ACW COURAGE
14 OCTOBER 2004

So, uh, SilverHAWK was in his office super-early, and jacking off to some gay porno.

Well, no. But imagine that he was. Too grossed out? Fine. He was surfing the 'Net, looking for the websites of independent wrestling promotions. Yes, the bastard wanted to steal talent from promotions that had never even heard of ACW before. Crafty, wasn't it? And for some reason, SilverHAWK decided to do this two whole hours before the show.

He obviously thought that no one would be at the arena, and thus, catch him enjoying the gay porn. Oh ho, the irony is about to be unveiled. Right at the moment SilverHAWK's eyes lit up, the door to his office was kicked open.

"Hey. I need to talk to you. Like, NOW." Quinton May commanded, as he stormed over to HAWK's desk.

Instantly, HAWK switched off the monitor of his compooper and leaned back in his chair, a hefty grin plastered on his face. "Aye, I was just... uh, scouting for some new talent to bring into the place. In fact, two men will be making their debuts tonight. I'm a genios. Yes, with the 'O'. Anyways, you said you needed to talk to me?"

"Yes, I did. And I know about the gay porn." Quinton responded, looking mighty angry. Wonder why's that. "I'm not here to judge you, though. I'm here to ask one simple thing -- Alexander Pembridge does not have a contract with ACW, right?"

SilverHAWK nodded his head, as if to congratulate himself. He knew from the second May kicked his door down that the impromptu visit from the former Television Champion had something to do with Alexander Pembridge. Who, as all signs indicate, is either the son of the infamous Vincent Pembridge, or some sort of forgotten brother. It's a mystery either way, y'know.

"You are correct. The bloke, whoever the hell he is, is not bounded to this company. Why?" HAWK posed after a moment's thought.

Quinton's eyes narrowed, whilst he tried to collate his thoughts. He was a wreck, you see. "This means that what he did last week should never have occured. Which begs the question -- what the bloody FUCK is going on with our Security Team? I ask this, because Alexander is obviously going to show up here tonight. I've heard the rumblings. So have you, I'd imagine.

I want you to get our Security Team on this matter. Since the cockhead -- regardless of what his true identity is, because I'm not going to believe that he's Vincent's kid -- does not have contractual obligations to ACW, him showing up tonight would constitute as tresspasing. Or something along those lines. I'm not a lawyer, and I don't like lawyers. But I know an infraction when I see and experience one.

Do I or do I not make sense?"

Again, SilverHAWK decided to think it through. Honestly, he hadn't expected this whole 'Alexander Pembridge' development. HAWK remembered how Vincent Pembridge was, and how the Scorpion so badly wanted to fight HAWK. Heh, the man even remembered the death of Bobby Knickerson. Sensitive issue, that, and as HAWK looked Quincy Mama in the eyes... the former could detect a little bit of fear.

Sighing, HAWK rubbed his temples. "Yeah, you're more or less spot on. I'm going to get Jason and the rest of the Security Team on this. I'm pretty darn certain that if Pembridge pops up tonight, there's going to be a heck of a lot of unwanted bedlam. From him, from you... could spark a fecking riot. And I don't want that. Not at this time. So, yep, don't worry about it. I'll see to it that Pembridge gets taken care of."

Did he sound convincing? Maybe. Quinton wasn't too assured, but looking around, feeling a bit dizzy, the Canadian Gladiator realised there wasn't a lot else that could be done. And in theory, getting the Security Team to be on the lookout for Alexander Pembridge? Would buy Quinton some time.

Thus, with a snort, May spun on his heels and left the office of SilverHAWK. Quincy frowned as he did so, wondering what lay in store ahead. He still had not found the answers surrounding the big mystery; was Alexander Pembridge for real, in all senses of the word? Or was it just some parlour trick? Deep in his heart, May had a sinking feeling it was the former.

And that didn't bode well for anyone.

Back in his office, HAWK turned on his monitor and shook his head. He was simply hoping the man claiming to be Alexander Pembridge wouldn't show up tonight. But, deep in HIS heart, the experienced veteran had a sinking feeling of his own. Unwanted bedlam? It was going to happen tonight.

One way, or the other.

"You got impatient, innit?

All you had to facking do was wait in your locker room. But no, you bloody decided that your knickers weren't bunched up enough. You got off your arse, asked around a fair bit and fled from the arena with several hunches in mind.

There you bloody were, thinking you were the world's greatest detective. Facking cunt, you were like an animal. Beating up people for information, all to find out where I was. I must admit, the rumours I had floated out there had only one soddin' intention. But they were too effective.

You weren't supposed to come to me today. There was a schedule in place, see?

No matter, you facking cunt. You're here now and I suppose there 'as to be room for some flexibility. It's a good bloody thing I did nothing but watch you run around like the soddin' cunt you are for the last few hours. And here I was, in the bloody arena the whole time. Watcing the paint dry.

Oh, and look at that. Alias and Keller -- both knocked the fack out. Lovely.

And look at you. Bloody facking hell. What, it took me three minutes to have you swimming around in your own blood? Incredible. I was told by Cornelius you were this fantastic fighter... but look at you, cunt!

You're facking useless."

"W-w-who are... you?"

"Awww! Bloody precious, innit? You can still muster up enough energy to talk."

"Ans-s-swer me!"

"I'm Alexander Pembridge, you soddin' cunt."

"You're l-lying."

"No, I'm not."

"I-impos-s-sible."

"Says you."

"Who a-a-are you?"

"Let's talk about that impossible thing for a moment, cunt. Weren't you the one having conversations with my father? You know, the one you facking murdered?"

"... H-how do you know a-a-about that?"

"Some might say conversations with dead people would be impossible. But there you facking were, yapping away to what most saw as thin air. You, on the other hand, found yourself face to face with the man whose death are on your hands.

And you dare say me being here is impossible. You piece of shite, you."

"... Who are you?"

"Heh. You just don't quit, cunt."

"WHO ARE YOU?! WHO ARE YOU?! WHO ARE YOU?!"

"I am the hole in things, Quinton.

The enemy.

The piece that never fit, there since the beginning."

"... W-w-what?"

"Would I bring you all this way, and not deliver the killing blow?

You know, that's a facking good question."

"Why are y-you doing th-h-his to me?"

"And I suppose the answer is I would. You're not ready yet.

And as for why?

WHY?

WHYYY?!

YOU KILLED MY FATHER, THAT'S FACKING WHY."

"Vincent k-killed himself! He took t-t-the coward's way out!"

"You truly believe that load of shite, don't you?"

"... Who are you?"

"If not who I say I am, have you dared to consider the only other alternative?"

"I... d-don't underst-t-tand."

"You will, you cunt. In due time, you bloody well will. And you know why?

... Your blackest night has not even begun yet, Quinton."

Kick to the face, and Quinton was once again knocked the heck out.

Alexander Pembridge spat down at the broken mess of bones lying at his feet, having triumphed on this night. A wave goodbye, and into the shadows once more he went.

Talk about unwanted bedlam.