Wrestlings Restless.

1:30pm

"I honestly couldn't give a fuck what you tell me Carter, I want to pay some old friends a visit in there...I'm in these fuckers heads, it's brilliant, I must have HAWK on prosaic by now, probably sharing some suicide pack with little God's Son."

In an unknown backalley, the collective known as Pandora stood, biding their time to strike. Last week they had given their reasons for their appearence, settling any old rumours or mysteries about their content, and their collection conquests.

Now, it was time for action, but with millitary like precsion.

To which not all members were acustomed too.

"Keller, listen to me, if you go in their just now, Laguna will get you for tresspassing, it's so obvious that he's got more security than last week, look at the entrance there."

Carter pointed to what looked like a trio of Mafia gansters.

Keller was unimpressed.

"They look like extra's from the Sopranos Carter...big Dante would take them all on while putting on his black nailpolish."

"Grrrrr..."

"Sorry big man."

"Listen...we move when I say we move, we all know where and when, we just have to bide our time and wait...there is no point of striking at the start, I want Laguna to comprehend my power first of all with my little switch in the booking system."

Keller looked puzzled.

"What you talking about?"

"Well...lets just say that tonight, ACW will have a lot more comedic talent on their books."

Previously - The dust has settled on the emergence of the new ACW force in Pandora, now all that remains is to find their reason for being in the federation, and their end goal. As others try to find their own positions in the federation, the hierarchy have to try and solve two major problems of their own. The first, demolish the resistance of Pandora. The second, try and resuscitate the wailing federation back to some sort of manageable form.

What The Hell...

2pm.

Hillary Duncan had been at the Tom Gola arena for only a matter of minutes, but in those 180 seconds, her world seemed to fall apart from the very roots.

"This isn't real...it can't be."

It was something from a nightmare to which she never thought would ever happen, and it was a nightmare that consumer her every vision, every thought and every breathe. She looked around her, the noise and bustle was something out of the ordinary for the company she worked for...many because the hustle and bustle that was being created wasn't coming from here company, she clocked the side of a large truck pulling into the backstage entrance.

UNCLE DOMINO'S TRAVELING CIRCUS

"Hillary..."

Duncan turned around as her name was beckoned, but she already knew who was going to be on the other end.

"William, what the hell is going on her? Why is there a circus in our arena?"

"They have doubled booked the arena...meaning there will only be an hour and a half gap for us to get the equipment ready and get the sets organised, which also means any staff who come early are going to have to share their locker room with some clowns, and I'm not talking about Splink."

Duncan turned around, thinking to herself and pushing her hair back out of her face.

"I know what you are thinking Hillary, this isn't a coincidence, Brian Carter done this and I am going to have to do something about it down the road, but tonight...the show most come first."

Laguna clicked his fingers, as two large burly men in sheek suits came behind him

"This is Vinny, and Alonzo, they'll be protecting you tonight encase they come back."

She shook her head. "No...no William I don't need anything like..."

He rested an arm on her shoulder.

"They'll keep you safe."

With that he was away, to fix the next problem that was surely to arrive round the halls of ACW, and for the night, Uncle Domino's Traveling Circus. Many onlookers always said ACW was a circus of a federation...

Guess they were right.

What Last Week Means

We heard foot steps approach us as the camera finally catches up with who is the source of them we see a bunch of midget clowns walked past Tim Micheals he looked back and tried not to figure out what else was going on tonight he had one purpose he needed to focus on tonight and that was his first night here in ACW after he worked dead end promotions he finally got his shot and he wasn’t going to screw it up. He starts to talk as he approaches some ones locker room and he fixes his tie quick.

“What does Last week mean? To some people it means the rebirth of actual talent in ACW, that wouldn’t be far from the truth, but what does having a huge match last week mean to RJD? Well there is only one way to find out barge into his locker room and give him the 3rd degree I mean interview him.” He just made his first mistake hopefully no one noticed he hopes as he knocks on Dundren’s door.

The door opens with a sudden quickness as you hear Dundren's scream at some one to get out of his locker room as we see more midget clowns and Dundren looks to be shaken up. ”F*ckin clowns get the hell out of here it’s not my fault this arena's management was high, I’ll be damned if I will spend another second with you guys you give me the creeps get the f out before I throw you out, Clowns and Midgets bad combination.

Robert looks over at Tim and looked astonished that some one like him has good taste in clothes. Robert had on a black button down dress shirt with a black tie with a little red on it. He was also wearing Tan khakis and slick dress shoes. He flicked one of his dreads as he walked to welcome Tim into his locker room. It was the dumps! RJD was being given the bottom end of ACW, he knew it. He didn’t care though because after last week it would soon change or so he thought.

Tim broke the awkward silence by starting his 3rd degree well his interview. He looked Robert dead in the eye.” Well Mr. Dundren welcome to ACW you had one heck of a first appearance and if any ones says they are not impressed they are liars. SVJ may of came out on top , but you gave a good showing so what does Last week mean to you?

What does last week mean ?I heard many people asking , did I learn my lesson? I hope you are kidding I gave the champion everything I had and almost came out on top and you want to know if I regret challenging him? Well last week means so more to me then most of my life. I mean to come into one of the top feds, granted is a little bit shitty right now , but I believe with me coming aboard and a lot of the other newly assigned talent this place will have many ass kicking's to go around from yours truly and I will get my ass kicked a lot too. You need to be a realist to understand anything in life and its pretty simple if you just watch what other people do and act on it. It is a world based off of self interest and that is a good thing. I mean think about it where would we be if guys weren’t interested in their future? Well ,We aren’t no where’s speacle right now anyways so that makes no difference I suppose , but it soon will.

“Thank you Mr. Dundren , But how do you feel the match made you look to the fans?” Tim asked as Robert looks at him and tries not to laugh as he puts on of his dreads in his hand and runs his hand around it.

“ Well you see that is really simple, Caring what other people thought is what I use to do all it did was get me good grades and ass beatings it has never done me any good to care so why would it now. So like me or Hate me it really don’t matter , most of America don’t know what they want anyways they flip flop more then John Kerry” Dundren Answered as he took of his sports coat and started to undress his black dress shirt to reveal a white shirt with in RED , WHITE , BLUE (friends don’t let friends vote democrat's)

Tim being a harass democrat starts to debate, but stops as he relies this wasn’t the time nor the place to do it do so he just walks away instead ending the interview.

Even In Blindness

Ahhh, here we go again. Yet another edition to COURAGE. Awesome.

And what would COURAGE be without Jenna McMullen, Backstage Correspondent of this fair promotion, poking her nose around in business that ain't hers?

That's right; on this cold and dour night that promised to explode into life once a catalyst was introduced, a conservatively Jenna was roaming the halls of the arena. Microphone in her right hand, as usual.

Having talked to the caterers a few minutes ago (she didn't flirt with them; AMAZING!), Jenna found that the target of her desired interview was currently residing... in the boiler room.

Odd choice for accomodations, McMullen thought. But, as they say; a story is a story. Actually, I don't know why I threw that in there, but... uhhh, just act as if it means something important, alright?

So, anyways, with the information she already had, Jenna apprehensively made her way down the hallway, her heart set on finding the boiler room. Already, McMullen was wondering what would await her in the boiler room.

Having reached the boiler room, Jenna frowned. She could smell something pungent and repulsive enemating from inside. Shuddering slightly, Jenna clasped her hands on the handle of the door and pushed it back. This was it, she thought to herself. She was venturing into absolute unknown territory here.

But, hey, how scary can a boiler room get? Well, let's see. Once Jenna stepped inside, all she saw were gizmos that were making loud strange noises. She figured they must have been, like, washing machines... or something. Febble minds, y'know.

Also, the presence of a young man seated in a secluded corner of the boiler room caught her attention. It had to, since that was the primary reason Jenna McMullen was even in the damn place.

"H-H-Hello?" the bitch called out to the man, who was seemingly sleeping. Jenna was obviously a tad bit frightened, and even more so when the man bolted out of his chair and walked towards McMullen. With a genetic sneer imprinted on his callous face.

Any guesses yet as to who we're talking about here? Hmm?

The Gloomy Avenger himself, silly. JOSEPH McMILLAN, the latest enemy of Quinton May's, sniggered at the sight of Jenna's knees knocking against each other. "Yes, what do you want? Why are you bothering me in this, my hour of rest? You generally don't have any common sense, do you?"

"Um, no. I m-mean, yes." Jenna replied, rather confused. Wow, that's new. "I mean... I had a few questions to ask of you. And I guess right at the top of the list would be, why are you hiding out here, in a boiler room? I would think that a normal locker-room would be better suited?

I'm sure sharing a room with Fejona and Natalie wouldn't be ALL THAT BAD, now would it? Sure, they seem like high-maintenance women... god knows, I'd love to be one. Heh. Annnyways--"

Joseph had heard enough, and shook his head, his blank white pupils focusing on the concrete ground. "--Jenna, you incredibly stupid cunt. As I've said before, and as Fejona herself has clarified, the three of us are not in cahoots with each other any longer. Our working relationship ended a few weeks ago, and now, we are on our own collision courses.

Seperate ones. My focus is squarely on Quinton May. Fejona's focus... is none of my concern. She has her own business, and her own priorities. Priorities that aren't shared by me."

Jenna nodded her head, in full interview-mode now. She raised the microphone up towards Joseph, in hopes of catching more of the young man's words so that the entire world could hear him. Joseph, though, swiftly knocked her microphone out of Jenna's hand, growling at her as he did so.

He wanted his thoughts and his frame of thinking kept to himself. No distribution to the public.

Was he selfish that way? Sure, but that's to be expected from someone who has a mission to destroy the man who was, quite technically, his legal guardian.

"A-Ah, okay. Not big on the sharing with the public, then. I get that. What I don't get, though, is this; why the boiler room? I mean, you can't observe what goes on with a nice television monitor in a cozy locker-room. Although, you could probably get someone to plug in a monitor in here, somewhere. If they have washing machines in here, then I'm sure there will be room for a television monitor here!" Jenna McMullen replied. Announcing that last part very proudly.

Like as if she'd fixed some sort of great problem for the man formerly called as '006.392'; newsflash, Jenna. THE GUY IS BLIND, you stupid cunt!

Joseph chuckled, and cocked his head towards Jenna's direction. "Television monitor wouldn't do me much good, Jenna. Unless you've forgotten about what we talked about last week. Where I specifically detailed myself as being one without the CURSE of sight.

Sigh, I don't wish to repeat myself to you, McMullen. Get with the programme."

Jenna smacked her head in that 'DOH' way, momentarily forgetting that Joseph was blind. Then, confusion struck her. Which was followed by re-realisation; the reason she forgot McMillan was blind was directly linked to the main reason she had decided to seek him out on this night.

"Well, there's my problem, Joseph. You look blind, and you say you're blind, and Fejona Min says you're blind. But you didn't seem so blind two weeks ago when you attacked Quinton May with the sledgehammer, and ditto for what happened at the KING OF AGES extravaganza. What's the deal with that? Are you wearing contacts?" McMullen quickly followed up.

That journalistic fibre of hers is really something, huh? Joseph didn't like it.

Oh, no. He remained silent, while taking a step closer towards Jenna. Once again, McMullen got genuinely creeped out. Gulping, the Backstage Correspondent watched as the 'Gloomy Avenger' locked his pupil-less eyes with Jenna's big browns. And for some reason, Jenna felt violated. Violated by a man who couldn't see... yet, could, in every sense of the word.

Loving every second of it, McMillan embarked on his reply. "I'll answer both your questions in one sitting. Why am I in this boiler room? Well, fairly simple. As a member of Quinton's Army, I always had to attend meetings and brainstorming sessions during shows in boiler rooms. Quinton's reasoning was that the boiler room... inspires the uninspired. I happen to concur with that statement.

I won't tell you why, or how the inspiration is derived. You don't deserve to know. Nobody does. Because, simply put, I am above all of you, due to my condition. I am, to put it bluntly, a transcendent one.

Now, about the 'being able to see while being blind' part, as you so eloquently put it; I *am* blind. However, the nature of the blindness is such that... well, in layman's terms and somewhat obscurely; instead of being pulled backwards, my eyes were pulled forward. To the extent that they were almost ripped the hell out. And as such, it isn't really black black

It's white black. Coupled with some studying of the Nanjin and reaching some level of enlightenment, and I've been able to not only hone my other senses to the point where they basically recoup the loss of sight, but I've been able to make use of this planet's atmosphere to the advantage of my 'almost-ripped-out' eyes.

I suggest, Jenna, that you do some medical research. Because, I doubt your infantile framework of comprehension would be able to effectively register what I just said. Not that they have much of my conditions in books. It's especially rare. makes me feel a bit special, actually. Now, then, McMullen; please leave my humble abode.

... Or, I'll make you leave."

Jenna paused to take everything in, and that was all the inviting Joseph McMillan needed. He grabbed Jenna by the arm, and amid staunch protesting from the blonde Backstage Correspondent, tossed her out of the boiler room. Not bothering to check if Jenna had fallen on her arse, the Blind Slayer shut the door on her.

And resumed whatever the heck he was doing before. Jenna McMullen, who'd merely just been shoved into a wall, dusted herself clean and walked off. Furious at how Joseph McMillan had treated her, and over losing her microphone in the process. Oh, well, that's the price she had to pay for being so fucking stupid as to provoke him.

One thing's for sure; even in blindness, The Blind Slayer was looking to be quite... lethal and dangerous.

Seymour Almasy vs. Kasper Sky

Match! Yay!

“Fight With Seymour” by the Black Mages.

For the second straight week, Seymour Almasy stood in the middle of the All-Star Championship Wrestling ring, waiting for Kasper Sky.

This time, however, Kasper didn't emerge from the entryway. Instead, he attacked from behind.

*DING DING DING!*

Almasy slumped face first to the mat, courtesy of a hard forearm to the back of his head. Kasper Sky grinned, looking down at his adversary, before yanking him back up to his feet, and cinching in a waistlock.

Seymour tried to fight the move, but Sky was simply too big and powerful for him to do so. 250 pounds isn't a lot in wrestling, but against someone under 200, it's more than enough weight and power to launch Seymour in the air with a textbook German Suplex.

Kasper smiled once again, as Seymour attempted to peel himself off the canvas. Landing on your head thirty seconds into a match wasn't the best start, the Final Fantasy thought grimly, before pulling himself up to a solid vertical base.

…

Only to be promptly sent back down to the canvas by a Kasper Sky clothesline. Almasy's head hit the back of the mat, hard, prompting him to clutch at his neck in pain.

Sky, however, would not relent.

He lifted Almasy back up, and doubled him over with a quick knee to the midsection. Locking his arms around Almasy's waist, Sky lifted his opponent upside down, and held him there. Turned him to face each side of the crowd in a clear effort to humiliate the Final Fantasy. As the blood rushed to Seymour's head, Sky dropped, suddenly sending Almasy crashing head-first back to earth.

Piledriver.

Simple, yet very effective.

Sky rolled his opponent to his stomach, and covered, a forearm in Almasy's face.

One.

Two.

Kickout.

Despite being in a good deal of pain, Seymour wasn't too out of it to get a shoulder off the canvas.

Sky shrugged the kickout off, and continued going to work on his opponent. A pair of hard right hands stunned Seymour, and Sky dropped back, charging, a spear on his mind.

Seymour, however, had a counter in mind.

He leaped in the air, over the diving Kasper, and drove both feet into the small of Sky's back with an aerial double stomp, landing feet first on top of Kasper after driving him into the canvas.

The Final Fantasy felt Sky pushing up, and so he promptly leaped off of Sky, to the second rope, and spring boarded back at Kasper, who was bridged on hands and knees, with a moonsault. The move forced Sky back down face-first to the mat, and gave Seymour a bit of time to think.

His first thought was to put distance between himself and the supposed immortal.

Seymour settled back into a corner, across the ring from Kasper. Sky was rolling to his back as Almasy crouched, sitting up, and then finally rising to one knee.

That was Seymour's cue.

He sprinted, full-speed, across the ring, and placed a foot on Kasper's knee. His other leg followed, poised to knee Sky squarely in the face.

But Kasper ducked, and Almasy's kneeing leg swung overhead, causing Seymour to land on his face.

Locking his arms around Almasy's waist, Kasper grinned. Almasy winced.

For good reason.

WHEELBARROW SUPLEX.

INTO THE TURNBUCKLE!

Almasy practically bounced out of the corner after having the back of his head introduced to the top turnbuckle, landing face-down, once again. Kasper grinned, for the third time.

This was easier than he'd thought it would be. From what he'd heard of Almasy where Seymour was revered, you'd have thought Almasy was a deity.

Now, if Almasy had one, he would probably be praying to it.

Cover.

One!

Two!

Kickout!

Kasper ran a hand through his long, white hair. Among the many things he had heard about Almasy was that he was nearly impossible to put away.

He wasn't frustrated, per se, but it WAS mildly annoying.

Sky yanked Seymour up by his hair, and set the Final Fantasy up for a power bomb. Almasy was flipped upside down, and set for the move as Sky prepared to drive him to the canvas. But Kasper felt a pair of thighs tightly grip themselves to his head.

He was in trouble.

The hurricanrana disoriented Sky, but Kasper got back to his feet. It was what he knew to do. Two feet, however, connected with the back of his head in a perfect dropkick, sending him careening through the ropes. Sky winced as his shoulder hit the ring apron, before falling to the thin protective mats.

Almasy smiled for the first time in the contest. Offense had been sparse. Now, he had a chance to continue the momentum. Gripping the ropes, he pulled himself over the top in a plancha, attempting to splatter the prone Sky.

His attempt was successful.

The move hurt both men, but Sky moreso. Duh. This week, both men were acutely aware of the official's count, and began to stir on the floor.

“1!”

Almasy did his best to lift the larger adversary to his feet, and rammed him face-first to the ring apron.

“2!”

Sky recoiled from the blow, and Almasy stepped to his side, taking him down with a hard Russian leg sweep.

“3!”

Almasy went to get back in the ring, but Sky's hand yanked Seymour down off the apron.

“4!”

Recovering, Sky rose to his feet, and tucked Seymour's head between his legs, finally executing his power bomb. On the concrete. Almasy lay motionless on the floor, as Sky's attention turned elsewhere.

“5!”

Moving with malicious intent towards the timekeeper, Sky swatted the slight man out of the way, and picked up the chair he was sitting in.

“6--Put it down, Sky! Put it down!”

The referee broke his count, as he spotted the potential rule infraction. Sky rapped the chair against the floor twice, and waited.

Almasy might have been able to get up from a piledriver, but he sure as hell wouldn't get up from this.

Seymour slowly, painstakingly made his way to his feet, facing the ring post.

Sky swung.

There were two bells rung.

The first was Almasy's head, both by being hit with the chair, and subsequently crashing forehead-first into the steel ring post from the impact, before lifelessly falling to the floor.

The second, of course, was the ring bell, to signal the disqualification.

*DING DING DING!*

The boos began to cascade from the ACW faithful. Once again, they had been denied a decisive end to an Almasy/Sky match.

Well, in one sense, at least, the match DID end decisively.

Seymour Almasy, lying flat on his back, with blood pouring from his forehead, certainly didn't look like a winner.

And Kasper Sky, chair raised triumphantly, white hair flowing behind him, sure as hell didn't look like a loser.

Appearances can be deceiving sometimes, no?

Winner > Seymour Almasy by DQ

All To Do About Nothing

In Khrisitain Keller terms, his return to ACW had been shitter than a Smackdown! effort before production...it was, for better use of the word, lacking. As he sat, awaiting his bosses signal before they could take the latest operation into useage, he contemplated the past, and next few months of his life.

Two months ago, he was working for a debt collector, under the alias 'Kyle'.

Two months from now, he'll be the real King of Ages, and be earning a nice fat contract from not only Brian Carter's new revolution in ACW, but also from Jim Johnson, in his latest carnation of the widely successfull PIW.

"Hey Keller...you better watch that snake Johnson, I've heard all about him."

A previous exert from a former Carter conversation.

"I'm a big boy Carter, ask your ex, I can look after myself."

Which was what he hit back with.

For a long period of time, he had been the unforgotten factor in what made ACW so fucking phenominal just over a year ago when the federation was riding high.

When Carter and Pandora get in power.

That factor will be back for everyone to see.

And you won't have a fucking idea what hit you.

Look At Me Now

SilverHAWK opened the doors to the arena, and was instaly surcumbed to the waft of elephant shite and camel hair...it was revolting, but that wasn't the biggest thing that bothered him in the last 20 seconds.

The fans outside gave HAWK his usual lambast of foul laguage and saliva shootings, as he got round the fact that he may never get those adoring fans back on his side...and he was slowly but surely not willing to care anymore.

It had been a week since his "rescue" of Hillary Duncan, but still, SilverHAWK was the villian of ACW's well troubled storyline. It had been just over a year now since Khristain Keller kept SilverHAWK in a job by recruiting him to help win the ACW Title, and ever since then, the fans have never let him forget it.

Last week was the first time he had seen the man in over 11 months, originally presumed dead or in some ditch somewhere, Khristain Keller had returned to ACW with the group known as Pandora, and the man known as Brian Carter, the old boss of ACW.

Looking on at the board, his name vacant from it's black surface, he was overcome with thoughts...thoughts which questioned his purpose in life anymore. His whole wrestling spectrum had collapsed with the defeat from Alias and the clause he could never go for the title anymore. He fought Gods Forgotten Son last week for the US Title, but found himself unable to match the young prodigy.

Where titles even what he wanted?

He only had one real target left in ACW.

Khristain Keller.

But how long was he willing to wait to take care of that final check of his wish list?

As long as it took.

Khristain Keller will either be the beginning of new life for SilverHAWK.

Or the end of the old one.

The Circus that is ACW

William Laguna sat in his office fumbling through some papers on his desk. He noticed the door of his makeshift office open and enter the World Champ.

S V J

Vince Jacobs wearing a blue Armani suit with the ACW World Title on his right shoulder. The champ sat down in the chair across from Laguna’s desk.

“I heard you wanted to see me boss.” Vince said adjusting his title as he sat back in the chair

“That’s right Vince, I am glad you could see me right now.” Laguna replied

“Well it was hell getting through the sea of midgets and animal trainers in the back.”

“I know damn arena double booked us and the circus on the same night.”

Jacobs snickered. “Figures. Well what did you need Laguna.”

“I wanted to let you know that you WILL be defending the title tonight in the main event.” Laguna said

Vince smiled as he looked at Laguna rubbing his championship title. “So which one of the other new comers you want me to teach a lesson to this week.”

“Umm.. You won’t be wrestling a new comer tonight. You will be defending the title against ALIAS.” Laguna replied with a smirk

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN? I said that bastard was not getting another shot at the title and I meant it.” Jacobs said irate as he stood to his feet.

“Well Mr. Jacobs, Alias had a rematch clause in his contract, so he wants his shot tonight.” Laguna said

“I can’t believe this crap. I come into this damn arena and I have to deal with circus freaks and now this shit. This fucking company has always tried to fuck me in some sort of way. But tonight it’s not going to happen, I am walking in the champ and I will walk out the champ. You can count on that.” Vince said as he walked out of Laguna’s office

Fucker.

“Fucker.”

Seymour Almasy sighed as he walked through the halls of the arena, searching for the locker room.

You’d be pissed too if some supposedly immortal guy hit your fat pasty ass in the head with a steel chair, wouldn’t you?

Nothing seemed to be going right. He already hated one of the guys he worked with. And top THAT off, there was a troupe of Chinese acrobats in his way from the blasted circus.

“Make way, make way, pissed off wrestler coming through!” he called, waving his arms. Even as slight as he was, he could have knocked one of the acrobats over with a backhanded swipe. They scattered, and Seymour was glad to spot the locker room door behind them.

“Thank heavens,” he said, entering the relative security of the room. “This ACW thing hasn’t been working out so well so far.”

Sure, he’d won tonight. But it sure as hell didn’t look like he did, not blood caked to his forehead from a stream that was only now trying up. He didn’t want to see Kasper Sky again for the rest of the night. Simply didn’t want to deal with the bastard. Right now, all he wanted was to rest.

On top of his bag, however, was a note.

“Fuck,” he said, profanity being his natural language at the moment. “The heck’s this?”

He bent down, and picked the note up with a hell of a lot of panache for someone who had just had a match and been hit in the face with a steel chair. “Gordo…Gordo…where do I know that name from?”

The answer came quickly. Gordo was in his bracket of the GTT4 tournament, one of the many outside ventures Almasy was competing in. ACW or no ACW, he had to eat.

“I swear to God, if he wrote this to trash talk me I’m leaving the building right now…hmm…talk show? Next week…eh, why the hell not? Nice to know someone knows I’m here.”

The note, of course, was an invitation to appear on Gordo’s new innovation to ACW, the G-Spot, which would be debuting tonight.

He rose again. This time, he was headed back to go find a monitor somewhere.

Before he agreed to be on the show, he wanted to know what the hell it was all about.

Fair enough, right?

Chunky Heidi Shoulda Used a Trojan

“Eh, bitch!” The voice of Kelly Flawless rumbled off the wall adjacent to the aforementioned Diva of Masculinity – Yes, I know, it truly is the best nickname *ever*.

The quick and tidy pace of Heidi, Kelly's rather chunky assistant, slowed as she turned around and to gleefully greet him, “yes Mr. Flawless, how may I help you sir?”

With a smile on her face and a few things other then her duties for the night on her mind – like getting that b-e-a-utiful body of the Creator of all that is Good in the sack – she patiently awaited the response from the man standing before her.

“What time is it? I'm pretty sure I was supposed to be at this damn show well over a half hour ago,” the words were spoken stern and articulate. He was not the least bit impressed about the tardiness of his new assistant. A ruptured condom from the evening prior had caused quite a stir this morning in the hotel room of ‘Chunky' Heidi. But don't worry, it did not break at the hands of the Super-Duper-Star… It seems the plump little lady had dragged her cousin along for the trip. One thing led to another, and, well, let's just say, you're quite aware of the reputation of folks from Oklahoma.

“I swear to God if your cousin gets me fired because he felt he needed a to jerk the incest meter a tad, I'm going to take that broken condom, and staple it to his forehead. Then I'm gonna hang him from a tree like the slave owners did to the African Americans back in the thirties!” That little prejudiced comment reminded Kelly of something he had almost forgot, “hey bitch, get me my protein shake.”

“Yes sir, Mr. Flawless. Right away Mr. Flawless.”

Wow.

She really wants in this guy's pants.

She popped the top of the protein shake and passed it over to the Rapist of All that is Evil. He took a sip from the strawberry flavored beverage, refastened the lid, and handed it back to his assistant.

“Ah. Good little bitch,” he said smiling, “now check your watch, I need to know how late I am.”

As they continued to trek through the maze of hallways in the backstage area of the Tom Gola Arena is Pittsburgh – AKA the part of America that nobody visits – ‘Chunky' Heidi flipped her sleeve back to reveal a ten-dollar watch. The watch, not surprisingly, was relaying her the wrong time.

“It's 6:00, sir.”

“6:00?!” Kelly exclaimed, “wow, we have lots of time. What am I so concerned about? Sorry if I got on your case at all, ‘Chunky' Heidi, but you know, I really hate being late. Although they do say it's better to come late then it is to come early. Aha! Zing! If you don't understand that one you better consult your cousin.”

She nodded in agreement, albeit a little confused, as they continued their voyage down the apparent never-ending corridor. But little did Kelly know that the time was actually 6:45, meaning he was uber late.

And little did ‘Chunky' Heidi know that her cousin, who ironically is also named Kelly, would soon be the father of a rather chunky baby girl.

Here Comes The Pain (for 'pain' see: Splink)

A Scotsman, a Pole and a group of gypsies. It’s not the start of a bad joke, well, technically it is, but that’s not really the point. See, the whole point of Splink is being one bad joke.

Still, the walking joke was heading to the arena for tonight’s show. They had parked the S-Express round the block and were now ready for business. The business tonight was making their debut in ACW, something they had been looking forward to for minutes. So we’ve established the facts, all we have to do is eavesdrop on the conversation.

“We’re wrestlers again then Slutnutz,” TMM said to his comrade.

“Yeah, brilliant innit. We get to see Bret Hart, Ironside and Mickey Mouse,” the Scotsman retorted.

TMM heard this and let out a sigh. It’s not that Slapnutz was and idiot, he just seemed to be a bit naïve at times.

“Look, for the fifth time, Ironside is dead. Raymond Burr was a fine actor in his time but he’s now been dead for eleven years. It’s a tragic loss and one that you’ll have to come to grips with. As for Bret Hart, well…” TMM trailed off. He didn’t want to tell him that he’s now dressing up as a genie instead of wrestling.

“What about him?”

“He’s a fucking legend, that’s what. When ACW goes to Canada, we’ll try and set up a match for you. I’m sure you’ll beat him in his current state. It’ll be fucking comedy.”

“Sounds like a plan, you big Polish sod. I can’t wait to start wrestling again. I’ll be like the Rock and get even more pussy than I was getting before.”

Slapnutz turned to his group of gypsies, stopped them in their path, climbed onto a nearby crate and began to address them:

“Gypsies and tramps let me tell you a story, a story of me getting laid all the time. A story of epic proportions. On my hiatus from fighting people in the Asylum I had sex. Lots and lots of sex. More sex than you can shake a stick at.”

At this point in the story, a security guard interrupted him. Unfortunately for the guard, she was female. Slapnutz was male.

“Excuse me Sir, but you’re causing a disturbance. Plus, this group that is following you is scaring the children.”

The guard, who’s name was Trixie, motioned to a group of school children that had sat round Slapnutz as he told his story. They were all looking at him with smiling faces, waiting to hear the next part of the story. Unfortunately, the story was finished because the Scot had turned his attentions to the little blonde that was talking to him.

“So, baby, do you like sex? I bet you do. How about sex with a famous wrestler?”

“No.”

“Okay, how about sex with me then. The tramps don’t have to be there, just TMM, he likes to watch… and go dogging. Don’t hold it against him. You can hold it against me though. Let’s go into my bus and have sex. C’mon, you love it.”

“No.”

This was to keep on going for several more minutes. It reached its climax when the petit security guard kicked Slapnutz in the balls and walked off. Also, a midget in a clown suit walked by.

“See,” TMM said “this is why I can’t take you out in public any more. C’mon, let’s get into the arena and see where we can make some money. Hell, you might even find a broad to hit on.”

Slapnutz perked up at the thought of this and Splink and their Merry Men set off into the Tom Gola arena for a night that was bound to be filled with fun.

What can be learned from this is that Slapnutz is a filthy manslut/whore and that gypsies and tramps will listen to anything as long as they’re getting paid at the end of it. Unfortunately, they aren’t getting paid; they just don’t know it yet.

G-Spot

Elaborate set-up? Check.

Guest for the evening? Ready.

More advance hype then Fable for X-BOX, any Eminem album, and The Passion of The Christ combined? You got it.

Big booty dancers….

Big booty dancers?

“DAMMIT, WHERE ARE THE DANCERS?!”

Tonight was the eve of something monumental for Jamar Gordo. After greasing all the palms that needed to be and putting the squeeze on the powers that be, his dream had come to fruition. Tonight would be the debut of the “Tonight Show Killer” and the ACW EVENT that would put him on the map….so of course, SOMETHING has to go wrong.

“Mr. Gordo I apologize, there were all kinds of conflicts with the circus being double-booked with Courage tonight, so your dancers may very well be lost in the fold,” apologetically explained the stressed ACW stagehand, grey hairs and light wrinkles his reward for putting up with all the backstage maintenance of the federation. Jamar was by no means pleased with this revelation, seething with obvious anger.

SMACK~!

A swiftly guided right hand by Gordo slapped the clipboard from the techie's hand, crashing to the floor as the God of Gucci eyed him, unable to even look Jamar in the eye. Gordo rested a palm of the back of his head as he tried to comprehend what went down, breathing stabilizing as best as it could so he could attain rationality.

“So I am to understand that somewhere, The Ringling Brothers will be expecting elephants, but INSTEAD get a swarm of elephant ASSES!? Do you know how much trouble it took me to get those dancers together for this? Now I'm to understand because of technical screw-ups from men such as yourself that my grand dream is to be fucked up? Get the fuck out of my face.”

The stagehand quickly collected his fallen clipboard and took his leave with great haste, Jamar keeping intense eyes upon him until he was clear from view. Sauntering to his locker room with a open palm pressed to his forehead, Jamar rhetorically asked, “Now what the hell am I gonna do? The show is so close and I don't have any…”

“WHAT?! YOU MEAN WE'RE DOUBLE BOOKED?! WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO NOW?!”

Jamar was in utter shock. HIS locker room…..

FILLED WITH BEAUTIFUL WOMEN.

Not that that's strange for him, but he certainly wasn't expecting it tonight.

He inched closer, getting a better look as 8 beauties of various flavors and wearing sweatpants and sport tanks shared feelings of distraught. It hit him right then who these women were, all members of the circus trapeze troupe, the “Soaring Sirens”; the troupe regaled the world over for their amazing feats of daring do. However, with all that talent to go with all that beauty…..

Jamar was only worried about if they could shake that booty.

Clearing his throat following a smirk to the camera, Jamar opened the door wide and followed with by stating pleasantly, ”Ladies ladies! No need for all the discord, the circus has sent me to deliver a message to you all.”

A lovely blonde stepped up, taking the diplomat role for the troupe as she asked anxiously, “So, what's the word?” Unfortunately, Jamar being he is after all, found two ample distractions on her chest and although he lacked X-Ray vision, he always had his imagination.

“Sir?”

“Oh oh, sorry. Just was taken back by the WONDERFUL “Soaring Sirens” logo on your tank top.”

The blonde smiled with great pride, placing a hand to her ample chest as the rest of the girls giggled. “Oh why thank you, I made it myself. I thought it was way too big at first though,” she explained, Jamar taking the time to “re-evaluate” the design for her, with great pleasure might I add.

“Nope, I'd say it's just right. A real eye catcher. One of the breast…I mean best logo's I've ever seen. Anyway, I'm her to inform you ladies that ACW has work for you all, so there is no need to be worried!”

“GREAT!”

“YES!!”

“Wooo…was worried there.”

Exclamations filled the locker room with relief, even celebrations of high fives as saddened faces turned to bright smiles. The rest of the troupe began to dig into their individual duffle bags for their equipment as the bountiful asked politely, “So what is it ACW will be asked us to do tonight? Perhaps our famous “Death Drop Spiral” or some of our other acrobatics?”

“Weeeell….you'll be doing acrobatics alright, but you won't even have to leave the ground actually.”

Jamar's hand went for the locker room door, shoving it to a slow close.

“Tell me, are you ladies aware of “booty acrobatics”? While we talk about that, could you all try these G-Strings on?”

Life gives you lemons….squash those bitches and use the juice to burn someone's eyes. Or you can make lemonade I guess.

Josh Cantrell vs Azrael Asesino [c]

Ahhh, well, just before this match began... the circus folk created a hell of a ruckus. Match was delayed, and by the time it actually took place, the show had to go to commercials. Sucks, doesn't it? Bottomline -- Azrael WON, and defended the Scorpion Fighting Title. Think he injured Cantrell in the process. Oh well, the roster problems keep on mounting, eh?

Winner > Azrael Asesino

A Lil' Impromptu Interview.

Jenna McMullen frowned. The circus was killing her.

Literally. See, with the double-booking fiasco, circus folk have been popping up all over the arena. And Jenna was sick of it; wouldn't you be if a bearded lady hit on you, whilst thinking you're a transverstite with a passion for taking it up the butt EIGHT at a time? Gawd, that's just... not human-like.

But anyways, as Jenna hurried down the hallway, keen to get away from a herd of piglets with tons of make-up slapped on them, the Backstage Correspondent of the ACW wondered if she'd have another chance to cover another story. Sans her microphone, of course. No thanks to Joseph McMillan, of course, in a segment earlier on in the night.

As luck would have it, Jenna *would* get a chance to communicate with someone actually on the ACW roster. Two someones, actually, and Jenna McMullen already knew them.

Hell, everybody in the damn company knew of the two vindictive women that ruled the roost.

"Fejona! Natalie! Wait up!" Jenna hollered out to the fearsome 'twosome' (ha!) down the hallway, who were looking as if they had just arrived at the arena. What with being clad in their street-clothes and lugging their luggage around, and all.

Fejona, who was engrossed in helping her wounded partner walk, looked up and sighed. At two things; the clown that just cartwheeled past her, and Jenna McMullen striding purposefully toward her. The Cambodian Femme Fatale was really not in the mood to discuss 'how to be a bimbo' with Jenna.

Alas, with the lagging Natalie Quinston holding her back, there wasn't much choice for Fejona. Min had tried to tell Natalie Quinston to... well, stay the fuck away from ACW business for a week. But Natalie was a stubborn one, and even though Fall Of Adam's demoliton of her transpired all of two weeks ago, Natalie hadn't been able to really recover totally.

So, naturally, the Cambodian Femme Fatale was agitated. "Shit. This is your fault, Natalie. Remember that when this cunt starts her whole 'idiotic bimbo-ness' routine, because I'll be too busy TEARING MY LOVELY HAIR OUT, strand by damn strand."

"Hey. I resent that!" Natalie responded immediately, scowling as she glanced over her shoulder. "Oh, Lord, you weren't lying. Hell, just make it quick; answer all her retarded questions. Give her what she wants, then we can be on our way. I have no desire to be treated like a moron, BY A MORON."

Fejona rolled her eyes. She was about to retort, before Jenna McMullen cut in between the two ladies and waved at them, cheerfully. Natalie Quinston growled, already sick of McMullen's upbeat-ness. You would, too, if you had been absolutey physically destroyed over the last four or so weeks. It's just one of those things, you know.

But anyways, back to the matter at hand. "Hi, girls. Good to see you made it -- I hear there were some travel complications for a couple of people. Obviously not the two of you! And hey, since you're here, may I trouble you to answer some questions that I have? I'm sure ACW fans are simply dying to see what goes on in the lives of you two elitists!"

"Yeah, sure, not a problem!" The Enchanting Delinquent replied quickly as she put her bag down on the floor. Natalie Quinston simply emitted an exasperated sigh of her own and hobbled a few steps forward, where a row of chairs were quite conveniently located.

Jenna turned around, looking for the camera. Like, duh, it was right behind her. Once she actually *found* it (Fejona fought back the urge to kick Jenna in the back of the head, it has to be noted), McMullen spun around and smiled at the Cambodian Femme Fatale. All but ready, to proceed with this impromptu interview session.

"So, Fejona. What are your thoughts on what happened two weeks ago, where yourself and Natalie Quinston defeated the former Asylum Tag Team Champions, Fall of Adam, via disqualification? I mean, Natalie was thoroughly abused in that match, coming off a nasty beating just days earlier at the King Of Ages PPV. It had to be hard on you to watch, yes?" Jenna queried.

The (current? perhaps!) Asylum Women's Champion had an answer allll lined up. "Indeed, it was. Natalie Quinston and I are very good friends; and have been for over a YEAR now. That's right. Our business association, which commenced purely due to a chance meeting, has now stretched past 12 months.

And in that time, I've come to forge a very strong bond with Natalie. She's almost like the younger sister I never had. So naturally, to see her in a state of pain that she's not usually used to -- and let me tell you, this woman craves for pain on a whole another... kinky level -- made me very upset and concerned. Lest of all, angry.

Mainly because the pain she's afflicted by? Caused by two very sick bastards. Gacy and Oswald. We were all in Asylum together, actually. But unlike me, who was rising up the ladder and making mincemeat out of a certain Heather Vergas in the process, Gacy and Oswald were content sitting on their asses, doing absolutely nothing. Except ogle at me, of course.

Not that I don't understand the attraction. Still, though, you'd think that two men who were intelligent enough to suck money out of Campbell's bank account by doing next to nothing would be able to deal with rejection. But, no, they persisted. They had to.

Mark my words, Jenna; once Natalie recovers, she and I will get back at Gacy and Oswald."

Jenna raised an eyebrow. Just judging by their brief appearance (which has eventually got them suspended for this week's show -- must be some kind of record or something!) two weeks ago, the Backstage Correspondent could tell that Fall of Adam meant business, and were hell-bent on achieving dominance.

But, Fejona's words resonated in Jenna's brain. It was like the Cambodian Femme Fatale meant every single thing she just said, and with that in mind, McMullen figured that the martial artist would probably do anything possible to get her revenge. After all, like they say, hell hath no fury like Fejona Min scorned, eh?

"That's... very interesting, Fejona. Alright, next question! Now, two weeks ago and tonight itself, Joseph McMillan has told me that you and him no longer have any 'shared priorities'. This also backs up that interview I had with yourself and Joseph two weeks ago. What I'm wondering, though, is this; is that true? And if so, why exactly are you still in ACW? What are your goals, if you really no longer have a role to play in Quinton's supposed eventual downfall?" Jenna asked.

Fejona seemed a little puzzled. McMullen's questions were actually quite insightful, and Min actually had to stop for a while and think about how she was going to answer 'em.

Didn't take her long to get going again, though. "Yes, Jenna, what I said a fortnight ago still stands and is still true. And hey, I didn't know Joseph was here tonight. You wouldn't happen to know where he is now, would you? Ah, guessing by that look on your face, I'll assume not. But anyways, yes; the two of us no longer have shared priorities.

And as far as what my purpose in ACW is now? Quite simple. I only burst onto this professional scene less than a year ago. Last December, actually, where myself and Natalie Quinston 'debuted' at Asylum's pAin IV extravaganza. Since then, I have evolved to become quite a major force in the history of the fighting 'industry'. I endured a gruelling Best 2/3 Series with one Heather Vergas, and in the process, brought the Women's Title out of extinction.

Once I did that, it only took me ONE MONTH to prove that I was, quite undisputedly, the best Women's Champion that Asylum had ever had. The folklores of yesteryear like Nerva and Zoe Borst? They really couldn't take me. I was just... too bloody unstoppable. Plus, Natalie and I came oh-so-close to winning those Team Titles. Splink, though, are hardcore cheaters.

I hear they're here in ACW? Welll, if they are, you can rest assured that they too will get their comeuppance. But back to my point; ever since I've come to ACW, I've lost my edge. Maybe it can be attributed to the fact that this... whole wrestling thing is so much different than what theAsylum stood for.

But, I will change all that. Now, I have my sights firmly set on becoming THE breakout star of All-Star Championship Wrestling. I've mastered two worlds already -- martial artistry, and whatever you call the style theAsylum represents. Now, I will conquer the wrestling world, and I will do so with all the deadly grace that I am capable of possibly mustering.

... Oh, and I think I'll start... with HIM."

Jenna was confused at that last part, in addition to wanting to barf over the hoakiness of what Fejona had said preceeding that last statement. But all McMullen had to do was to see just who Fejona was pointing to.

Azrael Asesino. You know, ACW's Scorpion Fighting Champion. Yeah, that's him.

"He looks tired. Did he, pray tell, just finish a match?" Fejona asked Jenna, the former's eyes fixated on the piece of tin that was hanging on Azrael's shoulder.

McMullen nodded. "Yes, he just defended his Scorpion Fighting Title for only the second time in his reign. Trouble is, with all this circus nonsense going on, there was a disruption right before the match, and so, it wasn't televised. I hear Azrael's quite angry with the whole thing, actually."

"Very intriguing." Fejona muttered to herself, her curiousity at its zenith right about now. "Yes, I've decided. I will start with Mr Asesino there. He's done nothing for the Scorpion Fighting Title. Natalie was robbed of it, anyways. What I'll do is, take it off his hands, and bring back some honour to the piece of scrap!"

Uh, yeah. So said the crazy lady. Anyways, an excited Fejona Min clapped her hands together, and spun on her heels, all ready to spill some giant plan to her sister-in-arms. Trouble was, though, Natalie Quinston was nowhere to be found.

Jenna too found this weird. Exchanging looks with the Cambodian Femme Fatale, McMullen wondered where Natalie was, and why she had left. Fejona didn't stick around to talk to Jenna anymore, since it was practically of no use; the self-proclaimed 'Greatest Women's Champion in tA History' scurried down the hallway with her hand luggage, looking for Natalie Quinston.

And what did Jenna do in the meanwhile, since the impromptu interview had come to an abrupt end? Why, she clicked her heels and fixed her tits, of course!

Trapped in the Asylum of the mind

As the pain circulated through every poisoned vein in his body; it became too much for him to come to grips with, as he slowly slide down the cold stucco wall that he was pressed against. Upon reaching the ground, the forgotten son could feel the filth and uncleanness in between his fingertips, dusting off his hands on the unkempt jeans GFS wore...before running his nimble fingers though his dark multi-colored hair.

And as if it was a gift from his father; god himself, once the youngster touched his face...the memories of the past few weeks were recalled inside his psyche violently. Looking on from the other-side, the gargoyle like watcher stood silently because that was what he was instructed to do, observing until he completed the task he was paid to do.

Mr. Wallace crossed his massive biceps against his broad chest; watching intently as God’s Forgotten Son seemingly slithered deeper into the self conscious war within himself. To the gargantuan individual, who knuckles cracked with each movement of his hands, he never knew what his pupil had in store next; instead he just followed obediently.

It was peculiar that on this path into the unknown; Wallace should have been the escort; guiding God’s Forgotten Son in the right direction for the single objection the bodyguard did understand.

Instead the destiny of both gentlemen was solely in the possession of the virtual unknown, who still parked himself on the bug infested concrete, which invited those insects to slowly crawl up his legs and into his open wounds.

While the enigma’s body seemed to be removed from life on the surface; expressively cold and very bitter about the world he created around him, within the depths of his soul, The forgotten son reminisced about dark gloomy clouds that slowly crept across the sky...eclipsing the vivid full moon light that shone down on the soaring high rise structures and endless smoke stacks.

God’s Forgotten Son pondered whether or not Philadelphia, Pennsylvia could be the place where he could find sanctuary to hide his emotional torment.

However he knew unlike everyone else; that there was nowhere he could go to ease his pain, just the job he intended to conclude, upon his return to All-Star Championship Wrestling. But there were a few loose ends that needed to be severed upon the way...as he waited for a sign or a warning.

Slowly regaining his composure as he looked up into the blue eyes of Mr. Wallace, God’s Forgotten Son extended out his right trembling hand, seconds prior to Wallace bestowing the mysterious individual with his tattered journal. In the shadows, someone close by watched intently as they witnessed the duo in the corridor with intrigued eyes.

Upon opening his cryptic chronicle, the forgotten son spoke softly. “They will never understand you and I, they could never comprehend the suffering and complexity of our situation...the plight we have come to live with in our journey for the truth, to find an answer to the single question I have asked myself each and everyday, now those hours have turned into years.

Unfortunately, we have become nothing but scapegoats to their ignorance. Someone to blame for the hardship that life has tossed their way, instead of idolizing and commemorating the accomplishments of a superior being. Instead of placing the blame on themselves, they look to attack me and stand in the path in which I must travel upon.”

Handing his journal back to Wallace, God’s Forgotten Son rose to his feet, while the uninvited guest slide a few steps backwards...hopping they were not seen or heard. Luckily for that person; the forgotten son turned his back to them as GFS out stretched his limbs.

His giant protector Wallace looked off into the shadows inquisitively, but God’s Forgotten Son brought Wallace’s attention back to the United States champion with a snap of their fingers.

“...Don’t worry about the vermin scurrying about within the darkness, because there are bigger pests to exterminate in the bright spot lights above the ring, for all to witness. I will show Mr. Keller that Christianity is not the only thing he should believe in, after he is brought down to the lowest feasible level.

Although I do not wish to harm him for his stupidity, a lesson must be taught for the tongue in cheek nature of his words. If Kyle believes what he has experienced in the past was painful, then he will want to die after Keller experiences the wrath of GOD. And then, he will understand my pain.”

God’s Forgotten Son and Wallace walked off into darkness, while the intruder also made their exit.

Accordance

Seymour Almasy was in a decidedly better mood than he had been earlier in the evening.

“Gordo's a riot,” he said, laughing slightly. “That show'll be a blast!”

He was pleasantly surprised to be feeling so well. He'd washed the blood from his face, and changed into street clothes. A pair of jeans and a t-shirt felt nice after a night of combat.

His good mood, however, was about to be erased.

“…why, God, why?”

Coming down another hallway was Kasper Sky. Seymour's body immediately tensed at the sight of the white-haired man, looking around for anything he could use in self-defense should Kasper attack again.

“I'm unarmed,” Sky said, surprising Seymour. “You don't need to look for a weapon like a scared child.”

Baiting him, Almasy realized. Sky was trying to bait Seymour into another attack. Probably a trap…

“Yeah. You're not going to hit me until my back's turned,” Almasy scoffed, angrily. “Even with a weapon, you wouldn't come face to face with me and hit me with it.”

Sky chuckled, pure amusement on his face. It made Almasy burn with anger, until Kasper spoke.

“Is that a fact? Well then, I'll tell you what. In a few weeks from now, ACW's having this rather important event. I'll see you there. No disqualifications. No countouts. In short…there must be a winner. A clear winner. Unlike you, who was declared the winner while face-down with blood pouring from your forehead.”

Before Sky could even draw a breath after finishing, Seymour had his reply.

“I accept your challenge. Now, please, leave me alone…”

Sky shook his head with amusement, and continued on his merry way.

Seymour, meanwhile, wondered to himself why the hell he'd accepted the challenge of a man whose goal seemed to be to get him to do exactly that.

Send in the clowns

“Going Underground” by the Jam, a sound that had never graced ACW airwaves before. Sadly there is a first time for everything. Even sadder, it brought out Splink. Actually, scratch that, it brought out Splink and an entourage of animals, fire-eaters, midgets and other circus members. TMM was riding down to the ring on the back of an elephant, whilst Slapnutz was hitting on the bearded lady.

“So, you’re not really a man then darling?”

Slapnutz then tugged her beard and ran off to hide behind a penguin. A penguin that looked ill. So ill that is threw up on the Scotsman standing beside him. It’s a sad day when it’s not the first time a penguin has thrown up on you. For Slapnutz, it was the fifth.

The procession finally stopped and TMM hopped off the back of his elephant into the ring. Incidentally, the name of the elephant was Frank. Slapnutz slid into the ring, not before tugging the beard one last time. They finished off their ACW entrance by attempting to break-dance. TMM managed to spin around on his back; Slapnutz almost killed himself trying to do a back flip. Agile he was not.

“Good evening ladies and gentlemen and welcome to the greatest show on earth. Not only do we have wrestling, but we also have a circus. A circus with midgets. A circus with animals. Fuck you animal rights. A circus with a bearded lady.”

The lady waved at Slapnutz, who shuddered at the thought. TMM continued.

“But most of all, a circus with Splink. Your new heroes. Your new saviours. And your newest comedy act in the ranks of ACW. Comedy acts rule. We rule. ACW rules and that equals a whole lot of rulingness.”

Slapnutz looked at his partner in disbelief. It had been five minutes and he had already made up a new word. Brilliant. He took the mike from his Polish buddy.

“We have come from the Asylum. We have come looking to succeed. I have come to get even more sex than I usually do, which is so much I’ve lost count. We’re probably talking thousands. I don’t have AIDS either. Great.”

No ladies in the crowd screamed. Some men did. A part of Slapnutz died. It wasn’t his penis.

“Now, we’ve been inactive for a while. We haven’t wrestled in years. But I believe we’ll show great bouncebackability and climb to the top of the tag-team rankings. We fucking rule. We rule like the Queen rules over Britain. We rule like Big Daddy ruled the British wrestling circuit. We also rule more than anyone could ever believe.”

Splink were done. They had announced their intentions. They had announced their arrival. Most importantly, they had announced that they rule.

Seriously, Splink rule. Believe the hype.

Look At Me Now, II

"Seriously Joe, I can relate with the man on the street at this moment in time, cuz I feel like I'm unemployed."

SilverHAWK and Joe Bishop often had talks during show time, in the old days anyway, but as each of the men's position changed in the federation, so did his duties, a change which meant with the passing of time in ACW, came the two men pushing away from one another.

"So Joe, what do you find yourself doing these days around here?"

Bishop sighed.

"Well...Laguna is one all for the entertainment aspect of the whole deal, so more or less my job is to make sure some of the new guys know how to play to the camera, even if they are the meanest motherfucker alive."

HAWK chuckled.

"Spending your days teaching little bratty green's, no thanks."

"Hey man, it's what puts food on the table, some of us weren't as lucky to get on Winters' gravy train you know."

That, hit a sour note in HAWK. He gave Bishop a mean eye as he gazed up at him, but Bishop wasn't fazed...being built like a brick shit-house would give you that apprach.

HAWK let it slide.

"You never know, when Carter comes in, and takes over again, we might be working with one another, I don't see myself being under his watchful eye for long...even if the fans do believe I'm part of all this."

Bishop laughed, which was a little out of tone to what HAWK was thinking about.

"You're full of shit Jones. You know fine well when push comes to shove, fans or no fans you'll fight for this bunch of bricks no matter what the cost, you've done it before and I'm sure as hell sure that you will do it again my friend, but you are right...someone is helping them, and I'd sure as hell like to know who."

As the duo pondered, it seemed that things had never really changed in ACW.

Old friends talked while the fed was being taken over by a new owner.

Same shit different day really.

Paranoia In The Air.

"I don't understand why we're even here. It makes ZERO SENSE.

I mean, firstly, you were given the week off. Secondly, you have that whole King Of Indies thing coming up this Sunday, and even if you didn't compete on TNW 25 the other day, you need your rest. Thirdly, it's already like the middle of the third quarter in the show -- we should have stayed at the damn hotel and continued watching First Blood. Stallone is just so damn sexy!" Rickino Martino squealed like a disgusting pig.

Who? Oh, Rickino Martino; one of two friends Quinton May now had accompanying him to shows. If you're still confused, then you must not have been following tSC. In which case, Mike Renner wills you to die. But hey, this was ACW time, so I'll get back to the matter at hand.

Quincy Mama, looking a little under the weather despite the extended break he's had (not wrestling on TNW 25 two days ago, the two-week gap in events ACW-wise), simply chuckled. Rickino possessed the penchant for pointing out the obvious. May already knew all of what Rickino had brought up, because he was thinking the exact same things earlier on.

Nevertheless, there WAS a reason Quinton and Rickino were at the Tom Gola Arena. "Yeah, but I just really wanted to see this Alias/SVJ rematch live, and in person. Like Laguna said, it has the hallmarks of being a very good match. And hey, I may not have won the right to be the #1 Contender, but it doesn't hurt to take a vested interest in the World Title scene."

"But I think that porky dude in Stake-Out was cuter." Rickino interrupted, obviously not having heard anything the Canadian Gladiator just said. This, of course, annoyed Quinton. "Stake-Out was a great movie, by the way. Drama, romance, mystery; it had it all, although the title makes you think it wouldn't.

I liked the sequeal more, though. I mean, Another Stake-Out was just *awesome* and stuff!"

Quinton cocked his head to the right, bird-like style (Illyria!), and stared at Rickino. The Rising Star was talking about World Title scenes and such, and what did Rickino have to say in response? Stake-Out. And, oh, ANOTHER Stake-Out. Seriously, what kind of dumbass sequel title is 'Another Stake-Out'?

Annnd, no, I didn't steal that joke from a television show. Honest to God, I didn't. *cough*

"What in the name of Krevlorneswath are you blabbering on about, eh?" Quinton shouted at Rickino, who smiled slyly to himself. He quite liked it when May got all mad at him.

Call it a bizarrelysick fetish, if you must. Martino didn't care.

"Sorry. I spaced out for a second there. But hey, I DID hear what you said, and I understand. I still think we should have stayed away. I mean, with... Joseph around, you're probably going to get whacked with the sledgehammer again. Although, it's quite odd how he can see when he has no pupils. Weird shit!"

Quincy sighed, and the two men continued walking down the hallway (yes, they'd stopped momentarily when May shouted at Rickino -- deal with it!), dressed oh-so-casually. Since ol' Laguna gave Quinton the night off, it was no surprise for the Television Champion to be dressed even more casually than usual, if it was even possible.

"Yeah, I was rather surprised. Claimed he was blind because of the... well, bomb blast last year. Didn't seem so blind to me, though. I did some checking with a couple of doctors, and they, unfortunately, couldn't quite help me. You'd think that with the paycheck they bring home monthly, they'd actually know some valuable information, eh?" May complained ruefully.

Rickino chuckled, and was the first to round the hallway, ready to conjure up a respond to his friend's statements. There was one problem; the young lady that was standing in his way. Quinton too saw her as he rounded the corner, wondering why Rickino had halted in his tracks so suddenly.

It only took one sideways glance at NATALIE QUINSTON for Quinton to growl and get agitated.

"Well, Natalie, I'm surprised to see you here. Between me bashing your head in at King Of Ages and what Fall of Adam did to you the other week, I would have thought you'd have taken the week off. To recuperate." Quinton made with the nice talk, between clenched teeth.

Rickino found this very odd. "What? That's what you're going to say to her? That's bullshit, man. Strangle her, then fuck her in the butt, and finish her off by dumping her in the river! Go on, defile her! Make her pay for what she's done to you all this time, baby! Give her a nice facial, too!"

Martino was definitely high-sexed. Glancing at Quinton, who just glared at him in that 'WTHMF?!' way, Rickino realised some things were not meant to be said out loud, and as such, he backed away from the scene, keeping his arms folded and more than content in being a mere observer in this potentially electrying turn of events.

All the while, Natalie Quinston kept silent. But, hey, not for long; there was a reason she'd decided to sneak away in the middle of Fejona's segment earlier on. For some reason, she knew that her old 'friend' Quincy was in the hizhouse.

"Welll, a girl has to do what a girl has to do. I'm here to take you up on what you said at the PPV, Quinton. I bet you've forgotten about that, haven't you?" Natalie sneered at the Canadian Gladiator, not worried about how contorting her face could possibly bust a vein wide open. Nature of the injuries, and all.

Quinton, now stumped, shrugged his shoulders. "I said a lot of things at the PPV. But, I did remember what I said to you; newsflash, honey. Your bitch of a partner, Fejona, said you and her had nothing else to do with me. So why the sudden proposal, eh? OOOOH, so you and Fejona and Joseph are still in cahoots then, eh?

Gotta say, Natalie, that's a mighty big slip-up there. I'm sure you had planned for it to come out when I least expected it. Oh well, back to the drawing board, then. The one that has my damn face drawn on it, right next to the words 'HE MUST DIE BECAUSE IT IS ALL PURELY BUSINESS', I suspect."

"Cute. Real cute, Quinton." Natalie snapped back almost instantly, as she took a step forward. "This has nothing to do with Joseph or Fejona. Nothing at all. This about unfinished business, between YOU and ME. Because, you know, we go wayyy back. And while we're both not in positions to take legal action about each of our special secrets, there *is* something that we can do.

And that something is what you said you'd do at the PPV. Now that Fejona's done with you, and since Joseph is happy with watching you from afar until he's ready, I propose you and I settle our little issue. I'm game if you are. And don't let my injuries fool you, Quinton. I'm more than capable of taking you on.

This time, there will not be any banging-of-my-head-against-steel. That, I can promise you. Because what you did at the PPV? Probably shortened my existence by a year or two. And I don't like that. I want my vengeance, Quinton."

Very intriguing. Quinton May, though, saw the humour in it and struggled to hold back his laughter. An act that mystified Rickino, because he found Natalie's demand very serious. Natalie, naturally, was rather enraged, but chose to stand there, arms folded, waiting for the Canadian Gladiator to answer.

"Alright. If you insist." May suddenly said with solemnity all over his face. "I'll talk to Laguna about it. But, I think you're not the only one hiding secrets from Fejona.

Because, if you'd just turn around real quickly, you'll see why I find this whole 'we are not in cahoots' deal you and Fej and Joseph keep preaching about vehemently so bloody laughable."

Natalie was confused. As was Rickino. But as the two of them did set their eyes on what Quinton was talking about, they realised that the Television Champion of ACdubya was right. Standing at the end of the hall, in their own little private bubble, were Fejona Min and Joseph McMillan.

Talking. Discussing. About what? Nobody knew, for sure. What Fejona did know, though, was that there were three sets of eyes watching her and The Blind Slayer. And as such, she promptly turned to her side, frowning at the sight of Quinton and Natalie staring back at her. Joseph too turned to glance at Quinton with his pupil-less eyes.

Then, he upped and left. Quinton grunted and snapped his fingers, which had Rickino Martino promptly following the Castaway out of the hallway and to wherever they had to be to watch the Main Event in living colour. That meant that only Natalie and Fejona were left.

And they definitely had things to talk about, now.

... Can you say, paranoia was in the air?

Sacrificing one’s self for the greater good of another (Part II)

Turning the knob to the left, cautiously entering the woman's lavatory as she closed the door behind her, Rene Ramirez sighed as she looked into the crystal clear mirror. Running her fingers through her layered brown hair, the company's newest reporter initiated the faucet as the warm water started to flow into the sink. Cupping her hand, seconds prior to splashing water onto her face, Rene could not believe what she had gotten herself into a few weeks ago. As the water ran down her silky cheek; falling back into the drain, memories of her first encounter with the odd stranger were revisited.

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.

Somehow the voice of Mr. Wallace still haunted Rene, so much in fact that she screamed when she felt a hand on her shoulders. Her quick instincts forced Rene to look deep into the mirror to see who waited for her, although she was really too terrified to even open her brown eyes. As the water finally washed itself from her eyesight; Ms. Ramirez sighed a bit of relief, noticing that it was not Wallace but Jenna McMullen who greeted her with a smile.

“I didn't know that I looked so scary Rene, or I might not have left the house today.” Jenna moved over to the next available mirror to fix her bra and play with her sizeable breasts, as she always did on camera. On the other side of the rest room door, her camera crew chewed their gum, popping it in their mouths as the waited for McMullen to return to their side. Back inside the tight quarters of the bathroom; Rene used a paper towel to wipe her face off as she slowly approached her friend and co-worker.

“Sorry Jenna, I was a bit edgy back there. It's not you or how you look; because you're dressed terrific...I just have a lot on my mind over the past few weeks. I've been doing a lot of thinking, wondering if coming to this company was the best thing for me.” While Rene continued to talk, Jenna was lost in her reflection as she adjusted her boobs in a vertical motion, hardening her nipples for personal enjoyment.

“So you see that's my dilemma J, what do you think about that?” Rene waited for Jenna's response but it never came until Rene slightly nudged the ACW interviewer as she snapped out of her daydream.

“They are quite nice aren't they? And so many people can't believe they're mine. What were you talking about Rene; I didn't hear most of what you said. But whatever it is, I know that I can help because we're in this fight together and I know that I can't find all the juicy gossip on these wrestlers by myself.” Jenna finally stepped away from the mirror as Rene shook her head in disbelief, opening a bathroom stall to take a seat.

“Did you not hear me or were not listening? Anyway, I was talking about this situation that I was kind placed into a few weeks ago. The way this guy manhandled me; throwing me to the ground, whispering secrets into my ear that he said no one else about him. I felt this strange power over him, but the final thing he told me...

As you looked into the windows to my soul, you will understand what I've told you is the truth and will come to fruition all in due time. You already know the reason as to why I have chosen you, Rene to help me. I believe that your potential for success is limitless and after you've completed your tasks, I will bestow upon you something, which will benefit the both of us. Now go Rene, and I'll contact you when I need to.”

“Sounds like someone has a stalker Rene, which sounds kind of hot to me. What's his name? And do I know him?” Jenna stepped into the doorway; preventing Rene to escape unless the information was divulged in large quantities of detail, but the twenty-three year old San Diego native pushed past the big breasted blonde. Excusing herself as she reached the main entrance way of the rest room, Rene glanced at herself on final time before leaving Jenna with one lasting remark as she opened the bath room door.

“If I were you Jenna, I would stay far away from that guy. That's the only reason why I am not telling you anymore about him. Because if you ran into him, something bad could happen to you, like it's happening to me.” Rene stepped through the entry wall as the camera crew hopped to their feet from the ground, and then realized it was not their slave driver Ms. McMullen. Back inside where the blonde bombshell was left; she ignored Rene's warning after re-appling her cherry red lipstick upon exiting.

If there was a scoop to be found, Jenna would be all over it.

ACW WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH
'Superstar' Vince Jacobs [c] Vs. Alias

Philly was in for one hell of a treat.

The fact that neither man saw this coming, coming into tonight, made this match that much more hopeful.

Evidently, this was Alias's rematch… for the belt that he had held 180 days in total over his two reigns, on the second Championship that he had ever lost.

Thing was Vince definitely was looking forward to this match, and was even against it happening. He'd say when, or so he thought… because Laguna said when. When was when?

Well, that'd be right now.

Hit those motherfo'in bongos!

Please allow him to introduce himself.
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.

As the Rolling Stones song known only as "Sympathy for the Devil" started playing, the fans erupted in cheers and began to stand. The Zezutron lit up with a list of the names of the wrestlers of the Squared Circle. All of them. The names started disappearing one by one before a single statement showed up on the Blongitron. It was this statement that got the fans really riled up.

WHAT'S MY ALIAS?

With the spikey haired head of Alias now on the Zezutron, the fans reached a deafening roar.

The strobe lights hit the hilt of the entrance way… and soon after, out walked the Original Pulp Hero. Almost methodically. This… would be his first step inside an ACW ring since King of Ages. Doing his thing in the ring, as the fans continued to roar… well, we'd segway from a returning Alias. Segway to something cooompletely different. Suddenly the lights went out on the Zezutron as something flashed.

Pro Wrestling's Phenomenon

'Ring Superstar' started to blast over the PA system as Vince slowly made it to the stage posing for the fans on the stage. The fans let Vince have it with the loudest boos of the night. They HATED there World Champion.

It's Vince Jacobs comin' down nigga like it or not
You ain't man enough to give his fuckin' title a shot
Feel the Starbuster ruckus, Ego Checkin' ya ass
Money hungry muthafuckas gettin' wrecked in a flash
The bank accounts is thick and his pockets is fat
Peep the smirk on his face when he watchin' you tap
A 3-Count or submission, which steez you wanna go?
Cuz this muthafucka right here's the reason there's a show.

Vince slowly walked down the aisle flipping off the fans at ringside smiling and holding his recently won, and once defended, ACW World Heavyweight Title high for the fans to see. He rolled into the ring and posed for the crowd as the pyros went off behind him as he held the title high in the air. Jacobs stood in the ring and looked at his opponent for tonight.

It was like déjà vu all over again. Except he had the hardware for a damn change.

That fact made Jacobs smile and Alias scowl, as always they where on the same page… just with a skewed view.

Quickly SVJ and the Original Pulp Hero began circling one another, and they locked up, as our resident movie star sounding referee Rex Blankford… called for the bell.

Alias struggled to try and get an advantage over Jacobs, but Vince was too strong on this night, and armdragged Alias. Alias quickly landed on his feet, however, and as Vince turned around fully to face Alias, Alias hit swung a Muay Thai roundhouse kick into SVJ's left arm.

Jacobs sank to one of his knees and grasped the arm as Alias proceeded to kick his arm several more times. The Pulp Hero quickly grabbed the arm, and applied pressure to it with a standard hammerlock submission hold, something he was being infamous for using, taking Vince to the mat. The sliiightly bigger man tried struggling out of the hold, but it was locked on tight.

Alias pushed his hand down, attempting to cause more pressure and pain to his opponent. Trust me, it was just one of those days. However, SVJ was able to shrug off most of the pain being applied to the left arm, the adrenaline was still high… especially against Alias, and stared around to find a way out of the rudimentary submission hold.

Alias, however, knew that he needed to act fast, and quickly executed a double knee drop, further aggravating SVJ's shoulder. Alias maintained the hammerlock, and then once again hit another handspring double knee drop. Vince shook his head, trying to clear out the pain from the two knee drops onto his arm.

The Reason There Is A Championship slowly crawled towards the nearest ropes as the fans were cheering him on. After a few seconds, Vince, using his right hand, managed to grab the bottom rope. The referee ordered Alias off of SVJ, and the Pulp Hero quickly complied, getting off of da Supersta Champeen, and moving back a bit to give Vince breathing room out of respect. Wait.

HA! Alias stepped forward for a moment, pumped SVJ in the head, before back off once again. As SVJ stumbled up, Alias slowly headed back to Jacobs, which was what ol' Vince was hoping for as he rubbed his left arm. When Alias got close enough, SVJ shot out a foot, and connected with a Superstar Kick to Alias's weak shoulder. Alias collapsed onto the mat, and Vince took this moment to his advantage.

SVJ grabbed Alias by what was now his weak arm, after such a harsh schedule… a lot of joints where becoming weaker by the week, and locked on a standard armbar, putting one of his hands onto Alias's shoulder, and yanked back on the submission hold. Alias shook his head as Jacobs maintained his dominance over Alias at this moment, and continued to apply pressure to the challengers' shoulder.

Alias squirmed around for a bit, trying to see if he could maybe escape that way. After a few moments, Alias noticed a spot where he could maneuver out of the submission hold, and rolled himself out from underneath Jacobs. However, Vince still held onto his arm, and yanked the Original Pulp back down to the mat.

The Champion continued applying pressure to the armbar as Alias shook his head to the referee. Alias, after a few seconds, attempted again to escape, and once again succeeded. As SVJ prepared to yank down Alias to the mat, jumping to the advantage again, Alias jumped into the air, and connected with an Enziguiri to Vince's left arm.

SVJ let go of Alias, and collapsed down onto the mat as Alias held onto his shoulder for a moment. Alias quickly took advantage of the surprise attack on Vince… if he was going to regain the thing that connected him to this once storied home of his… he had to throw some plans out the window, and locked on a short arm scissors on SVJ's left arm.

Alias applied pressure as Jacobs tried squirming his way out of the submission hold. However, Alias had the hold applied on tightly, and the Superstar wasn't able to squirm his way out of the hold.

SVJ slowly began to lift himself up as Alias continued to apply pressure using the short arm scissors. Vince lifted himself up at an angle, and eventually managed to get Alias's shoulders to the mat, which prompted the referee to make a pinfall count attempt.

Vince only got a one count, as Alias used his own force to shove him back down onto the mat. SVJ once again attempted to get himself up, and this time managed to succeed as he put Alias into the pinning predicament again. At two, the Pulp Hero attempted to shift the Ratings Grabbing Gold Monger off, but Vince lifted him up, still attached, and rammed him back onto the mat, forcing him to relinquish the hold.

SVJ grabbed at his arm, and walked around a bit as Alias slowly got up. SVJ, noticing the former- Double World Champion was taking a bit to get up, quickly ran towards him, and connected with a stiff lariat, mainly hitting Alias's shoulder area, nulling the chance of an Anarchy's Lullaby even more. Alias fell onto the mat, and Jacobs hooked the leg, going for the pinfall, but only getting a quick two.

SVJ quickly grabbed both of Alias's arms while he was on the mat, locked him in a Full Nelson submission hold. The pressure being applied to Alias's shoulders was great as the Pulp Hero cried out in pain, but shook his head at the referee when he asked if he wanted to submit.

Alias spotted the ropes were only a few inches away from his foot, so he began stretching out his leg, attempting to get to the ropes. After a minute or so, the Pulp Hero had finally managed to do it, and the referee ordered Jacobs off of Alias. Jacobs complied begrudgingly and pushed off Alias to get up, and let go. As he did, however, Alias grabbed his left leg, and yanked him off his feet, taking him down to the mat.

Alias felt his shoulder a good bit, before he went over, and tried to grab Mr. Jacob's arm, and lock on the Cross Arm Breaker. SVJ, however, had locked his hands together in the traditional method of preventing the Cross Arm Breaker from being locked on.

Alias, somewhat irritated that Vince was trying to prevent the hold that had injured many a tough son of a bitch before, forearmed SVJ in the side of his head several times, eventually forcing him to weaken his grip. Alias quickly took advantage, and yanked the arm, locking on the Cross Arm Breaker.

SVJ screamed out in pain as he clenched his teeth, Alias wasn't even supposed to get this shot he thought to himself, he wasn't supposed to be here damn it. He fought with all his might towards those ropes, as his arm got torn to shreds… and yelps continued to escape his lips… but finally, finally he reached the ropes and latched a forearm around it.

Gathering his wits about him, he gingerly pulled himself to his feet using the ropes, turning around he held a sneer on his face, not quite sure what awaited him.

Ah, yes. That was it. A headbutt to the nose, a knee to the mid-section, and then an elbow to the top of the head.

Click. Click. Boom , bitch.

As Jacobs hit the match, he half sprawled out of the ring… half rolled out under his own power, in order to avoid any further advantage of this man he so loathed, who looked to be on such a roll. Such a roll, and damn it, he wasn't even supposed to be here today.

Getting to his feet, from his hands and knees, his hand searched under the apron the ring… outside the sight of the Rex in the ring. Outside the sight of Alias too, as he leaned over top of the ropes, and looked to pull Vince back into the ring by his hair. Well guess what Chris, you'd get to punch your ticket early… because as far as Vince was concerned, he didn't need this shit tonight.

And you, you had yet to earn it.

CHAIR.

YOU.

FACE.

The fans jeered in an uproarious amount, as Rex called for the bell (being the by the book guy he was), and the fans where quite angry, oh yes, they had been cheated out of this main event. The KOA rematch. Alias's rematch. All SVJ could do was smile to himself, grabbing his title belt, the World Championship, he skirted around the ring… holding it high to even more jeers.

All Alias could do was get up on rubbers legs… and look into the smiling facing of his enemy.

So… he had to ask himself. What was he willing to prove? Or would he just prove to himself… that this was it?

Winner > Alias via DQ

Beware! Crazy Man!

Depending on how you would define the word "good", it had been a good night for William Laguna and his federation collectivly known as ACW...but have you ever jinxed something without even saying a word? Uttering a sentence? Laguna did.

He thought he was going to get away with it tonight, and then came the screech of Donnie's walkie-talkie on his belt buckle.

"NOOOO....NOOOO....STTTTTOOOOOOOPPPPPPP!"

CLICK.

Laguna stopped in his tracks as Donnie pulled the device from his buckle and tried to get an answer from the broadcaster...no reply came his way, but something else did, the scream and cackling laugh of another.

"Hey...hey...is this thing on. Hey pigfucker...Carter's gonna get you!"

Keller, who else right?

Laguna quickly picked up his steps towards the carpark, but he was quickly sideswiped as he stumbled against the wall, Jericho passing him by and taking out Donnie with a large clothesline, before kneeling down before him and pummeling him in the face.

it was a miltary like strike.

3 points.

Keller.

Inferno.

Jericho.

Carter?

He came out of the shadows infront of Laguna, and was ready for whatever was going to happen.

"And so...it's time to make a choice William, you either fight for what you have and lose it all, or you give it up and run along to where ever you find yourself afterwards...make you're choice."

And so he did.

With a ragged right hand to Carter's left cheek, Laguna had made the decision to fight for what he owned, but like a caged animal Carter sprung at Laguna as both men tussled on the ground, fighting in a good old scrap.

It wasn't long before they were seperated by police and security guards, Carter with a bloody lip, Laguna with a few scratches on his Gucci suit, but the non-visual damage had been done to both men, and you could see it in their eyes that this was far from the end of the affair.

William Laguna was going to fight for his federation...but who would help him when the wolves come in packs?

Ever heard the fable about the wolve and the HAWK?

You will...very soon.