Thursday, April 15th 2004
Broadcasting LIVE! from Cleveland, Ohio at 10/9 p.m. CT
Check local times and listings for details, especially Europe
Thursday, April 15th 2004
Broadcasting LIVE!
from Cleveland,
Ohio at 10/9 p.m. CT
Check
local times and listings for details, especially Europe
|
THE
FOLLOWING SEGMENT WAS
NOT AIRED
"So,
you remember the guy
who had his two son's
in the match last week
right?"
William
Laguna scratched his
goatee and pondered,
as if he couldn't
forget the biggest
sham he had ever seen
in professional
wrestling, a board
member trying to get
his siblings on TV.
What
kind of idiot would
want to do that?
"I
remember Adam, why do
you ask?"
Kent
got up from his
seated, and flicked a
piece of paper over
Laguna's desk, and
onto his lap before
sitting back down
again in a huff,
folding his arms in
the process.
"Smith
has pulled his
funding, very
mature."
Kent
scoffed.
"Is
that all you can say
William? We can't just
go around and lose
funding like this. For
one Mr. Smith was a
long time board member
of ACW, before most of
us had even heard
about the company, and
secondly we have to
try and keep these
people happy, these
are the men and woman
that will keep this
federation alive in
the long run."
Laguna
shuffled through a
number of papers
before he gave his
well thought out
response.
"To
be honest Adam, I
couldn't give a damn
if Mr. Smith is
involved or not. In my
book, he went too far
last week when he
pressured you into
that decision, and I'm
glad we had someone
their to sort out the
mess."
That
seemed to be the end
of it.
Kent
huffed and puffed and
left the office to
attend to his
"to-do"
list.
Laguna
shuffled through the
latest recommendation
that he had received
from his various
contacts.
And
so the show went on...
New
Beginnings
Thwack.
The
steel door abruptly
pressed against the
concrete wall. The
metal handle of the
entrance barrier
clamped back into
position as the door
swung shut.
Simian
Kade gently
stepped through the
doorway; not too
disturb the
surrounding members of
the roster and tech
crew. He nodded to the
few who stood around
the entrance,
discussing things such
as Alias’ return and
SilverHAWK as their
champion. Some
motioned back toward
Kade as he marched on
by them.
The
Sinister Hero seemed
to be in a tolerant
mood; which was a bit
surprising considering
his loss last week
against Lancett. No
matter, it was all in
the past, and tonight
he would look ahead to
the future.
Jesse
Ramey was his next
step. His ladder of
success seemed more
like a ladder to
failure in the
previous nights of the
return of ACW. But he
looked at it with a
different eye this
week. No longer was it
failure; no longer was
it a nick on his
record. Hell, it
wasn’t even a bad
thing.
You
need rain to make a
rainbow just as much
as you need the sun.
But the sun, now that
would shine tonight.
Ramey was his next
step.
He
continued down the
hallway, in his hand
he had a water bottle,
the Naya wrap was a
little worn. He
clenched it in his
hand as his shoulder
supported a black
duffel bag. His black
leather jacket blended
well with the carrying
device; it gave him a
sophisticated look. As
did the dress pants,
and black dress shoes.
He
was not too be fooled
with tonight. As the
outfit was showing, he
was all about
business. He wanted to
etch a new portrait of
himself within the
minds of the ACW fans.
He smiled a little as
he continued down the
corridor. He thought
about how sweet it
would be when he
finally picked up his
first victory.
He
thought it would come
last week, however
disappointment came
over him when Lancett
scored the pinfall.
However his thoughts
about wrestling
quickly subsided as
his cellular phone
began to ring.
He
searched around his
leather jacket for the
device; when he
finally located it, he
checked the ID of the
caller. It read
‘Becky’. His heart
skipped a beat; was it
really her?
He
opened up the phone.
But to his surprise,
he was short on words.
He tried to speak but
the words would not
leave his tongue.
“Hi,”
she said. It sounded
like good news he
thought to himself.
Things were looking up
again.
He
finally found the
words he had been
looking for.
“Hi,”
he said back. With a
smile on his face, he
entered the locker
room; this was going
to be a good night.
Grand
Stage Negotiations
Times,
they were ever
changing.
William
Laguna sat at his
desk, papers strewn
out accordingly… his
hands rubbing at his
temples. ACW’s
newest owner, the one
responsible for said
revival into maybe,
maybe something more
then it once was
currently all by
himself and taking a
few moments to regroup
his thoughts. Adam
Kent and Hillary
Duncan where off
pounding the pavement,
on various
assignments.
He
ran a hand over his
bald head, in
contimplation of
everything from
contract negotiations
to talent management
to the show that was
airing at this
moment.
Remember
how I said he was
happy to finally get
this moment of quiet
contemplation? Well
scratch that, it was
over.
For
a reason that most ACW
fans, and management
themselves, where
anticipating.
Alias.
The
Original Pulp Hero
walked into Laguna’s
office, unannounced.
He had a tendency to
do this it seemed…
and it wasn’t so
much to be an ass, but
more to say his piece.
That unsaid fear of
being shot down
without any initial
chances. He had done
this to Brian Carter
and now he was doing
this with the new man
in charge, the new
owner… yeah, two
weeks after ending the
first Courage back by
coming in… not even
under contract, to do
pretty much the same
thing to SilverHAWK.
“I
want a contract,
signed and sealed,
Laguna. I don’t need
medical, I don’t
need to be insured…
and you don’t need
to pay me one red
cent.
Just
as long as I’m
contracted under ACW,
again.”
Laguna
just stared straight
ahead in placid shock.
If he thought going
through the iffy short
term and open-ended
contracts last week
was an interesting
display of
self-control. This was
a whole other
ballgame.
“With
all honesty, who the
hell do you think you
are?”
Laguna
sat at his desk, his
hands now resting on
its wooden top as he
gagged Alias’s
reaction.
“Seriously…
what’s your reason
behind that stunt you
pulled at the end of
the first Courage? You
gotta let me know
because if I’m not
mistaken… you
aren’t contracted
here
.”
“Hawk
had it coming, you
know that as well as I
do.”
“Had
it coming?”
“I
never lost that belt.
It wasn’t taken from
me, because of things
beyond my control
okay. The fact that
you think you can’t
afford me is bullshit,
I mean… did anyone
ever even contact me
about coming back? The
fact that I tore
myself apart to get to
that point… and
you’re just planning
on putting the title
on the man that
screwed me over?
I
really don’t think
you know anything
about who I am, and
what I’ve helped do
for this place, for
those fans… I… I
want to get back out
there and after him.
Hell,
if it’s a money
issue I already told
you… I’d work for
zero charge. That belt
is more important to
me then any other sort
of payment.
SilverHAWK
doesn’t need to
halve his goddamned
wages… I mean hell,
I’ll even be
responsible solely,
for what happens.”
Laguna
shifted back into his
seat, having started
to lean forward as
Alias was talking.
Laguna look a
quasi-shocked look on
his face. Any pre
conceived notion that
he had had of Alias,
the superstar, where
more or less shattered
with… what the man
let spill out. He
contemplated this
position that Alias
had put him in, in
such a short time.
“This
is about
SilverHAWK’s
challenge last week,
the match at
Revival?”
“Yeah.” “Okay…
done. But if you think
this’ll be a simple
‘show up when you
feel like it’ kind
of deals… you
under-estimate me.
I’m not about to
sign you to the
premiere match at the
comeback PPV without
being absolutely sure
that you’re the
right choice for it.
Don’t
dissapoint me.”
Alias
finally let himself
breath again, and
turned to walk out the
door… he hated being
vulnerable. Laguna sat
forward once more,
however. “One
question though…
aren’t you supposed
to be on fWo’s
Thursday night show,
right about… now?”
Alias
turned for a moment.
“I finished taping
my portion of the show
by six… hopped on a
plane and… this was
the first place I came
the moment I got to
Cincinnati…”
“You’ve
got the main event
tonight, first
test.”
Alias
took such news with a
stone cold reaction.
Hell it could have
been a joke from
William… but maybe,
just maybe Alias was
still in the mood for
a fight after his
match with Flair
earlier today was
scuttled thanks to one
SVJ. “Let me find
out who against then,
too. Nothing like a
surprise. Just to let
you know… I’m not
holding back
tonight.”
Alias
left Laguna’s
office. The Pulp Hero
was now officially
back with the ACDub
(pop, indeed)… and
the question was…
would Alias be able to
last, with all this
enduring pressure from
three points?
Stay
tuned… for the
script will be flipped
for sure.
THE
FOLLOWING SEGMENT WAS
NOT AIRED
Say
hello to a lovely
lady, Abbey. She stood
five foot five and
looked like a model
with her picture
perfect curves. She
has a seductive outfit
on, which really got
the attention of the
men and the lady’s
jealousy. You could
tell she liked the
reaction; Lancett
didn’t for that he
looked over his
shoulder, and if looks
could kill he’d be a
mass executioner.
Lancett
stood next this lovely
lady at Cleveland,
Ohio’s arena’s
entrance. “I’m
here, your might as
well let me in,
Randy.”
“Why
are you here?”
“A
loving girlfriend who
wants to be with her
man, is that good
enough for you…
Mister Joshua?”
Lancett
dropped his arm from
the doorway that was
hindering her entrance
to the arena. She
walked in; her hazel
orbs never left
Lancett. When she
reached his flank she
tilted her head. He
turned his focus to
her as he smiled with
one side of his mouth.
”Cheer
up. How bad can it be?
You love it; why
shouldn’t I?” She
asked him with a
curious peer in her
orbs. Her cherry red
lips bent into a
teasing smile. She
slanted her head to
her other shoulder her
dark brown locks fell
into her face.
“Bad.”
She
smirked as she rolled
her orbs. “Looky
here, Josh.” She
took his hood off and
saw his face.
”What
happened!?”
Her
face completely
changed from a smile,
then on sight of his
battered face, to the
concerned loving
girlfriend sympathetic
angry look, whew that
was hard to say!
His
orbs gazed to her face
and you could tell a
long sigh in him
though his orbs.
“Wrestling.”
Her
orbs started to tear
up and she looked
down, “Why do you do
this to yourself.”
He
had stitches over his
right eye and a black
eye (which was the
right). He looked at
her, “You said you
could handle it. Come
on… I’ll tell the
owner I have a
manager, could be a
good pull… I
guess.”
“You
guess?” She said in
total shock thinking
he was insulting her
in a way.
“Come
on!” He commanded.
“I’m sorry.”
She
put him in his place
and he knew it.
Lancett controlled? Or
just whipped?
German
Flag Shorts
There
was a small TV and
right next to it there
were tapes stacked up
marked “ACW”. On
the TV two people were
wrestling, but you
can’t tell who they
are because of the
fuzz. The TV suddenly
shuts off and Volker
Baldwin was sitting on
a small bench.
His
wrestling bag was next
to his side and the
remote to the TV, in
his left hand. He
dropped the TV to the
ground and picked up
his wrestling bag and
pulled out a pair of
boxing shorts with a
German flag print on
them. He
holds them up in the
air and then places
them on the bench he
was sitting on. Volker
reached back into this
wrestling bag and
pulled out elbow and
kneepads. He placed
them next to him and
looked at them
closely. Volker then
grabbed his shirt and
pulled it off. He
looked down at his arm
muscles, as he slowly
flexed them. Volker
then got up from the
bench that he was
sitting on.
Volker
moved to the center of
the room where a
punching bag was
dangling from the
ceiling. He started to
punch and kick it with
all he had and the
punching bag was
flying all over the
place. He then just
randomly dropped to
the floor and started
to do push ups over
and over again.
He
was doing them so fast
he was probably doing
one a second. That’s
sixty a minute, after
awhile that adds up.
Volker just dropped to
the floor and rolled
over on to his back. Volker
popped up on to his
feet by slinging his
body into the air. If
you blinked your eyes
at that moment you
would have though he
was magic. Coming from
flat on his back to
his feet that fast
could have caused
whiplash. Volker just
walked back over to
the bench.
He
pulled on his elbow
and kneepads. Then
looked at the all
black shorts he was
wearing. He pulled
them off and grabbed
his shorts with the
flag print on them and
placed them on. He
walked over to the
mirror in his dressing
room and checked out
the shorts. A large
smile formed on his
face. Volker
then walked back to
his wrestling bag and
pulled out a pair of
wrestling boots. He
removed the sneakers
he was wearing and
pulled on the boots.
Volker laced his boots
up and stood on his
feet. Volker than
started to hop around
with him on. Volker
then looked down at
the attire he was
wearing and said,
“Deutschland Uber
Alles.” Grudge
Match “Cicatriz
ESP” by The Mars
Volta hit and, for a
moment, the fans gave
looks of confusion.
However, soon enough
Ville Azure stepped
out led on by the new
music. Tonight, he was
set to do battle with
Jesse Ramey. He
marched down the ramp
and slid into the
ring.
As
Ville waited patiently
in the ring, “Going
Down in Flames” by 3
Doors Down began to
burst out of the
speakers. Out came
Jesse Ramey from
behind the curtain. He
walked down the ramp,
to a chorus of cheers,
and slowly slid his
way into the ring. The
two looked across at
each other as they had
an old fashioned stare down.
It
was obvious that,
within a week's time,
the two had developed
a certain dislike
toward each other. As
the music faded and
all lighting effects
stopped... the bell
rang. They
collided in the center
of the ring in a
flurry of punches.
Fists flew and pain
reigned supreme.
Although Ville Azure
gave his best, Jesse
landed a punch on
Ville's jaw that
caused the newcomer to
fall like a fly. As
the veteran towered
over Ville the fans
began to chant in
Jesse's favor.
Jesse
stood beside Ville's
body, reaching down
and grabbing the
nearest arm. He bent
the arm back, causing
Ville to scream in
agony. As pain flowed
throughout Ville's
arm, Jesse stepped
over the arm so it was
between his legs. He
reached out, leaning
to wrap an arm around
Ville's leg.
With
a simple roll, Jesse
had Ville trapped. As
the fans cheered Jesse
on, Ville felt similar
to an insect trapped
in a spider's web.
Tangled and tormented.
Trying to escape to no
avail. He felt
hopeless as he reached
for the rope, which
seemed like miles
away. He could feel
his arm
cracking. He
could feel it bending
and nearing the point
in which it could very
well break. Just when
he thought he could
take no more, Ramey
let it go. Almost
immediately, Ville
gasped and grabbed a
hold of his arm. He
held it tightly,
trying to make the
pain go away. However,
that was hopeless to.
He
rolled on the mat as
Jesse stood, looking
down at Ville with an
almost sympathetic
glimmer in his eyes.
He decided he would
make this quick and
easy. As Ville laid in
the center of the
ring, staring up at
the bright lights,
Jesse made his way
toward the turnbuckle.
He climbed to the top
ropes and looked down
at Ville. Jesse called
down, 'Sayonara!', and
took the leap.
In
the air, he flipped in
an almost amazing way.
This was the best time
for the fans to take
snapshots. This was a
move to go into the
highlight reel. It was
a shooting star press
and, no matter what
anyone said, it was
absolutely
breathtaking. But, all
good things must come
to an end... As Jesse
soared through the
air, basking in the
admiration the fans
were giving him, Ville
rolled out of the way.
Jesse landed with a
thud that rocked the
ring and caused the
fans to give boos of
disappointment.
Ville
pushed himself to his
feet. His eyes
narrowed and his mouth
frowned. He sneered
down at Jesse, rearing
his leg back and
kicking him in the
ribs repeatedly. Ville
still held his injured
arm, but the fact that
each kick he delivered
to Jesse's ribs had
the potential to cause
broken bones satisfied
him in ways
unimaginable.
After
three more kicks,
Ville lifted Jesse to
his feet. Jesse
wobbled like a drunk,
struggling to stay on
his feet. Every time
he'd almost fall,
Ville would catch him
and push him back
up.
This
was amusing, to
Ville. He
gave no sympathy
toward Jesse. There
was no room for pity.
And so, as Jesse fell
against the ropes and
used them for balance,
Ville had absolutely
no second thoughts
about kicking him as
hard as he could in
the groin. In
fact, he had no second
thoughts about kicking
him in the groin a
second time either.
The
double Birth Control
Method had struck
Jesse rather suddenly
so it was no surprise
when he fell to his
knees. His mouth hung
open in an 'O' shape,
his eyes squinting as tears
formed. When
one gets kicked in the
balls, one cannot hold
back the tears.
It's
as though God himself
is laughing at your
loss of dignity and,
just to prove it,
God's going to make
you cry. There was no
shame in that. The men
in the audience
understood. Of course,
when one sees someone
get kicked in the
balls, one cannot hold
back the laughter. God
has a sick sense of
humor, doesn't he?
As
Jesse tried his
hardest to get back on
his feet, Ville bowed
and taunted. He mocked
Jesse. He caused boos
to ring throughout the
arena. With one last
taunt, he cried out,
“Fuck you.” to the
fans.
That
sent them into an
uproar. Each and every
man, woman, and child
began to scream
obscenities toward The
Bad Seed. But, then,
cheers. Cheers
began to flood the
arena. At
first, it caused
confusion to
Ville. Then
he realized what was
going on. He
turned around slowly,
not looking forward to
what he knew he would
see. There
stood Jesse Ramey with
a deadpan look spread
across his face. Anger
oozed out of his eyes
and, before Ville
could react, the war
had begun allover
again. Ramey punched
Ville in the stomach,
causing him to lean
over. He pulled
Ville's head
underneath his arm in
a mad fashion and then
dropped him with a
DDT. There Ville laid.
Defeated. While he
basked in his glory,
Jesse had recovered.
It was bad timing for
such a mistake. That
could have been the
turning point of the
whole match. The fear
of losing wasn't
something that Ville
dealt with very well.
And
then, the unexpected
happened.
“Numb”
by Linkin Park.
Lancett
flew out from the back
like a man on fire.
The fans began to boo
as he slid into the
ring and, almost
immediately, the
referee rang the bell.
It was a draw.
Disqualification.
Relief ran through
Ville's body.
Jesse
stood up as quick as
he could to meet
Lancett. The two began
to battle it out as
Ville began to push
himself to his feet.
The two were lost
within their own
adrenaline. Punches
flew and kicks were a
plenty. But, out of no
where, Lancett kicked
Jesse in the crotch
and landed the Legacy
Ender! Jesse laid on
the ground as Lancett
spit in his face and
kick him while he was
down.
And
that, my friends, was
the point in which
Ville came up behind
Lancett and tapped him
on the shoulder.
Lancett looked behind
him... and he was met
with a friendly punch
to the face. Lancett
staggered back,
holding his nose as he
sent Ville a
shocked/accusing look.
Ville simply grinned
and stood in a
fighting position. And
thus, another brawl
was sparked. Lancett
let go of his nose and
ran at Ville... but he
wanted to make it
quick. He was in a
rush it seemed. So, as
soon as he was near
Ville, he dropped to
his knees and landed a
cheap shot right to
Ville's nuts.
Just
like Ramey earlier,
Ville fell to the
ground grasping at
himself. Lancett took
this chance to leave,
rushing out from the
ropes and up the ramp.
He was fast, that was
no lie... but he
hadn't finished the
job. Ville laid in the
ring, sending a look
of anger toward
Lancett as he made his
way up the ramp,
yelling insults over
his shoulder.
On
one side of the ring,
Jesse tried to stand
even though he was
dizzier than ever. On
the other, Ville
slowly stood and was
on his way out of the
ring.
There
was no point in
staying here. He had
lost. The match was
over...
And
he didn't want to let
Lancett get away just
yet. WINNER : Jesse Ramey
THE
FOLLOWING SEGMENT WAS
NOT AIRED
His
dark blue eyes peered
into the tiny
television monitor
atop a speaker box.
His well defined arms
rested calmly across
his lap, as his legs
stretched out
motionless in front of
him. His mood was
peaceful, and surprisingly
at home in the
underbelly of the
arena. He watched
closely to the
beautiful dance
performed in the ring
of ACW's third
installment for this
reincarnation.
It
was only the opening
match, but the Ohio
crowd has consistently
been one of the
greater fan bases
throughout the state,
making the match feel
that much more
important. As per
usual in opening
matches, the action
was fast paced and
hard hitting. The
participants were
doing a great job of
grabbing the crowds
attention immediately.
Jesse Ramey, the
veteran of the two,
was clearly carrying
the younger Azure, but
the relative rookie
was maintaining the
pace quite well. It
may take a while, but
Rome could see that
"The Bad
Seed" had
potential. ACW would
be doing themselves a
favor by investing
some time in to the
young blood.
A
slightly timid hand
gently graced Joshua's
shoulder. Rome's 235
lb. frame methodically
adjusts in the seat,
allowing him to catch
a glimpse of ACW road
agent, Jeremy Wilson.
A slight grin spreads
across Joshua's face
as the two shake hands
for a second time this
evening. Wilson, a
former independent
wrestler himself, was
still a bit awestruck
of the man known as
Rome. He followed him
rather closely back
when the former
"Warrior of
Chaos" held the
NAWA Heavyweight
Championship. In fact,
Wilson even had a dark
match with the NAWA
once, but never got a
call back. Now, after
realizing his place
was outside the ring,
he had been quite
successful as a road
agent.
Wilson
quickly made his way
around the larger man,
and stood next to the
television monitor. He
glanced at the screen,
and then back over to
Rome who was once
again watching the
match.
"So,
whatya think so
far?"
Another
grin painted the face
of Rome as a slight
chuckle exited his
throat.
"Well,
its good to see Ramey
hasn't lost a
step."
"Oh,
you've worked with
Jesse before?"
"No
no, but sitting on my
ass the last couple
years, I got to watch
a lot of wrestling.
Bought me a few tapes
from OSW, PURE, and
that Action!
promotion. Kept seeing
that cat's face pop
up. Its hard to
maintain success
throughout that many
regions, I should
know. Its good to see
he hasn't let himself
go."
Wilson
just nodded his head
in approval, not
really knowing what to
say to the man that
obviously knew more
about the business
then he did. Luckily,
Rome spoke up again
before he had to.
"I'm
kind of surprised to
see him in the opener
though. Someone with
that many credentials
generally wouldn't
step anywhere near
curtain jerkin' of a
new promotion.
Especially someone who
I had been told was a
prick."
Wilson
chuckled tentatively as
he looked back at the
monitor.
"Actually
Jesse has been a
pretty positive
influence so far. He's
been working with some
of the younger guys,
and has become a
pretty great backstage
leader. If you like I
could arrange a
meeting with him later
on tonight."
"That
won't be necessary,
I'm sure we'll get
around to formal
introductions sooner
or later. Besides, I
haven't even been
guaranteed a spot
yet."
Rome's
last comment sparked
life into Wilson, and
the young man turned
his attentions back to
his former idol.
"Actually
I have already spoken
with Mr. Laguna. He
knew of you before I
even showed him the
tape. His only concern
was that you may not
have been in wrestling
shape anymore. Ya
know, not being in the
ring for 2 years and
all."
"Understandably."
"But
after I showed him the
tape, it pretty much
put all of his doubts
aside. I probably
shouldn't be telling
you this, but the
point of this trip was
to see if you liked
the atmosphere here in
ACW. See if it was a
place you'd like to
call home."
Rome
was more then a little
shocked at Wilson's
statement, and it
showed on his face as
his forehead wrinkled
up. Apparently his
name hadn't been
completely tarnished.
Being a former World
Champion does still
hold some clout in
this business.
"Hehe,
well alright
then."
The
two men shared a look
of approval as Wilson
looked down at his
wrist watch. He began
moving back towards
where he entered as he
spoke.
"Well,
I gotta go take care
of some business, so
if you need anything,
just let one of the
staff members know.
Mr. Laguna wanted to
have a meeting with
you in 30 minutes in
his office, so don't
be late."
"Not
a problem. Oh and hey
kid."
Wilson
turned around to see
Rome giving the young
staff member his full
attention.
"Thanks,
I appreciate the help.
And by the way, I saw
your work in MSWA ...
that was some good
shit."
A
large smile spread
across the face of
Wilson, as he
continued walking down
the hallway. A new
swagger was in his
step as he exited.
Rome turned back
towards the
television, and sat
back in his comfort
pose.
"This
might not be so bad
after all."
Head
Games v2
The
scene panned in.
A
man who fans were
slowly beginning to
hate.
I
take that back. A
MONSTER that the fans
hated the first time
they laid eyes on him.
A monster that took it
to his new arch
nemesis notably known
as Ninja K last week
on the second edition
of Courage, win or
loss this was quite
the entrance from a
rook.
Copeland
walked with his chest
puffed out and a chip
on his shoulder, he
didn't give a FUCK
what William Laguna,
Ninja K, or any of the
fans that filled the
Indianapolis arena
thought. Copeland KNEW
Laguna wouldn't fire
him, why? Because THIS
man drew ratings. He
grabbed them.
With
this on going feud
with Ninja K, who went
out each and every
night putting his body
on the line without a
question...Laguna was
making money. You do
NOT deny a chance to
make money, no matter
how arrogantly one of
these men may act.
Laguna was going to
have to get used to
Copeland, because God
knows Copeland would
not get used to the
rules of William
Laguna.
Anyways,
appearing before his
locker room again,
Copeland was rest
assured he would not
be in for a surprise
as last week struck
him, he didn't think
at least. He thought
he had taken care of
it.
Copeland
swung his door open,
tossed his gym bag to
the floor and sat and
relaxed in his Lazy
Boy recliner. A sigh
of relief filled the
air as he finally got
a moment to rest.
Deciding to lock up
his bag with what may
be valuables in it,
Copeland got up and
planned to grab some
food before his match,
he assumed that would
take place again
tonight.
The
thought of it spread a
smile across the fans
that filled the
Indianapolis arena,
each and every one of
them. Copeland opened
his locker, to a very
annoying buzzing sound
that didn't seem to go
away.
The
camera panned on the
locker. The fans
exiled in laughter.
Locusts.
Filled.
His.
Locker.
SLAM!
"KENSHIRO
YOU FUCKING PIECE OF
SHIT!"
Match-Making
Fun
"HALT!
WAIT! HEIL!"
Quinton
May cringed at the
high-pitched screaming
that was directed at
him, before he begrudgingly
turned
around. Grimacing, as
he put a face to the
voice. Quinton placed
his black duffel bag
down onto the floor as
CHRIS MESSIAH
sauntered (more of a
hobble, actually) into
the scene, holding an
opened carton of
orange juice.
Orange
juice?
Yes,
Chris is very aware
and self-conscious of
his girlish figure.
"What
do you want,
Chris?" Quinton
asked exasperatedly,
as he folded his arms
and leaned against a
wall, letting the
fringes of his hair
droop down and conceal
his eyes. Messiah bit
down on his lower lip,
his body still aching
from the sneak attack
by whoever last week.
At
least he could take
solace in the fact
that nobody tried to
chop his dick off.
"I
want a lot of things,
Quinton Fortune. Like,
a tennis racket, for
example!" Chris
announced before
gulping down some
orange juice.
"Today, however,
I've come to remind
you that we have a
match today! AND NO
EXCUSES! I know your
type, David May. You
will claim to feign
ignorance now, or do
something that bum
Laguna will do.
Today.
You, me. Match. In the
ring. Ha!
And
also, I've noticed
that since you've got
yourself a shiny piece
of craploosah title
with you now, perhaps
you could help me
expand my collection
of titles that only
became popular after
I've won them. So,
I've decided to go
ahead and save this
pathetic excuse of a
show by taking your
Television Title off
of you. THAT'S RIGHT,
I WANT A TITLE MATCH!
Any
questions, you
hoe?"
Quincy
Mama was, once again,
trying his hardest not
to break out in
laughter. Another
encounter with Chris
Messiah in the halls
of the arena they were
both in, another
assinine slash humorous
stream of
rubbish had been
emitted by the former
thReat superstar. He
calls himself a legend
of thReat, too,
actually.
Suddenly,
Quinton wasn't too
smug anymore. He look
flustered, running his
right hand through his
hair. Something about
Chrissy's challenge
had finally registered
in his mind.
"Look,
Chrissy. It'd be
really fun to cash in
on the challenge you
made two weeks ago and
all, but as it is,
you're just not
important enough for
me. Laguna's already
got me a match
tonight, for my TV
Title, against this
masked chap by the
rather hoakey name of
Bantam Diablo. So,
unfortunately for you,
we'll have to
rearrange our
date."
Messiah...
was not happy.
He
gulped down the rest
of his orange juice
and flung the empty
carton at Quinton. It
didn't even go
anywhere near the
Scorpion Fighting
& Television
Champion, of course,
landing a good seven
metres off target.
Quincy Mama, raised
eyebrow and all, was
tickled once again.
Chris,
on the other hand, was
not. "EEEEW. I'm
not gay, I don't do
dates with guys. And,
see! I knew you had an
excuse! Unfortunately
for YOU, Quincy
Fortune, I just came
from Laguna's office.
Called him a cheap
rip-off of Paolo
Maldini, too, before
he and I agreed that
if you're going around
making challenges to
everyone, you're going
to have to live up to
them!"
"I
didn't challenge you,
cockknocker!"
Quinton retorted, but
Messiah held up his
hands, as if to say it
was out of his control
now. He was right,
too, judging by the
smug expression that
just crept onto his
face.
The
Canadian Gladiator
sighed agitatedly
again, furious that
Laguna had been so
gullible as to have
been tricked by
Messiah, who was now
in the running for Mr
Crafty Bastard 2004.
That's the latest
update. With one
stroke of genius, the
roles had been
reversed, and it was
Quincy Mama's turn to
scowl nastily.
He
only had one thing to
do.
"Fine,
whatever. You'll get
your match. But since
I know Laguna would
have told me if I had
a title match, you
aren't going to get
the chance to
challenge for the TV
Title. You don't
deserve it, if you
pardon my frankness
here. But I'll tell
you what -- since
you're obviously
insane, and with that
hilarious beatdown you
received last week, I
think I'll take pity
on you. After all, I
like helping the
disabled.
SO!
If you're still up to
it, I'll be seeing you
in the ring later for
a Scorpion Fighting
Title defense. With
that, I bid you good
day, you pompous
jackarse."
Chris
Messiah opened his
mouth, beginning what
would surely be a
well-constructed
protest (HA!) but
Quinton quickly picked
up his bag and sped
off. Shaking his head,
too. If only he'd been
five minutes later in
arriving, the Canadian
Gladiator thought to
himself, as he
disappeared past a
corner. Messiah,
meanwhile, was
pouting.
Then
a second later,
snarling. Then, a
thoughtful smirk
formed on his face.
He
really is indecisive,
isn't he?
"Hmm.
I wonder, did Quinton
beat me up last week
to get me out of this
match? Hmmmm."
Interesting.
The plot thickens.
THE
FOLLOWING SEGMENT WAS
NOT AIRED
His
boots clapped against
the tile floor of the
arena. The Cleveland
crowd was fired up
about the event; their
cheers echoed through
the hallways even
though they were
stationed in the main
body of the arena.
Rome
the Vile had returned.
The smile that was
painted on his face
was telling everyone
that he was back and
he was set to make the
most out of this
opportunity. His
troubles, they were
behind him. He was
ready to enjoy
wrestling as the true
wrestler he was, not
as the junkie he had
become in recent
years.
He
was calm after his
talk with Laguna. He
seemed set to begin
competition in ACW,
but something was
ready to try to take
him off track. He had
been caught looking at
a photo on one of the
walls in the corridor
of the small Cleveland
arena. Not paying
attention to where he
was walking…
Smack.
Joshua
didn’t budge. He
slowly turned his head
to see what had
obstructed his
walking. There on the
ground lay Simian
Kade; evidently he had
been carrying a cup of
water… Which he now
wore all across his
chest. This was
surprising, as Simian
outweighed Joshua by a
good 150 pounds.
Kade
looked straight up at
Rome; they locked
eyes.
“Hey,
I’m sorry about
that,” Joshua
extended his hand down
to Simian who didn’t
look all too
impressed. As he got
to his feet he
surveyed Rome.
“Sorry
about that again,”
Rome commented, “I
wasn’t looking where
I was going.”
“Apparently,”
Simian rolled his eyes
and he looked for
something to clean
himself up with.
“My
names Joshua,
otherwise known as
Rome the Vile,” Rome
extended his hand once
again to him. Simian
extended his and they
shook hands. Without
conflict they
relinquished their
grip as both their
arms dropped to their
sides.
“I
know who you are,”
Kade said, he seemed a
little suspicious of
the newest member to
the ACW roster.
“I’m
Simian Kade,” he
wiped off his shirt as
best he could with a
piece of paper towel.
“You’re
new to ACW, aren’t
you?” Rome asked, he
seemed intrigued by
Kade. But he didn’t
want to be too
aggressive, given what
had just happened.
“Yep,”
Simian replied,
“I’ve seen you
around,” Simian
chuckled a little,
although attempting
for Rome not to hear
it.
“Something
funny?” Rome asked,
he took a step toward
Kade. Kade backed off,
he leaned against the
table behind him.
“It’s
just that…” he
paused, “Never
mind.”
“No,
no, do tell,” Joshua
urged.
“Aren’t
you that crackhead who
took a leave from
wrestling because you
were too high to even
get your ass out of
bed in the morning?”
Simian was pushing it,
but he didn’t
realize it quite yet.
The
look of intrigue
towards to Kade from
Joshua vanished. What
in God’s name did
that punk just say?
Rome shook his head;
how dare he bring that
up.
“Yeah,
I’m that guy,”
Joshua said, trying to
keep his cool, “But,
if you’re trying to
offend me… I don’t
offend that easily,
especially when the
insults are coming
from rook’s like
yourself.”
Simian
laughed a little, this
was getting out of
hand.
“Calm
down powder nose; the
truth may hurt, but
you don’t have to
get all worked up,”
Kade had taken it too
far, and he knew what
he had done by the
look on Rome’s face.
Joshua
clenched his fist, he
was ready to drive
Kade through the wall,
when a road agent
approached.
“Uh,
Simian?” he said, as
Rome relented.
“What
is it?” Simian said.
He was practically
smiling, as the road
agent just saved him
from what appeared to
be an upcoming
beating.
“Mr.
Laguna would like to
talk to you,” the
road agent informed
Simian.
“Oh,
well then I better be
on my way,” he
stared deep into the
eyes of Joshua.
“We’ll continued
this some other
time.”
He
smiled, as he patted
Joshua on the back, as
he walked down the
hallway, the look
which was etched
across the face of
Rome the Vile was not
too promising for
Kade.
Not
too promising, indeed.
Uber
Pissed
The
lights went down.
Darkness
ensued.
“Deutschland
Uber Alles”
Booing
ensued.
And
out walked your local
German ‘hero’,
Volker Baldwin.
Taking
no time to wait on the
stage, he walked
quickly and heatedly
down the ramp. His
breathing was heavy
and his glare was
full; he wasn’t in
what you would call
the best of moods. But
then again, when was
the last time you met
a happy Nazi?
The
fans jeering his
presence, he rolled
into the ring and
caught the mic tossed
to him from the
announcer.
“Cut
my music NOW!” he
demanded almost
immediately.
“You
know, I’ve…”
“Go
back to Germany!” His
face turned a deep
red, and his eyes went
bloodshot.
“SHUT
YOUR FUCKING
MOUTHS!”
Some
of the chants were
replaced by laughter,
but most of the arena
still booed.
“I
haven’t even been
here a month and I am
already sick of this
fucking place!”
“You
people consider
yourselves the kings
of the world. You sit
there, chugging down
the piss you call beer
and fattening
yourselves with chili
dogs and pork chops,
and you really think
that you rule over
all. Let me tell you,
your culture is
fucking disgusting.
“I
have never seen any
society as ignorant as
this fucking American
cesspool.
“You
can’t control your
women, letting them
expose themselves on
live television.
“You
elect idiotic leaders,
watching as they’re
taken out by pretzels.
“And
you can’t even
defend your own
citizens, standing
back and watching as
your mighty towers
fall before your very
eyes.”
“ASSHOLE!” “It
is no surprise to me
that this shit hole
you call a country can
give birth to some of
the most appalling
human beings on the
face of this planet.
“Scum
like this bastard who
has decided to fuck
with me!”
Cheer
from the crowd,
remembering the
painting of Volker’s
locker room and the
fancy remodeling of
his new car.
“What
type of honorable man
would do something so
childish? Any real man
would come out here
and issue a challenge
to me straight to my
face, but
instead…”
“Perfect
Strangers”, as
performed by Deep
Purple.
Phil
Atken stepped out onto
the stage, a
microphone in his hand
and the Action
Championship title
belt around his waist.
The crowd was booing
of course, but there
was actually a muffled
cheer mixed in with
the jeering. Some of
the fans would rather
have the arrogant
bastard out there
instead of Baldwin.
Atken
grinned up at Volker,
obviously amused with
him and his message.
He
brought the mic up to
his mouth.
“Just
shut the fuck up, Cunt
Face.”
The
booing died down a
little more, some fans
joining the cheers
already in progress.
Volker looked up at
the stage, grinding
his teeth and huffing
deeply. Phil just
looked on, his grin
already bigger.
“Now,
let me just say this
right now, I’d be
the last to defend
these morons.”
Leave
it to Atken to kill
what little bit of
support he had.
“Yes,
they are useless. Yes,
they disgusting. And,
OH YES, they smell
like a septic tank
rotting in the sun.
“But
I’ll tell ya this,
fucker – I’d
choose these shit
heads over your
two-bit,
Nazi-dick-sucking ass
any day.”
Loudest
cheer Phil Atken had
received in awhile;
more then half the
crowd this time.
“Now
I don’t know who the
fuck did all that shit
to you. Quite frankly,
I don’t care who it
is. I’m not going to
lose any sleep because
your precious car was
roughed up by a maniac
who likes to write
little notes like a
schoolgirl.
“But
I will tell you
something and it’s
something you
obviously haven’t
realized yet – you
aren’t fucking
wanted here.”
Volker’s
eyes bulged an inch
and a half out of
their sockets.
“So
why don’t you just
get the hell out of
that ring now, jump
into that piece of
shit you call a
Cadillac, and drive
yourself off a bridge.
“These
morons don’t want
you here.
“That
jackass, whoever he
is, doesn’t want you
here.
“But
most importantly, *I*
don’t want your
fucking smelly kraught
ass sticking up my
ring!”
Volker
rolled out of the ring
and ran up the ramp as
fast as he could.
Phil
Atken just smiled.
“Stupid
fucking bastard…”
Phil
dropped the mic,
unwrapped the Action
title and, without a
second’s thought,
rammed the steel down
on Volker’s head.
Volker’s back
slammed hard against
the ramp just before
Atken bent over,
picked him up, and
whipped him down to
the ring.
A
referee ran down the
ramp behind them and
slid underneath the
ropes.
“Next
time you should
fucking listen to me,
Cunt Face.” Atken
said under his breath
as he rolled Volker
into the ring and the
ref signaled for the
ringing of the bell.
Grudge
Match
… and here we go again, boys and girls. Atken dropped down and hooked the leg. 1… 2… Kick out Baldwin wasn’t about to lose his first ACW match within five seconds of it starting. Especially if it meant giving Atken such an easy win. Atken’s smile was gone by now. This was no longer a joke; this was now a nuisance that needed to be dealt with quickly and with as little effort as possible. Atken grabbed Volker by the neck, pulled him up and whipped him into the ropes. Coming back, Volker was greeted with a full-on clothesline, once again slamming his back down hard. Atken dropped to his knees and sent fist after fist into Volker’s forehead. The ref tried to pull Atken off. “Back off, damnit!” he yelled, before sending in one more fist for good measure. He pulled Volker up once again, and chopped his bare chest three times, successfully backing him up against the ropes. Atken pushed off, sent Volker flying the other way, and bent over for a back body drop, only for Volker to kick Atken in the shoulder. Volker threw a right into Atken’s face. Then another. And another. And in his first advantage of the match so far, he clotheslined Atken over the top rope and down to the floor. With the fans booing once again, Volker took a deep breath and attempted a quick recovery. He rolled out of the ring as Atken used the apron to get to his feet. Volker slammed an elbow down against Atken’s back, bringing Phil down to one knee. Volker slammed Phil’s head down against the apron, and then whipped him shoulder first into the steel of the turnbuckle. The tables had turned on the Action Champion, but the crowd was split on their reaction. With Atken staggering along the side of the ring, Volker readied himself for a quick sprint. As Atken began to turn, Volker Baldwin dashed towards him and speared him down to the ground with a sickening thud. Volker got to his feet, and paraded his anger in front of the crowd. He growled at the fans, sweat rolling down his red face, before he looked down at Phil Atken again and picked him up. He pushed Atken up against the barricade and sent a quick elbow up against his chin before he rolled Atken back into the ring. Volker kicked him in the side a few times before he dropped for a cover. 1… 2… Shoulder up. Volker walked over to the opposite end of the ring while Atken used the ropes to pull himself to his feet. Volker ran towards Atken, who bent down and tossed Volker over the top rope and down to the floor… Well, Volker landed on his feet safely on the apron, and then continued to take hold of Atken’s head. He jumped down to the floor, bouncing Atken’s face off the top rope and sending him flipping backwards to the mat. Volker rolled back in and covered. 1… 2… Kick out. “Fucker!” Volker brought Atken up, only to drop him right back down with a reverse DDT. Cover. 1… 2… Kick out. Volker looked down at Atken and then rolled out of the ring. He pushed aside another ringside dumbass sitting on a potential weapon and closed up the steel chair. Tossing it next to Atken, who had slowly made his way to his feet, he rolled back in and picked it up. Atken turned around… Volker swung… And the Action Champion ducked underneath the chair, kicked the Nazi in the gut, sucked up all his energy, and slammed Volker Baldwin down with a gutwrench powerbomb. He fell to his knees for a moment, but was quick to recover. Maybe Phil Atken was finding some extra energy thanks to the quarter of the crowd that was chanting his name… “ATKEN!” “Shut the fuck up!” … but we all knew that couldn’t be true. With Volker at his feet, Atken grabbed him by the arm and whipped him into the turnbuckle. He walked over, and, without hesitation or remorse, sent a flying forearm smack dab on his bare chest. *SLAP* “WHOOO!” *SLAP* “WHOOO!” *SLAP* “WHOOO!” “Piece of shit!” Atken dropped Volker down with a drop toe hold, and then grabbed hold of his legs. Volker struggled with all the energy he had; he was new, but he wasn’t so much of a rookie that he was going to sit back and let Atken lock on something like Humiliation. Phil Atken tossed away Volker’s legs and dropped down with an elbow across his back. With Volker straining, Atken locked on the cobra clutch. Volker instantly awoke for his semi daze and sucked up all his strength. Phil just wretched back harder, mumbling “Your done, mother fucker” under his breath. The ref kicked the chair out of the ring and dropped down to face a struggling Volker Baldwin. Volker tried to shake his head, but the grip was too intense. After realizing that he wasn’t going to work his way out of this, his right hand dropped down to the mat in preparation for the useful remedy known as the rope break. Atken squeezed even harder when he saw this, but Volker’s hand reached out as far as it could go. To make a long story short, he grabbed hold of the rope, Phil swore a few times about it, but the ref made him let go of the submission. Volker got to his feet. Phil walked up to him, but Volker shot out a right hand straight into Atken’s face. “You little fucker!” Atken returned the favor. But Volker didn’t go down as intended; he tossed another fist. And Atken followed up again. Volker again. Atken again. Volker. Atken. Volker. Atken. Volker. Atken. Volker. Atken. Volker. Atken. Volker. Atken. Volker. Atken. Gotta love these little fist outbursts, folks. The fans rose to their feet just as Atken got the advantage, punching the Nazi up and against the ropes. Atken pushed him and whipped him across the ring, running in foot with a devastating clothesline. Volker ducked under the arm, quickly wrapped his arms around Atken’s waist, and hoisted him into the air with a perfect German suplex. The ref started the countout. 1… 2… 3… 4… Atken and Volker each rolled to the ropes. 5… 6… They each grabbed hold of the bottom rope. 7… 8… And just as the ref stepped forward to count the nine, they were each to their feet. Atken lifted his leg up and kicked Volker in the gut. He locked up for a suplex, and hoisted Volker up into the air, only to have Volker slip down behind him and land on his feet. Baldwin swung Atken around, tossed his head under his arm, and dropped down with a DDT. The fans watched as Volker didn’t release Atken’s head, but watched as he locked on tighter and started wrenching as hard as he could. They were witnessing the first time Volker Baldwin special, used for the first time in ACW. Tod Translation: Death Death for Phil Atken at least, which some of the fans wouldn’t have minded in the slightest. Volker had his hold locked on in a death grip, if you’ll forgive the shitty pun, and twisted as hard as possible. The ref dropped down and looked to see of Atken was going to submit. Phil Atken garnered up all his strength, but there didn’t seem to be any escape; Volker had the hold locked on too good and the rope might as well have been a mile away. He was fighting back, but it wasn’t doing any good. He fought as long as he could, but finally he had little choice. He was now zero for three. Phil Atken’s hand hovered above the mat, and was ready to slap down to signal his giving up the fight, but just then… The fans cheered as the arena went dark. The lights all went down immediately. The screen went from Volker’s victory to black. All that remained were some flashes from the crowd’s cameras. In the darkness, Volker Baldwin let go of the hold, paying no attention to Atken and preparing for what he had coming to him. The fans waited. Volker waited. And then, out of nowhere, the screen came back to life with black and white. With Adolf Hitler staring down at the crowd. There he was on the screen, standing as tall and as a proud as any mass murderer could do, his annoying voice screeching out over the PA. German echoed through the arena as the dictator stood behind a podium, spewing his words to a loyal crowd that would obey his every command. Hitler – alive and well. Volker – confused as fuck. And Phil Atken… Roll up. 1… 2… THREE! And just like that, Atken had stolen his first victory. The bell rang as Your Entertainment Savior rolled out of the ring. He grabbed his belt from the time keeper and a microphone from the announcer as his music began to die down. “Hey Volker. “On second thought, stick around, asshole. “I want to see what else this guy has in store for you. “Heil Atken, Cunt Face!” Phil Atken saluted Volker, raising his right hand in the air and earning a cheer from the crowd. Volker rolled out of the ring to attack Atken, but Phil simply dropped the mic and ran around the ring to the ramp. Irate as fuck, Volker grabbed the steel chair kicked out of the ring before and tossed it into the crowd violently. Phil Atken raised the Action Championship in the air, flipping his latest opponent the bird as he strolled towards the stage. Volker Baldwin had just fought his first match. And, thanks to Adolf Hitler, Volker Baldwin had just lost his first match. Only in ACW, boys and girls. WINNER : Phil Atken
THE
FOLLOWING SEGMENT WAS
NOT AIRED
“Hey
there.” Abbey said
to a man who had a
head set on. Most
women would say he is
pretty good looking
guy, but guys would
call him gay. Abbey
obviously liked what
she saw.
“Hello,
I’m Keith how may I
help you?” He asked,
kind of wondering why
she wanted to get his
attention off his
work.
“Here’s
my hotel key… come
by later. Then I’ll
show you how you can
help me.” She said
with that smile that
she gave Lancett. She
was a very giving
women or a blunt
whore!
This
guy was more than
interested he accepted
the card and put it in
his pocket, “See you
tonight…?”
“Abbey.”
Ville
Azure!
The
chase had begun.
Lancett
was running as fast as
he could.. His eyes
were moving in every
direction like a deer
who just heard a
gunshot, which he
might as well have
been. Right now,
Lancett was the prey
in a manhunt. And he
knew it. Right now,
Lancett was in danger.
And he knew it. Sweat
dribbled down his
chin, but he didn't
bother to wipe it off.
Right then, there was
no room for
hesitation. An rather
angry Ville Azure was
after him, with that
maniac grin and those
emotionless eyes.
Lancett might have
considered himself one
of the greatest
wrestlers of all
time... but he knew
when to run like a
coward.
Lancett
turned a corner, eyes
wide and breath heavy.
The thoughts that
raced through his head
were anything but
happy. A carousel of
pictures, all
portraying him in
rather gruesome
scenes, flashes
through his head. As
he ran, he sent a
brief glance over his
shoulder to see if
Ville was making his
way around yet.
Instead, he heard a
scream as a small,
bald, stereotypical
crew member scurried
on the floor with a
bloody nose.
Obviously, the man got
in Ville's way.
Lancett
dodged behind a large
crate quickly, pushing
his back up against
the cold metal. The
footsteps of Ville
Azure could be heard
throughout the area,
echoing into Lancett's
ears. At this point,
Ville was like some
horror movie
antagonist and Lancett
was the scared
teenager just waiting
to get chopped to
pieces.
"Come
on, now. Do you
honestly think I'm
going to hurt
you?" Ville's
voice rang with an
almost comical
sarcasm. "We just
need to discuss this
matter of you interfering
in my
match. I honestly do
not appreciate that.
So, what say you come
out and we have a nice
little talk...?"
He was taking his
sweet time. The
footsteps were slow.
Calm. Calculated. This
was all a way of
messing with Lancett's
mind.
And,
as far as Lancett was
concerned, it was
working.
While
Lancett hid, he
watched out of the
corner of his eye as a
shadow came into view.
Ville Azure was right
there and Lancett took
that moment to bite
his lip, hold his
breath, and pray to
whatever god may take
the time to listen.
Ville's foot came into
view and Lancett's
body tensed. Ville's
leg came fully into
view and Lancett bit
his lip till he could
taste blood. Ville's
entire body came into
view and Lancett felt
as though time stood
still. Then, Ville's
back came into view...
and the realization
that Ville was passing
the crate by hit
Lancett like an anvil.
Relief.
They
say animals can smell
fear. It's like some
sort of sixth sense
passed to them but not
to us human beings.
However, right then,
so help me God he
could sense it. So
help me God that, when
he looked over his
shoulder, he was still
sniffing the air. Like
an animal. Like a
beast. Like a monster.
That maniac grin was
on his face, revealing
pearly whites for the
world to see.
Lancett's mouth
dropped open. As far
as Lancett was
concerned, those
pearly whites might as
well have been
dripping with blood...
because Ville had a
sledgehammer sitting
atop his right
shoulder.
“Silly
rabbit,” Ville said,
sounding almost
amused.
Lancett's
eyes widened as the
sledgehammer dropped
down from Ville's
shoulder, the handle
held with both hands.
Ville swung it like a
baseball bat, with
Lancett's head being
considered the ball.
The sledgehammer came
crashing through the
create, only inches
away from Lancett's
head. In fact, Lancett
could feel the cold
steel of the hammer
against his skin.
The
crate now had a
humongous hole in it
that could have very
well have been
Lancett's head.
“HOLY
SHIT!” He cried,
standing and running
again in an almost
fluid motion. Ville
placed his foot on the
crate for leverage,
his hands on the
handle of the
sledgehammer. With a
quick pull, the
sledgehammer came out
of the hole. Ville let
out a sigh as he was
treated to a wonderful
view of Lancett's back
as the nearly
decapitated man ran
away.
Ville
shook his head,
lifting the
sledgehammer back to
his shoulder. “Just
keep on running.” He
whispered. “I'll be
with you soon.”
Awkward
Acquaintance
Ninja
K, warming up for what
match he assumed he
was to part take in
tonight was what the
camera was viewing.
The fans let out a
huge cheer for this
man, who was quickly
moving up the ACW fan
ranks because of the
fact that each night
he risked his body to
entertain them.
Kenshiro without a
fear in his eyes, was
destined this week to
destroy Vinnie
Copeland.
Speak
of the Devil.
Kenshiro
cracked a huge smile.
The
fans jeered.
Vinnie
Copeland didn't budge,
arms crossed staring
daggers into the eyes
of Kenshiro Inogami.
The Arizonian
Nightmare didn't care
what Ninja K had to
say, even if questions
were thrown at him,
periodically.
"Kenshiro,
you may never like me,
God knows I will NEVER
like you. That's fine,
but you've been a pain
in my ass since Day
One here. Not a week
has gone by that you
haven't done something
STUPID to make me want
to kick the teeth in
your mouth directly
down your
throat,"
Kenshiro's
smile widened from ear
to ear. This just
fumed Copeland
further.
"What,
you think it's funny?
You don't want to get
your ass handed to you
tonight now do you,
son?"
Kenshiro's
smile turned to a
frown. The man's cold
voice that hadn't been
heard yet in his
career in the ACW was
cued.
"I
could be wrong, but I
thought it was you
that was defeated last
week in cold blood. I
thought it was you
who's contract is on a
thread. And with all
of these thoughts, I
think that it's YOU
that is about to face
some major consequences
if you
don't step the fuck
out of my locker room
in three seconds,
ONE."
Copeland
looked around, and
took a step out of
Ninja K's locker room.
"Alright.
You want another piece
of me tonight K?
You've got it. Bring
your A game because
that monkey shit I saw
last week isn't gonna
fly this time
around,"
And
with that said it was
booked.
Cue
crowd pop.
I
Am Your Crimson Soaked
Hero, Part One
The
arena was quiet, until
Zack De La Rocha began
to rhyme over the
metallic sounds of the
rest of his R.A.T.M.
band members.
Enter
the HAWK. Cue
the un-necessary, and
unrivalled heat. SilverHAWK
entered he top of the
stage, his title belt
by his side, and then
swayed off to the
right of the entrance
ramp, where a nice
little set up had been
placed. Two stools, a
table, and a monitor,
and also ACW's chief
interviewer Thomas
Kilpatrick. SilverHAWK
pulled up a stool, as
did Kilpatrick, as
this little session
began. "Ladies
and gentleman, would
you please give a hand
for your world
champion." Boo. "They
have no respect
Kilpatrick, let's just
get this
started." Kilpatrick
nodded. "This
interview session will
be of three parts
ladies and gentleman,
more or less entitled,
the past, present, and
the future. This
session, you may have
guessed, is titled the
past...and with the
help of your ACW
Champion, and a little
bit of silence, we
will find out what
goes on in the mind of
the most coveted
superstar ever to walk
ACW's walkway." SilverHAWK
rid his teeth of his
lunch, this was
obviously not his
idea. "So
here is my first
question HAWK, how
does the ACW of this
generation, compare to
the one you joined,
under Ethan
Winters." "Well,
you know, hindsight if
a fucking marvelous
thing, and it's just a
shame that nobody had
it when Ethan Winters
took over the
federation at that
point. Dunn and Boyd
believed that they had
the best intentions of
the federation when
they allowed Winters
to return and take
full control, and as a
shareholder I had a
small part in the
decision also, but
obviously the way it
turned out was less
than
satisfactory...but
you've gotta give
credit where credit is
due, as William Laguna
certainly seems to
know what he is
doing." Kilpatrick
checked his notes, as
the fans sat either
listening, or giving a
"boring"
chant just to piss off
the Champion. "Now
current fans of ACW
will not know William
Laguna very well, but
isn't that a good
thing?" "Well
you know that many
federations have their
owner as a major force
in the federation, on
screen, but that
doesn't seem to be
Laguna's style, and
that's fine by me. The
odd announcement here
and there is fair
enough, but when he
starts to put himself
in matches or starts
the show with a big
stupid rant, then you
know you've got
trouble, and if he
starts, I'm sure many
of these guys will
shoot him some abuse
based on general
principal." "The
last question of this
session HAWK..." CHEER. HAWK
laughed. "You
know what Tom, why
don't you give one of
these little nimrods a
chance to ask me a
question, they seem to
be giving off a lot of
noise anyway. Let's
see if they can
actually construct an
actual question rather
than grunting and
groaning at me." Kilpatrick
got down from his
stool and then climbed
off the stage into the
fans, as he looked for
someone who was was
enough to have double figures
in their age, he
eventually found one. "Do
you have a question
for SilverHAWK?" He
nodded. "WHY
DO YOU SUCK SO MUCH
COCK?!
YYYYYYYYEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!" Kilpatrick
quickly pulled the
microphone away and
couldn't help but see
the anger in HAWK's
face as the young man
was congratulated by
his peers. Kilpatrick
picked his next one
carefully... "You
got a question?" He
also nodded, and tentatively,
Kilpatrick gave him
the mic. "How
do you feel, that out
of all the ACW
champions you are the
only one not hitting
the limelight
somewhere else?" HAWK
got to his feet...and
started to walk
towards the young man. "You
saying I'm a failure
kid? Let's look at the
roll of honour shall
we...Osyrus, beat him
last week. ICU, I
think I seen him in
the new bumfights
video...he beat this
other guy to a pulp.
Alias, well...Alias
has appeared in WWC,
Action, the squared
circle and I'm sure
other fucking Woeful
organizations
where he has caused
trouble, and promptly
been told to find
another job. He's a
mercenary, going to a
federation on a big
pay packet, and then
moving away when the
time suits him." The
masses weren't liking
what they were
hearing, and with
every bad word against
the former ACW
Champion, the noise
level grew louder and
louder. "At
the end of the
day...all these
champions jumped the
ship when things got
rough, and the only
man to stay, is
standing in front of
you, but I guess
that's a pill that is
just far too hard for
some of you to
take."
Grudge
Match
It was time for a SUPER MATCH, folks. No, I'm serious. "Ladies and Gentlemen, this following contest is for the All-Star Championship Wrestling Scorpion Fighting Championship, and the 'Sodding Cunt Doctrine' will be in effect! To win, one must render his opponent unconscious for a 15-count OR resort to over-the-top-rope elimination! Making his way to the ring, the challenger; from Belfast, Northern Ireland, weighing two-hundred-twenty-nine pounds… Chris Messiah!” “BOO!!!” Oh how generic, the boos had started already. Chris Messiah shoved the curtain aside and slowly trod out onto the top of the stage. As a matter of fact, it was almost a year to the day since Chris had walked into this very arena to make his pay-per-view debut for thReat, but that’s just random knowledge. But knowledge is the bomb, so it’s all good. Impress your friends with that one Oh yeah, and Chris was in the ring in no time, holding the microphone as usual. “Well what do you know? Last week after I trounced Jobbers Inc. and then slated my up-coming opponent after the match, I get jumped in the toilets. I was lucky I wasn’t found by the ACW camera crew in a state of undress, because that would have given all the jealous males who follow this promotion another reason to boo me. And fortunately I wasn't sodomised. Anyway, who attacked me last week? I’ll give you a small clue – it was Quinton May! No, I didn’t get to see his face, but it was obviously him. Not only have I challenged him to this next match, but he’s so afraid that he’ll lose his title and be forced to actually wrestle in future matches that he’s doing everything in his power to make sure I didn’t turn up tonight in a condition to wrestle. Well, he failed. I may have a large lump on my head suffered at Quinton’s hands last week, but don’t judge this book by it’s… I mean my cover, or whatever. Okay, Quinton, come on out here and let’s get this thing started!” “His opponent! From Windsor, Ontario, Canada, weighing in at two-hundred-eighteen pounds... he is the ACW Television AND Scorpion Fighting champion... Quinton May!” Then, there was music... "Make A Move" by Lostprophets. The crowd began to erupt, but 17 seconds into the song, the lights in the arena were cut. Now, excitement gripped every single person in the stands, as they counted down to the second where they'd be able to witness the Rising Star of the company would appear before their very eyes. Atken snorted, and called for May to 'speed things up'. 32 seconds into the song, red and white pyrotechnics lit up the arena. KA - BOOOOM So
are we lost or do we
know? Because
every day we're
getting older. WAKE
UP! Yeah,
so tired of waiting... WAKE
UP! Yeah,
so sick of waiting... Quinton walked out into the arena with a purpose, as most wrestlers do. That purpose of course being to win their match. Anyway, Quinton quickly made his way to the ring, with his eyes trained on Messiah the whole time. After removing the title belt and handing it to the referee, the bell rang and things were about to get nasty. The moment the bell rang, the two of them locked-up. Quinton quickly took the advantage, powering it into a side head-lock, but Chris reversed it into a hammer-lock. Quinton once again powered out, into a hammer-lock of his own, and then he sent Chris down to the mat with a back suplex. He picked Messiah up and sent his ribs crashing down against his knee with a chilling rib-breaker, and then he rammed the same knee into Chris' tail bone with an atomic drop. He grabbed Chris' head and spun it around into a neck-breaker. Quinton clearly had the upper-hand from the start, just as he had planned. He hooked Chris' arm and leg, and went for a suplex, but Chris blocked it. Quincy tried again, but he was foiled a second time. Then suddenly the mat rushed up towards his head, as Chris dropped him with a DDT. The Scorpion AND Television champion astonished Chris by almost instantaneously getting back to his feet at the same time as the former, and they exchanged in a fist-fight that Messiah won easily, as he was (and still is) the bigger of the two men. He grabbed Quinton by the wrist and hit a short-arm clothesline, sending the double champion hard to the mat, however it was going to take a lot more than punches and clotheslines to defeat a resilient May. As Quinton tried getting back to his feet, Chris dropped a knee across the back of his neck. He then applied a sleeper-hold, and the fans began to boo. Quinton however wasn't going to go down this easily, and tried to shake Chris off. He swung his arms back, but he couldn't catch his opponent with an elbow. Seeing the potential danger, Chris took Quinton down with a side head-lock takeover, then quickly dropped a vicious leg across his throat. A swinging neck-breaker followed, which Quinton tried to block. Chris had different ideas however, and didn't want to give up his first real offence of the match, so he powered against Quinton’s block and cut him down with a nasty-looking effort, and then turned him over into a Boston crab. "ASK HIM!!!" Chris screamed at the referee to see if Quinton was ready to give up, but May didn't even pay attention to the referee, as he slowly dragged himself towards the ropes. Submissions don't count, Chrissy! Nonetheless, Chris tried to dig in his heels and stop Quinton, but the latter was too determined, and soon had a hand hanging over the bottom rope as he gasped for breath. Chris was straight back in control however, dragging May back into the middle of the ring and applying a Camel clutch. Quinton screamed in agony, as Chris pulled back his head. Sensing that he was starting to slip out of consciousness, Quinton dug down deep, and with all the strength he could muster, he reached back and pulled Chris' feet forward. The unexpected yank made him lose his balance, and Chris fell off him. But once again, when Quinton tried to get back into control, Chris latched on to him with a wonderful side head lock, perhaps the greatest of all the rest holds, because the opponent gets a nice face full of armpit. Chris held Quinton there for about thirty seconds, with May trying to wriggle out of it the entire time. Chris walked backwards, bringing May with him, and he was going to attempt some stunning move involving bouncing off the ropes. Things didn’t work out that way, however, as Quinton hooked Chris’ left leg with his left arm, and lifted him up and over, toppling the challenger over the top rope to the outside. ... And that, friends, was game over! Chris landed heavily on his shoulder, but got up quickly nonetheless, and rolled into the ring. He sprung up to his feet quickly, noticing Quinton was sitting down in the corner, his breathing laboured, and eyes closed tightly, with a smug grin on his ugly face. Sensing a chance for victory (oblivious to the rules, obviously), Chris grasped both of Quinton’s feet, and in no time at all, Quinton was turned over into the Reality Check, and was tapping out for all he was worth, which isn't much, because he's a worthless loser. The referee returned from his position at ringside (what was he doing over there?) and immediately went to Chris, telling him to get off the former champion. “YES!!!” That was it. In only his second match, Chris Messiah had won the Scorpion Fighting championship, and had proved all the doubters wrong. Or had he? As Chris walked around the ring celebrating like he’d just struck oil in the basement of a house he’d won in a raffle he'd been invited to after winning the lottery, the ring announcer did what he does best, and announced the victor. “Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of this contest, and STILL the ACW Scorpion Fighting Champion, as a result of a ring-out, Quinton May!” “WHAT?!” Chris stood with a look of utter confusion mixed with a little bit of anguish on his face, as the referee handed the Fighting championship to Quinton. Chris shoved the referee about a little and screamed at him, wondering 'what the hell was that crap all about?' in the most eloquent manner possible. Apparently, fighting matches aren’t like wrestling matches or something, and if you get thrown out of the ring, you lose. Especially with the Sodding Cunt Doctrine in place. Somebody could have told Chris, for Chrissakes. He went from being a champion to looking like a complete tit in the space of a minute. Quinton rolled out of the ring and wandered around the ringside area, resting, smiling back at Chris, who couldn't seem to swallow what had just happened. He could have gotten away with it too if it hadn't of been for those pesky kids! And that's the cue for our commercial break! WINNER : Quinton May
THE
FOLLOWING SEGMENT WAS
NOT AIRED
Hmm.
We're backstage,
apparently. And in a
very dark room.
"So,
it seems as if nothing
'as changed at all in
'his place, aye?
Pretty f'in
incredible, mate. It's
been so many months
and yet, the bloke's
still as good as evah.
It's almost as if the
blast didn't even
affect him a tiny bit.
Of course, I can see
the pain and
depression in his
eyes!" a raspy
voice dripping with an
Irish-like accent rang
out, accompanied by
the sound of heavy
boots beating down
onto the cold
concrete.
Then,
silence. Eerie.
"I
don't see why you get
to continue speaking a
natural, Corn, whereas
I have to act like
some redneck Yank. I'm
clearly not. I used to
maim redneck
Yanks for a living, if
you care to remember,
you filthy old
grumblebum!"
another voice,
muffled, countered. It
was laden with angst.
Bitterness,
even.
"Ahhh,
quit your bitchin', ya
sod. We've got work to
do."
A
snort.
"We
do?" the angsty
voice asked 'Corn'.
'Corn',
he who had the Irish
accent, laughed.
"Yes, we do.
Tonight's only the
first step of many,
mate. Without me, you
were weak, guvnor. But
now, I'm back by your
side. And I shall lead
you to greatness
again. I made you,
mate. Without me,
there would be no
sting in your
personality.
And
now, I shall nurse you
back to your former
glory, and make you
feared again."
Once
again, silence.
I
guess, this means this
segment is over?
...
Yes.
Grudge
Match
Hello. We're back from commercials. Quinton May was already back in the ring, having taken a breather on the outside following his EPIC SHOWDOWN with Chris Messiah just moments ago. This would be a rarity for the Canadian Gladiator; two matches on one night. Two TITLE DEFENSES on one night, too. With the crowd already riled up for another classic TV Title match-up that would match those already etched in the annals of tume, Quincy was noticeably worried. For some reason, he never liked the idea of wrestlers working two matches in one night. He thought it was an act of desperation on their part, to be noticed. Tonight, though, the Canadian Gladiator was desperate to cling on to his TV Title. "Thunderstruck" by AC/DC was blaring over the speakers, and BANTAM DIABLO was already climbing into the ring, as the audience members settled back into their seats following the completion of the short commercial break. Diablo looked up at the crowd, presumably grinning (mask and all), and he quickly locked eyes with Quincy Mama, who slicked his hair back and cracked his knuckles. The famous Ladder Match last week had taken a lot outta him, this was a true test. * DING DING DING * It was on. Both men started to circle each other, none blinking, with the crowd going wild. Each competitor harboured thoughts of how to strike first. Each having the vision of being the victor in a couple of minutes. The crowd were roaring like bloodthirsty maniacs now, unable to take the anticipation that had been on boil for practically the entire night. And then, it happened. Diablo made the first move, as he lunged at Quinton. Quincy spotted it a mile away, however, and sidestepped, sending Diablo into the turnbuckle. May quickly turned around and exploded with a barrage of right hooks, totally destroying Bantam. Quincy connected with about twenty hooks, before he almost knocked Bandia over the turnbuckle and out of the ring with a stunning uppercut with his left hand! Bantam Diablo was stunned, and found himself being hurled across the ring, towards the diagonal turnbuckle, courtesy of an especially strong irish whip from May. The result? Take a wild guess. ... Fine, be that way. Diablo crashed face first into the turnbuckle, generating quite a pop from the crowd, and he staggered backwards like a drunkard. Quinton was ready to pile on the punishment, flooring Diablo with an exquisite armdrag as the latter finally turned around. Bantam was quick to his feet, but found himself crumpling down to the canvas again via another armdrag. Diablo was mighty frustrated by now, but as he returned to his vertical base, the Minnesota native found himself being struck down again. This time, by way of a high-leg clothesline from Quinton. A signature move, from the Television Champ. Short match? Perhaps. Let's find out;
ONE.
TWO.
TH - BANTAM GOTZ THE SHOULDER UP!
Quinton, still panting from the earlier exertions with Chris Messiah, glared at the referee as he stood to his feet, backing off from his opponent. Bantam fiddled about with his mask, struggling to his feet, realising that Quincy Mama was really at the top of his game. And as Bantam turned around, Quincy charged at him, more than ready to build on this promising opening. Bantam had it scouted, though, and knocked May down with a vicious throat thrust, drawing *some* jeers from the crowd. Quincy was up within a heartbeat, but suffered another throat thrust for his troubles. A pair of knife-edged chops followed, and Diablo quickly sent Quinton into the ropes, satisfied at having slowed down the pace of the match. His confidence was growing, and it showed, as Bandia took Quinton down with tilt-a-whirl sideslam! Fancy move from the cheeky Little Devil. Immediately after, Diablo kipped up to his feet, raising his arms in the air, proud of himself. Quinton writhed about on the canvas, looking as if he hurt his neck from that exchange. Diablo didn't care. He bounced himself off the ropes, and hurled himself onto Quinton with a rolling thunder. The cover followed mere seconds later, and Bantam hooked the legs;
ONE.
TWO.
KICK-OUT!
Quincy Mama was still alive. It was going to take much more than a rolling thunder to keep him down. Diablo knew this too, and immediately pulled Quincy up, dropkicking Quinton in the face a second later. The Television Champ staggered back with some force and his spine crashed into one of the corner turnbuckles. The impact of which saw him stagger right back out of the corner. Diablo rolled onto his back expertly, getting into a crouched position. With a malevolent gleam in his eyes, Bantam Diablo leaped up, flinging himself at Quinton. ... And connecting with a running STO. Don't see that often, eh? "BOOOO!" The crowd -- Quinton's devout supporters, especially -- were not liking the fact that the challenger was in control of the match now. But, BD ignored them and made the cover. The referee shrugged his skinny lil' shoulders and dropped to his knees;
ONE.
TWO.
KICK-OUT!
Bantam grunted. He wasn't even close. Poor thing. Frustrated, Diablo yanked the dazed Quincy up and growled at him, like a horny tiger, striking with a barrage of forearm fists. May couldn't even get his hands up to defend himself, and found himself tumbling over the ropes & out of the ring, following a very calculated discus punch from Bantam. Seconds later, the Little Devil himself joined his opponent on the outside, the referee close behind. Quinton was on his knees and as Diablo came closer, May struck with a couple of forearm shots to the abdominals of BD, slowing his adversary down even more. Before leaping to his feet and somersaulting backwards, slamming both his feet upwards in a rising arc into Diablo's jaw! Bantam Diablo stumbled backwards, his spine making unprotected contact against the ring apron. What was even more surprising that Quinton had landed on his feet, inciting many a wolf whistle and applause for his capoeira-like move. The Canadian Gladiator did the same last week too, against Phil Atken. But the best was yet to come from him. "QUINCY MAMA!!~!!" With no regard whatsoever for Diablo's well-being, Quinton had taken it upon himself to teach Bantam Diablo a thing or two about playing rough, lashing out with an overhead belly-to-belly suplex. Of course, May had the smarts to realise his environment and exerted more energy, sending Bantam flying into the barricade wall. The challenger for the TV Title was out. The referee frowned. Quinton simply took the time to catch his breath. Smart move, but it was shortlived, as Diablo clambered to his knees, a small laceration having been formed right above his left eye. He was also gasping for breath. May snorted, once again reaching out for Bantam's head for hair. ... No dice, this time. Why? Sneaky low-blow from Diablo, who then shoved Quinton against the ring apron. May winced in pain, agitated that the tables had been turned that quickly. Noting that he could be further dismantled if he stayed on the outside, the former ACW Television & Scorpion Fighting Champion rolled back into the ring much to the glee of the referee, leaving Diablo to do his own recuperation. Diablo, however, had more than that in mind, as he reached under the ring, and took out a weapon. A steel chair, to be more precise. Perhaps he didn't care if he was going to be disqualified. Deftly sliding back into the ring, Diablo chuckled sinisterly, watching Quinton closely as the latter forced himself up, as the pesky referee continued to check on May, wondering if the Rising Star could continue. Several of the fans had begun to become animated, trying to warn May of the danger. Bantam shook his head as he raised the chair over his head, just as Quinton foolishly turned around, none the wiser. SMACK OH NO! QUINTON HAD DUCKED! And? The moronic referee got hit in the head instead. Bantam screamed like a little girl, turning around just in time to evade a spinning heel kick from Quincy Mama. The audience once again gasped, with Diablo still having the chair in his hand... SMACK The Canadian Gladiator was down. Well, duh, you say. SMACK SMACK Ahhh, but I wasn't done. HA. Anyways. Bantam had struck with two more chairshots for good measure, before he tossed the chair out of the ring. The crowd jeered loudly now, naturally, but Bantam simply ignored them, crouching over the body of Quinton May as claret began to trickle down and cover his face. Going up against Bantam Diablo was always going to be a tough proposition. And with the bumbling referee stirring back to life, BD hooked the legs, visions of greatness flooding his mind;
ONEEEEEE.
TWOOOOOOO.
THREEEEEEEEEEE...
Hell no. Quinton May has his foot on the ropes. Bantam's eyes widened in shock, and the crowd celebrated jubilantly! The young man born in Canada was still very much alive, and this annoyed Diablo. Diablo rose to his feet and contemplated arguing with the referee, but he realised that he was better off setting up for the finishing blow. The referee, meanwhile, began to look puzzled at the sight of blood. Then he shook it off, thinking nothing of it. Jackass. With Quincy's face now covered by vitals that matched the colour of his hair, he probably didn't need more bloodloss. Bantam Diablo hadn't considered that at all as his right fist continued to pound the Canadian Gladiator's face, before the Little Devil pulled Quinton up and twisted his arm. Old-fashioned arm wrench. Ahhh. This one had a twist; a jumping thrust kick to the face, that sent the Rising Star staggering backwards into the ropes. And as Quinton May bounced off those ropes, Bantam Diablo kicked him in the gut, and got into position for what appeared to be a side Russian leg sweep. OH, WAIT. Bantam calls this move, THE ENDORZ. Sounds cool. But we didn't get to see it, though. Why? Quinton May realised the seriousness of the predicament he was trapped in and instinctively struck with a crosshook, effectively squirming out of the hold. The Canadian Gladiator was on a high now, having tasted his own blood, and blasted Bantam with several more solid hooks. The crowd were on their feet now, cheering loudly as Quincy whipped Bantam into the ropes. There was more to follow, though. Diablo got TOTALLY planted with a tilt-a-whirl reverse DDT. You had to be there to believe it. Quincy Mama kipped to his feet and wiped the sweat off his forehead, his limbs burning from the exhaustion that was setting in. Despite all that, though, the Rising Star gave his fans more reason to cheer as he hopped over to a corner turnbuckle and hoisted himself to the top in a single bound. That was, before he executed an earth-shattering split-legged moonsault! "QUINCY MAMA!!~!!" The best part about it? Quinton had the legs hooked almost immediately. Referee got down to his knees and did his job;
ONE.
TWO.
THREE... NOOOO!
BANTAM DIABLO had kicked out! Amazing. Quinton May didn't think so as he growled angrily at the referee, before he rolled on his head, and pulled Bantam up with him. It was a slick move, and the fans had an inkling of what to expect now. They almost creamed when Quinton kicked Diablo in the gut. That was followed by the Rising Star shoving the Bandia in between his legs. And then, the double underhook of the arms. You know what THIS is, folks. Clap along, it'll be fun! ... ...
It was all over, ladies and gentlemen. But for some reason, it wasn't. Because, Quinton May didn't make the cover. Instead, he rose to his feet and rose his arms in the air, letting blood drip off his face and down onto the canvas. The fans were confused, yes, but they continued to celebrate like a pack of ravenous hyenas anyways, because they are marks. Then, I saw it. A glint of madness in Quincy's eyes. Seconds later, he was on the top of the turnbuckle, looking down at Bantam. And without any fear on his face, the Canadian Gladiator took flight, connecting with a 450º headbutt. It was pretty surreal, but it had a name which was fitting, because not even God himself could kick out of a move like that. SERAPHIC CESSATION.
ONE.
TWO.
THREE.
He did it. The bell rung and Quinton May was declared the victor. He clambered to his feet and collected his TV Title, having made successful title defenses in one night. Needless to say, the crowd were absolutely over the moon, chanting the Canadian's name as he thanked the fans for their support and climbed out of the ring. Just as ALEX DRAPER slid into the ring, having jumped out of the crowd. Oh, did I mention? He had a chair in his hand, and Bantam Diablo was already getting back to his feet. SMACK No, he wasn't. Not anymore, at least. SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK Not for a long time, it seemed. Quinton May looked back to the ring, as a stream of officials hustled past him and stormed down to the ring to try and peel Draper off of the downed Bantam Diablo. The Canadian Gladiator, with his titles in his possession, thought that he should probably go back into the ring and help Diablo out. For some reason. But he didn't, and instead, left. ... Yeah, that's the end of this match. WINNER : Quinton May
THE
FOLLOWING SEGMENT WAS
NOT AIRED
He
approached the large
wooden door. The
handle was cold; the
nameplate read
‘William Laguna’.
However, the apparent
intimidation some
people face when
discussing matters
with their boss
wasn’t evident
within the mind of
Simian Kade. You’d
think it would be
worse considering
Simian had never
actually met the man.
He
turned the knob and
slowly swung the large
door open. Inside sat
Laguna, fiddling away
with papers and such.
Getting the business
side of the federation
organized.
“Hi,
you wanted to see
me,” although he
didn’t look nervous,
it was obvious Kade
was going out of his
way to be polite.
Laguna looked up
briefly, before
continuing to shuffle
the papers.
Kade
looked around the
office. He saw the
paintings hung and the
leather couch against
the sidewall.
Damn,
ACW sure as hell
shelled over a lot for
this setup. He
thought to himself.
Finally
the new owner of
Allstar Championship
Wrestling looked up at
Simian with what
appeared to be
undivided attention.
“…
And you are?” he
asked, a little
confused by Kade’s
presence.
Kade
was stunned. How could
he not know who he
was?
Pfft…
Idiot.
“I’m
Simian Kade, you
called me down
here…” Kade said
with a confused look
on his face. Laguna
wasn’t serious…
…
Was he?
“Ah,
that’s right, the
new guy, glad to have
you aboard,” Laguna
smiled and rested his
hands on the large
mahogany desk.
“Actually,
I’m glad you called
me down here, I’ve
got a favor I’d like
to ask,” Simian took
a deep breath; he
wasn’t nervous
before, but he sure
was now.
“A
favor?” Laguna
raised an eyebrow.
“Yes;
a favor,” Kade
repeated. The sweat
began to flow from the
glands in his
underarms. He wiped
his brow.
“You
are quick in feeling
out your boundaries I
see, how long have you
been part of ACW?”
Laguna raised up to a
vertical base, he was
now looking at Kade.
They were eye level,
which gave Kade the
impression that
William Laguna was not
all too impressed.
“About
two weeks,” Kade
said with a little
crackle in his voice.
He coughed, trying to
cut the tension.
“You’ve
been in my
company for two
weeks and you’re
already asking me
for favors,” Laguna
smiled, “aha, well,
what can I do you
for?”
Phew.
The
tension was cut.
Kade
relaxed. “Well,
I seem to have run
into that powder nose
that you call a
wrestler. Rome the
Vile, or whatever his
name is,” Kade
grunted, that
nickname, that he had
dubbed Joshua with
amused him.
“Powder
nose?” Laguna said
it with authority, but
there was a hint of
humor in his voice. “I’ll be sure to tell Joshua and the other superstars that you are making jokes about someone’s cocaine addiction,” Laguna’s face went cold. He wasn’t impressed with Kade. His attitude was in need of a major adjustment. “So, you have come to
me asking for a match with Rome the Vile. And you expect me too
grant you it?
Is
that the case…
Simian Kade?” Laguna
leaned over the desk,
he awaited Kade’s
response.
“No sir, that’s not
what I expect…” Kade paused.
“Good,” Laguna
pounded the message into Kade’s ears loud and clear. He turned to push
his leather chair back under the desk.
“… I’m demanding
it… sir,” Kade said it with power and authority… two things he did
not have in this federation… yet.
He had crossed a line;
it infuriated Laguna.
“You know what…
Simian?” Laguna said with a sarcastic, yet angry tone in his voice.
“I’m going to grant
your wish...for one reason. Maybe powder nose will knock a little
manners into your system?"
“Good,” he said, as
he walked out the door and shut it behind him.
Meanwhile inside the
office Laguna shook his head.
“Who the hell does he
think he is?” He asked himself. “Who does he think he
is?”
Revenge
is a Dish...
“Cicatriz ESP” by
The Mars Volta hit again for the second time that night. Ville Azure
made his way out. Ville Azure, with a deadpan face. Ville Azure with
emotionless eyes. Ville Azure with a microphone in hand. Over the past
few weeks, the fans had come to dislike him and his way of handling
things. His almost sadistic streak of violent acts and egotistical
insults against other ACW stars, may it be Kraig Carter, Jesse Ramey, or
even Lancett, had caught them off guard and left them with a bad taste
in his mouth.
When Ville had debuted,
on the April 1st show, he seemed like a promising new talent. Now? They
weren't sure what he was. Yes, he was impressive. Yes, he had a certain
sort of charisma about him... but there was something a little off about
the man. Something that made them love to hate him. This was Ville Azure
at his most hated.
In the ring, with a
microphone to his lips and an almost sickening look of confidence
spreading on his face, he spoke. This was the first time he directly
spoke to the ACW fans... and he was sure they would not like what they
heard.
“I fear I must
apologize for making you witness my outburst earlier. But, I also fear I
cannot assure you that it won't happen again. You see, I consider quite
a few of my fellow wrestlers to be nothing more than vermin. Such as...
Jesse Ramey.” An anti-Azure chant was picking up in the front row.
Ville sent the row, who looked mostly made up of college students, a
rather annoyed glance.
“Vermin such as...
Lancett.” Some fans, for the record, cheered at that. That was one
thing Ville and the fans agreed on.
“You see, I don't
tend to take kindly toward vermin. They annoy me. They pester me.
They're like an itch at the roof of my mouth. I can keep scratching at
it... And scratching at it... until it becomes bigger and bigger. And as
it becomes bigger, my annoyance with it grows.
“When these vermin
annoy me... I feel that it is my duty to gain justice for myself. To
gain some sort of revenge. Extermination of the vermin usually works
best.
“But, of course...
There's a specific vermin that I despise most of all. His name is Kraig
Carter. Evidently, Kraig is a detective. From what I gather, Kraig
doesn't tend to get along with me very well. We don't like each other.
In fact, I'm pretty sure we're nearing the point in which we despise
even seeing each other. And, as far as I'm concerned, Kraig needs to be
exterminated just like all other vermi--”
“The Watcher 2
(Instrumental)” by Jay Z hit and the fans erupted in cheers as Kraig
Carter made his way out, microphone in hand and bubble pipe in mouth.
Asmusic faded, for a moment, it was all very similar to am old west
showdown. Kraig Carter stood, tall and mighty. His eyes wide, a grin on
his face. The typical cowpoke sheriff just waitin' to shoot his gun.
Ville Azure stood, a frown on his face that portrayed him as the outlaw
villain. His eyes glowed with fury, like a train flying like all hell
down the tracks. The fans were cacti. The lights were the blazing hot
sun, shining down upon the baked ground. The words were the weapons.
Everything was silent. You could hear a pin drop. You could hear the
wind whistle.
Ville broke the
silence.
"Kraig
Carter!" He screamed, loud like some sort of king upon a throne.
"How dare you interrupt me now, at my finest hour?! Who permitted
you to be out here, you pathetic piece of filth?!"
Placing his long
fingers on his chin where his beard was beginning to grow in at, Kraig
slightly began to rub it back and forth. At the same time a smile
developed. But not a smile of love, a smile of hate.
"Ville... Ville...
Ville," Kraig repeated chuckling a bit. "No one gives me
permission to do anything. I do what I want, when I want, and however I
want to do it."
He paused for a second
looking out at the roaring fans.
"Besides. Who are
you to be questioning me anyway?" Kraig asked, grinning widely as
he continued to rub his chin.
And, just like the
outlaw in some sort of cheap spaghetti western, Ville shot his gun.
“Fuck you.” Bang. The shots were fired and the Ville was out of the
ring, making his way up the ramp with fury in his eyes.
Kraig simply chuckled
as Ville made his way up the ramp with his rage building. The guns were
still a-shootin'. Bang, Ville gave anger. Bang, Kraig gave giggles.
Bang, Ville gave hatred. Bang, Kraig gave chuckles. As Ville was only
feet away from Kraig, already lifting his arm, Kraig's voice rang
throughout the arena once more.
He said: “Ville... I
suggest you don't do that. I did some fine detective work and I
discovered a thing or two about you that you might not want these nice
fans to know.”
Ville stopped, with
eyes widening like he had just saw a ghost. Something happened within
Ville's head. Cogs turned and cranks rumbled as he looked up at Kraig,
his mouth hanging slightly open. Slowly, he lowered his fist and began
to try to calm himself. Kraig nodded his head, clapping his hands
together. “Clap-clap. I applaud you, Mr. Azure. You've made the right
decision! BINGO!”
Ville didn't have a mic
anymore. He left it in the ring. He was unarmed. A spaghetti western
cowboy outlaw without a gun. He was helpless. He was weak. The rootin',
tootin', badass, cowboy sheriff had won. Kraig Carter had won the
showdown. The fans were eating it
up as 'The Watcher 2' began to burst through the P.A. The fans cheered
Kraig Carter on as he made his way through the curtains... followed by
the defeated Ville Azure.
Revenge is a dish best
served cold.
I
Am Your Crimson Soaked
Hero, Part Two
The
lights dimmed. The
fans went silent. As
the spotlight graved
the side of the stage,
where SilverHAWK sat
with a bottle of water
in hand, and the ACW
World Championship
Belt slung across the
table, Thomas
Kilpatrick prepping
his next question. "The
present HAWK...how
does it feel to be ACW
Champion once
again?" "It
feels...good but bad.
You see, I think if
the match against
Osyrus would have
happened before King
of Ages, and before I
put Alias and Kain
into that series,
there would have been
nothing the matter
with it. However,
because Alias had to
give up his title, my
reign is now
tainted...tainted to
such a degree that I
had to pull off the
plate that reads my
name on the title. So
tainted that I only
carry this
championship around
because I've been told
to...to keep up the
"image"." Kilpatrick
pondered, either to
get set for his next
question, or wait
until the boo's and
jeers stopped ringing
around the arena.
"So what does
HAWK plan to do about
his tainted image as
Champion?" "I've
already done something
about it, and you all
seen it on Courage
last week. The
challenge has been
laid down to your
champion,"
SilverHAWK said as he
moved his fingers over
the arena, "and
now all he has to do
is accept it, and we
will have our
showdown." "What
are your actual
thoughts on Alias? We
all know the views you
have had about him,
but they seem to stem
more or less from the
viewpoint of the fans
and that he should be
the world
champion." "Alias,
is a good kid..." A
slight cheer. "...but
bad for ACW." A
more than slight boo. "You
see...these people
don't know what goes
on behind that
curtain, there is a
lot
Repercussions
Mistakes
happen. People often
pay for their
mistakes. Sometimes
mistakes are costly.
Some mistakes are more
costly than others.
Sometimes you pay for
the same mistake
twice.
This,
this was sometimes.
Alex
Draper once more had
not been booked for
the show. His
aggravation boiled in
his veins as he
slammed his fist
through the corkboard.
There was a brick wall
behind it, and behind
that was the office of
the owner.
Chalk
up another to the
“mistakes you pay
for” category.
Laguna
stepped out of his
office, and looked at
Draper. His eyes told
the story of what he
was thinking. He was
neither scared of
Draper, nor impressed
with his actions. He
merely shook his head
and sighed.
“BD
was right about
you.” Laguna said,
still shaking his
head.
“Give
me a break.” Draper
said, rolling his
eyes.
“Alex,
please. This is how
having a job works. We
have to listen to
every employee, and it
just so happens that
BD is obviously
skilled as a worker,
and we value his
opinion.” Laguna
replied.
“What?
COME ON! What about my
fucking word? You
can’t just not give
me another shot. How
the hell am I supposed
to prove you wrong if
you won’t even give
me another chance!”
Draper screamed,
obviously angry.
“There
are some things that
are beyond your
control, Alex. You
made your choices via
your actions. Maybe
you should think about
that for next time.”
“At
this rate there
won’t be a next
time.” Draper
replied, and with a
kick, sent the board
to the ground,
splitting it in half.
As
Draper walked away,
Laguna just shook his
head. It seemed that
some people were bound
to make mistakes for
their entire lives.
Grudge
Match
The night was moving forth and for the most part the events were going smoothly. ACW was picking up momentum, due to the hard work of the new faces and veterans alike. The fans in the Cleveland arena were buzzing; ACW had returned for the first time since the hiatus. And because of this they were stoked. Suddenly ‘The Death Song’ by Marilyn Manson kicked into high gear… we're
on a bullet The curtain was pushed aside, the fans booed the being who was about to enter. His boots pounded against the steel ramp way. Queue the pyrotechnics. Queue. simianKADE. He glared into the sea of fans. He smirked; this is what he lived for, he thought as he approached the ring. He climbed onto the apron. He hadn’t yet found a ring entrance that brought him success. He figured one would suit him and get him on the winning track. He scaled the far turnbuckle. He threw his left arm into the air, the fans booed and jeered. They hated him already. He hopped down from the turnbuckle to be greeted by the sounds of ‘Going Down in Flames’ by Three Doors Down. Kade rested his body against the corner and watched as the bigSCREEN played the montage that belonged to Jesse Ramey. Mr. Action walked out of the curtain to the capacity crowd in the small arena. Some were booing, while others were cheering. The reaction was a mixed one for Jesse Ramey. As Bad Attitude made his way down to the ring he began to watch Kade. Making sure he had no advantage on him what so ever. No undoing of the turnbuckle pads; no concealed weapons. This was going to be a fair fight. As Ramey approached the ring he picked up speed. He dove under the ring ropes and charged at Kade. The oncoming threat caught Kade by surprise. Ramey drove his shoulder into Kade, who outweighed him by nearly 80 pounds. Kade bounced off the turnbuckle and fell straight into the canvas. Ramey was quick to get back to his feet. He drove his knee into the back of the neck of Kade who grunted in pain. Ramey relented, but only for a second as he climbed to the second rope. He dropped the elbow right into the kidney area of The Fallen Angel. “Attitude!” Half of the crowd was in favor of the former Action! Star. While the other half was whole-heartedly against him. “Ramey
SUCKS!” He got to his feet. He looked down at his adversary. Kade clutched his lower back in distress. Jesse reached down and grabbed a handful of the New York native’s hair. He smacked Kade in the face, a blunt show of disrespect toward his opponent. “Get up bitch!” Ramey screamed into the ear of Simian Kade. He pulled The Sinister Hero to his feet, only to drive his boot into Kade’s midsection. A doubled over Simian reached down. He grabbed a hold of the leg of Ramey. But Jesse pulled back, knocking Kade of balance. Ramey shoved him into the corner and began to level his chest with chops. “WHOO!” The fans screamed as one chop after another pounded square into the chest of Simian Kade. Kade leaned back, Ramey pulled away just for a second to taunt the crowd. Smack. Kade’s forearm collided with the neck of Mr. Action. It was Kade’s first offensive maneuver, and it left a lasting impression with Ramey. Jesse gasped for air as Kade pulled him to his feet. A quick leg sweep brought him back to the mat as Simian dropped an elbow straight into Jesse’s heart. Then another, and another, and another. Finally the elbows ceased and Ramey was able to catch his wind. He slowly made his way to his feet, however he was met with an oncoming spear. Great Depression! … Not to be. Ramey avoided it. Kade’s momentum launched him hard into the steel ring post. His shoulder was in a bad way as he walked away from the corner. Although Jesse had already wrestled a match this evening, he was showing no ill effects. As Kade stumbled away from the turnbuckle Ramey positioned himself… Extreme Measures. It caught Kade off guard. Smack. The heel of Ramey’s boot caught Kade right under the chin. He hit the mat. Hard. 1… 2… Kickout. Ramey quickly jumped up to his feet. He jogged over to the turnbuckle. Culture Development… Smack. Kade rolled out of the way. Ramey hit the mat. Plain and simple. The wind was thrust from Ramey’s lungs. He gasped for air. The Asai Moonsault was a mistake. Simian knew he had to make him pay. He quickly dropped to the mat, and applied the ankle lock. Ramey screamed in pain. His ankle was being twisted and bent in ways that an ankle should not. He raised up on his hands, trying to take some of the pressure off of his ankle. His feeble attempts to crawl to the ropes were just that. Feeble. Kade would not let him free. Ramey was going to have to fight his way to the ropes in order for the hold to break. And that is what he did. Inch by inch, he made it. He snapped his arm around the bottom rope as the referee made the count. 1… 2… 3… 4… Kade dropped Ramey. He hit the mat, only to immediately clutch his ankle. The pain was immense. But Kade did not stop his assault. He spun Mr. Action around so his feet were on the ropes. He placed his ankle directly on the woven steel. Smack. Kade bounced up and landed directly on the already injured ankle. Ramey screamed as the pain shot up through his leg. Again, and again Kade continued to try to snap the ankle in two. Finally he hopped down. He stood over Ramey; he tossed in arms in the air, the fans booed. And to their delight, his arms wouldn’t remain there for long. School boy! 1… 2… Kickout. Ramey rolled away from Kade and gingerly got up to his feet. He was favoring the ankle as he hopped around the ring. The problem was he was a sitting duck. Kade slowly approached and nailed Jesse with a right hand that sent him back into the ropes. Kade Irish-whipped him towards the other side of the ring. He didn’t make it three feet before his ankle collapsed. Thwack. Kade drove his forearm into the back of the head of Mr. Action as he was on his way down to the mat. Kade smirked. He picked up Ramey and tossed him into the corner. He was manhandling him. The fans didn’t approve. “F**k you!” Kade called out to his naysayers. He repeated it. The fans booed louder. Kade just smiled towards them as he charged at Ramey. Thump. Jesse’s knee came up and caught Kade right in the groin. The look on Simian’s face told the story as he hit the canvas. Ramey dropped down on him. 1… 2… 3…! No. Kickout. Simian got the shoulder up to the discontent of Ramey. He hobbled over to the corner where he climbed the turnbuckle. The fans were on his side at this point. They were fully against Kade. He launched himself… Frog splash! Yes! Kade’s ribs compressed into his organs, he exhaled as the fans cheered! 1… 2… Kickout again! Ramey pounded the mat in frustration. “Shit!” he screamed. He limped his way across the ring. He rested for a moment on the ropes, trying to catch a possible second wind. Then he charged. He headed forward toward Kade… Touchdown! Ala the Rolling Thunder of Rob Van Dam, Ramey spiked the back of his neck into the chest of Simian Kade. Just one problem. Kade wasn’t there. As Ramey hit the deck neck, Simian had rolled away. He was now stalking Ramey, waiting for him to rise back to his feet. Ramey got to a vertical base. He turned right into it. Great Depression. Match. Over. The referee counted the pin, and raised the arm of Simian Kade. New York’s Finest smirked as he looked down towards Ramey who was lying motionless on the mat. “Teach you to f**k with me,” he spoke down to Jesse who was clearly out cold. Kade dropped down under the ropes and made his way up the rampway. This had turned into a good night for Simian. It looked as if he was getting back together with Becky, and now he picked up a big victory over Ramey. What surprises will next week hold in store for Simian Kade? WINNER : Simian Kade
THE
FOLLOWING SEGMENT WAS
NOT AIRED
“How
do you live in this
dump!?”
”What
do you mean this is my
locker room.”
ACW’s
new love birds where
at it again! Maybe
they need Alias . . .
“Baby,
come on and sit
down.” Lancett said
as he was taking his
shirt and watching out
for his stitches.
A
low but loud screech
was over heard from
back in the locker
room. Lancett’s head
rises like a guard dog
just hearing the yell
for help. He quickly
put down everything he
was doing and ran over
to the sound almost
tripping over his
untied shoes.
“Rat!
Nasty rat!” Abbey
said as she was
cowering on a bench.
Lancett
spotted his love
pointing at a rodent
that crawled from out
of a locker. He sighed
as he looked down then
back up at her. “I
told you, the
conditions are that
remarkable.”
She
looked at him and she
had the complete
opposite of a smile on
her face to the
comment. “You just
want to prove me
wrong, it isn’t
working Josh.”
“Abbey,
this isn’t a joke.
You’re a freaking
college student! Why
do you want to tour
with me?”
“You
don’t want me
here?” Abbey said
sitting down and
bringing her knees to
her chest hugging
them. She huffed and
puffed a couple times.
“I
never said that, baby,
I’m just saying.
I’m her because I
love it… and it is
my job. I did this,”
He pointed to his
stitches, “For a
cheap one hundred
dollar bonus, and the
fans. You are here for
me? It is hard to
believe, that you left
the parties, friends,
and family back in
Illinois. Don’t you
think?”
“Josh,
if you want me to
leave I will. I’m
sorry to be concerned
about my love.”
He
sighed again, being
controlled once…
again.
He
walked over to her an
kissed her forehead,
“I love you.”
She
smiled and you could
almost see money signs
in her orbs. He then
let her go, “I have
to get ready, baby.
You want to just hang
out back here?”
“What
you want me to hang
out with my new rat
friend? No, I’ll
find a open seat or
head back to
Illinois.” She said
lying to him. Lancett
didn’t have a clue.
He kissed her forehead
again and walked off
to his locker.
“Okay.”
Lancett
pulled his tights from
his gym bag and an
elbow pad. He looked
into the locker and
shoved his shirt into
the locker.
Wait!
Why is Lancett getting
ready? He doesn’t
have a match . . .
I
Am Your Crimson Soaked
Hero, Part Three
The
fans booed. They
knew what was coming
next. More
mind-freezing talk
with the champion? Indeed. "SilverHAWK,"
Kilpatrick started,
"ACW Revival, on
the 9th of May, what
happens if
Alias comes out on top
in that match, are we
going to see another
retirement?" "You
know...I'm beginning
to turn out to be like
some sort of Michael
Jordan figure aren't
I? I retired before
Legends, came back for
that, and then retired
to help run ACW, but
when my job wasn't
safe, I had to make a
hard decision to keep
my job." The
fans didn't agree on
that. "And
now you see me as the
federations figurehead
once again...to answer
your question, no. ACW
is going through a
change, and with that
change comes new
talent that I am
looking to get to
grips with, and
hopefully I
will." "So
how do you see the new
ACW coming up against
the other big names in
this industry?" "To
do well...ACW must try
and keep away from the
competition." Huh? "The
day that ACW starts
looking at other feds
and trying to better
them or match them
will be the day ACW
loses what makes it
that special for these
fans to come here week
in and week out, and
that's because ACW has
something, that other
feds don't have. You
can't really put your
finger on
it...originality...the
talent...the
history...I dunno, but
there is something
that makes these
people come back, and
that's what we must
keep striving towards. I'll
always remember
something that Dunn
said to me about ACW
surviving through
everything...he said; The
first and only Rule of
survival: Pack your
own parachute. And
ACW's was packed a
long long time
ago."
Grudge
Match
The lights dimmed. |
