Event Date: Saturday, February 14th, 2009
Theme Song: Strung Out - "Bring Out Your Dead"
Hell's Keeper: You can't hurt me! I was in the hospital! Who do you think you are?! I was getting my colon flushed!
Crux shrugs and politely smashes the lighttube across his face, sending him into incoming traffic.
Hell's Keeper: ARGH!
Suddenly, the sound of screeching tires causes the camera to whirl around, as a Black Dodge Ram 3500 Pickup slams into Hell's Keeper, pinning whats left of his body up against the car as metal and steel crumple! Exploding instantly on contact like an over filled water balloon, the driver gets out and doesn't bother to inspect the damage. Instead, he walks around the rear of the truck, towards the entrance of the restaurant.
The driver is Declan Turner.
Tossing the keys over his shoulder, they land in a pool of blood near Hell's Keeper's body.
Declan Turner: Park it in a handicap spot.
Declan enters the restaurant to a resounding throng of cheers, while Crux's eyes widen with fright, horrified at what just happened. Hell's Keeper's right arm is now his left arm; and his legs are now bent in opposite directions. This isn't good. This isn't good at all.
Crux runs off, glass shard in hand, while Declan soaks up the cheers; and no one gives a shit about Hell's Keeper.
The crowd lets out a loud cheer for the current World Champion, seemingly turning on Declan Turner.
Declan Turner: What took you two years, I did in less than six months. Really. Are you going to say that you've been grinding out stellar performances, day in and day out? That you've somehow deceived yourself into believing that you've been groomed for the position of World Champion? There's fourteen people on the roster and only four of them are World Champ status. And guess what, York.
He hushes down, but soon pipes up.
Declan Turner: You ain't on the list.
The crowd jeers Declan Turner, who is putting down their champ. Unphased by all this, Declan continues.
Declan Turner: Now, granted you could use flawed logic and say that because there's such a small number of people here, let alone actual honest-to-goodness contenders, that the remainder have to seriously step up their game in order to get noticed, and thereby be an actual threat. Truth is York, Average Joe of Anytown, USA can load up sinwrestling.com and do a quadruple take to your fat head floating above the words “World Champion”!
Of course, more jeers pour in.
Declan Turner: You know what I'm best at, York? Dismantling your excuse of a career. You are proof that much like your love life, if you wear down something long enough, it'll bend. And it's not out of love that you compete. Or perseverance. Or tenacity. It's stone cold arrogance and a self-righteous attitude that somehow you are owed that title. That your piddly excuse for overshooting the mark of mediocrity gives you carte blanche to pollute the airwaves with delusions of grandeur.
The fans are now explicitly jeering Declan, not liking what he has to say, wanting to stick up for York, who has not yet arrived.
Declan Turner: Congratulations on your win, York. You've managed to collectively lower the bar so far, that no one's attaining to greatness; they're just stepping over the broom. It's your job to motivate people. Or have you forgotten that. Or better yet, did you understand that? I bet as soon as that gold got slapped onto your shoulder, the whole world was lost to one thought. “Now, I can get all the babes I want.”
Crowd: Boooooooo! Boooo urns!
Declan Turner: You're a faggot. And you'll always BE a faggot, York.
And the boo-birds continue.
Declan Turner: For all the headaches and pain I twisted into Stevie, we all knew she was high-caliber, bBut you can't admit that at the time; not if you really don't respect the person. And that's what makes us different, York. I respected her. Respected Morgana. And Carson. And it was reciprocated. That's how I can obliterate an opponent week after week after week; know that I've been bested and shake someone's hand.
He continues.
Declan Turner: You see, I can look back on six months and say, without a shadow of a doubt, that Stevie Swing is one of the most cunning and intelligent champions Sin Wrestling has ever had. That, without a shadow of a doubt, Chris Carson is one of the toughest sons of bitches I have ever faced in the ring; let alone a steel cage. That, without a shadow of a doubt, Morgana is a living legend in Sin and when she's dead and gone, her legacy is that this company exists because of her unwillingness to break. But you, Sebastian York...?
Lowering his voice, Declan smarmingly grins.
Declan Turner: You're name will be etched into that twenty-four karat gold, two-by-four-inch plate, drilled into that oak stained plaque, mounted on the wall in a glass case in an empty aisle of Sin Wrestling. But York will never be synonymous with “World Champion.” It doesn't work. You still believe that because you've attained it, your job is over. No, York. It just began. And now, I'm going to make sure you never get a chance to find out what that's like. To motivate others. To garner so much heat, hell is an oasis. To bring out the best in everyone. To return this place to it's former glory.
Declan continues to speak, even with the fans yelling at him.
Declan Turner: I am going to make it my personal business to make sure that every time you fall asleep and every time you wake up, you gasp for breath out of fear. You double check the backseat. You tear open the shower curtain. Leave every light on. Buy a dog. Get ADT. Tattoo a crucifix on your faggot ass because Declan has returned! Now bring out this loser so I can get back to my hotel suite.
Tossing down his microphone, he turns towards the entrance, waiting for the arrival of The Masked Day Labourer.
"Streets of Bakersfield" by Dwight Yoakam and Buck Owens plays over the arena loudspeakers, as the crowd lets out a large cheer for the entrance of the Streets of Bakersfield 2.0, lovable misfits to the Sin Wrestling audience. A large cloud of smoke fills the top of the entranceway, as a pickup truck appears at the top of the ramp with Buck Travis behind the wheel. He honks twice and The Masked Day Laborer runs out from one of the wings and hops into the flatbed as Buck Travis drives himself and his employee for a day to ringside.
The fans seem excited to see a former world champion in action, despite his venomous words towards Sebastian York. Nevertheless, they welcome the arrival of The Masked Day Labourer, whom they hope can knock Declan down a step or two. On the other hand, Declan appears to be enjoying the attention before turning his sights to The Masked Day Labourer. The Mexican looks ready to secure the biggest win of his career, as you can cut the tension with a knife.
The bell rings and the two circle the ring, with Declan looking light on his feet and quickly comes forward to engage the Day Laborer in a lock-up. The two muscle around for control before Declan gets the upper hand and slings The Masked Day Labourer onto the mat with a hip toss.
Taking time to post, Declan watches as his opponent hurries to his feet, looking embarassed. Right away, he rushes in to get revenge; but Turner is ready and waiting, thus sends the entertaining Mexican down with a right cross! Next, Declan moves in to capitalize and starts sending kicks onto his prone opponent's spine. Soon, Declan reaches for MDL’s head and lifts him up by the back of his mask, ready to unload more damage.
The Masked Day Laborer quickly lifts his fingers into Declan’s eye socket and rakes him down, though; using the element of surprise to his advantage! In response, Declan Turner staggers away, trying to regain his sight, allowing for The Masked Day Labourer to charge in, jerk Turner’s head down and attempt a quick small package ;-)!
...1...
...Could it be!? The biggest upset ever!?
...2...
...No!
At the count of two, Declan squirms free and both men hurry to regain a standing position.
Turner looks very angry and punches the Day Laborer in the face once, dropping him to the canvas. He follows this up by scooping The Masked Day Labourer up and slamming him onto the mat with a bodyslam that rattles the ring. TMDL flails around in agony, while Turner mounts him and starts raining punches down on his masked opponent, making sure to keep him down.
As he eats a few more punches, The Masked Day Labourer is dragged back to his feet, and is soon taken down, thanks to Declan demonstrating some of his own trademark flexibility! Declan entangles The Masked Day Labourer's leg with his, drop-toe-holding him, thus dropping his opponent face-first into the bottom turnbuckle pad!
TMDL lies on the body ropes for some time, resting his face on the turnbuckle pad in an attempt to regain some composure. Unfortunately for him, Turner doesn’t let up and stalks his prey some more. He jumps high in the air and slams his boot into the back of The Masked Day Laborer’s head for an effective curb stomp that pops the crowd into a series of boos.
The former World Champion reaches down to pick his opponent up, only to be met with another eye-gauge, which is probably smart on TMDL's spot. After this, The dirty Mexican attempts a DDT; but Turner merely shoves him off with both hands, with The Masked, Mexican Day Laborer responding by rushing in, only to be stopped by a quick kick to the midsection from Turner!
Acting fact, Declan throws his opponent into the corner and follows him in with a punch. Seconds later, The Day Laborer is lifted onto the top turnbuckle, while Declan follows him up. Attempting to fight the former World Champ off, The Masked Day Labourer is futile in his attempts, as Declan snaps his head forward, connecting with a headbutt to daze the Mexican.
In a matter of second, Declan jumps into the air, wraps his legs around TMDL’s head and comes off the top rope with a hurricanranna! Floating over, Declan makes a quick cover...
...1...2...
The referee gets ready to slap the mat for the last time...
...
...No! The Masked Day Labourer kicks out!
Declan Turner doesn’t seem finished yet; and lifts himself off The Masked Day Laborer, with a smirk. Declan stands to his feet, lifts TMDL up again, and the former World Champion kicks his opponent in the sternum to force him to bend over. Seconds later, Declan reaches down and pulls him between his legs, double-underhooks both of TMDL’s arms and looks out to the crowd, with that same smug smirk.
It takes no time for Turner to lift the Masked Day Laborer into the air and sends him firmly onto the canvas with a devastating double-underhook powerbomb, dubbed The Celtic Spike! At this time, Declan Turner stands upright and looks down to the defeated body under him. Declan admires his work for a second before simply placing a foot on MDL’s chest.
The referee drops down into position and counts…
...1...
The ref slaps the mat once more.
...2...
...And one final time...!
...3!
An impressive victory by the former World Champion!
After this, Declan Turner shoves his defeated opponent away with his foot and lifts of both his arms into the air. The former champ appears back in form and has successfully started his comeback off on the right foot.
Declan makes a title gesture with both his hands while pointing towards the backstage. The celebration is cut short when Buck Travis and Johnnyboy both enter the ring, trying to revive The Masked Day Labourer. However, Buck Travis is quickly cut down with a limber boot to the face from Declan Turner, who then spins around and connects with a right cross to Johnnyboy’s noggin' to knock him down!
By this time, Buck has regained his standing position, but Turner catches him with a kick to the gut, just in time. Declan pulls him between his legs, hooks both his arms tight and slams Travis down with a Celtic Spike, as well!
The crowd is really letting Declan Turner have it now, as he kicks Travis under the bottom rope to the outside, standing victoriously over Buck Travis and the two Mexicans. Taking a minute to show off, he soon exits the ring, getting trashed on by the fans.
Winner: Declan Turner
And Corey Ashton is loving his seat in the restaurant while his date powders her nose in the little prostitute's room. Cor-Ash grins to himself, decked in a fine suit and sunglasses.
Corey Ashton: Now, THIS is luxury. Nothing like a little violins and mood lighting to soothe the savage beast before the porn music starts.
Ashton reaches down to pat his crotch.
Corey Ashton: Easy there, savage beast. She's coming.
Ashton looks about the restaurant, scouting about the foxes eating their caviar. He turns his head and pulls his shades off to scout the back of one long-haired blonde a few tables away, the diner facing away from Ashton and the camera.
Corey Ashton: Menage-a-trois, here I come.
Ashton wipes his mouth with a napkin, then walks over towards the restauranteur. He suavely purrs to himself, getting in closer.
Corey Ashton: Well, well...what do we have here?
Ashton rests a hand on the figure's shoulder and walks forward to talk.
Corey Ashton: It's so nice to see you, ladAAAAAAH OH GOD!
The blonde turns about to show a rather disturbed Chris Carson! Ashton goes from John Holmes to Jerry Lewis in half a second.
Chris Carson: What the FUCK?!
Corey Ashton: Carson! Carson, I...dude, I didn't know it was...the lighting here sucks!
Carson stands up, tossing down his napkin. His hair is pulled back into a ponytail, his shirt an actual button-down number.
Chris Carson: Not cool, man! Not cool!
Corey Ashton: I know! I know! Trust me! I wasn't looking for that!
Carson just grumbles to himself and sits down, but Ashton takes a seat opposite him.
Corey Ashton: Still! It's good to see you're here!
Chris Carson: I wouldn't be here if I didn't have a match.
Corey Ashton: C'mon, man. You've got a date here, right? Man, you're dressed like a player!
Chris Carson: (flustered) I'm...I'm here 'cause a fan wanted to meet me! That's all! Her sick son's a big fan so...she wanted a picture and a dinner. I had to do it.
Corey Ashton: Say no more, say no more. I gotcha. You're gonna do the nas-tay with her, right?!
Carson gives Ashton a stern look.
Chris Carson: Look, I'm just bein' a good Samaritan for a change. I'm not doin' it for sex like you, ya pervert.
Ashton looks a bit disheartened, picking up a spoon to look in it and adjust his hair.
Corey Ashton: Yeah, about that. What gives, man? You and I hung out a bunch before. I've brought bitches to your door, yet you turn them down cold. What gives?
Carson just looks uncomfortable and frustrated, glancing at his watch. Ashton leans forward and grips Carson's shoulder.
Corey Ashton: Dude, you never hang out with me. You never call. Man, I don't even get the time of day from you anymore. It's like I hardly know you anymore!
Chris Carson: Look, man...the kid and all...
Corey Ashton: That's understandable, but what about us? Man, I thought we had a "bromance"!
Carson palms his face as Ashton waxes on.
Corey Ashton: I'm serious, man! You've gotten way soft. You ought to be busting heads in the ring, then getting head in the sack! Where's the Carson that used to beat Morgana's brain in? That used to taunt Nikita and Adora? You've gotten soft!
Chris Carson: Look, man. I still fight! I still kick ass! I...just have different priorities...
Ashton stands up and slams his hand on the table, jostling silverware.
Corey Ashton: Well, I'll just have to show you that I can kick Morgana's ass for you! I'm going to beat her rump and take down this "TJ Jones" bitch for the Television Title! But I gotta know, Carson...are you going to be there for me at the pay per view to make sure I walk out with the title?
Carson just stews to himself.
Chris Carson: We'll see.
Ashton doesn't seem to like that answer, so he just tosses his napkin down and shakes his head, grumbling as he walks away. Carson grabs his glass and tosses back some water, then chases the glances away.
Chris Carson: We're not dating! Mind your business!
Fade out.
Voice: Guess who?
It's a female voice, so Corey seems interested immediately.
Corey Page: Morgana?
Voice: ...no.
Corey Page: Trish Newborn? Are we going to have this..."ass-play" you've told me so much about?
Voice: ...definitely no.
Corey Page: Curses... Betsy?
Voice: Jesus, Page, I'm speaking English; not goat, you aren't even fucking trying! Check close to your neck.
Corey Page: ...what?
He raises a hand to his neck while his eyes are still covered, and finds a sharp blade close to his throat. He finally slumps in his chair with a dejected sigh.
Corey Page: Shit...Roxy Erikson. What do you want?
Roxy Erikson: Well, since I'm out of the clink, I could use a job. And you've got kind of big show coming up...
She sort of giddily hops before Page, still brandishing the knife at him. Corey Page clearly has a dilemma on his hands; on one hand, he can't waste a prestigious spot on a huge event like Five Years Gone on a dirty gutterslut like Roxy Erikson...but on the other hand, said dirty gutterslut has a knife. And it's pointed at his throat still.
And then said dilemma becomes clear to him as well.
Corey Page: Eh, it's not so prestigious, we'll have a good dozen buys nationwide.
Roxy Erikson: What?
Corey Page: Oh...uh, never mind you, how about a guest referee spot! That should be fun, and doesn't require that you not drown in your own vomit prior to the show so you don't ruin anything!
Roxy Erikson: Thanks boss man...pshh...like that's ever stopped me before.
Corey Page: Sounds good then! You go run along now. With the sharp object. Go stab someone else. Like Hell's Keeper.
Roxy Erikson: Who?
Corey waves her off, pretending to answer the phone on his desk. Except it's not plugged in, nor ringing. Roxy shrugs, taking her shank elsewhere, before closing the door behind her. Corey slowly puts the useless phone down, sighing with relief.
Sebastian York: You look like hell... as usual.
Rolling her eyes, Stevie sits at the nearby table, which has an already lit candle atop it, along with a plate of spaghetti and meatballs. Pointing to the seat opposite of her, Stevie motions for York to take a seat, which he reluctantly obliges.
Sebastian York: Fine, fine.
Stevie begins to tenderly speaking, holding her larynx as she does.
Stevie Swing: You're late. You should have heard what Declan Turner said about you.
Able to muster a laugh, Stevie watches as York's eyes pry open.
Sebastian York: Declan Turner...? The last I heard of him, he disappeared, literally.
Stevie Swing: Well, you should have been here earlier, I told you. Holy balls, did he ever rip you a new one? If I were you, I'd watch my back.
Sebastian York: Kinda like you and "The Creep", hey?
York smiles, but Stevie instantly replies back.
Stevie Swing: Hey, you were on the receiving end of one of his "C.C. Bombs", last week.
Sebastian York: Yeah, and I'll deal with that.
Stevie Swing: Well, I just want to let you know... that if you let me walk away as the victor tonight, against "The Creep", and allow me to do whatever I want... that I'll watch your back.
Stone-faced, York looks upon Stevie, who is playfully forking through the spaghetti.
Sebastian York: Uhmm...
Suddenly, he lets out an outburst of laughter...
Sebastian York: You've got to be kidding me. I'd rather lick my own armpit than let you watch my back. Trust me, I can handle things myself.
York goes to stand, but Stevie reaches out, holding him down with her hands.
Stevie Swing: Wait!
She gets York to stop, yet again.
Stevie Swing: If I become World Champ at Five Years Gone, I'll give you the first shot...!
Again, York smiles.
Sebastian York: You don't have to worry about that; because I have no intentions of dropping this title -- and certainly not to you. The moment I see you climbing out of that cage, I'll rocket up the side of that steel structure, grab you by your greasy, dirty Jew hair and drag you back down to earth. You got me?
Pulling away from Stevie, Sebastian York walks away, keeping his World Title close to him. On the other hand, Stevie looks glum, as she holds her neck, which is still sore from being hanged by Chris Carson. Reaching into her spaghetti, she pulls out a meatball and throws it at Sebastian York, striking him in the back of his head.
York looks over his shoulder.
Stevie Swing: It wasn't me.
Sebastian York: Remember, I'm refereeing your match tonight... heh...
Turning back, he snickers and walks off, letting Stevie Swing slink into her chair, looking angry. Mumbling to herself, she crosses her arms and speaks out loud.
Stevie Swing: You won't be so cocky when Declan Turner rips out your balls, fag.
Twirling the spaghetti on her fork, she goes to swallow some of it.
Stevie Swing: Ow! My poor throat!
Angrily, she blows out the candle, stands up and walks away.
Beethoven's "The Moonlight Sonata" as performed by the indie-rock group, Inverse, plays, but there is no fanfare. No dimming of the houselights, no purple spotlight and no Minions. Lacklan walks down to the ring, alone, his cowl pulled over his masked face. As he enters the ring, he simply slumps against his corner, waiting for the match to begin. After the bell sounds, Lacklan does not immediately attack; he starts slowly, taking the cowl away from his face to show his opponent the mask and horridly burned head that awaits them.
Tj Jones seems unfazed by the imposing sight before him. The young man moves around the ring, trying to loosen up and get ready for the confrontation, while Lacklan calmly stands in his corner, like a stone statue, ready to explode at a drop of the hat.
The bell signals and the referee calls for the match to begin...
Right away, Tj takes the center of the ring and Lacklan slowly migrates to the center, as well. Both competitors seem uneasy and unwilling to make the first move, with Tj finally locking up with Lacklan. However, Jean-Paul forces the young man to eat several elbows, sending Tj to the mat.
Jones doesn’t get a breather, either; as Lacklan furiously stomps away on his prone opponent. Nevertheless, Tj keeps repeatedly rolling, until getting out of the ring, beneath the bottom rope. Out here, he gets to a standing base, while Jean-Paul Lacklan adjusts his mask and takes the center of the ring. Catching a breather, Tj Jones looks out to the crowd before slowly climbing onto the apron.
As Tj enters, Lacklan quickly changes pace and rushes in to knock Tj off the canvas with yet another elbow smash. This time, alternatively, Jones ducks low and sends his shoulder into Lacklan’s stomach. Thinking fast, Jones slingshots over, and grabs Lacklan in mid-air, for a beautifully executed sunset-flip!
Squirming, Lacklan relucantly falls back, a victim to the attempted rollup, allowing Tj to place his legs over Lacklan's arms...
The cover is made...
...1...2...
Just in time, Lacklan forces his legs forward and breaks the pinfall!
Soon, Lacklan and Tj hurry to reach their feet, hoping to stand before the other. Ironically, both men make it to a standing position at the same time and they lock up quickly, with Lacklan quickly gaining the upper hand. He locks onto Jones' waist and spins around to drop Tj into the canvas with a spinning belly-to-belly suplex!
The crowd boos loudly at the young babyface getting manhandled by the veteran, Jean-Paul Lacklan, who reaches down and grabs ahold of Tj’s head, peeling him off the canvas. The alabaster masked man whips Jones into the nearby ropes and watches as Tj comes flying off, hoping to lob off Tj's head with a Yakuza kick. Upon seeing this, Tj's mind races, forcing him to bend backward, making an impressive "Matrix" backbend, which ducks him out of the way!
Just as quickly as that occurs, Tj turns around, leaps into the air and nails the "Code black" to Lacklan's cranium; the crowd popping as Lacklan plummets to the canvas!
After this, Tj Jones runs around the ring and plays up to the crowd by waving his arms in the air triumphantly. The crowd responds with a well deserved round of applause, while Tj Jones then turns his attention back to a groggy Lacklan, who has managed to reach his feet.
Latching on to Lacklan's wasit, Tj attempts to German suplex his much-larger opponent...
However, Lacklan easily fights this off by jerking a few elbows back into Jones face, staggering him, and enabling Lacklan to stride towards him. Stepping to the side, he places a devastating kick to Tj Jones' kidneys, which emits a loud "slap" throughout the arena, sending Tj to his knees, in obvious pain and agony!
Directly after this, Lacklan follows up by placing another stiff kick directly into Jones face, which makes Tj fall backwards, enabling Lacklan to go for the pinfall, gooking the leg for good measure, too!
...1...
There's one...
...2...
...two...
...
...No! Not quite yet!
Before the count of three, Tj Jones explodes outward and breaks the cover. In reply, Lacklan quickly moves to his feet and pulls Jones up, as well. As a matter of fact, Lacklan chops Tj right across the chest with a razor sharp, knife-edge chop! Jones reaches up hastily, hoping to grab Lacklan’s head to stop the assault, but Lacklan returns the favor by grabbing onto Tj's skull, as well, in something similar to the Muay Thai Clink!
In this position, Lacklan manages to ram a few knees into the exposed body of Tj Jones, which rattles the young and upcoming star, beating him down! After a series of a few more knees, Lacklan releases Jones, who goes staggering into the nearest corner for refuge.
Rising, Jean-Paul steps away a great distance before charging in, performing a cartwheel and attempts to elbow smash Jones against the turnbuckles! Out of nowhere, though; Jones pushes up onto the top turnbuckle, while Lacklan is in mid-cartwheel, enabling Tj to safely and acrobatically leap up-and-over Lacklan, making him float to a safe position!
Unfortunately for Lacklan, he smashes against the unforgiving turnbuckles, allowing Tj to move in, kick him and place him on the top turnbuckle pad. For good measure, Tj nails some punches to the chest and commences climbing to the top rope, alongside Lacklan, as well.
Up here, Tj signals to the crowd for approval and gets a roar of applause in return. Seconds later, Jones grabs Lacklan’s head and comes off with a high-impact DDT from the top turnbuckle!
Wasting no time, Tj Jones quickly covers the prone Jean-Paul Lacklan...!
...1...
The referee slaps the mat once more!
...2...
...!
...No! Close, but no cigar!
At the last second, Lacklan shoots his shoulder off the mat, dejecting the roaring crowd!
Aggravated, Tj Jones slaps the canvas a few times before regaining his composure and picking Lacklan up by his mask. He grabs Jean-Paul by the wrist and whips him into the ropes, but instead hangs onto and pulls Lacklan back in quickly, turning his entire body around and attempting to hit Revolution 909 out of nowhere! With a reversal, Jean-Paul quickly pushes his hands into Jones back and blocks Tj’s finisher, instead sending a harsh, stiff kick right into Tj's spine!
This shot staggers Tj forward, away from Lacklan, who reaches for the back of Jones' head and jerks him around. However, out of nowhere, Tj inside-cradles Lacklan!
The referee counts...
...1...
...One...
...2...
...Two...
However, Lacklan readjusts his body weight, revering the cradle, rolling onto Jones, putting him in the pinning predicament, now!
...1...2...
...No!
Close; but yet, not close enough!
As both men wiggle away from each other, they race to their feet, where they start trading kicks and punches. Lacklan quickly gains the upper hand by sending Jones into the corner with a well placed elbow strike to the face. As a result, Jones covers his face with his hand, wishing to stop any more kicks, but is instead kicked in the guts, with a rapid-fire kick kick.
Having the wind knocked out of him, Tj Jones doubles over and Lacklan seizes the opportunity by grabbing Tj by the head and hoisting him into the air! Lacklan appears to be going for the kill, using "The Final Rite"!
Wiggling, kicking and squirming, Tj Jones escapes the attempt and drops to his feet, behind Jean-Paul. At this time, the masked veteran of Sin Wrestling turns around and is met by Jones reaching up for his head to attempt another lightning-fast "Revolution 909"!
Again, however; Jean-Paul shoves both his arms into Jones' lower back and shoves the move off. Right away, Tj quickly turns around, and Lacklan is ready for him this time. Out of nowhere, Lacklan spits a wad of purple mist right into Jones eyes, blinding and stupifying him!
Tj can only blindly stumble around, grabbing at his eyes unable to see a single thing. With ease, Jean-Paul Lacklan slams his foot into Jones' midsection, grabs ahold of his head and hoists Jones into the air once more! He finally comes down, legs sprawling out and hits the "Final Rite" -- into the center of the ring!
Jean-Paul makes the academic cover...
...1...2...
The fans hope for Tj to kick out...
...3!
Unfortunately, their hopes are not met, as the referee slaps his hand off the canvas for the third time, thus ending the match! Jeered, he stands to his feet, paying no attention to the boos that pour in on him; while Tj remains huddled in the center of the ring, having lost the match before his attempt at becoming the Television Champ.
The camera focuses on Tj, who is grimacing, trying to get to his feet. Suddenly, he is blindsided with an attack from behind via Jean-Paul Lacklan, who uses The Knocker to slam against the back of Tj's skull! Tj Jones falls to the canvas, holding his skull, unable to protect himself from further blows from Lacklan, who uses The Knocker to hammer into his brain, over and over!
With boos raining down on him, Lacklan kicks/stomps Tj out of the ring, circles around the ropes and then requests the microphone. Receiving it, Lacklan raises The Knocker into the air, taking in the fans at ringside.
Jean-Paul Lacklan: Know this: I am the Hammer! I am the will of God in wrestling! And I shall strike down upon any and all that find themselves in my path!
Lacklan lowers the Knocker, turning his gaze to the camera.
Jean-Paul Lacklan: Five Years Gone... I wish for a match at Five Years Gone. As such, I shall issue an open challenge to any and all. I will fight anyone...in any match! Come...Morgana! Come...Dan Black! Come...Aaron Hayden! Anyone and everyone, come feel God's wraith...come feel the Hammer!
Lacklan pauses, taking the crowd once more.
Jean-Paul Lacklan: Come... and feel the Hammer fall!
He drops the microphone, waiting for someone to answer his challenge. ...
The audience seems surprised, but not entirely sure of how to react when suddenly, without any warning or music, anything, really, Casanova begins making his way down toward the ring. In one hand is a microphone, which he lifts to his lips once he's in the ring. About to speak, he pauses as the audience starts in with a small "Ca-sa-no-va" chant.
In the meantime, Jean-Paul Lacklan stands back, looking perplexed.
First off, Casanova addresses the fans and their cheering.
Casanova: I wouldn't. I really wouldn't. This only started once it was obvious that I would be leaving. But I'm back, and sooner than expected. So check the shit at the door. You aren't going to like this era of Sin Wrestling, and by extension, myself, any more than the last.
The audience goes quiet, as the wrestler paces, looking somewhat agitated as he walks in the ring while speaking.
Casanova: I'll be honest, a part of me enjoys being cheered. The feeling of being the toast of the town, the buzzword on everyone's lips...it's nice, and I don't think anyone can deny that. But it never lasts. Oh no...it never ever lasts. Before you know it, you go from being moderately successful and cheered, to booed and jeered mercilessly when you finally take the bull by the horns and damn the consequences.
He leans on the top rope, staring right into the eyes of several of the fans in the front row of the audience, finally returning a piercing gaze to Lacklan.
Casanova: That's when another part of me wants to smash every single one of your noses right into the back of your heads. I was happy with that for a while, as well. If you aren't going to support me in success...well, then, you'll damn well hate me when I'm cratering one after another of your flawed heroes here. After taking a little breather, though, I'm seeing now that it's all the same. Whether I'm enjoying the cheers or the jeers...I'm letting a thousand pissants dictate how I go about my day. How I judge the success of a match, a show...an era.
He turns from the ropes, heading back to the center of the ring, where he points toward the entrance.
Casanova: And one of the pissants I was letting dictate my day was Corey Page. Now it's really nothing personal...but I'm done playing ball and toeing the company line. I'm done following "ten count outside," and "no steel chairs," and "disqualification if I don't stop choking the life out of some dumb son of a bitch." At the same time I don't want anyone telling me how to go about my business...I still like being fed a steady supply of random bitches to be wrecked on public television. Meanwhile, Corey Page needs the folks who put asses in the seats and order pay-per-views...even while he likes being the sheriff 'round this piece. So it's called compromise.
Extending a hand, he begins counting points off on his fingers, not addressing Lacklan, who remains in the ring, not saying a word.
Casanova: So, first and foremost, Casanova starts showing up again at Sin Wrestling events. Come on...a five year anniversary show for SW without Casanova? I am this fucking company. And I don't give a shit about you, you, or even you, no...I'm only here for yours truly and whomever's ass Corey Page pretty much sacrificed to Odin when he gave them the bad news. Two...I'm not with the company. I'm just a concerned citizen here...looking to break people's faces. Which means I don't ever wrestle another sanctioned Sin Wrestling match. What I will do is show up for the rumors, the rumblings, the whispers..."Who's Cas gonna kill this show?" And three...that means Sin Wrestling's not liable for anything I do. Which means when I leave this ring and head that way...yes, your way, people, through the crowd, wildly swinging a steel chair to clear a path...you get the drift.
And then he turns to Jean-Paul Lacklan.
Casanova: As for you and your open challenge...
He points at Lacklan...
Casanova: I accept!
Whipping the microphone at Lacklan's chest, Casanova steps back, getting a mixed reaction from the crowd. As the microphone thumps to the canvas, Casanova exits the ring and begins walking to the back, leaving a very pleased Jean-Paul Lacklan in the ring, having his open challenge accepted.
Winner: Jean-Paul Lacklan
Sebastian York: YOU my friend, have some explaining to do.
"The Creep" continues to stare into the mirror and speaks at York's reflection.
Chris Carson: YOU... just can't take a hint, Yorkie. You don't know when to leave things be.
Sebastian York: Listen, Carson, I know what you're feeling. I know what you're going through, and believe me I just want to help you.
Carson turns around pointing a finger.
Chris Carson: Listen, Yorkie, you don't know a DAMN thing. And in case you haven't noticed, I don't need your help. This is between me and that carpet-munching dreidel spinner!
Sebastian York: I'm going to act as if last week never happened, Carson. For YOUR sake, just thank God that I'm a forgiving person; but please understand that if you put your hands on me again, then there will be an issue. You got that?
Carson grunts and York turns away to head out the door. Suddenly, he stops and turns back around.
Sebastian York: You've got a fair shake against Stevie tonight. Get the job done. p> With that said, York then turns around and walks out the door.
As he stands, pondering what to do next, someone comes from behind and slaps him harshly across the back, almost make him choke on his tongue, out of sheer surprise.
Corey Page: There you are!
Corey Page, who is actually training Crux, stands next to the trembling young man.
Corey Page: I like what you did tonight! It showed initiative -- I like that!
Crux: But... but... Hell's Keeper was hit...
Corey cuts Crux off.
Corey Page: Yes, you hit Hell's Keeper, I know. It was awesome. It's just what I'd do, too! Good work.
Crux: But... he...
Corey Page: In fact, Hell's Keeper's match is up next. I want you to go out there and show even more initiative! Show him who's the boss! And I don't mean Tony Danza!
Placing his left hand under his mask, Crux scratches his face, unsure what to do.
Crux: Well... okay... I guess...
Corey Page: Good. Now that's what I like to hear. Maybe, for our next training class, I can show you the assfuck submission.
Crux: ...Wait, what?
Corey Page: I'm kidding! Jesus!
Giving Crux one last slap across the back, Corey Page turns to walk away.
Crux: What to do.., what to do...
As if a lightbulb goes off in his head, Crux scurries off, looking to do... something.
Some shitty goth music hits and the fans turn towards the entrance, waiting for the arrival of the Ultraviolence Champion, Hell's Keeper. Suddenly, the curtains flutter open... and Hell's Keeper is making his way to the ring, like one of those ghosts from The Grudge. His knees are twisted, his legs are broken, his right elbow is not in the opposite direction, it's an absolute mess. After some crawling, he finally arrives at the ringside area... only to be struck from behind by someone pushing a wheelbarrow!
CRONK!
This shot trounces Hell's Keeper, keeping him floored. Stepping out from behind the wheelbarrow is the masked form of Crux, who now holds several lighttubes in his hand.
Crux: You want initiative, Corey Page, I'll show you initiative!
SMASH!
Glass shards and sparbles sprinkle everywhere, as the glass tubing is smashed against the back of Hell's Keeper's skull, bloodying him!
Inside the ring, Jackson looks on, trying to stop what's going on. But he receives a glass tubing to the face, as well! Crux has gone nuts, smashing glass light tubes off everything that moves!
Heaving Jackson into the ring steps, shoving him aside, Crux focuses on Hell's Keeper, the guy that powerbombed him off a balcony and through a car windshield, at the last Eternity. Scooping him up, the tiny form of Crux stuffs Hell's Keeper into the wheelbarrow, gives him some punches and begins furiously wheeling him to the back, wanting to unload some more damage on him!
Winner: No decision
Corey Page: So, do you like this beautiful evening I've set up.
Random Woman: I love it, it's so romantic, Mr. Page
Corey Page: I figured you would like it, and please. Stop calling me "Mr. Page", you can just call me "Cockmaster Flex".
The girl looks at him hesitantly.
Random Woman: Um, are you serious?
Awkward silence.
Corey Page: Uhm, of course not. [nervous chuckle] Heh, just call me Corey. But, yeah, it cost me a grip to rent this place out; and I did it all for you sweetheart.
Random Woman: Oh Corey, you're so sweet. Between your training of young wrestlers and owning your own business, you are great. Tehehe.
Corey Page: Yes, that's me.
Corey flexes, while she lets out a playful giggle, as she reaches in and grabs Corey's hands. Just at that moment, the Sin World Champion Sebastian York enters the frame and taps the young woman on the shoulder.
Sebastian York: Excuse me, miss; but may I cut in for a quick second?
The young woman looks at Sebastian, quite surprised by his question and then looks at Corey to see what he'll say.
Corey Page: Uhm, Sebastian... we're kind of busy here, you know?
Corey arches his eyebrows hoping that York will get the message. Instead, York pushes the young woman out the chair and slides into her seat.
Corey Page: Yorkie, what in the hell are you doing?
Sebastian York: Eh, she was taking too long; and I really need to talk to you.
Corey Page: It really couldn't have waited?
Sebastian York: No, Page, it really couldn't have waited. Did you get a chance to see my match last week?
Corey Page: Of course I saw! Your point?
Sebastian York: A Hall of Fame like performance, don't ya agree?
Wink, wink; nudge, nudge.
Corey lets out a sigh and shifts in his seat.
Corey Page: Damnit, York; have you come to hound me about that damn Hall of Fame, again?
Sebastian York: Actually, no; that's not why I wanted to talk to you.
Corey Page: Then... why have you interrupted this beautiful candlelit dinner that I've set up.
Sebastian York: Take a look around us, Page. Look at where we are. You may have fooled that naive girl into thinking that you shelled out a fortune to rent this place out, but I on the other hand know better; and as champion of this federation, I've come to tell you that I think we deserve better.
Corey stares at Sebastian for a moment to check his seriousness, soon realizing that he's dead serious.
Corey Page: Do you know how much money your "better" would cost? We simply don't have that money. I'm not made out of money!
Sebastian York: We don't have it? Or you just refuse to spend it?
Corey Page starts to get up.
Corey Page: ...Err... well... Listen, Yorkie, this conversation is done.
Sebastian stands up, as well.
Sebastian York: Listen, Page, I'm not trying to be at odds with you. All I'm saying is that maybe you should let me help you out on this. We need to expand the Sin brand and as champion of this federation I feel it's my duty to ensure that this happens. Just look at my following, Page -- the fans love me -- and quite simply, I KNOW what this federation needs.
Corey Page: So, you're implying that I don't?
A monkey wearing a hat randomly trots by, eating a raw fish.
Corey Page: ...
Sebastian offers a shrug followed by a friendly smile. He walks up to Page and pats him on the back.
Sebastian York: Those are your words, not mine.
Feeling he has driven the point home, York walks away, leaving Corey Page there to fume and think over the interaction between the two.
Corey Page: Oh, we'll see about that York. We'll certainly see about that. Now where's my monkey and where's my woman? Preferably, the monkey.
...and Corey Page wanders off.
Tj Jones: Man, where you going with him?
Crux, showing more of an attitude, speaks up.
Crux: You...!
He points his finger in Tj's face.
Crux: You stay out of my face! I'm showing initiative, douchebag! Maybe if you showed some, The Undertaker wouldn't have beat you, earlier! Fag!
Tj Jones: Uh... okay.
Crux: Now get out of my way!
Crux pushes past Tj Jones, who can only shake his head and think to himself, watching as Crux exits with Hell's Keeper in the wheelbarrow.
Guest Commentator: Morgana
The crowd cheers at nearly deafening decibels as hot pink and gold fireworks explode down the ramp, prompting Morgana to saunter out from the backstage area, heads towards ringside, which is where she'll be commentating during the next match. Circling around the ring, she slaps the hand of several fans, bounces over to the announcer's booth and takes a seat next to Lex Robinson.
As Morgana watches on, Vanilla Ninja's "Dangerzone" plays through the sound system and Trish Newborn comes out, slapping the hands of the fans. From here, she slides into the ring and climbs to her feet, waiting for Corey Ashton, who is set to face both Tj Jones and Morgana at Five Years Gone.
Finally, "Ready or Not" by The Fugees plays on the speakers and Corey Ashton steps out from the back, walking to the ringside area, where he slides into the ring, ready to wrestle. Slipping inside the ring, he steps around, testing the ropes, even eyeing a Morgana, smirking at her. Eventually, he turns around, ready for his match to commence.
Ding... ding... ding...!
The bell rings and Corey Ashton points at Morgana and then quickly scurries across the ring, grabbing a prone Trish Newborn by the hair, clocking her in the face. After dropping her once, he picks her back up, corners her against then turnbuckles and begins to recklessly beat her, hammering her with fists, chops and slaps. Turning his back to Trish, he nails repeated elbows, alternating back and forth, ultimately dizzying her, allowing her to stumble helplessly out of the corner.
Unfortunately for her, she walks directly into a backbreaker from Corey Ashton.
In fact, Corey keeps the backbreaker applied, bending her back over his knee, while clubbing her across the stomach and pointing at Morgana. Smirking, he pushes Trish off him, grabs her by the hair and yanks her up, only to punch her in the nose with a fist. Backing her against the ropes, he whips her out and awaits her return.
Within seconds, Corey Ashton flings Trish overhead, belly-to-belly suplexing her, almost dropping her on her head! Popping back up, he stomps on Trish, looks again at Morgana, and lifts Trish back up. Recklessly heaving her into the corner, Corey charges in, nailing a running-clothesline to Trish, steps back and watches as she stumbles out... only to be taken down with a judo throw!
Lifting Trish back up, he twirls her around and throws her over the top rope, where she lands stiff on the restaurant's unforgiving floor. Keeping a close eye on Morgana, Corey hops out of the ring and clubbers Trish with another blow. Still watching Morgana, he picks Trish up and then flings her carelessly into the steel steps, turns around and then faces Morgana, who is detailing her match with Corey Ashton, via the microphone.
Out of nowhere, Corey rips the headset off Morgana and throws it aside, laughing in her face. As Morgana goes to stand, wanting to get in Corey Ashton's face, he retaliates by striking her across the jaw and suplexing her over the ring railing, where she lands amongst the fans! To a roar of hatred, Corey turns around, only to have Trish Newborn punch him in the stomach, surprising him.
With Morgana recouperating on the floor, trying to regain her senses, Trish Newborn blasts Corey's face off the apron and rolls him inside. Hopping onto the apron, she ascends to the top rope, hoping to nail a missile-like maneauver. Unfortunately, Corey Ashton is quick to regain his senses, as well.
From the middle of the ring, Corey jettisons into the corner, hastily climbs the turnbuckles and nails a release belly-to-belly superplex! Trish goes flying, landing all the way across the ring, while Corey Ashton gets back up, gritting his teeth, having taken out both Morgana and Trish. Watching with virility, Corey Ashton engages Trish, as she goes to stand...
...and nails the ABC-DDT!
Rolling over, placing Trish on her back, he makes the easy cover...
...1...2...3!
Victory is his! His next match is at Five Years Gone, against Tj Jones, for the Television Title. However, he has a match against Morgana directly before facing Tj, which will definitely test his endurance. Turning around, he looks at Morgana, who is holding her jaw, whilst climbing back over the ring railing, getting some help from the fans.
Corey Ashton, wanting to get a jump on things, slides out of the ring, like a snake, and sneaks up on Morgana, who is trying to keep herself together. Grabbing her by her pink hair, he slams her face off the ring post and rolls her inside.
Moving in, the referee tries to stop things, but he is given a backdrop-driver for his efforts, sending him into a delirium! Getting back to his feet, he hovers over Morgana, acting like a velociraptor, as she moves into the corner, holding her face. Cowering above her, he taunts her, much to the disdain of the fans, who yell out and jeer at him.
Like a seduced monster, he bends down, grabs onto Morgana's right ankle and drags her into the center of the ring. Giving her one stomp, he soon applies an ankle-lock, hoping to break her ankle, giving him the advantage for their upcoming pay per view match.
Another referee comes down, trying to stop things, but he is soon swooshed away by Corey, who nails him with a stiff elbow!
App;ying the ankle-lock for a second time, Corey yells back at the fans, who jeer back at him. However, this proves to be a distraction for him, as Morgana pumps herself up with her hands and rolls forward, sweeping herself between Corey's legs, effectively releasing herself from his clutches! Not liking this, Corey charges back at her, hoping to clothesline her down... but she ducks!
Charging towards the ropes, Morgana lands on the middle-rope and springboards back, landing on Corey Ashton's shoulders. In a matter of seconds, she nails the reverse-hurricanrana, driving Corey onto his head, making him pop right back up, taken aback! Thanks to this, Morgana charges at him once more, and nails him with a John Woo Kick, sending him scrambling to the floor!
Left in the ring, Morgana holds her hands in the air, watching as Corey Ashton retreats to the back, holding his pectorial muscles, getting ragged on by the fans. As Corey exits to the back, passing through the black curtain, he blows a romantic kiss to Morgana and disappears out of sight, leaving Morgana to be cheered by the fans.
Winner: Corey Ashton
Ace Rodgers: Tj, you've loscht tonightsh--
...all while accidentally spitting pieces of the sandwich towards Tj, who has to "clean" himself off.
Tj Jones: What are you saying, Ace?!
Ace takes a moment to swallow, almost choking in the process.
Ace Rodger: Sorry. Anyhow, I was sayig, "you lost tonight, but you still have a Television Title match against Corey Ashton at Five Years Gone. Does this help you or hurt you, going into the pay per view?" There, much better.
Tj takes a moment to think.
Tj Jones: First off, Ace, Jean-Paul Lacklan will face revenge at another time, and another place. I haven't forgotten what he did; but right now, I'm focused on one thing -- the Television Title.
Ace Rodgers: As you should be, too!
Tj Jones: And, uh, after speaking to my, uh, newfound "friend" [he makes the quotes with his fingers], Crux, it's dawned on me... that I need to show some initiative, too.
Just then, a returning Corey Ashton returns from his match, still holding his chest.
Corey Ashton: Whoa, whoa, whoa, shitdick. The only initiative you'll be showing, will be the initiative of falling on your back and asking for the match to be over. After I rip Morgana's dirty, slutty pink head off, I'm stuffing it up your dirty asshole and winning that Television Title.
Tj Jones: Is that so?
Corey Ashton: You heard me.
The two go face-to-face.
Tj Jones: You don't have the endurance to do that.
Corey Ashton: Endurance? I have endurance, fucko! You'll see.
After this brief staredown, Corey Ashton walks off, cursing to himself. Ace, in the meantime, continues to eat his sandwich and point the microphone at Tj's face.
Tj Jones: Yup; it's definitely time to show some initiative.
Smirking, he walks off, letting Ace return to his ham sandwich.
Ace Rodgers: This is a damn good restaurant.
Fade out.
Sebastian York: You know, I thought they were joking when they said you were coming back. I honestly didn't think you had the heart to show your face around these parts again, but I guess I was wrong.
Sebastian straightens up and repositions the World Title on his shoulder; as he slowly walks towards Declan.
Declan Turner: What in the hell do you want? Answer me before I punch you in the cunt.
York laughs.
Sebastian York: I just wanted to greet you face-to-face... and I just wanted to show you, first hand, that things have changed quite a bit since you've been gone.
Sebastian looks down at the World Title on his shoulder, pats it, and looks back up at Declan and gives him a toothy grin. Declan looks at the title on York's shoulder and releases a chuckle.
Declan Turner: My God, you're a faggot. I see some things NEVER change.
And with that said, Declan just continues on walking. Sebastian York stands there, watching as he walks off into the distance.
Sebastian York: Asshole.
Ready to referee the upcoming matchup, Sebastian York walks away, still having the title slung over his shoulder, wearing it like a badge of pride.
Something never comes, never leads to nothing...
Nothing satisfies, but I'm gettin close...
Closer to the prize at the end of the rope
The words MADE FOR TV appear on the screen as the lights in the arena slowly began to dim and "All My Life" by the Foo Fighters progresses on. An array of baby blue lasers shoot into various directions, moving about, in time with the rhythm of the music.
As the song drops in, explosions go off, as Sebastian York makes his way to the top of the ramp, rocking out to the music, wearing a referee's shirt and having the World Title strapped across his waist. He hops up and down atop the ramp before bursting into a full sprint towards the ring.
Sliding inside, he pops up onto his feet and lifts both of his hands into the air, drawing a huge pop from the crowd as pyro shoots into the air from the each corner. Handing the title off to the ring announcer, he takes a seat in the corner, watching for the two competitors of tonight's main event make their way out.
Darkness cockslaps the arena. “Chick Habit” by April March pumps through the P.A., and a spotlight shines on a pink glass and tissue paper structure that is not unlike…a vagina. There’s a silhouette of a woman on the pink paper, and an image of the one and only Stevie Swing on screen.
Stevie Swing bursts through the vagina to pyro and the booing of the crowd. She ignores them as she makes her way to the ring, showing off the red burns around her neck, thanks to being hung by Chris Carson, a week earlier. At the ringside area, she rolls inside, mouths off to Sebastian York, asks him if he can even count to three, and then steps into her own corner, waiting for the arrival of her nemesis.
Red pyro explodes in the form of two fiery upward torrents from the stage, as Theory Of A Dead Man's "Invisible Man" charges onto the speakers.
I always know where you are
You never know where I am
You got me sneaking around
Like the invisible man
Carson comes out onto the ramp in mid-chorus, barebacked and oiled up, wrestling tights sharp in a fire-red/ice-blue design.
You'll never know where I've gone
You've gone and done it again
You've got me sneaking around
Like the invisible man
Another pyro explosion, and Carson charges to the ring, ready to start things off with a bang! Sliding underneath the bottom rope, he goes to stand, only to have Stevie Swing also get started on things, delivering a baseball-slide dropkick to the side of Chris Carson's skull, catching him completely off-guard. Using this attack to her advantage, Stevie straddles Carson, nailing him with a plethora of punches to the skull.
"The Creep" soon has enough of this, though; as he pushes Stevie off him, rolls over and sits atop her, punching away at her skull, much to the delight of the crowd. Lifting her up, he delivers a series of chops so hard, which stun her so hard, that she backs into the corner, hollering out in pain. In here, "The Creep" grabs her head and commences bashing it repeatedly off the top turnbuckle and then starts nailing her with some more punches.
Irish-whipping her across the ring, he charges in, hoping to catch her with a charging shoulderblock to the gut... only to have Stevie push herself into the air and sunset-flip up and over him, rolling him into a pinfall...
The referee, Sebastian York, makes the nonchalant pinfall...
......1......
With ease, Chris Carson scissors his ankles together, striking Stevie in the temples, breaking the count!
Rolling aside, Stevie appears annoyed by the slow pinfall, while holding her head. Nonetheless, she is immediately grabbed by Chris Carson, who gets back up, grabs her by the hair and yanks her upward. Delivering a bionic-elbow to Stevie's skull is enough to keep her cornered, allowing her to trapped and hammered with more stiff punches!
Pushed against the ropes, she is soon hurled across the ring, with "The Creep" ducking down, looking for a backdrop. However, Stevie is aware of this, prompting her to leap over Carson, spring into the next set of ropes and propel back, nailing "The Creep" from behind with a running-dropkick to the back of Carson's skull!
This shot sends Carson spiralling forward, sending him sailing through the ropes and landing on the floor. Steve is quick to pounce on this, as she gently pushes Sebastian York aside, and aims for "The Creep", diving over the top rope with a running suicide dive, taking "The Creep" out, like a missile!
Out here, as they lay on the floor, Stevie headlocks Carson, striking him with some fists to the skull! She even applies pressure to the top of his head, as he pushes his cranium against the steel railing, hoping to wear him down. While this headlock is applied, "The Creep" pushes himself up to his feet, still with Stevie holding onto him and lifts her into the air. Fortunately for her, she uses the railing to kick-flip off, enabling her to land backflip and safely land behind "The Creep".
With a sneak attack, she pushes him into the railing, takes a second to laugh at his expense and then bashes his skull off the tip of it. Furthermore, she goes to whip him into the steel steps; but at the last second, "The Creep" reverses the whip. Luckily, she still has her wits, allowing her to jump onto the step and flips back, taking Carson down with a moonsault!
In the meantime, York stands in the ring, still nonchalantly counting against them, as both competitors are outside of the ring.
......1......2......3......4......5......6......
Breaking the count, Stevie Swing rolls into the ring and then rolls back out. Stomping Carson once in the head, she uses her fingernails to dig into the skin on his neck an force him to his feet. Using a quick throat-thrust, she grabs his head, smashes it off the ring apron and rolls him back inside.
Climbing onto the ring apron, Stevie Swing climbs to the top rope, waiting for her nemesis to rise. Once he's on two feet, she leaps off, looking to connect with a Japanese-style front-dropkick...
...which is soon turned into a simple, but effective, powerbomb from "The Creep", who regains his senses and catches her, at the very last second!
The cover is made and Sebastian York actually makes a fairly quick count!
...1...2...
At the count of two, Stevie places her foot on the bottom rope, making York reluctantly stop the count!
Both Stevie and Carson sit up at approximately the same time. In this position, "The Creep" sends some fists to Stevie's skull, knocking her off balance, as she goes to rise. Thanks to this, "The Creep" is able to stand before her, allowing him to boot her in the ribcage, keeping her hunched over and tangled in the ropes.
With the fans firmly behind "The Creep", he lifts her up, batters her with some forearms and looks for a suplex. However, as Stevie is lifted into the air, she is able to wiggle to safety, turning her body around and landing behind "The Creep". With momentum in Stevie's favour, she wraps her arms around Carson's waists and pushes him up against the ropes and O'Connor Rolls him...
Stevie pushes down Carson's legs, looking for the three...
......1......2......
Sebastian York's slower count proves to be fortunate for Chris Carson, as it allows him to easily kick out at the count of two!
Pushed forward, Stevie Swing angrily confronts Sebastian York, getting in his face, demanding he make an actual count. This gives "The Creep" the chance to recover and schoolboy-rollup Stevie Swing... which York gives an actual, decent count!
...1...2...
...No!
Stevie kicks out, at the count of two!
Popping back up, Stevie looks around, amazed and angry. Seeing Carson stand, she immediately jumps at him, popping him directly in the face with "The Last Dance"!
With a smirk on her face, Stevie looks at Sebastian York, who is stunned, and looks down at Chris Carson, who is barely conscious on the canvas. In an outburst of anger, Stevie flips both Sebastian York and Chris Carson the bird and steps out of the ring, where she begins heading up the entrance, walking to the back. As the fans jeer and holler at her, she looks back, making sure Sebastian York is counting her out.
...with one exception...
He's not.
In the ring, Sebastian York refuses to countout Stevie Swing, which would end the match. Instead, York hops to the floor, chases after Stevie, grabs her hair and drags her back to the ringside area, while she kicks and screams. Rolling Stevie Swing back into the ring, York climbs onto the apron and goes to get back inside, which is perfect timing, as "The Creep" has gotten to his feet and is standing behind an enraged Stevie Swing.
As York re-enters, Stevie goes to attack him, only to be halted by Chris Carson, who spins her around, kicks her in the crotch and lifts her up into a vertical suplex position. Within seconds, he grabs Stevie's throat and whisks her down with a harsh chokeslam, perfectly hitting "The Wifebeater"! He makes the cover...
Of course, Sebastian York drops down, going for the pinfall...
...1...2...
...Stevie kicks out...!
A nano-second before York slaps the canvas for the third time, Stevie pops her shoulder off the mat, surprising everyone in attendance! Even Chris Carson has no idea, as he gets to a kneeling position, allowing him to force a punch into her face.
Standing up, he lays back, waiting for Stevie Swing to rise. Once she's up, he springs at her and extends her arm, looking for a lariat. However, at the last second, Stevie reaches out, grabs Sebastian York and pulls him in front of her!
Bam!
Chris Carson accidentally lariats Sebastian York, driving him hard to the canvas!
"The Creep" can't believe this! He looks down at Sebastian York, whom he "C.C. Bombed" last week. Turning around, he decides to return his focus back on his rival... only to Stevie pop up, jump at Carson and nail a lungblower onto him, jabbing both of her knees into his chest!
Dazed and confused, Stevie crawls to the outer portion of the ring apron and steps down. She looks as if she's going to walk to the back, thus quitting on this match; but stops halfway up the ramp. As if a lightbulb goes off in her head, she makes a 45 degree turn and steps towards one of the restaurant tables. Grabbing a wine bottle from some innocent bystander, whom she then pushes over, Stevie turns back to the ring and races back inside.
Holding the wine bottle firmly in her hands, she takes a swig, letting the alcohol flow down her chin and splash onto her breasts, and measures "The Creep" up. Lacking remorse, she trudges forward, holding the bottle high and goes to smash it over Carson's skull...
...but he ducks!
Alternating around, he snatches the bottle of wine out of Stevie's hand and then uses it to smash across Stevie Swing's skull, splashing and splintering wine and glass shards everywhere! Falling in the mix of all this is Stevie Swing, who is immediately covered by "The Creep", who even hooks a leg.
...
Slowly, Sebastian York recovers, seeing the pinfall being made. He makes the count...
...1...
His hand strikes once...
...2...
...twice...
...3!
"The Creep" wins! Stevie Swing's cheating backfired!
Getting to his feet, Chris Carson holds his hands in the air, getting cheered by the fans! Amidst his celebration, Sebastian York spins him around, getting in his face, questioning him about the previous lariat. Things soon become heated between the two, as they begin to push each other.
Out of sight, Stevie Swing slowly gets to a kneeling position, having blood trickle down her face, with tiny sprinkles of glass caught in her hair. Becoming aware of the tension between Carson and York, Stevie decides to act quickly. Crawling up to the two men, she pushes "The Creep" from behind, making him collide with York, who thinks Carson has attacked him. Reacting quickly and defensively, Sebastian York lifts "The Creep" into the air, into a standing fireman's carry and swings him out, nailing "Made For TV"!
Unfortunately, just as the World Champ, Sebastian York, rises, he is immediately swept off his feet with "The Last Dance" superkick by a rising Stevie Swing, who also collapses, still dizzy from the blow with the wine bottle! The final scene of the evening is that of Stevie Swing and Chris Carson laid out, with the World Champion, Sebastian York, also unconscious between both of them.
These three men will meet at the next card, in which Sin Wrestling will celebrate its fifth anniversary. Oly one of them can climb out of the steel cage with the World Title. Who will it be?!
Fade out.
Winner: Chris Carson