A C W



NEW BEGINNING
COURAGE 102 ¤ 21 JANUARY 2010
BOURNEMOUTH INTERNATIONAL CENTRE, BOURNEMOUTH, ENGLAND

The Cogs Begin To Turn

   

It had been a long long time since any limousine of this quality had breached the ACW walls, but as we began the night, we began it in grand fashion as a large black and expensive looking limo pulled up to the back gates of the Bournemouth International Centre. On hand there was a small arrival party which mainly consisted of a few ACW staff members, but the most important man standing there, was SilverHAWK.

He stood beside Joe Bishop with his arms folded, to try and hide his shaking hands as he awaited the person who was due to exit the vehicle.

"Better make a good first impression HAWK," said Bishop with a wry smile on his face. All HAWK could do with sigh as the doors opened and out stepped his new boss. Jeremy Hunt was the man that all these people were waiting for, or shall we call him the mysterious SlySports 'exec'. It had been rumoured since the deal was made that SlySports wanted someone on the inside to make sure their investment was being used properly.

It was also rumoured that Hunt specifically asked for this position when no-one else wanted to touch it. Touring with a formerly tarnished wrestling company in an attempt to make it once again a global success knowing the people who were involved?

No thanks.

But Hunt wanted this job... and SilverHAWK didn't know why.

Before anything else happened, from the other side of the vehicle exited a fucking monster of a man who had HAWK slightly taken a back. With brutish features and a skinhead, he looked menacing, like something out of Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels.

He moved over to the other side and scoped the area, before opening the door for his boss. As Hunt exited the vehicle he was an image of perfection. Slick black hair which was parted in a side shed and flopped perfectly and a Colgate smile. He also had on an Armani suit which probably cost more than most of the staff members wage for the year. SilverHAWK soon made steps towards Hunt, but Hunt began to pick up pace and then walked right past him.

"Walk with me." he said in a wonderfully posh English accent.

HAWK followed... West Wing STYLE!

"We really don't have time for pleasantries do we, Mr. HAWK? You have a show to run smoothly."

HAWK nodded.

"First things first. I want to apologize on behalf of the company for not screening the Scorpion Title match last week. We were worried that it might get a little too gruesome for the viewer but we were mildly surprised at the level of athleticism which was involved in the work by the two gents. So anything Scorpion Division related will be shown in its fullest glory. We will also show a modified version of last week's title match in the arena tonight, to make it up to you and the fans."

That was indeed the first thing that HAWK wanted to bring up... no point now, was there?

"The second thing that I'm going to say is that you need not worry about me being here Mr. HAWK. I'm a shadow... I'll be the invisible man around these here parts. Think of me as the smallest cog in the machine. I'm just here to make sure all the wheels are turning in the right direction and to make sure that any question you have is answered promptly and smartly."

SilverHAWK was moderately stunned and didn't really know what to say. He expected some uptight asshole to come here and demand everything bar the sun... instead, he kind of liked the guy.

"So unless you have anything for me Mr. HAWK, I'll let you be on your way and get things done. I'm sure Courage 102 will be even better than last week!"

Hunt took HAWK's lack of response as no other business and went on his merry way with his staff and personal bodyguard further into the arena, leaving SilverHAWK in his trial. Jones stood there for a moment collecting his thoughts until he felt a tap on his right shoulder.

It was Bishop.

"So how did it go?" he asked.

"... I have no idea."

Despite All Alias' Rage, He Is Still Just A Rat

Backstage, Trey Vincent stared at the unblinking eye of the camera. Clad in a white T-shirt featuring an image of Jennifer Garner in black bra, panties and stockings, he stood in front of a door featuring his name in green on a black star.

"Jerkoff cameraman, useless director, viewers at home and in the arena, and my fellow ACW underlings. Trey Vincent's contract declares that I should be paid obscene amounts of money while you people all wallow in a hellish economic recession. Does Trey Vincent NEED the ACW World Championship to somehow validate this contract? No. But Trey Vincent does need the ACW World Title because as it stands now, some scarred up scrub is ratings death on the level of Conan O'Brien. Luckily for ACW, they don't have to spend $30 million to make Alias go away. They just need one $30 Million Dollar Man to do the trick.

"You see, last week Trey Vincent pinned Alias clean, dead center in the middle of the ring, in a tag match with two other scrubs. Can't really remember their names at the moment. Doesn't matter. Trey Vincent unleashed the most outrageous move in sports entertainment history, the Big Time Fist Drop. I hit Alias' skull so hard with my fist that if that freak ever reproduces his mutant kid will have migraines every day of his gat damn life!

"Now, it's tempting to look back on last week and assume that victory over Alias was inevitable. That Trey Vincent has always been destined to succeed. But the victory wasn't without some challenge. Trey Vincent was saddled with a," he put a balled fist to his mouth and bit a finger. "A cruiserweight!" After shaking his head in disbelief, he braved on. "So Trey Vincent might as well have won a handicap match against Alias last week.

"Let's bottom line this: tonight, Trey Vincent is demanding a World Title match! Alias will probably huff and puff about his old buddy Sharc interfering and costing him the match. Well, Trey Vincent has you covered. Not only will this be a World Title match, but it will take place in a STEEL GAT DAMN CAGE. Nobody will interfere. Just Alias, Trey Vincent, and someone to count the one, two, three.

"And not if, but WHEN, Trey Vincent wins this steel cage match, he's gonna have himself a victory celebration. He's going to take this T-shirt, which features the REAL Alias, the lovely and fuckable Jennifer Garner, get your girlfriend K-Wolf nice and drunked up, throw this shirt over her fugly face, and have myself some fun. Some of your old FWO buddies said that bitch is flexible. So Trey Vincent will use his newly won title belt as a bridle and ride that bitch all night long, jerkweed. Get it?

"A man once said that blood is just red sweat. Alias, prepare to sweat red all over the Bournemouth Center tonight!"

TV meets the Internet

   

Vincent sneered, and walked away from the set down the hallway to his exclusive dressing room. But while he dreamt of Karina Wolfenden and dessert toppings, there was an interloper in the mist; hell, if he'd been smoking a cigarette one could almost call the pose against the door Aliasesque.

"What the hell do you want, scrub?" yelled TV.

TV? Meet KSZ.

"Nothing I won't get in due time." Zimmerman grinned a little, his visage smirking as he sniffed a little and cracked his knuckles.

"If you went through my DVD collection--"

"I'm sure I wanted to see Where The Girls Aren't 37 for the 21st time, or Babewatch 81, or the Princess Diaries, which is a DISNEY movie, you sick son of a bitch!"

"But Anne Hathway's soooo hot and HEY WAIT A MINUTE ASSHOLE!" yelled the Sports Entertainment Icon.

"Asshole speaking, what would you like?" Keith's smirk was still on him like Rush on Zoloft.

"What the hell are you doing here? This is MY dressing room for being a main event player--hell, the about-to-be-crowned-and-sucked-off-royally ACW World Champ, and this is no place for somebody like you, some pissant cruiserweight who couldn't stay out of TV's way last week!" Now Vincent was the one with a smirk. It dimmed Keith's considerably. But only momentarily.

"I heard some crazy man talk about how he was going to get Alias in a cage and beat him for the World Title. I would've been offended by somebody jumping line before my shot, but I looked at the screen and you know what I saw, Vincent?"

"A fourteen inch penis?"

Zimmerman rolled his eyes.

"Like you'd ever stay conscious enough to flap that Fox Newshole you call a mouth if such a thing was physically possible. No, I saw a fat, out-of-shape, MAIN EVENT STYLE CIRCA 1999 poonhound who's had more women than entertaining promos, more mother/daughter combos than World Championships, and instead of watching DVD tapes of his opponent would rather get some lotion, some Anne Hathaway, and generate another round of freshly churned handmade love butter in his played-out tights."

Trey swung.

Keith ducked.

The door did not.

"OWWW!"

"Idiot." muttered Zimmer on a .8 Schrute. "This is exactly why I'm not afraid. I hope you enjoy your main event tonight, Trey, because putting you in a cage with somebody on Sheff's level is like if Tiger was having sex rehab at the Playboy Mansion. You don't have the mental fortitude, you damn sure don't have the physical fortitude, and without your buddy Sharc Alias is going to destroy your delusions and expose you as living off of your past glories and sexual conquests. I hope he busts you open. I hope he breaks your fucking arm in the Lullaby. I hope he comes off the top and lands on your trachea so I don't need to hear your verbal diarrhea ever again.

SIMPLY PUT, Baby Leno?

Alias is going to make you his girlfriend.

And you're gonna enjoy it."

What the--did Keith just turn face?

"The only person who's got Sheff's number around here is me. But I suppose I'll proved right in time. Enjoy your match tonight, Trey, and remember: the world is watching."

With a wry grin, Keith disappeared into the night. Trey shook his hand out, then his head, starting to open the door. "I still don't know how he knew I had the Princess Diaries if he wasn't in he--"

Zimmerman came back into frame, and paused.

"And the fact you're not with Coco perfectly encapsulates the godless piece of shit you are. Enjoy failing tonight."

And with that, the Only Wrestler That Matters was REALLY off into the evening.

C O M M E R C I A L S

Setting the tone, for the rest of the night.

"Ahhh, Bournemouth!"

Courage 102 was back from another set of commercials (a brief one about briefs), and in the middle of the ring stood Z. The masked enigma, who'd introduced himself on the previous edition of Courage with an in-ring speech. That speech ended with Z swallowing the cigarette he was smoking; the cigarette he'd lit up courtesy of of a novelty revolver-lighter.

It was therefore natural for the crowd to be mixed in their reaction to Z. That didn't stop the masked enigma one bit. "You know what, guys? I'm liking this place. I've been here a day and a half, and I absolutely love it. I read somewhere that Bournemouth has been found to be the happiest place in allll of Britain, with a staggering 82% of you saying you were happy with your life here.

I can see why! The nice temperate climate, the not-too-shabby quality of the women here contrary to the stereotype of English lassies, and you guys were the first in the UK to introduce AND use CCTV cameras for public street-based surveillance! I don't know why that appeals to me, but it does.

I hereby declare Bournemouth and all its townfolk to be very, very cool. You guys rock!"

Was it a cheap effort to get some cheers? Probably, but the fans didn't really care a single iota. They simply cheered and clapped at Z's appreciate comments about their hometown.

Z lowered his microphone and nodded, looking like he was loving the atmosphere. At ringside, ACW's resident bastard referee Mark Shields was shaking his head and rolling his eyes. Why was he at ringside? We'd find out soon enough.

"Now, then, let's get down to business!" Z spoke up again as the cheers died down a little. "Some of you might be wondering why there's a referee at ringside. One who's an especially despicable excuse for a human being. Well, it's simple. There's going to be some WRESTLING ACTION coming up in a few short moments!"

The fans cheered again. It would be the first match of the evening, and they were pumped.

Z, however, was not finished yet. "Yeah, fun stuff. Bear in mind, however, that it won't be me wrestling. I'm still technically injured, which is such a pain... in more ways than one. But, I think you guys won't be disappointed. You see, I've been wrestling for a long time now, and I have along the way had the pleasure to actually be a mentor to a few plucky kids who plan on breaking into this business.

One such upstart just so happens to be a hometown boy. Oh, yeah, I ain't kidding.

Sooooo, ladies and gentlemen. I invite you all to stand up and put your hands together for this young man. Hailing from this awesome place known as Bournemouth, making his professional wrestling debut tonight, he weighs in at 225 pounds and is approximately close to six feet tall. He is one of my favourite young students.

He is...

... Budddddddddy Saxxxxxooooooooon!"

The house lights dimmed. There was a little bit of fog swirling around the curtains near the entrance. And then, Adam Lambert's For Your Entertainment kicked in over the public announce system.. Catchy, upbeat, and contagious. In a few seconds, a young man with the widest grin you'd ever seen came bouncing through the curtains and put his hands on his hips, obviously feeling like a million bucks.

It didn't help that the man -- with short, tussled ginger hair and a very boyish face -- was wearing the home jersey of club captain Steve Fletcher of the hometown football club, AFC Bournemouth. That, added to the nice build-up introduction of the masked enigma in the ring, only added to the loud round of welcoming cheers of one Buddy Saxon.

Encouraged by the reaction, Buddy energetically made his way down to the ring, slapping the hands of numerous fans along the way. In the ring, Z looked on approvingly and was clapping along to the beat of Buddy's theme song. Mark Shields? He was checking out his nails, obviously immensely bored and disinterested.

Buddy finally made his way into the ring and immediately rushed to shake hands with his mentor. Z swatted the hand away... only to offer a hug to his young student. Awww, how touching. On the outside, Mark Shields fought the urge to vomit.

As the music died down and the fans simmered down a little bit, Z broke off the hug and offered final words of advice to his young student. Z retreated to a corner of the ring, instructing Mark Shields to get in and prepare himself for the match coming up.

"Right, then, that was a great welcome! Well done to you guys for such a wonderful encouragement to Buddy!" Z chimed, with Buddy bobbing his head enthusiastically in agreement. "Now, let's get this match started and set the tone for the rest of the night, shall we?

And introducing his opponent...

... the one, the only, the familiar...

JACCCCCCCK HARRRRRRIS!"

Familiar because Jack Harris had been on the ACW roster for a while now, and more recently, had been creating all sorts of trouble back in the All-Star Academy. Harris' notoriety had spread through word of mouth rather quickly, which was why Buddy Saxon's knees suddenly didn't look so steady, and the confidence he'd just been showing off had suddenly evaporated.

Z, meanwhile, had slid out of the ring and sported a devilish grin on his otherwise masked face.

"I hope you're ready, young padawan!"

SINGLES MATCH
Buddy Saxon vs. Jack Harris
REFEREE: MARK SHIELDS

   

London Calling, by the Clash.

Out came Jack Harris, the behemoth with a mean streak. If Buddy Saxon had earlier on looked like a million dollars simply based on his enthusiasm and his confidence, Harris appeared to look like a BILLION DOLLARS. Confidence? Harris had spades of it.

The Unit, he was often called amongst other things. The Chancellor of Excellence. The Pikey Madman. Whatever he was called, one thing was for sure; Jack Harris was a monster who was in the best shape of his life, and Buddy Saxon -- aghast in the middle of the ring and using the ropes to hold himself up -- was in trouble.

Not many of the fans were that well-versed with Jack Harris, but the mere sight of bastard referee Mark Shields celebrating Harris' arrival while taunting Buddy Saxon was enough to get the fans to jeer Buddy Saxon. Jack added fuel to the fire by sneering at the fans that were giving him the thumbs down. He decided to show them the middle finger too, just because.

HEEEEEEL, indeed.

At ringside, Z had grabbed a chair and sat himself down, anticipating a good show. He'd arranged this match, obviously without telling his young charge just who his opponent was. And as Jack Harris climbed into the ring, already laying his eyes on Buddy, Z motioned for Mark Shields to get the match officially started.

DING DING DING!

The Unit took a moment to crack his knuckles, which caused Buddy Saxon to gulp in fear. That level of fear grew tenfold as the sight of Jack Harris advancing on him at full speed grew all too real. Thinking quickly, Saxon took to a forward roll and effectively ducked the attempt at a wild swing by Harris. Upon Buddy's return to a vertical base, though, he found himself coming to terms with the possibility of leaving the ring on a stretcher.

Why, you ask? Jack Harris, having learnt various skills from some of the best, didn't brood too long on missing with his right-handed swing and a miss. Instead, Harris simply pivoted on his feet and lashed out with a backwards-elbow smash. For a big man, The Unit was demonstrating amazingly quick reflexes! Buddy Saxon crumpled down to the mat, and immediately started to crawl towards the nearest corner of the ring.

Mark Shields simply laughed, for when Buddy used the ropes to prop himself up, Jack Harris was right behind him. His eyes dancing with malevolent intentions, Jack grabbed Buddy by the hair and forced his head into the top turnbuckle... before flinging the hometown boy down to the mat with a vicious hair-pull.

And if you think Harris would stop there, think again. The Pikey Madman took one step back, smiling, before dropping his right knee down onto Buddy Saxon's chest. The fans were, by now, very concerned at what appeared to be a massacre.

Z looked on, emotionless now, as Jack Harris dragged Buddy to the middle of the ring and made the cover;

ONE!

TWO!

TH - NO!

Surprisingly enough to Shields and about 80% of the audience, Buddy kicked out. That was good news to Harris.

It simply meant he could inflict more punishment.

Pulling Buddy up, Jack Harris resorted to lightly slapping the woozy hometown boy in the face a few times, before spinning around and levelling him with a discus punch. Once again, Buddy was sent down to the canvas, and Jack Harris raised his arms in the air. This brought more than a few jeers to the forefront. Jeers that grew louder as Harris screamed an expletive to the fans.

Then, the Chancellor of Excellence really made himself to be public enemy number one for the moment. He reached down towards the barely moving Buddy Saxon, and grabbed him by the jersey that he was wearing. Only, Jack Harris did not proceed to pull Saxon up.

He simply decided to rip the jersey apart, tearing it off of Buddy's torso and hanging the shredded garment high above his head, leaving Buddy writhing on the canvas in only his red knee-length tights. Mark Shields cheered, the fans did not. No, not one person in the stands was at all happy. Sure, their football team was doing rubbish... but that didn't have Jack Harris -- a pikey, at all -- the right to treat the jersey of *their* local team like it was nothing.

How do you think Buddy Saxon felt?

Enraged enough to pull himself up to his feet and tackle Jack to the canvas, apparently.

It was a shocking scene to take in, but somehow, the rookie had taken great offense to Harris' act. Now mounting The Unit, Buddy Saxon proceeded to unload with a flurry of close-range punches, spurred on with the fans cheering him on. Jack barely flinched, and within seconds had tossed Saxon aside like a piece of nothing. Saxon was not deterred, and quickly scrambled back to his feet with an idea in mind.

Jack Harris had an idea, too, as he returned to his own vertical base. It consisted basically of getting his hands on Buddy, kicking his ass, and going backstage to enjoy an alcoholic beverage or two. Unfortunately, the first part proved to be tricky as Buddy Saxon had bounced himself off the ropes and stunned Jack with a flying forearm smash! Harris didn't go down, but was nonetheless momentarily taken aback.

That was all Buddy needed, as he regained his composure and launched himself into the ropes. On the return, he found that Jack Harris had recovered just a tad bit faster than he anticipated and was attempting to behead the hometown boy with a clothesline. To his credit, Buddy Saxon improvised swiftly and ducked underneath the clothesline attempt. That was not all; Buddy decided to continue towards the opposite set of the ropes, clearly with a plan.

That plan included launching himself onto the top rope cable and twisting backwards towards the middle of the ring, where Jack Harris was. The fans watched open-mouthed as Buddy Saxon, in his very first professional wrestling match, managed to connect sweetly with a cross body-block. And as much as Mark Shields hated what he just saw, he hated what he had to do next.

He got to his knees and counted Buddy's current pin on Jack Harris;

ONE!

TWO!

THRE - NO!

That was a god-damn close one. Mark Shields breathed a sigh of relief, while on the outside Z was now on his feet, looking slightly impressed with how his young student had started to turn things around.

Jack Harris, on the other hand, was anything but impressed. He got to his feet in record time after just managing to kick out of Buddy's cross body-block pinning combination, and found that Buddy Saxon had once again resorted to launching himself off the ropes. This time, Jack Harris didn't waste any time.

This time, Jack Harris didn't opt for a wild swing or a short-range clothesline.

This time, The Chancellor of Excellence raised his right leg and smacked the unaware Buddy Saxon squarely in the face with his giant-sized boot. The impact was harsh, the sound of boot against flesh was sickening, and it was a miracle Buddy didn't lose a tooth or two.

What he did lose, probably, was any momentum he'd been building up over the last minute or two. The jeers continued, and Jack Harris shook the cobwebs out of his head, the evil grin returning to his hardened face.

"Pin him, Jack! He's done!" Mark Shields hollered, getting ready to count. What an impartial referee.

The Pikey Madman resisted the urge to pin Buddy, though. Instead, Jack turned to face Z. The fans watched as Z nodded his head at the behemoth, who proceeded to walk to the corner of the ring where the shredded AFC Bournemouth jersey lay in a heap. Picking it up, and once again drawing a large amount of heat from the fans, Jack Harris did something despicable.

No, not wipe his ass with the jersey. Close; he wiped his armpits with the jersey, sniggering callously as he did so.

The fans surely had not expected this turn of events when Z came out several minutes ago and promised some good ol' wrestling action. And they surely did not expect Jack Harris to finish wiping his armpits with the torn-up jersey and advance on the recovering Buddy Saxon, jersey still on.

And they sure as hell did not anticipate Jack Harris wrapping the soiled and defaced jersey across the neck of Buddy Saxon and pulling back with all his might. Why, that ought to have been a disqualification. It was wrong!

... But hey, look at who the referee was. That bastard, Mark Shields.

To his credit, Mark Shields was rather stunned. So he too looked over at Z. And the masked enigma shook his head.

By this time, the fans were furious. Incensed. And it got worse when Mark Shields shrugged his shoulders and ran towards Buddy Saxon, taunting the poor hometown boy as he was being choked by the Pikey Madman.

And within seconds, Buddy Saxon's flailing limbs had gone limb. Letting go of the jersey, Jack Harris watched as Buddy collapsed onto the convas with the defiled garment still wrapped around his neck. By this time, Z had began to circle the ring, watching intently as The Unit placed his right boot on top of Saxon's surely badly-bruised neck.

With the hate of the fans hanging over the ring like a black cloud, Shields got to his knees and counted;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

The Clash's London Calling started up over the public announce system once again, but nobody was listening. The fans were more pre-occupied with hurling abuses at the trio that had now gathered outside the ring. Z mouthed a 'good job' to both Shields and Harris, ignoring the heckling and the jeers of the fans. Z took one last look at his fallen student in the ring and his wry grin grew wider.

Satisfied with whad had been accomplished, the trio turned around and headed towards the back. It was a most inauspicious beginning to the in-ring action promised for Courage 102.

And it was certainly a most depraved set-up by Z, the masked enigma, for the hometown boy Buddy Saxon.

The hands of steel, no more.

"Despicable asshole!"

Joe Bishop, ladies and gentlemen. He was the boss's right-hand man, and was also the Chief of the All-Star Academy during its first season which ended a couple of weeks ago. Bishop had just been watching the action on a monitor backstage, and was furious at the turn of events that saw Jack Harris maul Buddy Saxon with the help of bastard referee Mark Shields and Saxon's supposed mentor, Z.

Bishop's comment was more or less directed at Jack Harris, and he meant it. So much so that his clenched fists were shaking with rage.

It would have been fair to gauge that Bishop, now watching the reply of the last few moments of the match, was also currently imagining beating up Jack Harris with his bare hands. Hence, it was obvious he didn't hear the footsteps of one John Sarsgaard, who was now standing right next to Joe.

And he too had a look of displeasure on his face. "You've got that right, Joe. What a farce."

That snapped Bishop out of the trance he was in, and turning to face the Hands of Steel, a relieved smile swept over his face. Sarsgaard grinned back, forgetting about what he'd just seen on the monitor for a moment, and shook hands with the ACW veteran.

"Good to see you, Joe! You're looking as good as ever." Sarsgaard politely commented, which drew a laugh from Bishop. "Ah, come on. It's only been a few weeks since the last Academy event, and I actually don't feel all that super. Thanks for the compliment, nonetheless.

Now, then, are you going to do something about that?"

John's smile evaporated, as his eyes followed Bishop's outstretched hand that was pointing at the monitor. More importantly, at the visage of one Jack Harris, who just so happened to be Sarsgaard's rival in the Academy.

"I would have taught he'd gain some sort of a clear frame of mind after I beat him, but I guess I was wrong." Sarsgaard remarked after a while, thinking back to his momentous victory on the last Academy event.

Bishop, his hands on his hips, started to pace up and down the little space they were in. "People like Harris, heh. Always finding ways to cause more and more trouble. But you didn't really answer my question, John.

Are you going to do something about what just happened? I know you have the chops to beat Harris, you've done it before!"

Bishop now stopped pacing and looked squarely at John Sarsgaard. The usual fire and motivation that John Sarsgaard usually displayed, even with his body language and his demeanour, was somewhat lacking. It's as if his more-than-successful spell in the Academy had the results contrasting of a man with a golden opportunity and everybody's backing to make it big.

John shook his head, as if to non-verbally suggest to Bishop that he wasn't going to do anything. Truth be told, after the previous week's rather emphatic defeat to Frank Pierce, John Sarsgaard had wanted to take some time off. He eventually figured being on the road with the rest of the ACW crew was a better choice, considering what he had on his mind.

"So, you aren't? That Saxon chap, he didn't deserve what he got." Bishop spoke up again, his words piercing (ha!) Sarsgaard's thoughts.

John sighed. "I know, Joe. It's truly unfortunate. But look, I'm facing quite a mountain of personal problems that have suddenly rained down on my shoulders. I need to take some time to evaluate myself.

I'm sorry if this disappoints you in any way, Joe. And before you go on and think this is because of my defeat to last week to Pierce and start to analyse the match itself -- stop. I've had to put up with seven days of that already. It's because of my problems that I repeatedly lost my focus during the match.

I have to go talk to HAWK, Joe. I'll see you around."

With that, John Sarsgaard turned and walked down the hallway to talk to the boss himself. Joe Bishop stood there, looking as annoyed as he was several minutes ago, plus a little bit worried. This was not the John Sarsgaard he'd come to know over the last few months.

This was most definitely not the same man that he and SilverHAWK thought would break out this year.

"Well, this sucks." Joe quipped matter-of-factly, throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation.

It most certainly did.

Keller and Wilson Incorporated

   

The King Shit of Fuck Mountain was moving backstage. He was moving fast. He was moving with a chair in his hands and catching the eye of every staff member he walked past as they thought they might be in the firing line of a rather hot headed K2.

He was like a car going down a one-way street, and he would fuck up anyone that dared get in his way.

Instead of that, which would have been muchos fun however, he was looking for one specific target. One specific champion that he planned to break in half and then start making demands.

That man was Trevor Wilson.

The SlySports cameras followed the King Shit as he roared his way through the inner sanctum of the arena.

"Wilson you sly little piece of shit, where the fuck are you?"

He slammed the chair against a wall and let it echo down the hallway.

"Down here, champ."

From a doorway down the hall, Wilson waved to one of the contenders to the Spirit of ACW. Even though he wasn't recognized by Wilson, apparently, Keller was of the belief that he earned his spot during the End Game match. Keller let the chair swing to his side and took off running down the hall. Wilson smiled and disappeared inside the locker room.

When Keller came to the doorway he saw Wilson leaning against the back wall. He didn't notice it before, and maybe Wilson just put it on, but the title belt was strapped around the waist of the two-time champion. It sat there as a mockery to Keller it seemed. Even if he was the champion and it was his title, Keller still thought of it as an insult.

And he was pissed off anyway so do the math.

"Nothing much stopping me from giving you a free ambulance ride with my little metal friend here is there?"

"Not that I can see." Wilson shook his head. "That'd be up to you I guess."

Keller smiled and reared the chair back.

"If you do though then my little green friend will make sure you get the seat next to me."

He could barely see out of the corner of his eye, but he saw just enough to let him know someone was there. Then, just for kicks, Kati blatantly waved to make sure she got Keller's attention. Keller was pissed, but not pissed enough to fail to notice the brass knuckles that Kati appeared to be holding.

"You need your cunt to fight your battles for you?"

"Only if someone feels the need to stab me in the back. Would you like it if I walked the halls like a lunatic trying to...actually that'd probably be right up your alley."

"Ha. You're fun, Wilson. It's a shame I need to fuck your skull so that you get the picture."

"I've got a better solution. You and the cowboy might think you're both the contenders to my title but I made it clear last week that the reality of the situation is very different. I wouldn't mind strikig a deal if you were game."

Keller let go of the chair with one hand but kept it firm in his grip. Just to keep Wilson on his toes.

"Go... on."

"Tonight I'm going to announce the stipulation that will be used in my future title matches. I'm even going to kick things off with a title match against a hand picked opponent."

"If it's me then I'm game. If it's not me then you're fucked."

"You really don't quit do you? No wonder Sheffield hated you. I'm not facing you tonight, but if you do exactly as I say then I'll give you a title shot. You can be the definitive number one contender. No sharing, and no tricks on my part. Kati, be a dear and ease off. I want our friend to be thinking clearly right about now."

Kati stepped to the side of Keller and gave him a wink. She flashed her hand to let the light shine on the brass and reflect on Keller's face.

"What kind of shit do you need done?"

Previously Recorded

NOTE: This was the match from Courage 101 that was unaired due to the fact that SlySports figured it was too gruesome. After mass viewer feedback, however, SlySports did a U-turn on their opinion of the Scorpion Fighting Division and to make it up, they have decided to air the match, albeit in a truncated form. We join the match in progress, between El Hombre Sin Nombre and Omega.

El Hombre Sin Nombre dove over the top rope onto Omega with a flying spinning plancha that drove Omega to the floor. Both men were going at it tooth and nail showing the ACW fans why the Scorpion division was the hottest and most contested division in the ACW. The daredevil picked up Omega by his head and drove him right into the steel steps. Omega held onto the steps while on one knee. El Hombre walked to the guardrail and climbed on top steadying himself on the guardrail. The official (Henry Irwonsen) had to keep the fans back so they wouldn’t knock the ACW superstar off the guardrail.

Hombre jumped off the guardrail but Omega caught the daredevil in mid air and fell backwards driving El Hombre face first into the steel steps. Omega moved the steps from the ring as he grabbed Hombre and placed his arm in between the ring post and the steps. The craziest bastard in wrestling slammed the steps into the ring post where Hombre’s arm was caught. The daredevil grabbed his arm and rolled around on the ground in a tremendous amount of pain. Omega stood to his feet and smirked as he grabbed Hombre and threw him into the ring. The big man looked under the ring for something he could use. He pulled out a table and slid it into the ring under the bottom ropes. But before Omega could get into the ring the fans erupted as Sharc came racing down and nailed Omega in the back stopping his progress back into the ring.

The two men started going after each other. Sharc has not been happy since End Game where Omega was the one that threw him out of the ring. He has been vowing revenge on Omega and it looks like he’s started right now. Sharc nailed Omega with a big knee to the gut. He took Omega and drove him face first into the guardrail. Sharc went right after the monster. He was not afraid of any man as he nailed Omega in the side of the head with a big boot. Meanwhile Hombre was in the ring trying to work the kinks out of his arm.

Sharc and Omega continued to battle as the crowd went crazy for the ACW Scorpion Champion, Landon Stevens who stood on the stage watching the chaos from afar. He smiled as these men battled all around the ringside area. He walked a little down the ramp but didn’t get that far before he was attacked from behind by Kati. Trevor Wilson wanted her to show a little more initiative and she is doing just that by attacking the Scorpion champion. She continued to lay a few kicks in on the champion before she was attacked from behind by Rory Hayes.

Meanwhile Sharc and Omega still battle on the floor but Hombre was on his feet now as he started to climb to the top rope. Hombre dove off the top and landed on Omega and Sharc on the floor. All three men laid out on the floor by the ring and Rory Hayes now was setting his sights on the champion. Hayes grabbed Stevens and threw him down the ramp. He slowly made it down the ramp after the champ. Hayes went to pick up the champ but Stevens grabbed his legs and tackled Hayes to the ground. Kati was now up and she raced down the ramp nailing both Hayes and Stevens.

Someone suddenly made it through the crowd and climbed over the guardrail. It was Iceman and he came to join in on the fun. The former Scorpion champion rolled into the middle of the ring and stood with a kendo stick in hand. He raised it high in the air as he climbed out of the ring and drove the Kendo stick right into Rory’s skull. He turned to nail Landon with the Kendo stick but he was driven to the ground with an inverted DDT by Kati. She picked up the Kendo stick and headed to the other three men near ringside.

However Sharc was the first to meet her with a big clothesline that made her drop the Kendo Stick. A sick twisted look came across Sharc face as he picked up the Kendo Stick. He took the stick and nailed Omega and Hombre with it sending both men staggering. Omega however was still on his feet. Sharc went to nail Omega again but the big man grabbed him and drove him to the ground with a big choke slam. The fans loved all the action but the ACW security came rushing out to stop the chaos as the fans jeered. The camera quickly cut away while Irwonsen threw the match out (No Contest) and attempted to get control. Looks like Slysports was not going to allow this type of chaos on their program... for now.

Scorpion means chaos

CRASH!

The burling frame of Omega succeeded not on the first but the second try. His body powered through the door to the locker room and he managed to stop his momentum from tumbling him over or dropping to his knees.

The problem was he had just broken into Trey Vincent's locker room. Looking for Sharc, sure, but TV was around to see it all go down.

"Excuse you, asshole!"

Omega took a second to sneer at Vincent and then saw Sharc with a look of surprise that put a smile on the craziest bastard in wrestling's face.

"Mother-"

A running Shoulder Tackle pressed Sharc in the uncomfortable position of being between 305 pounds of aggression, and a concrete wall. Omega took a step back to free up Sharc and deliver a brutal forearm. Sharc just took the blow, with a wince, and sent a hard boot into Omega's left knee.

The grimace was an earned one.

"Oh come on. Tell me this isn't going to be a 'thing'. I've got some shit to prepare for and a locker room I'd like to keep in order."

Deaf ears registered TV's pleading, and the hard packing sound of fists connecting with flesh filled the air instead. The Franchise Player just shook his head and left the way Omega burst in.

Omega blocked a fist and wrapped his arms around Sharc. He turned around and slammed Sharc against the wall then pulled him into a raised knee. Omega turned him around and wrapped his arms around Sharc's waist. He tried lifting him over for a suplex, but Sharc started wailing with kicks to Omega's knee again. It got The End to drop him and Sharc pulled him in with a Short-Arm Clothesline.

He didn't run away, but he left to look for around for something. Anything in particular that looked li- a production crate would do. He lifted the difficult to handle box and started to pick up speed until he was at the locker room door. Then he let go.

The metal clanged when he hit the floor but managed to miss Omega who would've been looking at a coma ward if it had stuck.

It just pissed the big man off. Omega ran from the locker room and tackled Sharc to the floor...which is the same time Rex Silver and BBS arrived on the scene with the rest of security.

"Of course now they're done in MY room."

And Trey Vincent was following.

"Why don't we just let them go at it, Rex, and then pick up the pieces?"

Rex laughed and got ready to answer when more company arrived.

"Cocksucker!"

Iceman came in with a Running Knee that caught Omega upside the head. He dropped down to his knees and started throwing mounted punches. Sharc picked himself up off the floor and started laughing himself until El Hombre sin Nombre came from behind and nailed him with an elbow to the back of the head.

"Well shit, maybe letting them go at it is the better idea right about now."

Omega grit his teeth through punches until he freed up his arms and wrapped his hands around Iceman's throat. Once he heard the dry gagging noises he shoved Iceman to the side. He moved to his feet long enough to rush forward and plant a kick into Iceman's ribs.

Landon Stevens, the Scorpion himself, stood by with the title belt on his shoulder. He watched as the men he beat attacked each other, and the other contenders in his division tore into each other as well. He shrugged and put on a smile as he walked away.

Dropkick to the chest! Kati, one of the newer residents of the Scorpion division, snuck up on the champ and sent him to the floor. She got to her feet and debated her next move, taking on the champ or joining the fray, but Rory Hayes made up her mind when he came from the side and pounced on Landon.

"Oh I'm calling bullshit on that! I got to him first."

She instead decided to take on her old nemesis Rory Hayes, and maybe throw a few punches at Landon if she could.

Iceman ducked a fist from Omega and shoved past Sharc, but it was the better move as The End switched targets to his original goal. He tried for a sick Big Boot but Sharc pulled Nombre in front of him. He smirked and then grabbed onto Omega for a Reverse DDT. He rolled Omega over and grabbed onto his legs for a Boston Crab. He just barely put the finishing touches on the hold for a good long pain session when he was grabbed from behind by a man in black.

And then another and another. Rex and his men finally moved in, but not for lack of enjoyment. There was one man that gave orders they always followed.

SilverHAWK. He stood with his arms folded and just waited. He didn't flinch and he didn't blink. He just bought his time until there was a group of security on each man involved in this fiasco.

"I don't mind all of you wanting to get your shots in, and I don't even mind a bit of chaos. It comes with the territory of the title belt you're all fighting over. But what I don't want is uncontrolled chaos. You will do this in the ring when I say so not just because everyone's in the mood."

Hawk nodded his head and security backed off just a bit to give each man some breathing room.

"Now if we can all go our separate ways then I'll put a little something together for tonight so things can get moving sooner rather than later. If there's one thing I know it's that wh-"

Omega shoved a security member out of the way and clocked Sharc with a right hand. Sharc dropped to his knees and was wide open for Omega to continue his beating.

Taking a cue from the originators of the outbreak everyone else jumped in on the fun. Fists started flying again and security moved into overdrive.

"You sons of bitches."

Hawk sneered and moved in so he could start barking orders of control and composure, but not before telling the camera man to piss off.

SINGLES MATCH
Ulf German vs. Midnight Cowboy
REFEREE: HENRY IRWONSEN

   

Ulf German jogged in place, swinging his arms out at his sides in the ring as he waited for his opponent. The Academy prospect wore a pouty expression and he fussed to the referee about his unadorned, simple entrance that didn't make it to air.

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 BIC. 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. His stroll to the ring was stiff, machine-like, as thoughts of Keller lit up his mind. Cowboy didn't forget Keller's attack last week in his match against SVJ. Cowr'd mighta ruined it for th' both of 'um; dang Malk Al-QaedaAllahuAkbarQu'uaran-thumpin' Haq was gettin' th' shot tonight. The remainin' taste in his craw was somethin' like motor oil, mixed with subtle tones of dog shit.

His eyes, reduced to menacing slits and shifted from left to right. Keller had payback comin'.

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 off and flung it into the crowd. The camera quickly flashed German inside the ring, rolling his eyes before looking at the imaginary watch strapped to his wrist. Cowboy 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 rushing across, sending German over the top rope with a hard clothesline!

1

2

The bell rang as German popped up and tripped Cowboy, dragging him to the outside. The two big men exchanged hard blows before German getting the upper hand and driving Cowboy's forehead into the guardrail! The cheers and jeers met German as he grabbed Cowboy by his wet scalp. The Midnight Cowboy looked like a child having fun, grinning ear to ear despite the pain. He charged forward, driving German's stomach into the ring, twisting him around and running forward with a Bulldog takedown! Midnight Cowboy climbed to his feet and led German back into the ring as the referee reached a 7 count.

Once inside, The MC lifted his boot to stomp his opponent, but German lunged up with a strong low-blow to his manly bits! His lips puckered as his knees wobbled together. German planted him with a Jumping DDT! Quick pin! 1.....2.... shoulder up!

German stayed on the ground, rolling around with Cowboy in a chokehold. MC flung his arms out, probing for a ring rope. He looked over and noticed it was out of his reach. His lips snarled and he quickly butted the back of his head against Ulf German's face! Stunned, Cowboy dragged his opponent behind him, defiantly snatching the bottom rope! The referee broke the hold and the two staggered to their feet. Blood trickled from German's nostril. The two competitors locked up in a grapple. German dug MC's head into his armpit. MC swung around to German's backside. German elbowed him in the face, breaking his hold. Ulf grunted as he sent him tumbling forward in a Snapmare takedown!

He basked in the glory of getting the upper hand in the exchange of holds, and the crowd attacked his cockiness. He frowned at them before driving his boot into MC's back! Midnight Cowboy's head reflexively tilted back in agony. Ulf German kissed his bicep as he lifted Cowboy to his feet and shared his intent with the crowd. He was going to press the 6'7, 275lb Superstar above his head. He lifted Cowboy smoothly above his head, flashing a smug grim at the crowd. That broke quickly as Midnight Cowboy squirmed in his hands. His eyes went wide as he fell backwards, MC's massive body landing on his chest with a bass WHUMP that shook the arena! The crowd went nuts!

1

2

3 NO! German's arm goes out at the last minute! Midnight Cowboy rolls off his body, staring at the ceiling. The impact seemed to knock out German's breath; his chest heaved quickly to suck air back into his lungs. The fans cheered as Midnight Cowboy crawled to his feet and walked to the corner, where he stared directly into the camera.

"Whure y' at now, Feller?!" he shouted, and everyone knew who he was talking about. He looked up at the applauding crowd and barked. "Time t' saddle up!"

Little did Cowboy know that Ulf German had recovered slightly, at least enough to find his footing again. He rushed Cowboy, who nimbly lifted him up and THREW HIM DOWN VIOLENTLY in a Sidewalk Slam that would have made Farooq impotent. "The HO-LY SHIT, HO-LY SHIT" chants were a foregone conclusion, but mixed with an air of horror and appreciation. German rolled over. Surely his back was broken. But Cowboy was not done; he was here to make a point to someone else watching backstage. German wus j'ist the sorry asshole standin' in his way.

"Gander...an'... learn!" He barked again into a ringside camera as he booted German in the gut, hooked the arms and brought him down into a thundering Double Underhook Piledriver! Voices after Midnight! He rolled over for the pin. The crowd emphasized every pounded count by the referee.

1!

2!!

3!!!

"Electric Rodeo" by Shooter Jennings rang out and Midnight Cowboy stood up to have his arm raised by the referee. There was sympathy in his face as he looked at his fallen, motionless opponent--his Keller substitute for the evening. He shook his head and slowly exited the ring, making a slow walk up the ramp and into the back.

C O M M E R C I A L S

Imperious Rex

As we returned from commercials a lone figure bobbed in front of the ACW Courage, Slysports sponsored, entrance way. The crowd murmured as the figures muscles flexed under the spandex suit he wore, as the hooded robe kept him sweating. The fierce amber eyes of the exotic looking British African-Caribbean caught a glimpse out from under his hood, and directly into the eye of the camera. He breathed for the grand competition within the walls of the Bournemouth International Centre. This return to the ring, and with it another chance to really grasp a hold of the infamy that he held within the British Isles. Well, it was just making his year. And as he pounded his gloved hands together, he popped up off his hood.

“I am Rud Albion. I have lived a life of fighting for what I believe in… and what I believe in is myself, my heritage, my hometown and my country… the United Kingdom.” With a confident smile, Albion held out his arms, and the cheers could be heard from the arena crowd.

“I am The Bronze Lion... the son of a Nigerian man and a East Indian woman, I hold within my veins not only the stardom of Bollywood but also the fierceness of the savanna. First foremost I hold within me the bully and the bright of Great Britan.” His natural charisma had shifted to something of a powerful confidence.

“I am The Brummie Bulldog... growing up in Birmingham, I fought for acceptance, and fought for my foothold in this world of wrestling. I became a CHAMPION within this country, and I had to fight like a dog to do it. I am immovable and insurmountable. I am a keeper at the end of the pitch, with eleven strong charging towards me.” He waved his arm out, gesturing to the world in front of him with a smooth swift motion that ended with his hand out, palm up.

Albion then clenched his fist, and speaking through clenched teeth he continued.

“I am The Kingdom's Keeper... ready to stop those who might look to disrespect and tear down the walls within which I stand. Those who might look to spit in face, or on the floors of All-Star Championship Wrestling. Now, I’m not victimizing myself off the bat, or immediately looking to make myself a martyr. Nah… I’m just looking to start a right-minded revolution.” There again was his charm, as he winked mischievously at the camera.

“I am the one man Revolution... so say you want it.” But again, that charismatic side was swept away with a growing fervor of competitive spirit. “Say you wanna meet me in the middle of this ring, and I’ll be more then ready to face you. As ACW’s newest signing, I am right and ready to fight all comers, to make my name to all those watching, so they know what everyone is attendance is already aware of.”

Albion stood strong and pointed defiantly out into the ACW world. His words where a message, to one and all on the roster.

“I am England’s Own. I AM RUD ALBION! I challenge any and all in ACW to face me for this federation’s honor.”

Cue the now familiar Kim Thayil guitar chords.

We're gonna party like it's 1992. And the arena erupted in jeers, as is becoming customary Keith Scott Zimmerman walked out to the dulcet tones of Soundgarden's "My Wave", microphone in hand, and slight sneer on his face. He got face-to-face with the ACW newcomer.

"Hey, Rud. Keith here."

You know you've made it as a main-event heel when people boo two innocuous sentences like THOSE. Ye gods. This was certainly a competitor Rud Albion wasn’t expecting.

"You're searching for honor? In WRESTLING?! In ACW!? The last I checked, the last so-called Revolution ate itself from the inside out a few short weeks ago. And this is still a wrestling company, meaning there are charlatans, fearmongers, egotists like myself, schemers, evildoers, prostitutes, and double-crossers.

There is also a downside." Keith laughed heartily. He was the only one in the arena. "Hunter S. Thompson?! Oh, sweet Jesus. I need to get back to America where my pop-culture references are at least somewhat known."

The crowd erupted in a fresh round of jeers full of English pride. Keith rolled his eyes and made the international hand gesture for get-on-with-it, then decided to barrel through the noise: “Rud, let it be known, I don't dislike you, I don't like you, I NOTHING YOU. Mkay? I've held gold in four different organizations. I've wrestled along Hall of Famers and retired the same. I've beaten ACW's best in my backyards so now I've come to do it here. And, oh, yes, by the way--fWo WORLD Heavyweight Championship holder thanks ever so much, so all your cutsie-boo England born/England bred/and when I die I'll be England dead accomplishments?"

Keith drew a big circle out in front of him. "That's how much it means to me, and I don't mean the Bay Area's own Andy Blox on that one. I'm the litmus test, I'm the future ACW World Heavyweight Champ, and if you want to get taken seriously around here, you need look no further than stepping in the ring with me. Oh, it's not like you'll win--but if you last 2 minutes, maybe you've got a future in the Zimmerman Era of ACW after all."

The man's hubris truly knows no bounds.

"So, whaddya say, Gold Lion?"

“I’ll give you more then two minutes, Keith. I’ll give you all that you can take, followed by three seconds of your shoulders on the mat.”

Keith had hubris, yes. Rud Albion? He had courage.

As Courage went elsewhere, however, the ACW faithful would have to wait and see if he could tell the future, though.

Apology... I doubt it

   

Vince Jacobs strolled down the hall still wearing his custom clothes and not his ring attire. After the debacle last week with Keller and the Midnight Cowboy, Jacobs was not really planning to wrestle. But he did have something else on his mind and he needed to find one Jesse Ramey to clear the air. Jacobs walked down and say a big locker room full of some of the newer wrestlers and some from the Academy. Vince walked into the room and saw Ramey sitting on the bench. Vince looked at Ulf German, Orlando Grant and Rory Hayes and sneered.

“Can you guys give me and Jesse a minute?” Jacobs said in a calm voice.

Jesse looked up at Jacobs and stood to his feet. Rory however did move. He looked at Vince for a second and smiled.

“What makes you think your pompous ass can come down here and kick us out of our own locker room?” Rory said

Jacobs smirked at Rory. “Well it can work two ways. I asked nicely like I just did or you could be sucking food for the rest of your life through a straw. Don’t be foolish Rory; you have a few good years left in your wrestling career. Don’t become a footnote in a Vince Jacobs autobiography.”

Ulf and OG grabbed Rory as he continued to seethe while Jacobs continued to grin. They all walked out of the locker room as Jesse looked at Vince. “You do have a way with people.”

“I can’t help it, it’s a gift.” Jacobs said with a grin. “But I came in here to discuss what happened last week between you and I outside of HAWK’s office.”

Jesse continued to look on trying to figure out where Vince was going with this.

“Last week some things were said that should not have been said in the heat of the moment. So basically what I figured was that an apology was in order for that situation.” Jacobs said.

Jesse nodded in agreement. “I believe you are right, so are you going to apologize to me, Hawk, Alias, and Kain.”

Vince had a confused look on his face. “I didn’t say I was going to apologize. I think you owe me an apology for basically eavesdropping on my conversation. See where I was raised manners account for something. You my friend obviously don’t seem to have any. Didn’t your mother ever tell you it was not polite to listen in other people’s conversations?”

Ramey shook his head. “You know this doesn’t surprise me. Why would I even think that someone like you with the ego the size of California would apologize for anything he’s ever done? You’ve basically made your career off the misfortunes of others. But Jesse Ramey is not going to let you walk all over him. I’m trying to reach the top in ACW and I’m not going to let someone like you ruin that for me.”

Jesse stood nose to nose with Vince now. Jacobs cracked a grin. “Who said I was here to impede your progress to the top. I’ve been there and done that. But see there is a glass ceiling in the ACW that will be hard for you to break through. Believe me I know first hand. See this is Alias’s place. The ACW management does any and everything to keep Chris happy. Hence his third World Title reign and first ballot Hall of Fame induction.”

Vince stepped back from Ramey. “Just keep your nose clean kid because you a whole bunch of sharks trying to break through that glass ceiling. But since you feel you don’t need to give me an apology then I will move on.”

Jacobs turned to walk away from Ramey but stopped before leaving the locker room. “Watch your back Ramey, there are a den of wolves in this place like I’ve never seen before.”

“I’ll keep that in mind Vince.” Ramey said as Vince walked out of the locker room door. Vince smirked. “And you will come face to face with the leader of the pack very soon”

Camera faded out as Vince walked down the hall.

An All-Star Tradition

       

In the end we're all just chalk lines on the concrete
Drawn only to be washed away
For the time that I've been given
I am what I am

After the muttered words the crowd was left again to silence. They soon filled the quiet with the beginnings of groans and moans. The noise intensified to outright hatred when Kati came out from the back with a smile on her face and a steel chair in her hand. The audience members left unaware of the proceedings adjusted their attitude to fit what was coming.

Violently she started banging the chair against the stage. The metallic noise unheard by most of the crowd was just a prelude to the frantic drum beats and red lights that followed.

"Devoid" by The Devin Townsend Band started to play and heralded the Spirit of ACW champion, Trevor Wilson.

Wilson came out from the back with his sleeveless PVC trenchcoat. Underneath glimpses of the Spirit of ACW plates could be seen. Kati ceased swinging and joined Wilson in his walk down the ramp. He jumped onto the apron and climbed over the top rope.

While Wilson removed his coat, Kati climbed up the apron and onto the top turnbuckle of the adjacent ring post. She sat there and looked around the crowd as Wilson tossed his coat to Mark Shields. Shields just barely got his hands up to catch the fabric and shot daggers towards Wilson. Begrudgingly, Shields dropped the coat to the floor on the outside so that it could be someone else's problem.

The title came unstrapped and was raised in the air along with Wilson's taped fist in a post-victory fashion that riled the crowd up further. Kati flicked a gesture towards a hand on the outside so that she could get herself a microphone that she passed on to Wilson.

TAP * TAP * TAP

The index finger of the Spirit tapped the top of the microphone and created a nasty bit of static that pissed off the audience.

"Just making sure I have everyone's attention because history is about to be made. I'm sure you've all realized by now that there's nothing I love more than the history of this great company."

Erm, okay. Kati nodded along and seemed to buy it. That made two people agreeing with Wilson.

"There's nothing in this company's history with more intrigue, prestige, and value than the weight I carry on my shoulder. Believe me when I say there's more to this than a pretty visual.

Tonight I bring back a tradition abandoned when the plague Steve Knox first put this title around his waist. No more stipulations per match, no more handicap matches when they suit me, and no more guessing games. Well, maybe a little bit since I just can't help myself. From now on my matches will be contested under the same rules each time. None of them will go longer than twenty minutes. Ever. If you can't beat me by then kiss your chance goodbye."

Kati moved to the ropes and mockingly waved the those in the front row. It was funny sure, but none of them appreciated it. It did make Wilson chuckle a bit, and that's all he could ask of his associate.

"Now twenty minute matches are one thing, but it's certainly not fair if I don't use this title for exactly how it was intended, in my eyes at least. With that in mind, this is the second half of my declaration. After ten minutes I can change the direction of my match in a very significant way. I can either sub someone else in my place for the duration, such as my lovely partner here."

Cue Kati taking a bow.

"Or anyone else of my choosing. If I decide that's not my cup of tea for the night then I'll instead switch things around and give myself no disqualification rules. I can do whatever I want for those remaining ten minutes, and I can do a lot when anything goes. Ask Chris Moliano if you need a second opinion.

There's always the chance I'll just come out and wrestle for twenty minutes, but I'll keep you all guessing on that one. Do me a favor and hold your breath until that happens. While you're doing that I'd like to give a title shot right now to a very earnest young man in the back. You all know him, and he's earned this opportunity with his recent performances."

A portion of the crowd started chanting for Moliano, but Wilson just shook it off. Some expected Keller to make a dash out from the back before Wilson could even reveal a name.

"Malk Al-Haq!"

All right then.

"I, Voyager" by Nevermore played Malk out from the back. He was a little on edge as he looked around the arena checking to see if there was anyone waiting to jump him from behind (again, Keller was a tricky one) but he made his way down to the ring.

"Come on then lad and let's have us an exhibition."

Wilson handed his microphone and title belt to Kati. She took off to the outside and set up her folding chair so she could sit and watch the show. Shields checked to see if Al-Haq was set and it appeared things were good to go.

SPIRIT OF ACW TITLE
Malk Al-Haq vs. Trevor Wilson ©
REFEREE: MARK SHIELDS

   

DING DING DING

The two men raced toward each other and locked up. Malk was used to dominating some of his other opponents but Wilson had height on his side. He used the extra leverage to move Malk into the corner. Unfortunately he missed with an elbow and Malk switched places with Wilson.

A stiff uppercut rocked Wilson and left him open for Malk to leap up and try for a Hurricanrana. Wilson held tight to the top rope and let Malk fall to the mat. He gasped for a breath and watched Wilson come forward for an elbow drop, but he was just able to roll out of the way. He took to safety on the outside of the ring but saw Wilson rolling out to join him.

Al-Haq caught a break with Wilson still nursing his arm from his missed elbow drop. Malk jumped onto the ring apron and then turned around and hit a Crossbody to talk Wilson to the floor. He started throwing stiff punches that finally managed to get a rise out of Shields. He threatened disqualification and also sped up his count.

Sliding into the ring and then back out again Malk sneered and resumed his attack on Wilson. He lifted him onto his feet and whipped him into the security barrier. He jumped onto the barrier himself, narrowly avoided slipping off, and then jumped up to try for a leg drop.

He hit nothing but the rail as Wilson shoved himself away. He grabbed onto Malk and rolled him back into the ring. He lifted Malk up from behind and locked his arm through his legs. Wilson lifted up for a Pumphandle and then turned to face the ropes and hit a Fallaway Slam.

ONE!

Malk raised his shoulder up but then ate a punch. Wilson brought him up onto his feet and wrapped his arms up in a Full Nelson. Al-Haq started struggling immediately but managed to get himself to the ropes. He started to run up the ropes at which point Wilson let go. Malk flipped over and grabbed onto Wilson for a sick neckbreaker. Malk reached forward and pulled Wilson's legs back.

ONE!

TW-Kickout from Wilson.

The champion grabbed onto the ropes and pulled himself up and just narrowly missed a dropkick from Malk. He lifted the challenger up off the mat and put him back into a Full Nelson but this time he only applied the hold long enough to hoist Malk up for a Full Nelson Slam.

Wilson dropped a knee down to Malk's side to soften him up. He wrapped his arms around Malk's stomach and brought him off the mat with a Gut Wrench Suplex. Wilson covered and hooked Malk's leg.

ONE!

TWO!

Kickout from Malk.

Wilson pointed at Kati and she flashed him three fingers. He nodded his head and grabbed onto Malk. He tossed him liberally over the top rope and let him fall to the ringside area. Then he took a few steps back so he was in the center of the ring-

-and bowed.

Boo fucking Boo. The Spirit of ACW just turned around to face the other side of the audience and gave them a bow as well.

Malk fought up to the ring apron but waited until Wilson turned to face another portion of the audience. He grabbed onto the top rope and launched himself across the ring with a Springboard Dropkick that caught the champion by surprise. He brought Wilson up in a front facelock and turned to the corner. He ran forward looking to hit a Shiranui but after he ran the ropes Wilson shoved him away and let Malk collapse onto the mat.

Wilson ran the ropes and came down with a big time leg drop. Atomic style baby. He slammed a fist into Malk's jaw and made another cover.

ONE!

TWO!

Still the Man From Babylon kicked out. Wilson rolled him over and applied a Rear Chinlock. He kept his feet planted just right and wrenched back on the hold until it looked like Malk might tap.

Instead of a tap out or a submission victory the audience saw Kati wave to Wilson. The Apex Predator released the hold and stood up. He called Shields over and spoke a few words with the referee. He slapped Shields on the back and climbed over the ropes.

He wasn't looking for a weapon, and he wasn't taking off. He was instead joining Kati who offered her seat to the champion, as well as the title belt.

"Dirty Window" by Metallica.

The King Shit of Fuck Mountain came out from the back looking fired up and pissed off, but there was definitely a difference between the two in this one instance.

Wilson clapped lightly as his apparent proxy for the duration of the match came out to fill in for the champion. Kati adjusted the title belt on Wilson's shoulder and turned her attention to the ring.

Keller slid into the ring and took a punch from Malk but shrugged it off and drove his forehead into Malk's. A palm thrust from Keller staggered Malk enough to get locked up.

PainKILLA.

Keller dropped down to make a cover and stared at Wilson as the ref counted-

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

The bell rang and "Devoid" by The Devin Townsend Band started to play. Wilson stood up, collected his trench coat, and walked up the ramp with Kati. Keller watched from the ring and spat off to the side looking completely unsatisfied with the victory.

"Please cut my music."

Wilson waited until the sound died down and then turned to face Keller.

"You did very well tonight my friend, and so I feel obligated to live up to my end of the bargain. You've got yourself a shot at my title partner. Just go ahead and relax though. You'll get your shot, but you better believe it'll be quite some time before I let you have it. I'd get used to waiting champ."

Wilson twirled his fingers and his music kicked up again. He smiled, but he didn't get much time to enjoy his proclamation. Keller was through the ropes and on the ground in the blink of an eye, and just like that the chase was on until all three of them disappeared into the back. The only thing that was clearly heard were Keller's obscenities.

C O M M E R C I A L S

POKE HER FACE!

       

"That was pretty awesome there, Your Excellency!"

Mark Shields, the bastard referee of professional wrestling -- and currently somehow employed in ACW -- was literally smitten with the man he was trailing behind. The masked enigma known as Z, who'd already made his presence felt at the top of the show.

And he did so in some fashion, some would argue. Mark Shields had a big part to play in all of that, and for some reason, the bastard referee continued to hang around Z despite the dirty deed already having been settled.

"Simmer down, Shields. You're five minutes away from being a right ol' biscuit whore." Z remarked, the back of his trenchcoat flapping in the wind behind him. "Besides, I've paid you good money to do things for me.

I didn't pay you to get a stiffly stifferson in your pants and follow me around like a dog all day.

I also didn't pay you to call me Your Excellency."

Z stopped in his tracks and turned around, hands clasped together and lips pursed tightly. The glare in his eyes was enough to halt Shields and even make him stumble back a bit.

Lowering his head, the enthusiasm from Mark Shields evaporated. "I-I'm sorry."

"You bet you are." Z fired back instantly. "What do you call me?"

Shields cleared his throat, wanting to get it just right. Z just stood there, waiting for the music to his ears.

"Your Almighty Excellency is what I call you, Your Almighty Excellency!" Shields spoke after a few seconds. With his head still lowered, the bastard referee simply shifted his glance upwards to see if Z was pleased.

For a few seconds there, the masked enigma scared Mark with the continued stoic pose. Eventually, though, the smirk came... along with the nod of the head. Shields could breathe easy, and that's exactly what he did.

Turning around, Z took all of three steps before yet another unforeseen interruption. No, it was not Mark Shields this time 'round. It was somebody else.

An actual wrestler. Three words.

... No, not Keith Scott Zimmerman.

... And no, not Jon Bon Jovi. He isn't even a wrestler.

SHAWN JESSICA HART, natch. The 2009 winner of ACW's END GAME extravaganza, and generally one of the industry's up-and-comers.

Well, it appeared to be SJH anyway. For inexplicable reasons, he was decked out in lacy negligee and a strange, feathered mask. It was no wonder that Z was stopped in his tracks upon encountering the sight.

"I poke 'er face, I poke 'er-I POKE HER FACE!" crooned the Phenom, but Z did not respond. Undaunted, SJH lifted his mask and spoke.

"Heh, YO! It's me, SJH... numbah ONE contender to the company's most coveted title? But right now... you can refer to me as-"

He placed the mask over his eyes once again.

"LORD GAGA!"

Hart proceeded to laugh like a baboon of some kind.

"I figured, you being the resident mask-wearing crazy, that you'd be the guy to run my new persona by. So what'chu think?"

Nothing...

"Um....and how 'bout the song? It's like.. an UBER-CLEVER euphemism for yooou-know-what!"

Again, nothing...

"Or maybe you don't know..."

Hart scratched his chin pensively, "Do you?!"

Z, the smirk now wiped off his face, crossed his arms and extended his right leg forward while arching his back. He was sizing Shawn Jessica Hart up, but there was a distinct look in his eyes.

One that screamed that he did not value this interruption and in fact wondered just what in the blue hell possessed the man standing in front of him to say what he said.

"Puh... well if you want to be in the music video, you're gonna have to bring more to the table than this. The PHENOM has left the building!"

As quickly as he had come, Hart was now gone; humming and hop-skipping down the hallway. Z and his hired zebra, Shields, had pulled one over on us all once again, but the the very visage of SJH in full GaGa attire would no doubt haunt their dreams forever.

Mark Shields, for one, had his mouth hanging wide open. A hive of bees could fly in there any moment, but the sight of SJH dressed in that ridiculous get-up shocked the bastard referee to the core of his mostly-dead soul.

It was a shame Shields didn't have his whiskey with him. "Jesus f**king CHRIST. T-That was... f**k, the strangest f**king thing I've ever f**king seen!"

"Stop cursing like a 12-year old." Z finally spoke, the look of annoyance still etched in his haunting eyes. "I don't like that guy a single bit. I've a feeling he could be a terrorist of some sort. Thumbs way down, but nevertheless, we have more important things to do.

Come on, Shields. We have a letter to deliver."

Uncrossing his arms, Z put his hands into the side-pockets of his pants and resumed walking down the hallway. This time, with a little caution in his step lest he run into something equally as horrific as SJH dressed up in GAGA gear. Mark Shields was still dumbfounded and rooted to the spot, trying to find a way to expel the awful scene that was now replaying in his head non-stop.

Then, of course, he blinked and saw Z all the way at the end of the hall. That wasn't good.

"Shit. I'm coming, Your Almighty Excellency!"

What's this business about a letter having to be delivered, then? Stay tuned.

Homecoming

   

“Cocky” by Kid Rock.

The Bournemouth crowd rose to their feet at the sound of the music that could only mean that the former Spirit of ACW Champion was about to hit the ring. Christopher Antonio Moliano - born in 1986 to an English Mother and Italian Father in the seaside town of Bournemouth, England.

Out from behind the curtain stepped Moliano himself, stopping to take in the roar of his hometown crowd from atop the rampway.

MOL-I-A-NO!!! MOL-I-A-NO!!!

Moliano was dressed in jeans and an expensive looking designer shirt, features as chiseled and smile as bright as ever. What could not go unnoticed however was the neck brace around his neck, a clear result of the beating he took from Trevor Wilson on last week’s Courage.

Moliano gestured to the back and out stepped his partner and ACW referee Paige Allen with her flowing red hair down. She took her place at Chris’ side and the two walked to the ring together, Chris extended his hand and high-fiving some of the fans at ringside.

Moliano sat on the rope to allow Paige to enter the ring, before carefully stepping inside himself. Paige stood by the turnbuckle in the corner as Chris saluted the crowd and posed much to their delight.

He grabbed a microphone as his music faded out and he bellowed out a greeting to his adoring crowd.

“Let me tell you first and foremost that I’ve been away for far too long, and it’s good to be back home, right here in Bournemouth!”

The cheap pop for the homecoming Moliano was huge, as Chris smiled a toothy grin and nodded his head in approval.

“Wow. Paige and I have been walking around town all day and having a great time, but stepping out here in this arena in front of you guys and hearing that reaction is what it is all about. You are the reason I came home. So thank you!”

Another huge reaction from the crowd who were audibly delighted to see Moliano.

“Obviously each and every one of you people knows that Chris Moliano would love nothing more than to come out here tonight and put on a wrestling clinic the likes of which has never been seen before, featuring a very special kind of my patented Moliano Magic!”

Another cheer as Chris delights in working the crowd, and Paige looks on admirably from the corner of the ring.

“However…on this occasion that won’t be possible.”

The cheers turn to the audible sound of disappointment as Chris points to his neck brace and the smile vanquishes from his face immediately.

“After the events that transpired in this ACW ring last week, truth is I’m fortunate to even be standing here at all. Last time you saw me I was laid out in the centre of the ring with Paige in tears at my side. Or perhaps if you were at the arena you saw the paramedics hoist me into an ambulance and off to the local hospital. All because of last week…all because of one man.”

The crowd booed at the reference to the current Spirit of ACW Champion.

“Last week Trevor Wilson nearly took my damn head off with a steel chair. Last week Trevor Wilson left me lying motionless on the mat and forced Paige to count the three. The doctors told me how lucky I was that the injury wasn’t even more severe, my friends have been texting me…and my fans…”

Moliano paused as his hometown crowd cheered.

“…my fans have been sending me messages of support. I’ve heard all the talk about how I’m hell-bent on revenge; I’ve heard people talking backstage and wondering what I’m going to do when I get my hands on Trevor Wilson, and I’m out here right now to answer those questions.”

Moliano hesitated as a “MOL-I-A-NO” chant made its way around the Bournemouth International Centre.

“You see the fact of the matter is…I want nothing to do with the sadistic son of a bitch. I don’t want any part of Trevor Wilson.”

The fans cheers died down as Chris exchanged glances with Paige Allen, who stood closer to Chris and put her arm around him in support. Chris smiled at her before continuing.

“Unlike everyone who has been talking I know exactly how it felt to be on the receiving end of an enraged Trevor Wilson attack, and I’m wearing the neck brace to prove it. I looked up and saw the crazed expression in his eyes looking down on me, and I know for sure that he would not even have blinked had he ended my career last week. Chris Moliano is a proud man, but unlike Wilson I have my limits. Sometimes in life you have to know when it’s best for yourself, and for those that are closest to you to just step aside. I stand in this ring as a professional wrestler, as a former Spirit of ACW Champion…”

Chris stopped to ponder the memory of holding the title; the crowd still stunned silent by the revelation that he did not want revenge.

“…but I also stand here as a man. A man with goals and aspirations of a long and happy life outside of professional wrestling. I know that Trevor would stop at nothing to hurt me and not show a glimmer of remorse. If that’s the level I have to sink to, if my own wellbeing in years to come is what I have to put at stake in order to get the best of Wilson then I concede that I am not willing to do that. I’ve stood in this ring in front of everybody that’s willing to listen and told you all about what a great wrestler I am, but unlike Trevor Wilson…I’m not a psychopath. My life doesn’t begin and end in this squared circle. Trevor I know you’re back there listening and loving every word of this, so once and for all…you win champ. I don’t want revenge, I don’t want a rematch and you can keep the Spirit of ACW Title. Chris Moliano wants nothing to do with Trevor Wilson.”

A stream of boos sounded around the arena, the fans clearly wanting to see their hero put Wilson in his place. Chris only turned to exit the ring with Paige by his side.

“Oh and Trevor, when all is said and done…I hope it’s worth it. For your own sake.”

Chris waved to the fans, gave his paramour a peck on the cheek (she had a match to officiate in a few moments), and gingerly left the ring through the ropes before walking back down the aisle. Atop the ramp way he finally stopped and acknowledged the support of the Bournemouth crowd, waving once more at them and also at Paige before stepping behind the curtain.

Somewhere backstage, the dastardly Trevor Wilson was smiling.

SINGLES MATCH
Rud Albion vs. Keith Scott Zimmerman
REFEREE: PAIGE ALLEN

The Bronze Lion...

The Brummie Bulldog...

The one man Revolution... only had to worry about one other man, at the moment.

England's Own shifted on the inside of the black curtain, his muscles flexed under the spandex suit he wore, as the hooded robe kept him sweating. Rud caught a glimpse out within a space in the curtain, past the Tron and out into the crowd and towards the ring. Chris Moliano walked right past him, and shot Rud an acknowledging nod. Albion nodded back, but he kept his focus on the task at hand. His debut match, here in ACW.

He breathed for the grand competition of these walls. And as he pounded his gloved hands together, the first few chords of his music hit the sound system.

"Wolf Like Me", from TV on the Radio.

As it reached a peak and then hit the crescendo, Rud stepped out to greet the crowd. His head was lowered under his hood, and the lights where dimmed. The crowd gave quite a nice reaction, though it wasn't the biggest of the night so far, they still knew this man, knew what he was capable of in that ring.

BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM.

As the song kicked into high gear, Rud flung back his hood and roared upward, his arms at his sides and his fists clenched as his robe fell to the stage. Blue sparks rained from the ceiling as red and white pyros crossed in front of the ACWTron. The Kingdom's Keeper knelt down, for a moment, flash bursts and flood lights bursting alongside the entrance, just as The Bronze Lion burst forward himself.

"The following match is scheduled for one fall--"

He dove and rolled into the ring, popping up to his feet. As the fans gave him a nice applause, he applauded back to them at all four sides, before turning to the entrance way.

Now he could only wait. He was ready, once again.

Albion smiled. Sadly, it would be the last time he'd do that tonight.

Guitar, hard as shit classic grunge.

It played for a few seconds, and then Chris Cornell's voice broke the darkened arena.

"YEAH!"

Soundgarden's "My Wave" seemed to turn up to 11 and a couple of pyro rockets flew from under the ramp towards the top of the arena before exploding. Purple light fell from the ceiling in a shower effect, and the man himself parted the curtain and sneered at the jeering audience.

Keith Scott Zimmerman was here.

Cracking his knuckles as he stomped down the ramp, Zimmerman shook his head towards the unwashed masses and clomped up the steps before entering the ring and stepping up to the second rope, arms folded as he stood there and absorbed all the heat that he could. Tiring of the pose, he whipped off his

Obama Used Text To Send $30 Million To Haiti
Bush Is STILL Trying To Find New Orleans

shirt and threw it to a ring attendant before jumping down to test the ropes and chuckle disparagingly at Rud Albion.

THIS idiot.

He was nothing to the Only Wrestler That Matters. The bell rang at ringside, and the American and Brit moved counter-clockwise around the ring before Zimmerman extended his hand for a collar-and-elbow tieup. Traditional style. Rud's arms extended and ZImmerman immediately drove the wind out of his lungs with a crisp knee to the breadbasket. KSZ then drove a short forearm right to the temple of the skull of Albion, and Rud staggered away. Latching onto his arm, Keith whipped Albion to the ropes and dropped down to backdrop him; the Bronze Lion saw it coming and kicked Keith upwards, sending the former Squared Circleite sprawling. Rud ran into the ropes before barrelling Keith over with a hard European uppercut, drawing the cheers of the live audience and no doubt those watching along at home.

Albion followed a stunned Zimmer into the corner, where he lit into Keith with another pair of European uppercuts before whipping KSZ into the corner on the opposite side. Rud gave Keith a run, but wheezed after he hit an empty turnbuckle with KSZ dodging out to the apron between the ropes. He reached forward and guillotined Albion, draping his neck hard against the top rope. Rud staggered away and Keith gave a smug look to his opponent's countrymen as he stood on the apron. As Albion tried to recover, Keith springboarded up to the top rope--

"OOH!"

And give Albion an A+ in Playing Possum, as he rushed the ropes and undercut KSZ's balance. The Berkeleyite landed crotchfirst on the top rope, fell to the apron, and then to the floor as Albion looked down on Zimmerman and looked out to the cheering crowd. He absorbed the moment, ran for the ropes, then came after Keith with all 223 pounds of his might--

"OH!"

DEAD YAMPY! The tope suicida connected and the crowd roared as Rud was to his feet first, fist solidly in the air. He had the support, he had Keith by the scruff of the neck, and when he rolled his prey and himself in, he had the first cover of the match. Only 2, though. He scooped up Keith, unfazed by the nearfall, and slammed him down. Albion quickly moved to bounce off of the ropes and laid into Keith with a fistdrop. Zimmerman's body convulsed and Albion laid on him with a lateral press; when he went to hook the leg at 2, Keith used that moment to kick out.

Another European uppercut. Keith was thinking this was an exceptionally long two minutes, probably because it was closer to five. Another European uppercut sent Keith unsteadily staggering back, looking for a neutral corner. Albion moved in for the kill, and Keith immediately hooked him by the tights and pulled him face-first into the turnbuckles, the crowd UGHing along as Rud's face impacted. It was a moment of concern as ZImmerman looked up at Albion from a knee. Rud turned.

Let's expand on that moment of concern.

HIT MY MUSIC!

The crowd gasped as KSZ, for lack of a better term, merked him out of goddam nowhere and the impact sent Albion between middle and top rope to the apron. That fast, Keith had the momentum in his grubby little paws. Albion was trying to stagger his way back into the ring, and Zimmerman decided to help him along with a hair-pull. While referee Paige Allen admonished him, Keith quickly transitioned to a front facelock as Albion's legs draped over the middle rope. Firmly in control, the self-appointed #1 contender gave a disparging y'all-should've-known-better shake of the head out at the angry masses, before dumping Albion with the suspended DDT.

Zimmerman dusted off his hands and used the ropes to pull himself up until he was sitting on the top rope looking at a recovering Rud Albion. The crowd began to jeer. So Keith being Keith, he yelled out "You can do better than THAT!" and waved his arms to get them to jeer louder. They did, and he smirked. Then missile dropkick time.

NOT!

POWERBOMB!

The staggered Albion had put his entire being into picking Keith off at the pass and countering, and both men were down. They were in a state of disorientation for about eight seconds, and Rud went to try to cover only to find Zimmerman coming to his feet as well. Albion ran forward and drilled Keith with a clothesline. As Zimmer got back to his feet, Rud took him off of them with a sweet dropkick. Both men up again, and this time England's Own--would find himself thwarted by a thumb to the eye. As the crowd booed and Zimmerman inexplicably protested his innocence to the referee, Keith grabbed Rud to whip him into the ropes.

Reversed.

BOOM! Straightjacket neckbreaker as Rud used Keith's arm against him jujitsu style to ferment his own offense, and the man got to his feet. "C'MON ENGLAND!" Exhausted, Keith reached for the ropes, and Albion ran up to waistlock Keith from behind, but with a final surge of effort, Keith got his body between the ropes. The referee pleaded with Rud to break the waistlock, then tried to check on Keith to inform him of the count on Rud.

To the surprise of...well, somebody...Keith used that moment to mule kick Albion, and he went down in a heap. The crowd groaned and booed, and Keith decided to take this opportunity to go for the W and get the fuck away from this guy he'd underrated going in. He cinched Rud up by the arms, turned his opponent's body north/south, and nailed THE BEST DOUBLE-UNDERHOOK BRAINBUSTER IN THE BUSINESS!

Albion was so staggered off the impact that he ended up literally sitting in the ring without a chair, and Keith would quickly summon strength to run the ropes and hit a split-second coup de gras after he came off SLIDING MURDERDEATHKEITH!

Pfft.

You might as well pay Grandma for the rubdown after that.

One.

Two.

Three.

Soundgarden came back on, and Zimmerman smiled a broad smile of relief. So far undefeated in ACW, his quest for the World Championship would roll onwards. As he rolled from the ring, Rud Albion could only begin to get his bearings about himself...

..and wonder what could've been.

Preparations.

Here we were, backstage, just a few minutes before THE Original Ego would make his in-ring debut here in the ACW. The average wrestler would be nervous with sweat pounding from of his pours, butterflies swarming around in his stomach, and possibly vomit swirling around in the toilet…but not Mr. Original, not Brandon Thomas. In fact, Brandon already knew what the outcome would be…

Him hitting THE Original Super Kick and pinning the random for the win.

The outcome of the match would be considered predictable, but what was to come after the match would be original indeed.

Brandon paced around in his private kingdom, already suited up for his match which was about to take place a few moments from now. And then came three knocks on the door.

KNOCK!

KNOCK!

KNOCK!

Brandon smirked assuming everything was setup into position. “Come in.” he said.

The door slowly squeaked open. Two gorgeous women entered the room with sparkling blonde hair and bright pink tank tops with short pink skirts and of course, a little ass cheek to go along with the attire as well as a whole lotta cleavage. Something every fan loves to see in the wrestling business and BT thought the ACW needed more ass and cleavage and he delivered that for us tonight.

But that wasn’t the only reason these two young, sizzling hot, bone-a-rific ladies were here for tonight.

Tonight, they were here to help BT make history.

And so they would.

“Everything is in order big pappa, when you give us the signal, we’ll be ready to grab that monkie.” said the taller blonde with her big luscious breast about to burst through her pink tank top.

“Okay…you girls remember the signal right?” he had to ask, BT wanted everything to go as planned and timing was critical. Even though these two lovely ladies were smoking hot, they were still two dumbass blondes.

“Uh…well…”

And of course they did forget.

“Okay…okay…I will grab my huge grapefruits and you two girls go get him, okay?

The two ladies nodded in reply, but not before they grew warm and hot as the thought of Brandon Thomas touching himself was exhilarating.

Even the lady fans in attendance felt a warm rush flow through there veins and downward toward their hot…wet…privates.

They grew so anxious, they began to chant his name.

BRANDON!

BRANDON!

BRANDON!

“I believe its time ladies…I believe its time.”

SINGLES MATCH
'The Original Ego' Brandon Thomas vs. JP Boudreau
REFEREE: HENRY IRWONSEN

   

JP Boudbreau was standing in the ring awaiting the arrival of BT and as he danced around the ring and then, that’s when it happened.

BooM!

BooM!

BooM!

BooM!

‘Down’ by Stone Temple Pilots.

He was THE Original EGO, he was Brandon Thomas.

And once again he would push the curtain aside and step into the limelight. He stood there, in front of thousands, of what he considered to be monkies and soaked in the jeers exhaled by mainly the men which only made him eager to extend that middle finger. Most of you already knew, BT loved to be hated…it motivated him and swelled his ego more and more. These monkies would never be able to compare their lives to his because THE Original EGO was a God in his own image. He had already accomplished so much in his young career and still believed he was destined for much, much more.

And so it begun…

Brandon lifted his arms and began to flex as if he were Hulk Hogan himself. The louder they jeered, the bigger his muscles grew. Once his Hulk Hogan impression was finished, BT strutted like a king down the ramp and extended his middle finger to a variety of men seated ringside.

BT walked up the steps and stepped between the ropes. Now standing center stage, Brandon lifted his arms as he bathed underneath the spotlight for the moment, awaiting the big explosions.

BooM!

BooM!

BooM!

More gold pyro exploded at the peak of the turnbuckles and now it was time to show these monkies how great he really was.

JP stood in one corner.
BT stood across from him with his trademark smirk stretched across his face.

And finally, the bell sounded.

DING! DING!

Both men met center stage. JP extended his hand to show his gratitude towards The Original Ego and what he had done as a professional wrestler. However, BT was going to use this opportunity and take the advantage because he was a winner.

BT grabbed the arm in attempt to throw him into the ropes, but JP was expecting such maneuvers from THE Original Ego as he reversed the move and whipped him into the ropes. Brandon bounced off and dove at JP with his shoulder. JP hit the mat as did Brandon and the fans began to jeer as BT stood up and smiled.

He shook his head from side to side, “I’m too good.” he said.

Brandon picked up JP by his hair, slapping him lightly across the face to get eye contact. Once eye contact was made Brandon threw his arm over his shoulder and lifted him into the high into air, holding him for nearly five seconds before slamming him with the Superstar Plex and immediately, BT went for the quick one, two, three but JP immediately kicked out.

But Brandon was an expert in the ring, while he had the momentum Brandon struck JP with closed fist to the face.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

Eight.

Nine.

Ten.

The referee in charge, Henry Irwonsen counted to ten as did the fans, but Brandon did not stop. He continued lashing out at JP with closed fist and Henry was forced to take action. He reached under Brandon’s arms from behind and with all his might, he pulled BT off of JP and Henry tumbled to the mat.

Brandon stood to his feet and glared down at the referee, “One more time and I’ll smack YOUR monkie ass around!”

The short interaction between THE Original Ego and the referee was just enough time for JP to recover. Soon as BT turned around, JP delivered a stout kick to the midsection causing BT to double over in pain. The fans cheered, encouraging JP to continued the assault and so he did…JP latched on to the neck and fell backwards with a stiff DDT.

And the fans chants became louder.

Brandon rolled over holding his head, trying to shrug off the pain, but the pain continued to throb. JP stomped on BT’s face with the heel of his boot before bouncing off the rope and driving his fist into Brandon’s head.

JP jumped up and motioned the fans to stand up and cheer as the egoistic bastard laid on the mad clinching his head in pain. The momentum had changed and JP felt as if he was on the verge of a victory. And it certainly looked that way as JP latched onto Brandon’s legs and rolled him over. The Texas Clover Leaf had been applied and BT screamed out in pain.

The arena was the loudest it had been all night.

Everyone was awaiting the tapout, but whether you wanted to believe it or not, Brandon Thomas had heart.

Brandon opened his eyes and looked around the ring looking to see if it was possible to reach the bottom rope. He mustered up the strength and began crawling towards the bottom rope.

The cheers got louder, encouraging JP to hold the move.

But Brandon’s heart and strength would not allow it.

BT reached out with all his might and wrapped his arm around the bottom rope. JP’s hopes of finishing the match quickly were over and he was forced to release the move by the referee.

JP immediately reached down trying to continue his assault, but Brandon delivered a cheap low blow that had JP coughing on his knees. Using the ropes to get back to his feet, Brandon took a deep breath. With a pounding headache, he grabbed JP by the neck and lifted him to his feet.

“You’re not shit monkie! I own you!”

And then…

SMACK!

THE Original Bitch-Slap, which was a hard stinging slap to the face that spun JP around. Brandon grabbed him and delivered another trademark move. The reversed Russian leg sweep, otherwise known as the Ego Stroke and that would just about do it.

BT jumped up off the mat and situated JP near the turnbuckle. Before climbing the turnbuckle he looked towards the entryway and grabbed his grapefruits. It was just about time for the surprise and as the two blondes made their way to the ring, BT would finish the match with The Original Flying Elbow.

Brandon climbed the turnbuckle, stopping midway, and extended his middle finger.

“Fuck you monkies!” he shouted.

And then, it was all over. Brandon jumped high into the air just like Randy Savage 20 years ago, but Brandon Thomas made it look much, much better.

The Original Elbow was a success and Brandon went for the cover.

One!

Two!

Three!

And just like that, it was over.

Ballz Dropping AWSOME!

Brandon had both hands in the air, smiling, and nodding his head as he walked around the ring gazing amongst the fans. Once again, BT was victories, and now it was time for a little fun.

Brandon walked over and motioned for his microphone. One of the staff members at ringside carried a small gold box with a platinum latch on the box. BT snatched it . Opening it, he retrieved a gold microphone. On this gold microphone was inscribed, ‘Property of BT.’ It was just one of many trademarks THE Original Ego possessed.

“Now if you would, please turn off the lights.”

And as he requested, the arena went black. The fans began to chatter as seconds passed. The crowd was anxious, because they had absolutely no idea of what to expect. Honestly, no one had a clue…the fans, the staff, the superstars…everyone was clueless.

“Now turn the lights back on…” BT said.

‘Look at the ballz on the monkey!’ one woman said seated on the first row.

And the lady wasn’t fibbing. Standing center-stage was a four foot monkey with huge…sagging ballz. One camera zoomed in on the huge ballz, amazed just as many others were. They were so fucking big and everyone was so amazed, the staff posted a picture up on the jumbo tron.

It was just amazing how big these ballz really were.

“You’re looking at history. This monkie is in the record books for having the biggest monkie ballz EVER! Really…he is and now you get to watch this monkie make history yet again. Oh yes! Buddy Lee has a very special surprise for JP here so ladies if you don’t mind…give Buddy a hand.” BT paused for a moment as the monkey got into position, “Oh and JP don’t take this personal, its for the ACW and the fans. You’re gonna boost the ratings son.”

Buddy Lee stood over JP with his huge ballz and began bouncing up and down on his face. The big ballz slapped his face just as they would when doing it doggy style.

Fast and hard…

“JP…you’ve just been tea bagged by Buddy Lee…and that’s just Ballz dropping AWESOME!”

Brandon laughed again and again as did most of the fans. The first monkey to teabag someone on national television, not the type of history everyone was expecting but then again what was everyone expecting…I mean its Brandon Thomas you never know what to expect and you can bet your monkie ass there a lot more fantastic surprises in store for the ACW.

C O M M E R C I A L S

A work of art.

   

"Hey, what the hell is this?!"

That was the man known as 'Superstar' Vince Jacobs. An industry legend and a very familiar name to ACW fans young and old. Looking a little bit frustrated with the crumpled-up piece of paper in his hands, Vince Jacobs marched down the hallway and towards the source of his consternation.

This would be bastard referee Mark Shields. Who was smoking? "Heh, what do you think it is? Follow me, you cranky old douche."

Mark Shields, who'd been leaning against the wall and happily smoking away obviously waiting for Vince Jacobs, started down the hallway. By the time Vince caught up with Shields, there was a fair amount of forceful grabbing from the former multiple time World Champion. He was obviously not in the greatest of mood, judging by the massive scowl on his face.

"Listen here, f**kface." Jacobs began as he spun Shields around to face him directly by way of grabbing the referee's shirt collar and yanking it sideways. "I'm what people call a Wrestling God. I'm god-damn VINCE JACOBS. Without me, ACW would not be what it is today.

Hell, I'm one of the most marketable superstars in the industry today.

Do you really f**king think I'm going to just follow a worthless nobody like you to wherever the hell you want to take me, just because you wrote it down oh-so-nicely on this piece of paper? Tell me what the f**k is this all about!"

Mark Shields blinked, before he took another drag of his cigarette. Wisely, he did not blow the smoke back into Vince Jacobs face. Shields had a reputation for being fairly ballsy, but even he was not stupid to try and further antagonize Vince Jacobs.

"Okay, okay. I'll spill!" Shields remarked, which made Vince Jacobs let go of his collar. The former ACW World Champion folded his arms across his chest, clearly waiting for Mark Shields' explanation.

And for some reason, the bastard referee was grinning. "That new guy, Z? He came up to me right before the show started. Offered me a fair bit of money to do some things for him tonight. One of them was to get you to see him. I asked him why, and he said he had something to give to you. I guess if you don't like what you see, you can just kick his ass or something. I'm just in it for the money, man."

Vince Jacobs' right eyebrow arched upwards just a tiny bit. A wave of confusion swept across his face, and Mark Shields simply shrugged in response before continuing to suck on his nicotine stick.

Thinking for a bit, Vince Jacobs finally reached a decision. "Oh, fine. Let's see what this jackass has to give me. Lead the f**king way."

Mark Shields chuckled as he took one last drag of his cigarette and threw it on the ground, putting it out by crushing the cigarette with the heel of his boot. Vince Jacobs was not in the mood for waiting around, evident by him shoving Shields in the shoulder. The bastard referee put up his hands in surrender, and started to walk down the hallway with Vince close behind.

Jacobs must have already made up his mind to whoop some ass, as he started to crack his knuckles. He didn't like these sort of games. He came back to ACW for one thing and one thing only; that Hall of Fame induction.

Thus far, things weren't going too well. And he'd be damned if some guy looking like a comic-book character was going to waste his precious time.

Within seconds, Shields had reached Z's locker-room. Without even knocking, Shields opened the door and motioned for Vince Jacobs to go inside while holding the door.

"Go on, then. He's inside!" Shields remarked, using his chin to direct Vince Jacobs.

It took the former ACW World Champion all of two seconds before he stormed into the room. "Okay, then. What the f**k is the meaning of this?"

"Welcome, Vince!" Z, sitting in a chair with his hands on the arms of said chair, leaned back just a little bit and grinned widely. "Keep your pants on; I don't want to take up much of your time.

Mark, leave the door open and get in here. I want you to take out Vince's present from my bag over in the corner there."

Mark Shields, with a nod of acknowledgement, quickly scurried into the room after propping the door open with a nearby stopper. The bastard referee quickly retrieved what looked like an envelope from inside Z's bag and handed it to the masked enigma. All the while, Vince Jacobs had his hands on his hips and his right foot tapping away impatiently against the carpeted floor.

Unless you might not have gathered, Vince Jacobs really didn't like to wait around much. "This had better not be you giving me a letter saying I'm your daddy or whatever. No kid of mine would look as crap as you do in that costume."

"Oh, your tongue's so acid!" Z shot back keeping that knowing smile on his face. "Why don't you open it up and find out for yourself?"

Z handed the envelope over to Vince Jacobs, who quickly snatched it away and examined the envelope with care. The first thing Jacobs noticed was the letter 'Z' embossed on the front of the envelope in red ink. Turning it over, he found that the envelope was sealed with silver tape. Snorting, the former ACW World Champion tore the side open and grabbed the letter from within.

And as Vince Jacobs unfolded the letter to read whatever was on it, Z crossed his right leg over his left. Mark Shields took a step away from Z and Jacobs, his hands behind his back and his head lowered.

Vince's eyes furiously scanned the contents of the letter, and having reached the bottom of the page, his eyes grew larger. In disgust, perhaps. Or maybe it was anger.

"WHAT. THE. F**K?!" Vince growled, very much like a bear.

Yes, it was anger. No doubt about it.

Z quizzically cocked his head sideways, the smile on his face positively radiant now. "Are you f**king kidding me with this?" Vince ranted menacingly, crushing up the letter with his right hand to show just how furious he was.

"Oh, trust me, I'm not!" Z responded almost immediately. "As a matter of fact, Vince, I am deadly serious. And hey, look; your reaction is completely expected. In fact, I'm surprised you haven't hit me yet."

Vince Jacobs balled up his hands into fists and gritted his teeth. "Five seconds from it, asshole!"

Z laughed. Yes, he did.

And Vince Jacobs... did nothing. He just stood there, fists clenched and trembling slightly. But he did not attack Z. He did not take a step forward and punch the masked enigma in the face. It's looked as if Vince really wanted to, but something primal was holding him back. Something related to the letter he just read, obviously.

"If you haven't hit me by now, you're never gonna!" Z stated matter-of-factly, looking all smug. Vince shook his head. "Yeah, yeah. Look at you, having everything figured out.

So now what? I have to bow down to you and do whatever you tell me to do?

That's how it's going to be, right?"

The former ACW World Champion unclenched his fists, much to Mark Shields' surprise. He didn't know what the content of the letter was. The bastard referee was simply paid to assist, and as such, was not privy to the specifics of Z's course of action here.

Z, and only Z alone, knew what was going on. That crafty little bugger.

"Nope. In fact, you don't have to do anything." Z started to explain, after chewing on his thoughts for a moment. "See, this isn't blackmail. It looks like it is, but it's really not. Because all you have to do is to continue what you do. Do what you want to do.

If it means you want to cripple Alias and take the ACW World Championship, go ahead.

If it means you want to out-smirk Keith Scott Zimmerman and show him who's the baddest in the land, go ahead.

If it means you want to kick the ever-living crap out of Shawn Jessica Hart, go ahead. Actually, you should do that. I ran into him earlier, and I really don't like that guy. I think he might be a terrorist.

But ANYWAY. As I said, Vince, this isn't what it appears to be. I just need you to be yourself.

... However, when the time comes, I'll need your support. Your role is not a significant one, but just having you there? I have to say, it'll make me feel sooooo much better. You got it?"

By now, Mark Shields was lost. Vince Jacobs, however, was actually listening intently.

Whatever Z had written in the letter clearly had Vince Jacobs' curiosity peaked. Even if it was at his own expense. "Yeah, I got it. I don't completely buy it, but I got it. Still, what makes you think you of all people can pull it off? Do you know how many people in ACW I've seen try a stunt like that? Success is fleeting, unless you're as good as me."

Even when being seemingly blackmailed in some form or fashion, Vince Jacobs had a way to throw his enormous ego around. But that didn't faze Z a single bit. In fact, the masked enigma nodded his head as he stood up, and came within inches of Vince Jacobs.

Jacobs had an uneasy feeling about the masked man, but decided to fold his arms across his chest again. He didn't want to look as if he was scared or whatever. Mark Shields, on the other hand, appeared worried.

Especially when Z, with all the confidence in the world, uttered those famous-worthy last words.

"Vince. What I'm about to do... will be a work of art."

7-PERSON LADDER MATCH FOR THE ACW SCORPION FIGHTING TITLE
Omega vs. Sharc vs. Kati vs. Rory Hayes vs. El Hombre Sin Nombre
vs. Iceman vs. Landon Stevens ©
REFEREE: TRENT SAVAGE

      
           

As cameras returned to ringside, it focused in on the sight of a title belt suspended above the ring by a cable.

"The following contest will be, oh SHIT!"

The ring announcer ran for his life as he realized Landon Stevens and Omega were getting this ladder match for the Scorpion Fighting Championship started early. Omega was chasing Stevens with a guardrail. These two bitter rivals couldn't even wait for the first sentence of the ring entrances to be completed. Stevens was in the ring first, and used the opening to hit a springboard plancha down onto Omega and the guardrail. With his advantage, Stevens began unloading with quick punches, and then a double stomp down onto the guardrail.

Violently, Omega threw the guardrail off his body and tried to get to his feet. The defending champion thwarted his attempt with a float over DDT on the guardrail.

As Stevens rose to his feet to celebrate, his teeth were greeted by the top of a ladder.

"COCKSUCKER!"

Iceman had just entered the match.

The former Scorpion champion went right on the attack on the man who defeated him for the title. After sliding the ladder into the ring, Iceman planted a boot on Stevens' windpipe. Stevens clawed at the big boot, but to no avail. A few feet away, Omega was stirring, pulling himself up using the edge of the ring. After shaking the cobwebs out, he spun around only to eat a stiff lariat from Iceman. Omega was stunned, but remained standing. This royally pissed off Iceman, so he began pounding on Omega with hard punches.

The reigning champion was back to his feet. He charged toward Omega, quickly snatched him into a headlock, then lifted himself up and wrapped his legs around Iceman's head. Stevens took BOTH MEN OVER on the floor with a headlock/head scissor combo that made the crowd pop.

As Stevens rose to his feet to celebrate, his back was blasted by a chair shot that brought him to his knees.

Swung by Rory Hayes.

Hayes held the chair in the air in celebration of the vile attack. But turning his attention to the crowd, he missed the sight of Omega picking up Iceman on his shoulder and charging toward the Boston Mangler. Using the top of Iceman's skull as a battering ram, Omega smashed Hayes in the face, then spun around and powerslammed Iceman on the floor. Stevens, showing his resilience, pulled himself up and headed to the apron, ready to pounce on his nemesis. Omega, however, caught Stevens in the air and rammed the small of his back into the edge of the ring, a move which had the crowd letting out shouts of disbelief as the ring ropes shook violently from the impact.

Before Omega could continue the assault, somebody was on him, slamming a knee into his lower back and shoving him inside the ring. Omega spun over, trying to see the identity of his attacker, but all he saw was a black boot coming right for his face. Luckily, he was able to block the worst of it with a forearm, but the loud smacking sound of boot meeting flesh echoed throughout the arena. Omega stumbled to his feet and blindly charged, only to be taken down face-first into the ladder!

Courtesy of Sharc.

On the floor, Iceman grabbed hold of Stevens and whipped him toward the guardrail, but Stevens stopped, hopped up on the rail, and moonsaulted back onto Iceman.

*SMACK!*

And with one chair shot, Sharc went down. Hayes had struck again. Omega was trying to push himself back to his feet now, so Hayes wound up, ready to smash his back with the chair. Omega saw it coming, and reached up with his left arm and nut-shotted Hayes.

Spinebuster on the ladder!

Sharc charged, but Omega caught him and lifted him overhead into gorilla press position. After a few seconds, he dropped Sharc down and sent him overhead into a fall away slam onto Hayes.

As he got up, a garbage can was hurled at his face. Naturally, he caught it.

*THUMP!*

That was the sound of a garbage can being dropkicked into Omega's face. Kati had entered the fray.

On the other side of the ring, Sharc rolled Hayes to the floor. That meant the ladder was available, and Kati went right for it, pulling it into position. As quickly as she could, she began to climb toward the championship belt hanging above the ring. Sharc realized this was going on, and was just waiting for the right time. He spun around and sprinted up the opposite side of the ladder, wound up and swung wildly for her head. Luckily, she ducked down, or so she thought. Sharc grabbed a handful of her hair with his left hand, pulled her up violently, and then smashed her face into the top of the ladder. Stunned, she fell backward, right into the waiting hands of Omega.

Meanwhile on the floor, Iceman and Stevens were exchanging punches. This is important. Why?

Because in the ring, Omega spun around, still holding onto Kati, then German suplexed her into the ladder (on which Sharc was watching all this curiously), which knocked the ladder (and Sharc) backwards over the top rope down onto Iceman and Stevens!

Huge pop for that spot from the crowd.

Omega yanked up Kati by the hair, as the crowd on the floor slowly dragged themselves back to their feet. Once they were up, Omega Gorilla pressed Kati over his head and charged toward that side of the ring.

LAUNCH!

Omega took out Sharc, Hayes, Iceman and Stevens on the floor by throwing Kati down on them. Human bowling. Courtesy of ACW's Scorpion Division.

And now Omega was alone with the ladder. After setting it up, he began to climb.

There was one last entrant in this match, however, and he had picked an opportune time to run out. As Omega neared the top, El Hombre Sin Nombre mysteriously appeared on the apron and spring boarded to the top rope. FLYING BURRITO! The forearm knocked Omega from the ladder and he stumbled into the ropes. Nombre grabbed the ladder and just launched it at Omega, resulting in a loud CRACK!

With Omega stunned, Nombre took the opening. With all his might, the brawling luchador lifted Omega onto his shoulders and looked at the crowd of brawlers on the floor below him all back on their feet.

FIREMAN'S CARRY TOSS!

Now Omega just experienced the fun of flying he had just put Kati through moments earlier. The landing wasn't quite as much fun.

Realizing the big opportunity he had now, Nombre looked toward the Scorpion title belt over the ring, and then grabbed the ladder to set it up. Outside, Kati jumped on Iceman's back and locked in a sleeperhold, as Sharc and Stevens snuck away on opposite sides of the ring; Sharc went looking for a table under the ring while Stevens slid into the squared circle to halt Nombre's progress. Omega and Hayes, meanwhile, were engaged in some lethal fisticuffs.

After making sure he was behind Hombre, Sharc set up the first table of the match. On top of the ladder, Hombre and Stevens were trading shots. Stevens connected with a kick to the side of the Hombre's head that gave him the opening he wanted.

RANA!

Nombre held on!

Stevens landed on his feet somehow!

Sharc slid inside and shouted at Stevens to help him as he started to lift the ladder off the mat. Nombre tried to counter, using his own weight, but Stevens knew what had to be done. Together, Sharc and Stevens lifted one side of the ladder up, which meant Nombre only had one way to go.

*CRUNCH!!*

THROUGH THE TABLE ON THE FLOOR!

Sharc and Stevens turned toward each other. After being allies for seconds, they were back to enemies, unloading with punches on each other.

The camera panned back a bit, as it became clear something strange was happening. The steel cage, which was supposed to be used later for the Alias/Trey Vincent World Title match, was LOWERING! The fans all pointed, realizing something was happening. On the floor, everyone was so busy fighting (or sleeping in the shards of a table) that they didn't even realize it was happening. It only took about 20-30 seconds before the cage surrounded Sharc and Stevens.

Who had lowered the cage? And why? Everyone in the crowd wondered what was going on.

Stevens noticed this development, and paused just a moment, giving Sharc the opening he needed to nail him with an elbow shot to the jaw. After a knee to the midsection, Sharc looked to finish off Stevens with a Sharc Cage (a belly to back inverted mat slam). Stevens, however, had a counter: a mule kick to Sharc's jaw. It ended up badly for Stevens as well; however, because as Sharc reached for his aching jaw, he just dropped Stevens from a piledriver-type position straight down so he landed on top of his head, which made many in the crowd gasp at the horrid sight.

The two men lay in the ring as the remaining members of this match started to get to their feet. Kati made it to her feet first as she looked to the ring and saw the cage surrounding it. She went over to the door but it was locked. Kati looked up and started to climb up the side of the cage. Iceman witnessed this as he made his way up the other side of the cage. Stevens and Sharc started to move around as Kati and Iceman had made it to the top of the cage. Each one looked at each other before looking at the Scorpion title hanging in the middle of the ring. Iceman and Kati knew it was too far to jump to the center where the belt dangled. So they both thought of the next best thing and that was two high cross body presses from the top of the cage onto both Stevens and Sharc respectively.

Now the ring was littered with four bodies instead of two with three more on the floor. Iceman made it to his feet and grabbed Stevens by the head. He smacked the champion in the face before shoving him back into the corner. He started to lay the wood into the champion with big rights. The former Scorpion champion raised his arms in the air as he looked around to the fans who continued to jeer him.

F*CK YOU ALL!! COCKSUCKERS!!

Kati made it to her feet as Sharc pulled himself up with the help of the ropes. Sharc stood and turned around as was blindsided by a spinning heel kick from Kati. The feisty female in the Scorpion division wanted to make Trevor Wilson proud as she turned to set her sights on the former champion, Iceman. Kati grabbed Iceman from behind and drove him into the mat with a big time release overhead German suplex. Kati was the one that stood tall in the middle of the ring. Meanwhile on the floor Omega grabbed Rory and drove him into the side of the cage like a lawn dart.

No one in this match could match the awesome power of the man from Asylum Number Three. The big looked around ringside for something else. He found ‘Barb’ and drove it into Rory’s face which busted the tag team specialist open. Omega looked down on the floor with a smile as Hombre started to move through the shards of the broken table. The monster saw the battle in the ring as he walked over to the cage door and started to pull on it. He kept pulling and tugging until finally the chain popped and the door hung off of one of the hinges. The monster just literally ripped the door of the cage off. The fans erupted as Omega walked into the cage and slid ‘Barb’ into the ring.

He reached down under the apron and pulled out a very tall ladder and set up against the cage. Omega turned around to see that Kati had grabbed Barb and was using it in the middle of the ring on all three of the competitors. Kati slammed the chair on the mat as Omega looked distraught. He paced around the ring holding his head before quickly sliding into the ring. He was met with several chair shots from Kati to the back and back of the neck. Omega fought to his feet and pushed Kati away. The feisty female came rushing back toward Omega with the steel chair but was caught with a huge boot to the face.

Kati dropped the chair as Omega reached down to pick it up he was drilled with a boot to the side of his head by the current champion Landon Stevens. Stevens grabbed Omega by the head and drove him to the mat with a neck breaker on top of Barb. Stevens pushed Barb out of the ring as he focused his attention to Iceman who was back to his feet. The former champion went to nail Stevens with a clothesline but the current champion ducked and nailed Iceman with a Sabot kick. Omega rolled to the floor and Sharc followed.

Sharc went right after the big man who earlier attacked him in Trey Vincent’s locker room. The sadistic Sharc had basically met his match with someone that would equal his sadistic Nature in Omega and Sharc didn’t like it. He drove his knee into Omega’s back as the big man went barreling into the steel cage. Sharc drove a few forearm shots into Omega’s head as he face hit the steel each time. Sharc grabbed Omega by the head and started to rake it across the steel gate. Omega wasn’t busted open but he was smiling at the punishment that Sharc was dishing out. This only pissed off Sharc more as he bent down and started to pummel Omega with big right hands.

Landon Stevens finally stood tall in the middle of the ring and he saw Sharc pounding away on Omega so he thought this was his time to grab his belt. Stevens rolled to the floor and slid the large ladder into the ring. Stevens pulled the ladder to the middle of the ring and started to set it up. He didn’t realize that Rory Hayes had made it into the cage. Hayes reached up and grabbed Stevens and pulled him to the mat. Hayes saw his opportunity to climb up the ladder but he didn’t notice Kati climbing to the top rope.

Kati flew off the top rope dropkicking Rory off the ladder. The ladder tipped over to the ropes as the man that everyone forgot about Iceman pushed the ladder back to a standing position. He looked around as he started his ascend to the top to regain his title. He slowly made his way up the ladder which gave El Hombre Sin Nombre time to make it into the ring up the ladder after Iceman. The former champion stopped and tried to kick at Hombre but the masked man just swatted the kick away.

Hombre made his way up the ladder and drove a forearm into Iceman’s back. He grabbed the former champion’s head and drove it into the ladder. Iceman was a little groggy as Hombre picked him up on his shoulders. No idea what the masked man had in mind. He jumped off the ladder driving Iceman into the mat with a devastating Death Valley Driver. The crowd gasped as they looked on to see these six men and one woman battle it out for the right to be called ACW Scorpion Champion. Sharc and Omega still fought on the outside with Sharc getting the better of Omega for the moment.

Sharc made his way into the ring as Omega slowly got to his feet. Sharc surveyed the ring moving the ladder to the far corner before nailing Hombre with a clothesline sending the masked man over the top rope. Sharc looked at Rory and set him up in the corner. He nailed the Boston Mangler with a big forearm shot that rocked him. Sharc started to climb up to the top rope. He hooked Rory and came crashing down to the mat with a big time superplex. The ring shook for a moment as Kati was now on her feet. She saw Omega on the floor as she raced across the ring and darted through the second and top rope. She was looked for a suicide dive on Omega but the unfortunate thing was that Omega moved and Kati crashed into the steel cage.

HO-LY SHIT!!

HO-LY SHIT!!

HO-LY SHIT!!

HO-LY SHIT!!

HO-LY SHIT!!

HO-LY SHIT!!

The crowd enjoyed every minute of this action. They got treated to something special and they loved the action. SlySports didn’t pull the plug on the Scorpion division this week and they got treated to an impromptu match for the Scorpion Title. Stevens was now back to his feet and he picked up Iceman and whipped him into the corner where the ladder was.

OWWWW!!! F******CCCCCKKKKK!!

Omega was trying to get into the ring but the champ saw this and dropkicked Omega in his knees which sent the big man spiraling to the floor. Stevens quickly grabbed Rory and whipped him into the corner with Iceman. Landon raced into the corner clotheslining Rory who fell to the mat. Landon hooked Iceman by the head and drove him to the mat with a running bulldog. The champion stood in the ring as he was now face to face with Sharc again. Both men looked each other up and down before turning around and getting clotheslined by Omega.

The big man grabbed Stevens and drove him to the mat with a DDT. Omega turned his sights on Sharc but before he could anything he was attacked from behind by Hombre Sin Nombre. The two men started to double team the bigger Omega. The both whipped him into the ropes and when he bounced off the ropes they caught him with a double spinebuster. The alliance didn’t last long as Nombre drove a kick to Sharc’s head sending the crazed man to the corner. Nombre looked over to the corner and brought the ladder back into play as he swung it, nailing Sharc and Omega, who both rolled to the floor.

Nombre set the ladder up in the middle of the ring and started his climb. He didn’t notice that Stevens was to his feet. Landon pushed the ladder over and Nombre fell from ladder to the floor on top of Iceman and Rory Hayes who both were on the floor trying to get a breather. Stevens moved the ladder back to the center as he looked up high in the air at his ACW Scorpion Championship. The crowd started to get behind the champ.

LAAAAN-DON!!

LAAAAN-DON!!

LAAAAN-DON!!

LAAAAN-DON!!

LAAAAN-DON!!

LAAAAN-DON!!

LAAAAN-DON!!

The champ smiled as he started to make his way up the ladder one rung at a time. Meanwhile on the floor Sharc and Omega continued to battle but Omega had the upper hand and got his hands on Barb.

WHACKKKKK!!

WHACKKKKK!!

Omega blasted Sharc with two vicious chair shots as now Sharc was busted open. The big man didn’t notice Landon Stevens making his way up the ladder to the gold but someone else did. That someone else was Kati as she slid into the ring with Kendo Stick in hand. Stevens was nearing the halfway point of the ladder but Kati had other ideas as she blasted Stevens in the leg with several shots. Stevens winced in pain but tried to continue. Kati started to climb up the ladder after Stevens nailing him with a Kendo shot each time. A few more shot to the back this time and Stevens finally released his grip of the ladder and let go, crashing to the mat in a heap.

The fans looked on shocked as the lone woman in the match had the opportunity to walk away with the Scorpion title around her waist. Trevor Wilson’s protégé was on the verge of something big. She started her ascend up to the top but was stopped immediately by a huge hand around her throat from the other side of the ladder. It was the monster Omega who had a vice grip around Kati’s throat. Kati tried to fight as Omega continued to choke the life out of her. Kati quickly shoved the Kendo stick through the rungs into Omega midsection which made him loosen the grip.

Kati did it once more as Omega jumped down from the other side of the ladder. He made his way around to the side where Kati was but before he knew it Kati had jumped off the ladder looking for a huricaranna on Omega. However there where two problems with that.

Problem 1: Omega caught her on his shoulders.

Problem 2: Omega violently drove her into the mat with a vicious release power bomb.

Omega went over to the ladder and slowly climbed it. He finally made it all the way to the top and unhooked the belt from the ring. The bell sounded as the fans erupted with a mixed reaction. Omega held the belt high in the air. He had just become the new ACW Scorpion Champion. A sick twisted smile came across his face as Omega now realized he was going to be the hunted and enjoyed every minute he thought about.

C O M M E R C I A L S

Heavy Is The Hart That Wears The Crown

   

Alias could almost feel Trey Vincent's blood on his taped fists, and smell it's copper scent, as he walked towards the Gorilla position. The golden of the ACW World Championship on his shoulder reflected into the camera, as Alias took step after confident step. Tonight he had to deal with a man, hungry for the title which he held PROUDLY, atop ACW. Not just that, though, he had to defend his title and it's honor within the walls of a steel cage. Nothing was going to stop Alias. Not tonight. Well... except for a man that was dressed in what mainly consisted of mirrored, psuedo-discoball chain-mail.

Yes, it was another well timed costume change from... Lord GaGa, more commonly known as Shawn Jessica Hart, PhD.

"Rah-rah, ah-ah-ah-aaaah..."

While Alias stood utterly perplexed before him, SJH sang.

"Roma-roma-ma-maaah..."

The Prime Minister of Gettin' Sinister adjusted his zirconium tiara.

"GAGA, ooh la-laaaaa.... Want your bad romance!"

Upon completing his chorus, Hart giggled and playfully tapped the Original Pulp Hero on the shoulder.

"Whaddaya want?" Alias started, but then reflexively caught himself. "Actually on second thought, whatever it is... no. Just... no."

The Pulp Hero looked at the disco chain-mail, flinching for a second as the light bounced off the belt on his shoulder, off of SJH's chest plate and into Alias's eye. Unfazed by Alias' apparel-induced blindness, Hart went instantly into pitch mode.

"ANYWAYS -- With me being the winner of End Game and the onliest RIGHTFUL challenger to the ACW title, a title that juuuuust so happens to rest gingerly upon your child-bearing hips, it's kind of our responsibility to take the wheel of this place and drive it to the TOP! Correct?!"

Alias blinked, then shrugged.

"Let's go with correct, for now."

He continued to walk towards the Gorilla position, and SJH walked with him. All those in the hallway gave the men a wide breadth, as Alias was intimidating as hell, and all those backstage ACW suspected that SJH was incredibly unstable.

"What've you got planned..." Alias stopped, then looked at SJH again for a split. "'Sides whatever the fuck this is..."

And they started walking again.

"Well.." said Hart, "I'm not pointing any fingers or anything, but our first foray into headlining a show together was... erm.... less than successful."

SJH rolled his eyes. Alias reflexively balled up his fists.

"And AGAIN... I'm toootally not blaming you, but CLEARLY we've got to spice things up a bit. Take it to another level. Now I was thinking we could do the GaGa thing... y'know, maybe do a music video.... with you pouring blood on yourself, and me laying naked on the ground, rolling around in some mud or spaghetti sauce or something. Total avante garde stuff; a really SEXY duet, ya know? But since you don't seem to be hip to that kind of thing, I dunno... maybe we can go get a makeover? Maybe appear in some deodorant commercials together? What do you think?"

The Phenom winked at Alias

Alias simply stared back at him, not even blinking let alone winking in return.

"How about this instead... I'm going to go out there, and tear Trey Vincent in half in that cage to defend this title. If you want to do anything that remotely helps me with that, 'fore I go out, go ahead. You stay back here while it's going down though... and you keep an eye on Sharc for any shit me might try to pull. Attack him with spaghetti sauce or dump blood on him like it's a Carrie movie... or WHATEVER you wanna do."

Hart gave Alias a disappointed look, the Pulp Hero hadn't seemed to understand him. Or had decided not to, maybe. Alias dug a hand into his pants pocket and procuring a cigarette he then started to look for his lighter. Lighting the cig, Alias then looked Hart dead in the eye.

"Otherwise... what do I think? I think you're fuckin' crazy, and I might be saddled with your ass, thanks to End Game."

SJH was seemingly crushed. He would never be Alias's lackey, and the two definitely weren't friends, but the Muff Daddy appeared to want nothing more than to combine with him in the ROCKINGEST main event EVER, so the Pulp Hero's words stung. So much so, that for a second... it looked as if Shawn's lower lip was beginning to quiver. Before his emotions would come completely to the surface, however, Hart cunningly collected himself and bravely fired a retort.

"Say it, don't spray it.."

Alias took a hard drag on his cig, and let it rumble down his throat. In Hart, he had procured something of a psuedo ally within a fed full of people he had either alienated, or where now after his head or his belt.

Or both.

Though Hart was also after his belt... he still seemed to at least be standing by the Pulp Hero, even if they weren't friends (just to repeat that fact)... thing was, Alias could NOT have an ally that he could shit talk into teary eyes.

"And hear I thought you where going to say 'yee-hah' after I said saddled, and then try to smack my ass." Hart sniffled for a moment, and then swung his arm back to smack Alias on the ass.

The Pulp Hero swatted Hart's hand away and shook his head. "NO. I said try, bub."

SJH smirked impishly.

"Bub?! As in Bubbles? At the very least, you're gonna have to buy me dinner before I'll let you call me that."

"Don't think I'm going to buy into this Gaga bollocks though, Hart." Alias rolled his eyes, and with a growl he nodded to the steps up to the stage entrance. "Time I start getting my mind on the match."

"Suit yourself..." said the Phenom. "BUT REMEMBER -- I didn't win End Game by accident. And anyone JIGGY enough to pull off such incredible feats is probably some one you want on your side when the ENTIRE LIVING WORLD is after you."

Hart eyed Alias's title, then gave the Pulp Hero another wink. Alias could only grumble to himself, before walking away.

STEEL CAGE MATCH FOR THE ACW WORLD TITLE
Trey Vincent vs. Alias ©
REFEREE: HENRY IRWONSEN

   

A 15-foot steel cage. In moments, two men would enter one of the most barbaric creations in sports entertainment history to settle a score. And there wouldn't be some cop-out climbing contest or sprint towards a door to decide a victor. Both warriors knew that blood would be shed and bodies would be tested in many vicious ways in an attempt to win via pin, submission, or knockout.

Since Trey Vincent arrived in ACW, he had been a thorn in Alias' side. The two had waged war one-on-one and also in the Double Jeopardy match at End Game, in addition to their paths crossing in previous months with a supporting cast that included the likes of Khristian Keller, Andy Sharp and Sharc. But until the last Courage, there was one thing Trey Vincent could never claim before: a pinfall victory over the reigning ACW World Champion, the Original Pulp Hero Alias.

"I'm Bad" by Last Vegas hit. The fans jumped out of their seats to let the soon-to-be arriving "Sports Entertainment Icon™" Trey Vincent know exactly what they thought of him via boos and middle finger salutes. TV didn't enter from the regular entrance; instead the cameras found him flipping off the crowd as he climbed down some steps from the middle of the crowd behind an entourage of security guards. Tonight, in addition to the security guards, he was accompanied by his manager Sarah, who hadn't been seen since last year when she helped trap Khristian Keller in a plot she and TV had devised to get the King Shit of Fuck Mountain beat up by some fake cops. The beautiful blonde tried to avoid the gropes (in her mind) of the sick UK freaks as she followed her man down the steps and toward the ring.

Vincent eyed the cage, pausing a couple of times to grab two handfuls of steel and shake it, to test it out. Vincent looked deadly serious tonight, his trademark smirk gone. This match would be dangerous. Vicious. Insanely violent. And also, potentially, an all-time World Title classic.

Sitting on the steps that led up and out onto the ramp, Alias took another drag from his cigarette. Inside of his head, he was preparing himself for what he knew was about to take place. The pain, the adrenaline, the exhilaration of the fight. The weight of the steel against his steel. Chain-link on flesh. This was a match that could be career defining in its proportions. As the World Champion, once again, each match had become a tight-rope. Last weeks tag match had proven such, as it had led to the main event tonight. Alias’s theme would be cued up… the audience would scream in adulation, he'd be inside of the ring, face to face with a hardened ring veteran like himself.

Though a man that knew nothing of the life he had lived.

Then Alias took another drag.

The Pulp Champion threw the cigarette down to the ground and stamped it out… yeah it was a bad habit… but it kept him from indulgencing in his other even worse habits. Like cage fighting. Alias stood up and looked over at SilverHAWK and James Gonz, who stood in the corner with a few members of the technical crew. Hawk looked up from the monitor he and Gonz had been watching the show from and instantly, they locked eyes…like they had countless times before. "Ten seconds," he said. He then returned his attention to the monitor, viewing the live feed, as Alias walked the rest of the way up the steps and stared at the black curtains. Seven seconds to destiny. He cracked his knuckles and let out a breath… it had been a hell of a month. Four seconds to destiny.

Bongos… bongos… and yes a little bit more from the subtle bongos. Now sing it Sir Mick… because this could only mean the arrival of one man. Who, might you ask? The urban embodiment of pulp.

“Please allow me to introduce myself…”

As “Sympathy for the Devil” by the Rolling Stones continued, there Chris Sheffield stood behind the entrance curtains, the SlyStarTron looming over him, playing his entrance video. He rubbed a hand over the World Championship belt, which wrapped itself tightly around his waist. As his fingers traced along the gold etchings only one thing was on the mind of the Original Pulp Hero at this moment in time…

Trey Vincent.

Alias felt the weight of the Championship around his waist, it felt good, he knew that what he was capable of doing… was tearing into that fucking bastard to defend his Championship. Alias got the signal from Hawk … it was time.

”… when the blitzkrieg raged and the bodies stank”

BOOM!

BOOM!

BOOM!

”Pleased to meet you hope you guess my name.
Ah what's puzzling you is the nature of my game.”

Alias sprinted out from the back, dodging through the wall of pyro before finally reaching the cage. He shoved off the cage, as he reached, almost bull-rushing towards TV with a snarl… and then he stalked up through the cage door. As Alias entered the steel structure, he locked eyes with Vincent, then grabbed the cage door and slammed it shut behind himself. Vincent noticeably flinched. Alias had already gained the psychological edge in this match. Vincent spun around, panicked, and realized the implications of his decision to take on this cage match. TV was trapped.

Alias cracked a Trey Vincent-style smirk.

With that, TV fell to his knees and prayed to the sports entertainment gods.

The gods must not have been on his side, because Alias struck him down with a running knee. Hard.

Alias stood over Vincent, who had both hands to his face. He apparently saw something he liked, as he grabbed hold of Vincent's right hand and yanked it away from his face. Yes, Vincent was wearing a crimson glove. The only offensive move of the match thus far had bloodied Vincent's nose. A stream of blood decorated his upper lips and chin in something that was quickly resembling a scene out of any number of horror movies.

"That one was for Karina. The rest of this is for my own personal amusement," Alias told the fallen self-proclaimed ACW Franchise Player.

Grabbing two handfuls of hair, Alias yanked Vincent to his feet, bent him over, and punted Vincent in the face. The crowd was a bit taken aback by the excessive blood so soon, but they were still wildly cheering on the ACW World Champion. Kneeling, Alias grabbed TV's hair with his left hand and began pummeling Vincent's face with vicious right hands. After a half-dozen, Alias really unloaded, raining down so many rapid fire rights that you'd need to put the video on slow motion to keep track of how many blows Vincent's face absorbed.

And Alias was only getting started. All the blood loss had fired up the Original Pulp Hero, and he rose to his feet to soak in the adulation of the bloodthirsty U.K. fans. The camera cut to outside the ring, where a horrified Sarah had both hands over her mouth and teary eyes. She could not believe the beating her man was taking. Alias spied her and walked over to her side of the ring. Even though they where separated by the cage wall, she still took about five steps back. That was how scary Alias was right now. He went down to one knee and showed her his bloody right hand.

"It's just the start," Alias shouted at Sarah, as he quickly got to his feet and stepped back toward Vincent, ready to bleed him some more. To Alias's surprise, however, Vincent kipped up, snarled, and charged, looking to take his head off with a lariat. Alias ducked.

RELEASE GERMAN SUPLEX!

Vincent's plan had backfired, and he instead found himself landing on his shoulders violently, his legs still up in the air cartoonishly.

In Alias' cartoons, apparently that means it's time for a punch to the nads. Because that's exactly what he just did to TV's exposed lower abdominal area. TV had effectively locked himself within a cage with the man who had survived ACW’s Fight Night. And was paying for that.

Outside, Sarah turned away from the sickening display, even going so far as to briefly cover her eyes, not even wanting to catch a glimpse of the match on one of the big screens around ringside.

Once again, Alias dragged Vincent up by the hair. After telling him something that the cameras didn't pick up, Alias was off and running, and he launched Vincent face first into the steel cage!

The arena exploded, letting out a "Boom!" in unison as Vincent's head met steel. Vincent rebounded like he was a tennis ball, rolling halfway across the ring. Vincent tried and failed a couple times just to get to hands and knees, but he was in such pain that he couldn't even manage that. Alias to the rescue. He yanked Vincent up once again, tossed him over his right shoulder like Vincent was a rag doll and charged toward the cage.

CATAPULT!

"BOOM!" yelled the crowd once again as Vincent's flesh met steel. This time, Vincent simply collapsed atop the top rope, dangling lifelessly from the abuse he was enduring. Alias yanked him off the rope by the hair, kicked him in the gut, grabbed a handful of tights with one hand and hair with the other, then absolutely crushed him into the cage!

"BOOM!" The crowd was in a frenzy, happy to be seeing the hated Franchise Player taken apart piece by piece by Alias. Alias stuck his head between the middle and top ropes so he could join Vincent. After grabbing two handfuls of hair, Alias began painting the cage red, using Vincent's freshly lacerated forehead and busted nose as the brush. This continued until Vincent went limp, falling back inside the ropes.

Alias stared down at his fallen opponent, perhaps a bit in shock at how easy this match had been so far. Just to make sure TV didn't have a comeback in him, he used the ropes for a springboard only to land in a double stomp on Vincent's midsection.

Yep, Vincent was beyond fucked.

Alias grabbed both of Vincent's feet and dragged him toward a corner, where he set him in a seated position, then threw his arms over the bottom rope to make sure he was defenseless for what was about to come: an epic mudhole stomping. Alias had already taken Vincent's blood; now he was looking to take his oxygen.

Still, Vincent had no answer for Alias' offense, other than to take it. Alias looked around at the frenzied crowd, as if asking them what other forms of damage he could inflict on Vincent. Then Alias' head cocked to the right, and his eyes slowly followed to the very top of the cage.

He looked at Vincent.

Then the top of the cage again.

A decision of some sort had just been made.

Quickly, Alias dragged Vincent's lifeless body to the center of the ring. And he began climbing.

He paused for a moment once he reached the top turnbuckle and looked out at the cheering fans. He pointed to the top of the cage.

The volume of the crowd went up another level. Alias grabbed the top of the cage and pulled himself up, then steadied himself on the top bar of the cage at the corners. The cheers suddenly died just to a hush as Alias looked at his soon-to-be-squished foe on the canvas.

Before he knew what happened, he suddenly felt his balance going.

The cameras cut to ringside, where Sarah was shaking the cage wall with everything she had, desperately trying to make Alias fall.

"Please don't die! Please don't die!" chanted a few smarky fans at ringside.

Alias had about two choices here, and neither one was particularly good. Then, suddenly, he no longer had an option, as he lost his balance and was crotched on the metal bars at the top of the cage. A few shrieks went out from the crowd as it looked like Alias was about to tumble head first back into the cage, but luckily he was able to catch himself and regain his seating.

Suddenly, Vincent was no longer on the mat. Alias tried to kick at Vincent, but in his position it really didn't do Alias any good. After a shot to Alias' leg, Vincent then viciously slammed his fist into Alias' throat. The blow took Alias' breath away, and also brought a surprising searing pain that he wasn't expecting. Did he just stab me? Alias wondered.

With Alias stunned, Vincent used the opening to grab Alias around the neck and by the left leg, power him over the cage, and send both men falling backward to the mat.

"OHHHHH!" roared the crowd upon impact.

Vincent had tried to cripple Alias with the move he calls Through The Roof (a fisherman buster) from the top of the cage. Luckily for Alias, it turned out to be more of a cradle suplex than anything, because if he had landed on his head from that height, he would've been leaving this business entirely.

Upon landing, the cameras caught sight of a silver object in the ring. As the bloody Vincent rolled over, his hand reached for the weapon.

A fork. Though the cameras hadn't caught it initially, he had used the fork to stab Alias' leg and throat moments earlier, giving him the opening for Through The Roof. After successfully recovering the utensil, he rolled toward Alias and went for his eye. The blue working one, to be specific. He dug the fork into the eyebrow above Alias' left eye, and then rapidly began stabbing him. That vicious assault unleashed a stream of blood, which began to pour down Alias' face. Angry at the way the match had gone to this point, Vincent just went berserk, putting both hands around the Pulp Hero's throat and choking him.

"CHAIR!" Vincent yelled out to Sarah. On the floor, Sarah ran around the caged ring to find one of the steel variety. She unseated the ring announcer, put it over her left arm, and began climbing. Once she reached the top, she unhooked the chair from her arm and dropped the weapon down for Vincent to use as he saw fit.

Quickly, Vincent put the chair in position, opening as if he were going to take a seat. But that was not the purpose he had in mind tonight.

Vincent grabbed hold of Alias' throat and yanked him to his feet. After a double eye poke that briefly blinded Alias, Vincent used the opportunity to fall to his knees and hit an uppercut to Alias' crotch. With Alias bent over in pain, Vincent scooped him onto his shoulders and slid him into position.

COMING DOWN ONTO THE STEEL CHAIR!!

TV's version of Kryptonite Krunch absolutely destroyed the chair. If Alias' spine was in the same kind of shape that chair was, this match was all over, and there was a new ACW World Champion.

"BEER!" Vincent yelled out to Sarah. She dropped to the floor, went under the ring, and pulled out a cooler. Inside were bottles of beer. He motioned for her to throw it in, so she backed up a few steps and did her best impression of New Orleans Saints QB Drew Brees.

Actually, better make that her best impression of Clevand Browns shitty QB Derek Anderson, since the pass was horribly, HORRIBLY incomplete. Beer pass attempt number two was better, but still of Detriot Lions QB Daunte Culpepper caliber. Vincent twisted off the top of the brown bottle, chugged a bit, and then stood over Alias, using the bottle in place of a microphone, and began singing as loudly as he could.

"One bottle of beer in the cage, one bottle of beer! Smash his skull," TV sang as he smashed the glass bottle over the right side of Alias' head. "Shred his flesh!" Vincent said as he cut into Alias's forehead with the jagged neck of the beer bottle, before rounding out his sickening song: "No bottles of beer in the cage!"

Vincent made the first cover of the match.

ONE!

TWO!

THR-NO!

Alias's shoulder shot off the mat. He was bloody and bruised, but that kick out showed the definition of what it means to be a champion. Trey Vincent shook his head with mouth open and flopping too and fro as he did, as he did his best Hulk Hogan impression (circa the Vince McMahon match). Vincent then pointed to the corner to a chorus of jeers. Grabbing a piece of what was left of the steel chair, smashing it over Alias’s face, and then picking him up he whipped Alias towards the corner.

The decimated Pulp Hero hit the turnbuckle and went ass over teakettle, tying himself up on the top of the turnbuckle against the cage. Slowly joining Alias at the turnbuckle, TV untangled the OPH only to synch into him and fall back. Both men went tumbling into the center of the ring with a superplex!

While Alias collided with the mat in a bad way, TV’s impact actually had him hitting the mat on his back prior to him flopping over onto his stomach.

The Frank Sinatra of Sports Entertainment (the EFF DOUBLE ESS EEE, bitches!) was the first to move after the bone-jarring slam, rolling over and draping a bloody arm over Alias’s chest.

ONE!

TWO!

THR-NO!

This was just insane to Vincent. The ACW World Championship was HIS and HIS alone. TV had BIGGER PLANS. He wasted no more time and dragged the dazed Alias to his knees before PEPPERING him with high energy punches directly into his temple. Alias, pretty much departed at this point, did nothing more than take ANOTHER punch. And then ONE MORE for good measure.

The blood had now soaked over the Pulp Champion’s own face profusely. J.R. would be marking out right now if ACW actually had low standards when it came to there announce team but they instead had ‘The One’ James Reid behind that play-by-play mic.

“I haven’t seen this kind of chaos on ACW television since… a crack addled Lowell Dot Com attacked Andrew Sharp like a rabid badger and was quickly dragged away by security, kicking and screaming the whole time.”

Well said, Reid.

TV, now glaring hungrily at his prey, set him up on his knees. He was through with simply trying to end Alias’s career. He wanted to MAIM him… like Alias had already maimed Vincent earlier in the match.

Vincent pulled out the fork, and jammed it into his kneepad. Taking a running stance across the ring from the downed Whiskey Jack, he focused on using his jagged knee to POP Alias’s eye out. Just one more blow and Alias would certainly be done for. The Sin City City Slicker could feel it in his bones.

With a running leap, the fans gasped as he zeroed in on that open wound that reduced Alias to a bloody mess. Just ONE blow. That’s all it took.

He would not get it.

Alias DUCKED at the very last second and used the strength in his body to propel Vincent up, hotshotting him THROUGH the ropes, sending The Franchise Playing HARD into the cage wall. “BOOM!” roared the crowd, at the shift in momentum. Alias rocked forward with a deft headbutt, cracking TV in his already broken nose and causing him to slump forward over the ropes. A hard elbow shot to the back of the head lifted him off his feet and left him hanging there across the top rope… one moment later Alias jumped up, CRACKING Trey Vincent with the LOUDEST jumping knee strike ever seen in ACW History.

TV? Click BOOM… TIGER CRUSH!!

Even though there was a defiant roar throughout the arena, and from Alias in the ring, the crowd was soon filled with a quieting murmur. Starting from the ringside, opposite Alias and TV and spreading from there. Sarah, seeing more then enough for the second time in the night had started climbing up the side of the cage. As Alias brought Vincent back to his feet, Sarah reached the top of the cage.

She waited a quiet moment of defiant screams of warning from within the crowd, towards Alias. Sarah needed at least a punch-drunk glance from Trey Vincent to know that she was leaping, so he could jump out of her crash coarse.

And she got it.

Sarah lept down towards Alias, spreading out for a crossbody block from the top of the cage to the gasps of the crowd.

THRACK~!

The cross-body connected! Though not as Sarah OR TV might have hoped. Alias, taking note from the crowd, kept a tight hold of Vincent’s hair for as long as he could before throwing Vincent towards his blind side. Right into the bombing manager that was Sarah.

“AYE-SEE-DUB!” “AYE-SEE-DUB!” “AYE-SEE-DUB!”

As Sarah crawled to her knees, looking to check on Vincent, Alias angrily grasped her before scooper her up and body-slamming her down.

“Wanna see what happens when you shake a wolf’s cage, little girl?”, snarled Bigby.

Alias stomped away and climbed the cage wall perpendicular from where he had slammed down Sarah. As he wearily reached the top once more, a fire in his eyes, the UK crowd once again chanted “Please don’t die!” with a glib sense of humor. As Alias stood with shakey footing, Sarah was getting to her feet.

The Pulp Hero, the World Champion, suspecting that he may need to catch her on the run, took a shakey step back before taking two steps forward and LEPT OUT. Backwards.

FOSBURY FLOP!

FROM!

THE!

CAGE TOP!!!

Trey Vincent had reached Sarah on his knees, by the time she had stood and turned towards the oncoming Alias. Though TV caught of the falling Pulp Champ, it was Sarah that was hit by the brunt of the falling Hero. Needless to say, TV’s manager had been DESTROYED.

Somewhere Khristian Keller was smiling. Though not as much as Karina Wolfenden.

The UK crowd was going insane, chanting two things seemingly simultaneously.

“AYE-LEE-ESS!”

and

“EP-IC FLOP!”

Oh, you KNOW that second was meant as a compliment as well. Alias was out on the mat, a bloody mess, Sarah was crumpled against the side of the cage… but Vincent. Trey Vincent was stirring, pushing himself once again to all fours and then to his feet. He stumbled over to Alias and hefted him to his knees.

Trey Vincent took a moment to motion a belt at his waist. It was HIS! He knew it! With all his strength, Vincent grabbed Alias by the waist band and shoving his head between his legs, TV underhooked both of the Original Pulp Heroes arms. Maybe Alias had taken a different kind of epic flop.

GLASS CEILING!!!

As the Pulp Hero’s face slammed against the blood and sweat stained canvas it left one more evident blood stamp from an altogether awesome brawl.

ONE!

TWO!

…

No, but really?

…

THREE!!!

Wait, really?!?!

NEW ACW WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION!

Oh my god, Trey Vincent had done it. He was now the TRUE Franchise Player. A Sports Entertainment Icon for a VERY MALIABLE REASON! The product of Minneapolis, Minnesota and now Sin City sinner was at the top of All-Star Championship Wrestling.

The crowd was shocked.

SHOCKED!

Though so was Trey Vincent. Not because he was the victor. No, wait, it because Alias had kicked out. YES, Alias had kicked out with milliseconds to spare from a third count! Trey Vincent shook his head vigorously. He was screaming, swearing, his face turning a certain shade of red.

“NO!

NO! NO! NO!

NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! FUUUU*gasp*UCK!”

Trey Vincent scowled at Alias with a fury that matched that of a thousand suns, and he equaled it with a very very REAL disdane for this motherfucker who would NOT give HIM that DAMN WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP!

Grasping at Alias with gritted teeth, Vincent grabbed him by the neck and with renewed rage fueling him, Vincent cranked Alias’s neck around. He was going for another infamous finisher of the wrestling world!

SHOCKING CONCLU--!

Before Vincent could sit into it though, Alias had thrown a huge clubbing blow out of desperation, to the gaping bloody wound on TV’s face. Then another. And another. And another. Another. Another. Another. Another. Another. Another. Another. Another. Another. And finally… ANOTHER!

Rocking, Alias positioned himself around The Sports Entertainment Icon before both came crashing down…

SINGLE-ARM DDT!

Dotted by the bloody impression that the top of TV’s head left on the last clean spot of the mat within the steel caged ring, Alias saw it as if it where an exclamation mark. His one grand opening. He would need it. It was do or fucking die time.

ANARCHY’S LULLABY~!

Alias tenaciously fought with Vincent, trying to get his hold fully locked-on. He delivered a few more grisly elbow shots before trapping him up with his infamously modified Buffalo Sleeper. Trapped dead-center in the middle of the ring, The Harming Globetrotter fought out of this move once before, during the Double Jeopardy match at End Game. However, this time, the match had been MUCH more violent and a lot of the strength he had in reserve was all but gone. He used his arms to try and pull seemingly at nothing, forcing himself to travel to the ropes.

The Original Pulp Hero, however, lived up to his name. He’d torn Vincent’s body to shreds in this match. Pulped him. And now, he was going to do so again. And not let go this time.

ANARCHY’S LULLABY~!

“ARRRRRRGGHHHH!” The Sports Entertainment Icon screamed in sheer anguish as his arm, neck and core were being torn apart, chunk by chunk. The official looked on for a tap out and listened for a verbal submission, but he would not get it. TV had zero places to go, however.

“IT’S OVER!” Alias roared. “Over!”

“ONLY WHEN I SAY IT IS!” Vincent shouted back, which made Alias clinch the submission in tighter.

“GIVE IN!”

“DIE!”

“YOU… FIRST!”

Would Trey Vincent give up his chances at the World Championship? With at least two notable challengers banging down the door, and so many more waiting in the wings… could he? He had so much bigger plans, then just this night. Alias wondered if he even wanted him to tap, or if he would simply be able to end the career of this man who had quickly become such a bane to him. If he had could. Well, there would be one simple answer.

Tap.

TAP.

TAP.

DING DING DING!

The Price

   

The two warriors lay exhausted on the mat in the blood-soaked ring surrounded by steel. Alias, however, while flat on his back had a right arm up in the air, signaling a final victory over Trey Vincent. Slowly, as the cage began to rise, so did Alias. He sat up, rolled over to a knee and pushed himself up, then quickly steadied himself by grabbing a nearby rope with his left hand. After his title was handed to him, the ACW World Champion held the belt high in the air as cameras flashed all over the Bornemouth Center.

After that brief celebration with the fans, Alias gingerly stepped between the ropes and headed up the aisle, sucking in all the oxygen he could manage. Though not the toughest or most violent of the matches he had ever competed in, the cage match undeniably had tested his body in all sorts of ways.

Halfway up the aisle, he paused, bent over, and tried to suck in some air so he could keep his legs moving. To his surprise, that's when he heard some very loud breathing over the house microphone.

"Alias," TV grunted from the ring after being unable to do much more than wheeze for several seconds due to the injuries he has sustained at Alias' hands. Vincent was a bloody mess, and had only managed to crawl to a corner to prop himself up. "I told you. It. Is. NOT. Over."

The fans booed.

"Yes, you may have just beat me to a pulp. I didn't win tonight. But I'll be damned if I'm gonna let you keep walking around ACW with the World Title."

Vincent grasped the top rope and for several seconds tried to lift his own dead weight up. It took a few moments, but he managed to at least get to a knee.

"Let me make this crystal clear. Alias, I hate your gat damn GUTS! I hate seeing your scarred, mashed up face! I hate living in a world where someone like you is called a champion, when I'm the greatest sports entertainer in the HISTORY of the world!" Vincent was sounding more and more deranged with every word he spat out. "Nobody in the front office wants you to have the ACW World Title. But more importantly, I don't want you to have the ACW World Title! For as long as it takes, Alias, I will haunt your world. If I can't beat you, then I sure as hell will find somebody on this roster who CAN. At any cost!"

The crowd, though still a bit unsure what Trey was blabbering on about in between his heavy breathing, was starting to see the picture. And here came the boos. They wanted Alias as the ACW champion, and really didn't care who TV thought should or shouldn't be the man.

"Get ready, Alias. Because starting next week, everyone in this federation will be a bounty hunter. As of next week, you are a human target! I'm the bow, and all I need to find is the right arrow to shoot through your heart and tear that title away from your cold, unconscious hands! So if any member of the ACW roster, or any sports entertainer from any other company on the planet can dethrone you, it'll be like winning the lottery on two counts. Because, not only will they become the champion of the greatest federation on the planet today. They will also be $100,000 richer!"

Alias stared back toward the ring, dumbfounded. Trey Vincent had just essentially released a pack of wild dogs while Alias was caught in the yard known as All-Star Championship Wrestling. Greed was mighty powerful motivator.

There are so many questions... Who was going to target Alias next week and try to claim $100,000 and the World Title? Will SilverHAWK even allow such a thing to go on under his watch? What will Alias' response be?

Guess you'll have to come back next week. Same sports entertainment time, same sports entertainment channel.