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
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
|
What’s
A Matter With You?
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
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?
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
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 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
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
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
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
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
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
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! 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. 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. One. 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...
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...
"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
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
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
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
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
"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!" 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!" 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
"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?
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."
"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...
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
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!” “As I was saying…”
“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!” “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* “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
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
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 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!” 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!” 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
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
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
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
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
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
|
