On a cold, autumn night in some desolate Moscow arena, the cameras turn on, rolling the Sin Wrestling logo onto the screen. The sounds of footsteps are made, as the camera focuses on Stevie Swing, who is walking towards the arena, swinging the Sin Wrestling World Title in her hands. At the door of the arena is Ace Rodgers, the official reporter and interviewer of SW. As you know it, he's there to capture a quick word with Stevie Swing.
Ace Rodgers: Stevie... Stevie... may I have a word with you?!
Stevie continues on, walking past Ace, who hurries after her.
Ace Rodgers: Stevie... c'mon... why did you attack Teresa Quaranta after Illusions, after she had won the World Title? We want answers!
She keeps walking...
Ace Rodgers: C'mon, Stevie, let us know! You re-appeared out of nowhere. Why did you take the title? Why?!
Finally, Stevie stops in her tracks and turns around, snapping her head angrily at Ace.
Stevie Swing: You want to know why I took the title?
Ace Rodgers: Yes, it doesn't belong to you. It belongs to newcomer, Teresa Quaranta.
Stevie Swing: You just answered your own question, then, Ace. She doesn't deserve to be champ. She can't just waltz in here, like some faggy ballerina, and hold this...
Stevie points to the title in her hands.
Stevie Swing: She needs to earn her stripes... even if I'm the one that has to beat it into her. There's no goddamn way I'm giving this title back, I'm telling you that right now.
Ace Rodgers: But--...
Stevie Swing: ...And holy fuck, it's cold in Russia.
With that, Stevie turns around and heads inside of the arena, leaving Ace in the cold.
Ace Rodger: ...Well, let's start the show, I guess...
Fade out.
Glass Tables Match
"Goin Down Now" hits the PA as a huge fucking pyro goes off. Kelvin rides a 4x4 with truck nuts down to the ring and gets out with a loaded shotgun. Rolling into the ring, he fires it off in the air, like he's jacking it off to more pyro. He does this four times and then lights a cigar before the match, while his chihuahua applauds on the floor.
Kelvin Coolidge scopes the scene and charges as soon as the bell rings, rolling forward and flattering Jaxin Brock with a clothesline! Jumping back and hitting a series of rapid rights on the downed man, Kelvin whips Jaxin into the corner, gets a running start, and sunset flips over Brock's back and the top rope, pulling him overhead and throwing him down through the glass table outside of the ring!
Coolidge grabs his shoulders and rotates them awkwardly, but considering Brock looks 99.99% dead after taking the hit, it's probably a fair trade. He finishes with a stomp to the head, which looks pretty punitive amongst all the glass.
Kelvin snickers at the blood dripping from Jaxin, and then grabs his legs and begins to pull him through the trail of glass, cutting him open even more! Giving some more stomps and kicks, it looks as if Kelvin is on a mission to prove he is the best... or he is just trying to murder Jaxin Brock, who can barely protect himself.
Picking up a bloody Brock, Kelvin rolls him back into the ring. Sliding inside, following his opponent, Kelvin gets to his feet, observes Jaxin Brock and begins to strike with a series elbow smashes. He goes behind for a waistlock, then delivers a belly-to-back suplex back onto the ring apron, leaving behind a trail of blood from Jaxin's back!
Coolidge locks in a headlock, but laughs out loud when he realizes how pointless that is. Quickly changing, he lands a right punch to the jaw and goes to the second glass table and pulls it into the ring. With a deep breath, he lifts the deadweight of Jaxin up and spinebusters him through the second table!
Jaxin Brock lays on the mat, covered in glass sparbles and blood, as Kelvin hovers over him, like a madman. Coolidge droppng boots right to Jaxin Brock's face and chest, grinding him even further into the glass, not giving him a chance to recover.
Kelvin pulls Brock out and delivers a simple, but effective, eye poke; following that with a short, one-inch punch, which is quickly seconded with a swift kick to the testicles!
...And then another eye poke!
...And then a stunner!
A bloody Jaxin wobbles to his feet, having his neck snapped across Kelvin's shoulder, but Coolidge quickly stands and then tombstones him onto the canvas! Suddenly, Kelvin tranfers that into a Triangle Choke for approximately 5 seconds, releases it, stands and then gives him in the head!
Finally, he grabs another glass table, drags it into the ring and rolls a lifeless Jaxin Broc onto it. The camera follows Kelvin as he leaves the ring, walking through the crowd. Stomping past the fans, pushing some out of the way, Kelvin climbs to the highest row, gets a ladder from a nameless assistance and then climbs to the rafters.
He makes his way across the rafters, soon standing around the center of the ring... forgetting that his finisher requires his opponent to be up there, too...
Whoops.
He goes back down the rafters, climbs down the stairs, goes through the crowd, goes over the barrier, grabs Brock onto his shoulder, goes over the barricade, through the crowd and up the steps again! Pushing some more people out of the way, he climbs the ladder, crawls across the rafters, sets Brock down in a standing position, tries to pretty him up...
...and then gives him a Stunner!
Jaxin's neck snaps back, sending him flying backwards through the air, plummeting to the ground below, where he first smashes through the glass table and crashes onto the ring apron!
Kelvin is victorious! Jaxin has fallen many feet below and is covered in his own blood!
Once the bell rings, with everyone looking at Kelvin in the rafters, he shrugs his shoulders... and jumps off, as well! With a crazed Shooting Star Press, Kelvin is sent all the way to the floor, landing on Jaxin Brock, thinking that would be faster than all that fucking climbing.
The crowd is apeshit insane, prompting a now bloody Kelvin Coolidge to rise. He winces a little, brushes the glass off and leaves.
Winner: Kelvin Coolidge
"I don't care what you have to do. You fix it, or I will FUCKING KILL YOU!"
Backstage, Kinsey Wells is on the phone, screaming at someone... and not very convincingly. She closes the flip-phone before heaving it against the wall about as hard as an 8 year-old girl. She looks at someone off-camera with an expectant smile.
Kinsey Wells: Well? How was that?
The camera turns, revealing a man that looks strikingly like a disheveled Jude Law, with several days worth of wild growth on his beard.
Man: I don't know, Kins. You don't seem angry.
Kinsey Wells: I'm not angry.
The man closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, taking a sip from a coffee cup that appears to be empty. Then, without warning, he rears back and throws the cup at Kinsey's face – she barely dodges it.
Man: That's the FUCKING PROBLEM! I've been doing everything I can think of to get you mad enough to fight, and it's like you–like you don't even notice? I haven't showered in five days, I've been carrying around that coffee cup pretending like it wasn't empty–
Kinsey Wells: It was empty?
Man: AAAAAAAAH!
The man, clearly frustrated, raises his fists in the air and screams.
Man: For fuck's sake, Kinsey, I've had you throwing your phone against the wall for over three hours and it STILL FUCKING WORKS!
In contrast with the man's frustration, Kinsey appears impressed with the phone's resiliency.
Kinsey Wells: I know! Japanese technology... I think they made it unbreakable. It's like watches that are waterproof; I mean, how do they do it?
The man scoops up Kinsey's phone, does a 180, and fires a fastball into the concrete wall. The phone, ricocheting off of the wall, breaks into several pieces, scattering across the room.
Kinsey Wells: Ryan! You're like the hulk!
Ryan: WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH-...
The man stops, takes a deep breath, and exerts some willpower over his fierce anger. The fire remaining in his eyes slowly fades as he starts to chuckle softly, gaining steam. Before long, he is doubled over with his hands on his knees from laughter. Kinsey smiles, keen to know what is so funny.
Ryan: I was just...Ha HA! I was remembering when that chick ran you over...HA! With the car...ha....haha...that I told you to rent!
Unable to breathe from the laughter, Ryan drops to one knee just as something snaps in Kinsey. Without warning, she grabs one of those metal folding chairs that are always around for no particular reason and, snarling, viciously hits Ryan upside the head with it, knocking him upright and then onto his back, where he lay for a moment.
Ryan: ....YES!
Excitedly, he tries to clear his vision as he sits up. As his gaze settles on Kinsey, she appears to be fuming mad.
Kinsey Wells: That car was a piece of SHIT, Ryan! And it made me look poor and ugly!
Clearly confused, Ryan blinks his eyes a few times.
Ryan: THAT is what you're mad about? All the things I've been doing, and you're mad that some people saw you driving a piece of shit Dodge Dart on TV? Aren't you even mad that you HIT BY A CAR?
Kinsey Wells: I've been hit by a car before, Ryan. I'm from Santa Monica.
Ryan: So people in Santa Monica get hit by cars as a matter of every day life?
Kinsey Wells: Of course not.
Ryan: Well, then, what the fuck are you– ...you know what, nevermind. It's not important anyway. What IS important is you finally got mad. Now, finally, we can make some progress. If this is what it takes to get you to fight like a drunken irishman, I want you to think about driving that piece of shit car whenever you see another wrestler, whenever you're in the ring, whenever you're training, etc. That beloved Dodge Dart is your muse!
Kinsey narrows her eyes and tightens her jaw, and hits Ryan with the chair again.
Ryan: Okay! You... you can stop hitting me! I think you may have knocked some sense into me, though. You need to practice. How much do you remember about Illusions, Kins?
Kinsey Wells: Like David Copperfield? I'm not really into magic. And what has that got to do with wrestling? Ryan: The show, Kinsey. Do you remember anything?
She takes a moment to think.
Kinsey Wells: I remember... laughing at Shaku, and then I remember a bunch of men pulling me out of a burning box. Was I in a burning box?
Ryan: It was a casket – that's not important. Have you watched the show on TV? Have you heard anything about it, things you may not have seen?
Kinsey Wells: No. Should I?
Ryan: Probably not. BUT! I think Mike Phantasy has the right idea. I say we sow a little chaos.
Kinsey Wells: Who the fuck is Mike Phantasy?
Ryan: You don't know who Mike Phantasy is?
Kinsey Wells: No, who is he?
Ryan: I don't know, either, but he's supposedly well known around here. Anyway, let's go watch a clip and I'll fill you in on the plan...
Putting his arm around Kinsey's shoulder, Ryan leads her off camera and out of the room.
Whirrrrrr.... whirrrrrr... whirrrrrr...
In the back, a wheel with a multitude of matches inscribed on it, spins rapidly, thanks to the hands of Tsarmina Bloodmoon. Horatio Q stands next to her, along with Andrew Hurley, Mitch Cashmore and Ace Rodgers.
Ace Rodgers: I'm back here with Horatio Q. and we're just seconds away from finding out which match Mike Phantasy will be involved in, against these two individuals at my right. At Illusions, Mike Phantasy delivered a message to you, Horatio, from Corey Page... and... well, it was in the form of a chairshot.
Angered, Horatio snares at Ace.
Horatio Q: How dare he! Does he know who I am?! I could buy Mike Phantasy and make him work for me. I could buy him and make him scrub my filthy fucking feet, Ace. Compared to Corey Page, I'm fucking loaded with money. How dare he show loyaly to that scumbag, Page!
Ace Rodgers: Yup, well, that's what leads us to right now. We're about to find out what "The Chair-man of Sin Wrestling", Mike Phantasy, has to wrestle in. There's matches galore on that wheel...
Horatio pulls the microphone towards himself.
Horatio Q.: We even have a "pit of snakes match"! I'll kill that motherfucker for what he did. Look at the bump on my head, it's fucking sore.
He turns towards Tsarmina, who places her transsexual lips on his forehead, trying to cure him.
Horatio Q.: Thank you, baby.
Next, Horatio looks at Hurley and Cashmore.
Horatio Q.: You two faggots pay attention. You take out that shithead, no matter what. You hear me? No matter what.
Glancing over his shoulder, he eyes Tsarmina.
Horatio Q.: Spin the wheel, sweetheart.
Tsarmina Bloodmoon: Da.
With vigor, she makes the official spin of the wheel, sending it around... and around... and around... and so on.
Ace Rodgers: The wheel has been spun. What will it land on?!
...Hardcore Match...
...Bed of Nails Match...
...Barbed-wire Boards Match...
Horatio Q.: Stop it! Now!
Using her right hand, Tsarmina stops the wheel. It suspiciously stops on a certain match...
Horatio Q.: Yes! Just what I wanted!
Ace Rodgers: What the...? No way.
Horatio Q.: Yes, yes! A no-DQ, handicap, one-legged match!
Ace Rodgers: Are you kidding me?!
From beneath his pants, Horatio pulls out a yellow rope, which will be used to tie Mike's leg upward, meaning he'll only have one leg to stand on.
Ace Rodgers: This is not fair! He'll only have one leg to stand on!
Horatio Q.: Well, obviously, shithead.
Horatio faces both Andrew Hurley and Mitch Cashmore, handing them the rope.
Horatio Q: Get out there and beat that son of a bitch senseless. I want him bloodied... beaten... destroyed. Send Corey Page a message through him!
Pushing Hurley and Cashmore towards the entrance, Horatio gloriously twiddles his fingers. Tsarmina stands next to him, places her arm around him, while Horatio gleefully snickers under his breath.
Horatio Q.: If Corey Page wants this company back, he'll have to pluck it from my cold, dead hands. This is my company now. These maggot fans have to pay me.
Ace Rodgers stands next to the duo, staring them down, observing them. Noticing this, Horatio turns to him, questioning his intentions.
Horatio Q.: What do you want, now? Aren't we done here?
Ace Rodgers: Is Tsarmina even a woman?
As if offended, Horatio shoos Ace away.
Horatio Q.: Get out of here! I can fire you!
Shrugging Ace walks away, letting Tsarmina slobber all over a gracious Horatio Q.
Handicap Match
The lights in the arena dim as the SW-Screen lights up, signaling the entrance
of the youngest Sin Wrestling Hall of Famer.
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 fades 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. Phantasy pauses while walking down the ramp, to look around at the arena before him, grinning at the signs supporting him. He then looks toward the ring and makes his way down the aisle, his upbeat demeanor slowly melting into a solemn one. When finally inside the ring, Mike walks over to the referee, who places the rope around his leg, tying it behind him, so that he is standing on one leg.
Mike Phantasy rolls his eyes as the referee goes over Horatio Q.’s last minute rule changes. Andrew Hurley and Mitch Cashmore can hardly hold themselves back, immediately bailing to the ringside area to scrounge around for weapons. Phantasy, standing on one leg, decides that it’s better to stay inside the ring than figure out how to leave it without the use of his other leg.
Mitch Cashmore, who grabs a chair from the timekeeper, is the first to try to get back in the ring. Mike Phantasy hops as fast as he can and awkwardly baseball slides into Cashmore, who raises the chair in defense, only to fall victim to Newton’s third law of motion. However, Cashmore’s predicament is a good screen for Andrew Hurley, who sneaks up behind the seated Phantasy with a fully loaded concessions tray, which he promptly smashes on Phantasy’s head!
Hurley lifts a dazed Phantasy to his feet, sets him up, and plants him with a DDT onto the tray, sending pop and popcorn everywhere! Hurley quickly floats over and hooks Phantasy’s leg…
...1...
...but Phantasy easily kicks out!
If Hurley is disappointed, he doesn’t have time to show it, as Mitch Cashmore is now in the ring, and he hurls the chair at Phantasy, catching him square in the forehead! Hurley and Cashmore have a brief conference and decide to place the chair over Phantasy’s head. The two men sprint off opposite ropes, Hurley hitting a snap legdrop, and Cashmore follows up with one of his own!
This time, Cashmore hooks the leg, while Hurley eats some of his stolen popcorn…
...1...2...
...but Phantasy kicks out again!
Cashmore shows a little bit of frustration, grabbing the chair and swinging down at a grounded Phantasy, who handily rolls out of the way! Phantasy quickly lunges at Cashmore, hitting him with the dreaded dick punch, and his opponent goes down hard!
"The King of Sin" and "The Chair-Man of SW" uses the ropes to get to his feet, and has just enough time to drop down as Andrew Hurley charges at him with a lariat! Phantasy pulls the top rope down with him, and Hurley spills over it and out to the floor! Phantasy rolls out onto the apron, stands up, and hops off the apron, landing a devastating single-legged leg drop on the prone Hurley!
Phantasy quickly gets back in the ring, only to be met by the boots of Mitch Cashmore, who is hell-bent on putting Phantasy away. He picks up the King of Sin and attempts to Irish-whip him into the ropes, but Phantasy adheres to the rules and hops into them instead. Enraged, Cashmore picks up the chair from the mat and charges a still hopping Phantasy, who ducks the coming chair shot! Cashmore turns around, only to be hit with a chair-assisted dropkick!
The chair smashes into Mitch's face, knocking him to the canvas, as Phantasy looks to have designs on pinning Cashmore, whose steel chair is resting on his head. However, before he can, Andrew Hurley makes a surprise leap from the top rope!
Going for a guillotine, Hurley lands on Phantasy’s shoulders, causing Phantasy’s leg to give out which, in effect, sees Hurley powerbombed right onto the steel chair, smashing his partners face! Following that Rube Goldbergian counter, Phantasy hooks the leg…
...1...2...
...
...3!
...and takes home the victory!
Mike Phantasy stands up, still having his leg tied. He has his hand raised by the referee, victorious, despite having the odds harshly stacked against him. The fans cheer him on, but the cheers die out once Horatio Q. steps out onto the entrance.
Horatio Q.: Hey, hey; stop it! Stop the music!
Horatio seems much more excited than he should be. After witnessing Mike Phantasy spit in the face of his dastardly plans, everyone expects Horatio to be quite peturbed. Oddly enough, it's quite the opposite.
Horatio Q.: I've got great--... no... I've got amazing news!
No one knows how to react, including Mike Phantasy, who still has his leg tied.
Horatio Q.: I just signed another contract! This is one of MY guys! This person is on MY side. This person is pro-Horatio and anti-Corey "Faggot" Page! And he's going to send a message to Corey Page; just like how Corey Page sent a message to me, through you! Ah, fuck it, bring him out!
Confusion is abound, as no one knows who Horatio is talking about. That confusion is sliced apart once "Scream" by Avenged Sevenfold hits the speakers.
Caught up in this madness too blind to see...
Woke animal feelings in me...
The fans are horrified as Casanova steps out onto the stage, giving a nod to Horatio Q., who cheers him on. Casanova heads to the ring, having a wicked grin on his face, listening to the jeers erupt from the fans. Mike Phantasy, who is still at a disadvantage, due to having his legs tied, frantically tries ripping the rope off, but to no avail.
Instead, Mike clutches his steel chair, watching as Casanova slides inside. With nothing else to do, Mike Phantasy swings the chair at an incoming Casanova, who responds by swinging his fist at the chair, knocking it out of Mike's hands! The chair clangs to the canvas, leaving Mike Phantasy easy prey for Casanova, who attacks him like a voracious animal!
Standing at the entrance, Horatio Q. cheers on Casanova's blatant attack, absolutely destroying Mike Phantasy! First, he nails his infamous move -- "Destiny Calling", then begins battering him with kicks, punches and remorseless stomps.
Picking up Mike Phantasy's steel chair, Casanova smashes it across Mike's face, leaving him bloodied and bruised! He holds the chair up again... and blasts it across Mike Phantasy's face for a second time!
Placing the chair on the canvas, Casanova forcefully lifts Mike Phantasy up, positions him between his legs and double-underarm locks him. Hoisting Mike upside-down, Casanova delivers a double-underarm spike piledriver onto the chair, busting Mike Phantasy open even more!
In a final act of viciousness, Casanova lays the chair across Mike's face, bounces off the ropes, jumps into the air and drops a huge knee onto the chair, jamming it into Mike's face! Mike Phantasy can only writhe and cry out in pain, as Casanova swipes his hand across his face, using Mike's own blood to swab against his chest.
With Mike's bloodstains on him, Casanova exits the ring, walks up the entrance ramp and is congratulated by an overjoyed Horatio Q.. A myriad of officials and medics come running out from the back, checking in on Mike, who may have won his match, but currently doesn't look like it.
Winner: Mike Phantasy
Watching a monitor, cringing at what has just occured inside of the ring, Corey Page's hand covers his face, his heartbeat pulsating. It's clear he wasn't aware of Horatio's plan, feeling clueless in what to do next.
Corey Page: This is not good. This old bag is going to burn this place to the ground! ...Even moreso!
He rubs his chin, ala his old nemesis, Shawn Striker, and thinks to himself.
Corey Page: There has to be someone that can stop this madness.
Furrowing his brow, Corey pulls out his cellphone and begins to furiously thump away at the numbers.
It rings.
Some loud chirping and talking is overheard, as the person on the other end of the line picks up.
Voice: Hello?
Reluctantly, Corey speaks up.
Corey Page: Are you sure you don't want to help me take out this old asshole?
Flash.
Chris Extreme is on the other end of the line and there's a tense silence echoing.
Chris Extreme: What the Hitler? Who is this?
Corey Page: It's Corey Page. We talked a few days ago, remember? Sin Wrestling has a disease and it needs fixin'.
Chris Extreme: Good! I hope it has AIDS!
Click!
Chris Extreme hangs up in Corey Page's face, returning to his game of Russian Roulette with a bandana wearing Vietnamese man. Crux, Chris's masked man-slave, hands over a pistol, resting on a pillow, to Chris Extreme, who takes the gun and places the barrel in his mouth.
He pulls the trigger.
Click.
Nothing. No bullet.
Chris Extreme: Fuck yes. I've got 5000 dollars on me winning this. Now it's your turn.
Handing the gun over to the Vietnamese man, passing it over a truckload of money that lays on the table, Chris happily watches as the Asian man puts the pistol in his own mouth. The other man pulls the trigger.
Clic--
BANG!
Like an exploding pizza pocket, Chris Extreme is covered in blood and brains, as is his man-slave, Crux. Grasping the money on the table, Chris pulls it in, overjoyed at winning this game.
Chris Extreme: I win! I win! Holy Jesus, I win!
His man-servant speaks up.
Crux: What about Corey Page and Sin Wrestling?
Chris Extreme: Ah, fuck 'em!
He pulls his earnings in, dragging some coins past the Asian man's cerebrellum and hypothalamus.
Flash back to Corey Page.
He is looking unamused and fretful. For the second time in a row, Chris Extreme, possibly the most deranged, sickest man that could rightfully take down Horatio Q. rejects him. Not knowing where to go from here, he takes his phone and looks down at it.
Corey Page: Now what?
A voice reverberates behind him, catching him by surprise.
Voice: Perhaps I could be of assistance...
With his attention grabbed, Corey turns around, seeing the other person walking out of the shadows and into the light.
Corey Page: You...? But I thought you hated Mike Phantasy? In fact, I thought you even retired!
The person is none other than Travis Miller, one of the original members of Sin Wrestling.
Travis Miller: This motherfucker is back. The only person that can beatdown Mike Phantasy like that, is me goddamnit. If you need help... if Mike Phantasy needs help, we'll do this. We'll take down that old Horatio guy. Correction: I'll take him down.
Corey Page: I'm not sure how Mike Phantasy will feel about this...
Travis Miller: It can be any worse than how he feels right now... being beaten half-to-death by Casanova.
Corey Page: You know what, Miller.... T-Mill... Travis... Trav... Travvo... Miller Light... Reggie Miller... maybe what I need is to build an army. An army to takedown Horatio Q.; an army to destroy what I created.
The two shake hands. A new union has formed. How will Mike Phantasy react to joining forces with his former enemy?
Fade out.
"Arcarsenal" by At The Drive-In comes on over the PA, and Teresa Quaranta stands on the ramp in a a black military jacket and jeans, nose in the air and an unfamilar title wrapped under her waist. She jots up the steps quickly and walks quickly across the ring and grabs a microphone.
Teresa Quaranta: Stevie, if you're watching? I just... whipped out one of my spare world titles for proppery tonight. You know, until I get mine's back. Hope nobody minds. Anyway, good evening...
She gets a mixed ovation from the fans.
Teresa Quaranta: ...first, to everyone in the United States, Canada, and Europe who paid ridiculously inflated amounts of money to watch this broadcast on Pay-Per-View. Unless you tuned into this broadcast hoping to see Mike Phantasy squashing an army of jobbers, it's likely that you're disappointed by what you've seen so far tonight... but disappointment is life, I suppose. Good evening, you plutocrats, you oil executives, you petty gangsters, you politicians, well-trained lapdogs of society's most banal and brutal elements, cowards with your boots on the collective throats of the proletariat. It is my only comfort, as I stand swamped in the spiritual refuse of your presence, that when the revolution comes, it's the backs I see here tonight that will be first against the wall.
The crowd gets pissed and starts yelling stuff, but it's not in English, so really who cares?
Teresa Quaranta: But... you are tonight's audience. Unlike the folks at home, I don't have to wonder whether you've been entertained so far tonight. I know that you liked it, because tonight's action has been a microcosm of your very lives. Comfortable. Easy. Built off the backs of people who weren't quite... as good... as you.
Even more jeers pour in.
Teresa Quaranta: Tonight, I've got a match with Stevie Swing and Chris Carson. We'll get to that. But first, I want to spend a little time on my favorite punching bag, one Shaku Endbringer. Shaku, your main problem is that you enjoy contesting the obvious. As sure as Stevie Swing is a lesbian, as sure as Chris Carson managed to reproduce, as sure as I am the current World Champion - Shaku. Endbringer. Uses. Steroids. It is a neutral statement of fucking fact. It's not even a big deal, it's wrestling, we're all killing ourselves to eke out a little extra entertainment value, nobody cares. But when your head swells up to the size of a blimp and your veins have fucking veins... and you still have the nerve to get up here and say your build is from pushups and protein shakes, well, I get to call you exactly the sort of window licking, government check cashing moron who congratulates himself on his stamina after having a match that literally just consisted of grabbing jobbers by the neck and throwing them for thirty seconds, and it means just a little more since I got the job done and you didn't.
Teresa looks around for the nearest camera, crosses the ring, leans into it and smirks.
Teresa Quaranta: That's me, you fucking failure. I'm World Champion - my fierce bond with the company amounts to watching the show on TV back in the day and thinking this place needed some minimum standards, like a better world champion than Shaku Endbringer. That's it. And with that in mind... I'd like Ace Rodgers to make his way to my ring. And hurry up, I'm sure the next guys here are in a hurry to bleed.
After a long pause, some generic METAL hits the PA as Ace Rodgers sheepishly stands on the ramp, looking more than a little nervous.
Teresa Quaranta: Stop looking around, I don't need to beat you up to send some ambiguous message - who would I send it to? Let's go, time is money.
Ace still looks around nervously for a few seconds, but seeing he doesn't have much of a choice, he swallows all that and makes his way to the ring, steps through the ropes and stands a few feet away from the champion.
Teresa Quaranta: How are you tonight? That's great. First question - what did you eat today?
Ace Rodgers: Uh, I was in a crazy foreign country so I just... went to McDonalds? Big Mac, fries, one of those little parfaits-...
Teresa Quaranta: Your car. What kind of car do you drive?
Ace Rogers: Cadillac?
This draws some chuckling from the crowd who of course all drive stuff better than those tawdry American devices.
Teresa Quaranta: Is that a Swiss watch? Is that real? How impressive. One last question - who do you think is the rightful Sin Wrestling World Champion?
Ace looks around nervously and mumbles something about being a journalist.
Teresa Quaranta: Ace, it's just you and me. And the Pay-Per-View audience. And the plutocrats. And although I'm sure management wouldn't care much if I... say, drove your neck into the turnbuckle until it unnaturally compressed, or broke one of your limbs or cracked your skull open like an egg... I wouldn't be doing any of those things, because they would be rude. Rude... like lying to your host is rude. So, in your honest opinion... who do you think deserves to be Champion right now?
Ace swallows and takes a deep breath.
Ace Rodgers: Chris Carson.
The crowd pops for this moment of truthtelling. Teresa looks around with a sneer, gets really close to Rogers, and speaks.
Teresa Quaranta: You're right. If there was anything resembling justice in the world, Chris Carson wouldn't have been cheated out of his title, wouldn't have had his life's crowing achievement replaced with a piece of cheap Korean scrap, wouldn't have even had to go to Illusions unless he was watching the show from a luxury box with his belt safely in hand. If there was justice, Chris Carson would be respected for his struggles, wouldn't have some bitch who's only pleasure from the title comes from denying it to others swoop in and take credit for what hes worked so hard to build. Of course...
She slows down and puts her finger just above Ace's belly button for a moment.
Teresa Quaranta: If there were any justice in this world, you would have choked to death on that special sauce this afternoon and everything from that tacky silk shirt to that fancy watch of yours would have been pawned as reparations to the third world you've been exploiting for your entire life. If there were any justice, Corey Page would be working in some Bumfights-lite federation, instead of still owning one of his own; and each and every person in this crowd would be trapped in a fire that killed everyone in this promotion instead of me; and your relatives would have their bank accounts zeroed out tomorrow. If you can afford tickets to this production, then congratulations - you are part of the problem. Your greed is what's keeping humanity from getting in the fucking spaceships and evolving as a people instead of... well, instead of watching professional wrestling. But that's okay, because we're not. And Corey Page is still alive and kicking. And Ace Rodgers, as worthless as he is, has a life and gainful employment, and I... Chris Carson, AM Sin Wrestling's World Champion, and you and Stevie will see why again tonight. And that's great business, because the reason these fat, cigar chewing parasites are watching this... is because what they see is not fair.
Teresa turns to the cameraman.
Teresa Quaranta: In short, Stevie Swing, I may have this title around my waist; but it just isn't enough. I want my title around my waist; even if I have to dish out my own form of justice. Tonight, I'll make it happen.
She then turns back to Ace Rodgers.
Teresa Quaranta: Now, Ace, kiss my feet.
Confused, he isn't sure how to respond.
Teresa Quaranta: Come on... kiss 'em.
Teresa threatens him, almost pushing him to his knees. Giving a chuckle, she forces Ace to kiss her feet and then kicks him aside, like a lost puppy. Stepping out of the ring, she drops the microphone and walks to the back, leaving an embarassed Ace Rodgers behind.
Once again, we close in on Kinsey Wells backstage with the disheveled Ryan Andrews. They're hunched over a laptop computer in the cafeteria, watching some footage from Illusions. Ryan looks pleased, while Kinsey seems confused.
Kinsey Wells: So...you want me to go to Ukraine and talk to this Corey guy? Who the fuck is he?
Ryan Andrews: NO! I don't want you to...forget it. And he's part owner of this company, I think you'll be seeing a lot of him.
The light turns on in Kinsey's eyes.
Kinsey Wells: Ooooooh...so he's the guy I should sleep with.
Ryan laughs, giving Kinsey a light shove on the shoulder. Then, he starts to realize that she wasn't kidding.
Ryan Andrews: What? NO! What is wrong with you! Besides, I think he's taken.
Kinsey starts to stand up, a knowing smile on her face as she hefts a dented metal chair.
Kinsey Wells: That won't be a problem.
Ryan Andrews: Sit. Down. Keep watching, you'll see what I was telling you about.
Just then, a clip plays of Mike Phantasy smashing Horatio Q. with a chair and having words with Tsarmina Bloodmoon.
Kinsey Wells: So you want me to go hit that Russian dude with a chair, and then stare down whatever it is that was petting that cat. Got it.
Ryan Andrews: Yes! Well, no. I mean, hitting people with the chair, yeah. Might not want to go after that Horatio guy, though. He seems like a complete douchebag, but he owns most of the company, I think. You know what? Fuck it. If you get a shot at him, take it. He'll love it, he can sell the chair on E-bay.
Kinsey Wells: Okay. So who should I hit?
Ryan Andrews: That's the thing – it doesn't matter. Like, AT ALL. The whole point of this plan is to just wreak havoc for a while so we can spice this place up...then the real fun will begin.
Kinsey Wells: Oh, there's a plan! Cool! So, what's step two of the plan?
Smile frozen on his face, Ryan dodges the question.
Ryan Andrews: Why don't you let ME worry about the plan, you worry about executing step one.
Kinsey Wells: You don't have a step two, do you?
Ryan Andrews: I'm not sure yet that we need one. Step one may be awesome enough for several steps on it's own. Now! Let's go kill some bitches with a chair!
Staple Gun Deathmatch
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, 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 hands the pool cue to the ring girl, wraps his arms around the top rope and stretches himself out as the music softly fades.
The sound of lightning strikes and thunder rolling are heard across the background of a choir. A deep voice is then heard:
"Estuans Interius Ira Vehementi..."
The volume of the music grows. The voice comes again.
"...Burning Inside With Violent Anger..."
The tempo increases, the pitch of the choir growing hectic. The voice speaks again.
"...the Voice of God is Come..."
Everything comes to a stop, nothing but silence coming forth. Then the voice screams out:
"...LET THE HAMMER FALL!"
A rock version of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata plays as Jean-Paul Lacklan makes his way down the entrance ramp, the hood of his coat pulled down low over his masked face, the make-shift sledgehammer, the Knocker, in hand. After he enters the ring, he takes a moment to look over the crowd, then retreats to his corner, where he slumps, awaiting the beginning of the match.
The two men are handed staple guns, along with a fistful of rubles by the referee, who jumps back and signals for the bell. Shaku and Lacklan walk to the center of the ring, trading huge shots with those stapleguns, trying to knock the other out! Lacklan with an uppercut, sends Shaku reeling! Out of nowhere, Lacklan makes a downward slash with the staple gun, stapling a ruble to the muscled bicep of Shaku!
In response to going down a point, Shaku rushes forward with a bloody, hellacious forearm, sending Lacklan straight to the mat, on his knees! As a result, Lacklan drops his staple gun, prompting Shaku to jump on him... and then staple his tongue!
Blood spills out of Lacklan's mouth and down his chin. Shaku, however, does not relent. Right after that, he takes his staple gun, holds it to the side of Lacklan's exposed chin and then staples his cheek!
There is now blood flowing onto Lacklan's alabaster mask, as he is unable to protect himself from Shaku's onslaught. On his knees, Lacklan tries fending the muscular Shaku Endbringer off, using a quick-witted lowblow to get the job done!
Lacklan is back up, tearing out the staples along with some flesh. He takes his own staple gun, holds it to Shaku's neck... but it jams! Lacklan tries to pry it open, but Shaku is back up on his feet!
Bouncing of the ropes, he runs straight for Lacklan, who returns his attention back to his opponent. Acting quick, Lacklan swings, but Shaku ducks beneath the attempted clothesline! Swinging around, Shaku drops to one knee... and then jams his gun into Lacklan's crotch and pulls the trigger!
Lackland cries out in pain and rage, as a staple is jabbed into his testicles!
In pain, Lacklan doubles over, as Shaku stands up, stapling another ruble to Lacklan's arm!
Another blood vessel bursts on Lacklan, sending plasma down his arm. Down by one, Lacklan can barely fight off an incensed Shaku Endbringer, who continues for more.
However, Shaku sets the staple gun down, making it face up, with the last ruble on top of it. Grabbing Lacklan and pulling him near, Shaku interlocs his own leg with Lacklan's and wraps his arm around his head. Using tremendous force, he sweeps Lacklan off his feet with a reverse Russian legsweep, sending him down with the "Tickets to Hell"!
The ruble is attached to Lacklan, officially giving Shaku the victory! In this battle of the bulls, Shaku Endbringer comes out on top, flexing his arms, letting the tiny dribble of blood flow out of his arm.
Thanks to this victory, he's moving on to face Kelvin Coolidge for the Ultraviolence Title at an upcoming event. For now, though, he stands in the ring, basking in the appraisal of the audience.
Winner: Shaku Endbringer
Mike Phantasy sits in the backstage area, hunched over, his bloody fell dripping plasma on the floor. As the droplets continue to fall, the sounds of footsteps entering the locker room are heard, prompting Mike to look upward. A figure of someone stands before him.
Mike Phantasy: What are you doing here?
Travis Miller stands over him, casting a downward shadow.
Travis Miller: Just dropping by...
Wiping some of the blood off his face with a white towel, Mike stands up, getting in Miller's face.
Mike Phantasy: Yeah?
Travis Miller: I just want to say... If you need help with those cocksuckers, I've got your back.
Miller offers his right hand for a handshake. Mike Phantasy has no idea how to react to this, as he looks at Miller's hand, only to look back up at Miller's face.
Travis Miller: Accept it. I'm telling the truth. C'mon... for Sin Wrestling's sake.
Reluctantly, Mike Phantasy accepts the handshake.
Mike Phantasy: Well, okay. That son of a bitch is going to pay.
Travis Miller: Goddamn right.
Miller pulls his hand away, looking down at Mike Phantasy's blood, which now covers him.
Travis Miller: Goddamn... they got you good.
Mike Phantasy: Don't remind me.
Travis Miller: Anyhow... I'm glad we've got it settled. It's all water under the bridge. Our past, that is. Right?
Mike Phantasy: Yeah, yeah, yeah...
Travis Miller: Thank fuck. I'll make sure none of this shit happens. Either way, I'll catch you later.
Taking a seat, Mike Phantasy watches as Travis Miller trots away. The camera follows as Miller exits the locker-room area, leaving Mike Phantasy behind. As the door closes shut, a loud bang is heard and Travis Miller drops to the floor.
Standing over him, with a chair in her hand, is Kinsey Wells. She looks down at him, observing Miller's condition.
Kinsey Wells: Is this how I do it? Hmm...
Shrugging her shoulders, Kinsey walks off. The camera zooms in on a fallen Travis Miller as the scene fades out.
Upon returning to the ringside area, the cameras show Horatio Q. inside of the ring, with Tsarmina Bloodmoon at his side. In his hand is a microphone, which he perches up to his old, decrepit lips.
Horatio Q.: I told you, Corey Page! I told you, Mike Phantasy! I told you, Chris Hansen!
Tsarmina takes a moment to whisper in his ear.
Horatio Q.: Uh, forget that last thing. I run this place, now! Not you, Page! I bought this place out of my own damn money. Speaking of which...
Pulling a "Sin Wrestling" shirt from Tsarmina's trousers, Horatio begins hollering out some more.
Horatio Q.: Buy this shirt! For $99.99! It's a steal, don't you think?!
The crowd lets out a loud hiss, not liking this price raise.
Horatio Q.: At the next show, Dead Spaces, Mike Phantasy, you are off! You get no pay day! You get nothing! Do you hear me? Nothing!
More jeers are overheard.
But those jeers turn to cheers, just as Corey Page walks out atop the entranceway, sans music and any lore.
Corey Page: Whoa, holy Jesus, stop!
Horatio Q.: You?! Shouldn't you have killed yourself by now, you pathetic old shit?!
Corey Page: Hell nah. Actually, I'm using what little power that I do have to put Mike Phantasy on the card.
Horatio Q.: What?! You can't do this! I own you!
Corey Page: Hell yeah I can. However, Mike won't be wrestling... no. He will be in the main event, though. Not as a wrestler... but as a referee!
Horatio Q,: You can't do this! You don't have the power!
Corey Page: Again, yes, I do. I may only own 30% of Sin Wrestling, but it's just enough.
The crowd erupts in cheers over Corey's announcement.
Corey Page: But first, I want to announce another match. You want to abuse your power so much... well, so can I. That's why I'm officially announcing myself, Corey Page, versus you, Horatio Q. at the Christmas pay per view!
More cheers roar from the crowd, as they want to see Horatio get his comeuppance.
Corey Page: "Loser Leaves Town". If I win, Sin Wrestling goes back to me. If I can't defeat your old, curmudgeon asshole, I'll accept defeat and walk off into the sunset, meaning you can do whatever you want to SW.
Absolutely horrified, Horatio can barely contain himself at this announcement.
Corey Page: Now back to Mike Phantasy. He will be refereeing a match between... your guy, Casanova, that traitor... and this guy... Chris friggin' Carson!
The fans go into a frenzy and Horatio's jaw drops, as Chris Carson walks out onto the stage. Corey and Chris exchange a quick "knowing" nod and Corey Page exits to the back, having taken things into his own hands.
Chris Carson, in his wrestling gear and wearing an old "Lethal Injection" T-shirt, acknolwedges the cheers from some fans, but has a serious look on his face. Soon the "Car-son!" calls come out, but those too barely get recognized. Enraged, Horatio speaks into his microphone.
Horatio Q.: Mr. Carson, do you NOT have a match to prepare for? Get out of here!
Carson merely holds his hand out to calm Horatio down.
Chris Carson: Whoa, whoaaaah, Boss. I have all the time in the world to get ready to fight. I mean, it's not that big deal of a match, since it's not a title match and all.
Horatio seems to collect his breathing, but the audience boos the fact Carson's not fighting for a title.
Chris Carson: Naw, man, I'm here because we haven't properly been introduced. My name's Chris Carson, but I go by many names.
A "CREEP!" call starts in the audience.
Chris Carson: So, what should I call you two? I'm guessing the Q. stands for "Queen" or "Queer" or "Quickie"?
Horatio's eyes narrow, but Tsarmina brushes by Horatio to take the microphone.
Tsarmina Bloodmoon: Do you mind, boring American?! We have nothing to say to...
Chris Carson: Oh! And you must be Horatio's blushin' bride, Smarmy.
The crowd gets a good chuckle, while Tsarmina stomps around.
Tsarmina Bloodmoon: TSAR-MI-NA! Get it RIGHT, pig-dog!
Carson makes his way ringside while holding his hands up.
Chris Carson: Relax, relax, Barfina. I'm not so good with the Russian language, you know? Although, I hear in Russia, dogs leash YOU. What a countries, da?
This time, Horatio has to hold a fuming Tsarmina Bloodmoon back.
Chris Carson: In fact, I've heard of some other great Russian jokes! I heard there was this one guy who went to Russia and entered a bar, only to see Marlena right there at the counter. The guy was stunned by her...uh...personality.
Tsarmina appears to calm down a little bit, all while Horatio listens in. Carson climbs the stairs and smirks to himself.
Chris Carson: Yeah, guy walks into the bar, sees her and tells the bartender, "I'll have what she's got." So the bartender gives him gonorrhea!
The crowd's howling in laughter now, all while Horatio and Tsarmina boil to themselves.
Chris Carson: Nah, I kid, I kid. But you're not laughin'. How about a knock-knock joke?
Carson enters the ring and stands before Horatio. He holds his hand up and pretends to rap a door.
Chris Carson: Knock knock.
Horatio sighs heavily into the microphone.
Horatio Q.: Who is it? Does he own me money?
Carson's grin turns into a dull frown as he leers at the new owner.
Chris Carson: Why was my title taken away from me, bitch?
Carson hovers dangerously over the new owners, who whistle and motion to the backstage area.
Horatio Q.: Help! Heeeelllp!
Just then, like a loyal employee, Stevie Swing slides into the ring, holding the World Title, which doesn't even belong to her. Coming up "The Creep", she happily smashes him in the skull with the title, dropping him on the ground, as Horatio and Tsarmina scatter, soon returning to the backstage area.
It appears the main event is starting right now!
Triple Threat
After handing the World Title off to a ring attendant, making sure he keeps it safe in his hands, Stevie turns around and begins stomping some more at Chris Carson. However, "Arcarsenal" by At the Drive-In plays on the speakers, bringing out Teresa Quaranta, who rushes to the ring, paying no attention to the mixed reaction from the fans.
Sliding inside, she immediately and obviously targets Stevie Swing, her attacker at Illusions. Right away, she nails Stevie with a double-leg takedown, knocking Stevie on her back. Sitting on Stevie's chest, Teresa hammers away at her rivals head with some fists, occasionally mixing it up with some forearms.
Pushing Teresa to the side, Stevie attempts rolling to safety, but Teresa remains on her. It isn't until Stevie is able to quickly duck to the outside that she can escape her aggresor's wrath. Out here, Stevie receives a plethora of jeers from the audience, as she waddles around, trying to capture her barings.
Left in the ring, Teresa carefully watches Stevie, taking her eyes off "The Creep", who is now slowly rising, having shrugged off the previous blow. Much to the glory of the fans, Chris Carson staggers up behind the World Champion, who then backs into him. Surprised, she swings around, looking to clobber him with a punch, but he blocks, instead deciding to chop her in the chest.
These chops knock her against the ropes, allowing for Teresa to be whipped off, in the opposite direction. Ducking down, "The Creep" backdrops Teresa high into the air, following that up with a quick clothesline, just as she gets to her feet! This sends her to the floor, on the adjacent side of the ring of Stevie Swing.
In the ring, "The Creep" soaks up heaps of applause and cheers from the rowdy fans. Meanwhile, Teresa rises to her feet on the floor, only to be attacked from behind by Stevie Swing, who has taken quite a liking to this tactic. Stevie bashes Teresa's skull against the ring apron and follows that up by smashing it off the ring steps.
Watching on the inside, "The Creep" gathers his thoughs, bounces off the furthest set of ropes and actually connects with a baseball slide dropkick to both women, sending them into the ring railing! Continuing the attack, Carson rolls to the floor, grabs Teresa and rolls her inside; and then turns to Stevie.
Hitting Stevie with some bionic elbows, Carson grabs her right arm and goes to whip her into the closest set of ring steps. Thinking quickly, Stevie jumps on the steel steps, braces herself and then jumps backward, looking for a body splash. Unfortunately for her, Chris Carson catches her and then runs towards the steel post, smashing her backfirst against it!
However, just as that happens, Teresa slingshots herself over the top rope and nails a floating dropkick to the back of Stevie, which also pushes Carson backward, sending them both into the ring railing! Grabbing Stevie by the hair, Teresa lifts her up, viciously slaps her across the face and then rolls her into the ring.
Climbing onto the ring apron, hurrying after Stevie, Teresa soon begins ascending to the top rope. Before she can fully gather herself, Stevie is to her feet and is charging into the corner, with a full burst of speed. Using the middle rope to launch herself into the air, Stevie connects with a crisp dropkick, which flattens Teresa, crotching her on the top rope!
Jumping right up, Stevie also climbs to the top, getting jeers from the fans. Not minding this whatsoever, Stevie shushes the crowd and then goes for a superplex... which is blocked by Teresa, who hangs onto the top rope! Aggravated, Stevie pounds at Teresa's skull, hoping to dizzy her. Ironically, this gives Chris Carson the perfect opportunity to recouperate on the floor, allowing him to jump onto the apron and interject himself.
As Stevie remains hunched over Teresa, on the top rope, Carson, who is on the apron, runs up to them and clocks Stevie across the temple with a vicious shot! Stunned, Stevie is in perfect position for Teresa to latch on to her and dive off the top rope, delivering a flying powerbomb to her!
The crowd is on their feet as Stevie splatters onto the canvas! Chris Carson steps back into the ring and aims at Teresa, hoping to hit her with another clothesline. This time, however; she ducks beneath the blow, thus sending Carson into the opposite set of ropes. Upon his return, she meets him with a twisting kick to the stomach, which she follows up with a brutal kick to his face that snaps his head back!
Bouncing off the ropes, Teresa returns with a spin wheel kick that knocks Carson off his feet and into the corner. She then turns towards Stevie Swing, opting to sit on her chest, delivering more punches to her skull!
Her punches are thwarted by an annoyed "Creep", though; as he rumbles out from the corner, grabs Teresa by the hair and swings her around. Kicking her in the guts, he pulls her near and goes for a suplex. However, she is able to twist herself around in mid-air and slide behind Carson, wrapping her legs around his body and her arms around his head.
Like an anaconda, she entraps Carson, who struggles to keep himself afloat. He stumbles about, having Teresa cling to him. It isn't until Stevie Swing stands that he is able to return to normal standing, as she walks over and delivers a kick to Teresa's back, knocking her off Carson.
Throwing Teresa into the corner, Stevie focuses on "The Creep" and then whips him in after the World Champ. Before Carson collides with her, Teresa safely rolls out of the way, as Carson smashes against the turnbuckle pads. Stevie follows in, hoping to hit with a running-forearm... but Teresa gets in the way! Thinking fast, Teresa throws Stevie into the air, sending her sprawling into Chris Carson!
Going to work on both opponents, striking with various kicks, knees and strikes, Teresa stands on the middle rope and uses this higher terrain to place her left foot against Carson's throat, choking him. When she notices Stevie stir, she releases her grip on him, picks up Stevie and grapples with her.
After striking with a swift kick to Stevie's gut, knocking her back, Teresa swirls around, hoping to connect with a stiff roaring elbow...
...but Stevie ducks!
For the first time since being powerbombed from the top rope, Stevie shows some initiative, as she waistlocks Teresa and then Northern Lights suplexes her! In fact, she happens to keep herself bridged, as well!
Seeing the cover, the referee counts...
...1...2...
...
No! Chris Carson charges out from the corner and drops an elbow across a bridging Stevie Swing, stopping the flow of the count!
Hauling Stevie up to her feet, with a thick wad of hair in his hand, Carson kicks her in the gut and pulls her in to a piledriver position. Before he can act, though, Stevie counters by jabbing her own head into his crotch, knocking him down to one knee... just as Teresa rises and charges at him, nailing him with a Shining Wizard!
Applauding Teresa's actions, Stevie is quick to turn the tide and try to attack her, giving her a kick. Seconds before the kick can make contact, though; Teresa catches her foot. Reacting quickly, Stevie backflips, nailing Teresa with a moonsault/dropkick combo!
Knocked onto the outer portion of the ring apron, Teresa stands up and is instantly attacked by an incoming Stevie Swing, who swats at her with a swift punch. Again, Teresa blocks the attack from Stevie, deciding to instead grab her by the neck, in a clinching position, and then drop down, guillotining Stevie's neck across the top rope!
As a result, Stevie springs back, holding her back, allowing for Teresa to slide back inside. Waiting for Stevie to turn around, Teresa prepares herself and then runs at her...
...only to have Stevie Swing drop-toe-hold her!
Just as Stevie pops up, she is instantly taken down by Chris Carson, who charges out, delivering a clubbing forearm shot! And as he turns around, Teresa jumps back up, leaps at him and grabs him by the head... only to drop him facefirst across her shin, as she falls backward!
Scurrying across him, like a rat, she covers Chris Carson...
...1...2...
...No! This time, it's Stevie Swing that stops the count, having her connect with a sit-down dropkick to the side of Teresa's head!
In a kneeling position, both Teresa and Stevie begin exchanging punches over Chris Carson's fallen body. Slowly, they get to their feet, still fighting over Carson, with Stevie poking a finger in Teresa's eye, gaining the advantage. Using Carson as a stepping stone, Stevie pushes herself into the air and then Tornado DDTs Teresa into the canvas!
Having Teresa in prime position, Stevie rises and runs towards the ropes. She springboards off the middle set and soars backward, landing a perfectly-timed springboard moonsault! Remaining across Teresa, she hooks a leg, looking for the pinfall.
The referee counts...
...1...2...
...!
Before the referee's hand strikes the mat for a third time, a groggy Chris Carson reaches out, grabs onto Stevie's right ankle and drags her off Teresa!
Visibly upset, Stevie hops to her feet and jumps on Carson, focusing her attack on him. Delivering some rapid-fire kicks and knees, Stevie backs "The Creep" against the ropes and whips him out. At the last second, Carson reverses the whip and sends Stevie into the ropes.
Rebounding back, Stevie strikes with a sit-down dropkick to Carson's stomach, doubling him over. Getting back up, she bounces off the same set of ropes, storms back and sunset-flips over him. Keeping a standing base, Carson struggles to remain on his feet, with Stevie trying to bring him down.
Just then, Teresa Quaranta pounces. The World Champ rises to her feet, bounces off the same set of ropes Stevie bounced off and returns with a leaping double-knee shot to Carson's chest, successfully knocking him over!
As a result, Stevie rolls him into a sunset-flip, with the refere beginning to count...
...1...!
...
...2...!
...
Blam!
Teresa halts the count, thanks to a sickening football/soccer kick to Stevie's spine!
Plucking Stevie to her feet, Teresa holds her into a butterfly stretch position, which is a precursor to her finisher, the "Process of Illumination"!
Shaking feverishly, Stevie yanks herself free from Teresa's grip, kicks her in the stomach and then nails her with an uppercut to the throat! Taking her by the hair, Stevie flings Teresa carelessly to the floor, wanting to take her out of the picture, and hoping to gain some fresh air.
Her attempt at getting a rest is short-lived, though; as Chris Carson stands. Swinging Stevie around, he kicks her in the stomach and then goes for "The C.C. Crash"! Again, Stevie slinks and slithers to safety, sneaking herself behind Carson, rolling him up with an O'Connor Roll...
The referee counts...!
...1...2...
Chris Carson kicks out, using the strength of his legs to send Stevie straight towards the ropes. "The Creep" stands back up, but Stevie comes rushing back, connecting with "The Last Dance" superkick! Having his legs buckle beneath him, Carson falls on his back, with a hush falling over the audience!
Groggy, Stevie stumbles into the corner and begins climbing to the top rope. Slowly, but surely, she gets to the top and points to the World Title that is laying across the ring attendant's table. A second later, she is going for the Five Star of David...
...And as she does, Teresa Quaranta slides into the ring. Standing up, Teresa readies herself. Just as gravity takes its effect on Stevie, bringing her crashing down onto Carson, Teresa also connects with an absolutely brutal lifting kick to the face!
Teresa covers Stevie, who has rolled onto her back, while covering her precious face...
...1...2...
...
Stevie kicks out!
The fans are stunned and so is Teresa Quaranta, the new World Champ. Rising to her feet, she pulls Stevie next to Chris Carson and walks into the corner. Using the middle turnbuckle to launch herself onto the top rope, she springs back, soaring over Chris Carson, and delivering a moonsault double-stomp onto Stevie Swing's chest!
Again, Teresa covers Stevie!
...1...
The referee brings his hand down once...
...2...
...twice...
...
Chris Carson yanks Teresa off Stevie, at the last possible moment!
The fans are on their feet, as Chris Carson barely rises. Aggravated, Teresa stands before him, unleashing some back and forth kicks on him, alternating between her left and right leg. Running towards the ropes, she jumps onto the middle rope and springs back, hoping to lob Carson's head off with a spinning Roundhouse Kick. Fortunately for "The Creep", he ducks, spins around and then kicks her in the stomach, regaining control!
Soon, Carson has her between his legs and then onto his shoulders, in a powerbomb position. He drops back, delivering the "Guillotine Backdrop" onto the World Champion; but instead of landing throat-first, she lands across the top rope with her pelvic region! As a result, she springs to the floor, where she lands with a hard thud!
Only "The Creep" and Stevie remain in the ring, with Carson being the only person on their feet. Slowly turning and pointing at Stevie, he gets a loud ovation from the fans, stumbling towards Stevie, feeling the aftereffects of having two of Stevie's most deadly moves performed on him.
Pulling Stevie up, he looks at the fans, getting a positive reaction and then recklessly whips her into the corner, where he follows in, delivering a thunderous clothesline! He allows her to walk out, only to then drape her across his knee, crotch-first, with an atomic drop!
As she stumbles in position, Carson grabs her and holds her high into the air, with a vertical suplex. He leaves her hanging there for several seconds, before bringing her down with a twisting chokeslam -- a move that he calls "The Wifebeater"!
With the fans firmly behind him, Carson makes the cover...
...1...2...
...
Stevie places her right foot on the bottom rope! The referee sees this and immediately stops the count!
Chris Carson cannot believe it, nor can the announcers or the fans. Standing up, Carson puts a finger to his face in a "shushing" motion, then mimics twisting a silencer onto an imaginary gun, calling for "The Silencer".
Despite her barely conscious state, Stevie becomes aware of her predicament by the cheers of the fans, deciding to do something about it. Pulling her right arm back, she soon swings it forward, relentlessly lowblowing Chris Carson, killing the excitement of the fans and killing "The Creep"'s momentum!
Crawling into a corner, Stevie breathlessly claws her way to her feet, where she does a little dance, trying to regain some steam. The time for her to strike is now and appears ready to strike with a second "Last Dance" superkick to "The Creep".
When Carson stands, she goes to bolt from the corner...
...but Teresa Quaranta reaches inside, hooks onto her ankle and stops her! A frustrated Stevie Swing turns around, attempting to reach out and grab Teresa, wishing to drag her back into the ring; but her attempt is thwarted with a stern leaping Roundhouse Kick from Teresa, who climbs onto the ring apron!
Stevie, caught by surprise, stumbles back... walking directly into "The C.C. Bomb"! Chris Carson hooks his legs over Stevie's shoulders, making the referee start the count...
...1...
Teresa gets to her feet on the floor, having delivered a lethal kick...
...2...
She rolls back into the ring...
...3!
...but she is too late! Before she can stop the count, the referee slaps the canvas for a third time, officially giving Chris Carson the victory!
That doesn't stop her from still attacking "The Creep", though! Even after the count has been made, she connects with a kick to his head, as he remains in the pinning position, startling him!
To a chorus of boos, Teresa connects with a second stiff shot to Carson's temple, keeping him floored. Finally, she slides out of the ring, walks over to the ring attendant's table and grabs the World Title -- her World Title. Circling around the ring, she begins walking to the back, just as Stevie rolls out of the ring.
As Teresa walks to the back, breathing hard and holding her title, Stevie stalks her from behind and attacks her, literally ripping the World Title out of her hands. Dizzy and upset from the loss, Stevie runs away with the title, making sure it remains out of Teresa's physical possession.
Walking to the back, Stevie walks away with the title, while some ring attendants check on Teresa Quaranta. The cameras then return to the ringside area, showing Chris Carson on his feet, celebrating his victory. Getting the microphone from the ring announcer, he stands in the center of the ring, about to talk.
Chris Carson: Horatio...
He listens to the cheering from the audience.
Chris Carson: I just beat Stevie Swing and your new champion. Where's my damn title shot?!
The fans continue cheering for "The Creep". Their cheers soon turn to jeers as Horatio Q. walks out from the backstage area, holding his own microphone, while Tsarmina stands by his side.
Horatio Q.: You want that title... well, so does everybody! If you really want that goddamn thing, you'll have to earn it. You'll have to be a survivor. You'll have to be an Ultimate Survivor! That's right, Chris Carson, you, along with my guy, Casanova, will be the leaders of separate teams at our Christmas pay per view. The last time you were a captain, you picked a bunch of losers that sent you to defeat. I expect the same damn thing this time around.
Not knowing how to react, Chris Carson stands in the ring, listening to the cheers from the fans.
Horatio Q.: As for you, Corey Page, I can make great decisions, too. Who will Chris Carson pick? Who will Casanova pick? What team will the current World Champion wind up on? You'll just have to pay your money and tune in this holiday season. I'm the goddamn boss around here and it's never going to change. Fuckers.
The final images of the night is that of Chris Carson snaring at the new owners, who embrace is a filthy, vile, sloppy kiss at the entranceway. With that, the credits roll.
Fade out.
Winner: Chris Carson