The damn wizard. I hate him. What happened was, Leonardo came out and asked the fans if anybody had seen his betheren; seemed the rest of the FNAs were missing. Then, Azrael swaggered out to the ring, and defeated Leonardo in under three and a half minutes. Booyah.

Winner > Azrael Aesino, to retain the Scorpion Fighting Title

Hopelessness

Annnnd, there was Jenna McMullen, doing absolutely fuck-all.

Well, okay, she *was* flirting with several of the backstage officials. But in the grand scheme of things, how does flirting and slacking help ACW? It doesn't. Want to know why ACW is doing so badly? Look no further; the people who were supposed to be in charge of making sure everything backstage was smooth were not pulling their weight at all.

So, anyways, the shameless flirting continued at its rampant pace, with Jenna more or less shoving her tits down the throats of three road agents. Needless to say, all three of them road agents were having a jolly ol' time leering at Jenna's rack, but it didn't appear as if McMullen minded a bit. In fact, she was loving all the attention. My God, what a slut she is.

Bet she takes it up the ass, too, heh.

Just as Jenna's legs opened for some juice to come gushing out, the doors of the arena parted, and in walked a dishevelled QUINTON MAY. Why was he looking like crap?

Nobody knew; he was suspended from TNW 23 just two days prior, so he had no reason, really, to be jetlagged. But there he was, grumpy and cranky. How very odd. Nontheless, the Canadian's arrival drew a loud chorus of cheers from inside the arena, especially since the crowd knew that Quincy Mama would be in the ring tonight.

Noticing that Jenna McMullen and the road agents were not too far away, Quinton May dragged himself over, his duffel bag looking too heavy for him to carry. That's how bad a shape the Canadian Gladiator was in.

"Hey, you." Quinton mumbled as he inched closer to Jenna. The raspiness of his voice took McMullen and the road agents by complete surprise, and when they turned around, they couldn't believe how wasted May seemed to be. Like as if he'd been run over a truck, or something.

"M-M-Me?" Jenna asked, holding two fingers to her stacked chest.

... Duhhh, you stupid cum-guzzling hoe. Sheesh, some people can be soooo insanely dense, eh? The road agents stifled their laughter, but considering how dumb Jenna looked, they could be forgiven for surpressing their teasing.

Quinton raised an eyebrow, noticing how huge Jenna's tits really were. "Uh, yeah. Can you tell me where Fejona Min and Natalie Quinston are? I'm sick of their mind games. One week, they're swearing to run me into the ground and unleash this potent weapon of theirs on me.

The next week, they're in hiding and refuse to even take cheap shots at me. They are clearly messing with my mind, and I... I'm just tired of it. So, if you could kindly point me to them, I shall go ahead and choke the information out of them."

"I have no idea where they are, Quinton." Jenna McMullen timidly responded, with the road agents growing tired of staring at her ass and leaving. May frowned and scratched wildly at his bushy goatee.

He wanted Fejona and Natalie, and what he got was some dumb bitch impeding his progress.

McMullen, though, had more to offer. "But I do know that Natalie Quinston was just involved in a match. She went up against Vince Jacobs, and lost. That's all I know, however. I suppose Fejona and Natalie could be in hiding from you, since you appear to be on the warpath and all.

A-And don't take this the wrong way, but y-y-you look like absolute hell.

What happened to you?"

So said the slut, batting her eyelids and squeezing her juicy thighs together. Mmm, friction. The Rising Star rolled his eyes and turned to his right, deciding that if Jenna McMullen wasn't going to provide him with useful information, he wasn't going to stand around and look down her top. He wasn't in the mood to go all horny over 117 pounds of silicone and plastic, especially with a very important match coming up shortly.

Jenna MuMullen wasn't completely daft, though. She knew that even though she wasn't technically required to do her job now, she was on the verge on a *huge* scoop. To her, at least. So, she followed Quincy. Like a puppy dog.

The Canadian Gladiator was not happy with this, of course, and sighed loudly. Jenna simply kept smiling to herself expectantly, waiting for May to answer her. Thus, Quinton halted in his tracks and turned to stare at Ms McMullen.

"Yeah, what do you want?"

Jenna fixed her tit and smiled. "What happened to you?"

"Oh, that." Quinton mumbled, before he sighed again. "I haven't been able to sleep properly because of a vist of an ex-girlfriend a few days ago. And last night, I missed my god-damn connecting flight here, and let me tell you; some airports were not built to house unlucky bastards like me.

So, yeah. That's my sob story. Run along now, and stop showing off your tits to strangers, okay?"

Wow. A different side of Quinton. Not everyday we see the Rising Star snapping at an innocent bystander like that. Jenna McMullen appeared genuinely hurt by Quincy's remarks, and half a mind to layeth the smacketh downeth on Quinton's candyeth asseth-eth. Eth.

Of course, she couldn't do anything. She was weak.

LANCETT, however, wasn't weak. And he grinned as he stepped out of his locker-room to find Quinton and Jenna McMullen just standing a few feet away. He didn't give a fuck about Jenna, though.

"Ah, there you are! Good to see you're here! Right, our match is up in a while. And, don't worry, I'll make sure I beat you in under five minutes so that you can run off for your KOA Semi-Final nonsense. Perhaps after the show, I'll let you take one last look at your TV Title before I begin a brand new era of Television Championship defending! Sound good?" Lancett rambled, massaging his wrists.

The Survivor of M15 blinked. He had no clue as to what was going on. "What the bloody hell are you talking about? And why do you sound like some Willem Morghan ripoff?"

Lancett put his hands on his hips and tapped his right foot against the floor. He could not believe that Quincy Mama would forget their date. Then, he came to the conclusion that May was, in a way, dissing him. Yeah. Genius thesis, Mr Randy.

"Are you dissing me? I can't believe you're trying to deny me, the FUTURE of this company, from making a giant leap and a giant sacrifice to do my part for this company in the present. I guess you conveniently forgot about our little chat last week, didn't you? This just shows you're a coward, Quinton!" Lancett shouted at the top of his voice, clearly frustrated. Then, a smirk formed on his face.

And he knew what exactly to say. "... Or should I say, Gerald?"

Uh oh. Not sure what I'm talking about? Go read tSC's 22nd edition of TNW if you didn't catch it on the tele, suckers. With that cheap plug out of the way, Quinton May's nostrils flared, enraged that a punk like Lancett would possess the audacity to try and rile th Castaway up like that.

Lancett was an egomaniac.

Lancett was one cocky bastard.

Lancett was totally full of himself.

... But what he wasn't, was spared from the full wrath of Quincy Mama. Without warning, Quinton May shoved Jenna McMullen aside and tackled the smug Lancett to the floor, hard. A can of whoop ass had been opened, in terms of mounted punches of the fast and the furious variety. The movie (both the original and the sequel) sucked arse, by the by.

This wasn't about a motion picture, though. This was about contempt of a serious nature, and the ramifications one faces for thinking he has the right to touch on a sensitive issue and further piss off an already enraged individual. Good thinking, Lancett. Gooooood thinking.

Quinton never ceased his punching until his hands were soaked with blood. Even then, he kept on going.

POW.

POW.

POW.

POW.

POW.

Where in the name of Benjamin Stewart was the security team, you ask? No clue. Probably off stuffing their faces. Bully for Lancett. Jenna McMullen, on the other hand, had just recovered with a nice shiner under her right eye, and upon laying her eyes on what was unfolding, promptly screamed like the little bitch she was.

That got Quinton to stop with the cannibalistic assault, finally. And once he did, Jenna took her chance to run away, not wanting to be there one second longer. Good. Be gone, you stupid slut. Ahem. I'm so mean, aren't I?

Annnyways. The beatdown was over. Quinton stood to his feet and licked the blood off his hands, before turning around and leaving -- picking up his bag, of course. On his face was a mask of emotion; only, there was none. Quinton looked as if nothing had happened, and he'd done nothing wrong.

But, he had. He'd gone to a place, people. He wasn't in the best of moods to begin with, and some young punk setting him off was the last thing he needed.

As expected, though, there would be a twist. Mmm, indeed.

Lancett, bloodied and completely annihilated, actually stood up. "I guess that's a NO, then, Gerald? You're not going to fight me, then? You're not going to give me the chance I deserve, then?

You're not going to prove yourself to be a fighting champion, then?

You're just a complete fraud, then? Like what... Quentin said."

Quinton May (or Gerald, depending on your POV!) halted in his tracks and shook his head. Lancett didn't get him. Quincy was literally transported back in time, to the M15 days, when he was pounding the life out of Lancett just moments earlier. That was the old Quinton. The part of him May did not want anybody to be exposed to. Yet, Lancett unlocked it.

"You don't understand. And besides... we both have more important things to do." Quincy Mama simply remarked, before he continued on. Lancett didn't comprehed at first, until SIMIAN KADE came out of nowhere and attacked Lancett. Just as the security team and paramedics arrived on the scene.

About time, you fudgepackers. Quinton didn't care about what was unravelling behind him, however. He didn't give a shit about the Kade/Lancett situation which was now being controlled by the inept security team. The Canadian Gladiator just kept on walking, blood dripping off his hands. Drip, drip, drip. It was truly a sight to behold. If you're the sort of person who cares a lot about symbolism, that is. Yep, what a magnificient sight.

What wasn't was the hoplessness in his eyes...

Looking For a Purpose

SilverHAWK sat silently in his dressing room, already ready for his Main Event match. There was something about being in the main event that gave any wrestler a chill up his spine; but not HAWK.

He had been there.

Done that.

Bought the t-shirt.

Nothing was ever new to him in this business...but it didn't stop him from being surprised from time to time. Earlier in the show, he had got his biggest surprise in a long time.

Brian Carter was alive.

"What a mindfuck."

"What?"

HAWK looked up, his doorway filled with 120lbs of true beauty, as the ACW Talent Officer rested her weary legs on the bench next to him.

"I didn't say anything Hil."

"Yeah..."

She smiled, as she flicked through some notes on her clipboard, looking for the right one.

"So...tonight you have this match against Gods Forgotten Son, you better win HAWK."

HAWK was a little surprised by the comment.

"Twice in one night..." he whispered under his breath.

"Pardon?"

"No...em, are you supporting me Hil? I thought you were supposed to be neutral in the grand scheme of things."

"Don't get too excited HAWK," Duncan stood up, adjusting her skirt before making a headway for the door. "If you don't win, then I don't have you down for a match at King of Ages, which means less people are due to buy it."

HAWK smiled.

"You've been hanging around businessmen too long Hil."

She chuckled.

"You got that right."

KING OF AGES
El Gato Negro Vs. Quinton May

What time is it?

It's time for the field to be narrowed down. Field? Oh, yes. The KING OF AGES 2004 tournament was quickly dwindling down to its climactic conclusion, and the following match would determine who exactly would stand a 50% chance of being the KOA 2004 winner. And the new United States Champion.

And, perhaps more importantly, the #1 Contender to the World Title.

That's what it's all about, ain't it? That glorious chance at the World Title. Merely being in a match for that very title is an honour itself. For our contestants tonight, the World Title represented the apex of their aspirations. The zenith of their dreams, and all that stuff.

"Bury Me With It" by Modest Mouse started up over the speakers, and the predominantly Canadian crowd were on their feet in a flash, jeering their hearts out for the man by the name of EL GATO NEGRO. Remember that name, bitches; he was a short while away from advancing to the Final of the KOA 2004 tournament.

Clad in a pair of sexy white tights and white boots, Gato Ngero swaggered out to the stage and laughed at the crowd. Because, well, they were Canadians. Thus solidifying EGN as 'Heel of the Year 2005'. Yeah. Making his way down the ramp, EGN appeared to be mighty confident of himself, and the man had a mad glint in his eyes. Like, he knew he was going to win.

Remember, folks; since his opposition is a title holder, the title held will also be on the line. That was possibly why EGN was such in a good mood. He was already dreaming to himself (duh, who the fuck else?!) about the TV Title around his waist.

El Gato Negro climbed into the ring and gave the miserable-looking bastard of a referee the double bird, before trotting over to the corner of the ring and playing up to the crowd, resembeling Hector Garza right down to the mannerisms. It was cute to watch, especially when EGN told the announcers to kiss his white ass. Ahhh, depth perception.

Suddenly, without any prior warning whatsoever, the lights were cut, and "Make A Move" by Lostprophets began to blare over the speakers. The Canadians, naturally, went wild and started cheering immediately. Their countryman was about to take centerstage.

Boom, boom, boom. Pyros? Done. Quinton May?

He was on the stage, ready to embark on his latest challenge. The TV Title was on his right shoulder, and a bandage was wrapped over his left bicep. Must have been recent (not the injury), he didn't have a bandage on earlier on in the evening, if you call. But, that's inconsequential right about now. Quincy Mama in the house.

Or, according to tSC viewers, Gerald Parker was in the house. The Canadians were having none of that 'Gerald Parker' crap, so business as usual was far as the fans were concerned. El Gato Negro? He smirked to himself knowingly. Cheeky cunteater.

Donned simply in his black trackpants and black boots, Quinton Lindsey May stomped down the ramp and threw his title into the ring before he slid into the squared circle, pissed beyond all belief and surely on the verge of a paycut, considering what he had done to Lancett earlier on. But hey, you piss Quinton off, you get hurt.

"Eyy, Gerald. Joo is gay, mang!" El Gato Negro shouted at his opponent, who was all the way across the ring.

But suddenly, EGN found that Quinton wasn't so far away, as the Canadian Gladiator knocked him down to the canvas with his TV Title. The referee, distracted by the timekeeper, rushed over to pull the title out of Quinton's hands, glowered at Quincy Mama kicking El Gato Negro in the head repeatedly, THEN called for the god-damn bell.

* DING DING DING *

By this time, EGN was more or less one with the canvas, his head still being mercilessly stomped through by the infuriated Quinton May. The Rising Star was just too bloody pissed to care about the rules, and he showed it by duly flipping the referee off, when the referee thought he'd actually do his job and try to peel Quinton away from the downed EGN.

Momentum was clearly on his side now, so Quinton pulled EGN up by the hair and dragged him into the corner. Negro, meet turnbuckle. Turnbuckle, meet El Gato Netro. Repeat and rinse, for about, say, SIX times?

Yeah. After the sixth shot, Quinton allowed Gato Negro to stagger backwards a bit, which enabled the Windsor-born superstar to bounce off the ropes and absolutely level EGN with a gigantic clothesline. And, hey, let's face it. Quinton? Not a really big guy. So, the force and power behind the clothesline surprised everyone watching on in anticipation.

Cover was made, with May hooking both the legs;

ONE.

TWO

TH -- KICKOUT.

Quinton fumed for a split second, before dragging EGN back up and clocking him in the face with a couple of well-timed forearm smashes. The Escape Artist, though, had a trick up his non-sleeve. Thumb to the eye, of course. Just like that, the momentum had been turned on its head. EGN chuckled, before kicking May in the right knee.

And again. Make it three times in a row. Following which, El Gato Negro took a step back and connected with a spinning heel kick. Trouble was, Quincy Mama wasn't knocked down. More like, he was knocked back into the ropes, and as he came off of them, EGN threw the Television Champion over his head in a back body-drop. It was a special sight, y'know. Mmmm hmmmmmm.

But, durrrh, Quinton landed on his feet, like a panther on heroin, and instantly droved his left elbow into the back of Negro's head. Ouchy, went the two men, for two contrasting reasons.

EGN because -- obviously -- the elbow shot to the back of his head hurt like HELL. Quinton because he'd used his left arm un-neccessarily and without thinking. Oh well, too late for that now, innit?

Especially if you're Quinton May. After a brief grimace, Quincy Mama shot himself into the ropes and sent El Gato Negro back down to the canvas with a flying forearm lariat! The crowd gave their countryman straight 10s for that, and for whatever reason, the referee clapped. That fucking idiot, thinking he's special and all. Pffft, jackass.

Annnyways, the match had been progressing at a fast speed thus far, and it wasn't looking as if it'd slow down. EGN stumbled back to his feet and foolhardily charged at Quincy, who took the Mexican down with an armdrag. Negro, nonetheless, quickly climbed back up and once again foolishly lunged at May. And, once again, the Canadian Gladiator made short work of EGN with an armdrag.

Three times a lady? Not tonight, and on Quinton's terms, too. Before EGN could even get back to his feet, Quincy threw himself into the ropes and laid EGN out with his trademark high-leg clothesline! The crowd popped wildly, and the Survivor of M15 was quick enough to attempt another pinning scenario;

ONE.

TWO.

TH -- KICKOUT!

EGN wasn't going down with a fight, it seemed. And this wasn't going down well with Quincy Mama, who dragged Negro up to his knees and punched away, furiously, at the Mexican's face. Hook after hook rained down on El Gato Negro, who couldn't even get his hands up to block the onslaught (don't look now, that's the only time anything related to William Morgan will be mentioned).

"You're not so chatty when you're getting your arse kicked, aren't ya?" Quinton sneered down at El Gato Negro, before pulling him up and whipping him fiercely into one of the turnbuckle corners.

The result? Whiplash effect, with Negro's face making full-fledged contact with the turnbuckle. It appeared as if EGN had eyes in the back of his head, however, as he spun around and ducked a running clothesline from Quinton May, before dropkicking May in the face as the latter turned around. Classy dropkick, too; knocked the TV Champion out of the damn ring.

Following which, the crafty Escape Artist hoisted himself up onto the top of the turnbuckle and dove on down, driving a double axe-handle sledge into the back of Quinton's head, who was just beginning to regain his bearings. Awww. Tables had effectively been turned, and EGN was celebrating that realisation on the outside with a quirky victory jig.

Then, he got back down to work, stomping away on the left shoulder of Quinton. Mmm, shark smells blood. Shark goes for kill. That was exactly what was happening, with El Gato Negro relentess in his decimation of the left arm. Even the referee, who'd join the competitors on the outside, couldn't convice EGN to take the fight back into the ring.

Finally, though, El Gato Negro did stop the mindless (yet effective) destruction of Quinton May's left arm. Only for a second, however. EGN took a very short breather before sniggering at the sight of the writhing Canadian Gladiator on the ground, before the Mexican superstar climbed back onto the apron. The referee, thinking EGN had finally come to his senses, clapped again. Fucking idiot.

Because, whilst on the apron, EGN measured Quincy Mama up and after a bit of posing, the Escape Artist leapt off the apron, bringing both of his knees down onto the injured left shoulder of the Television Champion. Can anybody saw, FUCKING OW?!

Quinton could, which was why he was howling like a wolf. Pain, you know. El Gato Negro laughed in delight as he witnessed his opponent in extreme agony, until EGN dragged May up to his feet and applied a front facelock. The referee rushed back to the outside and desperately pleaded with the Black Cat to NOT go ahead with whatever he had planned.

"Joo is stoopid, mang!" EGN told the referee. Which, well, wasn't too far from the truth.

But anyways, after having said that, Negro drove his right knee up into Quinton's left shoulder, drawing gargled screams from the latter. EGN wasn't going to drive May's head down onto the ground with a DDT or whatever; he was going to severely weaken that left shoulder and arm of the Rising Star's. Not bad strategy, you know. In fact, it was very inspiring.

Craig Miles, move over. EGN has a new heel academy of his own.

And the first victim was looking like Quinton Lindsey May, who was finally released from his front facelock prison and was shoved back, right into the announce table. The jeers were resounding at this point, with El Gato Negro actually revelling in them. He loved the hate. It made him know that he was doing the right thing.

Now, then, the right thing deserved the right payoff; which meant, a successful pinfall victory. So, with a shot to the lower abdominals of Quincy Mama, EGN effectively drove the final nail into Quinton May's coffin with a drop toe hold. One that saw May's face crash into the edge of the apron. Snee-eeaaaky stuff 'ere.

Pleased with his handiwork, EGN let the Castaway slide down to the floor before the former rolled back into the ring, raising his right arm in the air. This was surely a signal to the crowd, who misintepreted it completely and jeered the Black Cat even more. The animosity would only increase when Quinton May forced himself back into the ring, sliding under the bottom rope. It simply made it easier for El Gato Negro.

Easier for the execution of, GOOOOOAAAAALLLL~!

May was out cold, unable to breathe properly, and El Gato Negro made the swift cover;

ONE.

TWO.

THRE -- SHOULDER AT THE LAST SECOND!

El Gato Negro frowned just a wee bit, thinking he'd done more than enough to keep his opponent down long enough for the victory. Shrugging, EGN stood to his feet and began to once again stomp away at the left arm of May's, slobbering at the mouth as he did so. The crowd, naturally, heckled at EGN and hurled obscenities at him.

But, the Black Cat didn't care. He kept his cool and shot himself into the ropes, coming off of them with a well-timed elbow drop down onto the left shoulder of May. EGN didn't stop there, unfortunately enough for the Television Champion. He got up, scratched his balls, sniffed his fingers, and relived the whole elbow drop sequence. Twice; totalling three elbow drops.

Once that was done and over with, EGN got down and hooked both of Quinton's legs;

ONE.

TWO.

THRE -- SHOULDER, ONCE AGAIN!

And, mind you, it was the left shoulder. Owzie.

Disappointed at not having won it then and there, but satisfied that he got Quinton to use the wounded left shoulder, EGN pulled his opposition up and struck him with a discus punch, sending Quincy Mama stumbling back into the corner. Negro was quick with the follow-up, whipping May across the ring and into the diagonal corner turnbuckle. Whiplash effect?

Count on it, buster. And with all the confidence in the world, El Gato Negro demonstrated his technical ability, executing a brilliant tilt-a-whirl backbreaker on Quinton May. The fans in the front row winced upon impact, so you can imagine what Quinton did as he found his shoulders being pinned to the canvas for the third time in a row.

Teh Referee got to his knees and did his job (eeewww);

ONE.

TWO.

THR -- HE'S STILL IN IT!

Standing up, El Gato Negro stood over Quinton's beaten body and did the dance of joy, a'la Rene Dupree. Well, not quite. He simply shoved his boot down onto the face of Quinton May, before telling the TV Champion to 'get joo arse up'. I assume he meant 'get to your feet', because the literal meaning sounds a wee bit homersexual.

Yeah. In any event, Quincy did claw his own way up to his feet, only to get cracked in the jaw. Over, and over, and over again. After about six hooks, EGN decided to make with the variation and caught the Survivor of M15 in the ribs with his right knee, before whipping him into the ropes. Clothesline attempt didn't materalise, however, for Quincy Mama had rolled underneath it. EGN was taken aback.

Especially when he turned around, and got struck with a spinning heel kick. That was only the prelude to a kick to the ribs, which was then followed up by a chin crusher. The Escape Artist staggered back into the ropes clutching his jaw, hurling a string of (Spanish) curses at Quincy Mama, who charged forth at EGN. May wanted to clothesline Negro over the ropes and out of the ring, which would, hopefully, allow the Television Champion some respite.

That wasn't to be. El Gato Negro lowered his head and dumped Quinton May over the ropes and out of the ring. Wait, does it count if Quinton May landed on the apron? Guess not. EGN was none the wiser, too, as he started to stumble away from the ropes. Quinton grinned as he grabbed control of Negro's lovely 'fro and yanked the Escape Artist towards him... before clobbering El Gato Negro with a rather stiff forearm smash to the back of the neck, knocking EGN down to the canvas.

Now, then, what do you think Quinton did?

a) strip and fondled his cock
b) hoist himself onto the top rope and pull off some fancy move

... If you selected the second option, you'd be correct. Quincy Mama got his agile and nimble body onto the top rope, before taking flight and connecting with a 450º close-range headbutt. A variant of May's 'SERAPHIC CESSATION' finisher. In this case, though, Quinton took a hell of a lot out of himself and the two men were left gasping for air on the canvas, spent.

This prompted the referee to begin administering the 10-count, while most of the crowd began to rally behind the Television Champion. Remember, title AND spot in the final of the KOA 2004 tournament were on the line.

"ONE!"

"TWO!"

"THREE!"

"FOUR!"

Aaaand, Quinton kipped to his feet! EGN was also back to his vertical balance, having used the ropes to drag himself up. EGN was the first to spin around, connecting with a wicked right hook. Quinton May sucked it up and fired off one of his own hooks. Now, the two men who were about the same height traded fists, the match now degenerating into a slugfest. Until, of course, EGN blocked one of his opponent's hook and attempted a short-arm clothesline.

Evaded! Quincy ducked, turned around, and let loose with a stiff, blistering knife-edged chop! The crowd did their usual thing (WHOOO~!), and Quinton went ahead & chopped El Gato Negro with three more chops. The ol' Irish whip into the corner followed, but a running spear follow-up wasn't the wisest of options for Quinton May to chase. EGN stepped forward and unleashed a vile soccer kick into May's face.

With a plan in mind, and Quinton May staggering backwards, EGN quickly hoisted himself onto the top of the turnbuckle and took flight, hoping for a bionic elbow. Quincy Mama stirred to life at just the right time, however, catching Negro with a boot to the ribs. Then, the shoving of the head between the legs. Preceeding the double underhook of the arms. Wellll, you all know what this is, don't you? No? Let me spell it out for you, then.

HIDEAWAY!

Exhausted but delighted, Quinton May rolled over and made the cover;

ONE.

TWO.

THREE!

The Canadian Gladiator did it! He got to his feet and punched the air, the weight of the world being lifted off his shoulders, even for just a second. EGN had fought well, but just come up short at the crucial moment. "Make A Move" by Lostprophets started blaring over the speakers again, confirming the winner.

Collecting his title, Quinton May wiped the sweat off his face and watched as El Gato Negro roll out of the ring. Realisation of what the victory meant sunk into Quincy's head, and he dropped to his knees, overwhelmed. He was one step closer to ultimate greatness. KOA 2004 crown, in distance. #1 Contendership to the World Title, within reach.

Indeed, the Rising Star was on cloud nine. Buttt... all good things...

An End.

But, all good things come to an end. Somehow, some way.

NATALIE QUINSTON appeared from the back, brushing past the curtains with a scowl on her face and a steel chair in hand. Quinton had not noticed her at first, since he was too enamored with his precious TV Title, but his eyes finally laid on her as Natalie rolled into the ring, her own eyes gleaming with malicious intent.

"So, you want us to quit the mind games, eh?" Natalie spoke lowly, with the crowd's buzz of anticipation growing to deafening levels. "What makes you think you have control of your own mind, Quinton? You were an absolute nutcase when I was your therapist, and you still are.

You're a deluded maniac, Quinton. Or rather, Gerald. You believe that you're the big hero, destined to save the world and earn your reward in the process. It doesn't work like that, I'm afraid. But, don't take this personally. As Fejona said, this is purely and strictly business. No two ways about it."

Quincy Mama rose to his feet, staring a hole right through Natalie Quinston. Who had discarded her tights for a pair of pants, which meant the dirty old men in the crowd couldn't quite get as aroused as before. But that was of little concern now to the two people in the ring. Who, as many know but don't REALLY know, shared a not-so-recent history.

Dropping his title belt onto the canvas, Quinton cracked his knuckles. "Business. All I keep hearing from you and Fejona is that this is just business. And all I keep asking is, whose business is it? Why me? Why the two of you? Why this entire cat-and-mouse game? Why can't whoever hired you just show their face and get this over with, once and for all?

If that makes me some contemptible hero, then, fine. I just want my answers. I'm pretty damn disenfranchised with the fact that every time my life falls into a routine of stability, something comes along and messes it up so bad, I never have another night of peaceful sleep."

To the fans, Natalie and Quinton were just having heated words. They couldn't hear them, but the predominant Canadian crowd could only take a guess as to what Ms Quinston and Ms May were jawjacking to each other about. Little did they know, though, how deep the in-ring conversation really was.

But, back to the real deal, eh? In the ring, Natalie Quinston scoffed at Quincy's reply and tightened her grip on the steel chair, not caring that some fans were tossing pieces of rubbish at her. She took a cautious step closer toward Quinton, who had somehow kept his cool and remained rooted to the spot. Everybody knew how much he wanted Fejona and Natalie.

"Why didn't the two of you do anything last week?" Quinton asked before Natalie could get a chance to open her mouth and rebutt to May's earlier statements.

Shrugging her shoulders, Natalie Quinston responded: "We were reeling from the sting of failure, because we thought Osyrus would really mess you up bad. As it turns out, he was a little leniet on you... but, as far as Osyrus goes, you'll get a chance to cross paths with him again soon. Sooner than you think.

Also, Fejona and I just weren't feeling up to any tomfoolery last week. We figured that you'd be waiting for us, and it confirmed our decision not to do anything. Mind games, as you said. Worked like a charm, too. See, the two of us have become so crucial to you and your life, that you can't do anything without us being involved.

Case in point? Your good friend, Quentin. How's he doing, by the way? Is he running your sense of identity into the ground already? We told him to pace himself, you know. No rush. But, hey, all we did was groom him. We don't control him anymore."

Quinton bit his lower lip. That feeling he had when he was beating the life out of Lancett earlier? It was returning. He looked down at his clenched fists, flashbacking to when he used them to survive in M15, and before he knew it, Natalie Quinston had made the first move.

She got tired of waiting, and seized on May being distracted by himself. Smart.

But, Quinton looked up at just the right time and saw Natalie swinging her chair at him. The crowd? Ballistic. Their hero was about to get struck down. Quincy? He just brought his right arm up and smacked the chair away with his balled-up fist. Natalie Quinston watched with mouth agape as the chair flew out of her grip, dented. May had done a realll number on it.

And with just one hand, mind you. Cause for concern there. Would explain why Natalie Quinston was now backpedalling, the fear of God having been instilled into her being. The Canadian Gladiator, breathing heavily, slowly advanced on her like a rapist would stalk its victim. It was scary shit.

"QUINCY MAMA!"
"QUINCY MAMA!"
"QUINCY MAMA!"
"QUINCY MAMA!"

The audience weren't helping with Natalie's nerves, either. She was scared, and with Quinton May just a few inches away, Natalie Q realised this truly was survival of the fittest.

So, she did the dumb mistake of charging forward at Quinton, hoping to strike with a roundhouse kick. Quincy parried it with his left hand, wincing slightly at having to place his left arm under that kind of stress, before he GRABBED Natalie Quinston by the throat and pulled her towards him. Oh yeah, up close and personal, baby.

"You want mind games, eh?" Quinton simply murmured to Natalie, who was close to shitting her pants and crying her eyes out. Not to mention, being choked out? Never a good thing.

Suddenly, however, the Castaway relinquished his grip on Quinston's throat. Just a wee bit. Until, quite shockingly, he brought his lips down onto Natalie's, and pressed down on them.

... In other words, he just KISSED her.

The crowd, who were going crazy over the fact that Natalie Quinston was being choked just moments earlier, were dumbfounded. But it was one of those rough, dominant kisses. Where the other party isn't even kissing back. Finally, Quinton came up for air, and he smirked at Natalie Quinston being absolutely repulsed by the kiss. May went one step further, however. He actually SPAT down her throat. What with her mouth being partially open and all.

Vile. Just vile. Oh, just as vile as the chairshot from behind...

SMACK!

When there's Natalie Quinston, there's FEJONA MIN. Quinton May forgot the cardinal rule, and duly paid, crumpling down to the canvas with blood seeping out the back of his head. Natalie Quinston staggered back, finally free from Quinton, and did everything she could to wipe her mouth clean. The kiss and spit left her in a baaaad way, but at least the trap had been set effectively, and Fejona Min -- who came out of the crowd -- was doing her share of the work now.

SMACK!

SMACK!

And what a share it was. Two more shots of the chair to the back of the head was followed up by the jabbing of the chair down onto Quinton's left shoulder, repeatedly. What we had, ladies and gentlemen, was a massacre. Quinton's cause wasn't helped when Natalie Quinston retrieved her chair, and got to work on Quinton's legs mercilessly. Payback for the rough kiss and the spitting in the mouth thing. Well, you know what they say about payback.

Right now, Quinton was finding out exactly what payback was all about, but as far as the crowd were concerned, this senseless act of violence wasn't needed. And they made their opinions heard with copius amounts of jeering and the like. Not that it helped the Canadian Gladiator a single lick. Oh, no, he was being hammered until next year. The head, the left shoulder, the legs; you name a body part, and the two femme fatales formerly of tA were working it.

At long last, though, the assault came to an end. Fejona told Natalie to stand down, while the two women tossed their chairs away. A microphone was passed to Fejona Min upon request, and the crowd's jeering only intensified.

"Hello, ladies and gentlemen." Fejona announced cheerily. Faker.

She sidestepped a soda can thrown at her and cleared her throat, whilst looking down at May. "Right, then. What you have just witnessed is a massacre of epic proportions. But, I'm not proud of it. Do not get me wrong, we did what we needed to do, and we did it well.

But, that is not the point, Quinton. You laying there in a pool of your own blood doesn't work out.

So, if you want answers, then you'll show up on Sunday, at KING OF AGES. You, versus myself and Natalie Quinston. Handicapped Match. Oh, and, bring your Television Title along. You hold it oh-so-dearly to your heart, and I figure I could do with some new silverware. I'm selfish like that, yes. What can I say? A girl's got to impress.

And, yes, Quinton. I don't care that you have, with your victory just a short while ago, a KOA Finals contest. The way I see it, I'm offering you something of greater value. Because, one way or another, you WILL get your answers. I guarantee you that, Quinton May. You WILL get what you want. Win or lose, Quinton. Now, tell me, is that worth passing up?

One last thing, Quinton.

... I'm afraid this thing *HAS* become just a little bit personal, heh."

Fejona dropped the microphone and signalled to Natalie to leave the ring, amid a chorus of boos. Paramedics came streaming down to the ring at the same time, as "Lucky You" as performed by The Deftones blared over the speakers, a reminder of what had just transpired in the ring.

And, while Quinton was being tended to, one thing was made crystal clear.

Ready or not, Quinton May was going to have to be in the best physical, mental, and emotional state on Sunday. For not only was he on the doorstep of greatness, the Canadian Gladiator was on the verge... on the cusp of putting an end to a quest for answers that would hopefully, for him, aid in unlocking his cloudy and oh-so-mysterious past.

Winner > Quinton May

"Hey, esse."

This voice was directed at El Gato Negro who was walking down the halls towards his locker room. EGN stopped and responded calmly, "What do you want?"

Out of the shadows stepped Torres.

"What do you think I want?" questioned Torres.

"I don't know, mang, you tell me... I haven't seen joo'r face in oveer a week and now you start talken' to me politely. What's joo'r deal, mang.." EGN responded.

How many times were they going to respond with a question to a question? Continue reading to find out! Torres shifted closer to EGN, he put his arm around the Cat's shoulder. EGN maneuvered uncomfortably. 

"Don't be scared, man. I'm not going to hurt you... words between us were exchanged in the past. I'm over it, and I'm sure you are also. Now, lets get away from these cameras because I must talk to you about your Scorpion Fighting match at the King of Ages PPV," said Torres."

"Are joo insane? There's no way I'm'a gonna' talk to you in a civil conversation, mang..."

EGN walked off camera. Torres quickly followed him, "Wait up... just give me a minute."

The camera faded off. It seemed as if Torres was stuck in the middle, and would be stuck without a job after the King of Ages pay-per-view. But, the truth of the matter was that nobody in the whole arena felt bad for him. The snake-like man deserved everything that he got.

Finding The Solution, Part Three

As said earlier, tonight was the night to fix his mistakes.

he had already talked to HAWK, and now was his chance to set the record straight with someone else who had been with him in ACW since it opened back up in April 2004.

Adam Kent

Kent looked very relaxed as he sat opposite from Laguna, in the chair which SilverHAWK had vacated just a half an hour earlier.

"So do you know why I called you here today Adam?"

Kent picked his teeth, shaking his head. "No idea boss."

"Well...I've been assessing everyone in ACW at the moment, and seeing how much work is generated by each individual, to see if there stay in ACW is worthwhile and..."

"Boss...it's OK, I get the message, if you want me to tell Hillary that she is no longer needed you don't have to explain your reasons, it's perfectly fine, I'll just go and do it just now."

Kent stood up.

"Sit down Adam."

He looked confused.

"I've called you here, to tell you, that you are fired, so get out."

Kent was bewildered...but being Kent, the little greasy motherfucker that everyone hates, he didn't even argue a word. 

He walked...

he walked like a bitch.

Viktor L. Grobach Vs. Fejona Min

Carter pulled the dirt off his earlobe, as he screwed his face up in thought, he didn't think about this. "Kyle...mate, we are only doing one a week, if you go into that arena you'll be spotted for sure."

Carter leant back in his chair, it was ridged, so he didn't go very far. "Listen up...you seem to forget who you are talking to here, the only way you will get into ACW, is by my hand."

ACW > fWo - You Fuckers Better Believe It.