PREVIOUSLY... Sometimes in life...no matter how well you believe you are doing, someone, from above, is always there willing and ready to knock you right back down again. Going as far as egotistical is a dangerous game, but what is even more dangerous is the game of numbers. Outnumber and out-matched are not odds which anyone wishes to handle alone...no matter if you are at the bottom of a low valley, or the proverbial top of the professional wrestling mountain.

Ooooooh… so the show just began? No? Well… popcorn break

Alias was a philosopher.

Perpetually picking circumstances apart… always thinking on his feet. It was a trait that had brought him to where he was today. The king of the castle, champion of ACW and the most popular man in this federation… with only a handful of people he could now call friends. Ironic, huh? When you’re the World Champion you can grasp tightly to that strap… but when people are coming from behind… who has your back?

The smart answer for Alias would be Jason Kain, a man that he had saved this very federation beside… but Kain himself was currently embroiled in a ever growing war with Vincent Pembridge.

Brian Carter? He would be the perfect ally for Alias in this battle, it seems. But ask yourself… why would Carter even be in the predicament of fighting SilverHAWK once again? A favour for Alias. Exactly. Remember the last one on one “conversation” the two had before THAT one. Now you can answer why the company’s owner was letting his champion fend for himself.

Who else is their? Charles Dunn is long gone… ousted 100% of his ties from ACW and let’s face it; he’s probably a happier man because of it. Joe Bishop? A man who Alias already had a shaky past with, all in all stemming out of the still shadily documented past between Alias and SVJ… which of course was even BEFORE mentioning Alias and Joe’s battle of political wills during the Best-of-Se7en. Alias wouldn’t even think to ask Bishop.

Ruben Ross. The Superstar. All things where possible I’m sure. If a return was in order then Alias would finally remedy with significant numbers disadvantage… but with Carter being a veritable ghost, towards Alias atleast… Hawk holds the cards when it came to who comes in the door and who goes flying out of it. Ross was a threat… a big one… plain and simple.

So how did Hawk and Keller remedy that situation… well they brought in a little ‘help’ for Alias. Someone picked especially by them for Alias and the impending weeks towards Manchester Mayhem.

Oh joy.

But enough of this psycho babble and soon to be surprisingly introspective mumbo jumbo… because Alias had stopped short at his locker room door and now read the note that was tightly taped to it. The show still wasn’t going to start for another half hour and Alias was still even in his street duds.

“The past can be a dangerous thing Chris…

But then again, so can the odds.

Enjoy tonight.”

Ratings Baby~!

“Courage” by Alien Ant Farm and blue pyros singled the start to a much anticipated Courage while all of Winnipeg Arena was now on its feet in utter enjoyment and excitement. After such a BIG show in Calgary last week… some mucho exciting happenings, including one of the most anticipated main events in ACW history and THEN a locker clearing brawl… how did the All-Star Championship Wrestling look to build off of such a night?

“Faint” by Linkin Park.

Yep, I’d have to say that that was a nice enough start if there was one.

The World Champion strode out onto the ramp way to a rallying cry from the crowd. The Canadian crowds seemed to love this man even more… if that was possible in an ACW ring. He wore an ACW licensed hooded jumper. It was a full black jumper with a full body white etched shot of Alias from behind, looking over his shoulder. The jumper had one word that lay centred on the back of the hood. “Ratings.” Alias also wore his trademark red worn leather pants. The World title was strapped securely around his waist, just slightly covered by his jumper, as he slid into the ring. 

He rose a taped first to the roaring crowd for just a moment before procuring a mic from the pouch on the front of his jumper.

“Cut my music.” Faint was quickly segwayed out.

“I really don’t want to mince words so just let me get straight to this sh!t.

Hawk… Keller. 

*boo*

Plllease don’t think you can start this mind game bullshit on me just because you’ve got a two-to-one advantage… and don’t think just because you screwed the FANS *pop* and I out of evening the numbers that I’ll up and go on running for the hills.

How long do you think you can stretch that 5% Hawk? I’d like to find out I really would. Hell I should give you credit for fooling my ass in the first place. Shame on me, huh? Fool me twice. At least I can say we’ve both come a long loooong damn way from that first Pounded and Fused match, haven’t we? I can at least say that we where both much fuckin faster back then. Who am I to worry though… I even have a GREAT five years on Keller.”

Alias held out his arms once again to soak in the barrage of cheers. He was there Pulp Champ after all.

“Keller. Good god, Ms. Khristian. Please remind me Keller. Where have you gone without underhand tactics and your own shifty as hell brand of cheating? Oh that’s right… a pinfall loss to Elijah Arson. Congradu-fuckin-lations. I hear the man needs a tag partner over in Japan New Pro. Trust me… once I get my hands on you… and I mean REALLY get my hands on you. You’ll be wanting to take that offer. Heh, ‘Trust me’? And just when Austin Davis himself comes back from the grave… causing problems with Cru because of the man’s not so limp bizkit even… well I’ll be glad to help you join Davis’s ranks. Just you wait, you too can be Dead. Six feet style.”

Suddenly a fan slipped around the side of the ring and snatched a mike before rolling under the bottom rope. The arena security was slow to realise the occurrence and merely watched as some fan now stood in the ring with the ACW World champion.

A little rattled but more surprised then anything, Alias stepped back a little as he stared at the fan in the hooded jumper. It was one of the newly merchandised products of ACW, a variation of the jumper that Alias wore. A jumper of the World champion himself. And it merely said...

"RATINGS!"

He began to circle the World champ as security leapt onto the apron. Alias, now looking impressed by the audacity of one of his own fans, held a hand up to let security know he was fine and to let the guy speak.

He couldn't manage a glimpse of the fan's face for the life of him, though he did try. The fan stopped and had his back to the World champ.

"I'm sorry. I paid good money to stand in the front row tonight, and I couldn't for the life of me bear hearing another verb, noun or adjective come from the cockhole you call a mouth. Would you shut your Net surfing virgin ass the Hell up!"

It couldn't be!

The fans in attendance began to boo as the fan removed his hood, remaining with his back to Alias. The fans recognised and the boos were really quite loud.

He turned with a big grin on his face. It was...

J. Leslie Voss

Alias looked taken aback as he saw the former Spinebuster Wrestling World champion standing before him in the ring. Voss' grin soon disappeared once he'd finished enjoying the look on Alias' face. In fact, Voss looked a little frustrated as he began to pace back and forth.

"I know ACW doesn't think much of their demographic, but to put their World title on you and to let you have a catch phrase like the word 'Ratings' I find to be quite insulting. Alias equals ratings?

"For God's sake, your wrestling's alternative to counting sheep! These fans come for a wrestling show, you start talking and then it's nighty-night to the fans. The poor fuckers didn't know what hit them!"

The fans booed loudly as Voss pointed to the word "Ratings!", which was proudly printed on his chest.

"You want to talk about ratings, Alias? Take a look in front of you now. I'm the Main Ratings Draw. And you can thank me later when you get a little bonus coz this arena just quintupled in size and Courage went up 3.4567829 Nielsen points. 

"I am the Main Ratings Draw. I am the Seat Filler. You are nothing more than a band geek trying to puff your chest up and call yourself a man when you know you could count your pubes on the left hand of a burns victim."

The fans booed loudly as Voss stood there proudly. But as usual, he had more to say.

"If anyone at all should be using the word 'ratings' for their catch phrase, I think it should be me."

Voss let go a loud "WHOOOOO!", which was replied to by a few fans before he got up into Alias' face and roared...

"RRRRRRRRRAAAAAAATIIIIIIINGS!"

The fans booed even louder this time. But Alias on the other hand? The fans wanted Alias to take two steps towards Voss, reach over, and rip Voss a new asshole while ripping off his head. 

…

Yeah… they where a violent bunch down there in Winnipeg. I blame the Golden Boy myself (a naked farmboy with a handful of fire for a provincial symbol? I mean really!). What did Alias do in response to Voss, though? 

The Pulp Hero smiled. 

"You better be watching out Leslie. You’re a hell of a long ways away from Louisiana. Oh, it's just great that your so high and mighty on your abilities and that 'drawing power'... that's a gold star for you right there boyo. But if you think that jobbing to Action's Dangerman… or losing your self-granted ‘title’ to his 65 year old step-father south of the Mason/Dixon line makes you anything to this fed, to this crowd or even to me. You should check what you’re popping... because it sure as hell isn't that 20 share." 

Alias finally broke eye contact with Voss and pointed out to the crowd, slowly stepping closer to JLV. 

"Once to realize that 'Ratings' is more then just some catchphrase, Leslie... your half way there."

Voss stood there shaking his head. He began to pace again.

"Alias. I think you underestimate me. I think you underestimate just what it is I have to offer. I think you underestimate the fact that not only do I make you look like an autistic with a stutter on the mike, but I could break you down inside the ring and take that shiny belt off you.

"I'm more than just a pretty face, Alias. I'm the most dangerous man you'll ever find in the ring. You may underestimate my wrestling abilities, sure. But when it comes to talking the talk, I CAN walk the walk. I can be very persuasive, Alias. VERY persuasive."

Voss stopped and he moved up into Alias' face with a cold glare.

"You and these fans here in Winnipeg couldn't think of anything more exciting than the idea of you pounding your fist repeatedly into my face and shutting me the Hell up..."

The fans roared with approval. Alias simply turned his head to the fans and grinned.

Voss also turned to the fans.

"SHADDAP~!"

He roared at them, inciting them to boo further.

"You fuckstains shut the Hell up, right now. Not only am I entertaining you, I'm giving you an English lesson, too. Remember English? It comes from that country across the ocean. But I wouldn't expect any of you band geeks to know what water is, would I?"

They booed again. Voss, happy that he'd cut the fans down to size turned his attention back to Alias.

"You want to shut me up? Go for it. Knock yourself out. But I'm certain you know already, I'm that little dog next door that just keeps yapping until your head explodes. And Alias, you're head's gonna explode. I can assure you.

"I'm gonna be a problem that never seems to go away."

Alias glared at Voss… unwavering. He straightened up the tape on his fist before flashing a grin that was cocked slightly to one side.

“Now tell me Leslie…

Does that statement still hold up after I’m finished caving your head in? Yeah I’ll knock you out. Thanks for the offer, It’s been a bad day.”

The fans popped louder as Voss looked angrily from side to side. Alias just smiled slightly wider, cracking his knuckles as he did. He pointed down to an old blood stain on the mat near the corner post… most likely from the Alias/Kain Iron Man epic.

“Cause here’s what I’m thinking… if you really want to be a problem that’ll never go away… you can always be added to that stain. Ounce by ounce.

“Thing is, with all this god damned lip, I still can’t exactly figure out if your really just looking to showcase this ‘talent’? Or your just going to continue to shoot your mouth off at m—“

CRACK~!

*static*

Boo.

CRRRACK~!

Like it’s necessary to say who and why these days.

Keller had jumped from within the crowd and slid into the ring, chair in tow. Winding up, Keller clipped Alias straight in the back of his head and sent him tumbling towards Voss. Voss was only too happy to whip Alias around and send him right back to Keller into a pancaking chair shot directly smack dab into Alias’s face and head. The crowd continued to jeer relentlessly as Voss now stomped at there downed hero… and Keller continued to bring the unforgiving steel hard across Alias’s body.

Hawk slowly strutted out… a slight bounce in his step. He smiled as he saw ‘his’ soon to be World Champ lay a beating into his all but forgotten friend.

Boo.

“Could everyone you boys and girls PLEASE give a warm round of applause… to ACW’s newest superstar…

J. Leslie Voss. *BAH!*

Oh, and by the way Chris… if you’re still conscious, you should be getting ready for a defence tonight.

Yeah that’s right. Alias versus the Big Bad vMonsta. Enjoy.”

… and the crowd was now officially ‘knocked for six’.

Temperature Rising

Kain glared at the door of Brian Carter’s office. The notice said “Liability Subpoena” and Kain was pissed. There was NO WAY he was a liability to the federation, and Carter and everyone else knew it. He was fully healed, he was in sound mind, and he was happy in life… the only thing getting to him was Pembridge’s cowardice. How could a man so tough, not want to fight him.

Kain shoved the door open.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS!” Kain looked into the eyes of Carter, who just raised an eyebrow.

“Is that the way you speak to your authority figures? I’d hate to see you upset with me.” Brian Carter stood up as the security guards stepped behind Kain. Carter motioned for them to leave. The security guards stepped back, then walked out. “Jason… may I call you that?”

Kain just looked at him with a dumbfounded and pissed off glare.

“Jason, Vincent Pembridge isn’t going into that ring with you due to the fact that he believes you’re a liability. I’m not suing you, the subpoena is a fake… I believe that Pembridge is TRYING to push your buttons. And for once, I don’t believe him. I have a meeting with him after the show to see what’s going on… maybe we’ll be able to circumvent further altercations of this matter?”

“Don’t play with me, Carter… I may be your employee, but I’m not stupid. Don’t let his shit get to you.” Kain sneered. “I’m not a liability… you know it. Make him PROVE it.”

“Maybe I will, Kain… maybe I will.” Carter sat back down and started writing up a match for the next show. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have more booking to do for next week… but be assured you’ll be on the card. Go home… get some rest. You’ve got a fiancée now.”

Kain smiled a bit. He didn’t expect this to go so well.

“Congratulations.” Carter beamed. “Oh… and try not to break kayfabe again… it’s bad for business.” 

“Carter… you either want business or ratings… just make up your mind.” Kain turned and started out the door.

“You’re right on one account, Kain. You do bring me ratings… Don’t make me have to fire you.” Then the laughter started. Kain didn’t know what to make of it… but just walked out of the room.

Anti-Wrestling and/or Pro-Fighting?

Obviously, the centre stage in All-Star Championship Wrestling – like any other organization in this industry - has got to be the squared circle. 

Not far behind the backdrop for blood, sweat and tears though is the backstage area. Christ, how can it not be a glorified playground with so many sadistic, cunning and clever individuals with inflated egos the size of Russia? 

One recent addition to this roster is Keegan, a Fighter by trade, who negotiated a deal with ACW before leaving the world-famous Asylum. And, as he had done so many times in the past, he walked into the site of tonight’s Courage clutching a heavy bag with his right hand and bottle of booze in his left only to be disturbed by someone who had a message or information for him. However, this particular person didn’t come with either. It was he who wanted to know ‘stuff’ about the Newcastle native. 

Darren Dunban, who had been battered to a pulp by Vincent Pembridge a month ago, had questions for the ‘Quintessential Muff Magnet.’ 

“Keegan, can I please stop you a second?” 

Carrahar glanced at the middle-aged reported and scowled whilst pointing at the intruder’s unorthodox goatee: “What the fuck is that? Does it have a name? It was my birthday the other day you know. I’m twenty-seven and I don’t look a day over twenty-five do I?” 

The uncomfortable employee stuttered for a few seconds prior to changing the subject as soon as he could: “Happy Birthday. I wonder if you would like to explain to everyone why you lied to Quinton May about being in the British Army and then attacked him to show him that you indeed are.” 

‘Special K’ smirked: “Like all of the ACW fans, he fell for it hook, line and sinker. I would have been a dozy bastard not to have lured him into a false sense of security. In the end, it’s him who has been caught with his pants down and diagnosed with the Clap isn’t it? 

“Me and Vincent have got a common goal. It’s not this poxy place. Hell, it’s not even Quinton May. He’s not that important. 

“No. What me and Vinnie love, besides braying Yanks, is exposing Wrestlers for what they really are: Overpaid, ignorant and arrogant arseholes that wouldn’t last as long as Boris Becker in a broom cupboard with real men such as myself.” 

Dunban took on board what the Briton had said and then threw another question at him: “What is it you and Mister Pembridge hope to achieve here in All-Star Championship Wrestling? What have you got against the Television and Scorpion Fighting Champion Quinton May?” 

“He must’ve given you a real hiding if you’re going round calling him Mister Pembridge. Anyway, that doesn’t matter. What does matter is that you’re stopping me from doing my job and that is to slap the piss out of so-called Professional Wrestler.” 

“Is the reason why you are against Quinton May because of the Scorpion Fighting Championship by any chance?” 

‘The Yardstick’ was taken aback by this remark yet he still replied in typical fashion: “Is the reason why you’re Pro-Quinton got anything to do with the fact that he agrees to bum you five days a week? 

“I am not against anyone in this industry because of what they have or what they haven’t got. Granted, I’m not going to stand her and swear down on Jessica Alba’s life that I wouldn’t want the belt if it came my way but it’s not what’s important here. 

“What is important however is standing up for what you believe in and making the most of life, which is what I intend to do. Whether I’m in a group or on my lonesome, I’ll continue to preach the truth and loosen teeth as long as I am here and it just so happens that the Queer and his Army are the first in line for Keegan to kick their behind.” 

Just as the ‘Geordie Genius’ was about to leave, Darren kept the microphone near his mouth so he could usher in one final query: “What would you like to say about your victory over ‘Superstar’ Vincent Jacobs at the last Courage?” 

After taking a swig of his drink, Carrahar’s eyes lit up as he was handed the opportunity to talk about something else other than the TV titleholder: “Finally, you want to discuss a decent topic. 

“Well. I still maintain that the other Vince, who is nowhere near as good as my mate, is your ideal American in every aspect of the term though I will give him a shred of credit. In spite of being overconfident, overrated and over-the-hill, he has the fortune to still be one of the top performers in this place and I think that underlines my objective perfectly really. 

“We’re here to shit-stir and resuscitate this lifeless, lame excuse for a promotion. Together, we aim to make this mess a success and fuck knows how we’ll do it but if anyone can then it’s us bonny lad. 

“I’m not anti-white. I’m just pro-black. Do you know who said that? None other than the literary God himself… Mike Tyson. And that principle applies here. We’re not anti-Wrestling. Jesus, I use Wrestling moves but the difference between me and the majority is that I execute them properly and by that I mean I hurt people with them. 

“Fetch me any faggot in the back and I’ll wrestle or fight him. You see it doesn’t matter either way. The result will still be the same. He or she will go home with bruises, broken bones and several scars that say ‘Don’t fuck with Keegan Carrahar.’ Unfortunately, even though he phoned my house to beg me not to bray him, Quinton May hasn’t got a choice in the matter. Since the supporters love him so much, you can blame them that he’s our first example. I mean I would have personally preferred to have left him alone because he happens to be from Canada, a country I have a soft spot for, but there you go.” 

A certain Charles Dunn, who was coincidentally passing the ‘Prince of Palermo’ at the time, overheard the Englishman’s recent remarks and had a proposal for him: “Keegan. Since you don’t care about who your opponent is why don’t I give you someone of ‘your own kind’ for a change?” 

The former Fighting Zone franchise voiced his confusion: “I don’t follow.” 

“You’ll be facing… well you’ll find out later on.” 

Keegan scowled and told Darren to ‘piss off’ prior to reporting to his designated lounge for this evening. 

Something to Prove

Tonight was the night for CJ Trenton. 

It was his first match in ACW, and he was well-prepared for it. This match against Elijah Toomes would be CJ's litmus test of whether he could cut it ACW. A win could mean a very prosperous career. While a loss could foreshadow a rather dismal stretch of misfortune. 

However, he'd worked hard to get to this point, and he was going to be damn sure not to screw it up. 

Or rather, have someone else screw it up. 

CJ was no fool, and putting itching powder in "Lumbering Li's" tights and subsequently costing him his first match was definitely asking for a little payback. Not to mention the prior weeks had been a constant Cat-and-Mouse game with Xiao and Lee. 

One could expect this week to be no different. 

Thus, CJ walked with a certain caution in his step. He was ready for anything the Chinese duo may throw at him. 

Anything.

Behind the Scenes…Part 1

Jade sat in the dressing room, watching intently as Jason paced back and forth, almost wearing a path in the ugly cement flooring.

“Okay, so you’re pissed...!” She folded her arms across the front of her green tube top.

“OF COURSE I’M PISSED!” he threw a punch at the wall, but stopped only inches away from it, figuring it would only cause unnecessary pain. He had been trying to use some internal anger management, and it seemed to be working...slowly but surly. 

“Punching the wall isn’t going to make Pembridge fight you. Like I said, all you have to do is play his game. Who cares about him? If he doesn’t want to fight you, there’s got to be some reason for it,” she smirked and stood up, walking over to him and putting a hand on his bare chest.

“Maybe he’s just not good enough. Besides, you are Jason Kain! You fought against Alias...our current World Champion! He’s just chicken!”

She winked and kissed his cheek then sat at a table and started to scribble at a pad of paper.

She looked up at him, “Just wait Jason...his time will come. And so will yours!”

Los Locos Moscocos vs. .vindication

“Pity” exploded through the arena as Drake Nefarian and Liam came through the entryway. Drake smirked as he walked down the entrance ramp toward the ring, while Liam gave a few “lucky viewers” the finger. As the crowd booed they climbed into the ring and ascended the turnbuckles… taunting and laughing at the crowd as if they were just toys in their freaked minds.

Suddenly a new song blasted through the arena… unknown to anyone as it was written by El Emenopi himself. And as the Spanish style strumming of an out of tune acoustic guitar played through the arena… and the sour sounds of an inexperienced English harmonica played over it… the crowd covered their ears and was completely silent as El Emenopi and Forme Carlos stepped through the curtain. Forme held his ears, glaring at El as El shone brightly to his own tune. The huge smile on El’s face completely contrasted by the look of hatred on Forme’s. El slid into the ring as the music faded… but the unthinkable happened…

…well, at least for El Emenopi’s mind.

Forme pointed to Drake and Liam, then to El… as both smiled. El looked up as the announcer stood up again… to announce the match.

“This HANDICAPPED MATCH is scheduled for one fall…”

Winner: ?

El Emenopi vs. .vindication

El Emenopi looked up in horror as the two men lumbered over him. A nervous smile came on his face as he waved hi. Quickly he turned to Forme, but Forme was already half way back up the ramp. El turned back toward the two men as they quickly grabbed him by the throat and winged him overhead into the center of the ring. Drake slowly walked out of the ring, as Liam picked up El.

After a hard kick to the gullet, Liam whipped El to the ropes and dropped him with a knee to the stomach. The crowd booed furiously, but Liam had no problem dropping a knee to the back of his head as well. The ref shook his head in dismay as El slowly got to his feet… Liam smirked at the perseverance of El, but quickly changed his mind, slamming a hard kick to El’s chest pushing him into the turnbuckle where Drake was… Liam tagged in Drake, hammering kicks into El’s stomach.

Drake pulled El to his feet then told him to punch him. El looked dazed… and confused. Drake grabbed El’s hand, then pointed to his jaw. El shook his head then started to leave the ring… but Drake grabbed his arm, and slapped himself in the face with it. Suddenly Drake’s eyes flared wildly.

The flurry of boxing-orthodox punches was blinding, and the last right hook crushed El’s face into his teeth… sending a huge spatter to the mat. El didn’t fall, though… instead he leaned against the ropes… crying. Drake pulled him to his feet, and told El to hit him again. But El immediately refused. Drake screamed at him, shoving him against the ropes… and suddenly El went into overdrive… 

Rushing back toward’s Drake, El suddenly jumped elbow first right into Drake’s shoulder, offsetting the man. El quickly realized that he had to keep doing this… and fell back again, charging right into the man with another elbow. Drake slid back as El when into a slapping frenzy…

Liam started laughing hysterically as El flailed his arms about, fighting like a schoolgirl. Finally Drake caught El’s arm, pulling him in and crushing a hard knee to his stomach, smiling. As El stood there bent over, Drake kneeled down to get face to face with El… then mouthed the words, “thank you.” Drake sent an uppercut to El’s throat that make El choke horribly, then slid behind him for a hard neckbreaker. El laid there for a moment, staring at the lights… then noticed something odd.

From the corner of his eye he could see someone coming through the entryway… and the person made him smile… Forme had stepped out to the entryway with a chair. Drake and Liam both turned to the entryway... but to El’s dismay, Forme unfolded the chair and sat down… then pulled out a bag of popcorn.

The boos got louder.

Drake laughed then turned and picked up El and nailed him with another kick to the stomach before launching him overhead with a heavy belly-to-belly. Drake tagged in Liam, who immediately tagged Drake in again… and both men walked over to El… the ref was confused as to who was the legal man.

Both picked El off the ground, lifting him high overhead, then drove him down headfirst into the mat. The crowd roared their disapproval… but Forme suddenly stood up. He grabbed his chair and started down the ramp. Drake and Liam once again turned their attention to Forme who was climbing into the ring. The ref didn’t know what to do… Finally he tried to pry the chair from Forme’s hands… he cracked the ref hard with the chair, then looked at Drake and Liam. The just stared back, not backing down… but suddenly Forme’s eyes shifted to El who was laying on the mat next to him.

El slowly stood up, seeing Forme holding Drake and Liam back from him… and smiled a bloody smile.

Then there was a loud crack as skull hit chair… and another crack as the chair hit again… and again… and again.

El Emenopi laid beaten by his own team mate, who tossed the chair out of the ring and climbed back out… picked up his popcorn… and walked out of the arena… to a chorus of boos.

Drake smiled as he did a lazy cover, waiting for the ref to wake. And as the ref rolled to his feet, he slowly counted the three. They could have counted to 1,000… El wasn’t getting up anytime soon. Liam noticed something the Forme had dropped on El’s chest though. The mask that El had given him… covered in El’s own blood.

Los Locos Moscocos was over.

Winner: .vindication

Something to Prove

So you wanna be a ring superstar, and live large
a big house, 5 cars, you’re in charge.
Comin’ up in the world, don’t trust nobody…
Gotta look over your shoulder constantly.”

White and gold strobe lights flickered and flashed through out the arena as a golden star from the Hollywood Walk of Fame was shown. The crowd booed to the top of their lungs amidst ‘Ring Superstar’ by Cypress Hill playing in the background.

‘Superstar’ Vince Jacobs strolled out to the stage wearing a black Armani suit and his trademark SVJ personalized Gucci sunglasses. He stood on the stage for a few seconds soaking in the reaction from the crowd. Vince smirked while looking out toward the sea of Canadian fans.

“You wanna be a ring superstar in the biz…
and take shit from people who don’t know what it is
I wish it was all fun and games, but the price of fame is high…
and some can’t pay the way. 
Still trapped in what you rapping about
Tell me what happened when you lost
The route you took started collapsing
No fans no fame no respect no change no women
And everybody shittin on your name.”

SVJ walked slowly toward the ring and climbed the steps. He looked out into the crowd before climbing into the ring. Vince walked over to the ropes and was handed a microphone by the ring announcer. He looked out into the crowd before taking his sunglasses off and folding them up. Vince took the glasses and placed them in his jacket pocket.

“Edmonton, Alberta...”

The crowd erupted in cheers from the mention of their name.

“What the hell are you cheering for? This is not a real city. I mean for one this place stinks and then you have those damn French-Canadians.”

The crowd cheers quickly turned into boos.

“It’s the truth. I mean that’s two strikes against you already. One for being Canadians and then two for being French. But I didn’t come out here to put down this place, you do that all by yourself with your shoddy healthcare system.”

Vince smirked as the fans continued to boo the superstar.

“The real reason I am out here tonight is because of a few things I have been noticing in this god forsaken fed. The things I have been noticing are the fact that the champions are basically non-existent. I mean granted as much as I can’t stand your World Champion (because he’s not mine), he has defended his title on every show. So congratulations Alias, I am glad you finally learned something from a Legend like me. But when the time comes I will be the one that’s going to take that ACW World Heavyweight Championship from around your waist. You can guarantee that, Chris.”

The fans erupted with an Alias chant to try and piss off Vince.

AL-I-AS!!
AL-I-AS!!
AL-I-AS!!
AL-I-AS!!
AL-I-AS!!

“Is that supposed to mean something? Chant the man’s name and he is suppose to come running. You people are idiots. But seeing as Alias is just like you people he would oblige you and come running out here.”

Vince looks at his watch before staring at the stage. The fans eyeing the stage area also.

“Come on Chris I don’t have all day. Look at you people, you are definitely sheep. If I said Santa Claus would walk down that aisle right now you would probably be wondering if he had presents. Now let’s talk about someone else in this fed, the World Tag Team Champions, El Janitors. The worst team I have ever seen in my life. If these are supposed to be the tag team champions then why haven’t they graced us with their presence and defended those damn belts. I’ll tell you why, because the ACW Board of Directors don’t mind sitting back watching titles growing stale.”

“They figure why not have the titles defended at a pay-per-view where we will make big money. There is some truth in that but if the champs haven’t done anything up to the pay-per-view, then who is going to pay for a crappy show. Now who’s next... ahh... Mr. Double Champion, Quinton May. Ever since King of Ages he has defended the Television Title or Scorpion Title in a match. Hey Carter why don’t you get off your ass and make these guys defend their titles. It is making the ACW look bad.

Vince stroked his goatee as the crowd booed him for speaking about QA.

“And last but not least we have the United States Champion, Dante Inferno. This man shouldn’t even be in a wrestling ring let alone champion. When was the last time he actually defending his title also… hmm… Can’t remember can you? Neither can I. I know you all are wondering where I am going with this. Well this is what I propose. Since ACW needs a reputable champion in this fed then I think tonight in this very ring, I am going to become the new United States Champion. I think the ACW owes it to me after screwing me out of two World Title shots.”

“Since I have to work my way back to the World Heavyweight Title, the US title is going to have to tide me over. That’s right Dante, I am challenging you tonight for your Championship and I am going to go to the back and get this match approved by Carter. See ya tonight Dante.”

Vince dropped his microphone and played up to the crowd as ‘Ring Superstar’ started to blast over the PA system.

All Seeing Eye

.vindication's own Drake Nefarian took a stroll backstage, still pissed off from last weeks shenanigans, the parody The Collective put together of Drake and Howard, from the tag team champions, El Janitors. He slowly turned the corner, but only to be met by, you guessed it, The Collective. Funny how that works out, huh? 

"What the fuck?!?" Duncan Cole exclaimed as he spilled water all over his own shirt. He looked down at his gray shirt, finding it soaked with water. Duncan slowly peered up, noticing now that it was good 'ol Drake Nefarian. 'You know something, Drake?" Cole questioned Nefarian, not looking for an answer, "We would whoop your ass right now, but we got better shit to do." Duncan finished as Drake took a step towards him, fists clinched, ready to knock out both men.

"Oh yea, I hope you enjoyed that little skit me and Duncan put together." Boden butted in, hiding behind the much larger Cole. This was Chad's lame way of being the 'tough guy'. Nefarian stood there and shook his head, still ready to knock both men out. 

But he walked away. He was out numbered, Drake knew when to fight and when not to fight, and right now was a time not to fight. Boden watched as Nefarian walked passed them yelling out 'Yea! That's what I thought!'. Duncan put his hand over his face and shook his head. Chad quickly shot a glance down the hallway, eyeing a man in a khaki business suit, papers in hand. 

He nudged his partner who was examining the water stains on his clothes, Duncan's eyes shot up to look at Boden who then nodded his head towards the man down the hall way. Cole turned to look, ran one last finger over the water stain and proceeded forward.

The man looked up as both Duncan and Chad reached him. He extended his hand but neither of them even thought twice about returning the jester. "Well, this.." The man said aloud, but was quickly cut off by a shove to the shoulder courtesy of Cole. "Man, don't talk so fuckin' loud." Boden said, grabbing the papers out of the man's hand. 

Quietly the trio discussed the paperwork, the man handed over paper after paper to the new tag team. Finally, the man stretched out his hand once more, this time not for a handshake. Duncan and Chad looked to each other, then shoved the man up against the wall. A quick punch to the stomach had the man sprawled on the ground. And with one hefty kick to the rib cage by Boden, The Collective left the scene, undetected.

Or so they thought..

Drake Nefarian had seen the whole thing!

The Second Threat

As Keegan settled down to prepare for a match-up later on, which was difficult due to the fact that he didn’t have a clue who his opponent would be, he poured himself a glass of Vodka, presumably under the instructions of Doctors, and noticed a parcel resting on the table a few inches away from his right hand. 

“What’s this? It must be a late birthday gift,” he muttered to himself. 

However, as he was about to find out, his assumption wasn’t strictly true. Upon removing the packaging, he found a beautiful black vase that was unfortunately supplemented by a bunch of pink roses. They were Roses that didn’t look healthy. They were Roses that were dead. 

‘Special K’ also spotted a light blue envelope with his name on tucked inside the top of the vase. Out of interest and aware that this gesture was probably linked to the note he received last week that comprised of paper clippings that proclaimed ‘Revenge is Mine Fucker.’ 

Nevertheless, this message wasn’t one that had blatant bitterness behind it. It instead was replaced by a chilling statement… 

“I have not forgotten.” 

The Newcastle native had made quite a few enemies in his time whether it is in the Italian underworld, Fighting or Wrestling. He tried to think of who it could be even though he would tell you that this didn’t bother him in the slightest. 

Notwithstanding, he had a fair idea of who it was and wanted to alert his suspect that he couldn’t intimidate him. 

After all, it was under his nose wasn’t it?

Behind the Scenes…Part 2

Again Jade sat looking at Jason. He was now sitting on a chair across from her, looking intently into her fiery green eyes. His arms were folded across his bare chest and had been for an extremely long time now.

“What?” Jade raised an eyebrow as she continued to sit at the table writing stuff on several pieces of paper.

“What?” Kain mimicked her and raised an eyebrow.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Why don’t you have a match this week?” he shifted in the chair and Jade dropped the pen to the tabletop.

She didn’t have an answer at that particular moment, but then looked down at the mess of papers and whatnot in front of her. “Well, I – uh – well, look at me! I’ve been so wrapped up in trying to figure out your matches ‘n crap, I haven’t had time to go to the gym or even look at the roster for a worthy opponent...sheesh, what do you take me for? SUPERWOMAN?”

“Yes.” Jason’s response was short and sweet. He smirked at her and she got up from the table, pushing the chair out from under her. She strutted over to him and stood there, looming above him. 

She jumped down on top of him, pinning his arms behind his head. Slyly she smiled at him and kissed his cheek, then his neck, and his lips. 

Jason raised an eyebrow and tried to wrap his arms around her waist. She continued to hold him tightly, his arms still behind his head.

She winked.

“I’ll show you ‘Superwoman’!”

New Girl in Town

Beside a vending machine.. Christine Vitzerelli stands waiting for someone....

"Hey baby, you wanna have a good time?" she says to a few people as they walk by... When the ignore her, she waves em off using Italian sign language...

"Hey, who are you? Why are you here?" says the security guard as he walks up to her... "Hey, settle down there.. I'm the new hook....uh.. wrestler here, Christine Vitzerelli. I have a signed contract. Go talk to someone if you don't believe me.. but right now, I'm looking for a good time"

"Well, I'm going to talk your word," security guard starts checking out Christine, "Ok, but don't cause any trouble, I don't wanna clean up another mess..." The security guard walks away turning around once in a while to check out Christine. "This is soo boring," says Christine un-buttoning another shirt button. She stands up after slouching on the wall and starts to walk around...

"No one around here, I need someone.. I'm bored, no one wants to look for a good time all they think about is wrestling. NO one wants to have a little fun. Well, I'm going to find someone." Christine walks into dressing room after dressing room looking for someone.

After about a minute of searching, Christine turns and looks down the hall, then up, then down again... Out of her bra, she pulls out a cigarette.. She lights it and takes a few puffs, then puts it out at the site of an approaching person.

"What did I tell you about causing trouble?" It was the same security guard, "Can't you read the signs, no smoking!" He goes to grab her but Christine trips him and sits on him... 

"I think you forgot who I am.. I'm Christine Vitzerelli, I don't take orders from mouli's like you..." She bends back and looks back down at him, "I'm going to show the world I'm not just another blonde of the street, I'm more then that.. understand?" The security guard with pleasure and sadness in his eyes nods yes. "Good." Christine gets off the man and walks away. The security guard rises to his feet and walks the other way.. Stopping to check out Christine one last time...

El Janitors Vs. The Collective

Just don't leave me!

RAW!

"Raw" by Staind kicked up onto the PA as The Collective, Duncan Cole and Chad Boden, appeared from behind the curtains. Duncan wore his short black wrestling tights, black wrestling boots and a black tank top that read "4:19" on the front and "Got A Minute?" on the back in big, bold neon green letters. 

He also wore his cocky smirk as he turned to his partner. Chad was decked out in the same tights that Duncan wore, but in his were in red. Boden ran a hand through his dark blonde hair, tying it up into a knot. They both looked around, large grins on there faces as they ascended down the ramp.

This was there first match in All-Star Championship Wrestling and it couldn't have been any more important. It was against El Janitors. It was for the tag team titles. But it didn't phase either of the challengers, they thought they deserved to be there. Even if they only had been in the federation for a few weeks.

The Collective entered the ring, both men going to a corner and climbing the turnbuckles, spitting out obscenities to the crowd. The boo's reigned out as The Collective met with each other in there corner of the ring.

Suddenly, "Science" by System of A Down rang out and the crowded exploded with cheers . The tag team champions, Howard and Morris, El Janitors, danced there way out onto the ramp and in front of the ACWtron. Dressed in there usual attire, the blue jump suits, they slapped hands with all the fans. 

Howard and Morris jogged down to the ring with smiles on there faces and gold around there waists. They stopped before they entered the ring and peered at there competition inside the squared circle. The Collective moved forward, closer to the tag team champions, as they cursed at Howard and Morris. 

The Janitors looked up at them, climbing up the steel steps that led them to the ring apron. The referee moved between the two teams, pushing The Collective back to there corner. El Janitors stepped in between the ropes and turned to the crowd as they unbuckled there tag titles. But before Howard and Morris could even wave to all the honeys in the crowd, Duncan and Chad took the initiative and caught the champions off guard. 

Chad pounded down onto Howard with repetitive double axe handles to his back. Howard fell to the canvas finally. Boden jumped outside of the ring, grabbing Howard and pulling him to the outside. 

While on the inside of the ring, Duncan Cole nailed Morris with an elbow to the skull. Morris fell to all fours as Cole stomped on the back of the head. Janitor Morris held his head in pain while the referee pushed Cole to his side of the ring. The ref had finally gotten control over the situation.

Duncan and Chad met in there corner, they smiled at each other, happy with the way the match had started. The way THEY had started the match. On the other side of the ring Morris and Howard were regrouping. Howard stepped into the ring and patted Morris on the back who was now on the outside of the ring, standing just behind his partner. 

Both Duncan and Howard stepped to the center of the ring. Duncan shoved Howard backwards, much to the crowds dislike as a chorus of boo's rang out. Howard looked around, listening to the boo's. The Janitor stepped toe to toe again with Cole, this time Howard 'pimp slapped' him.

Huge pop.

Duncan shook his head and rubbed his cheek where he was slapped. He looked down and then charged Howard after he turned around. Cole took down Howard with a spear, then climbed atop him and began to pummel the Janitor. The referee pulled Duncan off of Howard, Duncan backed a way and smiled. Howard got to his feet and charged after Cole, but Duncan moved as Howard's momentum took him sailing into the turnbuckle. 

The crowd watched Howard's sternum slam straight into the turnbuckle. Howard turned around and fell face first into the mat. Duncan didn't waste any time, he took Howard's head and stood the champion up. He landed a kick to the gut and slung him across the ring towards the ropes, but Howard reversed it and sent Cole to the ropes. 

Duncan bounced back as Howard almost took Cole's head off with a huge clothesline. Howard grabbed Duncan by the legs and dragged him towards the corner where Morris waited. The Janitors made the tag as Howard tossed Cole into the ropes and Morris finished it with a cross body block. Duncan fell down to the mat with Morris on top of him with authority. Morris hooked the leg..

1..

2..

Kick out!

It wasn't even close. Morris shook his head at the referee and picked up Cole. But before he could get Duncan all the way to his feet Cole wrapped up The Janitor with a small package. The referee quickly got into position for the pin..

1..

Kick out!

Morris quickly kicked out as they both got to there feet. But Duncan quickly took Morris down with a drop toe hold and then continuously moved to a side headlock. Duncan wrenched his arms between the head of half the tag team champions. Morris screamed out in pain, kicking his legs, trying to get freed. 

But Cole could only squeeze his arms harder, increasing the pressure on Morris' head. Howard looked on as his partner lay in pain, he had had enough. He stepped into the ring, but was cut off from his partner and Cole by the referee. Duncan quickly got up with Morris under his arm and moved him to his corner as the referee tried to get Janitor Howard back to his legal spot on the ring apron. As the ref was occupied with Howard, The Collective began to do a number on Morris. 

Boden held Morris back as Duncan took free shots at the Janitor. Howard was screaming bloody murder, trying to get the referee turned around to see the illegal acts, but to no avail. Finally, Howard swung the ref around, but it was only in time to see Duncan tagging in his partner. 

So, Boden took the reins, picking up Morris and slamming him to the canvas with a brutal gorilla press slam. Boden, the bigger of the two men that made up The Collective, again picked up Morris and threw him to the outside of the ring. Duncan, who was previously on the ring apron, stepped down and started to kick Morris in the back of the head, just like he had done in the beginning of the match. 

Cole finally backed off and rolled Morris back into the ring to the waiting Chad Boden. Chad grabbed Morris by the hair and whipped him into The Collectives corner. Boden looked around and tredged forward, crushing Morris between himself and the turnbuckle. Morris fell to his sides and grabbed for the ropes as Chad stuck his boot to the throat of The Janitor, cutting off his air way. Chad picked his foot up off of Morris' neck and tagged in his partner. 

Duncan held Morris down now with his boot as his partner began to taunt the crowd, much to the dislike of Howard. Howard quickly entered the ring and tackled Boden. They both began to brawl and finally ended up on the outside of the ring, exchanging rights and lefts.

Cole saw this as an opportunity and picked up the almost lifeless Morris and crushed his "package?" with an inverted atomic drop. Morris hopped around a bit, holding himself, before Duncan landed a clothesline, laying out Morris. Cole took Morris by the legs and looked around. Duncan quickly applied to the sharpshooter, knowing that he had Morris right where he wanted him. Cole smiled as he heard Morris scream out in pain..

Suddenly 'Pity' by Drowning Pool came to form over the crowd who was now in a frenzy. Drake Nefarian and Liam came running down to the ring with steel chairs in hand. They obviously had seen enough as Liam crashed the party first with a chair shot to the head of Chad Boden, who was standing over a fallen Janitor Howard. 

Boden fell to the mat outside of the ring, holding his forehead in pain. He was busted wide open. Meanwhile, Drake followed in his partners footsteps, laying the lumber to the back of Duncan Cole's skull. He fell forward, releasing the sharpshooter he had applied. .vindication didn't forget the tag team champions as they hammered down on them with chairs as well. Liam on Janitor Howard and Drake on Janitor Morris. 

Drake and Liam finished off both teams as the referee called for the bell. This match would be decided as a double disqualification.

The screen faded with a shot of the bloodied face of Chad Boden. 

A reminder of what The Collective had gotten themselves into.

Winner: No Contest

Worse than Losing

A whirlwind of debris and belongings tore through CJ Trenton's locker-room. In a mad rage he threw his stuff around and punched the walls. Driven to the brink of madness he nearly tore his very hair out. To sum it up: CJ was pissed. And whole cause of this little tantrum? 

"Li-fucking-Xiao." 

CJ bellowed the name in a hatred-fueled rout. He had finally gotten to him. Something deep inside his psyche had snapped, and the fact that his first win in ACW was at the very hands of his now arch-rival, Li Xiao, was too much. This was the ultimate blow to CJ, and the dumb bastard knew it. The beginning of CJ's promising career was now permanently tainted at the hands of the foreign Slowbro. 

CJ stopped to realize his carnage that once was his dressing room. It was a pity he was wasting all this effort on a man who couldn't figure out how to work a water faucet. But now that CJ had started his rampage, it was going to take a hell of a lot to stop him. With his actions tonight Li Xiao had now taken it to the lowest of lows. And with three simple words, the situation elevated and the risks got higher. 

"This is war."

New Blood, Part One Of

They waited for a few minutes, the both of them, neither speaking a word. One, seemingly restless, was walking around the small locker room and admiring the still photos of classic federation moments. The other sat in a folding chair against the wall, legs propped up on the end of a bench with his hands clasped behind his head.

"So you know what we're doin' here?"

It was the Italian guy walking around like he had an itch that broke the silence. He had a thick Jersey accent.

"Not a clue."

The other, with long, flowing blonde hair, spoke with a sweet Southern twang... one that certainly wooed the ladies, complimented by his handsome features. The Jersey boy raised an eyebrow.

"Maybe it's... I dunno, maybe it has to do with gettin' on the roster? Did you apply?"

"About a month ago."

"Yeah, me too... maybe they're gonna, I don't know, cut the shit, and come straight with us?"

"Could be. Maybe we're the new guys on the roster!"

"Heh... alright!"

The Italian threw a fake punch at his shadow, then turned his brown eyes to meet the green of his acquaintance. He outstretched his hand.

"My names 'The Sicilian Slammer' Joey Presto."

"Pleased to meet you. My name is Jerod Highwater."

Presto nodded a few times, his eyes going to the ceiling for a moment in thought. Perhaps the name had triggered a memory. Wasn't Highwater the name of a prominent family of Southwestern millionaires? He went back, until the man bearing the name of question spoke again.

"Sicilian, huh?

"Yeah... but I'm not just Sicilian! I'm the Sicilian Slammer!"

He struck a pose. Highwater smiled and nodded. Obviously, this guy wasn't too bright. But he kept to himself, just the same.

Then the door opened. A new man entered. Brown hair, and eyes that matched. Jeans, t-shirt, a leather jacket... but it was obvious that his body was defined beneath his clothes. Perhaps another athlete. He acknowledged them with a moment's glance, then went to the other end of the room, dropping his bag on the floor and taking a seat on the furthest bench.

Seconds later, a fourth entered. He was small but toned. An athlete... and by his skin definition, possibly Hispanic. A luchadore, if anybody had seen one. It also helped that he had a gold and black mask pulled over his face. He bounded into the room, arms outstretched. It was unsure whether or not he was going to hug somebody, until his mouth began to run.

"Ha ha, mi amigos! Buenos dias!"

Instead, he took the hand of Jerod Highwater and shook.

"No habla espanol, hombre."

"Oh ho, por favor! I speak English."

The luchadore chuckled for a moment, then put a thumb to his chest.

"My name... is El Fuego! HA!"

The energetic El Fuego did a little dance in front of his audience. Presto and Highwater promptly introduced themselves. Then a fifth entered. By his looks, he caught everyone's attention. He was adorned in a long black cloak, his long black hair falling over his shoulders. He was as pale as a vampire’s ass... but maybe there was little difference between the two.

"Greetings, my friends... I am Corven, the Gifted. I come to ACW as a prophet of the Neo-Resurgence."

Highwater and Presto exchanged a glance. Fuego fell silent. The stranger paid him a moments notice, then went back to assorting stuff in his bag. The men looked around, unsure of what to make of this new one. Then, it was Presto who came forward.

"Hey, man... my name's—“

"Joseph Presto... yes, I know. And you, Jerod Highwater... and you, El Fuego."

Then man on the other end of the bench found it would be a good time to laugh, but held it in. Corven had been standing outside the door as he walked in, in earshot of what was being said inside. It was fully believable that he had heard them introduce themselves.

Still, "The Sicilian Slammer" Joe Presto, never the brightest of the bunch, stood with his mouth hanging open.

"Wow... I never met a psychic!"

"But that's not what I am, Mr. Presto... I am a Prophet. I am... Corven."

Highwater gave him a half smile.

"Okay, Corv... could you prophesize why we're all being crammed here in this locker room?"

Corven's eyes rolled back into his head, and he stood in a trance for a moment. Then his expression went back to normal.

"My vision... is blurry at this point. But, I see something that has to do with our acceptance into this federation."

Of course, that had already been told to everybody over the phone a couple days ago when they were invited to come to the arena. This time, the stranger couldn't hold his emotions back. He coughed, suppressing whatever he truly felt like doing. This caught everyone's attention. Highwater spoke to him.

"What's your name, pard?"

The man didn't answer.

"Who, me?"

The voice came from the door. A sixth had come in. Another athlete... this one very young. He had practically no hair on his face... definitely a kid. The look in his eye told a tale of nothing... no experience, no time spent in the ring. Just a pup with a knack, fed to the sharks. Still, he held a thumb up to his Hanes white tank top, wearing a proud smile.

"I'm Corey Barnett!"

The other five took one look at him, and immediately knew that this was not the guy to be associated with. Just a young, dumb dipshit that nobody cared to notice. Someone else came in... but not an athlete. The suit and glasses were that obvious. Barnett turned and saw him in the doorway, and went to the bench where Fuego and Presto had seated themselves. Corven stood against the wall, while the loner kept digging through his bag. Highwater sat in his folding chair, cool as ever.

"Gentlemen... it's good to see you all here. I know who you all are, but let me introduce myself... my name is Jerry Vickers, and I'm a talent representative for ACW."

The men, Presto especially, exchanged glances. There inhibitions had been confirmed.

"You've been gathered here concerned your recent applications to our federation. Recently, we've had many applicants, and there have been several additions to the active roster. And now, it comes down to the six of you... who have been... held back, should we say, either due to inexperience, or time away from the ring. But now we come to where you join us... or rather, where we decide."

The men tensed themselves, unsure of what he was about to say.

"I'm going to be upfront with you gentlemen... between the six of you, there is only one contract. We can only hire one of you."

There was an uneasy moment as the six looked around at each other. It had dawned on them that only one of them would be giving the gift of being an ACW superstar. But which one? It was Joey Presto that broke the silence.

“Whoa… only one of us?”

“That’s right.”

Vickers’ reply was short and to the point. He gave a single nod. El Fuego stepped up.

“So, uh… which one of us gets in, essé?”

“Glad you asked… and I’ll explain that now, if you’ll find your seat.”

Fuego promptly returned to the bench, and Jerry Vickers went on.

“To decide who stays and who goes, my associate and I have agreed to conduct an evaluation period. We’re going to give you all a little airtime each week… and we’ll monitor your performances. This will go on for a few months, from what we expect, but in the end, we feel we’ll know who, of the six of you, can bring more to ACW than the other five.”

He paused for a beat.

“At this point, it’s up to you to stay or go… the door’s open, and since none of you are technically under contract at this point, you can walk out if you feel the need to. We’re not going to push you into this… so if you want to leave, do it now.”

He stood by the open door for many moments. None of the six men stirred. He nodded, a smile forming on his face, and he closed the door.

“Good… it looks like you’ve all passed the test of determination. Now we’ll see which of you has the most talent.”

Jerod Highwater raised his hand.

“Yes?”

“Okay, how does this work? How are we being evaluated?”

“This is going to happen in the ring. Every week, we will schedule a match pitting two of you against each other. Unfortunately, we are only allowed one fifteen minute match, due to production… I mean, we can’t afford to put a group of nobodies on television for very long, or the ratings drop.”

Joey Presto piped up.

“Nobodies?! Son, I’m ‘The Sicilian Slammer’ Joey Presto, and I’m not just Sicilian, but I’m—“

“To the fans, you are nobody… not until you make a name for yourself. That’s exactly what you’re going to do. Now, tonight… we will have our first match. This series of matches will run based on a game of King of the Hill. That is, the winner of tonight’s match will face another of you next week, and unless he’s beaten, he will go on to compete week after week, until someone bumps him off the Hill. Understand?”

The six let it sink in, then nodded.

“I’m going to tell you all right now, that though you will all try your hardest to win, this is not a tournament. It is very plausible that one of you could come down to that ring week after week without ever being beaten, and the contract could go to somebody else. This is about showing what you can do in the ring, and how you can impress the fans. That’s what makes a wrestler here. Any more questions?”

Corven raised his hand.

“Who fights tonight?”

Supposedly, Corven the Gifted, prophet of the Neo-Resurgence, was not given the answer to that question. Jerry Vickers answered, just the same.

“We’re going to start this alphabetically…”

He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket, listing the names of everybody.

“Barnett, Corey K.?”

“Yeah, boss?”

Vickers couldn’t help but give the inexperienced kid an irked look, being given such a title. Technically, he wasn’t their boss… nor did he want to be.

“You’re up.”

“Alright!”

Corey jumped from his seat and celebrated to himself for a moment. He looked around for a couple high fives, but he didn’t get any. He was a bit too goofy to be taken seriously by any of the other wrestlers.

“Daymon, Rochester V.?”

The man in the corner looked up.

“It’s Rocko, Jer.”

“Rocko then? Okay…”

Vickers made a quick correction on the list.

“It’s you and the kid tonight. You two better report to our tech manager later… his name’s Randy Young.”

“You got it, boss!”

That was Barnett again. Vickers rolled his eyes, then turned back to the other four.

“The rest of you can watch the match from here on the monitor… take some notes, if you want. One of you will be fighting one of these two men next week.”

In the minds of Presto, Highwater, Corven, and El Fuego, they knew exactly who would be the one to expect next week. The kid had spirit… but he was empty headed and inexperienced. Even the quiet guy, Rocko Daymon, had shown a bit of professionalism. There was no doubt that the tacky rookie would fall flat on his face in the ring, and Daymon would walk out as the first ‘honorary’ King of the Hill.

“Well, that’s all… you two better get ready.”

Vickers promptly made his exit. The six were left in the small locker room for a moment later, without making a sound. Finally, Daymon came to his feet, bringing his gym bag back over his shoulder, and went for the door. Upon seeing this, Corey Barnett quickly came off the bench with his hand outstretched and a smile on his face.

“Good luck tonight, Mr. Daymon, it’s quite an honor to go against—“

Daymon walked by without looking at him, and left the room. Barnett stood a moment later, looking around uneasily, then followed. Presto lightly punched Highwater on the shoulder.

“Man, too bad only one of us is getting the contract, know what I mean?”

Highwater nodded slowly, knowing full well that none of the other five men stood a chance against his own abilities.

“Yes, it’s quite a shame.”

El Fuego joined the conversation.

“So, which of those essés do you amigos think is gonna win, eh?”

Corven came forward.

“The silent one… he with the dark aura.”

This made Highwater roll his eyes, though he did agree with Corven’s guess. Daymon probably had it in the bag. He didn’t know anything about ‘dark aura’ or whatnot, but Daymon had a little more talent than the kid.

Corven, on the other hand, looked too enraptured with his own cult to understand the WORD talent. On top of that, Presto was a nice guy, but a fool… and El Fuego was too wiry to hold his own in a well-fought match.

Jerod Highwater smiled, feeling very confident that ACW would soon be his hunting ground.

New Blood, Part Two Of

They were standing in the sound booth of ACW’s tech manager, Randy Young. Young was a middle-aged man sporting a head that hadn’t seen hair for many years. What was left came in strands around the sides of his head. He carried with him a beach-ball stomach, which made up most of his 267 pounds, that protruded like a second, giant face with a dirty white t-shirt lazily pulled over it, his oversized navel peeking out like a sightless eye. He added to this look with a trimmed moustache, orange sunglasses, and customary cigar clenched between his teeth.

He stood at the level of the two boys that were going to be up tonight. He received a memo fifteen minutes ago that they would have a quick match sometime in the night. Nobody was sure when, but he would be notified first. He was, after all, Randy Young… the man who made nobodies into legends. Cause when you stepped out from that curtain, it was HIS job to make you look good. And he was the master of doing just that.

“Names?”

The two guys, one a kid and the other not much older, exchanged a glance. Young removed the cigar, holding it between his fore and middle fingers, to reiterate and explain his request.

“I need your names and hometowns for this card I’ve got here, see?”

He held up a simple white index card. The older one nodded, as if reminded of something he had already known. He knew how to talk to a tech manager. The kid, on the other hand, stood with his eyes wide open, having no clue.

“Then I give this here to the ring announcer, so people know who the fuck you are where the fuck you come from. Cappice?”

The kid slowly nodded.

“Oh… then in that case, I’m Corey Barnett from Boulder, Colorado, from Heck Buford’s gym. It’s really old place, but I’ve gone there for—“

“Jesus butt-fucking Christ, son, shut the fuck up! I didn’t ask for your fuckin’ life story… gimme a chance to jot this shit down.”

Quickly, the fat, buttery fingers of Randy Young found a pen and he jotted the information down at the top of the card.

“I guess that means you come out first… and you?”

He pointed to the second man, who tilted his head up slightly.

“Rocko Daymon… Tacoma, Washington.”

“Good… that’s good.”

Young scribbled it down. One thing left to take care of.

“Since you guys are typically nobodies… the fed’s not going to waste money on any fuckin’ fireworks or lights. You just get the music. Have you guys brought your shit?”

Daymon nodded once, opened up the gym bag he had slung over his shoulder. He took out a CD.

“Disc 2, Track 6.”

“Thanks, that’s all I need from you… what about you kid?”

Barnett shook his head, not knowing what Randy Young, the established tech manager of ACW, was referring to. Young rolled his eyes with a heavy, irritated sigh.

“Look kid… unless you want to come out to the sound of a fuckin’ bored-off-their-ass crowd, you should have some music with you.”

“You mean, you don’t supply it?”

“Fuck no! Not unless everybody wanted to come out to Johnny Cash!”

“Cash ain’t that bad…”

“Yeah, for pussies… not pro wrestlers. Only shit I listen to, though. So, you don’t have a CD?”

“Ah, no… I’m sorry.”

The kid’s shoulders slumped. He was noticeably disappointed, and inexperienced. He didn’t have enough time in the arenas… just processed meat from the gym. Randy Young could immediately tell who was going to win their match.

“No problem… I’ll spot you this one time. I’ve got a CD with a dozen or so shitty songs. You like Linkin Park?”

“Yeah, they’re cool.”

“Yeah, I thought so… all dumb fuckers like you like those shitheads. Okay… that’s all I need you for.”

Daymon made an about face and left. Barnett hung around a moment later, unsure of what to do. Young’s eyes rolled back again.

“Look… that means get to the fuckin’ locker room and gear up! Follow THAT guy, whatever his name is!”

“Oh, sorry!”

Quickly, Corey Barnett scurried out of the room. He caught up with Daymon, making his way back to the locker room.

“Wow… this is the first time I’ve gone through this entire thing. It looks so easy when it’s on TV, but when you finally bust your ass to get there, it’s a different story, you know what I’m saying?”

Daymon nodded and gave him a look of agreement, but only a brief one. He was trying to ignore him… get away from him, if possible, until the match. He wasn’t in the mood to be sociable. Barnett seemed to notice.

“You aren’t much of a talker, huh? Well, that’s cool… you do your thing, and I’ll do mine.”

Barnett flashed him a friendly smile, but Daymon took no notice. He made a quick ninety degree turn to his right and disappeared into the Men’s room, though it’s unlikely he’s going in to do any business. Naturally oblivious, Barnett continues on his merry way.

CJ Trenton Vs. Elijah Toomes

"Understanding in a Car Crash" by Thursday 

The cheers were scattered here and there but the overall reaction for CJ Trenton was positive as he made his way to the ring. He gingerly smiled as he high-fived a few fans in front row and climbed into the ring, arms raised. It would be his first bout in ACW, and hopefully not his last. 

Elijah Toomes then made his grand entrance as "Violence Fetish" by Disturbed blared. The self-proclaimed "Atlanta Brave" made a frenzied beeline to the ring and quickly got down to business as the bell sounded. He went straight for CJ with a flurry of punches and kicks. An Irish Whip followed by a jeering Clothesline sent CJ down hard. 

Toomes took a brief moment to let the fans know that he was in charge to which the arena yawned. CJ took advantage and came from behind with a quick Schoolboy rollup. 

1 

2 

Toomes powered out of the pin in an embarrassed state of shock. He lunged at CJ in rage, but the Rookie slid down and clamped on a Drop-Toe Hold, sending The Unit to the canvas face-first. Trenton made a graceful dive onto Toomes' back and attempted a Crossface, but Toomes wasn't having it. He sent a barrage of elbows to CJ's sternum to drive him back. He then got to his stance and charged, knocking CJ against the adjacent turnbuckle with a headbutt. 

From there he punished CJ with more right hands. Elijah paused momentarily to sneer at the quiet crowd, but CJ again took advantage of the delay by sending two size 12's square into Toomes' face. Toomes fell to the canvas with a crash, and CJ scrambled forward. He clutched Elijah's tree-trunk-esque legs and turned him over for the Boston Crab - but not for long. Toomes managed to wriggle free and hobble to his feet. CJ went right for him, but caught a boot to the gut followed by a jarring DDT and cover. 

1 

2 

CJ willed his way out of the half-hearted pin. Toomes continued the punishment by grabbing CJ by the hair and thrusting him upwards, before slamming him back down across his knee. The nearly 300 pounder continued his nigh domination by sending crippling elbows into CJ's back. Once more, he went for the lazy pinfall. 

1 

2 

CJ wasn't ready to call it a night just yet. Toomes was, however, as he yanked him up and placed him between his legs - signaling the end. He lifted CJ towards the white-hot arena lights, and we all knew what was coming. 

SHUTTHEFUCKUPPOWERBOMB 

....Or not. CJ punched wildly with a second wind that only the thought of a fucked up powerbomb and potential broken neck could provide. Toomes swayed back and forth until Trenton landed one final punch. 

Timber. 

Toomes fell straight backwards with ring-shaking impact - to which the crowd cheered. CJ was now in prime position to take advantage. He scattered and mounted a nearby turnbuckle in hopes of putting this match to rest. The fans watched in glee as he went for the top rope. 

Pop For This Move 

Perhaps the most-graceful Moonsault in the business that may very well put the Ratings Grabber to shame. Well... okay maybe not. But still, it's a nice Moonsault. CJ landed smack-dab ontop of Toomes for the cover in a poignant way to end the match. The fans cheered. CJ smiled. 

One.. 

Two.. 

Three!!! 

Of course, Toomes had his foot on the ropes. Keeping cool, CJ persevered and continued his assault on Toomes. Both men up, and CJ synched in a Cobra Clutch from behind to which Toomes tried to swat away. Elijah swung his arms sluggishly to get CJ off him. He finally succeeded by catching CJ with a hard elbow to the face. In an enraged stupor, he outstretched an arm and lashed out with a jumping clothesline towards the Underdog. 

Oops. 

Unfortunately for the referee, CJ decided to duck. Toomes plowed straight into the ref with an explosive clothesline that had the arena "Oooh"-ing. The ref fell down hard, and remained motionless as the action continued. Toomes ignored the fact that he'd just practically cold-cocked an ACW employee and went directly back to work. CJ didn't miss a beat as he sent a Superkick straight for Toomes' face. 

Only this time, Elijah would be the one to duck. 

Whoosh. 

Pause. 

Flatliner. 

Before CJ could even realize he'd missed the target, Toomes had knocked him out with his massive clothesline. With that, Toomes followed up with a pinfall that spelled the end. 

One. 

Two. 

Three. 

It soon would dawn on Elijah Toomes that he'd nearly decapitated the ref a few moments earlier and no count was made. Darn. Elijah, short-winded and now irritated, lumbered over to the fallen down referee trying to wake him to make the count. 

Enter Xiao and company. 

With the quickness of a regular 330-pound behemoth man, Xiao barged out from the back with Lee at his side, motivating his every step towards the ring. Boos filled the stagnant air as Xiao reached the ring and climbed over the top rope. 

Elijah didn't even notice the weight of Xiao on his backside when Li reached out with his massive hand and grabbed him by the neck. Terror struck Toomes as the Communistic Juggernaut squeezed the air out of his fatigued lungs and then lunged him over his head in a belly-to-belly overhead suplex, rightfully named the Billion Man Army. Toomes came crashing down on his upper back and folded over in a very unnatural fashion. 

Meanwhile, Lee was over by the referee slapping some sense in to him, literally. As the ref finally started to become conscious, Lee gave the final orders to Xiao. 

Xiao nodded at his manager. 

The referee, finally figuring out what has taken place, slides into position in the far corner of the ring. 

The count was made. 

1… 

2… 

3!! 

The referee raised the hand of a surprised CJ Trenton in the air. The dazed CJ was even more out of it then the referee was, but even in his stupor he seemed to know something was up. He couldn't understand why his arm was in the air, he didn't even remember pinning Elijah. 

"You probably don't remembah do you?" An annoying voice range out behind CJ. CJ turned around and there was Lee with a microphone, smiling up at him. Xiao was right behind him, as always with his arms crossed. 

"You can thank us latah, Mista Trenton!" 

Trenton would mumble back in disoriented fashion, "What the hell are you talking about?" 

"Your first win Mista Trenton. How else do you think you win?" Lee says with a dash of sarcasm in his voice. "From now on…whenever you think of first win in ACW…you think of Xiao!" Lee cackled as Trenton stood motionless. 

He looked back at a fallen Elijah Toomes and back to Li Xiao, making his way up the ramp. 

And through the dimmed lighting, a sneer could be seen. 

Winner: CJ Trenton

Roses are Dead…

Keegan had departed his dressing room in order to locate his suspect for the second threat in as many weeks in order to ensure that he made it clear that it would take a lot more than these gestures to intimidate someone such as himself. 

Suddenly, he found himself in front of a door that was decorated with a red plaque that had the words ‘Quinton’s Army’ in Bold. Presumably, for an authoritative effect yet ‘The Yardstick’ didn’t respect that anyway and hadn’t for the past decade of his life. Rather than knock, the Newcastle native decided to surprise his newfound nemesis instead. 

Notwithstanding, he walked straight into a precarious predicament as the QA glared at their intruder until 006.392, who Keegan had overcame on his debut at the King of Ages Pay-Per-View in September, stood up and seemed poised to attack the Englishman before Quinton ordered the other members to restrain the teenage sensation. 

Amazingly, May, for a man who was double-crossed by Carrahar, showed superb self-control: “What is it you want?” 

The ‘Prince of Palermo’ produced the vase with the dead roses and the plain piece of paper that supplemented the ‘present’: “Is there anything you’d like to tell me?” 

Quincy demonstrated his quick wit: “You and those both need Viagra?” 

May’s mates started to laugh at Quinton’s quip and this only incensed the seething Englishman even more who had risked a hostile response as soon as he showed his face where it wasn’t wanted: “You’ll need a new knob if you carry on like this son. Now I received a threat last week and I thought, still think nothing of it. And, don’t get me wrong, a replica of your pricks doesn’t particularly bother me even if you are perverted but I’m here to tell you that I know what your game is and it doesn’t scare me one bit.” 

006.392 interrupted: “We don’t have a game. You’re the one who had a sneaky plan and while it may’ve worked for a week you’ve just signed your own death warrant.” 

Keegan glanced at the ‘Youth of the Nation’ and grinned: “That’s the problem with having little lads work for you, particularly if they act their own age. They’ve got no grasp of reality. When I was seventeen, I was working…” 

“As a Gigolo?” 

Unsurprisingly, ‘Special K’ was not amused by the courageous Canadian’s latest joke at his expense: “That’s so funny I forgot to laugh. Truthfully, tell me why you’re sharing a locker room with a sixteen-year-old though?” 

“You’re despicable.” 

“What did I say? Oh. I get it. You don’t like the truth. Well I don’t appreciate being threatened either,” Carrahar commented while sticking his finger in the Double Champion’s face. 

Pushing the Briton back, Quinton asserted himself: “If you don’t get out of here, you’re going to be sharing a locker room alone, unconscious may I add, with a very angry sixteen-year-old.” 

“So it is you then?” 

May frowned: “I don’t know what you’re talking about but if you don’t take your ass elsewhere you won’t be able to talk at all for the next three months.” 

As usual, the ‘Height of Humanity’ wanted to say something else prior to ending the argument: “Make sure you don’t turn up here next week Quinton. Yes, that is a threat. If you do, it won’t be just the Roses that can’t get it up. Goodnight.” 

His departure paved away for a round of jeers from the Army as the Dictator nodded to himself and released a wry grin that suggested he wouldn’t heed his adversary’s warning after all. Therefore, it would be interesting to see what Keegan and Quinton served up for one another even if one thing is guaranteed… 

It won’t be breakfast in bed. 

Behind the Scenes...Part 3

Jade fluffed her hair after getting out of the shower. Slowly Jason emerged from the showers behind her. They both had towels wrapped around their bodies, and Jade threw her head upside down, continuing to dry her hair with a second towel.

Jason slumped down on the black leather sofa and flicked on the television, staring blankly at the screen.

Jade sat down beside him, still in her towel and threw her legs across his. He began to rub them slowly.

“So, are you going to answer my question?”

Jade look at Jason inquiring about his question, but not saying a word.

“I asked why you didn’t have a match. Y’know, if you expect to be involved with this Pay-Per-View, you better get back into the ring soon. We’ve only got three weeks until that show...”

Jade sighed.

“Yeah, yeah...I know.” 

“SO?”

“So what? Jason, it’s not like I can just issue an open challenge to someone.”

“Why not?” he raised his eyebrow to her and turned her face with his hand, so she was staring him straight in the eyes.

“I’m not like you. I don’t do things like this, the way you would!”

“Well, maybe you should start!” he smirked to himself.

“Listen...” Jade pulled her legs off of him and sat with her elbows on her knees, hunched over so her towel wouldn’t fall off. “I’ve got more to prove than you do. Being one of the only female WRESTLERS in this federation, it’s harder for any of the guys backstage to take me seriously. That’s why I’ve got to scope out the competition and do a little research first...” she stood up but Jae grabbed her hand, running his fingers over the rock on her ring finger.

“You can do whatever you want m’love. And I know, that you know that!” he stood up and kissed her. “Now let’s go out there and do it!”

Jade smiled slightly.

“I guess...well, we could – uhhh – well...”

“NO EXCUSES! Now get dressed...we’re doing this...and we’re doing it tonight!”

New Blood, Part Three Of

The sounds of Linkin Park’s ‘Points of Authority’ filled the arena. Someone came through the entry-way; a nobody, a rookie. Steady supportive pop from the audience, just the same… but nothing that pushed you out of your seat. He came down the ramp, throwing both arms into the air in poseur, making himself known. He bore a proud, optimistic smile on his youthful face, clad in a simple red singlet with matching boots and pads. A kid, a rook… fresh meat.

He was introduced as Corey Barnett.

He rolled into the ring, going to the near corner to scale the second turnbuckle and strike another pose. That was when his music faded out, and was replaced with ‘Heaven’s a Lie’ by Lacuna Coil. That was when the second competitor came out. Just the same as the kid in the ring… he was unknown by everyone, but brought a heavy countenance. He didn’t look happy to be there, and he didn’t look like he was the positive sort of guy. He didn’t look much like anything… except maybe a good poker player.

The announcement came… Rocko Daymon, of Tacoma, Washington. He came adorned in cut-off jeans, black pads, and boots. He came to the ring with his focus on his opponent… not looking into the audience or striking any posing. No flashy get-ups or lights or effects… he came, simple as ever.

He met the younger Barnett in the ring, who openly outstretched his hand. Daymon looked at it with reluctance, then gave it a small shake before breaking away and going to his corner.

The bell rang.

The two met in the center of the ring. It was Daymon who overpowered. He immediately went for a headlock, and capitalized with a knee to Corey Barnett’s stomach and a close-fisted punch to the back of the head. Barnett went to the mat, stunned momentarily. He was given a chance to recover as the ref warned Daymon about the punching. Hesitantly, Barnett came back to his feet.

The two met in the center of the ring again, and locked up. This time, the rookie came out on top, strapping on his own headlock. He tightened the hold to bring on a little tension on the brainpan of Rocko Daymon. But the latter, showing his experience, backed into the ropes and pushed the rookie off. Barnett hit the other end and returned, kissing Daymon’s elbow. He fell to the mat a second time.

Daymon capitalized with a couple boots that the young Corey Barnett was unable to defend himself from, then took him by the neck and brought him to his feet. With one hand firmly clasped on his collar bone, Daymon drove his head forward, butting the face of Corey Barnett twice, and then throwing him to the mat.

The ref was quick to see the blood on the spot where Barnett’s face had hit the canvas. Within the opening minutes, Daymon had inflicted a mouth injury. He tapped him on the shoulder, asking if he was alright. Though slightly shaken, Barnett nodded and pushed himself to his feet. Daymon had gone to a corner, and the ref signaled to continue the match.

Rocko advanced, and before Barnett could react, there was a foot in his stomach. Daymon flowed through with a DDT. He quickly rolled him over for the cover, putting his leg over the rookie’s throat to keep him pinned.

One…
Two…

And Corey Barnett kicked out. It seemed like it would be a quick match, but the rookie found the strength to stay in for a little longer. Undeterred, Daymon came to his feet, bringing Barnett with him, and whipped him into the ropes. Barnett gained momentum as he snapped off the cables, and to Rocko Daymon’s surprise, made himself airborne. Rocko went to the ground for the first time in the night as Corey Barnett delivered a running knee lift.

The crowd began to cheer as the two put on an increasingly interesting show to watch. Barnett kept the momentum going with an elbow drop off the ropes, then pulled Daymon up by the hair. Bulling him into a corner, Barnett gave the crowd a whooping gesture to gain their support. He got a moderate pop, then went for chops across the chest.

Daymon winced at the first, then fell to a knee at the second. At this point, Barnett took his opponent by the arm and delivered and Irish whip into the opposite corner. Daymon connected chest-first. The rookie continued by taking Rocko from behind and delivering a fast German suplex. Then he made his first cover in the match.

One…
Two…

Daymon made a strong kickout, showing he still had the will to fight. But Corey Barnett was rolling. Again, he brought Rocko Daymon to his feet. Daymon began to mount a comeback, going for a series of blows to the rookie’s midsection. Barnett quickly kept control with a hard open chop to his opponent’s head. Daymon reeled back against the ropes, and was whipped again.

Rocko Daymon sprung against the other end, and met Barnett in the middle of the ring. The rookie, in a surprising surge of agility and skill, boosted himself into the air again, clasping his legs around Daymon’s shoulders and executing a picture perfect hurricanrana.

He hooked the legs as he came mounted on Daymon’s chest, and the ref hit the mat.

One!
Two!

And Daymon kicked out. Quickly, Barnett pulled away and Daymon rolled into a corner. But he didn’t get up right away. He remained on the mat, down on all fours, looking at the canvas inches from his face. He was either hurt or thinking hard. The ref made a check, asking him if he was okay. He didn’t answer. He came to his feet and went to fight again.

But the look on his face was different. It wasn’t the empty stare of the Rocko Daymon the fans saw coming to the ring. Now the brow hung low, and the mouth was stretched into an angry frown. Daymon was no longer cool and collected; he was full of rage.

Daymon swung at Corey Barnett with an open clothesline, but the rookie, perhaps taken up by the rush of an offensive run, was quick to duck. Barnett met him as he spun around, and slugged him with a forearm to the face. Daymon reeled back, and was tossed into the corner.

Then Barnett made his life-altering mistake.

As the fans cheered him on, he took one second to look out into the audience. He threw one arm into the air, letting out his own youthful cheer. Then, hyped by the audience, he turned his focus back on Rocko Daymon, prepared to go for the finisher.

Barnett sprang forward and delivered a Superkick. It was an excellent execution… a missile with enough speed to have been unavoidable by even the most talented of pros, and the velocity to knock just about anybody unconscious. It was a certain win against anybody who was on the receiving end.

But Corey Barnett missed, and Daymon went low.

As Barnett’s guided leg sailed overhead, Daymon quickly shot forward with an elbow to the groin. Instantly, Corey Barnett, his lithe, agile form coming through the air with grace, contorted into an image of pain, torment, and suffering. He contracted his entire body as he fell to the ground. He laid there for several moments, twitching in pain. He vomited blood at one point, but it went on unnoticed. The audience let out an ‘ooh’ of visual pain.

Daymon rose to his feet, rage still in his eyes. He ignored the audience, and the referee, and it was obvious that he had only begun.

Barnett was not brought to his feet. Instead, as he lay with the throbbing pain between his legs, he became victim to the boots of Rocko Daymon. The older veteran of the ring came down with dangerous force, using his heel to dig into the head of Corey Barnett. New blood appeared… not from the rookie’s mouth. His flowing blonde hair was beginning to clot in crimson. Rocko Daymon flailed away, trying to crush his head with everything he had.

He might have done so if the referee hadn’t stopped him. The ref came into his face, telling him exactly what he was doing wrong. And Daymon ignored him. He shoved him out of the way when he noticed Corey Barnett, no longer bearing that optimistic smile but instead wearing an expression of fear, had inched his way to the ropes.

Daymon traded boots for fists, flipping Barnett over to face him and digging into his face with blatantly closed fists. His knuckles did their damage, and it didn’t take many hits to break open the skin over the rookie’s brown. Barnett’s face was now streaked with blood, and again, the referee had to intervene.

The ref took Daymon to the corner and gave him a lengthy talking to. He wasn’t going to stand by and let such brutality take place in his ring. This time, Daymon listened, but not without looking back every few seconds to check on Barnett. Corey had come to his feet with the help of the ropes, but didn’t seem to harbor any desire to return to fighting Rocko Daymon.

When the lecturing was finished, Rocko came forward again. Barnett cringed back, but it was to no avail. Daymon manhandled him, and, without any resistance from the panicking Corey Barnett, easily tucked him into a standing leg-scissor headlock. He hooked the rookie around the waist and pulled him into a parallel and inverted position. Then he drilled him with a jumping piledriver, and the audience cheered.

Daymon went for the cover.

One!
Two!
Thre—

And to the amazement of everybody in the audience, Barnett kicked out. It wasn’t so much as they doubted the young kid could make it… but it was any wonder why he would WANT to kick out at this point. He was bleeding and badly hurt… but, perhaps on instinct, or perhaps out of pride, he kicked out at the last moment.

Daymon didn’t like it. He delivered two closed fists into the open wounds in Barnett’s face, then laid off when he remembered what the ref had said. Instead, he took him by his blood-soaked hair and pulled him off the mat, leading him to the corner.

Barnett was too exhausted and weakened to struggle. He stood helplessly as Daymon took him around the waist and boosted him up to the top rope. Daymon delivered a forearm for emphasis, and it was clear that Barnett wasn’t going to fight back. Instead, Daymon hooked him and picked him off the turnbuckle.

Daymon turned, and threw Corey Barnett from the top rope.

The audience screamed. The ref nearly pissed himself. Daymon’s rage was not erased from his face. And the ring? Nothing happened to the ring, because Corey Barnett was not thrown there.

*CRACK!*

That was the Spanish Announcer’s table splitting in two as Corey Barnett went sailing from the top rope through the wooden surface. He was laid out in a mess of splinters and plywood, twitching and unconscious. Rocko did not follow him to the outside. He returned to the steady, blood streaked ring, watching and waiting.

Corey Barnett did not move. The ref began to count.

One
Two
Three
Four

His spasms had ended, but still his eyes did not flutter. He was out like a light… perhaps worse.

Five
Six
Seven
Eight

In his corner, Daymon did not look back at Corey Barnett, nor did he attempt to break the count. He waited for the final two counts.

Nine
Ten!

The bell rang, and Daymon was pronounced the winner by count out. But he didn’t bother sticking around to celebrate. He promptly left the ring without looking back. The ref, seeing Corey Barnett lying in the rubble of the table, signaled aid from the EMTs. They came, passing by Rocko Daymon as ‘Heaven’s a Lie’ continued to play on the speakers.

Demands

Vince still decked in his black Armani suit walked down the hallway turning his nose up to everyone he saw. He came to a door with a specific name on it. It read..

“Brian Carter” 

Vince turned the doorknob and walked in. He strolled over to the chair that was sitting in front of Carter’s desk. Carter didn’t even hesitate to look up because he knew exactly who was in his office.

“What can I do for you Vince?”

“For one you can give me more money. But for now I want Dante Inferno in a match for the United States Title. This company needs a reputable champion in its ranks.”

“And I assume that you are that man right Vince.”

“Absolutely right my friend. I am the reason your product is not in the shitter.”

Oh really Vince. And I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“Nope… Why don’t you just sign the match so I can bring the US Title back to Hollywood for my wife, and my daughter.”

“You know what Vince, you are right our ratings did go up somewhat last week and I guess that maybe you had something to do with that.”

“About time you see things my way. I am going to get ready for my title match tonight.”

Vince Jacobs got up and walked toward the door.

“Umm.. Vince I didn’t okay the title match. However you will be taking on Inferno in a handicap match.”

“A handicap match. What the hell is this shit?”

“You can either wrestle tonight or I could suspend you for that brawl you started last week.”

“Fine...”

“What was that Vince?”

“I said fine...”

“Oh and your partner will be newcomer Li Xiao. So you need to get ready because later tonight you will have your hands full in more ways than one.”

Vince was pissed as he turned around and walked out of the room closing the door behind him.

“I can’t believe that bastard screwed me out of a title shot. Putting a Phenomenon like me in a handicap match and with a non speaking Chinese man.”

Vince shakes his head.

“This is going to be a interesting night.”

Stephan Mechowski Vs. Keegan

While Keegan Carrahar was involved in an interview to Darren Dunban earlier on this evening, Charles Dunn overheard some of the arrogant Englishman’s claims and decided to put the self-proclaimed ‘Special K’ to the test by, as he called it, ‘giving you someone of your own kind for a change.’ 

Carrahar was confused by Charles’ comment yet ‘The Yardstick’ didn’t seem to be bothered by it anyway. After all, if he really can outwrestle or outfight anyone in All-Star Championship Wrestling, nobody should pose him genuine problems. Maybe that’s what does affect him deep down though. That he knows he’s not a real Wrestler and isn’t cut out for this business even if he has made the transition appear relatively easy thus far. 

Notwithstanding, Bush’s ‘Prizefighter’ echoed around the arena to indicate that the arrival of the Englishman was imminent and soon enough he did emerge, microphone in hand, to a chorus of boos and that may be related to his decision to side with Vincent Pembridge in the end instead of listening to Quinton May and breaking all ties with the murderer. 

Keegan didn’t waste any time in getting to the ring. Seemingly, the injury he sustained at the hands of his sloppy stepsibling John C. Willis approximately two months ago was now beginning to get better and if you combine that with excitement – or anxiety- with regards to the revelation of who his opposition will be momentarily then the ‘Essence of Extreme’ was in no mood to hang about. 

“As much as I’d love to talk all of you fickle fans and generally extract the urine out of you, I want to know who my next poor victim is going to be plus I’ve got a date with Jessica Simpson about what she’s got me for my birthday that I dare not miss.” 

‘Invincible’ by Shadow 7 subsequently followed the former Fighting Zone franchise’s speech and though Carrahar wasn’t familiar with the figure that emerged as a result of it he knew enough by the sheer size of this man, who is in fact 6’8 and over the three hundred pound mark, that this wouldn’t be a Goldberg-like squash. He could be here for the long haul and if that should be the case then he was going to have to disappoint Miss Simpson. 

Stephan Mechowski, a fearsome Fighter in his own right has also just made the transition from the steel structure to the squared circle, was of ‘Keegan’s kind.’ While Carrahar illustrated his credentials as an able competitor in The Fighting Zone and then had a brief stint with the Asylum, which did have its moments, Mechowski was apart of Flatlined Fighting – another federation that had so much promise but closed shortly after it opened. 

That was then though and this is now. Let it be said that while these men are muscular and impressive specimen that are used to competing in a cage that for this particular collision they will be forced to abide by the rules and regulations of the Wrestling world, which proved to be an obstacle for Stephan when he met DARE last week and promptly got himself disqualified. 

On the other hand, Keegan faced ‘Superstar’ Vince Jacobs in an excellent opener and even got the decision, albeit by a count-out, when Dante Inferno, the United States Champion, attacked ‘Mr. CWL.’ 

Meanwhile, microphone still in tow, Carrahar made a major mistake: “Who the fuck are you?” 

With one remarkable Roundhouse Right, the Briton was probably beginning to wish he hadn’t asked that as he fell to the floor and saw a gargantuan of a man hover over him with bad intentions. 

From there, ‘The Yardstick’ went from being on the ground to over seven feet in the air as the ‘Polish Powerhouse’ lived up to his moniker and effortlessly elevated the Englishman up and then dropped him like a bad habit that garnered a pop from the fans who clearly loved seeing ‘Special K’ beg for forgiveness while clutching the point of his spine, which had suffered after being brought back down to earth with a hellacious landing. 

Thereafter, to define the awesome strength that Stephan possesses, he executed an incredible Irish Whip that saw Keegan, a 282-pounder, be turned inside out upon hitting the top turnbuckle and as he lay on the mat in a helpless heap Mechowski displayed the improvements he’s made in this past week or so alone with a Legdrop… 

1 
2 

At this stage, Carrahar didn’t know which body part to hold as his spine, ribs and throat were all burning and he was desperately trying to pump much-needed oxygen back into those large lungs of his though the Krakow-born behemoth had other ideas and shared them with ‘Special K’ courtesy of a bone-crunching Powerslam, circa Davey Boy Smith, that almost shook the facility’s foundations and extracted a massive response from the masses upon impact… 

1 
2 
3? 

Not yet. Two and a half. Although nobody could be under any illusions at the moment that the big man was in complete control of this confrontation and not a million miles away from victory if the last instance was anything to go by even if the Englishman would argue with you all day about it. 

Ultimately, Stephan already sensed that he could do what the legendary Vince Jacobs could not do and that was defeat his fellow newcomer and he set about this with another wicked whip to the corner where he sublimely supplemented the power move with a stiff Clothesline and the ‘Height of Humanity’s’ head was spinning. 

Just as Mechowski was about to do further damage to another place within the anatomy, the ribcage on this occasion, he missed with a subsequent run-in as Carrahar sidestepped him and used the mammoth’s own momentum against him and that sent Stephan, shoulder-first, into the relentless ring post. 

The ‘Geordie Genius’ was out of jail so to speak and, to the crowd’s chagrin, launched his first offensive assault of this outing with a well-executed Russian Legsweep. Nevertheless, the cover wasn’t so rewarding… 

1 

Mechowski was not going to succumb so quickly but that didn’t deter the confident Keegan as he sent Stephan into the ropes and then took him over with an Armdrag takeover but he couldn’t negotiate an Armbar as the ‘Polish Powerhouse’ met his jaw with a stinging shot though a second attempt went astray and this time Carrahar, perhaps realising that he is better suited to another strategy, took the titan down with a Chop-block. 

The ex-Asylum athlete had created the ideal opening and poured more pressure on the Pole’s pins with a succession of stomps that softened Stephan up and violated his vast vertical base that had threatened to tear ‘The Yardstick’ apart. 

A Texas Cloverleaf was in the pipeline but Mechowski was still too strong to allow it and kicked Keegan off so the ‘Essence of Extreme’ took a step in another direction as he helped the gargantuan up and underlined his own strengths with a terrific one-two combination consisting of a beautiful Backbreaker and then a Sidewalk Slam… 

1 
2 

It may’ve just reached two but it did nonetheless and was a signal that Carrahar must be doing something correct. 

A dose of his medicine was next on the Mechowski menu as the ‘Geordie Genius’ performed a Powerslam of his own and then turned the ‘Polish Predator’ over so he was lying on his stomach. It became apparent that the ‘Latin Luminary’ was about to go up top and he scored with a fantastic Flying Elbow to the spinal cord. 

Anyway, while Keegan thought that he’d try his luck with another cover, it proved to be the pivotal point in this particular offering as Stephan secured a Chokehold, one that was obvious for everyone to see, but as the official reprimanded the colossus Stephan unveiled a knife and told the referee not to move or he would slit Carrahar’s throat. 

A worried-looking official was justifiably dumbfounded as Mechowski moved the weapon closer to Keegan’s windpipe, which was already suffering, and slowly but surely the ‘Prince of Palermo’s’ face was turning purple. 

The ‘Polish Predator,’ who was certainly living up to that billing, tightened his vice-like grip on his opponent and even the most ardent ACW supporter – for there were many – didn’t see this as an entertaining element of the show. This was turning out to be a horrendous moment for the organization and possibly punishing management, Charles Dunn in particular, for throwing two non-Wrestlers together and Stephan had seemingly snapped. 

In a bid to eradicate this embarrassing instance for All-Star Championship Wrestling and preserve Carrahar’s health, the timekeeper rang the bell repeatedly as if his life depended on it and eventually several other bigwigs flocked to the battleground to try and persuade their recent acquisition, who was finding his feet in this trade, to break the hold that was endangering the Englishman even more by the second and as one warned the ‘Polish Powerhouse’ that he would be fired if he didn’t let go immediately and that was the perfect incentive for Mechowski to suddenly stand up and walk off as if nothing had happened. 

They couldn’t dismiss though and neither could the Newcastle native who was still struggling to breathe as a result of the barbaric tactic deployed by a man he’d never heard of until this evening. 

Nonetheless, the ‘Predator’ had issued a warning to Wrestling and made himself heard loud and clear. 

If you didn’t know who Stephan Mechowski was… 

You will soon. 

Winner: Keegan

New Blood, Part Four Of

Daymon returned to the locker room, where the rest of the men had watched the entire match on the monitor. He was welcomed with supportive congratulations. It was expected that he would win, and he did well to confirm those expectations. As he came back into the locker room, Joey Presto, standing next to the door, slapped him on the back.

“Great job out there, man! You gave that kid a good lesson in what it’s like to be a TRUE professional wrestler! Little booger’s probably running back to the gym, crying with his shirt over his head! HAHAHA!!”

But Daymon didn’t laugh. He looked as calm as he had been when he first came into the room earlier in the night. It seemed so different from when he was in the ring. It was Jerod Highwater who approached him next.

“Congrats, pard… you really held your own out there. King of the Hill, eh? Quite a title.”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

Daymon’s response wasn’t very energetic. It killed some of the good feelings in the room. It was El Fuego who congratulated him next, going on and on about how great he was, switching between English and Spanish at indecipherable speed. Corven said nothing, but smiled and gave him a respectable nod.

Then the door opened. Jerry Vickers entered the room, his face as white as a sheet. Presto waved at him.

“Yo, Jerry! What’s up, man? What’s going on?”

Then he noticed how pale the talent representative appeared.

“Hey Jerry… you okay?”

Vickers swallowed, and spoke.

“Corey Barnett was taken out of the arena by ambulance. His back is broken… probably because of the fall.”

His eyes locked with those of Daymon’s, who showed no emotion. Not a widened of the eyes, or a flinch of the eyebrows, or anything. He already knew what had happened to the kid as soon as he put him through the table. Now it was time to see the reactions.

Presto’s mouth hit the floor. El Fuego muttered something in Spanish. Only Highwater and Corven kept their poker faces. Then ‘The Sicilian Slammer’ regained himself, and began to speak.

“Wow, Rocko… you REALLY kicked the shit out of him! Good job, man!”

Vickers turned to him and looked the Jersey boy in the eye.

“You think resorting a kid not more than twenty years of age is a GOOD thing, Mr. Presto?”

“Well… yeah, if it was that dipshit! You gotta be TOUGH to hold your own! That kid didn’t belong in the ring… he didn’t belong ANYWHERE near this fed. No experience, you know what I’m saying? He DESERVED to have his back broken!”

Vickers shook his head, but not in disagreement. Presto was a moron, but this time he was right.

“Well, that’s one down… four to go.”

He looked at Daymon again.

“Congratulations, Mr. Daymon. You’ll go on to compete next week. Your opponent will be him…”

He pointed at Jerod Highwater.

“Good day, gentlemen.”

He left the room without another word.

Are You Man Enough?

As the lights in the arena went out, ‘One Step Closer’ by Linkin Park began to scream out from the stereo system. Green spotlights soared over the crowd as they began to cheer frantically. Pyro plummeted down the ramp to the ring, and shot off all around it before Jade stepped out onto the platform with Jason Kain by her side.

She raised her hands high over her head and posed as Jason smiled for her. His chest glistened as he only wore a pair of black pants, which matched Jade’s cargo’s. She had on a tube top, Lita style. Her bellybutton ring shined and her abs looked so amazing that she wanted to show them off. She’d been working out for the last few weeks and was finally fit enough to get back in the ring.

Strutting down to the ring she was tossed a mic as she slid under the bottom ropes. Dusting herself off, she stood up and smiled as the spotlights shined on her in the center. The lights were still out, making the crowd anticipate the upcoming events even more. Jason paced back and forth outside the ring as Jade continued to do the same inside, the mic still in her hand, but not using it yet.

Finally she placed it close to her red lips and ran a hand through her newly dyed red and black hair. She still didn’t say anything and the crowd got anxious. They began to cheer and chant both her and Jason’s names.

She smiled.

Jason winked at her.

“It’s time!” Jade screamed into the mic.

The crowd finally died down a bit, but there was still a rumble among the audience. Jade stopped again and the rumble began to grow louder.

“Tonight is the night...” she paused once again. The rumbles began to intensify. “I am looking backstage at all you so-called wrestlers back there, and wondering who will be the first one to step up!”

The crowd gasped in unison. 

“That’s right. I am putting this out to everyone! I need to get into this ring and fight! I’ve been out of commission for a long time...too long if you ask me and I need a victim! The only question is...who will be man enough to take me on?”

She began to pace back and forth around the ring as the crowd exploded into a frenzy. Jason climbed into the ring with her and lifted her up onto his shoulder, showing her off to the entire roster.

She jumped down, tossed the mic to the ring tec and both climbed out of the ring. Linkin Park started up again and they ascended the ramp, both posing at the top before disappearing behind the curtain.

Employment Opportunity

The show was coming along well and the crowd inside the arena was pumped, cheering for their heroes and booing their villains. That atmosphere was contained within the arena however, and the scene on the outside was a very different story.

The pounding rain continued to beat down hard outside the packed arena, whilst alone outside stood one solitary figure in a dark raincoat soaked from head to foot. This figure simply stood outside with the hood of his raincoat covering his head, staring at a poster on the wall of the building. The poster was advertising the ACW Courage show that is taking place as we speak, a large picture of current world champion Alias on the front. 

The harsh rain continued to pour and while most people would simply step inside through the arena doors to get out of these wretched conditions this mysterious figure did not move a muscle, just stood on the spot, eyes locked on the ACW poster.

The shot suddenly zoomed in to focus on this lonely looking figure. As the shot drew nearer to the face underneath his hood, the man became recognisable to anyone familiar with the new defunct Alliance Wrestling Corporation. Not many of the ACW faithful seemed to recognize the man, despite him holding both the Primal and Uprising title belts simultaneously at the time of aWc’s demise. Frank Hendrix was the man in question, despite the success he enjoyed in the aWc, he had not been heard from since in any form, at least until last week.

One fleeting appearance you may not have noticed in the melee of last week’s brawl in the aftermath of Courage was the emergence of Frank Hendrix from the backstage area. Hendrix hit the ring along with the superstars of ACW to hold back Vince Jacobs and Inferno to no fanfare. He rushed down the aisle and was greeted to an ACW ring courtesy of a hard clothesline from Inferno sending him down to the mat. From there Hendrix rolled out of the ring and left through the crowd who barely noticed him with all the action in the ring, and left for his home to attend to his sore back and neck.

That certainly wasn’t how things were supposed to go.

A quick glance into his dark brown eyes told it’s own story. The heavy bags under each eye and the crimson red streaks of blood in his pupils gave away the fact that Hendrix had not slept at all well since that production of Courage. Tiny droplets of rain were falling from the end of his nose and down to the concrete below, his scruffy beard awash with rainwater.

Finally after what seemed like an eternity of inactivity Frank Hendrix sighed as he reached into his coat pocket with his right hand and pulled out a letter addressed to him. He paused once more before screwing the letter up into a ball and tossing it to the floor.

“I can’t fucking do this.” Spoke Frank in his rough voice. With that Frank took one final glance at the ACW poster before turning his back on it and walking away from the arena, the rain beating down on him faster and harder still.

For whatever reason Frank was turning his back on ACW.

Not that anyone would care.

Dante Inferno Vs. "Superstar" Vince Jacobs and Li Xiao

ACW had put on another big show as Courage was pushing on toward its huge main event that was announced earlier in the night. This match was made earlier in the night as Vince Jacobs went to Brian Carter and demanded a match with the ACW US Champion. Carter gave SVJ his match but not the match he wanted.

It was going to be Vince Jacobs and Li Xiao taking on Dante Inferno in a handicap match…

“Summer Overture” by Clint Mansell flowed through the arena as Chi Lee walked out in front of the fans and waved the People’s Republic of China flag over his head. The Communistic Juggernaut followed closely behind him with a stone-like facial expression on his face. The fans came alive and colorful as they booed the two communists who then entered the ring, posing their political views for the dilapidated Canadians. 

"So you wanna be a ring superstar, and live large
a big house, 5 cars, you’re in charge.
Comin’ up in the world, don’t trust nobody...
Gotta look over your shoulder constantly."

Purple and gold strobe lights flickered and flashed through out Edmonton, Alberta, Canada as a golden star from the Hollywood Walk of Fame was shown. The crowd shot out a loud chorus of boos amidst ‘Ring Superstar’ by Cypress Hill playing in the background. 

‘Superstar’ Vince Jacobs strolled out to the stage with his arms outward spinning around. Vince wore his trademark gold wrestling tights with black ‘SUPERSTAR’ lettering down the right pant leg. He had on a t-shirt that said Vince Jacobs: Pro Wrestling’s Phenomenon. 

"You wanna be a ring superstar in the biz... 
and take shit from people who don’t know what it is
I wish it was all fun and games, but the price of fame is high...
and some can’t pay the way.
Still trapped in what you rapping about 
Tell me what happened when you lost 
The route you took started collapsing
No fans no fame no respect no change no women
And everybody shittin on your name."

SVJ walked slowly toward the ring and stood near the apron. He climbed into the ring and stood in the corner looking at his partner for the night and his manager. Jacobs took his t-shirt off and threw it into the crowd. He wanted Dante Inferno’s head on a platter and Inferno wanted to see Vince buried six feet deep. Xiao was about to get caught in the middle of a very heated rivalry. 

The guitar riff of KoRn's new single "Did My Time" ripped into the arena as the fans blew the roof off with their screams.

I N F E R N O

A mass amount of pyro and lights bombarded the arena as the ACW United States Champion walked down to the ring with his usual stone like figure, as the fans exploded into cheers at the site of the man beast. Inferno like old tried to stay away from them as much as possible, instead he had his eyes transfixed on the ring and Vince Jacobs.

Inferno jumped into the ring apron with awe from the crowd, ala Brock Lesnar before he climbed through the ropes and entered the ring. Dante walked to the referee and unstrapped his United States Championship belt and handed it to the referee. Inferno went right after Jacobs before the bell even sounded.

Vince tried to cover up from the shots Inferno was giving him. Lee spoke in Chinese at Xiao while pointing toward Inferno. Xiao rushed at Inferno and took the big man off his feet with an unsuspecting clothesline. Vince who was slumped in the corner finally was able to roll out of the ring away from Inferno. He walked over to Lee and the two men started to talk as Xiao was pounding away on the United States Champion.

Xiao picked up Inferno and drove him down with a huge body slam. Jacobs was now cheering for Xiao as he finally made his way onto the apron in his corner. Xiao grabbed Inferno by the head and shoved him into his corner. SVJ stood away from the corner as the Communistic Juggernaut started to choke the champ. The referee tried to pull Xiao off of Inferno but he couldn’t. He started the five count on Xiao to break the hold.

ONE…

TWO…

THREE…

FOUR…

Xiao broke the hold as the referee started to admonish Xiao. This gave Vince the opportunity to inflict some damage on Inferno in his weakened state in the corner. Vince grabbed the tag rope in the corner and wrapped it around the throat of Inferno as Xiao, Lee, and the referee continued talking. He quickly let the choke go as Xiao and the referee started to walk back to the corner. The crowd started to give it to Jacobs for his actions.

S – V – J SUCKS!!
S – V – J SUCKS!!
S – V – J SUCKS!!
S – V – J SUCKS!!
S – V – J SUCKS!!

Lee told Xiao to tag in Vince. Xiao made the tag to Vince as The Ratings Grabber slowly made his way into the ring. Vince picked up Inferno and whipped him into the ropes. He went for a dropkick on Inferno but the Hellraiser held onto the ropes sending Jacobs crashing to the mat. Dante was trying to shake some of the cobwebs as he went over to Vince and hoisted him up and drove him down with a big shoulder breaker. Dante wasn’t through with Vince by a long shot. He looked toward Xiao and flipped him off as the crowd reacted with cheers. But Lee and Xiao didn’t like it one bit.

Inferno grabbed Vince and held him up in the air for a few seconds before driving him down to the mat with a big vertical suplex. Dante quickly went for the cover on Vince…

ONE…

TWO…

KICKOUT BY VINCE…

Dante knew it was going to take a lot to keep Jacobs down but he knew he was the man to do it. He whipped Vince into the ropes but Vince held onto the ropes. Dante saw this and raced toward Vince and drove him over the top rope with a clothesline. Vince went sprawling to the floor from the impact of the clothesline. Inferno wasn’t through as he followed Vince to the floor. He grabbed Vince and whipped him into the guardrail.

“AHHHHHHHH”

Vince’s back was in pain from the force of impact to the guardrail. Xiao dropped down from the apron and went after Inferno who was walking toward Vince. The Communistic Juggernaut grabbed Inferno from behind and turned him around. But Inferno was ready as he nailed Xiao with a huge right hand as he was turned.

Xiao and Inferno traded blows as Vince crawled into the ring watching the two big men battling on the floor. The referee started his ten count on Inferno who was still outside of the ring with Xiao. Dante kicked Xiao in the stomach and dropped him to the ground with a vicious DDT. Lee ran from the other side of the ring to check on his man as Inferno looked down at Xiao with an evil grin before climbing onto the apron. 

Dante started to climb into the ring but was met with a quick dropkick to the head by SVJ. Inferno fell to the mat inside the ring. Jacobs grabbed Inferno and whipped him into the ropes…

A STAR IS BORN…

The spinning spine buster from Jacobs on Inferno. Jacobs pointed to the top rope, as the fans in attendance knew it was time for SVJ to fly. Xiao had finally made his way around to his corner. Vince climbed to the top rope as Xiao tagged Vince from behind. SVJ dove off the top rope…

FIVE STAR

The frog splash did not connect as Inferno put his knees up at the last second. Jacobs rolled to the floor in pain holding his midsection. Inferno didn’t know that Xiao had made the blind tag from Vince. Xiao was quickly in the ring as he grabbed the groggy Inferno and locked in…

COMMUNISTIC WELCOME

The big bear hug from Xiao on the Hellraiser. Inferno screamed in pain, as no one could believe that someone was out powering Dante Inferno. Xiao continued to apply the pressure to Inferno who looked out of it in the huge grasp of Xiao.

Vince held his stomach as he slowly climbed up onto the apron. He started to clap for Xiao as the big Chinese was draining the life out of Inferno. The referee saw Inferno dropping so he went over to him to check.

The referee raised his arm once…

IT FELL ONCE…

The referee raised his arm again…

IT FELL FOR A SECOND TIME…
The referee raised it again…

IT FELL HALF WAY AS INFERNO KEPT IT UP…

The crowd erupted as Inferno still had fight left in him. Xiao tried to apply more pressure but Inferno yelled as he started to head butt his way out of the grasp of the big Chinese. Xiao broke the hold as Inferno tried to stand. Vince started to yell at Xiao. Xiao grabbed Inferno and whipped him into the corner but Inferno reversed it and sent Xiao in the corner crushing the referee in the process.

Stupid referee need to get out of the way.

Inferno hooked Xiao from behind and drove him down with a huge German Suplex that shook the ring. But the referee was down and Vince knew this as he crept into the ring behind Inferno. Dante turned toward the corner…

SUPERSTAR KICK TO THE JAW

Vince just laid Inferno out with the Superstar Kick. Lee was shaking the ref to wake him up as Xiao slowly crawled over toward Inferno. SVJ jumped out of the ring as if he didn’t do anything. Xiao got over to Inferno and cover him for the pin. The referee finally got up and saw the cover. He slowly made his way over to Xiao and Inferno. The referee went for the count.

ONE…

…

…

…

TWO…

…

…

…

THR--- NO!! INFERNO GOT A SHOULDER UP!!

Vince stomped his foot on the apron upset that Inferno kicked out. He stretched his hand out so Xiao could tag him. Xiao crawled over and made the tag as Vince rushed in and dropped a quick leg drop across the face of Inferno. SVJ picked up Inferno and whipped him into the ropes. Inferno came back off the ropes as Vince was setting up for a back body drop but it was blocked by Inferno.

Inferno hooked Vince and drove him down with a quick snap powerbomb. Both men were down as the ref was still down. Lee went over to the timekeeper’s table and grabbed the United States Title. He motioned for Xiao to get Inferno. Xiao got in the ring as Lee ran around the ring and slid the United States Title to Vince.

Xiao grabbed Inferno but was ready for the big man as he swung at Xiao but the Communistic Juggernaut blocked the punch and swung Inferno around only to be nailed by the title right to the face. Vince quickly threw the United States Title to the floor as he promptly went for the cover hooking the leg.

The referee still a little groggy saw the pin and quickly went for the count…

ONE…

…

TWO…

…

THREE…

IT’S OVER!! VINCE JACOBS AND LI XIAO PICKED UP THE WIN..

Jacobs stole a victory by using the title belt. You know this is not going to sit well with Inferno.

But do you think Vince cares…. NOPE

Vince is making his statement about becoming United States Champion. 

Inferno will never let that happen. 

You better believe Vince will pay for this next week.

Winner: Vince Jacobs and Li Xiao

New Blood, Part Five Of

Vickers met his assistant, Bernie Price, in his office where he had been most of the day. Price, a red-faced tow-headed man, was sipping on a cup of coffee, as he had been when Vickers left him an hour ago. He watched the entire match from the TV in the corner of the room.

Jerry Vickers stepped in, and Price looked up with a smile.

“So… what do you think?”

Vickers fell into the chair across the desk.

“Barnett’s back is broken… it’s doubtful he’ll walk again.”

“Well no shit, Sherlock… I’m talking about Daymon.”

Vickers shook his head.

“I don’t want him. He has a problem with authority. He wouldn’t listen to the referee at any time during the match, and that poses a problem. He was vicious and bloodthirsty… not that that’s a bad thing, but it has its drawbacks. Senseless brutality is not a sport. That kid wasn’t Daymon’s arch rival, but he tore him up like they had been in a ten-month long feud!”

Price shrugged, continuing to smile. Vickers’ face darkened.

“I hate it when you do that.”

“Yeah, well… I’m sorry if you don’t share my view, Jer. But Daymon’s the only one of these miserable shit-stains that has actually been in a televised federation. Not some urban jackass, or gym-processed fodder… we’re looking at a man with credentials. He’s probably the only one who knows how to act on camera.”

“With that match, I don’t see how you can say that. Do you call ignoring the rules and going to extremes that have no need in the ring as a way to act on camera?”

“Well, Jerry, when it comes to the fans… yes, I do. That’s what people want to see… they want a loose-cannon who mows over everybody in his path. Daymon looks like he can do just that.”

“He’s unstable… I don’t know what’s on his head, but it isn’t a good sign.”

“Bah, fuck what’s on his mind. We don’t care about his mental state, Jerry… we don’t give a fuck about him and his well-being, unless it affects the ratings. That’s the point of our job, Jerry… we ONLY care about the ratings! Not Joey Butta-wipe-o, or El Fucko, or ANYBODY! Got that?”

Vickers nodded slowly.

“We’ll give him a couple weeks… if he keeps it up, we’ll tell him he needs an attitude adjustment. Then, if all goes well, one of the other jerk-offs in that locker room will beat him, and save us the trouble of explaining why we need to let him go when he has shown us that he can’t be beaten. See what I’m saying?”

“Just a couple of weeks?”

“That’s right… you don’t like him, Jerry, but the fans do… and therefore, it’s going to take one big motherfucker of a mistake on his behalf to deny him access at this point. He’s the frontrunner… at least until next week.”

“Until next week… gotcha.”

Price took a sip of his coffee.

“That all?”

“Yes, that’s all, Bernie… see you next week?”

“Next week, then… good night, Jerry.”

“Good night, Bernie.”

Vickers made an about-face and left the room.

The Challenge Returns

Kain walked back down the hall towards the parking lot. He was going home. Today hadn’t been so bad. For the first time in a long while that he could remember he wasn’t being pushed around. Pembridge still hadn’t shown up at the arena, Jade was back to challenging again, and the federation didn’t truly believe that he was a liability… at least not yet. But something still tugged at him. Something wasn’t right… 

“Ay’ mate…” The grumbling was coming from his Hummer. “It’s a beaut’ ain’t it? Too bad that it’s no’ yours anymore, you sodding wanka’… Tell me som’thin’ Kain… Why do you continually look for happiness? Personally I think you should look for some balls. Then maybe I’ll fight ye…”

Pembridge’s voice came from the car… but Pembridge wasn’t inside it. Just a tape player… with an awfully bright timer. Suddenly the voice kept going…

“But until then… have a nice day, Kain… By the way, love the car mate, just one question… how loud is the system? Louder than this boom?”

Just as Kain heard it, he realized only three seconds left on the timer. Kain’s eyes widened as he turned and ran for covered.

“Hahahahahaha! BOOOOOOOM!” And just as the words finished, so did the beautiful 2003 Hummer.

KABOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

Kain slowly looked around the car he hid behind… his car was gone, and so… slowly… was his mind as well.

ACW World Heavyweight Championship Match-Up
Alias Vs. Leslie J. Voss

Courage came back to life after it’s last commercial break with one more match left on the schedule.

Thing was… Alias and Voss where already in the ring for it, standing at there separate corners. You ready for this, boys and girls?

Ooooooh yeah.

Alias and J. Leslie Voss came eye to eye in the center of the ring. Alias wore a stone cold reaction…. And all Voss could do was smile like the cocky bastard he was while jibber-jabbering like a fool. Things hit that pitch… with three simple sounds.

DING! 

DING! 

DING!

They locked up, and Voss grabbed Alias’s wrist and twisted it around. In one swift motion, he brought his elbow back and caught Alias on the cheek with the point. He brought his hand down again and scraped his knuckles across his chin. Alias’s head whipped to the side as the two men separated, but Voss landed a forearm into his back and sent him chest- first into the turnbuckle. Voss followed through and hooked Alias from behind before whipping him around and jumping back with a vicious DDT.

Alias tucked in as much as possible and rolled through, coming to a stop near the ropes. As Voss moved in to follow- up, Alias shot his foot out and connected with his challenger’s ankle, knocking him off balance. His concentration interrupted, Voss was easy pickings for a legsweep, as Alias grabbed hold of his ankle and twisted. Alias felt nothing but pain tonight… still definitely recovering from Keller’s sneak attack… he had to block that out.

Voss scrambled forward and hooked the ropes before the hold could be properly locked in. Alias held on, but Voss turned into it and kicked backwards, breaking the hold himself. As he climbed to his feet, both men stood eye- to- eye, same as when things started.

As the two moved to lock up again, Alias dropped to one knee and caught Voss with a clean upward shot to the abdomen. Its quickness and spontaneity precluded its typical force, but it was sufficient for Alias to return to his feet and hook Vossman by the neck, driving a pair of knees into his stomach. A whip into the ropes and Alias grasped Voss in a belly-to-belly suplex hold; sending Voss quickly to the mat thereafter. Alias hooked the leg in a quick cover.

ONE...

TWO...

KICKOUT!

The fans let out a loud groan to show there distaste for Voss not going down for the three. Alias stood tensed and ready… fists up and ready to swing as Voss was now getting to his feet. Test of strength as Voss's arms are wrenched to the point that he is on his knees in front of the champion. Alias shrugged off the right side and started to focus on Voss's left elbow, to ready it for his eventual finisher, hammering it with a few of his own forearms before lifting the challenger up to his feet.

That's when Alias gave Voss a knife edge chop that would make Ric Flair smile, and caused the crowd in attendance to show their support to the nature boy with a…

WOO!

Another chop.

WOO!

Chop

WOO!

Hey, guess what?

WOO!

Voss clutched his chest with his free hand and could feel the blood rising to his surface. He let out a groan and a visual look of displeasure as Alias swatted his second hand away and let loose with yet another chop that resounded out in the echoing arena. Alias went right back to the left elbow joint, hammering with two forearm shots before lifting the arm up and wrenching it back down.

This motion sent Voss to the canvas back first, and Alias quickly dropped down to try locking in a fujiwara arm bar. Vossman fought back though, tucking the arm closer to his shoulder so Alias didn't have the grasp to lock the hold in. Voss then rolled onto his back to get away from Alias, but the Pulp Hero just took this as an opportunity for a cover.

ONE…

No luck, Voss kicked out quickly… using his health and strength advantage to it’s utmost. Alias pulled Voss to his feet and quickly whipped ACW’s newest superstar into the corner. Alias charged in and speared Voss as he lay strung out in the corner. In a last ditch effort Voss kicked out to keep Alias from doing anymore corner damage.

Bad move.

Alias caught Voss’s foot and then gave Voss the dragon screw leg whip. Alias began to kick at Voss's leg as he tried fighting his way into the ropes. Alias yanked off the Voss’s knee brace and then went for a figure four leg lock.

Voss pushed Alias off with his free leg. He scrambled to his knees as Alias came running back. He drilled him in the face with the HARD Shining Wizard. Voss fell flat on his back before being picked back up and sent into the ropes before Alias dropped him with a dropkick. Alias took his time getting up, as the pain was shooting through his back. He walked over to Voss and pulled him back up onto his feet.

The fans started rallying behind their World Championship, who sent his opponent into the corner. Alias charged in and this time Voss ducked down and back dropped 'The Original Pulp Hero' over the top. Alias couldn't avoid it and he free-falled to the not-so-protective mats.

THUD!

Voss slid quickly to the outside and brought Alias up before slamming him face-first into the guardrail, doing some wicked crazy damage. Voss slammed Alias into the guardrail again and again, finally leaving him draped against the guardrail in a prone position. Voss backed up, and he measured Alias. He then unloaded with a right side knee smash, sending Alias over the guardrail and into the crowd. Voss stepped over the guardrail himself to continue going after Alias.

Voss began hammering on Alias among the crowd, doing serious damage to the World Champ. Voss shoved a fan out of the way and grabbed their chair, then does a little dance. He then swings the chair at ACW’s Pulp Hero.., but Alias ducks. Vossman only hits an internet smark, so no damage is done. (Hell he even has more fodder for his catchphrase. Voss turns with the swing and that gives Alias the ability to turn the tables on the big man, leaping up and dropkicking the chair back into his face.

Voss is knocked all the way back, stumbling, over the guardrail to the ringside area. Alias backs up, then runs forward as Voss slowly gets to his feet. Alias leaps up and uses the guardrail to vault himself into a splash variation on Voss that hits him squarely and takes both men to the ground to wild cheers from the crowd. After a few moments, Alias brings Voss up and shoves him back into the ring. Alias then climbs onto the ring apron.

As Voss gets up, Alias springboards onto the top rope and leaps off, hitting Voss with a picture-perfect dropkick. The big man goes down, and Alias drops down to make the cover.

ONE…

TWO…

Voss, however, gets a shoulder up at the count of two. Alias isn’t done by a long shot though and brings Voss back up again. He goes behind Voss and hooks his head, then executes a falling inverted DDT, driving Vossman hard into the mat.

Alias got to his feet, immediately and with a handful of hair, helped JLV up as well. A forearm and hip toss later, Vossman was on the ground, pounding the mat in pain, as he had been caught in a Japanese arm-bar. The referee checked on him, occasionally, but it was clear that he was alright to continue… at the moment.

Alias pulled back, to apply more pressure, which set him up for the counter, Voss placed his legs around Alias's neck, which forced him to let go of his arm, Alias kicked out, to escape the potentially painful maneuver, trying desperately to beat vMonsta to his feet, it appeared as if he had done so, but as he started to move in for the kill, JLV nipped-up, and caught him coming in, with a quick roll-up pinning predicament... the referee dropped to the mat...

One...

Two...

Alias kicked out with intensity, hurrying to his feet, only to be met with a flying forearm, as Voss now had been waiting for him. Voss dropped down for the cover again, and again... Alias kicked out. J. Leslie Voss hopped to his feet, and signaled for Alias to get up. 

The two met in the center with another collar-and-elbow, this time Alias had the advantage for the second time… nailing Voss in the gut, JLV doubled over, but obviously hadn't done his homework, or he would've known he was setting himself up for Alias's version of the powerbomb, high-angle style. Alias dropped down for the cover, but Voss kicked out at two. 

Alias raised him to his feet, sent him to the ropes, and when he came charging back, nailed him with a devastating flying clothesline, that had the audience in attendance holding their necks. He didn't pin him this time, instead he lifted him up, and nailed him with a Dragon Suplex.

Voss was now trying to get to his feet, using the ropes, but Alias wouldn't let him, a kick to the gut reassured that. He yanked him up by his hair, and tried for what appeared to be a double arm DDT, but Voss used his strength to counter with a back body drop. 

Vossman dropped to one knee in exhaustion, but caught his breath and bolted to the ropes about the same time Alias had made it to his feet, he dove, but the flying body tackle took both men over the top rope, or so we thought, Alias clutched the bottom rope on the way down and used it to pull himself back in as JLV hit the cold, unforgiving concrete below. 

These are the sort of things Alias body did by itself now… it seemed all was running on automatic some times. The crowd began to cheer, Alias's adrenaline began to rush, he climbed up the turnbuckle, stared down at J. Leslie's fallen body, then cringed at the thought of how much pain he'd be in as a result of his next move.

Frogsplash off the top, and it connected.

HOLY SHIT~!

HOLY SHIT~!

HOLY SHIT~!

HOLY SHIT~!

HOLY SHIT~!

Both men howled in pain, JLV, just a little louder. The referee's count reached eight before Alias finally was able to toss Vossman's body in, sliding in after. He dropped down for the cover...

One...

Two...

Thre—J. Leslie Voss's shoulder flew up, to the amazement of the crowd and Alias himself, even.

Fuck it. Alias thought… if it was going to be now, especially after THAT… it’s going to be now.

He leaps, hooks Voss’s neck, and… just like that...

Wait… WTF?!

breakDOWN!?

Cover.

One.

Two.

Three.

The crowd erupts as Alias retains his title in a hard-fought battle, surprising some, and Alias is handed the title. That’s right folks… he had just beat J. Leslie Voss with SilverHAWK’s old finisher. He raises the championship high in the air as the ref raises his other arm. Alias looks down at Voss for a moment.

“How’s that for some old school wrestling, Leslie? Pass that fuck you to Hawk and Keller by the way.”

Alias mounts the turnbuckles and poses with the belt, lifting it high in the air.

It is because of this that he never sees Khristain Keller coming.

Keller charges out from the back and slides into the ring. As Alias poses, Keller comes up from behind him and gives him a hard shove, sending him flying over the ringpost to the floor, where he lands, with a sickening thud, right on his head. Not done by a long shot, Keller rolls outside and grabs a chair. He walks over to Alias and unceremoniously begins hammering him on the head with it, bringing it up and driving it down, over and over and over. Blood spurts from Alias’s head. Opening up fresh cuts… ripping fresh stitches… all from earlier in the night.

Finally, a flood of officials arrives and Keller backs off, the damage done, a large eeeevil smile on his face. The officials call for EMTs, and they quickly arrive with a stretcher. Slugger’s neck is stabilized and he is lifted onto the stretcher and quickly taken to the back… in all the commotion the World Championship is left behind. Keller nods at it and picks it up to the out right trash throwing from the crowd.

Khristain Keller lifted the World Champion to the ceiling with a bloody hand and a sneer...

Alias was finally taken out of view by the EMT’s… suffering a minor concussion in the least...

J. Leslie Voss was part of a new… more dangerous, trio with Hawk and Keller...

Alias… Alias was only one man. 

One champion...

Against even bigger odds...

What would be the next flip in this ever so entertaining script?

Winner: Alias