The scene opens on Nico LaVey with his feet up on a window sill, wearing his red suit and smoking a cigarette. He is staring out the window, admiring the view of San Francisco, the place of his birth.

All of what I am about to do could have been prevented. All of it. Every last strike, every last grapple, every last submission, and every last bit of pain I will cause Trax. All it would have took was two words. Those two magical words are thank you. Those are probably the two most important words in the English language, as they tend to immediately affect how someone thinks of somebody else. If you were to open a door for someone, or light up a cancer stick for them, you're expecting a thank you. If you get one, then you are satisfied. If you don't get one, then you think "what a dick." But I didn't hold open a door for you, or light up a cancer stick for you. I stopped you from losing your title.

Now, isn't that worth a "thank you?" I mean, you were about to lose! That is MORE than worthy of a thank you. That deserves at least a favor from you, Trax. But you didn't say thank you, or do me a favor, or anything of the sort. You said "I didn't need your help." ...WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE? MOTHERFUCKER, I CAN SICK DEMONS ON YOU! YOU SHOULD BE FUCKING GRATEFUL THAT I DIDN'T KILL YOU WHERE YOU STOOD! I don't think anyone in this wretched company understands who I am! I am the son of the creator of THE FUCKING CHURCH OF SATAN! I practically have The Devil himself on speed dial! Then again, why wouldn't I expect such idiocy from the company that hired King Cuckold himself, Cain Arkham?

And then, we get to the "New Face of Hardcore", Freddy Fontanna. Fontanna, you should have run FAR away from this match the second I got involved. Yes, you have 15 years of experience. Yes, you are a deathmatch veteran. Hell, I have seen your deathmatches. You are a tough motherfucker. But the problem is that I have seen your deathmatches. I have seen what your skills and shortcomings are. And unfortunately, your shortcomings are the opposite of my strengths. I am the product of your weakness, Freddy. You are lucky that I am on your team. Not your "side," but your team. We aren't friends. We never will be. Hell, I might not even let you leave after I win the title from Trax. I may keep you and attack you to make a point of how dominant of a champion I am. Who knows. I'm the kind of son of a bitch that'll fuck you up for standing in front of me. Just like I did to Ghost Tank. Poor, concussed Ghost Tank.

Imagine someone like me as this company's Xtreme Champion. I don't mean that like "Oh no, a satanist is holding the title," I mean that as in imagine how untouchable the title would be under my care. I am more than capable of getting hardcore. I can take on whatever freak this company throws at me. Bring me your midgets, your axe murderers, your gangsters, and I will make them all leave in a body bag. Their tombstones will be monuments to my power.

Nico puts out his cigarette and stands up. He adjusts his suit, and walks out the door.

Overall Record: 2-8-1.

1x Federweight Champion.

Shitlist: Izzy Ravenwolf, Nate Higgers.

“We have never heard the devil's side of the story, God wrote all the book.”
― Anatole France