A C W




YOU GOTTA FIGHT
FIGHT NIGHT 2010 ¤ 24 JUNE 2010
OLIMPIYSKIY, MOSCOW, RUSSIA

Before The Chaos Begins

           

Jeremy Hunt stood looking down at what was a currently intact Olimpiyskiy Arena in Moscow, Russia. Watching the hordes ready themselves for the sea of violence which they were about to witness in possibly the sickest two hours of professional wrestling that anyone could ever hope to see.

The weird brainchild of SilverHAWK had grown arms and legs since it's inception last year in what was an off the cuff idea which had turned into a global event.

SilverHAWK didn't like that one bit nor did he like how Hunt was using it for his own gain.

He stood in the back, looking around him at the various parts of the arena which would be destroyed by the nights end.

Little did he know that over an hour from now the door he now stood beside would be on fire or that the vehicle which he came in to the arena in would be a grave for Mark Weiler.

Little did he know that someone would not leave this arena tonight in one piece.

Hunt cracked his knuckles as he salivated at the thought of what tonight meant to him and his cause. He had been planning a chance like this for a number of years, unknown to anyone but his bodyguard WAR, who was standing by the door having just said goodbye to Koschei the Carrion.

Those three men tonight had a plan which no-one in the arena tonight would be able to foresee, not even their target.

If we told you by the end of tonight a number of bones would be broken and pints of blood will have been shed in the name of ACW, would you believe us?

Course you would.

If we told you by the end of tonight Omega will have gone through hell and back just for a chance to retain his title as the God of the Fight, would you believe us?

Course you would.

But if we told you that Jeremy Hunt, accompanied by the Carrion, would be holding a blood soaked title in the air in two hours time to claim his victory, would you believe us?

Didn't think you would.

Only one way to find out.

ha ha ha

... you never saw this comin'...

The Moscow crowd was a mass of excitement, they were almost as wild as things had been in ACW as of late. But then again, not nearly.

Their attention was captured as the lights drew down and the SlyTron came fizzling to life with a moment of static before a black-screen took over and “The Last Beat of My Heart” by DeVotchka begins playing.

“In the sharp gust of love,
My memory stirred,”

The crowd was a bit lost for a moment until images began flooding the screen, and their confusion gave way to gooseflesh-inducing awe. They’d not seen his face for so long…

2007 LoC Lethal LoCdown Match

The event had all but been erased from the record books because of the gruesome injury that had transpired. It was meant to have been the biggest night in The Young Lion’s life.

Contending for the coveted Legacy Championship, Billows was also competing for his place in history’s highlight reel. He’d scaled the cage walls all the way to the ceiling of the demonic structure as his opponents braced themselves wide-eyed.

If things had gone as planned, it would have been no issue for three veterans such as Derecho, Alias and Ninja K to soften his fall. But, alas, things had not gone as planned.

Billows’ hand had slipped as he swung back and forth, searching for the perfect amount of momentum, and what would have been the most innovative Shooting Star Press the world had ever seen quickly spiraled out of control.

As his life rounded up flashing before his eyes, Billows landed back-first with a snap on the top-rope.

The fans cringed, this being the first time many of them had seen this particular footage from the match. They’d all heard about it, and they had all wondered what had become of The Young Lion…

When time wreathed a rose,
A garland of shame,
Its thorn my only delight,
War torn, afraid to speak,

LoC’s Only The Strong, 2005

In the match that made him, Billows had faced off against Ninja K. The match had gone back and forth, and while the two men went onto top this particular match, it is still hailed as a classic by fans and industry insiders alike. Originally called a draw, Scott Riktor had ordered that the match go into overtime.

While Ninja K had taken the victory in this particular match, Billows had managed to capture the attention of millions, but this moment in the match is what fans around the world remember about it.

Billows and Ninja K had spilled out of the ring and found their way atop the announce table. Billows proceeded to wrap Ninja K up and send him soaring into the crowd via an incredible Exploder Suplex. The fourth and fifth row had to disperse in the blink of an eye to avoid the body of a flying Ninja K. And of course, the “Holy Shit” chants had followed.

The Russian fans knew that chant as well, at least as far as what it meant in respecting the men and women putting their bodies on the line for their entertainment.

“Holi Sheet! Holi Sheet!”

We dare to breathe,
Majestic,
Imperial,
A bridge of sighs,
Solitude sails,
In a wave of forgiveness,
On angels' wings,

LoC’s Self Destruction, 2006

Billows had been involved in a feud with the one and only Shawn Jessica Hart, and it all culminated in this match. SJH and Billows had been involved in a war of pranks that grew more and more ridiculous with each passing week, but Billows was all business in this I Quit match.

He’d had beer spit in his face, gumballs lobbed at him, and a dildo wielded at him as though it was a light-saber(cause as far as Shawn Jessica Hart was concerned, it WAS a light-saber), but Billows had come for the victory over The Prime Minister of Gettin’ Sinister. Even if he’d had to pull out all the stops.

Billows had climbed ¾ of the way up the LegacyTron before leaping off with his elbow extended. He’d come crashing down on the sprawled out body of Shawn Jessica Hart, sending them both through the stage as referee Tony Stone called for paramedics that would be deemed unnecessary two minutes later.

Moscow remembered this moment well, and they were all clapping and cheering now.

“Reach out your hands,
Don't turn your back,
Don't walk away,
How in the world,
Can I wish for this?”

Now the screen revealed a heart-wrenching photo of a terribly skinny Ryan Billows forcing a timid smile from a hospital bed, hooked up to a bevy of tubes.

That wasn’t the same lion of a man that they had come to know, and many of the fans had a hard time seeing that photo.

“Never to be torn apart,
Close to you,
'Til the last beat,
Of my heart,”

The clips now came at rapid-fire pace. Billows hitting JCON with The Berwynian Moonsault Drop, Billows leaping out of the ring, spiraling into an unsuspecting Arch Angel, Billows nailing Ehren the King with the L.O.S.T. Kick, and finally a series of clips of Billows nailing various opponents with The Cause for Concern

“BEEL-LOWS, BEEL-LOWS!”

Russia was chanting his name. They remembered his talent, his athleticism, his dedication to the sport.

“At the close of day,
The sunset cloaks,
These words in shadow play,”

Another still-photo of Billows, still in the hospital bed and still far from healthy-looking, but he had his thumb up, and one had to assume that for a man who broke his back…a thumbs up was DEFINITELY a positive thing.

The crowd was roaring because, well let’s be honest, everybody loves a happy ending.

“Here and now, long and loud,
My heart cries out,
And the naked bone of an echo says,
Don't walk away…”

One final clip of Billows came onto the screen. Caught up in his victory celebration, Billows climbed out of the ring and rushed into the crowd, letting them flood over him and lift him above their heads. The million-dollar smile was there, and so was the Billows that the fans remembered, as the video faded to black, and the song died down, an audio clip that could be recognized as Billows’ voice started up.

“…and in these reach-out programs or whatever the hell you wanna call them, all the people suffering this same prison, cause that’s what this is, being paralyzed is absolutely a prison. But all these people at these meetings have the same dreams, they all dream about walking again. I guess that’s why these meetings are a bit silly to me.

I don’t dream about walking again. I dream about flying again.”

LIFT-OFF. NEXT COURAGE

you can call it a moral victory if you want

The Eastern Europe tour was almost done. Just one more show and hopefully no problems and the biggest show since Legends will be all wrapped up. Of all people ACW staffed Sepiroth Du Luc absolutely hated the idea of a Eastern European tour. SDL wasn’t use to the weather, or the lack of “at your service” help, and more importantly the english language that he could actually understand.

SDL pulled up to another arena that he couldn’t even begin to pronounce. Just like any other wrestling event SDL grabbed his small black bag that carried his boots, and other wrestling necessities that followed him from event to event. Walking up to the wrestlers entrance SDL was greeted by ACW security. SDL nodded his head.

“Gentlemen.”

And proceeded to attempt to walk into the arena.

“Sorry Sepiroth, we can’t let you in.”

SDL stunned. Took a moment to take in the words that were just spoken to him. Du Luc lowered his eye lids and stared like a laser beam shooting out of a gun directly into the security guards eyes.

“Excuse me?”??SDL questioned the secýurity guard not sure if this was one of the jokes. Then again SDL was just happy that someone was speaking english to him. If this had been in Russian this would have been a whole different story.

“Strict orders from ACW executives. From the events that occurred post match with Chavez”

SDL dropped his bag and clinched his bruised fists. SDL still had cuts on his hands from the nights previous violent battle with Avo Chavez where SDL had severely injured the victorious Avo Chavez.

“You’re kidding me right? I have a match to fight in. The biggest match of probably my career since my come back. I have fans that have to boo me tonight....I need those boo’s......I need to hear them. Those Russian fucks paid some serious money to attend this over charged event.”

The security guard just shook his head no and stayed firm on his ground while standing next to his partner who was helping with blocking the door from SDL entering the building. Du Luc grabbed his bag and turned away from the entrance for the first time since his PIW days Du Luc had been banned from the arena. He did what he had to do. He put an annoying shit in his place. Sure Du Luc had been pinned by the 5’6” Avo Chavez, but SDL had the last laugh as rumors were circulating backstage that Avo Chavez had sustained multiple serious injuries and he too wasn’t going to be able to be in the evening's big fight.

Which in a way, was a victory for Sepiroth Du Luc.

SCORPION FIGHT NIGHT CHALLENGE II
THE KING IS DEAD. LONG LIVE CHAOS.
00:00:00 - 00:20:00

           

Okay, folks. This is it. What you've been waiting for.

The sea of humanity that represented the fans stood to their feet. ACW's esteemed broadcast personalities -- PBP Commentator Renaud Cardinal and Colour Commentator 'The One' Jimmy Reid -- were at their booth, dressed to the nines and sifting through a stack of documentation pertaining to the mayhem that was about to unfold.

Next to them, Ring Announcer Tommy Vale stood to his feet. He was dressed like a million bucks, too. But he wasn't thinking about that; he was more interested in the information that was coming through to him via his ear-piece.

The world was watching. In his locker-room, Alias finished taping his fists, heading out into the crowd. In the Lounge Box of the arena, high above everyone else, Trey Vincent and Z clinked their champagne glasses together.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Vale announced, garnering everybody's attention. "Tonight's main attraction is the SCORPION FIGHT NIGHT CHALLENGE II. Whoever has the most points at the end of the night, will attain the main prize -- the ACW Scorpion Fighting Title!

Each and every one of you have been briefed on the rules. And in about fifteen seconds, we shall kick off the festivities. Of course, this means I am also about to reveal the first target of the night.

Do you all want to know who that person is?"

Oh, Tommy Vale. You sly dog. You know how to milk it, doncha?

The fans roared their black hearts out, causing the entire arena to shake just a little. Hyperbole for the win, ahem.

9.

8.

7.

6.

5.

4.

3.

And finally, the moment of reckoning was upon us all.

DING DING DING!

"OMMMMMMEEEEEEGGGGGGGGAAAAAAAAAAA!"

In the ring, a plethora of All-Stars got giddy with excitement not only at the commencement of the battle, but at the reveal that the reigning Scorpion Fighting Champ was the first target. The marathon had begun, and it was time to get down to business. Sven Avsbern, the Swedish War Machine, grinned as he delved into the side pocket of his pants and took out a bottle of pills. SMACK! But a swift swing of the chair from Iceman knocked Sven on his ass, and the bottle of pills flew out of the Swede's hand and out of the ring. Khristain Keller, finishing up his cigarette on the other side of the ring, managed a soft chuckle.

It would be his last for the time being. Keller looked up, and cursed silently at what lay in wait for him. Max Danger, Jade Argent and 'Superstar' Vince Jacobs. The trio that had been more than vocal about their veto of the Scorpion Fighting Rules that had engulfed ACW over the last several weeks, culminating with a solid Triple Threat Match the previous night (which Jacobs won). Danger smirked at Keller; the two had history, and he wouldn't pass up the opportunity to kick Keller's teeth in. Argent and Jacobs? They had ambitions of their own, but for now, they stood by Danger's side.

"Alright, then!" Keller announced as he took two steps forward. "Let's get this on, cuntfaces."

Argent rolled his eyes before turning to face his comrades. "We're still agreed, yes? We won't be using weapons because quite frankly, we don't need to resort to them."

"Yeah, yeah!" Jacobs responded casually, his eyes gleaming with evil intentions while Danger half-nodded. "The only weapons I need to put this fucker down are my Hall Of Fame fists. Besides, it's been a while since King Shit and I went toe-to-toe. If the two of you don't mind, I'd like to reintroduce him to something he's very familiar with."

Keller let out a mighty roar and charged at the trio, only to run into the SUPERSTAR KICK! Vince Jacobs was certainly not wasting any time in this mammoth challenge, and with K2 down on the canvas, Danger and Argent quickly moved in like the vultures that they were, kicking away at Keller's defenseless lifeform. The fans went w-i-l-d, and Jacobs smirked.

That smirk quickly evaporated.

SMACK!

Oh, that Iceman. "Hall Of Fame COCKSUCCCCCCCKER!"

In the lavishly-decorated Lounge Box, ACW's World Champion and ACW's very own Caped Crusader were having a ball of a time.

"Ha! Look at Keller, getting mauled by Danger and Argent!" Trey squealed like a little kid. "That's awesome. King Shit of Fuck Mountain? He got the 'shit' part right, I'll tell ya that!"

Z, Trey Vincent's guest, laughed. "Yeah, Keller's terrible. But listen, Champ, I've been dying to tell you two very important things as it pertains to tonight. I think you'll like what I have to say. Are you ready to have your mind blown?"

Trey turned in his seat to face The Masked Enigma and nodded his head. Z clapped his hands, and rushed to his feet.

"Well, to begin with, I got a copy of last year's Scorpion Fight Night Challenge." Z began, his arms folded across his chest. "I saw the way everybody fight with a lot of heart and what-have-you. Now, I figured that with everybody well aware of what this Scorpion Fight Night Challenge entails, there would be a lot more insanity going on and therefore, a lot more decisions registered. Hell, somebody might walk out of here with 25 decisions registered to their name.

So, I took the liberty of slipping a little somethin' somethin' into the water supply. A majority of these idiots will find their pain tolerance will have gone up a few notches! That ought to level the playing field somewhat, and all in all, ensure that the two of us will have a jolly good time watching the likes of Keller and Argent and the other idiots frustrated that their usually potent finishers don't quite get the job done this time 'round!

We'll probably see the leaderboard resemble last year's at the end, give or take a few points. And the best part is, they don't have an inkling of a clue. They're going to think everybody else's suddenly gotten surprisingly tougher to put away. It'll be a bloody hoot and a half, I tell you."

Holy shit. Trey Vincent literally guffawed his ass off. That sounded like a god-damned inspired idea, and he let Z know what he thought about it.

"Christ! That's inspired! Well done, Z! Mind thoroughly blown -- what's the second thing?" Trey pressed on, his eyes lit up like he was a child receiving a Christmas gift.

Z smirked, and then gestured with his hands for his guests to come on in. Trey stood up, confused.

Not for long. Supermodel after supermodel, all skimpily dressed with massive knockers and perfectly-shaped arses sauntered into the Lounge Box, each carrying a bottle of vodka. Trey Vincent said a quiet prayer to the heavens above, before reaching over and trading high-fives with Z.

"What can I say, other than... titties?!" Z proclaimed with much gusto.

Incredible. While there was a war being waged below, a sexy party of epic proportions was unfolding high above.

In his locker-room, Omega shook his head and clutched 'Barb' tightly.

The LED screen that had been installed in his locker-room (courtesy of Jeremy Hunt) revealed to the Scorpion Fighting Champ what had been made public moments earlier. He was the first target. Not at all surprising and definitely not a coincidence, Omega thought to himself. Still, the Craziest Bastard In Wrestling Today was curious. As of yet, there was nobody banging down his door in an attempt to take out Omega and put themselves on the leader-board.

Mighty strange, indeed. To that effect, Omega got up from his bench, and with much trepidation, slowly swung open his locker-room door. 'Barb' was primed for action, and so was Omega. Alas, there was literally not a single soul in the corridor outside of Omega's locker-room. Omega stepped down, looked both ways, and was majorly disappointed.

He had definitely expected some mayhem to go down in the opening moments of this contest. Was everybody really that scared of him? Had they decided not to try to register a decision over the baddest man in ACW today, and forego the two points.

"Hiya, one-eyed wonder."

Uh oh.

Omega very slowly turned around, and with his one good eye, saw that his newfound nemesis was standing at the end of the hallway. Who, you ask? Simple. It was ACW's Original Femme Fatale. The Rogue Slayer.

Fejona Min, bitches. And she had company, too.

"Gentlemen, start your engines." Fejona commanded to the two men flanking her; Jack Harris and 'The Alpha Dog' Mark Weiler.

The cunts of Jeremy Hunt, if you will. The dogs of war for SlySports Entertainment LLC.

Omega scowled, tightened his grip on 'Barb', and watched as Weiler and Harris charged down the hallway right at him.

He only had four words to say. "Come and get me."

Back in the ring, what had been built up as the fight to end all fights was still in its initial stages.

Sven Avsbern had been effectively neutralised via six sickening chair-shots, thanks to Iceman. Unfortunately for Iceman, jumping on 'Superstar' Vince Jacobs was not the brightest idea he had. Jacobs had just managed to counter an Irish whip and gave the former Scorpion Fighting Champ a taste of his SUPERSTAR KICK! The power behind the kick saw Iceman bundle out of the ring, though, which wasn't ideal for Vince Jacobs.

What of Khristain Keller? He was still being whooped by Max Danger and Jade Argent, but the sight of Shawn Jessica Hart jumping over the security barricade behind the Broadcast Booth caught the eye of Max Danger. The Dangerous One stopped pummelling Keller with his fists and stood to his feet, locking eyes with The Prime Minister Of Gettin' Sinister.

"What the fuck are you looking at, Max?" Argent asked agitatedly, taking his eye off of Keller for a single split-second.

POW~!

Wrong fucking move, Australian Opportunist. Keller, despite being badly beaten, managed to land an uppercut to leave Argent reeling. Keller quickly used the ropes to pull himself up, and just as Argent got rid of the cobwebs in his head, the King of the Cruiserweights found himself on his knees, holding his crown jewels. Khristain Keller certainly had a way to level the playing field.

Keller looked across the ring, saw Vince Jacobs eyeballing him, and shrugged his shoulders. The two men charged at each other and within moments, were on the canvas going nuts with rights and lefts. On the other side of the ring, Max Danger and Shawn Jessica Hart were getting better acquainted with one another. Hart had a steel pipe in his possession, but was unable to introduce it to Max Danger's beautiful face.

Outside the ring, on the ramp, more wrestlers were giving fans reason to cheer like bloodthirsty pigs. Sharc was fending off the combined attack of Cavan and Cillian O'Callaghan (Irish Spring), while Rud Albion had just managed to execute a flying elbow drop onto John Sarsgaard after springboarding off of the security barricade.

The fans were more intrigued with a certain somebody making his grand entrance through the sea of humanity, though.

It was last year's winner; what's your, what's your... what's your ALIAAAAAAS?

Yes indeed, Alias was finishing up a bottle of whiskey and slowly making his way through the crowd down to the ring, getting absolutely mobbed by the fans in the process. On the ramp, Sharc quickly took care of Irish Spring by way of a double clothesline, and instead of pinning them, Psycopathy Red decided to do something else entirely. Sharc ignored the bunch of wrestlers that had just emerged from the back and continued their fighting on the stage (FYI Orlando Grant was getting double-teamed by Malk Al-Haq and Kati while Ed and Klein watched closely) and smacked his lips as he hopped the security barricade and set his sights on Alias.

Considering the violent history between both Sharc and Alias, everybody began to feel a little bit of electricity in the air.

The night was still, very much, extremely young.

Outside the arena, Spike Saunders and Callie Urban found themselves cornered by The SOBs. Callie and Spike shared a look that seemed to suggest that they weren't strangers to having their backs literally up against a wall. The sound of Buddy Saxon being trounced by Ulf German and a trash-can was enough to distract Selby and Sheamus momentarily, which gave Callie Urban the opportunity to charge forward and take BOTH brothers out with a single jumping roundhouse kick.

Yeah, talk about fucking impressive. Spike Saunders chortled, clearly amused by Callie's follow-up of dragging Sheamus to a nearby production truck. The amusing part was the head of Sheamus repeatedly bouncing off the side of the truck. Saunders reached down, pulled Selby up to his feet... and with a single discus punch, sent Selby flying into one of the exit doors.

Ulf German was taking notes, and decided to do the same to Buddy Saxon. The Bournemouth Boy grimaced as he was yanked up to his feet, and despite the searing pain radiating throughout his body, was able to swat Ulf's right arm away and connect with a palm heel strike to the side of Ulf's throat. From there? Simple; Buddy Saxon wringed Ulf German's right arm and sent the burly German soaring through the air -- and THROUGH THE FUCKING WINDSHIELD OF A NEARBY PARKED CAR!

Holy shit. Even Buddy Saxon himself looked a wee bit stunned at what he'd just accomplished. In the arena, every single fan watching on the SlyTron roared.

"Gulp."

Saxon's moment of pride quickly washed away, when he turned around and saw Spike Saunders and Callie Urban laying in wait for him. Just the night before, The Entourage had dismantled England's Best and rendered them inert.

Saunders shook his head in mock disapproval. "You should have stayed in the hotel room, little man."

There was more than one exit out of the arena.

And with about six minutes gone, Fejona Min opened the doors to one of the more secluded exits, a massive grin plastered over her face. Behind her? Oh, just Mark Weiler and Jack Harris. And of course, the limp body of Omega that they were dragging behind them.

Omega, by the way, was covered in blood from head to toe. And had barbed wire wrapped around his neck. Bastard referee Mark Shields was along for the ride, and there was very little keeping him from puking at the sight of Omega.

"Shields. Has anyone registered a decision yet so far?" Fejona asked, taking in a cool breeze.

Mark watched as the dogs of war registered to SlySports Entertainment LLC dumped Omega down on the grave. "Ahhh, no. Surprisingly not. Why do you ask?"

Fejona laughed, walked over to the limp and lifeless body of her rival, and put a foot on his chest.

Shields shrugged, and got to his knees;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

And just like that, The Rogue Slayer had been the first person to register a decision in the Scorpion Fight Night Challenge II.

"Okay, boys. I'm giving you both the chance to get your last licks in!" Fejona announced to Jack Harris and Mark Weiler as she stepped away from Omega's body, just as in the distance, a group of men and women stepped out of the fog and the shadows, and walked towards the Rogue Slayer.

Jack looked at Mark, Mark looked at Jack. The two men nodded at each other, and mimicked Fejona's cover from just seconds prior. Shields sighed, and got down to his knees once more;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Considering that Omega looked completely destroyed (only God knows what Fejona and Weiler and Harris did to him off-camera), there was no chance of the Scorpion Fighting Champion even getting up. Jack Harris and Mark Weiler both stepped away from Omega, and turned to face Fejona.

"Thank you for your assistance tonight, gentlemen. Our alliance ends here. You call tell Hunt that the money's been wired over to your personal accounts already. See you all later, and... to the winner the spoils!" Fejona declared, smirking as she did so.

Shields scratched his head as Weiler and Harris brushed past him en route back into the arena. "I'm confused. Why don't you just go ahead and pin Omega like six more times right now? You'll build up your lead, and since this fucker looks all but dead, you're guaranteed to walk out of here the winner."

Fejona shook her head, and narrowed her eyes as the group of mysterious men and women got closer to her. Leading the pack was a woman with red-hair tied up in a neat ponytail. The Rogue Slayer's smirk grew wider, and scared the pants outta Mark Shields.

"I'm a woman of some honour." Fejona explained as she peered over her shoulder. "I could most definitely do what you said, but where would the fun be in that? *tt* No, I have better plans for Omega. Plans that will see him rendered incapacitated not only for the rest of the night, but hopefully for the rest of the week."

Shields gulped. He was a bastard of the highest order, but a chill just went down his spine upon hearing Fejona's words.

Fejona put her hands on her hips and watched as the woman with the red hair walked up to her. "You would be Mercy Graves?"

A single nod from the woman (supposedly 'Mercy Graves') confirmed Fejona's assumption. The Rogue Slayer turned and set her eyes on the still-lifeless form of Omega.

"Dump him in the river nearby. The money will be wired to you at the end of the night."

... Holy... shit.

With a flick of her hair, Fejona lashed out with one last kick to Omega's face, before stepping back into the arena. Mercy Graves and her goons descended upon Omega, dragging him away into the shadows.

All that left was Mark Shields, and his immediate thought.

"Fuckin' hell, this is madness."

Back at ringside, Khristain Keller had just managed to evade another SUPERSTAR KICK! from Vince Jacobs. Barely.

And when SVJ turned around?

painKILLA! Jacobs was out cold on the floor, and Keller laughed it up big time.

"Count, cuntface!" Keller barked at referee Leon Hurst. Hurst did as he was told, once he knelt down and got in position;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE-NOOOOOOOOOO!

Somewhere up in the sky (aka the Lounge Box), Z and Trey Vincent laughed.

Keller? He was furious. "What the twatting HELL?!"

Behind him, Orlando Grant had finally managed to gain the upper-hand in his battle against Malk Al-Haq and Kati. And also Ed and Klein. For some reason, the Pop Culture Phenoms had joined forces with Malk and Kati. Despite that, Orlando Grant and a steel chair changed everything.

SMACK!

Malk was down. Not a clean shot.

SMACK!

Kati was down. Again, not a clean shot.

SMACK!

Ed was down, and OUT. The shot was as clean as a... uh, clean whistle? Yeah.

Klein? He yelped, and ducked under the ring.

Orlando Grant shrugged, tossed the chair aside, and covered Ed. Good thing referee Trent Savage was on hand;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

"FUCK!" was Keller's response. Not only to Orlando picking up a point, but to Vince Jacobs slipping out of Keller's second attempt to hit his finisher. Jacobs wisely jumped over the security barricade thereafter, to catch his breath.

Desperate, Keller scanned his surroundings. All he saw was absolute mayhem.

Until, the sight of Sven Avsbern getting to his feet and looking around in a panicked state for his bottle of pills. Keller remembered the number Iceman did on him several minutes ago. It then all clicked for Keller.

"Hey, cunto. I have your pills!" Keller declared.

Sven, still woozy from the numerous chairshots to his head, squinted at Keller. "Oh yeah? Really?"

Kick. Wham. painKILLA!

"No, you twat!" Keller chortled, before hooking the legs. Referee Leon Hurst was ready and willing;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

The King Shit of Fuck Mountain stood to his feet, proud as a peacock. Just as the SlyTron came to life.

5.

4.

3.

2.

1.

Annnnnd, there was a loud bzzzzzzzzt beeping that went off.

"10 MINUTES HAVE EXPIRED!" Tommy Vale screamed into his microphone, completely caught up in the moment. "THE NEXT TARGET IS...

...

...

VIIIIINNNNNNNNCEEEEEEEEEEE JAAAAACCCCCCCCCCOOOOOOOOOOBBBBBBBBBBSSSSSSSSS!"

Keller peered over his shoulder, a truly twisted smile on his face. Behind the security barricade, Vince Jacobs himself had finally regrouped, and the news hit him like a ton of bricks.

Especially with the sight of Khristain Keller advancing on him, security barricade be damned.

"Oh, fuck me."

Somewhere backstage, a badly bruised Avo Chavez was playing cards with Academy stalwart Quintana Rogerio Santiago in an unused locker-room.

"Are you sure this is what the Scorpion Fight Night Challenge is really all about?" QRS asked Avo, a bit leary of Avo's intentions. " A massive poker game? Because I happened to catch a viewing of last year's SFNC, and everybody damn near killed each other trying to rack up points and be the king of the leaderboard. And I thought you were supposed to be resting up in a hospital nearby? Are you even the real Avo Chavez?"

Avo (who was actually stoned and majorly hopped up on tons of painkillers) held up his right hand. "Whoa, dude. I'm not as good at poker as I thought I was. And you've really gotta trust meAAAAAAAAAH!"

The cards in Avo's hand were suddenly flying through the air, just as the door of the locker-room was kicked down. QRS quickly shot to his feet, his arms raised for a battle.

Imagine how Quintana felt when he saw 'The Alpha Dog' Mark Weiler standing there, itching for a fight.

I'll tell you how Quintana felt. His heart sank a little. Avo Chavez, meanwhile, stuck himself inside a locker and closed the door of the locker shut.

"Idiot. Why did I believe him? Quintana mumbled to himself, before charging forward at Weiler.

Wrong move, bucko. Weiler was ready, and knocked the masked stalwart of the All-Star Academy down with THE DOG'S BITE! And as if that wasn't enough, the sheer force packed behind Weiler's knockout right-handed punch of doom saw QRS fly backwards and CRASH THROUGH A TABLE!

A few minutes ago, it was a poker table. Now? Just a pile of debris, surrounded by the lifeless frame of QRS.

Weiler turned and grunted at the door, and immediately, new referee Lucas Nuckallin came running in. The Alpha Dog walked over to the middle of the room and lazily covered SDL. Would it be enough to give Weiler the lead?

Let's find out. Lucas Nuckallin, do your job;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

And just like that, the crown jewel of SlySports Entertainment LLC had nabbed the lead! It was still very early going, but Weiler was surely shaping up to be a force not to be trifled with. Standing to his feet, Weiler laid eyes on the lockers just a few feet away from him.

Since he'd taken out Quintana, why not take care of Avo Chavez as well?

Stepping forward, Weiler hastily forced open the lockers. All eight of them. The fans watching on the SlyTron were giddy with anticipation, wondering if Weiler would break Chavez in half.

But before the bookies could move in and take bets, Weiler growled in frustration. He'd opened every single locker...

... but no sight of Avo Chavez. WTF?

Not wanting to waste precious seconds, Weiler spun on his heels and marched out of the locker-room. No doubt in search of another victim. Referee Lucas Nuckallin was still rather perplexed, though. He had seen (on the monitor screen placed outside of the locker-room) Avo Chavez screaming like a little girl and stuffing himself into a locker to presumable escape the unwanted attentions of the Scourge of the Squared Circle.

"Did... did the little dude teleport his ass outta here?" Lucas Nuckallin asked himself.

Perhaps he did. Huh. Oh well.

Back at ringside, Keller was having his way with Vince Jacobs.

Despite the myriad of personalities fighting tooth and claw around them, K2 and the Ring Superstar -- currently back in the ring thanks to Keller mostly -- felt that they were the only two people in the arena. Keller was relentless in his assault of Vince Jacobs, pummelling him with right hooks and clubbing blows to the back of the neck. To be fair, Vince Jacobs was no slouch.

WHAM~!

Evident by ducking a killer right cross from Keller and countering immediately with a short-range clothesline. Both legendary all-stars were on the canvas, already worn out by the exhaustions of the battle so far. Unfortunately for Keller, the sight of Argent rolling into the ring was quite possibly the last thing he wanted to see.

Jade went over to Jacobs and helped him up, before growling at the sight of somebody else entering the ring.

... Alias.

The fans were all completely crazy now, as Alias and Jade Argent locked eyes from opposite ends of the squared circle.

On the canvas, Keller rolled onto his back and cursed. It was bad enough that he had Jade Argent and Vince Jacobs on one side, but Alias on the other side? Awful, awful luck.

Good thing that Sharc jumped over the security barricade and climbed into the ring to creep up on Alias, eh?

POW~!

But Alias was waiting, and quickly turned around, knocking Sharc down with a clothesline! Incredible! Keller laughed, before he found Argent's left knee landing on his face. Ouch! The King of Cruiserweights followed up by using his forearm to press down against K2's throat, while Vince Jacobs kicked away at Keller's legs.

Alias meanwhile was unloading a flurry of strikes on Sharc, but Sharc had a secret weapon of his own. First, a knee-strike to the gonads. Then, a headbutt to the chest of the Original Pulp Hero. From there, Sharc landed three unanswered kicks to the ribs. That was all merely a prelude to... SHARC CAGE! Amazing stuff from Sharc!

Across the ring, Keller kicked Jacobs in the balls and pushed him right out of the ring, after escaping Argent's attempted sleeper hold. Jade was stunned with K2's quickness, but the former ACW World Champion AND the King Shit of Fuck Mountain thrived on surprising people with his lesser-known attributes. But once Keller turned around? He walked right into the waiting arms of Jade Argent.

More importantly? BUTTERFLY BOM--DENIED!

Argent was once again surprised. Keller chuckled, spun Argent around, annnnd... painKILLA!

The fans exploded, and K2 smirked like a badass. But only for a second.

Why? Oh, it was probably because of Sharc creeping up on Keller. Psychopathy Red had his target locked on.

BLOOD IN THE WATER!

Sharc was on a roll, wasn't he? First, he took out Alias. Then, he laid out Keller.

Yet, Psychopathy Red was not able to follow up. Mainly due to Vince Jacobs lumbering back into the ring and having the element on surprise on Sharc, who had turned around to growl at the recovering Alias.

STAR STRUCK!

Finishers galore, suckas. The ring was littered with bodies. Jade Argent. Khristain Keller. Sharc.

Vince Jacobs stood tall, still aware that he was the target. Hence the reason he spun around like a crazy man when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Vince."

"... Sheffield."

The Original Pulp Hero and the Reason There's A Show. Nose-to-nose, in the middle of the ring.

Can you say, huge fucking pop?

The fans were on their feet, screaming at the two storied rivals to get it on. Alias and Jacobs merely exchanged looks, before nodding at each other. There was no chance in hell, after what they've been through, that they were going to throw down. And if you don't know the history between these two? Shame on you, fuckers.

Anyways, while all of that was going on, there was movement outside the ring.

Max Danger. Shawn Jessica Hart. Irish Spring. Malk Al-Haq. Kati. All of them were eyeing Vince Jacobs. Well, Hart had one eye on Alias and the other eye on Z way up in the sky, seeing how Z brutally attacked him the night before.

"I'm still the target, aren't I?" Jacobs sighed, once he noticed all the attention.

Alias smacked his lips and grinned. "Yes, you are. Looks like you're in a bit of trouble. But don't sweat it, Vince.

... I've got your back."

Holy what on a WHAT? Jacobs was as stunned as anybody else within earshot. But with another shared nod, Jacobs and Alias turned to all the pretenders outside the ring and readied themselves.

The war was merely beginning, and with Jacobs still the target for a few more minutes, it was going to get uglyyy.

"Bring it on, fuckers!" Jacobs screamed at everybody outside the ring. "COME AND GET ME IF YOU CAN!"

Yeah, this was the best thing ever in the history of anything.

Somewhere backstage, Kirzhov Vayzi had a map of the arena laid out on the floor, and he was studying it carefully.

Tonight's epic Scorpion Fight Night Challenge II was something of a last-chance saloon for Kirzhov. He needed to make a good impression and rack up a few points, in order for SilverHAWK to offer him an extended contract. Which would fulfil Kirzhov's dream of getting out of Eastern Europe, and following the ACW juggernaut to its next destination.

There was only one tiny problem. Kirzhov didn't know how to get himself involved in the mix. He hadn't been able to witness last year's Scorpion Fight Night Challenge, and as such, couldn't formulate any sort of game-plan. As such, Kirzhov was extremely frustrated and hoping that somebody like Avo Chavez or Ulf German lumbered past him, so that he could jump on them and register an easy decision.

There were two flaws with Kirzhov's idea.

a) Avo Chavez, as documented a short while ago, might have procured the ability to teleport. Freaky.

b) There was somebody behind Kirzhov right at that moment who considered the Kiev native an easy kill.

"Hello, Kirzhov."

Vayzi immediately spun around, only to get hammered in the face with a leaping knee-strike of absolute doom. Courtesy of the one and only Rogue Slayer. That's right, bitches. Fejona Min.

Kirzhov went down, blood spilling out of his mouth. Fejona chuckled and quickly hooked Kirzhov's legs. Not far behind was bastard referee Mark Shields, who quickly got to his knees and counted;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

With that, Fejona was tied with Mark Weiler on the leaderboard, which was now being updated and flashing on the numerous monitor screens installed throughout the arena by one Jeremy Hunt.

However, as Fejona peeled herself off of Kirzhov Vayzi, the glint in her eyes suggested she wasn't quite done with Kirzhov.

"Anybody with ties to that fucker Quinton May is a threat to me. And I can't have that!" Fejona declared, glaring down with Kirzhov with nothing but malevolent motives.

A snap of her fingers later, and Fejona was joined by what appeared to be one of her new associates: Mercy Graves.

"Omega's taken care of?" Fejona asked of Graves.

Graves nodded. "Don't worry. My people are dealing with Omega. He came to live and put up a fight, but we subdued him with tranquilisers and tasers. He's been effectively neutralised. Within moments, he'll be at the bottom of the river.

Do you want us to take care of this snivelling fool as well?"

Kirzhov Vayzi had come to, and began whimpering. Pleading, even, to be spared.

Trouble was, ACW's Original Femme Fatale was not in the mood to be messed with. Neither was she particularly compassionate.

"Yes. Toss him in the river as well."

In the part of the backstage area that had a ton of technical equipment laying around, there was a brawl of a massive scale unfolding.

Buddy Saxon, completely bloodied no doubt due to what had happened outside of the arena, found himself still at the mercy of Callie Urban and Spike Saunders. Well, actually, Saunders had been distracted by a golf cart hidden in a corner, and was now harrasing a staff member for the keys to the cart.

Nearby, Iceman found himself being walloped by crazy-eyes Ramey. Jesse Ramey appeared as if he hadn't showered since his monumental battle with Khristain Keller the night earlier. SMACK! Oooh, vicious chairshot by Ramey to the back of Iceman's head. SMACK! Another equally heinous shot, which sent Iceman sprawling to the ground, blood poring out of the back of his head. The sight of blood was made Jesse Ramey erect.

... Errr, no. It did tip crazy-eyes Ramey over the edge, though; he started pulling strands of his own hair out.

Yikes.

By the way, Callie Urban had Buddy Saxon all liiiined up for something dramatic. Saxon was silently begging to be spared, but Callie was not listening. She was instead gearing up to get on the leaderboard.

And she did that via GENTRIFICATION!

Saxon was out, Callie made the cover, and referee Trent Savage was present to count;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Callie Urban got to her feet, smirked at Saxon twitching on the floor, and pondered over what to do next.

She didn't have to ponder for long, because MIDNIGHT COWBOY WAS IN DA HOUSE!

SMACK!

Appearing for the first time in the night, the Spirit Of ACW Champion crept up behind Callie Urban and nearly beheaded her with a steel chair. Fabulous shot.

Know what else was equally amazing? Spike Saunders, driving a golf cart, cackling like a madman.

AND RUNNING DOWN SHEAMUS O'BRIEN! HOLY FUCKSTICK!

Where was Selby O'Brien? Nobody knew, nobody cared. Sheamus O'Brien had stumbled onto the scene, looking like a lost puppy, and was promptly mowed down by Spike Saunders. Still laughing away like a psycho, Saunders dismounted from the golf cart and quickly covered Sheamus O'Brien. New referee Li Mu Bai (the chinky wonder) shook his head, and got to his knees;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Incredible. That might have just been the craziest lead-up to a pinfall in ACW history. Congratulations, Spike Saunders.

Oh, by the by, Jesse Ramey had just taken Iceman out of the equation. How, you ask?

THE ATTITUDE ADJUSTMENT! THROUGH A TABLE! Bazinga!

Ramey made the cover, referee Trent Savage counted the cover;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

The insanity was ramping up in a major way now. With minutes left as Vince Jacobs as the target and with Jacobs far away in the ring, there was a mad rush to rack up as many points as possible. Anybody could become the next target.

Why, it could be Midnight Cowboy, kicking away at Callie Urban in the corner there.

Hell, the next target could even be Keith Scott Zimmerman. Who was currently sneaking up on Midnight Cowboy, looking very majorly pissed off. That didn't bode well for Cowboy.

And as the Spirit Of ACW Champ turned around, presumably in search of a weapon to finish Callie Urban off?

HIT MY MUSIC!

The fans went crazzzzzzy, and KSZ went for the cover with referee Trent Savage already on his knees;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Zimmerman got to his feet, dusted himself clean, and turned to a nearby camera.

"I'm going to find you, Trey." KSZ vowed through clenched teeth. Just as the SlyTron came to life.

5.

4.

3.

2.

1.

Annnnnd, there was a loud bzzzzzzzzt beeping that went off.

"20 MINUTES HAVE EXPIRED!" Tommy Vale updated at ringside, sweatin' like a pig. "THE NEXT TARGET IS...

...

...

MIIIIDDNNNNIIIIIIIGGGGGHHHHHHHTT CCCCCCCCCOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWBBBBBBBBOOOOOOOOOOOYYYY!"

KSZ looked at a nearby monitor screen, and couldn't believe his lack of luck. "Oh, come on!"

And with the Spirit Of ACW Champ back on his feet, and hankering for a fight with the man that just pinned him?

Things were about to get miiighty interesting.

SCORPION FIGHT NIGHT CHALLENGE II
RING RUST, PULP RUSH.
00:20:00 - 00:40:00

           

Outside the arena, business was about to pick up in a big way.

JP Boudreau found himself trading crushing blows with 'Zen-Zational' Zhang Tao and Carrachio Salfuego. None of them were overly familiar with the concept of the Scorpion Fight Night Challenge; they were fighting just because it was the theme of the night, and the prize at the end of the night was the Scorpion Fighting Title. Which was a pretty big deal to all three men. A chance to rise up and break through the glass ceiling? Awesome blossom, yeah?

At any rate, Boudreau was currently owning both Zhang Tao and Carrachio; having just escaped from an attempted powerbomb from Zhang Tao via a back body drop (and thereby sending Zhang Tao colliding violently with the cold gravel), Boudreau charged right at Carrachio who was digging through a shopping cart filled with various items. A clothesline to the back of the head knocked Carrachio right over the cart, and he too tasted the gravel seconds later. Needless to say, the young Spainard didn't like it.

Suddenly, from within the shadows, a black limousine pulled up alongside JP Boudreau. Boudreau was confused and turned to try to peek through the windows, wondering who was in the limousine and also why had it abruptly appeared out of nowhere.

SMACK~!

That was the sound of the side-door of the limousine swinging open, and blasting JP Boudreau right in the face. You really had to be there to appreciate the greatness of that whole exchange.

Seconds later, out stepped from the limousine a man with a wolf mask. The other side-door opened and two more people stepped out.

Kroenen. Vago. Arkady. Looks like The Supernatural SWAT had decided to make their mark on the night's proceedings.

Arkady had been the one who swung the door open and caught JP Boudreau unawares just seconds earlier. Boudreau however had sucked it up and was starting to come to. That only gave Arkady the impetus to leap to the top of the limousine in a single bound, and jump off the top of said limousine with immense grace and poise. Boudreau had never seen a man fly through the air with such fluidity ever before in his life.

Neither did Carrachio Salfuego and 'Zen-Zational' Zhang Tao, and they both CRINGED upon seeing Arkady's elbow crash into Boudreau's face. Carrachio counted at least two of Boudreau's teeth flying out of the Montreal Frog's mouth.

Satisfied with his handiwork, Arkady crouched down to make the cover, just as one of the exit doors opened and out raced referee Lucas Nuckallin. Within seconds, the cover was being counted;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Vago and Kroenen looked at each other, and duly shared a nod of acknowledgement. Arkady's twisting elbow strike from the top of the limo was indeed a thing of beauty.

Arkady however was not concerned with what he'd done. He was focused on what he was about to do, specifically to Carrachio Salfuego and 'Zen-Zational' Zhang Tao. And needless to say, both men were scared shitless.

That only made the Russian Wolf crack a sly grin. This would be a fantastic platform for him to show the world his skills.

And everybody watching would experience a trembling of their knees, for Arkady was one HECK of a fightin' machine, natch.

Meanwhile, Khristain Keller brushed past the curtains that separated the backstage area from the ring and sighed.

"It's like a fucking sweatshop in here!" K2 mused, staggering forward with beads of sweat crawling down the side of his head. It seemed as if Keller had gotten bored of seeing Alias and Vince Jacobs act like bestest friends forever in the ring, and doing a fucking fabulous job of fending off everyone that dared to go up against the fearsome twosome. Keller included.

Hence, Keller decided to bail and head backstage. Turning a corner, The King Shit Of Fuck Mountain's eyes lit up; he'd chanced upon the break room, and right outside the room, there was a table littered with all sorts of alcoholic beverages. K2 couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. It was like a scene out of a movie.

For a moment, Khristain Keller became paranoid. "Did I fucking die and go to heaven?"

SMACK~!

The answer, courtesy of one Jack Harris, was a negative one. Jack had just knocked Keller over the head with... what appeared to be an empty metal barrel that probably once contained beer of some sort, and K2 was down on the ground, cursing like a sailor's mother. Because, you know, sailors curse a lot and they probably learn how to do so from their mothers? That's not it? Well, eff you.

Oh, by the by, The Pikey Madman wasn't quite done beating up Keller yet.

SMACK~!

"Aye, now you're in hell, boyo!" Harris scoffed as he tossed the barrel aside and dropped to his knees.

The flight of the metal barrel very nearly collided with the incoming form of senior referee Henry Irwonsen. As it was, the wily old coot managed to duck, and quickly raced over to where Harris had Keller covered;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Not too shabby for the Chancellor Of Excellence. Having earlier on pinned the reigning Scorpion Fighting Champ, Harris could now brag to all his friends that he'd garnered a decision by pinning a former World Champion.

Getting back to his vertical base, Harris shot Irwonsen a glare, before storming down the hallway. Either he was looking for more beer, or for another sucker to beat on mercilessly. Either way, the fact remained; Jack Harris had just laid out the King Shit Of Fuck Mountain, and did so in some style too.

Irwonsen was about to leave, until he heard muffled groans from Keller, indicating that K2 was well and alive.

"Fuck it. I'm going back to the ring!" the 2003 King Of Ages proclaimed bitterly.

Irwonsen shook his head. "I'm not so sure the ring's the safest place to be now, but your call."

Ooooh, intense.

Back in the ring, described by senior referee Henry Irwonsen as being not the safest place to be, Alias and Vince Jacobs had kicked a ton of ass. So much so that people gave up going after the duo. And since Vince Jacobs was not the target anymore, there was really no specific reason for anybody to single out either the man who very nearly become the 2003 King Of Ages in SVJ or the warrior that won the very first Scorpion Fight Night Challenge.

It was nevertheless NOT a surprise when The Dangerous One -- Max Danger, fools -- quietly rolled into the ring and DANGEROUS III! To the back of the Original Pulp Hero's head! The force of Max's fantastic roaring elbow saw Alias fly between the ring ropes and down to the ground, his head almost hitting the apron on the way down.

Vince Jacobs put his hands on his hips and glared at Danger. Danger in turn acted all innocent and gave the puppy dog look.

"What? He was going to hit you!" Max reasoned, lying through his teeth.

Jacobs didn't believe him, but he was madder at something else. "We had an agreement. One concerning him, and also one concerning not using weapons of any sort. So why is there a steel pipe tucked into the back of your trunks?"

The Dangerous One cursed silently; he hadn't expected Vince to be so eagle-eyed. Still, he'd been caught.

And it was about to get worse. Argent, on the outside fending off the advances of Malk Al-Haq, had noticed Vince Jacobs and Max Danger squabbling in the ring. Also, he spotted what SVJ had spotted; a steel pipe tucked into the back of Danger's trunks. Well, that didn't sit right with him AT ALL.

"Max!" Argent hollered, prior to blocking a discus punch from Malk Al-Haq and taking him out with a palm heel strike.

Danger turned around and sighed again. "Oh, great. You've got a problem with me now?"

The Australian Opportunist stormed into the ring, took a moment to notice all the crazy fighting on the outside, before setting his eyes on Max Danger and Vince Jacobs who were mere inches away from him.

"You're damned right I do!" Argent raved, eyes bulging and brows furrowed. "We had a gentleman's agreement, Max. Using weapons is beneath us. It doesn't fit into our modus operandi! Fact of the matter is, despite this barbaric mess we're involved in, each of us is more than capable of winning WITHOUT using weapons. I would have expected YOU of all people to understand that, considering your household situation and whatnot.

How would your wife and your future child react if you got badly injured tonight because of these damned weapons?!"

Quite a passionnate speech from Jade Argent. At least, Vince Jacobs thought so judging by the far-away look in his eyes. Maybe he was thinking about how Argent's description of Max's situation was also somewhat relatable to his own life.

Max Danger, however, had a different spin on Argent's entire perspective. And it was a good one.

"Poppycock!"

Argent looked at Vince Jacobs. SVJ shook his head. This was getting out of hand.

Max wasn't quite done. "This, Jade, is the Scorpion Fight Night Challenge. The second of its kind. I came so very close last year to winning and writing my name into ANOTHER chapter of this company's history. The very essence of this Scorpion Fight Night Challenge is the survival of the fittest. At the end of the day, it's all about natural selection. You want to walk out of here with the prize?

You got to understand and accept that you have to do ANYTHING. Whatever it takes to get the job done. So what if I'm thinking of using a steel pipe, huh? I am Max freakin' Danger. And I'm going to do what I damn well please if it means I can win this fight and fly out of Moscow with another shiny title belt to add to my collection?

Got it? Good!"

Danger glared at Argent, who was fuming at Max's response. Vince Jacobs? He was mighty worried.

The stand-off in the ring between the three VETO members was suddenly interrupted by Malk Al-Haq. He'd not been pleased with Argent's palm heel strike on him moments ago. But before Jade could interpret Vince's warning, The Dangerous One decided to be super-proactive and hammer home his point.

He removed the steel pipe from within the trunks, pushed Argent out of the way, and then went ahead to smack the incoming Malk Al-Haq across the face with the steel pipe. Jacobs was like 'whoaaaaa', Argent went all 'sonofawhore' and Max Danger? He was strutting around like a pompous peacock. Is there really any other kind of peacock?

It went without saying that Danger's pipe-whipping of Malk sent Jade Argent over the top, and the Australian Opportunist actually charged at Danger, tackling him down to the canvas! The two men began throwing rights and lefts at each other, which sent the fans wild. They were bored of all the talky-talk that was going on in the ring and the sight of Argent and Danger finally punching away at each other like a pack of dogs? Lovely.

Until, for some reason, Vince Jacobs stepped in and broke it allll up. "Quit acting like a bunch of primadonna bitches!"

Jade Argent and Max Danger were sufficiently separated by the Ring Superstar, but neither man's anger had subsided. Instead, thanks to Vince's comments, both men were even more pissed. Recollecting the events of the night before, Danger and Argent suddenly shared a look that had Vince Jacobs very worried.

"Wait. Hold up. I know that look!" Jacobs spat, taking a few steps back and holding up his hands in defense.

The Dangerous One snorted. "You nearly injured me last night. I should have hit you with my Roaring Elbow just now, instead of Alias. That would have been fun."

The Australian Opportunist? Words escaped him.

He instead chose to let loose with a jumping high knee strike that completely caught Vince Jacobs off-guard! And suddenly, the trio's shaky alliance had finally crumbled. Argent was kicking away at Jacobs, and Danger decided to join in. Seeing how both men had lost to the should-be ACW Hall Of Famer, it was only a matter of time before they ganged up on him.

Jade was still mad at Danger though, and abruptly ceased kicking Jacobs in the face, only to turn and drive his knee sideways into Max's ribs! The Dangerous One stumbled backwards, the force of the knee-lift catching him by surprise AND knocking what seemed to be his cellphone out of his trunks. Geez, what else does Max have stuffed down there, huh? A couple of Hustler magazines?

Out of pure frustration over the meltdown of their alliance, Jade Argent took a few seconds to take aim, and then let fly with a spinning heel kick that connected cleanly with Danger's face! The Dangerous One was sent flying into the ropes... and OH SNAP OH SNAP ON SNAPPITY SNAP AND A HALF!

The ropes connecting the ring to the steel ring posts? They just broke.

And what of Max Danger? Well, he fell out of the squared circle and landed VERY AWKWARDLY on his neck!

Jade Argent stood in the ring, a little dumbfounded. He hadn't used a weapon, sure, but it looked as if he'd not only caused considerable damage to the ring (bless those little ring elves who ran out from the back immediately and got to work on the ropes)... but The Australian Opportunist now most likely had Max Danger being in critical condition (those EMTs are pretty fast too) weighing on his conscience.

But like the Dangerous One himself said -- survival of the fittest, yeah?

Let's see what's happening backstage, shall we?

Oh, look! It's a zombie outbreak! Actually, no. It was more of a collection of All-Stars advancing on Midnight Cowboy, and the Spirit Of ACW Champion taking each and every one of them down. He didn't expect being a target would turn everyone into single-minded vultures. Screw alliances, screw everything. Getting one over the target; that was the name of the game.

Midnight Cowboy therefore resolved to make sure as much as humanly possible that he would stand firm. He still had his eyes on Keith Scott Zimmerman, who was being strangled by Jesse Ramey. That was an odd sight. But hey, it's ACW. And it's FIGHT NIGHT, bitches. Anything at all can happen.

Iceman sneaking up behind Cowboy with a steel chair? Yeah, that qualifies as 'anything at all can happen'.

SMACK~!

Cowboy went down, Iceman went ahead and made the quick cover;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

"I did it, cocksuckers! I'm the best!" Iceman screamed joyously as he retreated to a kneeling position.

To be fair to the fella, it was pretty impressive. His first decision of the night, and over the current target? Not too shabby for the former Scorpion Fighting Champ that's fallen on hard times recently.

Iceman's joy would be shortlived, however, for Fejona Min had entered the fray. More specifically, the crazy bitch -- She Who Could Kick Your Ass In Her Sleep as some have termed her -- ran right at Iceman and took advantage of his kneeling position to score with a modified crescent kick!

Hell of a move from ACW's Original Femme Fatale. Many of the fans watching on the SlyTron? They were impressed.

Fejona smirked at Iceman's twitching body, before easing into the cover and hooking the legs for good measure;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

And with that, Fejona was -- at least momentarily -- in the lead. Oooh, aaah. So far, everything was working out for Fejona.

But when the Rogue Slayer turned around, hoping to get her hands on Midnight Cowboy, she frowned. Cowboy was nowhere in sight. He'd crawled out of dodge, leaving Fejona very unhappy.

Keith Scott Zimmerman staggering away and kicking her in the lower spinal area? That didn't serve to improve matters. What of Jesse Ramey, who was last seen strangling KSZ a minute or so? Oh, he was curled up in the fetal position, fussing about like a little girl and cupping his crotch.

KSZ took time out of his assault on Fejona to look back at Jesse and shrugged his shoulders. As if to say 'no biggie'. Ha. What a guy.

Anyways, Jesse Ramey's luck was about to change. Not only did he manage to get back to his feet, he found Malk Al-Haq stumbling towards him, holding his face in pain. No doubt because of getting pipe-whipped by Max Danger earlier. Well, crazy-eyes Jesse Ramey decided to take advantage of the gift being presented to him.

Kick. Wham. THE ATTITUDE ADJUSTMENT! On the concrete floor!

An exhausted Ramey made the cover, and referee Paige Allen hit the scene to do her job;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Another successful gamble for Ramey, who crawled away from Malk Al-Haq and headed back towards KSZ, eyes gleaming with evil intentions.

Ramey was kind of hoping that Cowboy was around as well, though. He had so much aggression to get out from inside the system, Ramey figured unleashing it on the Spirit Of ACW Champ would be good therapy. And also, a cool way to rack up more points.

By the way, where *was* Midnight Cowboy?

Good question. MC was currently staggering down a hallway, still recovering from the chairshot from Iceman. Midnight Cowboy glanced over his shoulder at a nearby television monitor, and realised that his time as target was drawing to a close. And considering the circumstances, the Spirit Of ACW Champ figured he was not gonna be knee-deep in shit for much longer.

Of course, there was one person that begged to differ. Somebody Cowboy has history with, too.

"Hey, cunto."

Guess who's back? Back again? Keller's back. Be afraid!

(or something like that)

Cowboy quickly spun on his heels, but could do nothing to block Keller's kick to his gonads. Next up?

painKILLA!

On the concrete floor, too! Wicked. Keller had decided on taking an extended tour of the backstage area en route back to the ring, and found MC in his sights. What's a King Shit Of Fuck Mountain to do? Take advantage of the situation, duh!

Keller made the cover, and up popped the Chinky wonder of a referee Li Mu Bai to count;

ONE!

TWO!

THRE - NOOOOOOOOO!

Keller was enraged. Irate. Pissed the hell off. Up in the Lounge Box, Z and Trey Vincent took a moment out of their evening of debauchery and laughed at K2's expense.

"MUTHAFUCKING CUNTING HELL~!" Keller slobbered. A quick glance at the television monitor nearby indicated that Cowboy would only be the target for about 20 seconds. K2 was determined not to let the opportunity slip.

Standing up, the King Shit Of Fuck Mountain barked at Midnight Cowboy to do the same. That didn't work. Desperate, Keller grabbed MC by the hair, kicked him in the gonads once again (ouch!), and lifted him up in the air. Yes, indeedy; painKILLA! Again! And yes, still on the concrete floor.

That would do it, yeah? Keller made the hasty cover, and referee Li Mu Bai once again got into position;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

And just in the nick of time, too. The now-familiar loud bzzzzzzzzt beeping made it known to everyone in the arena that Midnight Cowboy was no longer the target, and there was a new one about to be revealed.

Crawling away from the Spirit Of ACW Champ, Keller started to think of the possibilities. "Fuckin' hell, it better not be me."

The huge collective gasp from the fans made K2 stand up and experience shrinkage of his cock, just for a second. Until he saw a single name flashing across the television monitor. The one name he had hoped would come up sometime during the night.

Keller laughed, and laughed, and laughed. This was too good to be true.

SMACK~!

That? That was the sound of Khristain Keller being brought crashing back to reality. Courtesy of a recovering Midnight Cowboy, and a steel chair that appeared to have formed out of thin air.

Looks like the war between Midnight Cowboy and the King Shit Of Fuck Mountain was only just beginning.

And at ringside, a whole different kind of war was about to commence.

Alias looked up at the SlyTron, saw his name flashing brightly, and slowly turned around. The number of eyes looking back at him, realising what had just happened? Too many to count.

All the Original Pulp Hero could do was shrug his shoulders and raise his fists. "Who's first?"

Cocky son of a bitch, ain't he?

By now, as mentioned earlier, any sort of alliances or agreements of staying together were tossed aside. Alias was therefore not surprised to see John Sarsgaard and Rud Albion being the first two individuals to step up and advance on him. The Original Pulp Hero merely bounced his neck from one shoulder to the other, bracing himself for what was sure to be an eventful 10 minutes.

Speaking of eventful, a quick update on Max Danger and the ring. The ring? Fine; the ring elves did a solid job patching that sumbitch up. The ropes were back in place, but didn't look as taut as they oughtta. Probably because of the number of bodies and weapons flying around ringside. Max Danger? He wasn't doing so good. In fact, he looked as if he might suffered a concussion. So much so that The Dangerous One was being loaded up onto a stretcher.

Jade Argent, standing nearby, looked on guiltily. A quick chat with the EMT revealed that Danger was probably going to be a-okay.

With that, the Australian Opportunist decided to move on. Vince Jacobs was laying in a heap a few feet away. Argent snorted at the Ring Superstar, before setting his eyes on Alias across the ring. The Original Pulp Hero, by the by, was doing quite the number on The Bronze Lion and the Hands Of Steel. As a matter of fact, the winner of the very first Scorpion Fight Night Challenge reeling.

A hell of a hook to Rud Albion knocked the former Tag Team Champion (RIP England's Best *sniff*) over the security barricade, but John Sarsgaard was not deterred. He executed a well-placed kick to the back of the Pulp Hero's left knee, before slapping on a side headlock. Immediately, Alias lashed out with a elbow strike to Sarsgaard's gut, before wrapping his arms around John's body and shoving him sideways.

The result? John Sarsgaard found himself colliding harshly with the ring apron. Not good.

Know what was worse?

A-BOMB! Alias pulled it off in a blink of an eye, too. That's how he's become as decorated as he is, natch.

The cover was made, and referee Leon Hurst was on hand to count;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

After about thirty two minutes, Alias had finally gotten himself on the leaderboard. And having earned a decision WHILE being a target? Legendary. AND, a bonus, because he earned two points instead of one.

That Alias. Always being a cut above the rest.

The Original Pulp Hero grabbed the apron and pulled himself up, instantly aware that there was trouble in store for him. That trouble was in the form of Rud Albion, perched on the security barricade. Alias turned around, Albion took flight with the intention of hitting a bionic elbow smash.

POW~! All the Kingdom Keeper's got was a counter uppercut to his sternum.

And seconds later? A-BOMB!

Fucking awesome. The fans loved seeing their numero uno favourite thrive under pressure. Alias rolled Rud over and hooked the legs, calling referee Leon Hurst back into action;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Just like that, Alias had shot his way up to the top of the leaderboard, joining Fejona Min as joint leaders.

Somewhere backstage, the Rogue Slayer seethed. But at ringside, as Alias got up, his cooky grin only got wider. Why? Oh, because Vince Jacobs was hobbling towards him.

"You're the target now?" Jacobs asked, in between irregular wheezing.

Alias nodded. "Suppose it had to happen. I'm sure Hunt planned for this. What are you thinking?"

"You had my back earlier, Chris." Vince Jacobs began to explain. "I'll have yours now. And judging by the idiots staring at you now, you're gonna need all the help you can get. Of course, you know this means you have to vote for me when it comes time for the next round of Hall Of Fame inductions. Otherwise, I'm going to murder you in your sleep."

The Original Pulp Hero couldn't help but laugh. Vince Jacobs afforded himself a smirk as well. How touching.

For the second time in the night, the two storied enemies were banding together to fight off a horde of crazy All-Stars. Amongst them? Jade Argent, who was scowling big-time at Vince Jacobs. John Sarsgaard and Rud Albion had recovered, and were none too happy about getting owned by Alias. Most importantly for the former three-time World Champion?

Sharc was slithering towards him, eyes fixated on his rival. Psychopathy Red had been waiting for this moment all evening.

And finally, he would get the chance to put Alias down. For good.

In the middle of the hallway leading up to the gorilla position that separated the backstage area from the stage, Callie Urban was standing tall, drinking a bottle of Gatorade. At her feet, lay the listless bodies of Ed and Kati. Looked like Kati had performed quite the beatdown on both of them; especially on Ed, who was whimpering very much like Klein would.

Finishing up her drink, Callie tossed the bottle aside and reached down, taking hold of Kati by her hair. The girl with the toxic green hair yelped, not at all appreciative in the manner she was being woman-handled. But, unfortunately for Kati, Callie Urban had much more lined up for her.

Something along the lines of, say, GENTRIFICATION!

The newly-minted Tag Team Champion of ACW (The Entourage f-t-w) watched as Kati crumbled down to the ground, and made the cover when senior referee Henry Irwonsen burst onto the scene;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

A shadow fell over Callie as she got to her feet, but Urban thought nothing of it. Not even the sight of senior referee Henry Irwonsen dashing out onto the stage gave Callie any reason to sweat.

The former fWo Hardcore Champion did, however, nod her head thoughtfully upon catching the name of the current target (Alias for you short-term memory folks) flashing on the nearby monitor screen. Having an idea, Callie reached into the side pocket of her pants, fished out her cellphone and dialled away.

A while later, she placed the phone to her ear. "Spike? It's me. Alias is the target now. Meet me near the entrance to the stage."

Uh oh. Not good news for Alias, innit?

Back at ringside, the duo of Alias and Vince Jacobs were still going strong, holding firm against everybody else. Except for Argent, he was laying in wait by the corner.

And oh, except for Sharc. Who just finished getting into position to spear the ever living hell out of Vince Jacobs. Best spear of the year, by my reckoning. Alias turned around just for a moment and cringed at the sight of Sharc's and Vince's bodies laying in a mangled mess a few feet away from him. The Original Pulp Hero felt bad for his old-friend-turned-enemy-now-frenemy.

But that single distraction proved costly. For when Alias turned around?

John Sarsgaard was waiting, right hand cocked back. POW~! The Hands of Steel unleashed one of his juggernaut right cross punch, sending Alias down to the ground a split-second later. No questions asked, natch.

Sarsgaard made the subsequent cover, referee Leon Hurst made the count thereafter;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

The Hands of Steel rose to his feet, pleased with his accomplished. That feeling would subside shortly.

All thanks to Jade Argent. PLATINUM PLEX! Sarsgaard couldn't even comprehend how he was able to fall prey to Argent, and even the fans had to admit the same. All they saw was a beached-blonde blur rushing forth from his hiding place and surprising Sarsgaard.

Jade quickly got down to hook the legs, and referee Leon Hurst once again dropped to his knees;

ONE!

TWO!

THRE - NOOOOOOO!

Holy shit. Sarsgaard kicked out? Yes, yes he did.

Argent blinked. Now it was his turn to be stunned. But the Australian Opportunist didn't brood over that failed chance. He had something else in mind. Bigger fish to fry, if you will. In the form of the current target.

Alias had recovered, turned around to get a sense of his location, saw 'The Alpha Dog' Mark Weiler walking down the ramp, and then -- PLATINUM PLEX! Jade Argent, once again coming out of nowhere.

This time, Jade made sure to hook the legs;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

And at last, Jade Argent had placed. Argent got to his feet and shook his head. Blessing in disguise that he couldn't get the decision over Sarsgaard, eh? Taking a moment to chill, Jade turned around to see if Max Danger was okay.

Alas, the sight of Mark Weiler obliterating the EMTs like they were nothing before setting his sights on Max Danger on the stretcher? Not good. Argent gritted his teeth and started to advance, but John Sarsgaard tackled him down to the ground. Alias meanwhile crawled away from ringside, leaving Vince Jacobs and Sharc to continue their mad brawl that saw them spill over the security barricade and put the fans in the front rows at risk of being hit.

Max Danger, meanwhile, was finally getting his senses back. He was curious as to why he was on a stretcher, and why he wasn't moving.

"Hey! My phone!" Danger exclaimed, catching a glimpse of his phone from his vantage point on the stretcher.

Little did he know the danger that lay in store. Mark Weiler, being warned not to do anything rash by senior referee Henry Irwonsen, suddenly snapped and with a single swat of his right hand, sent the stretcher flying. And by definition, sent The Dangerous One on a flight through the air.

Two seconds later, every single fan in the arena were chanting 'HOLY SHIT' in Russian. Why?

Oh, nothing. Just the stretcher and Max Danger colliding violently with the steel ring post, prior to crashing down onto the steel ring steps. Yep, nothing of note at all.

'The Alpha Dog' Mark Weiler walked over to Max Danger and placed his left foot on top of Danger's face. A glare at referee Tomaz Heinreich ensued, and Tomaz quickly dropped to his knees to count;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Mark Weiler is a hugely impressive bastard, ain't he?

Satisfied with his handiwork, Weiler turned on his heels and climbed into the ring, just as Callie Urban was dragging a wounded Alias (she'd snuck up behind the Original Pulp Hero and punted him in the balls) in the opposite direction i.e. up the ramp. What all of them failed to notice was the glaring visual of senior referee Henry Irwonsen clutching his chest and keeling over in agony.

Not the best of time to have a heart attack, Henry Irwonsen. Nope, not the best of time at all.

Outside the arena, Buddy Saxon was fearing for his life.

See, the bloodied Saxon was perched on Ulf German's left shoulder, and the Efficient One had designs on slamming Saxon's head through the windshields of another one of those parked cars. Good thing for Saxon, then, that he was able to squirm out of Ulf's grasp as soon as the latter built up a running head of steam, yes?

Ulf was confused, and seconds later, Ulf was in a world of pain. SAXON SLAM! A very special version of it, too. For Ulf German's body collided with a brick wall, and dropped down to the gravel in a heap.

Buddy gasped for air as he made the cover, and referee Paige Allen was on hand;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

The Bournemouth Boy had done it! He'd gotten himself a decision, and registered on the leaderboard. Standing up, Saxon had an expression of gratified relief all over his face.

But the look of shock and horror on the face of referee Paige Allen alerted Buddy that his moment under the pale moonlight was fleeting.

His attempt to turn around was neutered by a swift kick to his kidneys. From there, Saxon found his face being yanked backward first, before it was thrown forward; into the brick wall. Who was the sadistic man beating him up.

Why, it was none other than Arkady. Russia's biggest and baddest wolf.

Saxon was down, Arkady rolled him over and made the most confident cover you'll ever see;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Arkady didn't bother celebrating. He rose to his feet and turned around, coming face to face -- or rather, faces -- with his pursuers. JP Boudreau, Zhang Tao and Carrachio Salfuego. The rest of the Supernatural SWAT, Kroenen and Vago?

Oddly enough, nowhere in sight. Arkady didn't think it was odd, though.

"Typical."

Arkady shrugged his shoulders, and motioned for the trio cornering him to go ahead and charge at him.

... Scary thing is, I'd still put my odds on Arkady to come out of there standing tall.

Backstage, in the hallway leading up to the gorilla position that separated the backstage area from the stage, Ed was wailing on Kati with a barrage of right hands. He wanted so desperately to make an impact on the evening's proceedings.

Too bad for Ed, then, that Kati grabbed Ed by the waistband of his pants and yanked him toward her. Only that Ed's face made sweet unprotected contact with the wall, followed by Kati jumping to her feet and punching Ed in the throat. I wonder where the newest member of a certain somebody's inner circle learnt that move from.

At any rate, Ed was down and Kati made the hasty cover with the legs hooked;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Getting up, Kati happened to see Callie Urban re-appearing in front of her eyes, but having a little bit of a tussle with Alias. An important decision was suddenly needed to be made by Kati. Should she go after the Original Pulp Hero; somebody she has history with and the current target? Or should she go after Callie Urban, who beat her up just a while ago? Decisions, decisions. Kati thought about it.

And then decided to kick Ed in the face, before charging at Callie Urban and taking her down with a shoulder tackle! Incredible stuff.

Alias gasped, glad for the reprieve. Until, of course, the sight of Spike Saunders lumbering toward him greeted his eyes. The Original Pulp Hero sighed, took solace in the fact that his time as target was winding down, and rolled up his metaphorical sleeves for what was sure to be a heck of a brawl with the giant Spike Saunders.

Meanwhile, bursting onto the scene, was KSZ. Well, more of he was sent sprawling courtesy of crazy-eyes Jesse Ramey, who was armed with a steel chair. Zimmerman was clawing and scratching to get away from Ramey, but was having a little trouble.

SMACK~!

Mainly because Ramey had become a wee bit deranged. Well, 'wee bit' is a understatement.

Anyways, Jesse tossed the chair aside and pulled The Only Wrestler That Matters up to his feet. Kick. Wham. ATTITUDE ADJUSTM--DENIED! KSZ slipped out of Jesse's grasp, said a quiet prayer to his darling Allison, and then waited for crazy-eyes Ramey to turn around.

HIT MY MUSIC! Wonderful, wonderful stuff from Zimmerman.

The cover was made, and referee Trent Savage came by to count;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

And whaddaya know? Once again, KSZ nabbed a decision towards the end of the period with somebody as the target. Wherever Alias was, he could rest a little easier.

5.

4.

3.

2.

1.

Loud bzzzzzzzzt beeping? Check.

Next target? Well, let's take a gander, shall we? Who oh who could it be?

Well, then. That was interesting. Unless your name was Sharc, of course.

SCORPION FIGHT NIGHT CHALLENGE II
RISE AND FALL, FALL AND RISE.
00:40:00 - 01:00:00

           

Back in the ring that looked as if it could fall apart at any moment, Orlando Grant and Mark Weiler were revisiting their epic battle from the previous night and trading massive in one corner. In the other corner, Cillian O’Callaghan (where the heck did he come from?!) looked to be teaming up with Shawn Jessica Hart as the two were taking it to Sven Avsbern. The Swedish War Machine wasn't faring too well, but the sight of Malk Al-Haq lumbering back into the ring and making a beeline for SJH? It helped ease the agony a little.

With the competitors being so close to the edges of the ring, each passing blow isn’t only a potential chance for someone to land a finisher, but caution must be taken as not to fall head first out of the ring. Nobody wanted a repeat of the Max Danger incident from earlier in the ring. With that being said, The OG of ACW was finally seeing the fruits of his labour, his blows wearing down Mark Weiler. With the Alpha Dog reeling, Orlando Grant took a few steps back and charged forth with a massive clothesline aimed at his nemesis.

The Scourge of the Squared Circle easily ducked under the attempt and upon turning around, Orlando Grant met with a ground breaking right hand. Orlando’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as he crumpled to the mat face first. He had once more fallen victim to THE DOG'S BITE, which had landed its mark perfectly! Weiler dropped to the mat, rolled Grant’s body over and pulled his leg in for leverage.

ONE

TWO!

THREE!

With that, the Alpha Dog had edged himself into a slender lead.

Weiler stood turning his attention and his rage toward Al-Haq and Avsbern, who had turned their attentions to each other after taking out SJH and Cillian O'Callaghan with a pair of shoulder tackles. Avsbern kicked Al-Haq in the gut and drove him down to the canvas with a snap suplex, but as soon as he got back to his feet, The Swedish War Machine was met with a big boot right to the face.

Sven dropped back down to the mat grabbing his face in pain as Mark Weiler grabbed him by the sides of his head and lifted him back to his feet. Sven stood on staggered feet as Weiler reared back and another one bit the dust. Oh yeah, you know what happened. Three words, bub.

THE DOG'S BITE! Weiler dropped back down for another pin attempt;

ONE

TWO!

THREE!

Whoooa, Nelly. Mark Weiler was started to break away from the rest of the pack, ya'all.

The Alpha Dog smiled at the sight of his second victim as he once again rose to his feet and noticed Al-Haq slowly doing the same.Cillian O’Callahan had made his way over to the current reigning United States Champ (and by default the ruler of the All-Star Academy) and wrapped his arms around his waist from behind. Cillian's attempt at some kind of suplex would be foiled though as the two were met full force with a spear drilling them down to the canvas!

With Cillian’s body resting atop of Al-Haq's, Weiler put the full force of his body down upon the two -- leaving referee Trent Savage no choice, but to consider that as a double pinfall on Weiler's part. Would it pan out? Let's see;

ONE

TWO!

THREE!

Incredible. In one clean swoop, Weiler had pinned both Cillian and Al-Haq, and earned himself two points.

And now, The Alpha Dog was well and truly RUNNING away with the lead. Yes, not even an hour had passed, but considering by how in awe the fans were with Weiler's performance thus far, many had started to reach to a conclusion that The Scourge of the Squared Circle was going to emerge victorious at the end of the night.

Weiler rested on his knees looking on at the destruction around him in the ring. Especially at the two freshly mangled bodies resting before him. That made Mark Weiler very happy.That was until he noticed SJH helping Orlando Grant back to his feet, and the two men noticed Weiler looking on at them as well.

Weiler stood and charged both men, but they ducked under his attempt at a double running clothesline. Hart and Grant popped back up on the opposite side and as soon as Weiler turned around he was met with double fists to the face. Hart and Grant continued teeing off on Weiler each taking a shot as he staggered between the two. The fans were eating it allll up.

Weiler twisted around, Grant grabbing hold of his waist and dropping him with an atomic drop. And as Weiler looked to grab at his groin Hart grabbed him by the neck and dropped him with a HART ON! Shawn dropped down across Weiler’s chest, and Grant jumped on top his back for extra leverage.

Another unique situation for referee Trent Savage. He whispered something into his earpiece while dropping to his knees;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Ooooh. Two stories had emerged. Weiler's run of dominance had been halted, AND there was some controversy in the point scoring system. Needless to say, The Phenom was outraged at both referee Trent Savage and at Orlando Grant.

And just as quickly as Hart was beginning to vehemently argue that he shouldn’t have just earned a half point, the roar of the fans alerted Orlando's Grant to the bottom of the ramp. This being where the target for the allotted time could be found; yes indeed, Sharc was in play and fending off the incoming onslaught of everyone that had their eyes set on him. Vince Jacobs, who had been battling Sharc through the fans for the better part of the last nine minutes or so was leading the charge, and hell-bent on getting a payoff for hanging in with the man he, not many months earlier, had an all-out war with.

It didn’t seem to be much of a challenge at the time though as Rud Albion got tripped by the recovering Max Danger (holy hell -- dude's still alive), Jade Argent and Callie Urban were trading blows near the entrance curtain, and Vince Jacobs suddenly found himself being jumped by the duo of John Sarsgaard and Cavan O’Callaghan.

This left Sharc standing alone for a brief moment, and how that was possible was even beyond Psychopathy Red’s understanding. That was until he saw the sadistic look in the eyes of Jesse Ramey approaching him; Sharc looked side to side trying to find somewhere to go. Nowhere to run, but there was one way to escape. And that idea came to Sharc as he set his eyes on the SlyTron.

Sharc darted toward the staggered metal structure holding the giant television screen on it and began climbing to try and escape the fate of being pinned as a target. Halfway to the top of the structure Sharc felt relief as the structure wasn’t shaking more than he was making it, signalling that no one was trailing behind him. Psychopathy Red figured he might yet last through the next few minutes without being hammered. Being a target wasn't so bad, huh?

Then the structure began shaking to Sharc’s amazement and it wasn’t him making the movements either. As he rested for a brief second, he turned his attention to the bottom of the structure and ravenous Ramey was scaling the structure at an alarming pace.

Sharc continued his ascent up the structure with Ramey hot on his heels. Sharc easily mounted the top of the structure looking down nearly thirty feet at the metal ramp below him. He began to shift his way across the structure, as Jesse quickly pulled his way up onto it as well. Sharc’s eyes widened at the quickness of Ramey catching him.

Just as Sharc was able to make it half way across the structure and situate himself around facing Ramey he was met with a stiff elbow to the side of the head. Sharc retaliated with his own, and soon enough the competitors at the bottom of the screen were so taken by the happenings above them that the idea of attempting to score points were lost.

Every single person in the arena looked on captivatingly as Ramey and Sharc continued to brawl atop of the wavering silver and black structure. Until a final forearm shot staggered Sharc back, and Jesse grabbed two giant hands full’s of red hair. And the arena grew silent as fans and wrestlers alike watched Sharc’s body plummet the some thirty feet to the hard steel structure below.

THUD! CRAA-AAAASH!

Everyone in the arena continued their silence, as a more sense of remorse filled their souls. It didn’t matter what Sharc had done had done in the past; the sight of his mangled body lying within the bent steel was enough to make anyone’s heart wrench. Anyone, that is, except for Jesse Ramey, who when the cameras panned back up was leveling himself as he perched the top of the structure.

In Ramey’s sadistic mind there was only one way down from here, and it wasn’t climbing back down the structure. He let out one massive breath and if the mice in the arena were making noise before, they weren’t anymore. The silence was deafening as he leapt from the top of the structure and came soaring down on top of Sharc’s body with a brutal Swanton bomb.

CRASH!

... Well, then. The fans crapped their pants and HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!

HO-LY SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIT.

The dented-in metal became even more concave with the impact from Ramey’s nearly broken body. And everyone within the range of the fall looked on in horror at the sight of both broken bodies, but when reality kicked back in, referee Tomaz Heinreich was close enough to notice that Jesse Ramey’s body was in fact resting atop of Sharc’s. Whether Ramey had passed out on top of Sharc or not, Tomaz didn't know.

All he knew was, that counted as a cover, and as such the German referee got in position to count;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

After having put Cavan away with a SUPERSTAR KICK during the battle that had edged up the ramp and to the the stage, SVJ quickly smashed Sarsgaard’s head off of the same steel structure that Ramey and Sharc had been climbing. Jacobs quickly made his way over to the mangled metal and dragged Ramey’s body out of the depths to make a cover on Sharc for himself.

What? Did you think Vince Jacobs was gonna pass up such a wonderful chance to add further insult to Sharc's injury? Hell naw. So, anyways, yeah, referee Tomaz Heinreich got back to work;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Finally, after nearly 50 minutes in the fight, SVJ got his first points of the night. That felt good to the should-be ACW Hall Of Famer.

Meanwhile, Jesse Ramey -- barely able to lift his way up to his hands and knees -- tried to struggle his way across the ramp area, but was met by a just-recovering John Sarsgaard. A punt kick to the temple and Ramey was dropped back down to the metal as Sarsgaard covered Ramey's battered body in something resembling a pin attempt.

Referee Tomaz Heinreich rushed over as quickly as he can, and immediately dove to his knees;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Well done, Hands Of Steel! Well done.

Just as the Chicago native was ready to celebrate his third point he was grabbed from behind and thrown from the stage area. The attacker? None other than Max Danger, who wanted a piece of the action as well. Making up for lost time and all. He looked good for a man that not too long ago, had been written off as dead due to various circumstances. That's Max Danger for you; if you want the fella gone, you really gotta kill him.

... Just saying, is all. Anyways, the resurgent Max Danger swiftly grabbed hold of Ramey’s hair, lifting him back to his feet and driving him back down just as quickly with DANGEROUS III!. If Ramey wasn't already destroyed over the actions of the last few minutes, Danger's fierce Roaring Elbow made sure that Jesse was definitely going to be feeling the effects of the night for a long time to come.

Danger made the cover, and seconds later, the count began;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

And just as Danger scored his victory over Ramey, the SlyTron buzzed back to life.

5.

4.

3.

2.

1.

The buzzer sounded, a couple of moments passed, and everyone waited with bated breath. The next target of the evening?

Argent’s eyes nearly bugged out of his skull at the sight of his name popping up on the SlyTron as he began trying to scamper down toward the ring beside the ramp. Danger, SVJ, Urban, Albion, Cavan, and Cillian all began to make their pursuit after Argent down the ramp.

It was at this point that the curtains parted dramatically and from the backstage area came the Spirit Of ACW Champion, Midnight Cowboy. In his hand rested a steel chair, and the first person to feel his wrath was Danger catching a shot to the back of the head! Yowzah! Callie Urban was the next to fall as the steel came swinging from the side knocking her to the ground!

Cavan O’Callaghan was sent flying off of the ramp and into the security barricade with his blow. His brother Cillian dropped like a sack of potatoes as the chair came crashing down atop of his head. Jacobs caught a lick to the knee that sent him reeling to the ground, and Rud Albion looked positioned to get Argent, but caught a shot right to the temple.

The only thing standing between Midnight Cowboy and the target for the next ten minutes was space. Argent tried to fumble with the ring apron, looking for a place to hide. As he turned to see Midnight Cowboy standing, chair in hand, all Cowboy had to do was point toward him and it looked as though Argent was ready to soil himself.

MC rushed the ring, swinging the chair for Argent’s skull. The only bad thing about your opponent knowing you were coming is the fact that he can duck under the maneuver. The steel chair smashed off the corner of the ring causing Cowboy to quickly drop it. The Australian Opportunist quickly grabbed Cowboy by the waist and drove him midsection first into the corner of the ring.

Throwing his arms out Cowboy stopped him short, and brought his leg up backwards mule kicking Argent in the family jewels. Cowboy turned around grabbing hold of Argent and brought him down hard on top of the steel chair with VOICES AFTER MIDNIGHT! The cover that followed was, surely, academic;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

As Cowboy was coming to his feet he was met by a stiff forearm shot to the back by a recovered Rud Albion. MC stumbled forward toward the ring, and as he turned Albion brought a boot into his midsection, grabbed hold of his arm, and sent his flying into the steel ring steps.

Cowboy’s shoulder bounced off of the steel as he crumpled to the mats. Albion grabbed him by the head lifting him back to his feet only to have a closed fist come up into his lower abdomen. Cowboy then brought a boot into his gut and positioned him for another rousing execution of VOICES AFTER MIDNIGHT spiking his head down directly onto the bottom step of the steel steps!

Albion’s body cringed in pain as he fell to the mats on the floor, and Cowboy dropped in for the pin attempt'

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Looks like the Spirit Of ACW Champ was gaining a head of steam. Nice. Khristain Keller appearing from the back, hands on the hips and perched on the stage watching intently, had to be a bad omen for Cowboy though.

Meanwhile on the ramp, the members of the roster that Midnight Cowboy had taken out with his chair were beginning to brawl one another again. And amazingly both Jesse Ramey and Sharc and managed to find their way back into the fold. Vince Jacobs going toe to toe with Callie Urban, Cillian O'Callaghan squaring off with John Sarsgaard, and Jesse Ramey doing battle with Cavan O’Callaghan.

The main focus of the moment, however, was set on the ensuing battle between the battered Sharc and the resurgent Max Danger. Aside from Omega himself, Sharc had to be the fucking toughest son of a bitch in ACW as he still continued to battle off the attacks of the Amazing One. Danger would deliver a right to the side of Sharc’s head and Psychopathy Red would retaliate right back with an amazing shot of his own.

One swift kick to the midsection though and one DANGEROUS III later to the skull and Danger had Sharc leveled back to the ground. He fell on top of Sharc’s body for the pin attempt;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Danger quickly back to his feet turned toward the ring to notice Midnight Cowboy and Rud Albion continuing to battle it out. The other thing his noticed was the target, The Australian Opportunist, finally making his way back to his feet from the attack of Cowboy. Well, considering what happened between him and Argent earlier, this provided the perfect opportunity for a little somethin' somethin'. You know, a side of vengeance?

Argent was staggering around from the piledriver on the steel chair. The cartoon birds were seriously fluttering above his head, but when he turned around for the last time he was met with a blistering DANGEROUS III!. And back to the mats he rested once more as Danger jumped on the opportunity to climb higher up the rankings by scoring a pinfall over the target;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Nicely done by Danger, who had one hell of a satisfied smirk on his face. Taking out Argent? Felt sooooooooo goood.

Back inside the ring Mark Weiler found himself battling it out with Cillian O’Callaghan. Sven Avsbern was going at it with Orlando Grant, and Shawn Jessica Hart was getting the best of Malk Al-Haq. In fact a stiff kick to the gut and one HART ON later, Al-Haq found himself looking up at the lights above him as Hart dropped down for the pin attempt;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Hart quickly back to his feet rushed in with a flying forearm to the back of Grant’s head. The shot sent him tumbled into his adversary of the moment in Sven, their heads collided and Grant dropped to the mat, this caused Avsbern to fall back into the still standing turnbuckle. Avsbern bounced out of the corner and stumbled forward over top of Grant’s body.

Hart was waiting as he grabbed hold of Sven’s head and pulled him toward the mat with a quick roll up. Hart wrapped his legs around Sven’s for leverage, and if it wasn’t needed grabbed hold of his tights for measure;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

The Phenom was on a roll. That ingenius son of a gun.

Almost looking like the beast Weiler was earlier in the last twenty minutes, Hart jumped back to his feet just as Orlando was getting to his. He stood perched and ready as Orlando turned slowly back around to the center of the ring, and was caught with a little retribution for the half point controversy earlier in the night in the form of a HART ON!

Hart quickly made the cover and hooked the legs, praying that he'd get the decision;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Fantastic stuff from the Phenom, truly. And whaddaya know, it was time for a new target. Yes, ladies and gentlemen; the Scorpion Fight Night Challenge II was AT LAST nearing its halfway mark.

5.

4.

3.

2.

1.

Who's the next target? You wouldn't believe it. Really.

One hour down, one more to go. Fan-freaking-tastic.

SCORPION FIGHT NIGHT CHALLENGE II
NOBODY'S SAFE.
01:00:00 - 01:20:00

           

Backstage, Iceman entered a locker room to seek refuge and immediately regretted his decision.

"Cocksuckers."

Iceman let out a low guttural growl as he eyeballed the miscreants sizing him up. With Iceman having been made the target, Jack Harris and Fejona Min realised that they had a wonderful opportunity to build on what they'd accomplished throughout the night so far. Iceman? He knew he was in deep trouble.

After all, he was one of the most hated people on the rosters and there was no short supply of enemies. However, Iceman had a plan. A genius one, in fact. One that would definitely put wrinkles in the plans of Fejona and Jack Harris.

Iceman turned on his heels and dashed out of the locker-room he was in. Brilliant, innit?

Unfortunately for Iceman, he ran right into the burly frame of Spike Saunders. What the frak was Spike Saunders doing in the middle of the hallway, you ask?

The answer was simple: getting his ass whooped by Alias!

The Original Pulp Hero, gasping for breath, managed to crack a grin as he saw Iceman crumble down to the floor in a heap, and Saunders stagger backwards, completely taken aback by Iceman's sudden appeareance. Alias took the chance to jump on Saunders, and furiously tried to cinch in a sleeper hold submission.

Sound strategy from Alias, even with Saunders desperately thrashing around in a bid to throw the Original Pulp Hero off of him.

Meanwhile, Jack Harris and Fejona Min sauntered out of the locker-room, shit-eating smirks on their faces.

"Go on!" Fejona announced to Harris. "I'll let you pin him before I do."

The Pikey Madman nodded, wrapped his hand around the throat of the former Scorpion Fighting Champion and pulled him up to a vertical balance. Iceman's eyes fluttered, before he felt the life being sucked out of his lungs.

That was, of course, prior to blacking out. You know, because Jack Harris chokeslammed him right down onto the concrete ground. Oh yes, them HOLY SHIT chants are back. The fans watching on the SlyTron went apeshit over the sight of Iceman flopping around on the ground.

Jack Harris afforded himself a grunt of satisfaction prior to placing his right foot atop Iceman's chest. ACW's most Asian referee Li Mu Bai popped out from the shadows just in time to count the cover;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Big moment for Jack Harris there. The Unit was certainly having fun in the night's brutality.

With his part done, Jack Harris stepped aside and allowed Fejona Min to proceed. ACW's Original Femme Fatale took a moment to see Spike Saunders finally escape from the clutches of Alias via a wild backward elbow swing to the side of the ribs. That warmed Fejona's heart.

Know what else appealed to Fejona? Cracking her knuckles and dropping her right knee down onto Iceman's chest. So, she went ahead and did just that. And bah gawd, was it ever a brutal sight! Referee Li Mu Bai recoiled upon seeing Iceman spit up blood, and even Jack Harris was a little freaked out.

Fejona Min merely transitioned into a cover, and motioned for Bai to count. Which he duly did;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

"That was a lot of fun!" Fejona exclaimed, as she flicked strands of her ethereal hair out of her eyes. She was now only 2 points behind Mark Weiler. Good stuff.

With a nod towards Jack Harris, Fejona Min sashayed down the hallway, presumably to find another easy target to pick on. The Chancellor Of Excellence shrugged his shoulders and went down the opposite way, passing by Spike Saunders and Alias.

Yes, the two were STILL brawling. And at that exact moment, Spike Saunders was punching the living daylights out of the former three-time ACW World Champion. The gargantuan Saunders was doing quite the number on Alias.

Pity about leaving his groin exposed then, eh?

POW~!

Out of nothing other than pure instinct, Alias -- slumped against a wall -- drove his head right into Spike's package. And that's why Alias has the legacy that he has, natch. No, I don't mean the closet homosexuality. I mean the do-anything-it-takes bit, you idiots.

Anyways. Spike Saunders staggered backwards, cupping his crown jewels. Alias slowly got to his feet, and used the back of his left hand to wipe a mixture of blood and sweat out of his eyes. Once his vision had been cleared?

A-BOMB, bitches! Alias never fails to amaze!

With the giant Spike Saunders laying lifeless on the cold concrete, the Original Pulp Hero threw an arm across Spike's chest and gestured to referee Li to do his job;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

And with that, it seems the leaderboard was starting to get a little crowded. Alias gasped as he staggered to his feet, right hand positioned on his hip. The Original Pulp Hero took one last look at the behemoth he'd just slain and chuckled.

"I'm getting too old for this shit. Heh!" Alias mumbled to himself, grinning like a wily ol' fox, as he began to stumble down the hallway. The same way that Jack Harris went.

It seemed as if Alias was going to try and win this year's SFNC by taking out guys bigger and badder than him.

Only problem was, Alias was acutely unaware that he had somebody trailing him.

And she was armed with a nefarious smirk on her pretty face, too. Oh, that Fejona Min.

Up in the Lounge Box, Z and Trey Vincent were sucking away at some big boy cancer sticks. Cigars, for those of you that are unclear. Cuban cigars, for you nosey feckers. They'd finishing frakking around, and all the supermodels were laying around, thoroughly exhausted from the stuffin' courtesy of Z and TV. Heh heh heh heh.

"Your move, Champ."

And they were playing chess, too. How delightful.

"Hmmm. Gimme a minute here!" Trey responded as he scanned the chess-board, deep in thought. "By the way, in case I haven't thanked you enough, cheers for taking out Shawn Jessica Hart last night.

I heard he remembers you did a hell of job on him but recalls nothing else. And man, is he PISSED! The man may hold title belts in other less reputable organisations, but he'll have to walk over MY dead body to get his hands on the ACW World Championship!"

With a callous smirk, Trey extended his hand out and moved one of his pieces on the chess-board. Looking up, all he saw was Z sucking away at his cigar, unconcerned that he was losing the chess-match.

"Ahhh, don't worry about it, Trey! It was my extreme pleasure to take out that terrorist. And I look forward to the day that he decides he wants a dose of vengeance. I'll gladly kick his ass with both hands tied behind my back!" Z ranted, full of venomous hat for the Prime Minister Of Bein' Sinister.

Trey Vincent blinked, let a few moments of awkward silence settle in, then chuckled. He really liked Z.

The Caped Crusader finally turned his attention to the chess-board, and within seconds, made his move. "You know, I actually don't know how to play this blasted game. But I hear it stimulates the brain, so it can't be all board. Your turn, Champ."

Trey Vincent had been distracted by two of the lovely ladies that Z had brought in earlier on awakening and immediately embracing each other for some hawt lezzie action. Right then and there, Trey resolved to attain more lesbian pornographic videos.

But our esteemed ACW World Champion quickly turned to face Z, curious of something. "Hey, Z. I gotta ask you something.

Why did you, errr, let John Sarsgaard win last night? What's the deal there?"

The Masked Enigma took an extended drag of his cigar, flicked the ash aside and turned to face his new friend.

"I'm glad you asked."

In the ring, tons and tons of All-Stars were battling each other despite exhaustion creeping in.

The two stand-outs? Khristain Keller and Shawn Jessica Hart.

Keller was knocking down the likes of Rud Albion and Sven Avsbern like they were bowling pins. SJH was not having quite the easy time with Orlando Grant and Callie Urban, but he was still able to keep the two of them at bay. Outside the ring, Klein and Buddy Saxon were cautiously sizing up each other, waiting for an opening to present itself rather than work to carve out one.

That was good news for Ulf German, who climbed over the security barricade and slowly crept towards Buddy and Klein. The Efficient German had a wacky plan all cooked up.

Unfortunately for Ulf, the flying body of Callie Urban halted the German's progress. In the ring, Khristain Keller smirked; it was his stinging right hook to Callie that allowed Shawn Jessica Hart to dropkick the former fWo Hardcore Champion out of the ring, annnnd that led to Ulf German cursing loudly at the grave injustice that he'd been subjected to.

"Feckin' twat!" Keller remarked, referring to Ulf. Turning around, he saw Rud Albion gathering his marbles and using the ropes to help himself up.

K2 shook his head, walked over to the Gentleman Grappler, kicked him in the gonads and... painKILLA!

The subsequent cover was academic, and referee Leon Hurst hit the deck;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Good stuff by Keller. Yes, indeed.

Not to be outdone, Shawn Jessica Hart poked Sven Avsbern in the eyes, and that was followed by... HART ON! Out of nowhere!

With a relieved chuckle, SJH quickly made the cover, and referee Leon Hurt raced across the ring;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Khristain Keller shook his head disapprovingly, not a single iota impressed with SJH. "Pfft. Big deal."

Out of the corner of his left eye, Keller saw a woozy Orlando Grant barrelling towards him with a steel chair. By some grace of God, Keller managed to duck underneath the resulting chair-shot just in time, and drove his forearm into Orlando's already tender mid-section in retaliation, which made Orlando drop the chair. The former ACW World Champ had his next three moves figured out already, but he found himself surprised.

It was Shawn Jessica Hart, booting Keller in the arse and sending K2 sprawling to the canvas. From there? HART ON! On the unsuspecting Orlando Grant! Freaking incredible!

Orlando was down, and The Phenom quickly made the cover;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

"Heh, this isn't so hard!" Hart remarked haughtily as he pulled himself. Turning around, he saw Callie Urban climbing back into the ring, baring her teeth at the man that dropkicked her out of the squared circle just a minute ago.

SJH clenched his fists and motioned for Callie Urban to come at him. However, an enraged Khristain Keller got to the Prime Minister Of Bein' Sinister first.

POW~!

"You fuckhead!" Keller screamed at Hart, nostrils flared. He did NOT appreciate being suckered by SJH seconds earlier. And since he was on a ragin' high, Keller quickly spun on his heels and caught Callie Urban in the gut with a stiff kick. Guess what came next?

Go on, guess. It'll be fun.

You give up? Ah, well. painKILLA to Callie Urban!

Keller hooked the legs and took the liberty of patting Urban's right butt-cheek as referee Hurst got to his knees;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

K2 raced to his feet and turned around, hoping to get his hands on Shawn Jessica Hart. SJH by then had already gotten back to his feet and got his dukes up, furious with Keller for the sucker-punch on HIM. Needless to say, both men found themselves in a unique position.

In the middle of the ring, with everybody else flat on their back on the canvas. And the roar of the fans picking up several decibels. K2. The Phenom. Only inches of air separating them.

With one final nod of understanding between both men, a slugfest erupted, sending the crowd into rapture.

At ringside, a scenario of a completely different nature was unfolding. Having recovered from being waylaid by the flying Callie Urban express a while ago, Ulf German went ahead and unleashed his wrath on Buddy Saxon and Klein. The end result saw both men laying face-first on the steel ramp, with Ulf towering over them looking all smug.

Looking up, Ulf saw a large congregration of All-Stars duking it out on the stage. Ed and Midnight Cowboy and Sharc and Jade Argent, all ganging up on 'The Alpha Dog' Mark Weiler. Smart move. Max Danger was being double-teamed by Kati and Malk Al-Haq, while John Sarsgaard was fending off the suddenly-crazy Jesse Ramey. To say that chaos was breaking out would be an understatement.

Ulf looked down at Ed and Buddy Saxon, and decided that he would beat on them a while more before pinning both of them to begin his ascent up the leaderboard. Yes, Ulf had it allll planned out.

He had neglected to account for interlopers, though. What do I mean? Ohhh, nothing in particular. Just KSZ popping up from out of nowhere and connecting with a jumping knee-strike to the back of Ulf's head, sending the burly German flying into the security barricade.

Yup, nothing special at all. Dum de dum, tweedle dee dee.

Keith Scott Zimmerman, imagining Ulf to be a fatter version of Trey Vincent, went ahead and began stomping a mudhole in Ulf's face. Behind him, Klein stirred to life and slowly arose, stumbling around like a drunkard.

That didn't escape KSZ's eyes-in-the-back-of-the-head special power, and the former fWo World Champ turned around, the fans already anticipating something awesome about to go down.

They were right.

HIT MY MUSIC on Klein! Whoo!

The subsequent cover was faster than a speeding bullet, and newly-hired referee Roderick Lynch was on hand;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

That crafty KSZ. He stood to his feet, sneering down at Klein with intense disdain. A few feet away, the sight of Buddy Saxon also starting to come to caught Keith's eye, and The Only Wrestler That Matters deciced to go over to help Buddy regain his bearings.

Once that was done? Keith shaked Buddy's hand, and the two went on to form a partnership that would strike fear throughout the wrestling industry. Actually, no; Keith slapped Saxon in the face, and that was promptly followed up with another snap execution of HIT MY MUSIC! Holy shiaaat.

Saxon was down, Keith made the cover, and referee Lynch got to his knees;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Impressive showing from Zimmerman, with two quick decisions in a short time.

And as he stood up, Keith saw the potential for yet another decision. Ulf German had picked himself up and dusted himself clean, and he was growling like a bear.

Alas for Ulf, he didn't really have the best strategy. Running right at KSZ? No good, Ulf. Keith shrugged, ducked the clothesline attempt from the Efficient German, annnnd... HIT MY MUSIC!

The cover and the count was rather academic. Take it away, referee Roderick Lynch;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

KSZ had just risen up the leaderboard with three successive decisions, and as he stood to his feet, The Only Wrestler That Matters found himself checking out the scene in the ring; the brawl between SJH and Khristain Keller being interrupted by Rud Albion and Orlando Grant and Sven Avsbern and Callie Urban.

With a shrug of his shoulders, KSZ went forth towards the ring, itching to rack up more points. Behind him, the beaten body of Klein crawled towards the battered body of Buddy Saxon, and realising that this was probably his only chance to get an easy decision, Klein got his arm draped across Saxon's chest.

It was a legitimate cover, and thus, referee Roderick Lynch was once again called into action;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Getting to his knees, Klein's face bore a look of utter shock and awe. He couldn't believe he'd just managed to register a decision over Saxon.

Klein's joy was shortlived, thanks to the stampede of All-Stars taking their frenzied fighting down the ramp and towards the ring. Sharc's knee collided violently with the side of Klein's face, before Argent trampled all over Klein's legs. The ring was beginning to look like an unsafe place to be.

Especially with Mark Weiler, left on the stage for dead, suddenly getting to his feet. It seemed as if Weiler had soaked up all the punishment dished out to him, and was about to unleash a fresh wave of stupendous violence.

With a loud roar, Mark charged down the ramp and the fans got all excited. CLOTHESLINE TO KLEIN! Boom, one down. CLOTHESLINE TO JADE ARGENT! Two down.

JUMPING PUMP KICK TO JOHN SARSGAARD! Three down. DISCUS PUNCH TO MIDNIGHT COWBOY! Four down. Can you say 'massacre'? You can? Good, because that's what Mark Weiler was serving up. And it was clear that the Alpha Dog was far from done, as he slithered into the ring and caused mass pandemonium.

Actually, the appearance of Weiler in the ring forced everybody to stop and stare. Stare at the big behemoth of a monster that was sizing up everybody in the ring, making mental calculations. The chants of the fans were indecipherable to most, but the general consensus was that they were chanting for all hell to break loose.

Khristain Keller was tired of waiting and lunged at Weiler. POW~! The Alpha Dog promptly knocked K2 on his ass and advanced on the rest of the All-Stars. Clothesline to KSZ! Clothesline to Shawn Jessica Hart! Clothesline to Rud Albion! Clothesline to Sven Avsbern! Clothesline to Callie Urban! Clothesline to Ed! Clothesline to Sharc!

Holy frakkin' shit, Mark Weiler had just taken down EVERYBODY in the ring. Everybody, except Orlando Grant. The two enemies stared at each other from across the ring, only 24 hours removed from their epic Chain Battle. Mark Weiler had emerged triumphant the previous night, and was certainly on a heck of a roll at the moment.

There was nothing else left to do. Weiler and Orlando Grant charged at each other, more than eager to revisit their fierce rivalry. Unfortunately for Orlando, Mark Weiler was just in that unstoppable mode, and having ducked a spinning heel kick attempt from Orlando, destroyed him with... THE DOG'S BITE!

The OG of ACW? Deader than dead. But before than Weiler could go for the cover, Sven Avsbern of all people struck with a clubbing forearm smash to the back of Mark's head. That barely registered, though, as Weiler instantly turned around and lashed out with a massive knife-edged chop to Sven's chest! That was inevitably followed up with another rendition of THE DOG'S BITE!

The cover was made, the count followed suit moments later;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

The Alpha Dog was hell-bent on walking out of Moscow the winner of the second Scorpion Fight Night Challenge, and judging by the pile of bodies in the ring, Weiler was certainly on the right path.

Callie Urban, by nature of being one of the first to awaken, was unfortunately on the wrong path. Especially when she staggered backwards, right into the crosshairs of The Alpha Dog. Weiler didn't even grin. He just got himself ready, and narrowed his eyes. The moment Callie turned around?

THE DOG'S BITE! Bloody hell!

Another cover, another academic count by the referee;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

It was safe to say that while Callie Urban might be one-half of the ACW Tag Team Champions, she just got her ass OWNED by The Alpha Dog. OWNED, I tells ya.

Mark Weiler got to his feet and looked over his shoulder, wondering who was next. But before he could settle on a target, Midnight Cowboy stepped up to the plate big time, scoring with a chop block to the back of Weiler's knees! Without wasting time, the Spirit Of ACW Champ mounted Weiler and started firing away with rights and lefts all aimed at keeping Weiler down.

By that time, everybody else that had been slayed by Weiler's clothesline had managed to finally recover. Rud Albion had the fortune of being next to Khristain Keller, and a sneaky thought quickly formed in the head of the Bronze Lion. With the cheering of the fans reaching a fever pitch, Rud spun Keller around, kicked K2 in the gut, annnnd... RED COAT! Not Albion's traditional finisher, but certainly a smashin' one!

Albion quickly hooked the legs, and referee Trent Savage found the space to count;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Across the ring, KSZ had just pulled Midnight Cowboy off of Weiler, only to mount The Alpha Dog himself and fire away with rapid strikes to the face. Cowboy found himself being grabbed from behind by Ed; a quick backwards elbow strike ended any possibility of Ed doing anything to the Spirit Of ACW Champ.

Thereafter, Cowboy quickly turned around, drove his knee into Ed's ribs, and followed up with... VOICES AFTER MIDNIGHT! Christ, it was just finishers galore, innit?

Cowboy made the cover, referee Leon Hurst got down to his knees and counted;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Amazing stuff, yes?

Right outside the ring, Sharc and Jade Argent were catching their breath, not wanting to stay in the ring and become easy prey for Weiler or anybody else. Unfortunately for Argent, Sharc had procured a steel chair.

SMACK~!

Whatta shot! Argent didn't have the presence of mind to raise his hands to block, and found himself taking the FULL brunt of that chairshot! Argent went down, Sharc made the lax cover, and referee Roderick Lynch quickly raced over to count;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Finally, a point for Sharc. Psychopathy Red rolled away from Argent and regained possession of the steel chair, thinking about possible next victims.

Back in the ring, KSZ found himself a victim of Mark Weiler's headbutt. Make that two headbutts. With Zimmerman counting imaginary chickens, Weiler twisted his hips and dumped The Only Wrestler That Matters out of the ring. Mark was pissed that his momentum earlier on had come to a crashing end, but the sight of Sven Avsbern scoring with a pop-up clothesline to Khristain Keller made him feel a little better.

Avsbern's follow-up in the form of a running legdrop of the ropes? Even cooler.

The Swedish War Machine quickly covered Keller and hooked the legs for good measure, with referee Leon Hurst on hand to count the cover;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Big decision there for Sven. A measure of revenge over Keller for what K2 had done earlier in the evening had been obtained, and the Swedish War Machine was pleased.

SMACK~!

That was, until Mark Weiler kicked him right in the face. The Alpha Dog grinned for the first time in the evening, and it was obvious to everyone when Weiler reached down to grab Keller that something big was gonna down.

Mark Weiler looked into Keller's eyes, shook his head as if to indicate disappointment, and then... THE DOG'S BITE! Khristain Keller's head was SOMEHOW still attached to his body despite that destructive blow from The Alpha Dog.

"Count!" Weiler barked at referee Leon Hurst, after crouching down to make the cover;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Mark Weiler, ladies and gentlemen. The monster currently ruling the second Scorpion Fight Night Challenge.

Quickly, Mark Weiler got to his feet and dragged Keller by the legs to the corner of the ring. Weiler had a plan, and that plan apparently consisted of getting K2 propped up on the top of the turnbuckle. Around him, broken bodies lay around, and those All-Stars that were still breathing had rolled out of the ring, to escape the cruel advances of The Alpha Dog.

Weiler looked up at Keller, shook his head again, and then grabbed K2 by the throat.

What happenened next, sent the entire audience and everybody at home into collective mind-blowing orgasms.

CHOKESLAM.

FROM.

THE.

TOP.

DOWN TO THE RING.

CRAAA-AAAAAAAASH~!

Oh, did I forget to mention that the chokeslam actually sent Keller through the canvas, causing the ring to actually half-collapse? Oops, my bad. But yeah, the ring -- for all intents and purposes -- had been destroyed, thanks to the one and only Mark Weiler.

Immense chants of HOLY SHIT (in Russian) broke out in the stands, and Mark Weiler stood in the corner of the ring, eyes gleaming and breathing laboured from what he'd done. Not only had The Alpha Dog scored a decision over Khristain Keller, Weiler had effectively taken out the King Shit Of Fuck Mountain out of the equation and out of the running to win the Scorpion Fight Night Challenge.

And whaddaya know? It was finally coming to the end of Iceman's period as the target. Yeah, all of THAT just transpired over the course of 10 minutes. Pretty frakkin' incredible, huh?

5.

4.

3.

2.

1.

Annnnnd, there was a loud bzzzzzzzzt beeping that went off. Seconds later, three words flashed across the SlyTron, revealing just who the next target was.

There were many a gasp that followed, as well as a celebratory cheer from Z up in the Lounge Box.

At ringside, Shawn Jessica Hart gulped and rubbed his temples. He was SURE he wouldn't be made a target.

"Is it too late to somehow get a helicopter in here?!" Hart remarked to himself, as he started to make a run for it. He thought about jumping over the barricade and hightailing it through the crowd, but seeing Sharc and Vince Jacobs suddenly fighting amidst the sea of humanity changed his mind.

SJH reached a decision. He'd escape to the back and hide out in his locker-room until his 10 minutes of infamy were up.

One tiny problem with that plan.

SMACK~!

Sven Avsbern, with a steel chair. The Phenom crumpled down to the ground and groaned.

The Swedish War Machine tossed the chair aside and made the quick cover, just as referee Paige Allen popped up to count;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

His night may not have started out as he'd expected, but Sven was suddenly looking like a viable threat. Getting to his feet, the Swedish War Machine realised that he could yet make a run for the top of the leaderboard. He looked over his left shoulder and saw the fans still going apeshit over the condition of the ring. He turned to the other side, and saw Khristain Keller -- thoroughly decimated -- crawling away with what little he had left in the tank.

Sven then saw Mark Weiler hop out of the ring and get immediately jumped by Keith Scott Zimmerman. Then and there, the Sven The Hardcore figured it'd be best perhaps just to wail on SJH a while more, and maybe pick up more decisions that way.

Too bad Sven took waaaaay too long observing his surroundings. DANGEROUS III! Max Danger levelled Sven with his peach of a Roaring Elbow, garnering some applause in the process. Smirking, Danger turned around and yanked a groggy Shawn Jessica Hart up to his vertical balance.

"Are you okay, Shawn?" Max asked, looking unusually concerned.

Hart was too pre-occupied with the throbbing in his head to notice who exactly was talking to him. "Bah, I think so."

Danger nodded, and stood there for a second. And then, he took action.

DANGEROUS III!

Come on. It's Max freakin' Danger. What the hell did ya expect? Plus, he and Hart have history!

Laughing it up, Max covered Shawn and motioned for Paige to make with the counting;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Once upon a time, Max Danger was the God of ACW.

Now, he was inching ever closer to the summit of the leaderboard, and looking like a good bet to end the night as the new holder of the Scorpion Fighting Title.

A few feet away from Danger (who had decided to turn his attentions to the recovering Sven Avsbern), Ed and Kati were engaged in a little bit of a scuffle. The bad news for the girl with the green hair? Ed had somehow managed to procure a laptop.

SMACK~!

"I sacrificed updating my Twitter status for this? Ugh!" Ed remarked as Kati collapsed at his feet. Jimmy Reid began sobbing uncontrollably.

(it turns out that Ed had stolen *his* laptop. pieces of which were now scattered all over ringside.)

Anyways, with a sigh, Ed rolled Kati over and made the cover;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Racing back to his feet, Ed put his hands on hips and pondered over what to do next. Saving Klein, who was currently being dragged up the ramp by Midnight Cowboy, was a possibility.

Getting dropkicked in the back of the head by Jade Argent was a less appealing venture. But one that happened, whether Klein liked it or not. Argent shot Max Danger a nasty glare as the Australian Opportunist recovered; Danger took time out of choking Sven with a pipe to wave back at his comrade.

"Fucker!" was all Argent could say. Mainly because John Sarsgaard had just been victimised by Mark Weiler and was staggering towards him, unaware of what kind of trouble he was walking into.

Argent shrugged, rushed towards Sarsgaard, and... PLATINUM PLEX! Beautifully done, too.

Jade was quick to make the cover, and referee Paige Allen was quick to scurry over to count;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

The Australian Opportunist didn't look particularly pleased that he'd just attained a point. But the sight of Khristain Keller slowly but surely belly-crawling his way down the aisle next to the stage gave Jade something of an inspired idea.

And so, with that, Jade took off after Keller, completely bypassing Max Danger, who was getting smacked in the face with a dildo courtesy of Sven Avsbern. No, I don't quite know where Sven got the dildo from, but it was black and it was massively massive. Like, really huge.

... Annnnyways. Yeah.

Oh, look! Shawn Jessica Hart was back up! Yay!

SMACK~!

And down he went, like a sack of potatoes. Whodunnit? Kati! She'd recovered from Ed's attack earlier, and clobbered The Phenom from behind with a steel chair. Up in the Lounge Box, Z and Trey Vincent did the Numfar Dance Of Joy. They were thrilled at SJH being abused like a regular American crackwhore.

Kati tossed the chair aside, collapsed atop SJH and waited for referee Paige Allen to swing by;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Nice recovery from the new lieutenant of ACW's very own Caped Crusader. Using the security barricade to pull herself up, Kati took a second to observe the surroundings. The ring, while in a bad shape, hadn't quite reached the stage of full-on collapse. Which meant Malk Al-Haq and Orlando Grant and Rud Albion getting back into the ring was probably a good idea, since the likes of Mark Weiler and KSZ and Midnight Cowboy were still on the outside.

Shrugging her shoulders, Kati dived back into the ring, making a mental note to avoid the gaping hole at the corner, caused by Keller being the recipient of a chokeslam from The Alpha Dog.

POW~!

And immediately, Kati got walloped in the face thanks to a Rud Albion superkick. Oooh, sucks to be you, Kati.

At least you're not Shawn Jessica Hart, right?

Somewhere backstage, Iceman passed by a television monitor and breathed a sigh of relief. He'd survived being the target with minimal hiccups. Sure, he got beaten up majorly by Jack Harris and Fejona Min.

That felt like an eternity ago. Now? Oh, now Iceman was rockin' away. And with Alias at his mercy, and Spike Saunders laying in a heap with a plastic bag over his head? Awesome.

Oh yes, Iceman had been engulfed in a war with the Original Pulp Hero over the last seven to nine minutes, with both men battling each other tooth and nail all over the backstage arena. Spike Saunders had popped up out of nowhere to join in the fun, only for Iceman to choke him out by placing a plastic bag over his head. Oxygen deprivation for the win. And at that very moment, Iceman was advancing on Alias, who was on the ground crawling down a hallway. Iceman had his new favourite weapon with him, too. A sledgehammer, that he'd used rather well in months gone by on the likes of Omega and Bobby Minio.

With a stream of blood still trickling down his chin and onto his chest, Iceman dragged himself towards the Original Pulp Hero, sledgehammer primed to deliver a killing blow to the man that he once defeated to *win* the Scorpion Fighting Title.

"We have a lot of history, don't we? Original Pulp COCKSUCKER~!" Iceman hollered at the top of his voice.

Alias contemplated a comeback, but he wasn't in the mood. He'd spotted a tire iron at the end of the hallway; if he could get to it, ol' Whiskey Jack would be able to shut Iceman up and gain some breathing room.

Iceman continued shuffling his feet, ignoring the pain that he was in. Walking past a glass door, Iceman stopped to take a look at his reflection. His blonde locks had been stained with blood, and his handsome face was a frightful mess. Still, Snap Case figured it was all gonna be worth it. He'd destroy Alias, embark on a run that'd see him shoot to the top of the leaderboard, and walk out of Moscow with the prize he'd craved ever since losing it last December.

"Whatcha lookin' at?"

Iceman suddenly turned around, his balls shrinking. His eyes widened when he saw the source of the question.

It was the dastardly Fejona Min. And before Iceman could do anything with the sledgehammer, Fejona charged at him, connecting with a quickly-executed hurricane kick.

One that sent Iceman flying through the glass door! Mother of CHRIST!

Those spectacular HOLY SHIT chants? They were back. Fejona Min laughed as she got up and saw that there were shards of glass EVERYWHERE. She advanced on Iceman, laying in a pool of his own blood.

The Rogue Slayer couldn't help but carry on laughing as she covered Iceman, and referee Mark Shields popped up out of nowhere seconds later to do what he'd been paid to do;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

ACW's Original Femme Fatale was certainly living up to her tag of one of the favourites to win, and as she carefully tread away from Iceman, Fejona decided that she wasn't quite done dishing out sadistic forms of punishment.

That was well documented by Fejona picking up Iceman's sledgehammer, and setting her eyes on Alias, who had stopped crawling upon hearing Iceman get kicked through a glass door. Alias had no clue that it was Fejona Min that had done that, and he certainly had no frickin' idea that Fejona Min was now slithering towards him.

"Alias. We finally have a chance to get properly introduced to one another." Min icily quipped as she neared Alias.

The Original Pulp Hero shook his head, not quite believing his fabulous luck. Of all the people to creep up behind him.

With a determined glint in her eyes, Fejona suddenly grabbed Alias by his left ankle and dragged the former three-time ACW World Champ down the hallway, where all the shards of glass lay haphazardly. Alias grunted as his body grazed a few of those dangerous shards, well aware that he was in deeeeeep shit.

SMACK~!

And then, he was in a deeeeeeeep sleep. Sledgehammer shot to the back of the head will do that to ya.

Fejona chucked the sledgehammer aside, rolled Alias over, and made the tight cover;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Holy hell. Fejona was doing what she said she was gonna do. She was taking no prisoners in her quest for the Scorpion Fighting Title. Still 3 points behind Weiler, but Fejona was sure she'd be able to catch up soon.

Getting up, The Rogue Slayer stared at the lifeless bodies of Alias and Iceman. With a devilish smirk, she reached down towards Alias and... removed his boots? What?

"Let's see you get out of this glass-covered hallway with only your bare feet, Sheff!" Fejona remarked coyly, easily unlacing the Original Pulp Hero's footwear. Within seconds, she was struttin' away with a new pair of boots and was using them to scatter shards of glass evenly across the hallway.

Let it be said that Fejona Min is one crazy bitch. With both Iceman and Alias (and Spike Saunders who was finally coming to but still hella groggy) trapped in a part of the backstage area that was not only dimly-lit but now looked like a scene out of Die Hard, it was obvious what the Rogue Slayer was doing.

Slowly, bit by bit, she was eliminating the strongest contenders out of the equation and setting herself up for victory.

Sneaky c$%t.

Back at ringside, there were bodies laying everywhere. The night's carnage thus far had taken its toll.

The only people still moving? Max Danger and Sven Avsbern. And even then, they were both propped up against the security barricade, wheezing away as if their lungs weren't functioning properly. A few feet away, Shawn Jessica Hart was being choked by Ed and what appeared to be Jimmy Reid's tie. And yes, he was still sobbing.

Anyway, after taking in huge gulps of air, Max Danger stood upright and walked over to Sven Avsbern. He'd take the Swedish War Machine out, and then go back to beating up Shawn Jessica Hart. Nothing wrong with that plan at all.

Oh, except Sven Avsbern suddenly charging at Danger and SPEARING him! Danger looked as if he'd been hit by a moving vehicle, and the fans -- who had seen the action at ringside slow to a crawl over the last five minutes or so -- exploded with a hearty round of cheers!

Sven shook the cobwebs out of his head and rolled over to get an arm across Danger's face. Good enough for referee Leon Hurst;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Content, Sven Avsbern rolled in the opposite direction, trying his damndest to pull himself up. It wasn't to be; there was just too much pain weighing him down. At least practically nobody else was moving around at ringside.

Well, except for Ed, who had now brought Shawn Jessica Hart up to his feet. Ed was revelling in the fact that he was the only man in control at ringside at that moment, and decided to compound SJH's misery by suplexing him onto the security barricade. After a great deal of effort, Ed finally managed to lift SJH off the canvas.

Unfortunately for Ed, SJH's survival instincts kicked in. The Phenom forcibly and determinedly squirmed out of Ed's grasp, landed behind Ed, and waited for one-half of the Pop Culture Phenoms to turn around in confusion.

HART ON! Out of sheer desperation, but SJH nonetheless pulled it off!

And despite being completely knackered, Hart was still able to get his body across Ed's for a cover;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

SJH rolled away and adopted a kneeling position, looking up at the stars. He was either thanking Jesus or Allah or Vishnu. Or perhaps he was giving Z and Trey Vincent the middle finger.

The good news rolled on for SJH; the SlyTron came to life, and the countdown appeared. His time as target was winding down.

"Thank Felicia!" he screamed joyously.

5.

4.

3.

2.

1.

Suddenly the whole arena went quiet as the next target was about to be revealed. Everyone in the fight so far had witnessed the chaos and the fear which enraged into everyone once somebody had been named the target. Through clenched fists there were a number of people out there who were simply crossing their fingers and repeating the following;

Please not me… Please not me… Please not me… Please not me… Please not me…

You get the idea. Anyways, the next target was none other than a giant of a man. Oh yeah, you got it.

Oooh, ahhh. Business was about to pick up.

SCORPION FIGHT NIGHT CHALLENGE II
SLOUCHING TOWARDS BETHLEHEM.
01:20:00 - 01:40:00

           

The focus was once again on the locker room area where Alias was currently out cold without any shoes... but the focus was not there for long as Saunders had witnessed the pain someone can be hit with in such a tight room, so he did what any hero would do. What any man of sheer fighting spirit would adhere to.

He ran... leaving a pile of broken glass in his wake, but the broken bodies?

Bolting down the hallway, he was quickly pursued by Iceman, Jack Harris and Fejona Min. All of them hoping to put a serious bump in their scores by making a fall over the target. Saunders did not know the layout of the arena; at the end of the day who the fuck did? Sure enough, this would lead to his downfall as he turned left, then right before looking behind him at his three foes sprinting behind him.

Shimmy to the left.

Shimmy to the right.

Open the door.

“Fuck.”

Saunders had somehow managed to get himself to the side of the entrance ramp as he looked around at the various fights going on around the area. He turned back around to see Fejona Min running at him with some sort of pipe in her hand, so he once again decided to leg it.

PLATINUM PLEX! OUT OF FUCKING NOWHERE!

Saunders somehow ran into Jade Argent and was subsequently smashed into the ramp with the Australian Opportunists finishing move and luckily for him there was a referee standing by to make the first pin attempt on the new target.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Meanwhile back in the ring Orlando Grant had Rud Albion in the corner of the ring, well what was left of the corner, and was battering lumps out of his face with his bare right hand. No need for weapons for big OG! OG pulled Albion to the side and Irish whipped him towards the ropes, before delivering a big time clothesline.

But Albion was straight back up.

Clothesline again.

Up again, but this time a little more gingerly.

As Albion stumbled to his feet he was looking the wrong way as OG jogged up from behind him and pushed him towards the ring ropes, using both mens momentum to roll up Albion into a nice tight little package!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

As Argent still hovered over Saunders after the pinfall, he was soon struck in the back of the head as John Sarsgaard kicked Argent in the face leaving Saunders ready for the picking… but there was three others who had been chasing all the way from the locker room to attend to.

Fejona Min slowed down as Sarsgaard was now in her path and watched as Jack Harris went straight to it.

No messing about from the big man.

Harris and Sarsgaard went toe to toe with right hands as Min waited for her chance to strike with the pipe she held in her hand, but little did she know that the third member of this relay race wasn’t that happy at the fact she had put him through a glass mirror a while ago.

“FUCK!”

Min turned around.

“YOU!”

Iceman swung a steel chair harder than he thought possible as he smashed Min right in the forehead with the blue steel and he then watched on as Sarsgaard launched Harris down the ramp and then covered the target, Mr Spike Saunders.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

SMASH

The noise of the steel chair off the back of Sarsgaard shivered down Iceman’s arms as he tossed the steel to one side and then pulled Sarsgaard out of the way to get his own pin on the motionless Saunders.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

This is fucking madness isn’t it?

Let us take a wee breather. How you holding up?

Show isn’t too long for you not is it?

It is?

Fuck.

Why don’t we have a small jolly to the outside then? Outside was a complete shambles in Moscow... not only was it fucking Baltic but there were bodies everywhere.

Ulf German lay against a wall with his hands in his head.

Callie Urban and Buddy Saxon were tumbling near the loading bay to the arena.

Ulf's partner Der Deutscher Soldat (where the hell he'd been all night would forever be a mystery) and Jesse Ramey were taking on Abilities (ditto) in a little game of who can punch the hardest. Crazy Ramey was winning.

However, in between this entire ruckus stood former God of ACW in Max Danger and a certain ‘The Alpha Dog’ Mark Weiler, who was still leading the second Scorpion Fight Night Challenge. In a complete upside down face from last year's event, Danger wanted this to be his defining moment when he proved everyone wrong. Weiler? He just wanted to punch people in the face. Considering the events that transpired between these two much earlier in the fight, an epic re-counter was almost assured.

With no weapons between the two, both men began to work each other with their fists and it was Weiler who got the best of the exchange as the fighting duo. As they fought each other they moved closer and closer to a parked vehicle in the loading bay of the arena.

No idea who owned the vehicle.

But in the next five minutes, they would need to be calling their insurance company.

Weiler took Danger by the hair and dragged him over to the silver Ford Mondeo (you expected something fancy?). Danger's face soon met the bonnet of the vehicle as Weiler took a step back and clubbed Danger in the back of the head. The King was slumped on his stomach over the vehicle as the Dog looked around him for a few weapons.

He found a large steel chain and wrapped it around his fist, punching Danger in the left shoulder blade with it. Danger howled in agony as he turned around and ducked the next right hand.

“WATCH THE FACE!”

Danger booted Weiler in the stomach and then suddenly began to think like a madman, it probably went something like this;

Can I suplex him?

Hells yeah!

Can I suplex him onto a car?

Hells yeah Max!

Will I be cool as fuck if I do this?

Fo’SHO!

So that is exactly what he did. He hooked Mark Weiler up and took his spot, before hoisting Weiler up and backwards onto the cars windshield!

SMASH

Inside the arena, in Russian, the fans cried HOLY SHIT as they watched this on the SlyTron.

Max Danger had just put Mark Weiler through the windshield of the vehicle. Danger stood for a few moments open eyed, looking at what he had just done before shrugging and delivering the most devastating use of this word since it had been created;

“COOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOL.”

Danger scampered up past all the broken glass and got to his feet, Weiler was half in the vehicle and half out of it, but he was dying just in the right position for Danger to put his foot on his chest and usher over a referee.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

The revenge mission for The Dangerous One had been accomplished. In some frakkin' style, too.

So you are probably no doubt wondering what the hell happened during all that cool breaking windows shit? Yeah. Well.

Buddy Saxon managed to get free from Urban's grip and make his way over to Ulf German with a tyre iron in his hand. It didn’t take that many guesses about what happened next.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Upon seeing such a nasty sight as Saxon waving this weapon about, Jesse Ramey climbed the side of a container which held fuck knows what, and dove off of the top with a cross body block onto the cold and hard steel.

That then meant that Ramey could get his own little pin over Saxon this time, as German staggered over to that same wall again, probably to cry!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

As THIS happened, Max Danger floated into the action feeling cocky as fuck that he had just put a man through a car. He found a fight in Klein as he tried to get himself higher up the leader board. The soon to retire Max Danger rattled his way through Kleins arsenal before striking him with a clean elbow to the face before planting him onto the concrete with a thud with a HARD DDT.

And I mean HARD.

You could hear the wet thud.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Danger is HARDCORE~! And in a tie for second place. Whooo!

To show just how hardcore he was, as Jesse Ramey wandered around looking for a fight after pinning Saxon, he spotted Weiler still lying in the vehicle, slowly getting to his feet. Ramey climbed the back of the vehicle and then for some reason launched himself off of the roof and quite impressively hit Weiler with a moonsault leg drop.

WTF.

COVER FTW!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

BACK TO RINGSIDE!

Spike Saunder began to get to his feet, still named as the target but everyone else was tied up with other people. He shook the cobwebs clear and then had a decision to make. His decision was to look for a fight. Good man you say?

Well.

“Hey cunto.”

A groggy Saunders turned around.

“That fucking text on all the screens say you are the target?”

Khristain Keller was back.

Kick to the ribs

PAINKILLA! MUTHA_FUCKAS!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

After his return Keller began hitting anything that moved as both Ed and Kati took on the former ACW World Champion but neither of them could get closed to the pumped up King Shit.

Instead the man who would try and get a hold of Keller would be a certain Ring Superstar. Vince Jacobs stood still at the top of the ramp and more or less told Keller to come and get it… and both men squared off against one another, circling and waiting for the other to make their move.

Jacobs did first.

A hard right hand was replied to by Keller, was Jacobs soon having the upperhand as he chopped Keller in the chest three times before connecting his head to Keller's nose.

Also coming up the ramp were Jack Harris and Fejona Min, who had what could only have been called some sort of alliance earlier on in the night. What happened there then? Harris didn’t have much time to think about that as Min desperately smashed him in the face with what seemed like a garbage can of some kind.

What then happened could only be described as violent comedy.

As the can rolled around the ramp, it actually managed to land straight at Khristain Keller's feet, but he didn’t know. So as SVJ hit him with a hard right hand, Keller decked it over the can and fell face first on the grating.

That was fucking ideal for Jacobs, who took said garbage can and rattled it into the face of Keller. Awesome hit.

The cover? Academic, natch;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

As SVJ got to his feet, who was to bump into him? Fejona Min of course.

SMASH

She then got a hit in the back of the head with the can and went toppling down the rampway towards Harris, who subsequently scooped her up and slammed her onto the floor to get his own tally up a point.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Spike Saunders was back on his feet and watched as SVJ and Harris began to square up to one another.

…

…

…

All that could be heard in the locker room was the scrape of glass against the floor. Alias was now awake, and he could see the state he was in. His head was covered in blood, and as he looked down at his cold legs he soon found out why he felt such a chill as he no longer had any boots to cover his feet.

“What the fuck?”

The Hero looked at all the glass that covered the floor and had a decision to make; either crawl and distribute the cuts and pain and blood across his whole body or get to his feet and let his them take the brunt of the work.

He decided to take the second option.

Pushing himself to his feet he gingerly placed all of his weight down on the glass and winced as his skin was quickly pierced by the broken glass. He stood for a moment and soaked in the pain, telling himself nothing was wrong… mentally blocking it out of his mind.

He then decided to run for his life… to try and get this over with as quickly as possible.

Moments later he was out of the locker room door and onto the adjacent hallway.

THE SPACE BETWEEN BY HOW TO DESTROY ANGELS SHOULD GO HERE

Alias slumped to his knees and grimaced in pain.

He looked behind him at his bloodied feet, glass protruding from flesh; his flesh.

Blood began to trail from his feet as he picked out the various clips of compressed sand out of his sole and tossed them to the side. His feet began to pulse, and no longer feeling cold, he tried to get to his feet but simply couldn’t right now. He looked further down the hall and noticed a few All-Stars battling it out for the right to become the Scorpion Champion.

He had already been there.

He had already done that.

But he was Alias.

He NEEDED this.

After picking the final piece of glass from his feet he took a moment to get a breather… taking large gulps of oxygen to try and accelerate the healing process but this plan was quickly shot to piece.

The stench.

Alias caught a whiff of it as he took in a big breath of air and quickly coughed and spluttered his lungs inside out. Years of smoking would do that to you… but this smell.

He then heard the tapping of feet behind him. The steps were light in weight, but they were quick.

He turned around and lifted his head, his eyes shifting from the floor to the sky all of which was black until he got to the top… the sickening sight of the thing.

The Carrion.

The Koschei.

Alias tightened up and was ready to fight, even if he couldn’t stand he was ready to fight… but something inside him knew that he wasn’t going to win.

“Is that how is it huh? Only take me on when I’m down and out?”

Koschei quickly moved to Alias’ right hand side, before moving back again. He was playing with Sheffield.

“You were down and out a long time ago my friend.”

Alias tossed a ball of saliva straight at the feet of the Carrion in an act of defiance.

“Don’t ever call me friend… I don’t even know the man behind the mask.”

Koschei shifted from left to right quickly, as Alias found it hard to keep track such was his woozy state. Alias was soon knocked back by a quick kick to the face which left him stunned, and then Koschei wasn’t there.

Then he couldn’t breath.

Arms wrapped around Alias’ neck like a vice which halted his air supply, but he could still feel the smell in his aura. He could feel Koschei behind him.

“I can assure you Hero… you know exactly who I am.”

Alias began to struggle.

“Don’t fight it Hero… when I am finished you will be broken.”

Koschei tighted his grip as Alias’ eyes began to close.

“But you will be free.”

Alias faded into darkness.

…

…

…

And look, the SlyTron came to life once more!

5.

4.

3.

2.

1.

Who, prey tell, was the new target?

Oooh, everybody smiled when they got wind of the news. Oh yes, they did.

As Spike Saunders released a sigh of relief… KSZ stopped breathing all together as everyone now had their gaze fixed upon him. But just like the target before him KSZ thought quickly and somewhat smartly as he bolted into the backstage area as pretty much all of the wrestlers who were in the crowd and the ramp area followed him.

In that ruckus Midnight Cowboy noticed Shawn Jessica Hart in front of him and decided why the hell not? MC twisted SJH around and power bombed him straight into the top of the ramp way as various All-Stars passed them both by.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Ed on the other hand was just getting up from attacking Khristain Keller unsuccessfully, and as he looked around for K2, he was nowhere to be found from the position that SVJ had left him in.

“Where did he go?”

CLANG

Keller?

Nope.

Fejona Min. With a baseball bat.

Alumunium of course!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Fejona rolled up to her feet and clutched the aluminium bat to her chest. A possible new victim in William T. Rex was stumbling towards her way, with William's partner Abraham Swift close behind getting whipped by... shit, that was Arkady kicking in Swift's teeth.

The Rogue Slayer scowled. She didn't like Arkady. Why? Perhaps because he looked fucking badass with that wolf mask. Anyways, a swing of the baseball bat caught William T. Rex square in the head, just as Arkady drove his knee into the side of Swift's head and followed up with a sick DDT onto the concrete floor.

Fejona made her cover on William, Arkady made his cover on Abraham. Within seconds, referee Paige Allen was counting for both of them;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Success for both! Fejona and Arkady raced to their feet, exchanged a look, and then went their separate ways. Well, Fejona dashed off. Arkady turned around and lunged at 'Zen-Zational' Zhang Tao who was looking to creep up on the Russian Wolf.

No luck. Arkady had taken him down with a double-leg takedown, and then subjected Zhang Tao to torture of the worst kind. A kick to the balls. Yikes!

The cover followed shortly after;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

The Russian Wolf got back to his feet and looked around. He craved more victims.

Meanwhile, as KSZ continued his sprint, he was looking for something particular. Passing SilverHAWK on the way Zimmerman found what he was looking for and made a bee-line to it. He looked behind him as Sharc, Jade Argent and Iceman pursued him but they were all too late.

OPEN DOOR.

LOCK.

CLICK

KSZ had locked himself in a janitors closet.

GEN-I-FUCKING-US.

Sharc was the first to try the door, but it was big and it was sturdy, and before he could go and fetch a weapon to try and prize it open Malk Al-Haq pulled Sharc away and tossed him into a bunch of container boxes and then promptly jumped on top of him with a big time leg drop before watching Iceman have a go.

“FUCK! Get out here you cunt!”

But he was also not there for long as he was picked off as an easy target by Kati and she could see the door was not going to open, as she chop blocked Iceman's leg from under him and dragged him into the corner by the hair.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

That was Malk being crafty as the other fights went on, and the referee had to shift between them and then Kati and she had Iceman covered.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

This was becoming all a bit crazy.

Remember Argent? Yeah. Well he was a little tied up to try and bust down a door as Spike Saunders had caught up with the man who first pinned him when he was the target.

BOOM! HEADSHOT

Argent was out for the count.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Inside the closet KSZ was holding onto the door handle and pulling it with all he could manage as Saunders walked over to a fallen Iceman and planted a big time elbow onto his chest before trying to the pin.

ONE!

TWO!

THR - NO!

Iceman kicked out.

Not for long though.

BOOM! HEADSHOT!!

Saunders smashed his fist into Iceman's temple from the grounded position and promptly pinned him once more.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Just to the right hand side of the door everyone could see Fejona Min pop up to smash Midnight Cowboy from behind with what looked like a lead pipe.

That gotta hurt and to add insult to injury, she then pinned him!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Finally, ACW's Original Femme Fatale had tied with Mark Weiler as the leader of this amazing battle. One more decision, and Fejona Min would be the outright leader. The person to beat.

So what the hell else would happen next in this clusterfuck of a match? In this behemoth of violence? In this fucking quality gore fest?

Ask, and ye shall receive.

"RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR"

Buddy Saxon, Iceman and Sharc turned around and witnessed something that truly shocked and awed all of them.

OMEGA HAD FUCKING RETURNED.

THE SON OF A BITCH WAS ALLLLLLLLLLIIIIIIIVVVVVVVVVVVEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.

ALLLLLLLLLLLIIIVVVVVVVVVEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

Omega was an almighty mess, but that didn't stop him stampeding on everything and everyone around him as the All-Stars quickly scattered at the sight of the reigning Scorpion Fighting Champion. Fejona Min audibly cursed and sharply made her exit out of the side door to try and find a fight elsewhere , while Omega took out not one, not two but three All-Stars in quick succession!

Kati, Klein, Buddy Saxon? You'd just been owned by the Craziest Bastard In The Whole World.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

x3, by the by.

While all this was happening, KSZ was still locked in tight and safe as the seconds ticked down him being freed from target duty. As Al-Haq kicked at the door he was soon clobbered with a steel chair from Omega, as Iceman moved to attack the big man.

Big mistake.

Monkey flip into a brick wall!

Omega looked at the door and kicked it, it never moved. Anyone got a better idea?

Well it seemed that Omega did. As he wondered off his path was cluttered with violence. Right hands to various people. Kicks to stomachs. Even an iron plate onto the face of Ed for good measure and when he returned from his little trip, he returned with two items.

Lighter fluid.

Matches.

He squirted the fluid all over the door as suddenly everyone else in the area decided it would be a wise time to get the fuck out of there. As everyone else left Jesse Ramey was arriving... and now wondering what badass thing was happening.

He watched as a battered and bloodied Omega set light to the door... all you could hear was KSZ saying 'FUCK' inside the door and it was only a matter of seconds as Omega took a step to the side.

...

And waited.

...

"FUCK!"

The door opened and Keith Scott Zimmerman bust out of the door which was now partially aflame. ACW staff were on the scene but didn't want to get anywhere near Omega so they let that motherfucker burn.

Speaking of burn.

SPEAR FROM HELL~!

Omega cut KSZ in half with a ferocious spear into a block of boxes, and quickly pinned the target.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Omega was shooting up the leaderboard as a certain someone was now in his sight with her own tally about to go up. As Omega took a look down the hall he watched Fejona Min smash Shawn Jessica Hart on the back of the head with a Singapore cane and promptly cover him with the legs hooked.

This was, after all and very importantly, for the lead;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Fejona had done it!

That was enough for Omega to chase after the bitch who completely battered him from head to toe... but as he got there he was interupted by a certain Mr. Sarsgaard who wanted to test himself against the best.

While all this was going on KSZ was on his feet, but not before 'Right Place, Right Time' Jesse Ramey has climbed a ladder directly above him.

KSZ looked up and groaned.

This is going to fucking hurt.

SWANTON BOMB!

Ramey was nearly dead as he managed to stay on top of the former fWo World Champion and managed to get the pin.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

As Zimmerman;s time ticked down to it's final thirty seconds, he had so far managed to keep himself in pretty decent shape for what would unfurl in the final twenty minutes.

But what exactly do we have planned for the final 1200 seconds?

Buttfuckery of the highest order.

5.

4.

3.

2.

1.

Annnnd, time for the second-to-last target to be revealed.

SCORPION FIGHT NIGHT CHALLENGE II
RETURN OF THE KING.
01:40:00 - 02:00:00

           

Tommy Vale, the Ring Announcer, made with the announcement. "ONE HOUR AND FORTY MINUTES HAVE TRANSPIRED! TREY VINCENT… IS NOW THE TARGET!"

What, sayyyy what?

Well, talk about buttfuckery of the highest order.

The question that nearly All-Star started to ponder was, where the hell was Trey Vincent?

That’s certainly what Keith Scott Zimmerman was thinking, while shaking off the cobwebs of the current attack from Jesse Ramey. He was less then 24-hours removed from kicking everybody BUT Trey Vincent in the ass… and paid for it.

Now he was looking to KILL Trey Vincent. So, after trading a few punches with Jesse Ramey for what had just transpired, both men decided to search for an Icon as opposed to continue what they were up to.

Fejona Min, having separated herself from the the King of Violence who was now back from the dead and roaring towards her lead for the Scorpion Fighting Title KNEW she had to find the ACW World Champion… so she would.

How?

By finding the television tech and interrogating him on Trey Vincent’s position. Min roared towards a pudgy looking fellow, slapping the glasses RIGHT off his sweaty face before grabbing him by the lapels of his polo shirt.

“Now, listen up, you imbecile. You either tell where the World Champion is… or you end up much much worse then Omega did at the start of these two hours!" Fejona spat with malice. "And I'll do it myself, rather than depend on other people to get the job done.

TELL. ME. WHERE. TREY. VINCENT. IS!"

These venomous words fell from out the mouth of the Kashmir Killing Machine (oooh new nickname) with truly dangerous seriousness. The man shook, and began to point up… when SilverHAWK stepped in and began to push Min away from the tech. For a moment Fejona Min held back from backhanding her boss… but then she realized she didn’t need to as a shadow loomed over her.

As it did however, a couple of men were seen brawling on the entrance ramp that led down to the ring. With vicious intent the two men were trading punches into each other… and these men? The esteemed Spirit Of ACW, Midnight Cowboy… and Malk Al-Haq, the man who had so viciously attacked him weeks prior… before losing his chance to do so the night before.

As the two stumbled towards the back of the entrance and below the SlyTron, out came another two men from either side to disrupt the current one-on-one fight.

Jack Harris attacked Al-Haq.

Iceman attacked Midnight Cowboy.

“This is the last time you cocksuckers are going to get the better of me!” screamed Iceman… before MC did indeed get the upper-hand, and put him down with the VOICES AFTER MIDNIGHT!

Straaaight into the steel ramp-way.

The crowd might have been holy shitted out, even if that’s what they would have said in there Russian tongue, but they still roared in appreciation for the further violence.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Jack Harris had slammed Malk Al-Haq down to the entrance ramp with a vicious spinebuster. Once Malk was writhing on the rampway, Harris got right into the face of the Overlord and pressing his forearm in the man’s face, he showed what a true Madman could do.

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

Harris puffed and huffed in breath, like the vicious wolf he was, and then finally hooked the leg.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

But speaking of a Madman, I had left Fejona Min with a shadow looming over shoulder hadn’t I? Well, with a segway like that you can guess where I’m going with this then.

OMEGA had grabbed… SilverHAWK?!

The Craziest Bastard in Professional Wrestling had grabbed the man who wrote his paycheck, by the throat, and growled four simple words.

“Where. Is. Trey. Vincent?”

Hawk swallowed hard under the heavy hand of Omega.

And then he told him exactly where Trey Vincent was.

Which was continuing to party with Z!

“Fuck! Best two out of three!”

Right? Paaaar-tay?

“Rock, Scissors, Paper saaays shoot!”

Trey had rock. Z had rock. Neither had a supermodel around there necks anymore. To say the least, the minute that Trey’s name appeared on the SlyTron, the Sports Entertainment had gotten a little worried.

“Why are we doing this again?” queried Trey Vincent

“I respect our villainous alliance,” replied Z, “I mean, obviously. And for that very reason, and to keep things light on such a glowering day like to day, if you can beat me in this game of ultimate strategy… I will be your human shield.”

“Human shield?”

“Yeah, I don’t want to see you get hurt! That mob out there could KILL you… but not if I can help it.”

“Aaaw… this guy.”

Pause.

“Rock, papers, scissors, sho—“

BOOM, BOOM, BOOM!

They were now at the door. Z and Trey Vincent looked at each other, not entirely worried yet but they knew… they knew what was to come.

BOOM, BOOM, BOOM!

At the door, but a different door, and a voice could be heard yelling through it.

“Listen here you fucks, I saw you take him in there!” This was the voice of Khristian Keller.

Jeremy Hunt’s lackeys then opened the door, a battered and angry Mark Weiler and an equally angry Jack Harris who had just been pulled from the front line to be here… for an occasion such as this.

No one could get in the way of what was about to take place.

But wait, the educated could be heard still asking that simple question… KELLER?!

“Alias! Hang in there! Don’t let them take it away! Don’t let them…”

Weiler and Harris charged from out of the door and dragged Keller away, back into the arena, as he roared and kicked and screamed. A large pale hand grabbed, one belonging to the man known as WAR, grabbed a hold of the door and slammed it shut.

Within the dark room, the quiet room, WAR walked back to two of the only being making sounds in the room’s center.

There was the muffled growl of the Original Pulp Hero, who was strapped down to a dirty rusted steel table-sized sink. Something that one would use for… an autopsy.

And the one who planned to use it.

The one who the sound of hushed breathing belonged to.

Carrion.

The man known as Koschei the Deathless to some, drew a knife from the side of the table, and held it glinting in the subdued light of the room.

Then he began cutting away… at the bandages around the waist of Alias.

“I can’t believe you did that!” cried Z, as we cut away from the boiling tension and returned to the center of the war. Well, off center of it anyway.

Z looked, not as much frustrated… as he did flabbergasted. He had been beaten.

“A man’s gotta do, what a man’s gotta do.”

Cut to thirty seconds earlier, and as the fists of both men came down for rock, papers, scissors, the red gloved hand of Z said paper… while the green-taped wrist of TV… had a rock in front of it.

Suddenly though the ‘rock’ turned to its side and… wait… TV had drawn an arched eyebrow on his hand. Using his thumb as a mouth, the hand said something along the lines of “IT DOESN’T MATTER WHAT YOUR PAPER SAYS!”

Then TV ‘Rock-Bottomed’ the hand of Z.

Huh… so I guess Rock does beat paper.

We are violently brought back to the present as the door of the Lounge Box, where Z and Trey Vincent had been hiding… and fists started to push through it and tear it from its hinges.

Trey Vincent stood beside Z and both men prepared, tensed, ready to fight all comers. Vincent looked at the door, and put on the kind of fight face that had earned him the World Championship… and then looked back at Z with a nod.

Except he didn’t nod at Z.

Because Z was no longer there.

Trey Vincent whipped himself around, looking for his partner in crime, only to find said partner beginning to climb out of the window. Z had already rigged himself a repelling rope down into the arena… cause he was a scoundrel like that.

Z saw the look of shock and betrayal on TV’s face, and shrugged.

“Well, we’ll always have… that time that I kicked the shit out of Shawn Jessica Hart.”

TV’s face of shock and betrayal twisted into a happy face.

“Yeah, good times.”

Z laughed. "Catch you after the show for more sexy time? If you're still alive, of course."

"You betcha." Vincent responded, now becoming a bit despondent. "For the record, I'm sad I didn't think of your exit strategy. Oh well. Time for me to show these idiots why I'm the best in the whole, wide world."

CRASH, BOOOM, CRUNCH!

And with that, the door was no longer alive and in came a hungry roster of vicious, tired and bloody superstars wanting there pound of flesh from the World Champion.

Hmmm, it was no longer good to be king.

Still, as the likes of the NEW World Tag Team Champion Spike Saunders, the vicious Sven Avsbern, rookie of the earlier part of the year Orlando Grant and Championship Pass and Five Millon Dollar Man John Sarsgaard came running towards him… Trey Vincent was channeling his inner-Stone Cold when Austin fought McMahon or his inner-Goldberg against the NWO.

TV hit Spike Saunders with a Shocking Conclussion, and then hit Sven with the same. Clothline from Minnesota on Orlando Grant! And another Shocking Conclussion on Sarsgaard!

But then, ohho then, a vicious barbed-wire chairshot came from the side of Trey Vincent and richoeted his head off of a near-by desk.

OMEGA.

The Scorpion Fighting Champion lifted the chair once again, and brought it down… sandwiching the chair he called Barb into Trey Vincent’s head once more.

The Sports Entertainment Icon’s leg twitched, before the World Champion slumped to the floor.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Omega had pinned the World Champion, but not only that.

He was now only 5 points away from catching Fejona Min. Christ almighty.

But could he indeed catch her, or would they both fall behind another? With that thought, two of Hunt’s Cunts… the men that had recently taken away Keller, were now brawling into the room with Jesse Ramey of all men, along with Carrachio Salfuego of all people. There was no sign of Keller.

This really was FIGHT NIGHT.

Omega was brought into this chaos, taking a hit was Jack Haris and therefore returning it in kind. Ramey then slipped out of it, as the other four men brawled.

Ramey slipped towards the current target with a mad look on his eyes, before swooping in and painfully spiking Trey Vincent through the nearby table with an Attitude Adjustment!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Now Ramey was closing in on the lead, only 2 points behind.

Ramey wasn’t finished though, as the seconds waned on Trey Vincent’s incredibly vicious time as a target. Ramey had a few words for the World Champion.

Not before turning around to see Omega powerbomb poor Carrachio Salfuego through a table. Madness!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Dun dun dun. Omega was now only 4 points away. What a comeback.

But now, back to crazy-eyes Ramey who turned to look at Vincent: “Of all the careers I’ve ended, that have left me feeling guilty… ending yours would only bring me pleasure.”

But once we are plunged into darkness as chaos continues throughout the arena. To the quiet, the still… blood and violence could be expected…

If what was dreaded, hadn’t already happened.

Through the halls echoed… “THE FINAL TARGET OF THE NIGHT IS…

...

...

...

...

... FEJONA MIN!”

Talk about buttfuckery of the highest order, huh?

“Fejona is now the target,” said a cold English voice, as Carrion turned to WAR, “Go help her, and she’ll pay us back in full.”

“After what she’s done to the Hunt’s Men tonight?” WAR asked, gruffly.

“Don’t question me,” was all Carrion would reply. WAR nodded, and headed out of the door, leaving Carrion with the Original Pulp Hero, as Alias continued to growl and even gurgle on the table.

To put it lightly he was in bad shape. Face pale, and speckled with blood, more blood pooled in the shallow reservoir that surrounded his body.

It was moments like this that he wished he hadn’t of quit smoking, not while the Asylum's Black Title had stayed around his waist.

Wait, the Black Title?

The Black Title had originated in the heart of underground fighting circles. Some say it has existed since the late 1800’s and others, since the early 1900’s. A bareknuckle boxing belt, it had once belonged to the cream of the crop and touched the hands of many a respected fighter.

“Besides,” Carrion leaned forward and removed the mask of the vulture, “We have much to discuss… just you and I.”

It was the face of Jeremy Hunt that smiled back. Alias was shocked in his current state, to see the face of the bald SlySports Programming Executive Jeremy Hunt to be looking back at him. He could ask… why? But instead…

“You’re… Carrion?” Alias never trusted Hunt, but now he had reason to despise him, or hope that he could. Though it seemed that no one quite knew where he was tonight, and with Min as the final target, they were far to0 busy trying to win the SFNC as it was.

“Only for tonight, Mr. Sheffield.” Hunt mysteriously replied, “But I will tell you one thing I’ve always been… remembered. And with your… gift… to me. I intend to do the same for my family.”

“Family?”

Somewhere along the line, however, the reputation of the Black title turned deadly. It became something that only belonged to the most violent of violent men.

Fejona Min fought for her lead, as well as her life as she as well as none other then the Spirit of ACW followed her out from the back as she kicked at him, he avaided her and gave chase towards the ring.

Ulf German rushed towards Min in the insanity, but as she booted German away from her, Midnight Cowboy came towards her and hit it!

VOICES AFTER MIDNIGHT!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

With only minutes to go, the Spirit of ACW had launched a late surge in hopes of becoming a double-champion with the Scorpion Fighting Championship, just a day after losing his chance at the World Championship. All eyes were now towards the broken ring as Midnight Cowboy brought Fejona Min into it, and then immediately to the entrance as Omega fought his way towards saving the Scorpion title which he had held onto through a number of epic fights and vicious encounters, as he fought against another monster with a very good chance to win, in the Alpha Dog.

Keith Scott Zimmerman had gotten the best of Shawn Jessica Hart within the crowd, putting down his battered rival with a MURDERDEATHKEITH!

And how.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Omega did not forget what Weiler had helped to do at the beginning of the night either.

Ever poke a man’s eyes from his head, using only your thumbs?

Omega gouged at the other big man’s eyes.

Stab a man through the heart with a broken pool cue?

Then jabbed a series of stiff lefts and rights into the Alpha Dog’s ribs.

Burn a man alive?

Omega took the blinded and pained opponent in front of him and brought him down and around with a viciously impactful version of The End on the steel rampway.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

But hey, Omega wasn't done. He picked up Weiler again, annnnd... THE END! Weiler was out cold.

Clearly, the Scorpion Fighting Champ was determined to fight to the very death for his right to remain Champion.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

As Omega stood up, his eyes once again returned to the broken ring. A smile came acorss his face.

You could have very well been… the Black Title holder. Yes, holder. Because a word like CHAMPION is for good men, honest men. Men with, at the very least, the fear of God in there hearts.

The smile grew wider, especially at the sight of the man who had joined them.

The SS’s own… ARKADY.

He had previously been told to keep a low profile, after earlier violence towards other tag teams seemingly sated his ‘leaders’ need for anarchy… but no, the Big Bad Wolf was not intent with staying low, and not satisfied with his points tally for the night. He wanted more.

He had made his way out through the fans, and gone right for the fan favorite with the precision of a surgeon’s knife.

SPEAR ON MIDNIGHT COWBOY!

The spear sent Midnight Cowboy tumbling out of the lop-sided and broken ring, once again shattering the ropes that'd been broken earlier by Max Danger. Arkady surprisingly helped up Fejona Min, who quietly and begrudgingly thanked him… before finding no reason to do so.

STRAIGHT JACKET PILEDRIVER ON THE TARGET!

Arkady surveyed the anarchy all around him, and instead of pinning either of the two, tired and beaten down opponents and top contenders that he had torn apart, he simply raised his arms and let out a howl… before slipping back into the crowd.

This was anarchy, this was FIGHT NIGHT. And apparently, Arkady had done what he needed to so: send out a warning.

Within the crowd, Shawn Jessica Hart was seen to get the better of Keith Scott Zimmerman and, procuring a chair he roared towards the Only Wrestler That Matters.

Swing!

CHAIR-ASSISTED CODEBREAKER!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Just when you think you’re night is going on way, KSZ comes and kicks you in the teeth. With that fall, Keith Scott Zimmerman had procured the MOST points of any one in the match who hadn’t also done anything as or against a target. Fun fact.

And yet, it found it’s way into the hands of a man who kept it as his own. Hidden away as a forgotten piece of his deadly reputation and with that reputation, he found himself face to face with a Brit by the name of Joe Campbell. Yes, the Asylum’s Joe Campbell.

Omega didn’t care, as he roared towards the ring, tearing through many a man who looked to get in his way. He would not be denied a face off against Min, to retain his valued and vaunted Scorpion Fighting Championship.

And Fejona Min stood in the shattered and broken ring, waiting for him.

Somewhere in the arena, the Original Pulp Hero screamed, anguish on his breath.

Hearing the story of the Black title, Joe Campbell knew he had to have it. So, simply, he killed the old man. He killed the old man, and took the Black title within the Asylum. And there, was where it thrived as a symbol of epic violence. Held by men such as The Freak, Inmate and other dangerous men… it then disappeared in the drug-filled haze of the Asylum’s dying days.

And yet, as the Asylum changed to something more vicious and dangerous in the latter half of the new millenium’s first decade… so did the Black title.

It became a death sentence for all those that The Man deemed either too dangerous, or worth his utter-hatred. Those who he deemed a danger to the integrity of a fighting federation that had become a drug empire. It wouldn’t go to Kellen Kinkade or Token Weed, or even Borst.

Alias lapsed back into consciousness and saw something… unexpected. Hunt stood, before him, but beside Hunt stood Carrion. The Pulp Hero winced in pain, and wondered just how delirious he had become cause not even a bottle of Johnny Walker Red could mess with his head quite like this.

“Am I dreaming?”

Hunt noticed Alias had slipped back into consciousness and smiled. “You most certainly are not, and I didn’t expect to see you back… because Carrion… well let’s just say he doesn’t like an audience when he does his work, but I must say that I’m pleasantly surprised to see you’re still with us.”

“It’s no surprise to me,” said Carrion, evidently the real Carrion, as he tilted his head at Alias.

“Wouldn’t mind if you one a you get me a smoke.” The Pulp Hero replied, keeping his gallows humor with his inability to fight back.

“Those things will kill you, Alias.” Hunt replied, sharing the gallows humor.

“Funny,” though Alias knew it wasn’t, “cause I don’t expect to make it through the night.”

Carrion quickly tilted his head the other way, staring at Alias he held up a bloody knife. The same one used to initially cut at the bandages of the Pulp Hero. He hissed as he approached.

“No… I don’t suppose you will.”

Tears did not fill the eyes of Alias, however. He knew what was to come. To a certain extent, he always did… and yet, at times, all he had was the Black.

But soon he would be free from it all.

It would go around the waist of the man who had came into the Asylum during its most dangerous of days…

Then ran.

Omega ran towards Min, and Russia waited with bated breath as the King of Violence was about to come face to face with his Queen.

You can never run away, not from the inevitable. So he was running towards it.

As he entered the shattered remains of an ACW ring she tore into him with kicks and punches, lashing at Omega’s scarred body with hit after hit. There were still more then four minutes left and she had to hold back the beast.

Still, a two point lead wasn’t enough on Omega. She had to make it four. It wouldn’t be enough to simply be defensive with this Crazy Bastard.

But Omega wouldn’t fall, he wouldn’t wavor he just continued to stand as Min continued to light him up with kicks. Until finally…

SMACK!

A hard knee sent Omega tumbling towards what now only consisted of a top rope on the entrance side of the ring where Orlando Grant grabbed at his feet only to be kicked away. Fejona followed the Scorpion Champion, but Omega brought down a large fist across her bloodied and battered face. Kicking her back, he could feel the voices around him.

And not just the voices that HE could here, but the rushed yells of all the other ACW talent, all those others who had fought during the night… for the Scorpion Championship… for the right to follow in the foot steps in Alias.

Mark Weiler and Jack Harris were roaring down the entrance way now, screaming for the head of Omega. WAR was even with them, now.

Midnight Cowboy was now regaining his feet on the outside of the ring, and the sound his name made as it was chanted… it was inspiring to the Spirit of ACW.

Jesse Ramey was silent as he ran down the stares from the luxury box rows, an insane look in his eyes… a mind filled with reckless intent and with thoughts of violence that Omega himself was sure that he could hear.

The ACW roster wanted in that ring, they wanted the Scorpion Fighting Championship. They all wanted Fejona Min.

All except for Alias.

Alias could only whisper, faint prayers.

Alias found the clock work torture device around his waist. With its Iron maiden in-set and massive locks being the least of the belts… security… measures to keep it around the holders waist. Electricity. Nero-toxins. The works. The Original Pulp Hero knew that to lose the Black title…

Omega knew that to lose the Scorpion title…

Was to die.

Well, he wouldn’t.

Knowing that to keep the Scorpion Fighting Championship he had to separate himself and Fejona Min from the rest of ACW. And he had just the thing.

As Omega and Fejona glared at one another, Omega produced a lighter.

Nah, he wasn’t about to light a smoke like the last winner of the Scorpion Fight Night Challenge… that’d be the sane thing to do. This man though folks, was the craziest bastard in pro wrestling for a damn good reason. When you’ve got nothing left to lose, you’ve got to set yourself on fire…

Well, yourself or the ring around.

Before Fejona Min could react against her rival, Omega tossed the lighter to the side and as it reacted with the kindling of a broken and shattered ring, and any excess fuel that Omega could have very well placed there… the ring burst into flames.

Like an uncontrolled inferno, Omega had separated himself and Fejona Min, from the rest of ACW.

At least, that was the intention. So with this history lesson, to the uninitiated, over… we return with the knowledge.

You should NEVER fuck with Omega.

Her entire top had been soaked in her own blood, and her beautiful face now scarred with both the 60C match, as well as a night filled with violence. Min’s eyes were nonetheless burning with fury and desire.

Omega was quick to kick her in the gut, however. Lift onto the shoulders. To throw her to the fire? The fans thought so. So did those surrounding ringside, such as Jesse Ramey and Keith Scott Zimmerman. Midnight Cowboy and Max Danger. Mark Weiler and Jade Argent. Jack Harris and 'Superstar' Vince Jacobs. Around the ring. In the crowd. They all seemingly held their breath.

With less then a minute left, who could stop Omega from retaining his Scorpion Championship in the most INSANE way possible?

No one.

THE END! INTO THE FIRE! INTO THE FIRE!

As Omega dragged her back towards the center of the battered ring, her hair singed and smoldering, Fejona was out, cold. There was no WAY in HELL she would be fighting out of this.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

That resurrection is possible.

Especially since Omega continued to hold onto Fejona Min, locking in a vicious rigid choke that make her eyes bulge and her tongue hang from her mouth. The very sight even silenced the roaring Russian crowd.

It was terrifying.

It was… a submission.

And without any way to counter, Fejona fought against all her instincts.

TAP.

TAP.

TAP.

Holy... shit...

Though never promised.

01:59:58

Resurrection must be earned through the blood of war.

The pale, blood splattered face of Alias gasped deep within the arena. Alone. Broken. Lost.

01:59:59

The blood of your enemies.

02:00:00

The crowd gasped. Two hours were up. Fourteen points to the winner, a new record.

Through the fires of hell itself is the only way to go. Cause let’s face it, no good fighter will ever see the face of God himself.

Carrion held the crimson soaked Black Title aloft, as Hunt stood behind him and stared at it. What Hunt had prized was now his, and he now had a true symbol for HIS ACW.

Omega held the blood speckled and fire scarred Scorpion Fighting Championship high, along with Bard, for all to see… but no one to reach… as Fejona Min whimpered at his feet.

The ring, burned, broken.

To say SilverHAWK had a lot of things to handle before COURAGE 116, if there WAS a COURAGE 116, well that would be an understatement.

Unless…

Omega smiled, with yellowed bloody teeth in his mouth, as the world burned around him.

He was the God of Fight.

... and he was, despite all the odds, still ACW's Scorpion Fighting Champion.

All hail the king. All hail Omega.

... All hail the undisputed God of Fight.

the shape of things to come

It'd been hours since the end of the second Scorpion Fight Night Challenge. FIGHT NIGHT 2010 was in the history books.

Inside the majestic Olimpiyskiy, blood stained many a wall and it looked as if a bomb had gone off. Of course, ACW was no stranger to enduring a bomb blast... but that's another story for another time. On this June night in the heart of Russia, there was electricity in the air. Omega had, somehow, survived the second Scorpion Fight Night Challenge and walked away with his status Scorpion Fighting Champ still intact. Omega had proven he was the God of Fight.

Although, to be fair, there were a lot of All-Stars that almost ended up winning. 'The Alpha Dog' Mark Weiler at one point had an unassailable lead. Jesse Ramey made a late surge that befitted his new deranged ways. The likes of Keith Scott Zimmerman and Shawn Jessica Hart made waves by scoring lots of points without ever taking down any particular target. Khristain Keller and Jack Harris performed admirably, too. And lastly, Fejona Min came soooo close to running away with victory. Alas, it was not to be.

In the middle of the arena, what was once the ring was now mangled and charred mess. And towering over the burnt debris was probably the only person who escaped relatively unscathed from the horrors of FIGHT NIGHT 2010. That in itself was quite an achievement, but when you factor in the amount of partying this person had throughout the night? Incredible.

It was none other than... Z!

"What a night." Z remarked to nobody in particular. "A glorious, starry night."

Out from the shadows, a woman with red hair -- backed up by a group of fierce-looking dudes -- walked up towards the Masked Enigma Z folded his arms, smirking.

"Mercy Graves. It's about time."

The woman called by Mercy Graves nodded once at Z. "Evening, Commander Z."

The Caped Crusader turned around and looked up at all the empty seats. His smirk only grew more profound, as he began to think about what he'd seen happen while having a ball of a night with ACW World Champion, Trey Vincent.

Clearing his throat, Z closed his eyes. "Give me the status report."

"Very well, Commander Z." Mercy responded, taking one step forward. "After Fejona Min gave us the signal to dump Omega into the nearby river, we took him to the facility and injected him with a large dosage of Protocol Hanzo. It took a while for the serum to take effect, but once it did, there was no stopping him. As you saw, he was nearly impervious to pain and rode the wave to ultimate glory.

The serum will stay in his system for a couple of weeks, and once it washes out, it'll leave Omega lethargic for a few days. He'll feel light-headed and may experience severe hallucinations as we did give him an abnormally large dosage. All in all, Commander Z, I'd say everything went according to plan. Although, it is worth noting that I am now officially an enemy of Fejona Min's, and while I can certainly handle myself in the stickiest of situations, I am not looking forward to being hunted down by her.

Also, you haven't instructed me what to do about Kirzhov Vayzi either. Fejona's under the impression that we dumped him in the river as well. He's currently in the same holding facility, bound and gagged.

What's our next move, Commander Z?"

Whoa. Talk about information overload, eh. And, oh, Commander? What the heck was going on.

Z processed Mercy's report with his eyes still closed. But suddenly, he turned around and opened his eyes. "Firstly, don't address me as Commander. Not in this... ahh, circumstance. Secondly, well done as it pertains to Protocol Hanzo. The second trial, and already the results are astounding.

Don't worry about Fejona Min, either. I'll square things with her. After all, I now have something she may find very valuable considering her valiant but ultimately unsuccessful effort earlier tonight.

And lastly, as far as Kirzhov Vayzi is concerned, I'll be wanting to talk to him later. For now, I want you and your guys to sweep the area. Once everything's on the up and up, return to your reguarly scheduled operations. I'll contact you for your next assignment within the next couple of weeks. And trust me, you're going to want to bring your A game for that.

That is all, Mercy."

Another single nod at Z, and Mercy Graves & her band of thugs were on their way. Disappearing into the shadows within an instant.

Earlier in the night, Mercy Graves had appeared to be at the disposal of The Rogue Slayer in Fejona Min. Now? She was reporting to Z, and being all mysterious and shit. Some would say that's the norm when you're dealing with the Masked Enigma.

Z now unfolded his arms and placed his hands on his hips. He was no longer smirking. But that twinkle in his eyes?

It spelt nothing but trouble for everyone in ACW, in the months to come.

"And through the looking glass we go. Ooooh, I can't wait!" The Caped Crusader quipped, before breaking out in laughter.

A storm's brewing, ladies and gentlemen.

For now? All we can say is... hang on for the ride of your fucking lives.