Satisfaction Guaranteed… But We’re Keeping The Cash

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

YOUR GOD

'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.

It's Vince Jacobs comin' down nigga like it or not
You ain't man enough to give his fuckin' title a shot
Feel the Starbuster ruckus, Ego Checkin' ya ass
Money hungry muthafuckas gettin' wrecked in a flash

Vince Jacobs came to the ring with the ACW World Heavyweight Title over his left shoulder. He was wearing a tan Armani suit as he strolled down the aisle with a smirk on his face. He walked past a few guys holding a sign in the front that read "Alias owns SVJ". Jacobs turned his nose up to the sign as 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.

"So I see a few people in attendance think Alias owns me. You must be from the same backwater hick town Alias is from. Because if I am not mistaken I OWN ALIAS. I'm the one standing here with the ACW World Heavyweight Championship on my shoulder. I am the one that has taken on all comers. Hell if I am not mistaken I have defended my title more times in my reign then your precious Alias' last title reign." Jacobs said as he paused to here the jeers from the crowd.

"But I am not here to put down these Alias fans because you do that all by yourself by cheering for the man." A smirk came across Jacobs' face after that remark. "But anyway I am out here to reiterate to the world why I am the best wrestler alive, and Your GOD."

"See last week yours truly was a special guest referee in a number one contenders match for MY World Title. Let's see you had Alias on one side." Jacobs paused

Mixed reaction from the crowd

Jacobs smiled as he placed the microphone back to his lips. "Then on the other side you Khristain Keller."

Mixed reaction from the crowd more boos though

"Last week I showed both these men that it was not going to be that easy in taking this title from me. I sent them both a message that the Mighty Hand of God will smite any and all who dare misconstrue his word. And my word is that THOU SHALL NOT COVENT THOU CHAMPIONSHIP." Jacobs smirk grew ever so widely now.

"Keller and Alias made the fatal mistake in thinking they both deserve to be in my presence. They both deserve to wear this title belt. What you peons fail to realize is that I, Vince Jacobs is the only real champion you have. The only man that brings dignity and class to the championships. I mean come on can any other champions in this place hang with me." Jacobs shook his head no.

He looked out into the crowd as he held up one finger. "Let's start at the top and work our way down, your United States Champion, GFS. Well he got a cheap win over me in the King of the Ages tournament but something distracted me. What has that little bugger done since he won the title. NOT A DAMN THING!!"

Vince held up two fingers. "The Norman Brother, your World Tag Team Champions. Um this division has gone WAY down hill. Well actually it started way down hill when the Janitors won the titles."

Vince held up three fingers. "Last but not least Fejona Min, the ACW Scorpion and Television Champion. I can't believe SilverHAWK is letting dykes hold titles now. Is his what this promotion has fandy to? Man you people really need a stable, talented World Champion, like me in your life. It is no way on MY green earth that I will allow Keller to get his hands on this title and destroy it. And I will never let Alias get his grubby little hands on it again after his dismal second title reign."

"And furthermore…"

"Money" by Pink Floyd. 

No, he didn't actually SAY "Money by Pink Floyd," you moron. 

But the familiar sounds of receipts ripping and cash register bells over the PA made way for The Endorser himself, LOWELL DOT COM, to make an appearance. When we last saw him, he was escaping the clutches of one Andy Sharp and looking smugly while shilling shit to the moon. 

The ACW Champion looked pissed at this sudden interruption as Lowell made his way into the ring, smiling his eerily white teeth that he made sure to whiten with Crest Teeth Whitener…bastard. 

Not to mention the fact his bright blue hair was making the first sixteen rows of the arena die from ultraviolet radiation. 

Nevertheless, the cool sounds of "Money" continued as Lowell offered a hearty handshake to SVJ, which he only reciprocated with a "Get THE FUCK out of MY RING before I shank you, bitch!" look on his face. He was given a microphone before his music cut. Glancing to SVJ, he began his speech. 

"Mr. Jacobs…you are without a doubt, a man of prestige. A man of power. A man of action…just like Jak from the NEW Jak III. BUY this new conclusion to the Precursor Legacy NOW!"

As the fans jeered for the tasteless shill, Vince rolled his eyes, then glared a bullet hole right through the forehead of Lowell. No, seriously. He was praying that his godly powers would allow him to literally put a big bullet hole in Lowell's forehead. 

"Now, rest assured, Mr. Jacobs. WHILE you are currently in possession of the ACW gold, It is NO match…for the power of the green!"

He then reached into the pocket of his slogan-adorned jacket and held out a wad of bills in front of Vince's face. Vince's reply?

"Oh, you're on the power of green, all right," he chuckled while the drug reference whizzed right over Lowell Dot Com's bright, blue head. 

"Yes. I AM on the power of green, Mr. Jacobs. I'm on so much green right now, this arena is practically SPINNING! In fact, it makes me so giddy, I could just get ready to giggle at anything."

YOUR GOD then raised a finger to speak. "No, too easy. Nevertheless, I want to know who the FUCK you think you are, cutting into MY time, you brightly-colored curtain-jerking peasant. See this belt?" SVJ then raised the title in front of Lowell, who was still busy amusing himself with the wad of cash he no doubt received from his many corporate whorings. "This belt says that when GOD speaks, that ALL will bow down to their knees and kiss the ground he walks on when he has a proclamation to lay onto all his children."

"Whoa, Whoa, whoa! Easy, man…easy…BREEZY BEAUTIFUL COVER GIRL! Buy their new line of lipstick in Fuchsia Passion. At your local SEARS today!"

Two whorings. Will you NEVER stop, Lowell?

"Man, I'm parched," Lowell smiled as he reached into his pocket. The Human Billboard then pulled out a water bottle with the Nike logo on it and downed some water. "Man, THIS is the good stuff! Water. Fills you up good…goes even better when it's Aquafina in a NIKE sports bottle!"

Growling, Vince slapped the water bottle out of his hand and grabbed him by his shirt, ready to beat Lowell into a big, blue blob.

"CUT THE CRAP, NOW!" The Ratings Grabber yelled. "I AM NOT IN THE MOOD TO BE CARRYING AROUND IDIOTS LIKE YOU! YOU WANT TO GET A LAUGH OUT OF SOMEBODY, GO HANG OUT WITH SPLINK! HAVE THEM EXPLAIN TO YOU THE DANGERS OF COCK ROT. EITHER WAY, LEAVE MY PRESENCE!"

Lowell backed away. "Damn, what is with ALL this hostility? I just came out here to give you your props, man! I mean, sure…onedaythetitlewillbemineBUT…you've got it right now. That makes you THE DUDE!"

The ACW Champion was quick to regain his composure before continuing. "Well…thank you. But this is NOT the time to be kissing my ass when I have something important to say. Now, as I was saying…"

YEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH, WE DID IT!

"We Did It Again" by Metallica and Ja Rule. 

And for the first time in this segment, people would have a little something to cheer about. For, making his way out from the back would be a person who had a vested interest in shutting Lowell Dot Com the fuck up. 

For ANDY SHARP made his way out from behind the curtain, absorbing a small pop. He was still new, so some didn't know how to take to him as of yet. For others, they gave him a small pop. Think Shannon Moore…with, like, credibility. And heat. Yeah, that'll do nicely. He motioned for his music to cut as he pulled out…yep…A MIC! Looking out to the crowd with a smile, Andy turned his attention to the ring afterwards before beginning. 

"Since Chris Jericho has already cornered the market on telling people to shut the hell up, I'll just come out here and say, 'VINCE! LOWELL! STOP BITCHING!' Jeez, this is ACW, not a dog show!"

This elicited a chuckle from the crowd while Lowell merely folded his arms and Vince remained unfazed. 

"Good GOD, do they just give everybody a mic now?" Vince groaned. "Why does EVERYBODY have to come out here and ruin what I have to say? Is it some kind of inferiority complex where the whole lot of you worthless bastards all try to ride the Champ's coattails?"

"No," Andy replied. "I just want to kick the shit out of the blue dude." 

"Hey!" Lowell fired back. "The' blue dude' has a name, you know!"

"You have a name?" SVJ smirked. "The whole lot of you could all be named 'Bill Goldberg' and I couldn't care less. Now, please drag all your sorry asses back to the mystical land of the curtain jerker while the grown-up has something to say. NOW…"

"Sympathy For The Devil" by The Rolling Stones.

Seems like the grown-up DID have something to say, it just wasn’t SVJ. Speaking of which, the Superstar was pouting in the ring because everyone knew who it was, and everyone wanted to here what he had to say… or at least, they wanted him to just get SVJ to, as mentioned before as an aside, shut the hell up.

Alias entered.

The arena was a rocking.

Most everyone was quiet in the middle of it all though, in the ring. Well… all except Jacobs. He was boiling under the surface. He’d already had one screaming fit. Hooow many left did he have in him.

“You’re probably waiting for the same bullshit public pronouncements from me, that you give to all these people… all these damn people week in and week out. I’m tired of your bullshit, and I’m tired of that goddamned ego of yours… so I’m not about to add to your fire. I’m not giving you any more reason to gloat.

As far as I’m concerned, you just lost your right… Champ.” Alias, soaking in a bit more bubbling cheers and murmurs from the crowd, flicked the cigarette that he had yet to take another toke of, since he stepped out from behind the curtains, onto the steelramp that lay ahead of him. He looked frustrated… angry, more then anything. It wasn’t the usual Alias. Or atleast the Alias of old… but it was closer to what the fans remember, then what they had seen since he had lost the ACW World Championship.

“I am so fucking tired of hearing sound byte after sound byte from you Vince. So fucking TIRED! Only in mind though, because you know what… you might have torn me down, we you took that gold from me, so might have gotten the better of me in that moment… and the moments since. Fuck you if you think you own an advantage over me though, Superstar.

Remember the first Pounded and Fused?

Remember the second?

Remember your return… and every moment after that within 2003?

Remember what I was capable of then… how powerless you where to stop me, then.

Well hell, Vince… we might as well call things EVEN now.”

“HA, even?! Look what I have to prove otherwise!”

“You want proof, Vince. You want so goddamned proof of what I’m capable of again? Let me show you tonight.”

“Don’t give me anymore reason to laugh there, Chris. Don’t be so freakin’ desperate either… seriously it’s tiring. You aren’t get another shot at me, HELL your not even my number one contender, need I remind… I don’t have one!” The crowd jeered at him but SVJ continued. “Your GOD,” he board the words right into the Original Pulp Hero just to agitate him, “doesn’t need to pander to this shit. You’re not getting another unearned shot at me, not by a long shot.” SVJ stared confidently at Alias, but only for a second because god knows Lowell had to get his shill on.

“Not even by a Titlelist long shot golf ball! If you’re an avid golfer, there one hell of a bu—“

“Shut up!”

It would go down as the first time in the last decade that Alias, SVJ and Andy Sharp actually agreed the same thing, and voiced the said agreement. Okay, well the impressive thing was Alias and SVJ agreeing, you knew Andy wanted to tell Lowell off again anway.

The crowd cheered, and Sharp had an idea in this odd moment of… something. Let’s say agreeing on the annoyance of Lowell.com.

“Okay, well how about this then… um bare with me.” Okay, so maybe the kid had to gather his thoughts. Oooor maybe it was a dramatic pause.

Okay it wasn’t.

“Alias, over here, and me, Andy Sharp, against the two of you! Tag match style, tonight.”

Alias looked over at Sharp, and then back at Vince in the ring. “I’m game if you are… Vince.”

“Surprise, surprise.”

“Unless your AFRAID of what I’ll do to you after what you did to me last week.” It was that old baiting, and maybe it was all that was needed… because Vince wanted to fight Alias again, he might not just want to admit it.

“Deal.”

Lowell was in, without a question, and pocketed the dough once again. Like that, the night was one… and the main event was set. As the ACW’s World Champion watched his hated nemesis walk away, and the ever braver rookie that stood beside him, follow Alias to the back… Vince looked over to the Blue-haired shilling machince.

SVJ realized who he had to deal with tonight, a man he had already screamed at once. Then hit his forehead with the palm of his hand.

“That space monkey better not fuck things up.” 

Omens of the Shadows

Outside the wind whistled through the air, tonight was cold to say the least… And the temperature fit the scenario quite well. It was December after all, and this is what you are to expect in Seattle. It felt ready to snow, and Simian Kade could sense this as he blew air through his closed fists in a feeble to warm himself. 

There was not a spot for him inside the arena on this evening, as he was not on the active roster as of yet, but in time he knew that would change. 

He was out here tonight… With a message for Kelly Flawless. 

He had heard of Kelly’s paranoia in recent weeks due to his games that he had played with the Diva of Masculinity. No matter, Simian figured, paranoia would be the least of his concerns when the time came for Kade to resurrect his in-ring career. Not for the fact that the canvas would play the stage for a one-sided war, but rather Simian would be allowed in the arenas of ACW once again. 

He would have access to Kelly at any time; that was an exciting thought for Simian. 

He smiled to himself, as once again he blew into his fists. 

He looked across to the backdoor of the arena where a man stood with a cigarette between his lips. He took a long drag from the filter and leaned up against the wall. 

Simian looked in closer, he half-recognized the face from his previous stint here… Once again he smiled to himself.

He was stationed behind the branches of a rather unhealthy tree… He stepped out. 

The man heard the movement of the branches across the way, he thought nothing of it but turned his head none the less. 

As he saw Simian Kade walking toward him the cigarette fell from his mouth; a look of… Confusion came over his face as he turned and abruptly went inside. 

Kade smiled once more as he watched the door close. 

Tonight… Kelly Flawless would receive his message. 

The World You Love Is The One You Are Denied; Part One

Can you say "de-ja-fucking-vu" because at this precise moment in time, that was exactly what Khristain Keller was thinking as he looked on at the ACW back lot entrance to the someone scabby Royal Brougham Pavilion.

"This place is a fucking shit-box..."

The sad thing was, he was right.

The demise of eWrestling (e for entertainment ;) had led to bad turn-outs to shows, which led to bad revenue, which led to bad wages for the roster, which led to bad attitudes....which led to bad performances in the ring.

Yeah, that's why WWE sucks just now.

Didn't take long to figure out did it.

Keller opened what in the past would be the large swing doors surrounded by security men to enter the buzzing backstage of the arena...now, it was a single door backed up by a buzzer with a rather grumpy sounding old lady behind it.

Keller looked around at what seemed to be an empty backstage.

He checked his watch.

I'm on time.

He checked the date (which date it was I'll leave to your imagination)

Right day.

"What the fuck is going on."

ACW TELEVISION TITLE MATCHUP
Natalie Quinston v. Gods Forgotten Son [c]

With each passing second that elapsed from her sporty black wristwatch, Natalie Quinston grew more anxious. Over a span of five minutes, the former tA psychologist stood on the gorilla position, where she examined the time differential between her watch and the big round clock on the nearby wall. The rhythmically tapping of her right foot made everyone around her edgy as Natalie’s patience wore very fucking thin.

The uncertainty of the night in Seattle, Washington made her nervous, Quinston could swear on a stack of bibles, she felt nauseous as butterflies swarmed around inside her intestines. This would be the night, where she would prove everyone wrong about her. Like Fejona Min, her ex-lover who choose ol’ blind boy over their long lasting relationship. In addition to the ACW officials, who for the longest time ignored her countless requests for high profile matches…and then there was Silverhawk.

A man who wanted to take this opportunity away from her clutches, moments earlier. Natalie didn’t care if Hawk tried to warn her, that Quinston’s opponent may not be in the right frame of mind. She just thought it was another excuse to hold her back from success, which was rightfully hers for the taking.

Aaron Jones, whom was standing only a few paces away from Quinston, nodded to her as it was now time. The young female superstar returned the nod; Natalie separated the black drapery as she made her way en route for to the squared circle. In the distance, a mixed reaction could be heard while Natalie Quinston marched onward to musical silence.

Yep, she had not chosen a theme of her own yet, as Silverhawk took the next available seat behind the sound stage board. “Do you think he’ll show?” the technician inquired, he pressed a few multi-colored buttons, which made the house lights return to their normal configuration.

“I have absolutely no clue. Let’s cue his music, and then see what happens.” The owner replied.

Without further ado, I present – “A Fond Farewell”, by Elliott Smith.

The arena was plunged into darkness, and mass screams of hysteria erupted from within the Royal Brougham Pavilion. The darkness represented the unknown, and God's Forgotten Son was exactly that; a complete and utter mystery. Even his vaunted ring entrance seemed puzzling, since the stage was devoid of any life form whatsoever, while GFS’s theme continued to play softly.

The litebrite's now black and white
'Cause they took apart a picture that wasn't right
Pitch burning on a shining sheet
The only maker that you'd want to meet
A dying man in a living room
Whose shadow paces the floor
He’ll take you out any open door

This is not my life
It's just a fond farewell to a friend
It's not what I'm like
It's just a fond farewell to a friend
Who couldn't get things right
Fond farewell to a friend

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

That he was, and that chilling face of his remained emotionless as GFS was seen making his way to the ring, before he hopped over the security barricade. From the outside, he closely watched the movements of his apprehensive adversary…before God’s Forgotten Son slid in and proceeded to stand in the middle of the ring, as a single white spotlight shone down on the enigma to the industry.

Slowly removing his black jacket hoodie, GFS let it drop to the floor as the lights finally came back on, and he raised a single first into the air, while keeping his eyes transfixed on the mat. In the distant corner, Natalie Quinston watched on unimpressed, GFS gradually picked his head up, he scanned the crowd before both competitors with those dead eyes of his…slightly turning to Quinston as the United States champion shook his head contemptuously.

Ding Ding Ding

The new ACW referee, Jack Waterbury raised the immaculate championship into the air as the bell rang seconds afterward. Once the ref stepped out of the way, Quinston charged and somewhat surprised the brooding ACW superstar with a barrage of stiff punches and kicks. GFS prepared himself for the onslaught; he blocked Natalie’s attacks and retaliated with a fucking hard Martial Arts kick to Quinston’s crouch.

Doubled over in pain on the light blue canvas, she began to feel better as Fejona Min’s former assistant leapt to her feet; as she clocked GFS with a forearm shiver that rocked the latter’s head back. Natalie continued laying shots into the forgotten son’s face, a man who seemed to be preoccupied with other thoughts, while virtually being pummeled by someone half his size.

Quinston noticed this as well, whilst trying to whip God’s Forgotten Son into the far corner, but the latter’s power was too much of a factor to overcome. You can guess who really slammed into the turnbuckle, with great velocity.

Quinston staggered out of the corner with her right hand firmly pressed against her back. As the young woman stumbled into the awaiting arms of GFS, he brought her crashing down onto his knee in the form of an Uranage Backbreaker. Quinston was nearly broken in half as GFS pushed the cruiserweight off of his right thigh, deciding not to vie for the pin fall attempt, whilst stomping ferociously on his opponent’s skull.

Methodically, God’s Forgotten Son reached down; acquiring a left hand full of Quinston’s locks, before the aforementioned hammered away with stiff body shots on Natalie’s rib cage with absolutely no remorse. Of all the background noise he heard, the audience beginning to boo him for example, GFS heard the ref’s count reaching four as he released his illegal grasp…Only to rock Quinston back into the turnbuckle with a serious case of whiplash thanks to a lightening fast European Uppercut.

The action cut away from the ring, the scene transported the viewers backstage to the gorilla position; Silverhawk watched on as he saw the forgotten son stomp, and then decided to punch out Quinston in the corner…driving her down to the mat below, before GFS choked her with his right boot. Hawk just shook his head disdainfully as the referee Waterbury stepped between both combatants.

It was about freaking time. While being distracted by the ref, the current United States champion, this gave Natalie time to recover. God’s Forgotten Son pushed Waterbury out his way, noticing that Quinston had gotten back to a vertical base, and did not please him one single solitary bit. GFS rushed to get back on the offensive, but the former tA competitor halted any momentum with a nasty sharp nailed rake to the face.

As her opposition was blinded, Quinston leapt onto the middle rope; she got hold of GFS’s dark hair, seconds prior to dropping the former with an inverted Reverse DDT. Natalie Quinston was no fool; she wasted no time hooking the forgotten son’s outside leg. Waterbury slide into position, but GFS kicked out at one, powering his female competitor off of him…whilst both participants reached their feet simultaneously.

Seeing her window of opportunity quickly closing, Natalie threw a quick jab, but God’s Forgotten Son easily avoided it and returned rapid fire. The United States champion whipped Natalie Quinston into the parallel ropes, upon her return she ducked GFS’s attempted clothesline as the former bounced off the ring ropes again. In the middle of the squared circle, Quinston wasn’t swift enough steer clear of GFS, as he pushed into the air… but instead of the inverted flapjack that the forgotten son planned, an amazing hurricanrana took him to the canvas.

The crowd still couldn’t believe what they had just seen, as the ACWtron showed the instant reply before the camera-angle returned to live action. Quinton wiped the sweat from her brow as she kicked GFS, before Natalie grabbed her adversary by the right wrist to shoot him into the ring ropes.

That would not be the case, seeing as God’s Forgotten Son leapt from the canvas onto the top rope, whilst bouncing backwards as he soared over Quinston’s head in one effortless motion. Utterly phenomenal stuff to say the least as Natalie did not know how to react. Except for the sudden burning sensation Quinston felt, quickly clutching her left leg, as GFS chop blocked the exposed limb violently.

With his opposition grounded, the forgotten son looked down upon his new found enemy with those lifeless chestnut brown eyes of his; an individual that wanted to extract a measure of revenge on him…a foe who wanted to take something away, which rightfully belonged to him. God’s Forgotten Son could not let that happened, as he stomped Quinston in the neck with the sole of his boot sadistically.

GFS lifted Quinston up as he dropped her with his patented Neckbreaker over the knee. What an impact to Natalie’s neck as she held the back of her head in pain, while GFS didn’t hesitate dropped a knee onto her left collarbone. In the first few rows of the audience, you could see the sympathy for Natalie Quinston in the fans’ eyes. This young woman who just entered the wrestling business a few months ago, going up against this unstoppable force in ACW, who didn’t let up one bit…in his quest for domination.

The forgotten son whipped Quinston into the far corner, following in with a hard clothesline that knocked the air out of her little body. A solid knee from GFS was driven into the aforementioned bread basket and a stiff right haymaker rocked Natalie’s skull, as she slumped down to the canvas. God’s Forgotten Son took a couple of steps backwards; he looked down into his empty palms as if there were some untapped power within…before refocusing his attention to his opponent.

With her head resting against the bottom turnbuckle, Quinston’s bruised face looked upward as GFS’s left hand slowly reached for Natalie as she was elevated to a vertical base against her will. The virtual known to the circuit sent Quinston toward the parallel ropes on the other side of the ring, GFS himself bounced into the near by ropes, speeding in the direction of young Natalie.

While God’s Forgotten Son tried to take Natalie Quinston down with The STO, she had the maneuver well scouted, ducking the clothesline/leg sweep combination, surprising the reigning champion with a Head Scissors takeover. Even though some of the crowd applauded her feisty efforts, her never say die attitude to gain the advantage, it would not last long as GFS sat up and got back to a vertical base.

Quinston turned around shocked, greeted by a right boot to the stomach and a clothesline over the top rope from God’s Forgotten Son. On the way down to the arena floor, Natalie Quinston’s back struck the ring apron as she writhed in agony. Avoiding the need to take any unnecessary risks, GFS slide under the bottom rope to the outside, placing a well thought out stomp to his opponent’s lower spine.

The former tA star tried to get to her feet to defend herself, but GFS would not allow Quinston to do so, unleashing a vile double axe handle on the top of Natalie’s head…before he whipped the latter into the steel ring steps. Was Natalie Quinston in serious pain now? You bet your ass she was, selling GFS’s last attack to perfection as she held her chest.

The forgotten son went back to his rudimentary stomping of Quinston’s breast bone, before GFS sympathetically rolled his adversary into the ring as the ref reached seven on his ten counts. Swiftly jumping up onto the apron, God’s Forgotten Son spring-board leg dropped off of the top rope, and down against the back of Fejona Min’s former assistant’s neck.

To the perception of the crowd, it seemed the match was over, GFS rolled Quinston over as he hooked the inside leg. Jack Waterbury checked Natalie’s shoulders before he started to count her out.

One!

Two!

All GFS got was two and a half, as the crowd was astonished that the match was not over. Expressing no emotion over the failed attempt, the champion went back to business as usual, a quick stomp to Quinston’s cranium before he lifted her to a standing position.

Backing her into the ropes, the somewhat unstable GFS tried to use his might to send Quinston into the parallel cables, but the heroic female grappler revered the whip into an Even flow DDT. How clever for someone who hasn’t very long, anyways Quinston went for the pin fall again. GFS got the left shoulder up quick like, while he pushed Quinston off of him with his right hand.

Upon returning to his feet, the US champ was caught off guard by a few jabs to the face from Natalie; she tried to shoot GFS across the ring, but the forgotten son countered mid-ring. In the midst of this quick reversal, Quinston used her agility to bounce off the middle rope, spring-boarding back into the face of GFS with a drop kick. Caught off guard, the former rolled from the canvas back onto his feet as Natalie Quinston charged forward.

Leaving her feet, Quinston attempted a cross body block; GFS ducked and brought Natalie to the mat with a school boy. The latter quickly escaped as Quinston kipped up to her feet, but God’s Forgotten Son had studied her well, blasting her with jumping side kick. GFS picked Natalie up in the center of the ring, quick boot to the stomach before the King of Ages 04’ darted off the ropes, coming back with a Running Snap Swinging Neckbreaker.

With his opponent literally stunned, GFS ignored going for the cover, placing his knee on Quinston’s throat as he tried to choke the life out of her. Waterbury’s count reached four before the champ released the hold, once GFS did, Quinston gasped for air whilst the forgotten son shook his head in disgust. A kick to Natalie’s head followed and silenced her momentarily.

Backstage Silverhawk watched the action in the ring on the monitor; he knew this match wasn’t a good idea as the camera zoomed in on Quinston’s battered features. God’s Forgotten Son pulled Natalie’s hair back as she sat on the canvas; mounted punches further opened the scars on the young woman. The crowd started to hiss and boo, this match was becoming one sided in a hurry as GFS shot Quinston into the corner, but she avoided the contact by leaping on the second buckle.

With the champion in hot pursuit, Quinston leapt backwards…however the forgotten son caught her in a compromising position. In between Natalie’s legs, while he still had the waist lock, GFS attempted to slam Quinston face first into the mat…but somehow, some way the former tA superstar countered into a victory roll.

One!

Two!

Almost, but not quite as God’s Forgotten Son escaped in the last milliseconds. Quinston climbed the to the top rope with all the energy she has left, GFS promptly got up to a vertical base, but much to his dismay… Natalie’s flying Head scissor sent the KOA crashing into the center of the ring. Unexpectedly, the audience stated to get behind the underdog Quinston, maybe she could shock the world?

Could her never ending passion and desire to right the wrong against her, force faith to be on her side. Do what Vince Jacobs, Fejona Min, Simian Kade, Silverhawk and Quinton May could not. And that was defeating God’s Forgotten Son in the middle of the squared circle.

Perched on the top, Quinston looked between her legs as GFS still lay on the canvas motionlessly, she didn’t hesitate when Natalie leapt backwards with an incredible Moonsault. At the same time as the flash bulbs exploded, everything moved in slow motion, reality finally sunk in for Natalie Quinston.

She thought back to a month ago; where the beautiful young woman headed to the ring to face Quinton May for the Television championship…but her opportunity interrupted. The present was no different as God’s Forgotten Son got his knees up, which killed any momentum Quinston, had built.

On the unforgiving canvas, Natalie Quinston writhed in pain; she was hurting so bad that a single tear rolled down her cheek. The strange enigma GFS squatted down next to her, observing rather enjoying the anguish his adversary felt as a smirk formed across his lips. Suddenly the numb expression returned; the forgotten son reached down, pulling Natalie Quinston violently up by the hair.

God’s Forgotten Son knew that he was watching, judging his every decision…so a message needed to sent back subconsciously. Cranking Quinston’s neck at an unsafe degree, GFS leapt forward as he plummeted downward and just like that, the lights within young Natalie Quinston has vanished. On the blue firm canvas, she laid seemingly unconscious as her arms were extended outward, kind of like crucifix.

Jack Waterbury dropped to his knees to check on Quinston, she had a pulse and was breathing…but not moving. With a snap of his fingers, the forgotten son knocked out his opponent, using another adversary’s finisher no less. Silverhawk’s very own Breakdown!.

Waterbury couldn’t believe his eyes, what a monster this man before him was as the latter pleaded. Jack literally begged for GFS to end the match, whilst Quinston lay lifeless on the mat. But God’s Forgotten Son refused, he exited the ring and motioned for the time keeper to remove himself from his seat. Closing the steel chair promptly, the King of Ages reentered but the referee tried to remove the weapon from GFS’s possession.

Bad move newbie, GFS pushed Waterbury to the ground as he pointed for the ref to stay down.

Still motionlessly on the mat, Quinston couldn’t do anything to stop the forgotten son from placing the chair against her face, and to the top he went. In one leap he was already balancing himself on the turnbuckle, before anyone knew what was happening, God’s Forgotten Son soared into the air with great elevation…before he eventually came down to earth, Meteoric Suicide onto the chair.

The audience gasped in horror as GFS rose slowly, removing his messy and cluttered hair from his face, so those dead eyes could see the masterpiece of destruction the youngster caused. Lifting the now bloody chair off of poor Natalie Quinston’s face, God’s Forgotten Son placed his right boot on the aforementioned cheek, demanding the referee count her out.

One!

Two!

Three!

Ding Ding Ding

The match was finally over; Waterbury swiftly raised both of his arms up in an X as medics, lead by Silverhawk dashed to the ring, Once they got to the ring, they secured Quinston with a neck cast as they all looked off into the far corner where GFS could be located. On his knees, shaking his head in disbelief at what he had done.

The company’s owner was in complete and utter bewilderment, he didn’t know what to make of this situation as GFS left the ring. Picking up his jacket hoodie off of the arena floor, the forgotten son put it back on, before he attempted to make his way through the crowd. What stood in God’s Forgotten Son’s way?

As the latter lifted his head upward, it was none other than Mr. Wallace, who stood on the other side of the guard rail. The two intimidating individuals began to stare down one another, until Wallace moved out of his master’s way. And before Silverhawk could return his attention to GFS, the troubled youngster was gone.

Winner > Gods Forgotten Son

The World You Love Is The One You Are Denied; Part Two

"Hey you...."

Keller smirked.

Finally someone to fuck with.

"Yes..."

Turning around he clocked the main credentials for what seemed to be an ACW staff member.

The ACW black t-shirt from cafepress.com...

The very bad mullet hair-do...

The baggy eyes...

Oh, and the small fact it looked like he wanted to KILL himself right there and then such was the crappy insignificance of his insightful and unfulfilling job as one of the few ACW skivvies, fWo took a lot of that market.

Other than that he looked alrite.

"Fuck, you aren't who I was looking for."

Keller, ready with witty comeback and all was rather shocked when the random skivvie just turned around and walked away.

"Hold on a minute, just you have any news for me, Khristain Keller?"

...

...

"Eh...no mate, I'm looking for someone from Splink...got an interview with a local radio station, those lads are quite popular for some very odd reason, might be because they seemed to all dress the same, I dunno."

"Where the hell is everyone, this place is empty..."

The skivvie moved in closer.

"HAWK's been cutting costs in ACW...supposedly we can't even sustain this amount of losses, even when we have like 8 roster members," Keller cocked an eyebrow, "ok, a little bit of an exaggeration there, but you get what I mean."

Keller pondered.

"So today wouldn't be the best of days to ask for a contract?"

The random skivvie laughed, and then stopped...when Keller had a grip on his Adam's apple, before flinging him into the nearby wall.

"Don't worry chief, just go on the sick, they can't fire you...unless you're Test that is."

Plan B.

Seymour Almasy vs. Quinton May

It was a very determined Seymour Almasy that made his way out in front of the Seattle crowd, “Fight With Seymour” by The Black Mages blaring as he jogged down the aisle.

No one likes to be embarrassed. Seymour was embarrassed last week by Jamar Gordo. It wasn’t that Gordo had dominated Almasy that annoyed Seymour. That hadn’t happened.

What HAD happened was that Gordo had caught Seymour in the back of the head with a perfect shot, and then covered in the most arrogant manner possible. But Seymour couldn’t worry about that.

Especially not when his opponent THIS week most certainly WAS good enough to embarrass him, in a match that both men needed, badly.

“Make A Move” by Lostprophets heralded the arrival of perhaps one of THE most successful competitors in ACW history. Quinton May stepped out onto the ramp, but the Canadian Gladiator’s usual fire wasn’t there. He shook his head a few times, eyes looking down at the ramp as he walked to meet his opponent for the evening.

May rolled into the ring, as a tightly focused Almasy looked straight ahead at him. Quinton raised his eyes to meet Seymour’s. He didn’t take kindly to being called an asshole. Almasy was going to pay for that…but at the same time, Quinton looked burnt out.

Seymour, on the other hand, was ready to go.

*DING DING DING!*

The Final Fantasy had a hell of a lot to prove, and he decided that now was as good of a time as any to start. He caught May off guard, rocking him with a forearm to the jaw for the first contact of the contest.

Quinton’s head snapped back, only to come back right into another forearm. Almasy shot the longest reigning Television Champion in ACW’s history into the ropes, and charged with a clotheslne. 

May, however, managed to counter with a well-placed knee to the gut. The ACW newcomer tumbled over Quinton’s leg, and fell to the canvas, placing the Gladiator firmly in control early. He pondered what to do next, and for whatever reason, decided against his usual flashy offense.

As Almasy came to his feet, Quinton caught him coming in with a picture perfect arm drag. The resilient Seymour got right back up, and walked into a second. This time, May held onto the arm, applying a basic armbar.

Rudimentary? Yes. Effective? Ditto.

Seymour slapped at the locked shoulder, trying to find a way out that way. When that didn’t work, his right arm came up to try and elbow Quinton in the face. That also failed, and May simply stood up, performing a full arm drag and twist, before hammer locking the left arm back behind Seymour.

This time, Seymour’s back elbow counter was a bit more successful. It jarred Quinton loose from his arm, allowing Almasy to capitalize, reaching back and snapmaring May to the mat. Once Quinton hit, Seymour ran for the far ropes. As Almasy expected, May sat up, in an effort to clear the cobwebs.

And promptly got dropkicked in the back of the head.

The cobweb clearing process took a bit longer this time, but May managed to get back up to his feet. He spotted Almasy across the ring, shaking his limbs out, and glaring right back. Seymour may have been a relative newcomer to ACW, but Quinton hadn’t established his incredible record by underestimating people. Seymour was a high flyer, a guy who could pull out a lot of moves that would make people gasp…

In short, a lot like Quinton himself. 

As such, however, May knew exactly how to take Almasy out.

He reopened hostilities with a hard boot to the gut, and scooped Seymour up, dropping him HARD across an outstretched knee with a textbook backbreaker. The key to success, Quinton had determined, would be to use the vast technical advantage that he had over his opponent, and exploit it.

Clutching his back, Almasy gingerly made his way back up, only to walk into a perfect hiptoss from May, landing Seymour on his back once again. Quincy Mama rolled Seymour over to his stomach, and dropped a hard elbow, following with a second and a third.

May expertly segued into a surfboard--planted his knee in between Seymour’s shoulder blades, and pulled back on the arms. Seymour vehemently shook his head no when asked if he wanted to give up. In truth, Quinton didn’t expect a submission. The surfboard was just another weapon being used to soften Seymour up until Quinton hit one of his REAL submission maneuvers.

Seymour was unceremoniously jerked back to his feet, and Irish whipped hard into the turnbuckle. He practically crumpled upon impact, and Quinton saw it, moving in almost immediately to follow up. Once again, he whipped Seymour across the ring, but this time, it was with slightly less velocity.

May followed up with a charge to the corner.

Almasy, however, was ready.

He side-stepped Quinton, using his right arm to aid momentum in sending Quinton to the buckle. As May staggered out of the corner, Almasy hit the ropes on the opposite side, timing it so that Quinton would be facing him when he came back.

Quinton was.

SHOTEI~!

The hard palm strike caught May completely off-guard, and dropped him like a stone amidst shocked gasps from the crowd. Was May really losing his touch? Almasy dropped to cover, hooking the leg in hopes of picking up the upset.

One!

Two!

…No upset. At least, not yet.

Kickout!

A somewhat disoriented May got the shoulder up from the first pinning predicament of the match. He had one hell of a headache, but was still more than capable to go.

Besides, Almasy had managed to annoy him now.

May went to resume his assault on Almasy, but was caught with another palm strike, this one to the stomach. Seymour hooked Quinton, and took him over quickly with a hard snap suplex. Almasy wasted little time in moving to the ropes, springing up to the top, and coming back down across Quinton May with a springboard top rope moonsault.

Lionheart, as he preferred it to be known. Almasy liked naming his bigger moves, okay?

The impact of the moonsault propelled Seymour up to his knees after hitting it. Conventional wisdom said he should probably cover, but a guy who named himself after RPG characters isn’t exactly conventional, is he?

No, of course not.

He picked Quinton up to his feet, and lunged with a clothesline, but May had enough of his wits about him to duck. Hooking Seymour easily, Quinton took the lighter man over with a backdrop suplex, continuing his attack on the Final Fantasy’s spine.

The conventional had worked well, May realized, but it wasn’t going to put Seymour away. If May wanted to break out of his funk, he had to throw out some of his more innovative, dangerous offense.

Pressing his advantage, the Rising Star rolled Almasy to his stomach, exposing the back that he had worked on throughout the contest. May slowly ascended to the top rope, spread his arms wide, and leapt.

DIVING HEADBUTT…

CONNECTED!

May closed his eyes as his head crashed into the small of Seymour’s back. Almasy’s body kicked violently in pain upon impact, while Quinton tried to shake out the cobwebs that he had caused with his own move.

Slowly, May managed to roll Seymour back over, and cover. The crowd looked on, somewhat secure in believing that the match would be over.

One!

Two!

Kickout!

A gasp came from the crowd, as Almasy managed to squeak his shoulder up off the canvas. Quinton was no less surprised than the crowd, but as usual, managed to keep in control of himself. It was a minor setback, no more, no less.

May pressed his control of the bout, setting Seymour up for a power bomb. It wasn’t a move that Quinton could do often with his size, but he had enough of a size advantage for it to work here, and continue to break down the Final Fantasy’s back.

It all started well enough, with the lift going smoothly. However, Seymour managed to get both hands onto May’s head, and countered the move into a sitout face buster, driving May face first to the canvas.

Beyond surprised by this point, Quinton pushed himself up to hands and knees, but Almasy grabbed an arm, twisting and rolling May into LA MAGISTRAL!

One!

Two!

…

THR--NO!

May wriggled free, face red with exertion and surprise. He attempted to level Seymour with a clothesline the second he got to his feet, but Seymour caught the arm, and drove Quinton to the mat with a Fujiwara armbar, to the astonishment of the crowd.

Frantically, the Canadian Gladiator began looking around for a counter, for a way out. His arm hadn’t even been touched by Almasy in the contest, but a Fujiwara armbar would weaken the limb rapidly, even if Seymour wasn’t exactly the best person in the world at applying it.

Bit by bit, May crawled towards the nearest ropes, and forced Seymour to break the hold. Quinton didn’t feel happiness, however. He felt…scared. Began second guessing himself, wondering if he really HAD lost something in the past month or so. 

With the break forced, both men returned to a vertical base. Quinton maneuvered behind Seymour, and dumped Seymour on his back with a quick German Suplex.. May stood, and made his way to the ring apron, waiting for Almasy to stand so he could hit one of his more spectacular offensive offerings. 

Seymour stood.

Quinton jumped, pushing off the top rope with both feet, and threw his body into a tight, feet first spiral, taking careful aim at Almasy’s head. 

The Final Fantasy, however, spotted the move coming. He managed to step aside, swatting May’s feet away, sending Quinton into a somewhat embarrassing tailspin, before he crashed unceremoniously to the canvas.

Even with his back hurting, Seymour pumped his fist in the air. Victory was within his grasp now. He lifted a wounded Quinton May up, hooked him, and lifted him in the air, holding him upside down in a perfectly vertical position for a split second, before violently crashing him down to the canvas.

LEVEL. FIVE. BRAINBUSTER.

It had finished off Natalie Quinston two weeks earlier, and while it wasn’t the deadliest weapon in the Almasy playbook, and while Quinston was no Quinton May, Seymour expected victory. 

He covered, hooked the far leg, and closed his eyes, hoping to hear three sweet slaps of hand on canvas.

That’s one.

And that’s two.

Hey…where did the third one go?

Easy, it didn’t happen.

Seymour opened his eyes after realizing this, only to see the damning evidence of May’s other boot draped over the bottom rope staring him in the face. It was Almasy’s turn to be a little bit shaken, but before he could capitalize, Quinton had collapsed out to the floor. Lying on the mats, he once again began to shake his head.

This couldn’t be happening, he thought. A few months earlier, he would have taken Almasy apart. At least, that’s how he saw it. He knew that Seymour was a more than capable competitor in the ring…but he was QUINTON MAY.

“5!”

He was jarred from his thought by the official’s count, which had already reached the halfway point. May collected himself, and rolled back in. Seymour’s first thought was to go for another Level Five Brainbuster, but this time, May landed behind Seymour, on his feet, and poised to inflict pain.

Lacing his arms through Seymour’s, May locked on a perfect full nelson, and took Seymour up and over with a beautiful Dragon Suplex. The official dropped to count, as Quinton held the bridge.

ONE!


TWO!


…


THR-- KICKOUT!

Almasy managed to wriggle free, alternately clutching at his neck and his back as he laid on the mat. The momentum of the match had shifted back in Quinton’s direction, and May felt more than just a little bit better.

As Seymour attempted to stand, May kicked him in the back. A second and third kick followed, as Almasy desperately tried to escape the assault. Quinton picked Seymour back up, and delivered another hard backbreaker. This time, however, he didn’t let Seymour fall to the mat.

He simply powered Seymour back up, and delivered a second, even more thunderous backbreaker. Quinton’s posture was calmer, less tense. Finally feeling more in control of himself and the match, he set out to finish his adversary off.

May followed with a hard, purposeful Irish whip across the ring. Almasy rebounded, and was promptly spinebustered out of his shoes by the Canadian Gladiator. Standing up after delivering the vicious move, Quinton found himself in perfect position to end the match,

He picked up a leg in each hand, and stepped his left leg in between Almasy’s, crossing the legs of his foe over his own leg. He began to turn, but rather than turn to the right as was common for the move he had in mind, he turned to the left. Thus, when he managed to overcome Almasy’s struggling to block the move, the Sharpshooter was an elevated one, putting even more pressure on Seymour’s back.

Quinton asks that you all kindly HAIL TO THE KING.

The crowd rose, anticipating the submission. Quinton cranked down on the move, prompting screams from Seymour. May waited to hear the tap, or a verbal submission.

Soon enough, though, he realized that there was at least one man in the arena who wasn’t willing to bow down before him just yet.

Almasy began crawling, desperately trying to pull himself towards the ropes, as Quinton shook his head. Seymour was too far away, he told himself, and tried to sit down more with the hold, but Almasy had managed to bridge up onto his hands as he clawed desperately for the safety of the nearby strands.

By the time Quinton thought about pulling Seymour back to the center of the ring, it was already too late. Seymour’s left hand had made it to the bottom rope, forcing Quinton to break Hail to the King.

To say that May was unhappy would be the understatement of the year. 

Several explicitives poured from May’s mouth as he looked down at Seymour, still clinging to the bottom rope. Quinton applied a waistlock, attempting to pry Almasy loose for another German suplex. Once he managed to get one hand off, however, it relatched itself, this time, to the middle rope. Soon after, both hands were on the middle rope.

The Rising Star was forced to break the waistlock, and hit Seymour with a pair of forearms to the back, loosening Seymour’s grip. The waistlock was immediately put back on, and the German suplex executed.

Unfortunately, Almasy flipped out of it, landing on his hands and knees.

Before the former TV and Scorpion Fighting Champion knew what was happening, Seymour charged, clipping out the back of May’s right leg. Popping back up as fast as he could with his injured back, Almasy sprung off of Quinton’s left leg, and kneed May in the face as hard as he could.

The Shining Force, if you want to give it a name and are an RPG geek. As of that moment, Seymour had never used a Shining Wizard in his life. He couldn’t tell you what it was, but he could say that the knee strike had stunned Quinton May, and that was all that mattered. 

By this point, Almasy was beyond trying to work a body part. Any gameplan that he could have brought to the match had to have been in its fifth revision. At this point, he wanted to win, and would pull out anything he could think of to get the win.

Of course, the same could be said for Quinton, who was frustrated almost to the point of desperation. The crowd looked on, a crowd that had thought the match would be over some time ago, and now realized that they were perhaps witnessing a special contest.

A nearly loopy Quinton rose to his feet, throwing a kick, which Seymour caught easily. 

Just as May had intended. One week ago, Gordo had thrown a perfect enzugiri variant that had knocked Almasy out. May hoped to catch lightning in a bottle for a second time, as he leaped with his free leg, aiming it for the back of Seymour’s head.

Of course, we all know that lightning never strikes twice, right?

Seymour ducked the enzugiri, causing May to fall flat on his face. Taking the leg he held and crossing it over the other, Almasy reached up and locked both arms around May’s chin.

DEATHLOCK STF!

MIDDLE OF THE RING!

The crowd’s roar rose to a fever pitch, as it was May’s turn to try and struggle to the ropes. He found the task a little bit easier, since Almasy was smaller than him, but the STF still hurt like hell. May managed to reach the ropes, forcing the break, which Almasy gave cleanly.

May’s heart was racing, as doubts began to flood him once more. This time, however, he couldn’t let them overtake him, as Almasy wasn’t about to let him rest. Almasy attempted to whip Quinton to the turnbuckle, but May managed to reverse, and boosted Seymour up to a seat on the top. 

Quinton nailed Seymour with a quick chop to the chest, then ascended. He hooked Seymour up, and stepped to the top rope…

TOP ROPE SUPERPLEX!

Both men bounced off the mat from the impact, Seymour and his injured back taking the worst of the impact. Quinton was hurt too, but seeing Almasy down and in serious trouble lessened the agony a bit. May desperately crawled, throwing himself on Almasy, as the official dropped to count yet again.

ONE!


TWO!


…

THREE…SHOULDER!

Even the referee was incredulous as he held up two fingers to the crowd, who continued to cheer the combatants on. If Seymour had thought May was an asshole before, well, after being beaten on him for almost fifteen minutes, that opinion was probably greatly strengthened by now.

For his part, May was flabbergasted. He had pulled things out of his hat he hadn’t used in months, and Almasy refused to go down.

That just meant that he had to try harder.

Quinton lifted Seymour up again, and delivered a quick kick to double him over. May set up for a suplex, but instead hooked one of Seymour’s legs. Seeing as how working the back wasn’t giving him results, it was time for a change in tactics.

FISHERMAN’S BUSTER!

May immediately stood, making his way to the corner. He doubted the Fisherman’s Buster would be enough. Then again, he had doubted a lot of things tonight, to the point where he was questioning his potency. Somewhere in his jumbled mind that was moving a mile a minute, he decided to go up top to ice the contest.

450 SPLASH!

…


…

NOBODY HOME!

The air was driven from May’s body on the miss, but Seymour was in little position to capitalize. He had managed to move just far enough out of the way to avoid impact, but he was still in considerable pain. Slowly, almost painfully slowly, Seymour rose, and picked Quinton up over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

GAGAZET DRIVER!

Seymour’s version of the Air Raid Crash hadn’t been enough to put away Natalie Quinston or Jamar Gordo, but this match had already gone far longer than either of those. Besides, Seymour was out of any other good ideas anyway. He covered, desperately hoping against hope that this would do it.

ONE!

TWO!

NO!

May got his shoulder up off the canvas, albeit barely. The crowd let out a gasp, feeling exhausted themselves from the changes in momentum and big moves. Both men were running on empty, but pride and the will to win drove both. Almasy picked Quinton back up to his shoulder, but this time, placed May on the top rope, as the crowd began to buzz, wondering what could possibly be next.

Seymour picked May up again, just as he had before, hooking head with one hand, and feet with the other, and soon, his intentions became deadly clear. 

Standing on the second rope, Seymour showed incredible balance by stepping to the top rope. The crowd roared, as the Final Fantasy prepared to put the match away with one more Gagazet Driver.

SUPAH GAGAZET DRIVAH~!

…

COUNTERED IN MID-AIR!

SUPER THUNDERFIRE POWERBOMB!!

“A-C-W! A-C-W! A-C-W!”

If you, like most of the fans in the arena, are trying to figure out WTF just happened, allow me to explain.

Almasy leapt backwards off the top rope for his Super Gagazet Driver. In mid-air, Quinton May managed to kick his legs free, causing his body to rotate downwards, land reasonably vertically, and Thunderfire Powerbomb Seymour to the canvas in one fluent motion.

Got it?

Don’t worry, neither do I.

The one thing that all of the fans COULD agree on, however, was that Seymour Almasy was DONE. FINISHED. TOE TAGGED. If Quinton May could cover, he could get a one-hundred count.

It’s a funny word though, that ‘if’. Two letters, but such a very big word indeed.

Quinton was in no position to cover. Hell, Quinton was in no position to do pretty much anything. He was crumpled in a heap next to Seymour, motionless.

The crowd couldn’t believe it. All they could do now was support their favorite, and do their best to help him block out the pain, help him will himself to his feet. The referee looked on in shock, as the crowd now joined the battle, dueling chants rising above the din.

“SEY-MOUR!”

“QUIN-TON!”

“SEY-MOUR!”

“QUIN-TON!”

“SEY-MOUR!”

“QUIN-TON!”

And as fate would have it, it was “QUIN-TON!” who managed to move first, and gracelessly threw an arm over Almasy’s broken body. The Quinton supporters let out a sigh of relief. The Seymour supporters hoped for a miracle.

ONE!

TWO!

No one would blame Almasy for not being able to get up. He’d fought for twenty minutes against one of the best ACW had to offer, and had taken a horrific beating, while giving one out in return.

No one, except himself.

…

KICKOUT?!

The referee couldn’t believe it. The fans couldn’t believe it. Quinton May couldn’t believe it. Hell, even Seymour himself couldn’t believe it.

For his fans, the season of miracles had come early. 

May once again was forced to rack his brain. Not able to come up with anything substantive immediately, he went to Irish whip Seymour to the ropes, but to his shock, the battered and bruised Final Fantasy reversed the whip. Seymour crouched, summoning up his power, whatever he had left, to try and take Quinton’s head off with one final blow.

LARIAT…

MISSES!

Ducking under the clothesline, Quinton leaped up to the second rope, and twisted in mid-air, coming back to strike Almasy with a clothesline of his own. Finally, inspiration struck May, as he laid on the mat face down after the move.

Finally, he had the weapon with which he would end the contest, and dispel his doubts.

Wearily, Quinton picked Almasy up, pushing the Final Fantasy’s head between his legs, and double underhooked Seymour. May’s hands reached forward, grabbing the back of Almasy’s armor-like tights, preparing to put Almasy away.

HIDEAWAY~!

…

Or not.

May found Almasy frantically pulling back in an effort to block the move, stomping his feet, shaking his arms, and generally doing anything he could to disrupt Quinton’s move. Somehow, Seymour managed to wriggle his arms free, and swept out both of May’s legs.

This was most likely Almasy’s last chance.

He leaped over most of May’s body, grabbing the legs as he did so, and landed hard across the shoulders and chest of the Rising Star. Almasy pulled May’s legs over his shoulders as he did so, the pinning predicament looking much like the end of a rana rollup as Seymour pulled as much of his and May’s weight as he could over Quinton’s shoulders. The official dropped to count, as May frantically kicked, trying to extricate himself from the predicament.


ONE!

TWO!


KICKOUT!

…

Unfortunately for Quinton, it was a kickout that was too late. The official’s hand had slapped the mat for the three fractions of a second before May kicked free. And as the referee called for the bell, Quinton May knew that he had lost. Again.

*DING DING DING!*

For his own part, Seymour pumped his fist in the air, before collapsing to the mat from exhaustion. Both men lay still, trying to catch their breath after the incredible contest, as the crowd rained cheers down on both.

Slowly, Almasy surged up to one knee, allowing the official to grab his left wrist, and raise the arm in the air, signaling him as the winner of the contest. Seymour couldn’t believe it. Last week, he had suffered one of the most humiliating defeats of his career. This week, he managed to come through with his biggest win to date. It was amazing how wrestling worked sometimes.

If Seymour was elated, Quinton May was absolutely disgusted. Losing sucked. Losing after twenty-five minutes when your opponent countered your finisher sucked even more. He’d been outsmarted, and that thought tore away at him as he tried to stand.

By the time he made his way to his feet, he saw Seymour standing, looking at him, hand extended in a show of respect. May paused for a moment, snorted derisively, and turned away, rolling out of the ring with his head hung low.

Almasy was somewhat upset, but shrugged it off, and wearily ascended the turnbuckles, arms raised in the air as the crowd cheered.

Now, all Seymour had to do was keep winning, and the gold that he sought would eventually be his.

Of course, in ACW, that’s easier said than done.

Winner > Seymour Almasy

The World You Love Is The One You Are Denied; Part Three

"Dirty Window."

You know who the fuck by...

Khristain Keller aka the fecking daddy began his path towards the ring as he opened the curtain to the force field of boos and taunts from the Washington crowd.

"Like they can taunt me..." he smirked as he jumped into the ring and asked for the microphone to begin the next ten minutes of constant bad-mouthing of the fans and anyone who gives a damn about this federation.

"Let me tell you apes like it is..."

See?

"I've never been a man for conspiracy theories, but hell, if you've seen ACW for the past three weeks, then you will know that some bugger in this company is trying to keep k2 from the gold...and that just isn't on."

The fans could have boo'd, but they knew he was right.

Cheated out the title from Alias, and then SVJ went psycho-ref on the #1 contender match.

"Fuck, this isn't even a recent thing...remember King of Ages? Remember who won the thing against the current World Champion? Yeah, that was me, and I've received jack-diddly from it, and to be honest, I'm getting incredibly sick of it."

Keller looked around at the innocent faces of the crowd, and seen they were listening, maybe a little too hard.

"And that's why I'm asking you fuck-faces to do something about it."

Bad way to ask.

"Petition...start a riot...a chant at least for K2, I deserve my shot, you stupid marks can even comprehend that small matter of a fact, do you realize who is heading this company at the moment? Some cum-stain from fWo who can't even get in the upper card, and don't even get me started about Alias...or are they both cum-stains from fWo, something to ponder that."

...

"And this is helping your case how?"

The fans turned to the top of the ramp.

SilverHAWK.

And he was moving towards the ring.

"Keller, I think you are forgetting one small little detail before all this babbling went on...you aren't contracted here."

Suddenly, the arena went kind of quiet.

"I told you last week was your last real shot, and I'm afraid to say, you aren't standing there with twenty pounds of gold over your shoulder, therefore, you're out mate."

Silence, as Keller looked at HAWK.

"Fuck you then..."

HAWK shrugged, and then motioned to leave as Keller dropped his microphone...

WHAM.

What was that?

Keller striking HAWK in the back of the head?

or the mic smashing to the ground?

"HAWK...wait."

The later...and with the mic on the ground, most of the arena couldn't hear what was about to come next.

...

...

"Help me."

And with that, HAWK left the ring, leaving Keller inside the ring, the fans not knowing what he had said...and Keller not knowing what was going to come next.

Nobody really did.

“Snorbitz, I’m horny. I’m stuck in a locker room with a dog and I’m horny.”

Slapnutz looked at his puppy and smiled a wicked smile. 

“I’m not going to fuck you, I’m thinking I should start using you to pick up broads. As if I would ever fuck a dog. I don’t fuck dogs, animals or ugly birds.”

TMM was standing in the background preparing for the handicap match. Luckily, he couldn’t hear anything, if he could, he’d probably be even more pissed off at Slapnutz.

As TMM was onto his last set of stretches, an envelope came underneath the door of the Splink locker room. TMM didn’t notice it, but Slapnutz did. Splink hadn’t received any Christmas cards yet, so any envelope was a treat for the Scotsman. Usually they were from fans wanting to have sex with him and this time it was no exception.

Dear Scott,
I really want to have sex with you. How about we have sex right now? We can get naked and sweaty in Supply Cupboard C. Meet me there in five minutes so we can have sex. And maybe some more sex after that.

Sexy hugs and kisses,
A xxxx

Slapnutz beamed the biggest grin of the month. It would later be voted ‘Grin of the Year’ by the Torch and the Observer. Fuck you Schrerer!

He was horny, but not for much longer. Slapnutz checked his watch. Fifteen minutes until the match, he could have sex at least five times before he had to hit the ring. He checked his partner. Still warming up. Plus, this would be like warming up for Slapnutz, so he should really do it. He tied Snorbitz to the bench and crept out of the locker room, removing his boots on the way out.

His jeans were left not too far away from his locker room and his shirt could be found twenty metres further down the corridor. Slapnutz opened the door of Supply Cupboard C and walked into the darkness. As he did, his shorts came off and he was ready for action.

Unfortunately, someone else was more prepared for action than the Scotsman was. The door slammed shut, a lock clicked into place and the last thing that Slapnutz heard was the scraping of something moving in front of the door.

“Bugger.”

Somewhere else in the arena, Trevor Norman stood in his locker room and smiled like a Cheshire cat.

Splink Vs Trevor Norman (Handicap Match)
                

When the odds are stacked against you, shenanigans and trickery come into play. You have to be a ruthless bastard and you probably have to cheat to win. You don’t have to lie, cheat and steal, just take any two from three and you have a good chance of winning. With that in mind, Trevor Norman was probably the right man to put in a handicap match against Splink. He’s ruthless, evil and looks meaner than a gathering of pitbulls outside a biker bar.

Radio Edit. Sweatshop Union blared across the PA system as Trevor Norman made his way out to the ring with his sister. Trevor smirked as he made his way down the ramp, Ashley just looked hot and it wasn’t going unnoticed by the men in the crowd. The boos for Trevor were mixed with wolf whistles and ‘show us year tits’ shouts for Ashley. The attractive member of the Norman family ignored them. It looked as though there were other things on her mind.

Trevor stretched in the ring while Ashley paced around the side of the ring to stand in the corner of her brother. That’s when Splink made their entrance.

Going Underground. The Jam. Splink…I said Splink…okay, it was TMM. You know, the Polish guy that wrestles with the other one? You don’t know about TMM? Oh. Well, he came out anyway and the one you all love was nowhere to be seen.

In Supply Closet C, Slapnutz made his own entrance. By that I mean he took a piss in the corner. He heard his entrance music and decided that would be the right time to relieve himself. The splashing off the floor almost drowned the sound out, but not quite. Slapnutz was agitated and tried battering the door down for a fifth time. For the fifth time, it didn’t budge.

Back in the ring, TMM had made his entrance and was still looking around for his partner. He had a look on his face that showed he was waiting for Slapnutz to come running through the crowd with a hot blonde on one arm and a sexy brunette on the other. Alas, it wasn’t to be.

The bell rang and the handicap match started off as a singles match.

‘Bugger,’ was the only word that TMM could manage as Trevor Norman ran at him laughing.

Trevor couldn’t contain his laughter as he barged TMM into the corner. The force of the Pole going into the turnbuckles could have shifted the ring if it was made of cardboard. The Norman brother stepped back and drove his shoulder into the stomach of his opponent. Spit flew out of the mouth of TMM.

‘Oomph,’ was all that could be heard from either wrestler.

Trevor grabbed TMM and whipped him into the opposite corner. He followed TMM and hit him with a big splash. The match had only just begun and Trevor Norman was taking it to TMM. His hatred for his opponent being clear as he drove his fists into the ribs of the Polish superstar.

TMM slumped in the corner. Trevor measured him up and charged at him, left boot in the air. He came charging in, but TMM managed to move out the way. Trevor caught his crotch on the turnbuckles and fell into the corner. TMM, being the opportunist got to his feet and kicked Trevor in the head. And again. And again. And once more for good luck. The referee pulled TMM out of the corner and allowed Trevor to get to his feet.

TMM glared at his opponent, he wasn’t used to singles wrestling. It had been several years since he had to look after himself in the ring and he couldn’t have picked a worse opponent at this time. Luckily, Trevor was thinking the same thing. Both men were tag-team wrestlers but and they knew they could be seriously injured if their opponent had their way.

In the back, Slapnutz was singing show tunes as he tried to kick down the door of Supply Closet C.

Back in the ring, both men tied up. They struggled back and forth until TMM lifted his knee into the gut of Trevor Norman. The Pole followed it up with a hip toss and quickly dropped his elbow across the sternum of Trevor. TMM quickly got to his feet, bringing his opponent with him.

Short arm clothesline.

Leg drop.

Pin.

1…

2…

3?

Not even close.

It was a cheeky attempt at winning the match, but TMM still reacted as if he’d been stripped of a bronze medal at the Olympics. He saved the gold medal reaction for further into the match.

Both men were on their feet again; their hulking masses ready to explode into action at the first sign of weakness. TMM scratched his nose and that was all Trevor needed. Forearm to the face. Uppercut. Armdrag take down and then a fist drop to the face of TMM. Trevor had lightning reflexes but he wasn’t prepared for TMM sweeping his legs away.
Both men were quick back onto their feet, neither giving the other an advantage. They bounced off opposite ropes; TMM ducked the clothesline of Trevor. Both men turned around. Trevor blocked the punch of TMM. They bounced off the ropes again. TMM slid through the legs of Trevor. Both men turned around. TMM faked a right hook. Trevor ducked so TMM decided it was the right time to nail him with a DDT.

TMM picked Trevor up and suplexed him into the centre of the ring. A quick stamp to the head gave TMM a moment to play to the crowd. The fans lapped up the showmanship from TMM. He played to the crowd, stamping his feet and chanting.

“Easy. Easy. Easy.”

TMM turned around and was caught with an open hand strike to the side of his head. He staggered backwards and Trevor clotheslined him over the top rope. TMM looked stunned outside the ring. Trevor followed him to the outside.

This couldn’t be good, two brawlers going at it on the outside of the ring. We’ll leave them trading blows outside to check on the situation involving the other member of Splink, Slapnutz.

Slapnutz had given up singing show tunes. Instead, he had sat on a bucket and was whistling the hits of Celine Dion. His reasoning was that something so annoying would get the attention of someone. Half way through ‘My Heart Will Go On’, Slapnutz was proven right. He heard a voice outside.

“Why the fuck is there two filing cabinets outside my supplies cupboard? Bitch.”

Slapnutz didn’t seem too optimistic about getting out in time to help his partner. Two filing cabinets were a bugger to move for a mere janitor, but he hoped the janitor was Hulk Hogan or Andre The Giant back from the dead.

The janitor was neither. He was going to have to wait a while for this mere mortal to move the two hunks of metal.

“Bastard,” was all Slapnutz could manage.

Since it’s only Slapnutz, we can go back to the match. For the fans of the Normans, this was a good thing as Trevor was throwing TMM into the ring post as we rejoined them. For fans of Splink (hi you guys), this was shite because TMM was getting thrown into the ring post.

The shoulder of TMM crashed into the steel. Trevor slid into the ring to break the count, slid back out and went to work on the shoulder of his opponent. He kicked it, punched it and then gave TMM a shoulder breaker. TMM rolled around on the outside of the ring, clutching his left shoulder. Trevor Norman climbed the went onto the ring steps and jumped off them, stamping on the injured shoulder.

Trevor picked TMM and rolled him into the ring. One body slam later and TMM was on the wrong end of a pin.

1…

2…

3.. Nah, TMM wouldn’t be beaten by a body slam. The only problem was the kick out. He threw Trevor off of him but his shoulder gave way. Trevor didn’t go too far but it gave TMM enough time to get to his feet. TMM clutched his shoulder and staggered into the ropes. Trevor grabbed him and suplexed him. TMM was dragged to his feet again. He didn’t stay there too long, however, because Trevor caught him with a neck breaker.

Outside, Ashley was winding the crowd up. Taunting the men. Teasing them. The boos began to rain down upon the Norman siblings as Trevor continuously stamped on the shoulder of TMM. Trevor didn’t care, he simply flipped the crowd off. Ashley started dancing on the ring steps, taunting the men in the crowd some more.

In the back, the filing cabinets had gone. All that was left was a janitor, a key and a Scotsman inside a closet. One turn of the key later, Slapnutz was out of the closet. Out of the closer and standing naked in front of a janitor. A janitor that didn’t smell too good. In fact, he smelt of shit. Shit and piss. How unlucky. Slapnutz stayed limp. He thanked the janitor and went in search of his sorts and the ring.

During this time, TMM was taking a beating. He had been thrown from corner to corner. Head butts had been involved and there were rumours that Trevor Norman had resorted to using a low blow to curb the attempted comeback of the Pole. All the while, Ashley Norman danced at ringside, teasing anyone that dared look at her.

Trevor picked TMM up onto his shoulders and walked around the ring. He let out a roar and drove TMM into the mat with a DVD. The crowd gasped as TMM lay limp on the canvas. Trevor posed for the cameras and went for the cover.

1…

2…

3… ‘Dizzee Rascall’ over the PA. Slapnutz running down to the ring in nothing but his boxer shorts.

3…?

3…?

Was Slapnutz too late to save his partner from defeat?

Not a chance, TMM slung his foot over the bottom rope.

The referee mentioned this to Trevor, but he was too distracted by the presence of the Scotsman in the ring. The distraction might have something to do with the minimal amount of clothes that Slapnutz was wearing.

Trevor stood up to meet his new foe but he was too late. Slapnutz charged at Trevor and tackled him to the ground. His fists rained down on Trevor and the referee reluctantly pulled Slapnutz off of his opponent. Slapnutz dusted himself down and kicked Trevor in the ribs. All the while, Ashley was dancing on the outside and TMM was staggering to his feet.

Trevor got to his feet and motioned at Slapnutz to ‘bring it’. What he got was TMM taking him down from behind with a bulldog then putting him in a camel clutch. Slapnutz stood in front of them and kicked Trevor in the chest.

Ashley had stopped dancing and turned her attention to what was happening in the ring.

TMM broke the hold and gave Trevor the time to get to his feet. He signaled for the Polish Power Culture Piledriver. TMM placed Trevor between his legs, Slapnutz climbed to the second rope.

Spike PPCP?

No, Ashley had grabbed Slapnutz and planted her lips on his. The Scotsman fell from the ropes and that gave Ashley all the time she needed. She leveled Slapnutz with a chair shot.

TMM was distracted. Trevor Norman back bodydropped TMM and took the chair from his sister. TMM was slow getting to his feed. Trevor took aim, swung and TMM punched the chair into the face of Trevor Norman.

It was known in the Asylum as a Fuckhead. It was the move of one Boris Borst. TMM had picked something up from his time in that ‘institution’. He had fought for his survival.

He fell on top of Trevor Norman and the referee made the count:

1…

2…

3…

Yes. Three seconds was all TMM had needed. Ashley tried to grab TMM’s legs but it was too late, the damage had been done and Splink had won their handicap match.

Slapnutz got to his feet with a huge grin on his face. He pointed at Ashley and gave her the humping gesture. Both members of Splink stood triumphant in the middle of the ring as ‘Going Underground’ played.

Trevor Norman looked dejected as he rolled out of the ring. Ashley helped him to his feet but he was far from amused.

He would get his shot at Splink another day. Next time would be with his brother.

Winner > Splink.

So close, but yet still so far. 

Almost, he could feel the sensation of the win. The match was in the palm of his hands. He could have almost pictured it, the crowd booing, while TMM laid out cold in the middle of the Square Circle. The best part of it, the ref holding up his arm in victory, while Slapnutz ran down to the ring in aid of his fallen friend, except he was too late, to make the save.

Trevor would have put out a mark just not for theNormans, but for himself too.

But,

Back to Reality, all the hard planning had failed. Thanks to some Janitor in the back, that had to realize his file cabinets had been moved. Why could he just let it be why he could have just walked to a monitor and rest his eyes on Trevor Norman beating TMM around the ring?
Two weeks, and Splink had came out over top of theNormans, with there freak show acting ways, and there stupid Dog. 

“I should have won; the ACW stacked the odds against me on purpose.”

“The Odds will be evened up next week, for Donavon will be back.”

“Fuck Donavon, I had that match, I should be celebrating my victory over a case of beers, but instead I got an ice patch over my face, because I got hit by a FuckHead.”

“I think you might have had it, if you didn’t drink so much earlier in the night.”

“What! Alcohol helps me in a situation like this. I would of won if your plan didn‘t screw up.”

“My plan was brilliant; you just took to long in the ring.”

“I was post to have all the time in the world, remember.”

“Whatever, I‘m not in the mood to fight with my brother at this moment. I‘ll be in the car.”

With that Ashley took her leave from the locker room, as Trevor grabbed his flask, except it was dry, not even a little drop left.

“I’ll get Splink and that little fucking dog of there’s.” 

God Has A New Name...

Your World heavyweight Champion, Vince Jacobs was lacing the final hole of his wrestling boots before walking out to another big main event match. It wasn’t to defend the ACW World Title it was a tag team match with two new comers to the ACW and the man that SVJ hated more than life itself, former ACW and tSC champion, Alias.

Jacobs did one final stretch as he grabbed a t-shirt from the sofa and threw it on. The newest Vince Jacobs t-shirt from ACW read.

“In God SVJ we trust”

Jacobs grabbed the ACW World Title and kissed it before placing it over his left shoulder. He walked to the door ready for his match but he wasn’t ready for who stood leaning on the wall nest to his locker room.

K E L L E R

Jacobs’ cocky grin suddenly turned sour as he was facing one of the men that were claiming to be the number one contender for his World Title. Jacobs adjusted the title on his shoulder before his smirk finally came back to his face.

“Can I help you Khristain?” Jacobs said sizing one of his contenders up.

Keller smiled and patted the World Title that rested on Vince’s shoulder.

Jacobs looked at Keller in disgust because no one should be touching his title. “Do you have a problem Keller? You haven’t earned the right to touch this twenty pounds of gold right here.”

"Haven't earned the right Jacobs? I've earned the right ten-fold, in fact, I think you've earned the right, the right to touch the twenty pounds of gold right here..."

Keller did so while pulling his crotch.

“Yadda.. Yadda… Yadda… Listen Khristain everyone knows that everything that comes out of your mouth is complete and utter bullshit. You are a waste of roster space. What is the biggest thing you have done in this company, hell even this sport. Let’s see your biggest accomplishment was winning the King of the Ages Tournament. Which…”

SVJ held his hand up to Keller’s face stopping any remark that K2 may have wanted to add.

“Let me finish. Which you beat me, I’ll give ya. But where did it lead to. It leads you nowhere. You never got your title shot against Alias which you would have lost in the first place. Then you come back with your merry band of freaks thinking I am big bad Keller and I am going to wreak havoc all over ACW until I get what’s rightfully mine.” Jacobs said poking out his chest roaring and growling like some beast.

"You know what Jacobs...you're taking in fable's, the only thing I want is a fair chance, is that so hard to ask in this spunk-crud of a federation?"

“See the only thing that matter is that I beat Alias for the World title. I am the man that ended his long title reign. Me… not you… me. I am the World Champ and I don’t think I will be giving this title up to anyone until I deem fit. So that means that you and Chris can fight over who will get a title a shot at me all you guys want because in the end the result will still be the same. I walk in the World Champion and I walk out the World Champion. Why? Because GOD can’t be beat.” Jacobs said as he smirked at Keller.

Jacobs felt good...he had punk'd the un-punkable, or so he thought.

"Now, I have a main event to wrestle."

...

...

"If I want that belt...I'll take it."

Jacobs smiled.

"Bitch, you've got two chances of taking this title from me, slim to none...also, how can you take the belt, you don't even have a contract in ACW, go home you unemployed piece of shit."

Vince Jacobs.

The ACW World Champion.

And now #1 Target of Khristain Keller's frustration.

Welcome to the club Vince, your special kick in the nuts joining prize is on it's way.

Alias/Andy Sharp vs. SVJ/Lowell Dot Com

The final match came on with silence and meaning. Not only where two stars once again debuted for all to see within the walls of All-Star Championship Wrestling… but a never ending battle continued amongst swirling turmoil and hatred.

Sharp and the Original Pulp Hero

Vs.

The Blue-haired shill and the Superstar… the reason there was a 
Championship

One was just beginning and the other, like said before, might never quite find its true end. The warring factions came face-to-face, nose to nose.

However, the ref separated the two groups and sent them to there respective corners… though you knew this order wouldn’t last. Sharp wanted to start off for his team, the kid was just excited in his usual odd way to get going, hoping Lowell would do the same, though doubting as much… he wanted so much to get his hands on the shill. Lowell saw this however and wanted SVJ to start off the fight, already ducking to the outside corner. Alias wanted to jump into Sharp’s place now… but he was just a second to late it seemed.

*ding ding*

Andy Sharp vs. “Superstar” Vince Jacobs for the first time.

That is until Alias tapped him on the shoulder, tagging himself in. 
Sharp twisted around a little confused. Alias just hopped over the rope, walking past him, but still giving him acknowledgment on what… just… happened.

“This is my fight kid, sorry but you’ll have to save your breath for a moment.”

Andy nodded and bucked out of the ring, now showing a bit of trepidation in the situation. The inevitable eruption could be contained no longer. 
Things were about to go off with a bang.

Alias launched himself at Vince Jacobs with an unstoppable tirade of fists. Rights and lefts, right kicks and left kicks, even an eye rake and a headbutt. They all had Jacobs rocking on the ropes, as Lowell and Sharp looked on in bewilderment; they had expected some fight from the man…but this? The aggression of Alias had almost never reached such insurmountable peaks before, but instead of breaking his will during Pounded and Fused III… and the months after, SVJ might have just pushed him over that edge.

Jabs, hooks, upper cuts, body shots, all one after the other and each as powerful as the last had Jacobs against the ropes and protecting his muscular body with his arms. “YOU THINK YOU OWN ME?! I’LL SHOW YOU WHAT I’M CAPABLE OF NOW, SUPERSTAR! YOUR KNEE WILL FEEL GREAT AFTER I TEAR APART YOUR BODY AND TAKE MY CHAMPIONSHIP BACK, YOU SON OF A BITCH!” screamed Alias manically, before burying his right knee deep into the gut of SVJ. I suppose the #1 contendership was the final straw. As he did so, the audience was still bewildered at how strong Alias had become, since all these months of some surmounting weakness.

Jacobs still fell on the ropes, trying to catch his breath, but he was caught with another right uppercut that sent mucus flying from his nose.

“Let him move Alias!” exclaimed referee. This was not no disqualifications. “Get off of him! One! Two! Three! Four!”

But before the five count could be reached, Sharp, himself, stepped into the ring, grabbed this… ACW Hall of Famer, heh, by the waist and yanked him away from the situation before he could get his team disqualified. Furious with Alias, he took him outside the ring. That’s when in sunk in for Sharp, what he’d just done… so he swallowed hard and continued talking. Now just trying to defuse Alias and refrain from getting himself kicked in the head by this… this angry man.

“Are you crazy? You want us to lose this shot at these… uh, stupid guys? Now I’m not a fan of Superstar #2,453, and I’ll be happy when you kick him in the butt, but I still want to get a shot at the shilling idiot over here. Don’t you still want to win this match, you know, show Jacobs who’s boss? Who’s in control and stuff?” queried the rookie as Vince Jacobs collapsed inside the ring and bent on all fours to recapture his breath. “You don’t want him? Then get disqualified. There’s nothing I can do to stop you… and not get you after me, from here on, but hey… like think of the bigger picture.”

Alias nodded, grateful that he’d been restrained before he did something he’d regret… and surprised that this rookie had such a head on his shoulders, even with all the mumbling and back peddling, finally he had more of a level head. Sliding back in, he saw Jacobs on his knees. He grabbed Jacobs and rolled him into an Oklahoma Roll.

“One!

Two!”

But SVJ easily kicked out. Not satisfied, Alias bounced off the ropes and ducked a swinging lariat, before returning with a somersault clothesline that took down the Superstar. “Get up!” cried Alias, waiting on the reason there is a show to get to his feet. And he did.

Quick boot below the belt to Alias for some good heel heat later… and SVJ had the advantage. The ref tried to get in to say something, but to no use as SVJ knifed the Pulp Hero’s chest and tossed him to the ropes. Alias easily ducked the first swing and took SVJ down with a shoulder block. SVJ got up and bounced to the ropes again, hopping over the Original Pulp on the mat. Jacobs then leaped over Alias who ducked as he was getting to his feet, to avoid collision, and then took down SVJ with a drop-kick.

SVJ rolled to his corner, where Lowell waited to be called in… well not so much waited as stood there looking semi-interested while fiddling with his Classic Cola Bobble-head doll. SVJ reached his hand out, but Lowell just ignored it. SVJ got back up and approached Alias with speed, getting in a few closed fists. The ref warned SVJ about the hands, so he tried his luck with a wild Haymaker.

Alias blocked the punch and returned it with a few of his own. A boot to the stomach and a DDT later, SVJ was on the mat holding his head. Alias brought the ACW World Champ to his feet and whipped him hard into a corner. Jacobs stumbled out, and Alias took him down with a lariat. Alias brought Superstar back up and tagged out to Sharp then held Vince Jacobs open for him.

Andy Sharp struck with a shot to the kidneys, followed by several more as Jacobs stumbled back. Sharp followed him and hooked him up quickly, then took him down with a snap suplex. Sharp brought Vince up, trying for another, but Jacobs brought his knee up into Sharp's inner knee, bringing the move to a hault. SVJ pushed Sharp away before quickly double-underhooking his head and droving him into the mat with a DDT. Vince Jacobs then finally tagged out to Lowell, he wouldn’t mind seeing the little glory hound getting slapped around a bit if Sharp felt like fighting back from what SVJ fed him. Lowell hit the ring and whipped Sharp into a corner, then followed him in with a hard clothesline.

Lowell set Andy up, and then struck him with a stinging chop that rang throughout the arena. Probably because Lowell made a loud chop sound AS he chopped. Sharp surged back and struck Lowell with a hard chop of his own. He followed it up with another, and another, and another. He finally took Lowell down with a gutwrench suplex and made the cover. Lowell kicked out at two. Sharp stood in place, waiting for Lowell to get up. As .com started to stir, Sharp ran into the ropes. He then came off with a rolling elbow smash that connected directly with the face of Lowell Dot Com, dropping him hard to the mat.

Sharp made the cover again, but again Lowell kicked out at two. Sharp brought Lowell.com up to his feet once more and whipped him into the ropes. As the Human Advertising Machine came off, Andy hooked him up for a hiptoss, then dropped to the mat landing a michinoku driver-style. 
Sharp held on to the leg for the cover. 

One.

Two.

Kickout.

Well, that didn’t do it, but Sharp kept on the attack anyway. He attempted to grab the Endorser by the head and looked to hit him with some kind of suplex move, but Lowell was quick to throw a big thumb right into Sharp’s eye, sending him peddling backwards. The Blue Menace quickly rushed forward, slamming a knee into the taller Canadian Cavalier’s gut. He smirked wickedly and posed for the fans with a really, really, really bad ‘Hulking Up’ attempt. He then grabbed Andy and dropped his body onto the middle rope before placing a knee into the back of his head, driving the air out of his body while laughing maniacally. 

The Endorser then proceeded to pull a…yes…Verizon cell phone out of his pocket and hold it into Andy’s ear obnoxiously. 

“CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW, BITCH?!?!” He screamed as the ref began to count to five. At the count of four, he released the hold for all of one second before comically going right back to it, phone STILL in Sharp’s face. 

“Just finish him or make the tag already!” Vince Jacobs yelled impatiently from his corner while Lowell merely didn’t care to listen to him. 

“HE INTERRUPTED MY SHILLING LAST WEEK!” Lowell fired back. “FOR THAT, HE MUST PAY!”

Lowell Dot Com, satisfied with the damage, pulled Andy up to his feet before throwing him against the ropes. He stupidly telegraphed a back body drop. (No, seriously. He said aloud, “This back body drop will finish you.”)

Andy, of course, regained his composure in this match long enough to throw a BIG kick right into Lowell’s face. Andy, being the rookie in all of this, was still managing to hold his own. He threw a series of right hands and whipped him into the corner…problem was, this would be the heel’s corner. (See, what’d I tell you? Rookie.)

He rushed across the ring and flew forward, looking to killify Lowell with a Stinger Splash, but the veteran in all this, being SVJ, pulled Lowell out of the way quick enough for Andy to hit the turnbuckles hard. Lowell smirked and saw his chance for the perfect killing opportunity so he hopped atop the second rope and flew off, connecting with a hard bulldog. 

“Pfft,” SVJ screamed across the ring to Alias. “THIS is your partner? This kid’s greener than a fucking pasture.”

“Your partner is bluer than a goddamn ocean,” Alias retorted. 

“Somebody say OCEAN?!” Lowell screamed at the top of his lungs. “I got the new OCEAN MIST BREEZE from Calvin Kl…”

“SHUT UP!” SVJ, fed up with the shilling, shouted before extending an arm. “Let ME finis this little bastard. 

Lowell looked down at Andy and threw a hard series of kicks into his gut. “Okay. NOW you can deal with this disproportionate giant.”

He tagged the man who had three of the most internationally recognized initials since HBK and KVC and RVD and…geez, this three-initial trend is out of fucking control, isn’t it?

And now, Mr. Sharp, Vince is about to show you how to get to Sesame Street vis-à-vis a HARD slap across the face. 

THIS BITCHSLAP HAS BEEN BROUGHT TO YOU BY THE LETTERS S, V, AND J, BITCHES.

Vince quickly applied a headlock on the fallen Andy, taking his sweet time in making the kid suffer. 

“You’re lucky, you know that?” Vince laughed. “Not many people get the opportunity to put their very first ACW match in the ring with the likes of me. I get paid lots of money to break down little insignificant specks like you.”

He then pulled Andy to his feet, slamming a knee into his gut before hooking up for a snap suplex. SVJ wasn’t done, though, and continued the trend by hooking him up for a second, the finally a third snap suplex. He then floated over for the cover. 

ONE!

TWO!

KICK OUT!

SVJ wasn’t surprised by the kid’s resilience, so he grabbed him by the head and DROVE him down with a sharp DDT before going for a more lackadaisical cover, not even bothering to hook the leg. 

ONE!

TWO!

SHOULDER UP!

“Oh, jeez,” Jacobs muttered. “If there’s one thing I hate more than rookies, it’s rookies with fighting spirit. Why can’t you be like your kind on Sunday Night Heat?”

Done with his smacktalking this minute, Jacobs kicked him in the gut and went for another suplex. He hoisted Andy up…ROLLING CLUTCH PIN REVERSAL!

ONE!

TWO!

KICK OUT!

The move had shocked SVJ himself, but Andy had pulled the pinning combination out of nowhere. This took SVJ aback, but not so much that it deterred him from kicking some more rookie ass. He slammed a few more boots into the chest of Andy before whipping him into the neutral corner, but paid for it quickly…

TWISTING DOUBLE AXE-HANDLE!

The fans popped loudly for the move as Andy, for a man his size, amazingly ran up the turnbuckles, turned around in mid-air and SLAMMED a big-time axe-handle right into the skull of the Superstar. He crawled over and hooked both legs. 

ONE!

TWO!

LOWELL BOOT TO THE FACE!

The “space monkey,” as one SVJ referred to him as earlier, served his purpose and saved his partner from a possible defeat. Andy picked SVJ up and struck at him with a harsh series of knife-edge chops in a corner, as noted by the Seattle crowd. 

“WHOO!” 

“WHOO!”

“WHOO!”

“WHOO!”

The Cavalier smirked before whipping SVJ into the corner of the heels once more.

“No!” Alias shouted, trying to make sure that his tag team partner wasn’t fucking things up this time around by sending him to the bad guy corner. 

“Oh, just let me do this!” Andy said with a smirk, the confidence slowly building in the kid. He rushed forward, the plan already formulating in his head…DROPKICK to the chest of SVJ, then turning to SLAM both feet into the jaw of Lowell Dot Com with a Jericho-esque springboard dropkick that knocked him off the apron. The fans cheered the stunt while Sharp pulled himself to his feet, grinning cockily and readying for his next attack. Problem?

Well, when an angry Champion rushes out of the corner to SLAM you with a hard STAR GAZER (that being the Shining Wizard), it tends to throw a chink in the armor. His knee collided with the face of the rookie, sending him flying to the canvas. SVJ then took a bow after his stellar maneuver, that received a LOAD of boos. He then gave the bird to Alias, who tried to leap into the ring. The referee restrained the former two-time ACW champ while Jacobs went back to work, kicking away at the neck of the rookie, perhaps prepping him for the Star Struck maneuver. 

Picking up Andy by his spiky hair, he elbowed him in the face and pushed him into the corner, kicking him a few times in the gut before hooking him up there for a superplex. He lifted the rookie up and THREW him up and over with the assimilating maneuver, driving the wind out of his body. SVJ rolled over and hooked the leg. 

ONE!

TWO!

THRE-ALIAS WITH THE ELBOW!

A loud “RUAHH~!” erupted from the crowd when Alias broke up the cover, driving an elbow into the head of Vince. He screamed bloody murder, but once again, the referee restrained him long enough for SVJ to pick Andy up again. He set him up with a kick in the gut before planting him right down with a little something called THE EGO CHECK! 

But choosing not to opt for the cover after the spinning sit-out powerbomb, Vince simply pushed him aside long enough to pose for a moment on the turnbuckles. Climbing with slow steps, Vince finally perched himself upon the top and stood there perfectly balanced, smirking on the fallen form of Andy Sharp below. 

He leapt…

He flew…

Fuck you, RVD. 

THIS is the REAL FIVE-STAR…

Well, that would’ve been the case, had Andy not rolled out of the way at the very last second, sending Vince to connect with nothing but canvas. The Cavalier began to move, as did SVJ when the referee proceeded with the count. Only I’m not going to bother having the stupid ref count, so we’ll say that both Andy and SVJ made tags to their respective corners, making the Seattle crowd go fucking APESHIT when Alias made his way into the ring. 

Lowell rushed forward and attempted a lariat, but Alias ducked and reversed the move into a BIG-TIME neckbreaker, slamming him into the mat. 

The Spirit of 2004 then grabbed a fallen SVJ to his feet and threw him into the corner, rushing forward and SLAMMING him right in the face with a big-time forearm smash. He staggered out of the corner and walked right into…TIGER CRUSH~!

The Muay Thai/Street Fighter maneuver knocked the ACW Champ down on his ass, which was followed with a massive explosion of cheers from the crowd. Lowell picked himself up again and hit a hard series of forearms into the skull of the former champ, then tried to Irish whip him. He reversed the whip and lifted The Human Advertising Machine up and over into bone-jarring spinebuster!

Cleaning the fucking house, Alias let out a loud roar to the Seattle fans that was met with another “RUAHH~!” (An actual roar as compared to the same show of the fWo Monday Night name, mind you) 

Going right back to SVJ, Alias set him up and threw him right into the mat with a quick and stiff Release German Suplex. He rolled over and hooked both of Alias’ legs, hoping that would be the end of it. 

ONE!

TWO!

LOWELL BREAKS IT UP!

The Endorser picked Alias up by the skull and smacked him with a HARD Uraken that sent him down to the mat. From there, he hooked the leg and prayed that this would be the end of it. 

ONE!

TWO!

SPRINGBOARD LEG DROP!

Yes, Andy had cut right into the action finally by connecting with a second rope version of Rey Mysterio’s “Dropping The Dime” right across the back of Lowell’s skull. By now, the ref had virtually lost all goddamn control of the match, but this didn’t matter to Andy. All that mattered to him right now was getting his hands on the blue motherfucker that hit him in the balls last week. 

He measured up Lowell in the center of the ring, waiting patiently for the Sellout v.2 to drag himself up. The second he did…

SHARPEST KNIFE IN THE DRAWER!

…Yeah, he’s got a move called that. No, I don’t care. Yes, you can die now. 

The Exploder Powerslam a la Shelton Benjamin drove Lowell down in the center of the ring, which allowed Andy to pose for the crowd. He made his way over to the turnbuckles and a la RVD, leapt right up there. A highly impressive feat for the tall Canadian. Then flew backwards with an incredible SENTON BOMB! He landed picture-perfect across Lowell’s chest and hooked the legs, pinning his first-ever wrestling adversary.

ONE!

TWO! 

ELBOW BY JACOBS!

Jacobs was back in this, stopping the rookie from beating his team. He picked Andy up and immediately chucked him into a corner, kicking away at him with a hard series of boots before dragging him for a DDT. Somehow, though, Andy had the wherewithal to shove Vince backwards into the waiting arms of Alias, who tried to hook him for the A-BOMB…no! Vince escaped…

SUPERSTAR KICK!

The MASSIVE superkick completely sent Alias falling to the mat while SVJ stood over his rival, grinning like a Cheshire cat…with loads of talent and money, that is. He wiped his brow and threw it at a downed Alias, smirking still…he wouldn’t be smirking for long…

SPEAR!

A loud roar erupted once more as Andy connected on SVJ with a big-time spear, making him fall to the canvas while clutching at his gut. A riled-up Sharp pointed to the fans and let out a roar of approval for whatever move he would accomplish next…ROLL-UP PIN!

ONE…

Hook of the tights.

TWO…

Plus a pair of feet on the nearby ropes equals.

THREE!

A cheap fucking victory as Lowell managed to sneak up behind the gung ho rookie and PIN him to the mat, thus bringing an end to this exciting match-up. 

“Money” by Pink Floyd blasted over the PA and the fans rained down some boos for the highway robbery executed by one Lowell Dot Com. SVJ, still managing to regain his bearings, was handed his ACW Title and made a beeline from the ring before Alias came to. 

Andy slammed a fist into the mat and shouted, “NO!” in the direction of a grinning Lowell, who was on the apron holding up his hands, signaling “LOWELL 1! SHARP, NEGATIVE TWO-THOUSAND, ELEVENTY BILLION!”

…Yeah, whatever. 

But the point?

While a proud Lowell and Vince made their way to the back, celebrating like a pair of jackasses, Alias had come around to see the end result. 

He lost because of the rookie’s mistake. 

Welcome to ACW, Andy Sharp. 

Hope your first night was a memorable one. 

Winner > Vince Jacobs and Lowell Dot Com (Lowell over Sharp)