Rising From The Dead, Part One Of

A grim figure sat in the corner of a remote highway cafe in the middle of nowhere. He looked around at the small buzz of activity from the worn hostess, who was brewing coffee and chewing gum with a stomach wrenching technique.

The bell rang as door opened, as two gentleman walked in and immediately caught the attention of the lonely man in the corner. Both men wore suits, one a dark blue and the other a pinstripe gray with black as they clicked over to the table and sat down.

"How are you doing Brian?"

Carter rocked in his seat and took a large intake of breath.

"I'm fine Anderson...just peachy."

He leaned forward and caught the eyes of both men...he was different. He was scruffy, a full beard in flow along with his cleanly shaven head, a total ying of his previous yang before his disappearance. His clothes were scruffy, a large white t-shirt and leisure bottoms finished off with an old pair of Nike Air Jordan's.

"That is...if you come bearing good news."

Anderson looked at his partner, giving him the nod as he clicked open his briefcase.

"The problem that we are having is this Brian. Due to your "disappearance" being branded as death due to you not reappearing after 60 days, all of your previous possessions apart from your Florida home have been repossessed or taken over by new owners. So in turn, you can't legally take back anything that your previously owned, you can only take it to court."

Carter leaned back in his seat as it creaked, stroking his chin. 

Pondering.

"But the next thing you are gonna tell me is...I can't fight for anything, because I don't have the money to fight the case, isn't that right Lilani?"

Lilani looked over figures on a sheet in his hand, and looked at Carter with a defeated face.

"Unless you get some outside help."

"No!"

Carter startled them, along with a few of the other consumers of this fine delicatessen. "I don't want anyone else in involved, I don't want anyone to know I'm alive, other than you two."

Anderson looked puzzled.

"But Brian, if you are going to fight for your property back, you will need help from some business friends to fund your moves...it makes perfect sense to get these guys on board to give you a helping hand."

Lilani stayed silent as Anderson took his plea to an old friend.

"No...I'll take them back one by one, it's the only way I want to do this...a war on more than one front will plunge me into more trouble than I was in back on that fucking island."

He rested his elbows on the marble topped table and looked out the window, on the setting sun...his saviour.

"I know exactly were to start too."

The Start Of Something Special

“There’s no amount of effort that can save you from oblivion,” 
-- Kurt Cobain 


“Our history will live on; while others continue to think that it’s only a distant memory, of a life forgotten…we both have realized that wasn’t the case at all. Only a temporary intermission; a commercial for our reality have passed us by, while advertising a chain of events which have lead up to this moment, an occurrence which could not have been foreseen by anyone associated within this company…unless they too, had access to a greater power than thou. I hope that everyone has been paying attention.” Looking over his mysterious shoulder, his co-conspirator nodded in approval as they traveled onward. 

Hidden amongst the masses of Canadians and Europeans that slowly filled into British Columbia venue; the duo found their respected place in the chain, as the line started to move at a quicken pace, before they reached the metal turnstile and a nervous arena attendant. As his nimble hands trembled whilst the individual dropped a previous customer’s ticket into the safe deposit box; he cautiously examined their enigmatic presence…which made the attendant more uneasy as the duo avoided direct eye contact. Both easily towered over him in stature; while the larger of the two men surveyed the surrounding vicinity for some unknown reason, it wasn’t until the jeers of the on lookers waiting…was when the attendant decided to speak up. 

“Umm, do you guys have a ticket for the show?” The attendant inquired with his Canadian accent as the multi-colored haired youngster pushed his way though the turnstile uncaringly; heading toward the blue drapery that separated him from the rambunctious audience, whom was still buzzing over the post Glory PPV action provided by Laguna. This was the first time he had seen Courage live, his head almost through the curtain before the attendant’s right arm grasped the infatuated individual’s left shoulder. 

“…hey mate, you can’t go in there without a tic—“the attendant stopped in the middle of his sentence; once he caught a glimpse of the mysterious persons’ chestnut brown eyes, instantly piercing a hole through the turnstile attendant’s soul, based on the description from the eyewitnesses as the mysterious one turned around promptly. Adjusting the black hoodie that covered his face partially to his upper lip; the so-called intruder lent down as he softly spoke into the venue worker’s right pierced ear, removing the attendant’s hand form his shoulder…before he sent a nervous chill down the attendant’s spine, once the arena worker felt the batted breaths upon his skin.

“Patience is a virtue, my friend. Especially to those who wait until the perfect moment arrives. Sometimes we may wait minutes; in other scenarios its years later before a move is made. But do you mind if I so humbly offer you a piece of advice?” The attendant shook his head positively as the individual looked on before a smirk escaped his stonework expression. “Let me start again, your name is Matthew, right?” Another nod followed. “Matthew, you are of no concern to me whatsoever…so you don’t have to worry. There is no reason to fear me, unless I give you an explanation to cower with every stride that you take on this planet.” The mystery man’s tone of voice changed, “But if there is one thing you will never, ever do to me Matthew…and that is stand in the way, of something I want.” 

“Do you understand that Matthew?” The individual pointed behind the attendant as the large brooding accomplice stood where the two conversing gentlemen left him, holding a pair tickets. Frozen with a stupefied look across his face, Matthew hurried back to the line before being stopped again by the mysterious speaker. 

“See what I was talking about Matthew? 

…If you can’t trust in god, than whom can you trust?” 

Ripping the pair of tickets apart as they were handed back to the silent giant, Matthew looked on as the duo disappeared from sight, behind the long blue curtains, which flapped in the air conditioning. Seconds later the crowd exploded in excitement, the youngster smiled widely upon seeing the bloody still pictures that were shown from Glory. The twosome cautiously moved down the slick flight of steps in front of them, examining the numerals etched on the outside of the row…before coming to several empty seats. 

“I believe we’ve reached our destination, Wallace.” The mysterious leader spouted off as he slid down the aisle, before spotting a delicious looking blonde, whose attention was elsewhere. In fact, her concentration was focused on the departing boyfriend that looked upward as he moved across the staircase…probably to the nearest concession stand or the restroom. Turning around to notice the late attendees to the wrestling event, the young woman politely smiled before storing her black Silverhawk T-shirt into the confides of her suede purse. 

“…So I see that you’re a fan of Silverhawk,” His raspy voice inquired as her French accent replied quickly. 

“Of course, he’s ze greatest.” Excitement and her ethnicity evident in Montreal native’s voice. Trying to conceal his devious grin with his left hand; seconds before he would insult her idol with his ingenious tongue, the remarkably good looking gentleman confidently leaned back in his chair as the musical introduction marked the start of a dark match began. 

“It’s good to hear that someone still appreciates the elderly.” 

Three Subjects

“What a knockout.”

That’s all you really could say after getting a look at the beautiful Hilary Duncan. The sultry authority figure of ACW batted away a loose strand of her cinnamon brown hair away from her aqua blue eyes, her curvature perfectly accented by the black business suit she was wearing, leaving so much to the imagination.

However…Jamar Gordo was never one to imagine about something he could have in reality. He looked upon her quietly as she looked to open the door leading to her office, not even taking notice of the arrogant movie star behind her, leaned against the wall as he continued to scan her in delight.

“I knew you were worth a second look.”

She bolted suddenly, making a complete 180 degree turn at incredible speed as he eyes finally locked upon the owner of the voice. She approached the self-proclaimed “Master of All Styles” cautiously, her mind wandering about how long he was standing there more then anything. Gordo made sure to flash those Hollywood pearly whites, the same smile that has graced movie screens across the country as he looked to impress Hilary….something he was confident he could so with ease.

“Is there something you needed Mr.Gordo? I thought we had already met when you were talking with that bonehead, Flawless.”

Jamar let out a tiny laugh, the kind that barely made any sound as he leaned comfortably against the wall, smoothing a crease in his black Gucci suit...only the finest of course for a man of his caliber. It was quite obvious in those lustful eyes, that Gordo obviously had no intention of ending his conversations with Duncan so soon.

“Oh no no no Hilary. You must be mistaken if you though that. Besides, I’m not here to talk about Flawless. I’m only here to talk about three subjects.”

Hilary gave Gordo a fleeting look after that particular statement…Jamar had eyes for her like she was a piece of cake, and he was the fat boy. No need for a GED to know what the movie-star was after, but for the sake of curiosity, which killed the cat they say, she was just DYING to know what was on his arrogant mind.

“Entertain me Mr.Gordo, what would these “three subjects” be?”

She opened Pandora’s box with that one. His mere cocky smirk morphed to a Cheshire grin as he held up three fingers, letting each drop one by one as a point was made.

“The color of your panties.”

One.

“The CUT of those same panties.”

Two.

“And how I get them off.”

An obnoxious three.

Hilary COULD NOT believe the gall of this man. It wasn’t the delivery. It wasn’t the choice in words. It was the sheer fact he just KNEW his whole game would work. So, she figured she would oblige him….to a point. So she held up three fingers of her own, drawing the smile of ACW’s newest ego.

“Black.”

One.

“Thong.”

Two

“Not even with the Jaws of Life.”

Touche’

With that, Hilary walked away to attend to other business, Gordo laughing now, his feelings not trashed as she might have expected. She opened her office door, closing it shut abruptly as the movie star turned with a shrug, placing his Ray-Ban shades back upon his face and saying to himself and the open air.

“I always did enjoy a challenge. So I accept. Besides, with a temper like that…she’s GOT to be a closet freak.”

With that thought to grow on, Gordo took his leave down the hall.

Who Will Be The New King?

"Fans of ACW."

The Tron kicked into life as William Laguna was seat sitting on the edge of his desk in the ACW HQ for the night, the fans, as the sight of their leader cheered as his appearance only meant important news.

"The informed among you know, that our next pay-per-view event, will be King of Ages, an event that not only was deemed the strongest of last years line up, but was also the last television PPV event before ACWs demise at the end of 2003. This year however, King of Ages will create a new lease of life in ACW, as a new number one contender will be named for the ACW title, and the flow of ACW changing on positive levels.

King of Ages is a starting point for the newest stars in ACW, and now, you will see that we have many up and coming stars in this tournament. Not only will the winner of King of Ages have their chance at a shot of the ACW Champion at a date and time of their choice, but I have also decided that the winner of King of Ages will also be rewarded with guaranteed gold, in the shape of the United States Championship...so much is on the line.

The draw, has already been made, and this is what we have come up with."

The screen filled with a graphic of the draw.

"Tonight, you will see only three King of Ages first round matches, leaving a whopping seven for next weeks show. We have chosen to do this as other matches will fill tonight's show, leaving next weeks to be a total King of Ages first round show. Tonight matches are Jamar Gordo Vs. El Gato Negro, Ecks Vs. Fejona Min and our newest signing, Gods Forgotten Son taking of Vince Jacobs in his ACW re-debut.

Have fun, and may the best man, or woman, win."

Back, For Real

"Interesting brackets there, for the tournament!" he remarked.

And by he, I'm referring to Quinton May. He was in Laguna's office, biding his time, waiting for the pony tailed Italian to conclude his statements regarding the KOA Tournament. And once Quincy heard the door of the office open, he knew that his meeting with Laguna had begun.

William didn't seem surprised at all at Quinton already cooped up in his office, and nodded his head at the Canadian Gladiator as he walked to behind his desk and plopped himself down on his oh-so-comfortable chair. May straightened himself up and grinned at Laguna, already knowing what the latter's answer was going to be.

"Indeed, especially since I don't really know for sure if you're the real Quinton or really the clone Quinton. I suppose it's a risk I have to familiarise myself with, isn't it?" Laguna shot back half-jokingly, before taking a sip of water.

May chuckled. "Ahhh, I miss that crazy Italian humour of yours. Of course, being held captive by a couple of smelly man usually means that the amount of humour you're exposed to is less than nil. Still, though, I don't think you have to worry about the clone anymore. I'm back, for real. And, you can easily distinguish who is who now.

I'm the one that looks like a deranged lunatic, and he's the one who looks so much like me, it's hard not to think that he really is me. Funny shite, ain't it?"

Laguna mustered a laugh, completely understanding what May had meant. The clone did bear too much of a striking resemblance to the REAL Quinton May. Of course, that's the whole point of a clone, but yeah. The fact was, everybody was fooled. Everybody except one man, of course.

And it just so happened, Quincy knew who it was. "So, anyways, I went to visit Kellog Anderson yesterday. He's much better now, but I still feel guilty for what happened. Considering that I owe him big time for actually helping to unravel this mystery, my guilt is sky-high."

"Ahh, you can't blame yourself!" Laguna quickly interjected. "It's not as if you could control what happened. You were the unfortunate victim of some insidious and insane scheme. The worst part about all this is that I can't do anything to change the fact that Fejona Min is part of the ACW.

Because you know that I would get rid of her in a heartbeat, with the recent developments and the revelation as HER being the one who orchestrated the entire clone thing. As it is, though, she had a short-term contract with an irrefutable option to extend for however long she wanted. And, well, she extended the thing."

Quinton didn't seem fazed by the news. In fact, his smile grew wider.

"We're stuck with her, eh? That's good. That's perfect, actually. I would have killed you if you'd fired her, to be honest. She's decided that she wants to fight a war she THINKS is worth fighting. Let it be, then. I'm game." the Rising Star of the company stated, crossing his arms, exuding his trademark wave of confidence.

Laguna remembered it vividly from his first encounter with Quincy Mama, all the way back on April Fools Day. The beginning of the revival of ACW, it was. Laguna recalled how composed and cool and collected Quinton was, despite all that had gone on with his life months prior. It was almost as if he'd developed a way to tune all the negativity out and bottle it up inside of him.

Of course, bottling up vexations and emotions is never good. And that's why we have all been treated to bouts of surliness and broodiness from our hero. A dangerous side-effect, it is.

"You have to be careful, though. You have two highly-trained women on your tail now. I can't say I'm not pleased that I have little say over their status in their company, having been tricked by them!" Laguna replied, a little too resentfully. "But I still have control over what happens on my shows. Rest assured, that I've got your back all the way, Quinton."

Oooh, that's how it is, eh?

Isn't that biasness of some sort? Laguna was all fatherly-like and smiling at May like a father would smile at his cute daughter, before the game of incest would commence. Either that, or Laguna was just acting very weirdly.

Quincy Mama nodded his head. "That's very good to hear, William. At least you're more understanding than that Rosemary Avalon. Then again, perhaps ACW is known for its bizarreness and you've already got accustomed to the strange occurrences that seem to crop up now and then."

"Oh yes, the Squared Circle." Laguna suddenly mentioned, as he began to rifle through several documents on his table. Just two days prior, on tSC's TNW 18, Quincy Mama & Rosemary Avalon had a nice little chat about the situation regarding Quinton's clone. Needless to say, Rosemary Avalon was very perplexed, but agreed to let the Canadian Gladiator handle it.

After a tongue lashing from Quinton, of course.

No, you bums, not THAT KIND of tongue lashing. Rosemary has a husband. Sick perverts.

"Saw your match on TNW 18 on Tuesday, you know." Laguna spoke up again, as he placed some documents into a file with May intently watching on, waiting for the Italian to continue. "I must say, you don't look like you're rusty or anything. You ready to get back into the ring and defend that TV Title of yours?"

"Yeah, pretty much. I was hoping my preliminary round KOA match-up would be tonight, actually, but a title defense works for me as well. I've got to go now, though; have a promo coming up soon." Quinton responded as he stood up and dusted himself down.

Laguna beamed with delight as he too stood up, and the two men/friends shook hands, before Quincy Mama made his leave. The pony tailed Italian known as William Laguna, on the other hand, simply sat back down, sighing.

And the show went on. 

Show Me Respect

The scene opened with the all too familiar ACW logo, emblazoned across a myriad of glass and steel pipe. Standing there was a lovely body of dangerous curves and blonde hair, wrapped up in a pink dress which had to be painted on her by looking at the fit. She smiled at the camera as it took a close-up, which I’m sure the cameraman had no problem taking, on her Grecian beauty face as she spoke with great exuberance and clarity into the mic in her hand.

“Hi, this is Crystal Keen, always here with the exclusive for you ACW fans as usual. I’m here with the latest signing by ACW, who will be making his debut shortly against El Gato Negro in the King of Ages tourney. He is none other then….then…um…what’s your name again?”

The camera crabbed to the left, revealing quite the pissed of picture of ebony arrogance in Jamar Gordo. He stared a literal hole through Crystal as he folded his arms, obviously insulted by her lack of knowledge of him, especially with the heavy coverage he was used to receiving for his movies…even if most of it lately had been negative.

“YOU BLONDE BIMBO?! Do you not know who the hell I am?! I’m Jamar Gordo, WOMAN! Haven’t you seen my movies?”

She bit the tip of her well manicured fingernails, obviously thinking, but nothing come to mind. Some would say blondes in general have trouble thinking anyway, but we’ll give her the benefit of the doubt.

“FIGHT ON THE SOUTHSIDE?! SMACK THAT BITCH?! FIST OF THE SUN?!”

Suddenly, a light bulb had been turned on in her head, something seemingly clicking on the final movie mentioned as she giddily replied.

“Oh yea, that’s the movie that bombed in the box office last month! 100 million for THAT!?”

…….

Needless to say, this did not set well with the self-proclaimed “Master of All Styles”. She tugged Superman’s cape. Pulled at Batman’s mask. And we all know that those aren’t exactly the smartest decisions in the world. She had insulted a man of his talent and character without even a glimpse of apathy….and he would not stand for that.

His annoyance, turned to anger as he angrily forced his hand on hers, bringing the mic to his lips and not even looking at the camera now, simply directly at her as he delivered each word with a cold, calculated delivery; almost furious. 

“That’s the problem with this company. That’s the problem with the WORLD right now. They don’t have an inkling of respect for those BETTER then them. So much so…that not even some dumb blonde hired because she’s got gunboats for tits doesn’t even know the best when he stands before her.”

He pointed to the right leg on his pants, the camera panning down to the blue and silver “parachute” style pants with “GORDO” imprinted on it, the camera came back up just in time for Jamar to continue, Crystal trembling slightly as he intensity continued to rise.

“GORDO! That’s my damn name. If you and the rest of the world can’t go through enough trouble to learn it, I’ll MAKE you and everyone else remember it…starting tonight, with El Gato Negro. You just make sure you’re watching when I beat the shit out of that pussy….-deliberate slight pause-….cat.”

He shoved the mic back at her, his back turned as he made his way to the “go” position for his match. The critics had humiliated him. The people didn’t even know him. Tonight however…they would all know. Left with her microphone, and a frightened feeling deep in her stomach, Crystal left the viewers with a shaken, “ Umm…back to the ring guys.”

And so, the debut begins. 

KING OF AGES
El Gato Negro Vs. Jamar Gordo

When you are scheduled to take part in the opening bout on a card, for some it makes them feel week or like they aren't up to par with the other talent. The two men that were about to meet in the ring tonight, had nothing to prove when it came to their talent. And frankly they were more then on par with the rest of the crew, they were miles above most men. When the fans who sat in attendance tonight thought of what they were about to see, they didn't look at it like two jobbers were about to battle, they thought of it in a total different light.

This match, was about to set the pace for the whole evening.

Passion
The will to win, the spark within
Passion
The strength within the hearts of men
Passion
The drive to press, to strive for best, to rise
You've just arrived the quest is driven through
Passion
To play through pain and love the game
Passion
To break the chain and blaze the flame
Passion
The fight for rights to love your life, to rise
You've just arrived the quest is driven through
Passion

'Passion' by Blackalicious boomed out over the speakers as the lights in the cold dark arena went to a deep shade of blue, the figure on the entrance ramp illuminated with light. The fans stood in unison chanting;

"Gordo Sucks!"

"Gordo Sucks!"

"Gordo Sucks!"

As strobes of Silver light shot though the arena and circled around Jamar Gordo, he began to move from his gorilla position. Making his way down to ring side, he brushed off the fans attempts at touching him with a simple shrug of his should. As he neared the bottom of the entrance ramp, he slid under the bottom rope, and stood in the center of the ring. With a quick flex of his muscles, it was time for his opponent.

We were shooting at a mound of dirt 
Well nothing was broken and nothing was hurt 
But I probably really should have been at work 
But if my free time's gone would you promise me this 
That you will 
Please bury me with it 
Please bury me with it 

As the sounds of 'Modest Mouse' played out over the arena, yellow and black pyrotechnics flew off at the head of the entrance ramp. Knowing the familiar entrance music, and that very common display of fireworks, the fans began to jeer.

"EGN!"

"EGN!"

"EGN SUCKS!"

The fans were undecided on the feelings they had, but they knew the contest coming up was going to be something special. Then, nothing happened. El Gato Negro was no where to be found, he was not at the entrance ramp, nor was he coming down to ring side. The fans were left puzzled, and didn't know what to think. This opening scheduled match up in the 2004 King Of Ages Tournament should have already started, but again; nothing.

CRACK!

Without a moments notice, Jamar Gordo hit the mat and his head bounced back viscously. El Gato Negro stood over his body wielding a chair in had, and evil grin on his mug. He then came down with two more chair shots across the ribs of Gordo. The steel hit hard, as the sound of flesh and bones made a eerie cracking sound. Gordo was still on the mat, there was nothing he could do. It wasn't even the firs thought in his mind for this blindsided attack. Negro prowled around the ring, looking for anything he could get his hands on, or any fan he could taunt.

As Gordo tried to climb up to his knees, Negro rushed over and kicked him in the ribs, knocking him back down to the mat. This time there would be no taunting for Negro though, he began a savage assault on Gordo, with kicks to the ribs and stomach of Gordo. All hope looked to be lost, as Negro continued to pummel his opponent. Negro leaned down towards the mat, and lifted Gordo up to the stand position. With that, both men were on their feet and the referee called for the bell to begin the match.

"Ding"

"Ding"

"Ding"

The match had officially begun, but the action and mayhem had started minutes ago already. Negro had full advantage of his opponent, and he wasn't letting up. Negro tossed Gordo into the corner, and followed him in. With a quick clothesline to the side of the head, Gordo was down in the corner. Negro continued his assault, kicking Gordo in the side of the head once more. This time, not letting him out of the corner or letting him catch his breathe. Negro then backed up, and ran towards his fallen opponent. With the smack of his boots, Negro drop kicked Gordo square in the jaw laying his head off to the side, and nearly knocking him unconscious.

Negro stood up and began to show off. He circled the ring, with his arms spread wide shouting at the crowd.

"GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAL~!"

Negro was down right obnoxious, but he didn't stop. He pranced around the ring as if he already had the match won. Looking back into the corner at which Gordo was in he saw something that staggered him but not physically; mentally. Then, without a sound as to not alert Negro where he was Gordo crept up from behind and kicked him in the of the leg. Knocking his stability out from under him, Gordo crept around to the front side and grabbed Negro's left arm and pulled him in, and clothes lined him to the mat. The fans eww'd and aww'd as Gordo began to make a comeback in this match up.

Negro was back up, but Gordo was fighting a battle, landing fists and chops, he tried to take his opponent to the mat. Unsuccessful in his attempt Gordo grabbed the waist of his opponent trying for a belly to belly suplex. Blocking the move Negro spun around, and hit his own suplex only to throw Gordo out of the ring over the top rope. Crashing down on the thin pads the covered the concrete floor below, Gordo screamed in pain.

"Son of a bit--"

His words were cut off by his extreme pain. His body was a waste land of bumps and bruises after that intense move. As he lay in pain, his opponent Negro who was all the while catching his breathe began to sprint towards the far set of ropes. As Negro repelled himself off the ropes, he came sprinting towards his opponent, and hurled himself over the top rope. Barely touching at all, Negro flipped head over heels towards the outside of the ring, and came crashing down on his opponent. The fans rose to their feet and began to chant.

"EGN!"

"EGN!"

"EGN!"

Everyone in attendance were on their feet; man, woman, and child. They were all amazed at the action they had seen so far. Both Negro and Gordo were laid out on the arena floor as the referee began his mandatory ten count. If one of the wrestlers did not make it inside the ring before he reached the count of ten, the other man or both men would be eliminated depending on the situation. As the referee lifted his hands to make the count, the fans in attendance began to count with him.

1...

2...

3...

The referee was almost a third the way though his count, and both men had only began to move just a little bit. Lifting one leg or one arm, it was clear both me were still visibly shaken from not only the fall but the impact. As the rule book calls for, the referee began to make his count once again.

4...

5...

6...

Over half way through his count, the referee paused to check on both men. Seeing that Negro had begun to move and nearly make it to his knees with the help of the ring apron, the referee slowed his count down, knowing that a count out, wouldn't satisfy anyone in the audience or the back. As Negro began to pull himself up to his knees, Gordo had grasped the barrier and was trying to pull himself up as well. The referee following the rules, though hesitantly began to count again.

7...

8...

With only two counts left, Negro had reached his feet and was crawling under the bottom ropes. The referee stopped his count and notified the bell keeper that the match would continue. Gordo on the other hand was just getting to his knees as Negro had finally made it all the way up to his feet. Hunched over on the ropes Negro took a much needed breather. On the outside Gordo was to his feet and trying to climb the apron of the ring, once he reached the apron and was standing on it, both himself and Negro locked arms and began to battle in the tie up position.

Negro who had more power, pulled Gordo up over the top rope and into the ring, slamming him down to the mat with a powerful suplex. Then, with cat like reflexes and his last burst of breathe, Negro sprinted towards the far ropes, and leapt onto the second cable. Springing backwards, Negro landed a perfect moonsault off of the second rope and had connected with Gordo who was writhing in pain. Negro wasn't finished, nor was his last breathe gone, he was again back to his feet, this time pulling Gordo up with him.

As both men made it to their feet Negro pulled the head of his opponent up to his shoulder, and locked his arm around his side. Falling towards the mat, with a version of the flat liner, Negro bounced back but Gordo did not. Laying on the mat, stomach down Negro was about to finish off this match. Locking Gordo's arms in a scissors lock and rolling him over facing the air, and pulling back on his head, Negro had synched in his finisher.

Strangle Hold Alpha!

There was no where for Gordo to go, nor was there a chance for escape. Gordo began to scream in pain, as Negro pulled back harder on his head, wrenching his arms together putting pressure on not only his back but hyper extending his elbow. The referee was down on one knee and checking with Gordo to see if he was able to continue the match. The referee asked many times, only to receive no response. Finally one last time before he was about to call the match over the referee asked one more, "Do you give up."

"St--, Stop it. The pain, stop it."

Gordo had given up, locked tight in Negro's trademark hold, he couldn't take the pain and agony. The referee had called for the bell and the match was officially over. Tonight the fans were pleased. They had not only witnessed one of the best opening matches at any event in the history of pro wresting, but they had also witnessed the victory of El Gato Negro. With his first victory in the 2004 King Of Ages tournament, Negro posed before heading to the back to celebrate his much deserved victory.

Winner > El Gato Negro

Student clashes Teacher Once again: Part VIIXIVI

I'm winning, you're losing
I'm falling, your agony
Lower than lower, before
Your forgotten memory

The curtains shuffled as Lancett came stalking from the backstage. The emotion rose drastically as one of the most egotistical rookies in the business made his way to the ring. People loved to hate this youngster and it was obvious though their reaction; boos were right on cue. He was pissed and it was noticeable, and these boos weren’t the reason of it.

As an hWo chant started and of course it rang in this weasel of a man’s ears. Will this federation ever leave him?

He climbed the steel stairs grasping the turnbuckle pole to help him up the stairs. He looked at a fan, “Wanna’ come up here and say that too me fat ass?” In reply the whole front row, second row, and some of the third flicked him off.

He entered the ring though the ropes. He walked to the opposite side of the ring to receive the mike. He walked to the middle of the ring as the boos just got louder and the seldom chant of hWo become a song for the arena’s chorus.

Lancett brought the microphone to his lips, “Is Hardcore Wrestling Organization dead? Frost, Jade, Rune, Kain, Elmein-q-y-z, Chris Rush, and before Glory SVJ were all unemployed and people have the nerve to ask me why I quit hWo? There is a saying: Stay down, which is what hWo is doing to the tee. So now SVJ thinks he can come over to ACW and run the show?”

“Lets see…” he scratches his chin a bit, “So you come to see ACW for what reason? Hmmm?” he asked the fans.

“Do you come to see it for the respect people have for each other in the back? Do you come to see it for the great talent in the ring? What? What makes you buy our fifteen dollar tickets and take time out of your worthless lives to come see people who have a purpose in life?”

He dropped the mike and exited the ring. He reached under the rope and grabbed the mike; then he turned around and went to the front row.

“You, with the Alias t-shirt, why do you come to see ACW tonight?” He asked a middle age man with a beautiful woman next to him.

“ALIAS OF COURSE!!!! WOOO!!” he screamed into the mike as Lancet looked at him very disgruntled.

“Say it don’t spray it, damn,” The Rook’ ordered.

He moved down the front row, next person, whom just so happened to be the guy’s girlfriend, who just screamed into the microphone.

“Well, well, well what do we have here? Why do you come to see ACW, gorgeous?” he asked (or he peered I should say).

She bent forward to the mike and looked at him, “Hott guys in speedos.”

Lancett looked at her weird and looked to his biker shorts. “These aren’t speedos, sorry. But sense you been such a good sport you can touch the Megastar’s body.”

He stood in front of her as he let her touch his body. As other women tried to get a touch, he backed up. Lancett then continued down the front row, until he was interrupted… by SVJ’s music.

“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!” Lancett said as he turned around.

The curtains shuffled once again and out came Vince Jacobs himself; in his right hand he held his own mike. “What the hell are you doing, Randy? Going around asking them why they are here to see ACW, isn’t it obvious they are here to see yours truly.”

Lancett interrupted, “The Megastar Randy Lancett, not no has been. From that shit hole CWL, which is as dead as hWo I might add.”

This stuck a nerve, and a big one. The fans booed the living hell out of the arena, Lancett just laughed at his success getting to a soft spot. But like all their encounters the fans are torn for whom to boo louder.

“And to answer your question: I was trying to prove a point, teach.” Lancett said as he got back into the ring.

“Since you’re out here proving a point, I might as well. So, Randy how has ACW been since I’ve been gone; I heard you ran a show, you’ve not won a title, and you haven’t really done anything else but job to Ecks. You sound like a Megastar to me Rook’.” He made his sarcasm obvious, “I mean come on even Brandon Thomas gets a title in LoC, and you’re making me look bad. Just tell me one thing: Did you ever listen when I trained you? You are stealing my moves and just putting a couple words in the name. You’re worse than Vanilla Ice rip-off the Queen song.”

Lancett rolled his eyes, “So what are you trying to prove Vincent?”

“Well it is really easy to prove what I’m getting to. Lancett you are nothing. You are just nothing in this business.”

Lancett laughed a bit. “Proving the people I’m nothing is like fucking for virginity, it isn’t going to happen Vince.”

“I dunno. But he has something different to say.” SVJ said and pointed behind Lancett.

Ecks stood there behind Lancett as Lancett turned around they traded fists until Lancett retreated from the ring. SVJ started to clap as he walked backwards into the backstage. Ecks stood in the ring as the cheer started to roar for Ecks.

Lancett was in a pickle once again.

The Best Is Yet To Come

For those who were part of the federation's management, ACW's second arc of events since the resurgence and the reacquisition of a television deal was, to say the very least, incredibly unstable. Talent came and left, while the inmates were given the task of running the nuthouse as William Laguna -- the man at the helm -- had to tend to outside business.

Merchandise sales weren't doing all that well, matches weren't being orchestrated with much inherent cohesion, and the entertainment appeared to be meek. At GLORY 2004, however, ACW's crop of superstars came through and proved that there is life yet in the company. One particular matter was resolved, and it's paved the route for an official return of a true fan favourite from the 'currently inactive' roster.

The superstar in question was none other than the Television Champion himself.

Without warning, "Make A Move" by Lostprophets started to play over the speakers. Every single member of the audience stood to their feet and cheered their hearts out, clearly remembering who the song belonged to. He hadn't been in action ever since the REVIVAL PPV, and he'd been sorely missed.

Okay, that's a lie. No, not the 'sorely missed' part. The bit where he hadn't been around since May 15 2004 on ACW programming. He made his return a few weeks ago, actually, and even defended his title against blind. Following which, he showed up for work drunk the week after the 'ring collapse' fiasco, attacked a backstage official, and was then assaulted by an outside threat.

All of which culminated days ago, at the GLORY PPV, when it was revealed that the man wasn't really who he was supposed to be. Bewildering? Yes, perhaps. But such was the exact point of the entire exercise. One thing was for sure, however.

QUINTON MAY WAS BACK.

32 seconds into the song, after the lights had been dimmed, red and white pyrotechnics lit up the skies. Which was the cue for the Canadian Gladiator himself to march out from the back, with both his arms in the air. The cheering only multiplied, as the fans knew that they were looking at the real Quincy Mama. Or at least, they were 98% certain. Strange thing, that.

Decked out in a white sleeveless tanktop that was under a black leather jacket, and accompanied with a pair of black jeans and black boots, the Rising Star briskly walked down the ramp with a microphone in his hand.

What was the crowd doing?

Chanting his fucking name, of course. The atmosphere was electric, and May was definitely in awe of the reception he was receiving, and it showed when his body trembled while he climbed into the ring. No, he wasn't feelin' cold. Nor was he afraid of anything. He was simply amazed at the outpouring of support.

Now standing in the middle of the ring, with his theme song slowly being faded out by the A/V team, Quinton May looked up to the stands, his free hand stroking his beard. The Rising Star's new look wasn't one that the fans were exactly accustomed to, as far as Quincy Mama was concerned. Long bangs, thick beard, and that 'I've survived Hell' look.

But judging by the crazy glint in that eyes of his, the fans knew that it was the real deal that was standing in the ring. The genuine article. The ACTUAL Quinton May.

"Well, some people say you can't go home again." the Castaway remarked once the crowd's cheering simmered down. "But here I am, my feet firmly on the ground, back where I belong. Back in the one place I call home. A little worse for wear, yes, but that's to be expected when you're the victim of some sordid scheme.

One that involves an exact replica of you running around, pretending to be you.

And succeeding, because apparently, he's a clone. Sure. Right. Not much of a stretch, is it? We don't know, officially, if human cloning is possible but there are many things the many governments in today's society keep hidden from us. It's certainly plausible that we all have clones of us stationed on this stretch of unknown islands in the Pacific.

Either that, or the cosmetic surgery trend is really taking off, and I must be just too darn handsome for someone to model their new appearance after mine!"

Laughs all around for that one. Even Quincy smiled, as he flicked the fringes of his bangs out of his eyes. Pacing around the ring like an assured panther, the Survivor of M15 thought over what he wanted to touch on next, the crowd giving May all the time in the world to resume speaking.

And after what seemed like a whole minute, he did. "Let me explain to you all what happened to me. After my match at the REVIVAL PPV, against Chris Messiah and Phil Atken, I was walking around backstage, aiming to meet up... with the former love of my life and my son. But, that never happened, see.

I was blindsided by a group of men and held captive in a nicely-decorated mountain cabin in the middle of nowhere. To put it simply, at least. I had no contact with the civilised world, yet I was being told about what was happening with my life at that moment, and what was in store for me.

Running commentary; that in itself was pure torture, heh.

In the meantime, there was someone who looked and acted exactly like me taking over MY life, doing the things that I would normally do as per routine, while I were being tortured by masked men. Eventually, and with some help from lady luck, I managed to escape and track down this... 'clone' of mine that you heard my captors talk about at great length.

So I seeked out two people to help me. One of them was Kellog Anderson, who was already doing some investigative work of his own regarding the clone's suspicious behaviour. The other person was about the only person I could trust, and who said that if I ever needed help of any kind, all I had to do was call.

Only after a couple of scuffles with my clone was I able to establish the fact that the clone was in fact a phoney, and that I was the real package. This happened on both ACW & tSC programming, but it was just a few days ago at GLORY that I managed to really get my hands on that piece of shit & beat him down to a bloody pulp. But, it was a doubled-edged sword.

Alas, it turned out to be a set-up. The con was out.

The person I had trusted to help me regain my life back turned out to be the preparatory of this insanely ridiculous clone situation. FEJONA MIN was the puppet-master, pulling the strings, and fucking around with my mind at the same time.

Now, though, that all ends. I want answers. I want closure.

I want... my revenge."

Intense, non? The crowd cheered at the last line uttered by the Canadian Gladiator, but May held up his hand, insisting that he had more to get off his chest. The smile was no longer on his face. He was allllll business now, hombres. Indeed.

"Yes, I want revenge." Quinton re-iterated, his free hand now all clenched up. "I want vengeance for my life being toyed around with. I want vengeance with my personal life being tampered with. I want vengeance with my professional life being used as some sort of depraved experiment.

Because I've gone through this before, and I didn't quite like it."

Ahhh, yes. Another reference to those mysterious M15 days of his, innit? Now, the smile had totally vanished off of his face, and it had been replaced by a mean scowl. Just like that, Quincy Mama had reverted to IAMANGRY mode, and he was close to breaking the microphone in his head.

Before he could raise the microphone to his mouth to speak again, though, he was interrupted.

By "Lucky You" as performed by The Deftones, suckas. Not the most popular of theme songs on the ACW circuit, but yeah, she'd wrestled in an ACW ring before. She had her fair share of haters in tA that also subscribed to the brand of entertainment dished out by William Laguna and his wacky sidekicks.

She was none other than FEJONA MIN.

Fejona -- wearing a red sleeveless tanktop that nicely complemented her round tits, and a pair of black leather pants which accentuated her fine arse, along with a pair of black pumps -- had that trademark devilish smirk on her face as she stepped out onto the stage with a microphone in her hand. And already, Quinton May was close to throwing a fit in the ring.

Being burned by someone you trust? Never a good thing. Especially since there was a slightly intimate link between the two that had been rumoured by many an observer.

"Well, isn't this an interesting development?" Fejona spoke up once her music was cut.

The response was a resounding chorus of jeers for the Cambodian Femme Fatale. Undefeated tA Women's Champ, she was. Sure, tA was in a bit of a bind after the incident with the knife and Joe Campbell's throat, but that's a different story for another crowd. For now, let's focus on ACW, mmmkay?

Good. Because, Fejona was. "Sweetie, I'm sorry. I'm sorry that you didn't get it right from the start that I was manipulating you, maneuvering you into the position that was required. See, I thought it was pretty obvious that I had some kind of evil agenda at hand when I decided to try my hand at wrestling in this company.

You thought otherwise, and for that, I truly apologise. I am a tad bit surprised that you are so gullible and feeble-minded, but nonetheless, I symphatise for you."

Uhhh, no, she didn't. Her cackling was testament to that. Flicking strands of her oh-so-ethereal hair out of her eyes, Fejona looked out at the crowd and flashed those sparkling eyes of hers at them, only to get more abuse from the crowd.

In the ring, Quinton May wasn't impressed. He just grew angrier.

"Cut the bullshit, Fejona." the Canadian Gladiator ordered. "You've come out here at just the right time. Because, like I said, I demand answers. I want to know WHO is directly responsible. I want to know the WHY. The HOW. I DEMAND to know everything behind this entire clone thing. And I want my answers NOW."

"Yeah, alright, sure." Min quickly fired back, before holding up the index finger of her left hand. "Let me just pull out the Big Book of Answers That Quinton May Wants and dictate every single passage in there for you, okay? Shall I begin now?

Oh, wait. Hang on.

I'm not at liberty to disclose anything, sweetie. YOU, Quinton, are not at liberty to negotiate. You're lucky you weren't shipped back to the mountains or somewhere else, but in any event, we've now moved on to the second phase. And that involves direct contact with you.

Which means we get to play around with you, our test subject, on a more personal level. That sounds incredibly exciting to me, to be honest."

More cryptic stuff from the Enchanting Delinquent then, who had to sidestep the flurry of empty soda cans being tossed at her. Inside the ring, Quinton May paced up and down, growing increasingly enraged and impatient at Fejona Min carefully saying a lot of things without really answering May's questions.

Isn't that frustrating sometimes? I know it is for me. Anywho, back to the action.

"It's good to see that you failed to answer my questions and instead gave me something else to query about, so I'll go ahead and ask -- WHO THE FUCK IS WE?" Quinton shouted, having half a mind to sprint out of the ring and choke Fejona.

That's what he was doing in his mind, at least, but the image of that was burst by another round of evil villain laughter from the Cambodian Femme Fatale, while she shook her head and attempted to regain her composure.

"You don't get to acquire the answers, Quinton." Fejona clarified, clearing her throat. "All you get to do, in fact, is to wait until the proverbial shit hits the fan. And once that happens, I can choose to join in the festivities or move on to another project.

Either way, I get two things out of it. Money, and... fame.

And, oh, since I'm in a good mood, I'll somewhat answer your question. You already know the answer, though. WE, in terms of the people you'll be dealing with the most, refers to myself. Of course. And, yes, you know who my associate slash partner is. You two have been formally introduced. But I guess reintroductions are in order.

Natalie Quinston, please come out and say hello to Quincy."

Right on cue, came Natalie Quinston from the back. ACW fans had no clue who she was, but those who followed tA for the majority of the beginning of the year knew. She was Fejona's partner in crime and in business. How exactly was she related to Quinton May, as hinted to by Fejona?

Let's just say, Natalie knows Quinton's psychee and Quinton knows Natalie's secrets.

The two women stood on the stage, staring a hole through the Canadian Gladiator, who now masked his anger with apparent calmness. He knew that he wasn't going to obtain any new information, and simply stood in the ring, looking back at the two women who claimed they were going to make his life a living hell.

"The best is yet to come, Quinton. Trust me." Fejona Min reaffirmed.

And with that, her music started up again, as Fejona and Natalie took their leave. Jeers aplenty in the stand, and the female duo who formerly plyed their trade in theAsylum had made their mark with devastating quickness. Quincy Mama threw his microphone down and continued to pace around in the ring, as the signal for commercials was given.

Now, the clock was ticking for the Castaway. Something was coming.

Something bad was coming.

Tonight was a night when everything you have held true would slowly appear a façade. Tonight was a night when someone new would change the way you perceive the world of wrestling. Tonight was a night when a person would come from nowhere, and strangely be everywhere. Tonight was a night when ideas would change. Tonight was a night when he would change. Tonight was a night… Fuck it. Tonight was the night.

A pair of soft blue eyes seemingly pierced the shadowy depths of the night sky, a solemn figure gazing longingly to the light. Tonight, he would finally come from the darkness and step into the light. Take that step that everyone had told him, ‘No way in god’s green earth,’ he had had. He’d prove them all wrong.

Every.

Last.

One.

He was a soi-distant figure moulded from the concrete jungle – a black rose. There was an unmistakable air of reality that clung to him like the putrid smell of vomit. He had definitely done this the hard way… but as the song goes…

‘I did it my way.’

It was hard…but hell it was self-made, every bit of who he was now had been crafted from every ounce of blood sweat and tears he could muster… and more. As you see for some in life, giving their utmost all is not enough. No. Not nearly enough. A million people can try a million times, at a million percent, and the million shall fail, but not he. Nope, definitely not he.

He thrived on the doubt, on the haters, on everyone who said “Boy you can’t.” To him, impossible was a word made up by those who dared not to push the boundaries, which dissect society. To him, failure was not an option, hell failure was not in his vocabulary. He was not a born winner. He just is.

The piercing eyes were seemingly tracing the night sky for something, as he sat deep in thought: the thickly muscled individual sat clandestine to the surrounding world observed passers-by with a meticulous scrutiny that would speak volumes of his wrestling repertoire.

His world was one where he took everything he could, not as an act of criminality but for survival, and to an extent… this life of sordid hedonism got him here right now: as it was through that fatuitous act that seemingly seems him becoming a superstar.

“Superstar…” he chuckled lightly to himself, his voice hardened yet comforting. “These people ain’t seen nothin’ yet. Oh hell no…they ain’t seen nothin’ yet. Tonight… and from now on will be my night, my nights…” his words tailed off slightly as his eyes spotted a stunning Bentley skulk into the arena. “Homeboy made it here…hah, well…let’s see what this place is like on the inside. Now, where would his silver spoon ass go?” a set of perfectly formed teeth flashed a wry grin, “Heh, of course.” He smiled once more, “This is all about my days, all about my nights, all about my life…and from now on, all about the future.” With a confidence hardly described as quiet, he slipped effortlessly from his perch down to the concrete floor below him. Greeted with a stifled thud, the figure moved into the light.

Tyson Osario.

T.O.

His face was gripped with a permanently fixed smile, his beautiful eyes encompassing a face that surpassed the description of handsome. His body, tort, ripped and thick was hardly contained by the loose throwback Barry Sanders jersey he adorned. A homage to his boyhood hero. But unlike Sanders…he would never quit on the thing he loved. One last sparkle twinkled harmoniously in his eye before Tyson strode away, further immersing himself in the light.

His transition was complete; from out of the darkness and into the light… a transition that would start something special. Something of superstar qualities…

A star was born… a superstar.

“Superstar…” his voice mumbled… “we’ll see soon enough.”

"So, everything's settled, then?" Natalie Quinston asked.

Fejona Min nodded as she closed the door of the locker-room she and Natalie had been assigned. Taking a long look at the room for the first time on the night, Min put her hand on her hips, slightly annoyed at something. Natalie noticed this, but wasn't sure what Fejona was thinking about.

Hence, the Cambodian Femme Fatale proceeded with the spilling. "This room doesn't compare to what we were used to back in Asylum, you know. We had it good there, being in Campbell's back pocket. The luxuries we got spoilt with, heh. Lovely.

Then again, we were on a schedule we admittedly couldn't fulfil. Lucky for us, he got deep-sixed and Asylum screeched to a standstill. Divine interventation, that."

Natalie Quinston nodded. It was a good thing that they had gotten out when they did, although that choice -- made completely by Fejona -- sparked a wave of creative differences between the two that seemingly had put an end to their tenure as friends, associates, and partners in crime.

Turns out, they settled their issues quickly and without incident.

"Anyways, yes, it's been settled. I've got a contract that lasts until the end of time, and you, as my assistant/partner, get to also compete here. Seems we came here a little too late and missed the entire segment where Mr Laguna presented the brackets for this King Of Ages tournament." Fejona Min explained as she plopped herself down on a chair.

Natalie leaned back in her chair and cocked an eyebrow, crossing her legs as she did so. Her curiousity had been peaked.

Like you wouldn't believe. "Oh? What does that mean, then?"

"It means I have my opening round match in a few minutes." the Cambodian Femme Fatale remarked coolly. "And you have your opening round match next week. Against some chap named Azrael As-something. He's good, I hear. Should be a good challenge for you, since it'll be your first bit of experience under this environment."

Natalie didn't especially like it when Fejona Min went off on a tangent and sounded all lecturer-like when it came to her partner's experience in the realm of fighting/wrestling. First, in tA. Now, in ACW. Natalie didn't need the talk again. Quinston knew she was... 'green', but she was also supremely confident in her abilities.

"Yeah, I guess. But hey, this Quinton thing; what exactly are we going to do from now?" Natalie queried as she leaned forward, watching as Fejona Min massaged her calf muscles. "I mean, he's going to come at us with all he's got. Especially me. You know our history. He will definitely want to get his hands on me any way he can."

The Enchanting Delinquent smiled. Her associate may not have known all the details.

But she, the undefeated Asylum Women's Champion (and she'd claim she was the best Women's Champion Asylum had ever had), knew everything. Right down to the smallest and most critical detail. It was part of the program, she reminded herself quietly, before Natalie snapped her fingers, jarring Fejona back to real time.

"Don't worry about Quinton at all, Nat!" Min assured Quinston, as the former stood to her feet, more or less ready for her match. As ready as she could be given the short noticed. She, too, though had her mind on the Canadian Gladiator.

"He's in for a wild ride. Exciting times ahead."

KING OF AGES
Ecks Vs. Fejona Min

The next installment in the King of Ages tournament was about to commence, the referee was ready, as were the fans. Eve 6’s “Inside Out” brought the crowd to life. They stood on their feet awaiting the arrival of the Darkside of Wrestling – Ecks.

The curtain was thrown aside as the wrestling boots of Alexander Burrace slapped the cold steel rampway. He walked towards the ring as he slapped the hands of some fans on the way.

This was his time to shine he thought as he rolled under the ring ropes. This was his time. His thoughts were cut off though as “Lucky You” by the Deftones filled the ears of the fans and people in attendance. And then…

… One of those neat-o little things you only see in highlight reels when they review old matches, and it cuts from the entrances right to the beginning of the match! Bam!

The fans in attendance cheered as standing in the ring were the two competitors who were willing, and might I add able to take home the victory on this evening.

As they exchanged words and a push or two, the referee called for the bell. Fejona Min and Ecks were essentially strangers to one another, but the ability to fear was not an attribute that either wrestler possessed.

Fejona got the ball rolling with a leg strike to the side of Ecks that caused the Darkside of Wrestling to stumble backward. Fejona pushed Ecks hard off the ropes and caught him with a knee to the sternum off the rebound. He fell down to a knee, as Fejona backed off for a split second before driving a hard fist into the body of Alexander Burace.

The miniature onslaught in the beginning of the match towards Ecks’ midsection had him at a loss for air. Fejona continued the attack as another knee connected with the Rising Demon’s ribs. He rolled away from the Obstinate Assassin, trying to catch his wind and give himself a fighting chance.

Fejona stalked her pray, approaching Ecks slowly and meticulously. Suddenly without warning Ecks snapped up and dropped Fejona neck first into the second rope with a drop toe hold. The crowd cheered as Alexander Burace struggled to climb to the second rope. It was very early in the match, but already Ecks was feeling the wrath of the Cambodian.

As Fejona lay helpless on the rope, Ecks soared from the second turnbuckle, his knee connecting with Fejona’s back. Her body bent in a way they should not as she yelped in pain before impacting the mat. The Darkside of Wrestling got back to his feet. He laid a boot into the upper-arm of the Femme Fatale. An armbar followed up quickly.

Ecks applied the pressure as Min struggled to free herself.

Finally Ecks released the hold and jumped back to his feet. He paused for a few moments, letting Fejona do the same. Then, like a bat out of hell, Ecks charged at the Cambodian. With his arm elevated from his side he tried to decapitate her with a clothesline from hell.

She was expecting as much.

She ducked under the clothesline and, trying to end the match early, attempted to lock in Sagacity. Ecks, well aware of his surroundings, dropped down to his knees and plowed Fejona over with his advantage of brute strength.

She toppled into the ropes. Ecks fell to the canvas as well. Both competitors however, show a will to win, jumped back to their feet. They both ran for one another, with Fejona getting the better of the collision as she fed Ecks’ jaw a hard elbow.

He leaned back, and that’s when she caught him. A stiff roundhouse kick to the kisser!

Ecks fell.

Fejona wasn’t going to let her foot off the gas, however. She jumped right on her opponent. She landed lefts and rights and lefts and rights. It appeared nothing was going to stop her path to victory tonight.

Nothing.

Ecks threw his hands in front of his face trying to protect himself from the beating he was receiving. The Cambodian rolled off of him. She got back to her feet, setting herself. Ecks slowly made his was back to his, but a throat thrust later put him down onto one knee.

He gasped for air, but it wasn’t coming. She shot a right hand into the back of his head. He lay motionless on the mat, Fejona felt she needed to capitalize. She got down behind Ecks and began to apply an STF, an example of her wrestling knowledge.

Ecks squirmed in pain as Fejona locked the hold in. He was in the center of the ring, there was no where for him to go.

She continued to apply the pressure, as Ecks’ long locks covered his face - a face that was currently masked in agony.

Fejona wanted Ecks to tap. She dared him to.

She kept the hold as long as she could before she decided it wasn’t getting her anywhere. She hopped back to her feet, and drags Ecks back to his. She attempted another roundhouse kick and if it hadn’t been for Ecks’ awareness it may have connected. He dropped under it and brought her to the mat with a Russian leg sweep. The crowd cheered as Ecks began to apply a chokehold on Fejona.

He wrapped his hands around the Cambodian’s neck as the referee got down to make the count.

1…

2…

3…

4…

Ecks broke the hold on four. He was a smart wrestler, he knew he had four seconds before he was disqualified and he was going to use all of the allotted time.

Fejona lay on the mat, holding her neck, as Ecks got back to his feet and used this time to recuperate. He leaned over the ropes to catch his breath as the Cambodian Femme Fatale got to her feet. Alexander Burrace turned to face her. Fejona went for another leg strike, however Ecks blocked it, and returned with a hard right hook, which Fejona ducked under.

The momentum carried Ecks right around. His back was now to Fejona. She applied a front face lock and then it came.

Sagacity02

Ecks was down, and Fejona was ready to make the pin.

1.

2.

3.

Fejona rolled away from her opponent. Ecks lay motionless on the mat, as the impact of the finisher had essentially put him out. His chest moved up slowly and fell. He had been eliminated from the King of Ages tournament, and Fejona had advanced.

The native of Cambodia was successful on this night, but as she retreated up the entrance ramp one could only wonder what the next round would have in store.

Winner > Fejona Min

Our Quest Begins Tonight

So, four men walked into a locker-room and immediately started to strip.

... Out of their long overcoats, that is. These four men were a solid unit that had only just recently decided to declare war on the organisation we all know as All-Star Championship Wrestling. Sure, many people have tried that before. Remember Dante Inferno, that hellraiser? Or Ethan Winters? How about Vincent Pembridge?

These guys, though, claim to have a new spin on it. Probably explains why they're taking after the coolness that was the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle craze. Having gotten into their ninja attire, three of the four gangly men sat themselves down on the floor, while the leader of the betheren, Donatello, turned the lights down and slowly paced around his gang members in a circular motion.

"Our quest begins tonight." Donatello spoke up, as he came to a halt.

"Tonight, after having officiated our status in this company and after having given a sample of what we're made of, we shall begin on our arduous journey. The nature of our task may seem easy to outsiders who wish to replicate our goal.

They do not realise, though, how foolish they are.

We, on the other hand, have been prepared. And from tonight onwards, we shall commence with the con. Every single thing we do, is done for a reason. We must live in the now, and plan for the future, while realising the mistakes of the past made by other people in the same shoes.

All the while, we must embrace the purpose of our mission. That is critical."

The other three members of the Feared Ninja Assassins nodded their heads, understanding. They had come together after being stuck in obscurity for far too long, and now, they were intending to unleash hell on one specific hapless victim. Before they could do that, though, they had to do something else.

And that something else involved the entity known as ACW, as a whole.

Donatello spoke up again. "Tonight, I have a match. Not surprising. It is a tournament match, I've been told, and the winner of this tournament will be able to attain several items of interest. As is the case, only myself and Leonardo have been entered into this tournament. Mr Laguna is a very tricky individual.

Our tag team encounter at GLORY was in fact something of a qualification round for us.

No matter. This does not dent our plans in any shape or form. In fact, it will bode us fine. The three of you know what to do tonight, so prepare for that. Also, I do not wish for any of you to accompany me down to the ring later on for my match.

Remember our code of honour, gentlemen."

Having finished his spiel, Donatello dropped to one knee and extended his arm out towards the rest of his gang members, who did the same thing. The four of them then began chanting in some unfathomable tongue that could have been either Latin or one of those funky Chinese dialects like Teochew or something.

Suddenly, they were interrupted. The door opened and the lights were flicked on.

"Uhhh, what the hell are you people doing?" an overweight backstage official demanded to know, confused on what he'd walked in on. Michaelengo collapsed to the ground, taken completely by surprise, while Donatello calmly arose, crossing his arms.

Wait, calmly? Let's see. "GET THE BLOODY HELL OUT OF HERE, YOU INSIPID ARSEWIPE!"

So, the overweight official did as he was told. Donatello got back down on one knee, and an embarrassed Michaelengo regained his balance, fixing his bandana as he did so.

"Dude, that was incredibly strange."

Then they all resumed their trance-like chanting thing. And that was that.

The Pressure Is Just Too Much

"Damn, this is some shit" The voice of Gabriel Malik Walczak could be heard as he pushed through the door in the back. Gabriel was obivously in pain, the expression on his face told the whole story. With a brace around his neck, and his left arm lifted holding the side of his neck, he brushed past the security guard.

Shawn Johnston the ACW lights and sound technician stood backstage right where Gabriel had walked in and the two began to strike up a conversation. "A little late tonight don't you think Sir." Johnston said inquisitively.

"I'm not even cleared to wrestle tonight, so It's not like it'd matter." Gabriel had a pissed off look on his face, with pain in his eyes. He continued to hold onto his neck, but the only thing going through his mind was getting his hands on Malik Roland.

"Oh, Your neck's doing that bad? Looks like a bruise at most to me." Johnston spoke with a tone of sarcasm in his face, hell he almost cracked a smile as he said it.

"What the fuc.."

Johnston hit the ground hard, and his body shook with pain. His spine had to tingle after coming into contact with the concrete floor, and his face, well lets just say it looked like rudolph the fucking reindeers' nose.

"Your a fucking prick." Gabriel was pissed. His eyes were wide open and his veins came bulging out of his neck. If he said one more word to Johnston it probably would have been something about killing him; that's how hot he was.

Gabriel couldn't stand it any long, he had to get out of this situation before he got into anymore trouble. Gabriel picked up his bag that he dropped during the confrontation and made his way towards the far hallway.

Things were about to get really deep for Gabriel, and he began to question whether he was ready for this all at once. He had to find guidance, he needed someone to go to.

Malik Roland was after him, His neck felt like it was broke, and he probably was going to be fined for hitting a member of the staff. Shit, what a way to start off the night.

Zack De La Rocha blared through the speakers, as SilverHAWK roared through the curtain and walked down to the ring in a field of boo's and jeers.

"So, Glory."

A cheer from the ACW loyal.

"A few things went down at Glory...some of them good, some of them bad. For the HAWK, it was mostly bad, but I'm not here to bitch and moan. I lost. Simple as."

The fans were a bit taken aback by HAWKs honesty.

"I threw all my eggs into one basket after the mugging which gave me my sight back, and that's the first issue I'd like to address. All you little faggots who actually had the nerve to condemn me as a liar, saying that I was play acting this whole charade...you're full of shit. I was blind...and it's something that I never wish to experience ever again.

The mugging which took place was very similar to what happened at Revival...and sharp knock to my cranium which misaligned my eye sockets. The mugging re-aligned them and I'll thank whomever is watching over us right now for that, for the rest of my life."

SilverHAWK took a large breath as he finished talking about something which definitely troubled him over the past month or so.

"But now as I stand here...I find myself in a recurring situation in ACW, as I am currently doing nothing, as nobody wants a piece of the HAWK, the main man around here, no matter what anyone says. 

So I now find myself in a predicament don't I?

Do I sit on my ass and earn my wages doing nothing?

Or.

Do I go out, find some young pretender who is the next best thing and knock his fuckin' block off?

A few cheers from the ACW faithful as the old HAWK seemed to come back to light, the fans could never really gauge what HAWK was gonna do next, maybe that was what made him who he was.

"So I guess...you'll all have to wait and see what the HAWK does next, won't you?"

A Star Is Born....

Seemingly one word would describe Winston Smith Junior.

Crisp.

Everything about him was just that.

Crisp.

Smooth, well-dressed, well maintained, affluent, everything your little girl looks for in a man…and loaded.

Well, as if you didn’t know?

Dressed from head to toe in tailor made Gucci, he looked every part the executive. Everything about him oozed class. He was a model of the upper echelons of society.

Ill mannered.

Impatient.

Well… only to those who didn’t share his class… or apparent lack of.

His foot tapped rhythmically, a symphony of unruly impatience. He hated waiting.

Down the hallway, footsteps pattered towards Winston’s general direction averting his opulent glare in the direction. His self-assured smile turned to an expression of disdain.

“Homeboy!!! What’s crackin’ Junior?!” the voice bellowed from down the hall…

He hated the name Junior…it made him somehow seem subservient.

“I said Junior, how ya keepin’ it brother?” the voice once more reprimanded Winston.

“Look, Mr Osario…” the words had barely dripped from his mouth.

“That’s T.O… teeee, oooooo. None of this Mr. Osario shit, don’t want the boys to think I’m… well… I’m like you ya see?” Tyson spoke in a comedic manner…however, one could sense there was an intellect behind it all.

“Okay, Mr T.O…” yet again…

“Dawg… it’s T.O… not mister, not sir, T motherlovin’ O.”

Winston released a sigh, long winded and drawn out, his breath signified a small fraction of the detest he had for this arrangement, “In that case you will refer to me as Mr. Smith, failing that one should address me as Winston.”

Tyson looked deep into his colleague and smiled, “Whatever makes ya happy Junior.” He made it his goal to annoy him.

“Now listen here, do not for one second act as if you are the only one who dislikes this ‘arrangement.’ I could be a million miles from this cesspit, looking after boxers or whatnot, but now look at me, stuck with some hood rat, ghetto tripped out, wannabe gangster…” cut off once more…

Tyson stepped towards Winston, and with two robust hands, gripped Winston by the lapels of his suit, bringing him towards his own face.

“What did you just call me, dawg?” this time, no irony, no hidden intelligence. With one fell swoop of his mighty poetic axe Winston had insulted the only thing T.O. had in this life. The knowledge of how he made himself, took himself away from everything that normally would bring… in his words, ‘bring a brother down.’

“Unhand me you cretin…”

Tyson threw Winston to the floor with a demonic ease.

“Man, what the fuck do you know about me? Huh? You come up here, into my life, my world, and think you’re better then me coz ya daddy bought ya some fresh Gucci clothes? Think just coz ya speak articulate and shit, that for some reason that makes you better then me? Shit man, I bet you ain’t worked a day in yo’ life boy. Silver spoon fed little prick… I wish yo’ father wouldn’t have made this stupid contract, I’d be better off in jail then in the company of some little punk ass kid. Homie, lemme tell you somethin’…”

“THAT’S ENOUGH.” The voice echoed down the corridor.

“Who are you to accuse me? How on earth can you accuse me of things, when you yourself are currently guilty of them? Sure, my father has paid for my life thus far, but what about now? I’m trying to do things by myself, why do you think I’m in this hellhole. To help you? Well dawg you should get your ideals straight. I look out for me, and only me. Ever since my father assigned me by your side, life has been nothing short of a disaster…”

“That’s why you’ll always be alone.” T.O. muttered.

“Excuse me…” exasperated, Winston managed to stammer some words forth.

“You ain’t got shit in this life man. Lets face it. Daddy sick’n’tired of payin’ for yo’ Bentley’s, yo’ suits, yo’ existence. You wanna see some things, lets go right now, I show ya things ya only see on television boy, coz our worlds we live in are two very different places dawg. Now ya been brought down to mah level, and ya scared… I can smell the fear on ya. Scared of bein’ a failure. Well listen Junior; if you go through life afraid, then what’s the point in living? You tell me that now…”

“I’m not afraid...”

“Keep telling yourself that boy.”

An eerie silence gripped the hallway; the halls seemed to be holding their breath as if they possessed knowledge of a scandal that would later sensationally destroy two great young men. Then again… they always say opposites attract.

Opposites… this extreme, this opinionated, this different?

Well, perhaps this is the experiment a certain businessman was testing…when the contract was made…

The contract that would come to see…lives forever changed.

Tonight a star would be born…

A star…

And that's why fireworks and pubic hair don't mix.

Gabriel had so much on his mind; he had no clue where his career was going to lead him. He'd already performed on one of the biggest cards in the industry, he was a marked man, and he disrupted the backstage area in ACW in his third night.

Still, he signed a contract to work here, and there was no getting out of it. All that could be left now was to cope with it and try to make the best out of it. Gabriel knew that he had the skill, he just wasn't quite sure if he had the patience or the self-confidence.

"Ah, Room 5C." Gabriel said with a slight grin on his face. 

He turned his head from side to side, to see anyone was coming. 

That would be a negative. 

Next step was to knock on the door and simply wait.

Knock!
Knock!
Knock!

Gabriel's fist was clinched tight as he hammered on the sturdy wooden door that led to the locker-room on the other side. But who was inside? And how could this person really help him get back on track here in ACW?

"Thank god your actually here." Gabriel said as he walked inside the door. Gabriel didn't appear to care wether the man wanted him in his room or not, all that he could think of was his problems.

"I need your hel..."

"Of course you need my help," the deep Alaskan voice boomed. 

Oh, Jesus, this guy again. 

"So... what can God's Gift to Women do for you?" He said cheerfully, motioning to Gabriel to take a seat, "a dollar?" 

The Alaskan Timberwolf broke into laughter. Gabriel chuckled politely, but let's face it, Kelly Flawless just isn't funny. He slapped his leg as he wiped what appeared to be a tear from his eye. 

… Wait a second, are you laughing? Good, so I'm not the only one who thinks this guy isn't funny. 

"Ah," he sighed, "sometimes I just kill myself with knee slappers like that!" 

… Knee slappers? 

Gabriel walked over towards the seat that the Diva of Masculinity had offered him. 

Sitting down, Gabriel slouched with his head down inside his lap almost as if he was going to have a break down. In a rapid movement his head shot up and he just couldn't stop talking. 

"I can't handle all of this. It's just too much for me; I've got Malik Roland whose out to kill me. My god damn neck feels like I was ran over by a Mac truck and now that god damn Johnston guy backstage pissed me off and I'll probably be fined for hitting his ass. I didn't sign a contract for all this shit, I don't even want to do this shit anymor..."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Cheerio!" Flawless abruptly cut him off, raising a hand in front of his face. 

What was this fool talking about? Trucks? A mob-style whacking? This wasn't what the wrestling business had come to… was it? The Protagonist of the Story of Life shook his head in disbelief. He looked to the left of him where a Naya bottle sat. He raised his arm over the arm of the chair and calmly picked the container up from its stationary position.

"You know what your problem is?" Flawless asked. 

Gabriel stopped; he stopped talking, he stopped moving and he quite possibly could have stopped breathing. For an instant he believe he had come to the wrong man, this guy was nuts. What was he talking about? Here's Kelly Flawless saying Gabriel was loosing his mind talking about trucks and this guy is talking about Cheerios? This was beyond him, this was completely beyond him. He hadn't the slightest idea what to say. Gabriel tried to blink, but his eyelids wouldn't move. He tried to speak but his lips wouldn't function, he simply shook his head from side to side.

Finally he managed to utter from under his breath his response.

"No."

"Okay, and you've come to me because you want me to help you, correct? And you're willing to let me help you to cure this problem?" The Blonde Warrior of the North questioned. 

Gabriel nodded. 

"Good," Flawless said sternly. Then out of a fit of rage that came from God knows where, Flawless hurled the bottle towards Gabriel like Roger Clemens has been known to hurl baseballs and bats at Mike Piazza.

The bottle smacked Gabriel in the side of the head. The crackling noise of the plastic was the only sound to fill the air as the room went dead silent.

The impact didn't seem to faze him. He just stared at Flawless with a bewildered look on his face.

"There," Flawless said, leaning back in his chair, "that's your problem."

Heh? 

He had to almost stop and think about what had just happened, as it didn't quite register in his head at first. He came here for advice and guidance and what he got in return was a water bottle being thrown at his head.

It didn't quite all add up. The fact he had just been put in danger didn't really bother him, the fact that Kelly had yet to make his point clear however, did.

"So are you going to treat me like an adult and tell me how that helped me?" Gabriel said with a rather confused look on his face. 

"Let's try the experiment again, shall we? This time maybe you'll pick up on what I have seen," Flawless said with a rather large grin on his face. 

Gabriel shrugged a little. Some kind of therapy, huh?

"Ok, this is a wottle barter..." Flawless stopped... 

More retarded humor. 

"Aha, see what I did there?" Flawless said, grinning like an idiot, "that's funny. I messed that up. It's funny."

Gabriel looked at him as we all look at him... like he's a moron. 

"Ok," Kelly again cocked his arm back and let the bottle fly. This time the impact was more like a scaled version of the Hiroshima blast. The cap twisted off the bottle and the water began to run down the face and neck of Gabriel. The plastic container fell to the floor. Gabriel sat still, trying to comprehend Kelly's logic. 

"You're welcome," the Diva of... Idiocy said with confidence.

Surprisingly enough, Gabriel still had no clue what exactly Flawless was trying to get at. It's highly possible though that Gabriel isn't the only one.

Kelly sighed. 

"Do you know why you got hit with the bottle?" Kelly said sympathetically, as if he were talking to a child, "do you know why I smacked you in the face, like a little bitch?" 

Again, he leaned back. He had the answer.

"Because you're not mentally tough enough. You're too trusting!" He screeched, clenching his fists, "trusting is not something you can be in this business. Jesus Christ, any one of these wrestlers would stab you in the back for nothing more then a cheeseburger. Just think what they'd do to you if there were something bigger on the line. Like a woman... or a man if that's what turns your crank."

"So, I need a backbone and an attitude?" Gabriel thought he had figured it out, with the help of Flawless. Maybe this was the answer, he need to grow a set of balls, he needed to be his own man and do his own thing. But in realizing that, one more thought came over his mind.

"Why exactly am I sitting here trusting you then?" Gabriel wondered, "How do I know I can trust you?"

"You don't," Flawless said, smirking. 

It was at this point that Gabriel realized that caught up in all the bullshit that Kelly Flawless had been shoving down his throat, the message he was portraying actually made sense. For the first time since walking into this room, he was able to think of something other then his problems, rather he was able to think of the solutions. With that, Gabriel reached over and picked up the bottle and the cap. Wiping the water from his face, he capped the bottle and gave it a little twist.

He pulled the arm back that was holding the bottle and flung it forward towards Flawless.

The bottle impacted just below Flawless' upper lip. The room went silent for a few moments before Flawless reached up toward his face and began rubbing his mouth. Gabriel got up from his post and looked down at the Blonde Warrior of the North who was still seated.

"Thanks Chief," Gabriel said with a chuckle in his voice, "thanks a lot." 

He was late.

This made Junior angry.

T.O., he could care less, he got things if/when they happened.

Not Junior.

He got things when he wanted them, and how he wanted it given to him.

He could care less if it was some bum from the street, or the President himself. His father never accepted lateness, and nor should he… a shiver ran tingling down his spine… was he becoming his father?

“Man, what’s up? You ain’t said a word for hours.” T.O. attempted to instigate conversation.

“I’m perfectly fine, just let me speak in this meeting. Okay?”

“Sure thang homeboy, sure thang.”

Mr. Laguna’s office door opened slightly, “Come in.” his voice had a purr of an Italian accent.

“Showtime…” the words were inaudible almost.

“Let’s lock’n’load!” Tyson beamed.

Cocking his eyebrow Junior turned to look at Tyson, and holding back a smile uttered two words, “Please don’t.”

Tyson took the hint.

The door creaked open to reveal a splendiferous desk, assorted with paperwork. In a large chair sat Mr. Laguna, his hair slicked back in a tidy ponytail, and his face not suffering from the effects of age.

“Tyson, come on in, welcome to ACW, how is your first day going?”

“Well man, ya see…” Tyson was interrupted by Junior.

“We’re fine, everything as well.” Emphasis on the we… “I take it your health is as good as you look?” he had learned the art of appealing to ones vanity at an early age…

Tyson glanced at Junior, before shaking his head.

“Our latest few acquisitions on talent are all looking to the future, and you are certainly one of them Tyson...ACW has to keep a good mix of talent to draw in the fans, we build stars here.” Laguna shifted his head onto one hand, leaning comfortably on his desk.

“Thanks breh… but ya see…” 

“Yes, my client in our opinion is one of the best unsigned talents in wrestling. He has a lot to offer.” His words were those expected of someone with a law degree.

Tyson looked at Junior once more…he wanted to speak for himself, why now let someone take over shit?

“Junior, take five.” He belittled Winston…

Laguna smiled a little bit… the kid’s got charisma…

“So, Mr. Laguna. Can I call you Mr. L?” Laguna nods with a slight smirk on his face, “So Mr. L, I was thinking, I want to make an impact her in ACW, like, as soon as possible. Ya hear me? I want to take everything ya can throw at me, take anything and everything, ya get me? See… I ain’t come here to make up the numbers… and well…” not again…

“I think, what my client is saying is that he wishes to become something great here, and with your help and guidance, would like to begin this rise to fame.” Winston nodded in the direction of T.O.

“You've already been signed up for King of Ages.”

“Tyson is in this tournament, I presume?”

“Next week is his debut, a chance to progress to the Quarter Finals.” Laguna smiles.

“Well…” Winston begins…

“Well what?” Tyson enquired. “I s’pose ya know precisely what I’m thinking? Yeh, I forgot we were on the same wavelength and all… well listen, Mr. L. I tell ya what, see this tournament… I’m gonna go win the thing. I don’t care what you, or this punk sitting next to me thinks, I’m gonna win this KoA,” turning to Winston, “Man, lets get the fuck out of here, I got a few things I need to tell you. Things I need to get off my chest. Mr. L, thanks for yo’ time, much appreciated.”

Laguna nods with a smile on his face, “No problem Tyson, anytime.” 

T.O. turns to Laguna, “Thanks…” Osario lowers his head in acknowledgement, “Peace out man.” His glare ensnares Junior.... "Lets go...." 

Quinton May [c] Vs. Malik Roland

"Respect" by Fabolous started up, just as COURAGE! returned from the commercials.

And instantly enough, the jeering started up for the man known as Malik Roland, one of the new breed of newcomers to the federation. Having been victorious in his debut match at GLORY just a few days prior, Malik had earned himself a shot at the Television Title. Coinciding with the return of the REAL holder of the TV Title, ahem.

As the red traces of strobe lights continued their assault on the eyes of the fans, the Heartthrob of the Hood himself appeared from behind the curtains, looking extremely focused. The twenty-eight year old competitor had endured a real battle against Gabrel M.W. at GLORY, but nobody's was going to stand in Malik's way of a title shot. No, siree.

Marching down the ramp, Malik surveyed the crowd, who were still jeering him. They were vocal about their feelings about Roland, yes, but there were a large number of fans who respected the Throwback Young'n for what he was able to accomplish at GLORY.

One must wonder, though; can he carry forward that impressive momentum into tonight's match?

We'll find out, won't we?

Rolling into the ring, Malik -- donned in a sleeveless black tanktop that showed off his biceps, and a pair of dark red denim jeans complete with a pair of black boots -- sniggered at the response he was getting and simply raised his arms in the air, playing up to the heat and basking in the atmosphere.

Then, "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 (real!) 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.

And there he was, folks. Quinton May. The ACW Television Champion.

Stepping out onto the stage, just wearing his black denim jeans and black shoes, Quincy Mama raised his right arm into the air, holding up his Television Title, to a huge chorus of cheers. In the ring, Malik Roland rolled his eyes, not buying into the hype at all.

Not one to waste time, coupled with his already touchy mood, Quinton quickly walked down the ramp and slid into the ring, nodding at the referee and glaring at the challenger for his TV Title en route to one of the four corner turnbuckles. There, he once again hoisted up his title belt in the air, like the cheap-pop-craving bastard that he was.

Wait. If the clone had the TV Title when he was large and in charge, how *did* Quinton reclaim possession of the title? Surely, the clone wouldn't have just handed it over, right?

Ahhhh, one of those plot holes. Interesting. MOVING RIGHT ALONG...

Stepping back down to the canvas, Quinton passed the title over to the referee and bounced his neck on both his shoulders, while Malik Roland cracked his knuckles, getting impatient. This was as good a chance as any for the Heartthrob of the Hood to add to his record as EdW Platinum Champion.

But he'd have to beat the man with a vice-like grip on the TV Title.

* DING DING DING *

The match was on. Yay? Yay.

Grinning at each other slyly, the two men slowly approached each other, a little bit of apprehension evident in both men. But it didn't take long for a tie-up to ensue. Seconds later, it was Malik Roland coming out of the tie-up with the advantage, courtesy of a raised knee to May's ribs. Chuckling, Roland fired away with a couple of right hands to the face.

Then came the whip into the ropes, which was followed up by a shoulder barge. Quinton was forefully and unceremoniously dumped to the canvas, and Malik quickly shot himself off the ropes, hoping to connect with an elbow drop. No such luck, since Quinton rolled onto his belly, forcing Malik to hop over the champion's body and run into the parrallel set of ropes.

As he came off of them, though, the Throwback Young'n got planted with a hiptoss by the champion, who'd swiftly jumped up to his feet! The crowd liked the sight of that, while Malik Roland simply growled as he clambered back up to his feet. An attempt at a wild swing never connected, as Quincy Mama ducked it and kicked Malik in the gut.

Following which, the Survivor of M15 that looked weird with the longish bangs he was sporting slapped on a hammerlock, on the same arm that Malik swung at Quincy with. Don't see that too often nowadays, eh? The Heartthrob of the Hood winced, and tried to get out of the predicament with a reverse elbow shot, but May evaded it. So, what did Malik do?

Very simple, young grasshopper.

He STOMPED down on Quinton's right foot, illicting a fresh wave of hate from the crowd.

Simple, yet annoyingly effective. Quinton had his eyes closed, groaning in pain, allowing Malik Roland to score with a sidekick to the champion's ribs, before the former EdW Platinum Champion spun a full 360 degrees and let loose with a saucy-looking revolution roundhouse kick.

Only trouble was, Quinton's catlike reflexes came into play here, and the Canadian Gladiator caught Malik's right foot, preventing it from crashing into the side of his face. This thoroughly stunned Malik Roland, and Quincy Mama used this to his advantage, taking Malik's left leg from under him with a very sneaky backheel trip.

Now, this was how the situation was: Malik Roland was flat on his back on the canvas, looking up at Quinton's mug. The Castaway, as he likes to be called (long story), had possession of BOTH of Malik's legs. What would May do, hmmmm?

Is it --

A) kick to the groin ?
B) double leg-drop to the groin ?
C) his modified Sharpshooter-esque finisher called HAIL TO THE KING ?
D) a classic Figure Four Leglock ?

Judging by the smirk on Quinton's face, it was E, which denoted NONE OF THE ABOVE. SORRY!

Instead, the Canadian Gladiator leaned back and catapaulted Malik Roland to the nearby corner turnbuckle. Pretty nifty move, and the crowd loved it. Malik didn't, since his face was basically squashed in upon impact with the turnbuckle. And as he staggered back, Quincy Mama saw it fit to sneak up on Malik Roland and slap on a rear waistlock.

The result? RELEASE GERMAN SUPLEX, motherfucker.

With the crowd going wild, Quinton quickly crawled over to Roland's body and covered;

ONE.

TWO.

THREEEEEEEEE -- NAH UH.

It was *almost* over right then and there, but Malik Roland wasn't going to allow himself to go down so easily. Still, though, it took a lot of effort for him to get the shoulder up, and the leftover exhaustion & lethargy from his match at the GLORY PPV was slowly creeping back into his body.

The Canadian Gladiator didn't bother with Malik's condition, though, and picked his opponent up, delivering one of those intensely malicious knife-edge chops which had the crowd going 'WHOOO' like a bunch of crackwhores. Malik clutched his chest in agony, and was thankful that May didn't decide to chop him again. No, May instead whipped Roland into the ropes.

And almost murdered him with an overhead belly-to-belly suplex on the return.

Malik looked out of it, and Quinton hooked the legs for the hopeful win;

ONE.

TWO.

THR -- NO!

Another desperate kickout from Malik, that was.

It was still early goings in the match, but the Throwback Young'n already appeared to be in trouble. Quinton quickly picked the challenger up and slugged him in the face with a right hook, before whipping him into the corner turnbuckle. Malik cursed as his spine connected with the turnbuckle, but he had the presence of mind to dive out of harm's way as Quinton came charging at him.

So, this meant that Quincy Mama crashed into the turnbuckle?

Nope. The pacey Canadian Gladiator -- who having only returned from supposed captivity, was not looking rusty at all -- just barely managed to prevent himself from tasting the turnbuckle. Turning around, however, May found himself getting a lick of Roland's boots as the Heartthrob of the Hood launched a standing dropkick at the Television Champion. Fancy, yes.

May found himself rebounding out of the corner turnbuckle in a toned-down whiplash effect, and he stumbled right back into Malik's path, who punished the Television Champion with an impressive-looking overhead double-underhook suplex.

With the bridging pin, too. Let's go to the count;

ONE.

TWO.

TH -- NAAAAHHH.

"Fuckin' hell!" Malik murmured bitterly.

He had every right to be. The Rising Star comfortably kicked out of that one. Too comfortably. Malik got up to his feet and snorted as he looked out at the crowd, leaving May to climb back up on his own. Roland wasn't stupid, though, and quickly unloaded on May as soon as the champion was vertical with a barrage of forearm smashes.

Before knocking Quincy silly with a ferocious uppercut. Ooooh, he didn't exactly endear himself to the crowd with that hit, did he? Like Roland gave a shit. May was forced back into the corner turnbuckle, and the Throwback Youngn'n rushed in to unleash a flurry of jabs and hooks to the Canadian Gladiator's anatomy, culminating in a savage headbutt. Ouchness.

May was reeling and Roland was liking the situation he was in. A lot. So much so that he took the champion down with a snapmare, before swiftly hoisting himself onto the second rope, and dropping a calculated drop down onto Quinton's right shoulder. Unorthodox move? Maybe, but it had Quincy writhing about on the canvas.

And that was all the cue-ing Malik needed to make the cover;

ONE.

TWO.

THR -- KICKOUT.

Once again, Quinton kept himself in the match, and frustrated Malik Roland in the process. This prompted the Heartthrob of the Hood to mount the Television Champion (not in the homosexual way), and fire away with a rush of right punches. May could barely defend himself, but the second Malik stopped to get into Quinton's face, the champ made his move.

And by then, I mean he farted. Ahem.

Actually, the Rising Star raised his right leg and smacked the side of his knee into the side of Malik's head, knocking him off of Quinton's body. The crowd ate this up, and this spurred May on, as it was his turn to mount Roland and pay the gangsta back the dozen punches he'd gotten earlier. After which, Quincy Mama flipped Roland off. The double bird, yo.

How did Malik respond? With a "fuck you!", thank you very much. Quinton simply shrugged and socked him once more in the face before dragging Roland up and kicking him a couple of times in the abdominals. But as the champ tried for a spinning heel kick, the former EdW Platinum champeen ducked it and shot himself into the ropes. May frowned, and decided to go for a clothesline then.

No luck. Roland ducked again. So, the Rising Star opted for something he knew would work, as he bounced off the ropes parallel to the ones Malik had come rebounding off.

HIGH-LEG CLOTHESLINE!

Totally trademark move from Quincy there. Roland cursed like a nun getting it in the arse, while the Canadian Gladiator kipped to his feet, itching to unload more punishment on Malik. The Heartthrob of the Hood raced to his feet and charged at Quinton, desperate to regain control of the match. May's answer? A spectacular armdrag, of course. The fans had seen this routine a million times.

And it never got old. In fact, it was comforting, in that weird sorta way. Malik was fairly new to this, though, so he foolishly got back up and ran at May again, only to fall prey to another armdrag. Once again, Roland's tenacity saw him clambering up to his feet, but this time, Quinton held his ground, letting Malik get real close to him.

And once the challenger got real close, May struck. With a drop toe hold. Down onto the bottom rope. Malik's face bounced right off the rope, and the momentum saw him stagger backward into Quincy's path, as he struggled to remain upright. Quinton would lend a helping hand to that, though. NOT.

For the TV Champion struck with a Northern Lights suplex. That was converted into a stalling 3/4 spinning belly-to-belly suplex. Yes, it looked cool. Yes, it fucking hurt like hell.

And yes, wise guy, Quinton hooked the legs for the win;

ONE.

TWO.

THREE.

... NO WAY.

Somehow, Malik Roland found enough in his tank to get the shoulder up. At the last possible second, too. Quinton shook his head, in disbelief, but he nonetheless quickly returned to the matter at hand. Picking Roland up, May immediately fired away with a right punch, but Malik responded with a hook of his own, even if it was slightly lacking in power.

So, Quinton retaliated with another hook. And Roland again responded, looking to turn the match into something he was very comfortable with -- a tough ol' slugfest. The Canadian Gladiator had other ideas, however. A kick to Malik Roland's knee was followed up by a stinging knife-edge chop from the Rising Star.

Then, FIVE MORE CHOPS were hit.

CHOP!
WHOOOO~!

CHOP!
WHOOOO~!

CHOP!
WHOOOO~!

CHOP!
WHOOOO~!

CHOP!
WHOOOO~!

It was a good thing Malik Roland had that tanktop on, or everybody could be witness to the blistering red welts that were forming on his chest. Quinton May smirked at the crowd going absolutely apeshit, before he kicked Malik in the knee again and whipped him into the corner. Whiplash effect meant Malik stumbled back into harm's way. Why do I say that?

Well, Quinton May was sizing his opponent up for a running sidekick.

.... DENIED! Malik caught Quinton's foot and spun it around, kicking the champ in the gut as May completed the 360 revolution, before lifting the Rising Star up for a suplex. Quinton squirmed out of it, though, and cinched in a reverse facelock, before he too lifted Malik off the canvas and into the air. Reverse brainbuster, maybe? We'll never know.

Because Malik Roland also managed to squirm out of trouble and as he landed behind Quinton, pushed the Television Champion into the ropes. Quinton had no idea what was in store as he bounced off the ropes, but Malik knew what he needed to do, and he took the Castaway down with a well-timed bionic elbow to the head! The Throwback Youngn'n called that move 'the Bow'.

And it's usually a prelude to his finisher.

Quinton, dazed, clambered back to his feet, confused at why the crowd were screaming at him to NOT turn around. A bionic elbow to the head will mess with your senses, though, and as such, May went ahead to turn around. Malik Roland raised his hands up and did the 'it's over, bitch!' motion, before he kicked Quincy Mama in the ribs and cinched in a front facelock.

Get ready, folks. Get ready for the end.

-- STREET DREAMS.

...

...

.... Well?

Oh, yes. Just as Malik Roland was about to drop Quinton's head down onto the mat, Quincy dug his fingernails into Malik's arm (the one that was wrapped around May's head) and fashioned a semi-waistlock, before he somehow forced out of the front facelock and wrenched Malik's arm. This took Roland by surprise, but Quincy was not finished, as he yanked Malik Roland towards him.

Then, a kick to the ribs was followed up with the shoving of Malik's head between his legs. Next came the double underhook of the arms. After that? Well, simple.

One word, folks --

HIDEAWAY!

The Heartthrob of the Hood was down in the middle of the ring, and the crowd were on their feet, already cheering. In their mind, it was pretty damn academic already. Quinton thought so too, as he hooked the legs. But was it?

Let's see;

ONE.

TWO.

... THREE.

You better believe it was.

The bell rang and "Make A Move" by Lostprophets started up again as Quinton stood to his feet and punched the air. Solid effort from Malik Roland, but Quinton's intensity was the deciding factor. May retrieved his title belt from the referee and hoisted himself up to the top of one of the four corner turnbuckles, soaking in the crowd reception.

Victorious again on familiar stomping ground, since his official return. And not looking rusty at all. Instead, May appeared to be at the top of his game.

Stepping down to the canvas, Quinton May saw two things. Firstly, he saw Malik Roland rolling out of the ring, catching his breath, silently cursing at himself. Secondly, he saw FEJONA MIN on the stage, arms folded and a devilish smirk on her face for some reason. Quinton had no idea why or for how long she'd been standing there.

And with a single clap of her hands, Fejona backtracked, disappearing back behind the curtains. Quinton flicked strands of his hair out of his face and bit his lower lip, realising that this fresh new rivalry with Fejona Min had more layers to it than he knew. Once again, May found himself in familiar territory.

In the dark, without a clue as to what was to come.

Winner > Quinton May via pinfall, to retain.

"I don't want to the bearer of bad news," started Lilani. "But I don't see how you are going to conquer a federation on your own."

For the past two hours Carter had spoke nothing but ACW, because before that near-fatal airplane crash 4 months ago, ACW was his life.

"ACW is mine, I took it from the depths of closure and even kept it open when it hit it's lowest time, and then I have some Italian fuck buy it when I'm dead...fuck that Anderson, fuck that, I'm taking it back hook or by crook."

Carter's risen voice began to turn some heads in the diner, as Lilani and Anderson tried to calm him down.

"Listen...we have some "information" on the current owner that you might be able to use against you, but it will be of no help what so ever if you don't get some outside help in this."

Carter was fuming, but he could see the sense in it.

"What information?"

Lilani pulled out another document, and slipped it over to Carter's side of the table.

"It turns out, that stereotypes are indeed truer than they seem Brian, Laguna's contacts, are well, hefty."

Carter flicked through the document with bated breath, if anything, it showed him that he needed help, big time.

"Jesus Christ, this guy is practically owns the mafia."

Anderson placed a steady hand on the table.

"Let's not go jumping to conclusions Brian, he had links yes, but he isn't the Don...he's not gonna pull out the whole organization if you try to barge in there. However, you are going to have to take this seriously, and plan it, if you want to go through with it."

Carter nodded his head.

"OK, we better get moving then, do you have any idea of guys that I can get on my side?"

Anderson smiled.

"Thought you'd never ask."

“Tyson, wait!” the voice echoed down the hallway.

T.O. turned on his heels, his Barry Sanders jersey showing great signs of wear and tear… “Look man, I’ve got nothing to say to you. The way you’ve carried yerself tonight… I don’t wanna associate with you. I’ve done everything, ever on my own. I ain’t got no help, and sure as hell don’t need no fancy talkin’ nigga to come up as if he’s from my hood, knows me, knows my shit? You got nerve boy. Look, no one has ever given me shit, never. Now, ya come in, wid yer fancy cars and suits and expect me to follow yer every command? Nigga… I don’t know what shit ya on, but T.O. takes orders from no one but T.O.”

Tyson stops, allowing for Junior to come within striking distance…

“I’m deeply sorry, Tyson, I confess I know nothing about your culture. Or about you… but this will change.” It sounded false…and sickening, and Tyson knew it.

“Look, the only way this is going to work is if you understand my shit.” Tyson takes from within his pocket a piece of paper, with some writing sprawled across it. “No, we shall see how willing you are to make this work. Meet me here, at this address, at this time and at this place. It’s time to open yer eyes Junior. Life ain’t all about Bentley’s, Gucci and money. Some things in life are free, and they’re the best things. Tomorrow, come dressed how you feel you should be…being you. You wanna be my manager, you got to know me. None of this shit tonight. I ain’t no silver spoon foo’, ya can talk yer fancy talk to man. I’m living in the real world. Ya gots to speak to me on normal level. I ain’t yer piece of meat for profit…look man, I had enough of this, I’ll see ya tomorrow.”

Junior turned away from his client… and thinking of a retort turned slowly…

“By the way Tyson…”

...He’d already gone, disappearing into the night skies.

The shadows concealed their man well on this night.

What a great way to start ACW…fucking great.

KING OF AGES
Vince Jacobs Vs. Gods Forgotten Son

The all-haunting Main Event, folks.

For some, the Main Event epitomises the array of talent the company has. For others, it is the climax after a long night's drama. In ACW's case, it is a combination of both, as the fourth of TEN tournament preliminaries was set to commence. The crowd were settled in their seats, having topped up their sodas and their popcorns.

They weren't going to want to miss any part of this match.

Especially when it brings together a virtual unknown and a true superstar in the name of almighty combat. There would be no love lost in this match, you can bet on that.

Without further ado, I present -- "You Know You're Right" by Nirvana. Classy.

I never bother you.
I will never promise to.
I will never follow you.
I will never bother you.
Never speak a word again.
I will crawl away for good.

I'm gonna move away from here.
You won't be afraid of fear.
No thought was put into this.
I always knew it would come to this.
Things have never been so swell.
I have never failed to fail.

Pain.

Pain... Pain.

You know you're right.
You know you're right.
You know you're right.

The arena was plunged into darkness, and mass screams of hysteria erupted. The dark represents the unknown, and God's Forgotten Son was exactly that; a complete unknown in the circuit. Even his ring entrance seemed mysterious, since the stage was devoid of any lifeform whatsoever.

Maybe because GFS was in the sea of humanity known as the crowd?

That he was, and that chilling face of his remained emotionless as GFS and his trainer/bodyguard, simply referred to as Mr Wallace, hopped over the security barricade. The two men nodded at each other at ringside, before GFS slid in and proceeded to stand in the middle of the ring, as a single white spotlight shone down on the newcomer to the industry.

Slowly removing his jacket hoodie, GFS let it drop to the floor as the lights finally came back on, and he raised a single first in the air, while keeping his eyes transfixed on the mat. Intensely focused would be only mildly describing GFS's mindset. Once his theme music faded out, though, the newcomer looked up at the crowd with those dead eyes of his and shook his head.

Still, the crowd didn't know what to make of God's Forgotten Son.

Just as he glided his jacket out of the ring and proceeded to one of the four corner turnbuckles of the ring, the house lights dimmed again, and a familiar tune started up over the speakers. "Ring Superstar" featuring the originality of Cypress Hill and the remix wonder of SVJ.

SVJ? Who the heck? Oooooh. Yes, him.

'superstar'VINCEJACOBS

Yes, it was him. Former ACW bad guy who'd returned to piss the fuck out of his eternal enemy. Current fWo superstar, raking in the big bucks. Former hWo Heavyweight & Tag Team Champion.

I could go on and on and fuckin' on about the man's accomplishments, but he'll simply tell you that he's the REASON there is a show. Without SVJ, apparently, COURAGE! would not be around.

Maybe, maybe not. Whatever the case, the fans knew one thing for sure; they didn't like Jacobs. This was evident when he brushed past the curtains donning those trademark purple/yellow tights of his, and swaggered down the ramp. In his mind, this match wouldn't be much of a challenge. You have to recall, Vince Jacobs was the runner-up of last year's KOA tourney.

He's been there, he's done that. Would explain why he was the favourite.

Climbing into the ring, Vince Jacobs shot Mr Wallace a dirty glare, before smirking at the sight of God's Forgotten Son, who observed quietly. The crowd's hate for SVJ was off the charts, but the self-proclaimed Pro-Wrestling's Phenom simply fed off of it. The opinions of the crowd mattered little to him; he was, after all, the Ratings Grabber.

Having flipped off the crowd, Jacobs turned his attention to GFS, who was already staring a hole through the veteran. Senior Referee, NOBODY-KN0WS-HIS-NAME, stepped in between both men and despatched the laws of the land to both competitors. Like SVJ needed to hear them, heh. Actually, he wasn't even listening to the referee. His attention had been garnered.

By Mr Wallace, on the outside. Who was doing... nothing.

For some reason, Jacobs figured that Mr Wallace was up to no good on the outside. Can you say, paranoid? So, in any event, Vince stormed over to the ropes and laid some verbal smacketh-downeth on the monster of a bodyguard, who simply folded his arms and kept quiet. This infuriated Vince, as you might have guessed. So much so that he didn't even hear the bell ring.

* DING DING DING *

And that was the cue for God's Forgotten Son to sprint at Vince and fiercely club him across the lower spine area, before driving another clubbing forearm into the back of the Ratings Grabber's neck! Vince was naturally surprised and arched his back in pain, which only aided GFS in his next form of attack.

SCHOOL-BOY PIN! OMGWTF! The referee quickly got to his knees;

ONE.

TWO.

TH -- NOOOOO.

Shocker of an opening right there, and GFS so nearly stole the cheeky victory. The crowd were on their feet already, enthralled by what would have been the biggest upset in ACW history. SVJ wasn't quite appreciative of being humiliated like that and raced to his feet, ducking a wild swing from GFS and knocking the latter into the ropes with a European uppercut.

Coming off the ropes, GFS found himself kicked in the ribs and doubled over, allowing Jacobs to start driving his right elbow down onto the left shoulder of the virtual unknown. God's Forgotten Son flinched a little, and this encouraged Jacobs to whip GFS into the ropes. As the latter bounced off, Vince lowered his head, looking for a back body drop, possibly.

Now, despite being a newcomer to the ACW scene and the current market in general, God's Forgotten Son was rumoured to have competed overseas, with a high degree of success obtained. Such then was the fluidity of anticipating SVJ's intentions and driving a double axe-handle smash down onto Jacob's back, before taking him down with a snap side Russian Leg-Sweep!

And within seconds, made his second pin attempt of the match;

ONE.

TWO.

TH -- KICKOUT.

Jacobs was a seasoned veteran. He wasn't going to be downed so easily.

In his mind, this year's KOA tournament represented a chance for him to go one step further than he did last year, and thereby be crowned King Of Ages 2004. God's Forgotten Son, however, had other ideas. He pulled the 'Superstar' up and punished him with a series of four European uppercuts, before forcefully whipping him into the corner turnbuckle.

And by forcefully, I mean with a lot of fucking authority. Vince Jacobs staggered out of the corner, holding his lower back in agony, and walked right into GFS's path.

It seemed as if the latter's plan of attack was to decimate Vince Jacob's spine, judging by the spinning backbreaker that God's Forgotten Son pulled out of his bag of tricks, to a loud round of applause from the crowd.

Following which, another cover was made;

ONE.

TWO.

THR -- SHOULDER!

Interesting chain of events early on, with God's Forgotten Son quickly establishing the advantage. SVJ seemed rattled, and resorted to an eye gouge after GFS pulled the veteran up and drove a jab into his gut. Now, the Ratings Grabber had the chance to mount some offense and he did just that, rabidly kicking GFS in the right knee, before wringing his arm and yanking GFS toward him.

Then, drop toe hold. Simple, yet effective. SVJ was obviously looking to make his opponent's head and shoulder the primary focus of attack, and the Ratings Grabber proved this when he swiftly slapped on a side headlock. God Forgotten's Son grunted, and shot his bodyguard a wary look.

Mr Wallace simply nodded his head, just as GFS used his leg strength to great effect. SVJ, though, wasn't going to let go.

POW!

POW!

POW!

A bunch of really stiff punches to the side of the head from the 'Superstar', yet God Forgotten's Son refused to go down. He was like one of those pitbull terriers, that don't give up no matter the sticky and poopy situation. Y'know? Hmmm?

Okay, forget that analogy. GFS remained on his feet and absorbed the pain that was swelling up the side of his head, before he looked to destroy 'Superstar' with a belly-to-back suplex. Vince, though, quickly grabbed the top rope, which aided in keeping his feet on the canvas. Smart move, that.

So, GFS went for the next best option and shoved SVJ into the ropes.

Vince Jacobs was one step ahead of his opponent, however, and wasted no time in ducking the roundhouse-esque kick that God's Forgotten Son launched at the Ratings Grabber as the latter bounced off the ropes and advanced into the parallel set of ropes. There was no evading the tilt-a-whirl backbreaker that GFS *destroyed* 'Superstar' with, though.

T'was a thing of sheer beauty, and it all happened in a blink of an eye.

Without much hestitation, GFS pushed Vince Jacobs off of his knee and down onto the canvas, before locking in a standard armbar submission. Leaning back so as to further exert pressure on the shoulder and upper spinal zone of the 'Superstar'.

The Ratings Grabber, however, was quick to scuttle over to the ropes. Well, more like drag his body over to the ropes. And once he got there, Jacobs wisely draped his right foot over the bottom rope. The referee got in the mix and ordered God Forgotten's Son to break the hold. Which he duly did, but not before dropping his right knee down onto SVJ's left arm.

Smart move on the unknown's part, admittedly.

Mr Wallace cracked a sembelance of a smile on the outside, watching with hawk eyes as GFS pulled SVJ up and sock'd him with a barrage of punches. Jacobs was on the ropes, literally, and even a low kick aimed at his opponent's right knee didn't seem to work. So, the 'Superstar' waited until God's Forgotten Son tried to whip him into the parallel set of ropes before making his move.

By firstly looking as if he was going to reverse the Irish whip, before yanking GFS towards him and lashing out with an inverted atomic drop! God's Forgotten Son gritted his teeth as he held his groin, but recovered swiftly enough to duck a clothesline attempt from Vince Jacobs. Turning around, though, GFS found that SVJ had something else lined up for him.

SUPERSTAR KICK, baby!

GFS crumpled down to the mat like timber, and SVJ made the quick cover;

ONE.

TWO.

THR -- OOOH, KICKOUT!

His first pin of the night, and Vince Jacobs came quite close to actually pulling out the victory, too. Clambering to his feet, SVJ glared at the referee in that 'YOU ARE A HOMO' way, while the fans continued to make their opinions about the Ratings Grabber known, hurling obscenities at him.

SVJ shut them up with a hard stomp down on GFS's head, just as the latter was getting back up to one knee.

Want to wager as to whether Jacobs would do it again? No? Your funeral.

STOMP!

STOMP!

STOMP! STOMP! STOMP!

See? Told you so. Satisfied with his handiwork, the REASON we all had a show to watch picked God's Forgotten Son up and fired a forearm smash into the side of his ribs, before whipping him into the corner turnbuckle. GFS winced, but there was more pain coming his way, in the form of a charging clothesline delivered with pure finesse. In that non-finesse way, heh.

With his adversary trapped in the corner, SVJ sauntered over and raised his right leg up, shoving the sole of his boot against the neck of God's Forgotten Son and exerting a lot of pressure. Going so far as to even using the ropes for leverage for the foot choke. The crowd jeered heavily at this, and the referee began his 5-count.

Being the milker that he was, though, SVJ only complied with the referee's orders at 4 1/2. He didn't want to get disqualified and lose, after all.

No, that would be calamitious.

But with GFS now winded and on the backfoot, 'Superstar' Vince Jacobs could afford to be cocky. He laughed as he unloaded on his opponent with a flurry of jabs to the face and the upper sternum, before spinning around for a discus punch. Just at that exact moment, though, God's Forgotten Son raised his leg up and smashed his boot into Vince's face!

Jacobs, stunned, staggered back while a single trickle of blood mixed in with mucus dribbled out of his nose. GFS made a face that basically said 'eeewwww', before he leaned forward and forcefully snapped 'Superstar' into the corner turnbuckle face first!

Whiplash effect meant that Vince stumbled right back into GFS's open arms, none the wiser, and a belly-to-back suplex was on the cards.

Only problem was, Vince Jacobs used his momentum to squirm out of it and landed on his feet. Following which, he took out his opponent's legs from under him with one lethal karate-esque strike. Deadly, indeed.

With the unknown known as God's Forgotten Son on his knee, 'Superstar' Vince Jacobs seized the opportunity to cinch in a dragon sleeper, before he leaned back and wrapped his legs around GFS's body, in a body scissors. It was a nifty little submission move that Vince had sparingly used before, which he termed -- STAR LIGHT.

Now, God's Forgotten Son was in real trouble.

No room to maneuver, little opening for escape; plus, SVJ had his arm tightly wrapped around GFS's neck, crushing the windpipe and not allowing any oxygen to flow down that windpipe of GFS's. Still, though, there was a trump card for God's Forgotten Son. Although I should probably focus on something more important.

Like, say... oh, SVJ using his free hand to chop GFS across the chest? Yeah. That sadistic Ratings Grabber. Never one to pass up an opportunity to inflict more damage. He had keen eyes, too, noticing that GFS was trying to get his foot on the ropes. The referee saw this too. So, SVJ dragged himself and his opponent away from the ropes.

Before they were dragged back towards the ropes. By... Mr Wallace, of course.

And with that, the referee told 'Superstar' to relinquish the hold, with GFS's right foot now clearly on the bottom rope. The crowd cheered wildly for the decision, but as you can imagine, Vince Jacobs was incesned. PISSED, even.

So what exactly did Vince do?

He got to his feet and did a William Hung. DUH. He shouted at Mr Wallance, who continued to keep his mouth shut. Shaking his head and now a bit frustrated with the amount of heat he was getting from the crowd, SVJ turned and started to stomp away at God's Forgotten Son again, targetting the back. Setting up for his impactful finishing move? Most likely.

As was the snap DDT executed when Jacobs dragged GFS up and kicked him in the shins. Ouch, huh? GFS was out in the middle of the ring, and 'Superstar' quickly hooked both the legs for what he thought was the win;

ONE.

TWO.

THR -- NO SUCH LUCK, BUSTA!

SVJ put his hands on his head, annoyed that he had gotten the win then and there. Biting his lower lip, he mounted God's Forgotten Son and rained down a bunch of hard-hitting shots to the face of his opponent, but GFS cleverly put his dukes up and managed to block a fair number of punches from connecting. This just made Vince Jacobs angrier.

But, no, he wasn't going to turn into wrestling's version of the Hulk. We already have Nick Dinsmore aka Eugene for that, ahem. Anyyyyyways, 'Superstar' decided to get off of GFS and pull him up at the same time, before taking control of his arm and wrenching it inside out. God's Forgotten Son closed his eyes and growled, but SVJ kept up the pressure, applying a wristlock to further aggravate God's Forgotten Son.

Aggravate him, he did. For when SVJ went ahead and wringed GFS's arm one more time, the latter snapped and directed a kick at Vince's shin, before using his free arm to pick the 'Superstar' up and spin him up & over, driving him down onto the canvas with a mammoth modified powerslam. The ring shook from the thunderous impact, and the crowd too were mystified.

Picking himself up, God's Forgotten Son wiped the sweat off his forehead, before bouncing off the ropes and pulling off a running somersaulting legdrop! In the process, almost breaking SVJ's neck, but hey; the greater good, right? With the turnaround complete, GFS hooked the legs and the referee did his job.

Which was to, y'know, count;

UNO.

DOS.

TRE - NA NA NAAAAA.

So close, yet so far. Awwww.

Vince Jacobs got his shoulder up at the last possible second, but the effects of the powerslam meant that he somewhat strained his back doing so. Not to mention, GFS's focus on his back throughout the match.

In any case, God's Forgotten Son didn't bother himself with the failed pin attempt and instead pulled SVJ to his feet, cracking him in the jaw with a couple of hard ones, before whipping him into the ropes. SVJ held on, and instead sent GFS for the ride, attempting to clock GFS with a leg lariant on his return. GFS rolled underneath it, though, and waited.

Waited for 'Superstar' to turn around, before murdering him with a gargantuan snap belly-to-belly suplex.

---

Victim: Vince Jacobs' spine.
Time of breakage: Just moments ago, after that belly-to-belly.

Signed by,
BENJAMIN STEWART THE FIFTH //xx

---

Interesting coroner's report, don't you think?

The move took a bit out of GFS as well, but he was back to his feet in a matter of seconds, while Vince used the ropes to help his spasming lifeform up. His back was already locking up, and it appeared as if GFS had more in store, as the latter rushed over and rammed his knee into SVJ's ribs. Following which, Jacobs was sent tumbling into the corner turnbuckle.

God's Forgotten Son came charging at him a heartbeat later with a clothesline in mind, but SVJ dived out of the way, thinking he'd done good in causing his opponent to crash into the turnbuckle face-first. Alas, God's Forgotten Son utitlised his brakes very well, urging SVJ to run at him. Wrong move, 'Superstar'.

For GFS hoisted himself up onto the top of the turnbuckle effortlessly, and somersaulted over his adversary's head, landing perfectly on his feet. SVJ's mouth was still wide open when he turned around, and it only got wider when he was picked up and thrown down to the canvas in ANOTHER snap belly-to-belly suplex. The crowd went ballistic and a few of them vomitted.

GFS, though, kept his cool and made the cover;

ONE.

TWO.

THREEEEEEE.

... Sorry, folks, Vince Jacobs kicked the fuck out.

How did he do it? Nobody will ever comprehend. GFS himself appeared confused, and his mysterious eyes grew tired of watching his competition still hang in there despite all the devastation rained down on his spine.

Nonetheless, God's Forgotten Son went back to work, while still sharing the sentiment of the crowd who'd groaned loudly at the sight of SVJ kicking out. Jacobs was pretty darn woozy, though, and had no answer to when GFS picked him up and locked in something of an abdominal stretch, while firing closed fists down onto the kidney area. If I were that coroner, I'd get ready another report.

Unless, of course, SVJ decides to do something. Oh, wait, he did. He mulekicked God's Forgotten Son, catching him right in the bollocks. Referee was not in the right position to detect such an infringement, and SVJ staggered towards the ropes, catching his breath. GFS stumbled back, doubled over in pain, which gave the Ratings Grabber the most splendid idea ever.

So, SVJ hopped onto the top-rope and took flight with a leg-drop, hoping to catch God's Forgotten Son in the back of the head. In theory, it seemed like a good idea.

But in reality, GFS backpedalled out of harm's way, causing SVJ to eat canvas. God's Forgotten Son actually smiled, albeit thinly, as Vince Jacobs clambered back to his feet with his face a perfect mask of pain. There was more to come, though, in the form of a brilliant legsweep DDT from GFS. No chance for SVJ to anticipate that one.

Half a second later, GFS made the tired cover;

ONE.

TWO.

THREEEEE -- NOOOOO!

Once again, 'Superstar' Vince Jacobs lived up to his billing of being one pugnacious motherfucker. At 31 years of age, you'd expect him to throw in the towel after a series of bonecrushing moves like that. But he wasn't going to give up.

GFS now knew that he had to take the fight one step further.

Rolling back to his feet, God's Forgotten Son slowly advanced on the recovering SVJ, blocking a punch from the former fWo Internet Champion and firing back with a spinning backfist. This knocked Jacobs into the ropes, and right back into GFS's path, who dished out a powerful European uppercut this time 'round, before whipping 'Superstar' into the ropes.

And as the 'Superstar' came off the ropes, he found himself at the mercy of GFS who lowered his head at the right moment, and lifted SVJ over his head in a back body drop. Jacobs, though, used his vast experience to perfect use here, and landed on his feet, before spinning God's Forgotten Son around and aiming a kick at his ribs. Good plan, but poor execution.

Because GFS had caught Vince's left leg. Uh oh.

"Not likely, newb!" Jacobs muttered under his breath, before cold-clocking God's Forgotten Son with an especially heinous enziguiri kick. The sound of SVJ's foot clashing with GFS's head resonated throughout the entire arena, and the result was that GFS's little period of dominance had come to an abrupt end.

Two-for-one, as far as the Pro-Wrestling Phenomenon was concerned. He'd gone back to workin' on the head of his opponent, and that one enziguiri kick would more than soften that head up for the ending. Somehow, though, GFS was actually attempting to get back on his feet. In fact, he was already on his knees, while SVJ was still flat on his weakened back.

But hey, when you're the 'Superstar', you already know what to do. So, SVJ kipped to his feet and ran into the ropes, rushing back towards God's Forgotten Son with an evil smile on his face.

THWACCCCK!!!

Let's just say, SVJ introduced his opponent to the -- STAR GAZER.

Cue the cover, and Jacobs made sure to hook both the legs of his opponent;

ONE.

TWO.

THREEEEE.

... You wouldn't believe it. GFS got the shoulder up.

'Superstar' Vince Jacobs couldn't fathom how this was at all possible, but as he stood to his feet, he crossed his arms, signalling for the end. On the outside, Mr Wallace, who'd been watching carefully this whole time, now actually looked concerned for God's Forgotten Son. But, as per their understanding, he wasn't going to interfere.

Too bad for GFS, eh? Speaking of whom, the gutsy newcomer pulled himself up to his feet, stumbling around like a dazed drunkard due to the kicks to the head. SVJ taunted his opponent to turn around and face him, while the crowd tried their best to warn God's Forgotten Son.

To no avail. GFS turned around and Jacobs caught him in the ribs.

The front facelock came next, and by now, everybody knew that they (and God's Forgotten Son, of course) were going to be absolutely STARSTRUCK now.

Then, it happened. No, not that it.

This it -- "Sympathy for the Devil" by the Rolling Stones.

That definitely garnered Vince's attention, and he shoved GFS out of his grasp, storming over to the ropes and screaming as loudly as he could at the man the entire audience were cheering for. The ACW World Champion himself was going to make his presence felt in this match. Referee must feel really significant, eh? He wasn't even knocked out, and there was going to be interference. Niiice morale booster, champ.

Suddenly, though, the music was cut. And there was no ALIAS to bow down to.

Crowd didn't like that, and pouted. Most of 'em, at least. SVJ was just confused, before he called Alias a 'big fat coward'. Then he turned around, ready to get back to finishing God's Forgotten Son off. Seeing GFS crouched across the ring like a panther, though, it suddenly hit Vince Jacobs.

He just got tricked by the age-old diversion. Well, whaddaya know?

GFS snorted as he charged at Jacobs, who just seemed to be able to regain his composure quickly and it was he who was the swifter of the two, swinging wildly at GFS. God's Forgotten Son ducked it and slapped on the brakes, waiting for SVJ's momentum to bring the Ratings Grabber back of the ropes. Once that happened, GFS moved in for the kill.

The man took down 'Superstar' in a CROSSFACE SUBMISSION. Wait, hold up.

He got Vince Jacobs halfway there, before God's Forgotten Son suddenly swivelled on his feet and let go of SVJ's arm. Instead deciding to catch the KOA 2003 runner-up by surprise with another school-boy pin. With a difference, this time, one that was undetected by the referee.

Using the ropes for leverage. The result? Let's see;

ONE.

TWO.

THREEEEEEEEE.

...

...

... He did it. God's Forgotten Son did it! HE WON!

GFS just pinned 'Superstar' Vince Jacobs, successfully, using the ropes to help him get there! The bell rang, and GFS quickly slid out of the ring, victorious in his first EVER match on ACW soil. The crowd erupted in a deafening crescendo of jubilation, while Vince Jacobs' eyes widened in realisation of what happened.

He'd been cheated. Last year, in the final, he'd been cheated by Osyrus. This year, it was a combination of a mind game parlour trick from Alias and some tomfoolery from God's Forgotten Son. The fact of the matter was, 'Superstar' Vince Jacobs had crashed out of the King Of Ages 2004 Tournament.

On the outside, GFS and Mr Wallace had a little conference as they exited the same way they entered, being mobbed by the fans in the process. For someone who was fresh to the scene, God's Forgotten Son displayed all the hallmarks of being a true playa, en route to causing the biggest upset in ACW history. He cheated, yes, but the result was undeniable.

Back in the ring, SVJ threw a fit. Especially when ALIAS finally made his way out onto the stage, with the biggest smirk painted on his face. Jacobs started to throw a string of obscenities at the champion, who simply shook his head, before disappearing back behind the curtains, a measure of revenge obtained.

Leaving SVJ to realise that this war between him and Sheffield...

... it was now only beginning to get interesting

Winner > God's Forgotten Son

"As I said Brian...power is a very appealing."

Carter looked at the array of talent in front of him, and smiled.

"It is indeed Anderson...it is indeed."