YOUR GOD

Jacobs stood by an ACW backdrop with the ACW World Heavyweight Title draped over his right shoulder. The man had defeated Alias one on one again in back to back pay-per-views. It may seem that Alias had lost a step or his edge maybe, people weren’t to sure. But the man that had never lost to SVJ in a big pay-per-view match was zero and two in the last two matches. Jacobs stood looking into the camera with big smile on his face.

“As you can see I am still YOUR ACW World Heavyweight Champion.” Vince paused as the boos from the arena could be heard.

“At Relentless there where no big stipulations surrounding the World Title match. It was a one on one match that Chris set up. He now knows that it doesn’t matter what type of match it is, Vince Jacobs will not be losing this title that I worked so hard for.” Jacobs patted the title on his shoulder.

“I am the biggest superstar in this company and it will stay that way for a long time to come. No one will take this title from me. Not Alias, not Flawless, not May, not Keller, not Gordo, not GFS, nobody. I am truly a GOD among boys in this federation.” More jeers from the crowd as Jacobs paused once more with a smirk on his face.

“You peons don’t believe that I am truly YOUR GOD. I will prove it to all you non-believers.” Jacobs turned around and grabbed a bottled water from off a trunk and poured the contents out onto the floor in front of him.

“Hey kid come here.” Jacobs yelled to a tech walking in the opposite direction.

The kid walked over toward Jacobs and slipped and fell on the water that Jacobs had poured on the floor just a few seconds ago. Jacobs laughed as he told the kid to get from his sight. Jacobs looked down at the water on the floor and walked on the water where the tech just slipped and fell.

Jacobs smiled as he looked into the camera. “See that, I told you folks I am GOD to you. I just proved it by walking on water. That right there further proves my superiority over you mindless peons and the drones in the back.”

“I am actually going to sit here tonight and see what nimrod in the back wants me to make them into a superstar. I have done it so many times over and I have no problem making someone in the back look good. Hell bring out the boss, SilverHAWK.” Vince smiled. “We do go way back.”

Jeers from the fans again.

“You fans don’t understand how pathetic this company is. It’s a shame that I am still here but I decided I couldn’t let people like Alias and Quinton May run this company into the hole like they did last time. You can’t argue with numbers folks, I bring people to this fed. I bring all you out there into the arenas. I bring in the ratings. Hell I am why you fans at home tune in every week. You may not want to admit it but everyone tunes in each week to see what punk SVJ is going to humiliate next.” Jacobs looked around as the fans continued with the jeers.

“I am going to my locker room and watch the monitor of tonight’s events. Once this show hits a lull then the Ratings Grabber will come out and save the day again. It’s a shame that everyone can’t be like me because then this world would be a better place.” Jacobs said as he turned his nose up into the air.

“All of you bow down for YOUR GOD and you’re ACW World Heavyweight Champion. YOUR GOD has spoken.” Vince exclaimed.

Addressing The Addressees...

As SVJ walked off the stage, the plasMASCREEN flicked on to the picture of an empty office, only decorated with a few miniscule pieces of furniture, the bare necessities for any real office, a big stack of paper work accompanied about one pen and eight cans of Red Bull.

And then the camera panned to the right.

And then the crowd went wild.

There sat the ACW owner, hunched over on a wooden chair, elbows on his knees and his hands trailing at the floor, peering straight into the lens.

"Fans of ACW."

A cheer.

"I'm not going to waste valuable talent time just now by going into the ins and outs of last week's match at Relentless, what went down, went down for a reason, and it has brought us to this point."

HAWK pulled back and now rested his spine on the chair.

"As you can see, this here, is my office for a night...dull isn't it? However, it's one of the many measures I'm taking to make sure that number one, ACW stays open, and number two money goes into the proper channels, such as the talent roster and other production budgets, but I won't bore you with that.

What I will bore you with is the number of changes that have been made in a small number of days that I have been in charge of this company, for the second time but in my own dictatorship for the very first time. Changes to the infrastructure of this federation have been made that will not be seen for weeks, even months in some cases, but such is the sheer decay of ACW over the past six months, it will take six months or more to fix.

What I can tell you right now is Brian Carter is gone for good."

CHEERS AROUND THE ARENA.

"I can also tell you William Laguna is gone for good."

This was received with a mixed reaction.

"But this wasn't a decision of mine, that was purely William's decision, as he, as we know, wasn't really the type of figurehead for a wrestling company, especially one which needs a very strong one at this moment in time. As for Pandora's members, they are welcome to come and talk to me about staying in the federation, however, I wouldn't hold my breath at this moment in time because my sources tell me none of them have showed up here tonight."

He signed, a bags under his eyes growing from his first week in charge showed how hard a job this was going to be, but if there was ever a man for the job it was him.

"Other internal appointments I will keep quiet, as I've taken up enough of your time as it is...I would ask to give us time, we aren't going to explode next week and become the WWE or the fWo, it's going to take a bit of time for us to snowball into such a monster...but we will do it, trust me."

So Be It Then, You Brought It On Your Selfs

Gold, It looks really nice…..

Trevor exhaled the smoke out of his lungs, and ash his smoke right on the Lockeroom floor. It had only been a week since there triumph win at Relentless, even though Trevor himself couldn’t catch up to speed, and realize he was one half of the ACW Tag Team Champions.

It was a big moment in some bodies life to capture gold, specially such a fine title that you should receive.

Except, nobody had congratulated theNormans, nobody stop to say good work, or you deserved it. They said nothing, nothing at all.

They were proud, but as everybody else, they wouldn’t have minded a pat on the back.

This is what you get for entertaining the addicted.

“Where’s the media, where’s those die heart fans wanting the autographs, or there picture taken with the champs.”

“There coming, any minute we will hear a knock on the door.”

TICK!

TICK!

TICK!

TICK!

“What the fuck, this is an outrage. They should have been all over us by now.”

“MORONS!”

“Respect, were is it, we deserve it, we earned it.”

KNOCK!

KNOCK!

“Ah Shit, there hear, Trevor pass me my title.”

Trevor quickly ran to the far corner and picked up both the titles, which lay on top of a pile of garbage. Trevor threw the title to Donavon as they both sat in two chairs, which stood in front of the door.

“Ashley answer it… no wait, just a sec.”

Trevor lit up a fresh cigarette, as Donavon cracked a beer, and both got into there so called cool pose. Two cocky smiles arise across there face, as Ashley started to open the door……

……

…Trevor and Donavon jaws dropped, as it was just a pesky Crew worker.

“Woops! My bad, wrong room.”

“GODDAMNIT!!”

Donavon chucked his full beer right at the crew worker, as it explodes right over his chest. As he jumped up and chucked the title to the floor.

Ashley shut the door, as she watched both her Brothers lose it right in front of her eyes.

“This is what we get…..so be it….thing will begin to change…..as we will take away what the fans love so much.”

A warning, but to who.

The days will tell.

Seymour Almasy Vs. Natalie Quinston

“Lucky You” by the Deftones signaled the arrival of two people in ACW. As Fejona Min had something else to do on this night, it was Natalie Quinston that made her way out in front of the ACW crowd in Birmingham. She glared at them menacingly, while making her way down to the ring…

And promptly nearly tripping as she did so.

She glowered, turning angrily away from the pointing crowd, before entering the ring and raising her arms in the air in premature triumph.

Especially premature considering that her opponent hadn’t even entered the arena yet.

Cue “Fight With Seymour” by The Black Mages.

The crowd let their appreciation for the second competitor in the match show. At Relentless, he had proved his mettle in a brutal no disqualification match. He had yet to taste defeat in ACW, and the fans knew that they were quite possibly seeing the beginning of something special.

Something special with black, red-striped hair.

Seymour Almasy stood at the top of the ramp, arms spread wide as if to absorb the ovation of the crowd. His eyes focused firmly on the ring, he began the long walk to ringside, as Natalie Quinston stretched out and warmed up in the ring.

Pretty, Seymour thought, if somewhat skanky.

He shook his head. Of the three worst beatings he had taken in his career, one was at Relentless against Kasper Sky, and the other two were against women. “Pretty” wasn’t what he would think when he stepped into the ring.

Otherwise, he’d probably get his head kicked off.

The Final Fantasy slid in underneath the bottom rope, and quickly shifted his eyes back up to Natalie, to prevent a possible sneak attack. None came, allowing Almasy to get to his feet, soak up just a bit more cheering from the crowd, and get ready for the battle at hand.

*DING!*

With the sounding of the bell out of the way, Almasy prepared for first contact. He WASN’T prepared, however, for Quinston’s first move.

540 HOOK KICK~!

Quinston’s heel grazed off of Almasy’s shoulder, Seymour having barely avoided what would have been a match-ending headshot. He clutched his shoulder in pain, while picking his jaw up off the floor. He was, to say the least, stunned.

Seymour knew he’d have to come up with something quick. Especially considering Natalie was aiming another blow. This time, she came low with a spinning sweep. Almasy was able to jump over it, but the second rotation took him down.

Natalie immediately moved into a mount. While not familiar to Seymour in the Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu sense, Quinston had put herself in close quarters with Almasy. This was a situation, at least, that he could work with, provided that he could keep covering up from the rain of elbows Natalie was throwing, anyway.

Things weren’t going well early, to say the very least.

Finally, however, Seymour caught one of Natalie’s arms. Pulling it completely forward, he successfully unbalanced Quinston sufficiently for him to backroll out of the mount, landing on top of Natalie. Quickly standing, and backing up a bit, he fired off a kick to the prone Quinston’s head, and lifted her up, dropping her with a hard power bomb.

He couldn’t follow up right away, however. It was probably the most stressful opening sequence of a match he had ever had. Almasy had faced strikers before, but Natalie was professional trained, and seemed to have more techniques than Seymour knew existed. This wasn’t going to be easy…

That fact was confirmed when Almasy went to follow up, and Natalie grabbed one of his arms, locking in a triangle choke. Against a superior martial artist, Almasy would have been done, finished. 

But Quinston’s technique was, shall we say, less than perfect. Sure, Seymour couldn’t draw a breath easily, but Natalie didn’t have her legs wrapped around Almasy’s neck perfectly. That gave him time to think. Seymour wasn’t the strongest person in the world, so a one armed power bomb counter was out of the question.

Several forearms to the face, however, were not.

The blows jarred Natalie from her submission, and Almasy immediately jerked her up to her feet. He couldn’t let Quinston get at a striking distance, and he couldn’t let her use her submissions. Thus, he had to wrestle her vertically, use the power advantage that he so rarely got to its fullest advantage. No high-flying.

No one said it was going to be easy, did they?

Almasy shot Quinston into the ropes, and ducked underneath a roundhouse kick that Natalie threw on the rebound. He was behind Quinston, and provided he could avoid any judo throws, that was probably the safest position for him. He sunk in a deep waistlock, and managed to evade the wild elbows Natalie threw.

GERMAN SUPLEX!

Popping his hips, Almasy sent Natalie flying across the ring. Too forcefully, as it turned out. Like a cat, Natalie landed on her feet, and charged Almasy.

RUNNING SHOTEI!

The palm strike from Quinston caught Almasy on the butt of the jaw. He fell almost immediately, as Natalie pondered her next move. To the surprise of some in the crowd, she went with a cover.

1!

2!

Kickout!

Almasy managed to get the shoulder up, but he was still upset with himself. If he didn’t figure out how the hell to fight Quinston soon, he was going to lose.

Natalie glared at Seymour, and prepared for another kick.

This time, however, Almasy got to his feet, and stepped in. The kick missed for the most part, and Natalie was left with her leg in the air. 

Open to attack.

Seymour wasted no time, scooping Natalie on his shoulder. The Final Fantasy charged to the corner, driving Quinston back first into the corner.

GAGAZET RUSH!

Natalie writhed in his arms (no not THAT way you sick little fucks…), but Seymour spun on a dime, and promptly charged for the opposite corner.

GAGAZET RUSH!

The Final Fantasy slid Quinston down his back, still holding on tightly to her legs. He grabbed her head with his other arm, ran towards the middle of the ring, and leaped.

GAGAZET DRIVER~!

The variant of the Air Raid Crash left Quinston on the canvas in pain, as Seymour slowly crawled over for his first cover of the contest. In his haste, however, he forgot to hook Natalie’s leg.

1!

Almasy suddenly found his position on top of Natalie shifted, as the female martial artist managed to wrap her legs around Seymour’s waist.

2!

Quinston’s left arm wrapped around Almasy’s throat, and her shoulder came off the canvas. Quite quickly, Seymour realized that he was in a submission manuever, one he had never seen before. Most in the crowd could easily identify it as a guillotine choke, but it wasn’t something Seymour had ever experienced before.

But it WAS something that he had to escape, or he would probably be unconscious shortly.

Again, an expert mixed-martial artist would probably have put Seymour out right now. Quinston was good, but it was the little flaws in her technique that gave Seymour oxygen. She recklessly cranked down to compensate, but was soon reminded by the referee that her shoulders had hit canvas,

1!

2!

Disgustedly, Natalie let go of the hold. She wasn’t going to be able to get any real pressure without her shoulders being on the mat. A new plan of attack came to her, and so she stood, as Seymour rolled over to his back, drawing in long, cool breaths. Quinston stepped forward, and delivered a brutal axe kick that drove the freshly drawn in air from Almasy’s body. Seymour crumpled into a ball, trying to cover up as Quinston fired soccer-style kicks into his back and ribcage.

To say the least, things weren’t going so well for Seymour.

Quinston stooped over Almasy for the kill, but was surprised when the Final Fantasy reared back, as if to throw a punch, but then CLOCKED her on the jaw with a huge rising elbow strike. Natalie staggered backwards, allowing Almasy to get back to a vertical base.

Seymour charged, and ducked underneath Natalie’s misaimed roundhouse kick to the head. Bouncing off the ropes, he came back behind Natalie, and drove her face-first to the canvas with a quick bulldog. As quickly as he could manage, Seymour rose to his feet, and headed to the corner, behind Natalie.

Ascending rapidly, Almasy perched himself on the top rope, waiting for Quinston to stand. She rose somewhat slowly, trying to gain her bearings, but by then, Seymour had already taken off.

MISSILE DROPKICK!

Both feet struck Natalie firmly in the back of the head, sending her to the canvas. Seymour quickly rolled Quinston over, and hooked a leg for the cover.

1!

2!

3-No!

To Seymour’s surprise, Quinston shot her shoulder off the canvas before for the three count.

Almasy stepped back, once again waiting for Natalie to stand. This time, he charged her, and leapt into a spinning roundhouse.

JECHT SHOT--

NAILS THE REFEREE!

A deft duck by Quinston left the referee to absorb the full force of Seymour’s kick. As Almasy stooped over the official, a leaping axe kick from Quinston scored on the back of Seymour’s neck, dropping him to the canvas. She smirked wickedly, eyes focusing on the same corner that Seymour had leapt from.

Deftly, she stepped over both Almasy and referee. The turnbuckle pad was easily removed, exposing the bare steel of the buckle. She gestured to it as the fans jeered, her intentions deadly clear.

Natalie grabbed Almasy by his long hair, and began to drag him towards the corner. Seymour spotted the bare turnbuckle, and immediately realized what she had in mind.
To counter, he shot a quick low takedown, taking Quinston off of her feet. The crowd roared, as Seymour realized he was in position to take advantage of Quinston’s attempt to take him out of the match.

Bracing his feet underneath her rear, Seymour fell back, CATAPULTING Natalie Quinston face first to the exposed turnbuckle. She rebounded from the impact, staggering, almost out on her feet. Her staggering brought her in front of Seymour, where he booted her in the stomach, and swiftly lifted her vertically in the air. 

And just as swiftly, sent her crashing head-first to the canvas. He followed quickly with a cover, just as the referee slowly managed to get enough of his wits about him to crawl into position to count Quinston’s shoulders down.

He called it the Level 5 Brainbuster. It was a takeoff on a common Final Fantasy spell, Level 5 Death.

In this case, Brainbuster was close enough.

1!

2!

3!

*DING!*

Seymour let out a huge sigh of relief, as he rose to his knees, and had his arm raised by the still groggy official. He’d dodged something of a bullet, tonight. Natalie was resourceful, and skilled in a type of fighting he’d never experienced before.

But in the end, she’d made one mistake.

And Seymour managed to capitalize on it.

As the fans cheered, Seymour realized that he hadn’t ever addressed the crowd thus far in his ACW tenure.

Gesturing for a microphone, he decided to change that.

Winner > Seymour Almasy

Declaration of Purpose

Still panting from the strain of the match he had just gone through, Seymour nonetheless took the microphone that ACW’s timekeeper handed to him. He looked all around him, at the thousands of fans in the arena, and tried to think of how best to sum up his thoughts. This idea was quickly scrapped, in favor of speaking from his heart.

“Hi, everyone. I’m Seymour Almasy, All-Star Championship Wrestling’s newest superstar. Yeah, I’ve been here a month already, but since no one new’s joined since I did, I’m still the newest I suppose.”

Whether a poor attempt at humor or not, it went over like a lead balloon. Almasy shook his head, and continued.

“At any rate…I figured since I haven’t formally introduced myself, I may as well now. Because, while I may have only been in ACW for a month, I’ve noticed something. Something quite distressing.”

Seymour nodded to the crowd, who looked on with more interest than a moment ago.

“You see, I’ve noticed that everyone in this company with a championship is, well…an asshole.”

It was a cheap pop, but a pop nonetheless. Almasy extended one hand in the air, and began to count on his fingers.

“ACW Television Champion, Quinton May. ASSHOLE.”

Cheers.

“ ACW Scorpion Fighting Champion, Fejona Min. ASSHOLE.”

More cheers.

“ACW United States Champion, God’s Forgotten Son. ASSHOLE.”

Still more cheers.

“And then, last but not least, ACW’s World Champion, “Superstar” Vince Jacobs. The biggest ASSHOLE of them all.”

Pandemonium. Seymour let the crowd revel for a few moments, before he raised a hand. The crowd lowered a few decibels, allowing Almasy to speak again.

“Now, I’m not the sort of man who complains about something while not doing anything. I’m going to DO SOMETHING about the assholes plaguing ACW’s championship belts. And I’m going to start, well, at the bottom.”

The crowd cheered. The past few months hadn’t exactly been anything for fans to cheer for, not with Jacobs and May having deathgrips on their respective championships, and GFS and Fejona coming into gold.

“Quinton May…or whoever the Television Champion ends up being in the coming weeks, I’m coming for you. That championship has either been vacant or in your hands for over a year and a quarter, and from where I stand, that is far, far too long.”

More cheers, but not overly optimistic ones. Quinton had repelled challenger after challenger in his phenomenal reign, after all.

“In the end, it doesn’t matter who the Television Champion is. When I get my opportunity, I am going to make absolutely sure that there is one belt in this company NOT held by an asshole. ACW, you’re looking at your next TV Champ.”

With that, Almasy tossed the microphone to the side, and exited the ring. The gauntlet had been thrown down, and the fans were appreciative, if somewhat skeptical.

After all, Quinton May and the TV Title go together like ham and eggs.

He’d never lose it to an ACW newbie like Seymour Almasy…

Right?

A Night Off? Apparently.

"Hello, one and all! This is Jenna McMullen with an exclusive interview!"

Oh, brother, where art thou? Thou should save thee from the impending babbling of Jenna McMullen. Wait, did that even make sense? Probably not. Either way, we were being treated to ACW's Backstage Correspondent, Jenna McMullen, conducting an interview.

With who? Our very own Television Champion, Quinton May! Yay. Quinton was standing to the right of Jenna, with his friend and guide for all things ACW-related, Rickino Martino, standing close by. And waving at the camera like an absolute ponce. That's Rickino for you.

With a massive smile on her face, Jenna continued. "And I'm standing here next to the longest-reigning champion of modern ACW's history. The man who retained his Television Title in an absolutely spectacular Steel Cage Match last week, against his former disciple. QUINTON MAY! Quinton, how does it feel to have gone up against a man you say was once like a son to you, and come out victorious?"

"Heh, now, there's a question." Quinton responded almost immediately, stroking his goatee. "Not an insightful question. Not even a good one, by any stretch of imagination... ah, shit, I forgot how Angelus said it. Never the mind. It was a tough battle. Probably only second to the time where I fought that sodding cunt at KOA 2003. But anyways, yes. I can't say I'm happy that I've won, because... well, winning? Is that a real thing?

In the end, does anyone really win? Is it a believable concept?

Or is it some prosiac way of thinking? I don't have the answers, but I hope someone can fill me in, heh.

Anyways, I guess what I'm trying to say is, I don't regard it as a victory. See, not many people will know, and Joseph certainly doesn't know... but I went into that match hoping to save Joseph from whoever's commanding him. Joseph's a smart boy. He has his own mind. He shouldn't have to be acting under anyone's orders. If 'Seph does indeed think I'm responsible for his blindness, I'd like to think he and I can settle it like civilised adults.

Alas, it doesn't seem that way. I heard that Joseph was spotted in the arena earlier, and he was looking for Fejona Min. I don't know how true that is, but in any case, it's safe to say that me being 'victorious' at the PPV last week doesn't mean anything. The war goes on, as far as Joseph is concerned."

Jenna nodded her head whilst frowning a little, at May's earlier comment about her question not being good. "Alright, I understand. What I didn't, however, was some of your actions during the match. You know, where you ceased all activity and Joseph acted like he couldn't... errr, see you. Although, he shouldn't be able to see, period. Anyways, could you clue us in?"

"No. I'll just say that I know the condition that Joseph has, and during the match, I found a way to combat it. I'm not going to divulge it and destroy another aspect of Joseph's life. As much anger I harbour towards him for even wanting to see me, someone who cared for him where no would would, dead... I'm not that cold-hearted. Call it an epiphany if you want." Quinton fired back, a bit sourly. Rickino continued waving at the camera.

Jenna looked at Rickino, like he was some sort of sick bastard. "Stop that, you're scaring George." Rickino lowered his head in shame, and May shook his head. What an oddball his friend was. Jenna proceeded on with the questioning: "Fair enough. Two more questions, Quinton. What did you think of Seymour Almasy's comments about you just a couple of moments ago?

Annnnd, what are your plans -- if you do indeed have any -- for tonight?"

Quinton narrowed his eyes and continued to look at Rickino silently apologising to the camera. Jesus, like ACW couldn't get any weirder, eh? Jenna was looking ashamed to even be in the vicinity of Rickino... but Quincy put an end to the nonsense by shoving Rickino to the floor.

"Ahem. Yes, well. Seymour Almasy... I couldn't care about what he had to say. I'm an asshole? I'm a glory-hogging asshole, he more or less said? Everything I do in ACW is for this federation's sake. I've bled ACW's colours for over a year and a half. This federation is where I began on my professional career. And, hey, in these times where our roster is so thin, I could really just leave and focus my energies on tSC. It's being scrutinised more closely than this place, after all!" Quinton snarled, feeling strongly about this matter.

But our lovable Rising Star calmed himself down, and managed a smile. "I'm still here, though. And I will continue to stay here for a long time. Seymour can challenge me whenever, if he thinks I am not deserving. That's really all I have to say about that. And as for your second query; I'm going to do nothing tonight. Figure I'll just sit back and enjoy the show."

With a polite nod to Jenna, Quinton spun on his heels and marched out of the scene. Chuckling as Rickino Martino scrambled to his feet and gave him the finger. Ahhh, those two jokers will surely have fun enjoying this night off, eh? Yep.

With a sultry smile, McMullen took a step closer towards the camera to sign off. "That's the scoop, folks. See yaz soon!" 

A sign of things to come (Part I)

Our fallen warrior may have been missed over the past few weeks; but he was not forgotten, like his name sake claimed. Months from now, in a reality much different from the present; would certain individuals within this wrestling company wish they never heard those three simple initials uttered...from his then self-assured pink lips? This statement could have been true, seeing as the ACW officials had no clue where in the hell their young champion was. 

In actuality, the individual that declared himself ‘the Past, Present and the Future’ of the company was very close by. How close you may be asking yourself quietly, as you read this passage? You’ll figure it out, I promise. 

In a shadowy area of the underground parking garage of the Bill Battle Coliseum, where the darkness outweighed the bright lights that emitted from small rounded bulbs, the indistinguishable features of GFS staggered down the aisles of vehicles like a drunkard. Dingy black hoodie covered his bruised face, filthy dark blue jeans and dark boots was what known as GFS wore, whilst he wobbled side to side. 

His nimble fingertips grazing the sides of cars and trucks alike that he passed, hoping those same vehicles would help keep him vertically upright…until he could get a hold of his faculties. 

Hoping and praying to his one and only god above, that this moment of weakness would eventually pass like the flu. Or had these symptoms been present all along, and just concealed extremely well by God’s Forgotten Son? For every question that he asked himself, there were thousands more that needed to be answered. For example, where was the massive Mr. Wallace? 

The gigantic disciple followed our anti-social hero around as if he was being shown the world through the eyes of the tormented, only able to watch as GFS refused his assistance time and time again...unless the brooding bodyguard was given a task to accomplish. 

Kidnapping Rene Marisa Ramirez was his first and only job thus far, a young woman who had only been seen once after her abduction. At the present time, no one had heard anything about her whereabouts, vanishing in an obscurity that God’s Forgotten Son surrounded himself with. 

Could Mr. Wallace be the answer to all the questions that we seek, as GFS stumbled to the ground and began to vomit on the concrete before him. Could Mr. Wallace have introduced those mysterious substances to his master’s body, which torn GFS’s psyche to shreds to help him erase the pain he endured? 

An insurmountable and excruciating soreness that flashed throughout his mind, which made GFS scream out in terror during the dead of night. 

The only thing any of us can do is watch helplessly, hoping that this individual who crawled through his own vomit, like a bum enjoying his created self-destruction...would find a way through it all. Using his dirty palms to push him-self up as he grunted, GFS remarkably returned back to a vertical base, just long enough to stumble into the black Volvo on his right. 

Suddenly the vehicle’s siren like alarm blared throughout the desolate parking garage, in the distance two on duty patrol guards examined the scene, but nothing garnered their suspicions yet. 

“Look closer,” the stockier fellow pointed out to the hand on the hood, which slipped out of sight as the duo rushed to where the annoying sound reverberated from. Cautiously walking over to the black car, whose alarm stopped, the guards slowly walked around the front end to find GFS’s familiar face crouched down by the front right tire. The smell of the wrestler’s stench took them by surprise as they held their noses, moving in closer to lower themselves to a knee to investigate. 

“Are you alright, sir? Do you need medical attention?” The taller of the two guards asked. This continued on for about several minutes; the two patrol men would ask a question and GFS would sit there silently, trapped in a perpetual absentmindedness. The only thing he heard was his voice, softly whispering into his ear, providing directions for a path that GFS needed to take; before they could be together. It was something they both wanted, but now it became a necessity…an obligation that the tortured GFS could no longer ignore. 

Unexpectedly, the sickly God’s Forgotten Son rose to his feet healed of what ailed him, pushing pass the guards as he headed for the entrance to the back stage area. In the background behind him, the guards wondered what they just witnessed was real or not, as GFS opened the steel door and slammed it shut behind. The two men returned to their original post, praying that this was not a sign of things to come. 

Joseph McMillan Vs. Kelly Flawless

Only in ACW, you will see the Height of Perfection duelling with a Blind Slayer.

Bizarre, non? That's what this federation brings to the table. "The Cover of the Rolling Stone" by Dr Hook started to play over the speakers, and out came Kelly Flawless. The Diva of Masculinity, a bit worse for wear following his altercation with Jamar Gordo last week, was looking to get on a winning track. A man with his potential would just need one victory to have great things follow.

And Flawless was hoping this match, one made by SilverHAWK for the fun of it, would prove to be the catalyst for his ACW career. Kelly, wearing a gray sleeveless tanktop and black pants with black boots, half-smiled at the fans who were mostly cheering for him. Stepping into the ring, Kelly Flawless nodded at the official designated for this match-up, Pablo Rogers, prior to taking his spot in the middle of the ring and raising his arm up in the air.

Then, it happened. What?

Blinding white light, piercing the eyes of everyone in attendance. Next, the chime of the bell, sounding oh-so-ominous. Finally, "Kashmir" by Led Zeppelin blared over the speakers... and immediately enough, the jeers descended upon the one they call Joseph McMillan.

He who is blind, yet can still see. He who, also, failed in his quest to exact vengeance upon Quinton May. No surpise, then, that he had a scowl on his face as he brushed past the curtains -- decked out in white tights and boots with a white trenchcoat on top of it all -- and stormed down the ramp. He himself hadn't quite expected to compete on this night.

Considering that Joseph has yet to win a match in ACW, EVER (and he's had ten matches or so over the last year), the Blind Slayer was actually hoping that he'd shine here tonight. Perhaps get back on track with the quest to make Quincy Mama pay for what the latter 'did' to him? A victory over another young upstart in Flawless, almost half his size, would definitely do the trick, one feels.

Anywho, sliding into the ring like a cagey panther, Joseph McMillan removed his trenchcoat and tossed it out of the ring, just as the house lights' normal way of being was resumed. All the people who were now officially blind as a result of McMillan's entrance? They cried. Flawless, who didn't seem the least bit affected by the light, gave Joseph the look-over, trying to ascertain then & there what his strategy would be.

* DING DING DING *

Immediately, Joseph roused himself from staring out at the sea of humanity he felt was beneath him, and charged at Flawless. Kelly, who was in an opposite corner all the way across of the ring, did the same... and the two men met in the middle of the ring. Joseph threw up his right foot, aiming it at Kelly's shoulder. The Diva of Masculinity effortlessly swatted it away, but his attempt at a crushing right hook found nothing but air.

That's because McMillan had ducked underneath it, and shot himself into the ropes. Flawless, curious to carve out a technique potent enough to match the innovative offense of the Blind Slayer which seemed impossible because... well, the dude *is* blind (per se), duly turned around to try and intercept 'Seph's impending attack once more.

Too bad, Joseph was quicker than a hiccup, and the Blind Slayer floored him with a running dropkick to the face. It was quite possibly the best dropkick ever executed in the history of fake professional wrestling (*cough* HI CHRISSYKINS!). So, anyways, Joseph rolled to his feet and shot himself into the ropes again, just as Flawless staggered back to a vertical base.

While checking on his nose, Kelly forgot the cardinal sin: never turn your back on the Wolfpack. I mean, opponent. And the self-proclaimed Finest-Looking Man in the Biznazz got planted with a bulldog by the Blind Slayer. Only, this was a bulldog that saw Kelly's face bounce off Joseph's outstretched right knee. Like I said, Joseph has got amazing offense that would probably never be rivalled by anyone.

And so, with Kelly laid out, Joseph made the swift cover;

ONE.

TWO.

TH -- KICK-OUT.

With authoritay, too. Kelly had been taken to school there, yes, but he wasn't going to give up so damn easily. Joseph pulled Kelly up and after a stiff kick to the ribs, tried to whip him into the corner. Not bloody likely, when you're almost more than half of Kelly's size.

Needless to say, Flawless reversed the whip, and Joseph was pretty much flung into the corner. Whiplash effect? Invoked. Kelly's follow-up big-boot? Did not connect, for Joseph had the presence of mind to leapfrog over Flawless's body. Quite outstanding, innit? Joseph had more in store, as he expertly connected with an overhead bicycle kick once Flawless turned around.

Once again, a normal man doing that would be pretty cool... but a blind man? Well, they do say if you lose one sense, the other ones are automatically heightened. Good for Joseph, then. Anywho, Kelly was once again flat on his back, his face throbbing from the pain. Poor dude did not see that coming at all, and please excuse the unintentional pun.

At any rate, Joseph once again made witn the pin, hooking the legs this time;

ONE.

TWO.

TH -- ANOTHER KICK-OUT.

Joseph stood to his feet and cocked his head sideways at the fans that were jeering him, prior to kicking out at Flawless in the side of the head. Kelly growled, his hair once again being tugged at as the Blind Slayer looked to get right back to the dishing out of punishment. Flawless, obviously, was incensed that his sexy hair was being mangled by his opponent who hair... well, not-too-bad a head of hair.

Still, Flawless had his pride, and rammed his forearm forcefully into the ribs of Joseph McMillan, following up by simply shoving McMillan sideways, into the ropes. The Height of Perfection then bounced off the perpendicular set of ropes and plowed right through Joseph with a harsh shoulder thrust. Power over innovative offense; a struggle that has been ongoing since the dawn of time. Just ask Kevin Nash, that old fucker with the ugly-as-shit hair. UGH.

Anywho, Kelly Glawless was now in control, and was hoping to further build on this momentum he'd worked hard to carve out for himself. Another trip into the ropes looked like it wasn't going to pay dividends, though, for Joseph had kipped to his feet, and although he was a bit groggy, the Blind Slayer was able to connect with a spinning backfist to the lower sternum of Flawless.

Then came Joseph surprisingly lifting Flawless up, twirling him around in a tilt-a-whirl. Once Kelly's feet touched down on the canvas, he found himself in a reverse front facelock. Never a good thing, right? The crowd stood to their feet, anticipating a reverse DDT.

It wasn't to be. The wily Blonde Warrior of the North stomped down on Joseph's right foot, before taking control of the Blind Slayer's left arm and wringing it. Joseph's face winced, then found himself being yanked directly into Kelly's arms, who had no trouble picking his lightweight adversary up and planting him with a stunning powerslam!

Perfect? You damn skippy it was. Flawless wasted no time with the lateral press;

ONE.

TWO.

THR -- JOSEPH GOT THE SHOULDER UP!

Still a bit too early for the victory to be attained, but Flawless was optimistic. He pulled McMillan up and knocked him back a step or two with a supreme European uppercut, that preceded a snapmare takeover. Flawless then proceeded to bounce off the ropes, and connected with a sliding dropkick to the kidney area of Joseph McMillan. The Blind Slayer arched his back, having half a mind to let loose with a blood-curdling scream.

That did not happen. Instead, Kelly rolled to his knees and slapped on a rear chinlock. And with his tree-like arms? Oh ho, Joseph was in trouble. Still, Joseph was also quite resourceful, and the young man dug his fingernails into the skin on the Blonde Warrior's left forearm. That distracted Kelly for just a second, and it was long enough for Joseph to drag himself (and Kelly) up. After a bit of weight adjusting, Joseph got himself in the position for a belly-to-back suplex.

Problem? No, it wasn't that Kelly was much more heavier than Joseph. McMillan easily lifted Kelly off the mat, which was a feat in its own right. Kelly, however, went one step further and landed on his feet. Instantly enough, locking in a full-nelson and laying Joseph out with a full-nelson slam. Whooo.

Kelly made sure to hook the outer leg this time, going for another cover;

ONE.

TWO.

THRE -- FUCK THAT.

The Diva of Masculinity frowned a little, shooting a look at Pablo Rogers. Rogers maintained that it was only a two, and Kelly stood to his feet, hands on his hips. What *was* he going to do next?

Why, he was going to score with an elbow-drop, almost flattening Joseph McMillan in the process. And, oh, once he got back to his feet, Santos went ahead and scored with another elbow drop; this time, down onto the face of Joseph. The Blind Slayer writhed in agony, before he found himself being tugged back to his feet. Forearm smash attempt by Flawless, BLOCKED by McMillan. The latter had used his right hand to block, and thus, had to use his left fist to retaliate.

Not a good choice, that. He connected with his hook, yes, but it appeared to have no effect. So, Joseph shook his head, prior to shooting himself into the ropes, deciding to connect with a running jumping sidekick, putting everything behind it.

DENIED, bitch. Kelly very easily caught Joseph's foot. With a cocky chuckle, the Alaskan Timberwolf threw the leg aside, launching Joseph into a 360º spin. And once the Blind Slayer came face-to-face with his secksy beast of an opponent from Alaska?

Kick. WHAM. Stunner~! Well, okay, more like a DDT... but some would say just as effective, innit? That was besides the point; what wasn't, was Flawless quickly making the hopeful cover;

ONE.

TWO.

THR -- AGAIN, SHOULDER.

Flawless jumped right back to his feet, slightly frustrated. Joseph was barely hanging on right about now, probably winded from his extertions from the Steel Cage showdown seven days ago. Still, Kelly didn't care -- he simply wanted to rack up a win.

And it looked like it was on the cards, when the Blonde Warrior pulled Joseph up and whipped him into one of the four corner turnbuckles, with immense power. 'Seph's face bounced violently off the top of the turnbuckle, but somehow, he managed to roll out of the way of an impending Flawless clothesline. And yes, Joseph's back was turned on Kelly.

Surprising shit. There was more in store; when Flawless turned around, the Blind Slayer took him down with an exquisite hurricaranna! Kelly was snapped halfway across the ring from that one, drawing a huge buzz of excitement from the crowd... before they realised they hated Joseph, and continued to jeer the ever-living crap out of him. Bloody indecisive bastards.

Kelly was back on his feet within seconds, but by that time, Joseph had shot himself into the ropes and sneaked up on the big man from behind, laying him out with a jumping somersaulting ace-crusher. Wooooh, word lyfe. That was basic thuganomics.

It was enough to keep Kelly flattened, and staring up at the rafters. Wasting no time, Joseph McMillan made his way over to the corner turnbuckle, and expertly leapt up to the top, his pupil-eyes fixed on Kelly Flawless. With a smirk, McMillan went ahead and jumped right off. Connecting with a shooting-star-press elbow drop. Holy shiat? You bet your arse.

Cover was made, count was bloody damn academic by this point;

ONE.

TWO.

THREE.

Annnd, the Blind Slayer had triumphed.

"Kashmir" by Led Zeppelin started up, but it had been drowned out by hateful jeers. No matter for Joseph, who stood to his feet and promptly called for a microphone. Oh, yes. That was the cue for his music to be cut, and once Joseph got the mic, the Blind Slayer started pacing around the ring. He obviously had something to say. Question was, what?

Well, fuck, we were going to find out, weren't we? "Quinton. Last week, we went to war. And by some luck, you had walked out the winner. Perhaps I had overestimated the amount of work it was going to take to put you to rest, but rest assured. It is a mistake I will not make again. From this day forth, I will dedicate every living second to making sure you get weaker and weaker.

And when the time is right, I will have my revenge. I will humiliate you in front of the world, after I have methodically taken away everything that means anything from you. Just like you did to me. Yes, Quinton. Tit for that. An eye... TWO eyes, for what I will deem is the equivalent value of. You will not know when I will strike, but... you'll soon have the chance to look back on those occasions that I do.

Remember this, Quinton. I am above the law. I'll see you soon."

Dropping the microphone, Joseph calmly walked out of the ring, a smirk still plastered on his face. Looks like his quest to destroy Quincy Mama wasn't over. By the sound of things, it seemed that it had only just begun... and it would get very deadly in a short time.

Especially with Joseph being a man with nothing to lose.

Winner > Joseph McMillan

A word with the Boss

The ACW World Champion sat down across from the ACW Owner with a smile on his face and skip in his so called step, he was on cloud nine after the result last week against Alias, he was untouchable. 

“You wanted to see me boss, make it quick eh, got some press to attend to outside the arena, it seems none of them want to come into an ACW arena, weird that.” Jacobs asked

HAWK fumbled through some paperwork on his desk before looking at Vince who made himself comfortable by putting his boots on HAWK’s desk. “You'll be wresting tonight Vincent ma boy...and it'll be for the title.”

Now that, was a bombshell.

“Uh.. no can do boss. Tonight is my off night. You don’t realize that you are just a figure head around here. I am the ACW World Heavyweight Champion and I call the shots.” Jacobs said with a smirk on his face.

“It's a new era here Champ...like it or lump it, I own everything this company now owns, including that strap you have on your shoulder, I could take it away from you in a fucking flash.” HAWK said as he watched Vince spring to his feet.

“This isn’t fair...this is bullshit!” Jacobs pleaded

“Stop your moaning Vince, as my Grand-dad would say are you "a man or a mouse"...go and get your gear, your in the Main Event.” HAWK said as he moved some papers in his desk drawer.

Jacobs visibly upset with this action from the new boss, turned toward the door. He stopped before looking over his shoulder at HAWK.

 “Who am I facing tonight, Chris again so you guys can milk us as much as you can. Or maybe you want me to face someone new like the Seymour guy that could carry my jock strap.”

Jacobs waiting for the answer from HAWK. The wheels were turning in HAWK’s head before he looked at Vince and said the name that Vince couldn't live without right now. 

"You'll be taking on Khristain Keller for the World Title...now piss off."

Jacobs’ face turned pale. “Damn you HAWK. Well SVJ off to save another dismal Courage.” SVJ opened the door and walked out as HAWK continued to look through the young talent brought to his attention by his scouts.

Two Birds, One Stone.

You know, when you win a title, you're expected to come out to the ring and talk about it.

That is what was going to happen, as "Lucky You" by the Deftones began blaring over the speakers. And instantly enough, the outpouring of hate reached deafening levels. Perhaps it wasn't as antagonistic as it was in her days in theAsylum but considering that she did TONS of damage in tA in such a short amount of time... that's no surprise.

Of course, FEJONA MIN has been a busy girl in ACW, especially over the last couple of months. A war with Quinton May at the forefront, along with a mission to dethrone Azrael Asesino as the Scorpion Fighting Champion -- in which she succeeded -- and finally... rekindling of an old rivalry with Splink. Yeah, that oughta earn her some baddie points / heel heat.

Anyways, the Callous Vixen herself finally appeared from behind the curtains after several seconds, and damn, there was a huge smirk on her face. Reminiscent to when she made her first appearance as tA's Women's Champion, in early of March this year. Sporting a tight red t-shirt with those really short sleeves, and equally tight black cargo pants (pretty stylish stuff), along with expensive-looking black pumps... Fejona looked dressed to kill.

Or, to gloat. We would find out in a matter of seconds, as the Cambodian Femme Fatale made her way down the ramp, her newly-won Scorpion Fighting Title strapped around her slender waist. Looked cool there, too. Like, it was destined or something.

Ahem. So, yeah, despite some fans tossing paper cups and the like at Fejona, the new Scorpion Fighting Champ didn't let that deter her as she climbed into the ring and unhooked her title belt. What did she do next, whilst waiting to receive a microphone? Why, she raised it up into the air to mock the fans. Duh.

The response? More jeering, as expected. Fejona chuckled, placing her title on her left shoulder while the fingers of her right hand pushed strands of her oh-so-ethereal hair out of her piercing eyes. Finally, a microphone was passed to her by the ring announcer, Michael Horsefield. Ugly-looking bastard, but with the voice of an angel. Kids, don't do drugs when pregnant.

"I appreciate the warm reception, really." Fejona spoke almost immediately, but it only incited more jeering. "But if you mongrels do not mind, I'd like to say my piece without raising my voice. Unless, of course, you folks would like to see me out here in the ring longer than I have to be.

Can't imagine you'd like that much. So, I suggest you all shush and let me proceed with my victory speech. Which, I assure you, will be quite direct and straight to the point. Can you all do that for me? Hmmm?"

Fejona continued smirking, liking how she was talking down to the masses like they were children. Nothing could faze her. Not even the resultant chants, which were in the vein of 'DIE, SLUT, DIE!'. Innovative buggers, these fans are, eh? Min shook her head, tapping her title as a reminder to the fans that she was, in fact, above them.

Now taking to mild pacing, Fejona figured she'd continue despite the hostile environment. "Alright, so. I did what I said I would do. I have claimed the first of many ACW accolades, and that being the new Scorpion Fighting Champion of this organisation. This title, I hear, is rumoured to be cursed. But in my grasp, this title will only be cursed to those who dare to challenge me.

You see, this title was created not as a buffer for 'hardcore wrestling' for the company. It was devised as a way for someone to unleash absolute bedlam upon everybody who stood in his way. And while I may not have known him personally, Vincent Pembridge was a great man with a great vision. You people can hate him all you want, but you have to admit... when he said he'd do something, he did it. Like, for example... KA-BOOOM?"

Oh, ho. The fans did not like that ONE BIT. The old-school ones, especially. They knew what 'KA-BOOOM' referred to, and now, the hatred for Fejona Min grew. The Cambodian Femme Fatale simply chuckled, not really caring. This was her stage and her time. Nobody was going to bring her down. And with what she had planned, the night could end up being really special for her.

"At any rate, I had a point. And that would be, that the Scorpion Fighting Title is about to return to its roots. The only reason it's depreciated in value is because of the past title-holders sans the King himself, Vincent Pembridge. Makes me wonder how his sister turned out to be such a cunt. But anyways; Azrael, Atken, Messiah, and Quinton -- they've all ruined this title here!" Fejona resumed, raising her voice to drive home her exact feelings.

The fans jeered at that last part, but the Callous Vixen ignored them. "And, oh yeah. All week long, I've been asked the same question. What was up with me giving Azrael that piece of paper after I've defeated him? Let's just say, Azrael go bye-bye now. He no come back. He go far, farrrr away. Ahem. If you understood the nature of my talents that I utilised to my fullest extents in theAsylum, then you'll know exactly what happened.

Moving on to new business, though. Tonight marks the true beginning of my reign of influence here in ACW. It's taken some time to get started, but I've finally found my footing and rediscovered the form that made me such a talked-about phenonmenon during my brief Asylum tenure. Redemption? More or less covered it, but there's one little matter that needs to be taken care of.

And this time, I'd like to call out to the ring, an absolute fan favourite of yours... QUINTON MAY!"

What the heck? Did Fejona just call out a nemesis of hers?

Looks like it. And while the spectators erupted in a huge chorus of cheers for the mere mention of the man that was the federation's Television Champion, most were wondering what Fejona's game was. Lord knows how hard she tried to cheat him out of the title at the PPV, during May's epic showdown with his former disciple, Joseph McMillan.

Didn't have to wait long, Fej. "Make A Move" by Lostprophets started up, with the whole Angel soundbyte thing being bypassed. Lights go out. Somebody set us up the bomb. Not really, it was simply the prelude to the brilliant show of pyrotechnics that lit up the arena 32 seconds or so after. Yay.

Quinton May, decked out in a white t-shirt and his new trademark bluish-purple denim jeans, came storming out from the back a short while after, sending the sea of humanity into a furthered and heightened state of frenzy. They sure loved their Canadian Gladiator. Fejona Min made with the golf-clap in the ring, with her eyes transfixed on Quinton's TV Title all the while.

The same one that Quincy retained at the PPV, en route to earning his 30th victory of his ACW career. Quite a milestone, for a guy who started out as a scrawny chap with little skills. Amazing what one and three-quarter year's experience can do for a man, eh? Truly amazing. Quinton wasn't quite in the best of moods, though. Between ACW committments and the pressures of tSC, the Rising Star didn't have much time to be all merry and shit.

Which was probably why as he rolled into the ring and his theme song faded out, Quinton yoinked the mic right out of Fejona's possession and backed away from the Scorpion Fighting Champ. Fejona kept her cool while the fans went all 'OOOOOH'. May? His face was expressionless. You'd think the guy has menstrual cramps or something, heh.

"Alright, I'm out here. Make it quick, Fej. You and I? Not exactly a love story for the ages there, and besides, I thought we were done. Obviously not, considering what happened seven days ago. Nonetheless, you've got my attention. Speak, now, or I leave." Quinton stated matter-of-factly, prior to tossing the microphone back to Fejona and asking for one of his own.

The Cambodian Femme Fatale cleared her throat. This was it. "Okay. I understand you're a busy man. I also understand you're a bit peeved at me suddenly showing up by Joseph's side at the PPV, despite both of us saying that we no longer had a reason to be in collusion. I apologise for trying to cost you the match last week, but hey, when I'm paid good money... I do what I'm supposed to do.

That being said, however, I realise that we do have unfinished business. And since Joseph didn't quite exactly succeed in his mission, I figure it's now time for me to have another crack at your Television Title. You can't say I don't deserve it, because I ran you damn close when we duelled at KING OF AGES 2004, back in August. So, what I'm proposing is... title-for-title. Tonight. Right here, right now.

Let's you and I settle our rivalry. Once and for all."

Quinton blinked, then rubbed his eyes. Then, he choked on his own spit... which was followed by some laughter. He couldn't believe what he just heard, and neither did the crowd. Although, they simply murmured amongst themselves, discussing what Quinton's reply was going to be like.

"Amazing. Incredible, even." the Canadian started as he composed himself. "First, you insult my reigns as Scorpion Fighting Champions. Then, you brazenly admit to being in cahoots with someone who was trying to, for all intents and purposes, end my being at RELENTLESS. During which, I might add, you cheated like there was no tomorrow, on Joseph's behalf. Even ol' Eddie G doesn't cheat that much.

And finally, you decide to lay down a challenge? Your exciting Scorpion Fighting Title for my Television?

Lest you forget, I've held that cursed thing twice already. I really don't have a desire to have it in my possession for a third time. However, if winning it off of you means you get to shut up and wallow in the fact that I've defeated you, AGAIN, then I'm all for it. Yes, that's right. I'm going to accept your challenge, and put an end to our little feud.

... Once I win, though, you can bet your ravaged arse that I wi--OOOOF."

Hmmm. Odd choice of threatening, there. Oh, wait. Fejona Min, upon hearing that her challenge had been accepted, threw her microphone down and plowed Quincy Mama down to the canvas with her SF Title. The Canadian Gladiator never saw it coming.

Fejona now tossed her title aside and kicked Quinton's TV Title out of the ring, sneering devilishly at the fresh outbreak of jeering meted out for her. Of course, one couldn't start a match without laying down the rules of said match. With that in mind, what she said next made the situation all the more interesting, and set the stage for a match that most hoped would come to pass soon. Now, they had it.

"Lovely, Quinton. And, oh, I forgot to mention -- NO DISQUALIFICATIONS!"

Buckle up, folks. This ride's a bumpy one, and with no rules whatsoever? Oh, ho, can you say... ratings? Hmmm?

Scylla or Charybdis?

ACW was full of interesting developments, Seymour Almasy now realized.

He rushed through the backstage area, trying to find a monitor to watch the coming contest. Fejona Min and Quinton May were putting their titles on the line against one another, and the result would effect Seymour and his coming plans greatly.

“Figures. I call out Quinton May on national television, and he gives Fejona Min a shot at the title. Ah well, two assholes in the ring at once I can scout.”

Almasy knew he was being falsely brave. He didn’t know much about the Cambodian Femme Fatale, save that she fought like Natalie Quinston did, only better, and that she was the Scorpion Fighting Champion. That wasn’t the most reassuring fact.

And then, there was Quinton May, the man who had dominated the ACW Television Title picture for over a year. A man who looked absolutely unbeatable at times.

It was figuring to be an absolutely electric contest. 

Considering that he had no ticket, backstage seemed to be the best place to observe the action.

Hurriedly jogging, he finally managed to find a monitor in a lonely corner of the arena’s bowels. Pulling up a nearby chair, he sat down, eyes focused firmly on the monitor.

Soon enough, he would know who he’d have to go through to get the prize that he desired.

He didn’t have an option that he preferred.

After all, it would be kind of like choosing between Scylla and Charybdis.

 
Quinton May [TV] Vs. Fejona MIN [SF]

Certainly not the start to a match most would expect, eh? Toooo bad, that's how it is.

Fejona Min continued kicking away at her fallen adversary, aiming her expensive black pumps at the left shoulder of Quinton May. Which, if you remember, has been a bit of a sore spot for Quinton since late July. All thanks to Fejona, indirectly, actually. Full circle. The fans, of course, were jeering for the Cambodian's cheap tactics... but hey, whatever gets you heard.

Anyways, with the match being so stacked in terms of stakes, we definitely needed an official to control the damn thing, right? Out came Lucas Nuckallin, at full speed, ready to referee this match to the best of his ability. His first action upon entering the ring? Calling for the bell.

* DING DING DING *

It was at this time that Fejona Min ceased the kicking which had gone on for close to a minute, and picked Quinton up. As groggy as he was, May tried to retaliate with a sudden forearm strike, but Fej sidestepped to the left and fired a sidekick to the ribs of Quincy Mama. Following which, a DDT was executed, completely out of nowhere. Quinton was comprehensively drilled on that one.

And the Femme Fatale wasted no time in rolling over and making the cover;

ONE.

TWO.

TH -- FOCK THAT SHIZ.

Fejona didn't fuss and quickly jumped back to her feet, casually removing her pumps upon doing so. Quinton took this opportunity to pull himself together, but you know what? A woman with shoes in her hands is a dangerous woman. WHAM!, one of the Cambodian's pumps found the back of Quinton's head, knocking him out of the ring. Fejona chuckled as she tossed her footwear aside, and swaggered over to the ropes.

Once she saw Quinton on the outside, struggling to get back to his feet and generally finding it difficult to recover his bearings after Min's sneaky start to the match, Fejona pulled herself onto the top rope (the rope itself), and somersaulted down onto the prone body of Quincy Mama. The result, was the Rising Star being struck with a powerful elbow drop to the back of his head. And you know what? That hurt, a HELL of a fockin' lot.

May was once more sprawled out on the ground, unable to catch his breath. Fejona simply stood to her feet and playfully flicked strands of her ethereal hair aside, greatly appealing to the horny fans in the front row. The Cambodian Femme Fatale, though, had business to tend to. In the form of claiming the TV Title, of course.

That was why Fejona pulled Quinton up, elbow-ed him in the ribs, and laid him out with a reverse russian leg-sweep! On the concrete! Okay, so the concrete was protected by padding, but it was thin padding. So, the impact of Fejona's exquisite move? Quinton would probably be feeling that until next week. Suffice to say, the Canadian Gladiator had been completely taken out of any sort of groove here.

Credit to Min, eh? Oh, yes. And now, as she swaggered away from Quinton, Fejona appeared as if she was going to fully take advantage of the fact that this match was a No Disqualifications contest, judging by her grabbing a steel chair and folding it up reaaaal nice. Quinton had no clue whatsoever, poor sod. Question was, which body part was Fejona going to target?

SMACK!

Didn't matter to her. That one? Back of the head.

SMACK!

Kidney area. Yowzah.

SMACK!

The ol' weak left shoulder. Ouch, much?

SMACK!

Back of the head. Once more, with feeling this time. Ahem.

SMACK!

Ooooh, that one hit the meaty arse of Quinton.

.... Ahem, and with that, Fejona was more or less finished with her assault. Quincy Mama was a trembling mess, unable to deal with all the pain that was overwhelming every fibre of his being. His 40th match in ACW, and he was staring defeat in the face. Hell, defeat had him by the balls, to be more specific. Tightly, too.

Fejona tossed her chair aside, raising her arms in assured victory. The fans naturally jeered their fucking hearts out. One week ago, she claimed the Scorpion Fighting Title. Now, it appeared as if she was on the verge of becoming a double champion.

Something not everybody wanted to see. But with Quincy being peeled off the ground and thrown into the ring like a lifeless carcass, the chances of Fejona not coming out on top looked grim. This suited the Cambodian Femme Fatale just fine, as she climbed onto the apron and... well, ascended to the top of the turnbuckle. She wanted to win in style, see, and considering that the Canadian was in just the right position, Fejona decided to go for the kill.

That came in the form of a scintillating cockscrew moonsault, that connected perfectly! The fans were all 'OMG'-ing, respecting how much it took for Fejona to do that... hating her nonetheless, since their hero was the one suffering as a result.

It finito? Si senor, let's get confirmacion;

UNO.

DOS.

TRE -- NOOOOOO!

You thought he was done for, didn't you? So did I. So did everyone in the arena.

Sure, it had only been three or so minutes since the commencement of the match, but it had been all Fejona right from the get-go. And, hey, the Rogue Slayer was not holding anything back. She was being especially vicious. Yet, Quinton had managed to get the shoulder up there.

As expected, Fejona was stunned. So, she stood to her feet and fumed for a second or so. What came next? Harsh kick to the throat of Quinton, prompting ze esteemed referee, Lucas, to step in and warn Fejona. The Scorpion Fighting Champion scoffed. "No Disqualifications, you idiot. I can do whatever I want, and all you have to do is watch and count."

Cocky, ain't she? Welll, she was about to jack that up a lot, pulling the downed Quincy Mama up and apply a front facelock. Oh, no, it was not any normal facelock. The glint in her eyes suggested that perhaps she was going for her SAGACITY 01. YAY. Or, not. Quinton knew what was coming, and as soon as Fejona began to lift Quincy off the canvas, the Castaway struck.

How so? By wrapping his arms around Fej's slender waist and throwing her over his head, in something resembeling a northern light's throwaway slam! Defeat was averted, and everybody rejoiced... for all of two seconds. The enraged Cambodian Femme Fatale had landed on her feet, showcasing agility that was probably on the same level of Quinton May's. Surely, though, she did not expect to be caught by a small package pin as she turned around?

That's what happened. And while the fans orgasmed, Lucas Nuckallin counted;

ONE.

TWO.

THRE -- SO CLOSE!

Quinton almost stole the victory there, but Fejona had the presence of mind to roll out of dodge at just the crucial moment. Both competitors raced back to their feet, the match well and truly alive now. Quinton had been a bit sluggish from the second he got blindsided by Fejona, but that can be expected when only seven days ago, the Castaway was involved in the fight of his life within the confines of a Steel Cage.

Anyways. Yes, Quincy and Fejona immediately charged at each other once they were both on their feet. Fejona was the quicker of the two, but her palm heel strike attempted hit nothing 'cept air. Quinton had taken to a roll, and rebounded himself into the ropes upon springing up to his feet. Fejona too came off the ropes, unable to curb her own momentum.

Not good for her. Not when you get floored by a high-leg clothesline as a result. Oh yeah, the fans were wild now, and Quincy Mama kipped to his feet, ready to open the proverbial can of WHOOP-DEE-DOO arse. The special kind, eh.

Fejona quickly scrambles to her feet, trying to grasp what in the heck just happened to her. Staggering around, Quinton's leg once again came hurtling towards her in a spinning heel kick. Min, luckily enough for her, was able to instinctively catch the Television Champion's leg. She herself seemed a bit surprised and started to grin.

Until she got punched in the face. POW. Yeah, May didn't care. For all of Fejona's shenanigans since July and especially seven days ago, the Rising Star figured he deserved to be as savage as he could possibly be. Fejona stumbled back, cupping her nose, hoping to HeatMan that it wasn't bleeding. Quincy was hoping it was, as he shot himself into the ropes, ready to serve up more damage.

Too bad about Fejona forgetting about her possibly broken nose and intercepting Quinton with an outward spinning backfist, eh? Ahhh, but Quinton was a further step ahead, ducking underneath Min's arm and catching her in a rear waistlock from the... rear. Mmmm, rear action. You know you loves the buttsex. What was about to happen, though, wasn't buttsex. I know, I'm disappointed too. But hey, the next best thing.

GERMAN SUPLEX!

GERMAN SUPLEX, REDUX!

GERMAN SUPLEX, RELEASE VERSION!

Two normal suplexes of the German kind, although Quinton would say 'Canadian'. The last one? Heh, it was a release German Suplex that saw Fejona Min hurled out of the ring. Read that over and over again. Ain't no joke, nucka. Fejona landed on her FACE on the ground, outside the ring. The fans all roared like the bloodthirsty bastards that they are, and the 'HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!' chants were in full force.

Quincy Mama? Oh, he was a happy camper. He rolled underneath the ropes to join Fejona on the outside, against Nuckallin's direct order, and poked Fejona's face with his boot. Once, twice... ahhh, she was still alive, May found out. Almost unconscious, but not quite. May frowned, prior to hopping back onto the apron and ascending to the top of the nearest turnbuckle. Just as Fejona started to rouse herself and within a matter of seconds, got back to her knees.

Quinton was waiting, and once Fejona started to even shift herself into an upright position, the Canadian Gladiator leapt from the summit of the turnbuckle, catching Fejona in the back of the head with a missile dropkick. The Obstinate Assassin, as it was common to call her that in tA, was flung head-first into the security barricade. The one that was unbreakable, but could have been shattered right then and there.

Now, then. Remember what happened when these two were on the outside, just a couple of minutes ago? CHAIR-YOU-BODY. Quincy remembered; hell, his arse still hurt from the chairshot spree of Fejona's. So, Quinton decided it was time for payback.

And duly retrieved a chair of his own. A fresh one, which he just folded. The crowd were ecstatic by this point. Their hero, the M15 Survivor, had managed to turn this match o' high stakes around. And sure, May didn't really have the intention of becoming a THREE-TIME Scorpion Fighting Champion. But, if it was at the expense of Fejona, May thought he'd just go ahead and live with it.

Fejona was now a scared lil' princess. Her face and the top of her noggin' had been battered like the prostitute SilverHAWK frequents every Sunday night. Fej could feel one throbbing mother of a migraine coming on, and to make matters worse, the sight of Quincy Mama stalking her with a chair was creepy and frightening all at the same time.

Just as Quinton got close enough and raised the chair over his head, however, Fejona Min struck by driving her foot upwards. Cajones? Meet foot. Foot? Have fun with the cajones, as sensitive as they be.

May dropped to his knees, the chair long forgotten. Fejona smiled despite the onslaught of insults being dumped on her by the fans in the front rows. For her, the fact that the fans despised her so only made the Cambodian more determined to unleash more violence. The current situation presented many an opportunity for absolute mayhem to unfold... and Fejona wasn't going to let this chance pass by her.

So, she got to her feet, pulled the hurtin' Quincy up, and after a intentionally-tame palm heel strike, Fejona sent Quinton crashing into the steel steps. May's head had grazed the edge of the steps, but thankfully for the man that would always bleed, no laceration was opened up. Instead, he just fell back, getting a nice view of the rafters whilst flat on his back.

Fejona Min limped over to May's body, and blew snot on him, in a degrading manner. The only manner there is when it comes to blowing snot. Then, deciding she hadn't shown off her l33t skills enough, Fejona springboared off the top of the steel steps and barrelled down on Quincy Mama in a moonsault. WOW, amazing! Take that, all you naysayers who say the laws of physics cannot be manipulated.

Wait, I should probably mention that the Castaway we've all come to love got his knees up, right? Yeah.

Fejona rolled away from Quinton, hand clutching her ribs and head bouncing off the barricade AGAIN. Not a good two minutes for the Cambodian Femme Fatale, now was it? No, siree. May, with the fans solidly behind him, climbed to his feet... a smirk forming on his face. This match, while still pretty much regarded as being in its infancy, had been brutal and tough from the second Fejona even proposed having it. Right aboot now, though, May was in control.

That was evident when he took Fejona's head off with a standing sidekick, just as the latter used the barricade to help herself up. Fejona found herself careening over the barricade, and dropping down to the cold concrete. Where was she? Damn straight, she was now amongst the masses. Those who hated her so.

Cue for the fans? More or less. One wise guy poured his beer onto Fejona, laughing as he did so. Min was furious, and uppercutted the rotund spectator into the next century as she got to her feet. Lawsuit~! Quincy Mama prevented further harm to the fans by jumping over the barricade, and striking Fejona in the kidneys with a stiff forearm smash.

Following which, Quinton laid her out with a spinning neckbreaker, right there on the concrete! Like the lady said, natta disqualificaions. Fejona brought this on herself, didn't she? The whole clone saga, bringing Joseph McMillan into the fold and costing Quinton the KOA 2004 crown, trying to interfere in the Steel Cage showdown seven days ago; yeah, you wonder why Quinton's hell bent on beating Fejona into the next millenium? You've got your answers, bitch.

Towering over the downed Fejona Min now, Quinton wiped the sweat off his forehead, and pulled his nemesis up. One kick to the ribs later, Quinton had suplexed Fejona back to ringside, forcefully tossing her aside like she was of no use or consequence to him. Fejona's head bounced off the protected paddings, and the Cambodian Femme Fatale gargled, unable to even move at this point.

Good news for Quincy Mama, yes? Yes.

So, definitely happy as Murphy now, Quinton leapt up onto the barricade, and just as swiftly jumped off, connecting with a jumping knee-drop. Down onto Fejona's pretty lil' face. Oh yeah, baby, May could be cold-hearted when you provoked him enough. And I don't think I have to say again how much Fej has provoked him.

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

Quinton rubbed his knee as he dragged Fejona up by her hair, and rolled her back into the ring. May was close behind, opting against hitting another move before doing what he was about to do. That being, making the pin;

ONE.

TWO.

THRE -- SHOULDER!

Jesus, it came at the last possible second, but Min had gotten her shoulder a mere inch and a half off the canvas. Which was enough for Lucas Nuckallin to stop his count. Quincy Mama's face was a picture of abject disappointment. Still, he knew he was thisdamnclose to victory.

With that in mind, Quinton pulled Fejona up and chopped her across the chest (WHOOOO~!). Just not, y'know, rattling the boobies. Not that Min would have cared much, being extremely out of it at this juncture. Anywho, Quinton followed up the chop with a powerful Irish whip into the corner turnbuckle.

Whiplash effect? It was invoked, indeed. Perfect for the Canadian Gladiator, as he took a step forward and got the funeral proceedings for the Cambodian Femme Fatale underway by hitting the DYLAN-ATOR! Don't know what that is? You motherfucker, I mentioned it last week in the Quinton/McMillan showdown. Go look for it there, I'm too effin' lazy now.

Ahem. Fejona = ded. Quinton = alive. Cover was academic, Nuckallin counted;

ONE.

TWO.

THREE -- SHIT, NO!

Quinton scratched his head, wondering just how Fejona did it. She was displaying immense resilence here, something most hadn't figured was in her. Obviously, those people had not followed her in theAsylum. In her short time there, Fejona had disproven all the stereotypes of women in this industry.

One thing she didn't do, though, was make Quinton care. May didn't even care whether Fejona had a juicy pussy; he just wanted to end this little rivalry with her. Standing to his feet, the Castaway kicked away mercilessly at the back of the Callous Vixen's neck, which had already come under immense punishment throughout the course of the match.

Know what would really be the icing on the cake? No? Fucker, now I have to spell it out for you.

Sigh; anyways, the icing would be Quincy pulling Fejona up, lifting her off the canvas, and spiking her to the canvas after holding the sexy lass up there for a couple of seconds. That's right, delayed brainbuster. More and more pressure on that now-vulnerable neck of Fejona Min. Cover came nex... no, it didn't.

Surprising. Quinton did look as if he was going for the cover, but decided against it at the last minute. Instead, the Castaway exited the ring and walked over to the timekeeper's table. Was he going to use his TV Title, or... gasp, Fejona's SF Title? Which was, twice upon a time, his for the keeping?

Neither was the object of his desire. The ring-bell was what Quinton May grabbed, much to the crowd's joy. A little blood and mayhem never hurt anyone, right?

In the ring, Fejona Min was still pretty much in La-La Land. Not realising what Quinton had in his hands. May, though, didn't simply roll back into the ring and knock Fejona out with his weapon. Nope, he jumped back onto the apron, and promptly made his way to the nearest turnbuckle.

I'm kidding? I wish I was. Quinton didn't take too long a time to ascend to the top of the turnbuckle, just as Fejona groggily got back to her vertical base, eyes glazed over and all. This just made Quincy's next move all the more easier to pull off. Kissing the ring-bell and with his eyes transfixed on Fejona, the Canadian Gladiator went for it.

Trouble was, so did Fejona. At the last second, the drunken-like staggering was cast aside and Min spun around, obliterating Quincy Mama with a perfectly-executed 540º Hook Kick of Muthafockin' Doom! Ring-bell? Forgotten by the fans.

"HOLY SHIT!"
"HOLY SHIT!"
"HOLY SHIT!"

Quinton May was out, COLD. Colder than a corpse found in the Arctic Ocean on a night where the coldest stream currents are in play. Fejona was also on her back, slipping after she executed the move. She was tired as hell, and also quite wounded. May had recovered nicely after the opening exchange and did a real number on her.

Up to twelve seconds prior. And not enough to prevent the Cambodian Femme Fatale from rolling over and getting her right arm across May's chest. We have a *new* Television Champion, folks;

ONE.

TWO.

THREEEEE.

...

... QUINTON GOT THE SHOULDER UP! HOLY MOTHER OF BENJAMIN STEWART.

Lucas Nuckallin jumped to his feet, holding two fingers up. Indicating that it was only TWO. A shocker for most in attendance, who thought that surely, Fejona had put herself on the elusive list of double champions in ACW history with that magnificent Hook Kick of the 540º variety.

It was not to be. And y'know, Fejona was none too happy. She stood to her feet, looking like she was going to cry. She really couldn't believe it... but the Cambodian Femme Fatale pulled herself together and crouched down to pull Quincy Mama up. Just so you know, he was still pretty limp from having been destroyed by the Hook Kick.

And there was more in store, as Fejona Min quickly executed a cradle DDT, having glanced at the ring-bell laying in the corner of the ring prior to dropping Quinton on his head.

Once more, Fejona got her body across Quinton's, and as she hooked the leg, Lucas counted;

ONE.

TWO.

THRE -- STILL, HE WON'T DIE!

Fejona pounded the canvas with her fist, absolutely livid. She had come undeniably close to being the first person to ever defeat Quinton May in a match for the TV Title, yet the Canadian Gladiator simply refused to give the fuck up.

Running out of ideas, Min pulled May back up and deftly scored with a roundhouse kick to the side of the ribs, before whipping Quinton into the ropes. As the Rising Star came back, Fejona struck him in the chest with a thrusting heart kick. Muay Thai, suckers. Quinton went down like a sack of potatoes, clutching the left side of his chest. Where the heart is, ya know?

Fejona smirked, prior to limping over to the corner of the ring and retrieving the ring-bell that Quinton had hoped to use on the Cambodian Femme Fatale. Looking at the weapon, Fejona's eyes gleamed with dirty delight. If she was going to win this, Fejona now knew what she had to do.

And to do just that, the Scorpion Fighting Champion needed Quinton to get up and face her. Which he did, unaware of what was going to happen. Fejona duly rushed at him, swinging at ring-bell at his head. Thankfully, for all the Mama-maniacs in attendance, Quinton ducked and shot himself into the ropes. Fejona was surprised, and the Rogue Slayer turned around... her new weapon in her hand.

Turns out, Quinton didn't shoot himself into the ropes, per se. Having neared the ropes, Quincy Mama springboarded off the top one and and twisted inwards, catching Fejona -- who was in the middle of the effin' ring -- with a sweet-as-fock dropkick! One of his trademarks, that. Ring-bell was knocked out of Fej's grasp (and out of the ring). The Cambodian Femme Fatale herself?

She was in trouble. Deep, big trouble.

That was bloody obvious when Quinton pulled she who was the Scorpion Fighting Champion up, kicked her in the ribs, stuck her head in between his legs, and double-underhooked the arms. You ALL know what this is, motherfuckers. Call the priest, while in the midst of your rejoicing.

HIDEAWAY! HOORAY FOR ZOIDBERG.

...

...

So, uh, why was everybody jeering?

Two words. JOSEPH MCMILLAN. Yes, the Blind Slayer had sprinted down the ramp and leapt up onto the turnbuckle, showing the agility and quickness of a panther. Unfortunately for him, Quinton May could sense his presence and the latter shoved Fejona away, spinning around and catching 'Seph with a ferocious hook to the face.

Joseph fell down to the ground, fuming. So much for the sneak attack. But you could see the forming of a suspicious grin on his face.

Chalk it down to Fejona Min rolling Quinton up in a small package, after the Television Champion told Joseph to 'fuck off' and turned around to resume the killing of Fejona Min. Lucas hit the deck;

ONE.

TWO.

THREE.

NEW TELEVISION CHAMPION, NATCH!

Fejona relinquished the pinning hold and darted out of the ring. Exhausted, yet victorious. The entire arena was stunned silent. Quinton May lay flat on his back, blinking furiously. Had just what happened really actually transpired?

Perhaps it didn't. Quinton sure as hell hoped so. But, the playing of "Lucky You" by the Deftones dispelled any thoughts of this being a dream, and Fejona Min raised her arms in the air. She had done it. She had conquered Quincy Mama, and ended his legendary reign as ACW's Television Champion, while defending her Scorpion Fighting Title against the man who'd held it twice. Seven days after winning said title.

If this isn't the age of Fejona Min, I don't know what is. Oh, right, it's the age of fucking darkness.

... In more ways than one. Stay tuned.

Winner AND NEW ACW TELEVISION CHAMPION > Fejona Min

thereturn/05 - finale.

As if the night wasn't already laden with surprises, there was to be but one more.

Quinton May stood to his feet, absolutely shellshocked but also curious at the sudden flickering of the lights in the arena. As were the fans, who had been muted by the unexpected title change that just occured. Fejona Min was a wicked competitor, there was no doubt. But nobody gave her a chance against Quincy Mama, whose reigns of the Television Title have reached legendary status.

Now, more so than ever, considering he was finally beaten. The first time, EVER, he had been defeated in a TV Title match-up, and... yes, the loss of the title went hand-in-hand. Now, though, there appeared to be a new problem. Lights? Still flickering.

Fejona Min and Joseph McMillan decided not to stick around to see what was happening, and duly made their hasty exit through the crowd. Wasn't the wisest of choices, since some of the more outraged fans took to hurling their trash at the two of 'em, and from point-blank range... it was always going to be tough for Fejona and Joseph to remain unscathed for long.

Finally, as May propped himself against the ropes -- obviously displaying signs of turmoil from the war that just concluded -- the lights stopped flickering. And on the stage was a wrinkly old man. Not at all American-looking, and with a cigar in between his chapped lips. Dead ringer for Abe Simpson, sans the yellowness and the hair. Otherwise, though, pretty spot on.

Old man had a microphone in his right hand, too. And, YES, he was going to talk. "Hello 'ere, Quinton. It's been a bloody long while and some change, eh? I suspect it'd be a long shot if ye even did remember me. Judging by how ya're looking at me, I'll take that as a NO.

Well, then. No surprise 'ere. Quinton, I am CORNELIUS. Do ye remember now?"

Quinton's eyes narrowed, as he tried to assess the man with the thick Irish accent that was speaking jibberish to him. Shaking his head from side to side, to indicate that he did not remember, the Canadian Gladiator almost slipped back down to the canvas, by way of his legs nearly giving out on him. Boo hoo.

"Bugger that. Nonetheless, Quinton. Do I 'ave a surprise for ye, or what? Listen, I've been watching ye for the better part of seven months now. Everything ya've been through in ye life this year? I bloody know about it, heh!" Cornelius continued, taking several steps down the ramp as he did so.

Now, Quincy Mama was really puzzled. Who the FOCK *was* this joker? Nobody in the stands knew. "And I have to admit, ya've been one resilient arse. Never have ye let ya'self down. Always fightin' the good fight, no matter the bleeding consequene. Which are indeed present, but ye have chosen not to think about them, aye?

Unfortunately, therein the problem lies. I 'ave made a solemn promise that when the time was ripe, ye would start to feel the brunt of the actions ye have committed in the name of honour. Guess what, Quinton? Tonight is the night."

A lump formed in the bottom of May' throat. He staggered to the middle of the ring, suddenly having a vague flash of just who Cornelius was. It had been many years ago, but if Quinton wasn't mistaken, the man currently talking to him now? He was key. He was the one, who possibly had the answers, yet was the source of all the pain and suffering.

"Quinton, I am proud to present to ye..." Cornelius resumed as he halted at the bottom of the ramp, with a giant smirk on his face. "... the one they call the Destroyer. An animal so vicious, that his return to this environment could spell absolute bloody chaos for many, and which will be on your hands. He is the one who seeks vengeance, Quinton.

I unveil to ye, the most evil bastard on the face of this planet, and in the history of mankind...

...

...

... Pembridge.

Alexander Pembridge, that is."

You could hear a pin drop. If you weren't distracted by a lanky man, bald headed and with small scars littered all over his upper torso (which was bare), sliding into the ring and taking to a kneeling position behind Quinton.

Oh, and the Canadian? His mouth was hanging open, in utter shock. All the old-school ACW fans in attendance were shitting themselves, while also being thoroughly confused. Vincent Pembridge, the scourge of ACW last year, was rumoured to only have a sister. And was far too young (26ish) to have a son that would fit what Cornelius was hyping this 'Alexander' bloke to be. So, yes, much confusion was afoot.

Cornelius himself started cackling like a mad genius, and motioned to Quinton to turn around. May did just that, being numbed by the news he had just received. And quite obviously, what came next would prove to change the landscape of Quincy's life from here on out.

The bald and lanky man? Yes, he was Alexander Pembridge.

And he leapt up from the canvas, obliterating Quinton with a pivoting/spinning uppercut. Quinton's body was jerked up from the canvas, and floated in mid-air like a feather for a few seconds, before crashing down to the canvas. Face-first. Highlighting just how much force was packed behind the uppercut, heh.

Cornelius's insane laughter started to get drowned out by a massive eruption of buzzing and quasi-jeering, as the man everybody was led to believe was Alexander Pembridge dropped to his knees... a bloodthirsty scowl eteched on his face. What he had to say next was the last on-air bizness for the moment, for COURAGE had to go to commercials. Everybody heard it, though. And all of them, at that instant, became extremely frightened.

"You killed my father. Now, you shall pay."

Short, but Sweet.

He didn't need to go and see SilverHAWK like he had asked...he had been given the message.

Tonight.

World Title match.

Vince Jacobs.

His chance...

And that was all Khristain Keller could think about.

Final Fantasy. Fine Man.

To put it mildly, Seymour Almasy was somewhat surprised. Before his eyes, the Television Title reign of Quinton May had come to an end at the hands of Fejona Min.

On one level, Seymour was upset. He wanted to be the man to end May’s reign, and soak up the cheers of the crowd for doing so. Now, if he wanted the championship, he would have to go through an expert martial artist, fluent in several styles, who also held ACW’s Scorpion Fighting Championship.

Still, Seymour was confident. Success over the past few weeks had emboldened him. He’d beaten Sky at Relentless, and Quinston earlier tonight. He rose, and once more began to walk the halls backstage, in search of the new champion.

Seymour didn’t find her.

He did, however, find someone infinitely more annoying.

Namely, Jamar Gordo. Golf-clapping while leaning back against a wall, a white bandage wrapped prominently around his forehead from the attack Kelly Flawless perpetuated on him during the Fine Man’s Gauntlet. Seymour wanted to ignore him, but Gordo was not a man to be ignored.

“So,” he said bluntly, glaring at Almasy. “You want the TV Title. Good for you. Fact is, however, that Fejona Min’s shining that title for me as we speak. Little punk ass like you isn’t going to take it, especially not once it gets around the waist of a SUPERSTAR like myself.”

Behind the arrogant exterior of Gordo was the memory of Almasy’s appearance on his G-Spot show a few weeks back. The two men had traded vicious barbs, and appeared to be on the verge of blows, just as they were now.

“If you’re so confident,” Seymour suggested, eyes never leaving Gordo, “then let’s settle this in the ring. Next week at Courage. We’ll see if you can do better than you did against Flawless, although I’m not optimistic…”

No sooner had the words come out of his mouth than Gordo got in Almasy’s face, looking down at the shorter superstar. Apparently, Seymour had struck a nerve.

“That SON OF A BITCH jumped me because he knew straight-out that he couldn’t beat me. I AM THE FINEST MAN IN ACW. PERIOD!”

Almasy simply shook his head.

“Fine’s got nothing to do with it. Bring everything you’ve got next week, because I certainly will.”

Well, that’s one match for next week…

A sign of things to come (Part II)

Inside of a lonely corridor, deep within the bowels of the Birmingham, Alabama arena; God’s Forgotten Son successfully reached a remote location where no other human life forms could be found. But this journey into the unknown took a lot of energy out of the exhausted competitor, falling back into the Bill Battle Coliseum’s rusted wall as GFS slide downward to the floor. 

It was there he looked upward toward the ceiling, the dim flicker of the busted light flashed onto his half covered face, watching moths dance around the glow. GFS wished that life was that simple for him, a life where his instincts lead every decision and it could possible answer the mysteries of his existence. 

As God’s Forgotten Son stared into the heavens, his mind started to wonder; suddenly the voices within remerged. Surprised, GFS looked around his surroundings but no one was present thanks to his examination. Whatever the voices were telling him, it had the youngster’s complete attention, so much in fact that GFS didn’t notice stadium attendant at the end of the corridor. In plain sight, the dirt covered attendant watched this strange personality rose to his feet, holding up his left forearm to shield his eye lids. 

The bizarre thing was as the attendant reached for his walkie talkie, the light was still dim as GFS escaped into unknown door way, shutting the large steel door behind him. Almost stumbling down the concrete steps in the darkness of the Utility Room, the abandoned youngster reached the grimy surface, where God’s Forgotten Son dropped to his knees. 

On the ground, he noticed the trail of ants heading off into a far corner of the area; could this be a sign from above? Even before the King of Ages champion could really ponder whether or not that was true, he had already crawled half way to the hole in the wall. 

Intensely focused on the little insects, those black ants who mindless animals that could have been controlled my invisible strings; God’s Forgotten Son didn’t see the brick wall in front of him, ramming his head in the process. 

Ouch, that must have hurt as the double champion rubbed on the top of his skull, admiring the barrier which made the superstar see stars. It’s intriguing how inspiration effects one’s being, as GFS began to smile amidst the pain, searching diligently for unknown objects. Nearby on the other side of the Utility Room, someone was about to disturb the youngster as he finished his project. 

God’s Forgotten Son glanced over the remains of his tattered journal, before placing his diary back into his shabby black hoodie, gradually floating to the earth to admire the beauty he created. Looking at the scarred wall in front of him, his mindset was disturbed by the scratching of feet on the concrete, as a set of toes and souls came to a grinding halt just outside the room he currently inhabited.

The Forgotten Son turned to see the silhouette's shadow scampering along the dust filled ground, before he panicked. Out of nowhere GFS quickly picked up his speed and launched himself through the doorway, bustling past the figure and out of a nearby emergency exit.

And as the figure walked into the room, GFS's valuables all but gone from the dark and dusty room, a drop fell on his shoulder...and another, and another.

"What the..."

SilverHAWK.

He looked upwards.

"Holy shit..."

It was graphic and somewhat disturbing as the light from the outside hallways flickered and dances with the uneven layers of liquid on the ceiling. What this substance was actually made of was unclear, and it's message, also unclear, but as HAWK looked up and tried to convey the message GFS was trying to put across, he would have no idea of the implications that this moment would bring.

032303

I Had Just As Soon Assumed You Where Dead - Quinton

Don't you just love it when the son of your most hated nemesis pops by for vengeance?

Even if it was hard to comprehend, the evil Vincent Pembridge -- rumoured to be trapped in a vegetative state following the events of last year's Tribute Show -- managed to father a son. And, somehow, the son had come a-knockin' to finish what his daddy started. And yes, Alexander was a full-grown man. Oh, the headaches. I'd imagine some people with the initials WM will be questioning this turn of events until the cows come home.

Quinton May, though? He had taken to trashing his locker-room. Nothing was spared. Even the usually comical Rickino Martino knew the severity of the situation, and was hiding under a table. So as not to get hit by whatever May was throwing around.

To be honest, it was a trainwreck of a night for Quinton. TV Title? Lost, to a nemesis in Fejona Min. The appearance of the son of his all-time hated enemy? Made matters worse. Not to mention, the super leaping pivoting/spinning uppercut Alexander delivered to Quinton; May's jaw had been popped out of place ever since the fist of Alexander struck him. So, yes, excuse Quinton for not being in the best of moods.

"I-Is there a-anything I can do, Quinton?" Rickino asked meekly, once he realised that Quinton had stopped throwing things around. May grunted as he sat himself down on the only piece of furniture he hadn't decimated.

Sighing as he did so. This was all too much for him to handle. "No. Actually, yes. Tell me how it is possible that Vincent Pembridge, who I think is only about three or four years older than I am and is assumedly in a coma for what doctors say is forever, has a SON that looks and feels like he's *my* age? How in the name of FUCKING HELL is it even possible? Can you find that out for me, eh?"

Rickino dragged himself from under the table, seriously chewing on May's words. He himself, although not fully equipped with the whole background on Quinton's deal with Vincent Pembridge, was quite the perplexed bunny. And he was thinking if he could do some research and come up with some answers, the Castaway would be able to soothe himself.

"Yes, I will go ahead and try that right now! I am, after all, an expert at research!" Rickino announced proudly, en route to storming out of the room. Off to do research on this entire Alexander Pembridge situation.

Quinton leaned back in his chair and shook his head, unaware that just as Rickino left the room... someone else was outside, waiting to come in. And since Martino had not stopped to question him, ALIAS figured it would be alright to go right on in.

"Quinton." May twisted his head around and looked at this man who was entering for just a moment, before putting his head back in his hands. Certainly, the Canadian had not expected this visit.

"What are you doing here, Chris? I had assumed you were dead." May mumbled with a concealed grin. There was a bit of contempt in his voice, but who could blame him with the day he had had so far? Plus, he was also spot on with the analysis, considering Alias's troubles over in tSC.

It was taking its toll on Sheffield, but hey, the man's a tough bastard. "Heh, I had assumed the same about Pembridge!" Alias was quick to reply, effectively changing the subject. And oh yes, he had been there that night… not with Quinton, the Pulp Hero was in the ring when it allll happened... but he was there that night. 

"That… wasn’t Vincent." Quinton clarified as he removed his face from his hands and locked eyes with Sheffield.

Alias, now pacing about with puzzlement written all over his face, nodded. "Just how many Pembridge's are there out there?"

"You aren’t the first one who wants to find out." Quinton shot back, shaking his head. This was trickier than a man finding his wife riding the dick of his deceased father. No, I am not sick. Yes, that is some goooood ganja.

"Soooo… he’s got a brother? I wasn't really paying attention, what with being shocked and such." Alias posed to Quincy, stroking his goatee in a paternal way that makes him so secky.

May was now replaying what just happened in the ring moments ago, still in shock. "Son. Vincent only has a sister, as far as I know. Karen Pembridge. She and I are... were friends. Haven't been in touch with her lately, but yeah, pretty sure Karen and Vincent don't have any other siblings." 

"Is that… possible?" Alias asked, again. Inquisitive, ain't he?

Quinton's eyes narrowed. He too was full of questions, and he didn't want to be the one answering them. Such was the nature of the situation. "Again, you aren’t the first one to ask that question."

This drew a exasperated shake of the head from Alias. "Bizarre. I mean… Vincent was no older than I am, I believe… and my daughter is only seven years ol…d.” Alias caught himself, knowing he’d let slip that secret he’d been keeping since the Squared Circle’s first show. It had just seemed more natural to talk about Izzy since he had finally saw her for the first time. And her, her mother Monet and Chris had started hanging out every once in a while outside of shows. 

Quinton looked over to him again, pivoting in his seat this time. "You have a daughter?" 

"I’ve been keeping it a secret for a while, you're one of the only ones that knows now… but yeah. It’s that hard to believe, huh?" the Pulp Hero confirmed, a slight burden having been lifted off his shoulders.

Quinton thought for a moment, about his son Dylan, and how all that happened. "Actually, no, I’ve heard harder things to believe."

Alias grinned for a moment and nodded his head, he leaned against the wall of Quinton’s locker room, surveying the damage. Quinton had already stood up and was pacing a bit, his hands on his hips and his back to the Pulp Hero. He wasn’t so much surveying the damage as he was… lost in thought. 

“Quinton… if anyone knows what that TV title means…” Alias started, a solemn knowing in his voice.

"Except I never gave it up..." Quinton muttered, not so much in contempt as it was. Okay yeah… in contempt. 

Alias peaked an eyebrow. “What was that?” 

Quinton now headed towards the door, but turned back to look at Alias. "You. You’ve been given so much these last two years… and how much have you thrown away? Please, I'm not in the mood. I'm out of here.

Alias was caught off guard, as he just stood there… frozen. Quinton just shook his head and snorted at the Original Pulp Hero. They didn’t talk much… but when they did, it was most uncomfortable. Sheffield knew tht May harboured some odd and unfounded resentment towards him, albeit on a small scale, but still, the former 2-time ACdub Champion couldn't quite understand it.

Quinton, meanwhile, walked out the door, and closed it behind. Leaving Alias… in the chaos that was the Castaway's current world.

Or at least, a fitting symbol of it. 

Vince Jacobs[c] vs. Khristain Keller 

"Dirty Window" by Metallica blasted over the PA system and Khristian Keller stepped from the backstage area and he was met with a chorus of boos from the crowd. Keller, with his wrists taped as always slowly made his way towards the ringside area. Keller shouted a few obscenities at the fans towards the ringside area before sliding into the ring. Once he entered the ring he looked over the crowd who were still booing him and shook his head as to be disgusted with their response towards him. He was a man on a mission tonight. It was his chance to finally become the ACW World Heavyweight Champion. He lost his opportunity last year when the fed closed but now he is not going to let this chance pass him by even if it was SVJ.

Suddenly the lights went out and on the acw-tron as something flashed.

'Ring Superstar' started to blast over the PA system as Vince slowly made it to the stage posing for the fans on the stage. The fans let Vince have it with boos throughout the arena.

Vince Jacobs walked out on stage and soaked in the jeers from the crowd. He looked around and smirked at the thousands of fans booing him. Jacobs slowly walked to the ring with the ACW World Heavyweight Title around his waist. He walked down the aisle laughing and pointing at the fans ringside before rolling into the ring. The champ held the World title in the air as he taunted the fans and Khristain Keller.

Jacobs was read as so was Keller. Both men inched their way to the middle of the ring as Rex Blankford held the ACW World Title high in the air signifying what was at stake.

“So you little band of merry men in Pandora couldn’t cut the mustard huh, Kell?” Jacobs said as he and Keller were eye to eye.

“Pandora were pussies Vince, surprised you weren't asked to join...” Keller replied back with a sneer.

“I am GOD around here Keller. I did something you couldn’t do last year and that was taking the title from Alias. So your destiny tonight is to be my BITCH. Jacobs said with a smirk

That did it as the Keller threw the first punch that landed on Vince’s face sending him to the mat. The bell rung signifying the start of the match. Keller jumped on Vince who was on the mat and continued the onslaught. Jacobs tried to fight back as both men rolled around on the mat throwing punches on each other.

Both men rolled out of the ring to the floor where they were still trading punches. Keller was going to prove something tonight and SVJ was going to prove that he was the best in the business. Jacobs blocked a punch from Keller and hit him with a forearm shot. Jacobs quickly grabbed Keller and whipped him into the guardrail. Rex was yelling at Jacobs to get in the ring.

Vince rolled into the ring to break the count and rolled back to the floor for Keller. The champ chased Keller to the other side of the ring as Keller was trying to get a breather. Jacobs raced toward Keller who nailed Vince with a big clothesline that took the champ down to the floor. Keller knew he couldn’t win the title outside as he grabbed Jacobs by his hair and flung him into the ring.

Keller quickly went for a cover on Vince.

ONE…

TWO…

KICKOUT!!

It was going to take more than that to keep Jacobs down on the mat. Keller knew this as he picked up Jacobs and slammed him hard to the mat. The fans were in a win-win situation, as they couldn’t stand either one of these two men. They would love to see these beat the holy hell out of each other. That is what Keller intended on doing as he hoisted Jacobs up onto his shoulder. He started to run into the corner but Vince pushed himself off of Keller’s shoulder and Keller went flying into the corner.

Jacobs raced into the corner and nailed Keller with a big dropkick. Keller dropped to the mat as Jacobs raised his arms in the air toward the crowd. The fans jeered him of course but Jacobs didn’t care. He went back to work on his opponent. Jacobs picked up Keller and ran out of the corner with a bulldog on Keller. Jacobs grabbed the leg for the pin.

ONE…

TWO…

KICKOUT!!

K2 was still in the match. He had been asking for his title shot that he never received last year after winning the King of Ages Tournament in 2003. This was his opportunity. He was going to win that title if it killed him or Jacobs whichever came first. Jacobs picked up Keller and whipped him into the ropes. Keller bounced off the ropes as Jacobs landed a perfect spinning heel kick to Keller’s jaw. Vince pointed to the top rope as he was letting the fans now he was going to fly.

“A superstar is about to be in flight.” Jacobs yelled

Vince climbed to the top rope ready to nail Keller with the Shining Star. He flew from the top but K2 moved out of the way and Vince crashed and burned. Keller got to his feet while dragging Vince to his feet. Keller hooked Vince and drove him to the mat with a vertical suplex.

That back has to be hurting more now.

Keller wasn’t done as he grabbed Jacobs and nailed him with a side Russian Leg Sweep that took the champ back to the mat holding the back of his head. Jacobs tried to roll to the floor but K2 was right on top of him for the pin attempt.

ONE…

TWO…

NO!! FOOT ON THE ROPES BY JACOBS!!

Jacobs saved his title as he was still in this match. Jacobs tried to get to his feet with the help of the ropes. Keller was waiting on him as Jacobs pulled set himself up in the corner. K2 raced into the corner but Jacobs lunged out of the corner with a Superstar Kick that almost decapitated Keller. Both fell to the mat as Rex looked to administer the ten count on both men.

Suddenly the crowd erupted as SilverHAWK made his way down to the ring. No one knew why he was coming to the ring. Jacobs was the first to get to his feet as he saw the boss at ringside. Jacobs yelled at HAWk. The fans thought HAWK was down here to screw Jacobs out of the title. His intentions were unknown as he just grabbed a chair and started to watch the match at ringside.

Jacobs picked up Keller and drove him into the mat withA Stellar Performance. SVJ quickly went for the cover on Keller.

ONE…

TWO…

THR--- NO! KICKOUT BY KELLER!!

Jacobs decided to go to the top one more time as Keller was still on the mat. Vince jumped off the top and nailed Keller with FIVE STAR FROGSPLAH. Keller wasn’t moving as Vince slowly made his way over to Keller after bouncing off of him with that aerial move. SVJ draped an arm over Keller’s chest.

ONE…

TWO…

THR-- NO!! ANOTHER KICKOUT BY KELLER!!

I hope this was impressing SilverHAWK. Keller has stated from day one he should be world champ and right he is proving it by staying in this match with Jacobs. Vince slammed his hands on the mat in frustration as he picked up Keller and drove him down with the Starburst.

That Brainbuster wasn't going to keep K2 down and Vince knew it so SVJ ascended the top ropes looking for an opening. K2 slowly got to his feet as SVJ came off with a Missile Dropkick that did not find its mark because K2 quickly sidestepped SVJ. K2 picked up SVJ and drove him down with a DDT!! K2 quickly went for the cover on SVJ.

ONE…

TWO…

KICKOUT BY SVJ!!

Both men were determined not to go down easy in this match. K2 wanted to prove to HAWK that he was worthy of being the ACW World Heavyweight Champion and no one was going to stand in his way not even the current champ, Vince Jacobs. K2 picked up SVJ and nailed him with a double arm DDT. K2 drove Vince down with a piledriver. K2 hooked Vince’s far leg for the pin.

ONE…

TWO…

THRE--- NO!! KICKOUT BY SVJ!!

That was close…

K2 thought it was over as he stood up knowing it was a matter of time that the World title would be in his hands. K2 looked down at SVJ who was trying to make it to his feet. Keller picked up Vince and drives him down with a sit down powerbomb.

The crowd looked on in shock as Keller was just a three count away from becoming the new ACW World Heavyweight champion but that wasn’t the case. He went for the cover on Vince.

ONE…

TWO…

NO!!

It wasn’t a kickout more of a drag out. Well Alias had sprinted down to the ring and pulled Keller off of Vince. Keller and Alias was now battling on the floor as Rex was trying to get some order around here. Jacobs finally got to his feet and saw the two men battling on the floor.

So what do you think he did next?

The Ratings Grabber to the floor on both men. The crowd went wild and Rex let the carnage continue. Good ol’ Rex.

The world champ was not thrilled that Alias interfered in his match as evidence to taking both men down. SVJ got to his feet and grabbed Keller and tossed him into the ring. Jacobs waited on the apron and dove into the ring with a springboard spinning heel kick that took Keller off his feet. Vince went for the cover.

ONE…

TWO…

TH-- NO!! KICKOUT AGAIN!!

Jacobs had enough as he waited in the corner for K2 to get to his feet. Keller slowly made it to his feet as Jacobs came out of the corner with another Superstar Kick but this time Keller was ready as he caught the foot. He spun Jacobs around and nailed him with a big clothesline.

Keller picked up Jacobs and dropped him quickly.

T R A N Q U I L I Z E R

Oh my god Keller just nailed SVJ with his finisher. 

This could be it. 

New champion. 

Keller dropped down for the pin attempt.

ONE…

TWO…

TH-- NO!!

Did Jacobs kick out? 

Nope

That was Alias in the ring with a steel chair blasting anything in sight. Alias nailed Keller in the back and nailed SVJ in the ribs. Rex Blankford had no other choice then to throw this match out with a dq, which was more or less bullshit because Alias was hitting everybody bar him. The fans didn’t know what to do. There was a mixed buzz throughout the arena. 

Alias just cost Keller the world title and Jacobs survived another challenger.

HAWK watched everything at ringside as Jacobs had rolled to the floor and grabbed his title and was about to leave. Keller was getting to his feet and Alias stood in the ring as the security came in to separate the two men.

HAWK grabbed a microphone to address everyone in the arena. 

“Well...I didn't see that one coming....since we have two challengers here that think they have the rights at the number one contender ship against Vince Jacobs, I am going to make a judgment call right here and right now. 

Next week...

Courage... 

Number One Contenders match for the ACW World Heavyweight Title...

The much awaiting battle...

Alias Vs. Khristain Keller."

HAWK adjusted his mic as he waited for the fans cheers to settle down. 

“Oh and I am naming a special guest referee for this match. And that referee will be none other then the ACW World Heavyweight Champion, “Superstar” Vince Jacobs. 

Have fun boys.”

Winner > Khristain Keller by Disqualification