Fuck Em All! (Not Literally)

"What the hell do you mean there has been a mixup?!?"

Hillary Duncan looked at Laguna in shook as he screamed at the top of his lungs.

"This isn't a mixup, this is a fuckup."

Profanity.

Also a first for the boss.

He dropped back to his seat...wiping the sweat from his forehead.

"So what you're telling me, is that half of my roster have dropped off the face of the planet, and the other half have been given the wrong directions and are in a completely different state."

Duncan nodded.

"Someone's been messing with our communications William... Joe Bishop says that most of the roster were told that the show was in New York, and were even given hotel accomadation for last night."

"Who's missing!"

it was a sharp and nasty question, she didn't want to answer.

"Randy Lancett, Ecks, Yuri Yates, Azrael, El Gato Negro, Vance Starks and Tyson Osario."

Laguna couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"You mean to tell me, four matches are now going to have to be cancelled for this ppv?"

Duncan didn't answer.

"They're fired!"

"What?"

"Fire the lot of them...they want to disrespect me, then fuck them all!"

"But William it's not their fault."

"No! I've had enough of this crap...if they don't report to me on the next Courage then they were gone! Now get out."

Duncan made her exit...shit the door and then took a deep breathe, she was startled.

"This place turns you into a demon after a while."

Duncan turned around.

SilverHAWK.

"I thought you weren't going to turn up tonight HAWK, I need you for a match..."

"No can do hunny."

"But...ACW...King of Ages...it needs you."

SilverHAWK took a long good look at Duncan, and then turned around and walked.

"Tough, ACW doesn't need me anymore...they've made that very clear since Laguna took over."

And then she asked the question.

"Then why are you here?"

HAWK chuckled.

"In all honestly? I wanna see the end of the Main Event...I hear it's gonna be a real treat."

This Has To End

Outside the Invester's Group Athlete Center in Winnipeg a long black limo pulled up to the back door of the arena. This could only mean one person that would inhabit this limo. None other than the challenger for the Heavyweight title, ‘Superstar’ Vince Jacobs. Vince stepped out of the limo as the driver grabbed his bags from the trunk and handed them to SVJ. Jacobs smile widened, as he knew tonight was his night to finally capture the ACW World Title and put an end to the legacy that Chris Sheffield built and silence all the naysayers.

Vince took a deep breath as he walked into the arena. Was he nervous? This is Vince Jacobs folks he has nerves of steel. He had been in many big time matches throughout his career and this was not going to be any different. Vince walked into the arena with his trademark Armani suit and Gucci sunglasses (only the best for Vince). Also sporting a little bling-bling with a custom made diamond encrusted wrist watch.

Somebody went to see Jacob the Jeweler. ;)

Jacobs strolled down the hallway never taking off his sunglasses as he headed for his locker room. But as Jacobs approached his room he saw a very familiar face standing by his room. His former friend and tag team partner.

JOE BISHOP…

Jacobs sighed as he took his sunglasses off and placed them ever so gently in his jacket pocket. He slowly looked back up and in the face of one Joe Bishop before speaking.

“Can I help you with something Joe?” Vince said with a little disdain in his voice

“I just wanted to come by and make sure nothing was going to happen between you and Chris before the title match tonight.” Joe replied leaning on the door

“Look Joe it crossed my mind to take that fucker out last week for what he did to me two weeks ago.” SVJ paused “I mean that son of a bitch snuck me while I was on the phone with my wife and daughter and I am supposed to let that shit slide.” Jacobs said angrily

“Chris was lucky that he wasn’t in the building last week or I would have ripped that bastard’s head off his fucking shoulders.” Jacobs said

“I know you and Chris and this thing has to end between the both of you. What happened to that strong bond the two of you had some time ago? You guys were like brothers at one point. I am afraid that someone is going to get seriously hurt if this continues between you two.” Joe pleaded

“Look Joe, I am tired of this sentimental bullshit. How would you feel if someone took your knee out and you couldn’t do the thing you loved to do for a year and a half? Lying on a fucking operating table not knowing if you could walk again. He almost ended my career and I will never forgive him for that. Yes, we were once friends. Close friends, you remember how all three of us used to hang. But that ship sailed after Mr. Sheffield decided to choose money over our friendship.” Vince said grabbing Joe’s shirt. “DO YOU HEAR ME? HE ALMOST ENDED MY CAREER. And I won’t rest until Chris Sheffield is buried six feet deep.” Vince shouted letting go of Bishop’s shirt

"I understand that Vince but you know this is not you. Is this how you want Vicki and Jasmine to see you when you retire? Do you want Jasmine asking you all the time, did you really hurt that man daddy? I know deep down you and Chris still have that bond called friendship and that's something you guys need to get back." Joe said

"Joe this all touching and everything but do you really think after all Chris and I have been through that we still have a bond of friendship. Not likely my old friend. He hates me because I know more about him then any man in this business and it tears him up inside. He knows that Vince Jacobs knows all the skeletons in Chris Sheffield's closet and he is afraid I will expose them to the world. He may not fear me but he fears what I know. And to answer your previous question, my persoanl life does not affect my business life. Vicki has been in this business as long as I have and she knows what goes on. One day when Jasmine is old enough I will explain to her how daddy was as a wrestler. No lies, no bullshit." Vince replied

“Well I don’t want anything to happen before this match. You two have a lot to settle and it should be done in the ring one on one. So I am going to place a guard outside of your room until match time, so there will be no mishaps.” Joe said

Vince pushed past Bishop and walked into his locker room. “Whatever.” Closing the door behind him. 

Welcome to Hell, I mean ACW 

As she showed her press passes to the security guard to gain access to the RIMAC arena, in her hometown of San Diego, California…the promotion’s newest journalist let out a sigh of relief. If the federation that was approaching their second year anniversary wanted professionalism, integrity and everything included along those lines then Rene Marisa Ramirez was the woman they were looking for. Walking down the busy corridor with a bounce in her step as her Stilettos tapped the ground; Rene smiled as she passed the male spectators, who just watched the curvatures of her tight body speed by.

Being three hours early before the venue doors would open to the public; those road agents, officials and other ACW personnel wondered what was the rush, as the twenty-three year old turned the corner to the right. If they only knew that she was twenty minutes late, they would completely understand as Ms. Ramirez stopped to fix her shoes. It wasn’t completely her fault, Rene didn’t have any new business clothes to wear, in addition to not having any clean underwear or bras and she didn’t want to go across town to the laundry mat. These were difficult choices our San Diegan had to deal with on an everyday basis, as Rene paused outside Hilary Duncan’s office momentarily to adjust her collar before knocking on the closed door.

“Come in,” a famine voiced replied to the knock from the inside.

Rene inhaled then quickly exhaled as she turned the knob and let herself in, where Hilary Duncan awaited for the newest ACW employee. Rene dropped her briefcase on the ground right behind one of the two leather chairs, centrally placed in the middle of her office, and then extended her arm outward to greet William Laguna’s trusted staff member.

“Please Ms. Ramirez; take a seat so we can get down to business. I’ve already seen your resume as it was faxed to me several weeks ago, and it was quite impressive to say the least Ms. Ramirez. Three years working at the publication, The Union Tribune as a sports editor, editor of your school newspaper and numerous years of volunteer work. Just so we can have a level of comfort in this meeting of sorts, do you mind if I call you Rene?” Hilary withdrew said resume from the top drawer of her, analyzing it carefully as she looked up as Rene finished nodding her head yes. Little beads of sweat ran down the Hispanic American’s forehead as she tensed up her body, so she wouldn’t slouch in her chair…revealing her boyish interior.

Not to mention Rene didn’t want her new boss to remember that she was in fact late. That would not look good at all, and she definitely did not want to get fired after she took a huge risk, by applying with the wrestling promotion. No one could imagine what she had given up so easily, to follow this dream of hers, severing the strong ties that Rene made over the past three years. Suddenly the emotions started to build as she continued to day dream, but Rene had to remember to keep them in check or she might lose control again.

“Rene?”

“Rene?”

Her inner thoughts became so loud, that she didn’t hear Hilary calling out to her.

“Rene , are you listening to me? I’m trying to tell you what your job assignment is going to be.”

The ACW newbie snapped out her hallucination as she regained her eagle like attention ahead.

“Rene, I believe that right now one of the reasons the attendance is so low, is because the fans can’t identify with our superstars. They don’t know them, the audience can’t relate with them so it may not want to buy a ticket to see our shows. And if revue is not coming in, than the wrestlers and staff including you, will not be getting paid. But I’ll be still getting paid however.”

Hilary chucked lightly as Rene followed suit before being handed a document.

“What is this?” the journalist intuition of the San Diego native quickly acted without looking at the paper.

“That is a list of wrestlers I want you to interview, watch their matches and give me a report on them, so we can learn how to market them to general viewing public. One name in particular has several stars on it because he is someone we want you focus a lot of your research on, and if you do a good job…increases in your paid will be substantially rewarding to all parties involved. But for now, this meeting is adjourned Rene. I will contact you if further information becomes available.” Replied the second in command of ACW.

Hilary Duncan rose from her seat, shaking Rene Marisa Ramirez’s hand on the latter’s way out, leaning down to pick up her luggage. Scanning over the list, Rene knew she had a big task ahead of her, slowly opening the door as the reporter stepped through the entry way.

“…oh and Rene, try not to be late again. We at ACW, frown on tardiness.”

“Shit, I thought she forgot.”

Sacrificing one’s self for the greater good of another

Five minutes had not past since the larger than life bodyguard was sent on his mission. What that assignment was; now that was a complete mystery, as his client motioned for him to come fourth, before whispering slowly and descriptively into the giant’s ear. Now the man referred to only as Mr. Wallace moved about in the hectic corridor sans God’s Forgotten Son, who the aforementioned could imagine what his pupil was doing as he left their boiler room type surroundings. 

Sitting on the disgustingly filthy floor, abnormally large rats scurrying about as they nibbled on the grime and bacteria off the walls as GFS focused all his attention on that damn journal of his. He never toke his eyes off of it in fact, unless to wrestle which the young superstar would do tonight, in the anticipated King of Ages main event finale. 

On this night; there would be a momentous celebration, after the ACW new comer climbed into the heavens to retrieve what he believed was rightfully his. A championship that had a place in his comatose heart, after witnessing the disregard other individuals had for the strap. If the United States championship could talk or respond; it would understand how GFS too, had been abandoned numerous times, left for dead and virtual forgotten about…making the two of them kindred spirits. 

While Wallace observed his environment; he knew that GFS had but only one reason to return to ACW, yet that had not been totally exposed to the three hundred pound trainer. One sole purpose as to why, the amazing but troubled creature waited so long to step from underneath the shadows, which previously concealed God’s Forgotten Son like a security blanket from truth he had to live with. 

And if his client timed everything just right; creating the best opportunity to strike ACW, when it least expected it…Wallace knew he could mess things up. With that being thrown out onto the preverbal table, Mr. Wallace could not fail in his insignificant mission, in the masterpiece of pain that God’s Forgotten Son envisioned. Coming to a crossroads in the hallway; Wallace looked around the corner to his right cautiously, making sure that he was not seen by anyone, about to add another piece to his serial killer like pattern. GFS’s instructions continued to echo in between his ears as he glanced over the unsuspecting spectators, who had no clue what was in store for one of them. 

So back to the question at hand, who was the silent monstrosity going to pick? 

He analyzed the body language of several people; those that pretended to be happy or miserable to get attention, or even the sexually confessed members of ACW personnel, who impersonated others of their same sex….so no one could see through their blatant homosexual façade. Those types of individuals just would not do as Wallace continued with his search, moving his blue eyes pass unworthy candidates for God’s Forgotten Son’s twisted plan, as Wallace smirked to himself. Would the bodyguard choose a woman; rolling his eyes over the curvatures of their nicely toned bodies, imaging the smell of their soft skin that his client would enjoy. It had been so long, since GFS was in the presence of a woman. 

And what if this lady did not do what she was told; oh how the youngster would love that even more than obedience. The giant could picture her piercing scream would send goose bump chills down GFS’s tattooed arms and up his scarred throat, whilst Wallace looked to the opposite side. Maybe male counterpart could be better; the part time trainer pondered seeing numerous men backstage, who God’s Forgotten Son could emasculate in front of the entire world, just because the duo knew that they could. 

As the mental deliberation continued, it appeared that a candidate had been chosen. Wallace moved from his crow’s nest as he moved toward his prey, watching intently as others surrounded her, inquiring all there was to divulge about her past, present and future. They cunningly peeked down at nicely shaped breasts when she wasn’t looking, none of them noticing that Wallace was only a few paces away, ready to take this young woman away from all the innocent affection they bestowed upon her. Suddenly Wallace’s immeasurable shadow cast over the officials and ACW journalist Rene Marisa Ramirez, who stood in awe of his size.

He motioned for Rene to come to him, as everyone else scattered in different directions like roaches. Rene was frozen in her place as Wallace slowly advanced on the young woman, as he lowered himself to her ear. 

“Come with me and if you say a word, I’ll break you in half like a twig.” 

The expression on Rene’s face turned ghostly white as she did what she was told. 

And then they were gone, disappearing from sight. 

ACW TELEVISION CHAMPIONSHIP
Quinton May Vs. Fejona Min & Natalie Quinston

Let's cue it up; "Lucky You" by The Deftones.

Out from behind the curtains appeared the two women who had been making headlines in ACW over the last couple of weeks. And no, not necessarily for creating trouble; they were also effectively utilising the full extent of mind games. That's how sneaky FEJONA MIN and NATALIE QUINSTON were.

Together, as a tandem, Fejona and Natalie had been one step ahead of their enemy. But hey, it's just business.

Or so they preach. But that's all they're saying. In any event, jeers instantly started to rain down on the Cambodian Femme Fatale and Natalie Quinston as the two women looked up at the stands, apparently trying to look for something, or someone. But Fejona -- wearing a black sleeveless tanktop with tight black pants sans footwear -- didn't want to waste too much time staring out into the sea of humanity.

With a snap of her fingers, Fejona got Natalie Quinston (wearing a white sleeveless tanktop that looked allll fancy with tight white tights that showed off her black thong, and white boots as well!) to follow her into the ring, where the referee was already in place, anticipating a real mess on his hands in a couple of minutes.

Handicapped Matches? Never easy to keep control of. Especially between enemies, and with the Television Title on the line.

Having climbed into the ring, the Cambodian Femme Fatale and Natalie Quinston took their place in the middle of that same ring, smiling smugly and raising their arms in the air, like they already won. Riiiiight. But anyways, you all know the story behind this match, I assume?

...

Okay, then. History lesson.

This allll began on May 15 2004. ACW's REVIVAL pay-per-view extravaganza. Quinton May had just defended his Television Title against Phil Atken and Chris Messiah (I miss those guys!). On his way to meet his former college sweetheart/almost-to-be wife and his illegitimate son, the Canadian Gladiator was ambushed.

Jumped by mysterious men, before being whisked away to the mountains. He was held captive there for the next two months. During which, the initial story was that Quincy Mama had taken a break to recuperate from injuries (which also delayed his tSC debut), before making his return in the middle of June. But something about Quinton seemed very off.

Until, finally, after rumoured confrontations with a mysterious assailant... it was revealed that the Quinton that had been running around since June? A fake. A clone, to be more specific. All masterminded by one Fejona Min and her assistant, Natalie Quinston. Who, long-time fans remembered, had some sort of connection to the Rising Star.

The clone disappeared before reappearing to dick around with Quinton in tSC, going to extreme measures. Fejona Min and Natalie Quinston, meanwhile, have been playing games with Quinton. Sneak attacks. Bringing back Osyrus to destroy Quincy, which half-worked. Mind games; hinting that they might strike on a certain night, but never actually following through.

All the while, Fejona Min stated this -- her job was part of a business deal, she was being paid handsomely, and a massive surprise was in store for the Castaway once the time was right.

Anddddd, that brings us all up to speed.

"Make A Move" by Lostprophets suddenly started to play over the speakers, and the predominantly Canadian crowd began to erupt, but 17 seconds into the song, the lights in the arena were cut. Now, excitement gripped every single person in the stands, as they counted down to the second where they'd be able to witness the Rising Star of the company appearing before their very eyes.

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

KA - BOOOOM

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

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

WAKE UP!
WAKE UP!
WAKE UP!

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

WAKE UP!
WAKE UP!
WAKE UP!

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

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

Fejona Min and Natalie Quinston had one last conference in a corner of the ring as Quincy Mama, so often plagued by many a nefarious schemes in his professional career thus far, came storming out from the back. Dark blue jeans and black boots; that's all he was wearing. And oh, of course, his TV Title that he held in his right hand.

Oh, wait. The clumsy oaf dropped it. My bad, he threw it into the ring.

More precisely, he aimed it at Natalie Quinston and connected, before sliding into the ring and stunning the already-shocked Fejona Min with a sudden double-leg takedown. DING DING DING, the bell went, bringing an extremely abrupt start to the match. But the crowd didn't care. Quincy Mama didn't care. This was alll about revenge, and his quest for answers.

So, rapid-fire mounted punches, eh? Yeah, that was the formula Quinton was deploying now, while the referee checked on the downed Natalie Quinston, who was super-dazed from having been hit with the TV Title. She was also a wee bit embarrassed, considering that Quincy chucked his belt at her from OUTSIDE the ring.

But, heh, hindsight's 50/50. Or something. Anyways, Quinton got tired of the mounted punches and rolled off of Fejona, almost slobbering at the mouth while the crowd went ballistic at the sight of May supremely controlling the opening minutes of this bout. Especially when Quinton went over to Natalie Quinston, pulled her up by the hair, and clotheslined her right out of the ring. Just like that.

Turning around, though, May found himself being clocked in the face. Fejona Min was up, and pissed, so she hit Quinton ag -- BLOCKED! Quinton fired back with a crashing hook of his own, which only prompted Fejona to respond. And, you know what happened next. Slugfest right in the middle of the ring, with Fejona surprisingly holding her own.

Until Quinton, out of nowhere, drove his right knee into her ribcage.

Following which, a half-forward-spin elbow strike ensued, knocking the Enchanting Delinquent into the ropes. Quincy didn't wait for her to come back towards him to do anything; he shot himself into the ropes and attempted a running clothesline, but Fejona ducked underneath it. May slapped the brakes on and turned around, hoping that the clothesline attempt would work the second time around. No such luck, with Min leapfrogging over him.

That looked cool. What was even cooler was the back-to-front jumping bicycle kick that the Rising Star pulled out of his bag of tricks as Fejona landed on her feet and shot herself into the ropes once more. Caught her squarely in the face.

By this time, Natalie Quinston had crawled back into the ring, and figured that with Quincy Mama taking a while to get to his feet, she had the opportunity to seize on a very tiny opening. Turned out that the tiny opening... was actually much smaller in reality. Quinton suddenly burst into life as Natalie Quinston neared, taking her down with a sweeping armdrag that almost split Natalie into two.

Still, Natalie wasn't deterred. Spunky girl, she is. Not in... that way. Or is she?

I'm not telling. If you followed her in Asylum, you would know. Ahem. Anywho, Natalie Quinston got back to her feet and advanced on Quinton May again, only to suffer a drop-toe-hold. With a twist; May timed his move perfectly and executed it at just the right spot in the ring, causing Natalie's face to made unadulterated contact with the bottom rope. Natalie's lips were duly cut open, and the whiplash effect meant she was back on her feet, against her own will, staggering backwards.

GERMAN SUPLEX! Rather, CANADIAN SUPLEX! What? We *are* in Canada. I digress; Quinton knocked Natalie senseless with an amazing German Suplex, but kept the rear waistlock cinched in as he got to his feet, dragging Quinston up with him. Pretty obvious what was going to happen next.

GERMAN SUPLEX!

GERMAN SUPLEX!

GERMAN SUPLEX!

GERMAN SUPLEX!

... No, I haven't gone senile. I promise, I haven't.

Quincy Mama just massacred Natalie Quinston with FIVE crunching German Suplexes. Had he decided to go for the cover, and this was a normal 1-on-1 match, Quinton would have gotten a 50-count. Alas, the nature of the match meant Quinton May had to quickly regain his bearings and return his attentions to Fejona Min.

Only to find his chest turning red, courtesy of an overhand Mongolian chop! Fejona then struck with a regular knife-edged chop, before hitting another overhand Mongolian chop. The pain was unbearable for Quincy Mama, but there was more of that in store, in the shape of a sudden palm heel strike to the face! Quinton dropped down to one knee, the force of the palm heel strike overwhelming him greatly.

Fejona simply smiled. "Not so tough after all, are you?"

What followed was a blistering roundhouse kick to the side of May's head, which sent chills down the spines of the fans. Quinton was sprawled out on the canvas, but only for a second and a half. Mainly because the Cambodian Femme Fatale pulled him up by the hair and connected with a forearm smash to the throat, before whipping Quincy across the ring, into one of the four turnbuckle corners. Whiplash effect? Indeed, but Fejona's follow-up charge was evaded by May, who sidestepped her.

The result? Fejona crashed face-first into the turnbuckle, and got completely whomped with a jumping sidekick to the face as she turned around! The crowd squealed at the sight of the former tA Women's Champ (was never defeated for the title) crashed down to the canvas, having been totally outclassed in the early portions of this match.

Turning around, Quinton raised an eyebrow at the sight of Natalie Quinston getting back to her feet. What was more intriguing was the fact that she was staggering right back into Quinton's path, who simply crouched down a little and smacked his lips, waiting. Like a lion stalking a gazelle. But I doubt lions end up executing a standing belly-to-belly suplex on gazelles.

Because that's what Quinton did, to much joy from the audience. May himself felt the rush, and he emitted a mighty roar in the middle of the ring, truly expelling weeks of frustration from within his body.

Not a good thing to be distracted whilst in a Handicapped Match, though. Fejona Min came swooping in with a chop block, taking Quincy's legs out from under him, and jumping on his back immediately thereafter. Firing shots to the back of Quinton's head, the Rogue Slayer -- as she called herself in tA -- screamed foreign curse-words at May. Probably damning him for coming out like a house of fire in this match.

After about thirty seconds of that, Fejona stood to her feet and pushed strands of her ethereal hair out of her face, scowling at the sea of humanity that were now calling her 'SLUT!'. You know, it's true if you feel offended by it. Or something like that. Anyways, she turned back to May, picked him up, and threw him into the ropes, eager to do some damage.

Spinning heel kick? Sure, sounded good in theory. But, no. DENIED!

Quinton May rolled underneath the kick and jumped up to his feet, catching Fejona Min by surprise as she tilted her head to the side. A kick to the gut followed, before Quinton picked Fejona up in a front facelock. Suplex? Naaa, too basic. Instead, the Canadian Gladiator took a few steps forward and dropped the Cambodian Femme Fatale down onto the ropes, leaving her stranded there!

Smirking, the Survivor of M15 took a step back and admired his handiwork. Prior to unleashing a devasting kick that doesn't really have a name yet. Here, let me detail it for you: he hopped forward, before flipping backwards in midair, and sending both his feet crashing into the jaw of the Cambodian Femme Fatale, knocking her clean off the ropes and down onto the floor below, while May landed on his feet, jubilant.

"HOLY SHEET!"
"HOLY SHEET!"
"HOLY SHEET!"

Somewhat faint, but still audible. And definitely warranted.

May peered over the ropes and watched as Fejona Min writhed around on the floor, with the referee covering his mouth in horror. What a pussy. Anyways, all of this enabled Natalie Quinston -- blood having ceased trickling out of her cut on the lips -- to sneak up on Quincy Mama and forcefully club him in the kidneys. And nobody no-sells a kidney shot, remember.

With that in mind, Natalie Quinston continued to work on the kidney areas, exacting a bit of revenge for Fejona as well. May grimaced with every shot, before he was spun around and kicked in the gut. Satisfied with her little flurry of offense, Natalie Quinston whipped Quincy into the ropes, but just as she did, Natalie yanked the Television Champ back towards her, as a percursor to a snap hurricaranna.

Unfortunately for Natalie, Quinton saw it coming, and countered. Into a powerbomb. Yes, sir. This powerbomb was special, though. Natalie Quinston didn't land on the canvas, as expected. She landed on the outside, right next to Fejona Min.

Breathing heavily, Quinton May watched as both his opponents squirmed around in agony on the outside, with the crowd egging May on. They wanted their countryman to win badly here, and do it quickly. Remember, Quincy still had the KOA Final to look forward to, and it was probably best that he came out like a cat on crack here in the early going.

So, then. With a mad glint in his eyes and with the sight of Fejona Min getting back up to her feet, Quincy Mama launched himself onto the top rope and springboarded right down to the ground, twisting his body in mid-air and catching Fejona Min with a seamless and delibitating DDT takedown!

Impressive, non? The fans thought so. As did the referee, that pussy.

"HOLY SHEET!"
"HOLY SHEET!"
"HOLY SHEET!"

Quinton May stood to his feet and rubbed his neck, clearly pleased with all the punishment he was dishing out. In just a matter of minutes, he had taken out both his opponents, and was definitely in the driver's seat. Looking over to the mangled body of Natalie Quinston, who was admirably getting back up, May had an idea.

An idea which was put into execution just seconds later, as the Rising Star advanced on Natalie and hiptossed her right onto the barricade! Just like Fejona was hung up on the ropes just moments earlier, Natalie Quinston was now stranded on the barricade, her spine having almost been destroyed from that hiptoss.

The Canadian Gladiator was far from finished.

Realising that Natalie Quinston was in a very precarious position, May backpedalled and deftly hoisted himself up onto the ring apron, despite the referee's vehement protesting. Quincy ignored the referee and set his eyes on Natalie's neck, in a perverse sort of way. This was right before took flight...

... and scored with a guillitone legdrop, right down across the throat of Natalie Q!

Deliberate and callous move from Quinton there, who was putting his own body on the line just to beat the life out of the two women who had been screwing around with him for weeks. Normally, that would be a GOOD thing, but not in this instance. Getting to his feet, Quincy Mama dragged Natalie Q up with him, staring her in the eyes, his eyes widening at the sight of more blood dribbling out of her mouth.

It almost made him orgasm. Sick, I know. But that's how angry and hateful he was. Looking at Natalie, Quinton was consumed with the need to completely destroy her, considering their history -- not that many people know what that history is. But that, friends, doesn't matter right about now.

Especially with Quinton had in store for Natalie Q.

"Say hello to steel, you fucking cunt." the Canadian Gladiator growled at Natalie through his clenched teeth, before pulling her head back and smashing her pretty little face down onto the steel steps. It was pure violence at its most gruesome. If you think Quincy Mama stopped there, though, you are sorely mistaken.

SMACK!

SMACK!

SMACK!

SMACK!

Four more times, Natalie's face tasted the steel steps. Laughing now like a maniac, Quincy Mama tossed Natalie Quinston aside, as a pool of blood rolled off the steel steps. Natalie's face was a crimson mask now, claret caking every single inch of her face. The fans, naturally, loved it.

But they also feared that Quinton had finally, officially, lost it.

Could you blame him, though? After all he had endured over the past couple of weeks, the Castaway figured he deserved some retribution. And that was what he was after when he produced a steel chair from under the ring. The referee, who had tried to assert his authority over the course of the match, interjected again... only to get spat at by Quinton May. Who then suddenly turned around, and swung the chair. Why did he do that?

Simple. Fejona Min was on her feet.

CRACK!

Not for long, thanks to that deadly steel chair.

The Cambodian Femme Fatale was back on the floor in a heap, comatosed due to the chair shot. Quinton May nodded his head for some reason, as he turned around and held the steel chair up in the air, inciting a loud chorus of cheers from the crowd. But May wasn't trying to get a rise out of the crowd. He had blocked them out for the time being.

No, see, he raised the chair because somehow, Natalie Quinston had pulled herself up. Her outfit had been stained with her own blood, but purely on instinct, she had regained her vertical balance.

This didn't go do well with Quinton.

CRACK!

So, he blasted Natalie Q with a vile chairshot. Down she went, knocking her head against the steel steps on the way. Added bonus for the Survivor of M15, who once more raised the chair over his head. This wasn't going to be very pretty, folks.

Animalistic? You damn right.

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

Natalie Quinston = fucking dead. Who wouldn't be after five chairshots to the back of their head?

Deciding that Natalie Q have had enough contact with steel, Quinton May threw the chair aside and pulled Natalie up by her blood-soaked hair. For a second there, it looked as if the Canadian Gladiator was going to roll Natalie Quinston back into the ring. But for some reason, Quinton didn't go through with it.

Instead, he picked Natalie Q up in his arms, and slammed her down onto the steel steps, spine first! The steps almost came undone due to the sheer force of Quinton's quasi-backbreaker move, but May made sure that wasn't the case. Simply because he had one more devious trick up his sleeve. That was evident when he climbed up onto the steel steps himself.

Grinning devilishly, he pulled Natalie's limp body up and stuck her head in between his thighs, instantly garnering a massive reaction from the crowd. The referee once again tried to stick his nose into unchartered territory, but Quincy ignored him. Instead, all his attention was on Natalie Quinston. He double-underhooked both her arms before looking up at the crowd, eyes burning with intensity.

And then...

... HIDEAWAY onto the steel steps!

"HOLY SHEET!"
"HOLY SHEET!"
"HOLY SHEET!"
"HOLY SHEET!"
"HOLY SHEET!"
"HOLY SHEET!"

The chanting was pretty academic. So was the fact that Natalie Quinston was, for the lack of a better term, deceased. She had to be, with the way she lay on the ground, her head almost *dented* following the piledriver onto the steps. Quinton May took some time to get himself up, but when he did, he was absolutely delirious at what he had done. Natalie's blood was on his hands, and he loved it.

"I'll take care of you another day!" the Castaway shouted as he leaned down and once more took control of Natalie Quinston by the hair. What did he mean by that? Nobody knew, and nobody was going to ask the deranged Television Champion.

Want proof of his newfound insanity? How about those handcuffs in his hands, that he pulled out from his jeans pocket? Yeah, that appeared odd to everyone. The referee begged with Quinton, thinking that the Canadian was going to further decimate poor ol' Natalie Quinston. Instead, though, Quinton was just making sure he didn't have to worry about Natalie Quinston possibly recovering from all that she'd been endured to.

And, the Survivor of M15 did this by handcuffing Natalie to the surprised timekeeper.

You have to admit, it was brilliance on the part of Quinton May. Who also had to be thankful that he had a weakling of an official in charge of his match; or maybe, he was just very leniet and wanted to let things flow. Either way, some of the more conservative fans thought that the match -- while still somewhat in its infancy -- had gone a bit far so far.

Wonder what they thought of that kick to the gonads from the recovering Fejona Min? Oh yeah, while Natalie Quinston was being taken care of, Fejona Min was ensuring that she regained her strength and mapped out a good enough strategy to overcome the rabid Television Champion.

Punt to the balls would do it. So would a belly-to-back suplex down onto the steel steps, non? YOU BET. Quinton May had been rampant with his usage of the steel steps to destroy Natalie Quinston, but now found himself a victim of the unforgiving structure, with Fejona Min pulling off a very fancy move out of nowhere. Not bad for pure-bred fighter/martial artist, eh?

Plus, she hasn't had the best of win-loss records in ACW. Just one victory out of four matches. She was hoping to change all that tonight, and with Quincy Mama's momentum finally halted, the Enchanting Delinquent could be forgiven for thinking she had a real chance here.

Picking Quinton up, she rolled him back into the ring and quickly hoisted herself onto the apron. Within a blink of an eye, she was up on the top of the turnbuckle, and the Cambodian Femme Fatale was extremely brave to attempt a stunning cockscrew moonsault, completely out of nowhere.

What was even more spectacular about the move?

It connected, right on. And with that, we had our first cover of the match;

ONE.

TWO.

TH -- NOT A CHANCE!

Quinton hadn't been sufficiently weakened enough over the course of the match. Hell, he had been the aggressor for practically the whole match. Not anymore, it seemed. Fejona Min was desperate to change all that, now that the contest had effectively become a 1-on-1 affair.

Pulling Quincy up to his feet, Fejona knocked him into the ropes with a vicious spinning backfist, before knocking him down with a throat thrust. To his credit, May was back on his feet almost immediately, but it only allowed the Cambodian Femme Fatale to move into top gear, as she dished out a sweeping armdrag. Her version almost looking better than Quinton's.

Not that he minded, of course. Ahem. But anyways, May staggered back to his feet, desperate to change things around and was happy to find that Fejona predictably went for a roundhouse kick. Quinton evaded it with a backward bridge, using his legs to sweep out Fejona's as her striking leg touched back onto the canvas. Quincy Mama then rolled backwards and used his arm strength to good effect, pushing himself up onto the top rope, where he was able to let fly with a shooting star press.

Fejona, however, had the move scouted and got her knees up. CRASH AND BURN, QUINCY! He rolled away from Fejona Min, his sternum having been battered by the failed springboard shooting star press. The Enchanting Delinquent simply got up and measured the Canadian Gladiator up, knowing his next move.

Which was to, once back up on his feet, turn around and swing at the opponent. Fejona was waiting and ducked, getting into position to execute a judo move by the name of Ushiro Goshi. Looked a lot like a regular side belly-to-belly suplex variant to most people, but the follow-up to this move was a stunning standing somersaulting legdrop!

Guess what Fejona Min did next? Of course she made the cover;

ONE.

TWO.

THRE -- SHOULDER!

Close, but not close enough. Fejona Min got to her feet and pushed strands of her lovely hair out of her eyes, surprised that with all the punishment she'd endured, there wasn't any blood on her face. But looking down at May, who was on his knees, Fejona was filled with fire, due to what had befallen her partner on the outside.

So, the only logical thing for the former Asylum Women's Champion to do? Work on that wasted left arm. Ahhh, you thought there was no continuity here, didn't ya? Nuh uh, I was just building up to it like a wizard builds up to his last awesome magic trick.

... Yeah, I'll stop doing that now. Anyways, Fejona Min got Quinton May trapped in a Othen Garami, wrenching back on the left arm with no remorse. The Canadian Gladiator, of course, was in a world of hurt.

But, he was also damn close to the ropes.

"Tricky one, aren't you?" Fejona snarled at the Television Champion, right after the referee ordered a break due to May reaching the ropes with his legs. Min stood up, fuming, and dragged Quinton back into the middle of the ring, mercilessly stomping down on the left shoulder of Quincy. It was bound to come, and here it was.

The Cambodian Femme Fatale wasn't going to waste all her time working on one body part of Quinton's, however. She backed off all of a sudden, taunting Quinton to rise to his feet on his own. Which May did, only to get stiffly chopped across the chest the moment he was upright. Sensible strategy by Fejona Min, most fans noted begrudingly while jeering resoundingly.

After about three chops to the chest, Fejona kicked Quinton in the shin, forcing him to double over just that little bit. Enabling the Enchanting Delinquent to drive her right knee into May's face, knocking him backwards. Fejona then tried to follow up with a clothesline, but Quinton ducked underneath it, stunning Fejona.

What stunned Min even more? The standing dropkick to her face.

Fejona cursed under her breath as she scrapped back to her feet. The dropkick took quite a bit out of Quinton too, who had definitely went the distance in the early minutes of the match. But once both competitors were back up, the action resumed, and it was frantic with a capital F.

Quincy charged ahead with a clothesline. Fejona ducked it, though, and turned around in hopes of connecting with one of her own. May ducked, trying to connect with a outward swinging clothesline. The Rogue Slayer ducked underneath that and spun around, launching another spinning backfist at Quinton.

The latter caught and twisted Fejona's arm around, before yanking the Cambodian toward him. Fejona evaded the impending clothesline and managed to slap on a rear waistlock on Quinton May, before ducking his attempt at a reverse elbow counter and sent him flying over her head with a German Suplex. One tiiiiiny problem, however.

Quinton May landed on his feet. Turning around, Fejona Min was somewhat impressed and tried to take him down with a outward swinging clothesline of her own. Quincy rolled underneath it and upon springing up to his feet, turned to kick Fejona in the ribs. Min, in turn, doubled over just a little... allowing Quincy Mama to let fly with a beautiful jumping axe kick.

Somehow, rather magically, Fejona Min managed to catch Quinton's leg before it crashed down onto the top of her head, and she threw the leg aside, spinning the Castaway around. Giving herself the chance to go for a spinning heel-kick. Quinton evaded it by lowering his head at the right time, though.

And retaliated with a perfectly-planted jumping pump kick to Fejona's face, knocking her out cold!

With the crowd going wild for May's snazzy martial arts tactics, the Canadian was quick to make the cover, hooking both of Fejona's legs as he did so;

ONE.

TWO.

THRE -- KICKOUT!

The audience groaned collectively, truly believing that it was all over.

Alas, Fejona Min just had a bit too much fight in her. Quinton shook his head, somewhat desperate by now. He couldn't afford the match to go on any longer. The KOA Final had its fair share of high stakes involved, and with that one being a Ladder Match, Quincy needed his body to be in top physical shape for that one. But hey, he was the one who accepted the challenge.

Pulling Fejona up by her lovely hair (that bastard!), Quincy slugged her in the face with a stiff uppercut, before whipping her into the corner turnbuckle. May followed suit, though.

Why? Oh, because he wanted to execute a monkey flip, just for the hell of it.

By some twisted way, Fejona Min landed on her feet, and she turned around swiftly, waiting an extra second for May to get back up and face her before letting loose with a roundhouse kick. To the neck of the Castaway. The referee stepped in to admonish Fejona, telling her to keep it clean. Min wasn't going to bother listening to him, however.

Because, with Quinton at her mercy, the Cambodian Femme Fatale was going for the kill. She pulled May up and applied a front facelock. Then, she lifted him lifts him off the canvas and suspended the Champion up in the air for a while. Then, she jerked May upward just a bit more, before forcefully twisting Quinton while slamming him down to the canvas. Upon impact, Min's right knee crashed into May's groin (undetected) and her right forearm bore down on Quincy's face.

You all have seen this before. But, just to refresh your memory -- SAGACITY 01, baby!

Fejona Min was as happy as can be, as she got her body on top of May's, hooking both the legs and leaning back as she did, hoping that the Canadian's shoulders would have no room to escape. Referee, do your thang;

ONE.

TWO.

THREEEEEE.

... NO! NO! NO! QUINTON GOT THE SHOULDER UP!

He had to get the left shoulder up, which hurt quite a bit, but Quinton May got it up nonetheless. And in the process, remained the Television Champion. Fejona Min was stupefied beyond all belief.

So much so that she fell into the age-old routine of arguing with the referee. Psssh, like that ever achieved anything. Stupid cunt, ahem. In any event, the fussing with the referee lasted all of twenty seconds, with Quinton May's recovery catching Fejona's eyes. She duly turned around and caught him with a stiff-as-fock kick to the sternum while he was on one knee, knocking May down to the canvas, with a nice view of the rafters again.

Follow-up? Fejona hopped over May's body and springboarded off the ropes, in hopes of connecting with an Asai moonsault. Quincy rolled out of the way, though, but Fejona didn't eat canvas. Because she anticipated May and landed on her feet.

The two enemies locked eyes once again as Quinton arose, and the atmosphere in the building was unbearable. This match had to end somehow, even if Natalie Quinston was going to remain unconscious on the outside for the rest of it. Speaking of which; timekeeper was having a hell of a time trying to get those handcuffs undone. Poor suckah.

Back in the ring, though, Fejona made the first move, charging at Quinton. The Castaway ducked and pulled the ropes down, causing Min to fall out of the ring as she neared the ropes. She was, of course, expecting to bounce off of them. But regardless, the Cambodian Femme Fatale recovered nicely, skinning the cat and pulling herself back into the ring, much to May's chagrin.

Not that he could do anything about it; for as he neared the ropes, possibly to push Fejona out for good, Min wrapped her legs around his neck, squeezing it for all it was worth. Quinton panicked for a second, before he thought of something truly ingenious. It was so amazingly brilliant.

... He pulled Fejona's pants down.

Exposing her sexy black thong in the process. Oh, and that arse... my oh my.

Fejona was naturally shocked, with the crowd going completely apeshit at that second. Outraged, Fejona released her modified chokehold on May and set her feet down on the canvas, furiously pulling her pants up. She needed to bend down to do it, though, which was perfectly acceptable with all the leering male fans in the crowd. The wives of whom (those who indeed had wives) were none too pleased.

But as Fejona Min got her pants up, she suddenly found herself in a rear waistlock.

"Checkmate, bitch." Quinton whispered into her ear as he leaned in, before throwing her backwards. URBANE REPEALMENT, motherfucker!

This one was as good as over;

ONE.

TWO.

THREE.

Indeed, it was over. Hear them Canadians roaring jubilantly? That's a sign of it being over.

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

The Survivor of M15 didn't jump to his feet and dance like it was Michael Jackson's birthday, though. Oh, no. He let go of Fejona and glared at the timekeeper pathetically ringing the bell whilst still being conjoined to Natalie Quinston. The referee, pleased that his work was finally done, threw the TV Title back into May's arms and left.

The Canadian Gladiator? He called for a microphone and turned to stand over Fejona's broken body, just as the Cambodian Femme Fatale was coming to. She'd been defeated in this Handicapped Match, half of which she spent fighting with her partner out of it. The other half? Dominated by the man who now wanted what was rightfully his.

"Now, then. My answers." Quinton spoke, hushing the crowd. "I want to know who's behind the clone thing, and the whole 'Gerald Parker' cover story thing. I want to know who's pulling the strings. I want to know who this 'Seph' fella is. I want to know what is this rumoured surprise you have in store for me.

Basically, what I'm trying to say is, I WANT MY ANSWERS. RIGHT ABOUT NOW."

The floor's yours, Fejona Min. Who glared up at May, bitter at what measure he had taken to help him secure the victory. Then, for some odd reason, she grinned.

Before kicking Quinton May in the bawls. Oooooh, that's gotta hurt.

Quincy Mama was down, and Fejona Min rolled out of the ring, happy to keep her mouth sealed. She walked over to the timekeeper and punched him into the face, before taking the hammer used to ring the bell and using it to break the handcuffs. By which juncture, Natalie Quinston was beginning to stir back to life.

As was Quinton in the ring. But as he rolled over on his belly, the Canadian Gladiator scowled. Fejona Min and Natalie Quinston were long gone, having escaped through the crowd. They may not have won the match, but as far as they were concerned, the war wasn't quite over.

The Castaway knew this too. He had to stop thinking about them, though. KING OF AGES was now his priority.

One match down, one more to go for Quincy.

Winner > Quinton May

Porn Flakes... The white stuff on 'em sure as hell ain't sugar.

It had been a couple of weeks since we had last seen the Protagonist in the Story of Life at an ACW event. He had booked the past fourteen days off to recuperate after the blow that was dealt to him by the very mean team of Hillary Duncan and Adam Kent. They may as well have just taken a rubber stamp that said, “shot down” and pressed it right against his very, very sexy forehead. 

With more hours spent awake then he had spent getting some well-needed shuteye in the past little bit, Kelly was feeling rather out of it as he returned here at the King of Ages Pay-Per-View. He was not scheduled to compete this evening, at least that’s what he had been told, but he had arrived so that he could get paid. Yes, I know it sounds crazy, but something has to fund his abnormal shoe fetish. He looked down at his designer dress shoes, he smiled thinly at the site of them. Nothing better then footwear to brighten up somebody’s day. 

He slouched back into the bench that he was sitting on, to his knowledge Jamar Gordo was not in the arena. He seemed a little pleased by this fact, because he had heard through the grape vine that the Master of All Styles had needed Turtle Wax to get the spot off of his shoe that Kelly’s drool had left. No matter though, they would meet soon enough. This little charade the two had going on didn’t look as if it was going to end anytime soon. 

His anger had really been boiling over during his time off, and he had yet to find something to take it out on. Although when he arrived at the arena this evening he was informed that he was going to be a part of a match that would be held on the next edition of Courage, things were looking up again. He didn’t know whom his opponent was yet, but he didn’t really seem to care. He had finally found a way to vent his anger, but he would not be able to do for at least another few days. 

He sighed, so, until then, he would have to use the good old-fashioned technique of passing time… 

Pornography. 

ACW WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP
Pounded and Fused 3
Alias Vs. "Superstar" Vince Jacobs

No Disqualifications.

Tables, Ladders, and Chairs

Heavy-duty handcuffs that hang from the rafters

No pinfalls... either submission or knock-out

POUNDED AND FUSED was the name of this match

Déjà vu was the name of the game, people. Wars like this… they never end.

The ACWtron showed a couple of clips that led up to it.

“Ghosts still haunt you, Chris.”

(CUT TO: NEXT CLIP)

Alias looked into the room making sure nothing was out of place. He searched the room and found that everything was fine. Or was it?

He turned slightly to see a torn piece of paper lying on the chair across from the sofa. He picked up what was now, evidently, a piece of a flyer… and it read ‘WWRPG: RAGE IN A CAGE… featuring Ruben Ross and Charlie Owens in a Final Elimination Match, Alias and the WWRPG’s only Grand Slam Champion, Ravnos, in Match Six of there Best of Seven, and many more…’. He crumpled up the header of the flyer, which had been torn free from the rest of the advertisement and threw it in the garbage before storming out the door.

(CUT TO: NEXT CLIP)

The figure laughed manically at Alias as the champ tried to recover his bearings.

“The fun has just begun, Chris. It’s been a long time. I intend to finish what was never finished. Ironman Tables… Ironman Guanlets? Your worst nightmare has arrived. From one old union friend to another, kid… I’m going to rip you limb from limb.” The figure said as he stood over Alias

Alias looked up once more as he tried to recognize the voice, the clues within the rough baritone. Suddenly, it all clicked. It was him. But… why? The figure got closer to Alias, as the Original Pulp Hero tried to mutter some words.

“Ravn-- “

Then… all went to black… and when he woke back up, bleeding from the temple, he’d be alone with himself once again.

(CUT TO: NEXT CLIP)

The Pulp Hero was set to devoid all facedom tonight, after what happened the week before… and blindsided the pale skinned monster. Sending several forearm shots into his head, while wailing at his midsection with knees… as he pummeled him unmercifully with no warning. Picking up a crate beside the fallen body of this returned foe, Alias showed no remorse in sending it crashing into the midsection of Ravnos… not once, but four thunderous times.

BOOM!
BOOM!
BOOM!
BOOM!

Alias grabbed at Ravnos’s mask… which drew the ACW faithful to the very edge of their seat.

This would only clinking the fact… and making this man stare Alias eye to eye… before the Pulp Hero could get some final, utter, closer for this haunting situation.

Alias tugged at the material, pulling it up and over the chin. Only for…

darkness. And a voice.

“Alias… we still unfinished business. Hope you enjoyed this little present.”

The crowd stirred for a moment, not knowing what to expect, not knowing what any of this meant… before lights turn back on to reveal…

Alias holding the mask AND…

Nothing else.

The Pulp Hero now stood, alone in the ring, with a look of mixed anger and sorrowed emotion on his face. He threw down the mask in frustration… and turned around franticly, looking around the crowd for no one really in particulars… but ghosts. Alias finally plopped down, sitting on the canvas in utter exhaustion.

(CUT TO: NEXT CLIP)

He tore off his mask…

Ladies and Gentlemen, again for the first time.

…

…

‘SUPERSTAR’ VINCE JACOBS

The boos were deafening now as Jacobs dropped the chair to the mat and picked up the ACW World Title and held it high in the air.

"Did you think you could duck me forever? Pounded and Fused only proved that we’d always be joined… until one fell… and didn’t get the fuck up. I told you I would come to ACW if need be, to fuck you up. Guess what Chris, the nightmare continues. THE RATINGS GRABBER IS BACK IN THE ACW, MOTHERFUCKERS!!”

Well shit, there goes the neighborhood. Worried about that brave new ACW anymore, Chris?

Jacobs raised Alias’ bloodied head off the mat and looked into his face.

“I hope I got your attention now.”

Jacobs dropped Alias’ head back to the mat and slammed the ACW World Title on his chest as he rolled out of the ring flipping of the fans in the process.

(CUT TO: …static)

This leads us to where we are today. ACW World Heavyweight Championship Match.

POUNDED AND FUSED III

ALIAS versus ‘SUPERSTAR’ VINCE JACOBS

Original Pulp Hero versus The Reason

Chris versus Vince… yeah, it was that personal. Natch.
Suddenly the lights went out and on the acw-tron as something flashed.

Vince slowly walked down the aisle flipping off the fans at ringside. He rolled into the ring and posed for the crowd as the pyros went off behind him. Jacobs was ready to do something he hadn’t done and that was beat Alias in a match on pay-per-view. Vince was zero and three against Alias in recent pay-per-view matches. It seemed that Vince couldn’t win against Alias when it really mattered.

Jacobs would not let anything stand in his way of becoming the new ACW World Champion but one person stood in his way…

“Please allow me to introduce myself
I'm a man of wealth and taste
I've been around for a long, long year
Stole many a man's soul and faith”

The Rolling Stones’ “Sympathy for the Devil”.

“And I was 'round when Jesus Christ
Had his moment of doubt and pain
Made damn sure that Pilate
Washed his hands and sealed his fate”

The music continued as the ACW World Heavyweight Champion walked onto the stage to the loudest ovation of the night, and just the opponent showed how much difference a year had made between ACW’s last two King of Ages PPV’s. The man was ready to fight and the fans knew it from the look on his face. The Original Pulp Hero stood on the stage under the acw-tron soaking in the cheers from the crowd. Dante Inferno might have been somewhere on his mind, but not now… not this next half hour. Jericho even… attacking SilverHAWK like that… but now.

Brian fuckin’ Carter?

Pandora’s box?

Alias had the reason there is a show to worry about, at the moment, instead. He’d let William Laguna deal with both men he had never heard of or men he didn’t quite care for.

The tron lit up to show at first one name… two names… names that where familiar, some that weren’t… they where the names of everyman and woman who had ever wrestled within the walls of All-Star Championship Wrestling, within seconds the names flashed by so fast that they became a dissernable white blur until. BOOM BOOM BOOM it stopped on three words, a question, as white pyros exploded on either side of the steel ramp. That question?

What’s Your Alias?

The ACW World Championship Title exploded on the screen with Alias walking through the explosion with the title on his left shoulder. Alias walked down the ramp way toward the ring, pointing towards Jacobs.

“Pleased to meet you
Hope you guess my name
But what's puzzling you
Is the nature of my game”

Pyros exploded on either side of the ramp once again, three times, simultaneously… as the man who all this was for, slowly made his way to the apron. He walked up the stairs to the ring and climbed through the ropes. He looked at Jacobs and held the title high in the air for the fans to see as SVJ sneered at the champion. Alias walked over to Vince and held the title in his face.

“You’re going to have to kill me to take this from my hands, Vince.” Alias said, unlike at the PPV against SilverHAWK, his other friend and mentor… who he had become a bitter enemy with, Alias was the first to break the silence. Guess he wanted to say his piece, even if it was for just a moment.

“No problem with me Chris. It will be like killing two birds with one stone, cause don’t think this is anything different from the larger war.” Vince said as he slapped Chris across the face.

“Course it isn’t anything different then war… it’s you and I, remember?”

“I heard about that other Championship, Chris. That’s a damn damn shame.” The biting sarcasm in his voice was evident, as the corner of his mouth curled up in a sly grin. “I wouldn’t want to be you this week…”

That was it, as Alias dropped the title to the mat and tackled Vince down, the ref for tonight’s main event taking said title and putting it in a safe place. Alias laid punches into the face of Jacobs as the fans erupted. The bell finally sounded as the two hated rivals, ACW’s eternal battle in and of itself, were rolling on the mat throwing punches at each other to the fans delight. Alias got to his feet as did Jacobs and the two were now battling it out toe to toe.

Alias nailed Vince with a big right hand that dropped the Superstar to the mat. He quickly put the boots to Vince on the mat. Alias picked up Vince and drove him to the mat with a big suplex. The Pulp Hero dropped down and hooked Vince in a rear chokehold. Vince tried to get to his feet but Alias kept him down on the mat putting all his weight on his back. Alias wanted to wear down Vince as quickly as possible.

He wanted to ground the high flier. These two men know each other all to well as Alias continued the hold while Vince was getting to his feet. Vince stood up and nailed Alias in the side with two quick elbow shots that loosened the hold. Vince bounced off the ropes but Alias was waiting for SVJ with a vicious clothesline. The crowd cheered as Alias rolled to the floor and grabbed a steel chair from the table.

He slid into the ring with the chair in hand. This was a different side from Alias but since this was Vince Jacobs as his opponent then a good chair bashing was necessary. Alias stood in the ring waiting for Vince to get to his feet and turn around. Alias went for the head but Vince ducked the chair shot and nailed Alias with a boot to the gut. Vince quickly hooked Alias and drove him down with a snap DDT.

Vince stood to his feet as he picked up Alias and whipped him into the ropes. Alias reversed the move sending Vince into the ropes. Vince bounced off the ropes and slid under the legs of Alias. When Alias turned around to look for Vince he was met with an enzuguri kick to the head. Alias hit the mat hard as Vince saw this as he sprinted to the top rope. Vince came off the top rope with the Shining Star that connected to Alias’ jaw on the mat.

Vince stayed on the attack though as he kept the Pulp Hero off his feet. Vince hooked Alias in a single leg Boston Crab to keep Alias down. Vince continued to apply the pressure to Alias’ leg but ‘The Original Pulp Hero’ was making his way to the bottom rope to break the hold. Alias finally made it to the bottom rope to break the hold. Vince broke the hold as he quickly stood to his feet.

Vince waited for Alias to pull himself up from the mat before sending him back down with a chop block to the knee. Vince definitely had a game plan and he was trying to make sure it was going to be carried out. Payback you may say. Jacobs took Alias’ leg and set it on the bottom rope before jumping high in the air and landing on it. Alias screamed in pain from the move as Vince played up to the fans who were booing the Ratings Grabber.

SVJ picked up Alias again and drove him down to the mat with an atomic knee drop never letting go of the injured leg. But that was the setup for the figure four-leg lock, which Vince put on quickly. Alias’ contorted face said how much pain he was feeling right now.

“Give up you bastard.” Vince yelled.

“When… I… DIE.” Alias yelled back, between labored grunts of pain.

Alias was not going to give up as the fans started to cheer. He started to try to turn the move over. Vince tried to fight it but he couldn’t resist as Alias finally got the figure four reversed. Now Vince was the one yelling in pain. He reached for the ropes and finally grabbed the bottom ropes to break the hold and stop the pain.

The ref separated the men apart as both men were rubbing their legs from the pain. Vince slowly got to his feet as Alias got to his feet with the help of the ropes. SVJ raced at Alias but he pulled the ropes down and Vince flew over the top rope to the floor. Alias gathered himself as he hopped to the floor. He grabbed Vince and whipped him into the steel steps. The steps flew to the side as Vince’s knees hit the steps.

Jacobs was in pain from that shot. Alias slowly stalked Vince and grabbed him from behind and drove him down on the floor with a belly to back suplex. Vince was on dream street as Alias hooked his head in a head scissors choke hold.

Vince yelled out in pain as Alias had a smile on his facing sensing Jacobs was near the end.

“Give up Vince.” Alias said

“Never, you piece of shit.” Vince replied

Alias continued applying the pressure as the ref was checking on Vince. Jacobs looked to be fading out but tried to hold on. The ref grabbed Vince’s arm.

IT FELL ONCE…

He raised his arm again.

IT FELL AGAIN…

The ref, the crowd, and Alias knew this was it. Alias would have beaten Jacobs again on pay-per-view. The ref lifted Vince’s arm again for the third time.

IT FELL --- HALF WAY!! VINCE KEPT HIS ARM UP!!

Alias couldn’t believe it as Jacobs was still in this match. He let go of the hold and grabbed a table from the side of the ring. Alias picked up the table and slid it into the ring. He went down and grabbed Vince and threw him into the ring behind the table. Alias climbed into the ring and went after Jacobs. Alias grabbed Jacobs and slammed his head into the mat. He walked over and set up the table near one of the corners. Alias walked over to Jacobs and tried to whip him into the ropes SVJ bounced off the ropes and nailed Alias in the head with a dropkick. Vince waited for Alias to get to his feet.

SUPERSTAR KICK

Vince grabbed Alias and placed him on the table. Jacobs went to the top ropes as the fans booed the Superstar. Vince came flying off the top with a high elevated Five Star. The frog splash connected on Alias sending both men crashing through the table. The fans erupted as both men were putting everything on the line tonight for the ACW Heavyweight Title.

This is even without the ladder being brought out and those motherfuckin’ cuffs still hanging ominously from the rafters.

This wasn’t over… not by a long shot, my friends. So much blood, sweat and glory later… the end was the only thing that these two lived for now.

Alias finally gasped harshly for sweet air, running a hand through his spiked blonde hair, the only hand that wasn’t pinned under SVJ. He painfully pulled his other hand free as Vince also came too, the frog splash through the table shitkicking the both of ‘em. For a moment Alias lifted SVJ’s head up with both hands and then...

THWACK!

He headbutted him. Winnipeg groaned (they had JUST done the holy shit chant, people, so give em a break), then watched intently as Alias did it again, bringing his head up upon Jacobs's as if it were a weapon. The two collided and Vince's rolled off the heap, and Alias, in pain… back on the canvas with a thud. Everyone believed then and there that Vince Jacobs, hell even Alias himself, might have just been knocked out cold, having procured some serious trama to the head, before, after and during that Five Star.

The referee bent over, down on his hands and knees, and gently smacked Alias in the cheek. Was he awake? It did not look like it. The referee stood up and turned toward the ring announcer to call for the bell, when...

"W-Wait..." The ref, Vince, who was just recovering himself, and every single person in the arena looked back over across the ring.

Alias's hand was in the air, and he was repeating himself, over and over. "W-Wait... W-Wait..." He stuttered, slowly trying to get back up. Vince Jacobs couldn't help but frown, he may have been a bastard, but he was a TOUGH bastard. His hand was resting on the large red lump on his forehead, body aching like a son of a bitch. Vince stepped in and chopped him hard, and Irish whipped him to the ropes. As he came back, “Superstar” crouched down, a burning look in his eyes...

SPINEBUSTER!

The classic move had the Original Pulp Hero laid out in the middle of the ring. Vince walked around to his legs, picking them up. He catapulted him- Alias's head struck the padding on top turnbuckle pads. Out he stumbled, Vince up from behind... Half Nelson Suplex, giving him a taste of his own Pulped, blocked with a elbow to the stomach, but seeing as he knew the move he knew a way around it. Alias pulled him in, knowing that it was time to use up the last bit of energy left in his body, at this moment in time.

HIGH ANGLE POWERBOMB! (no pin, why waste the effort)

The smarks went wild for it, absolutely wild. Alias had his challenger, the challenger, folded up like an accordion, so he gave him an unceremonious kick in the ass so the knock-out count could start.

One!

Two!

Three!

Vince began to stir a bit, looking to get some grounding for himself, as Alias just sat there, out on his ass, dazed and looking to regain and rest a bit as Vince tried to find out where exactly her was.

Six!

Vince had gotten to one knee and was pulling himself to his feet before the count of seven, by this time though Alias had already gone to the outside to pull out the ladder. Yes, the ladder… to bring down those imposing reinforced cuffs all the way up there. Pounded and Fused, as it was once said, this was the life of Alias and Vince Jacobs… after all the mind games and all the overt violence and malicious intent towards each other, that what they had, ironically enough, each other.

Alias, with the ladder out from the bottom of the ring and a welt already building on his forehead, slid it into the ring, fighting to get it past the wreckage of the table, only to have it kicked riiight back in his face, thanks to a baseball slide from everyone’s favorite REASON. Vince got back up quickly with a tug on the ropes and with a deft dusting off of the hands, he waited for Alias to drag himself to his feet... then hit the ropes and sprinted across the ring towards where Wilson stood outside.

Jacobs launched himself.

Corkscrew plancha.

Superstardom.

Onto Alias… AND the ladder.

The crowd popped for the high spot, even despite their dislike of the man who executed it… cause honestly they where here for the violence, people! Alias and Jacobs lay in a crumpled heap outside the ring for a few moments, the ladder among the chaos, and the crowd waited anxiously to see who would be the first man to regain his footing. A few more moments passed, and the first man up was Jacobs, who reached his feet clutching his stomach, reached down, and grabbed Alias by the head. He picked the Pulp Hero up and dropped him throat-first across the guardrail, causing Alias to fall back down to the ground, clutching his throat.

Jacobs picked up the ladder and jammed it heavily into the throat of Alias also, before he threw said ladder into the ring. SVJ then brought Alias back up to his feet again. He set the Pulp Champ up, then whipped him as hard as he could into the guardrail. Alias collided with the steel, sending his section backwards toward the crowd.

Jacobs charged after him, but Alias ducked under and raised up, sending Jacobs up over the guardrail with a back body drop. Jacobs, however, managed to land on shaky feet. As Alias turned back to face him, Jacobs grabbed him by the throat and dropped down to the ground, driving Alias's neck and throat into the guardrail again.

Jacobs stood where he was for a moment, waiting for Alias to regain a standing position. Alias dragged himself up, and Jacobs jumped onto the guardrail. He stood there a second, balancing, then jumped off. As he flew, he caught Alias by the head. He then took his age old enemy down with him, driving him into the ground with a springboard 3/4 bulldog.

Alias slammed head-first into the ground, and when he rolled over onto his back a moment later, the fans could see that he was busted wide open on the forehead, where that lump once was, with bright red blood beginning to run from the wound. Even the wounds the wounds he had procured at Clash where beginning to soak the bandages that lay over ‘em.
Jacobs brought Alias back up again, and rolled him back into the ring. Jacobs brought Alias back up to his feet again, and set Alias up between his legs. Jacobs grinned, then lightning-quick picked Wilson up, spun him, and drove him down with a sit-down powerbomb - the Ego Check. Jacobs rolled back, instead of covering. The ref started the knock-out count. One. Two.

Alias began to stir, and Jacobs began to consider a few choice boots to the head and neck as opposed to waiting this out.

Four.

Five.

Alias got up! Jacobs kicked the ring post in frustration. After a moment's contemplation, he decided to head out to the apron. He had successfully flown from the top rope earlier in the match, but this time, there was no table involved to shitkick his body too. He climbed the turnbuckles, heading for the top rope. He finally reached the pinnacle - only to find himself caught in a trap he shooould have seen coming. Alias was up, and the Pulp Hero swept Jacobs' legs out from underneath him. Jacobs fell forward, dropping to the mat below with a crash.

Alias took Jacobs' spot on the turnbuckles, hopping onto the second and stepping up to the third. More so than Jacobs, who had always been a consummate all-arounder, Alias had a background in the high-flying style of wrestling, and even though he preferred to keep it on the ground no a days, he was not averse to going upstairs when it suited his purposes. Alias measured Jacobs below, then turned around to face the crowd. Then, he leapt.

Alias seemed to float through the air in slow motion, turning over as he flew...

Then everything resumed normal speed as he crashed into Jacobs, successfully executing a moonsault.
Alias stayed on top of Jacobs for a moment, before rolling off tiredly. The referee started another count, as Alias gathered his wits enough to get up at three, Vince still out on the ground.

Four!

Five!

The crowd defiantly chanted Alias’s name, as SVJ rolled over to his side to clutch his stomach for a moment.

A-LI-AS!

Seven!

A-LI-AS!

Which only proved to drive Jacobs on, the anger dwelling inside of him… and bringing him back to his feet at eight. Alias couldn't believe it. He strode over to the still dormant ladder that had been thrown into the ring, and picked it up, forcefully. Making sure it was completely closed up, he grasped it in both hands tightly and approached Jacobs, who was just getting to his feet. Alias raised the ladder...
And brought it down full force on Jacobs' head.

The crowd screamed out with cheers as Alias went on slamming the ladder into Jacobs, jamming the top of it into SVJ’s body, hammering his head, his back, his chest, and his already damaged legs. This was one of the rare occasions when his explosive temper had gotten away from him, it seemed. As it was with Sonny. But... was it? The announcers at ringside speculated that Alias knew exactly what he was doing...

Alias gave Jacobs one last (completely unnecessary, by now) shot to the head with the end of the ladder, and setting it up to the side of the ring… all ten feet of it. For a moment he wiped the blood from his eyes, and whipping it to the side of him… not knowing a camera lay five feet away on the apron and causing a smear of blood to catch across the front of it.

Jacobs, who had brought his hands up early in the assault to protect his head as best he could, let them fall limply to his sides, and now viewers could see that Alias had returned the favor of Vince Jacobs by busting him open as well. He had to work if he wanted to catch Alias’s .9 Muta looking blood job. Somewhat of a thirty-second rest period was in effect... and finally it ended. Alias leaned his shoulder against the ladder for a moment… and spat towards Jacobs.

The knock-out count was building towards six.

Alias, however, brought Jacobs, who was still limp and woozy, up to his feet. He hooked Jacobs up, that stone face of no emotion had set in, and drove him back down into the mat with a half nelson suplex.

Pulped.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four!

Alias wanted this to end, but he just knew in the back of his head, there was a good chance that this was ending… for some time… and all this, his ACW Championship… and his last link to the ACW that he knew, besides that bastard SVJ himself, could slip through his fingers… all this with Carters crew tearing things apart. These where the days… that one would like to forget.

The crowd popped, not so much for Jacobs getting to one knee at seven, but for Alias giving Jacobs a vicious kick to the side of the head, then another, then a third. He dropped down and grabbed Jacobs by the head, then slammed his face into the mat. He slammed his face into the mat a second time, and then rubbed Jacobs' face against the canvas, smearing his blood on the mat.

What did all of this mean to both men? The World Heavyweight Championship? The ability to say that they where the better man? The need to say that they had won the third Pounded and Fused match in ACW’s history… a match had a held great significance for both men, through there careers.

This was it…

… and yet, it wasn’t.

Alias reached down and grabbed Jacobs by the head, then yanked him up to his feet. He set Jacobs up in the middle of the ring, then whipped him furiously across into the turnbuckles. The Pulp Hero charged in after him, spinning and clocking SVJ with a rolling elbowsmash while he was trapped in the corner.
Instead of stepping back and setting Jacobs free, Alias went to work with devastating chops. "Whoo!", went the crowd, and "whap!" went the Hero's hand against Jacobs' chest, raising welts along the exposed skin.

Alias finally finished and brought Jacobs out of the corner, then set him up and whipped him into the ropes. As Jacobs came off, Alias caught him, spun him, and drove him down with a tilt-a-whirl backbreaker, slamming Jacobs' back into Alias's knee. With Jacobs down, Alias backed into the ropes, then came off and jumped up, driving the point of his knee into Jacobs' already bloody forehead. Alias brought Jacobs up again, and then went behind him, preparing a german suplex. Before he could execute the move, Jacobs, with a burst of some of his last energy, went around behind Alias and clamped on a full-nelson, then lifted Alias up and drove him down backwards, head-first, through a twist of coincidence, into the standing ladder. The crowd gasped at the impact.

Dragon suplex.

Jacobs released the move on impact, and Alias flipped up and over, ending up on his stomach, lying on top of the ladder, which lay against the ropes. Jacobs lay on the mat, neither man moving. Jacobs, feeling the effects of countless shots to the head and body with the ladder; Wilson, feeling the effects of one of the most dangerous moves in wrestling INTO A LADDER, not to mention perhaps the culminating effects of all the work Jacobs had done on his neck, as he had worked on Jacobs' body - and this, the dragon suplex, the worst of them all. The two men lay where they lay, and the referee began to lay down the ten-count.

One.

Two.

Three. Four. Five.

Six.

Seven.

Jacobs began to stir, and so did Alias by rolling off the ladder… and onto the mat with a hefty thud. The Pulp Hero grabbed the ropes to help himself up to his feet, and Jacobs pulled himself up in the middle of the ring. Alias staggered towards Jacobs, and swung at him. Jacobs ducked underneath, and as Alias's momentum spun him, he grabbed onto Alias from behind - dragon sleeper. Jacobs tried to scissor Alias's body with his legs, but Alias blocked Jacobs' legs with his hands.

However this still didn’t change the fact that Alias was locked in, and locked in tight, to the dragon sleeper. Jacobs locked it in tighter, and Alias just became more defiant, punching away at Vince… looking for something to connect and connect with force.

Luckily, that’s just what happened.

Alias caught Jacobs square in jaw with a solid punch and rocketed his head to the side, forcing him to release what hold he had on the Pulp Hero. Once again both men tumbled to the blood-stained canvas. Scary thing was… when ever this ended, if this ended, we still had the King of Ages final to go.

That number one contender for the World strap and future United States Champion, Quinton May, God's Forgotten Son... where the furthest thing from the minds of these two men, however.

Alias crawled over to the ladder, that still rested against the ropes, since he had flown into it. Propping it back to it’s rightful stance he slowly made the climb up the steps, hand over hand and was on his feet. What a bitch of a crutch. He pushed it towards the center of the ring, underneath the hand-cuffs, as Vince also regained his vertical base to the side of the ladder. Alias, seeing Jacobs now standing beside the ladder, let it go… took a few steps forward and dropkicked SVJ hard in the chest, sending him sprawling into the ropes.

Alias stumbled towards him, grabbing his head for a moment and popping him hard in the forehead… sending blood and sweat flying, before releasing Jacob’s hair. That was only the set-up… picking him back to his feet Alias whipped SVJ across the ring… and as he came back towards the Pulp Hero, the fans could only wonder… A-Bomb? Hmmmm… Alias clutched the Superstar one, and brought him into tight, exploding backwards with a belly-to-belly suplex.

The Big Fat Kill.

It might not have been off the top rope, though seeing as it was out of the ring, well… Chris could just split the difference… as Vince crumbled to ringside with fooorce. The crowd responded in kind, as Jacobs could only convulse in pain… and Alias headed for the ladder, which had rumbled around, but not fallen over.

He started up the steps.

Left over right.

Left over right.

Vince was moving.

Winnipeg wasn’t sitting down anymore.

Yes, even Osyrus wasn’t going to be putting an asterisk on this match.

Left over right.

Alias grasped onto the handcuffs, and no, Jacobs wasn’t even up yet, not to both feet, just to one knee.

He didn’t have to be, he just had to fight for that ACW Championship now, both men did… cause this match wasn’t over.

Alias yanked the reinforced hand-cuffs free from the cable that supported it up there in the air. Then taking a couple of steps down from his perch at the top of the 10 foot ladder, tossed the cuffs to the side, and jumped off the opposite side, landing on his feet for a second before rolling to his side. Alias slowly got up to his feet, the ladder having fallen out from under him.

He shock the blood from his eyes once again, before turning around to grab the handcuffs from under the ladder. They weren’t there anymore however, and the crowd jeered. Put two and two together.

Jacobs, now back in the ring, swung the handcuffs wildly towards the head of Alias, holding onto the center of the chain and otherwise just winging it. Alias was quick enough to react to this however, dodging the first attempt. He wouldn’t be able to say the same about the second though. Vince sneered, the blood now staining his teeth yellow… and swung up and out with something of an uppercut motion with the handcuffs.

Catching Alias right in the chin.

Sending him sprawling into the ropes.

The ropes.

Jacobs malicious mind turned towards this man and the position he was in, well it panned to something that a lot of us reeeally wouldn’t want to think about. He flipped one of the cuffs over the middle rope and pulled it along with him as he walked towards Alias, and Vince could do nothing but smile as Winnipeg called for his head. He’s weird like that.

Alias spat down to his feet, still seeing a haze, and god bless the tough son of a bitch… a tooth hit the canvas. He tried to get up, but those reinforced cuffs where something else when they cracked you upside the face. Letting go of the handcuffs for a moment Vince grabbed Alias’s hand and pulled him to his knees, still pulling forward he punched down into the top of his head.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

Probably for the BFK to ringside, cause that would mooost likely hurt like a bitch (SVJ’d figure out that he broke his left pinky and sprained his left wrist on the landing, only after the show). So now, as Vince reached back for the other side of the handcuffs that weren’t connected to the ropes… it’s time for a little bit of déjà vu. This time however his words weren’t harshly directed towards this Pulp Hero… the man he knew as the Tin Angel, oh no… these words where smug, like ‘haha, your finished’.

“Did the fact ever dawn on you that this time around would be different?”

S-V-J-SUCKS!

S-V-J-SUCKS!

S-V-J-SUCKS!

S-V-J-SUCKS!

Thwack!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Alias didn’t fight back this time, he didn’t have something up his sleeve, a grand plan or a gut instinct. Vince… was for a moment in this eternal war, one step ahead… and kicked him in the damn crotch. Not once, he held Alias up again through the pain, and kicked him between the legs again. Alias wouldn’t be having kids, not another atleast, cause Vince could take pleasure in the fact that the man could now actually taste his own nuts.

Clink.

That, and the man could feel his world slipping away from him… now locked to the ropes, by steel he wouldn’t be able to get out of. Sooo… that’s went Vince went to town.

First with a barrage of punches, kicks, knees. He wasn’t fooling around. He was going to win this. He had Alias in the position he wanted. Right where he wanted.

Alias spit out at him, more mad then anything. Wearing away through the harsh strikes. His own blood running down to his neck and his chest. He could, for the lack of a better word, only see red. If he was lucky enough to be conscious that is. Kicking his legs out he pushed Vince back, making him stumble a few steps back… and trip over the ladder that he fallen over.

Alias let out a laugh, the crowd cheered… but this only proved to make Jacobs only angrier, as he jumped back to his feet now running on pure adrenaline and his fair share of rage. He closed up the ladder, and took it in two hands, just like Alias had earlier.

And just started wailing away.

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

Finally he stopped, with this unprecedented violence and carnage in one match between to men who where lauded for there technical talents there entire career, he stopped. What these two men had put each other through… it would be remembered. Just as the first Pounded and Fused was remembered, along with the second coming between these two men. Number three, it would be remember for what happened next. Jacobs stepped back, now shaking from the adrenaline. The ladder he held… dotted with the blood of his most hated… friend… but with his own blood as well. Vince dropped the ladder to the canvas, as the ref continued his count.

Though Alias couldn’t make it to his feet, hell he was all but on auto-pilot considering… he did have a few words left in him.

“This isn’t… over, and I’m not some republican serial villain… so hey Vince that’s a promise, I’ll be back for that title… and your head.”

Vince stomped him in the head, and that was it for Alias… he was out.

The count was made… evil had beaten good, either that or the darker shade of grey won out.

“Maybe not, but today… it’s over. So kiss my ass, Chris, because my reign has just begun.”

And as the crowd jeered in upheaval… we where left with those words, the night wasn’t over… but Alias’s 100 plus day ACW title reign, his second, was. And so it was… what a bitch of a ride, and maybe even, it wasn’t over. Maybe it was.

Ladies and Gentlemen, your NEW Champion… “Superstar” Vince Jacobs.

Winner AND NEW ACW WORLD CHAMPION > "Superstar" Vince Jacobs

Walking Away From ACW

Simian Kade, a man more set in his ways than most. As willful and as stubborn as they come. Never one to back down from a challenge, never one to shy away from responsibility. But even with a righteous head on his shoulders, prioritizing never came easy to him. Mistakes in the past had cost him people he loved. Mistakes in the past had cost him opportunities he longed for. But this was one mistake he was not going to let himself make. He thought he had his life figured out in prior weeks, but nothing had prepared him for the shock he received.

A child. 

He had a new lease on life now, things that, in the past had helped him through his days, would never touch his lips again. He was now looking through the eyes of a different entity. He was now walking in somebody else’s shoes. It had been made abundantly clear what his job was. His job was not wrestling; his job wasn’t anything other then taking care of his child and the woman that was carrying it. 

He opened the steel structure, he stepped out into the rather damp evening, and, for now, he shut the door on ACW. 

It Finally Happened 

Vince Jacobs sat in his locker room still. He had his ever-present smirk on his face as he started to glow. He was happy because lying across from him on the coffee table was his newly won ACW World Heavyweight Championship. No one thought he could do it. He didn’t have a chance in hell the critics said. Alias was at the top of his game and at thirty-one Vince Jacobs was a has-been.

Tonight he silenced his critics.

Tonight he shocked the WORLD.

He finally beat Alias in a pay-per-view match and took his prized ACW Heavyweight Championship Title in the process.

This was another title that would have Vince’s name etched into the gold. But was it just another title or was it hard work paying off for Vince Jacobs. Sure he bounced around from fed to fed trying to find himself a home after CWL closed winning a few titles here and there but it didn’t mean as much to him as this one did. 

It was his first title win in the ACW since becoming a member in 2003 and he did it by defeating his long time rival Alias in order to achieve this goal.

Jacobs picked up the twenty pounds of gold and just gazed at the championship for what seemed like forever. He knew now that he was going to be the man in ACW…. a marked man at that.

But Vince welcomed the challenge. He knew the road to becoming a champion was difficult but the road that lay ahead of him was even more treacherous.

That was keeping the title around his waist.

SVJ knew that it was not over with Chris. He knew Chris was not going to just lie down and let SVJ keep a title that had been his on two separate occasions. Chris already had a taste of the gold and he loved it. Vince knew Alias would be coming back for HIS world title soon.

Jacobs also had another man to look forward to. It would be the winner of the King of Ages final, which was up next. 

One man was going to be number one contender to the ACW World Title. Either QUINTON MAY or GOD’S FORGOTTEN SON.

Jacobs wasn’t fond of either man but he knew he had to watch this match very intently because whoever won this match was going to be the man that was going to be hunting Vince Jacobs for the ACW World Heavyweight Title. Jacobs turned to the monitor with his World Title slung over his shoulder waiting to see the outcome of the next match.

“Someone is going to be a star quicker than they think.” Vince said as the camera faded out on the new ACW World Heavyweight Champion.

ACW KING OF AGES FINALE
Quinton May Vs. Gods Forgotten Son

In 2003, ACWs last television PPV before it's collapse was the first ever King of Ages tournament, and many deemed it to be the best show the company had ever produced, ironic that it would turn out to be it's last.

On the night, Khristain Keller lost out to an eager Elijah Arson.

.vindication beat the Flying Scotsmen.

Osyrus was "retired" from ACW by none other than Vince Jacobs.

Keegan defeated 006.392.

El Janitors defeated the Kole Brothers.

Quinton May defeated Vincent Pembridge in possibly the greatest match the company has ever seen.

Dante Inferno made light work of Alexi Volstien.

Khristain Keller then defeated Vince Jacobs in the King of Ages tournament final, to have a chance at...

Alias, who finished off the Se7en Series for the ACW Title, against Jason Kain.

"You Know You're Right" by Nirvana.

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 silhouette slid down the ramp, as GFS stood at the top of the rampway, a single light being shot behind him as he stood in the middle of the dark cave. His pace was concetrated, he walked down to the ring, and slid in, without his usual bodyguard Wallace, who had been banned from ringside from the final.

This was going to be one on one.

His usual hypnotic state wasn't present tonight however, as his eyes swayed over the arena...it was his biggest audience yet, and above him, swung his biggest prize.

The scepter swung from side to side, the effect of the crowds fierce noise, and it was about to shake...

"Make A Move" by Lostprophets started to play over the speakers, and the predominantly Quinton crowd began to erupt, but 17 seconds into the song, the lights in the arena were cut. Now, excitement gripped every single person in the stands, as they counted down to the second where they'd be able to witness the Rising Star of the company and there hero 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 stood.

The Rock had patented it, but he was, the "People's Champion".

Looking a little weary from his match earlier in the night, Quinton pumped a fist to the crowd, to make them pop even higher than they had before, if that was actually possible and as he walked towards the ring. Looking into the squared circle, two things caught his eye. Firstly, his opponent, GFS was composed and calm, watching the TV Champion walking down the aisle.

The second?

The scepter.

The object of a king would help decide ACWs newest one.

Quite fitting, or so Quinton thought.

He slid into the ring, leaving his TV belt on the mats below for someone from the ring staff to pick up, and then came the Kodak moment.

Quinton May stood in the centre of the ring, waiting...asking the question of his opponent, and it was answered. The more or less unknown GFS took four paces towards the centre, as the duo stood nose to nose, building the tension even more in this match in which the some people had been wrestling their whole career to be part of.

For these two, it had come relatively young in their careers.

Which made it even more interesting.

CLAP.

The crowd erupted as Quinton landed the first punch of the night.

But GFS clapped back even harder.

They went at it.

Back...and forth...and back...and forth...and back...and forth...and back...and forth...and back...and forth...and back...and forth...and back...and forth...and back...and forth, until GFS landed a wild knee to Quinton's gut. He followed it up with a heavy axe handle to May's back, which sent the TV Champion down to his knees, winded from the strikes to his vital organs.

GFS quickly surveyed the area.

Ladders? Check.

Steel chairs? Check.

Steel steps? Check.

Quinton May? Erm...

May had rolled out of the ring as GFS began to look at his options, which was definately a mistake by the "rookie", but from what we have seen so far from the youngster, he wouldn't make that mistake again. Finally he caught up with his foe, as Quinton pulled himself up on the guard railing only for GFS to slide out of the ring and instantly hit him with a barrage of right hands.

Time for Quinton to fight back?

I think so.

May blocked a rough right hand and came back with his own, but this time he was uber sharp in his timing, following up the clenched punch with a roundhouse kick to the outer thigh and then a wild slap to GFS' bare chest.

There's tonight quite like man hand on chest action to get the blood pumpin'.

GFS stumbled back into ringside, and Quinton used that to his advantage, as he pulled him towards him before shoving him into the rim of the ring, sending a sharp pain across GFS' back...but it wasn't over there. Quinton used the momentum against the sturdy ring side edge to catapult GFS into the guard railing at the opposite side of the mat, but the plan was fooled! Fooled I say!

As GFS reversed it to put Quinton over the top, in a heap of Canadian's. The nearby fans went wild, their native lying right beside them, they touched him, and helped him up as GFS took the liberty of adding a ladder to the mix, as he fed the ladder of the guardrail, and teased the TV Champ.

May couldn't resist the urge.

SMACK

For any deaf readers out there, that was the noise of Quinton May's chin connecting with the very top of a steel ladder...oh so pretty!! Quinton flew about 5 feet back as GFS looked on from the other side, before climbing over the top to butter up his opponent, but this wasn't any regular opponent, a kick to GFS' stomach gave him that distinct impression.

May was resiliant.

But GFS was just as tough.

A sharp kick to Quinton's shin's kept his backlash from going any further, as the newest star in ACWs long line then proceeded to lamp right hands into the TV Champions forehead. The crowd were becoming noiser with each punch, and finally, GFS came to his senses as he pulled May by the hair and slugged him back over the guard rail, some order needed to be restored.

The referee, pleaded for the match to get back into the ring, other than that, there was nothing he could do, apart from watch GFS connect back first with the steel steps...hold on. GFS?

Rewind.

GFS pulled May to his feet as he leap over the rail, only for May's right hand to spastically flick out into GFS sternum, but GFS reacted angrily with an axe handle to Quinton's back and then...the target.

The ring steps.

The Forgotten Son took Quinton by the arm, attempting to slingshot him into the steel steps...the attempt failed. Quinton used his spidey-senses to turn the tables, as he sent GFS crashing into the steps, the force of the shot actually shifting the top step off of the set.

Quinton fell down to his knees, deep intakes of breath helped him recover from the previous 5 minutes of mayhem. However, as he recovered, a large number of boos could be heard echoing around the arena, and as he looked up to the ramp, he could see why.

GFS' personal bodyguard, Wallace, was making his way down to the ring. The referee kept an eye on his, warning him about any conduct, Wallace smugly lifted his hands, as if he wasn't even thinking about doing anything...yeah right. Quinton got to his feet, and tossed GFS into the ring.

He pulled GFS to his feet.

...

Tossed him into the corner.

...

Reversed.

...

May came bouncing out of the turnbuckle.

...

Clothesline attempt by May missed.

...

Attempted neck breaker.

...

Unsuccessful.

...

May strode to the ropes, as did GFS.

...

Double clothesline.

...

Lifting The Lid 

It was the first real sign of emotion from the brand new KoA, and the fans enjoyed it.

Quinton May, unfortunately was forgotten for the moment, because this moment, was for GFS...or was it?

The familiar rustling of the back of arena stand began as GFS stood on top of the turnbuckle, holding his new Scepter and his newly won ACW US Title in his hand, he was on top of ACWs proverbial world.

But as the noise got bigger, GFS noticed the change in mood, but what he didn't notice was the hooded man which had just jumped over the barrier.

GFS jumped down from the turnbuckle, but he was too slow.

Kick to the stomach.

Oh yes.

you know what is next.

TRANQUILIZER

The crowd roared...as he dropped his hooded top, to reveal the well known face to anyone who had watched ACW this time last year.

Khristain Keller.

2003 King of Ages.

Back to regain his crown?

"You have something of mine boy..."

Keller picked up the scepter, and launched it into the air, the majority of the fans giving him a cheer, but the rest of the ACW fan base, weren't cheering him, they were cheering that fact that two more men stormed the ring.

Dante Inferno.

Jericho.

Side by the side, the two giants leapt the barrier and slid into the ring, as a stand off insued, with another man not too far off in the distance.

Inferno started at Keller.

Keller started at Jericho.

Jericho started at Inferno.

And then they all smiled.

Inferno and Keller shaking hands, as Jericho picked GFS to his feet, and tossed him out of the ring, as the final piece of the puzzle entered the ring...microphone in hand.

"I'm guessing all you guys are wondering just who the hell would collect such awesome action figures."

He slid into the ring, also dressed in the black stone hooded top which it seemed all four of them were attired in, he dropped the hood, as most of the arena dropped their mouths.

Brian Carter.

"Guess who's back in town."

FINIS.

CREDITS

All of the above work was done by;

Ben, Kamlesh, Russ, Jerel, Ed and Oz.