A C W




YOU GOTTA FIGHT
COURAGE COUNTDOWN TO DISASTER ¤ 23 JUNE 2010
ARENA OMSK, OMSK, RUSSIA

and so the countdown begins

       

Top of the show. What's that familiar tune?

"I'm Bad." Last Vegas. Bitches.

This could only mean one thing for the start of COURAGE COUNTDOWN TO DISASTER. The the arrival of the self-proclaimed ACW Franchise Player, Trey Vincent. And who where we to argue with the man? I mean he was also the ACW WORLD CHAMPEEEEEN... of the world.

Champions.

TV was dressed in his ring gear, in addition to a T-shirt simply read YOUR BLOOD LOOKS GREAT ON TV. Vincent wasn't alone. He was accompanied by... well, let's just call her a 'Russian Escort'. Though Trey will call her something different in a moment. But we'll get to that.

"We've all got a little something on the side," started Vincent, so ready to be heard, started talking over his entrance music, forcing the crew to quickly cut off his music, "And by we, I mean myself and my FORMER #1 contenders...

Alias has his bitch. You know, the one I screwed in the pooper.

Shawn Jessica Hart has HIS fuck buddy.

Keith Scott Zimmerman has his whore.

And I have... mine." TV nodded over to the tall Russian woman with the peroxide blonde hair and tiiiight red dresss. Trey Vincent took a moment to adjust his golden World title with pride before continuing.

"Unlike the arena full of proto-Commie pinko retards that stand before me in THIS crowd," with that, fresh careers from the Russian crowd rushed towards him and TV took an aside, "Where do they find you people? But unlike YOU, myself and the people who have LOST to me time and time again... we all have something on the side. Which, tonight, is great for me. Because you ain't going to see SHIIIIT in terms of a World title fight tonight."

BOOO!

"Oh, come on, are you surprised?! Alias, SJH and KSZ couldn't figure out who was going to loss to me next.... ipso facto ya idjits... if NO contender is decided, then there's NO ONE that will contend for the World title!

Sooo... there."

"Please allow me to introduce myself..."

Alias was set to disagree with the lack of a World title match tonight, and post-haste. The Original Pulp Hero came storming out from backstage, he true was dressed for combat in his basic blacks and heavily taped mid-section. The fight on FORMER World Champion's face, sent the CURRENT World Champion back on his heals.

The crowd was roaring, waiting for a fight from the Clint Eastwood of ACW.

But before Alias could even speak a word a certain guitar riff sounded off and the crowd exploded in cheers once again. The ACW antihero came out to the dulcet tones of Soundgarden's "My Wave" as purple sparks fell from the ceiling. This was not the time to set off pyro, nor play up the fact that he was well-received. The black and gold of Keith Scott Zimmerman's Perfectesque singlet said it all: that main event that Trey Vincent was so sure wasn't happening? It was getting MIIIGHTY crowded without anyone even needing to say a gaddamned word!

So, of course, Trey had to say something.

"Good to see you two decided to come to the part! But since I'm getting in a word edge-wise, is it just me... or are we missing someone? A certain Mr. Moneybags that ISN'T a thieving troll... a certain End Game winner that ISN'T... wait, you didn't win one did you Sheffield? HAH, Something else that you lost at the last second!"

As much as the crowd hated to hear him talk, not to mention Alias and Keith Scott Zimmerman... Trey was making a good point.

Where was Shawn Jessica Hart?

"Ahem, ahem. Excuse me, excusssseeee meeee."

Look! Up there on the SlyTron! It's a bird! It's a plane! It's... dun dun dunnnnnn.

Z!

The Caped Crusader seemed to be at an undisclosed location, smirking away like a badass. "Now, I know most of you might be asking why in the name of Bonaparte's balls am I interrupting this little tea party? Don't worry, I'm not throwing myself into the mix for the World Title. Not yet, anyways. Heh.

No, I've here to tell my new friend, the esteemed World Champion, that I have a present for him. I took the liberty of going after a man I deemed many months ago to be a terrorist. Sidenote; I told all of you, wayyyy back in January, that this particular individual was a bad egg. Not many believed me. They were too caught up in the hype of his presence, and him being in ACW, and yadda yadda yadda.

Well, we've ALL seen what he's capable of. And to make sure that the right person remains World Champion, I decided to finally act and punish this terrorist. That's right, ladies and gentlemen.

I present to you... SHAWN JESSICA HART~!"

The cameraman panned out, and laying at Z's feet, a little roughed up as well as being bound and gagged, was the Prime Minister of Bein' Sinisiter. The Phenom, who has found the going in ACW rather tough in recent times, appeared to be unconscious.

Not only did the fans go 'oh snap', but in the ring, Alias was all like 'damn'. KSZ? He smiled thinly.

Trey Vincent? Oh ho ho, the Champ raised his arms in the air and called himself the 'greatest of all time'. Not sure why he was doing that, but nobody was really paying attention to him anyways. Long story short; Trey was OVERJOYED and did a little jig in the ring.

Z nodded his head, looking at SJH at his feet, before turning back to the camera. "Awww, don't worry. He's fine. I just had some people rough him up a bit. He'll be out for the rest of the night, and he'll be back tomorrow for the Scorpion Fight Night Challenge, none the wiser. I slipped a few Forget-Me-Not pills down his throat when nobody was looking. Heh. Roofies; they're awesome.

Now, if you'd excuse me, I have an epic showdown with John Sarsgaard to get ready for. Toodle-ooo!"

And with that, The Masked Enigma's face disappeared from the SlyTron. He had, after all, concluded dropping his bombshell.

Trey Vincent grinned, as The Only Wrestler That Matters and The Original Pulp Hero sneered at varied degrees of menace and vile. But before Courage: Countdown To Destruction continued elsewhere, well, TV naturally had one more thing to say.

"Somehow, after you three couldn't take down one another, I knew that all THREE of you would be set on taking me down. But I'll beat you to it cause I'm the mothafuckin' GREATEST!

Ahem.

One down... two to go."

affirmative action. or something.

"Thanks for coming, guys and girl. Please make yourselves comfortable."

Joe Bishop cleared his throat as he folded his arms across his chest and leaned against his table. It was going to be a very busy night, and with FIGHT NIGHT 2010 still on tap the very next day, Bishop and HAWK decided that something needed to be done to ensure some sembelance of law and order existed in ACW. The current crop of in-ring officials were doing a fine job, but were beginning to be overstretched.

That's what happens when you play host to a world-class roster in the whole damn industry. w00t.

... Annyways. HAWK, content with drinking his arse off, charged Bishop with the power to do what he felt he needed to do. And hence, the GM's right-hand man and ACW decided to do something rather inspired. Thus, the current referees had been gathered inside his office and seated in rows wondering what Bishop had to say.

"Why the eff are we here? I had plans to drink myself silly tonight!" Mark Shields moaned, throwing up his hands in exasperation.

Joe Bishop ignored Shields and cleared his throat once more. "Ah, okay. I'll try to keep this short. Now, over the last few months, all of you have seen the number of matches we have per show increase. It seems almost every show, we're having eight to ten matches. That's good for the wrestlers, good for the fans, but not so great for you guys.

Even though we've brought in the likes of Tomaz and Leon recently, I think we need a few more referees on the roster. Especially with the madness of FIGHT NIGHT 2010 coming up. Hell, Trent here was hired during last year's Scorpion Fight Night Challenge because we were having a HELL of a time trying to keep everything together... and also, because he volunteered."

Bishop smiled at the young Trent Savage, who was suddenly the center of attention. Everybody (almost) was grinning at him.

"Well, I actually thought it was a gimmick at first!" Trent spoke up, looking a wee bit sheepish. "It all turned out for the best though, huh? Still here, still alive!"

Henry Irwonsen, the most senior of in-ring officials who was seated behind Trent, reached forward and tapped the young man on the shoulder. It was a touching moment. Which of course made Mark Shields want to vomit.

Bishop glared at Mark, before returning his focus back to Savage. "Yep, still alive. And doing a great job, I might. All of you are playing very important roles in ACW, and to show that myself and SilverHAWK value your contributions, I took the liberty of making sure not only are we covered for tomorrow night's mayhem, but that we'll have an even spread of job allocation for the months ahead without any of your individual paychecks being affected.

So, with that, I'm very proud and excited to announce three new additions to our stable of referees!

The first of them is a returning face; he briefly worked with us in 2004, and over the years, he and I have become good friends. Give it up for Lucas Nuckallin!"

The door to Bishop's office opened, and in walked a man that could have passed as Joe's younger brother. Lucas was warmly greeted with waves and nods, and a snort of disgust thrown in there. No guesses as to the source of that snort.

Once Lucas grabbed a seat in the front next to Trent Savage, Joe Bishop pressed on. "The next person is also something of a familiar face; he used to be a wrestler. Henry will remember him, as he was around when Henry and I were the so-called rising superstars. That was a loooong time ago. It is my pleasure to introduce a former United States Champion, Roderick Lynch!"

Again, the door to Bishop's open swung open and there were a few collective gasps as Roderick Lynch -- Rod Lynchpin once upon a time -- walked in with a bit of a sneer on his face. Irwonsen cracked a half-smile at the sight of the former wrestler who was a cocky son of a gun. The rest of the other wrestlers nodded respectively at Lynch, who merely walked on to Bishop and exchanged looks en route to grabbing a seat next to Lucas Nuckallin.

Mark Shields? He too was grinning somewhat; he'd read somewhere that Roderick was a cool bastard like him. Therefore, Shields was happy. A possible new buddy was in the ranks.

Bishop was all smiles, and after a couple of moments, continued with his yammering. "And finally, the third person used to be a referee with a little promotion called The Squared Circle. Shields here will remember this chap. He's been off the grid for the better part of the last five years, but he's back and he needed work. Looking at his credentials and what he'd accomplished in his short stint in TSC, and I couldn't pass up the opportunity to bring him on board.

Lady and gentlemen, please give your heartiest of welcomes to... Li Mu Bai!"

The door to Bishop's office one final time, and in walked a Chinese-lookin' fella. Mark Shields went all 'awww hell naw' while the rest simply gave Li the thumbs up. Li looked a tad bit timid, but nonetheless nodded appreciatively at the stable of referees that could call themselves the support backbone of ACW.

Bishop unfolded his arms and pressed the palms of his hands together, as he watched the newbz begin conversing with the rest of the gang. With the exception of Roderick and Shields, who were looking at each other as if they realised they were a match made in heaven, everybody else was having a fun time with introductions. Leon Hurst, no longer the baby of the group, quietly excused himself as he had the first match of the night to take control of.

As for everybody else? There was the small matter of the rest of the night, and FIGHT NIGHT 2010 to look forward to.

"I hope nobody dies tomorrow." Bishop muttered to himself, suddenly worrying about what level of chaos FIGHT NIGHT would surely serve up.

Annnnnd with that, let's head back to the ring!

TAG TEAM MATCH - TORNADO TAG SCORPION FIGHTING RULES
The Supernatural SWAT vs. Pop Culture Phenoms
REFEREE: LEON HURST

           

Two on two action was next on the agenda for ACW and the crowd was on the edge of their seats for the opening salvo of an evening promised to be awesome. Their attention turned to the entrance ramp with the sound of Hollywood Undead starting up. With his ice blue eyes focused solely on the ring through his modified gasmask, Kroenen marched towards the ring. Always at his side, Vago kept pace with the German cruiserweight. The thing that stood out was the lycan warrior known as Arkady bringing up the rear. He was in his wolf mask as always, but it was clear to see that he was not in the best of spirits. However, what was pissing him off was up for debate. Was it the fact that he got laid out last week or was it his growing frustration with his current status in ACW?

Kroenen directed the huge Hungarian to enter the ring, while completely ignoring his Russian cohort, and positioned himself outside the ring like normal. Arkady leapt up to the apron and used a slingshot to launch himself into the ring, executing a forward roll up to his feet. He looked down at the self-proclaimed brains of the operation and Kroenen reminded him of an off-camera discussion, "Do not stray from zhe game plan or zhere will be consequences."

"Whatever."

With that said, the music changed and in a flash Klein came sprinting down the ramp. He was full steam ahead until just a couple of feet from the ring where he stopped. Arkady and Vago were prepped to punce on him, as he entered the ring, but they had to wait.

"Jerk and super jerk," Klein said confidently and put his hands on his hips.

What the SS didn't know was that Ed slipped out from under the ring with a steel chair in hand. Ed slithered into the ring and blasted Arkady across the back with the chair. Vago turned to face their attacker and found the top of the chair of driven into his stomach, doubling him over so Ed could slam the chair down on his back. The masked monster growled and stood upright, shrugging off the attack. Ed was not impressed and just flat out kicked the Hungarian in the balls, which the big man couldn't overcome. The steel chair was immediately wrapped around Vago's head and he fell to the mat.

With his teammate making sure Vago wasn't getting up by smacking him with the chair in the back repeatedly, Klein took down the dazed Arkady with a Thez press just when he got to one knee. Klein pounded the Russian wolf with right hands, looking to teach him some manners the only way you can in a wrestling ring. His arm was getting tired from the onslaught of punches and he pulled Arkady up to a vertical base. Klein whistled to his teammate and whipped Arkady into the ropes. A double hip toss put the Russian down hard and PCP immediately tried to crush his head with dropkicks to opposite sides of his head.

Ed and Klein knew that never giving the SS a chance to breathe would be their best chance of winning and they turned their sights to Vago. He had only been on his feet a few seconds when they started punching away at him, backing him into the corner. A double Irish whip sent Vago crashing into the corner and Klein whipped Ed in after him, giving him a ton of momentum for a dropkick to Vago's chest. Ed nodded to Klein and drop to all fours, so Klein to leap off of him and slam into their larger foe with a front flip body attack.

When they weren't fighting, PCP were second to none in the tag ranks and they were showing it. Ed looked to wield the chair once more and for once Klein didn't stop him. Arkady has beaten him up badly before and Klein agreed that they needed to be taken care of by any means necessary. The chair was back in Ed's tight grip with him looking to hurt the kneeling man in a wolf mask and he gave Klein direction, "Make sure the big f*cker doesn't move."

A split second is all it takes for the tide to turn, especially when you're dealing with Arkady. Ed had just turned back to his Russian foe, when Arkady hopped from his knees to his feet and drove his knee into the chair, causing it to slam into Ed's face. The shot knocked Ed down to one knee and Arkady instantly followed it up with a roundhouse that sent Ed to the mat in a heap.

Turning to see how his teammate was doing, Klein was surprised to see Ed face down on the mat. Hoping to catch the still dazed Arkady off guard, Klein came racing towards him. However, he was quickly captured and dumped on his head with a t-bone suplex. In a flash, Arkady was in a three-point stance and he exploded out of it, catching the kneeling Klein with an Asai gamengiri.

The playing field was once again level and Arkady marched to the off-balance Ed, but not without addressing his teammate, "Get your ass up and fight."

Arkady reached Ed with Vago meeting him just a moment after. The Hungarian horror's shoulder was planted firmly in Ed's gut, driving out all the air in his lungs. Seeing that they would soon be disturbed, Arkady darted towards the incoming Klein and nearly broke his jaw with a koppu kick.

Before the crowd could react to the devastating kick, the Russian wolf charged Ed who Vago kept in place. A seated clothesline rocked Ed's head back and Arkady slipped to the outside.

Vago took off out of the corner and made sure Klein was of no threat by wiping him out with a huge Vader attack.

Arkady flew over the top courtesy of a slingshot and connected with a Codebreaker on Ed.

The recoil of the move stood Ed back up in the corner, but he was seeing stars. It left him in perfect position for Vago to attempt a decapitation of Ed with a Yakuza kick in the corner.

With his instincts kicking in, Ed rolled to the outside and tumbled to the floor. He was lifeless on the floor and that left poor Klein all alone in the ring with the Supernatural SWAT. Usually stone-faced, Kroenen couldn't help but smile, as he saw his to associates descending upon a wobbly Klein. The only conscious member of the Pop Culture Phenoms tried to fight back and it was beyond futile. The Eurometal monsters unleashed a little bit of what a certain southern wrestling star likes to call "clubbering".

Klein was in no shape to fight back after the merciless assault of strikes and Arkady draped the member of PCP over his shoulders in fireman's carry position. Vago bounced off the ropes, as the Russian wolf socked Klein with a Go2sleep that left him out on his feet and wide open for Vago to destroy him with a lariat straight from the darkest bowels of hell.

A pin fall followed...

1...

2...

No!

Klein kicked out and with only moments to spare. Vago looked down at his prey and snarled with a hint of disbelief in his eyes. Klein looked even smaller than normal with the powerful Vago standing over him. The Hungarian's gloved hands gripped Klein as he lay face up on the mat. With a mighty roar, Vago pulled Klein off the mat and directly onto his shoulders in powerbomb position. Klein's stay on the big man's shoulders wasn't very long, as he was driven down harshly to the mat.

Using his foe's folded position, Vago rolled Klein backwards to his feet for the waiting Arkady who immediately hoisted him up for a belly to back suplex. Once his teammate lifted their foe from the mat, Vago gripped Klein by the throat and helped his Russian ally spike their opponent into the mat.

The masked monster cut off his lycan teammate and went for the cover himself, which didn't sit well with the man in the wolf mask.

1...

2...

No!

The smaller half of PCP barely got his shoulder up and if it weren't for his surprising strength, he may have been eliminated. Arkady wasn't worried about the failed pin as much as he was Ed. He had slipped back into the ring apron and had some blood flowing from his lip. It was an obvious injury from the kick in the corner. However, he wasn't in the ring for long, as Arkady pounced upon him. Ed tried to fight back but a kick to his jaw dimmed his running lights. A nod to him was all Vago needed and he whipped Klein towards Arkady. Using his opponent as a weapon, the Russian wolf kicked the in-coming Klein firmly in the calf, causing his legs to fly out from under him and deliver a makeshift dropkick to Ed's gut.

It was more than apparent that the SS was focused on the who they considered the weakest link in Klein and so far, it was working. Klein clutched at the back of his head and stumbled out towards the center of him. He had no idea that the SS were waiting for him. Klein walked right into Arkady who launched him high into the air with a gorilla press type throw. Vago snagged Klein out of midair and used the momentum to drive his foe down across his knee with a backbreaker.

Not letting go, the masked monster pulled Klein up off his knee and swung his legs out like he was going for a Catatonic. Arkady caught Klein's legs in spinebuster position and Vago dropped to the mat with a sit-out uranage.

Vago fired Klein's body up off the mat and Arkady sent Klein soaring through the air with an overhead belly to belly suplex.

The two members of the SS saw Kroenen give the thumbs down and that was the sign that the end was approaching for Klein. Vago captured their foe and in no time flat had him back up in powerbomb position. That was not high enough for the huge Hungarian and he lifted him up for what looked like a last ride. The size difference was all too obvious, as Vago was able to rotate a full 360 degrees with Klein above his head. Behind them, Arkady had gone up to the top in one fluid motion and waiting for Vago to line Klein up. However, he would have to wait longer than expected.

Vago thought he had more time than expected and tried another rotation to show off his power. The lack of focus cost him and in a big way. Klein started to wiggle and broke free, dropping down onto Vago's shoulders and sending him crashing into the corner with a hurricanrana. The impact with the corner sent Arkady tumbling all the way to the floor and allowed Ed to sneak back into the ring behind the stumbling Vago. That trusty steel chair showed up just when Ed needed it and he tossed it to Klein.

"Do it," Ed demanded.

"Is that legal?" Klein replied with a confused look on his face.

"Um... yeah."

Klein tossed the chair to Vago just so he could add extra punishment to the already brutal SMACK-OW~!

The modern take on the high-low turned even the monstrous Vago inside out and not wanting to take any chances, both members of PCP covered him.

1...

2...

3!

Kroenen couldn't believe his eyes, as his cohort had been eliminated for the first time. The German was beside himself and pounded away at the apron in disgust. It was the first time that he had completely lost his cool in public and he focused himself on his Hungarian ally. He tended to him, as Arkady looked over the opposition from outside of the ring. The Russian wolf looked to the well-known leader of the SS for advice, instructions... hell anything and just watched Kroenen care for Vago. Kroenen seemed to not give a damn about the match once Vago had been eliminated and helped him to the back, leaving Arkady all by himself.

PCP looked out at their remaining opponent and Ed motioned for him to come back into the ring. Arkady wasn't intimidated, but he wasn't a fool. He took a moment to map out a game plan in his head. He knew the course of the battle just shifted and it was all uphill from here. He climbed up onto the apron and slowly entered between the top and middle rope. Ed stepped forward and held Klein back, "Take a breather. Let's see how he does with someone his own speed."

Not backing down an inch, Arkady watched on closely while Klein took a few steps back to allow Ed a one on one chance with the Russian wolf. He was not scared at of Arkady and he kicked the steel chair aside, feeling he didn't need it, "Not so scary when the odds aren't in your favor, are ya?"

The two men met in the middle of the ring and before Ed could do a thing, Arkady had struck him in the ribs with a roundhouse that echoed through the arena. A straight right dropped Ed to one knee and a left knee rocked his head back. Just like that, Ed was seeing stars and Klein went to get involved, but a glare from Arkady stopped him in his tracks. Arkady took off to the ropes and Ed sprang to life catching him with the diamond cutter he has dubbed the "A-Lister".

Ed was hyped that he caught his enemy with that and he stamped his foot, looking to strike while the iron is hot. Arkady fought back to his feet and Ed tried to catch him with the "Superstar" superkick. He should've known better than to try and trade strikes with the Russian wolf. He may have been dazed, but the lethal lycan's instincts were sharp as can be. The proof being that he snagged Ed's foot in flight. Arkady unleashed an elbow to Ed's thigh and a back elbow to his jaw, leaving him defenseless as Arkady spiked him with a fisherman's buster.

Even Klein flinched with the impact from that move and his looking away from the sight left him wide open for Arkady to practically run him over with a busaiku knee kick that sent Klein crashing into the corner.

Not only was the impact bad, but the whiplash from it frightened to capacity crowd. Using his foot to push Klein to the outside, Arkady looked to keep the numbers game from giving PCP the advantage. He turned his attention back to Ed who was trying to pull himself back up in the corner. Never one to shy from his training, the Russian wolf went to town with punches and elbows, forcing Ed to cover up or have his jaw knocked clean off his face. The assault was too much for Ed and he could do nothing to stop Arkady from whipping him across the ring. Almost as soon as he hit the corner, his foe smacked him in the face with a spinning wheel kick.

The motion from the strike allowed Arkady to fall backwards over the top where he landed on his feet on the floor. While Ed fell to his rear in the corner, Klein was stumbling back to his feet. Little did he know that his remaining foe was lurking behind him. Klein looked a little lost, as he didn't see Arkady in the ring. However, he soon found him. Klein's head bounced off the floor courtesy of a running STO by the masked man.

His bloodlust was starting to take over and Arkady couldn't stop himself from driving elbow after elbow into Klein's face. Huffing and puffing like a man possessed, Arkady rose to his feet and stood over his opponent. Klein tried to sit up, but the Russian wolf dropped to one knee as fast as he could. Normally, that wouldn't be too bad for Klein but this time, as Arkady's knee was driven down into Klein's face and not the mat.

With his focus clearly on Klein, Arkady had no idea that Ed was begining to stir. Arkady violently fired Klein into the security barrier and looked to do something horrible. Unfortunately for him, he never got the chance. Ed used his own body as a projectile, diving between the middle and bottom ropes and slamming his forearm into Arkady's skull.

Arkady flew into the security barrier with his shoulder and head taking the brunt of it. Ed sat against the ring and Klein dropped to one knee by the barrier. Both took the opening to try and recover from what has happened to them thus far. Ed groaned as he climbed to his feet and turned the team's attention to their foe, "Time to put him out."

Once ascending to the apron, Ed watched on while Klein amazed the crowd by hoisting Arkady up on his shoulders. Ed darted towards his lifted foe and knocked him to the floor with a dropkick.

PCP hurried to get the Russian wolf back into the ring and Klein went for the pin.

1...

2...

No!

Arkady was able to shrug off the smaller Klein and Ed pushed Klein out of the way, so he could stomp away at their foe.

"Should've hooked the leg," Ed grumbled to his teammate while pulling Arkady up. "Now, grab his other arm."

Following directions, Klein helped his teammate whip their foe into the ropes and immediately dashed to the ropes himself. Almost a split second after hitting the mat from a drop toe hold from Ed, Arkady had his jaw and cheek smashed by a baseball slide dropkick from Klein.

With his hands clutching his face, Arkady rolled to his back, but he couldn't tend to his wounds for long, as Klein pinned his arms down, allowing Ed to come crashing down on him with a springboard elbow drop.

Ed hooked the near leg, as the ref slid into position.

1...

2...

Thr-NO!

The Russian wolf would not give up and used what energy he had left to raise his shoulder from the canvas. Ed knew he and his partner were going to have to once again raise the stakes. The normal offense was not cutting it and the time had come to bring in the big guns. He wasn't taking any chances and Klein knew exactly what he was thinking. It's time for the biggest gun in their arsenal. PCP had Arkady lined up and waited for him to get back to his feet. Arkady was seeing stars, but he was no slouch in the ring. He knew something bad was coming.

Once their foe was vertical, Ed and Klein looked to end it once and for all. Arkady barely got his arms up in time, blocking most of Klein's kick while Ed swept him off his feet.

Neither member of PCP knew that the move didn't hit perfectly like it had earlier with Vago and Arkady made sure to sell it like it had. Klein leapt off the mat like he had won the lottery and began celebrating with Ed standing tall over the their fallen opponent. Klein thought his quest for vengeance was successful and he hopped up to the second rope and raised his arms to the crowd. Behind him, his teammate was talking smack to Arkady, "There isn't anything scary about you punk asses!"

Those would be Ed's last words. He reached down and had his brains scrambled with a kick to the side of the head. Before he could react, Arkady rolled him up in a small package to which Klein thought the referee was counting the fall on Arkady, not his teammate.

1...

2...

3!

Out of nowhere, Arkady had shocked everyone by evening the odds. Klein leapt off the ropes, turning around in midair. He had no idea that things didn't go exactly as planned. His jaw hit the mat and his eyes grew as wide as baseballs at the sight of seeing an enraged Ed being ushered out of the ring.

"What happened?" Klein asked with a look of horror in his eyes and he dashed to the ropes where his teammate was holding his head in pain.

"God damn small package," Ed growled and started to the back.

Klein was absolutely freaking out, but his panic attack suddenly stopped, as his brain suddenly came to a horrifying conclusion. Slowly, he turned around and saw one unhappy Russian wolf glaring at him. His complexion turned whiter than Casper in a spotlight and he started backing up with Arkady marching towards him. Klein took off running and tried to slip between the ropes but was caught before he could escape. A handful of tights pulled Klein back in and his foe began beating him down with Muay Thai style elbows. A suplex style lift put Klein on the top rope and Arkady climbed up after him.

The sole survivor of PCP shocked everyone by fighting with all he had. Was it fear or a drive to win that fueled him? People were unsure, but whatever it was it worked and he knocked Arkady down to the mat. Klein perched himself on the top and before he could go on the offensive, Arkady nipped up to his feet and leap to the top with just a vertical leap. With no way to lock himself to the top, Klein was sent flying from the top by Arkady with a head and arm suplex.

Despite the wear and tear on his body, there was a fire building in the Russian wolf and his growling could be heard by the fans at ringside. He was hurt and was flat out willing himself back to his feet. Klein clutched at his back and was helpless, as he was locked in a Muay Thai clench. Arkady's knees struck his foe in the face repeatedly and Klein's legs buckled, but he couldn't fall due to Arkady's grip keeping him upright. The lethal lycan took his enemy vertical and spiked him with a brainbuster that made KSZ cum in his tights and Klein exactly two inches shorter.

Arkady never loosened his grip and pulled him back up, but instead of giving him another brainbuster, he rotated him so Arkady could lock on a tazmission. The submission was not the real weapon. It was dumping Klein on his head with a suplex while having the hold locked on.

A cover followed right after...

1...

2...

Thre-NO!

The crowd erupted, as they couldn't believe that Klein had escaped defeat. Not one to worry about debating with the referee, Arkady pulled Klein up and sent him into the corner. A shining wizard in the corner nearly took Klein's head off and just as he sat down in the corner, his foe knocked him senseless with a running bootwash.

Time was of the essence to the masked man and he pulled Klein out of the corner, so he could put him up in a fireman's carry. He spun Klein out and fell to one knee, hitting a modified TKO that left Klein out of his feet. Arkady dashed to the ropes and leapt into the air, driving both of his knees harshly into Klein's collarbones.

Arkady was a ball of fire and he launched himself up to the top in one fluid motion. Klein was just past halfway across the ring, but not far enough for Arkady to miss crashing down on him with a Lo-Down style frog splash.

A quick hook of the near leg and...

1...

2...

3-NO!

Klein escaped once again and no one could believe it. Arkady rolled towards the corner and got in a three-point stance. He was coiled and ready to strike. Slowly but surely, the lone remaining member of PCP instinctively climbed to his feet. The ropes were his friends and he would've fallen back down if it weren't for them. Arkady charged at full speed and looked to knock out his foe with a knee. However, lady luck blessed Klein and he lost his grip on the top rope, sending him tumbling to the mat. Arkady crashed into the corner and fell down on his head harshly.

Clutching at his head, the Russian wolf had no idea that his foe had gotten to all fours and he tripped over him awkwardly, immediately after getting back to his feet. Klein looked over at his foe and out of fear of being too close, he scurried to the corner. At his feet was the chair that he had tossed to Vago earlier in the match. Going over his options in his head, he decided to pick up the chair. Arkady pushed himself up to a standing position and Klein socked him with a running chairshot.

A shot of confidence ran through Klein and he waited anxiously for his foe to get up. Once again, Arkady battled back up to a vertical base and just as he did, Klein brought the chair down across his head.

If Ed was here, he would have pushed Klein to go for the pin, but with his ship rudderless, Klein went with the flow. And the flow was telling him to stick with the chair. Confidence was building within Klein and he was showing it. He looked to the crowd and slapped the chair against the mat, with them starting to root him on.

"Let's go Klein! Let's go Klein! Let's go Klein!"

Arkady was on spaghetti legs and used the ropes to pull himself back up with Klein motioning to do so. Klein roared and charged his foe, swinging the chair with all of his might. However, his luck had run out. The chair missed its designated target and bounced off the top roped, smacking Klein right in the face. He stumbled backwards in Arkady's grasp and was dumped on his head with a picture-perfect crossface chicken wing suplex.

With his foe showing no signs of life, Arkady went for the cover...

1...

2...

3!

It was all over. Arkady had defied the odds and come out victorious, much to the crowd's dismay. His arm rose in victory while his other one held his injured cranium. Even with the rest of his platoon deserting him, the Russian wolf had kept them undefeated. The question still loomed like a dark cloud over ACW's tag division... is there a team that can take down the Supernatural SWAT?

Keller The Comedian

   

With only two more shows to go, SilverHAWK was once again in the arena biding his time with his friend; Mr. Jack Daniels. Not only was this a bad habit for his liver, but it was also a pretty bad habit for his wallet. In a country full of vodka, who knew that whiskey would cost ten times the normal price as it was in the States?

After last week HAWK had decided to take it a little easier tonight.

That was until a certain King Shit entered his office.

"Don't you know how to knock, Keller?"

K2 shrugged.

"Yeah but since you aren't the Boss, what's the point?"

Big grin from Keller.

A scowl from SilverHAWK.

"What do you want then... if I'm not the Boss, how can I help you?"

"Ah!"

Keller took up a seat and planted his boots onto the large desk in front of him.

"You see, my request is something of a little premature... but I just wanted you to be aware of something when we get past FIGHT NIGHT tomorrow."

HAWK was silent, as if waiting for Keller to continue.

"You see, after FIGHT NIGHT, which b-t-w is an AWFUL idea by Hunt, I plan to go back to where I belong! You know, the World Title scene. Therefore... since you WILL be the BOSS in a matter of days, I want you to make me the number one contender!"

...

...

...

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Fucking hell, Keller. I thought I had only had a sip of this. Am I hammered? Am I?"

"What the..."

HAWK rolled back in his seat and giggled some more, which made the King Shit a very angry man.

"Man that's some good stuff. There is no chance in hell I'm just gonna make you number one contender. Why would I do that? What made you even think it would be an option?"

Keller, knowing he was talking to a brick wall, got out of his chair and moved towards the door.

"HAWK. When you are 'back' as Boss... you won't even know what kind of shit I'm gonna pull to make your life hell."

"What's new, Keller?"

As Keller walked off into the distance SilverHAWK poured himself another drink, chuckling into his glass as he emptied the contents into his mouth.

At least he was in a good mood.

For now.

roadblock

       

"Open sesame, Trey!" The Midnight Cowboy barked, pounding loudly on the big black door in front of him. "You an' me need to talk about what'chu did, boy!"

"He's not available right now," a clipboard-wielding male informed him prefunctorily. His nametag indicated his name was 'Thad' or something equally redonkculous. Cowboy looked at him sternly and shook his head, not really caring about the man's name.

"Too big for your britches, eh, son?" Midnight Cowboy asked. The man's shoulders dropped. He pointed sharply at the healing wound above his eyebrow. "I'm sorry. I'm just spittin' mad right now! This mess has got to stop. I ain' gon' let a buncha yellow-coward-roughnecks rune this comp'ny fer ever'one else!

Champ's gon' get a piece of my mind before I take me a chunkah hide from Malk Al-Haq. Reason I'm here first is b'cause th' World Champ of ACW, like the colors of Old Glory..."

Knock Knock.

"...Don't run."

He directed his attention at the door, covered in a star labeled 'Trey Vincent'.

"Look, Trey, I know he's got th' middle name of a girl but that don't give you no right to re-arrange the furniture in that poor boy's skull! Now you come out here and face the Spirit."

Pause.

"I told you he--"

"DID I ASK YOU A QUESTION?! Go. Give Jack Harris a handjob, help Jade Argent dye his hair. Do somethin'. Jist get th' hell outta my light... and pronto!"

"Fine!" the staffer said with indignation. He took a few steps before the door unlatched and creaked open. Midnight Cowboy, hands on hips, shot the snippy staffer a look: 'See?' He assumed a tall, strong pose as he awaited the World Champ.

But within seconds, complete confusion fell across his face. For the man that stepped out? It wasn't Trey Vincent.

It was instead the Champ's new best friend. Z!

The staffer was redeemed, and a sneer curled onto his lips as he delightedly left the two of them alone. Suddenly, Midnight Cowboy was mourning his departure.

"Hey, Midnight Cowboy! We meet again! What can I do for you?" Z asked joyously, a big shit-eating grin on his minimally-exposed face. "I've got a couple of Russian hookers getting oiled up in there if you want. I've also got some Subway sandwiches, a whole CASKET of vodka, scores for the World Cup in South Africa if you're into that sort of thing. Anything, just name your pleasure.

Oh, but I do have to warn you. Our esteemed World Champion is currently occupied ELSEWHERE, and is unable to take any visitors. Unless they're female, with huge boobs, and is STD-free since '93. So, yeah, I can help you with anything you want, except an encounter with the Champ himself.

Sooooo. Yeah. What do you want, Cowboy?"

"Boy, you gon' have a looooong harvest if you keep sowin' them seeds of crazy!" Midnight Cowboy shouted, in no mood for Z's antics. He shoved him against the wall. "I'm here to talk to yer friend bout his no good, low-down attack on Shawn Jessica Hart. Where's he at?"

Z held his hands up, surprised at Cowboy's outburst. "Hold up there, Cowboy. Sheesh. You're so full of rage. One would think you and that terrorist are butt-buddies.

I don't appreciate your tone towards me, either. After all, I *am* the person that got you out of fighting Malk Al-Haq tonight.

Yeah, you heard me. Your match that's supposedly coming up in a few moments? C-A-N-C-E-L-L-E-D.

See, I was talking to Trey about the possibility of drafting Malk into our little cabal and we decided he needs to prove himself to us. Plus, and this is Trey's own words -- Malk has to aim higher than you, Spirit, if he wants to get into the good graces of the men that will one day rule this company. Which, Cowboy, is me and him.

So, to that effect, we sent Malk on a little quest. Mind you, he's very pissed that he's not getting a chance to fight you tonight, but to be honest, beating you up didn't actually entitle him to a shot at your shiny title belt. And once we conferred with Jeremy Hunt, he agreed. Besides, Hunt hates that ghastly prize of yours and he's also not so keen on you. As such, depriving you of a chance to circumvent his rules? He liked it a lot. And there you go. Looks like you have the night off, Cowboy. Don't worry, Malk will hunt you down tomorrow at FIGHT NIGHT and get a few licks in."

Z grinned, giving the Spirit Of ACW Champ two thumbs up. Cheeky bastard.

Midnight Cowboy? He was furious.

Stark raving mad, even. He was looking forward to kicking Malk Al-Haq's ass for what he did on COURAGE 115.

For the first time in his ACW career, words escaped the Spirit Of ACW Champion.

"You--" Midnight Cowboy began, his face bright red.

"--Yeah, that's fascinating and all." Z responded, rolling his eyes before taking a glance at his imaginary watch. "Okay, so, it's about time for you to hit the dusty trail... and it's almost time for *me* to beat John Sarsgaard for the Championship Pass. You have a fun night off now, Cowboy. Go find someone else to fight if you want, hick.

And FYI? Those were Trey's words too. I'm outta here. Feel free to take a look inside this Vincent-less room. Be my guest. However, the door is locked from the inside... and also, it's pretty hard to break down. Only the best security measures for our World Champion and his harems! I guess you're screwed either way. Ha! Ciao!"

Z bade goodbye at the still-enraged Cowboy and took off down the hallway, no doubt getting ready his final preparations for his First To Five Showdown with one John Sarsgaard.

As for Cowboy? A lion's roar and a stiff fist to the white stone wall.

Brutal Transformation

   

And so, with the scheduled Spirit Of ACW Title match-up being cancelled thanks to the machinations of Z, the cameras went to another part of the backstage area, where Jenna McMullen stood perky as every in front of the ACW backdrop. Literally, it was kind of chilly in this part of the arena for some reason, so perky was putting it nicely. Jenna smiled as she brought the microphone to her lips.

“At this time I would like to welcome a man who has been having a really rough patch in this organization.” Jenna smiled pausing for a moment, “Tonight he will be facing off against a man he has been at wits with for the past four months.”

It was at this time that Jesse Ramey slowly stepped into the view of the camera; a decent crowd reaction could be heard in the background. Jesse was dressed in his wrestling gear, white tape surrounding his fists up just past his wrists. He looked at Jenna with a half-hearted smile, and then turned to look into the cameras.

“Jesse, despite the fact that I honestly haven’t known you that long,” Jenna began what had to be the question that was plaguing every fan of Ramey’s for quite some time. “The past couple of months, you seem to have slipped a little more and more into insanity, or whatever the hell it is. You don’t seem to be the same person you were when you first joined this company back in December.”

Jesse turned his attention back to Jenna, grasping his hand around her hand. This caused Jenna to lose complete track of thought as Jesse pulled her hand and the microphone close his chest.

“So, everyone in the world wants to know what has brought on this change?” Jesse started now bringing the questions to Jenna, “Everyone wants to know why the role model for their children has suddenly changed and now you can’t let your children watch my matches?”

“To be quite honest folks, I’m not going to apologize for my actions.” Jesse turned his attention back to the camera, “I’ve given the best of my years to you people, and I’ve made that clear to each and every single one of you. Even through this God forsaken tour I’ve still given each and every single one of you fans your monies worth every time I step foot inside that ring.”

“One thing that I honestly have to admit though is,” Jesse paused for a moment building on the dramatics. “Khristian Keller has been one of the best things that has ever happened to my career in this sport. I have been loved and admired by millions around the world Keller, but I was missing so much before I met you.”

Jesse turned his attention back to Jenna, “You see Jenna, the past couple of months I had to bring myself to a breaking point. I needed to see exactly what it was like to be Khristian Keller, to be able to beat a man within an inch of his life and harden my heart to the point of not even caring anymore.”

Jenna yanked her arm away from Ramey, staring into his cold eyes and with disgust in her voice, “So, now you’re telling me that you have no remorse for what you did to Shane Robertson?”

Jesse quickly yanked Jenna’s arm back to his chest, a snarl rested on his lips, but never came out. “Robertson, in time if he ever wakes up will know that his sacrifice was for the greater good of his mentor. And he will be thankful for what it is going to do for my career.”

“What you need to understand Jenna is that this whole thing has been a transformation for the good, and this whole moniker bullshit can go out the fucking window. I’m not “The Right Attitude” as my friend, Chris Sheffield, so eloquently put it; at least not anymore.”

“The blood that I have spilled over the past two months, be it my own, or that of my foes has fully cleansed. Khristian Keller knew exactly what he was doing, and I don’t blame him. He didn’t want to face off against the same man he fought at Legends; Keller wanted more of a challenge.”

“Khristian Keller wanted to face a man as ruthless as his own self tonight,” Jesse looked deep into Jenna’s eyes and then ran his hands through his hair pulling a tiny bit out before continuing. “Keller has accomplished what he had set out to do, and doesn’t even understand what he has done.”

“Eighteen long years of doing everything by the books inside of that ring Keller,” Jesse focused back in on the camera his facial expressions intensifying. “Eighteen years of being held down because I was the nice guy, and taking a back seat to help put someone else over. You’ve helped me finally come to the realization that if I want something in this profession that the only way I’m going to get it is by reaching out and fucking taking hold of it.”

“You’ve been longing for another World Championship match,” Jesse continued, “wanting to get back into the limelight and headline another major ACW pay-per-view. Keller, after I am done with you tonight the only thing you’re going to be longing for is the feeling to come back into your legs.”

Jesse paused, a rage building in his eyes, as he continued to stare into the camera, “Tonight Keller, I paint the four walls with your blood!”

SINGLES MATCH - FOUR CORNERS BATTLE
Khristain Keller vs. Jesse Ramey
REFEREE: TRENT SAVAGE

   

Tommy Vale stepped to the centre of the ring, referee Trent Savage looked to be preparing himself for what was no doubt going to be one of the bloodiest battles in ACW history.

“The following contest has no limit, no rules, and has been dubbed a Four Walls Match!” The fans turned ecstatic at the sound of the upcoming match, which caused Tommy to pause for a moment.

The fans calmed down a bit and Tommy began to explain the rules of the match, “The first person to spread his opponent’s blood on each of the turnbuckle pads in secession will be declared the winner of this contest.”

The chaotic drum beating of the opening of “Dirty Window” by Metallica blasted throughout the arena. Anywhere else in the world this would have signalled an onslaught of booing, but here in Topsy Turvey World the King Shit of Fuck Mountain’s music actually garnered some applause from the crowd on hand.

The King Shit of Fuck Mountain stepped through the entrance curtains and out onto the ramp. Keller looked on at the crowd almost with a half hearted smile for a brief moment, and then began his walk toward the ring.

“Making his way to the ring first,” Tommy stepped back to center of the ring. “Hailing from Orlando, Florida and weighing in at two hundred and thirty pounds; he is the King Shit of Fuck Mountain, KHRISTIAN KELLER!”

Keller slowly made his way up the steel entrance steps, and into the ring. His eyes lowered toward the canvas as he slipped into the ring a smirk crossed his face. Keller walked to the center of the ring, smirk still gracing his face as he looked on at the crowd.

Khristian extended his arms to the crowd, taking in all of their admiration. Tonight felt like his masterpiece was finally coming to fruition. The trap that Keller had set for nearly three months would finally come snapping closed tonight. As this game of cat and mouse that he had been playing with Jesse Ramey would finally come to a climatic ending.

The arena grew to a silence; the fans all still sitting on the edge of their seats. The anticipation was finally broken as the lights in the arena dimmed and the hard, fast paced guitar riffs of “Survive” by Sick Puppies blasted. The fans were sent into an uproar once again.

Tonight was not a night for showing off as Jesse Ramey emerged from behind the entrance curtains. He was only dressed in his wrestling gear, his fists tapped up just above his wrists with white tape. There was no reference to the crowd on hand that seemed to be given Jesse a pretty decent reaction, his eyes were only set on the man standing before him in the ring.

Vale stepped back to the center of the ring, “And his opponent making his way to the ring. Hailing from Harts, West Virginia and weighing in at two hundred and five pounds; he is JESSE RAMEY!”

Jesse strolled toward the ring at a fairly decent pace, before diving in under the bottom rope. He popped back up and darted toward Keller. Grabbing Keller by the legs Jesse drove him down to the mats hard, and then continued by driving several stiff shots into Keller’s face.

Keller somehow managed to escape exiting the ring under the bottom rope. Savage in a state of disbelief signalled for the bell and the match to begin.

DING! DING! DING!

Keller wasn’t granted much time alone as Jesse quickly followed suit sliding under the bottom rope. Jesse drove a sharp elbow into the back of Keller’s head and then followed by grabbing hold of that enormous bald skull and driving it into the steel barricading.

Keller’s head smashed off the steel causing him to stumble backward several steps. He shook off the proverbial cobwebs and as his eyes began to see straight again Jesse was coming at him again. This time, however, Keller had enough time to side step sending Jesse cranium first into the metal entrance steps for the ring.

THUD!

Jesse bounced off of the steps falling backward on his ass, as he looked around dazed at the lovely yellow canaries that were flying around him. Keller grabbed Jesse by his flowing locks, and jerked him back to his feet. Khristian took off running in the opposite direction of the entrance steps driving Jesse face first into the turnbuckle post.

Jesse fell to the mats once more, but this time not seeing his friendly birds floating above his head. Now the entire arena seemed to be a tad bit muffled as he tried to crawl over onto his stomach. Keller began searching under the ring for weapons; producing a kendo stick, steel chair, sledgehammer, a velvet bag, trash can, and a table. All of which he had thrown into the ring, but the table.

Keller leaned the table up against the ring as he turned to grab hold of the barricading. He began tugging and pulling at the barricade until he felt it was in a good placement. He turned back to the table and propped it up one end on the barricade and the other on the edge of the ring.

Turning his attention back to the fallen Ramey, who had now begun crawling on his hands and knees. Keller smiled as he drew back and drove the tip of his boot into Ramey’s midsection. Jesse popped up and back over onto his back, but before he had time to gasp for air Keller grabbed him by the hair once more.

Lifting Jesse back to his feet Keller shoved him back into the ring. Jesse began quickly trying to scamper on one arm and knees as Keller entered back into the ring. He grabbed Jesse by the back of the hair and yanked him back to his feet. Keller took a glance back at the table making sure he was in the right position as he whipped Jesse off toward the ropes.

Jesse bounced off the ropes coming back at Keller full steam ahead; Keller snatched him up and tried to belly-to-belly suplex him from within the ring outside to the table. Somehow Jesse had managed to grab hold of the top rope on the way over though and swung himself back onto the apron.

As Keller turned to see the damage that had been done he was met square in the face with a stiff forearm shot. It took him back a bit, but he tried approach again only to be caught with another forearm, and then Jesse grabbed hold of the middle rope driving a shoulder into Keller’s midsection.

Jesse grabbed hold of Keller’s bald head dragging him through the ropes and out onto the apron along with him. Jesse drove another stiff elbow shot into Keller’s skull before taking a few steps back on the apron. He took off running and tried to bring Keller down with a hurricanrana, but Keller was one step ahead and just a tad bit stronger as he turned the move into a massive power bomb.

CRASH!

HOLY SHIT! A-C-W! HOLY SHIT! A-C-W! HOLY SHIT! A-C-W!

The crowd was going ape shit at the sight of Jesse lying amongst the wreckage of a broken table. Keller looked down upon the havoc and smiled as he lowered himself to the floor with one arm. Keller cautiously walked around the wreckage seeing that Ramey was barely moving he walked back to the ring apron, lifted it, and began looking for something else.

Keller produced another table, slid it into the ring, and then continued to rummage under the ring. Keller smiled wildly as he began pulling a long strand of barbwire from under the ring. He held the barbwire up for the crowd to see as he began wrapping it around his right fist and arm.

Khristian walked over to the broken table and mounted the still downed Ramey. He began driving that barbwire covered fist into Ramey’s face causing him to instantly bust open. Blood began flowing down onto the shattered pieces of table and leaking its way to the floor with each passing blow from Keller.

Keller reaching down with his left hand smeared it across Ramey’s forehead and turned back toward the ring. Keller slid back into the ring and made his way to the first turnbuckle. He smeared the blood carefully across the padding to keep from using it all. Then he proceeded to the next, and made his way to the third turnbuckle.

Keller stood halfway between the third and fourth turnbuckle as he turned to smile to the crowd he was met with a massive spear. Somehow Ramey had mustered up the strength to make his way back into the ring and he took Keller down with impact. Jesse stood back to his feet and let out a massive roar, the blood still flowing from his skull.

Ramey walked across the ring and picked up the kendo stick that Keller had thrown in. Keller was just making his way to his feet when he was met with the baseball bat like swing for his skull. Keller was sent flopping out of the ring through the middle and top rope. His back bouncing off of the ring apron before he toppled to the mats below.

Jesse ran sliding under the bottom rope following behind Keller, and as his feet hit the mats on the outside he began swinging. Each blow being driven into the back of Keller causing him to jump each time, inching his way toward the steel ring steps. Jesse waited as Keller began pulling himself up on the steps, and then reared back and brought a boot in connecting with the side of Keller’s head driving it into the steps.

Jesse grabbed Keller tossing him back into the ring, still toting the kendo stick he slid back in along with him. Keller was barely able to crawl on his stomach toward the center of the ring when he was met with another stiff blow from the stick to the back. Jesse tossed the kendo stick to the outside of the ring.

He grabbed Keller by the head lifting him back to his feet he scooped him up, but instead of planting him on the mat he walked toward the turnbuckles. Jesse hung Keller upside down in the tree of woe position as he walked over grabbing the chair he began to make his way toward the corner opposite Keller as he began to run. Jesse circled around the turnbuckles coming back in with a sliding dropkick putting the chair right into Keller’s face.

Keller’s legs flopped over the top rope as he fell face first into the mats. Jesse walked over to where the velvet bag rested in the corner. He picked up the bag and felt of it for a moment before a row of glaring white teeth protruded through the crimson mask upon his face. Jesse walked back to the center of the ring and turned the bag upside down. Each glistening silver thumbtack bouncing off of the mat as it landed.

Jesse then turned his attention back to Keller who was barely making his way up the turnbuckle padding. Jesse grabbed hold of Keller dragging him toward the center of the ring and placed his head between his legs. Jesse then continued by climbing up onto the back of Keller and flipping him over in a full revolution with a sunset flip power bomb right onto the thumbtacks.

Keller screamed in pain as he tried to arc his back out of the thumbtacks, but Jesse jumped right back to his feet and darted for the ropes. He came back through rolling right in front of Keller driving his back down into the thumbtacks with a rolling senton splash. Jesse not even caring had managed to catch several of the tacks himself upon impact.

Jesse rolled back to his feet looking down at Keller trying to crawl his way from the tacks and grabbed hold of the table. He walked over leaning the table up in the corner, and then turned his focus back to Keller. Ramey walked toward Keller grabbing him by the head, but he was met with a massive blow to the gut. Jesse stumbled backward several steps as he realized exactly what had happened.

Keller planted the head of the sledgehammer into the mat and pushed his way back to his feet. Somehow Keller had managed to grab hold of the weapon he had thrown into the ring earlier and use it to his aid. Keller on wobbly legs walked over and drove the hammer into Jesse’s stomach once more causing him to fall to his knees. The tacks still lodged in his back shining in the arena lighting.

The barbwire still wrapping around his arm, Keller took a moment to untangle it and toss it to the mats before he drew back once more with the hammer. He swung for Ramey’s skull, but in almost a matrix type move Jesse bent his body backward falling against the mats.

Keller swiftly turned around, but Jesse pushed his legs up into the air grabbing Keller by the head and pulling him down with a hurricanrana type move. Both men lay on the mat for several moments before either began to move. Jesse began making his way to his feet directly in front of the table he had set up, and as he turned around he saw Keller steam rolling at him.

Ramey side stepped trying to force Keller’s own momentum into the table, but he was able to put the brakes on. Keller patted the table, but as he turned around he was caught with a massive rolling wheel kick that planted him back first against the table. Jesse walked over grabbing the chair from earlier and seated it directly in front of Keller, then made his way to the corner opposite.

Jesse darted for the corner, climbing up the chair, and somehow managing to keep his balance at the very top of the chair he came crashing down into Keller and the table with a huge shooting star press.

CRASH!

HOLY SHIT! A-C-W! HOLY SHIT! A-C-W! HOLY SHIT! A-C-W! HOLY SHIT! A-C-W!

The fans within the arena went into hysterics as both men in the ring lay in a crumpled mess of the broken table. It would be a wonder if either of the men lying within the car wreck of a sight would even be able to continue in the match as Trent Savage checked on both men.

Savage stepped back as Ramey came crawling from the corner, he was gasping for air as he eyed the barbwire that had cut him open earlier in the match. He inched his way toward it as Keller lay nearly unconscious in the corner, Jesse did wrap the barbwire around his hand when he clinched it though, and he pulled his boot toward his face and wrapped it around his boot.

Jesse began crawling toward the ropes, barely able to get back to his feet. He walked toward Keller still holding the ropes for balance and began driving his barbwire covered boot down into Keller’s face. Each time causing more blood to flow from Keller’s bald skull, before he stopped and began pressing the boot into Keller’s face. Keller squirmed in the corner trying to fight his way desperately out of the hold as Jesse just pulled down on the top rope causing the barbs to sink into Keller even more.

Jesse finally released his hold on the top rope and fell to the mats once again, still panting for breath. He reached down and jerked the barbwire from his boot and flung it outside of the ring. He rested his back against the ropes looking up at the rafters before trying to move, agony shot across his face as he found his way back to one knee.

Ramey pushed his way back to his feet and limped over to the fallen Keller as he rubbed his hand across his face. Jesse pulled back up and rubbed the blood on the turnbuckle above Keller. He then limped his way to the second, and then the third. It was at this point that Jesse noticed Keller beginning to get back to his feet in the corner full of wooden rubble.

Jesse looked toward the last turnbuckle, and then looked back at Keller who was now on his feet resting his back against the bloodied turnbuckle. Jesse hobbled over toward Keller grabbing him from the corner and pulling him back to the center of the ring. He whipped him off the ropes, and then darted in the opposite direction. Both men had the same idea in mind as they caught each other with a double clothesline.

SMACK!

The sound of the tacks still resting in the center of the ring being driven into the bodies of both men as they fell surrounded the arena. Both Keller and Ramey rolled around in agony trying to find a clean spot on the mats from the tacks, but that was almost hard to do. With all of the action going on within the ring they had spread from the massive pile in the center of the ring to nearly every corner.

They now both had only one corner to touch each, and it would happen to be that those were opposite corners of the ring. Steadily both men got to their feet, surrounded by shiny metal covering the whole of the canvas so much so that the referee didn't know where to stand but it was at this point that Keller decided to take his mind games a little further.

"What ever happened to that boy you crippled Ramey?"

Jesse Ramey gritted his teeth in anger and moved, hobbling, towards the King Shit of Fuck Mountain.

"Fuck... these fans don't even like you."

Everyone in the arena could clearly see Rameys bloods begin to boil as Keller kept taunting him, but what was his game plan?

"Fuck... NOBODY here likes you. You're a waste of fucking space."

...

...

"ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH."

Ramey went totally apeshit on Keller as he dove straight at the former ACW World Champion and crashed him onto the mat, Kellers back connecting with a number of the tacks on the ground as he let out a shriek of pain. Ramey pillered Keller with right hands as he took out his frustration on his enemy.

"You don't speak to me that way!"

Ramey had lost it... and as Ramey pulled Keller to his feet a moment of silence was taken by the arena... as the game plan was now there for all to see.

Except Ramey.

Ramey pushed Keller towards the turnbuckle, one he had already covered, and smashed him in the mouth a few times as he loosened him up a little and it was in that moment that Jesse Ramey cost himself the match. He pulled and shifted Keller into position for an Irish whip, but not before Keller swiped his forearm over Rameys bloody forehead and let the beating continue. As Ramey whipped Keller to the corner you could see his face suddenly change as he realised what he had done by catapulting Keller to the other side.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!"

Everyone watched as Keller travelled at high speed towards his target turnbuckle and as he arrived he slapped his forearm against the material and smeared the crimson of Jesse Ramey all over it's surface and by doing so had won the match.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Ramey roared in anger as he watched Keller connect with the turnbuckle and then smile in his direction... he quickly dropped to his ass and rolled out of the ring, pulling thumbtacks from his body as he looked back into the ring, a raging Ramey had charged the empty turnbuckle and took a swing into the air but was unable to make any contact.

The bell rang as the ring announcer stated that Khristain Keller was indeed the victor in this battle, however, as Keller walked backwards up the ramp looking worse for wear he could see Ramey in the ring, on his knees with his hands in his head possibly contemplating what his anger had just cost him.

Both men knew this wasn't over... but for now?

Keller - 100000000000
Raging Ramey - 0

Oooooh. Mysterious~!

   

Jeremy Hunt and WAR sat in the small VIP box watching the action as it unfolded but in all honesty they couldn't really give a toss about tonight's action.

They were only interested in FIGHT NIGHT.

"WAR... are the preparations made for tomorrow night?"

WAR nodded.

"Yes, I've spoken to everyone involved and they all know their roles."

Hunt picked a grape from the large fruit bowl in front of his and peered out of his window.

"We are nearly there, my friend... all of this planning and we are nearly at the final act."

WAR walked over to the large window and watched the masses waiting on the next piece of action.

"Little do these people know the plans which are afoot, WAR. Little does SilverHAWK know that the heart of his federation will be destroyed all because of something he covered up many moons ago."

WAR nodded as Hunt clenched his fists.

"FIGHT NIGHT 2010 will be the night that ACW dies from the inside!"

SINGLES MATCH - SCORPION FIGHTING RULES
Sepiroth Du Luc vs. Avo Chavez
REFEREE: MARK SHIELDS

   

C-to-D.

Tonight was the night, the rivalry would come to an end. Sepiroth Du Luc earlier said that he would not fight Avo Chavez anymore after tonight. Reason? Rumors were surfacing around the backstage that SDL was picking on someone who wasn’t his size. This was wrestling, when was size a matter? If you had the words to talk to the talk then you get to wrestle who ever, no matter the size, weight, or skill. That’s why SDL liked wrestling.

Referee Mark Shields signaled for the bell as ring announcer Tommy Vale got on the mic.

“Ladies and Gentlemen the following match is scheduled for one fall and is a no holds barred, falls count anywhere match! Which means... Scorpion Fighting Rules!”

The crowd roared as more blood and violence was about to ensue. Fans were holding “<3 Avo Chavez” signs and pictures of SDL’s face with a circle with a slash through it showing their hatred towards the Red Headed Terror. My, my; how quickly things change. “Two Birds, One Stone” by Drop Dead Gorgeous struck up over the arena’s sound system as the thousands of fans who filled the Omsk Arena let out a tremendous roar of boo’s as SDL appeared at the top of the entrance ramp. Du Luc dawning a old black trench coat that he use to wear during his PIW days held out both of his arms at the top of the ramp before making his way down to the ring encouraging the fans to keep on booing him. What was once a happy to be here wrestler was back to his old ways of hating anyone and everyone.

Du Luc still battered from the previous weeks brawl at Courage 115 took off his trench coat and handed to one of the ring assistants as they placed it next to the announcers table as if it was a ACW title belt. SDL’s theme song shortly after came to a stop. Moments passed before “Two Birds, One Stop” cued up yet again. Du Luc stood in the middle of the ring looking very confused turned his direction to the top of the ramp. Out from the back drop came out the self proclaimed LeBron James of wrestling....the purple monster, the mysterious mexican....Avo Chavez.

Avo came out too wearing a black trench coat, a ridiculous shaggy red wig that covered up his whole face, no shirt and black wrestling pants. The fans cheered with pleasure as one of their favorite wrestlers was dressed as one of ACW’s least liked wrestlers...Sepiroth Du Luc. Before Avo Chavez could get to the first section of fans to greet them SDL had exited the ring and rushed towards Avo striking him with a vicious clothesline. The fans gasped as memories of their first match was still very fresh in their minds. They instantly switched from cheers to boo’s and referee Mark Shields signaled for the bell to be rang...either notifying the wrestlers the match was offically started....or officicaly over depending on Avo’s status after the clothesline.

Avo moved so the final battle was under way.

SDL picked up Avo Chavez and ripped off his black trench coat and then proceeded to wrap the coat around Avo’s neck. Avo finally showing some kind of wrestling talent ran towards a speaker box and ran up the side of flipping himself over the top of SDL’s body as he did that though SDL yanked the coat forcing Avo’s body to slam against the concrete. SDL ran his hand through his hair already showing signs of sweat he walked over to the limp body of Avo and grabbed him by his wig, and proceeded to pick him up. Chavez well aware that he had to do something drastic or else this match would end up like their previous match swung his arm as hard as he could right between SDL’s legs. Du Luc clinched to his knee’s as Avo go back on his feet and ran away from SDL before turning back around and charged towards SDL launching his own body landing a drop kick right to the face of SDL laying him flat on his back. Avo took a moment out of the match and ran over to the fans to finally greet them, wasting too much time before turning his attention back to SDL. Avo ran back towards SDL as SDL flipped Avo over his body and over the security barrier Avo taking out a row of where fans were previously sitting before ACW security was able to move them away from the two wrestlers.

Lawsuit avoided for now.

ACW security continued to separate the fans from the wrestlers as the Russian fans were very rowdy. SDL made his way over the security barrier also and grabbed a chair on his way over to Chavez. SDL folded the chair then landed a shot square on Avo’s head knocking him back to the ground. Avo falling to the ground holding his head the fans let out a bunch of OOOOOOOO’s. SDL yelled for Avo Chavez to get up to his feet and waited for him to do just so. Once Avo was up SDL went for another shot, this time though Avo jumped in the air and kicked the chair as hard as he could sending the seat of the chair back into SDL’s head. The crowd let out a bunch of cheers as if Avo had won the match. Avo fell to the ground too as the chair shot took a lot out of Avo. Chavez slowly crawled back towards the ring barrier and carried himself over the top and was back at the entrance ramp. SDL was soon behind him Avo was back on his feet charged back to SDL and flew his body over the top of the barrier for a flying press. SDL caught Avo in the air and used the momentum of Avo’s body and continued it with a body slam. Du Luc went for the nights first pin.

One..

Two....

Avo kicked out after two slaps of the ref’s hand. SDL grabbed Avo and flung his body again back over the ring barrier and followed him. SDL now turned his attention to a table. The fans all stood up and started to cheer.

Limp bodies would soon follow.

SDL set up the table before grabbing Avo Chavez and started to take him to the top of the entrance ramp. Avo struck SDL in the head with a punch, but was returned by SDL. Avo countered with his own with SDL following with his own punch. SDL then grabbed Avo by the head and just tossed him off of the entrance ramp. SDL had launched Avo so far he actually missed the table. Something that didn’t look right as Avo was laid out flat on his back the fans started cheering

ACW! ACW! ACW! ACW! ACW! ACW!

Mark Shields ran over to the side of Avo Chavez to make sure that he was still alive. Du Luc looked down at the motionless at the carnage that he produced. SDL, just like any other wrestler in ACW knew that the even if Avo was injured the show had to go on....launched his body towards Avo Chavez attempting to a flying leg drop. Right before impact Avo surprised everyone probably including himself and was able to roll out of the way. Shields stood not knowing what to do as a 10-count draw was useless in this match. Avo was first to show signs of life slowly stood up and made his way back over to the technicians area and found another table. Chavez unfolded the legs of the table and placed the table on top of the other table. Before making his way back to the unconscious SDL. Avo decided to cover SDL in attempt to get the victory.

One...

Two.....

Thr........

SDL kicked out probably a mili second before Shield’s hand hit the concrete. Avo picked up SDL but in doing so SDL racked Avo’s eyes, and then irish whipped Avo into a camera man knocking the camera man on the ground and resulting in his camera dropping to the ground. SDL grabbed the legs of Avo and placed him in the Trepidation the crowd started yelling in fear of Avo going unconscious and having SDL cover him. Avo screaming in pain reached over and grabbed an object.

SMACK!

The crowd erupted in cheers as Avo Chavez had grabbed the abandoned camera and smacked it across the head of SDL cutting him open. SDL and Avo both laid on the ground, SDL bleeding from the head, Avo gasping for breath. Avo picked up SDL and struggled to get the 6’8” monster on top of the 2nd table but was able to. Avo then made his way up to the top of the ramp and made his way to the side of the ramp looking directly over SDL’s body. The crowd cheered as Avo pointed to the crowd before leaping off the ramp and crashing his body on top of SDL’s sending both of them through the double decker of tables.

HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!

Avo hit the Monster 450 Splash on SDL. Avo clinching his ribs was able to get part of his body over SDL as Mark fell to the ground and started the three count...

One...

Two.....

Three......!

Avo Chavez has done it and defeated The Red Headed Terror on his own. Mark raised the arm of Avo Chavez as Avo couldn’t believe that he finally was able to defeat SDL. Du Luc slowly made his way to where Avo was celebrating as “Boom” by The Bloundhound Gang stopped playing. SDL reached his hand out to congratulate the victories Avo Chavez. Avo looked at the crowd for there response as they cheered for Avo to shake hands with SDL. Avo extended his hand to as in doing so SDL yanked Avo Chavez towards him and placed his head in between SDL’s legs before power bombing Avo Chavez on the steel ramp.

PERFECT INSANITY!

Mark Shields got in SDL’s face and waved at him to return to the backstage area. SDL just looked around at the limp Avo Chavez as he laid on the steel ramp not moving the fans started to boo and toss trash at SDL. The camera man trying to get a better shot at SDL, was soon greeted by the fist of SDL striking another camera man. SDL grabbed the 2nd camera and slammed it into the ribs of Avo Chavez. SDL grabbed the cord that was plugged into the camera and violently whipped the cord towards him trying to get some slack from the cord. SDL wrapped the cord around his hand before wrapping another part of the cord around Avo’s throat choking him out. By now more of the ACW officials had made there way to this violent beating that was happening in front of the Russian crowd. Fans by now had poured all of their trash onto the entrance ramp at SDL as SDL refused to let go of the choke. Sepiroth finally let go of the choke as ACW officials were screaming at SDL questioning what was wrong with him. As SDL was making his way back to the backstage ACW medics were making there way to the severely injured Avo Chavez, SDL kicked the gurney over and continued his way back to the back.

Hours… waiting to be marked

The camera faded in to see our ever familiar ACW Scorpion Fighting Champion sitting in the bowels of the arena. The champion had been through hell in the past few months doing every single thing he could to keep his title around his waist and maintain his stranglehold on the division. But it seemed over the past few months things were getting a little difficult for the champ. He was faced with insurmountable odds every week on this Russian tour. To any sane man that would have been the death of them but to the craziest bastard in wrestling it felt like home.

Omega looked around at his surroundings peering at the Scorpion title and then turning slightly to look down at Barb who lay on the floor next to his leg. He had been battered and bruised and he had his vision impaired by the hell cat Fejona Min his epic sixty count match against her a few weeks ago. He had done what he had been doing for his whole entire life and that was survive. The trainers and doctors told Omega he needed surgery to repair his retina or he would be permanently blind but the monster told them it had to wait because he had to defend his title at Fight Night 2010.

Omega was not going to let anyone strip this title from around his waist. Or was he going to forfeit the title because of an injury. If anyone wanted this title from him that had to beat him for it. And that had been a daunting task for everyone that Omega has faced in the past year. The champ has left a trail of bloodied and broken bodies all over ACW and didn’t look like he was slowing down either, even a pencil in the eye couldn’t stop the man.

The champ sat in silence as the camera continued to watch, waiting for the champ to do or say something about Fight Night which would be his biggest challenge to date. The champion’s body language was stoic as he turned from left to right peering at his championship title and Barb. He looked at Barb for a few seconds before he slowly turned toward the camera. A glaze look was in his good eye as the champion looked like he had something to say.

“Omega has been through everything imaginable in this fed over the past year.”

Omega was motionless looking right through the camera. He curled his lips to speak again.

“We have seen what some people in this company will do to take the title away from us. We have told Omega what he has to do to survive in this business and in this company.”

“Omega has left a path of destruction in ACW and it’s all because of us. We are the ones that wanted pain and chaos and Omega has obliged.”

The champion looked away toward Barb for a few seconds, the steel chair propped up against the wall was possibility communicating somehow with Omega but the champ’ glazed look was back and he was once again glaring into the camera again.

“Fight Night 2010 will be one for the ages. Because we have seen what will happen at this event and it won’t be pretty. See Omega knows he is a marked man and we have prepared him for what he is about to face. He knows that Fight Night will the biggest challenge of his career and he is reveling in it.”

Omega smirked.

“He went through Gauntlet Hell; he’s been battered and bruised. Omega’s has changed the lives of everyone in the Scorpion Division. He’s even been stabbed in the eye with a pencil and he’s still the one holding the Scorpion title. Fight Night 2010 we will guarantee bloodshed. You all thought Omega was a dangerous man before, at Fight Night you will not see what is coming.”

Omega took the eye patch off his eye to show the retina which was detached, literally hanging. He had a sick smile on his face.

“The craziest motherfucker in wrestling is going to show ACW the true meaning of Fight Night and we can’t wait to see it all unfold.

HANDICAPPED MATCH - SCORPION FIGHTING RULES
Kristinia Kage and Kati vs. Sharc
REFEREE: PAIGE ALLEN

       

After LEGENDS IV, there was a change in the air.

Sharc had to come to terms with being unable to take down 'Superstar' Vince Jacobs, in yet another defeat for Psychopathy Red.

Kristinia Kage had impressively bested Sven Avsbern in a gruelling contest and made people take notice of her, pegging her as one for the future of ACW.

And Kati? Well, she had to deal with her mentor being dethroned and disappearing into the night, never to be seen again.

Over the course of the last several weeks, all three of the aforementioned individuals have seen their fates intertwined. It began innocently enough, with Kristinia wanting to be something of a big sister to Kati. Kati, as demented as she was, was clear in the fact that she didn't need anybody's help and a little bit of female rivalry began to brew. And so, after an intense backstage scuffle, a fight was signed for COURAGE 114.

With the mysterious addition of Sharc as the special guest referee. Why? Until now, nobody really knew anything except that Sharc had petitioned vigorously for the opportunity for the position of the official.

That allowed him to open a can of whoop-ass on Kati and Kristinia Kage in the midst of their battle, and since then, Sharc has only upped his perverted desires to inflict pain on Kati and Kristinia Kage. With no other option, a handicapped fight was booked in a bid to give Kati and Kristinia the chance to gain a measure of vengeance on Sharc. A win for either party would give them momentum, and perhaps make them stand-out in what was beginning to be a crowded roster filled with personalities that would do anything to rise up the ladder.

Ricochet by Shiny Toy Guns.

And out came Kati herself. She with the toxic green hair. With a look of determination etched on her face, Kati marched down to the ring. For one night only, she'd join forces with Kristinia Kage. It would be short-term, and it would be in an effort to teach Sharc a valuable lesson: do not f**k around when two women are trying to settle their differences.

Kati quickly rolled into the ring, scoffed at the fans and retreated to a corner. In her mind, she was going through various scenarios. It was a process that her mentor had taught her. She was the last of the Minutemen now, and starting tonight, she would begin a journey that would eventually see the flag of the Minutemen perched at the summit of the ACW mountain. She was all alone now, and there wasn't anything she could do to bring her mentor back. Hence, she'd deciced to get down to work.

Spay by Velvet Revolver.

And the fans went all 'yaaaaaaaay!', for Kristinia Kage was in the house. Bouncing out from behind the curtains, Kristinia acknowledged the fans with a bow and proceeded down the ramp with a look of intent. She'd been doing rather well as of late, after her initial weeks in ACW saw her being dominated. Still, Kristinia Kage felt that a victory over Sharc would give her not only momentum but make the powers-that-be consider her a viable contender for the Scorpion Fighting Title down the road.

Climbing into the ring, Kristinia instantly locked eyes with Kati. There was no love lost between the two female warriors, but a shared nod indicated that they had a singular mission tonight.

And that mission was the bulking frame of hardcore crazyness summed up in a single word of five letters.

Empire by Chimara.

One of the scariest mofos in all of ACW, ladies and gentlemen -- SHARC.

And he was alone tonight, "Evelyn" nowhere in sight. Sharc slowly walked down the ramp, ignoring the loud mixed reception from the fans. He was instead focusing on his two targets in the ring. In weeks past, he'd made their lives a living hell.

Now? He wanted to destroy them and cement himself as a force to be reckoned with. Too many defeats had diluted his reputation.

As he stepped into the ring, Sharc promised himself that not only would he eliminate the two 'bad girls' from ACW, he would embark on a journey that would eventually see him standing tall as THE MAN in ACW.

Once all three competitors were in the ring, referee Paige Allen took a deep breath and decided to get this bad boy underway.

DING! DING! DING!

Sharc looked on at his competition knowing that despite the fact was fighting two women; they were the two most sadistic bitches in professional wrestling. The average person would have been thinking fuck me in the ass royally right now. But a sadistic smile crossed Sharc’s face as he exited the ring quickly trying to rummage under the ring before one of the two could come after.

Kati was the first to make her way over reaching through the ropes and grabbing Sharc by the back of the hair. This was a massive mistake though as Sharc had managed to find a fire extinguisher beneath the ring. He turned the nozzle full blast, shooting the white cloud of dust directly into Kati’s face.

Kage decided against coming to the aid of her 'partner' and watched as the cloud sifted and began to filter. From within the cloud came Sharc charging toward her the end of the extinguisher aimed for her head.

THUD!

Sharc dropped to the mat attempting a pin on Kage. Referee Paige Allen dropped into place to oblige;

ONE!

TWO!

TH - NO!

Sharc, on his knees, grabbed a hand full of Kristinia’s hair and tried to lift her back to her feet.

CLANG!

CLANG!

CLANG!

That didn't work. Kati had made her way back into the ring, steel chair in hand, and smashed it against the back of Sharc’s skull before he could even rise to his feet! Needless to say Sharc had released his grasp on Kage’s hair and now lay face first on the mats.

Kati chucked the steel chair to the mats, and then grabbed Sharc by the hair, slowly raising him to his feet. She grabbed hold of his arm and whipped him across the ring. Or at least she tried; Sharc was like a gazillion tons heavier than her and despite being walloped by the chair moments ago, managed to counter the whip. Kati found herself being bounced off the ropes and running right back at a snarling Sharc.

SMASH!

Thankfully for Kati, Kristinia had recovered and dropkicked Sharc in the back of the head, sending Psychopathy Red tumbling to the canvas. And as an added bonus? Sharc's face bounced off the steel chair. Lucky break, huh?

Kati slapped the brakes on herself and watched as Kristinia quickly got down to hook the legs;

ONE!

TWO!

TH - NO!

"You cow." Kati snapped at Kristinia. "That isn't going to put the perv down."

Kristinia frowned as she got back up to her feet. "I just *saved* you from possibly getting beheaded and that's the way you thank me? Terrific."

Kati shook her head and advanced on Kristinia. Kage did the same, and within seconds, the two female warriors were in the middle of the ring, nose-to-nose. Reluctant partners in this fight, Kati and Kristinia still had unfinished business, and judging by the increased roars of the fans, they were moments away from coming to blows.

There was only one problem. Sharc had recovered, and he set his eyes on his prey with an extremely creepy and sinister smile.

Kati was the first to notice Sharc and quickly charged at Psychopathy Red, but the latter easily parried Kati's jumping kick with his right forearm and knocked the green-haired warrior down with a fierce clubbing blow to the back of her neck! Kristinia was less rash, choosing to weigh her options. And once Sharc turned to face her?

POW~! Kristinia let loose with a cartwheel spinning kick! A thing of beauty, and Sharc was sent crumbling down to the canvas! The fans cheered big time, and the cheers got even louder when Kristinia turned to pick up the steel chair which had so far played quite the co-starring role in the match. Sharc adjusted his jaw back into place as he forced through the pain and stood to his feet, while a few feet away, Kati used the ropes to pull herself up.

Kristinia Kage afforded herself a wry grin, before swinging the chair right at Sharc's head.

SMACK!

Fortunately for Sharc, he had the presence of mind to grab Kati by the sleeve of her shirt and drag her towards him.

Sharc was also able to duck at precisely the right moment. The result? Kati got smacked in the face by the chair instead, and Kristinia was none the wiser until she tossed the chair to the mat and saw who had fallen at her feet.

"Oh, crap!" was all Kristinia could say, prior to shaking her head.

Sharc, meanwhile, got himself in position behind Kristinia, with the fans screaming frantically at Kage. Kristinia turned around, sensing something was amiss.

BLOOD IN THE WATER! Holy snap, Kristinia Kage was d-o-n-e.

Sharc chuckled as he watched Kristinia's body twitching uncontrollably next to him, and proceeded to make the cover;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE - NOOOOOOOOO!

Right in the nick of time, a bloodied Kati brought her right elbow down onto the back of Sharc's head, thereby breaking up the cover! Referee Paige Allen herself was taken aback and quickly reaffirmed that it wasn't a three-count.

Kati, with blood covering her face thanks to Kristinia's wayward chairshot moments ago, growled as she got back to her feet and kicked away at Sharc's ribs, her fists clenched and trembling as she did so. The girl with the toxic green hair recalled very vividly how Sharc assaulted her on COURAGE 114, and despite her disdain for Kristinia Kage, she really wanted to make Psychopathy Red pay for what she felt was an unprovoked attack.

Tired of kicking Sharc in the ribs, Kati reached down and dragged Sharc up after grabbing a handful of hair. Sharc instinctively tried to launch a counter-attack via a hand snaking out towards Kati's neck, but Kati was alert enough to swat Sharc's hand away and kick Sharc in the crown jewels. Ooooh, that was not pretty. Sharc grimaced and experienced the wobbly knees syndrome.

Kati smirked, cinched in a front facelock, and followed up with a stinging planting DDT! Sharc was down, and looking very much out of it. It came to pass that the only person left standing in the ring? ACW's hottest referee in Paige Allen.

That lasted all of thirty seconds, for Kati dragged herself to the corner of the ring and began to ascend to the top of the corner turnbuckle. The fans began to get to their feet, all excited.

It looked as if Kati was about to bust out her finishing move. And with Sharc still lifeless on the canvas, Kati appeared to be in cruise control. She was in fact about twenty seconds away from effectively winning the fight.

Unfortunately for the green-haired warrior? Just as she had balanced herself atop the corner turnbuckle, Sharc lifted his body from the canvas and lunged at the ropes! Kati was rattled, and found herself falling from a great height flat on her face. Her beautiful, blood-soaked face.

Sharc peered over his shoulder and began to snigger at the sight of Kati immobile a short distance away from him. Psychopathy Red dropped to his knees and started to crawl over to the green-haired warrior, all sorts of sick and twisted ideas running through his head. His eyes were firmly fixed on Kati, and the fans were wondering what Sharc had planned next for the former pupil of one Trevor Wilson, the former two-time Spirit Of ACW.

But suddenly, Sharc -- within mere inches separating him from Kati -- stopped dead in his tracks. He turned to his side, and a wave of confusion paralysed him.

KAGED OUT!

Kristinia Kage, who had been taken out by Sharc a couple of minutes ago, had quietly been recovering at one corner of the ring and pounced with her Shining Wizard finisher just as Sharc was about to lay his grubby paws on Kati!

Sharc was out, and Kristinia Kage quickly collapsed on top of Psychopathy Red. Paige Allen was on hand to count;

ONE!

TWO!

THREEEEEEEE!

And it was ovah! Velvet Revolver's Spay blared over the speakers, signifying the triumph of Kristinia Kage and Kati in this short yet suitably violent battle of contrasting personalities. Kristinia got to her feet, arms raised in victory. Kati began to come to, and upon realising what had happened, rolled out of the ring to reflect.

While she and Kristinia Kage had won, she had really wanted to be the one who took Sharc out. As it was, plaudits were being thrown Kristinia Kage's way. She looked over the shoulder and grimaced at the sight of Kristinia Kage soaking up the cheers of the fans, while Sharc started to regain consciousness.

Fuming, Kati stormed away from the ringside area, not bothering to wipe the blood out of her eyes. She still had unfinished business with Kristinia Kage, and in addition to getting accidentally blasted in the face by Kristinia earlier tonight, Kati felt maligned by Kristinia being the one who grabbed the decisive pinfall over Sharc. In short, she was majorly pissed off.

Kristinia? She was on cloud nine. This was a big win for her. Perhaps not nearly enough vengenace considering what Sharc had put her through over the past several weeks, but a win was a win, and the momentum for a good performance at FIGHT NIGHT 2010 the next night had been attained.

As for Sharc?

Another defeat, and this time, to two women with whom he'd picked a fight. In a seated position in the middle of the ring, Sharc pondered over what lay ahead for him.

His eyes suddenly twinkled, and his lips curled to form another one of his trademark smiles.

"... Alias."

Wait, say whaaaaaat? Cliffhanger!

Meanwhile, as she brushed past the curtains and began stomping towards her locker-room, Kati found that she had a visitor. It was a non-descript AV technician with disgusting facial hair.

"Uhhh, hey, Kati. I was told to give you this." El Disgusto said rather prefunctorily, prior to extending his hand out to Kati.

The girl with the toxic green hair looked down, and found herself in the possession of a note. She quickly unfolded the piece of paper and scanned the contents.

And suddenly, it appeared as if there was hope for her yet. "This is interesting."

Cliffhanger II~!

Seeing Shadows

No doubt there were a few in the arena who had a little drink during the course of the evening but nobody in the arena could compare to SilverHAWK.

With more than three quarters of a bottle of Jack finished, SilverHAWK was still sober as a judge. Years of wrestling, medication and alcohol abuse can do that to a mans liver.

Sitting at his table he overlooked his plans for the next set of shows which would take the company to Scandanavia for the first time in it's history.

He looked at the large chart he had on his wall, it's contents were blurry but one item could clearly be seen on it's surface.

A crown.

A sudden burst of wind tossed his papers all over his desk and he looked at his door swinging open. He could see everyone in the main corridor, but his attention was brought to one figure.

SilverHAWK strained his eyes.

Was he seeing things.

The suit.

The floppy hair.

The shades.

"What the...."

SLAM

The door slammed shut once again and SilverHAWK shook his head clear of cobwebs.

That was weird.

SINGLES MATCH - FIRST TO FIVE SHOWDOWN
John Sarsgaard vs. Z
REFEREE: MARK SHIELDS

   

Backstory time. Quick-like style.

John Sarsgaard, the Hands Of Steel. He'd been a major part of the All-Star Academy's first season, and emerged at the end of the season with a special prize in the form of a Championship Pass. Which basically entitled the holder to a shot at every singles title in ACW, valid up to the end of the year 2010 and that could be cashed in at any time. Unfortunately for John, as 2009 became 2010, he was delivered some bad news. He was dying.

Something else happened when 2009 became 2010. Z, the Caped Crusader, joined ACW. He promised the end of the heroic age. He raised all sorts of hell with a slew of mind games and cryptic sayings and just downright odd behaviour. After losing out in a war with Chris Moliano, Z decided to pick on John Sarsgaard. And after Sarsgaard announced his impending death on the public stage, Z decided to challenge the Hands Of Steel to a match with the Championship Pass on the line. He didn't like John's idea of giving up the Pass back to the brass. Too bad for Z, then, that Sarsgaard didn't trust the Masked Enigma.

Following repeated turndowns of Z's proposal, Sarsgaard found himself mauled by Z. Which led to Z shockingly revealing that he'd engineered the entire saga revolving John's supposed death notice; John was never dying. Z orchestrated the whole thing just to mess with John's head, because he could and he was a sicko.

Imagine how John Sarsgaard felt. The grief he'd gone through. The trauma he'd experienced over coming to terms with his life supposedly ending. The realisation that his life had just been something of a game to The Caped Crusader. Therefore, when Z challenged John Sarsgaard one more time, the Hands Of Steel decided to accept. He wanted revenge.

And here we are. First To Five Showdown. A convoluted beast, with special little rules and all. Wanna know about 'em?

Currently, the Championship Pass consists of the following:

- a shot at the ACW Scorpion Fighting Title
- a shot at the Spirit Of ACW Title
- a shot at the ACW World Title

If Z is the first to reach two decisions, Z gets the Scorpion Fighting Title opportunity. If Z makes John Sarsgaard submit to earn the third decision, Z gets the Spirit Of ACW Title opportunity. And if Z ends up winning the whole blasted affair, Z gets the final part of the Pass which is the shot at the World Title.

What happens if John Sarsgaard simply wins overall? Z will cough up FIVE MILLION DOLLARS. Cold, hard cash. No gimmicks. Or so the bloody manic claims. But yes, there it was. Something other than vengeance for John to shoot for.

Got it? Clear? Good.

I Will Not Bow, by Breaking Benjamin.

And the crowd went wi-iiild. Not GGW type of wild, but you get the picture.

The Hands Of Steel himself stormed out from behind the curtains, and made an immediate beeline for the ring. He was dressed to fight, and clearly had been waiting very long to finally get the chance to kick Z's ass. In the ring, bastard referee Mark Shields scowled at Sarsgaard.

John ignored Shields as he rolled into the ring and looked out at the sea of fans that were chanting his name in broken English and fluent Russian. He was the fans' favourite, and John wanted to ensure he didn't let his fanbase down. Tonight, he'd make Z pay for treating his existence like a science project. Sarsgaard clenched his fists and readied himself in the middle of the ring. He was eager. He was about to be an animal unleashed. In short, John was ready to dance.

Guess what? So was his newfound nemesis.

Mask? In place. Trenchcoat? Looked spiffy as usual. Fingerless gloves? Expensive. What else was left? The Final Countdown (Special Remix Z), by Europe. Hold on, scratch that.

Within seconds of starting, the music was abruptly cut. This had become a trademark of sorts, ever since LEGENDS IV.

Wait for it. Wait forrrrrrrr it. There, we have music again.

Zero, by the Smashing Pumpkins.

My reflection,
dirty mirror.

The Masked Enigma.

The Caped Crusader.

Z!

Already having one hell of a night by taking out Shawn Jessica Hart, Z marched out from the back and quickly got rid of his trenchcoat. Sarsgaard's Championship Pass had been something of an obsession for a while now, and as Z rapidly navigated down the ramp, all that he could think of was decimating the Hands Of Steel to get his due reward.

Wasting no time at all, Z climbed into the ring and sneered at his rival. Since everything was in place, bastard referee Mark Shields decided to get this bad boy officially underway. The time for talk and proclaimations and what-have-you was over.

DING DING DING!

It was time to get it ON.

Sarsgaard immediately lunged across the ring and took The Caped Crusader down in a move similar to a football tackle. Z yelped, then brought his arms up to protect his face as Sarsgaard went ballistic with the rights and the lefts. Since it was the era of the Scorpion Fighting Rules, he could fire away with closed fists and not worry about disqualifications. The crowd loved it, cheering loudly at the sight of an absolute hammering taking place in one corner of the ring.

But with Z having his guard up, Sarsgaard's blows were not having the best of effects. Growling, the Hands Of Steel peeled himself off of Z and went straight for his right ankle. Z found himself being dragged to the middle of the ring, a little bit hurtin' and a tiny bit curious as to what John's plan was. BAM~! Elbow drop right onto the kisser. That's what John Sarsgaard had planned. The Masked Enigma thrashed about on the canvas for a few seconds, before Sarsgaard grabbed him by the left shoulder and yanked him up to a vertical base.

Despite the searing pain overwhelming his face, Z had regained enough of his bearings to launch a pre-emptive counter attack; in short, he gouged Sarsgaard in the eyes like a sucker. The Masked Enigma followed up with a kick to John's right knee, and then another kick aimed slightly lower down (the ankle). Z was adamant about wanting to take control of the fight in the early stages and struck with a massive Mongolian overhand chop to the chest of his rival.

Sarsgaard's response? A slobbahknockah of a right hook that sent Z down to the canvas like he was a piece of nothing! Tremendous stuff from John, and the fans went w-i-l-d. Bastard referee Mark Shields? Not the least bit impressed. Especially when Sarsgaard decided to follow up with the cover;

ONE!

TWO!

THRE - NO!

Z survived, just barely getting the shoulder up.

Scrambling to his feet, The Caped Crusader hustled over to a corner of the ring, wanting to catch his breath. But as soon as his hands grabbed the corner turnbuckle for support, Z found himself being spun around and rocked with another blistering right hand to his face! Sarsgaard was a man possessed. A man on a mission. He'd seen his life been turned upside down over the last six months or so thanks to Z's machinications.

It was payback time. POW~! A second right hook sent Z flying through the ropes, and the Caped Crusader's head bounced off the ring apron en route to crashing down onto the floor. The fans in the Arena Omsk roared with delight, and John Sarsgaard grinned. This was turning out to be a heck of a fight so far, and it only promised to get better for the Hands of Steel. Stepping through the ropes, Sarsgaard watched from his vantage point as Z struggled back to his feet.

And considering that Z had his back turned to Sarsgaard, John could be forgiven for suddenly raising his right arm and nodding his head. He was signalling to his legion of fans that he was going to pop a cap in Z's bitch ass, and the anticipation of the fans was at a fever pitch. Every single one of them stood to their feet, and got their cameras ready for what they believed was going to be a highlight-reel moment.

The Masked Enigma finally turned around, and Sarsgaard took off with a mighty leap off the apron.

FLYING CLOTHESL--denied! Z sidestepped out of the way, and Sarsgaard found himself crashing into the security barricade!

"Полное дерьмо!"
"Полное дерьмо!"
"Полное дерьмо!"

You know, those 'holy shit' chants in Russian never get old.

Z breathed a sigh of relief and gave his buddy Mark Shields the ol' thumbs up, before advancing on Sarsgaard. John hadn't moved since his violent collision with the security barricade, and was now beginning to regret his lofty ambition of a flying clothesline off the ring apron, what with Z repeatedly kicking him in the back of the head and all. The Caped Crusader was making the most of the tide having been turned, and after a whole minute of kicking, pulled Sarsgaard up by the hair.

Kick to the ribs, front facelock, annnnnnd... brainbustaaaah! A thing of beauty. Again, not as epic as KSZ's version of the same move, but judging by the snarling and hissing of the fans in the front rows, Z felt extremely proud of what he'd done. Sarsgaard was not moving, AT ALL.

And that was enough for Z to roll over and hook the legs. Shields slid out of the ring and counted;

ONE!

TWO!

THRE - NOOOOO!

Sarsgaard kicked out, right at the last possible second! Holy crap!

Z scowled and glared at Shields, who was stunned that John managed to survive that. Grinding his teeth together, Z turned around and attempted to drag his enemy back up, but the Hands of Steel showed more signs of life, rebelliously swatting Z's hands away.

That only made The Caped Crusader more pissed. He took a few steps back and surveyed the scene in front of him; John Sarsgaard, woozy yet trying ever so valiantly to get back to a vertical balance without any assistance whatsoever. The fans were certainly behind Sarsgaard, and a quick scan of the crowd revealed to Z numerous young fans donning Sarsgaard's merchandise.

"Idiots." Z remarked to himself, with something of a callous grin on his face.

And with that, The Masked Enigma charged forward, laying Sarsgaard out with a VICIOUS pushing kick right into Sarsgaard's face! It was like a rogue and off-the-rails bullet train crashing into a brick wall, and as John found himself on his back again, blood streamed out of his nose. Instantly, the fans in the front rows began cursing at Z.

Z, however, was not concerning himself with them. He quickly dived under the ring, and furiously rummaged through all the crap there for a suitable weapon. He was like a dog looking for a bone. Or SOMETHING like that. When Z finally emerged, weapon of choice in hand? Oh ho ho, there was a collective gasp from majority of the fans.

The Caped Crusader was armed with a frickin' shovel. What was a shovel doing under the ring to begin with?

Nobody knew.

CLANG~!

Z himself probably didn't know, and didn't care. He'd just used the shovel to obliterate the recovering John Sarsgaard right in the kisser, and the Hands of Steel was out c-o-l-d.

Tossing the shovel aside, Z dropped to his knees and made the lax cover. Shields grinned as he got in position;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Z - 1 | John Sarsgaard - 0

Just like that, Z had grabbed the advantage in this special First To Five Showdown.

Standing tall above his fallen rival, Z opted to raise his arms in the air and soak in the swirling clouds of hate that the fans were serving up. The Caped Crusader was well aware that there was still a lot of fighting/wrestling to be done, but if he was the first to get the second decision, he'd earn the first portion of Sarsgaard's valuable Championship Pass; the shot at the Scorpion Fighting Title.

Sufficiently pleased with the amount of hatred directed at him, Z proceeded to use his right foot to move the shovel back under the ring. This made Shields curious, but a look from Z put his doubts to rest. The Masked Enigma clearly had a plan, and the shovel clearly would be used sometime later in the fight. For now, all Z had to do was continue to pile on the pressure on Sarsgaard. Who, by the by, had finally come to and used the ring apron to get back up to his feet.

What was Z's first act upon Sarsgaard turning around to face him? Thumb to the eyes, that's what. John groaned, and bastard referee Shields clapped his hands gleefully. What a bastard. Z flipped off a young fan shouting at him and directed a kick at Sarsgaard's right kneecao, before grabbing the big man's left arm and wringing it. The bloodied Sarsgaard winced and immediately tried to get out of it via a swinging right hand, but Z ducked that easily, and countered with a swift Northern Lights suplex.

With the bridging pin, mind you. Shields quickly dropped to his knees and began the count;

ONE!

TWO!

THRE - NOOOOOOOO!

Sarsgaard got his shoulder up a heart beat before the decisive third count. So close!

Z raced to his feet and waited for Sarsgaard to do the same. This time, Z didn't bother waiting for his rival to turn around, though. Oh, no; The Masked Enigma drove his knee into the lower spinal area of Sarsgaard's, before grabbing a handful of hair and smashing John's face into the ring apron. That was followed up with Z lifting Sarsgaard onto the apron and rolling him back inside the ring. It was allll one-way traffic now.

And things were about to get worse for Sarsgaard. He didn't even have the capacity to pull himself back to his feet, which gave Z the green-light to hoist himself onto the apron, and pull off a truly spectacular outside-to-inside somersault senton splash! Z wasn't exactly the high-flying type, but it was clear that The Caped Crusader was gonna pull out ALL the stops to beat Sarsgaard and possess not just a portion of the Championship Pass, but the whole damned thing.

As soon as Shields joined the two warriors back in the ring, Z made the cover and hooked the legs;

ONE!

TWO

THRE - NO! SHOULDER!

Z shook his head and shot Shields a quick glare en route to getting back to his feet. He was sure he had Sarsgaard down for the count there, but evidently it was not to be.

Speaking of Sarsgaard, the blood in his eyes did not impair his ability to regain his vertical balance. Z was laying in wait for him, and aimed a proper beast of a right hook at the Hands of Steel. One problem; BLOCKED! Somehow, Sarsgaard reacted brilliantly and used his right forearm to block Z's attempt, before retaliating with a left-armed forearm smash. Z wobbled backwards instantly, feeling the effect of the desperative move from John-boy.

Sarsgaard afforded himself the tiniest of smiles and followed up with a swift kick to Z's ribs. And as The Masked Enigma doubled over, his spine was left exposed to Sarsgaard's devilish desires. Jumping up, the bloodied Hands of Steel drove his right elbow down onto the Caped Crusader's spine, flooring him to much delight from the fans! Was this the beginning of the revival?

Z cursed silently as he fought through the pain and scrambled back to his feet, firing another right hook; this time, aimed at Sarsgaard's lower abdominals.

Funny thing about that -- Sarsgaard somehow caught Z's fist.

Yes, you read correctly. Mark Shields was actually impressed by this (but tried to hide it). Sarsgaard had caught Z's fist with his hand, and wrapped said hand around Z's clenched fist as tightly as possible. With the fans watching on in amazement, Sarsgaard dragged The Caped Crusader closer to him. Why? Oh, no reason. Actually, there was a reason; HEADBUTT! Z was rattled, and Sarsgaard followed up by twisting Z's right hand into a hammerlock, leading into something really cool, in the form of a HAMMERLOCK BACK SUPLEX.

Yeah, those 'holy shit' chants were back. Both men were down on the canvas, completely spent by the battle thus far. But within moments, Sarsgaard rolled over and draped his arm across Z's chest.

The look on Mark Shields' face? Priceless. Knowing he had a job to do, Shields grumbled and got to his knees;

ONE!

TWO!

THREEEE - NO! Z KICKED OUT!

Jesus Allah Vishnu, that was a bloody close call. Sarsgaard couldn't quite believe that Z kicked out, and slammed his fists into the canvas out of pure frustration. He desperately wanted to tie up the fight at 1-1 which he felt would kick off the momentum he needed to be the first to five decisions. Alas, his sneaky rival found the mettle to stay alive.

Shields was relieved, and quietly urged Z to 'get the hell up'. A beacon of fairness, ladies and gentlemen. What a stand-up guy Mark Shields up. At any rate, it was Sarsgaard to got back to his feet first, and the Hands of Steel wiped the blood out of his eyes, thinking of what to do next.

Both fortunately and unfortunately for Sarsgaard, he didn't have to think for long.

Why? Simple, dummies.

Z, despite having searing pain vibrating throughout his body, was determined to not only beat Sarsgaard but take him OUT. Hence, he brushed past his own pain barrier and rolled over, driving his elbow into the back of John's right ankle, bringing the big man down. From there? The fans watched in absolute horror as Z furiously did what he needed to do.

He had John Sarsgaard trapped in the clutches of his crushing ankle lock, natch!

A mixture of 'please don't tap' and 'go to hell' chants broke out in the stands. They were loud, in Russian, and directed at the two men in the middle of the ring. Sarsgaard screamed his lungs out, his eyes very nearly bulging out of their sockets due to the extreme pain. Z? Despite the mask on his face, one could sense his expression was one of sheer determination.

"COME ON! TAP, YOU MOTHERF**KER! TAP!" Z hollered, for a second thinking if he needed to slap on the heel-hook.

But within seconds, The Caped Crusader smiled a wonderful smile.

TAP.
TAP.
TAP.

Z - 2 | John Sarsgaard - 0

And just like that, Z had raced into a seemingly unassailable lead.

And hey, newsflash: he'd just earned himself a shot at the Scorpion Fighting Title! Hurrah!

(or DAMN if you're not a Z fan)

Not only was his ankle possibly broken, but John Sarsgaard had to come to terms with one third of his Championship Pass having been surrended to the Caped Crusader. And there was worse news on the horizon; as per the convoluted rules of this fight, Z would earn the Spirit Of ACW title shot if he could make Sarsgaard tap out to earn his third decision.

Z stood up to his feet, smacking his lips together. The stars were aligned, everything was set in place.

"I'll give you exactly thirty seconds to rest up, John Sarsgaard!" Z proclaimed, placing his hands on his hips. "And then, I'm going to make you tap out again. This time, I'll slap on the heel-hook. You'll tap out, I'll get the Spirit Of ACW title shot, and I'll be up three to natta.

Bet you're regretting accepting my challenge now, eh?"

Add in a sneer, and Z was looking like the king of badasses. Sarsgaard rolled onto his back and looked up at his rival, seething in absolute anger.

Somehow or rather, John Sarsgaard suddenly felt that he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Z gestured with his hands for Sarsgaard to 'bring it', and the Hands Of Steel -- despite only having one good ankle -- was more than happy to oblige. John slowly got back to his vertical base, the fans urging him on despite the current situation. The two rivals were inches away from each other in the middle of the ring. The atmosphere was electric. Z had the upper-hand, and looked to be in cruise control.

But as John Sarsgaard's theme song sums up, he will not bow. With a roar, Sarsgaard charged ahead and let loose with a vicious right hand. Z ducked and launched himself into the ropes, calculating possible moves in his head. Unfortunately for the Caped Crusader, Sarsgaard was still pretty mobile despite one good ankle and quickly turned around to catch Z with a stinging short-range clothesline! The force of which saw Sarsgaard drop down to the canvas himself, but the Hands of Steel was smiling.

Z was flat on the canvas, breathing heavily. All of his built-up momentum? Gone, in a flash.

The Masked Enigma was indeed the first to stir, but the surprise clothesline evidently did quite a number on him. Sarsgaard recollected his thoughts and quickly climbed to his feet, eyes twitching and right ankle completely out of place. Still, though, he managed to spin Z around once the two men were back up and kicked the Caped Crusader in the ribs, before picking him up in what appeared to be a suplex attempt.

Alas, it was not to be for John Sarsgaard. Z squirmed out of John's clutches and landed on his feet, his back grazing John's back. Sarsgaard cursed, before diving to his right, noting that Z too had turned to his right in hopes of catching the Hands of Steel in the ribs with an elbow shot. Before Z could connect, though, the Caped Crusader did that swivelling-on-his-heels thing.

This time, he spun to his left at the last possible second, catching Sarsgaaard with a double-sledge to that side of the ribs. Yet again, John had been fooled, and had to endure a harsh armwringing of his left arm for his costly mistake. This time, however, Z was determined to cash in on the mistake. So, he yanked Sarsgaard towards him.

And within a blink of an eye, brought the Hands Of Steel down in a rollthrough drop toe hold. Sneaky little move, that, which led to the locking in of a single-leg Boston crab, with Sarsgaard's left leg the primary 'victim'. Seem familiar? Yes, it used to be the great Lance Storm's special submission finisher!

Once more, John Sarsgaard was trapped in a submission hold and Z had it cinched pretty tightly. And he was screaming like a madman for John to tap out. Not only would it extend the lead, but earning the third decision via submission?

Why, Z would earn the Spirit Of ACW title shot. Gasp! What a dastardly mastermind Z is.

In fact, you read it here first. Z's new nickname: The Dastardly Mastermind. Muahahahahahaha!

... Oh yeah, back to your regular scheduled writ-graming.

So, Sarsgaard was in no man's land (I ain't talking about Gotham City circa 1999) and Z had the submission hold expertly applied. There was no way in hell the Hands Of Steel was getting out, but yet he would not yield. He wouldn't tap. Even with bastard referee Mark Shields crouching down next to him, getting in his face.

"TAP OUT, F**KHEAD!" Shields yelled with pure joy filling his heart. "TAP OUT!

TAP OUT!

TAP OUT!

TAPPPPPPPP OUTTTTTT!"

POW~!

And that, was the sound of John Sarsgaard's fist slamming into Mark Shields' face. Hallejuah.

With a major source of annoyance having been eliminated, Sarsgaard's focus fell again on the searing pain flowing through his lower limbs.

TAP. TAP. TAP. TAP. TAP. TAP.

Much to Z's delight, the sound of John's Sarsgaard incessant tapping was music to his ears.

Although, after the Caped Crusader relinquished the hold on Sarsgaard, Z was curious as to why there was no pomp and circumstance surrounding the supposed attainment of his third decision. Z quickly turned around and saw that Mark Shields laying flat on the canvas, knocked out cold.

"What the fARGHDAYUM!"

fARGHDAYUM? That's a new one. Oh, wait, it was Z being cut in the middle of a swear by John Sarsgaard using his one good leg left. More precisely, Sarsgaard used his good leg to punt Z in the balls despite being flat on his back in the middle of the ring. Z clutched his balls as he fell to the canvas, and suddenly, there were no standing bodies in the ring.

That was about to change, with the sight of new ACW referee Lucas Nuckallin -- courtesy of Joe Bishop's referee enhancement plan -- sprinting down to the ring. In a flash, Mark Shields was dragged out of the ring and Lucas Nuckallin took over as the in-ring official. The fans roared, doubly so at the sight of Sarsgaard crawling over to Z and getting a hand across the chest of the still-downed Masked Enigma.

He'd only been the official for less than sixty seconds, but Lucas was quickly down on his knees to count;

ONE!

TWO!

THRE - NOOOOOOO!

Z kicked out! Z kicked out!

Somehow or rather, the massive kick to his balls didn't quite take Z out of the game, and he was able to kick out. John Sarsgaard was pissed, and audibly cursed again as he got back to his feet. Z meanwhile had gotten to his knees, hands reaching out to the ropes to gain some measure of support.

Sarsgaard peered over his shoulder at the new in-ring official Lucas Nuckallin, and nodded approvingly. A more than suitable replacement for Mark Shields, Sarsgaard thought. Having taken a moment to collect himself, Sarsgaard limped forward and placed his right hand on the back of Z's neck, forcefully dragging the Masked Enigma up to his feet.

POW~! Z was apparently playing possum, as he swiftly spun on his heels and clocked Sarsgaard... hey, with brass knuckles! Where the heck did Z get brass knuckles from? Nobody except The Dastardly Mastermind himself knew. Sarsgaard had been caught right between the eyes and quickly fell backwards, the rear of his head colliding violently with the canvas. Z tossed the brass knuckles out of the ring and collapsed on top of Sarsgaard.

It resembled a cover, so as much as referee Nuckallin hated it, he got to his knees to count;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Z - 3 | John Sarsgaard - 0

"Keep your bloody Spirit Of ACW title shot!" Z gasped as he rolled off of Sarsgaard. He might have gotten the third decision, but as he'd done so not without submission, Sarsgaard hung on to the second part of his Championship Pass.

Perhaps the most important bit of all was the fact that Z was now up by three decisions to zero. And it was looking increasing likely that The Caped Crusader would be the first to five.

Deciding that he needed a short reprieve, Z exited the ring and slowly walked over to the broadcast booth. No, Z wasn't going to engage in some sideline commentating. The Caped Crusader instead swiped Renaud Cardinal's water bottle and twisted the cap open. Before he could even think of taking a sip of water, however, the sight of John Sarsgaard coming to and rolling out of the ring alerted Z to incoming danger.

"Christ. Can't you give me one minute before I kick your ass again?" Z complained, before throwing the bottle of water at John.

John stepped to the side, avoiding getting hit. "F**k you, asshole."

And then, John Sarsgaard performed a striptease. Actually, he dropped to his knees and rolled under the ring skirting, disappearing under the squared circle. That was more than a little odd, and Z -- despite his minimally-exposed face -- sported a an expression of pure confusion on his face.

Seconds ticked by, yet Sarsgaard did not emerge from under the ring. Now the fans were left scratching their head. What in the world was going on? Z felt that there was a con worthy of his standards being cooked up, so he remained rooted in his spot. No way he was going to investigate. That'd just give Sarsgaard the chance to surprise him.

But after a full minute passed without any sight of the Hands Of Steel?

Well, that was just batshit insane. Z fumed. "He's trying to out-Z me? Son of a bitch!"

Rolling up his metaphorical sleeves, The Caped Crusader cautiously walked over to the ring and used his right foot to lift up the ring skirting. The fans, somewhat pleased that there was finally a lull in action that allowed them to catch their breath, watched on as absolutely nothing happened. Z bit his lower lips and got down to his knees, deciding that he would indeed play Sarsgaard's game and go under the ring.

Hell, perhaps there was a whole civilisation brewing under the ring that nobody was privy to and John Sarsgaard was the king of that underground society. Hey, anything's possible. Right?

... Sooo, yeah. As Z went under the ring, John Sarsgaard suddenly popped up from the opposite side. And he was wielding a shovel! The very same shovel that Z had used earlier on in the fight. With a nasty smirk etched on his face, the Hands Of Steel raced around the ring, eager to spring one heck of a surprise on the Caped Crusader.

But first, a little pitstop. Bastard referee Mark Shields was FINALLY coming to. His first sight?

John Sarsgaard standing over him, shovel raised high above his head. Shields gulped and very nearly crapped his pants.

CLANG~!

Oh, how the fans rejoiced at the sight of Shields getting smacked with a shovel. Awesome stuff.

"Полное дерьмо!"
"Полное дерьмо!"
"Полное дерьмо!"

Sarsgaard nodded, and continued on his way. The timing was perfect; he crept up right behind Z, who emerged from under the ring all dusty and pissed off and wondering just where the hell his rival was. The rabid cheers of the fans alerted the Masked Enigma to a predicament that surely wouldn't end up well for him.

"Hey, asshole!" Sarsgaard yelled out. Z spun on his heels, his dukes raised and braced for a fight.

CLANG~!

Fat load of good that did. The crowd exploded, but John Sarsgaard was far from done. Not by a damn longshot, natch.

CLANG~!

CLANG~!

CLANG~!

Three more shots, just for good measure. Z was out cold, and John Sarsgaard towered above him with the roar of the fans in the Arena Omsk increasing by the second.

The Hands Of Steel tossed the shovel aside and quickly dropped to his knees, hooking Z's legs. Referee Lucas Nuckallin, who had been watching everything unfold from inside the ring, swiftly slid out and got into position;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Z - 3 | John Sarsgaard - 1

Finally, John had registered a decision. The better news? Z was still out cold.

Sarsgaard let go of Z for a few moments, as per the stipulated rules, but just as quickly eased into a lateral press. Looked like John clobbering Z with a shovel four times in a row was more of a clever tactic than just pure aggression.

Once again, referee Lucas Nuckallin counted;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Z - 3 | John Sarsgaard - 2

The gap had been cut down to just one! The fans' jubilation reached its crescendo, and John Sarsgaard pulled away from Z's lifeless form for the mandatory five-second rest period. Meanwhile, several feet away, bastard referee Mark Shields was coming to with a hell of a gash across his face.

The more important bit to the fans? Another cover by Sarsgaard. Another count by Nuckallin;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Z - 3 | John Sarsgaard - 3

Holy shiaaat.

"You may have damn near broken my ankle, but I think I've just broken your face in half, asshole!" Sarsgaard growled as he once again pulled away from Z, who was finally stirring back to life.

Luckily for John, he had a plan to rectify that. And that came in the form of a huge right hand. POW~!

Z was unconscious again, much to the joy of the fans. Sarsgaard grinned as he hooked the legs and counted along with the referee;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Z - 3 | John Sarsgaard - 4

What a turnaround! In the space of mere minutes, John Sarsgaard had turned the whole fight upside and now had the lead. And was one decision away from being the first to five AND being a hell of a lot richer. Although for John, his reward was of little consequence. He just wanted to kick Z's arse and teach the Masked Enigma a lesson.

SMACK~!

Just as John Sarsgaard shaped up to cover Z for the fifth and decisive time, referee Lucas Nuckallin got taken out. By who, you ask? You didn't ask? Well, screw you, I'm gonna tell anyways -- it was Mark Shields! Seeing how he was Z's lackey and all, it made sense for the bastard referee to prevent John Sarsgaard from winning. And he did so in some style, too, courtesy of a wicked swing of a steel chair.

The Hands Of Steel quickly jumped to his feet, taking a second to reflect on Nuckallin being taken out, and swiftly turned around to see Mark Shields raising the chair over his head, presumably to strike John with it.

John's reaction rate was immense, catching Shields in the gut with a kick with his one good leg. Shields doubled over, losing his grip on the chair, and seconds later the bastard referee was sent flying backwards courtesy of a stunning soccer kick to his face! John Sarsgaard showed absolutely no mercy to the misantrophic lackey of the Caped Crusader, and the fans ate everything up with a giant spoon.

Unfortunately for them and Sarsgaard, Z had managed to recover enough and lashed out with a double-footed stomp at Sarsgaard's wounded ankle, taking the Hands Of Steel down. And to add insult to injury, Sarsgaard's face collided with the steel chair that Shields was wielding just moments ago. Lucky coincidence, huh? Yeaaah, that's it.

What would Z do next? Not many knew as the Masked Enigma slowly returned to his upright position, his breathing a little laboured. John Sarsgaard was down and rolling about on the floor, his face burning thanks to the collision of the steel chair and his ankle heavily throbbing. It looked as if Z was on the cusp of regaining control of the fight, with the ultimate prize of attaining the shot at the World Title in touching distance.

So why then did Z shrug his shoulders and drop down to the ground in dramatic fashion?

Weird shit, innit? The fans were all shellshocked and mighty surprised. Z even went so far as to stretch out his arms and turn his head to the side, shutting his eyes close. This coincided with referee Lucas Nuckallin recovering and John Sarsgaard crawling over to the ring to use the apron to drag himself up to his feet.

Once Sarsgaard was up? He turned to see Z 'starting to stir' and using the broadcast booth to aid in regaining his vertical balance. John was apparently none the wiser to Z's actions just a minute earlier, but it was clear to everyone else that the Caped Crusader was playing some kind of possum.

John Sarsgaard, smelling victory, quickly crouched down to pick up the steel chair. Z stumbled like a drunkard, before finally turning to face his nemesis.

SMACK~!

A heck of a chairshot, and Z was down! The crowd -- still perplexed over Z seemingly giving up his advantage -- nonetheless went apeshit. Especially since Sarsgaard collapsed on top of the fallen Masked Enigma, and went on to hook the legs.

That was enough for referee Lucas Nuckallin to adjust his position and begin the count;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

...

...

For real, bitches!

Z - 3 | John Sarsgaard - 5

The bell rang, Breaking Benjamin's I Will Not Bow blared over the speakers, and every single fan stood to their feet to roar their hearts out. An epic fight had just concluded, and John Sarsgaard had triumphed! He might have lost one third of his Championship Pass, but the relieved smile on the face of the Hands Of Steel said it all. Kinda.

Standing to his feet, John Sarsgaard saw his right arm raised in victory by referee Lucas Nuckallin. Z, coming to after that wicked chairshot, rolled to the side and lightly slapped the face of Mark Shields. The two men crawled away from Sarsgaard and helped each other up, Mark Shields more than a little confused as to what had happened.

"Don't worry, Mark. I'll tell you more later!" Z whispered to his lackey.

Sarsgaard meanwhile took a few steps forward and rested his body against the broadcast booth, soaking in the victory. That was, until the duo of Renaud Cardinal and Jimmy Reid brought to Sarsgaard's attention a recep of a pivotal moment in the fight that was being aired on the SlyTron.

Despite being winded, John craned his neck to see what the fuss was all about. And boy, did that dampen his mood.

He saw everything. Z, clearly in control and primed to punish him, abruptly falling down to the floor and selling as if he'd never recovered from Sarsgaard's shovel shots to begin with.

The fans were silent now. The Caped Crusader had a busy night prior to his battle with Sarsgaard, but perhaps the most noteworthy action of the night on Z's part had to be him apparently taking a dive during the most critical stage of the fight. Thereby serving up victory to John Sarsgaard on a silver platter. A victory which Sarsgaard now felt rang absolutely false.

"Congratulations, John!" Z smugly chortled as he started up the ramp. "Enjoy your big win.

And oh, your reward? Alllll that money? It'll be waiting for you in your locker-room. Go and treat yourself to an after-show special, John-boy. You... heh, most certainly have earned it.

See you around!"

With that parting shot, Z scurried up the ramp, arms raised. Even in defeat, Z had the last laugh. All that John Sarsgaard could do was wonder what he'd gotten himself into. It appeared as if that John Sarsgaard might have just been conned out of a truly special moment, and it just dawned on the Hands Of Steel.

It dawned on John Sarsgaard that he'd been played for a sucker right from the start.

"F**k me."

Growl of the Wolf

       

"You're welcome."

The words thundered through the locker room, bringing Kroenen's eyes to the doorway and his anything but pleased ally. The German stepped away from the injured Vago, who had an EMT looking over his face. Just so happened his unmasked face was off-camera, which was good for his mysterious identity and the EMT, as he discovered a broken nose and cracked orbital bone.

"It is more zhan apparent zhat you have something to say," Kroenen informed Arkady while shooting him a look that was anything but approving.

"Da, I figured you would get that vibe," Arkady snarled in reply.

"Vell, let me start if ve are going to be venting," Kroenen answered right back. "Vhere vere you vhen your teammate vas having his face destroyed? As a team, you are to look out for one another."

"A team? Did you say really just say that?" the Russian wolf asked with the sarcasm overflowing. "Since we got here, I have been the team. The only reason that inbred ogre gets in the ring is because he has to. Where was the team when I was out there by myself? That's right! You were back here holding that pussy's hand, as he gets tended to by the EMT's. You're a little kraut hypocrite. All this preaching about being part of the team... following the game plan... then, you ditch the one responsible for your plans working in the first place."

Kroenen was so enraged that he couldn't barely even reply, "Choose your vords visely, Arkady..."

"Don't get me wrong. It's not like I need that mindless zombie or your worthless little ass to win, which I just proved tonight. Though, if you look at the footage from the past few weeks, I shouldn't have to prove anything. F*ck being the one man wolf pack like you enjoy telling people. I am the entire SWAT team. When an attack needs to happen, you come to me. When you need to make a statement, you send in the wolf. There is no one in this place that can hold my jock and you know it. That's why your genius strategy was based on me doing all the heavy lifting with you two camped out on the outside until SilverHAWK f*cked it up. In spite of the blatant exploitation of my talent, I take part in your anarchist ideas. You should be thankful that I even do so. Now, YOU get your head on straight and focus on the team or the team is going to leave you here in a bloody mess."

"You know vhat vould happen should you cross me," Kroenen informed his disgruntled ally, "and you know vhat horrors vill happen, if you choose to get physical."

"You may be right about the first part and that's why I still show my loyalty with this mask," Arkady refused to back down even in the face of threats, "but you know damn well that I am not scared of you or him. I will stick to the plan and follow your lead. You'd be a fool to doubt my loyalty to the cause. I am your top soldier. However, this will be your only warning. Never threaten me again or I will make you have to wear that mask as a public service not a fashion statement."

With that, the Russian wolf pushed past his German cohort and headed to the showers, letting his words echo in Kroenen's head.

SINGLES MATCH - CHAIN BATTLE
'The Alpha Dog' Mark Weiler vs. Orlando Grant
REFEREE: TRENT SAVAGE

   

Ever since Mark Weiler’s unofficial debut within the walls of All-Star Championship wrestling, nary a week had gone by when he and Orlando “OG” Grant had been assaulted during an interview by an assailant that would remain nameless for several weeks. The monster later known as “The Alpha Dog” Mark Weiler had been employed by SlySports, LLC. as a force that would help ACW rake in the dough and be a cash cow for the entertainment entity.

At Legends, he and Orlando Grant had crossed paths in the form of a tag match that would see Weiler and Harris get the victory over OG and John Sarsgaard. In the weeks that followed, Weiler – now backed by Simon Blythe, Esquire – and OG would cross paths again, albeit a lot more violently. Blows were thrown, chairs were bent, tables were broken all in the name of OG sticking up for his own pride against the beast. He wanted payback and he would finally get it in the form of a victory at Courage 114. Weiler, after the match, assaulted him viciously with a chain, speaking his first official words by challenging Orlando Grant to a match, one that was accepted. The two had crossed paths in tag matches, but never had met mano-e-mano.

Until now.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” spoke Tommy Vale as he began the ring introductions. “The following contest is a CHAIN MATCH. The rules are both men will be tied to one another by a fifteen-foot chain! The chain can legally be used as a weapon and this match must be won by pinfall or submission! Introducing first…”

The fans started to grow restless as the grey smoke billowed at the entryway.

The lights faded to black, all replaced by a blood-red hue.

And soon?

“Pet” by A Perfect Circle.

And as the music started to kick in throughout the Arena Omsk, out came the monster responsible for much destruction in only a few short weeks competing on the ACW roster. The fans came to life, mostly with cheers for the beast. Enshrouded in a black towel over his head, wearing a half-black/half-white pair of trunks and black boots, the beast was led out to the ring by Simon Blythe, Esq. who was looking especially evil in a black pinstripe suit.

“Making his way to the ring, being accompanied by Simon Blythe, Esquire… From Boulder, Colorado, weighing in at 340 pounds… he is “THE ALPHA DOG” MARK WEILER!”

Climbing over the ropes with ease, the six-foot-six monster with the knockout right hand stood in the center of the ring. He remained cold, stoic, but still maintained a sense of viciousness. Like a powder keg ready to go off, he waited for his rival.

“When The Guns Come Out” by E-40, Christ Bearer, and RZA.

The guns came out all right.

Parting the curtains, the normally energetic and fun-loving Orlando Grant was replaced by a man ready to step on up to the plate, looking to upset the monster standing before him. Decked out in a black sleeveless athletic shirt and black jeans, he was dressed more for a street fight than a wrestling match. Undoing one of the bandanas around his face, he tossed it aside.

“And his opponent, from Bed-Stuy, Do-or-Die, Brooklyn, weighing in at 226 pounds… ORLANDO “OG” GRANT!”

Both men stood across from one another now, but for the very first time in an ACW ring, it would be by their lonesome. No Jack Harris, no, John Sarsgaard. No Z. No Chris Moliano. Nobody. Just a man with his pride and a monster waiting to make a statement.

Referee Trent Savage took hold of the chain as Mark Weiler and Orlando Grant each took one side of the chain and tied it to the wrist by a metallic cuff. Weiler remained surprisingly stoic, but as did Orlando, who took the chain and tied it. Showing no fear whatsoever of his antagonist of the last several months, OG looked into the eyes of the beast, no blinking.

DING DING DING

Both men started to pull at the opposite ends of the fifteen-foot chain, Weiler getting the very slow advantage. He swung with the right hand early… MISSED!

OG and his right hands didn’t catching Mark Weiler in the temple and sending him rocking back a few steps until he was backed into the corner. Trent Savage, like the majority of referees during this Eastern European excursion, were powerless to do anything but count falls. OG beat him about the head several times with right hands, but Weiler noticed the chain having been wrapped around a bit of OG’s leg, pulling him down to the canvas!

Not off to a very good start, the OG of ACW knelt down trying to recover as big Mark Weiler went to work, drilling him with several clubbing forearm shots across his back. A few more blows came out to rock Grant as he tried his best to fight back with a couple of shots to the breadbasket, but another big kick to the head from The Alpha Dog knocked him down to a knee.

Weiler towered over the fallen form of Orlando Grant as he tried to get back to his feet, only to suddenly crunch over in pain as the fans laughed.

Apparently, Orlando Grant’s trick knee acted up, catching the beast right in the… Alpha… Puppies?

Nevertheless, now having a firm advantage, the Ziploc Boy wound up part of the chain and CRACKED him right in the back with it several times, already leaving a couple of welts across his bare back!

Several more blows rang out through the arena, echoing all the way to the nose bleed sections and beyond. The fans roared with approval after each shot connected, stunning Mark Weiler for the moment. He wrapped up part of the chain around his fist as The Scourge of the Squared Circle started to kneel upwards…

PUNCH TO THE CHEST!

The shot caught him right in the chest, knocking all the wind out of the Alpha Dog as he knelt over. OG pulled the chain away from his adversary and negotiated him into a quick pinfall attempt.

ONE!

TW… NO!

Still too early, but a big red mark was left across the chest of the SlySports’ cash cow. Simon Blythe yelled at his charge from the outside to fight back, but OG kept on using the chain as a weapon, bunching it up before cracking Weiler in the temple.

A welt was left on the face of the beast as he tried to fight back again. OG got a running start off the ropes, trying to strike the big man with a wrapped fist, but Weiler grabbed him by the head and dumped him on the apron. Straightening out the chain, he wiped a trickle of blood off the side of his face while the OG of ACW tried to get back to his feet. A running knee from the big man sent him spilling out onto the floor!

Resting for a moment, the Alpha Dog wasted no time in bringing his hated rival back up onto the apron. He grabbed him by the neck and set him back onto the apron, but OG used quick thinking and dropped back down, snapping Weiler’s neck across the top rope.

With the big man staggered backwards, he hopped back into the ring and on the turnbuckle just as Weiler started to come around….

TORNADO FACEBUSTER!

OG finally got the big man down and went for the cover.

ONE!

TWO!

TH… NO!

The beast still had enough strength to throw the smaller man right off him. Waiting for the big man to get back to his feet, he wrapped the chain up and tried to choke him with it, but The Alpha Dog saw it coming and grabbed him by the throat with both hands before THROWING him halfway across the ring with an Overhead Double Choke Suplex!

Some of the Russian fans started to jeer the beast, but he paid them no mind.

“WHIP HIM LIKE THE DOG HE IS!” Blythe screamed out from the outside as Weiler nodded and crawled out underneath the bottom rope. Using his brute strength, he dragged OG over onto his stomach and pulled him closer to the ringpost, looking his rival dead in the eyes.

“This WILL hurt,” he motioned before PULLING on the chain, sending Orlando shoulder-first into the ring post!

But he didn’t stop there. The Alpha Dog made sure it was a lot more excruciating when he put a foot on the steel steps for leverage and pulled, pressing the shoulder into the buckle! OG screamed out in pain as Weiler pulled on the chain, torturing his opponent. Simon Blythe decided to throw in his two cents nearby as Trent Savage looked on.

“You think you’re ready? YOU THINK YOU’RE READY?! YOU ARE NOT READY, BOY!”

Weiler stopped the tortuous hold for all of three seconds before he bunched up the chain as OG did earlier, BEATING him all across his back! Several more shots kept flying as Grant never imagined he’d be put into a situation like this.

After the whipping, Weiler raised his unchained hand to the sky, absorbing the screams from the fans, both bloodthirsty and conscionable alike. Rolling into the ring casually, the Alpha Dog stood over the fallen body of Orlando Grant. Rather than opt for a cover, he put a few boots into his head and rolled the All-Star student onto his back before pulling him up, choking him with the chain while pressing a foot into his back!

OG tried gasping for air, but there was absolutely no mercy shown from the SlySports monster. After close to a minute in the precarious position, Weiler tied OG up into a Cobra Clutch with the chain before HURLING him halfway across the ring. After being flung a great distance, The Alpha Dog climbed atop his opponent with a rather lax cover.

ONE!

TWO!

TH… NO!

OG got a weak shoulder up off the mat, but Weiler wasn’t done with him by a long shot. Grabbing the OG of ACW by his neck, he lifted him up… DROPKICK! A big dropkick out of nowhere stunned the beast, bringing him to one knee. Hooking him by the neck, OG revved up the crowd, looking for BIG SHIT POPP… NO!

EXPLODER SUPLEX FROM WEILER!

The fans gasped in astonishment at the ring savvy of the beast, actually breaking free from OG’s grip and sending him back to the canvas. It seemed that there was more to the beast than he’d perhaps let on.

“YOU SEE THAT?!” Simon Blythe slapped the ring apron, pointing to the crowd. “IT DOESN’T MATTER IF YOU LIKE THAT OR HATE THAT, YOU KNOW THAT WAS AMAZING!”

Sitting back up, The Alpha Dog got back to his feet, standing over the woozy Grant who was still trying to get himself back into the match. Taking the chain, he stood directly over Grant and floored him with a series of chain-covered Crossface punches that each connected with sick force. After about three or four shots, Grant was nearly out of it as Weiler knelt down, going for a cover with a forearm across the face.

ONE!

TWO!

THR… KICK OUT!

Somehow, The OG of ACW was still in the match as several pockets of fans started to cheer on the beating that he was taking. Weiler brushed him a few times across the face with his boot, merely rubbing it in that he was at his mercy. Grant knelt up against the turnbuckle, trying to stay on two feet. Measuring him up, The Alpha Dog ran full bore…

MISSED!

OG got out fo the way in the nick of time! Mark wobbled around, clutching his chest when OG slid between his legs and brought the chain up!

“OOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

The men in the crowd were having sympathy pains after OG brought the chain up, hitting him for the second time in this contest with a ballshot. Weiler, with tears welling up in his eyes, rolled to the floor as OG tried to by himself some time. The Scourge of the Squared Circle tried to get away, but The Quarantine Boy grabbed the chain and pulled him forward, smacking him into the ringpost.

OG grabbed him and helped pull Weiler back into the ring, drilling him with several right hands as he got back to his feet, a small “OG!” chant coming from the fans. After several kicks to the stomach, he backed up a few feet and bumrushed Weiler with a stiff Chain-wrapped Running Forearm!

Teetering out of the corner, Weiler clutched his skull, now bleeding a bit from a gash in his face while Grant took a rest against the ropes, trying to fight back. Getting a running start off the ropes, he caught Weiler with a Spinning Elbow Smash to the face that sent him staggering backwards. Trying to get him off his feet again, he went for another run off the ropes…

CAUGHT!

SWINGING SIDE SLAM!

OG took a sickening slam, landing face-first on the mat and deflating some of the crowd in the process who were jumping on the OG bandwagon. Weiler crawled over and hooked the leg this time, trying to keep him down.

ONE!

TWO!

THR… KICK OUT!

For the first time ever, the monster that ACW had come to know showed actual concern on his face, thinking for sure the slam had finished the match. Seeing him stunned, Weiler got back to his feet while waiting for the Quarantine Boy to get back to his. He raised his right fists to the sky and clinched it, waiting for him to get back. A few moments passed before Weiler smirked, looking at the chain. Wrapping the chain around his fist, he watched as his rival of the last several months rose to his feet. He swung.

THE DOG’S BISPINNING SLEEPER SLAM!

Out of literally NOWHERE, OG ducked underneath the oncoming blow and pulled him down to the mat with a Spinning Sleeper Slam! He hooked both legs of the beast and pulled back!

ONE!

TWO!

THRE… NO!

Off the very close fall, OG looked in shock that he came very close to the upset of the monster. The Quarantine boy had the crowd behind him as he leapt to the top turnbuckle, measuring his target. Leaping with some great athleticism, he flew right at him with a CrossbCHAIN-ASSISTED DOG’S BITE!

The fans looked on in shock as the chain-laden fist of The Alpha Dog caught Orlando Grant right in the face, sending a spray of blood shooting right from his nose. With a possibly broken nose, OG was at the mercy of Mark Weiler as he climbed atop his rival, hooking both legs.

One.

Two.

Three.

In anticlimactic fashion, the match had been ended just like that. Weiler undid the chain from around his fist as the crowd started to roar for the bloodshed. He’d been hurt and Orlando Grant had come very close on several occasions to scoring the upset, but Tommy Vale told the story here tonight.

“HERE IS YOUR WINNER OF THE MATCH… “THE ALPHA DOG” MARK WEILER!”

As Trent Savage and now a pair of trainers came out to check on the unconscious body of Orlando Grant, the fans looked on at Mark Weiler, still sore from this vicious match. Pointing up to the heavens, he clinched his fist, showing every other member of the ACW roster what was in store for them come Fight Night. With a giant with a big right hand that could finish a victim at any time, he would surely be one of the favorites to take home Fight Night.

Climbing out of the ring, Simon Blythe, Esq and Mark Weiler looked back into the ring at the damage that had been done.

One down.

And the rest of the roster to go.

The Straw

       

As the camera once again went to the backstage area, it seemed as if Trey Vincent’s threats were now further more coming into fruition.

First Shawn Jessica Hart and now ALIAS of all people, the Original Pulp Hero, lay in a wreckage of chairs and broken wooden tables that once held documents for the nights show… but now, only matted down the floor with a mixture of white and red.

Speaking of red… the camera panned, looking to find TV’s recently coined ally, in Z, somewhere within the general vicinity, but as it panned, it jostled suddenly. The camera man coughed and sputtered.

It was in the back of his throat, and now deep down in the pit of his stomach. The stench. The corrosive immediately sickened the man behind the camera, causing him to drop the camera and run for the nearest bucket to puke in, leaving it to be centered onto the stirring, but still battered body of one of the hopeful participants within the main event. The shot drifted across the ground level.

Then a foot shuffled into view, before, the owner of the stench picked up the camera.

This was the man that had attacked Alias.

This was… Koschei the Carrion.

Well shit, as if World title competitors didn’t have enough to worry about.

The vulture peered into the camera’s lens with its soulless, beady black and white eyes. Then he turned the camera on Alias. The Original Pulp Hero, upon seeing the camera, roared to life.

But was then booted down to the ground by the Carrion as he peered closer at the Original Pulp Hero. Taping not his face, but instead the tape that hung around his stomach.

“Look at you, and your everlasting wound. A man that bleeds for a hundred days, such as yourself, should surely be DEAD by now.”

The vulture laughed a quite, yet caustic, laugh.

“Yet here you lay with TEETH to your name!” Carrion then lunged forward, seemingly biting Alias with his large beak, even coming up with a string of red-ish white bandage in his mouth.

“How long has it been since the world has seen… Alias?” Carrion intoned with cold intent, “Or is your name well and truly POISONED. It’s a SHOCKING site to see a man like you laid to waste by the darkness of another man’s soul, the betrayal of a man… himself lost to the BLACK…”

Carrion ripped at Alias’s bandages once more.

“And yet… still others look to steal from you, what seems to be… unattainable. The HEART of DARKNESS in the SOUL of an all-star… it’s why they sent me. Who better to kill the Hero… then a dead man…”

Carrion looked to rip off, what remained of Alias’s stomach bandages but… the Pulp Hero was saved. Saved from a man who had helped him before, a man that earlier tonight had even made sure to note that Alias had not returned the favor.

THE BAD ATTITUDE.

Still bloodied from his fight with Khristian Keller, Ramey pushed and kicked at Carrion as the bird of the deathless jumped away, shrieking as he did. Carrion titled his head sideways as he peered at Ramey, not knowing what to make of him.

Neither did Alias, as he looked up at someone he barely recognized anymore. A man that had been changed… seemingly beyond repair by the violence and decadence of a man like Khristian Keller in a world like the one supplied by Jeremy Hunt.

Still, Alias looked to connect with a basic need from Ramey.

“Your shirt, Jesse, mind if I grab it?”

Ramey looked down at Alias, as he clutched his stomach, before removing his unbuttoned black American Eagle long sleeve shirt with a cold, distance look in his eyes. “Keep it, along with all the rest you’ve taken from me, Chris.”

Alias tossed on the shirt, with a pained grunt, once again covering his battered body and bleeding waist. As he shuffled himself against the wall, he looked at Ramey. He and the man once known as the Right Attitude… they needed to talk.

Also looking at Jesse Ramey, Carrion could only sputter a wicked bird call mixed in with what was almost a bloody cough. Then he whispered a few words before disappearing into the shadows.

“You’re welcome…”

Thing was, what did Alias have to be thankful for?

“Hmmm,” pondered Z, to Trey Vincent, further down the hall as hey continued to view what had just gone down, “That’ll do.”

Well, Alias had to be thankful for the fact that he still might make it to tonight’s main event.

TORNADO TAG SCORPION FIGHTING RULES III - ACW TAG TEAM TITLES
Callie Urban (by herself?) vs. England's Best ©
REFEREE: TOMAZ HEINREICH

       

The cards were dealt. England’s Best were set to defend their championships against the number one contenders, Spike Saunders and Callie Urban, the Entourage. However plans do not always move forward as planned. Let us see how this came to be.

the inner circle

   

"Come in. Don't be shy."

Kati was not in the least bit shy. She was instead a little bit worried.

But the reassuring smile on the minimally-exposed face of Z? That was enough to allay her fears of a possible rape. After all, Z was more than vocal over the last few months about his admiration of Kati's... errr, buttocks and general body shape. His remarks were borderline perverted.

Being in the business even just for a few years, Kati was used to comments like that. No, it was Z's increasing madness and his recent alignment with Trey Vincent that had made Kati a little apprehensive. After the Handicapped Fight earlier in the show, the girl with the toxic green hair was given something of an invite to meet The Masked Enigma -- who was still sweating profusely from the exertions of his legendary battle with Sarsgaard that concluded not too long ago. Truth be told, Kati found Z's offer intriguing but also somewhat puzzling. Curiousity won out in the end.

"Okay. What did you want to talk to me about?" Kati asked as she crossed the threshold and stepped into Z's locker-room. Two things immediately sprang to mind.

Z chuckled as he closed the door and saddled up besides Kati. "Yes, it's a hugggge locker-room, isn't it? Pays to be friends with Trey Vincent. And also, don't mind the company.

They're just my inner circle. Which is why I've invited you here tonight, dear Kati."

Kati cleared her throat and advanced towards an empty chair which Z was pointing at. It was the only vacant seat at a table occupied by several other people; referred to merely moments earlier by The Caped Crusader as his inner circle. Cautiously, Kati took a seat and crossed her legs. She tapped her forehead, to see if her wound from earlier in the show had been properly sewn up. She didn't want blood to suddenly start dripping down onto her lap.

With everything set in placed, Z proceed to the head of the table, sans a chair. He preferred to stand. "Quick introductions. I have, at this table, a collection of individuals that I have handpicked for my little project of sorts. You know Mark Shields, ACW's most bastardly referee. He's been my liasion to everything past and present in ACW, and after months of doing grunt work for me, it was only fitting for Marky Mark to get a seat at this round table and especially after taking more than one bullet for me earlier on. Yeah, Mark, the doctor's on his way. Stay cool.

Over there on the far end, is Shade. You might remember him from when I beat Chris Moliano the first time. He was at ringside recording everything. Ahhhh, I watch that DVD every damn night. Classic stuff. I'm very proud of what I accomplished that night.

Seated next to Shade is Evelin Matsuma. Not only is she my part-time PA, but she and Shade are in the All-Star Academy heeling it up. And doing a satisfactory job thus far. Which reminds me; I want to see more from the two of you in the next season of the Academy. Also, get ICU and Kelli to hurry up with the DVDs of the Academy shows for seasons two and three. I didn't inject money into the Academy for it be ignored by everybody out of the United States!"

Evelin Matsuma and Shade quickly nodded their heads, hoping to appease Z. That did the trick, as the Caped Crusader smiled again following a moment of intense scowling.

"Okay, then. Next to me is Kesavan. He's a Mongolian voodoo price or something like that!" Z explained, beaming. "He teamed up with Rory Hayes a few weeks ago in a match that sadly never made it to air. Shame, because Kesavan acting like a doofus was fun. Don't piss him off; not only is he big and strong, he could rip your heart out and have it for breakfast if he's in the mood.

And that rounds up the entourage. Malk Al-Haq is currently undergoing trials to see if he really can make it as a star, but even if he succeeds, he'll be part of the overall cabal that I've set up with Trey Vincent. These people, my inner circle? These are the people I'm trusting more than anything else in the world to assist me with the ACW project. And believe me when I say that this thing I'm running? Off tha hook.

Which is why, Kati, I'm extending a golden opportunity to you. You don't get to just be in the cabal.

I want you to be *my* right arm woman. My personal tool of underrated destruction. You will be a critical cog in my inner circle, and in return, I will mentor you to heights that you truly deserve to reach. I respect the work your previous mentor has done... but what I have planned? Oh ho ho, The Minutemen's legacy will be overriden and forgotten by the time this year is done and over with.

So, what do you say to all of that, Kati?

Will you answer the call, and step up to the plate? Will you join my inner circle?"

The girl with the toxic green hair? Suitably stunned. 10 pair of eyes were on her now (Shields was doing a little bit of ogling too but whatev), waiting for an answer. A decision.

Kati ran over the offer in her brain. It was surreal. For the past few months, she'd been directionless. Waiting for something to happen to reinvigorate her. Scuffles and fights with Kristinia Kage and Sharc helped to offset the lingering pain over losing Trevor Wilson, but she needed something more concrete.

And as a thin smile formed on her face, Kati knew that this opportunity was indeed too grand to pass up.

"Yes."

Z smirked like a badass. The rest of his inner circle stood up and clapped.

"Almost there, Z. Almost there."

The Summer of Z was well and truly... underway.

TRIPLE THREAT MATCH - STANDARD RULES
'Superstar' Vince Jacobs vs. Jade Argent vs. Max Danger
REFEREE: HENRY IRWONSEN

       

’LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, PLEASE BE UPSTANDING…’

A distinctive Jersey accent cut across the PA system as Arena OMSK dropped to complete darkness, leaving just one spotlight on the entranceway.

’FOR YOUR VIEWING PLEASURE, TONIGHT I HAVE ARRANGED SOMETHING VERY SPECIAL FOR YOU AMONGST ALL THESE TALENTLESS BLOODY BRAWLS…’

Within the spotlight stood Ira Cohn, pristine white smile glittering as the Russian crowd started raining down boos and jeers at him. They came for blood tonight, as they had on every night of this tour, they didn’t give a SHIT about Ira Cohn or his veto.

’I AM GOING TO PRESENT TO YOU A SHOWCASE BETWEEN THREE OF THE GREATEST WRESTLERS TO EVER EVER GRACE AN ALL-STAR CHAMPIONSHIP WRESTLING RING.

The spotlight followed the self-proclaimed super agent as he strode towards the ring.

’SO WITHOUT FURTHER A DO… THE FOLLOWING CONTEST IS A THREE WAY DANCE EXHIBITION MATCH WITH REGULAR RULES, FIRST FALL TO THE FINISH. FALLS MAY BE ATTAINED BY PIN, SUBMISSION OR DISQUALIFICATION~!’

And now Ira Cohn turned his back to the ring, pointing towards the entrance ramp below the SlyTron. A strange bass hum kicked in, and then…

And with that, the superstars were on the ramp.

SUPERSTAR VINCE JACOBS.

RHYME.

JADE ARGENT.

REASON.

MAX DANGER.

The three stood side by side as a bizarre mashup of their music ushered them towards the Russian ring that had already seen its fair share of bloodshed during this night so far.

As they made their way to the ring, Agent Ira Cohn stood near the ring clapping for the trio. Jade Argent climbed under the bottom rope, as Max Danger strolled up the stairs and climbed into the ring. Of course Jacobs was the last to enter the ring, a superstar of his caliber should always go last. He climbed onto the ring apron as Rhyme and Reason held the ropes open for the former World Champion to enter the ring. Jade noticed his valets opening the ropes for Jacobs and kinda shrugged it off. Referee Henry Irwonsen wasted no time in getting this started, as he motioned for the bell. All three men met in the middle of ring.

“Let’s show these peons what real wrestling looks like.” Jacobs said as all three men nodded and shook hands.

Argent and Jacobs locked up first in the middle of the ring, both men jocking for position. Danger looked on as Vince quickly got the upper hand and hip tossed Jade to the mat. The Australian Opportunist looked up at Vince and smirked before putting thumbs up motioning for a good job. Danger clapped as the two men displayed a wrestling move in this barbaric Russian tour. Jacobs helped Jade to his feet as Argent looked over to Max and motioned to him for the two of them to lock horns.

Max obliged as the two men locked up in the middle of the ring with this time Vince looking on. The Dangerman quickly went behind Argent and hooked him in a waist lock. Jade struggled but he eventually reversed the waist lock into one of his own. However Jade didn’t keep the waist lock on long as he drove Max down with a back suplex. Jacobs stood off to the side and saluted Jade as Max looked up at Vince with a sneer before shaking his head in an approving manner toward Argent.

Danger got to his feet as the crowd started to jeer at the boring competitive spirit these three technical wrestlers were showing.

Damn Russians all they wanted was blood.

Max got to his feet and pointed at Vince this time as Jade slowly made his way back to the corner, looking down at Rhyme and Reason who were both cheering. Argent’s look on his face was a look of disgust as he looked at his VETO stable mates about to lock up in the middle of the ring.

“They are probably cheering for him.” Argent thought to himself.

The camera panned back to the action as Max and Vince stood in the middle of the ring in a collar and elbow tie up. Jacobs was the heavier of the two and he tried to use that weight to his advantage. But Max being the crafty veteran he was quickly pulled Vince into a side head lock. Vince struggled to get out of the hold but every time he tried Max would pull him back into the hold with a handful of hair.

Danger pulled Jacobs over to the mat still with a deathly grip of the headlock. He pulled backwards but Vince was able to pull Danger’s head back and put it into a head scissors. Danger wasn’t in the hold for too long as he escaped to his feet looking at Jacobs. Vince made it to his feet and darted over to Max and shoved the former ACW Champion into the ropes. Jade had seen what was taking place as he made over to the two men.

“What the hell is your problem, Max?” Jacobs said

Jade stepped in the middle of the two men.

“I thought we were trying to put on a show for these pissants in Russia.” Max said with a grin.

Jacobs turned his head slightly to the mat, before looking out into the crowd. “You know what Max, you’re right. Let’s give them a show.”

Jade had breathed a sigh of relief for a few seconds before Jacobs threw a big right hand that caught Danger in the mouth. Max held the side of his mouth as Jade looked to calm him down but he was irate as he went after Jacobs knocking Argent down to the mat in the process. He and Jacobs went at it with rights and lefts. Argent’s planned was to put on a five star technical match for these fans but somehow everything started to deteriorate.

Jade got to his feet and grabbed Max from behind and drove him to the mat with a big belly to back suplex. He rolled to his side and then stood to his feet coming face to face with Vince Jacobs. Jade looked at the former World Champion and did something that no one expected and that was slap him in the face.

“What is wrong with you two? We came out for one reason and that was…”

But before Argent could finish his statement he was blasted with a right hand by Vince that sent the Australian Opportunist reeling backwards.

In case you didn’t realize you don’t slap Vince Jacobs.

Vince grabbed Argent and whipped him into the ropes. The King of the Cruiserweight bounced off the ropes and ducked a clothesline attempt by Jacobs.

BLAM

But he didn’t duck the clothesline from Max Danger who found himself back in this match. Danger hooked the leg for the cover.

ONE…

SAVE BY JACOBS!!

Vince pulled Max off of Jade and pushed him back to the corner. He nailed Max with a big right hand, followed by another one. Max was rocked but Vince wasn’t through as he nailed the former King of ACW with a big European uppercut. Jacobs grabbed Max by the hair with a little smirk on his face whipped the Dangerman into the opposite corner. Jacobs looked down at Rhyme and Reason for a split second before racing toward Danger in the corner.

This could be one of those times where that slight hesitation may cost Vince.

… and it did

Jacobs got nailed by a double boot from Danger. He staggered backwards and was quickly drilled to the mat with a Russian Legsweep from Jade.

The crowd popped.

No not for Jade Argent

They popped for the move, you know the Russian Legsweep.

Damn Russians are so easy to please.

Max Danger saw his opening as he bolted out of the corner but Jade was waiting for him and dropped him with a spinning heel kick. Argent quickly hooked Danger’s leg for the cover. Henry Irowonsen dropped down for the cover.

ONE…

TWO…

KICKOUT BY DANGER!!

Argent looked over at Jacobs and hooked his leg for the cover. Irowonsen started his count.

ONE…

TWO…

KICKOUT BY JACOBS!!

Argent rolled off of Jacobs and went back over to Max, driving a right hand into his face before picking him up. He slammed Max to the mat then dropped a series of elbows onto the former ACW Champion. Argent picked up Max by the hair and whipped him into the ropes. Max held onto the ropes as Argent looked on. The Australian Opportunist wasn’t going to be outdone as he went to the ropes which prompted Danger to back body drop Jade over the top rope to the floor.

Max turned to yell and point and Jade on the floor not noticing that Vince was on his feet. Jacobs raced across the ring and nailed Max with a dropkick to his back. The impact took Max tumbling through the middle ropes to the floor. Jade was starting to get to his feet as Jacobs looked down at the carnage. Vince waited for a few seconds before climbing up onto the top rope. Jacobs dove off the top rope on to the floor.

Can you say Corkscrew Plancha – That’s Superstardom when SVJ does it bitches…

Oh yeah that crowd noise was the ever popular Holy Shit chants. Now the Russian crowd was getting into this match.

СВЯТОЕ ДЕРЬМО!!

СВЯТОЕ ДЕРЬМО!!

СВЯТОЕ ДЕРЬМО!!

СВЯТОЕ ДЕРЬМО!!

СВЯТОЕ ДЕРЬМО!!

All three men now lay on the floor as Rhyme, Reason, and Ira came around to help the men. However that didn’t stop Henry Irwonsen from counting.

ONE…

TWO…

THREE…

This match can’t end on a count out. That’s why Rhyme and Reason was helping Vince and max to their feet while Ira was helping Jade to his.

FOUR…

FIVE…

SIX…

SEVEN…

Ira finally got Jade into the ring to break the count. Vince slowly rolled into the ring as did Max. Jacobs was up to his feet first as he went over to Max for the cover. Henry dropped to the mat.

ONE…

TWO…

KICKOUT

Jacobs quickly hooked both legs this time on Max.

ONE…

TWO…

KICKOUT AGAIN!!

Vince sat up a bit frustrated that he couldn’t get the pin. The Superstar slowly turned to see Jade still struggling to his feet. He rushed in for a clothesline attempt but Jade quickly ducked and caught Jacobs with a Hangman’s neck breaker. Argent picked up Jacobs and quickly put him back down to the mat with a T-Bone suplex. Vince having been dropped on his head twice roll to the floor. He lay by the steel steps holding his head as Argent peered over to him before focusing his attention toward Max Danger.

Argent looked at Max as the two men slowly walked to the middle of the ring. They looked around the arena as the Russian fans wanted blood. But Jade knew what they wanted and he wasn’t going to give it to them, however Max’s face told another story as he drove a right hand into Jade’s temple that stagger the King of the Cruiserweights backwards. Danger continued his onslaught toward Jade all the way into the corner, where he pounded Argent into the mat with vicious strikes.

The Australian Opportunist could do nothing but cover up to attempt to block some of the blows from the Dangerman. Danger reached down and grabbed Jade’s hair as he looked out into the crowd. He propped Argent’s body up in the corner and delivered a vicious chop that sent the King of the Cruiserweight reeling from the corner holding his chest. Another vicious chop was delivered and heard throughout ARENA OMSK.

WHOOOO!!

WHOOOO!!

Ah the universal language one should make after a Ric Flair-eqse chop.

Argent held his blood red chest again as Danger grabbed him from behind and locked on a sleeper hold. The former King of Submissions continued to put his weight on Jade’s back making him carry both Max’s weight and his own. This would make Jade fall to sleeper faster. Irwonsen grabbed under Argent’s chin to check the hold to make sure it wasn’t a choke before looking at Jade falter a bit. Irwonsen picked up jade’s arm.

IT FELL ONCE…

He picked up the arm again.

It FELL ONCE AGAIN…

If it falls one more time Max Danger will pick up a win. Irwonsen picked up Jade’s arm for the third and final time but this time it didn’t fall as Argent held his arm in the air. Jade tried to pump himself up to get to his feet. He drove several elbows into Max’s midsection to break the hold. Max finally released the sleeper hold as Jade ran toward the ropes but Max was waiting for Jade with a clothesline that stopped any momentum that Jade had.

Max saw Vince started to roll into the ring and drove a kick to his head sending him back to the floor. The Dangerman grabbed for Jade but Argent quickly hooked him in an inside cradle, Henry Irwonsen was out of position as he raced around the count.

ONE…

TWO…

KICKOUT!!

Both men got their feet but Jade being the quicker of the two sent Danger to one knee with a dropkick to the other knee. The self proclaimed King of the Cruiserweights promptly nailed Danger with an Enziguri Kick. Danger lay flat on the mat as Jade went for the cover.

ONE…

TWO…

PIN BROKEN UP BY JACOBS!!

Vince was in the ring now and he just kept the match alive. He grabbed Jade by the hair and whipped him into the ropes but Vince must have been still groggy as he went for a back body drop. The only problem was Argent put on the breaks and kicked Vince in the face. Jade grabbed Vince and took him down with an inverted Russian Legsweep. But instead of going for the pinfall on Jacobs, Jade grabbed Vince’s leg and went for a heel hook submission on the Superstar.

Vince was screaming in pain as Jade continued the pressure on his left heel. The fans screamed as they were sure that Vince was going to tap out but the Icon continued to hold on while trying to reach for the ropes. Jacobs continued to yell and scream as he tried to reach for the mat. The pain was unbearable as Jacobs looked to be ready to pass out or tap out. But before he could Max Danger was on his feet and gave Jade a double chop to the throat.

Jade released the hold while staggering forward right into the waiting arms of danger who drove him down with a DDT. Jacobs was trying to stand to his feet but really couldn’t and Max knew this and saw his opening. Dangerman slowly stalked Vince as the Icon pulled himself up into the corner. Max nailed Vince with a straight palm thrust. He grabbed Vince and whipped him into the corner but Vince reversed it and sent Max into the corner.

But Max didn’t go into the corner very nicely.

He hit the ring post with his shoulder very hard.

Jade was finally up on his feet as he was slowly pulling Max out of the corner. I am not sure if he was concerned or trying to take advantage of the situation. But the problem was that Jade forgot about Vince and as soon as Jade turned around, Vince was standing in front of him. He smiled and pointed down to Max. Jade went to pick up Max but Vince quickly turned Argent around and kicked him in the stomach.

WHAMMM!!

STAR STRUCK ON JADE!!

Vince dropped down for the cover on Jade.

ONE…

TWO…

THREE…

It’s over as Vince Jacobs picks up the win in this three way match. Ira looked on pissed in the ring as Jade and Max lay in the ring. Jacobs smirked at Ira and winked to Rhyme and Reason before slipping out of the ring holding his hands high in the air.

All Stars Must Fade To Black

   

The scene faded to the backstage area of the Arena Omsk, Jesse Ramey was found by the camera man in the area. He strolled along the corridor wearing only a pair of faded American Eagle jeans and Bed Stu leather dress shoes. His shirt given away earlier in the night, to someone he once considered a good friend.

His back was covered in whelps and red dots from the thumbtacks during his match earlier in the night with Khristian Keller. His arm rested across his taped midsection, each step looking as though it was taking his breath from him.

Jesse stopped mid step, and turned his head revealing the numerous amounts of stitching strewn across his forehead. He looked on at the door in front of him for several moments, before taking his free hand and running it through his hair. A bit of malice seemed to cross his face before walking toward the door.

The gold star on the door had only one name affixed to it. ALIAS!

Jesse cautiously pushed the door to the room open, no knock involved. He stepped in seeing Alias repairing his wounds from earlier in the night; and noticing his black button-up dress shirt resting on the benches across the way.

No words were spoken, only a passing glance as Jesse stepped further into the room grabbing a black folding chair that rested against the wall. Unlike the many times in the past, Jesse kept a distance between himself and Alias as he unfolded the chair and straddled it backwards.

There was an eerie silence in the room for several moments, Alias staring at Ramey. Jesse merely looking toward the ground, his chin resting on his folded arms; but just as Alias was about to break the silence Jesse slowly popped his head back up.

“Around three months ago,” Jesse started his facial expressions bleak. “You were backed into a corner, and a situation that you would have most likely gladly taken on head long. You were faced with the obstacle of going against a former World Champion and a very lethal rising star that had made his name on another major circuit.”

A silence filled the air once again, but before Alias had the chance to speak, again, “Anyone in that locker room could have come out to try and help you. But there was one individual who was quick on the gun to make his way out to aid you and show you that he had your back. Do you remember who that man was Chris?”

Jesse proposed the question to Alias, but yet again before Alias had the chance to respond, “That man was me Chris, I can to help you that night. And though I have no doubt in my mind that you would have cleaned the house with both of them had I not came to help you. It was the simple fact of the matter that I was willing to take my night off and aid you when I thought it was necessary.”

“And though we had been entangled for the past four months,” Jesse paused, “where have you been the past two months?”

Jesse posed another question to the Original Pulp Hero, but would not let his explanation reach more than a gurgle. “I have done, and seen things, that no man in his right state of mind should ever have to come to grips with. Not even in a lifetime would any normal person be able to handle, or even be made to endure without losing a little bit of their self being.”

“Has anyone come to my aid over the past two months, Chris?” Jesse questioned, still an emotionless look on his face. “Has anyone tried to help me cope with the things that have happened over the past two months? No, I have walked my path alone, and even tonight I wasn’t able to keep my emotions under wraps long enough to end a match that I could have very well won on two separate occasions.”

“But what it all boils down to, Chris,” Jesse pausing once more, this time intently staring into Alias’ eyes. “Who came to help you tonight when the odds looked stacked against you once again? In a locker room full of stars, who was the one man that came to help his friend once again when he was in need?”

“Keller must not have stripped me of every fiber in my body, Chris; because I still felt the compassion needed to come your aid tonight.” Jesse once again paused, a slight smirk coming to rest on his lip, “In a locker room full of stars, Chris; I’ve come to find myself more of the ANTI-STAR than anything else.”

Finally, Jesse rested his chin back upon his folded arms, and the room was silenced for several moments.

"Well, from one begrudgingly named All-Star to one Anti-Star of all the things that I ain't bad at..." Alias started, rubbing at the thick goatee that had been cut nice and short to his chin, "I'm absolutely shit at keeping friends."

There was another pause in the room. Ramey gave a look of 'Is that it?', but as soon as he might have said something, the Pulp Hero indeed continued.

"I'm good at hitting people, I've got damn good timing when it comes to finding a good fight and I take a beating better than most any other son of a bitch out there."

Alias shrugged.

And I make a mean grilled cheese sandwich." Jesse Ramey just sat there, a cold and quiet look on his face as he continued to look at the floor, "But apparently I can't make a person laugh for the life a' me."

"Look I'm more thankful then you'll ever know, for the help you've given me. Both way back when, when ya kept that belt around my waist for another couple of weeks, and even more for tonight... if you'll believe that. I've kept a burden with me, that weighs heavier than any World Championship I've ever held... and that damn bird wanted to take it off of me for whatever reason. However he knew about it. However he thought he could take it, because a hell of a lot of people have tried and none of them have ever been successful. But that's alright... cause it's my burden to hold. And for now, well, this shirt has helped keep it that way.

Nice and hidden, away from polite company." Alias's hand rested on his stomach.

"But I won't make excuses for not being there for ya. Hell, what good would that do? I'll admit that it pained me to see ya lay a wake of professionals behind you, one career after another, as Keller looked to get more and more into your head... guess I expected you to handle yourself better."

Alias stood with a pained expression on his face, and looked over Ramey, whose fists and arms had tensed after that last comment. The Pulp Hero's body was still aching from the earlier attack from the hands of the mysterious Carrion, but damn it if that bird was going to keep him out of this revitalized four-way of a main event.

Jesse slowly stood from the steel chair, folded it back up, and placed it against the wall. “In any other situation, I probably would have handled this whole thing much better. I didn’t though, and a little piece of my soul seemed to have darkened because of it.”

Jesse slowly walked toward the door of the room, and then slowly turned back to Alias, a solemn look painting his face. “And yet, I don’t even seem to care.”

FATAL FOUR-WAY ASYLUM ORIGINAL RULES - ACW WORLD TITLE
Midnight Cowboy vs. Keith Scott Zimmerman
vs. Alias vs. Trey Vincent ©
REFEREE: HENRY IRWONSEN

           

Electric Rodeo by Shooter Jennings.

The sound of Midnight Cowboy's spurs were amplified and clanked ominously as he appeared at the top of the stage, soaking in the Russian pleasure that was raining down on him.

He’d take a shot of vodka in celebration of the voracious crowd, if he wasn’t so much of a whiskey man himself. Cowboy adjusted the Spirit of ACW around his waist, as if it were an over-sized rodeo belt buckle and stepped up into the ring. Just a few short hours ago he had expected to be part of the opening match of the night… but Trey Vincent had other ideas.

So in turn, Midnight Cowboy had other ideas and he inserted himself in the main event in the place of the injured Shawn Jessica Hart. That’s the way the world goes round; one minute you’re up, the next you're down. From opener to the main event, that’s the path the Spirit of ACW found.

Still, he had to wipe his boots on the mat and had over his silver strap to Henry Irwonsen, because he was merely the first man who was going to be stepping into this sacred squared circle.

My Wave by Soundgarden entered the earlobes of every Russian in attendance.

Another round of cheers, this time from Russia with love: To Allison and Keith Scott Zimmerman.

The crowd erupted in cheers as the Zimmermans came down to ringside under the heavy driving grunge. While Keith was actually receiving the crowd's love, his reaction was diametrically opposite to Midnight Cowboy’s, and he merely stared at the Spirit of ACW from the bottom of the rampway. Zimmerman merely began to lift the black-on-turquoise straps as Henry Irwonsen looked on nervously.

Because there was still the next competitor set to come out… if he could make it.

Sympathy for the Devil by the Rolling Stones…

And as the man it belonged to didn’t immediately come out to the sound of Mick Jagger’s beck and call, all those in attendance wondered… would he be able to?

After what Carrion had done to him, even with Jesse Ramey’s assistance?

RAAAAAAARRR

I suppose Omsk had spotted him and responded in kind. Yes, he could make it. Yes, he DID make it. Black pants with red etchings, the colors of war, was what he wore, and with it, a loosely buttoned up black dress shirt. Sure, the shirt seemed out of place, but Alias was nothing if not a man of contraditions. A pugilist with a poet’s heart. He called out with that voice that seemed more at home at the back of a smokey bar, then the top of an entrance way in the Omsk Arena.

So it was, that he’d get a chance to regain his World Championship from the very man who took it from him, and all on the eve of Fight Night.

Speaking of that very man who had taken the title from Alias?

Did you think that Omsk was set to love and bathe cheers on all those who come to the ring for the main event?

Yeah, that love-in was well and truly dead the moment that Trey Vincent stepped out from the back.

"I'm Bad" by Last Vegas hit, and THE ONLY WORLD CHAMPION THAT MATTERS stepped out and walked halfway down the aisle before stopping.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! FUCK YOU TREY! BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! YOU SON OF A WHORE! BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
(Except translate to Russian, and repeat 15,000x)

His eyes locked first with KSZ, before switching over to Alias. Vincent twisted his head to the right side, looking at the Spirit of ACW. Midnight Cowboy had made his job a lot harder since the beating of SJH was supposed to give him much better odds. Yet… the man who had defeated him for HIS TV title (well, Trey never held it...but...damnit, it was named after him!) was set to use his Spirit of ACW and his earned title shot to face the Sports Entertainment Icon in combat.

The music did not fade out. Instead, Vincent held up his ACW World Championship title high in the air, stared up at for a moment, and then returned his gaze toward three of his biggest rivals standing in the ring.

The crowd loved THEM… and hated HIM.

It might be too much for most men to handle, but then again most men weren’t TREY F’N VINCENT. Plus, he had all the ‘friends’ he needed with Z, obviously.

So suck his balls, and enjoy the main event, won’t you?

Trey Vincent unsnapped the World title belt and handed it to Henry Irwonsen, whotried to establish the rules of the match for it’s competitors.

Since this was a World Title Match, the match would be fought under original Asylum Rules: Knockouts, Submissions, Ring-Outs. No pinfalls, no disqualifications. Since this was a four-way match, the first KO, Sub or Ring-Out would prove fatal, and the man responsible for it would be victorious.

See, Henry TRIED… but all four competitors were raring for a fight. Hell, the most liked man in the match (Midnight Cowboy) still went right after the World Champion (Trey Vincent), as the Original Pulp Hero (Alias) and the Pound-For-Pound Number One Wrestler In The World (Zimmerman) went toe-to-toe.

The main event had quickly devolved into chaos, as the capping off of more then a month of Scorpion-themed matches should.

The opening moments of the match were chaotic with Keith Scott Zimmerman and Midnight Cowboy double teaming Trey Vincent.

The crowd suddenly began to cheer as Alias, of all people, came to the aid of Trey Vincent, hitting Keith Scott Zimmerman with a spinebuster. TV managed to take down Midnight Cowboy and lock in a quick leg grapevine, punching at his heel. Meanwhile, KSZ had gained the advantage on Alias, and was already targeting the Pulp Hero’s dodgy mid-section. KSZ executed a simple go-behind on his larger opponent before putting Alias in a bear hug. Alias began to groan because of the large amount of pain, and the referee Irwonsen quickly went to check if Alias was going to give up, but before Alias had a chance to say anything, Trey Vincent broke the hold. TV raked Zimmerman's eyes, and quickly hoisted him up onto his shoulder. He ran towards the side of the ring, looking to toss him out of the ring to win the match.

The crowd roared in excitement and dread, but Midnight Cowboy was quick to dig in his spurs and drop-toe hold Trey Vincent, causing the Sports Entertainment to awkwardly toss KSZ in the ropes. Zimmerman spilled into the ropes, before thudding to the mat on the inside of the ring. Quickly following in on his opportunity, the Cowboy snapmared over a still-dazed World Champion before snapping off a harsh kick right into his spine. The Cowboy smiled at his handiwork before Alias stumbled to his feet, firing off a harsh kick right into the chest of Mr. Vincent. Keith nudged aside the Cowboy, and leapt into the air before connecting with a dropkick to the back of Trey's head.

The Spirit of ACW merely chuckled at this, or maybe he was seeing the cartoon bluebirds currently encircling the Franchise Player's head. "Shucks, Keet," drawled MC. "That ain't nuthin'."

SPLACK! Another harsh kick to the back, and Trey winced and groaned as he felt his L4s and L5s being corrupted. A low, throaty chuckle escaped the lips of the Heart & Soul of ACW. "I could do a little better." THWACK! Another harsh kick to the chest of Trey Vincent, who fell back upon impact wondering how things could get any worse for him. He began to sit up, and then felt his brains scrambled as Keith merely ran up to him from behind and drilled him with an even stiffer dropkick to the back of the head than he'd hit him with earlier, the Russian crowd merely cheering their lungs out over Trey's beatdown as the ever-confident Zimmerman proclaimed "THAT'S how you fuck his shit up!"

Vincent's feet banged against the mat as he howled in pain. He was Trey Vincent! The World Champion! Furious, he wheeled to his feet.

"I'M TREY FUCKING VINCENT! THE WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION, YOU IDIOTS! STOP! KICKING! MEEEEEEE!"

Point made. Alias & the Cowboy shrugged, as Keith merely moved behind them. Wow. A plea for non-violence in a wrestling ring had actually ahahahahaahh I'm just kidding. Up the bigger men lifted Vincent, while Keith merely jumped up and hooked his head, the triumverate of challengers neatly splatterfying the champion with a souped-up PROBLEM SOLVER!

The crowd ovated harder, as Trey groaned upon impact. Since they'd failed to knock him out, the match rolled onwards. Alias immediately ran up to Keith and waylaid him with a stiff clothesline, Zimmerman promptly making sweet love to the canvas after he hit it.

There the Spirit stood. There the former Spirit stood. Right hand from Alias. Bigger right from the Cowboy, that staggered Alias back a bit. A little surprised by this, Alias launched himself with a bigger right hand, that got the Spirit back on his own heels a little bit now. Undettered, the man from Texas threw a right. It would've been blocked by Alias, but it was merely a feint to knee Alias in his banged-up ribcage, and Sheffield doubled over as the Cowboy gave an emphatic nod to his smarts before running into the ropes.

Here came the clothesline--wait, where the hell was Ali--clotheslined emphatically as he turned around, and the Cowboy was laid out, too. Follow opponent into the ropes, opponent comes back to victim nowhere in sight, turns around, gets clotheslined. Pretty smart of Alias, all things considered. With all the opponents in the match currently in states of distress, Alias immediately zoomed over to the fallen Vincent and began locking up his arm!

The crowd buzzed as Alias looked to lock in his signature Anarchy's Lullaby on the World Champion, but Trey decided he'd already taken more than his fair share of punishment in the match and immediately began to scramble for the ropes out of instinct. However, this got him out of one trap (as Alias let go of his arm) and into another (as Alias tried to get underneath him and muscle him over the top)! The AIL EE US chant started up from the Ruskies as Trey, in a desperate attempt to save his title, grabbed both the middle and the bottom ropes and clenched them in his fists to avoid elimination, legs kicking frenetically--and here came Keith Scott Zimmerman to break it up by grabbing Alias by the back of the head,

The fallen reverse DDT shook the ring, but Trey managed to quickly cocoon himself in the middle rope by hugging it with his whole body. KSZ immediately went over to the ropes to try and ride the momentum by stomping on Vincent's body but so far catastrophe had been avoided by the Only World Champion That Matters. Sneering, Zimmerman kept stomping away on Trey out of sheer gleeful spite, before he suddenly found himself going Air Russia via a European stopover.

German suplex by the Cowboy! Zimmerman's knees were almost touching his face before his body decrumpled, and with that pesky fly out of the way the Cowboy was set to take on--here came Alias--back body drop--and there GOES Alias...but he's back on his feet--sidewalk slam from the Cowboy. The Spirit of ACW looked like every bit the definition of a double champion in the making as he took advantage of a weakened Vincent by booting him in the gut, before underhooking an arm, then the other one for a little VOICES AFTER MIDNIG--blocked by Alias and Keith jumping him from behind! They quickly laid in forearm shots to the back of his head as well as his back before throwing him over the top rope!

Oh, shit.

We have two World Champions? Did one of them just become the Spirit?!

Nope, MC landed on the apron to the cheers of the capacity crowd, before switching up his offense to surprise his would-be surprisers. Springboarding off the top rope, the Cowboy fleeeeeeeeeeeeew through the skies like a bald eagle on the Fourth! AMERICA! FUCK YEAH!

Chris Sheffield looked up, then rolled to the side towards Henry.

Keith Scott Zimmerman looked up, then fell onto his chest to avoid it.

Trey Vincent looked up, and wondered why he couldn't see the ring lights.

"...ah, fuck!"

COWBOY SPRINGBOARD CROSSBODY! The champion was crushed under the near 280-pounder. Poor Trey. The Cowboy looked around, as Zimmerman was pulling himself up in a corner, and turned around to approach Keith with a charging splash. Zimmerman immediately nipped up up and over the charging Cowboy, and did a barrel roll under an Alias clothesline to hit the opposite side corner and fly off with a bulldog---err---bulldog--oh, Alias is backing up BACK SUPLEX INTO THE CORNER! Not only that, but the residual effect dumped Keith on his face, and as Alias charged BIG BOOT FROM THE COWBOY COUNTERED by Alias spinning him in a circle

CLICK

CLICK

WELCOME TO ACW, MOTHERFUCKER!

The combination combo strike signature of Alias had been embellished by the hammerlock/lariat combination, and with the Cowboy felled, Alias saw his moment. After all, he didn't need to beat Trey himself under these first-to-the-finish rules; the Spirit would do just fine under those conditions. So Alias began to pick up the Cowboy, muscling over the man who'd beaten his former compatriot for the Spirit. Trey Vincent hit Alias from behind, causing him to break the grip on the Cowboy. Vincent, finally feeling a surge of familiar adrenaline, grabbed onto Alias to muscle him over, only to feel himself being grabbed by the still-entwined Midnight Cowboy--what the hell?! Alias was trying to get over the Cowboy, who was trying to get over the World Champion, who was trying to get over Alias--and this all would've been fine. Y'know, had this match been a triple threat.

It wasn't.

And a black-on-turquoise bullet rushed through the ringspace and charged the pile, sending everybody over the top!

"AND NEWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW ACW WORLD HEAVYWEIIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT CHAMPION, KEITH! SCOTT! ZIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIMERMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNN!"

This is what Keith expected to hear upon bumrushing the mass of humanity and sending them over.

However, all of them had managed to hang onto the ropes or land on the apron, and as such Keith immediately went from gleeful revelry to frustration over not having a single man of the three hit concrete to give him the biggest prize in the game today. So, Zimmerman charged, hoping to finish this thing off all proper-like.

Unfortunately for him, the Cowboy had decided to hangman him when he got back in grabbing range. And doubly unfortunately for him, when the Cowboy completed the hangman, he landed butt-first on the apron and while a leg dangled over the side he didn't hit the floor--actually, he slid in under the bottom rope and deftly avoided the fight on the apron.

You see, with the two of them somewhat out of their way, Trey & Alias were still in a sort of stalemate and checkmate at the same time. If either could knock the other off to the floor right now while the Cowboy & Zimmer had their little detente inside the ring, that man would either hold -- or REhold, making history by having it for a fourth time in the process -- the ACW World Heavyweight Title. Alias lashed out with a right, and Trey wobbled backwards as he held onto the top rope. Acting quickly, Sheff kicked the arm up off the top rope, and Trey fell backwards. His torso hung over the side of the ring, and Alias was inches away from becoming

OOOOH!

That is the sound everybody everywhere in the history of mankind makes when a man has been kicked in the ballsack, and Alias now held onto the top rope himself to steady his balance and keep himself from losing the match. Trey Vincent, panting for air, grabbed the middle rope to regain his equilibrium before grabbing the top rope and getting to his feet to finish this off once and for all.

VINCENT INCOMING!

Alias backdrop!

VINCENT AIRBORNE!

OOOOH! Alias fell to his knees before rolling back into the ring. Meanwhile, Trey Vincent had been sent head-over-heels, and had very neatly managed to land on the turnbuckle. Unfortunately, since he was not in control of his body, he had landed on it with his crotch. His eyes rolled into the back of his head as he fell down into a Tree of Woe, whimpering.

Ah, well. At least things couldn't get any BASEMENTMURDERDEATHKEITH!

Vincent collapsed in a heap as Keith drilled him in the jawbone with a leg lariat so stiff you would've thought I'd said "Christina Hendricks tittyfucking Halle Berry".

...good times.

ANYHOW!

Trey: hurt.

Keith: happy.

Midnight Cowboy THREW KEITH BETWEEN THE ROPES!

"Your winner of the match, the Spirit of ACW and NEWWWWWWWWWWW---" wait a second...did that say between?

Oh, shit.

It did.

Keith landed on his feet, quickly looking to Henry to make sure he'd caught it. But while Henry was busy making sure he caught all the rules

A-BOMB!

To: alias@acw.net
From: midnightcowboy@acw.net
Subject: A-Bomb
Text:

Naw.

A-BOMB!

With the grace of a cruiser, MC overrotated to land on his feet before kneeing Alias in the gut, and then underhooking his arms. But since Alias was moving, the Voices went unheard. No matter.

FUTURE SHOCK!

And since time was of the essence, Cowboy quickly snapped off an emphatic legsweep double-arm DDT, flooring Alias and leaving him alone in the ring with Trey Vincent. Zimmerman slid in the ring behind Cowboy, just in time to see MC underhook Vincent's arms.

"OVER HERE!" he yelled, and the Cowboy turned around. They looked at each other, but when Zimmerman brought down both of his arms at the same time, MC allowed himself a small smile before hoisting up the Minnesota native.

SPIKED VOICES AFTER MIDNIGHT!

Here lies Trey Vincent. He was 34 years old. But he was a class-A fucktard anyway, so turn up the stereo and let's get the cute caterer in the broom closet, amIright? Did Omsk love it? Bet your sweet ass they did. The Spirit & the Only Wrestler That Matters had taken Trey Vincent, his neck, and now his World Title reign and snapped it like a pretzel in the meaty paw of King Kong. The Cowboy proferred his hand to Keith, a sign of respect for the tandem job well done.

Keith smiled at the former PIW stalwart, and put his hand out as well HIT MY MUSIC!

Oh, Cowboy.

The wrecking ball went boom and pound as Keith shut the Spirit down with his trademark double-knee facebuster. The crowd booed, the crowd cheered, but Keith didn't really give a rat's ass about either reaction. (It's his way.) What he was formulating in his mind was the next step of attack, and as he saw it--two down, and one to go.

THE one, really.

As Chris Sheffield got to his feet, woozy and disoriented, he was pleased to hear that no music was playing. It meant the match was still going on, and despite the litany of punishment he'd taken all night long that the Crown Jewel of ACW was out there for the taking.

OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

And then Keith Scott Zimmerman snuck up on him from behind, and snuffed out those dreams. He took the arms of Alias, wrapped them around his own throat to press forearms to thorax, then snapped back and let his knees and gravity do the work.

It was as such that Alias became the first victim of the ARKHAM LUNGBLOWER! The straightjacket double knee backbreaker's debut had left Keith Scott Zimmerman and Henry Irwonsen the last two men standing in the ring. KSZ's evil SMIRK~! fell upon the World Heavyweight Champion, and with a nod towards Henry, set himself upon his destiny, and mustered up the fallen Trey Vincent to make sure there wouldn't be any of TV's usual dodginess or complaints when it came to how he won the title.

That was the last thought that Keith Scott Zimmerman would have before Trey Vincent high-fived his genitals with his fist. From a knee, Trey grabbed Keith by a strap of his singlet -- the one man in the match in such attire -- fell back, yanked hard, and let gravity do the rest.

And then?

Then the bell rang.

...

The act of "Lost Vegas" coming back over the PA had sent a crowd in Omsk who were once deliriously happy into a near-riotous state, and as a stunned KSZ clutched his genitals on the concrete, it'd been apparent: Trey had suckered him with a move right out of his own playbook. In the ring, a disoriented Spirit of ACW rolled to his side, still woozy. Henry checked on him, but his pride had been hurt worse, and he'd been hurt worse.

Alias breathed in and breathed out, looking up at the lights, pissed off beyond all recourse, busted ribs or not.

And a lone, single solitary man stumbled up the rampway. He couldn't make it. He fell onto his back and his side. He was breathing just as hard as Alias. He was as disoriented -- hell, worse -- than the Midnight Cowboy. And he was hurting just as bad as Keith Scott Zimmerman.

The difference between the three of them and Trey Vincent?

As Courage faded to black, despite the sweat on his brow and the pain on his face, his hands weren't empty.

They clutched greedily to his chest his baby: the ACW World Heavyweight Title.