Thursday, April 1st 2004
Broadcasting LIVE! from Houston, Texas at 10/9 p.m. CT
Check local times and listings for details, especially Europe
Thursday, April 1st 2004
Broadcasting LIVE!
from Houston,
Texas at 10/9 p.m. CT
Check
local times and listings for details, especially Europe
|
Death
Is Only The Beginning... The
first ACW broadcast of
2004 was one like no
other. It
didn't not open with
the usual pyro's
blazing all over the
arena's four walls. It
didn't open with the
owner in the center of
the ring, talking
about what was going
to happen for the rest
of the evening. It
didn't open with the
World Champion talking
about his latest
victory, or the fact
the number one
contender if after
him. It
didn't even open with
cheers from the fans. It
did open however, with
the ACW roster, and
staff members gathered
around the ring, their
heads hung low as a
large church bell rang
around the arena.
The fans sat in
complete silence as
they looked on, as
faces such as
SilverHAWK, Quinton
May, Bantam Diablo, Chris Messiah,
CJ Trenton and
Geo Vacton pay their
respects. As
the bell chimed,
different pictures of
Charlie Dunn and Brian
Carter were
displayed on the
bigSCREEN, with
numerous wrestlers,
from Alias to Osyrus
to SilverHAWK, some of
which raised a smile
on some fans faces as
they remembered the
co-founder of the very
federation that they
now sat in. And
as the final bell
rang, the screen was
filled was a montage
of small Charles Dunn
and Brian Carter pictures, to which
zoomed out to a large
one, before the final
piece was pasted on
the screen. Your
destiny does not write
itself. The fans clapped their
approval, the roster,
and the staff made
their way back to the
backstage, catching
glimpses of one
another as they did.
Reaching the marked
point so that they
were now off camera,
they all went their separate
ways, until SilverHAWK
catch something in the
corner of his eye,
which placed him in a
state of disbelief. In front
of him, unknown that
he was being watched
stood Lancett, one of
the many newcomers
that had came with the
purchase of ACW, and
the takeover from
William Laguna.
SilverHAWK stroke up
to Lancett, and
swiftly turned him
around. Lancett didn't
immediately fight
back, but when he seen
whom it was, he braced
himself, and placed a
left arm in the air,
to block the oncoming
right hand. But
it didn't go to his
face. SilverHAWK
grabbed the top of
Lancett's shirt, and
ripped it down to his
abdomen, and then
yanked the rest of the
t-shirt off of his
body, before holding
the rag in front of
Lancett's face... "You
ever take this piece
of shit into an ACW
ring again...and I'll
personally make sure
you don't reproduce in
the future, you get me
hot shot?" Lancett
stared a hole in
SilverHAWK's eyes,
each moment of silence
drawing HAWK to the
wall of rage. That was
before he looked down
at his now, torn and
ripped hWo t-shirt. "I
get you." Lancett
brought his head back
up and met eyeballs with
SilverHAWK once more,
as HAWK then threw the
shirt into Lancett's
face and walked off
into the distance. It
seemed that the
generation gap was
going to be a harsh environment
for
performers such as
HAWK, but how long
would it take before
one of these
"new"
superstars felt the
wrath which was
building up in the
former ACW World
Champion.
Home.
The
heavy doors to the
backstage area opened
in grand fashion.
The
small congregation of
officials that were
gossiping and
generally having a
good time chatting up
each other cocked
their heads to face
the man that had
coolly walked through
the doors, the rubber
soles of his sneakers
pressing down
confidently against
the concrete.
The
man -- decked out in a
black long-sleeved
t-shirt with dark blue
jeans and black
sneakers -- nodded at
the officials, purely
out of respect, and
continued to walk down
the halls, his black
backpack flung his
right shoulder. The
officials nodded back;
one or two even waved
at him, remembering
the man from the
previous run of the
company. It was
impossible not to
recollect who he was,
if you were part of
ACW last time 'round.
Just
impossible. For many a
reason, too.
After
all, Quinton May
wasn't crowned the
Rising Star of the
company for nothing.
Here
was a man who arose
from absolute
obscurity, to become
one of the company's
more charismatic and
jovial stars. Despite
that cheerful outset,
he was a beast inside
the ring, able to capitalize
on the
small of chances. He
had the knack to
manipulate a tiny
opening to make it his
advantage, and coupled
with a band of
happy-go-lucky
friends, Quinton May
and his Army were
molded into the
darlings of the
company's fan base.
But,
of course, every
promising beginning
runs into a brick wall
every now and then.
Relishing
the atmosphere in the
backstage area,
Quinton May continued
to trek down the
hallways, taking short
and slow steps to soak
in the feeling in the
air. ACW always had
that special aura, as
far as May was
concerned, and he
missed it terribly.
The
company was like his
home last year.
The
one place where he
could work on
fulfilling his dreams
and do whatever had
been laid down for him
by his guiding light,
who was merely helping
Quinton on his path of
redemption. Of
reaching the holy
grail at the end of
the path.
Reaching
a clearing, Quinton
frowned. He had
expected to found his
room by now, but the
sight of more
officials bustling
past him, aching to
make this comeback
show a success in
every aspect, warmed
his heart. A heart
that had been frozen
following the tragic
events of what
happened last
November, on ACW's
final (at the time)
public event -- the
Tribute Show.
Then,
Quincy Mama's focus
shifted to Charlie
Dunn, and the
'memorial service' in
the ring just minutes
ago.
A
fitting tribute to a
great man, Quincy
thought. The Canadian
Gladiator was bitter
with himself for not
attending the actual
funeral, but he shook
his head, not wanting
to get dragged down in
broodiness over Dunn.
He'd paid his
respects, and that was
all there was to it.
Looking
down at the ground,
May started to move
again, turning to his
right and immediately
catching sight of his
locker-room at the end
of the all. The
nameplate glimmered
under the shine of the
fluorescent lights,
and Quincy forced a
grin. Remembering the
days gone by, of when
he used to have
meetings with his Army
in the locker-room,
before they shifted to
the boiler-room
because Janitor Morris
liked the humming
sounds the generators
emitted.
Seemed
like just yesterday,
Quinton pondered.
And
before he knew it, May
was clutching the knob
of the door. Blinking,
a bit confused at how
quickly he'd
transported himself
down the hall, Quinton
turned it to the left
and swung the door
open, quickly
examining the contents
of the room. Was
basic, appeared a
little fancier than he
was used to last year.
Closing the door
quietly, Quincy threw
his bag down onto the
ground and ran his
hands through his
reddish hair.
This
wasn't just ACW's
revival; it was also his
resurgence.
"Finally,
I'm home."
Feelin'
Lucky
The
Entrance Door to the
backstage corridor of
ACW swung forth.
And
in stepped CJ
TRENTON.
He
gazed around in awe,
taking in a large whiff
of the scent. He
savored it for a
moment, closing his
eyes and smiled.
"Ahh...
Home."
He
reassured his bags on
his shoulder and made
his way inside...
before stopping
abruptly. He looked
down at the ground,
squinting. Over nearly
a pile of work crates
he spotted a twenty
dollar bill. He walked
over to it, checking
to make sure it was
real. He picked it up
and stared at it.
"Wow,
I can't believe my
luck! Good to meet ya
Mr. Hamilton!"
He
quickly pocketed the
money.
"Man,
my luck is really
turning around...
Considering what it
was."
He
paused a second,
before staring out and
reflecting how things
used to be.
"Those
were some of my worst
years. Things just
seem to collapse on
me. Desarae divorced
me, taking half of my
possessions... I
barely had enough food
or money to get by...
and then, this
place closed on me.
Leaving me out of work
and no where to
wrestle."
He
looked down, a sour
look on his face.
Oddly, a cackle
was heard in the
distance. CJ didn't
pay it any heed, and
instead began to
smile.
"But
lately, everything's
been going my way.
Desi took me back, ACW
took me back, and
little things like
finding money keep
happening to me. Life
is good!"
CJ
smiled greatly,
proudly. He was riding
his wave of confidence
and good fortune right
on into ACW. But while
CJ reflected on his
good times...
Someone
in the background was
brooding on the bad.
Jealousy
in the Background...
Nearby,
a figure stood,
fiesting his eyes on
the prone CJ Trenton.
CJ didn't notice him,
for the Meductic
Maniac was hidden
across the corridor
behind some crates,
much like the ones
that Trenton had found
his new Hamilton lying
on moments before.
Paiste
Saban had set the
whole thing up.
"See
CJ, I've got a deal
with people like
you," quietly
hissed the
pale-skinned Canadian.
"You think you've
got everything going
for you...fuck, most
of the time, you do
have everything going
for you."
Paiste
peeked around the
corner at Trenton, who
was now sitting on a
crate, embraced in
thoughtless
conversation with some
ACW officials.
"Heh,
you think everything's
gonna be flyin' high,
don'tcha? Think you're
God almighty, just
because you found a
fucking twenty dollar
bill on a crate as
soon as you came into
the building..."
Paiste paused, and
slowly exhaled,
letting some of his
frustration out, as
well as some of the
cold air in the
corridor.
"CJ,
you're one naive kid,
and you think you've
got everything going
for you. That's why
I'm here...to take
your plans, your
dreams, your
fantasies...and
demolish them. I'm the
dream killer, CJ. You
'normal' people have
no idea what it's like
to live a life of
pain, a life of
misfortune, a life of
absolute hell...every
day, from the time
you wake up, 'til you
go to sleep late at
night." Paiste
slowly let out a deep
breath again. He was
getting mighty tense,
worrying about the
possibility of
Trenton's conversation
stopping.
He
slowly regained his
confidence, and
continued. "So
CJ, prepare yourself.
This is war...an all
out war, and my target
is your well-being. I
promise you that by
the time I'm done with
you, you'd be glad to
go back to your
addiction. Yeah CJ,
get ready, because I'm
comin' for
you..."
Paiste
slowly looked back at
CJ, now standing up,
grabbing his duffel
bags...
Unaware
of the man who is out
to make his life a
living hell...again.
What
was that noise?
CJ
had finished up his
small talk and was
grabbing his things,
preparing for his big
night ahead of him.
But
as he was about to
leave, he felt a
strange feeling. As
if... he felt someone
watching him. He tried
to brush the thought
away, but couldn't
shake it. He felt
another presence.
Again,
he forced himself to
ignore the unusual
feeling, but a strange
sound piqued his
interest.
*Riiiiip.*
CJ
heard a tearing sound,
followed by subsequent
movement behind him.
He quickly dropped his
bag and scoured the
area for anyone.
He
saw nothing.
"Hello?
Hello...?"
He
spoke in uneasy tones,
not sure about what he
had heard. He
continued to
investigate around his
area, but again saw
nothing. He thought it
was silly and began to
leave.
...But
as he was bending down
to pick up his bags,
he saw something.
Something hanging off
the edge of a crate he
was standing by. He
looked closer, and
found it be to a
tattered article of
clothing - seemingly
ripped off someone on
the sharp corner of
the wooden crate.
"Hmm.
What's this?"
He
picked it up and
looked at it in his
hand. It was part of a
red fishnet shirt. CJ
found the item
strange.
"Odd."
He
pocketed the item
along with his $20 and
decided to continue on
with his plans.
However, he had an odd
feeling about things.
The
feeling that things,
and his luck, were
about to change.
THE
FOLLOWING SEGMENT WAS NOT
AIRED
William
Laguna's attention moved
to his office door
opening, as SilverHAWK
made his way through the
double doors and into
the new owner's office. "I
called for you over
twenty minutes
ago." HAWK
looked to his right as
Adam Kent was busy
typing away on a laptop,
furiously looking at
pieces of paper and
written notes to his
right and placing them
onto the screen.
"Yeah, but I've had
a few things to do, and
there was also the Dunn
tribute to take care of,
as it seems the tech
guys didn't know what to
do after the
chimes." Laguna
paused, and looked over
at Kent, who gave him a
quick glance before
moving back to his work.
"Well, I'll have to
see Hillary about that,
I do know she has been
working with some of the
new talent about their
interview techniques,
some of them need worked
on." SilverHAWK
cracked his wrists, a
demon of his for a
while, and something
which was more or less
directly caused by his
one love. "That's
all good Laguna, but if
you are going to do
something right, you do
it right...we don't
half-ass anything here
in ACW." Laguna
didn't like HAWK's tone. "Aaron,
please calm down, my own
establishment are
somewhat new to this,
but I'm sure that you
will be able to help
Adam and Hillary as much
as possible, since you
are one of the senior
members of my
roster." He said it
was such a lingering on
the work 'my' that
SilverHAWK got the
message, this was
Laguna's show, not
HAWKs. "Is
this what you called me
here for? To ask for my
help?" "No,
how are you feeling for
tonight's match?" Having
just checked the run
sheet, HAWK had found
himself on the main
event for the evening,
without notice, and
without any training
what so ever.
"Well...I want to
know who I'm facing
first." "I
can't tell you I'm
afraid." SilverHAWK
cocked his head to Adam
Kent as he stopped
typing, and was looking
at both men. "What
do you mean you can't
tell me, this isn't a
game Laguna, and you've
got to realize I haven't
wrestle in 6
months." SilverHAWK's
statement was left in
the air, and as Laguna
declined to budge, HAWK
leaned over the large
oak desk and got right
into the owner's face.
"I'll tell you this
Laguna, if you put me in
some sort of bullshit
match, and I end up in a
stretcher, or worse, I'm
gonna be using your
balls for dumbbell's." SilverHAWK
slammed his fist on the
door before walking out
the owner's office,
leaving the doors open
and making a bit of a
scene from the staff
outside. "Can
you shut the door
please?" asked
Laguna, to a young
female employee. Laguna
wiped his brow with a handkerchief
before looking over to
Kent, who smirked.
"So do you think
he'll enjoy the surprise
William?" Laguna
pulled another sheet of
paper off a small pile
which he had, labeled
contracts. "I'm
sure he will Adam...any
doubts he had about
wresting the match will
be gone when he looks at
who he is taking on, and
then we will have a
Champion who can live up
to the name of ACW, and
take us to higher places
than we have ever went
before." It
was a plan...but it
wasn't going to work. Was
it?
Welcome
home, Jesse Ramey
The fans
in the small Houston, Texas arena were all in an uproar over the return
of All-Star Championship Wrestling. This may have no been a televised
event, but you couldn’t tell by the excitement that was filling the
arena like a thick haze; and business was only beginning to pick up as
“Going Down in Flames” by Three Doors Down hit the PA system.
The fans
all looked on in a partially confused and yet still enthusiastic
attitude until the man known as “Mr. Action!” set foot out onto the
entrance area, already clothed in his wrestling attire, and the arena
lit up like a fire had been set under them. Jesse Ramey hadn’t been
seen since the time Action! Wrestling had gone on hiatus again and
seeing him appear at this event was certainly a shocker to all of the
fans in the arena. The look on Jesse’s face was almost as ecstatic as
that of the fans, considering he had always been in the business for the
fans and the short amount of time that he had been out of the ring
seemed like forever to him.
Jesse made
his way to the ring interacting with the fans as much as he could before
rolling into and asking for a microphone from one the crew members at
ringside. Jesse tried bringing the microphone to his mouth, but was
quickly cut off by the fans with heavy amounts of cheering; bringing the
microphone back down to his side a smile emerged on Jesse’s face, then
he looked back up tossing his hair out of his face and brought the
microphone back to his mouth.
“All-Start
Championship Wrestling!” The fans once again went nuts as Jesse
positioned himself in the ring planting his feet apart and really
getting into his emotions, “The Attitude has arrived!”
With only
a few words Jesse literally had everyone in the arena standing on their
feet and cheering for him with all of their might. The twelve-year
wrestling veteran could honestly be considered one of the most favored
in the business and he loved eating that up because he loved the fans
just as much as they loved him. Jesse smiled once again and laughed a
bit at the commotion that he had caused.
“Seriously
though,” Jesse’s smile dimmed down a bit, but was still evident as
he stood in the middle of the ring and the fans began to quiet down to
hear what he had to say, “it is honestly great to be back in a
wrestling ring after a month of doing nothing!”
Jesse
began to pace a bit, “I’m not going to go into detail as to where
I’ve been over the previous month, because you all know the story
behind my stay in Action! Wrestling,” the fans went into an uproar of
cheering for the name of the famed wrestling promotion being mentioned,
“and as short as that stay was, it was awesome to say the least
because it gave me my drive back! To give me the drive to come back into
this ring,” Jesse began pointing his finger to the mats and getting
excited again, “and to give you fans just what you want! ‘Mr.
Action!’ himself doing what he does best! Entertaining the world with
my ability and that’s what I’m here in ACW for! To give back to you
what was so wrongly taken from you to begin with!”
The fans
continued their uproar as a tear was seen forming in Jesse’s eye
because of how much he had missed just being able to connect with the
fans and finally his time had come for that. Not having to worry about
all of the cameras surrounding him and the fear of having to do things a
certain way just because he was on national television. ACW was his new
home now and things were going to be different here! Things were going
to be much different.
Jesse
brushed the tear from his eye before anyone could catch what was going
on and he brought the microphone back to his mouth once again, but was
cut off...
...and
three drum smacks later, the sound “Valkyrie is Dying” by The
Fucking Champs was playing over the PA system.
Jesse
lowered his microphone, smiled, and watched the entrance ramp to see
just who might be making their presence felt in the small arena now.
The wait
wasn't long, as the silhouette of dark figure stepped onto the ramped
and into the light.
It was CJ
Trenton.
He had a
smug smile on his face, and seemed to be acknowledging his interruption
of Ramey. He waved off his music and looked around. The fans were
beginning to boo as he put the mic that was in his right hand to his
lips, but he reassured him of his intents.
"Whoa,
whoa, whoa... first of all. I just gotta say. Damn it feels good to be
in Houston, Texas tonight!"
This
garnered a small crowd reaction, and he slowly began to win back the
fan's favor. He smiled as Jesse Ramey stared as the young rookie on the
ramp, puzzled but calm.
"First
of all let me apologize Jesse, as I didn't mean to interrupt your speech
in the slightest. In fact, I have the utmost respect for you, and a
wrestler of your caliber. God knows you've been in this business long
enough to gain the respect of nearly everyone in the back - including
myself."
Jesse nods
in the ring, approvingly, as CJ began to slowly make his way down the
ramp.
"But
I'll be blunt with you - I think I could take you, bro."
CJ began
to grin large as the arena responded in mixed signals. Jesse cocked as
eyebrow and seemed to have a subtle smirk upon his face. CJ continued
his course to the side of the ring, and then began to climb the stairs,
before stepping into the ring itself.
And there
he stood, mic in hand, in front of Jesse Ramey. The two casually
exchanged glares. Jesse slowly put his mic to his mouth, and responded
coolly to CJ's statement.
"Oh,
really?"
CJ eased
out a hand in front of him.
"Keep
in mind, Jesse, that I'm not saying that to be cocky or arrogant. I'm
saying that because I think that it would be interesting to find out who
could win over whom in the battle of new upstart versus old veteran; the
wet-behind-the-ears novice versus the wise old owl."
CJ paused
momentarily, letting his words sink in.
"So I
guess what I'm getting at is this. Tonight is the first night in ACW's
rebirth - and what better way to begin this rebirth, than with a blockbuster
match?"
The arena
began to buzz at this, and Jesse had long caught on by now. He nodded
slowly, before looking out into the fans - because ultimately, they were
the real grand jury. And what he saw, were fans that did want to
see a blockbuster, that did want to see the battle.
So Jesse
Ramey smiled again, and looked at CJ.
"CJ
Trenton, may I ask what exactly are you asking?"
Trenton
paused, scratched his cheek, and got closer to Ramey, mere inches from
his face.
"I'm
asking you this: how would you like to go one-on-one with me, right
here, right now, in Houston, Texas?"
The crowd
roared. They wanted to see it, and they wanted to see it bad. Ramey had
only one thing to say.
"Ring
the bell."
Grudge
Match It was on.
CJ Trenton near one
corner, Jesse Ramey near the other. They both began to circle, like
vultures diving for the kill, feeling out the surroundings. After a
tense moment, they both lunged forward, a vicious collar-and-elbow tie-up
connecting them. After a struggle, they both retracted.
And they both smiled.
The crowd began to get
into it and they both went at it again, another tie-up, with Ramey
winning the strength battle this time. He went from the tie-up to a front
facelock, wrenching on CJ's neck. The clever CJ slipped around back,
however, and appeared to be going for a German Suplex.
No dice.
He leveraged Ramey
upward, but the seasoned veteran counted in mid-air, grabbing a tuft of
CJ's hair and slamming him back down into the mat with a Bulldog. Ramey
went for the quick cover.
ONE.
TWO.
Kickout!
Trenton hadn't had
enough, and Jesse was more than willing to test how much he could.
He picked him up by the hair and tossed him into the adjacent ringpost.
A barrage of punches ensued, some of which the rookie managed to block.
Jesse continued to soften him up with some knife-edged chops.
SMACK.
WOO!
SMACK.
WOO!
SMACK.
WOO!
The arena echoed their
homage to the Nature Boy as large red whelps formed on CJ's chest. He
pain-fully staggered forward, his chin meeting up-close with Ramey's
fist. With CJ on the mat yet again, Ramey dropped an elbow and hooked a
leg.
ONE.
TWO.
Kickout!
Ramey showed no mercy
on CJ's as he gave him mounted punches to the head, his brutal assault
taking a toll on the young rookie. CJ was out, so Ramey decided to catch
his wind, and shouted out the fans. They shouted back, in approval.
But with a surprising
momentum, CJ took advantage with a quick School Boy rollup.
ONE.
TWO.
THR- NO!
Ramey narrowly avoided
the loss, and wasn't too pleased with CJ's pin attempt. He blitzed him,
sending a shoulder his way, but CJ was gaining his ground, and planted
him with a drop-toe hold. He glided over and grabbed Ramey's head,
arching him back in a wicked Dragon Sleeper.
Ramey was in a bad was,
and the crowd began to support him.
JE-SSE!! Their cheers revived
him. He managed to wriggle free and was quickly back to his feet. He
speared CJ, grabbing him by a leg and turning him over.
THE ATTITUDE
ADJUSTMENT.
...Well, almost. CJ
apparently knew of Ramey's deadly submission and quickly scrambled for
the ropes. The referee called off Ramey and the two went at it once
more.
They traded punches,
sluggish at first, but gaining momentum.
Punch.
Counter-punch.
Punch.
Counter-punch.
Punch.
The two held firm, but
ultimately CJ got the better of this exchange, finishing it with a
headlock and subsequent DDT to the mat. CJ leaped over onto the nearby
ringpost.
He was going for
something big.
I M P A C T R E S O
N A N C E
The room was nearly
GONE as CJ landed right on the mark with his no-look moonsault! Already
in position the ref slid in for the cover.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!!
And then the slow
realization that Jesse's foot was on the bottom rope sunk in. The
arena responded in a mixed uproar, and CJ himself couldn't believe it.
Nevertheless, he slowly
picked up Ramey and decided it was time to climax. He hooked a leg, then
Ramey's head...
TIME & MOTION
But Ramey wasn't having
it, and exploded upon CJ with furious rights out of nowhere. Left.
Right. Left. Right. The crowd exploded as he leapt backwards to the ropes
and - like a ROCKET - demolished CJ with a clothesline.
It was now Ramey who
was eyeing the top turnbuckle. He motioned to the fans by pointing to
it, to which they voiced their approval. He went up top and prepared for
something big... he jumped up...
Touching the Sky!!!
WHAM.
...Shit.
CJ moving + Jesse's
Split-Legged Moonsault = Splat.
The crowd went wild as
CJ moved out of the way, just in time. Ramey gambled and it didn't pay
off in the slightest; landing on his face in the middle of the ring.
It was now time for CJ
to capitalize if he wanted to win against the veteran in the impromptu
bout. He slowly crawled towards the ropes and dragged himself up. He
looked out into the crowd.
C-J TRENT-ON!! He couldn't believe
they were cheering for him. He pushed forward, with the crowd
behind him, and waited for Ramey to slowly get up...
And walk right into...
Boot to the gut.
NO!
Ramey catches it...
NO!
CJ with the Inzuguri!
NO!!!
RAMEY WITH THE ANKLE!!
HE TORQUES THE LEG!!! ATTITUDE ADJUSTMENT!!!
The crowd ROARED as CJ
screamed in pain, Jesse wrenching WAY back in his patented Boston Crab.
CJ was in trouble, in the middle of the ring.
Ramey smelled victory,
he could taste it.
Likewise, CJ could
taste defeat. A taste so bitter, so horrible, he pressed forward.
He reached out to the
ropes. He reached with his every being... he was mere inches from the
ropes... he dove...
Crowd pop.
Trenton SOMEHOW managed
to get to the ropes!! Ramey hesitantly let go, half in shock. He took
CJ by the head and flung him backwards in a wicked Irish Whip, but CJ
had other intentions.
On his return, he
literally DOVE at Jesse, front flipping forward into a lariat. But Jesse
side-stepped the maneuver, and CJ FLEW out of the ring.
CRASH.
YOU-FUCKED-UP!! The crowd began
shouting at CJ, whom lay motionless on the ringside barrier he collided
with. Ramey slowly made his way outside and stood on the ring apron.
MR. ACTION!!
EXTREME MEASURES!!!
INCREDIBLE SPINNING HEEL KICK FROM THE APRON!!
HOLY-SHIT!! Trenton is COMPLETELY
out of it, as Ramey recovered, dragging him back into the ring. CJ's
body was lifeless, as Ramey made the cover.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE-- NO!! CJ SOMEHOW
KICKS OUT!!
The West Virginia
native was shocked at Trenton's temerity and heart. He was a tough
bastard, no doubt, but could he really defeat such a veteran such as
himself? It looked bleak.
Jesse didn't stop the
assault, and continued to pound CJ into the ground. He locked CJ's head
and went for the HANGTIME...
BUT CJ REVERSES!
NORTHERN LIGHTS SUPLEX OUT OF FUCKIN' NOWHERE!!!
ONE!
TWO!!
THREE!!!
NO!! RAMEY KICKED OUT!!
THE ARENA IS GOING APESHIT!!
The two men lay spent,
while the arena cheered. Neither stirred for many moments, but
eventually Trenton made his way up. He ushered back his hair and picked
up Ramey. He whipped him into the ropes, but Ramey telegraphed it and
leap-frogged him. Off the ropes was Ramey, but CJ grabbed him by the
head and sent him flying.
Ramey crashed forward
into a nearby cornerpost, his headed eating turnbuckle. He stumbled
backwards.
SMACK!!!
SUPERKICK BY TRENTON!!
HE TOOK RAMEY'S FUCKIN' HEAD OFF!! NOW HE COVERS!!
ONE!
TWO!!
THREE!!!
...
HE DID IT!! HOLY SHIT
THE ARENA IS BALLISTIC!! CJ TRENTON JUST GOT THE BIGGEST WIN OF HIS CAREER!!
CJ Trenton lay back on
the mat, completely oblivious to his lucky win. He slowly got up to the
cheering arena and the bright lights around him. The ref raised his arm
in victory and he looked at the fans that cheered his name.
But his name wasn't the
only one that was cheered.
Jesse Ramey was slowly
making his recovery, and the thought of his fresh loss was now set in.
The arena began quietly
buzzing as the two men stood, staring at each other. Trenton had a
looked of exhaustion and euphoria; Ramey, a look of anger and
frustration.
CJ had challenged him
to a bout, said he could take him. And he did. The rookie got a lucky
shot on the old pro.
Ramey stared holes
into Trenton. Ramey balled his hand, into a fist and he lifted it,
appearing to strike.
...But he only smiled.
A look that confused CJ. Ramey smiled and extended that hand, as if to
say 'You did good, kid.'. Trenton caught on, but he didn't except
the handshake.
No.
He accepted a full-on embrace.
It was a poignant moment as the arena clapped in approval, and two
opponent's shared a moment of pure respect.
All to kick off the
second-coming of ACW.
What a rebirth this was
going to be.
WINNER
: CJ Trenton
THE
FOLLOWING SEGMENT WAS NOT
AIRED
KNOCK William Laguna looked
up from the mountain of paperwork he was rifling through and stole a
glance at the door, half-expecting the person who'd just knocked on it
to come right in. A few seconds passed, and nothing happened. Laguna
smiled, admiring the courtesy of the person on the other end of the
door.
Almost rarely do you
see that kind of courtesy in professional wrestling.
"Come in, my good
man. Or woman." Laguna replied, slapping his head as soon as the
words came out of his mouth. The door swung open, and in walked a
confident young man, restarting his career in ACW, after ending the
previous run dubbed as the Rising Star of the company.
The quintessential
modern-day athlete, some call him.
QUINTON MAY was
his name.
"Quinton!"
Laguna shrieked, getting up from his seat and extending his hand to
Quincy Mama. The Canadian Gladiator nodded back at Laguna and shook his
hand, before the two men set themselves down on their respective seats.
Quinton chose to lean back, getting comfortable, watching as Laguna
cleared up his table.
This was certainly a
refreshing change, Quinton thought to himself.
Grinning widely now,
Laguna put the palms of his hands together, looking May directly in the
eyes. Laguna had been told of what Quinton had done in the previous
installment of the company, and was definitely impressed. From a
goofball with some promise, Quincy Mama catapulted himself to the
heights of popularity and improved his all-round in-ring game to
frightening levels.
The man could flat-out
brawl, attack you in submission-mode, or simply run circles around you.
William respected that kind of ability in a person that barely had
experience in the industry, and as such, thought highly of Quinton.
"So, Quinton, it's
definitely good to have you back here in the ACW. You worked very hard
for the company last year, no question about it, and you were one of
four people I wanted to bring back. I can't tell you -- and this is no
joke -- how proud I am to have you on my roster. Truly, you did great
things last year."
Quinton reddened a bit.
He wasn't overly used to flattery, but he could sense that Laguna was
being honest.
Clearing his throat,
Quinton responded: "Well, thank you very much, Mr Laguna. And I'm
honoured to be back here, ACW was my one and only home last year. I've
had my share of good times and bad times, but it was an experience I'd
never want to forget. And for me to have another shot to do all that I
can for a company with such history...
... it makes ME proud,
Mr Laguna, to be back here."
Laguna nodded his head
and stroked his goatee. He liked Quinton already.
May wasn't planning to
let the formalities stretch on any longer, however. "The reason
I've come to you, as you might have guessed, is to find out what exactly
do you have planned for me. I'd like to very much get back in the game
-- getting down to business is my top priority, since EYE doesn't look
like it might pan out. I do realise that the way things are now are
slightly different than last year.
And excuse me if I
don't take a stroll down memory lane, I'm not up for that right
now."
William raised his
right hand up, as if to indicate that he understood Quincy loud and
clear, before deciding to lean back. He admired Quinton May's desire to
get back into the ring and get back to what he was doing for the company
last year. But, everybody knew of the tribulations the Canadian
Gladiator had to endure.
All chalked down to a
man called, VINCENT soddin' PEMBRIDGE.
Laguna had no intention
to even bring up Vincent Pembridge, but he was completely aware of the
impact the latter had on Quinton's life. As such, Laguna had to think
carefully about what to do with Quinton, and in what role would he want
the Canadian Gladiator to play in this new incarnation of the
organisation.
"I'm going to cut
to the chase here, Quinton..." Laguna started, making sure to
choose his words carefully, "... I've got big plans for you. At the
end of last year, you were holding two titles here in the ACW. And you
projected yourself to be a man that would take on all comers. I liked
that especially about you. So, here's what I had in store.
I wish to bestow the
Scorpion Fighting and Television Titles on you again. You certainly
earned both championships last year, and I know you lost the former at
the... Tribute Show last year. Which is why I'm inclined to set up a
match for the Scorpion Fighting Title tonight, against another upstart
-- Devin Bastian.
And in my bid to make
things exciting, just for the sake of promoting a more
wrestling-oriented product for our first show, the rules for this 'new'
Scorpion Fighting Title will be slightly altered. You'll find out more
later on, if you're in agreeance with all of this. The TV Title,
however, is yours again. You did great things with it last year, and you
absolutely deserve to have it again."
Quinton kept a
straight-face, digesting the news.
Not that he was adverse
to it. Not completely, at least. But, it just appeared as if he'd be
given success on a platter, and it just wasn't his style. Quincy had to
work for everything in his life, and he'd never forget it. He may have
forgotten a lot of events in his life, but slogging away for success
wasn't one of them.
Plus, he wasn't keen
for the Scorpion Fighting Title. He wasn't keen on carrying it around
last year, and he wasn't too hot on having the chance to compete for it
again. Nevertheless, as he bit his lower lip and thought things through
in his head, a little voice told him to consider the possibilities.
"Alright."
Quinton suddenly spoke up, breaking the awkward silence. Laguna grinned,
but it was Quincy's turn to hold his hand up, indicating there was more
he wished to lay down on the table.
"I'm fine with the
Scorpion Fighting Title, and I'm eager to find out what new elements
you've added to the rules governing that championship. I only defended
it once last year, though, and that was against... Keegan, heh, at the
Tribute Show. I'm sure you know that my feelings for that title aren't
any secret, but, alright. I'll do it for ACW. But, as far as the
Television Title is concerned... I don't want it given to me.
I want to slog my
ass of for it, and rightfully claim it back."
Laguna stroked his
goatee again, remaining tight-lipped.
To say that he was
impressed and in awe of Quinton's raw genuinely was an understatement.
All the stories he'd heard about May paled in comparison to a meeting
with the man himself. A man that, most knew, had led a very difficult
life. A man that had to battle an enemy with hidden agendas for the
better part of last summer. An enemy that resorted to every trick in the
damn book to weaken May -- even murder. And, of course, the infamous
bomb blast.
Yet, despite all of
that struggling, Quinton wanted to struggle even more.
"Anybody in mind
for a challenger?" Laguna asked.
Quincy shook his head
and shrugged, scratching at the stubble on his chin, reflective of not
having shaved for the past couple of days. Laguna reached out for his
roster file and scanned the list, but then decided that he'd let Quinton
make that decision.
After all, if May
wanted to fight for it, he should have the chance to handpick his
opponent. Only fair, William thought.
"Ah, okay. Well,
I'll meet up with you after the show to discuss more about that. But,
I'm agreeing with you. We should have a match for the TV Title, pitting
you against someone else. I like your idea of fair play, Quinton, I
really do. This will be exactly what Charlie wanted, and I'm impressed
with your forward thinking.
I think we're going to
have a very good working relationship, Quinton."
May smiled. This really
was so much better than the way the ownership scene was last year.
Chaotic and unruly behaviour, coupled with mass confusion, didn't really
appeal to the Canadian Gladiator. It was one of the cons Quincy had
weighed when deciding whether to return.
Looking at William
Laguna now, Quinton was suddenly relieved he made the right call.
The right decision.
"I feel the same
way, Mr Laguna."
And so, a friendship of
sorts had been forged. And the real discussion started to commence.
Bright future for ACW,
with Laguna at the helm?
Looks like it.
Marshall & the Mammoth's Hell.
lead
me around ''A
Violent Reaction'' by American Head Charge burst over the P.A system,
causing the fans to stir to their feet and aim their gazes toward the
entrance.
Cue the
smoke.
A cloud of
smoke began to filter around the entrance as one massive figure appeared
with his arms extended to the sides fully. And then, another pair of
arms extended from his abdomen, causing some confusion with the fans.
WTF?
They,
being the fans, weren't sure what to make of this creature in the smoke
on stage. Surely there was not a man with four arms on the ACW roster,
let alone in the entirety of the whole bloody universe?
you
won't see what i've become you
won't see what i've become Like
aspirin in water, the smoke slowly dissolved into the air, revealing a
man clearly under 6 foot standing in front of a man clearly 7 foot tall.
They both had their arms extended out to the sides as they stood there.
Nicely
choreographed yet simple entrance for the entertainment of fans and
marks alike.
They
slowly looked around the arena stereotypically, eyeing off each and
every fan in attendance, as we'd have you believe.
a
violent reaction a
violent reaction They were Marshall
and the Mammoth, formerly known to the wrestling universe as Action!
League; Captain Obvious and the John.
The duo
began to move down toward the ring. They were clearly not the same men
that had appeared before the world in A!. They were reborn into serious
wrestling threats from their farcical Boring
clothing description loading...
Marshall,
formerly Captain Obvious, wore a pair of wrestling tights with a red
brick print on them and ''Marshall'' sprayed down the left leg in a
black graffiti font and black boots finished off his lower half. He wore
a generic black ACW muscle shirt and had his wrists bound with white
tape. A red sweat band kept his long black hair out of his eyes as he
stormed with clenched fists toward the ring.
Meanwhile,
the Mammoth, formerly the John, looked very strange without his pink
bodysuit he was so famous for. Now, he wore a black Olympic style
wrestling costume with a blue mammoth head on the front. Tattooed up his
forearm were blue flames which seemed to disappear beneath a black elbow
pad on each elbow. Black kneepads and blue boots topped off his outfit.
Out fit
description loaded.
These were
two completely different men and the world just stared with gaping jaws
and drool running off their chins onto their bibs.
Each man
entered the ring in his own special and unique stereotypical size way.
Marshall
slipped under the bottom rope.
Mammoth
stepped over the top rope.
Nice, no?
Marshall
snatched a mike as the fans showed their adoration in the form of
cheers. They knew who they were. They'd heard that they'd signed with
ACW. Now there was truth to what their ears had heard. They recognised
them with or without their old costumes.
Marshall
circled around the Mammoth, who stood in the centre of the ring with his
arms menacingly folded, before pulling the mike to an audible level.
''We. Are.
Marshall. And. The. Mammoth!'' he roared into the mike.
Cue
pop.
''Finally
we have arrived here in All-Star Championship Wrestling and we're
dressed for success, gang. And ladies, fuck me if I'm wrong, but we're
the best dressed wrestlers in all of A-C-Dub!'' he explained to the
fans.
They
cheered as Marshall nodded and made his way over to the monster in the
centre of the ring. He patted him on the back.
''Together,
Marshall and the Mammoth are going to take ACW by storm and snatch the
gold, glory and did I mention the gold?''
The fans
popped once more.
''I
thought I did... but just like Lance Storm... I'm gonna be serious for a
minute. For four long years Mammoth and I have been starved. Starved of
tasting success and we're hungry. We're so damn hungry. I could eat a
horse, what about you?'' he asked Mammoth.
Cue
silent monster.
Mammoth
just stared out over the fans silently.
Marshall
stared for a moment, waiting for a reaction the monster, who just
remained silent. The fans chuckled a little at the cold response from
Mammoth.
He
nervously laughed as he returned his attention to the adoring in the
crowd.
''Ooooo....
K then. I'm gonna take that as a 'yes'. *Ahem* Well... like I was
saying, we're starving for success and now it is time for us to feast.
To taste success and continue to eat from it's table until we can eat no
more. Eat from it until our belly's burst intestinal juices and
undigested success all over the wrestling community.
''It's
time to make a change. It's time that we were taken as legitimate
threats to title belts and we're not just here for shits and giggles.
We're here to take ACW by the throat and choke it until it can't take
any more, then we'll resuscitate it and choke it again!''
Cue
pop.
Marshall
pretended to choke something quite strenuously. Mammoth remained silent
and motionless... except for his piercing eyes that floated over the
heads of the fans trying to send a shiver up their spines.
Some where
shivering but that was probably due to the large empty arena and it
being winter and all.
Marshall
returned from his ''choking of ACW'' to pull the mike back to his lips.
''Minute
is over.''
He pushed
the mike into the chest of Mammoth. It remained there for a moment with
Marshall waiting for him to take the mike from him.
Slowly...
scary-like... stereotypical monsterly... Mammoth took the mike from
Marshall.
But what
happened next didn't go according to plan...
Cue
chant.
The fans
began a chant, one which was not expected by either superstar, and took
them by surprise all the same. The looks on their faces was enough to
tell you that...
a) it was
unexpected.
b) it was
unwanted.
And c) it
pissed them off.
Chant? ''AC-TION!
LEAGUE!''
''AC-TION!
LEAGUE!''
''AC-TION!
LEAGUE!''
''AC-TION!
LEAGUE!''
'They
can shut the fuck up now,' thought Mammoth as he held the mike,
preparing to speak.
But the
chant grew louder until the whole arena chanted it.
The duo
just remained silent.
They were
taken by surprise, this was not on the cards and the fact of the matter
remains... they did not know how to deal with it.
Mammoth
ended the situation...
''Action!
League is dead. Long live Marshall and the Mammoth. Cue the fucking
music.''
Music
cued.
lead
me around They
exited the ring.
They
walked up the ramp.
They
headed out the back.
Out of
sight... out of mind.
Tainted
Beginnings
It was the beginning of the second installment. It was back. ACW had been revived.
Cocky
Lancett leaned against the cool close wall, which glimmered the ceiling lights off its shiny base, where he looked at the scratch on his lower abdomen where SilverHAWK left his mark from his fingernail grazing, taking some skin off his tan abdomen. Lancett did not like his first day on the job and he was already getting sick of the camera in his business all the time.
Should Have Talked About The Weather
"I can't believe I'm going to be late." An average sized man said as he rushed down the crowded hallways.
Volker
Baldwin?
Everything went black
as the night. There was no noise all was silent. Then all of the sudden
the speakers blared "Deutschland Uber Alles" as the lights
came back on. A man appeared out on the top of the ramp way. He looked
at the crowd with a look of disgust on his face. He then began to walk
towards the ring slowly.
He stopped half way
down the ramp and cracked his neck to the left side. He looked all
around at the crowd again and the look of disgust grew. He shook his
head in disapproval of the crowd. Volker continued to make his way to
the ring at an extremely slow pace.
When he arrived at the
ring he walked towards the steps and began to climb them slowly. He
moved his Body threw the middle of the ropes and made his way to the
center of the ring. Then threw his hands up in the air. The crowd gave
no reaction what so ever. The man made his to the back of the ring and
called out for a MIC. He paced his way back into the center of the ring.
Then looked down at the
ground and placed the MIC to his mouth. He then looked back up at the
crowd as he said, “Volker Baldwin.” The whole crowd looked to be
puzzled as the man stood in the ring. He just looked at the crowd almost
as if he was in a trance.
A smile slowly began to
grow on his face as he said, “When I hear that name I think of victory
and all that is good in the world. I think of Greatness. I think of the
best. I think of perfection and I am sure that you will agree with me
once you find out what I am talking about.”
Everyone in the crowd
had a look on their faces like the man that was speaking to all of them
was nuts. No ones eyes were anywhere but on him. They all were looking
in astonishment as he stood there, waiting for his next words. He looked
up in the lights on the top of the arena for a few seconds.
He then looked down at
the mat and laughed. When he was laughing he began to speak, “Volker
Baldwin is my name, and I come all the way from Germany to teach you
dirty rotten, cheeseburger eating, fat ass Americans how to truly
wrestle!”
The whole crowd booed
loudly. There was no stopping them. Volker began to become annoyed with
them. He slowly glanced at the crowd and turned around. Volker began to
turn his head side to side as he screamed, “Geschlossen, wissen Sie
nicht, wem Ihre Unterhaltung mit, ich Sie alle töten kann!”
Volker made his way to
the ropes and exited the ring. While Volker was making his way up the
ramp the crowds boos grew louder. He was having a great deal of trouble
ignoring them. When he reached the top of the ramp he looked at the
crowd and shook his head in disgust once again.
Volker realized that he
still had the MIC in his hand. He looked at it for a few seconds and
then smashed it off the ground. Volker turned around and walked out of
sight.
w
a t c h e r
No
Ladder Too Far
Ah,
welcome back to
Quinton May's
adventure for the
night.
Fresh
from a closed-doors
meeting with William
Laguna, Quinton May
was strolling around
backstage, a while
away from his match
with Devin Bastian.
That's right, the
Canadian Gladiator --
officially back in
this, the second
coming of ACW -- was
to square off with
Bastian. It wasn't any
regular match, though.
The solemn half-frown
on his face indicated
that this match was to
be for something
'special'.
It
would be for the
Scorpion Fighting
Title.
Remembering
what Laguna had told
him regarding his
match later on,
Quinton May came
across a notice board.
And on it, the roster
for the second coming
of ACW was posted.
Naturally, this got
Quincy's attention.
Running a hand through
his hair, he inched
closer to the notice
board and took a
gander at the roster
list.
"Bantam
Diablo. Sounds hoakey.
Hmm, Geo Vacton's back
as well!" he
muttered to himself,
as his eyes scanned
the list.
But,
as he finished
examining the list and
turned around to head
to his locker-room, he
found that his path
was blocked by
someone. Not by an
official -- Quinton
had many an official
stop him and welcome
him back on the night.
No, the man standing
in front of Quincy
looked like... well,
one of the wrestlers.
In
actual fact, PHIL
ATKEN was a very
famous competitor in
the industry.
"You
may not be aware of
it... err, Quinton,
was it? What kind of
name is Quinton? From
now on, I shall call
you Cunt Face.
So,
Cunt Face, you may not
be aware of it, but
you are in the
esteemed presence of a
very sexy man, and a
World Champion. I
know, I know -- you
probably find it hard
to imagine that
someone as great as
me, Phil Atken, would
spend my time talking
to mid-carders like
yourself but I was
once like you.
Well,
maybe not quite like
YOU but I was a
mid-carder; keep at
it, though Cunt Face,
you’ll make the big
leagues soon!"
May's
right eyebrow was
raised, and he fought
the urge to chuckle.
Now Quinton could put
a name to a familiar
face, and all the
tidbits he'd heard
about the former
thReat competitor came
rushing back to him.
Bouncing
his neck from one
shoulder to the other,
Quinton replied:
"Oh yeah, I know
you. I've seen you
around. Backstage,
during the few thReat
events I attended.
Troy Mason also talked
to me about you. I
think he called you
'the biggest sodding
cunt in America', but,
I could be wrong; it's
been a long
time."
Atken
frowned. It did
sound like what Troy
Mason, former owner of
thReat -- where Atken
used to ply his trade
in -- would say about
the self-proclaimed
Entertainment Saviour.
Looking back at
Quincy, smiling
smugly, Phil had the
hankering to pop a cap
in bitch ass.
...
In that way, too, mind
you.
"While
that’s all very
humorous, Cunt Face,
Troy Mason was a moron
and if I’m being
honest -- Mason NEEDED
me. I mean, I was the
guy keeping his
fucking company
afloat. Hell, I
actually made that
damn Cruiserweight
Title of his the
fucking MAIN title in
that damn place.
As
soon as I got off that
sinking ship, I yet
again became the top
man in another company
-- that being Carnage,
but no one really
cares about that.
Instead, they were all
wanking over some
Horse's Knee. After
that, I went over to
Action! Wrestling.
And, guess what?
TOP
FUCKING MAN, BITCH. I
WAS GIVEN THE
WORLD TITLE! Hell, I
still have the title
right here to prove
that one. You, of
course, may look
but... no touchy. You
are the almighty Cunt
Face, after all.
You'll probably cause
the baby to erode or
something with your
super special
powers."
Quinton
May sniggered. Phil
sounded like an
absolute jackass to
him, and the Rising
Star had more
important business to
tend to. No way he was
going to stand around
and listen to Atken
rant. Especially since
he figured Atken must
have forgotten to take
his medication or
something.
As
Quincy tried to brush
past the former A!
World Champion,
however, he found
Atken grabbing his
arm. Hell, he found
Phil pulling him back
to where he was,
almost as if Phil was
trying to assert and
impose his status on
Quincy Mama. Quinton
glared back at Phil menacingly, somewhat
impressed that Phil
actually had the
cahonies to do what he
just did.
The
stories Quincy had
heard about the
Entertainment Saviour...
suggested Atken had
none to begin with.
On
the other hand, May
was bloody pissed by
now, but he kept his
cool, assuming that
Phil had more rubbish
to impart to the
former TV &
Scorpion Fighting
Champion.
"I
tell you what, Mr
Atken." May
suddenly started as an
idea cropped up in his
mind, interrupting
Phil Atken who was just
going to embark on one
of his rants again.
"I was just
talking to Laguna, who
must have been really
stoned to have hired
you, now that I think
about it. ANYWAYS, he
told me that he wanted
to present me with the
Television
Championship that I
used to brandish, but
I turned it down.
Insisted that I wanted
to earn it back, by
fighting for it. Told
him to select a worthy
challenger.
You
might be just
the chap I had in
mind. So, what say
you? Next week, you
and I, we dance in
front of the world and
do battle for the
Television Title?
It'll give you a
chance to prove to
Troy Mason that you're
better than him. I
mean, look at him now
-- out of a job,
having lost thousands
of dollars on thReat
due to that
commissioner they had.
Would
be pretty sweet,
aye?"
Phil
Atken's eyes sparkled
with anticipation.
Then, he snorted.
He
didn't think it was
sweet. Actually, he
did. Very fucking
sweet, but he wasn't
going to show it to
Quinton, and have the
'Cunt Face' gloat
about being able to
read Phil's mind. Oh,
no, the former cWo
competitor had other
plans in mind.
"Pretty
sweet? To fight for a
mid-card title? HELL
NO! I’M A FUCKING
COMPANY MAKER. I AM
THE FUCKING MAN. That
cunt Mason knows that
he needed me but I
sure as hell didn’t
need him. Buuut, you
have been a
disrespectful little
prick so I might as
well take away
something from you in,
let us see… A LADDER
MATCH!" Atken
spat out, feeling
proud of himself.
Quincy
rolled his eyes,
incredulous at Atken's
lame attempt to mask
his feelings.
"I'm
down with that. No
ladder too far for me,
mate!" Quincy
shot back quickly,
squinting at Atken,
who rubbed his hands
gleefully. The chance
to add another faggot
to the list of people
he would humiliate
appealed to him
greatly.
And,
Phil was sure
that the chicks would
dig it.
Okay,
then. That's settled!
Now. off you go to
tell all your friends
-- if you have any --
that you just met the
great Phil Atken, and
that his boot with be
meeting your face at a
very fast speed next
week. Ta!" Atken
squealed before
dashing off, having no
reason to stay about
any longer.
Quinton
frowned, agitated that
he wasn't able to get
the last word in, but
he simply shook his
head and walked off.
First night back at
ACW, and already, the
twats were invading
the place by the
busloads.
The
bottomline was --
Next
week, Quinton May
versus Phil Atken.
Ladder Match. ACW
Television Title.
Smell
the ratings, baby.
Grudge
Match The arena was awaiting the next man to enter the curtains as they where loving the returning event of ACW. The new roster members where meeting their expectations and wants. More heels where getting booed and more faces where getting cheers, the night was a success and the boos ranted once again. “Perfect Strangers” started over the arena as the fans left their seats to boo this out coming member of ACW. Only time will tell! WINNER
: Lancett
THE
FOLLOWING SEGMENT WAS NOT
AIRED
"Come in!"
William Laguna announced, in response to the knocking on his office
door.
Standing up, a wave of
confusion formed on Laguna's face, as a lovely young lady with ethereal
hair stepped into the office and cautiously closed the door. Laguna was
perplexed because, to the best of his knowledge, he had not hired any
women lately. Women wrestlers, more specifically; he noticed that the
woman who entered his office had some sort of title belt in her hand,
and simply assumed.
However, he would soon
be proven wrong.
"Hello. My name is
Fejona Min and I'm an Asylum fighter."
Laguna blinked.
Fejona, the Women's
Champion for Asylum, cracked a knowing smile as she completely ignored
Laguna's offer of a handshake and sat down on the chair across the table
from Laguna, crossing her legs -- right over left -- while keeping the
title safe on her lap. Laguna was still somewhat stunned, as he sat back
down, leaned back in his chair and ran his right hand over his head,
continuously obsessed with keeping his ponytail in order.
"Ah, I know. You
had a little run-in with Karen Pembridge a while back, yes?" Laguna
suddenly spoke up, as he and Fejona exchanged steely looks. Almost as if
they were sizing each other up, and trying to get a feel of how the
other's personality really was.
It's all in the eyes.
It's always in
the eyes.
Min somewhat scowled
now, at the mention of her enemy's name. "Yes, Karen Whoreridge.
I'm not here to talk about her, though, Mr Laguna. I'm going to take a
page out of your book and get straight to the point. See, I have had
this fixation with wrestling since I've been getting training in pure
competition and such.
And hence, I'd like to
get some wrestling experience under my belt. Just to, you know, broaden
my horizons."
Laguna started to
stroke his goatee, having his doubts already. Of course, he was also
trying to formulate how the lovely vixen sitting in front of him, who
wished to wrestle in his promotion, could greatly benefit ACW. Laguna
was a believer in giving people chances, but he wondered -- would
Charlie Dunn even approve?
Perhaps, perhaps not.
"That's quite an
interesting proposal there, Ms Min. However, there's just one problem
that crops up. You're a fighter, by trade. ACW is a wrestling company.
And unlike last year, where we had Ethan Winters setting the foundation
such that he didn't really care if people worked matches or actually
went all out, I plan to maintain a safe environment here, while
promoting a good product at the same time." explained Laguna
confidently, leaning forward and placing his hands down on his table.
Fejona nodded,
indicating that she understood.
She continued to smile,
though, which gave William the impression Min had more to say.
"I understand your
concern, Laguna. Very much so. I think, however, that if I offer myself
to lose every match in this short-term contract I wish to draft
out to you, we'll have a wonderful working relationship. And, think of
the publicity -- tA fighter, brash and cocky, loses to mere wrestlers
without much of a struggle." Fejona fired back rapidly, keeping her
cool.
"What do you
think?"
Now, Laguna was beaming
widely, from ear to ear. It really lit up the whole office, too.
He responded: "I'm
loving it. Tell me more."
The Cambodian Femme
Fatale chuckled and pushed strands of her hair out of her face.
"With
pleasure."
Case
Open
Ville Azure's head throbbed as he sat quietly, eyes closed as his index fingers rubbed his temples to try to relieve that aching in the back of his head.
Big
Stars Don’t Wrestle Opening Nights
Magick Man sat in a his
and Geo Vacton’s cramped locker room. It wasn’t much at all, and it
was obvious that it had been shared with several other ACW wrestlers
that night, because many of the items in the room clearly didn’t
belong to Geo or Magick Man. Magick had been going over some stuff on
his laptop computer when Geo slowly entered the room holding a sheet of
paper. Magick looked up at Geo and smirked.
“Sup?” He asked
while Geo continued to scan the sheet of paper he was holding onto.
“Nothin’… But
Magick, what’s up with this…” Geo handed Magick the sheet of
paper. Magick gave it a quick look.
“Up with what? It’s
the card for tonight…” Magick said to Geo as he handed the paper
back to him. “What’s wrong with it?”
Geo gave the paper
another looking before he spoke to Magick Man again. “Well, I ain’t
on it anywhere.”
Magick shrugged.
“Yeah… and?”
“Well, ain’t you
booking me any matches?”
“Of course I am, G,
you got a match set for next week already. But, Geo, you gotta realize
something… Superstars don’t wrestle opening nights, especially not
in this crap hole of an arena.”
“But Magick, you
gotta start some where don’t you… And I mean there’s lots of guys
out there tonight… Big stars. Like, hey, the Action! League is
here.”
“Geo… Those guys
don’t hold a candle to you. You’re the biggest star here.”
Geo shuck his head.
“Magick, I appreciate your confidence in me… But I really don’t
think that’s true.”
Magick shut his lap top
and stood up. “Geo… Don’t you ever sell yourself short! You’re
the biggest star in this Goddamn company and you know that.”
It seemed as though Geo
was getting vexed. “Magick, if I’m the biggest star here, then how
come I ain’t out there main eventing or something?”
Magick stomped his
foot. “’Cos Geo, it’s like I told you. The big stars don’t
wrestle on opening nights! I know how eager you are to get back out
there in front of a crowd, but you gotta be patient. You’ll get your
chance in the ring next week.”
“O.K.” Geo still
didn’t like being referred to as the big star around here. He knew he
had a following, and he knew that he’d still share a connection with
the crowd when he went out there, but he never ever let it go to his
head. He always stayed cool, and he never took it for granted. “Well,
who’m I up against next week then?”
Magick Man sat back
down and opened his laptop. “Uh, some chick named Fejona Min.”
Geo’s eyes widened.
“You mean that Asylum chick?”
Magick shrugged. “Uh,
yeah… Something like that I guess.”
“I didn’t know she
was gonna be in ACW…”
“Well, she is kid…
But it doesn’t matter, cos you’re better than her and you’re gonna
prove it. Hell, you’re better than the entire Asylum roster. Those
crazy sonofbitches couldn’t a hold a candle to you in an actual
wrestling ring.”
Geo smiled, but he was
faking it. It became apparent to Geo that he couldn’t win against
Magick, so he held his feelings inside. It wasn’t that he was afraid
to make Magick Man mad, he just didn’t wanna get him upset… So he
agreed with him. “Yeah, you’re right, Magick. You’re absolutely
right.”
Diamonds
Down the Drain
The cement floor was damp. Coffee had flooded its surface. Near the wetness lay a crushed cell phone, the Verizon logo seemed to be embedded into the concrete it had been stomped so hard.
Back
in Business
The room was dark, gloomy and filled with lots of bubbles. Inside, "Detective" Kraig Carter sat with both his feet propped up on the wooden desk in front of him. He was enjoying life; pipe in his mouth, brand new magnifying glass in his hand, and some new shoes. Not a care in the world. Nothing could go wrong.
Five
Years in a Single Second
Five years ago Alex
Draper would have thought nothing of this situation.
Five years ago the
feeling he got in the gorilla position was what he lived for.
Five years
ago the idea of fans filling a venue to see him would have made him
smile.
Five years ago he would
have walked out as HoMiCyDe and it would have all felt right. Today wasn’t five
years ago, and Alex was no longer HoMiCyDe.
Alex was nervous. For
the past five years he had dreamed of this day; a day that even he could
barely imagine.
He stood; sweat was
pouring down his face. The technician held up his hands to give him the
one minute sign. The sweat burned his eyes, and there was no smile on
his face. This wasn’t five years ago, and this didn’t feel right.
All Alex felt was…
the sensation of vomit
crawling up his esophagus.
He lunged for the
trashcan near him and vomited inside of it. His gut emptied itself of a
grilled chicken sandwich and Gatorade. When that was gone, it emptied
itself of bile.
The technician gave him
the double hands, and began to countdown from ten. Alex wiped at his
mouth with a towel, and then wiped his forehead. Regretting the order of
the wiping, he watched as one hand remained. The thumb disappeared,
followed by the pinky and ring fingers, then the middle.
As the index finger
dropped, Alex heard the familiar words fill the hushed crowd and felt
his stomach drop out.
“Ain’t nothing
workin… ain’t nothing right… there’s a hole in me, that I
can’t fill, no matter how hard I try…”
The adrenaline was
pumping now, and there was no turning back. With a crack of his neck,
his precious neck, Alex stepped from behind the curtain for the first
time in five years…
Grudge
Match “Bartender” by (Hed)
P.E. was heard in the arena, and with a deep breath Alex Draper emerged
from behind the curtain. The hard guitars rocked the arena as Draper
walked down the ramp. The fans cheered, a few smarks in the front row
looked on with their eyes wide, but it all felt different. They
weren’t really cheering for him. They were cheering for Courage. As
Draper slid into the ring and stood up, his music was cut.
A masked man stepped
out as “Thunderstruck” by AC/DC played in the arena. He jumped
around a little, playing up the fans, then started his way down the ramp
as a few fireworks went off behind him. His name was Bantam Diablo, and
as he took a deep breath, he knew that this was where he was supposed to
be.
Alex stared at him from
the ring, watching as he took in the arena. He had a few inches on the
wrestler, but that meant little. Five years was a long time. And Draper
knew better than anyone that even a single second can change anything
and everything. It was going to be a match.
Bantam Diablo stared at
his opponent. He was no rookie to the wrestling ring, but this was a new
challenge. The ACW was his opportunity to prove them all wrong. As the
bell rang, he knew what he had to do. So he did it. He took a step,
threw his fist out, and then began to follow it up.
Draper felt the hard
blow to his chin. Diablo was quick, and after he landed the first punch,
he quickly grabbed Alex and whipped him to the ropes. The ropes were
still tight in the ring, and Draper hit them hard, bruising his ribs.
Still, he somehow he forgot that pain as he felt the bottoms of his
opponent’s boots scrape across his face.
The dropkick took the
fans, and Draper, by surprise. Bantam smiled under his mask as he
quickly got to his feet. Draper was up too, and Diablo was ready, coming
at him with a spinning heel kick. Catching him in the left cheek, Draper
hit the mat, and Bantam rolled, getting back to his feet.
Shaking off the blow,
Alex got to one knee. He saw Diablo charging, and ducked the oncoming
splash. Diablo rolled again, quickly getting to his feet, but it was
Alex’s turn. Sending a hard knee to his stomach, Alex threw down a
quick sidewalk slam. Diablo’s masked head hit the mat, and Alex
smiled. The ring rust was fading, and he was feeling it again, feeling
the wrestling flood his bloodstream.
Diablo was slow to get
up, and was met with a fist from Draper. Turning his head with the blow,
he came back with a punch of his own, but Draper caught it. Cursing,
Diablo felt his arm being wrenched. As the pain seared his arm, he
decided to roll with the blow, and countered the move. Hip tossing
Draper to the mat, he quickly ran off the ropes, and came back with a
sliding dropkick to Draper’s face.
Draper felt the boot
collide with his face, closing his eyes tight in the nick of time. He
opened them to see Diablo over him, grabbing his hair and pulling him to
his feet. The masked wrestler then sent Alex to the corner. Draper hit
the turnbuckle hard, and looked up to see Bantam coming at him. He moved
out of the way, and the masked face of his opponent collided with the
turnbuckle. He smiled to himself, and then grabbed Bantam by the mask,
and threw his head into the turnbuckle again.
Bantam felt the trickle
of blood begin to flow from his nose. It was just a slow drip, nothing
special. Draper’s blows were still somewhat reserved and unsure. As he
felt his head go back again, he caught the hand holding it, and threw a
knee into Draper’s side. Locking up with his opponent, he then climbed
to the second turnbuckle and somehow hit a tornado DDT.
The DDT was unexpected,
and Alex felt his neck crumble on the mat. Needles shot through his
entire body, almost like a psychosomatic reoccurrence of his accident.
Diablo stood up, and started to climb the turnbuckle. Alex’s body
began to sweat, and he felt like something was terribly wrong. As Diablo
took off for an incredible 450 splash, Alex rolled out of the way.
This wasn’t supposed
to happen, Bantam knew that much. As he opened his eyes upon the final
rotation he saw no Draper, and just mat. He made his body go limp, and
crumbled on the mat. This wasn’t supposed to happen.
Alex stood, looking
down at his opponent. This wasn’t supposed to happen; he wasn’t
supposed to make a mistake in his first match. Nervous, he grabbed
Bantam from the mat, and tapped his leg, looking for a response. The
sweat poured down his forehead, stinging his eyes. He locked up with
Diablo, tapping his arm. Still nothing. As he nervously awaited a
response, he never saw the anger in Diablo’s eyes.
Diablo felt the third
tap to his arm, and responded hard with a kick to Draper’s groin, and
then a quick eye gouge. Draper cursed aloud, and Bantam proceeded to
Russian leg sweep him to the ground. Draper hit the mat, and Diablo was
quickly up on the top rope. He knew Draper wouldn’t fuck up again.
Wishing he had worn a
cup, Alex lay on the mat. He heard Diablo stand atop the turnbuckle as
the fans cheered, and then saw the flashes of cameras as Diablo took off
to hit his finisher. Alex flinched as Diablo landed, raising a knee and
hitting Diablo in the ribs.
Bantam felt the flash
of pain as his rib broke, but fought through it. The fans didn’t
notice, and he quickly pinned Draper. The referee counted the pin, and
Bantam had won the match. As the referee raised his arm, he sent an
angered look at his opponent.
Alex rolled out of the
ring, shaken from his performance. This did not look good… not at all. WINNER
: Bantam Diablo
New
Beginnings...New Idiots
This is where it all began.
Respect
Lancett pulled a victory over Phil Atken, other than the fact he cheated he pulled it off and it was a huge ego booster. Jesse Ramey walked up next to Lancett, who was drinking out of the water bottle that has been refilled with water and ice cubs. Two things Lancett wasn’t.
Make
War
The pain in Ville Azure's head had subsided.
Grudge
Match The fans in the small arena were beginning to buzz in anticipation for the next match, they had already seen Jesse Ramey perform once tonight and he didn’t fail them the first time for a good showing. This match could be a little different for both men involved though, considering Jesse was a little winded and Brandon Thomas was one of the cockiest most self-loving men in the business and he didn’t care one bit whether he took Ramey out in this match or not. WINNER
: Jesse Ramey Shootin'
From The Hip
Bantam Diablo weaved between the busy room. A certain buzz was around him after his debut win against Alex Draper.
How the
Past Haunts.
Mammoth
plodded down the halls with his head hanging and his gaze aimed at his
feet. Marshall dawdled along behind him, just watching with a
worried look upon his face.
They'd been a team
since 2002, they'd grown to care for one another and understand what
each other were going through. They were best friends and colleagues and
sometimes friendship gets in the way of business, sometimes it helps all
the same, too.
2003 had been a rough
year for them, trying to make that transition outside of comedy. They
wanted to break free of those stigmas that comedy had brought to show
they could actually wrestle, but low and behold... people weren't
respecting them yet.
But they would. And
they would work hard to get themselves over with the fans.
Action! Wrestling might
have been more trouble than it's worth.
ACW would be their time
to reinvent themselves to the world.
From Action! League to
Marshall & the Mammoth.
THUD!
Something walked in
Mammoth's chest.
Cue suspicious
music.
Mammoth peered down to
the smaller Lancett, well... smaller to him. But larger to
Marshall, who peered up at him as he caught up with him.
Lancett shot him a look
of embarrassed rage, he felt small for walking into Mammoth's chest and
wanted to make something of it.
Until he realised
something...
Remembered, rather.
''You guys where a
pretty damn good team in that... Action! Legacy... League... Legion...
or whatever it was. Me and my beer guzzling friends watched you on every
Pressure Point and had a couple laughs from you guys,'' Lancett
admitted.
Incite rage inside 7
foot monster.
''I'll make you laugh
on the other side of that fucking ugly stretch of skin you call a face,
Rook'!'' Mammoth growled.
He began to walk toward
Lancett, who was being pushed back by the intimidation from the Mammoth.
''You think were funny?
You think were good for a laugh, huh? I bet I could wipe that stupid
look off your face. You all think we're just some big joke, don't ya?
Huh? Well, I've got screaming headlines, Lancett.
''Yeah. I know who you
are. Some hack greenhorn from down Mexico way. Trying to ruffle some
feathers in the big leagues. Well, just be careful which feathers you
ruffle, squirt!'' Mammoth warned.
Lancett tried to front
up. Puffing his chest and clenching his hands into fists to try and put
some fear into Mammoth.
Failing.
Mammoth continued to
come forth, and now the pair were chest-to-face.
''Lend me your ear for
a second, pint size. If you want a laugh, watch recordings of your
matches. If you want a holiday, keep trying to size up for me because I
heard they've got a lovely sweet in ward 14 of the Chicago General
Hospital.
''Fuck. I got a right
mind to tear you a new one right no-''
Marshall interrupted
Mammoth, putting his tiny hands against Mammoth's chest and beginning to
back him up.
''Uh... sorry about
that. No afternoon nap. Heh heh. We're going now, right, Stevey?''
Marshall said to his large partner, continuing to try and heave him
back.
Mammoth pushed Marshall
aside, easily, and pointed at Lancett, menacingly.
Cue plan wrap up.
''The taste in you
mouth doesn't get slapped out today, but you even think the words
'Action! League' again and I'll see to it that you end more
in-fucking-capacitated than Steven Hawking.
''You get it?'' Mammoth
asked.
Lancett remained
silent, trying to keep his grounds.
''You got it,'' Mammoth
answered for him. ''You better have got it.''
Mammoth turned around
and headed off up the hall, Marshall scurrying along to keep up with
him. The pair leaving Lancett still enraged about what just happened
then.
Cue sulking rage.
''First, and last time,
I be nice to anyone. Sheesh... see where niceness gets ya? I get much
more respect than that below the border, just like I do from the fans...
damn trash...
''BOTH OF YOU!'' he
shouted after them down the hall.
He turned and headed in
a separate direction, muttering as he left.
''Damn tag teams
sticking their nose in other people business...''
Slacking
Around Backstage
Oh ho, ho, what’s
this? Well if it isn’t Chris Messiah wandering along aimlessly
backstage, with a swagger in his strut that suggests his underpants are
too tight, he smuggled something up one of his many bodily orifices and
forgot to remove it once he made it passed customs, or he’s just very
pleased with himself. Well, it’s got to be number three, because Chris
doesn’t wear underwear, or do crack, and that’s in more ways than
one, fellas – dream on.
Anyway, Chris was
dandering along through the many corridors backstage in the arena, and
something caught his eye. Well, what do you know, it was Quinton May
standing randomly up against a wall, watching the world go by, just a
short while before his showdown with Bastian.
"Excuse me, young
man, I don’t think you’re allowed backstage here, but if you’ve
got a pen, I’d be delighted to give you an autograph before my debut
match next week."
Chris walked towards
Quinton, who turned his head ever so slightly to emit his reply.
"Eh?"
"You’re a fan,
aren’t you? Who illegally snuck in here looking to meet your hero –
moi."
"What? I’m work
here – Quinton May. Who are you again? Are you a wrestler
here?"
"You’re kidding
right? Oh, good one, a joke..."
"No, I'm not.
Look, am I going to have to do Laguna a favour and give a shout to
security?..."
Quinton stood up from
his leaning position, and looked up and down the corridor for a security
guard. Chris’ joyous expression changed to one of disgust. Quinton
obviously didn't know who he was, which was a shock to Messiah. Even the
cunt known as Sol Campbell knew who he was.
"Listen here,
bozo. I'm Chris 'THE FUTURE' Messiah. I’m the person that’s going to
take this company back to the top, and it all starts next week when I
destroy some tallywhacker. I’m going to take ACW higher than it’s
ever been... and for God’s sake put a shirt on, you’re scaring all
the women away. You’re like Susie in the summertime standing
there."
Now it was Quinton’s
turn to get miffed, and he faced Chris, looking him up in the eye, nose
to... err, chin.
"What? What the
hell did you just call me? Eh? Please, say..."
"...What’s
wrong? Steroids make you deaf? I said..."
"Do not
freaking interrupt me again..."
"..."
Quinton May was getting
intensely exasperated now, and he neither had the desire nor the energy
to drag the war of words on any longer. Messiah seemed like someone who
was indulging himself in the fact that he was a wrestler, and thus,
Quincy had decided to go down a route he'd not been familiar with. Ever.
Never.
Okay, look here,
cockknocker. I was the Rising Star for this company last year. You know
what? Last year, I was ACW..."
"Well, whoopdeedoo
for you."
Messiah looked
unimpressed, and a snort that followed seconds after put weight to that
notion.
"What did I just
tell you?" Quincy asked, realising that maybe his plan had
backfired.
"That last year,
you were~! ACW?"
"No, before that!
Oh, forget it, you cockknocker. Go on, piss away off. I think I remember
you now – I heard you got turned down by Jobbers of Wrestling or
something. Yeah, no wonder you look so freakin' familiar."
Uh oh, bad move by
Quincy.
"Listen here,
Quinton, my friend, I have a vast array of un-lost championship belts at
home on my living room wall. Right next to that photograph when the pope
was meant to meet me, but I let the Queen of England meet me instead.
Yeah. Prince Charles didn’t pass up on an autograph that day, like
some people I’m speaking to right now. Those belts prove that I’m
just as good as you, if not miles better, thank you very much..."
Quinton rolled his
eyes. "Yes, but those belts are worthless if the promotions you won
them in are closed, wouldn’t you agree?"
"Quiet you! Okay
then, smart ass, how about you versus me next week?"
"Didn’t you
already say you already had a match lined up?"
"Yeah, so? I’ll
wrestle twice in one night if I have to, any maybe even a third time.
How about it, Quincy?"
"Hate to
disappoint, but no. Next week, I’m fighting another one of you British
shirt lifters – Phil Atken. I imagine that'd drain the life out of me,
if he's as daft as you. But, hey, you've whet my appetite. How about in
a fortnight’s time? That’s my final offer, Chrissy."
"Fine."
"Good?"
"Good...
good."
Chris looked down into
Quinton’s eyes one last time, and then quickly spun around and walked
off in the direction he had come in. The swagger in his strut – or was
it strut in his swagger? – had gone.
Quinton May, meanwhile,
ran a hand through his hair and shook his head, before leaving in the
opposite direction.
See what slacking
around backstage does for you? EH?
The
Prodigal Son Returns
Chris Messiah stood peaking through the curtain out into the arena. Truth be told, he was a little nervous, which was obvious in his body language – goose bumps on his arms, constant swallowing and wetting his lips. This was the first time he’d faced a crowd since September the previous year – almost seven months ago. Chris shook his head, perhaps because he himself couldn’t believe it had been that length of time. And then it happened. Let’s count with Chris – you can all count can’t you? thReat is no more. Twenty First Century Wrestling is gone. Alliance Wrestling Corporation is dead and buried. IWO is on its last legs, in fact, it doesn’t have any legs left. And let’s not get started on Action! Wrestling. Even ACW almost went out of existence. Why? Somebody try and tell me why that is. Have you got a decent explanation? I didn’t think so. Now, I’ve had a lot of thinking time over the last six and a half months, and ‘eureka!’ I found the answer. There are no truly great competitors left in professional wrestling. All the legends have retired and bought the farm. Every great wrestler that ever competed has given up this game, and I fell into that bracket too. But then I realised something: I wasn’t finished. In fact, in my last few weeks in thReat, I was the top dog in this business. I was putting guys away like I had been doing it all my life – and I have. And now, for your benefit, I have returned!” I invite you all to watch my debut match next week against… actually, I don’t know who I’ll be wrestling, because it seems that nobody has the dingle-dangles to accept a match with me, but never fear, I’ll get somebody lined up to beat, and maybe you’ll all become believers. Management wanted me to wrestle tonight, but it would be a ridiculously poor move from a business standpoint to waste my return to action in an unadvertised match. Sure, all the old regular ACW fans are probably here tonight, but I’m sure there are plenty of other people who’d just love to bear witness to my latest debut, and I wouldn’t want them to feel disappointed when they find out they missed another stellar Messiah match, especially one of such importance.” That lack of superstar power is turning people away. I’m not going to sit idly by while the profession that I love crumbles and ends up back where it was in the dark ages. Professional wrestling doesn’t belong in bingo halls or school gyms. It belongs here, in the arenas. I am going to make it my sole purpose in life to keep wrestling on the map.”
Scorpion
Fighting Title Match It had been an amazing
night so far.
ACW, in its second run
as a company aiming to provide the best entertainment in the country and
boasting some of the most talented competitors on the roster, were
definitely impressing everybody on this, the night of their comeback.
The April Fool's edition of Courage -- now on a Thursday, mind you --
was proving to be an absolute riot. Heartstopping action had been on the
agenda all night long, and with the official AND the ring announcer in
the ring again (the official was holding a piece of tin., the fans knew
something special was to transpire next up.
They just knew it. A
gut-feeling, some would say.
"Ladies and
gentlemen, this next match is for the All-Star Championship Wrestling's
SCORPION FIGHTING TITLE! The championship, unlike before, now exists on
several rules and doctrines. The holder of the belt may choose the
doctrine he or she may wish to apply for any title defense, however he
or she may see fit!
Tonight, the William
Laguna doctrine will be in effect, and as such, the rules are simple --
the only way to win this match is via pinfall or by throwing your
opponent over the top rope, and ensuring both his or her feet touch the
floor. There are no disqualifications, and each competitor is allowed a
total of SIX pinfall attempts! After all of which have been exhausted,
he or she must resort to victory via top-rope elimination!"
The ring-announcer
grinned and waved to a couple of babes in the crowd as he took his
leave, having laid down the law for this match. The official raised the
new-look Scorpion Fighting Title in the air, before passing it to the
announcer, winking at him lewdly while doing so.
The crowd, having
missed the wink, were naturally excited and earnestly anticipating the
change in the Scorpion Fighting Title, which was implemented last May by
the man whose name we aren't allowed to mention any longer. If you must
know, his favourite catchphrase is -- sodding cunt.
Right, moving on.
"Sic Transit
Gloria... Glory Fades" by Brand New began to blare over the
sound system, and the crowd' response was rather muted and low-key
toward the newcomer, DEVIN BASTIAN. Not many had heard of him,
but it didn't matter to the rookie, who swaggered out from behind the
curtains decked out in knee-length blue denim jeans, a pair of black
knee-braces, and a pair of black boots to complete the ensemble.
Keep the noise low. You don't recover from
a night like this. Upon arrival the guests
had all stared. Having climbed into the
ring, Devin chortled at the crowd, some of whom had already not taken a
shining to the rookie purely based on his look. He made a mental note to
prove those naysayers he saw rolling their eyes wrong, as he started to
stretch out, using the ropes, while his theme song began to fade out.
Bastian looked prepared for a man who only knew he'd be in a match -- a
title match -- just a short while ago.
He'd have to be
prepared, though, one would assume.
His opponent was no
rookie. Maybe one year ago, you could call him that. But, now? Not a
chance. Not a chance in Hell.
Then, there was
music...
"Make A
Move" by Lostprophets.
The crowd began to
erupt, but 17 seconds into the song, the lights in the arena were cut.
Now, excitement gripped every single person in the stands, as they
counted down to the second where they'd be able to witness the Rising
Star of the company make his presence, after an emotional comeback to
his ol' stomping ground.
32 seconds into the
song, red and white pyrotechnics lit up the arena.
KA - BOOOOM
So are we lost or do
we know? Because every day we're
getting older. WAKE UP! Yeah, so tired of
waiting... WAKE UP! Yeah, so sick of
waiting... And there he was,
folks.
Quinton May,
live and in living colour. Having discarded his shirt and replaced his
sneakers with black boots, May quickly marched down the ramp, a bit
overwhelmed by the deafening crowd reaction. Sure, some had seen him in
previous weeks in EYE, but this was AC-Dub. This was the top of the
ladder.
This, was the man's
home.
Sliding into the ring,
Quinton brushed past the referee and Devin Bastian and scaled to the top
of one of the turnbuckles, raising his arms in the air, acknowledging
the legion of fans he had. May had to admit, that this was an adrenaline
rush he'd never expected in a lifetime. He couldn't quite believe it.
Yet, it was happening.
A welcoming gift so
inspiring, even Quincy had the urge to weep.
Pulling himself
together, May leaped down from the turnbuckle, just as his theme song
was faded out. The official stood in between Quincy and Bastian, who had
now locked eyes. Both knew that this match was for more than the
Scorpion Fighting Title. Pride was also at stake. Nobody wanted to lose
on this night, the comeback night for ACW. But, that was the nature of
the game. One man would win, and the other would lose.
Quinton, though, had a
different take on it. Does anybody really win in this industry?
* DING DING DING *
He didn't have much
time to further think about that, however. The Canadian Gladiator
cracked his knuckles and nodded at Bastian at a form of respect. Devin
actually nodded back, underlining that he too respected Quincy, but the
wide sneer that formed on his face as the two began to circle each other
suggested that the respect would only run skin-deep.
Finally, the two men
had decided to quit the mind games and went for the kill, charging at
each other and eventually getting into a tie-up. Quinton immediately
came out of that with the advantage, effectively utilising his knee by
driving it into Rocha's chest. May followed up with a brace of forearm
shots, before sending the green Bastian into the ropes. The rookie had
no answer to a beautiful armdrag by Quincy Mama, who quickly attempted
to follow up with a hiptoss.
Devin DID have an
answer for that, coolly landing on his feet and retaliating with a
short-range clothesline. The rookie saw the chance to build momentum and
threw himself into the ropes again, swiftly striking with an elbow drop!
Quincy winced in pain,
a bit surprised at the speed Devin Bastian possessed, but the latter
wasn't stopping to show concern. Instead, he pulled his more experienced
opponent up and struck with a couple hard right hooks, before again
whipping himself into the ropes. Quinton managed to drag himself out of
the stupor he was in and seeked to surprise Debin with a clothesline.
BUT! The young man from
Indiana ducked, and used his momentum to take him into the parallel set
of ropes. As he bounced off 'em and took flight, looking for a spinning
heel kick, it was Quincy's turn to show how speedy he was, ducking
underneath the kick at the last second. The former Television Champion
then took a second to measure his opponent up, before launching an
inch-perfect sidekick the nanosecond Silas turned to face him.
WHAM.
No evading that one,
and Bastian collapsed to the canvas, his jaw almost popped out of
position!
Exhilirated, the crowd
applauded. Quinton thought about going for the cover, but decided
against it at the last second, backing off to catch a short breather
instead. Bastian swiftly rolled to his feet, eager to get back at
Quincy, and the two men found themselves in another tie-up moments
later.
This time, Devin --
even though he was a bit lacking in the weight department -- found
himself coming out of that with the advantage, as he stomped on Quincy's
right foot, before cracking him in the jaw, sending May backwards.
Following up with a
shoulder barge, forcing Quincy into one of the corner turnbuckles.
Backing off, Devin Bastian chuckled at his adversary, taunting the
former TV & Scorpion Fighting Champion to come and get him,
satisfied that he'd manage to impose himself in the early beginnings of
the match.
Quincy was more than
happy to oblige, bursting out of the corner, locking up with Devin
again. And, as the previous time, Devin came out on top, driving his
knee into Quinton's ribs, before attempting to whip him into the corner.
However, May was one
step ahead, and reversed the Irish whip.
And as a result, Devin
crashed face-first into the turnbuckle, generating quite a pop from the
crowd as he staggered backwards like a drunkard. Quinton looked as good
as ever, and he was ready to pile on the punishment, flooring Bastian
with an exquisite armdrag as the latter finally turned around!
Devin was quick to his
feet, but found himself crumpling down to the canvas again via another
armdrag. The rookie from Indiana was mighty frustrated by now, but as he
returned to his vertical base, Bastian found himself being struck down
again.
This time, by way of a
high-leg clothesline from Quinton. A signature move, from the former ACW
Television Champ!
"QUINCY
MAMA!!" With Bastian slightly
out of it, Quincy decided to go for the cover;
ONE!
TWO!
... That's all he got,
though, and the referee was quick to inform Quinton that he had FIVE
more pinfall attempts left.
Frowning slightly, May
pulled Bastian up, but the latter swiftly struck with a low-blow,
swinging the advantage back into his favour. A knife-edged chop to May's
chest saw the Canadian Gladiator stagger backwards into the corner, and
before long, Devin had moved in for the kill.
Which manifested in the
form of hard kicks to Quincy's ribs, keeping his eyes on the faded scars
on Quinton's shoulders at all time. This allowed May to lash out with a
quick hook, but Devin absorbed the pain and raked his adversary in the
eyes, before raising his leg and shoving his right boot against Quinton
May's neck, effectively choking him! Referee couldn't do a damn thing,
since there were no disqualifications.
Deciding to change his
routine, Devin retreated his boot and waited for Quinton to double over,
gasping for air, before the Indiana native started to fire away with
powerful clubbing forearms to the back of May's head. The crowd were now
jeering Devin Bastian loudly, but he showed them how much he cared by
whipping the Rising Star across the ring and into the diagonally
opposite turnbuckle.
For a man with a small
frame, Devin sure packed a lot of firepower. Quincy staggered out of the
corner due to the force of the whip, and walked straight into a debilitating
back body-drop! The ring reverberated from the impact of
Quinton's body crashing down, and Devin laughed, rather psychotically.
Then, of course, he
pinned Quinton;
ONE!
TWO!
Nope, not even close.
Growling at the fact
that he'd lost one pinfall attempt and only barely gotten TWO on it,
Devin Bastian pulled Quinton May up by the hair, kicked him in the lower
abdominals, and floored him with a snap vertical suplex, the impact
resonating throughout the arena!
The rookie definitely
knew his way inside the ring, and he was proving it right that instant.
Getting up to his feet, Devin reached down and pulled May up, talkin'
thrash at him again.
Before going for the
right hook.
Oh, wait -- BLOCKED!
Quincy now fired back
with a hook of his own, before launching two more rapid-fire strikes
with the right hand. Devin was reeling, and May alternated, using his
left fist to wear down Devin. As he reared back his right hand again,
though, Bastian raked his more experienced opponent in the eyes, before
catching him in the ribs with a knee-smash, and following up with a good
ol' fashioned side Russian leg-sweep.
To put it simply,
Quincy Mama was down on the mat once again, wincing and groanin' in
agony.
Arrogantly swaggering
around the ring again, Devin soaked up the jeers that were slowly
beginning to increase in intensity, allowing Quinton to catch his
breath. Of course, Bastian wasn't stupid, and quickly rushed over,
driving the side of his shin into Quinton's chest, before once again
deciding to utilise his trademark Irish whip and sending Quinton into
the opposite corner.
As Bastian aimed to
follow up with a clothesline, however, Quincy stepped forward and drove
his elbow into Bastia's face. Devin staggered back, and dropped to the
canvas like timber.
May, meanwhile, hoisted
himself onto the second-rope and took a chance, driving his knee down
onto Devin's sternum like the feckin' A-bomb bearing down on Hiroshima.
Long story short, Devin Bastian was seething mad, and in a whole world
of trouble.
Quincy used the ropes
to pull himself up, wiping his brow clean of sweat, waiting for Bastian
to regain his composure whilst the crowd continued to sit on the edge of
their seats, riveted. Bastian was definitely in a lot of pain, and as he
got up to face May, the former Television Champion sent him crashing
back down with an utterly wicked right-hander, almost literally punching
a hole through Devin's cheek.
Quincy Mama wasn't
superficialising (it's a word!) anything on this night.
Heeeellll naw, nigga.
And he was going to prove it, as he scooted over to the only turnbuckle
corner he hadn't had the fortune of getting acquainted with, and hoisted
himself up, seated at the top, waiting for Bastian to recover and turn
around. Devin had no clue what was going on, although the loud roars of
approval from the crowd shoulda given him some indication. Apparently
not.
Well, apparently, I was
wrong.
For when Quinton took
flight, landing on Devin's shoulders, aiming to score with a
hurricaranna, the rookie from Indiana showed that he was just as learned
as the next veteran, countering into a sitdown powerbomb!
And thus, the pin
attempt was borne;
ONE!
TWO!
TH - NO!
You guessed it, Quinton
'The Canadian Idol' May kicked out.
Now, Devin Bastian was
pissed. Firstly, at me for using such a lame nickname. But secondly, and
more importantly, at the referee for what Bastian thought was a slow
count. All the referee responded with was, "You've got FOUR more
pinfall attempts, kid! Use them wisely! Luke is your father!" and,
yeah.
Okay, maybe the last
part wasn't really said, but, who are you to judge me?
Turning around, Devin
spat at the recuperating Quinton May and pulled him up, resorting to a
barrage of knife-edged chops to the chest, before once again using the
Irish whip. This time, Bastian didn't bother measuring Quinton up, and
charged in as Quincy thought about staggering out of the corner.
WHAM.
Flying knee-smash to
the jaw of Quinton May. It knocked him over the top rope.
All hail Devin Bastian,
the winner.
Ooooh, shit, I'm sorry.
Quinton merely *looked* as if he was going to be sent tumbling over the
top rope, but he wasn't. Devin was frustrated now, and swung his arm at
May as the latter stumbled towards him. Quinton, however, blocked the
punch and gouged the rookie in the eyes, before knocking him down with a
short-range clothesline.
Only problem was,
Bastian ducked and delved into the pocket of his jeans.
May turned around, got
clocked in the kisser with a right-hander that was magnified due to the
brass knucks wrapped around it, and he fell out of the ring. THROUGH the
ropes, though, so keep your panties on.
Laughing, Devin Bastian
placed his brass knucks back into his pocket and tended to his eyes,
before he slid out of the ring and began to stalk Quinton May, who'd
taken it open himself to circle the ring, in a bid to buy time. Luckily
for Quinton, he wasn't bleeding or anything, which was obviously good
news for the fella.
The bad news?
Devin Bastian was hot
on his heels, and having caught up with Quincy, took free shots at the
latter's kidney area. Then, he got himself a handful of Quinton's
predominantly red hair and shoved May's face down onto the ring apron,
and quickly followed up with a neat-looking single-arm DDT, driving
Quinton down onto the thinly-padded ground. May rolled about agonizingly,
but Devin wasn't going to give him any respite.
Why should the rookie?
This is his match to win too, aye?
With that in mind, the
Indiana native wrapped his hand around Quinton's neck and dragged him
up, before wrenching on the former double champion's right arm.
Grinning, Bastian yanked Quincy toward him, before leaning back and
sweeping May's legs from under him simultaneously. The result?
Quinton's face, meet
the steel steps. Isn't she lovely, Quinton?
Still, though, May
wasn't bleeding, which was surprisingly for the fans in the front row.
Bastian ignored them, even if they were hurling profanities at him, and
rolled Quincy into the ring, aware that he only had four pinfall
attempts, and he had to really pick his spot. As soon as he too climbed
back into the ring, he was greeted by the recovered Quinton May.
Standing, fully
upright, and with a devilish smirk on his face.
Rookie mistake. Never,
EVER, give the more experienced opponent an inch.
Because, he'll --
KICK!WHAMMM!STUNNER!
Bastian was booking his
tickets up to La-La Land, and Quinton wiped the sweat out of his eyes.
The referee surveyed the action, wondering if May was going to make the
cover.
And he did;
ONE!
TWO!
TH - NO!
Now, the Canadian
Gladiator had to make do with realising he only had four pinfall
attempts to spare, which was the same as Bastian. A tad bit annoyed with
himself, Quinton May dragged Bastian to his feet and connected with a
stunning European uppercut, that sent Devin reeling into the ropes.
Bouncing back, he walked right back into May's path.
What did May do?
FISHERMAN'S SUPLEX! Or,
so it seemed.
He appeared as if he
was going to plant Bastian with the fisherman's suplex, but as Quincy
Mama raised Bastian up, the former held Bastian over his head, almost in
a cradle-esque position. Like, as if Quinton was going to change into a
torture rack submission at the last second. Instead, he simply held
Devin up there, feeding on the crowd's support for him.
Devin squirmed, not
liking the vantage point one bit. Granted, Quinton wasn't tall, but, eh.
Having seen Quinton
hold Devin up in the air for a full minute now, the referee felt
compelled to tell the former Television and Scorpion Fighting Champion
that submissions didn't count in this match. But, just as he began to
inch towards Quincy, the Canadian Gladiator spun 360º, and fell
backwards, essentially flattening Devin Bastian! A unique move, to say
the least, and it had a lot of power packed in it.
Confident, Quincy Mama
crawled over, and hooked the legs;
ONE!
TWO!
THRE - NOOO!
Three down, three to
go.
Quinton shook his head,
truly believing he had it won right then and there. Well, SORRY, mate.
It ain't over until the fat lady sings, and I'm not sure if anybody
wants to hear the momma of Ike Rogers sing. Okay, so, only three people
will get that joke, but screw you -- I am the one narrating this
damn thing.
Ahem.
Back to the action.
Quinton decided to prop up against the ropes, waiting for the green
Devin Bastian to bring the fight to him. Perhaps Quincy wanted to goad
Devin into charging at the former double champion, who was stationed on
the ropes, so that a quick ring-out would be obtained. And,
surprisingly, Bastian did just that as he clambered to his feet, not
aware.
He really WAS green.
Quinton grinned,
ducked, and lifted Bastian over his head, guiding him out of the ring.
But, see, Devin Bastian
is a lightweight. He can manipulate his body in SO MANY WAYS, and he
showed everyone an example, twisting in mid-air and landing on the apron
of the ring. Quinton staggered forward, raising his arms in the air,
thinking that he'd come out victorious. Of course, the referee's grim
expression told him that maybe the match wasn't over, and that
realisation, as it sunk in, forced Quinton to turn around.
Devin, who'd been
waiting patiently, flipped onto the top-rope, and jumped at Quinton,
schooling him with a flying hurricaranna! Even if he hadn't conducted
himself in the best manner thus far, Bastian got a pretty decent
appreciative reaction for that, which did wonders for the kid's
self-confidence and self-esteem.
Both men, with their
gas tanks in danger of running on empty, were back to their feet mere
seconds later. Quinton was worse for wear, of course, and Bastian was
quick to pile on the pressure, as he rushed over to May and clubbed him
across the back again, hoping to weaken Quincy's spine. Everybody knew
why seconds later, as the rookie wrapped his arms around his opponent's
waist.
Time for the Germans to
see their patented suplex in action.
Unfortunately, for some
reason, Devin couldn't quite get the Rising Star off his feet, which
allowed the latter to retaliate with a crunching elbow smash. With the
Indiana native reeling, Quinton seized the opportunity and swiftly did
the go-around, before planting Silas with a terrific back-to-side slam!
However, if the
intended result was to knock Bastian out, Quinton May had every reason
to be disappointed. Although hurting, the rookie was quickly back to
his feet, even if he was pretty stoned. Turning around, Devin found
himself floored flowing a jumping thrust kick to his sternum, as Quinton
May began to launch his final stretch assault.
But, with Bastian
already attempting to regain his vertical base, and halfway there by
being on his hands and knees, Quinton May had a wonderful idea. He
decided to scrap his intended offensive move for that instant, whatever
it was going to be, and rolled towards his opponent.
Trapping him in a
magistral cradle pin!
The referee, quick to
react, drop to his knees and began the count;
ONE!
TWO!
THRE - NOOO!
Two more pinfall
attempts for Quinton May, with Bastian rolling outta there.
May was contemplating
tugging at his head of hair, thinking that he'd managed to steal a quick
one on Bastian, but the rookie was proving to be more than a worthy
opponent, following this close shave. Quincy was too agitated to think
about that, however, as he jumped to his feet and tugged at Bastian's
hair pulling him up and whipping him into the ropes.
The newcomer reversed
it at the last second, though and lowered his head as May bounced off
the ropes and bounced back towards him. The Canadian Gladiator had the
situation well-scouted, unfortunately for Bastian, and struck with a
no-nonsense kick to the Indiana native's face, following up with a
standing dropkick! Devin was quick to recover, although he was majorly
groggy, and this allowed Quinton to again whip his opponent into the
ropes.
But, yet again, Devin
Bastian showed that he was as slippery as a snake and reversed it,
shooting Quincy into the ropes.
And he slapped on a
sleeper hold as May came bouncin' off those ropes!
But wait, May wasn't
going to give up just like that, even if submissions didn't count; he'd
huffed and puffed throughout the whole match, and he wasn't about to
succumb that quickly. Quincy mama flailed his arms about for a while,
while Devin desperately tried to get the hold cinched in tightly. My
professional opinion?
Devin was probably
trying to get Quincy to pass out, and toss him over the ropes for the
victory. But, once Quinton reached back and grabbed Bastian's head, the
rookie knew that he was so very screwed.
The second falling
front-face neckbreaker (Stunner) attested to that fact.
A wonderful counter
from Quinton May, that laid out the rookie named Devin Bastian. Within
seconds, both men were digging down deep into their reserves and pulling
themselves up, Bastian obviously worse for wear at the moment. Quinton,
the Rising Star, thinking that he was moments away from victory, bounced
himself off the ropes with the intentions of scoring with a move he'd
executed many a time in his short career -- a high-leg clothesline.
Bastian shook himself
out of his stupor rather quickly, though, and lashed out with an actual
clothesline. May, however, reacted quickly and ducked, before
intertwining his right arm with Devin's left once the latter turned
around.
Crucifix roll-up pin!
Whoo, old-school!
Uh, wait, that's not
supposed to happen. At least, that must have been what Quinton was
thinkin'.
... Meaning?
Meaning, the
industrious Devin Bastian somehow countered the move before it even saw
the light of day. He lifted the struggling Canadian onto his shoulders,
posed for the cameras, and flung Quincy off his shoulders, driving him
down to the canvas with immense force. Sorta like the F5 of Brock
Lesnar's. Only, cooler.
There was just one tiny
problem.
Quinton landed on his
feet, kicked Bastian in the ribs as the latter turned around, shoved the
rookie's head in between his legs, and double-underhooked the arms.
Everybody in attendance knew what this was.
HIDEAWAY!
Quinton managed a
relieved grin for the cameras as he rolled over and hooked the legs of
Devin Bastian, following the double-underhook pulling piledriver of a
finisher.
The fans counted along
with the referee;
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
And there we have it.
Brand new incarnation, same ol' Quincy.
Back to winning ways in
the AC-Dub, Quinton May jumped to his feet and raised his arms in the
air, acknowledging the crowd once again as they erupted into a loud
chorus of joyful cheering and riotous celebration. The official
collected the Scorpion Fighting Title from the ring announcer, and
presented it to the Canadian Gladiator.
He was, once again, the
Scorpion Fighting Champ.
Welcome home, Quincy
Mama. WINNER
: Quinton May
Everything
Has Changed
Quinton May climbed out
of the ring, his newly-won title already strapped around his waist. Amid
the deafening cheers and the cheers of jubilation, Quincy focused solely
on the championship he now held for the second time. And, unlike last
year, when he won the title off of that sodding cunt, there was surprisingly
no inner conflict.
Maybe because Quincy
knew that the sodding cunt was dead.
Or maybe because of the
new-look title belt, that didn't look as gangsta as before.
Whatever it was,
Quinton liked that there was no angsty build-up deep within. Patting his
title belt, Quincy Mama started to lift his heavy legs, to trek back to
his locker-room. It had been a good night for him, despite all the
moronic twats he had to meet backstage. When it was all said and done,
the Canadian Gladiator was looking to pick up from where he left off
last year, as far as his fearsome in-ring reputation was concerned.
However, the man that
he'd just beaten, Devin Bastian, wasn't going to take defeat lying down.
Many a time in the
match, Bastian had been schoolin' Quincy, and the fact that he'd lost so
abruptly pissed Devin off. Rolling out of the ring, he pulled a
television monitor out of the announce table, much to the confusion of
the announcers.
And, before anyone
could even guess...
WHAMMMM
... Bastian clocked
Quincy Mama in the side of the head with it! The crowd were incensed and
began to hurl obscenities at Bastian, who crouched down and screamed at
Quinton. Something about picking up a cheap win with a crappy finishing
move, or something like that. Needless to say, Devin wasn't taking the
loss too well.
Quinton blinked as
blood dribbled down the side of his head, and watched as Devin Bastian
was escorted out of the ringside area by the stream of officials that
had rushed down to prevent any further damage to the new Scorpion
Fighting Champion.
"Well, damn.
Looks as if everything
has changed around 'ere."
Then, he passed out...
THE
FOLLOWING SEGMENT WAS NOT
AIRED
William Laguna
sat at his desk, his pen in full flight as it scrawled on sheets of
paper when the sound of the door knob twisting grabbed his attention.
He looked up to see Marshall
wander through his door, peaking out into the corridor to see if anyone
else were coming or not. He turned around to face Laguna, back resting
against the door, hands holding the door knob to stop anyone else from
twisting it.
''Patrick, how's it
going out there?'' Laguna queried.
Marshall simply shook
his head with dismay. He did not look pleased or happy about how things
were going for the first show.
''It's tricky, Mr.
Laguna. It's real tricky,'' he explained.
Laguna set his pen down
on the table and gestured for Patrick to take a seat, he wandered across
the room and sat down with some force. A long sigh set wind from his
lungs and expelled with relief. His hands rested on the back of his head
like he were in deep thought.
''Call me William. And
you can have a lend of my ear if you wanna let me know what it is that's
bothering you,'' Laguna told him.
Marshall fixed his gaze
from the ceiling to Laguna. He moved his posture forward to sit on the
edge of the chair, spreading his knees so his hands could dangle between
them.
He took a long breath
and a longer pause.
''William. It's Steve.
He's having a little trouble with this whole switch from comedy to
straight up face. The fans aren't taking our change at all and we're
struggling to get over as Marshall & the Mammoth. That's to be
blunt. But I'm afraid he's going to fuck it up out there,'' he told
Laguna.
Laguna's eyes traveled around the room as if he were searching for an answer.
Marshall got out of his
seat and ran his hand through his hair, turning his back to Laguna.
''We've been a team for
two years and we've worked hard, Will. We've worked really hard and
we're trying desperately to have a serious crack at being a formidable team, y'know? But we're not getting over without the stupid fucking
costumes.
''Every day I cringe
when I remember taking that stupid blue Captain Obvious costume. I
should have known no good would come of it,'' Patrick admitted.
He put a hand against
the wall, holding it up or leaning against it. Either way he was
disheartened with the whole situation
His back stayed to
Laguna, who just stared across at him sympathetically.
''And poor fucking
Steve is losing it. He just put that fucking sledge hammer of a fist of
his through a locker door back there, Will. He just wants a proper shot
at being a wrestler, not being a joke,'' he confided in his boss.
He turned in
desperation, pointing toward the arena.
''Could you hear those
fans in here? Did you hear what they chanted?'' Patrick asked him.
Laguna just let his
head drop for a moment. He knew how difficult it would have been for the
pair to listen to that and keep in character. He understood how much
this transition into a realistic career meant to them.
And that chant was
painful to hear. Knowing how much it would break their hearts.
Laguna slowly nodded.
''It broke my fucking
heart to watch all the excitement Steve had before going out there just
disappear into nothingness and already he's questioning himself as to
why he's doing this at all. He's putting himself through Hell in that
head of his.
''And I can't bear to
watch my best friend suffer while those ignoramus' in the crowd continue
to chant 'Action! League' over and over again until one of us explode.
''It's tiring, Will.
Tiring. We just want a real shot and I think that Steve might crack and
break character and we're gonna have to do something about it,'' Patrick
told him.
Laguna's ears pricked
up and he returned to staring Patrick in the eye.
''We?'' he questioned
the wrestler.
Patrick Marshall slowly
nodded his head.
''That's right. We. Me
and you, Will. Coz I don't wanna be around if he fucking snaps and
neither do you. We've got to figure out a way to get Marshall & the
Mammoth to work or so help me God there'll be heads rolling.
''And be fucked if I'm
gonna be the one to take it all. I need you to have my back, Will. He's
a time bomb waiting to go off. He wants to be taken seriously and wants
to get his career back on track.
''Did you see what
happened with Lancett? That's what we in the biz, Will, call shooting.
Us in the biz. That was not supposed to happen. Lancett is lucky I was
there because who knows what Mammoth might have done.
''And you know what
shooting leads to? Don't make me remind you of all the trouble Michaels
caused back in his hey-day.
''We need to work this
shit out,'' Marshall told him.
He turned around and
headed toward the door. He didn't know what to do.
He wanted to make this
new gimmick work and make Marshall & the Mammoth work but it seemed
the fans had grown attached. Attached to the past.
Just like that
Regurgitator song... I like your old stuff better than your new
stuff!
''Pat...'' Laguna
called out.
Marshall stopped, with
his back still to Laguna.
Listening.
''I'll see what I can
do to help.''
Marshall nodded and
quickly muttered on his way out the door.
''Thanks...''
Changing
Faces
SilverHAWK stood in the bigSCREEN
picture, flexing his pecks and rotating his shoulders as Thomas Kilpatrick
asked the questions, for him to answer. BOO. FUCKING. BOO. Thomas Kilpatrick visibly stopped
as the boo's rang around the arena. HAWK stopped moving, and quickly glanced
into the camera as the fans boo'd and jeered the ACW Legend, whom's last
memory they had of him was the heel turn back before ACW's TV blackout. "SilverHAWK, tonight
you have the chance to become the ACW World Champion for the second time in
your career, but you have a momentous challenge against an opponent you literally
know nothing about!" "What are your thoughts
going into such a momentous night?" "Well, as this is the new
generation of ACW, the new version, it seems right that a new Champion should
be crowned, and what irony for the longest serving superstar to become the
World Champion of the new ACW? But tonight we are all celebrating the
true return of ACW to cable TV, and that my friend is the biggest story of the
night, not whether I, or anyone else wins what, the return of ACW to it's
respectful place is more important." BOO. Kilpatrick nodded his head in
agreement as he gazed into the camera lenses, trying to ignore the loud jeers
that the SilverHAWK was receiving from the Texan crowd, obviously reading the
autocue for his next question. "But surely the mystery towards your
opponent tonight is a major hindrance to you and your chances of winning
tonight?" "You know, I'm already at a
disadvantage to whomever I'm wrestling, because I am rusty as fuck, to put it
bluntly. I'm almost 100% positive that the ACW board are going to get a well
known wrestler to go up against me, because what would be the point in putting
someone unknown up against me on a night like this...crazier things have
happened I guess. Tonight is all about possibilities, and I have the chance to
become ACW World Champion once again, even if I don't want to be, or I don't
think I can do it, I have the chance and I'll do my best to grab it." BOO. "Finally," Kilpatrick
added. "Many in the arena are talking about the validity of the Champion
that is about to be crowned, because the former Champion, Alias, never lost
his title, what do you say to that." The arena exploded at the mention
of the former ACW World Champion, as SilverHAWK took the question in his
stride. "Is Alias here tonight
Thomas? Is the 'Tin Angel' currently on the ACW roster? No. The simple point
being he is a mercenary, and he was one of the major reasons for ACW going
down the tubes at the end of the last year, because of his, and Jason Kain's
contract demands. If it's truly his, I'm sure that he'll come back one day and
take it...from my hands." BOO. If they wanted to boo the HAWK,
it seemed that he would take them on in their own game.
ACW
World Heavyweight Championship Match The Texan crowd had been waiting all night for it, and it was now about to happen. The lights dimmed, and the crowd instantly recognized the first wail of the theme song. "Wake Up" by Rage Against the Machine. The lights flickered as the guitar riff exploded on the arena speakers, before the high tense screeches and scream from Zack De La Rocha kicked in the lights and the crowd. SilverHAWK emerged underneath the bigSCREEN, lasers following his every move as they bumped and changed colour to the rhythm of the guitar riffs, but the music was soon drowned out by the boo's filling around the arena. Sure, there were some that were actually cheering, but those few figures couldn't put their applause over the distaste of those who hated HAWK. SilverHAWK stood in the center of the ring, his wrestling gear wasn't what you would call traditional, as he stood in more or less Adidas jogging bottoms and boots, but he was ready. But he wasn't ready for this; are you hungry? The words meant only one thing we want the young blood are you fracturing? Omar Christensen made his way to the ring. ... ... Osyrus made his way to the ring. The reaction for the now Asylum fighter was one of a mixed concoction. There were obviously tA fans in the arena, and there were obviously WWC fans in the arena, so the mixer of both reactions more or less gave out a lot of noise. SilverHAWK looked on as the man mountain made his way to the ring, he was clearly in peak physical shape, something which you had to be to live in the Asylum in the first place. "Fucking hell," was about all HAWK could muster as he seen Osyrus' face cock into some sort of sadistic smile, as the former ACW Champion slid into the ring, and faced the former ACW Champion. Osyrus looked around the ring, and sniffed the air... "Ahh, this brings back memories, shit ones at that." "That's because you are one big turd Omar." As his nostrils flamed, Osyrus moved one step closer to the center of the ring, and one step closer to HAWK, but just before they got any closer, the bigSCREEN lit up, and made a mechanical noise as a graphic appeared. noDISQUALIFICATION Osyrus turned back around to HAWK laughing... ...that was a mistake. Kick to the balls. "What the fuck are you laughing at?" Osyrus fell to his knees as the bell sounded, with this match officially started, it started with Osyrus clutching his nutsack, and HAWK standing over him, is that how this match would finish? HAWK pulled Osyrus to his feet and sharply spun him into the corner, aiming boots at Osyrus' midsection was the plan, but after the third shot, Omar turned the tables and had HAWK in the predicament, but it seemed that his tA influence had gone further than HAWK could have imagined. A bare elbow was thrusted into SilverHAWK's face as he tried to block them any way that he could, to his dismay it wasn't working with any great deal of softening the blows. HAWK was caught off guard at the sheer brutality of Osyrus' hate filled blow, and as he pushed Osyrus off, he only came back stronger with a clothesline that could have taken a weaker man's neck and split it like a twig. SilverHAWK slumped in the corner, but his head was soon placed in a front headlock...which was followed up by a knee to the chest and then another elbow to HAWK's spine. Osyrus hooked the arm and lifted and tossed HAWK to the mat with a suplex. "I can still outwrestle anyone you fucking prick." Osyrus stood in front of the masses, blanking out the immense amount of boo's which he was receiving. It seems the fans didn't really know who to cheer for. A man who was the actual antiCHRIST. A man who fucked them over big time. More than likely they just wanted to see each man rip each other to pieces. Osyrus pulled HAWK to his feet and whipped him to the ropes, his first attempt at a clothesline was surprisingly ducked by HAWK, but his second attempt at contact, which was a full blooded reverse bulldog, put more hurt on the old-timer as he was folded up on the canvas. Osyrus was in the groove, he moved over to the corner of the ring and tempted his opponent to get to his feet. SilverHAWK pushed himself up, but was only half-erect before Osyrus blasted a knee into the side of his jaw, the thud echoed around the arena as HAWK was on the canvas once more. Osyrus circled his arch-nemesis, literally salivating over HAWK who was now on the canvas, in a great deal of trouble. As SilverHAWK looked up towards Osy, the message was sent; Punch to the face. "Stay..." Punch to the face. "The..." Punch to the face. "Fuck..." Punch to the face. "Down..." A final shot to the face was struck before Osyrus lightly covered SilverHAWK...expecting the victory. 1... 2... "Fucking hell HAWK." SilverHAWK's right arm shot up in the air as his mouth leaked crimson, but as the groggy ex-champion rose to a seated position, Osyrus was already on his feet, and going through his next exchange of moves. However, a truly motivated mind is more powerful than any weapon, and as Osyrus loaded up his guns, SilverHAWK rose to his feet and quickly dodged a right hand by Osyrus, the later stumbled forward with the force of his shot, and as he turned around he was greeted with a kick to the stomach and a really quick and botched DDT. A small pocket of cheers filled the arena, as SilverHAWK was once again in a seated position, but this time he was in a clearer mindset. He grogged blood and marked the canvas with his insides, before raising to his feet and landing his right boot to Osyrus' head, as Osy rolled under the ropes and out of the ring. SilverHAWK rolled out. Osyrus turned around with a lashing forearm. HAWK wasn't there. Uppercut. Osyrus flew back as the right hand connected, his head literally inches away from the metal steps, which was something that could have ended up very nasty. Osyrus felt his lip, and upon another inspection after he actually found his lip, tasted blood. SilverHAWK grabbed Osyrus' head and pulled him to his feet, which seemed to be a rather pointless exercise and he put him back on the floor again? Colliding with the ring post on the way... THUD Elbow to the back. SMACK Kick to the ribs. YANK SilverHAWK pulled Osyrus' leg into the air and drove his knee into the ground. HAWK pulled Osyrus to his feet, as the Asylum star gingerly rose. HAWK grabbed him into a headlock, making sure the pressure was situated on Osyrus' temples and his throat. HAWK however was soon in the air, as Osyrus grabbed HAWK by the waist and lifted him into the air, holding him for a second before pulling and twisting him to the mats below with a back body drop. SilverHAWK clutches his shoulder as Osyrus pulled himself up, using the ring barrier as his aid, his lip seemed to have stopped bleeding, but it still smarted, and that was why his shots to HAWK had extra vigor, as he pulled HAWK to his feet also. SMASH A right hand directed at SilverHAWK's jaw. SMACK A chop. SMASH Another right hand directed at SilverHAWK's jaw. Osyrus then tugged on HAWK's neck and rolled him into the ring, before lifting the ring apron and the fan's noise level. A chair spun into the ring as the fans roared. This match was about to take a turn for the worse. "This is my world HAWK.." Osyrus grabbed the steel with both hands, the coldness sent a shiver up his spine, a pleasant one. SilverHAWK still lay on the canvas, not motionless however, very aware. He played possum. He rose to his feet, and without even looking, ducked the chair shot which Osyrus had just swung. A punch to the balls later and the chair was skidding over the ring's canvas...and from then HAWK grabbed Osyrus by the head, and rammed him into the floor with a face buster. A pin. 1... 2... Kickout. SilverHAWK got to his vertical base, and was pleased to see the shit brick house a.k.a. Osyrus still on the mat, HAWK waited however, for his opponent to get his bearings before the next attack. Charging, his fatigue pushed to the back of his mind, HAWK caught the monster with a running boot to the stomach that sent him stumbling backwards into the ropes. Obviously, Osyrus had to come back from where he came from, as Osyrus bounced out, SilverHAWK attempted a kick to the stomach. Caught. SilverHAWK spun. SPEAR The Texas masses rose to their feet as HAWK was nearly chopped in half. Osyrus roared with self belief. And then it clicked. Osyrus hovered over his opponent...waiting for his time... And it came. SilverHAWK was barely on his feet before he was swept back off them, with a sambo kneebar. SilverHAWK's knee was being yanked out of it's socket near enough in the center of the ring, and as Osyrus pulled and pulled, SilverHAWK could feel the ropes going further and further away from his fingertips. Instead, SilverHAWK looked for another way out, and he found it. SMASH "AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH" SilverHAWK rammed his ankle into Osyrus' open shin, and repeated it. SMASH Osyrus' began losing the hold. SMASH His grip was loosened. SMASH SilverHAWK was free, and he quickly scampered away from the hurting Osyrus, and in the general direction of steel. Osyrus rubbed his hurting bone, and as he rubbed, the pain got more intense, making the monster mad. As he pushed himself to his feet, he managed to find the facial expression of a smile as he seen HAWK still on the mat, on his knee's, his back to Osyrus as he was nursing his own pain...or was he. "HAWK!" CRACK "Yes, fucker?" Osyrus fell to the mat like a cut down tree...a slow freefall which finished in a very large explosion as bone and muscle collided with mat and spring. SilverHAWK threw the chair out of the ring as the referee, who had been more or less useless for everything apart from pins, got to his knees...
1...
2...
3!
"TWO!" The crowd exploded...but in negativity for the referee, as they had clearly went the way of the HAWK. "You're kidding me?" The referee shoved two fingers in the former champion's face. "TWO!" SilverHAWK got to his feet, squabbling with the referee, not for the count, but for the two fingers to his face which were interpreted a little more rudely by the HAWK. Crimson now dripped from Osyrus' head...but as he looked up, an blood waterfall blocking his sight, he could see enough of the target to make an attempt. lowBLOW The referee gave Osyrus a talking to, but at the end of the day, did he give a fuck? SilverHAWK was on his hands and knees, before he was rag-dolled into the air. OBLIVION SilverHAWK was knocked out, and ripe for the pickings, but Osyrus was in no fit state to take advantage. He lay on the canvas, his back to the sky, holding his head as the blood fell down onto his hands. The devastating finisher was more of a reaction move than anything else...but finally, the moment came.
1...
2...
"TWO!"
Osyrus' eyes followed up the arm of SilverHAWK, which had second ago shot up in the air as the referee counted. He got to his feet, and like his opponent, contested the count. "That was fucking three god-damnit!" "TWO!" WHAM The referee fell to the floor, after a head butt by the former ACW Champion. "As I said...it was three." Osyrus turned his attention back to his fallen opponent, but for the second time tonight, he had done a Houdini, or had he? Osyrus spotted his nemesis on the outside of the ring, his head was barely visible as he seemed to be on his hands and knees, but what Osyrus didn't know, was that he was searching... Osyrus jumped out of the ring and went the long way around, and then quickened his pace before he got to HAWK, laying in a shot to the top of HAWK's back with his right toe. SilverHAWK turned around quickly however, a missed by a matter of inches... "What the fuck." SilverHAWK stood. Armed. sledgeHAMMER The crowd popped. Osyrus retraced his steps. SilverHAWK lifted and dropped the sledgehammer into his palm a few times before making a move, but Osyrus was already of a fair distance away... "C'mon then tough guy, I thought you were a big fuck off warrior these days, nothing can harm you." Osyrus couldn't hear HAWK's words, as his vision and attention was placed on the movements of the rather large bone breaking device which SilverHAWK now held in his two hands. The fans it seemed, whether neither supporting HAWK, or hating him, they just wanted to see Osyrus' ribs smashed to a million little pieces, something which SilverHAWK could definitely relate with. SilverHAWK continued to taunt Osyrus, as they both stood perpendicular to the ring, and it was at this point when the first move was made, but surprisingly, it was by Osyrus, as he quickly dove into the ring. THUD Osyrus had just escaped, as the hammer was brought down on the ring apron, a large crack echoing as the rim of the ring broke. The situation had now changed, with Osyrus in the ring, he now had his domain guarded, and was somewhat safe from the swinging of the proverbial bone breaker. SilverHAWK had to think. And that he did. He tossed the sledgehammer into the ring, but in such a position that it was in the near corner to him, and the far away corner to Osyrus. SilverHAWK, obviously thinking that with the time it would take for Osyrus to collect the hammer, he could get into the ring, and attack Osyrus... ...such thinking might have been a bit dangerous, and we were about to find out. Osyrus quickly ran and dove for the sledgehammer. SilverHAWK climbed into the ring. A hand was placed on the sledgehammer. The HAWK was now on his feet, and now running for HAWK. WHAM ... ... A shot with the sledgehammer? Or a kick to the head? ... ... SilverHAWK held his stomach in pain, as it was instantly red and tender from the sledgehammer shot. He had now stumbled to the center of the ring, hunched over as he grimaced in pain. The weapon-handler was now standing erect, and a smile visited his face as he lifted the hammer into the air and thrust forward. A swing of death. The evasion of death. SilverHAWK rolled out of the way, a move of which caused him more pain than the sledgehammer shot in the first place. Osyrus stumbled forward as all his weight had shifted, and as he tried to halt himself, all he could do was drop the hammer in favour of a grasp for the ropes. SilverHAWK was now waiting... breakDOWN Osyrus pushed him off. SilverHAWK made his way to the ropes, and catapulted himself back in Osyrus' direction...an armed Osyrus. Sledgehammer jab to the face. Evaded. Osyrus then turned around, his fate sealed. A kick aimed at his mid section, before HAWK yanked the hammer off his opponent, his challenger. And with the sledgehammer snugly resting under Osyrus' throat. breakDOWN As sickening a fall as you were likely to see... As sweet as sight as you were likely to witness... And now enter the customary injured referee, and two feet on the ropes just to add that, savoury effect.
Pockets of the arena cheered. Pockets of the arena boo'd and jeered. But whatever noise was made, SilverHAWK was none the wiser, as the referee handed him the ACW World Heavyweight Championship, for the second time in his lengthy career. He looked over at his fallen enemy, blood trickling down from his head wound, and a sledgehammer/breakDOWN combo, and Osyrus was still able to sit up and roll himself out of the ring. He had just beat one of the games top players, by hook or crook, it didn't matter. But what did matter, was his brain began to function again, and his ears began to pick up on the negativity. He rose to his feet, and climbed the turnbuckle, thrusting the World Title into the air. BOO. He tried the next corner. BOO. And the one after. BOO. And the next. BOO. Osyrus had left, sure, but he wouldn’t being staying away forever. Especially not after such a riveting match against an old nemesis. That was the thing about ACW… it pulled those who where built by the federation, back into the ACW system. Hawk knew this because he was never able to leave again, after coming back. Superstars like Quinton May and Geo Vacton knew this… they felt as if there was still something left for them to accomplish. There was. There was another member of All-Star Championship’s old guard that knew of the federations magnetic effect. Maybe he knew of it the federations effect the most… or at least believed that there was no real way anything could tear him away from ACW. He had defended the federation, stood adamantly at the fore front… and wasn’t signed with ACW again… because he was now deemed to ‘expensive’ by new management. With ACW, he had grown to realize, there’d always be new management. SilverHAWK stood in the centre of the ring, staring down at the belt, and then looking at the fans which had previously adored him, but his thoughts were halted… halted suddenly by a most, some would say expected, source. Please allow me to
introduce myself The All-star faithful blew the roof off the arena, in evident anticipation and excitement. Actually sorry that was an understatement. They hadn’t expected to see him return as soon as he did… especially on a night with a SilverHAWK and Osyrus main event. I've been around for a
long, long year No pyros, no entrance video on the mid-sized video screen… oh no, just Mick and the rest of the Stones to announce his return. Flashbulbs where evident also, popping off through the crowd as he made himself present on the arena’s steel rampway. And I was 'round when
Jesus Christ SilverHAWK now let the Championship hang by his side, after spinning on his heel to face the entrance. It can’t be… it couldn’t be… Hawk had regarded this man as an old ally and restored enemy who held himself at to high of a level, as to return to the federation that they both once loved. Pleased to meet you What was the nature of Alias’s game? The Original Pulp Hero reached front of the ring, having sprinted out from backstage entrance. He baseball slid into the ring, wearing those usual worn red leather pants and a ‘retro’ Anarchy A red and black ACW shirt, before striding past Hawk and hopping up into a corner and throwing both arms into the air for the crowd. As he did this SilverHAWK walked to the side of the ring and called for a mic, the World Championship now hanging from his shoulder. Finally Alias hopped down from the turnbuckle and spun around into the center of the ring… Coming chest to chest with SilverHAWK, who now had a microphone in hand. So there they stood… two ACW Immortals. Alias. SilverHAWK. With the World title hanging off the shoulder of… Hawk? That’s what felt more then a little off to Alias. Though his words where drowned out by the riotous ovation from the crowd, for this moment that lay in front of them, he still felt he needed to voice them to one Aaron Jones. Alias’s emotions where still raw when it came to SilverHAWK. He had been through so much with the guy, and had finally found him as an ally after returning to ACW in November of 2002. Someone he could trust. They fought side by side at Legends… some would say Alias was given the chance to finally become something legendary within the fed, after Hawk fell in his match against Osyrus. Hawk had even set-up the Best of Seven series between Jason Kain and Alias… finally giving the Pulp Hero a chance at the gold he had always been reaching for. One year later that all changed… SilverHAWK turned on Alias and ACW to side with Khristain Keller… K2, of all the fucking people. Enough with the history lesson though, because after the constant stacking of the odds against Alias, the lone champion… after the closure of the ACW itself. There stood SilverHAWK with the World Championship, what he believed was his. What Alias believed was still his. As Alias continued to confront Hawk, tearing word after biting word into him, Hawk had finally decided he had had enough… and pushed Alias away, backing away as he did while bringing the mic to his lips. "The prodigal son returns ladies and gentleman...but, you're only here for one thing aren't you?" SilverHAWK pointed to the gold which was resting over his shoulder, Alias smirked. "This is rightfully yours isn't it? You didn't lost it did you? No, you fucking gave up on it!" SilverHAWK got the usual negative response. "But do you know what Chris, I'm the bigger man here, and I know, that this title is rightfully yours, so here you go." Alias looked down at the World Championship that SilverHAWK had grabbed off of his shoulder and now held out, towards him. The crowd now, once it’s boisterous self, was forced down to a low murmur… they where unsure what was about to happen next. Alias looked from the belt, up to SilverHAWK’s face. “Hawk, give me that mic.” SilverHAWK slowly lowered the championship belt to his side, once more… before tossing the microphone to the Original Pulp Hero. Alias caught it and brought it coldly to his lips. “I’ll take that belt from your hands… old friend.” Alias reached his hand forward… though oddly enough not to grab the belt… instead to shake SilverHAWK’s hand. The fans still murmured amongst themselves in anticipation as to what would happen next. SilverHAWK took Alias’s hand… and Alias pulled him into a straight armed, closed fisted punch. Mic in hand too. SilverHAWK fell back and hit the mat… quite hard, out cold from the loaded punch. As the feedback from the mic finally hit it’s last note, Alias brought it back up to his lips… the crowd once again switching to apeshit cheer mode after what just occurred. “My title… from your cold, dead hands.” With those words, the first show of the ACW revival… faded to black. Welcome back one and all, course this wasn't an April Fool's joke, so sit back and enjoy the ride. WINNER AND NEW ACW WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION : SilverHAWK
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