Broadcasting LIVE! from New York, NY at 10/9 p.m. CT
Broadcasting LIVE!
from New
York, NY at 10/9 p.m. CT
|
Aaaah… So It’ll Be One of THOSE Days
*knock, knock* 
Tonight's One
Night Stand
Tonight’s One Night Stand: Lancett
Let Thy Whiskey Guideth Me
Crash.
A wilting rose makes way to a guest superstar
Nobody likes a show off, but this was a lesson that they never seemed to learn, and tonight there was nobody around to reinforce the lesson that people had tried to teach them so many times in the past. ''A Violent Reaction'' by American Head Charge blasted through the PA system moments after the lights dimmed a little. A slight blue glow descended upon the back wall of the arena where the superstars made their entrances. The Mammoth and Marshall slowly made their way out on to the staging area, each man heading to their own side of the ramp. They seemed relaxed, happy even. After a few seconds of standing around and observing the audience the pair began to make their way down to ringside. A slight swagger overcame both men’s strides as they stepped toward the bottom of the ramp. Both men hopped up on to the apron before stepping in to the ring. Marshall took a microphone from a member of the ring crew who stood at the rear side of the ring. The men waited for their entrance theme to come to a close and for the regular lighting to be resumed. It was. “Well, well, we—“ The capacity crowds mocking chant cut off Marshall. “Action league! Action league! Action league!” they chanted over and over. Marshall let the microphone hang by his side as he waited for the chants to come to a close. The Mammoth on the other hand grew more and more angry; he scaled the ring ropes and used the one spare hand that he had to point out at the audience as he hurled abuse back at them. He came back off of the ropes as the chants began to die down. “You people really are rude,” Marshall announced “I was in the middle of saying something and you interrupted me. Your mothers mustn’t have thought you manner when you were younger. That said though, they were probably busy working their street corners.” A chorus of roaring boos came from the fans of ACW as they heard the barrage of insults heading their way. “So anyway, listen up. I just found out that your beloved Phoenix Rose is not scheduled to make an appearance here tonight, no promo, no match, nothing. That’s a good call on Lancett’s part, I mean nobody wants to see him come out here and use Geo Vacton’s success as a stepping stone for their own now, do they?” Another slight jeer from the audience was heard, but it did not stop Marshall from continuing to talk. “But don’t worry about Rose, I’m sure he will be back next week when a less competent superstar is heading up the show.” The fans took note of who was in charge of next weeks show- Geo Vacton. On remembering this they launched another howl of disapproval towards the ring. Marshall took note of the boos and made a rebuttal of: “Oh shut up, he couldn’t run a hundred meters never mind an entire show.” “All that aside, there is no need to despair for some real talent will still be appearing on the show. Us.” The fans wanted to laugh sarcastically, but rather than that they sat quietly, no reaction whatsoever. (Which wasn’t the idea in the scripted version of his promo apparently, as he gave them a moment or two of silence for their response.) “And tonight we have a special guest for you all to meet. He will be the man that faces both myself and the Mammoth in a 2-on-1 handicap match. Asylum superstar, John C. Willis!” ‘Here Comes Tha Pain' by Slayer blurred throughout the arena as John C. Willis, donned in his usual fighting attire, stepped out from behind the black curtain with a smile on his face just open enough for you to see his dirty, chipped, broken teeth. He didn’t stop to raise his arms or anything of the like, but rather he walked down to the squared circle and used the steps to walk up on to the apron before stepping through the middle rope and in to the ring where he would shake the hand of the Mammoth followed by the hand of Marshall. His music died down quickly, it seemed that there was no real point in it playing at all for the amount of time it had been going. “Ladies and gentlemen, John C. Willis.” A slight cheer came from the few who knew of the Asylum Fighting promotion (and even those didn’t seem to care much for it.) “John, let me ask you something… Do you seriously think that you can beat both me *and* the Mammoth over there?” Willis, who didn’t have the luxury of a microphone, gave a nod of his head a second after a cock of his eyebrow. The Mammoth slipped out of the ring whilst Marshall walked to the other side of Willis, diverting his attention. Willis now faced towards the ramp, allowing the Mammoth to slip to the rear of the ring and do whatever it was he was doing. “Are you for real?” Marshall asked, buying for time. “I’m Marshall and you… Well, you’re just some street fighting moron who seems to have as much brains as you have teeth.” Now, Willis isn’t the fastest guy alive, but he knew that he didn’t have many teeth, and he tied that in with lack of brains to come up with the idea that he was being inulte--CRRRRRRRACK!!!!! He was half way towards making an angry face at Marshall after making the connection before a folding steel chair wrapped around his head from behind. Willis dropped to his knees and Marshall dropped the microphone to the canvas before swinging his leg forwards and kicking Willis hard in the temple. Marshall’s kick was one of such force that he spun around 180 degrees to face up the ramp. Willis dropped to the mat where he would lay completely dazed for a few moments before seeing a hazy shadow appear over him. The Mammoth towered over Willis, steel chair pressed against his chest, before jumping in to the air and dropping down on top of Willis, driving the chair deep in to his chest with a big splash. The chair gave another sickening crack as it was sandwiched between the two men. The Mammoth rolled off of Willis and up to his feet. Whilst this move had been taking place Marshall had taken the liberty of scaling the top turnbuckle nearest to the downed John C. Willis. Marshall dove from the top rope and through the air. Cameras flashed and the fans gave a collective pop in admiration of the move being pulled off which, ironically enough, proved a point that Phoenix Rose had made earlier in the week when giving his rebuttal to Wippit Guud (of fWo fame) in his article about the ‘State of the Industry’ (click here) Marshall hit his finishing maneuver, ‘funny business’ right on top of the steel chair that still covered the muscular chest of Willis. He slid off the top of the chair and the chair fell from the chest of the hurting Willis whose body gave a twitch or so as he lay dormant on the canvas. Both Marshall and the Mammoth stood tall in the center of the ring and raised their arms, their music began to blast out of the arenas speakers as the fans roared in condemnation. The pair seemed pleased with their work as they left the ring together. They had done what they set out to do- weaken their opponent for later tonight. Later in the
show:
The Butterflies
He was nervous, the deep feeling of butterflies were building up in the pit of his stomach. Tonight wasn’t quite the biggest night of his life, but it was pretty damn close. Tonight was Jose Hurros’ first night as a wrestler, a professional wrestler. He didn’t have a match, but just to be part of the show, even if it was only backstage, was enough to make him sweat. ACW had been looking for some new talent, and had stumbled upon the exciting prospect of the 5’10” Mexican born Jose. He sat there, looking on at the arena in his car and smiled to himself. A year ago the idea of being a professional wrestler to Jose was laughable, he was smart, he was good-looking and he had a promising future, why would he ruin all that to become a professional wrestler?
Say it
ain't so, Gato
Tira Me A Las Arañas started playing over the speakers, and to a chorus of boos from the crowd, El Gato Negro stepped out from the back. Performing his rendition of the salsa, he placed one hand on his belly and one hand in the air, shaking both the hand and his hips. He did this down the aisle a bit, one wide step at a time before reaching the middle of the ramp and yelling: And as the crowd continued to boo, El Gato Negro rolled out of the ring, and took a seat at the announce table.
Stephen Adams vs. Jason Fox
The lights dimmed down as "Cochise" by Audioslave hit the speakers as and Jason Fox slowly walked out from the backstage area. He walked down the entrance ramp as flames shot out from the side of the ramp. The fans let out a dull roar of cheers. The Baltimore, Maryland native looked somewhat confident as he entered the ring. WINNER
: Stephen Adams
New
Faces
They
looked at the folder
each of them had in
their hands.
One;
Shawn Douglas.
The
other; Dane Rivers.
One,
an amazing new
prospect, one they had
fallen on
accidentally, but were
grateful. The other,
an old ACW superstar
coming off what was
supposed to be career
ending knee surgery.
One, who they wanted
to someday carry ACW.
The other, who still
was under contract and
had complained for a
year to come back.
One,
who the planned on
keeping around.
The
other, who they
planned on giving one
more shot.
Together,
they were the newest
ACW Tag Team.
"What
do you think about
Douglas?" He
closed his folder,
tossing it onto a
wooden table. "I
think he's the future.
What do you think
about Rivers?" He
held the folder open,
staring at whatever
papers were documented
inside. "He was
the future. The least
we can do is give him
one more shot...he's
only twenty-five, he
might still have
it."
"We
can't afford
might."
Now,
he closed the folder.
"But, we bring
them in as a tag team,
we can see how Shawn
does in ever aspect,
and if Dane isn't what
he used to be, we'll
close the door on him.
He was on the same
level as ICU, as
Osyrus...I think it's
fine."
They
stared at each other;
and endless silence.
"Fine...Shawn's
beginning, Dane's
tryout."
For
one, a career in ACW
showed nothing but
promise, but for the
other, a career in ACW
was all he could hope
for.
Quit While You're Ahead
He walked unsure of himself, he needed
extra effort just to stay on his feet. His destination: Adam Kent’s
office. Kade was a little worried, as he knew he
had massive amounts of alcohol on his breath. He took a deep breath; he
wasn’t too intoxicated to know that if he were caught drunk at an event
there would be severe consequences.
He walked slowly, he hoped some of the
alcohol would leave his breath by the time he reached the office. He
inhaled heavily, this could be the end he thought. There was nothing else
that he could be called into Kent’s office about, was there?
He marched the final steps until he
approached the office door. He opened it cautiously. Inside sat Adam Kent.
He was talking on a cell phone, however he noticed Kade enter. He motioned
for Kade to have a seat on a chair in front of his desk, which Simian did.
“Ok then, I’ll talk to you later,”
Kent said into the device. He closed it abruptly and placed it on the
mahogany desk. He rested his hands flat on top of the structure and looked
directly at Simian.
“Kade, we have a problem,” Kent said
not looking away from Steven Klein.
Kade was getting anxious. He was sure this
was about the alcohol. He struggled to keep Kent in focus. He was a blurry
replica of his normal figure. Kade looked on, waiting for Adam to get to
the point.
“Simian, here is our problem,” Kent
said, Kade took a deep breath, “we have this new talent coming in, and
they don’t know a damn thing about ACW.”
What?
…
…
Kade was shocked, yet relieved that Kent
didn’t bring up, or even know about his current state.
“Thank God,” Kade mumbled under his
breath.
“Pardon,” Kent said innocently.
Kade shook his head. Adam got back on
topic, a topic that Kade was a little confused by due to his intoxication.
“Simian, I have this new guy arriving
here tonight, he goes by the name of Jason Fox. I need you to do something
for me,” he placed his hands in his lap, getting ready to ask Kade the
favor. “I need you to show him around the locker room, tell him a little
about ACW.”
“But, but, I… uh,” Kade’s speech
slurred. He stared down at the floor.
Stop talking Simian! Stop talking.
The words rang in his ears just like the sound of the JD bottle smashing
had done earlier that even.
“You OK Simian?” Kent wondered getting
him a little worried.
Kade looked up at Kent. He wondered why
Adam was being such a gentleman to him, he was a complete asshole towards
Simian in the weeks past. Hell, he was the one who booked him in the match
against Rome the Vile at Revival.
“I. I…” he shook his head, “I’ve
got to go. But, I’ll be sure to do, that – that thing you asked. With,
uh, Fox. Fox, yeah Jason Fox.”
Kade managed to get the words off his
tongue, Kent looked on suspiciously as Kade got up from his seat. He
stumbled over towards the doorway. He turned the handle and barely managed
to get out of the room.
Kent quickly reached over to his phone, he
got on the line with a road agent who was close-by.
“Yeah, Tucker? Can watch Simian Kade for
me? Something strange is going on,” he said as he closed the phone.
A
Wee Visit...
So,
Phil Atken had a title
match against Alias
tonight to prepare
for. With less than
two hours to bell
time, what would you
expect Phil to be
doing? He is an
athlete after all, so
maybe he’d be in his
dressing room doing
sit ups or even
watching video tapes
of his opponent. Guess
again.
There
was Chris “thReat
International
champion” Messiah
(you’re not getting
the belt back, Lonnie)
dandering along
backstage, whistling
the theme tune to
Rosie and Jim. And
where might he be
going this night? To
visit his good friend
of course!
Chris
walked up to Phil’s
locker-room door, but
instead of doing the
polite thing and
knocking, he just
barged straight in.
“Hello,
Phil!”
“Hello,
fucko.”
“And
what might you be
doing?”
Chris
surveyed the scene
before him. There was
Phil, lying back in a
reclining chair,
stuffing his face with
regular flavoured
Pringles.
“Regular
flavour for a regular
wrestler. Aren’t you
aware you have a match
later?”
“Of
course I am. That’s
why I’m saving my
energy so that I’m
in tip-top condition
for the match later
on.”
Chris
gazed around the room.
In total, he counted 7
empty tins of
Pringles, along with a
used boxed of tissues
and a video tape with
“Busty Frauleins
1994 Swimsuit
Edition” written on
the label sticking out
of the VCR. Okay, Phil
was watching
video tapes, but they
certainly weren’t of
Alias. Unless he was a
German porn star
before becoming a
wrestler.
“I’m
beginning to think
that you just may be
lying to me, Phil.”
“I
am lying. This
chair is awesome.”
“I’m
going to… leave now.
I only really came in
here in the first
place to get some
air-time. So long!”
“See
you at the PPV! Hope
you don’t win!”
“The
same to you, Phil. The
same to you. Muaha.
Muahahaha.
Muahahahahaha!”
“Why
are you laughing like
that?”
“I’ve
got a… fur ball…
stuck in my throat.
BYE!”
And
with that, Chris ran
out of the room and
slammed the door
behind him, but it
bounced against the
door frame and swung
open again. Phil
stared at Chris, and
Chris ran away.
Family
Matters
Adams had done it again. He was two for two in ACW. He was on his way back to the limelight of the sport he so loved. He was on track to proving that he still had what it took to make it. And he was back on track to shoving all the negative things said about him right back up everyone's asses.
So this is ACW
“So this is ACW” Jose thought as he walked through the corridors of backstage area. He saw several people who he recognised, but was too embarrassed to say anything. He had his bag slung over his shoulder and was wearing old jeans, and an old blue shirt, he must have looked like shit to these guys. He tried to keep walking even though he wanted to stop and turn around and get the hell out of there, surely anything that made him this nervous couldn’t have been healthy. He was just thankful nobody asked him who he was or what he was doing there due to the fact that he had all his stuff ready, but he didn’t have a match, something he didn’t really want anyone to find out, after all, he didn’t want to seem like an amateur, even if he was one.
Jesse Ramey vs. Simian Kade The fans were a little curious as to what was going to happen in the next match, as too was Simian Kade as he waited behind the curtain for his music to begin playing. He had yet to talk to Adam Kent about the disciplinary actions that were going to be taken against him, but he knew that Kent would come down on him, hard. WINNER
: Jesse Ramey
A Bittersweet Goodbye… Mostly
bitter
“Magick Man” by Heart sank into the arena, and the crowd began to cheer knowing it was none other than Magick Man about to make his way down to the ring. The crowd erupted as Magick Man stepped out from behind the curtain and stood at the top of the ramp. There was something different about him, however… He was holding Geo Vacton’s United States Championship Belt. The crowd was a little bit suspicious of this, but they cheered him on nonetheless as he entered the ring and paced around. He nodded at the crowd, but remained sort of motionless.
Oh
Dear...
Not
many ACW fans knew
it...but Laguna was in
the building, but he
wasn't a happy man. In
his small run as ACW
owner, he had found
out a lot of things
don't really change in
ACW. One, no matter
were you go, and what
your show is, the
arena is never full.
Two, it doesn't matter
were you go, and what
your show is, half of
the roster of often
"late".
Three, wrestlers, in
general, are
unreliable. He
had never this problem
when he had his
"business"
back in Italy, and
more recently in New
York. Things were done
when he said they were
to be done and they
were done with a
smile...not the
moaning and groaning
of a professional auf
who can't rub two brain cells
together. And
as he watched down at
the empty ring from
his sky box, his
thoughts were on the
next two weeks of ACW
programming, the first
of which was going to
be run by a superstar
who had now left for
another federation. The
week after? SilverHAWK. Laguna
took his laptop and
opened a new Word
document, and titled
it, "PLAN
B". He
might need it.
The Final Reason
He sat there, in his dressing room, still reminiscing about how he got to where he was now. It made Jose Hurros sick to the stomach at how fate could turn his life round and ruin it. He could have gone on a “why does everything happen to me” rant, but he knew there were people out there who were worse off than him but yet…that didn’t make this whole situation any easier to accept.
Shawn
Douglas & Dane
Rivers Vs. Ruben Davis
& Vinnie Copeland
They
stared at each, less
than ten feet
seperated the two.
One,
Shawn Douglas.
The
other, Dane Rivers.
They're
opponents had already
been announced off air
and were standing in
the ring, patiently
awaiting they're new
opponents for the
night, who they had
planned to destory.
"So, where you
from?" Dane
looked up, he wasn't
looking to make any
friends, but he may as
well be civil.
"Kiel,
Germany...but I live
upstate." Douglas
nodded his head, and
as "Tear
Away" by Drowning
Pool qued up, Dane
Rivers split the
curtain. The lights
dimmed, and the former
ACW star emerged from
the guerilla position,
leaving Douglas to be
saved for last.
He
continued down the
ramp, some fans
recognizing him from
the last time he was
here. Some booed, some
cheered, a mixed
reaction wasn't what
he hoped for. He made
it to the ring area
but stayed outside, he
was a veteran, and he
knew two on one wasn't
the position you
wanted to be in.
"Defy
You" by
Offspring.
Shawn
Douglas blasted
through the curtains
and flew down the
ramp, Dane thought he
was going to stop, but
he flew into the ring,
and clotheslined
Davis. He caught the
two off guard, and
whipped Copeland off
the ropes. He followed
him closely, and
delivered a forearm
smash to send him over
the ropes. The referee
called for the bell,
as Dane was still
standing outside,
somewhat confused.
He
walked slowly up the
steps and setup shop
in the corner, holding
onto the ropes as
Douglas picked up
Davis and whipped him
into the turnbuckle.
He smacked Rivers on
the arm, tagging him
in, as Dane looked
like he wanted to
knock the piss out of
the youngster. He held
Davis' arm up and Dane
delivered a stiff kick
to the ribs. Dane
followed with a
standing suplex that
was reveresed by
Douglas, who delivered
a German Suplex to
the...German.
He
tagged in Copeland who
had recovered fully,
who began to lay the
boots to Dane. He
dragged him back into
his corner and almost
on que ran back to
Douglas and almost
knocked him off the
ropes. Douglas, being
a rookie, tried to
rush back in the ring,
but the referee
stopped him, his back
turned toward Dane.
Davis and Copeland
then began to stop
Dane in the corner, as
Copeland threw on a
sleeper hold, sending
Dane to his knees.
He
let him go after a few
minutes, and tagged
Davis back in, who was
poached on the top
rope. He lept for an
elbow, but Dane rolled
out the way. A small
pop emerged from the
crowd, as Dane tried
to make his way over
to an anticipated
Shawn Douglas. He
crawled, and made the
tag.
Douglas
hopped over the top
rope and jolted in the
air with a hard
dropkick to Davis'
chin. Ruben staggered
back to a corner of
the ring and wished
for a couple seconds
of breathing room. Too
bad it wouldn't happen
for him. Shawn kept
the attack going,
following up the
dropkick with an
equally effective body
splash in the corner.
Davis was on spaghetti
legs but managed to
stay on his feet, that
was until Douglas, who
had set himself up on
the second rope, dove
forward with a
clothesline.
The
crowd didn't know much
about the young rookie
but they definitely
liked what they saw
and let it be known.
He approved with an
arm in the air as he
tagged in his partner.
Dane methodically
walked over to the
fallen Davis and
dragged him back to
his feet by the hair
before slamming him
down with a stiff body
slam. Rivers' 6'7
frame ran across the
ring and bounced off
the ropes before
burying his large
elbow deep in the
heart of Ruben Davis.
On
the ring apron, Vinnie
Copeland looked
helplessly at his
fallen partner. On the
other side, Shawn
Douglas bounced up and
down nearly pleading
for a tag...
And
it came.
Douglas
rushed over to Davis
and picked him up,
then dropped him back
down with a side
russian leg sweep.
Ruben lay in the
middle of the ring as
dazed as can be and it
would not get better
for him as Shawn
Douglas shocked the
crowd with his
athleticism, pulling
off an incredible
moonsault from half
way across the ring.
Would it be enough?
1...
Would
a new legacy be born,
or would a returning
legacy be Reborn? Winner:
Shawn
Douglas & Dane
Rivers
Shoot fight - The challenge
“No Laura, not even a bloody segment. I swear they’re pissing me about tonight. Lancett, he wouldn’t know a superstar if it kicked him in the ass, and I might just do it too.
This is ACW... Care For a Drink
“Kade!”
Fox screamed at his
fallen roster-mate. He
stared at the closed
eyes of Simian who lay
passed out on the
floor, due to his
intoxication.
“Someone
get some help!” Fox
screamed to anybody
who was listening.
“Simian,
don’t move! I’ll
be back in a second
with EMTs!” Jason
quickly got up and
charged out of the
small locker room that
they were in.
Kade
lay motionless on the
ground, with only his
thoughts buzzing
around in his mind.
What
the hell?…
Ah
shit. Jason better not
have gone for help.
If
Kent finds out I’m
screwed.
I
know as well as he
does if you’re
caught drinking on the
job here or any place
for that matter,
it’s grounds for
suspension, or even
dismissal.
This
isn’t good.
Come
on Simian, wake up.
Once the EMTs arrive,
if that’s where he
went, they’ll be
able to declare you
drunk in a heartbeat.
Open
your eyes. Open your
eyes.
Fox
came rushing back into
the small locker room
with two medical
personnel at his side.
“He
just fell over!” Fox
said, he was
noticeably frightened.
“What the hells
wrong with him?”
“I’m
guessing he’s been
drinking, I can smell
the whiskey on him,”
the EMT said
matter-of-factly as if
it were a common
occurrence.
“Mike,”
she said, “go get
Adam Kent, tell him
what’s going on.”
Ah,
fuck.
Looking for Answers
Stephen Adams stormed through the backstage area. He was pissed off and he wanted some answers. He was walking with purpose, trying to find the man in charge this week, Lancett.
the
Mammoth & Marshall
VS John C. Willis
“A
Violent Reaction” by
American Head Charge
blasted throughout the
arena moments after
the arena lights
dimmed indicating the
arrival of The Mammoth
and Marshall, known to
many as “Action
League”, much to
their bitter
disapproval.
Both
men paced out from
behind the curtain in
unison and marched
their way down to the
ring. As the team came
to ringside they slid
up on to the apron
simultaneously and
stepped through the
ropes. The team strode
around the ring
looking out in
distaste at the fans
of ACW.
As
their music came to a
close they both
stepped back out of
the ring and waited at
the rear side of the
squared circle.
The
lights remained dimmed
as smoke began to
overcome the head of
the ramp, swirling
upwards towards the
steel ceiling. An
assortment of
maneuvers being
executed by Asylum
Fighting’s own John
C. Willis began to
scroll across the
bigSCREEN which was
now slightly hidden by
the rising smoke.
“Here
Comes Tha Pain” by
Slayer interrupted the
slight silence that
came after the music
of the two previous
entrants had ended.
Step
aside for the
nightmare I
am brutality the face
of everlasting pain As
the lyrics blurred
through the arenas
P.A. System the fans
grew in anticipation.
After the events that
took place earlier in
the night would John
C. Willis still be in
fighting condition?
They waited in baited
breath to see if he
would show. Their
waiting came to an end
as a dark silhouette
began to take shape
behind the smoke. A
slight cheer grew
amongst the crowd
until it was an all
out parade. The
ghostly shadow of John
C. Willis stepped
slowly through the
smoke and out on to
the ramp way. He
paused at the head of
the ramp and peered
down at his two
opponents who seemed
awe-struck by the
vision that lay before
them.
A
peek out at the fans
and he began to pace
down towards the ring
with some pace. The
Kokomo Colossus
didn’t stop at the
bottom of the ramp or
show any other signs
of hesitation, but
rather he dolled under
the bottom rope and up
to his feet. Marshall
scattered, dropping
out of the ring at the
rear side to leave his
partner, the Mammoth,
to fight for himself.
Willis’s
music came to a close
and regular lighting
was restored just in
time for the fans to
hear the slap of his
knuckles crushing the
heavy jawbone of the
Mammoth. Mammoth
dropped to the mat
with a heavy thud, the
strong right hook had
completely cleared him
out.
Willis
now took the time to
skip around the ring,
one hand tracing the
top rope as he
followed Marshall
around. Marshall was
avoiding contact with
Willis staying on the
outside until the
official bell sounded
and the referee
instigated what could
quite possibly have
been the earliest 10
count in the history
of sports
entertainment.
1…
2…
3…
The
men began to exchange
curses, Willis
seemingly growing more
and more frustrated.
4…
5…
Willis
stepped away from the
ropes and beckoned
Marshall in to the
ring, waving just his
index finger on his
left hand, his right
hand pressed down
against his knee.
6…
7…
As
he heard the seventh
count a peculiar taste
overcame his mouth as
a cold, hard stabbing
pain shot from the
rear of his cranium.
The Mammoth was up,
recovered, and
fighting back. A
charging right fist to
the back of the head
sent Willis stumbling
forwards into the
ropes where Marshall
hopped up, grabbed the
rear of Willis’s
head and dropped off
the apron once more,
choking Willis’s
throat on the top
rope. Willis stumbled
back towards the
Mammoth whilst
Marshall slid under
the bottom rope.
The
Mammoth hooked one of
Willis’s arms behind
his head and raised
him in to the air,
holding him at a high
angle for a moment or
so before dropping
backwards and snapping
The Beast’s head
forwards as the high
angle backdrop was
executed.
Marshall
ran against the ropes
and leaped up on to
the middle one,
holding the top rope
with his hands before
springing backwards
and flipping over
aiming for an Asai
Moonsault. Willis
brought up his knees
and drove them deep in
to the chest of his
opponent who then fell
next to him and began
to roll around the
ring clutching at his
ribs.
The
Mammoth, who was
getting to his feet,
began to contemplate
his next move. He
stalked Willis and
waited for him to
climb up to a vertical
base. Willis held his
head whilst walking
around the ring. As he
turned around the
Mammoth charged at him
with a head of steam
raising his boot in
the air.
Willis
dropped to his knee
and lunged forwards,
spearing the knee that
supported the
Mammoth’s left leg,
the one that he was
still standing on.
The
Mammoth’s leg
buckled and he toppled
over awkwardly landing
half on his side.
Both
opponents were down
and had began to show
signs of weak spots,
Marshall’s being his
ribs, the Mammoth’s
his left leg.
John
C. Willis was now in
control of the match
and was unwilling to
let go of the upper
hand he had just got
himself, but as of
right now he was
unsure what to do with
the pair.
Willis
dragged the lighter of
the pair, Marshall, to
his feet before
hoisting him up in to
the air, one hand
around the throat of
his opponent and one
wrapped around the
groin. Willis held him
on a horizontal in
mid-air for a few
seconds, taking the
time to ‘bench
press’ him a few
times. Willis then
pressed Marshall right
up in to the air and
took a stride
forwards. Marshall
crashed down right in
to the solid mat below
him, doing his ribs no
favors what so ever.
Whilst
this had been going on
the Mammoth had once
again got to his feet,
this time the ropes
had to give him a
little hand however,
but none the less
there he stood no more
than two feet behind
Willis, who sensed the
danger and turned to
face it.
Face
being the place that
he got it by way of a
straight right armed
jab to the face which
sent him dropping
backwards in to the
ropes. The Mammoth
continued to approach
Willis who kicked his
leg out driving the
base of his foot in to
the kneecap of
Mammoth, who dropped
dow to one knee, his
good knee still being
off the mat.
One
sweep kick later and
both knees were facing
the same way as his
toes – the ceiling.
Willis
sat on top of the
Mammoth and began to
pummel him alternate
right and left shots
to the face until the
official pulled him
back to his feet and
gave him a warning.
Marshall,
who had dropped out of
the ring after the
military press drop
earlier had taken the
opportunity to do two
things, first and
foremost was to
recover a little, but
secondly (and
crucially) was the
decision to rummage
under the ring and
pull out a reserve
ring bell that lay
there for emergencies
such as an ACW
superstar losing his
2-on-1 match-up
against some washed up
Asylum Fighting
superstar such as John
C. Willis.
Marshall
walked around to the
rear of the ring and
pulled lightly on the
ankle of John C.
Willis so as to get
his attention. The
referee went to check
out the wounded nose
of the Mammoth as John
leaned outside of the
ring, aiming to grab a
hold of Marshall, but
Marshall tilted
backwards and thrust
his arm upwards,
hammering Willis in
the head with the ring
bell. Willis dropped
backwards into the
ring, blood flicking
backwards and
splattering across the
back of the
referee’s shirt, the
spattering of
Willis’s crimson
life went unnoticed by
the official as
Marshall rolled back
in to the ring under
the bottom rope and
got up to his feet. He
took a moment to look
down at the bleeding
John C. Willis who lay
twitching in an
emerging puddle of his
own blood before one
half of ‘Action
League’ scaled the
top turnbuckle and
looked back in to the
ring.
Marshall
took a deep breath and
a slight grin crept
across his face as he
put his arms out in
front of him.
Cameras
flashed, fans roared
in disapproval and yet
admiration as the
superstar put his body
at risk hitting a
Senton bomb on top of
the Asylum Fighting
superstar. A moment
later Marshall slid
back on top of Willis
and hooked his leg.
One…
Marshall
nodded along with each
slap of the mat
Two…
Three…
The
bell sounded and the
match was over, the
beat down on the other
hand… Was not.
The
most observant of the
fans would have
checked the head of
the ramp to see
Phoenix Rose step
through the curtain
and take a step into
the darkness, having a
word with the head
technician, asking him
for a favor that would
come in to play after
the lights went out of
the arena later
tonight.
Meanwhile,
back inside the ring
the Mammoth choked The
Beast with a large
hand around his neck,
dragging him to his
feet. Mammoth had a
harsh word in the ear
of the guest
superstar, spit
spewing from his mouth
in to the face of the
limp carcass he held
in his hand.
Lift.
Toss.
Bang.
The
Mammoth choke slammed
Willis down to the
hard mat below; the
ring gave a violent
shudder.
The
kicking and stomping
that ensued continued
in to the short
commercial break. WINNER
: Mammoth and Marshall
Brave New World War?
Bunny
ears…
Slip
through…
Knot.
No,
this wasn’t a Leigh
Landers segment, we
wouldn’t do that
to you. The Original
Pulp Hero had finished
tying the laces on his
boots, and tucked the
looped black nylon
into either side of
the black leather. He
slipped those worn but
faithful red leather
pant legs over the top
of the boot, the air
brushed flames still
brightly licking up
the sides.
Chris
Sheffield had watched
most every match
tonight, up to this
point. Adams had
defeated Fox… Ramey
had beaten Kade… and
Marshall and the
Mammoth had gotten the
win over a surprise
opponent in John C.
Willis. He had scouted
the day… for a
challenger, and as the
minutes (fifteen of
them, pretty much)
counted down to
Alias’s fist title
defense, his first
challenger, he had yet
to find a prevalent
defense in all of
this.
Not
to say the talent
wasn’t there on the
roster, but due to
Laguna’s genius idea
of letting the inmates
rule the asylum, the
World title picture
and any picture of
heirs to the
proverbial thrown
where quickly scuttled
in the dash and grab
chaos. Hell, and it
was only two shows
into that idea. Though
let’s not forget
that Alias himself
hadn’t exactly been
the easiest to get a
hold of since the
happenings of Revival.
Still… time cleared
his head, and now he
had to find a defender
to this title.
A
fighting champ without
a champ… it just
wouldn’t do.
The
Pulp Hero opened the
door to his locker
room and walked out
into the bustle of the
backstage corridors.
So there was no
apparent challenger to
the World title these
days? Though odd,
Alias knew that
everyone had there own
battle to fight… and
let’s remember that
the Pulp Hero never
went looking for a
fight either.
Except
when it came to men
like Osyrus or Jacobs.
Hell,
even if Aaron or Jason
where up to a
challenge in the old
days… he’d be
ready and willing.
Those…
where the old days,
though. The past was a
strange beast that
always used to creep
Alias, but at the
moment the thing that
the Pulp Hero had to
deal with was his
uncertain future, with
the gold still
glistening around his
waist and a brave new
world ahead of him.
There
where those who caught
his eye, hopeful stars
who Alias would
happily give a shot,
though those new
faces… replacements
for the old guard, had
yet to step up.
Whether it be Phoenix
Rose, Lancett, Messiah
or the aforementioned
Phil Atken. Each man
was lost in there own
war, well maybe not
Phil… it seemed like
the last Action
‘champion’ wanted
a shot. Quotations
around the word
champion and an
asterisk beside his
reign where buried
politics that
Sheffield wasn’t
about to get into
though. Reed Young as
dead an authority
figure figuratively,
as Winters was
literally.
Speaking
of old figures of
authority, in came a
new one into the
conversation, breaking
the Pulp Hero’s ever
present moment of
philosophy.
“Good
to see you’re ready
for tonight’s main
event.” They where
words from Kent,
Laguna’s right hand man.
Alias
stopped and turned
towards the young gun
of a guy, who held in
himself a slight
superiority in voice.
Alias replied, not
knowing what to make
of Kent’s statement.
“Pardon?”
“Well
it’s just nice to
see that you actually
came for tonight’s
show… I know how busy
your schedule is.”
Alias
took a step towards
Kent. “Don’t
worry… I just needed
time to straighten
things out in my
head.”
“Can’t
say I would like to
worry, but hey,
we’re paying your
contract now, no
matter how small you
might believe it is,
so it’s just good to
know you’ll be
present for your
assigned ma--.”
“Look
if you’re trying to
give me shit for
missing the show after
Revival, hurry the
fuck up. I had my own
reasons, and I’m not
about to go into ‘em
with you. I
haven’t quite gotten
you to Bill yet, so
you better believe
this tone your giving
me… is making
consider taking those
five steps towards
you, to help you get
whatever it is off
your chest.” Alias
stated bluntly now,
not in the best mood
or best position at
the moment to be
bitched out by the
second in command.
Kent gulped to
himself, having taken
in Alias’s words,
and knowing his track
record with the last
few men in charge. He
had officially learned
to keep his distance
with Chris
Sheffield… well, for
now.
“Just
making sure.” Was
all Kent could muster,
as he turned on his
heels and ‘calmly’
walked away… well as
calm he could. Alias
actually mustered a
small slip of a smile
to himself, before
continuing to walk
down the hall. His
mind, thanks to Kent
was back on Revival…
and with that, back on
one Aaron Jones. Alias
stopped the next
backstage tech who
walked past him.
“Would
you happen to know
where SilverHAWK
is?”
“Cafeteria.” …
and for the first time
in a while, breathed a
sigh of relief and yet
was still a little
nervous for the what
was to come.
Refreshments
Sweaty and limping, the newly
formed team of Shawn Douglas and Dane Rivers stepped through the door frame
into a lavish catering room, simply looking for a well-deserved victory meal.
Side by side, they looked like an unorthodox duo and many wouldn't argue
against it. Dane Rivers was 6 feet 7
inches, 261 pounds of raw muscle.
Shawn Douglas was 6 feet 2
inches, 232 pounds of technical prowess.
None the less, as of tonight,
they were a team and as of tonight, they were successful. Rivers tossed a
plastic plate to his partner before picking one up himself near the large
buffet area, showcasing the pounds of various food for each superstar to
indulge during the night. Rivers and Douglas wisely chose each constituent of
their respective plates while engaging in formal small talk. After all, they
were a forced team but that doesn't mean they have to act like one.
"Good match out there,
kid. I can see where the hype around you comes from now. I've got to say that
I was a bit worried about them pairing us up but you know... I'm glad they
did."
"Thanks" Was the
only word coming out of Shawn Douglas' mouth as he picked up a chicken wing.
He turned around, plate filled from edge to edge and walked to a deserted
table near the buffet set up.
Rivers nodded, ignoring that
Douglas couldn't see him. A slice of lasagna was the last piece of the puzzle
concerning his plate and the former ACW main eventer took a seat next to his
teammate.
"So how long do you
think they'll keep us together?" Shawn said, between sips of water.
"Depends," Rivers
replied. " If we get over quickly, they'll probably keep us paired until
our heat dies down. If not, it could be over as quickly as next week. We'll
just have to see..."
...................................
So, Phil’s biggest match since his last big match was moments away. As he paced through the backstage area, trying to find the entrance to the arena, he happened upon a young teenage boy who looked just as lost at Phil.
Look
At Us Now
The hustle and bustle of the arena
cafeteria is a wonderful thing for a watching fan. Wrestlers and staff
purchasing their favourite snacks, breaking kayfabe and sitting down to grab a bite to eat is a wrestling fan's dream. *CLUNK* HAWK's
table rumbled as he
sat motionless, his
ears doing his eyes
work, and then his
nose. "I
can smell my
belt." A
dry smile. "Can
I sit down?" "Sure, it's not like
I can chase you off can I?" As
Alias sat down, there
seemed to be an uneasy
tension between the
two men, as this was
the first time that
they had been together
since their match at
Revival, even if they
had spoken about each
other during
interviews. "Atken
tonight eh?" "Yeah." Silence. The
champion looked down
at the table, as he
wiped salt off of the
surface...but he then
looked HAWK straight
in the face. "Listen
HAWK, I wanted to
speak to you, more or
less to personally say
how sorry I am about
what happened at
Revival and
that..." "Shhhh..." Alias
was slightly taken
aback by HAWK's
reaction. "You
know as well as I know
that what happened in
there could happen any
night, at any arena
and in any match, it
was lady luck's way of
kicking me in the
balls and you had
nothing to do with
it." The
champion really didn't
know what to say. "I'm
not trying to take
away your conscious
here Chris, the fact
of the matter is ACW
is on your shoulders
once again,"
SilverHAWK felt his
way to Alias, and
looked straight at
him. "I'll tell
you something, you
better not fuck this
federation over like
ICU did, or even
Osyrus...if you do, I
will hunt you
down." "I'm
here for the long run
HAWK...this time for
good." SilverHAWK
nodded, and then went
back to previous
position of wonderment,
that was Alias' cue to
leave.
Tonight's One
Night Stand
"What the 'ell mang, these beetches haven't bring my cream soda yet they aren't going to." The Black Cat stood up, and jogged up the entrance ramp to a chorus of boos. After stepping through the curtain, he found a man quite recognizable to the crowd, but quite unrecognizable to him.
Consequences
“How
could you do this to
me?”
Adam
Kent’s voice boomed
throughout the small
room. Simian Kade
rubbed his head, it
was still in pain from
his fall.
“Simian,
you were drunk at an
event,” Kent said
with anger in his
voice.
“You
disgraced yourself,
you disgraced ACW…
but more importantly
you disgraced.”
“And
I don’t like to be
embarrassed,” he
said looking deep
within the eyes of
Kade.
“Look,
Adam, I made a
mistake. I screwed
up,” Simian said
looking for a bit of
sympathy.
“You’re
trying to draw blood
from a stone!” He
yelled across his
desk, “Kade! You
don’t understand!
You don’t embarrass
me like you just
did.”
“…
You just don’t.”
He
put his hands on the
top of the mahogany
desk. Kade was still a
little drowsy.
“You’re
on probation Simian.
Another incident like
this… another
incident period…
and I will suspend
you,” Kent
threatened. “I will
suspend you on the
spot.”
He
leaned in even closer.
“Do
I make myself
clear,” he asked of
Steven Klein.
“Yes,”
Kade said, visibly
disappointed with
himself.
“Good,”
he said abruptly,
“now get the hell
out.”
ACW World Heavyweight Match “Perfect Strangers” by
Deep Purple.
“Ladies and Gentlemen…
your new ACW World Champion!”
Hey, don’t look at me. I
didn’t say it… he did.
Phil Atken… who was
evidently YOUR Entertainment Savior, walked out from behind the curtain onto
to the Courage stage, mic in hand.
“Now… I wouldn’t want
to get away with things, but hell you’re looking at the last Action! Champ
as it is people! It’s a well known fact that the shlub you call Champ
can’t even touch me. My former Scorpion title, trumps his ever-loving
TV titled ass!” Bongos came in through the audio feed… but ol’ Phil just
gave a little chuckle before continuing on talking to his people before adding
another World title to his repertoire… though hey, this time it might end up
being in the ring. ;)
"But I digress—“
*SMACK*
That smack, as opposed to
being the end of Atken’s sentence… was everybody’s Original Pulp Hero
making his presence know and putting a proverbial sock in Phil’s mouth with
a clothe line to the back of the head. Let’s just say that Alias had had
enough. Easy to anger? Well today, yes yes he was.
The Rolling Stones where only
able to get a few words in on “Sympathy for the Devil”… before said
opening song was cut out, the ACW World Championship motioning to have his
music cut before unhooking the glistening golden World strap from around his
waist. He picked Atkins back up to his feet by the scruff of his shirt and
strode to the ring before tossing him in, following in soon after.
It was go time for Alias
“The Original Pulp Hero” to go one on one with “the Master of
Self-inflicted Disaster… or something, fucker” Phil Atken, for the biggest
prize in the game... the Pulp Hero’s ACW World Championship. Notable about
all else tonight, and through a tricky little loop hole that Atken had set up
for himself through his ownership rights last week, this would be the first
defence for Alias’s second reign. Course the whole deal with pulling
pre-signed papers out of his ass to garner said first shot at the Champ…
wasn’t the biggest problem for the stilled superstar, and one-time executive
of Courage, Lancett, who still had to deal with what had happened earlier in
the show.
“Brace yourself.” Alias
muttered, though the cameras were unable to pick it up. He brought Phil to his
feet once more, and threw him into the turnbuckle to mount the turnbuckle. Ten
heavy punches sent Atken for an absolute loop, and lead to the first pin
attempt of the night. Looks like the Pulp Hero was starting quick tonight.
One!
That was all he was going to
get out of that. But it was more than Atken was in the position of giving him
at the moment. Alias quickly locked in an arm bar, but Phil used his agility
and smaller size, rolling on the ground before using a hand standing flip to
return to his feet, in a move stolen directly out of the late Owen Hart's
playbook. However, while Phil managed to reverse the arm bar into an arm
wringer, Alias was one step ahead of him and quickly reversed into a fireman's
carry takeover, followed up by another arm bar.
However, Phil Atken managed
to kip up before Alias could properly apply the hold, and Phil hooked Alias's
head, in a style similar to the last thing you would see before falling victim
to a stunner. This, however, was simply so Atken could get the leverage to
climb up the ropes and flip over Alias, and he ended up on his feet with a
dragon sleeper applied.
Alias, however, was quick to
respond, as he slowly bridged up enough so he could pivot around. While now in
a front facelock, he soon managed to counter this by lifting Atkens straight
up off of the mat, and carried him up to the second rope. The referee stepped
in to break, but once the hold was broken, Atken had to make the first move,
by bringing his legs over the top rope, and landing on the apron.
The Pulp Hero, once again
showing his technical advantage in this match-up, caught Phil with a quick
elbow shiver to the side of the head, though, and went for a vertical suplex
back inside the ring. However, Atken used his agility once again to land on
his feet behind Alias, and he quickly rolled him up with a reverse cradle.
One!
Two!
Kickout!
The kickout had ejected Atken
through the ropes and onto the apron, but Phil was quick to leap back onto the
apron. He caught Alias with a shoulder to the gut as he approached the THE
entertainer, and Atken slingshot himself over Alias and onto his feet again.
Atken kept his momentum by running off into the opposite ropes. A quick flying
forearm to Alias's face knocked him down, and Atken was seemingly on fire
against the larger Chris Sheffield, Alias. So, Phil elected to try his luck
with that move again by running off of the ropes, but Alias moved out of the
way. Phil turned and threw out a blind kick.
Capture suplex!
Alias rolled backwards with
the force of the move, as Phil, out on his feet, stumbled backwards up against
the ropes in a Flair-esque stuper after taking said suplex. Alias got to his
feet. He then charged at his opposition and clotheslined him, sending both men
over the top rope and to the outside! Alias landed on his feet, but stumbled
to the guardrail. Phil hit on his knees, and rolled backwards, ending up on
his stomach. Alias leaned against the barrier as the fans at ringside patted
him on the back giving cheers and the like.
The Original Pulp Hero walked
over to Atken and jumped in the air. He landed elbow to back with the heavy
drop on Phil. Alias got on his knees before jumping back up to his feet. Atken
had gotten to his knees and Alias charged. He tried a dropkick, but Phil
raised up and Alias went right past him, just inches from connecting with the
side of his head.
Atken reached back and
grabbed the railing and pulled himself to his feet. Alias was on his feet in a
flash, and once against Phil by his white sleeveless shirt and threw him back
into the ring. Both men returned to a vertical base. Collar and elbow tie-up.
Alias threw Phil down with authority. He shook his head. Truly, Phil idea what
he was in for… when he signed this match for Alias’s championship. Atken
pulled himself up with the top ropes, and went right back in for the
collar-and-elbow tie-up.
He got behind Alias but the
Pulp Hero quickly executed a standing switch. Alias quickly hooked Phil in a
full nelson for the dragon suplex, but Atken back kicked Alias right in an
area that was between the bigger man's legs. Alias immediately hit the mat as
Phil shook his head. A running start, and he dropped the elbow across the
chest of Alias. PA picked up the Pulp Hero. See… now ACW’s former Scorpion
Champ had angered ACW’s current Heavyweight.
CHOP! "WHOO!"
CHOP! "WHOO!"
CHOP! "WHOO!"
Tired getting chopped in the
pasty white chest? What about getting right-handed punches to the face?
Don’t what that? Well… I guess you’re out of luck Phil. Alias whipped
Atken into the ropes. YOUR (Entertainment) Saviour took all his strength and
prepared to drop Alias with a clothesline. Alias smoothly blocked it, dropped
down, and applied a Fujiwara armbar.
Atken quickly got close
enough to the ropes to hook them with his feet. Alias shook his head. German. Roll. German. Roll.
Release German. Alias whipped Phil to the ropes, and came off with a
clothesline. Missed. Atken came off the opposite ropes and executed a
moonsault over the charging Aaaaalias, landing safely on his feet.
The Pulp Hero skreeed to a
stop, putting on the brakes before he could make the ropes. And PA
chop-blocked his right leg, sending him down to the canvas. Alias landed
awkwardly on the back of his head, as Phil began putting the boots to the
right leg. The crowd booed, as Atken took Alias by the leg and dragon screwed
it over. Alias gasped sharply in pain, clutching the leg, trying to pull
himself up with the ropes now some eight minutes in. This brash/crass/all
around fuckin’ annoying kind of guy had done his homework it now seemed.
Phil Atken was now in the
position to take Alias back to his feet… and take the frickin’ boots to
him. Phil dropkicked Alias, as he stood there painfully, almost on one leg.
The ropes snapped Alias back. He stumbled to the center of the ring and Phil
spring boarded off the top rope. He was one second too late in the decision
making department, Alias ‘caught’ him and threw him half way across the
ring with an overhead belly to belly suplex. Phil Atken landed on his lower
back. Alias was still feeling the effects of the attack on his right leg so he
had a little wobble in his step.
Phil Atken rolled to his
feet, holding the small of his back as he and the Tried and Trusted Technician
met in the middle of the ring. Alias ducked under into a hammer lock and drove
a few elbows to his lower back. Phil Atken fell to his knees. Alias placed his
knee against Atken's spine and grabbed both arms and pulled back, applying the
Bow and Arrow.
Phil screamed in pain as
Alias gritted his teeth and pulled back even harder. Atken fought to his feet
and spun about and snapped Alias over with a Wrist Clutch Suplex with a
bridge… However, Alias kicked out of it. Alias rolled to his feet and they
were back to square one: A face off. Alias stepped forward and slapped Phil
across the face with an open palm shot.
Staggered by the extra
30-some pounds of leverage Alias brought to the table, the unexpected force
was enough to have Phil do a 180 with his back to Alias. Alias immediately
hooked his arms around the waist of Phil Atken--german suplex. The hands
stayed together. German suplex. Still locked on. German suplex. But there was
no stopping Alias at this moment in time… the intensity and anger of his
position, his schedule… Atken as he usually was, though with the underlying
political connection of there relationship… having just met face to face for
the first time today. German. Bridged.
One!
Two!
Not just yet.
Alias sat Phil up into a
seated position and instantly drop kicked him in the back, sending a jolt of
pain up his spine. Alias lifted Atken up and Irish whipped him to the ropes.
As he came back, Phil hunched over, lifted Alias by the legs and DROVE him to
the canvas with a Spinning Spinebuster! Phil held onto the legs, getting to
his feet… then fell to his knees, dropping a head butt into the exposed
abdomen of the World Champion. Atken went back to his feet, letting go of the
left leg and flipped forward over Alias’s body, whip lashing the right leg. Alias hammered Phil with
right hands before grabbing a hold of the rope and whipping Atken back in on
his back. Alias sprang to his feet, adrenaline now suuurging, before grabbing
at Phil and irish whipping his off the ropes. Phil ran back, Alias dropped to
his stomach… Phil put on the brakes and turned, Alias swept the legs out
from under him, down into a pin attempt…
ONE!
TWO!
As the referee’s hand
aaalmost came down for the third time, Phil Atken popped out of it and nipped
up to his feet. The two locked up… Alias got behind Phil, hooking him into a
half-nelson and catching him com-pletely off the fucking guard.
Pulped.
The door was now open for the
Original Pulp… now he just had to close it on Phil’s bleach blonde head.
Alias looked to take a page out of Mr. Boston Wislow, Boswic’s, book of
trick. Not just any trick though… they trick.
Full Nelson Camel Clutch.
Ladies and Gentlemen… the
man who had so adamantly stated that he was going to be the NEXT World
Heavyweight Champ, had just been locked into the clutches of ONE. LAST.
HIT.
One last breath… and Phil
Atken was officially out. Couldn’t even scream in pain, a shame for the
message that Chris Sheffield was looking to put across tonight. This was now
serious for the Pulp Hero… he had to make these matches, these days count.
The ref lifted Atken’s hand… but only to make it official before calling
for the bell.
Alias had won… and in some
what convincing fashion over a strong, new, but still unproven opponent… who
evidently wasn’t ready for Alias’s size and technical ability (even with
said size). Alias breathed a sigh of relief… though an evident scowl on his
face and he stood to his feet, evident pain in his leg and a dull aching in
his head, more due to this insane travel regiment that he had recently
submitted himself to.
Tonight though, the end of
Courage’s most show… with it’s surprising main event and evident switch
in direction, as slow as it was (no I’m not talkin’ bout no slow coming
shows)… and a World Champion. A Champion, there Champion… the
Champion… who was still trying to find his place in this federation that
once felt so much like home but now felt so very foreign.
Courage went to black… and
Alias, though still Champion, wasn’t quite sure in what direction he was
liable to take in this still brave new frontier… all two months of it’s
current tenure. WINNER
: Alias via submission
Shoot fight -
The showdown
It
was the modern
equivalent of a cowboy
film, one hero and one
villain.
The
ring remained in the
center of the arena
but the fancy frilling
from around the sides
had been removed
leaving the skeleton
of the ring bare for
all to see (not that
there were many people
to see it, the arena
was empty by now
leaving the two men to
fight it out in an old
fashioned shoot.
You
may note that a shoot
is a real fight
between two wrestlers,
ironically enough a
shoot out in old
cowboy films is when
two or more cowboys
fire guns at one
another.
Patrick
stood in the ring, his
arms by his sides,
fists clenched and
waited for Marcus to
arrive. The very
observant fan might
have noticed Marcus
sneak across the stage
during the handicap
match between
‘Action League’
and guest superstar
John C. Willis but it
appeared that nobody
in the entire arena
caught on to what was
going to happen after
the cameras were
packed away or they
might have decided to
stay put and watch.
Marcus
walked in to the
middle of the arena
from one side of the
stage; he was wearing
his slacks and removed
his vest as soon as he
came in to view,
dropping it to the
floor. Marc stood
between the ring and
the ramp and peered up
in to the ring at a
grimacing Patrick
Marshall.
“Still
wanna do this, Pat?”
Marc asked without so
much as a quiver
“Don’t
call me that.”
It
was as close to a
‘yes’ as Marc had
expected and with that
he slid up to the
apron on one knee
before stepping in to
the ring slowly over
the middle rope. He
approached Patrick who
remained stationary in
the center of the
ring. Marc pressed his
nose against
Patrick’s for a
moment before Patrick
reached back and
pounded Marc in the
left side of his face.
Marc fell backwards,
leaning on the ropes
for a second whilst
holding his face. As
he looked up he was
Patrick approaching
him, his arm already
reaching back for a
second swing. Marc
lunged forwards and
popped Patrick right
on the edge of his
nose with a strong
right straight armed
jab. Blood spattered
up in to the air and
all over Marc’s
hand, a kick to the
side of Patrick’s
left knee later and
Marc was in full
control.
Marc
took a moment to raise
his guard and bounce
on the balls of his
feet a little as he
contemplated his next
move. He took a swing
for the left side of
Patrick’s face but
Patrick ducked it and
drove a right fist of
his own underneath the
ribs of Marc, who
arched over and gasped
for air. He was winded
and Patrick took not a
second to both realize
and take advantage of
this fact. He stood up
to a perfect vertical
base, raised his elbow
above his head and
pointed his fist down.
He used his right hand
to hold Marc’s head
before driving down
his left fist in to
the back of Marc’s
head, right where the
neck joins the skull.
Marc
fell flat to the
floor, completely
unconscious. His eyes
closed and his
breathing shallow.
Patrick looked down at
him for a moment
before raising his
boot in to the air and
driving it down as
hard as he could.
CRACK!!!
Marc’s
head was crammed
between the foot of
Patrick Marshall and
the Apron. His legs
twitched as Patrick
stepped back a few
paces and took hard
breaths in and out. He
took a few moments to
observe the damage
done before leaving
the ring at the rear
and running through a
gap in the
half-demolished fan
barricades and up the
steps towards the back
wall of the arena.
“Holy
shit!”
Geoff
Vacton had heard the
groans coming from the
ringside area and
headed through the
black curtain to
investigate. He saw
Marcus Steiner lying
in a puddle of his own
blood at the left side
of the ring and began
to sprint towards the
squared circle. Geoff
slid under the bottom
rope and placed his
hand gently on the
side of Marcus’s
head that faced
upwards.
“Marc!?
…MARC!? – SOMEBODY
CALL AN
AMBULANCE!!!”
|
