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

Card subject to change without notice

Previously - Things have been set in motion which will change ACW and it's tone right down to the start of 2005. It starts tonight, whether you know it or not, but keep in mind this date.

ACW will never be the same.

Short Stay
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William Laguna walked with a purpose.

His target?

His office for the night.

Last week's events had not only caused him to lose what seemed to be a vital roster member in Geo Vacton, but it had also lost him an owner for a night, this night, one which he deemed to be quite crucial if this experiment was ever going to work. At the very start he wanted a mix. The serious owners, the firm owners, the fair owners, and then the comedic owner...Vacton.

But that was all gone now.

He made his way through the arena's maze like hallways, following the directions which had been marked on the floors earlier in the day by the ACW staff, as he continued to his make shift headquarters, he passed by Adam Kent, who was clueing up a staff member on the nights match arrangement, as he caught the eye of a less than enamored Laguna.

"William...hold on."

He was ignored...almost.

"Hold on for what Adam? I've got a show to run it seems..."

Kent quickly jogged up, as he skipped and hoped trying to get in pace with the furious owner.

"No, you don't understand, there is something I need to tell..."

A closed fist was raised.

"Adam, do you know the kind and courteous Italian gentleman that you work for?"

Kent nodded.

"He didn't show up tonight, I did."

Laguna set off again, leaving Kent in his tracks, all he could do was shake his head. Laguna turned the bend, as he approached the door to his office, pushing the doors open he stopped in his tracks.

"What the hell are doing in my seat?"

The man looked up.

"What do you mean, 'your seat'?"

P H O E N I X . . . R O S E

Welcome to Courage
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A mid-shot of Phoenix Rose appeared on the bigSCREEN, his long blonde hair tied back neatly in to a ponytail. He looked stern, serious, dare it be said – professional.

“Ladies and gentlemen, in light of his recent departure tonight’s event will not be ran by Geo Vacton but by myself. Because of this all the matches booked by Geo Vacton have been made nil and void, in place of these matches I give you the following:

The first match of the night will pin El Gato Negro against Lancett in a Cream Soda Match. The rules of this one are pretty simple; you’ll follow it from the get-go.”

As for myself? Tonight your main man Phoenix Rose will take on the Mammoth, and as for Marshall… Well let’s just say that if he shows up at ringside I’ll give him the thrashing of a lifetime.”

A slight roar came from the crowd at the prospect of this.

“After my match up I will continue to run the show, with the next match being  ‘Loser Leaves ACW Match’ of the night. That’s right folks!”

Another cheer from the crowd, a cheap pop for the mention of their home city. 

“The  ‘Loser leaves ACW match’ will pin two ACW stars in the making, Chris Messiah and A*Dubbs in a No disqualification match.”

The crowds anticipation for the night ahead grew and grew with the booking of each match. They took note that Chris Messiah was the current Scorpion fighting champion and knew that this match would swing in his favor because of the added stipulation – but they also knew the resilience and strength of A*Dubbs.

The final two matches would have them writhing with delight in their seats.

“Ladies and gentlemen, tonight Quinton May will defend his ACW Television title against…”

It was dramatic. Neigh – it was over dramatic – the beauty of sports entertainment is that you can get away with corny stuff like this, though.

“Blind.”

The crowd cheered, some raised their signs, some stood to their feet, one man went to the bathroom but he’d been busting all the way to the arena and he just couldn’t hold it anymore, that’s not too relevant though.

“And finally.

The main event.

The match you have all been waiting for.

ACW World title match.

The champion - Alias will take on none other than… 

Simian Kade.”

As the fans cheered Phoenix Rose’s self-allotted timeslot came to a close.

“Ladies and gentlemen, enjoy the show.

Black flickered across the screen leaving behind a flicker of a new ACW logo. This night was indeed going to be a fresh start for the ACW Company – and Rose was the driving force behind it.

What an honor.

Cream Soda Match
El Gato Negro Vs. Lancett
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A one on one, El Gato Negro against Lancett, battle between two extremely talented men over one prize: a cream soda! 

Control Model’s “Forever Bearing Scars” blared over the arena and people where already booing because they hated both of these men, but they loved the fact that they where going to kick each other’s carcasses. The Megastar appeared though the curtains still a little slow but not a limp to be seen. Lancett reached the end of the isle and did his trademark stare down with the fans. He ran towards the ring and slid in the ring feet first and sprang to his feet. The Peoria Pirate looked about and got to his turnbuckle and leaned against it, not getting on it. He seemed more focus due to the actions of hWo maybe have knocked some sense in him, probably not though. 

“Tira Me A Las Arañas" cooed over the speakers like a beautiful heron, singing music that almost seems as though it was written just for you, because you’re so drop-dead gorgeous. However, the moment was ruined as El Gato Negro stepped out from the back, grabbed his nuts, mooned the crowd, and yelled, "HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" all the way down to the ring. 

EGN got into the ring and the sound returned to the chattering and cheering of the audience. The referee came over to EGN from the opposing corner as he was searching Lancett and next was EGN. Lancett stretched with the aid of the ropes. 

Ding. Ding. Ding. The bell rang. 

Lancett walked. EGN walked. They meet face to chest in the middle of the ring. EGN looked up towards Lancett.

EGN’s spitfire mouth opened vulgar comments towards Lancett. Lancett palmed EGN’s forehead and whip lashed him to the ground. El Gato Negro crawled away from Lancett quickly holding his head. The Escape Artist quickly got to his feet and scowled Lancett. “Oh bring it, bitch.” Lancett dared him. 

EGN ran at Lancett but surprised him and dropped to his back as Lancett lunged to grab him. Gato entangled his legs around Lancett’s upper calf and took him off his feet via drop toehold. The Black Cat quickly rolled with Lancett’s fall to latch a form of an STF, one of the million versions. Lancett was over powering EGN with his leg power. EGN being the very well trained submission genius that he is quickly switched the STF into a half crab and brought Lancett’s body into a bend placing his knee on Lancett’s neck/shoulder. 

Lancett never knew he could bend like this. 

EGN leaned his head back trying to get more pressure, but his grip was slipping and eventually he had to let go. Lancett lay there motionless, and EGN took a simple breather against the ropes. The Black Cat took advantage of Lancett’s motionless state and rebounded off the ropes. He then goose stepped bushwhacker style toward Lancett, jumping into the air and landing his knee into the place where Lancett’s head was. Lancett moved in the nick of time. 

Lancett, in a sitting position, sent three swift jabs to EGN’s face. The Black Cat’s head jerked with every hit, damn they looked like it hurt. 

EGN fell to the side, his vision blurred.

The Megastar walked over to a far corner and held his back as a flying body of The Black Cat greeted him. Lancett almost folded inside out into the turnbuckle. EGN got up quickly and sent some swift toe kicks to the lower back of Lancett. 

Lancett pushed out of the turnbuckle getting out of the death trap. EGN then got a running start towards Lancett. Mr. Kid Frost quickly took his advantage and sent an arm across the face of EGN. EGN got turned into a crash dummy as this brutal clothesline hit him. Lancett looked at EGN’s limp body and pulled him to a vertical base. 

Lancett held him up by his fro and quickly took him down with one of his trademark moves: Legacy Ender DDT. Then Lancett quickly went for the finish.
One… 

Two… 

Kick out. 

The Black Cat wasn’t in pain; he was merely taking a breather as Lancett went for the pin fall. The Legacy Ender DDT didn’t do anything to EGN except flatten his huge fro. EGN spun out from under Lancett as he argued with the referee and snapped in a cross face.
Lancett dodged a bullet by sending a quick boot back into EGN’s testicles.

The crowd felt EGN’s pain, half of them moaning and half of them cheering wildly. Lancett lifted El Gato Negro up and Irish whipped him toward the ropes. The cunning Escape Artist did just that: escape, as he baseball slid beneath the bottom rope to the outside, cupping his balls with his hand in pain.

Lancett followed quickly, stepping between the ropes to the outside. Then began the game of tag, as EGN took off running around the ring and Lancett chased him. After a lap and a half, The Black Cat slid back into the ring, and caught Lancett as he did with a futbol kick right into the face.

EGN laughed and yelled, “GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAL~!” he soared around the ring with his arms out, as though he had just scored a goal in a huge game. Lancett writhed in pain on the mat as the crowd let out the biggest amount of heat so far that night, nearly rioting as EGN ran back to Lancett and did it again.

“GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAL~!”

After running around some more, El Gato Negro finally decided to stop the show and lifted Lancett up by the hair. Apparently dizzy from the futbol kick as he staggered backward into the rope, EGN ran for a clothesline but Lancett was coherent enough to duck underneath it. The Black Cat bounced off the ropes and was met with a clothesline himself. EGN was sent flying over the ropes…

…Or so one thought; EGN held onto the top rope and lifted himself up and over as Lancett turned and hunched over for a breather. The crowd tried to warn Lancett and EGN snuck behind him Repo Man style, with a finger over his mouth to indicate to the crowd for them to shut the hell up. He tapped Lancett on the shoulder… Lancett turned.

The Megastar ducked the moonsault dropkick, and he attempted a dropkick of his own, only for that to get dodged as well. Both of them reached their feet at the very same time, and began sending rights and lefts at each other. Lancett gained the upper-hand and EGN was reeling backward. EGN kept moving farther and farther back until he backed the referee unwillingly in the corner…

And ducked a hard right, and the referee fell out cold.

It was then that EGN raked Lancett’s eyes, and smashed his head on the turnbuckle.

So, like any good heel would do…

He slid outside to the time keeper’s table, and ripped the bell from the ringer’s hands. Lancett was just starting to get up as The Black Cat slid in the ring and slapped Lancett right across the jaw with it.

The Megastar dropped like a five-pound sack of shit.

EGN threw the bell out of the ring and back to the timekeeper’s general area, and shook the referee until he finally started getting his senses back. El Gato Negro quickly placed Lancett into a sleeper hold, and the referee lifted Lancett’s hand slowly…

Once it dropped.

Twice it dropped.

…

Thrice, it dropped.

The bell rang (ironic, no?) and the announcer brought with him a glass bottle of cream soda.

“THE WINNER OF THIS MATCH AS RESULT OF THE KNOCK OUT RULE… ELLL GATOOOOOOOO, NEEEEEEEEEEEGROOOOOOOOOOO!”

The fans felt robbed, and showed it as EGN guzzled the bottle of cream soda as Lancett started to wake up.

Once finished, the crowd only thought he was an asshole.

When he did, everyone *knew* it, as right when Lancett got to all fours Gato took the empty bottle and broke it over his head.

“I DON’T EVEN *LIKE* CREAM SODA JOO BEETCH AESS!”

The fans cried bloody murder as the show faded to a commercial break.

WINNER : EGN

I've Been Better
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"It's good to be back!" he announced out aloud.

Barely managing to supress a wry grin, Quinton May stood in the backstage area, intently looking on at the officials that were scurrying around, so absorbed in their job. Which was, to ensure that Courage didn't end up flopping big time. That could easily happen, you know.

Especially with Laguna's ingenious idea of letting the inmates run the nuthouse.

Shaking his head, bemused, the Rising Star picked up his bag and trodded down the hallway. He was aware that Phoenix Rose was running the show tonight, and aimed to meet up with the man to get the scoop on any possible ideas for opponents for the Television Champion. Couple of weeks away from the scene had reinvigorated May's hunger for success.

But it was never quite explained. His absence.

Why had he been away?

A backstage official who wasn't too muddled up in the affairs of the show attempted to find out, as he looked up from his hot pink bind folder. "Quinton? Hey, Quinton! Kellog Anderson here! It's been a couple of weeks, eh, my man? How you doin'?"

"Hey, Kellog. I've been better... erm, but I also can't complain. And yeah, quite some time since I stepped foot. I feel like a stranger!" May replied rather unassuredly, while looking as if some colour and humour had returned to his life; last time ACW fans saw him, he was all broody and anti-social and depressed. Contradicting, right?

Oh, wait. Something more important to talk about.

KELLOG?! What kind of fruit gets named KELLOG?! Well, except for the cornflake cereal guy, and he's cool. But other than that, nobody in their right mind should name their kid KELLOG. This is why you do NOT smoke while carrying a child, folks.

But, ahem, back to the point.

Kellog & Quinton shook hands as they approached each other, whilst the stream of officials that were rushing around sorta glared at Kellog; on a night where the card looked so mouth-watering on paper and thus, every effort had to be made to ensure that the ratings reflected the quality ACW always promised... one of their own had time to chat with the wrestlers?

Somebody was going to find his car tyres punctured.

"What happened, man? Most of us were quite worried; you know how it is here, and the curse we've got regarding the talent. We're the revolving door of ALL revolving doors. Plus, you're our TV Champion and our Rising Star! Wouldn't be the same without you in the house, ya know?" Kellog started up as the two men trekked down to a quiet corner so they could chat.

Uninterrupted.

Putting down his bag on the floor again and looking quite remorseful, Quincy Mama leaned against the wall, folding his arms, trying to think of the right things to say. "To be honest, I was quite disillusioned after the REVIVAL PPV. A personal issue rose to the surface and it, eh, dredged up some old doubts and general sadness.

Also, my body was quite spent. Perhaps it was too soon after the blast, heh.

And plus, I needed time off anyways to let my leg injuries heal. Too many people were working it over the wrong way, and I figured I best fix it up before it becomes a long-term issue and puts me out of commission for good. That would REALLY be calamitious for the company, eh? With the lack of top-tier players and all."

Kellong Anderson nodded, understanding. He too folded his arms, thinking it'd make him look sexy.

"I just don't understand it, though!" Quinton continued, looking as if he had been doing a tad too much reminiscing. "The federation had so much talent last year despite all the bad stuff happening. Despite all the shennanigans and the mass mayhem that was regularly breaking out, our product was absolute top-notch.

By that token, people should know that ACW is just too damn difficult to keep down, by now.

So you'd think that we wouldn't have this 'revolving door' problem anymore, eh?

In fact, I think it's worse this time around. Especially for our resources to be so depleted so early in the game. We just came about two months ago, and we're already facing insurmountable odds.

I won't lie to you, Kellog, that's partially why I decided to take a break precisely after the PPV. Morale was low here in the camp, and it spread to me. I just needed to get away and think about whether it was worth staying on. Worth devoting the time and energy to what could be a lost cause.

Then I realised that ACW is my home. My launching pad.

It would be pretty damn foolish for me to split, ever. And especially in this, the time of need. That's why I decided that I would come back and contribute. To do what I was hired to do.

Not just for the company's sake, but for mine as well."

AWWWWWWW! 

Kellog Anderson stood there, almost teary-eyed from listening to Quinton May's touching and moving yammering about ACW. At that exact moment, Kellog felt as if he was standing in front of Superman, despite the obvious difference - Quinton was Canadian, Superman stood for the American dream and all that bollocks.

Me thinks Kellog just has a crush for Tom Welling. Ha. What a nancy boy.

"That's so inspiring!" Kellog murmured as he turned to look at his colleagues still scurrying about, and still scowling at him. In response, Kellog simply waved at them like a retard. Quinton, meanwhile, just shrugged and grinned to himself.

Before Kellog Anderson remembered something that wouldn't sit well with the Canadian Gladiator.

"But with that said, Quinton, you're not going to like this -- we have THREE people leaving after tonight's show, for sure. That's why tonight is so important, because the card is loaded with a couple of gimmick matches; 2/3 Falls, Ladder, and so on and so forth. Hopefully, it'll work out well, since I *think* we have new talent coming in at the end of the moment!" Anderson explained, garnering a shake of the head from the Tele'ision Champion.

Who then remembered he had somewhere to be. "Oh yeah, that reminds me; I hear Phoenix Rose is steering the ship tonight. Where is he? I wish to find out if there are any match plans for me in the weeks to come. I'm raring to get back into that ring and picking up where I left off."

"Heh, you got a match tonight, in fact. For your title, too; against blind!"

Looking a wee bit surprised, Quinton May unhooked his arms and stroked his facial hair, whilst another official came up to Kellog Anderson and whispered something in his ear. Once that conference was over, Kellog turned to find that the Canadian Gladiator had already upped and left to assumedly prepare for the match he'd just learnt off.

Then, Kellog thought of something that seemed out of place.

Something that was now nagging away at his brain like an insatiable whore in heat.

"Does he have a cold or something?" 

Action! sucked
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Tonight’s head of operations, Phoenix Rose wondered down the halls of the arena for no apparent reason before turning a corner as he reached a form of T-Junction. Rose turned left to be confronted with:

“GAHHHHHHHHH~!~!~!~!~!~!”

SYLO!!!!!!

Rose slipped and fell to the floor with quite the thud before peering up in fear at the blue haired monster that peered down on him from…

An old Action! poster? What the fuck?

A!W sucked.

Phoenix Rose Vs the Mammoth
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the Mammoth stood behind the scenes for a few seconds whilst ‘A violent reaction’ by American Head Charge began to boom out its opening lyrics. Soon enough the Mammoth paced out on to the ramp and marched right down to the ring, climbing the steps and stepping in to the ring through the ropes. He meant all business tonight and it showed with the expression on his face. The Mammoth would NEVER be made an example of; he would NEVER be used as a simple pawn in the mind games of Phoenix Rose.

The Mammoth waited for the arrival of his opponent for the night, for the man in charge of operations in ACW, the former EYE Gold Champion amongst numerous other awards and titles that the Mammoth cared very little for.

It was his night, he was in charge of the show and this was what he wanted. He wanted to send a message to Marshall through his tag team partner, the Mammoth.

Phoenix Rose stood in the gorilla position behind the black curtain that kept him from the view of the audience for a short while until it was his cue to make his entrance. Rose had spent the last match getting dressed and doing a short warm up for the match but was quite unprepared for the fight ahead of him.

Donned in his usual ring attire Phoenix bounced on the balls of his feet as he waited to hear—

And he heard it. The sound of his entrance theme – ‘Private Eye’ by Alkaline Trio blurred through the P.A. System of the arena and he waited for a few seconds to let the fans get to their feet and give him the usual standing ovation.

Rose parted the curtain and sprung out on to the head of the ramp, waving his arms furiously in the air, waving at the vast ocean of his adoring fans that lay in front of him. Rose’s smile glistened under the arenas bright lights as he began to walk down the ramp, slapping the hands of many lucky young children that were stretched all across the front row, held out at arms length by eager fathers who were just as excited as the youngsters were to be this close to such a competitor.

Rose finally rolled in to the ring and began to circle around, his eyes never leaving the Mammoth – not even for a moment.

The bell sounded and both men charged at one another, Rose ducking the outstretched arm of the Mammoth before spinning around and delivering a dropkick in to the back of the big mans legs, one foot per knee. The Mammoth’s knees buckled and he fell down to be resting on his shins. Rose flipped himself to his feet reminiscent of WWE’s own Shawn Michaels before dropkicking the Mammoth in the back of the head sending him crashing down to the mat face first.

Rose was never one to leave an opportunity unanswered and so he quickly hopped on to the back of the Mammoth and pulled on his face, locking him in to a camel clutch. The Mammoth groaned deeply in pain for a few seconds before letting out an almighty grunt and began to drag himself up to all fours, from there he would proceed to get straight up to both feet leaving Rose with his legs wrapped around the Mammoths’ huge frame and his hands still clasp over the mouth of the tree-like sized monster. The Mammoth reached his arms back and took Rose by the ponytail, bending over and jerking Rose over his head and slamming him down to the mat in a modified snapmare.

Rose rolled around in pain on the mat, grasping at his spine and lower back area. The Mammoth gave him little time to recover as he took a hand full of the ponytail once more and dragged him up to his feet. The Mammoth scooped Rose up as if to be going for a hard scoop slam but the head of tonight’s operations countered the move and slid over the shoulder of the Mammoth and locked in a rear waist lock. Rose pulled the Mammoth right off his feet and delivered a release German suplex to the man known formerly as ‘the John’.

The Mammoth rolled to his feet, as did Rose who now aimed to build on his newfound momentum. He almost *murdered* Mammoth with a harsh knife-edged chop to the chest as the latter turned around, then took to kicking him in the right knee. Before going back to the chop. The crowd cheered Rose on, as the EYE Gold Champion began to alternate between the chop and the kick to the knee.

Marshall was furious at the head of the ramp where he was now jogging down towards ringside, and you just know he was itching to get his hands on Rosey.

Mammoth was reeling in the ring, and Phoenix was simply not letting up on his attack. With sweat pouring off his body, Rose took a couple of steps back and bounced himself off the ropes, driving his forearm into Mammoth's sternum on the rebound. Didn't do a whole lot, but it kept Mammoth stunned. Desperate, Rose ran into the ropes again, but had to contend with Mammoth snapping out of his stupor and charging at him like an elephant.

Phoenix Rose, though, was a very smart man and slid between Mammoth's legs. This definitely took the big man by surprise, as did the jumping roundhouse kick to his face as he turned around! Mammoth was down to one knee now, and Marshall was letting his foul mouth show what he thought about the happenings in the ring.

Rose now had an idea, and AGAIN shot himself into the ropes, deciding to dropkick his extremely gargantuan opponent in the side of the head as he came off. The move paid dividends, and Mammoth finally collapsed to the canvas, a'la fresh timber!

The fans, naturally, were thrilled.

Especially since Phoenix Rose dragged his beaten body to the corner and climbed to the top as best as he could. His muscles were sore, his bones were rattling, but all the while, his spirit couldn't be destroyed. On the outside, Marshall screamed for his partner to get up, but Mammoth couldn't listen.

He was out of it, enjoying the view of the rafters.

Phoenix Rose aimed to ensure that the rafters was the last thing the Mammoth would see in the match, and raised his arms in the air as he balanced himself on the top of the turnbuckle. It was a huge risk that Rose was taking, but he was sure that it'd be worth the pain.

So, without any fear whatsoever, Phoenix took a leap of faith...

.

.

.

...And connecting with a spectacular diving headbutt that almost split the Mammoth into two!

"PHOENIX ROSE!
"PHOENIX ROSE!
"PHOENIX ROSE!
"PHOENIX ROSE!

The daredevil gamble had indeed paid off. It'd taken a chunk out of Rose as well, as expected, but the cheers of the crowd and Marshall's disappointed groans on the outside spurred the EYE Gold Champion on. All he had to do now was make the cover.

Which he did, even hooking the legs to make sure;


ONE!!!


TWO!!!


THREEEEEEEEE - NO! KICKOUT!


the Mammoth had managed to save himself from what would surely be considered a huge upset, much to Marshall's relief. Phoenix Rose shook his head, clearly distraught over not having ended the match. But like the warrior he was, Rose forcibly pulled his larger opponent up to his feet, aiming a couple of forearm smashes to the sternum and the face.

Then, Phoenix stumbled back a couple of inches, before jumping forward and extending his left leg out.

SUPERKICK~!

Or not. the Mammoth was out of it, but not THAT out of it. He swatted Phoenix Rose's leg away with relative ease, before charging in for the clothesline. Rose rolled to the mat and shot himself into the ropes, running back at Mammoth as fast as his legs would have him. Mammoth was one step ahead of Phoenix, though, and before you knew it, he'd back body dropped Rose over his head, to much awe.

Actually, the awe was there because Phoenix landed on his feet and stiffly punched Mammoth in the back of the head, before taking out the big man's legs from under him with a sweeping dropkick! Mammoth growled as he collapsed to the mat, and his hands instantly clutched his right knee.

And just like that, Phoenix Rose had Mammoth in the grips of defeat. Why do I say that.

SHARPSHOOTER, baby~! The contest was more over than... say, SilverHAWK was when he was still in his prime and a fan favourite? That takes us back to 1996, actually, but I digress.

The bottomline was, the Mammoth had powered the fuck out of the Sharpshooter.

You read correctly. Just as soon as Phoenix Rose turned over and cinched the hold in, Mammoth used his astonishing leg strength to power out of the move. And in the process, Rose unfortunately found himself colliding with the referee, who was now sprawled out in the corner of the ring.

Marshall's eyes gleamed. And he promptly grabbed a chair. This was a moment he'd been waiting for.

Phoenix Rose staggered back up to his feet and shook his head again, shocked that the Mammoth was able to do what he did. With his ever-present determination urging him on, Rose hobbled forward towards his opponent, keen to inflict more damage. By this time, though, the Mammoth had recovered quite nicely.

And easily caught Phoenix Rose in a chokehold.

Cue the loud chorus of jeering and insane hatred. Marshall stopped himself from entering the ring, thinking that his partner was able to do it on his own now.

He was so wrong.

Because Phoenix Rose kicked the Mammoth in the balls. Hard.

Now, guess what the fans did? Damn skippy, they cheered their hearts out. This was before Marshall rolled into the ring and sneaked up on Phoenix Rose. Rose gasped for air, managing a grin even, for he had gotten his opponent in the perfect position for his finishing move. The referee was also recovering.

Shame about that steel chair, though.

SMACCCCCK!

Rose could taste the blood building up in the back of his mouth as the metal folded over the back of his head before he collapsed to the floor in a heap. Marshall dropped the chair in to the ring and dropped down to the outside of the ring where a secondary chair was waiting for him. He took it and entered the squared circle sliding the smoking gun across the ring to the Mammoth who promptly picked it up.

’Blown spot? I’ll give him a fucking blown spot.’

The idea was for each man to collide the tips of their chair in front of Rose’s face so as to leave enough space between them so that the head of Rose wasn’t crushed between two pieces of steel, but Patrick Marshall had other plans. The Mammoth placed his chair up alongside the side of Steiner’s cranium but Patrick slammed his chair right in to the nose of Steiner as is he was the final batter in a world series going for the winning home run. Rose slapped the back of his head on the mat violently and felt completely dazed. Blood squirted from his nose and Patrick dropped to the mat and rolled out of the ring, taking the chair with him.

Across the ring the official dramatically began his slow crawl back to his knees, Marshall took the chair from a stunned Mammoth who still stood over Rose staring down at his blood layered face in total shock.

“P-pin me” Rose spluttered as he lay there on the mat, even his eyeballs drowning in crimson regret.

The Mammoth dropped to his knees and rested on top of Rose.

1…

2…

This was just a formality.

3.

The bell sounded as Patrick Marshall left the ringside area by walking up the side of the ramp. The audiences boos roared until Rose was carried off the scene and out of view.

WINNER : The Mammoth

thereturn/02
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Ahhh, nuts. Don't you hate it when two guys stand in the shadows and talk cryptically?

"Well, it seems as if everything is back on track, mate. There was a little scare there, but it appears that all the bloody kinks 'ave worked themselves out just fine!" so said the man with the Irish accent, with a tinge of relief inherent in his tone. "The timetables may 'ave been pushed back a bit, guvnor, but that's worked to our advantage.

It's given you more time to readjust and sharpen your skills, eh.

Won't be long now, I dare say. Won't be too long at all. Ya do remember why I brought ya 'ere, innit? Why I 'ave been moulding you for this very mission?"

Now, if you were observant and had a very good memory, you'd remember this same Irish man talking to someone in the dark many weeks ago. Many MANY weeks ago. Way back in April, in fact. And this man with the sour native accent of his kept referring to someone within ACW who'd survived a bomb blast. Who oh who could that be?

A loud chuckle rang out, followed by a deep breath. "I remember, and I understand, Corn."

That's it, Corn was the name of the man sporting the Irish accent.

"What I don't understand, amongst everything else, is why do we have to keep on with this facade of ours? Why can't I call you the way you were meant to be called? Why can't you show your true face to the world? Why can't you... talk to me the way you should be talking to me? I don't see the need for keeping up appearances!" fired back the angsty & bitter one, whose voice although muffled, sounded quite... youthful.

But in that sense, not so youthful.

'Corn' could be seen shaking his head and taking an especially long drag on his cigarette, so clearly standing outside one of the side-exits of the building, courtesy of the fluorescent tube light fixed above the door. Yet, somehow, the man managed to *just* stay out of the spectrum of light, while the smoke from his cigarette flitted into the white light.

"I 'ave to admit, you do 'ave wise questions." the Irishman stated matter-of-factly, his tone dropping down a notch.

"The reason for the secrecy and the appearances, guvnor, is because if anyone from BACK THERE finds you here, this entire mission goes up in flames, and I'm just not bloody goin' to stand fah that!

We can't risk anyone finding us out until it's time, mate. We just can't.

You know the severity of this mission. You know just what's at stake 'ere, innit? It's chance to right a wrong! THE wrong! And you are the best soddin' hope there is. It's the main reason you were brought back, guvnor. It's the only reason worth livin' for, don't ya think?"

Flicking the cigarette away, 'Corn' turned his head to the right, to presumedly face his younger companion. All that was heard this time, however, was silence.

Pure silence. Like the angsty and bitter man was digesting the words of his guide.

"It is, yes." he finally replied.

With a laugh, 'Corn' nodded his head, and the two shuffled out of sight. They had done their spying for the night, it seemed, and with a little bit more insight into their relationship and on the purpose of their association having been revealed. Still, many a question lingered.

Except for the most obvious one -- who was the target?

"Quinton May is gonna pay."

Loser Leaves ACW Match - No DQ
Chris Messiah Vs. A*Dubbs
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

  

Oh, yay! Another match. This would be a Falls Count Anywhere match, too.

And with that, "Patiently Waiting" by 50 Cent & Eminem started up over the speakers. Instant jeering for the man that made his official return a few weeks ago, where he tried to hamper Geo Vacton's chances of winning the US Title. Since then, though, this man has been missing.

Why? I don't know. Geo Vacton has also since left the ACW. After winning the US Title, too. And the most difficult part for ACW fans; he left for a rival promotion! That no-good no-gooder! Hmph!

Either way, A*DUBBS was finally ready to make his re-debut on ACW programming.

With the cockiest smirk implanted on his face, A*Dubbs sauntered down the ramp with a kendo stick in his hand, aiming to make his return to ACW a long one. Huzzah? See, whoever lost this match would be out of a job. Part of the suspense Phoenix Rose decided to inject into Courage, as already documented throughout the night.

Dubbs slid into the ring and waved his kendo stick around, taking the opportunity to scope out some of the mamacitas sitting in the front row. The jeering was as loud as it could be, and it seemed as if Dubbs was right at home with it. He was, after all, one of the hated men in ACW one year prior.

Interesting tidbit; it was slightly less than a year ago, at GLORY 2003, that Dubbs wrestled his last match in ACW. And it was against the monster known as Dante Inferno.

Tonight, though, Dubbs would fight another kind of monster.

"Bitter Sweet Symphony" by The Verve (the James Lavelle Instrumental Remix), ladies and gents.

CHRIS
'THE GREAT ONE'
MESSIAH

Instant heel heat for one of the two comic geniuses of ACW, although there were pocket of fans who were cheering for Messiah. You gotta believe that Joe Soap must have given them something they really wanted, like toothbrushes or something. Anyways, Messiah didn't look too happy when he brushed past the curtains. In fact, he was wearing his street clothes.

I guess he didn't expect to wrestle tonight.

Which would explain why he had a microphone in his hand. Oh boy, a Messiah rant coming up. WEEE!

"Cut my sexy music! CUT IT! This is monkey crap!" Chrissycakes screamed at the top of his voice, to even more jeering from the crowd and to the surprise of A*Dubs. "This is an outrage! I was supposed to have the night off so that I could play Hide & Seek with my buddy, Joseph Soapeth!

He's expecting me to seek him now, dammit! Who was the clown who signed this match? McCracken Atken, was it you? Huh? Did you secretly sign this match a few weeks ago, huh?

IT doesn't matter. I'm not wasting my time fighting some hobo with an extremely long dildo. WHAT? HE'S A WRESTLER? Oh, okay, I'm not fighting some pimply-faced rookie, then. I'm Chris Messiah, for Joe's sake!"

Then, someone else fed Messiah the truth about A*Dubbs, who continued to smile on smugly from the ring.

"WHAT? HE'S A FORMER US CHAMPION? BUT LOOK AT HIM! EVEN JOE SOAP HAS BETTER HAIR THAN THIS JOKER! HELL, PHILLY ATKEN COULD PROBABLY BEAT THIS CUNT! AND I'VE BEATEN ATKEN BEFORE!" Chrissy ranted and raved, oblivious that he would have to put his job on the line against A*Dubbs.

Obviously, our Scorpion Fighting Champion isn't too updated on the current affairs of ACW.

By this time, A*Dubbs had kinda lost his patience and requested a microphone of his own. Maybe he was going to sing. He *does* have a sexy singing voice, you know. Then again, judging by the way he was pointing his kendo stick at Chris, maybe Dubbs was going to put Messiah in his place.

Let's see.

"Listen up here, ya stupid foo'. I could beat a cracka like you any damn day of the week. It's just a damn shame 'hat I gotta beat yo ass and retire it in my first match back here. But hey, I did come back for a reason. That reason bein' the US Title, and that cracka, Geo fuckin' Vacton. What happened to him since he found out I was fo' real?

He upped and left. That's what the coward did.

Now, since you've got a title of yo own, why don't we make this match for that piece of tin, aight? I think I'd look good with that around meh waist. See, I'm the number one nucka around these parts.

I'm a playa, true and true.

You, though, are just another white punk with a funny-ass mouth who's gonna be outta job in a while. Since you can't take the heat, I'm gonna make yo sorry ass quit your bitchin' and put you out your damn misery! So quit stalling, cracka, and get yo white ass down here!"

WOW. Strong words from A*Dubbs. Certainly hasn't lost a single bit of his flair, hasn't he?

Needless to say, Chris Messiah was stewing in his own rage. He tapped his title around his waist and bowed his head, apparently thinking of something. Then, he looked at Dubbs, a huge smile on his face.

"Firstly, you crunt, this is the THREAT INTERNATIONAL TITLE! And thirdly, you've got yourself a deal... just as long as you come and get me! MY title, my rules. Referee Suckerson, ring the bell and slap your ass!" Chrissycakes offered, still smiling, before he dropped the microphone and went up the stage.

A*Dubbs started to object, before the referee rang the bell (*DING DING DING*) and told the Numba One Nucka that it was Chrissy's Scorpion Fighting Title (read: thReat International Title), so the champion had every right to make up the rules as and when he pleased.

So, FALLS COUNT ANYWHERE was really gonna be FALLS COUNT ANYWHERE. YAY!

Dubbs jumped out of the ring and jogged up the ramp, just as Messiah disappeared behind the curtains, with that sneaky grin of his still on his face. Everybody soon diverted their attention to the video wall as Dubbs brushed past the curtains and began his search of his opponent, twirling the kendo stick in hand. Funnily enough, though, Chris had vanished into thin air. Just like that.

Or maybe.

Just maybe, he was lying in wait. With a chair.

SMACK!

Dubbs crumpled down to the concrete and his face bounced off of it like a basketball would bounce off the court. Chris squealed with delight and jumped up and down like a schoolgirl, obviously pleased with his devious plan.

Then decided to inflict more punishment.

SMACK!

SMACK!

SMACK!

SMACK!

SMACK!

SMACK!

SMACK!

Much, much, much more punishment, it seemed. The crowd were sickened, but Chris didn't care.

SMACK!

SMACK!

SMACK!

SMACK!

SMACK!

SMACK!

SMACK!

With the chair dented, Chris threw it away and pulled his shirt over his head, ala South American footie players who'd just scored important goals in high-profile matches. A*Dubbs? Oh, he was alive, don't worry. Just barely, but hey, we can't have everything we want, can we?

Life's just not fair. Deal with it.

Just like A*Dubbs had to deal with Chris Messiah placing his foot on the Nucka's spine, as a form of a cover. The referee, who'd been standing in the corner, shook his head as he dropped to the ground and counted;

ONE.

TWO.

... THREE.

And that was that! Chris pulled down his shirt off of his head and laughed like Dr Zoidberg would do, relishing the fact that he'd just ended the ACW career of A*Dubbs in less than five minutes. It was hard to believe for most fans, but it was true. And you know it's true when Kurt Angle says it.

Anywho, Chris picked up his thReat International Title and left, having masterminded another sneaky victory.

As for A*Dubbs?

HE WAS FIRED! NA NA NA NA, NA NA NA NA...

HEY HEY HEYYYY...

.... GOOOOOOODBBBBBBBYE!

WINNER : Chris Messiah

By Storm
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


And with the commercials over, Courage lit up the skies once again.

The focus of everyone in the arena fell upon the ring, but there was no announcement of a match. None whatsoever. Instead, it appeared as if the man in the ring -- scrawny fella dressed in a shabby suit -- was going to perform some kind of sales pitch. Why do I say that? The black briefcase he held in his right hand was a dead giveaway.

Nervously enough, with the crowd watching on expectantly, the man raised the microphone in his left hand up to his lips. Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead furiously, and his knees were a-knockin' against each other; a true indication of how scared he was to be doing what he was doing and what he was about to do.

"H-H-Hello, ladies and gentlemen!" the man stammered, to which the crowd less-than-enthusiastically responded with warm applause. "I have been given permission for this precious airtime to speak to all of you and to the wrestlers employed by this company, so do please hear me out. This matter is of grave concern.

My name is... Michael Jay Faux. F-A-U-X.

I'm 28 years old, and I'm... ahhh, I was born in Ireland. A-And, more to the point, I'm an insurance agent. Actually, I used to be the best damn insurance agent around, until my personal life got turned upside down. See, I'm divorced.

I lost my two kids, Darren and Louise, to the wife.

Ex-wife, I mean. Theresa's her name. Or rather, evil bitch from HELL! I mean, so what if I think staying with my parents until they die is cool? I mean, my mom likes to wait hand-and-foot on us, so... why not, right?

What's so wrong with giving my mom a purpose in life, eh?

O-Okay, so I'm veering off the beaten track here. Back to the point.

In this day of age, no one can be assured of physical safety. Our bones, as is, are brittle. Spending thousands of dollars on surgeries to fix up that broken leg or that dislocated shoulder doesn't mean it won't happen again. It means that you can expect another surgery soon, which means more money.

And especially in a business like this.

Which is why I am here today. To help all of you. From the fans, to the wrestlers, to the backstage management who might slip over that pesky banana peel and break a hip. Or a neck!

Do you all understand what I'm trying to say here?"

Pedro, the fat Mexican man in the front row, sratched his head and stared blankly at 'Michael Jay Faux'. Next to him, Shawna, the shemale from Canada, was just as stupefied.

The announcers, whom everybody overlook, had no idea what to say.

Taking a moment to survey the crowd, 'Michael Jay Faux' gulped and realised that he'd lost the crowd. The first rule in a sales pitch -- as told to him by his hugely inefficient boss -- was to garner the crowd's attention by telling them a brilliant story of heroism and such. And what had 'Michael' done instead?

He'd gone and spilled his guts about his shambolic excuse of a life.

BUT! There was to be a saving grace.

The arena's speaker systems cranked to life, as the stylings of some Japanese rock band filtered through to the ears of the confuddled crowd. 'Michael Jay Faux' turned his attention to the stage, where four men decked out in ninja outfits had made their way out to. Each of them had a different weapon in their possession, as well as a different colour of bandana around their melon heads.

Colour coding. Cute, don't you think?

As if he wasn't already frightened, 'MJF' now apparently had to deal with four ninja-esque dudes, who were gangly and sported hunched shoulders; which, mind you, didn't take away from their stout body size. Each of them, while lacking in height, could easily way in at 225 lbs.

Without warning, the foursome sprinted down the ramp and slid into the ring, immediately surrounding 'Michael Jay Faux'. The crowd, now thinking that the whole thing was some kind of gimmick to introduce the four ninjas, suddenly started to make some noize in the hizhouse. 'Michael Jay Faux', however, knew that what was happening was oh-so-real.

As documented by him wetting his pants.

And if he could pass out, he surely would have. Except that one of the ninjas, the one with the purple bandana, rushed up behind 'MJF' and cracked his weapon -- a long wooden staff -- over the head of the Irish insurance agent. Down he went, like a sack of potatoes, and so did his briefcase and his microphone.

Judging by the sudden mutedness of the crowd, you can say that they did NOT see that coming. The ninja with the purple headgear accessory didn't seem to care, as he reached down and picked up the microphone, while his friends dumped 'Michael Jay Faux' out of the ring.

With the first order of business taken care of, the ninja with the purple raised the mic to his mouth.

"Hello, world." he started, twirling that staff of his in his right hand. "Welcome to the dawning of a new order. You might not know it, but tonight, each and everyone of you are witnessing the beginning of something extremely volatile."

Behind him, the other three ninjas formed a line, while the crowd watched on with semi-keen interest.

"Tonight, begins the reign of terror. We, the Feared Ninja Assassins, are here to perform one simple goal. Although we are not at liberty to disclose just exactly what that goal is, it shall become evident over the course of the coming weeks. And months. Because, believe me, we are here to stay until the very end.

THE. VERY. END.

For amusement's sake, you may call me Donatello.

The three men behind me are my associates. Leonardo is the one with the blue, Raphael is the red, and Michaelengo is the orange. I do hope the American pop culture reference is not lost on you people, but do heed my warning. We are not heroes.

We're the anti-heroes, and we will take this establishment...

BY.

STORM."

Dropping the microphone to the mat, 'Donatello' and the rest of his 'Feared Ninja Assassins' made their swift exit from the ring, just as the sight of paramedics and security officials streaming down the ramp greeted their eyes. The crowd, meanwhile, were left to ponder what the four men who so blatantly ripped off the names of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles really had in store for the ACW.

From the sound of things, it didn't bode well for a company already in trouble.

The horizon just got darker, ACW-ites.

Much, much darker.

Holding Back
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


"Are you coming next week?"

Laguna sat in a makeshift office in the arena with his head resting in his hands, he had been there for a while, and he didn't even want to watch the show...he had had enough. Hillary Duncan had been kept busy the past few weeks helping the talent, and she knew more than anyone that this wasn't working.

"You know, when we first made the draw and Jones came out of the bag, I was relieved." Duncan sat down, she was intrigued. "The fans may hate him like Judas, but he has more experience than you or me running ACW shows, but now with his "disability", I don't know if there is going to even be a show."

Duncan shared her bosses fears, she had learned a lot over the past few weeks, maybe more than she ever thought, but what she wanted, was normality, and routine.

She was realising she was in the wrong job for it.

"I think there should definitely be a plan b put into place William, we don't know what is going to happen next week, will the roster listen to him?"

A shadow crept into the room as Laguna was just about to answer.

"I may have trouble seeing you stabbing me in the back, but I can heard you creeping up."

SilverHAWK.

Laguna rose to his feet.

"Aaron we were just..."

"I know fine well what you were doing Laguna, you were making sure there would be someone to cover the invalid when he fucks up."

Duncan stood silent, biting her tongue.

"I'll tell you what Laguna, show up next week, because I might decide just to give it a miss if that's what you think of me."

Laguna watched on as SilverHAWK moved out of the picture and into the crowded scene, as he looked over at Duncan, she looked back uneasily...next week, will be different.

ACW Television Title Match up
Quinton May Vs. blind
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

  

Oh, look. 

It was time for a match.

Not just any match, however. A TV Title contest, to be more specific. In recent memory, there have been many a stellar bouts for ACW's Television Title that have transpired on Courage; freebies for the fans, eh? Who could forget Scott Perry's tremendous victory over ICU in February of 2003? Or Alias's run as champion, where he defended the title against superstars like Tempest and Steve OMG Christ? Quinton May's first stint as champion was pretty impressive as well -- notably, his defense against KOA 2003 runner-up, Elijah Arson.

This year, everybody got to see the famous Ladder Match between Quinton & Phil Atken, plus the highly entertaining showdown between Quinton and Lancett a few weeks ago. But ever since the Canadian Gladiator hobbled out of the REVIVAL PPV with the TV Title still in his grasp (albeit just barely), the champion hasn't been around to defend his crown. Injuries and an exhausted state of mind were the reasons cited by the Rising Star.

Tonight, though, he was back. But so was someone else.

Another enigma.

The lights in the arena went out, and seconds later, "Angel" by Massive Attack started up over the speakers. Soon, rising mist and red strobe lights were added to the mix, paving the way for the crowd to cheer tremendously. They knew straight off the bat who it was, and couldn't contain their excitement any longer.

They didn't have to. He was already out on the stage, head bowed, his silver-framed shades shining in crimson. His trenchcoat danced around in the air behind him as the man slowly walked down the ramp, also having been absent since the REVIVAL PPV, where he defeated Volker Baldwin in the Cage Match.

You got it, folks. This man was...

... blind!

Having reached the bottom of the ramp, blind slipped out of his trenchcoat and carelessly tossed his shades away, slithering into the ring like a panther. He looked up at the crowd and nodded, all the while remaining tight-lipped. A man of few emotions, but unbounded talent and skill.

Tonight, he had the chance to fulfil the potential he never quite got to show off in thReat; where he came so agonisingly close to winning the International Title, and was one of two #1 Contenders to the World Heavyweight Title just before the untimely demise of the company.

However, blind's opponent would not be a walkover. Anything but, really.

Without warning, "Make A Move" by Lostprophets started to play over the speakers.

The crowd began to erupt, but 17 seconds into the song, the lights in the arena were cut. Now, excitement gripped every single person in the stands, as they counted down to the second where they'd be able to witness the Rising Star of the company appearing before their very eyes.

32 seconds into the song, red and white pyrotechnics lit up the arena.

KA - BOOOOM

So are we lost or do we know?
Which direction we should go?
Sit around and wait for someone,
to take our hands and lead the way.

Because every day we're getting older.
And every day, we all get colder...
We're sick of waiting for our answers.
Our answers...

WAKE UP!
WAKE UP!
WAKE UP!

Yeah, so tired of waiting...
Waiting for ourselves.

WAKE UP!
WAKE UP!
WAKE UP!

Yeah, so sick of waiting...
For us to make a move.

There he was, folks. Quinton 'the Canadian Gladiator' May.

A rapturous ovation was instigated for the TV Champ, and Quincy Mama was definitely appreciative of the response as he stormed out from the back and made his way down the ramp. The man couldn't stop grinning from ear to ear, and the TV Title in his hand looked shinier than ever. More importantly, May looked re-energised.

And so totally ready to embark on his latest challenge.

Climbing into the ring, Quincy Mama raised his arms up into the air and showed off his TV Title, while blind stood in a corner and observed the champion. Who, by the way, looked almost surprised at the massive response he was garnering. He kissed the title belt and handed it to the patiently-waiting referee. Who then held the title up in the air again, before leaning in to briefly & quickly re-iterate the rules of the match to both the competitors.

Not like either one needed to hear 'em again. Nor could they, even if they wanted to; Especially since Quinton & blind had already locked eyes and sized up each other, perfectly underlining each man's desire to come out on top.

* DING DING DING *

The match was underway, and neither man wasted time in circling each other. For some reason, Quinton suddenly didn't appear too comfortable in the ring, and was taken aback slightly when blind rushed in for the tie-up. This allowed blind to exert pressure in the tie-up, before pushing May into the ropes and nailing him with an especially hard knee-lift to the ribs.

Early advantage to blind. Quinton winced as he staggered back, but didn't have much time to think about it, with blind going in for a haymaker. The Canadian Gladiator ducked and took to a roll, scoring with a stunning hook as he jumped up to his feet. blind didn't see it coming at all, and the same could be said for the following six hooks. Needless to say, the crowd were worked up into a frenzy.

But when Quinton whipped blind into the ropes and the latter surprised with a flying forearm, the crowd even wilder. For they knew that this was going to be a titanic battle between two superior talents.

blind kipped to his feet and poised himself in a corner of the ring, while Quinton May staggered to his feet, completely bamboozled as to how his opponent did what he did. Turning around was probably not a good idea, as blind promptly and comprehensively clotheslined the TV Champ back down to the canvas. And the challenger didn't even bother waiting for Quinton to recover. He had other plans.

Such as... oh, an Asai moonsault completely out of nowhere?

Not to mention, the lateral press immediately after;

ONE.

TWO.

TH - SHOULDER.

Quinton wasn't really in any trouble there, but his face told a different story. blind pulled the Rising Star up to his feet and pumped out a couple of hard hooks to the face, before whipping Quincy into the ropes. The initial clothesline attempt was blocked, and as May was about to bounce off the parallel set of ropes, blind got himself position and timed himself.

Best dropkick in the business!

... Well, not. Quincy Mama tied his arms up in the ropes, and blind crashed unceremoniously down to the canvas, his spine bearing the brunt of the failed dropkick. Within a heartbeat, the TV Champion hoisted himself up onto the middle rope and leapt off with a measured elbow aimed directly at blind's sternum. Trouble was, however, May took a little TOO long to measure up the move; which was surprising, because he had always been confident with such high-risk moves before.

Not tonight, though. And it was the Rising Star's turn to taste the mat, with blind seizing the chance to roll out of the way, albeit only barely. It was then blind's turn to display how quick he was, as he rolled to his feet and charged at the recovering Quinton May with the intentions of hitting a snap roundhouse kick. As woozy as he was, Quincy Mama ducked it.

And planted a *stiff* kick into the ribs of blind once the latter turned around, before Quinton twisted blind's left arm and used it to yank his opponent towards him. This was done so that the longest reigning TV Champion in ACW history could execute a neat drop-toe-hold, causing blind's neck to crash down onto the bottom rope! Another round of applause from the crowd, and it seemed May was back in business, as he raised his arms in the air to play up to the crowd.

After which, the Survivor of M15 promptly dragged blind back to the middle of the ring and slapped on an ankle lock.

Wait, let me say that again: ANKLE LOCK~!

Interesting tidbit, though. May was having the most torrid time in trying to cinch in the hold. He just didn't appear as if he could get a good enough grip on blind's right ankle, despite the crowd's manic cheering. Eventually, blind simply rolled on his side and kicked Quinton in the face with his spare leg, thus bringing to an end the attempted ankle lock. May was forced back into the ropes, and stumbled right into blind's path a second later.

blind was waiting for Quinton, and pounced on the opening. Flooring May with a gut-wrench powerbomb.

"blind!"
"blind!"
"blind!"
"blind!"

So went half the crowd, while the other half continued to root for May, urging him to recover quickly. As it was, blind managed to make the cover, despite sporting obvious difficulty from being hung up on the bottom rope earlier on;

ONE.

TWO.

THRE - SHOULDER.

Wow, that was close, actually.

A less than convincing kick-out from the TV Champion, but blind seemed to think that he had it there. Either way, it was as clear as the light of day that time away from the ring hadn't done Quinton all that good, as he was gasping for breath like a fish fresh out of water, once blind pulled him up. The former thReat superstar didn't appear like he cared much, aiming punches at selected points on Quinton's body, like as if he was working with a punching bag.

Having had enough of that, blind quickly sent Quincy Mama galloping into the ropes again, and this time, opted to strike with a back body drop. The Survivor of M15, however, somehow managed to land on his feet and punched blind in the back of the head, before shooting himself into the ropes.

Whatever Quincy planned then, though, had to be aborted with an enraged blind lashing out with a powerful-looking clothesline attempt.

But, ahhh, the Canadian Gladiator evaded it!

And, as he came off the opposite set of ropes, took flight in hopes of connecting with his trademark high-leg clothesline! The crowd were on their feet, and counted down to the seconds. There was to be a twist, though.

blind's amazing reaction skills came into play here, as he caught Quincy in his arms with the latter's leg just mere inches away from his face, and the man they call the Enigmatic Warrior skillfully drilled the TV Champion down onto his knee with a rather sickening spinning backbreaker! Quite impressive, the crowd thought.

What was even more impressive, however, was May's immediate retaliation, as he swung both his feet up and thrust them into blind's face, knocking the bigger man off his feet. This allowed Quinton a moment or two to rub his spine before he used the ropes to aid him up to his feed. With his hawk-like eyes, May waited patiently for blind to do the same, before the Rising Star took him down with standing dropkick.

Well, the dropkick connected, but it didn't really knock blind down. Just... back a bit.

Quinton raised an eyebrow and bit his lower lip, springing back to his feet and catching blind with a kick to the gut again, before quite surprisingly, deciding to try out a suplex. 220 lbs versus 260 lbs; somehow, everybody got a funny feeling about the success of the attempt.

That funny feeling just as quickly evaporated, when Quinton actually DID get blind off his feet. However, the gulf in weight finally kicked in, and blind easily squirmed out of the suplex, landing behind May, who appeared bewildered by the failure.

blind simply spun Quinton around and almost SPLIT HIM IN HALF with a wicked inverted atomic drop! May cupped his crotch and bit down on his lips to stop from howling, while the crowd sympathised. There was more sympathy to be handed out when blind wrapped his huge hand around May's neck and forcefully flung the Canadian into one of the four corners of the ring.

With Quincy trapped in the corner turnbuckle, avid fans of the Enigmatic One squealed in delight.

SPEAR TIME~!

... Welllll, not quite.

At the last second, Quinton May dove out of the way and blind's shoulder got real friendly with the steel ring post. The former thReat superstar clutched his shoulder tightly as he stumbled back, and suddenly, everybody knew that he'd possibly dislocated the shoulder or something. The Canadian Gladiator, however, saw it as divine interventation and prepared himself.

URBANE REPEALMENT, motherfuckers.

For you uneducated folk, it means - dragon suplex. With the bridge. And so, the count was administered;

ONE.

TWO.

THREE.

And that was that.

The bell rung and Quincy's music started up again, while the crowd stood to their feet and applauded the Canadian Gladiator. He'd retained the title with his newest finisher, and although executed quite sloppily, it was still a nifty move to see executed. May, though, didn't seem all that enthused. Instead, he appeared completely exhausted.

blind, on the other hand, remained motionless in the ring. Signal for the paramedics, eh? Either way, a successful return for Quinton May, and another title defense for the record books.

It sure as hell wasn't a convincing performance by the champion, though.

Not at all.

WINNER : Quinton May

Déjà vu
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Well if it wasn’t Phil Atken, once again wandering around backstage. It’s a good job the roster is filled with a great sense of wanderlust, otherwise the majority of these segments would end up having to take place in a crowded locker-room, which is where the wrestlersreally get changed. They all don’t have individual locker-rooms you know. That’s all faked for TV. Anyway, if it wasn’t Phil Atken, once again wandering around backstage, just like last week.

“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.”

Phil proceeded to rub his backside as painful memories of last night returned to him.

“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 that wasn't actually happening.

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. But before Phil decided to try and hear what Chris was saying, he had something of his own to say:

“Hey, didn’t this happen last week? Is this Courage 9 again?” Oh my, Phil, you’re exactly correct. Phil, being as sharp as the proverbial stick, stormed straight up to Chris, because he had something on his mind.

“Hey! Dickhead! What’s going on here? Are you continually trying to dupe me into signing some sort of contract for our match at Glory? Some sort of contract that would state that if I failed to win the match, I would be fired? The kind of similar contract that you tried to get me to sign weeks ago, and which you did get me to sign, but then you realised that Joe Soap had written YOUR name on the contract and not mine, meaning that if YOU didn't win the match at Glory, YOU'D be fired? YOU? Therefore YOU'RE trying to get me to sign another contract to cover up for your mistake? Yes?”

Chris glanced at Phil, mulling over how to approach this delicate situation with a verbal response. Then, he had it:

“Yes.”

“Oh. Okay. I see you retired A*Dubbs tonight or something.”

“Yes Phil, you’d be correct. Although technically it was Kamlesh who retired him, because he was the one who wrote the match because he kind of owed me a favour and I couldn’t be arsed. Wait, why is that guy behind the camera with the clipboard looking at me like that? Did I forget to put my pants on again?”

“Chris, this is a live show. Do you know what that means?”

“It means you can swear on National television and get away without it being bleeped out?”

“Fuckin’ right, ya big cunt bastard.”

“Okay. That’s perhaps the most gratuitous use of multiple swear words I’ve heard in all my life, and I’ve watched the Sopranos and your sister in bed. Phil, you’ve got three weeks left until the PPV, or as many weeks as it takes the lazy ACW handlers *cough* to get all their segments and matches in. So if I were you, I’d enjoy the last days of my career doing what I enjoy doing best.”

“Once again Chris, this is a live show, and I don’t think doing a spot of D.I.Y. if you know where I’m coming from, literally, would make the network bosses happy.”

Chris glanced at Phil, mulling over how to approach this delicate situation with a verbal response. Then, he had it:

“Yes.” 

Unconvincing
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You can't deny Quinton May's inherent ability inside the squared circle.

But as the Canadian Gladiator dragged himself out of his locker-room and shuffled towards the exit, wincing with every step, even he couldn't argue the fact that he was quite unconvincing in his return match. Nothing against blind, who is a consummate performer in his own right, but the Television Champion wasn't the Rising Star for nothing.

And sure, he had indeed won the contest and retained the TV Title, adding to his already-impressive win/loss record.

That wasn't the point, though.

"Damn, that was pretty close..." Quincy Mama mumbled to himself, turning a corner and sporting a distinct limp. You wouldn't be the only one thinking that a man who took a couple of weeks away from the scene to nurse his leg injuries would not be so easily suspect to falling prey to another leg injury.

Or maybe, it could be chalked down to ring rust?

Either way, Kellog Anderson found it interesting to spy on the Canadian Gladiator from his secret hiding place. And the man even had a notepad in hand. Apparently, something about Quinton May from their meeting earlier on in the night irked Kellog.

More specifically, it was May's style of speaking, and the slightly subdued accent.

Kellog watched as Quinton May continued to briskly walk down the hallway, looking absolutely winded, before the Canadian stopped in front of the vending machine. And with some difficulty, Quincy managed to muster the coins needed to purchase his preferred drink; a cool, refreshing Mountain Dew.

Seconds later, the ACW Rising Star walked out into the parking lot, taking huge gulps of his drink as he disappeared out of the range of sight for Kellog Anderson. Scowling, the backstage official wrote something in his notepad, before placing it back into his breast pocket. Still contemplating over what he was doing.

His gut instinct had never failed him before, in his entire life.

Yet, a part of his mind told Kellog that he was wasting time chasing a silly intuitive thought.

"Guess I'm just being paranoid."

A Final Farewell
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He cracked his neck as he left the arena through the back exit, a black duffel bag strung over his shoulder and headed across to the car across the parking lot. The drivers side door was wide open and a man stood leaning against it, looking over the top of it and across to Marcus.

“Hey Geoff.” Marc grinned jadedly as he reached the rear of the vehicle.

Marc opened the trunk and slid the bag off his shoulder and inside the back of the car in one smooth motion before slamming it shut and walking to the passengers side of the car, opening the door and dropping himself in to the seat with a sigh.

“What a show.”

The drivers door slammed shut and Geoff sat beside Marc.

“You still want to do this?”

Marc sat up straight and his eyes opened a little more, a smile beamed across his face and with his second wind he exclaimed:

“I wouldn’t miss this for the world!”

The car started up and Marc couldn’t help but wonder why Geo drove with his sunglasses on at this time of night. 

“Listen man, I want to tell you something.”

Geo was concentrating on negotiating his way out of the parking lot gates and gave half a “uh-huh” in response to his long time friend.

“I want you to know that working with you in ACW, it’s been an honor. Hell, it’s been a dream come true.”

“Thanks man, and hey I’m glad we got to work together for a while – I’ve always respected your style of wrestling and your persona.”

The adoration for one another was noble to say the very least. The amount of respect that filled the car as it drove towards the restaurant that the two would share their last meal together in (at least for a while) was immense.

’PG134life, G.’

ACW World Heavyweight Championship Match
Alias(c) Vs. Simian Kade
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The evening was on its last legs, the late New York State night was nearing its end, but don't get up from your comfy leather chair - oh, you don't have a comfy leather chair like myself? 

Haha... suckas - just yet. We still have a little gas left in our tank.

The fans sat patiently, drinks in hand, thoughts on their brains, they awaited their main event for the evening. The ACW World Championship was hanging in the balance, and, for the second week in a row, it was Alias that was defending it. 'The Original Pulp Hero' wasn't exactly impressed with this booking, but it came with the territory. The territory of holding both the ACW, and tSC World Championships, that is. He was the man of the hour; the big cheese if you will, but he was by no means an immortal.

As '4am' by Our Lady Peace sheared the silence, that had engulphed the arena, in half the curtain was pushed aside and out of the backstage area came the challenger to Alias' Championship, Simian Kade. 'The Fallen Angel', for the first time since he arrived in ACW, looked a little shaken as he took that first step down the stainless steel ramp. He was just coming to realize the magnitude of the situation and the possibilites that a win here for him would have on his career and his life. He inhaled deeply, his time was now. This was his first shot at ACW fame, this was his first shot at Glory. The World Championship of what was essentially his life was right at his finger tips, this opportunity was not going to slip away from him.

Midway down the ramp he turned, walking backwards at this point he let the moment sink into his skin. He stared up at the screen that displayed his image to the New York faithful. This was it, he thought. He smiled a little turning back around the face the ring that was quickly approaching. His pace quickened, his heart began to race, he rolled under the steel ropes of the squared circle to see the referee looking up at his 6'4" frame. 'New York's Finest' was home, this was his state, but would it be his night?

Kade's head snapped back to face the screen once again as 'Sympathy For The Devil' by the Rolling Stones filled the ears of the fans in attendance. They kept their eyes locked on the curtain, they waited. They waited. And, just for kicks, they waited some more. The song kept playing, the fans kept their stare, Kade did the same. He seemed a little phazed; this was unchartered waters for the young Simian. His birthday was soon approaching... what a present the ACW World Championship would be. The thoughts evaporated from his head as quickly as 'the Original Pulp Hero' appeared in front of him. The fans rose to their feet, their Champion had come. Alias walked with a purpose, he walked with soul. The hint of arrogance in his step was enough to worry Kade a little. Alias looked up at his opponent, for the second week in a row he was scheduled to fight for one of things that meant most to him.

His boots clicked against the steel, his arms swung, preparing for battle. He tapped the belt, it told Kade that it was Alias', and as long as 'the Phoenix' had any credible say in the matter, that Championship was going to stay around his waist. He slowly climbed the ring steps, the mind games that Alias was playing with the young kid - whether that was his intention or not - were working. Kade wiped the moisture from his brow. The glamour that had just been in the forefront of his mind, such as the Championship itself, and the money, were gone now. He stared directly into the eyes of Christoper Declan Sheffield whose shoulder sported the gold that labelled him the best there was in ACW.

He climbed through the ropes, and set his title down under the turnbuckle nearest to him. He checked the tightness of his pants, and looked down at his boots, assuring himself every lace was tied tightly. He slapped his left arm with his right signalling that he was ready to go.

Kade's anxiety was high as ever. The butterflies inside his torso flapped their wings, the sweat dripped from his brow. He wiped his eyes clear of the salty substance, it was go time.

Smack.

The anxiety was gone, and so was the air from Alias' lungs. A hard shoulder to the gut drove the wind out of 'The Original Pulp Hero'. He had been caught off guard as he said his final words to the referee. Alias' body dropped like a rock to the canvas, he clutched his stomach area.

Kade paced around his adversary, with that spurt of offense the anxiety that Kade had succumbed to was essentially gone. Simian laid multiple boots to the sternum of the Pulp Hero, as well as a quick shot to the ribs with an elbow. He had exposed some sort of game plan that he had possessed, he was going right after the midsection of Alias. The Phoenix slowly got to his feet as Kade bounced off the adjacent rope and landed an axehandle to the small of the back of the Phoenix. As Alias fell to his knees he swung his fist wildly trying to make contact, which he did. The bottom of Alias' hand connected with the nose of New York's Finest.

"Fuck!" Kade called out, as almost immediately the blood began to dribble down the front of his lip. The water soon came to his eyes, this gave Alias the opportunity to get to his feet. He looked down at his opponent who was situated on his knees, his hands stained crimson red. It had gotten ugly early.

Thud.

The laces on Alias' boots connected with the back of Kade's head. The Phoenix's look said it all, Kade was a bastard. A bastard who should not be taken lightly. Another swift kick, this time to the ribs, brought cheer from the crowd and a moan from Kade. The blood had began to flow onto the canvas, Alias did not care. He wasn't exactly amused by Simian's cheap shot to begin the match, and he was now making his opponent pay. For that was what he did best. He dropped a quick knee into the back of the neck of the Fallen Angel, temporarily stunning him. The Original Pulp Hero jumped back up to his feet with his arms locked around Kade's waist.

Simian uneasily managed to get to his feet, however Alias' hold was still applied. Kade, blood still dripping from his nose, threw an elbow back the way of Alias.

No dice.

Again.

Same result.

The Phoenix quickly shot his leg in front of Simian and swept him off balance. He drove Kade's face into the mat forcing New York's Finest to let out another cry. The Pulp Hero quickly rolled Simian onto his stomach.

One.

Two.

Kickout.

Alias wasn't phazed, he rolled away and helped himself up using the ropes. Kade, sensing danger darted to his feet as well...

Capture Suplex.

Kade was on the mat... again. A kick with the heel of Alias' boot to the back of the calf had Kade clutching his leg. Alias was dominating the match, but the ACW verteran knew he couldn't quit now. He would not let up until he heard the referee call for the bell. He got back to his feet, reached down and grabbed Simian by the back of his neck. He brought him to his feet...

Swing.

... And a miss. The clothesline attempt had failed and once again Kade found himself in a rear waist lock. And once again, Alias tried for the leg sweep. Simian saw it coming, he managed to stay on his feet long enough to render Alias off balance. As the Original Pulp Hero was vulnerable the Fallen Angel fired his foot backward into the groin of Alias.

The Pulp Hero's eyes rolled back into his head and with a thud he fell to the mat. The referee did nothing however after witnessing the low blow; the fans jeered. Kade fell to one knee trying to regain his breath. He quickly regained his composure as he reached down for the ankle of Alias. However, the instinct of the Champion kicked in and he kicked his leg back swiftly, just missing the nose of Kade. Simian rolled to the left, just in time to avoid the oncoming boot. Alias was quick to get back to his feet, although he was still in a great deal of pain down... um, there.

Kade ran forward, Alias became defensive, he moved to the right but Simian's shoulder block to the knee still caught him. It was enough to knock the Phoenix off balance. It was the opportunity Kade needed as he locked in a waist lock and tossed Kade over his head with a perfectly executed belly-to-belly suplex. Alias hit the mat but popped right back up with an amazing display of toughness. As the Pulp Hero turned Simian fired a knee into the gut of his adverary. Alias doubled over, Kade capitalized. He brought the Champion into a fireman's carry, and then swiftly dropped him onto the mat with a modified ace crusher. The crowd groaned, as did Alias as he held his neck.

The Champion stared up as the challenger briskly positioned himself behind him. Alias suddenly felt the torque in his arms and legs as a surfboard was applied by Kade. He lifted the Pulp Hero into the air, as the tension and pain grew in the body of Alias. He screamed; the fans booed.

Kade could feel the gold, it was on his finger tips!

Tap MOTHERFUCKER!

It was his! He had the gold on his palms! It was practically around his waist!

"Break the hold!" The referee cried, as somehow, someway Alias had been able to reach the ropes. His hand held it, which in the end put more of a strain on his body.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Kade let the hold go just as he was about to be disqualified.

He backed off a little, letting Alias regain his footing, at this point the blood was beginning to dry on his lip. The rusty substance stained his skin. He set himself, he was like a football player readying himself to make a tackle. He stalked Alias as the Pulp Hero approached him.

TH-MOTHERFUCKIN'-UD! ... Sorry kiddies. No babies for Alias.

For the second time in the match a blatent low blow had gone uncalled by the referee. The fans screamed, pop bottles rained down on the ring, Pepsi splashed on Kade as well as Alias. Both men looked up wondering what was going on. Alias' balls also wondered why they were about 95% sludge.

The referee let the match go on however, there were going to be no draws or disqualifications on this night apparently. The cardboard containers continued to flood the ring distracting Kade. He looked out at the fans who began to chant at him.

"Kade. You. Suck."
"Kade. You. Suck."
"Kade. You. Suck."

He yelled back at the fans in attendance, then, Alias returned the favor.

CRUNCH.

Kade's testicles sucked into his body as Alias' foot embedded itself in the groin area of what would now assume was Mrs. Kade.

"Hey!" The referee called as he glared at Alias. He looked over toward the time keeper. "You're disqualified!"

Alias' almost jumped out of his skull, as did the eyes of all the fans. They had heard what the referee had said. He turned to face the timekeeper and was about to call the match off when Alias drove his fist into the referee's skull. The fans popped. The roof almost blew off of the building. But their cheers soon turned to jeers as Simian Kade rolled Alias up.

One.

Two.

Three!

New Champion MOTHERFUCKERS! And it's me! ME! ...

Wait, a second, there isn't a referee. Oops. As they say on the streets, that me bad. I mean, my bad.

Kade was astonished, there wasn't a referee, he had Alias, the title was his! He pounded the mat in sheer frustration. He could now taste the gold, but lets not forget a little thing called destiny. Kade was on his knees, he yelled for a referee to come to the ring and award him the title, no such luck. Instead he got what surely was not his second option...

Anarchy's Lullaby.

Remember that thing I said about destiny? Well, here it comes. Kade's cries did not relieve the pain, the submission hold was as painful a move that anyone in ACW could apply. Kade's neck was being stretched, the pressure was enough to bring tears to even the toughest of men's eyes.

Kade's arms flung wildly, he smacked the mat. "I quit! I quit!" He screamed as loud as he could. Nothing was happening. Wait... *Que destiny* the referee rolled over, he saw the pain that the wrestler was in. He looked over at the timekeeper.

"Ring the bell! Ring the bell!" He called.

Alias let the hold go. Kade's limp body fell to the mat, the rusty substance that was crusted on his skin opened up a little. More blood trickled onto the mat as Alias looked down on him. He walked over to the turnbuckle and collected his title. Alias had gotten the best of Simian on this night, but for Kade's sake, lets hope these two meet again someday.

The noble effort that Simian put forth was worthy of a victory on most nights. However that is often not the case when you are battling the best the business has to offer. Alias climbed out of the ring, and slowly trekked up the entrance way, leaving Kade in a small pool of his own blood. Alias turned, he looked toward the fans, and towards his opponent. Simian had put up a valliant effort, and his eyes told the story. He was as close as he could have come without capturing the title.

Kade looked toward the screen, the video feed of Alias standing on the rampway, atop of ACW, was there for the fans viewing pleasure. And why not?

He is the best ACW has to offer.

He is the best tSC has to offer.

And it seems that the sky is limit for this ever popular superstar.

WINNER : Alias