A C W



NEW BEGINNING
COURAGE 103 ¤ 28 JANUARY 2010
CARDIFF INTERNATIONAL ARENA, CARDIFF, WALES

The Price Is Right

           

This show wasn't supposed to begin in total chaos. But that's how it goes sometimes. On the previous Courage, Trey Vincent promised $100,000 to the person who can dethrone Alias as ACW's World Champion. Tonight, nearly a dozen wrestlers appeared ready to step up. They weren't asking for title shots. They were DEMANDING title shots. The result was an indecipherable din of shouts that overwhelmed SilverHAWK.

The camera panned around the crowd of hungry wrestlers. Names such as Omega, the Scorpion Division Champion, shouted out his desire to challenge Alias. Other members of the Scorpion Division, such as Iceman and Sharc, also tried to make their voices heard over the wall of noise. Other recognizable faces shouting in the direction of ACW's leader included Rud Albion, Kati, Jack Harris, and Buddy Saxon. To the far end of the hall on the left, Khristian Keller was leaning against the wall, looking on at the chaos with some interest. To the far end of the hall on the right, Z was also seen looking on at the mob scene, a grin plastered on his face.

"One at a time! One at a time!" SilverHAWK pleaded.

BOOOM!

All eyes turned toward the source of the loud noise behind the crowd. There, Sharc stood with a chair in his hands, fresh after blasting the wall to steal everyone's attention. Angrily, he slammed the bent steel chair on the floor. In a cold tone, Sharc spoke his words simply:

"Alias is mine. Any objections?"

"Yeah, I object," Omega said, shoving aside some a couple ACW stars to get closer to Sharc. "You think you're the baddest in ACW, but this championship belt says otherwise," Omega said, shoving the silver-plated title belt against Sharc's nose. "In ACW, you have to be able to back up what you say, boy."

Sharc swatted Omega's hand away. "That title doesn't prove you're the baddest, just that you had one good night," Sharc grumbled.

"Alias has already royally kicked your ass plenty of times. You couldn't get the job done! Hell, I bet you couldn't even beat Iceman."

"GRRRRRRRRRR!" Iceman exploded in anger at the verbal jab, not surprisingly. "I can beat THIS cocksucker," he roared, pointing at Sharc, "I can beat THAT cocksucker," he said now pointing at Omega, "I can beat every mothercocksucker here!"

"So," Buddy Saxon said, turning to Rud Albion. "I guess that's a 'no' on cookies?"

"Cookies?" Albion said, quite puzzled by the question.

"OY! SHUT YOUR SODDING HOLE!" Jack Harris roared at Saxon. "Saxon, if you don't piss off, I'll kick your poofter arse again this week! HAWK, this week, the Chancellor of Excellence will rip Alias limb from limb! Give me the bloody match!"

HAWK was about to say something, but Albion interrupted.

"I joined ACW so I could face the best, I proved against Keith Scott Zimmerman last week. I will prove that to Alias, if given the chance, because it's the lessons you learn from the losses that give you the ability to win."

*Pffffft* is all Kati had to say about that. "You also LOST to Keith last week. HAWK, I want to go after Sheff for what he did to the Minutemen."

"Still," SilverHAWK finally got to speak, "you have to earn your way to the top here. I don't think so."

Kati had one last bomb to throw in the hopes of earning her way into a World Title match: "I'll totally betray Wilson and tell you his deep dark secret."

Once again, SilverHAWK was ready to say something, but Keller's voice distracted everyone: "Well, well, well. Trey Vincent. What's up cuntface?"

Everyone in the hallway turned to the right and saw the Sports Entertainment Icon slowly walking toward the large crowd, but more likely toward SilverHAWK's office. Dressed in a sharp black suit, white button shirt, and a green tie, he was also sporting larger than usual shades to hide some bruises he suffered last week in his loss to Alias in a steel cage. In his right hand was a large duffel bag.

"Hey, HAWK," Vincent said, smirking at the chaos he had instigated. "Looks like Trey Vincent isn't the only one who wants to see Alias lose now."

"Trey, my office, now. Everyone, we'll have an announcement about the main event shortly. Saxon, you're got Brandon Thomas to worry about tonight, so get moving. We've got an arena full of ACW fans to entertain. As for the rest of you, clear out now or you'll forfeit any chance at a World Title shot tonight!"

And just like that, HAWK regained control. Vincent strolled into HAWK's office as several angry glances were exchanged between the would-be bounty hunters. Finally, SilverHAWK slammed his door shut and HAWK and Vincent prepared to talk business behind closed doors.

SINGLES MATCH
Buddy Saxon vs. 'The Original Ego' Brandon Thomas
REFEREE: MARK SHIELDS

   

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 he was on top of the world.

Buddy Saxon, ladies and gents. After a couple of years of training, he'd finally arrived in professional wrestling. ACW was his first big stop, and the young chap from Bournemouth (Engurland) was loving every second of his experience.

Happy and motivated by the reaction he'd garnered, Buddy energetically made his way down to the ring, slapping the hands of numerous fans along the way. There was still some bruising around Saxon's throat area, as a result of his vicious attack last week. Other than that, though, the young man from England didn't appear to be overly affected by last week's incidents.

Climbing into the ring, Buddy raised his arms in the air and mouthed the words of his theme song, he himself clearly enjoying Adam Lambert's brand of music, and more importantly... he was relishing the wonderful opportunity he was given.

Buddy had to shift into focus-mode soon, though. If he thought his opponent last week was tough, this week he was going up against a seasoned veteran and a legend in some circles.

Also, Buddy had just only noticed that the referee for the match was bastard referee Mark Shields. You know, the referee from last week? At ringside, Mark smirked at Buddy, who frowned in return. He didn't want a repeat of last week, in any shape or form. And that included the result. Buddy wanted to win.

With that said --

BOOOOOM!

BOOOOOM!

BOOOOOM!

BOOOOOM!

Down by Stone Temple Pilots.

And here he was. Who?

*He*... was THE Original EGO. He was Brandon Thomas.

And once again, as he'd done so many times in his career thus far, Brandon Thomas 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 these monkies which only made him happier. 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 extending his middle finger to a variety of men seated ringside.

BT walked up the steps and stepped between the ropes. Now standing in the middle of the ring, Brandon lifted his arms as he bathed underneath the spotlight for the moment, awaiting the big explosion.

BOOOOOM!

BOOOOOM!

BOOOOOM!

More gold pyro exploded at the peak of the turnbuckles and now it was time to show these monkies the true definition of excellence once more. It was the opening match of Courage 103, natch, and in BT's mind?

There was no way he was going to lose. He was going to prove to everybody just how damn good The Original EGO truly was.

In the ring, Buddy Saxon watched as his seasoned opponent slowly turned around to face him. Brandon Thomas had finally laid eyes on Buddy, and the look of arrogance on The Original EGO's face turned to one of disgust.

"You? I'm wrestling you?" Brandon asked, incredulous. Buddy simply nodded and cracked his knuckles.

All that Brandon Thomas could do was laugh.

DING DING DING!

That laugh turned into a gulp mere seconds after referee Mark Shields rang the bell. Buddy Saxon charged out of his corner and attempted to score with a clothesline. Brandon ducked at the very last second, and spun around to try a wild swing of his own. Buddy was quick to react, however, and slid through Thomas' gaping legs.

This time, when The Original EGO turned around, all he got was DROP-KICKED in the face! Oh, the fans loved that one. After last week's despicable showing by Brandon Thomas with the monkey tea-bagging, the fans were eager to see the cocky legend get served in a big way.

Brandon Thomas cursed as he scrambled back to his feet, only to realise Buddy Saxon was behind him. Another dropkick was delivered by Saxon; this time, to the back of Brandon's head. That caused Brandon to tumble into the corner turnbuckle, and due to the force of the dropkick, Brandon couldn't stop his face from colliding with said corner turnbuckle.

Smiling, Buddy rushed over to the stunned legend and did the only thing he could. He rolled the sucker up!

Mark Shields was surprised, but hit the ground nonetheless;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

HE DID IT! BAH GAWD, SAXON DID IT!

Saxon pinned Brandon Thomas! Holy shit, call the Mayor!

Oh, wait, Brandon Thomas kicked out? Sorry, it was toooo close to call.

The crowd were on their feet, screaming at Mark Shields, who disinteredtly maintained to the pleading Buddy Saxon that it was not a three. Saxon thought he'd managed to use the element of surprise to great effect, but The Original EGO had gotten his shoulder up at the last possible nano-second.

His hands clasped behind his head, Buddy reflected on what could have been and slowly turned around. WHAM! Brandon Thomas remained on the canvas, waiting, before nearly taking off the still-distracted Saxon with a clothesline.

And then, the stomping came. "You think you had me?! PAH!"

Brandon Thomas, The Original EGO, was officially in the heel zone and lovin' every second of it.

Stomping away at every part of Saxon's body, Thomas ignored the jeers raining down on him until he picked Saxon up from off the canvas. He took a moment to sneer at the fans, before lifting Buddy up and slamming him down in a scoop slam.

Simple, yet effective. Especially when Mr. Original took a step back, raised his right arm in the air, and then dropped his elbow down onto Saxon's chest. Laughing at the damage he was causing, Brandon rolled over to hook the legs.

And over to Mark Shields for the count;

ONE!

TWO!

TH - NO!

Buddy may have been a newb, but he wasn't about to be beaten like that.

Brandon Thomas was quick to his feet, and kicked away at Buddy's temple. Any thought Saxon had of trying to recover was dashed, as Brandon quickly shot himself into the ropes and connected with a hard knee-drop right down on Buddy's face! Mark Shields nodded his head, impressed with the intensity of The Original EGO.

What, referees are supposed to be impartial and shit? HE-LLO! It's Mark Shields; the scummiest referee in all the land.

Anyway, not satisfied with the amount of punishment he was dishing out, Brandon grabbed a handful of Buddy's hair and dragged the rookie back up to the vertical base. Buddy surprised Brandon -- and everybody else -- when he suddenly let loose with a stinging knife-edged chop. WHOOOOO~! went a segment of the crowd, and Brandon staggered backwards, holding his chest in pain.

That, of course, gave Buddy Saxon a chance to catch his breath. And also, you know, plan for his next move.

Which unfortunately for Brandon Thomas happened to be a kick to the face! The velocity of the kick sent Brandon flying backwards into the turnbuckle, the sound of Brandon's spine connecting with the turnbuckle drawing a collective OOOOH from the fans. Thomas stumbled out of the corner, back arched backwards. Three seconds later, the industry legend found himself knocked the HECK out courtesy of a powerslam!

The fans cheered, and Mark Shields scowled as Buddy threw himself over Brandon Thomas for the cover;

ONE!

TWO!

TH - NO!

Not exactly close, but an improvement over the last minute or so.

Buddy shot back up to his feet, nodding along with the encouragement the fans were giving him. Mark Shields could be seen rolling his eyes, clearly not impressed. Saxon didn't care what the bastard referee thought, for he pulled his egotistical opponent up and fired a close-ranged right hand.

Brandon, looking loopy and out of it, suddenly snapped back to life as he blocked the punch! Thomas tried to counter with his own short punch... but NEIN! Buddy ducked underneath Brandon's arm and wrapped his arms around Thomas' waist. Was it suplex time?

Almost. Buddy managed to get The Original EGO a few inches off the mat, but Brandon's right elbow connected squarely with Saxon's face before the rookie could do any more. Buddy instinctively let go of Brandon, who flashed a middle-finger at a fan in the front row, before turning around and charging at Buddy with the aim of connecting with a clothesline.

Yet again, Saxon telegraphed the move and ducked underneath Brandon's outstretched arm. Frowning, Brandon quickly turned around... only to find himself caught by Buddy in a side headlock. Oh yeah, the rookie had managed to trap the legend with a side headlock in the middle of the ring. The fans were on their feet, cheering Buddy on.

Desperate, Brandon Thomas flailed his arms around for a bit, finally deciding to resort to reaching back and tugging at Buddy's hair, before he pushed himself backwards into the ropes and sent the young rookie hurtling towards the opposite set of ropes with a powerful shove.

This time, The Original EGO decided to go with instinct again and once more attempted a clothesline with the left arm... but Buddy Saxon ducked it and amazingly intertwined his right arm with Brandon's left arm. Following which, Buddy hoisted himself onto the shoulders of the befuddled Brandon Thomas and brought the legend down, all within a blink of an eye.

CRUCIFIX ROLL-UP PIN! With the fans going apeshit, Mark Shields got to his knee;

ONE!

TWO!

THRE - NO!

That. was. so. effing. close.

Brandon Thomas squirmed out of the crucifix roll-up pin attempt, gasping for air, clearly obvious at how close he'd come to tasting defeat. Buddy, meanwhile, looked a tad bit disappointed.

But he was the first one to his feet, and waited for Brandon Thomas to turn around. SPINNING HEEL KICK! Down like a hooker who'd been paid a ton of money went The Original EGO, and into the ropes Buddy went. Brandon Thomas cursed himself for the situation he was in as he pulled himself back up... and once more, Buddy Saxon had his number, taking the legend down with a flying clothesline!

Was an upset actually on the cards? Judging by how the rabid the fans had gotten now, they certainly believed so.

And Buddy appeared to have confidence oozing out of his arse. Why else would the rookie run to the corner turnbuckle, hoist himself to the top, and take flight with an attempted a double-handed axe-handle smash.

There was just one tiiiiiny problem.

... THE ORIGINAL SUPERKICK, BITCHES~! Brandon Thomas, The Original EGO, had somehow managed to shake the cobwebs long enough to pull off his superkick special as Buddy Saxon was in mid-flight.

Needless to say, the fans were stunned. Mark Shields was already on his knees, getting ready to count. And what of Brandon Thomas?

"That's what I'm talking about!" he screamed, while crawling over to the immobile Buddy Saxon. It was academic;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

And for the second time in as many weeks, Brandon Thomas had picked up the victory. He was 2-0, while poor Buddy Saxon was 0-2. Down by Stone Temple Pilots played over the speakers, but the fans' disapproval grew so loud that nobody could hear the song. Brandon Thomas, meanwhile, raised his arms and mouthed off at the fans. Mark Shields lit up a cigarette and walked out of the ring.

It was not a good day to be Buddy Saxon. More importantly...

... it was a very good day to be Brandon Thomas. "I told ya, monkies! I rule!

I AM THE BEST!

I AM THE KIIIIIIIIING OF THE WORLD!"

Pre-Match Prep

   

Backstage. Pre-Match. The personal dressing room of one of ACW's newest stars.

"I'm gonna get him!"

The voice undoubtedly belonged to END GAME Winner, SHAWN JESSICA HART...

"You can do it, big bro!"

...and his half-stepsister, twice-removed, FELICIA offered words of encouragement.

"Tonight... IS the night!!"

For the first time ever in ACW, the Prime Minister of Gettin' Sinister was set to take the ring in one-on-one competition. His challenge had been posted in the locker room at the night's beginning; a beckoning to any and all with the gall, the GUMPTION, to face the Phenom mano a mano... and SOMEONE had answered that call. But first...

"SON OF A B(FCC)TCH!!"

The camera moved in on the duo, revealing an NES game console with SJH at the controller. On the television screen, Hart's attempt at taking Little Mac to the title appeared to have gone horribly awry as a bulging, bruising Mike Tyson stood over him in victory. Dumbfounded by the scene, Hart stood up from his chair and looked to his sibling.

"I'm calling shenanigans on John Cena. There's no way he beat this game. NO ONE HAS!!"

"Don't worry about it, brah.." said Felicia consolingly. "After all, we've got bigger fish to fry!"

Suddenly, Hart's frown went upside down and he raised his right arm dramatically to the Heavens.

"That's right, nnnnndaddio! Cuz tonight, the KING of SWING, the Sultan of SLUTS, the latest SENSATION to hit this great nation since mechanically-induced orgasmic VIBRATIONS.. has got a date with DESTINY! The very first in a long, LOOOOOOOOONG line of victories in singles competition here in ACW!"

Felicia couldn't help but grin at her brother's brilliance.

"You know it, Champ! Now go out there and get 'em!"

"ALRIGHT!!" Shawn exclaimed, before bolting out out of his dressing room like a bat out of Hell. Felicia remained in place and, after pausing for a beat, began to crack a grin. Seconds later, SJH returned to the scene with his arms crossed.

"I'm not up yet, am I?"

"No. You've got like 45 minutes at least." Felicia said with a giggle. "But I'm lovin' that energy!"

The Phenom shook his head and pretended to cock back his arm and fist.

"WHY I OUGHTA!!"

Your God. Your Master. Your Everything.

The house lights dimmed, going down a notch in brightness.

Was it time for a match? Actually, no. The SlyTron crackled to life, and the image of 'Superstar' Vince Jacobs -- a stock photo of him, holding the ACW World Title high above his head -- came up after a few seconds.

Naturally, the fans jeered. That was before some kind of funky music started to pipe through the speakers. The kind you'd hear in them pornographic videos.

Suddenly, the image of SVJ faded away, and was replaced with giant white text scrolling top-down from the screen at medium pace. The music got louder in conjunction with the scrolling.

Everybody in the arena stood and read intently --

There was a moment of silence. Some people blinked, others scratched their heads.

And then? They started jeering again. Loudly, this time.

Clearly, they didn't like SVJ's campaign message...

... but one wonders, who came up with it?

Eyes On The Prize

Midnight Cowboy leaned down and picked up one of his boots, quickly thrashing the brown leather with a brush. He whistled simple melodies, his eyes drifting shut when he sustained particular notes. He glanced across the room and saw a young blonde producer, packed into in a skirt and headset. All business. Cowboy's flashed her a wink. She couldn't resist his glowing face and walked over. He slapped his knee, which peeked out from under a small tear in his jeans.

"Y' can park here when I'm done, lil lady." She rolled her eyes at first, but relented with an amused smile. A hearty bellow of laughter rumbled out of his stomach. "Your cuter'n a sack of kittens. What do I got tonight?"

Her glasses drooped when she looked at her clipboard. She quickly pushed them back into place. "For you Mr. Cowboy, it looks like a ménage à trois."

"Mmm. Them steaks sho are tasty," Midnight Cowboy, licking his lips. "Now tell 'em I wan' a twice-baked potato with that, y'hear?"

The woman was puzzled, but eventually corrected the misplaced arithmetic swimming in the Texan's head. "No...nononono. You're in a No DQ three way match against Malk Al-Haq and Keller... for a shot at the Spirit Title."

"Keller," he growled, gripping his boot tightly in his hands and staring blankly into the distance. He calmed down and looked up at her with a sneer. "Damn girl, now I'm really hungry! T'night I'm gon'----"

CLAP!

CHAIRSHOT! COWBOY WAS STUNNED!

CLAP! Cowboy is on the ground!

CLAP! He's huddled over his aching ribs!

The producer shrieked and sidestepped the wreckage as Keller pounced on Cowboy and drove his head into the floor! Cowboy's eyes rolled back as Keller battered his face with brutal fists! Bodyguards rushed to Cowboy's aid, grabbing Keller by the shoulders.

"He was just cleaning his boots. Hewasjustcleaninghisboots," The producer explained in a stunned daze to nobody in particular.

Keller leaned close to Cowboy's ear. A thin stream of blood had dribbled down Cowboy's cheek, dripping to the floor next to his earlobe.

"We are in ENGLAND you gimpy fuck... speak English!"

Keller then resisted the security again and dropped down to Midnight Cowboys face.

"Or how is this? Yippee ki-yay, Motherfucker," Keller hissed.

The bodyguards lifted Keller and pulled him away from Cowboy, who lay on his side, his forearm blocking his face. The petrified producer aggressively waved over medical personnel as the scene slowly faded out.

The $100,000 Question

       

"I'm Bad" by Last Vegas hit. Out stepped Trey Vincent, wearing his black suit and carrying a black duffel bag in his right hand. He paused at the entryway, scanned the crowd from behind his sunglasses before slowly walking to the ring, trying his best to hide the pain his body was still feeling after last week's brutal cage match. He slid the bag inside the ring, rolled under the bottom rope, and pulled himself up with the aid of the ropes. Inside of his suit jacket was a microphone. Once his music died down, it was time to get down to business.

"Good evening...umm..." Vincent paused. "Wherever the hell we are."

Booos, natch.

"First of all, Trey Vincent and SilverHAWK have come to an agreement. And that is, that this is, without a doubt, the WORST city ACW has ever visited!"

More boos from the crowd, which wasn't enjoying being insulted again by the self-proclaimed Franchise Player.

"SilverHAWK is a smart businessman. He realizes that TV equals ratings, and tonight he has seen the great ratings potential of the main event I have proposed. Now, a lot of you are alcoholics with low IQs, so just to remind you of the deal, here's what's going on. Last week, I said that whoever can defeat Alias and win the ACW World Title will also become $100,000 richer."

The fans again let Vincent hear it, this time repeatedly chanting, "AL-I-AS! AL-I-AS!" in support of the reigning ACW World Champion. Vincent tried to shut them up by inserting the word "sucks" between their chants, which led to more booing.

"I hate Alias. He doesn't deserve that championship. Trey Vincent has more charisma in one drop of his piss than Alias has in his whole damn body! Alias is ordinary. Trey Vincent is entertainment personified. Alias is a garbage brawler. Trey Vincent is the Sports Entertainment Icon! Alias is just another guy on the roster. Trey Vincent is a Franchise Player.

"So, tonight, in an effort to rid ACW of the worst World Champion ever, we will have a match for the World Championship. So, who gets the shot? Really simple, monkeys. The first man who steps foot in this very ring will get a World Title shot at Alias and $100,000 of my money!"

Everyone stood and looked toward the entryway. Nobody knew what to expect.

"Who wants it?" Vincent bellowed.

After a few moments, Omega was the first to step out, with the Scorpion Championship in his left hand and 'Barb' in his right. He would've easily made it down the aisle and stepped into the ring were it not for one person: Kati. Just after taking a few steps down the aisle, Kati charged out from behind and unloaded with a kendo stick to his back.

CRACK!

She jumped on the Scorpion Division champion and pressed the stick hard against his throat and pulled back, trying to choke the life out of Omega as a receipt for Omega trying to choke the life out of her one week ago in a tremendous ladder match. Kati was determined to get a title shot, and rob Omega in the process. Desperate to break free of this predicament, Omega dropped the championship belt and gripped 'Barb' with both hands.

SMACK!

Barbed wire chair shot to Kati! The crowd let out a collective "ooooh!" upon impact. With both wrestlers on their knees, this left the door open for someone else: Sharc. He walked past both Omega and Kati, and was halfway to the ring, when–

SMACK!

Chair shot to the back. Omega wasn't the one who nailed him, however. It was Iceman! Quickly, Iceman whipped Sharc into the rail and charged toward him. Sharc, however, smartly countered the charging Iceman, drop toe holding him jaw-first into the guardrail! Sharc pounced and began pummeling Iceman with rights. Meanwhile, Omega and Kati were brawling backward toward the entrance, in the wrong direction.

With two chaotic fights going on in the aisle, Vincent was left to chuckle alone in the ring. He was enjoying the chaos he was creating within ACW. Greed is the greatest motivator. However, two more people now entered the aisle, neither interested in joining the ongoing fights.

Sharc, Iceman, Omega and Kati were so busy fighting each other that they didn't notice Ryan Gallway and Frank Pierce, reigning Tag Team Champions The Heirs of Wrestling, jog down the aisle and get in the ring at the same time.

"Hold on a second!" Vincent said smiling widely. "You both just got in the ring at the same time! That means...that means...tonight Alias will have to defend the World Title against TWO men! In a TRIPLE THREAT match! Against both of the reigning ACW Tag Team Champions at the same time!"

The crowd booed this surprising development.

"So, tonight, we'll have a triple threat match for the World Championship. What that means, retards, is that the first person who pins Alias will become the new World Champion. I don't care if you guys split the money, if one of you takes all the money and the other takes the title, or hell, maybe it'll be winner takes all. It really doesn't matter. All that matters is Alias will LOSE. Tonight!"

The crowd didn't like this one bit. Vincent was stacking the odds against Alias. In a triple threat match, Alias wouldn't even have to be pinned to lose the title!

"Alias, kiss that title goodbye! All hail the Heirs of Sports Entertainment!"

SCORPION FIGHTING RULES
Sharc vs. Iceman
REFEREE: TRENT SAVAGE

   

As Trey Vincent, Ryan Gallway, and Frank Pierce were still mugging for the crowd, a violent match was quickly heading their way. Now at ringside, a war was ongoing between two members of the Scorpion Fighting Division and two former members of the infamous Pinnacle of Insane Wrestling federation. The trio in the ring quickly made their exit as Iceman shoved Sharc inside, then a garbage can. After cramming the can between the top and middle buckles in a corner, the angriest wrestler on the planet yanked Sharc up by his blood red hair, grabbed him under the arm and charged.

WHUMP!

HIPTOSS INTO THE GARBAGE CAN!

Aside from having his back tossed into the garbage can, Sharc ended up with a bit of a nasty case of whiplash from the sudden impact, and then landed just as badly, as his neck and upper shoulders took the brunt of a nasty fall.

Now in control of the match, Iceman looked around at the crowd, put on a smile and raised his arms in celebration, expecting cheers as he beat down on a man who was also equally despised by ACW fans. The heel-on-heel action, however, wasn't helping matters.

The boos, they came. Now.

Iceman's smile was instantly replaced with a rageful scowl. He ripped at his blond locks in disgust, and turned his rage back toward his dangerous opponent.

Trent Savage, who had drawn refereeing duties for this match, finally ran down the aisle, slid in the ring, and called for the bell to officially begin this Scorpion Rules match.

"Where the FUCK have you been, SHITHEAD? I've been destroying this ASSHOLE and couldn't pin the COCKSUCKER thanks to YOU!"

"Um...pin him now?" Savage suggested.

On the other side of the ring, Sharc was digging into his boot. He his some sort of weapon in his right hand, otherwise playing possum as Iceman returned to drag him toward the center of the ring for the pin. However, as Iceman did that, Sharc kicked the top of Iceman's skull. With Iceman stunned, Sharc took the opportunity to grab Iceman's singlet, pull it forward just enough to leave an opening between material and flesh, then dropped several small silver objects down the front.

Iceman looked down.

"SONOFAMOTHERFUCKER!!"

Sharc kicked, and Iceman felt the pain of several thumbtacks in his midsection being driven into his flesh!

The fans in the crowd didn't quite understand what Sharc had done, but the commentators explained it for the fans watching at home all about the sickening, painful, torturous move born from Sharc's demented mind. And he wasn't done, as Sharc drove his shoulder into Iceman's section and ran him hard into the corner. Once there, Sharc would not relent, as he repeatedly thrust his right shoulder quickly into Iceman's midsection, further making him a human pincushion. Iceman was so busy screaming in pain that he couldn't even curse.

Once Sharc was satisfied with that bit of torture, he let Iceman collapse to his knees and headed to the floor. While the fans let Sharc know how much he sucks, he went under the ring and pulled out a toy: A four-foot-by-four-foot board. One side of which was covered in barbed wire. Iceman didn't know this was happening, because he had pulled his straps down and was busy yanking thumbtacks (and yelling "FUCK!" each time) that had become lodged in his midsection and his singlet.

The fans let out a collective cheer at the sight of this new weapon. Sharc slid the plywood inside the ring and followed suit. Iceman was ready for Psychopathy Red, though. Once Sharc was near, Iceman leapt up and ground a handful of tacks into Sharc's face! The fans let out gasps of sheer horror, as Sharc easily could have lost an eye. Sure, he was a bad guy, but he's still a human being.

Luckily for Sharc, he avoided a career-ending injury and was able to close his eyes and yanked his head free of Iceman's grasp. Red-faced, Iceman unloaded with a right-handed punch that dropped Sharc to the mat. After a barrage of stomps and kicks to Sharc's upper half and head, Iceman dragged Sharc toward the corner and set him up in a seated position.

Iceman grabbed the barbed wire board, spun it around so the barbed wire was aimed at Sharc, and then threw it down onto him.

Again, another "ohhhhh!" reaction from the crowd.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Iceman roared at the ACW fans.

"Booooooo!" was their response to him.

Iceman headed to the corner opposite Sharc. After kicking at the ropes for who knows why, Iceman spun around and charged, leapt, and connected with a dropkick that drove the barbed wire into Sharc!

Iceman expected a gigantic pop and a standing ovation for that move. Instead, boos.

He flipped the fuck out. He ran top speed out of the ring and unloaded with a big boot on the guardrail. Not content with that, Iceman grabbed a steel chair and began bashing the guardrail like it's name was Blast and he was letting out some repressed jobber anger.

Meanwhile, in the ring, Sharc was absolutely panicking. After the dropkick, he felt the barbed wire hit the side of his head, and felt warm blood pouring down his neck and onto his shoulder. With pain shooting from the top of his skull down to his right arm, he didn't know if his jugular had been pierced, or his right ear had been torn off. And he was stuck to a strand of barbed wire. He tried to shove it off himself, but found that it was pulling on his hair and ear.

Referee Trent Savage quickly realized something was wrong and ignored Iceman's temper-tantrum on the floor to try and help get Sharc's head out of the barbed wire net. Realizing there really was not easy solution to this problem, Savage ran to the floor and headed under the ring to get some wire cutters.

That's when things got really bad. Iceman was back in the ring, with a badly dinged up and bent steel chair. He looked down at Sharc, who was essentially helpless, and a big smile came over his face.

"What's the matter, cocksucker? STUCK? Here, let me help!"

Iceman raised the chair, about to sandwich Sharc's skull, but Savage ran back inside and slid on his knees in front of Iceman to block his chair shot on Sharc. Iceman stopped just in time before cracking the referee and earning himself a suspension or fine.

"GET OUT OF THE GODDAMNED WAY, FUCKO!"

Behind Savage, Sharc had ripped his way free. With Savage on his knees, seeing the blood-soaked Sharc rise up behind him was like something out of a slow-motion nightmare. So much blood! So red! The barbed wire had punctured numerous parts of the right side of Sharc's body, but none were as notable as the bloody mess around his ear. The entire ride side of his face was a mask of crimson, and a steady drip of blood was raining down on his right shoulder and onto his chest.

A lesser man might've shit himself before turning around and running.

Iceman, to his credit, wound up, ready to crack Sharc in the face with the chair.

Sharc ducked, and Savage dove to his left to avoid an accidental chair shot.

The fans were silent at seeing this bloody spectacle. Some women in the crowd had covered their eyes, not wanting to see this violent match continue.

Sharc, however, wanted it to continue. He roared at Iceman: "Hit me as hard as you can you BLAST!"

Eyes wide, Iceman wound up like he'd never wound up before, prepared to knock Sharc's head clean off his neck with the chair. Sharc, however, never gave him the chance, instead quickly leaping forward and poking him in the eye. He dropped to his knees and low-blowed Iceman. Trying to act as quickly as possibly, Sharc pulled up the plywood and angled it in the corner. He spun around.

And got kicked low.

It was time for Sharc to learn about Respect, Iceman's sit-out double arm powerbomb. Iceman hooked Sharc's wounded right arm easily, but Sharc's left arm was still working fine. Too fine, in fact, because Iceman suddenly found himself up on Sharc's shoulders.

CRUNNNNNNCH!!!

"Ohhhhh!" roared the crowd at seeing Iceman crash through the barbed wire plywood board in a Samoan drop. "Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shit!"

Exhausted, Sharc held on with all his might laying on top of Iceman, as Savage looked for a safe place to slap his hand to the mat. But with wood, barbed wire and thumbtacks, that wasn't going to be possible, so Savage opted to tap his own leg.

One!

Two!

Three!

Victorious, Sharc let go of Iceman and rolled off the debris as quickly as he could and rolled to the floor. He found a toolbox and rummaged through the contents until he found what he was looking for: duct tape. He ripped off a piece and stuck it to his ear. Savage tossed him a white towel, which quickly was soaked in blood and Sharc slowly walked toward the entryway.

Inside the ring, Iceman roared in pain as he freed his back from a strand of barbed wire, hopped to his feet, then collapsed to hands and knees mid-ring. The crowd gave both fighters a polite round of applause.

"FUCK YOUR APPLAUSE!" Iceman suddenly roared before crawling out of the ring and limping toward the nearest exit.

C O M M E R C I A L S

Old friends, catching up, with a bit of somethin' somethin' mixed in.

Sally Broxton, ACW's correspondent to Canada and for the All-Star Academy, was standing around backstage texting on her Blackberry.

She'd come into Cardiff to have a meeting with SilverHAWK right before the start of the show, wherein they discussed possibilities for Sally considering the plans for the Academy had stalled due to some funding issues. HAWK's eyes lingered one time too many toward Sally's chest, which creeped the young lady out. Although, she asked for it by not buttoning up the top few buttons of her dress shirt.

Nothing concrete really came out of that meeting, and Sally began to consider if her job was on the line. After the odd turn of events featuring Z offering to help fund the return of the Academy, however, things were looking up for Sally Broxton.

tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap "Annnnd, send. Whew, that was a long one!" Sally mumbled to herself, as she finally sent the text message she'd been typing to her sister and returned the Blackberry to the left breast pocket of her dress shirt.

Looking up, Sally shot a scowl at one of the stage-hands that had been enchanted by the young lady's rather short red skirt. Then, out of the corner of her eye, Sally noticed something. No, it wasn't creepy SilverHAWK back for another peek at her exposed chest (which wasn't actually anything to write home about). No, Sally's eyes locked on somebody she hadn't seen in a very long time.

An old friend. In fact, a gal-pal from college.

"OHMYGOSH! KRRRRRISTINIA!""

That high-pitch squeal was directed at one of the newer members of ACW, who'd actually been quietly wandering around the arena for a few minutes; Kristinia Kage was her name. She spun her head around, taken aback by some random woman squealing at her.

It took Kristinia a few seconds to put a name to the face. And then, she smiled.

The two women walked quickly toward one another, and Sally's delight at meeting her old friend resulted in an over-eager hug. Kristinia was a wee bit taken aback, but hugged back. She liked Sally, and a familiar face in what was unfamiliar terrority in a weird place? Very comforting.

"Oh, wow! Sally! It's been ages, hasn't it?" Kristinia remarked after she initiated a breakaway from the hug. Sally got the hint, but held on to Kristinia's hands.

Guess she was super-psyched to see her old friend. "I know! I'm pretty sure it's been a shade over four years! I didn't know you'd signed with ACW. I'd heard through the grapevine that you were going to take a break for a while."

Kristinia smiled, as the two women started to walk down the hallway, no longer holding hands. "I know. I recently just finished a tour in Japan... kick-boxing, actually. Didn't go too well; won five, lost nine.

But still, it was an interesting six months. Japan's great, and the organisation I was in was all sorts of fun. I just wanted to take an extended break to recharge, you know? But the itch to get back into the swing of things just got... well, too itchy, I guess. Ha!

You know me; this business is all I've been doing for as long as I can remember."

Sally nodded her head, well aware of Kristinia's history. It was in fact her Greek friend that had gotten her involved in this industry, but Sally never made it as a wrestler. She instead did a variety of odd-jobs for numerous federations before finally signing on to ACW in October of 2009.

The two friends reached the makeshift cafeteria, and Sally prompted sat down on a bench, crossing her legs as she did so. Kristinia opted to remain standing, leaning against the wall as Sally looked up at her.

"So, Sally, whatcha been up to?" Kristinia posed, watching as Sally reached over to grab a scone off the nearby table. "Last I heard, you were an interviewer of sorts for some place in Orlando?"

Sally took a bite of the scone, winced, then shuddered. "This scone sucks. And please, Kris, don't remind me of that Orlando nonsense. Seriously, I was sooo mad at that place!

I spent six months of my life there being groped to high heaven, was barely doing anything worthwhile, and was consistently paid late. Such a mistake. I left that circus to take a month and a half budget holiday. And that's when I came across ACW. Long story short, I was attached to the All-Star Academy as its correspondent slash event reporter."

Kristinia nodded, noting silently to herself that Sally hadn't said anything about her personal life. "Yes, I've heard about the Academy. Sounds like a bunch of fun. I might be involved in that, considering I haven't really done proper flat-out wrestling for a while. I think working with some of the students could help me get my groove back.

But for now, I'm here in the major leagues, if you will. Not sure what my plans are, but I've got tonight to scope out the competition and plot my next course of action. Excitement, excitement!"

Sally giggled. She'd really missed having this sort of banter with Kristinia. Sally thought back to when the two of them first knew each other, and from there, her mind wandered a bit more. Turning slightly head, Sally cleared her throat and tossed the scone aside. She then tapped the space on the bench next to her, signalling with her big brown eyes for Kristinia to sit down.

Raising an eyebrow, Kristinia thought about it for a second. "Heh, thanks."

"No problem, Kris." Sally responded, cocking her head sideways. "Sooo, if you want, I could give you a bit of a tour later to some of the talent. The nicer ones, at least.

And if you're not too busy after the show, I'm pretty sure Cardiff must have a good bar where we could drink ourselves a little bit silly."

Kristinia crossed her legs, her smile getting tighter. Drinks? Sounded good. With Sally? Considering their history? Tricky. Still, she didn't want to offend her old friend.

"Totally, I think that is a fine idea, Sally!" Kristinia therefore responded, which drew an excitable clap of hands from Sally. Kristinia's eyes couldn't help but shift downwards at Sally's skirt, which had hiked up just a few inches.

Oh yeah, I went there. Haven't I been subtle enough so far?

The silence was suddenly broken by a loud vibrating sound. Get your mind out of the gutter, it was Sally's Blackberry. Sally mouthed an apology as she clumsily retrieved her Blackberry, frowning as she quickly scanned through the contents of what Kristinia could assume was a text message.

She would be right. Sally looked up, a little annoyed. "Darn, and just when we're catching up. The boss has requested my presence.

But listen. Drinks, tonight. You already said yes. Don't run away, okay? I'll track you down later, catch the rest of the show, and then we'll mosey on out of here together. Deal?"

Sally stood up, Blackberry still in her hand. Kristinia too stood up, flicking her hair backwards as she nodded with a playful smile. That only brought another squeal of delight from Sally, who surprised Kristinia with another hug before she scampered away to meet SilverHAWK.

That left Kristinia Kage to her own devices, and she looked around the makeshift cafeteria she was in. ACW seemed overwhelming to her at first, but Kristinia couldn't ignore the lure of a popular wrestling organisation. Plus, touring around Europe? Very cool.

Now, however, Kristinia Kage had another positive to add to her column in the form of her old friend Sally Broxton.

"I hope this works out." Kristinia muttered to herself. What was she referring to?

You decide.

The Cogs Begin To Turn, Part Two

   

SilverHAWK looked out the window at his first look of Wales. To be honest he had never actually heard of the place until the tour details were announced... granted he was American. Why the fuck would he need to know were Wales was?

As HAWK entered his Welsh office for the evening, he ran into a wall. A human wall. Standing in front of him was the man he had seen last week escorting Jeremy Hunt around the building. He was a monster of a man; at least 6'8'' or 6'9'' with arms the size of tree trunks.

HAWK eyeballed the mysterious beast... until a voice from behind him broke the tension.

"You can let him in."

The large man stood to the side as HAWK now witnessed Jeremy Hunt, the SlySports executive sitting on his desk.

"Please... take your seat Mr. HAWK, I didn't want you to come in finding myself on your chair. That would have been awfully embarrassing."

SilverHAWK casually took the papers in his hand and looked at them, like he was actually busy at this moment in time, but he still felt the large mans eyes gunning for the back of his head.

"I just wanted to say 'hello' and for you to know I was here this week. I have to say last weeks show was brilliant, especially the Scorpion match. Your brainchild I assume?"

Hunt spoke of the utter chaos that happened like week like it was planned.

"Uh... yeah we had a hand in that. We thought it was be good to be spontaneous."

Hunt folder his arms and smiled.

"Excellent."

The large presence behind him then snuck up on Hunt and whispered in his ear... Hunts eyes told the story.

"That's right... we should be going shouldn't we? We have business to attend to Mr. HAWK, so I shall be bidding you farewell."

As the exec and his bodyguard left the office, HAWK watched as the large man once again never took his eyes off him... before he went off into the distance.

HAWK sighed to himself.

Wondering when Hunt was going to show his real cards.

A mysterious warning from beyond. Oooooh.

Back at ringside, the fans cheered. Why?

Nobody knew. Strange.

Suddenly, the house lights dimmed. Everybody's attention was directed to the SlyTron, as it started to crackle with life.

Was it time for yet another message for the "SVJ for ACW Hall of Fame Induction" campaign? That's what most people immediately thought of.

After a few seconds, giant white text started to scroll upwards from the bottom of the screen. This time, there was no music accompanying the scrolling text.

Just a cryptic message:

--

WE ARE SPLINK.

THE BESTEST TAG TEAM IN ALL OF WRESTLINGS.

WE ONCE DEFENDED OUR TAG TEAM STRAPS AGAINST A PAIR OF POLAR BEARS.

... OKAY, IT WAS A PAIR OF KOALA BEARS.

... AND OKAY, WE DIDN'T ACTUALLY HAVE TAG TEAM STRAPS AT THAT TIME.

BUT STILL! KOALA BEARS, THEY'RE FIERCE AND SHIT.

WE'RE CURRENTLY ON HOLIDAY. WE'RE FAT, OUT OF SHAPE, HAVE CHEESE IN OUR BELLY BUTTONS AND HAVEN'T SEEN OUR FEET IN AGES.

BE WARNED, THOUGH, HAIRS OF WRESTLING.

WE ARE COMING FOR YOU, AND FOR *OUR* ACW TAG TEAM TITLES. AND ALSO THAT GUNKY-FACED FEMALE YOU CALL A MANAGER.

ALL HER BOOBIES ARE BELONG TO US!

SHORT STORY LONG; YOU CRUNT BISCUITS WON'T KNOW WHAT HIT YOU.

SPLINK IS COMING BACK!

... IN MAYBE FOUR MONTHS. WE STILL HAVEN'T DECIDED.

BUT WE'RE COMING!

AND WE'RE GONNA GETCHA! RAAAAAH!

SPLINK, OUT!

--

And that was that.

Half the people in the audience were confused. Who, or what, was SPLINK?

But the other half, they knew. Oh yes.

They knew exactly who SPLINK were.

Former ACW Tag Team Champions, for one. Recognise.

Also, the former Tag Team Champions of theAsylum. You got that right.

"WE WANT SPLINK!"

"WE WANT SPLINK!"

"WE WANT SPLINK!"

They weren't the loudest of cheers. But it served as evidence, nonetheless...

... that SPLINK was still remembered.

Heirs of Wrestling, you've been put on notice. Be afraid.

"WE WANT SPLINK!"

Be very afraid.

I can help.

   

SilverHAWK sat in his office for the night, fingers of both hands interlocked and resting underneath his chin. He was obviously deep in thought, judging by his narrowed eyes.

The chaos surrounding the Scorpion Fighting Title? Good for ratings, but a nightmare to keep up with.

The whole situation between Trey Vincent and Alias? Hell, if he could go, HAWK himself would strap on his boots and try to get his hands on Alias to pocket the money.

The unexplained intentions of the SlySports executive Jeremy Hunt? Worrying, despite Hunt's reassuring claims that he was just in the business of observation.

"Got a lot on your mind, eh? I've been there!"

And then, there was Z. The masked enigma, who had been waving his wand of mischief for a while now.

SilverHAWK looked up, letting out a low sigh. Not what he needed right now. "Yes, sort of. And to be honest, your whole situation is also on my mind. I haven't gotten the documentation from your doctors regarding your injury."

"Oh, dear!" Z exclaimed, with all the realism and sincerity he could muster. "Sorry about that, Boss. I'll get right on it right away. And I know you're probably going to want to talk to me about the things I've been doing in place of actually wrestling, which is what you hired me to do. We'll get to that later.

I have two -- count them -- TWO bits of business to run past you."

Z, who'd been standing at the entrance of the office the whole time, now proceeded to walk in and take a seat on the chair across from HAWK. All the while, SilverHAWK didn't move an inch. Just exactly what kind of business was the masked enigma speaking about?

The big man would find out. "So, Boss, I've heard about this All-Star Academy. I got one of your crew members to tell me more, and I was hooked instantly. I also heard about the issues getting the second season underway, and suffice to say...

... I'm pretty sure I can help."

SilverHAWK blinked. Z, his true facial expression disguised by his Fantomex-ish mask, merely reached into one of the inside pockets of his trenchcoat and produced a piece of paper. Chuckling, he handed it over to SilverHAWK.

The former ACW World Champion, now the General Manager, hesitated for a second. Clearing his throat, SilverHAWK finally reached out and grabbed the piece of paper, wasting no time in reading the contents of the note. For his part, Z leaned back and chilled like a villain.

"This... this can't be right." SilverHAWK mumbled to himself, scanning each line in the note once again. "You want to throw in some of your own money into the Academy, get one of your friends to help out as an administrator on minimum wage, and you've got a representative from a cable network in the States interested in the product and eager to meet me?

How the hell did you pull that last bit off? And why do you want to throw your money into this project?

Pardon my scepticism, but I have to ask what your game is here."

SilverHAWK was a smart man. He loved the note that Z handed to him. It seemed like a fantastic reprieve for the Academy, and possibly the best piece of news he'd received all night. Z had indeed come through with two 'bits of business', as the masked enigma himself put it.

But considering Z's actions since his debut consisted of being not medically cleared to wrestle, to screwing his protege in Buddy Saxon over in the latter's debut match, to taking Mark Shields under his wing and finally the odd dynamic the masked enigma had with Vince Jacobs?

It would be absolutely dumb of SilverHAWK to not want to second-guess the intentions of Z.

And Z, who simply laughed at the big man, knew that HAWK was not a man to be trifled with.

"Nothing. I want nothing." Z emphatically stated, ceasing his laughter. SilverHAWK stood up, and so did the masked enigma. "I want absolutely nothing at all.

In fact, you'd be doing me a favour by hiring my friend as an administrator. Plus, I believe in the Academy. Don't consider this to be some sort of convoluted plot where I end up making you run around Wales courtesy of a game of Simon says only to reveal I'm the brother of some dashing guy you once killed or something.

I'm simply a man, trying to make up for the fact that I'm not technically doing what you hired me to do. Besides, I've got lots of money. Money money, all that money. I'm not doing anything with it, and nobody seems to be able to rob me. So, you can have it for the Academy.

Just make sure you meet with the chap from the cable company. He's really into wrestling, and he's really keen to do business with the federation. I figure getting the Academy exposed will be an additional source of revenue for you and the company."

In a mirror from their very first meeting, it was now Z that extended his hand to SilverHAWK, asking for a handshake.

SilverHAWK looked down at the hand, did some calculations in his head quickly about how fast the help from Z could kickstart the second season plans for the All-Star Academy, and grinned for the first time on the night before shaking hands with the masked enigma.

And as the two men locked eyes, SilverHAWK felt at ease with Z. Z, on the other hand, had a completely different thought at that exact moment.

Checkmate.

Years Behind Schedule

       

Rex Silver walked briskly past the craft services table. He'd gotten his share of grub earlier in the night when things were slow, but showtime called him away. SlySports changing their ways meant double time breaking up the backstage confrontations and ringside beat downs that had claimed airtime in recent weeks.

As he rounded the corner he saw Kati, Trevor Wilson's green haired miscreant, heading toward him. She shot him a quick wink and a smile and kept walking by. He turned around to see where she was going, or at least get a glimpse of that ass, but what he saw instead was Wilson leaning against the wall behind him.

Waiting for Kati, following Rex, or just appearing from nowhere to be a suspicious bastard.

It didn't much matter to the head of security. He took off to do his job, and left the plotters and deceivers to their own business.

"You take care of that errand for me?"

"I take care of everything you need, darling. You just have to ask and tip well."

"Things are going to heat up around here when I start walking around as a double champion. You getting a title shot anytime soon?"

"I can only hope. And dream. And betray."

"Amen...Is that the boss man himself?"

"Superstar" Vince Jacobs, looking rather pissed after seeing the ad a few moments ago, took a glance across the hallway he was in and gave a sigh of apathy. He brushed past some junior SlySports workers and continued on his way down the hall until he caught sight of Wilson sending a short wave in his direction.

"Well then. First time chatting with you since you came back."

"You're too busy taking what I taught you and using it to keep that chunk of silver around your waist."

"You like this ornament of mine? I plan on adding to it soon."

"Just don't set your sights too high. Now that the Superstar is back it's high time I got myself a title deserving of my many accolades."

"Listen, Vince, I know it's been a while since you and I were in the same company together, and it's been even longer since you first smacked me around in a ring to teach me the lessons that got me this far, but there's something here between us."

SVJ stood stone-faced for a moment, then a smirk took over, and then he let a little laugh go.

"What, like a tag team or something?"

"Actually", Kati stepped between the two men, "Trevor just laid out a death threat."

"Watch your ass little girl, you are standing in the presence of greatness. Threats mean nothing to me, action speaks louder than words. I'm an icon the world over but especially here so don't go thinking you're something with a title around your waist. I've been to the top and not too long ago you were coming to me asking for MY help so you could scrape a win together and have a reason to run your mouth."

"My assistant here mis-spoke. I'm merely saying that you may have trained me, but I'll steamroll through you for even a glimpse at a title shot. Alliances don't run too deep with me and you are no exception. Just keep that in mind, Vince."

Wilson conjured up a wry smile and gave a pat on the shoulder to his one-time mentor.

"Trevor, you little plebeian, I'd watch where you lay those hands because the next time I might be snapping them to pieces. And that's just because I can."

"Kati's got a title to win, but you take care, Superstar. I'll see you around."

"Yeah, and please don't spread anymore rumors about my ass please. It's fine the way it is."

Wilson left with Kati in tow. The duo smiled like they got away with something, but more than likely they were relatively lucky to be walking away at all. SVJ shook his head as he watched them leave and then chuckled to himself.

"Little shit has no idea."

#1 CONTENDERSHIP TO SPIRIT OF ACW TITLE
Khristain Keller vs. Malk Al-Haq
REFEREE: MARK SHIELDS

   

In what was supposed to be a three way match this evening, it was now a pure one on one. Why was that again? Because earlier this evening Khristain Keller decided to ram a steel chair into Midnight Cowboys skull obviously!

So now the #1 contender match was down to two men.

Khristain Keller aka the Coolest Cunt Not to be in the WWR Rankings.

And Malk Al-Haq, the man whom Trevor Wilson defeated last week.

Malk Al-Haq already stood in the ring… waiting for his chance to take on the man who rammed his spine into different shapes the previous week as Keller, for some reason, proxied for the Spirit of ACW.

It was his belief that he would get a title shot this week automatically.

‘Dirty Window’ by Metallica.

He was wrong.

Keller walked down to the ring with a purpose in his step and never taking his eyes off his opponent in the middle of the ring. He was even ready for the ring.

No hoody tonight.

He meant fucking business.

Both men were already in the ring and already smashing into each other as Shields rang the bell to get this show on the road. Keller and Al-Haq exchanged right hands in what seemed like a bit of deja vu from the previous week.

Kick to the groin.

That was new.

Shields told Keller to watch what he was doing as K2 lifted his arms like he had done nothing wrong, until Al-Haq moved and he smashed him in the face with another right hand sending him into the corner of the ring.

Three shoulder thrusts later and Al-Haq was ready to travel to the other side of the ring.

Irish whip to the other side and then a big splash left Al-Haq staggering into the centre of the ring, wounded already.

“What a punk… go back to the Academy Junior.”

A leg sweep decked Al-Haq to the canvas and Keller made the cover.

ONE…

TWO…

Kickout.

Keller didn’t think it would be that easy… but still it would have been nice.

Pulling Al-Haq up by the neck, the King Shit of Fuck Mountain shoved him into the corner and began pounding left and rights into his middrift… but it only took a moment of taking his eye off the ball, for Keller to get a knee in the stomach which sent him reeling.

Swinging neckbreak.

Keller was up like a shot… wondering what the fuck happened.

Clothesline.

He was down again, this time getting up a little more gingerly.

ONE SLAP.

The crowd cheered.

ANOTHER SLAP.

Another small cheer from the crowd as Kellers chest was turning red raw.

Al-Haq kicked Keller in the stomach and then suplexed him to the mat… before covering Keller!

ONE…

TWO…

…

Kickout.

By the skin of his fucking teeth.

Al-Haq kept up the pace by pulling Keller to his feet, but with his opponent playing a dead weight, Al-Haq didn’t notice the large index finger gunning for his eye followed by the large chop to his throat.

Al-Haq spluttered and coughed as he dropped to one knee holding his throat.

“I hope you choke you cunt.”

Boot to the face.
Keller rotated his shoulder cuffs to warm up for the KILLA… and as he picked up Al-Haq he got an unusual roar from the Welsh crowd.

“The fuck…”

Of course it wasn’t for Keller…it was for a shimmering chair that was floating towards the ring, and it was being carrier by a certain Midnight Cowboy. The big Texan had his head bandaged it what was obviously an after effect from the attack earlier in the night, and as he steamed to the ring, Keller caught a wiff of his stench.

With Al-Haq standing in front of him awaited to take the PainKilla… K2 turned around and took Midnight Cowboy straight on.

Kind of.

As Midnight Cowboy swung the steel chair full force… Keller shit himself, and ducked allowing the chair to connect straight to the face of Al-Haq.

The bell rang.

Al-Haq hit the deck as the entire Welsh crowd cringed at the shot to the head.

Midnight Cowboy travelled four paces such as the momentum of the shot before dropping the chair to his feet and screaming in rage.

Keller dove out of the ring and lifted his hands in the air.

He had won by disqualification, according to Mark Shields. Shields had made a mistake seeing how it was Malk that was struck with the chair, but the bastard referee didn't give two fucks and was already out of the ring lighting up a ciggie. Keller wordlessly nodded at Shields.

Keller quickly dropped his arms however… as the party wasn’t quite over.

The Spirit is Fucked

   

“Smile for th' birdie!"

Keller watched in horror as the 6’7’’ Texan gathered pace towards the ropes and suicide dived over the top rope and squashed Keller into the concrete!

The Welsh attendance got to their feet and cheered as both men now lay on the mat in what was an absolute train wreck as Midnight Cowboy got on all fours and then to his feet.

He felt the wound on his head begin to weep again and snarled as it seemed that K2 had made the big man a little bit peeved. As he began to stomp a mudhole into Khristain Kellers chest the crowd, once again, began to react in a somewhat weird manner as they booed this.

Or did they boo the Spirit of ACW Champion who began to walk down to the ring? Trevor Wilson was armed with a steel chair as he began his stroll down to ringside as the rest of the arena watched Midnight Cowboy pull Keller to his feet and shove him back first into the ring steps.

Keller screamed in pain as he then lay on the mat, awaiting the next attack. MC on the other hand watched the Champion.

Wilson smiled as he lifted the steel chair, posssibly showing the Cowboy that it might have had his name on it but he wasn't scared in the slightest as anything Keller could dish out with such a weapon didn't leave him down earlier in the day... so what could Wilson muster?

As Midnight Cowboy turned around Keller was up and close to attacking stance, but MC was quick to this. Sprinting over he flattened Keller with a big time clothesline until a large bang made Cowboy take notice... as Wilson as in the ring, wielding his sword for all to see. The Spirit of ACW Title glistening on his waist and a steel chair sparkling in his hand.

Cowboy... had had enough.

He slide into the ring to everyones surprise... including Wilson, who clearly wasn't ready as he backed up and slide out the other side. Cowboy roared at the Champion who was now backtracking... and smiling. On the other side of the ring, K2 was on his feet, groggy as fuck and clearly not happy... but as he looked into the ring he seen a man who he did not wanna mess with at this moment in time.

Instead K2 found himself a microphone.

"Hey you hillbilly fuck..."

Cowboy turned around, but kept his eyes on Wilson too.

"Yeah you... with the blood gushing from your head."

A wry smile graced Kellers face as his handywork had left a dent, that's for sure.

"I'm done fucking about... and that little pissant on the other side of the ring has nothing to do with this either... and neither do these sheepfuckers in the arena. Next week... in whatever fucking hole we end up in this fucking cesspit of a Country, me and you big man for a shot at his title."

Everyone looked at MC for a minute, and then turned to Wilson, who seemed to have no real power in this situation.

"The winner takes on poof-boy at For Queen and Country."

STATIC. Keller dropped the mic and waited for a response from the big Texan.

Midnight Cowboy nodded and the fans cheered.

Next week... Khristain Keller versus Midnight Cowboy for a title shot at ACWs first PPV event in years? Hell yes.

Did Trevor Wilson like that idea at all? Fuck no.

C O M M E R C I A L S

ACW SCORPION FIGHTING TITLE
Kati vs. Omega ©
REFEREE: PAIGE ALLEN

   

This next match is going to be for the ACW Scorpion Fighting Championship.

CUE UP: "Ricochet" by Shiny Toy Guns

Kati came through the curtain with a smile on her face as she was going to be getting a shot at a singles championship and make her mentor the Spirit of ACW champion, Trevor Wilson very happy. She walked down the ramp looking ever so confident even though she was about the step into the ring with three hundred pounds of insanity. Kati climbed into the ring and shooed Paige away as she stood on the second ring rope in the corner and raised her arms.

CUE UP: “Redeemer” by Marilyn Manson

The lights suddenly went dim throughout the arena as the ACW-tron lit up with the word O M E G A wrapped in barbed wire. The name exploded as the mysterious man Omega walked slowly from the backstage area with the ACW Scorpion Title wrapped around ‘Barb’. He stood on the stage looking around before he raced down to the ring. The fans jeered the man that has literally turned the Scorpion division upside down since his arrival. Omega climbed into the ring always wearing his battle scars from his time in the business. He had one goal in mind tonight and that was to rip Kati’s heart out and feed it to her.

Omega unstrapped the title from around Barb and handed it to Paige before the bell sounded. Kati was giving up around one hundred and fifty pounds so she needed to use her quickness in this match. Omega charged at Kati but she quickly moved out of the way. The champion tried to lock up with Kati again but she quickly moved trying to frustrate the champ. The big man looked at his corner at Barb and that’s when Kati snuck a chop block in to get the big man off his feet. Kati started to nail the champion with a series of kicks and punches which Omega seemed to be shrugging off.

The big man tried to get to his feet but Kati was quick to land a standing dropkick to the big man. Omega was taken aback as Kati quickly went behind him and rolled him up. Paige was out of position as she ran around the two to get the count.

ONE…

KICKOUT!!

Kati stood to her feet and looked at Paige Allen for a second before screaming.

“DO YOUR DAMN JOB, BITCH”

Paige looked at Kati and pointed to her referee shirt. Kati went back to Omega who bolted from his position with a vicious clothesline that nearly took her head off. The champion bent down and picked up Kati. He hoisted her up in the air in a gorilla press before slamming her to the mat. Omega dropped down for the pin. This time Paige was in position, how ironic.

ONE…

TWO…

KICKOUT BY KATI!!

Trevor Wilson’s protégé definitely had some fight in her but she was fighting an up hill battle against this monster. Omega grabbed Kati by the hair and dragged her into the corner. He propped her up in the corner as he backed up to the opposite corner. Things look bad for Kati as Omega sprinted across the ring into the corner but Kati had the wherewithal to move. She nailed Omega with a spinning heal kick that sent the big man into the corner.

Kati hopped onto the second rope and started to lay right hands into Omega’s head as the crowd started to count with every blow.

WHACK!!
ONE…

WHACK!!
TWO…

WHACK!!
THREE…

WHACK!!
FOUR…

WHACK!!
FIVE…

WHACK!!
SIX…

Kati jumped off of Omega and grabbed him by the arm. She tried to whip the big man out of the corner but he didn’t budge. She gave the Scorpion champion a thumb to the eye before grabbing him again, this time whipping him into the ropes. Omega bounced off he ropes and was met by a dropkick that didn’t send the champion to the mat. Omega staggered in the middle of the ring as Kati went to the top rope. She flew off the top with a huricaranna, reminiscent of what she did last week from the ladder.

But this time she was able to take Omega off his feet. She hooked his leg for the pin.

ONE…

TWO…

KICKOUT!!

Kati slammed her hands on the mat looking at Paige again with that “that was a three count” look. Kati pushed Paige but Paige stood her ground and pushed Kati right back as the crowd was cheering for Paige. Kati walked over to Omega as the champion quickly grabbed her by the throat. But Kati retaliated with a swift kick to the groin that dropped the champion to one knee. Kati went to bounce off the ropes but was caught again by Omega’s hand wrapped around her throat, only this time he picked her up and drove her down to the mat with a big choke slam.

Suddenly the crowd jeered as Sharc came through the crowd. He leapt over the guardrail and grabbed Barb. He slid into the ring behind Omega and drove Barb into his back. Omega flinched as he turned around and Sharc drove the chair into his skull. Omega didn’t drop he just staggered a bit. Sharc reared back and drove the chair into Omega’s skull once more. Paige’s hands were tied as she could do nothing but watch Sharc attack the champion. Sharc dropped the chair on the mat as he hooked Omega by the head and drove him into the steel chair. Omega was busted open as Sharc looked on with a sick smile. He rolled out of the ring as Kati started to come to.

She slowly made her way over to Omega in the middle of the ring and placed an arm over his chest. Kati was going to win the Scorpion title with Sharc’s help. Paige dropped down for the cover.

ONE…

TWO…

TH-- NOOOOOOOO!!!

OMEGA KICKED OUT!! Kati couldn’t believe it. Sharc couldn’t believe it. Sharc came racing back to the ring and stood on the apron. He motioned for Kati to bring Omega over to him. Kati dragged Omega over to Sharc as he held the champion for Kati to attack. Kati bounced off the ropes looking for a flying forearm on Omega but the champion moved and Kati nailed Sharc and he fell off the apron to the floor. Kati looked down at Sharc and smiled but she didn’t realize what was about to come her way.

Kati turned around and was nailed by a huge boot from Omega. The champion quickly picked Kati up and drove her down with The End. He quickly hooked her leg for the pinfall as Paige dropped down for the count.

ONE…

TWO…

THREE…

It was over and Omega survived his first title defense. He was still a marked man especially since Iceman made his way down to the ring. Omega stood in the ring and waited for the former champion to come into the ring. However other members in the division came to the ring and caught Iceman from behind. Omega smiled through the blood on his face as he grabbed his title and slid under the bottom rope. He climbed over the guardrail and held his title high in the air as he made his way through the crowd.

It's not as dramatic as spilling hot coffee on the other guy, but it's just as fun. I think.

   

Look, it was ACW newbie Kristinia Kage! And she was... *gasp* walking backstage!

Now we've got THAT out of the way, let's get to the meat of the story. Kristinia looked around at the crew members running around, responding to the natural reprucussions of executing a live event. She recalled the events of the day thus far in her head.

Meet up with the Boss to get the contract finalised? Check.

Go on a tour where she was introduced to key members of the ACW staff and roster? Check.

Run into an old friend from way back when and when their relationship was not as clear-cut as friends? Uhhh, check.

Get the chance to watch a couple of matches, including the very brutal fight between Sharc and Iceman, and of course the battle between Omega and Kati that just happened? Checkarooni.

Speaking of Iceman, there he was, limping out of the toilet and toward the path of the lost-in-thought Kristinia Kage. Considering he'd lost in his match to Sharc and got pretty banged up in the process, one would assume Iceman was in a foul mood.

"COCKSUCKER~!"

One would be right. Who was he shouting at? Some random crew member.

The insult, hollered loudly, snapped Kristinia out of her daydream. Her eyes fell upon the wounded Iceman, who continued to sneer at the people that walked past him. Eventually, *his* gaze fell upon Kristina Kage... who by then, was standing still and observing Iceman with her arms folded across her chest and a thin smile plastered on her face.

Naturally, Iceman's sneer grew more... uhm, sneery? Sinister, yes. That's the word. "And what the f**k are YOU looking at, huh?"

"Hmm. Well, you aren't very nice, are you?" Kristinia responded without skipping a beat. "It's a good thing I'd remembered who you are. I can't believe you're the same guy that used to be cannon fodder for everyone else in PIW.

Impressive turnaround in your career. Nice to see that people can change."

Oh. No. She. Didn't.

Iceman just stood there for a few seconds, the veins in his neck pulsating so hard they looked as if they could explode at any moment. Kristinia Kage had definitely hit the former ACW Scorpion Fighting under the proverbial belt.

"Wait, wait, WAIT JUST A GOD-DAMN COCKSUCKING MINUTE." Iceman finally found the words, and spat them out with extreme venom. "Who the F**K are YOU, titless wonder?

You're what? Here one day, and that gives YOU the right to talk as if you KNOW who I am?

I am the man that beat the current World Champion for his Scorpion Fighting Title. I beat Alias, fair and square. I was SCREWED out of the title, and since then, I've not gotten my fair shake at a rematch.

I'm out there, f**king shit up. And what have YOU done? Flashed your tits at a bunch of nobodies?

You... well, you deserve to be called a COCKSUCKER.

COCKSUCKKKER!"

Iceman shook his fist at Kristinia, as menacingly as he could considering the amount of pain he was in, and huffed up with a snort. He didn't even bother to wait for Kristinia, who remained emotionless throughout the hate-filled rant directed at her, to respond.

As far as Iceman was concerned, the new ACW recruit was simply not worth his time. All he could think about was revenge on everybody in the Scorpion Fighting Title division, and his eventual one-on-one rematch.

Kristinia began walking on, after taking a few moments to chew on the words of Iceman. She didn't particularly like how the former ACW Scorpion Fighting Champ kept falling back on profanities to get his points across.

But, the slightest of smiles she had on her face when she first spotted Iceman now grew wider.

"I guess that's it!" she muttered to herself determinedly. "I have my first opponent here.

I'm going to challenge Iceman to a fight next week."

Deathwish, much? We'll see on Courage 104.

Cookies? Cookies.

   

Buddy Saxon, a towel over his head and covering the majority of his face, sighed as he turned away from the television monitor. He'd just seen Omega crush Kati to ensure his first title defense was successful. The more important thing was, Omega won.

Unfortunately for the rookie from Bournemouth (ENGURLAND), he was 0-2 in as many weeks. And Buddy's confidence was shattered.

It affected him to the point that he didn't even notice the looming presence of one of the most interesting characters on the ACW roster. Who also happened to be his mentor.

"Well, Buddy. You don't look too happy. Anything I can do to help?" Z asked, stopping a few feet away from the still distracted Saxon. Buddy looked up, having been halted by Z's voice.

The look of dejection on his face turned to one of slight anger. "Uh, hey. And yeah, actually you could 'elp me out.

You could start by explaining what happened last week. That wasn't cool."

Z chuckled. He knew exactly what Buddy was referring to; during Saxon's debut last week, he was introduced to all the ACW fans with all the confidence in the world. That confidence and so much more was taken away from young Buddy Saxon courtesy of Jack Harris and Z's manipulating of referee Mark Shields to ensure Buddy didn't just lose the match -- he ended up rather humiliated and majorly wounded.

Buddy tried to forget about that experience, but defeat to Brandon Thomas at the top of the show only added to the misery. Z locked eyes with Buddy, his young protege staring back defiantly. "Listen, Buddy, you have absolutely every reason to be cross with me. You might feel let down by me, your mentor, for what happened.

And I would not even dare of defending my actions.

Here's the thing -- my only intention, was to make you stronger. Wiser. Hungrier. Unfortunately, last week's experience lingered on in the back of your mind despite the brave front you'd have everyone believe. And for that, I admit my faults.

I suppose my method of trying to toughen you up leaves a lot to be desired. Soooo...

... I'm sorry."

Z shrugged his shoulders (but not in a nonchalant way) and took one step back, now folding his arms across his chest. Like he was sizing up his young student, attempting to figure out the kind of reaction Saxon would throw back.

Saxon removed the towel from his head and dabbed his face with it. He was obviously thinking about what Z had just said to him, and wondered about whether his mentor had steered him wrong so far.

After all, without Z, Buddy figured him being in ACW wouldn't even have happened.

The defiant look faded away from Saxon's eyes, and the towel went over his left shoulder. "Yeah, I think I get what you're trying to say. It was like a test, right?

A test of character? A little bit like Hollywood week of American Idol?"

"Ha, nice one!" Z fired back, a smile forming on his face, his position unchanged. "You could say that, yes. But I should have maybe taken a bit more time with you, tried something less... devilish."

Buddy nodded thoughtfully, with Z watching on like a father would look at a son who needed cheering up. "Anyways, I'm guessing you didn't get those cookies?

"Huh? OH!" Buddy responded, taking a moment to realise Z meant what had happened at the very top of the show -- even before the match with Brandon Thomas. "Yeah, I thought SilverHAWK was going to give out some special kind of Welsh cookies, which was why everyone wanted 'some' and 'a piece of that'. It was very confusing.

Wait, you were there? Did you start the cookie rumour?"

Z shook his head playfully. "Nooo. I was just curious as to what was going on.

BUT! I do have Subway cookies in my locker-room. Peanut, double chocolate chip and oatmeal raisin; oh my!

How 'bout it, young padawan?"

Buddy Saxon bit his lower lip. He hadn't really expressed his forgiveness in words to Z, but the look the two men shared seemed to indicate that they were on the same page again. At least, as far as last week's experience was concerned.

Plus, his mentor sure knew what was needed to boost his spirits up. "You've got it. Thanks, Z!"

And with that, Z took a step forward and put his right arm across the back of Buddy Saxon. The mentor and the student took off down the hallway from the direction Buddy originally came from. Obviously, it was time for some cookies.

The twinkle in Z's eyes, however, suggested something much more vile was at play. And Buddy Saxon appeared to be none the wiser.

Stuck backstage with you

   

Paige Allen sighed as she brushed her brow with her right arm, wiping away any sweat after her role officiating the Omega - Kati match.

“Here, try this.”

Chris Moliano stepped into view, arm extended as he offered Paige a towel. His trademark perfect smile was noticeably absent from his chiseled face. Paige took the towel and wiped her brow once more.

“Thanks” started Paige. “I can’t help but notice that you’re looking awfully down there Christopher.”

A feint hint of a smile hit the corner of Moliano’s mouth. He secretly liked the way Paige had taken to using his full first name despite the way he often playfully complained when she did so. He adjusted the neck brace he was still forced to wear after the steel chair aided assault he had suffered at the hands of Trevor Wilson two weeks prior.

“I’ll get over it. You know how much I worry when you’re out there refereeing. Anything could happen inside that ring.”

“Oh stop...” Paige smiled as she stepped forward and put her arms gingerly around Chris shoulders so as not to hurt his neck. “I love the way you worry but I can handle myself out there. Besides, don’t think I don’t know what this frown of yours is really all about. I know you hate being stuck back here unable to get out there inside that ring yourself and compete. Just give it a little more time and you’ll be back out there before you know it.”

“You’re right.” Chris carefully leaned forward and planted a gentle kiss on Paige’s forehead before continuing. “In fact maybe I should have just hit the ring today and taken up some more time. You’ve seen this Z joker flapping his gums taking the time out to make a fool of himself. He’s new to the company, supposedly injured yet still out and about running his mouth like the people actually give a damn. He is living proof that manure can sprout legs and walk. I don’t know where he came from, but somebody needs to explain to him how things work in ACW…”

“And that somebody can be you…in a couple of weeks time when you’re given the all-clear.” Paige interrupted sensing the increasing anger in Moliano’s voice. “For the time being I’m afraid you’re stuck back here keeping me company.”

The annoyance brought about by thinking of Z faded into insignificance immediately as Chris finally flashed his trademark smile and locked eyes with Paige.

“Well then I guess things could certainly be worse…”

Blowing Up The Main Event

   

With an excited energy rolling throughout the halls of Courage, we once again found ourselves outside of SilverHAWK’s office. This time however he wasn’t filled with the hustle and bustle of those looking to take the bounty on Alias’s head… oh no, that bounty had been taken already.

By the Heirs of Wrestling. Who would face Alias in a triple-threat match.

As the camera man poked himself through the door, it appeared we had dropped ourselves into the middle of a meeting. SilverHAWK sat at his desk, facing the man sitting in front of him with a stoic look on his weathered face. This seemed to be an important meeting.

“I’m glad you came to came to me with some ideas as well, because even though I know how good TV’s plan is for ACW’s ratings… the last thing I am is biased.”

A meeting with the ACW World Champion, Alias. The Original Pulp Hero nodded, with a mean grin.

“And I know RATINGS…”

The words from the Pulp Champion harkened back to his first title win against Jason Kain, in the Best of Seven, six years ago.

“So your plan?” Hawk proposed running his hand across his moustache, as he offered the floor to Alias.

“If Vincent wants me to put my title on the line against Gallway and Pierce, and put a hundred grand up to do it, I’ll do ‘im one better and make it a tag team match between those two chips off the ol’ rotten apples and…”

Suddenly the camera panned out, revealing Shawn Jessica Hart sitting beside Alias. Hart was dressed in something that looked like Mr. Freeze’s costume from Batman and Robin, except powered by a lava lamp instead of ice.

“For the second time in the history of the WOOOOOOOORLD-OOH-OOH-OORLD-PO-PO-POKE HER FACE, PO-PO-POKE HER FACE… it is The Cult Classic, The Prime Minister of Gettin' Sinister, the BANGbino, Muff Daddy, Mr. XXX, the Corona Man, the Midcard Maestro, El Hombre Magnifico in the flesh, Britney's Baby Daddy, the Ayatollah of Areolas, Shooter, Suger, Sweet Cheeks for Sweet Chica, the HART Throb, The Phenom, The Pop Pugalist, The Phighting Phantom of You Phantasies with a PhD in Jigganometry… LORD GAGA and the Original Fame Monster, Alias! And this time… it’s personal.”

"No."

"Wait. And this time... we'll win."

Alias then looked at Hawk. "I know you don’t mind this idea of partnering us up either… but no. He's already wrestling."

Hawk took a moment to look at the piece of paper in front of him, and nodding, looked back at Hart with a shrug.

"You are already wrestling. You’re up next, actually. Versus Orlando Grant."

"Well… yeah.” Hart tried to reiterate.

"So you can't be in the tag match." Alias put more then bluntly, stopping what SJH was going to say.

"BEEP!" Yes, Hart actually said beep. The camera then zoomed back onto Alias, and with a deep breath to collect himself, the hardened World Champion continued.

“As I was sayin’, if I’m wrestling… if I’m wrestling against the Heirs of Wrestling, I wanna make it a tag match. And if I’m making it a tag match, I wan HER at my side.”

The camera then whipped around to reveal a very recognizable woman standing with all the layed-back and semi-bored attitude that L’Enfant Terrible was infamous for. That’s right, Karina Wolfenden was back in ACW. And this time, it wasn’t for an End Game appearance.

Vox Nihili versus The Heirs of Wrestling?

Trey Vincent, that Sports Entertainment Icon, DID say he was in the ratings game. A match involving two of the top-five tag teams in the world, would give ACW just that. K-Wolf brushed her hair out of her eyes, and stepped forward.

“If Bigby has to put up his beautiful gold belt, then the Heirs hafta put those Tag Teams titles into the pot too.”

Hawk nodded, thinking it over. The past two weeks had featured some of the biggest main events in the history of Courage. This? Would be right up there. As K-Wolf stood beside Alias, the two gave each other a fist pump.

“So… if you win the titles… will you sign with All-Star Championship Wrestling?” Hawk put it bluntly to K-Wolf. He wanted it to be a necessity that Astropop had to answer. Karina shrugged though, there WAS always TV to get back at for all of his recent comments. If K-Wolf decided to care enough.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.” K-Wolf replied to Hawk, which was at least good enough for him at the moment. Alias then stood up from his chair, and standing beside Karina Wolfenden he gave a parting shot into the camera.

“’Fore that though the Big Bad and the Wolf wanna sink there teeth into some Heirs.”

Tired of the games

   

The camera quickly panned backstage to see a scramble around the tech area. The cameraman rushed back to the area to see Vince Jacobs over top of Jesse Ramey throwing big rights. Jacobs grabbed Ramey and slammed him up against the garage door. Vince kicked Jesse in the gut. Jesse winced in pain as Vince gave him another kick.

“You really think you jokers can fuck with an Icon.” Jacobs said as he grabbed Jesse by the head.

“I am tired of the games from you and Z. Don’t you peons realize who you are dealing with.” Jacobs again said as he drove a right into Jesse’s face.

Vince picked up Jesse and whipped him into some crates. Ramey fell to the floor with some of the crates falling on top of him.

Jacobs shoved the crates out of the way and went right for Ramey again.

Vince knelt down next to Ramey. “I deserve to be in the ACW Hall of Fame and I told you before that you needed to watch out for the den of wolves around here.”

Jacobs smirked as he drove a knee in Jesse’s face.

“You just been marked by the leader of the pack.” Jacobs said as he gave Ramey one last boot to the face before walking away from the camera.

SINGLES MATCH
Shawn Jessica Hart vs. Orlando Grant
REFEREE: TRENT SAVAGE

   

BAM!

BAM!

BAM!

BAM!

The pyrotechnics BLASTED out once again.

GHETTO SUPASTAR reverberated throughout the arena.

The fans were on their collective feet.

It wasn't his first in-ring foray to ACW action, but it did mark the beginning of his career with the company as a singles competitor. So when END GAME WINNER, GaGa reflector, and all-around good guy SHAWN JESSICA HART appeared atop the ramp for his bout with OG, Orlando Grant, the crowd was more than happy to oblige the endlessly-budding star with an awe-inspiring array of applause.

The Prime Minister of Gettin' Sinister responded to their praise with a series of sweet dance moves and DANGEROUS pelvic thrusts whilst making his way down the rampway and into the ring. He had brought his entourage with him, but for this particular bout they were left waiting in the wings. It was, after all, a new place, a new endeavor, and a new batch of potential followers to impress... and if SJH's army of HART-broken Phenom Fiends was going to grow as much as the man hoped and dreamed, he was going to have to do this WITHOUT his merry band of lackeys.

Either way, the up-and-coming OG had other ideas.

It was apparent from the look on his face the very moment he appeared in the arena. Big Egos by Dr. Dre was blaring in the background; an apropos anthem for the match that was about to take place. Hart, along with his 8,000 nicknames, was a guy that lived and breathed to spread his own gospel. But despite the fact that this buzzsaw awaited him, the esteemed Mr. Grant appeared completely and utterly unimpressed.

Upon reaching the ring, OG instantly locked eyes with the Muff Daddy. In the meantime, Referee Trent Savage quickly got to work, checking each man for weapons and any other wackiness. Satisfied that neither was about to resort to any sort of shenanigans, he quickly signaled for the bell and just like that... the bout had BEGUN!

DING! DING! DING!

The crowds roar was instantly renewed as the two grapplers wasted no time in locking up!

Back and forth they went until FINALLY, SJH sent Orlando SHOOTING back into his corner, rolling and bouncing off the canvas along the way. Without missing a beat, the Softcore Soldier raised his hands triumphantly to the rafters, fueling the fans' FIRE. Now slumped up against the turnbuckle, ACW's OG ANGRILY slapped the top ring rope! Shortly thereafter, he BURST out from the corner, arm outstretched in an attempt to ROCK Hart's world with a clothesline from HELL...

...but the PHENOM parried with PERFECTION!

Coming back the other way, Grant dashed at SJH, ready to UNLOAD with a series of hard rights and left, but before he could....

SMAAAAAAAAAAACK!!!

Hart had HIT him with his rrrrrrrrrraging HART ON!

Grant was down like the stock market and, without wasting so much as a moment, SJH was there for the cover-

ONE!

TWO!

THREEEEEEEEEE!

DING! DING! DING!

Before they could even return to their seats from the pre-match festivities, the man called HART had emerged VICTORIOUSLY without so much as a SHRED of resistance! With Orlando Grant out like a light bulb, Savage was quick to find Shawn Jessica's hand and RAISE IT triumphantly to the Heavens!

The silky smooth lyrical stylings of Pras, Mya and the Ol' Dirty Bastard rang out once more and the Phenom proceeded to to swing about in ways that would put even Ellen Degeneres to shame!

His road to the ACW title had continued on UNDAUNTED, but would he have the same kind of luck against the MAN himself, the Pulp Hero, Alias?

Time would tell...

C O M M E R C I A L S

A gift in good faith.

   

"I know it was you!"

Z, enjoying a quiet stroll with Mark Shields by his side, stopped in his tracks and turned around.

That angst-filled roar came from the man everybody else knew as 'Superstar' Vince Jacobs. Z of course knew something about SVJ apparently nobody else did, but that's another story. Right at that moment, Vince Jacobs -- with his bulging eyes telling the story of a man highly enraged -- stormed up to the masked enigma.

Mark Shields. for his own good, took a few steps back and let the two men discuss business.

"Whatever are you talking about, Vince?" Z asked, faking innocence. "Oh, and nice to see you too, by the way. Talk about manners. Do all the former World Champions not get to be all prim and proper? Because that's quite a nice benefit."

Vince Jacobs, now nose-to-nose with Z, grunted. "Cut the crap. You know what I'm talking about; that stupid advertisement you ran about me wanting to twist woman's nipples and burn people's houses down!

That shit could get me sued, you masked freak! What the f**k did you think you were trying to accomplish?!"

Z put his hands on his hips. The tension between the two men was starting to get unbearable, and bastard referee Mark Shields of all people could feel it. SVJ's chest rose up several inches everytime he breathed out, indicative of how strongly he felt about the advertisement that aired earlier in the show.

"Well, Vince, I figured you'd need a little help with your campaign. You haven't been doing much other than whining and getting put in your place by Jesse Ramey." Z calmly explained, as his hands remained on his hips. SVJ raised an eyebrow, not liking where this was about to go. "Besides, I actually thought it went rather well.

You can't blame me for wanting to help you, to be honest. If anything, you should speak to the administrator of the campaign management team.

In fact, you know what? She's right here in this arena right now!"

SVJ's aura of anger faded away. It was replaced by confusion. Mark Shields at the side breathed a sigh of relief, while Z remained unchanged. Of course, his eyes began to sparkle with delight. He knew what he was doing. The masked enigma was in control.

That only served to send a bit of a chill down Jacobs' spine. "Management team? Look, I didn't ask for any management team or help for that matter with me getting into the Hall of Fame! I can take care of that on my own.

I can take care of Jesse Ramey on my own. In fact, I just kicked his sorry ass.

I can take care of all those idiots and naysayers on my own.

Just because you have something on me, and I've basically agreed to help you out, doesn't make us friends!"

Vince Jacobs grunted once again, and took a few steps back... having said what he needed to say. His fury at the masked enigma hadn't completely disappeared, and silently he cursed himself for not sounding more mad at Z. Z's reaction, however, was merely to chuckle. Loudly. Which basically meant Vince Jacobs stopped himself and watched as Z turned to whisper something to Mark Shields.

All the bastard referee had to do was grin widely for Vince Jacobs to have the hairs on his back stand up. Something was up.

Something... not good. Z turned back to face SVJ, clearing his throat. "I tell you what, Vince. Let me show you to the administrator of the campaign management team. If it doesn't work out between the two of you, the project will be shelved. Shields and I will be out of your hair forever.

I meant for this whole idea to be a gift in good faith, but you're right -- you're perfectly capable of handling things on your own. Hence, Shields here is going to lead the short way to our destination, and we'll let you decide how things should go down.

Sound good?"

Z started nodding his head slowly, as Mark Shields started walking down the hallway. Suggestive reasoning?

It sure as hell worked, as Vince Jacobs also nodded his head and turned around, instinctively keeping pace with the bastard referee. Z slapped his hands together and followed suit, already pleased with what he'd cooked up.

Part of it had to do with the fact that Mark Shields was actually leading Vince Jacobs back to the latter's locker-room. A tidbit the former ACW World Champion found rather puzzling; par for the course of the last few minutes. Z, lagging behind of his own volition, was simply content to watch the usually composed and assured Vince Jacobs try to piece together the jigsaw in his head.

And when Mark Shields finally halted a short distance outside of SVJ's locker-room, all he had to do was to point out the campaign management team administrator standing by the door for SVJ to finally get an inkling of what Z was up to.

The so-called administrator? Vince Jacobs felt his pants tighten up, just a little bit.

She was blonde. Big-chested. Nicely shaped all 'round. Skimpily dressed. Had that come hither look in her eyes. Had knee-high 'eff me' boots. The leather hot-pants she was wearing made her look trashy.

Mark Shields had his tongue hanging out. The administrator, with a sexy wave of her right hand, brought Vince within inches of her. The former ACW World Champion could smell the phermones radiating from the girl, who he figured must have been very, very young.

"Ginger's nineteen." Z whispered with a cheeky grin on his face, as he popped up behind Jacobs.

SVJ blinked, as Ginger started to caress the chest hair on Vince's chest. Mark Shields, still standing by the side, took out his camera phone. What a perv.

Z folded his arms now, barely unable to conceal his delight. "And she's absolutely filthy in the sack.

And she's got a twin sister. F**k knows what her name is.

But the twin sister? Goodness, she's even more of a skank. Completely cr-raazy. And already inside your locker-room.

Go for it, Vince.

Go and ride the tricycle, new buddy."

Z added a knowing wink, and Mark Shields got all excited when Ginger started to practically grind her lower torso area against... ahem, Vince Jacobs' lower torso area.

Whatever hint of anger SVJ might have had now completely melted away. He nodded at Z and Mark Shields, putting his arms around Ginger's neck at the same time. Catching the signal, Z simply bowed before turning around and making his exit.

Mark Shields, though, took a bit longer to get the signal. Perhaps it was all the blood rushing to his Shields Jr.

The fact that Ginger, by this time, had hopped into SVJ's arms and started licking the side of the former ACW World Champ's next didn't really give Shields any impetus to leave. Until, of course, Z popped back into the frame and yanked the bastard referee by the collar.

"Well, Ginger, tell me more about the campaign strategy!" SVJ cooed, turning around and carrying the barely legal girl into his locker-room, where another barely legal girl was already waiting to also discuss campaign strategy.

Surrre, that's what they were going to do. Discuss campaign strategy. Surrre.

... Makes you want to join SVJ's Hall of Fame campaign now, don't it?

$100,000 BOUNTY / ACW TAG TEAM TITLES / ACW WORLD TITLE
Heirs Of Wrestling © vs.
Vox Nihili (Karina Wolfenden & Alias ©)
REFEREE: HENRY IRWONSEN

           

“The following bout is scheduled for one fall,” introduced Renaud Cardinal, “and it is for the BOTH the ACW WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP, as well as the ACW TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIPS!“

As the guttural, cement mixer growl of Christopher Sheffield rumbled the arena’s speakers, a colossal wave of an ovation built up around ringside, gushed up the aisle, then crashed across the stage. Not only where there a wild variety of ACW faithful within the United Kingdom… but also a fair amount of them where fans of the infamous pairing which was about to enter. The lighting rig above the ring began to flicker, triggering a black out of the arena which only amplified the crowd’s reaction.
Black Sabotage by Beastie Boys vs. Led Zeppelin. That’s right, the World Champion wasn’t going to enter to the sounds of Mick and the Boys. Not tonight. As the screens flashed back on, swirling with a dense blizzard of Vox Nihili’s trademark static, Robert Plant took his cue.

Bathed in the swirling light of the stage screens, Alias strode out onto the stage, scarred, tattooed body swelling as he heaved in two smoker’s lungfuls of the supercharged arena air. The golden belt across his waist glittered in the strobe. Then the Beastie Boys kicked in as the Pulp Hero’s fists clenched and shoulders loosened, Karina Wolfenden weaved through the scaffolding above the stage and dropped down by his side, patchwork leather coat flapping behind her as she plummeted. The crowd was loving it.

Big Bad and the Wolf bumped fists with a shared, determined nod before they strode down the aisle, each energetically slapping the sea of outstretched, vying palms with a tightly gloved or heavily taped hand.

Vox Nihili had come to A-C-W.

The K-Wolf sprung onto the top tope, showcasing her supreme balance as she perched on tip toes and thrust two gloved fists aloft to the ACW faithful before dropping down into the ring. Dragging himself up onto the apron, Alias’ good eye sought out the ringside camera, an ominous hint of a smile breaking across his lips. Yes, he was still FEELING that cage match from last week, but damn it all if he wouldn’t ENJOY the feeling.

“We’re waiting,” he mouthed with intimidation dripping off each word.

Vox Nihili reunited in the ring with another bump of their fists, both barely able to keep still long enough for the referee to remind them of the rules, such was the build-up of eager, violent energy rippling through them. Alias removed his World Championship and handed it to the ref, as K-Wolf motioned to it with a smile. She knew that tonight, that World Championship was just as much her responsibility as The Original Pulp Hero’s.

Speaking of champions.

At the entrance way the ACW Tag Team Titles were on full display, snugly around the waists of the Heirs of Wrestling. Their silver design and tribute to Montreal had the crowd stirring.

Champion by Pastor Troy.

And the fans roared to life with jeers!

For the mid-sized crowd within the Cardiff International Arena, the sound seemed to amplify tenfold when the Dynastic Duo made their appearance. Making their way out from the back, Alexandria Malone was up first – decked out in a purple turtleneck, brown dress pants and high heels, looking fantastic as ever. And flanking from behind were the hated and demanding prodigies of Sonny Silver and Brian Spaes, respectively, Frank Pierce and Ryan Gallway!

“AND NOW YOUR ACW WORLD TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS, MAKING THEIR WAY TO THE RING AT A COMBINED WEIGHT OF 448 POUNDS, BEING ACCOMPANIED BY ALEXANDRIA MALONE… FRANK PIERCE AND RYAN GALLWAY… THE HEIRS OF WRESTLING!”

To say Alias had history with the mentors of Pierce and Gallway, was an understatement. As the annoying rap song blasted throughout the All-Star Arena, the Dynastic Duo entered the ring and both took opposite ends of the turnbuckles, pumping their fists to the crowd and generally talking trash. In the ring, Vox Nihili were forced to watch the degrading spectacle of these two Champions who had gone so far as to RETIRE the tag division without a word to anyone else. Where Vox had fought for there place, the Heir had kicked back to enjoy there early success. The Voice of Nothing might not have been role models… but they sure as hell would fight for there titles, not retire them.

They’d seen enough.

Though as Alias and K-Wolf advanced on the celebrating Heirs…

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 knew exactly what they thought of him via boos and middle finger salutes. He emerged, drawing attention away from those in the ring, at least for a moment and directly to the duffel bag which he held gleefully in his hands.

Holding the ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND high, he shook the bag, making Ryan Galloway salivate in anticipation in his perched position in the corner. Alias roared towards TV, which meant he wasn’t quite ready for the drop kick that came towards his skull, courtesy of Frank Pierce.

“CHA CHING, BITCH!” Pierce sneered, before stomping at Alias. The Original Pulp Hero rolled out of the ring, leaving Pierce to make a belt motion at his waist. July 9th was still very much on his mind. What wasn’t on his mind was Karina Wolfenden… not until her foot connected with his head as Alex Malone trying in vane to catch Frank’s attention. Alas, to late as the solid kick sent him toppling over the top rope.

And like that… it was Gallway and Karina Wolfenden.

“What’s cooking, good looking?”

Wait, was Ryan hitting on K-Wolf?

DING DING DING

If he was, hitting a cross-body block on her was a horrible follow-up, especially if he wanted to go on a date with her. You know, start it off with some peyote, maybe drop some LSD. Wait, what? Quick pin attempt on K-Wolf!

ONE!

TWO!

TH-NO!

K-Wolf kicked out, but Gallway shoved her shoulders back down on the mat. This time, hooking both legs and wrapping her up almost as if to small package her.

ONE!

TW-NO!

Pierce had scrambled into the ring, and broken his own partner’s count. He Who Runs This Shit had to shrug. He knew he and the male third of the Heirs could split the hundred grand… but damn it, the World Championship was personal. Trey Vincent face-palmed himself at the announcer’s table. Had the Pulp Hero found a loophole? The Original Pulp Hero knew as well as any that his World Championship could be lost, even if he wasn’t pinned. Then again he trusted K-Wolf that much. Still… he couldn’t have her beaten up like this, even if he was feeling EVERY BIT of last week’s cage match. Quickly the Original Pulp Hero reached out and pulled Pierce feet first from the ring, evening the odds once more for K-Wolf. Alias then slid into the ring and ambushed the startled Descendant from the Stars with a jaw-quaking uppercut.

Seizing on the panic her partner had caused amid the Heir’s ranks, Karina Wolfenden flew through the ropes, fists outstretched, to torpedo the frozen Frank Peirce with the Negasonic Lupine Warhead. Dragging Gallway by the scruff of his neck, Sheffield tossed him headlong into the turnbuckle to the delight of the ringside fans (though not the referee). Answering the crowd’s lust for violence, Alias hauled Ryan Gallway up and hip-tossed him onto the top of the turnbuckle, leaving the World Warrior’s chest open for a rib-splitting drumming of forearms to roars from ringside.

"AYE-SEE-DUB! AYE-SEE-DUB! AYE-SEE-DUB!"

Startled, Gallway hit the canvas, rolling onto his side and holding his chest to make sure his heart was still attached. Alias walked to the corner and let K-Wolf slide back in. Tag! So she could let Alias ride this battered bruised hot streak a bit more. Before the Starship Cruiser could remember exactly what he did to deserve the smack (and not his kind of smack), Alias yanked him back to his feet and scored with a brutal European uppercut which sent Ryan flying back into the turnbuckles.

With Gallway bouncing like a rag doll out of the corner, Sheffield pounced and connected with a rib-shattering spear which drove the cocky youngster down into the canvas. Tag! As the former Captain Ironsides, the referee of the match, shot an open palm Alias’ way to indicate that he had five, Sheffield hoisted up Gallway’s legs then collapsed backwards, catapulting him into the onrushing K-Wolf’s flying knees. A winded World Warrior collapsed back onto Alias’ tucked-up knees, which acted as an altar for K-Wolf’s springboard Asai Moonsault senton to sacrifice him on. As Irwonsen ticked off his pinkie to indicate their five-count had expired, Sheffield rolled out under the bottom rope.

A spluttering Gallway, looking about a billion times less cocky than he had two minutes ago, crawled to his knees, wide, startled eyes scanning for a tag. He found a stinging snap kick across his chest a rather poor - and painful - alternative. Tag! As the protégé of Brian Spaes flopped down onto his front, Alias heaved him up in a wheelbarrow, holding him in place for Karina to send a trio of fierce kicks up into his face. Swinging Ryan around, Alias draped his throat across the middle rope so that the K-Wolf could spring to the top rope for a double stomp… only for the ref’s five-count to run out. Before Wolfenden could take to the air, Irwonsen stepped into her flight path. So instead, Alias brought Gallway backwards with a HEAVY German suplex and held on for the pin.

ONE!

TWO!

T-NO!

Releasing, Alias rolled over and held out a hand. As infamously tough as he was he was feeling it a lot more today, then ever and need K-Wolf in the ring before the Original Pulp’s body betrayed him. Tag! Letting out a strained roar, Alias heaved Gallway off the canvas and up over his shoulder in a gut wrench lift, allowing the K-Wolf to leap off the top and smash a double-stomp into his ribs. Sheffield then tossed the World Warrior off his shoulders, sending the back of his smaller opponent’s skull crashing into the top turnbuckle with an inverted snake-eyes. As a stunned Gallway staggered out of the corner, Wolfenden hacked him down with a koppuo kick. With the Tag Team Champion down at her feet, the K-Wolf turned, wound herself up, then took to the air with a corkscrew standing 450 splash.

ONE!

TWO!

TH-NO!

With Gallway’s kick-out having sent her halfway across the ring, the K-Wolf sprung up and stalked her rising opponent. As the World Warrior’s reached his knees, a stinging snap kick echoed off his chest, drawing a wince from the ringside fans. Rebounding off the ropes behind Gallway, Karina planted a hand on the canvas and swung through for her handstand 619. Tag! Frank Pierce, having seen his partner take enough damage, charged Alias, trying to smash him off the apron, only to catch a toe-capped boot to the ribs. Ensnaring the winded Pierce’s head in a front facelock, pulling his throat down across the top cable, Alias became dead weight, reaching his legs through the ropes to lock on a body scissors so that all his 242 pounds were devoted solely to choking the 6’3 F-Bomb.

As the referee finally reached the limits of his five count, Sheffield released the purple-faced Frank Pierce, leaving him to collapse onto the canvas, gasping for air and grabbing his red-striped throat. Letting the official’s lecture take a route in one ear and straight out the other, something about Pierce not being the legal man (as K-Wolf stepped to the outside with a smirk and Gallway rolled around with a pained grunt, the Original Pulp Hero set about a rising Pierce. Click! A headbutt smashed into the bridge of the F-Bomb’s nose. Click! A knee crunched into the big man’s ribs. BOOM! A bunker-busting elbow ploughed into the crown of the skull.

K-Wolf was enjoying the chaos caused by Vox in the ring, so much, that she hadn’t noticed Alexandria Malone sneak around the ring from the Heirs of Wrestling corner. Joey Malone’s baby sister yanked Karina Wolfenden to the floor, and proceeded to get into it with the Kicky-half of Vox Nihili. If Ms. Malone was going to test her mettle against any other female wrestler, this was as good a chance as ever. The referee, having been ushering Frank Pierce back to his corner noticed the fight and rolled to the outside to get in the middle of it. Seeing a window of opportunity, Trey Vincent threw off his headphones and dove into the ring. He nailed Alias from behind with a forearm, as the Pulp Hero looked to bring Gallway to his feet, before slamming down the World Champion with a uranage slam. CLIFFHANGER!

Gallway stumbled past the now downed Pulp Hero. Tag! Pierce entered with fire in his stomach, and a red mark around his throat as he stomped towards Alias and began peppering him with kicks. As Trey Vincent walked back to the announce table, he passed by Alexandria Malone who had just earlier been separated from K-Wolf without getting her head ripped off. They where both in a celebratory mood, but as TV chatted her up and stated to pull out singles, asking for a lap dance… she was less then impressed. As Pierce was joined by Gallway, the Tag Team Champions took turns in dropping fists down onto the now bloodied eye-socket of Christopher Sheffield until the referee reached five. As they did so they argued angrily about NOT breaking up anymore pinfalls for each other. Well Pierce was angry about it, Gallway was laconic.

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

After dropping another fist, Pierce locked in a sleeper, trying to extinguish the fighting flame within the Pulp Hero. Which, naturally, was easier said then done. With the referee keeping an extra close eye on Alias’ throat to make sure that the Tag Team Champion didn’t slip it down into a choke, Pierce took the chance to slip his other arm down onto the bridge of Sheffield’s nose, raking his taped wrist back and forth across the eye socket.

Not appreciating the close scrutiny of the referee, He Who Runs This Shit suddenly broke the hold, cowered, and pointed over the ref’s shoulder towards the Vox corner.

As the Irwonsen sprung up, expecting to be cutting off charge from Karina, Pierce hurriedly unraveled his wrist tape and wrapped it tightly around the throat of Alias before synching the sleeper hold back in, shuffling around to disguise the choking. This was, in fact, the SECOND thing that Sonny Silver had taught Pierce. The first was how to kick a man in the nuts. Every time the official probed the hold, Pierce used the noose of tape to yank Sheffield back across the ring until he’d reached the Heir’s corner. Tag! With Pierce shuffling around so that he could kick his feet up onto the middle rope to intensify the choke, Gallway flew down across Alias’ chest with The Tea Bag, exploding down across his desired target.

Pierce hastily freed the bloodied Alias from his wrist tape noose as Gallway hooked a leg.

ONE!

TWO!

THRE-NO!

Wide-eyed, the World Warrior stared up at the referee who seemed to take great delight in signaling two to the time-keeper.

“A-LI-AS! A-LI-AS! A-LI-AS! A-LI-AS! A-LI-AS!“

Venting his frustration onto Alias, Gallway rained down rights and lefts onto the deepening cut across the World Champion’s forehead. Tag! The Heirs of Wrestling dragged Alias up and whipped him into the ropes, only for a rebounding Pulp Hero to duck under their double-team clothesline. Bouncing between the tightly wound cables, Sheffield built up steam, hurdling both Frank Pierce and Ryan Gallway as they hit the deck, then smash straight through Gallway’s ribcage with a devastating spear. Dazed, Alias turned turned to tag in K-Wolf for the hot tag, only for TV to run over and join her on the apron.

“Hey! Hey ref! This woman’s tampon string is showing!”

Karina shook her head, and readied her kicking foot for TV’s face. Only to for both of them to be surprised as a man on fire (no, not the eWtorch tournament… SIGN UP NOW) ran down the aisle towards the ring. It was Shawn Jessica Hart, and Lord Gaga as he was; he wore a suit of FIREWORKS. Sparkling as he did, he got in Trey Vincent’s face as the Sports Entertainment Icon had hopped off of the apron to keep SJH away from the ring.

In doing so though, Trey Vincent drew the referee’s attention away from the ring. Irwonsen, as good as he was, could not help but be distracted by one Shawn Jessica Hart’s silliness.

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

Keith Scott Zimmerman wearing a ‘Breesus’ shirt, shuffled into the ring from the crowd, taking advantage of that fact, and b-lined on the last man standing in the ring. Frank Pierce… HIT MY MUSIC! Trey Vincent could only look on in horror, as KSZ did that hand motion where you jack-off and throw it in someone’s face. And that was exactly how Vincent felt, even with Hart’s FINGER TIP FIREWORKS continuing to spark off beside him, still distracting the ref.

As Zimmerman slipped out the ring, and back into the crowd to INCREDIBLY surprised crowd, Hart pointed towards the ring, joining Vox’s corner. Trey Vincent could only slump away, back towards the announcers, distraught. Alias covered Pierce.

ONE!

TWO!

…

THREE!

NO!

Just as shocked as the UK had been when KSZ had made the surprising assist, they where even more that Pierce had kicked out. Pierce grumbled, "Did anyone get the name of that bridge troll..." As spent as Alias was though, he hadn’t been able to even hook the legs. SJH started to clap his sparking hands together, K-Wolf joining in with him, to get the crowd going.

“A-LI-AS! A-LI-AS! A-LI-AS! A-LI-AS! A-LI-AS!“

K-Wolf stretched her arm out. Tag! Pouncing into the ring, K-Wolf brought a rushing Gallway down with a double-knee strike, before spinning around and cracking a recovering Pierce with a Shining Wizard. Knowing K-Wolf now had a full head of steam, Trey Vincent ONCE AGAIN got up onto the apron to complain about the unfair balance Karina’s ovaries gave her in the ring. Pierce used the distraction to rake Starbuck’s eyes to gain the upper hand, before he quickly hooked the Negasonic Lupine by the neck and threw a few punishing knees up towards the head for good measure before turning her around and DRIVING her sickeningly across his knee with a modified Neckbreaker. With Alias fuming on the outside, looking in at the punishment K-Wolf had just endured, Tag! Pierce placed K-Wolf in a seated position in the corner. The two men each backed up a step…

FACEWASH/DROPKICK COMBINATION!

A Facewash Boot from Frank Pierce combined with a dropkick from Ryan Gallway had the crowd groaning from the sickening impact of the brutal tandem maneuver. Gallway pulled K-Wolf’s body far away from the ropes, but not that far away from his corner, to go for another pin attempt.

ONE!

TWO!

THRE… SAVE BY ALIAS!

Shawn Jessica Hart, firework suit having burnt out minutes before, rushed over and yanked Trey Vincent off of the apron. He had seen enough from the Sports Entertainment Icon and his blatant attempts at stealing the World Title from the man Hart would be facing, any time he liked, thanks to End Game. Hart shoved at TV, mussing up his suit, only to get a shove in return from TV. Hart shoved Vincent again, this time pushing him back into his duffel bag and causing him to trip over the bag. Flustered, and being laughed at by the nearby crowd, Trey Vincent jumped back to his feet. Without even looking at Hart, Vincent pushed past him and retreated to the backstage area. Shawn Jessica Hart chased close behind him.

As Alias sat up from breaking up Gallway’s pinfall attempt, Frank Pierce roared in as best he could towards the bloody Pulp Hero. He had the World Championship on his mind. SLIDING P the sliding lariat clocked Alias in the side of the head. Pierce, pivoted, on one knee and looked towards K-Wolf with a growl. HANDSTAND 619 Pierce just hadn’t expected to be kicked in the face. As K-Wolf regained her standing base, Gallway was there to meet her, surprising her by leap-frogging onto her back. SUPERNOVA! The sunset flip powerbomb drove K-Wolf into the canvas.

ONE!

TWO!

THRE… SAVE BY ALIAS!

PULPED II!

“YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!“

Alias slid to the outside once again, and held out his hand for K-Wolf. So did Pierce, still groggy, but hand out-stretched for Gallway. Tag! Peirce furiously pointed behind Gallway, as the World Warrior WASN'T going to make it to his corner before… Deadlights. Both Vox Nihili members sprung up, and each Vox Nihili member connected with a ferocious enziguri kick to each of Gallway’s temples, sending his often red-eyes rolling back into his head. As Ryan dropped to his knees, Alias took sadistic delight in dragging Gallway back into the torturous Anarchy’s Lullaby. As the agonized Tag Team Champion struggled, trapped, the pained K-Wolf sucked it up enough to spring off the middle rope with an albeit sloppy Goodnight Moon, smashing her knees down into Brian Spaes protégé’s torso. If you ever wondered what Korben Dallas and Leeloo, beating the shit out of a couple of Mangalores, would look like in living color. This was it.

Mul-ti-pass-out. Bitches.

With the last of the fight crushed out of him, Gallway went limp, but Alias refused to release the Anarchy’s Lullaby, instead synching the hold in even tighter as Henry Irwonsen raised Gallway’s arm. Pierce looked to break the hold, hoped and dreamed to break the hold but K-Wolf rushed him before kipping up with yet another wicked enziguri kick of his own. Pierce fell to the outside, as K-Wolf stayed watch at the Heir corner to make sure Alexandria Malone didn’t try anything either.

Raise. Drop.

Raise. Drop.

Raise…

.

.

DROP!!!

You could almost hear Chris Tucker scream in excitement. Finally, with victory assured and vengeance delivered, Alias released Gallway from his torturous grasp. As the now former Tag Team Champion’s hand hit the canvas for a third time, it caused a chain reaction within the arena, detonating a rapturous roar around the arena.

RRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!

DING DING

Vox Nihili were now the ACW Tag Team Champions. Alias now had a piece of silver to add to his gold. The night would not be one that the Heirs of Wrestling would like to remember, oh no, but it was very much one that fans of ACW would never forget, as the World Champion would walk away a double champion this night. Trey Vincent’s plan had backfired more then he could ever hope for tonight. He had only succeeded, it seemed, in giving Alias more trophies in sending bounty hunters after him. Bloodied, beaten but victorious Original Pulp Hero rose, fist held triumphantly aloft as the K-Wolf latched onto him, helping to keep her partner upright. It was the third championship that the Big Bad and the Wolf had held together… and they had just defeated the third-ranked team in the world in doing so.

A crimson-drenched Sheffield declared he could stand under his own steam, and with the belts firmly in their grasp, Alias’s World Championship also resting on his shoulder, Vox Nihili’s hands were raised by the official to another thunderous cheer.

Trey Vincent would have something to say about this. Right now.

It Only Gets Harder

   

"Alias! Aaaaaaaaa-liiiiiiiiiii-bygawd-assssssssssssss!"

The voice of Trey Vincent was unmistakable to the fans and Vox Nihili, the newly crowned ACW Tag Team Champions in the ring. Alias and K-Wolf spun around inside the ring, looking for the location of THE ONLY SPORTS ENTERTAINER THAT MATTERS (*patent pending) Trey Vincent. After a few moments of confusion, the fans, then a spotlight, revealed Vincent among the ACW fans.

"Congratulations on your victory tonight. You just defeated two of the greatest sports entertainers in ACW history. But don't book your trip to Disneyworld just yet. This was only round one. And Trey Vincent is in this thing for the long haul."

The crowd booed Vincent, who unslung the duffel bag from around his right shoulder and raised it up in the air by the straps.

"Because, it only gets harder from here. Next week, Alias, I'm raising the stakes another notch higher to entice even more people to toss their name in the mix. So everybody in the back, and any other sports entertainers around the globe, listen up and listen good! My entire life is dedicated to ruining yours, Alias. So next week, when somebody finally defeats you and takes the ACW World Title from around your waist, then that man, woman, panda, plant, washing machine, I really don't care who or WHAT takes it from you. But whoever does will not just win one hundred thousand dollars from me."

Vincent dropped the bag to the floor and gripped the microphone with both hands. The fans were buzzing in anticipation, and Vincent soaked up the attention in the spotlight, scanning the crowd with a wide smirk on his lips. Finally, he felt as if he had built enough drama to reveal his intentions.

"They will win, TWO HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS!"

A collective roar of disbelief went up from the fans. Vincent had just doubled the bounty on Alias' head! In the ring, K-Wolf looked toward her partner, showing a hint of shock, as Alias scowled at his bitter rival who was hiding in the sea of humanity. Alias knew that sort of money was a good payday for anybody in this business for an entire YEAR, let alone for one night.

"Who will beat the Original Pulp Hero to an even bloodier pulp next week? Who wants to get rich? Could it be a good friend of yours who stabs you in the back? Maybe an old rival will come looking for some payback. Perhaps an up-and-comer will man up or woman up and make his or her name at your expense. Or could it be that rat standing next to you? Guess you'll have to tune in next week. Same sports entertainment time, same sports entertainment channel."

As the show closed and faded to black, the cameras cut back and forth as Alias squinted in Vincent's direction like a character out of a Western movie at high noon just before drawing his weapon, while Vincent returned a snarl of contempt in Alias' direction. This feud was consuming both men to their core.

The question now is: when all is said and done, will there be anything left of either man? Or will this bitter feud destroy both men and leave nothing but ash behind?