Travis Miller is clad in a traditional block ops uniform, complete with Bowie Knife and night vision goggles; while Mike is wearing the gear of a vampire hunter, including a trench coat and a fedora. With the camera perched just behind them, Travis leans over and whispers to Mike. Travis Miller: What are we looking for here, again? Mike Phantasy: Shut the fuck up, Miller. We’re hunting wampires. Travis Miller: Okay. Why are you talking like a douchebag? Mike Phantasy: Sorry. I am allergic to garlic. Travis scratches his head with confusion, while Mike Phantasy removes the beads of garlic from around his neck. Travis Miller: How in the goddamn are we supposed to find a vampire out here? There’s nothing but sand! Mike Phantasy: [pointing] Look! Over there! Tracks! Travis Miller: Wait... do vampires even leave tracks? Mike Phantasy: Motherfwuck if I know! Let’s take a look. The two jump over top of the dune and head in the direction that mike was pointing at, following the tracks which lead to lights off in the distance. Mike Phantasy: [pointing towards the lights] There! That’s where we’re going to find that goddamned vampire! Travis Miller: What are we waiting for?!? Let’s go! Mike then whistles and shouts. Mike Phantasy: Come here, girls! Just then, two stunning brown horses with black main’s gallop into the picture. Mike smiles, ropes his horse and hops onto the saddle. Mike tells Travis to hop on and urges that they continue forward. Reluctantly, Travis questions where Mike found two stallions in the desert. Regardless, he hurls his leg over the beast and the two gallop off into the distance, towards the light.
Standing there, beneath the swirling rotor blades of the helicopter, holding a microphone in his hand, is Horatio Q. and Tsarmina Bloodmoon. He looks around, waiting for the blades to quiet down, while snaring at the fans, who jeer at him. When the time is right, he speaks up. Horatio Q.: Welcome, everyone, to tonight's show! The fans jeer at him, throwing some garbage at him. Angered, he tosses the filth back at several fans. Horatio Q.: How dare you! I can buy each and everyone one of you! I can buy this entire piece-o'-shit country! Boooo! Horatio Q.: Even if you ungrateful bags of shit don't like me, I'm still going to make a great show tonight! In the main event, my guy... Casanova, will be taking on that stupid son of a bitch, "The Creep". Mike Phantasy, who got what he deserved last show, will be the referee. I know, I know. If that faggot even thinks of conspiring against Casanova, I will sue him for all that he's worth. Do you goddamn hear me, Mike Phantasy?! More boos pour in. Horatio Q.: Corey Page wants to build a faggot alliance... some sort of army... well, fuck him. I've got Casanova on my side and he's a one man army! He'll destroy all of you pissheads. Standing beside Horatio, playing with her hair, Tsarmina Bloodmoon nods her head in agreement. Horatio Q.: Corey Page... are you listening, faggot? You pussy! At "How The Horatio Stole Christmas", I will destroy you, pussy! Horatio rolls up his sleeves, revealing his older muscles. Horatio Q.: I'll kill you, little boy, little faggot boy. However, I have another announcement to make about "How the Horatio Stole Christmas". Yes, I'm naming the pay per view after myself because I own this place and all of you faggots! Vitriol spews out of Horatio's mouth, almost spitting as he speaks the words. Horatio Q.: At the pay per view, not only will we crown a new Television Champion, in a to be determined match... but we will also crown this year's 2009 Sin Tag Trophy Champions. There will be 3 teams... in one match... and everyone on the roster is involved. Every single faggot in the back, such as Travis Miller and Mike Phantasy; to even my Casanova. No one will know who they will be partered with until the pay per view. You could be with your best friend and lover... He looks lovingly towards Tsarmina, who blows a kiss at him. Horatio Q.: ...or you could be with your greatest enemy. He scowls at the camera. Horatio Q.: If you really want to win, you'll have to work as a team... such as how it is with "Ultimate Survival". Trust me, I have some special stipulations based on that, as well. Giggling with excitement, Horatio is patted down by Tsarmina. Horatio Q.: Corey Page, you faggot, I'm keeping this company. It's your own fault for being a Canadian loser! You hear me! You may have the wrestling experience... but I have the moneys... Removing a wad of cash from his pocket, he tosses into the crowd, sending everyone running like madmen, towards the money. Horatio Q.: Speaking of Corey Page and his merry band of faggots... Travis Miller, get out here, you're wrestling one of MY signees, Kinsey Wells! Throwing down the microphone, Horatio and Tsarmina walk away from the helicopter and heads towards the backstage area, while the rest of the action begins.
Singles Match
Travis Miller vs. Kinsey Wells
 
"Reroute to Remain" by In Flames hits the sound system as Kinsey Wells steps out onto the stage. The audience seems muted at best, and vaguely hostile at worst. She's clearly not the favorite, not against a veritable SW legend like Miller. She doesn't seem too fazed, however, as she makes her way to ringside, and then rolls into the ring, carefully eyeing Miller all the while. The referee motions for the bell and the two competitors make their way to the middle of the ring. They stare down for a bit, Travis Miller seeming very amused at the size difference between himself and Kinsey Wells. He steps back and motions to the crowd, getting a loud pop, and also incidentally starting a "Kill The Bitch!" chant. Maybe these drunken Kazakhs are mistaking her for Stevie Swing? Regardless, all Travis gets for his humor is a hard slap across the face from Kinsey Wells! He slowly turns back, all the amusement gone from his face, instead replaced by an expression that might be best described as MILLER SMASH! Unfortunately for T-Mill, by the time he makes the exaggerated turnaround, Wells has rebounded off the ropes and is charging right at him! She blasts him with a fierce shoulderblock! Stepping back for a moment, she flexes in her own right, bellowing to the crowd something about respect! Unsurprisingly, Miller wasn't moved at all by the shoulderblock, and indeed allows Kinsey to better converse with the crowd by lifting her above his head with a gorilla press and launching her straight into the audience from inside the ring! The crowd pops loud for his display of strength, as nearby fans grope wildly at Kinsey, who quickly scampers back to ringside and away from the lecherous unwashed masses. She slowly steps onto the apron, still trading unkind words with nearby fans, when Travis decides that it's time for business by reaching onto the apron to lift her right into the ring and planting her square in the middle with a massive spinebuster! He leans casually across her for the cover! ...1...2... ...no! Somehow, Kinsey Wells kicks out of Miller's half-hearted cover! He shrugs, lifting her to her feet slowly, before motioning to the crowd that this will be the end. He lifts her up overhead in another press, this time looking for the Epiphany! ...No! She fights hard enough to fall free from his grasp, and land behind Miller! He turns, and she rakes his eyes with a handful of fingernails! Miller staggers back, apparently blinded, which allows Kinsey to send him further packing with an awkward looking dropkick that apparently works well enough! Miller tumbles through the ropes, just barely catching himself to keep from crashing all the way to the floor outside the ring. He regains his footing on the apron, only for Kinsey to grab him by the head and drive him right toward the nearby ring post! He blocks the attempt, though, utilizing his massive strength advantage to simply hold back against her. She tries again, but he's unyielding, and indeed he reverses the situation completely, grabbing her by the hair and banging her face solidly against the turnbuckle! The crowd seems to love this, and when Kinsey staggers back, stunned, Miller simply repeats the motion, smacking the turnbuckle with her face yet again! Seeing the crowd enjoying things, Miller cranks one of Kinsey's arms back in a hammerlock, causing her to holler out in pain. Then he stuffs her face back against the turnbuckle, both hunching her over and muting her yelps all the while. This rather...unfortunate...positioning of the two and the sound effects sends the crowd over the top with cheers, which are quickly followed with a "Bite the Pillow!" chant. Oh, those scandalous Kazakhs. How they happen to always chant in conveniently understandable English for the writeup remains... unclear. Miller enjoys the moment for a bit longer, before finally breaking his grip, allowing Kinsey to remove herself, red-faced, from the turnbuckle. She swings wildly at him with another vicious slap, but he easily ducks it, and lifts her up and back into the center of the ring with a back suplex! To her credit, Kinsey struggles to her feet... but Miller has had enough, and whips her clear across the ring into an opposite corner! She smashes against the turnbuckles so hard that she would've bounced right back out of the corner, except for Miller's oncoming avalanche splash, which completely ruins her day. A loud "ooh" echoes through the crowd, as Kinsey slumps to the mat, apparently unconscious. Miller decides that discretion has nothing to do with valor, and promptly lifts her up in a press, before quickly snapping her to the mat with a powerslam, completing his Epiphany! He hooks a leg for the cover! ...1...2...3! "New Divide" begins playing again, as the referee raises Travis Miller's hand in victory. He rises, climbs the turnbuckles to pose for a bit for the audience, andmakes his way to the back. By that point, Kinsey is finally coming to in the ring, and looks very distraught over how hard wrestling seems to be. Winner: Travis Miller
Teresa Quaranta: Well, that does it. Pop culture is dead. Estelle Webb: Oic! Teresa Quaranta: At least in the sense of a unifying overculture Beatles, Micheal Jackson, Nirvana type of thing. That died when the Internet came along, but America Idol hasn't helped the process along much. It does to music what cheap Indian labor does to the job market - a product that's on television has been promoted. It has an image, so there's no need to cook one up. It has a fanbase. There's no need to pitch it to late night shows and morning interviewers. "As seen on American Idol" works as well as anything. The modern musician has been replaced by something more efficient. I mean, KZ Superstar? She sighs over another piercing note. Teresa Quaranta: American culture is a cancer. Estelle Webb: Hey! You know, this was a British show first. Teresa Quaranta: Sh'up. Estelle Webb: Sooo, what's the plan for Dead Spaces? Besides killing THE ENDBRINGER. What happens when you end the Endbringer? Will there be no more ends ever again? On the bright side, you get to be champion forever. On the other hand you probably never get to end Stevie... without him around to do the official ending. Teresa shrugs. Teresa Quaranta: I hadn't thought it through that far. Some ring set up in a glorified ditch in Kazakhstan? What's to do? Estelle Webb: That's RIGHT up your alley! No form! No restrictions! Means you have to get creative. Teresa's gaze goes upward and passes slyly over the camera. Teresa Quaranta: I don't know if I have that in me. I can't go out there and heel it up, exactly. What am I supposed to do, cut a devastating promo on the goats? Tell them they're fat and eat too much hay or tin cans... or whatever goats fucking eat? I can't do one of those cheesy "oh my god I'm stepping out of a limo, anticipate what I'll do tonight!" spots because I don't even think they have limos out here. Estelle Webb: Do they even have roads here? Teresa Quaranta: Nope, probably not. Estelle Webb: Soooo maybe you should ride up on a camel. Teresa Quaranta: That's pretty racist. In the background, a dry accented voice is saying something smarmy, and the crowd boos. A female voice says something conciliatory, and the crowd cheers. A deep voice says "dawg". Estelle Webb: I think they really ride camels here, so technically - Teresa Quaranta: If I were to go out there and read a Shaku Endbringer promo with a straight face, wouldn't that be an insult? Estelle Webb: Good point. Maybe you should do a backstage interview? By the way, with Ace Rodgers - making him kiss your boot and then punting him in the ribs? Sort've not cool. Teresa Quaranta: Which would be the point? I think it was the way he said 'Chris Carson' that did it for me. Like he was committing an act of bravery or something. Really drove home how comfortable his life was : a white American male who gets paid exorbitant amounts of money to walk up to people and say 'What are your thoughts?' I figured embarrassing him for a few seconds would feel slightly better than not doing it. Which was all it took. A sudden stream of gibberish. The only English words we can make out are "McDonalds" and "Big Mac" and "ba ba ba ba baaaaa". Estelle Webb: Callouts? Carson? Or Stevie? No pyro or backstage or limo needed for that. Teresa Quaranta: Pff. They'll all be coming to me soon enough. Time is a relative thing. I'm already fighting them in a sense. I've already fought them in another sense. No need to rush that encounter. Unless I change my mind. It's weird how all those things translate perfectly though, across the monoculture, without the need for any sort of deep understanding. Estelle hmms and there's silence for a few seconds. Finally, she waves the remote. Estelle Webb: Well... you wanna stay here and watch Buffy reruns dubbed in weird languages? Teresa Quaranta: That's the ticket. Estelle makes a nice arcing pass, and the audio changes as we fade to black.
Mike Phantasy: Casanova... are you in here? He sprinkles some Holy Water in the trash, thinking it will combust... but nothing happens. Mike Phantasy: Damn. I guess not. With his head on his hand, Corey continues to watch as Mike Phantasy gallavants around, searching for the undead. Mike sweeps a rug out from beneath an official's feet, forcing the person onto the ground, with a loud thump. Mike Phantasy: Are you under this rug? Nope. Mike looks at the fallen official and nods. Mike Phantasy: Sorry. Out of nowhere, Tsarmina Bloodmoon walks by, frightening Mike. Right away, he places a cross on her forehead, thinking she is amongst the living dead. Mike Phantasy: Die, you androgynous, bloodsucking, walker of the night! Nothing happens. Instead, Tsarmina hisses at Mike Phantasy, who backs off, allowing her to walk up to Corey Page. She drops a package in Corey's lap and then silently walks away, giving Mike a cold, hard stare. Corey Page: Yeeeeucchhhh. What did that thing leave me? Mike walks up to Corey, holding a crucifix. Mike Phantasy: If it's Casanova... or another vampire, I got your back...! Standing back, Mike prepares for Corey to open the box. Unfastening the bow that is wrapped around it, Corey removes the lid and looks inside... ...only to be horrified at what he views. Mike Phantasy: What? What is it?! If it's a vampire, I'll kill it! Mike holds up a baggy of garlic powder. As he's about to pour it, the box falls over and the contents inside of it come rolling out. Mike Phantasy: Holy fuck. It's the bloodied head of a goat. Mike Phantasy: Is that... Betsy? I thought she was already dead... or turned into a robot... or is now living with Morgana, or something. Corey Page: I... I... Corey picks up a note that was also inside the box. It reads:
I OWN YOUR SHITTY COMPANY YOU WILL NEVER WIN $$$$$$$$ painfully yours, Horatio Q. There's also pictures of Horatio holding the goat's head and one using the goat's head as a puppet. Disturbed, Corey Page can barely talk, whereas Mike Phantasy is in a stupor. Mike Phantasy: Err... well... at least it had its head cut off, so it can't come back from the dead. Just for good measure, Mike Phantasy squirts some holy water on the decaying head, which now has some flies buzzing around it. Corey Page can only pull out his cellphone, giving someone a call -- perhaps Chris Extreme, if history proves correct. Dialing a number, he lets it ring... Mike Phantasy: Hey, who are you calling? ...Ring... ...Ring... ...Ring... Corey Page: Chris Extreme. Mike Phantasy: That sick fuck, but why? We've got you covered, Miller and I. Once I get revenge on that traitor, Casanova, all things will be perfect. ...Ring... Corey Page: No. This needs to end. The only person sick enough, depraved enough, disturbed enough to end this is him. Mike shrugs, while the phone continues to ring. ...Ring... ...Ring... Over and over, the ringing repeats. There's no answer. Corey Page: Damnit, he is not answering. Mike Phantasy: He's probably tired of you bugging the crap out of him these past few weeks. Hanging up his phone, Corey woefully sits on his rock, watching as the flies eat up the head of the goat. Mike Phantasy, meanwhile, returns to hunting vampires. Mike Phantasy: I think I see one coming through that curtain! Running off, Mike pulls out a wooden stake, ready to put it through the vampire's chest. The person behind the curtain rustles the mesh, startling Mike. Mike Phantasy: I'm ready for you! He lunges at the person who is about to appear behind the curtain... Mike Phantasy: Whoops! ...it's Travis Miller, returning from his previous match! The stake comes within inches of gourging into his flesh, which would probably killed him. Travis Miller: Jesus Christ, watch out! Mike Phantasy: I'm sorry! Travis Miller: You can never be too careful. Mike Phantasy: I know. Especially with all these vampires walking around and attacking you. All these traitorous, two-faced vampires. Travis Miller: Yeah, yeah, yeah. Shouldn't you be getting ready for tonight's main event, in which you are refereeing? Mike Phantasy: But... vampires! Miller looks over Mike's shoulder, seeing the goat head on the floor. Travis Miller: Holy Jesus Christ... Mike Phantasy: Yeah, I know... Corey Page is a total bummer right now. Travis Miller: No, I'm talkin' about the freakin' goat head...! Mike Phantasy: Oh... that? Yeah, that's disgusting. Overhearing their conversation, Corey lowers his head and then stands firmly to his feet. Corey Page: No more of this! I can defeat his money and power! I can do it! I can do it with one arm tied behind my back! Army or no army, I will do it! Corey Page stomps off, leaving a befuddled Travis Miller and Mike Phantasy... and a sawed off goat head.
Woke animal feelings in me Took over my sense and I lost control I'll taste your blood tonight Casanova steps out onto the stage in plain clothes, jeans and one of his new tee shirts. It has his silhouette on the front surrounded by a crimson spiral, with the words "The Nightmare Returns..." on the back. Horatio Q. has made sure that it's affordable for even the most modest of nouveau riche at $59.99 either online or at any Sin Wrestling show. As he makes his way down the ramp, he drags behind him a dented and battered steel chair. On the screen, the image slowly trails up the silhouette of the man walking with the chair, rising until it reaches the outline of his shoulders and head, the eyes suddenly visible in flashes of red, as the image shatters like glass, replaced by "Casanova," spelled out in a trail of blood.
You know I make you wanna run from me baby But know it's too late you've wasted all your time He slides inside with the chair, which he drops in the middle of the ring, before sliding out the other side of the ring, retrieving a microphone and another chair. He unfolds the new chair and sits upon it, while his music fades out completely, replaced with the roaring boos of the crowd in attendence. They quiet a good bit as he speaks, almost whispering into the microphone, so that the fans have to tone it down just to hear him at all. Casanova: "I wonder what's going on in his head," I've heard. "Why, Cas, why?!" I've had screamed in my face by twelve year old marks of both SW and Twilight, apparently. "How could you turn your back on Corey Page?" like some insidious chant echoing in the halls of SW fans' collective psyches. "Corey Page...Corey Page...Corey Page..." His voice trails off into nothing, but is taken up by the audience with a repeating "Corey Page! Corey Page!" chant. Casanova shakes his head slowly, before speaking again into the microphone, this time a bit louder. Casanova: And there we go yet again, third parties incensed by something they don't understand...but should. Ultimately, I've become as much of a viewer, of a spectator, as everyone in the audience right now. Call it amnesia, call it intentional ignorance...but I'm only now reacquainting myself with my actions through old DVDs, old videos, and the like. I see myself betraying my former allies years ago...I see myself making Chris Carson's family life miserable. I see myself standing atop the world yet again...and I see myself crashing down in failure. I see all of this just like you do, like it's happening...like it's happened...to someone else. The audience seems to grow restless, booing louder again what appears to be some rambling attempt by Casanova to explain himself. He ignores them, as he leans over, picking the dented steel chair off the mat, and leaning over it. Casanova: When you take away the attachment, it opens your eyes. Did I sell out? You could say that. Did I turn my back on the man who made my career? You could say that. Those are side effects, though. What it comes down to is that I woke up recently and found that I had nothing. I felt like a new day had dawned, cleansing me of a thousand worries, a thousand concerns. At the same time, I remembered nothing of substance. Names...faces...they were blank to me. Tabula rasa; the mind was freshly restarted. But there somehow remained muscle memory. I never forgot how to ram my knee into someone's face. I never forgot how to kick someone in the temple. To crush someone's features flat with a steel chair...to snap someone into unconsciousness with Destiny Calling. There's a mild pop as Casanova mentions his finisher, but otherwise it's still generally drowned out by boos. He continues nonetheless. Casanova: Where is this all going, do you want to know? Simple, let's connect the dots. I apparently have history here. It's the fastest path back to doing what I do best. Indeed...it's all I know right now. It's not about Horatio's money. It's taking one look at the brouha going on and saying, "There's a million-dollar couple and their money on one side...and a rising army of mismatched fools on the other. If I take a side here, which one will give me more to do?" That's it. The end. It comes down to who gives me more targets. It's just a bonus that the more I acquaint myself with my own history and that of Sin Wrestling...the more certain I am of my decision. Shifting his weight, he holds the chair up high, moving it at an angle to see best the light reflecting differently off the dents in the chair. Casanova: You know, chair, you're all I have. There's a world full of faces and names that mean nothing to me anymore, that draw no rush of cold blood to my skin...but to take you and crack you against the soft flesh and hard bones of Mike Phantasy's face...that felt so familiar. It felt...right. Even if I did remember more, I'd probably still come to this point. I watched recently a clip of Zimdela Brudon returning and apparently reawakening me...with the very same chair I broke over him and my allies years before. In a beautiful sort of full circle, it covers my entire wrestling career. Before there was Shane Donovan, and long before him Zimdela Brudon...and even before him, Draco...there was always the harsh clang of steel coming into swift contact with humanity. Various iterations have been with me since the start, and continue with me today. You are the latest in a long line of steel chairs that have changed lives, have changed careers...and have changed this federation in my hands. He stands up from the other chair, still holding on to the dented chair, which he shifts in his hands, testing the weight, feinting a swing, before speaking again. Casanova: We will continue to do so. Next show it might be Travis Miller. Maybe Chris Carson. Maybe even Corey "Holy Fuck" Page himself. Tonight, however...we wait. I'll beat Carson just fine, Phantasy or not. Tonight, for you and I, chair, is about serving notice to the remains of Sin Wrestling. Your nightmare has returned. Your faces, your names, they mean nothing to me except to differentiate targets. Your voices? I've long since forgotten. The only familiar sound? Casanova turns suddenly, crashing the chair down upon the newer chair with a clang that jolts the first few rows of fans nearly out of their seats. He speaks into the microphone, returning to the barely audible whisper. Casanova: You could say that it's...Destiny Calling. In the middle of his rant at the crowd, however, Casanova's microphone starts to zonk in and out. He taps at the mike, only to suddenly be interrupted by... his own entrance music...? The lights go out as "Scream" by Avenged Sevenfold begins playing. On the SW-Tron, an image is seen and heard faintly, showing just the legs of a man walking down a hallway, apparently dragging a steel chair along, which is covered in patches of dried blood.
Woke animal feelings in me Took over my sense and I lost control I'll taste your blood tonight Instead of Casanova, a familiar figure comes out, hiding behind a cape. He unfurls his arms... and it's Chris Carson, dressed up as Dracula! He holds his cape out and mocks the crowd with a tuxedo and some horribly-fake teeth, getting a good laugh out of the crowd! Casanova's eyes close a bit in disbelief, but does well at holding back anger. Alternatively, Carson pulls out his fanged teeth, able to use the microphone for the time being from the entrance. Chris Carson: Blaaaah! I am Count Carson! Blaaah! It is my arch-nemesis, Fagula! Casanova doesn't look too happy about being mocked, but actually seethes pretty coolly. Chris Carson: Vee have been fighting for so long to capture our own territories! I have been sucking blood, and you have been sucking cock! After a bit of pounding at the microphone, Cas's mike jolts to life. Casanova: Is this all you've got, Carson? Mocking me like a little CHILD? Carson finally gets out of character and smirks at Cas. Chris Carson: See, I still got it. I know how to get under that skin of yours, Cas. I know how to twist your panties in a fuckin' knot. Carson takes a moment to roll his sleeves up... Chris Carson: But most of all, I know that we're not even CLOSE to finished feudin'! You said it was over last time? Uh-uh. I don't think so. If you're gonna try to get past me by giving' H.Q. handjobs, you got another thing comin'! Carson struts his way down to a spot halfway down the ramp. Chris Carson: I am the one who got a bum rap by havin' my title taken from me without a single title defense to it. I'm the one waitin' for a rematch clause to kick in. And I'm the one who is gonna wipe the mat with your carcass, Stevie Swing's carcass, Horatio Q's carcass...any goddamned punk who thinks that they can take away my precious metal! Casanova stares bullets at Carson while the crowd appreciates Carson's declaration. Chris Carson: In fact, fang-fucker, you and your tired vampire act RAN when I became champion. You never once challenged me, but now that my title is gone, you decide to come back... Casanova: Mr. Q. gave the money for me to come back. It's better than having the likes of you running around. The crowd boos, but Carson takes a few more steps. Chris Carson: ...says a wannabe Twilight reject wearin' leather pants. Cas's eyes sliver even more. Chris Carson: But, if you wanna argue more, why not give me just ONE reason why you think you deserve a title shot, ONE REASON! Casanova: You want one? I'll give you many! Number 1, Sin's ratings fell like a stone with you at the top, you paper champion! Two, you're not the one with the most victories here at Sin--I AM! And three, you've NEVER beaten me one-on-one, Carson! NEVER! Carson lets the crowd's boos fade before he talks. Chris Carson: How many reasons is that? Casanova: Three reasons, Carson! Chris Carson: I'm sorry. How many? Casanova grips the ropes and stomps his foot. Casanova: Three, Carson! THREE! Chris Carson: Ah! Yes! THREE!! THREE!! THREE WONDERFUL REASONS!! Ah ah aaaaaah!!! You are the Count, and you love to COUNT THIIIINGS!! Carson dances around on the ramp while fake thunder noise rolls through the speakers. The crowd laughs, and Casanova starts to kick at the ropes. Chris Carson: All of those reasons mean jack SHIT to me, Casanova! Our feud ain't over until I say it is! And if you say otherwise... Carson puts the fake fangs back in his mouth... Chris Carson: BITE ME! This time, Carson's music plays and he walks to the back, leaving an annoyed Casanova standing in the ring.
Kelvin Coolidge: That light have to be so bright? Fuck's sake, we're in Borat's backyard; we don't need that much electricity flooding into my fucking eyes. Ace Rodgers: So, Kelvin, you're going up against one of the greatest wrestlers- Kelvin raises his hand to stop Ace from continuing his question. Kelvin Coolidge: Hold it right there, “pard'ner.” Let's get down to the nitty of the motherfucking peanut butter gritty, shall we? This match is simply a test to see whether or not I can stay conscious long enough to buttfuck Brigitte Nielsen, you get me? Titles? Money? These things don't concern me. What concerns me is will my trustfund last long enough for me to build a life size statue of myself out of bottle caps? Will Shaku ever qualify for his GED? When is Teresa going to show her tits and promptly get the fuck out of town? Because when it all comes down to it, I could care less if I pin Stevie or if she pins me. Ace Rodgers: What kind of strategy would you call that? Kelvin Coolidge: Call it? What would I call it? It's called the “Givvafuck” method, and frankly I don't give one. That's why you see Shaku losing his fucking mind every time my name pops up on the TV screen. That's why I get named dropped in other people's promos. My absolute lack of want is going to get me a title regardless. Ultraviolence belt? I'm gonna wipe my ass with it all the way up to the World Championship so I can get drunk enough to projectile vomit on the front row and get applause for it. The whole thing is a ludicrously funded dog and pony show. I'm just the only one smart enough to expose it for what it really is. Ace Rodgers: But Kelvin! I mean, you cannot seriously be this—nonchalant--about your match! You're up against Stevie Swing! She's defeated the likes of Carson and Casanova-- Kelvin Coolidge: You spout off names like these people actually matter. Nobody in the company, save for the one girl that holds a title, is above anybody else. You think a track record is supposed to garner you respect or adoration? If that were the case, resumes would read like fucking superhero fact sheets. Instead, you've got a bunch of people at ground level who are all fighting and clawing for the same stupid thing. The ability to rub salt in the would of the people they beat, and then what? You're Casanova? Fucking around in the Netherworld with a bunch of bucktooth faggots trying to figure out how to make SPF 9 Billion? Carson? Trying to get his Mom to co-sign on his next double-wide? Spare me your NFL Films history lesson; I have a date with the Bear Jew. Adjusting his leather jacket, he pulls out his truck keys, tosses them up in the air, then catches them before giving a raised eyebrow to the camera and walking away.
Ultraviolence Title Preparation
Sandbox of Thumbtacks Match Stevie Swing vs. Kelvin Coolidge
 
The familiar sounds of “Disturbia” hit the crowd in Kazakhstan, who are unfamiliar with American popular music and are unresponsive until Stevie Swing bursts through the paper hymen of her glass vagina. She starts dancing, halting only when she hears an overwhelming cry of “KILL THE JEW!” from the Kazakh crowd, who have a sixth sense for members of the Tribe. Stevie pensively makes her way to the ring, which amuses Kelvin. She slides into the ring and asks for a microphone from the ring announcer, who gives it to her. Stevie Swing: Look, Kelvin, I know that you and I are supposed to fight in that sandbox full of thumbtacks tonight and everything, but the fact of the matter is that I’m just not feeling it tonight. While it’s unclear if the Kazakh crowd can actually understand her, a huge chorus of boos rise up from the crowd. Kelvin continues to smoke his cigar as he strokes the barrel of his shotgun. Outside the ring, his dog defecates on the protective mats surrounding the ring. The crowd laughs, then picks up on its “KILL THE JEW” chant. Stevie Swing: I mean, it isn’t your fault or anything, but these dirty Kazakhs have been calling for my blood ever since my plane landed. There’s a $10,000 bounty out for my horns. I like my horns, Calvin! Besides that, my partner’s still in that cutesy “let’s capture our baby’s every waking moment” phase, and I don’t want to explain to my kid fifteen years from now why mommy is cradling her while she gets a blood transfusion. This match is fucking stupid, and I know you don’t particularly give a fuck, so how about we call this shit off, maybe get a hooker or something, and you can go back to imitating the Joker next week, huh? Stevie holds her hand out to Kelvin, who rubs out his cigar, throws down his shotgun, and rubs his chin thoughtfully. He saunters over to Stevie and extends his hand in return, and Stevie takes it, smiling. Kelvin smiles back…before wrenching Stevie’s arm into a hammerlock and rushing her into the sandbox! Using all of his weight, Kelvin leaps forward and sandwiches Stevie into the tacks, which she takes without being able to cover up! The Kazakhs, incredibly pleased by this turn of events, stop chanting for Stevie’s death and start yelling for more of her blood. Kelvin looks happy to oblige his adoring crowd, leaping into the air and landing a vicious stomp on the back of Stevie’s cranium, further mashing her face into the thousands of tacks. Correctly sensing that he has the upper hand, Kelvin lifts Stevie to her feet, showing off the dozens of tacks that are stuck in her Jew-y face! The Kazakh crowd howls when they see Stevie in this condition, blood streaming down her face, and only gets louder when Kelvin boots Stevie in the gut and unceremoniously plants her in the middle of the sandbox with a facebuster! Kelvin hooks the leg… ...1...2... ...but Stevie weakly kicks out, much to the shock of Kelvin and everybody in the crowd! Kelvin Coolidge quickly gets back to his feet and begins to measure Stevie up as she slowly comes to, down on hands and knees in the sandbox. Kelvin takes this as a great moment to strike and does so, punting Stevie right in the babymaker! The crowd roars for this, and Kelvin shrugs, figuring to go for it again. He does, but Stevie, using her dancing background and untold amounts of focus, manages a handstand in the tacks, and from that position gets Kelvin in a headscissors! As though he were Kano and Stevie were Sonya Blade, Kelvin is quickly lying down on the tacks, Stevie’s legs continuing to squeeze the life out of him. Stevie relents on the hold, only so she can bring her heel down hard on the bridge of Kelvin’s nose! She works quickly while Kelvin is stunned, grabbing a fistful of tacks and shoving them down the front of Kelvin’s pants! Stevie gets to her feet, the crowd booing her unmercifully, and kicks Kelvin in the head before climbing out onto the ring apron. Telling the crowd to fuck off, she leaps into the air and springboards off the ropes, landing a perfect double stomp on Kelvin’s tack-addled testes! Though a lesser man would pass out from the pain, Coolidge is nevertheless rendered immobile by Stevie’s double stomp! Knowing that she has the match in hand, she moves in for the kill, getting down to her knees to gather another handful of tacks. She forces Kelvin’s mouth open and pours them into his mouth, then forces his mouth closed and pinches his nose, forcing him to swallow! Kelvin Coolidge writhes around in the sandbox of tacks, no doubt feeling every individual tack as they travel down his esophagus and into his stomach! Not quite finished, Stevie ascends to the top turnbuckle and points downward before going into her tights to retrieve the dreaded Yakama! Garbage begins to pelt the ring as Stevie puts on her sacred hat, preparing herself for the Five Star of David, which prompts furious sounding European techno music to blast from the loudspeakers. Before Stevie can leap off the top rope with the Five Star of David, Tsarmina Bloodmoon walks out to the ring with a microphone. Tsarmina Bloodmoon: ?????????? ??????! Not knowing how to speak Russian, Stevie shrugs and looks down at Kelvin, ready to leap. Tsarmina sighs. Tsarmina Bloodmoon: Stop the match, American whore! This is, how you say, a double disqualification! Stevie gets down from the top rope, obviously confused. At this point, Kelvin gets up from the sandbox of tacks and coughs up the thumbtacks in his throat, smiling with a mouth of blood as he does so. Tsarmina Bloodmoon: After countless complainings from Kazakh pay-per-view providers and tribal leaders, Kelvin Coolidge is disqualified for being American pig-dog great-great-grandson of thirtieth United States President! The crowd reacts half-heartedly to this information, as they’d enjoyed watching him pick apart Stevie Swing in the beginning of the match. Tsarmina Bloodmoon: And Stevie, while Horatio appreciates that you ask “How high?” when he commands you to jump, you are disqualifieds from this match for conspiring to disseminate Jewish propaganda on Kazakh land. The only reason I haven’t been forced to deport you to Siberia is that today is a festive, happy occasion for our hosts this week: The Running of the Jew! Tsarmina heads to the back as Kelvin laughs at Stevie, though doing so causes him to double over in pain. Stevie looks like she’s about to do something about it, until a half-full bottle of whisky flies out from the crowd and hits her in the small of her back. A wild-eyed look of terror overcomes her, and she quickly decides to run for the locker room, a chant of “KILL THE JEW” following her as she does. The scene fades out, last showing Kelvin happily rolling around in thumbtacks, like a kid rolling in the ballpit at McDonalds. Winner: Draw
Teresa Quaranta: I'm the World Champion... but Stevie Swing has MY built. I don't even need it. She cracks her knuckles against the stonewall again. Teresa Quaranta: She wants me to earn her respect... well, I'll do it. Oh yes, I'll do it. Again, she smacks the wall, sending pebbles to the ground. With a smile on her face, she turns around, headed towards the entrance. However, she's abruptly stopped by Casanova, of all people. Teresa Quaranta: Oh, look... the "Hall of Famer"... what do you want? I suppose you want me to earn your respect, too, huh? Casanova shakes his head -- no. Instead, he offers his hand to her. Casanova: Teresa Quaranta... World Champion... welcome to the team. Teresa Quaranta: What? Casanova: You've just been drafted first overall, by me. Welcome to your first Ultimate Survival Match. Casanova walks away, giving a toothy grin. Teresa, on the other hand, remains in one spot, thinking to herself. Brushing her hair out of her eyes, she speaks up. Teresa Quaranta: First overall pick? Well, of course. She smiles. Teresa Quaranta: Now it's time to "earn some respect". A sinister look spreads across her face. Teresa Quaranta: I'll definitely make them earn some respect. Strutting off, pushing herself past several backstage officials, she heads towards the entrance.
Mike Phantasy: A-ha! I got you now, vampire! Mike, confusing Tsarmina with a vampire, watches as Tsarmina thrashes about inside the net, trying to claw her way out, even making screeching sounds. Mike Phantasy: I knew it! Grabbing the shaking Tsarmina, he tosses her into a crate and locks the lid on it. He pulls out a stamp and pastes it onto the box, with Alaska written on it. Whistling, he walks away, feeling accomplished.
Ultraviolence Title Preparation
Barbed-Wire Kendo Sticks Match Shaku Endbringer vs. Teresa Quaranta
 
The lights dim out, as an icy blue mist pours from the rampway. "You're Going Down" by the Sick Puppies plays through the air and the fans get on their feet. Out of the mist walks Shaku Endbringer, parting the smoke and stepping into the strobe lights on the rampway as the arena cheers. Shaku Endbringer raises his pool cue high into the air, revealing it to be wrapped in barbed wire, as fans cheer all around him and sparks shimmer down. He casually paces to the ring, dressed in long black pants, with blue flames up the sides. He has a trench coat covering the rest of his body, his eyes darkened in sunglasses. Shaku makes it to the ring, slapping the hands of the fans at ringside, then slides under the bottom rope and into the ring. In here, he steps up onto the turnbuckles, climbs to the middle rope, and then raises his pool cue high into the air as the crowd lights up in cheers. Stepping down and taking off his coat and glasses, he swings the pool cue menacingly toward the referee, who steps back, figuring a pool cue is close enough to a kendo stick for the purposes of the match.
The spotlights in the arena pulsate, slowly getting dimmer with in tune to the primal opening of Arcarsenal. The video screen above the entrance lights up, showing a series of highlights and finishers intercut with static - then, with the lights down, a soft spotlight focuses on the top of the ramp as Teresa Quaranta storms through the curtain, World Title belt slung over one shoulder, smirking and raising a slight eyebrow at the audience. The screen flashes:
"I MUST HAVE ROBBED THEM OF THEIR CAUSE." Teresa pauses here - and deliberately raises her hand to her neck for a few seconds, then her wrist. Once her pulse is checked, she takes a deep breath, pivots a little bit and turns to the crowd as she comes down the ropes, sticking her nose up slightly and saying some snide stuff to a couple of fans. As she reaches the ring, she rolls under the bottom rope and pops up to her feet, holding her title belt high above her head, which garners quite the negative reaction from the crowd. She hands the belt off to the referee, who passes it to officials outside the ring, while Teresa steps to the corner opposite Shaku, and picks up the barbed wire-wrapped kendo stick that's leaning in the corner. The referee calls for the bell, which leads both Shaku and Teresa out of their corners swinging their weapons! They go straight up Jedi style, Teresa coming down with an overhead swing, which Shaku blocks by holding his wired up pool cue lengthwise over his head. He responds with a low swooping arc of his own, which Quaranta leaps over, all the while maintaining enough balance to smash an elbow into the side of Endbringer's head! The big man staggers back, in spite of his size advantage, which speaks well of Quaranta's striking skills. She takes the moment to swing diagonally across toward Shaku again, but he blocks just in the nick of time! ...No! The very tip of her kendo stick gets close enough to Shaku's forehead to tear him open! Blood begins dripping heavily down the left side of his forehead, and sheer instinct alone is all that keeps him from further damage, as he flails wildly toward her, a forearm connecting with her own, which leaves them both temporarily unarmed. The sticks remain harmless on the mat while Shaku trades blows with Quaranta, appearing to be evenly matched! Quaranta seems to finally gain the advantage, staggering Shaku for a moment, and she clinches him close, moving in for her Devil's Advocate strike combo! Shaku eats repeated knees to the midsection, but he fends off further damage by lifting Teresa straight off her feet and spearing her right into one of the corners! She quickly rolls out of the corner as soon as she hits the mat, screaming in pain! Shaku steps back for a moment, almost confused, before realizing that she got planted into one of the two corners where her kendo stick still remains in place! Sure enough, as she shakes the pain away, it becomes clear that some of the barbs even tore through her singlet on her back, exposing some bloodied cuts opened by the barbs, as well! The audience seems to enjoy Teresa's pain, cheering on Shaku, who flexes his ridiculously huge muscles for the fans. She finally climbs back in the ring, seeming considerably slowed down by the bloody streaks across her back, and Shaku approaches her even on the apron, looking to push his advantage. He reaches over the ropes at her, but she sidesteps, firing an amazing roundhouse kick right over the top rope, which has possibly knocked the Endbringer out! Teresa steps into the ring, quickly dropping, as if to go for a cover... but stops at that point. She smirks over the crowd, before stepping back to her feet and delivering stomp after stomp to Shaku! She finally gives him a moment of respite...o nly to step over to the final corner where a kendo stick still remains! She holds it high over her head, very much basking in the crowd's booing and jeering. She glances around, and the referee motions that he kicked the other kendo sticks outside the ring. They aren't illegal, it's just good official housekeeping, you know. Teresa stalls no longer, swinging the kendo stick down mightily over Shaku, over and over again, making him a bloody mess! The audience grows amazingly loud as she continues hammering away... and then suddenly Shaku reaches up, bare-handed grabbing hold of her weapon! The Kazakh fans practically explode, as the giant Endbringer completely shakes off the pain, even as blood drips from his hand, clutching the barbed wire stick, as he rises to his feet! He yanks the stick away from Quaranta, and swings it vigorously towards her, instead! With some fast thinking, she barely ducks it and scampers into the corner, in full retreat! Shaku moves to follow her... but he isn't aware of an intruder! Kelvin Coolidge runs from the backstage area and has slid into the ring! He's got a kendo stick of his own, all wired up, as well! Taking one huge swing, he catches Shaku clear across the face, knocking him onto his back! Next, he rips the stick downward, savagely causing Shaku to gush blood down from his cheeks and forehead! Kelvin snaps the stick in half over the now-blinded Shaku's head, before sliding out of the ring, his point apparently made! Walking to the back, laughing at Shaku's expense, Kelvin yells at some fans, gaining the upperhand on his fellow competitor for the Ultraviolence Title. From the corner, a bewildered Teresa looks on, happy to see the damange already done to her opponent. As the fans jeer, she easily crawls over him, hooking a leg, in the process. Shrugging his shoulders, the referee drops down and begins the count... ...1...2... ... ...3! The referee raises Teresa's hand in victory, with her music playing in the background. However, Teresa quickly yanks her arm away, coming up with a plan. A plan to earn the respect of Stevie Swing. She picks up the jagged pieces of kendo stick, still wrapped and tangled in wire, and begins bashing it into Shaku's head! Applying a Triangle Choke with the barbed-wire wrapped around his face, she listens to the fans jeer her, while a bunch of officials pour into the ring, wanting to stop this madness. A group of 5 referees are able to pull her away from Shaku... but they're attacked, as well! Teresa delivers a swift roundhouse kick to the head of one official; hits a brutal forearm to another; and swings the pieces of barbed-wire kendo stick at another, dropping him to the ground, bloodied and disfigured! It isn't until at least 10 more officials rush into the ring that she is stopped, with everyone holding her down. Has Stevie received the message? Needless to say, she wants her belt back. Winner: Teresa Quaranta
Horatio Q.: Hold up, faggot. If I wanted to kill you, I would. Mike rolls his eyes at this. Mike Phantasy: Can't you see I'm getting ready? Horatio Q.: Yes, yes, yes, little man. I just want to remind you that if you screw up the match... cost Casanova the victory... or interfere in any way... I will sue you. Mike Phantasy: You'll sue the pants off me? Horatio Q.: Yes, you know it! Mike Phantasy: You'll really sue the pants off me?! Horatio Q.: Yes... yes... yes! Mike Phantasy: Well then, I'd be more careful with the words you sling around. Looks like you are "the faggot". Is that how you say it in your Uktrainian language? Horatio appears disgusted, his face flushing with rage. Horatio Q.: How dare you?! I own you! I run this place! Mike Phantasy: Yes, yes, yes. We get it. You've said it a thousand times already. We all know you run this place, but that's only temporarily... until Corey Page takes back what's his. Horatio's anger quells; instead turning into a fit of laughter. Horatio Q.: Oh, please, that little fag is poor and probably has HIV. Mike Phantasy: Speaking of which... how is Tsarmina? Will she enjoy her trip? Will her big ol' cock last the cold air of Antarctica? Horatio Q.: Huh? What? Don't you talk about my beloved, you faglord! I will sue you for 50 million dollars! I love my little Tsarmina, she kisses me on the lips! I will destroy your life! Chuckling, Mike goes to walk away, but stops when Horatio retorts some more. Horatio Q.: You think you're funny? We'll see how funny you are when you face your buddy in the ring, next week. You better eat your Thanksgiving turkey because you'll be facing Travis Miller. Yeah, you eat your turkey. You eat it good, faggot. I own your contract, your soul and all of your turkeys. Mike looks annoyed at the revelation that he'll be facing his ally, Travis Miller, at the upcoming show. He walks out of sight and towards the entrance, allowing Horatio to end this segment, appearing quite pleased with himself. Horatio Q.: Oh, Tsarmina, my lovely, where are you? Fade out.
Stevie Swing: You old bag... Upon seeing Stevie, Carson takes a defensive stance, knowing her willingness to make a blindsided attack. Stevie Swing: Whoa, hold on, you old cripple. I come in peace. Stevie holds her free hand up, in too much agony to do anything else. Stevie Swing: That dumb vampire picked Teresa Quaranta... over me! She shouldn't even be World Champ. She doesn't even deserve to hold this... She holds up the World Title, which Carson eyes. Stevie Swing: ...not yet, anyway. Moving the title back and forth, Stevie watches as Carson looks at it, like a piece of bacon to a fat man. Stevie Swing: Yeah, you want this back, don't you? Quickly snapping it away, Stevie gets closer to "The Creep". Stevie Swing: Well, if you know what's right, then you'll choose me for your team at Ultimate Survival. Her tone becomes more offensive and she backs away from Chris Carson, who can only roll his eyes at Stevie's attempt to get her on his team. Shaking his head, he walks off, headed towards the entrance area.
Guest Ref: Mike Phantasy
Singles Match Chris Carson vs. Casanova
 
Same Old Story The words illuminate the screen for several seconds, as fog begins to roll onto the stage and entrance ramp, as the initial notes of Foo Fighters’ “The Pretender” creep out of the speakers. Keep you in the dark You know they all pretend Keep you in the dark And so it all began As the word “began” is spoken, the music cuts and the words on the SW-Screen fade slowly into the darkness. As soon as the last trace of them disappears, the screen erupts in a barrage of blurred color and the drums kick back in. Send in your skeletons Sing as their bones come marching in... again The need you buried deep The secrets that you keep are at the ready Are you ready? I'm finished making sense Done pleading ignorance Slowly, the house lights are raised. Spinning infinity, boy The wheel is spinning me It's never-ending, never-ending Same old story Finally, Mike Phantasy emerges from the fog, greeted by a cheering crowd, apart from a few die-hard Mike Phantasy haters. He's wearing a black and white pinstriped referee t-shirt, signifying him as the referee for tonight's main event. Walking towards the ring, he slaps a few hands and slides inside, waiting for both of tonight's competitors to arrive. The sound of a car engine starting revs onto the speakers and roars from acceleration, transitioning into the opening of Rev Theory's "Kill the Headlights". The reverb from the guitar coincides with a glow from the SinTron that slowly intensifies and spells out "CREEP" in headlights. The crowd is on its feet as Chris Carson come out onto the entrance stage, ready to fight. Carson throws up his right hand, index finger and pinky extended at to the side like a "C". The headlights behind him throb to the music as Carson walks to the ring, slapping hands with the fans.
Just kill the headlights
Kill the headlights Carson climbs into the ring, mounts the turnbuckles and lifts his hands into the air, getting a loud cheer from the fans. He flashes the horns once again to the crowd, then retreats to the other corner, removing his T-shirt and setting it on the top turnbuckle. Carson taps his chest twice with his fist, then touches his fist to the picture of his son on the T-shirt. Carson then sets the shirt aside, steps into the corner and awaits the arrival of Casanova. The lights go out as "Scream" by Avenged Sevenfold begins playing. On the SW-Tron, an image is seen and heard faintly, showing just the legs of a man walking down a hallway, apparently dragging a steel chair along, which is covered in patches of dried blood.
Woke animal feelings in me Took over my sense and I lost control I'll taste your blood tonight Casanova steps out onto the stage, glowering over the audience, before striding down the ramp and ignoring the fans. On the screen, the image slowly trails up the silhouette of the man walking with the chair, rising until it reaches the outline of his shoulders and head, the eyes suddenly visible in flashes of red, as the image shatters like glass, replaced by "Casanova," spelled out in a trail of blood.
You know I make you wanna run from me baby But know it's too late you've wasted all your time Casanova slides into the ring, rolling into a crouch in a corner with a fangy smirk. The screen and music fade, as he adjusts his gloves and waits for the match to start. Before things can begin, Chris Carson reaches out for the microphone, which he is handed by the ring announcer. Lifting the microphone up, he begins to speak. Chris Carson: Before we start, I'm going to answer the question you all want answered: who am I picking for "Team Carson"? I'll let you know... here he is... Carson points towards the entrance. "You're Going Down" by the Sick Puppies plays through the air and the fans get on their feet, as Shaku Endbringer walks out onto the stage, getting a great applause from the fans. He is still bloodied and banged up from his previous match, but he is still able to hold his hands in the air, knowing that he'll even get a shot at the World Title at Ultimate Survival. Chris Carson: Shaku Endbringer... welcome to MY team! As Shaku exits to the back, having been introduced as "The Creep"'s partner, Casanova stands in his own corner, snickering at the choice. Mike Phantasy steps into the center of the ring, standing between both men. He looks at Chris Carson and sends a long look at Casanova, the man that attacked him at the last show. Knowing that he can't touch Casanova, due to repercussions, Mike calls for the bell to ring, officially starting the match. Ding... ding... ding...! Slowly, Mike Phantasy takes a step back, allowing for Chris Carson and Casanova to step towards each other. Right away, both men lock up, with Casanova applying a side-headlock. Delivering some forearms to Casanova's gut, "The Creep" backs him against the ropes and then pushes him off, throwing him into the opposite set of ropes. Casanova comes running off and collides with Carson with a shoulderblock, with neither man budging. Chris Carson bounces off the set of ropes and comes back, with a shoulderblock to Casanova... and still nothing. This time, both men bounce off opposite sets of ropes and come storming back at each other, again striking with a shoulderblock... and neither man budges, again! Giving up on bouncing off the ropes, they go back to what they do best -- punching and fighting. Slugging it out, they go fist-for-fist, striking each other, trying to get the upperhand. Eventually, Casanova hits a kneelift to Carson's groin, catching him by surprise, hunching him over. Grabbing Carson by the head, he begins repeatedly headbutting "The Creep", with Mike Phantasy cringing in horror. Finished headbutting, Casanova bounces off the ropes, leaving a dazed Carson standing. Rebounding back, Casanova goes for a big clothesline... but it's ducked! Instead, Carson goes around Casanova and waistlocks him, attempting a German suplex. However, he weighs himself down and uses his elbows to bash into "The Creep"'s head, releasing himself. THrowing himself into the nearest set of ropes, he bounces off them and returns with a running big-boot to the face of Chris Carson! "The Creep" is floored with a big shot, trying to get back to his feet, with Casanova standing over him. Giving him some kicks to the skull, Casanova laughs and mockingly points to Mike Phantasy, only to give another stiff kick to Carson's face. Laughing, Casanova lifts Carson to his feet and then kicks him in the gut. Bouncing him into the ropes, Casanova catches "The Creep" on the rebound, giving him a spinebuster on the bounce back! Floating over, Casanova goes for the cover... Indecisiveness is shown on Mike Phantasy's face, as he begrudgingly drops down, making the count... ...1... However, Chris Carson easily kicks out! Casanova stands back up, yelling some words at Mike Phantasy, wanting him to count faster. Nevertheless, he turns towards Carson, grabs his legs and then applies a figure-4 grapevine leglock! Mike Phantasy is watching closely, checking on "The Creep", wondering if he submits. Despite the pain, Carson shrugs it off and gives a strong "NO", not surrendering. Upon hearing this, Casanova releases the hold, stands to his feet and then drops a knee of his own across Carson's left leg/knee. On his feet again, Casanova grabs Carson's left leg, by the ankle, and drags him into the corner. Sliding to the outside, Casanova drags "The Creep" near the steel ring post, with Mike Phantasy yelling at him, trying to get him to stop. All that badgering is useless, however; as Casanova takes Carson's leg and bends it around the post not once, not twice; not even three times. Five times in a row, Casanova smashes Carson's leg off that post, even bending it in ways it isn't supposed to bend, hoping to effectively cripple "The Creep". Casanova rolls back into the ring, finding amusement in the pain on Carson's face, as he holds his leg, muttering in pain. Casanova begins to furiously stomp and kick at Carson's left leg, hoping to keep him down, unable to stand. He even uses the ropes to lift himself into the air and come crashing down with a double-stomp onto "The Creep"'s kneecap! Still using the ropes to keep himself up, Casanova uses this to stand on "The Creep"'s leg. However, Mike Phantasy moves in, demanding that Casanova step off. He gives him a count... ...1...2...3...4... At the count of four, Casanova reluctantly steps off, listening to Mike Phantasy echo some warnings at him. Of course, Casanova does not listen, as he grabs a groaning "Creep" by the hair and attempts to stand him up. Using a closed-fist, Casanova strikes "The Creep", snapping his head back, allowing Casanova to begin choking him, with his own bare hand. Not liking this, Mike Phantasy steps in and tries prying Casanova off "The Creep", wanting a fair match. Aggravated by this, Casanova relinquishes his hold on Carson and turns toward Mike Phantasy, talking some trash to him. However, "The Creep" uses this distraction to regain some sense and then lowblow Casanova with a simple, but effective, punch to the crotch! He then rolls Casanova up with a schoolboy...! Quickly, Mike Phantasy drops down, making the count... ...1...2... Casanova kicks his way out of the pinfall attempt, pushing Chris Carson off him! Visibly annoyed, Casanova jumps to his feet, looking as if he's about to attack Mike Phantasy; but turns his attention towards Chris Carson, who is only getting to a kneeling position, slowed down by his bummed knee. Using a brutal running kick to the temple, Casanova floors his opponent, grabs his left leg and then drops an elbow across the knee. Continuing in this position, he wraps Carson's knee around his body, while jamming some more elbows in, as well. Sitting up, feeling the agitation in his leg, Chris Carson reaches forward, using both hands to grab onto Casanova's head. Using his wits, he moves his hands to the front of Casanova's face, using his fingers to claw into the vampire's eyes! With no other choice, Casanova releases his hold on "The Creep", allowing for Carson to begin hammering on him with punches and elbows. Seated behind Casanova, he applies a rear-chinlock, hoping to wear him down, with Casanova slowly trying to fight him off. With the hold still applied to him, Casanova goes to stand, with "The Creep" clinging on to him. Thanks to this, both men get to their feet, with Casanova holding Carson into the air, hoping to drop him on his back. However, "The Creep" uses his free hand to smash into Casanova's head, prompting him to land feet-first on the canvas, still with the side-headlock locked on. It isn't until Casanova grabs Carson's left leg, hoists him into the air and then delivers a kneebreaker onto him that the hold is broke! Still with Carson's leg in his hand, he holds it up, with Carson barely able to stand on one foot. Casanova taunts Carson, who wobbles about, trying to keep standing. With a great thrust, Casanova hoists Carson's leg further into the air, forcing him to fall backward... only to have Mike Phantasy catch him and stand him back up, enabling Carson to strike Casanova in the face with a clubbing two-handed blow! The fans rally behind "The Creep", who strikes with some more shots and punches! As Casanova moves into the corner, trying to escape the shots, Carson staggers in after him, unable to properly stand on his left leg. In here, Carson repeatedly punches Casanova and then whips him across the ring, into the opposite set of turnbuckles, which he smashes into! As Casanova bounces out, Carson ducks down and backdrops him high into the air! Casanova flutters onto the ground, bounces off the canvas and gets to his feet, with Carson coming right after him. Mike Phantasy eggs Carson on, watching as "The Creep" goes to suplex Casanova. Unfortunately, Carson's left leg gives out beneath him and he buckles down to one knee. Momentum switches and Casanova uses this to clobber Chris Carson with a surging blow to the face, much to the chagrin of the crowd. Throttling Carson by the throat, using both hands, Casanova hoists Carson to his feet and then into the air. Progressing forward, he attempts to heave Chris Carson over the top rope, with a great throw, but "The Creep" holds onto Casanova and they both go spilling over the top rope and landing on the floor! Out here, both men get to their feet at approximately the same time, with Carson using the ring apron to stand. They begin exchanging punches back and forth, with Carson grabbing Casanova and ramming his head against the ring post! Turning towards the audience, getting a great applause, Chris Carson is handed a chair, which he plans to use on Casanova. Meanwhile, Mike Phantasy looks on, confused as to what to do. Pretending something else has captured his attention, Mike turns his back and Chris Carson swings the chair at Casanova... ...but Casanova ducks! The chair clangs off the steel post and vibrates in Carson's hand, prompting him to drop it onto the floor. On top of that, Casanova is able to blindside Carson with an attack and push him into the steel post. Grabbing Carson by the throat, he holds him against the post, while Mike Phantasy turns around, not pleased at what he's seeing. From inside the ring, he yells at Casanova to get back in the ring, but he just gets spat on. Returning to "The Creep" he swings a forearm at his head, wishing to smash him between his forearm and post. ...but Chris Carson ducks! Casanova's forearm smashes into the steel post, possibly fracturing his ulna bone! On one leg, Carson grabs Casanova's arm and swings it into the ring post before he has any time to heal, surely putting him in pain. Next, he rolls Casanova back into the ring, with Mike Phantasy and the fans, cheering him on. He climbs inside, tenderly crawling in over the middle rope. As he goes towards Casanova, who is holding his arm, he is met with a sit-down dropkick from his former nemesis, which connects against his left kneecap! Chris Carson bends over, holding his leg, allowing for Casanova to stand and pull him into a standing headscissors position. Underlocking both arms, Casanova looks to hit his double-underarm piledriver... but he has Chris Carson push him off, into the ropes! He bounces back, only to walk right into a clothesline from "The Creep", who can barely rise! Popping right back up, Casanova walks at "The Creep", who catches him and stunguns him over the top rope, nearly lobbing off his head! Grabbing by the hair, Carson turns him around and appears to be looking for "The C.C. Bomb"! Unfortunately, Carson can't get him up, resulting in Casanova pushing him away. Even worse, Carson faces Casanova lunge at him with another big kick to the face! Thinking fast, Carson ducks down, letting Casanova bypass over him! As for Mike Phantasy, he isn't so lucky. Thanks to Carson ducking down, Casanova charges his foot right into his face! Seconds later, Carson swings Casanova around, punches him in the throat and then inside-cradles him...! ... ... ...... But Mike Phantasy is still down and out from the kick! Casanova is able to kick out, even though he would have been caught off-guard, under any normal circumstances! Rolling to the floor, he tries to regain his thoughts, while Carson hobbles to his feet, holding his left leg. Stumbling towards the ropes, Carson reaches out, grabbing onto Casanova... who smacks him across the skull with a steel chair, which he slid out beneath the ring! Carson flops back, a trickle of blood spilling down his forehead, while Casanova slides inside. Holding the chair in his hand and above his head, Casanova rattles it down across Carson's left leg... ...once... twice... ...thrice... And even a fourth time! The fans are hollering at Casanova, booing him heavily, trying to get Mike Phantasy to get back to his feet and disqualify him. Just as Mike rises, though, he turns around and walks right into a devastating chairshot from Casanova, as well! Dragging Mike Phantasy, the referee, towards Chris Carson, Casanova covers his fallen opponent, even hooking "The Creep"'s right leg for a pinfall, meaning he'll be unable to kick out. The cover is made... ... ... But Mike Phantasy is unconscious. This results in Casanova reaching out, while continuing to cover Carson, grabbing Mike's hand and making the count himself... ...1... He smacks Phantasy's hand off the canvas once... ...2... ...he does it twice... ...3! The crowd jeers as Casanova forces Mike Phantasy's hand down for the third time! The bell rings, giving Casanova the victory, which he gladly accepts. But his carnage is not done. Horatio Q. comes out onto the entrance ramp, walks to the ring and enters. Together, he and Casanova beatdown both Chris Carson and Mike Phantasy, with Horatio getting some vile slaps to the face in. It's Casanova that is doing most of the damage as he continues to strike each man with various chairshots, with Horatio adding in some unpleasant stomps, now and then. The fans stand at attention as Travis Miller runs from the back and slides into the ring! Travis, hoping to make the save, is immediately whacked across the skull by Casanova! Again, Horatio and Casanova beat down everyone in the ring, including Travis Miller, whose face is bloodied from that wicked chairshot! Once more, the fans go into an uproar! Corey Page is actually running out from backstage! He slides into the ring, ducks beneath an attempted chairshot from Casanova and targets Horatio Q.! The fans are on their feet, going nuts as Corey Page pounds on Horatio's old forehead! His fists repeatedly strike Horatio, whose little wrestling experience cannot help him. Fortunately, he has Casanova at his behest. He grabs Corey Page from behind, swings him to his feet, turns him around... and... Destiny Calling on Corey Page! Everyone is down, thanks to Casanova, who helps a sullen, red-faced Horatio Q. to his feet. Gripping another steel chair, Casanova looks to lay waste to literally everyone in the ring... Suddenly, the cameras switch to the back. A monster truck is shown plowing into trucks, running over cars and smashing everything in its path. It finally comes to a halt by crashing into the side of the mountain, nearly sending an earthquake all over Kazakhstan! The monster truck reverses, revs and then speeds towards the entrance area, smashing into everything in its way! Fans go running, so do employees and random officials! Chairs are crumpled and the stage is destroyed, as the monster truck comes rumbling towards the ringside area! By now, Horatio and Casanova have their interest piqued. They stop their bloody attack and look towards the monster truck, which comes storming at them. The tires screech as the brakes are applied and it stops just short of the ring. Everyone is confused and the fans have scurried about, but remain standing, not knowing what's happening. The door to the monster truck opens... Chris Extreme comes stepping out, looking directly at Casanova and Horatio! The fans are going wild! Chris Extreme, who is now with 100% more hair and is wearing black boxers, slams the door of his monster truck, jumps on the bonnet, runs and jumps onto a chair wielding Casanova! The fans are going insane, watching as Chris beats Casanova down, even grabbing the chair that he used and cracking him across the skull with it, sending Casanova flying out of the ring, like a baseball! Horatio comes from behind, spins Chris around... only to then be Cock-Factored! Horatio spills out of the ring, almost having his eye jabbed out, stands beside Casanova and retreats to the back. The night ends with Chris Carson, Travis Miller, Mike Phantasy and Corey Page slowly regaining consciousness, seeing who is in the ring with them! Carson looks like he'll need a medic for his leg, but that doesn't stop the fans from cheering at what they have just witnessed! Wuth that, the credits appears on screen and the show fades out! Winner: Casanova
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