Nobody Said It Was Easy...

"So once again...you shit yourself?"

Not the greatest way to greet your so called boss, but when you have the small, but with the volatile history of these two men, more or less any statement with harsh intents can get a rise out of the other.

SilverHAWK looked up from his chair to see K2 standing in his doorway, nonchalantly leaning against the doorway, his right foot hiked up against the wood with the sole of boot marked the paint.

"This isn't the wild west Keller, if you want to talk to me get inside here."

He obliged.

"Last week, the ultimatum...lose and your gone, win and your the champ...I lost, which was a barrel of shit by the way, but I stay, instead of going you give me a chance of another shot at the title..."

SilverHAWK was confused.

"What exactly are you moaning about here?"

"I'm not moaning...how would by grand father say it, I'm buggered if I do and buggered if I don't?"

...

"Talk sense Keller!"

"OK...point blank, do you like me now or something?"

...

...

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA..."

That was a no.

"Fuckin hell Keller, you sure you are off the drugs? I gave you a chance because whether I like it or not, you were cheated by Alias out of the title, simple as that, if you fuck up this week...well, this might just be your last chance."

Keller wasn't happy.

"Well...who needs this place anyway, I'm earning a big fat wage over at PIW for sitting on my arse."

SilverHAWK stood up, that seemed to ping a nerve.

"Get out Keller...get out now before I do something."

Keller smirked.

"You couldn't if you tried..."

And as he left, HAWK grumbled and took his seat again, as Keller sauntered along the corridor, for the last time?

Who knows.

A Mother's Love; 1911

“Heyyy…” Kelly Flawless’ voicemail began, “I’m not near my phone right now, but leave me a message I’ll get back to ya.” 

The person behind the monotone voice began the message, “Hello Kelly. I can see that you’re not by your phone at this time, but I’d advise that you come back some time soon and receive this message because this is an opportunity that has a very distinct time limit.

“I will not beat around the bush, I’m not the type of person that one should feel sorry for. I have done heinous things in my life… Things… Things that are unforgivable. I have killed, and been killed… My soul that is. I am also a very sick person… Untreatably in fact,” the voice paused. 

“I have overcome many things in my time, but it seems that this be the thing that finally brings me to the ground. Cancer is the thing that will bring me to my knees… If we do not talk tonight I’m afraid that we will not get the chance to talk at all. So be sure that you’re at the hospital tonight, room 1911.

… “Time is quickly expiring.” 

The voicemail ended with that… And with the foreshadowing of this segment behind us, we give way to the rest of the evening, and to those meticulous and rather fanatic fans, a few surprises are sure to be in store. 

Travesty

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 came to the ring with the ACW World Heavyweight Title over his left shoulder. He was wearing a blue Armani suit as he strolled down the aisle laughing and pointing at the fans ringside. Jacobs walked up the stairs and climbed into the ring. He held the title in the air for the fans that jeered their World Champion.

Jacobs asked for a microphone and was obliged.

“I know everyone saw the travesty that happened last week in my match.” Jacobs said

The fans cheered.

“What the fuck is you cheering about? Your hero, Alias stuck his nose in my match because he can’t handle being on top anymore. He’s not on top in tSC and he’s not on top here. So what does that piece of shit do?” Vince paused

“He hits Keller with a steel chair that gets ME disqualified. ME the ACW World Heavyweight Champion and the reason you people come to these shows. But it’s obvious that he’s jealous that I am making a better champion than he ever could. Hell I prove it every night by beating some peon that HAWK throws in front of me.” Jacobs said as he paced around the ring.

“You people should be worshipping me right now. I am YOUR GOD. Didn’t I prove it last week by walking on water? What else do I have to do to get it into your little pea brains? I am better, more talented, a lot more sexy, and a hell of a lot more charismatic than anyone in that back.” Jacobs stopped as he heard a familiar chant that he has heard for years

ASS-HOLE!!
ASS-HOLE!!
ASS-HOLE!!
ASS-HOLE!!
ASS-HOLE!!
ASS-HOLE!!

“Are you idiots done? This is how you treat me. That’s ok because tonight you are going to love me because I will be reffing the main event between Alias and Keller.”

Mixed reaction

“Later tonight the two peons that think they deserve to get a shot at this title. [rubs the title on his shoulder] will be in the ring with me calling the shots. Life is good.” Jacobs got cut off again

ASS-HOLE!!
ASS-HOLE!!
ASS-HOLE!!

”That’s it I am not dealing with this shit tonight. I’m outta here.” Jacobs dropped the microphone in the ring and walked out as the fans gave a mixed reaction.

Disappointment

When did WRESTLING become a place of clowns? When ACW let in the likes of people like Splink. Splink didn’t belong in the world of wrestling, they belonged inside a cage, entertaining there audience on the local Hicksville circus.

It’s the Truth, theNormans had seen it.

Splink weren’t trained wrestlers, like theNormans, the true great of this sport. Come on people, who would you cheer for, two handsome men, single by a matter of fact, that had the talent that almost everybody else lacked. Two people that draw the crowd in night after night, that gave the people old fashion, clean at best, type of matches.

Yes, I’m referring to theNormans.

The True greats, no, no, the Gods of the Tag Team world.

You’re ACW Tag Team Champions.

If you can’t see this, you must be retard in the head.

They wrestle for the fa…….

There the legends that this sport need, there the Champions that any fed would want.

Except, the only problem is, you give them nothing but Disrespect, making them step into a Wrestling ring, with two men that don’t have any talent.

What if one of them got hurt,

You would lose the dieing spirit that these men bring to the ring. So in a closing statement I would just like to say, don’t go threw with this, because if you lose theNormans, you lose everything you worked so hard to keep this fed going.

TheNormans are ACW…

“How does that sound.”

The Writer put down his pen, and look up and Donavon and Trevor.

“We are great aren’t we?”

Donavon grinned, as he looked at Trevor.

“Great, hell no, were more then great, were…… The Best the wrestling world has to offer.”

“Damn, it’s so true!”

Donavon and Trevor gave each other high fives, as the Writer went in for a high five, but just hit air.

“Yeah, so hurry and get that letter to the head offices before they make this match happen.”

Donavon pointed towards the door, as the Writer jumped up and quickly exited the lockeroom.

“It sucks to disappoint the crowd like this, not giving them a chance to see us live, but you got to do what yaw got to do.”
“Let celebrate with a drink.”

Donavon started to unlace his boots, as Trevor poured to drinks.

Sorry people, but it wasn’t bound to happen tonight, maybe next time.

Marcus Unger vs. Fejona Min

Contents of this match will be posted at a later date.

Winner >

The Let Down

“KNOCK!”

“KNOCK!”

“Enter.”

The door slowly crept open, as there stood the writer, with the letter in shreds. Donavon slowly put down his fancy wine glass, and stood up looking right at the writer.

“So?”

“Get your gear back on, your match is next.”

The Writer dropped the remains of the tore up letter, and booked it out of the lockeroom.

“WHAT! Did they not read the letter…….get back here! I want answers.”

Donavon turned around and looked at Trevor, who looked like he was about to cry, as he reached for his boots. Donavon wasn’t look to good himself, as he face went pale.

“They must be kidding; he probably was just joking around with us, trying to scare us.”

Trevor just shook his head in disagreement.

“Don’t worry, he coming back, and were all going to laugh about this.”

Donavon turned back to the door, and wait for the return of laughs, but all he got was a crew member, standing in front of him.

“Your match is next.”

The crew member walked away, as he played with his radio.

“I need to sit down.”

Donavon slowly rested against the wall, as Trevor had his one boot tied up.

The match was next.

theNormans Vs. Splink

The Rematch.

Tag Team Titles on the line.

TheNormans Vs Splink, can it get any better then that.

The camera’s finally return back to ringside, as theNormans stood in one corner, debating on who would step foot into the ring first, while Splink stood on the opposite side of the ring, with Slapnutz already waiting to get started in the ring, with TMM resting on the ropes.

Trevor exited the ring, while the ref hand the titles to the ring side announcer.

Slapnutz made his way towards the middle of the ring, to meet Donavon half way to get things going. Both men stood inches from each other getting ready for there attack, except Ashley stood on the outside trying to be a distraction to Slapnutz.

“HEY SLAPNUTZ!”

This worked, as Slapnutz turned his head, and smiled at Ashley who returns the favor.

Donavon quickly took his chance and kicked Slapnutz right in the gut, and then brought his forearm down hard on the back of Slapnutz, forcing him to drop to one knee. Donavon grabbed a hand full of hair, and continued hit him with closed fist, as the ref gave him a warning about the illegal move.

Donavon brushed off the words from the ref, as he brought Slapnutz to his feet and Irish whipped him into the ropes, and countered with a back body drop, sending Slapnutz to the canvas. Donavon dropped down with a leg drop right into the throat of Slapnutz.

Slapnutz quickly brought his hand to his throat as he rolled over onto his side.

Donavon got back up to his feet, as he brought down a few stomps to the chest of Slapnutz. He reached back down and pulled Slapnutz up to his feet, and in disrespect he wound up and slapped Slapnutz right across the face, as he taunted away at Slapnutz.

The crowd was not happy with what they were seeing, as Donavon pulled Slapnutz over to the corner, were Trevor wanted a tag into the match.

Donavan reached out and made the tag, as Trevor jumped over the top rope, and grabbed Slapnutz with his brother, and hit a double team suplex, putting Slapnutz right in the middle of the ring. The ref pushed Donavon to the outside, as Trevor lifted up Slapnutz, and hit a backbreaker.

Slapnutz let out aloud scream of pain, as he clenched his back, and tried to get back to his feet, except Trevor stopped that from happening, as Trevor grabbed the back of Slapnutz pants, and pulled him right into DDT.

Trevor quickly made for the first pin of the night, hoping to end it like that…

1.

..

..2

However, Slapnutz raised his shoulder off the mat, breaking the count. Trevor sat on his knees as he looked at the ref, telling him to count faster. Trevor brought Slapnutz back to his feet and Irish whipped into the corner. Slapnutz slammed hard into the turnbuckle, as he watched Trevor charge at him and go for a splash, except Slapnutz put his foot out, catching Trevor in the Gut.

Trevor stumbled back a bit, but charged in again, but only to meet the same fate once again. Trevor stood holding his gut, as Slapnutz pushed off from the turnbuckle and connected with a clothesline, but Trevor down to the mats.

The crowd quickly erupted at the turn of events, as Slapnutz got back up onto his feet, and kicked Trevor a few times in the midsection.

TMM wanted in, he want to get a piece of the action, but Slapnutz had just gotten the advantage and want to do some of his own damage.

Slapnutz brought Trevor back up to his feet, and grabbed Trevor shoulders, and brought his knee right into the gut of Trevor. Slapnutz kept him from falling down as he went behind Trevor and hit a Russian Leg Sweep.

TMM started calling for Slapnutz to make the tag, except slapnutz just looked and made a signal for one more second. Slapnutz pulled Trevor up to his feet, and then hit a pulling piledriver right in the middle of the ring.

Slapnutz walked over and made the tag, as TMM, the not so clumsy one jumped to the top ropes, and flew off with an Elbow connecting right in the midsection of Trevor. TMM went for the cover…

..1...

..

.2...

..

.NO!

Donavon enter the ring and kicked TMM right in the back of the head to break the count. Slapnutz was about to get into the ring, except he felt a tug on his pant sleeve. He turned around to see Ashley standing behind him. TMM looked up to see his partner, which was quite a usually thing, him being distracted by every piece of ass around him.

The ref got up and got right into the face of Donavon, telling him to get to the outside of the ring. TMM got to his feet holding the back of his head, as he charged and spear Donavon into the ropes, sending him to the outside. TMM turned his attention back to Trevor, who was slowly getting back to his feet.

TMM walked over, and grabbed a hold of Trevor to hit…..

..Polish Power Culture Piledriver.

The crowd erupted once again, as the victory of Splink was right in front of them.

SPLINK!!
SPLINK!!
SPLINK!!

TMM started to approach Trevor again, but what he didn’t notice was, Donavon had just grabbed one of the titles, and was entering the ring.

The crowd tried to warn TMM, but he was to set to make the final move on Trevor.

CRACK!!

TMM dropped to the mats, as the title connected with the back of his head. The ref had witnessed it all and called for the bell.

Donavon dropped the title, as TMM got back up to his feet holding the back of his head, as he looked right at Donavon, and just pointed, basically telling Donavon he was a dead man.

Slapnutz got in behind Donavon who was backing away from the approaching TMM.

Donavon put up both his hand to try and stop TMM, except Slapnutz grabbed both his arms, as TMM clocked him right in the face, with a closed fist, as Donavon whole body went lifeless.

TMM had just knocked Donavon right out.

TMM grabbed Donavon and brought him to his feet and hit his final move…

Jackie Wilson Says…

The crowd applauds the destruction that Splink had just done.

TMM walked to the ropes and rolled out under the bottom rope, as Slapnutz made the call yaw later gesture towards Ashley, as he left the ring too. Ashley got into the ring, to check on her two older brothers, Trevor was using the ropes to get back to his feet, but Donavan wasn’t moving at all, as the ref called for the EMTS.

Splink had gotten the win, except because of the DQ, the titles had stayed with theNormans.

theNormans somewhat had gotten lucky, they had won it cheaply again.

Next time, they might not be so lucky…

Winner > theNormans

Unwanted Bedlam - 01.

So, uh, SilverHAWK was in his office super-early, and jacking off to some gay porno.

Well, no. But imagine that he was. Too grossed out? Fine. He was surfing the 'Net, looking for the websites of independent wrestling promotions. Yes, the bastard wanted to steal talent from promotions that had never even heard of ACW before. Crafty, wasn't it? And for some reason, SilverHAWK decided to do this two whole hours before the show.

He obviously thought that no one would be at the arena, and thus, catch him enjoying the gay porn. Oh ho, the irony is about to be unveiled. Right at the moment SilverHAWK's eyes lit up, the door to his office was kicked open.

"Hey. I need to talk to you. Like, NOW." Quinton May commanded, as he stormed over to HAWK's desk.

Instantly, HAWK switched off the monitor of his compooper and leaned back in his chair, a hefty grin plastered on his face. "Aye, I was just... uh, scouting for some new talent to bring into the place. In fact, two men will be making their debuts tonight. I'm a genios. Yes, with the 'O'. Anyways, you said you needed to talk to me?"

"Yes, I did. And I know about the gay porn." Quinton responded, looking mighty angry. Wonder why's that. "I'm not here to judge you, though. I'm here to ask one simple thing -- Alexander Pembridge does not have a contract with ACW, right?"

SilverHAWK nodded his head, as if to congratulate himself. He knew from the second May kicked his door down that the impromptu visit from the former Television Champion had something to do with Alexander Pembridge. Who, as all signs indicate, is either the son of the infamous Vincent Pembridge, or some sort of forgotten brother. It's a mystery either way, y'know.

"You are correct. The bloke, whoever the hell he is, is not bounded to this company. Why?" HAWK posed after a moment's thought.

Quinton's eyes narrowed, whilst he tried to collate his thoughts. He was a wreck, you see. "This means that what he did last week should never have occured. Which begs the question -- what the bloody FUCK is going on with our Security Team? I ask this, because Alexander is obviously going to show up here tonight. I've heard the rumblings. So have you, I'd imagine.

I want you to get our Security Team on this matter. Since the cockhead -- regardless of what his true identity is, because I'm not going to believe that he's Vincent's kid -- does not have contractual obligations to ACW, him showing up tonight would constitute as tresspasing. Or something along those lines. I'm not a lawyer, and I don't like lawyers. But I know an infraction when I see and experience one.

Do I or do I not make sense?"

Again, SilverHAWK decided to think it through. Honestly, he hadn't expected this whole 'Alexander Pembridge' development. HAWK remembered how Vincent Pembridge was, and how the Scorpion so badly wanted to fight HAWK. Heh, the man even remembered the death of Bobby Knickerson. Sensitive issue, that, and as HAWK looked Quincy Mama in the eyes... the former could detect a little bit of fear.

Sighing, HAWK rubbed his temples. "Yeah, you're more or less spot on. I'm going to get Jason and the rest of the Security Team on this. I'm pretty darn certain that if Pembridge pops up tonight, there's going to be a heck of a lot of unwanted bedlam. From him, from you... could spark a fecking riot. And I don't want that. Not at this time. So, yep, don't worry about it. I'll see to it that Pembridge gets taken care of."

Did he sound convincing? Maybe. Quinton wasn't too assured, but looking around, feeling a bit dizzy, the Canadian Gladiator realised there wasn't a lot else that could be done. And in theory, getting the Security Team to be on the lookout for Alexander Pembridge? Would buy Quinton some time.

Thus, with a snort, May spun on his heels and left the office of SilverHAWK. Quincy frowned as he did so, wondering what lay in store ahead. He still had not found the answers surrounding the big mystery; was Alexander Pembridge for real, in all senses of the word? Or was it just some parlour trick? Deep in his heart, May had a sinking feeling it was the former.

And that didn't bode well for anyone.

Back in his office, HAWK turned on his monitor and shook his head. He was simply hoping the man claiming to be Alexander Pembridge wouldn't show up tonight. But, deep in HIS heart, the experienced veteran had a sinking feeling of his own. Unwanted bedlam? It was going to happen tonight.

One way, or the other.

The Demons; Starting to Show

As the last commercial advertisement disappeared from the ACWtron, the scene changeover transported the audience members into the backstage area, where all the official decisions were made...the new ACW owner materialized on the big screen, sitting behind is massive wood furnished desk; in his tranquil office settings. In the midst of signing his signature to an unknown document, Aaron Jones stopped his work as he glanced over to his computer. Hawk knew he wanted to surf the Internet yet again, although new superstars would be entering the reigns of the company over the next coupled of weeks; Jones felt it was not enough to really make an impact in the pro wrestling industry. Silverhawk wanted more. 

Before he could extend his left arm toward the black Dell Mouse, with matching keyboard and monitor that Laguna paid for; the former champion changed his mind with the arrival of an unexpected guest. At first, Hawk cautiously examined the body language of his startling visitor; God’s Forgotten Son, who stood silently in the doorway with those piercing and hypnotizing Chestnut brown pupils as he stared at the tan carpeted upholstery below SilverHAWK's feet. Stepping forward, GFS closed the door behind him promptly. 

On the other side of the entry way, another mysterious persona listened intently on the duo’s conversation; but we’ll get back to them later. 

What was the meaning of this visit, Jones wondered if he should greet the youngster; who barely spoke at all…or let this amazing athlete get the conversation rolling? After a few awkward moments of silence, Hawk brought his hands together as he moved closer with his trademark ear to ear grin upon his face. “So, what can I do for you lad? It’s not everyday, one of ACW’s most popular superstars enters my office unannounced? You must have something on your mind, if you’ve came all this way?” 

God’s Forgotten Son did have something in mind, although GFS’s face expressed no emotion. The stranger stood still like a concrete gargoyle, observing his upsetting surrounding as he took in the warm environment; a polar opposite to the grimy and visually unappealing scenery where God’s Forgotten Son felt at ease. Hiding in the deepest and darkest of shadowy liars, GFS hoped and prayed that he would never be found; so no one could make him repent his illicit sins. 

Not hesitating to continue sparking some decent conversation with a man that interested him, SilverHAWK watchfully walked from behind his desk; now standing toe to toe with an opponent he had encountered on several occasions…but could not get the best of. “I have to say kid; you look a lot better than you did last week…but your clothes still stink of rain water and vomit. If you want, I can have someone get you some clean ones?” 

“No, that will be quite alright. I’m fine.” GFS spoke up softly, not taking an eye off of Hawk, whom he did not trust. 

“Ok son... SilverHAWK replied as God’s Forgotten Son’s right fist clinched suddenly. 

“…Last week, I heard reports that you were vomiting everywhere; acting very strange in remote areas of the arena. Come on GFS, we need you to perform on the shows, because you’re what the fans want to see.” Gradually, the US champion unclenched his fist as he listened intently on where this topic would lead to next; contemplating on whether or not he would find out who disturbed him, during his most private time. 

Hawk continued. “Instead using your energy in the ring to defend your title, you’re frantically creating some weird design on a Utility Room ceiling. Are you sure you’re ok GFS? Last week you’re a raving psycho and today; right now in my presence you’re as cool as a cucumber.” Aaron Jones moved back behind his desk, returning to his work as his guest kept quiet, or so he thought. 

“It’s always the individuals that don’t understand, are the first to criticize the great thinkers of our generation. You are no different, ready to place me upon your political cross; because you don’t have a grasp of what I am out to accomplish in my selfless acts. But you will all understand in due time little birdie, just you wait and see. For my actions as of late, I will whole heartedly apologize, although there is no need for me to apologize to anyone on this earth…and will offer myself up for a match tonight, against anyone of your shrewd choosing.”

This was something intriguing and unanticipated, as Hawk rubbed on his chin and began to smile. The possibilities of matches were endless, but in the back of him mind; God’s Forgotten Son’s mental stability worried him. So much in fact, that Aaron Jones smirk faded, transforming into a serious look of uncertainty. 

“GFS, as hard as this decision is…I’m going to have to pass on your gracious offer this week. Instead of competing, you should take some time off and relax. Maybe next week, you can step in the ring.”

Believe or not, hearing SilverHAWK rather his bosses’ decision, the forgotten son frowned. 

Was this a nightmare that Jones just uttered? GFS had to make sure as he moved closer and asked once again; but he received the same unwavering answer. For the first time since his teenage years, the virtually unknown felt rejection; the cold realization that he may not be wanted by his peers…the same individuals he wanted nothing to do with. It was confusing, yet made all the sense in the world to God’s Forgotten Son.

Silverhawk sat perplexed; he didn’t know what was going to happen next, as the tension in the room began to escalate with looming negativity. GFS was a loose cannon on the verge of implosion, as the latter ran his nimble fingers through his dark hair; and then boom? That right, the United States champion’s thunderous right fist collided into Hawk’s desk, shaking the computer monitor. Before Aaron Jones could respond, rising out of his seat; the forgotten son stumbled into the corridor as the office door swung shut.

Falling forward as his knees hit the hard ground, God’s Forgotten Son leant up against the icy stucco wall, where the temperature matched the climate of the Nation’s Capitol. In this moment of agonizing depression for the youngster, would anyone be foolish enough to disturb him? Enter Natalie Quinston’s approaching foot steps. Yep, she was the one ease dropping in the beginning of the heated Hawk/GFS convo; and she had one thing on her steel trap of a mind. Hmmm, I wonder what it is. 

It was revenge, plain and simple on God’s Forgotten Son; for costing her an opportunity against then Television champion, Quinton May. Leaning down, trying to glare GFS in the eyes; who paid her no attention…Natalie grabbed her adversary by the throat. “I heard that you wanted a match, and I’m not letting SilverHAWK decide who will challenge you for your belt! I want to fight you GFS, you owe me for what you stole away.” 

“It was my shot against Quinton, not yours to intervene. Do you remember what you did to me?!” She inquired. 

Grabbing Natalie by her wrist, twisting inward to the point of bruising, God’s Forgotten Son removed her cold clutches as he shook his head unhelpfully. “No I don’t remember.” The youngster replied as Min’s former aide quaked with anger, but before she attempted to stomp GFS into the ground, she was given what she wanted. 

“…If you leave me alone right now; then next week I will give you want you desire, what we both long for. But once the realization has set in Natalie, I will make you regret ever hearing my voice softly enter your eardrums, to accept this pointless challenge. When our encounter has concluded, you will be the first to realize that there is such a thing as a god.” GFS rose up his left arm, instructing her to leave. 

Pleased, Natalie Quinston quickly made her exit. Alone again, God’s Forgotten Son sighed as he dropped his head into his lap as the owner’s door quickly open, after some fooling with the silver colored knob. SilverHAWK ducked his head out of his office; he looked in both directions of the elongated hall, but no one could be found. Only the alarming echo of an emergency exit rang in the distance, as a door closed shut.

Seymour Almasy vs. Jamar Gordo

Blackalicious’ “Passion” heralded the arrival of Jamar Gordo, one of the many martial artists who called ACW home. He hadn’t been in action since the debacle of the Fine Man’s Gauntlet, but now, he and his jaw jacking ways were back.

He mocked several front row fans as he arrogantly strode down the aisle way, adjusting his Oakley shades as he did so. Sliding into the ring, he warmed up by throwing a pair of round kicks and several punches, before settling back to the corner and awaiting his opponent for the evening.

Gordo had arranged for this match last week, wanting to prove that he could dispatch his opponent, and go after Fejona Min’s Television Championship.

And now, he would have his chance.

“Fight With Seymour” by The Black Mages prompted cheers from the crowd, as Seymour Almasy emerged from the back, slapping hands with fans in the aisle. Fresh off of two straight wins over Kasper Sky and Natalie Quinston, Seymour was ready for his second martial artist in as many weeks.

Of course, Gordo was a bit better trained than Quinston was.

This was something Jamar intended to demonstrate to Almasy.

In fact, he was going to demonstrate it to the Final Fantasy the second Seymour entered.

Almasy slid into the ring, just as Gordo rose his leg high in the air, poised to drive his heel down between Seymour’s shoulder blades with a potent axe kick. Seymour managed to scramble away, and the timekeeper somewhat sheepishly rang the bell.

*DING DING DING!*

Quickly getting to a vertical base, Seymour kept his distance. Gordo made sure of this by throwing out an occasional kick. Almasy ducked under a Jamar roundhouse, and attempted to move in, but Gordo deftly countered, snapping his leg back up and into Seymour’s face with a quick outside crescent kick. Almasy fell back, as Gordo quickly charged, throwing a running elbow into his foe’s face.

Gordo posed briefly, jawing at the crowd, before going to follow up. Seymour, however, met him with an open-handed palm thrust to the jaw that snapped Gordo’s head back. Almasy took advantage, taking Jamar down with a double leg takedown, and began firing forearms into the martial artist’s head.

Seymour quickly realized his error.

Quickly, Gordo reached to wrap his legs around Almasy’s neck for a triangle choke, causing Seymour to quickly shoot forward and stand up over Gordo. He dropped a quick knee to halt the Fine Man, before lifting Jamar back up, and hitting a quick vertical suplex.

Seymour realized pretty quickly that if Gordo was in a position to strike him, or put him in a submission, it was likely to be a very short night.

Jamar rose, and prepared to fire off another kick. This time, Seymour ducked underneath the crisp roundhouse, and put Gordo in a waistlock.

German Suplex!

Gordo was many things, but a large man he was not. The weight difference between him and Seymour was not large, and thus, Gordo found it difficult to resist as Seymour rolled through, and locked in another waistlock.

Jamar, however, was able to elbow him in the face to counter. With that, he paused, and readied one of the flashier weapons in his arsenal. Without even looking behind him, he performed a backflip, attempting to kick Seymour in the head as he did so.

Almasy sidestepped the showoffy move, and quickly went down to put on a Fujiwara armbar.

Gordo groaned in agony, trying to find a way out of the predicament. Almasy wrenched back on the hold, and for a few moments it seemed that Jamar’s evening was over. The arrogant martial artist, however, would not capitulate.

He used his free arm to crawl for the ropes, dragging Seymour with him with his strong upper body muscles. Soon enough, Gordo had the ropes in his free hand, and Almasy was forced to relinquish his hold.

Jamar cocked a cocky grin, even as Almasy picked him up, intent on piledriving him through the canvas. The smile left as Seymour drove Gordo head-first to the mat. Almasy quickly headed to the outside, and signaled to the crowd. Sure, it was early in the contest, but Gordo looked somewhat incapacitated. It was in Seymour’s best interest to end the match quickly, before Gordo could land any of his patented kicks.

He sprung to the top rope, leaped off, and rotated into a shooting star press.

ULTIMA.

…

It was then that Seymour realized his opinion of Gordo’s demise had been, well, dead wrong.

The martial artist simply rolled out of the way, causing Seymour to crash gracelessly to the canvas.

Gordo stood, and smiled. Just as Seymour had attempted to end the match, so too now would Jamar Gordo prepare to end the contest.

Seymour pushed up to hands and knees, slowly making his way back up to his feet. He wobbled several steps, as Gordo sized him up as a hunter would a deer.

Two steps, and Jamar was airborne, leaping in the air, and striking Seymour in the back of the head with a brilliant enzugiri style kick.

BLINGING WIZARD~!

Jamar Gordo had used the move lots of times. Most of the time, it got him the win. Sometimes, it got a long two. The opponent usually fell quickly.

But not Seymour. 

Almasy’s body staggered, and turned so that Gordo could see it. Jamar was stunned to note a completely glassed over look on Seymour’s face. The Final Fantasy was out on his feet, and he crumpled to the canvas.

Gordo didn’t know what to do at first. Cover was one impulse. But, judging by that look, Seymour wasn’t going to be getting up any time soon.

So he decided to give into his OTHER impulse.

Gloat like the arrogant son of a bitch that he was.

“Damn straight, muhfucka! That’s what you get!”

Gordo leant down over Almasy’s form, laying the smack talk down like the expert that he was. He pumped his fists in the air, acting as if he had just won the ACW World Title.

In reality, it was a one in a million shot. Jamar knew it, although he wasn’t admitting it. To plant a kick that perfectly was something martial artists dreamed of.

Gordo moonwalked, gloating the whole while. Finally, he decided to end the contest. He rolled Seymour over, and haughtily planted a pinky on Seymour’s chest, jawing with the fans the whole while.

The stunned referee counted.

One!

Two!

…

Betcha think Gordo’s making a mistake, right?

You don’t win when you cover someone with one finger. Especially not when your opponent’s UNDEFEATED!

Of course, most times when someone covers with one finger, the opponent’s not LITERALLY unconscious.

THREE!

The bell sounded, and Gordo casually removed his finger, celebrating his victory. Meanwhile, the medical staff came from the back, to take a look at the downed Almasy.

Amazing how things change with one move, isn’t it?

Winner > Jamar Gordo

Open Your Eyes

“Ugh…”

Slowly, Seymour Almasy’s eyes opened. Immediately, he realized two things.

Number one, he wasn’t in the ring anymore. He was backstage, lying on a bench in the locker room.

Number two, he had an absolute hell of a headache.

As he looked around, realization number three came into effect, as he noticed several paramedics around him.

“Damn,” Almasy said, slowly sitting up. “What happened to me?”

One of the paramedics stepped forward, pressing an ice pack to the back of Seymour’s head, before responding. “Gordo caught you with a kick to the back of the head. Dropped you like a bad habit. You’ve probably been unconscious for about two minutes.”

Seymour’s first thought wasn’t for his health. It wasn’t for his safety. It was for the result of that match.

“That means…I lost then, right?”

He hung his head dejectedly, burying his face in his hands. For most men, it would have been one loss, but for Seymour, especially after announcing his arrival last week, it was catastrophic.

Almasy didn’t even look up, but asked his next question through the hands covering his mouth.

“How’d I lose?”

The paramedics looked at each other nervously. If Seymour was upset not, he’d surely be crushed when he was informed of Jamar Gordo’s method of victory. Finally, one of the medical staff had the courage to answer.

“Well, uh,” the paramedic stammered, trying to spit the answer out. “Gordo posed for a bit, and then he pinned you. With his pinky.”

That was all Seymour needed to hear. With the medical staff protesting all around him, he stood, scooped his bag up from the ground, and left the locker room. One technician sighed, looking reproaching at his colleague.

“You didn’t have to tell him about the pinky part…”

Bad News, Real Bad News

“How’s Donavon.”

Trevor sat on the bench in the lockeroom, puffing away on his cigarette. He had just watched his Brother get driven away in an ambulance moments ago,

But,

That wasn’t the worst of it. No, No he was just informed that next week he had a match. Except it wasn’t any standard type match.

Due to Donavon actions, and getting theNormans DQ, Trevor was set to face not just one member of Splink, but both members in a Handicap match. The good news was that the titles wouldn’t be on the line, but really there isn’t any good news of that.

Trevor Norman Vs Splink, next week, NO DQ.

“Ashley?”

“Yes.”

“I need to go to the closes bar and drink my problems away.”

Ashley help Trevor to his feet, as he threw his arm on her shoulder, as she helped him out of the lockeroom. 

A bad day for theNormans.

A Mother's Love; the Behemoth of All Confessions

Outside the rain splashed down hard onto the concrete surface. It pounded against the window as if it had a vendetta against the glass that kept it from entering the small room.

Inside, the stench of hospital food filled the air; a vile smell it was. The nurses could be heard passing outside of the door in the west wing of the building. Situated near the top floor of the structure the room felt as if it were a million miles away from civilization. Visitors rarely entered through those doors, and the only time a person would dare turn the knob for any other reason would be a nurse entering to offer assistance with the swallowing of the painkillers and administering of the daily shots. 

However, tonight was somewhat different. 

The behemoth confession that the woman, who lay in the bed closest to the window, had to let off her chest was screaming to be released. She lay very still, and very pale. Terminally ill, was she. A cancer patient of nearly three years… And now, it appeared as if the battle was ready to cease. She didn’t have much trouble talking, and her brain was still functioning on all cylinders. However, the rest of her body had shut down completely. Her frailty and vulnerability were apparent in the lack of use of her legs. 

The weakness she felt was visible; there was no disguising her rough shape… But that was not her intention. 

Her intention was to die with a clean conscience… With peace of mind. 

Light began to fill the room from the hallway as ever so slowly the door began to crack open. A rather solemn figure walked through the frame as the woman lethargically turned her head in the direction of the shadow that stared back at her. 

“Kelly,” she said calmly.

Flawless nodded. 

He walked closer to the woman, careful not to disturb anything in the room. He couldn’t take his eyes of her… He refused to believe this was the woman who called him claiming she had information toward the identity of his attacker. 

“What do you know?” He said cutting straight to the chase. Compassion was not something he wanted to feel for this woman; according to her she didn’t deserve it. But he could not help feeling a little sorry for her as she lay in her deathbed. 

“Kelly, I have cancer as you are well aware by now. And, before I leave this earth, bound for the fiery pits of Hell, and eternal damnation, I would like to clear my conscience one last time.” 

He stood at a safe distance, yet his eyes never left hers. 

“I pray everyday that no other human-being has to go through what I am feeling right now. This as helpless as I have ever felt. No drug addiction, or attack could ever make you feel what I am feeling at this point in time.” 

Her fingers felt of ice, her eyes looked of fire. She stared deep within him, down to the darkest parts of his being. 

“I pity the soul who feels one tenth of what I feel now,” she stopped, she turned her head a little and began to stare out the window at the rain that kept pounding against the glass. “However, I also pity the soul who has to feel the wrath of my son. And Kelly, I’m afraid that soul could be you.”

“Things have happened to him recently that… Have rendered him… Shall we say… Immoral. He doesn’t fear things, Kelly. He has given up on himself, and the better part of the World. And, I know, if he could see me lying here today, he would smile. But in my heart of hearts that doesn’t bother me… The profound hatred I feel for my own flesh and blood astounds even me. And I have seen some things that War Veterans have not seen.

“Distance yourself Kelly, because you may be in for a fight that you cannot win.”

Kelly looked down toward the floor; she spoke powerfully, however it did not faze him. 

“Your son sent me this,” he said, digging into his pocket. He handed her the note and a pencil as well.

At the bottom of the page, written in code, was something the cameras had not been able to see when Kelly had first received the note from the attacker. 

“A few weeks back I found this in my locker room. I can read everything else, naturally as it is in English. But the words at the bottom, they’re written in some sort of code that I can’t decipher.”

She took the note and the pencil in her hand and she leaned in close to Kelly. 

The near-silent whisper penetrated through his ears. 

“He is the son of sin,” She said quietly. “He is the son of evil… And like mother like son, as the old saying goes.”

He looked away. It was now that the sliver of her compassion he felt for her dissipated… She didn’t want his empathy, so why should she deserve it? The loud swallowing noise that followed startled Kelly a little bit as her head sunk back into the pillow. Her face quickly began to turn pale as Flawless could not help but stare. 

Her eyes remained open as a small stream of saliva leaked out of the side of her mouth. 

He knew she was gone at this point, and he was not determined to do anything about it or for that matter call anyone. She herself had said that not a single soul should weep for her. And not weep was exactly what Kelly did. 

He moved in closer as he looked toward her hand. 

Her gently pulled the note out of her stiffening fingers. He looked at the code on the bottom… Underneath of the writing from the attacker, etched lightly in pencil, was the name of a man that Kelly knew all too well. 

Steven Klein.

So this was the Son of Sin. 

Close Your Eyes

Backstage technicians scattered as Seymour Almasy walked through the halls backstage at Courage, head hung low, barely even looking where he was going. His bag dragged behind him, randomly crashing into things. When this happened, Seymour simply tugged it around the obstacle, and continued his walk of shame.

Losing was one thing to Seymour. No one liked to lose, period. But losing the way he did…he could only angrily shake his head.

Gordo had hit him with what had to be a one-in-a-million shot. Certainly, Jamar was a well-trained martial artist. The kick he called the Blinging Wizard was a devastating strike, and Seymour knew going in that if Gordo hit it, the match was likely to be over.

But even considering that, the kick Gordo had nailed him with on this night was special. Seymour had barely begun to feel pain before his eyes closed. He was out before his body hit the canvas, as if he’d been hit with a right hook to the chin by a prizefighter.

Rather than cover, Gordo showed off. It was the type of thing that made it hard for Seymour to respect someone like Jamar Gordo, even taking into account his prodigious amount of skill. If it was Seymour who had struck the blow, he would have covered, taken his win, and left.

But that wasn’t the way Jamar Gordo conducted himself. When Seymour thought of the various elaborate dancing and prancing Gordo must have done over his fallen form, it made his blood boil. 

And then, the coup de grace, Gordo pinned him with one finger. The pinky, to be precise.

That was beyond insulting, especially after the hard-fought contest he and Gordo had battled in.

But there was nothing that Seymour could do about it. Not now, at least.

After an excellent beginning, things were starting to go downhill for the Final Fantasy.

He’d been utterly humiliated by Jamar Gordo. Add that to the fact that his speech to the crowd hadn’t gone over so well with the men and women that he referred to as assholes. Not surprising, really, but it just added to the suck that had become Seymour’s career, all in the space of an hour or so.

Seymour would be back next week. The Final Fantasy wasn’t the type to let a little bit of adversity overcome him.

For now, however, he didn’t feel like being in the arena.

Could you blame him?

#1 Contendership for World Title
Alias vs. Khristain Keller

What do you need to know?

What don't you already know?

These men hate each other and what each other stands for… each and everyone of ‘em. There are no staunch alliances just because any one of them was good or bad. It was all grey to them.

You’ve got Khristain Keller. An unforgiving asshole… even without apologies that, yes, he is an asshole. Why? Now he has got a reason to be… because he never got his shot at that world championship. He was the first King of Ages… with no kingdom.

You’ve got Alias. A man who was angry for any number of reasons, scared for himself or for this promotion… for any number of reasons. Currently it was the thing that fueled him. The hunt for the World title that he had lost, he had not given up, but he had lost…it was the thing that fueled him. He was a broken down former Champion… a great man… seemingly without another shot at greatness.

You’ve even got the special referee… the World Champ… Your God, if you will. Vince Jacobs, this Superstar, was the end all for both men… the ends to the means. There shot and the last thing that stood in there way once they got to that shot. Jacobs didn’t care about either of these men… he loathed Alias more, perhaps, but he would be content in watching both men rip each other apart.

Plus, he’d have a front row seat because SilverHAWK slotted him there, so he couldn’t be happier in his own sadistic and forward thinking way.

‘Dirty Window’

‘Sympathy for the Devil’

‘Ring Superstar’

All parties where in the ring. SVJ motioned for that bell to ring… everyone tensed, waiting for the action to begin.

It did.

Quickly Keller and Alias began circling one another, and they locked up. Alias struggled to try and get an advantage over Keller, but both men being of the same size and build where at a stalemate. Keller noticing the surge from Alias, used it against him… arm dragging the two-time World holder up and over. Alias quickly landed on his feet, however, and as K2 turned around fully to face the Pulp Hero, Alias swung a roundhouse kick into Keller’s left arm.

Khristain sank to one of his knees and grasped the arm as Alias proceeded to kick his arm several more times, though evidently less graceful then the roundkick looked… as Jacobs held a smirk across his face. Alias quickly grabbed the arm, and applied pressure to it with a standard hammerlock submission hold, taking Keller to the mat. Keller tried struggling out of the hold, but it was locked on tight.

Alias pushed his hand down, attempting to cause more pressure and pain to his opponent. However, Keller was able to shrug off most of the pain being applied to the left arm, and stared around to find a way out of the rudimentary submission hold. Alias, however, knew that he needed to act fast, and quickly executed a jumping knee strike, though more of a Tiger Crush-lite then you might think, further aggravating Keller’s shoulder. The Original Pulp maintained the hammerlock, and then once again hit another knee strike, though this time without a knee strike. K2 shook his head, trying to clear out the pain from the two strikes onto his arm.

Keller slowly crawled towards the nearest ropes as the fans booed at him, some sporadically cheering on Alias to keep him in the middle of the ring. Was that special ref right in there to break the hold if Keller made it to the ropes? Heh, right, SVJ was actually mock-yawning and leaning against the adjacent ropes… yet to get involved in the action. Some might say that’s a good thing.

After a few seconds, Keller, using his right hand, managed to grab the bottom rope. Jacobs finally stepped in and ordered Alias off of Keller, when Alias held on that split second more… Jacobs pushed Alias off, holding up his hands with a smirk.

“It’s my duty, Chris, I’m wearing the stripes… so hey, don’t be such a bitch. Alright?”
Alias could only snarl for a response… before turning around and getting taken off his ass by a hard clothline with the right hand, from Keller. Keller brought Alias to his feet and whipped him hard into the corner, then charged in after him and blasted him with another clothesline, practically decapitating the man. No really, the really… the redneck in the second row was disappointed that he didn’t get a head for a souvenir.

The All-Star Asshole then began to hammer away on ACW’s Pulp Hero with fists, hammering him. Finally though, Alias faught back out of it with a kick, low, below the belt, causing Keller to stumble back and out of the corner. Alias came out of the corner only to get SVJ in his face because of the lowblow… of course choice words where spoken, and no some of them aren’t printable. Let’s just say Alias eventually paced past the special referee with his own discernable scowl… and SVJ enjoyed himself even more.

Grabbing Keller by the head, as he was still a bit stumbly after the unceremonious kicking of the crotch, Alias dumped him and tossed him to the outside to the cheers from the fans. Alias hopped to the outside himself, and Vince… well Vince just decided to prop himself against the nearest ropes again and watch the action from inside the ring… starting a count if necessary. Alias grabbed Keller, hooking him for an inverted Russian legsweep on the floor. The Pulp Hero planted the 2003 King of Ages face first into the cement, before walking over and uncovering the thin padding that disguised the floor.

Alias brought Keller up over and staggered him with a knee to the jaw, blood flying out of the mouth of Khristian onto the concrete, to a roar from the crowd… an opposite if not mirrored image of SVJ’s non-excitement in his future #1 contender. Hell, he was content enough in watching two of his enemies tear each other part. Alias grabbed Keller and prepared to go for a piledriver on said exposed concrete, but Keller countered and grabbed Alias by the legs, taking him down to the floor. He followed up with several fists to the skull, which dazed the former champion, the man he would have faced if ACW would have stayed healthy during ‘03.

Keller positioned Alias before hooking him by the legs, and sending him flying backwards into the ringpost behind him with a slingshot, causing SVJ to wince with a grin and a jolly stroke of his goatee to jeers from the crowd. Alias crashed into the pole, and knocked for a loop. Just behind him Keller crawled to a knee, plotting out his next move carefully.

Khristian climbed up onto the ring steps and as Alias got back up, Keller leapt off with an axe handle smash of sorts. Instead, the former Resistance member caught him and staggered backwards, dropping him throat first across the guardrail. Keller staggered around holding his throat and the Pulp Hero kicked him, before catching and dropping him with a double-arm DDT.

The fans cheered loudly after each man struck a blow and hey, SVJ mock-clapped even though he DID enjoy seeing these two bleed to get to him. Alias continued on the offensive, grabbing Keller and sending him flying into the same ringsteps he had jumped off moments before. Keller’s body twisted and crashed HARD into the steel; which echoed throughout the arena. The fans grimmaced at the sounds of flesh hitting steel, but given it was Keller, they enjoyed it immensely.

Alias let himself grin as he walked over towards K2, only for SVJ to finally tell him to take the damn match back into the ring. This gave Keller a chance to strike, and he did reaching up with a lowblow of his own now. SVJ gave him the same speal that he gave Alias about “keeping this match fuckin’ classy, people!” but Keller just gave him the two-fingered salute before dropping the index finger and leaving him with the bird.

Alias staggered around as pain shot throughout his body. Keller stood and from behind spun him around and attempted the Tranquilizer. Instead Alias fell behind him and for a moment locked attempted the first stages of the Anarchy’s Lullaby, but Keller just pushed himself forward before switching gears and charging backwards, planting Alias hard into the ring.

The 2x ACW champion's back was now deep with pain, and violently Keller got back up and began kicking away at it, before grabbing him by the hair and sending him into the ring. Keller rolled into the ring himself, as SVJ stepped close to him, uttering to Keller as he got to his feet. “About damn time you kids got back into my ring, didn’t want to count both of you idiots out and be without a bitch to slap.”

Keller pushed the special referee out of his way, only to be shoved back by SVJ. K2 almost tripped over the stilled downed Pulp Hero, but just sneared at SVJ as he regained his footing… he’d take care of Alias. THEN he’d take the World. Keller picked up Alias by the scruff of his hair, before sending him right back down with a kick-stand DDT. Keller hooked Alias for the cover.

One.

Two.

No!

Alias kicked out, and a frustrated Keller accused SVJ of a slow count. Okay, so maybe he couldn’t entirely concentrate on the Original Pulp Hero. As Keller exchanged words, Alias shrugged off the DDT and crawled up from behind, rolling Keller up for a pin.

One.

Two!

NO!

Keller used his impressive leg strength to thrust out of the pinning predicament emphatically. Alias went back into a corner and as Keller got up Alias charged with a jumping high knee. TIGER CRUSH! Alias connected impressively, his opponent falling to the mat as Alias covered him again. SVJ sneering at the thought of Alias winning… but still making the count.

One!

Two!

No!

Alias brought Keller to his feet, sneering at SVJ the entire time… because even after all this mostly down the line calling of the contest, he still had that smug as all hell look etched across his face. It was unsettling… cause with the history they had, Alias knew he was planning something. Getting ready for something… but couldn’t do anything about it. Not yet, atleast. Pounding a forearm into the back of Keller’s head, Alias then rocketed his opponent into the ropes. Keller came on slinging back aaand…

BAM!

Silence. Then echoing jeers.

Alias turned to react, he had to. Buuut.

BAM!

Another Superstar Kick from Vince Jacobs… to another contender. Both in quick enough succession to catch even Alias off guard in the end. SVJ booted away at his now helpless mortal enemy, as the crowd continued to boo. SVJ could only grin. He quickly pulled the striped shirt from his muscular frame, and then attacked Keller with it, chocking him… chocking him… chocking him.

Was Hawk going to send anyone down to stop this? Hell no, as much as he hated SVJ as a human being. We all know his history with Alias and Keller. Both separate and together.

Finished chocking at Keller with the referee shirt, a truly disturbing image… well more so if it wasn’t K2, SVJ bounced back to his feet.

The World Champion was on an adrenaline high and barked for his title, at the same time… barking for the end of the match. Alias was only now getting to his knees and for his troubles, ten pounds of gold in hand, SVJ quickly crowned him, sending him back flat on his stomach.

A bit of garbage flew into the ring… the fans where angry… they had been robbed of there main event. Robbed by the referee.

Vince Jacobs couldn’t have been more defiant.

SVJ had had two contenders this evening. Both men had torn at each other for a shot at him, for a shot at that gold.

Now…

Now there was only one man left standing.

As Courage went to black, that one man… wasn’t who you would have expected.

It wasn’t either of the World title challengers…

It was the World Champion, himself.

As it was... a Champion with a challenger.

Winner > No Contest