Thursday, April 8th 2004

Broadcasting LIVE! from Albuquerque, New Mexico at 10/9 p.m. CT
Check local times and listings for details, especially Europe

Card subject to change without notice

Previously - With everybody expecting different things from the first show, they all got the some thing...something different. ACW's first show of 2004 was deemed a success, but now they have to make sure that they go forward, and begin to produce the quality which got them earmarked last year as one of the top federations in the country. With a new owner, new champion, and new roster, there were still many questions that would need answered by the end of the night.

What’s A Matter With You?
Author - Chris M
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Uh-oh spaghetti-o.

“Hey Laguna, what the Hell is this? I show up here tonight, check the blackboard with all the matches written on it, and I see I’m first? First? I hope by first it means seventh, right?”

Chris Messiah, that legend who is also living, just barged through the door and into William Laguna’s office. His face was bright red, and since he isn’t a tomato man, it’s pretty obvious that he’s not a happy camper, although he doesn’t like camping anyway because of the spiders and creepy-crawlies and what not. Plus the hard ground doesn’t do his back any good.

Laguna leaned over his desk and offered his hand for a handshake, but Chris just looked at it.

“What are you, gay? I’m not letting you cup my balls – do I look like a jerky jerker to you? Or a curtain jerker for that matter? I haven’t opened a show in twenty-nine years!”

“It’s called a handshake, Christopher.”

“Oh, thanks for the info, MOM. I have to spell it – I mean say it – like that since we’re in America. Look, I wanna know why I’m on first. First you tell me I have a match last week, but I vetoed it – yeah, I did Greek and Roman studies at school, so I know funny words – and when I order a match for this week, I’m put at the bottom of the show. I hope it was a typing error by your secretary or something.”

“Did they teach you to type on a blackboard in Roman studies Chris?”

“Quiet you! Just tell me why I’m first. Give me a good reason, and it better be good. Stop stroking your poorly-grown facial hair and give me an answer, please.

“Listen, Mr. Messiah. You’re first because that’s where you deserve to be. You’re lucky you even got a match tonight because there are plenty of other boys in the back who wanted one but the card was full, because of you and your ‘great’ idea for this match of yours. So don’t come into my office and demand answers from me. I brought you here, remember that. No get out before I get really angry.”

“Why you looka so sad? It’sa not so bad.”

“What? Are you making fun at my Italian heritage?”

“Your who on the what now? No! It’s just uh… a song that’s been stuck in my head all day – yes, that sounds like a reasonable cover-up excuse. Now, I’m wrestling this Quinton Fortune next week, and since he’s the Scorpion Fighting champion of doom and death…”

“Who?”

“David May, silly. I challenged him to a match last week, and now he’s going to “wrestle” me. These Canadians are hilarious. They say ‘eh’ a lot.”

“You mean Quinton May?”

“That’s who I’m talking about. You really have to pay attention. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a match to go and get ready for apparently. But don’t expect me to be here until the end of the show. Once that bell goes and the referee announces me the winner, I’m out of here faster than an Italian out of Africa in 1940. Cheerio!”

Chris spun around and left the office with haste. Laguna was too stunned to even think. 

Who the Hell did this guy think he was? 

He seemed to have more balls than a Taiwanese Nike sweatshop.

Championship Material
Author - Josh
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Championship Material

It wasn’t SilverHAWK…

Not is it Alias…

It wasn’t even a real champion!

Lancett stood between some staff members; one of them gave him a bottle of water the other was there for his job doing whatever. Lancett took a sip from the see-through bottle and looked around as he adjusted the replica of the Action! Wrestling World Heavyweight Championship belt to comfort on his right shoulder. “That’s right Lancett, the unforgettable rookie sensation, is your new Action! Wrestling champ.” He stated as he slapped his title and grew a smart-ass smirk on his face.

He walked into the building as a woman appeared to his left and right, “Ladies!” He said as he took the belt from his shoulder and handed it over to one of the girls. She folded it and kept her pearly whites showing to the camera. He put his arms around them and continued on his way down the corridor.

People booed Lancett for his lack or respect; in addition he smiled enlarged to the reaction. “You think I care what you people, I mean waste of life, think? I think you people are jealous of this portion of talent. I’m in better health than all of you hobo fuckers, and I’m damn well probably what gets your girlfriend and nine wives wet.”

Boos erupted towards Lancett as his face changed and the girls looked some figure up and down off screen. “You again?” Lancett said.

Lancett took the belt from the girl, but the replica was smacked out of his hands and Jesse Ramey got into Lancett’s face. “You deserve every boo you are getting, you scum.”

”Scum? Sorry, Jesse, you are ruining my interview. Please step aside and let me finish then I’ll give you an autograph… I’ll sign it scum if you want me to.”

”NO! I want you to drop that replica, because this is ACW not Action! Wrestling!”

“My, my, you thought this one through didn’t you? … What do they call you again? The Attitude?”

”Yes, that is my nickname.”

”Well you better watch your attitude, Mister Attitude. I’ll leave the title there, because that is how much it means to me. Looks like they don’t even respect you enough to give you a shot at Atken, maybe I’m just better than you… Veteran.”

Jesse Ramey shook his head and bent over to pick up the belt and stood back up. “You don’t deserve anything of this caliber.” Jesse brushed off the title and looked over to a trashcan. “But, yet, your name is on it.” He tossed the title into the trashcan.

Lancett took his arms off the women and looked furious in the eyes at Ramey. Ramey looked at Lancett and just shook his head and walked away.

“YOU AIN’T NUTTIN!” Lancett yelled at Ramey as he continued to walk away.

Lancett started to laugh and the girls joined in, as he looked at them and smiled. “Lets go ladies. Like I said: He ain’t nuttin.”

Why don't they double bag groceries anymore?
Author - MikeL
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Bantam Diablo walked up to Laguna’s door and tapped it lightly.

“Come on in.” Laguna said behind a desk cluttered with papers. Bantam Diablo walked into the cozy office and noticed Laguna bent over the desk hovering over production documents, and legalities…things that made no difference of BD.

“I know you’re pressed for time but…”

Laguna looked up from his papers and motioned BD to have a seat directly in front of him. BD winced in pain making him clutch his side.

“You look uncomfortable.” Laguna said. BD nodded in approval and motioned to the bandaging around his ribs. Sensing what Diablo was getting at, Laguna went on. “You’ll still be able to wrestle right?” Anxiety spread across the face of Laguna. If BD wasn’t able to wrestle in the match, he was going to have to scurry around to find somebody to fill his time slot.

BD waved off his doubt. “I’m good to go. A few cat scratches can’t stop me.”

“Then what is it?”

BD shifted uneasily in his chair. “It’s about Draper and our match last week. It’s the reason I have bandages around my ribs. He blew a spot.”

“I seen that.”

“No, he blew quite a few spots. Hell, if it wasn’t for the cunningness of my ring ability, the nature of my mic skills.” BD pauses to draw emphasis on the last phrase. “And these wide shoulders…I wouldn’t have been able to carry his dead weight in the ring. The kid has lead for blood. He’s slow, stupid, and above all his body odor could choke a small donkey!”

Laguna motioned to BD that he got the point. Laguna looked around the room. There was nothing special about it. A few pictures of him glad handing some suits was on the wall. Some wrestling memorabilia he had as a wrestling fan, before he ever got involved with the business, were tucked away in a special niche in the corner. He’s been a fan of wrestling ever since he could remember; he knew what it was like when a wrestler was a liability in the ring.

“I’m away that Alex Draper may have some ring rust…”

BD interrupted. “Ring rust?!?! You call putting your knees up and cracking some ribs ring rust?”

“I understand your concern. I’ll look over the match when I get time and figure something out.”

“That’s all I ask.” BD said with a smile. He shook hands with Laguna before closing the office door behind him. 

He couldn’t help but smile.

“What a mother sucker.”

Certain Aboriginal tribes believe photographs steal your soul
Author - VossMan
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A black sedan rolled into the parking lot, driven by Marshall. It rolled to a stop and the engine was killed, Marshall exiting the vehicle as the trunk opened itself up, he snatched his bag out and tossed it over his shoulder, leaving the trunk open.

He began to make his way across to the arena, walking slowly like he were waiting for someone else to catch up.

The someone else was Mammoth, he ducked his head as he exited the car. He put foot to pavement and made his way around to the trunk to grab his bags.

Marshall had to stopped to wait for his partner in crime, but he felt something tugging at his generic ACW muscle shirt.

Cue intrigue.

Tossing a glance ground ward Marshall spotted young ACW fan, of no more than eleven years of age. He looked around and saw a dorky looking dad waving at him from a few metres away, he politely waved back to the concerned parent.

Dropping down to one knee, Marshall put a hand on the youngsters shoulder, looking him in the eye.

Cue large group of people going... "AWWWWW!"

"What can I do for you, tiger?" Marshall asked chipperly.

The kid didn't want to make eye contact, his timid ness talking to a wrestler had gotten the better of him and all he did as shove a photo and a pen under his nose. Marshall took it without looking.

"Awww... you want me to sign this?" Marshall inquired.

The kid responded with a nod as he slowly found the courage... pardon the pun... to look up.

"Sure thing, chief. I'll put my John Hancock on this for y-"

Marshall cut himself off.

He'd looked at the photo/

It was one of Action! League. He and Mammoth dressed in those stupid costumes. A sickly feeling hit him in the stomach but he knew he couldn't dishearten the little guy. He bit down on the lid of the pen and pulled it off. He began to make his signature.

Cue monster's shadow.

Mammoth came up to the pair, looking over Marshall's shoulder.

His eyes widened and his jaw dropped and then he reached over Marshall's shoulder and snatched the photo out from under his pen.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, Pat?" Mammoth asked.

He shrugged.

"I'm just signing it for the kid, Steve-O," Marshall tried to tell him.

But he wouldn't hear a word of it. He shook his head and proceeded to tear the photo up, much to the horror of the tyke and his father, who began to make his way over.

"Patrick, this is what I call career suicide. This isn't us anymore. That's someone else from another time. Today we're Marshall & the Mammoth and that's the end of the fucking story.

"The end.

"And they lived happily ever after.

"Get it?" Mammoth said to him.

Marshall nodded, a little disheartened with Mammoth's behaviour.

"You got it," Mammoth told him.

He bent down to one knee, getting in the kids face and pushing the torn remains of the photo up into his tiny hand.

He ruffled his hair with his free hand.

"There ya go kid. Go bury that. Coz Action! League is dead. Get it?" he said to the kid.

"I don't think you get it, pal!" sneered someone.

Mammoth stood up to see the child's father taking him by the hand and pulling him away.

"Why don't you grow and be bloody role model for these kids instead of being the egotistical prick that you're showing yourself to be? It's just a photo. He's just a boy. Pull your bloody head in, pal. Now, do you get me?" the father said.

He pulled his son away and away from the arena, he wasn't going to let his son be a witness to wrestlers like this. This wasn't the values he was trying to teach his child.

Cue awkward silence.

Marshall slowly made his way past Mammoth, who just watched his smaller partner go by... in silence.

He called after him.

"It's fucking career suicide, Marsh. That's what it is. Don't blame me coz sometimes you gotta be cruel to be kind, right?" he called to his partner in explanation and desperation.

Marshall never replied.

He just walked through the side and into the arena. Right now, the sight of Mammoth made him sick.

Grudge Match
Chris Messiah vs. Jobbers Inc.
Author - Chris M
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The remix of ‘Bitter Sweet Symphony’ by The Verve blasted out across the airwaves, and out through the curtain, followed by four men wearing what appeared to be wrestling gear, briskly strolled Chris Messiah. In no time at all, he was standing in the middle of the ring with a microphone in hand, smirking at the hard camera. He had instructed the four men to go and stand in a row in front of the commentator’s table, which they did.

“Now, since no ACW person wanted to wrestle me this week, I had to go and find people of my own to wrestle. I love shoot comments that aren’t meant to be shoot comments, don’t you, fellas?”

The four men just stood beside each other on one side of the ring, looking at one another and at the crowd. One of them looked like he was going to vomit, or pass out, or both, or possibly neither.

“I promised you fans my debut match, but it seems nobody was man enough to accept a challenge. So I’ve spent the worse part of the last week searching this country high and low for the cream of the wrestling crap… I mean crop. Sorry, Freudian slip. The four men standing at ring-side are, in no particular order: Gayber, White Rash, Mike Rogers, and The Superdooperstar. These men are currently unemployed, and have had to make ends meet lately by singing as a barbershop quartet in every bar, gas station and animal hospital they could find. I was shocked a moment ago to hear that this grand match I’m about to announce was put on first, but my best guess is that everybody around here is incompetent. They only signed me on a three month contract for Chrissakes. Anyway, this following contest, scheduled for FOUR falls, and it is a gauntlet match. One of these four guys will enter to start with, and so on and so forth until four matches later, I’m the winner!”

You could actually see the fans groaning. One boy of about twenty-five years of age burst into tears.

“First up is Mike Rogers. Now Mike’s been around the block a few times, in both directions. However it’s a pity for him that it was the wrong way each time, therefore Mike stopped in Losersville years ago, and never checked out of Motel Jobalot. Mike, come on in here; referee, ring the bell.”

Mike ran up those ring steps and ducked through those ropes like it was Christmas morning or something. Maybe he thought that if he did well tonight, he’d be offered an ACW contract or something. Idiot. Chris smiled a bit too cheesily at Mike, who smiled back. Chris responded by grabbing him in a front face lock, then quickly giving him a delicious DDT. Four and a half seconds later, Chris had applied a Reality Check, and Mike Rogers was tapping out like he was sending an urgent message in Morse code. Chris released the hold and Mike was helped out of the ring by the referee, meanwhile Chris helped himself to the microphone.

“Next up – White Rash. Now White Rash doesn’t sound particularly appealing to me, and he isn’t particularly appealing to fans and bookers either. His deal is that he was abducted by space aliens, and now can only see in X-Ray vision or something. So basically, he’d make a great doctor.”

White Rash rolled slowly under the bottom rope and stood facing Chris. Chris offered his hand for a handshake, and the moron that is White Rash thought it was a kind gesture or something, because he did indeed shake the hand that two seconds later smote him. One bridged German suplex later, and Rashy’s shoulders were down square on the canvas.

One!

Two!

And a three!

Chris got back to his feet and helped White Trash out the ring, via his foot in Whitey’s face. He once again picked up the dropped microphone.

“Okay half time, half time – I need to get my breath back. So, what do you think of me so far? Awesome, huh? Okay, I’ve had my break. The next victim is Gayber!”

Gayber slid into the ring under the bottom rope, and stood facing Chris. Messiah threw the microphone to him, and being the dumbass that he is, he reached out and caught it. It was a pity, at least for Gayber anyway, because a split second later he was lying on his back after a tasty Pacifier.

One!

Two!

Three!

Easy like Sunday morning. Chris snatched the microphone from the prone body of Gayber, to the continuing horror of the crowd.

“Phew, that was a close one. Close to setting the shortest match ever record I mean. All right, The Superdooperstar, you’re up… and soon to be down. BAM!”

The funny thing was, that not only did Chris say the word “bam,” but that was the sound that The Superdooperstar’s head made on the mat after Chris had drilled him with a piledriver. It seems that The Superdooperstar had never been taught the lesson of making sure you don’t get kicked in the balls, because that was exactly what happened when he got into the ring. Luckily for Chris, the referee didn’t see it, and of course, the result was inevitable.

One!

Two!

One!

Zero!

One!

Two!

Three!

Mike Rogers, White Rash and Gayber dragged The Superdooperstar out of the ring by his feet, and together the four of them helped each other backstage.

“Wow, six wrestling moves, a punch and a kick later, and I’ve put together a winning streak longer than most ACW stars have ever managed. And that was just the starter. Because next week, I’m going to wrestle Quinton May, the reigning ACW ‘Scorpion’ fighting champion. In other words, he’s some untalented guy who can’t wrestle, so he just beats you until you can’t take it anymore. Well, next week, you’ll see yours truly – for the second time ever – or is that fifth time ever? Anyway, you’ll see me teach a lesson to this misfit who’s watched Fight Club one time too many. The Scorpion championship will be on the line, and I’m going to bring that bad boy home, and then retire it!”

“Boooo!” (Generic fan jeering)

“There’s no place in the world of professional wrestling for clowns like Quinton May. He belongs in a zoo, or maybe some fighting federation instead, or maybe a hilarious combination of the two. Once I’ve ridden this company of fighting once and for all, you’ll all thank me for helping wrestling be the focal point once again. I bid you all ado. Or is it adieu? GOODBYE!”

Then Chris walked to the back in the normal fashion.

WINNER : Chris Messiah

Doing one big favor
Author - Zach
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A black raven Cadillac CTS-V pulled into the arena slowly. ACW fans swarmed the car like vultures, unknowing who was going to step out of the car. The car door flew open to reveal a man in a black suit. Volker Baldwin stood there next to his brand new car with the door open showing of the leather interior. He had his car keys in his left hand and his wrestling bag in his right. He dropped his keys into his pocket and shut the car door gently. He then pushed his way threw the crowd of people.

Volker made his across the parking lot only to see an over weight woman eating a hot dog blocking the hallway that lead to his locker room. Volker picked up his walking pace, and hit her with his shoulder causing her to fall out of his way. She crashed to the floor and her hot dog flew up in the air. Volker looked back with a huge sick looking smile on his face. The woman Climbed back to her feet and screamed, “You arrogant piece of shit. Get your ass back here right this instant.”

“Pardon me?”

“Are you deaf? Did I stutter or something?”

“No I am not. And no you never”, Volker said as he turned around. He slowly approached her with the look to kill in his eyes. He took his wrestling bag and dropped it right on her feet. She looked him straight in the eye and cracked her knuckles.

“You asshole, I want my money for that hot dog and I want an apology.”

“I look at it this way. I knock you over and made you have exercise to get back up, and god knows you could use a work out. Then I made you loose your hot dog, and god knows that you don’t need anther one of them. Basically I am doing you one big favor.”

The woman looked in shock, as Volker picked up his wrestling bag off her feet. Volker then turned around and walked

THE FOLLOWING SEGMENT WAS NOT AIRED 
TO THE TELEVISION AUDIENCE, OR TO THE ARENA CROWD

Assessing The Damage

Author - Zezu
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William Laguna had barely been in charge of ACW for a month, but already he had plans that were going to make it different for your average Joe of a federation

He sat in his makeshift office for the evening, with his two executive producers, Adam Kent and Hillary Duncan. Both Kent, and Duncan, after getting through the initial show had finally began to learn the ropes in trying to run a wrestling federation, and they found it to be a lot harder than they had ever expected.

"As both of you know," started Laguna, "we do have a lot of the talent on short term contracts, mainly based on the fact that their reputations are either tarnished, or unmade at this point in time. I'm expecting both of you, each week to provide me with an in-depth report on each roster member, and how you think they are going at this moment in time."

Both Kent and Duncan nodded their heads, quickly jotting down notes on their "to-do" lists.

"How about I start? Geo Vacton."

Laguna looked at Kent.

"He seems to have really taken to a few of the marketing schemes we have given him, plus he's an old returning face from the old ACW, so he should do well."

"Lancett."

"He's got an ego," Duncan stated, "but if he can keep that in check, and actually use it to his advantage, he should be a good midcarder for the future."

"What about Bantam Diablo, Adam?"

"Unknown at this point to be honest, he's won who we need to see what he is capable of before we make any decisions."

Laguna pondered.

"It seems we have a lot of guys who could either make us or break us."

Kent shifted in his chair as he pulled out a piece of paper from his folder.

"To be honest William, ACW has pretty much been a playground for wrestling talent for the past 2 years or so, but if we keep a good core, then we should be able to keep this place going without any problems."

Duncan nodded.

"I agree."

Laguna looked over the piece of paper, which listed all the talent ACW had went through in 2003.

"So how many are you thinking will be gone before the summer Hillary?"

Hillary produced another list for Laguna to ponder.

"Myself, and one of the road agents, Jeremy Wilson came up with this list...we're talking about maybe 20% dropout, but then again, we've got more guys wanting to come in than we have projected out goers, so again, we should be OK."

Laguna whipped the sweat from his brow as he looked over the lists, side by side.

"I want you to keep the core guys happy...those are our number one priorities, the rest, we must help, but also see if they can come up with situations and ideas on their own, give them a little space, and if they mess me about, they will be gone. I think that's us for just now..."

As Kent and Duncan collected their gear and left to carry out their "to-do's", they left Laguna with a large number of names, as he looked at the damage control that ACW owners before him had to deal with on an everyday basis...

...it was only a matter of time before it started to hit him.

Hello, Mr. Carter
Author - Aaron and Ray
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You would expect that annoying detective music to play in the air as the camera panned around the bubble filled room. You would expect black and white film, scratchy, grainy, and broken down by the sands of time. You would expect a beautiful damsel to be sitting upon the lap of a fat detective... but, instead you got Kraig Carter sitting in his chair with his legs propped up and bubbles floating from his pipe. The happiness on his face seemed so authentic, with that bubble pipe and that magnifying glass. "Any minute," He muttered, inspecting his desk with the magnifying glass, "Any minute..."

With a certain subtlety, the phone began to rang off the hook.

Kraig fumbled for the phone, careful not to drop his magnifying glass or his pipe. As he raised the phone to his ear, he lost his clumsiness and it was replaced by a very serious voice.

Before he could spare a hello, a familiar voice rang in his ear, "Kraig Carter, Private Eye. Right?"

Kraig nodded his head as he wrapped his curly dark brown hair around his finger.

"This is he." He said resting back in his chair.

"I hate to disturb you, especially at this hour when I would not doubt business is at an all-time high, but..." You could feel it through the phone. Something a little more than peculiar was in that voice. Something spiteful. Something almost angry. "...I feel the need to remind you, in case you might have forgotten. Tonight, your services will be required in the ring. It would seem that a certain someone has it in for you, Detective Carter. It would seem that this particular someone will go to any means necessary to get his hands around your neck. For the safety of the people, and yourself, I do believe it is in the best to have you go out and find this felon! Wouldn't you agree?"

That voice oozed of poison and malice.

It leaked of sarcasm of the highest quality.

Kraig rocked back and forth in his chair as a baleful smile came across his face.

"And who might this be?" Kraig questioned in a deep sophisticated voice as he continued to exhale bubbles into the air.

"Well," The voice muttered into the phone in a soft sophisticated tone, matching Carter's. "I do believe I'd be that felon. I just thought that, you know, it'd be nice to warn you in advance. Ville Azure. It will be an absolute pleasure, Detective Carter. It will be an absolute... pleasure."

With that, the phone was slammed to the receiver, leaving Kraig Carter with a the sound of silence bursting into his ear.

Getting It On
Author - Wilk
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For the most part, as far as he could tell, the hall was barren and quiet as he strolled past heavy steel tins and unused tables waiting for a backstage brawl of some kind; this made for an easy entrance, plus an easy escape if he were lucky enough and didn’t waste any time.

His footsteps trailed behind him, his boots heavy and bulky, as he approached his destination. It was about time too; he had been carrying that bag for hours. Out of the airport and across the city, the bag remained, forever in his grasp like a mailman. Motivation was the key here, and he wasn’t about to let his rebirth slip away.

Not without taking someone with him.

And then there it was. As red as blood and labeled with his name like a tombstone, his evening’s hunt came to a close as he stepped up to the doorway, making sure his prey’s haven stood right before him.

Volker Baldwin

That was his first target – the door.

After absently staring down each end of the hallway to ensure he was alone, he reached out and opened the door. He tossed his bag down to the plush, white carpet that lay beyond and quickly kneeled over and zipped it open.

He pulled out one of many items inside his little bag of toys – a black sharpie; simple enough.

Cap off. Statement jotted down. Cap on.

He tossed the sharpie back into the bag and stepped inside, slamming the door behind him as he went. His eyes scanned the room stridently, crossing along the wallpaper and staring down at every object lying about. Plenty of ways to get his point across.

His grin was full and exact, to say the least.

He set to work.

THE FOLLOWING SEGMENT WAS NOT AIRED 
TO THE TELEVISION AUDIENCE, OR TO THE ARENA CROWD

Preparing For Dy-No-Mite

Author - [K]
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Officials turned their heads and gawked. They were, after all, mere men.

No one could deny that Asylum fighter and the holder of the organisation's Women Championship, Fejona Min, had a certain charm to her. Maybe it was the body of ethereal hair that appeared to tantalise and melt any man's heart. Maybe it was the slightly-boorish outlook enemating from the two piercings she had on her face --one above the right eyebrow, the other just below -- that appealed to the slightly wilder male population.

Either way, Fejona Min, wrapped and bundled in a black leather trench coat that was held together by a belt strap tied tightly around her slender waist, was in ACW. For what reason, not many new. The Callous Slayer, as often referred to, smirked thinly as she noted the officials checking her out, but Min had no time to waste. She quickly took a right turn and proceeded down the hallway, to her locker-room.

She was running a little late as it was, but, Fejona disregarded that segment.

Tonight would be the first night of her experiment. An experiment that saw her made the crossover to a wrestling promotion. Surprise, surprise. An Asylum fighter, deciding to venture into the world of the squared circle.

With her duffel bag clutched tightly in the grip of her left hand, Fejona pushed her locker-room door open with her right hand, and immediately halted in her tracks as she examined the surroundings. Not as grand as what she was used to in tA, the Cambodian Femme Fatale thought. To be honest, the locker-room she was assigned was rather tiny in space and had this pungent smell lingering in the air.

"So, it IS true. An Asylum fighter has decided to work here!"

Swirling around, Fejona's twinkling eyes set upon a scrawny, middle-aged looking official. Fejona grunted, before she turned back and advanced fully into her locker-room, placing her duffel bag down onto a bench. The official took Min's silence as an open invitation, and cautiously entered the room, closing the door behind him.

He was curious. And, bugger it if he didn't get answers.

"What are you doing here, Ms Fejona Min? Why are you here? Has the almighty Joseph Campbell decided to pull another Scum and sent YOU to take ACW down? What gives, eh?" the middle-aged official lashed out mockingly, encircling Fejona.

The Cambodian Femme Fatale, who was planning to strip and change right about now, was now aware (duh) that the official had actually taken it upon himself to enter the room. She locked eyes with him, noting how the years had taken its toll on him. The wrinkles, the drooping cheeks, the silver hair.

Made Min think about her upcoming birthday, and she sighed, realising that she'd grow old too one day.

All of us do. Unless you're Stu and you have a boyfriend. Ahem.

Fejona replied after some thought: "I'm not here on order of Joe Campbell. Now that you mention it, only one other person who's contracted to theAsylum knows I'm here. Anyways, if Joe were to have wind of this, he'd probably strangle me, but... bless his blackdrunken heart -- he's decided to pay a visit to Diego, probably, for more cocaine."

The middle-aged official chuckled.

He wasn't buying it. He'd been following Asylum from day one, and it made him sick. Then, some time last year, a young individual by the name of Scum popped up in the now-defunct IOW and he was instrumental in its demise a few months later, after a lot of raised mayhem and a lost bet. Long story short; he was later revealed to be a hitman.

A hitman for Joe Campbell.

And with the fact that Osyrus, current tA fighter, had plied his trade here before and returned last week to fight SilverHAWK for the World Heavyweight Title, the middle-aged man felt that there was something going on. Something seedy, underhanded. A scheme to take ACW down, just as it was getting back up.

"I don't believe you."

Min shook her head, half-grinning, as she zipped open her duffel bag and took some clothes out. The official noticed this, and frowned, before his mushed brain put two and two together. The Cambodian Femme Fatale untied her belt, and let her trench coat drop to the ground.

The official's eyes almost popped out of its sockets.

"Preparing for Dy-No-Mite is going to require some time for meditation. So, either you leave me alone, or you fish out your money and we'll make this a quick fuck, okay?" the tA Women's Champion, in all her nude glory, spat out at the middle-aged official, who was lost for words.

Not that his boner was reflective of that, of course.

And, as instinctively possible as it was, he begun to rummage his pockets for money. With a body that Fejona was showing off to him rather brazenly, he thought, he'd have to at least pay two hundred dollars.

POW~!

Fejona Min had no intention of letting some 45 year old man ravage her body, especially with his bad breath. Staring down at the fallen official, she shrugged her shoulders, and started to dress herself, apparently ready to kick off her 'short term contract' in ACW with a match against Geo Vacton.

One of many of this little experiment she'd been plotting for.

Having thrown on a red tank top and black silk pants (since there's no mention of panties, you draw your own conclusion), she reached down and removed her black boots, tossing them into her duffel bag and zipping it back up. She made a reminder to herself to inform someone of a crazed stalker who had a heart attack in her locker room, following a glance in the mirror.

Smiling, the Cambodian Femme Fatale left her room, but not without a parting word for the still-unconscious and highly paranoid, middle-aged, horny-as-hell official.

"Fucking idiot."

Grudge Match
Kraig Carter Vs. Ville Azure
Author - Aaron
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The arena was as quiet as a mouse as the lights dimmed. Not a sound was made; you could hear a pin drop. The fans waited patiently in the audience, staring at the ramp with starving eyes. They all sat at the edge of their seats, waiting for a glimpse of one of their All-Star Championship Wrestling favorites... or maybe a new blood just waiting to make his mark.

“Night Shift” by Siouxsie and The Banshees

Ville Azure.

The newcomer, who made his debut last week, stepped out from behind the curtain with an odd smile on his face. A few people gave applause, welcoming the newcomer into the ACW. For the most part, however, the fans just watched out with curious eyes. The lights flickered with different colors as Ville climbed into the ring, looking around him at the audience with a calm aura about him. His curiosity controlled his eyes, watching the fans and their reactions like an animal watches it's prey.

This was all new to Ville.

This curiosity, this glancing about and the like, it all came to a screeching halt when “The Watcher 2 (Instrumental)” by Jay-Z burst out of the P.A. Ville directed his attention entirely to the ramp as Detective Kraig Carter made his way down, with bubbles rising from his pipe. For the most part, fans gave a positive reaction toward Kraig as he slid into the ring to join Ville. They both took their corners.

The bell rang.

They both came out swinging. The fans showing their appreciation began to scream in excitement. The disgusting sounds of fists connecting with jaws and temples just had the fans screaming more.

SMACK!

They screamed in their maniac tongues as the two brawled under the bright lights. Out of no where, Ville Azure sent a knee into the Detective's stomach. Kraig coughed, eyes widening before he fell down on the mat.

The grin on Ville's face only grew wider as though he was enjoying this. The grin was ridiculous; like the smiley face on a cobra's hood or the way a shark grins before it rips you in two. Kraig grasped as his stomach as Ville knelt down, looking dead into his eyes and mouthing the words, “My apologies.”

With impressive subtlety and speed, Kraig pushed himself up and lunged at Ville. He managed to catch him in a spear, finishing it off with a pin attempt.

One!
Two!
Thre-- Kick out.

The surprised Ville Azure rolled out of the ring, much to the fans disapproval, as Kraig made it to his feet and grinned down at Ville. Ville's smile, that ridiculous grin, was gone and replaced by a rather angry stare. Kraig, however, showed no fear as he stared back.

Ville casually climbed back into the ring, staying on the apron and watching Kraig. Waiting for him to strike.

Kraig ran.

Ville dodged.

Kraig flew out of the ring.

Kraig came crashing onto the floor, rolling in agony as Ville perched himself on the turnbuckle and waited. That maniac grin had returned. Those eyes, they looked like they were on fire. Kraig stood. Ville leaped.

WHAM.

His head collided with the guardrail and he fell to the ground, grasping at his neck with wide eyes. Kraig smirked down at him, shaking his head back and forth as if saying 'I told you so'. He lifted Ville up and, almost immediately, delivered an Inverted Tommyhawk right onto the floor!

Ville laid looking as though he had just crawled out of a car crash. Blood oozed down from his lower lip, which was busted open by the impact. He made his best attempt to crawl toward the ring, but everything was a bit blurry.

The cameras went snap-snap.

The lights went twinkle-twinkle.

Kraig Carter climbed into the ring.

The referee counted for the ring out. One. Two. Three. Four. It all sounded like it was in slow motion to Ville as his hands touched the apron and he attempted to pull himself up.
Five. Six. Ville clawed himself into the ring, on all fours like a pathetic animal. He looked up, trying to make things out. Crimson smeared his mouth... just as Kraig Carter's boot caught underneath his chin.

CRACK.

His head shot back like a rocket. A sickening crack rang throughout the arena, much to the bloodthirsty fans delight. The pain that rushed through Ville's neck was immense. All at once he felt a migraine rush through his skull, teeth become loose, and blood spurt from his mouth. From a moment, all function was lost. Everything was dark. No one was there. Time was frozen... and when he woke up, he heard the ref call out 'two'!

With all his strength, all his remaining power, he kicked out right before three. Kraig couldn't believe it. The referee couldn't believe it. The fans couldn't believe it. As Ville came to, he realizes his face was now covered in that crimson mask.

Kraig sneered, suddenly quite frustrated. He lifted Ville up by his hair, thrusting his head underneath his arm. As he prepared to drop him like a fly, Ville pushed with all his might and speared Kraig against the turnbuckle. The air rushed out of Kraig's body like mad. His grip on Ville loosened as Ville wrapped his arms around Kraig's waist. He repeated the process, backing up and spearing him into the turnbuckle. Kraig's body was limp by the third spear, so Ville let him lean against the turnbuckle. A bloody grin flashed across The Bad Seed's face as he began to crack his knuckles.

Kraig had no idea it was coming before it was already there. His eyes were closed. He was gasping for air... and then a fist came crashing into his face causing his head to turn sideways at an almost unbelievable angle.

With the first punch, the crowd cried, “ONE!”

With the second punch, the crowd cried, “TWO!”

With the third punch, Ville cried, “Fuck you.”

It was ended with a fifth punch right to the now bloody face of Kraig Carter. Ville pulled away, smirking, and Kraig collapsed to the ground.

A few seconds passed before Kraig managed to push back up, but he wasn't greeted with a chorus of cheers from the fans... he was greeted with a hard boot to the groin.. The Birth Control Method, as Ville so aptly named it. Kraig's eyes practically bulged out as he fell back to the ground, grabbing at his crotch and trying to salvage the remaining shards of his dignity.

Ville lifted Kraig up, planning another move out in his head already... but Kraig fought back with all the strength he had left. He hit Ville with punches into the abdomen area, knocking the breath out of The Bad Seed every time. Ville backed away, trying to catch his breath. Kraig winded back for one last punch and squared him right in the jaw, causing Ville's face to swing sideways. The loud crack of Ville's neck rang throughout the arena as sweat dripped from his hair. His face was now a crimson mask, much to the approval of the fans.

Kraig smirked, giving a sudden taught to get the fans riled up. As 'Carter! Carter! Carter!' chants began to ring throughout the arena... Ville made a sudden leap into the air.

Je T'Aime.

Take an Armada Dupla Kick to the chest, right at the heart.
Mix it with an unsuspecting Kraig Carter.
What are the results? Kraig Carter falling to the ground and feeling as though his chest had imploded in on itself. Suddenly, Kraig Carter felt fragile. He coughed, grasping at his chest and rolling around. Ville smiled down at his handywork, crouched down. He shook his head slightly as he rolled Kraig over, going for the pin.

One.
Two.
Three.

It was over and the win belonged to Ville Azure.

The cameras went snap-snap.

The lights went twinkle-twinkle.

Kraig Carter laid, staring up at the ceiling. Ville Azure, however, stood up. He reared back his leg, a maniac grin overtaking his bloody face. He kicked right into the side of Kraig Carter's head and, all at once, Kraig felt a mixture of pain and relief run through him as he blacked out.

“Night Shift” by Siouxsie and the Banshees played on through the P.A... and Ville casually stepped out of the ring and made his way toward the back.

As he walked up the ramp, the EMTs ran by him, toward the ring, to help Kraig Carter.

Ville couldn't help but chuckle.

WINNER : Ville Azure

When it rains...
Author - Aaron and Jesse
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The camera had found itself in the backstage area once more, zooming in on very focused Jesse Ramey as he began moving his arms through the air very gradually and stopping in certain stances, letting out deep breaths of air, and then continuing to move his arms and legs about the ground in a very martial arts-esque style. He would do this every week before his first match, just to limber himself up for the performance that he was about to make.

A shadow suddenly consumed Jesse and the camera panned to get a view of whom this shadow belonged to. Soon enough, a wicked grin came into view; emotionless eyes staring a hole through Jesse Ramey's back. Ville Azure. He watched Jesse... and a chuckle escaped from between his lips. The stage was set. Ville would play the role of the antagonist and Jesse would play the daring protagonist. This was perfect, Ville thought. This was absolutely perfect.

Catching the sound of humor escaping Ville's mouth; Jesse turns his head and notices Ville standing behind him now, but it really doesn't phase him in the least as he turns back to his stretching and with a sigh, "Can I help you with something?"

"Oh I'm very sorry," Ville whispered as he stepped out of the shadows. Usually, Ville would need Jesse like he needed a bullet to the head... but right now? He needed Jesse. He needed some more fuel on his fire. He cracked his knuckled, now standing in front of Jesse. "I was just admiring... your ignorance."

Slowly opening his eyes, letting out a deep sigh, and then rubbing the back of his neck, "You do realize that you're interrupting something that is very important to me, correct?"

"Important?" Ville pondered, tilting his head slightly with a slight glimmer in his eyes; a trace of his odd curiosity. "How, I do wonder, is this important? You cannot tell me that simple stretching holds some sort of importance. That's what makes what you're doing, this stretching, so ignorant. It lacks any importance... so what's the point?"

Sighing once again and leaning against the wall, tossing his hand through his hair, brushing it out of his face so that he can look Ville right in the eyes, "Why should I stand around and try to explain to you just why this routine is so important to me, when you're only going to think it's ignorant because you don't understand it's importance to an ACTUAL performer such as myself?"

"Do I sense anger?" Ville asked, in an absolutely ecstatic tone. A surge of excitement had run through him, the thought of a fight. He chuckled once more, shaking his head slightly. "Even the slightest hint of it? Along with annoyance and frustration, I presume."

Lowering his head, shaking it in the same instance and releasing a bit of a chuckle himself at the sight of Ville. Jesse knew his kind very well and what he knew was that if Jesse could show him anger then he'd be as happy as a pig eating shit. Looking back up at Ville with his hair in his face and a smile on it as well, "You were right for a moment, I was beginning to get a little," stopping for a moment to think, "Frustrated with you, I guess you could say. To be quite honest now, I'm beginning to humor you somewhat."

"Are you?" Ville heard things differently from Jesse. His mind mixed and matched the pieces of the puzzle in one jumbled mess. To Ville, Jesse was screaming for attention. To Ville, Jesse was screaming for adoration. To Ville, Jesse was screaming for more ego inflation. Ville, however, was screaming give me a break. "Funny. I don't see anyone else laughing." And with that... Ville lost himself. His fist, guided by the thoughts of ultra violence, glided through the air toward Jesse's face.

Quickly noticing the fist flying at his face, Jesse ducked under the fist and threw himself about four feet away from Ville. He couldn't believe what had just happened and the look on his face explained everything as he just looked on with a partially opened mouth and a look of disgust and confusion, "What the hell are you doing? You fucking psycho! I've got a match later tonight and I'm not about to get involved in anything with you."

Jesse stopped once more taking a couple more steps back and shaking his head in anger, almost ready to raise his taped fists up and beat the living hell out of Ville, but he stopped himself and began to point at Ville, "If you really want to act like this then save it for next week, I'll take you on in the middle of the ring if you really want a fight that bad."

Ville simply nodded, letting one last chuckle escape as he watched Jesse with a tilted head. Devoid of emotions, he held out his hand as though offering a handshake, "I'd love to, Mr. Ramey." It was that simple.

Raising his brow and looking at Ville like he were a complete moron for even thinking he would shake his hand, "You know, I'll see you next week in the ring, but I'm going to pass on that handshake for now."

Ville seemed calm now. The maniac grin had changed to a timorous little smile. He closed his eyes and nodded his head. "Suit yourself. For the record though, I can't wait... Have a good match, Mr. Ramey." And with that, Ville turned and walked off to mind his own business. However, if one could see the carousel of thoughts rushing through Ville's mind... Next week was a long way off, but Ville was certain it would be interesting. Tonight, Ville would go to his hotel. He would find himself buried under the influence of alcohol and crushed by unavoidable sleep... but he would wake up feeling like a god.

A week seemed like such a long time...

Jesse could only shake his head as he turned and began to go back into his routine of stretches, getting ready for his match, but he couldn't keep his mind on the training and made his way down the hallway, shaking his head even more.

When it rains, they say it pours...

You Scratch My Back...
Author - Zezu
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"Mr. Kent!"

Adam Kent was a busy man, and as he turned around with two folders in his grasp, and a can of Red Bull, you knew that he had stuff to attend to quickly...but all that was about to be put on the back burner.

"Mr. Smith...how great it is to see you sir."

"Ahh...you know how it is, just wanted to see how my investment was going."

Kent shook the hands of one of the longest serving ACW board members. He was an oil tycoon, inherited mostly, but still a tycoon, and any tycoon is welcome to plunge his money into a federation that his father enjoyed most Sunday's. Kent couldn't help but see two strapping young lads behind Mr. Smith, looking around in awe.

"So who are these two?" Kent asked, nodded in the general direction of the duo.

"These are my pride and joy Mr. Kent, this is my eldest son John, and my younger son Steve."

Kent shook both of their hands vigorously.

"Please to meet you both...I don't mean to be rude Mr. Smith, but running this fed talks a lot of work, in very little time, so is there anything I can do for you?"

Smith placed his hand on Kent's shoulder and nodded for his "boys" to leave.

"I'll tell you what it is Mr. Kent, my boys, as you can see, are athlete's of the finest pedigree. I've hired a former pro-wrestler to teach these boys how to get down in a wrestling ring, and I want them to have a try out in my federation first...I'm giving you the first chance of these two young future stars, what do you say?"

Kent was shell-shocked.

"Erm...yeah, I'm sure we can take a look at them in one of the house shows."

A shaken head was his response...

"No, no, no, no...you see, I've got them a trial at FWA in England on Saturday, so I need you to see them just now...don't you have any spots open this evening? I will make it worth your while to take a look..."

Sticky situations don't come much worse...do they?

Say no...a board member and investor goes in a huff.

Say yes...and you have the makings of one of the worst matches of all time in an ACW ring, that doesn't involve El Emenopi.

"OK, Mr. Smith...they're going on after Paiste Saban and Mammoth..."

A smile graced Smith's face.

"FANTASTIC...they won't let you down..."

With that, Smith parted, to tell the good news to his boys.

Kent, would have to tell the bad new to his.

Blurs and Echoes
Author - Aaron and Ray
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Everything was so dark.

When he awoke, he could barely open his eyes. The throbbing headache pierced through his head like a bullet and the slightest movement would cause pain beyond his wildest dreams. Every sound was just below a whisper and he could barely make any words out. However, when he regained his hearing... well, it had the same effect that moving did. Immense pain.

He tried to speak, but it came out as a mutter, “...where...”

A soft voice, belonging to a woman, glided down to him. The voice was beautiful. The voice was pure. It belonged to a Siren... but it just made his head ache even worse. “Shh, Mr. Carter. Just relax. I'm fixing you write up.”

His eyes, barely cracked open at this point, could only make out blurry shapes. The funny thing about losing consciousness is that even though you don't remember passing out, it hurts like hell. Even though you have absolutely no recollection of anything that happened within the past five seconds to thirty minutes, you feel as though you just went through a night of heavy drinking.

The soft humming of the nurse rang through his ears.

“Okay, Kraig... you've suffered from some mild --”

Everything seemed to begin to fade out into mere echoes. Slowly, sounds disappeared and the shapes just got blurrier. He closed his eyes once more, mouth hanging slightly open as though he was caught midway through sentence.

At this point, Kraig Carter could feel consciousness shattering once again... but, before he slipped back into the lonely darkness and lost himself again within the confines of the back of his mind, he recalled that image of Ville Azure standing over him like some sort of bad omen. Ville Azure was now that monster hiding under Kraig Carter's bed. Ville Azure was that scratch at the roof of Kraig Carter's mouth. Ville Azure was, while losing the last few strands of his consciousness, the most important thing on his mind.

Ville Azure, He thought to himself. Is fucking dead.

Kraig Carter was out like a light.

empty board of empty words
Author - IKE!
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Alex Draper felt it in his fingertips. He could see it hanging there under his eyes. He was aware of it as he took each deep breath. He couldn’t avoid it when he heard the ringing in his ears.

Exhaustion.

It had been one week since the first Courage, and Alex had used that time wisely. He’d been in the ring all week, working other Indy shows, trying to get rid of his obvious ring rust. The week had gone well, but he was tired. As he walked into the arena, he headed for the board to check out where he was placed tonight. He sighed as he imagined how he would feel for the rest of the night.

Lucky for Alex, he was about to get the night off.

His eyes scanned the board quickly, and a puzzled look came over his face. He squinted his eyes, taking time to read each and every word on the board, searching desperately for his name.

He didn’t find it.

“What the…” he mumbled to himself.

It had to be some sort of mistake. He probably just forgot to report in the day before or do something in protocol. All he had to do was find someone, a higher up, Laguna or someone, and talk to them. 

They’d sort it out.

I mean he was already paid for the night, and he wanted to do his job. Surely they’d want to get their money’s worth.

Wrong.

Head Games - v1
Author - Tramel
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The scene panned in on Vinnie Copeland, the man the ACW was introduced to just last week. With a surprise appearance, Vinnie told Ninja K that he would do battle with him on that very night. However, Copeland and K did not ending up squaring off due to lack of co-ordination in the first week of this new establishment.

It happens. Deal with it.

Copeland, still angered that last week in this very surrounding he didn't get the chance to mark his first match in his wrestling career in the books. However, he found that there would be time for that on this very night.

Vinnie searched for his locker room, a requested gold plate with his name engraved, he couldn't be at par with the rest of the locker room. Oh no, he HAD to stick out.

He found his locker room door, polished the sign with his shirt and cracked a short grin for the camera. With a short swipe of a key card, Vinnie's locker room door cracked open and the quick change in temperature sent a thousand ideas into the head of Copeland.

Anybody could be out there. ANYBODY.

Shrugging it off, Copeland placed his gym bag on the bench infront of his large locker, surrounded in a normal sized television, a leather recliner, and you could not forget Copeland's favourite and defenitally most fluently used article in his locker room. The bar. Equipped with tons of alcohol.

Also, the second room storing his bathroom and showers, where Copeland really began to feel certain paranoia fill his head. There was a sound of footsteps heard that he was almost positive he could identify were coming from HIS locker room. (in the showers)

Copeland grabbed what the fans ate up. Vinnie Copeland carried a .22 pistol glock in his gym bag.

Why? Who knows. Certain situations in his past? No idea. A fear of what could happen here? I don't fucking know.

Vinnie had the gun at his side, not pointed or anything, just yet. His locker room was simple, it was a large room for recreation and relaxation, and a shower that was formed in a L pattern. As soon as Vinnie stepped afront this corner, the gun was now pointed directly ahead.

Copeland took a sharp breath.

He was confused.

Should he do it?

Should he pull the trigger?

Instead, the gun was brought down. The camera panned on the corner.

The shower overhead was turned on and what was in the shower was what shocked him. Vinnie picked it up.

Huh?

It's not a person you dumb fuck.

Instead, a blooded ninja star lay as blood stained on it was now being disinigrated as the water continued to pour on it. Vinnie picked it up and turned it over. An encrypted message that read -

'Don not be weary of men who take risks with titles and lands. Be weary of men who have nothing to loes...'

Copeland looked up, an expression of anger and fear spread across his face. A look that calculated confusion. Vinnie tossed the star away and marched out of his locker room and left the camera in his dust.

Fade 2 Black

Introduction to Destruction
Author - George
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The opening notes of “Magic Man” by Heart bled into the arena. You of course know who it’s probably gonna be, but the fans in the arena didn’t have the privilege of seeing the name of the song so there was some confusion amongst members of the crowd. “Who’s that?” Some wondered, but they figured they’d be in for a lot of surprises tonight… After all this was only ACW’s second show after the new ownership kicked in.

“Mama, try to understand, ohhhh ohhhh try, try try to understand… He’s a maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagic mannnnnn… oohhhh he’s got the magic hands….“

Their confusion was over as the curtains opened. They didn’t know whether or boo him… They’ve seen him before, and most wrestling fans are familiar with his work… Aye, the man who emerged from the curtain was none other than the infamous…

Magick Man.

He was legendary in the wrestling business for being the manager of some of the very best athletes to ever step foot in a ring. But, there was a problem with that… Since he was such a big manager, they crowd never really knew whether to cheer or jeer him because his clients included both good guys and bad guys. However, there was absolutely no question regarding whether to cheer or boo him. They knew who he was representing tonight… and they kinda liked him.

Magick Man let loose a huge smile as he slowly entered the ring. He paced around in his totally metro sexual attire; dark khakis and a black button up shirt. He reached for a mic and held it to his lips. By now the crowd response was deafening, and it wasn’t even a fact that he was representing who they thought he was representing. Maybe marketing should take notice to this guy.

The music was cut, and Magick began to speak.

“Hey, I think you guys in the control room are gonna have turn this thing up a little ‘cos I don’t think the crowd here in Albuquerque can hear me!!!” Magick yelled into the mic over the still roaring crowd. “They seem to be screaming about something!!! Oh, and they’re also chanting something!!! What… What’s that… Oh, Hey!!! They’re chanting ‘T-N-T!!! T-N-T!!!” Magick held the mic out over the top rope and the crowd roared those three letters back at Magick.

“T-N-T!!! T-N-T!!! T-N-T!!!”

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I could come out here and give you a long and agonizing speech about why I think my client is the very best athlete in professional wrestling today… But, I’m not.” The crowd cheered. “Ladies and Gentlemen, it is my privilege.. My honor… To introduce to you… The one… The only… GEEEOOO VACTONNNNN!!!!!!!!”

Yeah, the crowd exploded.

“COS’ I’M T-N-T!!!!!! I’M DY-NO-MITE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“TNT” by AC/DC pumped into the arena and the crowd went on fire. Their heads nearly exploded with screams. It was like one big huge mega awesome you’ve been saving it for three weeks orgasm. Geo Vacton ran out from behind the curtain and threw his arms up to the crowd. Those that were seated away from the entrance ramp screamed the lyrics to his theme song, and those were at ringside clawed at each other to get near him. 

Geo rapidly shuck the hands of as many fans as he possibly could, and hugged those that he could reach. He rolled into the ring and shot his gleaming pearly whites out at the crowd while he held his arms up at every corner of the ring. He did his thing at each turn buckle, and then paced around. He hugged Magick Man and shuck from side to side in his excitement.

This right here is what everyone in the arena was hoping for. Geo’s music began to die down, but the screams didn’t. Geo took the mic from Magick and began to circle around the ring.

“HEEEEELLLLLOOOOO ALLLBUQUERRRQUE, NEW FREAKING MEXICO!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

The crowd erupted. Sure, Geo was using the oldest trick in the book… But, so what if he didn’t invent it… This guy perfected it.

“JEEEESSSUUUSSS CHRRRRIIIISSTTTT!!!! I CANNOT TELL YOU HOW MUCH I MISSED BEING HERE!!!!” Geo’s smooth voice boomed into the mic. “I left ACW and I said to myself… It’s over. I said I was done with wrestling. I said I was hanging it up for good… And I decided to start working as a referee for some step-above high school joints… Ack, ack, ack, ack!!! Yeah, I was doing O.K. with that… I mean, I was getting by… But straight up, there ain’t nothing better than being in front of an ACW crowd!!!!”

“RRGGHHH!!!!” The crowd roared again.

“I couldn’t keep slapping the mat for a bunch of no bodies… I couldn’t keep ’getting by.’ I had to come back. So, a buddy of mine got on the phone with some ACW officials… And not too long after, I was talking about a contract with none other than Mister William Laguna!!! Folks, that guy is doing a real great job running this place… He’s making some real smooth moves, so I say we pay it up to him… How about a quick little La-gu-na chant? C’mon, do it with me… La-gu-na… La-gu-na… La-gu-na! La-gu-na!!!”

“La-gu-na!! La-gu-na!! La-gu-na!!” The crowd chanted it back with Geo.

“YYEEAAHHH!!!” Geo yelled into the mic. “You guys rock. You’re freaking awesome.“ Geo walked across the ring. “Well so, that guy… He gets me in here. So I’m all pumped up and ready… I got a place to stay, some money to spend… And just when I think it couldn’t get any better… Guess who decides to pay me a visit?” Geo steps around Magick Man. “Yeah, you got it!!! The Amazing Magick Man!!!!”

The crowd cheers for Magick and he gives them a polite bow.

“Know what folks… Magick is a real swell guy too, I think he also deserves a chant…. C’mon, let’s do this guys… Ma-gick Man… Ma-gick Man… Ma-gick Man! Ma-gick Man!!”

The crowd followed Geo’s suite again with a “Ma-gick Man!!! Ma-gick Man!!!” chant of their own. Magick glowed in the middle of the ring, and responded with several quick bows. Magick smiled from ear-to-ear and took the mic from Vacton.

“Thank you, thank you… You guys are great!!! I’ve never been in front of a crowd as good as you guys!!!” Magick nodded his head as the crowed cheered. “Yes… It’s happening all over again!!! It’s Geo Vacton and Magick Man together right here in A-C-W!!!! Last year he was YOUR United States Champion… And I promise you… We’re going after gold once more!!! We’re gonna climb the ladder, we’re gonna fight our way to the top… We’re gonna bring the championships home, baby!!!” Magick smiled. “And it all begins tonight!!! It‘s Geo Vacton VS The Asylum Fighter, Fejona Min!!! Right here, right now!!!”

Grudge Match
Geo Vacton Vs. Fejona Min
Author - [K]
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"Lucky You" by the Deftones.

Annnd, we're back from the short commercial break, with this match between a former 21w & ACW fan favourite, Geo Vacton, and current Asylum fighter. The crowd started to jeer heavily as Fejona Min started to steer her way down to the ring. Now, the crowd weren't quite wondering over WHY an Asylum fighter -- especially one that was the tA Women's Champ -- had decided to take up wrestling.

If I were Joe Campbell (a sober version), I'd be bustin' my nuts.

Fejona -- donning a *tight* red tank top with short sleeves, black silk pants, and sporting no footwear at all -- wasted no time in climbing into the ring. For a second, she seemed to savour the moment, like it was the first real time she had ever graced the squared circle. Geo Vacton chortled, as he paced about in his corner, his eyes indicating that he had the hankering to really impress in his return match.

On the outside, Magick Man shouted something to Geo. Last-second advice, probably.

* DING DING DING *

The bell had rung, and the match had begun, with the crowd's disdain for Fejona Min still rising in intensity. Fejona grinned smugly to herself, as she and Vacton started to circle around each other. Gave it that UFC-style feel to the encounter. For some reason unknown to all, Min continued to smile secretively to herself. Like she knew something Geo didn't. Vacton responded with very audible snarls.

He appeared maddened by Fejona's demeanor.

Hell, he appeared maddened by Fejona being his opponent.

After almost a damn minute of sizing each other up (or Geo possibly checking Min's tits out), the two locked-up. Instantly, Geo overpowered Fejona, using his sexy muscles to shove Fejona Min away. The tA fighter landed on her arse on the canvas, and the crowd played impromptu instigators like kids watching a schoolyard fight. Min used the ropes to help herself up, as Geo swaggered around a bit, confident.

He had a point to prove tonight, it seemed.

The two competitors advanced on each other again, seemingly going for another tie-up, but Fejona Min deftly shuffled to her right and struck with a palm heel strike to Geo's face, before grabbing his left arm and twisting it sideways. Vacton cringed, then raked Min in the eyes, getting a bit of admonishment from the gay-looking referee as a result.

Geo simply ignored it and grabbed Fejona's right arm, wrenching it every which way, before yanking the tA Women's Champion toward him and knocking her down with a shoulder barge. Min was on the canvas, seething, looking up at the rafters. Then, of course, Geo Vacton bounced off the ropes and dropped an elbow onto her chest.

On the outside, Magick Man clapped, along with the fans.

Inside the ring, Geo went for the quick cover, and the referee dropped to his knees;


ONE.


TWO.


That's all there was to it. Even for someone who'd never wrestled before, Fejona had the presence of mind to get her shoulders off the canvas way ahead of time, although it did appear that pushing a heavy man off of her caused her some discomfort. Vacton didn't seem bothered, he simply reached down and pulled Min up by the hair. Then, started to rock her world with a series of right hands.

Following which, he kicked her in the ribs.

And, got the fans on their feet, after executing his TNT DDT. Fejona was out of it. Totally.

"DY - NO - MITE!"
"DY - NO - MITE!"
"DY - NO - MITE!"
"DY - NO - MITE!"

Could you blame them for being pumped?

Magick Man was really diggin' the love for Geo on the outside, but Vacton was all business. He sneered down at Fejona for a while, letting her roll about and grab the ropes to help herself up, before Geo rushed at her and wrapped his arms around her slender waists. Min had a frightful glaze in her eyes, as she *tried* to get a secure grip on the ropes to disallow her from being murdered with a suplex.

But, Vacton was just a heartbeat too quick, as he drilled her with a German suplex.

Oh, no, Fejona 'the Enchanting Delinquent' Min landed on her feet and connected with a sidekick to the spinal area of Geo Vacton, forcing the latter to crumple down to the canvas.

Smart move on her part, even if the crowd thought otherwise. Pushing strands of her hair out of her eyes, Fejona pulled Geo up, messing up his hair in the process. Magick Man didn't like that. Not one bit.

But, anyways, Fejona chopped Geo across the chest, harshly. Ric Flair, take notes. Vacton cringed and grunted with the tA Women's Champion chopping away at him, before she whipped him into the ropes. Before anybody knew better, the woman dubbed as the Obstinate Assassin had Mr DyNoMite reeling, following a nicely-executed armdrag.

Geo was seen gritting his teeth as he got back up, but as he charged ahead, Fejona took him down with a drop-toe-hold.

Imagine the surprise when she attempted to lock in a crossface submission right after.

Geo Vacton's eyes widened but he quickly fought out of it, courtesy of a couple of punches (flashy, eh?) to Fejona's face, knocking her aside like an insect. Min shook her head, checking her nose to see if it was broken. It wasn't, but her spine might have been following an utterly wicked Irish whip into the corner by Geo! Vacton wasn't pulling any punches, and he rapidly found himself piling on the pressure.

Monkey flip. Put RVD to shame, really.

Except for the bit where the sneaky Fejona Min *somehow* landed on her feet.

Turning around, she ran at Geo Vacton, who was pretty much none the wiser. His years of experience shined through brilliantly here, as he planted Fejona with a t-bone suplex, causing the announcers to piss their pants and forced the crowd into popping big-time for the obvious fan favourite.

Another cover followed shortly after;


ONE.


TWO.


Ooooh, leg on the ropes. Fejona knows more about wrestling than she's letting on.

Geo Vacton smacked the canvas with his clenched fists, naturally frustrated. The referee stuck by his decision, not afraid to stick it to Mr DyNoMite. Magick Man appeared as if he could storm the ring to kickWHAMstunner the referee... but he didn't. Instead, Geo just shook his head and turned to prep for another attack on Min.

Who, mind you, had recovered rather quickly. Probably because she's a fighter, and a couple of suplexes wouldn't hurt her too much. Vacton, though, had been rattling Min rather stiffly. In his mind, he was simply treating the Enchanting Delinquent like what she was -- an Asylum fighter.

SMACK!

Now, THAT was a chop for the ages. Fejona flinched and held her chest in extreme agony, Geo Vacton feeling proud that his chop was possibly causing Ric Flair to have an epilepsy somewhere, interrupting his bonding session with Orton. Ahhh, back to the match. With Min on the ropes, Geo added to her pain with several quick jabs, before whipping her into the opposite set of ropes! Fejona ducked underneath the spinning heel kick attempt from Geo, surprising the latter.

That wasn't the end of it.

Not by a longshot. Determined to swing the match back in her favour, Fejona drove her bare right foot down onto Geo's left thigh, with authority. And wasted no time in flooring him with a Koshi Nage. Nice little Judo number, with a vicious kick to the back of the left shoulder added on at the end.

Then, Fejona made shockwaves.

By actually making a pin attempt. And, hooking the legs, too;


ONE.


TWO.


Jesus, what did you think?

Geo Vacton powered outta there, face laced with rage. Fejona Min shrugged and pulled Vacton up, striking him with several forearm shots that pushed him back into the ropes. As she tried to send him into the opposite set of ropes, however, Geo imposed his weight advantage by hanging on, before yanking the tA Women's Champ toward him with a simple yet effective tug.

Then, he murdered her. With a release overhead belly-to-belly suplex. Absolutely murdered her.

Magick Man slapped his palms down onto the apron, spurring his man on, as the crowd began to get behind their hero again. Geo wiped the sweat out of his eyes, thinking he should probably wrap the match up soon. Getting to his feet, he waited for Fejona to pull her small frame up, before he leaned in and drove his knee into her ribs. She doubled over, he sent her flying into the corner turnbuckle.

Stinger splash time.

Unless you're Fejona Min and you're fucking speedy. Geo Vacton staggered back, cupping his nose. Fejona, having ducked out of the way at the last second, shoots herself into the ropes and looks to strike with a running sidekick or something. I'd personally have gone for the bulldog faceslam if I was her, but, eh.

In any case, Geo evaded it with a duck, and turned Fejona inside out with a gigantic clothesline!

"DY - NO - MITE!"
"DY - NO - MITE!"
"DY - NO - MITE!"
"DY - NO - MITE!"

Now, Geo Vacton scaled to the top of the turnbuckle he'd crashed his face into moments earlier. Magick Man was riling the crowd up, getting them to watch his boy fly. And, fly Geo did, causing flashbulbs to go off as Vacton resorted to a cockscrew moonsault. One that TOTALLY flattened the Obstinate Assassin known as Fejona Min. The referee himself was in awe, and contemplated applauding.

But, he had a count to make;


ONE.


TWO.


Zuh?

Geo Vacton just eased himself out of the cover. The fans were stunned. Magick Man was stunned too.

The referee? Annoyed. I'd be too, actually, if I had to go down and raise my arm and shout 'ONE! TWO!', only for some joker to ease out of the pin. Vacton kept his composure, though, focusing on Fejona Min. Taunting the tA fighter to get up to her feet, to face him in the face.

So, she did just that. She dragged her arse up, holding her ribs.

Mr TNT simply chuckled, kicked her in said ribs, twisted her around, and keeeled her like bad odour with a move that the fans had not had the privilege of witnessing in a long time.

DYNAMITE DROP, baby.

The result was academic by this point;


ONE.


TWO.


THREE!


Magick Man slid to the ring and the crowd erupted, jubilant. Geo Vacton had picked up the victory, and in rather convincing fashion, too. Manager and client traded high-fives and hugged, back in the game. Back in ACW, for good, and starting off with a classy and straightforward victory. Geo sneered down at Fejona's lifeless body as he and Magick Man left the ring.

Vacton was back, and he was going to make sure that he got the word out to everyone.

He's DY-NO-MITE, foo.

Fejona Min, on the other hand, was not having the best of times. Tough couple of weeks for her, and her ACW career kicks off to a losing start. Not the best publicity for theAsylum, surely, but as the referee helped her out of the ring, Fejona's smile was evident when she pushed the fringes of her ethereal hair out of her face. Perhaps she had a hidden agenda? Perhaps she just valued the experience.

Whatever.

This goes down as a Geo Vacton win. 

Simple as that, foo.

WINNER : Geo Vacton

Reflecting
Author - [K]
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"I'm fine, I'll talk to you later."

The unusually grave voice of Quinton May was the last thing a senior official heard, before the Scorpion Fighting Champion decided to advance down the hallway, trudging back to his locker-room. The Survivor of M15 had taken it upon himself to arrive at the arena early, to plan out his strategy for his important Ladder Match on the night.

A match which would see him square off against YOUR Entertainment Saviour, and the self-proclaimed Smartest Man In Wrestling Today. Or, Phil Atken, as he's more commonly known as. The battle would also have an additional incentive attached to it, one that made the contest more appealing than a couple of blonde bombshells donning pink g-strings and with the promise of 'I love you long time'.

That incentive would materialise in the shape of the ACW Television Title.

Quinton May scratched his forehead, thinking back to last year. Reflecting, on the time he won the Television Title and began to rise up the ranks. It all dated back to last year's Glory PPV. Where, amongst other things, the Battle Royal for the vacant TV Title transpired.

Dante Inferno and A*Dubbs also had their scathingly intense battle on that night. The infamous Homicidal Tendencies melee also occurred at the Glory PPV. Quincy, however, would always remember that night for the Battle Royal. His return to the ring after months on the sidelines, and he was determined in leaving with the Television Title.

Smiling warmly to himself, Quinton allowed the rush of memories of days gone by to flood his mind, taking it all in small doses. The Canadian Gladiator -- donning a white tucked-out long-sleeved shirt with the sleeves rolled up, black jeans, and black sneakers -- was more than elated to reflect on the happier times.

Until, of course, it all began to go horribly wrong.

Shaking his head, Quinton May ceased thinking of the good ol' days and started to reflect on his opinions on the new ACW. The rebirth that was promising grand things. Quincy glanced sideways at talent whose names he did not know, hitting on the female production managers. The Canadian simply grunted, bemused.

Then, of course, the memory of Devin Bastian blindsiding him with a television monitor came back to haunt him. As a defense mechanism, Quinton raised his hand to the side of his head, carefully stroking it. Most of the officials had thought that Quincy was surely concussed following the heinous attack from Bastian, but May shrugged it off.

In fact, he'd gotten tired of people asking if he was alright.

Deciding to get himself some food, to fill his stomach, Quinton took a left and his hands delved into the pockets of his jeans, hoping that he had enough loose change to buy him a hotdog at least. He didn't want to trek back all the way to his locker-room to retrieve his wallet. Sure enough, an illuminating beam formed on Quincy's face, as he inched closer toward the exit toward the hotdog stand, with more than enough loose change clenched in his fists.

Quinton was suddenly startled by a young man who'd jumped seemingly out of nowhere, though.

"HI!" the man shrieked.

May blinked, taking a step back in defense, thinking it was Phil Atken or even Devin Bastian that had menacingly sneaked up on him, hoping to inflict punishment on him. His relief was evident when the Canadian Gladiator scrutinized the man, not finding him familiar in the least bit.

Quincy Mama replied, sticking his hand out: "Hello there, I'm Quinton May."

The young man's head bobbed up and down vigorously, as he shook hands with the Scorpion Fighting Champion. His grin stretched from ear to ear, as Quincy further evaluated the slightly crazy-looking fan; couldn't be more than twenty years of age, May thought solemnly to himself.

"I know! I've been a diehard fan of yours for over a year!" the man jabbered excitedly, whilst Quinton nodded acknowledging and pulled his hand back, putting it back into the side-pocket of his jeans. "In fact, I even saw you in Chicago a while back, when you made your return in EYE. That match against Shirata owned!"

Now, Quincy was flattered, and half-blushed. Even if he'd lost the match, the Canadian did agree -- for a return match, he'd worked it brilliantly and got a thorough work-out. Plus, he had the opportunity to demonstrate his limitless talent, and that was all the solace Quinton needed in the face of eventual defeat to Shirata Rinjiro.

Not that it would matter; EYE operations had been at a standstill for weeks.

"Well, thank you a great deal. All I'll say is that, look forward to my match with Phil Atken later on. There isn't a thing I won't do to earn back that Television Title, and you can be assured of a great match!" Quinton told the fan, pleased that he actually had diehard fans.

The man nodded his head rather vigorously again, obviously overjoyed at the promise from Quinton himself, and scuttled away quickly. No doubt to tell his friends/family of this 'chance encounter' with the Rising Star, May pondered. Shrugging, he advanced forward, in search of the hotdog stands.

Returning to reflecting; this time, on his run-in with Phil Atken last week...

Aren't You Going To Tell Me?
Author - Zezu
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Hillary Duncan entered Laguna's office in haste, and in a bit of a flurry.

"I've just been abused to the hills William, what the fuck is going on?"

Laguna's face = blank.

"I have no idea what you are referring to." Duncan quickly placed her stuff on the desk, and opened the door of Laguna's office marching her way out to the corridor. The squeaking of wheels could be heard as she pulled in the match board for this night, which had been edited.

"John Smith, Steven Smith...who are they?"

Hillary threw her hands in the air. "Hell if I know!"

Laguna twiddled a pencil in between his fingers, trying to think. "Calm down Hillary, have you asked Adam about this?"

"I can't get a hold of him, his beeper is off."

Speak of the devil.

"Boss...we've got a problem."

Both Laguna and Hillary turned to see Kent in the doorway of the office, Laguna with in impatient look across his face, Hillary with anger.

"You're damn right we've got a problem, shut the door."

Who Would Dare...
Author - Wilk
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Volker, slipping down the hall with arrogance and pride, walked along without a care in the world. His pace was steady, calm, and, above all else, unconcerned. He was apathetic towards all the people he saw and all the people who walked by.

In his mind, he was above them all.

And as a result…

He suspected nothing, for there was no one to mistrust. No one that he knew anyway.

But, as he reached out for the locker room door that the powers-that-be were so ‘thrilled’ to give him, his jaw dropped and his eyes stared blankly ahead.

The audacity!

Volker Baldwin

Born – December 19, 1979

Who the hell would write this?!

Died – May 9, 2004

He ignored it, passing it off as a useless joke made by a useless excuse for a human being, and swung the door open.

And you thought he was surprised before…

Who the fuck would dare do this to ME!!!

His eyes scanned across the backdrop that would have been his nice, clean locker room. All he could see was the color red, splattered along the wall and staining every piece of furniture.

Words decorated every area his eyes looked, as Volker stood there, attempting to read every last one.

Loathe – Hatred – Scum – Death – Lies – Beyond – End – Fuck – Scumbag – Fuckers – Tool - Blinds – Stench – Shitter – You – Hail – Your – Soon – Sightless – Will – Kill – All – God – See

But, above all, his eyes stared coldly at the swastika staring back at him on the middle of the wall, crossed out by a large, black-painted X smack dab in the middle.

Anger was only a word; Volker was beyond its definitional limits.

Just at that moment, a man of about thirty years of age, wearing a backwards Cardinals hat and carrying a crate of some kind, turned the corner to see Volker standing there, livid and staring at him with bloodshot eyes.

He wasn’t in the mood, but that was the price you had to pay sometimes when you worked for a federation such as this.

“Who the fuck did this?!” yelled Volker, irate as all hell.

The man strolled up to the door, carefully rested the crate down on the nearby table, and took a deep whiff of air before he looked up at the writing under the name “Volker Baldwin” and into the red-stained room. He was confused, but not at all surprised. This was professional wrestling after all.

“How the hell should I know?”

As Bruce Willis once said… “Wrong answer.”

Volker reached out and grabbed him by the collar of his Metallica shirt, lifting him off the ground. Again, he was confused, but sure as hell not surprised.

“Well, why don’t I just find out for myself!”

He hoisted the man up into the air with a gorilla press, and tossed him into the wall, letting gravity pull him back down and through the table with the crate.

Volker stormed away, rage pumping through his veins and his eyes bulging through his read face.

And all the man could think was that he should have stayed with WWE instead of moving to ACW; extra $1.50 an hour be damned.

The Ladder to Success Has Already Been Climbed
Author - Colin
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Courage found itself in a wonderful place, the ring! Of course the odd thing about this ring was that there was a ladder already set up inside the ring. Another odd thing, it was nowhere close to main event time. Of course any question anyone may have had was quickly answered by…

“Perfect Strangers”

Deep Purple

Phil Atken

Yes, you read that correct, Courage found itself in the presence of the reigning Action Wrestling Champion, Phil Atken. Phil strutted down to the ring, confident as ever, despite his huge loss to Randy Lancett the previous week, a loss the fans were quick to remind Atken, with their chants of “Jobbed to Rookie” ringing through the arena. Of course that wasn’t going to bother Phil Atken, he was still the fucking man in his own mind. He was quick to show of his Action Title just in the brief hope that it’d shut up the fans. It didn’t. Of course the fans didn’t matter in Phil’s mind, they hadn’t for a long time. He picked up a microphone at ringside then rolled into the ring staring upwards at the ladder.

“Hicks and shemales, I have two very urgent matters I feel I do have to address tonight, one concerning that little puke, Randy Lancett, the other concerning tonight’s main event. The match that will involve this vile object.” Phil said in a way he seemed almost disgusted at the ladder. “But we’ll get onto that later…

For now, I have to address what I must admit I find a concerning situation, that little shit Randy Lancett has been parading around claiming to be the Action Champion just because he got a fluke win over me. Now let us be honest here, Randy you are but a little tiny bit of shit on my shoe, to me you’re insignificant - in fact I probably shouldn’t even be wasting my time with you. But, you little prick, let me make one thing clear you are not the Action Champion nor will you ever the Action Champion, you are, at best a fucking mid-carder and if you think going around pretending you’ve taken away my prized procession is going to score you some points, think again you annoying little fuck. Now with that out the way…”

“Atken Sucks!”
“Atken Sucks!”
“Atken Sucks!”

“As I was saying…”

“Atken Sucks!”
“Atken Sucks!”
“Atken Sucks!”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP! Now lets get on to slightly more important matters, tonight’s main event. See tonight is Phil Atken’s actual debut, tonight is when you fans will see the real Phil Atken, the Phil Atken, who let us be honest here, is the fucking man. The Phil Atken who will carry any promotion he’s in to the top just by his mere presence. That Phil Atken returns again tonight. I don’t know who the fuck was in the ring with the jobber last week but that man is no more, nor will he ever be again. Last week, I’ll admit it, I fucking blew it. But I wasn’t ready for Action, I was never even meant to be on that card and now I have a little shit with a victory over me. As I said though, we’re ignoring that topic.”

“Jobbed To Rookie!”
“Jobbed To Rookie!”
“Jobbed To Rookie!”

“Hick and shemales, if you kindly keep your sorry arsed, eating from a trough, truck driving mouths SHUT while the only adult here tries to talk. Now as I was saying, tonight I will find myself in the ring with that moron Cunt Face and one of these things” Phil said as he leaned against the ladder. “Yes, that’s right, tonight I find myself in a god damn fucking shit arsed Ladder Match.”

There was a brief pop from crowd. Atken was quick to cut it off.

“Now what Cunt Face no doubt doesn’t know because I’m willing to bet that fucking moron doesn’t look up opponent history is that I am two for two in ladder matches. I successfully defended my cWo TV title in a ladder match and I won the only belt that ever mattered in thReat, the Cruiserweight Title too. Of course that belt only meant anything because it was around my waist but I digress…

“Shut the hell up” *clap clapclapclap*
“Shut the hell up” *clap clap clapclapclap*
“Shut the hell up” *clap clap clapclapclap*

“Yes, I’d appreciate it if you would do as you say, you fucking morons. So as I was saying and with my past history in mind, I’d like to give all you great dickwads a demo, if you will of what’ll happen later tonight. So, if you would please lower the strap…”

The strap was lowered and Phil put his Action Title around it. The belt was the hoisted up, hanging above the ring.

“Okay for my next step I’m going to need a volunteer …Yes, you fatty in the front row, you shall do. Security if you’d be kind enough to escort him into the ring.”

The guards did just as Phil said and escorted the rotund fan into the ring.

“Now, let me show you step three…”

Phil backed away slightly from the fan before nailing him with a running swift kick to his nuts. The fans immediately collapsed to the ground, screaming in agony.”

“And step four is of course seven…”

Phil began to climb the ladder.

“Sweet steps…

Phil reached the top of said ladder.

“To victory!”

Phil grabbed his Action Title and sat atop the ladder. Smiling smugly down below at the injured fan who was now being dragged away by security. Sitting atop the ladder he delivered his final words, aimed directly at Quinton.

“Cunt Face, that was just a demo. Tonight I teach you never to fuck with a man vastly superior than yourself. See you then!”

Trust in Your Abilities
Author - Oz
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He sank back into the wall, the cool cement pressed against his body. He ran his hands along his face and up through his hair. He’d done this hundreds of times prior. Prepare for a match that is. So, why was this time any different?

His nerves had kicked in, and anxiety was overwhelming him. The butterflies in his stomach were flapping as much as their little wings could muster. Hell, they weren’t butterflies.

They were eagles.

They spread their wings and smacked the inside of his bowels as much as they possibly he could. He felt sick to his stomach. Even though the Albuquerque crowd was a small one, the history behind this promotion was enough to make even a confident man cringe in anticipation before his debut match.

How will they respond to me, he wondered. He knew that as a heel it was his duty to have the fans hate him, but if they would cheer for him and chant his name he knew that all his nerves would go away.

Not on this night however. It was his duty to have to have them despise him. And despise him they would.

He raised himself off the wall, as he looked down at his wrestling boots.

“Laces tight,” he whispered to himself, “check.”

He looked toward his tights, “draw string fastened, check,”

He inhaled deeply; this was it. He knew he had the ability to go out and impress the Albuquerque faithful, but it the mental part of the game he was struggling with. He thought back to his days in the Bronx, and the small room in the back of the Laundromat where he learned and perfected his skills with his stepfather.

“Trust in your abilities,” Kade remembered back to the extensive hours of training and the long motivational speeches his stepfather give him.

“Trust in your abilities,” Simian repeated once more, “and you can amount to anything.”

Suddenly, the sound of ‘the Death Song’ by Marilyn Manson began to the shred the silence that had befallen the Albuquerque crowd. This was it.

He flipped back the curtain.

Grudge Match
Simian Kade vs. Lancett
Author - Oz
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He marched onto the stage as the pyrotechnics shot off in front of the Fallen Angel. He looked back, he saw the ACW logo etched onto the curtain. This was it; it was his time. The music blasted through the sound system of the Albuquerque arena, as the fans booed and jeered.

Well, he had accomplished one goal; the fans sure didn’t like him. As he trekked to the ring the face the fans saw was all wrestling. He was intent to complete the task at hand.

But, the face they didn’t see, the face deep within him, was all smiles. His first ACW match and everything was going according to plan.

He rolled under the ring ropes, and trotted over to the far turnbuckle. He scaled the ropes and threw his arms into the air. The fans rang out in a chorus of boos. He yelled back. Finally the taunting ceased as he jumped down from his perch.

His music was cut, and “Numb” by Linkin Park began to play.

I'm tired of being what you want me to be
Feeling so faithless lost under the surface
Don't know what you're expecting of me
Put under the pressure of walking in your shoes
(Caught in the undertow just caught in the undertow)
Every step that I take is another mistake to you
(Caught in the undertow just caught in the undertow)

The words ripped through the ears of the crowd as Lancett made his way through the curtain. The glow of the fireworks was only outdone by the silhouette of Kid Frost. His shadow followed him down the cold ring ramp, as he reached the thin layer of padding which surrounded the ring. He stopped there; he began to soak in the atmosphere. He reached out and grabbed the bottom rope.

The fans booed as Lancett looked out into them. The sea of people began to chant.

“Lancett SUCKS!”
“Lancett SUCKS!”
“Lancett SUCKS!”

However their taunting didn’t faze him. He looked straight up at Kade and smiled. Kade didn’t return the gesture however; he glared back at his adversary. Lancett pulled himself into the ring. The chanting continued as the referee came between them both.

*DING DING DING*

And it was on.

Lancett and Simian Kade locked up, they struggled for the upper hand before Lancett was finally able to drive Kade back into the corner. He pressed him up against the turnbuckle, before letting go and driving his shoulder into Kade’s abdomen.

Kade groaned as all the air was forced out of his lungs, as he was driven back hard into the ropes.

Another shoulder to the gut got the same reaction from Simian. He doubled over in pain as Lancett backed off. However the rest for Simian was short lived as Kid Frost moved in quickly. A double underhook powerbomb brought Simian straight down into the mat.

Again he groaned in pain as his spine made contact with the canvas. He rolled into the ropes, looking for support. However it never came as Lancett began to swiftly kick his midsection again and again.

The beating ceased; Lancett retreated to the center of the ring. He was stalking Kade; waiting for Simian to rise to his feet. And then it happened.

Kade moved to a vertical base and Lancett charged. His arm lunged out at Simian; clothesline!

But it was avoided.

Kade ducked underneath the high impact move from Lancett and stopped dead in his tracks. Lancett knew he was in trouble; he spun around as quickly as he could.

Not quick enough. Kade drove his boot into the stomach of the opposition. Lancett doubled over in pain.

Downfall DDT!

Lancett’s skull bounced off the canvas as the crowd cringed. Lancett held his head as Simian rolled over onto him.

1…

2…

Kickout. Lancett’s shoulder shot up from the mat. Kade rolled off of his opponent, and went right back to the attack. He clutched the legs of Lancett, he paused for a second, he wanted to make sure his opponent knew what was coming.

Boston Crab! He applied the hold with great technique as Lancett yelped and squirmed. Kade kept the hold locked in.

The referee dropped down beside Lancett.

“Tap you son of a bitch!” Kade yelled down at Lancett. Through groans of pain he was able to mouth the word “never.”

He moved ever closer to the ropes. Inch by inch he got closer to ending the pain.

*Ahhh!*

The screams poured out from Lancett as he was dragged back to the center of the ring.

“KADE, you SUCK!”
“KADE, you SUCK!”
“KADE, you SUCK!”

The fans chanted at the man who currently had the upper hand in the match. They didn’t know who to cheer for. They didn’t like either of the men. Which made it all the more enjoyable to see them beat the living day lights out of one another.

Lancett struggled against the pain, he tried to make it to the ropes once again. But his attempts were lost in his sea of cries.

The crowd continued to chant as Kade continued to inflict punishment on his opponent, but suddenly, the punishment stopped.

The crowd was confused as Kade dropped Lancett where he lay. There was no movement from Kid Frost. Kade paced around the ring, scouting out his possibilities.

The crowd began to yell once more as Simian approached his enemy. He picked Lancett up by the shoulders, until he was fully vertical.

He took the left arm of his opponent and Irish whipped him into the ropes. Lancett shot back at him, but he was met with a canvas shaking spine buster.

Kade shot back up, he cried out to the fans. A symbol that he was ready and willing to take anything that Lancett through at him. But in his haste and conceded gloating Lancett had made his way back to his feet. Slowly Simian turned around, but what he was met with he was not all too happy about.

Legacy ENDER!

The DDT impaled Kade’s limp body directly into the canvas.

1.

2.

3!

Lancett rolled off of Kade. The crowd booed, but it was meaningless as far as Lancett was concerned. As his opponent, Simian Kade, lay out cold on the ring canvas. 

He stared down at the Fallen Angel.

On this night he truly was “fallen”. As far as Lancett was concerned he was just another victim of the upward climb of this young superstar.

In his mind he was going to be the next big thing, it was only a matter of time. He smiled slightly, as he rolled out from the ring. He walked calmly back up the entranceway, as he looked down at Simian Kade, being examined by officials.

But tonight was far from over, he still had a lot of business to attend too. Mainly business involving one Jesse Ramey.

WINNER : Lancett

Canadian Meets Cambodian
Author - [K]
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Quinton May was, for the lack of a better term, bored.

More than likely, he was just psyching himself out, as he paced down the hallway for what was the umpteenth time. Quincy, for some reason, just couldn't take being tightly confined within the four dour walls of his locker-room. Not that his locker-room wasn't extravagantly furnished, of course.

The Canadian Gladiator sighed heavily once again, now with his Scorpion Fighting Title wrapped around his waist. He decided to roam the arena, just to continue to plot how exactly he was going to defeat Phil Atken.

While the self-proclaimed Real Ratings Grabber may have looked like a donkey's arse and portrayed himself to be a cunt, the skill he possessed was undeniable. Unparalleled, even.

Phil Atken just had that unique blend, of don't-give-a-fuck and skill.

Sniggering, Quincy recalled the tapes of Atken in thReat. Phil's matches with Tyler Davidson and Vertigo and Sergey Kovhachek greatly demonstrated his tactical brilliance, coupled with flashes of cowardice. The Smartest Man In Wrestling (supposedly), however, had matured a lot since his thReat days.

Now, he was a force to be reckoned with. At least, that's what Atken himself said.

"Well, hello there, stranger."

Confused, Quinton turned around, folding his arms as he sought to put a face to the voice. The female voice. Slightly shuddering, remembering an event from the past related to misrepresentations of a female voice, May found himself staring right into the hypnotic and tantalising eyes of one Fejona Min.

Canadian, meet Cambodian.

"Oh, hello there." Quinton responded, trying not to stammer. "You're the fighter from Asylum, right? The Women's Champ who many believe has some ulterior motive for coming over to ACW to wrestle as part of a short-term contract? Laguna told me about you a little bit."

Smiling while limping forward, Fejona Min nodded her head, almost seemingly charmed by the Canadian Gladiator.

With a hand on her hip and a intense gaze into May's eyes, Fejona replied: "Indeed. Good to see that I'm already the talking point of a few of the ACW folk. I know who you are, I've seen your matches. In fact, Quinton, I often find myself thinking that if I could possess some of the skills that you have, it'd go a very long way in helping me build myself as a wrestler around these parts.

Nobody ever mentioned how suave you actually look, though."

Can you say, muack muack? Kiss-ass.

Quincy Mama was naturally flattered -- for the second time on the night. His cheeks turned a bright hue of red and Fejona giggled as she flicked her hair out of her eyes, watching as a semi-speechless Quinton tried to find the right words to respond to the Cambodian Femme Fatale.

"Well, thank you very much. I can't offer you the same line of compliments since I don't really watch Asylum, but I've heard that you're quite the talented fighter, and for being a fresh face on the scene, that's pretty remarkable. I did see you wrestle out there tonight, though. Don't be discouraged by a loss. I started out rather shabbily too, all it takes is some hard work and dedication." Quincy leaned in, fancying his chances with Fejona.

She may have been flirting with him.

But, the Cambodian Femme Fatale wasn't going to put any wrong ideas into his head.

"I'll keep that in mind, definitely. Thanks. I have to go now, see you next week!" Fejona stated, whispering, before flashing a warm smile at Quincy May and proceeding down the hallway, still limping -- after-effect of the match with Geo.

Quinton May bowed and walked back to his room in the opposite direction, feeling proud of himself.

What he didn't notice, however, was Fejona Min turning around and watching as the Rising Star disappeared out of sight. Still grinning, the Enchanting Delinquent flung her duffel bag over her right shoulder, the first week in her experiment having screeched to an ending that was better than the night's work.

Much better than expected.

"I've found the perfect pawn for this wonderful game."

Deutschland Uber Alles
Author - Zach
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The whole arena went black and "Deutschland Uber Alles" blares on the speakers. Volker Appeared on the ramp way with a face on him that could stop a clock. Volker took no time to get to the ring, as he was practically running. He slid in and hopped up to his feet and walk to the edge of the ring and got him self a MIC. 

There still was no change with the look on his face.

Volker started to run off the ropes going back and forth. He than leaped into the air and rolled on the mat. It looked like he was trying to take out his frustration. Volker then looked at all the crowd and said, “You know what ruins this world?”

The crowd had no answer. They just all looked and Volker standing in the middle of the ring with the MIC to his lips. He was standing there not speaking. He opened his mouth slowly and never spoke.

Volker then walked to the center of the ring again and said, “You know what ruins this world? People like that person backstage fucking around with my shit. People like all you slobs in the crowd. I am sure that half of you never even got a shower today. Hell I can smell you from here.”

The whole arena erupted in boos. No one wanted to hear anther thing from his mouth. The crowd started to chant, “GO BACK TO GERMANY” over and over again. Volker plugged his ears. Volker then removed his hands from his ears and grew a smile.

Volker looked at the whole crowd and started to chat, "Deutschland Uber Alles" Over and over again. The crowds boos went away. All you could hear was Volker’s chants. He began to Jump around the ring chanting it. Everyone was puzzled; it seemed as if the man had lost his mind.

Volker then stopped the chanting and looked up at the bright lights. And pulled the MIC back to his mouth and said, “Fuck you all.”

Volker then jumped over the top rope and landed on the apron. He climbed down off the apron and threw his arms up in the air. The crowd booed Volker the whole way up the ramp way. When Volker got to the top he threw his arms up in the air again and walked backstage.

THE FOLLOWING SEGMENT WAS NOT AIRED 
TO THE TELEVISION AUDIENCE, OR TO THE ARENA CROWD

Rats on the Titanic

Author - VossMan
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Mammoth entered the locker room to be presented with...

Cue raging small man.

...a huge shove from Marshall which slammed against the door he'd just shut behind him. And he grabbed him by his shirt and slammed him against the door again.

"ARE YOU TRYING TO GET US FUCKING FIRED, JACKASS?" Patrick shouted as he slammed Mammoth against the door again.

And he slammed him against it again, until Mammoth's massive hands wrapped themselves around the neck of Marshall and the tables turned. He spun around and slammed Patrick hard against the door.

"Have you finished yet?" he asked.

Patrick slapped Mammoth's big hands off his shirt collar, and brushed himself down. He shook his head.

"No I'm not fucking finished, Steve. I'm far from finished. Two weeks we've been here and already you're trying to get us fired. Is that what you? Coz if that's what you want you do that on your own, I don't stand beside you.

"I want to forget that shit ever happened, too. I don't like thinking about those fucking costumes and working for laughs. I want to be a legitimate wrestler, too, Steve.

"But that's not how you go about it. Ripping up little kid's photos and making parents angry. What's next? Fighting with the story writers?" Patrick asked him.

His boney finger poked into Mammoth's chest. Steve looked down where the end of Patrick's finger made the indentation.

"That guy was right. You gotta fucking wake up to yourself. You've gotta be a role model. You've gotta pull your fucking head in. Coz I'm not drowning on the Titanic, Steve. I'm overboard with the rats. You're not taking me down with you coz I don't need this shit.

"I need a pay cheque and some TV time and I'm happy. That's all I want and you're trying to fuck that up for me. Well... no thank-fucking-you, Steve. You can go down on your own

"I'm here to help if you want my help, but if you go pulling stunts like this one, and that shoot with Lancett last week, you'll find yourself a very lonely and a very unemployed wrestler, Steve," Patrick told him.

The pair stood there in silence. Mammoth looked to the far wall, he couldn't even look Patrick in the eye.

Everything he said was true.

He wasn't coping too well with this gimmick change and he wanted the fans to love him right away, to respect the Action! League was dead. But it didn't happen that way and it never did.

WCW could never make Sting a heel. Could he never turn his back on being the John?

"You want my help, just ask. Don't kill my career, too."

Patrick turned and twisted the door knob, heading out into the hall.

Disappearing from sight and leaving his monster partner alone in the locker room.

He put his back against the wall and slid down it until he sat in the fetal position, wrapping his massive arms around his knees and all of a sudden it hit him...

The monster just cried.

Tears slowly rolled down his cheeks.

All he wanted was a clean slate.

Grudge Match
Ninja K vs. Vinnie Copeland
Author - Tramel
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So much hostility thus far.

And it's only begginning.

'Nobody's Listening' by Linkin Park cued.

N I N J A K

The arena went pitch black and the fans all around were left in suspicion. As the name N I N J A K appeared on the overscreen that they COULD see, they began to scream and use the lighting of their cell phones and lighters to try to spot where he may have been.

Such a sneaky man could have been anywhere at this very given time. However, a storm effect appeared as the music continued to blare and the fans continued to rock out.

The cloud of cold, pitch white smoke appeared and a strobe light blinded everyone in attendance. Ninja was seen there, and the fans reacted more. Ninja, showed no emotion or appreciation for the fans, continued his week to week forte. He would pay his respects by entertaining each of them tonight.

With much experience over this new comer to the ACW, anything could happen here.

Ninja springboarded himself over the top rope as he stepped to the apron and landed neutralized in the middle of the ring. The lights now in full effect, Ninja K awaited his prey. Continuing to keep his strategy for tonight in his mind.

"Die Motherfucker Die" by Dope cued.

V I N N I E C O P E L A N D

Yeah, this was pretty much exactly how Vinnie felt about not only Ninja, but every last ugly face that surrounded him on his path to the ring. Vinnie wasted little time, a pyro that blared as he stepped through each step on the ramp, shot to the air, backing up the fans who tried to reach over to get a hand on Copeland.

Vinnie stopped before the ring, starring daggers into eachothers eyes, the looks were cold and spoke one million words. Men who recently collided had such hatred, Vinnie because he knew Ninja was what he wanted to be, and Ninja because of Vinnie's cold words that really were just trash talk.

Copeland cracked a short grin as he looked around at the fan base that surrounded him. Vinnie slid into the ring and the two stood toe to toe. Size being a large difference, the bell rang and it was on.

Kenshiro began rhythmically wringing the tension from his gnarling fists as Copeland continued onward with the verbal onslaught. The Tuscan native would enact the first cardinal sin with an Open Hand Slap to the Ronin’s face, prompting the ninja to return fire with a Spinning Back Fist to Copeland’s jaw. The surrounding legion winced from the sound of a Buzz Saw Kick connecting with Copeland’s thigh, thus hobbling the 254 pound brawler before Kenshiro would quickly latch onto his opponent with a Standing Side Head Lock.. Applying more pressure to the hold, Kenshiro would eventually force Copeland down to one knee.

Using his more broader frame to his advantage, Vinnie would slowly work himself back to a vertical base before shoving the Japanese superstar back first against the ropes. With the aid of Copeland‘s momentum, Kenshiro sped quickly towards the opposing end of the ring. Ninja would return and find himself floored by a bone jarring Running Shoulder Block, followed by an immediate Sliding Elbow Drop to the chest. A wry smirk formed along his lips as he covered the ninja with a Lateral Press…

ONE!

Jerking his shoulder towards the heavens, Kenshiro would break the count before Copeland would swivel about and trap the ninja with a Grounded Front Face Lock. The referee slid into position to gauge Kenshiro’s condition as Copeland continued talking smack to the both individuals. Managing to slowly work himself to up to both knees, Ninja continued to feverishly check the hold for an opening. As Kenshiro finally brought himself to his feet, Copeland began driving knees randomly to the ninja’s abdomen before dropping the ninja back down to the canvas with a Front Face Lock Drop! In an aggressive fashion, Vinnie would grind his Forearm against Kenshiro’s face during another Lateral Press…

ONE!

TWO!

Under the tutelage of his mentor, Carson Nash, Copeland’s ground game continued to keep his fleet footed adversary out of his element. With a level of patience and utter defiance, the ninja would slowly bring himself back to a knee. Sensing the diminishing grip of domination, Copeland would proceed to enlist another barrage of knees into his arsenal.

Bad decision

Latching on to Copeland’s leg during mid flight, Kenshiro would trap the appendage under his arm before flooring his opposition with a Snap Fisherman‘s Suplex!

ONE!

TWO!

The Arizona native would wildly kick out as Kenshiro painfully sat up. Bracing his left forearm against his abdomen and shaking his head, ‘The Midnight Assassin’ would pull himself to his feet before hovering over the shoulders of his rising opponent…

Wham! Ninja with an Overhand Chop to the back of Copeland’s neck would leave a stinging impression upon the 6’4” superstar.

Wham!

Wham!

Wham!

Another tandem of Overhand Chops would fall heavily in-between Copeland’s shoulder blades, thus dropping him to a knee. Grabbing a hand full of his rival‘s hair, Kenshiro would summon a bloodthirsty response from the crowd as he would drive a stiff Knee into the side of Copeland‘s jaw. Adhering to his martial arts tactics, the ninja would begin repetitively kicking Copeland into an utter stupor with his partially padded shin, prompting a trail of saliva to randomly fly from Vinnie‘s quivering lips. Pummeling his prey with a spine tingling Buzz Saw Kick to the back, Ninja waited for his victim to drop down to both knees before continuing the merciless assault. Left dazed and confused, Copeland would aimlessly scramble along the canvas much to the delight of the capacity crowd.

Having taken a moment to fully assess the audience’s reaction, Ninja returned to the business at hand by pulling Vinnie vertically to his feet by his hair. As Kenshiro cinched Copeland up for a Vertical Suplex, Vinnie managed to block the maneuver by hooking his leg with Kenshiro’s. Ninja’s 2nd attempt would be countered by Copeland’s Snap Brain Buster!

Still groggy from the barrage of martial arts kicks, Copeland managed to sit up slowly before crawling back to his feet. Left clutching the back of his head, ‘The Ronin’ would find himself slapped across the back of his head repeatedly by a pugnacious Copeland. Grabbing the ninja by his ponytail, the Tucson tyrant began pummeling his opponent with a Tomahawk Forearm to the Spine before grounding him with a series of Knees to Ninja‘s face. With Kenshiro placed into a seated position, Vinnie flipped the bird to Ninja before driving a Yakuza Kick home to the ninja’s sternum! Copeland proceeded to grind his Forearm against the ninja’s face amidst another Lateral Press.

ONE!

TWO!

Kickout by Ninja. Copeland began arguing with the referee’s count as a weakened Ninja slowly gathered himself. Seemingly full of himself, Copeland watched the wobbly ninja slowly stand before doubling Kenshiro over with a Front Kick to the Stomach. Copeland stood arrogantly with both arms outward to garner some cheap heat before lifting his Japanese counterpart upward for a Power Bomb but Ninja managed to capitalize on the shift of momentum by slipping out of Copeland‘s clutches and stunning him with a Uppercut Throat Strike.

Left clutching his throat, Vinnie became defenseless to the staggering Leaping Back Kick to the Face. Amidst his struggle to maintain his balance, Copeland‘s troubles would be compounded by a 80 mph Buzz Saw Kick to the Abdomen!

THWACK!

The crowd continued to moan audibly as Copeland painfully doubled over from the grimacing impact. Rising slowly from one knee, another Buzz Saw Kick would literally set Copeland’s thigh on fire.

THWACK!

OOOHHHHH!!!

Only the turnbuckle in the neutral corner prevented a hobbling Copeland from collapsing to the canvas.

THWACK!

Well, maybe it didn’t. With his screams falling short to a deafening sea of spectators, Copeland quickly slid himself to the safety of the outer perimeter. The referee sought to stand himself in-between the vengeful ninja, who passively shoved him out of his path before executing a dead sprint towards the opposite end of the ring. Catching on to the sudden rise of the crowd volume, Vinnie quickly turned his attention back towards the squared circle only to fall prey to a Running Handspring Corkscrew Senton!

The roving cameramen ran over to visually capture the aftermath of both individuals, crashing against the guardrails. Taking a few moments to re-establish himself, Ninja slowly pulled his dazed opponent up to his feet before softening Copeland up with a number of Forearm Strikes to the face. Seizing the moment, ninja led Copeland away with an Irish Whip towards the distant ring steps.

Copeland had other plans

WHAM!

Despite being shaken by the aerial attack, Copeland managed to aggressively shift the momentum with a timely Clothesline! Having turned the ninja inside out, Copeland began taking out his frustration on the opposition with a bevy of demonic Stomps and Kicks along Ninja’s battered frame. A number of rabid fans openly began verbally taunting the Arizonian Nightmare only to receive a solemn middle finger aimed in their direction before rolling the ninja back into the ring.

Pulling himself back unto the ring apron, Copeland reentered the squared circle. In the meantime, Kenshiro slowly stood erect before executing a vertical Leap Frog over the charging 256 pounder. Copeland would soon return and Step Over a Split Legged Ninja before rebounding off the opposing ropes. Wind milling himself back to a vertical base, Kenshiro attempted to execute a Standing Hip Toss only to be blocked by Copeland. Vinnie quickly imposes his will to hurl the ninja over with a Hip Toss of his own.

Just one slight problem: ‘The Athletic Freak of Nature’ managed to upend the attack by landing on both feet before capitalizing on this moment of opportunity with a Stiff Right Forearm Strike to the Jaw!

Left staggered by an immediate Forearm Strike from the Left, Copeland would fall prey to stern Knee to the Abdomen before being floored by a lightning quick Roundhouse Leg Sweep. Quick to maintain his momentum, Kenshiro culminated the combination attack with a Standing Shooting Star Press. The referee slid into position as Kenshiro hooked the leg deeply…

ONE!

TWO!

THREE?!

Muffled by the roaring masses, the referee’s explanation of the near fall, led the ninja to display a look of extreme disapproval. The fans were also behind him that the ref's hand had touched the ground. However, the more time the ninja wasted, the more time it gave Copeland to capitalize.

Half a second out of position.

Ninja yanked Copeland to his feet, Vinnie had other plans.

CRRAACKK!

Copeland had managed to send a roaring fist into the jaw of the ninja while it was completely unexpected. Copeland went on an outrage, delivering sudden blows to the kidneys of Ninja K.

Pain quickly stretched across Ninja's face as he yelled in agony each and every rather large knee was implanted into the very post that could cause him to urinate blood for the next few days. Judging by K's facial expression, he wasn't going to let this stand much longer. A sudden knee to the jaw sent K to bite down on his tongue and spread a small amount of blood on the ring canvas.

At this moment, with Ninja K slow to his feet. Copeland backed off and signaled for the Ode for Blood. The Shawn Michaels mock took place and the fans stood to their feet, yelled as loud as they could for Ninja to capitalize for it. Copeland laughed at the sight, he knew the fans wouldn't let Ninja K escape from this oblivion about to be unleashed on Ninja K's cranium.

Copeland cracked a sadistic smile as K reached his feet, so sinister that it would have made Lucifer turn pink. As he charged forward...

WHOOSH!

Copeland's kick shot into the air, and that is exactly what it hit.

Nothing.

The ninja had managed to dodge it, and capitalize with a spinning heel kick of his own, landing square in the back of Copeland's head. Exactly where he aimed.

The fans were in uproar as Copeland dropped like a sack of potatoes. They couldn't believe their eyes.

ONE

TWO

THREE

And the fat lady sang. This was good night for Vinnie Copeland. Not even bothering to wake him up and shake his hand, Ninja K hardly even celebrated his win, instead he headed backstage. This wasn't a day of complete glory, he instead, decided not to exactly mark out for himself and play it cool.

"Nobody's Listening" as preformed by Linkin Park blared into the PA as the fans were still screaming their heads off for the Midnight Assassin, who just unleashed upon Vinnie Copeland.

Copeland didn't even know where he was...just yet.

WINNER : Ninja K

Climbing To The Top
Author - [K]
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The crowd were all riled up as the video wall flickered to life, and backstage, ACW Interviewer Vespar MacPeterson stood alongside the current Scorpion Fighting Champion, and the man dubbed as the Rising Star of the company last year. Quinton May was finally dressed to fight, with the minutes to his Main Event showdown with Phil Atken passed by quickly. Vesper let the crowd's cheering died down before proceeding, nervously staring into the camera.

This was his first 'gig' for ACW.

And he'd have the pleasure of interviewing the former TV Champ, Quincy Mama.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, I'm Vespar MacPeterson. A short while from now, we will witness a Ladder Match as part of our MAIN EVENT for tonight's show, but this isn't just any Ladder Match. The vacated Television Championship will be up for grabs, as A! Champion, Phil Atken, takes on the man that formerly held this title. And the man who stands next to me right now, as a matter of fact. Quinton May!" Vesper started, impressively remaining calm.

Another pop from the fans, but the Canadian Gladiator ignored it, focusing on his clenched fists.

Confidence growing, Vesper turned to Quinton. "Quincy, how do you feel about tonight's match with Phil Atken?"

May sniggered, looking down at the Scorpion Fighting Title that was still firmly around his waist. Remembering back to the glory days last year, when the Scorpion Fighting Title was accompanied in tow with the Television Title. The highlight of his short career, Quinton thought, catching the gleam of the belt in his