Broadcasting LIVE! from New York, NY at 10/9 p.m. CT

Card subject to change without notice

Aaaah… So It’ll Be One of THOSE Days
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*knock, knock*

The show had yet to even officially start, and there was already a knock at Lancett’s door. Now tonight’s ‘superstar in charge’ or ‘disaster waiting to happen’ (as Hillary liked to call it) wasn’t in the best shape of his career, these days, but while he let these wounds heel he was looking forward to the shit that would be pulled tonight.

Not to say he expected this.

“Open the door, ya crunt.”

Aaaah, any guesses who that was?

Before Lancett could get out from behind his desk, in walked Phil Atken (everyone’s favorite former Scorpion champ and yada yada). Phil started first, as ya know, he usually did.

“Let me tell you something…”

“You tell me?”

“Ya, me tell you… now—“

Lancett let out a small chuckle and smiled. “Now Atkins—“

Phil cocked an eyebrow. “Atken, but I’ll that pass because I have good news.”

“Atkins, you must be confused… cause you see, you aren’t in charge this week. I don’t care what the hell you have to say, I’m your boss and therefore you aren’t going to start telling me shit.” Lancett concluded with a wry grin.

“Well I deserve a title shot, and since I was cheated out of the match for MY Scorpion championship… you know, I’ve decided I have bigger fish to fry. I’m getting a title shot against that Orange Pulp Hero title. I’d like to put ACW’s shiney World belt beside the one from Action. You know, so it won’t get lonely.” Phil now smiled and delivered a wry wink.

“You hear what I said, Atkins? You don’t get to say what matches you get today, that’s my call. Hell ya I want the belts on display, but you aren’t about to just burst in… remember this is my show.” Lancett replied flatly, the smile having faded from his face.

“Sooooo? I mean yeah, sure I respect your ‘authority’… blah blah blah. You know you want that World title to main event your card. Ratings are what I do best… but hey, I’m sure I could always bring up a paper or two to make this official. Don’t think I wasted a day as owner.” A devilish grin came across the face of Phil Atken.

Lancett sat there in his desk, the odd bandage on different parts of his body still crisp and white. He rested his chin in his hands for a moment, before finally replying. “Yeah, sure, whatever. You get your shot, but only because I made the decision for the main.”

Atken grinned to himself and was as quick out the door as he was in.

Lancett sighed, he knew that could have been his position if he still wasn't recovering (frickin' frackin' Frost) and damn it, he deserved that World title shot. Still he straightened his collar and slowly stood to his feet.

“Well then, on with my fuckin’ show.” 

Previously - As the federation stumbles along towards Glory, each week seems to take a turn for the worse as William Laguna's experiment for ratings and interest seems to be backfiring. However, there seems to be one man whom can save his experiment, but he is currently "in the dark" over his future.

Tonight's One Night Stand
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Tonight’s One Night Stand: Lancett

Tonight’s show started off with a very pleasing and enjoyable visual. Lancett leaned on two wooden crutches, informing the people that he did in fact get the shit beat out of him in the previous month give or take a week. A black brace held his left knee straight, which he wore over his Armani pant leg. Clearly he looked business rather than the grudged mid-twenties college frat boy he was so commonly mistaken for. The Megastar meant business yet tears still gathered in his eyes from the ache that was felt from the hWo Deathmatch dealt by Frost himself.

The fans cheered at this sight and for the very fact that the show was starting. Signs hit the sky: “Alias 4 President”, “Marry Me Quincy Mama”, “Lancett Sucks”, “SilverHAWK!”, “Atken = Ratings”, and many more.

Lancett kicked off the show to an announcement: “Stephen Adams against Jason Fox!” The fans cheered for the action to come ahead. It was obvious that Lancett was the man in charge tonight, and he wanted to get the fans that paid their hard earned money to get the seat that they deserve, or something like that.

He gave away another great secret from tonight’s spectacular event: “. . . And . . . Simian Kade will be going toe to toe with Jesse Ramey.” Supporters of both wrestlers cheered wanting more to be revealed.

“. . . And . . . Your Champion, Alias,” he couldn’t even finish his sentence for that he was cheered out of the audio that he had to take a break from his address, “will be in action against your former Scorpion Champion, Phil Atken.” It happened again, but this time it was the total opposite they where booing so much that he had to take a second break from his beloved address, “We could of had the second ACW double champion on Lancett’s Courage but Mr. Atken had to fuck that up.”

The fans rooted for the upcoming main event, and of course right on cue a seldom chorus of fans chanted one man’s name: 

“A-LI-AS! A-LI-AS! A-LI-AS!”

Lancett looked down and cringed form the pain that just announce the card made him ache. “As some of you might know I’m here against doctors orders. I know you people care about my health.” The audience was too kind to give Lancett a chant to welcome him back to ACW.

“BULL SHIT! BULL SHIT! BULL SHIT!”

He continued ignoring their ignorance, “I had to come, why? Because everyone’s Megastar, Lancett, gets the opportunity of a lifetime to show you the people I care. I’ll assure you I’m the best at this and of course is not caring.”

BOOOO!

“Well tonight is your lucky night, because Lancett is out of action. Meaning I can’t be egotistical, which I am not, and demand myself to a world title shot, which I wouldn’t.”

The fans cheered at the splendid news.

“I know it is a miracle that someone actually hurt your Megastar. It is as bad as the Mets being able to have a better record than the Yankees.” This comment got a very mixed reaction came from tonight’s mass. 

“Just to make sure you guys know I’m more than three hundred percent serious. I’m going to show you all my true powers of tonight’s show. I mean I can do anything.”

Lancett looks about the crowd. 

“That kid right there. Security, please take his sign away.”

They do as they are ordered the fans booed. He looks to them, “I’m don’t come to your jobs and boo you. I’m sure there is a sleazy lawyers, dirty cops, and bad accountants around here somewhere. You all are bad people doing your job.”

“People in the back. Lets prepare to listen to your Megastar, yours truly.”

“Lights blue!” The lights fade into a dim blue.

“Lights red.” As commanded, again, they go to a red.

“Lights green.” They go into a green.

“Lights off.” They go into a black… I mean they turn off.

“Lights on.” They return to normal.

”Lights off.” The go off.

”Lights on.” They go … never mind they don’t do anything. 

“I said lights on!” Nothing happens. “I’m going to have to fire some people. Lemme try again. Lights on… Lights on… LIGHTS-“

His microphone was cut. Linkin Park’s “Place for my Head” began to be heard over the New York arena. Mist starts to come from the entranceway. An eerie voice speaks over the song:

“Off with your head!”

The song keep playing and the lights come back to normal. Lancett is standing in the middle of the ring both eyes glaring at the fading mist. He drops his microphone that happens to be on now. He tosses the crutches over the top rope and then rolls out of the ring under the bottom rope. After that he grabs his crutches.

Lancett heads to the mist and looks around, then back to the crowd who start to cheer.

”Off with your head! Off with your head!”

He shakes his head, which sends a strong amount of pain down his spine, and he fades behind the curtains heading towards the backstage and all that was left was the mist, Linkin Park blaring, and the chant.

”Off with your head! Off with your head!”

Let Thy Whiskey Guideth Me
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Crash. 

The bottle of JD hit the pavement. The glass shards spread across the wet ground. Simian stared down at them with a look of drunkenness. He couldn’t believe he just dropped a bottle of alcohol… although it was empty. 

He breathed in deeply through his nose; he was preparing for another edition of Courage. It seemed nothing more then a job to him at this point, something to pay the rent. 

He shrugged his shoulders and looked out across the bushes towards the highway. Cars roared by, it seemed a blur to the intoxicated Kade who wasn’t exactly looking forward to tonight. He was fighting Jesse Ramey for the second time in his ACW career. 

Pfft. I can take him Kade thought. Drunk or not, Simian’s undying attitude still held true. He was determined to do whatever it was that he needed to do to win, and tonight was going to be no different. 

He took another glance down at the bottle of JD that lay in pieces on the pavement.

“Good for nothing slut,” Kade mumbled the way of the bottle of whiskey. Yes, he was talking to alcohol. 

He took a look to the left of him, he saw the entrance to the arena. He sighed a little.

“Here we go,” he said rolling his eyes as he stumbled towards the door. He turned the handle, and entered a night that was sure to be full of surprises.

A wilting rose makes way to a guest superstar
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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:
2-on-1 Handicap match
Marshall & The Mammoth Vs John C. Willis (tA)

The Butterflies
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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?

Because of one man, and the history of that one man, his Father.

You see, Jose’s destiny had already been outlined for him by his father, Angulo Hurros, he was going to become a professional wrestler, not because he had freakish strength as a child, or that he could perform athletic flips, no, but because it was expected of him. Throughout the whole of the Hurros family, was a generation of wrestlers, all very successful and strong men, however, as Jose grew, he seemed to develop the female side of the Hurros gene pool, and was small, and weedy. At school he was never really into sports, and was much more of an academic, winning several awards for his essays and projects, however, Angulo never congratulated him once, unless the trophy had a little gold wrestler at the top, he wasn’t interested.

Angulo, realising that his son was not developing the same love for wrestling that had become customary in the Hurros family, decided that he would enroll Jose in a wrestling school, whether he wanted to go or not. No matter how many times Jose begged his father not to make him go, Angulo wouldn’t let him get the better of him, he knew the ‘cruel to be kind’ approach worked, his father had used it on him several times and he felt a better man for it. 

During his time at the wrestling school, Jose was beaten to an inch of his life, not in a ‘lets give it to the rookie’ kind of way, the thing is, Jose had a habit of bad mouthing wrestling and wrestlers themselves, which obviously didn’t go down well with a hall full of aspiring wrestlers. He hated every solitary moment of it; he couldn’t understand what the appeal of it all was. However, every time that he complained, his father would turn away in disgust, saying that Jose had ‘turned his back on the family’ the family rifts would go on for weeks, each time Angulo forcing his son to take the weekly beating he got at wrestling school.

Jose quickly checked his watch and realised that he was going to be late. He settled himself for a second and took a long breath in, it wasn’t so bad, he didn’t have a match but yet he knew, this was the first stage of it and soon…he would have a match. Was he going to be just as nervous then, or more nervous maybe? He didn’t have enough time to just sit here in his car he had to move, and it was time.

Say it ain't so, Gato
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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:

“YOU LOVE ME~!”

The fans, of course, said otherwise.

With a wide grin he walked around the ring, doing a Ric Flair strut and after every few steps finding a lady and blowing her a sweet, soft kiss from his big, brown lips. This process continued until Negro reached the ring announcer, smacked him over the head, took the microphone out of his hand, and rolled into the ring.

Once the music (and the crowd) ceased, he began.

“HELLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO NEW JERSEY!”

The fans blew a fuse. The guy didn’t even get the town right.

“First of all you beetches…”

More boos.

“I thank you all should know that seence my raecord’s two and zero mang, I’m gonna celebrate by taeling ev’ryone to please put cho mouths around my paecker and suck on it, because a chaempion kind of wrestle superstar like me deserve to get his paeker suck by all you.”

A hardy laugh from El Gato Negro would follow, and a hardy chorus of boos followed by a chant of “GO TO HELL!” started.

“‘Ey buddy,” EGN pointed to a random fatbody in the crowd. “I already go to Hell, an’ your mudder was there mang, and we (BLEEP!) mang!”

The fan yelled something inaudible back, and EGN laughed. “Look at you mang, you fatter thaen a cow mang. I tell you what chico you buy yourself some Stacker 2, it save you money.”

At this point the crowd was growing restless. He had them all in the palm of his hand.

“Anyway, tonight, seence I’m two an’ zero, I gonna seet at ring side y’know, catch some of the action like all you guys een the crowd. Maybe at the end of the night mang, I dunno, I might see wrestler that interest me y’know, challenge him. You fu(BLEEP!)ers like it when a wrestle star challenge righ’?”

And as the crowd continued to boo, El Gato Negro rolled out of the ring, and took a seat at the announce table.

A Radio Shack commercial featuring Howie Long followed.

Stephen Adams vs. Jason Fox
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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.

All of a sudden the music switched to "Slither" by Velvet Revolver, and a 6'7, 275 pound man walked out onto the ramp with an enormous grin on his face. One couldn't tell if he was happy or just flat out cocky. There was no real reaction from the fans. On one hand, he was a complete jackass who nobody really liked, but you could also tell that some of the fans felt sorry for him after what happened to him last week in his lockeroom.

There was an uncanny look of determination on his face as he entered the ring and stood toe to toe with Fox. Adams had no beef with Fox, but that didn't matter tonight. Someone was getting their ass kicked, and Adams felt like it might as well be Fox, since the two men were forced to compete against each other tonight by Lancett.

The bell rang and the match had officially begun.

Adams and Fox squared off face to face in the middle of the ring. The tension between these two was building with every second. They had no past between themselves, but you could tell that both men were ready to go. They began to slowly circle each other.

Finally, the two men locked up and Fox quickly whipped Adams into the ropes, following that up with a huge clothesline as Adams bounced back at him. He continued by pulling Adams to his feet and whipping him into the corner.

Jason Fox began to deliver a series of shoulders to the abdomen of Stephen Adams. Adam's body slowly made it's way down to the mat. Fox made his way over towards the ropes and began to yell out at the fans. The fans do not shout anything back. They just began to cheer even louder. Lancett's plan seemed to be working.

As Adams slowly got back to his feet, Fox met him with a big boot, sending Stephen right out of the ring. As Adams slowly made his way back to his feet once again, Fox hopped out of the ring and he two men began to exchange blows until Adams finally blocked one of Fox's punches and hit him with a DDT.

That was something that Adams needed. He had nothing on his side. The fans were against him. Someone is apparently out to get him. Anything he could use to get some momentum was a plus. He pulled Fox to his feet and slid him into the ring. He slid in as well. Adams covered Fox.

One...Two...a kickout by Fox. 

Annoyed at not getting the win, Adams quickly locked Jason Fox up in a figure four leg lock. Fox shouted out screams of pain as Stephen added more and more pressure to the hold. The ref asked Fox if he is ready to call it quits.

"No!"

Adams finally released the hold and began taunting the crowd.

"How do you like me now?"

The fans unleashed a savage run of boos upon Adams. Adams responded with the middle finger.

Meanwhile, Jason Fox had gotten up off the ground and stared at Adams. A look of amazement immediately appeared on Adams' face as Fox made his way in his direction. Fox began to run at Adams but Adam ducked and locked Fox in from behind. Adams hit Fox with a German suplex...followed by another...followed by a third. He finally released Fox as he sees his brother, Kris Kore, making his way down to ringside. They pointed at each other as to say that they were on the same page.

Fox just laid their motionless as Adams climbed up to the top rope. He flipped off the fans once again and leapt off, attempting a diving elbow, but missed as Fox barely rolled out of the way. Now, both men were down and in serious trouble. It was anyone's match now. Adams' risk had evened things up. The ref began the double ten count.

One...Two...Three...Four...Five...Six...Seven...

Before he could continue, both men had simultaneously managed to get an arm onto each other's chest. The ref went for the count.

One...Two...Three.

The match was a draw. How could that happen?

The fans unleashed the loudest boos one had ever heard. They didn't come here to see a freaking tie. They wanted someone to see someone win. The boos, however, didn't last too long as "The Only" by Static X immediately drowned them out as Lancett quickly stormed his way to the ring...well as fast as one could go on crutches. He had a microphone in his hand.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! I don't think so! This match is not going to end in a damn tie! I'm trying to provide these fans with the best entertainment possible and this is just not going to fly. This match will continue!!!"

The ref shrugged and called for the bell. Both men were still down though but not for long.

They both reached their feet and began to exchange blows once again until Adams was able to hit Fox with a boot to the midsection. He pointed up in the air and put Fox's head between his legs. He lifted him up high in the air above his head and slammed him back down hard with his patented "Real Deal" jacknife powerbomb. After the big move, he looked back in Lancett's direction.

"Is that better?"

Lancett nodded and headed back to the backstage area.

Stephen went for the cover.

One...Two...Three.

WINNER : Stephen Adams

New Faces
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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
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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.

But there was also another who was now two for two here in ACW, but in a whole different manner.

As Adams rolled off of Fox and got to his feet to hear his name announced as the winner, a thing that was a commonplace in his career in the past, the lights went out and a pentagram started flashing on and off in red on the big screen. It was the same pentagram that had been etched onto his lockeroom wall just last week. The crowd was silent as no one could tell what the hell was going on.

Craaack...

The lights came back on and Stephen's brother and manager, Kris Kore, was knocked unconscious outside the ring with a steel chair lying at his side. A large incision had been opened upon Kris' forehead, and blood had begun seeping from the corner of his mouth, as well as his nose, both of those due to the impact of hitting the floor.

Had the same person struck again?

Was the same man who attacked Kris' elder brother still lurking around the depths of ACW?

Was it someone already on the roster, or was it someone completely new, not seen on ACW television to date?

Stephen immediately hopped out of the ring to his brother's aid. He called for medical assistance and two medics rushed to ringside, armed with a stretcher. Kris was out cold. You could see the concern on Stephen's face, along with the immense amount of rage and fury that must've been boiling inside his skull. Kris was the only person in his life that he cared about and the only one in the entire world that he trusted and confided in.

Stephen and the two medics lifted Kris up and put his lifeless body upon the stretcher. They contined to strap him in, along with securing his head and neck so that no further damage could be done to Adams' brother.

Someone's crossed the line, and Stephen Adams has vengeance on his mind. No one fucks with his family without paying a very painful price, and most people would assume that, judging from Adams' massive six foot seven inch frame.

Things had now gotten personal...but that's how the Anti-Pacifist wanted it. 

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.

He paused for a moment, trying to recollect what point in his life he had got to remembering earlier and then it started to come into focus in his mind.

After many months, the family rifts in Jose’s family started to take their toll on Mrs. Hurros, Jose’s mother. After all the bickering, she had fallen ill from having to watch her only child and her husband going at each other, and she could take no more. Whilst visiting her at the hospital, Jose knew what he had to do to stop this, he had to swallow his own pride and for his family, for the sake of his mothers health, shut his father up, and the only way to do that, would be to become a professional wrestler. That day, he made a promise to himself, and to his mother, that he would put a stop to all this pain.

Over the next year, Jose put in all his effort to bettering himself as a wrestler, whether that meant having to take a beating or not. Jose’s new found eagerness to learn did not go unnoticed by his fellow pupils, as they started to lay off him a little, realising that this kid from Mexico, generally wanted to learn. 

He may have been small, but Jose soon became seen as most exciting talent at the school, and after many months of hard work, he graduated. Jose knew that this wasn’t nearly enough to silence his father, but it was a start. On the way back to his parent’s house to celebrate, disaster struck again. As Jose entered the house he noticed several liquor bottles strewn out on the floor. There was mail piled up all over the place and the stench of urine filled what he once called home. What had happened to the place? It seemed that, after confronting his father, he found out that Angulo had turned to alcohol. Like many retired wrestlers, Angulo had now found his life meaningless, sitting at home doing nothing was not for him, and he had turned to drink. Jose knew that his father had drunk, but he was always a social drinker, and he had never seen his father drunk ever in his life, oh well, it was something that could be fixed right? It seemed that problems were much deeper than that, which explained the state of the house. 

Jose suddenly realised that he had reached his dressing room. This life, this wrestling business, it wasn’t for him, he knew it, he could feel it, and he didn’t want to be here. But we were one step closer to finding on why he HAS to be here. 

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. 

Finally “4am” by Our Lady Peace began to play and still drowsy Kade stepped out onto the entrance way to a profound chorus of boos. Kade did his best to stay in character, although the alcohol made it hard for him to do so. He marched briskly down the entrance ramp as he approached the ring. Inside a referee stood, he knew what had gone on that night, he shook his head toward Kade. Simian was a little embarrassed about his actions, but to his dismay, he was still intoxicated. And there was nothing that he could do about that. 

Kade was caught off guard by the sound of “Going Down in Flames” by 3 Doors Down projecting itself across the arena through the speakers. Simian turned quickly to see a rather confident Jesse Ramey step out onto the stage from behind the curtain. His 5’11” figure slowly trekked to the ring, he didn’t take his eyes off of Kade. He knew the story about Kade’s intoxication, and he wasn’t too shy to share his knowledge with Kade. 

He rolled into the ring, he smiled at Kade, and made a drinking motion toward Simian. The effects of the alcohol had Kade essentially out on his feet. Ramey saw this…

Smack.

Kade hit the canvas hard as the right hand connected with his cheekbone. Ramey shot more insults towards Kade as he lay on the mat holding his face. 

“Get up Sim, I got another bottle of whiskey here for you,” Ramey chuckled a little as Kade tried to regain himself. 

Ramey reached down and grabbed his adversary by the back of the neck. Kade tried to fire an elbow into the mid-section of Ramey, but Jesse’s quickness played to his advantage. Bad Attitude jumped back, but was quick to deliver an axe-handle to the small of the back of New York’s Finest, who wasn’t exactly fine on this night. 

Shit, get with it Kade thought to himself. Again Simian threw an elbow the way of Ramey, but again Bad Attitude avoided it. He chuckled a little more before laying a palm to the cheek slap on Simian’s face. 

Kade looked up, he may have been drunk, but he was not too drunk to feel that. He stared into the eyes of Ramey, which burned with anticipation and amusement. 

A quick left hand from Kade caught Ramey in the ribs, but Kade wasn’t too quick to get to his feet. He staggered back into the ropes allowing a strong kick to the mid-section to ground him. Ramey bounced off the adjacent ropes and bounced back pounding the point of his elbow into the back of the head of Perfection Personified. 

“This is better then alcohol isn’t Simian?” Ramey got a laugh in once more before delivering a high impact double-arm DDT that planted Kade’s forehead into the mat.

Shit Kade thought to himself. 

“Forget it! This is over!” Ramey screamed out to the crowd who responded with resounding cheers.

Ramey smiled and looked down at Kade who had rolled down his pants and was masturbating! …

No, that was just filler. You know, to make it seem like the match is actually longer then it is. 

SCHOOL BOY!

One… 

Two…

No sir-e-bob; Ramey kicked out with.

He got up, a little shock at Kade’s real first signs of offense. Kade was dazed however, the alcohol had, once again, landed him on his ass. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Ramey said, again getting another laugh in, while regaining his composure. A stiff closed fist to the forehead of his opponent sent Kade sprawling into the corner. Ramey barked his insults again, as he marched to where Kade lay. 

Crunch went Kade’s nose as Ramey tried to leave a permanent indent of his shoelaces on Kade’s face. Simian screamed in pain as almost immediately blood began to trickle from his nose. Jeez, a bloody nose, a night of being drunk on the job… why does he get all the fun? 

Smack. 

The hand of Ramey contacted with Simian’s face once again. The hard slap made Kade roll back. He scurried to his feet and landed a knee to the mid-section knocking Ramey back a little. Kade reached for his nose to check the blood, his eyes began to water from the shot, but he still had the composure to swing at the oncoming Ramey. 

Thwack. 

Jesse’s skull bounced off the mat. The crowd went silent as Kade leaped up and drove his knee straight into the jaw Ramey. I call that Simian’s form of curb stompage. Bad Attitude rolled on the mat in pain with Kade slow to get to his feet. When he managed to obtain a vertical base he looked out to the crowd. They shot back with unanimous jeering. Kade rubbed his eyes, trying to lose some of the fuzziness that comes with a good drunkening. He looked toward the turnbuckle. He quickly made his way to the corner and scaled the top rope. He looked down at Ramey who was on his knees at this point. 

Kade leaped from the top rope. Sledgehammer to the back! … 

No, Ramey drove his fist into the gut of his opponent. Kade stumbled forward, only for Jesse to turn him around. 

Stop… Hang Time. 



… 

That was a pun about MC Hammer, you know “Stop… Hammer Time”, or the laugh out loud funny version Family Guy did, “Stop… Peter Time.” Ok so it’s not funny. 

… 

… 

The Tornado DDT sent Kade into the mat, motionless. Jesse dropped down onto the mat, the referee made the count.

One…

Two…

Three. Ramey pulled himself off of Kade whom he gave a shove to. Simian’s limp/drunk body rolled towards the ropes. Jesse got to his feet, the referee raised his hand to the sky. 

Tack another tally onto the win column for Jesse Ramey. Mr. Action rolled out of the ring, he slapped the hands of fans as he made his way back to the locker room, on this night he had gotten the better of Simian Kade. 

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.

He reached outside of the ring and took possession of a microphone. He spoke a few inaudible words at the grip who handed it to him, and then looked back at the crowd as his music began to die down.

He cleared his throat. “Ladies and Gentlemen, I regret to inform you that Geo Vacton will not be here tonight.” The crowd booed and then grew concerned. “I can assure that he is doing very, very well, however.”

Magick Man paced around the ring. “Geo can’t be here because he’s on a plane headed to Europe right this very moment. You see, late last night I struck a deal with a company that some of you may have heard of… tHw ring a bell?” The crowd booed at the mention of another organization, and I think everyone saw where this was going. “Yes, well last night I struck a deal with tHw and they’ll be paying us quite a large amount of money to move Geo out of ACW and back into tHw, his home away from home.”

The boos were deafening, but much of the crowd was in shock.

“YOU SOLD OUT!!”
“YOU SOLD OUT!!”
“YOU SOLD OUT!!”

Was the chant heard around the arena. “Oh, shut up! You have no idea what you’re talking about! Each and every single one of you would do what we did if you were offered that kind of money! Now, shut the hell up.” The crowd was furious.

“Now, I have some more news which I’ll have to regretfully announce… This hear United States Championship Belt,” Magick shifted the belt around on his shoulder. “…will once again have to be vacated. I’ll leave it up to Laguna to see what he’ll do with it once he gets back.”

“ASSHOLE!!”
“ASSHOLE!!”
“ASSHOLE!!”

“Oh, shut the hell up!! I’m out of here. You guys disgust me.”

“SELLLLLOOUUTTT!!!”
“SELLLLLOOUUTTT!!!”
“SELLLLLOOUUTTT!!!”

Magick Man flipped off the crowd and then left the ring to no music, just boos. He exited through the curtains rather unceremoniously, and that was it. He was gone, and so was Geo Vacton.

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.

He looked around at the dressing room he was in, his dark eyes focusing on every inch of the place. It morphed slowly in his mind into his family home. The lights were replaced with lamps that he could remember from childhood bedroom. All of a sudden the image of his Father hitting his mother, one punch after the other, came into his head. Jose closed his eyes, hoping against hope that by doing so it would clear the image, but all it did was remind him once again on why he was in the ACW dressing room in the first place

Let the mind fade.

It seemed that Angulo had never thought about insurance while he was wrestling, the money had always just been there, and he had assumed that it would always be. But now, it wasn’t, most of remaining money had gone towards Angulo’s new drinking habit, and now it seemed, there was nothing left. Angulo revealed that they were tons of bills that were overdue on the payment, and that his mother, after recovering from her stress related illness, had left him after several rows that usually ended up in Angulo hitting her. 

Jose couldn’t believe that he would miss something this big…but then realised that all his efforts over the past couple of months, had been solely based on wrestling, he hadn’t time to think or do anything else, he wanted to impress his father as soon as he possibly could and because of this, had completely missed what had been happening at the Hurros household, for once in his life he had done something for himself, and it had cost him. 

Jose’s life was in despair, not only did he have no money to pay off his fathers bills for him, but he could think of no way to get his mother to come back to his father. After the years of abuse she had finally had enough and deep down, Jose could not blame her, but he felt for his father, and knew that now without his mother, his father was nothing, he needed her. How could he possibly fix this? 

Jose knew how, he had to take the thing he had been working towards for over a year and take it that step further, he had to become a professional wrestler, he had no job and no prospects, wrestling was now ironically, the only thing he was now any good at, and so, to ACW. It was time to fix all of this mess.

Jose shook his head once more, no matter how much he hated this he had to do it. It was time to sit back, and enjoy the show. 

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...

 


2...

 


3.


That's all it took for the match to end. Now the question remained...

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.

What? Yeah, they have a match and a segment booked.”

An ear pressed gently against the locker room door, not that Marcus noticed.

“I know!

Fuck ‘em, they’re hardly even in wrestling shape these days, they’ll be gone in a few months, retired no doubt.”

The earwigs fist clenched, veins popped out from beneath his skin.

“Yeah, I better go.

Yep, love you too.”

The phone snapped shut and simultaneously the red door to the locker room burst open. Nostrils flaring in stepped the body of Patrick Marshall. He wore similar attire to previous weeks, black slacks and a loose vest with the ACW insignia on the chest. His fists remained clenched.

“Not in wrestling shape, huh?” he sneered, the edges of his lips curling up. 

Steiner took a small step back; he could see that Patrick was wound rather tightly tonight, as he seemed to be most nights.

“If you want to fight so badly, kid… Maybe we should sort this out after the cameras shut off, eh?”

“What’s your problem, Pat?”

“You!” he exclaimed, driving the index finger of his right hand hard in to the chest of Marcus Steiner, “You’re the problem, kid. You swan in here and expect everything to go your way, well guess what, it just doesn’t happen that way. You want to fight so badly, sort it out that the ring stays up after the lights go out.”

He took a few steps backwards before finishing his statement and leaving the room.

“It’s up to you, kid.” 

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.

"Where the hell is Lancett?" he yelled out at nobody in particular.

The crew members backstage just sort of stood there, looking at him with a confused and curious look. One man, however, pointed down the hall...

"That way..."

Now knowing where he was headed, Adams began walking even faster almost to the point of running. He was looking for answers and he wasn't going to stop until he got them. He continued down the hall until he came to a door with a sign that read "Lancett". Without even knocking, he barged through the door and walked up to Lancett, who was sitting at his desk watching the show from his office. Stephen stopped in front of the desk and slammed his first down.

"Who the hell is after me!?"

"Well, hello there..." Lancett replied, not really paying much attention to Stephen.

"Listen to me, damnit! Someone attacked me last week and attacked my brother tonight. Now, you're in charge tonight and I want some fucking answers!"

Lancett turned the TV off and focused his attention to Adams.

"Oh yes, I saw that. And who are you again?"

That was the wrong answer. That was the kind of thing that would normally send Stephen into a fit of rage, but he kept his cool. He didn't want a fight this time. He just wanted some answers.

"I'm Stephen Adams!!!"

"I see..."

"You see what?"

"Precisely..."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Lancett knowing how to push someone's buttons, just kept on antagonizing Adams, who was quickly getting fed up with Lancett, just a few minutes after meeting him.

"I'll tell you what. Grab a piece of paper and a pen from over on the shelf and I'll give you the answers that you're looking for and you can write them down so you don't forget."

Adams, not really caring what he had to do to get his answers, grabbed the pen and paper.

"Now, write this down. It's very important..."

"Okay."

A big smile came across Lancett's face as Adams got prepared to write.

"YOU AIN'T NUTTIN'!"

Adams wrote down the "Y" but immediately threw down the pen and paper and leaned over in Lancett's direction.

"Oh, you think you're funny! Well, I got one for you now..."

"Alright, let's hear it."

"What did the five fingers say to the face?"

"Oh oh, I know this one..."

SLAP!

Lancett slapped the taste right out of Stephen's mouth. Stephen's "plan" had backfired on him and now he was as pissed off as one could get. He was ready to take out the already hobbled Lancett. He grabbed ahold of Lancett's desk and threw it to the side.

"Hey, slow down there, big boy! No need to get violent. Besides, if you touch me, I may have to get you suspended...or worse."

"You can't do that!"

"Try me!"

Adams, still unsure of how things work around ACW, didn't want to take any chances. Instead of attacking Lancett as he wanted, he turned around and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

He didn't get any answers tonight, but he won't stop until he gets them...soon! 

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.


I am the new hell on earth
The lord of agony divine
Domination, intimidation
Lives within these eyes
Reign of power
Remorseless anarchy
I am arrogance in the flesh
Unleashed intensity

Step aside for the nightmare
Pure destruction stands before you
No escape as the psycho
Brings you misery
The line starts here

I am brutality the face of everlasting pain
Annihilation, Obliteration
Pulses in these veins
Sheer defiance drives my hostility
I am merciless to the core
Chaotic fury breeds

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.”

An odd location, in and of itself… but hell, the Original Pulp Hero might as well grab a bite to eat before that first ACW Championship defence. So… he would talk with Hawk, there first words face to face since the end of Revival. Alias held the World Heavyweight on his shoulder…

… 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.

“PHIL ATKEN!”

“Where?! Oh wait, that’s me. You shouldn’t shout out names like that, dipshit, people are always attacking me from behind and I get jumpy.”

“Can I have your autograph?”

The little kid held out a pen and a sheet folded sheet of paper with a huge smile on his face. Phil looked at him a little bit confusedly and took both items from him.

He took the cap off the pen and began to write his name on a line that was ruled on the page. He had just written “Phil Atk” when he noticed that there was more writing on the piece of paper. Above his name, there was the signature of none other than his biggest enemy, Incontinence! No, wait, I mean Chris Messiah. Phil looked back at the kid again and it was then that he heard the commotion.

There was the aforementioned Messiah, standing in front of a vending machine at the end of the hall. Phil could hear him talking to himself.

“Why does this always happen to me? They always get stuck falling down towards that shoot! I want my Skittles!”

It seemed that Chris had bought some of the tasty and also fruity sweets but he was cruelly robbed of them by poor machine design. Chris began to kick the machine and then shake it. Phil then coughed and Chris looked round.

The two of them stared at each other for a brief moment, and it finally triggered in Phil’s head what was going on. Well, what he thought was going on.

“You’re trying to get me to sign another contract, aren’t you, you cruntmaster!”

“SKITTLES!” was all Chris could say. Or scream, rather.

Phil looked at the kid, then looked at the autograph he was signing, and proceeded to rip the piece of paper up, leaving the boy crying his eyes out. Phil then continued his search for the curtain, while Chris slumped up against the glass, weeping.

“This is out of order! Just like that piece of paper stuck to the machine says.” 

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.

But through all the noise, all the commotion and all the chaos in the kitchen, one man sat in the middle, taking it all in, for possibly the first time in his life.

SilverHAWK sat with his bottle of water at hand, he had told long time friend Joe Bishop to pick him back up after the next match, whenever that would be didn't matter to him. He pressed the small button on the side of his watch, as a young lady told him the exact time to the dot...he was having to evolve all over again.

*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.

Lancett. And what was he doing? Sipping on a cream soda. Maybe El Gato Nero's cream soda?

"Hey, kid... dude with the animal on his head!"

El Gato Negro's face flares up, "Oh what? What? Chu some kind of wise shot mang, talkin' bout animals on my head like I got one on my head mang. What the fuckin' deal you with you sippin' my cream soda."

"What cream soda?" Sip. "Oh! This? This was specially made for me. See it says 'no for you' right there." Lancett pointed to the cup.

"What Chu think I am mang some sort of idiot? Some sort of damn monkey mang, lemma tell YOU something. I aint takin' no shit from no long hair, piece of pig shit like you. So just put the damned cream soda in my haend mang and won't no puto like you get hurt."

"Fine... you win."

He drinks the last two gulps and places the cup in EGN's hand. "Thanks for being the garbage man for me kid."

"Keed? Keed?" The Escape Artist frowns. "Yo, I aint no fu(BLEEP!)ing KEED mang!"

"Again... who are you?"

"I, am El Gato Negro. The mang just about ready to WHOOP joo ASS mang."

Lancett laughs. "You . . . El Gator Nonuts, you are going to beat up a crippled?"

"You drank my drank mang. Crippled or no, I kick joo ass."

"Wait a minute, what am I doing... Security! Get this man back to his seat or take him to an alley and beat the shit out of him."

'Ey fuc(BLEEP!)head, I work 'ere mang. I'm a wrestler under empl… employmene… I work 'ere chico." El Gato Negro grinned a laughing man's grin.

"Fine!" Lancett released the pent up aggression from the slight annoyance. "You work here, you got a match next week. You can choose who and what kind of match... for all I care you could face me and the winner gets a cream soda."

EGN grinned, "Okay mang, I fight you in the rang for a cream soda."

Lancett looks at him weird. "Are you serious?"

"I am mang. I dead. Dead serious."

"I'll see you next week, kid."

Commercial fade out.

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
Alias(c) vs. Phil Atken
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

  

“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.
Alias picked up Atkens and went to whip him into a corner, again. Atkens reversed said Irish whip and quickly ran forward and dropped out, smacking Alias face-first into the top turnbuckle. He hooked Alias from behind, looking for a German suplex, but there was a standing switch and Alias was practically reading his mind.

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 got back to his feet but Phil stunned him with a quick headbutt. Atken backed up into the ropes and came back looking for a running neck breaker. Alias got his second wind and hit Phil with a high dropkick. Phil fell through the middle and top rope and to the apron.

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
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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!!!”