- - [July 20th 2003] - -
Broadcasting LIVE! from Mansfield, OH at 10/9 p.m. CT

PREVIOUSLY... The plan had now been put into place. The management at ACW had pinned their hopes on rebuilding the company around the war of two of their heroes, as they battled it out for the biggest prize in the company, the ACW World Championship. However, would this plan work to the benefit of ACW? or would it continue in it's demise and ruin two careers in the process.

Team Meeting

"So..." HAWK sighed as he entered the office and pulled himself a seat, "what have we got for tonight then?"

In ACW's makeshift HQ for the night sat Charlie Dunn and Joe Bishop, already talking strategy of how to get this show on the up for the next few weeks, obviously on the back of the Best Of Se7en Series.

"Well," said Dunn, "we've got the second part of the first round coming up, plus I've had a few match requests, so Quinton will be defending, his opponent's name escapes me but..."

"Greg Davis," butted in Bishop.

"Greg Davis! There we go. I've got a few conference's to be a part of, but that can be done here tonight, as I don't wanna leave the show.

"So what do you want me and Joe to do then?" HAWK said as he took a sip of his water.

"Other than keep the peace? I wouldn't mind if one of you checked on Keller, as we all know what he has been up to these past few weeks as far as "no-shows" go. Plus with the tournament this week, we've had a few complications with the numbers, after we released a whole load of talent, so it means that next week we will have matches from the first round, and the second."

"No problem, I'll take that one with Keller, should be fun." said HAWK as he cracked his knuckles.

"Where is Carter?" Bishop said, as HAWK smirked, as that was what he really wanted to know.

"As far as I know, Carter is in LA at his production company, to be fair I dunno if his interest about the company has cooled or if he's just taking his time in getting some help.

What ever happens though, he'll have to speed it up, as I dunno how long we have."

Quinton's Army Meeting #017

"Ahhh, life is good."

Quinton May, in the catering room. 

The boiler-room was strangely locked for the night, leaving Quinton and his troops to seek higher ground to hold their weekly on-screen meeting. Hence, Quincy resorted to the catering room. Janitor Morris smiled and continued working out, scaring off the lady interns who'd stumbled into the room to get their refill of coffee. Seeing an old man bend down and spread his cheeks apart...

Not good.

"YAH! FREAKING GOOD! BUT WHERE ARE THE FREAKING REST?"

Quinton frowned as he patted the Television Title around his waist and looked around. Morris, who had a KOA Tournament Match with enemy Liam coming up, was correct. Only the two of them were there. 006.392 & Damnson & Janitor Howard were missing. So was Bobby Knickerson, who'd usually either stick to the YOTN or Quinton. On this night, the Army looked as if it'd been stripped down to almost nothing.

May shrugged as he turned around and grabbed a jelly donut, biting into it hungrily. Competition in the form of a TV Title Match against 'Ego' Greg Davis later on made him very hungry to succeed, and that hunger carried over to the need of food to fill his stomach. Morris, meanwhile, shot fleeting glances towards his Tag Team Title resting on the ground in the corner, still working out.

"So, uh, Morris? We haven't had the time to really bond, have me?"

The FREAKING One froze and glared at his Dictator, somewhat irked out all of a sudden.

"WHAT ARE YOU FREAKING TALKING ABOUT? REMEMBER THAT FREAKING NIGHT IN VEGAS?"

The TV Champion semi-choked on his donut, and even spat out some of it onto the floor, shuddering at the memory of that wild night in Vegas a couple of months ago. Morris grinned as he lumbered over to his Tag Team Title and looked at it, the feeling of happiness at being a champion returning to him. Humming a tune to himself, he looked over his shoulder and noticed his Dictator gobbling down the rest of his donut.

Suddenly, an uneasy feeling overwhelmed Janitor M, and compelled him to ask a question.

One of a sensitive nature. Seeing how the rest of the Army apparently decided to take the day off, the meeting was effectively over. And this allowed Morris to build up the courage to ask.

"HAY QUINTON. WERE YOU... FREAKING GAY? FOR FREAKING REAL?"

Quincy's goofy demeanor vanished and he stood rooted to the spot. Absolutely solemn now, digesting the question... and the donut. His mind was already focused on a strategy to overcome Greg Davis later on, and with this question suddenly hurled at him like a curveball.

So, after taking a deep intake of breath, May looked at his Army member.

"Yes."

And promptly filed out of the room, disappointed with himself.

This meeting is ovah!

The New Poker Game: The Question

Jason Kain looked at his watch. The longer he waited the slower time seemed to go. He walked around the office, hoping for some sort of answer as to why he was chosen for the amazing task of possibly representing ACW as a whole. SilverHAWK’s desk was cleaned just recently, as it had the sparkle of polish and the smell of lemon hung fresh in the air. Kain stood looking at a few pictures on the desk and shelves on the wall, and finally to a huge display case.

The ACW World Title belt.

Suddenly the door opened. But SilverHAWK wasn’t the one who came through. First a mop bucket, and then a masked janitor. El Emenopi had entered the room. Kain sneered at the little guy, due to the fact that he had screwed up his shot at getting Jade back six weeks ago. For that matter, El was the reason why Kain was in the state he was in. El Emenopi turned, and suddenly stood still in his tracks.

“I was willing to throw that match for you, El.” Kain’s face went taut…the look of hatred burning into his expression. “I was going to give you your first victory… all you had to do was stay in the ring.”

El’s face went from scared to a frown. “I didn’t want a free victory, senor… I wanted a chance. I wanted to prove that I could do it. And if Janitorial work is how I’m going to get there… then by God, that’s what I’ll do.”

“Fuck you.” Kain stared at him with a pain that seemed to travel through the air into El’s gullet. “You fucked up. I don’t care if you wanted a clean victory. I WANTED MY LIFE BACK. YOU FUCKED UP!”

El started to back away, he didn’t know what to do.

“Tell you what though… you can start paying me back.” Kain’s face calmed down. “I need to find out why HAWK chose me… I ain’t got the perfect record here myself. I shouldn’t be considered a contender. Find him for me. Get him in this office. And get him to tell me why.”

El Emenopi looked at his bucket, then back at Kain… he slowly backed to the door as Kain turned away from him. 

“Si, senor. I shall do what you ask.”

Sending Out A Warning

"Alright... laddies. You guys have had your little break, but it's over, and tonight, we get down to business! Our glorious leader, Vincent, won't be joining us until later. Just the little matter of some thReat business to tend to. He WILL be here to fight, and he WILL execute his plan.

And you guys have to act as natural & normal as possible. Can't risk letting sending out a warning or whatever. It has to happen at the right time, and it has to look completely unexpected. Of course, this has been planned for some time.

What Vince wants, Vince gets. You all know that by now."

It was Drake Nefarian, in the slightly-bigger-than-normal locker-room that had been assigned to .vindication. At the moment, it not only housed the team, but WAVE 3 of The British Army. And with the Scorpion of Manchester currently away at thReat's Flaw 23 show, Drake Nefarian was given the nod to round up the troops.

While Liam sat in a corner, preparing for his King Of Ages Tournament match-up with arch-nemesis, Janitor Morris. Surely, a clash that most fans were looking forward to, considering the battles in the past and the Homicidal Tendencies Match at the Glory PPV.

With the meeting apparently over, Drake ordered the troops to take their positions all over the arena, and the teenagers filed out obligatingly, leaving just The Boxin' Sensation & the Enigmatic Irishman alone in the room. Liam was massaging his calf muscles, getting ready for battle. Drake had failed to progress in the tournament the prior week, and in the process, failed to wrest the Television Title off Quinton May.

Liam didn't want to look like a loser with his boss clearly not happy about the way The British Army was self-destructing before his very eyes. If the KOA Tournament ended up with no representative from The British Army, it would be completely horrendous.

Of course, Pembridge himself was in the Tournament. So some saving grace was possible, and a definite certainty, assuming the Scorpion was suddenly easy-to-beat.

Within the clock winding down, Liam looked through his duffel bag, aiming to looking for some medicated oil. His shoulder had been strained at Glory, and as such, some oil was required to somewhat ease the muscles. However, a colourful-looking card was what he pulled out of the bag, and Liam was certainly flabbergasted by it.

Nefarian, meanwhile, ignored his partner -- the rumours of the team possibly at loggerheads looking like they were true to the fans at the moment -- and opened his own duffel bag. The weird thing was...

He too produced some sort of card.

"What the bloody hell is this, Nefarian?" Liam grunted as he opened the card and read the writing on the inside. He crushed the card and threw it down, rising from the bench in a fit of rage.

Drake's eyes widened in shock as he too read the card in his hands and turned around, having ignored his partner but now intending to confront him.

"The hell? A 'EYE YAM SORRY' card? I'm not gay, you freak!"

"Then ye think I bloody am? What kind of soapy poem was that? Bloody hell, why the hell are you even sending me cards?"

Both men growled at each other, having apparently sent each other cards, stating how sorry they were for arguing with each other and such.

Trouble was, neither wanted to admit they did such a thing.

So, we had ourselves a face-off. But it was diffused quickly, as Liam spat at Drake's feet and charged out of the room, not wanting to bother with himself with such childish games. His match with Janitor Morris was also quickly approaching. Nefarian, meanwhile, threw the card down and also stormed out of the room, going in a seperate direction though.

Somewhere, two men were laughing their asses off, thinking they'd done the right thing.

King Of Ages Tournament Match - Round One
Janitor Morris Vs. Liam

  

"6 Hard Months" by Marilyn Manson.

The lights went out, and everyone instantly knew what was up next. Liam was to take on Janitor Morris, in a match that would decide if El Janitors could completely rub salt in the wounds of .vindication, by knocking the second member of the team out of the KOA Tournament. Quinton did his job against Nefarian the week before, and Janitor Howard had actually managed to progress. Now, The British Army counted on Liam & Vincent Pembridge to fly their flag.

As the lights came back on whilst the jeers rained down on the ring, there Liam was in the middle of it, with a scowl on his face. He was someone who spoke only when it mattered. But already, he'd gained his own bunch of haters. Not because of him being affiliated with The British Army, but because of the way the Irishman did things.

Ruthless, callous, methodical. It was just scary to see. But now, people knew he wasn't invincible.

Up next, was "Science" by System Of A Down. And the low jeers quickly transformed into massive cheers, as Janitor Morris marched out from the back. He stopped momentarily, to wave at the fans, before refocusing his attention on the man inside the ring. The FREAKING One threw his Tag Team Title up in the air and sprinted into the ring, eager to get the contest on.

"MORRIS ROCKS!"
"MORRIS ROCKS!"
"MORRIS ROCKS!"
"MORRIS ROCKS!"

Janitor M was ready to open a can of whoop ass. But as he slid in, Liam immediately got to work, driving boot after boot straight down into the back of Janitor M’s head. The cheers quickly died down as Liam looked like he wasn't gonna stop, before he quickly picked him up to his feet and set Morris up for a vertical suplex. Morris blocked the move, however, and responded with... a snap suplex.

Looked as if both men had been training hard for this one. And maybe the match at Glory had made both men hungry to compete at the highest level.

Morris got right back on his feet and waited as Liam slowly got up before he caught him with a big right hand to the head and scooped him up into the air... then slamming him back down to the mat. With the fans delighted, Morris took a step back, then leaped into the air, bringing his knee slamming right down across the throat of Liam. Before quickly going for the cover;

ONE...

TWO...

Easy kick-out from Liam. Janitor M returned to his feet swiftly and began to stomp him with kicks over and over again before he grabbed a handful of Liam’s hair and pulled him back up to his feet. Morris sent Liam into the ropes and went for a big clothesline as he came back but Liam managed to duck just under it and leapt onto the middle rope behind Morris. As the janitor turned around, Liam sprung off the ropes and spun in midair, before he driving a dropkick right into the chest of Morris, knocking him straight back down to the mat!

"LIAM SUCKS!"
"LIAM SUCKS!"
"LIAM SUCKS!"
"LIAM SUCKS!"

Good move from the Irishman, who looked at ease actually some wrestling this time round. He got back onto his feet again and as soon as Morris got up, Liam grabbed him by the arm and tried to yank him right down into an armbar submission. The Irishman made the mistake of being too close to the ropes and Janitor M quickly grabbed hold of the bottom rope to force the break, much to the relief of the pro-Morris crowd.

Liam, however, had other ideas as he showed no immediate signs of breaking the hold and instead did as much damage as he possibly could before the referee managed to force him to break the hold. Liam got back on his feet but the damage was apparently done already to Morris as he held his shoulder in obvious pain and the right-hand man to Vincent P capitalized as he drove kick after kick right into the wounded shoulder of Morris. 

Liam lifted the wincing janitor back onto his feet by the arm before he wrenched it again and began to pull Morris right into a series of shoulders right into the shoulder of Morris to continue to try and work on the arm of Morris. Liam kept his hold on Morris’s arm before he yanked right back down into the mat again -- this time, with an armbreaker.

"LIAM SUCKS!"
"LIAM SUCKS!"
"LIAM SUCKS!"
"LIAM SUCKS!"

Standing above Morris, Liam was proving to all out there that he was a multi-faceted man, surprising most with his apparent wrestling knowledge. Morris slowly began to return to his feet, and as the Irishman grabbed his hair, the janitor lashed out with a reverse elbow, before resorting to a go-behind again... and managing to score with a Russian leg-sweep, which almost incited a riot within the crowd.

"MORRIS ROCKS!"
"MORRIS ROCKS!"
"MORRIS ROCKS!"
"MORRIS ROCKS!"

Amazingly enough, Liam quickly returned back to his feet, but was met by a hard clothesline from the tall freak known as Janitor M, which sent him back down to the canvas again. The Irishman, irate, got back to his feet and charged at Morris again, who took him down with a sloppy drop toe-hold and scurried over him to lock in a headlock. Liam managed to shift Morris to his side, and work his way to his feet. Janitor M tightened his hold on the Irishman as the latter moved backwards, and before he pushed the janitor into the ropes.

And as Morris returned, Liam took him down with a scrappy shoulder tackle.

Janitor M, with the support of the crowd, picked his groggy self up and as Liam swung a right hand at him, Morris took the Irishman down with an armdrag, following up with an armlock. Liam grunted and tried to push Morris away from him and working his way back to his feet, but the latter refused to let go of the hold. Instead, he forced the right-hand man of The British Army up to his feet, and after a kick to his gut, broke the hold.

Before releasing the hold and whipping him into the ropes. As the Liam returned, Morris let out an almighty yell and ducked, aiming for a back body-drop. No dice, as Liam kicked his face and followed up with a vicious-looking thrust kick.

"LIAM SUCKS!"
"LIAM SUCKS!"
"LIAM SUCKS!"
"LIAM SUCKS!"

And went for the cover, hooking both legs;

ONE...

TWO...

THR...

Janitor M kicked out, and the crowd cheered again, whilst a small section continued to hurl abuse at The Enigmatic Irishman. Liam's shoulder was aching like hell again, but the simple fact that he mustered up the strength to fight through the pain and crawl to the ropes had nothing to do with the petty chants being presented by the crowd. Liam was feeding off their. His will to win. His resolve to destroy. His tenacity to maim. His yearning to impress.

Morris slowly regained his footing and clenched his fists, ready to get the battle resuming. But Liam suddenly turned around & surged forward with vivacity.. and almost beheaded Jason Reaves with a rising clothesline. More jeers were thrown down at the Irishman. Feck them all, Liam thought.

Morris rolled on the ground in agony as Liam began stomping on his head, before lifting The FREAKING ONE up and whipped him into the ropes. Catching him on the rebound, Liam delivered a devastating spinebuster slam that brought forth groans of pain from the crowd as if they could actually feel the crippling consequences of such a move. Liam quickly went for the cover, eager to finish the match off once and for all;

ONE...

TWO...

THRE...

NO! JANITOR MORRIS KICKED OUT!

Liam stood up, showing a tad bit of frustration as he growled angrily. With the fan getting on his nerves, Liam jumped up into the air and landed with both of his knees being driven into the ribs of his nemesis. Morris coughed madly and gasped as the wind escaped his body. The callous and methodical right-hand man to the British Army was looking as if he wanted to finish matters off quickly... and the fans watched as he whipped himself into the ropes after regaining his footing.

And going for another double knee-drop.

And missing!

*HUGE POP*

Morris had managed to roll out of the way and roared with excitement! The FREAKING One was fired up for this stretch of the match, pulling Liam up and sending a dozen or so uppercuts to the Irishman's face, before connecting with a discus punch! Liam tumbled backwards into the ropes and back into the path of a possible clothesline from Morris. Liam ducked, however, and used his momentum to take himself into the parallel set of ropes, coming back with the intention of hitting a clothesline of his own. Morris blocked and waited for Liam to come back...

BEFORE TURNING HIM INSIDE OUT WITH THE SICKEST LOOKING CLOTHESLINE YOU'D EVER SEE!

Two heavyweights, duking it out, putting everything behind their attacks... it was working up the crowd's appetite. And there was more to come, with Morris eagerly awaiting Liam's recovery. The fans were going absolutely wild now.

"MORRIS ROCKS ASS!!"
*clap-clap clap-clap-clap*

"MORRIS ROCKS ASS!!"
*clap-clap clap-clap-clap*

"MORRIS ROCKS ASS!!"
*clap-clap clap-clap-clap*

Liam finally regained his balance, wobbled around in a trance for a while, and turning around...

Kick to the gut...

FRONT FACE NECKBREAKER!! MORRIS CALLS IT -- FREAK YOU!!!

LIAM WAS DOWN, AND MORRIS HOOKED THE LEGS;

ONE...

TWO...

THREEE!!

Just like that, it was all over! The FREAKING One somehow managed to turn things around within a matter of seconds and picked up a sensational victory, one that ensured he'd progress in the KOA Tournament. The arena exploded with a chorus of approving cheers and celebrations ensued, as Morris rolled out of the ring and collected his Tag Team Title.

He'd defeated the Irishman one-on-one, and did so in style!

As for Liam?

Down in the dumps, no longer looking like the fearsome monster he once was.

Winner: Janitor Morris

Still Trying

The camera cuts to the parking lot where two, black Lincoln Continentals roll up to the gate. The cars come to a stop side by side and the doors open. Out of the car on the right, two gentlemen step out. The one that emerges from the driver’s side is tall, and large. His shaved head glimmers under the streetlights and his black, leather trench coat has the same effect. He removes his sunglasses, slips them into his pocket, and makes his way to the passenger side.

He opens the door and out steps...Christoph Volstein. They nod at one another and await the emergence of the people inside the other car. The driver of the second car opens his door and steps out. His appearance and facial features are almost identical to the driver of the first car. The passenger door swings open and...Alexi Volstein emerges this time. The four men make a small circle in front of the vehicles and begin talking.

Alexi looks at the two large, similar men. “I’m glad you two are with us.” Alexi smiles, and the two men return the gesture. “Cael...Randall...you two like family to me and Christoph.” 

Alexi puts a hand on Cael’s shoulder for a second and then gets right to business. The two men can be told apart because Randall has a piercing in his bottom lip.

Alexi clears his throat and begins a discussion, “I’ll get right to the point.” Alexi’s manner is very serious. “We must get Dante Inferno to join us. He has too many good qualities to pass up.”

Christoph speaks up, “and what qualities are those?”

Alexi scoffs and responds, “just look at him. He definitely has the physical aspect needed. A...”

Randall cuts him off, “why do you need another large man? You got me and Cael.” Randall does not sound like the two German brothers, as he sports an English tone and it has a slight southern accent so you know he’s American.

“Yeah!” Cael blurts out. He two carries the same tone as Randall. With the same accent and similar look, it can be assumed the two are brothers. Neither one of them look older than twenty years of age.

“More size never hurts,” Alexi comments. “Not only that, but he has a short fuse, it seems. We could always use an explosive persona in our little group.” Alexi continues, “He is also a champion. We could use a person of his status in our ranks.”

Alexi looks around the circle and notices none of the men seem to keen on the idea. He makes one closing comment. “Trust me...”

The four men proceed into the arena for another Courage of trying to persuade Dante Inferno to join ‘Operation Degrade Americana.’

Waiting Patiently

Vince Jacobs walked into the arena again searching for the one called Osyrus. He knew that Osyrus would definitely be searching for him because of what happened with Jacobs and Isis last week. SVJ didn’t care because he had to talk to Osyrus. Vince understood that if Osyrus saw him he wouldn’t be talking… well not with words anyway but with his fists.

That notion still didn’t sway Vince because he was a man on a mission. Vince stood near the entrance door hoping to catch Osyrus as soon as he walked into the arena. One of the stagehands came over to Vince to see if he needed help with anything.

“Do you need anything Mr. Jacobs?” the stagehand said

Vince did not acknowledge the stagehand that was trying to get his attention. Vince kept his eyes glued to the door waiting patiently for Osyrus to show up.

“Excuse me Mr. Jacobs, Can I help you with anything?” the stagehand again asked

Vince slowly turned toward the young stagehand and gritted his teeth before speaking.

“No you can’t help me young man.” Vince said

“Are you sure sir?” the stagehand again chimed in

“I am just waiting for a FRIEND that’s all.” Vince replied

“Well if you need anything sir I can help you.” the stagehand said

“Look kid, no one can help me with anything right now. No, scratch that Osyrus can help me with something and I will stay right here until we have a nice long talk.” Vince said smirking at the kid

The stagehand knew something was up so he went looking for someone in charge. Because he knew something would happen if those two met face to face.

Ticking Bomb?

"So...you decided to turn up then?"

Keller smiled instantly.

"This is becoming a weekly little spot of yours isn't it, coming in here, threatening me a little, roughing me up and then leaving back to your non-existent job in this place. Tell me HAWK, what were the numbers like on your last pay check?"

"My last pay-check was about as empty as your trophy collection Keller."

SilverHAWK smirked, he could give back as much as he got.

"Well, if it's alright with you "boss" I think I'll go and do some stretches, as I have a match tonight. Remember those? It was the thing you used to do before your knee's went poppity-pop."

"You can join me in that department if you wish?"

The mood suddenly changed as HAWK took a step towards Keller, who in turn started to growl in the face of the former ACW World Champion.

"You listen here Keller, tonight, you've got a match which you will wrestle and will more than likely win, but listen here. You will never be the ACW World Champion as long as I'm a part of this company, because you are nothing but a snot nosed little bitch who has been fucking himself through life ever since you broke that boys neck."

Keller sneered down at the ground as he took a moment to think about what HAWK was saying.

"You know something HAWK, that might all be true, but the fact of the matter is, I'm here in ACW to stay, and there is nothing that you, Dunn, Boyd or even that Carter can do about it and as far as the title goes. You can have your two monkey boys try and earn you ratings with this series of matches, but everyone knows, that the real Championship material, is standing right in your face. Now if you'll excuse me...I gotta go and get ready."

Keller pulled the door open as he left one of the ACW Guardians dithering his options, this was something he had to handle ever so lightly, as Keller, was a bomb waiting to be lit.

ACW Television Title Match
'Ego' Greg Davis Vs. Quinton May [c]

  

"Ruff Ryders Anthem" by DMX blasted over the arena's speakers, and out came Greg Davis. One of the new ACW superstars, aiming to recapture the form that made him a well-known name in the industry. Wearing just dark blue tights with black boots, Davis acknowledged the hearty cheers that certain sections of the crowd belted out in his favour, and he quickly made his way down the ramp and into the ring.

Without his lovely manager, Melissa Reed. Naturally, the perverted fans weren't too happy.

Davis slid into the ring and raised his arms for the crowd, drawing another moderate pop, before he bounced off the ropes. He was pumped for this match, and was itching to get a chance to better prove himself. The Battle Royal at the Glory PPV didn't work out too well for him, and Greg was eager to change public opinion about him being washed up. There was still gas left in the tank, and he was gonna exploit it to the fullest.

As soon as his theme ended, the house lights got taken down a notch and that set the stage for "Date Rape" by Sublime to play over the speakers. Instantaneous frenzied cheering for the Television Champion, as he bounced out from the back and grinned at the receptive crowd. Quinton -- wearing white tights with black art on it, with black boots -- quickly stormed down the ramp, eating up the reception. He was loving every minute of being the fan favourite, and he knew he'd worked very hard to get their respect and admiration.

The TV Title around his waist as the ultimate reminder.

He unstrapped the title and handed it to the referee as he got into the ring, before May quickly took the time to shake hands with Greg Davis. The two would be rivals in this match, but a mutual understanding & respect existed between the two competitors. The bell rang and the crowd roared, anticipating a decent contest. Both competitors wasted no time in circling each other, looking for an opening. Majority of the spectators were backing Quincy to win the match, but 'Ego' Greg Davis was out to prove them wrong.

The two approached each other, looking to grapple, but Davis sucker-punched May, before firing away with a succession of left hooks. Rocked, Quinton managed to reverse an Irish whip but his attempt at a clothesline was evaded by The Ego, who bounced off the other set of ropes and knocked the Dictator Of QA down with a hard shoulder-block. Picking May right up, 'Ego' Greg Davis connected with a vile headbutt, which sent the Canadian staggering into the corner. That allowed Greg to park at the opposite corner, raise his arm in the air, and charge at the TV Champ with an almighty roar.

Quinton May should have moved out of the way, really. The impact of Greg's body crushing his was not well-received by the fans, who made it known. Greg simply smiled as May dropped face-first to the mat, the air knocked out of him. Spitting, Davis ignored the fan response, before rolling Quinton on his back with his feet and making the cover;

ONE...

TWO...

Easy kick-out by Quinton, as Davis pulled him up by the hair and scored with another right hook to the face. May stumbled back a bit, but managed to snap out of his stupor to block another hook from Greg and put in his first shades of offense, courtesy of a barrage of furious right punches. Leaving Davis totally reeling in the middle of the ring, Quinton May took a few steps back and bounced himself off the ropes, eventually connecting his trademark high-leg clothesline!

The fans cheered, and Quincy breathed a sigh relief; finally, some momentum was on his side. He waited for Davis to get back on his feet and charge at him, which allowed the Dictator of QA to floor his opponent with a Japanese armdrag. Davis was back up quickly but Quincy was on fire now, taking Greg down again, with a drop-toe-hold this time. Greg struggled back up and swung wildly at May, who ducked and retaliated with a gut-punch, following up with a textbook Russian leg-sweep. The crowd were getting more and more impressed with Quincy's progress, as he made the cover;

ONE...

TWO...

Greg powered out of the pin, somewhat agitating Quincy, who stood up and kicked away at his opponent for a bit. Sensing the chance to possibly put Greg out of commission, May walked over to the corner turnbuckle and climbed to the second rope, which began to get the crowd excited. May decided against going to the top and stayed where he was, one eye on Greg.. the other eye on his own balance. Satisfied, Quinton May finally leapt off.

And drilled 'Ego' Greg Davis with a punishing flying elbow-drop.

"HOLY HELL!!"
"HOLY HELL!!"
"HOLY HELL!!"

In the process, Quinton took quite a bit out of himself, but managed to get his body across Greg, who was totally out cold by now;

ONE...

TWO...

THR...

Davis dug deep down and got his shoulder off the mat there, drawing disappointed groans from some sections of the crowd. Quinton frowned as he helped himself up, and as Greg too recovered, the Dictator of QA kicked his opponent in the gut and placed him in the position for a...

Double-underhook facebuster! Another impacting move from Quincy, who eagerly hooked the legs, for what was now an assured victory in his books;

ONE...

TWO...

THREE....

No way!

'Ego' Greg Davis kicked out at the last possible second, and the look on May's face was that of utter shock and dejection. Slapping his hand against the canvas angrily, Quincy grabbed a handful of The Ego's hair and dragged him towards the corner turnbuckle, before kicking away at him. Greg soaked in all the punishment, eventually getting a reprieve when Quinton took a couple of steps back. That was enough notice for Davis to roll out of the way as Quincy charged at him, hoping to ram his knee into Greg's face. Instead, the TV Camp's face rebounded off the turnbuckle, allowing Greg to roll him up in a schoolboy pin;

ONE...

TWO...

THRE....

It would have been a travesty had Greg won the match in that manner, and much to the relief of half the crowd, May managed to roll out of the pin. Both men returned to their feet, exhausted and more hungry for the victory now. Quincy was the first to charge, but Davis ducked the wild swing from his opponent and countered with a perfectly-placed falling neckbreaker, before making the desperate cover;

ONE...

TWO...

THR....

Once again, Quinton May kicked out, continuing to keep the fans enthralled in the roller-coaster match. Greg, on the other hand, was highly agitated now and with Quincy on his knees trying to recover, the challenger took a step back and rammed his boot into Quinton's face. Blood started to trickle out of the Dictator's nose, but Davis showed no sympathy as he pulled May up, connected with a forearm shot to the sternum, and hit a magnificent front suplex. It seemed all over to most in attendance, and they hung their heads low when the referee dropped to his knees to count the cover from Greg;

ONE...

TWO...

THRE....

Amazingly, May forced his left shoulder a couple of inches off the mat. With what little energy he had left, Quincy Mama decided to save himself, instead of laying low and possibly coming back to fight another day. An enraged 'Ego' Greg Davis got up, bounced off the ropes, and dropped his knee into Quinton's face in spectacular fashion. Greg wasn't done, however.

He knew he needed something major to put Quinton May away.

Hence the surprised cheers when 'Ego' Greg Davis actually scaled to the top of the turnbuckle, his eyes transfixed on the prone lifeform of the Dictator Of QA. And with one long breath, Greg Davis threw caution to the wind, jumping off with a senton splash in mind.

The fact that a true-blue technical based wrestler was attempting a senton splash was amazing enough. Had he connected, it would have magical. For him and his self-esteem. His ego.

Alas, Quinton May, screwed up nose and all, rolled out of the way. Barely. The impact of Greg's crash to the mat was immense, but the truly great thing was how quickly he recovered, not wanting to give May any advantage at all. That was all in vain, for when he got back up and turned to face Quincy, the latter kicked him in the gut.

And scored with the Hideaway! It was all over! The count;

ONE...

TWO...

THRE...

WHAT?! NO WAY!

Nope. Greg didn't kick out. His years of experience made sure that his ring presence came in pretty handy, and The Ego managed to get his foot on the rope. Disappointment echoed around the arena, while the small group of die-hard Davis fans cheered wildly. Quinton May shook his head in confusion, not quite believing how his opponent got out of that.

Quincy started focusing on the legs of Davis for some reason, kicking away at the shins, before pulling him up. Going for a punch, Davis made sure he blocked it and used his reach to good use, retaliating with a hard hook to the champion, sending him reeling. The Ego saw this as a possible turning point and took a step back, before rushing forward and ramming his knee forcefully into Quinton's gut. Great impact, that caused May to double over in pain.

Greg Davis was confident now, as he dropped to one knee and scored with a brilliant uppercut, that sent Quincy Mama staggering backwards. Not too far back, though.

Mr Ego Man had to ensure that his superkick could be of some effect.

And it worked, knocking the Television Champion down to the canvas!

Greg Davis had the support of half the crowd now, although they were still rooting for their favourite hero. Nevertheless, Davis had positioned himself for his patented finisher. The adrenaline in his blood was pumping furiously, and as Quinton recovered and turned around... the veteran went in for the kill. It was now or never for him. Make or break, really. One way or the other, it had to work.

THE DAVIS CROSSFACE!

NO! Quincy's resisting it... and fires back with a killer clothesline! Davis is down, and his lip is cut open due to the ferocious impact of the clothesline by the champion. The Ego is quickly back up however, albeit a bit stunned. And as he turns around, tending to his cut lip...

Kick to the gut. Shove between the legs.

HIDEAWAY!

And the immediate hook of the legs;

ONE...

TWO...

THREE!!!

This time, it was definite! Middle of the ring, Quinton May had made his second successful title defense since attaining the Television Title. Looking every bit the worthy recipient. The arena was rocking from the celebratory cheers and waves, as Quincy climbed out of the ring and collected his title. A worthy challenge from 'Ego' Greg Davis, as he regained his marbles and reflected on what might have been.

For the Dictator of QA?

Good night's work for him.

Winner: Quinton May

Faith… Is A Four Letter Word

Alias walked down the echoing cement corridors of the arena. He walked with a slight limp but other then that was no worth for wear after last weeks kick off match, the street fight, to the best of seven series. All in all the result from last week could almost make him happy, sure he would most definitely still trade it in for a win, but he once again saw the fire in Jason Kain’s eyes… something that had been lacking without a doubt.

He wasn’t sure if he wanted to do… what he was about to do. As long as he was holding onto the ring though, he might as well act as some kind of negotiator between these too. Alias felt that if they didn’t want to hear from each other… they’d at least hear about each other.

Finally he stepped up in front of the locker room door and stopped, almost reluctantly, in front of it. It was Jade’s door… and against what he thought was his better judgment, Alias knocked. Alias stood there for a few seconds and was just about to walk away, when Jade finally opened the door. Her face contorted in a sneer… she knew why Alias was here.

“What do YOU want?”

He looked away for a moment, wondering if there wasn’t still time just to walk away. Finally Alias looked her in the eye. 

"Damnit... I can't believe I'm doing this. Listen I thought you might like to know something…" Jade already felt like she’d heard enough. She didn’t even know Alias… why confront her with this now. Jade started to pull the door but Alias pressed a taped hand against it to hold it open, he had to get through to her now.

"...about Jason."

Jade released her grip on the doorway and looked across the threshold at Alias. She bit her bottom lip as tears began to swell up in her eyes. A tear streamed down her face as she released her grip completely from the door, letting it swing open ever so much. She turned her back to the Original Pulp Hero and walked to the center of the room… speaking unashamedly to him.

“Your chivalry's showing. Put it away."

From the moment Alias entered Jade's looker room one thought resonated through his mind, ‘Why am I here?!’. The thing is, even after 10 months in the federation together; Alias had hardly talked to Jade, let alone even think about getting this personal with her about her private life. He just didn't see himself as the man for the job... he was a recovering alcoholic and the kind of guy who was lucky if he even wanted to keep a relationship going past the morning after. 

Still it all came back to Kain... Kain and Jade... and that true to life love that they possessed. When it came to that, and even after the battered and bloody fight of last week, Alias had to suck it up... and was more then ready to force that love out of both of them if he had to.

Alias broke the silence of the room... Jade had stopped in the middle of the looker room and stood with her back to him. 

"What do you want to hear? What's it going to take?--" Jade spun around and held her arms crossed over her chest as if to block out the worlds Alias was about to say. She didn’t know why he was here; she didn’t even know why she let him into her locker room, but she knew she needed answers and if Alias was going to give them to her, then she was going to at least try to hear him out.

She avoided his stare, her eyes on the ugly gray carpeting, darting back and forth from his shoes to her own. Jade didn’t even know this guy, and why he had put himself into hers and Jason’s relationship was as far off in left field as she could throw the ball. Even though she had to know what was going on, she wasn’t letting him away with anything.

“Why the fuck are you here Alias? Jason and I are over, caput, FINISHED! And there’s nothing you, or SilverHAWK or anyone else from this fucking fed can do about it! I’ve spent too much time thinking about this shit, about Isis and Osyrus, about Jason, about EVERYTHING! I’m done!” Jade fell to her knees and tears began to roll down her cheeks. She shook her head and cried hard. Not only tears of sorrow, but also tears of complete hatred.

“I just need to know what happened. What REALLY happened! Because right now I’m not so sure anymore...” Alias's heart sunk for this girl and everything that Kain and her had endured... every point she made had been valid, he knew it. He still didn't know why he was here... but the thing's he did know were the things that she had to be sure of. He knew blasting her with straight rhetoric wouldn't be the answer; things were too fragile as it was for that. Alias squatted down so that his eyes where level with Jade's. His tattooed arms lay strongly across his legs. 

"If there's one thing that you've got to be sure of, one thing that you've got to believe, is that that man still loves you. What I can I say...he always will. Though from where you stand you can't see that... what that bitch Isis has done, what Osyrus has made you believe... it's blinded you. 

I know I don't have the proof that nothing actually happened between Jason and Isis... but we've both seen the proof that Kain won't stop loving you. What's happened has torn that man apart... don't walk away from this, don't give up... you know as well as I do that that'll just finish the job."

Jade looked into Alias’ eyes. Her once vibrant green ones were now dull and expressionless. She shook her head slowly back and forth and glanced down at the floor again, covering her face with her hands. Alias grabbed her hands away from her cheeks and pulled her to her feet. 

“What do you know? Have you ever been in this situation? Have you ever accused someone you loved of something so thoughtless? Have you ever loved before Alias?” Jade’s words stung. She half meant them to, she half didn’t. Her emotions were running away from her, and she just kept spiraling downward. She didn’t know how much more ‘preaching’ she could take from him. Yeah, her words had stung Alias... but what else could he answer to her with except the truth. 

"No... but you have. And I know, after all of this... you still do." The words came smoothly out from his mouth and once he was finished, he let her hands drop to her side and he turned towards the door. She reached out to stop him, although she didn’t know why she wanted him to stay, but no matter how hard she tried, no words came out of her mouth. Her hand dropped to her side once again and as he pulled open the door, she blurted out to him. 

“Wait!”

He turned, his hand still on the door handle. He looked at Jade. She looked like a frail little girl, trapped in the body of a twenty-five year old. Her face was streaked with tears and a frown was spread across her pale lips.

“I need help...what can I do?” Alias let go of the door handle and stood there for a second, his mind unable to come up with a solid answer. His heart however pulled his feet forward and he made his way back towards Jade and away from the door. 

Alias's arms stretched out and enveloped the crying woman... at this moment, as Alias held Jade; it was like a big brother comforting his scared little sister. As she sobbed, five words came quietly from Alias's lips... his answer. 

"Have faith... just have faith."

Jade pushed away from Alias and walked over to the couch. She didn’t sit down however; she just stood in front of it, staring down at the shiny black leather. Her words came out quietly; almost quiet enough that Alias couldn’t hear them. 

“I lost faith, when I lost Jason Kain!”

Justice

She sat, her arms writhing with tension. Surrounding her was a locker, painted in dark blue. It’s paint was waning away, in desperate need of maintenance. It was like a prison cell. And the crčme walls, embedded with large holes didn’t do anything to challenge that assumption. As a door slammed somewhere far away in the arena, Hillary flinched. Her normally picturesque hair was greasy, her body odour apparent to those several metres away. Hillary Small was annoyed. She remained silent, her lips not daring to utter words. 

She had failed herself. The fans knew it. Those corporate assholes knew it. But worst of all….she knew it. Two losses straight. A humiliating record. One win, two losses. 

Her win over Ron Williams at Pain Or Pleasure had been where she had shone. Hell, she’d even got a compliment from Williams after the show. He had tapped her on the back and laughed...but now…come to think of it….that might have been his adaptation of a punch….

But two weeks ago at Glory, she was cruising for victory. As predicted, Jade was no match for Hillary. Victory was a formality for The Troll. Until, one man had halted her progress.

Forme.

Forme Carlos.

And so, Hillary was battered and bruised going into the next Courage. She lost to Janitor Howard, of all people. There was only one man to blame.

Forme Carlos.

An ex-drug addict. 

Messing with Hillary? He MUST be on drugs. 

And so, The Troll remained still, the wooden bench showing signs of buckling under the almighty weight of its occupant. She hatched a plan, deep in her mind. The mother of all plans. 

Hillary may have been motionless.

But she certainly was not emotionless.

And you thought Hillary Smalls career was over?

It was only just beginning.

King Of Ages Tournament Match - Round One
Khristain Keller Vs. Gary Steele

  

What's the difference between Gary Steele and Khristain Keller? 

A hell of a lot, actually. Steele was looking to make an impact in this match, as he stood in the ring, warming up. Keller had already imposed himself on the company, and was having fun screwing around with SilverHAWK. He grinned sadistically at Steele in the ring, as he marched down the ramp to the tune of "Dirty Window" by Metallica. As soon as Keller rolled into the ring, the referee signalled for the start of the match. Gary, eager to impress, quickly charged at K˛, who lunged forward, pitying Gary's intentions. 

A cracking clothesline sent Steele back down to the canvas, and latter was absolutely dazed on the canvas... unable to believe how quick Keller was in stifling his attack. Keller now began to stomp away at his opponent and Steele tried to block the kicks but to no avail, and seconds later, found himself being pulled up by the hair. 

"You fucking idiot!" Khristain muttered as he unleashed a ferocious right hook, almost knocking Gary Steele out. The latter stumbled backwards, allowing Keller to bounce himself off the ropes. 

And take him down with a ferocious-looking shoulder-tackle. The immediate cover; 

ONE... 

TWO... 

Kick-out from Gary Steele, as Keller pulled him back up and kicked him in the midsection, before whipping Steele face-first into the turnbuckle. Gary's sternum crashed into the turnbuckle and he staggered back, holding his solar plexus in obvious pain. K˛ didn't seem to really care much, as he grabbed Nature from behind and threw him over his own head in a German suplex! 

An absolute whitewash here. 

Gary was just not getting into it at all, and was quite simply getting his arse kicked. Keller emitted a low snigger when his opponent used the ropes to help himself up. Seething mad, Steele growled, charging at Keller. Who amazingly managed to raise Gary over his head in a gorilla press, drawing surprised cheers from the crowd. One press, two presses, three presses... 

Before Khristain Keller forcefully -- and somewhat reluctantly, it has to be added -- brought Gary Steele down. Onto his knee. Steele's chest almost burst open right there, and another cover was made by Keller, not caring how agonized his opponent was; 

ONE... 

TWO... 

THR... 

Bravely enough -- or foolishly, you decide -- Steele forced his shoulders off the mat, causing the Keller to hiss. He pulled Gary up and smashed his forearm into the now-vulnerable chest of his opponent, before his knee crushed several bones of Steele's ribcage. With Gary once again doubling over, searing pain paralyzing him, K˛ took a step back... before unleashing a deadly sidekick into his opponent's face! 

Strangely enough, a small pop was generated for the move as Gary Steele collapsed to the mat, gasping urgently for air. Now smiling, Keller walked over and pulled his challenger up, the end of the torment seemingly not in sight. But when the Miami-born badass brilliantly drilled Gary Steele with a spinning sambo suplex, everybody knew it was over. The way the ring shook seemed to be more evidence; no one would have been able to kick out of that. Satisfied, Keller made the nonchalant cover; 

ONE... 

TWO... 

THREE! 

That was all she wrote. And another day in the office for Khristain Keller. 

Another EASY day in the office, mind you. 

Winner: Khristain Keller

NEEDS A TITLE.

Keller had scored the victory, but his party wasn’t about to start, not yet.

The lights turned black. People in the audience screamed, authority figures backstage wondered what was going on. People panicked.

THUD

People “oo’ed” and “ahh’ed.”

Lights began flickering.

And in the ring laid a man.

And laid next to the man was a black baseball bat.

And standing over the baseball bat and the man was Elijah Arson.

The crowd popped as the lights still flickered. Arson had a microphone in hand and began to speak.

“You see, morons like you, Keller, are the types of people that we read about in the newspaper under the obituary. You never think before you speak, and that’s something that was bound to get you in a lot of trouble one day. And from this day on, my friend, you are indeed...in trouble.”

And with that, the lights dimmed once more.

When they came to, Elijah Arson was gone and Khristain Keller was being helped from the ring.

Waiting Patiently [Part II]

The stagehand was out of breath running around the arena looking for someone in charge. He finally found Joe Bishop and SilverHAWK talking near Dunn’s office. The stagehand panting ran up to Bishop and SilverHAWK trying to speak.

“Take a deep breath kid.” Joe said

The stagehand finally caught his breath as he stated to finally speak.

“Mr. SilverHAWK and Mr. Bishop I need to tell you something.” the stagehand said

“Spit it out kid.” SilverHAWK exclaimed

“I ran into Vince Jacobs and he is waiting by the entrance for ----“ the stagehand said before being cut off by Joe Bishop

“Osyrus, right” Joe said

The stagehand shook his head yes.

SilverHAWK sighed before speaking. “Joe can you take care of Vince.”

“Where is Vince, kid?” Joe said

“I will show you Mr. Bishop.” the stagehand said as he led Joe Bishop to where Vince stood waiting for Osyrus.

Joe and the stagehand walked down the hall and around the corner to see Vince still waiting by the entrance looking at his watch. Joe walked over to Vince who caught him coming out the corner of his eye.

“What do you want Joe?” Vince said sarcastically

“I know why you are here tonight even though you are not scheduled to compete.” Joe said

“Look Joe I just need to talk Osyrus. I know he is the veteran around here in ACW but I am not some fuckin’ rookie that he is going to take advantage of.” Vince replied

“I know your temper Vince and I can’t have you waiting to attack one of our superstars. I know how you reacted with Alias.” Joe said rubbing his chin

“I thought you knew me well Joe. What I did to Chris was out of pure hatred. But I don’t hate Osyrus actually I respect the man. I just want an explanation on the occurrence at Glory.” Vince said looking at Joe

“I understand you want to talk to him Vince but you can’t wait here for him to show up. I know the frame of mind he will be in when he arrives. The man is likely to rip your head off for what you did to Isis last week.” Joe said

“Whatever.” Vince said with a smirk on his face

“Vince I am putting my foot down. You will leave this area and wait in the dressing room for Osyrus to come here tonight.” Joe said forcefully

Vince looked at Joe directly eye to eye. “Whatever you say….. BOSS.

Vince turned from the entrance and walked toward the dressing rooms.

Joe shook his head. “We need to keep these two guys apart before we have World War III.”

The Man of the Hour [Part 1]

After Vince Jacobs turned the corner and was out of sight; Joe sighed angrily, heading in the same direction… when the entrance door started to open slowly. He turned his head and frowned in disappointment, while the stagehand gasped at the commotion that would have erupted if <b>he</b> would have arrived minutes sooner. 

”Why such the long faces? You mother fuckers should be glad I am here… now you know that the show won’t completely go the shitter.” It was apparent that Osyrus had arrived; Isis walked past the three men heading toward the dressing room, covering her face from being seen. 

”Osyrus, I will say one thing… you sure have perfect timing. If you would have opened that door seconds ago; you would be having a nice chat with Mr. Jacobs.” Joe’s sarcasm hit home quickly as Osyrus dropped his bags to his side… balling up his fists, looking around for the appending confrontation with his recent nemesis. But with no one to attack in sight; Osyrus calmed down as began to smirk. 

”Oh really now. A nice chat huh? Is that you words or Jacobs’?” Joe was about to reply when Mr. Christensen cut him off quickly, standing in front of the stagehand… throwing head fakes, as if he was going to strike the labor worker. “ It couldn’t be yours Joe, you’re not that clever. But why should Vinny J be mad at me, because he lost his opportunity at the world title? Also, is it my fault that the man can’t hold in his aggression… having to attack helpless and defenseless women to get my attention. That’s really pathetic, don’t you think Joe?” Joe said nothing as he started to walk away; Osyrus walked in the opposite direction, still running his loud mouth. 

”Come on Joe, don’t give ACW’s best wrestler the cold shoulder. I just want you to answer my question. Even for a CWL has been… isn’t that pathetic?” Joe stopped in his tracks; he slowly turned in Osyrus’ direction. “Now that I got your attention again, you know what’s even more shittier than a has been… a bad corporate decision by <b>two</b> fucking old wrestlers, that think they know what’s best for the promotion… I built. The former ACW champion strutted right up in front of Joe’s face, looking him up and down… as he blew air on him from his nose like a bull enraged . “What gave you and Silver Hawk the right; to say that Alias and SVJ would even compete for the world title shot… when I am always going to be the number one contender around here. I will make sure that you, Hawk and the rest of the ACW management never forget that decision, that they made.” Osyrus went forehead to forehead with Joe, before he backed away then quickly head butted him in the bridge of his nose. 

”… Never forget it.” Osyrus snarled again as Joe swung his right hand at him but Osyrus avoided it easily… back pleading as he laughed down the hallway. 

”Sir, do you need some help? I think a little bit of blood is coming from you nose.” Joe waved off his help as he patted his upper lip. 

”Tonight is going to be one of those nights.” The stage hand exited through the entrance door as Joe made his way back to Dunn’s office. 

King Of Ages Tournament Match - Round One
Elijah Arson Vs. Vincent Pembridge

  

"Time" by Taproot.

Uh -thefuck- Oh. He's baaaa-aaaaack.

Boycotting last week's show because it was taped and eventually aired a few days later, Vincent Pembridge tended to business in thReat. And he made use of a scheduling delight tonight, which saw thReat & ACW hold events just thirty minutes away from each other. Many were hoping maybe he wouldn't make it to the arena in time, allowing the officials to rule in Elijah Arson's favour.

Nah-uh.

The house lights dimmed, and a blue spotlight focused on the stage. Cue the crazed jeering and hissing and swearing. As if the crowd were a bunch of animals, sensing a natural disaster on the horizons.

Time; just a counter-clockwise in motion.
Time; it requires strength, love, and devotion.
Time; a detention of every person.
Time; is used to make us free again.

When we can turn back time, to any time.
By... by moving on inside.
And will we still ask why about the time?
Or be just fine inside of our minds?

Vincent -- decked out in a pair of blue jeans and black shoes -- appeared from the back and immediately scowled, as the hate grew. The callous fighter walked down the ramp towards the ring, ACW Scorpion Title around his waist, thReat Fighting Title in his right hand, microphone in left hand and his calculating eyes fixated on the ring.

Time; grows things older, faster when you find it.
Time; it's wasting away while we spend it.
Time; a reflection of our past with it.
Time; is used to make things right again.

When we can turn back time, to any time.
By... by moving on inside.
And will we still ask why about the time?
Or be just fine inside of our minds?

Reaching the bottom of the ramp, Pembridge slowly walked around the ring before ascending up the steps and onto the ring apron, taking his time to step into the ring. Now grinning, the Scorpion -- as he usually does -- turned to the section of the crowd which were seated behind the announce team and sneered at them.

Listen to the wonderful hate grow.

I can see this coming over my mind.
Cause you're right.
It's life, my light!

When we can turn back time, to any time.
By... by moving on inside.
And will we still ask why about the time?
Or be just fine inside of our minds?

When we can turn back time, to any time.
By... by moving on inside.
And will we still ask why about the time?
Or be just fine inside of our minds?

Our minds, Our minds, Our minds.
Because you're right, you're right...
Inside our minds.
Minds. Minds. Minds.

The smile on his face grew more sadistic with each week.

Minds.

And as the house lights returned, the British Degenerate unhooked his ACW Scorpion Title, letting it drop to the canvas. Looking at the structure that contained him like a prison, Vincent P turned to look at the stage, the usual hissing and screaming and hurling of abuse being taken up another notch.


And then.... Superjoint Ritual‘s “Fuck Your Enemy” played. And although the majority of the crowd cheered, some jeered. None the less, from behind the curtain came out ‘the Constant’ Elijah Arson. He was no nonsense on the night, and he quickly made his way down to the ring. Eyes burning with determination. As Arson stepped foot inside the ring, however...

"Cut his sodding music!"

And so, it was cut. The jeers returned, and Arson glared at Vincent, clenched fists and all.

"Listen, cunt. I think you're full of shite, and if I have to FIGHT you to progress in this bloody tournament, you're going to fight on my rules. Scorpion Title on the line. No pinfalls, either a standing 15-count or a ring-out. But for tonight, just for you only, twat... submissions are going to count.

I'm feeling bloody lucky tonight, t'all. Do you got the bollocks?"

Elijah Arson nodded in agreement.

Pembridge’s challenge had been accepted. The match was now more than just a match in the tournament, it was a ACW Scorpion Fighting Title match.

The bell hadn’t rung, but Vincent Pembridge made sure that he took complete advantage of the situation by kicking an unsuspecting Elijah Arson in the midsection with a stiff kick after tossing the microphone out of the ring. Pembridge picked Arson up by the legs and dropped him down with a spinebuster slam.

The bell rang, and the match was OFFICIALLY underway.

Pembridge wasted no time as he grabbed Arson by his arm and yanked him back up to his feet. He lifted Arson’s arm up and stuck his arm around, thus locking in a sleeper hold. Arson slapped Pembridge’s arm as an attempt for him to loosen the hold, but Vincent tightly strengthened the hold.

Time was going...

And going...

And going...

About a minute and a half had passed. Elijah was running out of breath and dropped to his knees. The referee checked in to see if Arson was done or not. In the process of doing so, the referee allowed Elijah Arson a chance of breaking the hold.
Desperate times called for desperate measures.

Arson attempted to low blow Pembridge, but Pembridge being the cheating bastard that he is saw this coming from a mile away and showed Arson into the ropes. Arson came back, Pembridge attempted a dropkick, Arson moved to the side. Pembridge quickly rose back up to his feet only to be met by a move that Elijah Arson likes to call....

Knocked the Fuck Out.

Better known as a ravaging clothesline. From Hell. The crowd popped as the thud was heard. People cheered, screamed, and laughed. Elijah immediately stood up and peered down at his adversary;

Uno...

Dos...

Tres...

Uh, Four...

Five...

But Pembridge quick back up, only for 'The Constant' to shoulder-block him down to the canvas again. Arson kicked Pembridge in the midsection a couple of times before pulling Pembridge up. Arson kicked Pembridge in the midsection and jumped up slightly connecting with a jumping DDT which sent Pembridge rolling. Arson knew that Pembridge could come back with a fury of blows at an minute, and he wasn’t going to let Vincent get the best of him. He lifted him up once more and connected with a Russian Leg Sweep.

Elijah got to his feet and the referee counted;

One...

Two..

Three...

Four...

Five...

Six...

Seven...

The crowd yelled “BOOOOO!!!” as Pembridge managed to get up before 10, even. Arson frowned and stomped away on part of the inner thigh. The Constant looked around the crowd as they yelled. He wanted to do something entertaining, something that the people would love, something that everybody wanted to see...

Arson shoved the British Degenerate down and wrapped his legs around one of the legs of Vincent Pembridge. He pulled Pembridge’s other leg over and fell backwards. He put one of his legs on top of Pembridge’s for leverage.

Figure Four Leg Lock.

Pembridge screamed and slammed his hands constantly against the canvas to try and stop the pain. Pembridge extended one of his arms trying to reach the bottom rope to no avail. The crowd was fully behind Arson as they began sending Pembridge a message.

"Tap Out!" *clapclapclap*
"Tap Out!" *clapclapclap*
"Tap Out!" *clapclapclap*

Pembridge once more reached to the bottom rope but couldn’t get there. Pembridge was a veteran in the ring. He knew there was only one way he was going to get out of the hold. Pembridge elevated himself with his arms and the crowd began booing. He used all he had left in his legs to try and turn Elijah Arson over. Arson struggled hard and long, trying not to allow this to happen, but Pembridge had gotten the best of the rookie.

He had reversed the figure four.

Elijah was now the one screaming in pain. Pembridge elevated himself with his arms once more, applying tons of pressure to the leg of Elijah Arson. Arson, however, COULD reach the ropes due to the slanted angle they were in.

Pembridge didn’t let go.

Arson screamed in pain.

But surprisingly, The Scorpion relinquished the hold, realising another means of attack had to be deployed. He gingerly got back up to his feet and grabbed onto the rope waiting for Arson to get up. He needed to recover, he had just gotten a lot took out of him.

Arson slowly grabbed onto the ropes, elevating himself back up using his power. Elijah limped around only to be caught from behind with a German Suplex. Vinnie Pembridge, however, didn’t let go.

Another German Suplex.

The crowd booed as Pembridge once more held onto the hold.

German Suplex. Again.

Three German suplexes combined into one.

Equals to... Rolling German Suplexes.

Elijah held his neck as Pembridge dropped down to his knees. He karate chopped the back of Elijah’s neck before getting back onto his feet. Pembridge once more kicked Arson in the neck.

“Get up, you sodding cunt!”

Arson slowly tried to use the ropes as leverage for him to get back up to his feet, but Pembridge got right on the attack by throwing fists to the face of Arson. He kicked him in the midsection and attempted an even flowed DDT.

Elijah Arson, however, knew that this was not the position that he wanted to be in. He shoved Pembridge off with all his might, trying to gain some sort of advantage, if he didn’t do it now, he might not have had that opportunity later.

Pembridge came back at Arson with a fury. Arson tried a back elbow which was ducked by Pembridge who quickly connected with a tripod spinning sweep kick. Arson fell to his knees as Pembridge grabbed him by the neck. He pushed Arson’s head between the legs and signaled for a sitdown powerbomb.

Not now. Arson wasn’t going to let this happen just yet.

Arson lifted Pembridge up over his head sending him flying on his back. Pembridge immediately screamed in pain as Arson got on the attack by delivering an elbow drop to the rib cage. Arson pulled Pembridge up by the neck and kicked him in the midsection.

He lifted him up for a modified version of a tear drop suplex that Elijah likes to call ‘Consistant’! And with that, Elijah Arson forced himself up, while the referee began counting;

One...

Two..

Three...

Four...

Five...

Six...

Seven...

Eight...

Nine...

Arson held his head as if he had a headache, and wobbled over to drive his knee into the Scorpion's gut. Arson looked around not sure what to do. The crowd popped as he held a weary dizzy Pembridge on his feet. ‘The Constant’ kicked him in the midsection with a move he calls “OMG I JUST FUCKED YOU UP”.

That’s no joke.

He looked around the crowd raised their hands in the air. They cheered loudly as Arson set Pembridge up for a windmill suplex.

“Sorry, not tonight, Vincent.”

Arson was about to put the final nail in the coffin when Vincent shoved him out of Denouement. Arson came back and Vincent dropped to his knees. The referee stood behind Arson which caused Arson to back into the referee dazing him slightly. You can basically guess what happens next...

Pembridge attempted a clothesline that ‘The Constant’ ducks under clocking the referee instead.

Vincent looked around, he knew this was his time to capitalize. He would have, too, had Elijah Arson just not drop kicked him out of the ring. Well, unfortunately for the fans, it was through the ropes. Not over the ropes. Tough, eh? Elijah Arson was none the wiser and smiled, proud of the fact he had just knocked the Scorpion from Manchester off his feet. The Scorpion Champion was down.

But the crowd booed. Arson was a rookie, he didn’t really understand why the crowd would boo him in the middle of the match for no reason.

Maybe, just maybe, they weren’t booing him...

Khristain Keller made his way down to the ring, holding a cloth to a large not on the side of his head as he looked really pissed off, Keller quickly jumped on the apron. Elijah went for a clothesline but Keller ducked under. Keller stared at Elijah with a smile on his face. 

Arson stared at Keller yelling at the man he had earlier attacked with a ball bat.. 

“0-2” Keller mouthed back at Arson.

“0-2?” Arson wondered in his head....

Elijah turned around only to see a chair being thrown in his face.

*SMACK*

Scorpion Bite!

The referee recovered his senses just in time to see The Plague From Manchester wave to the fans, taunting & mocking them. Can you guess what happened next?

"VINCENT SUCKS!"
"VINCENT SUCKS!"
"VINCENT SUCKS!"
"VINCENT SUCKS!"

And also, the all-important count;

One...

Two..

Three...

Four...

Five...

Six...

Seven...

Eight...

Nine...

Ten...

Eleven...

Twelve...

Thirteen...

Fourteen...

15!

It was all over. And Khristain Keller smiled...

“0-2”

Winner: Vincent Pembridge

Right Here, Right Now

Elijah Arson tumbled out of the ring and hobbled into the crowd, in pursuit of Khristain Keller who'd chosen to make his escape through the sea of humanity. Vincent Pembridge, meanwhile, was intent on gloating to the crowd, as he collected his Scorpion Title and paraded with it in the ring. The cocky Brit was certainly pleased that he'd killed two birds with one stone -- progressed in the KOA Tournament and defended his precious title. A good night for him.

But suddenly, the ACWTron flickered to life. And the sound of asses getting whooped were heard.

Turning around, Vincent's arrogant smile vanished into thin air, at the sight of the British teenagers that made up WAVE 3 getting mauled by a raving lunatic with a chair.

Bobby Knickerson.

Having put away the last of the teenagers, Knickerson turned to the camera and sniggered, before he left. To make his way down to the ring. Vincent fumed and spat, awaiting Bobby's arrival. It wasn't long before the crowd erupted with cheers for this unlikely hero of theirs. Bobby Knickerson, one of the latest members to join the ranks of Quinton's Army. Did so in controversial style, too.

Bottomline was, everybody now knew why he was preparing.

And it seemed he was, finally, ready.

"Vincent!

Right here, right now. Just the two of us. Your rules."

Vincent grinned thinly, as he stared a hole through his former disciple. This was certainly an interesting proposal, and he was seriously considering it. Nobody took out his troops and lived to tell the tale. Knickerson, however, was looking different. Like a man possessed.

"You sure, cunt."

Bobby, who'd stopped halfway down the ramp, ran down and into the ring, his smile telling it all.

"Heck yeah."

It was on!

ACW Scorpion Title Fight
Bobby Knickerson Vs. Vincent Pembridge [c]

  

The Phenomenon known as Bobby Knickerson swiftly lunged forward and let loose with a wild swing, but Vincent ducked and watched as Knickerson let his momentum take him into the ropes. As Knickerson came hurtling back, the Scorpion Of Manchester struck with a standing sidekick to Knickerson’s face! The impact was devastating, as the latter fell back down to the canvas and the referee began the count amidst massive disapproval;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

FOUR!

FIVE!

SIX!

SEVEN!

EIGHT!

Just as the referee was about to reach 9, Knickerson used the ropes to help himself up. Frowning, Vincent walked over to Knickerson, and immediately attempted to score with a hook. Bob somehow blocked it, and the three following hooks, before kicking Vincent in the gut.

And executing a DDT!

Knickerson had finally gotten some offense in, but The Brit Degenerate was right back up, albeit feeling a bit woozy. Knickerson was somewhat surprised, but that didn’t stop his from hammering his opponent in the face with a barrage of punches. They didn’t seem to have any effect though; after about the ninth punch, Vincent suddenly exploded into life, landing three consecutive forearm strikes, before mauling Knickerson with a perfectly-placed hook kick.

Knickerson was down once again.

And Vincent smiled as the referee started up the count;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

FOUR!

FIVE!

SIX!

SEVEN!

EIGHT!

NINE!

TEN!

ELEVEN!

Somehow, Knickerson found it in his soul to get himself off the ground. This obviously annoyed Vincent, who charged at Knickerson, connecting with a shoulder block. As Knickerson hit the ground, The Scorpion knelt down and placed his right shin across his opponent’s neck in a shin choke, while his left shin pressed down on Bob’s stomach.

The young man would have yelled out in pain, but as it were, his circulation was being blocked. His hands raced up to his neck, scratching away at Vincent’s shin… trying to get it off his neck. A sadistic gleam appeared in Pembridge’s eyes but as he looked down at Knickerson, his eyes got poked at. Stumbling backwards, Vincent cursed loudly… but eventually regained his footing.

So had Knickerson, who looked as if he was sick of being bossed around in the fight thus far. So he went for a right cross hook, but Vincent blocked it. Knickerson then tried with the left hand. Again, blocked. Now Vincent let loose with a powerful cross hook, that Knickerson only just evaded… but Knickerson showed the crowd, who were really loving this fight so far, just how much of an opportunist he was.

Axe-handle smash to the back of Vincent’s neck!

The Manucian Predator howled as he dropped to his knees. The smash, to the back of his neck, took some of the wind out of him. On his knees, Vincent’s right hand was wrapped around the back of his neck. Knickerson smiled, and viciously kicked Pembridge in the gut… but all that did was cause the Scorpion to wince and force himself up, attempting to fight through the pain.

Thus, Knickerson piled more pressure on Vincent’s neck, with a snap side DDT, a slight variant from the one executed earlier. Writhing on the ground with his hands around his neck, the fighter formerly known as Jakks looked up at Knickerson, whose arms were in the air as the count began again, with the crowd chanting along joyously;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

FOUR!

FIVE!

SIX!

SEVEN!

EIGHT!

Vincent Pembridge forced himself up again and immediately tried to get some momentum going, his right hand hurtling towards Knickerson’s face. Knickerson sidestepped in and almost instantly retaliated with a sleeper hold, once again focusing on the neck. Vincent’s yells of agony was audible now, even with the crowd totally engrossed in the fight.

But a mere seconds later, Pembridge somehow managed to force his legs in the air, before slamming them down and leaning forward at the same time; the momentum flung Knickerson over his head and the latter’s back crashed into one of the four corner turnbuckles! Breathing heavily, Vincent Pembridge barely had any time to tend to his neck, for Knickerson was back up and running at the Manucian at full speed.

A simple armdrag saw Knickerson hitting the direct opposite turnbuckle face first, and blood started to trickle down from Knickerson’s temple, a testament of the power The British Degenerate possessed. Nobody could see the cut because of the mask, but Knickerson could feel it... and Vincent could sense it.

Using the ropes to once again assist his in getting up, Knickerson turned around and staggered right into the path of his patented Windpipe Smash. A deadly knife-edge chop to the throat, mostly used in times of desperation. Obviously retaliation for the axe-handle smash on Vincent’s neck, Knickerson began to choke, his hands around his throat. Spitting, Vincent decided he had toyed around with Knickerson long enough, and executed an outward standing axe kick.

With tremendous impact! The referee began the count, he himself knew the outcome by now;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

FOUR!

FIVE!

SIX!

SEVEN!

EIGHT!

NINE!

TEN!

ELEVEN!

TWELVE!

By some twisted luck, Knickerson defied all odds. Not wanting to go down, he mustered every single ounce of energy hiding in every crevice of his anatomy and forced himself up.

Vincent Pembridge was undeniably furious, but he kept a calm façade to execute a roundhouse kick with his right leg, before following up swiftly with a spinning 360ş backheel kick with the left leg.

"VINCENT SUCKS!"
"VINCENT SUCKS!"
"VINCENT SUCKS!"

Knickerson slumped down to the ground, totally out cold. But it wasn't over. The Scorpion crouched down to the mat and stared at his opponent, disregarding the not-too-favourable curses being hurled at him. He whispered something to Knickerson.

Before wrapping his left hand around his throat, and pulling the masked Risk competitor up.

Rage could be seen in Knickerson's eyes. He didn't want it to end this way. It couldn't.

*SLAMMMM*

But it had. Vincent Pembridge raised Knickerson pretty damn in the air... and drove him down to the canvas in a one-handed sitdown chokeslam! Devastating show of power from The Callous Fighting Machine, who looked to be on an absolute roll now. Ironic, since Knickerson was rolling around in absolute anguish, pain paralyzing his body.

"VINCENT SUCKS!"
"VINCENT SUCKS!"
"VINCENT SUCKS!"

Standing up, Pembridge ordered the referee to count. Reluctantly, he did;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

FOUR!

FIVE!

SIX!

SEVEN!

EIGHT!

NINE!

TEN!

ELEVEN!

TWELVE!

THIRTEEN!

FOURTEEN!

...

...

HE WAS UP!

"BOBBY ROCKS!"
"BOBBY ROCKS!"
"BOBBY ROCKS!"

Vincent shook his head in frustration and leapt forward, knocking his former disciple down with a shoulder block. Bobby tumbled down to canvas gasping for air, but slowly got to a kneeling position. Which actually didn't do him any good. The crowd cringed collectively, as the Scorpion viciously kicked Knickerson in the face, as if he was kicking a football. Bobby flew across the ring and his head slammed down onto the canvas with some impact, as a chant started up...

"VINCENT SUCKS!"
"VINCENT SUCKS!"
"VINCENT SUCKS!"
"VINCENT SUCKS!"

That wasn't the only thing started up, however;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

FOUR!

FIVE!

SIX!

SEVEN!

EIGHT!

NINE!

TEN!

ELEVEN!

TWELVE!

Knickerson, despite blood now trickling down his nose and the possibility of a few broken teeth, wasn't about to lose this fight to Vincent Pembridge. He forced himself up, with the help of the ropes, and glared at the advancing Pembridge, suddenly lunging forward and lashing out with a wild swing.

The Scorpion ducked easily and wrapped his hand around Knickerson's throat, the crowd growing uneasy. They had an idea of what was to come, and they didn't like it. Immediately breaking out into huge garbled cheering, the audience attempted to help their hero stir back to life and fight back.

It wasn't to be.

ONE-HANDED SITDOWN CHOKE BOMB!! UNBELIEVABLE!

"VINCENT SUCKS!"
"VINCENT SUCKS!"
"VINCENT SUCKS!"
"VINCENT SUCKS!"
"VINCENT SUCKS!"
"VINCENT SUCKS!"
"VINCENT SUCKS!"
"VINCENT SUCKS!"

The British Degenerate spat at Bobby as he semi-convulsed on the canvas, before strutting around like a true Arrogant Bastard suddenly grew. The referee, sickened by the impact of the move, had no choice but to begin the count;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

FOUR!

FIVE!

SIX!

SEVEN!

EIGHT!

NINE!

TEN!

ELEVEN!

TWELVE!

THIRTEEN!

FOURTEEN!

....

NO WAY! THE PHENOMENON WAS UP AGAIN!

Vincent growled, and waited until his adversary was completely upright, not able to believe his eyes. He had thought that enough was done to keep the animal known as The Phenomenon down, but Bobby was obviously much tougher. On his feet, Knickerson turned around and found Pembridge charging at him.

Bobby ducked and waited for Vincent to come back off the ropes, before superkicking him in the jaw. Didn't really knock the Scorpion off his feet, but at least it got the title out of his hands. Grinning, Knickerson kicked his rival in the abdominals, forcing him to double over... before underhooking the arms...

AND SCORING WITH ONE HELL OF A DOUBLE-UNDERHOOK POWERBOMB! AMAZING!

"BOBBY ROCKS!"
"BOBBY ROCKS!"
"BOBBY ROCKS!"
"BOBBY ROCKS!"

Standing to his feet, Knickerson soaked in the atmosphere that sounded as if 70,000 people were generating, and limped towards the corner turnbuckle, as the referee started up the count again;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

FOUR!

FIVE!

SIX!

SEVEN!

EIGHT!

NINE!

TEN!

ELEVEN!

Recovering, Vincent grasped at his mouth, wondering if he was bleeding. The hissing and cursing returned from the crowd, as the fighter formerly known as Jakks failed to notice Bobby picking up the chair that had been used in the Arson/Vincent fight earlier. With a sadistic smile that spoke volumes of his intentions, The Phenomenon tossed the chair at Vincent, expecting him to catch it. That duly happened, allowing Bobby to spring into action...

With a dropkick! Pembridge fell to the canvas, stunned, as a small cut forced itself open on his temple... how could it not, considering the velocity of Knickerson's kick, rebounding the chair into the Scorpion's face? Both men were up very quickly though, Vince worse for wear obviously. It was about to go downhill for him, as Knickerson retrieved his chair and with a fleeting glance at his staggering opponent...

*CRACK*

SMASHED IT OVER VINCENT'S HEAD! THE DOUBLE-CHAMPION WAS STILL STANDING, HOWEVER!

*CRACK*

*CRACK*

*CRACK*

*CRACK*

*CRACK*

FUCKING CHAIR WAS ABSOLUTELY DENTED BY NOW, BUT HE WAS STILL ON HIS KNEES, NOT WANTING TO FALL TO THE MAT!

The crowd were cheering their lungs out, delighted at the demolition of Vincent Pembridge in the ring! Knickerson Bobby heaved like a madman, and with an almighty roar... sent himself into the ropes... came off them at full speed... and...

*CRACK*

STILL NOT DOWN! BOBBY RAISED THE CHAIR OVER HIS HEAD AGAIN...

*CRACK*

THE SCORPION WAS STILL STANDING SOMEHOW! SWAYING LIKE A BOAT BUT STILL ALIVE!

*CRACK*

OH MY GOD! STILL NO CHANCE! KNICKERSON WAS ROARING LIKE A CRAZY RAPIST NOW, AS THE CROWD'S MADNESS GREW! ONE LAST TIME!

*CRAAAAAAAAACK*

THE TENTH CHAIRSHOT, FINALLY SENDING THE SCORPION OF MANCHESTER DOWN FOR THE COUNT! ALL OVER;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

FOUR!

FIVE!

SIX!

SEVEN!

EIGHT!

NINE!

TEN!

....

ELEVEN!

....

TWELVE!

....

THIRTEEN!

....

FOURTEEN!

....

....

....

....

....

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!"

NO! NO! NO! NO! THE FUCKING ARROGANT BASTARD WAS UP!

Vincent fuckin' Pembridge was up! Face covered in blood, but on his feet. Somehow! Completely surreal! Vincent had used the ropes to help him, and managed to just barely lift himself off the mat. With the count stopped, Pembridge staggered to the corner turnbuckle, stopping himself from falling by hanging on to the ropes.

Bobby Knickerson screamed out in frustration, and raised the chair in the air again. Charging at his former master in the corner.

*CRACK*

VINCENT RAISED HIS RIGHT FOOT AND KICKED THE CHAIR BACK INTO BOBBY'S FACE! BOBBY STAGGERS BACKWARDS, WITH THE CHAIR OUT OF THE EQUATION... PEMBRIDGE LUNGES FORWARD...

....

OH MY GOD! HURRICANE KICK! HURRICANE KICK! IT'S ALL OVER! THE SCORPION OF MANCHESTER JUST SPUN IN MID-AIR AND KNOCKED KNICKERSON OUT WITH A HURRICANE KICK! REFEREE STARTS THE COUNT;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

FOUR!

FIVE!

SIX!

SEVEN!

EIGHT!

NINE!

TEN!

....

ELEVEN!

....

TWELVE!

....

THIRTEEN!

....

FOURTEEN!

....

....

....

....

....

FIFTEEN!

THE BASTARD WON! THE PLAGUE FROM MANCHESTER WON!!

The bell rung and Vincent tumbled out of the ring, almost unable to stand! The jeers were immense, as he collected both his titles and began staggering to the back. He'd just been through absolute hell against Bobby Knickerson, and only just survived. Amazing stuff from the both men...

But it wasn't over.

Knickerson had rolled out of the ring and gotten himself a steel-chair. His face was covered in blood, but the young man was still breathing. Vincent noticed this on the ACW Tron and began to scramble for dear life, as Bobby began the chase. He was even more possessed now.

Annihilation beckoning? 

You could be right.

Could be.

Winner: Vincent Pembridge

The Man of the Hour [Part 2]

“What do you mean you’re not going to do anything right now?! You see this mark on my face,” Isis poked her right cheek angrily, tugging on her burgundy locks… becoming more and more psychotic for SVJ’s blood. “He kicked me in the fucking face Omar.” Isis jumped around frantically in front of Osyrus, who sat calmly on his leather couch.. watching the events of the night unfold on the monitor. 

“Believe me Nora, I know what that bastard Jacobs did. You’ve told me like hundred times since last week. Now it’s time to calm down and stop thinking about the then and there… But the here and now.” Osyrus leaned forward, he pushed Isis out of his view of the monitor as the ‘Superstar’ appeared. 

“Look, there he is! Let’s get that fecker right now Osyrus.” Mr. Christensen didn’t leave from his seat as he leaned back against the soft cushion; Isis stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. “Haven’t you learned anything I have taught you; since you came on as my manager/ valet?” He yelled in the direction of the rest room, turning his attention back to the small screen as ACW had went to an advertisement commercial. 

“Did you forget the tricks of the trade that I taught you? Come on Nora, the knowledge I am trying to put into your beautiful head is gold.. and any wrestler in the world would want to learn what I know. I’m the valedictorian of the wrestling industry… and when you absorb it all, you will be as good as I am. Maybe even better.” Osyrus paused, smirking as the bathroom door started to open. 

“… Really Omar,” Isis peeked her head out the door, cooler heads had prevailed. 

’Like I said Nora, maybe. First rule of the book of Osyrus… Don’t come to people; make them come to you. Even though that CWL has been and never was Vince Jacobs tried to get my attention, all he proved was how big of a puss he is. The man couldn’t even beat that jobber Alias; when I easily mopped for the floor with that scrub so much… he should be sponsored by S.C Johnson Wax.” Isis snickered when Osyrus rose to his feet, reaching behind him as he pulled his logo hoodie; over his shoulders and head. 

“And speaking of jobbers, I was the one that beat Kain from pillar to post at another shitty ACW pay per view… but who gets the title shot? Him. Jason ‘freaking’ Kain… that’s who. I am so fucking sick of ACW’s politics, you just don’t know how much Isis. As soon as those ass clowns Dunn and Boyd took over… they have single handily ran my career into the ground. After I got cheated out of the title to that child molester ICU, did I get a rematch at the title… like I was supposed to?” She was about to speak, but Osyrus promptly cut Isis off by sticking his hand in her face. 

”No.

When ICU couldn’t cut it any more as the champ, throwing the title that I made famous to the ground… what did ACW officials decide?” Osyrus rose his voice in a high pitch… mocking Silver Hawk. “Let’s make a number one contender’s match between that ‘Garbage in the Making’ Alias and ‘The CWL Has been’ Vince Jacobs… and the winner gets a shot at the title that Osyrus should already have around his waist. 

I am up to my fucking neck with these ACW shenanigans; holding a brotha down… and this will be the last fucking time. If I don’t get what I fucking want, I am outta here for good.” Isis wasted no time hiding her enthusiasm as she started to cheer… jumping into Osyrus’ arms before he pushed her back. “Are you serious Omar, are we going to leave ACW? 

Yeah!!” She roared before receiving the answer to the question. Osyrus was already making his way to the door, when Isis realized that her ACW going away party had started a little pre maturely. 

”Hey, wait for me.” She darted out the locker room; closing it behind her. The camera zoomed in on the monitor; where the ring was it’s main focus. What would happen in that ring would be known in a matter of seconds as the scene changed to ring side. 

The New Poker Game: The Wait

Kain looked at his refection in the designer mirror on the wall vanity. The office was well air-conditioned and he noticed that it was more comfortable than any VIP room he had been in before. ACW must have been getting better ratings.

Was it because of Kain and Alias’s match? Was it because there was something NEW in the show that hadn’t happened before? Who knew.

Kain didn’t like waiting for anyone… and El Emenopi seemed to be taking his sweet time about getting SilverHAWK to the office. Kain had questions. And he wanted them answered. And answered NOW.

Kain looked around the room again. He remembered having his own office at the training gym he used to own. He remembered old faces. Curtis Reile. Jack Anderson. Canaan Bane. Sean Hayes. Old friends… old enemies. It seemed so long ago. Finally he got fed up waiting.

He walked towards the door, and opened it.

Jade.

She blinked. Kain faltered and didn’t know what to say. She blinked again. Suddenly a word escaped his lips.

“Why?”

Her face turned red, as she stepped back. His eyes started to tear as he stepped back, seemingly horrified.

“I… I don’t know.” She replied, turning her head away from him, then running down the hall.

He walked back into the office slamming the door behind him. A scream was heard throughout the halls as suddenly the sound of broken glass pierced the air.

Final Attempt...?

‘Dante Inferno’

KNOCK...KNOCK...KNOCK...

“Come in!” Dante yells through the door. 

The door opens and Cael and Randall step into the dressing room. They scurry into the locker room to find Dante sitting perfectly still in the unlit dressing room. 

“What exactly do you want?” Dante said as he got up from his bench, his large presence making Cael and Randall very uneasy.  Cael raises his hands as if to say ‘we don’t want any trouble’ and shakes his head. Cael begins to approach Dante but he shoves him off.

“Like I asked, what do you want?” Dante again questions the men and they just sigh.

“We represent Alexi Volstein and ‘Operation Degrade Americana.’” Randall responds. He approaches to the left of Dante, as Cael approaches from the right. Being the more powerful two, they each grab a shoulder of Dante’s and shove him back into his seat.

“Just hear us out,” Cael pleads. Dante simply rolls his eyes and tries to shrug off each man’s hand. “My brother nor I trust you, but our leader, Alexi...seems adamant about having you join our cause.

After thinking for a few moments, Dante responds, “I remember you two...from that little "scuffle" last week.” Dante lets out a sarcastic chuckle but the two men pay no attention to it. Dante gets serious, “what could possibly change my mind this time?”

Cael smiles, “I’m glad you asked.” Cael turns his attention away from Dante as if to be staring off into space. “Think about it. You seem like the kind of person that wants to be remembered. Sorry, friend, but you will not be remembered for wrestling.” Dante looks up at Cael with a hard stare.

Cael continues, “One of Alexi’s main goals is to make sure our operation goes down in the history books. And he wants YOU to be a part of it. It is a great opportunity for you.” Cael looks back down at Dante and awaits a response.

Dante removes the men’s hands off of him and stands him. He smiles at both men, and they return the smile expecting a ‘yes’ for an answer. Dante opens his mouth, and lets out the word... “no.”

“No?” Randall asks, baffled.

“Yes..."no" the opposite of yes, you fucking idiot, now get the hell out and tell your little leader, if he wants to offer me something, come in person or at least show me what you can do for me first off.” Dante shoves both men out of his dressing room and slams the door in their faces.

The two just look at the door with clenched fists. 

“Fool...” Cael says as they walk off.

The Man of the Hour [Part 3]

The live fans in attendance jeered when they knew that he was coming to the ring. As the lights dimmed and his video wall cued up; showing him walking in the darkness with his name written in blood. Blood that he spelt for the business, that he claimed that he was an unstoppable juggernaut of… amongst average men. Especially a few weeks ago; when he fell off of the 30 ft. structure and into the crowd, amazingly surviving the death defying fall. That terrifying scene proved that it very well might take an act of god… to stop him. 

”Many Men… Wish death upon me.”
Blood in my eyes dog; and I can’t see. 
I’m trying to be what I am destined to be…
And niggas trying to take my life away.

Osyrus finally stepped through the curtain; he rose his arms into the air triumphantly. Isis, as she always was.. right by Osyrus’ side; patting him on the back as the duo looked toward the ring. The fans negative eruption got louder by the second, when wrestling’s royal couple reached the ring and entered quickly… Osyrus’ theme died down in the background, the heat he felt didn’t; as ‘the personification of talent’ rose the microphone to the tip of his upper lip. 

“So it seems that ACW hasn’t learned there lesson yet. They have come up with this bright idea that they are going to have a tourney… That’s tournament for all you idiots out there. King of Ages is what this great gimmick collaboration is called. I could swear that this reminds me of something else that All Crappy Wrestling dreamed up. Hmm, I just can’t put my finger on it,” Osyrus scratched his temple before Isis; covering one side of her face as she whispered in her ear… before punching him in the arm. 

”Oh that’s right. The Legends tourney that they had a while back. The anniversary event of Isis coming into ACW. Do you remind that night?” Osyrus stood face to face with Isis as he ran his fingers through her hair, she bite her bottom lip in excitement. “I know Silver Hawk remembers it well; getting screwed in the ass again, as if he was in the shower dropping the soap on purpose, to get the affection he craved. 

Why ACW wants to have another tournament anyway? 

Don’t they realized that they are just wasting everyone’s time… I am going to be in finals not matter what. And nothing is going to stop me this time around. No terrible mid carders, no crappy looking shooting star presses… and definitely not any ACW rookies like Vince Jacobs is going to stand in my way.” 

Isis grabbed the mic from Osyrus’ hand running to the ropes, directly facing the entrance ramp. “That’s right Jacobs.. when Osyrus gets his hands on you, you’ll wish you were back in that crappy CWL; on your hands and knees… begging that he doesn’t go back in time and put his foot in your ass. Like he needs to.” Osyrus snatched the microphone back, walking away from Isis. 

”In due time honey… in due time. Let’s focus on the next couple of minutes; because in this very ring, I have a quarter final match up against Cole. I don’t know which Cole brother is it… but it really doesn’t matter. He’ll walk down that aisle,” Osyrus pointed to the entrance way as he began to pace in the ring. “… Step into this ring and get the holy hell get kicked out of his ass, the only way Osyrus can kick ass. 

Then I’ll move onto the semifinals. 

Then the finals… and become the King of Ages; proving once again that I am the best wrestler alive. Period. End of story.” 

Poor Brother O' Mine

Andi Kole laced up his boots and looked at the watch that rested on his bench. It was almost time for his KOA Tournament Match with legend Osyrus, and his brother was nowhere in sight. Of course, Joey was extremely bitter... having lost to Jade the previous week. So, Andi knew that the possibility of his brother not showing up at all was pretty high. After all, the two hadn't spoken in a couple of days.

Joey hadn't been around much.

Sighing, Andi left his room, and jogged down the hallway, his match up next. But in a corner, a distance away from the locker-room of The Kole Brothers, stood Joey Kole. Almost in the shadows, and with an absolutely different look to him. Completely unexpected.

Leather jacket. Baggy clothes. A cigarette in his mouth.

"Poor brother o' mine."

What the hell is going on with Joey Kole?

The New Poker Game: The Answer

The door opened up. Jason Kain had been sitting in this office for quite a while. He was getting tired of just sitting and waiting. SilverHAWK looked at him sitting in HIS chair turned away from his view.

“I don’t like people cavorting around and sitting in my chair, Mr. Kain.” He smirked. But Kain didn’t move. He noticed broken glass on the floor. “I also don’t particularly like people BREAKING things in my office. So if you have a question for me ask it and get out.”

The chair turned around, Kain’s face had a weird grin on it as SilverHAWK looked him up and down… finally resting on the cause of the broken glass.

“You need a better alarm system. Don’t you know I used to be an electrician?” Kain stood up. The ACW World Title belt around his waist. “That gimmick was sooooo lame, HAWK. But I played that hand and waited for my shot. I played that stupid gimmick until I had to hide myself in embarrassment. And you know what they made me? A clown. A fucking clown. I hate clowns, SilverHAWK… do you know why?”

HAWK tilted his head waiting for the answer.

“Because they always have a huge smile on their face. No one is ever THAT happy. I’ve never felt that happy in my life. You tell me… were you abandoned by your parents? I haven’t spoken to mine in eight years. They know where I am. I send them the “dirt sheets” every week. Especially when I’m on the cover. They don’t call. They changed their number. And they don’t answer the door.” Kain looked at the belt around his waist. “That’s not something anyone would be happy about.”

“I guess it isn’t…” HAWK responded.

“Did I ask you to talk? No. Not yet… hear me out.” Kain sneered angrily. “I don’t know what you’re getting at… but look at my life. Everything I’ve ever wanted was right in my fingers then someone took it away. It’s like God is toying with me. I have nothing to live for! NOTHING! Tell me. 

Why am I still doing here. 

Why did you choose me?”

“To GIVE you something to live for,” HAWK straightened up. “I see something in you that the others don’t have. You have honest depravation. You have pure feelings in your movements. You don’t do it for the fans. You don’t do it for me. Hell… I don’t even think you do it for yourself! You do it just to do it. And that’s something no one else here has. Some are selfish. Some want the fans to love them. Some want something that they don’t know how to get. You… don’t even look for anything. You’ve been here 10 months and haven’t even asked for a title shot. You’re an odd one, that’s for sure… but you do have something to live for… no matter WHAT you think you don’t.”

“Why Alias?”

“You two give me ratings...and I thought that if I'm gonna pair you with somebody good, why not the best.” HAWK smirked, then pointed to the door.

Kain pulled off the belt from around his waist and put in on the table. He looked back at HAWK, and didn’t even open his mouth.

Then walked out of the room.

King Of Ages Tournament Match - Round One
Dante Inferno Vs. Hamish Ferguson

  

The guitar riff of KoRn's new single "Did My Time" ripped into the arena as the fans got to their feet.

I  N  F  E  R  N  O

A mass amount of pyro and lights bombarded the arena as the new United States Champion walked down to the ring with his usual stone like figure, as the fans popped him and looked for a touch for the former Winters INC member. Inferno ducked through the ropes and threw his belt to the referee, as he waited for his opponent, in the sturdy Hamish Ferguson.

The bagpipes and drums of "Flower of Scotland" kicked in as the fans gave him a lukewarm reception for one of the new stars to the ACW shores, but as the fans looked to the entrance, all they seen was an empty space, as Hamish was nowhere to be seen.

Suddenly the music stopped, the ACWTron kicked in to the running shot of the backstage area, as the cameraman shuffled past staff and through doors and corridors, he finally stopped at a large mass of people, and as they got closer, and trail of crimson was seen running along the floor.

Hamish Ferguson was in the middle of it, his head showing a large gash, as medics and ACW staff surrounded him, but the view changed as the ACWTron showed a black Lincoln Continental leaving the arena, as Alexi Volstein has his head out the window, a large smirk on his face.

This was a message to Dante Inferno.

That message was received loud and clear.

Winner: No Contest

Future Tense

“Thanks for the surprise last week, Hawk. I need something to keep me on my feet once and a while.”

SilverHAWK and Charlie Dunn, who had been drinking coffee and lightly chatting to each other, looked over at a friendly face for once… nevertheless it had been another interesting night.

“Though you should really watch out with this new financer guy, Carter or whatnot, Dunn. We don’t want to find out that he’s another Winters when it’s to late.”

Dunn smiled back at Alias, the Original Pulp Hero, and gave him a reassuring nod.

“Don’t worry about Carter. Aside from being a financer the guy has had some pretty good ideas. You know I actually told the same thing to Hawk last week.”

“The Winters era has scarred all of us, that's all Dunn, we don't want to be burned again.” Silverhawk shuddered to himself after saying the words ‘Winters era’, as the group of men laughed.

“Actually Chris, what I’m worried about is this unsanctioned retirement match you’ll be wrestling in next week in hWo against Tommy Kane. I know all about wanting to cap off your past with someone… but I don’t want any scheduling conflicts with the Best of Seven. Plus, seeing as the match isn’t even sanctioned… I don’t want you to get hurt and screw up our plans. 

You know what I mean?”

Alias nodded at Dunn’s concerns about the match. Alias had actually been grabbing a cup of coffee for himself, but he had decided to put it down to respond to Dunn.

“Yep I do, Dunn. Don’t worry. All the stuff with TK and hWo’s PPV has been wrapped up on my side… travel arrangements have been worked out and the Best-of-Seven is my first concern anyway, because I know I can retire that bastard anyway… and hey in the name of ACW no less.”

Alias winked at Dunn, who knew that was all he needed to hear. When it comes to Alias all he needed to do was tell you about it… and you knew it was a sure thing.

“Plus, I think I might just understand Jason in atleast the smallest shape or form…”

SilverHAWK stopped Alias in mid thought... he had ‘talked’ to Kain earlier tonight… and well; there was a whole lot of shit to even start to think about figuring out.

“Sounds like your one step ahead of me… cause even after trying to talk to him this last few weeks… I just can’t understand the working in that mans head.”

Alias looked on past HAWK now, and continued his train of mind. Finishing the last of his coffee after he done and then walking off to get ready for tonight’s match.

“He just needs someone to fight, to release any and all of that pent up emotion against… so I won’t be letting up. 110%... like always because that’s the only way I can finally get what I’ve been fighting for so long. If that’s Kain’s therapy... then I’ll give it to him. Either way…

Things are going to be different this week.”

Waiting Patiently [Part III]



The night had come to an end and Joe Bishop and SilverHAWK were trying everything possible to keep Osyrus and Vince Jacobs apart for the good of the two men. Vince got up from the dressing room and walked out of the door. Vince frantically walked toward the stage. No music played as Vince strutted to the ring with a serious look on his face as the fans started to boo the reason there was a show.

He rolled into the ring and asked for a microphone from the announcer. The announcer handed Vince a mic as he looked out into the booing crowd. Vince paused for a second before speaking to the crowd.

“I won’t take long.” Vince spoke into the mic

He walked around the ring as he stopped and rested on the top ropes looking back at the stage. The boos continued but that didn’t deter Vince from his purpose in the ring.

“As you saw tonight Vince Jacobs was not booked on the card.” Vince said as the boos turned to cheers from what Vince just said

“It doesn’t matter that I wasn’t booked to wrestle tonight because Dunn will see the ratings drop and book me next week. But that’s beside the point. I am here tonight for one thing and one thing only. I need to speak to Osyrus.” Vince said 

The boos got even louder at the mention of Osyrus’ name.

“Osyrus why don’t you take the balls that your woman has and use them to walk down to this ring and face me man to man. We need to have a little talk.” Vince smirked as the fans kept booing

This was odd, as the fans didn’t know who they hated more Vince Jacobs for what he did to their hero, Alias or Osyrus for what he did to Jason Kain’s life. 

”Many Men” by 50 Cent blared over the PA system as the one and only Osyrus walked out onto the stage with a mic in hand and Isis by his side.

“So Vince I hear that you have been looking for me. You come out here and tell these people you just want to talk.” Osyrus starts to pace on the stage “Well if you wanted to talk so much what possessed you to lay a hand on this beautiful woman next to me.”

Vince put the mic to his lips. “Well it seems that your bitch said the wrong thing to the wrong person.”

Osyrus started to move toward the ring as Isis stopped him. Osyrus rubbed his head before speaking again. “Vince I hope for your sake you are not trying to piss me off.”

Vince started growing tired of this back and forth with Osyrus. “Why don’t you stop stalling and walk down to this ring. Walk up those steps and climb into the ring and tell me the reason you decided to interject yourself in my Glory match.”

Vince dropped the mic sat on the middle rope and pushed up the top rope daring Osyrus to come into the ring. Osyrus looked at the crowd as the fans started to cheer. They wanted blood. The crowd wanted to see these two hated men tear each other apart. Osyrus dropped the mic and started to walk toward the ring with Isis.

Suddenly a sea of security guards raced to the ring and stood between Osyrus and the ring. Vince continued to motion for Osyrus to come into the ring. The security guards held their ground as Osyrus tried to get past the wall of men. In a wink of an eye Vince leapt over the top rope and over the wall of guards and landed on Osyrus. The two men finally came to blows as the guards broke the two men up.

Joe Bishop and Jimmy Gonz raced out to the ramp as half the security guards held Osyrus back and the other half held Vince back. Joe Bishop ordered the guards to get these two men out of the arena.

What a volatile situation?

But everyone in attendance that night knew that this was far from over between these two men.

ACW World Heavyweight Championship Match
Best Of Se7en Series
Alias(0) Vs. Jason Kain(1)

  

This week, unlike the last, would see the usual pyros and the usual entrance music to kick off the main event. Last week Silverhawk had finally revealed his plan for the vacant ACW World Championship… and it involved two men with a very storied past. The gauntlet was thrown. Alias vs. Jason Kain… both of them seeming to call only each other friends, now where forced to fight. It would be a series of respect, admiration and sportsmanship without a doubt. Not to mention with the two men involved, the peak of ACW, this would also be a series of poetic violence… already evident in the first match of the series, the street fight. As for match two…

The countdown had been on until… now.

BOOM!

And as the wall of flames exploded along with the orchestrated riffs in Linkin Parks' "Faint", The Original Pulp Hero was already almost in the ring. Alias was more then excited and pumped up for the return match… he felt like he had to prove himself after the great match last week… that also happened to give Jason Kain the early edge in the series. 

He stretched out against the ropes with a smile on his face as the stadium shaking cheers rumbled through his ears, Alias wore a newer black version of this usual ring attire with the trademark yellow and orange flames running up the side. 

No other man had done what he had in his 10 months in ACW… but there was still one final piece. This was about that one thing, and at the moment… he had to put aside smoothing things over with Kain and Jade and concentrate on tying this series up.

AL-I-AS!

AL-I-AS!

AL-I-AS!

The man that currently had the advantage in the series?

As "Quick Death" by the Transplants roared over the arena sound system and the stadium lights dimmed. Jason Kain, stepped out from behind the curtains… and received a standing ovation from both the crowd and his opponent. The crowd cheered loudly, chanting Kain’s name throughout the arena as he strode to the ring, one arm raised in the air… and an intense almost insane glint in his eye.

His eyes were focused on one man- Alias. Kain marched up the steps with a quiet authority and stepped through the middle ropes. Jason stood in his corner, a slight smirk on his face as he eyed the Original Pulp Hero. The fans, it seemed, where just as firmly behind the “Epitome of Innovation” as they where with the “Original Pulp Hero”.

JA-SON KAIN!

JA-SON KAIN!

JA-SON KAIN!

The two mean stepped towards each other as the bell rang to start the match. They shook hands once again to the cheers of the crowd. Both men still held tight to the hand shake as they exchanged a few words.

“Nice fight last week, Jason. I knew you had it in you.”

“Yeah you opened the door, Chris. Let’s he how much longer it can stay that way…”

“Ready for round 2?”

“Always.”

Alias tugged forward on Kain’s hand and sent him hard into the corner. He rushed towards Kain but Jason Kain back body dropped him over his head in a fluid motion, dropping the former Television Championship to the outside of the corner. Alias springboarded into the ring with a Muay Thai flavored flying spin heel kick, sending Kain head-over-heels face down halfway across the ring from where he stood. Quickly, Alias tried to follow up with a magistral cradle, but Garvin kicked out before a count could be made.

The crowd cheered for the starting great technical series between the men. “A-C-Dub!!” chants broke out throughout the crowd, as both men made it back to there feet. Alias and Kain nodded to each other with a solemn grin from Alias and an insane glint in Jason Kain’s eye… Alias had made a claim to Jason earlier in the show, he had said things would end differently, well; we’d have to wait and see.

Immediately, the two men circled one another before they locked up, dead center in the ring. Both men jockeyed for position, trying to one-up one another. Jason Kain jockeyed into position and gained the advantage on Alias, proceeding to slip behind him. He picked up Alias for a back suplex, but Alias had held on with a side headlock, and shifted the momentum back and landed on his feet. The moment his soles hit the canvas, he flipped Kain over with a headlock takedown, and held a grounded headlock.

Kain tried to force his way out, but Alias held a firm grip around the spiked up head of his. Kain got to his knees, bringing Alias up with him. He had given him a few elbow smashes to the kidneys, but that hadn't forced a release. Finally he was able to back up against the ropes and locked his right arm over the top rope, forcing the Ref to break up the hold. The moment the hold was broken Alias shot his foot back with a quick Muay Thai style kick to the calf only to follow the shot up with a swift knee to Kain’s exposed stomach.

This doubled him over, allowing Alias to drop him with a classic DDT, planting Kain’s head hard into the canvas and flipping him up and over. Alias fell on Kain to make the speedy cover.

One.

Two.

And Kain kicked out just after the second count. They met at their feet once again and Alias Irish whipped his opponent to the ropes.

Belly to belly suplex.

Alias brought Kain to his feet and then pulled back and swatted him with a right hand. Kain resiliently responded with his own right hand, starting a center-ring fistfight. Alias quickly ended the exchange with a knee to the gut and then pulled on Kain’s arm for a whip. Kain reversed it and sent Alias towards the ropes. In one fluent motion Alias hopped over the ropes and spun around, only to see Kain rocketing forward with a right hand.

Alias blocked the right hand from Kain and smashed his face onto the nearby turnbuckle. Kain went for another right hand, but Alias dropped down and yanked Kain down by the ankles. He pulled Kain out of the ring and smashed him with a forearm. Alias then gave his friend and opponent a boot to the stomach and then whipped Kain shoulder-first into the steel steps. The top steps went flying into the air and struck the guardrail.

The crowd cheered a boisterous cheer almost in unison. They could feel the emotion, which was by no means negative, and the spirit of competition between the men. Alias pulled Kain to his feet and rolled him into the ring. Alias went for the cover.

One!

Two!

Kain kicked out at two. Alias pulled him to his feet and shot him off to the ropes. He followed with a deep arm drag on Jason, holding on and wrenching on his newly tender shoulder. He loosened up, holding Kain’s arm by the wrist, and drove his knee repeatedly into the shoulder. Kain rolled backwards, and then rolled forward to his feet. Before he could do anything, Alias decked him with a short arm clothesline and then dropped an elbow onto his shoulder. The crowd had become divided… supporting factions of both men where spotted all over the stadium.

A-LI-AS!

JA-SON KAIN!

A-LI-AS!

JA-SON KAIN!

A-LI-AS!

JA-SON KAIN!

It seemed that the Original Pulp Hero was in control however… and en route to proving himself right. He brought Kain to his feet and shot him to the ropes. Alias began shaking and rotating his shoulder as Jason came rocketed into the ropes. Alias squatted down like a panther and then pounced upward with a Thesz press. A combined --- pounds hit the mat hard and Alias began planted fist after fist into Kain’s forehead. He suddenly pulled back though as blood drew from Kain’s forehead… there was no need to go completely overboard, Jason was his friend afterall.

Alias sprung back up to his feet and stepped back, waiting for Kain to regain himself and stand on two legs. Kain stood back up to the cheers of the crowd and Alias rushed in towards him for a clothesline, Kain ducked the clothesline and kicked Alias in the stomach as he spun around. Kain hooked him up for a vertical suplex but Alias shrugged out of it and dropped behind Kain. Alias grabbed Kain by the shoulders and spun him around. Alias sent to a quick left hand into Kain’s jaw followed by a quick right hook right after, before pulling Jason forward into a solid head butt.

Click. Click. Boom!

Followed up with a hard knee to Kain’s mid-section, lifting him from the mat for a split second, and then, as he was bent over, an elbow to the top of his head adding an exclamation point. Alias brought Kain back to his feet and then whipped him towards the ropes. As Kain came back towards him Alias ground his momentum to a halt with a swift half-nelson bearhug before sending him up and over with a HUGE belly-to-belly half nelson, aptly named…

Pulped.

The crowd went nuts, this match had been ruled offensively by Alias so far. Had he just added the final nail to the match? Alias went for the pin as the crowd continued to chant.

A-C-Dub!

One!

A-C-Dub!

Two!

A-C-Dub!

Three!

The crowd got to there feet and cheered on Alias, who had just tied up the series in an impressive fashion. “Faint” came over the loud speakers as Alias extended his hand to Jason Kain… had either man expected the match to go this way, when all was said and done? In a somewhat quick fashion the Best of Seven was now evened up at one match a piece. 

Kain took Alias’s hand and was pulled up from the mat as the crowd continued to cheer. Alias flipped out of the ring with help from the ropes and began walking up the ramp to the back. Alias looked back at his friend and smiled to himself, nodding at Kain. Kain nodded back at Alias, a confident yet concerned expression across his face.

As the King of Ages continued on at full steam… Alias followed suit with an impressive victory in the hunt for the ACW World Title.

And as this week’s Courage faded to black, with the ACW logo emblazed at the bottom of the screen, a thought lingered in Jason Kain’s mind.

What had he gotten himself into?

Winner: Alias (series tied 1-1)

***** Is Your Gift

Vincent Pembridge staggered through the doors of the arena, bleeding from top to toe. His assailant, the changed Bobby Knickerson, was also covered in his own blood, but with a chair in his hand. He had become the aggressor in this case, and had managed to lure The Scorpion away from the mass brawl in the back.

Quinton, Morris, SilverHAWK, and the stream of ACW backstage officials... versus... .vindication & WAVE 3 of the British Army. Whatever of it was left, following Knickerson's surprising demolition of the lot. It was all very exciting for the crowd, seeing The British Degenerate getting manhandled in the manner he was after the fight. During the fight itself though, Knickerson showed how good he'd become.

Maybe the student had surpassed the original master, eh?

*CRACK*

Another chair-shot to the back of Vincent's head, sending him sprawling like a drunkard across the car park. His knees were close to giving out from exhaustion, and the aware Pembridge urgently picked himself up, darting away from Bobby just as the latter swung the chair again. Missing, Bobby growled in between his pants and proceeded down the path. Towards the pedestrian pavement outside the arena.

Vincent was THAT desperate. He'd pushed himself beyond what he had left in the tank to get his ass out of the arena's compounds, but Bobby was hot on his trail.

And grinning.

The arena doors opened again, and out ran SilverHAWK & Quinton May. Disheveled from the brawl in the backstage area, obviously. But as they ran across the car park and towards the gates that lead the way out of the arena's compounds, they saw Bobby walking across the road, towards Vincent.

Who was laying down on the pavement. Winded.

But smiling.

And with a message to deliver.

"Hey Bobby...

Remember one bloody thing."

Knickerson stopped in his tracks and peered at his target, just a feet or so away.

"What is it, fucker?"

The Scorpion laughed again.

"Death is your gift."

With horror written on their faces, Quinton & SilverHAWK -- joined by Janitor Morris -- watched as a speeding car came out of nowhere...

And...

Knocked.

Knickerson.

Down.

"NOOOOOOOOOO!" Quinton screamed at the top of his voice, before rushing out of the compounds with SilverHAWK & Morris. Vincent laughed as he picked himself up and ran into the car that had stopped.

Before it sped off into the night, not giving Morris -- the frontrunner -- a chance to catch it.

Meanwhile, SilverHAWK & Quinton had gotten to Knickerson, and the ACW legend quickly checked for a pulse, while Quinton looked down tearfully at his fallen protégé.

"He's... dead."

The TV Champ looked up at SilverHAWK, tears rolling down his cheeks silently. On this night, Vincent Pembridge had pulled off one hell of a victory. And a boy had to die to make things right for the British Degenerate.

"What a fucking night." SilverHAWK sighed, as he kneeled down beside the broken body of Knickerson.

World War 3 has begun.