Tracks vs Carson: Falls Count Anywhere

[Jack Tracks]

Jack Tracks' music continues from the end of his interview, the opening section of "Don't Stop Me Now" echoing through the arena, accompanied by the cheers of his fans.

Fuzz: "As we get ready to begin this Falls Count Anywhere Match, it certainly looks like at least one of the competitors is prepared!"

Mulligan: "Against a beast like Nicholas Carson, he's going to need every toy he can get his hands on, especially with so much riding on a victory tonight!"

The music hits the up-tempo chords, as Jack Tracks blasts through the curtain, throwing his hand in the air to show the wad of tire chain off to the entire arena. The crowd bursts into a louder pop as he emerges, especially with the promise of some good old-fashioned violence at the sight of one of the competitors bringing a weapon from the start.

"The following is a Falls Count Anywhere Match! Coming to the ring, from Indianapolis, Indiana. Weighing in at 235 pounds....Jack....TRAAAAAAAAAAAACKS!"

Jack rushes down to the ring, foregoing most of his usual ritual. He makes a dash straight for ring side, letting some slack in his chain as he leaves the ramp. The metal scrapes against the aisle, sending sparks flying into the air. A few of the fans covered their face to try not to get any in their eyes, but some others almost seemed to WANT to get those sparks in their face. Strange bunch.

As he hits the side of the ring, Tracks chucks the chain bundle over the rope, sending Charlie Coors diving out of the ring so as not to get smacked in the face by all that metal. Jack uses his momentum to jump straight up to the apron, grabbing a hold of the top rope for stability. Once on the apron, he pulls back, only to vault forward and over the ropes. Quickly, he tears off his jacket, tossing it outside the ring, and picks the chain right back up. The young man from Indianapolis gets a good grip of the chain in his hands and looks back to the ramp, anxiously awaiting his opponent.

"Tracks looks like he's all business tonight!"

"If that toy of his didn't already scream it, the look on his face sure does! Here's hoping that intensity's for real, because he'll need it if he's hoping to get out of this match with all of his parts intact!"

"I have no doubt that it is. With a shot at the King of the Death Match title on the line, you know a hungry young lion like Jack Tracks is going to give it everything he has! But will it be enough?"

[Nicholas Carson]

Moments pass by with no signs of Nicholas Carson, nor any music that would herald his arrival. In the ring Jack begins to pace a little bit, getting impatient by the second, perhaps forgetting for a moment just who his opponent is - a master of mind games. Then, behold, as fans begin to boo the non-action, the Honor-Tron flashes to life. Every head and eye is drawn to it, including Jack's and possibly his little nigger friend and slut manager (if he brought them to the ring, since he hasn't posted his edited entrance yet lol). Sitting on the floor in his dressing room, his back against a bench, is Jack's opponent. A mixed reaction pounds the arena walls as they find him in his gimmick of yore, white and red Joker face paint - smeared half assed over his hideous face. Without saying a word, Carson lurches forward and slams his face atop a table in front of him, which so happens to contain a mountain of "mysterious white powder". He inhales mighitly, taking in the entire contents through his nose and mouth, until he can no more. Nicholas pulls himself away abruptly and belts out a warrior's roar, while his body quakes. Then, he falls into a calm, with a small bout of sick laughter coming from deep within.

"Jack, falls count anywhere, and boy do I have some surprises for you. If you really want the torch passed to you in the realm of ultra-violent, so that you may ascend and stand atop Mount Deathmatch, then come forth and take it from me. I'm not going to hand it over to you, boy, I'm going to beat you over the fucking head with it."

Nicky Boy pulls a CD player into view and presses the on button, and a few seconds later a very familiar tune kicks in, Nicky's entrance theme from long ago.



The Artist of Atrocities stands with the CD player in one hand and his trademark nail gun in the other.

"I've always wanted to beat a man's ass to a soundtrack."

Nicholas starts dancing around in his room while motioning with his nail gun for Tracks to come get that good ole fashion passionate ass whoopin'.

TBCB Jack.

[Jack Tracks]

Back in the ring, scowling up at the screen with the chains held tightly in hand, the young rookie takes a good, long look around the arena. As the fans cheer him on, encouraging him to go find that big bastard and earn his shot, Jack swells himself up, taking a deep breath into his chest. Steadying his gaze, Tracks decides to take Carson up on his call, sliding back down and out of the ring from where he came. Tracks lets a little slack out of the chain on his way back up the ramp, the scraping sound of rusted metal on metal screeching through the cheers of the fans.

"I don't like the looks of this. It'd be one thing if they fought out here, where there's some measure of control, but if they head all the way back...this could end badly..."

"Think of it this way. If they're away from the crowd, the only ones they're likely to hurt are each other. With all that...err...powdery substance in Carson's system, I can't imagine he'd think twice about seriously hurting a fan just to get at Tracks should it go all the way up into the stands."

The camera follows Tracks as he pushes his way back through the curtain, his head darting back and forth with every step he takes back towards the locker room areas. With the change in surroundings, and the camera staying as close as could be hoped for, Tracks' voice was quite clear, echoing through the concrete and steel halls of the arena.

"Can you hear me, mother fucker?! If you think your little show there's going to throw me off, you're about to find out the hard way how badly I want this!"

Tracks' words reverberate through the corridors, the young man pushing tables and equipment out of his way, not bothering to go anywhere but straight to the potential meeting with destiny waiting for him. Backstage crew and even a few members of local talent make themselves scarce when they see the determined gaze on the Indiana native's face, his gaze piercing right through anyone in his way, aiming only straight ahead. As he turns down another hall, Tracks swings the mass of chain in his hand, smashing it against a pipe embedded into the wall, sending up a few sparks that nearly fly right into the camera lends. The crash of steel-on-hollow-steel rings through the entire backstage area, surely loud enough to be heard even inside the locker rooms.

"You want me to bring the fight to ya? You better hope all those god-damn drugs of yours numb you completely, because I'm gonna make sure it hurts!"

Another few seconds of marching through the backstage area, and Tracks' ears pick up on just what he was looking for. From behind a door about 20 feet up, Jack can hear the muffled sound of a very particular song. One that marks his target. Jack stops, as the camera pans around to catch him from the front. He snaps his head back, pushing his hair out of his face. The Racer's chest heaves, giving himself one last moment to get his thoughts together. Try to come up with a game plan, while knowing that in a match like this, with a crazy, drugged-up monster of an opponent, any strategy he'd bring in probably won't last for very long. Knowing that, and resigning himself to it, Tracks shakes his head quickly, and hefts the chain back up, balling it up in both of his hands. He takes those last few steps forward and stands in front of the door, the music blaring up loud enough you could even hear the speakers breaking up from outside. He takes a few steps back, pressing himself up against the opposite wall. A final deep breath, and Tracks screams out again.

"ROOM SERVICE, MOTHER FUCKER!"

Tracks dashes forward, bringing his leg up, smashing his boot against the door's handle. The knob gives with a loud CRACK!, nearly flying right off. The door swings open, and Tracks shifts his body to try and move forward, but very, very quickly stops and ducks to the side, just out of the doorway. With less than a second to spare, a wooden object comes flying out of the room, colliding with the opposite wall and splintering into dozens of pieces!

"WHOA! What was that, an end table?"

"Hey! You could've hit the camera with that thing!"

The object smashed, Tracks ducks back into the doorway again, and this time, the camera moves to follow. As the interior of the room comes into frame, the two fighters have already gotten themselves into a nasty predicament. Standing on top of the cocaine-covered table, his head practically in the ceiling, Carson towers over Jack Tracks, one hand holding a handful of the smaller man's hair, pulling it back. In the other hand, the frightening sight of that nailgun, encased in Carson huge fingers. But instead of being aimed right at his foe, the hand was being forced to aim right down at the ground, as Tracks was using his chain and the strength in both of his hands to keep the arm pointing as far away from him as he could muster.

"You're late! I ordered that Fresh Meat for 5 minutes ago!"

The giant pulled his hand back further, threatening to yank all of the hair right out of Tracks' head. The pain from the tugging, as well as the increasingly bad angle his spine is being forced into, was causing Tracks' grip to loosen around the wrist. With every inch Jack was pushed back, that nailgun moved closer and closer to lining up with its target. Knowing it was just a matter of moments now before he could pierce the young'un's flesh with his beloved weapon, Nicky's sadistic, coke-fueled grin grew wider and wider, the cameraman zooming in, even as he was trying to step as far back as he could.

Knowing the situation was about to get real bad, real fast, Jack thought quickly. Using his angle to his advantage, Jack decided to switch gears, and pulled the chain towards and past himself, swinging Carson's arm at a perpendicular angle. With one arm crossing up the other, Carson lets the hand on Tracks' head slip as he stumble. With the weight entire shifting, Tracks quickly brings his leg up, landing a big kick against Nicholas' knee. The giant is sent toppling, falling down face-first on the table, his huge weight causing the entire thing to collapse, sending his drugs up into the air, giving the entire room a white, smokey tint. The impact caused Carson's hands to tense up, and a shot from the nailgun is clearly heard, a spike being sent right into one of the walls.

With his opponent down and stunned, Jack tightened up on the chain, threatening to cut off circulation around Carson's wrist. He pulled the hand up, only to place one of his boots right on the back of the hand. He holds the position for a second, enough time to give he cameraman a chance to get a really good shot of it, before driving his foot down, pressing the hand down hard between his foot and the floor. The crash sounds like it may very well have cracked the floor, and was hard enough to get a blood-curdling scream from the monster, the pain shooting through even his altered state. His hand crushed, and potentially broken, his fingers had no choice but to relinquish the nailgun, as it slid across the room.

"A tense showdown to start this....well, I suppose we should call it a match, and Jack Tracks has managed to draw first blood! I think he may have shattered Carson's hand with that!"

"He better press his advantage as hard as he can and end it right now if he wants any hope of winning here! There's only so long you can keep a beast like Carson down when he's like this, and he may not get another chance."

[Nicholas Carson]

Amid the commotion going on, an adjacent door opens and in steps a genuine chocolate face, or in other words it's Carson's slave-butler Jingabang Niggerstain. The patrons watching the Honor-Tron give hearty chuckles at the sight, despite only seeing him twice previously on camera, a long time ago. Jack is a bit taken aback, as is Jingabang, but Nicholas's bombastic, panicked voice gets their attention quickly.

"NIGGER GET MAH NAILGUN!"

The distance to the nailgun is about equal between Jack and Jingajang, with all eyes now holding view on it. Without hesitance, and before Tracks can persuade the slave to disobey the order, Niggerstain utilizes his running from the cops speed to make a dash for the weapon. Jack growls with frustration as he is forced to abandon his assault on Nicholas. After all, it would be match-suicide to let Nick's manager get his dark digits around that gun. At least Jack retains enough sense to bring his chain along with him, which he twirls overhead like a whip ready to lash. The Indiana native takes huge strides to compensate for time, but Jingajang retrieves it a moment before Jack can. The slave doesn't get a chance to do anything with it, however. The former Television Champion brings the chain down with a sharp snap, the excess of it wrapping around the wrist of the black man. In movie style fashion, Jack Tracks yanks the chain hard, dislodging the deadly nailgun from his grasp. It flies clear across the room and lands God-knows-where among the ruinous heap that is Carson's pig-stye.

Jack had punishment in mind for the chocolate face, but swiftly regains the same focus he had going into this match, and merely shoves the guy down. Turning back to Big Nick's last known location, the young upstart's oculars widen with distress, the monster was nowhere to be seen. Nicholas had escaped to seek healing for his swollen and possibly broken hand. As the Maniac Mauler stammers down the corridor with his hand clutched to his chest, he makes it a point to blindly toss tables, trash cans, and other objects behind him to promote a obstacle for his opponent, and buy himself some time. Hearing the ruckus being made, Tracks carefully steps out of the room with his chain at the ready, and follows the trail left in Nicky's wake. The rookie smells the blood in the proverbial water and hastens his steps, gaining confidence with each passing second as his wounded prey looms in the distance before him.

"YOU'RE GONNA DIE CLOWN!"

To Nicholas's right is another corridor, which Carson rounds and breathes a sigh of relief. Near him is the arena's Ice Point. There's a man standing there, his name and position unimportant, but he's already got two bags of ice ready for whatever purpose he had in mind. Well, that was about to change. The Narcotic Necromancer rabbit punches him and seizes one of the bags of ice, then shoves his hand into it to alleviate the pain and swelling, at least temporarily. The reprieve is short lived, as Jack's voice becomes more powerful in the background, alerting Nicky Pooh to his close proximity. Always the resourceful one, the Artist of Atrocities grabs both bags of ice and backs against the wall, awaiting his arrival. Once Jack is deemed near enough by Carson's calculation, the Clown Prince of Chaos hurls one of the bags into the corridor traveled by the man from Indiana. It smacks against the wall to Tracks' left, and ice spills everywhere, but the ruse had worked. Jack's attention is diverted only for a second, but that's all Nicholas needed. Stepping out from his place of concealment, the Lord of Lunacy wallops him in the side of the head with the other bag of ice. The impact is severe enough to knock Tracks down, and send chunks of ice in every possible direction.

"Whatever momentum Jack had going, just got put on ICE!"
"Funny pun, Al. But I don't think Tracks would find it humorous at all right now. Those cubes of ice weren't small, folks.
"But they are now, thanks to Jack's thick noggin."

Dazed but not out, down but not defeated, the courageous kid scrambles on the ground, which only strengthens his adversary's resolve to utterly decimate him. Carson grabs the other end of the chain still secured to Jack's hand and tries to pull it free, but Tracks will not relinquish it. To do so would mean certain destruction for the hero. Fair enough. Undaunted, Big Nicky heaves the smaller man to his feet like a ragdoll, and uses the chain itself as an assist to whirl him into the wall with truculent force. A crack in the wall appears when he impacts it, sending a chill up the spines of those viewing. The former Television Champion lingers in place for a spell, his chest arched out, mouth contorted to give testimony to his affliction, as the expanse of his back is consumed by torrents of pain. Laughing about all of this is Nicholas, who takes a few steps back, before charging headlong at the weakling. Carson's enormous leg hikes up, the sole of his massive boot on a collision course with Jack's sternum, in hopes of sending him straight through the wall itself.

Unfortunately for our lovable evil-doer, the Indiana native is a tad tougher than previously thought, and manages to get out of doge at the eleventh hour. Nicholas's foot knocks a hole in the wall, which would have been Tracks' chest, and gets stuck. But Jack's window of opportunity begins to close quickly, as the monstrosity plucks his pedal extremity free and turns around, a bit off balanced. Still able to salvage his new found advantage, the dogged rookie churns full steam ahead, caution being thrown into the wind. Morphing his own body into a missile of sorts, Indiana's favorite son careens into the monster's gut with his shoulder, the collision absolutely horrendous. What's more terrifying, however, is the fact the two plow completely through the wall, leaving a bear-sized hole behind them.

"HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!"

"Holy shit is right. What a sadistic Spear! You rarely see Nicholas Carson in this kind of predicament. In fact, I don't think I've ever seen anyone do something like that to him. If what Jack just did doesn't show how tenacious and determined he is to be the very best in this industry, then nothing."
"And the irony of it is remarkable. Tracks is a race car guy, and he just did his best Dan Wheldon impersonation, except he used Nicky as the car."
"Geez, Al. Come on, man. Call the match correctly."
"Too soon?"
"Yes, WAY too soon."

After a short age to build suspense, the cameraman finally steps forward through the hole, the eye of his camera quickly scanning down, then left to right. Carson is lying dormant, supine, his inertia inert. On the other end of the spectrum, to the crowd's boisterous delight, Jack is seen elbow crawling his way to Nicholas. The race car guru throws an arm over the mastodon, and prays the wrestling gods would bequeath him a victory. The referee, making his first real appearance in the bout, theatrically flops onto the floor beside them, and administers the all-important sequence of slaps.

ONE

No movement from the beast, the fans faith in Tracks blossoming.

TWO

Still no report from the Lord of Lunacy. Jack's rendezvous with destiny all but set in stone now.

THR-AWWWW

Destiny is fickle. The last millisecond, Nicky shoots a shoulder up, and pushes his adversary away. Undeterred, the young whippersnapper deploys his go-to weapon of the night yet again. Grabbing the chain at both ends with his hands, the rookie wraps it around Big Nicky's thick neck, as he straddles his back. Pulling up on it, and tight, the choke is set. Carson's tongue protrudes from between his cracked, cherry-red lips as his oxygen supply is shut off. Panic sets in next, jolting the madman into another gear, where his psycho-strength flourishes. With both hands, Nicholas reaches up and clamps down on Jack's wrists, preventing him from escape, then powers up to his vertical base once more. Despite the Indianan's best efforts to free himself, it's of no use as the monolith plods through the hole and into the hallway. Wearing the small man like a human backpack, Nicky sets course for the exit door, picking up a jog at first, then a full sprint.

A second prior to reaching the door, the Narcotic Necromancer turns 180 degrees and throws himself backward, allowing his opponent to take the full brunt of metal-against-flesh. The exit blows open with authority, the pair spilling into the parking lot, Jack and his tried-and-true chain parting ways at long last. The pair wallow and wildly scramble up to their feet, both of them blotting out their injuries just to endure more. Having used a 2011 Ford Focus to aide him up, Nicholas stands against it coughing. Seeing his chance, Jack Tracks bull rushes the towering phenomenon, and takes to the air with a knee jutting out. It connects flush with Carson's face, buckling the big man's knees, but not toppling him. Back pedaling, the fan-favorite rushes again, this time spinning in a circle as he closes in. Tracks slams his elbow into Nicky Boy's jawline, feeling a dull crunch underneath. The blistering strike teeters the Strife Killer, allowing Jack to grab him by the hair of the head and coerce him downward.

Then, with a strong pull and shifting of position, Jack sends the crazy clown head first through the driver side window. The glass shatters around the crown of Nicholas's head, opening up gashes that usher in that precious crimson life-force fluid. The hungry young lion rabidly tugs at his legendary foe, trying to pull him out and to the ground for a pinfall. But in his haste to seal the deal, he doesn't see Carson press the "Trunk Monkey" button on the dashboard. As soon as the Agent of Chaos is thrown to the pavement, the trunk of the car pops open and out strolls a monkey, a very pissed off monkey. Before jack can act on the pin attempt, he notices the extra, um, "entrant" into the fight, and can not believe his shit luck.

"WHAT THE FUUUUUUUUUUCCCCKKK?"

"TRUNK MONKEY! TRUNK MONKEY! TRUNK MONKEY!"
"The Trunk Monkey, another innovative idea from Suburban Auto Group!"
"You act as if they're our sponsor."
"They actually ARE one of GHW's sponsors."

Crowbar in hand, the chimp swings it madly at the ref and Jack, prompting Tracks to climb atop the car itself, while the ring adjutant scurries away out of sight. For the first time in the match, Jack was truly befuddled, bogged down and unable to formulate a plan. While the hero ponders his next move, paying more attention to the chimpanzee than Nicholas, the Lord of Lunacy slithers away into the night, away from the arena itself. It isn't until a few moments later that the Indianan realizes his error and leaps from the vehicle, over the monkey, and into the night to give chase. Only by helpful directions from throngs of turned away fans does he ascertain Nicholas's whereabouts, which all point to a strip club called, "Fuzzy Holes", right across the street. Running with purpose in his strides, the cameraman trailing him, the long haired upstart marches into the establishment like he owns the place, knowing Carson is bound to be waiting.

But what does he get ambushed with? Nope, not a beer bottle. Nope, not a pool stick. And, nope, not a wooden bar-stool. There to greet him, being held on Nasty Nick's shoulder with her legs spread wide, is a stripper known as "Pound Cake", and oddly enough she bares a resemblance to Haven Cassady. Could pass as her sister or cousin. Anyway, the Artist of Atrocities shoves her naked, sweaty, stinky, grilled cheese looking vagina right into the rookie's face. The smell alone knocks down the 235 pounder, paving the way for Nicholas to carry on his unorthodox attack. Already sitting on Tracks' face, the rather large stripper is pushed down by the Lord of Lunacy, the madman looking to smother his opposition into oblivion. The race car fanatic's arms flail for the longest time, until alas, they cease to move. Hurling the stripper away into the circle of horny men that had congregated around them, Nicky Boy commences a pin, only for the referee to be nowhere in sight. Some of the drunken club patrons count to three for him, which only seems to annoy the behemoth as he stands up and yells in frustration.

"FUUUUUUUUUU...!!! Fine. Fuck it."

The bleeding joker yanks his prey up and lifts him above his head in a Military Press Position, and trots around. As Nicholas walks, the customers stampede over themselves to get away, while shouting for the scared to death security detail to stop the insanity. But nobody was going to stop Nicholas Wayne Carson now. Taking one last powerful step forward, the giant tosses his victim forward like he's nothing more than a bag of trash going into the rubbish bin. Sadly, it isn't a bin, it's a huge plate glass window directly in front of them. The window seems to explode rather than shatter, as the handsome young morsel of hope in a world gone mad flies through it. The many, many shards of glass puncture his epidermis from head to toe, burrowing deep inside him, slicing and dicing all that handsomeness from him in a fraction of a second. There's a long, eerie pause after his body lands on the other side, the GHW Universe standing still in a pit of despair.

"Jack's ultra-violent cherry has just been popped!"

tbcb JT.