TONY FATORA: Th' following tag-team contest is scheduled for one fall!

[Cue up: "Stay In Shadow" - Finger Eleven. Slowly, the cane-toting Ivan Dalkichev lumbers down the ramp, Erik Black sitting on his shoulders and shouting obscenities at the crowd. A few steps behind them comes Nathan Fear, unassuming but smirking.]

TONY FATORA: Introducing first, accompanied by their agent Nathan Fear... At a combined weight of SEVEN HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-FIVE POUNDS... Ivan Dalkichev and Erik Black... THE CRRRRRRRRRRIMSOOOOOOOONNNNNN... CAAAAAAAAALLIIIIIINNNNNNNNGGGG!!!

[Cue up: "(Can't You) Trip Like I Do" - Filter & Crystal Method. However, nobody comes down.]

DT: That's odd. The Dark Carnival don't seem to be coming down to the ring!

B: Not that it'd make a difference. Those two have pussied out big time since showing up here. Were they even worth bringing in?

DM: Name value, champ. Name value.

[The music dies down after a moment. A white-shirted stagehand runs down the ramp and whispers something to Fatora, who nods.]

TONY FATORA: Ladies and gentlemen, I have just been informed that the Dark Carnival have missed their flight and will not be able to make it to the arena!

[CROWD: *BOOOOOOOOOO!*]

MN: Gyp! GYP!

DT: What an unfortunate turn of events here tonight-

[Before Thomas can continue, Erik Black grabs Fatora's mic.]

BLACK: Hold on just one fuckin' second! We came down here expecting to pound some Carnie ass, and this is what we get? Bullshit! I'll tell you right now that we ain't leaving this ring until we kick someone's ass! Now the question is... whose ass shall we kick? Hm. Well, there doesn't seem to be anyone around... except YOU, fatboy!

[With that, Black LEVELS an unsuspecting Tony Fatora with a sidekick to the face! The ring announcer hits the mat hard, only for Ivan Dalkichev to scoop him up and press slam him powerfully!]

DT: OH! This is uncalled for! The Crimson Calling are DESTROYING ring announcer Tony Fatora!

MN: Yikes!

DM: Someone get security out here!

[Yelling an unheard profanity at the booing fans, Black drags the limp Fatora to his feet, slapping him in the mouth a few times. Holding the battered announcer in place, the Indianapolis native calls to Dalkichev, who grabs his pimp cane - and drives it into Fatora's gut like a lance! Fatora collapses to his knees, and Ivan proceeds to beat the ever-loving hell out of him with the cane.]

DT: This is just wrong! Someone needs to stop this!

B: *sigh* Aaaaaalright.

[Cut to ringside, where Beast removes his headset and folds up his steel chair, carrying it to the ring and sliding under the bottom ropes. The World's Champion swings at Black, who ducks and slides out of the ring, leaving Beast alone with the monstrous Dalkichev. The two men stare each other down, one brandishing a chair, the other brandishing a cane. Finally it is Dalkichev who blinks, smirking as he backs out of the ring to slooooowly walk up the ramp with Fear and Black in tow.]

DT: God - this is -

DM: Jesus.

DT: Someone cut to an interview!

[Fade to the backstage area, where Kenny Lombardo stands outside of a dressing room door labeled “Cross”. He’s holding in front of him a stack of notecards that include some interview questions, then looks up to see the camera. Quickly, he stashes the cards away and puts on his best smile.]

KL: Hey guys! It’s me again. Right now, I’ve got the perfect opportunity to ask a few questions to one of Empire Pro’s fastest rising stars. Definitely a force to be reckoned with among the ranks... I am, of course, talking about—

[The man known as Clapper suddenly steps into the frame and cuts Kenny off with a massive clap across his back that nearly pastes the smaller man to the floor.]

Clapper: Hey, hey! It sounds like you’re talking about me!

KL: Uhh... well, if it isn’t Mr. Clapper!

Clapper: Just Clapper, Mojo. No ‘mister’.

KL: Kenny.

Clapper: ...what?

KL: I’m Kenny Lombardo. Mojo Massey worked for GWE...

Clapper: ...bah, whatever. You suits all look the same to me. Anywho, I suppose you’re wanting to ask me a bunch of questions like, “What’s your strategy in this match, Clapper?”

KL: Well actually...

Clapper: Or, “Do you think Cross has a chance against you, Clapper?”

KL: The thing is...

Clapper: Or, “What brings you to Empire Pro, Clapper?”

KL: You see I’m...

Clapper: “What do you have planned for tonight, Clapper?”, “What is it you do in your spare time, like on weekends, Clapper?”, “Why are you named after a venereal disease, Clapper?” All of that crap, am I right?

KL: ...uhmmm, right. I’m here to interview you... I guess.

Clapper: Well I can tell you here and now, that I’m NOT taking this interview.

KL: ...you’re not?

Clapper: No! Damnit, why is it that every show, somebody ALWAYS has to have the lame backstage spot that deals with a reporter asking stupid questions and the guy delivering stupid answers...

KL: ...well—

Clapper: And if that’s not the case, there’s ALWAYS some sort of comic relief scene... something that usually plays on the guy’s ego and the reporters timidity. Shit like that, you know what I’m saying, Mojo?

KL: Kenny.

Clapper: Whatever. The point is, I’m sick and tired of that shit! We need to see the ORIGINAL stuff! That is why, my friend... I will NOT partake in this interview. I will NOT answer any questions you direct toward me, and I will NOT ramble on in detail, delaying the next scheduled match.

KL: Well if that’s the way you see it, then—

Clapper: However, because you got all dressed up and ready for this interview—and because I couldn’t give two shits about the guys waiting to wrestle in the next match—I’m just going to tell you what I think straight up.

KL: ...and that is?

[Clapper juts a thumb in the direction of the door they are standing beside.]

Clapper: Right now, Cross better be in there, saying his prayers... or doing his mantra, or whatever it is that religious bastard does when the time of his destruction is nigh. Simply put, in this industry, there are three kinds of people. First...

[He points into the chest of Kenny Lombardo.]

Clapper: There’s guys like you, Mojo...

KL: Kenny.

Clapper: I said Kenny. There’s guys like YOU, who have no talent, no body, and don’t even bother trying. The reporters, the commentators, the refs... you get what I’m saying.

KL: Completely.

Clapper: Then, you’ve got the wrestlers. They’re a step up above the suits. They’ve got a lot of fighting spirit, determination, and talent to boot. You can split these guys into several levels, but there is ONE that stands above them.

KL: ...and that is?

Clapper: ME, damnit! I am the apex of competitive spirit! It doesn’t matter how good the wrestlers—or THIS guy—are in the ring, because I’ve been there and done that. My skill exceeds their ring talent...

[Sighing confidently, Clapper crosses his arms over his chest.]

Clapper: And for that reason, tonight’s match will be a piece of cake...

KL: ...good to know.

Clapper: You’re goddamn right it’s good to know! But I’m done answering questions for now, Kenny.

KL: ...I didn’t ask any questions.

Clapper: Whatever, Mojo.

KL: Kenny.

Clapper: I said Kenny, damnit! You callin’ me a liar?

KL: ...well, yeah.

Clapper: HAH!! You don’t even know the HALF of me you ingrate!

KL: ...what are you talking about?

Clapper: Enough! I’m done wasting my time with you...

[Clapper holds up his arms in frustration and walks away. Kenny only looks to the camera with a confused expression, and rubs his forehead.]

KL: ...now I have a head ache. What just went on here?

[Cut to a commercial for Burger Sultan.]