|
PREVIOUSLY... Since ACW's birth on television, fans had seen the company go through numerous transitions and changes. Between the Winters era, and then the short lived ACW Guardians, it now looks as if ACW has finally settled, and with a new World Champion at the helm of the federation, and the fan base growing by the day...ACW is finally on the way forward. Or is it?
Demonic
Duo
As the
Courage opening montage
finished, the TV feed
was taken into the
parking lot, where one
man stood infront of a
clutter of expensive
motor vehicles. It was
surprising that, as he
stood somewhere on the
outskirts of the actual
arena, the audience on
the floor was hushed
down to almost silence,
as from last's week's
finish, this was a
promo, which the world
wanted to hear.
"First
off, let me just say we
are out here...for fears
of my own safety, as I
don't know what you
animals could get up to
if I stood in the middle
of that ring all by
myself."
Keller
cracked his neck as he
began to strut from side
to side, as the camera
followed his footsteps.
"For
years and years Houdini
was labeled as the best
illusionist ever to be a
part of the magic
circle, if not the
planet. He dazzled
people with his tricks,
things that seemed
impossible to a mere
human, were a pisstake
for this man as he took
his show all over the
Globe, dazzling the
humble peasant to the
rich fat cat. Lately, a
certain David Blaine has
been trying to fill
Houdini's mantle with
his own tricks, but I,
Khristain Keller, pull
the biggest trick of
them all last week...and
you stupid scum where my
audience."
Keller
smirked as he looked
around at the negative
responses from the
crowd.
Boo. "So without further or do, please, let me introduce to you, your hero! SilverHAWK." The camera panned out as it showed that SilverHAWK was a mere 6 foot away from Keller, as the duo stood side by side, both with a cocky smile on there face, Keller's ever-so much wider. SilverHAWK, drowned in a black hooded top which covered most of his face, tilted his head back as Keller gave him the floor, and an opportunity to answer many questions that had posed over the last week. "Out of all the people, in all the world, who would I be less likely to be paired up with? My boy Keller of course. Now, I'm not going to stand here and bullshit you all, in how this was an elaborate scheme from the beginning of Keller's arrival, no, it was far from it. It was actually out hate for one another that actually brought us closer together in a sense were...we could help out each other, one way or another. And I know you all sit there, and ask the immortal question "why?", and for once, I'm going to answer you. Keller is my way back in...plain and simple. Osyrus ended my career when I lost my World Title to him, half a year back, and since then I've been a lackey. You could say I had power, but it was imaginary, it took Brian Carter two weeks to get my out of ACW, answer this, if I had any power, wouldn't I still be in a job? Well I am now...because it doesn't matter who your Champion is, or even your boss, the only man, whom is secure in this company, stands by my side. As Champions can be defeated, owners bought out, but Khristain Keller cannot be removed from ACW without his approval, and that my friends, is power. I now stand as Khristain Keller's official manager, and under his contract, my suspension is default, and I, return to ACW, sniffing gold once again." Keller slapped HAWK in the back as he took up the picture once again, as SilverHAWK dropped into the back of the scene.. "This goes out to a very special person, your "champion" if you will. Alias, it took you seven weeks to beat that little pussy Kain, and believe me, those seven weeks were the longest of my lifetime, watching you two go through the motions, but now the game is on Alias, your fighting a true contender, a warrior, a challenger and an equal. Along with my new "associate", I will go the Manchester and beat you senseless, the only thing you have to ask yourself if this... ...who is gonna help you now?" Keller smiled into the camera as he began to chuckle, and as SilverHAWK tapped him on the shoulder, they both exited the scene. A lot of questions were still to be answered, but it seemed that two men now resumed the power struggle in ACW, and there was no knowing were it was going to finish.
The Wild Card
“What the fuck happened last week?
Untamed
Carter looked across
from him at the biggest
man in ACW. He was a lump of a
man, the shape would be
described as a
"shit
brickhouse" in
Scottish parts of the
World, but as Inferno
closed the door behind
him after being called
into the owner's office,
you could clearly see
that Inferno would
rather be in other
places. "Mr. Inferno,
I've had a few
complaints about your behaviour
as of late, and because
I'm trying to get to
know all of my talent,
I've also been looking
at your...rather large
file which has made a
few questions crop up in
my head..." Inferno got to the
point. "Like
what?" "Well...your
past suicide attempts, I
know that you haven't
been in such a condition
in a while, but I was
wondering what you think
about your current
state, comparing it to
when you were looking to
end your life." Inferno tossed his
belt on the desk and
leaned forward... "He put you up
to this didn't he?" "Who?" "Jacobs." "Well that's
none of your..." Inferno clobbered the
table with his fist. "You tell your
psyc's that I'll die
when I decide to die,
and you tell Jacobs,
that if it was really me
who attacked him, he
wouldn't be fucking
standing, now, if you
talk to him again, give
him my best regards, and
tell him...that eyes in
the back of his head
will be needed. And they'll be needed
tonight." DARE
Vs. Tom Maxwell Light lights go black as "The Red" by Chevelle hits the loud speakers. A red strobe light filters through the arena, and Tom Maxell appears at the top of the ramp. His face is masked in a dark expression as he sprints down to the ring and slides in. He glares into the camera and hops onto the turnbuckle to play to the crowd. The ear popping sound of static, however, interrupts his taunting. Maxell turns around just in time to hear the opening chords of "Coagulate" by Snapcase blare through the arena. Red and white pyro shoots out Winner:
DARE
The Mis-Adventures Los Locos Moscocos! Pt.1
El Emenopi looked at
his rematch slip. He
finally was allowed into
the ring, and he was
finally a wrestler. A
member of a tag team. A
soon to be hero of the
federation! And most of
all, he had finally
found a “friend”…
a comrade… a buddy…
a man with the same
drive as he had.
“GIVE ME THAT
CHALLENGE!” Forme
Carlos grabbed the paper
away from El. El
frowned.
The “friend” was
Forme Carlos. The tag
team was “Los Locos
Moscocos”… name
pending. The match was
against Vincent
Pembridge, and El
Emenopi believed he had
a right to a rematch. A
few months back El had a
match against Vincent
Pembridge for his
then-owned Scorpion
Fighting title… and he
lost. And he lost,
badly.
But Forme seemed to
want the match more than
El did, as he instantly
wrote his own name down
on the match contract,
and El stood in dismay.
Suddenly a smile
appeared on his face,
and he turned toward
Forme with a smile of
delight.
“I get it! You’re
going to fight heem for
me! You’re going take
the match for the honor
of the team!”
“Uh… yeah…
um… that’s it.”
Forme looked around for
a moment then turned to
El, shoving him out of
the way. El never saw
his eyes roll. Forme
never felt his own eyes
roll so much. “I’m
doing this for the…
team.”
El smiled widely and
ran out of the room,
yelling at the top of
his lungs that Forme was
taking on Pembridge for
him. Forme put a hand to
his own face… then
slapped it hard before
dragging it down the
whole of his face. He
was still trapped in the
nightmare. And
obviously, he wasn’t
waking up any time soon.
But as long as El
Emenopi wasn’t getting
the matches and he
was… he didn’t truly
care. The little bastard
cost him the tag titles,
and now he was stuck in
this contract. This
meant that he was forced
to keep him around…
until he could change
the contract. He shook
his head solemnly, then
walked out of the room
toward the entrance way.
The card had changed…
and now it was Forme
Carlos vs. Vincent
Pembridge. And that was
that.
An
Unlikely Meeting
The door swung open
to the main locker room
and a man entered that
had never been seen on
ACW turf.
It was CJ Trenton.
He had a sheepish if
not confused look upon
his face as he tossed
back his hair in a messy
fashion as he walked
into the large room. He
had his stuff in a large
black duffel bag, slung
across his shoulder.
With his head down, he
looked at a slip of
paper that the
management had given
him. It contained his
locker number and his
combination number for
the lock. Squinting his
eyes, he tried to make
out his locker number on
the paper, but the
numbers were smudged
because of his clammy
hands.
"3116." He
decided.
He muttered the
number softly
repeatedly, looking
around for it, almost
walking in circles. As
he turned a corner, he
could hear what sounded
like two voices.
He ignored them,
figuring the other new
guys were also finding
their way around. But he
couldn't help but notice
the distinct foreign
accent in their voices.
He discarded the notion
and walked around, while
on the other side of the
room, a gargantuan man
lumbered through the
lockers while a smaller,
horribly dressed man had
a similar piece of paper
in his hand.
Enter Li Xiao and
Chin Lee.
Li had a stone look
on his face as we
aimlessly followed his
manager, Chin Lee around
the room. Lee began
getting a bit frustrated
with the search.
"What the numba
again?!" Lee
declared Xiao with his heads
in the clouds was
examining the ceiling
while Lee snatched the
piece of paper from his
bear claw.
“I knew it!” Lee
chirped. “3116.”
Apparently a mix-up
by the ACW Staff in
having had assigned the
two new wrestlers the
same locker. Trouble was
on the horizon as Li and
Chin both turned the
corner, as did CJ
Trenton, finally finding
his way. Both parties
approached each other,
slowly. Lee said
something foreign to
Xiao and CJ quickly
noted Xiao's size and
decided it best to get
to his locker and get
the hell out of there.
CJ spotted his locker to
his left and began to
open it.
THUD.
A basketball-sized
fist slammed just above
CJ's head, making a
small crater into the
metal locker. Xiao was
looking down upon CJ
with a cold stare.
Wonderful. Nice to
meet you too.
Trenton slowly backed
off and put his stuff on
the ground, figuring he
was in for an unpleasant
experience. Before he
could raise his fists, a
squeaky voice piped up.
"What you think
you doin’? That Li
lockah bitch!”
CJ lowered his fists
and looked down at the
feeble Chin Lee, whom
was sneering up at CJ.
Li hadn't moved a
muscle, which made him
more than uneasy.
Looking at the piece of
paper in Lee’s hand,
he confirmed his fears -
they had the same locker
number. "Do… you…
speak… English?"
CJ mouthed to Li, waving
his arms wildly.
CJ used more
inflection than was
probably necessary,
which made for a comical
affair. Li just cocked
an eyebrow at CJ and
looked at Lee, looking
for an answer from him.
Lee looked back with
disgust, figuring CJ was
mocking them. He spouted
something quick and
foreign to the big man,
who only grunted in
return. Figuring he'd
just made a bad
situation worse, he
desperately tried to
communicate with Lee
that this was some
misunderstanding.
"Eh, look dude.
This is some sort of
mix-up."
Lee gave a quick
"Hah!" and
retorted. "No mix
up. Li lockah!" Lee
repeated through broken
English.
CJ sighed as he
realized that words were
doing no justice. He
would need to get
through to these people
in writing. He quickly
took out a pen and put
his the paper he was
clutching against the
lockers. He scribbled
down some words and then
handed it to the
manager, Lee.
He slowly read over
it, mouthing out a few
words silently and
started nodding his
head. Enough was enough. CJ
had tried to reason with
them. He furrowed his
brow and opened the
locker door, putting his
bag inside. He closed
the door and just when
he turned his back, he
heard a crashing noise.
He turned on his heels
to find his bag and
contents sprawled across
the floor. As he
gathered it, he saw Xiao
and Lee safely tucking
THEIR belongings into
the locker.
Snap. There went
CJ’s mind.
He walked over to the
locker and flung it
open, putting his bag
inside on top of Xiao's.
He looked at them. They
looked back. He nodded
approvingly. They
didn’t.
"Fine! We'll
share! Share the locker.
You and me. Share!"
CJ explained as if he
was talking to a one
year old baby.
Even after Lee
relayed this to Xiao, he
could only scratch his
head. CJ officially
ruled that Li Xiao was
easily the slowest guy
he'd ever met.
“That Li lockah
bitch!” Lee exclaimed
opening the door to the
locker again.
“What is it with
you people? Is that all
you know? Is that all
you can say? Do you even
SEE me!?” CJ extended
two fingers which he
motioned from his eyes
to Lee's. They stared
blankly. CJ was running
out patience, and beads
of frustration were
running down his face.
CJ slammed the locker
door shut, almost
snatching Xiao’s hand
in it. Mistake.
CJ swallowed hard.
Xiao’s eyes turned
blood shot as the
clutched each side of
the locker with his vice
grip hands. He bared
down lower to the floor
only to flex his massive
tree trunk arms as he
picked up the locker and
held it above his head.
CJ backed up a bit,
completely taken back
from the physical
prowess of Li Xiao. With little problem,
Xiao rocked back and
threw the steel locker
at CJ Trenton. CJ’s
eyes grew at the site of
a locker coming right
for him. Without him
even knowing it, CJ
managed to dodge assault
as he rolled to the
side, just in time to
see the locker come
crashing down on the
concrete floor. “Your locka now!”
Lee added before the two
walked off, laughing. CJ
sneered. This wasn't over by a
long shot.
Forme
Carlos
Vs. Vincent Pembridge Suddenly Taproot’s
“Time” exploded over
the PA. The red lights
flickered on and off as
Vincent Pembridge walked
out through the
entryway. The hideous
sneer on his face showed
that this was done
because he knew Kain
wouldn’t have time to
answer it. Especially
since he had given the
contract to El Emenopi
personally. This was
going to be a wiping
that Jason Kain would
never forget. Pembridge
climbed the apron, slid
under the rope, then
stood up, tossing fists
to the sky. The boos
were unanimous, and
Pembridge didn’t care.
But the music that
came next did bother
him. There was no back
beat… no “Eyyyyyy!”
No Spanish lyrics.
The strummed chords
of AFI’s “Ever and a
Day” blasted through
the arena, and Pembridge
looked up the ramp
angrily. El Emenopi
hadn’t answered the
challenge… his “tag
partner” did. And as
the blue lights flashed
around the arena, and
the entryway strobed its
black lights… the
sneer on Pembridge’s
face got a bit nastier.
Forme Carlos stepped to
the entryway, looking to
his feet before slowly
moving his head up to
face the ring. Suddenly
a flash of white pyros
shot up as Forme rushed
to the ring, sliding
under the ropes, and
popping to his feet.
Pembridge looked at the
short Mexican, giggling
to himself for a moment.
Forme’s facial
expression never
changed. He knew this
was going to be a tough
match, but he wasn’t
going to show it.
Instead, the anger he
held from last week’s
massacre showed widely.
The glare pierced
Pembridge’s normal
expression and got him
ready for the match.
The locked up as the
bell rang, Pembridge
easily overpowering the
small Forme and flipping
him into a quick snap
suplex. The crowd’s
roars amazingly went
toward Forme, and for
the first time Forme
realized that he was
being cheered instead of
booed. He quickly jumped
back to his feet, and
turned back to
Pembridge… Just in
time to be tossed back
over his head with a
sharp belly-to-belly,
sending Forme back to
the mat with a short
display of
head-over-heels.
Forme
slowly tried to get to
his feet, but Pembridge
smiled as he realized
this would be just as
easy as beating El. He
grabbed Forme by his
hair, hooking an arm
under Forme’s and
locking his shoulder…
the position looked like
a rock bottom, but as
Pembridge shoved
forward, he sat down,
slamming Forme down with
a revamped side slam,
before spinning over for
the cover…
1…
2…
KICKOUT!
Pembridge looked to
the ref, then smirked.
Maybe not as easy.
But as the Forme’s
foot spun into
Pembridge’s gut, the
attitude completely
changed. Not as easy at
all.
Forme suddenly spun a
second roundhouse to
Pembridge’s head,
sending him wheeling
into the ropes, and a
third kick had Forme
pulling a complete back
flip off of
Pembridge’s chest
before Forme sent him
toward the ropes. Forme
then followed it up with
a quick handstand
sliding heel kick to
Pembridge’s face,
knocking Pembridge to
the mat. He followed it
up with a quick standing
moonsault for the
cover…
1…
2…
KICKOUT!
Pembridge’s grimace
came back to his face as
he started back to his
feet, but Forme popped a
backflip kick to
Pemridge’s jaw sending
him back into the ropes,
to which Forme
immediately charged the
ropes hopping over to
the apron, then flipped
over the ropes pulling
Pembridge down with a
strange adaptation of
the diamond cutter. He
shot his feet over for a
reverse fujiwara armbar,
locking the submission
with Pembridge wondering
how he had gotten to
this position. The ropes
were a kick away,
though… and with the
damage given, Forme gave
up the hold.
The ref pushed Forme
back, telling him to let
Pembridge up due to the
fact that he was in the
ropes. Pembridge smiled
wildly, realizing this
match was definitely
going to be a fun one.
But as Forme came out
with another kick,
Pembridge was ready…
catching the foot, and
as Forme swung under for
the Enziguri, Pembridge
let go, watching Forme
crash to the mat. As
Forme struggled to his
feet, Pembridge
immediately walked to
his side, pulling Forme
over his head with a
hard Sambo suplex,
crushing Forme’s
shoulders to the mat
again.
Pembridge pulled
Forme to his feet,
sliding around to his
back and slinging him
over with a beautiful
German suplex, then
rolling through a
second, third and fourth
time… leaving Forme
dizzied and pulled to
his feet one last time.
Suddenly a hard chop to
the throat slammed
Forme’s windpipe,
causing him to choke as
Pembridge laid in a kick
to the gut… he pulled
in the
double-underhook… and
lifted Forme onto his
shoulder.
The running powerbomb
came down fast and hard,
shaking the ring with a
violent boom. The crowd
roared at the sound, and
Pembridge stood up
looking at Forme. The
ref went over to see if
Forme was ok, but
Pembridge shoved him out
of the way. The ref
suddenly got to his feet
and jumped at
Pembridge… screaming
that he was the ref and
you weren’t supposed
to touch him. Pembridge
shoved him out of the
way again… and this
time the ref shoved
back. Pembridge suddenly
smiled, looked to the
crowd as the
“oooooh” screamed
through, then turned to
the ref laying in a hard
clothesline sending him
over the ropes and out
cold.
DEGENERATE! The chants were
deafening as Pembridge
realized his freedom
from the rules of the
match, now. He jumped
out of the ring,
grabbing a cable from
one of the cameras and
unplugged it. He climbed
back into the ring and
slung the cable around
Forme’s neck… he
looked straight into the
camera mocking Kain
through the lens, then
pulled harder. Forme’s
face turned bright
purple as he choked…
but suddenly the crowd
started cheering madly.
Pembridge turned half
expecting Kain to come
running through the
arena to interfere, but
suddenly the smile on
Pembridge’s face
showed who it was.
El Emenopi had
grabbed a chair, and he
rushed the ring,
swinging wildly.
Pembridge ducked the
first swing, and caught
the second… pulling
the chair from El’s
grip, before hitting El
in the gut with it and
driving him into it with
a hard vertical suplex.
El rolled out of the
ring, and coughed on the
ground as the ref
started to rouse…
Forme slowly stood up,
as Pembridge gave him
the chair. Forme warily
looked at the Scorpion
of Manchester with a
question in his eyes…
The ref stood up,
screaming to Forme not
to swing… but the
swing never came as
Pembridge kicked the
chair right into
Forme’s face…
SCORPION BITE
Forme crashed back to
the mat, defeated. The
chair slid out of the
ring, and since
Pembridge hadn’t swung
it… it was legal.
Pembridge slid over
Forme’s downed body,
for the cover and the
ref went to work as
Pembridge counted it
with his finger…
1…
2…
3!!!
Pembridge stood up
smirking pointing at
Forme and waving to the
entryway, expecting Kain
to come out. He never
came… but the big
screen flickered to
life. Winner:
Vincent
Pembridge
The Challenge Remains
“NOW SUCK ON
THIS!” Jason Kain
stood with an
interviewer, looking
straight through the
camera to Pembridge.
“You think you’re
God, don’t you, son!
Like picking on little
guys to try and prove
your worth, no? Like
attacking little kids
backstage, endangering
their lives and being
all big and bad. And
then when someone has
something to say about
it, you whine like a
little bitch and cry
about how someone wrote
bad things about you.
Then you proceed to
challenge them, stating
you can beat anyone.
Well, why is it that you
haven’t faced me yet?
Oh… now I remember…
you were injured
right?”
Pembridge nodded,
waving to the big
screen, smirking widely.
“You seem better
now! Don’t you?”
Kain’s eyes flashed,
angrily. “Why don’t
you face me now? Oh, I
forgot… you put out an
open challenge, no? So
you’re gonna go and
ask, ‘Why didn’t YOU
come and take the
challenge?’ Well, as I
noticed, there was only
one person to get that
challenge sheet… and
that was the only guy
who couldn’t win a
match for his life…
let alone his career. I
saw your face when El
didn’t show up for the
match… it was a face
of terror… you
actually believed that
you might not be able to
prove yourself to me.
You doubting yourself
now, Pembridge? Call me
a championship class
loser, right? Look at
yourself, your big
championship match
against Quinton May
didn’t go to well…
you LOST at your own
game. And you have the
gall to go and say I’m
a championship class
loser. Fine, I’ll
accept that you have no
short term memory and
agree that yes, I lost
my match. But
motherfucker be damned
if I don’t see you
wimping out of fighting
me again. So what will
it be this time, oh
Scorpion of
Manchester?”
Pembridge looked up
at the screen then
climbed out of the ring
and started up the ramp.
The crowd expected him
to just charge to where
Kain was and attack him.
“Finally got some
balls? I’ll meet you
half way! Because the
world only has nine
words for you…”
And the crowd chanted
along…
“YOU THINK YOU HAVE
A CHANCE!?!?”
Pembridge walked
through the entryway and
vanished from view. And
the crowd finished along
with Kain.
“DIDN’T THINK
SO!!!”
Kain threw the mic to
the ground and walked
out of view from the
interview area as the
scene faded from view.
The cheers of the crowd
growing wild with
anticipation.
The Mis-Adventures of Los Locos Moscocos! Pt. 2
There was quiet in
the arena, the chants
for Jason Kain had
subsided as El slowly
stood up. He looked over
to Forme who laid in the
ring, holding his head.
El quickly slid into the
ring, pulling Forme to
his head.
The crowd
suddenly changed their
attention to the ring
again as El started
trying to comfort Forme
for his loss… but
Forme pulled his arm
away from him, yelling
at him that it was his
fault for the loss. El
suddenly put up a finger
for Forme to quiet down,
and slid out of the
ring. El grabbed a mic,
then fumbled around
under the ring pulling
out a box wrapped in
orange with a huge blue
bow on it.
“I know what weel
make you feel better,
mang! I got something
for you!” He slid back
into the ring.
Forme grabbed the mic
away from El, opened his
mouth to say something,
then looked around,
threw the mic to the
ground and slapped the
box out of El
Emenopi’s hands. El
quickly grabbed the box
off the mat, and looked
at Forme sadly. Forme
pointed out of the ring,
shoving El out. El
frowned then walked up
the ramp. Forme looked
at him and gave him the
finger behind his back,
then climbed out
himself, walking up the
ramp behind El Emenopi.
Let’s
Talk
Vince Jacobs was
relaxing in his dressing
room watching the
monitors of some of the
action from tonight’s
Courage. Jacobs grabbed
some grapes from the
fruit tray and started
to pop them in his
mouth. Jacobs propped
his feet up on the table
as suddenly he heard a
knock at his door.
“Come in.” Vince
yelled
The door knob turned
as Brian Carter walked
into the dressing room
to see SVJ sitting on
the sofa enjoying
Courage so far. Brian
Carter walked further
into the room while
shutting the door behind
him. Carter slowly
walked to the chair that
was sitting across from
the sofa where SVJ was
sitting and sat down.
“What can I do for
you boss?”
Carter sat back on
the chair with his hands
folded…
“Well I wanted to
talk to you about what
you told me last
week.”
Vince just looked on
at Carter and nodded…
“I haven’t found
anything to substantiate
your allegations. I need
proof that Inferno is a
danger to himself and
the people in the
back.”
“So my word isn’t
good enough for you.”
Carter shook his
head. “I need proof
Vince. No offense to you
but I don’t trust
anything anyone says.
That’s why I am the
business man I am
today.”
“If you say so
boss. If you want proof
then you got proof. I
just have to make a few
calls and you will have
something soon.”
Carter stood up and
shook Jacobs’ hand.
Carter turned toward the
door, turned the knob
and opened the door.
Carter walked out and
closed the door behind
him.
“Fucking prick.” 006.392 Vs.
"Superstar"
Vince Jacobs “Forest” by
System Of A Down.
006.392 walked out to
a wonderful reception.
Although he was clad in
the same attire from the
KoA pay-per-view,
sporting a dark red tank
top, knee-length denim
shorts and the customary
black shoes, the
approach to the squared
circle was very
different. He sauntered
to the ring looking a
little worse for wear,
still feeling the
affects from his match
with Keegan at KoA.
He wanted to prove a
point that he could
stand in the ring with
any one of the ACW
finest superstars and
this week he gets to
prove it in what may the
toughest match in his
short ACW career.
006.392 was facing the
self proclaimed
Superstar, Vince Jacobs.
He slowly made his way
into the ring and stood
in the corner waiting.
“So you wanna be
a ring superstar, and
live large Purple 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 gave a mixed
reaction 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
black wrestling tights
with the gold
‘SUPERSTAR’ down the
right pant leg. He had
on a t-shirt that said
21 > 006.392.
“You wanna be a
ring superstar in the
biz… Still trapped in what
you rapping about SVJ walked slowly
toward the ring and
stood near the apron.
Jacobs climbed into the
ring and stood in the
corner bouncing back and
forth. Jacobs took his
t-shirt off and threw it
into the crowd. Vince
was ready for this match
as 006.392 was also
ready.
The bell sounded as
the two men met in the
center of the ring.
Vince Jacobs looked over
the young lad as he
smirked. 006.392 was not
in the least bit
intimidating by SVJ. He
slapped 006.392 across
his face as 006.392
faced turned to the
side. Vince went to
throw a right hand but
was blocked by 006.392.
A left was blocked this
time. Suddenly the young
lad took the fight to
Vince by throwing rights
of his own.
Vince was backing up
from every shot he took
from 006.392. Jacobs was
backed up to the ropes
as 006.392 grabbed his
arm and whipped him into
the far ropes. Jacobs
bounced off the ropes
and was nailed by a big
dropkick from 006.392.
SVJ quickly rolled to
the floor holding his
jaw as he heard it from
the fans at ringside.
Vince walked around the
ring before he started
to make his way back
into the ring.
006.392 ran across
the ring quickly and
nailed SVJ with a
baseball slide that sent
Jacobs flying backwards
to the guardrail.
006.392 rolled to the
floor to go after
Jacobs. Vince was
walking around the ring
slowly as 006.392
followed him. 006.392
nailed Jacobs from
behind with a
clothesline that sent
Vince sprawling to the
ground.
006.392 picked up
Jacobs and rolled him
into the ring. 006.392
followed Jacobs as Vince
was moving backwards
begging for mercy.
006.392 walked closer to
Vince who grabbed him by
his trunks and shoved
him into the corner
shoulder first. Jacobs
slowly got to his feet
and pulled 006.392 from
the corner. Vince picked
up 006.392 and slammed
him hard to the mat
working on the
injury-riddled spine of
‘the upstart’.
Jacobs picked up
006.392 and drove him
down to the mat with a
quick snap power bomb.
The fans booed loudly as
Vince posed in the ring
for the fans.
S-V-J SUCKS!! SVJ gave all his fans
the one finger salute as
he bent down to pick up
006.392. SVJ was quickly
surprised as 006.392
caught him with an
inside package.
ONE…
TWO…
KICKOUT!!
Jacobs quickly got to
his feet and
clotheslined 006.392
down to the mat. He
didn’t like being
embarrassed like that
and he started to take
it out on 006.392. Vince
laid into ‘the
upstart’ with some
well-placed kicks to the
small of his back. You
can hear 006.392 scream
in pain with every shot
to his back.
“AAAAAHHH!!”
“Come on kid, get
to your feet.”
Vince started to slap
006.392 in the back of
the head to get him to
his feet. SVJ pulled
006.392 slowly to his
feet and whipped him
into the ropes. 006.392
came off the ropes and
slid under the legs of
Jacobs. Vince turned
around only to get a
kick to the gut.
SNAP DDT!!
The fans erupted from
the move by 006.392.
Jacobs was down on the
mat as 006.392 went to
the top rope. The fans
were cheering 006.392
with every rope he
climbed. Jacobs was
still down on the mat as
006.392 came off the top
rope on SVJ.
FLYING GUILLOTINE
LEG DROP
HO-LY SHIT!! 006.392 quickly
hooked Jacobs’ leg for
the cover.
ONE…
TWO…
THR--- NO!! JACOBS
BARELY GOT HIS SHOULDER
UP!!
That was almost the
biggest upset in ACW
history. 006.392 held
his hands on his head
because he thought he
had this thing won. He
wasn’t the only one in
the arena that thought
he won; the fans were
also in shock to,
thinking 006.392 pulled
out the upset. 006.392
stood to his feet
waiting for SVJ to get
to his feet. Vince
slowly got to his feet
with the help of the
ropes as 006.392 raced
toward Vince but Jacobs
was ready as he held the
ropes down and 006.392
went flying over the
ropes to the floor.
Jacobs made his way
to his feet as he looked
down to the floor at
006.392. 006.392 started
to make his way to his
feet slowly. Vince went
to the top rope and
walked to the middle of
the ropes…
The Ratings
Grabber
Both men were down on
the floor as the crowd
let out their feelings
for what they just
witnessed.
HO-LY SHIT!! The ref looked down
at both men on the
ground and started his
count.
ONE…
TWO…
THREE…
FOUR…
Both men started to
move…
FIVE…
SIX…
SEVEN…
Jacobs got to his
feet first and rolled
into the ring…
EIGHT…
NINE…
006.392 sprinted into
the ring before the ten
count. Vince saw 006.392
on his knees as he raced
across the ring and
nailed 006.392…
STAR GAZER
Vince quickly covered
006.392 for the pinfall.
ONE…
TWO…
THR-- NO!! JACOBS
PULLED 006.392 UP BY THE
HAIR!!
I guess it wasn’t
time for Vince to pin
the young kid. Vince
hoisted 006.392 to his
feet. The poor kid could
hardly stand. Vince
hooked 006.392…
STAR STRUCK
That was it as the
crowd yelled their
displeasure because they
knew it was over. Vince
dropped down and
nonchalantly covered
006.392 for the pin. The
ref dropped down for the
count.
ONE…
TWO…
THREE…
IT’S OVER… VINCE
JACOBS PICKED UP ANOTHER
VICTORY!!
Vince raised his arms
high in the air after
his victory. Suddenly
the fans erupted because
Dante Inferno raced down
to the ring with a steel
chair in his hand. Vince
turned around and saw
Inferno and motioned for
him to get in the ring.
Inferno slid into the
ring as SVJ rolled out
the ring.
“BOOOOOOOOOOO”
The fans wanted to
see these two men go at
it in the middle of the
ring but Vince Jacobs
wasn’t having that.
Jacobs grabbed a
microphone as he walked
around the ring back
peddling up the ramp.
“What the hell is
your problem, Dante? I
mean first you attack me
for no reason last week
and now you try to
damage this gorgeous
body with a steel
chair.”
Inferno stood in the
ring with a chair in his
hand motioning for
Jacobs to come into the
ring.
“Carter if you are
listening, this is what
I am talking about. This
man is a menace. He is a
psychopath that needs to
be in a mental
institution. The man is
not in his right
mind.”
“BOOOOOOO..”
“Why the hell are
you people booing me? I
am ‘Superstar’ Vince
Jacobs and I am Pro
Wrestling’s
Phenomenon. No one in
the ACW can hold a
candle to me. I retired
the only two time World
Heavyweight Champion in
ACW’s history. I am a
man among boys in this
sport.”
S-V-J SUCKS!! “Dokic, if you ever
feel the urge to be
shown a wrestling lesson
than I would be more
than happy to oblige. Oh
don’t think I will
forget about what you
did last week and what
you TRIED to do
this week. Believe you
me, Mr. Carter will
definitely hear about
this little episode.”
Vince Jacobs dropped
the microphone and
headed to the backstage
area as Inferno looked
on obviously fuming.
This is not going to be
the end of this
situation between
Inferno and Jacobs. Winner:
Vince
Jacobs
Sin
Is In
El Emenopi walked through the long corridor of the arena. Under his breath he began to mumble about how he was not appreciated and how he had more talent than anyone else on the roster. He was bitter, he was filled with
envy and that same envy would be his downfall on this night.
The
Mis-Adventures of Los Locos Moscocos! Pt.
3
“WHAT THE HELL WERE
YOU DOING OUT
THERE!?!?” Forme
shoved El into the
corner of the locker
room.
“I… I was trying
to help!” El smiled
feebly.
“Don’t. Help. Me.
Ever. Again.”
Forme’s facial
expression turned from
hatred to… even more
hatred. “I HAD that
match, until you and
your stupid chair!”
“You… you looked
like you needed…” El
struggled against
Forme’s forearm, which
pushed against his
collarbone crushing him
against the wall.
“I didn’t need
ANYTHING!” Forme let
him go, sneering. El
held his throat as Forme
walked over to the
orange and blue box that
El had tried giving him
right after the match.
He slapped it off the
counter, then walked out
of the room.
El looked at the box
sadly, then picked it
up. He smirked, then
looked out the door
after Forme.
“He’ll get over
it. I’ll geeve thees
to heem next week.”
An
Unlikely Meeting - Part
2
CJ Trenton was in a
long hallway, leaning up
against the wall,
minding his own
business.
Or was he?
Out of the bathroom
walked Chin Lee, Li
Xiao’s manager. CJ was
laying in wait for his
prey. CJ walked up to
Lee as the small man
bumped into the broad
chest of Trenton.
“Hey mista! Watch
where you..” Lee’s
voice trailed off into
nothing short of a
whisper as he saw CJ
grinning down at him
with a glimmer in his
eyes.
“Hello Mr.
Miyagi.” CJ teased. “Not to big without
Xiao around are you Mr.
Miyagi?” CJ said
creeping closer to Chin
until he had his back
flat against the wall.
“What was it you
said earlier to me now?
You called me something,
and for the life of me
it just slip my mind!”
CJ said sarcastically
before staring Chin
white in the eye. “Oh
yeah,” CJ said with a
dramatic pause.
“Bitch!” Lee’s
eyes became shifty as
CJ’s sinister breath
was breezing down his
neck. Chin winced.
And then something
happened.
“Yah! That right. I
call you bitch!”
Lee’s face was coming
back to life. “Now,
get outtah my face
before you get hurt!”
CJ laughed.
Xiao grunted.
CJ closed his eyes
and mouthed the words
"Shit" as he
turned around. The
massive 7-footer stood
towering over the
dwarfed body of CJ, as
Lee backed out of his
corner. Xiao raised his
hands as he barreled
down upon CJ.
Instinctively, CJ raised
his foot and hit Xiao in
the middle of his legs
with all he had.
With a squeal, Xiao
doubled over
momentarily, stunned by
the swift kick. Taking
advantage while the big
man was down, CJ
searched around for some
sort of weapon.
He settled on a
nearby trashcan.
CJ grabbed the
trashcan next to the
bathroom door and shoved
it over the upperhalf of
Xiao’s body, trash
falling out onto him.
Xiao’s colossal frame
molded to the pliable
metal as he grunted and
groaned, running his
body into the wall, not
knowing who turned the
lights out.
CJ laughed as he took
off down the hall, all
the while hearing the
clanks and bangs of Xiao
- running into the wall
- trying to get the
trashcan off. As CJ
stopped to catch his
breath, he peered around
the corner to see Chin
Lee struggling to pull
the can off his massive
friend.
CJ grinned. The score
was tied.
The Challenge Avoided!
Papers were everywhere. Jade sat in the corner, and she was staring at the monitor in shock. Pembridge had fought again on the same night… against someone else… and Kain was furious. ACW
World Heavyweight
Championship Match The challenger.
House lights dim.
"Fuck Your
Enemy" by
Superjoint's Ritual
Elijah Arson
He had defeated
ACW’s first King of
Ages... the night he
became King of Ages.
He had almost won the
Television Championship
the week after that.
Now… now he got the
first shot at the World
Championship. It only
made sense, right? As he
walked down to the ring,
receiving a favorable
reaction from the crowd,
his adrenaline still
pumped… coursing
through his veins after
what was seen as a five
star match last week.
Still, he came up
short… but now he was
on an entirely different
stage. This was an
opponent that Alias
wanted; Arson was the
man that defeated the
King of Ages after all.
Speaking of Alias…
“Faint”
The Original Pulp
Hero
… and the crowd was
on their feet, ready to
put one hundred and ten
percent of their support
behind the World
Champion, a man who had
been through a hell of a
lot this last week.
Arson would be Alias’s
way of venting; Eli knew
this and damn sure
wouldn’t back down.
Last week had flipped
the script…
SilverHAWK, the original
ACW good guy, had
screwed over both Alias
and the fans… now
Alias had a plan to even
the score, but before
that he just needed to
punch someone in the
fuckin’ face.
Alias lifted the huge
gold championship to
rumbling waves of cheers
from the fans, before he
finally made it to the
front of the ring and
rolled in. Handing the
belt to the referee,
Alias stared down his
opponent in Elijah
Arson. Arson returned
the stare, in kind.
Alias broke the
stare-down and jumped up
onto the second
turnbuckle just long
enough to raise a fist
to the crowd. Jumping
back down to the mat
Alias walked to the
center of the squared
circle, coming face to
face with Arson. All the
ref could do now was
signal for the bell.
The bell rang.
The match was on.
Alias and Arson
circled one another
before they locked up,
dead-center in the ring.
Alias probably could've
overpowered Arson right
here, all Arson had was
a 15 pound weight
advantage on Alias, but
this wasn't his style.
Instead, Alias did a
go-behind, into the
waistlock takedown, and
spun around into the
front headlock. However,
Arson twisted around
into an arm wringer.
However, Alias was on to
him, and with his free
arm, managed to get a
handstand kip up, and
reversed the arm wringer
into his own, all the
while, Arson stood up
with him.
Alias began to put
more weight into the arm
wringer before pulling
him in and sending a
knee into Arson’s mid
section. With this,
Alias irish-whipped
Arson into the ropes.
However, Arson
reversed the whip and
sent him into the ropes.
Arson went for a
charging elbow strike,
but Alias ducked the
shot and ran off of the
opposite ropes. When
Alias came back, though,
he was hit with a quick
armdrag and sent down to
the canvas. The Pulp
Hero scrambled to his
feet, only to take
another armdrag.
However, the third
time round was
different. Elijah Arson laid on
the canvas, while Alias
just laid in the stomps.
Right now the crowd was
all the way behind there
World Champion.
AL-I-AS
AL-I-AS
AL-I-AS
AL-I-AS
Alias brought Arson
to his feet and blasted
him in the face with a
hard elbow to the side
of the head… then
blasted with another
elbow smash, this time
right between the eyes.
The challenger
stumbled back against
the ropes. Alias held
the back of Arson's head
and began to pepper him
with eblow smash after
elbow smash… throwing
in a couple of punches
to the head here and
there. Arson was just
brewing with adrenaline,
soaking in the pain and
punishment.
An irish whip was
reversed by the
challenger, but Alias
had come back with a
spinning heel kick.
Arson got back onto his
feet in a hurry and went
at Alias with a
clothesline. Alias
ducked down quick and
took Elijah down hard to
the mat with a drop toe
hold before quickly
attempting to lock in a
Crippler Crossface.
Arson quickly rolled
away before Alias could
lock it in properly. The
Original Pulp Hero
wasn't about to just
settle for a pinfall on
this night, nope, he was
looking to make Arson
tap out. If that was
even possible. Alias got
up onto his feet just as
Arson was charging
towards him. Arson
backed Alias up against
a ringpost and let loose
with a barrage of shots
to the body. Arson, with
the break he needed,
tossed Alias into the
ropes. Alias bounced
off, and Arson tried to
kick him in the gut.
Alias slid underneath
it, however, and tripped
Arson in the process.
Arson fell on his face,
and Alias immediately
kipped up, clutching his
stomach. Alias moved in
to pick Arson up;
however, Arson countered
it into a small package.
One.
Two.
An eyelash away from
three, Alias managed to
break the pinfall
attempt. Both men got up
immediately, and Alias
charged Arson. Arson,
however, countered with
a jumping clothline.
It was something akin
to “Knocked The Fuck
Out”… just not with
as much power behind it
seeing as he was in
mid-air at the time.
One.
Two.
Not this time. Alias
kicked out.
Elijah picked up the
champion, and went for a
punch. However, Alias
blocked it. Arson went
for another, and was
again rebuffed. Deciding
to go with a different
plan of attack, Arson
kicked Alias in the gut,
and then hit a DDT.
Alias was then picked up
by Arson, and then was
kicked in the back.
Arson quickly brought
Alias up now and turned
this into…
Restore…
Capture Suplex… Ow.
The crowd was still
ademently behind their
hero, willing him to get
back up, though he was
now in a bad place.
PULP
PULP
PULP
Still, Arson went for
the pin.
One!
Two!
Thr-
Alias kicked out,
upset that he had yet to
get more then one pin
attempt. He immediately
charged Arson, catching
him off-guard. Alias
clotheslined Arson.
Arson got up, and Alias
clotheslined him again.
Arson got up again, and
Alias went for another
clothesline.
Arson ducked it this
time… but a bit too
early; Alias turned it
into a swinging
neckbreaker, then
quickly got up. Alias
ran towards and then
leapt up to the top
rope, and quickly jumped
off, twisting his body
into the air. He landed
the splash on Arson, and
the ref slid to the mat,
counting another pin.
One.
Two.
Three.
YAAAA… Not so fast.
Arson got a shoulder up,
barely.
Alias, having finally
grabbed the upper hand
in the match, was not
about to let it go. He
brought Arson up and
snap suplexed him to the
mat, brining him up
again, hooking his head
for a DDT. Arson,
however, drove forward,
knocking Alias into the
corner and forcing him
to release the hold. As
Alias staggered out from
the corner, Arson
attempted at hip toss,
but Alias wasn’t
nearly as dazed as he
should’ve been,
reversing it into a hip
toss of his own.
He scooped Arson and
set him up for a
high-angle powerbomb,
the move – from the
top of a ladder – that
had put the nail in his
first true World
Championship win, but as
he hoisted Arson up on
his shoulders Arson
hooked his legs behind
his head and began to
pound away with fists.
Alias dropped him down
but Arson kept his legs
hooked and brought Alias
down instead, all the
way through, hooking his
leg from behind.
One.
Two.
Before the third
count could go down,
Alias hooked his other
leg around Arson’s
other shoulder and
pulled his body down to
the mat with it.
One!
Two!
Arson felt his body
go the other way and
pushed back, so that
Alias’s shoulders were
down and the two men
were now facing in
opposite directions.
One!!
TWO!!
Alias powered out
with a bridge, did a
frickin double- turn and
hooked Arson for a
backslide, dropping to
his knees for more
leverage.
ONE!!
TWO!!
Kickout by Arson. The
fans applauded both men
for their efforts,
dueling chants even
beginning to start up
though understandably
more vocal for Alias,
and the ref shock his
mat slapping hand in
pain.
CON-STANT
PULP
CON-STANT
PULP
Alias grabbed
Arson’s arm and sent
him into the ropes,
catching him on the
rebound, hoisting him up
in the air, and dropping
him face first to the
mat. He pulled Arson to
his feet and sent him
into the ropes again,
catching him with
somewhat of a bear hug
before sending up and
over with a
belly-to-belly suplex.
Alias hooked the leg,
the referee slid down to
count.
One...
Two...
Thr—Kickout!
Alias got to his feet
and circled, wiping the
pouring sweat from his
brow. When Elijah Arson
had gotten to his knees,
Alias laid a heavy boot
in the back of his head,
knocking him into the
middle rope.
He pressed down,
immediately garnering a
five- count from the
referee. Breaking the
choke at four, he pulled
Arson to his feet,
hooking his feet and his
leg and landing a
picture perfect
Fisherman’s Suplex.
One...
Two...
Three—NO! Kickout
just before the
referee’s hand came
down for the twenty-ish
time of the match.
Alias once again
brought Arson up and
sent him into the ropes,
but when he turned his
back in order to deliver
a back elbow to his
face, Arson himself had
taken the opportunity to
grab the top rope as he
bounded into it and
pulled himself over onto
the ring apron, nearly
slipping in the process.
He slingshotted
himself to the top rope
itself and just as Alias
was turning around, he
came off with a flying
clothesline that sent
both men to the mat.
Alias was back to his
first… slowly… back
he was still back up
first. He had had enough
pinfall attempts on this
night… now it was for
someone to submit, or
die trying.
Alias immediately
applied a half crab hold
to Elijah Arson. He
didn't squat down, he
was three steps away
from being too damn
tired, he just simply
elevated the hold into
what had to be an
Inmate… SNAP~!...
level of half crab.
Alias let out a war cry,
trying to stretch Arson
as much as he could.
This ended up costing
him, as his pulling
eventually allowed Arson
to push up with his
hands and then slip and
roll through Alias's
legs, until he was on
his back in front of
Alias. A simple shove
with his other foot
brought down the World
Champion and in the
process deflating the
cheers from the crowd…
sure they where
beginning to get fond of
Arson… but that
didn’t mean a large
percentage of the people
in attendance wanted him
to win.
Arson wasn’t quite
in the best shape to
stand at the moment and
once again Alias was the
first to get to his feet
as he pulled Arson back
up with him before
hitting him with a
kneebreaker. Still
holding on to the leg,
Alias locked in his
signature Sharpshooter
variation.
“WAKE THE
DEVIL!!”
Arson writhed and
twisted in pain, but he
eventually scratched and
struggled on the canvas
until he made it to the
ropes, oddly enough
however… this did not
make Alias frusturated.
Though Arson fought back
valiantly it was all
just meant to weaken him
for that killing blow.
Alias started
climbing the turnbuckle,
step by step, and
turning around towards
Arson who still lay on
his back at the side of
the ring, Alias stood up
on the top rope and held
his connected hands in
the air for his own
anarchy A… and in
itself a nod to one Joey
Malone, before he leapt
off, spread his arms in
the air, and landed his
Glasgow Kiss headbutt on
Elijah Arson from ½ the
way across the ring.
Once again, the fans
exploded in shock and
then quickly after an
explosion of cheers, as
this was one of Alias's
most effective
maneuvers. Arson now lay
flat on the canvas.
Alias kicked up from
the canvas, the
adrenaline and
excitement within him
had now completely
kicked out any pain…
he dragged the Constant
slowly into the center
of the ring and brought
Arson up to his knees
before quickly bouncing
behind him and locking
IT in.
Anarchy’s
Lullaby… version
3.
Alias placed both his
feet on the back of the
Arson's bent knees and
sat down, leaving his
knees bent so that they
where dug into Arson’s
back.. Alias grabbed
Arson’s right arm and
pulled it up so that the
arm was above the
shoulder and the wrist
was trapped in Alias’s
elbow. Alias locked his
right hand around
Arson's chin before
finally reaching under
Arson's other arm with
his left hand and
pulling back, applying
pressure to the Arson's
neck and arm while
stretching them across
their knees.
Ten seconds ticked
by… and already some
very bad things could
happen if this hold was
locked in any longer…
Arson knew this. God
damnnit… so close, two
consecutive weeks, but
oh so far away.
TAP
TAP
TAP
The ref called for
the bell. Alias retains.
For the second
straight week the arena
explodes in deafening
cheers for the main
event match-up. Eli had
every to be proud of…
even though that thought
was farthest from his
mind. He had defeated
Keller, the King of
Ages, just three weeks
ago. Just last week he
had put out a classic of
a match against a very
very gritty competitor
in Quinton May. Today he
had kept the momentum
going… another great
fecking match, and
against the World
Champion, no less. So
after just two months in
ACW he was a competitor
to be taken quite
seriously. Arson rolled
from the ring and made
his way to the backstage
area.
The man of the
moment, however, was
Alias. The Original Pulp
Hero. The Phoenix.
The World Champion.
He lifted his
glistening gold trophy
to the crowd. The
explosion of cheers had
yet to die down.
After what had
happened last week, this
seemed like quite a nice
notch on the positive
side of things. However
it looked like such a
good night was NOT going
to end with roses. Out
of the cheering crowd
came one man… with one
chair… followed by a
second man.
Keller.
Hawk.
Chair.
Alias.
Face.
Boo.
Kristain Keller had
slid into the ring
behind Alias, chair in
hand, with SilverHAWK
close behind him.
Without time for the
crowd to even react
Keller clipped Alias up
side the head with the
steel chair before
driving it several more
times into his upper
body and face as Alias
lay prone on the mat.
The crowd was now
riotous as Keller threw
the chair aside and
started stomping the man
who he would come face
to face with at
Manchester Mayhem.
Keller dragged Alias to
his feet and Alias just
stood there… barely
conscious on rubber
legs.
SilverHAWK wound up
and punched Alias in the
jaw as Keller kept Alias
standing… drawing even
more boos from the corwd,
if possible. Hawk
grabbed Alias by the
hair and whispered
calmly into his ear.
“What happened in
that first Pounded and
Fused match… when I
locked you up and
knocked your ass out…
will be nothing compared
to what Keller and I
have planned to take the
title away from y-.”
Without warning,
though, Hawk was cut
short… and even the
Edmonton crowd was left
speechless when the
arena went BLACK. Winner:
Alias
The Trump Card… natch
Fifteen seconds go by
in the dark.
A short fight can be
heard inside the ring…
random people in the
crowd scream just
cause… and when the
lights finally turn back
on, it’s nothing that
anyone ever expected.
Khristain Keller and
SilverHAWK now stand by
themselves in the ring,
a look of shock and awe
on there face as they
look at the man at the
top of the ramp… this
wasn’t even the first
time the guy had pulled
Alias’s ass from the
fire.
The crowd… the
crowd was tearing the
place apart… the last
place they had gotten a
chance to see HIM was in
Action!, and hell even
the fWo fans where still
clambering to see this
guy. He still looked
like a million
dollars… and was
probably worth 30-ish
times that, thanks
somewhat recently in
part to Joe Campbell.
But Alias just stood
there… half way up the
ramp. His world
championship hanging
from his hand. A smile
on his bloody and
battered face.
Oh? That man at the
top of the ramp?
Alias’s trump card and
now Alias’s opponent
in Calgary next Courage?
…
…
…
Ruben Ross
*nod*... holy shit.
But for now…
Courage was outta here
like it stole something.
…
Yeah I thought
you’d like that retro
touch.
|
