BRINGING THE BEATS TO VEGAS

Origin Story of Fake New World
Once upon a riff in the galaxy, a baby alien named Atomic crash-landed on Earth in a glittery, bass-powered meteorite. Lost but not lonely for long, Atomic waddled out of the crater and stumbled upon something curious in the desert dust—a tiny, giggling baby skull with a mohawk made of cactus needles. His name was Axl, and though he had no body, he had big energy and a love for loud guitars.
They became instant besties.
Atomic and Axl grew up bonding over mixtapes, headbanging to vinyl in the moonlight, and sneaking into legendary shows under the glow of neon signs. Whether moshing or making mischief, they were always side by side—your classic alien-skull concert duo, known across time and space as the life of the pit.
Years later, they scored their dream tickets to a show called Sick New World. It was going to be epic. But at the last minute, disaster struck—it got canceled. Just like that, their dreams of screaming along with the bands they loved turned to space dust.
But Atomic wasn’t having it. And Axl? He just screamed louder.
So they did what any two music-obsessed freaks would do—they called all their weird, wonderful friends from every corner of Earth and beyond. Ghouls, glam punks, glitter aliens, metal gods, star sisters—you name it. And together, they built a new kind of show, forged from the ashes of their disappointment. A show for misfits, rebels, and cosmic rockers.
They called it Fake New World—a place where the freaks make the rules, the music never stops, and the lineups are out of this world.
And so it was born—not just a festival, but a movement. Fake New World: where legends are made, and the party’s never canceled. 💀🚀🔥

Vertical Divider

FAKE NEW WORLD: The Summoning of Black Sabbatha
(Chapter 2 of the Origin Story)
One shimmering dusk in the Vegas desert, Axl and Atomic were lounging on top of a burned-out jukebox, sipping neon slushies and vibing to the distant rumble of thunder riffs echoing through the mountains. The air smelled like ozone and glitter. Something was coming.
Suddenly, the ground trembled. Not a quake, but a pulse—like the Earth itself was catching a beat.
Atomic sat up, antennae tingling. Axl floated midair, eyes wide. “You feel that?”
That’s when they saw it: a flicker in the sand, glowing red-hot under the twilight.
Atomic brushed away the dust and picked it up. It was a guitar pick, black with chrome lettering that shimmered in the fading light:
BLACK SABBATHA
⚡️Riff Priestess of the Void⚡️
It was a sign. Axl grinned, flames flickering in his eye sockets. “She’s real.”
Without a word, they climbed atop the tallest abandoned stage rig in the desert, lit incense made of stardust and feedback, and raised their hands to the sky. Together, they shouted into the electric void:
“COME TO FAKE NEW WORLD!”
The sound rippled through the clouds like sonic lightning. Their energy blasted into the atmosphere—waves of sound and light—summoning every misfit frequency in the galaxy.
One by one, bands began to shine like beacons in the night sky.
🎸 A skeleton mariachi quartet lit up the east horizon.
🥁 A cyberpunk drumline from Saturn blinked into being.
🎤 A goth siren choir floated down in an aurora of fog and eyeliner.
And then… the sky split open with a howl of thunder and wailing guitar.
Descending on a platform of smoke, lasers, and bat wings came Black Sabbatha—half goddess, half amplifier, all doom and glitter. Her axe guitar dripped molten metal. Her boots sparked fire. Her hair was a nebula, her voice a spell.
She looked at Atomic and Axl, grinned, and said:
“Let’s burn this fake world to the ground.”
And just like that, Black Sabbatha was headlining Fake New World.  The Holy AXE was passed to Skull Iommi who shall melt facers!!
The crowd grew. The signal was sent. The lineup kept building itself—drawn to the energy of two weird kids who dared to make their own noise.
Because at Fake New World, music isn’t booked--it’s summoned.

​FAKE NEW WORLD: Chapter 3 – The Summoning of Cervena Fox
The Mobscene Bombshells were on a mission.
With Fake New World rising from the dirt like a spiked phoenix in fishnets, the burlesque coven knew they needed more than glitter and tassels. They needed a headliner—someone who could summon flames with a wink, command a crowd with a single swirl of satin, and fly through the air like a goddess possessed.
So they set off across the desert, stiletto boots kicking up moonlit dust, their eyes scanning the stars.
That’s when they saw it—a burst of blood-red fire swirling in the sky, wrapping around a cyclone of black lace and chrome. The wind howled. The music pulsed. And from the heart of the storm came a voice like velvet soaked in sin.
Cervena Fox had arrived.
Dripping with attitude and clad in crimson latex that shimmered like hellfire, Cervena descended from the heavens in a pair of glowing Isis wings. She spun midair, caught herself on a silken aerial hoop, and rained down petals of flame from her fingertips. A blood shower followed, theatrical and divine.
Axl’s jaw dropped. Atomic’s antennae twitched with delight.
“She’s perfect,” the Mobscene Bombshells whispered.
Born in the shadowy corners of Milton Keynes and forged in the wilds of London’s alt scene, Cervena was no stranger to the edge. With a body inked in stories and a mane of red hot power, she had burned her name into the annals of international modeling—and now, she was bringing that fire to the stage.
She strutted into the spotlight, hips swaying, eyes daring the universe to blink first.
“You looking for someone to melt minds?” she said, flames flickering from her fingertips. “I don’t dance for headliners. I am the headliner.”
And just like that, the Mobscene Bombshells knelt in reverence—not out of submission, but respect. They had found their queen of chaos, the crown jewel of burlesque mayhem.
Cervena Fox was now the fire that would ignite Fake New World.
Axl and Atomic high-fived. The sky glowed red. And somewhere in the crowd, a thousand voices screamed in unison as the beat dropped—Cervena flying overhead, raining magic, mystery, and madness.