devin Shakur."

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Shakur walks into the shot and holds out his hand for the microphone. Mills looks down at it, then over at his cameraman.

Shakur: Give it. I won't ask again.

Silently mouthing "whatever", he obliges Shakur and walks out of frame. Shakur gets himself front and center and straightens out his nonexistent tie.

Shakur: Over five years ago in the Georgia Dome, I sat against a wall in a corridor and spewed what many believed was a bunch of nonsense. I said I was a cancer to this federation. I said all it would take was one superstar to believe I'm full of hot air and I would spread, seep deep into the roots of this federation and mangle them something sadistic. So at this time I would like all of you to give a rousing ovation for Pierce Lavelle, because he took me up on my challenge and fed me the necessary belief to keep going.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Shakur: You boo me because of what I've accomplished. I don't have multiple Universal titles. I wasn't a tag team champion. I don't have a 5*Championship on my mantle. No, you feel my accomplishments in your bones. You hate me because for close to six years, I never tried to kiss your ass. I never went and left everything I had in that squared circle for you. I never teased you like Matt Ward. I never rallied troops like Lindsay Troy. I never changed my stripes like Killean Sirrajin or Chandler Tsonda. I am the same person today that I was when I walked in the door just with a hell of a lot more infamy attached to my name. I did it my way, the only way I knew how.

"SHAKUR SUCKS!" [CLAP, CLAP, CLAPCLAPCLAP]
"SHAKUR SUCKS!" [CLAP, CLAP, CLAPCLAPCLAP]
"SHAKUR SUCKS!" [CLAP, CLAP, CLAPCLAPCLAP]

Shakur: Did denouncing me inferior ever do anything? Did it slow me down? Did it change my course? Did it save your favorite superstar from incurring my wrath? No. I speak with finality because regardless of what happens out there, you can't change my legacy. You can't change the fact that every single Mother. Fucking. Time I've come across someone, I've put them down one way or another and it pains you to no end. So for the last time ever... Go ahead and cheer that. This is the last interview I'm ever going to give. The last time you will ever hear my voice.

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Shakur: Bunch of goddamn sheep. Since I've gone full Bulworth over the last few shows, I know everybody is dying to know how I feel about the production "PRIME" has put on this evening and I'm more than willing to tell you.

He twirls the microphone around in his fingers and mean mugs for the camera.

Shakur: On the LAST. SHOW. EVER. "PRIME" pulled out all the stops didn't they?

Eyeroll

Shakur: Numero uno, the Universal Champion isn't defending his Championship. He's in the middle of the card fighting on a fucking boat. Add onto that your 5*Star Champion ISN'T. EVEN. WRESTLING. You didn't even bother to declare a final Intense Champion. You want to know what our card has? Tony Davis vs. High Flyer.

Confused face

Shakur: Who the fuck are either of these people in the grand scheme of PRIME? Sure, they are worthy of being on a "PRIME" card, but this is fucking Colossus VIII. This card should be littered with champions past and present coming back to pay homage to the organization that made their careers. But instead, you've got Chandler Tsonda vs Tyler Nelson and Wade Elliott vs Tyler Rayne as your co-Main events... Fuck.

He runs a hand through his hair.

Shakur: You know where those part timers ought to be? Jerking the fucking curtain. Where is Karina Wolfenden, Brandon Youngblood, Jason Snow, Nova, Garbage Bag Johnny, Violence Jack, Tony Gamble, Boda, Tony Rolo, Sun Tzu, Sonny Silver, Vangelus Olsig, Wolves of Slaughter, Michael Sloan, fucking Desade, The Illustrious Face Eater, Danny Ferguson and everybody else? Not piling up the card to make it one of the best goddamn shows ever, that's for sure.

Richard (OSV): Dude is annihilating this card.

Nick (OSV): It pains me to say but he's not totally talking nonsense - even though we did see the Princes of New England return to take on Flyer and Davis.

Richard (OSV): Let the man continue!

Nick (OSV): Just saying. Dude should check what's going on around him.

Shakur: You might disagree with my position as a human being, but you can bet your ass I would have gone to hell and back to have this event suited to the nines. I would have put whatever amount of money in front of them necessary to get a card worthy of PRIME's conclusion. Instead, you get this. Oh, and to top it off. Your Main Event... Lindsay Troy vs. Matt Ward.

He thumps the microphone off his head.

Shakur: I would like to thank Killean and his ragtag entourage of executives for proving my point of wrestlers never been businessmen. It should always be the other way around because with that loyalist hanging around, no titles are being defended, only one champion is even competing, you don't show any respect to the tag team division, and he stocked his friends at the top of the card.

A thumbs up.

Shakur: Now that I've gotten the other "Colossus" matches out of the way, let me get to the elephant in the room this evening. I'm walking into a match with a belt whore owner, and a second rate never was who is hoping to steal one against a legend in myself. I've got my ear to the streets. I'm not walking into this match naive enough to believe there's not a 100% chance I'm going to be shafted in some capacity.

A deep breath.

Shakur: It has been playing in my mind ever since Killean jacked me up in the parking lot and said I would have to face him. It might not be direct. I don't expect him to put me in a Sharpshooter and order the referee to ring the bell. I sure as hell expect him to have the referee in his back pocket. I sure as hell expect him to restart the match if I end up doing something he doesn't like. I expect Killean Sirrajin to be standing tall once this night is over because he won't let me leave otherwise. He's got to have his way. The "good guy" has to triumph over adversity and stand tall against his villainous adversary.

He cracks the knuckles on his right hand with his thumb.

Shakur: So let me go ahead and put this out there right now �" There's something we wrestlers refer to behind the curtain as a code. It's a book of ethics we agree to adhere to in the squared circle. We agree not to harm one another because of the understanding everybody has a family to feed and bills to pay.

A tilt of his head.

Shakur: Well in case anybody doesn't fully recognize, I built my infamy on abolishing that motherfucker and tonight isn't going to be any different.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Shakur: The fuck do you expect? I'm an animal in a cage, held against my will. I don't expect Killean or Nitz to play nice so why the fuck should I? To give you people what they want? I've already got everybody in the locker room wanting a piece of my ass. It's not going to make a difference with them. I'm the biggest pariah in PRIME history. That will not change.

He takes a few steps forward so that he's less than a foot from the camera.

Shakur: I know I'm going to hell tonight but if you expect me to go alone, you are sorely mistaken. That's not how Devin Shakur is going to be remembered. That's not my way.

He drops the microphone.

Give 'em Hell

The scene opens outside the arena of Soldier Field, out in the crisp, cool air of Chicago. Leaning against the high concrete walls of the arena is a somewhat out-of-place character, a pair of heavy boots and old jeans, one leg planted against the wall and the other posting up on the sidewalk. Steam rises from a paper cup held in a large, calloused hand. Behind him, the chaos, excitement and energy of Colossus VIII.

Wade Elliott needed a minute away.

He looks down into his cup with his steely blues before lifting it to his mouth, taking a slow sip. After, he tilts his head back, resting it against the wall and closing his eyes, breathing in steadily through his nose.

Though a familiar bark forces him to smile.

The crowd cheers loudly in the background as Angus, the Bluetick Hound emerges from a green side-door. The pup lopes his way over to the Blue Collar Brawler, who lowers himself to his haunches and starts scratching the animal behind his ears with his free hand, careful not to spill his coffee.

Wade: Was lookin' fer a moment alone, but fer you I'll have t'make an exception.

"Hate to say it, but you'll have to make two exceptions."

Lindsay Troy wedges a block of wood into the door hinge to keep it propped open, then walks over to Wade and Angus. Her sneakers tap against the pavement as makes her way over to the Blue Collar Brawler.

Lindsay Troy: No bourbon in that, right? Figure I should ask, for old time's sake.

Wade: Naw, just the ol' black gold.

Elliott gives Angus one last pat on the side before standing, smiling at The Queen.

Wade: Though a shot sounds pretty good, getting' a little nervous.

Troy: Hm. How about you save that for after it's all said and done. I'll even buy it for you.

Wade: No need t'git all concerned, Lindsay. Those days are in the rear-view.

The Queen doesn't reply. Instead, she casts her eyes away from Wade and down to Angus. The Bluetick, perhaps sensing that his former master and his new master really do need a moment alone, darts away toward a patch of grass.

Troy: Speaking of me getting all concerned, I need to ask something of you.

Wade: Hell, took four shows just t'git ya to talk t'me. Watcha need?

She laughs, faintly, just a little, and lifts her eyes to meet his.

Troy: I know what tonight means to everyone, and I know the kinds of fighters everyone is and how we all tend to operate once we lace up the boots and get in the ring. This isn't easy for me to say, but I need to say it anyway.

Troy takes a deep breath, then exhales.

Troy: I need you and Tyler to not put one another in the hospital tonight. I know the atmosphere and the feelings are different this time around, and neither of you are out for blood. But you and I have patched things up, and he and I -- I need him to walk out of here in one piece. I need both of you to walk out of here in one piece. OK?

Wade exhales through his nose, relaxing his body candidly to the concerned Lindsay Troy.

Wade: Lindsay, you know better'n me that an awful lot can go unaccounted for in that ring. Ya never know if yer gonna walk up that ramp with yer fist in the air or git carried out on a stretcher...

The Queen's eyes remain locked and stern. Not even Wade's piercing blues can put up much of a fight.

Wade: ...but I'll try my damndest. Hessian fed me more'n my fair share've blood at 250. Me an' Rayne'll put it all out there t'night, but far as I'm concerned, it'll just be Wade Elliott, Tyler Rayne, an' a ring.

Troy: I know what can go down. I do. And I'm not suggesting that either of you give any less than everything you've got. All of us have changed, and with that change means I'm much more protective of people. I know you get it. It just needed to be said.

Wade: Understood, but the same goes fer you too. I've got a feelin' the adrenaline'll be flowin' heavy in PRIME's last ever main event, an' you got more on yer plate than ya ever did before, so you make sure yer walkin' up that ramp to come buy me that drink.

Troy: (smiling) I think I'll manage to get out of the main event on my own two feet. Matt, though...two bum knees, a bum ankle, and a war with Killean? I wouldn't put money in it.

Wade: Well, nothin' 'gainst Ward, but I'd rather see him leave that ring on a stretcher than the other way 'round.

The two share a candid smile and Angus displays good timing, seeing a chance to trot back over to The Queen and The Bad Dog. Elliott finishes his coffee, reaching and tossing it into a nearby trashcan.

Wade: I'd better start gittin' ready. If I don't see ya before, give 'em hell t'night.

Troy: Always do.

Wade: Don't I know it.

We Have Lift-Off

Nick: Well folks the next match promises to be something else and I'm getting word from the back Richard that it's time for us to make our way over to the super yacht anchored out on Lake Michigan!

Richard: Hell yeah!!

Nick: As Hessian said earlier the helicopter is waiting for us out in the parking lot so if you'll excuse us it's time we got a move on.

The commentators proceed to gather up their notes and other essentials, leaving their seats and hurrying excitedly past the ring to meet the runner waiting for them at the foot of the ramp. He ushers them down the channel beside the stage and past tech cabinets and tables set up with various laptops and control boxes as the crowd cheers. Disappearing out of sight of the Soldier Field crowd they make their way past more staff and a few lingering PRIMEates in the closed off section of the field before heading down a sloping corridor into the bowels of the arena where they smile and wave at yet more fans milling around buying snacks and merchandise at the numerous stalls set out.

The runner directs them towards the front of the building and out into the parking lot where directly in front of them parked in the middle of a taped off area away from cars and bodies sits a shiny new black Jet Ranger with the pilot already in position ready to take off.

Richard: Aw sweet...

Nick: How in the hell did he pull all this off?

Richard: Do you really care?

Thanking the runner, the pair hop inside and take a seat opposite one another as the pilot shifts around in his seat.

Pilot: Strap yourselves in guys and pop on a pair of headphones and we'll be on board in a few minutes.

The rotor blades begin to turn as he fires the engine up while Nick and Richard oblige his instructions.

Nick: Y'know I looked into the set-up Hess has out there and if my calculations are right then just for tonight it's costing PRIME a hefty six figure sum to put this show on.

Richard: Interesting. Well y'know I actually asked him about it personally and you'll be pleased to know the company only signed off on the materials and staff to build the ring on the boat.

Nick: So how did he afford the actual yacht?

Richard: Hey you're supposed to be lead commentator, find out for yourself...

The bird lolls gently back and forth as they lift off, rising a few hundred yards higher than the height of the arena before straightening out and shooting off across the water.

Richard: Dun dun! Dun-dun dun! DUN-DUN-DUN! DUN DUN DUN DUUUUUUN!

Nick: It's not Jurassic Park, Richard..

Richard: But he's spared no expense!

Following the undulating shadow of the helicopter as it passes over the dock filled with moored boats and onto the open water, Nick and Richard gaze out at the view as they leave Chicago behind and, much to Richard's disappointment, those few minutes the pilot promised disappear in what feels like moments as the floating palace grows larger beyond the windshield.

Nick: My God look at it.

Richard: That's some serious money right there Nick...

Nick: Yeah and I bet our yearly salary combined wouldn't get us a three-hour fishing trip on the thing.

Richard: Pfft...your salary maybe.

The pilot brings the Jet Ranger down to about 100 feet and circles the super yacht giving the commentators a chance to take in the layout of the ring and the scaffolding as well as wave back at the 250 fans waving frantically at them from their seats all around the deck and on both balcony levels. Dropping a little lower, the helicopter banks towards the bow where the helipad is located and after the smoothest of descents the pilot cuts the engine and flicks a number of switches while speaking into his headset mic.

Pilot: Okay guys you're good to go, I'll be waiting here when you're finished.

Nick & Richard: Thanks.

Hopping out of the bird the pair hurry down stairs onto the deck where another runner is waiting for them and together they make their way down the starboard side towards the rear of the yacht where upon arrival they find their table waiting for them along with a rousing applause from the fans on board. Several cameramen stand in position around the ring and as soon as they've taken their seats one of the operators saunters over to them and hoists his camera up, giving a thumbs up.

Nick: And we're back folks! We're going to pause for a moment and when we return it'll be time to find out who has accepted Hessian's open challenge to face him in the spider net match!

Hessian vs. ???

Vince Howard (in-ring at Soldier Field): LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! The following non-title bout is scheduled for ONE FALL and is a SPIDER NET MATCH!! Introducing first...hailing from Detroit, Michigan, weighing in at three-hundred and fifty-five pounds he is the last ever PRIME UNIVERSAL CHAMPION......THE MURDER SHOW.........HEEEEEEEESSSIIIIIIIAAAAAAAAAANNN!!!

"Kingdom of the Worm" hits the PA in both the arena and on the super yacht anchored out on Lake Michigan as the PRIME*View lights up with an image of the rear deck where the spider net is set up to show the giant making his way out to the ring, sauntering past Nick and Richard at their custom built commentary table and stopping at the ring to admire the web of barbed hell. Cheers rise up from all over Soldier Field as well as among the 250 fans on the boat as the giant pings one of the wires near the turnpost like a guitar string before heading around ringside towards the high scaffolding where he begins to make his ascent to the battlefield.

Nick: Amazing reception for Hessian as he makes his way up the scaffolding.

Richard: No messing about this year either, the big man's notorious for over-the-top entrances at Colossus but considering the setting for this match I think he can get away with a simple walk-on...although I hear prior to this there was talk of a very, very gory entrance plan for him.

Nick: You're right there Richard, but that would have entailed digging up Soldier Field to accommodate what he had in mind and that got a big no-no from the higher-ups. Looking out at this abomination however I think gore is pretty much guaranteed, entrance or no entrance.

Hessian reaches the top of the scaffolding and stands tall over the crowd, raising his arms and bellowing at the top of his voice. With a few stamps and a final check of the sturdiness of the scaffolding, Hessian gazes down at the deck, waiting and praying that someone answers his call. Otherwise all of this is for nothing.

Nick: And now we wait.

Richard: Wait? We're on a boat Nick, if Hessian's opponent is already here wouldn't we know it by now?

Nick: Either that or someone better scramble another helicopter quick-sharp.

Vince Howard: AND HIS OPPONENT........

The 250 in attendance wait in quiet trepidation, looking to the back door of the cabin immediately behind the commentators awaiting the arrival of Hessian's opponent. The seconds tick away as the Universal Champion paces back and forth at the edge of the scaffolding, staring at the same door when he isn't glancing down at the barbed wire net nearly thirty feet below and ten feet away from the scaffolding. At the half-minute mark the fans become antsy and it doesn't take long before the first chant rises up from the deck.

LET'S GO ANYONE LET'S GO!! LET'S GO ANYONE LET'S GO!! LET'S GO ANYONE LET'S GO!! LET'S GO ANYONE LET'S GO!! LET'S GO ANYONE LET'S GO!! LET'S GO ANYONE LET'S GO!!

Nick: The fans are desperate for this one to get under way here but there's still no signs of life from inside the yacht behind us.

Richard: How do we know they'll enter through that door? It's not like that's the official entrance or anything...

The giant places his hands on his hips and sighs, fearing the worst. Then all at once the fans stood on the upper balcony of the cabin begin to scream excitedly as the cameraman in their midst notices a pair of hands clinging to the scaffolding behind Hessian before a pair of evil, familiar eyes peek over the edge. Closing in on the face of the stalker, the entire crowd at Soldier Field erupt while the fans on deck remain unaware as the figure rises up behind Hessian, carefully and quietly.

Nick: HOLY CRAP!!

Richard: IT'S CHAINZ!!! CHAINZ IS HERE!!! HESSIAN YOU SON OF A BITCH, TURN AROUND!!!

Seeing Nick and Richard going crazy at their desk, it takes Hessian a moment too long to realize what's happened before a low, sinister pssst! from behind makes him spin on his heels to come face to face with none other than Michael Sloan who wastes no time charging at the giant and leaping at him with a ferocious snarl, lamping him with a massive Superman punch that causes the big man to careen backwards to the edge. Hessian pinwheels his arms in sheer panic, his eyes bugging out of his head in fright as Chainz rushes at him from a kneeling position. With pure malice in his cold, black heart, Sloan slams two open palms into Hessian's chest sending him flying head over heels off the scaffolding backwards to the horror of everyone watching.

Nick: This match is over before it's even begun!!

The giant tumbles through the air like a rag doll but in the awkward way that he drops he falls short of hitting the spider net at all and instead hits the hardwood of the deck with a sickening thump, his body bouncing limply once before flopping into a heap on the floor.

PRIME THAT SHIT!! PRIME THAT SHIT!! PRIME THAT SHIT!! PRIME THAT SHIT!! PRIME THAT SHIT!! PRIME THAT SHIT!! PRIME THAT SHIT!! PRIME THAT SHIT!!

Nick: Oh my GOD!! He's killed Hessian! That's nearly a thirty foot drop to the floor!!

Richard: That was incredible! We neither see or hear anything from Sloan since ReV Two-Forty-Five and he just rocks right up to Colossus and murders the Murder Show!! THAT is how you make an impact Nick!!

Nick: Referee Elvis Nixon is on board with us to officiate this match and he's rushed right over to the giant who isn't moving after that catastrophic beginning to the match! I don't know if Chainz meant to send Hessian to the floor or if he was aiming for the spider net but either way it's resulted in Hessian being left in a heap on the deck between the ring and the scaffolding!

Pulsating with adrenaline, Chainz stands atop the scaffolding breathing heavily, his chest heaving, staring a hole through the spot on the deck where lies the fallen giant. Then, as if to add insult to injury, back over in Soldier Field Vince Howard completes his intro duty...over the roar of the sold-out crowd.

Vince Howard: INTRODUCING HESSIAN'S OPPONENT...HE HAILS FROM HELL'S KITCHEN AND WEIGHS IN AT TWO-HUNDRED-NINETY-FIVE POUNDS...HE IS THE MONSTER...CCHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNZZZZZZ!!!!

Back on the super yacht the Monster licks his lips, and with a demented cackle drops to the floor and shimmies over the edge, climbing down the scaffolding and hopping off onto the floor next to Hessian who suddenly rouses from his dazed state, kicking wildly and clutching his winded torso as he tries to gulp in air. Standing over his opponent Chainz glances at Elvis Nixon who is busy with the giant and lashes out, knocking the referee back. He drives a boot into the gut of the big man forcibly freeing up his diaphragm and allowing the giant to get that first desperate breath.

Nick: Oh come on there's no need to treat Elvis like that! We need some damn help out here for Hessian!

Richard: There's no way Chainz is leaving it there Nick, not after that. There's no telling how badly Hess has effed himself up there but that my friend was only the beginning!

Chainz glares down at Hessian, yelling obscenities as the giant starts to stir. On all fours, Hessian lunges forward, lifting Chainz off the ground and driving him backward into the scaffolding wall. The two men collide hard as Hessian keeps his hold and Chainz pummels his back to no avail. Pressing himself into Chainz the giant launches the Monster across the ringside area with a huge Irish whip that serves only to create distance between them as Sloan comes to a halt before hitting anything or anyone. Dropping to a knee suddenly Hessian throws an arm behind his back and groans as the effects of the big fall catch up with him.

Nick: Hessian still showing the effects of that initial fall but Chainz isn't giving him the time of day!

The Monster charges back at the last-ever Universal Champion with a high knee in mind, but Hessian sees him coming and suddenly pops up, scooping Chainz up with him and executing a spinebuster...only for Chainz to hook his neck and counter the move into a massive DDT on the deck at the feet of the fans! Back on his feet Chainz gives the giant no time to rest, hauling him to his feet and grabbing him by the back of the head before guiding him past the ringside area and up the steps to Nick and Richard's commentary table where he slams Hessian's head down hard right in front of them.

Nick: Oh come on now! You've got a gigantic barbed wire net over there and you're kicking his ass over here?

Richard: Nick I think he knows how to pace a bloodbath like this, plus this isn't even our commentary table for the pay-per-view...it's expendable!!

As Chainz pulls Hessian back up by the beard for another shot, the giant's elbow fires out and catches the Monster in the ribs doubling him over and allowing Hessian the chance to grab Chainz by his waistband and send him hurtling over both Nick and Richard!

Nick: Can we just move this away from here please?! Nearly caught a foot in the face there!

Richard: You're a beacon of masculinity Nick, y'know that?

The Monster lands in a heap behind Nick and Richard in front of the rear exit to the main cabin. Pushing past the announce team, Hessian charges at Chainz and launches himself at his opponent with a shoulder barge and once again the Monster outwits the giant simply by sidestepping and sending the Murder Show crashing through the door and down a flight of stairs out of sight of everyone on deck!

RRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!

Nick: Where the hell is he?! He just disappeared!

Richard: I don't think this is...as they say, part of the plan.

Followed by a cameraman Chainz heads down the stairs, all twenty five of them, seeing the skidmarks on the walls from the giant's boots catching on them before laying eyes on the man himself lying in a heap at the bottom between two doors either side of him. With a quick glance through the porthole windows Chainz turns his attention back to the giant, staring back up the stairs before grabbing the giant's legs to begin the long haul back up the wooden hill. Hessian is having none of it however and pulls his knees back before firing Chainz off him like a shot and sending the Monster crashing through one of the doors and into a lavish looking area beyond.

Nick: What the hell...is that a restaurant?

Screams and gasps rise up from the well-dressed patrons sat at their tables eating caviar and lobster and watching the action unfold on massive LED screens hung around the room. Stepping into the room and shaking the cobwebs off, Hessian looks around frustratedly until he spies a familiar face at a head table at the other end of the room. A familiar face clad in majestic robes simply sitting watching him.

Richard: Would I be correct in assuming that that chap in the turban is the owner of this fine vessel?

Nick: I think you are Richard, and I think Hessian looks pretty pissed off with him.

Richard: No wonder...he had this yacht booked out for this match, but it looks like Sheik Dolla Dolla over there has been taking his own bookings for tonight!

Pointing a finger at the man and cussing him out under his breath, Hessian shakes his head before turning his attention back to Chainz, pulling the Monster to his feet and executing a snap spinebuster into the nearest table sending cutlery, glass and expensive nibbles flying everywhere! Grabbing the next available table (without a reservation) Hessian pulls the cloth sending yet more food and cutlery flying before hoisting the heavy oak table up over his head and with no regard for his opponent slams the table down on top of the other, however Chainz manages to roll out of the way at the last second cowering as shards and splinters explode out of the remains of the tables.

Richard: Talk about no remorse...

Nick: And those aren't your standard fare wrestling tables; those look like restaurant grade oak!

Richard: Or 'skullcrushers' as we would call them.

Picking his spot Chainz lunges for the giant spearing him back over a third table to the floor where they begin trading punches as the hoity toity crowd move to the opposite side of the room both for safety and to congratulate the sheik for putting on such a brilliant dinner show. Meanwhile Chainz and Hessian sink lefts and rights into the others' face, ribs and gut, rolling around in the mess they've made jockeying for position until finally Chainz headbutts the giant and rolls off and onto his feet, hooking Hessian's arms as the giant rises and with a roar sends his opponent flying overhead into the rubble with a butterfly suplex! The giant isn't on the ground for two seconds before he lashes back out dropping Chainz with a leg sweep.

Nick: I don't know how Hessian is doing this after both those falls, but he's taking the fight back to Chainz.

Hessian takes a few shots at the Monster before grabbing a heavy ornate chair and slamming it on the back of Chainz. The monster from Hell's Kitchen drops to his stomach only to rise again moments later. Another chair shot drops him, but again not for long. Hessian grabs Chainz and throws him over a rope into the VIP section.

Richard: Definitely not part of the ticket price.

With the wealthier crowd already having been dispersed Hessian grabs a glass of water and smashes it over Chainz' head dropping the monster who holds his head and like Jason Voorhees slowly starts to rise again. Chainz ducks a vicious right, returns one of his own, and kicks Hessian in the gut. He rushes forward and takes both men over a buffet station, spilling more food and utensils everywhere.

Chainz grabs a plate and smashes it over the giant's head. He repeats the process over and over again as plates disappear and start to pile up in broken pieces around them. Hessian finally ducks out of the way but gives up his back. Chainz jumps on the giant's back and wraps an arm around his throat and the Universal Champion swings wildly but is unable to throw Chainz off. He drops to a knee and places his hands on the ground where he picks up some of the plate pieces. He throws a handful behind him right into Chainz's face, loosening the hold enough for him to get his footing. With Chainz still on his back, Hessian jumps up and backward, causing Chainz to land into the plate pieces with Hessian on top.

Nick: That's a lot of weight pressing down into those sharp pieces and Hessian has finally broken Chainz's hold.

Richard: As well as about two thousand dollars worth of fine china!

The two men roll off each other and slowly start to rise. Chainz picks some of the plate pieces out of his back where fresh blood begins to ooze from the open wounds. He brings his hands to his face and smiles at the sight of blood as though it were an aphrodisiac.

Richard: Oh this is going to get interesting real quick.

Chainz and Hessian meet once again and trade punches. Hessian gets the better of Chainz and drives him backward. The monster grabs a buffet tray full of fried chicken and flings it at Hessian. He quickly grabs a pot of hot soup and throws that as well. Hessian screams as the hot liquid scalds him. Chainz marches over, grabs a piece of fried chicken and has a bite, before spitting it in Hessian's face.

Nick: Michael Sloan hasn't been on PRIME screens for several weeks but to all those who are not familiar with him that act right there says all you need to know. This man has no decency, no morals, no respect for anyone other than himself.

Richard: That's what made him so successful.

Chainz grabs Hessian by the back of the head and ushers him through the mess hall and shoves him through a pair of doors. Hessian falls into a hallway and tries to get his footing, but Chainz is on him before the giant can get to a good stance. He shoves Hessian forward, laughing as the giant goes down once again. Chainz smiles as he stands over Hessian, only to have the Murder Show grab his belt and pull forward sending Chainz face first into a guard rail.

Nick: A great equalizer there.

Richard: I think I saw a tooth fly. Quick, get it before someone sells it on eBay!

Chainz grimaces on the ground as blood pools out of his busted mouth. Hessian grabs him by the back of the neck and shoves him forward through the hall before sending him tumbling down a spiral staircase. Breathing heavily, Hessian opts for the nearby elevator instead.

Richard: Is he...is he really too lazy to take the stairs.

Nick: He's smart, taking any chance he can to recover.

Richard: No wonder he weights over three hundred and fifty pounds.

Hessian steps out of the elevator to see Chainz slowly trying to get to his feet. He smiles as he runs behind and clotheslines him down to the ground once more. Keeping his attack up, he lifts the monster and sends him through a door and into a fitness room.

Nick: This doesn't look good.

Richard: Lots of weapons here.

Hessian grabs a 45lbs weight and when Chainz rises flings it at him. Chainz barely gets out of the way as the weight goes clanging to the ground. He turns and eats a big boot to the face before being flung into a tree of weights. He tumbles awkwardly as the weights fall on top of him. Chainz quickly grabs a 10lbs weight and flings it like a Frisbee. With surprising accuracy the weight hits Hessian in the gut, stopping him in place. Chainz grabs a barbell, stands by Hessian, and swings causing the side to connect with Hessian's head.

Nick: Just such a brutal man this Michael Sloan is. He won't stop until Hessian is dead.

Richard: Hey the fish need to eat too.

Hessian rubs his head as he slowly starts to stir as Chainz grabs a rope and swings it like a whip, connecting time and again on Hessian's back before tossing it aside. Chainz stalks him, slowly lifts him up, and is stunned with a quick right hand. Hessian quickly lifts him up in a bearhug and runs to a pillar squashing Chainz between the cold steel and Hessian's 355lbs frame. Chainz crumples to the ground and holds his back in agony.

Hessian looks around and smiles. He grabs a stack of weights and sets them just off a treadmill. He takes a 45lbs weight and positions it on its side so that it is standing. He turns on the treadmill and sets it to the maximum speed. The belt moves in a blur.

Richard: That can't be for him. He's already established he doesn't believe in exercise.

Hessian lifts Chainz over his head, holds him there, and drops him on the speeding belt. As soon as he hits the belt he's launched off the speeding treadmill and straight into the stack of weights.

PRIME THAT SHIT!!! PRIME THAT SHIT!!! WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Nick: Well I have to say, that may be one of the most innovative ways to hurt someone we've ever seen in PRIME.

Richard: ... I knew he wasn't going to use the treadmill.

Hessian stops and stares over Chainz' prone body as he slowly tries to move, but is clearly hurt. He lifts a 45lbs weight and brings it over his head. As he is about to drop it on Chainz he suddenly stops. A loud smack sounds out as a steel weight hits him in the back of the head. The weight falls out of his hands and he stumbles away and finally takes a knee to try and shake the cobwebs out, turning around to come face to tit with a woman.

Nick: Is that...

Richard: I'd recognize those boobs anywhere, it's TRACY!!!

Nick: What did she do to herself?

Richard: What do you mean? I kind of like it.

It's Tracy alright, but her appearance is vastly different. Her short, black hair, a bob if you must know, matches her black tanktop, which matches her black pants, and boots perfectly. Even her makeup is black. Both arms are covered fully in tattoos and a dark snarl rounds off the lady.

Nick: Is she sixteen and going through a Goth phase?

Richard: She was hot before, but now she's hot and dangerous. I love it. Ohhhh, maybe she'll get on the treadmill?

Nick: Settle yourself Richard.

Hessian seems to be just as confused as everyone else at Tracy's appearance. It only takes him a few more seconds to come back to his senses and stand back up. Tracy's eyes go wide as the giant rushes over to her and grabs her hand. She screams out and jumps to to slap him across the face, but the result is negligible. She takes another swipe, but this time uses her long, black, surprisingly sharp fingernails to rake across Hessian's arm. He yelps and drops the tiny woman who scampers off as she sees Chainz rising to his feet. Hessian frowns, knows something bad is going to happen, turns and has a kettle-bell hit him square in the jaw.

He stumbles backward and manages to make it out of the fitness area and into the hallway once again. Chainz stalks him and throws him through another set of doors into a fancy bar area. He keeps pushing Hessian and shoves him toward a large fish tank set into the wall before palming his face straight through the glass causing the aquarium to burst which sends exotic fish rushing out of the enclosure. Hessian rests his hand against the glass and yells out as a small shark takes a bite of his forearm as it spills out onto the ground.

As if that wasn't enough, Hessian yells out in further shock as an octopus comes straight for his face. He sticks his hand out at the last second, grabs the creature and flings it at Chainz. He ducks, only to have the octopus land on Tracy's chest and have all eight tentacles disappear down her ample cleavage.

Tracy: AHHHHHH GET IT OFF!!!

Richard: Yeah Chainz, take it off.

TAKE IT OFF, TAKE IT OFF, TAKE IT OFF!

Chainz rushes over and tries to yank the octopus free but it's stuck in her tanktop. He yanks the tight shirt off along with the animal and chucks it aside leaving Tracy in a very skimpy red bra, sizes too small to contain her. Before he can console his wife any further he turns straight into a beer bottle crashing on his head as Hessian seizes him and slams him on the bar top. Grabbing him, he shoves him stomach first on the bar and slides him straight off the end, throwing a pair of bottles at him for good measure.

He turns to Tracy, nods at the fine display of boob, and smiles. Tracy quickly runs away screaming for her life.

Richard: Damn it, come back!

Nick: She has no place being around these men, what's wrong with you?

Richard: What's wrong with me? Did you see what she was wearing? One false step and she would have spilled out.

Back to the match and both men seem tired as Chainz rises much slower than before. The smile is still on his face, but his breathing is laboured. Forgoing weapons they clash once again using their fists, each completely ignoring blocking in preference to offense. They finally collapse on the ground near each other, both breathing hard as blood pours out from their multitude of cuts. Hessian is the first to make a move, checking the ghastly sharkbite wound and the plethora of slices running up and down his limbs and deciding to make a move for the main elevator back to the restaurant level. Losing his footing on the broken glass of the beer bottles prompts Chainz to jump up and give chase and just as Hessian pushes the call button for the lift he hears the footsteps charging towards him and as the doors ding open turns around in time to see the Monster lunging at him with a huge spear that drives him back into the elevator, shaking it violently as the doors shut behind them and the lift moves off back up the shaft.

Nick: Incredible spear by Chainz!

Richard: If he's not careful he'll do a Hessian and send them both to the bottom the hard way!

Nick: Who can forget when Hessian sent Vampir Nosferatu to his doom down an elevator shaft all those years ago...

The feed switches from the cameraman in the bar to that of the operator waiting on the restaurant level. After a few moments, the light above the doors glows green as they open sending a large cloud of black smoke billowing out into the hallway. When it clears, it reveals the two wrestlers battering lumps out of each other with ceiling and wall panels. Kicking Hessian in the gut, Chainz cracks him in the jaw with the edge of the panel in his hand before driving the giant's head into the exposed wiring and circuits in the wall sending a shower of sparks flying out covering them both.

Richard: What the hell they were only in that thing for a few seconds! They've torn it apart!

Nick: A few seconds is all it takes with these guys, Richard...

Spying the open door, Chainz takes hold of Hessian by the scruff and tosses him out onto the floor dazed and confused, stepping over the giant as the doors close and as he rises up woozily receives a super kick to the chin knocking him back into the closed doors before hitting the floor yet again. Looking around and regaining his bearings Chainz sees a bunch of faces peering out of the restaurant at him, but instead glances back up the stairs leading back to the rear deck and takes Hessian by the foot, dragging him mercilessly over each stair back on deck.

Nick: Looks like they're coming this-WHOA!

Nick is interrupted mid-sentence as the massive frame of Hessian comes barreling over the top of the two announcers, rolling to a stop at the foot of the ring. He clutches his knee and wipes the blood still trailing down his sweaty face, followed promptly by Chainz who dives over the announce table after his opponent and leaps from the steps in front of them all the way over to Hessian. Chainz lands a massive elbow drop into the side of the giant, evoking a pained howl from the Murder Show.

Nick: Chainz is handling business here and the giant is struggling to keep up!

Richard: Conditioning plays a big part in that plus the fact that without standard ruling in this match Chainz is basically free to wreak havoc at his leisure.

Elvis Nixon, absent since being shoved earlier on as all good zebras usually are, rejoins the fray getting in Chainz's face and demanding the Monster return to the scaffolding to continue the match. Ignoring his orders Sloan picks Hessian up and with an Irish whip sends him crashing into the turnpost causing the ring to shake. Landing awkwardly amongst an empty row of seats as the fans occupying them jump out of the way, Hessian sees red as Chainz advances on him again and begins pulling the chairs from their positions one after the other, tossing them from a prone position at his opponent's head.

Nick: The Murder Show struggling to regain his footing in this contest. Chainz is just batting those flying chairs aside like they were paper wads!

Richard: He's really struggling to hold his own in this match huh? And he organized the whole thing as well!

Grabbing one of the chairs out of the air Chainz dashes at Hessian and brings the weapon down hard on the pelvis of his opponent, causing a howl from the giant who rolls away and jumps to his feet desperately even as another chairshot finds its mark between his shoulders. Arching away from Chainz, Hessian stumbles towards the bottom of the scaffolding and turns around, ducking immediately as the edge of the chair cuts through the air, passing through the spot where his throat was and jarring on the steel rigging of the scaffolding. Dropping the chair and wringing out the vibrations from his hands, Chainz suddenly feels a tight fist crunch into his ribs winding him momentarily and allowing Hessian to hoist him up for a powerbomb!

Nick: Not on the deck! You'll split his skull wide open!!

But the Monster is a step ahead and as he reaches the apex of the bomb reaches out and grabs hold of the scaffolding, scurrying up and away from Hessian and shooting out a heel that catches the giant on the forehead dazing him long enough to let Chainz get away.

Richard: Finally...maybe now we can get this match started.

Nick: What do you-...hey you've got a point. Nixon never even had time to call for the bell!

Pulling himself over the edge and onto the scaffolding, Chainz takes a moment to rest, flicking his arms and flexing his legs to work out the pain from all the cuts and welts that have formed as down below Hessian reaches out for the scaffolding and begins chasing after his opponent. Sensing that the Monster is probably waiting for him the Murder Show quickly (as quickly as a giant can) rounds the corner in mid-climb just as Chainz peeks over the edge, and at the same moment Sloan checks the other side the giant reaches up and thumb pokes Chainz in the eyes, causing him to howl and fall back in pain giving the Murder Show the time he needs to finally clamber his ass up on top of the scaffolding!

Nick: These two have battled all over the belly of this yacht and damn near tore it to pieces but somehow they've managed to haul their carcasses back up that scaffolding Richard, and somehow they've got to dig down and find the strength to see this thing through to the end as Elvis Nixon officially starts this match!

DING! DING! DING!

Richard: It's all or nothing here; how Hessian is still fighting is beyond me but another fall like the one at the start of this match will be the literal death of him...and I don't much fancy Chainz's odds if he suffers the same. The spider net is the target and that barbed wire web is a giant bullseye right now.

The two warriors crawl towards each other dripping sweat and blood and gulping down their breaths as they simultaneously rise to one knee and meet each other with slow swinging fists that, after the first of each impacts the other, increase in force on the follow-up shots until, to the disbelief of the crowd, they work themselves back into another frenzy of punches on their knees then suddenly they're back on their feet pummeling away at each other.

Richard: Guess they found that strength you were on about Nick...neither man wants to become a human pin cushion so they're beating the ever-loving crap out of one another!

Chainz throws a hard left that Hessian blocks, retaliating with a massive haymaker that Chainz ducks under before rotating and hooking the arm of the giant, pulling him to the ground and trying in vain to lock in a crossface armbar.

Nick: And he locks it in! At this stage in the game a submission could knock Hess out cold and he knows it!

Richard: Look at him struggle...like a great bearded halibut.

When Chainz wrenches back on the hold Hessian lets out a strained howl as the pain sends a shock through his system. With the hand of his locked-in arm he grabs hold of Chainz's leg and with all his might pulls the Monster in at the same time that he rolls over until Sloan is underneath him allowing him to counter by picking Chainz up and tossing him with a fall away slam that almost sends his opponent tumbling over the edge. Scrambling wildly, Chainz manages to upset his momentum enough to keep him on the scaffolding however the giant meets him as he rises, scooping him up for a powerbomb and at the apex dropping backwards and slamming his opponent into the floor with a reverse electric chair drop packing enough force to cause the scaffolding to shake!

Nick: Brutal move by Hessian there and it looks like the momentum is shifting his way as Chainz battles to stay in this thing!

Suffering even as he is, the giant can't afford to let up and gets right back on Chainz, picking him up and stunning him with a throat thrust, staggering Sloan as he follows that with an Irish whip towards the spider net, but even as the crowd scream out in anticipation of the Monster flying over the side, Sloan fights the momentum and pulls himself back into Hessian, hugging the giant and popping his hips to connect with a belly-to-belly suplex sending the Murder Show to the floor before jumping to his feet and dropping a big leg across the throat of the giant.

Richard: It's like a world championship chess match Nick...with electrified playing pieces...

Nick: They're running on pure adrenaline now knowing that their fate lies so close by.

Grabbing Hessian by the head Chainz smears his face into the floor before adding insult to injury with a slap across his shorn skull. A nasty crimson stain is left in his wake as Hessian rolls away holding his face in agony as Chainz takes him by the legs and drags his opponent to the edge of the scaffolding, sizing up the fall below.

Nick: He's going to flip Hessian right over the edge!

Richard: No way will he hit the barbed wire with that!

Sensing what's coming, Hessian struggles out of the hold and twists to his left freeing himself from Chainz's grip and allowing him to get to his knees to meet the Monster with a punch to the gut stopping any retaliation in its tracks as Sloan doubles over winded, allowing the giant to hike him up and over planting him with a huge spinebuster that rattles the scaffolding! Hessian grabs Sloan's legs and flips him onto his stomach and adjusts his grip before hoisting the Monster up and slamming him back down with a wheelbarrow face-first powerbomb!

Nick: Hessian sending Chainz HellBound!

Maintaining his hold of Chainz's legs the giant lets out a roar as he hauls the near 300-pounder back up and overhead, dropping him with a side-saddle electric chair drop that evokes a massive cheer from the crowd on board.

Richard: Christ almighty...

Nick: Scary strength on show here, both men are tore up, bloody, and sore but one thing they don't have is any quit in them!

Sloan coughs and splutters holding his gut on the floor as Hessian raises a big elbow and falls like a redwood dropping the point into the black heart of the Monster but Chainz manages to roll aside causing the Murder Show to crack his arm off the hard floor and sending him rolling and kicking away in great pain as he clutches his elbow.

Nick: Chainz sees the opening and he's right back on his feet!

The Monster, blinded by rage, can only think to charge at his opponent and crash into him with a dropkick to the ribs sending Hessian tumbling closer to the far edge of the scaffolding. Back on his feet he follows it up with a huge leg drop across Hessian's throat and as he rises again grabs a handful of Hessian's beard and forces the giant to his knees where Sloan hooks his neck and plants him with a stiff DDT.

Nick: He's got to keep on Hessian if he has any hopes of winning this match...but you gotta remember at the same time that that's a lot of dead weight to move if the giant gets knocked out.

Richard: We've seen some sick moves on this boat, I don't think Sloan will have much of a problem finding a way to defeat Hess.

Hands on his hips, Chainz sucks in all the fresh air he can as Hessian squirms around on the floor before standing upright and moving across to the edge nearest the spider net, glancing over the edge and sizing up the gap once more before turning back to his opponent, waiting patiently.

Nick: Looks like Sloan is ready to end this thing Rich!

Richard: He was ready to end it earlier when he shoved Hessian off the scaffolding!

Nick: But look at him now he's wincing, checking his wounds...he knows this has to end soon or he's gonna run out of steam.

The Monster continues to stalk the giant as Hessian makes it to all fours, one hand across his gut and the other on his head with his good elbow planted for support, wobbling even in this position. He tries to shake off the cobwebs as Chainz moves closer, poised with his arms spread ready to make his move as the Universal Champ moves to one foot. The other follows shakily and the crowd reaction intensifies as Hessian staggers upright still holding his head, unaware of what awaits him.

Nick: Come on Hess look out behind you!

Richard: It's about to hit the fan...and the fans!

Finally Chainz makes his move, spinning Hessian around and kicking him to the gut doubling him over before executing a facelock bulldog, however the giant snaps to life as Chainz extends upwards to hook his neck, catching him in mid-execution and countering with a belly-to-back suplex. Sloan re-counters by flipping in mid-air landing on his feet with Hessian in reverse DDT position, but the giant counters that by twisting around and hooking Chainz's neck so that the Monster is now in reverse DDT position.

Nick: What a sequence!

Hoisting Chainz up into an inverted bearhug, Hessian looks to plant his opponent with a belly-to-belly piledriver only for Chainz to tilt backwards pulling Hessian off his feet and into the piledriver position! The fans roar wildly as the scaffolding shakes with the weight of the two jostling around on it as Hessian once more counters Chainz back into the piledriver position but as he glances back he notices the edge not but two steps away and in that moment Sloan takes the opportunity to lock his legs around Hessian's neck before pushing himself off using the giant's thick thighs and with the momentum in his favour swings back between his opponent's legs and drops Hessian with a rather unorthodox inverted sunset flip smashing Hessian's face into the floor once again!

Nick: Took a lot of reversals and inversions for Chainz to eventually pull that off but my God I don't think I've seen him on form like he is tonight!

Richard: There's gotta be a lot of promotions keeping an eye on this pay-per-view looking to scoop up our talent once the doors close and Chainz must be looking mighty tempting to them right now.........if indeed it's an abusive, musclebound, sadistic psychopath that they want on their roster.

With his busted face pissing claret, Hessian is hauled to his knees by the Monster who with another grunt gets his opponent to his feet only for the Murder Show to once again spark to life, kicking him in the gut this time and in the blink of an eye hoisting him up into the Canadian backbreaker rack!

Nick: HELLEVATOR! HESSIAN HAS CHAINZ SET UP FOR THE HELLEVATOR!!

Richard: He's gonna kill him!!

The giant turns towards the spider net with a glazed manic look in his eyes and takes a step towards the edge, but sensing what's coming Chainz freaks out and tries to wriggle out of the hold prompting Hessian to stagger away from the edge for fear of going over himself. With enough room to maneuver, Chainz suddenly whips his legs up in the air and uses the momentum to flip over Hessian's head, landing on his feet with the giant tucked between his legs as he calls out for the double powerbomb!

Nick: NO!! CHAIN REACTION!!

Richard: HESS IS DONE FOR!!

The Monster tries to heave Hessian's weight up for the Chain Reaction, but the giant uses his last ounce of strength to grab Chainz by the waist and, twisting around, shoves the Monster off of him back into the center of the scaffolding, but as Hessian rights himself he realizes the mistake he's made as Sloan uses the distance between them to strike out like a rattlesnake, catching Hessian flush across the jaw with a huge super kick that stuns the giant where he stands!

Nick: CHAIN LINK!!

Richard: Hessian's staggered! He's gonna fall right off the edge!!

Two hundred and fifty hearts are firmly lodged in two hundred and fifty throats as everything seems to move in slow motion. Chainz sees his opportunity and charges forward to finish Hessian off.

Nick: NO!! HE'S GONNA SPEAR HESSIAN RIGHT OFF THE SCAFFOLDING!! HE'LL KILL 'EM BOTH!!!

Richard: But if Hessian hits the spider net first Chainz still wins!!

In that moment before impact the Murder Show suddenly comes to life and snaps forward, ducking down and catching Chainz right before the spear, hoisting him high up into the air and sending the Monster cascading overhead with a gigantic back body drop. Screams erupt all over the super yacht and all through Soldier Field as millions watch the body of Michael Sloan soar into the air, arms pinwheeling and legs kicking wildly as his wide eyes stare in terror at the edge of the scaffolding disappearing out of view replaced by the thirty foot drop between it and the ring.

Then suddenly the spider net is all that he can see, coming closer and closer until the world unites in a horrified gasp as Chainz's near 300 pounds frame is mashed into the barbed wire web; the taut spiked cables tearing every inch of his flesh open as he bounces off the hellish trampoline once, twice, then with a porcine scream Sloan lands firmly on the spider net and to the continuing horror of the crowd slips limply between the gap in the webbing causing the spikes to slice him in great swathes from head to foot before he finally lands in a sickening lifeless heap on the canvas below.

DING! DING! DING!

Vince Howard (back in Soldier Field): LADIES AND GENTLEMEN THE WINNER OF THE MATCH......THE MURDER SHOW HHHHHEEEEEEESSSSSIIIIIAAAAAAAAAAANNNN!!!

Nick: HESSIAN'S DONE IT!! HE'S WON!!

Richard: Jesus Christ he's sliced Chainz to pieces!!

Nick: Listen to that reaction!! Two hundred an fifty strong screaming their lungs out!!!

PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT!

High atop the scaffolding Hessian doesn't even have the strength to turn around and take in the carnage, instead dropping to his knees and then face first and flat out on the floor as the fans around the ring rush out of their seats and crowd the ring, surrounding Sloan and taking picture after picture as the Monster lies carved up like a Christmas ham in the middle of the ring, bleeding heavily from the hundreds of open wounds all over his body. Referee Elvis Nixon parts the crowd as EMTs rush out from the cabin past Nick and Richard, sliding into the ring and scuttling over to Sloan where they immediately begin stemming the blood flow to the majority of his wounds.

Richard: That right there puts every single scar on Devin Shakur's body to shame! Chainz has been slashed, gouged, and sliced from head to toe!

Nick: There's no way to describe the carnage of this match...even Hessian is completely out of it and he won it! Elvis Nixon is scaling the scaffolding now to check on him but I'll be damned if this wasn't one of the bloodiest battles we've ever seen in PRIME!

Reaching the top of the scaffolding Elvis Nixon rushes to Hessian's side and drops to his knees next to the Murder Show, patting him on the shoulder and leaning in close to check the giant. To his relief Hessian reaches out and gently shoves him back before slowly rolling onto his back and hugging his aching torso. As he stares up into the clouds he hears the 250 fans going crazy down below and forces himself to roll over again onto his stomach right to the edge of the scaffolding, held back by Elvis Nixon to prevent him flopping off the side. With his face pressed to the floor he gazes out of his left eye down at the ring to see the spider net surrounded by everyone on board and the body of Michael Sloan prone on the canvas surrounded by a messy puddle of coagulate with the EMTs scrambling around beneath the barbed wire trying to patch him up. Taking in the view, the corner of his mouth pulls back to reveal a smile stained in crimson, and with a single weak chuckle the giant turns away, resting his head on his forearm and closing his eyes before forcing himself back over onto his back where he raises a fist into the air that Elvis Nixon takes hold of and keeps aloft for him as yet more cheers fill the salty copper-tinged Lake Michigan air.

Nick: Folks these two men just gave everything they had and more and in my eyes both are winners for the spectacle they've just put on for us here at Colossus.

Richard: I hate to say it but seeing Chainz lying there like a ragged pin cushion...well damn it you can't not respect the guy. Hessian himself said there was a short list of opponents he would have wanted to face here tonight and whether Sloan was on that list or not he just proved to the world he was always going to be the man to make this moment as incredible as it is.

Nick: I have to agree with you Richard, and I think Hessian would concur...without Chainz this match wouldn't have been half as incredible as it was. It's the last time we'll see either compete in PRIME and what a way to go out.

Richard: Has to be the definition of blaze of glory Nick...

Nick: And while I'd love to stay here and see it out, we've got a bird to catch to get back to the arena! We've still got four matches to go and if they live up to this match it's going to be the only card in the business with more main events that you've got fingers on your left hand, Richard!

Richard: Thank goodness I'm not from Alabam-ey else that'd be one more than's been booked! But you're right Nick...and...God I've always wanted to say this...let's GET TO THE CHOPPA!!

Nick: Folks we'll be right back LIVE from Soldier Field!

The End of Hilarity As You Know It

Devin Shakur sits patiently on the floor of his locker room awaiting the stagehand to knock and inform him of his impending doom.

He continues stretching out his legs because Hoyt knows he'll need every ounce of strength tonight if he wants to have a chance of leaving the massive dent he boasted of in his earlier interview.

While getting himself further and further into his zone, he's heard an uptick in the hall when people walk by his dressing room. This is a bout people have waited years for, where he holds no legitimate playing cards and is forced to play at the mercy of the powers that be.

More butterfly stretches. He throws a few jabs and extends his arm as far out as they'll go then pushes them high in the air. He feels a twinge in his left shoulder.

The knock happens. It's a bit rushed but gets the job done.

"Ten minutes to curtain, Shakur."

He rolls onto his back, swings left, and pushes off his knees before opening the door and beginning his walk toward gorilla position.

"DEAD MAN WALKING!"

He can't help but crack a smile and give the stagehand a middle finger and wraps around. He can see gorilla in his sight.

Two video technicians stop lugging equipment to place fingers across their throats and wave goodbye. He can barely contain his laughter.

Shakur: Ahh, gotta love it.

He cracks all five knuckles on both hands while keeping his eyes forward, glancing at all the people coincidentally in his path at such a critical juncture.

Stepping around a large speaker being adjusted, he comes face to chest with Matt Mills.

Matt Mills: Fuck you, Shakur. I hope they cart you out in an ambulance.

As Mills steps away, Shakur gives him a golf clap.

Shakur: Everybody's got balls all a sudden.

A producer catches Shakur coming and motions him over. He lets a chuckle escape before standing next to the producer.

Producer: You are coming out last. All of the clothes you requested are in the dressing room.

Shakur: Get the music and video alright?

Producer: Sure did.

Shakur: Anything else you want to add before I get dressed?

Producer: Pardon?

Shakur: Everybody's giving me their confessionals.

Producer: I'm only here to make sure the show runs smoothly. Plus, I'm only here for this event.

Shakur: At least someone has some sense.

He pats the producer on the shoulder and opens the small dressing room allowing him to put on his entrance specific clothing.

[CLUNK]

Well, he would have if someone hadn't just tried to drop an anvil on his fucking head.

A familiar face peers down into the room and looks at his lack of handiwork.

Tony Gamble: Damn.

While also not realizing that he's lost his footing and is slipping down into the room to join his longtime comrade. He manages to land on a folding chair and bend the seat down.

Shakur: That was by far the worst callback ever.

Without so much as a second thought, Gamble rises to his feet and dusts himself off.

Gamble: I call it Chair by Le Gamble. It'll be the latest contemporary art piece at my exhibit opening next week.

Shakur: You aren't gonna bother to pretend you are in pain?

Gamble: Child, please. You think I'm gonna sell for an inanimate object?

Shakur: So what was I supposed to do if that anvil hit me?

Gamble looks over at Shakur's attire for the evening.

Gamble: So those are your digs for the evening, snazzy.

Shakur: How the fuck did you even get up there with an anvil?

Gamble: Room is kind of small though.

Shakur: And how did you even know I was going to be in here?

Gamble: Plus you've got to do something about that ceiling. I mean, anybody could just drop in.

Shakur lets out a sigh and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a... Well, we'll just let Gamble tell you since he's paying attention now.

Gamble: FIE DOLLAH!

Shakur: Come on, let's go outside. I gotta be alone with my thoughts when I'm in here.

Gamble: I don't see any viable place to rub one out.

Shakur: ...

Gamble: Oh that wasn't code.

Shakur opens the door and they both walk out. There are only a few stagehands circling the wagons ensuring everything is ready for the upcoming bout. Judging by the commotion at gorilla, it's safe to say everybody else is waiting for the festivities to begin.

Gamble: This is the last time we're gonna be on camera dawg, and beside everybody is putting sick money on you to catch a serious beating so who else is gonna come round to watch yo back?

Shakur: I appreciate it.

Gamble: Plus, you know I'm not gonna let you go out there without your fave fave snack.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out two items.

Gamble: So you wanna Bust A Nut?

...

It didn't help that Max Newell walked into earshot right as Gamble said that.

Shakur: Only if you give me that Booty Sweat.

He tries to get a better glance and sees Shakur and Gamble with their hands dangerously close to one another.

He mouths "what. the. fuck." and sees Shakur and Gamble seeing him.

Gamble: There a problem?

Newell: I... uh... oh.

Shakur and Gamble share a look.

Gamble: He dropped in mid-conversation.

Shakur: So dropped in mid convo.

Upon closer inspection, Gamble has a beverage with "Booty Sweat" on its label and Shakur has a "Bust A Nut" bar. They show the apparel.

Gamble: Never seen Tropic Thunder?

Shakur: Gotta pay attention to the obvious.

Newell: It's just I thought you guys were gonna...

Shakur: In the hallway?

Gamble: Well I mean I know he has.

Shakur: Ye... what?

Gamble: You thought GTV was Goldust?

Shakur: Ah shit.

Gamble: Nice to know how Sunny T gets off though. Legs behind the head, nice touch. Were you talking dirty in Chinese too?

Shakur: How did you even see that?

Gamble: Know that time you locked me in the briefcase?

Shakur: Yeah

Gamble: I got out.

Shakur: Fuck.

Gamble looks to Newell.

Gamble: I bet you also didn't know he is a famous rapper in North Korea under the name Iron Knee.

Shakur: OH DUDE COME ON. We went almost SIX YEARS without anybody knowing that.

Gamble drops the >=J and Newell leaves rolling his eyes.

Shakur: Well there goes that part of my life.

Gamble: I can guarantee you your rap career is the last thing he's thinking about right now.

Shakur: Still pulling the wool over their eyes.

Gamble: Like Straight Up G's, bro.

A pause. This really is the end of their PRIME careers.

They share an embrace.

Gamble: See ya back at the crib?

Shakur: You know it. Where ya watching?

Gamble: Skybox with a bottle of bub.

Shakur: Swank.

Gamble: I'll holla at the wrap. Go get em, champ.

Gamble mouths "I love that pussy hell yeah" while walking toward his luxury box. Shakur turns and heads into his dressing room to down his pre-match snacks and get ready.

Killean Sirrajin vs. Devin Shakur vs. Nitz Donnelly

Nick: We're back at Solider Field following that hellacious bloodbath between Hessian and Chainz. Coming up next, well we really don't need to advertise this match much.

Richard: It's going to be the last moment of the most infamous career in PRIME history.

Nick: That certainly is debatable. Devin Shakur is looking to exit like a thief in the night, and probably would if it weren't for Killean Sirrajin forcing the former owner to honor his contract and compete here at Colossus.

Richard: He's backed into a corner and he damn sure knows it. He's already gone and beat everybody to the punch by saying the fix is in.

Nick: Given the amount of animosity surrounding him I wouldn't be surprised. Shakur has done nothing but destruct and PRIME is looking to construct a final show that isn't tarnished by him.

Richard: Sirrajin has already said he's going to make sure the rules are bent as far as possible.

Nick: He did indicate that.

Richard: Plus, there are two people who want a piece of Shakur in this match. The odds are stacked against him!

Nick: I don't think Nitz Donnelly is here for the sole purpose of stacking the deck. He's out here to get himself in the books, to put one last highlight on his reel. Knocking off Devin Shakur and Killean Sirrajin would certainly do that.

Richard: He'll be doing some parkour instructional video by next week.

Nick: I think his range is a bit wider than that.

Richard: It isn't. Shakur's about to shut you up so let's head up to the ring and let the fisticuffs fly!

"Lights Out" by Hollywood Undead.

As if the song title had something to do with it, the stadium goes dark. People are holding up their phones to capture any image they can, others from the old school have lighters.

Lights Out
You're talking too loud
So just shut your mouth
Who the fuck are you now?!


Nick: Here we go! It's payback time. Everyone has been waiting for this moment and soon, that cancerous creature known as Devin Shakur will finally get his comeuppance.

Richard: How can you sit here and say that? You really don't think Shakur has a legacy of avoiding karma? The guy has come out unscathed at every turn.

Nick: One rule is, karma is a bitch. It catches up to you one day, that is inevitable.

The newcomer to this feud is expected any moment, but no one knows exactly how he will arrive. That question is shortlived as the curtain parts and he emerges on the stage, dressed in the same outfit as he was back on ReVolution.

Richard: What, are we not doing elaborate entrances for this match?

The hood falls and the Spades mask goes flying via a flick of his wrist and Soldier Field explodes as his arms jet into the air...

Almost.

Fireworks erupt with a bang from every nook and cranny of the walls of the complex. It's a light show that almost puts the stadium in day light. The sound is as deafening as anyone has heard and it continues for a good while until finally, off in the distance it can be seen. People from one end of the stadium can see it, while others can clearly see the image on the many big screens throughout the building. The CNA Center has an image on the side in bright lights.

NITZ
DONNELLY

PRIME
THAT
SH*T!


Richard: OK I have to admit, that's just awesome.

Nitz smiles as he soaks in the adulation of the fans and the boos by some for attacking The PRIME Choice and makes his way down the aisle.

Nick: Now that I've regained my hearing, I'm surprised we're still sitting here. Those eruptions were so loud and intense that I swore this place was gonna collapse in on itself.

Vince Howard: Coming down the aisle first, from Boston by way of Venice Beach, California, he is the self professed Ego of New England and The Halo's Hero.... NIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIITZ DOOOOOOOOOOOONNELYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!

Donnelly slaps the hands of the people on the way down and slides under the bottom rope. He quickly makes his way to his feet and hits the far turnbuckle. He points directly at a skybox and throws up and "I Love You" sign with his hands. Cameras are waiting and the image is projected on the screens. There, former PRIME stars and best friends of Nitz, Leticia Mendoza and Vance Raymes are on their feet, returning the favor to their comrade.

Nick: Change In Spades, perhaps one of the most dominant tag team combinations, is whole again for this final night in PRIME's illustrious history.

Richard: Really and truly, that's what it's all about tonight. Everything PRIME. End of story.

The music fades, the lights come back on in full and Nitz stands in a corner, keeping loose and awaiting his opponents on this fateful evening.

Ladies and Gentlemen please, would you bring your attention to me...


Nick: And now, one of the men who made this all possible!

Richard: While I appreciate tonight, do you have to be such a blatant ass kisser?

Red and silver, the colors of the PRIME Choice flicker throughout Soldier Field. Some light fireworks display in similar areas as Donnelly's but not nearly as loud. Suddenly, the stadium is plunged into darkness again as a single spotlight shines at the entrance. Filling that spotlight is a figure, certain to be The Supreme Machine. As quick as the lights went out, the spotlight goes out and the music stops.

Richard: Oh look, our financier didn't pay the electric bill.

Nick: Hardy har har.

Pyro jets out from the stage and the PRIME*View and now different music can be heard.

Nick: Wow, this takes me back.

"Passive" by A Perfect Circle.

It's a call back to the old days as the lights come up and the most decorated champion and first ever Grand Slam Champion is pointing to the crowd, trying to get the already deafening people in Chicago to roar even louder. There is a fire lit under Killean Sirrajin on a night where he promises to end, once and for all, the terrorist legacy of The Man in Black. He romps over to the other end of the stage and pumps the people up there. Security is tight and making sure rowdy fans don't cause any problems as Sirrajin turns and makes his way to the ring.

Vince Howard: And now his opponent, first, from Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada... he is The Surpreme Machine... KIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIILLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAN SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAJIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNN!!!

Stopping half way down the ramp as the people pop for his name alone, he looks at the stage and then throws his hands in the air, his index fingers and eyes pointing upward from behind his trademark red sunglasses. A roar can be heard approaching...

Nick: I remember this... Colossus III, against Tchu... hold on to your hats!

The roar gets deafening, drowning out the music as it's the main event of the 3rd Colossus all over again. Three F-16's buzz the stadium as the PRIME*View shows images of the armed forces with a small graphic paying tribute to the troops. As fast as they came, the jets were gone, leaving half of the attendance needing to clear their ears.

Nick: Gotta love it, Killean wrestled Tchu on the last ever ReVolution as a tribute to PRIME's past and everything PRIME. Now tonight, he recreates perhaps one of his best entrances.

Richard: WHAT?!

Nick: Yup, everything is right in the world tonight.

Richard: Not unless Shakur can spoil the party.

Killean climbs onto the apron and through the ropes, staring across the ring at a man he has never wrestled before. Donnelly doesn't exactly look impressed and mouths the words, "The fuck you lookin' at?" Sirrajin smirks and pulls the ring ropes as "Passive" fades away. The crowd has become eerily quiet suddenly, followed by uncontrollable hate for the man they knew was coming out last.

Nick: And there's only one person left to emerge.

Richard: I heard a rumor going around that the board wouldn't spare any unnecessary expenses and allow Shakur a lavish entrance.

Nick: Well, as we saw a moment ago, he does have something in mind for this entrance.

Richard: And knowing his track record, no one is going to like it.

Chicago is ready to burst at its seams with hatred for Devin Shakur. Drunk fans clutch popcorn bags and alcoholic beverages while kids fill their lungs with air in anticipation to scream as loud as they can in his ears. Others have signs at chest level, hoping he'll see their witty insults and lose a bit of his confidence.

Nick: These people are ready to shatter his eardrums.

Richard: I hope nobody has a sensitive car alarm in the lot because when that music hits...

This is where that gnarly guitar rift which leads into Peter Frampton's eloquent cover of Black Hole Sun would tear through Soldier Field. All available stadium lights would shut off. Shakur's voice would boom through the arena, "God said a man should work with his hands."

But none of it comes.

Richard: Wow, they aren't even gonna give him an entrance? No music? C'mon, I know he dicked you around for two years straight, but even assholes deserve an entrance for their last stands.

Nick: I don't think it's that at all. I think he's making them wait.

Richard: Or he really is rubbing one out.

Nick: Gross.

Uncomfortable silence continues to build. The crowd grows quieter and quieter by the second. Some of those signs begin to drop while others stubbornly keep them up. Those same kids who tried to build their screams are getting dangerously close to needing an exhale. A few astutely remember Shakur arrived via helicopter at Colossus V and glance upward, hoping to ruin any element of surprise if he's rehashing that entrance.

Nope. Nothing. Nada. Zip.

Donnelly unleashes a tirade of profanity at referee at Bernie Roberts, who can do nothing more than shrug his shoulders and ask Sirrajin for instructions. Sirrajin is pacing back and forth.

Nick: I wouldn't choose this particular route in trying to rile up Killean and Donnelly.

Richard: With high strung athletes like this, all it takes is one variable to throw them off their game. Trust me, Shakur needs a lot of those variables to fall his way to walk out a victor tonight.

Finally, a somber lounge tune picks up over the speakers causing all heads to focus on the aisleway.

#And now, the end is here
And so I face the final curtain#

Richard: Oh man, he's coming out to Ol Blue Eyes, Sinatra baby!

#My friend, I'll say it clear
I'll state my case, of which I'm certain
I've lived a life that's full
I traveled each and ev'ry highway
And more, much more than this, I did it my way.#

With measured steps, Devin Shakur emerges from behind the ever familiar black curtain with a knee high companion at his side.

No, not Tony Gamble.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

#Regrets, I've had a few
But then again, too few to mention
I did what I had to do and saw it through without exemption#

It's a billy goat.

#I planned each charted course, each careful step along the byway
And more, much more than this, I did it my way#

Shakur spins around to show his attire.

A Chicago Cubs hat.
Black headphones.
A black Renegades Baseball sweater with a green collar showing underneath.

Richard: HAHAHAHAHA! IT'S A MIRACLE! STEVE BARTMAN HAS COME OUT OF HIDING AFTER NINE YEARS!

"My Way" picks up in intensity, causing Shakur to take off his headphones and do the Hogan ear pose.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

#Yes, there were times, I'm sure you knew
When I bit off more than I could chew#

Nick goes to speak another line, likely about how fitting the lyrics are but he can't even hear himself talk. Shakur starts his decline down the ramp and into the waiting arms of his scorned public.

#But through it all, when there was doubt
I ate it up and spit it out
I faced it all and I stood tall and did it my way#

He jovially waves at fans while being pelted with beer bottles, popcorn, full beverages, batteries, and virtually anything else capable of being heaved at him.

#I've loved, I've laughed and cried
I've had my fill, my share of losing
And now, as tears subside, I find it all so amusing.#

Quentin Tarantino would blush at the amount of fuck's being hurled in such a short span. Shakur continues toward the ring, while looking around and wondering why he's receiving such a rude reception.

#To think I did all that
And may I say, not in a shy way,
"Oh, no, oh, no, not me, I did it my way"#

He arrives at the stairs and sends the billy goat over to a security guard who takes its leash and hurries backstage to avoid becoming a target of ire. Shakur climbs up the stairs and spins around, blowing kisses and waving at the crowd.

#For what is a man, what has he got?
If not himself, then he has naught
To say the things he truly feels and not the words of one who kneels
The record shows I took the blows and did it my way!#

He spins back around and steps between the ropes.

#Yes, it was my way.#

He undoes the headphones, nonchalantly tossing them over his right shoulder. A fan in the second row catches them and flings them back to a modest cheer. Shakur removes his cap and throws it just inside the barricade and out of reach for anybody to grab. The shirts come off next revealing his standard Armani garb.

Richard: He didn't need 80,000 dollars of pyro or a band performing his song to get his point across.

Nick: Well, needless to say if the beating he's likely to sustain in the ring or backstage doesn't put him in an ambulance, he'll have to pull a David Copperfield like escape from the city in order to stay in one piece.

Richard: And that's just the way he likes it.

DING! DING! DING!

A roar erupts. All three wrestlers stand apart in a triangle formation, since there are no allegiances coming in.

Nick: And here we go.

Richard: Just wait until Shakur unleashes the Emo.

Nick: What?

Richard: Forget it, my commentary is too high level to explain to you.

Shakur is slightly crouched, his eyes darting back and forth rapidly as he's expecting either or both to come charging in at any moment. Donnelly expects much the same, yet also doesn't want to sit idly by and not get his chance to shine. Sirrajin is keeping a strong eye on Shakur but is also coiled and waiting for Donnelly.

Nick: Each wrestler knows the significance of this match and given the mind games, nobody wants to make the first mistake.

Richard: But, and hopefully this is on your level of comprehension, once they collide, it is going to be on like Donkey Kong.

Nick: Thanks, I needed that.

Just as the sarcasm finishes, Sirrajin explodes from his stance toward Shakur.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

But Shakur rolls out of the ring and watches Donnelly exploit the opportunity by pounding away on Sirrajin while he's trapped against the ropes.

Richard: He knows he's a marked man, no way he's going to fall for that. Let em tire each other out and then attack.

Nick: And as we saw earlier, Bernie Roberts has made it more than clear he's only out here to count a fall or break a submission once a wrestler has given up.

After taking six good shots from Donnelly, Sirrajin is able to turn and shove him away. Sirrajin charges forward, looking for a clothesline, but Donnelly ducks and delivers a back kick to the abdomen. Sirrajin clutches while Donnelly hits the ropes. Sirrajin anticipates and drops to his stomach. Donnelly jumps over, hits far side, and watches as Sirrajin drops again. He reacts in time to plant an elbow between the shoulder blades. Shakur slides into the ring behind and clubs Donnelly with a double ax handle and then viciously stomps on the back of Sirrajin's head as he's getting up.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick: Shakur has already made his agenda crystal clear. He's looking to end this fast and get out of here before the mob catches up to him.

Richard: He's not faster than Donnelly or stronger than Sirrajin, but if he can be the smarter wrestler, he might just get his wish.

Shakur puts a few more boots on Sirrajin's skull before catching Donnelly in the corner with a shoulder to the ribs. He tries to pull Donnelly down into a cradle, but Donnelly holds onto the ropes and goes for a kick to the head. Shakur rolls away and down to the floor. Donnelly immediately jumps over the top rope and gives chase.

Nick: And it didn't take long for his strategy to completely unravel. Now he's in a foot race.

They go around the ring once before Shakur stops, turns, and pokes Donnelly in the eye before slamming him shoulder first into the steps.

Richard: It's almost as if he realized there was no point in running when he could just pull a trick out of the bag and catch Donnelly by surprise.

Shakur hoists Donnelly up underneath his arms and shoves him into the ring before backing away. Sirrajin, still groggy from the boots, takes what he can get by grabbing Donnelly off the canvas, whipping him far side and sending him high with a back body drop.

Nick: Some serious elevation on that back drop.

Donnelly has no time to stand and catch his breath before eating a face full of forearm from Sirrajin. It is followed by two more and then a shove into the corner. Sirrajin unloads an elbow to the chin and picks Donnelly up before walloping him with a slap across the face.

OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Nick: I don't think he was too enthralled with that sneak attack Donnelly put on him earlier.

Sirrajin quickly gets out of the ring and goes after Shakur, who again begins backpedaling.

Nick: This is what everybody has been waiting for. Shakur is going to be left with nowhere to go and nowhere to hide.

Richard: If that were really the case, why wouldn't Shakur just run to the parking lot and leave?

Sirrajin continues stalking his adversary around ringside. Shakur keeps moving backward until he senses Donnelly is behind him, albeit still recovering from being slapped. Shakur runs ahead, gets around Sirrajin, hops onto the second stair and tries to perform another eye poke but Sirrajin catches him.

Richard: GO TO THE PARKING LOT AND LEAVE!

Sirrajin keeps a tight grip and charges into the ring post, releasing his hands at the last second so he can also splash Shakur at the same time.

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Nick: Notice his hands were not around Shakur's back to cushion the blow. This feud, and Shakur's disrespect of PRIME, has gone far beyond wrestler decorum. Sirrajin is out to leave a lasting impression on Shakur.

Shakur has time to let out a wince before being pulled and thrown into the ring by Sirrajin. He follows in quickly and closes the distance on Shakur, but receives a low blow for his troubles and then two thumbs in the eyes. Shakur kicks out Sirrajin's right leg and curls him into a small package.

ONE

Sirrajin is able to muscle his way out. Shakur scampers to his feet and boots Sirrajin hard in his ribs. He follows with another boot and turns around just in time to see Donnelly flying toward him with a dropkick. Shakur rolls under and leaves Donnelly to smash back first into the canvas and scream in pain.

Nick: And that sequence reinforces my earlier comment. It was obvious by the body language, Shakur is in business for himself. He wants out in the worst way and he's going to exploit Sirrajin's relaxed rules in this match. In addition, he's not going to make Donnelly look good at all.

Richard: This is a fight, plain and simple. Shakur is best equipped to handle a brawl. Sirrajin is all power and Donnelly is an acrobat who is going to be in need of a good curved garbage can to fix his back.

Shakur grabs Donnelly by his hair and places him in a suplex position. Shakur tries to lift, but Donnelly squirms and eventually gets Shakur to drop him. Donnelly unlocks his head and receives a stiff knee to his liver for his effort. Shakur gets him back in the position and performs a snap suplex.

Richard: Shakur is cagey enough -

Nick: Another cover by Shakur.

ONE

T-

Donnelly pushes out and gets up to his feet, clearly upset by Shakur's lack of professionalism. He shoves Shakur hard. Shakur responds with a low blow and spike DDT.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick: That was sloppy and damn sure intentional on Shakur's part. Donnelly is now coming around to realize how dangerous Shakur is and if he's going to these moves this early, one can only imagine how much he'll compromise the long-term health of his opponents just to get out of here tonight.

Richard: Shakur knows the history of wrestling. Just because he has disrespected the business ad nauseum doesn't mean he's oblivious to how companies conduct themselves, especially on the last night of business.

Donnelly rolls to the floor, holding his head. He lands gently on his knees and tries to shake the cobwebs loose. Shakur gets to his feet and turns around to find Sirrajin.

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

He gets a hand around his throat and is lifted off the ground. He tries to kick at Sirrajin's midsection, but Sirrajin isn't giving him the satisfaction of showing if any of the strikes hurt.

Nick: And now Shakur is about to know how it feels to be helpless and have your professional livelihood threatened.

Sirrajin keeps the squeeze on Shakur, eventually bringing his other hand around for a full choke. Shakur's kicks quickly cease and some color comes across his pale face. Sirrajin holds it in for a few more seconds before releasing him into the corner and unloading with shots to the midsection.

Nick: Those are vicious shots. You can hear them over here. This is what Shakur didn't want, at least not this early in the contest.

Any wind Shakur had in his sails is gone. He tries another low blow, but Sirrajin catches his foot and delivers one of his own. Shakur collapses in pain while Sirrajin pours on boot after boot into his left arm.

FUCK HIM UP KILLEAN, FUCK HIM UP!
FUCK HIM UP KILLEAN, FUCK HIM UP!
FUCK HIM UP KILLEAN, FUCK HIM UP!

The only thing saving Shakur is that left arm, which is protecting his head. Killean gives no fucks and continues stomping.

Nick: This is a win-win for Killean. Shakur is going to lose any use in that arm if he keeps it up there, but if he doesn't then his head will be exposed.

After five more stomps, Shakur regains enough sense to separate the pain in his arm from his cognitive thinking to escape and rolls to the floor.

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

He just so happens to walk straight into a punch from Donnelly. The steps he used earlier to hurt Donnelly's shoulder cause him to trip. Donnelly leaps over and pins Shakur's arms down with his knees. Donnelly peppers him with quick strikes to his unprotected head.

Nick: You have to wonder if Shakur goes unconscious this evening will Sirrajin, and now Donnelly, stop the beating and wait until he gets up?

Richard: I'm on both sides of the fence here really. I am a Shakur supporter through and through, but karma is virtually undefeated in the wrestling business and he's getting some here.

After ten more blows that have bloodied Shakur's nose, Donnelly gets up and lets out a primal scream that is matched by the bloodthirsty Chicago crowd. Sirrajin calls down for Donnelly to bring Shakur back into the ring for some more punishment.

"Fuck no, man. He's mine."

Sirrajin again asks, sans any politeness from the first request.

Donnelly gives him a two finger response. Sirrajin slides under the bottom rope and gets in Donnelly's face.

Richard: This gives Shakur a much needed reprieve. Let the two guys who want to tear him apart get in a donnybrook over who gets the privilege.

Nick: All three competitors have alpha personalities. They want to proceed on their own terms and disregard anybody's dissenting opinion.

Donnelly shoves Sirrajin and makes a remark about the DDT he received. Sirrajin shoves back and makes a remark about being poked in the eyes on purpose. The shoves escalate into a lockup with Donnelly being muscled back due to the drastic side difference. He tries to shove himself free, but Sirrajin keeps him pressed against the ringside area. Donnelly squirms but is unsuccessful and receives an expletive filled lecture from Sirrajin.

Richard: Shakur is receiving ample time because these two are trying to measure their dicks. It goes to show how convoluted these guys really are. Here you have the guy you both want to maim and yet you can't even come to a truce.

Nick: Well these two aren't exactly bu-

OHHHHHHHH!

Donnelly uses his head, literally, and gets a breather from Sirrajin. He puts some additional right hands on for good measure and has opened a small cut on Sirrajin's forehead. He puts a boot in Sirrajin's midsection and pushes him back into the ring. Donnelly hops onto the apron, then the top rope and comes down with a legdrop across the back of Sirrajin's neck.

Richard: That was more than likely the first non murderdeathkill maneuver of this contest by any of the competitors.

Donnelly rolls Sirrajin over and covers.

ONE

TW-

Sirrajin gets a shoulder up. Donnelly gets up and clubs Sirrajin in the back a few times before assisting him up and into the corner. He connects on a knife edge chop.

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Another

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

And one more

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Shakur has been biding his time and waits until Donnelly locks Sirrajin up for a diagonal whip before attacking. He runs into the ring and delivers a nasty kidney punch. Donnelly loses his grip and eats a snap back suplex.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard: Shakur got all knuckle on that punch. Normally that would hurt an average person but he's emo so all the suicide attempts make that feel like a stranger.

Nick: Am I supposed to laugh at that?

Richard: It'd be nice.

Nick: Lawl.

With Donnelly incapacitated, Shakur spins around to focus on Sirrajin.

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

And gets tossed into the corner again. Sirrajin goes ballistic connecting with punch after punch. Fans do their best to keep up but Sirrajin is moving like a boxing analyst's wet dream.

Nick: Look at Killean go.

Richard: Vint - Hang on, I'm being told by our lawyers we can't use that douchebag phrase or we'll be sued by WWE. OLD SCH - No, that doesn't work either. RETRO SIRRAJIN!

Any momentum Shakur gathered on the outside is gone and now he's sucking air hard. Sirrajin pours more of it on him before winding up and slapping him so hard he believes he's Marty McFly in 1955. Hey Cubs, you only have to wait three more years for a World Series if that movie was accurate.

Pause.

Richard: The hell was that?

Nick: Chris finally got around to seeing the Back to the Future trilogy since he last wrote a match and had to get that bad joke out of his system.

In all his infinite wisdom, Shakur tries to escape over the top rope but Sirrajin grabs hold of him by the belt and keeps him in the ring. He brings Shakur over and pushes him against the ropes before applying enough force to bring the second rope above the top and tie Shakur up.

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Richard "Rick Perry" Parker: Oh Jesus, Mary and ... There's a third one, but I can't remember it. Uh... Oh wow this is embarrassing.

Nick: This has got to be a welcome sight for everybody watching backstage and in attendance.

Richard: Do emos get health insurance? I mean given their suicidal nature and all.

Sirrajin has a big smile on his face. He holds up a finger to the crowd, hops between the second and third ropes on the opposite side, reaches under the ring and pulls out a steel chair.

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Nick: And just when you thought it couldn't get any worse -

He rolls in under the bottom rope and twirls the chair around in his hand before pulling it all the way back.

CRACK!

Shakur involuntarily kicks and slumps down, but he's unable to fall out of the ring.

Nick: That was nasty!

Richard: A normal person would have been fallen out of the ropes and onto the floor from the impact, but Sirrajin has that steroid strength and tied him up something fierce.

Nick: It doesn't look like he's done either. He's winding up again!

CRACK!

Nick: Look at the dent in that chair!

Richard: It would take two Kim Kardashians sitting in that to make such a dent... Or just Khloe.

A big cut has opened on Shakur's forehead. His eyes are forced shut and Sirrajin is looking around for another chair to continue his onslaught.

He turns into Nitz Donnelly... standing there with two and offering him one.

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Richard: Oh great, they figured it out. I thought you said things couldn't get any worse.

Nick: I never said things couldn't get worse.

Richard: And look at you, you are enjoying this aren't you?

Nick: It's a welcome sight, I'm not ashamed to say.

Sirrajin and Donnelly smack their chairs on the mat in succession and line up on each side of Shakur. They swing around as hard as possible.

CRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRACK!

Finally, Shakur is able to slide out in between the ropes and hit the floor with a nasty thud.

Richard: There is no amount of Beijing Badonkadonk capable of curing Shakur's ailment. He's probably never going to fuck or see straight again... Although -

Nick: Don't.

Richard: But Tyler Rayne said it was true.

Nick: It was a joke. Her anatomy is not slanted in any way shape or form.

Callback aside, Donnelly seizes the opportunity by throwing his chair into Sirrajin and connecting with a spinning heel kick.

Nick: DONNELLY TRYING TO STEAL IT!

ONE

TWO

THR-

Sirrajin gets his shoulder out. Donnelly lets out a "fuck" and gets to a standing position. He steps over Sirrajin and keeps his back to him. Donnelly jumps up split-legged to the top rope and arches back in a moonsault. He rolls Sirrajin over for another cover.

ONE

TWO

THR-

Nick: The one thing going for Devin Shakur at this point is that this is not an elimination match. Only one person can emerge victorious.

Richard: It's pretty shitty when your outcome is only still involved because of your opponents' pride.

Donnelly lets Sirrajin get to his feet before landing a few kicks to the body. He grabs Sirrajin by the left arm and whips him far side. Donnelly hits the near side ropes and meets Sirrajin in the middle, attempting a Code Breaker. Sirrajin catches him, brings him down and launches him overhead in a belly to belly suplex.

Nick: Donnelly still on his feet.

Donnelly thought a step ahead and managed to get his hands down, push off the ropes and look for a back elbow.

He didn't count on Sirrajin anticipating and launching him backward in a full nelson suplex.

OHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Richard: He should have just taken the belly to belly.

Nick: I think you are right. Now we're going to see what Sirrajin can do on the offense.

Sirrajin tries shaking the cobwebs loose. He's still got a few left over from when Shakur unloaded those punches on him. Donnelly clumsily gets to his feet and stumbles back down, allowing Sirrajin enough time to push off his knelt stance, rush to the near side ropes and hit a shoulder tackle. Donnelly goes down, Sirrajin gets back up and hits another block.

Nick: Sirrajin starting to get rolling here. You have to wonder though if he's going to want to do anymore damage to Shakur, or try and pin him.

Richard: Shakur's gotta milk that for as long as he can.

Donnelly is brought up and snapped over in a suplex. It doesn't have quite the veracity Shakur's did earlier, but Sirrajin isn't out to disable him. Sirrajin swings around and tries for a cover.

ONE

TWO

T-

Donnelly gets out. Sirrajin wastes no time in picking him up and throwing him over his right shoulder. Sirrajin backs into a corner and charges out with a full head of steam, tilting himself 90 degrees for a running powerslam. Another cover.

ONE

TWO

TH-

Nick: I guess we have our answer twofold. He's not waiting on Shakur to get up and is trying to get this victory sealed right now.

Richard: It's a pretty cheapskate thing to do. He's gone through such an ordeal to knock him into 1885 -

Nick: I thought -

Richard: Shakur's so fucked up now, he'll think he's back another 70 years. Anyway, Sirrajin exerted so much energy in knocking him out and doesn't even do the man a solid by pinning him so he can receive proper medical care.

Nick: The only medical care Shakur is going to receive tonight is wrestling justice.

On the outside, Shakur rolls over and opens his eyes. His face is covered in blood likely because he just came out of a pool of it. Sirrajin locks Donnelly's head between his legs and hoists him up for a powerbomb, but Donnelly rolls over and down the back, trying to pull Sirrajin down into a pinning predicament. Sirrajin has none of it, reaches down and hoists Donnelly up by the throat. Donnelly adjusts accordingly and is able to get that Code Breaker he sought a while ago, knocking Sirrajin back against the ropes. Donnelly rushes far side and charges in, leaping close enough to where Sirrajin can't move his feet forward and counter.

Nick: Both men fly over the top rope and onto the floor. Donnelly uses the cross body effectively and manages to get the odds back in his favor.

On the other side of the ring, Shakur crawls on his hands and knees over toward Donnelly and Sirrajin. Blood is still coming down his face, albeit at a much slower rate than before. The cameraman gets a closeup of Shakur's mug.

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Richard: And these bloodthirsty maniacs vocalizing their hard-ons for the onslaught this man has endured. I know what I said but karma should only go so far.

Nick: He's being repaid for the Chandler Tsonda's, Bryan Dawkins', and Tyler Rayne's of the world who had to endure his wrath for months on end.

Richard: Yeah, and how did that work out? Chandler Tsonda and Tyler Rayne are wrestling here tonight and Bryan Dawkins got deported back to Hawaii where they use all those voodoo remedies to cure his neck pain.

Nick: How can you still go on about Hawaii not being part of the United States?

Richard: I have the same problem with Alaska - IT ISN'T FUCKING CONNECTED. ERGO. IT AIN'T UNITED!

Shakur's red right hand clutches the ring apron and slowly is able to pull the rest of him up at the same time Donnelly and Sirrajin are both getting up. Shakur charges toward his adversaries, Donnelly ducks under and allows Sirrajin to grab him by the arms, launching him over and onto the Spanish announce table.

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHCRACKOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Nick: After getting Shakur on the announce table, Sirrajin turned around and got his clock cleaned by a Donnelly chair shot.

Sirrajin stumbles back and receives a follow up chair shot to the face, sending him back and slumped over the announce table. Donnelly looks at them, then at the crowd and ducks under the ring.

Richard: Oh great, he got spooked. Someone get a few treats and a ball for him to chase.

Nick: I really don't think that's the case. He's -

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Found what he's looking for. A ladder.

We're not talking a small ladder either. This is a BIG MOFUCKIN LADDAH.

Richard: Shit that's a big mofuckin laddah.

It takes Donnelly a few seconds to pull the monstrosity out, let alone set up. It towers at least a good ten feet over the ring.

Nick: He can't be thinking about jumping off that.

Richard: Well I don't know why else he would have brought it here. You can't exactly go into Lowes and get one of those on a whim.

Donnelly positions the ladder close to the barricade and begins his ascent. Shakur and Sirrajin are completely oblivious to what is about to happen.

"PLEASE DON'T DIE!"
"PLEASE DON'T DIE!"
"PLEASE DON'T DIE!"

He reaches the top and steadies his feet, holding his arms out for upper body balance. He then pivots around and has his back to the competitors.

Richard: He's outright stealing Shakur's gimmick. Fuck this, I'm outta here. If he misses, I'm not going to be the cushion he lands on.

Agreeing with his partner, Nick also departs and stands back behind the timekeeper's table to watch as Donnelly soars into the air. Time seems to slow down. Multiple waves of flashbulbs come from all sides of the building as they are about to bear witness to one of the most death defying acts of the evening, one way or another.

Donnelly corkscrews in the air, tightening himself into a ball as he's turning, and manages to rotate two full times around, barely catching a glimpse of his opponents on the table before crashing through with the 900 splash.

Silence.

Donnelly did hit his targets, but subjecting one's self to that kind of anguish is not without consequences. If he didn't have a concussion from Shakur's earlier assault, this will ensure he's got at least a Grade 2, if not 3.

The Spanish announce teams, veterans of having their furniture destroyed, knew to get out of Dodge but even they couldn't turn their eyes away from the human wreck. Even Nick and Richard backed up a few more paces and are unsure of what to do.

The wails of young Donnelly fans break an uncomfortable silence in the arena. Most parents in attendance tried their best to avert eyes, but even if no child saw the impact, most are capable enough to understand what falling from such a height curtails.

Bernie Roberts vowed before the match only to count a fall or submission, but his instincts as an official are to throw up an X and go over to assist in any way possible.

Nick and Richard, absentmindedly grabbing microphones, begin commentating again.

Nick: Folks, I... I really don't know what to say about what we just saw.

Richard: That was... Uh, that was... That was terrifying.

Nick: We've got doctors in attendance and hopefully they will be out here momentarily. I can't imagine any of these men are going to escape uninjured from that.

Richard: I... I guess what I heard about Donnelly was right. I heard he had a plan to make sure he got everybody's attention.

Nick: He got everybody's attention, no doubt about that, but at what personal cost? I know there's a great deal of animosity between Donnelly and Shakur since the match progressed, and Donnelly has been known throughout his career as a risktaker, but he does not want to leave a lasting memory like this in the eyes of his fans.

Richard: Agreed. We are all well aware that PRIME is closing its doors this evening, but dude went beyond the point of trying to make an impact and might have given himself irreparable damage.

Nick: This is one of the many reasons we put out those PSAs encouraging fans not to try this at home.

After what feels like an eternity to Soldier Field, a team of doctors and medics make their way out with three stretchers.

Nick: And finally we have the doctors out here. Hopefully this match will be paused, if not stopped.

Doctors attend to each wrestler individually, trying to create some space so proper attention can be provided. Each wrestler receives a backboard and neck brace.

Nick: You pay a certain price when you enter the ring. The price often varies between what is structured and created in the heat of the moment. Sometimes blood is shed and bones broken, but rarely do we see a body broken.

Richard: All bias aside, Donnelly had my respect for having enough gonads to get himself involved with these two. He's always been a top notch in-ring competitor and hopefully there is no permanent damage to him, but I don't see how there can't be.

Nick: If you were to fall from that height into a big pool of water, that's one thing. Falling onto somebody when they are supposed to catch you is another, but underneath that table isn't a big mat. It's cold and unforgiving hard surface. You can't expect Sirrajin or Shakur to cushion every inch of your body.

Richard: Most people when they fall like that, and as we can see right now, all the wrestlers are being loaded onto the stretchers, neck braces on and all.

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Sirrajin musters a thumbs up to the crowd, inciting more applause. Donnelly and Shakur are still immobile.

Richard: As I was saying, when most people in our industry fall like that, they aren't always watching out for their head. They want to make sure they get body on body contact, but even if he was concerned for his head, what is there exactly for him to cushion it with?

Nick: An outstanding point, Richard. Shakur beginning to move his arms over there. A few fans also remarking that Donnelly has opened his eyes, all great signs. The best case scenario for Donnelly's skull is to be protected, in some part, by his arms. But in this case it wasn't. He took the full force of a 25 foot fall straight on his head.

Richard: There are people out there who say they know how to fall. Well, yeah, but when you are up that high under the circumstances Donnelly was, it doesn't matter what you know about how to bump, something has got to give.

Nick: All of the competitors are being wheeled out and toward ambulances that we can hear just off in the distance. I was not expecting the match to end like this, and I doubt anybody in the locker room was either.

Richard: We have to wish the athletes the best, and hopefully there will be some kind of medical update on their conditions in the near future. I'm sure devoted fans of each wrestler will keep the rest of the community abreast.

Nick: We're going to take a short break and head to the back -

"No, no! You shouldn't get up - "

"PLEASE, SIR, DO NOT GET UP!"

One of the competitors has undone his upper body latches and moved to a sitting position.

Nick: Oh shit.

It's Devin Shakur.

The look in his bloodshot eyes suggest this match is far from over.

He undoes the final latch on his lower body and gets to a standing position. He's not there for long, as his legs aren't able to support his weight yet. Undeterred, he stumbles up, falls a second time, and goes off to the right side of the stage and retrieves a steel chair. A doctor comes over and stands in his way.

"Mr. Shakur, please, you are not physically able to continue. Just let us have a look at you in the locker room."

Nick: I thought the match was over. What is he doing?

Richard: We need to get him back on that gurney ASAP.

Shakur doesn't heed his warning and gives him a chair shot for his trouble.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick: Oh dear God, he just hit the doctor! He's not part of the show!

This shocking action takes a lot of the medical team by surprise. Naturally, they weren't expecting him to get up, let alone start dishing out more violence. He can barely stand, and begins swinging wildly at anybody who gets close to him, creating space that he uses to get closer and closer to the still prone Sirrajin and Donnelly.

Richard: What in the hell is he trying to prove by doing this? If this is doing things his way, I don't want to be a part of his support group anymore.

A more senior personnel walks forward, apparently with a belief he can talk Shakur down.

CRACK!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Shakur spits on his now laid out body as trash is hurled at him from both sides of the aisleway. He's also hearing profanities and messages of resentment from fans in the front rows. He holds the chair over his head and flips off a young fan wearing a Donnelly shirt. His mother shields him while the father leans over the rail.

Nick: He deserves all the grief he's getting from these people right now! Folks, we apologize as this is not part of the program. Those are real doctors hired by PRIME specifically for this event. They are not "plants" designed to enhance the story and this company does not endorse any of the actions Devin Shakur just committed.

The remaining medical staffers rush by Shakur to attend to their injured partners. He walks by, using the chair a few times as a crutch to make sure he doesn't fall down.

Richard: He is obviously not in his right mind -

Nick: When has he ever been? Never. The man has been a cancer from Day 1 and he's going to make damn sure he's just as big a one when he walks out the door, even if he has to go through everybody in the building.

Shakur lifts the steel chair high above his head and is about to bring it down on a defenseless Killean Sirrajin when a few tall fans are able to reach up and wrestle away the chair from him.

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Nick: I don't endorse that but Sirrajin is -

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard: And that's makes a third lawsuit.

Nick: SHAKUR JUST HIT A FAN!

Richard: If I know how Shakur thinks, he's going to put all of this on Lisa Tyler, Blaine Blair, and Killean Sirrajin for making him honor that contract.

Nick: What a disgusting human being.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick: HE JUST HIT ANOTHER ONE!

Richard: Get somebody out from the back right now. Anybody, I don't care who it is. We don't condone this kind of behavior in the slightest and someone has got to stop this rampage before it gets uncontrollable.

Nick: I don't agree with fans trying to take objects away from the performers, but Shakur has no right to strike a fan for doing so. At least someone has a sensible enough mind to look out for the safety of our performers, especially when another one in the match doesn't!

Shakur isn't backing down from anybody else who wants to take a chance at him. He leans down and picks up the chair, which fell over the barricade once the fans got punched. Shakur moves behind Killean's head and away from any prying arms to finally deliver a chair shot to his abdomen.

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


More trash pours in from all sides.

Nick: This is not the smartest idea from the crowd. There are still two wrestlers tied to restraints in the middle of the aisle.

Richard takes off his headset and goes to get the house microphone.

Richard: Please, ladies and gentlemen, stop throwing trash into the aisleway. There are still two performers tied to restraints and defenseless!

The message doesn't resonate, at least not right away, as it continues to come in from all sides, while Shakur strikes Donnelly across the chest with a chair shot.

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


He continues to alternate chair shots at will as a stream of officials come out from the backstage area to try and resolve the issue.

Richard: It sure as hell took them long enough!

Shakur notices the intrusion and directs his attention on the officials, rushing at them with the chair and going for their heads. The trash flow picks back up once Shakur is out of range of Donnelly and Sirrajin. A few officials stumble over themselves while others reluctantly head for higher crowd. Shakur stands on top of the stage and flips the double bird.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick: Devin Shakur has committed many classless acts during his time in PRIME, but this has got to be right up there.

Richard: It's par for the course. He knows he's a deviant, owns it, and is going to live up to his reputation on PRIME's biggest stage. He used Colossus V as an exhibition to show what happens when he doesn't get his way and it cost Bryan Dawkins his long term career.

Nick: And who knows what amount of damage he's done to four individuals who are not trained wrestlers and two who are.

He's managed to regain his balance and walks down the aisle, ignoring all debris being thrown at him. He doesn't even look at fans giving him the bird or offering to fight him. Instead, he goes over to Killean Sirrajin and jams the steel chair into his sternum.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

He then undoes Killean's restraints and tilts his stretcher. He walks over to Donnelly and does the same for him, but picks him up once he hits the floor and forces him backward with a right hand. Donnelly trips over the ring mat while Shakur stalks forward and connects with a hard stomp to the chest.

Richard: Is this match still going on? Nobody has answered that.

Nick: I never heard a bell and nobody has come out to declare the match over so I guess we are still in the midst of this contest.

He picks Donnelly up one more time and scoots him under the bottom rope. Donnelly can't even roll over a half rotation. Shakur goes back out and lifts Sirrajin up by his hair, kneeing him in the midsection once, and slamming him head first against the barricade before ushering him into the ring. Shakur himself hops onto the apron and back inside, where he sticks his arms out and postures once again for the crowd.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick: I hope he can look back on this in five to ten years and feel some kind of remorse.

Richard: I think if most of us had our way, he'd be in the slammer for a minimum of five to ten for repeated assault and battery. He'd be humble after that let me tell you.

Shakur rolls under the bottom rope nearest the commentary table, reaches under the ring, and pulls out two more steel chairs. He jumps back in the ring and goes to work on Killean Sirrajin, pushing him against the ropes and delivering a stinging knife edge chop. Nobody woos for him. Shakur puts another one on and adds a spinning elbow. He grabs a hold of Killean's left arm and ties it in the ropes before doing the same to the right.

Nick: Oh no.

Richard: You had to know this was on his mind. He's not going to provide payback with just his fists either.

Shakur goes over to Donnelly, picks him up under the arms, and does the same thing he did to Killean, tying him up in the ropes. He looks over at the steel chairs in the ring and cracks a sinister smile.

Nick: I'd hate to say it, but it looks like Killean's plan to keep the match loose and fancy free has blown up in his face. Shakur realized he would have to take it to a whole new level here tonight and that's exactly what he has done.

Richard: Nobody was expecting Shakur to ramp it up to this level of mayhem, otherwise I'm sure Killean would have put provisions in place.

Nick: We can only hope that Sirrajin or Donnelly have enough in the tank to survive and at least make some kind of comeback.

Richard: Because we damn sure know Shakur won't stop until he gets what he wants.

He gets to center ring and teases who he's going to hit first with eenie meenie miney mo. His hand is pointed at Donnelly but he strikes Sirrajin first.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick: This is like Shakur's version of torture porn, he's just trying to squeeze as much hatred out as humanly possible.

Shakur goes over to Donnelly and taps him in the forehead.

Shakur: Hello, is there anybody innnnnn there?

He looks down at the chair and shakes his head, dropping it at Donnelly's feet.

Shakur: I got something special for you.

He jumps out of the ring and goes back under it to retrieve something else.

Nick: Lord only knows what he's going to pull out.

Richard: Hopefully someone is stowed away under there and keeps him from coming back out.

Unfortunately for the announcers, he comes out with a shiny silver object and rolls back into the ring. He forcefully opens Donnelly's eyes so he can see it.

Nick: Is that... A portable DVD player?

Richard: Oh wow, this is a big fuck you to Donnelly.

Shakur holds up the player for all to see.

Shakur: CALLBACK!

He smashes it into Donnelly's face once, twice, three times, and a fourth which breaks it into two pieces.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick: Yeah, that was tactful to say the least. If you don't know what he meant, Donnelly hyped himself to various wrestlers before he debuted by using portable DVD players.

Richard: And leave it to Shakur to be likely one of only five people to remember that.

Shakur picks the unused steel chair up and rushes over at Sirrajin. He's primed to deliver one more home run swing to his helpless foe.

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Except, well, he wasn't completely helpless.

Nick: YEAH! COME ON KILLEAN, GET BACK IN THIS! KICK HIM AGAIN!

Richard: See what happens when you act like a cockbag and showboat, Emo?

Killean isn't entirely out of the woods yet, his arms are still tied in the ropes. Shakur shrugs off the boot as best he can and makes another go around at Killean.

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Another run and another boot to the face. Shakur is on his heels, new blood coming down his left cheek. Killean arches himself back and frees himself from the ropes just as Shakur gears up for his third run. Killean catches him in air, spins him around and plants him on a chair with a Black Hole Slam. He goes for the cover.

ONE

TWO

THRE-

AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!

Nick: DAMN!

Richard: So close.

Even though he's now free, a lot of steam has been taken out of the PRIME stalwart. Not to mention that chair shot from Shakur left him a bloody mess. Nonetheless, he forges ahead and picks up the chair he just used for the slam and then waits on Shakur to get up.

Nick: How long do you think Sirrajin has been waiting to do this?

Richard: At least two years if not more.

An oblivious Shakur rises to his feet, wiping the new blood from his cheek. He stupors around and bites when hearing fans telling him to turn around.

CRACK

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Richard: GRAND MOTHERFUCKING SLAM!

Nick: That chair got dented hard.

Richard: It would take TWO Khloe Kardashians to get a dent that big.

LET'S GO KILLEAN!
LET'S GO KILLEAN!
LET'S GO KILLEAN!


Sirrajin picks the chair back up and goes over to a turnbuckle, wedging it into the section between the middle and top rope. Shakur hasn't moved a muscle since that thunderous blast. Sirrajin drags him by the left arm out to center ring and lets the limp arm drop. Sirrajin grabs the other chair, puts it over his head and brings it down across the sternum of Shakur.

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

The crowd continues showing its adoration for Killean as he delivers chair shots to Shakur's abdomen, left leg, right leg, right arm, left arm, and then back on the head again. He angrily drops the chair and delivers some stern words to Shakur.

Richard: And that boys and girls is why you don't fuck with The Supreme Machine.

Nick: Such a welcome sight to see Shakur get all that he deserves and then some.

Killean drops down to his knees and goes for the pin.

ONE

TWO

THRE-

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Nick: He pulled him back up!

Killean looks out at the crowd and shakes his head no.

Richard: I don't think it is possible to deliver enough punishment to match what Shakur has done in his career, but what he's done isn't enough.

He scoops Shakur up and puts him on his feet. It's amazing he's able to stay there though, although he's like a Wacky Wailing Inflatable Tube man.

Killean: SUPREME JUSTICE!

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Nick: PUT HIM OUT OF HIS DAMN MISERY!

Killean measures Shakur up with his hands as if he's taking a picture and then hits the ropes west side, and then comes back to the east. Shakur turns right into the clothesline but isn't able to support his own weight any longer and folds up on himself.

OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Just at the same time Nitz Donnelly has regained his balance. He puts two knees in the face of Killean Sirrajin that send him back into the corner. Donnelly runs off the far side ropes and comes in with a nasty dropkick that puts Sirrajin face first into the steel chair.

Richard: Here comes Nitz on the comeback!

Killean stumbles back into perfect position for Nitz to leap onto his shoulders and bring Killean over in a backflip for a reverse hurricanrana right on the dented chair.

OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Richard: Sweet Duke Williams!

Nick: Nitz Donnelly, who has been down and out ever since he took that giant leap from the ladder, has finally re-established himself in this match.

Richard: And at the best possible time. He's just got Killean down and out of the ring and now -

Nick: He's about to put a whooping on Shakur.

Shakur, having heard the cracks and crunches, is holding onto the middle rope for dear life in an attempt to get up and try to seize control. Donnelly stands behind, waiting for him to turn.

Richard: If Shakur has just gone ahead and covered when he had the opportunity, all this karma wouldn't be coming back to bite him in the balls.

He pushes off the ropes and turns into a right hand from Donnelly. Shakur drops to the mat, gets back up and is brought right back down. Donnelly brings Shakur up and whips him hard into the ropes, coming in so he'll catch him right off the whip with a leg lariat. Shakur tries to get back up but is pushed into the corner via a shoulder to the midsection from Donnelly. He goes up to the second rope and holds out his fist before bringing it down on Shakur's face.

ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! FIVE! SIX! SEVEN! EIGHT! NINE! TEN! ELEVEN! TWELVE! THIRTEEN! FOURTEEN! FIFTEEN! SIXTEEN! SEVENTEEN! EIGHTEEN! NINETEEN! TWENTY! RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Shakur comes out of the corner and falls face first onto the canvas. Donnelly rolls him onto his back and then looks over at the corner.

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Nick: Shakur's time is just about to run out.

Richard: Sirrajin is going to have to get up on the double if he wants to have any chance of saving the victory from Donnelly.

Donnelly wipes the blood out of his eyes and then makes his way over to the turnbuckle, slowly climbing up to the top.

Nick: If he hits Shakur with the Flashing Exuberance, you can kiss this one goodbye and put Donnelly down for one of the biggest upsets in PRIME.

He gets to a standing position and has to balance himself for a second before pointing out to the crowd and indicating this is going to be the end. He turns himself in the corkscrew and turns the necessary 630 degrees, landing in the senton position.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Like a fish giving its final flop out of water, Shakur manages to turn over at the last possible second and avoid the contact.

Nick: GODDAMMIT!

Richard: Ugh, veteran instinct, blah, blah, blah. GET UP DONNELLY!

Nick: I don't know if Shakur got his eyes open in time to see that or if he just heard the roars of the crowd and was able to figure something out, but shit.

Richard: He should just stay down. It's not like he's going to get out of here in one piece anyway.

Nick: I'm sure he's the only one who believes otherwise.

Donnelly is holding his back and rolling around in pain. He put all of his energy into that move and came up just a wee bit short. Shakur gets his head off the canvas and spots Donnelly before slowly getting to his knees. A wave of beverages fly in and spread throughout the ring, a few hitting him in the face.

Nick: This is the last thing these people, and frankly us as well, want to see.

LET'S GO DONNELLY!
LET'S GO DONNELLY!
LET'S GO DONNELLY!


Donnelly hears the roars and lets out a loud scream as he rolls toward the ropes for support. Shakur paws out and gets hold of a dented up and mangled steel chair. He uses it as his crutch to get up to a standing position, but can't even turn around to face Donnelly. Sirrajin is still down on the floor, bloody hand clinging onto the apron.

Nick: At this point it is a matter of who can first regain their bearings enough to capitalize on the situation.

Richard: Let's just pray to Hoyt it isn't Shakur.

LET'S GO DONNELLY!
LET'S GO DONNELLY!
LET'S GO DONNELLY!


Willed on by the crowd, Donnelly pulls feverishly on the middle rope and then clutches the top rope with his right arm. Shakur's right hand goes to his face and wipes off blood. It comes back completely red.

Nick: Donnelly is finally up to a standing position.

Richard: HERE HE GOES!

Donnelly runs for Shakur looking to catch him in the same backward hurricanrana he did with Sirrajin, but Shakur drops his head back down. Donnelly turns around.

CRACK!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Right across the forehead.

Nick: NO! NO!

Richard: GET IN THERE KILLEAN!

Shakur spins Donnelly back around and drops down in a small package cover, keeping his legs tight.

Nick: KILLEAN'S NOT GONNA MAKE IT!

Richard: SON OF A GODDAMN BITCH!

ONE

TWO

Richard: KICK OUT KICK OUT!

THREE

DING! DING! DING!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard: NO! NO! HE... OH FUCK HE GOT THE PINFALL!

Nick: Devin Shakur has committed more acts of atrocity than Satan himself and come out on top with a victory here.

Richard: I can't call this a victory under any circumstances. The man is a fucking snake. The lowest form of scum on this earth.

Nick: If there is a hell in the afterlife, Devin Shakur is going to be running it after his actions this evening.

Richard: I... I...

Richard tosses his headphones on the table and swears like a sailor.

Nick: I really hope Devin Shakur feels good about himself because he might have ruined any future Nitz Donnelly had in the wrestling business. The man could have brain damage but the only thing that matters to that piece of shit is to get a win and get out of here.

Trash continues to pour into the ring from all sides. None of it seems to matter because Shakur has his arms up high. He even motions for more trash to come into the ring and does his best Anderson Silva head weaving impersonation to avoid it.

Killean Sirrajin is over with referee Bernie Roberts and the time keeper. He's keeping a steady hand on Roberts left shoulder to make sure he doesn't fall down. The three are having a conversation while Shakur continues to strut around the ring.

Nick: Hopefully, once this pathetic excuse for a wrestler is kicked out of the building, we'll be able to get doctors out here, unopposed by Shakur's bullshit agenda, and provide a proper update on the condition of Nitz Donnelly.

Sirrajin breaks apart from the officials and goes over to lean on the announce table. He pats Richard on the shoulder and points over to Roberts, who has the microphone.

Bernie Roberts: Ladies and Gentlemen, as a result of Devin Shakur's repeated and flagrant offenses throughout this contest, Killean Sirrajin has declared this match a NO CONTEST.

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

That one cheer isn't proper enough to explain the adulation within Soldier Field. People are going motherfucking crazy, like they just won the lottery. Richard gives a big ole Tiger Woods fist pump and high fives Sirrajin, while Nick -

Nick: YEAH! FUCK. YES. THAT WAS THE RIGHT CALL!

Well he just told you how he felt. Even Roberts has a small smirk on his face. A few technicians are breathing sighs of relief because the amount of injustice cut to even these part time workers.

Trash has ceased being tossed into the ring. Oprah could probably give away free cars to everybody in the building and it wouldn't match this amount of exuberance.

Everybody is happy save one man.

And he's burning a hole through Killean Sirrajin while standing over the broken body of Nitz Donnelly.

Nick and Richard exchange pleasantries, both elated about the outcome. It might not rectify all the damage Shakur has caused, but at least he doesn't walk out with the satisfaction of having put one on PRIME a final time.

Killean reaches over and grabs the microphone from the timekeeper's table.

Killean: And now for the moment you've all been waiting for. Anybody in the back who wants to get one last piece of this fucker, line up behind gorilla because I'm about to bring him to you!

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Richard puts back on his set.

Nick: And Shakur is finally going to get his proper comeuppance. Boy, I hope he brings Shakur over here because I'd love a couple shots at him.

Richard: Get behind me, bub. I'm taking the first swing if he comes over here.

Sirrajin flips the microphone off to his left side and cracks his neck.

Shakur seems more than willing to let him in the ring, beckoning him forward.

Nick: I think any semblance of the wrestling business is going to get thrown by the wayside here.

Richard: It was thrown by the wayside long before this. Shakur deserves what is coming to him. I can't stress that enough. This is long overdue.

Nick: It's nice to finally have you on the right side, buddy.

Richard: As I said before, even I have my limits as to how far I'll go in support of someone. Now, I'm just going to sit back, relax and enjoy the beating of a lifetime.

Even though Sirrajin is supremely confident in his abilities, he still takes a bit of caution when approaching the ring. Killean has seen what Shakur can do, and he's just had a move stolen out of his own playbook. He can't escape through the crowd at this point and he envisions a roster long line waiting for him if he tried to go through the curtain.

Shakur cocks his right fist back and motions Sirrajin on with his left.

Richard: He's got no where to go and no where to hide now. There are over 70,000 people begging for a chance to swipe at Shakur here.

Nick: This is what he predicted though. He figured he was gonna go down but will he be able to take anybody with him?

Richard: Not if I have anything to say about it.

Sirrajin steps between the ropes. Shakur charges at him and the two begin exchanging punches.

Nick: The fight is on!

Sirrajin tries to keep his momentum going forward, reaching at Shakur's legs in an attempt for a takedown. Shakur keeps backpedaling, while also trying to get the 260 pounds off him. Sirrajin has fully committed to this takedown and is determined to get it. Shakur notices and starts unleashing punches on the top and back of his head.

Richard: Sirrajin isn't gonna get him down. He's too far down on the legs.

Nick: Shakur is beating him down and quick.

Sirrajin gives a final monster push to try and get his upward momentum back, but Shakur is able to slide out and spin away from him. He doesn't give Sirrajin any room to breath, kicking him hard in the ribs and then getting on his back to apply a rear naked choke.

Richard: Come on Killean! Don't go down like this!

Nick: Killean is going to have to dig down deep and hope Shakur doesn't have that 100% locked in.

Richard: He's got way too many people in the back depending on him to bring Shakur back there. This shit is not supposed to happen.

Shakur has the hold sunk in and is just about to make Killean fade to black when Donnelly comes from the blind side and puts one behind Shakur's ear.

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Richard: TEH DONNELLY!~

Shakur looks like a drunk man hanging on Sirrajin's back. If he didn't have a body lock on, he would have slumped out cold.

Nick: And that just goes to show you what happens when you turn your back on someone like Nitz Donnelly.

He might have broken his hand with that punch, but Donnelly isn't going to let anybody know it. He is able to pull Shakur off and put him overhead in a Samoan Drop. Donnelly points up to the top rope.

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Nick: Hallefuckinglujah.

Richard: I have never wanting to see Donnelly fly more than I do now.

Nick: Can we do it together one time?

Richard: On 3. 1... 2... 3...

Nick/Richard: TEH DONNELLY!~

He climbs out of the ring, pulling himself up mainly with his left hand. Once he gets to the top, he balances himself and immediately turns his body into the necessary 630 degrees with a corkscrew to pull off a Flashing Exuberance.

Sirrajin, a little worse for wear, pulls on the ropes and starts to get up. Donnelly walks over and gives him a hand. The two look down at Shakur and exchange a high five.

Nick: Now, it seems the fun can really begin.

Richard: BRING HIM TO ME.

Sirrajin and Donnelly bend down to pick the lifeless Shakur up. Sirrajin hoists him over his left shoulder and looks around. He notices Richard screaming and begging for a chance so he heads that way. Donnelly holds the ropes so Sirrajin can get through. He "happens to accidentally drop" Shakur before exiting the ring, letting him slump onto the floor.

Once he turns back around and notices, he feigns surprise and apologizes to Shakur. Killean and Donnelly scoop down to pick him up and bring him over to Richard's side of the table.

Richard: OH YEAH! HERE WE GO.

He does an Ali shuffle and then winds up his fist, taunting Shakur and getting the crowd involved.

WHOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA WHOAAAAAAAAAAAA WHOAAAAAAAAAAA

He then resorts to poking him in the eye and kneeing him in the groin. Shakur spits out a mouthful of blood in his face, causing him to back up and fall over his chair.

Sirrajin and Donnelly share a big laugh with Nick, before they bring Shakur over to his side of the table. He doesn't bother showboating. Instead, he puts one right on Shakur's kisser.

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

His handlers take him away before he can spit another wad of blood at the longtime play by play announcer. Sirrajin takes a microphone off the apron.

Killean: Who wants a shot at him?

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Killean: I didn't hear you. Who wants a shot to knock this shit stain out?

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Killean: We're gonna swing him down the aisles. If he happens to land in front of you, do whatever you see fit.

Nick: I don't know about you but I feel great after that.

Richard: ...

Nick: You had to expect that, after all you kneed him in the groin. Even I'm not stupid enough to do that.

Richard: GETMEATOWEL!

Donnelly and Sirrajin drag Shakur down the aisle and shove him, leaving him to lean up against the left side barricade for support. One fan dumps her popcorn on his head to a big pop while another one smashes a beer bottle over his head to a bigger pop.

Shakur, blinded by the alcohol, and with no real understanding of his boundaries, moves up the aisle and swings wildly at air. Donnelly walks over and gives him a nudge to the right side barricade. One fan puts a jumbo size bucket of popcorn on his head while another one is able to draw a dick where he pictures Shakur's mouth being.

Nick: Usually that would be pretty classless and pedestrian, but tonight it's all good.

Richard: ISTILNEEDAFUCKINGTOWELGODDAMMIT!

Bucket Head tries to swing at the fan, but again hits air. He gets shoved down by a much larger fan. Sirrajin comes over to help Shakur up, but instead pushes him back to the left side. One fan hits him with a Stop sign. It causes Shakur to be brought back the other way where he is knocked stupid by a fan wielding a steel chair.

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Shakur slumps to his knees and hits the dirt. Sirrajin gives golf applause to the fan, who takes a bow, before going over and hoisting Shakur back up.

Killean: Now that you've gotten through the court of public opinion, it's time for you to meet the jury of your peers.

Nitz: Dude that was weak.

The newfound friends bring Shakur through the curtain and haphazardly down the stairs into the waiting arms of a line of eager PRIMEates.

The first one to meet him behind the curtain is a man whose name has been invoked plenty of times in the evening as a reminder of Shakur's dangerous track record.

BRUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Bryan Dawkins, gone from PRIME for two years (and not wearing a neck brace so maybe Richard was right about the voodoo thing), lines Shakur's jaw up square and then pops him one hard. Shakur stumbles back, almost doing a split, but Sirrajin holds him and allows Dawkins to continue with his punches. The crowd counts along as well.

TWO!
THREE!
FOUR!
FIVE!
SIX!
SEVEN!
EIGHT!
NINE!
TEN!


Sirrajin moves him down the line where he encounters Katterina Wylde, a longtime Rayne supporter and friend. She drives her foot into his groin, making sure he feels all of the high heel she's wearing. Shakur's eyes roll back in his head as he's continued on down the line.

Right into Max Newell. Since he's probably going to have nightmares about Shakur and Sunny's sex life, not to mention Gamble watching them, he gives him a series of headbutts, hoping to inflict as much damage on Shakur as possible and also to get those aforementioned memories out of his head.

Matt Mills is up to the plate next. Before Shakur, he was just a mild-mannered reporter who enjoyed the fruits of traveling about the world with his company and had no life altering urges whatsoever. After Shakur took office, Mills became a degenerate gambling fiend who has given his life to the grind because no other lifestyle can suit his needs.

He backpedals about ten feet and gets a running start, ala Charlie Brown about to kick a football. Well, he's going to kick a ball anyway.

Mills: I'm ALL

OHHHHHHHHHH!

Mills: IN!

Mills goes down and gets a high five from Dawkins while Shakur is taken to the next person in line... Tony Gamble.

Nick: What?

Richard: I thought they were bros!

Even Killean and Nitz seem a little confused.

He can barely open his eyes but Shakur now notices who is standing in front of him.

Shakur: The hell, man?

Gamble: Peer pressure, but don't worry I still heart you.

He decides to go the route well traveled and kick Shakur in the bean bag repeatedly. He vocalizes his efforts as well.

Gamble: HOO! HOO! HOO! HOO!

He drops to his knees and unloads on his package like its a speed bag.

Gamble: BADEDADEBADEDADADADADADADDADA DA!

A bell sound effect goes off.

Gamble bites Shakur in the junk.

Somewhere, Jim Carrey and whoever that guy was in Dumb and Dumber are probably not reading this so we can get away with it.

Lisa Tyler and Blaine Blair stand, waiting for Shakur to be brought in front of them, but a massive shadow gets everybody's attention.

It's Hessian.

Nick: Uh oh.

Richard: If HE decides to go to town on Shakur's balls, I think it's safe to say they won't be of much use for the rest of his miserable existence.

Hessian looks at the line behind and in front of Shakur. He also gives Donnelly and Sirrajin a glance. They both invite him over and step back. Given how flawless this part has gone, they don't want to give Hessian any incentive to come after them.

He shakes his head at the sight and continues his walk down the hall.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

They pick the seated Shakur back up and bring him over toward Lisa Tyler. She was perhaps the most influenced person on the roster by Shakur's presence. While he did ultimately help her rid of Tyler Nelson as an authority figure, he made her life miserable before, during, and after the process.

She winds up her power right hand and unleashes a nasty slap across the face.

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Which is quickly followed up by two more quick slaps before she digs her fingernails into his eyes.

Blaine: Alright, Lisa, we don't want him to go blind just yet.

She reluctantly releases him and lets him fall into the waiting arms of Sirrajin. Blaine holds up a hand.

Blaine: Push him over here.

Killean: You sure?

Blaine: I got it.

Killean lets him drop into the arms of Blaine Blair, who pulls Shakur's shirt out from his tucked pants and over his head before throwing a flurry of punches to the gut.

Richard: OH SHIT BLAINE, GET IT SON!

Nick: I never knew Blaine was a fighter.

Richard: Push a man long enough and you'll find he can do many things you don't expect.

Nobody hanging around expected it either. After about twenty of the punches, Killean has to step in and separate them.

Killean: Easy, killer, cool off.

Blaine: That's for every time you called me Larry King's son you piece of shit!

Lisa hauls off and slaps him one more time for good measure. Shakur spins around.

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Into the waiting Lindsay Troy. The Queen rips his shirt down and grabs him by the head, waiting for his eyes to focus on her. She gives a malicious grin.

Troy: Hope you enjoy what's about to come your way, Emo Bun. Took some effort to get it here but never let it be said that my revenge isn't dished out in the most creative of ways.

Shakur: F-

Troy: Nope. No last word for you today.

One knee lift to the nose and a toss by the hair later, Shakur finds himself collapsed at the end of the line. All those who waited have dispersed. Killean, Lisa and Blaine head off to deal with executive matters. Gamble returns to his skybox. Dawkins leaves with Elvis and Mills while Katt vanishes before anybody can figure out where she went.

Shakur is able to peer up a few inches, but only stays there a second as a boot comes and forces his head down onto the floor.

A slow pan up shows a man who was unarguably screwed out of a career resurgence in PRIME at the hands of Shakur. He had worked himself to the point of exhaustion on Night 1 of Culture Shock 2010, and even though he was down he knew he had enough in him for one final push to get himself in a prominent position where no one could deny him. Until Shakur's politics and greed got in the way.

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

The crowd cheers because it is a face they never figured to see again.

Nick and Richard are stunned into silence because they draw the exact same reaction.

It's Brandon Youngblood.

Shakur looks up at him with his mouth agape, a "you've got to be fucking shitting me" expression on his face. He took Youngblood's name in vain for so long, taunting the multiple time 5 Star Champion to show his face and get his pound of flesh. He never expected him to actually walk through the doors again and do it.

Youngblood puts his right foot back and soccer kicks Shakur in the face. He lets it sink in and does it again. A third time. A fourth time. A fifth time. A sixth. He bends down and lifts Shakur up, shoves him hard against the wall and unleashes one of his patented knife edge chops.

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Judging by Shakur's face, they still hurt like fuck.

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Youngblood grabs Shakur in a suplex position and hoists him into the air with ease, holding him and staring a hole through him the entire time. Shakur's blood drips all over the floor at a decent rate. Youngblood moves around in a circle and then falls backward, letting Shakur hit with a nasty thud.

Nick: Now that is one I'm glad to say was able to come back for this beating.

Richard: One of the most deserved is an understatement.

Just as quietly as he entered, Youngblood leaves.

Shakur is on his back, eyes blinking rapidly. He's fighting very hard to stay conscious because he has no idea who else is coming down the pike. If Youngblood made an appearance, who knows what others are waiting around the corner?

"Told you I'd be here."

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Nick: Tyler.

Richard: Rayne.

Any faint whisper of hope Shakur had of being able to crawl out of here with a little bit of life left has just vanished. Rayne grabs him by his mop head of hair and pulls him up to a standing position. The veins in his hands are popping from the sheer amount of force he's putting on Shakur. He turns and slams him head first into a closed concession stand. Shakur's blood decorates the steel. He stumbles back, falling over himself. Rayne moves forward and delivers a stomp to the mouth. Blood spews in all directions.

Nick: It had to end this way didn't it?

Richard: Pretty much. Rayne has the most iron clad case to get his hands on Shakur and be the last one in the company to do it.

No doubt Rayne also knocked a few teeth loose with that kick. Shakur is limp, no part of his body is able to move. Rayne doesn't relent, this time putting his boot down across the bridge of Shakur's nose. If it wasn't broken before, it is now.

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Shakur is brought up to his feet with Rayne doing all the heavy lifting because Shakur's dead weight at this point. Rayne grabs him around the head and muscle drags him all the way over to a conference room window and slams him head first through it and into the room. Thankfully, nobody is on the other side.

OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Nick: And to think, aside from murdering him, it is only a fraction of what Rayne has had to endure at Shakur's hands.

Richard: But nobody is going to be clamoring for Shakur's return, and thankfully we won't have to entertain it.

Rayne opens the door and picks up the carcass of his longtime adversary. He delivers a knee to his gut and slams him against the wall. Rayne walks just off camera and comes back with a tire iron, swinging it around his thumb while stalking Shakur.

Richard: Do you think he even knows what he's going to do when he gets over there?

Nick: I'm sure he's had this in mind for months, hell years.

Shakur's eyes are about swollen shut but when Rayne slams the tire iron against the wall, his head swiftly turns toward the sound. Rayne uses his right hand to pull Shakur up by the throat and makes sure he's able to stand on his own two feet. It takes a few tries but eventually he is able to stand because the wall behind him is supporting him.

Rayne: I'm gonna guess you realize we're past the playful joking at this point. Try to stay awake. You'll wanna pay real close attention to this next part.

Rayne curls back as far as he can and unleashes a strike to the right knee that made Tonya Harding orgasm. He backs up and before Shakur can drop, puts one on his left knee. Shakur collapses and clenches his teeth, his face strained with agony.

Richard: I guess I should have expected that.

Rayne opens the EXIT door and drags Shakur face first across the Welcome Mat and outside. He picks him up one final time and pushes him against the wall. Shakur is out of it. His body limp. His head lolls.

Rayne: We're over now. This is done. You erase the name of Tyler Rayne from your memory and you forget I ever fucking existed. You forget all of this. You go home and you move the fuck on.

Tyler slaps Shakur across the face. Shakur groans.

Rayne: I know where you live. I know where you hide. I know who you run to. There is nowhere on this planet I can't get to you. If I find out we are ever in the same town, if I find out you whispered my name, if someone fucking tells me you looked at a picture of me, I will hunt you the fuck down and I. Will. Fucking. End. You.

He swings back one last time and wallops Shakur across the side of his head, sending him sliding down the brick wall. Rayne drops the tire iron and shuts the door on Devin Shakur's PRIME career to a massive roar from the Chicago crowd.

Hall of Fame Induction Ceremony

The camera cuts back to the interior of Soldier Field with the fans still buzzing from Devin Shakur's ouster from PRIME. At this point, he may be scraping himself up off the concrete in the wrestler and staff parking area but not a single soul is giving him a second thought. Their focus now is on the center of the ring, where Lisa Tyler and Blaine Blair stand behind a podium.

Lisa Tyler: Ladies and Gentlemen, before we get on with the rest of the night, Blaine and I want to take this opportunity to say, "Thank you."

RAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!

Lisa Tyler: We know this night is bittersweet for you, as it's bittersweet for all of us who are putting on this eight installment of Colossus. For nearly a decade, we have toured the globe, broadcasted hundreds upon hundreds of shows, bore witness to unbelievable performances and even some actions that weren't quite on the up-and-up.

Blaine Blair: But we wouldn't be here tonight, and all those other nights, if it weren't for you here in Chicago and for all of you watching around the world. Please know that it's just as hard for us to say goodbye to you as it is for you to say goodbye to us. I can't speak for anyone but myself, so from the bottom of my heart: "Thank you."

THANK YOU PRIME!
THANK YOU PRIME!
THANK YOU PRIME!


Lisa and Blaine exchange a smile and let the crowd continue their chant for a few moments. It's clear they're trying to maintain their composure, to not let emotion get the better of them, but it's no small feat. They've outlasted so many others before them; they've climbed the ranks of the company to positions of authority, had that authority stripped away and were humiliated countless times during the fallout. They had their faith and their jobs restored only to find out this would be the end of the road for the company. But dammit, they were going out on their terms. No one else's.

Lisa Tyler: As is customary with Colossus shows, PRIME holds a Hall of Fame induction ceremony, and tonight is no different. The inductees tonight have a combined fifteen different PRIME title reigns and include Dual Halo and Jewel in the Crown winners.

Blaine Blair: They helped innovate this sport through their hard work and dedication. They've entertained you and, at times, have earned your ire and your hate. But above all else, they are PRIMEates through and through. Tonight we invite you to honor them and thank them for their hard work and dedication throughout the years.

Lisa Tyler: Our first inductee tonight is actually not a singular person, but rather a trio. You've seen them win three PRIME tag team titles as a group, and one of its members win the 5 Star championship. They hit a rough patch during this final tour, but were able to come back together at the most critical moment to defeat a longtime rival. Please welcome Mary-Lynn Mayweather, Tony Davis, and High Flyer: Team VIAGRA!

"I Hope You Die" by the Bloodhound Gang hits the speakers as Team VIAGRA walks out from the back. Mary-Lynn waves to the crowd, Flyer slaps a few hands on his way to the ring, and Tony Davis is too busy playing with a 3DS to pay much attention.

Things with those three seem to be back to normal.

They climb into the ring and Mary-Lynn stands behind the podium. Just as she did on her first night at King of Kings 2007, she wears her trademark red skirt suit and taps the microphone twice.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Mary-Lynn Mayweather.

The PRIME-ates cheer, as Mary-Lynn can't help but hide a smile.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: I am here to represent the interests of my clients, the two men behind me by the names of High Flyer and Tony Davis.

Tony Davis raises his head from his Nintendo 3DS, and waves. Harmen's eyes bulge as he runs his hands through his snowhawk.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: They have prepared for me a written statement to be read, if you'll just allow me a moment.

Mary-Lynn reveals a piece of parchment. She unrolls it. It unrolls forever. She quickly scans it, and then turns her head to Flyer.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: I am not calling Lindsay Troy a cunt bag!

Flyer leans over to Davis.

Flyer: Told you she'd notice.

Davis: You said no such thing!

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: As wrestlers for PRIME, it is our honor and privilege to be recognized on the greatest stage of them all, as the greatest trio of all. Team VIAGRA took up the mantel of the A-List as the perennial leaders in the tag team division, taking the belts a record THREE times.

Mayweather turns to Flyer and Davis.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: I still have that picture of me with the tan line due to the tag title belt.

Davis: So does the Internet.

Mary-Lynn turns shocked back toward the camera. High Flyer steps forward, brushing a stunned Mary-Lynn away.

High Flyer: Since there is no Writers' strike to prevent me from penning words to paper, let me say now to the PRIME-ATES of the world, it was my goal every night to get you, at least once, to chant PRIME That Shit.

And quickly, as on cue, "PRIME THAT SHIT" began to chant on repeat.

High Flyer: I spent years in that ring, putting everything I had out there to be the VERY best this sport had to offer. Never got a shot at the Universal belt, but I'm not sour. I left in 2009 with Mary-Lynn and Tony back to the place that made me the man I was. But PRIME left it's mark, and I will, and could never be the same.

Harmen smiles. A tear forms at the corner of his right eye. Harmen opens his mouth, but can't say anything. Tony Davis now walks up, and grabs Flyer's shoulder, pulling him away. Davis lowers his 3DS, and stands behind the podium.

Davis: BOOYAKA!

Davis laughs.

Davis: I never got to say that. That's all.

Davis walks away from the podium. Mary-Lynn takes her place behind it. Flyer in the background, head hung low in his hand. Davis off to the other side, playing his Nintendo 3DS.

Mary-Lynn Mayweather: We love you PRIME. And we're glad you loved us as much as we did you.

Mary-Lynn blows a kiss to the PRIME audience and wraps her hand around Flyer's shoulder, the man surprisingly emotional, and comforts him. Davis stumbles against the ropes, back to being entranced in his 3DS.

Blaine Blair: Our next inductee is a former Alias champion, a multi-time Intense and Five Star champion, and a Jewel in the Crown winner. Take a look.

The PRIME*View comes to life, starting out as static, then rolling a video highlight.

FROM JUST ANOTHER FACE IN THE CROWD...

Ring crew guy #1: So I asked the guy...What the hell are you smiling about, and he wouldn't answer me. He just kept smiling at me like he knew me...freaked me out, Joe.

Joe (Ring crew guy #2): So what did he do?

Ring crew guy #1: That's the weird part...he didn't do anything. He just sat there watching me as I ate my sandwich. I couldn't even finish it.

Joe: That's creepy, Frank. Especially the way he kept smiling at you.

Frank (Ring crew guy #1): You don't know the half of it.

Joe: There's more?

Frank nods as he looks around.

Frank: Yeah. I went to go throw what was left of my sandwich away, right, and when I turned around...the guy was gone.

Joe's eyes grow wider, his jaw dropping in shock.

Joe: Shut up.

Frank: I swear to Hoyt.

Joe: Damn, I got goosebumps.

Joe runs his hand along his arm, as Frank's eyes widen.

Frank: Oh shit, there he is.

Dressed in a finely tailored, gray pinstriped, three piece suit, and a black fedora tilted to the left keeping the right side of his face draped in shadow, a man walks solemnly down the dimly lit hallway.

Frank: Do you see him?

Joe nods as the man makes his way toward them.

Frank: I told you he smiled a lot.

Joe: I'm freaking out, man.

Frank swallowed hard.

Frank: Stay cool, man.

The man in the suit stood before them, his head still lowered to the ground.

Man in suit: Did you enjoy yourself earlier?

Frank pretty much pissed his pants, as the weird dude with the smile directed his comment toward him.

Frank: E...Excuse me?

The man gets closer, standing almost half a foot taller than Frank.

Man in suit: Did you get a good laugh making fun of the new guy?

Frank: But I...I didn't say any -

Man in suit: Shut up.

Joe: But he -

Joe's sentence was cut short, as the man turned his attention and that sickening grin in his direction.

Man in suit: Was I talking to you?

Joe just shook his head, then cowered behind Frank a bit.

Man in suit: Now look...

The man placed his hand on Frank's shoulder.

Man in suit: I'm not trying to start anything with you, and I know everyone's going to have their own little laugh at my expense sooner or later. But since you were the first, I want you to understand something.

Frank managed a slight nod, but couldn't manage much else.

Man in suit: You can laugh now...

The man pulls him close, raising his head so Frank can get a good look at him. That grin still ever present, if only on the left side of his face.

Man in suit: ...but I'll be making you pay later.

Ladies and gentlemen, fans of PRIME, meet Tony 'The Grin' Gamble.

FROM HUMBLE BEGINNINGS...

With momentum on his side, Gamble runs and bounces off of the ropes, executing a running shooting star press and covering Face Eater...only to find that the referee is still out cold! With anger in his eyes, Gamble goes over and begins trying to revive the referee. This allows Face Eater to push himself to his feet with the steel chair in hand. Once Gamble stands up and faces IFE, he is met with the steel chair in his mid section which makes him bend over in pain. Face Eater immediately tosses the chair out of the ring as he see's the ref beggining to revive before hooking Gamble in a pump handle slam positioning, lifting up the challenger in a pump handle suplex position, turned into an inverted neck drop!

Nick: EATERPLEX '05!!!!!

Face Eater makes the cover, but the referee is still trying to gather himself...so the count comes slowly...

One...

He slowly lifts his hand once more as Face Eater urged him on.

Two...

Face Eater is shaking his head, signaling for the ref to hurry and make the three count, but all of the time wasted is just enough for Gamble to lift up his shoulder!!

Needless to say, this has Face Eater furious as he picks up the referee and begins to scream many insults in his face. After running out of insults, Face Eater turns back around to meet a HUGE superkick that sends him to the mat, and forces him to roll over face first to the mat.

Gamble heads for the legs. Starting with the champion on the mat face down, he starts with a Texas cloverleaf step over and as he crosses the legs, instead of pulling back on just the legs, he reaches back and slips his fingers into Face Eater's mouth and pulls back on the head at the same time, bowing the back and putting extra pressure on the neck, mouth, back, and legs.

Richard: That's Gamble's finishing submission lock, "Smile For Me"!!!

With the move expertly applied, Face Eater can go nowhere and is left to tap out, signaling a new Internet Champion!!

...TO MAKING THE INTERNET GO NUTS...

The ref closes in and starts his obligatory five count for Gamble to break the hold. At four and a half, Tony relinquishes. He backs away slowly at the referee's urging, but quickly charges in again, looking to land a kick square in Snow's ribs. But Jason's much too quick, scrambling to his feet and charging at Tony, wrapping his arms around his waist, lifting him into the air and driving him back down to the mat with a spinebuster. Gamble's head bounces off the canvas while Snow makes the quick pin attempt...

One...

Two...

Richard: Damnit!

Nick: Not quite close enough for the Original Villain, as Gamble kicks out before the count of three.

Snow drags Gamble back up to a vertical base, then levels him with a closed fist that snaps the Grin's head back. An admonishment for the illegal punch falls on deaf ears as Jason continues his assault, backing Tony into a corner then whipping him hard across the ring to the opposite corner. Gamble hits chest-first, and Snow charges into the corner to inflict further damage. Tony, however, has the presence of mind to spin out of the way before Snow could flatten him. Jason's the one to get a chestful of turnbuckle and as he clutches his sternum Gamble whirls him around, grabs him by the back of his head and drives him face-first to the mat.

Nick: Gamble's telling Snow to stop laughing at him!

Richard: No he's not! C'mon Jason, show him what being a villain is really about.

Tony is much to quick for Jason to fully recover from tasting the cloth, and the Five Star Champion quickly commands Jason to Smile for Him, wretching back with his patented submission hold. Snow struggles, trying to get his hand on the ropes nearest to him, but to no avail. He reluctantly taps the mat, and the bell is called for.

HE WEATHERED THE STORM AGAINST JASON SNOW

Unlike last time, however, there is no furious attempt at winning the match from the Devil's Don. Will and instinct has taken over, but, it's simply survival, nothing more. The arm falls soon after, and once again, Bernie Roberts lifts the arm.

Nick: SIX MINUTES! His shoulder has to be dislocated. Has to!

Richard: Think of Gamble too! His arms have to be burning too.

It fell once, as the fans scream.

Nick: That's one...

The lift, the let go, the fall.

TWO!

And the third.

The arm goes up.

Roberts lets go.

The arm starts to fall.

It stutters...

...and then crashes to the mat.

Nineteen thousand people in the Nationwide arena, SIMULTANEOUSLY stand up, and blow the roof off that motherfucker.

Millions of people sitting in their living rooms, or in bars or serving our country somewhere, SIMULTANEOUSLY stand and cheer.

Forget that Deville lost. Forget that Gamble won. These two men had just taken each other to the absolute limit of human gladitorial competition. The cheers were as much excitement for Gamble as they were appreciation for Deville.

But, it was Vince Howard that clinched it.

Vince Howard: LADIES AND GENTLEMEN... YOUR TWO THOUSAND AND SIX JEWEL IN THE CROWN CHAMPION... THE MAN WHO WILL GO ON TO FACE THE NEW UNIVERSAL CHAMPION NOVA AT CULTURE SHOCK...

THEN TOOK THE JEWEL FROM THE DEVILLE'S OWN CROWN

Blaine Blair: Please join me in welcoming our next inductee into the PRIME Hall of Fame...

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

The unmistakable voice of Joe Pesci irritates the eardrums right before Metallica's "Better Than You" begins to blast through the PA System, the calling card of PRIME's newest Hall of fame Inductee; Tony 'The Grin' Gamble. He walks out at the same time the music kicks in, passing a quick arrogant glance before making his way toward the stage just as the lyrics of the song kick in.

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

Dressed in a custom tailored three piece suit blacker than the night's sky, Tony Gamble marches proudly down the small portion of ramp. Up above his head on the Wal*tron, footage from Revolution 94 when Gamble locked The Illustrious Face Eater into his 'Smile For Me' submission and won the Internet Title plays.

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

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

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

He stares out into the crowd for a moment, soaking in the cheers and applause from the fans and his peers. Another clip shows on the Wal*tron, this one from the Great American Nightmare; where Tony Gamble became the Five Star Champion by pinning Chandler Tsonda.

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

The music fades as the "Permascar Superstar" stands behind the podium, the permanent grin on the left side of his face mirrored by a genuine one on his right as he kicks aside a step stool that had been placed there for him to stand on.

Gamble: I don't think ole Hin See ever thought I'd be standing here when he hired me. I say that, because he thought what many members of the roster at that time thought...I was nothing but a bad joke no one would get.

Tony shook his head, even with the grin on the right side of his face gone, the left failed to match the seriousness of the moment.

Gamble: I can't say that I blame him though, because that was the exact thing I was going for when I did my tryout match. I wanted people to think I was a joke, to downplay my talent in the ring because I had this stupid smile on my face all the time, because that always made it easier for me to make them look like the jokes once our match was over.

He pauses briefly as a "You are awesome!" chant roars through the ocean of fans in attendance.

Gamble: I want to thank Hin See for giving me that opportunity, for taking a chance on an unknown when guys that had become household names in other organizations were beating down his door to become PRIMEates. This place was number one by definition, but it was also number one because it was THE place to prove you actually were as good as you said or claimed to be. In a federation that had names like Xavier Kannon, Angelo Deville, Nova, Jason Snow, and Rich "The Renegade" Rollins to name just a few of the superstars that graced this ring with their presence...it would be easy for someone like me...someone who never capitalized on his opportunities to become the Universal Champion...to get lost in the crowd. But here I stand, getting the greatest honor that anyone who was a member of this roster could ever get...

With a sincere smile on his face he rubs his chin with his left hand as a woman somewhere in the cheap seats yells out "I want to have your baby!". He no sells it like a champ as usual.

Gamble: And I did it by just being me, a jerk that got under people's skin with his comments but could back up everything I said when we actually stepped into the ring. So I want to thank everyone I ever stepped into the ring against, because you and the fans that filled the seats of every arena and coliseum we ever had a show in are what drove me to be the best...so this is for all of you that supported me...and for those of you who wished I would just fall flat on my face and fail...to the people that loved me...but more importantly to those of you who hated me...

He stepped back from the podium before coming around and standing in front of it, then took a bow as all those in attendance stood up and gave him a round of applause.

Lisa Tyler: This next PRIME-ate is a former Dual Halo winner and a former 5 Star champion. In fact, he is the longest-reigning 5 Star champion in PRIME history...

Crowd: RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Yeah, they know who she's talking about.

Lisa Tyler: He also has the distinction of, quite possibly, being the biggest pain in the ass this company has ever seen...and one of its most beloved superstars. Our next inductee is none other than Tyler -

Crown: MOTHERFUCKIN/

Lisa Tyler: Rayne!

WHAT WHAT WHAT HIT IT


Quarashi. The guitar. The lights. The screaming fans. You've seen it before. You've been part of it before. You know how it goes. There's still some light out on this nice Chicago night, so while the lasers and flashing colors all have a dulled effect, the strobes and spotlights are kinda useless. Fortunately, people have a strange desire for wanting to be first at things, and that includes first at finding the latest inductee into the PRIME Hall of Fame amongst this sea of rabid, screaming fans. It's hard to make out the "Hey, I found him!" screams from the "Hey, I want to have his babies!" screams, but eventually the word spreads around and all the fingers start pointing in the same direction. There he is.

Tyler. Mother. Fucking. Rayne.

There are rumors that Soldier Field was built without a roof specifically for this possible eventuality, so as to prevent its being blown completely the fuck off by this monstrous ovation. The thousands upon thousands upon thousands of people in the stadium all turn to face him. He stands on the ledge of the middle tier of seats, arms outstretched, absorbing the adoration of the fans. The camera crane moves to zoom in as fast as it can. He sees it. Waits. Winks. And then steps forward.

Into nothing. Into the air. Into god damn thin air.

The crowd gasps. He falls. Rolls over. Arms still outstretched. Facing the sky above. Falling. Falling. And then he disappears into the mass of humanity below.

For a moment there is complete silence throughout the crowd. The music blares, but nothing else. Everyone waits. Holding their breath. Then the crowd below the ledge surges. Tyler Rayne is thrown back into the air by the dozens of people who had been beneath him. And as soon as his body pops up from the masses, those people fucking explode. It might actually be a bigger ovation than his first one.

The crowd surfs him down toward the ring. But that's a long ass way down to the ring. And they aren't exactly trying to get him there fast. In fact, with everyone wanting to touch him, he's making quite a serpentine pattern across the stadium, making much more horizontal progress than he does vertical.

STICK 'EM UP! STICK 'EM UP!


This is usually the part in the song where people leap into the air with their hands raised as high as they can. People, in general, are creatures of habit. And these people are no different. So when this part of the song comes up, the natural reaction is to do what you do. So all of the people leap into the air, hands stretched up as far and high as possible. And by doing so, the people happen to throw Tyler Rayne straight up, righting him vertical so that he's standing above them. And then they sink and he's suspended in air. And as he falls they jump again. He takes a step forward, though there's nothing to step on. But the people rise up to meet him. And for a brief moment, he walks across them. He walks across this sea of humanity like the messiah of the people he has always claimed to be. Then everyone is back down again. He's back down. He's back surfing. And we're getting closer to the ring.

It seems that people are beginning to realize that, despite his circuitous route, not everyone will be able to touch him as they had hoped. So some fans have taken it upon themselves to try and throw parts of themselves, or more accurately articles of their clothing, at him instead. There's an interesting thing about crowds. Sometimes, in the heat of the action, when you see one person do something, you want to do it, too. And when you see three people do it, you want to do it more. And when you see a dozen people do it, you don't want to be left out.

So try and amplify that by tens of thousands and you've almost got an idea of the madness that has consumed this crowd right now. Also, the number of bras and panties being thrown in, around, and toward the ring. Finally, nearing the end of the song, Tyler Rayne is pushed over the barricade and lands at ringside. A handful of bras land around him. He laughs. Walks over to the announce table and gives Nick Stuart a high five. He throws a bra at Richard Parker and gives him the finger. Past the announce table. Fist bump to Vince Howard. Big embrace. Vince hands him a microphone. Tyler slides into the ring and raises one hand into the air. Another thunderous roar of approval. He holds his hand there, open, waiting for the crowd to quiet down.

Tyler Rayne: Hope you don't mind, but podiums aren't really my thing.

Lisa and Blaine just shrug. Par for the course with Rayne, really.

Tyler Rayne: So, uh... first off, if you are a dude in the crowd tonight, buy the woman next to you a couple of beers. At this point, I don't think any one of them is wearing underwear. Take advantage of that. Secondly... thank you. And I want you all to listen to me for a moment here. Real talk and all that shit.

He waits a beat just to emphasize the point.

Tyler Rayne: Honestly, sincerely, thank you. Every one of you fuckers out there. Here. At home. Wherever. Thank you. This whole thing... this Hall of Fame shit... everything about me being in PRIME... all of this is thanks to you. And, I mean, my amazeballs gods given fucking talent for professional wrestling. But mostly, you. When I first started here, no one in PRIME believed in me. No one in the back wanted to talk to me. No one on the Board of Directors wanted me to be here. None of the people in charge of PRIME ever wanted to put me on a card. But you fuckers... you fuckers believed in me. Night after night I came out here and busted ass to entertain people. And day after day you people went out and told your friends about it. All the people in the back ever saw was tits and beer. But you people saw more. You also saw a lot of tits and beer... but more. You knew I had what it took. And it was your faith that finally forced PRIME to give me a chance. And then I won a couple of matches. And a couple more. And then I won a title. And then I won fucking everything for like a year.

Another raucous roar from the crowd.

Tyler Rayne: Then I lost and I don't even know if I've won a match since then.

Some people laugh. Some people boo. Richard Parker cheers.

Tyler Rayne: So one would have to wonder why the fuck I'm getting into the Hall, eh? I wasn't expecting it, that's for damn sure. Otherwise I'd have prepared a much more awesome speech. Unfortunately this one surprised me so I'm gonna have to wing it. I, um, I'm truly honored by this. I know I talk a big game and blah blah blah but... you know, you people, you helped me make it here. That and riding Uni's coattails to the top... but you. And once you all accepted me, once you let me in and embraced me... I don't know if you all noticed this, but PRIME is kind of an elite place. People don't just become icons here. It's like, you can talk about Tony Rolo or that Vangelus dude or even fucking Sonny Silver and people get all quiet and serious. Revered. My stunningly hot girlfriend and ol' Tchu are gonna burn this fucking stadium to the ground later tonight. Fuckin' Killean. I mean, for Hoyt's sake... Hoyt. I don't even like the dude and I almost feel bad taking his name in vain. Hoyt. People don't just become legends in PRIME. They become mother fucking gods. Like a pantheon of fucking wrestling deities. And I'm not even necessarily trying to compare myself to those people, I haven't accomplished near what they have here in PRIME. But just the idea that PRIME was willing to take me in and embrace me the same way that it did them... that a place that reveres this sport and the people who bleed for it as much as PRIME was willing to let me walk among them for so long... I don't have proper words for that. So I want you all to really understand how much this honor means to me. I don't talk a lot about things other than myself or fucking Lindsay, but for this once, know that I have always enjoyed my time here in PRIME. Well except for that short time where I was beaten to death... but even then, still kinda. I respect this place. I love this place. And to be inducted into PRIME's Hall of Fame... this is really a fucking amazing achievement. Maybe even the highlight of my career. It's certainly the thing I'll be most proud of. So thank you. All of you. Everyone. Everywhere. All the people here tonight. Watching at home. All the people in the back. Even the ones that kinda piss me off. Truly. To everyone. Thank you.

A true, heartfelt cheer runs through the crowd.

Tyler Rayne: Except Shakur. Fuck that asshole with an acid coated dildo.

A more appropriate, rowdy roar from the crowd. Tyler smiles. Probably to keep himself from smiling. He places the mic down on the mat and goes to post-up in a corner of the ring.

Blaine Blair: This next inductee has the distinction of being one of the most imposing, one of the most hardcore, and as evident by his match earlier tonight, one of the most sadistic. In addition to all this, he is also the last PRIME Universal Champion, having won the title twice, and is a former PRIME Intense title champion. Please welcome, "The Murder Show" Hessian!

"Kingdom of the Worm" by Motorhead hits the PA hard, and with the huge ovation comes the telltale shadow of the giant bleeding through the smoke on stage. He approaches the ramp with a soft smile on his face, struggling to contain it as he reaches the ring and pulls himself up onto the apron, swinging a big ol' tree trunk leg of his over the top rope followed by the other. His movements are slow and labored, the pain and wounds from his match with Chainz earlier are quite evident. Blaine and Lisa move away from the podium, but like Rayne before him he opts for Vince Howard's microphone. He paces around the ring, listening to the chants that still ring out around the arena before raising the mic to beard level.

Hessian: Damn, what can I say? This is somethin' else right here. When I started in this business over ten years ago my sole aim was the same as everyone else...become a champion. I did it multiple times over those years and settled up with the greatest prize of all in the Universal Title. The PTC Global Title was nice, twice, but the Uni solidified my status as the best this wrestling organization had to offer. Hard work and dedication all paid off and it paid off beautifully. The pride I have for the legacy I created is borderline sin and I've never been shy on that subject, but I gotta say today feels like the last ten years rolled into one. It's one thing to make a name for yourself in this business...but to then be honoured for that by my peers by way of each and every one of you, well Hell I could talk all day long and still not find the words to describe exactly how it feels to be inducted to the goddamn Hall of Fame.

RRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!

Hessian: I honestly don't know what to say, shit. I guess this makes me the King of the Giants. And I guess every time I punch someone in the face it's gonna leave a prettier scar. That's about the size of it...it's strange being given this honour at this point in my career, I thought they gave these things out to retirees. That's unfortunate, because although PRIME will soon be no more I hadn't entertained the idea of calling it quits, so it looks like the next time you see me I'll be rocking this Hall of Fame distinction along with whatever title I win next. Aside from that? I need to say thank you to every single Hessian fan out there for sticking with an old bearded giant for so long, if it wasn't for you I would never have been considered for this in a million years. So thank you, and I promise as long as you're here for me I'll be here for you, kicking ass all the way.

At that the giant goes over to hand the microphone to Vince Howard as "Kingdom of the Worm" starts to play once more. Hessian raises a fist in salute to the crowd and then maneuvers to a corner not already occupied.

Lisa Tyler: We have one more inductee tonight, and I must preface his introduction by stating that this selection did not come without much discussion between Blaine and myself, Killean, and the rest of the ownership body. The reason I say this is because we recognize that his time in PRIME has been both one of much success and much controversy. However, at the end of the day, we believe it's important to not only remember the past but to move forward into the future, even if PRIME isn't open to see what that future brings.

Blaine Blair: This person is a former three-time 5 Star champion and a former Jewel in the Crown winner. He has fought such luminaries as Karina Wolfenden, Hoyt Williams, Nova, Angelo Deville, Killean Sirrajin, and Jason Snow. He's been a villain and a pariah, but he's always remained passionate about this company - even if some of that passion was misdirected at times.

Lisa Tyler: You've already seen him once tonight, getting some much-needed revenge on Devin Shakur. So please, welcome the last-ever entrant into PRIME's Hall of Fame: Brandon Youngblood!

Feedback.

Breakneck guitar riffs.

Rapid fire blinding strobe lights.

The fans filling Soldier Field for this final goodbye stand on their feet.

D I A M O N D


Wait by Earshot plays on as the screaming white light bathes the entire entrance area, the PRIME*View flickering through their assorted highlight package of Brandon Youngblood, last used at Culture Shock 2010. Had it really been that long? He throws back the curtain, stepping from the back, barely visible through the blinding light. A sudden roar echoes deep into the Chicago evening.

In the past, his face would be expressionless, his movements taut and powerful. Every step forward would symbolize a sort of dominance, if only in his head. But on this night, he doesn't have to keep the emotion flooding through him in check. A wild smile stains his face as he can't help shake his head that these people would remember him, let alone scream in approval for him. After all, he'd spent much of his career as the pariah, the outcast, the villain. He can't help himself from laughing, from clapping to the fans.

Three 5-Star Championship reigns. The GTT Champion Killer. The 2009 Jewel in the Crown winner. The most runner-up finishes in the Dual Halo in PRIME history. And it didn't look like he'd aged a bit; if anything, he seemed younger, more vibrant, more at peace than ever before. That is, if one could denote those things just from simple appearance. He reaches into his pants pocket, pulling out a live microphone. The music dies down, the flood of light runs its course, but the roar remains.

He can't help but shake his head as every time he brings the microphone to his lips, their reaction stops him from speaking.

It takes a little bit, but Youngblood finally has the opportunity to speak, drawing the microphone near his mouth and putting his free hand in his pocket as he looks in the ring.

Youngblood: Excuse me if I don't get in the ring with the rest of you. No offense, but I don't think of ourselves as the same.

A heel to the end.

Youngblood: It's not because of your accomplishments. It's not because of mine. Hell, Hessian, you've held the big belt twice. You hit me so hard upside the head that you burst my eardrum. Rayne, you won the Halo. And for one night in Birmingham, Alabama, I felt like I was starring in a horror film because no matter what I did, no matter what I hit you with, no matter what holds I put you in, you wouldn't stop charging ahead. Jack, we go back almost a decade. And I'll never forget the night Gamble beat Angelo Deville to win his Jewel in the Crown...it made me want to be back here, working for this company, even though I couldn't.

Shaking his head, he flashes a smirk as he continues staring toward the ring.

Youngblood: No...I'm going to stand up here and pay homage to you. To everyone else that's made it into the Hall of Fame. Not because it's some goody-two-shoes thing to do, but because it's how I honestly feel. And to be frank, I've had a lot of trouble over the course of my life being honest. Honest to the fans. Honest to the business. Honest to the people behind the curtain. And most of all, honest to myself.

He looks away, towards the Chicago crowd before looking toward the smokey skyline. After a few moments, he speaks again.

Youngblood: You see, when I came here, this? All this? It was a dream. PRIME was an upstart, not even two years old, and in PTC, it was there. I'll never forget Karina giving me a ring, saying I should come along for the ride. She probably doesn't want people to know that. Might kick in the face for it. But that's okay.

A playful laugh. He moves from his spot on the stage, walking around, trying to get more comfortable.

Youngblood: I walked in here, looked around the locker room, and I'd been places. I'd been a top dog places. But I didn't know, back then, what I was looking at. I didn't know Killian Sirrajin or Hoyt Williams from anything. Nova? Amy Campbell? I'd love to give Amy a shout out because in the years after I left the game, she's been one of my closest, most dearest friends. And you know I'll always have your back, Red.

He pounds his chest, then points to the camera, pantomiming a 'this is for you' motion.

Youngblood: PRIME said it was Number One By Definition, but I was there before that tagline was reality. We helped make it that way. I helped make it that way. Before people like Lindsay Troy or Sonny Silver or Matt Ward were even on the radar here. While people like Chandler Tsonda and Danny Ferguson were opening match, running the B loops.

All this talk was making him feel old. Real old. They were just kids back then. Everyone trying to make a name for themselves in this growing juggernaut. And in the end, so many of them had.

Youngblood: I remember this place firing me right after I'd main evented against Hoyt Williams. And I remember the bitterness I felt for years. The rage. But what I really felt, as I walked into GCW, was loss. Sadness. Like I'd lost a part of myself that I could never get back. That I'd screwed up something I'd helped build by tearing it down with my behavior. I deserved to get fired. I deserved it. I deserved being turned into a running joke, both on the camera and backstage. And I watched and listened as I went through the motions in a second rate company with second rate people who were too small but thought way too much of themselves for their own good.

The wounds of the past might never fully heal for him, but in this moment, they at least seem scabbed over. But now it was time to address new wounds, all from someone who couldn't help but put himself over others, no matter how badly it hurt PRIME in the end.

Youngblood: Every time I walked away, someone here called my name, thinking I'd rush back with my bag already packed and ready to go. Devin Shakur talked about what he'd done to me, but the fact is, he did it to himself. PRIME was the unstoppable, unbeatable champion at the top. It had been since Lindsay Troy, since Tsonda, since Tchu and Nova, to the greatest of them all, Jason Snow. The person holding that belt was the standard of this industry. I walked away, knowing that it'd be handed to me, because all those people didn't have it handed to them.

A nod. An acknowledgment. It wasn't the only reason he'd walked away, but it was a large reason as to why.

Youngblood: I could keep going on and on, doing a long history dissertation, but I'm not. I just want everyone to know how much this means to me. How much of an honor it is. Not because of something I'm supposed to say, but because it is. All those people I named, and so many more that I haven't like Desade and Murray and everyone who I ever had a chance to work with, all I really ever wanted from them was for them to think I was good. That I was worth having around. The only way I figured I could do that was win matches, to self promote. I wasn't a great team player, and even though I wanted to be the franchise, I wasn't ready to be because I didn't know what I wanted from this business. And I've knocked heads with so many, ruined the love and joy for some many, and for that I'm sorry.

He straightens himself out, trying his best to collect himself now as he works into the final words he will ever say to this audience he has known for so long. The reality hits him that tonight is the last night, that there will be no more loops, no more car rides with the boys and girls, no more fighting to better each other and to make the business grow larger than ever before. This was it.

Youngblood: But I can only say these things now, separated from the past by so long that it all seems like a blur. But I remember. This is all I've ever wanted from PRIME. It's the symbol that I made the difference I'd hoped I'd made, been the pillar I screamed to everyone I was but deep down didn't believe I could be. And even if this is the end, I just want to thank everyone from the bottom of my heart for what they've done for me. For being friends. For being the standard I pushed myself to meet, whether I failed or not. I can't begin to name everyone of you, and maybe some day, I will. All I can do is thank you. Thanks for making this part of my life so...damn worth it. Thank you.

And with that, he's done. A bow to the crowd, then to the ring, and then he's clapping. Clapping as some foolish smile creeps across his face. He kisses his knuckles, they pumps them into the air.

And with that, Brandon Youngblood's PRIME career was truly, finally over with the only accomplishment he truly ever cared about.

Lisa and Blaine return to the podium and give a look to the guys and gal in the ring, to the guys and girls in the crowd. Blaine gives a little nod of recognition then speaks again.

Blaine: Please give our final Hall of Fame class a round of applause. Thank you for helping make PRIME what is was and what it always will be: Number One by Definition.

The Ultimate Showdown of Ultimate Destiny

Down the lonely road we go. One man, one hallway, one more shot at glory, one A++ coif.

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Ya boy. Chandler Tsonda.

Walking to gorilla for what is undoubtedly the last time. He doesn't look like a man in the throes of a nostalgia attack, but then again, he's always had a pretty good poker face.

Same upturned oil black bangs, same taped elbows and wrists, same fitted white track pants, same clean-shaven leading-man mug. If you were to go back and look at footage from October 12, 2005, you'd see pretty much the same face. Sure, it helps that there's no facial hair anywhere to be flecked with pinpricks of grey. But it's the same face as eight years ago that went out that first night and dueled the PRIME Universal Champion, securing a DQ win.

And now it's a face of cold reserve. The man wears it well, though he could wear leather pajamas well.

Walking down the hallway. Lots and lots of PRIME TV hours have been devoted to this here non-event. In truth, PRIME has thousands of hours of footage of completely uneventful foot traffic en route to gorilla. And everyone once in a while, they get something good enough to put on TV for the good people.

Tsonda stops in his tracks. There's a TV moment here.

"Could this have ended any other way, Chan Chan?"

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

You already know, cousin.

Chandler Tsonda: Troy.

Yeah, her. The reason the good people just lost their minds. Standing between Chandler Tsonda and his destiny, or a destiny at least, and fresh off her little run-in with the now disposed-of Devin Shakur.

The magic of television intercedes and we get to see one of the many moments that must be running through Tsonda and Troy's respectively attractive heads. They both know the date; it is inscribed on them in scars.

March 14th, 2008.

Troy pulls herself up to her feet and drags Tsonda up with her. It's utterly remarkable that either competitors still has it in them to be competing at this point of the match, but somehow they're able to stay on their feet. Troy grabs Tsonda, but Tsonda's able to counter it into a hammerlock before putting her into a Dragon Sleeper! Troy fights vicariously as Tsonda moves around and nails a kneeling backbreaker on Troy who winces in pain! She rolls away from Tsonda while her left hand grabs at her back in pain. Tsonda, thinking he could take advantage of the situation, rushes to the nearest corner and begins climbing the ropes as fast as he can. He looks to be going for the Model Citizen, but Troy is quick to her feet and runs right at Tsonda.

Tsonda immediately does a back flip off the top rope, but as he does, Troy runs up the turnbuckles and turns to face Tsonda who is trying to figure out where he is after the dizzying move. Troy wastes no time as she leaps into the air with a corkscrew moonsault into a tornado DDT!

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Nick: THE CROWNING GLORY! THE CROWNING GLORY! THE CROWNING GLORY

Shakur: So, Nick, what was that move again?

Richard: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Troy, nearly lifeless, crawls over to Tsonda and drapes an arm across his chest!

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONE!

...

...

...

...

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

...

...

...

...

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!


YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

DING! DING! DING!

Nick: TROY HAS DONE IT! SHE HAS RETAINED!


Back to the matter at hand, where the silence of the present quells the loud spams of the history between these two titans.

And what we have is a staredown. They're roughly twenty feet from one another, but they might as well be chest-to-chest.

Lindsay Troy: Been what, four years?

Chandler Tsonda: Something like that. Long time.

Lindsay Troy: Too long?

Chandler Tsonda: Might could be.

Lindsay Troy: Only got one more shot at the Queen, Chan Chan. Might as well take it while ya got it.

Chandler Tsonda: Couldn't do that to Ty.

Lindsay Troy: I don't see him standing here. He certainly wasn't there at Culture Shock when I...well, you know.

Chandler Tsonda: (narrows eyes) It's gonna be like that?

Lindsay Troy: It is, unequivocally, gonna be like that.

Chandler Tsonda: Going on record as saying that you asked for this shit, Troy.

Lindsay Troy: That's what the boys usually say approximately twelve seconds before I shut their lights off.

Chandler Tsonda: Damn you, Troy, for making me do this.

A blur of motion.

Richard: WHOA!

Shouting.

The disintegration of two legends, not able to let go of a long-time vendetta?

Nah.

"Paper beats rock, beautiful."

Nick: Ladies and gentlemen, I don't know what to...ha!

Richard: Are you bullshitting me?

A quick camera pan down shows Troy and Tsonda now much closer to one another. Troy's hand is outstretched and flat, fingers pinched together with military precision: Paper.

And Tsonda's hand is clenched as tightly as it can possibly be, a fist with a slight tremor through it: Rock.

Lindsay Troy: 1-0 against you in the ring. 1-0 in RPS. Dem apples, Tink. Dem apples.

Chandler Tsonda: Again. Two out of three.

Lindsay Troy: Obviously, Tink. We're not savages.

The Model Citizen doesn't take the bait, that being LT's using a nickname belonging to Tyler Rayne and no one else.

Chandler Tsonda: Rock.

Lindsay Troy: Paper.

Chandler Tsonda: Scissors.

Both: SHOOT!

They throw hands.

The Viet Viper's clenched fist rock conquers Lindsay Troy's sideways peace sign scissors.

Chandler Tsonda: Comeback brewing. Classic Chan Tsonda.

She gives him the look. The one that is equal parts "shut up" and "I'm thinking deeply about some stuff over here."

Chandler Tsonda: Rock.

She stares back. No hand movement.

Chandler Tsonda: Rock.

Nothing.

Chandler Tsonda: Rock.

Yes, he is this stubborn.

Chandler Tsonda: Troy.

Lindsay Troy: What?

Chandler Tsonda: Rock.

Lindsay Troy: Imagine we don't throw a third time.

Chandler Tsonda: Ro-

Lindsay Troy: I will cripple you before your last match. My heart is made of nothing but ice particles for you, Channy.

Chandler Tsonda: Don't throw...a third time? So, like, a tie?

Lindsay Troy: Like a tie.

Chandler Tsonda: Like a soccer tie?

Lindsay Troy: Good God, no. Like a football overtime tie. This is America, buster.

This appears to satisfy Tsonda's curiosity.

Lindsay Troy: A tie. We're even.

Chandler Tsonda: All that, all those years and just...leave things with the score tied? No closure? No winner and loser?

Lindsay Troy: Well, I absolutely still think you're a los-

Chandler Tsonda: MY LAUGHTER FLOWS ENDLESSLY LIKE A PERPETUAL MOTION MACHINE EXCEPT IT IS MADE OF MY LAUGHS HOW COULD I EVER STOP LAUGHING AT SUCH RIBALD WI-

Lindsay Troy: Done?

Chandler Tsonda: You're lucky I don't have a thesaurus on hand.

Lindsay Troy: No winner. No loser. Just...done.

Chandler Tsonda: But Michael Bay movies have taught me that the world is a dichotomy of losers and winners. How will I frame's life's greater mysteries in any other way?

Lindsay Troy: You'll figure something out. You could always go out there and beat Nelson.

Chandler Tsonda: And you go out there and beat Ward?

Lindsay Troy: (smirks) Might could be.

Chandler Tsonda: It's a lotta goddamn uncertainty to leave people with. Very Sopranos, if you ask me.

The Queen of the Ring shrugs.

Chandler Tsonda: Okay, a tie. I can live with that. Put 'er there, equal.

Though she rolls her eyes, Lindsay Troy consents to a handshake.

Lindsay Troy: Have a good life, Chan. Sure I'll see you around at some point. The whole "Tyler Connection" and all.

Chandler Tsonda: Stay frosty, sister. You know, I always had kind of a-

She holds up a hand to stop him. The Model Citizen laughs, not his usual attention-grabbing guffaw, but a legitimately satisfied chuckle.

Chandler Tsonda: I almost got you, though.

Lindsay Troy: In your dreams, in so. Many. Ways.

Being who he is, Chandler Tsonda starts walking, then calls over his shoulder, thinking he'll get the last word.

"See you at the old folks' home, LT!"

She stares after him for only a fleeting moment, then issues three words of impressive finality.

"This freakin' place."

Here's To Ya

The scene fades-in to a familiar place. The PRIMEates watching at home and in the arena have seen the drama of their favorite stars unfold in the rooms behind the scenes time and time again. This is nothing new. And when it comes to Wade Elliott in particular, it means generally one of two things: some manner of kick-in-the-door backstage brawling, or an empty bottle.

Currently, in this room, there is neither, but there is a Wade Elliott, and Chicago cheers their support in the background.

However, it's a short lived applause, and soon reduces to confused mutters littered with spats of quiet laughter.

The Bad Dog stands, the look of concentration under his furled brow, as he takes rehearsed steps across the room, swishing one of his strong arms back and forth like he was wielding some sort of lightsaber.

He turns, taking more ginger steps in his clunky boots, whispering to himself as he keeps swinging his imaginary weapon. The focus on his face is a very odd look for The Southern Sparkplug, and that focus is so much that he's failed to notice a visitor step inside.

Rayne: Close your stance a little, and get your hips involved, that's where the power comes from.

The voice of The Golden Boy startles Wade a bit, who stops his rehearsal abruptly, feeling a little caught in the act. Soldier Field cheers heavily for the Rayne Man, who closes the door behind him.

Wade: Well, yer puttin' me in uncharted territory here, Rayne. Thinkin' I need the practice.

Rayne: Figured as much. Brought a little somethin' to take the edge off.

The Hero of the Day flops onto a nearby couch, setting a brown paper bag onto the coffee table with a thunk. Wade, intrigued, grabs a stool and slides it next to the table, taking a seat.

Rayne: Been quite a ride, Country. Couple ups... and a whole lotta downs. Guessin' there'll be a few more once we get in that ring. Before we beat the shit out each other, though, thought I'd bring this to say thanks.

Tyler reaches into the bag, retrieving two glass tumblers and setting them down on the table, followed by unsheathing a sleek bottle of whiskey, the label presenting an aged man wearing glasses and puffing a cigar, "Pappy Van Winkle's Family Reserve. 23 years old." Wade eyes the bottle before reaching forward and taking it in his hand, turning it over as a small grin appears through his goatee.

Wade: That's a hard bottle t'find, Rayne.

Rayne: No shit. And I know a guy who can get me fossilized dinosaur semen. Hope it's as good as it cost. Could've bought you a private weekend at the Cathouse for what I paid for this. Almost did... but this seemed more your thing.

The 'Bama Bruiser takes a few more moments, studying the amber liquid inside the rare bottle of bourbon. Eventually, he reaches into his worn jeans and retrieves a pocket knife.

Wade: Well, guess we oughta give 'er a try 'fore my jaw gits wired shut fer good.

The Golden Boy laughs at Wade's reference to the jaw injury sustained against Hessian during ReVolution 250, where The Murder Show gifted The Blue Collar Brawling with a vicious click in his mandible, among other injuries. Elliott accurately cuts a circle around the top of the bottle, removing the foil and popping the cork from the neck. Careful not to waste any, The Drifter pours a couple ounces into each glass before setting the bottle down and taking one in his calloused paw. The Hero of the Day does the same.

Rayne: Here's to a couple of old dogs making a few more bad decisions.

Wade: Ain't nobody said it better.

The two clink their glasses, and swallow the smooth, 23 years-aged concoction. Rayne takes the glasses and refills them with a couple more ounces each.

Wade: Ya know, Rayne. Part've me wishes this weren't the end. But somethin' tells me that when that bell rings at the end've our match, I'll be more'n ready to call it a career.

Rayne: With you and me in the ring, might be the end of someone's career, anyway. But I hear ya. It'll be hard to say goodbye.

The two tap glasses one more time, and enjoy their second drink. Rayne sets his tumbler to the table and pushes himself off the couch to his feet.

Rayne: It's gonna be a hell of a show, Country. Think you got all the steps?

Wade: It'll be what it'll be. Ain't my sort've thing, but I'll give it my best.

Rayne: Shiny. I've got faith in ya, Wade. You'll be fine. Crowd's gonna eat this up, too. If we're goin' out, man, we're goin' out big. I gotta go make sure everything else is set up proper for this thing. Go easy on that bottle, and I'll see you when they start whistlin' Dixie.

With that, The Golden Boy makes his exit, closing the door behind him. Wade nods at his words, contemplation strewn across his face.

So he takes the bottle, and refills his glass.

Chandler Tsonda vs. Tyler Nelson

Nick: It's now time for Chander Tsonda against Tyler Nelson in what we're getting word as is a 'Blood Money' match. No pins or submissions can occur until one of either Tyler Nelson or Chandler Tsonda is bleeding.

Richard: Well, as fragile as Tsonda is, Nelson is a lock for the 'W' here tonight. I think if a stiff breeze blows through the stadium Tsonda will b-reak.

Nick: As usual, you underestimate Chandler Tsonda. Let's get this party started!

Richard: Did you really just say that, you fucking nerd?

There is an awkward silence before a 70's style guitar riff begins to rip through the stadium. The classic sounds of "For The Love Of Money" by the O'Jays pounds over the brisk air.

"Money money money money...money"

Out from the back comes what looks like a parade float shaped like a giant, green dollar sign. The outside is covered in some sort of green, metallic material that reflects the light coming from the spotlights and makes the stadium look like a huge, green disco ball. The crowd is less than impressed.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

"Some people got to have it
Some people really need it"


Sitting on a gold throne, wearing a brown mink coat and a pimp hat with a long, flowing feather is "The King of Greed" Tyler Nelson. He has gaudy, diamond encrusted, gold double-knuckle rings on each hand.

Nick: Leave it to Tyler Nelson to make a mockery of pimps everywhere.

Richard: What are you talking about, Stuart? Tyler Nelson was pimp of the year back in ninety-nine. Or so I'm told. He's gonna keep his pimp hand strong tonight against that bitch Chandler Tsonda. He's gonna slap him around like he owes him money. He's gonna put Tsonda back on the stroll.

Nick: Are you done?

Richard: For now.

"Listen to me y'all, do things, do things, do bad things with it
You wanna do things, do things, do things, good things with it
Talk about cash money, money
Talk about cash money- dollar bills, yall"


Joining him on the float are a half-dozen women, each dressed in various long mink coats as well. They flank him as he sits on his throne, three to each side, moving back and forth in rhythm with the music.

"For the love of money
People will steal from their mother
For the love of money
People will rob their own brother
For the love of money
People can't even walk the street
Because they never know who in the world they're gonna beat
For that lean, mean, mean green
Almighty dollar, money"


The float is about halfway to the ring, when all of a sudden a barrage of pyrotechnics erupt from various parts of the stadium. The music abruptly cuts to a screaming guitar riff, as the smooth O'Jays version shifts to the version done by the Bulletboys.

"Oh! Whoa yeah!
Whoa whoa yeah!"


Simultaneously, the six women on the float throw off their mink coats to reveal they are wearing lingerie and high heels underneath. Six telescoping stripper poles begin to rise up from the floor of the float. The men in the crowd erupt with cheers, whistles, and cat calls.

YYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

Nick Stuart struggles to pick his jaw up from the announce table as Richard Parker furiously digs into his pockets in search of dollar bills.

"Don't you know my name?
The root of all evil
Do funny, funny things to ya
Give me a nickel
Brother, can you spare a dime?
If you think you're children know it
Out of your mind"


As the women make their way to the poles and begin to dance and spin around them, a blower mounted on the back of the float begins to blast dollar bills into the air, effectively "making it rain." The women do things to themselves, the poles, and each other that normally happen in pornographic movies. Some mothers cover their children's eyes as single men and husbands alike drool. Nelson just sits back and smirks as the beautiful ladies gyrate in front of him. He even places a bill in his mouth as a sultry red headed dancer crawls up toward him. She pulls herself to her feet using his thighs for assistance. She wiggles her hips and runs her hands through Nelson's hair, then bends down and places her head in his lap. She springs up and over, her crotch ending up just below Nelson's chin and her legs flung over his shoulders. She runs her hands over her breasts and down toward her g-string, pulling it away from her skin just enough for Tyler to insert the bill he holds in his mouth.

Richard: Someone get a paramedic down here for Nick, he's having a heart attack. And get me some wet naps.

She lets go of the g-string and it snaps down on the paper. She flips her legs back over and gets back to her feet. Turning back toward the pole, Nelson slaps her on the ass forcing her to playfully bite her finger. As the float reaches the ringside area, each woman takes her turn giving the "King of Greed" a lap dance. Once they are finished, Nelson rises from his throne and the girls pull the mink coat and pimp hat off. Underneath he has his classic wrestling attire, black trunks and boots with green dollar signs emblazoned on them.

Richard: That was quite possibly the greatest ring entrance in the history of wrestling, or any other sport for that matter. I need a cigarette.

Nick: I'm trying to find ways to disagree with you, but I can't come up with a single one. I feel like I just cheated on my wife.

Nelson saunters toward the ring, and the crowd finally gets itself back on track after the wonderful distraction, raining down a chorus of boos as Tyler slides through the ropes.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Vince: Ladies and gentlemen....weighing in at 225 lbs and hailing from Dallas, Texas....he is "The Greediest Player in the Game"....TYLERRRRR NELLLLLLLLLLLLLSONNNN!!!!

Dim orange light gives the scene the appearance of daybreak or dusk. Otherworldly smoke ripples across the entrance, obscuring the spot from which we might see Chandler Tsonda emerge.

A familiar, jagged voice comes across the loudspeakers in short bursts, each punctuated by the grating sound of a vinyl scratch. The solemn, quivering violin of Godspeed You! Black Emperor's "Dead Flag Blues" provides the backing and is the only thing that sounds anything like music.

dark wind blows

SKRRRRT!

buildings tumbled in on themselves

SKRRRRT!

skyline was beautiful on fire

SKRRRRT!

sun has fallen down

SKRRRRT!

for sure it's the valley of death

SKRRRRT!

for sure it's the valley of death

SKRRRRT!

for sure it's the valley of death

SKRRRRT!

Silence.

Silence.

Silence.

Nick: On the PRIME*View!

He's got a microphone in hand. He's got on ridiculous motorcycle goggles. He's carrying a scythe. He's about fifty feet in the air. And he's got wings. Not Red Bull wings. Big ol' black wings, connected via some kind of backpack looking thingy to his body.

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

The former Universal Champion, several Colossi past, has a mic in hand.

"Man, I have always wanted to say this part."

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Chandler Tsonda: So I said, "kiss me, you're beautiful." This...

He soaks this in. It will never happen again.

He lets the roar rise.

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Chandler Tsonda: This is truly the last day.

He takes off.

"Welcome Home" by Coheed & Cambria cuts straight to the part where that high-pitched guitar issues a shivery whine of pure electric power.

Richard: I can't wait to watch this idiot dieohwhathehell?!

He flies.

Technically, he glides. He starts so high up that maybe it's centrifugal force. Maybe it's those polysomethingorother wings that Batman uses. Maybe there's an invisible wire. Fuck, maybe heroes can just fly.

Nick: He's the angel of death, here for Nelson's career!

Richard: Cool. Really subtle, nerds.

In the dim orange link, our bespectacled hero soars in and lands hard, but on two feet, which of course deserves another cheer.

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Vince Howard: And his opponent, weighing in at 213 pounds...from San Diego, California....CHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANDLER TSOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONDA!

Richard: What an idiot.

Nick: No regrets, Richard. Save nothing for tomorrow.

Ditching the scythe and goggles by tossing them to the outside, Tsonda cracks his knuckles. He doesn't need to stare at Nelson because Da Boss is already eying him down from head to toe.

There was a time for fun and games. And the motherfuckin' coach just turned back into a pumpkin on that time.

DING DING DING!

Nick: You ready for this?

Richard: Lubed up and fluffing as we speak.

Nelson and Tsonda tie up.

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick: Listen to that, Richard! These people are going nutso for the most mundane start in sports entertainment!

Richard: I'm gonna shoot you straight here, Nick. Tyler Nelson is a big deal. These fans get that they may be seeing him for the last time.

Nick: ...and Tsonda?

Richard: Yes, he is also in the ring, what of it?

Nelson powers his way into a standing side headlock. He wrenches at the well-coiffed head of the Viet Viper, but Tsonda lowers his center of gravity, working his arms free and then he's able to shove Nelson towards the ropes. The world's greatest heel bounces off the ropes and then comes FLYING back at Tsonda with a crossbody block that both surprises the Model Citizen and plants him on his ass, beneath Nelson.

Nick: Nice early surprise offense from Nelson there.

Richard: Lookin' young and spry, spry and young.

Nelson whirls up and does some preening, pointing out a teenage fan with a "CHANDLER TSONDA TAUGHT ME HOW TO DRESS WELL." The crowd pops for the sign.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

And then responds, well, negatively, to Tyler Nelson flipping double birds at the aforementioned fan.

Richard: I wish that moment were a tweet so I could favorite it and keep it close to me forever.

Tsonda's up at this point, shaking off some cobwebs. Nelson and Tsonda circle one another and lock up once again. Tsonda slips out and to Nelson's back side, wrenching the former CEO's arm with a hammerlock. Nelson throws an elbow back towards Tsonda's head, but it's off-target, and the former model easily dodges.

Nick: This won't be the greatest show of athleticism you'll see tonight, but mark my words, these two will make a persuasive case for the entertainment value of veteran savvy, Richard.

Richard: Veteran Savvy ALSO the name of the cougar bar I'll be opening right off the strip in Vegas. Bringing in Guy Fieri on the project.

Nick: Fieri is the head chef for your bar?

Richard: Hell no. We're just both super into cougars.

Tsonda wrenches the hammerlock, pressing Nelson's captured arm up against Da Boss's spine. In a fluid motion, Tsonda drops the lock and uses his freed arm to grab Nelson's head in a dragon sleeper. He uses his left hand to spur the crowd onward...

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

...then simultaneously snaps Nelson's neck downward and shoots his knee out, catching Da Boss with a wicked backbreaker.

Nick: Spinal Tap!

Richard: Tsonda knows all about what it's like to have a spine made of scotch tape and K'Nex.

Nelson pops right up from the shot to his spine, but he's only able to grimace as he holds the spot Tsonda nailed with his patented backbreaker. And the Model Citizen knows that the iron is currently hot; time to strike. He takes one quick step towards.

Nick: Chandler Tsonda pulls Tyler Nelson down for the crucifix pin!

...

...

No count starts, and Tsonda slaps the side of his head, mad at himself for letting instinct take over.

Richard: There are stupider things than going for a pin two minutes into one of the last matches in PRIME history when you literally CANNOT win the match that way, but I can't think of any right now.

Nick: Three words: war of attrition. Every time you make your opponent work is a step closer to grabbing a win.

Richard: Three other words: cashew perpendicular ziggurat.

Tsonda's first up, ready before Nelson is. He hits the opposite ropes, bounces off, and then walks right into a drop toe hold from Nelson, which Tyler follows up with a vicious set of stomps to the small of Tsonda's back.

Nick: It's a tightrope here. Momentum will be crucial, but aggressive offense can be punished, as we saw right there.

Richard: I hate to offer objective analysis of any kind, but Nelson understands angles within the ring as well as anyone who's ever put the boots on. He gets spacing, and knows EXACTLY what spots in the ring minimize risk for him.

Nick: Intelligent take, Richard.

Richard: Also my anaconda don't want none unless you got buns, hun.

Nelson's stomping is merciless until Gerald Barrett steps in and warns Nelson that he's going to lose his TV privileges for the whole week if he doesn't cut it out...or something. The warning works, and Nelson ceases at least long enough to catch his breath.

Nick: Gerald's got a tough road ahead of him. There's basically a guarantee that he's going to have two bleeding, stubborn superstars on his hands, and it's Gerald's responsibility to keep them out of the ICU.

Richard: Blood fetish enthusiasts, make sure that DVR's running!

Nick: The only upside is that the match MUST end in pinfall or submission. There will be a winner here tonight.

Richard: There can only be one Ty-lander.

Pulling himself up, Tsonda only has a second to prepare, but he's ready for a charging Nelson. He fires off a snap kick to the midsection that sends Nelson back a couple paces. Nelson makes another charge. Tsonda goes high with a kick this time, but Nelson's got him pegged, sliding underneath the kick. He rises behind Tsonda, sets him up as if for a Russian leg sweep and then spikes Tsonda's head against the mat with a malicious facebuster.

Richard: HOLY FLYING SPAGHETTI MONSTER!

Nick: That's one way to start the lengthy process of getting your opponent to bleed.

When the Viet Viper pulls himself to a sitting position on the mat, he looks like he's got stars in his eyes, and not the lusty kind when you're texting that cute girl you work with who, let's be honest, definitely likes you and you definitely like her and if you didn't work together something would have happened months ago but you're trying to keep it professional while keeping it flirtatious because it makes work more interesting. Not those stars. Like little blinky spots because your head, you being Chandler Tsonda I guess in this syntactical setup, just went THWUMP against some unkind canvas.

And while Tsonda has stars in his eyes, Nelson has chairs in his hands.

Richard: If Nelson pulls a single man Con-Chair-To, I am just warning you, Nick, that it's going to get pretty wet and pretty sticky up in here.

With a chair in each paw, he slides them under the bottom rope, then slides in himself. He picks up one of the chairs with both hands, advancing on the rising Tsonda.

Nick: Oh dear.

Nelson rears back.

Richard: Oh yes.

Tsonda doesn't see him.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nelson swings and hits...

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

...nothin' but oxygen.

Nick: Chandler Tsonda was just nearly decapitated! How did he avoid that mighty swing?

That's the thing about crazy stupid athleticism. Part of it is measurable - Tyler Nelson bench presses X amount of pounds, Chandler Tsonda has a standing vertical of Y inches - but part of it isn't. It's that "the game slows down for me" business, and the reason that cliche travels so well is because it's the only way to explain to normal human beings who are in their element on couches or in front of computers that the brain of an athlete is just a different set of wired pathways.

So it's not that Chandler Tsonda has some sixth sense about the way that a steel chair's inertia affects the little halo of breatheable gas immediately around his person. It's not that he's got eyes in the back of his head.

But kind of.

And it may be part science and part hocus pocus, but the science of the matter is that Tyler Nelson just missed on a big ol' roided-up-and-ready-to-Braun swing, and is totally unprepared to defend against what comes next.

And what comes next is a standing dropkick that sends the chair in question rocketing into Tyler Nelson's chest, and the Chicago faithful into ecstasy.

TSON-DA! TSON-DA! TSON-DA!

Nick: Nelson's down! Tsonda's down! The pot is boiling over and we are cookin' somethin' fine here tonight, folks!

Richard: Tsonda's entire offensive set is self-sabotage. He doesn't have a single move he can do that doesn't also tax his injured back. As soon as that first drop of blood comes off his pretty little head, Tyler Nelson strikes an important victory for capitalism and disadvantaged white heterosexual males everywhere.

Recovering first, Chandler Tsonda gets to his feet clutching the chair that just went into the chest cavity of Tyler Nelson, first using it to stabilize himself. Once he's up, that quadrillion-dollar smile (accounting for post-2008 inflation, of course) flashes, and Tsonda smacks the chair against the canvas.

Nick: Chandler Tsonda wants Tyler Nelson to know what's coming.

Again, Tsonda smacks the chair against the canvas. Tyler Nelson gets to his feet.

Richard: Get out!

...and slides to the outside. Once his feet are firmly planted, Nelson reaches in and grabs the other steel chair, which makes both he and Tsonda well-armed.

Nick: And now we've got two angry men, each with a steel chair, trying to bleed one another.

Richard: Eli Roth eat your heart out, bruh.

Tyler Nelson feigns sliding into the ring, and each time he does, Chandler Tsonda cuts him off with a one quick step towards the spot Nelson might enter.

Nick: You pointed out how good Nelson's spatial awareness is in that ring, Tsonda might be just as damn good.

Nelson feints left, gets Tsonda leaning that way, and then surges right, sliding into the ring. Tsonda advances with his chair, but Nelson is already up, and with a two-handed toss (okay, shove is more like it) Nelson throws his chair directly at the charging Tsonda. The Model Citizen has to hesitate.

Richard: Bad move, kimosabe.

And in that moment of hesitation, Nelson gets the drop. Tsonda blocks the thrown chair with his own chair, but Nelson is airborne.

CLANG!

Nick: MY GOODNESS!

...and collides elbow-first with the steel chair which then bounces directly off Tsonda's skull.

Richard: FLYING ELBOW SMASH LIKE A BAWSE!

Covering Tsonda's head and face is the supremely dented chair, having just received all of Tyler Nelson's weight behind one hell of a flying elbow strike.

Nick: I'm not sure Nelson is any shape to get up, but then again, I'm not even sure Tsonda is conscious after that.

The Greediest Player in the Game grabs at his elbow while lying on the mat, but is obviously the better off of the two men. No movement from Tsonda. Nelson crawls in his direction.

Richard: Elbow him to death while he's down!

Upon reaching Tsonda, Nelson pulls the chair away from Tsonda's face. The heaving of Tsonda's chest and the flickering of his eyes suggest that he's there, but not all the way.

Nick: Tyler Nelson, apparently checking to see if he's drawn blood yet.

Richard: Little-known fact, Nick. Asians are actually cold-blooded, and are more closely related to lizards than other humans.

Nick: I would like to apologize to all Asians and...pre-emptively, to every other racial group, since we've still got an hour or so left and he'll probably cover all his bases by that point.

Nelson replaces the chair, gets up to one knee, and drops ANOTHER elbow on the chair and Tsonda's face. The impact is less, but the sound is still loud, and still goes far in silencing the once-wild crowd.

Richard: Short of being the person to kill the last member of an endangered species, this is pretty high up on my life highlights.

And when Tyler Nelson pulls the chair away, he sees something more exciting than Christmas morning.

Richard: HE'S OPENED THAT GASBAG UP! FINISH HIM, BOSSMAN!

Nick: Tyler Nelson has fulfilled our only prerequisite, folks.

The color of ripe tomatoes, a thread of blood slides from Tsonda's nostrils into his open mouth. A sign that he is alive, Tsonda turns to his side to cough up a red morsel of mucus, as Tyler Nelson uses the ropes to reach standing height and raises both hands above his head, welcoming the shower of boos.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick: It's a sadistic game these two agreed to play, and I've got to hand it to Nelson: he's the more well-traveled sadist of these two.

Richard: Enough with the backhanded compliments. He's got the oysters to make that Asian Channing Tatum lookin' ass jerkoff bleed, and will win this match for that exact reason.

Nelson encourages the crowd onward, closing his eyes as if the composer of a symphony and directing all that hateful sound, his hands moving like wands.

NEL-SON SUCKS! NEL-SON SUCKS! NEL-SON SUCKS!

He opens his eyes. He takes one step towards the near turnbuckle. He climbs.

NEL-SON SUCKS! NEL-SON SUCKS! NEL-SON SUCKS!

First rope. Second rope. He lingers for a moment, hand to the chin, considering his next move.

Nick: We know that Tyler Nelson used to be a legitimate high flyer, but in past years, his top rope offense has only come out on the biggest stage. I think we know exactly what his aim is here.

Richard: Leg drop for the dub.

One more for good measure. Nelson climbs to the third, and top, rope. He steadies himself, finding whatever the top rope version of sea legs is, and he mimes being a conductor once again.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard: Fly like an eagle, sir!

No leg drop, though. Nelson turns so that his back is to Tsonda, and takes one look over his shoulder at the downed former PRIME Universal Champion.

Nick: Wait...he's going to...

Richard: Wet and sticky, Nick. Wet and sticky. Clean-up on aisle Richard.

Nelson takes off, reaches cruising altitude, checks out SkyMall, and begins his initial descent. The flashbulbs pop, each miniature explosion of light capturing just one moment of this picture perfect high-arcing moonsault. It has looked this good a couple times before, each time performed by the man laying on the mat. It has never looked any better.

Richard: Model Citizen!

With a crash, and an absolute hush falling over the crowd, Nelson nails a bullseye. His full weight comes down on Tsonda, a thud of that full weight compressing the Model Citizen's chest and, to a lesser extent, his injured back.

Nick: That's Tsonda's finisher! Nelson just stole his damn finisher and used it to add insult to injury.

It may be a technicality, the spots of blood creeping from Tsonda's nose, but it's one that Tyler Nelson will happily use. He hooks the leg.

An arena holds its collective breath.

Gerald Barrett drops.

One...

...

...


Richard: Bye bye.

Two...

...

...


Richard: Gotta be it.

Three!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick: No!

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard: No!

Catch up, if you can.

Those booing: they see what they think is the third strike of Barett's hand against the canvas. They see no kickout.

Those cheering: they see the same thing.

And they see the index and middle fingers of Chandler Tsonda.

Hooked over the bottom rope.

Now they all see it.

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

TSON-DA! TSON-DA! TSON-DA!

Nick: He got his hand on the ropes! By gosh, he got his hand on the ropes!

Richard: This is collusion of the most acrimonious kind.

Nick: Not sure you know what either of those words mean, but our match continues, thanks to those two fingers of Chandler Tsonda!

Gerald Barrett is pointing to those fingers and Tyler Nelson, it's fair to say, doesn't even have an expression on his face. He stares at Barrett, blinking several times.

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick: The crowd is delighting in Tyler Nelson's utter and total shock!

Richard: Acrimonious. Caustic, stinging, or bitter in nat-

Nick: I know what it means!

And like that, Tyler Nelson's face transforms into the terrifying mask of fury that too many ex-employees have seen. He grabs Barrett by the scruff of the neck, shrieking at the top of his lungs.

Tyler Nelson: THREE, YOU INSECT! THAT WAS THREE!

Gerald Barrett: Mr. Nelson, now I know it may seem like-

Tyler Nelson: NO! DOESN'T SEEM LIKE - IT IS! RAISE MY HAND, SHITBAG!

Gerald Barrett: Mr. Nelson, Tsonda clearly had his-

Nelson takes two steps, collects the nearer of the two steel chairs, the one that hasn't been dented into the shape of Chandler Tsonda's face. Body shaking with rage, Tyler Nelson grips the chair in one hand, his face red.

Nick: This is getting out of hand. The match may be no disqualification, but that's NO reason-

Richard: That's every reason! That's all the reasons!

Tyler Nelson: This...(breathes heavily) is your last chance, motherfucker. Raise. My. HAND!

"You (cough) are a real big jerk."

Tyler Nelson spins, but with his blind vitriol, ain't no way he sees this one coming. He turns right into it.

CLANGGGGGGGGGG!

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick: HE'S ALIVE! TSONDA'S ALIVE! AND HE JUST RAINED DOWN METAL ON THE SKULL OF TYLER NELSON!

Richard: Hate.

Nick: And this crowd is back in it, listen to the sound of that!

TSON-DA! TSON-DA! TSON-DA! TSON-DA! TSON-DA!

He may be alive, but still worse for the wear. After issuing the vicious chairshot, the Model Citizen collapses onto all fours, spitting out more blood and dropping the now almost useless chair that was used to assault him, and just took brain cells from his opponent.

Richard: Ha! And Tsonda can't even make a cover yet.

With Nelson's blood still all intravenous, Tsonda can only try and get his head back in the game. He doesn't have a way to go for a win and he's still in terrible shape.

Richard: He wasn't even able to kick out of the last move Nelson hit AND he's leaking white blood cells everywere. Finito.

Nick: The odds of a comeback, I admit, are not good.

It's a statement on just how well Nelson's run of offense worked that Da Boss is actually up first, using the turnbuckle to steady himself. Once on his feet, Nelson unlaces the knot keeping the turnbuckle covering on.

Richard: Bleed him like a stuck pig!

Nick: Nelson now focused on inflicting as much damage as possible - he may be trying to go for a match stoppage rather than worrying about a pinfall, though he almost had one of those as well.

Tyler Nelson tosses the turnbuckle cover to the floor outside and lets loose with several right hands on Tsonda, who has just staggered to his feet.

Nick: Chandler Tsonda looks punch drunk out there.

Tsonda responds with a snap kick to the side of the leg. Nelson counters with two more fiery right hands. Tsonda is forced back two more steps towards the ropes. Nelson connects with a back elbow to the head, and whips Tsonda towards the now uncovered turnbuckle.

Richard: YES!

The Model Citizen bounces off with a queasy thud. The crowd has quieted again.

Nick: And Chandler Tsonda has been opened up! This does not look good for the man who once reigned over this company for the longest time in PRIME history.

It's unclear what the exact cause is, but a cut in the middle of Tsonda's forehead is now adding to the not insignificant running of blood down his face. The Viet Viper is up again, but Nelson is on him just as quickly.

Nick: This looks ominous.

Richard: I will give you one guess what part of me is throbbing right now.

This time, Tyler Nelson doesn't even need the Irish whip. He grabs the back of Tsonda's head and chucks the Model Citizen into the corner, his recognizable face hitting nothing but the metal of the unforgiving corner.

Tsonda bounces off and crumples to the mat.

Richard: Prayers do get answered. They really do, Nick.

Tyler Nelson looks down at his hand, streaked with red. That despicable grin crosses his face, and he starts screaming at the prone form of Tsonda.

Tyler Nelson: I...broke you. NEVER FORGET that I broke you, Tsonda.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick: This is vile.

Tyler Nelson: Your doctors were right. THEY KNEW, TSONDA. I KNEW. YOU PITIFUL, PITIFUL MESS. And now look! LOOK!

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

The Viet Viper is out, or chooses not to look at Nelson, waving his bloody hand inches away from Tsonda's face.

Tyler Nelson: I TOOK THIS FROM YOU. And now...I take my conquest.

He is the conductor again, but the crowd doesn't bite. If it ends like this, so it ends. But they won't have it end eating out of the hand of a megalomaniac.

They know that some things are forever. They know they have a choice. The sound swells.

PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT!

The Greediest Player in the Game snarls.

Tyler Nelson: WATCH AS I TAKE AWAY YOUR HERO!

He kneels and hooks the leg.

One...

...

...

PRIME THAT SHIT!

Two...

...

...

PRIME THAT SHIT!

Three.

PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT!


No.

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick: SONOFAGUN HE KICKED OUT!

Still no sign that Tsonda has anything but fumes. But the shoulder was up, if only for a second. Nelson pulls him up again by the hair, more blood making its way from Tsonda's face, half-slick with crimson now, to Nelson's hand. Da Boss is still screaming at Tsonda.

Tyler Nelson: Yes, lead them on, Tsonda. INDULGE THEM ONE MORE TIME.

TSON-DA! TSON-DA! TSON-DA!

Nelson smacks Tsonda loudly, reverberating across the arena.

Tyler Nelson: Give them...(lip curling in disgust) your pathetic hope. I'll have your career and their hope all at once. I'll have EVERYTHING.

Nelson grabs Tsonda in a front facelock.

Richard: Is greed good, Nick?

Nick: Oh stop it.

And with a snap of the Model Citizen's neck against the mat, droplets of blood spraying across the ring, Nelson...

Richard: GREED IS GOOD! GREED IS GOOD!

Leg hook, and it's elementary.

One...

...

...

Two...

...

...

Three.


Ding ding ding.

Bob's your uncle.

Next match.

Can't always get what you want.

Nice guys finish last.






Sike.

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick: LADIES AND GENTLEMEN I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO SAY. I AM SPEECHLESS!

Richard: By saying that you're spe....I can't eve...THIS IS TERRIBLE!

You're gonna hate this. Believe me, Gerald Barrett almost hates himself for it. But Mama Barrett ain't raise no half-stepper of a referee. GB knows a three count is a three count.

'Cept when old boy's got a foot on them there ropes.

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

TSON-DA! TSON-DA! TSON-DA! TSON-DA!

PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT!

Nick: For the first time in our long, storied history, there is no tomorrow. And this man Chandler Tsonda DAMN WELL knows it!

Richard: This is ridiculous. It's all muscle memory. The guy's barely conscious. It's irresponsible of Gerald Barrett to let this go on.

Tyler Nelson is beyond getting angry. There's no use in it. It doesn't get him a win. He clenches his fist in anger, says a couple more four-letter words in the direction of refree Barrett, and pulls Chandler Tsonda up once again.

TSON-DA! TSON-DA! TSON-DA!

Right hand Nelson. Connects. Right hand Nelson. Connects. Da Boss whips Tsonda AGAIN at the uncovered turnbuckle.

Reversal.

Tyler Nelson hits the metal chest-first, opening up a cut on his left pectoral.

Blood clearly flies from the wound onto the mat.

Nick: He's been opened up! Level playing field!

Wind knocked out of him and bouncing backwards, his back to Chandler Tsonda, who it seems to everyone is naught but a walking corpse, Tyler Nelson loses sense, for one second, of where he is in the ring.

The rebound off the turnbuckle sends him right into the waiting arms of Chandler Tsonda.

It is the perfect meeting of Nelson's momentum, body moving backwards, and Tsonda's readiness.

The Viet Viper lifts as he catches, and a high-speed camera might catch the actual moment during which Nelson is suspended across Tsonda's shoulders in a torture rack, but no naked eye sees it. It's all motion.

One second, Nelson is wobbling off the turnbuckle. The next, he is dropped on his neck.

It happens so damn fast there's not time to react until the leg is already hooked.

Nick: NARCISSIST'S NOOSE! NARCISSIST'S NOOSE! COULD BE IT! COULD BE IT!

Richard: But he had nothing left! That was just muscle memory! KICK OUT OF THIS, TY!

One...

...

...

Two...

...

Richard: C'mon!

...

Three?

...

...

Three!

DING DING DING!


Holy shit.

That is the reaction of the human beings in the arena, Tyler Nelson and Chandler Tsonda very much included.

Correction: holy fucking shit.

Nick and Richard are in stupefied silence, and the only sound to be heard, the only sound anyone needs to hear, is the roar.

That sound is appropriately compared to a tsunami, though it does not roll from place to place as much as it immediately crescendos and coarses into the tiny hairs on the inside of the ear. The roar is so great, so massive, so much a place and time unto itself, that it actually feels like being somewhere totally silent. Years later, many PRIMEates will describe a bizarre feeling of being inside a giant cavern or room together. There are two places: inside the membrane of rushing, whooping, screaming sound...and everywhere else. In real life, it lasts for maybe four, five seconds.

Nick Stuart hears the sound. He tries to yell over it, but finds instead of the words of a polished broadcast man the urge to yell with this crazed horde. So he yells, headset be damned.

Gerald Barrett hears the sound. He does his job, calling for medics for both men, and mutters a celebration under his breath.

Vince Howard hears the sound. He grabs the mic and thinks that he is saying the words "Ladies and gentlemen, your winner, CHANDLER TSONDA" but hears nothing in the bedlam that follows.

The kid with the sign, the one that Nelson flicked off, hears the sound. In a sea of tens of thousands of stories to tell from tonight, he has his own.

Tchu hears the sound in the back. He is unfazed because he is Tchu. It is his turn next, and he knows he will hear the same thing, probably louder, when he helps the people turn out the lights on this place, this wonderful place.

Danny Ferguson hears the sound on TV in his apartment. He cracks his knuckles.

Tyler Nelson hears the sound. He glances at the blood on his hand. He thinks about how long, how damn long, he has been so damn good at this. He is tempted to think about old foes like Ivan Stanislav and how many of the old guard he has outlasted. Instead, he thinks about champagne.

Chandler Tsonda hears the sound. He closes his eyes. He is home.

Robots Are The Future

The chaotic environment of the backstage area is fair evidence that, perhaps, this final Colossus will be the most spectacular and elaborate broadcast PRIME has ever produced. Go out with a bang and all. Dozens of shirtless men in grey, cotton trousers are darting to and from the ten hair-and-makeup booths that have been hastily thrown against a long wall in the back. Most of these men do not come equipped with the chiseled physiques of PRIME's most hallowed athletes. These are average men with bodies to match. Most appear to be in fair shape. Probably keep up with a church softball league over the summers or maybe coach peewee football for their son. There are some walking about who look like they might've enjoyed a few too many beers in their time. And even a couple that look like they swallowed the whole damn keg.

But hey, who the fuck are you to judge?

There is an overabundance of crew members, all decked out in the PRIME polos, pushing and slipping through the crowded mess of shirtless men. Some with lists and pens attached to boards. Some carrying pipes and trunks and what appears to be a large, single pane of plate glass. Because that can't be dangerous at all. Two men are pushing an old cannon across the hall. Yes. A cannon. A half dozen women, arms full of giant golden feathers, sprint past the cannon, screaming murder to get people out of their way. An unfortunately out of shape man is huffing and puffing to keep up behind them, a rather large bottle of industrial glue clutched tight under his arm.

The crew members take little notice of the men walking around, other than to notice that they are, quite rudely, in the fucking way. There are one or two of the younger employees that stop to notice the ever impressive collection of facial hair about the area, though. Shirtless men, some with more hair on their bodies than on top of their heads, with the most bizarre facial hair. A surprising number of full, bushy walrus mustaches. And half as many well-groomed, twirled ends and all, handlebar mustaches. There are quite a few chin beards spread out among them, as well, varying in length from obviously just manicured to haven't-shaved-this-since-the-Cubs-won-a-pennant.

Holy shit, kids, I made a sports joke.

In the middle of all this stands a man in red pants. Red, leather pants. We can't even begin to imagine why. Wait. Yes we can. But we can't tell you yet. To match those leather pants in a don't-change-what-isn't-broken fashion, the man is sporting a familiar pair of military-issue boots. Women 'round the world hold their breath as the camera pans upward, revealing the bare waistline and washboard abs. A murmur rushes through the audience in anticipation. The scarred chest and arms. The murmur upgrades to an anxious applause. The unnaturally permanent five-o-clock shadow around the chiseled jaw. We're now at a dull roar. The trademark grin. The piercing eyes. Ah. There we are. Everyone in the stadium causin' a mother fuckin' ruckus now. Even the people in such a rush to get things done seem taken aback at the noise of the crowd suddenly surrounding them.

Tyler Rayne: Take it easy, kids. You haven't even seen what I've got in store for you next.

He winks at the camera. All around the arena you can hear the sound of women ripping their panties off. Or you could. If you were there. But you're not. Or you wouldn't be reading this.

"Tyler! Ty! Hey!"

Another, though smaller and quieter and far more baritone, cheer as the red-haired Angelica Brooks pushes her way through the sea of shirtless men, all of whom take a moment to admire the beauty as she rushes by. A few of them avert their eyes quite quickly when they notice what she's carrying with her. She pushes up next to Tyler and hands him a sword. Well, tries to hand him. He refuses to take it.

Tyler Rayne: Didn't I tell you where to put that?

Angelica Brooks: I... look at this place. How the hell am I supposed to find one freaking fla--

Tyler Rayne: Whoa. Whoa. Easy there, B. You're gonna spoil the surprise.

He nods to the camera. She looks at it and sighs.

Angelica Brooks: Please tell me you know where they're at.

Tyler Rayne: If they're keeping to schedule, at gorilla. And if not, they will be soon. You'll, uh, make it through the crowd a lot faster if you take it out of the scabbard when you go.

She does a quick and disappointed look over the oodles of men wandering about.

Angelica Brooks: Trust me, I thought about it. What's the deal with all this, anyway? I mean, I figured you'd be marching out with a troop of naked dinosaur women or something.

Tyler Rayne: All in due time, my dear. And who's to say I don't have that planned, too?

Angelica Brooks: Speaking of plans... are you really quitting after this?

Tyler Rayne: Huh? Oh. Yeah. The life's been fun and all, but... eh. Time to move on.

Angelica Brooks: And do what?

Tyler Rayne: I dunno. Hunt some vampires. Kill ninjas. Travel the space-time continuum. Start adventures I never get around to finishing. You know. The usual.

Angelica Brooks: Right. You never do anything normal, do you?

He looks around at the chaos swarming all about them.

Tyler Rayne: This seems perfectly normal to me.

She laughs. Then suddenly hugs him. It starts out sorta innocent and friendly, but then gets a lot tighter and longer. Not romantic. But clearly sentimental. Meaningful.

Angelica Brooks: Thank you. For everything. No one took me seriously before you.

Tyler Rayne: Yeah, well, and I am one hundred percent shocked by this, but dick jokes did not make me as popular as being stalked by you.

Angelica Brooks: I wasn't stalking yo--

He clears his throat.

Angelica Brooks: OK. Maybe a little.

Tyler Rayne: Just a little. Look. Get going before you ruin my big to-do. I'll see you at the bar later.

She nods and moves to say something else, but swallows it. With a small smile she rushes off. Tyler turns his attention back to the chaos for all of a half second before a thunderous roar shakes the stadium again. One could say this ovation even rivals his own, but on a night when PRIME is singing her swan song, even Tyler Rayne can't outshine one of the few people that epitomizes what PRIME is and always has been. A name synonymous with the company itself. A person that even he looks up to.

Which he is doing right now. Because she's like two inches taller than him. And you'd be amazed how often that happens to come up.

Tyler Rayne: Hey, baby. How ya like the pre-show?

Lindsay Troy: I will admit, I was expecting an army of half-naked people to escort you to the ring, so this wasn't exactly what I had in mind.

Tyler Rayne: See. That's exactly the point. Always defying expectations.

Lindsay Troy: So you don't have strippers coming out for your entrance?

Tyler Rayne: I never said that.

Lindsay Troy: Uh huh.

Tyler Rayne: Telling you. This entrance is going to be amazing.

She looks down at his pants and smirks.

Lindsay Troy: Were you also going to tell me about your plans to run off with Tsonda after the show?

Tyler Rayne: Oh no. Not at all. That was going to be a secret. But I was totally going to leave a very nicely worded note.

Lindsay Troy: That's what I love about you. Always so thoughtful.

Tyler Rayne: I actually have been thinking. About the future. You know, after PRIME.

There is a long pause. The Queen waits patiently for her boyfriend to continue this thought. He does not. His expression, however, has turned incredibly serious.

Lindsay Troy: ...And?

He doesn't say anything. But he looks, deep into her eyes. As if that's where his future is. Perhaps it is. And perhaps he's just now admitting it. Or she's just now realizing it. Or both. Or... whatever. A handful of seconds pass. It's a sweet gesture, but a little out of place here in the middle of shirtless men and their fabulous mustaches. She blushes a little.

Lindsay Troy: Ty, people are beginning to stare.

Tyler Rayne: Robots.

Lindsay Troy: No, I'm pretty sure these are real people, unless you spent a whole lot of money on this entrance.

Tyler Rayne: The future. I was thinking about it. I think it has robots.

Lindsay Troy: Oh. Um... right. Boy, don't we all hope.

Tyler Rayne: I, uh, gotta go do this thing with Wade. So if I'm not conscious for the next couple hours... or months...

Lindsay Troy: If you know what's good for you, you'll be conscious when it's all said and done.

Troy, never really one to make the first move when it comes to public intimacy between them, grabs his hand and squeezes it.

Lindsay Troy: (softly) I'd prefer the imps not see us looking like we threw ourselves into a meat grinder when we get home. Y'know?

Tyler Rayne: I know. Walk away in one piece. Do my best. (He smiles). I love you.

Lindsay Troy: I know.

With that, he rushes off. She watches him go and, recalling his earlier comment, shakes her head and laughs to herself.

Lindsay Troy: Robots. Really...

Wade Elliott vs. Tyler Rayne

The camera fades out from the backstage area and opens on an aerial view of Soldier Field. Fans are packed in from the field seats to the top tier of the stadium nosebleeds. The camera shifts to a crane shot as it scans across the mid-level attendees. These open air stadiums are notorious for dissipating chants, but a true-to-form Chicago crowd will never be denied. The camera picks up various hooting, whistling, and cat-calling in the background, as well as a couple vuvuzelas.

Cut from the crowd crane to the handheld on the floor. We get a close-in on the announcers. Richard Parker sits with his elbows on the table, head in hands as he stares down, mumbling in disbelief. His head shakes slightly in the negative as he curses. Next to him, Nick Stuart has turned from the camera to high five some of the fans behind him, who themselves have all unified in a simple chant of their own.

Nick: Ladies and gentlemen, coming up next we have what might turn out to be one of the most brutal matches of the night. Wade Elliott versus Tyler Rayne. Last time these two tangled on a PRIME Pay-Per-View, they damn near killed each other. I'm both excited and frightened to see what lengths they'll go to on the last PRIME show ever.

The premiere PRIME play-by-play man has turned back to the camera, the fans still chanting behind him, nothing but smiles and positive attitudes. His color commentary partner-in-crime, however, looks as though he's just been dumped. Or what we assume he would look like were he ever able to convince a woman to date him long enough to break up with him.

Nick: What's wrong, Richard?

Richard: Rayne. Troy. It's... it's just terrible.

Nick: Terrible?! How can you say that?! Two of PRIME's greatest superstars are -"

Richard: Exclusive. For as much as I loathe him -"

Nick: Unless he brings out strippers.

Richard: Given. For as much as I loathe him, that man could be up to his elbows in strange. Women literally throw themselves at him. He could have a different woman for every finger and toe, and he limits himself to just one average-looking - "

Nick: I hope she doesn't hear you say that.

Richard: You think she's listening? Shit. Yeah. Her stupid boyfriend's coming out soon, so of course she... uh... Ladies and gentlemen, our next match is going to be an amazing contest of pure wrestling... no. I can't even finish that sentence without feeling dirty.

Nick: Now you're going to tell me these two aren't some of the best wrestlers PRIME has ever seen?

Richard: I'm going to tell you exactly that. Wade Elliott might be tough, but his most intelligent in-ring strategy is "Wade Smash." And as for Rayne... I've never known a supposed wrestler who cared so much for pleasing the fans with ridiculous stunts and high spots. He's the living embodiment of the worst our sport has to offer. The only good thing that comes from him facing Wade is that now I'll get to see Tyler Rayne get punched in the face even more than usual.

Nick: Don't hold your breath. Wade Elliott and Tyler Rayne put on one of the most brutal and vicious battles PRIME has ever seen at UltraViolence a few years ago. Many fans claim it to be one of the greatest matches in PRIME history. But for the final show, these two men, who seem to have astonishingly buried the hatchet and become friends, have decided to go with the unexpected. An unconventional choice for both of them, this contest is going to be a no gimmicks, no additions necessary one-on-one wrestling match.

Richard Oh, please. If you're going to try and convince me that Wade Elliott even knows what a headlock is, let alone how to apply one, you might as well tell me that Bigfoot isn't real or that my mother is really Santa Claus, like all those other naysayers out there.

Nick: But Bigfoot isn't... wait. What? What about Santa Claus?

Richard: I don't want to talk about it. People have been telling me for years that "there is no Santa Claus" and that my mother gives me all those presents every year for Christmas and signs Santa's name. Which is just stupid. How could my mother give all the kids around the world presents with Santa's name signed on them? She barely even drives out of the neighborhood. It's completely illogical.

Nick Stuart: Rich -

Before Nick can even begin to address the number of ludicrous statements just made, the rat-tat-tat of a single snare drum snaps out from the enormous entrance stage. The crowd grows quiet and both announcers turn to the stage where a lone man marches out from backstage, drum hanging from a strap around his neck as he pounds out a familiar marching cadence. Night has begun to descend upon Soldier Field, making identification of the man difficult for the thousands of fans spread across the stadium. The cameras take notice and move into position, projecting the man's appearance on screens around the stadium as a second drum joins in from backstage. Another man with a snare drum marches out to the stage, dressed in the same uniform as the first. The eye is drawn first to the movement of their legs as the two march in place; a basic pair of black boots under grey wool slacks, a black stripe down the side of each leg. White gloves grip tight around drumsticks as the men continue to ratta-tat-tat their marching song. The drumming duo marches forward as another pair of men emerge from backstage to march behind them, bugles raised to their mouths. The horns trumpet out a familiar tune. The matching grey wool jackets worn by the men are clean and pressed tight with a row of gold buttons down the middle. The kepi caps on their hands are surprisingly still as the men march down the ramp, now joined by another pair of soldiers with what appear to be flutes. The wind instruments whistle along with the bugles and drums, changing a marching cadence to a full-on recognizable song. Some of the members of the crowd can be seen nodding their heads now or nudging the person next to them as the tune takes shape. A few scattered boos can be heard, and then more than a few scattered, when two more uniformed men march out, both brandishing a Confederate flag over their shoulder. A fair share of cheers are heard, as well, no doubt from the PRIME representatives of the Southern states. The mixed reaction continues as a full-blown army of Confederate soldiers marches out behind their flag, muskets held over their shoulders, voices loud as they sing.

"Oooh, I wish I was in the land of cotton! Old times there are not forgotten!"


Nick: Ladies and gentlemen, as you can well see, we have a Confederate army marching down to the ring. This is completely unexpected and... well, honestly, I'm not quite sure what to say.

Richard: Is it weird that I kinda like this song?

"Look away, look away, look away, Dixie Land!"


The Confederates march around the ring, the drummers and buglers stopping right in front of the announce table, though they turn sharp on their heels to face back toward the stage. The two men with the flags march up to the ring and stand on the apron, one at each turnbuckle, their flags blowing in the night breeze. Confederate soldiers continue to line up around the ring and up the ramp, all facing inward toward the ring, toward each other, standing tall and straight at attention.

Nick: Well, folks, I can only assume that this is a prelude to Wade Elliott's entrance. He's never been shy about his pride as a Southerner, but this seems a bit extravagant for the usually reserved and straightforward 'Bama Bruiser. I'm at a bit of a loss.

Richard: You think they have this up on iTunes? I might make this my new ringtone.

Nick: I thought you were from Jersey.

Richard: I can neither confirm nor deny that rumor. Geographical heritage has nothing to do with good musical taste, though, Nick. And this is quite the jammin' ditty.

"I wish I was in Dixie! Hoo-ray! Hoo-ray! In Dixie Land I'll take my stand! To live and die in Dixie!"


As the Southern anthem draws to a close, the speakers across Soldier Field crackle and the guitar warm-up of another anthem begins. The snare drummers knock out a couple of beats on cue with the double drum beat that truly kicks off Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Still Unbroken." This elicits a slightly more positive response from the crowd, though many remain stubborn in their protest of the Confederate flag waving proudly in the stadium. The song slows down from its initial Southern rock jam. The soldiers once again take up their duty of singing a Southern classic.

"Broken bones, broken hearts, stripped down and torn apart."


Nick: A more familiar theme for Wade Elliott after the somewhat uncharacteristic spectacle of this Confederate army.

Richard: I liked the other song better.

Nick: "I Wish I Was In Dixie."

Richard: Who's Dixie?

Nick: It's the name of the song.

Richard: Does your wife know about Dixie? Well, I guess she does now...

Nick: Dixie isn't a woman. It's the name of -

Richard: To each his own, Nick. Just don't tell me about it.

"I guess I've lost everything I had. I'm not dead, at least not yet."


An enormous Confederate flag waves across the colossal PRIME*View. The video begins to pull back, distancing itself from the symbol of Southern pride that sits alone on a hill. In the background, a bald eagle can be seen flying through the sky toward the hill. It approaches closer and closer to the camera, great wings flapping as it draws nearer. Nearer. The eagle swoops down toward the camera, engulfing the PRIME*View with its avian majesty and gives an epic shriek. The beak opens wide and consumes the camera in black.

"Still alone! Still alive! Still unbroken!"


"I'm still alone! Still alive! I'm still unbro-oo-oken!!!


Another ear-piercing shriek from inside the stadium. The center of the entrance stage explodes into a column of fire that reaches up toward the top of the PRIME*View. And swooping down from above the PRIME*View, soaring over the pillar flames, is a gigantic bald eagle. The animatronic bird gives one great flap of its wings, stifling the flaming pillar with a gale force blast of air. It glides across Soldier Field, guided by two previously unnoticeable tension wires strung across the length of the stadium. The fans in attendance all cheer and scream, reaching up toward the great symbol of freedom as it "flies" above them.

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!"



"Never captured, never tamed, wild horses on the plain."


The Confederate soldiers snap on their heels, all turning to face the stage as a magnificent white stallion trots out onto the entrance. Beaming white lights shine down on Wade Elliott as he sits atop the horse. Alternating red and blue spotlights shine up from both sides of the entrance into the darkening sky above. The Southern Sparkplug is clad in a similar uniform to the soldiers spread out around the ring. He sports his usual steel-toed brown boots rather than the basic black of the others. The stripe on the side of his grey slacks is yellow instead of black. A yellow-gold belt cinches the overcoat around his waist, from which hangs the customary officers' saber. His coat has two rows of gold buttons instead of one. The Bad Dog stares out across the crowd from under a grey, pillbox-top hat. The thickness of his neck bulges against the three-star collar of his coat. The grimace on his face could be due to the tightness of the uniform. Or it could be due to the fact that he's Wade Elliott.

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!"


Nick: Wow! Wade Elliott coming out on a beautiful white horse here at Colossus!

Richard: Who cares about the horse? Did you see that eagle?! Eeeaagle!!

Nick: This is definitely the most pageantry we've ever seen from Wade Elliott, coming out in a huge way for PRIME's final show. If you're gonna go out, go out big!

Richard: And the only thing bigger than that eagle might be this horse's - "

Nick: You have some firsthand knowledge on that front, Richard?

"I guess I've lost everything I've had. I'm not dead, at least not yet."


"Still alone! Still alive! Still unbroken!"


Wade Elliott raises an arm to his hat just as the horse rears up. Wade rips the hat off and waves it around while the horse kicks its front legs in the air at the height of Van Zant's chorus crescendo.

"I'm still alo-oone!!! Still alii-iiive!!!!! Still unbro-oke-eee-eeee-en.


The stallion drops back down to all fours as the song slows before the next verse. Wade gives the horse a nudge and a gentle tug on the reigns to guide them down the ramp and toward the ring. The first pair of soldiers he passes turn to face in his direction, hands snapping up in a crisp salute, red spotlights popping up behind them to beam into the air. The next pair of soldiers follow in kind, this time with white spotlights behind them. Then the next with blue. And so on as he makes his way to the ring. Wade guides the horse around the ring, escorted by the grinding guitar solo of Still Unbroken. The lighting rig above the ring is working overtime with red, white, and blue lasers flash out across the ring area and out into the crowd. The Bad Dog reaches down to shake hands or slap high-five with the fans in the first couple of rows. A few children reach out to pet the horse. Wade stops the stallion after a full circle and dismounts. He stomps up the steel stairs and over the top rope. The lights above the ring, as well as those on stage and down the entrance ramp, all flash red moment The 'Bama Bruiser sets his boot down on the canvas. He looks up to the lights, which have now returned to the alternating laser bombardment of American pride. Wade walks to the center of the ring, nodding to the two men still holding those Confederate flags high. The two men drop down from the apron as Wade moves to the back corner and steps up onto the second turnbuckle. The lights above blink all red again for a single rotation, and then return to normal. Wade takes a moment to adjust the saber at his side, as well as a revolver holstered to his hip, then looks back out at the crowd and throws one arm into the air. The crowd roars.

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!"


"I'm still alo-oone!!! Still ali-ii-iive!!!!! Still unbro-ooo-oke-en.


He steps off the turnbuckle and, once again, the moment those boots touch the canvas the lights above him go red. Now the lights have stopped moving and Wade is washed in an odd red glow. For a half second, the red hovers over him alone, but as the next line of the song begins the red quickly spreads, moving from the far back ring lights to the front. Then the spotlights on the ramp. Then the spotlights on stage.

"I'm still unbro-ooo-oke-en! I ain't never goin' do-ooo-ooown!!!"


The music cuts abruptly. The red lights fizzle and then shut down entirely. The lights around the PRIME*View shut down. The colossal glow of the PRIME*View itself fades out. The monitors at the announce desk go blank. Stage lights. Stadium lights. Even the dull glow of the recording cameras fade out and Solider Field is left with nothing but the waning light of dusk.

Nick: Lights out. Monitors out. This is usually our prelude to Tyler Rayne's entrance, and after the spectacle Wade Elliott just gave us, I cannot wait to see how Rayne plans on topping that.

The speakers throughout the stadium crackle with static. A low tone buzzes out of the speakers. Another crack of static. A second of silence. The creak of an old wooden door opening. The smooth and chilling voice of a horror icon.

"Darkness falls across the land. The midnight hour is close at hand."


Fog machines cover the entrance stage in a foreboding haze. A couple dark shapes stumble out from behind the curtain and into the fog.

"Creatures crawl in search of blood, to terrorize y'all's neighborhood."


A pale yellow light glows beneath the fog, illuminating it and pieces of the tattered clothes worn by the figures on stage. There are now four figures stumbling out from the entrance and toward the center of the stage. Boots similar to those worn by Wade's Confederate soldiers scrap, drag, and stutter through the fog. One of the figures is wearing just a single boot. His other foot appears gnarled and scabbed. It could also be discolored, though that cannot be certain with the jaundiced lighting applied to the stage floor. The bottoms of their blue slacks are tattered and torn, or missing entirely.

"And whosoever shall be found, without the soul for getting down, must stand and face the hounds of Hell. And rot inside a corpse's shell.


Some members of the crowd have taken to reciting the lines. Others begin to cheer as hands shoot up from beneath the fog. These hands are just as disfigured as the feet. Bent digits. Missing fingernails. Scabbed or skinned discolored flesh. The edges of dark blue coats are frayed and ragged. The hands fall back down beneath the fog as entire upper halves of men push themselves up from beneath the haze. Faded black Hardee hats breach the fog, followed by sunken, discolored faces. Most of their eyes are discolored. The irises clouded over with grey or dull white.

Nick: Wade Elliott came down to the ring with a platoon of Confederate soldiers, and now it looks like the Union soldiers are marching out to match their forces.

Richard: Those don't look any Union soldiers I ever saw in a History book.

Nick: I'm surprised you ever opened a History book. You are right, though, Richard. Those do not look like... um, did you just touch my leg?

Richard: Confusing fantasy with reality again, Nick? Why in the world would I ever touch your... sweet baby Jesus, did you just touch my wang?!

Nick: I most certainly did not!

Both men roll their chairs back slowly and look down. A pale hand rests in each of their laps, red fingernail polish chipped and faded. At least on the fingers that still have red polish. Or fingernails. The commentators watch with mouths agape as the woman crawls out from beneath the announce table. Dark hair, clumped with mud and who knows what else, hangs over her head, obscuring her face. Her pale skin is splotched with bruises and scars. A couple of open wounds appear to be leaking small trails of blood. Though some of this escapes the notice of the two men at the announce table, who are more interested, in this particular moment, by the odd but unsurprising fact that the woman is wearing no clothes. Richard stares at the woman's pale and bruised breasts with no shame. Nick's face is a twisted mixture of uncomfortable and appalled next to shock and fascination. He wants to look away, but can't. Until the woman tosses her hair back, revealing the face beneath. Nick shrieks and stumbles backward, tripping over his chair and falling to the floor. Richard breaks his stare to look down at Nick in confusion, then up at the woman.

Richard: Sweet mother of mercy!

One of her eyes is clouded with the same grey as the soldiers on the stage. The other eye, however, is a bright red nightmare that seems to stare right into his soul. Bruises swell under her eyes and around the crooked mess of a broken nose. The right side of her cheek is missing. He can see right through to the teeth and gums. It looks like she's smiling at him. Richard falls back into his chair, dumbfounded. The woman climbs up on the announce table, eliciting a roar from the male fans who just see a naked woman up there. A second later the response is halved into disgusted cries and even louder cheering when the woman's visage is revealed in all its repulsive glory on the PRIME*View.

"The foulest stench is in the air. The funk of forty thousand years. And grisly ghouls from every tomb, are closing in to seal your doom."


The nude woman points up to the air above the stage. Nick and Richard attempt to get themselves situated again while the rest of the Colossus crowd watches the two metal poles descending down onto the entrance. There are two figures hanging upside down from the poles. Now spinning around the poles. Upright. Legs split.

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!"


Richard: ZOMBIE STRIPPERS!!

All doubts about this entrance have now been alleviated. While this could have just been an extension of Wade's majestic march down to the ring, we all know there is but one man in PRIME who would dare have undead strippers descend from the heavens to herald his arrival.

"And though you fight to stay alive, your body starts to shiver. For no mere mortal can resist, the evil of the Thriller."


The poles descend into the fog. The two zombie strippers are just as bruised, pale, and disfigured as the woman standing on the announce table. They each kick a single leg out toward the middle of the stage. Both women lean back as they do so, pointing up toward the open sky, where a bolt of lightning with no discernible point of origin streaks down between the two poles and strikes against the stage.

"A-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!"


The stage still glows where the lightning struck, and as Vincent Price laughs manically throughout the stadium, a figure rises up through the illuminated fog. Dark, mussed hair. Mischievous grin surrounded by a small growth of stubble. The crowd erupts at the sight of him. His chin breaches the eerie mist coating the stage floor and he looks up to another roar from the Chicago crowd. Tyler Rayne sees the camera closing in on him and winks. Women the world over swoon.

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!"


Nick: There he is, ladies and gentlemen! Inducted into the Hall of Fame earlier tonight, there's no denying that few wrestlers have ever connected with the PRIME audience the way that Tyler Rayne has.

Richard: He knows the way to the public's heart, Nick. Tits. Lots and lots of beautiful tits.

The Most Desired Man in PRIME continues to rise from beneath the fog. He's wearing a red leather jacket with black trimming. Thick black stripes down the middle of the sleeves that end just above the shoulders. Huge lapels that flare in the middle. Plain black tee beneath. Red leather pants over the usual military-style wrestling boots. His ascension stops and Tyler Rayne stands confident in all his self-proclaimed greatness. A zombie stripper stands on either side of him. A half dozen undead Union soldiers lined up behind. He stares down at the ring and locks gazes with Wade Elliott, who is watching all of this with contained bemusement.

Richard: Well at least some people have remembered there's supposed to be a match going on tonight.

Tyler Rayne takes a half-step forward with his right foot. There's a short pause before he drags the left foot up to meet. The Confederate soldiers lined up along the ramp look down to Wade for guidance. The Bad Dog continues to stare down at his upcoming opponent. His determination is enough to reinforce both their resolve and their stance. The soldiers turn back to the entrance readied. Tyler takes a second step forward with the right foot. Drags the left behind him again. Another short pause. He looks about to take another step, but his right shoulder spontaneously spasms upward. And then a second time.

Richard: He's not...

The former 5-Star Champion suddenly snaps to profile. An arm outstretched in front. One behind. The strippers at his sides and the soldiers behind him have adopted the same stance. The background instrumentals to Thriller begin playing over the speakers. The crowd cheers wildly.

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!"


Nick: He is.

Tyler looks down at one particular Union soldier on the front line and winks before snapping his head down and taking a stuttered step to his side, which with his body turned to the side, takes him one step forward and closer to the soldiers. His legs quiver as he takes another step forward. Arms in, hands curling up like claws. Arms out. Arms back in. Snap turn 180 degrees. T-rex the arms out. Back in. Arch back...

Nick: Earlier tonight, Tyler Rayne was inducted into the PRIME Hall of Fame. He finally got revenge on Devin Shakur after the sickening events of UltraViolence back in two thousand freaking nine. And now this! The Thriller dance in front of tens of thousands here at Soldier Field.

The camera takes a quick cut from the stage to sweep across the crowd, pausing on pockets of fans that are themselves dancing along with the madman leading them on the PRIME*View.

Richard: Strippers aside, it's this sort of pageantry and nonsense that inevitably leads to his downfall. Tyler Rayne might have one of the worst win-loss records on this show. And I dare suggest it's because he concentrates more on these shenanigans than on his matches.

Nick: That could well be. There are some serious PRIME career highlights, most notably winning the Universal Title, that Rayne has not, and now cannot, ever achieve.

Richard: Exactly. And I'll never understand why people love him so much in spite of all that.

He looks up at the gyrating ass of the naked woman dancing on the announce table.

Richard: OK. Maybe I sort of understand.

Nick: In a single night, the final night for PRIME, Tyler Rayne has given us more memorable moments than some can string together in an entire career. Every night that Tyler Rayne appears at a PRIME show, whether it's in the ring or outside of it, he gives the people watching something to talk about. Tyler Rayne is all about creating special memories.

Richard: I have a fond memory of him taking one of the worst beatings I've ever seen the last time he faced Wade. Hoping tonight will be the same.

Nick: Their match at UltraViolence for the 5-Star Title is still one of the most brutal and unrelenting things we've ever seen here in PRIME.

Up on the stage, Tyler Rayne is doing a little air guitar, though there is no actual guitar in the instrumental section of this dance theme. Perhaps it's an air bass instead. Tyler's head pops up from the quick air solo and he stares straight down the ramp at Wade, swaying slightly from shoulder-to-shoulder as he drags his left foot around and back to center. Right arm in the air, waving like he sort of cares but not quite enough to stop dancing. A half turn to the right and a quick pelvic thrust with full arm motions. Turn around to the left and what appear to be random karate punches into the air. At this point he might just be making shit up.

Nick: This has got to be one of the most surreal things for Wade Elliott. To have a grown man staring him down while doing the Thriller dance.

Richard: I'm surprised Wade has maintained his composure. This much eye contact and gyration is even making me uncomfortable.

The zombie soldiers and strippers plant their right foot firm on the grand, taking a half-sumo stance with hands on the knees. All of them stare down at Wade with their creeptastic discolored eyes. Rayne leads them all in a slow turn as they shuffle their left foot around one shambling step at a time. Now this macabre mob of dancers is turned ass first toward Wade and his Confederate cohorts. The zombies march back toward the curtain in their half-stance. The fog seems to have thickened now. Higher. Denser. And beginning to seep beyond the stage and down around the feet of the Confederate soldiers along the ramp. A couple of them exchange worried glances, but otherwise remain resolute. The undead horde turns and Tyler Rayne raises a microphone to his mouth...

Tyler: Cause this is Thriiiiller!! Thriller night! And no one's gonna save ya from the beast about to strike!

Nick: That was... a surprisingly not terrible Michael Jackson impression.

The music stops. The dancing stops. Time seems to stand still as everyone on stage has suddenly froze in place. Then Tyler smirks. A small but noticeable cheer rips through the crowd. He points upward. And from above the Colossus entrance set comes another gigantic... something.

Nick: What the hell is that?

The creature in question is another animatronic creation... but one stolen from horrified nightmares rather than patriotic dreams. It hovers just above the Colossus set like a god surveying the miniscule mortals below. Two small, clawed arms extrude from the snake-like torso. The appendages are laughably small in relation to the rest of the body, drawing an odd association with that of a Tyrannosaur. There are two large bat-like wings sprouting from the ridged back. The wings cast an ominous shadow upon the stage and the undead minions gathered on it. The neck extends into a bulbous head with mandibles piercing through a dangling menagerie of tentacles. The raised bulb of the head is adorned with dozens upon dozens of eyes. It's like some horrid Lovecraftian spider-dragon.

Richard: If I counted correctly, and I never count wrong, that, Mr. Stuart, is The Thing With Forty Eyes.

The mandibles of the great beast open, spreading the tentacles apart, and a burst of flames erupts from the mouth.

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!"


The Confederate soldiers take a startled step backward. Wade Elliott remains still in the ring, staring down at the stage and his opponent. Tyler Rayne motions for the zombies to move forward. The strippers are in the lead, with the Union soldiers forming a barricade right behind them. The Confederates look back at Wade, who nods without taking his eyes off Rayne. The Confederates nearest to the entrance take a few steps back, while some closer to the ring jog forward. The small group form two lines of four men each, one row kneeling in front of the other. Each row steadies the aim of their muskets on the approaching zombies. The undead women take a step onto the ramp, the men behind them shuffling at the edge of the stage, when the Confederate soldiers fire their weapons. Fans closest to the barricade shriek in surprise and throw hands over their ears. The two strippers and the Union soldiers fall to the stage. Their bodies disappear within the thickness of the fog.

Nick: Dear lord, did they just shoot those people?!

Richard: First: none of those men loaded their muskets with gunpowder or a ball, so I'm guessing those are stage firearms shooting blanks. Second: it doesn't matter because the people they shot are zombies and zombies can't die.

Truer words were never spoken. At least not by Richard Parker. The undead on the stage rise up from the fog once more. Whereas before the zombies just looked repulsive, their faces are now contorted with a rage that makes them downright terrifying. The zombies hold their line for just a moment before Tyler Rayne snaps his fingers and all hell breaks loose.

"What What What Hit It!


As if to emphasize that things have now gotten under way, we skip the usual block rockin' intro and launch right into Stick 'Em Up. The zombies rush forward with an unexpected speed. The previous shambling and shuffling has been abandoned for sprinting and leaping. The undead pounce upon the collected group of Confederates that had, just moments ago, shot them down. The other Confederates, still gathered around the ring, prepare to move forward, but hands and arms lash out from behind the barricades to stop them. More zombified Union soldiers start climbing over the barricade and attacking the Confederates. The Confederates have an advantage, though, almost two-to-one, and begin teaming up to save each other. Meanwhile, bodies are starting to crawl out from beneath the ring. The naked bodies of yet more undead strippers. The strippers turn their dead gaze toward the ring. Wade Elliott realizes he is surrounded and draws the revolver from his side. This could be one of the few times in human history a man is surrounded by naked women waiting to pounce on him and he isn't tearing his own clothes off to welcome them.

Nick: This is one of the most bizarre things I have ever witnessed.

Richard: The entrances were extravagant, but this has just gotten far too out of - OH DEAR GOD NO!!

Well this has escalated quickly. Confederate soldiers are fending off the blood lust of the Union zombies, using their muskets as a barrier to keep the undead back. A few of the Confederates have been dragged down under the fog, which has now spread out around the ring as well. Some of the zombies have taken blows to the head and fallen into the unknown as well. The strippers have begun to climb up on the ring apron. Wade has centered himself in the ring, head on a swivel, waiting for the first naked zombie to come in and try to take him down.

In the midst of this chaos, the announce team has had eyes all around the ring and across the three monitors at the table, attempting to keep up with the bedlam as best they could. And with all the anarchy, it was surprisingly easy to forget about the nude undead woman standing motionless on the announce table. Until, that is, she leapt down and tackled Richard Parker from his seat. At the exact same moment the women standing on the ring apron leap in and rush at Wade. The crowd is going absolute ape-shit over the scene unfolding before them.

"HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!"


Nick: Ladies and gentlemen, this has turned into utter chaos! I don't even know how to describe what I'm seeing other than to -

Richard: OH GOD THIS IS HORRIBLE!! SOMEONE SAVE ME!!!

Nick: And all the while Tyler Rayne is still standing up on the stage watching the, well, Armageddon that he's wrought on the ring!

Richard: NO! WAIT! THIS IS INCREDIBLE! NO ONE STOP THIS!!

Nick: It appears that Richard's headset is still live! Though I can't see what's happening to him under all this fog!

Richard: OH GOD NO!!

Nick: Perhaps we could just turn his headset off until things are more under control? Can anyone in the back hear me?

Richard: OH GOD YES!!

Wade Elliott is surrounded by zombies. Nude, attractive zombies, but zombies nonetheless. The first rushes toward him. He fires a quick shot with the service revolver. The woman falls and rolls out of the ring, disappearing into the fog. Another comes for him. Another shot fired. One of the zombies springboards off the ropes toward him. Wade ducks under her attack and turns quick to boot her right in the bare ass, knocking the zombie woman out of the ring. Another rushes at him. Another shot. She falls backward and tumbles through the ropes to the outside.

"THIS IS AWESOME! THIS IS AWESOME! THIS IS AWESOME!"


Nick: The Bad Dog is in the middle of the ring fighting off the advances of naked zombie women. With a Civil War era revolver. This is... not even the strangest thing I've said on a PRIME broadcast.

Richard: That... was... incredible.

The color commentator pulls himself back up to his seat at the announce table. His hair is a mess. His face and hands are smeared with greyish make-up and what would appear to be blood. Richard tightens up his tie, straightens his lapels, and adjusts the monitor at the table back to an appropriate viewing angle.

Nick: How'd you get free?

Richard: Her contact fell out. I think she's still looking for it. You know those aren't real zombies?

Nick: You know zombies aren't real?

Richard: Pfft. Liberal media propaganda at its finest.

Wade Elliott has cleared out all but the last of the zombie strippers. She crouches low across the ring from him, looking for a chance to pounce. He attempts to shoot her with the revolver, but it doesn't fire. Out of ammunition. He throws the gun at her instead, but she deftly slides out of its trajectory. Wade does a quick scan around the ring to make sure no other monsters have climbed up to the apron as he backs closer to the ropes. In just the split second that his eyes were averted, the woman scrambles up to the top rope and leaps off, growling as she flies toward him. It might have been mentioned before, but the 'Bama Bruiser is a strong man, and strippers, as a general rule, do not weigh an incredible amount as human beings go, so he catches her with minimal effort. He holds her across his broad chest for a moment as he surveys the chaos around the ring, finds an appropriate spot, and then marches to the far corner as he presses her into the air. When Wade arrives at the destination, he just tosses the woman over the top rope and into a group of Union soldiers that have a Confederate pinned against the barricade. The Union zombies crash forward, into the barricade, and then tumble down into the mist. But the woman manages to scramble up their falling bodies and attach herself to the Confederate, who screams as he is dragged down under the fog as well. Wade takes another quick look around to make sure he's in the clear, then turns his attention up to the stage, beckoning his opponent to come down to the ring with a single hand motion. Tyler Rayne smiles and shrugs, then takes his first step down the ramp.

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!"


Richard: You know, I was beginning to think there wouldn't even be a match at this rate.

Nick: This has been quite an entrance for both men, Richard. But the fans are loving it.

Richard: Well sometimes the fans are stupid.

Nick: C'mon, Rich. Don't act like you didn't love that stripper bouncing on top of you?

Richard: Love is for the weak, Nick.

The fans around the stadium continue screaming in excitement as there seems to be no end to this madness. Tyler Rayne pushes past a Confederate soldier bludgeoning a zombie over the head with a musket. He ducks and slides between two battling soldiers, the feet of a Union undead sliding across his back as it leaps onto one of the Confederates. He has to sidestep as one of the rebels appears out of the fog, clawing at Rayne for help, but another zombie emerges from the fog as well and dives on top of its prey like a shark snatching a seal. He makes it down to ringside but finds the direct path into the ring blocked by two crossed Confederate flags and the soldiers holding them.

"KICK THEIR ASS! KICK THEIR ASS! KICK THEIR ASS! KICK THEIR ASS!"


Both soldiers attach at the same time, swinging their flags overhead, the staffs crossing in an arc over where Rayne's head would have been, had he not so quickly ducked underneath. Rayne continues his forward momentum at this lower position, giving him prime opportunity and angle to punch both men directly in the dick. Both soldiers fall to their knees as Tyler comes to a standing position behind them, he turns and quickly grabs a flag staff in each hand, pulling the flags in opposite directions as he stretches his arms. This causes the two soldiers still holding the flags to crack skulls when their opposite momentums meet. The soldiers sink into the fog. Tyler flips both flag staffs around so he can look over the bottoms. The one in his left hand appears to be made of solid brass, and he tosses it aside. The one in his right, however, appears to have a black plastic cap on the bottom. He takes that one over to the steel ring steps and slams the end of it down, snapping the cap off. He then holds the staff up high and catches an object the slides out of what happened to be a hollow brass pole.

Nick: Is that what I think it is?

Richard: Of course it is. Because this farce is never going to end.

There ain't no party like a Civil War zombie party cause a Civil War zombie party don't stop. Which is a lot of Wade Elliott's problem right now. Two Union soldiers have climbed into the ring and surrounded him. One rushes at him from the front, and knowing there's another behind him, Wade lunges forward to meet his attacker with a devastating clothesline that flips the zombie over and around again. The crowd, well at least those watching the action inside the ring and not outside of it, cringes at the destructive impact.

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"


Nick: It is said that the only way to stop a zombie is by attacking the brain.

Richard: And that poor bum definitely has brain damage after that blow.

Wade pushes himself back to his feet and turns just in time to catch the second zombie with a big boot. The Union soldier hits the canvas hard, and both of the would-be attackers roll out of the ring. Wade catches some motion out of the corner of his eye and swivels around to see Tyler Rayne standing in the corner. For a moment both men just stare.

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!"


Tyler winks at his longtime nemesis turned sorta friend and holds up his right hand, showcasing the object he pulled from the flag for all to see. It's a Japanese sword, sheathed in a beautiful scabbard with golden dragons winding across its length. Tyler removes the katana with his left hand, tosses the sheath outside the ring, and takes a step forward. Wade rises to his full height, takes half a step back for distance, and looks down at the Civil War era saber lashed to his right side. Wade smiles and draws it out with the left hand as well. Tyler stands, waiting, with his arm lowered and the sword pointing to the ground. He smiles at Wade. The Bad Dog growls and raises his own sword up a little, preparing to strike. For another moment there is nothing as the two men measure each other with looks. Wade, apprehensive but prepared. Tyler, for all appearances, non-committal and mildly bored. All eyes have turned to the ring now as the Chicago crowd waits to see if this is really going to happen. No one even notices that the soldiers, both Confederate and Union, are making a quick and quiet escape through the now thinning fog.

"FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!"


Wade makes the first move, lashing twice for the chest. Tyler parries both with ease and then twists his head to avoid the slash at his face. Otherwise, he makes no movement. Wade growls and lowers his sword, taking a few steps forward. Rayne takes a step back, notices he's being backed into the corner, and then circles more toward the center of the ring. Wade circles, too, keeping straight on with Rayne. He frowns at the realization that he's now been backed toward the turnbuckle instead. Wade raises his sword and pushes it out slowly. Rayne moves in once, and is parried, immediately attempts again the other way, and is parried, then lashes out for Wade's head. Wade uses the same technique of turning his head to avoid a gash across the nose. Rayne frowns at the uncharacteristic dexterity of the Southern Sparkplug. Wade smiles. Another pause as the two men contemplate their next move.

Richard: So, just to make sure I'm not still euphoric from getting dry humped by a large breasted zombie... I am watching a sword fight in the ring, correct?

Nick: That does appear to be what is happening. Yes.

Richard: And this has nothing to do with actual wrestling, correct?

Nick: I'm trying real hard to think of a correlation.

Wade lunges forward with a continuous attack that puts Rayne on the defensive. Rayne parries a half dozen strikes, pushing the saber off a little with his last defense, and then moves in on his own. Three jabs blocked by Wade and a push-off. Wade back on the offensive. He backs Rayne a step or two, then the momentum shifts again and Rayne pushes Wade back to center. Wade back in control and a step forward. Rayne in control and a step forward. There are a couple more trades in advantage that end up leading to no advantage at all. Both men engaged in a flurry of clashed swords center ring. Wade pushes a little harder and backs Rayne up toward the corner. Rayne tries to the sword off again, but Wade is stronger and takes an immediate swing at Rayne's head. The better swordsman is forced to duck beneath the blow, and Wade spins in a complete circle, using the momentum to come around for another head attack. Rayne blocks the blow, but the force of it puts both men off balance. The crowd cheers. Wade recovers quicker and presses his attack again. The slashes are defensible, but fast, Wade has clearly been practicing, and Rayne cannot find an opening to turn the tide. He is forced back into the turnbuckle and then onto the turnbuckle. Wade continues to press his advantage planted firmly on the mat and Rayne continues to block those advances from the middle turnbuckle. That lasts for just a couple more blows, though, and the power of Wade's attacks forces Rayne to back up. Which means up to the top turnbuckle now. A couple more weaker attempts from Wade and then he goes for a stronger upward slash. Rayne pushes it aside, but is set off balance and almost topples to the outside. Instead he regains his footing on the top rope and carefully takes a few steps out onto the rope. Ensured that he has his balance, Rayne walks across the top rope more toward the center of the ring.

Nick: Looks like Rayne is using Bonetti's Defense against Wade's attacks here.

Richard: Of course he is. It's only fitting, considering the terrain.

Tyler Rayne gives his backwoods buddy a wink and a smile. Wade, making great strides not to be outdone tonight, climbs up the corner post, one foot planted on the middle turnbuckle and the other raised to the top turnbuckle to help him balance without the use of his arms.

Richard: And now the classic Captain Morgan offensive.

The Captain Morgan is the same stance that won the gold medal back in the '96 Olympics. Wade has been studying. He presses the attack once again as Tyler balances precariously on the top rope. Tyler manages an impressive defensive given his position, and, well, Wade looks like a bad ass mother fucking pirate. And we all know bitches love pirates.

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!"


Wade takes a big swing for Tyler's midsection. Too strong to block and too dangerous to step back that fast, Rayne has no choice but to leap down to the relative safety of the ring. He hits the canvas a little harder than expected and half turns to catch his balance, putting his back to the corner with Wade. He realizes this mistake almost too late, but again, Wade doing an uncharacteristic amount of showmanship, leaps off the top turnbuckle, over the stumbling Rayne, and lands in front of him. The crowd screams wildly. Wade smiles. Rayne nods an acknowledgement of his impressive efforts and takes a quick step forward, putting Wade on the defensive without even raising his sword. Wade steps back and Rayne presses on him, lashing out with quick strikes at the upper chest and head. It looks like Rayne might be trying to push his opponent back into the corner, but Wade has spent more than enough time in a ring to know where he is, and aware of the attempt, begins to circle around, though this gives him no other advantage as Rayne continues to press an attack. The two men essentially end up trading positions and have now dueled their way back to the center of the ring. Rayne makes one last attempt at the head, which is easily parried, and then quickly switches focus toward the legs and lower abdomen. He manages to push Wade a couple of steps back with this offensive and then takes a big swipe at the midsection that forces Wade to jump back.

Richard: How in the world is this still going on?

Nick: The two of them are surprisingly evenly matched, Richard. Neither can gain the advantage.

Richard: Yes, but I ask again, why is there sword fighting during a wrestling match?

Nick: Perhaps it's a metaphorical display of the dick measuring contest these two have had for most of their PRIME careers.

Richard: Huh. That's not bad bullshittin', Nick.

Nick: I knew I'd find something eventually.

The two are at a complete stale mate now, neither gaining ground as both men trade blows and each is blocked. This is short-lived, though, and Rayne uses his expertise to regain the advantage and begins backing The Bad Dog into a corner. Now it's well-known that animals are most dangerous when backed into a corner, and Wade can see that he's in trouble. He blocks an incoming attack and pushes the swords down in an arc, switching his own saber over to his right hand as the arc reaches the middle. The swords are locked up in a full circle, but now at the top Wade has a distinct advantage and presses onward. The strength and control of his right arm is far better, and Rayne is sent on a reeling defensive back toward the middle of the ring. The crowd is going nuts at the new fervor of offensive from Wade. He takes a straight jab toward Rayne's midsection. Blocked. Another, and this one sends Rayne stumbling to the canvas. A third that Rayne is able to push off, sending the saber almost into the mat. Wade is a little off balance now and Rayne shoots forward with a jab of his own. Wade steps back to avoid the attack and Rayne scrambles to his feet. Realizing he's almost been backed into the corner, Rayne turns his right side to the ropes as Wade presses another offensive flurry. Rayne is all defense, and even that is not going too great with Wade's right-handed attacks. He feels his back hit the turnbuckles, sees a big swing coming down from Wade, and just manages to get his sword up to diver the attack. Rayne presses the saber down against the top rope, holding it there with his own sword, so as to keep Wade from attacking. However, both men are still in the corner, with Rayne at a distinct disadvantage, and Wade is the bigger man here, so ol' Country just presses his weight down against Rayne, smashing him into the corner.

Nick: Looks like this might be the end.

Richard: Thank God.

Wade has both the height and weight advantage over Tyler Rayne. Which means that in this scenario, he should have no problem just smashing Rayne into the corner like a press. Both men know this, of course, as do all of the people watching around the world. Which means it's time to get out of this mess. Rayne gives Wade a knee to the midsection to create a little space and then pulls his sword away. Wade, who had been also been pulling up to try and free his saber, is sent back a couple of steps from the unexpected addition of his own force, freeing Tyler from the corner. Rayne winks at Wade and tosses his katana into the air, catching it with the right hand now. He expertly displays a couple of quick slashes that are nowhere near Wade Elliott, but just prove he's much more in control with the right than the left. Back to an even game. The crowd goes wild.

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!"


Rayne presses an attack with the same finesse he just displayed. Two quick strikes that Wade has a hard time defending. The third Wade attempts to push off, but Rayne has such control that he follows along through, circling both swords around. With an expert angle on the wrist and a bit of pressure at the right time, the saber is forced out of Wade's hands and sails to a clattering crash near the announce table.

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!"


Wade looks astonished and unsure what to do. Tyler pushes a half-assed attack that forces Wade through the ropes and onto the apron. Wade looks down at his saber. He leaps off the turnbuckle, stumbles a couple of steps, but snatches his sword from the ground and quickly turns to face, armed for the next assault. Tyler is still standing in the ring, looking down at Wade standing next to the announce table. In a flash, Rayne throws his katana down in that direction. The sword spins end over end and impales itself into the top of the announce table.

Nick: Jesus Christ!

Richard: I don't think Jesus was a sword fighter, Nick. Or I'm wrong and I need to read some awesome parts of the Bible.

Tyler leaps up from the mat and to the top rope, bending to grab the rope and catch his balance. He then springboards off into a front flip, lands deftly on his feet in front of the announce table, and pulls the sword out. Another wink.

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!"


Nick: It's been documented that Tyler Rayne has wielded a sword once or twice in his life, even here on this show, but I would love to know who taught Wade Elliott to fence so damn well.

Richard: No one of consequence, I'm sure.

Nick: I must know.

Richard: As I'm sure your mother told you many times, Nick, get used to disappointment.

Wade stares in a bit of disbelief at the athleticism. He's been attempting to keep up with these shenanigans the whole time, but goddamn if Rayne doesn't just keep raising the stakes. Wade may not be a gymnast, but he's proven he's not out of his league here, so he shrugs and presses forward with an attack. He forces Rayne back a handful of steps, nearing the corner post, but none of the attacks penetrate his excellent defense. Rayne pushes back with a swing to the head. Wade blocks and dodges, moving both men next to the apron as Rayne presses his attack once more. The two come to a stalemate up high. Wade swipes low but is blocked. He swings out a little wider and slashes more toward the hip. Rayne swings his arm around his back and blocks just in time. Wade uses the momentum of the parry to turn and try to get some more power in his attack, but Rayne is faster and blocks the high attack. Rayne now with a quick slash at the hips, but Wade just manages to get his saber in the way. Rayne takes a swipe at the feet now, but Wade is close enough that he can leap up to the bottom of the steel steps and avoid the attack. Wade jogs up the steps and into the ring, with Rayne right behind.

Nick: This might be the most athletic we've ever seen Wade Elliott.

Richard: Wasted on a stupid stunt.

Nick: Regardless, Wade has clearly brought his A game to Colossus.

Both men are in the ring again, but Wade was there first and readies himself as Rayne ducks through the ropes. He lashes out with one powerful strike that Rayne blocks from the corner, and then Rayne pushes forward with a couple swift attacks. Wade blocks and tries with a strike of his own, but Rayne has the momentum and once again knocks the saber into the air. Wade scrambles backward, watching the sword as it flies through the air. He positions himself perfectly in the corner and catches the saber on the way down.

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!"


Impressive. Not to be outdone, Tyler leaps onto the middle rope and throws a few quick strikes at Wade while his back is in the corner. Wade parries and moves himself out of the corner, following along the ropes as Rayne hops down to the canvas and continues to press the advantage. Wade keeps his defenses tight as he guides the fight back toward the center of the ring. Once centered, Wade turns the tide in his favor and manages a small offensive. After a couple of strikes, Rayne shifts the tide again and lunges at Wade. Wade parries and recovers with a couple of blocked attacks. The attacks are becoming slower and more powerful now, both men looking for the finishing blow. Rayne with a couple of overhead attacks that send Wade reeling a couple of steps. Then Wade back with some powerful blows that put Rayne on his heels a few times. Back to center ring again. A couple of traded blows mid-ring and then Wade steps forward, forcing Rayne to the side. Wade stabs out backward with his saber, trying to catch Rayne off-guard. Rayne has to switch back left-handed to deflect the blow as he leaps back. The two men have essentially traded places at center ring. Wade spins to the left, switching over to the left hand in hopes of catching Rayne unexpectedly, but Rayne has gained his footing. A couple of swift strikes are parried easily. Wade takes the saber in both hands and begins alternating powerful high and low attacks. But both men have gained a second wind and Rayne's defense is impenetrable. Frustrated, Wade strikes out with some big overhead cuts that look to take off Rayne's whole arm. But the faster man simply leans to the left and avoids the first attack, then leans to the right to avoid the second. And back again for the third. Rayne lunges for an attack, but Wade is able to get a weak parry in time. Unfortunately, Wade does not have a good grip or good positioning. Rayne twirls his wrist, circling his own sword around Wade's in an almost mocking offensive. Wade attempts to keep up, but Rayne is just too damn fast. The spinning is so distracting that Rayne is able to switch quickly with a lash that slices one of the buttons off Wade's collar. Rayne reserves momentum and sends the flat of his katana downward, smacking the saber out of Wade's hands and to the mat.

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!"


Richard: FINALLY!

Nick: Moan all you want, the crowd loved that.

Richard: I cannot express in words how elated I am to never have to see another Tyler Rayne entrance after this.

Nick: You realize that also means you'll never see another naked woman after this.

Richard: Son of a bitch.

Tyler Rayne has handed his sword off to one of the ringside technicians, who also slides Wade's saber out of the ring, as the two shake hands and share a laugh. The crowd gives another thunderous round of applause for the amazing showmanship. The two men split apart and walk toward opposite corners, both removing their coats and tossing them over the top rope. Vince Howard slides into the ring for the official match announcements.

Vince Howard: LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, the following contest is scheduled for ONE FALL!!!

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!"


Vince Howard: Introducing first... from BAJA, CALIFORNIA... he weighs in at a trim two hundred and nineteen pounds... standing at six feet, one inches tall... he won both the 2008 DUAL HALO and the 2008 TEAM TOURNAMENT OF CHAMPIONS... former 5-STAR CHAMPION and NEW inductee to the PRIME HALL OF FAME... the self-proclaimed MOST DESIRED MAN IN PRIME... the UNDERGROUND PIMP himself...TYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYLLLLLEEEERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR...

"MOTHER FUCKING!!!"


Vince Howard: ...RRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYNNNNNNNNEEEEEE!!!!!!!!

Tyler Rayne, who had been sitting on the top turnbuckle wringing his hands, leaps off in a front flip, sticks the landing, and then turns to jump to the middle rope before throwing an arm in the air and roaring at the crowd.

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!"


He hops off the rope and smiles, pointing down at one particularly excited female fan in the front row, before returning to his corner and taking a seat down on the bottom turnbuckle this time.

Vince Howard: And in this corner... he hails from PINE RIDGE, ALABAMA... weighing in at a muscled two hundred and fifty-seven pounds... he stands at six feet, four inches tall... the PRIME 2006 BREAKOUT SUPERSTAR OF THE YEAR... 2007 JEWEL IN THE CROWN RUNNER UP... former INTENSE CHAMPION and current record holder for longest time spent in the DUAL HALO... he is THE BLUE COLLAR BRAWLER... the proud SOUTHERN SPARKPLUG... THE BAD DOG... WWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAADDDEE...

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!"


Vince Howard: ...EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLIIIIIIIIOOOOOOOOOOOOOOTTTTTTTT!!!!!!!!!

Wade steps out of the corner and raises one big fist to the air.

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!"


Vince Howard exchanges a quick handshake with the referee as the two trade places. The two competitors step a out of their corners.

Nick: Folks, our combatants have shed their costumes and done away with their soldiers. No more lights, no more Dixie, no more Thriller. These two have seemed to bury the hatchet, but with the absolute immense amount of electricity running through this arena, we can only be looking at a true, to the point, leave-it-all-out-there slugfest!

Richard: Thank Hoyt that entrance is over, though I am a little disappointed nobody lost a hand during the sword fight.

Soldier Field stand and revel in anticipation. The mood in the ring has certainly shifted as Tyler Rayne, in his usual military-issue combat boots, elbow guards and tape, stands ready in his corner, opening and closing his fists, arms taught to their sides, staring across the squared circle.

And the object of his focused gaze? The Bad Dog. Wade, in the same worn, tan leather steel-toed boots and faded jeans, matching The Golden Boy's gaze with his own steely blues. Both sets of eyes burn deep with that familiar fire you can only find in one-on-one combat. The difference?

The devilish grin they both share.

Richard: Honestly, how much time do we have left? I'd better be talking about this match for the next thirty years after all this fanfare.

Nick: I could be wrong, Rich...

The referee motions for the bell.

Ding.

Ding.

Ding.


Nick: ...but I think you will be.

With the match now officially underway, the 'Bama Bruiser and the Rayne Man don't so much as flinch. Tyler pumping those fingers, Wade curling his lips.

Rayne takes a step forward, so Elliott places a boot of his own to the mat. The Underground Pimp takes another, as does The Blue Collar Brawler.

Then, Rayne lowers his body and propels himself forward into a sprint, and Elliott follows suit, thundering toward the ring with big, heavy strides.

Nick: I think you'll be talking about this for the next fifty!

The Chicago crowd erupts as the two rivals collide in the center of the ring. Wade lowers his right shoulder into the on-coming Golden Boy, who makes contact yet maintains the poise to skip off The Bad Dog's arm and pivot around to the other side. Elliott turns his hips with unprecedented agility for a man of his reputation, big fist cocked back and releasing forward on a level plane to the head of Tyler Rayne, who has planted his feet and is on his way with a rising hay-maker of his own They make contact in unison, pushing each other back a step before an ensuing exchange of blows.

Richard: I don't think I'll make it that long, but you might be right!

Nick: An explosive start! And you had to know that these two wouldn't waste any time!

Each hold their ground like men of legend, left feet planted forward, strong torsos providing power to heavy fists. Right hand for right hand, over and over again amongst a bellowing audience, but it's Tyler Rayne who earns the first momentum, striking forward with a stiff elbow after a successful sweeping right hook, dislodging the 'Bama Bruiser. He takes the advantage, leaping high and planting a knee into Wade's chest, pushing him back further, then putting him to the ropes with a quick forearm.

Nick: Rayne with the early assault!

The Underground Pimp pushes The Bad Dog into the ropes, using their tension to heave him across the ring. Wade lumbers into the opposing ropes, and Rayne turns, timing just right and leaping with a dropkick, but Elliott wraps his arms around the ropes, keeping him from rebound, and The Golden Boy falls to the mat finding nothing to strike.

Nick: Nobody home for The Golden Boy!

Rayne, with a burst of adrenaline, kicks his legs forward and snaps to his feet Dwayne Johnson style, but that may have been a more-ill timed choice than the dropkick, as The Drifter charges forward and clobbers him back to the mat with an enormous Clothesline from Hell.

Nick: Southern Hospitality! What a hit from Wade!

Richard: Off with his head!!

Tyler hits the mat viciously on his shoulders, his body recoiling into a half back-flip and flopping onto his chest, grimacing from the attack. He starts pushing himself off the mat, and Wade is there to help, wrenching him to his feet and whipping him into the corner with a harsh crash. Wade barrels forward, lowering himself for a spear, but finds himself reeling, clutching to his face as Rayne lifts a boot, connecting squarely with Wade's jaw.

Nick: And now Rayne back on the attack!

The crowd roars as Elliott turns away, holding his already injured jaw from his Last Man Standing Match against Hessian at ReVolution 250. Meanwhile, The Hero of the Day grips the ropes in the corner, leaping high and adding a 180 degree rotation, perching himself atop the ring post. Rayne offers a salute to the frenzied crowd, waiting for The Bad Dog to turn, then leaps, wrapping his legs around Wade's head and shoulders, heaving forward at an angle and releasing, sending Wade tumbling heavily ass-over-teakettle.

Nick: Hurricarana from Rayne!

Tyler snaps to his feet as Wade comes to a stop in a seated position, dizzy from Rayne's 'Rana. He's not afforded much time to shake the stars out of his head, however, as The Golden Boy runs to the ropes closest to Elliott, bounding off and lifting a knee into the air, connecting squarely with the side of Wade's head and dismounting away with a somersault, The 'Bama Bruiser left holding his now aching head and leaning over to lie on his side.

Nick: Rayne really on a roll here, he's keeping The Bad Dog off his feet more than the other way around!

Richard: That's how you beat him, Nick. You can't let him breathe.

Rayne, as if he had heard PRIME's lovely color commentator, does just that after standing up from his somersault, pivoting around and sprinting forward, dropping down and driving a boot in Elliott's nose with a baseball slide. "Oooooh!" goes the crowd as Tyler pops up to his feet, dusting a shoulder off for good work, and as you can assume, the crowd eats it up, roaring for their Hero of the Day.

Nick: Well he's doing a good job of it, Wade is having a hard time getting any sort of momentum going so far.

Richard: He's probably still wondering if he's gonna puke up a rib after that match with Hessian.

Nick: It's still early, but Wade had better get something going, because we all know that Tyler Rayne won't be slowing down any time soon.

Rayne already got the memo about that particular TPS report, and quickly finds himself delivering a standing moonsault to Elliott's chest, and with incredible agility springs back into the air with a shooting star press, emptying The Bad Dog's lungs once more and reaching to hook a leg, the ref there for the count.

One!

Two!

T...

Nick: Shoulder up! Looks like Rayne will need more than just one of his signature combinations tonight!

The Golden Boy knows it, and shows no signs of frustration at the kickout, instead grabbing handful of Bad Dog hair and bringing him to his feet, striking him twice with a forearm and once with an elbow to the top of his head, further dizzying The Southern Sparkplug. Rayne steps behind and wraps his arms around Wade's big chest, wrenching back ferociously and planting Elliott's shoulders to the mat with strong impact.

Nick: German suplex from Rayne! Perfect form!

The Golden Boy releases the hold after impact, Wade flopping over to his chest with a thud, roars from the crowd shaking the Chicago arena. Rayne spins from his seated position to a knee, Elliott planting his palms into the mat and slowly pushing himself up, shaking his head and gritting his teeth.

Richard: Rayne better get back on him quick, Wade's didn't like that one!

The Hero of the Day waits a moment, timing the situation as The Drifter forces himself to a knee. Once he stands and gets his second boot underneath him, Rayne strikes, running forward and jumping high, those military-issue boots leading the way and blasting Elliott in the chest, stumbling The Blue Collar Brawler back-first into the the ring post. Back on his feet, Rayne rushes forward once more, again leaping feet-first and drop-saulting off Wade's sternum. The Bad Dog stumbles forward as Tyler leaps back upright, just in time to wrap an arm around Wade's neck and dropping him to the mat with a sharp DDT.

Nick: Elliott face down on the mat again!

Richard: Rayne's gon' FLIP!

Flip he does, standing quickly and flipping gracefully before landing knees-first on Wade's back, rolling forward as Wade growls in pain.

Nick: Another classic combo from Rayne!

The Golden Boy rolls The Bad Dog onto his back, making the cover.

One!

Two!

Th...

Nick: Shoulder up again! Elliott's not staying down!

Richard: Can't waste our time with absurd entrances like that just to get your ass kicked!

But Rayne's obviously got a plan, and he doesn't slow down. After the failed pin attempt he reaches down and grabs hold of Wade's heavy body under the shoulders, heaving back and dragging him to center ring. Wade's chest heaves as Rayne leaps toward the ropes, jumping on the second rope and flipping back, connecting with a fantastic springboard moonsault, rolling out of it and back-peddling as Elliott clutches his chest.

Nick: Rayne going for the ropes again!

The Hero of the Day jumps back onto the opposing center rope, and true to the theme, takes to the air with a gainer-flip, landing squarely to the sternum of the downed Wade with a shooting star press, the Chicago crowd popping loudly at the signature maneuver.

Nick: Double-Shot! Rayne's not holding back!

Richard: This might be it! Rayne's rocking Wade's world!

Rayne holds position, going for another pin, the crowd counting with the ref.

One!

Two!

Thr...

Nick: NOO! STILL NOT ENOUGH!

The Wade Elliott faithful roar in approval as his arm reaches high off the mat. Rayne rocks back on his shins, now starting to show signs of tiring. Nevertheless, Tyler is back to his feet, Elliott breathing heavily.

Nick: You have to wonder how long Wade's going to last if Rayne keeps this up!

Richard: But you gotta wonder what it's gonna put him down!

Again, Tyler brings Wade to his feet with a barrage of elbows and forearm strikes, wearing The Bad Dog down further. Once fully upright, The Golden Boy goes old school, and the backhand chops come out. Big, arcing strikes to Wade's already pained chest, causing him to grimace and groan with each slap.

And the crowd? They're gonna woo.

"WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Rayne keeps the barrage going, slap after slap pushing Wade into the corner and against the ring post. He chops him once more before stepping back, stretching his fingers and rolling his wrist, then steps into one last big, harsh backhand chop, making Wade hunch forward and roar in pain.

"WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

Nick: Rayne is doing serious damage to Elliott's chest!

Richard: He'd be better off going after that bum shoulder, after Hessian ripped it out of socke....*hurmph*

Nick: You...you okay there buddy?

Richard: ...*hurk*...I might feel better in a minute.

The Golden Boy leads the pained Elliott away from the corner, pushing him forward and giving chase, reaching his right arm over the back of Wade's neck and grabbing hold with the other, twisting his body while twisting Wade's and crashing him to the center of the ring.

Nick: Swinging neckbreaker from Rayne! Wade's staring at the lights again! This crowd is going crazy!

Rayne can hear them, and as he rises to his feet he holds three fingers in the air, as if asking a question to the bellowing Chicago crowd. As their roars rise in level, he nods. And springs at the ropes.

Richard: He's going up again!

Tyler leaps extra high, planting his feet on the third rope and springing into an enormous high arcing moonsault, landing hard on the fallen Southern Sparkplug.

Nick: Triple jump moonsault!

Richard: He's already given the Double-Shot!

Rayne rolls out and turns, jumping onto the second rope and turning 180 degrees as he lands on the third before launcher forward into another high-arcing gainer, and one more time collapsing the chest-cavity of the Blue Collar Brawler.

Nick: Triple jump shooting star! Rayne hits the Triple-Shot!

Richard: I don't think Wade can get up after all that!

Nick: Chicago is losing their mind! Rayne with the pin!

One!


Two!


Thre...


Richard: NOT HAPPENING!

Nick: WADE WITH THE SHOULDER UP AGAIN!

This time, Rayne's hands go to his hair as Elliott's arm shoots up once more, just beating the count. Rayne looks to the ref, asking "really?" The ref nods, and Tyler shakes his head with wide eyes.

Nick: That's some of Rayne's very best, and after the combo, after the Double-Shot, even after the Triple-Shot, Wade still manages to get an arm up!

Richard: He's gotta be running by pure instinct and adrenaline, even I can admit that was a hell of a beat-down by Rayne!

The Golden Boy stands, leaving Wade on his back in the center, walking toward the corner and rubbing his head, thinking up a new plan.

And then, the Chicago crowd rises again, making The Rayne Man pause.

Behind him, Wade Elliott sits up off the mat.

Nick: THE SOUTH SHALL RISE AGAIN!

Richard: WHAT?

The Soldier Arena explodes as Wade's beaten body sits up. Rayne slowly shakes a disbelieving head as The Bad Dog pushes off from his seated position, finding his feet. He shakes his arms out, and rolls his neck back and forth before lifting his gaze to The Hero of the Day, and gives him a devilish grin.

Nick: And just when it looked like Wade Elliott's night was over and done with, I think it's only just begun!

Richard: He just made Rayne look like the fool! I like it!

The Golden Boy can only snort a disbelieving chuckle, and shoots a grin of his own. He shrugs and tilts his head as if to say "alright, let's see what you got," and the two move in on each other once more.

Nick: If that's only the beginning, I have no idea what's to come!

Richard: Blood? Gore? Why not? Can't be worse than the Hessian and Chainz match from earlier!

The two wade forward and circle each other, simultaneously lunging forward and locking up in the center. They spin and try to catch their footing, but once stable it's a losing battle for Rayne, the larger Wade forcing him into the ropes, offering two stiff, deliberate forearms to the jaw followed by a left knee to Rayne's ribs, doubling him over with a pained howl.

Nick: Wade taking the momentum!

The Bad Dog strides backwards, bringing the pained Golden Boy with him. Pushing Rayne's head down with his left and places his shoulder under The Hero of the Day's frame, standing tall and turning around toward the center of the ring, Rayne's chest balancing over Wade's collar-bone. With a quick, mean-spirited movement, The Bad Dog drops to a knee and plants Tyler's shoulder into the other, releasing after impact and sending Rayne tumbling forward.

Nick: Ooooh, vicious shoulder-breaker from The Blue Collar Brawler!

Rayne rolls to a seated position, dazed and clutching collar-bone and neck, Soldier Field cringing at the impact. He's not afforded much time, however, as The Bad Dog is back on his feet and on the attack, taking a fistful of Rayne's hair and dragging him to the corner, forcing The Golden Boy to rise to his feet, only to find his forehead bouncing off the turnbuckle.

Nick: Brain-rattling smash from Wade!

Richard: As if the brains in these two aren't loose already?

The Blue Collar Brawler pivots as The Rayne Man stumbles back, clutching his forehead. Elliott keeps on the offensive, throwing an arm between Rayne's legs and draping him across his shoulders for a split second before dropping back, hammering Tyler's back into the mat.

Nick: A T-Bone Suplex Killean would be proud of!!

Richard: Pin him and get this over with!

He does not, however. Wade sits up and rises to his feet as Rayne rolls to his side, a hand clutching at his back, teeth grit. But again, The Drifter doesn't afford him any rest, bringing him to his feet once more. Wade delivers a few sharp right hands to the already woozy Tyler Rayne before heaving him to the ropes. Rayne rebounds, stumbling back toward The Bad Dog, who plants a size fourteen steel-toe into his chest, catapulting Rayne back to the mat.

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"


Nick: BIG boot from Wade Elliott!!

Richard: Out of air, Rayne!!

The Golden Boy stirs and rolls over on to his front, gasping for air while Wade finds his footing again. He allows Rayne to get to his hands and knees, coughing and desperately searching for air to fill his bruised lungs. After reaching a knee, Wade springs to action, lumbering into the ropes and bounding back toward The Rayne Man.

Nick: Elliott off the ropes...

Rayne rises to his feet, but to unfortunate events, as The Bad Dog lowers his shoulder and spears the former Five-Star Champion with incredible force, big arms wrapped around him and holding on tight as they hit the mat.

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!"


Nick: SPEAR FROM WADE! HE JUST BROKE RAYNE IN HALF!!

It's on the beginning, however, as The 'Bama Bruiser mounts The Hero of the Day, left hand pinning Rayne to the mat while the other delivers a flurry of quick, big right hands into the side of his head.

"PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT!"


Richard: Knock the lights out of him!

After what seems like forever, Wade relents, but not before grabbing another fistful of Rayne's hair and yanking him ferociously, tossing him on his ass into the corner. Rayne's head rolls about, trying to find some sense of balance, his arms draping over the middle ropes in attempt to rise off the mat. Unfortunately for him, Wade says no, and stands over the groggy Golden Boy. He grips the top ropes for stability, and proceeds to stamp that big boot into Tyler's gut over and over again.

"PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT!"


Nick: Elliott looking to stomp a hole in Rayne's belly! The damage going on internally has to be substantial!

Richard: There's a bed-side nurse and a bed-pan in Rayne's future after the beating Wade's putting on his bowels!

Over and over again, stomp after stomp, The Southern Sparkplug does not slow down. Finally, Wade brings that boot back, breathes in deep, and thrusts it forward one more time, landing it square against Tyler's face.

Nick: Oooh, my!

Richard: I think I saw teeth fly!

The crowd "oooohs!" again at the heavy boot. Wade spews fire from his nostrils and backs away, hunching down and lying in wait. Rayne's eyes flutter a bit, fighting every urge to just fall asleep.

"RAYNE! RAYNE! RAYNE! RAYNE!"


Nick: This crowd is on their feet! Chanting for Rayne to stand!

Richard: It's gonna take some magic for that to happen! Hate to burst everyone's bubble!

Rayne looks ready to let his head roll to the side and fall into sweet unconsciousness. Even the ref takes a step, ready to start the count. But Soldier Field is chanting, their words are not unheard. And let's be honest.

This is Tyler mother-fucking Rayne.

It takes a minute, but The Hero of the Day grips those ropes tight and forces himself to his feet. He stumbles forward, shaking his noggin.

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!"


Nick: How's that for some magic, Richard??!

Richard: Oooh, god, just give UP already!

Soldier Field bellows for Rayne, but Wade has other plans. He stalks forward as Rayne teeters on his feet, leaning down and hoisting The Golden Boy over a shoulder, draping him down his back and gripping his calves. Wade turns, plants a foot, and swings Rayne into the mat with extreme violence, The Hero of the Day bouncing up after the initial impact.

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"


Richard: Or get smashed flat on your back! That works too!

Nick: REBEL YELL ON RAYNE! WADE LOOKING TO FINISH!

Rayne's back arches, and Wade, rising tall after the massive Spinebuster, finishes a guttural roar, eyes wide and gritting his teeth. He drops down, big forearms pinning Rayne to the mat, the ref at the ready for the count.

Nick: Wade with the pin! This could be it!


ONE!


TWO!


THREE....

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"


Nick: SHOULDER UP!!!! RAYNE'S STILL ALIVE AND KICKING!!!

Richard: Oh, come ON!

Wade's reaction to the sight of Rayne's arm shot up in the air is a mix of disbelief and not-all-that-surprised. With a growl and a grunt, Elliott grips Rayne by the shoulders and plants his big boots into the mat, wrenching The Golden Boy to his feet before driving him back-first into the corner.

Nick: The absolute audacity of it, there is NOTHING like a Tyler Rayne and Wade Elliott match!

Soldier Field roars wildly as Wade goes to work. After a couple more forearms to the head, Wade hoists Rayne up the ring post, climbing up the ropes as he does, until Rayne finds himself sitting on top of the ring post.

Nick: Wade bringing Rayne top-side! Look out for the super-plex!

Indeed, Wade balances on the middle ropes and shoves Rayne's head down, wrapping his big right arm around his neck. Not one for going up top, Wade shows considerable clumsiness while on the ropes as he tries to plant a boot on the top. The time provided to Rayne does not go to waste. Coming to, and realizing the situation, Rayne cocks his right hand back and swings it into Wade's gut. Followed by another, and another.

Nick: Rayne fighting back!!

A fourth punch in the stomach finally releases Wade's grip, and Rayne is at the ready, swinging for the fences and connecting squarely with Wade's jaw. Wade's face goes blank for a moment, enough for him to take the fall off the top and land heavily on the mat

Nick: HUGE UPPERCUT FROM RAYNE!

"RUUUUUUUUAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!"


Wade stirs, eyes blinking the stars away. The Golden Boy breathes heavily atop his perch, thinking something over in his mind.

Nick: Rayne in control, and in his element!!!

Richard: What else could he have the energy for?

With a decided nod, Rayne pushes off the ropes and pulls his feet under him, balancing on the post, and with that incredible athleticism we all know and love, he leaps into a high arcing gainer, bringing his heels to his ass and gripping his ankles.

Nick: FLYING FORNICATION!!!!!!!!

The crowd gasps unanimously, the moment almost slowing down for a moment, before Rayne comes around and lands knees-first onto Wade's chest.

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"


Nick: FLYING FORNICATION ON ELLIOTT!!!

The damn life is knocked out of Wade after the impact of Rayne's knees. The Golden Boy rolls forward, grimacing a touch, but somehow finding his feet. He finds balance and leaps backward, finishing the backflip with one knee on Wade's sternum and the other across his jaw.

Richard: Yup. That's it. Good fight, Wade.

Nick: RAYNE WITH AN INSANELY HIGH RISK MOVE ON THE BAD DOG!!!

Rayne heaves air into his lungs from a seated position, adrenaline surging through his veins. Not wanting to waste too much time, he clambers forward, pinning over the chest of the motionless Elliott, the ref starting the count.

Nick: That's all, folks! Tyler Rayne just won this match in fantastic fashion!

ONE!!!


TWO!!!


THREE...


"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"


Richard: WHAAAT???

Nick: YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!!!!!!

Rayne's face drips confusion when he doesn't hear the third slap on the mat. He looks up to find Wade's defiant shoulder stretched to the sky, and the ref holding up two fingers.

Nick: I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS!! WADE ELLIOTT JUST KICKED OUT OF THE FLYING FORNICATION!!!!

Richard: How does he DO that????

The light has all but faded from Elliott's eyes as he holds that shoulder off the mat, Soldier Field letting people in Boston and L.A. know how they feel. Rayne has rolled onto his back and is clutching his hair, in complete disbelief. A slew of female fans a few rows back cup their hands to their mouths, ready to burst into tears after their knight in shining armor's failed attempt to put The Bad Dog down for good.

Nick: What? What the HELL does Rayne have to DO?

Richard: Shotgun? M-16? RPG?

The Hero of the Day slams his fists into the mat and rolls to his feet, frustration and rage burning in his eyes. After a quick stomp to the ribs, Rayne reaches down and grips a fistful of Wade's hair, wrenching him upward violently, heaving and forcing the big body of Wade Elliott to a set of wobbly legs. A forearm to the side of the head sends Wade stumbling backward into the corner, finding the turnbuckle and resting his arms on the top ropes.

Nick: Wade can hardly stand, I wonder if he knows where he IS?!

Richard: In that stupid redneck mind? Likely it's with Becky-Sue down by the river.

The Golden Boy backs away, gulping air into his lungs in preparation. After whipping some sweat and hair out of his face, Rayne crouches down and sprints forward, taking two long strides before leaping off the ground and leaning back, his left foot planting against Wade's chest while the right claps accurately against his ear.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


Nick: Vicious enziguri from Rayne! I think they heard that downtown!

Wade stumbles forward and falls to a knee center ring, eyes closed and hand on the side of his head. He tries to shake out the fog clouding his mind, while Rayne is keen to take advantage. Rayne bounds off the ropes and Elliott opens his eyes just in time to see Rayne's shin hurtling toward his face.

Nick: Shining Wizard!

Elliott's eyes roll back in his head ass he falls to the mat. Rayne collapses behind him, exhausted and taking a moment to catch his breath. The moment is brief. Elliott almost immediately rolls off his back and onto his forearms. He pushes himself up to both hands, and then gets his feet beneath him and is back to one knee. Rayne looks back and his shoulders sag with disappointment. He punches the mat in frustration and then stands to his feet, back to Elliott, before spinning around and catching Elliott in the side of the head with a vicious spin kick.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


The crack of boot to skull echoes out from the ring and dissipates into the night air. Those in the first couple of rows and watching at home, though, shudder at the sickening sound. Which is more of a sell than we get from Elliott. The Bad Dog is clearly dazed. His head nothing more than a weight swaying slowly on his neck. He's dropped down to both knees on the mat, sitting upright, with hands hanging limply at his sides. Out but not down. Rayne shakes his head. That blow would have put any other man down for the count. With a resigned sigh, Rayne takes a step back, positioning himself at the perfect distance. Just off to Elliott's left side. He takes a deep breath, steadies himself, and unleashes a full force martial arts kick right across Elliott's chest. The contact sounds like the crack of a whip. Rayne steadies himself again. Elliott rocks back slightly, his chest immediately blazing red from the vicious blow. But yet he sits. Rayne clinches his fists and throws another brutal kick into Elliott's chest.

Tyler Rayne: WHY...

Foot on the mat. Foot in the air. Foot across chest.

Tyler Rayne: ...WON'T...

Mat. Air. Chest.

Tyler Rayne: ...YOU...

The speed with which the kicks are coming has steadily increased. The toe of his boot barely touches the ground before Rayne launches the next cringe-inducing kick.

Tyler Rayne: ...GO...

He doesn't even put his foot down this time. Just pulls it back and pivots a little more on his planted foot to bring the force of the boot across Elliott's chest. The swath of hardened flesh where Rayne has been kicking has turned from a reddish color to more of a purple.

Tyler Rayne: ...DOWN?!

Richard: If I had a nickel for every time I've asked a woman that same question.

Nick: Knowing the women you consort with, you should have just given them the nickel and they would have.

Wade Elliott remains an unmovable stone in the middle of the ring. He sits, chest bruised, in discombobulated defiance. Rayne has his hands on his knees now, taking a moment to catch his breath and plan out the next move. Rayne walks to Elliott's right side and sets himself up for another set of kicks with the other leg. A deep breath and the foot flies forward. Elliott gets his right arm up and tries to catch Rayne's foot, but the kick is too powerful and it just ends up stinging Elliott's hand. Before he has a chance to shake out the pain, Rayne is unleashing a flurry of quick and vicious kicks up and down Elliott's right arm. Bicep. Shoulder. Forearm. Shoulder. Forearm. Bicep. Bicep. Forearm. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Lucky number thirteen. Rayne stops, exhausted. Elliott growls. Rayne growls back and sprints for the ropes behind him. Spring back and he's running straight at Elliott, who now rises with an uncharacteristic speed and gets his foot up. Rayne can't stop himself in time. He runs full-force, face-first into the sole of Elliott's steel-toed boot and crashes down to the mat. Wade collapses next to him.

Nick: This has been a brutal contest thus far! I'm not sure how either man is still going!

Richard: Stubbornness. These are two of the most stubborn, boarish men PRIME has ever had the dishonor of hosting within its hallowed ranks.

Nick: Those are some strong sentiments, Richard. But perhaps there is a degree of truth to your unwarranted bitterness. These are two men that have always refused to give up!

The referee has a count up to six before Wade is back up on his knees. Rayne has crawled over to the ropes and is attempting to use them to pull himself up, but Elliott is on his feet at seven. He stalks over to The Golden Boy, who has made it up to all fours, and puts the steel-toe of his boot right into the ribs. Rayne groans and rolls over to his back, only to find The Drifter stomping down on his chest. Rayne rolls to his side, crawling to try and get away. He drags himself into the corner, but can't do much more than rest his shoulders up on the bottom turnbuckle, one hand still clutching at his ribs.

Nick: A sternum-crushing stomp from Wade!

The Bad dog pursues. One big, brown boot descends down upon Rayne and crushes the shoulder of his left arm. Tyler turns to protect the shoulder, arm too pained to continue holding his ribs, and incidentally opens himself to another boot straight down on the chest. A loud "oof" indicates that the breath has been forced out of Rayne's lungs. The Southern Sparkplug keeps his boot pressed down on the sternum, leaning forward into the ropes to add his two hundred and fifty odd pounds to the weight crushing Rayne.

Nick: The Bad Dog is stomping and pressing and the wind out of Rayne's chest and lungs! How much pressure can that body take??

Rayne scratches at the boot and ries to lift it off of him, all futile attempts to remove it. He musters his strength and strikes out with a couple of slow but effective punches to Elliott's calf, causing Wade to pull his foot out of punching distance. Rayne lowers his guard and Elliott strikes again with another sternum-breaking boot to the chest. Wade pulls his foot back before Rayne can retaliate, thoug, and brings it down again. And up. And down. Elliott stomping the life out of Rayne with the same vicious intent Rayne had been unleashing those kicks just a few moments ago.

Richard: He's got to be filling those lungs with blood by now!!!

Nick: Relentless assault from Elliott!

After about a dozen brutal stomps, Rayne has been smashed down into the mat, eyes half closed and body limp. The Blue Collar Brawler takes a short moment to catch his breath before bending over and dragging Rayne up by his hair. The referee tries to interject, but Elliott just sneers at him and the referee backs down.

Nick: Rayne is all but down and out!! He'd better do something to change the momentum again!

The Son of a Bitch props Rayne up in the corner and hits him with a rising knee to the midsection, folding him over and collapsing across Elliott's knee. With a single hand on Rayne's forehead, Wade pushes him back up into the corner and hits him with another rib-cracking knee. He takes a couple of steps back as Rayne staggers forward, right into his waiting arms. The Bad Dog whips him across the ring to the other turnbuckle, crashing him chest-first and causing him to stumble back. Elliott is right there, and takes advantage by crashing into him and smashing Rayne back into the turnbuckle.

Nick: And he'd better make it quick!

Wade grabs Rayne by the back of the head and shoves him toward the adjacent turnbuckle, stumbling him across the ring until he collapses into the corner. His arms draped over the top rope are the only thing keeping him vertical. Elliott rushes across the ring and blasts Rayne with a running elbow to the back of the head, grabbing him before he can collapse and whipping him into the far ropes. Rayne bounds off the ropes and meets up with Elliott at the center of the ring, who uses his strength and the added momentum to lift and toss The Hero of the Day straight up into the air. Rayne clears a good foot or two above Elliott's head before gravity pulls him down. slamming so hard into the mat that he bounces back up and stumbles on his heels. The Country Boy grabs him before he falls and whips him into the ropes once again, and scoops him up off the rebound,swinging around for a devastating power slam.

Nick: Massive Power Slam from Wade! Rayne is taking an absolute beating in there!

Richard: It's beautiful, isn't it?

The convenient thing about a power slam, aside from the fact that when a strong fella like Wade Elliott does it it's enough to pancake a grown ass man like a cartoon, is that it also leaves the delivering agent in a perfect position for a pin. Now given the devastation unleashed within the past couple of minutes, one might assume that this is the end. There's surely no way that Tyler Rayne has the strength to kick out from beneath a two hundred and fifty-seven pound one-man Southern wrecking crew. Even Rayne himself realizes this. Which is why, when it's clear that Elliott is not going to get up and intends to end things right here and now, Rayne leans up as much as he can, stretching his neck forward... to give his new bestest friend Wade Elliott a kiss on the cheek. Elliott sits back a little, removing himself from the pin before the referee can even count one. Elliott turns to look at Rayne, who is now leaning in for another, somewhat more passionate kiss. Elliott sits straight up and punches Rayne right in the mouth.

Richard: A kiss with a fist is better than none.

Nick: That might be the most unorthodox thing I've ever seen, but I'll be damned if it didn't get him out of that pin!

Elliott grabs Rayne around the throat and half drags him back to the corner again. The referee is admonishing Elliott, but no one is listening. Wade throws Rayne into the corner and immediately hits him with a hook to the ribs. Then one from the other side. Alternate back. And again. Forearm to the side of the head. Short punch to the ribs. Knee lift. Another hook. The finale is a headbutt that drops Rayne straight down to his ass.

Nick: Elliott with a vicious series!

Richard: He literally knocked the slobber out of Rayne's pretty little mouth!

The Bad Dog drags him up by his hair and once again whips him into the far corner. That well has run dry, though, and when Elliott rushes in for another smashing splash, no one is there to cushion him from crashing into the buckle. Rayne drops to the mat at the last second and rolls under the bottom rope. Elliott hits the corner hard. Bounces off and staggers a couple of feet back. Rayne leaps up to the top rope, waits for Elliott to turn around, and takes flight.

Nick: Springboard knee to Elliott's head!! Rayne with the turn-around!

The Golden Boy hits the ground in a somersault, rolls through, and leaps toward the second rope nearest him for another springboard.

Nick: And another one to Wade's kidneys!

Richard: He'll be pissing blood for a week after that one!

Elliott drops downto a knee. Rayne runs around him and climbs up to the top turnbuckle. He turns 'round and leaps off, catches Elliott around the head, and spins him around for a tornado DDT that FINALLY puts Elliott down on the mat.

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!"


Nick: Tyler Rayne on his fourth or fifth wind and planting Wade's head into the mat with a fantastic tornado DDT!

Richard: That had to have at LEAST dented Wade's thick skull.

Exhausted, Rayne crawls over to Elliott and struggles to roll him over onto his back. Once he gets him over, before he can get in position for the pin, Elliott shoves him away and sits straight up. Rayne turns and punches him in the face, though The Son of a Bitch scowls and retaliates with a quick hook across the jaw. Rayne begins to fall, but catches himself with a hand.

Nick: And Elliott STILL isn't finished!

Richard: Jesus Christ, is his noggin THAT thick or is he just THAT stupid?

He pushes back up to his knees and hits Elliott with a forearm in the mouth. Elliott leans back, but rights himself before falling and nails Rayne with an unexpected uppercut. Rayne drops backward. He falls to the mat and turns to crawl toward the ropes, using them to pull himself all the way up to his feet. This also gives Elliott enough time to gather himself and stand. The Hero of the Day turns around with a spinning elbow, but to no avail as The Southern Sparkplug blocks it, shoves Rayne back into the ropes and tries to grab him, but Rayne slides between his legs and turns for a quick kick to the knee. Before Elliott can turn around, Rayne is sprinting for the far ropes again. He bounds off, ducks a clothesline from Elliott, and comes off the short side with a dropkick to the same knee. Elliott stumbles. Rayne follows up with a couple of quick kicks to the other knee. Wade takes a swing, but Tyler backs out of the way and circles around The Blue Collar Brawler, continuing to kick him in the knees as he goes around.

Nick: The Golden Boy wrecking absolute havoc on Elliott's knees!

Richard: If he didn't have trouble walking before, he will after tonight.

Rayne runs off for the adjacent ropes before Elliott can turn to retaliate, delivering another dropkick to the knee. The leg buckles and Elliott falls, propping himself up on the other knee. The Golden Boy gets up and runs straight ahead, off the ropes, and hits Elliott on the side of the head with a seated dropkick. The Bad dog spins around from the blow, now putting his arm across the middle rope to keep him up.

Nick: Wade in a bad spot here!

Rayne surveys the scene quickly, Chicago shaking the earth at the immense amount of action, and then sprints for the far ropes one more time, leaping up and landing knees first into Elliott's back. Elliott groans. His arm slips and his head falls between the ropes. Rayne grabs the top rope, pulls down, and shoots himself into the air. Over the top rope. Leg drop across the back of Elliott's head. Both men crumple to the outside.

Nick: Both men outside! Not sure how much more either of them can take!

Richard: After the way he got out of that pin, I wouldn't be surprised if Rayne was willing to take it all night long.

Nick: Oh, come on now!

Richard: What? I'm just sayin'...

The Most Desired Man in PRIME pulls himself up to the apron, up to the ropes, then falls into the ring. Elliott is still motionless on the outside. Rayne catches his breath while the referee restarts his count.

Nick: Rayne might be hoping for a count-out here!

Richard: What else can he do?

Elliott stirs. Rayne gets to his feet. Wade up to his knees. Rayne looks out and sees Elliott pulling himself up with the barricade. He nods once and takes a deep breath. He sprints for the far ropes as fast as he can and hits the ropes as hard as possible with all the momentum he can collect as he comes racing back toward The 'Bama Bruiser. He leaps into the air, clears the top rope with ease, and pulls his ankles back, knees aimed directly at Elliott.

Nick: Rayne taking flight!

Richard: This one's gonna hurt...

Just as Rayne is coming down, Elliott springs up, like a patient crocodile waiting to strike. His muscular arm extends and he damn near fucking decapitates Rayne with a monstrously brutal clothesline.

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"


Nick: SOUTHERN HOSPITALITY!! OUT OF NOWHERE!

Richard: JESUS!

Rayne hits the outside mats hard. The small of his back lands first, with so much force that it arches his entire body. Which is when his head cracks against the mat and his body goes limp.

"PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT!"


Richard: I was right! That DID hurt!

Nick: Oh my it must have! Rayne could've broken his back after that one!

Elliott shakes his arm loose as he stands over his opponent. The impact was so devastating it even hurt his own arm. Elliott wipes some sweat from his brow and slowly bends over to drag Rayne up for what we have to assume is that last damn time. He pulls Rayne over to the apron, but has to pause to catch his breath again before rolling him back into the ring. Then Wade slowly clambers up and into the ring himself.

Nick: These two men are beyond exhausted. The toll that this sort of high-impact wrestling takes on the body is hard to describe. It'd be like running a marathon, and every quarter mile someone drives by and hits you with a car door.

Rayne lies out flat in the middle of the ring. If not for the heaving of his chest, he might as well be dead. The Southern Sparkplug looms over him, breathing heavily as well, Chicago about to unleash mayhem at Soldier Field

"PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT!"


Richard: He ought to be going for a pin here.

Nick: I think he wants to make absolutely sure that Rayne stays down this time.

Richard: And doesn't kiss him. Yeah, better hit him again, then.

Elliott looks down at Rayne and shakes his head. He bends and pulls Rayne half up, shoving his head between his thighs. A mild cheer rushes through the crowd in anticipation of what's to come. Elliott wraps both arms around Rayne's midsection and lifts him up into what's likely to be a huge powerbomb...

Nick: Wade looking for a bomb...

...only to find Rayne punching him right on top of the head. Elliott has a strong grip, though, and he's not about to let Rayne fall. The Golden Boy punches him again. And again. Wade's grip loosens a little.

Nick: Rayne fighting back to escape ANOTHER attack!

Rayne wraps himself around Elliott's shoulders, basically sitting on the man, and proceeds to deliver elbows straight down on the crown of the head. The Bad Dog stumbles forward. Losing his grip, he uses the ropes to try and reposition Rayne for the powerbomb, but Rayne sees his moment. He repositions his legs and wraps tighter around Elliott's neck. Wade backs up, Rayne squeezes his legs, and pulls Elliott's head down into the submission hold.

Nick: AND RAYNE WITH A PERFECT TRIANGLE CHOKE OUT OF THE BLUE!!

Elliott slowly sinks down to his knees. Knowing he's in trouble, he sinks more into the hold, allowing Rayne to pull him down and really apply some pressure, but now Wade can press the bulk of his weight down on Rayne, who is in the precarious position of being pinned while the hold is applied. The Hero of the Day notices quickly and reaches out a hand to grab the rope before the referee can start a count, giving Elliott a little room to maneuver.

Nick: Elliott had better do something quickly! The Bad Dog has never tapped in his career, but he's fading fast!

"MAKE HIM TAP! MAKE HIM TAP! MAKE HIM TAP!"


Wade tries to wrench himself free, but Rayne rolls just a little, so his right shoulder is off the mat, and returns to applying what remains of his strength to the hold. Elliott reaches out with a hand to try to grab at Rayne, who releases his head and proceeds to punch him three times in the temple. The Bad Dog's hand gropes weakly at Tyler, who wraps one hand around Elliott's head, pulling him closer into the hold. He squeezes tighter, and with the free hand unleashes a flurry of forearms to the side of the head. A half dozen or so.

Elliott's arm stops moving.

Nick: No movement from The 'Bama Bruiser! Has Rayne choked him out?

Wade slumps over to his side on the mat. Rayne puts both hands back around this head and pulls down more. The referee waits a moment to see if Elliott is going to muster a response.

Richard: That's it. He's straight black-out.

The referee seems to agree, raising Elliott's limp arm into the air to count out the submission.

But those fingers curl into a fist.

Richard: Wait, what the what?

The referee lets go and Elliott's hand falls, with purpose, into a haymaker punch across Rayne's jaw.

Nick: NOT TODAY! WADE COMING-TO!

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!"


Rayne lets go of his hold on Elliott's head, dazed. Wade delivers another heavy-handed punch. And a third. Tyler's grip loosens considerably, allowing The Bad Dog to push himself up to his knees, Rayne still wrapped around his neck. The 'Bama Bruiser gets his hands around Rayne's back and stands to his full height, staggering into the corner, and half slamming Rayne down on the top turnbuckle.

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"


Elliott roars, spinning out of the corner and lifting Rayne up with all the strength he has left. He stumb les forward, Rayne lifted high into the air. The crowd screams as Wade falls into a spine-shuddering powerbomb, Rayne hammering into the mat with maximum force, his entire body bouncing up a few inches before dropping back down again.

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"


Richard: GOOD GOD, HE CRUSHED HIM!

Nick: IMMENSE POWERBOMB FROM ELLIOTT!!! FOR THE LOVE OF HOYT I HOPE THAT'S IT!!!

Elliott was aware enough to catch himself on his hands, preventing a full collapse onto the mat. He takes a second to catch his breath before rising up, looking at the almost unmoving body of his opponent from a kneeling positioin. Rayne opens half an eye and smiles. Then he laughs.

Richard: The man is a god damn lunatic.

He can barely get his arms up off the mat. But he raises them just enough to give Wade the double middle finger.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!


Wade, exhausted and beaten, chest heaving in and out, can only close his eyes and force a chuckle.

Nick: The resolve of these two men, the pure stubborn, can't-quit-if-they-even-wanted-to, is absolutely beyond words.

Richard: The word you're looking for his "idiotic," but even I can't disagree.

With a planting of his hand and a groan, Wade and pushes himself up to his feet. With renewed purpose, he marches over and yanks The Golden Boy straight up to his feet before whipping him hard into the ropes, smacking his back to send him with a little extra oomph. The Bad Dog crouches, prepared, muscles taught. Rayne hits the ropes hard and bounds back while Elliott coils a little lower before springing forward, arm outstretched.

Nick: Wade with the arm...

Wade's signature "Southern Hospitality" turns Rayne inside-out. Blood flies into the air the moment Elliott's muscular arm makes contact with Rayne's chest. The Hero of the Day flips over in a full circle before crashing down to the mat, landing on his shoulder and the side of his head before crumpling down in a heap.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!


Nick: ...AND ANOTHER SOUTHERN HOSPITALITY FROM WADE!!!!

Richard: He must actually be trying to take his head off!

Elliott stands again, Soldier Field's faithful drowning the eardrums. He walks over and stares down at the fallen Golden Boy. He uses the steel toe of his boot to roll Rayne onto his back, the fucker still smiling, blood slewn across his teeth. He coughs and spits blood onto the mat. Rayne only has enough strength left to raise one arm up this time. He raises it a little higher, though, to make sure everyone can see the finger he's flashing at Elliott.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!


The Bad Dog shakes his head and looks to the referee, who looks down at the blood and then outside near the ring bell, debating on calling the match. Wade turns back to the blood-grinned visage of Tyler Rayne and nods his head with closed eyes, as if to say "alright, I understand." He lumbers forward, bending down and lifting Rayne up onto his shoulder. The Hero of the day is limp. Lifeless. Hanging over Elliott's right shoulder as the Southern Sparkplug walks around the ring a moment. The crowd is amped and their screams are increasingly louder.

Nick: Ladies and gentlemen, this might FINALLY be at an end!! I don't want to speak too soon, but the lifeless body of Tyler Rayne is in one of the most dangerous places it could be!! Soldier Field is going absolutely insane!

Richard: Finish him before I need hearing aids!!!

They all know what's coming. The Blue Collar Brawler loosens his grip and Rayne slides down his back. Turning to the center of the ring, Wade grabs Rayne by the calves, and then whips him down into the mat as hard as he possibly can.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!


Nick: REBEL YELL!!!!!

Rayne hits the mat with tremendous force. He involuntarily spits another mouthful of blood upon impact, slumping to the side and lying motionless. The 'Bama Bruiser remains on his feet, heaving the last licks of fire out of his lungs, the adrenaline fading from his steely-blue eyes as he looks around the frenzied Soldier Field. With one last heavy inhale, he drops to a knee, wraps an arm around Tyler's leg and lies back across The Golden Boy's chest.

Nick: WADE WITH THE COVER!!!

Richard: COUNT IT!!!!

The crowd counts along with the referee. Their excitement is so much that The Bad Dog, right there in the ring, can't even hear the referee's hand slap the mat over the noise of the crowd.

"ONE!"




"TWO!"




"THREE! "



Ding ding ding!

Nick: IT'S OVER!! FINALLY, THIS HELLACIOUS, VICIOUS MATCH IS OVER!!!

Vince Howard: LADIES AND GENTLEMEN... YOUR WINNER... THE BAD DOG... WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAADDDDDDEE EEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLIIIIIIIIIIIIOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOTTTTTTT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Lynyrd Skynyrd.

"Still Unbroken."


Chicago shows their appreciation with an absolutely deafening roar from Soldier Field, drowning out the southern-style licks of Skynyrd's guitar. Wade, seeing the count is over, and barely hearing Vince Howard call his name, closes his eyes and releases Rayne's leg.

Richard: He got him! Wade got the little bastard!!

The Bad Dog sits up, and gingerly pivots around, facing Rayne from a seated position. He reaches forward and grips Rayne's limp right hand, clasping it tightly. The Golden Boy is barely conscious enough to recognize it, but his fingers are able to reciprocate. The Blue Collar Brawler nods at The Hero of the Day, clapping his left hand over the back of Rayne's right, giving his fist one last good shake with both his paws before letting go, and flopping onto his back.

Nick: THAT, FOLKS, IS HOW YOU LEAVE EVERY. LAST. OUNCE. IN THE RING!!! WHAT AN INCREDIBLE DISPLAY BY TYLER RAYNE AND WADE ELLIOTT!!!! WE'VE WATCHED THESE TWO GIVE THEIR LAST IN THIS RING OVER AND OVER, BUT TONIGHT, WADE ELLIOTT EMERGES THE VICTOR!!!!!!

Richard: Tyler Rayne DOWN!!! You all hear that!!??

Nick: AND THAT WASN'T EVEN OUR MAIN EVENT!!!! STILL TO COME, THE QUEEN OF THE RING, LINDSAY TROY, AND THE WRECKING BALL, TCHU, GIVE PRIME THE FINAL WAVE GOODBYE!!!!

Richard: THE END IS NEAR!!!

The earth rumbles from the ballistic fans in Soldier Field as the camera slowly zooms away from above, focused down on the two battered bodies in the ring. The red, white and blue of Wade's light show swirls through the out-door arena, "Still Unbroken" trying its best to sound-out above the roars.

But the fans do well to make sure that doesn't happen.

The Amigos Three

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Yeah, you expect those two. It's a swan song. Only diehards up in the building. Only PRIMEates. Only blood with the sweat with the tears types. Only dudes and dudettes who worship Motoki and still argue over the 2005 Jewel in the Crown. Only those who've been spending all night oscillating between gorilla chest-thump roars and wiping their eyes because they remember.

It does all end, and they know it.

And that's why the sound upon seeing the backs of the heads of Chandler Tsonda and Tyler Rayne is some kinda fierce thing. Something that combines the gorilla chest-thump roar and the wipey eye stuff, grown folks reliving every moment they ever got with these heroes two.

Or...three?

Dark hair perked up in an Aloha spike. There's a third head and though we can only see the back of it...diehards always know.

BRUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUH!

And with the dramatic stuff out of the way, the camera whirls around to show these dudes, These Three Amigos, sitting on a couch, watching a promo for the upcoming Tchu/Troy finale.

Rayne is a pile of exhaustion but managing it with aplomb, and though he's bandaged and taped heavily from the war with Wade Elliott, you don't hear him griping about it. Tyler Rayne, let the chiseled text of his tombstone read, is a motherfucking warrior.

Tsonda wears a thick blanket of ice packs on nearly every exposed surface. He's still in his ring gear - how a man as proud as he gets up the nerve to take off his ring gear for the last time, we'll never know. He's grimacing soundlessly.

Dawkins, having got his licks in on Devin Shakur earlier in the night, has his sleeping son against his chest. PRIMEates remember how far Bryan and Baby Dawk have come, and remember the loss of the child's mother, and remember who was there for Dawkins when the world was dark with sorrow.

"Amigos." PRIMEates remember this with a stirring warmth in their veins. That, they'll say, was three dudes who made them feel something.

And now Chevy, Martin, and Steve are mortal. Their work is...done?

Chandler Tsonda: What do we do now?

Dawkins, the junior of the bunch, but seeming the wise elder given the sleeping toddler on his chest, puts two fingers to his mouth.

Bryan Dawkins: Lower your voice, Chan. Little bruh never sleeps this soundly.

Tyler Rayne: No worries. Kid's out. I dipped that plastic nipple-y thing in bourbon.

Bryan Dawkins: Hey!

Tyler Rayne: C'mon, what is he, four? He's practically a man!

Bryan Dawkins: This is worse than that time I asked you to babysit.

Tyler Rayne: You gave no specific instruction that I couldn't watch Ip Man with Junior.

Bryan Dawkins: I need to get my son away from all you wrestlers.

Chandler Tsonda: We're a sad subset of the population, that's for sure.

Tyler Rayne: Well I dunno about you two knuckle heads, but I've done alright by me.

Bryan Dawkins: (strokes his son's head) Me too.

A curtain of silence swings across the room. On the television across the way, a high-definition Lindsay Troy swings her fist through a CGI robot.

Tyler Rayne: (looks at Tsonda) Well...?

Chandler Tsonda: Fine, fine. Me too. But what do we do now?

Bryan Dawkins: The same thing we do every night, Pinky. TRY AND TAKE OVER THE WORLD.

Tyler Rayne: I was thinking about this little strip of beach in the Yaeyama Islands.

Chandler Tsonda: And leave your nephew ignorant about katanas and the best way to dispatch a female ninja with frog feet or whatever?

Tyler Rayne: Never trust a woman with webbed toes, s'what I always say.

Bryan Dawkins: (shakes his head) I can't believe I left you alone with my male heir.

Another stroke of silence. The end grows nigh. Somewhere watching out in the connected world of tubes and wires and connectivity signals are ghosts: Danny Ferguson, Tony Gamble, Rhett Locke, Dusk, Hoyt Williams. Years-long rivalries hang over this conversation, and there should be a sense of grief at what these three men have given, what they have lost to this company and this business.

Instead, there is an almost giddy sense of what they have been given, what they have gained.

On the TV set, dark falls. The night's initial promo, a look at PRIME from cosmic dusk until mortal dawn begins to play.

Bryan Dawkins: So, I guess this-

Tyler Rayne: If you say, "so, I guess this is it," I'll knife you. C'mon, man, this ain't no teary goodbye. There's a whole world out there full of dragons need slayin' and princesses in tall towers. Adventure abounds out there in the unknown.

Bryan Dawkins: Will it ever be as good as we had it here, though? The crowds?

BRUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUH!

As if on cue, his son nestles further into his father's chest. The younger Dawkins puts his thumb into his mouth, muttering sleepily.

Bryan Dawkins: Screw it. I'm good.

Tyler Rayne: You're mighty quiet over there, Tink.

Chandler Tsonda: Just taking it all in. Was thinking about watching this last match with the boys and gals in the back. Ya know, show of unity and all that.

Tyler Rayne: What for? (gestures to the room) This is it, ya know. Us.

Bryan Dawkins: (shrugs) He's right.

Chandler Tsonda: I like that. We should say thank you, no?

Tyler Rayne: We just went out there to that glorious ass ring, set the house on fire, burnt that bitch to the ground, built a new house, burnt that motherfucker to the foundation, and then built a bonfire on the ashes. We've said our thank you's. Our time is done, man.

"THANKS A-MI-GOS! (clap clap clapclapclap)

"THANKS A-MI-GOS! (clap clap clapclapclap)

"THANKS A-MI-GOS! (clap clap clapclapclap)

Bryan Dawkins: Yeah, bruh, no sense delaying the inevitable.

Chandler Tsonda: Woulda liked to smang Lisa Tyler just once.

Tyler Rayne: Dude.

Bryan Dawkins: Bruh.

Chandler Tsonda: I HAVE AN AFFINITY FOR STERN-FEATURED WOMEN, OKAY?!

Tyler Rayne: My parting gift to you is that I won't touch that comment.

It's there, the normal patter, the riffing and the dicking around. They are (have always been?) just three overgrown boys playing heroes and villains. No one says the word that has always seemed most appropriate: brothers.

The promo on the television ends. It's time.

Chandler Tsonda: So we just...?

Tyler Rayne: Enjoy the show.

The Underground Pimp claps, and the lights vanish.

The screen glows, and then the screen is the PRIME*View and there we are, at the time and place where things end.

Lindsay Troy vs. Tchu

Static.

That eerie crackle and pop partnered with erratic, edgy black and white lines.

It jumps, a quick, harsh buzz and the shape of a face forming in the fuzz.

Again. A new face. Somewhat clearer. And again, even more so, until they become more recognizable.

Buzz.

Karina.

Buzz.

English.

Buzz.

Rolo.

Ivan.

Hoyt.

Lisieux.

Olsig.

Nova.

Silver.

Snow.

And then, the buzz lingers as the static forms two faces side by side, clear as day.

Tchu.

Troy.

And in a blink, someone unplugged the TV, all the wild static imploding to a thin white line and a white dot that fades away into the black, leaving nothing but silence and darkness.

But not for long.

GODSMACK.


"I FUCKING HATE YOU."


Crowd: RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

The ultra-heavy power chord strikes twice, blue flash bulbs to match drowning Soldier Field, who responds in kind with a bellow of pure primal animosity. A wave of roars born deep in the bellies of every man, woman and child in attendance.

Nick (yelling above the noise): Ladies and gentlemen, welcome back to Colossus VIII, and our FINAL MATCH. It has been an INCREDIBLE night! Emotions are running RAMPANT as every last PRIME athlete has left EVERYTHING in that ring! They have NOT disappointed for this last ride!!

Richard (also yelling): I couldn't have said it better, Nick, what you say is absolutely true. So much that I'm having trouble saying anything snarky about it!

Godsmack stirs the crowd into full-on frenzy as their guitar-line churns, white strobe lights illuminating the entrance before the verse.

"For everything you do, I'd like to swallow you,
and everyday I'm gonna blame you."


Nick: The man about to appear needs absolutely NO introduction! Arguably the very face of PRIME itself! A backstage leader, and in-ring commander!

"And even if you justify, every fucking bullshit lie,
it only makes me want to breeeeaakk yooou!"


Richard: It's hard to argue any of that, Nick! He's worn the big strap three times, more than anyone in history. The proof is in the pudding!

"You pull me dooooooown, and you crucify my naaaame!
You make me insaaaaaane!"


The silhouette of said-champion forms among the strobe lights, eliciting a rising roar from the PRIME faithful. Vince Howard takes hold of his mic in-ring, stalwart and prepared as ever to introduce this man one last time.

Vince Howard: LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THIS MATCH IS SCHEDULED FOR ONE. FALL. IT IS MY HONOR TO INTRODUCE THIS CONTENDER, HERE, FOR THE LAST TIME, IN THE SQUARED CIRCLE OF PRIME! HAILING FROM DAYTON, OHIO, STANDING SIX FEET, TWO INCHES TALL AND WEIGHING IN AT TWO-HUNDRED AND FOURTY-FOUR POUNDS, HE IS THE ONLY THREE. TIME. UNIVERSAL. CHAMPION IN THE HISTORY OF PRIME....THE INHUMAN BEING! THE WRECKING BALL!

"It's broken noooowww, don't ever look my way!
Don't even think I'm plaaayiiin'!"


Vince Howard: TTTCCCCCCHHHHHUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And in perfect fashion, Tchu steps forward from the lights as the chorus hits, Chicago rising even louder to greet The Inhuman Being, and even he can't hide a small grin.

"'CAUSE I FUCKIN' HAAATE YOOOU! YOU'RE SUCH A LIAR!
AND I LOVE TO HAAATE YOOOU! YOU'RE ALL THE SAME TO ME!"


As Godsmack returns to verse, Matt Ward walks forward steadily, eyes on that ring, surrounded by out-stretched arms and cheering fans.

"When you repeatedly, take advantage of me,
The only thought I get of you sickens me."


Nick: And Tchu. Has. Arrived! Business as usual!

"And everybody knows you're fake, you're everything I fucking hate,
and I'm everything that you could neeeeeever beeee!!"


The camera follows PRIME's Wrecking Ball as he marches closer, clad in the classic Tchu ring-gear, fingers pumping with adrenaline.

"You pull me dooooown, and you crucify my naaaame!
You make me insaaaaaane!"


Richard: He's had a career for the history books, taken ALL the beatings and delivered twice as many!

"It's broken noooowww, don't ever look my way!
Don't even think I'm plaaayiiin'!"


He stops at the very end of the entrance stretch, as the song builds back to chorus. Head lowered, he holds his arms out to the sides, fists clenched, as Godsmack roars angrily.

"'CAUSE I FUCKIN' HAAATE YOOOU! YOU'RE SUCH A LIAR!
AND I LOVE TO HAAATE YOOOU! YOU'RE ALL THE SAME TO ME!"


He lifts one arm, to the arena's delight.

"AND I FUCKIN' HAAATE YOOOU! YOU'RE SUCH A LIAR!
AND I LOVE TO HAAATE YOOOU! YOU'RE ALL THE SAME TO MEEEEE!"


"Fuck you."


"Fuck you."


"Fuck you."


Blue lights continue to whirl as the music breaks down. Ward takes his time, striding toward the steps and taking calculated steps up to the apron, stepping through the ropes carefully.

Nick: In dramatic fashion, Tchu agreed to face Lindsay Troy in this ring tonight, an old promise kept that the two would face-off and put the company to rest the only way it should!

Richard: It's bound to be a poetic finish. I can think of some others I'd like to see in that ring right now, but none as fitting.

"You pull me dooooown, and you crucify my naaaame!
You make me insaaaaaane!"


The lyrics returning, Tchu takes slow, focused steps toward the middle ring-post, head remaining low.

"It's broken noooowww, don't ever look my way!
Don't even think I'm plaaayiiin'!"


The crowd level lifts again as he takes two steps onto the ropes, standing tall, and as the chorus crushes the speakers, he lifts his chin and forms a "T" with his arms, eyes closed to the eruption of cheer.

"'CAUSE I FUCKIN' HAAATE YOOOU! YOU'RE SUCH A LIAR!
AND I LOVE TO HAAATE YOOOU! YOU'RE ALL THE SAME TO ME!"


His eyes burst open, throwing his muscled arms to the sides, and releases a mighty, mighty roar to the Chicago sky.

"AND I FUCKIN' HAAATE YOOOU! YOU'RE SUCH A LIAR!
AND I LOVE TO HAAATE YOOOU! YOU'RE ALL THE SAME TO MEEEEE!"


His body shakes with the war-cry, knuckles white in those clenched fists

"FUCK YOOU!!"


Crowd: FUCK YOU!

"FUCK YOOU!!"


Crowd: FUCK YOU!

"FUCK YOOU!!"


Crowd: FUCK YOU!

"FUCK YOOOOUUU!!!"


Finally, he relents, lowering his arms and heaving air into his lungs, scanning the arena as Godsmack hammers the speakers until the very end. He stays on that ring post even after the music dies, only a nearly-rioting crowd to assault the ears.

And they all know what comes next.


LED ZEPPELIN.


"TRAMPLED UNDERFOOT."



Crowd: RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Nick: THE QUEEN. IS HERE.

The explosion of cheer at the funky bass line from Led Zeppelin can be heard in Houston as nuts and bolts loosen from the thundering Chicago fans. The tone of music couldn't be more polarized, but the reaction is very much the same, if not more intense. As the lights pulse with the bass, and the lyrical stylings of Zeppelin waft over PRIME's most faithful, it's a near-indescribable lifting of the heart that's felt from stadium seat to living room recliner.

"Greasy, slicked down body, groovy leather trim,
I like the way you hold the road. Mama, it ain't no sin!"


Nowhere near as elaborate as the theatrical entrances of Tyler Rayne and Wade Elliott in the match prior, less heavy-hitting than the ramp-strides of Hessian, half as electric and lighting-quick as a Nitz Donnelly introduction. But it doesn't matter.

"Talkin' 'bout love. Talkin' 'bout love. Talkin' bout..."


No one shows up to the party like The Queen.

"Trouble-free transmission, helps your oils flow.
Mama, let me pump your gas, mama, let me do it all!"


Nick: This woman. This champion of PRIME. This masterful lady of the squared circle has nothing but leave her heart and very soul inside of those ropes, and we are fortunate to watch her do so once more!

Richard: A thorn she may be, a pain in the ass to every ambitious man of this company she has absolutely been, but not even I can decline the truth...

"Talkin' 'bout love! Talkin' 'bout love. Talkin' 'bout..."


"Dig that heavy metal, underneath your hood!
Baby, I could work all night! believe I've got the perfect tools!"


Richard: ...without Lindsay Troy, there is no PRIME.

"Talkin' 'bout love! Talkin' 'bout loove! Talkin' 'bout..."


As Richard trails off, the crowd rises heavily, as the Chairwoman herself steps forward into her royal court. Chin held high, long legs striding to a pause outside the entrance-way for all to see. Hands on her hips, and a grin on those lips.

Crowd: RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

"A model built for comfort, really built with style.
Specialist tradition. Mama, let me feast my eyes!"


The Queen of the Ring starts her strut toward the awaiting Tchu, who has turned around on his ring-post perch, feet on the bottom rope and leaning back against the turnbuckle. She smiles at the Wrecking Ball, her body silhouetted by the flashing lights.

"Talkin' 'bout LOVE! Talkin' 'bout LOVE! Talkin' 'bout..."


Nick: Of all the matches, all the blood, sweat, guts and tears spilled in that ring for all these years, it finally comes down to this. PRIME's FINAL showdown!

"Factory air-conditioned, heat begins to rise.
Guaranteed to run for hours, mama it's a perfect size!"


Richard: Every parking lot brawl, every backstage door kicked-in, all the alliances born and torn apart, all the belts won and lost, leads us here. Tonight! At Soldier Field!

"Talkin' 'bout LOVE! Talkin' 'bout love. Talkin' 'bout..."


The Queen refrains from the high fives to the beloved fans on this, potentially her final walk toward the ring, but the sentiment is there. She knows who loves her, and they know who loves them. She just keeps her eye on The Inhuman Being.

"Groovin' on the freeway, gauge is on the red!
Gun down on my gasoline, believe I'm gonna crack a head!"


Vince Howard: AND HIS OPPONENT!!!

Crowd: RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

"Talkin' 'bout LOOOVE! Talkin' 'bout love. Talkin' 'bout..."


Vince Howard: FROM TAMPA, FLORIDA!! STANDING AT SIX FOOT, THREE INCHES TALL AND WEIGHING IN AT ONE-HUNDRED AND SEVENTY POUNDS! A PRIME UNIVERSAL CHAMPION!! THE FACE OF AN INDUSTRY!!

She approaches the apron, taking a moment to smooth out the tape on her forearms. Tchu drops to the mat, taking steps toward the center.

"I can't stop talkin' about! I can't stop talkin' about!"


Vince Howard: IT IS WITH INCREDIBLE PRIDE TO INTRODUCE THE CHAIRWOMAN! THE QUEEN OF THE RING!!!!!

"Oooooooooooooh, yeah yeah yeah! Jive on!"


Vince Howard: LIIIIIIINNNDDDSSSSAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYY TRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!

Crowd: RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

"Trampled Underfoot" slides into its long, funky bridge, and The Queen makes use of it, hopping onto the apron and climbing the left ring post from the outside, turned away from her opponent and toward the most amazing fans in the sport.

Nick: What this woman has done for our industry can never be repaid! I know it, Richard knows it, these fans in the stadium tonight know it for sure, and you at home know it in your gut! Never, in the history of wrestling, has there been a man or woman like Lindsay Troy!

Troy makes her way from post to post, repeating the process, spreading her arms out to take in all the well-deserved admiration from Chicago. Tchu turns in the center of the mat, following her movements with a smile.

Richard: It's been an incredible run, that's for damn sure, Nick. Absolutely no better way to put it to bed!

"Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooh! Yeahyeahyeahyeahyeahyes!"


She holds her pose a little longer as the lyrics return, the stadium taking on a golden hue, the rumble of the crowd lifting high.

"Come to me for service every hundred miles.
Baby, let me check your points, fix your overdrive!"


Troy turns her head to The Wrecking Ball as the song returns to verse, each sharing knowing smiles.

"Talkin' 'bout love! Talkin' 'bout love. Talkin' 'bout."


Nick: Arguably the two greatest competitors ever to stand in the PRIME ring are here, to send this great company off into the sunset the best possible way! One match! One fall! One pin! One victor!

"Fully automatic, comes in any size.
Makes me wonder what I did, before we synchronized!"


"Talkin' 'bout LOOVE! Talkin' 'bout, love. Talkin' 'bout..."


The Queen turns and drops to the mat, taking confident steps to meet Tchu in the center, squinting and grinning, ready as they've ever been to perform the greatest show on earth.

"Feather-light suspension, Koni's couldn't hold.
I'm so glad I took a look inside your showroom doors!"


Richard: Nick, my chest is doing something weird!

Nick: Those are feelings, Richard. And they're nothing to be ashamed about.

"Talkin' 'bout love. Talkin' 'bout loove! Talkin' 'bout!"


Richard: I don't think I like it!

"Oh, I can't stop talkin' about love!"


Finally, the two step away and into their own corners, Troy again smoothing her tape, and Tchu rolling his shoulders.

"Oh, I can't stop talkin' about love!"


"Trampled Underfoot" fades off along with the light-show, Chicago there to fill in. They bellow to The Wrecking Ball and The Queen, the electricity in the air on the verge of losing control.

And when the bell rings, it rises tenfold.

Ding.

Ding.

Ding.


Nick: ONE. LAST. TIME.

Troy and Ward approach each other with slow, but deliberate, steps. As they near, a smile spreads across the face of each competitor. Some words are exchanged, none of them picked up by the ringside boom mic, and when they've said their piece, the two Hall of Famers back towards their corners.

And then they charge, leaving the smiles behind.

RRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!

The two lock up right in the center of the ring, Ward having the clear strength advantage. Sensing the pointlessness of such a grapple, Troy releases her half of the hold and slips behind Tchu, locking her arms around his waist. Immediately, the Inhuman Being reaches down and pulls Troy's arms apart, then spins behind her, executing a waist lock of his own. Without hesitation, offering up no chance of a reversal of his reversal, Tchu arches back, throwing Troy through the air with a release German suplex.

The rotation is so great that The Queen of the Ring is able to hit her feet, dropping to a knee from the impact, but avoiding a truly nasty landing. Quickly, she springs up and rushes forward. Just as Ward turns to face her, he's dropped with a spinning wheel kick.

Nick: Lindsay Troy strikes first!

Tchu doesn't stay down long, immediately rolling to his feet, more shocked than hurt from the boot to the face. The same can't be said for the right hook that catches him square in the jaw.

Nick: What a shot.

Richard: She straight up slugged him.

The Queen of the Ring follows up the nothing fancy fist to the face with more precise, well-placed martial arts kicks. Each one finds its mark, peppering the thigh and ribs of The Inhuman Being. But, Troy ends her assault one kick too late. Ward catches her leg and steps forward smashing his arms across Troy's chest, dropping her with a crude clothesline.

Nick: Tchu just bulldozed Troy. That was about as ugly as it gets.

Richard: And about as effective as it gets. That's nearly one-and-a-half Troy's body weight she just got ran over with.

Nick: Ward is never going to keep up with Troy's speed and agility, but you can tell he's more than prepared to use his 70 plus pound weight advantage to its fullest.

Tchu reaches down and grabs Troy by the throat, ripping her off the canvas and up onto his shoulders in one lighting fast motion. Just as a powerbomb is about to follow, the Queen of the Ring snaps momentum, leaning back for a hurricanrana.

Nick: Rever...no wait!

But Troy never makes it all the way around. Ward is too strong, and as his one-time friend and enemy begins to swing under his legs, he keeps his footing, then drops to a knee, folding one leg up and over the back of his neck.

Nick: Stretch Muffler!

Richard: He's got her locked in, sitting all his weight over her neck. She better find the ropes and find them fast.

Immediately, Troy begins to slide to her side, going for the nearest set of ropes. The Inhuman Being lives up to his namesake, rising up just so he can smash a boot into the back of Troy's head. Again and again, he stomps on the Queen's skull, trying to halt her progress. Fighting through the aggression, Troy reaches the ropes and Bernie Roberts calls for the break, beginning his five-count.

Ward doesn't release his grip, instead tearing the Chairwoman from the ropes by the leg and swinging 180 degrees. At the last moment, he lets go of Troy's ankle and sends her flying, skidding across the canvas.

Nick: You would never imagine that these two were one-time friends who shared a competitive admiration for each other. Between those ropes, they might try to kill each other before the night is over.

Richard: The way it should be.

The Queen of the Ring pulls herself to her feet and turns just in time to see a charging Wrecking Ball. Knowing Ward and his tendencies, Troy drops down, pulling the middle rope with her. Tchu's attempted spear sends him between the large gap Troy has created in the cables, and crashing to the mats outside the ring.

Lindsay propels herself over the top rope, twisting through the air and smashing into Ward with a corkscrew flying body press.

Nick: There's the high-flying aspect of Lindsay Troy we've come to love!

Richard: High risk. High reward. But I'm not sure I'd be taking any unnecessary chances in a match of this magnitude.

Nick: I dunno, I think in PRIME's finale... what better time to let it all hang out?

PRIME's Chairwoman is first to her feet, grabbing her old friend by the arm and pulling him to his feet, but there's no courtesy behind the action. As soon as Ward is vertical, Troy slams him head-first into the ringside barricade. Then again. With two fistfuls of hair, The Queen of the Ring starts to drag Tchu towards the announcer's and timekeeper's tables.

From the ring, Bernie Roberts barks out a count that has hit 'six', but before he ever gets to 'seven' Troy stops in her tracks and looks up at PRIME's lead official. Letting go of Ward's mane with one hand, The Queen of the Ring wags a finger at Roberts.

Richard: What the hell is she doing?

"Not tonight."

And just like that... Roberts stops his count.

Richard: Why is he stopping?

Nick: I don't think Troy, or anyone here for that matter, is interested in seeing this match end in a count-out.

Richard: But she can't do that! This isn't a no count-out match. Just keep counting, Bern!

Nick: Whatever the case, Bernie Roberts has, in fact, stopped his count, doing just as Troy ordered.

And with all the time in the world at her hands to cause chaos around the ring, Troy wastes no time, bouncing Ward's skull off the steel ring post, then over to the timekeeper's table. Tchu's face collides with the bell, sending a dull "ring" echoing throughout the ringside area it Soldier Field.

An Irish whip sends the Inhuman Being colliding into the barricade. Troy charges in, but Ward is waiting, dipping a shoulder and sending the Queen up and over into the sea of fans. Somehow, in the Chicago crowd, Troy manages to land on her feet, unbeknownst to Ward. As the Inhuman Being steps away from the barricade, shaking the cobwebs from his head, Troy leaps up, springing of the top of the barrier...

Nick: Airborne...

And right into the waiting arms of The Wrecking Ball.

Nick: No!

Ward catches Troy across his right shoulder. Turning on his heels and taking one step, he drives his old friend down and through the timekeeper's table with ungodly force.

Nick: GOOD LORD!

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Richard: Spinebuster!

Nick: Ward just drove Troy down onto that ring bell, down through the time keeper's table that must've splintered into a dozen pieces. And that might be half as many pieces as Lindsay Troy is in!

Richard: I think he may have killed her. And they're friends?!

Tchu reaches down and starts to clear away the rubble, tossing jagged pieces of table aside. With two fistfuls of hair, the Inhuman Being drags Troy to her feet and rolls her back into the ring. Before he follows, he grabs the steel chair the time-keeper had occupied before fleeing for his life. Folding the steel, Ward tosses it over the top rope, then makes his way over to the ring steps.

Richard: What is he doing?

Tchu rips free the top half of the steps and throws them aside, then lifts the bottom section and shoves them through the ropes and into the ring.

Nick: He's peppering the ring with a lot of dangerous stuff.

Richard: Can he do that? This isn't No Hold Barred. Does he think he's Big Hess?

Nick: I'm not sure what all this is about.

Bernie Roberts jumps out of the ring and makes his way towards Tchu, either pleading with, or ordering, him to stop. PRIME's Wrecking Ball puts a hand on Roberts shoulder and leans in, saying a few words. After a moment, Roberts nods in approval and jumps back into the ring. Ward continues his search for mayhem, lifting up the ring apron and dragging out a heavy chain, which he balls up and tosses under the bottom rope.

Richard: What in the hell is going on?! It's like he thinks this is CVII and this is being fought under Intense Title rules.

And CVII seems to be exactly what The Inhuman Being has on his mind. Sliding into the ring, he charges at Troy, who's pushed herself up on all fours, taking labored breaths. A field goal kick to the ribs sends Troy corkscrewing across the ring. As she screams in pain, Ward closes in, firing off a couple of snap-kicks to the shoulder and ribs. Troy sits up on her knees and tries to block the incoming boots, but even shielded, their force knocks the wind out of her. Finally, Tchu stops, but only long enough to pick up the steel chair he had tossed into the ring. With quick, no-nonsense steps, Ward marches right back over to Troy and takes a swing that would be right at home in a home-run derby.

CRACK!

Richard: Jesus! What a shot!

Nick: Part of the crowd is roaring, part is booing, part is silent in complete shock. This is shades of the opening moments of the match between these two at Colossus VII... when Lindsay Troy came out on fire, peppered the ribs of The Inhuman Being with precision kicks, then nearly beheaded him with a chair shot from hell!

Ward drops the chair and just stares down at his old friend.

Richard: I'm not sure there's even a bell to ring anymore, but shouldn't that be a DQ? Bernie Roberts is useless.

Nick: Whatever the case, whatever Ward said just moments ago, it seemed to work. Roberts has 'swallowed the whistle' so to speak here tonight. And the truth is, it's not serving Lindsay Troy well. We're just a few minutes into this match and the Queen of the Ring has already been driven through the timekeepers table and had her skull crushed with a devastating chair shot. The last Colossus main event in PRIME history may be the shortest if Troy can't turn this around fast.

Tchu stands over Troy taking labored breaths, seemingly having put a great deal of energy into the chair shot. After a moment, the Inhuman Being reaches down and peels Troy off the canvas with two handfuls of hair. With the Queen's locks tangled in his fists, Ward holds her face in position for a vicious knee to the chin. Then a second. And a third, each landed with increasing intensity.

Richard: Bet Troy's wishing she'd let Bernie continue that ten count now!

Nick: And now that he's basically been told to keep his nose out of this match Tchu is taking the opportunity to really decimate his opponent here, and whether you like it or not in his mind it's a do or die situation right now.

Richard: He's got to rectify that loss to LT somehow.

Grimacing in ire, Tchu pulls Lindsay to her knees by the hair and leaves her swaying as he goes back to the chair. With a quick glance back he brings the weapon high up and overhead crashing down on Troy once more however the Queen of the Ring crosses her arms over her skull blocking the shot and fighting the pain coursing through her arms to pop forward and connect with a double cross chop to Tchu's mid-section, doubling the three-time Universal champ over.

Nick: Troy fighting back now and she's right back on top of Tchu!

Grabbing his legs and knocking him off balance onto the mat, Troy almost ignores the follow up chair shot to her back as she savages her opponent with hard rights and lefts until Tchu pulls the chair over his face to block the shots. Caught in the moment LT fires a few more punches into the chair before she stops dead and without missing a beat jumps to her feet and then plants both feet hard into the steel driving it into the face of Tchu!

RRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!

Nick: NICE counter by Lindsay! Tchu's bouncing around like a fish out of water after that one!

Richard: That's a dental plan PRIME style right there. Ouch.

Kicking the chair away from her opponent, the Queen of the Ring goes into a frenzy, delivering rapid kicks to the lower back of Tchu. She drives him across the ring where she hops up onto the second rope and comes back with the point of her elbow aimed squarely for the kidneys and connects at the same time Tchu brings his elbow up and simultaneously cracks her across the cheek. Rolling onto his side as Troy flops off of him holding her face, Tchu gets to his knees and waits for the right moment as the Queen of the Ring pulls herself upright.

Nick: Tchu's got another spear in mind!

Richard: Will he hit it this time?

Tearing off the block, Tchu charges low and fast into LT who, keeping her wits about her, leaps over his head sending him into the ropes where he rebounds back even faster. He tries for a clothesline which Troy ducks, once again sending Tchu into the ropes. This time, as Troy tries to trump him with a dropkick. her feet hit nothing but thin air as Tchu latches onto the ropes with both arms, giving her just enough time to hit the mat before he runs back at her and delivers one hell of a kick to the ribs. The Queen is send rolling across the ring and hollering for air.

Nick: This is just downright brutality!

Richard: It's descending into a fight alright...what were we expecting? A good old-fashioned classic main event for all ages.

Nick: Tchu needs this victory, his motives are set but it's the fact Troy is now playing keep-up just to stay in it. I have no doubt she'll take this thing to the outer limit to survive Tchu and take home that all important bragging right. That said Richard, yeah I don't think we should be expecting the usual fare here!

Grabbing up the heavy chain as he paces towards his opponent, Tchu rolls it around his fist once and lets it hang loose as he stands over Lindsay and reaches all the way back before whipping the steel through the air with gritted teeth and catching LT across the back with the chain. Screaming in agony, LT tries to roll out of the way but the shots come thick and fast as Tchu breaks into a frenzy of his own with several shots connecting in the space of a couple of seconds.

Nick: Just punishing her with that chain! This is just ugly!

Richard: Troy's trying to get out of the ring but Tchu's got her by the boot!

With an iron grip around her ankle, using his free hand as LT hangs over the apron beneath the bottom rope, Tchu pulls her leg up and bends it over the middle rope pushing his weight down on the ankle and effectively locking her in place. Leaning into the ropes with his other arm hanging over the top, Tchu continues his assault whipping the chain any which way it'll fly but always connecting with his opponent's flesh. Lindsay flails helplessly pulling at the underside of the mat behind the apron, kicking wildly with her free leg and twisting and turning to no avail as the shots rain down like Hell.

Nick: She's trapped like a rabbit in a snare!

Richard: And bless Bernie Roberts for standing there all slack-jawed doing nothing to stop it! I like an ass whuppin' as much as the next guy but this is the main event of Colossus for chrissakes!

Nick: Have to agree with you Richard, it's clear this isn't gonna be what we thought it was but at this rate they're going to cheat the fans out of the main event!

A final blow with the chain smacks Troy in the back of the head, slowing her attempts to escape in a heartbeat. Happy that the chain has done its job, Tchu releases the Queen from the woodshed-style beating and lets her flop to the mat. Tossing the weapon across the ring where Bernie Roberts happily kicks it back out onto the commentary side, Tchu makes his way out of the ring and drops down onto the apron above where Lindsay lies. Ward gives himself a minute to work the kinks out of his tired arm before casually slipping off the apron and dropping an elbow into the exposed belly of his opponent.

Nick: Adding insult to injury with what can only be described as a sloppy elbow drop there.

Richard: Sloppy or not it caught Lindsay in the gut. Pennies make dollars Nick. Pennies make dollars.

Getting to his feet, Tchu once again hovers over LT as she cradles her torso, looking up to see him growling down at her. She turns on her side and lashes out with a weaker than usual kick, which the Inhuman Being easily intercepts before scooping up her other leg and sizing up the distance to the steel steps at the corner, much to the chagrin of the crowd.

Nick: If he connects here this match will be very short-lived.

Locking her in place, Tchu falls to the ground and catapults the Queen into the air and straight into the steel steps. To the crowd's amazement however Lindsay manages to capture some of the momentum by planting her feet as Tchu's back hits the mats and manages to overshoot the steps just enough to land on top of them, wrapping her arms around the turnpost for leverage and spinning on her heels as Tchu rights himself only to receive a hurricanrana for his trouble!

Nick: And she's back in it!! Excellent counter by Lindsay Troy there, turning that toss into the corner into a hurricanrana and drilling Tchu into the ringside area!

Despite the ugly welts rising up on her back and sides and pretty much hurting everywhere else from the early onslaught at the hands of Tchu, Troy's eyes are full of fire and she goes on the attack, peppering Tchu with vicious kicks that look like they hurt every bit as much as the chain attack.

Richard: Who rattled her chain?

Nick: Remind me to laugh at that one later.

The volley of kicks take quick effect and with nowhere to go Tchu finds himself sliding back until he's almost buried underneath the apron. Unable to retreat further, he tears at the apron, giving Troy a glimpse at the stack of tables lying immediately behind him. Almost as quickly as the light bulb goes off in her head, she's already backing up and fires herself into Tchu's prone body with a dropkick, squashing him against the stack and provoking a pained howl from him. Rolling back to her feet, she backs up and repeats, delivering a second dropkick into his chest and once more jamming his back against the table edges.

Nick: Tchu trying to swat his opponent away but there's no chance of that now that he's awoken the demon inside her!

Richard: Yeah, woman scorned and all that.

Setting up for a third dropkick, LT charges forward but stops dead with the foresight that Tchu was going to swing his legs out to somehow soften the impact. Instead of being drilled harder into the tables, he instead feels the wrath of the Queen stomping on his ankles before turning her back to him and delivering three quick back heel kicks to the face and finally returning to the ring to a massive applause from the crowd.

Nick: And after that assault with the chain Troy has effectively swept the crap under the proverbial carpet leaving Tchu spitting blood under the apron!

Richard: At least she made the effort to get back in the ring, maybe now we'll see some semblance of a PRIME classic main event.

It takes Tchu a moment to bring himself to standing once again, wincing as he holds an arm to his chest. Looking up at the ring a look of shock comes over him when he sees the steel chair in Lindsay's hands, and then a second later sees it spinning through the air like a frisbee! Only just managing to bring his other arm up to prevent the chair smacking him across the throat, Tchu stumbles back a step and with a sneer looks back at the ring once more only this time to see the soles of the Queen's feet flying between the ropes and smashing him in the face as Troy connects with another dropkick!

Nick: The Queen of the Ring is putting the boots to Tchu!

Richard: In the worst way possible and with good reason.

LT is already on the apron by the time Tchu gets his bearings only to have them knocked for six again as the Queen hits an Asai moonsault off the second rope, slamming into Tchu as he rises and sending him to the floor once again. She gets back on him straight away with pounding fists and a headbutt for good measure before pulling the Inhuman Being to his feet and putting every pound she's got into an Irish whip into the turnbuckle, running after him to follow up immediately with a spinning roundhouse kick to the back of the head, dropping him to his knees in front of the apron.

Nick: Lindsay Troy is on FIRE right now!

With a quick glance around the arena and a semblance of a smile Troy backs up to the ramp With narrowed eyes focused on her opponent, she sprints forward and leaps into the air, raising both knees up and smashing into the back of Tchu while also grabbing the second rope. The Inhuman Being clutches his chest coughing and spluttering to the mat as LT pulls herself into the ring taking a moment to gut check as Tchu lays sprawled out at ringside.

Richard: She's making a habit of firing Tchu out the ring on his ass.

Nick: And by doing so she's making that all-important statement. Whether Tchu realizes it or not it could come back to bite her in the ass later if the Inhuman Being carries on as he has so far in the match.

Doubling over with her hands on her knees, the Queen takes a breather while keeping her eyes locked on the ring apron waiting for the moment several seconds later when a fist rises up and thumps the mat, followed by the snarling grimace of the Inhuman Being as he locks on to LT. Tchu hoists himself up only to jump off almost immediately as Troy charges forward as if to attack, only to stop in her tracks and offer a wry grin before perching on the second rope while holding the top up for him.

Richard: Like that won't piss him off.

Cussing his opponent out, Tchu looks down and spies the steel chair lying nearby and with a devious grin of his own snatches it up and makes his way over to the steep steps. Unfazed, LT takes position in the middle of the ring poised ready to attack as Tchu hovers around the turnpost wielding the chair high and daring the Queen to make a move. When she remains stood in place he chances bending over between the ropes with the chair in tow and at the slightest flinch from his opponent jerks the chair forward ready to retaliate.

Nick: Tchu ducking back out of the ring. Tries to get back in, Troy's there again...and he's back out. Despite the steel chair in Tchu's possession we have quite the stalemate here.

Richard: Not for long...

On cue, Tchu begins to climb the turnbuckle slowly, always keeping the chair level ready. As he crouches on the top LT senses the urgency and changes her stance as the Inhuman Being swings his leg over the rope to a seated position on the top turnbuckle before casually dropping to the mat in front of his opponent.

Nick: Who's going to make the first move?

Richard: More importantly who's it gonna hurt more?

It's Tchu that strikes first, but when you're facing the Queen of the Ring first isn't always fastest. Troy leaps from point with another massive spinning roundhouse kick that catches the chair on the back, swing-knocking it out of Tchu's hands with ease. However, the momentum of the kick leaves her open and the Inhuman Being scoops up both her arms and executes a snap full nelson suplex driving her into the mat hard.

Nick: Looks like Tchu just baited Troy with that chair to hit the suplex.

Richard: Anyone else would have just used the chair.

Nick: Tchu with a lateral press!

ONE!

KICKOUT!

Nick: Barely a two count there and Tchu's right back on his opponent!

Giving the Queen no respite at all, Tchu maneuvers into place, locking in an arm-trap triangle choke. Crying out as he wrenches on her arm Lindsay tries to break the hold as Bernie Roberts drops beside her to do the one duty he probably won't get shouted at for doing.

Nick: And out of the pin attempt Tchu wisely goes straight into the submission hold to keep the Queen of the Ring grounded.

Richard: Keeping things fresh and jumping strategies from frantic hardcore to a slow mat-based game is a clever way to confuse and ultimately piss off Troy. Tchu will need to keep it up unless he wants to fall foul to her strategy of kicking his ass then kicking him out the ring over and over.

With the pressure bearing down on her neck and left arm, LT gracefully kicks off from the mat until she is hanging perfectly vertical and upside down. Then, rather than kick out of the hold entirely, she brings a knee crashing down on the top of Tchu's skull, dazing him momentarily and causing him to slacken the submission. Once more she lifts her legs into the air and once more the knee comes crashing down on his head causing him to break the hold and allowing Lindsay to roll to her feet and come charging back with a corkscrew elbow drop followed by another and another and capped with a standing moonsault knee drop.

Richard: Like that.

Nick: She's not making it easy for him that's for sure.

Grabbing two handfuls of hair, LT pulls Tchu to a crouch and hammers him in the face with two consecutive knee shots before launching across the ring and on the rebound taking to the sky once again to connect with a huge shining wizard on the Inhuman Being, but the momentum of the wizard overwhelms him and both competitors are sent tumbling over the top rope with neither getting the best of the messy spill to the mats.

Nick: And once more Tchu has been ejected from the ring this time with the Queen in tow.

Richard: LT got way more of that shining wizard than she meant to.

Despite the fall both wrestlers are up quickly and at the sight of each other launch into an adrenaline-fueled brawl with Tchu on the receiving end of stiff kicks to the thighs and knees as he blasts Troy with punishing lefts and rights, blocking one kick with his forearm and countering with a European uppercut, staggering Troy and leaving her open to a kick to the gut and a pulling piledriver on the floor.

Nick: More of this match has taken place outside the ring than in.

Richard: That's where Troy wants Tchu it seems.

Turning his attention to the ring apron, the Inhuman Being lifts the curtain and removes a table from the stack that he got well acquainted with earlier. Seeing movement out the corner of his eye from the Queen, Tchu opts to simply lean the table against the edge of the ring and turns back in time to catch a stiff right from Lindsay Troy and once again both are embroiled in a punch up.

Nick: Tchu's brought that table into play now and Bernie Roberts doesn't look interested in intervening whatsoever.

Richard: If they want to beat seven shades out of each other who's he to step in? They both made it clear they're not interested in the result being determined by anything other than pin, submission or knockout. If they can't handle the consequences of that it's their own damn fault.

LT ducks a clothesline from Tchu, hooks her arm around his, and jumps across his back to lock in the crucifix. With a firm jerk she pulls him off his feet and onto the back of his head. Releasing his arms she nips up and goes for the table, sliding it into the ring before hopping up onto the apron and, without a second, thought executes a standing shooting star press on top of Tchu. Unfortunately for Troy, he gets both knees up to block the impact and immediately springs to his feet, pulling the prone Queen to hers and hoisting her up onto his shoulders to deliver a death valley driver onto the steel steps. Even as LT flops onto the floor on the other side Tchu is there to meet her, grabbing her up once again and sliding her into the ring.

Nick: That shooting star press didn't have the desired effect there and now Tchu is taking advantage and bringing the action back to the ring where that table is now waiting.

While Troy is laid out on the mat, Tchu moves for the table, pulling out one of the leg sets and propping it up in the corner. A quick glance back and a mule kick ensures the Queen stays down a moment longer, which allows him to fix the table in position and turn his attention back to her. Pulling Lindsay to her feet, the Inhuman Being whips her across the ring and doubles over to catch her, but on the rebound she avoids the flip into the table by jumping onto Tchu's shoulders and springboarding into the corner. She leaps off the table at the point where it rests on the turnbuckle and flies back at Tchu, hooking him around the neck and connecting with a picture perfect tornado DDT.

RRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!

Nick: What athleticism from the Queen of the Ring as she goes for the pin!

Richard: Tchu just can't seem to keep her down.

ONE!

TWWO-

KICKOUT!

Richard: Troy can't keep him down either...

Nick: Another close two count by Roberts.

Refusing to let up, Troy quickly applies a wristlock to Tchu and forces him to his feet before extending the arm and executing an armbreaker. As Tchu drops to one knee and clutches the arm, LT hits the ropes, which prompts him to charge forward and catch her with a clothesline from his good arm spinning her head over heels to the mat.

Nick: Lindsay Troy just got turned inside out! What a clothesline by the former three-time Universal champion!

Richard: And just like that he's back in charge.

Shaking off the sting in his shoulder, the Inhuman Being pulls the Queen to her feet, kicks her in the gut, and hoists her up for a vertical suplex. As he turns on the spot to get her into position, Troy swings her feet out and uses the momentum to drop out of the suplex. When she lands, she pivots for a neckbreaker which Tchu counters by hoisting her up onto his back setting up for a Gory bomb. Before he can execute it, Troy pulls her legs into the air, rolls over Tchu's back, and wraps him up with a small package!

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

Nick: Nice little back and forth exchange there.

Richard: And a solid two count for Lindsay Troy.

The Queen is on her feet first. As Tchu rises, she attempts a spinning heel kick that he ducks, moving behind her suddenly into a waistlock and, with a pop of the hips, hoists Troy in the air and drives her overhead and straight through the table with a German suplex!

PRIME THAT SHIT!! PRIME THAT SHIT!! PRIME THAT SHIT!! PRIME THAT SHIT!! PRIME THAT SHIT!! PRIME THAT SHIT!!

Brushing the debris out of his way the Inhuman Being scatters for a pin.

ONE!

TWOOO!

THR-NO!

Tchu prematurely raises his arms in victory only for Bernie Roberts to point out that Lindsay has a hold of the top rope.

Nick: Excellent wherewithal by Troy there and Tchu isn't taking it well!

Angered by Troy's resilience, Tchu drags her to her feet and grabs her by the hair, smashing her face into the top turnbuckle once, then again. On the third attempt, Troy shoots an elbow out and staggers Tchu, creating enough separation to allow her to kick back off the second turnbuckle and execute a bicycle kick, smacking Tchu in the face.

Nick: Lindsay Troy with one hell of a kick to the Inhuman Being there but she's showing signs of fatigue now.

Richard: Tchu's showing signs of having his face booted in!

Both competitors gulp in air as the fans come alive in the arena, beckoning them to their feet.

LET'S GO LINDSAY!

LET'S GO TCHU!

LET'S GO LINDSAY!

LET'S GO TCHU!

LET'S GO LINDSAY!

LET'S GO TCHU!


They don't move much at first. LT lifts her head and Tchu glares back at her between his forearms while clutching his head. Slowly they unfurl from their prone positions on the canvas and begin stalking towards one another. They begin trading punches. Troy ducks a standing clothesline from Tchu only to be spun around and hooked up into a full nelson. Balling her hands into fists, she hammers them down on Tchu's head, getting just enough contact to cause him to break the hold. She attempts a spinning heel kick, which Tchu blocks. Before LT can correct her stance, he scoops her up and powers forward adding momentum as he connects with a Samoan drop.

Nick: It's very much a battle of wits here as Tchu outdoes Lindsay Troy on that exchange capping it with a nice Samoan drop!

Richard: And they'll keep at it 'til something gives.

Trying to chase the pin, Tchu receives a surprise stiff uppercut from Troy who, bouncing right back from the Samoan drop, grabs Tchu by his left leg and pulls it up as she gets to a vertical base. Feigning another kick prompts the Inhuman Being to raise his arms to block his face, which gives LT the opening to duck under Tchu's leg, placing his knee joint over her shoulder and setting him up for a knee breaker. He's sent sprawling over the canvas, clutching the knee and howling in pain.

Nick: It doesn't have to be flashy or high risk to be the difference maker and that's it right there.

Richard: Yeah the difference between Lindsay getting her ass whipped with a steel chain and getting annihilated with anything else Tchu can get his hands on. We all know what Tchu's capable of when backed into a corner.

The Queen is on Tchu immediately, swarming him with kicks to the stricken knee and basically shepherding him anywhere she cares to take him, which happens to be on to the apron. She sets him up nicely for an over-the-top leg drop which hits nothing but hard canvas as Tchu manages to roll back into the ring out of harm's way, leaving LT clutching her lower back. Spotting his chance Tchu jumps to his feet on instinct limping painfully on the bad knee towards his opponent and booting her in the back, sending her off the apron onto the floor with a thump.

Nick: Lindsay's looking pretty tender out in front of us, I wonder if the trauma to her lower back is getting worse.

Richard: She'll fight through it same as Tchu's fighting that knee trouble. When you've got a match this big they'll go at it until there's nothing left.

Nick: No doubt. If Tchu wins, it will mark that all important victory over Troy, and if the Queen of the Ring picks up the victory she maintains that winning streak at Colossus. It's anyone's game!

Adjusting his knee pad and shaking out the kinks in his leg, Tchu drops to the mat and rolls out of the ring after his opponent. He boots her in the back before suddenly being floored as LT whips her leg out and catches Tchu in the knee with her heel. As he drops to the mats with a howl, Troy pulls herself up and onto the apron, taking as much time as Tchu does to recuperate before the Inhuman Being gingerly picks himself up. He urns back towards the ring, his shoulders drooping, and a sigh escaping his lips as he sees Lindsay suddenly leap off the apron, catching him with a hurricanrana. The move doesn't go according to plan, however, as Tchu counters the momentum, leaving LT hanging upside down and allowing him to hoist her back up before throwing her spine-first into the edge of the announce table with a punishing jackknife powerbomb!

Richard: WOAH!

Nick: Good GOD! Her back could be broken after that!!

PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT! PRIME THAT SHIT!

The fans are going crazy all around the arena as Tchu admires his handiwork before stumbling back against the apron favoring his knee, the pain pulsing throughout his leg like an electric shock. He's doing a damn sight better than Lindsay Troy, though, who lies at the foot of the announce table wide-eyed, struggling for breath and convulsing involuntarily as the nerves in her back shoot off like fireworks on the fourth of July.

Nick: We need to get some medical attention out here!

Richard: Yeesh, that ain't pretty. Is she alright?

A few seconds pass before LT suddenly opens her mouth and lets out a hollow groan haunting all but Tchu to their core. The convulsing passes and the Queen of the Ring goes limp, while in the ring Bernie Roberts watches on aghast at what he's seen. Despite a look back and a snarl from Tchu, PRIME's senior official throws himself out of the ring and drops down beside Lindsay, trying to coax a response out of her.

Nick: No, she's definitely not alright.

Richard (shouting at Tchu): Christ on a bike man what kind of way is that to finish a match?!

The Inhuman Being glances over at Richard and offers a sneer before leaning back on the apron and hauling himself back into the ring where he moves to the corner and makes himself comfortable, holding his knee with a wince and giving the pain time to settle as Bernie continues tending to his opponent.

Nick: Would you believe the nerve of Tchu? For all we know Lindsay Troy could be lying there paralyzed and he's chilling in the ring worrying about a bum knee!

Richard: This match has gone back and forth so many times I'm not surprised he pulled a stunt like this. That was a desperation move and a dick one at that.

The camera focuses in on LT's face as Bernie tries to get an answer out of her as to whether she can continue, getting no reaction as her face remains stoically uneasy. Shaking his head, Bernie turns to the entrance, and as he raises his arms into the dreaded X gesture something pulls at his shirt causing him to look back at the fallen Queen to see her shaking her head gently from side to side.

Nick: You gotta be kidding me.........is she refusing medical assistance?

Richard: Looks to me like she doesn't want the match to end this way.

Nick: Wha-...she can't possibly expect this to go on?! She just had her spine cracked off the edge of our announce desk and she hasn't moved since!

Bernie Roberts tries in vain to make the Queen understand her predicament until he feels a hand on his shoulder. Breathing a sigh of relief he turns to greet the EMT only to find that the hand belongs to the Inhuman Being and it is he that stands over him.

Nick: Oh no, what now...

Forcing Bernie aside, Tchu reaches down and takes Lindsay by the arm and drags her groaning across the mats to the apron where, with some struggle and effort, he hoists her up and rolls her back into the ring. Bernie follows suit roaring at Tchu to show some compassion but the Inhuman Being ignores his pestering and simply drops to the canvas and covers LT, hooking the leg for the 1-2-3. To his astonishment, however, Lindsay kicks out almost immediately and holds her back once again, kicking at the mat with her foot and showing a little more sign of life.

Nick: The pain must be too much for her to be pinned like that, she sprung right out of it. That sick bastard is gonna steal this!

Shaking his head at her futility, the Inhuman Being moves in to pin her again, but out of nowhere the Queen strikes out at him like a snake, cradling and rolling over him to lock in a pin!

ONE!

TWO!

THRE-NOOOO!

Nick: SHE'S ALIVE! DID YOU SEE THAT?!

Richard: How the hell did she manage that? She's supposed to be crippled!

Kicking out in pure shock Tchu sits bolt upright as though he's just seen a ghost and, lost in the moment, struggles to even comprehend the fact that Lindsay Troy is suddenly on her feet in front of him. Jumping up on instinct he dives headfirst into Lindsay who hooks an arm around his neck and DDTs him on the canvas before trying for another pin!

ONE!

TWOOOO!

THR-NOOO!

Nick: Another kickout!

Richard: Am I seeing this?? How is she even able to move?!

Nick: It's Lindsay Troy, man.

Richard: .........There's no way she was just playing possum.........

Nick: The Queen works in mysterious ways!

Tchu is livid at the sight of LT moving about on her feet already. Just like that, the pain in his knee and, indeed, in his neck as a result of the DDT vanishes as he rushes to his feet and barrels into LT, the two exchanging rapid fire punches into the corner where Lindsay blocks a forearm and headbutts Tchu. He staggers away, giving her the space to hop up on the second rope. As the fans start to go crazy in their seats, she leaps off, connecting with a spear that drives Tchu into the mat!

Nick: She's on fire right now!

Richard: This is awesome!

Despite being winded, Tchu latches on to the Queen and begins pummeling her back with forearm shots before kicking her off and struggling back to his feet. He sets upon her once again, hooking her arm and driving his bad knee into her side, ignorant of the pain as he knocks the breath out of his opponent. Another knee followed by another drops Lindsay to her knees, opening her up for a gutwrench powerbomb. With LT laid out, Tchu hits the ropes and rebounds with an elbow drop that the Queen rolls out of the way from. She springs to her feet as he hits the mat and executes a spinning leg drop that Tchu then rolls out of the way from. Suddenly, both competitors are on their feet, gasping for breath and clutching their sore spots as the crowd erupts.

RRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

Richard: They've reached a stale-

Nick stops mid-sentence as Tchu lunges forward for a clothesline only for Lindsay to catch the arm and swing her weight up and around his shoulders before planting him with another DDT!

Richard: -mate...

Nick: NICE floatover DDT from the Queen!! This thing's getting intense!

Richard: You mean it wasn't before?!

Wasting no time, LT gets on top of her opponent for the cover. As Bernie Roberts drops to make the count, Tchu rolls her over into a pin of his own, which the Queen counters once again only for the Inhuman Being to break, backing off to the ropes and hauling himself to his feet where he once again charges at LT. She attempts a shining wizard, which Tchu ducks, catching the leg as he does so, leaving Lindsay hopping on one foot with her back to him. Forcing her leg down, the Inhuman Being wraps his arms around her waist as she stands upright, tossing her up in the air as if to German suplex her but stopping at the shoulder and swinging her around into the torture rack position before flipping her onto her back setting her up for the Downfall!

Nick: Tchu's got her right where he wants her!

Richard: It's over!

As Tchu swings LT out to execute the Downfall she uses the momentum to fire back around Tchu's back, correcting herself into a leg trap and to a roar from the crowd rights herself and with as much power as she can muster executes the sunset flip powerbomb into the pin!

Nick: BY ROYAL DECREE!! Lindsay Troy just countered out of the Downfall!

ONE!

Richard: Has Tchu got enough left to kick out of this??

TWWWOOOOO!

Nick: She's got it!

...

...

...

...

...

...

TTTTHHHHRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!


Ding! Ding! Ding!

Nick & Richard: SHE DID IT!!

Vince Howard: LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! YOUR WINNER VIA PINFALL...THE QUEEN OF THE RING...LINDSAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYY TROOOOOOOOOOOOOYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!

Nick: I cannot believe what we just witnessed, Richard. What a finish. What a match!

Richard: I -- I don't know if I even have the words...

Nick: After an absolutely brutal, violent, back-and-forth match, Lindsay Troy and Tchu left nothing to chance here tonight. So many moments felt too close to count, and there were times when I didn't think either of them would be able to go on. At the end of it all, though, on the final show in this company's storied history, the Queen reigns supreme!

Richard: I can't even complain about it. What we just saw between Troy and Tchu was a match for the ages, one that they and everyone else will talk about for years to come. Unbelievable.

In the ring, Tchu and Troy are lying on their backs, breathing hard and gulping for air. Bernie Roberts is kneeling inbetween them and checking on their well-being. Troy eventually rolls to her side and struggles to a sitting position. She brings her legs up toward her head, her forehead coming to rest on top of her knees, arms wrapped around her shins. Tchu sits up as well and the crowd erupts. Those who hadn't been standing rise to their feet, cheering and clapping and chanting.

THANK YOU, LINDSAY!

THANK YOU, TCHU!

THANK YOU, LINDSAY!

THANK YOU, TCHU!

THANK YOU, LINDSAY!

THANK YOU, TCHU!


The Inhuman Being looks out to the crowd and, very subtly, lifts his hand in acknowledgment. He looks over at Troy, still with her head on her knees, and inches toward her. Bernie Roberts moves to the other side of Troy, still crouched, and gently raises her arm in victory.

RAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Troy doesn't lift her head. It's not until Tchu claps a hand on her shoulder that she moves at all, and it's to look at him, not at the crowd. Tchu leans his head down to meet hers; the camera picks up on his lips moving but what he's saying is muffled for the microphone. Troy nods her head and Tchu stands up, not without some exertion, and holds his hands out. The Queen places her hands in his and Tchu gingerly pulls her to her feet and into a hug.

THANK YOU, LINDSAY!

THANK YOU, TCHU!

THANK YOU, LINDSAY!

THANK YOU, TCHU!

THANK YOU, LINDSAY!

THANK YOU, TCHU!


Nick: If this isn't the perfect way to put PRIME to bed then I'm not sure what is.

Richard: I want to make a comment about how sappy this all is...

Nick: Don't you dare.

Richard: ...but F it. Even this cold, black heart knows this is the right way to go out.

The two friends pull apart from each other and Troy finally looks out to the fans. She gives the crowd a soft smile and a nod of appreciation before lifting her hands to her face to wipe at her eyes.

Even the Queen can't help but acknowledge these emotions.

Tchu, for his part, is keeping as straight a face as possible, holding the cracks and emotions at bay. He lifts Troy's arm into the air and the crowd roars its approval.

Nick: I don't think there's anything left to be said folks except "Thank You." Thank you for all of your time, your energy, your emotions, and your passion. We don't know when or if we'll see you again, but please know that from all of us here at PRIME, we could not have been what we were without you.

Richard: This means we're free to go to the after-party now, right? OPEN BAR! FREE FOOD! GET IT!

Nick: I should be surprised but, well...how can I be. Thank you everyone. Stay safe, and goodnight!

FADE-OUT

Credits

To Life After Death


Sebs

The Second City Swan Song


Asa

The Final Welcome


Will SharknOtto

Finale Ultimo


Shinder


Shinder

The Big Reveal


Rossian Von Colossushank

Zing


Erin and Neil


Ford

These Two Again? Get The Bodybag...


O'Mac and the Ambien Walrus (sounds like a good name for a band...)

This Will Still Only Be Funny To Five People


Chris

An Awkward Understanding


Erin and Lindz

My Way


Chris

Give 'em Hell


Asa and Lindz

We Have Lift-Off


The Beard of Doom


Rossian & Swole Mike

The End of Hilarity As You Know It


Chris


Mostly Chris and a Bit of Darryl

Hall of Fame Induction Ceremony


A Whole Mess of People

The Ultimate Showdown of Ultimate Destiny


Will and Lindz: Rhode Island's Finest

Here's To Ya


Asa and Shane


Will to the O and Rob to the K

Robots Are The Future


O'Mac and LB


Shane and Asa

The Amigos Three


A large helping of Willy-O, with just a dash of Lazy Shane


Rossian, Asa, Mattchu, Lindz

Results compiled and archived with Backstage V2.

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PRIME: Seven years of excellence! Live on HBO!