Keeping the Torch.

[Nicholas Carson]

The special Christmas edition of TNT comes on the air with the camera panning left and right showing the super-excited fans, many of which are dressed in Christmas theme, waving their witty little signs of support. After showing off the jam packed arena, the camera feed switches directly to the announcers table, where Al Mulligan and Collin Jennings sit, dressed also in Christmas themed garb and obviously extremely excited.

"Two days removed from a very bloody and brutal Blood Runs Cold, we come to you live from (insert arena/location here because I have no idea where we compete lol) for Tuesday Night Triumph!"
"And what a night we have in store for you. We-"

Before Al can finish, "I Wish You a Merry Christmas" begins to play, casting the fans into an even more jubilant mood. The curtain cloth is swiped aside, a towering giant stepping out dressed head to toe just like Santa Clause. It only take a few seconds for the mood to sour, as they realize it is the Maniac Mauler himself, Nicholas FUCKING Carson. Slung over his shoulder, very visible, is a huge santa bag filled to the brim with what can only be presumed as presents maybe? Despite the intense hatred thrown toward him, the Lord of Lunacy trots down the aisle laughing and waving happily to the fans, even doing the whole "Ho Ho Ho" routine.

"Oh no. This can't be good."
"What do you mean? How dare you speak bad against Santa Clause."
"That's not Santa Clause, that's SATAN CLAUSE!"

The madman rounds the ring and up the steps, then slips through the ropes where he's handed a microphone.

"Ho Ho HO Merry FUCKING Christmas! It's me, ole SAINT NICK hahahaha!"

The crowd endear him with hate more than ever before, and begin to toss the customary trash and food at him. Undeterred, the epitome of evil drops the bag of goodies and takes on a more serious, not so jolly tone.

"I've checked my list twice, and can honestly say NONE of you deserve a gift! Each and every week you throw trash in this ring at poor little misunderstood Nicholas Carson. That's bad. It's mean. You hurt his feelings! So I asked him what he wanted for Christmas, and he told me all he wanted was for you all to know what it felt like to get stuff thrown at you too. So who am I to deny a heartfelt plea from a good, moral person?"

The clown turned clause opens the bag and starts pulling out pieces of black coal, and one after the other hurls them into the stands, pelting a number of fans in the process.

"He could hurt somebody! Those better be toy coals or something!"
"Another lawsuit, there's another, annnd another one."

He gets bored with his revenge quickly and angrily rips off the santa attire, showing himself to be wearing everyday street clothes. Littered on his body at various places are bandages, and on his face several areas that have required stitches, all evidence of war from BRC.

"And since we're being real here. Kids at home and in attendance right now, guess what, Santa Clause isn't real. All those gifts from Santa comes from your parents. Don't believe me? Pound an energy drink or two on Christmas Eve night and stay up. Keep a good eye on your Christmas tree, you'll see. I mean, geez, think about it, Santa Clause is supposed to be a old fat white man, yet he only works one day out of the year? That's what niggers do, not the white man."

HOLY SHIT the hate increases ten fold, but honestly who is going to stop a genuine psychopath?

"WILL SOMEBODY CUT HIS DAMN MIC?"

"But that's not important. What is important, is my victory at Blood Runs Cold. Yes, boo me all you want, the result will not change. Every one of you swore he would win. It was set in stone. The wrestling gods themselves were on his side. He rode into that match with momentum so great that a defeat would be impossible, it would be a travesty. Jack was being groomed as the next New Age Champion, or the next KOTDM Champion, or the next whatever he wanted to be. Not even the sky was the limit for him. He would snatch the torch from me. But reality soon set in. It was clear that GHW management had tossed a boy into the den of a lion. And, in the end, the lion had his meal, and was full."

The immense heat succumbs to loud chants of various unsavory nicknames for the Mauler, but nonetheless, he continues.

"But something happened during that encounter. The kid was tougher, smarter, stronger, and more tenacious than anybody I had ever faced before, minus Vladimir Strife of course. Jack Tracks drew more blood from my body than anybody has in quite some time, including Santiago. Every time I planted him on the ground, or hurled him through a window, or shredded his skin, the sumbitch kept coming. At one point I honestly thought he was indestructible. The damn match should have been over long before it actually ended, but Jack just wouldn't do what so many others have done in the past against me, and that is lay down when they realize they can not over come me. In that match, he came in as a boy, but left as a man. So, Jack, savor what I am about to say because it rarely comes from my mouth... I RESPECT YOU!"

For once, cheers are heard, but will soon die out.

"And with that being said, I would like for you, Jack Tracks, to come down to this ring right now and THANK ME for making you a man at Blood Runs Cold. In exchange, I'll be a man and apologize for doing the horrible things I did to you in giving you the single biggest ass beating you've had in your life. Afterwards, you can sit back and watch me destroy the Lord of Fallacy, Dominik Shitknuckle-tiago, and rescue the realm of the death-match from his lack luster, cowardice rule TONIGHT!"

TBCB Jack Tracks.

OOC: This is meant to set up triple threat between Jack-Nick-Dom, so any GM feel free to jump in after jack replies. or before. either one.

[Jack Tracks]

Moments pass, and it seems as though Tracks won't be making an appearance. The crowd sits in a bit of silent confusion, until, finally, "Don't Stop Me Now" by Queen hits the speakers, with the intro cut. When the music begins to blare, the crowd gets to their feet, cheering for Tracks' arrival. However, it still goes a few seconds before any movement is seen from the stage.

Finally, before the crowd dies down again, Jack Tracks makes his way out, but slowly. Accompanied by his partner Jumpin' Jack Flash, and a very concerned-looking Missy Sippy, the two stick close to Tracks as he tries to hide his limp on the way into the arena. He's currently dressed in his more casual attire, with his jeans, shirt, and ring jacket (yet another patch. Might be a tire company), but some bandaging could be seen even up near his collar. Seeing the normally energetic competitor mustering his strength to come out and speak after the horrific battle from the show before, members of the audience start clapping with their regular cheers.

"Looks like he was able to make it out here after all."

"Well despite how it looks right now, I know for a fact both men were pretty evenly beat up after that match. Carson's probably just so used to being torn up like that he can just ignore the pain at this point. Tracks, rookie that he is, surely hasn't built up that same level of tolerance yet."

Despite his body clearly not being in the best shape, Tracks' eyes look as fresh as can be. He stares a hole right through Carson, waiting a bit for the audience to die down before bringing the mic in his hand up to speak. As he does so, he moves his other arm behind him, telling his allies to take a step back. Reluctantly, they acquiesce, but make sure to stay close enough to help him if need be.

"So...I guess we should call you Satan Clause, eh? Well you sure brought out a little gift early to Jack Tracks at Blood Runs Cold. A gift in the form of staples, stitches and bruises. Not to mention a crazy monkey with a wrench." A few chuckles from the audience at remembering what may have been the single most bizarre case of interference they'd ever seen. "But I was always a good kid. I made sure to leave some treats out for ol' 'Saint Nick'. A broken hand here, a bruised rib there, and a nice tall glass of your own blood. Mixed with a bit of my own, I must admit."

The crowd mostly remained quiet, although a "TRACKS!" chant had broken out near the top of the arena. It seemed most of the fans were more interested in hearing where he was going with it than to speak up.

"But there was one gift you left that was bigger than any of the bruises and gashes. Thanks to you, I was able to prove exactly what I wanted to. In this land of violent madmen, Jack Tracks was able to step in with the biggest, meanest of them all and come out not only in one piece, but to send even you to the limit! I may not have come out with the 1-2-3, but sometimes the real victories aren't the ones that you get your hand raised for. Sometimes, the most important victory comes to you when you're left battered, broken, and bleeding!"

Tracks' voice raises suddenly, and in a flash, he tears his jacket off, tossing it aside, showing the myriad bandages covered his arms. His body seems to start to move at its normal pace, his energy surging as he tears the bandages from his arms, the scars and stitches clear as day. He begins to walk down the ramp with a purpose, as his crew, surprised as they are, try to follow behind. By the time he gets to the apron, the bandages are all gone from his arms. He steps right in, although the other two wait on the floor. Tracks walks right up to the behemoth, staring right up into his eye. The crowd starts to explode, ready to see the two come to blows again. But before they do, Tracks speaks once again.

"You learn more from your failures than your successes. That's something I've always known, and last Sunday, I learned a hell of a lot. I learned what it was going to take to climb to the top. I learned exactly what it would take to become the King of the Death Match. I learned that even a guy as big and tough as you can be brought down, even if I didn't manage it this time. And I know, without a doubt, that I will have my chance to use those lessons in the ring. Sooner rather than later, I WILL get my title match. And I WILL become the champion. I knew it, even as I woke to find out I had lost. I knew it would be inevitable."

Jack stares into Carson's eyes again, and the Maniac Mauler seemed to have a satisfied grin on his face. Tracks keeps his expression serious and intense, flipping his hair out of his face and calming his tone just ever so slightly.

"You wanted me to come out here and thank you. Well....guess what?"

Tracks, to the surprise of the gasping audience, raises his other hand in a gesture for a shake.

"Thank you."

[Nicholas Carson]

*SMACK*

The open hand slap across the cheek, seemingly out of nowhere, snaps Jack's head violently, and sends him stumbling back a bit. Flash and Slutty McManager, on the outside, quickly skirt the apron to come in, but are surprisingly cut off by Tracks, who now has nothing but fire in his eyes and he swings back around, seething. What awaits him is a movie line brought to life in the ring, and certainly applicable to what's going on.

"Lions don't shake hands with men. Fuck you, there's your apology."

And those, as the old saying goes, are fighting words. Jack steps forward strong, his fist cocking back and ready to unload.

TBCB Jagg

[Psychotic Circus]

"Hold on now, Playas'!" Hold on just a minute!"

Grimey C. Whiskey walks out, with his shiny, bright pink leather clothing. He stands upon the entrance ramp and looks over the sorry sights in front of him.


"This is a new year for GHW, it all starts fresh here tonight. And I won't have you two making a mockery of my ring....so, TONIGHT! You two will team up in a handicap match against....DA UNDAHTAKA'!"

...........

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"I mean, TONIGHT! Nick Carson, you will get your shot at Dominik's KOTDM title....but it won't be a one on one death match....Oh no. It's going to be...A THREE WAY, 30 MINUTE IRON MAN MATCH...OH! And, it's also a hardcore rules setting. And I may supply some nasty objects along as well. Suck it, Playas', HOLLA HOLLA HOLLA!"

tbcb or EOT.