A C W



NEW BEGINNING
COURAGE 104
SKY DOME, COVENTRY, ENGLAND

Let's Grab Some Ratings!

           

As Courage 104 opened and announcers Renaud Cardinal and Jimmy Reid welcomed viewers to the show, the camera panned the boisterous crowd inside the Sky Dome in Coventry, England. The cheers quickly shifted to jeers however with the playing of a certain song: "I'm Bad" by Last Vegas.

Enter Trey Vincent.

At the end of the previous Courage, Vincent had upped the ante in his attempt to dethrone Alias as the reigning ACW World Champion, promising that he would give two hundred thousand dollars to the man or woman who could get the job done. One week ago, Vincent attempted to stack the odds against Alias, by having Tag Team Champions the Heirs of Wrestling both challenge Alias for the title in a triple threat match. Alias, however, had a surprise up his sleeve and got SilverHAWK to change the match into a tag team match. As a result, the Heirs took on Alias and his long-time partner Karina Wolfenden, collectively known as Vox Nihili.

The final result? A classic match that saw Vox Nihili capture the Tag Team Titles from the Heirs of Wrestling. Instead of Alias having one less title, he now had ANOTHER championship!

And tonight, Vincent looked none too happy about it, most notably for the fact that Vincent was sporting a white T-shirt featuring a "Sin City's Most Wanted" poster, with a mug shot of Alias' face as the most wanted man, under which it said "Reward: $200,000." On the back of the T-shirt, all of Alias' "crimes" were listed, from "impersonating a champion" to "sucking a suckload of suck." Tonight Vincent looked ready for action, taped up and dressed in workout pants and his wrestling pads and boots.

And most importantly, he had a microphone.

"It's no secret that Trey Vincent despises Alias. But you know what else Trey Vincent hates right now. This entire, worthless, toilet you call home. England."

And here came the boos.

"Yeah, you should be booing! This place is horrible. First off, it's no wonder every guy over here is miserable. The teeth on these women, and the horse faces, good gawd. I was in a bar the other night, and every time an ugly chick walked in, the bartender had to ask, 'so, why the long face?'"

Vincent had a laugh at his own joke, and even a few guys in the crowd had a chuckle.

"Still, I suppose the chicks over here aren't nearly as ugly as the hellbeast that squeezed Alias out from between her legs. Speaking of Alias, let's get down to business. Alias doesn't deserve to be the ACW World Champion."

The fans disagreed once again, this time starting up an "AL-I-AS!" chant as Vincent tried to continue.

"He..." Vincent had to lower the microphone as the chants only grew in volume.

"AL-I-AS! AL-I-AS! AL-I-AS!"

"SHUT UP!" Vincent roared, which killed the chant dead and resuscitated the loud boos Vincent craved. With a smirk, he continued:

"Last week, the Heirs of Wrestling failed to dethrone Alias as the champion, and also lost out on a very generous reward of one hundred thousand dollars. Tonight, however, it only gets harder for your broken down champion. Over in America, we've got the second greatest sport in the world, and we call it football. Now, over the last few years, a few teams have made a run at perfection, most notably the New England Patriots in 2007. They attempted to make history by being the first team to ever go 19-0 by winning every regular season game, playoff game, and the Super Bowl.

"After last week, it's apparent that Alias and the New England Patriots have a lot in common. They're both cheaters! "

The fans booed that false accusation.

"Alias was booked to face Bryan Pierce and Frank Gallstone, but that wasn't good enough for your hero. He had to go and change the schedule and play the refs. Alias, you won't get off for SlyGate! I'm submitting tapes to the front office at SlySports and will see you fined and suspended for this, this, CRAPPERY!"

Vincent paced around the ring, trying to regain his composure.

"But once again, Alias, it only gets harder this week. Tonight, Trey Vincent is offering two hundred thousand dollars to the man or woman who can defeat Alias and become the NEW ACW World Champion. And I already have a challenger in mind. You see, Alias, it's time to pull out the big guns. No more screwing around. I need a man who has main evented at some of the biggest shows in the history of this industry. A man who has held numerous titles here and elsewhere. A true...SUPERSTAR."

That one word got the fans buzzing. Could he be talking about...?

"Yes, I'm talking about 'Superstar' Vince Jacobs! Come, on, down!"

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

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

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

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

After the last moniker appeared on the screen the all too familiar “Ring Superstar” reverberated throughout the arena speakers.

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

Vince Jacobs came out onto the stage looking at Trey Vincent in the ring with a smirk on his face in his custom made tan Armani suit and his Versace shades. He slowly made his way down the ramp as he pointed to Trey in the ring. Vince smirked and waved his hands at the ringside fans in a demeanor fashion. He stood in front of the ring before making his way around to the ring steps. The Superstar stood on the steps with arms out in a cross before climbing into the ring. The multi-time World champion stood in the middle of the ring face to face with Trey.

"Now Vince, before you say a word, I did a little research. I know for a fact that you hate Alias, perhaps even more than I do. I've watched some old ACW DVDs and saw some of the things you two did to each other over the years. And I liked it. I want to see it one more time. Last week, you said it was time to get a title deserving of your many accolades. Wouldn't you just love to beat Alias one more time for that ACW World Championship, just like at King of Ages in 2004? And who couldn't use two hundred thousand dollars? That's some good drinking money. So how about it tonight in this ring. Alias vs. 'Superstar' Vince Jacobs. ACW World Championship match!"

The fans had to cheer such a prospect as this. Vincent held out the microphone to Jacobs, grinning, so very sure that Jacobs would accept this without a second thought. Jacobs took the microphone and looked around to the crowd as a mixed reaction was heard throughout the Sky Dome. Jacobs put the microphone to his lips as Trey started to grin.

“You know what Trey, you have brought back a lot of memories with what you just said. Yes Chris and I have had many battles for over a decade. We have poured our sweat and spilled our blood in the middle of this ring because we couldn’t stand the sight of one of another. Well actually I couldn’t stand the sight of Chris. But we both did some inhumane things to each other in and out of the ring. In our last match ever which was in an ACW ring we beat the holy hell out of each other for what seemed like an eternity. After that match we vowed that we would never have another match again. We respected each other. There is nothing left to prove to each other in the ring. He’s done with me and I’m done with him. So the answer to your question about SVJ and Alias going at it one more time. No thanks. Also don’t insult me by throwing two hundred thousand dollars in my face.” Jacobs smirked.

“I wipe my ass with that pocket change.” Vince replied

Vincent's mood had soured after hearing what Jacobs had to say.

"You know...it's really my fault. I guess I should've known. After all, you're looking a hell of a lot more like a minor leaguer these days than a Superstar, playing around with scrubs like Jesse Ramey? Seriously? Who in the hell is Jesse Ramey?”

With that comment “Survive” by sickPUPPIES blasted throughout the arena.

I’ve had too many days,

Where I’m ready to break,

There’s gotta be more,

There’s gotta be more,

So I ingest everything,

‘Cause I’m in it to win,

Nothing but time on my side,

Anywhere I choose,

‘Cause I wasn’t built to lose,

And you think I’m going to fall,

Face down on the floor,

Just because I’m,

Hi, Hi

As for me,

I have to disagree,

The fans all came to their feet cheering as Jesse Ramey emerged through the curtains onto the entrance area. Jesse smiled and pointed toward the crowd for a brief moment, unlike the two men already standing in the ring Jesse was not dressed in a fancy suit. He was dressed to wrestle, from his signature bandana holding his long, wavy dirty blonde hair out of his eyes all the way down to his black wrestling boots. Jesse quickly turned his attention to the ring and began his paced walk to join Trey Vincent and Vince Jacobs.

Along the way Jesse took the time to slap hands with fans; he made his way around the ring to the time keeper and asked for a microphone. Jacobs and Vincent actually looked more annoyed than anything as Jesse finally slid into the ring under the bottom rope. Jesse took a moment as he came to his feet to survey the two men in the ring, he then hung his head, and chuckled a bit, “What you don’t realize Trey is that it doesn’t matter who I am. Not to you at least; the only people that really matter to me are the fans. And that is something it seems to me, that the two of you have forgotten about in the end. You’re both out here in your custom suits; talking about how much money you’ve got.”

Jesse lowered his head one more time before looking back up at Trey and Vince shaking his head, “I know this won’t really hit home to either of you, but in all honesty neither of you would have that kind of money to throw around if it wasn’t for these fans.” Jesse pointed to the crowd as they had already erupted from his comments, “You’ve both lost sight; which is a normal thing. I know, unlike what some people have been saying about me I’m not some young upstart. Hell, I don’t get where people thought that in the beginning. I’m what a lot of people would consider being over the hill for being this sport; not Terry Funk over the hill, but wrestling in your mid-thirties doesn’t happen very often for some people. I’m sure both of you can understand that as well; and I’m definitely not a rookie either.”

“You know the reason I love All-Star Championship Wrestling? Because it’s not that over the top company; this kind of place takes you back to where you belong. ACW makes you get back to your roots; and I know in some way the two of you joined this company because of that.” Jesse chuckled, “I know it’s not because they dangled some huge pay check in front of your faces. This type of place just couldn’t afford that for you two self-indulgent arrogant pricks. So, no Trey; it doesn’t matter who I am to you because I’ve wrestled all over this world. In my eighteen years of stepping into this squared circle I’ve only lost sight a few times on what really mattered the most; the fans.”

“So, I’m going to end this conversation on this note. Trey, you can throw your money around all you want, but in the end I guarantee you’re never going to dethrone Alias of that championship title. My reasoning for that is as follows, Alias has too much heart and that mother fucker has fought hard to be at the top of the mountain. He’s not going to fall off of that easy; and I can almost assure you that these bounties you’re placing on his head are only pissing him off more. So, when the time comes for you to stop being such a pussy and step into that ring and try to finish the job you want so many others to do; I’m going to be watching and I’m going to love every minute of seeing Alias kick your teeth through the back of your skull.” The fans cheered with the thought of Alias getting his hands on Vincent, “As for you Vince Jacobs, the self proclaimed “Superstar”; you don’t belong to be in the ACW Hall of Fame. Not because you haven’t done enough to be in it, I’ll give you props on all of the accomplishments you’ve made in this sport. You’re a hell of a competitor; and you don’t need me to say that for you. You know it, but I also know that deep down on the inside you know the only reason you are the man you are today is because of these fans. They made you who you are; and eventually you will be able to those rose colored glasses and see the world for what it really is. Until then, you don’t deserve to be in the ACW Hall of Fame, because to me you’re nothing but a sniveling little bitch right now.”

Jesse was on his way out of the ring, one leg had already been put through the middle rope; but then a thought popped into this head, “On second thought, I’m not done yet.” Jesse stepped back into the ring, “As I’ve stated and the crowd clearly agrees; at the current moment the two of you seem to be a good couple. So, I’ve got a proposition for you; you may not get your way by having Jacobs taking on Alias tonight Trey. This, however, is your opportunity to actually step up and be a man for once in your life. How about tonight, you two team up against me, and a partner. I don’t really have anyone in mind, but I’m sure considering the circumstances and the fact that it is Vince Jacobs and Trey Vincent, it shouldn’t be too hard to find someone who would be willing to fight alongside me.”

Right on cue, the lyrical stylings of Ol' Dirty Bastard hit the PA.

Man man.. look at the sky.

All the stars man, the stars is beautiful tonight.

Look at em!

And the End Game Winner, SHAWN JESSICA HART, PhD. appeared atop the entryway, accompanied by Mya's silky smooth chorus.

Ghetto superstar, that is what you are..

Comin from afar, reachin for the stars..

Run away with me, to another place..

We can rely on each other, uh-huh..

From one corner, to another, uh-huh..

Once more, the English masses rose to their feet while the Prime Minister of Gettin' Sinister jostled about and waved. Shortly thereafter, SJH signaled for the crew to cut the music and brought a Gene Rayburn-esque microphone to his lips.

"So THIS is the Mother Country!!"

The applause was renewed.

"Home to such STALWARTS as the Beatles, Geri "Ginger Spice" Haliwell, surly talent judges Simon Cowell and Piers Morgan, aaaaaaas well as the birthplace of the totty that bequeathed the bar maid that birthed the bearded lady that delivered the midget that born unto the world the dental hygenist that had a son named SHAWN!"

More ovation as the Phenom raised his arms victoriously.

"But let's not spend too much time flappin' our yaps about HISTORY, eh?! After all, TV and SV-Gaaaaaaaay have wasted moooore than enough of our time with that. I'M here, Mr. Ramey, because YOU sir are absitively POSILUTELY right! I mean the money's great, and if Mr. Jacobs wants to wipe his hairy ass with it, I know where to go next time I need to use the loo, but the steak n' eggs of the situation is that all of US are here... because of every one of YOU!"

Hart pointed out at the crowd, again inciting the cheap pops.

"So, Big J, if you need a second hand in teaching these two-bit JACKHOLES that lesson, SJH... and aaaaaaaall of his Hart-Broken Phenom Fiends will be more than happy to back you up!!!"

The roar continued, as the PHENOM had answered Ramey's call. At ringside, Jesse nodded his head with reluctant, albeit sincere approval while SVJ and Vincent grunted and growled. Hart lowered the microphone away from his mouth and began to turn back toward the curtain, when suddenly he was stopped in his tracks. He grinned impishly, turned back toward the ring, and brought the stick back to his face.

"Oh, and Vince, you may think what you've seen so far is TERRORISM... but really... you ain't seen NOTHIN' yet! The one and ONLIEST number one contender...

....has left.... the building!!!"

SJH dropped the mic, "Ghetto Supastar" hit the speakers once again. All four of the top singles competitors in ACW exchanged heated glances, knowing that before the end of the show there would be some tag team warfare. And the ACW faithful couldn't wait.

Special K

   

For some it might have been the biggest night of their professional career. A chance to become a number one contender for the second most prestigious championship in the company.

For some however, it was just like any other night.

For others... it was a pain in the cunt.

Khristain Keller had only been in the Sky Dome in Coventry (where the fuck is that?) for an hour and already he hated it. Constant questions about his match tonight and everything that came with it... but as he walked the inner halls of the Dome, there was one voice he didn't actually expect to hear.

"Hey..."

Khristain say hello to Keith.

"Hey yo."

Keith say hello to Khristain.

Both men stood for a second eyeing each other up and wondering what witty and intelligent thing to say to each other... ah fuck who am I kidding, both men already had a plethora of comebacks for anything the other would throw at them.

"Good luck with your match tonight," said KSZ.

Curveball anyone?

"Um... thanks. I think. Good luck with your match... Pierce I believe?"

Zimmermann nodded once.

"I read your interview on the Torch... didn't realise I was your favourite wrestler."

Zimmerman just chuckled and sadly shook his head. "You...you didn't actually believe that, did you?"

Keller smiled wryly. "Why wouldn't I cunty?"

KSZ smirked. "Because nobody likes you. You've made your CAREER off nobody liking you. You're going to end up in the ACW Hall of Fame SPECIFICIALLY BECAUSE nobody likes you." Keller's response was a smile of his own and a shrug. "Lookit, you've always been a thorn in Sheff's side. Gotta respect that. But it's a new year, and a new decade, and nobody--not Trey Vincent, not whatever pop singer Hart wants to be this week, not your buddy Trevor, not Albion, not Pierce, not even the King Shit of Fuck Mountain--is coming between me & the ACW World Championship. And anybody who's in the way? Pfft."

Keith looked off into the middle distance. "They'll never wish more there was a God...and they'll never be more sure He doesn't exist."

Keller stared down Keith.

Zimmerman stared down Khristian.

Then he started to walk down the hallway, pausing on his way. "Good luck on becoming the Spirit, K2."

Words of a Redneck Poet

The beak of Midnight Cowboy's black cowboy hat pointed at the ceiling, before his head craned down to Cardinal, gripping a microphone. MC's arms rippled as he clenched his hips and slouched to hear the questions.

"Good evening friends, Renauld Cardinal standing here with the Midnight Cowboy. MC, how are you this evening?"

"Well Ronald, I'm on top of th' got-damn world. Sure, I ain't chasin' tail on TV or Alias quite yet, but I'm comfrt'ble. I thought it'd be a steep climb to catch up to th' other boys-- turn out I was 'head of schedule. Bein' 'head of schedule makes m' feel like a matador goin' up 'gainst a blind calf with three legs, only I'm wearin' body armor and I'm done strapped to an AK."

Cardinal frowned at the needlessly complex analogy, but chased it with a snicker. "I know exactly what you mean. So what's it been like living and working in Europe? Have you had difficulty making the adjustment?"

"This envir'nment scares th' shit out of me, Ronald. That's jist me shoot'n ya straight. I ain' never been anywhurr outside of San Marcos, an' Europe feel like one bass-ackwards hoedown sometime. Wallpaper in m' hotel room's covered in pastel flowr's an I can't plug anythin' into th' wall without damn near killin' m'self! Now that ain't right! I j'ist wish there was someplace I could go'n let m' hair down. These pubs are a far cry -- FAR CRY, boy -- from th' roadhouses back home. I wan' some chili cheese fries an' Lynrd Skynrd! I don' wanna be munchin' on "crisps" and gabbin' with some argyle sweater-wearin' douchebag about labour issues! Shit son, I wanna go on strike from listenin' to your ass!"

The camera cuts to inside the arena, where the crowd is laughing and cheering, accepting Midnight Cowboy's critiques in good humor.

"They don' understand m', and I reck'n the feelin's mutual. But this is who I am, y'all. I ain' gon' go changin' the recipe now."

Midnight Cowboy looked at him, stern. He drooped his head and stared at the floor, scratching it softly with the tip of his boot.

"The Spirit of the ACW title division has been heating up in recent weeks. Any thoughts?"

Midnight Cowboy nodded at the tail end of the question. His lips tightened and his brows declined.

"Yeah, bus'ness ain't through, Ronald. Jawin' ain't got no place no more. The Spirit of the ACW title is hollerin' an' I'm gon' be answerin' that call. I'm used to wearin' big belt buckles, boy, but that one is sharp! I reck'n it ain't gon' be easy. I'm up t' my ass in crocodiles out here. There's a cueball standin' in m' way but I'm gon' scratch his ass soon 'nough. Cowr'd done bashed my brains in last week! This week, he's gon' get the horns. I done had so many chances to make somethin' of mahself and nows the time t' saddle up an' mosey on over all comers. I'm in it... t' earn it."

"Midnight Cowboy, ladies and gentleman. Good luck on your high-stakes match against Khristain Keller, TONIGHT, on ACW Courage!"

Cowboy sneered and patted him on the back as the screen slowly dissolved to black.

"Thanks, Ronald."

The Cogs Begin To Turn, Part Three

   

Another week, another show and another makeshift office later... everything was good. SilverHAWK sat in Conference Room A3 of the Sky Dome in Coventry with a small smile of his face. He was feeling good about ACW at the moment and what was there not to feel good about?

Top performers giving their all for the company? Check.

Storylines that were gripping and still had a LONG way to go? Check.

Wonderful fans who loved every second of the product? Check.

Finally... a good solid base for ACW to work up from? Check.

Everything WAS good. Fuck it. Everything IS good.

But this is ACW remember.

"Mr. HAWK... welcome to Coventry!"

Jeremy Hunt, the SlySports Executive who had been put in 'charge' of making sure the product met the Networks requirements stood at the doorway with his hands in the air.

"This is my hometown Mr. HAWK so I would appreciate that we put on a damn fine show for all these people, because they deserve it."

SilverHAWK nodded.

"We will sure damn do our best Mr. Hunt."

Hunt shook his head and sighed.

"Call me Jeremy... come in."

HAWK watched as a large shadow crept into the room, also known as the mystery bodyguard who followed Hunt everywhere. HAWK had yet to hear him speak but he was certain whatever came out that mans mouth would make most men shit their pants.

HAWK... didn't give a fuck.

"I've had a little bit of feedback from the board this week Mr. HAWK and I thought I'd pass it on to you for your own good. Usually if the board want something they get it but remember that will be for sports like football and cricket. Not many know much about the ins and outs of the squared circle so you can leave them to me... but have a look and tell me if there is anything you can change straight away."

Hunt passed over a small booklet; no more than four pages in total with the ACW logo on the front, HAWK quickly flicked through it and then put it to one side.

"Thanks, I'll be sure to give it a look."

Hunt then took a seat across from HAWK, and motioned his bodyguard over to the corner of the room as he shut the door behind him. He fixed the collar of his expensive suit and slicked his hair back in true Hollywood style... if Hollywood was in England somewhere.

"The main reason I am here Mr. HAWK is to talk about the next leg of the tour. No doubt you will be anxious to know just where your passport will be getting stamped after the pay-per-view event that we have coming up?"

HAWK nodded.

"Well... get the factor fourty ready because you will be heading to sunny Spain!"

SilverHAWK took the news in and nodded accordingly.

"That’s good, Spain has quite a good base of wrestling fans, maybe we can change a few of the divisions up to try and get more of a style that they might enjoy?"

Hunt tilted his head in a thought process.

"You have to remember Mr. HAWK, it isn't just the fans in the arena you are catering for these days... this isn't Canada. You will be entertaining MILLIONS of fans across Europe with these shows, so think carefully before you make any drastic changes."

When HAWK thought about it, there was definitely a point in what Hunt was saying.

"Also...can I ask that anything Scorpion Title related comes through my assistant and is relayed on to me? I don't know what it is about seeing sheer brutality but I have to say, I like it."

Hunt got to his feet and buttoned his suit coat.

"Unless you have anything else for me? I think I'll take my seat."

HAWK shook his head and watched the duo once again leave his office, unscathed. Brushing through the booklet in front of him he looked at the crazy suggestions that had been put in front of him and put the folder into the bin, going back to his work.

...

...

...

And in the corridor stood the giant of a man whom walked with Hunt, peering down at the now full trashcan.

All was not as it seemed in paradise.

Scorpion Fighting Rules
Kristinia Kage vs. Iceman

   

Time for the first match of the evening. Courage 104, what have you got for us?

Spay, by Velvet Revolver. Unfamiliar? Yes.

That's because it belonged to one of the newest ACW recruits, Kristinia Kage! And as she stepped out from behind the curtains, she was pleased to find that a warm and encouraging reception welcomed her. Kage felt right at home, and punched the air to emphasise how excited she was to be out there.

Decked out in a dark red v-neck long-sleeved shirt and tight black leather pants that really showcased her rear, Kristinia walked down to the ring, nodding her head along to her theme song. She'd asked for this match, after an encounter with a certain someone last week. And considering her history in the business, it was unsurprising that she'd requested for the match to be fought under Scorpion Fighting Rules.

Rolling into the ring, Kristinia raised her arms in the air and held up two peace signs, smiling at the fans. Those to which she had her back turned had especially wider smiles, since they had the perfect view of her ass and all. But overall, the Coventry crowd liked what they saw in the ring. A confident woman, who looked good and was gung-ho enough to demand a battle with her adversary.

The man many people consider to be public enemy numero uno in ACW. Debatable, sure. But enough of that.

Kristinia was ready. Coventry was ready. Was *he* ready?

First It Giveth, by Queens of the Stone Age.

Yes, Iceman was definitely ready. Bring on the hate. Iceman had entered the building, and the fans were on their feet instantly screaming obscenities at the former ACW Scorpion Fighting Champion. Almost immediately, the look of focus plastered on Iceman's face turned to one of extreme agitation. Clearly, even after such a long time of the ACW fans and other wrestling enthusiasts proclaiming their hate for him, Iceman hadn't quite come to terms with the reaction he'd illicted.

In the ring, Kristinia Kage simply smiled, locking her eyes on the one people called Snap Case. Why was Iceman's 'nickname' Snap Case? Not many people knew, so moving rrrright along; Iceman growled at the fans in the front row as he reached the ring, and the fans in returned continued to give him more grief. Instead of entering the ring to get the match underway, Iceman instead opted to circle the ring, retrieving a microphone from the timekeeper's table along the way.

It wasn't enough that the fans of Coventry (ENGURLAND) had to see Iceman in action. Nooo, they were about to have the extreme pleasure (ha) of hearing the former king of the Scorpion Fighting division speak his mind.

And as Iceman raised the microphone to his mouth, his theme song fading out and being cut altogether, some took bets on what his first few words would include.

"... You people are all a bunch of COCKSUCKERS."

A very select group of immature fans way back in the last few rows giggled and repeated the term 'cocksucker' over and over again. Everybody else just jeered louder, and Kristinia Kage rolled her eyes.

Iceman wasn't done, however. "Yes, you are. For giving me all this hate, every single one of you qualifies to be called a cocksucker. You hate me so much?

Guess what? The feeling's entirely mutual, cocksuckers!

Tonight, I'm going to teach THIS titless wonder standing in the ring a lesson in knowing her role! And then, I thought about going all apeshit on all the cocksuckers challenging for what is *my* Scorpion Fighting Title. In fact, I came up with a plan to beat the crazy cocksucker that currently calls himself the Scorpion Fighting Champion.

But then, I decided to dial it down a notch. Because, I had an epiphany!"

Feeling all proud of himself, Iceman lowered his microphone and pointed to his brain to indicate he was effin smart. Kristinia Kage made the international 'get-on-with-it' signal with her right hand. The fans, however, were a little bit more brutal.

Especially the young chap sitting behind the announce table. "What, you realised that *you* are a giant cocksucker?!"

"SHUT UP, YOU LITTLE PIECE OF @#$% ^&*() @#^&!" Iceman screamed, prompting a round of laughter from Kristinia in the ring and general snickering around the arena. "I will walk over there, rip off your limp cock and shove that excuse of a reproductive organ down your cocksucking mouth! You hear me?

YOU ALL WILL RESPECT ME!

BECAUSE I DECIDED TO CASH IN MY REMATCH CLAUSE ON THE GRANDEST STAGE OF ALL, AND I WILL REVEL IN THE GLORY OF BECOMING A TWO-TIME SCORPION FIGHT CHAMPION WITH THE REST OF THE WORLD WATCHING ON IN F**KING ENVY!"

Iceman sneered at the fan that had snidely ticked him off just a few moments earlier, trying his hardest to ignore the overwhelming hostility offered to him by the rest of the fans in the arena. Seriously, the jeering had reached scary levels.

Satisfied with the young fan not daring to retort, Iceman looked away and once again locked eyes with Kristinia Kage. With a disapproving shake of his head, Iceman climbed into the ring, still holding the microphone in his hand. It was evident that his tirade was far from done.

"All of you, including titless wonder here..." Iceman started as hopped onto the ring apron and stepped through the ropes. "... will finally come to terms with the fact that I am the best competitor in this company today.

And there will be no choice, but to bow down to greatness.

Bow down, to the man that will steal the show at LEGENDS IV. Bow down, to the next Scorpion Fighting Champion.

Bow down... to ME.

ME.

MEEEEEEEE!"

To prove his point, Iceman placed his hands on hips and stood in the middle of the ring like a proud peacock. This time, he simply soaked up the hate from the crowd. Iceman had a plan now, and he was hell-bent on not letting anybody get in his way.

There was just one problem. The way Iceman was standing, meant he had a lot of daylight between his legs.

Why was that important? Simple; it gave Kristinia Kage a wonderful opening, which she promptly took. With Iceman none the wiser, Kristinia walked out of her corner, aimed, and fired.

KICK TO THE GROIN! OOOOOOOOOH!

Mark Shields, who had been smoking at the announce table waiting for the opening match to finally get underway, was impressed. He signalled for the bell to be rung (DING DING DING) and slid into his ring after tossing his cigarette aside. The fans were going wild, and Iceman dropped to his knees... tears streaming down his cheeks.

Alas for him, Kristinia was not done. She grabbed the microphone out of Iceman's grasp and examined it, like as if she'd not seen one. Some of the fans screamed suggestions on what to do with the microphone, and there was one that she particularly liked.

... No, not THAT. Ewww.

SMACK!

THAT. She reared back her hand, and before Iceman could even beg for mercy, he got blasted in the face with the microphone! Down he went, like a sack of potatoes, and by the time Kristina jumped on Iceman for the cover? Shields was already in position;

ONE!

TWO!

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEENNNNNNNO!

Iceman had gotten the shoulder up at the last god-darn second! The fans were outraged, and Kristinia looked over at Shields, a little bit confused. "If you hadn't taken the time to shake your ass, slag, you might've gotten the three!"

Shields stood up, annoyed that the match was not over. Kristinia merely cursed under her breath and got back to work, dragging Iceman back up. The former ACW Scorpion Fighting Champion, still groggy, tried to retaliate with a wild swing of his arm, but Kage expertly parried the attack and let loose with a harsh short-range snap sidekick to Iceman's right calf! The sound of the impact made some fans in the front row wince.

Iceman yelped, and then he yelped some more. Six times, in fact. Kristinia had just gone to down with the short-range snap sidekicks to Iceman's thighs, alternating between the left and right! By the time that was done, Iceman was still holding his crotch in pain and his knees were shaking wildly, his thighs unable to hold his body up much longer.

"Awww, don't worry!" Kristinia offered, a smirk on her face. "I can help you out with that!"

With those encouraging words, Kristinia backpedalled into the ropes, and connected with a fabulous flying dropkick right into Iceman's face, sending Snap Case tumbling out of the ring! The fans cheered, liking how Iceman was getting his ass HANDED to him.

Feeling good about herself, Kristinia raised her right arm to acknowledgement the fans' support, then made her way over to the edge of the ring. Watching Iceman scramble around on the outside, trying desperately to get to his feet, was comedy gold. Mark Shields slid out of the ring and tried to steal a drink from a young girl in the front row. Also comedy gold.

But, Kristinia was not there to be entertained. She was there to win. And thus, she set her plan in motion.

She hoisted herself up onto the top rope cable, somehow managed to balance herself -- and thereby drawing amazed gasps from the fans -- and then took flight with a leg-drop aimed at Iceman's neck.

HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! They weren't the loudest of chants, but considering that Kristinia was willing to take such a risk, the fans that were chanting were definitely impressed! At ringside, the scene looked like a car-crash, but Kristinia was able to get to her feet, albeit slightly limping considering the stunt she'd just pulled off. Still, it was better than the completely motionless Iceman.

Bending over to pick Iceman up (which drew Shields' attention as he stopped harrasing the female fan and checked out Kristinia's tramp stamp with great interest), Kristinia knew she was only moments away from victory. Iceman's considerable size advantage didn't pose a problem to her, and in fact Kristinia had Iceman back in the ring in no time at all. However, the new ACW recruit decided to put a cherry on top of things. She reached under the ring...

... and retrieved A 40-INCH BAMBOO DILDO! Oh, wait, sorry.

It was merely a kendo stick. Honest mistake.

Kristinia wasted no time getting back into the ring, finding Iceman stirring back to life. THWACK! Shot to the back of Iceman's head, and down he went again. This time, Kristinia quickly tossed the stick aside and went for the cover.

Shields was right behind, and hoped this was the match-ender;

ONE!

TWO!

THREEEEEEEEE-NEIN!

Say what you will, but Iceman was one though mothercocksucker. The fans were again incensed, furious that Iceman dared to kick out. Kristinia shook her head, perhaps chiding herself for underestimating Iceman's toughness.

She didn't spend too much time brooding, for Kristinia crawled to the corner of the ring and climbed to the top of the turnbuckle, with her back to the ring. Iceman was stirring, but looked pretty close to being done for dinner. With the fans on their feet now, Kristinia took one last look over her shoulder, measuring the distance and checking on Iceman, before taking flight again.

FLIPPING MOONSAULT TYPE MOVE! WHOOOOOOOOO!

... So why was noboby cheering after that kick-ass move? Simple; Iceman had spoiled the party.

Even with him being pretty roughed up so far, the former ACW Scorpion Fighting Champion showed why he deserved to be a respected. He raised his knees right at the last second, ensuring that Kristinia's upper torso collided violently with his knees! The result left Kristinia rolling around next to Iceman, holding her rib-cage in discomfort.

And for the first time since he got kicked in the balls, Iceman stood to his feet, the fire in his eyes buring a hole through Kristinia Kage. The fans shouted at Kristinia to get back up, and continue her domination of Iceman.

But no, Snap Case would not have any of that. "SCREW YOU, COCKSUCKERS! SHE IS FINISHED!"

Wiping the sweat off his forehead? Done. Checking his balls to see nothing was broken? Done.

Retrieving the kendo stick and twirling it around with his hands? Oh yeah, done.

THWACK!

THWACK!

THWACK!

THWACK!

THWACK!

Iceman was a vindictive man. Especially considering the pile of skin and bones that lay writhing at his feet had kicked him in the balls just minutes earlier. He threw the kendo stick aside, once again soaking up the jeers from the fans as he crouched down and grabbed Kage by her hair. Mark Shields watched on, curious as to what Iceman was going to say or do.

Kristinia felt her head snapped backwards, with Iceman pulling on her hair hard. "Listen, you expert cocksucker. You think you can steal my moment of glory away from me? You think you made yourself a household name by kicking me where it f**king hurts.

You've just made yourself the biggest mistake ever."

Kristinia gritted through her teeth, watching intently as Iceman turned aside to sneer at the fans. The second he returned his hateful glare at Kristinia, the new ACW recruit had only one response to the former ACW Scorpion Fighting Champion.

She spat in his face. You got that right.

Iceman stumbled back, roaring as he wiped his face clean, furious that he just got spit in the face. Shields pointed at Iceman and laughed. Kristinia, meanwhile, struggled back to her feet and motioned to Iceman to turn around.

Snap Case did just that after a few seconds, and found himself being hit in the face courtesy of a spinning backhand chop! The fans loved that one. Iceman blinked, his face burning up and turning red, before he growled and tried to connect with a wild swing. As he did earlier, Iceman found nothing but air. Kristinia had ducked, and threw herself into the ropes.

For some reason, Iceman fought against his instinct not to turn around. And when he did turn around?

FLYING SIDEKICK TO THE FACE! Down Iceman went, and Kristinia quickly threw herself on top of Iceman for the cover;

ONE!

TWO!

THRE - NO! AGAIN, ICEMAN WITH THE SHOULDER UP!

Kristinia slammed her clenched fists down on the canvas, obviously frustrated. That allowed Iceman, gasping for air, to crawl away and tumble out of the ring. It was clear he needed a reprieve, and some time to think up of a strategy. Kristinia didn't seem like she was going to down down easily (hahaha).

Of course, this was ACW. Nobody went down easy (heh heh heh). And nobody could take a fiver.

After recollecting herself, Kristinia looked for Iceman. Shields pointed to the outside, where Iceman now made his way toward the timekeeper. Bouncing her neck from one shoulder to the other, Kristinia quickly rolled out of the ring and advanced on her adversary, the fans truly engrossed with this interesting fight thus far.

Catching up with Iceman, Kristinia grabbed Snap Case by the shoulder. Iceman swiftly spun around and smacked his forearm in Kristinia's face, revealing that he'd gotten cut on the upper lip. BLOOD, YAY. Anyway, Iceman growled as he followed up with a kick to Kristinia's midsection, which had been partially injured earlier on in the match. Doubling over, Kristinia coughed and fought to get some air into her system.

Unfortunately, Iceman had other ideas. He had the hammer which the timekeeper used to ring the bell, and BLASTED Kristinia in the side of the head! Okay, it was a small hammer but still! Iceman laughed as Kristinia went careening over the ringside barricade as a result of the hammer shot, once again revealing her tramp stamp which caught Shields' attention (as documented by his wagging tongue).

Iceman, now back in control, tossed the hammer aside and decided to do something very naughty once he considered Kristinia's position.

He reached into her pants, grabbed her undies, and pulled up as hard as he could.

...

WEDGIE!!!!!!!!!

Kristinia's eyes almost bulged out of her socket, and she responded by somehow managing to twist her upper body enough so that she could deliver a stinging slap to Iceman! The impact of the slap saw Iceman let go of Kristinia's panties and fall down on his ass, cursing because the slap had made the cut on his lip exposed even more.

The pervy fans in the ringside winked at the sight of Kristinia adjusting herself in front of them, to which Kristinia responded with a middle finger. Turning around, it appeared Kristinia's luck had turned a corner for the worse, for Iceman -- still seated on the floor -- lashed out with a double-footed stomp at Kristinia's knees! Kage dropped to her knees (heh), only to get further tormented as Iceman twisted himself and scored with a vicious turning kick to the side of the new ACW recruit's head.

"Time to find out what you're made of, cocksucker!" Iceman screamed, picking himself up from the ground. He gave one-finger salutes to the fans that were hurling abuse at him, on his way to grabbing Kristinia up by her hair and shoving her back into the ring. Not before slapping Kage on the ass with some force, of course.

(In some countries, an act like that is as good as a marriage ceremony. The more you know.)

Kage growled as she rubbed her ass, not at all liking that piece of unwanted hanky panky from Iceman. It was all part of the plan for Iceman, who wasted little time retrieving a steel cheer from under the ring. Like a hunter, Iceman slid into the ring and stalked Kristinia, who had to use the ropes to get herself up.

She'd been wedgied. Kicked in the side of the head. Violated further with a spank to her ass. All within the last two minutes. The worst was over, she thought to herself, before turning around and deciding to finish Iceman off once and for all.

SMA-AAAACK!

It was as if Iceman was trying out for major league baseball. Kristinia went down, blood immediately dripping down from her forehead.

Iceman, however, was not yet finished with what he wanted to do. The gleam in his eyes told everyone that.

SMA-AAAACK!

SMA-AAAACK!

SMA-AAAACK!

SMA-AAAACK!

There. Now he was done. Iceman cackled like a madman as he tossed the chair aside, his blond locks matted to his face due to being drenched in sweat. The fans were on their feet now, jeering their little hearts out.

Nothing that Mark Shields could do about the chair shots. Scorpion Fighting Rules, ya'all. And with Kristinia absolutely motionless, Iceman figured there was only one thing left to do.

ICECAP, bitches. Camel clutch submission on a woman who'd been knocked out by five chair shots?

... Yeah, Mark Shields waited all of three seconds to call for the bell. He'd call it as a TKO.

But as First It Giveth started up over the speakers, Iceman released the hold and called it as the first step in his journey to LEGENDS IV. He raised his arms up in the air, looking on with disgust at the fans who heckled him relentlessly. He'd given them yet another performance to remember, yet they still jeered him.

Spitting down at the immobile body of Kristinia Kage, Iceman turned around and limped out of the ring. He'd done what he'd needed to do. Now it was time for the former ACW Scorpion Fighting Champion to take his leave and watch the rest of the night unfold. He barked at the fans on his way out, sickened that they'd still not come 'round to giving him the respect he deserved.

In the ring? Mark Shields had left. All that remained was the broken body of Kristinia Kage.

Welcome to ACW, Kristinia. Hope you've learned something --

It ain't a bed of roses.

C O M M E R C I A L S

Forging a friendship; cookies are involved. Mmm.

   

Annnnd, Courage 104 was back from commercials.

It was a long one, about long johns.

... Ha? MOVING ON.

Buddy Saxon found himself in the locker-room of one Rud Albion, munching on some cookies from Subway. You see, Buddy loved Subway cookies... and no matter which part of the world he was in due to ACW's travelling schedule, the young rookie from Bournemouth (ENGURLAND) always managed to find them Subway cookies he loved so much.

If he couldn't find them himself, there would always his mentor to pick up the slack (if you will) in that area. Anyways, back to the point; Buddy's eyes were transfixed on the monitor that was placed in a secluded corner of Albion's locker-room. He was watching the recap of the Iceman/Kristinia fight that just ended moments earlier.

"Iceman is so brutal!" Buddy muttered to himself, feeling a bit sorry for Kristinia looking after she had began the fight relatively strong.

At any rate, Buddy was so focused watching the monitor while eating his delicious cookies that he didn't even hear Rud Albion re-enter his locker-room. Rud's usually stoic expression changed to that of surprise as he encountered the young Buddy Saxon suddenly being in his domain for the night.

Rud wondered to himself if he'd invited Buddy over. To his last recollection, he had not.

"My boy, what brought you here?"

Buddy nearly fell out of the chair he was seated in, his eyes widening in shock. Turning around to realise that it was Rud that was behind him and not some crazy rapist (long story), Buddy heaved a sigh of relief and stood up.

"Whoops, sorry about that, mate!" Buddy apologised, dusting himself off with the bag of cookies still tightly clenched in his right hand. "I, uh, wanted to catch up with you a little bit earlier on but I was distracted by something shiny.

I was just thinking that since we're both from the motherland and all, that we should hang out! I was also wondering if I could get some tips from you, since I've heard you're a 10-year veteran. Which is pretty neat, considering you look like you may be just a couple of years older than me.

Besides, I don't have anything to do tonight... and I really want to get your advice about how to improve myself in matches and such."

Rud examined Buddy Saxon from head to toe, remembering their brief encounter at the start of last week's edition of Courage. Where everybody was gathered to stake their claim at Alias and the ACW World Title. Only, Buddy had somehow mistakenly thought that there were cookies being given out.

Buddy was smiling rather sheepishly now, his grip on the bag of cookies growing ever tighter. Man, the boy really cared about his cookies. But he also cared about getting some sage wisdom regarding how to progress in his still-very-youthful career.

"Figure out what's in your control, and not in your control before you even step into the ring. Once you do that you attack what's in your control and let go of what isn't in your control. That may sound simple but a lot of people try to control things that are out of there control, especially when it comes to the actions of others. All you should ever worry about is you, and others will start worrying about you because of that. Learning from example that you're one dangerous bloke."

Saxon blinked. He didn't quite understand what he was being told.

"Sorry, mate. I don't quite understand what you just said." Buddy responded, looking like a lost puppy.

The Bronze Lion grinned, amused. "All you ever have to worry about is eating cookies and kicking ass. Don't let anyone tell you different."

"Ahhhh, okay. I get it now!" Buddy beamed from ear-to-ear, obviously pleased. Rud gestured for Saxon to take a seat, which Buddy immediately did.

And then, feeling that a connection had been formed, the young upstart from Bournemouth decided to do something he figured he should have done right a couple of minutes ago.

He offered The Brummie Bulldog a cookie. "Want one? They're really good, especially the peanut butter cookies.

Go on, try it! You won't regret it!"

Rud eyeballed the bag of cookies that Saxon now waved like there were gold coins inside. Pulling a chair up to where Buddy was seated, Albion decided there was no harm in trying.

So, Rud took a peanut butter cookie and wasted no time in taking a bite. Buddy looked on, hoping that his new friend would like it.

The nod of Rud Albion's head as he chewed on the cookie some more indicated that he did indeed like it. "Yes, very good. You can really feel the flavour!"

Buddy beamed again. A bond had been forged, and now, he could spend the rest of the evening learning from a man who's seen everything (and then some) in the business.

The lesson to be learnt from all this?

Never ever underestimate the power of cookies, okay?

Monsters At The Gate

       

The plan for the night was to have one simple match. The winner would get a title shot. A real title shot and not some over-booked, one-sided match conjured up by Trevor Wilson. The Apex Predator was doing a good job of handing out sporadic title shots to insure Hawk stayed off his back, and his promises to maintain and create allies gave him the edge when he needed it. These days he was running out of favors to offer people, but he still had one more.

One more attempt at least.

Stalking the halls in his sleeveless PVC trench coat, the Spirit of ACW was flanked from behind by Kati and her metal folding chair. One by its self was enough, but the extra mile was always welcomed. Kati had taken to the Scorpion division well in recent weeks so her protective services now were more of a hope for violence and destruction so she could fine tune her skills.

Random SlySports workers watched Wilson walk by but offered him no smiles or waves. Most were concerned he'd demand help, maybe using his title as a means to coerce or threaten them.

Pft.

"I think I see our friend now."

"Shall I give him the English bum rush?"

"I don't even know what that means and I'm confident you don't either."

"Sounded good. Ironic at least."

"Just pipe down my Harley Quinn wannabe. You just might get that opportunity."

Up ahead the sound of knuckles cracked loudly. Then a fist slammed into a palm. Rinse. Repeat.

Khristain Keller rolled his neck and waited until he felt and then heard a pop. He grimly raised a smile and glared ahead at the locker room door. While it was a generic piece of wood he knew who was inside. It only took a relaxed death threat and making a PA piss himself before Keller got the names and rooms of each ACW star.

First on the list was Midnight Cowboy. Time to finish tonight's match before it could begin.

"Hey, King Shit. A word?"

Keller could have done a lot of things, but he mostly just smiled and shook his head. He turned around and saw Wilson standing behind him, sure, but he also spotted Kati wielding her chair and ready to swing.

"Why does everyone want to speak to me tonight? But hey at least you had the common decency to bring me something to sit on Cunto."

"I have no doubt that you could land a punch just flush enough to crack my jaw. Maybe put me on the shelf for a bit, and maybe even move quick enough to avoid my companion's attempt to waffle your head with that chair. You could also miss and we could destroy you, make sure there's something left for the Cowboy to pin inside the ring, and then send you some sympathy cards in the hospital. A dozen scenarios in-between to think about as well."

"'Cept I get the feeling you've got an ace, king, jack, and the rest of the fucking deck up your sleeve. I can't decide between bitching to Hawk, filing a police report, or jumping me with some hired guns and a tire iron. Mostly because I can't figure out if you're a man, or a mouse who has won this little title and thought you were now the King Shit."

"How about this instead? You and I team up. We charge with both guns blazing into that locker room in front of us, and just obliterate that southern scrub. We call it a day, get a beer, and then talk about when might be a good time for you to get a title shot. Good to go with that?"

Keller scratched his chin and turned around to stare at the locker room door that stood before the trio. It looked like one big Welcome sign itching him along.

"There is a saying from where I am Wilson. Fool me once... shame on you. Fool me twice and I'll obliterate your nutsack with a nail gun."

Wilson undid the buckle that held his trench coat together. He nodded to the side and Kati lowered her chair in response.

"Shall we get to work?"

"I don't think so fuckup. I'm honoured and all that you thought to come to me with this but to be honest I don't even like you, never mind get into the proverbial bed with you."

Wilson let loose a small smile, but he looked anxious. His fists tightened and Keller appeared to have done a good job shaking him.

"I'm not gonna lay a finger on that fucking hillbilly wankstain until we step inside a ring. I can't wait to take him on either because when I win it's going to make my match with you even sweeter at this pay-per-view. Your days of making deals and pulling fast ones are over Wilson."

With a sigh, Wilson buckled his coat back up and started to back away from Keller. Kati stayed standing until she was between the two men, but it seemed to be based on her own anxiousness to tussle with K2.

"At least I got my answer. Hope you enjoy my match tonight. Pussy."

Keller smiled and walked away. He tapped lightly on Midnight Cowboy's door and walked down the hall to plot a new strategy. One that got him what he wanted, and brought Wilson down as low as he could take him.

It was interesting that Wilson was plotting the same for the King Shit of Fuck Mountain.

Ain't Nothing in this world for Free

The arena lights went dim causing the audience to hush to a mere murmur. They knew from experience that someone was about to make their appearance for a match or to grace them with a skilled promo. Perhaps the world champion? Or maybe TV? Or the long awaited appearance of High Flyer?

Finally after moments of waiting the Tron lit up with the ACW logo complete with a monochrome makeover. The appearance was equalized with a narrating voice unseen.

“The world watched last week while ACW filmed inside Cardiff; while the Heirs of Wrestling showed why they were the it tag team in ACW. This was their time to shine, their chance to show ACW and the World just how they faired against those that are considered in the leagues of the best.”

The ACW tron replayed the entrance of the Heirs of Wrestling showcasing their championships to the crowd as the live audience booed in response.

“The world saw the tag team champions come out of retirement to face off against the World Champion Alias and his female compadre Karina Wolfenden, formerly known together as Vox Nihili.”

This time a replay from Courage 103 showcased the thundering entrance of Vox Nihili, and the live crowds’ enthusiastic response.

“We watched. We surveyed. We witnessed the self-destruction of the tag team division in other lands far from this one. Last week’s was nothing different. In case you missed it, let the world see the first of many taut strings left to cut before ACW too falls into the dark abyss.”

Once more the voice is masked out by a reply from Courage 103, this time the final moments of the match in its’ entirety.

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!!!


’VOX-NI-HI-LI!!’

‘VOX-NI-HI-LI!!’

‘VOX-NI-HI-LI!!!

The fans roared with chants of their new tag team champions while the screen froze on the two in celebration.

“RRRAAAAAH, indeed. Those British English sycophants roared for change. Following the script as it was laid out before them. Eating out of their hands. And you, you were none the wiser. You, the people that allow such travesties and applaud the act of heroism day in and day out, are to blame. Not ACW. Not the Heirs of Wrestling. And certainly not the Queen.”

The arena erupted in a mix of cheers and jeers as the nameless and faceless voice continued.

“Struck a nerve it seems. Quite alright. You see, we could speak badly on your country. Or on your Queen, but what wrongs has she committed in relation to ACW? Should we congratulate your soccer teams for a cheap pop? Maybe speak goodwill and fortune towards your mayor? Why?” the voice paused momentarily. “Just to entertain you destitute fools into tuning in the next week?”

Being called poor by an unknown entity was enough to get the crowd riled up and chanting their dislike in less-than friendly words.

“Again I ask you why. Why should we care enough to even reference those type of people? This isn’t America. You people aren’t free. You have no rights.”

The tron faded from Vox’s triumphant win to the flag of the United States of America.

“For Queen and her country, right? What the Queen says, you do. You’re slaves to the country and you don’t even realize it. The lot of you are indigent scars on the Earth kowtowing to you’re Queen.” The flag faded to blackness which was quickly replaced with two eyes and a grin. “Perhaps ACW could be better. Made cleaner. Perhaps We Will continue to survey the grounds…”

The grin vanished along with the eyes as a familiar tune lifted itself through the speakers momentarily before the lights returned to their normal shine above the screaming denizens.

Ain't nothing in this world for free.

Outside

In the parking lot of the Sky Dome, a man with long dark hair sat alone on the hood of a Toyota FJ Cruiser, sipping from a bottle of beer in a brown paper bag. After taking a swig, he let out a misty sigh, then stared down at his dangling booted feet, or perhaps he was just staring at the asphalt.

"Hey," a woman said.

The man looked to his left, and shook his long hair out of his eyes so he could see the speaker. It was Sarah, Trey Vincent's occasional valet.

"Hey," Sharc returned. "Nice bump a couple weeks back."

She chuckled a bit. "Yeah, always great to take a Fosbury Flop from a guy like Alias off the top of a cage," she said, pushing herself up onto the hood to join him. "I still haven't recovered totally."

"Alias is shit," Sharc said flatly. "Trey thinks he hates Alias. Trey doesn't even know hate."

"So, you got the big hate for Alias? Why again?"

"Every time I rise to the top, Alias is there to knock me down. It happened in '03 when I thought I had finally broken through as a somebody in this business, winning one of the most prestigious tournaments that existed at the time. One night later, he knocked me down to hell, where I fought with a demon for the rest of my stay there rather than fighting for a championship. Flash forward to last year. I came in and made a name for myself by attacking him right off the bat. Me and Trey main evented. We formed what I thought would be a dominant alliance, with the three of us. Then, all of a sudden, new year, and where am I now?"

With a sigh, Sharc took another slug of beer.

"I'm outside of the FUCKING building! That's where the fuck I am. Omega. Iceman. They fucked me out of what is rightfully mine last week so two English faggots could put on some bullshit tag team match against Alias and some cunt. Me? I nearly get my ear ripped off against fucking Iceman. For nothing. No title. Just because I don't need this fucking body for anything. What do I have, Sarah? Alcohol and hatred will only fuel me for a few more years, I'll be gone, and quickly forgotten."

Filled with rage now, Sharc tossed his beer bottle into the ground at what easily could have been 90 mph of ferocity, smashing it into pieces. He pushed himself off the SUV and looked down at the bag filled with broken glass.

"I should go in there and shove bits of this fucking broken bottle under Alias' fingernails."

Now Sarah hopped off the car and approached him cautiously. "Hey," she said as gently as she could. "You're better than this." Carefully, she reached her hands under his hair and touched his cold cheeks. "Look at me, Rich."

He did.

"I've seen what you've done here in ACW. You've put on great matches. You've fought Alias tooth and nail. You gave Andy Sharp everything you had and took him to the limit. Fine, you lost. Losses happen."

Sharc turned away from her touch and leaned on the hood of the SUV.

"It's all going down, Sarah. I couldn't win the World Title from Sharp. I can't beat Alias. I couldn't even win the Scorpion Title ladder match. Do you even know what Trey said to me after that? He was beyond pissed at me because, even when he lowered the fucking cage to guarantee that I would win the Scorpion Championship, and I only had to beat the shit out of Stevens, I couldn't get the job done. He gave me one job to do: win the Scorpion Championship. And I've failed. Again. It's my whole life."

Sarah stared at Sharc, not having a clue how to bring him back from this depression.

BANG!

"Rich, stop it!"

That banging sound was Sharc bashing his face into the hood of his own vehicle.

"Get in the car. We're getting out of here. Now!"

As Sarah headed for the driver's side door, Sharc turned around to get one more glimpse of the Sky Dome. The camera zoomed in on Sharc's pale face. A steady trickle of blood rolled out of his right nostril.

"No. There's something I've got to do first. Then we can go."

#1 Contendership for the Spirit of ACW Title
Midnight Cowboy vs. Khristain Keller

   

The arena collapsed into complete darkness. The text "Midnight Cowboy" slithered onto the big screen, rendered in smoky letters. The crowd surged to their feet, erupting into a fury of cheers! The house lights popped on in unison with the jangly, boisterous guitar of "Electric Rodeo" by Shooter Jennings! Midnight Cowboy eschewed his normal entrance presentation, storming through the curtains and marching down the ramp with a scowl. He avoided hand slaps and flung his cowboy hat into the crowd as an afterthought. He got in the ring and rumbled back and forth, bouncing off the ropes before settling in a corner.

“Dirty Window” by Metallica hailed the appearance of Khristain Keller, who got a healthy venomous reaction from the crowd. Middle fingers flew as he closed his eyes and shook his head, as if to brush away the raining boos. Cowboy leaned over the ropes, motioning for Keller to hurry up. This made Keller slow his pace, which enraged the Texan. Referee Trent Savage approached and walked Cowboy backwards so KK could safely enter the ring.

The bell wasn't done vibrating from its commencing ring before all hell broke loose!

Both superstars were burning hot, exchanging blows in the center of the ring, jaws twisting away only to meet another fist! Keller and MC rolled around on the mat, Cowboy ending up on top and popping Keller's nose with a fist! Miraculously, the blood stayed in KK's head as MC lifted him up and chopped him into a corner. Grabbing the top rope for balance, he sent a flurry of kicks to Keller's gut before he was seated in a daze. Cowboy lifted him up and put him down with a vertical suplex. He lifted him up and the two grappled once again.

Cowboy whipped KK to the corner in his unique way, with one hand on Keller's back and the other behind his bald head. Keller's chest bounced off the padding violently, but he used the momentum to pivot and clobber MC with a clothesline! Cowboy landed hard on his back as KK pulled him to his feet, MC landing soft blows on Keller's midsection. Annoyed, KK put his claws on Cowboy's forehead and scraped downwards sharply.

BOOOOOOO~!!!!

Cowboy dropped to a knee, covering his stinging eyes and letting out a moan. Keller used his position by wrapping an arm around his neck and dropping him with a Jumping DDT! Keller pinned.

1

2

Kickup. Keller pushed the referee down out of frustration as he lifted Cowboy up once more and placed him in a grapple. Cowboy lunged forward as if to bearhug him. KK slid around behind him, dropped to a knee and slugged him so hard in the nutsack that MC's cowboy boots floated above the surface of the mat.

The crowd was livid now, as The King Shit of Fuck Mountain would do anything and everything against the book to beat the easy-going Texan and get closer to the Spirit of ACW title. Midnight Cowboy gritted his teeth and pounded the mat. His face still managed a competitive grin. Referee Trent Savage ran over, a big miffed over being knocked over, and pointed his finger in KK's face. KK stared him down, threatening to bite the index finger fluttering in his face. Savage stepped off immediately.

Keller returned his attention only to BOOM! kick in the gut by Cowboy! Gutwrench Powerbomb -- head to the nuts on the landing! Midnight Cowboy reached down to pick him up but KK kicked his hand away, lowering his shoulder and driving him into the ropes. Midnight Cowboy did not want to cede his momentum and began clubbing his back with forearms. Referee Trent Savage ran over and did his job, separating the two.

The warriors reset and grappled tightly, and this time it was MC who came away with a questionable move, thrashing his head against Keller's, causing him to stagger backwards in a daze! Only in this situation, the crowd was behind him and the referee acted ignorant. Cowboy crouched down and Keller onto his shoulders, planting him with a textbook Death Valley Driver! The cowboy rolled over Keller's chest.

1

2

3--NO! Last second kickout! The crowd let out a groan as Keller rolled over, shaking the cobwebs out of his head. Cowboy lifted him up for another grapple but Keller slapped his hands and clobbered him with a return headbutt! He got in position for a powerslam but Cowboy kept his feet planted, elbowing him sharply against the ear, breaking the hold. Both competitors refused to give momentum to the other. Suddenly, music blasted over the speakers and broke the stalemate.

"Devoid" by The Devin Townsend Band.

Trevor Wilson walked out from the back slowly. Soaking in the ire of the crowd or just stalking his prey...Actually both those things probably dictated his pace.

The Apex Predator undid the buckle on his trench coat and let it slide off his body and onto the ramp. The Spirit of ACW title belt stayed strapped around his waist as he continued to the ring.

Midnight Cowboy was content to keep an eye on the champion but Keller wasn't one to pass on an opening and floored him a Running Kick. He grabbed onto Cowboy and held him up from falling so he could lock in for a suplex.

Delayed. Delayed. Delayed.

Finally Keller came down with a Brainbuster after he was satisfied. The crowd "Ahhhhed" the move and watched Keller cover a flush Midnight Cowboy.

1

2

Shoulder up from Cowboy.

Wilson unstrapped the title belt and folded the straps neatly so he could lay the title down at the base of the ramp. Then he resumed his surveying duties.

Keller sat Cowboy up and took a few steps back. He dove forward with a European Uppercut that rocked Cowboy's head back onto the mat. Keller made another cover but only came up with a two count again.

He lifted The Man From El Paso off the mat and nailed a Mongolian Chop. Fancy shit for Keller but it was effective and looked cool. He shook that off and nailed straight right hands until he had Cowboy against the ropes. He moved to the opposite side and came forward with enough momentum-

Cactus Clothesline!

Wilson got a bit interested at this point and moved to see the two men rising back to their feet. He smirked and walked away to the other side of the ring where he flipped up the ring apron.

A series of blatant closed fists took place before Cowboy ducked one and drove a knee into Keller's stomach before clobbering him with a Clothesline. He brought K2 off the floor by the arm and back of the head only so he could spin around and drive him into the ring apron.

The Spirit of ACW brought up a chair and checked it by slamming it against the floor. He slid into the ring with it and grabbed Savage by the collar and rattled off what most knew was coming. Once Savage nodded his head and adjusted his shirt he went over and told Jimmy Reid so he could relay.

"The following contest is now a Spirit of ACW match. Since ten minutes have already elapsed, Trevor Wilson is giving himself no disqualification rules."

The bell actually rang again, but the fans were focused less on the noise and more on Wilson lining up his shot and delivering a sick blow to Midnight Cowboy.

Whoafuckthat. MC ducked and ran forward to the ropes to launch himself forward for a big-time clothesline.

Wilson dropped to his knees and swung and took out the right leg of MC. He stood up to line up his next show but WHAM! Keller from behind sent a Double Ax Handle into the back of Wilson's head. The chair dropped to the mat and Wilson went down to one knee.

"You don't fucking learn."

Stiff forearm knocked the taste out of Wilson's mouth and left him open for Keller to lift him up into a front facelock for a rough DDT.

1

2

Wilson kicked out but Keller lifted him back up and right into a suplex. PainKILLA coming in but a knife edge to Keller's throat choked him and got him to drop Wilson. The champ landed awkwardly but on his feet and locked Keller up from behind for a Full Nelson Release Suplex.

The fans started cheering but not for Wilson's attempted pin. Instead those were reserved for MC and his running kick to the side of Wilson. He dropped down and covered Keller.

1

2

3-kickout from Keller.

Midnight Cowboy bailed on Keller and went to work over the champion. Trevor Wilson fought with forearm shots but MC landed a perfect haymaker and opened Wilson up for the knees.

Continuous knees to the stomach slowly wore out Wilson and had the crowd counting along.

1! 2! 3! 4! 5! 6! 7! 8!

MC stopped and locked his arms around Wilson and brought close to 300 pounds into the air and right down to the mat in a Powerbomb. The ring shook as two of the largest men in the roster landed on the mat.

1

2

3!

NO! Keller landed on the men with an elbow drop to break the count.

The King Shit took a beating to both men instead of focusing on just one. Left and rights to both men took over until he mixed it up with a headbutt to Wilson and a spinning back fist to Midnight Cowboy.

Keller turned around to deal with Wilson but the Apex Predator had retreated to the corner. He came out charging now but Keller side-stepped him and was content to let Wilson crash into the corner instead. He turned his attention back to MC but before he could he suffered a hard blow to the back of the neck and was taken down with a Reverse DDT.

1

2

3-Keller got a shoulder up!

Midnight Cowboy got onto his feet and mocked the slit of the throat with his hand much to the delight of the crowd. He lifted Keller up and immediately butterflied the arms. He brought him up and back-

Voices After Midnight!

NO!!

Trevor Wilson with a chair to the back of Midnight Cowboy! He brought the chair up once more and drilled MC. He threw the weapon to the side and grabbed onto Keller and sent him over the top rope and to the floor.

1

2

3!

"Devoid" kicked up and sent Wilson chugging to the outside and partially up the ramp. He collected his belt and coat and then took the time to smile in celebration. MC sat on his knees on the mat with a hand on his back and wincing. Even with a grimace on his face, he grit his teeth and glared at Wilson.

The champ tapped the side of his head and kept on smiling. Still manipulating, and still not giving either of his contenders a legitimate chance.

C O M M E R C I A L S

Shareholder Speaks, ACW Listens

   

Fanfare and pageantry. An orchestra symphony sounded out through the pa system in a low mellowing calm. Resting by the side of the entrance-way was a podium, recently set up. The trademark golden star for ACW shimmered and shined on the podium's front, reflecting the amassed crowd cheering.

Renaud Cardinal had left his position at the broadcast booth and stood stoic behind the microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, part share owner of ACW, I bring to you, the legendary High Flyer!"

The familiar raspy voice of Ozzy Osbourne blasted over the PA system, sending the crowd into a frenzy. High Flyer stepped out as the cackle died down, fists clenched and shoulders hunched. He looked to the right, now the left, before tossing his left hand in the air in a devil horn to illicit cheers. He walked to Renaud's side and shook his hand, before taking his place behind the podium.

"Now, normally, I have a lawyer on retainer who would come out here and make these sorts of public speeches, but... there's something about this place that's just... fun to be around." Flyer smiled, beaming wide. The fans in attendance cheered and clapped.

"So ladies and gentlemen, I do not wish to take up too much of your time. For at any minute, one of my heated enemies could accost me and try to wallop me good. The last time I was a wrestler in ACW, I had unresolved issues with Andy Sharp." The fans let loose cheers. "I have a deep seated almost biological hatred of Keith Scott Zimmerman." Boos. Flyer slammed his hand on the podium as if it were a gaval. "Superstar Vince Jacobs is a bane on the industry of professional wrestling." Flyer raised his head, chin extended, standing tall.

"But, I can not for the life of me come in and try to play hero again, try to wipe the ACW slate clean and fresh and anew of jackassery and dickery, chicanery and villainy. It's not my place to be a hero, it's not my place to be a villain, and every day I get older... I'm losing what little place I have left. My legs are shattered, I've had so many concussions. I'm a 34 year old professional wrestler with the moniker of a 22 year old. The times they are a-changing."

Flyer gulped. He calmed himself by closing his eyes for a moment. "So with that, I look to the future. I look to the offspring, the next generation. I look to my legacy, and sorry Chris, but YOUR, future, ACW Tag team champions... Two of my greatest pupils... Ed, Klein. the Pop Culture Phenoms!"

"Rabbia E Tarantella" by Ennio Morricone started to play over the public address system as the strings hypnotically seduced the crowd. Walking out from the backstage area was a man in a gold suit, wearing a monocle over one eye. He stood as realistically tall as a sub six foot man can stand in this business, and had his nose upturned in a look of distain. He has short dyed blond spikes, although the roots are showing a significantly darker color. He is covered from head to toe in golden jewelry, necklaces, and rings, even the frame to his monocle is gold. On his monocle engraved on the lens are two letters, "Ed."

Coming out from behind Ed in a hurry was a man with long strawberry blond hair, curling at the frayed edges. He carried a large cardboard box, approximately three feet by three feet, clutching it to his chest as a baby blanket. Suddenly, gold pyro shot off from the entrance ramp, surrounding the two newest additions to the ACW roster. Startled, Klein threw the box in the air and quickly ducked down to a fetal position.

Ed, unamused, reached down and grabbed Klein by his hair. Klein was uprooted from his safe position on the entrance floor and pushed forward to the ring by his partner. Klein's trunks had the word "Klein" written on the back.

Klein turned to Ed distraught. He has a flash insignia on the left leg of his red tights. His eyes brows narrow, as he pushed past a protesting Ed to grab his large cardboard box and return to his position behind Edwards.

At the podium, Flyer looked on proud at his protégés. "And hey," Flyer said into the podium's microphone, "I made an announcement at a professional wrestling event and not one person attacked me.

I'd say that's a good day."

Pop Culture Phenoms
vs.
Malk Al-Haq & Ulf German

           

Klein and Ed climbed into the ring, and began to play rock paper scissors as “Buech Dich” by Rammstein blared over the pa system. The fans turned on a dime as the foreign superstars exited the backstage area, passing by the ACW podium and High Flyer. Ulf raised his arm in a barbaric roar, as Malk Al-Haq stared down the ACW shareholder. The two quickly made their way ringside.

Klein won the rock paper scissors contest, and chose to start the match on the outside. A camera swirled by Klein, who slipped in fright on the apron and landed with a thud on his back.

Ulf started the match for his team, and raised his arm skyward for Ed to have a test of strength. Ed scoffed. Ed turned to Klein and shouted “Is he serious?” before being kicked in the gut. Kicked off his feet, Ed fought back to his feet only for Ulf to smack him back down with a windmill like elbow to his back. Ulf lifted Ed up by his poorly dyed spikes, and tossed him into his corner. Tag in to Malk, who lumbered in as Ulf headbutted Ed. Malk followed suit, and Ulf hit one last one before exiting the ring at a three count. Malk lifted Ed and nailed a huge scoop slam into a cover.

One.

Two!

Kickout. Malk scooped Ed and hooked him back to back. Going for the Widow’s peak, Ed flipped as Malk lifted him, freeing one hand and spinning to arm drag Malk off his feet. Malk scrambled to his feet as Ed leapt at him with a crescent kick to the jaw. Malk rose in a bit of a haze. Ed charged, and Malk caught him in a tilt-a-whirl. Ed however, was able to keep flipping and hit yet another arm drag to the cheers of the crowd.

Malk returned to his feet and stumbled back into the corner. Ed charged, jumping onto the middle ropes and letting out a cry of “I’m a Superstar!” before two right hands came down on the future fuhrer of the middle east. That was all Ed would get, as Malk leaned forward and slammed Ed down into the mat with a vicious chokeslam.

Ed bounced off the mat, flipping onto his stomach. He reached out desperately to tag in Klein, who leaned over the top rope. Malk charged and knocked Klein clean off the apron to jeers from the crowd. As Malk returned to Ed’s side, Ed caught him right between the legs in the crown jewels with his foot. He was immediately reprimanded by Mark Shields, but it didn’t matter, as Malk was left vulnerable to Ed’s patented ¾ facelock cutter, aka the A-Lister.

With Malk and Ed down and out on the canvas, Ulf felt very anxious on the apron. Should Malk get the tag in, Ulf would have a distinct advantage. But Ed’s ¾ facelock cutter had already been proved to be quite a potent maneuver in the Academy, and Malk wasn’t as quick to get up as Klein was.

Hot tag! Klein hit the ring on fire, charging and taking Ulf off the apron with a double crossing elbow shot in retribution for Malk’s attack on him earlier. As Malk got to his feet and saw Ulf fall off the apron into the time keeper’s table, he screamed in anger. Blood in his face turned his cheeks and forehead rosey, as Klein smiled and waved at him sheepishly. Malk charged in a fury, and Klein side stepped him, grabbing an arm and taking him down in a crossface. Malk fought valiantly to get his left hand free and out of the grasp of Klein’s legs, cause that would no doubt mean Cover, a submission maneuver made famous by Perry Saturn. He was able to power out of the submission before the hold was cinched in, and as he was on his feet and Klein was on the canvas, Malk took advantage with an elbow to the sternum. Malk tried to use his sheer weight and power to get a victory, staying on top for a pin.

One.

Two!

TH-NO! Klein was able to squeeze his shoulder out from the powerful tree trunk like arms of Malk Al-Haq. Malk lifted Klein in anger and tossed him out of the ring through the middle ropes. Klein landed in a thud as Ed ducked outside to check on his partner. Both men were feeling the effects of the match, and so they didn’t notice Malk charging off the opposite side. Malk ducked his shoulder and went between the top and middle ropes, knocking Ed off his feet with a tope, only to strike his own skull stiffly against the steel barricade.

With everyone outside, Ulf had gotten to his feet after smacking his face against the ringbell by Klein knocking him off the apron. He charged around the ring, turning the corner by grabbing the ringpost to pivot himself. Around the next corner, Klein saw him charging and let out a “Yelp.”

Ulf missed with a clothesline. Klein slammed his shoulders into Ulf’s gut and picked the German who was 80 pounds heavier than him up on his shoulders.

Klein spun Ulf off his shoulders in a 90 degree circle and caught him with a ¾ facelock cutter on the floor.

Meanwhile, the referee’s count had gotten up to eight. Klein rolled in and out, and then grabbed the dazed Malk. Ed stammered to his feet, and Klein slapped him in the face. Ed shot to an upright position and looked furious. He screamed at Klein, punching him in his jaw. Klein stared dumfounded, as he pointed down to the fallen Ulf. Klein then nudged to Malk, and both men tossed him under the bottom rope.

Malk fought to his feet in a daze, back turned to the camera and holding his skull from the tope into the barricade. Both members of the Pop Culture Phenoms slid in the ring. Klein slid to the other side of the ring, almost completely slipping out. He stood up and returned to Malk’s right side, camera’s left side, as Ed stood up on the opposite. Malk went for a wild right hand on Klein as he turned to face the camera. Ed twisted and leapt with a spinning wheel kick. Klein ducked the right hand by leg sweeping Malk. It was a move made popular in the 90’s called total elimination, and it came from out of nowhere.

SMACK-OW~!

Klein dove on top hooking Malk in a schoolboy out of the maneuver. Ulf recovered on the outside, and Ed made sure he wouldn’t be able to interfere. The wannabe Ed leapt over the top rope and caught the German Ulf with piscada that needed no springboard.

One.

Two!

THREE! And as the crowd counted along, Klein reveled in the spoils of victory inside the ring. "Rabbia E Tarantella" by Ennio Morricone proclaimed the newest additions to ACW victors, and Klein would enjoy every lasting moment of it.

On the stage, High Flyer looked on, smiled, and turned away from ACW. He looked... satisfied.

Ever Get the Feeling You've Been Cheated?

       

In the staging area backstage, SilverHAWK appeared to be chatting over some details about the card for the evening with a producer wearing a headset. At least, until Trey Vincent grabbed the script out of the producer's hands and chucked it.

"Fetch, doggie," Vincent said. "HAWK, we need to talk. You can't just let your sports entertainers walk all over you and your staff."

As HAWK watched his producer chasing after the tossed script, HAWK couldn't help but chuckle. "You have no sense of irony, do you?"

"Alias as champion is my limit on irony. Look, boss. What Alias did last week can't be legal. Scott Keith Zimmershole, the most only sports entertainer who DOESN'T matter, interfered! You saw what he did to, um, one of those English pricks. Not only that, but that bitch stuck her nose in to my business again."

"K-Wolf?"

"No. Shawn Jessica Simpson or whatever his name is. I hate that guy, too! And now I've got to sports entertain him later tonight in that tag match? The point is, EVERYBODY interfered in that match and made sure Alias kept the title. Jessica, SKZ, it's a conspiracy. You must strip them of the titles on some technicality. Say, ACW doesn't allow the tag titles to change hands in the month of February in English hellholes. Whatever you need to do. My goal is to REMOVE titles from Alias, not add to his collection! I call bullshit! And thus, you should retroactively disqualify them for the blatant interference."

"Hold on, Trey. Didn't I see you jump in the ring and attack Alias?"

"Huh? That doesn't sound right."

HAWK sighed. "We might have to strip them anyway. K-Wolf STILL hasn't signed a damn contract."

"WHAAAAAAAAAAT? UNACCEPTABLE! Those two are basically... basically Alias is taking a giant Baby Ruth style crap on the title belts, then K-Wolf is eating that crap up like a dog, then sticking a finger down her throat, and then puking dookie on the titles. The solution?"

"Stop watching disgusting Internet videos?" SilverHAWK suggested.

"If K-Wolf doesn't sign a contract by For Queen & Country, then Vox Nihili has to vacate the title."

"Despite the absolutely disgusting, fifth-grade level way you put it, I have to agree with you, Trey. If she doesn't sign by For Queen & Country, the Tag Team Championship will be vacated."

“Tell me that I didn’t just hear ya correctly.” Alias growled, as his shadow drifting onto the screen, his broad Championship covered shoulders soon following.

“You DID! And then Karina would EAT her puke, only causing her to puke some more on those Tag Team titles!” Trey pointed out emphaticly. Alias haaad been talking to Hawk, but he was NOW talking to TV.

“Whatever the fuck you’re talkin’ about, you say another word about it and I box your ears with this silver and gold.” The Pulp Hero growled, referring to the World Championship on his left shoulder and half of the Tag Team Championships on his right.

TV decided to keep quiet, for now. But BOY did he glare at his nemesis.

“You’re serious, Hawk?” Alias said to the ACW head honcho.

“I’m afraid so. I mean, you know as well as I do that we can’t have half of the tag team champions disappear for a protracted amount of time. Especially since not only did one of the titles you’re now wearing, almost get retired by the Heirs before you won them, but our first set of Tag Team titles disappeared in Mexico with Splink. I can trust that you won’t be going anywhere, without letting us know… but even if you vouch for her, I can’t do the same with Karina, unless she signs a contract.”

“So I have one, maybe two weeks to get the other half of Vox onboard…”

“Because if you didn’t notice, by the special appearance of High Flyer and a few of his favorite people, our newest signings from the Academy, the PCP… we’ve got ourselves a growing tag team division.” Hawk replied, with a deft nod. But then he smiled glibly, “But I do have a silver lining to this situation…”

“Oh yeah, what’s that?” Alias replied, none to happy.

“What IS that?” Trey Vincent also replied, much the same… but for a different reason. Silver FUCKING Lining?! Was that supposed to be punny?! THE NERVE!

“The fate of the Tag Team titles might be out of your hands, at the moment, Sheff, but to make up for it… I’ll give you control over who’ll face you tonight for the World title and TV’s bounty.”

Alias looked at Hawk, eyes still narrow. Trey Vincent’s eyes were WIDE though. HOW DARE HAWK! That is, until Alias said one word.

“Omega.”

“HA!” All eyes turned to Trey Vincent who had gone from incredulous to giddy in five seconds. Alias continued talking to Hawk, however, and ignored Vincent.

“Of all the people who could have gone after that first World title shot last week… most all of ‘em are also fighting for the Scorpion title right now as well. And as no stranger to that world, I couldn’t have hoped for anything less.” Alias spoke, his voice rumbling with a firey pride.

“I don’t need him to put his title on the line though, I’m just fine with being just the fourth double-champion in ACW’s history.” Alias grinned, as he looked at a fuming Trey Vincent, “I don’t need to be it’s first triple-champion.

All I want is the Scorpion’s reigning king.”

SilverHAWK looked his and ACW’s World Champion up and down. Especially after picking up the Tag Team Championship, Alias had regained a level of scary confidence and determination that seemed utterly counter-point to Trey Vincent’s whole bounty plan of breaking the Pulp Hero. It had to be driving the Sports Entertainment Icon crazy. Those kinds of things helped make Hawk’s day better.

“Omega is all yours. Just don't break... everything. Again.”

And with a second Champion vs. Champion main event made, in as many weeks, though with a decidedly different spin on things this week, the cameras went elsewhere.

Gonna be magic.

   

"Aye!"

"Nay!"

"AYE!"

"NAY!"

Sheamus O'Brien and Selby O'Brien, well-defined Irish twins, were arguing with each other.

Who are they, you ask? Ignorant douche! Go read the October 2009 editions of Courage.

Fresh off a spell in the Academy and waiting for the second season to start up (very soon!), The SOBs decided to tag along with the rest of the ACW gang to Coventry. Truth was, their collective curiousity were piqued after the Heirs of Wrestling lost the ACW Tag Team Titles last week.

And now, they were having a discussion over whether to throw their names into the hat of teams that were hoping to challenge Vox Nihili. There was one slight issue that raised debate; the matter of the bounty over Alias' head. Money, money, money. The root of all evil.

"I'm all for challengin' for tha Tag Team Titles, especially since the Heirs were nevah gunna give us another chance!" Selby argued, pleading his case. "But I don't think we should take advantage of tha situation and take out Alias just for tha money!

If anythin', we should be helpin' Alias out. He's our World Champion!"

Sheamus, the older brother, shook his head. He didn't quite agree. "I'm with ya, brotha, on the fact that now those wankers Ryan and Frank are no longer champions, it's a bloody good day! All I'm sayin' is that I truly believe we have a very good chance to beat Alias and that lassie for tha titles. Why not make a little bit of money along tha way?"

Selby hissed as he folded his arms and started to walk around. The locker-room they were assigned for the night was small, but good enough for pacing up and down in frustration. Selby wondered why his older-brother-by-a-minute was so gung ho about buying into Trey Vincent's crazy bounty offer.

"Why are ya so gaga over tha bloody bounty offer?" Selby asked, articulating his thoughts almost word for word.

Sheamus grinned like a crazy rapist. "LADY GAGA! She's got a fantastic arse for a non-coloured lassie!"

Selby halted in his tracks and blinked several times. What the heck was his brother talking about?

"Eh? What the fack are ya blabberin' on about?" the confused Selby enquired. I hope you guys see the pattern here.

"Sorry, brotha. I was distracted when ya said gaga." Sheamus apologised ruefully, before deciding to stand up. "But aye, I guess I was more distracted by all tha money Trey Vincent's offering. Besides, we're a team! Neither one of us has any illusions of breakin' out on our own and becoming a singles superstar, innit?"

Chewing on his brother's words, Selby cocked his head sideways and decided to wonder if he did indeed become a singles superstar.

The glory.

The women.

The sponsorship deals.

The offer to become a professional cowboy.

The shiny championship belts.

"Oi! Stop thinkin' about Lady Gaga! She's mah daydream gal!" Sheamus screamed, snapping Selby out of his trance.

Turning a shade of red, Selby cleared his throat and got his head back in the game. "Sorry, brotha. Okay, so we're agreed. We're gonna put our names down as challengers to tha Tag Team Titles, and we've got ta make it count this time! We've had a number of opportunities that we haven't fully taken advantage of, but this is *our* time!

And we're not gonna get daft and try to tackle Alias for the World Title and the money. Ya got it, brotha?"

"Indeed, brotha!" Sheamus nodded, high-fiving Selby. "But I think we will have a bit of competition, eh? Our old friends, tha Pop Culture Phenoms, are in tha thick of things now. If it comes down to us and 'em, that means a chance for unfinished business."

Selby smirked. The SOBs and the Pop Culture Phenoms did indeed have a bit of history back in the Academy just a short while ago. And having seen Ed and Klein pick up an impressive victory over fellow Academy mates Malk Al-Haq and Ulf German, there was the feeling that The SOBs would not be alone in wanting to challenge Alias and K-Wolf for the Tag Team Titles.

But, Selby felt confident. For the first time since END GAME 2009, which was their last opportunity at the Tag Team Titles, Selby felt he and his brother were physically and mentally prepared to take on the champions. And with their old rivals the Heirs of Wrestling out of the picture, Selby figured a fresh start would reap a giant reward.

"Don't worry about them, brotha!" Selby quipped, the smirk still on his face. "Whatever happened, happened.

Whatever will happen... bloody hell, brotha.

It's gonna be magic. We're gonna make Ma proud of us, brotha.

Tha ACW Tag Team Titles will be comin' home ta Ireland!"

C O M M E R C I A L S

Keith Scott Zimmerman vs. Frank Pierce

   

As Trent Savage waited, Courage returned. Those looking for action wouldn't have to wait long. Right, Chris Cornell?

"YEAH!"

Oh, when My Wave via the Garden of Sound hits an ACW broadcast, you can expect two things: a wave of boos, and Keith Scott Zimmerman to come out during them. But while the latter was in evidence, the former had been undercut by a (very small) series of cheers--people who had last seen Keith hit his opponent tonight with one of his signature moves and in some small way keeping the ACW World on Alias and helping add the ACW World tag strap to the waists of he and Karina Wolfenden.

This sort of thing - as everybody who follows the constantly-updated ACW website - does not go without retribution. And as the Californian tested the ropes and cracked his knuckles, "The Shit" by Danger Mouse & Jemini came over the PA. As Savage & Zimmerman looked towards the entryway, the latter relaxing in a corner, there was a living breathing ticked off F-Bomb marching down to ringside. This fuse had been waiting a week to detonate, and he was about to explode on Keith. Zimmerman came out of the corner as Pierce vaulted the top rope, and judging by the evident look of surprise on Keith's face he'd quickly decided discretion was the better part of valor. KSZ rolled from the ring but that wasn't going to stop a charged-up Pierce, who merely rolled out of the ring to follow. Keith ran around the ring and almost did a full lap before sliding back in and running for the ropes. He Who Used To Run This Shit But Got Defrauded Of His Title By This Man Last Week was hot on his heels and went to take Zimmerman's head off with a lariat, but Keith ducked. Still running the ropes Pierce spun a 180 and tried to take KSZ's head off with a Yakuza kick but Zimmerman dodged that, too and went off the ropes.

Zimmerman shoulderblock--and he went down quicker than John Mayer's approval rating in Harlem. With a sneer, Frank lifted Keith by his hair, deadlifting him in one eager and frightening display of power.

Keith Scott Zimmerman?

SHUTTHEFUCKUPPERCUT!

You know how impressive Frank's flapjack-morph-European uppercut was? People were still oohing and aahing over it while Keith was flying backwards in the air. Zimmerman naught but a grease spot on the L&N after that manuever, Pierce fell down into a cover . One. Two.

What the--

THR--HAND ON THE ROPES.

That close. Pierce sighed and shook his head, then glared malevolently down at Keith before deciding he should stomp him in the face. Trent backed Frank away from the UC Berkeley grad but the moment he saw Keith start to come out of it he ran forward and connected with a big boot that sent Zimmerman through the ropes, bouncing off of the apron and sending the former Action! star to the concrete. A wave of boos erupted from the audience. The Washingtonian merely glared at them coldly before blowing his snot over the top ropes onto the floor in their general direction. As he went back to continue his dissection of the #6 man in ACW (according to polling), Savage cut him off.

Frank Pierce was annoyed. Or, at least pretending to be annoyed long enough for Alexandria to run up to Keith and punt him in the ribs. Usually, Keith wouldn't've fallen victim to that. But these weren't usual times and his backup was still in a hospital bed some 11 hours away. KSZ groaned as Frank rolled out to ringside to fetch him and casually threw him between the middle and bottom rope back into the ring. Leaning casually against the ropes, Pierce waited for Keith to roll onto his stomach as a result of his beating and only then did he come off and drop a legdrop across the back of Keith's head. He rolled the Only Wrestler That Matters over and pinned him again. Two again. Frank gave a laugh but all the humor'd been sucked out of it. Up came Keith by the hair, yes, again.

"You see what happens, bridge troll? You see what you get for--" CHOP! CHOP! CHOP! Quickly, desperately, Zimmerman lashed out with some knife-edged chops. Pierce merely swatted the offending right hand away, but it just turned Keith's body into a different position and then CHOP! CHOP! CHOP! came Keith with the left hand. CHOP! CH-- and Frank merely shut Zimmerman down by running forward and kneeing him in the sternum. Off his hands and knees Keith came to rest on Frank's shoulder and with an evil grin Pierce charged the turnbuckles in a sort of Tree of Woe setup.

Keith escaped, and in one DMC-level bit of tricky managed to somewhat shove the larger ex-Prince of the Universe towards his own outstretched right foot.

THUNK shook the ring as Pierce flew into the steel post between the top two ropes. While not knocking him unconscious, Pierce's left arm was suddenly compromised. "Yaa!" And then he was hurt even worse, as Keith got a running start and snapped that arm over the top ropes, landing at ringside. Alexandria came around the corner to protest and Keith merely cocked his arm back as if to Chris Brown her entire situation--the crowd oddly cheering this display of misogny. Suddenly, what Keith wanted to do didn't matter, as Pierce grabbed him by the hair with his right arm and brought him--up from the floor--to the apron--into the ring!

"Holy lord," muttered Jimmy Reid at ringside, as Keith grabbed onto the top rope with his flailing arms to break up the hold. Pierce waited until four and then headbutted Keith, dropping him. The crowd booed but Pierce had no worries about the situation as he merely waited to deliver his coup de gras on a fallen KSZ. Zimmerman wobbled and then Pierce charged.

Tragically for him, he missed.

"OOH!"

Even more tragically, going for the big boot had left Pierce's theme park kind of out in the open and he was suddenly uncomfortably making the top rope his girlfriend. Trent went to break the plain. Keith decided he would help by bouncing the rope up and down. With a malevolent sneer KSZ got about five pulls in before Trent backed him up. Frank! Any thoughts?

"...eeeeffffff..."

Pierce felt himself falling to the apron and overrotated to compensate for his (other) injury, falling on his right side. Keith looked to make sure Alex wouldn't get involved, then shook off the cobwebs to move quickly and take advantage. Keith! What a gentleman! All these fans making him the default good guy here has clearly changed Keith, who is bringing Frank into the ring...oh no...by cinching up his left arm...ohh noooo...with Frank hanging by his legs on the second rope...

"Keith, break it up! One! Two! Three! Four--"

SUSPENDED SINGLE-ARM DDT! The crowd exploded in another gale of support as Frank screamed out in pain. You know why they used to call a single-arm DDT Divorce Court, right? Because it hurt like a motherfucker and when it was done you had half of what you had before it happened. Now add height to it. Yeah, not good for Frankie baby. But Keith literally licked his lips and smiled. Then he rolled his neck counter-clockwise a couple of times and ran to the middle of the ring before sliding into a semi-circle and a stop. He could see the pain in Frank's gritted teeth. Keith's upper body rocked back and forth as he saw Pierce trying to compartmentalize, trying to recover. Zimmerman's head came back and it almost looked like he had fangs. And then--he began to act like he was strumming a guitar?! Okay, clearly, Mr. Zimmerman has gone off the reservation, as we watch this crazy man run up to one of the best on the roster--

Frank Pierce?

Your damaged left arm?

Can HIT MY MUSIC! And, oh, my Hawk how the crowd roared as a shockwave rippled through the body of the Silver Lining Academy and Pierce fell onto his back. Yup, last week Frank took Keith's knees on the jaw. This week? Keith had merely adjusted mid-match and applied the same principles of the double-kneed facebuster to the body part he'd been working on the entire match. Crafty little shit, ain't he? Crafty little shit who's just won this thing and the crowd is COUNTING ALONG what is WRONG with you people?

"ONE!"

"TWO!"

"THR--AHHHOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" And how in the the most indigo of blue hells did Frank Pierce get his foot on the bottom rope?

As usual, wherever there's a fine man, there's a better woman backing him up. Oh, Trent had missed it. But Keith knew. The fans knew. The audience at home did, too. Alexandria Malone feigned innocence but turned to the crowd and triumphantly spread her arms to catcalls and boos. Then cheers. Wait, what?

Ohhh...Keith slingshot between the ropes and dropkicked her in the back, that's why. "Dumb bitch." muttered Zimmerman, glad to hurt a Malone (any Malone) irregardless of Y chromosome count as he let go of the ropes and pulled his body back into the ring for his almost-dead prey to YAKUZA KICK!

"That'd make two," snickered Frank through gritted teeth as Zimmerman fell down hard, almost out on contact. Almost out? Well, Frank knew how to fix that, and facepalmed Keith before throwing him into the corner, and the Only Wrestler That Matters' deadweight was so evident his arms flopped between the ropes while his head almost tucked in his chest. Sneering, Frank walked slowly to the opposite corner to a round of boos. He mocked looking confused by this reaction until the YOU SUCK! chant started. Instinctively Frank shot up his left arm to flip the bird, and another jolt of pain spread from his broad shoulders down to his toes.

Fucking Zimmerman.

He was going to pay for it now. Pierce on a dead run.

Keith Scott Zimmerman?

EAT MY ASS!

"OH!" Zimmer's head snapped back like a friendship bracelet from 1991 off the corner charge, and Pierce pulled his body away from the corner and covered.

ONE.

TWO.

THR--HAND ON THE ROPES!

The crowd clapped -- whether for Keith or the continuation of this contest was up in the air -- even as Alexandria shoved Keith's arm off the rope. Too late. "Are you daft? I had the bridge troll! He is mine!" roared Pierce at a retreating and highly afraid Trent Savage. "I saw him break the plain, Frank. Match continues." Frank Pierce huffed and he puffed, and then he began to pummel the top turnbuckle with both of his fists at the same time.

It suddenly gave him a fine idea.

Pierce, leaning on some of that Sonny Silver training, leaned over a corner as Zimmerman used the middle & top rope to stumble as far away from Pierce as he could. Finally, with one last grunt and exertion of effort had the former ACW Tag Ttitle holder undone the turnbuckle. He went back towards Ke--"Wait a MINUTE, Frank!"

"What?!"

Savage angrily pointed to the undone turnbuckle even as Alexandria shrugged and Pierce feigned innocence. As Savage shook his head and went to redo the turnbuckle with Ms. Malone upbraiding him the whole time, Keith found himself in the same corner where he'd started the prematch, and with eyes lolling he---reached behind him into the turnbuckle? With a contemptuous spit in the direction of the zebra Frank spun and in running in avalanche-style focused his rage on Zimmerman. The same Zimmerman who's left arm flexed momentarily for positioning, then stayed hidden.

"DIE, you vainglorious"BLAM! First, Frank Pierce shut up. Then he was still. Then he fell back like a tree that'd been cut in the forest.

And Keith Scott Zimmerman merely chucked the brass knucks out of sight.

"Hey, ref!"

Trent slid into position.

One.

Two.

Three.

And the crowd--what the--cheered lustily as Zimmerman merely got to his knees and allowed Trent to raise his now de-brassed hand, the ™ smirk all over his face. My Wave resurfaced and as Keith looked down at a throughly unconscious Pierce he did what he did best and poured some salt in the wound, leaning over his opponent.

"Your mentor really should've warned you about me."

On that note, Keith outstretched his arms in victory, then looked confused at the fans cheering him. It was really none of his concern, but the moment the moment started leaning feel-good he lowered his arms then rolled out of the ring. Undefeated. Top ten in the ACWX.

Whatever KSZ's plans were, one had to think by his toothsome grin that they were unfolding to his pleasure.

Open Forum

We find ourselves at the interview section of the ACW; a black backdrop with a few tripod lights visible in the background. The ACW logo hanging direct center of the backdrop, high enough to be visible over the head of the person doing said interview. This time however, no one stood with a microphone. Did someone in the trailer mess up and go to this station on accident? No, in fact this wasn’t an interview it was an open forum.

The man known to the world as “Bad Attitude” Jesse Ramey stepped into the view of the camera. Still dressed in his ring attire from earlier in the night; Jesse smiled at the cameras, “I know what you’re thinking, obviously I didn’t get enough off my chest earlier in the ring. Well, you’re right in thinking that; because in all honesty some of the comments that people make about me do get under my skin.” Jesse paused for a moment and took a breath, “I’ve been in this business for eighteen years. I’ve seen and wrestled in places that most will never see in their lifetime. Yet, because my list of championships don’t go as high as men like “Superstar” Vince Jacobs or Trey Vincent; then I am classified as not being in their league.”

“Yeah, sure the last time I held a championship was over eight years ago, but you would you like to know something? That doesn’t bother me, my career, maybe in the beginning was all about the glitz and glamour of the championship gold. Over time though I came to understand what this business is really about for me; and in all honesty what it should all be about for every single man stepping into the center of that squared circle. You see men like SilverHAWK and others may be the person signing off on our pay checks, but they don’t get that money from passing a money tree and picking up a few million. That money comes from one of two places, the financial backers who see a potential to make money off that certain brand; and the people who love this sport.”

Jesse took a second and placed his hands on his hips, “I rest easier at night knowing that my pay day is acquired by the fans. Their hard earned money is given to us; for their entertainment. We’re not a common sideshow attraction, we give them an escape. I know I’ve been there in my lifetime, just like every other single person who set foot into this business I was a fan before I became a wrestler. I grew up watching great men step foot into this ring, but at the end of the day even they knew that the only reason they survived was because of the fans. The times have changed though, and just like every other corporate company in this world someone went astray.”

“This business is the worst in the world, because unlike the golden days of professional wrestling when you were lucky to make enough money to put bread on your table. Now we’re throwing around million dollar contracts for those that have the “gold standard”; the men who have a mantel of center pieced championship gold. I’m almost ashamed of what has happened to this business, but the one true important thing still keeps coming. Despite the “normal” egotistic nature of today’s professional wrestler the fans still find that escape in our profession.” Jesse paused for a moment, the frustration building, “The everyday common man who breaks his back to make a living finds the spare money to come to a show, buy his kids a t-shirt of their favorite grappler, and enjoy a cold hard earned beer while he watches what he loves. We give them the satisfaction of escaping their life once a week or whenever they can attend a live show.”

“No matter how hard of time they may be going through; the can come out to the wrestling show and everything just seems to disappear. This is what pisses me off about guys like “Superstar” Vince Jacobs and Trey Vincent. Vincent has apparently already made his millions; but he had to come from somewhere. Just like the rest of us he started at the bottom and had to build his way to the top. Unfortunately for the majority of us, everywhere we go we start on the bottom and work our way to the top. Most of us never see the pinnacle, but that’s what this business is about for us. If you come in and automatically start out on the top where the satisfaction of knowing you struggled, you fought and you earned the pedestal that you’re standing on.”

“Men like Shawn Hart and Alias, have truly earned their spot in history as far as I’m concerned. These two men have overcome the oppression of men like Vincent and Jacobs. But I digress; “Superstar” Vince Jacobs,” Jesse once again took a moment and smiled as he looked back up at the camera, “you’re exactly what I hope I never become. You know in the eighteen years that I’ve been in this sport I’ve only been inducted into one promotions Hall of Fame. Whether I felt that I deserved to be in others, it didn’t matter. I still cherished the fact that someone thought highly enough about me to even give me that consideration.”

“The accomplishments and the number of great matches that you’ve had in ACW do merit you being inducted into the Hall of Fame. However, you’re attitude about it is what kills everything for me; and that makes anything you’ve done in the past null and void. You’re a grown man, you should act like one; be happy for the men who did get in and suck it up. This year just wasn’t your time; and maybe even next year won’t be either. Stop being a whiney little bitch and take what life gives you with a grain of salt man. Despite the fact that these fans are out there booing you every time they see you. You’re still a pivotal part of their lives, whether you decide to recognize that or not.”

“Vince Jacobs… Trey Vincent… Tonight, no matter what the outcome of our match is, I’m going to be able to sleep easy tonight; because I know why I’m going out to that ring. I’m going to give the fans of All-Star Championship Wrestling their monies worth and I’m going to bring the excitement to this live audience. Will either of you be able to say the same thing at the end of night?” With that comment Jesse exited the scene and the screen went black.

Walk The Talk.

Somewhere in the bowels of the SkyDome, a big-chested blonde was seconds away from making her return to ACW.

Nope, sorry buddy. Not a wrestler. "Hellllo, ACW fans! I'm Jenna McMullen, backstage interviewer extraodinare! I'm sure you all remember me from the years 2004 and 2005, where I constantly brought breaking news and riveting interviews spanning so many different personalities!

And I always did so with grace and poise! And now I'm back! YAY!"

Jenna was always high-regarded as a typical blonde bimbo. Good to know that six years on hasn't changed much.

Anyways, as Jenna bobbed her head up and down enthusiastically, the loud grunting noises off-camera meant that everyone watching on in the arena and at home now had the displeasure of once again seeing someone that nobody really wanted to see.

"Iceman! Iceman! Over here!" Jenna shrieked.

Yes, indeed. Fresh off his victory at the top of the show, the loudmouth degenerate that was not too long ago the ACW Scorpion Fighting Champion was backstage apparently just waiting to be interviewed by Jenna McMullen. His eyes lit up when he saw those huge melons bounce wildly as Jenna rushed towards him.

What? Iceman is a man too, you know. Moving on; Jenna was so excited to see Iceman that she literally scooted up to within inches of Snap Case. Who, just FYI, was totally checking out the boobage.

"Okay, people of Coventry!" Jenna shrieked again, after taking a second to make sure everything was in place. "My very first backstage interview back in the saddle is with Iceman here, who's widely regarded as one of the very best in ACW.

Now, Iceman, earlier on you defeated Kristinia Kage in a very physical match fought under Scorpion Fighting Rules. What I want to know is, why does regaining the Scorpion Fighting Title mean so much to you?"

Iceman was not paying the slighest bit of attention whatsoever, his eyes scanning the chesticles of the woman standing so close to him that he could smell her perfume. "Well, uhh, let me see.

You're not a titless wonder at all, are you?"

The cameraman almost died laughing. Jenna's eyebrows furrowed.

"Huh?" was her eloquent response. Yep, same ol' Jenna. God giveth you big boobs, but small brains.

Iceman snapped back to focus and cleared his throat, bringing his eyes up to Jenna's. "Ahh, what I mean is, you made a mistake just a few seconds ago.

Widely regarded as one of the very best in ACW? No, no, no.

I. AM. THE. BEST. IN. THIS. COMPANY.

For the past 10 months or so, there's been one constant. Me. I've been carrying the torch for this company, and I've been delivering performances worthy of LEGENDARY status with my eyes closed.

But what have I gotten? Shafted, every single cocksucking time.

You ask why I want to regain the Scorpion Fighting Title so hard? It's fairly simple, big-chested wonder.

I earned that title. I beat one of the so-called best of this INDUSTRY to do so. That should have brought me to the zenith of all the top performers charts, but it didn't happen. I defended my title belt like a true f**king champion. I went down to that blasted Academy and defended my title belt a bunch of times against a select group of so-called young lions.

And what did I have to endure? Video packages highlighting how great Alias' run as Scorpion Fighting Champion was.

I beat him one-on-one for the title. What was my reward at END GAME 2009?

A f**king triple-threat match where the odds were always going to be against me!"

Iceman took a breather and turned to the camera, growling like a madman. The jeers from ringside were loud enough that Jenna McMullen, a bit creeped out because Iceman's spittle was all over her face, could hear them.

All Iceman could do was shake his head in disgust, acknowledging the jeers.

"Yeah, you hear that?" Iceman asked rather rhetorically. "They still don't respect me.

I've given EVERYTHING I could possibly give for this company, and I get zero f**king respect.

So much so that my so-called rematch for the Scorpion Fighting Title? Bumped for an opportunity to fight for the title alongside that bastard Landon Stevens and five other charlatans. Yeah, seven people in a clusterfuck Ladder Match. All for the sake of f**king ratings.

That's why what I said earlier on. You could consider my speech right before titless wonder kicked me in the jewels as my declaration. I'm hell-bent on getting back the Scorpion Fighting Title because... IT IS RIGHTFULLY MINE.

Once I get it back, at Legends IV? I'm going to do what I should have done the first time 'round. I'm going to restore some level of class and decorum to it. After all, I'm a WRESTLER. Not some f**king hooligan devoid of talent and therefore consigned to garbage fighting.

No, I'm going to make the Scorpion Fighting Title a misnomer and establish it as a title belt worth having. Then, I'm going to go on and win all the other title belts in this company.

Yeah, yeah; Keith Scott Zimmercocksucker said *he* will be the first to achieve the Grand Slam.

Guess what, Zimmercocksucker? You have no f**king chance. You may have been a big shot elsewhere, and therefore think everything here will be handed to you on a silver platter.

No such luck. 2009 was the rise of Iceman.

... 2010 will be the year Iceman becomes a LEGEND. And it shall at begin at Legends IV.

That's all I have to say."

Snorting, Iceman took one last glance at Jenna's boobage before turning around and walking away. Evidently, his junk was still hurting because he was taking careful measures not to walk too fast or too dramatically.

Jenna, on the other hand, just stood there... looking a bit shellshocked. Then, of course, that award-winning megawatt smile appeared once again.

"Wow, my first interview back and he did all the talking! I'm sooo good! That's all I have for you, ACW fans. Until next week!" Jenna rambled, before waving goodbye to the camera and scampering off.

Yeah, she was right. Iceman did indeed do all the talking. And that was a whole lot of talk.

Could the former Scorpion Fighting Champion walk the talk, though?

... We'll find out soon enough.

L'opportunité d'Australie?

Cohn Zone Casting & Talent
West Hollywood, CA

“I’d rather sell my nuts on the black market, Hawk!”

Crash, the phone slammed down, and the flushed red face of Super-Agent Ira Cohn screwed up in a ball.

“Jorge!!” he screamed, as a small Hispanic man in an almost identical three buttoned sport jacked popped his head through the glass doors of the office, which were immaculate and bore the crest of the Cohn agency.

“Senor?” he squeaked, he hated it when Cohn was pissed off.

Ira raised his eyebrows. “Sennnor?” he elongated the word as his look of surprise turned wry, “Do I look like I swam here, Jorge? No. So, unless you wanna be a guinea pig for my new reverse human trafficking project, I suggest you get Argent on the phone for me. PRONTO.”

“Sir, yes sir.”

As Jorge turned to leave, he masterfully ducked the flying engraved pen. He wasn’t new to this job; he was accustomed to the abuse of being Ira Cohn’s number two.

“Sir Cohn, sir. Mister Argen’ on the line for you.” The intercom crackled into life, and Ira waved away the Mexican as he pulled the call to his phone.

Cohn cracked his neck from side to side and then flexed out his knuckles, before shouting over the background noise from the other side of the line.

“Listen up, kangaroo king, I’ve just had some angry Canadian in my ear for the past twenty minutes. Do you know how much fuckin’ business you’re costing me?”

“SHUT YOUR UGL-“

“It doesn’t matter,” Cohn interjected, “here’s the scoop, Skip, you better get your ass out of the clouds and stop pretending that piece of junk from fWo is your meal ticket to whatever you want. fWo is done-for.”

“So what? I’m the King of the Cru-“

“You’re nothing,” again Cohn cut off Argent, “and unless you get on a plane to freaking Manchester and join up with the rest of the All-Star Championship Wrestling roster, you are liable to a hefty breach of contract lawsuit!”

“But we terminated our contract wit-“

“Yeah, I’ll fire Jorge. His administration skills suck. Either way, I don’t think you can afford the lawsuit, wallaby lover.”

“THAT NO GOOD PIECE OF SPIC!” Argent screeched into the intercom, so much so that it crackled and broke up. “Those frog eating sons’a… there’s only one way I can resolve this. I’ll make them sorry they ever disturbed the King of the Cruiserweights!

“I’M GONNA SHUT THEIR UGLY MOUTHS!”

Dead tone…

Stirring the pot.

Buddy Saxon and Rud Albion, sitting in a tree. K-I-S-waitaminute.

They were just hanging out in Rud's locker-room, chatting it up. Buddy had taken the initiative to approach The Bronze Lion earlier in the show, since both men were natives (sort of) of the same country. Good ol' ENGURLAND.

And having spent the majority of the time since that meeting early in the show talking to each other, sharing stories and talking about many wrestling-related things... Buddy realised that Rud Albion was someone he could look up to. Evident by how he was looking on in awe at Rud, who'd just finished reciting one of his many stories of his place in the world before 9/11.

"Wow!" Buddy gasped, thoroughly amazed by Rud. "You have some of the best stories, and I mean... I could learn so much from you!"

"The one thing you must remember is not to let your detractors get to you. If someone puts a road block in your way, you go around it. Whatever problems you have, you find a way to solve them... and creatively if you have to. I mean, I didn't start my career as my namesake, Rud Albion... no... I used to represent Nigeria, and I did so under a ma--"

But as the two men were about to launch into another discussion topic, there was a knock at the open door. Both Buddy and Rud quickly turned their heads to see just who the unexpected visitor was.

It was the one and only masked enigma.

Z.

"Hey, Buddy. Good to see you tonight!" Z spoke up, with his eyes squarely on Rud Albion. Buddy didn't notice that and just nodded enthusiastically while munching on his cookies.

Rud, however, was not oblivious to Z's gaze. In fact, he stood up and looked at Z defiantly.

Z smirked, for whatever reason. "Listen, I got Mark Shields to pick up a fresh batch of cookies for you earlier on. Do you want to run down to my room and pick it up from him?"

"Fresh batch of cookies?" Buddy's eyes lit up like a kid at Christmas. He really liked them cookies. "Okay, I'll be back in a few!"

And off he went, blitzing out of the room to get his cookies. Z tapped him on the shoulder on the way out, laughing, happy that his young charge was so excited to get his hands on some fresh cookies. But once Buddy had left, the laugh disappeared, and the tension in the room was palpable.

For his part, Rud Albion took a few steps toward the masked enigma, wanting to be up close and personal. To suss out every inch of this man. Z noticed this and stuck his right hand out, halting England's Own.

"You don't seem too happy to see me here." Rud stated, rather matter-of-factly.

Z simply nodded his head, agreeing with the sentiment. "You could say that, Rud. I mean, I don't know you all that well, but there's something about you I don't quite agree with.

There's a wrinkle in your aura, and it's not like it's threatening me -- it's just... disturbing."

Z put his hands together and cracked his knuckles. Rud remained stoic, chewing on Z's words. But he wasn't going to just STAND there, and not respond.

"Why're you doing a nut about my aura? Is it because I'm true of heart, strong of will... that I know exactly what I'm capable in the toughest of situations. Is it that I once wore a mask, such as yourself?

You might have heard me talking about it with our kid, in fact. I wore a mask, because I didn't have the confidence to fight under my own face." Rud Albion spoke, an assured tone running through his voice, eyes locked with Z's. "I wore a mask because I didn't trust the strength of my name.

But I found the strength to become superstar I am today, even when the color of my skin made me suspect, I didn't lose that strength... my aura might be disturbing to you, cause you're certainly mithering me, but my soul... you won't find anything stronger."

Finally, The Brummie Bulldog was done. He held his chin up high, glancing at Z, who made some movement for the first time in a minute or so.

Clap.

Clap.

Clap.

"Impressive." Z started, as he started to walk around Rud Albion, not once looking the Bronze Lion in the eyes. "Very impressive. You're a confident chap, aren't you?

You also have a lot of passion packed into your words. A man that means what he says, and says what he means.

I like that in you, Rud. It's a good shade on you. In fact, you remind me of my... associate, Shade. But that's another story for another time. The important thing here, Rud, is this: you've got what it takes.

And I think you'd be a fantastic influence on Buddy. He's a good kid, and I'd imagine he would learn a lot from you. In fact, he was rooting for you against Keith Scott Zimmerman a couple of weeks ago. English pride and all that. That was before the two of you met last week outside of Silverhawk's office."

Z had made one complete circle around Rud, but showed no sign of stopping. He did, however, now shift his head sideways to lock eyes with Albion. Who, as expected, was listening on intently.

Whether he liked what he heard or not was still up for debate, Rud figured. Z clearly had more to impart.

And impart he did, with no hint of a smile or a frown on the masked enigma's mostly-covered face. "So, don't misunderstand that I don't want Buddy to be hanging out with you. In fact, I'm all for it. My main gripe here is with you, but again, not in the way you'd expect.

Perhaps that doesn't make much sense. Perhaps you could accuse me of being purposely roundabout and deceiving.

Perhaps. But, I have my reasons."

Z, directly in front of Rud by then, stopped and moved forward. The two men were literally inches away from each other.

Rud raised his eyebrow, unflinching and unwavering in the face of Z's steely gaze. Z placed his right hand into his trenchcoat, dug around for several seconds, and finally retrieved something.

It was an envelope. Oh, yeah. The alphabet 'Z' was embossed on the front of the envelope in red ink. Rud accepted the envelope that Z offered to him, equal parts puzzled and curious. Turning the envelope over, Rud found that the envelope was sealed with silver tape. He thought back to Courage 102, and remembered that Vince Jacobs had received a similar envelope.

"I would suggest you open it after the end of next week's proceedings." Z whispered, leaning towards Rud. Albion blinked, unsure of what that comment meant. "Trust me, Rud.

I know these things. And so much more."

The sound of excited footsteps broke the tension that was hanging over Z and Rud like a dark cloud, and Z quickly stepped away from Rud, turning to welcome back Buddy Saxon, a bag of fresh cookies in tow and all. Mentor and student traded high-fives and started to chat about the cookies, life, and other such engrossing topics.

Rud Albion, on the other hand, turned around and faced the wall. He stared down at the envelope in his hands.

He wondered what could be inside. He thought about everything that Z had told him.

"Better not be ready to shower shit over old Bill's Mother's."

Rud muttered, and there was only one thing on the Brummie Bulldog's mind at that moment where he folded the envelope and shoved it into his pants pocket, with Buddy Saxon calling out to him to turn around and enjoy some cookie goodness. Only one, succinct conclusion at the tip of his tongue.

This masked man is trouble.

Having caught up enough with his young charge, Z looked on at Buddy and Rud, now engaged in a conversation of their own and sharing the cookies. Z smiled, pleased to see that his protege had found somebody to connect with.

The smile grew wider when Z made the calculations in his head, on how Buddy couldn't have chosen a better new friend than Albion.

Two down. Many more to go.

'Superstar' Vince Jacobs & Trey Vincent
vs.
Jesse Ramey & Shawn Jessica Hart

           

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

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

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

After the last moniker appeared on the screen the all too familiar “Ring Superstar” reverberated throughout the arena speakers.

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

Vince Jacobs came out onto the stage looking around at the jeering fans with a smirk on his face. He slowly made his way down the ramp as he pointed to a woman holding a sign that read "I want to be STAR STRUCK". Vince smirked before turning his nose up to a few of the ringside fans. He stood in front of the ring before making his way around to the ring steps. The Superstar stood on the steps with his arms out in a cross before climbing into the ring. The multi-time World Champion stood in the center of the ring as a lone spotlight shone down on him. He sneered before waiting in the corner for his tag team partner.

His arrival was signaled by the playing of "I'm Bad" by Last Vegas. After a few moments, ACW's Franchise Player, the Sports Entertainment Icon and THE ONLY SPORTS ENTERTAINER THAT MATTERS (*patent still pending) Trey Vincent stepped out, still wearing the same outfit as earlier in the night (anti-Alias shirt and workout pants). Vincent paused as he spied a woman (perhaps even the same woman Jacobs had pointed to during his entrance?) holding a sign that read, "I Want To Be On TV!" Man, that chick's a total whore, eh?

Trey bobbed his head to the music as he walked the remainder of the aisle and climbed up on the apron. He sprung up onto the corner turnbuckles and raised his arms out wide (in a "t" shape), and then raised them up a bit higher (to form a "V" shape). The fans rained down boos (and a few balled up plastic cups) on the egotistic duo in the ring.

Vincent stepped toward referee Paige Allen and performed a bit of a strip show for her, slowly taking off his top, before spinning around, bending over, and taking off his pants to reveal his sports entertainment gear. He even was nice enough to put the clothes on her head all sexy...in his mind anyway. In her mind, well, she was trying not to laugh at the stupidity.

The boos in the arena gave way to cheers as the lights in the arena dimmed and the hard, fast paced guitar riffs of “Survive” by the sickPUPPIES began to blast. There was a mixed reaction from the crowd as they knew what that music signified.

I’ve had too many days,
Where I’m ready to break,
There’s gotta be more,
There’s gotta be more,
So I ingest everything,
‘Cause I’m in it to win,

Nothing but time on my side,
Anywhere I choose,
‘Cause I wasn’t built to lose,
And you think I’m going to fall,
Face down on the floor,
Just because I’m,
Hi, Hi
As for me,
I have to disagree,

The intense energy of the music seemed as though it was embodied in the man that came bursting from behind the curtains and onto the main stage. The man that had acquired the moniker “Bad Attitude”, tried to push his energy off onto the crowd fist pumping into the air and shooting at the top of his lungs. The bottom of his black trench coat flapping with every move he made, and the only thing keeping his long, wavy dirty blond hair out of his face was the black bandana.

Ramey paused for a moment at the top of the entrance aisle, took a deep breath, and then tossed both arms out letting out a massive yell. It was almost like his battle cry before the beginning of the match; and if the crowd wasn’t pumped up by his actions before that sent them over the top as now everyone was standing and cheering.

Jesse darted toward the ring as the announcer began his introduction, “On his way to the ring weighing in at two hundred and five pounds and hailing from Harts, West Virginia. He is, JESSE RAMEY!” As the announcer finished with his momentum Jesse slid into the ring under the bottom rope and bounced back up darting toward the turnbuckles. Leaping up onto the second rope Jesse threw his arms into the air still yelling toward the fans and with a smile on his face he pounded his chest with his right fist and then did a back flip into the center of the ring. Jesse just smiled at the ref and made his way to his corner, he stood rolling his neck and shrugging his shoulder loosening up for the match at hand.

BAM!

BAM!

BAM!

BAM!

After the burst of pyrotechnics, "Ghetto Supastar" by Pras ft. ODB and Mya reverberated throughout the arena, raising the fans cheers to an even higher level as ACW's End Game winner Shawn Jessica Hart appeared at the entryway. And oh yes, The Prime Minister of Gettin' Sinister brought his dance moves and dangerous pelvic thrusts. Tonight, with the screw jobbery threat level at Tangerine, SJH was accompanied by an entourage that included his sister Felicia, Tiny, and Jon Katz Jr.

Even before Hart's theme music could die down, the arguing was going full force. TV was yelling at Hart, who has been an unlikely ally of Alias. Ramey was yelling at Jacobs, telling him he was about to get his attitude adjusted tonight. But the time for words was over. It was time to get this one going.

As the bell sounded, Vincent quickly retreated to the apron, forcing his partner to start the match. On the other side of the ring, this made Ramey quite happy at the prospect of showing off his impressive skills to Jacobs, so he volunteered to start for his side.

The two men circled each other, ready to lock-up. Until TV climbed up on the bottom rope, leaned in, and slapped Jacobs on the shoulder, tagging himself into the match. The fans booed at being robbed of seeing the matchup of Ramey/Jacobs. Vincent, of course, smiled at the negative reaction. That smile quickly went away, however, as Jacobs got in his face, looking none-too-pleased, before shoving Vincent aside and taking his place on the apron.

Vincent was ready to lock up with Ramey now. Ramey had another idea, faking out TV as he went in for a collar-and-elbow tie up. He sidestepped the self-proclaimed ACW Franchise Player and used Vincent's own momentum against him to trip him and send him crashing face-first to the mat. Fuming, Vincent slammed his fists into the mat, pushed himself up, spun around and charged at Ramey.

Arm drag by Ramey. Vincent quickly got up and charged again, but into another arm drag. Again, Vincent quickly pushed himself up and charged at Ramey, who was looking for a third. As Vincent neared, Ramey positioned himself for the third arm drag, but Vincent stopped short and landed a kick to Ramey's midsection. Quickly, Vincent lifted Ramey up into a fireman's carry position, but Ramey countered, slipping around and connecting for his third arm drag of the match. A frustrated Vincent pulled himself up with the aid of the ropes, only to take a dropkick to the face and go tumbling between the middle and top ropes to the apron.

TV needed a timeout. Looking down at his partner, Jacobs mock applauded Vincent's efforts thus far in the match. Embarrassed, Vincent kicked at the ring skirt and spun away to face the crowd. Referee Paige Allen began the count. At around six, Vincent finally was ready to get back into the match. Cautiously, he crawled between the ropes and stared at Allen.

"Make sure we get the win and Trey Vincent will give you a night you'll never forget, baby!"

"Riiiiight," Allen said, rolling her eyes.

"Oh, you whore!"

Ramey shoved Vincent to the mat. Without saying a word, Ramey reminded Vincent that a match was going on, and Ramey wouldn't back down from the loud mouth. Vincent got back to a standing position, and the two circled each other. Vincent, realizing he was near Hart's corner, quickly spun around and decked The Prime Minister of Gettin' Sinister with a punch. The crowd didn't like the cheap shot one bit and let TV hear it.

"That's from the Prime Minister of Fuckin' Yo' Sista!" Vincent yelled at Shawn, before eyeing Felicia and putting a hand to his crotch. On the floor, Felicia feigned vomiting.

"Oh you know you want this, honey."

After those two insults, how could Shawn Jessica Hart NOT want a tag. He extended a hand toward Ramey. After checking with the crowd, which roared in approval at Hart entering the match, Ramey moved toward the corner and slapped Hart's hand.

Vincent looked ready. To tag out. He spun around and slapped Jacobs' fist and slipped out of the ring to the floor. Jacobs looked ready to pound the hell out of TV's face, but he still stepped into the ring.

The Superstar and the Phenom were ready to go at it. Jacobs cracked his knuckles, as Hart danced in place, waiting to do this thing. Collar-and-elbow tie up? Nah, eye poke by Jacobs. Jacobs rocked Hart's skull with hard punches, but Hart managed to remain standing, though on somewhat shaky legs. After a knee lift, Jacobs grabbed Hart and locked him in for a suplex. Hart had other ideas, slipping out the Superstar's grasp and landing behind Jacobs.

BACK RAKE~!

As Jacobs spun around, enraged, he was greeted with a discus clothesline by the Man of 1,000 Monikers. SJH grabbed the first cover of the match.

One!

T-NO!

Jacobs was still to fresh to be taken out by a simple clothesline. Hart, however, remained on offense, grabbing Jacobs for an inverted atomic drop. Off the ropes, and Hart took Jacobs down with a running clothesline. The fans were buzzing, cheering on Hart as he quickly scaled the turnbuckles.

Hart was looking for a flying sledge, but Jacobs was ready and caught him in the air, only to plant Hart on the mat with A Star Is Born, Jacobs' spinning spinebuster. Advantage: Jacobs.

Looking for a breather, Jacobs dragged Hart toward his corner and tagged in Vincent, who was quite willing to beat down on Hart now. Both superstars took turns blasting Hart with punches that knocked him on his ass in the corner. Once Jacobs exited, Vincent put a boot to Hart's throat, blatantly choking him. Allen went all the way to five before Vincent released the choke. She warned him that she would disqualify him, but Vincent was so focused on her jugs that he didn't hear a word she said.

Vincent went right back to choking Hart with his boot, which royally pissed off Ramey. Ramey charged into the ring and began blasting Vincent with forearm shots to his back and shoulders, which broke the choke. Allen had to pull Ramey off Vincent, which took quite a bit of effort, so she resorted to threatening to DQ him to finally restrain him.

Seizing this opening, Vincent yanked Hart up by his blond locks, grabbed a handful of tights and launched Hart waaay over the top rope, and gravity quickly became an enemy of Hart, who landed with a loud thud on the protective floor mats. After nodding toward Jacobs, Vincent headed toward Hart's entourage on the floor.

"Get out of my way, you fat fuck!" Vincent screamed at Tiny, before slapping him in the face. Jon Katz Jr. charged toward Vincent, looking to protect Felicia from TV's incoming sexual harassment.

"Hey, look! That dude's giving away free weed!" Vincent shouted, distracting Katz for the next hour.

Ramey grabbed Vincent's arm and spun him around. Vincent ducked a wild swing from Ramey, which gave the referee enough time to get between Ramey and Vincent on the floor. Vincent basically ended up using Allen as a shield, grabbing hold of her hips and keeping her in front of himself, while also trying to cop plenty of feels in the process. Allen was wise to it, and slapped Vincent's hands away at every step. Felicia just kept her distance from Vincent, but then realized what was going on and yelled at Allen to turn around.

THWACK!

On the other side of the ringside area, Jacobs had found himself a steel chair and unloaded on Hart's back with it. Hart fell to his knees, his back racked with pain.

THWACK!

A second shot to Hart's back made Hart collapse face first on the floor. Jacobs slammed the chair to the floor and smirked toward the booing fans shouting insults at him. Now with Hart in some extreme pain, Jacobs shoved the Phenom back inside. Vincent saw this happen, and quickly crawled toward Hart, looking for a cheap pin. Vincent yelled for Allen to get her ass in the ring and count.

One!

Two!

Thr-NO!

Hart's left shoulder got up in time, no doubt aided by Allen being out of position. Vincent stared a hole through Allen's breasts in anger, then tagged in Jacobs. Double Russian leg sweep! As Vincent left, Jacobs grabbed Hart's ankles, perhaps looking to make a wish. Nope, actually, he was looking to drop a knee on Hart's testicles.

With Hart grounded, Jacobs looked to further incite Ramey, so he charged toward him and face washed him. Ramey easily shoved the hand away, and flew between the ropes, ready to tear Jacobs' head off, but Allen once again got in the way, as she desperately tried to maintain order. Jacobs added further insult, spitting at Ramey for his efforts.

Jacobs was having so much fun pissing off Ramey that he didn't notice Hart sneaking up behind him. REAR NAKED CHOKE! The fans jumped to their feet and cheered, but after about five seconds, Jacobs' trick knee jerked his leg backward, right into Hart's junk. With Hart down on his knees in pain, Jacobs took a couple steps back and charged for his version of the shining wizard.

STAR GAZER!

COVER!

ONE!

TWO!

THRE-NO!

Hart again got the shoulder up in time. The number one contender for the World Title once again showed a lot of resolve, especially with the underhanded tactics Jacobs and Vincent had employed thus far in the match.

Tag to Vincent. After a trio of punches connected, Vincent whipped Hart to the ropes, who rebounded right into a stiff Clothesline from Minnesota! Perhaps making a mistake, Vincent didn't go for the cover. Instead, he dragged Hart toward the ropes and laid out Hart so his neck was on the bottom rope. Vincent headed to the apron, looking for a leg drop, but Hart rolled out of the way, and Vincent landed on his ass.

With this huge opening, Hart looked around, trying to figure out where Ramey was. Once he spied him, he pushed himself up to his knees, and then sprung toward the corner, looking for the desperate tag.

Vincent grabbed Hart's boot, however, and Hart came up short. Vincent dragged Hart toward his corner and tagged in Jacobs. With Hart's leg still up in the air, Jacobs viciously drove both knees into the back of his thigh!

Single leg crab!

Ramey slapped his turnbuckle pad, which brought the SkyDome fans to life. They clapped and cheered, trying to help Hart get a burst of adrenaline that would help him either escape or get to the ropes. After a good 30 seconds or so, Jacobs knew Hart wasn't going to give it up, so he dropped the leg and stomped away on it.

"Come on, gimp! Get up!" Jacobs taunted Hart. Toying with Hart now, Jacobs lightly booted Hart's head. Then he slapped the back of Hart's head a couple of times, continuing to taunt the Prime Minister of Sinister. Bored with the taunting, Jacobs yanked Hart up and dragged him toward a neutral corner. CHOP! CHOP! But as Jacobs went for a third chop, Hart countered.

TITTY TWISTER~!

With Jacobs nurple properly purpled, Hart took the advantage, boosted himself onto the ropes, and grabbed Jacobs for a tornado DDT!

The crowd erupted as both men lay flat on their backs. Now was Hart's chance to get the tag and a much-needed breather. Jacobs stirred first and looked toward his corner. Hart, however, was closer, and all he basically had to do was reach up.

TV tagged in.

Hart raised his arm.

Ramey was in.

Vincent paused in his wild charge and held out his hands in a "whoa, hold on there big fella" manner, but Ramey wasn't stopping for anything at this point. Right hand on Vincent sent him down. Jacobs charged into a right hand by Ramey. Vincent down again. Jacobs down again. Clothesline for Vincent. Clothesline for Jacobs.

Vincent charged into a scoop slam. Jacobs suffered the same fate.

Ramey was on fire, as was the crowd, cheering on his every move. Ramey pulled up Vincent and locked his arms around his waist, looking for a German suplex. Jacobs, however, was back up and charged toward Vincent, who ducked just in time, allowing Jacobs to slam his arm into Ramey's jaw with a hard clothesline.

SPRINGBOARD CROSSBODY BLOCK BY HART ON JACOBS!

Ramey was still a bit stunned by the clothesline, leaving him open for Vincent who quickly grabbed him for his version of the uranage slam.

CLIFFHANGER!

Cover!

One!

Two!

Thr-NO! Hart broke up the pin, just as Ramey was kicking out. Jacobs was back up and charged Hart, but Hart caught him with a hip toss. TV charged SJH, but he also got tossed. Hart grabbed hold of Vincent's legs.

SHARPSHOOTER!

Vincent tried to fight it, but Hart turned him and locked in the submission. Ramey and Jacobs traded blows, until Jacobs raked Ramey's eyes and whipped him into the corner. Seeing Vincent in the submission, Jacobs forgot about Ramey and went for Hart. After a vicious elbow to the face, Hart dropped the sharpshooter. Jacobs grabbed Hart.

STAR STRUCK!

The lifting, spinning suplex DDT planted Hart in the center of the canvas. Cover!

ONE!

TWO!

THRE-NO! Ramey broke it up with a boot to Jacobs' skull. Meanwhile, Vincent was struggling to find his footing after the sharpshooter, which meant easy pickings for Ramey.

It was time for the Darkness Buster, aka the Attitude Adjustment. Ramey crossed Vincent's arms, readying him for the brainbuster. As he lifted up Vincent to drop him on his head, however, Jacobs was back up.

SMACK!

SUPERSTAR KICK!

Ramey was completely exposed for the Superstar's devastating finisher. As Ramey fell, Vincent landed on top of him. Jacobs spun around and locked an onrushing Hart into a front facelook, basically trying to play out the clock as a dazed Vincent hooked Ramey's leg.

One!

Two!

Three!

BOOOOOOO!

While Vincent and Jacobs won the match, nothing had been settled this night. The victory was only possible due to taking advantage of referees and using the numbers game to their advantage. No doubt, Jacobs better watch out for Ramey as we head toward For Queen & Country, while Hart will continue to haunt Vincent at every turn.

C O M M E R C I A L S

Point. Counterpoint.

   

The Final Countdown (Special Remix Z), by Europe.

Mask? In place. Trenchcoat? Looked spiffy as usual. Fingerless glove? Expensive. The fans stood up, wondering just who it was that was coming out.

They didn't have to wait too long, for Z -- ACW's very own masked enigma -- stormed out from behind the curtains sporting a very assured grin on his face. There was a mixed reaction for Z, with half cheering and half deciding to just murmur amongst themselves. It had been the fourth show of ACW's new beginning, and there had not been a general consensus of the masked enigma formed by the fans.

Which was probably right down Z's alley. The back of the masked enigma's trenchcoat flapped behind him as Z stormed down to the ring, and quickly rolled underneath the bottom rope, pulling out a microphone from within his trenchcoat. Just what else does he have in there? Probably a convenience store full of goodies. At any rate, Z took his place in the middle of the ring as his theme song slowly started to fade out, looking out at the sea of humanity that now sat down in their seats.

"Well, then. Coventry." Z began, placing his right hand on his hip. "Hell of a place.

And it's been quite a night so far, eh? There seems to be nothing that can stop the ACW juggernaut, and it's all thanks to every single one of you. Without the fans, no organisation would be able to thrive. And here at ACW, the home of the best sports entertainment-oriented programming in the world today according to *me*, the only thing that can slow us down is if all of you fans turn your back on us.

That's not going to happen. Am I right, citizens of Coventry?"

The fans' response? A roaring and resounding YES, delivered with incredible intensity. Z nodded his head, pleased with the response.

Once the din died down, Z brought the microphone back up to his lips. "Good. Awesome. See, this is why I love the business. I love it when fans like you cheer me on in a match, or give me full support when I'm squaring off against them bad guys. And speaking of bad guys, we seem to have a lot of them here in ACW. You've got Brandon Thomas running around with a monkey that has cajones that would put any of us to shame. He's a piece of work, isn't he? Rather lucky my young student Buddy Saxon was unlucky last week, or else, the so-called Original Ego would have been been humiliated last week.

I wonder where he is this week. Probably having some monkey-lovin' fun, I'd say."

Z laughed at his own little joke, with a majority of the fans joining in the laughter. They were also wondering about the whereabouts of the industry legend, conspicuously absent after impressive back-to-back wins.

"Then, we've got Vince Jacobs. ESS VEE JAY." Z continued, which drew some surprise from the crowd. By all accounts, Z seemed to have built a bit of rapport with Jacobs. "I know, I know. After me getting him hooked up with two young females, you would think that we're mates. But, see, there's a fundamental problem with the way Vince Jacobs operates. He thinks he's the only one in ACW who is worth listening to. He thinks he should be the centerpiece of the show.

Heck, Vince Jacobs truly believes there is no show without him. That may have been true years ago.

Now? He's just nearing self-parody. In my opinion, if he can't achieve his goal of getting into the Hall of Fame by the time Legends IV rolls around?

He should just call it a night, for good, and walk away into the sunset."

Z lowered his microphone, scanning the crowd for their reaction. It was mostly positive, seeing how the masked enigma had just talked trash about one of the most hated people in ACW history. Z shrugged his shoulders, as if to say that he was just saying what he felt.

Back in the middle of the ring, Z raised the microphone back up to his lips. Who would he talk about next? The masked enigma opened his mouth...

... But nothing came out. Mainly because Cocky by Kid Rock started to blast over the arena speakers.

That's right, hicks and shemales. CHRIS MOLIANO was in the house! And judging by how he stepped out from behind the curtains, microphone already in possession, Potential Personified clearly had something important to get off his chest. And it somehow involved the masked man in the ring.

Z was taken aback, and watched as Moliano stared right back at him with those burning eyes. The masked enigma took a step back and surveyed the man who was interrupting him.

Moliano's music finally cut, and Chris raised the microphone to his lips. “If I can interject for a minute.”

Chris paused and took in the positive reaction from the crowd before continuing.

“First of all... welcome to ACW. Z-Man, I’ve seen you around here these past few weeks. Now I’ve just sat in the back for four... tedious... minutes whilst you’ve been running your mouth, taking up space inside an ACW ring. Unlike the majority of this crowd here in Coventry, I’ve actually forced myself to listen to your inane rambling and as I’m sure will be to the surprise of absolutely nobody I am sick and tired of the whining sound of your little voice!”

Z stood motionless in the centre of the ring, eyes firmly locked on Moliano who resumed speaking.

“You see, believe it or not you and I do have something in common." quipped Potential Personified, choosing to remain by the ropes. "That’s right; you do in fact share something in common with the great Christopher Antonio Moliano.

Much like you Z -- and I know I’m no longer sporting that rather fetching neck brace -- but I am currently sidelined from any wrestling action due to injury.”

Chris slowly rotated his neck as Z smiled inside the ring. Moliano noticed the smirk and began to slowly walk in the direction of the ring towards Z. As the crowd sensed something might happen and began murmuring in anticipation, Moliano continued to walk and talk.

“An area in which we differ is that last week I kept to myself backstage. I’m out injured and so I decided not to waste any of these fine people’s time by marching out in front of them and spouting all kinds of nonsense. I decided not to bore the ACW faithful to tears and stayed in the back whilst I recover from beating brutally assaulted by Trevor Wilson and a solid steel chair!” Chris narrated, never once letting Z out of his sight.

The crowd booed at the mention of Wilson, as Moliano nodded in agreement with their feelings toward him, before climbing into the ring opposite Z.

“I don’t have the foggiest idea how you suffered your so called injury and to be honest I do not give a damn!" Moliano spat with obvious venom. "You’re no headliner that simply has to be on the show to draw in the crowds, hell you haven’t even debuted in-ring in ACW. Perhaps you were some kind of big shot in whatever two-bit promotion you came from but this is All-Star Championship Wrestling and you my friend are nobody.

I’m out here to educate you, because if there is one lesson I have learned over my time in this business it is surely that if you really want to prove yourself to be somebody, you do so by winning matches in the ring.

You can talk all you want, tell everybody how great you are all you want, insult established stars of this industry all you want... but until you back it up, it’s no more than hot air.”

Moliano now stepped forward and the two ACW superstars stood face to face, Chris with the microphone close to his lips.

“I was once like you, Z. Sure, I was far better looking and had a real name but I was an awful lot like you.

So I encourage you to take my advice. Retreat to the back where you belong and let the show proceed as planned. You do as I say and we don’t have a problem. Right now, you’re injured goods; what good is that to ACW?”

The fans were now watching on with bated breath, with the tension in the air becoming rather palpable. Z chewed on Moliano's words, who continued to eyeball the masked enigma.

It was then with much surprise that Z nodded his head. "You know what, Christopher Antonio Moliano?

Formerly of 21wrestling. Former Spirit of ACW Champion.

You know what?"

Most of the fans shouted back what, but Potential Personified remained still. Z grinned.

"You're absolutely right!" he followed, which... wait, say whaa-aaat?

The fans were rightly confused. Moliano let the thinnest of grins creep onto his face. He was glad that Z seemed to get his point, but remained wary at the way Z had responded. There was something about the masked enigma's tone of voice.

Z, however, simply nodded his head again. "You're absolutely right. I was hired to do a job, and that job is to wrestle. I shouldn't be out here, wasting everybody's time.

Christopher, new friend, thanks for the pep-talk. I love the passion that's radiating from you right now.

... Except, hang on. I see a flaw in your hypothesis. What I'm saying is, you're right.

Just not ABSOLUTELY right."

Moliano folded his arms and rolled his eyes. The masked enigma was having fun with his wordplay, and in the process, wasting his and he figured everybody else's times.

Z chuckled, tossing the microphone from hand to hand just for the fun for it, before continuing. "See, the business today isn't about just trading suplexes and locking in submission move after submission move. If it were, the two of us would find ourselves in some MMA organisation.

Lookit, the business of wrestling has evolved to what it's being labelled today -- sports entertainment. You wrestle, which fulfils the sports part. And you find your own little slice of the shenanigans pie, which fulfils the entertainment part.

Trey Vincent knows what I'm talking about. Hell, most of the legends of our industry have gotten where they are by being sports entertainers. Look at Keith Scott Zimmerman; he could have a match with a wash-cloth and make it rated five stars, but he has that mouth of his practically on overdrive, making fun of people left and right, and it works. It's gotten him where he is today.

That's because deep down, while he preaches about workrate and all that stuff, he realises that if he were just to come to the ring every night, wrestle the match, and leave immediately after that to only not be seen for the rest of the evening... that'd be boring. And a defamation of why we're out here.

Long story short? It's all about a balance. And therefore, it's not fair of you to say that I'm wasting time. I'm not NOT doing my job. I'm just not doing half of it, and for a very good reason.

Remember that, Christopher Antonion Moliano. A balance."

Z lowered his microphone, satisfied with his explanation, while in the background the fans were divided. Half agreed, the other half didn't really buy it. Oh, and there were a few people that were bored and wanted to see some tittays.

It happens. Plus, it's Coventry, for feck's sake. They're deprived. :-)

Anywho. Potential Personified looked up at Z, pretty sure that behind that mask of his, there was an extremely smug look plastered all over his face. Still, Moliano was unpertubed by Z's spiel.

For he had a response allll prepared. Firstly, though, he took another step towards the masked enigma, the two men being mere inches apart now. Z titled his head to his left, curious.

"I get all of what you just said about balance, Z-man." Chris spoke up, confidently. "But I think you neglected to listen closely, because you missed the point of *my* hypothesis.

My point was, you have yet to prove yourself as a solid in-ring competitor. All you've done is yak on and on and play games backstage.

Nothing about you screams you could actually be worth a damn in the ring.

You understand now, masked man?"

Moliano lowered his microphone, figured he'd won the debate. He looked on at Z, who was no longer grinning. In fact, even though scant parts of his mask showed any skin, one could feel Z was not at all pleased at getting put down like that.

With a majority of the fans going oooooh over that burn from Potential Personified, the ball was in Z's court. He raised the microphone once more, but continued to process Moliano's words in his head.

Finally, Z shrugged his shoulders. "Oh. Well, I guess I'm outraged at your accusation... but, I do have a response to that.

And if I do say so myself, it's pretty good."

Z grinned, and watched as Moliano raised an eyebrow. He figured another witty retort was impending.

Wellll, not so much.

PUNCH TO THE THROAT!

That's right, Z punched Christopher Moliano right in the throat, and let go of the microphone in his other hand. The fans jeered, but Z paid them no attention, as he grabbed Moliano by the top of his head and jerked it downwards. Just in time to meet his rising right knee. Perfect timing.

The sheer force behind that knee strike sent Christopher Moliano flying down to the canvas, with blood instantly trickling down the lower part of his face. Z considered removing his trenchcoat for a second, but left it on and mounted the downed former Spirit of ACW Champion.

Fists after fists rained down on the face of the defenseless Moliano, who had no way of fighting back. Z just laughed maniacally, delighted at his assault. He finally stopped when he found splotches of Molianio's blood had been sprayed all over his outfit.

Z stood up, and was greeted by the ovewhelming cloud of jeers mixed in with some profanities being hurled at him. After weeks of the fans not knowing whether to support Z or not, his shocking attack on Christopher Moliano had seemed to make their decision easy.

"Hh."

The masked enigma had retrieved his microphone, looking at the mangled body of Christopher Moliano. The former Spirit of ACW was in a very bad way.

Z shuddered mockingly at the increasing intensity of the crowd's hate. "That felt bloody fantastic.

It's a shame you had to outrage me, Christopher Antonio Moliano. Because, I was about to reveal something rather important before you sauntered out here, walking like you had watermelons between your legs.

In about four days, I will be officially cleared to wrestle.

And since you have doubts over my in-ring talent, I'd like to invite you to meet me in the ring on the next edition of Courage. I think we'll be in Manchester, which is infinitely better than this cesspool."

Oh, no he didn't! The fans in the SkyDome were pissed beyond belief now.

"Simmer down, I'm not quite done." Z retorted cheekily, clearly reveling in the hate. "So, like I said, Christopher Antonio Moliano, let's set a date for next week.

... If you can make it of course. Pity about the beating I gave you, eh?"

Z tossed the microphone aside, and quickly walked out of the ring, pleased with his handiwork. He scoffed at a couple of the fans in the front row trying to climb the barricade to get to him, tickled that the man he'd just beat down had such loyal fans.

The masked enigma's attention was suddenly distracted by what he saw on the SlyTron, however. The sight of Moliano moving actually halted Z in his tracks, and he promptly turned around to take a gander. Moliano had actually managed to crawl over to his microphone by the side of the ring.

Z was impressed.

"H-Hey, Z-man." Moliano spoke up, still laying on the canvas and breathing heavily, the lower part of his face caked in claret. "I've got n-news for you.

... See y-you in seven days."

And the stage was set.

Z. Chris Moliano. Courage 105, in Manchester.

The masked enigma nodded once. This should be delightful.

One has an iPhone, one has the hands of steel, and the other is just a pikey bastard.

       

Orlando Grant was backstage, with a towel wrapped around his neck and the earphones of his iPhone plugged into his ears. That's right, brother got an iPhone. Unfortunately for Grant, he was checking out the number of online video sites that captured his less-than-stellar performance on last week's edition of Courage.

You know, where he lost to the sheer awesomeness of Shawn Jessica Hart in what had to be a match that lasted less than a minute. To Orlando's dismay, it seemed there were at least 20 online video sites highlighting his shockingly resistance-less performance.

"Hello, Orlando!"

Even though he had earphones plugged in, the OG of ACW could definitely hear the booming greeting that his friend John Sarsgaard gave him. Orlando quickly removed his earphones and put his iPhone down on a nearby chair, beaming from ear-to-ear.

They were young upstarts in ACW, who'd become fast friends in the All-Star Academy. "Hello yourself, John! Good to see you here, yo!"

The two men bumped fists and shared a chuckle, clearly enjoying each other's company.

But ever since competing on the last Academy event back in December 2009, both men had not been able to carry over their impressive form into 2010 and the battleground of ACW itself. And considering both men were the hottest prospects of the Academy, there was a fair bit of burden placed on their shoulders to excel, and excel fast.

"I hate to dwell on the negative as I'm sure you've been reliving it constantly for the last seven days." John began with a hint of remorse in his tone. "... but I'm sorry things didn't quite work out for you last week against Shawn Jessica Hart.

If I could offer an opinionated perspective, my friend, I'd say you were a little overwhelmed by the opportunity and taking on the current number one contender for the ACW World Title must have required a lot of preparation which neither of us still have despite intense Academy training."

Orlando nodded his head, taking a seat and now holding his iPhone on his hands. Sarsgaard folded his arms and leaned against a nearby wall, genuinely concerned about Orlando's frame of mind.

The OG of ACW noted that John was right. "Man, you're absolutely correct! On so many fronts. I've been thinking about that night non-stop, and I've had to endure all sorts of crazy comments. My personal non-favourite is the 'less-than-one-minute man'.

That ain't cool, man! I ain't a mega playa, but I've got a reputation to maintain!

On more serious notes, I was truly a little bit suffocated by the stature of the event. I mean, Shawn Jessica Hart is one of the industry's brightest stars. He's gotten bling in every place he's wrestled, and I'm pretty sure he's working four days a week. The man's a machine.

They attributed his win over me last week to SHEER AWESOMENESS. Man, I want to win like that! We had such a good time in the Academy, and even though I lost some along the way, I at least put up a fight every single time.

Last week was just like taking 20 steps back, man. I'm not sure if I can recover from it."

Sarsgaard frowned slightly. He didn't enjoy the sight of his friend being so down in the dumps.

"Orlando, listen. I really believe that last week was an anomaly." the Hands of Steel offered, with Grant looking up to listen closely. "A once-in-a-lifetime thing. Every wrestler goes through these unexplained rough spots. Consider it akin to turbulence.

The important thing is, you're still young and healthy. You've still got a long way to go. And all you really need is a shot of confidence in the arm. Get back into the swing of things, prove to the naysayers that you can do it!"

For the first time in a week, Orlando smiled. John's words made sense. They weren't anything the OG of ACW hadn't heard several times over, but coming from someone like Sarsgaard... who was an inspiration to him and everybody else (almost) in the Academy?

The words sounded like pure music to Orlando's ears. Like a pick-me-up drug.

"You're right, man. It's so simple!" Orlando exclaimed, shooting up to his feet. Sarsgaard stopped leaning against the well, he too smiling.

Deep down, Sarsgaard was facing a wall of turmoil. Two weeks ago, he'd talked to SilverHAWK about something very important. But somehow, he found himself back on the road. For some reason. the Hands of Steel couldn't stay away. Especially since his friend needed his help.

Who would help *him*, though?

"Look 'ere, we've got ourselves a couple of poofters declaring their undyin' love for each other! Bloody romantic, innit!"

That voice, dripping with venom and sarcarsm. Orlando and John quickly shifted their heads sideways, both men scowling at the same time at the sight of the one man they didn't really want to see at that moment.

JACK HARRIS. The Unit, The Chancellor of Excellence. The Pikey Madman.

"Right then, should I 'scuse myself and leave the two of you to ravage each other's bodies?" Harris continued, eyes gleaming with malevolent intentions at his two rivals from the Academy.

Orlando Grant's scowl grew wider, and the little pep-talk he'd gotten earlier on seemed to have work its mojo for he advanced on The Unit. Jack looked impressed that Orlando was walking up to him, but his gaze was firmly fixed on Sarsgaard.

Who, usually up for a staring contest, shyed away. Jack chuckled.

"Big bad Jack Harris, walking around like the cock of the walk!" Orlando fired, amusing Harris. "I bet what you're gonna say, too. How you've transitioned back into the fold here in ACW looking untouchable, while myself and John over there got a load of troubles."

Harris used the middle finger of his left hand to scratch at his beard. Subtle. "You're exactly spot on, Orlando. Which begs the question --

-- why are you two poofters still bothering to attempt a career within the squared circle? It appears to be a rather pointless exercise.

You, for instance, got absolutely hammered last week by that arse with a lassie's middle name. Sodding humiliating, is what that was last week. But still not as passively ridiculous as John boy over there.

I know you, Johnny. What I did to that arse Saxon two weeks ago must have ta been eatin' at yer insides. Yet you haven't bloody bothered to come a-knockin'. You gone soft on me, John boy? Is that what it is? The mighty John Sarsgaard doesn't want to come over and put me in my place?"

Orlando turned to look at John, who had been listening to whatever had been said... but his focus was somewhere else entirely. Jack sniggered, shaking his head.

"Aye, looks like you have indeed gone soft!" Jack Harris quipped with as much glee as he could muster (which was a lot), before returning his gaze to Orlando. "The two of us have unfinished business, Orlando, but heed my warning; the Chancellor of Excellence shall be paying you a personal visit when you least expect it.

I shall now leave you two lovers to continue your pathetic conversation. I've got other business to tend to."

Turning his nose up at Orlando, Harris spun on his heels and swaggered away, pleased with the pot-shots he'd been able to take at both his rivals from the Academy. Orlando bit down on his lower lip, attempting to contain his rage. But as he turned around, Orlando was stunned.

Because John Sarsgaard was no longer there. He too had left, in the opposite direction.

The OG of ACW put his hands on his hips. "What's up with John, man?"

Yes, indeedy: what WAS up with the Hands of Steel?

$200,000 Bounty & ACW World Title
Omega vs. Alias ©

   

This was it… ACW’s alpha dog versus its Omega.

The current king of the Scorpion Championship versus the man who had won FIGHT NIGHT, bringing the division back with violent glory.

One could only wonder, how long this one-on-one match would last before devolving into epic violence.

Redeemer by Marilyn Manson.

The arena lights went out as a few strobe lights circulated around the arena. The music continued as Omega slowly makes his way from the backstage area, holding ‘Barb’. The Scorpion Fighting Championship was wrapped tightly around his waist. He cautiously looked around the arena before making his way down the aisle. Omega slid under the bottom rope still holding ‘Barb’ before setting ‘Barb’ in the corner. The referee took the red leather title from the Craziest Bastard in Wrestling, before Omega sat down in front of the steel chair and held his head waiting for his opponent.

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

“Please allow me to introduce myself…”

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

Omega.

Alias felt the weight of the Championship around his waist, it felt good, he knew that what he was capable of doing… was tearing into that crazy bastard. Trey Vincent’s bounty was the weight on his that felt bad, that had forced his hand on this match. Alias got the signal from Hawk, who stood in the Gorilla position, one of the Roy Boys (Alias could never tell the difference between the twins) sitting behind him watching a monitor… it was time.

”… when the blitzkrieg raged and the bodies stank”

BOOM!

BOOM!

BOOM!

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

Alias sprinted out from the back, dodging through the wall of pyro before finally reaching the ring and baseball sliding in, head first. The man was all business tonight. Alias jumped up onto a corner turnbuckle and raised his hands, clenching his right wrist with his left hand to make the Anarchy A symbol for the crowd. He hopped back down to the mat, and unlatched the World Championship, before he came face to face with Omega as they made there way to the center of the ring.

DING, DING, DING

And with that, we're underway.

Ciircling one another around the ring, Alias shot more comments in Omega's direction. Omega did the same, though his comments were a lot more curt and decidedly more crazy. After a few moments of surveying one another, first contact came up on a lock-up. The advantage shifted several times before finally Alias was backed into his home corner. Mark Shields, official for this title bout, kinda sorta demanded a break. And he was obliged.

Another tie-up went pretty much the same way, except this time Whiskey Jack managed to pivot and slam the Scorpion champion's back into the corner. Again, Shields asked for a clean break, adding that he wouldn’t do it again if these two kept it up. And surprisingly he got just that from these infamously violent combatants.

WHACK!

"OOWWWWWWW!"

That is until Omega surged forward with a head. It took the Malignant One a few moments to recover, as the ref kept Omega from doing more damage, but when Alias did recover he was fuming mad. As just before shooting in for another lock-up, he made his feelings readily evident.

"You wanna play that game with me? You’re crazier then you look."

It was short and to the point, simply because he had planned to follow up his words immediately. Alias slung Omega off the ropes and hit the mat, as if to avoid Omega running towards him. Omega, utterly stupefied at the World Champ’s predictability, fell into an elbow drop. Unfortunately for him, the Pulp Hero's bait had worked and he rolled out of the way as Omega's falling elbow jammed into empty canvas. Omega, arm jarred, sat up quickly and......

WHACK!

Alias dashed forward and slammed a vicious knee into his challenger's head, toppling Omega. Alias, with the advantage, took up the mount position and rained right hands into the face of his prone adversary. Omega's head reeled back again and again to hit the mat after the raging flurry of shots, stunning him long enough for Alias to drag him to his feet, lift him up and drop into neckbreaker. Even though Alias gave up four inches and fifty pounds he was being a rough son of a bitch about it. Omega’s head rolled off Whiskey Jack's shoulder and he lay still on the mat, shaking off the cobwebs.

Elbow drop attempt from Alias. Omega, however, had the presence of mind to roll out of the way and evade the attack. They both struggled to their feet and Omega fired off the first shot, a chop to the throat.

"WHOO!" shouted the fans in chorus.

Two more chops, same reaction from the crowd. Alias, however, brought a hard knee into Omega’s gut and with that new region of pain throwing The End off-kilter, Alias then clipped an elbow off the side of Omega’s head. The Pulp Hero, feeling the swing in momentum, pivoted and pushed Omega into the turnbuckles. A chop, pair of ferocious right hands that sent Omega's head careening back. Omega staggered out of the corner, he was a hell of a fighter but might just be out of his element against the World Champion in a wrestling ring. Alias seemed to have an answer for him in the ring, and was hitting him pretty hard with it.

With the challenger dazed, Shanahan took a step back before surging ahead in a spin, launching into a big discus punch that he hoped would ground Omega long enough for him to consider his next move. He spun, attacked...

Too long there, bucko. Alias slammed chest-first into the turnbuckle and reeled back at the force. Omega had finally shaken off the impact of the punches and now turned to face the back of Alias, lifting him up and planting him with a high-angle backdrop that bordered on backdrop-driver status. The Scorpion Champion immediately followed with a blatant chokehold, wrapping his hands around the Pulp Hero's throat and squeezing until his face began to turn purple. Shields reminded Omega that this was NOT a Scorpion rules match, and Omega relinquished at the end of the five-count.

Omega lifted Up Alias by the.....well, ears since he had such short hair. He reared back and landed a stiff forearm shot to keep the Heart and Soul of ACW dazed, setting him up for his next move. Alas, Alias being the resilient bastard he is, fired right back with a stuff forearm of his own. The two traded hits, seemingly at a stalemate.

WHAM!

WHAM!

WHAM!

WHAM!

WHAM!

WHAM!

The final two had come concurrently from the Original Pulp Hero but instead of relenting the larger of the two, Omega, surged ahead, throwing a wicked European uppercut.

SMACK!

Omega's every strike was ultra-stiff this match. Alias, not being one to back down from a fight, threw a haymaker.

CRACK!

And just like the forearm exchange, both men traded Euro uppercuts and brawling strikes. Sense a trend here? Let's summarize this by saying that both guys ended up wobbly but with no clear victor. Each with welts and the feeling that there would blood flowing and soon.

Then Alias landed a HARD headbutt, and Omega fell over like a tree.

Yeah, stiff as things had been up to this point, it paled in comparison to a good old-fashioned headbutt from the Memphis-native.

"Told you that you better be ready to play, Champ,” Alias growled at Omega. He hoisted Omega back up, fired off a few punches and went right into a hard scoop slam that deposited the champion on his back. Omega sat bolt upright, only to take a fierce crossface punch that sent him crashing back down on his back again. Alias stomped the downed Omega with several boots before lifting him back to his feet. He reared back, ready to cold-cock Omega with another haymaker. Omega interrupted with a back elbow shot and capitalized by going for a scoop slam. Alias slipped from his grip, fell behind Omega, pushing him into the ropes and.....

A-BOMB!!!

Well, almost anyhow. Omega, using his weight advantage over Alias, managed to also slip from the tired Pulp Hero’s grasp and roll to the outside, his sociopathic calm attitude thrown completely off after almost taking Whiskey Jack's most pulverizing attack. As Omega clutched his head, hitting the sides of it, to get himself back into the game…

He heard her voice.

It was Barb.

Look behind you, she said, and so he did… noticing the World Champion trailing him. Then Barb continued to speak, saying, do what you need to do. Everything you need to do.

Omega surged towards Barb, Alias at his back, and before the Pulp Champion could reach the Scorpion Champ clutched his barbwire-chair and swung back at Alias with aplomb.

SHRACK!

Ding, Ding, Ding

After the vicious chair shot, even a ref like Shields had no choice but to call for the DQ. Alias stumbled and slumped against the announcer’s table for a moment as Reid and Cardinal roared in response at the way this Championship main event had to end. Trey Vincent, had to be doing the same… seeing that even his $200,000 bounty be all for not.

Thing was… it was far from over. Omega then rolled himself into the ring, and Alias rolled in after him with blood starting to trickle down his forehead. Omega was to his feet and, with Bard in hand, stomped down on the Pulp Hero's head before he could get to his feet. Omega backed into the ropes, rebounding off with what looked like an atomic fist... except with Barb heavily in hand. Alias, however rolled out of the way and leapt up onto his feet. Omega turned, but Alias was ready for him! Alias swung a HARD punch into Barb, pushing her into Omega's face!

RRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHR!

The crowd roared, as Omega’s face exploded in all of this POST-MATCH blood. Omega’s appearance a mixture of anger and sadness for what had just happened to Barb, let alone himself. Shields waved his arms.

“No! Hey! The match is –“, which was when he realized they where just getting warmed up, “Aaaaw fuck it.”

Shields then ran from the ring, not backstage to get help in handling this, but into the crowd to simply get the fuck out of dodge, as Omega rolled out of the ring and tried to cradle Barb in his arms, his face having been literally ripped open. Alias looked at his taped hands, simply seeing a dark red that was dripping with blood.

We knew this match had the distinct possibility of not being for the faint of heart but now the announce team was “… urging you to put the kids to bed!” Alias, it appeared, had a grin on his face as he looked down at his gore stained hands. It seemed as though the Pulp Hero was thinking back on his Scorpion title run. And speaking of the Scorpion title, Omega's face was a crimson mask of blood, and... oh dear god... skin was just hanging in flaps where Barb had struck him! That barbwire had just ripped into his skin.

Omega screaming... but not in pain, but instead he was cursing and screaming at Alias in the ring, who was urging him back inside. Omega wiped his face with one forearm to clear his vision, lucky that the barbwire hadn’t caught his eyes and made him look like… well… Alias. Omega rolled into the ring, Alias simply letting his roll in and rise to his feet. After all… this wasn’t a match anymore.

This was a FIGHT.

This was exactly what Omega wanted, it seemed, and even with the blow to his face, he was more ready then ever for the World Champion.

Omega ducked a charge from Alias and sent a big boot into the Pulp Hero’s back with one stiff kick. Alias fell into the ropes, and Omega swiped the barbed-wire chair across his back causing large welts and deep cuts to spring forth from the Pulp Hero’s back to a roar of shock from the crowd. Alias winced with pain, but managed to move out of the way from a Barb uppercut from the Scorpion Champion. Alias punched forward, similar to boxing, but Omega managed to stay out of the way of his fists, parrying with the chair before ducking to surge forward! Omega connected with Alias with a pretty rough looking spear, that took the Pulp Champion back off his feet.

“AYE-SEE-DUB!”, roared the crowd at the post-main event fight.

These men within the ring weren’t enemies, but goddamn if they would look weaker in a fight against the other. Especially when one of them was most certainly clinically insane…

And the other was Alias.

Omega mounted Alias and with Barb in hand, started bringing the barb-wired chair down into the Pulp Hero's face and head! Barb... sticking before pulling free with tatters of skin and blood...

It was…

It didn’t look good... I mean, my god Barb was beginning to be become covered in blood up to Omega’s hands, almost.

This was Omega’s coming out FIGHT.

As The End sat there on the World Champion, bloody prized chair in had, Alias lay there in a pool of his own blood, and unlike most matches this is not just an expression. The ring was now literally covered in blood. Maybe Trey Vincent had reason to smile after all. The Pulp Champion's head was cut open now, and unlike most wrestling matches these were cuts going into the skin and not the kind of bleeding that we normally see in matches where wrestlers are busted open with more blunt impact.

This was something the audience was realizing as a groan cropped up, before Alias punched out of his position, catching Omega hard in the groin area with a heavy jab. Omega doubled back and fell coughing on the other side of the ring, as Alias hoisted himself up to his feet. Alias roared up at the rafters, he was fired up even his face was simply a bloody ugly mess, almost called back to the Empty Arena match if not the Five Stages of Grief match against Khristian Keller. Alias punched his fists together, and advanced on Omega. This wasn't a wrestling match, not any more.

And maybe, just maybe these Champions where now fighting to the death. Blood lust consuming the both of ‘em.

Alias kicked Omega, stomping down on the Scorpion Champion, before dropping the a hard elbow to his head. Alias then backed off… what was he going to do next? And would officials be coming out of the back to stop all of this?!

Alias looked at Barb, held limply at the moment by Omega. Would be wrest it away from The End’s hand?

No.

The crowd screamed at Alias to finish Omega off, though! Grab the chair! Bash him over the head with it! Why was Alias giving Omega an opening? Some sort of sick FIGHTING CHAMPION’S RESPECT?! Omega got to his feet, Barb now tight in hand. Alias rumbling around behind, before the Pulp Hero locked both arms around Omega’s neck. Not just that though, he made sure to jam Barb close to Omega’s body, almost hugging the barbed-wire against Omega’s neck. The sleeper hold, with the jagged steel just digging into the shoulder and neck brought Omega’s blood forward to stream down his chest!

Omega was now starting to fade... starting to fade... struggling to get to the ropes, but hell this match was now long over so that wouldn’t help him anymore! Omega finally, though, reached the ropes in front of the announce table, trying to at least get his arms around them as more blood poured down his chest from the cuts being made in his neck by his own dear Barb! The Pulp Hero’s sleeper hold was really starting to put him right out, and Alias sensed that this battle was almost over. The lack of blood, lack of air, would put the bigger man out.

Alias would walk away, the dominant Champion. Not just the World Champion, but the alpha Scorpion Champion of recent memory.

Omega leaned forward against the rope, almost shoving himself forward now… and THEN… both men toppled forward! Alias went head over heals flipping into the announce table that sat near by and crashing through it. Omega still hanging onto the ropes with both forearms around it, slumped onto the ring apron, Barb clattering down next to him. Omega had managed to topple both of them over, but with the hands clasped tightly around Omega’s neck and the steel chair itself, Alias had no way to hold onto the ropes and went head over heal to the destruction of the announce teams home base.

Alias was now deathly still... this fight… it was finally over.

Wasn’t it?

Omega, his neck badly cut, his face bleeding, with deep cuts on his chest slid back into the ring… breathing heavily. He was bloody... beaten... but Alias looked even worse. The World Champion had won the match, but he had lost the fight. The Pulp Hero on the outside was not moving, his head was bloody and opened up.

Omega stood to his feet and hugged Barb tightly in the happy release over his victory here. Omega knew the match was over, he was now coughing thick ropes of blood up, but his smile was a crazy, entirely insane smile. Omega asked for his Scorpion Fighting Championship from ringside, he had quietly done what he had promised to do after winning the Ladder match weeks earlier, and that was making this title and this division something newer and deadlier.

Omega couldn’t defeat Alias in a match, but the Pulp Hero was still out cold and bleeding badly all over the remains of the announce table, he now had a fresh set of deep cuts on his face, head and back and had to be feeling the effects of the loss of blood! All feelings that you could say he had been missing since leaving the Scorpion division. Missing… if he didn’t have the World title around his waist.

The End it seemed, wasn’t finished though, as with a bloodied Barb in hand along with the Scorpion title… she spoke to Omega again.

Barb wanted one more go at Alias.

What could Omega do, but oblige, as the craziest bastard in wrestling rolled out the ring and stalked towards Alias. He raised the chair up…

CRACK!

Alias had rolled out of the way! He wasn’t finished, not all the way done. But Omega was sharper then Alias at the moment and squared him up for a second shot across the back in quick succession.

The Pulp Hero however surged forward, eyes burning with a competitive fury, body fueled by the inability to be kept down. Jammed into the crowd barrier, Omega doubled over as Alias was buying his time, waiting for an opening. With a boxer’s sensibility, Alias cracked Omega with a hard left and then a decisive right that split Omega’s bottom lip. Barb assisted uppercut from Omega! Alias stumbled back, blood trickling to the floor from new wounds. Alias stumbled on the steel steps behind him, one arm keeping him from falling to the floor.

Omega then gave an ugly snarl, and kicked Alias in the head and glared down at that arm supporting the Original Pulp Champion on the steps, eyes now mad with certain plans. Omega with his forearm into the Champion’s head and bridging that arm of Alias on the steps...

Omega lifted his boot up...

Oh MY GOD, NO!

CRACK!

RRRRRRUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!

The crowd breathed out, realized that it wasn’t the sound of the Original Pulp Hero’s arm snapping that could be heard echoing throughout the arena, as Shawn Jessica Hart had jumped out from the crowd, and within a split second The Pheonom had squared up the Scorpion Champion, himself, and connected with a solid superkick to the jaw!

The End collapsed to his stomach, Barb clattering to the floor as well. SJH looked down at Alias, and grabbing him by the shoulders, he helped the Pulp Hero to his feet. Alias growled in pain, but he was more then happy to see a friendly face.

“What took ya so long, bub?” Alias chuckled for a moment, and that turned into a hacking bloody cough as SJH and the Pulp Hero began to walk to the back. Leaving Omega and his Scorpion title in the bloody rubble at the far side ring. Hart side-stepped, remembering to grab the large golden World Championship, before they rounded the corner and headed to the entrance way.

“Don’t forget my title, now.” He said to Alias, with a sly grin.

“And when d’ya think this baby is going to be yours?” Alias growled back in good nature, his face a puffy bloody mess, he knew that his #1 contender would be coming for him sooner then later. Though right now, he could rest, he had found an ally in all of this insanity. Even as he bled, he felt safe with his World. For now.

…

Which makes now… later.

The Quicker, Fucker-Upper

       

"What. The. Hell." Trey Vincent stepped out and spoke these three words, stopping the World Champion and his #1 contender before they could make it to the lip of the entrance way. "Lady Gagsondick, Trey Vincent speaks for everyone in this arena when he says we have had enough of you and your bullllllllllllshit!"

Oh, the fans booed that. Shawn Jessica Hart was quickly becoming an ACW fan favorite.

"See that?" Vincent said, playing clueless. "They're booing you! You aren't a hero. Stop the madness. Every fan in the ACW universe..." (oh, yes, there were deafening boos for this term, you better believe it!) "Everyone wanted to see Alias get his arm broken tonight, just like everyone wants to see Alias lose the ACW World Title! Seriously, it was like a non-stop party when Omega was beating the hell out of your boy toy there."

AYE-LEE-AS!

The crowd chanted. Alias could only sputter defiantly as he lifted the World title to roars from the crowd, "Furk yourseth, Vincent..."

The Phenom smirked.

"That may or may not be the case, Teeee Veeee... honestly, I don't know. I mean, maybe if you didn't sound like you had a mouth full of WENISES 24/7, I'd know what the hell you were saying and could give a definitive answer!"

The fans couldn't help but laugh. In short order, a chant of "S-J-H! S-J-H! S-J-H! broke out. After taking a moment to absorb the admiration, Muff Daddy continued on.

"All I know, is that I already snaked ONE title out from under you in LoC, and whether ya like it or not.... the SAME DAMN THING is gonna happen here! Because at For Queen And Country....the END GAME Wuh-Wuh-Wuh-WINNER is gonna be CASHING IN!"

The buzz inside the arena only grew. Hart was dropping a BOMBSHELL of an announcement.

"That's right, nnnnnnnndaddio!!! Because it's gonna be YOURS TRULY, the WWR's NUMBER ONE-RANKED WRESTLER, Lord GaGa in the flesh, versus the Pulp Hero ALIAS.... for the ACW title!!"

The crowd was almost riotous at this point, as SJH posed and postured. Meanwhile, a somewhat-thunderstruck Alias looked inquisitively at SJH. He knew this moment was coming, but had no idea it was coming on this particular night. Vincent, however, seemed to be half-expecting the announcement and quickly retorted.

"Hold on there, chucklehead," Vincent shouted from his safe distance away. "You think you're so smart? Trey Vincent is pretty damn smart, too! I knew that scrub Omega would probably blow this chance. So there are no longer just one hundred thousand or two hundred thousand reasons that Alias won't even make it to For Queen & Country as the champion. Now there are…THREE HUNDRED THOUSAND reasons!"

The fans let out a collective chorus of disbelief and shock.

"NEXT WEEK, ALIAS, YOU SON OF A BITCH, I'M RAISING THE BOUNTY TO THREE HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS!"

Vincent paused, scanning the crowd that was buzzing. They wondered who was going to try and cash in next.

"And Hart, Alias, you boys are in for the surprise of your gat damn lives!"

No one is safe in the Scorpion Division especially the champion

           

The crowd in a frenzy from what had transpired with TV, SJH, and Alias. The bounty being upped to three hundred thousand dollars next week and SJH cashing in his title shot at Queen and Country in just two weeks. TV made his way backstage as SJH and Alias looked on before starting to walk up the ramp way together eyeing each other after the SJH announcement. Meanwhile on the floor near the rubble that was an announcer table sat Omega bloodied scarred and holding Barb. Hey rocked back and forth on the ground before picking the steel chair and his Scorpion title up from off the floor.

The self proclaimed craziest bastard in wrestling had one hell of a night and stood toe to toe with the Original Pulp Hero himself. Suddenly the PA system got real loud with an ever familiar voice.

COCKSUCKER!!

Omega looked up at the ramp and saw Iceman making his way out to the stage with a bat in hand. The champ dropped his title on the ground and slid in the ring with Barb in hand ready for the battle again. As Iceman came down to the ring with bat in hand he didn’t realize the noise from the crowd because Kristinia Kage came running from the back and nailed Iceman in the back of the head with a clothesline. Omega smiled as watched the two Scorpion contenders battle on the ramp. Kage continued with the assault on Iceman. She was trying to get payback from earlier in the night.

Omega, a tired and bloody mess held barb as Now Iceman was back to his feet and trading punches with Kage. The crowd once again started to stir but this time it was because someone was coming through the crowd from behind the damaged announcer table.

RORY HAYES!!

Rory rushed into the ring waiting for Omega to turn around. The champion turned around only to be taken down with a spear from Rory. Hayes hopped on top of the Scorpion Champion and drove right into his skull continuing to open up his wound as blood continue to flow down Omega’s face. The champ swatted Rory away so he could gather himself but Rory was back on top of the champ. Kage was now choking Iceman on the rampway as she saw what was going on in the ring. She took the bat and slid into the ring and drove it across Rory’s back.

That got him off the champ. Kage the newest entry into this division was not finished as she looked down at the champion. Kage dropped the bat to the mat as she circled the champion who was trying to make it to his feet. He was pushing himself up as the blood continued to drip to the mat. Kage quickly hooked Omega in a triangle choke hold as the champion was in a bad position. The craziest bastard in wrestling tried to make it to his feet the MMA ability of Kage continued added pressure on the champion.

Omega suddenly got a burst of energy as he lifted Kage up with one arm and slammed her to the mat to try and break the hold but she was feisty as she wouldn’t let go. Iceman was now up and he made it into the ring and drove a knee right into Kristinia’s head which ultimately broke the hold. Iceman looked down at the bodies in the ring.

“HE’S MINE COCKSUCKER.”

Iceman started to lay in some massive kicks to Omega who lay on the mat. The entire Scorpion division knew when to get their licks in on the champion. Iceman picked up the bloody champion and whipped him into the corner. He lifted the big man on the top rope. The crowd let out another mixed reaction as Kati came running down to the ring with Kendo Stick in hand. Iceman was climbing to the top ropes with Omega but Kati had other ideas as she nailed Iceman in the back with the Kendo stick. Iceman fell from the top rope to the floor.

The crowd gasped at the sight.

Kati and Omega had their issues as Trevor Wilson’s protégé took the Kendo Stick and whack Omega in the head with it several times. She pulled Omega off the top rope as he fell to the mat. However the champion motioned for Kati to give him more. This man was a nut. Kati obliged and drove the Kendo stick into Omega’s head three more times. This time Omega slumped to the mat with a sick smile on his face.

Kati looked down at the fallen champion and dropped the Kendo stick to the mat. She went to the top.

POSTMARKED FROM HEAVEN ON THE SCORPION CHAMPION!!

Kati just hit one of her signature moves on the champion. She raised her arms high in the air before turning around to see Rory Hayes to his feet. He rushed at her but she quickly sidestepped him and he went barreling through the ropes to the floor hitting the guardrail in the process. Kati stood tall in the ring for a moment until Kristinia Kage turned her around. The two women that were making their presence felt in the Scorpion division was now standing nose to nose in the middle of the ring.

The fans erupted as they wanted to see these two females go at it. It didn’t take long as Kati threw the first punch. And the two women went at it trading blow for blow in the middle of the ring. Kati went for another punch that staggered Kage into the ropes. Kati grabbed Kage and whipped her into the ropes and when Kage bounced off the ropes she was met with a clothesline by Kati. Kati quickly went to mount Kage but Kristinia quickly countered the punch into a Fujiwara arm bar.

Kati was screaming in pain as the crowd was really getting into the mayhem and chaos that was added to the mayhem and chaos of the main event. There was commotion coming again from the crowd as someone came through the crowd and hoped the guardrail. The hooded man quickly grabbed Iceman and threw him into the steal steps. The man slid into the ring and grabbed Barb sitting on the apron. He finally took his hoodie off to reveal…

SHARC!!!

The dangerous man called Sharc had Barb in his hand as he quickly surveyed the ring area. He rolled to the floor and saw Rory Hayes getting to his feet.

WHHHAAACCCKKKK!!

Hayes went down like a ton of bricks. Meanwhile Kati and finagled her way out of the arm bar. Sharc slid back into the ring and kicked Kage in her midsection. He dropped Barb on the mat. He grabbed Kage and hooked her.

OHH MY GAWWDDD!!

SHARC CAGE ON BARB!!

Sharc was on a mission. He was entirely pissed that Omega got the title shot tonight and he didn’t. So he decided he was going to take out the whole division if he had to. Kati quickly attacked Sharc as he tried to get up from the mat. Omega sat in the corner still bleeding profusely but still had a smile on his face. He said he wanted to cause chaos in this division and he is watching his handy work unfold.

Suddenly a man with a chair in hand came walking down the ramp. He walked to ringside and looked at Iceman who was trying to get to his feet. He didn’t do anything to him as he continued pass him. The man stopped and looked at Omega who was trying to wipe the blood from his eyes and chest. The man continued to make his way around near the broken down announcer table. He popped open the chair and sat down to watch the mayhem first hand.

Who was he?

Kati finally threw Sharc out of the ring as he landed at the feet of the unknown man. Sharc looked up as his eyes widened.

WHAT THE FUCK? IS THAT YOU MINIO?

COULD THAT BE BOBBY MINIO FROM FLATLINED AND ACTION WRESTLING FAME?

Sharc looked like he had seen a ghost. He stood looking down at the man he called Minio. He smirked as he seemed to be jumping at the chance for another sacrifice for Sharc. The man stood up out of his chair staring at Sharc. The two men inched closer but Bobby quickly moved as Iceman named Sharc in the back of the head with a clothesline sending him to the ground. Iceman turned to look at the man.

YOU WANT SOME COCKSUCKER!!

The man raised his hands up and moved out of the way as Iceman nailed Sharc with a kick to the back of the head. The man that Sharc called Minio walked from the ringside area back up the ramp. He had enough of this scene. Kati stood tall in the middle of the ring for just a matter of seconds as the Scorpion champion with back to his feet and behind her. The crowd yelled and motioned for her to turn around.

She did..

And she got a choke slam for her troubles.

Omega pushed Kage out of the ring. He turned and looked down at Kati as the blood from his head dripped on her face. He grabbed her by her neck and shoved her into the corner. Meanwhile Iceman had picked up Sharc and whipped him into the ring post but Sharc reversed it sending Iceman into the ring post. Sharc slid into the ring and grabbed Barb. Omega grabbed Kati and hoisted her in the air gorilla pressing her. He threw her over the top rope onto Hayes and Kage on the floor.

The Scorpion champion was the one standing tall in the ring after everything that went down tonight he wanted everyone to know he was still the king of the scorpion division. Omega turned to look for Barb but got a shot in the face with the steel chair wrapped in barbed wire from Sharc. Sharc dropped the chair on the mat and hooked the dazed Omega and drove him into the steel chair.

SHARC ATTACK!!

Sharc looked around the arena at the carnage as the fans jeered loudly. He rolled to the floor and grabbed the Scorpion Title and slid it into the ring. He made his way back into the ring grabbing the title and holding it high in the air. Tonight Sharc got the best of the Scorpion division.

Who does Trey Vincent have in store for Alias at Courage 105?

What will happen next with this chaotic scorpion division?

And who was that mystery man that appeared ringside?

All these questions and more will be answered at Courage 105.