Solitary 21 opens outside the confines of the EnergySolutions Arena, but not technically outside the realms of impending doom.

Rolling down the concrete ramp into the parking lot is the stereotypical long black limousine. Headlights forewarn of arrival and urge anybody within range to step aside and allow the luxurious vehicle access to park at its leisure.

Tonight provides an aberration in the traditional form of entrance. There is an anticipation as per the normal limousine appearances, but unlike most cases, what surrounds the limousine provides a dead giveaway of the occupants inside.

A horde of Hell's Angels style bikers border every inch of the limousine, providing no wiggle room and dictating where the driver goes. The pack has to run about 20 deep and none of the guys behind the Oakley shades appear to be in a pleasant mood or happy to see cameras "just standing around" the lot. Their collective emblem reads one word, Death. PWE fans respond with the proper etiquette.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Ken (OSV): Oh boy, it appears we have an arrival and they haven't come alone.

Chris (OSV): The Amigos and whoever is with them better watch out. Jacobs brought an assload of backup.

Ken (OSV): Last week, Randolph came in with a chariot and managed to wreck Jacobs's limousine and get the jump on him twice.

About twenty feet from the door, the three lead bikers bring everybody to a halt and tease the cameras by coming inches away from the people brave enough to hold the objects. In perfect synchronization all 20 bikers come to a stop, turn off their headlights, and park their cycles around the limousine only providing a point of exit from the back two doors.

Chris (OSV): Let's see how the Amigos fare when the numbers are stacked 22 to 3. Oh man, tonight is going to be awesome!

Emerging from the right side of the limousine is an Armani shoe worth more than most outfits. A dress pant leg dangles just above the shoe while the camera appeals to all those who aren't in the loop. The pinstripe pants are wrapped around the most insured legs in PWE, no we aren't talking about Diabolique's either. Panning upward leads to a finely toned physique, muscles bulging out from underneath the black Armani dress shirt. This man walks with a swagger hard to emulate and his immaculate style leaves everybody in the EnergySoultions Arena jealous.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Or maybe they just think he's a complete tool. Whatever the reason, Chris Jacobs is making his presence felt. A smile that would put Shawn Christopher's endorsements out of business marks the tone for The Man in Black. He's not going to make a group of women erotically faint, mostly because whenever Jacobs smiles, evil intentions are not far behind.

Speaking of evil intentions...

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Popping from the left side of the limousine is six feet eight of pure unadulterated mayhem, Derek Hardaway. His jet black hair hangs from underneath a red bandanna and a denim trench coat covers the rest of his massive frame. The scowl that has been customary ever since his arrival is proudly displayed like a museum exhibit for all eyes to see.

Almost choreographed, Hardaway places his arms on the top of the limousine and rests against the body of the car.

Derek Hardaway: SO CJ...Big night tonight.

Sounding even more choreographed, Jacobs tilts his head like a movie star trying to pretend like he's not on camera.

Chris Jacobs: Sure is. I wrestle Meiou in about five minutes.

Derek Hardaway: Lob a few kicks at him for me. Little snot nosed prick.

Chris Jacobs: Tomoko Hanahara versus Runoff, huge Main Event title match.

Derek Hardaway: Whew, action packed night.

Chris Jacobs: And here we are standing out in the parking lot missing all the fun.

Derek gives a faux expression of shock.

Derek Hardaway: Are we now? I think we are having a ton of fun.

Chris Jacobs: I dunno bro, might want to see what the audience thinks about the kind of fun we're having.

Derek raises his eyebrows and bites down on his upper lip.

Derek Hardaway: They might not be ready for this.

Chris Jacobs: Gotta happen sooner or later. You know what they say...

Derek Hardaway: What do they say, CJ?

Chris Jacobs: I thought you knew.

Derek Hardaway: Nope, no idea, but I bet I know somebody who does.

Derek's head drops out of sight and the rest of his body reaches into the limousine, violently grabbing a hold of something and yanking the entire 5'4 frame out from the vehicle. When the entity wrapped in Derek Hardaway hands is revealed, widespread panic and gasps of horror rise from the Utah crowd.

Ken (OSV): Oh My God, no!

Chris (OSV): ...Yikes

Shooting his head down in a menacing manner, Derek Hardaway provides a wry smirk to the entity.

Derek Hardaway: Marie, what DO they say?

One camera, now acquired by one of the bikers, gets a close up shot of Marie. Her arms and legs are bound with rope. Mouth covered with duct tape and her face doesn't have the olive glow which normally causes males to stop and stare, blood rushing to another head on their anatomy.

Instead, she's a wave of different colors: tan, black, blue, and dark red. Bruises don her face and her clothes are ripped to almost shreds from her body. She's been severely beaten on multiple occasions. Streaks of dry blood go in pretty much every direction and no longer does she have any sort of aesthetic appeal.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

In the most calm, matter of fact, way Chris Jacobs turns to another camera cackling with laughter.

Chris Jacobs: OH WAIT, NOW I remember what they said...Don't bite off any more than you can chew.

Lifting the disoriented woman over his right shoulder, Hardaway slams the limousine door shut and stalks into the arena behind The Man in Black.

Derek Hardaway: When we say don't fuck with us Rowdy...We mean it. Either of us could easily take you out...

A lead biker throws open the door, annexing everybody backstage in the fright of seeing the mother of R.W. Randolph's kids in a light they never thought they'd see her.

Chris Jacobs: But this...oh this is FAR more fun. Tonight R.W., I teach you the lesson that no matter how hard you try...You'll never win.

Rounding the corridor, bikers enveloping and replicating their every move on all sides, Derek Hardaway and Chris Jacobs fade from camera view.

The camera cuts to an anonymous backstage. As the lyrics hit, a pair of large, swinging entry doors burst open to reveal Masaharu Tanabashi, marching toward the camera with a determined glare.

"EVOLUTION IS A MYSTERY!"

The camera is swung to the right, only to be met with a fist from the Lunatic. The lens spiderwebs and falls to the floor.

"FULL OF CHANGE THAT NO ONE SEES!"

A hand picks up the shattered lens, bringing it to the squinting eyes of Dylan Cage, who scoffs and throws it back to the floor.

"CLOCK MAKES A FOOL OF HISTORY!"

Facing upward off the floor, the lens reveals R.W. Randolph, who looks downward, smiles, and smothers the lens with a black boot.

"YESTERDAY'S TOO LONG AGO!"

Spinning left, the camera finds the looming form of Shawn Christopher. He raises his forearm, displaying the "PRAISE HUBBARD" scrawled on wrist tape. The lens is quickly diverted away from him as Citizen Truth focuses it on himself and salutes. After a few seconds of face-time, SC snarls and face-palms the lens, sending it tumbling away.

"DON'T AGREE WITH WHAT I KNOW!"

The camera is caught and brought to an abrupt halt, the scarred visage of the Tsukino Meiou holding it steady. He seems to stare through the lens, into the heart of the viewer, piercing eyes never blinking.

"TOMORROW BECOMES A NEW PLACE TO BE!"

The lens is wrenched away by the burly hands of the White Trash Trucker, revealing his growling visage. He curls his lips in before thumping his chest with his fist.

"I SEE THE LIGHT IN THE SAND!"

The lens snaps away once more, jetting further up the hall, where another door on the opposite side of the hall swings open, revealing Hawaiian Hardhead. Walking down the hall, he stops at the camera and growls. He then palms the camera, and throws it.

"EVOLUTION!"

The shot turns to black and white, revealing the faces of competitors as jagged blue lettering in the foreground presents their names. Behind it, the camera sprints down toward the end of the hall, where the silhouette of a figure stands.

"EVOLUTION!"

As the lens draws closer, we find Universal Champion Tomoko Hanahara holding the belt up to her face, adjusting a few stray hairs for the optimum experience.

"EVOLUTION!"

She smiles and waves, holding up the title, along with Elmo.

The PWE logo slams onto the screen.

Wrestling's Revolution.

This is P W E.

Fading back to a rather stunned Utah crowd, they don't display the natural energy that a wrestling audience privileged to witness PWE would. They are still enraged in complete part thanks to Chris Jacobs and Derek Hardaway bringing Marie into their building.

Ken Stevenson has a discontent expression plastered across his mug, pretty much the exact same look whenever Jacobs appears on the screen. Chris Carter is happy as a clam.

Ken: Good Evening ladies and Gentlemen, and I'm sorry that you had to witness that opening segment.

Chris: We've already started the night off with a surprise. PWE, FX, Wednesday, FULL OF MYSTERY!

Ken: Can you show a little respect for once?

Chris: When society gives me the respect I deserve for being a fat, out of shape pervert with a foot fetish, then yes I will show respect.

Ken: Go to hell, Chris.

Chris: Already there, Ken. Literally. You can marry multiple women in this state. HUZZAH!

Ken: ...Tonight, we have four matches coming up for you that are sure to rock the house. First, the man you just saw will compete against Tsukino Meiou.

Chris: You see, it's immigrants like that looking to take over our jobs. What a disgusting sight.

Ken: I'm not dignifying that with a response.

Chris: You just did.

Ken: ...Chris Stevens will look to continue his momentum by taking on the newcomer Rex Raptor.

Chris: I don't like Stevens' chances.

Ken: Legion makes his return to Solitary against PWE's most unstoppable force, Citizen Truth. That is not going to be a fun return for the former Xander Azula.

Chris: Facing Citizen Truth is like encountering an entire army. If PWE's One Man Legion doesn't bring his A game, he might find himself on the scrap heap.

Ken: And in the Main Event, a rather interesting title match will occur. Tomoko Hanahara will defend the Universal title against the man who put her out of the State Penn match, Runoff.

Chris: Some fireworks are going to fly in that match.

Ken: Will the Universal title curse continue?

Chris: We'll be right back after these commercial messages.

Commercial

Chris: You really don't understand how deep the Randolph vs Jacobs war goes do you Ken?

Ken: Does anybody? I mean it's one thing to beat someone in front of the capacity crowd, throw them through a window, play mind games with them, but kidnap the mother of a man's children?

Chris: Jacobs can do whatever he wants, whenever he wants.

Ken: Kidnapping crosses a line, Chris. Plain and simple. Jacobs and Hardaway shouldn't be allowed on the PWE roster after tonight.

Chris: You know that won't happen. They are big bidness and could you really tell those two guys to hit the bricks after seeing them KIDNAP someone? Come on now.

Ken: Morally corrupt human beings. I hope Meiou tears Jacobs a new one.

Colin Peterson: The following contest is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, from Tokyo, Japan, weighing in at 220 pounds...THE DARK KING, TSUKINO MEIOOOOUUUUUUUUU!

"The Dark Ride" by Helloween

Meiou strolls out of the back to an ovation from some of the crowd, to which he replies with a simple nod, before jogging down towards the ring.

Meiou acknowledges fans at ringside and plays to the crowd before sliding into the ring and jumping up to each turnbuckle to give the crowd a fist pump. He then dismounts from the last turnbuckle and removes his leather jacket prior to stretching before the bout begins.

Ken: I hope this turns into a giant ambush. Tanabashi and Randolph are going to come out of no where and beat Jacobs to a pulp.

Chris: You think Tanabashi is going to risk coming out here with his back problems?

Ken: I would hope for the sake of decency that he does!

CP: Introd-

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Ken: I know our fans aren't supposed to get involved, but I hope someone from the crowd gets a good hold of Jacobs and beats some damn sense into him!

CP: Hailing-

DIE JACOBS DIE! DIE JACOBS DIE! DIE JACOBS DIE! DIE JACOBS DIE! DIE JACOBS DIE!

Chris: Someone get kid a megaphone, greatness can't be introduced over this hater noise.

The longstanding PWE announcer goes to raise the microphone to his lips again, but the vengeful chant hasn't calmed.

DIE JACOBS DIE! DIE JACOBS DIE! DIE JACOBS DIE! DIE JACOBS DIE! DIE JACOBS DIE!

He drops the microphone and makes a hand gesture to the sound technicians for CJ's entrance to get fired up.

GOD SAID THAT A MAN SHOULD WORK WITH HIS HANDS!

The infamous words spoken to R.W. Randolph moments before he was decimated in the State Penn resonate throughout the building. The source of said voice sends white hot heat through the crowd. They are ready to riot.

DIE JACOBS DIE! DIE JACOBS DIE! DIE JACOBS DIE! DIE JACOBS DIE! DIE JACOBS DIE!

All the lights shut off. Pitch black. Sporadic lighters pop up throughout the crowd, but the rage of enthusiastic PWE fans only intensifies as Peter Frampton slowly glides his fingers over an acoustic guitar in the fashion of Chris Cornell. This man doesn't have many fans anywhere he goes. Especially not after what he just did.

A cascading wave of black pyrotechnics sends smoke out into the people and a pair of dark brown eyes invade the EVO*View.

DIE JACOBS DIE! DIE JACOBS DIE! DIE JACOBS DIE! DIE JACOBS DIE! DIE JACOBS DIE!

Speaking of the devil, the gigantic eyes stop blinking and his name appears in massive black letters on every screen throughout the Arena.

The curtain is thrown open. With a long leather trench coat covering his body, CJ steps onto the stage and cracks a mischievous smile. He relishes in the crowd noise, which is to the point of insanity. Utah is begging Jacobs to come down the aisle so they can get a piece of him.

No entrance video highlighting his accolades assists him to the ring, he doesn't need one with all the bodies he's laid out, and PWE fans aren't foreign to his macabre ways.

DIE JACOBS DIE! DIE JACOBS DIE! DIE JACOBS DIE! DIE JACOBS DIE! DIE JACOBS DIE!

Slowly walking down the aisle, Jacobs hears the business from any and everybody at the ringside area. His eyes shift back and forth just to gauge their reactions. They are typical for The Man in Black, ignorant masses not capable of understanding his great wisdom or wrestling talent.

Once his feet tap the ringside mats, his military style walk continues around to the ringside stairs. He stands in front of the steel, taunting the crowd by leaving his back exposed. Any of them could take a swipe at him if they reached out far enough. Security is keeping a watchful eye on CJ's coat, eager to throw anybody out that touches the performing talent, even if they themselves don't agree with The Man in Black's ethics.

With calculated precision, CJ climbs up the stairs and steps between the ropes. The ring spotlights continue to fixate on his being while the leather trench coat gets unbuckled and removed from his body. Clad from head to toe in Armani's finest and blackest, CJ stands in his designated corner and rocks back and forth, waiting on the bell.

DING! DING! DING!

Meiou holds a scowl as CJ nonchalantly hops around the ring, doing his best Muhammad Ali impersonation. He's not the biggest fan of psychological warfare as it has been previously stated, so watching Marie being brought into the arena doesn't release any hatred against The Man in Black.

Jacobs goes to lock up in a collar and elbow, utilizing his power advantage, but Meiou clobbers him in the gut with a right hand. CJ spins around and gets popped in the jaw by The Dark King, sending the crowd into a frenzy when CJ's head snaps back. Meiou fires another round. Jacobs takes a step back. Another wave of excitement resonates throughout the building. CJ takes a kick to the midsection and a knife edge chop across his chest.

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Utah is all too happy to respond in typical Ric Flair fashion. Meiou winds up for another chop and lands flush on the Armani shirt.

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The Dark King grasps a hold of CJ's wrist and goes to shoot him into the buckle, but The Man in Black shows his newfound power and locks his right arm around the ropes. Meiou strains in trying to pull Jacobs out of the corner, but fails a second time. By the time his head rises up to meet Jacobs, a forearm slams into the side of his head and stumbles him backwards.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

CJ comes out of the corner slowly, stalking his prey and landing a massive open hand uppercut that rocks Meiou off the ground. When his feet establish a solid foundation, CJ spins 180 degrees and lands a spinning back kick, making The Dark King grateful that he didn't get to the catering area before the match. Jacobs shoves Meiou the rest of the way into the corner and elbows Meiou across the forehead. He'll have a nice bump to tell everybody about on the plane ride back when the adrenaline stops flowing through his body.

Chris: Jacobs loves the methodical pace where he can make his strikes hurt all that much more.

Ken: I'm sure he does, but Tsukino Meiou has a resiliency factor that hasn't been tested.

Chris: Put CJ's shin bone against any resiliency factor and tell me which one wins most of the time.

A headbutt only enhances the eventual bump on The Dark King's forehead. Jacobs takes hold of Meiou's arm and has no time launching him diagonally across the ring into the turnbuckle. Once CJ hears the sweet sound of back colliding with buckle, his feet charge ahead, arm extended forward. Meiou sees the telegraphed clothesline coming his way, and steps out of the corner, catching the arm, and annexing a forward leg trip into the equation, equaling a single arm DDT. CJ's head bounces off the canvas and Meiou leaps into action.

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Meiou puts a little English on a boot to CJ's head, sending him back down to the canvas. A standing legdrop leads into a backwards roll and dropkick to the side of the head. Jacobs is left with no choice but to hit the deck, rolling out to the floor and holding the side of his neck.

Ken: COME ON MEIOU, MAKE HIM PAY!

Meiou doesn't need to be instructed by anybody to hate Chris Jacobs. Once CJ's doubled over frame gets into his line of vision, his legs are five steps ahead of his head, rushing off the ropes and straight for Jacobs. Without any assistance or impediment from the ropes, Meiou somersaults onto The Man in Black and sends a thunderous cheer throughout the crowd.

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

A cavalcade of middle fingers find CJ's face as he uses the barricade to get back up to his feet. Meiou is pumping the crowd even more by leaping around like a Mexican jumping bean. When Jacobs gets to a knee, Meiou turns his attention to Jacobs and levels him with a boot to the ribs. CJ rolls back against the barricade and his arms are tied. Literally. Utah fans reach over the barricade and give Meiou about fifteen helping hands. Jacobs looks around, a tad unsure of what is going on, but once he finds the source of oppression, throws his legs up. While these fans might be anxious to see him get his comeuppance, none of them are stupid enough to hang their heads in front of CJ's legs. They relinquish The Man in Black, but Jacobs doesn't walk away from the scene unscathed. A Shining Wizard finds the side of his head and the only thing Jacobs sees are two rolling King over his head.

Ken: Yeah! That's what the crowd came here to see!

Chris: Sheesh, and I thought I was supposed to be the one that held bias at this table.

Ken: Anytime Jacobs gets hurt, I become a happy panda.

Chris: What happens if he keeps winning? He's won his last three non-Penn matches.

Meiou walks over to The Man in Black, hoists him up to his feet, and clobbers him with another right hand. CJ trips over a cable and stumbles backwards into the ring apron. The Dark King bolts forward, leaping into the air and putting both of his knees into CJ's sternum. Meiou quickly shifts his feet and drops backwards, flipping CJ overhead in a monkey flip that puts The Man in Black face first on the steel ramp.

YEAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

CJ's instincts kick in, almost forcing him to a standing position, but his body isn't ready to continue. He slams back into the mat and soaks in the pain that Meiou is dishing out. He knows how high of a pain tolerance he holds, and if he keeps taking too many moves to the head, his night will start off in fashion not to his liking.

Ken: The referee being extremely lenient in the count here. You have to wonder if even the officials find CJ's actions reprehensible.

Chris: They need to step in there and disqualify Meiou for using weapons. He tried to outsource his offense on Jacobs to the crowd. That's cheating!

Ken: An interesting and yet ludicrous philosophy.

Chris: Well I can say with certainty that my tongue has been far more objective here tonight than yours.

Meiou puts his suspiciously well manicured hands on CJ's poodle hairstyle, bringing him from the steel and heading toward the ring. Unfortunately, when Meiou goes to change positions and shove CJ under the bottom rope, the dynamic of the match changes. CJ locks his arms around Meiou waist and slings him over in a belly to back suplex. The back of Meiou head slams into the steel and both wrestlers are down on the ground.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Chris: There you go Jacobs, get the match back on an even keel.

Ken: The sickening sound that Meiou head made bouncing off the steel! Ugh.

Chris: Yeah, I didn't see you saying any of that when Jacobs was being held by the capacity crowd. Oh but when the guy who brought over the bird flu gets hurt, you turn into a thirteen year old with the OMGISHEALRIGHT? You make me sick!

Jacobs rolls over onto his stomach and rises to his knees, grinning at Meiou who is trying to inadvertently imitate CJ's movements. The Man in Black rushes over and plants a knee into the side of Meiou head, much to the delight of Utah who is still booing CJ like he's Michael Jordan. The Sandman pulls his rival up, backs him against the barricade, and winds up a devastating front hand slap. Nobody gives CJ the satisfaction of a WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, so he elects to smack CJ twice as hard. The recoil sends CJ off the ropes and back underneath the bottom rope, looking for some kind of relief.

Chris: You ain't gonna find any relief in there Dark King, Jacobs is coming for your punk ass.

The Man in Black slides underneath the bottom rope and stalks Meiou, who is still clutching his best. A boot finds the spine. Meiou goes down to the canvas and Jacobs plants an elbow in between the shoulder blades. CJ rolls away from Meiou and straddles over him, arms down at the waist ready to lock. CJ takes a quick scan back to ensure he has enough distance to complete the move that he desires. His head snaps back around, his arms reach up and pull Meiou from the canvas, continuing in an overhead sling that ends with Meiou landing on his neck in a nasty German suplex.

"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

Chris: Straight up thug right there.

COVER!

ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-

Meiou kicks out before the three count. CJ rolls his eyes and spins his body around, looking at Meiou's face, chock full of agony. That move did no favors for his neck and CJ knows the smell of blood better than most on the roster. With a sadistic smile on his face, The Man in Black grabs a hold of Meiou by the shoulders and plants a knee into his cheekbone, knocking him for a loop. There aren't any rules about kneeing a downed opponent to the head in PWE, but a few in the crowd are screaming for disqualification. CJ backs Meiou up, rocks him with a forearm to the jaw, and sends him into the ropes. The Man in Black drops to a three point stance and bolts forward, looking for a big time knee to the head.

BOOOOOO-RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Meiou caught Jacobs in mid air and assisted his momentum in throwing him over belly to belly suplex style. CJ's feet fold his body against the ropes and Meiou senses opportunity. Firing himself off the ropes, Meiou gets right up in CJ's grill and unleashes a running enziguri. The Man in Black is teetering and Meiou isn't going to give him an unnecessary second of respite. Going over to the ropes, Meiou shows his athleticism, splitting his legs across the top rope and backflipping onto CJ's sternum, connecting on a leg drop. Rolling back, Meiou catches CJ just as he's rolling over and connects with a move that is quite insulting to The Man in Black.

Ken: GOOD TIMES PAINFUL MEMORIES! HE JUST KNOCKED JACOBS DOWN WITH HIS OWN FINISHER!

Chris: RIGGED! RIGGED! RIGGED!

Meiou falls down for a cover.

ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-

CJ's shoulder forces itself from the oppressed position at the last available second. Meiou looks over at Elvis Nixon with a disgruntled expression, only seeing two fingers put back in his face. The Dark King has to shrug his shoulders, knowing that he was only a moment away from putting one of the hottest superstars down for a much needed win. He grabs CJ by the neck, locks in a Front Chancery and backs up to the ropes. Meiou puts one of his feet into the second rope and propels off, keeping the facelock applied, and drops Jacobs throat first across the top rope while landing on the apron.

Ken: Meiou could be going for the win here!

Displaying his quick reflexes, Meiou leaps onto the top rope and heads straight for CJ's shoulders. Once his legs wrap around the neck, Meiou goes for a hurricanrana but CJ's power doesn't allow for Meiou to get the full extension. Jacobs violently pulls Meiou up to his shoulders and launches him off, catching him in a Muay Thai clinch on the way down and planting a knee into the forehead. Meiou's knees goes out from underneath him and CJ goes on top for a cover.

ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Meiou has enough energy left in the tank to kick out from the brutal knee, although he's not entirely there. When he tries to stand, his legs can't support the rest of his weight. CJ lets out an exhale of frustration before rolling to his right and standing up. A right hand finds Meiou's jaw. Left hook taps the cheek. A knee backs Meiou into the ropes, and an elbow to the back of The Dark King's head sends him down to the canvas.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Chris: These people are immediately on CJ's case whenever he gains any offense, but they are all lovey dovey for Meiou. It just goes to show that Utah doesn't know great wrestling talent.

Ken: Or they have a sense of compassion for women.

Chris: HAHAHA, yeah ok, tell that to the six women in between old man's legs competing for the two inches of co-

Ken: CHRIS!

Chris: Co...mpany? Yeah I can't follow that up. It was what I said it was...AND I DIDN'T SAY IT FAST ENOUGH! I LET MYSELF OFF THE HOOK! NOW I'M GONNA GO CROWN SOMEBODY'S ASS!

Jacobs picks Meiou up and puts him into the ropes. Meiou would bounce off if he didn't turn his body 180 degrees, walk up the ropes like he was in The Matrix, and backflip through the air with an impressive moonsault.

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-

CJ throws his shoulder out again, preventing what could be considered an upset. Meiou has the match just where he wants it, even if he's on the verge of collapsing from CJ's strikes. The Dark King takes a step outside of the ring, holding the apron and ascending the ropes for another high impact maneuver. He looks down at his rival, spits on him, and soars through the air amidst a wave of flashbulbs for a high impact frog splash.

Jacobs rolls out of the way.

Meiou flips through and lands on his feet, shooting off the ropes and going for one of his finishers, the Kenka Kick.

Jacobs hits the deck and lets Meiou go through the ropes, feet first. Showing his BJ Penn flexibility, Meiou goes through the ropes without sustaining any damage. CJ rises from his feet, bounces off the cables, charges ahead, and goes for a suicide dive of his own.

Meiou spins around with just enough time to hook Jacobs and twirl his body 180 degrees in a neckbreaker.

"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

Ken: Wow! What a sequence, and it ended with Jacobs paying the price for taking a risk.

Chris: What a joke. I can't believe the referee would allow such atrocities to occur. One of PWE's elite could have a career ending neck injury and he's going to allow Meiou to high five the audience.

Indeed, Meiou is up and giving the audience some much needed dap. Beer cups and popcorn bags are thrown on top of the recovering Man in Black. The next fan he high fives informs Meiou of this, causing him to turn around and grab CJ. Meiou elbows him in the head and puts him back into the ring. The Dark King jumps onto the apron and hops onto the top rope, taking a quick second to gauge the distance between CJ and himself.

Ken: MOONSAULT ON THE WAY!

Meiou quickly contorts his body backwards, anticipating to collide with CJ's body on the way down.

Well, he does collide with the body, but it's not the impact he desired. He didn't expect a swollen jaw from CJ's razor sharp knee either.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Jacobs rolls away from the kneeling Meiou and kips up to his feet. With a sly grin on his face, CJ rushes over to Meiou and sends his knee in between Meiou eyes. CJ locks the clinch, forcing Meiou back into the corner, and throws massive knee strikes into the face. Meiou has no choice, at this critical stage in the match, to cover up and let his arms take most of the punishment. CJ feigns stopping, getting Meiou to drop his guard, and placing one against the lips, splitting the top and rattling those teeth.

The Man in Black whips Meiou into the ropes and goes for a standing side kick to the chin, but Meiou catches the foot, spins CJ and puts both knees into his back.

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

CJ stays on his back and Meiou goes to the outside one more time. Jumping to the top rope this time, he wastes even less time than before in throwing his body backwards for the Moonsault.

Unfortunately, CJ kips up faster than the previous time as well. He's got his body ready, coiled, and amped to strike.

Tsukino Meiou has no idea what's about to him.

When he doesn't see CJ on the canvas halfway through his rotation, Meiou knows that his night is as good as over.

CJ flips the finger to Utah and slams his shinbone into Meiou' head, sending him on a one way trip down. His hands can't protect his face from smacking against the canvas. His body is unconscious.

Chris: GOOD TIMES PAINFUL MEMORIES! BOOK THAT SHIT!

CJ turns Meiou over and wraps his limp leg up with his arm.

ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

DING! DING! DING!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Elvis Nixon immediately rushes over to check on Meiou while CJ rolls away from the scene, refusing to have his hand raised or acknowledge the crowd. He's proven his point.

The crowd is still white hot, but he doesn't care. He's got to get back into the locker room area and ensure that his captive is still locked in her special room.

Ken: Jacobs leaving the ring very fast, and I can't blame him. This crowd is ready to kill him.

Chris: You know CJ could take the entire building down with one kick. He's got Chuck Norris ability with his legs.

CP: The winner of the match...CHRIS JACOBS!

This is how it begins. A rumble so loud it shakes the very foundations of the EnergySolutions Arena. Even within the sheltered confines of the parking garage R.W. Randolph can feel the vibrations of a mighty welcome from Utah. The door to his rental truck slams shut and Randolph takes just a moment to adjust his leather jacket before moving toward the entrance. His steps echo hollow in an otherwise empty parking garage. The Broken Saint strides forward with confidence. The fledgling starts of his trademark smile are beginning to form at the corners of his lips.

The blue metal door separating him from the arena bursts open with such force that the door snaps back on its hinges and almost smashes the harried figure rushing through. Bob Catholic stumbles. Falters. Almost face plants on the concrete. Randolph actually sweeps across the few yards between them to grab the PWE stalwart by the shoulders and steady.

Randolph: For the love of whiskey, kid. Slow down. You’re gonna kill yourself.

Catholic nods his appreciation. Hands on knees, the interviewer takes a half dozen deep breaths to try and refill his lungs. The gods know how much of this arena Catholic had to sprint through once he saw Randolph step out of that rental.

Randolph: What’s with all the hubbub, kid? Couldn’t wait ‘til I stepped inside to ask whatever you were gonna ask?

Catholic: Chris… He was… Jacobs has…

Randolph: Seriously. Take a breath. Don’t worry about, Emo. After last week, I’d be surprised if he even showed up at all tonight.

The interviewer’s head pops up. Suddenly composure has returned. He looks up at Randolph with an expression equal parts shock and confusion.

Catholic: You… you don’t know?

Randolph: Know what, Bobby?

Catholic: Chris Jacobs is already here. He arrived earlier with… with… you really don’t know, do you?

Randolph: Not gonna ask again.

Catholic: Marie. Him and Hardaway showed up with Marie and this army of bikers. She… it looked like… I mean, they…

"They beat her pretty bad, Rowdy."

Catholic nearly jumps from his shoes at the unexpected addition of his voice. The interviewer turns a startled and accusing glance over his shoulder. There, standing in the doorway from which he himself had just stumbled, was Masaharu Tanabashi. The Steel Cage Warrior was drained of all his usual swagger. He lacked the glint of confidence that usually twinkled in his eye. Added that extra sparkle to his smile. The Warrior was nothing but compassion and sympathy.

Tanabashi: I called you at least five times. You didn't answer.

The intended recipient of his statement does not look up. His eyes are narrow slits. His hands are balled in fists. He stares straight into the ground. The cold concrete. A shiver begins in the fingers of his right fist. It works up his arm. Through the shoulder and torso. His entire body momentarily trembles with a small but noticeable tremor. He speaks in a quiet whisper. Emotionless.

Randolph: Where is she?

Catholic: I… I don’t… I mean no one’s even seen her since…

The Broken Saint strikes with the ferocity and swiftness of a viper. Catholic emits a groan when the two fists slam into his solar plexus. Almost whines when his feet are yanked from the ground. Another pained groan when his back thumps against the cold metal door. Catholic dangles a good five inches off the ground. He can feel the heat actually emanating from Randolph’s body. The look in R.W.’s eyes is inhuman. Primal and vicious and absolutely terrifying.

It is the look of a madman.

Randolph: "WHERE IS SHE?!"

It’s as much of a roar as a question. Catholic can barely breathe. The pressure on his chest is increasing. Pinned between rage and the unforgiving metal door. MT immediately steps up and wraps his fingers around Randolph’s forearm.

Tanabashi: Rowdy, he doesn't know. Neither do I. But I'm working on it. You need to drop him.

A handful of seconds pass. Not one of the three of them move. The Warrior’s grip tightens to a clench. The Saint’s releases entirely. He seethes for a single second. Catholic is down on a knee trying to catch his breath yet again. R.W.’s fist rushes forward. Flesh and bone crunch against the thickness of metal. Tiny drops of blood explode from the center of impact. Splatter across the face of the door.

Randolph rips the door open and storms into the EnergySolutions Arena.

His Highness takes a moment to help Catholic back up to his feet. Attempts to iron out his polo with the palms of his hands.

Catholic: What’s he… what do you think he’s going to do?

Tanabashi: Knowing Randolph? Probably going to kill someone.

Catholic: What are you going to do?

The Warrior’s eyes shift distant. Looking through the door. Not just at it. Looking into the arena. Into the future and the carnage he knows will follow. Into himself for the answer to Catholic’s question.

Tanabashi: Knowing Randolph?

Catholic: Yeah.

Tanabashi: Help him find her and stop him from killing anyone not named Jacobs, Hardaway, or Disposable Biker.

With much less hatred but just as much determination, the Steel Cage Warrior pulls open the door to the arena and follows in the heated footsteps of R.W. Randolph. Should be easy enough to find him again.

Just follow the screaming.

Usually, it means that someone would rather not get their hands dirty. And on this evening, it is the Cult Icon who’s looking to keep his hands clean.

Making his way through the many backstage corridors of the EnergySolutions Arena, Shawn Christopher is certainly dressed the part of a gentleman looking to steer clear of anything messy. His black, pinstriped suit fits perfectly and the yellow handkerchief folded neatly in his jacket pocket perfectly matches his shirt and striped tie. All in all, the former "Chairman" looks like he’s about to pitch a major business proposal.

And in a manner of speaking… he is.

He’s about to make a simple, yet unnerving proposal to the sort of person that you’d typically go out of your way to avoid. Given his own history with the man, SC’s uneasiness was warranted.

Rounding a corner and passing a catering table (complete with a multitude of cheeses), Shawn stops in front of a closed door. Taking a deep breath, The Cult Icon reaches out and knocks three times quickly on the door.

Shawn Christopher: Hope they doesn’t have that god damned 2x4 with ‘im.

"Hawaiian Hardhead”

From there, “Different Girl” by Nu Jersey Devil ft. Lil Wayne started playing, and The Insane Delgado himself hit the stage, Hawaiian Hardhead. He was wearing some jeans, shades, sneakers, and, of course, his t-shirt. This week, Green Day, 21st Century Breakdown. He walks to the ring, and when he arrives, he grabs his barbed wire baseball bat and rolls under the bottom rope. He then climbs up a turnbuckle and raises the bat up as fireworks go off. HHH then drops the bat and gets a mic, speaking his thoughts.

HHH: How’s Salt Lake City doing?

The crowd gives him a general reaction of cheering the roof of.

HHH: Sweet! Alright! As you all know, I am the State Penn winner, thus giving myself a golden ticket. I’ve put a lot of thought into it, and I have come to a conclusion. I’ve talked to a lot of people about this, and they’re word has decided nothing!

The crowd goes crazy

HHH: I’ve made my decision and it is final. Christian Connolly! Get your legendary ass out here now!

It doesn't take long for Christian Connolly to step out from the back to a rousing ovation, with even a "LEGEND" chant breaking out. He walks down the aisle, slapping hands with many of the fans before climbing onto the apron and stepping into the ring. He pulls a mic from his back pocket.

Connolly: Is there something I can help you with, Hardhead?

HHH paces around the ring a bit before stopping.

HHH: I have actually come to a decision about what I am going to do with my ticket. But I have a question to ask you before I announce it; do you like being the Owner of PWE?

Connolly: Well, yeah, I made it, I love this place.

HHH: I didn’t ask for your life story, I asked you if you like being the Owner of PWE?

Connolly: Well, yeah, I suppose I do--... oh no.

The crowd starts cheering. It starts out low and calm, but more people join in when they realize what HHH is getting it. Hardhead raises his eyebrows at Christian.

HHH: Christian Connolly, I am cashing in my Golden Ticket. The prize?

Connolly tries to bargain with HHH, get him to stop, but it’s no use. The crowd is eagerly awaiting the inevitable answer.

HHH: I want-

The lights suddenly go out in the arena and the crowd gasps in shock. During the darkness, a few words appear on the titantron, revealing the only light. The words?

“No Mercy”
“Blood Will Be Spilled”
“PWE”
“A Poison Is Injected”
“The End…Is Here!”

When the words disappear, the lights come back on, and HHH is seen with a sick smile on his face and the barbed wire baseball bat in his hand. The target: Christian Connolly! Christian’s eyes get wide as he rolls out of the ring as HHH charges. The bat hits the top rope, narrowly avoiding Christian. HHH gets a mic and holds the bat up.

HHH: Here’s Jackie!

The crowd goes crazy for the arrival of one of their favorite alter-egos.

Jack Deathshot: I am Jack Deathshot, and let’s just say; that due to this body holding a “golden ticket”, whatever in the fuck that is, I can do what I want, when I want to do it? Why? Because I can cash this in at anytime, for any reason, and nobody would be able to stop me.

The crowd goes crazy once more

Deathshot: PWE! CC! I’m putting you on notice!

He’s now hanging on the ropes, looking at CC.

Deathshot: PWE is mine now! And to put it mildly, everybody in this shit hole of a federation, is now my bitch!

He throws the mic out of the ring and hops off, celebrating to the crowd as he celebrates with the fans, getting on ropes and holding his bat up. It fades to a commercial from there.

She is PWE’s head hair dresser. Her work is seen every week on national television by millions of viewers. She is one of the most well-paid women in the business. She absolutely loves her job. She loves the excitement. Secretly, Martha has always wanted to appear on an episode of Solitary. For maybe just a second. Just long enough to smile at Tanabashi as he walks down the hall. Maybe share a piece of food with Tsukino Meiou or discuss the finer intricacies of misdemeanor defense with Jessica Shaw.

This is her moment. This is the opportunity she has so quietly been waiting for. Her first appearance on PWE television. Her first chance to speak. For her voice to be heard by the millions upon millions of PWE fans around the globe. This is the final repayment for her dedicated service.

Martha Cunningham opens her mouth and screams.

Four hundred pounds of worn leather, greasy hair and bad attitude crashes through her makeshift dressing station. The mammoth of a man staggers to his feet. Boots slip upon the now expelled fluids of broken canisters and cracked spray bottles. The intruder stumbles into the wall. Blood streaks the white paint where his shoulder smears across. The goliath puts a meaty palm to the blood stains and pushes, shoving himself away from the wall. Sausage-like fingers futilely attempt to stem the tide of blood gushing from a large gash at his hairline. His entire forehead is stained red. Goatee crusted with dried blood and soaked with fresh. His leather chaps and vest are both splattered with darkened circles that one can only presume to be blood as well. The walking blood fountain loses his footing on a slippery comb and drops hard to a knee. Hunched there in the hall, Martha can now read the single word stitched across the wide back of the man’s vest.

Death.

Glass crunches beneath the determined step of another boot. Not riding boots, like the unfortunate victim hunched in the hall now. No. These are the infamous military issues of a certain PWE favorite.

R.W. Randolph steps into the scene with a smile. Not the usual and patented smile he’s become so well known for. Not the kind of smile that soils women’s undergarments the world over. This is a sick and twisted expression of pleasure. Something diabolical and just… wrong. The Broken Saint is staring down at the bloodied figure of a man known as Bones Jr. He is staring down at a victim. His victim. Randolph looks down upon the carnage his own hands have wrought. The sight brings a smile to his face.

He steps forward. Ragged, torn jeans are stained with huge splotches of dark red. His bare torso is streaked with blood. Even his face is spotted with the drying remnants of blood splatter. Randolph stalks forward and snatches a handful of the biker’s greasy, blood soaked hair. His right fist tightens around the stringy mane, ensuring a sturdy grip. He pulls back, forcing Bones Jr. to raise his face. Then with a swiftness that fans are quickly coming to expect from Randolph… a denim clad knee rockets up into the grizzled grill of the biker. Teeth shatter on impact. Tiny enamel shards and whole splinters of tooth expelled from the blow. The already crooked and pockmarked nose crumples. Explodes. Deep crimson splashes from the epicenter of impact. Bones Jr. slumps. Barley conscious. R.W.’s tightening grip on his hair is the only thing keeping the biker from collapsing to the floor. The Broken Saint looks up and, seemingly for the first time, notices Martha Cunningham.

Randolph: Sorry, Rogue. Didn’t see ya there. Little caught up in the action, I suppose.

Martha nods out of sheer survival instinct. She is in utter shock. As frightened of Randolph as she is the behemoth in his grasp. Probably more so. The muscles in her legs are cured of amnesia. Frozen no longer, Martha Cunningham remembers how to move. How to run. She wastes no time in doing so. Her hasty exit provides Randolph a clear path toward his next point of destruction. Bones Jr. is just conscious enough to follow along as Randolph leads him forward. The walk is a quick struggle between captor and captive before Randolph finally releases his hold on the greasy strings of hair. Bones Jr. stumbles and falls, collapsing against the glass window of a vending machine. Blood streaks across the window. The cool glass is a sweet relief against his cheek.

Randolph: Where is she?

There is no response. R.W. sighs and kneels down next to the slumped mass of biker.

Randolph: Where is she?

Bones Jr. finds the strength within to raise his face from the glass. He opens his mouth and answers with a mouthful of blood spit right in R.W.’s face. The retort is immediate. A palm to the side of the head. Right at the temple. The biker’s head slams into the vending machine. Spindly cracks race out in all directions from the center of impact.

Randolph: Where is she?

Nothing. R.W. sighs again. Now he stands. A handful of paces put Randolph at the opposite side of the hall. Not much distance between him and ol’ Bones… but just enough that he can get a running start. The sole of his military issue flattens the biker’s face. His head snaps back and cracks against the glass in almost the same exact spot. This time the window shatters. Shards of glass tinkle down around the biker’s near lifeless body.

A whistle from across the hall pulls R.W.’s attention away from finishing the job. He turns and marches down the hall without so much as a second glance down at Bones Jr. Doubtful he’ll be going too far. Randolph retraces his steps down the hall. There, in the debris of the hairdresser’s station, he meets his first adversary. Another of CJ’s bikers come to claim his friend. R.W. doubles his pace and, just before meeting the biker, drops down and slides across the slick hall floor. The biker doesn’t have time to react before Rayne bowls through him with a shoulder block into both knees. R.W. sends his adversary tumbling over with a variation on the back body drop.

Another biker is following very close behind. This time it’s R.W. who does not have adequate time to respond. The biker snatches the Broken Saint up in a front chancery and immediately unloads with a flurry of rabbit punches right in the kidney. R.W. barely even feels them. He pushes his weight forward, actually pressing into the clinch and forcing the grip to loosen. Just enough room to wiggle and R.W.’s right leg is coming up to catch the biker right across the side of the face. His grip loosens completely. R.W. drops to the ground Johnny Cage style and blasts the biker with an uppercut to the groin.

The biker doubles over and R.W. springs right to his feet. He grabs the hunched biker by hair and ass and shoves him forward, using him as a battering ram to offset the rise of his friend. The first biker stumbles back and the second is dropped with a swift kick to the back of the knee. R.W.’s foot finds purchase at the back of the biker’s head. It isn’t a kick. R.W. presses forward and slams the biker face first to the hall floor.

Curb stomp.

The other biker is quick to try and take advantage. His fist flies right in at R.W.’s head. R.W. catches him by the wrist and yanks forward. The biker stumbles into a vicious headbutt to the sternum and drops to both knees. Breathless and clutching his chest. Defenseless. R.W. drops the point of his elbow right on the crown of the biker’s head.

Knockout.

Footsteps approach quickly from behind. R.W. turns… but it’s too late. The switchblade is already descending. This is going to… a thin and deceptively strong hand wraps around the descending forearm. The surprise attacker is shoved away with quite some force. He stumbles back and a blaze of black hair steps between the two men. An even bigger surprise looked both men in the eye.

Trent Taylor: Now now, boys. You should learn to play nice.

The switchblade-wielding biker growls. Switchblade rushes forward. All rage and no grace. Taylor is faster. He is in control. He simply sidesteps his brutish attack and shoves the biker face first into the wall. Switchblade bounces off and recovers quickly… but not before Trent has a chance to wrench a fire extinguisher from that very same wall. Both come to face at the same time, but as we’ve already proven… Taylor is much quicker. A windmill swing with that fire extinguisher puts a cylinder of red metal hard and deep in the biker’s groin. He drops his switchblade. Trent spins ‘round and brings that fire extinguisher in a big circle. It meets the side of his head with a very solid and cringe worthy thunk. He meets the floor with a very solid and resounding thud. The blood oozing from the side of his head is almost inconsequential in the larger scheme of gallons sprayed across the EnergySolutions Arena so far tonight.

The stitches he’ll receive later should serve as a reminder. Trent Taylor isn’t just a man. He’s a gods damned Enforcer.

Trent Taylor: Too bad Scott Boras isn't my agent. With that home run swing, he could milk at least another hundred grand out of C2's pockets.

Randolph: No disrespect, but what the fuck are you doing here?

Taylor: ... I'm helping to right a wrong.

The uncrowned victors share a brief smile and nod. Randolph turns back to the wreckage of Martha Cunningham’s workstation and sifts through the debris for… ah. Here we go. The Broken Saint recovers two pair of scissors from the destruction and stalks back toward the vending machine.

Bones Jr. has managed to crawl farther than Randolph would have expected. He is a good foot or so from where he lay before. Now resting against the cold plastic cover of the Pepsi machine. His left eye is completely swollen shut… but the right one can see well enough to see R.W. coming. The biker raises his hands in submission. Possibly a half-hearted attempt to defend himself. Either way, it doesn’t work.

R.W. lunges forward with the scissors. Metal pierces flesh. Flesh slams against plastic. Metal pierces plastic. Bones Jr. is pinned to the Pepsi machine by a pair of scissors. His fingers wiggle and spasm as torn and shredded ligaments scream in pain.

Maybe that’s just Bones screaming.

Randolph: Where is she?

Bones Jr.: Go fuck yourself.

There were two pair of scissors recovered from the remains of Martha’s station. One of them has currently pinned Bones’ hand to the Pepsi machine. The other is still quite readily available for use. Another snake-like strike pierces the biker’s thigh.

Randolph: Where is she?

Bones Jr.: Fuck your mother.

The next strike gauges a hole in the biker’s bicep.

Randolph: Where is she?

Credit for his resistance. Randolph punches three times. Three stabs that jab three different openings in Bones’ abdomen. Blood flows quite freely from the new wounds. Alarmingly freely, in fact.

Randolph: "WHERE IS SHE?!"

"Randolph!"

Both he and Trent Taylor turn at the call. Tsukino Meiou bounds down the hall, head swiveling to observe the ghastly amount of carnage in this tiny little hallway.

Tsukino Meiou: Damn, man. You… I… whoa.

There is a path of chaos torn throughout the whole of the EnergySolutions Arena. The broken bodies of bikers lay tossed in all corners and crannies. Broken tech equipment. Wrecked make-up stations. It is an unprecedented amount of bloodshed for one Solitary. The Dark King has ran through all of that. Followed the trail from beginning to this end. Seen things he never thought he’d seen in PWE. Still… here… nothing compares to the sight of a man on the verge of death. Death at the hands of a friend.

Trent Taylor: What is it, Meiou?

Tsukino Meiou: The uh… C2’s called in the cavalry, bruh. S.W.A.T Team. Riot cops. The whole nine. They’re lookin’ for everybody somethin’ fierce and, well… you kinda left a hell of a trail of breadcrumbs.

Taylor: Damnit. Biker scum are one thing, man. We can’t just go around beating the shit out of cops and-

Randolph: I will ask you one last time.

The statement is directed solely at Bones Jr. The scissors are pressed directly against the biker’s neck. The point slices through flesh with ease. Not deep. Not enough to leave a permanent wound. Just enough to draw blood. To make a statement of intent.

Randolph: Where is she?

Bones Jr.: Fuck. Yeah. Fine. I’ll tell ya.

The growling roar of a motorcycle engine.

Derek Hardaway surely isn’t the only one to hear it. The roar is simply too loud. These halls far too good a conductor of noise. Everyone in the backstage area must hear the dam thing revving. Hardaway, however, is the only one in this particular hallway. He is the only one this close to the source of the disturbance. He is the only one who can actually see the motorcycle.

He is the only one who can see Randolph riding that gods damned thing through the hall.

The motorcycle zooms down the hallway with reckless abandon. Even the mighty Derek Hardaway is momentarily caught frozen with disbelief. Randolph cranks on the throttle and speeds even further down the hall. There is nowhere to go. Nowhere to run. There is simply no way Hardaway can outpace the motorcycle. So he stands his ground. He calculates a plan in his head. He is bigger than Randolph. He has a reach advantage. A power advantage. With Randolph on that motorcycle, he even has an unusual maneuverability advantage. He just has to avoid the initial pass and then…

Randolph leans hard to his left. He turns the handlebars along with the rest of his body. The motorcycle falls. Randolph just manages to pull his leg out from underneath before it is crushed beneath the weight of the vehicle. Sparks brighten the hall as metal screeches across the floor. Speed and momentum will easily send the motorcycle crashing at the far end of the hall. Randolph holds tight to the handlebars. Feet pressed flat against the seat he uses the overturned bike as an impromptu luge to surf down the hall. On its side, the motorcycle is nearly as wide as the hall itself. There is no way Derek can dodge it. He doesn’t have time to come up with a new plan.

The searing hot metal of the motorcycle’s underbelly destroys Hardaway’s vertical base. Clips him from the kneecaps down. Hardaway tumbles over the skidding motorcycle and crashes hard to the floor. Randolph releases his grip and rolls to a stop near where Derek had been standing. He limps to his feet and stumbles after Derek. The big man is pushing himself up. Not fast enough. Randolph punts the big biker right in the ribs. A kick hard enough to drop any man. Derek grunts. Nothing more. Rowdy steps up on Derek back and executes a back flip. Lands with pointed knees right on the spine of Derek. This time the biker collapses. Down but not out. Rowdy presses both palms to the back of either shoulder and pushes himself upward. Legs fly high in the air and then descend with rocket-like speed. A knee blasts Hardaway in the side of his head. So close to the temple. Randolph rises again. The knee falls again.

Rise. Fall. Rise. Fall.

Now Hardaway isn’t moving. RW pushes himself to his feet and turns. He stares at the door. The very door Derek had been guarding. The very room Bones Jr. had told him to find. This was it. This was the end. Randolph stepped up to the door and turned the knob. The room was dark. Black. He flipped the light switch and…

Randolph: FUCK!!

Empty. The room was empty.

Randolph: FUCK!!

His forearm pounded against the door. Elbow driving repeated blows of frustration and failure into an object that was neither forgiving nor responsible.

Randolph: FUCK!! FUCK!! FUCK!! FUCK!! FUCK!!

He collapsed against the door. Forehead pressed against metal. Eyes closed tight. He fought back the tears swelling inside. The urge to scream again. The urge to give up. A thousand different urges electrifying his brain. He fought them all. Fighting all night.

How much could he even have left?

Randolph: M…

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

After his rugged method provides assurance that the camera is indeed working, he moves around to the other side and places the spotlight on the most gruesome sight of the evening, a battered Marie. Her appearance hasn't been improved ever since her re-introduction as Jacobs and Hardaway hostage, some fresh bruises appear on her face.

Sitting next to her is the man that caused of all of the ruckus, flashing the million dollar smile that Randolph is noted for. It even has the same amount of sparkle, but the amount of douchebag is through the roof.

DIE JACOBS DIE! DIE JACOBS DIE! DIE JACOBS DIE! DIE JACOBS DIE! DIE JACOBS DIE!

He wraps his arm around Marie, who initially tries to resist Jacobs.

Chris Jacobs: Bitch, I'll break your neck before they ever find you so I suggest you don't fight this.

Reluctantly, and thanks to an extra hard pull from Jacobs, Marie's head is resting on The Man in Black's shoulder.

Chris Jacobs: Wow, Tyler, seems little ol' me, this whining bitch, has you really scared. Not breaking out your chariot or talking about your funny two on one hotel room odds now are you? No, you are losing your head, trying to use your Spidey senses to find out where I am. To find out where she is. You can relax your pretty little head, nobody in the room would touch her in any of those areas.

Jacobs looks over at Marie and shudders.

Chris Jacobs: Skinny redhead doesn't really fit any of our sexual appetites. But when it comes to warfare Randolph, she's fair game. Everybody is. I hope that after tonight is over, you get it, R.W.. I hope after tonight is over you truly understand where I'm coming from. When you fuck with Chris Jacobs, bad things happen to you. When you try to end Chris Jacobs' career, bad things happen to you.

Jacobs gives a nonchalant point over to Marie.

Chris Jacobs: More specifically, bad things happen to your mind and to the ones you love. This doesn't end just because you cut a bunch of fancy promos about my "moaning and bitching" and jump me. I'm going to end your career one way or the other Rowdy, even if I have to get more extreme than this, even if I have to go deeper than this. Now...Bones Jr. will no longer be a member of Death after tonight for getting my brother run over by your bike, but that doesn't mean you are any closer to finding out where we are.

Jacobs sighs and shakes his head, pointing to the camera in a way that a parent might try to educate a child.

Chris Jacobs: Which, by the way, just throwing this out there, I'd make sure you have a good hospital room picked out because he's not gonna like that when he gets done beating up the medical staff.

All of the bikers in the room give a collective nod of their head. They know their leader.

Chris Jacobs: I used to run a fucking multi-million dollar company before I came into wrestling Rowdy, do you think I'm an idiot? Oh, the runt tells you where she is, so you go rushing there, see somebody relevant to the war, run him over, and she's supposed to be in there? You are rusty, BOY! I thought you would become a decent man after I had you thrown through the window, one who would remember how to play the psychological game like the old days. Someone who people could respect again. Nope. You are still the marketing mogul, adhering to stupid pop chants rather than focusing on the agenda. I know you got ten women clinging to your legs and feeding you pick up lines older than you, but son, I'm not here to be goofy anymore. I only came to PWE for one purpose, to put an end to you and that's exactly what I'm doing.

Jacobs stands up, shoving Marie down with one of his hands.

Chris Jacobs: Now, should you manage to figure out where I am and retrieve Marie, good for you.

Jacobs reaches off camera ans pulls out a sheet of paper.

Chris Jacobs: You wanna know how we pulled all this off, RW? Here's the spoiler. You see this piece of paper? It's what we know around the back as the run sheet... A guess as to who forked over that information to me. See, there are some people who work here who don't like you. This whole night has gone off without a hitch. I manipulated everything around this fucking place based off the run sheet.

Jacobs grins and flips the paper off camera. He instructs the cameraman to get a last good close up of Marie, who shuts her eyes and turns away from the camera.

Chris Jacobs: I'll see you later tonight Rowdy because I know exactly where you are gonna be...And you don't have a fucking clue where I am.

Cut

Feedback.

Breakneck guitar riffs.

Rapid fire blinding white strobe lights.

"I Will Be Heard" by Hatebreed.

And out he comes, the Silent Assassin, Runoff. The usually stoic Runoff is gingerly making his way to the ring.

CP: The challenger... standing six foot two inches and weighing in at two hundred forty-five pounds... RUNOFF!

Taking little time, he climbs the ring steps. Stepping through the ropes, he walks towards the near turnbuckle. Putting himself onto the middle ropes, he pumps his arms skyward, to get a huge cheers.

Runoff readies himself, slapping himself across the face and stretching his hamstrings, looking to explode out of the gate.

Red pyro fires from the entrance like an assault on the sky. As the beat of "Pray" drops, Tomoko Hanahara steps through the cloud of smoke and makes her way down the aisle.

CP: And the champion...hailing from Sapporo, Japan, and weighing in at one-hundred-sixty pounds! She is reigning and defending PWE UNIVERSAL CHAMPION! She is... TOMOKO HANAHARA!

Hanahara stops near the ring, then leaps from the floor to the apron. She briefly sneers haughtily at the audience, then towards Runoff. Patting the thing he wants most, Hanahara enters through the ropes

The bell doesn't even have a chance to ring, as Runoff tackles Yui to the canvas and starts throwing forearms to the unprepared Universal Champions head. She goes and tries to cover herself, instead opting to return the favor and go for some forearm shots of her on. Runoff, from his mount, wildly slaps her across the face a few times, getting the surrounding Salt Lake City fans cheering for even more abuse to the champion.

Picking up Yui, Runoff quickly grabbing onto her and forcing her back into the ropes, then launching her across in an irish whip. He throws a chop towards her on the carom, but she ducks it. The momentum from the amount of effort put into that missed strike causes Runoff to spin around, turning to catch Yui when she was to come off the ropes again. Thinking about it as if it was simply batting practice, Runoff readies another chop.

Only to get hit HARD with a running enzigiri.

As someone's bell get rung, the bell officially rings.

The impact drops the Silent Assassin to the canvas. Yui quickly rips the Universal Championship belt off her waist, throwing it to the canvas. The official quickly scoops it up, pulling it from the fray. He hands it to the time keeper as Runoff scrambles to his feet. Runoff is rewarded when he gets caught with a knife edge chop from Yui.

Crowd: WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Staggering a few steps, Runoff throws a chop of his own, missing as Yui ducks and gets a go behind. Before Runoff has a chance to respond, he is hit with a lightning quick uraken that catches him across the jaw. This staggers him even more, allowing her to do something that many going into the match up believed she would not be able to do against the technically proficient Runoff and snap suplex him to the canvas. Shooting to her feet, she jumps up as high as she can, then plants the heels of her boots into the head of her adversary, illiciting groans from those in attendance.

Followed by boos.

Yeah, with this main event... there were going to be a lot of those.

There's blood starting to drip from a cut on his head. A furious Yui grabs at the bandage on the forehead of her opponent, ripping it off and following up with a solid kick to the face. Scrapping the face of the challenger with her boot quickly follows, causing the referee to start barking orders for her to stop. Apparently this falls under small joint manipulation. Yui doesn't even pay attention to this, instead boot scrapping him some more, then putting her boot across his bleeding head and stepping over it.

A bell clap sounds as the balls of her feet, through her boot, smack across the head of her opponent afterwards, in a sign of disrespect. This jolts Runoff from his slumber time on the canvas, causing him to get to his feet on wobbly legs and meet a ready Yui with a forearm smash. The Universal Champion quickly rockets a chop across the chest of her opponent, goating Runoff to throw one of his own. He does, but it gets ducked. Runoff is then drop kicked, sending him crashing to the canvas.

Rather than stay and chat, Runoff bails, leaving the ring and standing outside with blood dripping down his head. Yui merely stands there, her hands on her hips, a smirk plastered on her face on having exposed this supposed MMA icon. Runoff responds in kind, only not at all kind. His reaction has more to do with him throwing a fit, slamming his fists multiple times into the ring apron. He was beat up... outclassed.

Yui launches herself from the near turnbuckle to the outside in a pescado, hitting him like a bag of rock salt. The pair tumble to the outside, with the officially immediately starting into the count out. Yui picks herself up off of the Agent of Oblivion, putting a few solid boots into the sternum of her challenger.

At the count of five, Yui brings Runoff to a stand, only to hit him with a shotei to the stomach. Runoff now doubled over, Yui follows it up by quickly grabbing onto the head of Runoff and bulldogging him onto the padding of the outside. We are to six by this point, and Yui is under the ropes and into the ring, standing right near the ropes where the Silent Assassin would go to for the shortest entrance back into the ring.

Beaten up and battered ALREADY, Runoff has to use the guardrail to lift himself up. His arms are shaking, and the fans at ringside who start patting him on the back can feel that his skin is clammy. His left arm draped over his sternum, Runoff struggles to keep himself up. The count goes to eight. Then nine. Runoff stumbles to towards the ring, only to have Yui grab onto the ropes and try to send a boot towards his head to keep him out...for the easy title defense.

No dice. Runoff grabs onto the leg, and forcefully pulls, bringing the Universal Champion out of the ring. Her weight quickly snaps to the outside padding, driving the air out of her lungs. The count officially reset, Runoff quickly plants a boot right across the head of Yui, then lifts her up, bringing her close to the guard rail. Grabbing around her neck, he russian leg sweeps the champion, allowing her back to eat the brunt of the unforgiving guard rail. She winces, her eyes screwing shut as she sits against the guard rail, grabbing at her back. Runoff gives her no quarter, quickly snapping a knife edge chop across her chest.

Crowd: WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

The shot causes her to go into convulsions, grabbing at what little chest she has and trying to scurry away on her feet. Her back to Runoff, he quickly grabs her by the shoulder and turns her around, throwing another chop towards Yui.

Crowd: WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

That one drops her, and with the count up to four already, Runoff knows he has little time to play outside. Picking her up by her jacket, he quickly puts his shoulder into her stomach. Bulling her, he charges her into the guard rail, letting her back eat it once again. Still under her with a solid grip, Runoff lifts her off the ground in a position to go for northern lights suplex. Yui thinks DDT counter. Runoff, however, just tosses her, letting her crash into the guard rail. The count at eight, and Yui now laying on the outside writhing in pain, Runoff enters the ring again.

Referee: NINE!

Yui, gritting her teeth, gets up and powers her legs towards the ring. Diving beneath the ropes, she gets inside just in time. Too bad for her though, as Runoff quickly jumps her, sending boot after boot raining down towards her back. Lifting her up, he grabs a waist lock, then tosses her overhead with a release belly to belly suplex, quickly follow up with a hook of the legs.

One!

TWO!

NO!

Runoff goes to turn the action to a stand still, grabbing a sleeper hold. His intentions become clear though, as he tries to power her up and suplex her. No dice. Rather, she sits out, hitting a jaw breaker. Runoff grabs his jaw, only to have Yui follow it up by getting to her feet and running towards the ropes behind Runoff, jumping off and blasting him in the back of the head with a yakuza kick.

A cover quickly follows.

One!

TWO!

NO!

Segues quickly to an anaconda vice! The submissionist finds himself in the grip of the Universal Champion, trying his best to break free of her grip around his neck. Using is far arm, he grabs Yui by the hair, pulling her head down so he can get a leg vice. Breaking the hold, he tightens his legs around her neck, trying to submit her. She does a headstand, pushing herself out of the hold and to a stand, where she does a front dropkick to the face of Runoff.

Runoff is allowed to get to his feet, only to have Yui get hold of him, planting him with an inverted lungblower. She grabs her back as it collides with the canvas in pain, but follows up, with a complete shot.

Cover!

One!

TWO!

NO!

Runoff is dead right now. Dead to rights. Dead to the world around him. But he finds solace in the fact that as Yui tries to continue the assault, he can grab hold of her and bring her shoulders to the canvas with an school boy.

One!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

A shocked Yui has little time to react, as Runoff blasts her with a knife edge chop.

Crowd: WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

It drops her, but she gets back up, this time getting hit with a european uppercut. Runoff drops to a knee after hitting it, allowing Yui to throw a knee in her defense toward the Silent Assassin. This crosses Runoff's eyes, but he responds by throwing his head into her midsection, causing Yui to double over. A front face lock is followed by a snap suplex.

Crowd: ONE!

Runoff pops his hips, but struggles to bring Yui to a stand. He then powers her over once again, nailing a vertical suplex.

Crowd: TWO!

Another pop of the hips, but this time Runoff needs to do it twice to get up. Out of desperation, Yui brings her head up, biting the sweaty shoulder of the challenger, who quickly releases his grip. Spitting the nasty sweat from her mouth, she gets a verbal reprimand from the official, who merely gets caught with his pants down as now, Runoff outright punches Yui across the jaw.

Crowd: OOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Runoff, already feeling numb and worn down, tries to show that the crowd hasn't gotten to him quite yet, popping off a lariat as Yui rises. Runoff stands there for a moment, collecting his breath. Runoff grabs onto Yui, slashing his throat.

It's game over time, bitches.

Runoff irish whips Yui, catching her on the carom. He drives her towards the canvas for a spinebuster.

Too bad she has his head locked as she does so, DDTing him in the process. HELLACIOUS bump for the both of them, as they both are out on the canvas, Yui grabbing at her beaten down back and Runoff grabbing at his gushing forehead. The groggy individuals both start to rise, with Yui seemingly the fresher of the two. A snap kick to the face of Runoff knocks him silly, allowing her the chance to lock both of his hands around his own neck. She runs as best as she can, screaming as she does, towards the near turnbuckle.

Backflip.

BAAAAAAAAAAAAAM!

Parting Is Such Sweet Sorrow.

The cover follows immediately.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

DING DING DING!

CP: The winner.... annnnnnd STILL PWE UNIVERSAL CHAMPION.. TOMOKO HANAHARA!!

Yui stands to her feet and snatches the Universal title from the referee. She raises it up to an extreme chorus of boos.

Somewhere, Hawaiian Hardhead is smiling.

Somewhere, Masaharu Tanabashi is absolutely livid.

And in the ring, with garbage flying, the PWE Pariah Yui Hanahara is still champion.

Chris: What a deserving champion she is!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And the crowd goes crazy as a visibly beaten R.W. Randolph marches out from the back and down the aisle with a purpose. He quickly slides in the ring, and demands a microphone.

Randolph: JACOBS! I'M SICK OF THE GAMES! GET YOUR BITCH ASS OUT HERE NOW!

Ken: None of this would have happened if Chris Jacobs weren’t such a despicable human being. I actually think it’s unfortunate that Randolph didn’t get his hands on Jacobs before this night ended.

No one finds this more unfortunate than Randolpg himself. After all he’d been through in a single evening, after all of his fruitless efforts to save Marie… the only thing he wanted was to get his hands on Chris Jacobs. The Broken Saint stood in the ring with his partner and friend, Runoff. Both stood defeated. Victory would have to be saved for a later night. Runoff gives one final wave to the crowd before snapping Randolph from his reverie and half dragging him from the ring. They just make it off the stairs when three figures stumble out from the backstage area.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ken: I can’t believe it! There… there she is!

Marie is strung up between her two rescuers, Trent Taylor and Tsukino Meiou. With an arm around each of their shoulders, she limps down the ramp toward Randolph. The Broken Saint has already burst by Runoff and is on a full out sprint to meet her. She practically collapses into his arms.

Chris: Oh, please. Can we just end this show already?

What should be a joyous reunion is dampened by the sour expressions on both the Enforcer’s and the Dark King’s faces. Randolph looks up at both of them for answers. A dozen of them step out from the backstage area wearing leather vests and malicious expressions. Randolph immediately rises to his feet and very carefully pushes Marie back into Taylor’s arms. The two slowly back away as Meiou, Runoff and Randolph all march forward to meet the biker brigade.

Chris: The cavalry has arrived!

Ken: Randolph once again in the mix with CJ’s goons… but this time he’s got backup!

The Broken Saint has indeed been fighting this army all evening. He is exhausted. He is tired. He may have his friends at his side, but even the three of them are facing four-to-one odds. Randolph drops one of the bikers quickly and moves forward, teaming with Runoff to finish a second. Meiou slips behind a third and plants him on the grates with a jumping reverse DDT. Two bikers tackle Runoff to the ground. Runoff punts one in the side of the head before he is blindsided by a pair of brass knuckles. Meiou is in a knuckle up brawl with another. The rest just push on through and stalk down toward Taylor and Marie.

Ken: They’re not even out here for Randolph! They’ve come to take Marie back!

Randolph seems to have figured this out as well. He puts a quick foot in the knee of his brass knuckled adversary, just enough to drop him for a second, and rushes the large group of bikers. He launches himself into the midst of them… momentarily taking out a few with is momentum while swinging wild punches at the rest.

Randolph: Get her out of here! Go! Go!

Runoff and Meiou are moving in to help with the mob, but the frantic look on Randolph’s face convince them otherwise. Meiou takes a quick opportunity to drop another biker with a running bulldog, but then hops right up to stand next to Trent Taylor. Runoff forgoes the fighting altogether and rushes straight down for Marie. He sweeps her up in his arms and runs down to the ringside area. Taylor and Meiou fend off two bikers that have escaped the crazed attack of Randolph, then turn to give chase to Runoff. Randolph splits one of the bikers open with a vicious elbow. He drops another with a snap kick to the groin. Taylor, Meiou and Runoff all work together to lift Marie up over the barricade. The crowd quickly parts to make a clear path for their escape.

Chris: Come on, guys! They’re getting away!

Getting? Got. The bikers watch in dismay as the trio disappear into the swelling crowd. Gone. It is a blessing that Marie has escaped for the evening. It is unfortunate that now the bikers have nothing to concentrate on but Randolph. They rush him at once. A right hook from Randolph. Left side kick. A biker grabs him around the waist from behind. Back elbow. A pair of brass knuckles split Randolph’s forehead open. Another back elbow. He is free but dizzy. He falls to a knee. A dozen pair of riding boots descend upon him. Kicking. Smashing. Stomping.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Derek Hardaway appears at the top of the stage. He is limping. He is bleeding. But when he sees Randolph at the mercy of his brothers… it still brings a smile to his face. Hardaway trudges down the ramp toward the mob. The bikers step aside at his arrival and Hardaway snatches Randolph up by a handful of hair. One big punch deep to the gut brings a mouthful of blood from Randolph. Hardaway laughs and tosses his beaten adversary down the ramp. Randolph tumbles. He rolls. He falls. Derek chases after. Boot to the midsection. Randolph is crawling away. Derek is just kicking at him. Toying with him. Randolph grabs a handful of ring apron and pulls himself up. Another handful. He’s got a forearm draped into the ring. Ever so slowly he drags himself up. Hardaway takes a step back and bids the bikers to stand down. His smile only widens as Randolph manages to pull himself into the ring. He crawls across the canvas.

The lights go out. Every single one of them. For a dozen heartbeats the EnergySolutions Arena is drown in total darkness. Then the lights come up. Derek Hardaway is gone. The bikers are gone. The arena brightens. Except for a single speck of black that remains standing in the ring.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ken: Chris Jacobs is here! He’s in the ring!

Chris: And he’s about to get him some of R.W. Randolph!

The Man in Black pounces on Randolph and immediately unloads with a relentless volley of right hands. Randolph isn’t fighting back. He doesn’t even have his arms up in defense. He’s all but unconscious. Chris Jacobs flashes that devious smile he’s come to adopt over the past few weeks. His fist pumps into the air once, victoriously. Randolph’s blood shimmers on his knuckles. Randolph tries to crawl away. CJ puts a single Armani shoe on his face and pushes Randolph over. The Broken Saint lays motionless in the ring. CJ plants that expensive footwear right down on Randolph’s chest. His arm raises high in the air once again.

Chris: Victorious! Chris Jacobs is victorious!

There are not enough words or bold print to describe the sort of hatred the Utah fans are spitting at Chris Jacobs. The reaction has gone beyond a heelish response. This isn’t just heat. This is hatred. This is unadulterated rage. The kind of unjustifiable loathing reserved for Al-Queda terrorists and child rapists. CJ may as well be the most hated man on the planet. The arena is thundering with hisses and boos and the strings of curses that would make Bob Saget cringe. It is literally vibrating with the response. As if the hatred itself were alive. Breathing. The Man in Black loves every minute of it. He wants their hatred. He wants their boos and their hisses. He wants their curses. He wants to ruin their lives. He wants these people to be miserable.

He wants them to hate him almost as much as he hates the world back.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

He wants to get out of the clutches of Randolph. Too much gloating. Too much confidence. CJ was so secure in his victory that he never noticed Randolph awakening. Didn’t see the Broken Saint coming to. Never even felt the clutch of Randolph’s hands until they were already cinched around the ankle. A quick jerk drops CJ face first to the mat. He is trapped in a wrenching ankle lock. Trapped at the mercy of Randolph.

If only for a second.

Randolph releases the submission hold and dives on top of CJ. He is a tornado of punches. Lefts and rights and stiff forearms. CJ has got his arms folded around his head to block as many blows as he can. Even that is not enough to keep him from getting rocked. Randolph jumps to his feet and unleashes with the kicks. Repeated snap kicks to the midsection. A succession of twenty or more brutal blows to the ribs. CJ tries to roll away. He tries to crawl. Randolph drops on top. Drops an elbow down straight on the back of CJ’s head. Another. Another. There’s no way he can continue to take this punishment. The Man in Black attempts to scurry away like the vermin he is. He frees himself from beneath Randolph. The Broken Saint snatches down to stop him, but only grabs a fistful of suit jacket. CJ just wiggles out of the jacket and very hastily crawls toward the corner of the ring.

Ken: And Chris Jacobs can’t get away fast enough!

Chris: He’s just trying to regroup.

Ken: He’s trying to save himself from the ass-kicking he deserves!

Randolph rushes the corner and drills Jacobs with a forearm straight in the mush. CJ’s head bobbles and lulls. Randolph bringing heavy knees up into CJ’s ribs. Jacobs gets his hands up to defend. Then his palms up and a shove to create some space. Randolph is back on the attack before Jacobs can even blink. Knee to the ribs. Forearm to the side of the head. Knee to the rib. Jab to the throat. Jacobs is under fire. He does the only thing he can think to do. He jumps forward and drives the crown of his head right up underneath Randolph’s jaw. The Broken Saint staggers back. Dazed. CJ takes the opportunity to rush forward. Shoulder to the abdomen and CJ with a big takedown. Randolph manages to get his feet up, though. The two are pushing for position. Randolph has got a handful of designer shirt and his boots up under CJ’s hips.

Monkey flip.

CJ flips ass over head. Randolph is still holding onto that shirt. Buttons pop. The sleeve tears off the left side. The right rips from armpit to navel. Both men jump to their feet. For the first time in his entire tenure in PWE… Chris Jacobs is shirtless. Exposed.

Ken: I… I… Chris…

Chris: Oh my God. I think I’m going to be sick.

Ken: That… I…

Randolph has become known in part because of his rather unique physique. The scars on his body. The reminders of wars long past. His entire torso traced with the memories of barbed wire and cage matches. Knife fights. Bullet wounds. None of this… none of it even comes close to comparison with the macabre collection of wounds on Chris Jacobs. These aren’t just scars. These are gashes. Entire chunks of flesh rent or deformed. Some missing entirely. His chest is a road map of deep scarring. Trenches and gauges cut along his skin. Intersecting to form some sort of depressed grid. His skin is twisted and compounded in ways and places it shouldn’t be. The quiet line of a surgery scar intersects with the brutal carving of… only the gods know what. This is a history of pain and torment that none could have imagined. Every inch… every centimeter… is crossed or deformed or bruised or… something. It is a collection of hideous and ghastly torments that brings everyone in the arena to a complete pause.

Ken: I… I do not have words to describe what we are seeing here…

Chris: That is the most horrid thing I have ever seen in my entire life. That’s not even a joke. I… oh my God…

A crowd that moments ago could not shut up has been silenced. No one makes a sound. One young girl in the front row begins to sob. Parents begin to turn their children away. Cover their eyes. Even the older members of the audience are horrified. Shock and appall and all manner of disgust are etched on the faces of an entire arena. Etched in the very way that tortures unknown have been etched into that skin.

Chris Jacobs stands exposed. His greatest and most well-guarded secret revealed at last.

It’s enough to even stop Randolph. The self-proclaimed professor in all things pain has been stunned by this revelation. His hatred and anger and unwavering rage lost in a sudden flush of confusion. Of astonishment. He holds the tattered rags of CJ’s shirt in his hands. He looks at the ghastly figure as the man himself looks down at his own disgusting visage. The two meet eyes in the same moment.

Chris Jacobs is a man possessed.

He pounces on Randolph with a wild scream that sends shivers down the spine of every person in the arena. He does not throw a single punch. No knees. No kicks. His thumbs descend directly into the corners of Randolph’s eyes. His fingers press against the sides of Randolph’s head. He tries very desperately to kill the man. Randolph somehow pushes away from the madness that is Chris Jacobs. He only manages to roll to his side before Chris Jacobs stops him. The crazed demon cinches Randolph tight with a side headlock and proceeds to drop devastating elbows onto the side of Randolph’s face. Vicious, vicious blows. CJ curls himself inward, pulls a knee up close… and blasts Randolph in the face with it.

Now it is a trade. Elbow. Then knee. Elbow. Knee. Elbow. Knee. RW’s face is nothing more than a bleeding hunk of meat. His eyes are swollen shut. His lips busted. A gash in his forehead. One across the eyebrow. Blood gushing from seemingly everywhere. CJ stands and extends his arm toward the backstage area. He motions once. That is all. He drops to the mat again. Shifts his position lower. Balls a fist and drives it with brutal impact into Randolph’s kidney. Again. And again. And again.

Ken: Someone has to get in there and stop this before Jacobs actually kills him.

Chris: By all means, Ken… go right ahead.

The roar of the motorcycle breaks the lingering silence of the EnergySolutions Arena. Derek Hardaway reappears with on his metal steed and rides down to ringside.

Ken: God, what in the world do they have planned now?

CJ's arms are fatigued, having exhausted so much power into the punches and elbows during the fight. Yet, he doesn't care. The punches continue to fall on Randolph's body even though the lights in Casa De Randolph haven't been on for about a good minute. Another shot lands to the kidney and one to the back of the head.

Hardaway props the bike up just outside and pulls a length of thick rope from the back. The rope is darkened with spots of blood and what appear to be red hairs.

Derek elicits a whistle that brings CJ from his enraged trance. He motions to bring Randolph down to the ground so they can finish this job properly. CJ looks back down at Rayne and gives him one bone crunching punch for the road, rolling underneath the bottom ring in absolute rage. Taking two handfuls of Randolph's hair, he drags The Broken Saint from the ring out to the floor in one swift motion. The Man No Longer in Black starts to shake, his body desiring to murder Randolph with his bare hands.

Ken: It's safe to say that after tonight, neither of these individuals are going to be the same.

To the chagrin of the crowd, Hardaway fashions a noose out of the rope and cinches it tight around Randolph’s neck. The other end he knots around the undercarriage of the motorcycle.

Ken: Oh Jesus God no! NO! DON'T DO THIS!

Chris: Well Randolph wanted the shirt off Jacobs' back and I never thought Jacobs was the kind of guy to give that up.

CJ mounts the bike, gritting his teeth menacingly at anybody who dares look at him. The spectacle of Jacobs being shirtless for the first time in PWE history and Randolph's neck attached to a bike tend to bring an unprecedented amount of shock into the building.

Utah is witnessing history.

And they are about to witness more.

Chris Jacobs revs the bike twice and looks back at Randolph, his face the darkest form of crimson.

Derek Hardaway crouches down in front of R.W. Randolph and shouts.

Derek Hardaway: When we say you don't win...we mean it. Now...You've opened up a whole new can of worms. This is on your head, RW...Literally.

Derek and Chris exchange a look and nod.

Chris Jacobs: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

The bike takes off up the ramp, keeping Randolph in the clutches of the noose and bringing those survival instincts back. The Broken Saint tries to fight his way from entrapment, but Hardaway is an expert in the form of nooses and Chris Jacobs is a motherfucking maniac who just had his greatest secret exposed by the man on the back of the bike.

Speeding through the curtain, the last image PWE fans see is R.W. Randolph losing momentum in his kicks and his face turning an eerie shade of blue.