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.

PWE... Wrestling's Revolution.

Christian Connolly: Well sir, I appreciate your concern, but all I really am worried about is how our ratings do. Hopefully we can do better with the time we have on FX now. It certainly isn’t going to hurt.

His back was away from the door, his concentration more on the phone call than his surroundings. Dam was maintaining guard duty, his senses sharpened by the awareness that disturbed giants and embittered power-players might be ready to strike them at any time.

KNOCK-KNOCK

The door opens and Christian doesn't even bother to look up from his paperwork.

Voice: No rest for some, I see.

Connolly looks up and a smile forms on his face.

C2: Hey.. I'ma have to call you back. I know you're watching, so you know I have business to handle.

Connolly hangs up the cell, and the cameras pull back and a man that you haven't seen in sometime stands in view. Dress in a business suit is none other then the man known as "The Beast" Kaz Sato.

Sato: When my Lawyer said an old friend got me out... I didn't think it was you.

C2: I couldn't have you where you were, man. Once I heard, I immediately did everything I could.

Sato: Now that leaves me with the question...what do I owe you?

C2: You owe me? Don't worry about it, we're even. For everything you helped me do in ICE, it's the least I could do. But... I know a man of your talents isn't working right now. And I just so happen to have a contract here with your name on it.

Sato smiles...

Sato: You just happened to have a contract handy?

Connolly returns with a smile...

C2: I knew you would come here. Besides, I like to be prepared.

Sato: So...who needs to be hurt this time, Chris?

C2: Nobody. Look.. you're one of the best wrestlers in the world. And I know that when you're focused, you can beat anyone. I wanna see that. I wanna see you.. realize your potential, and become the best in the sport. And a added bonus, the gang's all here. Tanabashi, Meiou, Shawn Christopher.. Chris Jacobs, Derek Hardaway...

Sato pauses for one moment... at the mention of one name.

Sato: Did you say Derek Hardaway?

C2: I believe I did.

Sato: Heh...you already know what I want if I do this, Chris...

C2: And you'll get it.

Sato: Then hand me a pen...you got yourself another wrestler.

C2: Excellent. The band is slowly coming back together.

HHH: Come on, don’t slow down either.

They are making their way to a large black truck with Pro Wrestling Evolution seen painted on its side. When they arrive, Hardhead knocks on the door a few times until somebody opens it.

Worker: Oh, Jack, may I help you?

HHH: Do you know who controls the lights for the show?

Worker: Oh yeah, that would be, uh, Paul, he’s in the arena.

HHH: Thank you.

Hardhead steps down from the steps leading to the door as it closes, and starts to walk away.

HHH: I’m not done with you yet, follow me.

The cameraman and HHH walk away from the truck with the scene fading out.

Before PWE's Man-in-charge can answer, he office door is shoved open anyways. The 5'8" hulking frame of The Broken Saint casts a shadow over his desk, as he glances up, an annoyed look on his face.

R.W. Randolph: I'm back.

Christian Connolly: I thought I told you to take a few weeks off.

R.W. Randolph: I stayed home last week. Besides, I'm not really the vacationing type and I don't do requests.

Christian Connolly: You must have misunderstood me when I told you to stay home for awhile. It wasn't a request.

The Broken Saint folds his arms across his chest and looks down at his boss.

R.W. Randolph: Doesn't matter. I don't take orders either.

This comment causes Christian to push back his chair and rise to his feet. Now it's his turn to strike a pose, glaring at the Broken Saint.

Christian Connolly: Look... I'm not trying to be a dick. I've talked to your doctors and I'm just trying to look out for your better interests, as well as mine. I suggest you take this little rebellious anti-authority streak and lose it fast. Now, why don't you sit back and enjoy the show tonight, from the comfort of the backstage area. Curl up in front of a TV monitor and watch some of the best athletes in the world do their thing. We'll talk next week about getting you back into the swing of things.

R.W. Randolph: I've got other plans for tonight.

Christian Connolly: Such as?

R.W. Randolph: Why don't you sit back, curl up in front of a TV monitor and just watch.

The Broken Saint turns and leaves the office, slamming the door shut behind him, Christian Connolly's glare burning a hole through his office door.

The game of cat and mouse kept on for about ten minutes, until Strange had Cage staggering to his feet and went to give him a Good Night Sleep. But the weary Cage ducked the kick and rolled out the ring. Cage looked to be ready to call it a night and started walking back up the aisle, but Strange wasn't having any of that. He climbed out the ring and charged after him, catching him with a clothesline to the back. These two brawled as the referee made his count, and called for the bell.

Winner: Draw

After the match, down at the stage, Hawaiian Hardhead is seen walking out. He looks around a bit before going to the left and hopping off it. He wanders over to the production desk where they control the lights, sound, and all that jazz. Somebody stops the music while the camera focuses on HHH and the four people seen working.

HHH: Which one of you is Paul?

The group is hesitant, but one person reluctantly raises his hand. With a smile, HHH walks over, putting his arm around his neck and walking off, with the camera following him. The cameraman actually speaks to the group, putting his hand in front of the camera.

Cameraman: Christ, sorry guys, this should just take a minute.

While it's true that there are twelve teaspoons of sugar in most 16 ounce energy cans, you would be dumb not to get one of these. Yes, it is also true it doesn't work that well, but still, you can't beat taste. Rock Star is abhorrently disgusting and Monster just doesn't match up to the flavor of Red Amp. If you think I'm fooling, go out and buy yourself one today to see how good it is.

If you end up hating it...well that's not my problem. Television tells you to do a lot of things you shouldn't do.

BUY AMP OVERDRIVE TODAY

Chris: The guys are coming out of the woodwork.

Ken: Randolph is in the building and Kaz Sato is now on the roster.

Chris: Plus, we have the usual cavalcade of characters roaming through the corridors. I have a feeling this is going to be one of the most combustible shows on record.

Ken: Not to mention we have two matches remaining. The ever dangerous Citizen Truth takes on Chris Stevens, K-Money makes his in-ring debut against the Vicious champ Diabolique-

Chris: Gonna be a war.

Ken: And who knows what other personality will come out-

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.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Ken: Oh, Lord.

Chris: The baddest personality on the planet is about to strut out here. Get ya popcorn ready.

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.

Ken: At Cyberslam, he managed to put Tsukino Meiou down in the biggest match of the veteran's career. We've got a report from the PWE doctors and they have medically suspended The Dark King until after Destiny.

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

Chris: Hate on him all you want but he's one of the hottest commodities in the wrestling world today. The unwanted mercenary. Nobody wants to go near him.

Ken: For their financial and professional career, they would be wise not to.

Chris: Because he's the nastiest. Ever since coming back from the devastating injury, he's only lost a single match.

The curtain is thrown open. With a long leather trench coat covering his body, CJ steps onto the stage and cracks a mischievous smile. Trailing a step behind is 'The Main Man' Derek Hardaway fresh from a Sons of Anarchy guest spot. The Man in Black's eyes scan through the egregious Kansas crowd, angry fists, middle fingers and slanderous signs aplenty in every direction. He walks off the stage and down the aisle, bobbing and weaving his head like a champion boxer away from the debris gunning for his dome.

Ken: Well there's a consensus amongst the locker room that nobody wants to step in the ring with him. Look at the case against him: He's the stiffest worker on the roster, holds empathy for absolutely no one, and has shelved two wrestlers at the last two Pay-Per-Views.

Chris: Yet, dude still gets paid off the wall moolah. I think he'll take it. Christian Connolly won't let anybody drive him out of the place.

The ignorant masses continue to berate the former ICE Universal Champion while he gets closer to the squared circle. Colin Peterson steps in between the ropes and leaves the microphone for CJ to grab at his own leisure. Once The Man in Black hits the mats, those who are within arms reach look for a swipe. Derek plays his role to perfection, extending his massive paw back and begging someone to retaliate. While the haters might be hardcore and passionate, Derek doesn't have a gimmick. He'd really strike a fan if they came after him. He's done it before.

Jacobs slips past Derek and ascends the stairs with military precision, further taunting the fans stationed behind him. The Main Man gives one final glance before jumping on the apron himself and stepping over the top rope with ease. Tucking his trenchcoat, CJ saunters over the middle rope and walks over to the microphone, scooping it with his left hand and standing front and center of the ring. All eyes are on him once the music stops.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

And the grin on CJ's grill could fill seven Shawn Christopher posters.

Ken: No doubt he's going to gloat about Meiou's injury. A guy like him can't resist.

Chris: Gloating becomes second nature when you are the best at putting people out.

The Man in Black raises the microphone slightly and feels the heat from those in attendance. He glances over at the and senses the temperature increase. A few televisions in Japan have just been shattered.

CJ exchanges a look with his brother and twirls the microphone around his fingers.

Chris: I always love the reaction he gets because you know any of these clowns would trade their left nut to be in Jacobs' position.

Looking down at his Rolex, CJ decides to put an end to the presentation and places the mic under his mouth. Dropping the free hand into the left dress pocket, it returns with a note card. CJ squints and places the paper back in his pocket.

Chris Jacobs: ...HOW, Kansas.

Chris: That means hello around these parts. See, he even went to the trouble of learning their language.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

CJ: Let's cut through all the garbage right now and get to the nitty gritty...Cyberslam was great, right?

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

CJ: You had Hawaiian Hardhead win a title. Tomoko Hanahara kept her championship, thus officially making her the best guy never to beat Chris Jacobs.

Ken: She's never faced Chris Jacobs.

Chris: Details, Ken, details.

CJ: What was that other notable moment from the show? I'm drawing a blank. Although, I believe the monkeys in the truck have the answer for me. Roll it, scaliwags.

Cyberslam V

The Man in Black has Tsukino Meiou locked upside down and just delivered two solid knees to the temple. The Dark King is dangling from CJ's arms and his muscles are shaking to hold the 220 pounds up. He's been beaten from pillar to post and exerted a mountain of strength for this one moment of satisfaction and nothing will deny him.

CJ plummets down and slams Meiou neck into the canvas. The impact resonates throughout Meiou body and numbs him from the neck down. He's not paralyzed but when he fully comes to, he might wish he was. CJ makes the academic cover and ends the match.

ONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

DING! DING! DING!

The Landon Arena has shot up quite a few decibels after seeing one of the most beloved wrestlers demolished by someone so ruthless.

CJ: Ah...yes, Tsukino Meiou was taken behind the barn and PUT...DOWN!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

CJ: The perfect comeuppance for me turned out to be the biggest nightmare of that poor bastard's existence. I proved beyond any shadow of a shadow's doubt that Tsukino Meiou doesn't belong in the big leagues, and has no right to get in my face over anything. I've put that miserable wannabe down three times now. Hopefully, the inability to feel anything below his neck will register the message I've been trying to send this whole time. Stop trying to bring me down just because I'm the poster boy for assholes. Nobody in that locker room has both the physical and mental package to stand up to me. Plus, you gotta deal with that tattooed ogre I always hang around with.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Derek Hardaway produces his best smile, worthy enough of being on a Sugar Free Orbit gum commercial. Fabulous.

CJ: Now the next question is obvious, where does The Man in Black go from here? There are a lot of avenues accessible and nobody appears willing to engage with anybody around these parts. The only person with balls appear to be Meiou's boyfriend, but he'll be too busy massaging Meiou's ass.

Ken: He's got a natural abrasiveness that just dropped his Christmas card list by 1.

Chris: He'll probably get it all the way down to just Shawn Christopher by the end of this.

CJ: Now, I need to put the kabash on rumors that I have been inquiring about a Universal Championship shot. Why the hell would I need to do something like that when I've already proven that I'm the most deserving of the shot? Although, nobody has willingly thrown their name into the hat against Tomoko Hanahara...

Chris: Oh My GOD he's not going to. Hold my hand, Ken, I might need to be restrained.

CJ: She's pranced around for God knows how long claiming to be the best wrestler in the world. Everybody else in PWE is now fighting for third place? Tomoko, seriously, if I gave a damn about getting into the 2 time Universal club, I'd get shot ahead of everybody on the contender list and drive you up the wall before bringing you down to your knees. I'm the one pariah in this federation who could combat you move for move and make you more paranoid than Nixon. However, I'll leave that to the people who love shiny shiny gold rather than the fear of the wrestling business. You are safe for now.

Chris: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Ken: That could have been a dream match, although God help the ozone layer if they both got microphones in the same place.

CJ: So, with Hanahara being out of the mix, who else does that leave?

From the left side of the crowd nearest the stage, one name starts growing louder and louder, encompassing The Man in Black.

TANABASHI! TANABASHI! TANABASHI! TANABASHI! TANABASHI! TANABASHI!

Ken: That would appear to be the next logical step for Jacobs.

Chris: I think Tanabashi is the one person even Jacobs can't stand.

Ken: Someone more narcissistic than Jacobs? GTFO.

Chris: Did you actually just said GTFO?

CJ: So you want me to go down that road again? I suppose the situation is pretty idealistic. Tanabashi's back is deteriorating faster than our economy and someone with my firepower could certainly put a massive dent, perhaps complete annihilation, of whatever workable parts are left in that spine. Completely ruin the Three Amigos once and for all, stake my claim as the most diabolical wrestler of the year.

TANABASHI! TANABASHI! TANABASHI! TANABASHI! TANABASHI! TANABASHI!

CJ: ...Yeah, I'm gonna take a pass on him too.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Ken: I think Jacobs is scared of Tanabashi. It's the last significant loss of his career.

Chris: Why would Jacobs front on anybody when he's got Hardaway as muscle? He's not afraid to get involved in matches either.

CJ: What? So I should have revenge in my heart and be willing to go to the ends of the Earth, right? Nope. Masaharu Tanabashi is one of the greatest Universal champions in the history of ICE, and now what? He's turned into a second rate embarrassment of a Champion. Where is he at now? Stuck in purgatory trying to make sure that his best friend will walk again. Charming. Look at where I'm at. The most feared entity amongst the locker room and wrestling world. Not to mention I'm a lot healthier at the moment. People aren't creating websites and laying odds on when I'm going to be crippled. I have a front row seat to the greatest show on Earth, Masaharu Tanabashi's self destruction. I don't need to do anything because all the damage is going to be done regardless of whether I step in. I'll bring a bean bag chair, call Derek, and get some big chuckles over it.

Ken: Well that put a damper on a lot of hopes.

Chris: I'm sure Jacobs really cares about other people's hopes.

CJ: So who does that leave? Well, kids, I'll give you the real 411. I'm going to coast around this joint and pick my own spots to strike. I'll choose my victims when I am ready and willing. There's a little nugget of information I've got to share with you. It's going to make a lot of you happy because I know how much I'm adored all around the world.

Chris: He's number one in South Korea and Japan. Suck it, Rain.

CJ: My PWE contract expires December 31st... And I've got no plans of renewing it.

The place?

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Explodes.

Chris: WHAT?

Ken: Now that is truly AWESOME news.

Chris: HOWCANYOUBESOCRUEL? OMG NO! Get me my hanky!

The roar of applause goes on for about twenty good seconds. Jacobs bows and taps the microphone against his chest, waiting.

He might be waiting a while.

Chris: WHY, CHRIS, WHY?

CJ: D-

NAH, NAH, NAH, NAH, NAH, NAH, HEY, HEY, HEY, GET THE FUCK OUT!

Jacobs refers back to his Rolex.

CJ: It's October morons, I'm not going anywhere until the end of the year. You still have to put up with me for three more months, and rest assure I'm going to make all of them miserable for you. Those who I come across in the back, be warned, I've got nothing hanging over my head. I've got nothing left to lose. I can't be fired. I can't be suspended. I've got free reign to do whatever I want while you have to answer to the boss.

Chris: This is truly a sad moment.

Ken: I'll print up a Hallmark card for you.

Chris: Much thanks.

Ken: (mumbles) Idiot.

CJ: Enjoy me while I last, losers. And don't expect me to turn up in another promotion. I'm not turning into a free agent or pulling a Luger and showing up somewhere two days after the contract expires. To the rest of PWE watching on the monitors and getting ready for your matches, know that you are now on notice. Since I'm going down, I'm looking to take as many people as I can with me. End as many careers as I can. If you end up booked against me, consider it your last moment in the sun. As for who that might be next...I'm sure you'll find out in due time.

"Black Hole Sun" kicks up over the sound system and Jacobs flips the microphone toward the ropes and steps out of the ring. A good percentage of the crowd still give him the business, but a number have been silenced. He just announced his official retirement date.

Ken: Well one bombshell after another is coming tonight. Sato is here, Randolph is in the building, and now Jacobs has said he's head hunting the locker room while putting himself on a lease.

Chris: So...so...sad. HOLD ME, KEN!

Ken: Oh, lord. Can we go to the back, please? Please?

The camera follows Jacobs up the stage and through the curtain before cutting elsewhere.

Paul: Jack, please, I need to get back to the arena.

HHH slams his right fist down on the table, silencing the scared shitless light manager.

Cameraman: Come on Jack, just let him go.

HHH looks at the cameraman with a piercing look, telling him to be quiet. Hardhead paces around Paul a bit before stopping to his right with his hands folded.

HHH: Paul, you are the light manager, right?

Paul: Yes.

HHH: And last week, in my match with Dylan Cage, you turned off the lights to cost me my match, yes?

Paul starts to sweat, and starts to fidget a bit before answering.

Paul: Yes.

Hardhead, again, starts to loom around this poor little man before putting his hands on his shoulders.

HHH: Why did you do it Paul?

Paul: I-I-I can’t tell you.

Hardhead smirks and chuckles at his failed attempt at convincing him. HHH then swings Paul around in his chair and gets up in his face.

HHH: Why the hell did you do it Paul?!

His shouts can be heard from CC’s office, and eventually, he answers in fast tones, crying his ass off.

Paul: I was paid, somebody paid me, I don’t know who, they had a mask on, but they paid me a bunch of money, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…

He continues to screech ‘I’m sorry’, and eventually, Hardhead silences him with a roll of duct tape that he takes out of the darkness. Hardhead steps back into the darkness and the lights turn back on. He then motions to the cameraman to follow him before grabbing a roll of paper towels and tossing it to Paul, who catches them.

HHH: Clean that piss up, then you can go.

The cameraman follows HHH out of the room as it, again, fades to black.

Wrestlers never like to lose and Citizen Truth isn't an exception, considering he's going to get an earful from SC when he steps through the curtains.

Ken: Citizen Truth gave it everything he had but Stevens was able to pull it out in the end.

Chris: Stevens is once again-.

Before Chris can finish his sentence, all the lights in the Landon Arena shut off.

Chris: HEY! Let us finish the show before shutting the damn building off.

Everybody else seems to be in the same boat. The power has gone out.

Well, that is, until the PWE*View lights up.

The faint outline of a raven is seen against a completely white backdrop.

"You might be a hero, and think you whats right... But you are wrong, Citizen, you are dead wrong. You're no hero, they dont exist.. and I've come to Solitary to prove that to you."

Ken: The stalker's voice, damn thing is pretty grainy.

Chris: More than likely using a voice modification system. I wouldn't want Citizen Truth knowing it's me either.

"By the time I leave the ring tonight, you will know my name...And you will never forget it."

Ken: You will know my name...No way.

Chris: He doesn't have the sack to do this does he?

"Tip number 1 for you, slugger...

...Never turn your back...Ever"

Ken: ...What the?

The lights turn back on and someone who wasn't standing in the ring before the blackout occurred is there.

And he's wielding a pipe in his right hand.

A loud wave of shock resonates through the crowd as CT's stalker stands there, calmly swinging the pipe around in his hand waiting for the confounded big man to turn around.

The announcers can't even get the name out.

Chris: ...DUDE! YES!

Ken: If you wanted the personification of evil, all you had to do was ask apparently.

CT stiffens up and tightens his fists in rage. It's fairly obvious that he's been duped and from the reaction of the crowd, knows the stalker is in the exact location he is in.

Ken: Truth's night is about to go from bad to worse.

Showing deceptive speed, CT spins around, roaring like a mighty lion and producing spittle that decorates his beard.

The stalker is indifferent to his reaction and strikes with the pipe a second quicker than The Heroic Hoss was expecting. The clank opens CT's head up and sends him stumbling backwards into the ropes and eventually down to the canvas, backed against the turnbuckle.

For the home audience, the camera swings around and gets a Kodak moment of the stalker.

…

…

…

…

…

Chris Jacobs.

And from the heap of humanity that just entered the ring, he's not alone. Derek Hardaway barges past his brother and pounds away with boots to the midsection.

Ken: What in the hell could Jacobs have against Citizen Truth?!

Chris: Well, you saw that video, Truth obviously did something to Jacobs that caused him to hate him.

CJ steps forward and joins his gang in the assault on CT, stepping through the ropes and viciously stomping on the forehead of Truth. A big trail of blood runs down the back of his mask from the pipe shot. The Man in Black mercilessly opens up the wound while Derek holds a boot against The Americanimal's throat.

The Man in Black backs toward the other side of the ring, charges ahead, and rifles off one of the most dastardly punts of his career, straight into the temple of CT. The big man goes loopy, arms outside of the ring, eyes shut. Jacobs barks at Hardaway to go and retrieve weapons while he steps back into the ring.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Chris: This is...an indescribable moment-

Re-entering the ring are Hardaway with steel chair in hand. The Main Man tosses his to The Man in Black and pulls out his signature steel chain.

Ken: And the mugging is going to continue.

Chris: From what Hardaway is doing, I think it's going to get much worse.

The Main Man is down at CT's feet, wrapping the chain around his ankles, concluding the endeavor by wrapping the steel around in a knot. He uses the stationary legs of CT to pull the big man out into the center of the ring.

Ken: Hardaway is one of the few people who can lift CT's dead weight.

Chris: Kind of nice to have someone like that hanging around willing to do whatever you desire.

CJ leaps into the air and unleashes his steel chair across the sternum. No doubt some internal bleeding is being caused by this. CJ pulls out the pipe and goes where no man should go on CT.

OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Chris: The mother of all low blows.

Ken: A pipe right into the groin of Citizen Truth.

Even though CT isn't the most liked figure on the roster, Chris Jacobs has to be the most hated.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

And the crowd is letting him know about it.

But The Man in Black doesn't appear to care. He is too fixated on the job and sticks his hand out, demanding a microphone. Hardaway yanks the house microphone out of Colin Peterson's hands and gives it to his brother.

CJ: ...Welcome to your worst nightmare, kid. You need to learn a hard lesson.. heroes are for make believe, and this is as real as it fucking gets.

JACOBS SUCKS! JACOBS SUCKS! JACOBS SUCKS! JACOBS SUCKS!

CJ: And as a little parting gift to you...We're going to leave you paralyzed from the neck down. Enjoy.

Ken: WHAT?

Chris: Jacobs has a knack for ending careers.

The steel chair CJ was using a moment ago is now unfolded and placed around the neck of The Heroic Hoss.

Ken: Oh my God, they aren't going to do this! THEY AREN'T GONNA DO THIS!

Chris: Jacobs is undefeated when it comes to putting people on the shelf.

To make matters worse, Chris Jacobs isn't the one stepping out of the ring and ascending the ropes...

It's Derek Hardaway. Three hundred pounds of tattooed biker climbs the ropes.

Ken: That's...

Chris: Gonna do exactly what Jacobs just said. Break his damn neck.

Ken: THESE GUYS ARE DESPICABLE!

Jacobs produces one of the sicker smirks he's capable of. CT's eyes open and glare at the sadistic Man in Black. He's emotionless while CT lays prone, struggling to get out of the chair. His body won't allow him to.

Ken: NO! NO! WE NEED SOME HELP!

Out of the corner of CJ's eye, he spots a blurb flying down the ramp and yells at Derek to drop from the ropes and head for the crowd.

Ken: ICON! ICON!

He steamrolls down the ramp. Jacobs calmly steps through the ropes before the cavalry arrives. Hardaway hops from the ropes and hits the floor before the adrenaline fueled hand of Shawn Christopher grabs hold of his bandanna. The team of assholes stands at ringside while SC goes over and liberates Truth from the chair, hovering over The Heroic Hoss.

Ken: Shawn made a critical save and boy, you have to wonder what might have happened if he didn't come out here.

Chris: Nobody else in the back was going to come out.

Ken: Oh man, folks, we're out of time, but you can bet this is going to be interesting when Solitary 30 comes to you live from Pittsburgh, Pennslyvania, Chris Jacobs' backyard!

The last image before commercial is of SC and The Heroic Hoss holding an evil glare with one another. CT starts moving around while his antagonists hop the barricade and move toward the Exit sign.

Solitary 30 is gonna be evil.

Bank on it.

Chris Carter: If you never listen to anything I say at the commentary table, know one thing, I know food and you should get to know Little Caesars. Pizza. Pizza. IT'LL GET YA FAT!

Mike Gundy: FAT!

Chris Carter: MMM! MMM! BITCH!

Chris: And she’s probably still pissed that he spray painted her belt! K-Money’s really fighting the odds here tonight!

Ken: Well, it sure does have everyone talking backstage. No one seems to know what’s in store for K-Money or Diabolique tonight. Also, coming up, we’ve got-

"Pray" by Tommy Heavenly6

Chris: We’ve got the champ! The CHAMP!

Ken: Oh great.

Tomoko Hanahara emerges from backstage in all her glory, a title belt gleaming beneath the hot arena lights on her shoulder. She spins for the crowd, arms outstretched, while they boo her vigorously. The champion takes it all in stride, literally, heading down toward the ring with a cocky grin smeared on her face. There’s still a noticeable limp to her step, but gone are last week’s crutches.

Ken: Well, it does look like our champion is finally recovering from her war with R.W. Randolph at Cyberslam V. It still sickens me to think just how close Randolph came to shutting this ego-maniac up once and for all.

Chris: Are you kidding me? Hanahara clearly outclassed Randolph in that match!

Ken: Chris, I don’t know about you, but last week I saw a half-broken woman walk out here. Hell, she wasn’t walking at all! She was on crutches! Are you saying Randolph wasn’t responsible for that?

In the ring, Hanahara is holding her championship up for the fans while they spit venom at her. She climbs opposite turnbuckles before finally wandering toward the center of the ring where he catches a microphone.

TH: To start off, I want to tell you all that you can go STRAIGHT TO HELL!

The booing gets louder. Not that Hanahara doesn’t expect it.

TH: That’s right, you ungrateful bastards! I put on the show of my God damn life for you at Cyberslam, sprained my ankle in the process, and damn it, I didn’t get BUT ONE Get Well card! And I suspect that was from Shawn Christopher, and only because he fancies me sexually. To him, I say, "thanks, but I’m not interested." And to the rest of you, I say…

Slower this time…

TH: YOU CAN ALL GO – STRAIGHT – TO – HELL!

Ken: All class, this woman. It’s li- …. Chris, what are you doing?

Chris: Writing out a get well card! Do you know how I can get a predated post-mark?

In the ring, Hanahara is back to his usual pacing, and her limp suddenly gets far more noticeable, but still, the audience gives up no sympathy.

TH: Now, I know what you’re all wondering. Since there are no real challenges left for my title as the G-reatest wrestler in the Universe…

Holds up her Universal title. When she lowers it, she begins to strap it around her waist with her free hand.

TH: Well, losers, have no fear. The fact is, since Cyberslam, I’ve been looking high and low for a worthy challenger. You can all rest assured that I’m leaving no stone unturned, and as the weeks progress, with painstaking attention to detail, I’ll narrow the candidates down to a single challenger. And that challenger will be granted a shot at becoming…. The G-reatest wrestler in the Universe.

Chris: You hear that, Ken? No stone left unturned!

TH: And it just so happens that tonight, after two weeks of searching, interviewing, and criminal record checking, I’m ready to reveal the first candidate that I’ve deemed worthy for consideration.

The boos die to a low hum.

Ken: This could be interesting.

TH: Now, this might not be a man known to soak in the limelight quite like myself. And it might be a man that’s had to toil and sweat and work hard for every damn thing he’s ever got in this industry. But I’m Tomoko Hanahara, damn it, and I believe in rewarding hard work! Bitches and virgins, if you’ll turn your attention to the big screen… I give you…

The screen first fades from the live image of Hanahara in the ring to black. All around, the buzz-saw opening riff of Johnny Socko’s "Full Trucker Effect" drowns the arena noise. Slowly, the still photo, fades out of the darkness...

A collective groan from the older fans can be heard over top of the confusion from the younger.

Ken: What the… hey… is that…

Chris: He deserves it! He’s been toiling away for years!

Ken: White Trash Trucker?

Chris: WHITE TRASH TRUCKER~!

TH: White Trash Trucker~!

Ken: Oh for the love of…

The image on the screen begins to fade while Tomoko smiles proudly in the ring, clutching her Universal Championship close. As word begins to spread through the arena who the Trucker is/was, the boo-birds come calling again.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

TH: Oh, doubt him all you like you simple bastards! Do you think it’s easy finding an opponent suitable to face the likes of me!? I suppose… I suppose you’d rather me show you Masaharu Tanabashi’s picture up there!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!

Ken: I think that’s an affirmative!

TH: Well forget it! Or, or, I suppose you’d rather me tell you that I’m considering TSUKINO MEIOU’S crippled ass!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

Ken: Yeah! Yeah, now that would be something!

TH: Or, or, or maybe you want me to say R.W. Rando-

"On March The Saints"

Hanahara’s left with her jaw hanging. Meanwhile, the roof is absolutely blowing off the place. The music comes through your screen like a shoddy connection over the roar.

Ken: Would you listen to this place!?

Chris: Shut up you idiots! You’re giving me a headache! That’s a loser they’re cheering for, Ken! The winner’s in the ring!

Ken: I think anyone who watched Cyberslam saw that R.W. Randolph proved that he’s every bit as talented as Tomoko Hanahara, and that he deserves another shot at the Universal title!

Chris: Well, Tomoko was just about to say that Randolph’s not even worthy of a shot at the Universal title! Not even in the running to be the second greatest wrestler in th-

Ken: Oh please! Listen to this place! Tens of thousands of fans have had a change of heart toward R.W. Randolph!

Randolph steps through the curtain and takes a moment to stare menacingly down the ramp at Hanahara. Hanahara, in the ring, curses away from the microphone, obviously displeased at being interrupted for the second week in a row. Finally, the Broken Saint begins his march to the ring. Once inside, he noticeably crowds Hanahara’s space on his way to a turnbuckle where he raises one hand for the crowd.

Ken: This could get ugly real quick!

Chris: He doesn’t have any business out here!

Ken: Months ago, you loved this guy!

Chris: Things change.

Randolph paces a line directly in front of Hanahara, microphone in hand now. Tomoko watches, temper boiling, and when Randolph doesn’t say anything, she decides she’s had enough.

TH: You’ve got exactly five seconds to ge-

Randolph: I know it just kills you to be interrupted, Tomoko, but I’ve got a little something to get off my chest.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!

Randolph: I was sitting backstage, watching your little circus act out here… watching you make a mockery of the Universal title with your candidate for a future challenger. And all the while I was thinking about going to Christian Connolly and talking to him about getting myself another shot at that title.

Points to the Universal Championship around TH’s waist.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!

Randolph: But the more I watched, the sicker I got. And the more I replayed Cyberslam in my mind, the more it ate a hole in my fucking stomach... that I should be wearing that title. You might have won the match that night, but I proved something to myself. Not only am I every bit as good as you…

Pause. Finger directly in Tomoko’s face.

Randolph: …But I can be better than you!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!

Randolph: So I told myself, you know what? The hell with it. The hell with going to Connolly and asking nice. I figured I just come out here to see the woman herself. I'd come out here to see you about getting another crack at the Universal Title, Tomoko.

Tomoko smirks, the crowd cheering all around, and within moments the champ is doing her lion’s pace in the ring, eyes locked on Randolph while her body twists to turn at the end of each line.

TH: You?

Looks around at the crowd.

TH: You want a shot at this? At the Greatest Wrestler in the Universe title?

The smirk broadens.

TH: Well, I’m sorry, but that ship sailed. Now, if you want to get in line behind Trucker(~!) for a shot to be the Second Gre-

Randolph: Let me stop you there, Hanahara.

Chris: He hates being interrupted!

Randolph: Because I think we have a little misunderstanding here. You see, while you’re babbling on with your excuses not to give me a shot, you’re overlooking one simple fact.

Randolph steps close to Hanahara. Very close. Tomoko not backing down an inch.

TH: And what’s that?

Randolph: I wasn’t asking.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!

Chris: THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE! You don’t interrupt the champion, and you certainly do NOT make DEMANDS of a UNIVERSAL champion!

Ken: I think he just did! And he’s got every single person in this arena backing him up!

A moment goes by with both Tomoko and Randolph, a diagonal line between their eyes, glaring at each other. Electricity buzzes through the building. Buzzes between them, larger than life in the ring. Randolph’s right bicep flexes as his hand clenches and unclenches. Tomoko’s jaw circles with her grinding teeth, her famous temper ready to explode now.

Slowly, Randolph’s microphone rises in what small space there is between them.

Randolph: So what’s it going to be, champ?

Tomoko’s microphone does the same. Thousands of fans all around her and millions at home hanging on the moment, waiting for her response.

TH: …R.W. Randolph…

Everyone on the edge of their seat.

TH: …Not today… Not tomorrow… not EVER!!!!

Randolph takes a deep breath.

Randolph: I figured.

TH: What do I have to gain from a rematch with yo-

And suddenly, she can’t speak. A face full of Randolph's right fist staggers the champ, the microphone dropping to the canvas from the jolt of the blow. The Universal Champion readies herself to react, but before she can make a single move, she’s floored by a follow-up left.

Ken: Randolph’s not taking no for an answer!

Tomoko tries to charge, but runs head-long into a knee from her attacker, and she goes falling back toward the corner. Randolph is on her immediately with an intensity that Tomoko isn’t prepared for, driving knees into the abdomen and elbows into the back of the champ's head. Tomoko manages to push herself free of the assault, stumbling out of the corner, and in the time it takes Randolph to stalk toward her, she unstraps the Universal Championship and swings it wildly at the aggressor. But the shot sails harmlessly in front of Randolph’s face, at least a foot away, and the Broken Saint throws a boot into Tomoko’s stomach that doubles the champ over.

Ken: Here we go!

Chris: I want that man suspended!

The Queen of the Ring suddenly finds herself hoisted off the ground, and from her vantage point... the trip down doesn't look pleasant.

Ken: DEULING BANJO DRIVER!!!

Deuling Banjo Driver.

The champ is flattened in the center of the ring, her title a good three feet from her.

RRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

R.W. Randolph lifts his arms to salute his newfound screaming cult of fans, hovering over the fallen champion. He mounts Tomoko’s chest and jaws for a moment, inches from her face. And the champ, either unconscious, or barely conscious, has no response.

From there, Randolph snaps up to his feet and climbs a turnbuckle, hands held high once again, as "On March The Saints" rips through the arena.

Ken: Randolph is going to get what he wants one way or another! I love it!

Chris: I thought you were supposed to like the goody-goodies! That was uncalled for! Tomoko’s injured! Her ankle!

Ken: This isn’t golf, Chris!

Chris: This is ridiculous! R.W. Randolph is out of control and outta line! He just assaulted our Champion. He can't do that!

Ken: He just did! And each and every one of these fans in this arena... they're loving every minute it! R.W. Randolph just crashed one of Tomoko Hanahara's ego rants in the biggest way imaginable.

Once down from the turnbuckle, Randolph looms large over the PWE Universal Championship. The most coveted prize in all of combat sports. He kneels down to pick it up, and for a moment, he stares into it at his own reflection. He pulls it close to his face, seeming to breathe it in, and then he tosses it back down across Hanahara.

The Broken Saint points down to the Universal title, and everyone in the world knows what that means:

He’s coming back for it. One way or another. And probably violently.

HHH: I’m gonna start paying you to film me, so I’d take this in stride. Now, next week, I’m gonna call out what ever douche bag decided to cost me a match.

He opens his car door, but doesn’t hop in quite yet.

HHH: What’s your name?

While this is happening, a black car is seen in the background turning on this way.

Cameraman: Steve.

HHH: Steve, I like that name.

The car then speeds up, as the cameraman jumps out of the way. At the last second, HHH hops onto his hood, cracking the front window, but making sure he’s safe. Hardhead hops off and looks onward at the speeding away vehicle.

HHH: Hey, jack ass!

HHH looks at the ground in anger before kicking the front of his car. He then points at the cameraman, Steve.

HHH: Go tell Christian that I want to talk to his ass next week, because if this shit keeps up, then somebody’s ass is gonna go down.

He then hops into his car, starts it, and drives away as the camera focuses on it.

Cameraman: Why is it always me?

The camera then fades.

Loud snickering is heard off camera.

Bob Catholic: I turned to online poker late last year in large part because I needed to make some extra money. There is no better way to learn, chat, and play with the pros for free. You can find all of the highest stake cash games and some of the biggest tournaments on the Internet. Your favorite players like Patrik Antonius, Phil Ivey, Gus Hansen, Tom "durrrr" Dwan, Squamch, MovieMike and FamilyGuyW00 all play there frequently.

Bob Catholic: Now you might be asking yourself, "Bob, how do you deal with the bad beats? You seem like a pretty mellow guy." Well folks, the truth is that is another advantage of online poker. You are the gatekeeper to your emotions. Nobody can tell how you deal with the bad beats unless you let them. Although...

Catholic wipes some sweat from his brow.

Bob Catholic: To be honest, I'm SICK of the bad beats. The other night I was playing in my usual 2/4 PLO cash game and I flopped quads. I flopped FOUR. OF. A. KIND. I COULDN'T LOSE! There was a flush draw out there, BUT THE ODDS WERE LOW! I bet the pot and he RE POTS ME! I'm thinking EASY MONEY! First class flight to the Landon Arena, baby! I instacall and he flips over a gutshot royal draw. The turn gives absolute bollocks but the river...HE HIT HIS ROYAL FLUSH! I'M BROKE NOW! AHHHHHHHHH!

Catholic slams a chair into the wall.

Bob atholic: SO IF YOU WANT TO LEARN, CHAT, PLAY WITH THE PROS, AND GET SUCKED OUT ON SO BAD IT FEELS LIKE YOU'VE BEEN WITH A NEW YORK HOOKER THAT HAS TWO TEETH, GO TO FULL TILT POKER DOT NET!

Catholic storms off the set.

Ding, ding!

Diabolique fired off a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it snap kick which thumped off Money’s thigh, the muscle flinching on impact. A second kick followed, but K-Money brought his shin up to parry it away, then scored with a stinging snap kick of his own to the Dia’s thigh, leg wavering beneath her. Money capitalised with a blunt forearm to Dia’s jaw, knocking her back a couple of steps… a couple of steps she then used to spring herself right back at him with a superwoman punch which cracked against his chiselled jaw. With K bendy-legged, Dia launched into a whole-hearted roundhouse kick which he narrowly ducked under to ensnare his opponent in a half-nelson. Before he could control the Mistress’ wriggling body, she swung her leg back through his, flying harmlessly around low-blow territory to club her heel against the small of his back. Flinging herself backward, Dia cracked K-Money on the forehead with an overhead bicycle kick. A stunned Money stumbled back, allowing Dia to kip-up… but she did so with her back to him, allowing K-Money to run into a waist-lock, bounce her into the ropes, and pull her down into a roll-up.

“ONE!

T-NO!”

Dia’s powerful legs kicked out, bursting K-Money out of the blocks and into the ropes.

K-Money rebounded off the cables and hurdled the downed Dia, springing off the middle rope with a flying forearm which rocked his rising opponent. Startled, Dia scrambled to her feet, neglecting her bearings so that a picture-perfect dropkick by the Million Dollar Man encountered no defences. K-Money flung himself down across the Dia, but before the referee could skin across to count, she snaked her lithe body out and up from under him. An eye-watering kick slapped across K-Money’s bare chest, followed by a more blunt impact to his spine. Money’s shoulders hunched up as the pain shot through his nervous system, leaving him a sitting duck as Dia scored with a third kick in the form of a clobbering roundhouse to the temple. As K-Money flopped down flat, Dia’s spin ground to a halt facing away from K-Money, her feet set, then she took to the air with a mesmerising twisting standing 450 splash.

“ONE!

TW-NO!”

A dazed K-Money burst out of the cover and reached for the ropes, needing them to rise as he shook the cloudiness from his head. Having retreated to the corner, K-Money found himself faced with an onrushing Mistress, who hurled herself into a tumble, then burst up to again bludgeon K-Money’s skull with a cartwheel corner knee strike. As a groggy Money staggered away from the buckles, Dia kept a hold of the ropes and swung out onto the apron. Locking onto her target, she sprung spinning up onto the top cable and launched herself off onto K-Money. Hooking his head, she orbited Impulse to complete her 720 degrees… but before she could spike him on his head, Money set his feet and hoisted her over with a Northern Lights suplex.

“ONE!

TWO!

TH-NO!”

Dia shot a shoulder up, collapsing K-Money’s bridge. Laying head-to-head, both rolled to the same side, and Money seized Dia as she reared up, trapping her in a double underhook. From a crouch, K-Money popped his hips and took Diabolique over with a butterfly suplex, keeping his fingers tightly locked so that he could take her over with a second. Despite the inevitable squirming and lashing out from Dia, Money kept her locked in, scoring with a third suplex, then rolling through to apply a butterfly lock. Feeling her shoulders barely staying in their sockets, Diabolique fought to tuck her legs under her seated body, allowing her to push up and relieve some of the pressure on her arms and neck. A scorpion kick flung back, snapping harmlessly a foot and a half away from Money. Catching Dia off balance, Money yanked her up, flipped her over, then dropped her down onto her shoulders with a snap tiger bomb, swinging his legs over to pin her arms.

“ONE!

TWO!

THRE-NO!”

Unable to raise an arm, the Mistress had to risk nearly being counted down to kick out and roll back onto her feet. An instinctive sweeping kick was fired off, but Money flattened himself out to avoid it. Sneaking his feet between Dia’s, Money flung his legs open, kicking Dia’s stance apart so that her footing abandoned her. As those in the front row went to cover their eyes, expecting to feel the agony of Dia’s torn muscles, she instead hit the canvas, smirking, in a painless splits… only for Money to pump both his feet into her shoulders. Having packed a little more power than he though was in his legs, Money sent Dia flying out through the ropes and folding up on the mats below.

Unfurling on the mats, a stunned Mistress again tried to get to her feet before her head was ready, leaving her dizzy. Yanking back on the top cable, Money launched himself out of the ring, hooking Dia’s head with his legs and taking her down with a hurricanrana. Trying to roll straight through onto her feet, the Mistress found that her senses hadn’t yet realigned, and she was sent falling on her face. Agreeing with the referee that wrestling matches belonged between the ropes, Money dragged Dia up and rolled her back in under the bottom rope… but as he climbed up onto the apron, one of her lethal feet fired off, catching him across the jaw. Dazed, Money collapsed over the middle rope. A stinging kick to the chest from Diabolique flung him up off the cable, only for her to catch Money with an inverted lungblower, impaling his chest on her knees. Winded, Money desperately grabbed a hold of the cables to avoid toppling off the apron… effort wasted as Dia flung herself up to score with a clubbing enziguri kick to the back of his skull.

Limply, Money collapsed onto his back on the apron, then bounced off onto the mats below.

Despite the referee’s warnings to the contrary, a now clearer-headed Diabolique prepared for flight, gripping the top rope tightly in her gloved fists. Springing to the top rope, the Mistress perched on tip-toes atop the plastic-wrapped cable… then tombstoned off, dropping feet-first down into Money’s midsection with a double-stomp. Money instinctively balled up, the air expelled from his lungs forming a wheezing vacuum that contorted his body. Grinding her teeth, Dia favoured her right ankle ever so slightly as she rose, the restraint she’d shown in not pumping her feet through Money’s prone torso having made her landing that more awkward. Still trying to heave air into his nearly collapsed lungs, Money grabbed the bottom rope and pulled himself up, Dia taking over and bundling him back into the ring. A standing corkscrew senton then impacted off Money's chest before the Mistress tightly hooked his legs.

“ONE!

TWO!

THR-NO!”

While there was air in K-Money, no matter how little, there was fight.

Diabolique would just have to drive that last bit of air out.

Off the middle rope she spring, flipping back into moonsault… only for Money to roll under her. Catching sight of the evasive K-Money, the Mistress managed plant her hands down into the canvas, putting on the brakes and enabling her to land on her feet, crouched. Out of the blocks she rushed, only for K-Money to hook Dia’s arm in a half-nelson, using it to throw her over with a suplex. As she hit the canvas, folding over so both her shoulders and toes were touching the canvas, Money swung his legs around to hook her other arm.

“ONE!

TWO!

T-NO!”

Dia kicked out, but Money refused to surrender his grip on her arm. Despite her struggling, Money wedged himself under Dia, levering her up off the canvas. She flung an elbow back, but aimless, it was almost more danger to the official. Twisting through, Money wrenched the arm tightly into a hammerlock, waiting for the inevitable moment that Diabolique would try and fling a kick back to catch her off balance with a hammerlock suplex, the impact lighting a fuse up her arm that almost exploded her shoulder apart.

In the air they were equal in effect, even if they vastly differed in terms of crispness. Striking, the smart money would be on the Mistress for the knock-out. But when it came to pure wrestling, putting everything on K-Money would be like printing money.

Keeping the hammerlock applied, Money rolled the arm up tighter behind Dia with his right hand as he spun around her, hooking her in a front facelock with his left, then taking her down into a hammerlock cradle, hoping her own shoulder muscles would act to restrain her from kicking out.

“ONE!

TWO!

THRE-NO!”

As the Mistress only just rolled a pained shoulder up, Money again levered her up off the canvas, before spinning out of the hammerlock… only to then slide through Dia’s legs. Keeping hold of her wrist, Impulse yanked sharply on the limb, flipping the Mistress over onto her back. With Dia doubled-over on the canvas, K-Money dropped down, pinning her legs to the canvas with his own.

“ONE!

TWO!

THR-NO!”

Having been folded up so sharply, as the Mistress burst out of the cover her upper body unfolded from underneath the pin, leaving her laying flat on her front… with Money hopping up to pin her knees down with his own. As Money tried to hook her around the chin for The Million Dollar Dream, the Mistress desperately thrust her arms into the mechanism of the hold, preventing K-Money from synching it in. Grabbing hold of her wrists, Money tried to control Dia’s arms and cross them around her neck in an improvised version of the hold, but once again, the Mistress squirmed and twisted, refusing to be constrained. Improvising, Money hopped up off Dia’s knees, tightened his criss-cross grip on her, then propelled the Mistress up overhead with a bridging straightjacket suplex.

“ONE!

TWO!

THREE?

.

.

.

NO!”

Whether it was her last ounce of fight being burned up, or the high angle of the bridging pin collapsing under itself, Dia’s shoulder rolled up off the canvas. K-Money turned to the ref, not to question his count, but just to read in the official’s eyes how close he was.

“OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!”

DAMN close is what he gathered.

Rolling onto his knees, Money took a brief second to compose himself before springing up to his feet and backing away from the groggily rising Mistress, scouting for the best angle to strike from.

Oh, yes, that striking comparison earlier?

Neglected one certain move in K-Money’s arsenal.

Ka$h. KIC---

Or not.

“OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!”

As the sole of Money’s boot was thrust toward her chin, Dia’s self-preservation override kicked in and she managed to arch her body back out of its flight path. Touching her gloved hands on the canvas, Dia pushed herself back upright, using what momentum she could muster to fling herself forward into a koppuo kick… which caught the swiftly turning K-Money square between the eyes.

“WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAH!”

Caught plush by the kick, K-Money was sent dropping back seated onto the bottom rope, before slipping out under the middle and down onto the mats.

Looking out into the popping crowd, the Mistress tried to resume control of her instincts, not entirely sure what she’d just done to forcibly eject Money from the ring. Seeing Money begin to emerge over the horizon of the apron, hands grabbing the back of his throbbing head, the Mistress rose and barged past the referee. Launching herself over the top cable, Diabolique plummeted down onto K-Mon---

Sidestep.

Ka$h. KICK!

Just as the Mistress’ feet touched down on the mats, K-Money caught her under the chin with as sudden a superkick as has ever been fired. Her puppet strings cut, a limp Dia toppled, landing seated, then spreading out across the mats so that the top third of her body had trickled under the apron.

“HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!”

With the referee’s count up to six, K-Money wasn’t about to waste his time dragging the limp Vicious champ into the ring to be covered, and rolled in under the bottom rope on seven.

“EIGHT!

NINE!

TEN!”

With the Mistress still laying motionless on the floor, a spent K-Money dropped back against the ropes, the adrenaline surge of the match flushing from his system to leave an almighty headache.

Ding, ding!

"Money Already Made" by Chamillionaire blasted out around the arena, making K-Money think his skull was about to burst, but not even drawing a twitch from Diabolique. As the referee raised K-Money’s hand in victory, the crowd reaction started to change as a guest decided to join the party.

"Cut the music."

K-Money turns his head towards to the entrance and there stands his most hated enemy, who happens to be his boss. Christian Connolly stands there, and claps with a smile on his face. He pauses for a moment as K-Money screams some words towards him.

Connolly heads to the ring, as the chorus of cheers begins to grow with more and more fans realizing the fight that could break out. He steps through the ropes, and with no hesitation, he positions himself right in front of K-Money. And there, he gives him a hard look in turn.

Connolly: K-Money. I gotta say, it ain't been long enough. Now I know that you're relishing in the fact that you're now apart of MY wrestling organization, and the fact that you'll be able to be a thorn in my side once again, I'm here to nip all that in the bud right now.

Ken: The boss is here to lay down the law.

Chris: More like he's running scared.

Connolly: Let's make something perfectly clear.. I don't like you. I HATE YOU.

RRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!

Connolly: But my Director of Talent Relations, the one who signed you.. he made me realize that when you run a business, you gotta put personal feelings aside. And I can admit, that you being apart of PWE is great for business. Your appearance at Cyberslam along doubled the buyrates of the replay and generated record traffic for the website. So you keep making me money.. then we're cool.

Chris: Now why can't these fans be as smart as our boss?

Connolly: So, speaking of buyrates.. it got me to thinking. I was watching your promo and listening to what you had to say, and I thought to myself that I had to come up with a way to captialize all the hype that you have. And while I was thinking, I got a phone call. And there was a man on the other end, who like me, caught wind of what you were saying and he didnt agree with it. He felt like if there was anyone in wrestling who could take PWE to greater heights, it would be him.. not you.

In the ring, Connolly closes in on K-Money. He’s obviously angry, but microphoneless, there’s not a lot he can say. He gets very close – too close, maybe.

Connolly: You’ve been a thorn in my side for a long time now. And as great as the buyrates are now, this man has promised me that they'll be even bigger.. especially as he's kicking your ASS!

Smirks…

Connolly: K-Money…

Right in K-Money’s face now.

Connolly: … lemme introduce you to that man, who's not gonna just make an impact.. but a.. BIG TYME one!

"Big Tyme" by Peter Gabriel

Ken: WHAT!?!?!

Connolly: ZACH RIZZA!!!!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!

Chris: HE CAN’T DO THIS!

Ken: He just did!

Indeed.

Rizza’s smiling down at the ring, where K-Money is too shocked to do much of anything. When his senses finally return, he whirls on Connolly to give him an earful, but he’s already gone, smiling his way around the ring, and then back up the entrance ramp. Him and Zach exchange a cordial handshake when he reaches the top.

Ken: This crowd is going insane! And so is K-Money! What will happen next week in Pittsburgh at Solitary 30?! One can only imagine! For Chris Carter, I'm Ken Stevenson.. Good night everybody!

Fade to the smiling face of Zach Rizza. His Big Tyme arrival has been felt.

PWE logo.