All-Star Championship Wrestling

A C W

NEW BEGINNING
COURAGE 101 ¤ 14 JANUARY 2010
BRAEHEAD ARENA, GLASGOW, SCOTLAND

The Moment (The Start)

Those wondering what SlySport’s theme music for the brand new televised show of All-Star Championship Wrestling…

“Please allow me to introduce myself...”

Would have to wait.

Braehead Arena in Glasgow, Scotland roared to life, as one half of Dartford’s own Little Boy Blue and the Blue Boys cooed over top of bongos and slicing guitar riffs. Then came the man whom he was introducing.

Scar across his left eye.

A roadmap of past sorrows and triumphs across battered knuckles… as they clutched onto the bristling brown leather strap of the shining, reflective gold World Championship.

His devil-ish grin, wishing not for sympathy… no… for celebration.

“By god do I feel like giving someone, anyone a Glasgow Kiss.” The Original Pulp Hero, Alias, growled into the microphone that he held in his other hand. The Scottish crowd responded with another round of roaring cheers. Some folks even put up there hand, in the crowd, asking for a nice swift headbutt.

The Pulp Champion walked down to the ring, and rolling in, he shifted to his feet… looking around for a moment. This was all the new look for ACW. Gone for now, for Alias, where the familiar and controversial walls of ACW Arena. Gone were the sweeping Canadian landscape, and the hockey arenas that housed smaller shows. New to the All-Stars were Scottish malls and the entertainment complexes they held. Alias could only grin at this for a moment, and instead of mentioning the new digs…

The Pulp Hero had that last show on his mind.

“End Game really was the start of something new, wasn’t it?” Alias growled, with a nod as he looked around at the crowd. He looked down at the World title at his shoulder, and then back up at the crowd.

Okay… maybe he would talk about…

“And I’m not just talking about myself, I’m talking about the start of a European tour! We’re going international. And nothing gets my blood pumping like being able to get into fights with multiculturalism. Whether I’m kicking someone in the Roundhead, getting Machiavellian on a motherfucker, storming the Bastille, popping someone in the Cork or… especially doing very bad things to the next numpty that wants to fuck with me. To be joined in the fight, by ACW faithful worldwide… it’s fuckin’ incredible.” The crowd was now more then sufficiently riled up, as Alias stood on the middle turnbuckle, facing the crowd to the left of the entrance way.

For a moment, he sighed with relief. “I have had very very good nights in ACW, before… but End Game? The highpoint of my career!”

But as soon as he seemed to relax, the Original Pulp Champion was once again roaring, at first happily.

“Vox Nihili appeared in ACW for a night.” Alias smiled, noting Karina Wolfenden’s appearance in the End Game match.

“I entered the A-C-W… Hall-of-Fame!

Then I immediately put to rest the argument that the moment that you’re recognized for your career… then that career is over.

I fought Andy Sharp to the KNIFE’S EDGE… and stuck my FOOT up TV’s ASS! To win this gorgeous piece of leather and gold…”

With a gleam in his eye, the man behind the Glasgow Kiss lofted that golden title belt into the air. Instead of yet another roar from the ACW-faithful though, Alias instead heard a tune that was becoming familiar in a FAST way.

"I'm Bad" by Last Vegas. The fans booed as this signaled the arrival of one ACW Franchise Player by the name of Trey Vincent. Mr. Ego himself emerged, wearing white jeans and a Minnesota Vikings jersey (#23 in honor of Trey's date of birth, which is March 23) featuring his own last name on the back, even though in reality Cedric Griffin is the rightful owner of that number on the Vikings roster. TV walked the aisle, his trademark cocky grin upon his face as he bounced down the aisle to his music before confidently entering the ring. Once the music died down, he pulled out a microphone from the waistline of his pants and started to do his thing.

"First of all," Vincent said, pulling on his jersey, "this is football, not that soccer crap you losers here in Glasgow get all horny about."

Here come the boos. Oh, you don't call football soccer in this part of the world.

"Congratulations to the Minnesota Vikings for not sucking this year for a change. However, one person who does suck this year, and every other year, is you, Alias. End Game was a gat damn fluke! Instead of coming out here humble...you're forcing me to do this…but Alias. Tonight. In this very ring. You will have to face one of the greatest champions in the history of this business. And Trey Vincent knows he's tough, because at End Game, this man eliminated me! And not just any scrub off the street can eliminate Trey Vincent in a royal battle match. And that's man name is..."

The fans were buzzing. A small chant of "Flyer, Flyer" began in the crowd, as fans instantly remembered seeing High Flyer eliminate TV with a dropkick.

"No, no, no, you morons! High Flyer did not eliminate Trey Vincent! Go back and watch the show again. Flyer got nothing but air, and I'm sure the world is waiting for the inevitable High Flyer vs. Air feud. No, the person who eliminated Trey Vincent at End Game, and the man who will pin Alias tonight and bring him back down to earth is none other than the man with the biggest cock in this arena...Treyyyyyyyyyyy Vinnnnnnncent!"

Boos. Again.

"Trey Vincent said it then, and Trey Vincent will say it again: I. Have. Bigger. Plans. And it involves that ACW World Championship. Alias, End Game may be the high point of your pathetic Hall of Shame career, but tonight, your downward spiral to complete failure resumes. What goes up, must come down. Just like Trey Vincent would show that multi-colored haired bitch. Trey Vincent knows the fed's motto is something about "fucking other feds in the ass," but I've gotta be honest, Sheff. Trey Vincent wouldn't mind giving Karina's ass a pounding, pulling out, and letting Trey Jr. give her a chocolate Glasgow Kiss!"

As the fans let out Jerry Springer style shouts of "oh no you di'n't" disbelief, a certain look came over Alias upon hearing Vincent's disgusting words. A kind of I-want-to-decapitate-you-fill-your-body-with-gasoline-and-turn-your-body-into-a-flaming-pinata look. TV dropped the mic and bolted to the floor upon seeing this look. Alias was about to give chase and unleash brutality when...

The same song that suddenly ended the celebration of Shawn Jessica Hart's End Game victory cut throughout the arena, stopping Alias in the ring and Vincent at the outside of it, and all of a sudden it was like 1991 had never ended.

Soundgarden.

My Wave.

More specifically to the point?

Keith.

Scott.

Zimmerman.

Standing there in his I'm With Coco shirt, the veteran of Action!, the Squared Circle, and the fWo looked into the ring, and paused halfway down the rampway with the microphone in his hand.

"You know something..."

BOO!

"...oh, sod off, you wankstains."

(Yes, somebody learned from the temple of Spike on how to curse Brit.)

Despite the bigger avalanche of boos, Zimmerman continued, smiling wryly and pointing at the foot of the rampway, outside of the ring. "Trey Vincent, I'd come up with some sort of devastating witty one-liner about how much of a joke you are, but..." KSZ shrugged, bobbed his head a little bit. "...God kinda jumped in front of that line there, didn't he?"

Vincent sneered at Keith, cursing that he had dropped his mic inside the ring, as Keith returned the sneer in kind from his position before staring into the ring. "So rather than waste my time with the bastard son of Vince Russo -- ooh!lookitthat, I DID have time for a devastating witty one-liner about how much of a joke you are--let's get back to what Chris Sheffield was talking about.

Let's get back to that fine piece of leather and gold.

Let's get back--to the ACW WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT TITLE."

The crowd roared, a sound that only intensified as Alias raised it over his head, malevolently staring down Keith the entire time.

"So this is your kingdom, Sheff. This is ACW. This is where YOU are the only three-time champion in the company's history!" Alias nodded grimly, his arm making the international sign for get-ON-with-it. "And the only reason ACW is those things? Is because I haven't decided to CHANGE THAT."

Alias glared.

Keith glared back.

Trey looked between the two of them, wondering if they were going to do his dirty work for him.

"Unfortunately, I didn't feel much like participating in End Game." Keith smirked at Vincent. "God knows if I had it would've taken more than High Flyer to bounce me." The crowd cheered and booed the jibe at TV as Zimmerman looked into the ring. "You see, Chris, you and I have got unfinished business. I mean, YEARS worth of it. I don't forgive. And I damn sure don't forget. You might be the toughest bastard I've ever seen in my life, you might have the smallest amount of quit I've ever had the misfortune of stepping into the ring against, and you might be a three-time ACW Heavyweight Champion of the World, but there's one thing I know.

One thing I believe with every solitary fiber of my being.

You are not better than me."

The crowd cursed Zimmerman another round as Alias looked at all 3 spots on the championship bearing his name before looking back at Keith. "I'm not, am I?" growled your friendly neighborhood anti-hero, daring him to continue.

"You're not. You're NOT. You see, as I was spending another night in the hospital, it occurred to me, my life needed another focus. Another plan. Realizing how everything can be taken from you in an instant I made a decision that I was going to do all I could in this ring to burnish my legacy. And while I've hit heights before, even they're going to pale in comparison to what I'm going to do now."

"What's that, jerk off to Star Trek?!" yelled Vincent at Keith from ringside. Zimmerman stared at him as if he'd grown a third eye on his forehead.

"You DOLT, you probably mean Star Wars because of Natalie Portman!"

“Aw what kinda Berkley-bent dweeb forgets about Zoe Saldana?!” Trey's I-can't-even-rent-a-fuck-let-alone-give-one look in response was priceless, but while he finished, Keith marched onward: "I'm overthrowing your shit, Sheff. I'm going to march in your playground, knock over your cute little sandcastle, and take the ACW World Title."

Even the boos weren't going to stop him. "This is what we call payback, Sheff, and I can think of nothing better than coming into a new era of All-Star Championship Wrestling and remaking it in my image. I'm going to fight until there's nothing left in this body. I'm going to suffer, and go through hell, and then I'm going to suffer and go through hell again, and I'll keep doing it until I get what I want--you, in a pool of your own blood, UNDER MY THUMB."

Zimmerman's smile was chilling.

"And then -- and only then -- will we be square." L7? Yup, he did it. "And not you, not this perverse amalgam of WWF Attitude cliches searching in vain for the plot, nobody in the back is going to be able to stop the reign of KEITH! SCOTT! ZIMMER--"

TAP TAP TAP

Incase you thought the 2009 End Game winner was going to miss out on this bruhaha, you were sorely mistaken.

“Man, man look up at the sky. All the stars man the stars is beautiful tonight, look at ‘em..."

Hart cleared his throat, after the first verse of Ghetto Superstar and looked back through the entrance curtain, before getting a SilverHAWK and the guys at the sound board. SJH broke instantly into his soliloquy, as KSZ looked on dumbfounded. The man he had interrupted to end End Game had just returned the favor at Courage.

"Ladies and gentlemen, boys n' girls, colleagues, co-workers, members of the media, talk show personality Jeffwy Woss..."

The StarTron above him quickly cut to the British talk show host, making everyone in the arena turn towards the screen as SJH walked down towards the ring with much pomp and circumstance.

"Shawn Hawt!"

"Highland Games Champion Les Wheeler..."

The camera cut to a large Scottish man in the crowd, he had a thick bushy beard and was dressed in white and plaid. He nodded, and said in a thick Scottish tone.

“Sugah.”

Shawn tilted his head for a moment, taking that in and then made the second and more overt Star War’s reference of the night.

"CHEWIE..."

Naturally the camera cut to the infamous wookie, Shawn’s favorite.

"GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!"

As the camera cut back towards Shawn Jessica Hart he motioned towards the ring.

“Partner.”

The camera then cut to Alias, who looked stone-faced back at Hart.

“What?”

“We’ll work on that one.” Hart was quick to reply with his hand out in a ‘don’t worry bout it’ kind of hand motion before rolling into the ring. As he stood beside Alias, he continued.

"And to all of you Hart-Broken Phenom Fiends watching arouuuuuuuuund the woooorld!” Hart pointed towards Trey Vincent and Keith Scott Zimmerman. “Nuts to you two.”

Hart then thumbed over to Alias.

“I’m with him.” Hart said with a sly grin, to the wide-eyed surprise of Alias. Hart turned towards Alias and nodded, “Let me explain. See, after winning End Game JUST DAYS AGO… I had a talk with Silverhawk. Suffice to say he’s a heck of a lot easier to talk to then a certain Brandon Thomas. I said to Hawk… Hawk, I don’t want to come at Alias with supervillainy intentions. Not with what I had seen Trey Vincent and Sharc put him through, on the lead-up to End Game. Not with all Zimmymon telegraphing all the shit he wanted to stir up. No… if I have a shot at the World title… I wanted to take it against Alias. Which means standing beside the guy, and watching his back. Protecting that World Championship around HIS waist, until it can naturally belong to ME. Not THIS guy or THAT guy… THIS guy.”

Hart was pointing back and forth at Vincent and Zimmerman with wild abandon, before stopping with his finger on Alias’s chest. There was a wacky fervor in Hart’s eye.

Alias swatted Hart’s finger away.

“I’ll never get too old for this shit.” Alias growled under his breath, before he looked over at Shawn Jessica Hart, who now stood with him in the ring.

Then at Trey Vincent on the ramp, and KSZ still glaring from the entrance way.

“You want to go through hell, Keith?” Alias thought of the bone breaking, muscle rending, mind shattering career then he had led within All-Star Championship Wrestling so far… if Zimmerman even had the chance of experiencing half of it… “You will.”

Zimmerman’s eyes burned towards Alias.

“You think you have a plan, Vincent?” Alias looked at the Personification of Sports Entertainment, and then held out the World Title at him. “You don’t have the power.”

TV sneered.

“You say you have my back, Shawn?” Alias finally looked at the man who had come out to save him from the ever growing number of masterminds and blood-thirsty braggarts looking for his head. The same man who just so happened to have the only omni-present shot at his World Championship. “Prove it.”

“First step, as it goes to all involved: Hart and I, against the two of you.” Alias roared towards Trey Vincent and Keith Scott Zimmerman. "What do ya say?"

“Oooo, Pop and Pulp against TV and the Internet!” Hart pointed out, with a proud nod.

The head of the Original Pulp Hero slunk a slight bit, as Vincent and Zimmerman eyed each other suspiciously... but nodded. Wordlessly, for now at least, the main event for the night had been made. Courage 101 was well on its way...

Wait... Where Have I Seen This Before?

10 MINUTES AGO

It had been a whirlwind couple of weeks in the world of All-Star Championship Wrestling. The Roy Boys, who were the owners of ACW had kept the deal with SlySports quiet for some time now, and wanted to slowly build up their assets to strike the deal. It was even suggested that a leak of the news would have put the deal on hold for the foreseeable.

Neither party wanted that nor did neither party get that.

On the 3rd of January 2010, ACW signed the deal and now they were here.

In Europe.

Touring the continent.

With a European Network behind them showing their superstars after the watershed.

This was going to be fucking gold.

One man, who definitely thought so, was SilverHAWK. The ACW General Manager watched in awe as the workers got the final last minute touches done in the arena for the show. The past week had brought back so many emotions and memories for the former ACW World Champion and now ACW Architect. A few people had come back to the company who had not been able to work here before… and some faces were completely new, learning the ropes as they went along.

“Brings back memories huh HAWK?”

Jones turned around to see his long-time friend and now once again colleague, Joe Bishop. Having been pulled out of the All-Star Academy and brought on tour, Bishop was back where he belonged helping HAWK in the booking of the show.

“You already got everyone checked off?”

Bishop nodded.

“All accounted for man… if any of these fuckers are late they'll get the Bishop talking down to. You remember that right?”

Bishop smirked as HAWK returned to the piece of paper in his hand with a smile on his face. “Yeah Joe, I remember that. I don’t know man this all hasn’t really sunk in yet. Here we are in the UK, beginning a year long European Tour which will no doubt take us to some of the most amazing places in the World and along with that, it’s all getting taped!”

Bishop looked around as cameras and stage hands whizzed past the duo with their only being a few minutes left until the show began.

“It’s a new beginning HAWK, we have been reborn in the name of professional wrestling. Hell you know that as much as I do, if you didn’t, this would be called Courage 101 would it?”

Bishop was speaking of the decision made by ACW and SlySports to begin as it left off in the show numbering system. Courage 100 had been a landmark show in ACW history, and with this being the next television show after all the DVD sales, the Canadian Tours and the SuperShows. It was decided that starting at Courage 101 would be the best idea for all.

“Keep it simple for those guys out there. Fuck if it works for UFC right?”

Bishop raised an eyebrow and motioned to leave, before he had a final thought.

“When are the suits arriving?”

The colour seemed to drain from SilverHAWKs face.

“They aren’t… this week. I’ve been told this is a test and they will be here next week with ‘changes’.”

“Changes? What the fuck does that mean?”

Shutting his notebook SilverHAWK turned to his long time friend with a vacant look on his face.

“I have no idea… but I’m sure it isn’t good.”

ever been skull fucked by a King Shit of an actual Mountain?

Jesus Christ… you would think this was a fucking Mad Max movie.

Internal monologue people.

The fucked up kind.

Only because it belonged to a certain Khristain Keller a.k.a. The King Shit of Fuck Mountain. He had not been in the UK for long, but already he hated it.

The weather? Fucking shit.

The people? Fucking shit.

The architecture? I have a penis, who gives a fuck?

Walking around the inner sanctum of the arena, Keller watched as various superstars got their makeup adjusted and some fitted their bras properly. Sickening wasn’t even the word to describe it.

He also had a look at the match schedule blackboard.

He wasn’t on it.

Instead ACW was now being filled with various ‘Big Names’ of the industry and ‘Returning Superstars’ who had come back to claim what was rightfully theirs in ACW.

Where the fuck were they when ACW sat in the ACW-Arena for the best part of the year? Exactly.

Keller had been pushed off the top of the perch, and not even by the proper method.

Did he lose a match? No.

Did he infact have a big say in where the ACW World Title went? Fuck yeah.

Did he come THIRD in End Game? You bet your balls he did.

So now K2 stood, waiting in the wings and watching Courage 101 pass him by because he knew before long it would be his time to move. His time to strike while the iron was hot.

Your SJHs and KSZs might have been in the big leagues with the big stars and the big budgets… but had they ever been skull fucked by a King Shit of an actual Mountain?

Didn’t think so.

SINGLES MATCH
Frank Pierce vs. John Sarsgaard
REFEREE: MARK SHIELDS

Trumpet fanfare? Check.

Golden strobe lights? Check.

Gaudy blue and gold laser show? Check.

“The Shit” by Danger Mouse and Jemini? You bet your ass.

The beats pulsed through the eardrums of all those in attendance before the curtains parted. Out from the back, taking in the hatred from the crowd was none other than “The Here and Now” Frank Pierce.

Gone was the gaudy robe… the microcrown… the scepter… replaced was a man wearing an equally gaudy black windbreaker jacket with a sequined blood red star on the back with “PIERCE” written as plain as day. Even behind a pair of thick, dark sunglasses, one could easily tell that a metamorphosis took place over the holidays. He had… if it was even possible… MORE of a swagger than he used to.

Smirking at the crowd through a pair of incredibly gaudy sunglasses, Pierce walked to the ring with a purpose. Adorning a Black jacket with a large red sequined star on the back, the former Heir of Wrestling chuckled at the crowd before walking to the ring, a SOLE golden spotlight shining on him and only him. HE was the star of the show. Behind him was none other than the other half of the ACW Tag Team Champions, Ryan Gallway, snickering to the crowd while looking a little jittery. Alexandria Malone, as always, was dressed beautifully, accompanying her charge.

“MAKING HIS WAY TO THE RING, BEING ACCOMPANIED BY RYAN GALLWAY AND ALEXADRIA MALONE… FROM SEATTLE, WASHINGTON, USA… WEIGHING IN AT 268 POUNDS… HE IS ONE HALF OF THE FIRST, LAST, ONLY, AND GREATEST ACW TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS IN RECENT HISTORY…”

Oh, how the crowd did NOT like that.

“’THE HERE AND NOW’ FRANK PIERCE!”

Raising both fists to the crowd, Frank Pierce hopped on the ring apron, then over the ropes in a single jump before climbing the corner. Looking out to the hideous masses below, he laughed maniacally before jumping into the ring, threatening to bitchslap Tommy Vale. The music faded as he awaited his opponent.

“Without a Fight” by Hoobastank.

The Braehead Arena went up and started to give a nice ovation to the young upstart who was lucky enough to travel on the very first tour of ACW. They started to cheer even harder for the Hands of Steel as he came out, wearing a Braehead Pirates jersey, supporting their beloved hockey team. Eyes focused as he got down to the ring, he whipped off the jersey and tossed it into the crowd before climbing into the ring. He would need to keep one eye on both Pierce and another on his cohorts on the outside.

“AND HIS OPPONENT, FROM CHICAGO, ILLINOIS, WEIGHING IN AT 250 POUNDS… JOHN SARSGAARD!”

Referee Mark Shields, after a flick of his cigarette, called for the bell.

DING DING!

While Pierce whipped off his jacket and sunglasses, John did some stretches in his corner and prepared for the task ahead. He had a very good running track record in between both ACW shows and the Academy and had yet to lose in any sort of singles action. This would be a very interesting contest.

“OOOOOOOOOOH!”

Right off the bat, The Here and Now rattled the brains of John with a quick bitchslap to the face and followed it up with several boots to the chest before whipping him into the corner. Starting off as very much the aggressor in this contest, Pierce knocked the Hands of Steel for a loop with of all things, vicious right hands and several knees in the corner. After teeing off on him, Pierce took a moment to look out to the crowd.

“GO CHOKE ON HAGGIS, YOU STUPID FUCKS!”

Did I mention Frank Pierce was a world-renowned philanthropist in his off-time? If you truly believe that, welcome to your first ACW show.

After turning his attention back to Sarsgaard, he pulled him by the arm and whipped him halfway across the ring. Running in, he tried to continue his vicious assault, but Sarsgaard saw him coming and leapfrogged right out of the corner. When Frank turned around, all he saw was an arm nearly cutting his head off with a sick Clothesline off the ropes! The student of Sonny Silver got back to his feet, only to be whipped back down with a big Hip Toss! Rinse and repeat, went Sarsgaard, using a second Hip Toss on the big man!

Back to his feet and Sarsgaard returned fire with a nasty Uppercut right across the chin that could be heard all the way in the nosebleeds. The fans groaned from the impact of the move as Pierce landed back in the corner. Continuing to bring the fight to the new and improved Frank Pierce, John whipped him to the ropes, but Pierce decided he was gonna take a powder and head to the apron, much to the chagrin of the Scottish faithful.

Not wasting any time, Sarsgaard went to the outside and greeted Frank with another hard right hand across the jaw that sent him spinning. Before he knew what hit him, John rolled him back underneath the bottom ropes and climbed back into the ring.

“HEY, YOU UNEVOLVED DICKFACE!”

John looked right at Ryan out of the corner of his eye and pointed a finger at Gallway, begging for him to do something. Gallway merely glared as John headed back into the ring, but a quick kick right to the knee sent him flailing out to the floor!

The Here and Now had certainly learned how to cheat and take advantage from his trainer, and he’d employ another tactic – using your environment to your advantage. Rolling back to the outside, Mark Shields haplessly watched as Pierce grabbed John by his hair and CRACKED the back of his head violently on the ring post! Pretty sure now that he was going to have the advantage, he tossed him back inside. Slingshotting himself over the ropes… Frank did nothing but land on his feet and plant a kick right to the back of John’s head before following up with his first pin attempt .

ONE!

TWO!

NO!

Another changed the fans had noticed was that Frank seemingly wasn’t driven by his anger. Rather than explode all over his opposition, The Here and Now merely took his time, driving a succession of boots directly into the body of his opponent. Aiming a few nasty shots at the head, the move that Frank now called The Bootlicker was working to its full effect, grinding down the hotshot addition to ACW. Bouncing off the ropes, Frank leapt into the air and dropped a knee right into the back of his head!

Keeping a knee pressed into then back of the head, Frank pulled back with all the strength that his near two-hundred and seventy pounds could muster.

“COME ON, ASSHOLE!” Frank screamed. “PUNCH YOUR WAY OUT OF THIS, BITCH!”

Sarsgaard’s neck was in dire straits, effectively being broken down very slowly and very effectively. He tried with all his might to pry apart the hands of Frank, but they were intertwined perfectly, so escape didn’t seem like a good option.

Waving a free hand out to the fans that came in to support ACW on its very first overseas outing, the Braehead arena came to life, rallying firmly behind the non-asshole currently in the ring. The man with the Hands of Steel slowly got to his knees and threw a few errant elbows upward, trying to get Pierce off him. A big shot to the stomach finally did it, stunning Frank for the moment. Pierce returned fire with a fist, but Sarsgaard blocked and struck him with another one of his patented deadly rights. Another. Another. Another.

Then a whip to the ropes sent Frank flying right into a NICE Overhead Belly-to-Belly Suplex that had the crowd on their feet! Before Pierce could get his bearings back, Sarsgaard floored him with a high vertical Dropkick, right underneath the chin! He scurried over and hooked the leg.

ONE!

TWO!

NO!

The fans groaned, thinking that was going to be it, but Sarsgaard stayed the course of his assault. After depositing Frank in the middle of the ring with a really quick Russian Legsweep, he started to climb the turnbuckles, getting the crowd firmly behind him. Alexandria and Ryan looked on with great worry as The Here and Now got back to his feet, only to be the recipient of a picture-perfect High Angle Cross Body Block!

ONE!

TWO!

THR… NO!

Very close to the brink of defeat, both Gallway and Malone breathed heavy sighs of relief that John hadn’t pulled off the upset victory. Stomping his feet on the mat now, he gritted his teeth and held out both hands, inviting Frank back to his feet. The power of the Heirs of Wrestling had a boot drilled right into his gut before John hooked an arm…

SECOND CITY SLI… NO!

Pierce, seeing this coming, rolled through and narrowly escaped his devastating finisher and drilled Sarsgaard right in the temple with a back elbow. He hurled Sarsgaard into the corner and followed him in, but John did have the wherewithal to hop up and over for another leapfrog…

Unfortunately for him, so did Frank, as he struck him in the chest with a SICK straight kick! Staggering around the ring, trying to get his air about him, which gave Pierce to roll him over into the center of the ring with a Snapmare. One more high-speed run off the ropes…

SLIDING P LARIAT!

The fans let out a simultaneous “OOOOOOOOOOH!” from the angle that Sarsgaard’s neck had snapped. But it appeared that The Here and Now wasn’t done yet. He had complete control was going to deliver a statement to the rest of All-Star Championship Wrestling…

GET BENT.

And John Sarsgaard certainly did just that. The Omega Driver that he affectionately called “GET BENT” put The Hands of Steel out for the count. A stone-cold Pierce simply knelt over and put a hand on his chest.

ONE.

TWO.

THREE.

Mark Shields called for the bell, effectively ending what had been a massacre of the poor rookie.

“HERE IS YOUR WINNER… ‘THE HERE AND NOW’ FRANK PIERCE!”

Ryan Gallway and Alexandria Malone raised the hand of their cohort as all three now stood over the body of Sarsgaard, the jeering crowd letting it be known of their disdain for the tandem with a new purpose. All three exited the ring and high-fived Pierce after his big victory kicking off the new televised edition of ACW Courage. Malone handed The Here and Now his jacket, putting it right back on and setting his sunglasses back over his eyes as they left the ringside area. Tonight, the Heirs made his point.

The Heirs of Wrestling had dominated the ACW Tag Team Division as it stood.

Next?

The singles world.

WINNER: Frank Pierce via PINFALL.

It has begun.

"So, as you can see, I'm a perfect fit for ACW!"

SilverHAWK was seated at his desk in a room he'd taken as his office for the evening, and pored through the contents of the folder in his hands as the man seated across him folded his arms and leaned back in his chair.

Flipping through the last few pages, SilverHAWK had to agree with the statement his visitor made. "Indeed, mate, it looks like you've done quite a fair bit in your 10 years in the industry. And you've certainly attained a lot of accomplishments along the way. But I have to ask -- what's with the get-up? Looks like something out of a comic book."

The man, donned with a red mask that only had eye-ports and a small opening that revealed his pasty pink lips, nodded his head."Yeah, I get that a lot. You could almost say I have a giant man-crush on Fantomex!"

"Fan-to-mex?" SilverHAWK enquired, as he peeled his eyes off of the documents in his hands to meet his visitor's steely gaze. "That's one of them X-Men, I'm guessing?"

"Something like that, yes. But you can call me Z. As in Z-E-E, not Z-E-D. Cool?" said the man now identified as Z, as he began tapping his right foot lightly on the carpeted floor.

His curiousity having been definitely piqued as documented by the raised eyebrows, SilverHAWK half-nodded before he returned his attention to the folder that no doubt contained Z's curriculum vitae and other such documents. Z now leaned forward and put his elbows on HAWK's table. SilverHAWK's eyes suddenly narrowed sharply upon flipping to the end of the folder.

"I know, I know." Z quipped, having anticipated HAWK's reaction to whatever was on the last page of Z's employment folder. "I have a bit of a tendency to stir some trouble here and there. But hey, I promise to tone it down here... and I also guarantee that you'll get really great mileage out of me.

I'm confident I can offer a lot to the ACW brand, and I intend to do so for as long as ACW is around!"

SilverHAWK closed the folder, placed it on the table and locked eyes with Z once again.

Z stood up, his gaze also firmly fixed on HAWK's eyes. "I have big plans for ACW, Z. And if I hire you, I need to make sure you'll contribue more positively than negatively. I want a great product showcase, sure, but I also need to keep a handle on other aspects of the company. You got that?"

"I assure you nothing but my best work, my good man!" Z responded with a smile. "I will be a house of fire, starting from my opening address to the ACW fans tonight!"

SilverHAWK finally blinked, before standing up and extending his right hand to Z. Chuckling loudly, Z eagerly accepted the gesture with a firm handshake. One that lasted maybe a few seconds too long, judging by SilverHAWK clearing his throat and giving Z a look.

Z finally let go, punched the air triumphantly and saluted SilverHAWK who nodded in acknowledgement. Beaming from ear to ear, Z turned on his heels to leave the office while SilverHAWK quietly sat back down in his chair. The big man put his final signatures to the paperwork within Z's folder before closing it for the last time and pushed the folder to the corner of the table. All the while, HAWK was grinning to himself -- surely he was thinking that he'd managed to secured what felt like a good addition to the roster in an experienced all-rounder that had the chops to make an impact.

However, it turns out that Z had one more thing to add, as he poked his head back in right before the door closed. "Ah, by the way, Boss... I forgot to mention one tiny thing. I'm soooo forgetful!"

"Yeah? And what would that be?" HAWK asked as he started going through the rest of the paperwork he had on his table.

Z smiled once more. "Nothing major, just the fact that I'm actually not medically cleared to wrestle for another four or five weeks. Lingering knee injury -- what a bother. Anyways, my physician will be in touch with you soon. CIAO~!"

The door slammed shut as Z scampered away, giggling to himself as he did so. SilverHAWK simply nodded as he continued to tackle the mountain of paperwork that covered the majority of his table space.

It wasn't until a few seconds later until Z's parting words hit the big guy, for he stopped whatever he was doing and looked up at the closed door.

"Wait, what was that again?! F#$K!"

C O M M E R C I A L S

Spirited

ACW came back from a commercial break... yeah a fucking commercial break! To the sound of mass hysteria from the UK fans. Well it wasn't so much as mass hysteria but gentle noise as a former ACW World Champion was now inside the ring.

His ring.

Khristain Keller.

Dressed in his usual jeans and black hoody, it wasn't like he was going to make an actual effort for this collection of Neanderthals was it?

"Shut the fuck up Britain..."

They didn't as you would have guessed.

"You know I have no idea if that’s whistling that you skullfucks are doing, or you are just breathing through your crooked teeth."

Keller was chuffed with that one.

"Enough of the nonsense. End Game was a show of ups and downs for me. Number one, I was able to do the best mind fuck in a long time, to a certain Trey Vincent and Sharc, without having to resort to stealing infants."

That touched cloth.

"Secondly... I came third in the End Game match."

A mix of booing, whistling and confusion met K2 in the middle of the ring.

"I've spoke to journalist upon journalist... hell I've even read the comments some of you fucktards made on your little internet forums about this Cowboy taking third place."

Keller stood in the centre of the ring and let the abuse come his way.

"You think I'd give up my chances of World Title fucking glory lightly without having some kind of plan in the process? No... course I wouldn't and anyone the current upper card has more dicks than a sauna... I don't need to be involved in some sausagefest.

'So what are you going to do K2?' I hear you all cry. Well...

I'm going to fuck up Trevor Wilson."

There would have been some in the arena who would have probably have liked to have seen a Wilson vs. Keller match right here tonight.

"You see, the Spirit Division here is a fucking bore. A right fucking bore and no wonder when you have retards like Argent and queers like Moliano gunning for the Gold. Now Spirit of ACW... you have the King Shit of Fuck Mountain waiting to hold you in his arms. The Coroner of the Cunt is waiting in the wings to become the next Spirit of ACW."

The 'Spirit' of ACW would certainly be a different one if that was the case.

"So here I am... standing in the centre of the ring saying; Wilson get the fuck out here and face the number one contender like a real man."

STATIC.

Keller dropped the microphone and got ready for his challenge to be heard, accept it wasn't heard by Wilson.

Oh No.

Midnight Cowboy now appeared at the top of the ramp, mic in hand, absorbing the cheers. He grinned and flicked the front of his bill up as he shook his head.

"Keller Keller Keller, wastin' 'way in the FWO cellar," he said in a sing-song tone, the crowd bursting into cheers. He shook his head and grinned; an old inside joke that caused Keller to fume inside the ring. "I was jus' now in th' locker room, knockin' one back an' feelin' purdy damn good about mahself after End Game, and I started gett'n th' pains in my noggin'. Y'know, headache. Now it ain't got nothin' t' do with me bein' cheap -- so what if I'm payin' 5 greenbacks for a 30-pack? I'm a feller that knows his Spirits! Now... there's one thang I cannot, WILL NOT, abide by... an' that's some roided up bulldog growlin' that he next in line!"

The crowd roared and Keller opened his mouth to respond but Cowboy held up a palm and moaned "No No No!" into his microphone.

"The distance 'tween our boots touchin' down could be measured by a damn armadillo hair! This ain't my first rodeo son, and when y' eke it out like that, y' gotta come with it an' prove it wudn't a mistake! There ain't no way yer gonna look into these baby blue peepers and convince me you've earn'd it!" The crowd popped once again, and his head jumped up, as if he had just remembered something. He peered into the supportive spectators in the first few rows, and his face became angry.

"Mah damn beer probably ain't cold no more. When a knucklehead like you turns m' beer into warm piss -- it's your ass, pard'ner."

The crowd laughed and cheered as Midnight Cowboy dropped the microphone and charged down the ramp and Keller was ready, pumping his own chest with hard palms. Cowboy descended halfway down before "Devoid" blasted out of the speakers.

The NEW Spirit of ACW Champion: Trevor Wilson.

Clad in his sleeveless PVC trenchcoat, the new, scratch that, the TWO-TIME Spirit of ACW champion stopped at the top of the stage. He peered down the ramp at MC and just stared down the challenger.

"Finally... I was just about to say to this prick I have no idea what language he is speaking. Step inside my ring so I can get my title shot, " said Keller.

Keller was practically ear-to-ear with his grin inside the ring. His comments got an unheard chuckle out of Wilson who opened up his trenchcoat to make sure his title belt could be seen.

"I was hoping for some time to speak with the crowd by myself so I could set the record on a few things. I don't mind that you two are out here since you'll be quite interested in what I have to say.

I defeated Chris Moliano for this title belt because I said I would. All you people that cheered that upstart can go get a cup of tea because you're not going to appreciate me the way you should."

Not a cut throat brit insult, but a reference the crowd didn't appreciate all the same.

"The number one contender issue seems to be one taking up some time on this show, so in an effort to move things along I'll be the final ruling on this matter.

Midnight Cowboy and Khristain Keller are the number one contenders to absolutely nothing. I had to deal with two pissants back in the states. If you think I'm doing that again you're out of your mind. You're both at the bottom of the ladder as far as I'm concerned. Good luck working your way to the top."

Cowboy shook his head on the ramp and looked around to the crowd. He seemed to get sympathy from those around him, but the man in the ring on the other hand was getting pity from no one.

"I earned that fucking shot and I'm getting it! I don't care if I have to drag you broken and bloodied to the ring just to rip it from your waist."

"Touching, but no. Where you are is somewhere closer to the express train to go fuck yourself. You're not coming near my title. One man will get a shot at this title. And he's getting it tonight.

Chris Moliano, I hope you're listening because you have a match to get ready for. Tonight you get one more shot at MY title before you join the scrap heap with these two. I've even got the perfect stipulation ready to go for this match.

And that's something I want to address. I'm all about history and traditions, so I'm going to bring them back to ACW. After tonight there won't be anymore handicap matches, no more strings attached to all my defenses. Instead I'm bringing back themed stipulations for Spirit of ACW title matches and you can find out all about them next week. Until then enjoy me killing Chris Moliano in the ring that the King of Shit, a more fitting title, is currently standing in."

The smile on Wilson's face was clearly meant for one man, and even though drum beats filled the air Keller heard nothing but his own heart pounding faster in his chest as his knuckles turned white.

Midnight Cowboy walked up the ramp slowly with defeat on his face, but even then he managed to hold his head up and finish his walk to the back.

Snubbed

The camera panned backstage to see the one and only ‘Superstar’ Vince Jacobs making his way down the hall passing some officials and some techs. All those men stopped their conversations as Vince walked by. Another big name added to the ACW roster. They didn’t know if Vince was staying after his surprise showing in the End Game match at the aptly named pay-per-view. Jacobs was always custom from head to toe with his Armani suit and his Versace shades (that’s right Vince is bringing back Versace shades). He was on a mission and the only person that knew what Vince was doing at the arena tonight was Vince.

Jacobs stopped at the last door at the end of the hallway which read “SILVERHAWK”. Vince being his usually diplomatic self opened the door without knocking. He walked in, eyes widening as he saw HAWK sitting behind the desk and Alias and Jason Kain sitting in two chairs in front of the desk. Vince adjusted his shades and walked up to HAWK slamming his hands on the desk. Vince looked at Alias who sat in the chair with his newly won ACW Heavyweight Championship on his lap. Then he turned his attention to Jason Kain who actually stood up from his chair.

"The f' happened? Did I walk through this door into a fatter, uglier 2003?"

Hawk looked at Vince. “How can I help you Vinnie?” Hawk quickly looked at Kain. “Sit down Jason nothing is going to happen here.”

Kain was a little on edge as he stood in the same room with Vince Jacobs. He knew what this man was all about and he was kind of taken aback on how laid back Silverhawk and Alias was about this possible volatile situation. He played the background as Vince smirked.

“Can you help me?” Vince said with an incredulous tone. “You can help me by telling me how Vince Jacobs was not inducted into the ACW Hall of Fame at End Game.”

“I thought that was obvious.” The words came from the chair right next to Vince was currently inhabited by Alias.

Vince turned his head to Alias. “Obvious, Chris? Is that what you just said? After all I have done for this company and me not being inducted into its Hall of Fame is obvious? This is a travesty!”

“Vince.” Hawk called to the Superstar who was becoming more irate by the minute. “This being the Hall's initial year, we couldn’t fit everyone in the ACW Hall of Fame this year. Hell, did you see any names from the 90's? Ironsides was the biggest Spirit of ACW we ever had, in its initial run, and he wasn't included. He's the tip of the iceberg. I am sure you will be voted in next year.”

Oh that pissed Vince off more.

“Next f’n year?! That’s all you can say to me Hawk? After all I did for this f’n place?! I carried this place on my back for two years and was the longest reigning World champion in ACW’s history. I made the crap wrestlers you brought in here look good. I carried half this roster to great epic matches. I’ve made two of your current Hall of Famers look good.” Vince said as he turned and looked at Chris.

“And another one of them is sitting right next to me.” Vince said with a smirk.

Alias smiled and looked at Vince. “Yeah, and we made each other look great.”

Jason Kain was still not comfortable seeing the exchanges between Alias and SVJ. He knew of the storied rivalry these two had. He knew of the pure hatred these two felt for one another. Jason knew first hand the hell that Vince had put his friend through and now these two men talking and being cordial to one another was disturbing. Kain stood to his feet and look at Vince.

“Stop crying about everything and hopefully next year you will be in the Hall of Fame but personally I don’t think you deserve it.” Kain said as Vince’s smirk disappeared and he walked past Chris and was now nose to nose with Kain.

Alias sat in his chair not moving a muscle but Hawk stood up and looked at both men. “Kain sit down. I know you wouldn't be afraid to fight, but you aren't on the roster, you aren't even cleared to wrestle anymore... you're my guest and this is between Jacobs and me.”

Vince looked Kain up and down before he looked back and Hawk. “And this was a better choice than yours truly. This washed up has been was a better choice for a first ballot hall of fame ticket then me.” Jacobs turned back toward Kain who continued to hold his ground. “What the hell have you done in the ACW?"

Before Kain could open his mouth, maybe even spout off his infamous catchphrase, Jacobs put his hand up. “Absolutely nothing. You have never held one damn title in this company. You’ve been a curtain jerker for most of your career. The biggest moment in your career was a best of seven matches with Chris which you lost and then you proposed to Jade. That’s it. That’s your crowning achievement here in the ACW. You’re a loser. I don’t even think I can sit here and call you a has been. You’re a never was. I have done more in two years in this company then you have in your entire pathetic career.”

Vince smirked as he backed away from Kain who was seething. SVJ turned his attention back toward Hawk. “I demand that I be entered into the Hall of Fame based on those credentials alone.”

Hawk looked at Vince. “I will take it into consideration.”

“Don’t play with me Hawk. You know what I am capable of.” Vince said as security came into Silverhawk’s office, having heard enough yelling from outside the office. “How can we help you sir?” One security guard said.

“You can escort Mr. Jacobs out of my office please.” Hawk said as he looked at Vince. “Nice talking to you Vinnie. Oh and by the way I hope you brought your gear because you will be facing the Midnight Cowboy later tonight.”

Vince smirked as he looked at the security. “Don’t touch me or you may regret it. This is not over Hawk. Enjoy your twenty minutes of fame Kain. And I’ll be seeing you Chris.”

Vince walked through the door as security shut the door behind them. Jacobs turned to walk down the hall but bumped into Jesse Ramey. The brash kid looked at Vince before speaking. “You don’t deserve to be in the Hall of Fame.”

Jacobs couldn’t believe his ears. Some snot nose punk was telling him that he didn’t deserve something. Vince readjusted his shades and looked at Ramey for a few seconds. “You’re actually speaking to me kid.”

“I don’t see anyone else around here whining about being left out of the hall of fame. You know why Jason Kain was inducted, without even winning a title? Because he a fire within him that went unequaled by ANYONE in ACW history. He looked at men like, who complained, and demanded there rightful place... and he acted, he fought, he held his head high and said... screw you, Vince Jacobs.” Jesse said standing his ground as he spoke to the Superstar.

Jacobs couldn’t believe this kid was disrespecting him. “Who are you to tell me what I deserve in this business? I have done more things in two years than you have in your entire career.”

Ramey smirked. “I’m Jesse Ra---“Vince cut the kid off. “I know who you are Ramey that was a rhetorical question. The problem with you young upstarts is that you don’t know your place. See me however I know my place and that’s among the elites in this business and among the ACW Hall of Fame. So if you’ll excuse me it seems that I have a match tonight.”

Jacobs turned his back toward Jesse Ramey and walked down the hall a few steps before stopping. He peered over his right shoulder. “A word of advice Ramey, don’t continue to eavesdrop on other people’s conversations because you may get yourself into something that you can’t get yourself out of.”

Vince turned back around and continued down the hall as Ramey bristled, shaking off the burgeoning rage towards SVJ and knocked on Silverhawk’s door.

C O M M E R C I A L S
The scheduled Scorpion Fighting Rules Match between El Hombre Sin Nombre and Omega was deemed too gruesome for the viewers of SlySports to watch. Unless you were in attendance to watch the event live, you'll have to wait for the match to be uploaded on YooTube or pray that it'll be featured on a future broadcast, because everybody watching at home had to instead watch extended commercials featuring a penguin and a chicken trying their damndest to fly. It took pathetic to a whole new level. Ho hum.

They Stack The Deck But I'm Already Aces

Chris Moliano checked the mirror to see how bad his bruise looked. A nice stretch on his right side that he couldn't quite figure out. He was sure it was a kick from Wilson, but he remembered pain hitting him there when Argent dropped him with something.

It was a weakness. Something waiting to be exploited. He knew Wilson wouldn't hesitate.

"Chris, listen, this can't be a good idea."

Paige coming into the room startled him at first, but seeing her face gave him a sense of calm. It made everything slow down and come into focus just a little bit better.

"If you're worried about me being hurt then I don't blame you. I also can't pass up a chance like this. Wilson is just out of his mind enough to do everything he can to stop me from getting another shot."

Chris put a hand to his side and checked to see how bad it felt when he pushed on his bruise.

It hurt. Just not enough to stop him.

"Good luck out there. Make sure even if you don't win the title that you come back in one piece."

"He can beat me, he can make me bloody, and he can try to break me. I'll still come back for you. I promise."

SINGLES MATCH
Midnight Cowboy vs. Vince Jacobs
REFEREE: TRENT SAVAGE

The arena collapsed into complete darkness. The sound of galloping horse hooves rumbled out of the speakers. The bass tones shook the chairs and bodies within the ACW Arena. Spurs clanked as a tall figure emerged amidst the smoke wafting up from the metal stage grating. The text "Midnight Cowboy" slithered onto the big screen, rendered in smoky letters. The crowd surged to their feet, erupting into a fury of cheers! The shadowy figure on the stage bent over before leaning back and thrusting his arms into the air; the house lights popped on in unison with the jangly, boisterous guitar of "Electric Rodeo" by Shooter Jennings!

It’s been sixteen weeks since I’ve been back home
I make a lot of money I don’t know where it goes
All I know is the guitar and the bottle...

Midnight Cowboy kept his black cowboy hat-wearing head down, the lights casting a deep, long shadow across his face, save for the pearly-white sneer that fought through. He enthusiastically slapped a few high fives before shoving his hands in his blue jeans, his muscles rippling beneath a sleeveless "Midnight Cowboy" t-shirt.

My daddy was a loaded gun
He said: "It ain’t no fun livin’ on the run, son"
But everywhere I go trouble seems to follow...

Midnight Cowboy stopped ringside, and in one swift motion took off his hat and flung it into the crowd. He promptly stomped and wiped his boots on the matting, as if he was stepping into a sacred place, like church services back home. He grabbed onto the middle rope and pulled himself up onto the lip, turning to the crowd and grinning like a mischievous child who got away with something. He nodded his head in acknowledgment of their support before entering the ring and awaiting his opponent.

The ever-familiar voice of the Icon echoed throughout the arena.

"I didn't have to come to the ACW to become a superstar...I brought my spotlight with me"

The jeers would fall into hindsight with the visual eye candy, dancing across the ominous trinity of super screens. A select bevy of monikers would appear at random exploding on the ACWtron one after the other.

Pro Wrestling's Phenomenon - The Icon - The Living Legend – The Ratings Grabber

after the last moniker appeared on the screen the all too familiar “Ring Superstar” by Cypress Hill reverberated throughout the arena speakers.

The bank account's thick and his pockets are fat
Peep the smirk on his face when he watching you tap
A three-count or submission, which steez you wanna go?
'Cause this muthafucka right here is a reason there's a show!

Vince Jacobs came out onto the stage looking at the Midnight Cowboy in the ring with a smirk on his face. He slowly made his way down the ramp as he pointed to MC in the ring. Vince smirked and waved his hands at the ringside fans. He stood in front of the ring before making his way around the ring steps. The Superstar stood on the steps with arms out in a cross before climbing into the ring. The multi-time World Champion looked across the ring at the Midnight Cowboy and sneered before waiting in the corner for the start of the match.

The two men had taken different paths in their lives to get to this point of their career. MC had taken the path of good and just. He however did not have a lot of accolades in his career but he knew everything he did was the right thing to do. Vince on the other did things his way and his way only. He scratched, clawed, and stepped on anybody he could to get world title after world title in his illustrious career. The bell sounded as the two men hooked up in the middle of the ring in a collar and elbow tie up. Neither man could muster the advantage as both men were evenly matched in size. They both broke the hold and circled each other in the middle of the ring. The two men quickly locked up again this time with MC taking the advantage and putting Jacobs in a headlock.

Vince tried to wiggle out of the hold but couldn’t. He pushed MC back toward the ropes and tried to whip him off but to no avail. Cowboy held on tighter as Vince tried to quickly move around the break the hold. Jacobs pushed MC back to the ropes again and tried to whip him off. This time he succeeded as MC was pushed to the opposite ropes. Cowboy bounced off the ropes as Vince dropped down in front of him. MC jumped over Vince and stopped. Jacobs got to his feet and was quickly slammed to the mat by the big Texan. Vince slowly slid under the bottom rope to buy some time as he held his back.

Savage held MC back as he started to deliver the ten count on Jacobs.

ONE… TWO… THREE…

Jacobs looked unfazed as he walked around the ringside area. Savage continued.

FOUR… FIVE… SIX… SEVEN… EIGHT

Jacobs rolled under the bottom rope into the ring before nine. He looked at MC who was ready for action again. MC looked for another tie up but this time Jacobs caught the Texan with a poke to the eye. Trent Savage started to admonish Vince as the jeers from the fans started throughout the arena. Vince smirked as he moved Savage to the side and laid into MC with some clubbing forearm shots to the back and neck area. MC made his way to the corner as Vince followed him in. He drove his shoulder into MC’s midsection several times in the corner as Trent continued to yell at Vince.

SVJ ignored the referee as he pulled MC from the corner, hoisting him in the air and holding him there for a few seconds before driving him into the mat with a big time vertical suplex. Jacobs ran to the ropes and quickly bounced off with a leg drop across MC’s throat. Vince got to his feet and dropped an elbow across MC’s throat again. Vince quickly hooked the big Texan’s leg for the pinfall attempt.

ONE…

TWO…

KICKOUT!!

It was going to take a lot to keep the big Texan to the mat. Vince grabbed MC by the hair and whipped him into the corner. Vince raced into the corner but was met by a big clothesline from Midnight. Vince bounced up and MC nailed him with another clothesline. Jacobs staggered to his feet as MC grabbed his arm and whipped him into the ropes. Jacobs bounced off the ropes and was drilled into the mat with a huge powerslam. The crowd was now behind MC as the big man picked up Jacobs from the mat by his hair. He hooked Vince by his waist from behind and almost threw him clear across the ring with a big time German suplex. MC raced over and hooked Vince’s leg for the cover.

ONE…

TWO…

KICKOUT!!

MC thought he may have surprised Vince with that move but the wily veteran was not going to go down that easily. Cowboy bent down to pick up Vince again but was quickly surprised by an inside cradle by Vince. Trent was out of place as he raced around MC for the count.

ONE…

TW-- KICKOUT!!

MC kicked out as Vince looked at Trent with evil intentions for not be in the right place for the count. Jacobs looked to hook MC in a piledriver position but the big Texan powered out of the move, back body dropping Vince to the mat. The former ACW Champion rolled to the floor for a breather again. However this time MC followed him. Vince was ready as he nailed MC in the midsection with a kick. He grabbed the big man and tried to slam his head into the guardrail but MC blocked it sending Jacobs into the rail instead. The fans at ringside loved it as they cheered on the Cowboy.

The big raised his fist in the air to play to the crowd as Jacobs had slowly made his way away from the big man. Meanwhile Trent was already at four on his count.

FOUR… FIVE… SIX…

This prompted MC to roll into the ring to break the count much to the dismay of the ref. Cowboy went back to the floor to find Jacobs. He grabbed SVJ by his golden locks and tried to whip him into the guardrail but Jacobs reversed it sending Cowboy into the guardrail. Jacobs went over to the big Texan and started to lay rights into the side of his head. Jacobs raised his arms in victory as the crowd booed at the former World Champion. Jacobs smirked as he grabbed MC by the hair and shoved him into the ring. SVJ slid into the ring and went for the cover.

ONE…

TWO…

TH--- NO KICKOUT!!

Jacobs knew that was it right there. He stood up and grabbed Trent by his shirt. As Savage argued with Jacobs on the count this game MC some time to recoup. Vince quickly let Savage go and drove a boot right into MC’s head to keep him down on the mat. The Icon, who thought he was wrongfully left out of the Hall of Fame was no working MC over on the mat.

“Now that’s how you do it.” Yelled Vince.

Jacobs backed up as he watched MC slowly try to make it to his feet. Vince waited for the right time as he raced across the ring to the ropes. He bounced off and nailed Cowboy with the Star Gazer. MC dropped to the mat and Vince made a nonchalant cover on him.

ONE…

TWO…

TH--- SHOULDER UP!!

MC did it again. He was still in this match as Vince looked on in disbelief. Vince thought this greenhorn should have been finished minutes ago. Jacobs was tired and he was not going to play around with this kid anymore. SVJ grabbed MC and pushed him back to the corner. He picked up Cowboy and sat him on the top rope. Vince nailed MC with a European uppercut that staggered the big man on the top rope. Jacobs started to slowly climb to the top with MC. This was dangerous seeing these two big men on the top ropes. MC nailed Vince with a back elbow. He then nailed Vince with a headbutt and a quick right hand that sent the Icon down to the mat.

MC got himself together on the top rope and quickly jumped off nailing Vince with a big elbow drop. Cowboy hooked both of Vince’s legs for the cover.

ONE…

TWO…

THR--- KICKOUT!!

Fans: GASP!!

Everyone in the arena was shocked that Vince had kickout out of that moved. MC placed his hands on his head as Jacobs crawled to the ring ropes. Cowboy knew he had this match won. He got to his feet slowly stalking SVJ. The big Texan hooked Vince and drove him down to the mat with a double underhook DDT. MC turned Vince over and went for the cover again.

ONE…

TWO…

THRE--- KICKOUT AGAIN BY VINCE!!

MC didn’t know what else to do as he sat on the mat. Jacobs did not move as MC got back to his feet. The big Texan had an idea what he wanted to do and hopefully it would be the final nail in Vince’s coffin. MC picked up Jacobs and placed his head between his legs. He was going to set him up for something. MC picked Vince up in a powebomb position but Vince quickly escaped the attempt. He stepped back and nailed MC with a Superstar Kick.

MC hit the mat hard and so did Vince. It was a desperation move that paid off for Vince. If Vince could crawl over to MC he would have the victory tonight. Suddenly the crowd erupted as someone darted through the crowd. The figure slid into the ring and started to pound on MC. The figure was none other than…

KHRISTAIN KELLER

Keller continued his attack on MC as Jacobs slowly started to come to. Trent Savage had no choice but to ring the bell and award the match to Midnight Cowboy because of a disqualification. Savage told this to Jacobs who was irate. Vince walked over to Keller and turned him around.

“What the hell is your problem Keller? You have no business in my matches.” Vince said.

Keller looked at Vince and smiled. “I have a problem with this fuckface. If you want me to have a problem with you too then stick around.”

The fan’s jeers got louder as these two hated rivals stood in the middle of the ring. Vince smirked because he saw MC had made it to his feet. “You know what Keller we will take of this another time.”

Keller smirked as Jacobs backed away and rolled out of the ring. The King Shit of Fuck Mountain however didn’t realize that a big angry Texan was behind him. He turned around and was leveled with a big right hand. Keller bounced to his feet and dropped with another right hand. K2 was not going to stay down as he got back to his feet only to be clotheslined over the top rope by MC. The fans erupted as MC stood tall in the ring. Keller sat on the floor and Jacobs smiled as he continued to walk backwards up the ramp.

WINNER: Midnight Cowboy via DISQUALIFICATION.

C O M M E R C I A L S

20%.

The first edition of Courage of 2010 had come back from another set of commercials, and the fans that had packed into the Braehead Arena in lovely Glasgow watched as the masked man in the multi-coloured get-up strut around the ring with a microphone in his right hand. It was obvious he was going to address the crowd.

"Hello, Sprinnnnngfield!" the masked man apparently known as Z -- since the letter 'Z' was stitched on the back of his trenchcoat -- announced with much aplomb. Although the new hire's red mask had the slightest of mouth openings, his grin was massive and evident for all the world to see.

However, it didn't matter to the fans who'd seen Z been introduced by way of an earlier segment on the show. They hardly reacted to Z's welcome. Although, that might have been because they were not in fact residents of Springfield.

Z knew this, of course. The wily old maniac. "Ahh, you're right. That didn't work. No matter, citizens of Glasgow. I was just shaking off the rust. Anyways, allow me to formally introduce myself to all of you.

I'm Z. As in Z-E-E. Address me as Z-E-D, and I'll kick you in the gonads.

And yes, I'm deadly serious."

The fans didn't know how to react to that either, so most of them continued to sit on their hands and watched on with disinterest. A couple of the youngsters in the front rows flipped Z the middle-finger salute. They were lucky Z didn't see them.

"Now, then, don't get all excited!" Z continued, perhaps somewhat obliviously. "I know I have a rather unique look and my colour co-ordination may leave a lot to be desired. I mean, I'm not happy with my white boots either... but I digress. I'm just here to tell all you ACW faithful that I'm happy to be here, and I can't wait to start bringing my brand of entertainment in its fullest to every single one of you!"

Z lowered his microphone and surveyed the fans that had filled the arena on this cool night, looking maybe for some sign of a positive reaction to what he must have thought was a crowd-pleasing speech.

Instead, all he got was a sea of apathy who were probably waiting for the likes of Keith Scott Zimmerman or Trevor Wilson to come out and shake their moneymakers.

His grin transforming into a scowl, Z stopped pacing around the ring. "Oh, I see how it is. None of you really know who I am, eh? Despite the fact that I've given the last 10 years of my life touring the world and wrestling some of the most talented independent superstars of this industry?

Wellll, that's just bloody fantastic, isn't it?!"

Z shook his head as he lowered his microphone once more. Some fans in the front started to jeer what they felt was unwarranted antagonism directed at them. A large group of fans way up in the last rows started to chant something about wanting Alias.

His shoulders slouching now, Z let go of the microphone and let it drop down to the canvas. Slowly, he reached into an inside pocket of his trenchcoat and produced what appeared to be... oh, well, a revolver.

"OHMYGOD, THE FREAK'S GONNA SHOOT US!!!" someone sitting behind the announcers' table screamed, before she ran towards the exits. Or at least tried to. The announcers themselves suddenly ducked down and hid underneath their table.

Suffice to say, a little bit of hysteria started to break out. Z's eyes darted around for a bit, before he crouched down to pick up the microphone.

"Woaaaaah, relax people! Chill, chill!" Z shouted, aiming to allay the crowd's growing fear. "It's just a novelty lighter. See?"

Pulling the trigger, Z laughed as the flame danced out from the barrel of the revolver in his hand. The fans simmered down, and security -- who were about three seconds away from storming the ring -- backpedalled and aimed to further assure the crowd that there was nothing to worry.

For his part, Z now fully placed his bum down on the canvas and stretched his legs. H placed the microphone down on the canvas once more and produced a cigarette from within his inside trenchcoat pocket. By the time he lit up his cigarette, the fans had mostly calmed down and once again resumed not really giving Z the time of the day.

Only this time, Z continued grinning as he returned his novelty revolver-lighter to its resting place. Z picked up the microphone yet again, but this time, he let it linger near his chin for a few seconds while taking a couple of long drags.

To say that the fans were now growing restless would be an understatement. Yet, Z's smile did not yield.

"I'm really not a bad guy, you guys. I'm merely a stranger in a strange land. But don't fret for me; once I settle down, I'm going to be delivering the highest level of sports entertainment to each person that watches the ACW shows. Because that's what you will have paid for, and that's what you expect!" Z explained slowly, the grin from his face once again disappearing.

And then, he took one last drag of his cigarette before... well, fully consuming the cigarette and appearing to swallow it. The fans were now mostly rather perplexed, but Z's little cigarette-swallowing stunt appeared to have won over a few youngsters who were applauding the act.

Z now stood up, and turned his head upwards to the rafters. "Hhh. That was good. And you know what's better? My promise.

I promise...

... the end of the heroic age. Oh yes, and it will be wonderful.

That's all. Until next week!"

With that, Z dropped the microphone down to the canvas for the last time and walked out of the ring, without any theme music whatsoever playing over the speakers. Just the sound of general confusion from 80% of the crowd mixed in with 20% of piqued curiousity.

20%. Better than nothing, eh?

Not Quite A Eulogy

It was different being in Europe. The feeling was similar to the time ACW spent in Montreal, at least for this duo, but even then they were in unfamiliar territory. Wilson had spent most of his time going coast to coast in the states. Jeremy Stevenson and Kati seemed to appear almost exclusively for California.

Here they were again in a strange land surrounded by strange faces. And now they were one less.

Kati slapped Wilson on the back. Hard.

"Snap out of it. Whatever you're thinking about has you locked in the zone or something."

"Bite here."

Her teeth shut down on the edge of the tape. Wilson tore fast and tossed the roll to the side. He stuck the loose flap and made sure it felt tight. Comfortable.

"You think what I'm doing is wrong? Do you think there's a better way to deal with this?"

"Young Christopher or the other two?"

"Sometimes I wonder if I'm just treading water and calling it progress to not fall behind. I feel like this is right. I can put this behind me and move on so that I can close out one case before moving onto another."

"You're a detective now?"

Wilson stood up and grabbed his trench coat off the bench he was sitting on.

"It'd be nice if Jeremy were here for this."

"You need to stop thinking like that. I'm here, and I'm one violent bitch when I need to be. I'd run laps around that Urban girl if we had gotten some time together at End Game."

"Callie was a fun conquest. I think she's still got something against me. I would've liked to have been involved in the End Game match to finally give her the closure she needs. Even if it would have ended with a broken nose for her trouble."

"Shall you be needing an escort to the ring squire?"

"You're enjoying this tour far too much."

Kati nodded her head continuously like an eager child. Wilson slid his arms through the openings on his trench coat and grabbed the title belt.

"Now let's go find a chair so we can end Chris."

"Cocky" by Kid Rock.

Former champion Chris Moliano.

The cheers of the audience.

The second chance.

Even after losing his title Moliano still came out with a smile on his face. The energy of the crowd always managed to wake him up and prep him for a match better than any stretching or cardio could.

He walked a bit gingerly to the ring and decided to climb into the ring instead of sliding under the ropes. He walked past Trent Savage and pumped his fist in the center of the ring.

When his music died the fans awaited the flickering light, the drum beats, the champion...

Kati was all they got. She skipped out to the stage and bowed with a microphone in her hand. In her other hand of course was the custom Wilson-approved steel chair.

"As per your Spirit of ACW there will be a special guest referee for this match. You can take off sweetheart."

Kati was barely through her dismissal when Savage was smiling and taking off up the ramp. Anything to score more free time backstage to do absolutely nothing.

"The referee for this match will be the esteemed and former damsel in distress, Paige Allen."

Chris looked almost defeated at the announcement but then a kind of wry smile took over his expression. She'd still call it down the line, but having her around comforted him.

Paige on the other hand looked a bit pissed off as she walked from the back. She stopped for a moment to stare down Kati but kept moving when the green haired henchwoman tapped her fingers on the chair.

"The next rule on the ballot for tonight is another simple one. It involves this very chair. Trevor Wilson, the greatest wrestler in this entire company, can use this chair to do anything he wants to Chris Moliano. And since I don't think he'll mind me making an addendum, the same rule will be applied to Paige Allen."

Kati smiled despite the uproar of the crowd. Paige looked legitimately concerned and lost a bit of the attitude she had when she first came out. It didn't help when the drums started.

And Trevor Wilson came out.

Kati raised the chair like a scepter for Wilson to take. He yanked the weapon out of her hands and swung it once while he was walking down the ramp. He smiled and dropped the chair at ringside. He removed his coat on the outside while Moliano bent down and stared hard at the champion. He was focused before sure, but now he had eyes like fire.

Savage was a bitch and Irownsen was worn out. Shields had his moments in the back, but nothing special. Wilson had his pick of any of them. Instead he fucked with the wrong ref.

Just as the champ was discarding his coat to the side Moliano took off across the ring. Paige stepped back and rang the bell. Blatantly out of line, but official all the same.

DING DING DING

A dive through the ropes connected and Wilson was down. Moliano grabbed onto the chair and tossed it to the side. He grabbed onto Wilson and brought him up but wrapped his arms around Wilson's waist. He ran forward and connected Wilson's back with the ring. He put Wilson into a front facelock and took a step back.

Ready and waiting, the crowd watched for the Definitive DDT. This is something they would definitively be denied. Wilson lifted Moliano up and came close to suplexing Moliano onto the edge of the ring.

The challenger was able to avoid that fate and slipped down Wilson's back. He rolled into the ring and moved to his feet so he could start running into the ropes. Wilson slid inside but managed to duck underneath the clothesline attempt. He planted a foot and landed a Roundhouse Kick that absolutely dropped Moliano.

Wilson dropped to his knees and so did Paige to make the count, but Wilson smiled and rolled out of the ring. He retrieved the chair from the outside and held it tight with both hands. A jawing fan at the outside got Wilson to slam the chair against the security barrier.

The fan shut up.

Back inside the ring Wilson took the chair and propped it in the corner between the top and middle turnbuckles. He waited for Moliano to come to him and leveled him with a clothesline. He brought the Cocky Kid off the mat and lifted him up by his arms in a Crucifix. Wilson ran forward and released Moliano into the chair.

The chair suffered a dent in the middle, and Moliano was laid out on his side. Wilson dragged him by his arm and leg further out from the corner. He pulled the chair loose and held it by the legs.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

The audience was silent. Not even hushed breaths were heard anymore. Wilson's steel chair and match stipulation was discarded to the mat. The champion stared down at Moliano and then at Paige Allen. He lifted one foot and placed it on Moliano's chest.

Seconds passed and the silence continued. Allen just stood in shock with her eyes on the unconscious man in the ring.

"You need to count this pinfall or things will end very badly for you."

She dropped to her knees and held back tears.

One.....

Two..........

Three.............

DING DING DING

The bell rang to silence. Wilson lifted his foot off the chest of Moliano and retrieved his title belt. He stood over the fallen challenger and then smiled, and raised his title belt.

To fucking hatred. Rex Silver and BBS had to get all their men pouring out from the back to keep fans behind the security barrier. Some got close and were actually able to get their feet on the other side and make a move to the ring. They were taken down hard and held to the ground for their trouble.

Inside the ring Wilson shook his head at the chaos around him. He strapped the belt around his waist and then climbed over the top rope.

Rex was ready to take a swing at Wilson himself for the shit he stirred. He was just too busy keeping things under control. Wilson took his walk to the back and looked like he was the defeated man.

Until he stopped at the top to turn around and pose once more. His fist pumped into the air and he pointed to the title with his other hand.

The Spirit of ACW champion. With a bullet.

WINNER: Trevor Wilson via ATTEMPTED HOMICIDE (actually via PINFALL); retains the Spirit of ACW Title.

What's this...

The fans continued to grow in excitement as they anticipated what was to come next on this edition of Courage. There attention was grabbed by the jumbo tron above the entryway. They gazed upon the jet black limousine pulling into the facility. It came to a halt and the door open and out stepped one legendary figure.

And the jeers began…

But for the man in the black Armani suit, he could only smile for the jeers was what motivated him and catapulted him into the limelight he walks in this very day.

His name…

…was Brandon Thomas.

Former owner and ruler of the Legacy of Champions.

He was a former LoC Legacy Champion himself.

And now…here he is within the walls of the ACW making his presence known worldwide.

“Hey monkey! Make yourself useful and go get the girls some drinks.” he told the driver.

BT took a moment to listen to the jeers that shook the very foundation he stood on. The excitement penetrated his veins and chill bumps aroused on his arms. He turned towards the camera so the fans could get a good look at his face.

“I’m back monkeys!” BT pushed the camera aside and began strutting his manly stuff through the halls. He winked at each of the ladies as he passed by, and extended his middle finger to the men.

Brandon approached SilverHAWK’s office.

It was time to take care of some business.

HAWK stood outside his door, holding a cup of coffee, and conversing with one of his staff members…or might I add, bitching at one of his staff member. Brandon walked up behind hawk and tapped him on the shoulder.

“WHAT!?”

He turned around only to see BT’s cocky ass smirk pasted on his face. Guess you could say BT wasn’t the man he was wanting to see at the moment, but there was business to attend too.

HAWK motioned at Brandon, “Step into my office.”

“Well HAWK, after watching those monkeys you have on your roster tonight, on my way here, from the airport…I have to say, I’m not impressed. Now I know why you called me. You need some grade A talent up in here.” Brandon told SilverHAWK as they both entered HAWK’s office.

SilverHAWK walked around the desk nodding his head in reply to BT’s comment because we all know BT can be annoying and HAWK knew this, but all in all he knew that BT was a talented young man and believe it or not, HAWK needed BT. So sitting in front of HAWK was a contract with nice digits in front of the dollar sign. He glanced over it one more time to ensure that the contract was flawless.

He handed over to BT for him to look at, “Tell me what you think about the contract…” he paused, “And don’t give me any shit, I’m not in the mood.”

Brandon took the contract and read over it. The price was obviously right, because THE Original Ego was smiling and therefore, BT took the pen and signed his autograph on the dotted lines and handed the contract back to HAWK.

“Oh and one more thing. I need a match next week, I have a little surprise for everyone. Its going to be ballz dropping awesome!”

HAWK looked awkwardly at Thomas, shaking his head. “Ballz dropping awesome? Where does the guy come up with this shit” he said to himself after working up a mild smirk. The comment lightened the mood for HAWK, he was it dire need of some sort of humor and BT delivered it.

“Sure, I’ll find something for you. Give me a couple days and I’ll see what we can come up with.”

Brandon nodded. “Yep, well pleasure doing business with you HAWKY now if you don’t mind, I have two girls back in my limousine that want to see my monkey.”

HAWK shook his head as he watched BT strut out of the room.

C O M M E R C I A L S

TAG TEAM MATCH
Alias & Shawn Jessica Hart vs.
Keith Scott Zimmerman & Trey Vincent
REFEREE: TRENT SAVAGE

So, just your ordinary who-cares boring-ass same-old-guys-in-the-main-event tag match to end the evening--oh, wait! This isn't Orlando! OR Stamford!

That whole sentence up there, flip it, reverse it. Thanks.

In the ring stood the new ACW World Champ, Alias, discussing the strategy with the winner of the 2010 End Game Shawn Jessica Hart, however reluctantly he might've done so--SJH wanted what he held, and they both knew it. Not only that, but their opponents were in the same boat. Unlike them, however? Trey Vincent & Keith Scott Zimmerman weren't even making a pretense of getting along, and the former Version 2 could be seen fuming as he went out to the apron, leaving the Pulp Icon and the Sports Entertainment Icon circling each other in the ring. That's when it happened.

Zimmerman took a swing at Alias.

Alias immediately turned his attentions over--and Vincent avalanched him, sending the new champ into the corner. KSZ went over to the announce table and chugged from a bottle of water as Vincent laid in the stomps and kicks to Alias. Zimmerman popped back up on the apron but TV continued his work, laying out the champ after a back elbow off the ropes. KSZ's arm outstretched for the tag--it'd been entirely too long since he'd gotten his hands on Chris Sheffield. TV looked at Keith.

And gave him the finger.

The Californian's lips curled in disgust, and as that was happening, Alias rolled to the corner and tagged in the Phenom!

Trey turned around, and received the dreaded, the awful, the insidious...PURPLE NURPLE! The crowd laughed (even Keith allowing himself a smile) as Vincent howled in pain before cutting the air off the Floridian with a hard knee to the sternum. Vincent recoiled and went back for the corner, looking for the tag--and KSZ dropped off the apron, clearly gesturing to the former WWC World Champion that he was handling his business. Vincent yellled at Keith to get in the ring and help the man who was saving ACW from it's wrestling, and then turned around. SJH quickly felled Trey with a drop-toe hold and tagged in the former Tin Angel, Alias and Hart working in harmony as Hart came off the top rope and connected with a dropkick to TV's temple that once again sent him to the mat. Then Alias came off the top rope with a swandive headbutt!

GLASGOW KISS!

Glasgow roared. Alias covered. Keith broke it up and rolled from the ring.

"I always pulled off that move better then you did, anyway!" Keith yelled back at Chris.

Alias went after Keith, chasing him on the outside of the ring before Keith rolled into the ring--

Vincent almost took his head off with a big boot, but KSZ rolled underneath, then away from the greedy arms of the Hartster. Unfortunately for Trey, Alias had pulled up just short before taking the harsh shot to the face.

CAPTURE SUPLEX!

The ring shook as Alias snorted out some phlegm upon tossing Trey overhead. Unfortunately for Alias, he'd failed to keep track of Keith, who immediately reached out from the apron and guillotined the ACW World Champion. With an arrogant grin, Keith yelled out "Hey, ref!" and slapped Trey's discombobulated body in the back of the head.

Alias.

Zimmerman.

It was so on.

Zimmerman rushed the ri--CAPTURE SUPLEX! No, Keith DIDN'T major in history at UC Berkeley and as Alias stood up to admire his handiwork (HE majored in being one bad motherfucker at the school of hard knocks, natch) SJH made the tag. Alias looked quizzically on, but Hart was already in business, whipping Zimmerman into the ropes and throwing him up in the air--

UGH!

And Alias whipped his head in a semi-circle, headbutting Keith in the face. What it lacked in poetic justice it more than made up for in brutality, and Hart covered. Two, even if Keith went immediately to holding his face after he kicked out. A groggy Keith got up, and Shawn boxed his ears. Keith's arms went up to his appendages, and Hart floored him with a discus clothesline. Alias looked on, pacing from the apron. Meanwhile, Hart continued about the business of winning the match (and MEATBALLS FOR EVERYONE... maybe, if he did), laying into Keith with a hard inverted atomic drop before taking him over in a released fisherman's suplex. Vincent cackled as Keith flailed around, and Hart tagged out. Double whip, double hip toss, and Keith was so groggy he was sitting up upon impact.

At least until Alias & Hart kicked him in the face and the back at the same time. Zimmerman flat, Alias covering, referee counting, Trey wondering if the carpet on the redhead in the second row matched the pubes. Oh the wonders of the UK.

Keith kicked out, by the way. Barely.

Alias sent Keith into the ropes, leaning back to tag in SJH. Alias hiptossed Keith coming off of the ropes, and Hart immediately fell onto his back. Unfortunately for Zimmerman, his knees were also extended, and he groaned before falling on the mat. Hart covered. Two. He tagged in Alias, but this time they got together in unison and KSZ had the foresight to drop to his knees and noggin-knock his opponents together. Zimmerman got his bearing and reached for the tag...!

No Trey.

In his defense, this chick looked like Christina Hendricks' sister... it was possible she was Irish and NOT Scottish.

"FUCK me," muttered KSZ.

"How about I help?" muttered Alias.

Keith turned and then he was off his feet, Alias flapjacking while Hart hooked his head in a nasty DDT. Problem solved, Keith! Alias flipped Zimmerman's body over, and hooked a leg for good measure as Hart began to head out of the ring. The cover, the count, and Alias suddenly recoiled and broke up his own count.

Yes, Keith had raked him in the eye.

Shawn had noticed it out of the corner of his eye, and went to complain to the referee about Zimmerman's cheating ways. Possibly doing it to Keith, himself. Unfortunately for him that was the least of it as Vincent saw this, and immediately bum-rushed the ring--

CLOTHESLINE FROM MINNESOTA!

Hart immediately began to protest this as Vincent dragged Zimmerman to his corner and the Man of 1000 Monikers finally gave up on the referee, who turned around to see Vincent tag Keith in, and immediately discard his tag team partner as the Pulp Hero got to his knees, only to eat a vicious superkick. Arrogantly, TV laid back and counted off the pinfall on his fingers while his back laid on Alias' stomach.

One.

Two.

And the ring shook again as Shawn Jessica Hart came flying in from off-screen into the heart of the Franchise Player with a Savage elbow right in the breadbasket, and Keith fumed over this before hopping off the apron. As the referee went to get SJH out of the ring, Keith pushed over the ring announcer before grabbing his chair. and sliding it into the ring. Unfortunately for Keith he overshot the placement and the chair slid right into the eyesight of the referee, who immediately grabbed the chair and went to get rid of it, SJH on top of him all the way. As this proceeded, Zimmerman ran down the apron and removed the turnbuckle pad then covered it up with his body. The referee led Keith away from the corner as the turnbuckle laid there, gleaming out of the corner of Trey's eye. He grabbed Alias and sent him into the exposed ste--blocked!

Reversed! Hey, dazed and confused Trey Vincent?

WELCOME TO ACW, MOTHERFUCKER!

Zimmerman's eyes bulged, then he ran into the ring.

MURDERDEATHKEITH!

The leg lariat with seventeen nicknames in fourteen different languages but known to the poor bastards on the Titanic as ICEBERG! (no, not really. That'd be Brasky's dick) dropped Chris Sheffield like Enron stock, and the crowd erupted in jeers. With Alias downed and Keith cockily sneering over his fallen body, perhaps he should've paid more attention as he left the ring.

THREE STOOGES EYE POKE OF DOOM!

Zimmerman screamed for a moment unable to block said move with the infamous horizontal hand, the eye poke coming from Shawn Jessica Hart. Hart then shoved Zimmerman through the ropes and out of the ring. The referee began to check on Keith as Hart went forward and began to work on Vincent's skull with some hard right hands, the crowd enthusiastically counting along. Keith looked around frantically blinking his eyes furiously before rolling into the ring with another chair, and he cocked back LO A MIGHTY SWING--the referee took the chair out of Zimmerman's hands, and he spun full circle upon whiffing everything ever. Alias threw Zimmerman over the top rope while the referee deposited this chair on the floor, and as Alias called to Hart to drop down off of Vincent--wait, Keith landed on the apron on his feet?! Oh, no.

Zimmerman slid into the ring. Alias turHIT MY MUSIC! The Pulp Hero was down and Keith charged Mr. XXX, only for Hart to efficiently backdrop him, and when Shawn Jessica Hart backdrops a man, he stays backdropped. Narrowly had Zimmerman landed on the floor before Hart climbed the turnbuckles opposite where he'd been brawling, and the flashbulbs popped all across the England as Shawn Jessica Hart flew off to the floor with an efficient plancha. Sufficiently squashing the Littlest Big Dog in the Fight. He flew a bit sooner than he would've liked, though--Trey had hit the ropes. And hit the ropes. And hit the ropes. Then hit the ropes--

BIG

TIME

FIST

DROP!

Trey with the cover!

And the twooo-count!

The Scottish crowd roared, behind the World Champion with all their muster!

And a yank of the tights!

And three?!

Believe it.

Three.

Vincent held his head with one hand and began smiling broadly with the other, the crowd erupting in a fresh round of jeers as Queen's "I Want It All" began playing on the PA. Shawn disentangled himself from Keith and rolled into the ring, this being Trey's cue to roll out, and Zimmerman & Vincent, however contentiously, had beaten two of ACW's best. One new and one old. One the World Champion and one the End Game winner just days prior. Vincent arrogantly strode up the aisleway, making the international sign for #1 as he paused just long enough to shove Zimmerman aside and continue the spotlight stay on himself.

"You're welcome, asshole." muttered Zimmerman, as he looked back into the ring. Hart was trying to help Alias get his bearings back, but even his own eyes drifted down to the ACW World Championship balanced on the knees of the heart and soul of ACW.

Vincent smirked.

Hart seethed.

Zimmerman gave his first real smile in weeks, making the gesture of a belt around his waist.

And Alias?

All he could do was look down at the belt, feel the pain in his jaw, the impression of the fist dropped across his heart, and look around at three faces armed to the teeth and storming his castle.

WINNERS: Keith Scott Zimmerman & Trey Vincent via PINFALL (Trey Vincent over Alias).

F I N

The Moment (The Start)

Wait... Where Have I Seen This Before?

ever been skull fucked by a King Shit of an actual Mountain?

SINGLES MATCHFrank Pierce vs. John SarsgaardREFEREE: MARK SHIELDS

It has begun.

C O M M E R C I A L S

Spirited

Snubbed

They Stack The Deck But I'm Already Aces

SINGLES MATCHMidnight Cowboy vs. Vince JacobsREFEREE: TRENT SAVAGE

C O M M E R C I A L S

20%.

Not Quite A Eulogy

SPIRIT OF ACW TITLEChris Moliano vs. Trevor Wilson ©REFEREE: TRENT SAVAGE

What's this...

C O M M E R C I A L S

TAG TEAM MATCHAlias & Shawn Jessica Hart vs.Keith Scott Zimmerman & Trey VincentREFEREE: TRENT SAVAGE

SINGLES MATCH
Frank Pierce vs. John Sarsgaard
REFEREE: MARK SHIELDS

SINGLES MATCH
Midnight Cowboy vs. Vince Jacobs
REFEREE: TRENT SAVAGE

SPIRIT OF ACW TITLE
Chris Moliano vs. Trevor Wilson ©
REFEREE: TRENT SAVAGE

TAG TEAM MATCH
Alias & Shawn Jessica Hart vs.
Keith Scott Zimmerman & Trey Vincent
REFEREE: TRENT SAVAGE