Hope.

Laguna: "Listen, what happened last week was unforeseen, but you need to do one thing for me first."

Carter: "What's that then?" 

Laguna: "Help me save ACW..."

Carter: "Explain."

Laguna: "Profits are down, as are the numbers coming through the gates and my staff are lethargic with all this nonsense going on with you and your group...please, for the sake of the company that you want to take back, stay away this week."

Carter: "My heart is bleeding for you, it really is Laguna, but I want my federation back and the sooner I get it back the better, so I can fix every fucking problem that you have implemented into the place.

Laguna: "I understand that, and it will be sorted out, whether in battle in the courtroom, or in the wrestling ring, whichever way we can get this over and done with as quick as possible, but I'm asking you, how can you take over a federation that doesn't exist? I hope you make the right decision."

What ACW Means To Me.

All he wanted to do was talk.

And that was what he did.

He asked for one week of peace.

Is that so hard to ask?

William Laguna sat in his more or less empty office space with a sore head and a heavy heart. If he was to be truly honest with himself, he was becoming incessantly bored with ACW, and all the baggage that had come with it during his six month reign as owner here.

Ticket sales were down.

Buy rates were non existent.

Arena's were no longer wanting to deal with him due to the large security risk that a rebel group brings to a fed.

Add that to the fact that week in week out ACWs roster had more face lifts than your average American movie actress.

ACW...was...a...burden.

So why did he love it so much?

The buzz of a Thursday night?

The smiles of the young fans as they seen their favourite stars walk down the aisle?

The banter in the backstage as wrestlers punked' one another?

The tradition of the company?

Or was it just that he was an attention whore?

Possibly an amalgamation of them all.

My name is William Laguna...and I'm an ACW-a-Holic.

...

And he knew it would be the death of him.

He just prayed to whomever was above that Carter had listened to him, and with that he got down to work for the night, a night were in the background, he would start to implement the revival process of a once great federation.

Interruption, Proposal

"You look ready to kill a cow with your barehands." Rickino Martino remarked.

Rickino, if you can't recall or haven't been following, is the aide of the federation's Television Champion. Who is, of course, Quinton May. The two men were in the holding position, mere moments before the scheduled showdown between Quincy Mama and the latest challenger for his Television Title -- Natalie Quinston.

Decked out simply in black jeans and black boots, May turned to look at his friend. "As far as I'm concerned, Natalie *is* a cow. Which could make sense. Since, in Pylea, humans are called cows. And hey, just so we're clear; you drop my title, and I'll strangle you right here... right now."

Rickino was lost on the 'Pylea' thing, since it's a reference to Angel (the greatest show ever!) and Rickino never watched Angel. He did, though, get the bit about not dropping Quincy's TV Title that he was holding and promptly hugged it closer to his chest. Quincy managed a chuckle, before he frowned.

Death was in the air. Actually, it was the scent of a skanky woman. At least, Natalie was considered a skank by Quinton. Spinning on his heels, May came face-to-face with a familiar enemy and his opponent for tonight. The one and the same whom was destroyed at the Canadian Gladiator's hands a few weeks ago at the PPV.

"I hope you're ready for what I have to dish out, Quinton." Natalie stated gravely, momentarily looking away to sneer at Rickino. Who was more interested in looking over Natalie's shoulder, waiting for Fejona Min to join up with her friend.

Quincy Mama noticed this, and smiled to himself. "Don't bother, Rickino. Fejona's not here. Least, not here by Natalie's side. The two of them have had a falling out, and all because of a blind boy. How is McMillan, by the way? Is he here yet?

Or do you still insist there's no collusion between you and Fejona and him? Wait, I suppose I can believe that, since I think you're not important enough to be involved in whatever Fej and Joseph have cooked up for me. Probably because you're the weak link that's dragging everybody you're associated with down."

Natalie Quinston scowled. May had a point, but she didn't like hearing it. Narrowing her eyes, she mouthed 'fuck you' to Quinton, before slowly walking past Quincy. The Rising Star shook his head, amused with how easily he'd managed to get rid of Natalie, just with a couple of truths.

Silence now filled the air, the seconds to the match ticking by quickly. Natalie Q's theme song would start up anytime now, and Quincy Mama was looking forward to hearing what ol' Skankalicious had chosen for her singles tenure, since she and the Cambodian Femme Fatale were no longer together. Rickino noticed how upbeat May was, and was just about to ask him why.

There was an unfortunate interruption, though. Real unfortunate.

What was the interruption? Natalie Quinston... flying backwards, and crashing into the wall that May was leaning against in the holding area! Quincy staggered away from the wall, in shock. The entire referee'ing roster came rushing into the scene, tending to Natalie Quinston who had seemingly passed out.

Odd. More peculiar was the appearance of GOD'S FORGOTTEN SON, who wielded a baseball bat in his hand. Oh, wait, my mistake; now-broken baseball bat. With a glare in Quinton's direction, the United States Champion stormed away, with the road agents -- who'd just arrived on the scene -- screaming at GFS, calling him a heartless animal.

Mr Wallance, GFS's trainer/bodyguard, was right behind GFS and smiled when he heard the referees calling for paramedics. Quinton watched everything unfold in front of his eyes in confusion; what the hell was going on? Ahhh, see, he would get the answers this time around.

And the person to provide that... was Mr Wallace. Via a note.

Quinton. You will not be fighting Natalie Quinston tonight. She is unworthy of your time. My client, however, is a more suitable adversary. You are familiar with him; he did, after all, defeat you at the PPV a few weeks ago. Alas, GFS feels that he got a bit of an unfair assistance in that match. Not that he minds it overly, of course. He simply feels that he is capable of crushing a bug like you on his own.

So, here's the proposal. You and GFS. Tonight. In a title-for-title match. Quite unprecedented, isn't it? Like you have a choice to refuse; your scheduled opponent, as you read this, is now receiving medical attention. Not a chance in hell she's going to be allowed to compete tonight. And since we know you're a man who can't turn off that insatiable lust to fight, I think you'll accept this mammoth challenge. If you accept, we'll see you in the ring later.

Quinton sighed, and looked away. True enough, Natalie was now being carted onto a stretcher. Rickino, who had read the note too, wanted to advise May not to go through with this. Considering that the Canadian had just barely survived a massive war with Mike Randalls over in tSC just two days prior, he was in no shape to compete against the frightening Forgotten Son.

But, hey. Quincy Mama never backs down from a challenge.

"Looks like I'm going to win another title tonight, Rickino." May muttered under his breath, as he crushed the note and left in a huff. Rickino shook his head and followed his friend, deciding to object.

While all of that was going on, Mr Wallace and God's Forgotten Son watch everything unfold from a dark corner. Their plan was going according to script, and the United States Champion was pleased. Not that he could muster the emotion to show it.

... "He's dead."

Well, whaddaya know? He speaks! Wait, hold up... 'he's dead'? Of all the things to say. SIGH.

Enough. 

"I can't do this anymore."

The statement was harsh, direct, and to the point, exactly everything that fans of ACW had grown to know the man known as the SilverHAWK. HAWK sat in the driver seat of his large escalade 4x4...his elbows leaning against the steering wheel of the vehicle, his hands on his head and a cell phone in his right ear.

The recipient of the call was unknown, but what was known was that he was wearing his heart on his sleeve during the conversation, letting every inner feeling known to the person on the other side.

"I'm out of place."

"I've got no purpose."

"They don't need me."

Some of the lines that filtered through the airwaves.

As he clicked his phone shut, he looked through his rear view mirror and sighed.

Calihan Hall.

The entrance.

And as that entrance got smaller and smaller with every change of gear, for the first real time in his life, SilverHAWK was...in essense...walking away from ACW, but for how long?

Hopefully, not too long.

Papa's Got a Brand New... Dog

“So how was your weekend then, Slutnutz?” TMM asked his partner. A partner that was, incidentally, stroking a dog. Not the usual kind of dog that he would be seen with either. Oh no, this was a REAL dog. Almost a puppy, but a little bit too old.

“Actually, it was quite good. I had lots and lots of sex and I also got a dog.”

“Where the hell did you get it?”

“Umm… in a truth telling contest a few towns over.”

“Look, you Scottish buffoon, that’s a line from the ‘Simpsons’. That really didn’t happen, did it?”

“It did!”

TMM glared at his compatriot.

“Okay, I stole it from a homeless dude.”

Another glare from the Pole.

“From a circus clown.”

A glare that could stop a train. If the train was solar powered. And the sun had vanished.

“From a small child in the park.”

“That’s better. I’m glad you got that off your chest.”

“Are you going to make me take it back?”

“No. Why would I? I’m the calculating one. I technically have no conscience. You’re the child-like one with feelings such as guilt and lust. So what’s the name of the critter?”

“Snorbitz. Snorbitz Q. Wifflestein. Actually just Snorbitz. The rest is a lie. A horrible, horrible lie.”

The dog barked when it heard it’s new name. It was a clever dog. A dog so clever that is had already shit in the shoes of TMM. Genius.

“So, Fucknutz, what are you going to do with this dog? Are you going to sell it on e-bay?”

“No.”

“Donate it to medical research?”

“Course not.”

“Perform your own medical research?”

“I thought about that… but no.”

TMM’s face dropped. He had resigned himself to what his partner was going to use the dog for.

“Are you going to use it to pick up hot broads?”

“Hell yeah! I mean who could resist his cute little face?” Slapnutz pressed his face against Snorbitz and gave him a kiss. “Who’s a cute little doggie? Yes you are. Yes you are. Snorbitz is a cute little doggie. I wuv you. Yes I do.”

At was about this point in time that TMM left the room. He decided it was time to go scam some people entering the arena. Hopefully there would be some handicapped people, or children. In fact, handicapped children.

Slapnutz, on the other hand, put the leash on Snorbitz and stood up.

“C’mon little buddy, we’re going to see if this federation has any hot chicks in it. If my charm and sexiness doesn’t get me in the sack with them, you sure as hell will. Not that you’ll get in the sack with them. That would be bestiality. It’s wrong.

This one time I saw a film called ‘Animal Farm’ and it wasn’t the George Orwell one. Oh no, far worse. Far more disturbing. I mean I would definitely have sex with the broads in it but they were doing thing that are unspeakable. It was disgraceful. Yeah, I cracked one off whilst watching it but that was because there were perfect tits on show. PERFECT TITS!”

Snorbitz barked when he heard the last two words. It looked as though Slapnutz had found a kindred spirit in the form of a doggie companion. They headed out of the locker room in search of some sweet, sweet loving.

Sometimes you should watch what you say

“Ewwww, man shield yours eyes.” Donavon and Trevor both turned there heads away.

The two men sneered as they looked over, towards The Norman Brothers. Both Normans stood chuckling to themselves, as the two men, better known as Fall Of Adam made there way over.

The Normans had yet to notice, that Fall Of Adam only stood inches away from them.

“Hey you two want to repeat that?”

The laughter stopped, as both Normans slowly turned around, to come face to face with Fall Of Adam.

“And what’s that?” Donavon tried to make it seem like, they had said nothing.

“The Comment.”

“Oh, that comment, well that wasn’t directed towards you guy, it was directed towards those other two.”

Gacy and Oswald took a quick look around, but only to see nothing. The hall sat empty, and the only people that were there were The Normans and Fall Of Adam.

Gacy turned back to see both Normans standing there with big smirks on there faces.

“That’s crazy, they must of left.”

“Shit, I guess so then.” Trevor replied with his cocky remark.

“Ummm Gacy, something’s been bothering us, do you still have a thing for boys, cause there’s two eighteen year olds on the ACW crew list.”

Gacy spit in disgust, as he took a step forward, as the Normans took a lot of steps backwards. Trevor slowly reached behind him and put his hand on the door to the lockeroom.

“What was that?”

“Ah nothing man, just playing with ya.”

Gacy slightly turn his head, and came back with a push, pushing Donavon right into the lockeroom door. Fall Of Adam took another step closer, as the lockeroom door swung open, and both The Normans booked in.

CLICK

They locked the door locked behind them, as Gacy and Oswald just stood there on the other side. Both members of Fall of Adam just shook there heads.

“Whatever Normans, we’ll see you in the ring tonight.”

Dead silence came from behind the lockeroom door as Gacy and Oswald just stood there.

“What?”

“Are they serious?”

Both The Normans whispered to each other behind the door.
“Yeah were serious.” Gacy spoke up into the door, making sure both The Normans heard them.

“GOD DAMNIT.”

Donavon yelled from behind the door, as Gacy and Oswald made there leave.

So Tonight it was going down, The Normans Vs Fall Of Adam.

On the Prowl.

Slapnutz and Snorbitz. It was slightly different to the tandem of Slapnutz and TMM. For one thing, Snorbitz was a dog and TMM was a lanky streak of piss from Poland. It was those kinds of subtle differences that make life worth living. That and Dr Pepper. That shit rules.

Anyway, one man and his dog went to mow a meadow. However, on the way to mowing the meadow, they decided it would be better to try and find the women’s locker room. The walk had lead them all around the arena and all they had managed to find was a janitor’s closet with an old man wanking in it and TMM trying to scam Stevie Wonder into buying an mail order bride which was actually a mop with gummy lips stuck on. Not much of a bounty. Before you ask why Stevie Wonder was in the arena, he was the guest of honour and was invited to meet the wrestlers. Unfortunately he was introduced to TMM first. Such a shame.

“I can’t believe we can’t find the elusive women’s locker room. It must be some sort of mystical land of make believe that doesn’t actually exist. Like Atlanta or something.”

At was then that Snorbitz started backing and yelping. Slapnutz checked to see if he was standing on his tail. He wasn’t. Slapnutz checked to see if he was standing on his neck. He wasn’t. Slapnutz checked to see if he was standing in his shit. He wasn’t. The Scotsman was perplexed. Even more so that usual. 

More yelps, followed by scratching. Scratching at the door in front of them. Scratching at the door that was labeled ‘Female Locker Room’. Bingo.

Slapnutz opened the door and peered inside. It was like Valhalla but without the Vikings and chicks in battle gear and helmets. In fact, there was no one in here. It was empty. Emptier than the head of a Scotsman in wrestling gear. The dog pulled the owner inside.

They sat down in a bench and surveyed their surroundings. Lockers. Benches. Mirrors. Showers. Slapnutz could use a shower. In fact, so could Snorbitz. The little bastard was starting to smell. Obviously his child owner didn’t take good care of him. Slapnutz even thought that the child didn’t love Snorbitz. He smiled at the fact he had taken the dog away from it’s cruel owner. Superb.

Before he could even finish that thought, he had stripped and headed into the showers. He turned one shower on for him and one on for Snorbitz. He wasn’t going to share a shower with a dog. That would be digsusting and perverted.

“We have to smell and look good if we’re going to get the women, pal. It’s rule number one. That’s how I get so many women and so much sex. I’m clean and I smell good. Simple rule. I’ll try and find you a bitch once I find myself some pussy for tonight. Fair?”

Snorbitz barked in agreement. He would soon lose his doggy virginity all thanks to his perfect new owner.

“I’m too sexy for my shirt, too sexy for my shirt, so sexy it huuuuuuurts.”

Slapnutz really didn’t have the best singing voice in the world, even though he was made Asylum Idol a year or so ago. That didn’t stop him from singing in the shower. The only thing that would stop him in the shower was if a stranger walked in. Strangely, that’s exactly what happened. Slapnutz heard a door shutting and then a female voice. Panic. Fear. Erotic excitement. Slapnutz turned the showers off. He picked up his clothes…

Then he ran out of the locker room in a blaze of pink flesh and brown dog. The poor woman didn’t know what flew past her. All she knew was that he smelt good.

Brotherly Love

Click

Click

The lighter finally light up, as Trevor brought it to the tip of his cigarette.

Tonight, they had been summoned to the ring, after there altercation with Fall Of Adam earlier in the evening. They had confidence in themselves, that tonight they would walk out with there first victory in the All-Star Championship Wrestling.

The question was how far they would have to go, to get that win.

“Alright, I got a plan.” Donavon stopped and turned towards Trevor.

“Aight, I’m listening.”

“How about, you start the match right, you wear them down, and then when they are out of power, you tag me in, I go in and hit the Deuces Wild, boom, boom I make the cover, we walk away with the win. Whatcha Think?”

“Man if I’m doing all the work, I’ll hit my own finishing move, and make the cover.” Trevor kind of spat back in anger at Donavon, as he didn’t agree one bit with Donavon plans.

“What, that’s not fair then; you got to include me in this match.” Donavon poked Trevor in the shoulder.

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Donavon quickly put Trevor in a head lock, as Trevor dropped his cigarette.

“God Damnit, get off me.” Trevor Yelled in anger towards his older Brother.

“I’ll let ya go, if we go with my plan.” Donavon kept a good grip on the headlock.

“FINE, just get off me.”

“Alright then.”

Donavon let go of the headlock, and roughly patted Trevor on the head.

“Don’t touch me.” Trevor pushed Donavon hands away and walked back into the arena.

“I was just playing, Come on, come back here.”

Donavon watched as the door came to a shut.

The match was on its way.

Impulse Decision

Fejona Min was alone, and sitting in a dark corner, watching the world pass her by.

Unusual, non? For a variety of reasons, too. Firstly, Fejona had rarely arrived at her place of employment alone; tonight was the first time since she turned professional and made her debut on the scene in theAsylum that she didn't have a comrade by her side. Those occasions when she was a fresh ACW superstar? Don't kid yourselves, she had company with her.

You just didn't see her. On this night, though, Natalie Quinston was not alongside her. This was due to what happened last week, during Natalie's challenge to Quinton. The latter two individuals had spotted Fejona Min talking to someone the Cambodian Femme Fatale claimed that she wasn't in cahoots with. The fact that Fejona and McMillan were chatting SECRETLY?

Made it all the more damning. Natalie figured she couldn't quite trust Fejona anymore, and decided to branch out on her own. At least, for a while. The Enchanting Delinquent didn't mind, because she knew why she was talking to Joseph McMillan. She knew she was doing nothing wrong.

In any event, she was all alone tonight, and Fejona Min aimed to scope out everyone who would pass by the hidden corner she had stationed herself in. Just because, she wanted some time to herself. The last thing Fejona wanted to do was to walk around in the light of the night aided by flourescent tubes, and run the risk of ACW's premier Backstage Correspondent running into her. Jenna McMullen could really sap the life out of you with those questions of hers.

Of course, once Fejona spotted two other individuals she didn't want to see, her eyes narrowed. She had hoped that it had all been a rumour, but with the two of them right in front of her, the Cambodian Femme Fatale resigned herself to the fact that her new home was infested with pests.

Pests that she couldn't beat when they were all in theAsylum, not too long ago.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I am talking about... SPLINK! And if you didn't know, Fejona and Splink have had some run-ins in the past, with the Asylum's Tag Team Titles being in the middle of their feud.

But, let's focus on the present. And the present had Slapnutz and TMM skipping down the corridor, with bottles of lager in their hands. Slappy had his new pet, Snorbitz the dog, with him as well. What did you expect from these happy-go-lucky chaps, eh? Splink's motto in life: always have fun no matter what.

Even when the chips were down, the odd-paring of TMM and Slapnutz always managed to let loose and rock on.

"So, last night, I banged this lass who had an absolutely first-class arse!" Slapnutz boasted to his partner, as he always did when it came to his sexual escapades.

TMM took a swing of his lager and faced his buddy. "If you're talking about a porno you watched, mate, then you had better spare me the details and just give me the video for me to watch. You're always witholding the super-porn from me, and giving me the shitty porn to watch, you know that? Who am I, William Morgan?"

The duo burst out laughing, clinking their bottles of beer and continuing down the hallway, aiming to find some hot chick to feel up. Perhaps they could even coerce her into a four-way, since the dog deserved some lovin' too. Of course, they didn't expect to find Fejona Min blocking their way. It took a few seconds for the two of 'em to recall who the sexy bitch standing in front of them was.

But once they did, Slapnutz tidied himself up and threw the bottle into a nearby dustbin. Yeah, he was a wee bit drunk. What of it, huh? Fejona Min rolled her eyes, knowing what Slapnutz was going to say.

"Hey, baby. Ever seen what my penis can do on Asian women?" Slappy said, starting up the charm machine of his.

TMM shook his head and nudged Slapnutz in the ribs with his elbow (well, duh!). "Mate, that's Fejona Min standing there. You know, the one that kept trying to beat us for the titles in tA, and the lass I de-pantsed during that UNCIVIL WAR dealio. She's an evil woman, remember?"

"Yes, I'm an evil one." Fejona interrupted, as she flicked strands of her ethereal hair out of her face, and glared at the dog that was trying to sniff her cunt. "And I certainly do remember what happened at UNCIVIL WAR. And, you know what? I didn't appreciate that all that match. The two of you were damn bloody lucky to leave as the champions on that night. No matter, though.

I know what will make up for that; there's one of me, and two of you. Why not we resume our little rivalry, and I finally beat the stuffing out of you two clowns, huh?"

Slapnutz looked at TMM, and Teem looked at Slappy. Both men hadn't competed in over four months now, and had not officially debuted in ACW yet. But, on the other hand, if they took Fejona up on her offer, there was the chance to actually earn a paycheck. One they could use to buy more beer and porno. Oh, the dilemma.

As it was, TMM was still lugging around an old injury. So it was Slapnutz to decide. And since Slappy would never pass up the chance to get all sweaty with a woman (an Asian one, at that!), the answer was quite academic at this point, wasn't it?

"Alright. I'll have sex with you in the ring. Just be sure to wear something sexy!" Slapnutz replied, drawing an exasperated sigh from Fejona, and an excited bark from Snorbitz.

On the inside, though, Min smiled, and she walked away with a new purpose. Tonight was meant to be an off-night for Fejona, but the chance to compete AND gain some vengeance at the same time was too good to pass up. Impulsive decision from the Rogue Slayer? Perhaps, yes. The Cambodian didn't care, though.

Neither did Splink. They weren't quite taking this seriously. Plus, they had the pleasure of having defeated Fejona Min on several occasions before. You know how the saying goes, however. Hell hath no fury...

... like Fejona Min scorned.

Slapnutz vs Fejona

So, okay. The crowd didn't know this... but, it was time for a match. Something that's become a rarity in ACW, heh. Who was this one between? Wellll, the irony of it all -- it was scheduled to be two former Asylum fighters going at it. One of them had been looking forward to this match for some time. The other one? Simply looking to get laid; of course, he'd have you believe that that he's had sex for the last 20 nights straight.

But we all know the truth. It's more like... uh, the last 25 nights straight. Yes. Anyways, the house lights dimmed a little, and the crowd started chattering amongst themselves, wondering what was going to happen next. Turns out, they didn't have to wait all that long.

Some people might say my life is in a rut, 

But I’m quite happy with what I got 

People might say that I should strive for more, 

But I’m so happy I can't see the point. 

Something’s happening here today 

A show of strength with your boy's brigade and, 

I'm so happy and you're so kind 

You want more money - of course I don't mind 

To buy nuclear textbooks for atomic crimes

Huh? Who? What?

And the public gets what the public wants 

But I want nothing this society's got - 

I'm going underground, (going underground) 

Well the brass bands play and feet start to pound 

Going underground, (going underground) 

Well let the boys all sing and the boys all shout for tomorrow

Ohhhh. Makes sense now.

Yes, it was Splink. See, people don’t tend to know the start to ‘Going Underground’, only the chorus. The fans were cheering when they heard the verse; a new, sexy superstar had arrived. Then, the chorus kicked in and a groan went up. Yes, sure, Slapnutz was sexy but Splink weren’t exactly superstars. They weren’t Vince Jacobs. They sure as hell weren’t Alias but they were still better than the Dairy dude. Fuck your Internet polls up the arse with a rusty bucket. 

Oh yeah, the entrance. Well, TMM and Slapnutz came out in separate carts. Carts? Yup, little ring-like carts reminiscent of those used at ‘Wrestlemania III’. Slapnutz with Snorbitz in one cart, TMM and his mop, which he didn’t manage to sell to Mr. Wonder, in the other. The song kicked into the second verse and both carts started racing down to the ring. 

Slapnutz veered to his right and clattered into TMM. TMM, in retaliation, pushed his partner’s cart away with his mop. He then rubbed the end of the mop in Slapnutz face and that was all it took for the win. Slapnutz careered into the railing at about one mile per hour and TMM crashed into the side of the ring at about the same speed. 

As Slapnutz clambered into the ring, leaving TMM to look after Snorbitz and his mop... the Deftones kicked in, playing ‘Lucky You’ and Fejona Min strode out onto the runway. The look in her eyes was revenge. It was hatred, contempt and venom all rolled into one.

This was the chance she'd been waiting for, and the Cambodian Femme Fatale was already relishing it.

She was a woman with some arse whooping on her mind. There was only one person that knew if it was that time of the month. If it was, it was going to be even worse for the Scotsman that was jumping about in the ring. 

The slight woman made her way towards the ring, glaring at TMM as she did. Fejona had a past with both men, not just the one she was going to try and kill in a minute. The Pole could wait… for now. 

Fejona got into the ring, the bell sounded and the match was on. 

* DING DING DING *

Slapnutz couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He was about to grapple with an attractive woman in next to nothing. This woman was sorta hot too. He was like a pig in shite. Fejona, on the other hand, couldn’t believe that she was getting to wrestle this man. She was going to hurt him in ways he would never imagine.

Why the hatred? Wellll, if you didn't already know, Fejona and Splink have had many an encounter in tA. Fejona and her gang tried on several occasions to pry the Tag Team Titles of theAsylum from Splink due to Campbell's orders, but to no avail. Now, Fejona Min was a woman who didn't like leaving unfinished business laying around. Especially with how she was semi-humiliated by Splink that one time, at the UNCIVIL WAR show.

So, yeah. Back to the action, now that we're all caught up. Fejona threw a kick at the head of the Scotsman. It grazed the side of his head. This was the warning Slapnutz needed. He started to pick up the pace and dance about the ring. Sadly, grace isn’t really in the repertoire of Slapnutz so he stumbled into the ropes, allowing Fejona to grab him and ram a knee into his ribs. Slapnutz bailed out of the ring to catch his breath. He hadn’t wrestled in a while and he forgot how sore it could really be. 

Fejona couldn’t believe what she was seeing. A once worthy foe was needing a breather after just one knee lift; what a shame, she wanted her punishment to last for longer. Undeterred, she bounced off the ropes and caught Slapnutz with a baseball slide into the ribs, causing the Scotsman to crash into the guardrails.

The Cambodian unleashed a flurry of strikes to the face of her opponent. Luckily for any future modeling the Scotsman wanted to do, he managed to guard his face and shoved Min into the side of the ring. 

Both wrestlers looked at each other then traded punches on the outside of the ring. 

Slapnutz grabbed the throat of Fejona and shoved her under the bottom rope, back into the ring. Slapnutz followed her in and tried pinning her. 

After the match, he revealed he wasn’t so interested in winning the match then, he just wanted to lie on top of her and feel how nice her boobs were against him. Naturally Fejona kicked out after a one count and got to her feet in record-breaking time. She would later reveal she was disgusted by the man that was on top of her. 

Standoff. 

Collar-and-elbow tie-up. 

Slapnutz threw Fejona into the ropes and caught her in a bear hug. A huge smile crept across his face as he felt his opponent’s body against his. The smile didn’t last too long, as an elbow came crashing down onto it. The hold wasn’t released, well not until the second and third elbows hit him. The Scotsman staggered backwards and was caught with a punch to the jaw. A roundhouse kick followed and that sent Slapnutz into the corner. 

Fejona charged at him, driving her elbow into his mid-section. Spit flew out as well as any air Slapnutz had hoped to keep in his body. "Ooooooooommph!" was the only noise that was made in the ring. Well, that and the slapping sound that the follow-up punch made.

Following which, Slapnutz staggered out of the corner and was quickly put onto the canvas with a snap DDT. One that TMM even felt, and he was on the outside, watching on with a hotdog now in his hands.

With her opponent down, Fejona climbed to the top-rope. As she climbed, Slapnutz got to his knees. Unfortunately for him, that was as far as he made it as Min caught him in the back with a driving knee. A kick to the ribs followed and then the more-than-academic pin was next;

ONE.

TWO.

No, as much as Slapnutz enjoyed a woman being on top, he couldn’t let her win. Not like this. He kicked out and sent his opponent flying half way across the ring. Weighing twice that of his opponent was a massive advantage. Slapnutz always knew big was better, especially when women were involved. 

Fejona got up and aimed a punch at Slapnutz. Unfortunately for the undefeated Asylum Women’s Champion, Slapnutz caught her arm and put her onto the mat with a shortarm clothesline. He kept hold of her arm and brought her back to her feet. Two headbutts followed, then an elbow to the throat and finally, to finish the technical maneuver, a neckbreaker.

Slapnutz looked at his downed opponent and put his throat over her windpipe. He quite liked being in charge of a woman, the raw power. It made him tingle. He left his foot there until the referee had his count up to four. The pin quickly followed; 

ONE.

TWO.

THR -- NO!

You honestly think that Fejona was going to lose that easily to someone she hated that much? I don’t think so. She threw her shoulder up as soon as the referee hit the mat the second time. Slapnutz looked at TMM in disbelief. 

He picked Fejona up and threw her into the corner. The better-looking half of Splink ran at his opponent but when he reached the corner, she was nowhere to be seen. Fejona had flipped over Slapnutz and caught him in a sunset flip. 

ONE.

TWO.

THREE?

Nope. Slapnutz wasn’t going to lose to a sunset flip. Well, not at this point in the match. Maybe later, eh? 

Yeah, so, Slapnutz kicked out. TMM cheered on the outside, while Fejona growled as she scrambled back to her feet. Slapnutz was kicked in the back as he too got back up, and the sexier half of Splink staggered into one of the four corners of the ring. Min followed up with a running spinning heel kick, catching Slappy in the jaw. The force of the impact of the kick forced Nutz to stumble out of the corner, a little rattled by Fejona's quick attacks.

The Cambodian Femme Fatale had more of that in store, as she sommersaulted her way onto the top of the turnbuckle and leapt off, twisting in midair and catching Slapnutz with an excellent bulldog takedown! Suffice to say, Slapnutz's face had been crushed by the sheer force packed behind that snazzy move.

Fejona Min was far from finished, though. She really wanted to beat the crap out of Slapnutz. As long as whatever she dd resulted in an eventual victory, Fejona would be happy. So, she peeled herself off the canvas and ran towards the ropes. What did she do when she reached them? Well, Min didn't really reach them, so much as she springboarded off the top rope, and twisted backwards.

ASAI MOONSAULT. Yay! Oh, but there was *one* problem. The crafty Slapnutz, whilst still hurting, managed to roll out of the way. TMM clapped his hands and kissed his mop, for whatever reason. The referee, who was Mr Pablo Rogers, was close to administering a standing 10-count... but both Fejona and Slapnutz were able to make it back up to their feet. Slappy made the first move, bouncing himself off the ropes and flooring Fejona with a wicked shoulder barge.

Being outsized really does suck, eh? Of course, the Enchanting Delinquent was quick to react when Slapnutz shot himself into the ropes again and rolled onto her belly, forcing the former Asylum Tag Team Champion (two times, babeh!) to hop over Fejona. Once that was done, Fejona sprung up to her feet and spun around, swinging her right foot at Slapnutz's head, hoping that it would behead him.

Want to know what happen? Slapnutz caught Fejona's foot, ogled at the sight of Fejona's cunt (ahem), yanked her closer towards him, and eventually flattened the Rogue Slayer with a devastating overhead capture suplex! It was just a magnificent sight to behold, and Slapnutz himself looked surprised at what he had managed to pull out of his bag of tricks. TMM? Oh, he was dancing on the outside. That shows ya how happy he really is!

Anyways, Slappy quickly made the cover, carressing Fej's boobs as he did so;

ONE.

TWO.

THRE -- SO CLOSE!

Yes, that was a cool movie. But more importantly, it was an indication of Slappy coming within a whisker of winning. Fejona had gotten her shoulder off the canvas in the nick of time, though. So, meh, the match had to continue.

Slappy pulled Fejona up, a couple of ideas formulating in his head, and applied a front facelock. He followed up with a snap suplex, but kept the facelock cinched in and dragged himself (and Fejona) up back to a vertical base. Yeah, ol' Mr Nutz was going for the second suplex in a row... and he hit in! Was he going for the trifecta? The answer to that was... NO. Strange. Slapnutz climbed back to his feet and staggered over to the corner, with TMM questioning why Slapnutz on why he didn't go for the hattrick. Since, you know, anybody who's cool does that nowadays.

Simple. Slappy wanted to show off his fancy high-flying skills. What? He has none? Well, don't tell him that, 'kay? So, anyways, Slapnutz ascended to the top of the turnbuckle, raised his arms in the air for his adoring fans -- all 200 of them -- and proceeded to shock the entire watching world, as he went in search of a SHOOTING STAR PRESS.

And, you know what was even better? Slapnutz connected! Flashbulbs went off in the arena, and Fejona Min had been thoroughly flattened! TMM celebrated like he'd scored the winning goal in a Champions League game, watching as Slappy made the cover;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

...

...

... NOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Fejona Min had SOMEHOW kicked out, right at the last second. Almost everybody in the arena and all those watching at home couldn't believe their eyes, lest of all Slapnutz. The sexy Scotsman got to his feet and rubbed his head, wondering what he'd have to do to keep Fejona Min down. Then, he thought of something.

Hey! Slapnutz does SO have the capacity to think! At any event, Slapnutz pulled Fejona up and swung his right arm at her, eager to further bank on his current momentum. Fejona ducked the swing, however, and retaliated with a stinging overhand chop to the chest, before kicking out at Slapnutz's left thigh. Nutz winced, but suddenly found himself in a side headlock, of all things. 

Instantly, Slapnutz staggered back back into the ropes, dragging Fejona along with him. Following which, he wrapped his arms around Fejona's waist and with a mighty grunt, tossed Fejona out of the ring with a belly-to-back throwaway suplex. 

Only one problem; the Cambodian Femme Fatale somehow managed to land on the apron. Tricky bitch. 

Slapnutz stumbled back towards the middle of the ring, wiping the sweat off his head with his hand before he turned around. He knew better than anyone else that wasting precious seconds in a match was a big no-no, but the former 2-time Asylum Tag Team Champ was startled when Fejona used the ropes to catapault herself back into the ring.

Once again, landing on her feet. TMM was impressed, but Slappy wasn't. Or maybe he was, but he knew how to hide it. Anyways, Mr Nutz ducked the resulting clothesline attempt from Fejona and waited for the latter to come back off the ropes, scoring with a good ol'-fashioned hiptoss. 

Fejona forced herself up, and once again, found herself soaring back down courtesy of a hiptoss. 

Third time a charm? Fejona sure thought so, but it wasn't the case. This time, Slapnutz tried a little variation; spinning heel kick to the ribs followed by a snap suplex. Rolling over, Slapnutz quickly made the cover and Rogers counted; 

ONE. 

TWO. 

TH - NO! 

Wayyyy too early to be celebrating, don't you think? 

TMM pouted and shouted more encouraged to his partner, while Slapnutz dug his fingernails down into Fejona's lower neck, and used his free left hand to good effect, blasting away at his opponent's temple. Closed fist and all. Then, Slappy smiled as he pulled Fejona up and cracked her jaw with a vile right hand. 

And again. 

And again. 

And again. 

You get the idea by now, I hope. 

Fejona was reeling, and Slapnutz was having fun smacking the snot out of Fejona. Still, he didn't hit her all too hard, since he hoped she would agree to have sex with him later. Shrugging, Slapnutz returned his focus to the match and whipped Fejona into the ropes. Clothesline attempt? 

Yeah. But no luck connecting. Fejona ducked it, took herself into the parallel set of ropes, and hit Slapnutz with a dropkick to the left arm as the latter turned around, confuddled with how he'd missed a simple clothesline like that.

The result? 

Slapnutz fell to the canvas, clutching his left arm. Fejona grinned and kipped to her feet, knowing what she had to do now to turn the match in her favour. 

Slapnutz wisely tried to scramble out of the ring to regroup, but Fejona was quick to react, reaching down to catch Nutz by his ankles, pulling him back to the middle of the ring. Somehow, the Scotsman managed to squirm his left foot out of Fejona's grasp, but before he knew it, the back of his right thigh was lit on fire. 

Fejona had directed the stiffest of kicks to the old Achilles Heel of the Scotsman, and proceeded to stomp away viciously without any remorse whatsoever. Survial of the fittest, innit? All for the almighty tick in the W column, and to gain some much-needed vengeance.

The crowd? Most of them didn't quite enjoy this. 

Fejona wasn't paying the slightest of attention to them, however. It was a match she was in, and she was more focused on obtaining the victory. As such, she continued with the stomping, until she decided Slapnutz's right leg was weakened sufficiently enough for her to go ahead and try something really neat. 

Something like say, a standing triangle leglock? Yeah, that's the one. Slappy was in trouble now.

Oh, wait a second. Slapnutz suddenly reached out for Fejona's hair, and she being a woman, had long hair. Too bad for her, for she was suddenly trapped in a small package pin that Slapnatz had managed to manufacture out of nowhere! Nowhere! 

Pablo Rogers was on hand to count the cover;

ONE. 

TWO. 

THRE -- NOOOOOOO! 

That was close. Very close. 

Fejona knew it, and Slapnutz knew it. Both competitors climbed back to their vertical bases, and right off the bat, Fejona Min found herself poked in the ribs with a left-legged kick. And if that wasn't bad enough, Slappy soon lifted Fejona off the canvas, deciding to to pay tributes to the basics. With a gut-wrench suplex. 

Slapnutz then decided to improvise halfway, though, remembering when he he'd watched in some extremely peculiar porno a few nights ago. So, with a little bit of weight shifting, Slapnitz ended up planting Fejona with a DIAMOND CUTTER! The crowd were overawed by the snazzy-looking offensive move, and were even more elated when Slapnutz made the cover; 

ONE. 

TWO. 

THRE -- AHHH, FECK!

Once again, Fejona had defied the odds. Boooo.

Slapnutz stood to his feet and put his hands on his hips. He was sincerely confused. TMM shouted something in German to Slappy, and Nutz replied with, "I don't speak German anymore, you cunt!", which made TMM blush. Odd relationship, these two have. Anywho, Slapnutz was now wondering what the heck did he have to do.

As he began to reach down to grab Fejona, though, the Cambodian Femme Fatale raised her right leg and swung it upwards, catching Slappy in the jaw. Nutz staggered back just a step, which was enough for Fejona, as she kipped herself onto Slapnutz's shoulders and took him down with a stunning hurricarana, all in one fluid move! Absolutely breathtaking.

The desperate cover followed just two seconds later, and TMM's heart sank;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE~~!

And it was over! Slapnutz got his shoulder up, but it was just a half a second too late. "Lucky You" instantly started playing over the speakers, and Fejona Min rolled out of the ring, absolutely delirious with the victory. TMM slid in and tended to his fallen comrade, glaring at Fejona as he did so.

The Enchanting Delinquent simply laughed, having stolen a victory from out of nowhere with a really brilliant move. In the process, she'd gotten herself a bit of revenge... which was a good start, as far as she was concerned. Yes, just the start.

There was more to come, Fejona reassured herself. And that, friends, didn't bode well for Splink.

Winner > Fejona Min

G-Spot Episode II 

The screen faded in as “Ass & Titties” was in the midst of its raunchy lyrics, the fans mercilessly booing the owner of the music, Jamar Gordo. The ring was already set for his brainchild, the controversial G-Spot talk show, as he continued his arrogant stride down to the ring.

These fans didn’t hate him because he was the bad guy.

They hated Jamar because NONE of them could be him. They hated him because none of them had the power to snub thousands upon thousands of fans and get away with it. Jamar was convinced that they only hated what they could not attain….perfection.

A step between the ropes and Jamar was reunited with his set, comfortable in his home away from home as he seated himself behind his desk. His suit was impeccable, the light was right, and his body mic was ready….time to start the show!

“GOOD EVENING BITCHES, AND WELCOME TO THE G-SPOT….THE ONLY show where three-fourths of you can’t understand the name…because you’ve never hit one!! HA, I kill me!”

“GORDO SUCKS~! GORDO SUCKS~! GORDO SUCKS~! GORDO SUCKS~!”

He simply took the insults in stride, leaning back comfortably in his chair patiently. As expected, the chants finally died down long enough for Jamar to continue his show. “Well, it seems as if Kelly Flawless has chosen to ACCEPT the challenge laid down to him. That’s right, my personal challenge to find out who the TRUE FINE MOTHERFUCKER of ACW is! So after tonight, all you human stains can quit hating, because Jamar Gordo will be declared the sexiest of them all in ACW! ME,” arrogantly stated the Master of All Styles as the fans booed that possible scenario, many minds agreed in unison that Gordo deserved to be bested by Flawless.

“Ya see, Flawless just doesn’t know when he’s met someone better than him. My guest tonight is in that situation as well and that’s how I knew he was PERFECT for this edition of the G-Spot,” declared Jamar as the fans looked immediately to the entryway, knowing to expect someone to walk through the curtain in a matter of time.

“My guest at this time on the G-Spot….SEYMOUR ALMASY~!”

"Fight With Seymour" by The Black Mages played, as the ACW newcomer walked down the aisle, met with a mix of cheers and apathy. He looked up at Gordo's set, and began to regret doing this. Jamar Gordo was many things, and even Seymour could see that first and foremost among those things was a wiseass.

Still, he stepped into the ring, determined to give as good as he got.

Jamar waved a hand to his fine Gucci chairs, the set of 4 probably more costly than the ring, as Seymour took the seat closest to Jamar’s desk. That familiar Cheshire grin took the face of the God Of Gucci as the music died down, eager to get the ball rolling on the interview.

“So Seymour, I notice you and Kasper Sky have been locked in a pretty brutal battle of wills as of late in ACW with not a single decisive winner. Now I gotta ask ya, Sky has got to be a itch on your ass as of late, right or wrong?”

Almasy nodded. Easy enough first question, something he could answer.

"Well," he began, "I guess you could say that. I show up here looking for a technical matchup with the guy, and he starts throwing fists and hitting me with steel chairs. If he wants to play that game, that's fine with me. I'm a wrestler. I'm not going to let him distract me with his crap. Fighting out of the ring is like arguing about looks. Pointless."

A slight buzz came over the crowd, a noticeable twitch showing up on Jamar’s face as he looked back to Almasy.

“Pointless Seymour? I’d hardly call the rights to the FINEST MOTHERFUCKER IN ACW, pointless. Why? Cause just like your situation, it’s a matter of disrespect. The difference between how you handle your situation and how I handle mine is that I can best Flawless on BOTH turfs. I certainly hope the punk answer you gave doesn’t mean that you can’t handle Sky if by some chance, it gets hardcore.”

The retort was put as straight as possible, Jamar verbally lashing back at what he sensed was a knock against his basis for his war with Flawless. He would not let his issues be written off as trivial.

Almasy frowned. People were always like this. Thinking that they were hot shit because of how good they looked, how much money they had. He sighed, and thought of the best way to respond.

"Shit, Gordo...I'm not out here to wave my dick around like you and Flawless do. That's not the way I handle my business...and regardless of what I think of Sky as a person, he doesn't do it either. Our battle is a professional one, that's become personal. You and Flawless have a personal battle that's become professional. I don't know about you, but I'm a pro wrestler because I like to wrestle."

"Well time for you to wake up Almasy. I don't give a damn where you come from, with your little punk-ass aluminum coated titles...you must think you're in another place. Regardless of whether you wrestle for money, pride, or whatever else; it's bound to get dirtier then then a mud fight in the Everglades when you're HERE in ACW. Don't like it? Take your ass back to the fantasy world you at one point claimed to be from,” retorted Jamar with a “kind” point to the entrance ramp to signify Seymour’s exit if he chose to take it. The fans grew ever enthralled as the personal problems of two men, grew to personal problems with each other.

The G-Spot was quite the meeting ground indeed.

“You and I are nothing alike, but I know we’re BOTH about success. Fact is, you don’t want to succeed because you won’t do what it takes. Nobodies here to “wrestle” you Almasy, destroy you is more like it. Get that through your skull quick before you become a victim of the mentality.”

Seymour laughed. Flat out laughed in Gordo's face. It came across a lot more rudely than he had intended, but fuck, he had something to say. He stood up in the chair, looking down at the arrogant, well-dressed man in his chair.

"Destroy me? These people don't even know who the fuck I am! You don't want to destroy Flawless, don't give me THAT crap. You want to win. You want to be the best. But destruction? You wouldn't want to get your pretty little shoes bloodied. Because, no matter how tough you want to come across...you think things through. You're a businessman, you analyze a situation and attack. All this shit with Flawless is mind games, on both sides. Just like what Sky's doing with me. Victim of the mentality? Gordo, that would be YOU."

A fight to Jamar was like a beautiful woman with her legs spread….he’d never pass up the opportunity. Rising calmly from his chair, he looked the slightly shorter Almasy in the eye as he fixed the collar on his suit.

“Obviously you’re not one for Q&A…so how about some sudden death? You got a problem with me Almasy? Then move something? And you don’t have to worry about me staining my shoes or suit, you’ll be dropped before the blood ever touches them. So tell me, in the mood to stare at ring lights?”

Well nobody could ever say that Gordo wasn’t interactive with his guests, not by any means.

The crowd rose. Finally, Seymour seemingly had people behind him. He decided to press the opportunity, smiling at the Master of All Styles.

"So, the Erratica master wants a go? Come on, I'm right here. You've been in a movie that bombed worse than Final Fantasy: The Spirits Within AND Garfield combined, and have lost to a superhero and a James Bond ripoff, how hard can this be?!"

"...Harder than getting a legitimate victory over me?"

More jeers from the crowd. Kasper Sky had made his way out to the aisleway. Almasy's head swung to face Sky, while keeping one eye on the treacherous Gordo in the ring.

"I can't imagine that's too difficult," Almasy retorted, someone sarcastically. "We'd know if someone didn't hit me in the head with a chair last week."

Kasper didn't respond, but instead seemed intent on proving the Final Fantasy wrong, as he advanced towards the ring. Jamar Gordo's eyes went wide, shaking his head back and forth.

"Come on guys, not here. Please, not here..."

The Master of All Styles saw his beloved set in danger. He continued shaking his head, as Sky entered the ring, and threw the first punch.

Seymour responded in kind.

Gordo grimaced. Almasy picked up a chair and hit Kasper Sky in the back.

Sky went down.

Gordo was sad.

"Hey, you little shit, that chair cost more than you do!"

Several stomps later, the invasion of Kasper Sky had been repelled. That is, until he got back in the ring and ambushed Almasy with a dive off of Gordo's desk.

The fans howled at Gordo's discomfort, as Sky tackled Almasy back into the desk. Something had to be done, Jamar realized, before his precious G-Spot set was reduced to very expensive rubble.

"Stop that," he called, eyes flashing with anger. "You want to fight, fine. Next week, I'll team with the video game asshole. Sky, you team with Flawless. We're going to settle this shit in a way that WON'T ruin my set."

Sky and Almasy stopped their brawl. This was acceptable to both, if somewhat odd to Seymour. Kasper gave an arrogant grin to Almasy (and one final hard right hand), before leaving the ring.

Seymour blinked twice, before getting up, and looking Gordo dead in the eyes. He had but one question for the Erratica master.

"Why the hell'd you want to team with me?"

Gordo's answer was characteristically flippant and backhanded.

"Because, kid, you showed some guts going word for word with me. Not that you would have had a chance...but I admire your spunk."

Wordlessly, Almasy rose, and left the ring.

He thought that he deserved a little bit more than being called spunky, but Gordo as a partner would do.

Anything would do, so long as it meant he got at Kasper Sky.

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 looking like only he could look. Decked in his trademark Armani suits and Gucci sunglasses, the World Champion had something to say. The fans let Vince have it with the loudest boos of the night. They HATED their 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 twice defended, ACW World Heavyweight Title high for the fans to see. Jenna McMullen was waiting in the ring wearing a short skirt and a very low cut blouse showing off a lot of cleavage. She was given the opportunity to interview the champ and she was excited. How could you not get excited about SVJ, dammit look at him. He’s a GOD!! He walked up the stairs and climbed slowly into the ring making everyone in the arena waited patiently on the champ. Jacobs stood in the ring and looked around at the crowd before adjusting the title on his shoulder as he stood next to Jenna with a sly smirk on his face. Vince was handed a mic from the announcer as he was set for his interview.

“What’s up baby? Are you all flustered to be standing next to the champ?” Vince asked Jenna who smiled at Vince before moving the mic to her lips.

“I am a little excited to be the first interviewer to have been giving the privileged to interview the new champ. But I have to be professional no matter how sexy I find you.” Jenna said with a smirk

Vince smiled. “All these women find me sexy Jenna. It’s not just you. I am what all these fat pieces of garbage men aspire to be like. I am a triple threat in this sport. I am sexy (woman in the arena cheered as Jenna clapped), I am rich, and I am the BEST wrestler in the World today. And this title here proves that.” Vince raised the title high in the air as the jeers erupted from the fans.

“Well Vince I wanted to ask you about your actions this past week. You defended your title against the former champ, Alias. But you intentionally disqualified yourself to keep your title, why?” Jenna said as she looked around and heard the fans starting to chant Alias’ name.

That disgusted Vince. We all know the disdain these two men have for each other and these fans knew it. “Last week was a little statement to Laguna. See SVJ was forced into the match with Chris last week and the champ will not be forced into ANYTHING he doesn’t want to do. That match should have never taken place because I specifically said that Chris would never get another title shot as long as I was champion.” Vince adjusted the title on his shoulder. “So I gave him the win but look who still has the title.”

Jenna winked at Vince. “Now there has been some talk in the back that Laguna has something big planned for you at Relentless regarding the World Title. I am not sure what it is but the rumors say it is pretty big. Are you worried?”

“It’s funny, I heard the same thing. I think Laguna is trying to show people he has some balls by trying to control SVJ because he can’t control Pandora. He needs to worry about what those four fucks are doing to his company then worrying about the man that is shooting up his ratings and buy rates. Hell if I didn’t take the title off of Chris when I did then we would have kept plummeting in the ratings because Chris has the charisma of a wet sponge. So once again SVJ is called upon to save a federation from the brink of disaster, like I did with CWL and hWo.” Vince pulled the mic from his lips and smirked.

“Vince you said a few weeks ago you were a fighting champion, but you are not defending your title tonight, why is that?” Jenna asked looking a Vince with an innocent look on her face.

Vince pointed to his clothes. “Does it look like I came here to wrestle tonight? I am protesting right now. Last week I was treated unfairly and tonight I am protesting. So that means no Vince Jacobs in the ring showing some punk kid the ropes on becoming a legend. No SVJ in the ring getting all hot and sweaty for these ladies in the arena. (Women cheered again) And no SVJ defending this (pats the title belt on his shoulder) twenty pounds of gold. I am going to nearest club and party. You wanna come [that’s’ right people play on words]…… Jenna.” Vince said with a smirk

Jenna started to fan herself as she smiled seductively toward Vince before placing the mic back toward her soft lips. “Sure I don’t mind coming. But before that takes place I wanted to ask one more question. I am aware of the rivalry you two have had for a long time. You guys have known each other for more than ten years. Is there a chance that you two guys will end this rivalry and become friends again?”

The fans waited to see what Vince’s answer was going to be to that question. This was something nobody ever asked him and the fans knew this question didn’t come from Jenna’s brain.

Vince stroked his goatee as he paced around the ring trying to figure out the right way to answer this question. “This is not an easy question to answer. People don’t realize how close Chris and I used to be before all of this shit happened. We were running buddies. I took him under my wing when we first entered ACW. We formed an indestructible bond that I thought could not be broken. But greed and deception destroyed it. Could we ever be friends again? I can’t answer that. But I will say one thing though, trust is out the window. I know I can’t trust him and he definitely knows he can’t trust me.”

Vince smirked at Jenna. “Let’s go have some fun baby.”

Jacobs and Jenna dropped their mics and headed out the ring. Vince held the ropes open for the lovely young lady. He got a nice bird’s eye view of the thong she was wearing under that short skirt. She smiled knowing SVJ was watching as the fans erupted. Vince climbed out of the ring and raised the title high in the air once more before leading Jenna to the backstage area arm and arm.

It’s good to be a ‘Superstar’.

He was told to stay away, that much was for certain.

But, you have to remember one main thing when we talk about...him.

He doesn't listen to anybody.

He did however, have a message for one man in the arena tonight...

You'll see.

Trust me.

The Normans Vs Fall Of Adam

Sometimes, you got to watch your mouth, and what you say, because, you never know what lies behind door number one. Example The Norman Brothers, there attention was of games, to play with Fall Of Adam…

But,

They didn’t have a clue, that tonight they also had a match with Fall Of Adam. Again, The Normans had gotten themselves into trouble again. Cocky as they are, it looked to be a slim chance of victory for them in the end.

Stand Up And Praise US!

“Radio Edit” By Sweatshop Union started up in the arena, as the fans got to there feet, but instead of cheering unleashed heavy boos towards The Norman.

Donavon stepped out first, with his hands out, and his head tilted up as he took in the fantastic moment. Trevor was not far behind, as he made his way out behind his Brother. They stopped half way between the ring, and the entrance to endure the moment.

What they didn’t know, was Gacy and Oswald didn’t want to wait for there entrance, as they came out quickly and stood right behind The Norman Brothers. The Fans reaction turned a bit, as The Normans looked a bit confused.

“There Cheering?”

“That’s not right, not right at all.”

The Normans could feeling the hair on there necks go up, as they made a dash for the ring. They quickly slide into the ring, and turned around to see Gacy and Oswald approaching the ring. Both Normans got into a fighting stance, as Fall Of Adam entered the ring.

Donavon grabbed onto the ref, and pushed him right into fall of Adam; Gacy caught the ref, and just threw him outside of the ring.

Trevor looked at Donavon and then charged at Oswald, only to meet a belly to belly suplex. Gacy started to walk towards Donavon, as he jumped out of the ring, and kept a distance from Fall Of Adam.

Gacy turned his attention away from Donavon, as Him and Oswald began double teaming Trevor in the ring. Oswald whipped Trevor right into Gacy, only to meet a powerful clothesline, knocking him right down. Oswald walked over and picked Trevor up by his hair, and brought him to his feet.

Gacy grabbed on to Trevor and hit a hanging suplex, and following it Oswald came down with an Elbow.

Donavon watched on from the outside as he grabbed a chair, and slide into the ring.

CRACK

Gacy stumbled forward just a bit, but then turned around and looked right at Donavon.

Donavon dropped the chair, and looked right at Gacy. Gacy charged at Donavon, but only met air, as Donavon leaped over the top rope, and booked it off into the crowd. Gacy just watched the coward run for his life.

While Oswald picked up the chair, and waited for Trevor to stand up on his feet.

Trevor got up slowly, and had no clue with what was about to happen. Oswald swung the chair, connecting right with the face of Trevor.

Trevor head shot back, and his whole body went limp, as he crumbled to the canvas floor. Oswald dropped the chair, and looked at his down victim.

Oswald picked Trevor up, and ended the night for Trevor with…

Fait Accompli

Trevor was done, as Oswald stood over the body of Trevor. Gacy tapped Oswald on the shoulder, as they left the ring, and head threw the crowd, after Donavon.

Winner > No Contest

Run Bitch, Run Bitch, Run!!!!! That is all Robert thought as he ran from his past he had to know that some how , some way, some time it would catch up to him and that time happened to be now in ACW. As he was in the fight clubs he was safe , as he was in the Indy feds with no TV. deals he was safe. He was running from a psychotic lady who just can not take no for an answer. She is 5 years younger then him yes you heard me right 4 years younger so she is only 18. She saw Robert on Courage last week even after all the changes he did there was one thing he could no hide his tattoos. She would know them anywhere’s she gave him one when he was knocked out after all. The tattoo I am revering to is the heart on his stomach with Christa in the middle. He keeps it there to remind him to run from this bitch to never look back , but to run , but he made one fatal mistake and it is too late now to turn back. 

Robert was seen in backstage walking back to his locker room from a soda machine. He had on his trade mark Now is my time t. shirt. He looked around because he could feel something just wasn’t right. He couldn’t put his finger on it ,but he just knew something was not right at all. He has been seeing her all week, but it couldn’t be he had to be seeing things. There is no way she could have found him. He opened the livewire and he put it to his mouth as he was drinking he heard the words that would forever change his life. 

“Oh Jimmy , Jimmy I knew it was you” ,Yelled a women who had tears running down her face from joy. She was about 115 lbs , maybe 5’3 if she was lucky. She was wearing a black broom length skirt with a blue turtleneck and had really curly hair that looked like a puddle. She looked innocent enough as she pushed her glasses back up on her nose. 

“Jimmy?” Robert said as he looked back knowing only one person called him by his middle name all his life. He looked back knowing Christa Thomas was there and the look on his eyes was as if he was seeing a ghost 

“You can’t hide for ever you are mine again. If you don’t do what I say I will let the cat out of the bag. You do remember what that secret is don’t you? 

“Yes, Robert “ says as he looks down at the floor and agrees to do what ever she wants. 

“ You will have my kids Robert , I love you so much” Says Christa Thomas as she removes her turtleneck to reveal a matching shirt to the one Robert is wearing. 

“ Ummm , still the obsessive one isn’t you?” Robert cracked a smart remark remember it might be his last one in awhile he is now under the control of Christa Thomas and that isn’t a good thing:). 

The scene faded back to ring side as the stalker Christa Thomas got what she wanted a French kiss from Robert as he looked to be grossed out by it like a little boy getting his first kiss in first grade. 

I'm Challenging You Now.

"Thank you." Azrael Asesino said to the vendor, as he collected his hot-dog.

One which had extra mustard on it, and tons of diced onions as the preferred topping. Turning to walk away, Azrael took a huge chomp out of his hot-dog, smiling to himself as he savoured the taste. With that, Azrael savoured the carefree feeling of the night that he had been experiencing. The one and only Scorpion Fighting Champion had not been booked to compete.

And thus, Azrael took the liberty of watching COURAGE~! unfold like a fan; dressed casually in a white sleeveless t-shirt and a pair of black denims with black boots, Asesino had spent the entire night just bumming around. Talking to a few fans now and then was a pleasure for Azrael, but for the better part of the night, Azrael kept to himself, thinking about things and all that goodness.

To be quite specific, Azrael was pondering over his ACW career to date. Especially the saga with El Gato Negro, with whom he had quite the rivalry with from late June onwards. It was supposed to culminate at the KING OF AGES 2004 extravaganza in front of the watching world, but transportation problems prevented that from happening.

... Not that it deterred Azrael and EGN from settling their business. Yes, there was an untold story there, which involved Azrael's now FORMER manager, Torres. And ever since the mayhem of August 21, Azrael's professional life has been caught in somewhat of a whirlwind.

Especially when the title you're holding isn't getting much air-time due to extuanting circumstances. Azrael shook his head and sighed as he looked down at his hot-dog; both of his title defenses so far had been unaired to the masses watching at home, and Asesino felt disgusted by the lack of respect he was getting.

Which was suddenly compounded, as he took another giant bite of his hot-dog, by the appearance of one foxy vixen. Azrael spotted her approaching him from the corner of his right eye, and slowly turned around to get a better, clearer look of her.

He had indeed heard of this enchanting delinquent over the last few weeks, and had just watched her in action, actually. Therefore, Asesino was quite surprised, naturally, when FEJONA MIN decided to pay him a social visit. Oh, if only he knew what went on in Fejona's devious mind.

"Hello, Azrael. You're looking... good." Fejona announced as she stopped in front of Azrael and folded her arms.

Raising an eyebrow, Asesino wiped his mouth clean with his free hand. "Yeah. You too. I mean, in terms of what you accomplished in the ring just a few minutes ago. I have to admit, you're a firecracker in the squared circle. From one humble competitor to another, I must say I respect what you bring to the table."

"I'm flattered, Azrael. Really." Fejona swiftly replied, just as a wry smile formed on her face. "But I didn't come here to talk to you about my abilities. I came here to talk to you... about you. Us, actually. See, I've been doing some thinking.

And I've come to one conclusion -- ever since you've won that Scorpion Fighting Title, you really haven't brought to it any real valour. I feel strongly about it, for two main reasons; you beat my best friend slash associate to win that title in the first place, and that title embodies the raw fighting spirit inherent in all of us.

You, Azrael, don't seem to personify what the Scorpion Fighting Title stands for. I mean, management clearly feels the same way. Otherwise, both of your title defenses wouldn't have ended up being un-telecasted, now would they? That's their way of saying you're a joke, Azrael.

For somebody who was backed to challenge for the title, that's quite a slap in the face, huh?"

Azrael frowned. He knew Fejona was bad news, considering what he'd heard before and her association with the woman he'd defeated to win the Scorpion Fighting Title -- Natalie had been a real bitch during that match -- but he hadn't expected Fejona to come firing out at him just like that.

Obviously, someone doesn't know the Cambodian Femme Fatale all that well. Dude could have at least watched the shows to get an idea of what Fejona Min was all about, innit? Nonetheless, Min was standing there, as arrogant as humanly possible. She had already targetted Azrael Asesino as her next target, due to the hunk of tin on his shoulder.

Now, she awaited his response. Didn't have to wait long, Azrael was all riled up now. "Yes, well... I don't really recall you doing anything groundbreaking as of late, Fejona. Apart from your victory over a tag team competitor just a few minutes ago, you haven't exactly been a house of fire.

Quite a shame for someone who has that much potential. I guess we're in the same boat, eh? Two fierce competitors, underperforming on the biggest stage of all. Heh, at least I've got a title to my name, Fejona."

Ooooh, what an acid tongue. Azrael wasn't going to just stand there and take crap from the Rogue Slayer. He wasn't in the best of moods to begin with, and now Fejona had to go & make it worse.

Of course, the Cambodian Femme Fatale didn't really feel the sting. Mainly because she knew better, AND she had a witty retort alll lined up. Like I said, devious vixen with grand plans of attaining superstardom in a big way; woman's obviously got an heightened sense of thinking.

"Is that the best you've got, Azrael? That's quite pathetic. Almost as pathetic as how you barely managed to squeak out wins in your title defense, against Leonardo and Josh Cantrell. But not as retarded as how that title's collecting dust whilst it's on your shoulder. I'm surprised you don't already feel the heat!" Fejona fired back, eyes dancing with delight.

Azrael? He took that personally. Oh, yes, you'd better believe he did. "Said the woman who has only ever won two matches inside a wrestling ring. Yes, that makes you qualified to judge me and my abilities inside that ring. And for your information; yes, I feel the heat. I'm not an idiot.

Just a bit difficult to go out and be a fighting champion when people don't challenge, you know? Perhaps they are smart, like that. Because, last week, I came close to crippling Cantrell & I wasn't -- admittedly -- in top-drawer form, Fejona."

Ahhhh, that's when Fejona's cooky smirk widened. Yes, indeed.

Why? Well, Azrael had just said the magic words. And now, Fejona was going to close the deal. Flicking strands of her ethereal and damp (she just finished a match, folks!) hair out of her eyes, Min inched closer to Azrael and made that innocent look with her eyes. You know, the one all women are capable of making. Yeah, that's the one.

"Well, then, cowboy. I'm challenging you now. You and me, at the next PPV. For that Scorpion Fighting trinket of yours. And just a word of warning; with me, you better HOPE you get the job done and cripple me, okay?" Fejona taunted, not having a single ounce of fright in her body.

Azrael? He simply sniggered and nodded his head, thereby accepting. With a final bite of his hot-dog, Asesino turned and walked away, not wanting to stick around any longer. Good thing; two more minutes with Fejona would have made him puke. As it was, he'd now gotten himself into a title defense at the upcoming RELENTESS PPV.

And as Fejona Min too turned and left (only in the opposite direction!), extreme confidence flowed through her veins. The showdown with Slapnutz just a while earlier? It revitalised the Cambodian Femme Fatale. Fejona now believed that she'd gained her edge back, & was more than ready to put herself to the test. One she needed to pass, really fucking desperately.

But with Fejona Min, there's no room for underestimating. None at all.

We were so close, but still no luck

“Grumble, Grumble.”

Trevor mumbled to himself as he lay flat out on the concrete floor.

His head was pounding a mile a second, from that chair shot he had received from Gacy, and plus the Fait Accompli from Oswald.

There was still no sight of Donavon though, who had left Trevor during the end. A Coward maybe…..actually no maybe.

Thud

Thud 

Thud

The sounds of footsteps echoed outside the lockeroom door, as Trevor could hear they heavy breathing.

The door swung open, and Donavon stepped in and quickly locked the door behind him.

“Holy shit man; those two were complete nut cases in that ring.”

Donavon took a seat, trying to catch his breath, as he looked over at his younger brother.

“Why did you run off?”

“Man you see there eyes, that was some fucked up stuff.”

“So you leave me out there, by myself.”

“You’re a big boy, you could handle them, plus I was feeling a bit sick you know. Didn’t want to vomit in front of everybody and make a fool of myself.”

“Whatever Don.”

“Serious.”

“Let just go to a club, and drink away what had happen here tonight.” Donavon got up and walked over to try and help Trevor back to his feet.

“You’re buying, though.”

Trevor threw his arm around Donavon shoulder, as Donavon helped Trevor out of the locker room.

The night was over for them, but something was telling me, that next week, they would get another taste of Fall Of Adam.

The Bout of Champions
Gods Forgotten Son Vs. Quinton May

To the man known as Quinton Lindsay May, when he arrived on this night inside the Calihan Hall in his current residence of Detroit, Michigan... would he realize that his journey against all comers would be more like a déjà vu nightmare? For the second time in recent history; May would step into the squared circle with an individual he was unable to defeat as of yet.

In the world according to ACW, Quinton knew the ins and outs of the business at hand, becoming Laguna’s go to guy...beating whoever was placed in his path, because that’s what a company man does.

But when does it become too much and you just have to say to yourself, enough is enough. For the twenty-three year old Quinton, he never knew such a term -- that’s why he gladly decided to take on this mammoth challenge. Not just to please his fellow Detroit natives but to feel a sense of achievement; more importantly, defeat GFS for the United States championship.

That’s right folks, the conscience-less God’s Forgotten Son verses the incomparable Quinton May.

2 tough competitors.

2 championships on the line.

1 ultimate winner.

The fans cheered with a deafening eruption at the sound-byte from Angel Season 2, before "Make A Move" by Lostprophets began blaring over the speakers. 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 appearing before their very eyes. 32 seconds into the song, red and white pyrotechnics lit up the arena.

KA - BOOOOM!

And there he was, brushing past the curtains. Quinton May, In living freaking colour. With his good friend, Rickino Martino, by his side. Ready to help fight the good fight.

Quincy, decked out in a pair of blue jeans with black boots and ACW Television title slung over his right shoulder, slowly made his way down the aisle, as he had a bit of a limp in his step after the exertions of late over in tSC (King of the Indies, the war with Mike Randalls... shouldn't even be competing tonight!)

Taking his time while Quinton moved up the steel steps, the young superstar had to prepare himself for the impending war, because his opponent was no slouch. And definitely not a walkover. Least of all, someone who was still fucking undefeated.

Quincy Mama would need to give it all he had, if wanted to walk out of Detroit a championship richer. Or he might not walk out with anything golden in his possession, similar to when was robbed at the KING OF AGES PPV. And if his opponent had anything to do with it, that was exactly what would happen.

Without further ado, I present -- 'You Know You're Right' by Nirvana. One of the greatest bands ever... but I digress, ahem.

The arena was plunged into darkness immediately, and mass screams of hysteria erupted. The dark represents the unknown, and God's Forgotten Son was exactly that; a complete unknown in the circuit. Well, until his huge victory at the KOA, of course. Anyways, even his ring entrance seemed mysterious, since the stage was devoid of any life form whatsoever, besides the three simple initials of his name that appeared in bold, white and Old English text.

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

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

May’s aide for ACW, Rickino Martino, watched on frightened as he kept a close eye on both men; who were bigger than Quinton, which was unfortunate if Rickino's assistance was needed.

Slowly removing his jacket hoodie, GFS let it drop to the floor as the lights finally came back on, and he raised a single first in the air, while keeping his eyes transfixed on the mat. The United States Title -- covered in splashes of blood --gleamed remarkably around the champ’s waist. Intensely focused would be only mildly describing GFS's mindset.

Once his theme music faded out, though, the man who could cement his place in ACW with a second win over May, looked up at the crowd with those dead eyes of his and shook his head.

ACW’s newest referee Rex Blankford, a put-together athlete in his own right, raised both championships into the sky that resulted in more anticipation from the Detroit crowd. They wanted their quasi-hometown boy Quinton to win it all, as the live audience began to chant his name.

But it would be extremely tough to achieve that. Anyways, Rex placed the titles on the outside, before the time keeper’s bell chimed and we were underway with the Main Event.

* DING DING DING *

Suddenly both men began to circle one another in the center of the ring, each superstar had his own game plan to be the aggressor in this contest. But whose strategy would reign supreme? The collar and elbow tie sparked an additional roar from the crowd, until Quinton released the basic feel out maneuver to double leg takedown GFS into mounted punches.

Surprising yet effective, however did not last long as the powerful enigma pushed Quincy away. Feeling he was being attacked from all sides, Quinton continued to hammer GFS with sharp jabs, shooting the troubled youngster across the ring.

May leapt forward, hoping to unleash an unforgiving flying elbow smash but GFS telegraphed it by ducking underneath to dash toward the other side of ring. While the current US champ returned back to the center as Quinton turned around, GFS attempted to knock May’s head off with a Leg Lariat but Quincy took to the canvas via rolling duck.

And where it would appear that God’s Forgotten Son would crash into the rough mat, he amazing astonished everyone watching as he landed on his feet, only to be grounded by a fierce spear.

The two-time Television and Scorpion champion went back to working over a possible weak spot in his opponent’s neck region, stomping it ferociously and then decided to use the point of his elbow. Quinton rolled GFS onto his back as Rex rolled in position, but the forgotten one escaped at the count of one.

Lifting his adversary to his knees, May drove a hard left knee in GFS’s chest, prior to a side rear naked choke that was applied. It was no shocker that Quincy was controlling the contest, wrenching God’s Forgotten Son’s throat.

But the thing about individuals who are focused on capturing what they desire, they’ll do whatever it takes. As would God’s Forgotten Son; he slid over a little bit behind Quinton’s backside to kick the latter in the right kneecap cruelly. Falling forward, May put his hands down to regain his balance after his knee just buckled. However while this was happening, GFS was rocketing off of the parallel to ram his muscular shoulder blade through what was left of May’s right leg.

Quite sickening, how fast the tide changes in a matter of seconds.

While Quinton suffered in excruciating pain, GFS rose slowly to his feet as Mr. Wallace nodded, seemingly enjoying the pain that the Detroit native felt. God’s Forgotten Son grabbed Quincy Mama’s ankle, arching the right leg at a sixty degree angle, before the US champ stomped the shit of May’s quadriceps.

Following the ground base attack; GFS tied his legs together for a grapevine around the kneecap he targeted, adding more damage every time his weight crashed onto Quinton’s limb.

Trying to be a tough guy as he masked the pain, from the ground May punched his adversary in jaw, which set up a more-than- volatile kick to the forehead that released God’s Forgotten Son’s hold.

Hobbling to a vertical base, May noticed the challenger for his strap started to get back to his feet; so Quinton May took a page from GFS’s playbook…and a spinning neckbreaker later, May was back in control. Pulling the undefeated competitor upward and back downward with a snap mare; Quincy Mama delighted his fans with a one legged dropkick to the God’s Forgotten Son’s skull.

Was Rex Blankford ready to dive on the canvas and start counting? Wellllll, he had better as Quinton pinned his tough opposition to the mat;

ONE.

TWO.

KICKOUT.

That was all GFS allowed, escaping and quickly trying to get back to a vertical vase as May pummeled away. The former clutched the aforementioned forgotten son by the wrist, he tried to shoot GFS across the ring but Quinton was reversed mid ring. Upon kind of limping forward, Quinton was taken off of his feet with his own maneuver no less; EYE OF THE STORM which really pissed off the Calihan Hall inhabitants.

While GFS continued to put the pressure on the damaged knee cap, May remarkably escaped his own because well, it’s his move and after pushing himself back through GFS’s legs... Quincy balanced all his weight as he did a handstand, where he kicked God’s Forgotten Son in the chin.

Slightly stunned, GFS charged toward Quinton but was rocked backwards with a European Uppercut; followed by a single leg takedown into a pinning predicament. All it took was two seconds before the intensely focused GFS got his right shoulder up, as Quinton stomped away on his upper body…before pulling the aforementioned up into a spike DDT.

Refusing this time to go for the cover; Quincy shot GFS across the ring, which was reversed as the latter followed Quinton into the corner. May used the top rope as he soared over God’s Forgotten Son, who looked like he was about to hit the turnbuckle with great velocity.

Instead he leapt right onto the top rope from the canvas which surprised everyone watching at home. Especially our beloved Quincy Mama, turning around in shock as GFS flew through the & took Quinton down with a modified bulldog like clothesline.

Both superstars were not down long, simultaneously they kipped up to their feet as both smirked to themselves. God’s Forgotten Son pointed to the ropes as May obliged, seconds later May even with the limp in his step, took off toward the parallel but could not take down GFS with a shoulder block.

So what did little Quincy Mama do? He chopped GFS in the chest, making his larger adversary retreat with a mixture of backhand and open hand chops. Well done, Quincy... well done, as the fans roared their approval.

However, the celebration would not last long as the resourceful God’s Forgotten Son unleashed a brutal martial arts side kick to Quinton’s right calf. Holding his leg, Quincy couldn’t block the Dropsault that GFS pulling out of nowhere. Once again, the silent and brooding youngster was in control as he focused his attention on the right leg.

Stomp, stomp, stompity, stomp and stomp went GFS, who practically danced on May’s injured leg. While grounded, God’s Forgotten Son synched in an inverted Indian Death Lock, which could spell the end as Blankford checked on the ACW hero.

“Do you want to give up, May?” Rex asked the current Television champion, who denied the referee’s request. But deep in his inner thoughts, Quinton wouldn’t mind tapping out because this submission really fecking hurt. Although there would be no way in hell Quincy would let go of his prized possession, and that when Quinton started his slowly comeback.

I AM QUINTON’S HEROIC HEART. RUAGHHHH!

Using both of his arms to push himself off of the canvas; Quincy diverted some of the pressure off of his knees. In the background, May could hear all his Michigan locals encouraging their champion to fight on; trying to turn GFS over to reverse the anguish he felt.

Swaying side to side, Quinton was finally able to overturn the Indian Death Lock; but God’s Forgotten Son released the hold, scurrying to his feet. Bouncing into the parallel ropes, the virtual unknown tried to level Quinton with a hooking clothesline, but the latter ducked and dropped GFS with a Shinning Enzurguri.

Staggering on his feet, the Forgotten Son couldn’t prevent May from locking GFS with a tight full nelson and the cheers began everyone knew what was coming next. URBANE REPEALMENT! Rex slid into position while his hand was hitting the canvas;

ONE.

TWO.

THR -- NOPE!

Amazingly, GFS got the left shoulder up to the disappointed of Quinton and his followers. Pulling his opponent onto his feet by the use of the hair, Quincy Mama whipped GFS into the corner, and rocked the stone face challenger with a hard-nosed leg lariat.

Landing on his on both feet simultaneously, the confident May swaggered back toward the center of the ring, but his self-assured posture knew this match was far away from being over. God’s Forgotten Son absorbed the punishment and came roaring out of the corner, looking to whoop some arse.

This was not looking good as Quinton leapt into the air to dodge GFS’s spear; then the scenery turned horrific as the US champion spun around on his knees, clipping Quincy Mama’s kneecap. The crowd began to boo, they did not like how this was turning out, and God’s Forgotten Son was a man incensed. Dragging May toward the ropes to spring board elbow drop onto Quincy Mama’s right leg several times.

Without the full use of his limbs to move out of the way, the M15 Survivor could not avoid the running Shooting Star Press from GFS. Did I forget to mention that Mr. Wallace’s leader landed on Quincy’s damaged leg, which made the Canadian Gladiator scream in pain like a girl who'd just gotten poked in the behind for the first time?

Silly, silly me. Anyways, God’s Forgotten Son rose to a vertical base, instantly heading back to the canvas in the form knee drop to May’s right leg. A pin-fall was the only smart secondary thing to do;

ONE.

TWO.

THR -- NUH UH, SUCKAS!

Quinton escaped just in time as the Calihan Arena let out a sigh of relief. Come on, all together now. Whew, that was close. Back to the action in the ring, GFS lifted the full time tSC competitor up; dropping him back to earth with a nasty shin breaker.. .but before the Castaway took a back bump to the mat, God’s Forgotten Son yanked the leg, which had dangerous effects.

What was Quinton going to do now as he being dissected by his merciless foe? Could Quincy Mama turn the tide and win the United States Championship? COULD HE?!

The fans thought so, their cheers did not stop. They stomped their feet and clapped their grubby hands together, which gave May a second wind. The latter raked GFS in the face, which was just enough for Quinton to get up on his one good leg as he hammered his opponent with hooks and body shots.

Slowly, his hardcore background was coming to the surface and he did not want to find out, if he could loss his belt by DQ, so Quincy had to cool it with the rough stuff. This lapse in concentration caused May's intensity to drop down a few notches, allowing God’s Forgotten Son to throw a wild haymaker, but back on his game... the Rising Star ducked and delivered an unfathomable Neckbreaker onto the knee.

HOLY SHIT.

HOLY SHIT.

HOLY SHIT.

It looks both men were going to use each others’ maneuvers against one other. How clever? Well, you know, whatever it took to win the match. A match which had so god-damn much on the line. It was no wonder that both of these proud and talented competitors were going the distance.

With his friend, Rickino, urging him on, Quinton rolled over and draped his arm over the chest of the Forgotten Son. Rex Blankford got into position and counted with the fans doing the same;

ONE.

TWO.

THRE -- SHOULDER!

May buried his face in his hands, not believing how close he'd come to claiming victory. Rickino had to cut short his celebratory jig on the outside, and the fans -- while disappointed -- continued to roar vociferously, wanting to see their quasi-hometown hero pick up the win here, over the mysterious yet assumed evil bastard in God's Forgotten Son.

Mr Wallace? He kept his lips zipped, watching as Quinton dragged GFS up and whipped him into one of the corner turnbuckles, before limping across the ring and joining GFS in the corner. Following a bit of smack talk, Quincy Mama started the systematic decimation of his opposition, directing rabid kicks into the lower sternum of God's Forgotten Son. Thereby making it hard for GFS to take huge gulps of breath.

But it did not deter GFS from catching Quincy's striking leg, and pulling the Canadian toward him. May suffered a crushing headbutt just a couple of seconds later, reopening some of the wounds he'd incurred from fighting Mike Randalls to the death just two days ago. GFS didn't care, and charged at the backpedalling May, looking to behead him with a clothesline.

The Rising Star ducked, checked his nose to see if it was bleeding, then with a slight glance over his shoulder, lashed out with a back-to-front bicycle kick just as God's Forgotten Son turned around! The fans went absolutely ballistic at the sight of extreme acrobatics and daredevil-ness from their hero.

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

As it were, the Castaway wasn't really able to crawl over and make the cover, because he was exhausted. What a break for GFS, eh? Whatever the case was, both men returned to their feet shortly, answering the 10-count at 8. Would suck if a match like this ended in a draw, so the fans continued hooting and hollering when they saw the two warriors standing up.

And quite instantly, Quinton lunged at God's Forgotten Son, catching him with a hard right hook. GFS seemed unfazed, however, and delivered a rattling hook of his own that almost knocked out May. Quincy shook his head, and sock'd the US Champeen in the face once more. Alas, God's Forgotten Son soaked it up, and struck back with another righter of his own.

Then, followed up with three unanswered hooks. The Canadian Gladiator was wavering, but right before GFS could connect with a spinning discus punch, Quinton brought himself back into the fray... by firstly rolling underneath the Forgotten Son's attack. Secondly? Well, secondly, Quinton May unleashed those fierce knife-edged chops of his.

WHOOO. Ol' Flair would be proud. In jolly old England, the Queen flinched as Quinton continued wearing GFS out with his deadly knife-edged chops, having connected with five in total thus far (WHOOO, baby!). Now it was God Forgotten Son's to stagger around like a drunkard, with his chest burning up due to the power behind those chops. For a small focker, Quincy sure does possess some ungodly power when he hits those chops.

Perhaps, though, GFS was acting like he was hurtin' because he wanted to play possum. Why do I deduce that? Well, because when Quinton decided to whip himself into the ropes to follow up with his high-leg clothesline, GFS snapped out of his stupor and caught Quinton by the neck with a classic and blatant chokehold. Gotta admit, I have a point, right? Right?

Of course I do. And GFS now had a chance of winning. Especially when he mutiliated Quincy Mama with an unearthly chokeslam, right in the middle of the ring.

All them bitches in the crowd? Stunned. Shocked. GFS? He just made the cover. Duh. Take it away, Rex;

ONE.

TWO.

THREEEE.

... NO! BY GOD, QUINTON KICKED OUT!

God's Forgotten Son shot Mr Wallace an exasperated glare, having come within inches in claiming the Television Championship in a blaze of glory. Quinton was a tenacious little motherfucker, he was. And so, GFS aimed to change that. How? Had to start with pulling May up to his feet and cracking him in the face with a harsh forearm smash.

A mere prelude to whipping Quinton into the ropes, it was. God's Forgotten Son tried to follow up by lowering his head at just the precise moment, which was evident that a back body drop was on the cards. Quincy fell into THAT trap, but expertly landed on his feet, and once again shot himself into the ropes. Growling, GFS turned around and tried to catch Quincy Mama with a swinging roundhouse kick.

That didn't work either, for the Rising Star rolled underneath that and sprung back up to his feet, catching GFS with a toepoke in the ribs as the latter turned around.

Quinton followed that up by applying a front facelock... but the gulf in size and reach meant that Quincy's suplex attempt was a failed one. As expected. GFS instead countered with a suplex of his own, but the funny thing was... May wriggled out of it and landed on his feet. Grinning like a horny bastard as he did so.

If you didn't know what came next, you should be shot. I'll tell you all, anyways -- rear waistlock was slapped on, and Quinton decided to go nuts with his Canadian Suplex. Perhaps not as masterful as the one Quinton executed at the KOA on God's Forgotten Son, where the Rising Star jumped off the top of the turnbuckle onto the ladder and from there, took GFS down with the Canadian Suplex.

But, the regular version hurts like hell, nonetheless. And God's Forgotten Son found that out the hard way, his head bouncing off the canvas sickeningly! Quinton pugnaciously brought himself & GFS up, with the rear waistlock still cinched in. Quite academic stuff, eh? Yes, indeed, May went for the double, drawing deafening roars of approval from the crowd.

Shall we go for the trifecta? Quinton had his heart set on that. So did the wacky Rickino Martino, on the outside. The undefeated United Sttes Champion, however, objected violently.

And by that, I meant he lashed out with a mule kick as Quincy Mama pulled him up for the third one. GFS didn't connect cleanly, but did enough for May to relinquish the rear waistlock, which was more than sufficient for the Forgotten Son.

With the back of his head throbbing and his blood boiling, GFS shot himself into the ropes, aiming to take Quinton apart with a cross body block. Once that was done, GFS thought, he would use his innovative brain to further destroy the knee of May, before putting him to rest.

Quincy, however, had different ideas. He matrix-bridged his way out of the intended GFS cross body, and... SIGH, Rex Blankford -- the referee, if you aren't keeping score at home -- got clocked. Not badly, but enough to keep him down.

The Canadian Gladiator returned to a standing position and rebounded off the ropes, catching the slightly off-guard recovering Forgotten Son with his high-leg clothesline, which was a clear indication as to what was in store for the US Champion. Rickino squealed on the outside, but shut the fuck up when GFS got up instantly, eyes turning red in rage.

Quinton gulped, and charged at God's Forgotten Son, only to get kicked in the face. The crowd jeered that, before a buzz of confusement broke out in the stands. Why? Two individuals that hadn't been seen allll night were now making their way down to the ring, through the sea of humanity.

Back in the ring, God's Forgotten Son planted the reeling Quincy Mama with a double-underhook overhead belly suplex, thereby solidfying his status as one of the more intelligent and innovative bastards to ever step foot inside an ACW ring. Oh, but God's Forgotten Son was far from over. He was moving in for the kill now.

So was Quinton May, unfortunately enough for GFS. Zuh? Let me clarify; when GFS stomped over to pick Quinton up, ready to lay the Television Champion out with one of his deadly finishing moves, the Survivor of M15 popped up with a low blow. GFS doubled over, gritting his teeth... definitely feeling that one.

And with his opponent in a compromising situation, Quinton decided to take full advantage. Shoving of the head between his legs, double underhook of the arms; those were only the first steps to what would be the deal clincher. You should all be very familiar with this term, ladies and gentlemen. It's a simple one-word thing: HIDEAWAY!

Just for fun, though... I'll let you in on a little secret. May never did hit that move.

CRACK!

CRACK!

Those two men who were slicing through the fans in a hurry? They'd climbed into the ring and with knowing nods at each other, KHRISTAIN KELLER and JOSEPH MCMILLAN blasted Quincy's head in, with a conchairto special. Mr Blankford woke up just at that exact time, and saw what had happened.

He also saw what Keller proceeded to do with that chair. Let's just say, the 2003 King of Ages decided to crush the 2004 King of Ages' larynx with that steel chair of his... with Joseph McMillan doing the same thing to Quinton May's legs.

With no choice whatsoever, Rex called for the bell, and the crowd BOO'D their hearts out. A most spectacular match had been interrupted by two men who hadn't even been spotted all night long. Until now, of course.

And as COURAGE~! faded off the air, the sight of Khristain Keller and Joseph McMillan towering over the fallen bodies of the Television & US Champion was enough to make any fan worried. If the elite of ACW were so easily able to fall to their foes, the future of ACW was in doubt.

... Especially when you consider the fact that the vindictive McMillan was wearing a 'pand0ra' shirt. For now, though, we're out of time. And none too soon, it seemed, with Quincy & GFS coughing up oodles of blood.

Never a good thing, that.