A C W



NEW BEGINNING
COURAGE 105
MANCHESTER EVENING NEWS ARENA, MANCHESTER, ENGLAND

Welcome to the Chaos

   

Inside of a car park, fans (many of whom wore T-shirts or carried signs of their favorite All-Star Championship Wrestling superstars) were eagerly shouting, joking, and racing toward the nearest entrance of the Manchester Evening News Arena. After all, the latest edition of ACW's Courage was about to begin. Nobody even gave a second glance in the direction of two unmoving figures seated on the hood of a black SUV.

The camera noticed, however, and approached the pair. Quickly, even despite the poor lighting, it became apparent that the two figures were Sharc and Sarah. Sharc, who was watching the world pass him by, was wearing his usual attire of all black, which included a hooded sweatshirt, jeans and boots. Sarah, who was busy playing with her hair and chewing gum while lounging on her elbows, was wearing a black leather jacket over a black top, as well as tan leather pants and matching boots.

Upon seeing the camera approach, Sharc brushed his blood-red hair out of his eyes and spoke.

"Rory Hayes," Sharc said, holding up one finger. "Kristinia Kage," he said raising a second finger. "Iceman," he continued, raising a third finger, before finally getting to the final person on his list, and finger number four: "Omega. These four, as well as the others, all felt my wrath last week. The Scorpion Division saw Sharc make order out of chaos. And now, the order starts here."

"I must admit, that was quite the impressive display," Sarah said. "Anger becomes you."

"And I become my anger," Sharc said, with just the slightest hint of a smile. "For a while there, I'll admit, I was wondering if I was on the downward slide of my career. Yeah, I'm only 32, but I live hard. Throughout my career, I've never held back for the sake of prolonging my career, or my life. And for the first time since I've been in All-Star Championship Wrestling, it feels like I'm back.

"And speaking of returns, I have to talk about one Bobby Minio, that man who watched all the chaos last week. The two of us go back a few years. And I can think of nothing better, whether it's tonight, or at For Queen & Country, than to hurt Minio for old time's sake. Hell, ACW doesn't even hold enough events for me to ever get bored of pounding on Minio. Let's face it, there aren't enough days in the YEAR for me to ever get sick of making him bleed and cry for mercy. Minio, welcome to the chaos. Prepare for pain."

"Rich, was the Sharc Cage on Kristinia really necessary?"

"Necessary?" Sharc pondered for a moment in the now silent car park. "Maybe not. But it was fun."

"I know she's hardcore and female power is a good and all, but still, she's just a girl. What sort of message does that send to the viewers and ACW fans?"

"What can I say? My daddy taught me well..."

SCREEEEEECH.

"The hell was that?" Sarah asked, sitting bolt upright and scanning the car park, which seemed a little too dark now for her liking.

"Pretty sure it isn't Freddy Krueger," Sharc said, pushing himself off the hood of the black SUV.

Concerned, Sarah suggested, "Maybe we should get inside the arena now?"

"Fuck that," Sharc said.

Sharc wasn't the type to back down or be intimidated, especially by a metallic scraping noise in the dark. He stepped forward toward where he thought the noise had originated. Looking side to side with each step, he looked for shadows or anything that seemed out of place. His head whipped from left to right as he scanned the space between the assorted vehicles. Suddenly, Omega emerged out of the shadows, spearing Sharc right into the black SUV. Sarah let out a loud scream and took of running after witnessing the Scorpion Champion lay relentless shots into Sharc. With each punch from Omega Sharc’s head bounced off the side of the SUV.

"PLEASE STOP IT!" Sarah yelled, now from about thirty feet away from the craziest bastard in wrestling.

Omega smiled as he still wore the marks from last week’s brawl. The dried blood on his chest and face showed how much Omega was looking for revenge. Omega rammed his knee several times into Sharc’s face. Sharc was not out of it, but he was caught off guard and couldn’t get his bearings to defend himself. Omega grabbed Sharc’s head and started to ram it into the side of the SUV.

"Omega, please stop this, he doesn’t need this!" Sarah begged.

But Omega didn’t hear Sarah pleas to stop. He only heard ‘Barb’ telling him to make Sharc suffer for his sins. Omega grabbed the battered Sharc by his chin.

"You brought this on yourself Sharc. A few weeks ago you took my ‘Barb’ from me and last week you took my ACW Scorpion Title from me. I want my title now."

Sharc looked at Omega and spat a glob of blood from his mouth into Omega’s face. Omega wiped his face and smiled.

"Funny, I knew that would be your answer. So I decided to bring an answer changer."

Omega reached into his pocket, pulled out something, and jammed it into Sharc’s right leg. Sharc screamed in pain. Omega just drove a pair of needle nose pliers into Sharc’s leg! Omega smiled as Sharc was trying to hold back the pain he was in. Actually Sharc started to smile himself. Sarah couldn’t bear to see this as she bolted inside of the arena. Omega looked at Sharc.

"Wait here for a minute."

Sharc grabbed the pliers and ripped them out of his leg, growling as he did so. He tried to stand on his feet but before he could do anything Omega drove Barb into the top of his head. Sharc looked dazed but continued to motion for Omega to bring it. And that’s what Omega did. He drove Barb into Sharc’s head five more times.

"Barb is a cunt," Sharc slurred out before slumping to the ground. Omega looked at Barb again. Oh, she didn't like being called vulgar names. Omega has no choice but to drive the steel chair into Sharc’s head again, sandwiching his skull between the chair and the SUV. Omega dropped Barb.

"Now where is my title, bitch?"

Omega tried to look into the SUV but couldn’t see anything through the tinted windows and the doors were locked. So Omega pounded his fist through the glass of the passenger side window until it was demolished. He opened the SUV from the inside as he looked at the blood flowing from his hands from the shattered glass. He found his title, grabbed it and then reached down to grab Barb.

Omega dropped to his knees in front of a semi-conscious Sharc.

"I bring pain and punishment to this title and this division. Remember Sharc, I am the beginning of the end."

Omega stood to his feet and walked away leaving Sharc a battered and bloodied mess as ACW officials came to the scene with Sarah.

THE ONLY PROMO THAT MATTERS!

   

Bright lights? Check.

An awe-inspiring display of pyrotechnics? Check.

A packed arena full of cheering, boisterous fans? Check.

A gigantic, egotistical asshole to make all the fans boo?

Cue "I'm Bad" by Last Vegas, and cue Trey Vincent doing an odd stumbling run out and hot dogging for the crowd from his knee, in an unconscious tribute of sorts to Sid Vicious' early-1990s kneeling "just bring it" taunt.

And, check.

The Sports Entertainment Icon made it rain boos. Once satisfied with the negative reaction, he leapt to his feet and strutted his way toward the ring. You'd think TV wouldn't be in the best of moods, as one week ago another sports entertainer failed to cash in the bounty on dethroning ACW's World Champion, Alias. Last week, Omega left Alias bloodied and severely beaten, but the Scorpion Division Champion Omega also forgot about that pesky disqualification rule. Not to mention that Shawn Jessica Hart made it known that he would cash in his guaranteed title shot, which he won in December at End Game, at ACW's next supershow, For Queen & Country.

Once his music faded and all that remained were boos, Vincent scanned the crowd, readied his microphone, and...

The moment the guitar riff hit, people reacted. Most of them booed, and more than a handful cheered. In fact, the only person in the arena who hadn't exploded in some way, shape or form was Trey himself, left seething in the ring as "My Wave" cut off his speech before he could even begin it.

Oh, you better believe Keith Scott Zimmerman was in the building.

Purple pyro not firing off per usual, KSZ merely sauntered down to the ring with his trademark smirk plastered on his face, smoothing out his The Hold Steady Almost Killed Me shirt as he went around to fetch the microphone. Narrowly avoiding all the fans who wanted to glad-hand him, Zimmerman rolled into the ring under the bottom ropes and walked a circle around Trey before staring into his eyes.

Cry, if you want to cry
If it helps you see
If it clears your eyes...

Soundgarden was providing the biggest noise but that soon faded, leaving two men glaring at each other, the crowd waiting on a knifepoint to see what was going to happen. Zimmerman brought the microphone to his lips, and sneered.

"You know, Trey, I've been standing in the back watching your little schpiel week-in, week-out, being the Batman narrator to a mostly indifferent audience," started Keith "and I think I've used my brain power to determine what your REAL problem is." Vincent's eyebrows raised as Keith held his arms out in compliance with a sort of easy-up-there-big-fella gesture.

"YOU...don't have enough nicknames." Vincent and the audience were left puzzled, a confusion Zimmerman himself would start to clear as he continued onward. "I've been thinking on it and thinking on it, and I believe I've got just the hot-ticket item. I want you to imagine it with me, Trey!"

BOOM! Keith's arms shot out as if he were framing a picture. "Two words, Trey: American Idol."

To a chorus of jeers from the Mancherians in attendance, Vincent stood up a little straighter, puffed out a little more. Fans watching on SlySports could see him mouth the words his own self. American Idol. And why the hell not?, thought Trey to himself.

"You see, Trey," said Keith to cut into his reverie (if only slightly) "once upon a time you were the event that shook the landscape of entertainment. You were innovative, new, fresh, on the lips of every watercooler from Sydney to San Diego, from Lisbon to London. Nobody could stop talking about you, you were everywhere like Jesus, and oh, my lord, how the money rolled in."

Vincent chuckled, nodding along. Hell, who else had had the foresight to make the bounty?

"And then...well..." Keith's head tilted in faux sympathy and his face squinched up like an infant's trying to avoid creamed zucchini. "The hits stopped coming, the whole routine started getting tired and stale, and pretty soon you stood in 2010 doing the same boring crap to a smaller reaction, former fans who drank your Kool-Aid by the gallon complaining left and right that you'd jumped the shark." The Franchise Player's head suddenly turned down even as the crowd began to cheer and Zimmerman was left with a sly grin on his face.

"To pull a Lupe Fiasco and dumb it down for you there, TV, this whole Triple H speech--hell, your whole countenance? It's like your mom."

What the--was that Heath Ledger in the flesh? No, it wasn't. Keith was just about to hit the money line.

"It's FUCKED OUT."

OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! Vincent's glare was so obvious at this point that if Courage had been a cartoon steam would've fired out of his ears. All Zimmerman did was smile as Trey seethed at him, Keith making things worse with a shrug of his shoulders. What, me disparage your heritage? Surely you must be thinking of some other tweener out there. However, in a true testament to this being his show, Trey managed to choke down his bile and rebut.

"First off, Trey Vincent doesn't need an opening act, scrub," Vincent said with a sneer in KSZ's direction. "GTFO of my ring." Turning his back to KSZ, TV began addressing the crowd. "So, before we were so rudely interrupted... Tonight, the chase is on once again for one lucky sports entertainer. Tonight, $300,000 will be on the line! Because you will see a World Championship Match between Alias and…" Vincent paused, no doubt looking to add some drama to the reveal.

"You people don't DESERVE to know!" Vincent shouted at the Manchester fans, instigating jeers once again. He turned around to see KSZ had not left.

"I thought I told you to leave! Trey Vincent is the NUMBER ONE CONTENDER, and I have no business with you. Well, to be honest, Trey Vincent didn't enjoy seeing you help Alias out a couple weeks back in that tag match…"

"Stop, stop, stop everything. Timeout. YOU'RE the #1 contender?"

Trey smiled smugly (as if he had other kinds of smiles). "Yuuuuuuuuuuuuuup."

"You."

"Yup."

"Trey Vincent."

"What are you, deaf, midcarder? ME! Number one contender!"

Zimmerman's eyes widened at this. "You've got to be kidding me. Please tell me I've somehow fallen into an alternative universe where there's a President Palin and these people have a dental plan."

I'm sorry, Keith, I can't hear your witticisms over the sound of 10,000 people booing your ass. "Simmer down, simmer down. This doesn't concern you lot, as you say. See, what I don't understand, Trey Wingo, is the last time I talked to you, I warned you, I prepared you, and I told you what to expect in the cage, and it all happened. Sheff kicked your ass." And just like that the crowd was back to cheering. Keith cared. "I mean, just a flat north-south kicking of the entirety of your ass. Matter of fact, you tapped out like a little bitch!"

I'm sorry, Keith, I can't hear your witticisms over the sound of 10,000 people cheering the ACW World Heavyweight Champion. "And furthermore--"

YOU TAPPED OUT!

YOU TAPPED OUT!

YOU TAPPED OUT!

"--furthermore, your little bounty's gotten you absolutely nothing. Sheff's still the champion, and as these people are so emphatically pointing out, you tapped out!" YAY! AGAIN! We love Keith! We've ALWAYS loved Keith! "Which means you shouldn't be leading off the show, which means you shouldn't be in line for anything except the concession stand, which means you YOU HAD YOUR CHANCE, TREY, AND YOU FUCKING BLEW IT!" fumed Keith, the crowd continuing its roar. And a few more KSZ chants. SMDH.

Trey Vincent's response was to look down on Keith, and merely throw in a smirk of his own.

"ANYHOW! Just as there is one sports entertainer who stands above the rest." Pause for boos. "There is one show in this business that stands above the rest. And that show is...Legends."

Vincent reached into an inside pocket of his black suit jacket and pulled out a folded piece of blue paper. Unfolding it, Vincent explained the situation.

"When I signed here, it was written into my contract that I would receive a guaranteed title shot. And no, it wasn't for that abortion of a match against Andy Sharp a little while back, in which he did his best Tiger Woods impersonation, cheating, cheating, and cheating some damn more! No, Trey Vincent's guaranteed World Title shot is at ACW's biggest show of the year, Legends IV.

"This entire federation revolves around, ME! Trey Vincent brought ACW to television! Trey Vincent brings the ratings! Trey Vincent brought in all these people! For you see, Trey Vincent is, THE ONLY SPORTS ENTERTAINER THAT MATTERS," as TV blatantly stole from KSZ's The Only Wrestler That Matters moniker, although Trey would never use any variation of the term 'wrestle.' "And soon to hold the only World Title that matters, the ACW World Championship!"

Keith's face contorted, then settled.

"I'm sorry. I heard a lot of you ripping off my nickname and a bunch of white noise, but in that absolute hailstorm of shit there was a flower." Keith looked at Trey, continuing to pace in the ring before stopping. "You want to talk about things that matter? Hmm?"

"I'm talking about me, so I already am," smugged Vincent.

"Huh. Okay. I know about things that matter. That much I do know. But let's not talk about love, as one of my few heroes Diamond Dave would say, because one of us has it and one of us rents it out by the hour." The audience oohed right on cue. "Let's not talk about mental acuity, because one of us graduated UC Berkeley and the other one of us would take 45 minutes to call 911."

That one just flat-out got laughs, even as Vincent's sneer suddenly boomeranged back onto his face out of nowhere. "Let's talk about World Titles. Let's talk about the teeny-tiny teeny-weensy microscopic one you had for a cup of coffee and wasn't even really a World Title--"

And suddenly Zimmerman was face-to-chest with Trey. "--and let's talk about MINE."

Another hearty mix of crowd reaction that Zim was going to ignore. "Let's talk about the World Title I held. Let's talk about all the Hall of Famers that held it before me, that I beat to get to it, let's talk about the one I'm undefeated against to get it--hell, Jack's found his new calling as the 21st Century J.J. Dillon because of the ass-kickings I dished out. Let's talk about you being the big fish in a water bottle and me being the ABSOLUTE FUCKING OVERLORD of the only other fed that matters for MONTHS." Zimmerman's face steeled here. "Because it seems to me, Trey, that I'm not anything anybody should want."

The crowd cheered at that, but whether it was because they didn't want him or wanted to buoy his spirits and show he was wanted in ACW was a personal preference coin flip. "Never been much into the fashion. Never had a bunch of merch-pushing catchphrases. Not exactly big on the laundry list of self-appointed nicknames. Not the biggest dog in the fight. And I'm really, really not the best-looking."

At this, Trey allowed himself a smile. "We finally agree on something, sawed-off."

At that?

Keith allowed himself a bigger smile. "So you've got to wonder. How did I, Keith Scott Zimmerman, become one of the most decorated World Champions of such a hallowed place that wouldn't so much as grant your sorry ass an INTERVIEW?"

oh

ho ho

ho ho ho ho

SNAP.

Vincent's face would've had less reaction if Keith had slapped it, and the crowd roared as Keith stood there and glared at Trey. "Because it seems to me for a man who calls himself the Franchise Player in order for that to be true the franchise in question would almost HAVE to be the New Jersey Nets. You hear me loud and clear, BIG MAN, because this is the point I came out here to interrupt your self-fellating for: YOU'RE NOTHING ANYMORE. Whatever you had that made you a somebody, you gave it up in the cage to Sheff. I look at you, and you know what I see? I see a FAILURE and a BLOWHARD. I see a man living off his past success because deep in his dark, shriveled-up little heart he knows he doesn't have a future anymore and his present's becoming a blip. I see a man who brags about all his conquests because he a) has nothing to brag about in this ring anymore b) never grew out of being 14 or c) is covering up some LATENT homosexuality."

The microphone almost disappeared in Trey's hand he clenched it so hard. And the crowd was roaring the same three letters over and over and over in his ears that Keith had so thoroughly napalmed for the better part of 90 seconds.

"Hell, maybe it's all three. All I know is you had your moment. You tapped it away. And it's time someone else -- someone who didn't play this bullshit game of magical contracts -- got the #1 contendership." Keith began to walk away from Trey, and was halfway out of the ring when it happened.

He looked out at the audience--and slung his way back into the ring and got right back up in Trey's face. "Matter of fact, Trey, the way you got the #1 contendership for Legends is perfectly in keeping with the Leno-sized douche you are. Why wrestle? Why earn it? It's obvious every time I get in the ring if I don't have somebody to guard my back I just end up looking like a jackass anyway," said Zimmerman rhetorically with some Vincent-mocking-colored sunglasses on.

"I mean, Jesus H. Vishnu, Vincent, if you had anything still resembling balls, you'd be familiar with a concept called shame. I mean, I stand here and call you every single name in the book and make up a couple and all you can do is stand here with that ME SO ANGRY ME GO SMASH look on your damn face." KSZ shook his head. "Fortunately, I don't need you to be eloquent. I just need one thing out of your sorry ass, Trey."

Keith looked at him. No smirk. No smile. No glare. A solitary focus.

"What I need, is that NUMBER ONE CONTENDERSHIP."

The crowd erupted in cheers, and Zimmerman let them have them for a few seconds. "You want to prove you're more than the string of jokes I just made, Trey? You want to do something about it? You want to kick my ass?" goaded Zimmerman. "Then you bring something to the table, Trey--you bring that contendership to For Queen & Country. You stop being the bastard child of Vince Russo, you stop being some delusional fanboy who jerked off to Rock promos and you leave all this bullshit back in 1999 where the fuck it belongs."

Keith seethed now. "You find a pair to get in this ring with the best wrestler walking the face of the earth, and then, maybe then, you can finally prove you're something to me beyond an American Idol."

Vincent looked around at the crowd. Though they didn't like TV, they recognized that a TV vs. KSZ matchup would elevate For Queen & Country into a must-see show for many fans. And the prospect of TV getting his own revenge on an entire promotion that'd had the gall to snub him by beating their last world champion was mighty tempting. Hell, after the new-asshole-ripping KSZ had just delivered, he NEEDED to man up right now. Slowly, TV put the microphone to his lips, stepped forward, and stared into KSZ's eyes.

"Deal."

The crowd erupted, but only temporarily, as Vincent dropped the mic and wound up to get a cheap shot on KSZ. However, KSZ was no fool, and easily slipped under the right-hand, only to begin peppering Vincent with a trio of hard forearm shots that rocked Vincent's jaw and took him down to a knee. Dazed, Vincent stumbled to his feet. KSZ was ready.

Trey Vincent?

HIT MY MUSIC!

DENIED!

As KSZ leapt up into the air, looking to KO Vincent, TV grabbed hold of KSZ's legs, only to violently spinebuster KSZ onto the mat! The fans were stunned, having never seen anybody counter that move since KSZ came to ACW. Not content with that, Vincent held onto KSZ's legs and punted his crotch.

Vincent, still not done, dove toward one of the fallen microphones. Standing over The Only Wrestler That Matters, TV held the mic near his own crotch, made a jerking off motion, and then...

THUMP!

Got down on his knees and smashed KSZ in the skull with the still-live microphone, emphasizing the impact of the blow.

THUMP!

THUMPBZZZT!

With the fans booing this cheap attack, Vincent chucked aside the microphone and stood over the fallen Zimmerman, his arms raised in celebration.

Both of these men came to ACW to win the World Title, not to merely challenge for the belt. Both men now have an opportunity to challenge for that title in the main event at the biggest event of the year, Legends IV. But only one man can win that guaranteed shot at For Queen & Country. Will it be Trey Vincent or Keith Scott Zimmerman?

Trey Vincent got the best of KSZ now. But could that narrative change in just two short weeks?

C O M M E R C I A L S

RAPture

   

The beat from one of Blondie’s biggest hits began to reverberate.

End Game winner SHAWN JESSICA HART was bobbing his head with the music, looking cool like a shot of peppermint schnapps.

Seconds later, Muff Daddy’s half-stepsister twice-removed, the incomparable FELICIA HART, strutted onto the scene with a seductive set of dance moves.

The Phenom’s hip-hop exploits had been well-documented in other promotions, but now... for the first time EVER in All-Star Championship Wrestling, SJH was about to drop some science FREESTYLE... beginning with the chorus popularized by Debi Harry in the 80's and imitated by a seemingly endless array of MC’s; performed by Hart’s succulent sibling...

"Tooooooe to to-ooooooe...
Dancing veeeeeery clooooooose.
Barely breeeeathing...
Almost co-MA-tose.
Wa-aaall to wall...
People hypnotiiized-
And they're steeepping liiightlyyyy-
Hang. each. night. in..."

Dramatic pause.

"Raaaaaaaaaaap-tuuure..."

Suddenly, SJH procured a microphone out of thin air and began to SPIT.

“HEY NOW, kids! It’s ya homeboy SHAWN!
Checkin’ endless ho’z ‘til the break of dawn!
Rockin’ TITLE SHOTS up in AC-Dub.
First I win the match, then I get the nubs.”

The Phenom juked and jived with his flow, while his sister swayed sweetly from side-to-side in the background.

“K-S-Z, T-V? Those suckah’s is PLAYED
When they’re on the card, that shizz got GAYED.
Cuz they all washed up, and they shit’s played out.
It’s a ratings FAIL - that’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout!
But don’t y’all fret, cuz ya boy is HERE!
I take it to the TOP, they take it in they REAR!
I ain’t judgin’ though, that’s simply how they do.
I pound it in the pink, they pound it in the poo.
Not that that’s bad, as long as she’s willing.
But it’s NUT SACKS and DING DONGS those jackholes be thrillin’.
Which is why in the match at QUEEN and COUNTRY-
My main man Alias... he’s dealin’ with ME!
I ain’t ABOUT to let those fools bore us...
But hold up a sec, my girl’s got the chorus!”

Felicia sauntered up next to Shawn and put her lips to the microphone.

Tooooooe to to-ooooooe...
Dancing veeeeeery clooooooose.
Barely breeeeathing...
Almost co-MA-tose.
Wa-aaall to wall...
People hypnotiiized-
And they're steeepping liiightlyyyy-
Hang. each. night. in..."

Dramatic pause.

"Raaaaaaaaaaap-tuuure..."

While Felicia crooned the chorus, SJH did the Electric Slide in the background. Afterword, he yanked the mic back from Fe-lish and resumed his rock-rappin’ soliloquy.

“Now my time is SHORT, ya homeboy’s ‘bout to run-
But I gots more FLOWS before this rhyme is done.
Cuz I’m rollin’ HARD n’ I come correct...
And I’m packin’ GOLD, so ya best respect...
The PROWESS that comes with my wrestling skill.
They wanna get lame? I wanna get ILL!
By movin’ n’ groovin’ and takin’ down STRAPS.
I be backin’ shit UP, they be flappin’ they yaps!
Walkin’ and talkin’ - they’re two different things.
Only ONE fool can rule in the wrestling ring.
So try as ya might. Try as HARD as you can.
But I’m MICKEY MOUSE in THIS Did’neyland!
And after I win, n’ SNATCH all the titles-
I’ll be gettin’ your GIRLS, right there in the aisle!
But ENOUGH with this shizz, set the music to fade..
We CAN’T let the start of the show be delayed!
Yo girl, SING ME OUT! It’s time for your part.
I’m the big wheeler, CAP PEEER, King Shawn Hart!”

The Cult Classic folded his arms.

“PEACE!”

Felicia belted out the chorus one more time while the music faded and Shawn’s logo appeared on the screen.

Science had been dropped.

Rapture.

Those shiny Tag Team Titles. The root of all tonight's mayhem.

           

"Aye!"

"Nay!"

"AYE!"

"NAY!"

Sheamus O'Brien and Selby O'Brien. The SOBs. Arguing again.

The brothers were walking down the hallway, having been summoned to the arena by SilverHAWK. Of course, the first thing Selby figured was going on was that there was to be some development regarding the ACW Tag Team Titles. And that's when the discussion between the brothers went a little south.

"Listen, brotha!" Selby started, already dressed in his wrestling gear. "Any moment now, tha boss is going to announce tha match for tha Tag Team Titles!

And if it happens to take place tonight, then we bloody well be ready!"

Sheamus shook his head, as the brothers continued down the hallway. "All I'm saying is, brotha, that while I'm confident we'd be walking back to our hotel with some fancy new jewelry... I don't think we're quite mentally prepared!

My opinion, brotha, is that we wait for tha pay-per-view in London. Ugh, London."

Sheamus shuddered at the mere thought of London. He visited once before, didn't like it. Hated it, in fact.

Selby crossed his arms, digesting his older-by-a-minute-brother's opinion. "I disagree, brotha. If anythin', I feel tonight's tha bleedin' night. I ain't sure whether Alias got his pretty bird on board yet.

But we can't take tha chances of some other team taking our rightful chance away from us, innit? We've worked hard to get them blasted Tag Team Titles, and I'll be buggered if we let tha chance fly away just like that!

Ya understand me, brotha?"

Sheamus stopped walking and turned to face his younger brother. Selby blinked, thinking perhaps he was too aggressive. Selby feared that Sheamus was going to smack him upside the head.

On the contrary. A wide smile formed on Sheamus' face and he bobbed his head up and down, agreeing with every single word Selby had said.

Unfortunately for the two well-defined Irish twins, they were not quite alone and couldn't make with the brotherly love.

"Well if it isn't the most appropriately named tandem in professional wrestling history," spoke a man just off screen. A shimmer of light shone from the right side of the frame, as the flashier half of the Pop Culture Phenoms stepped up toward the SOBs. Sheamus and Selby both put up their guard, Selby specifically holding his fists as if he were Popeye (not the Family Guy version). Ed raised the palms of his hands in the air. "Woah. Can't a few gentlemen with similar goals discuss the merits of their pursuit without resorting to clichéd fisticuffs?" Ed smiled, adjusting the monocle he wore over his left eye.

Sheamus starred at Ed, well, his reflection inside of Ed's monocle. His eyebrows contorted and frowned. "Lookin' like we saw our first gay!"

"HEY!" Ed shouted, raising his palm in a threat of a backhand. "I am a superstar and should be treated as such." Ed popped the collar to his decadent golden jacket. "I'm Tom Hanks on the Bosom Buddies; I'm George Clooney on ER; Tom Cruise before the Outsiders; I'm--"

"--Sigourney Weaver before Aliens?" Selby quipped. Sheamus chuckled.

Ed groaned. "Where's my lesser half?"

Just off camera, Ed's tag team partner Klein cowered just underneath a digital clock. He looked nervously from side to side. "Can it see me Klein?"

Ed sighed. He glanced at The SOBs ready to fight and Klein ready to flee and wasn't sure which annoyed him more. "Klein, it's a clock. It's not even analog. It doesn't have a face."

Klein seem sated by Ed's comforting words and stood to his feet. He joined Ed's side, but wouldn't do so without dragging a large cardboard box behind him. When Klein caught glimpse with Selby, his eyes narrowed as if he recognized him from somewhere. Quickly, his facial tension was released as he returned to his normal docile and satisfied demeanor.

"Now, then." Ed continued. "It seems we both have similar goals here in ACW. Or at least, similar means to our goals. You seem to be short sighted enough to just want to win the ACW Tag Team Titles; why exactly? Cause they’re shiny?”

Klein nodded his head enthusiastically. “They *are* shiny.”

“Besides the point!” Ed said. He took off his monocle and began to polish it with a handkerchief. Selby frowned.

“Fackin' hell. Who carries a handkerchief nowadays?” Selby asked.

“Superstars. That’s who.” Ed said.

“I thought superstars would have guys who would carry handkerchiefs for them, innit.” Sheamus retorted, trading a high-five with Selby. Ed rolled his eyes, unamused.

“Listen you docile imbeciles, I’m trying to tell a story!” Ed shouted. Selby and Sheamus didn’t back down but Ed continued on.”It’s like you’re interrupting a joke and missing the punchline. Cause it’s the fact that your two narrow-minded single-objective barely-caveman-like brains can’t comprehend that there are other reasons to become the Tag Team Champions than holding something shiny in the air.”

“But whenever we held tag straps, that’s all you wanted to do with them.” Klein said.

“That’s because I was looking at my reflection.” Ed sighed. Selby and Sheamus hadn’t moved an inch and were breathing quite heavily. This exchange of banter could get ugly very quickly.

Ed figured there was no more time to waste, and cleared his throat. Time to wrap it up.

“I can see you two are looking to resort to your only means of communication, grunts and violence, so I’ll make this short. We’ve been Tag Team Champions before. We know what it takes. We’re not some jack off hobos ACW pulled from the gutter.

And we aren’t fighting for some piece of tin; no, we’re fighting to become a part of history, the Legacy of ACW. We want to live on forever, and our mark on the tag team division?

Should Hollywood never call… will suffice.”

“Plus. Shiny.” Klein said, index finger raised.

Ed looked on at Selby and Sheamus, nose raised at them, and with a slight disapproving shake of the head... he and Klein turned around and walked away. They were the Pop Culture Phenoms, and they were ready to take home the Tag Team Titles.

Selby and Sheamus looked at each other, both men having their arms folded across their chests.

They disagreed with the Phenoms.

"Brotha?"

"Aye?"

"It's OUR time!"

"Bloody 'ight it is, brotha."

And thus, the stage was set. Only one question remained.

... Were the current Tag Team Champs ready?

Scorpion Fighting Rules
Kristinia Kage vs. Jack Harris

   

Time for the first match of the evening. Courage 105, what have you got for us?

Spay, by Velvet Revolver. Second week in a row.

And out came one of the newest ACW recruits, Kristinia Kage! Kristinia gingerly stepped out from behind the curtains, pleased to find that a warm and encouraging reception welcomed her. Kage felt right at home, and wanted to punch the air to emphasise how excited she was to be out there.

Of course, after being hammered by Iceman last week and then interjecting herself into the Scorpion Fighting divisional clusterfuck of a brawl (only to get a belated welcome 'present' by Sharc), Kristinia's body was not in the best of shapes. So, she saluted the fans instead and slowly walked down to the ring, mentally trying to prepare herself.

All week long, people had asked her: why was she getting involved in the Scorpion Fighting division? The consensus was that the division was way too violent, almost resembeling a normal set-up of that infamous fighting organisation, theAsylum. Kage simply responded by saying that if so many people were fighting each other for the strap, it must mean something.

And for Kristinia Kage, she needed something of that worth in her life right now. Kage rolled into the ring and used the ropes to herself up, nodding at the fans who had taken a liking to her. Most of them being men. Kristinia didn't mind.

She wasn't a man-hater. In fact, at that moment, only three men made her hate-list.

Iceman, because, duh. Sharc, because, double duh.

The third guy? In 5-4-3-2-1.

LONDON CALLING. THE CLASH. Arrrrrrre you ready?

The fans sure were, for as JACK HARRIS stepped out from behind the curtains, the atmosphere inside the Manchester Evening News Arena turned extremely negative. Jeers rained down on Harris, which got worse when Harris pointed to his jersey -- an Arsenal jersey. Arsenal being the rivals of Manchester United and all, it was no wonder the Manucian fans were ready to riot.

In the ring, Kristinia Kage gulped and fought the urge to pee her pants. She had known of this match with The Pikey Madman for a few days now, which was made at random. And although she knew Harris was a bad mothersomething with a mean streak, Kristinia was simply in awe of the sheer size of her opponent.

Harris? He smacked his lips at the fresh meat in the ring. This was going to be an easy kill. Oh, and Scorpion Fighting Rules? It was going to be an EXTREMELY easy kill.

Mark Shields popped up from... somewhere and got into the ring before Jack did, his gaze firmly on Kristinia's arse. She didn't notice it and therefore, Mark started to rest against the corner turnbuckle with his filthy mind going into overdrive.

Jack Harris climbed into the ring, signalled for his music to be cut and looked over Kristinia Kage. To her credit, she put up a brave front and defiantly stared back at The Unit.

What did Jack do? Oh ho ho.

He held out his left hand, outstretched, and as he slowly clenched it into a ball... his knuckles cracked, all on their own. And loudly, too. Kristinia's bravado evaporated a little, and The Unit simply chortled.

"Ye sure ye don't want to run away, love?" Jack asked, with the fans jeers still ringing in his ears.

DING DING DING!

Well, even if Kage wanted to run, it was a bit to late. The bell had rung, and the match was on. With silent prayer, Kristinia rushed right at Jack Harris, aiming a kick at his ribs. Jack simply swatted Kristinia's leg away with his elbow, grabbed her by the hair... and yanked backwards, snapping Kristinia down to the canvas!

Kristinia winced, the back of her neck having landed on the mat first with some force. That was the least of her troubles, considering Harris was standing right over her now.

STANDING SPLASH! 292 pounds of sheer muscle just came crashing down on Kristinia Kage, who many people figured had been absolutely flattened. Her hands were still twitching about, so at least she was alive.

Jack Harris, however, was not even bothering to go for the cover. He rolled off Kristinia, using his elbows to graze against her chesticles (perv!), and exited the ring. With the Manucian fans getting on his case, Jack Harris reached under the ring and produced what looked to be a leather strap.

Oh, you read that correctly. A leather strap.

Kristinia Kage, as if going on pure fumes, staggered to her feet and saw a few cartoon birds circling around her head. She also saw the Chancellor of Excellence jawing with a few fans on the outside, and realised she had the smallest window of opportunity ever to change the face of the match.

Hence, with her body being rather mangled and all, Kristinia Kage crept over to the ropes, smiled as Jack Harris continued to insult the fans and therefore be distracted, and once he turned around towards the ring, Kage did it.

She launched herself over the ropes and flung herself at Jack Harris, left elbow reared back for impact. Needless to say, The Pikey Madman had doubted the tenacity of Kristinia.

And he got a flying elbow strike to his face for that. HOLY SHEET! HOLY SHEET! Again, not the loudest of cheers, but it helped to give Kristinia -- who was half-laying across Jack's body -- hope that she was on the right path.

In the ring, Mark Shields looked at his wrist where his watch would be. He didn't have one. Yet, he sighed and made the international hand signal for 'can-we-stop-fooling-around-on-the-outside-and-get-this-done-with'. Yeah, that's the one. As far as he was concerned, either he get to see Kristinia shake her arse in the ring or he would go backstage and start his drinking.

Outside, Kristinia was the first to her feet and grabbed Jack by the hair. The Unit harsly swatted her hands away, which prompted Kage to kick him right in the kisser. OOOH. Pleased, Kage tugged at Jack's air again, pulling him up to his knees.

POW~! It was Jack's turn to retaliate with a shot to Kristinia's face, in the form of a punch.

Kristinia staggered backwards, blinking furiously. The punch had not connected with her nose, but the rest of her face felt it was going to cave in. Jack Harris stood to his feet, leather strap still in his possession, and growled at his opponent.

"Ye shouldn't 'ave kicked me in the bloody face, cunt."

Kristinia, by then, climbed back into the ring in an attempt to get some distance between her and The Pikey Madman. She was on all favours (which brought a smile back to Mark Shields' face) and crawling as fast as she could. Jack Harris wasn't going to let her get away so quickly, though.

So, he got back into the ring, walked right up to Kristinia, and grinned like a sadistic bastard. Jack Harris clearly had something devious in mind.

SMACK!

He did. That leather strap in his hands? He had reared back and spanked Kage right across her buttcheeks with it. Served her right for being on all fours.

Mark Shields? He had a raging hard-on going now.

SMACK!

SMACK!

SMACK!

Poor Kristinia Kage. She got three more spanks across her arse courtesy of the leather strap, which had the fans divided. Half of them jeered the crap out of Harris, and the other half joined Mark Shields in not wanting to bust a nut.

The Chancellor of Excellence tossed the leather strap aside and pulled the dazed and hurt Kristinia up by her hair, turning her around to make sure she faced him. Their two faces were literally inches away from each other.

Which gave Kristinia Kage impetus to spit right at Harris. Oh, golly. Deathwish, much?

Jack Harris simply continued grinning, wrapped his other free hand across Kristinia's throat, and raised her up in the air.

CHOKESLAAAAAAA-denied!

Wait a second, what?

Somehow, as she was being hoisted up in the air, Kristinia Kage let her right hand fly out balled up in a fist, hoping for the best. Luckily for her, the god of having-been-spanked-across-the-arse was upstairs and in the mood for revenge, which meant Kristinia's fight made considerable contact with the side of Jack's throat.

Jack grunted and let go of Kristinia Kage just as he was about to spike her down. It appeared Kristinia had found one of his weakpoints, as he clutched his neck and started gasping for breath. Kage fell on the canvas, but quickly pulled herself up (as best as she could), thankful that she'd survived.

Seeing Jack Harris down to one knee in the middle of the ring, Kristinia Kage decided she had the chance to make a difference. She cartwheeled across the ring to collect the leather strap that Harris had used earlier, then turned around to deliver a stunning roundhouse kick right to the side of the Pikey Madman's face!

Harris went down like it was timber season. The fans were shocked at this turn of events, but went crazy nonetheless. Breathing heavily and with every part of her body creaking, Kristinia Kage dragged herself over to her adversary and wrapped the leather strap around his neck.

Aye, you got the plan. It was choking season, baby!

And to add to that, Kristinia decided to join Jack Harris on the floor, wrapping her legs around his body in some kind of scissors hold, before fully yanking back on the leather strap! Jack's eyes almost bulged out of their sockets, his face turning pinker than usual.

The fans? They decided to have a bit of fun.

"TAP OUT, YOU PIKEY BASTARD!"

"TAP OUT, YOU DIRTY LONDONER!"

"KRISTINIA, YOU'RE SO KINKY! HERE'S MY NUMBER!"

... Err, scratch that last bit out.

Anyways, Jack Harris was in serious trouble. In the middle of the ring, laying on his side, being choked out by a leather strap and being unable to move because of the body scissors being applied on him. What was he to do?

Simple. He was The Pikey Madman. The Unit.

He knew exactly what to do.

"AWWW, F*******K!" Kristinia Kage screamed, a second after a desperate Jack Harris had used his unobstructed right hand to reach around and into Kristinia's pants. Unfortunately for Kristinia, it seemed Jack Harris went to the Iceman School of Wedgies.

Kage felt she could fight through the pain, but when Jack Harris decided to put more torque in his wedgie? Fuhggetaboutit. Kristinia instantly let go of the chokehold and crawled away, having to adjust herself down there again. Unknown to her, Mark Shields was close by and was actually recording the act on his phone.

The bastard referee of ACW, at work. Well done.

Jack Harris, coughing violently, grabbed the leather strap and chucked it out of the ring, some colour returning to his face. The Pikey Madman used the ropes to pull himself up, and saw as Kristinia Kage did the same, hobbling backwards holding her crotch in clear agony.

Being a real gentleman, The Chancellor of Excellence opted to help her out. He spun her around, drove a knee up to her upper ribcage area, then wrapped his right hand across her throat.

CHOKEEEEEEESLAM! Which went un-denied this time around.

Mark Shields returned his phone into his pocket and got to his knees for the academic cover;

ONE.

TWO.

THR-WHAT THE HECK?

Jack Harris had suddenly pushed himself off of Kage's body, thereby breaking up the count. He had the match won. The fans, who were incensed moments earlier, were now confused.

Oh, but The Pikey Madman had it all planned out. He stood to his feet and motioned for Kristinia Kage to get up. Although she was pretty much out of it, Kristinia did exactly what Jack wanted. She pushed her hands down onto the canvas and forced herself back up to a vertical base.

Somebody should have told her to stay down.

With Kristinia more or less doubled over, trying desperately to think of some way she could fight back, Jack Harris went up behind her and... well, locked in a sleeper hold.

Which was followed up by this little exchange, that had the fans rather silent and solemn and shit. Why?

Jack Harris was not a sane man. He was a man out for blood, and out to end careers.

Mark Shield, a little bit more concerned now, quickly signalled for the bell to ring once Kristinia Kage went limp. Two matches, two defeats, two K.O. defeats for Kristinia. It wasn't looking like the best of times for her.

The Pikey Madman, on the other hand? Once the bell rang, he let go of Kristinia's pretty lifeless body and accepted the mountain of abuse that descended upon him.

Alas, Jack Harris was not quite finished yet.

London awaits.

   

"Get the bloody 'ell out of my way!"

That was Jack Harris, who shoved Mark Shields aside like he was nothing. The match was over, and Mark retreated to ringside to enjoy a cigarette. Harris however didn't care much for the bastard referee of ACW blocking his way. Once his path was clear, Jack progressed to his destination.

The timekeeper's table. And where the object of his desire, the ring bell, lay waiting for him.

In the ring, Kristinia Kage stirred to life. Two weeks, two matches, two defeats. Her new life in ACW was not starting out all that well. And considering that Jack Harris now re-entered the ring with a weapon in his possession, Kage was suddenly thinking what she'd gotten herself mixed up in.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Harris stalking her. Kristinia did the only thing she could do; she turned onto her belly and tried to crawl away.

That just brought a smile to the face of The Pikey Madman (perhaps it was because he got a perfect view of Kristinia's arse), and he raised the ring bell over his head... already plotting to bring it down onto the back of Kristinia's head. The beating he'd just given her meant that even her attempts at crawling were subdued.

However, there was to be a white knight coming to Kristinia's rescue.

And that white knight had a booming voice: "PUT THE WEAPON DOWN, HARRIS!"

The Unit turned his attention to the stage, where one John Sarsgaard stood defiantly, with his nostrils all flared up. The fans cheered; they liked John, and they were hoping that he'd go down to the ring and beat Harris up.

For his part, Harris did indeed lay his weapon down, but not without a chuckle. Kristinia Kage breathed a sigh of relief and dragged herself to the corner of the ring, curling up in a ball. Sarsgaard started to walk down to the ring, but found himself halted by the sight of Jack Harris requesting for a microphone, and getting it.

"Well, well, well. The saviour has arrived!" Jack proclaimed sarcastically, never taking his eyes off of John. "Have yer bollocks grown back in, then?

Because it seemed pretty facking clear to me and everybody else that the mighty John Sarsgaard, who ended last year on a bloody roll, has been a wee bit toothless this year.

Aye, toothless is the word they used to described ye. Me?

I went with 'coward'."

Cue an image of a heavy-set black woman snapping her fingers and going all oh-no-he-didn't. Sarsgaard growled at the put-down and clenched his free fist, while Jack Harris just laughed.

He wasn't done yet, either. "Ye know what, John boy? Ye come out here saving this wench from getting put out of her misery by me, after walking away from me last week when we were havin' our little backstage discussion.

Just a bag of wank ye are, innit? I think I know what ye are trying to accomplish 'ere, but it's at the tip of yer tongue. Ye can't bring yourself to articulate it, because ye have some bloody hang-up that's been causing ye to run away like a little lassie lately.

So, I'll do ye a solid; ye want to fight me, John boy?

I'm right 'ere, just waiting for ye. Or better yet...

... seems there's a pay-per-view comin' up. In jolly old London, no less.

Howzit, then? Ye and me, one on one. Let's get it done and over with, aye?"

John Sarsgaard watched as the spent and beaten Kristinia Kage slithered out of the ring, landing on her arse and not being able to really pick herself up. He thought back about the time in the Academy, duelling with Jack Harris and watching as the Chancellor of Excellence proclaimed dominance over everyone else.

He had been the one to stop Jack Harris a few months ago. But now, it was The Pikey Madman with the head of steam, and the Hands of Steel was content to wallow in his own self-pity over some unexplained issues.

Still, he couldn't resist the chance to shut Harris up.

"You're on, Jack. I'll see you in London."

With that acceptance, Sarsgaard let the microphone drop out of his grasp and nodded at Harris. Jack flashed back a grin of his own, signifying his delight at the chance to finally prove his superiority over his nemesis.

Not every single fan in the arena may have been privy to the full story between John and Jack, but they roared their approval at the match being made anyway.

Besides, they really wanted to see Jack Harris put in his place.

Question was, would Sarsgaard be able to get the job done?

John Sarsgaard. Jack Harris. For Queen & Country.

Their rivalry shall reach its crescendo.

Ain't Nothing in this world for Free

The crowd grew to a hush, a murmur and a slight whistle while waiting for the next skilled performers out in the ring, or perhaps Hart’s latest banter. Instead – the SlyTron darkened and revealed a darkened silhouette of a pair of eyes and Cheshire like grin.

“The world watched last week as a well known tag team specialist hung up his boots in favor of his younglings.”

Footage rolled from Courage 104 where ACW Shareholder High Flyer introduced the Pop Culture Phenoms.

“Did they win? Yes. Did they strengthen the world of teams in ACW? No. They did just what the others continue to do… follow the script. Just like your great country and your Queen. Always following, never standing up for yourself. You are the armpit of the world.” Boos erupted throughout the arena only to receive a slight chuckle.

“And those two so-called phenoms, were Only to be outshined by two men whom were not even a common partnership.”

Courage 104 replayed with TV and Jacobs winning moments as the Superstar kick caved in Ramey’s face for the fated three seconds.

“The spotlight was stolen by two individuals not even in the very division. Now how, how can one not see the place has fallen in great need of help? Dire even. But we will continue to watch. We will continue to survey the grounds…”

The SlyTron lit up with Alias’s face to a round of cheers.

“And oh yes, the bounty. This whole bounty thing. We would like to know why a bounty is needed for an aspiring talent to challenge the World champion. Should not the very shot be worth what you are to endure? Why is money needed as an incentive?”

Alias is once more shown holding the title above his head in glory following the disqualification victory.

“While we watch with the world as ACW self-destructs, we do see a silver-lining. Make that two.”

Brutal footage from the Scorpion division, namely Iceman and Sharc.

“No bounty needed for those two, and their passer-byers, to want to shred each other to pieces. No money incentives other than their paychecks. That is how it should be. That is the way it needs to be. That my destitute fools--“

The SlyTron brightens to a white screen as the grinning face vanishes. Leaving the arena with one final thought before the action can continue.

“--is All-star Championship Wrestling!"

Dead Man Talking

   

“We have a problem.”

Silverhawk said, his chin resting in his hands as he contemplated the various angry screaming directions this could go.

“You wanna call it a problem?”

It was the answer of the Original Pulp Hero, and ACW World Champion, that surprised him however.

“Yes, I would call one half of my tag team championships not signing a contract a problem, Sheff,” replied Hawk, his right eye arched with a bemused hint to his voice.

“Look, naturally I would much rather be fightin’ with Karina…” the rumble of Alias’s voice was to the point and contemplative in it’s own respect, “but at the end of the day she’s like me, she does what she wants to do, and then washes her hands of it when she’s done. She doesn’t care for other people’s opinions on what she should be doing. K-Wolf wanted to fight the Heirs as much as I did. Put the ‘Best Tag Team of 2009’ argument to rest. Unlike me though, she has more then way to get a good adrenaline hook. So if she doesn’t want to stick around in ol’ Engurland to wrestle, and she’d much rather jump out of a plane in California—“

“Sky diving? I could never do that.” Hawk cut Alias off, shaking his head.

Alias nodded, shifting both his silver and gold title on either side of this shoulders.

“That’s what I’m saying, me neither. But she will, to use it as an example.”

Hawk took it all in with a light grunt of defeat. He already had that Slysports executive Jeremy Hunt to keep tabs on, he wasn’t go to fight this Karina Wolfenden situation any longer. Hawk smiled slyly at Alias.

“So you’re going to keep yourself stuck on the ground then?”

“Nah, I’m going to fight around the world.” Alias replied, like a boxing match. He had known Hawk long enough to throw words back and forth with the administrative force of ACW, “Long as I can stay in one piece.”

Those words made Hawk look Alias up and down, to make sure he wanted to follow through with the idea that he had just decided on.

“How’re you feeling after last week?” the ACW man in charge, asked the man who was no more then seven days out of his epicly brutal ‘match’ with the Scorpion Champion.

Alias simply shrugged, as if the massive amount of blood he lost on Courage 104 was just water off his back. Or to paint a picture of what actually happened in his match against the Craziest Man in Wrestling, skin off his face.

“Few more stitches, few new scars but with everything said and done… ready to fight.”

“Well, good.” Hawk nodded, he would be making this match, “Because here’s the thing… if you’re up for it, I’d much rather put those tag titles on the line in a match, other then simply vacate them.”

Of course Alias would be up for it, Hawk thought, it was a fight.

“And if I win?”

“Keep ‘em.” Hawk said with a smile, if Alias did win, it certainly would be fun to see Trey Vincent’s reaction.

“And this is on top of my match in the main event?” Alias now questioned. Who he was fighting in the main event was a mystery that was still bugging him. He was certain it wasn’t SVJ this time around, so that took away the usual suspect for an Alias ACW mystery opponent.

“You said you were ready to fight.” Hawk grinned, poking fun at his World Champion. Alias shook his head with a chuckle. These two at times, were more brothers then co-workers.

“That’s why I fuckin’ hate you sometimes.” Alias said with what almost sounded like smoke in his lungs.

“Nah, that’s why we work so well together.” Hawk said with a wink, “You see High Flyer introduce the Pop Culture Phenoms last week?”

“Didn’t miss it. I mean it’s High Flyer, I couldn’t.” Alias said with a grin of his own, noting the man he had faced at Courage 100.

“Well you’ve got PCP, and you’ve got the SOBs.” Hawk then added on. The atmosphere in the room suddenly tensed. “They’re back from a tour with the Academy as well, and they’re ready to take another run at the Tag Team titles.”

“Two tag teams?” Alias growled, he was no longer a happy Double Champion. The Pulp Hero stood from his seat across from Silverhawk, “As well as a mystery man in the main event… and the only guy that has my back is Shawn Jessica Hart. You trying to kill me, Aaron?”

“Course not, you’ve still got to headline For Queen & Country.” Hawk replied. ACW’s head motherfucker in charge still wanted to keep this meeting light. Though he kept a straight face.

Until Alias let out a slight tired grin, once more.

“If I make it out of tonight alive…”

Silverhawk nodded, but then spun the comment of ACW’s Heart and Soul around.

“No one expects you to, more then I do.”

Orlando Grant vs. 'Superstar' Vince Jacobs

   

Orlando Grant stood in the ring bouncing up and down as he was about to be in the biggest match of his young career. He stood ready as Paige Allen was giving him instructions. His face tensed up as he heard his opponent’s voice echo throughout the Manchester Evening News Arena.

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

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 SlyTron one after the other.

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

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

Before the bell even sounded Orlando was dropped to the mat with a dropkick by SVJ. Jacobs wanted to get this match over with quick. He picked up Orlando and whipped him into the ropes. Orlando bounced off the ropes only to receive a back elbow from the Superstar. OG was caught off guard as an angry Superstar was mauling him. Vince grabbed Orlando and threw him into the corner. He started to nail the all star academy rookie with vicious rights to the midsection, as the fans started to jeer Jacobs.

Jacobs smiled as the fans who continued the jeers for the man that has made it is mission to be placed in the ACW Hall of Fame. He also was going to show people like Jesse Ramey and Orlando Grant that you don’t disrespect greatness.

THAT’S RIGHT BITCHES, GREATNESS!!

Jacobs tried to whip Orlando into the far corner but the rookie reversed it into a short arm clothesline that took Jacobs down to the mat with a thud. Orlando shook off the earlier attack from SVJ and focused on his attack now. He picked Jacobs up and slammed him back down to the mat with force. Jacobs grabbed his lower back in pain as he tried to roll to the floor but Orlando was there to cut him off. He was not going to let the veteran take a break.

He grabbed Vince and whipped him into the ropes. But Jacobs being the veteran that he was held onto the ropes and rolled out of the ring to catch a breath. This made the fans get on Vince for his actions. But 'The Reason there is a Show' just flipped off a few fans ringside as he continued to catch his breath.

Orlando couldn't wait as he rolled to the floor after Vince. Jacobs saw Grant coming as he started to run around the ring while OG gave chase. SVJ rolled into the ring as Orlando rolled in after him but Jacobs was luring the rookie in as he dropped an elbow to the back of Orlando's head as he rolled under the bottom rope into the ring.

SVJ posed for the crowd as the jeers continued. He grabbed OG and dropped him quickly to the mat with The Starburst. Jacobs hooked Orlando's leg for the cover.

ONE...

TWO...

NO!! KICKOUT BY ORLANDO!!

Orlando was still in this match and the Ratings Grabber thought that it was a slow count by Paige. This was a huge match for Orlando as he could grab himself a big win against one of the biggest stars in our industry. But for Jacobs it was another victim in the making. Another notch in his resume for his psychotic quest for the Hall of Fame.

Jacobs looked down at Grant before pointing to the top ropes. He leapt to the top and posed for the fans a little in his normal SVJ arrogance. Vince dove from the top rope with a Shining Star that missed its mark. Orlando had moved out of the way and Vince had crashed and burned.

The rookie pulled himself up with the help of the ropes because he knew this was his shot to do something in this match. Orlando raced over toward Vince who was staggering to his feet and clotheslined him down to the mat. Vince hopped back to his feet and Orlando clotheslined him down again. Vince bounced up one more time as Orlando was now feeling it.

Orlando was on fire as he nailed Vince with a right hook that sent the Superstar flying into the corner. He started to nail Jacobs with those big soup bones he called right hands until Vince crumpled to the mat in pain. The fans were starting to get behind Grant because they loved to see Vince suffer.

Orlando grabbed Vince by his hair and dragged him to the center of the ring. He hoisted Vince up and drove him down with a big gut wrench powerbomb. The impact of the move shook the ring and probably damaged Vince's spine. Orlando motioned for the ref to count the pinfall while he had SVJ down.

ONE...

TWO...

TH--- NO!! JACOBS KICKED OUT!!

OG couldn't believe it, as there was a hush from the fans. They were also in shock that Vince kicked out of the powerbomb. But Orlando stayed right on the attack. He picked up Vince and carried him to the far corner and placed him on the top rope. Vince was literally out of it as Grant started to ascend to the top.

He nailed Vince with another right hand for good measures before hooking Vince. Orlando took Vince and himself off that top rope with a big superplex. The ACW fans went wild as both men landed on the mat. Orlando slowly made his way over to Jacobs's chest and placed an arm across it. Paige dropped down for the count.

ONE...

TWO...

THRE---

NO!! NO!! NO!!

Vince Jacobs got his shoulder up at the very last second. Orlando was stunned, as was this crowd. The veteran was not going to go down that easily. Orlando slammed his hands into the mat in frustration, as he didn't know what to do to keep Jacobs down. Orlando pointed to the top ropes again. The fans cheered as Orlando slowly got to his feet and carried the lifeless body of Vince Jacobs to the corner again.

Orlando placed Vince on the ropes backwards as he nailed Vince with a shot to the back of the head. He started to climb behind Jacobs but Vince in desperation nailed Orlando in the mouth with several elbow shots. Orlando staggered backwards as Vince climbed to the top rope looking backwards to see where Orlando was. Orlando turned around only to be met with an Asai moonsault, which was promptly turned into an Inverted DDT.

The Reason there is a Show

Jacobs pulled that moved from out of nowhere as both men lay on the mat. Neither man moving a muscle as the fans cheered for the action that these two men were bringing. Paige didn't know what else to do but count both men.

ONE...

TWO...

THREE...

FOUR...

FIVE...

SIX...

SEVEN...

Both men started to stir as they grabbed for the ropes to help them up.

EIGHT...

NINE...

Both men got to their feet. Orlando kicked Vince in the stomach with a huge boot that doubled him over. Orlando was looking to end this with The BSP. He picked up Jacobs and had him ready for that Gory Special into a Neck breaker but Jacobs fought his way out of the hold and soon as Orlando turned around he was nailed with a vicious Superstar Kick that had so much force behind it that it sent Orlando to the mat and Jacobs to the ropes.

CUE UP: “Survive” by the sickPUPPIES

Jacobs turned to look at the stage as Jesse Ramey came out and looked around the arena to a loud chorus of cheers from the fans. Vince waved for Jesse to come get some as he backed up a little from the ropes. Ramey looked at the crowd and raced down the ramp. He stopped just as he got to the ring apron. He looked around the ringside area as the fans wanted him to get in the ring. Vince wanted it also as he stood waiting.

Ramey climbed onto the apron but before he could get in the ring Vince rushed at him. Jesse dropped down from the apron as Vince just grasped air.

“No one disrespects Vince Jacobs, Ramey. NO ONE!!”

Vince was yelling at Ramey who just smiled and backed up from the apron. Jacobs looked on in disgust but didn’t realize that OG was up. He came from behind Vince and rolled him up. Paige was quickly down with the count.

ONE…

TWO…

THREE…

Orlando jumped up as the bell sounded. He saw Vince’s face who was shocked and quickly rolled out of the ring. Paige Allen followed and raised the young rookie’s hand high in the air. He just pinned “Superstar’ Vince Jacobs albeit with a little help from Jesse Ramey but a win is a win. Jacobs turned to the ramp still stunned as he saw Ramey holding Grant’s arm high in the air.

This was not going to sit well with Vince and someone was going to pay.

It’s Not An Acronym

       

The heavy rain, outside of the Manchester Evening News Arena was certainly keeping the streets of Manchester quiet at the moment, but it wasn’t keeping ACW’s World Champion inside of the building. Hell, with two matches on tap he, one coming up very shortly, the man needed a smoke.

With a cancer stick in one hand, Alias chatted into his iPhone with the other.

“We’re F.W.O., through and through. Aren’t we?” buzzed the voice on the other end of the line.

It was High Flyer, the longest reigning FWO World Champion in that organization’s history. More importantly here, he was an ACW shareholder.

“That we are.” Alias grumbled, back. They had been talking about the unofficial yet still strong alliance that High Flyer had formed with Vox Nihili months ago.

“Then I assure you,” continued High Flyer, “As long as I have anything to say about it, neither one of my students is going to look to collect the bounty that Television put on you. Okay? Ed and Klein won’t even help anyone go for it. All they’re interested in are the Tag Team Titles. And they're interested in them because they want to prove their valor to me.”

Alias nodded his head, cracked his knuckles, before blowing out the smoke in his lungs.

“So I’ve only got to worry about them attacking me from one direction tonight?” The Pulp Hero said with a bit relief in his voice. High Flyer laughed on the other end of the phone

“Well there’s two of them, so you still have to worry about attacks from all directions, Sheff. Come on! Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten ring psychology 101!”

Alias gave his head a shake; of course Flyer was fucking with him. But he had a match that he had to get to. Throwing the cigarette butt into the sheet of rain in front of him, Alias tapped at the only title that was currently on his person.

The ACW Tag Team Championship.

"You should quit smoking." Flyer interjected. "I could hear it."

“G’bye Jack.”

“G'day my former ACW Tag Team Champion.” Flyer said from the other end of the phone, almost sing songy.

Hanging up the phone, Alias shook his head again and chuckled, “Bastard…”

Stepping back into the dry warm relief of the Evening News, he almost ran into someone who just might have been holding his ear against the doorway.

Ladies and Gentlemen, Shawn Jessica Hart.

His outfit of the moment was a black one-piece body suit, which with brightly colored glitter, was painted to appear to be a blue pin-stripe suit with white gloves and a red and yellow tie. Oh, that and he had Elton John-style pink flamingo glasses on, not actual glasses but glasses painted on his face in glitter paint. He certainly did glitter.

“Bro, do I have a loophole for you!” Hart said, Alias only beginning to be weary of his recently self-announced For Queen & Country opponent.

“Hart.”

“You need a third member of Vox Nihili? So you might go into that tag team title match with an official partner. I’m already there! See, because Vox… it’s an acronym.”

Alias squinted one eye in pain, as if a part of his brain had exploded.

“Just… stop there.”

SJH continued, unfazed, clapping his hands together then opening them slightly to graphicly illustrate his next point.

“V is for vagina, because as you know, Wolfenden has one of those. O is for,” pointing at Alias with a wry smile, “Original Pulp Hero. And then of course… X. Who has two thumbs and is known as MISTER XXX?”

Shawn Jessica Hart points both of his thumbs at himself.

“This guy. You’re already surprised how much I add to Voxxx Nihili aren’t you? So let’s go over plans for the match…”

Alias blinks, stone-faced. Then grumbles down at his #1 contender.

“I’d much rather fight on my own, then with my PPV opponent. Thank you.”

And without further ado, the Original Pulp Hero walked away. Shawn Jessica Hart could just shake his head, causing loose glitter to fly off in a few directions.

“That just seems entirely counter-productive.”

C O M M E R C I A L S

Unsuccessful Journalistic Endeavors

       

The scene cued up in the interview section, Renaud Cardinal stood looking out of breath. Obviously it was a long trek from the announcer’s table to the backstage interview section. Cardinal seemed to be anxiously waiting someone, and then a dark figure zipped by the camera’s view. Renuad blinked rapidly and then took off trailing the figure.

“Jesse,” Renaud got out the name, still almost panting for air, and the figure stopped. Turning toward the cameras with a huge smile, Jesse Ramey came into view. “Jesse, I just wanted to see if I could get a word with you about what just happened out there?”

And just as Jesse was getting ready to answer Renaud’s question another figure stepped into the picture.

“Hoooooooly guacamole!!”

The second figure was number one contender to the ACW title and apparent freestyle hip-hop artist Shawn Jessica Hart, PhD, and he simply COULD NOT let this opportunity pass him by.

“Step aside, sister! I'm gonna do some journalization up in this piece!”

Without warning, he yanked the microphone from Renaud's hand, bumped the would-be interviewer out of the shot with his hip, and threw his arm around Ramey.

“Jesse Ramey... WOW! You sure bamboozled that butthole, eh?”

He shoved the microphone into Ramey's lips and nose. Jesse gritted his teeth a bit, but patiently moved the microphone to a more advantageous position and obliged SJH.

“If that’s what you want to call it, then yeah.. I guess I did.” Jesse just smiled politely.

“SWINDLED the suckah-punk!!” Hart reiterated.

Jesse was beginning to show signs of agitation, “I wouldn’t have put it like that.”

“Jiggered the JACKHOLE in the uuuuuuuultimate act of juxtaposition!”

Jesse's agitation had grown to a higher level of almost being pissed off, “Shawn, you know I have a lot of respect for you. Especially after last week, but the things you’re saying now are just blatantly disrespectful. Do you even know what juxtaposition means?”

“Conned the pawn from night until DAWN!!”

“Okay this is just becoming absur-” Hart quickly cut Ramey off.

“Defraaaaaauded the LAUDED like-”

Jesse snatched the microphone from SJH’s hands, “If you’re going to keep cutting me off then I’m going to take the bottle from the baby then. Now, what I did tonight is nothing in comparison to the things that Jacobs has done over the weeks.” Jesse paused for a moment, “You know I didn’t even get involved in the match. What happened to Vince Jacobs tonight he has no one to blame for, but himself. If Vince hadn’t been so caught up in what I may have done he never would have lost this match.”

“You know Vince, not everything has to be about you. That’s something you need to learn and come to grips with. If you weren’t so self centered maybe you would be in the Hall of Fame right now. Instead, just like a little bit ago, you took your eyes off the prize Vince. As far as I’m concerned though, I did nothing wrong. I was merely scouting the competition. No harm done!”

Jesse smiled as he shoved the microphone back into Shawn’s chest and walked out of the scene. Alone, but undaunted, the Prime Minister of Gettin' Sinister fired a SEETHING retort at his unruly interview subject.

“Say it, don't spray it.”

Scorpion Fighting Rules
Bobby Minio vs. Sharc

   

The arena lights dropped and the drums rolled onto the speakers, followed by the bassline, and El-P & Trent Reznor's Flyentology playing on the PA.

I know I haven't been walking a humble path,
I know I cursed at your name and then laughed,
I know I found it inane to bend calf,
the servitude of groveling framed as a pained task.

A spotlight shined onto the entrance ramp, and the formerly dimmed big screen spelled out a name:

BOBBY MINIO

The distantly familiar, youthful face attached to the name walked through the entrance, bobbing his head to the beat of the music, holding a microphone at his side and looking around at the crowd. A spotlight shined onto the man wearing a black Omega T-shirt that he had obviously grabbed from backstage or a vendor booth in the arena. Below the shirt, he was wearing black shorts tights with gray trim, black knee pads and black boots laced all the way up. This man came to wrestle.

"Some of you won't remember me..." he grinned into the microphone as he walked toward the ring, stopping at the apron before turning around to face the crowd, continuing. "And that's okay. Hell, I barely remember me."

As if on beat with the statement, the man pulled himself up to the apron, sliding in between the middle and top rope before walking to the center of the ring and looking around the arena. He raised the mic back up to his mouth and smiled.

"My name is Bobby Minio. I've put some serious time and work into this business, and I've been gone for a damn long time, so if you forgot who I was, or I'm a little before your time, that's perfectly alright." Minio turned his head toward the ramp before adding, "We'll all just have to make some new memories. See, I dropped by last week to take a look at the Scorpion division. It's a division brimming with opportunity, and well, now that I'm back in the business, I figured I'd better keep my eye on the possibilities."

Now the arena lights had raised, Minio had taken a moment to get a good look at the crowd, to digest the feeling of standing at the center of an arena, something he hadn't done for close to six years.

"I don't think the ink of my signature has even dried on my contract, but I touched pen to paper so, it's about time I got back to work, isn't it? Well, here goes..." Minio stated before walking to the ropes facing the entrance way. He stood on the bottom rope, leaning his body over the ropes aggressively towards the entrance way, then brought the mic to his face and with a grin, began to speak with volume, "So which one of you Scorpion competitors is going to come out here and break my 'AY CEE DUB-YA' cherry?"

Minio didn't have to wait too long. After about 10 seconds, a song hit the speakers: "Empire" by Chimaira. A wall of medics and ACW personnel backed their way out of the entryway, hands held in front of them in a "stop" motion. After a couple more seconds, Sharc limped out, his face already covered with dried blood and still wearing his street clothes. The fans didn't know that earlier in the night, Sharc had been assaulted by Omega in the car park with 'Barb' and some pliers, so his appearance was shocking.

Sarah was at his side, pleading for Sharc to go backstage and not risk a career-ending injury against a very fresh Minio, who was looking to make a name for himself tonight. As the cameras got closer, it became clear that Sharc was using a steel chair for a cane in his right hand. In his left hand, he clutched a bloody pair of pliers. Using the pliers as an intimidation tool, Sharc stabbed the air between himself and the ACW employees and medics, trying to get himself some walking room and to back everyone off.

Sharc's night had gone from triumphant to utter shit in a matter of moments earlier. He needed to rescue this night. And he was planning to sacrifice Minio to do it.

With a sudden burst, Sharc charged forward and awkwardly slid under the bottom rope. Minio wasn't looking to let an armed man get vertical, however, and he jumped Sharc before he could even attempt to stand up. After repeated stomps that made Sharc lose his grip on both of his weapons, Minio used the middle rope to springboard up and connect with a corkscrew leg drop to Sharc's bloody face.

With Sharc dazed, Minio springboarded over the top rope all the way to the floor and found himself an occupied steel chair. Meanwhile, referee Henry Irwonsen checked on Sharc's condition.

"Ring. The. Fucking. Bell." Sharc snarled from his back.

Reluctantly, Irwonsen signaled for the bell to make the match official.

Back inside, Minio set up the two chairs so the seats were touching. He charged forward, hitting a baseball slide dropkick into Sharc's injured head, then pulled Sharc up. With only one leg, Sharc couldn't counter what came next.

SNAP SUPLEX ONTO THE CHAIRS!

The crowd let out an excited roar after that maneuver. Sharc let out a roar of his own, but it was more of the "fuck, that hurt" variety. Mino was looking sharp and dominating so far, and he looked to continue his roll by dragging Sharc into position and laying one of the bent steel chairs on his face. As quickly as he could, Minio scaled the turnbuckles, ready to hit another exciting move.

One problem: Sharc sat up and launched the chair at Minio. With a burst of adrenaline, Sharc shoved himself up and hobbled in Minio's direction. Not realizing the chair had done zero damage, becauseMinio easily caught the thrown object, Sharc didn't realize that he was about to get blasted with a chair shot that sounded more like a gun shot.

BOOM!

Sharc fell flat on his back. Minio dumped the chair and dove.

SOMERSAULT LEG DROP!

COVER!

ONE!

TWO!

THRE-NOO!!??

Both Minio and the crowd couldn't believe it. But somehow, Sharc's right shoulder got off the mat at the last possible millisecond. And then Sharc sat up and turned toward Minio, with wide eyes surrounded by a mask of dark red gore that seemed like something straight out of a horror movie. Still, that sight wasn't enough to intimidate Minio, as he simply grabbed hold of Sharc's hair and dragged him up and grabbed him in a cravate.

SNAPMARE LIFTING REVERSE DDT!

COVER!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!!

Irwonsen's hand hit the mat three times, but quickly he raised two fingers on both hands and shouted "two!" Minio couldn't believe Sharc had escaped defeat once again. Now, Minio showed a little frustration at being unable to put away Psychopathy Red, aka, one scary muthafucka. Frustrated, but by no means worried. He dragged the semi-conscious body of Sharc toward center ring and looked to go high-risk once again.

He was about ready to launch when somebody grabbed his ankles and crotched him in the top turnbuckles.

All the angry ACW fans in the house say "Booooo!" BOOOOO!

All the injured testicles in the house say "Oopphhhhfff!" OOPPHHHFFF!

All the angry ACW announcers call Sarah a "jezebel"! JEZEBEL!

Speaking of that jezebel, Sarah was desperate to help, and because there were no disqualifications, she had just used it to her and Sharc's advantage. She climbed into the ring, grabbed a chair, and drove one of the legs into Minio's throat! Then she headed up top.

SARAHCONRANA!

With Minio down, she crawled over to Sharc and slapped him on the face and screamed at him to cover Minio. Unfortunately for Sarah, however, Minio was already back to his feet and had set up the chair for sitting purposes. He grabbed a handful of her blonde hair and pulled her off a motionless Sharc. Minio was about to get some payback. And oh yes, there would be spanking. He took a seat on the chair and dragged her over his lap, despite her kicking and screaming. The crowd came alive as Minio unleashed BUTT BONGO~!

Once he has his fill, he let her go, and she crawled toward the nearest ropes to escape. As Minio got off the chair, Sharc pounced on his back, grabbed Minio's left wrist, then wrapped his right arm around Minio's throat and fell backward to the mat. Looking to complete this submission move, Sharc raised his left ankle to Minio's throat, and then locked his legs into the proper position for what was basically a variant of a triangle choke.

PENTAGRAM CHOKE!

Blocking out the pain from the stabbing earlier in the night, Sharc squeezed with all his might, looking to make Minio either tap out or black out. But Minio still had a lot of fight in him, and was looking for a way out. One that Sharc assumed didn't exist.

After several seconds, Minio was able to turn to his left.

Bad news, though. The pentagram choke became a triangle choke. And Minio was still stuck.

Desperate, Minio's clawing hand came across something quite unexpected. He grabbed hold of the needle-nose pliers and jammed them into Sharc's side!

The white hot pain made Sharc shout in pain, drop the hold and shove Minio away angrily. As he grabbed at his aching side, Minio stumbled backward into the ropes. He kept an eye on Sharc, waiting.

A NEW RELIGION BY MINIO!

The springboard backflip dropkick connected!

COVER!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Yes, THREE!

El-P & Trent Reznor's Flyentology hit the speakers once again, and Minio stumbled to his feet, ready to have his hand raised in victory by Irwonsen. Minio shot an angry glance in Sarah's direction as she crawled toward Sharc, but ultimately he ignored her. After all, he was content to celebrate his first victory in several years and being back in front of a cheering crowd. If tonight was any indication, Minio was going to like ACW. As for Sharc? Well, things couldn't get worse, could they?

Tout Au Sujet de l'Argent

Earlier this week…

“Mister Argent, I’m not quite sure you understand the severity of the situation within which you find yours-“ the polite gentile voice of an unseen Brit was brutally cut off by the screeching harsh Australian wail.

“NO, SHUT YOUR UGLY MOUTH!... and you! You shut up as well!”

His fist rapped the glass table, as the shot opened up upon a small oval glass table, dwarfed within a relatively large room seemingly designed for board meetings and the like. The ceiling-to-floor glass walls betraying a magnificent view of the Seattle skyline.

Around the oval table, in patented and detailed black leather chairs sat Jade Argent and three non-descript official looking individuals.

“There must be some kind of loophole!” Argent protested.

“Simply put, Mr. Argent, all of your fortune is tied up in assets.” Came the response from a rotund man in his late thirties wearing a three-buttoned suit and a skullcap, “The penthouse, the Bentley, the manservant whom you employ solely to guard and polish your championship belt at all hours of the day. There is simply no way you can buy your way out of the contract. Ever since you cut off all ties with the Entourage, your cash flow has seemingly ground to a halt.”

Exasperated, Jade Argent pushed his chair away from the desk and began pacing in front of the window. He began repeating, “This is so not happening!” under his breath.

“Mr. Schmidt has gone through all of your accounts,” another man continued, this one older and greyer. “I have checked every clause and condition, each tiny part of the small print. All Star Championship Wrestling may just have been a small entity in a big ocean of wrestling promotions at the time that you signed your contract, but you have to remember that at one point in time they were the biggest on the planet. They have good lawyers – better than me, at least – these contracts are iron clad.

“The only way you’re getting out of this is with cold hard cash.” The second man re-iterated.

Argent was turning a shade of beet-red, his fists clenching and pulling at his untamed bleached blond locks.

“And,” the first man, Mr. Schmidt, continued, “you’ve got none.”

The third man had been sat facing the wall, away from the conversation and not involved. Suddenly, his chair span around and he came into the shot, his eyes squinted and his finger drumming the desk. It was a familiar face, that of Jade Argent’s agent, Ira Cohn.

“Skippy, I’ve got an idea.” He clicked his fingers.

Argent stopped pacing, turned to Cohn and stepped towards him until he was standing over the self-proclaimed Super Agent. The towering waif frame of the fWo Cruiserweight Champion didn’t achieve the desired effect of intimidating Cohn, but alas the Australian Opportunist made his threat.

“It better be good, Cohn, or I’ll feed ya to the wallabies…”

ACW Tag Team Titles
Pop Culture Phenoms vs. The SOBs vs. Alias ©

           

Cue “Jump Around” by House of Pain. Cue a maddening cheer from the ACW faithful, and a few confused looks from the casual viewers. Out from the back came an incredibly pumped tandem of the SOB’s, making their debut here tonight in ACW. They were full of energy, slapping every fan’s hand as they criss crossed to the ring. They jumped onto the apron and let out a “Yay!” / “Nay!” yell before entering.

“Rabbi E Tarrentella” by Ennio Morricone blared out of the pa system announcing the other newest signing to ACW’s tag ranks, the Pop Culture Phenoms. Klein and Ed are coming off a victory over Ulf and Malk last week on Courage 104. They look to take that momentum with them as they face one of the most dangerous tandems in wrestling. And should K-Wolf not make her surprise re-appearance, Alias is almost as dangerous by himself anyway. Klein stepped out first only to be pushed out of the way by the spotlight seeking Ed. He basked in the light as gold pyro shot off from above, raining down. Klein crawled away, freaking out and huddled up in a fetal position. He tilted his head back and literally rolled down to ringside to avoid the pyro. Ed sneered. He reached ringside and lifted Klein up by his hair, tossing him in. Ed slid in, and then charged at Sheamus. Klein took the cue and charged at Selby.

The bell rang three times.

But the match had yet to include, perhaps the biggest star of this fine promotion.

The crowd shouted “Al-i-as! Al-i-as!” to spur on the ACW Heavyweight Champion.

Ed & Klein meanwhile, had taken advantage of their sneak attack. Ed back body dropped Sheamus onto his back causing one SOB to slide out of the ring to recover. Klein caught Selby with a moonsault dropkick underneath his jaw, causing his teeth to clatter. Selby was taken off his feet by the blow and fell through the middle ropes into the hands of his awaiting partner.

As Selby and Sheamus recovered, Ed and Klein bee lined off the far ropes. Ed leapt with a hands free plancha on Selby. Sheamus was caught by a springboard shooting star that was reminiscent of a maneuver patented by both Vince Jacobs and High Flyer performed by the youthful energetic Klein.

The Pop Culture Phenoms were in control.

Ed and Klein tossed the SOB’s in the ring, and followed suit. Cue “Sympathy for the Devil” by the Rolling Stones. Cue this arena going apeshit. And cue, the tag team champions.

Alias rushed out from backstage by his lonesome. He slid underneath the bottom rope and rose to his feet. Ed saw and rushed toward him, eating a clothesline. Klein followed suit, taking a palm thrust to the chest and sternum. Klein bounced off, sputtering for air. Selby and Sheamus looked one another and rushed toward Alias, only to both be on the receiving end of a back body drop.

The World Heavyweight Champion stood alone tall in the ring, and hadn’t even taken off any of his three championship belts. He unlatched the Heavyweight Championship and then each of the two tag team straps, signifying that K-Wolf would not be at his side tonight. He handed the three belts to referee Trent Savage, and paced around the ring.

Sheamus recovered quickly, not wanting to be upstaged. He slid in under the bottom rope and stood toe to toe, nose to nose, mano e mano with Alias. The Pulp Hero waited, and took Sheamus’ best blow. The Belfast Brawler was shocked to see it only stunned Alias. Alias caught Sheamus square in the chest with a knife edge chop that turned it beat red. Sheamus with a right, Alias with another chop .Sheamus slammed away with another blow, and a second one in a row sent Alias reeling. Into the ropes, Sheamus with a toss off, no, a reversal. Alias ducked under a Sheamus clothesline and caught him with an uncharacteristic crucifix pin.

One.

Two.

Sheamus kicked out, just barely. More shocked than anything. That wasn’t in the scouting report.

Alias hooked Sheamus and scoop slammed him. He didn’t notice Selby illegally entering the ring behind him. Sheamus went into a fetal position, knees clutched to chest, as Selby charged and hooked Alias in a bulldog. Alias’ head became bulldogged onto Sheamus’ knees. Savage lambasted the SOB’s for their maneuver as Selby slid out of the ring.

Sheamus lifted Alias and hooked him in a double under hook. He PLANTED Alias in the ring with his Shitfaced(double underhook facebuster) only to reach out and tag in Selby.

Selby climbed up the ropes, but official Trent Savage was between Selby and his prey. Trent was more worried about getting Sheamus out of the ring. Selby shouted something, swatting the official and his partner away, but it was too late. Selby had leaned forward to accost the official, but this left him prone to a now recovered Alias, who cinched his hands around Selby’s waist from the canvas, and the Pulp Hero used his pure strength to flip the Belfast Blaster off the top.

Modified Big Fat Kill. And Selby was killified.

Just then, the crowd cheered wildly. Alias began to crawl over to his corner, not remembering that K-Wolf wasn’t here tonight. But what the crowd was cheering for would make his crawl not be in vain. For Shawn Jessica Hart, Alias’ opponent at For Queen & Country, had jumped onto the apron and extended his hand toward the ACW World Champ.

As Alias reached him, he dove, and at the last moment retracted his hand. He winced in pain as he used the ring ropes to climb to his feet. Alias began to shout at SJH to get down, that K-Wolf was his only partner. SJH seemed just eager to help. Alias reached out to the nearest corner and tagged in Klein, in an effort to focus his attentions on his FQ&C opponent. Who knows if SJH had a dastardly plan involved in “helping” Alias tonight.

Klein leapt over the top rope and charged toward Sheamus, dropkicking him off the apron and into the time keeper’s table. The bell actually rang as Sheamus’ head struck it, and one half of the SOB’s had been eliminated. Klein rushed back to his corner and tagged in Ed.

The two set up the recovering hazy Selby in the center of the ring, and moments later, a loud smack resonated throughout the arena.

SMACK-OW~!(High Crescent Kick/sweep Combo)

Ed dove on top and Klein charged toward Alias, striking him in the back and sending Alias into SJH.

One.

SJH tumbled off the apron and into the guardrail.

TWO.

Klein proceeded to lift Alias by his legs and tossed him up and over the top rope.

Ed threw up two fingers as he hooked Selby’s leg. He kept an eye out for K-Wolf in the crowd.

THREE!

Ed shot to his feet and hugged his partner Klein. He rushed over to the time keeper’s table and saw the fallen Sheamus, bleeding from his forehead. He smiled, and reached out, grabbing the tag team titles from the time keeper. He handed one to Klein, and then proceeded to raise his high in the air. He groomed himself, checking his reflection in his finest achievement to date.

The very shiny ACW Tag Team Championships.

C O M M E R C I A L S

Buying The Cow

       

The Pulp Hero was simply put, not happy. Okay to put it a better way, no one would be surprised if he tore apart his locker room after losing his Tag Team titles, but he had to put that out of his mind because he had to begin preparing himself for yet another defense of his ACW title in the face of Trey Vincent's ever-growing bounty. Despite everything, Alias was cool, collected, and clearly determined to usurp the odds against him and send another challenger packing; stretching and working his joints in an effort to ensure maximum performance in the ring.

And then SJH showed up...

Sporting golden, sequined gear and dreadlocks, Alias's reluctant ally, the Riggs to the Pulp Heroes Murtah, and would-be PPV opponent rocked an expression somewhat grim as he entered the room. It might be because he had just been a part of costing Alias a title, something that even Trey Vincent had yet to do. In short order, Alias halted his pre-fight ritual and glared at the Prime Minister of Gettin' Sinister, but before he could speak, SJH beat him to the punch.

"Heh, listen... I know you've been running a bit of a gauntlet lately with that JACKHOLE'S bounty... and Lord knows what he's got in store for you tonight... so uhhh, I just wanted to offer my apologies if I caught you off-guard with my little announcement last week..."

He was, of course, referring to the fact that he was cashing in his End Game-guaranteed title shot at For Queen and Country, meaning the two would go head-to-head for title in just a few short weeks on pay-per-view.

"Oh, and the tag titles too. I mean you JUST got them though right? So I'm sure you don't miss 'em all that much. Riiiight?"

Stone faced, Alias responded.

"Save the apologies, Shawn. Whatever you meant to do out there... to help me, or to sabotage me, you weren't worried about me or my tag titles. You were thinking of this," Alias reached over and lifted the World Heavyweight Championship up with his fist, "All roads end with the gold. Ultimately everyone is in it for the strap. So leave me the fuck be, cause I know where you're coming from... I was on that same road, in chasing Andy Sharp. And I put that kid away. I had to. I didn't pretend to be his friend... not for one second. So I won't pretend to be your friend ei--"

Hart shook his head.

"Whoa brah! Regardless of what you say, I know that YOU KNOW...."

Dramatic pause.

"...that I KNOW that you know that you n' me... we're like testes of the same nutbag!"

At this point, Alias clearly attempted to interject, but SJH continued on unfazed.

"Boobies of the same lacy, frilly, fantastically SEXY bra, and so on and so forth. SO, in order to show you that I am truuuuuuuly sorry for the manner in which I've conducted myself lately and that I'm still your bro fo lyfe, I've brought you this!!"

Without warning, SJH retrieved an XXXL pair of yellow boxer briefs from his pocket. Right near the opening at their front is a screen printed image of Hart's face saying, "Here comes the Hart THROB!" The Pulp Hero was utterly dumbfounded.

"You try to give those to me, and I'll wrap your dead body in it before I throw you in the nearest river."

There was a tense pause in the room.

"C'mon mang, they're TOOOOOOOTALLY new and absolutely clean!!"

The Phenom brought the underoos to his nose for a scent-check. Seconds later, he gagged and began to cough. Alias could only growl.

"My point, exactly. Hart. Now if you're done, get the fu--"

"ANYWAYS -- I figured you might not be hip to the undergarments. I mean, it IS kind of gay to give another guy that kind of gift... so let me do you one better! Cuz what you need is something that is the opposite of gay. Something like a SEXY SISTER to savor...one that suits your considerable needs!"

The ACW Champ was clearly curious about just what those "considerable needs" were and why Hart had spent any time at all pondering them, but before he could comment, the sexy sister arrived!

"If you wanna be with me... baby there's a price to pay..."

It was Shawn's half-stepsister, twice-removed FELICIA, decked from head to toe in French negligee and swaying seductively to the sound of her own song. This was a bit much, even considering Alias's infamous reputation involving inter-fed romance.

"I'm a Genie in a bottle.."

SJH suddenly joined in on the sensual dance and sang with his sister.

"YA GOTTA RUB ME THE RIGHT WAY!!"

"This is better then the dirty underwear, sure... but I have this itching feeling that you're going to make a 'tag team' joke, and that's just... wrong. So very wrong. And I wrong. Get outta here and take your sister with ya."

"Are you sure?! She's had all her shots and everything!"

Felicia batted her eyelashes. Somehow this statement was a badge of honor for her. The Pulp Hero, however, was not impressed.

"Get out and take the girl with you. Don't tell me what you plan to do after that, either."

Muff Daddy nodded his head, "Yeah, yeah... I get it. You and my sister together would make us bros FOR REAL... and you've got to get in touch with your true feelings before that could ever happen. BESIDES, why buy the COOOOOOOOOWW..."

Shawn winked at his counterpart. Alias recoiled in horror.

"When you can get the milk for freeeeeeeeeee!!!"

Suddenly, a rustling was heard in the background. Seconds later, a loud call rang out.

Moooooooooooooooo...

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" Alias roared, as he spotted the living, breathing black and white, farm stock grade A bovine.

"TA-DAAAAAA!" Hart said, then flourished his arms too and fro around the large cow.

"How'd you even sneak that through the fuckin' door?" Alias roared, very much not pleased with... well, the cow in his locker room.

"That, bro-seph, is my little Caramilk secret. But really, truly... enjoy the Hershey cow." Felicia giggled at Hart's play on words. As Alias furiously shook his head 'no'.

"Oooooh, chocolate humor. It's what bros do!" Shawn gave Alias a pat on the arm and strutted away happily with his sister.

Leaving Alias with the cow.

The Pulp Champion sighed deeply. First the For Queen & Country announcement, then the Tag titles, and now... a cow. A gad damn COW. Alias looked at the half-ton farm animal, who was also seemingly staring back at him. The Pulp Champ growled, in a tone that'd even scare livestock.

"Quit lookin' at me like that, or you'll end up medium rare."

Alias couldn't worry about any of this... he had an opponent tonight. Someone that, evidently, he knew all too well.

Moooooooooooooooo...

The Cogs Begin To Turn, Part Four

   

As SilverHAWK wandered the halls in Manchester, turning the corner he walked into a sea of activity, but this was no regular activity. Instead he watched as a number of staff members tried to make their way into one of the locker rooms of the arena, only to be blocked by a mountain of a man.

That man was the bodyguard of a certain Jeremy Hunt.

So it could only be assumed that he was inside.

The SlySports executive had certainly made an impression on SilverHAWK since joining them on the European tour, but as the ACW General Manager walked towards the crowd, he had no idea what to expect from the gathering.

"Let us in!"

"We need this room!"

"Look at the size of this fucker!"

SilverHAWK walked through the crowd like he was Moses parting the Red Sea, and then once again stood in front of the giant and peered at him straight in the eye.

"Seems you are blocking this door big man, time to move along unless you have something to hide?"

The giant looked HAWK up and down and then looked at all the small faces around him before peering into HAWKs eyes and growling a reply.

"Boss inside... he is almost finished."

It was the strong Russian accent that first of all startled HAWK a little, that was until he peered through a crack in the Russian Iron Curtain and noticed hair all over the floor.

"What the..."

As the noise quietened down a small murmur of a buzz could be heard from inside, until it stopped and the clattering of an object hitting the floor followed it.

At that point, the big Russian moved to unveil his boss... with what seemed to be a new haircut.

"Hello Mr. HAWK."

SilverHAWK was slightly taken aback as he watched the SlySports executive rub a towel around his now freshly bald head. Hunt looked at his employee as if looking for compliments... and they were given.

"It um... suits you."

Hunt smiled.

"It really doesn't matter if it suits me or not Mr. HAWK, it's the point of it that should interest you the most. Through my weeks here I've taken a shine to one particular division... and that’s the Scorpion Division. I just love the total vulgarity of its scenes and the unpredictability of its nature.

If possible I'd like to take more of a role in overseeing what happens and possibly helping it take off. You must have seen how popular UFC has become; surely we could manage to do two things under the one roof?"

HAWK liked what he was hearing, and nodded his head.

"As far as I'm aware Hunt... you can go anywhere you please."

The Executive dropped his towel and sighed.

"That is not the point HAWK." He moved closer to the ACW Architect. "I am looking for your blessing in this. Realise that you are the cog that keeps this machine turning. You can sign whoever you want and promote anyone you want, but at the end of the day if this place isn't run by a certain Aaron Jones it will fall. Only an idiot cannot see that and I know that other man have tried to change that in the past."

HAWK looked on at Hunt as he wiped his brow and nodded to the large beast beside him.

"Then you can overlook the division Hunt... but any changes you make need to go through me or Bishop. I can't be undermined in my own fed."

Hunt smiled and nodded his head.

"I would never do such a foolish thing… and now since I have gained your trust you have gained mine…. Vladik.”

The giant beast turned around to his master and looked at HAWK once again.

“Mr. HAWK, let me introduce you to my loyal associate Vladik Warofski.”

Both men shooks hands as a name was finally put to the giant ugly face and the giant had the final say.

“Mr. HAWK… call me War.”

Rud Albion vs. Buddy Saxon

   

Guess what? It's time for a match! Yay.

And this one was an exhibition match, featuring two potential mega-stars for ACW, which really had the fans rather excited. Who was the first man out?

The Bronze Lion, that's who.

The Brummie Bulldog, if you will.

The One Man Revolution, better known as Rud Albion, only had to worry about one other man, at the moment.

England's Own shifted on the inside of the black curtain, his muscles flexed under the spandex suit he wore, as the hooded robe kept him sweating. Rud caught a glimpse out within a space in the curtain, past the SlyTron and out into the crowd and towards the ring.

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

Wolf Like Me, by TV On The Radio. Good song.

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

Most importantly, every single one of them knew Rud would give it his all.

BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM.

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

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

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

Albion smiled. Sadly, it would be the last time he'd do that tonight. For his opponent was a new friend he'd made. And while Rud was initially surprised at the challenge, he accepted it because he knew it meant the world to the other man.

Speaking of. The house lights dimmed. There was a little bit of fog swirling around the curtains near the entrance. And then, Adam Lambert's For Your Entertainment kicked in over the public announce system. Catchy, upbeat, and contagious.

In a few seconds, a young man with the widest grin you'd ever seen came bouncing through the curtains and put his hands on his hips, obviously feeling like he was on top of the world. Whether he really was or not was a debate for a later time.

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

Happy and motivated by the reaction he'd garnered, Buddy energetically made his way down to the ring, slapping the hands of numerous fans along the way. There were a couple of 'I WANT COOKIES' signs, which warmed Saxon's heart. Somehow, the young man had garnered a bit of a following. He certainly didn't expected that.

Climbing into the ring, Buddy raised his arms in the air and mouthed the words of his theme song, he himself clearly enjoying Adam Lambert's brand of music, and more importantly... he was relishing the opportunity to spar with his new friend and a man Buddy felt had a lot to offer to ACW.

Buddy shifted into a mode of focus as his theme song died down. He noticed that the referee was perhaps the most senior man in ACW, Henry Irwonsen. Irwonsen motioned for both men to shake hands, which they promptly did before backing away from each other.

This was, after all, a wrestling match. And both Buddy and Rud were ready to get it on.

DING DING DING!

Buddy Saxon and Rud Albion stared each other down, before exchanging a knowing nod. It seemed both men, now friends after last week's happenings, were on the same page with each other: go for the win, don't hold back. And as the two men started to circle each other, Buddy Saxon was thinking he definitely needed the win.

Albion made the first approach, suggesting a collar-and-elbow tie-up. Saxon stepped forward, ready to reciprocate, only to get kicked in the gut! Albion followed up with a nice right hook to Buddy's jaw, prior to grabbing Buddy and sending him to the corner turnbuckle. The Bournemouth Boy reversed the whip, though, and Rud's spine collided rather violently with the corner turnbuckle.

It didn't slow The Brummie Bulldog down at all. Instead, Rud charged out of the corner and caught Saxon with a running forearm smash, drawing a nice pop from the fans. Buddy was clearly taken aback, wondering how his opponent for the night managed to recover that quickly. Rud was not in the frame of mind to give Buddy time to think, swiftly locking in a side headlock.

Albion, who actually weighed in at 223 lbs which was two pounds lighter than his opponent, had the side headlock cinched in rather tightly. Saxon squirmed and wriggled around like a fish outta water, but he wasn't able to find any opening. Hence, Buddy decided there was only one option left.

Saxon backpedalled towards the corner turnbuckle. In theory, that would mean Rud would get crushed being in the middle of the turnbuckle and Saxon, right?

Right?! No? Darn.

Rud was too experienced to get suckered into that, and midway during Saxon's attempt, the Bronze Lion violently threw Buddy down to the canvas, which drew a collective OOOOOH from the crowd. Albion was far from done, as he took a step back and dropped a knee right down on Saxon's left shoulder.

Senior referee Henry Irwonsen, watching on with a tinge of pride at two young stars getting it on and reminding him of his younger days, was quick to hit the deck when Rud made the cover;

ONE!

TWO!

TH-NO!

Albion quickly got back to his feet, stomped down on Saxon's left shoulder for a couple of seconds, before picking the Bournemouth Boy up. Buddy was favouring his right shoulder now, which of course gave Rud an idea.

He picked Saxon up into his arms and planted him right back down to the canvas in a modified scoop slam, making sure that Saxon's left shoulder hit the canvas first.

Was it pretty? Not completely. Was it smart?

Let's check with Irwonsen;

ONE!

TWO!

THR-NO!

Almost, but no dice. Rud Albion was in cruise control now, and he thought whether to apply more pressure on Saxon's right shoulder. Picking the young rookie up once more, Rud reared back his right fist, aiming for the left shoulder. But NEIN! Buddy blocked it and scored with a swing to Rud's face!

The fans popped, for whatever reason. Rud shook off the hit, and tried again for the punch to the shoulder. Yet again, Buddy blocked it and connected with another hook to Rud's face. This time, Saxon -- breathing rather heavily -- didn't wait for Rud to see whether third time was the charm. The Bournemouth Boy rapidly fired two more hooks to Albion's face, before driving his knee up into the Bronze Lion's gut.

Albion doubled over, and Saxon jumped up in the air. Elbow strike to the back of the head!

Rud fell right down to the canvas, holding the back of his head in agony. Saxon shook out his left shoulder, making sure nothing was seriously broken. Nothing was, so Saxon launched himself into the ropes and connected with a decent-looking legdrop down on the back of Rud's head, who was just about to get up to one knee.

Secretly hoping that would be enough, Saxon rolled Rud over and hooked the legs;

ONE!

TWO!

T-NO!

The fans clapped loudly, in appreciation of both men's efforts thus far. Buddy mumbled something to himself, realising that it was going to take so much more to keep his new friend down.

After getting back to his feet and dusting himself off, Saxon launched himself into the ropes once more, with Rud now on one knee. It was clear what Buddy had planned, and perhaps that was the problem; it was so clear, even Albion could telegraph Buddy's attempted push kick to the side of the head. Using whatever strength he had left, The Bronze Lion rolled forward to expertly escape the pushing kick attempting, before swivelling around and tackling the Bournemouth Boy to the canvas via a double-leg takedown!

Needless to say, Buddy was stunned. He would be even more surprised when Rud opted out of the close-range strikes and instead stood up. Not without wrapping his hands around Buddy's thighs, though.

Ewww, get your mind out of the gutter.

Grunting, Rud found the strength to lift Buddy up off the canvas. The fans were on their feet, thinking something special was going to go down. Alas, the crafty Saxon -- fearing for his life -- leaned his upper torso forward and punched Rud right in the kisser! The Brummie Bulldog staggered back, letting go for the Bournemouth Boy who landed nicely on his feet. Breathing a sigh of relief, Buddy noticed that Albion was backpedalling towards the corner of the ring, with the corner turnbuckle right behind him.

Buddy smiled. Not at the thought of inflicting damage upon Rud Albion, his friend. That was a given; both men had agreed to give it their all.

No, there was a smile on the rookie's face because he thought he'd figured out a way to keep Rud down long enough for the win. And with the fans cheering on, loving every second of the exhibition match, Buddy sprinted toward the corner and executed a modified spear... one that sent Rud crashing into the corner turnbuckle! Albion arched his head backwards, fighting the urge to scream out at the pain his back was in.

Saxon merely made sure he had a good enough grip on the Bronze Lion, took a couple of steps backwards, and let loose with a northern lights suplex! It wasn't the best-looking version of the suplex, but Buddy put a lot of force behind it, hoping that it'd be enough for the victory.

Irwonsen, who'd been observing the match very closely, was already on his knees;

ONE!

TWO!

THREEEEEEEEEEEEE-NO!

Somehow, Albion had just managed to force his right shoulder off the canvas. And Irwonsen was in the perfect position to catch the call, much to Saxon's dismay.

Buddy, however, was one determined sonnuva'gun. So, he waited for Rud to get back to a seated position, before he connected with a fierce snap kick to the back of Rud's neck! Irwonsen winced, feeling Rud's agony, and watched as the Bronze Lion fell back to the canvas.

This time, Buddy hooked the legs as he went for the cover, and Irwonsen hit the deck;

ONE!

TWO!

THR-NEIN!

Albion had to dig down deep to kick out, which forced Buddy Saxon to shake his head. Again, so close but no dice.

Standing up, Buddy Saxon put his hands on his hips and thought about what to do next for a second. Albion stirred back to life, blinking furiously. Buddy was turning up the heat, which was good in terms of putting up a close fight. Rud however silently chided himself for a couple of mistakes he'd made in the last few minutes.

While the Bronzie Lion continued to have his inner monologue, Buddy Saxon scrapped his boots against the canvas and narrowed his eyes. Rud was in a precarious position near the ropes, and that gave the young rookie another idea. Smiling, Saxon charged forwardagain... but, wait! Albion ducked and pulled on the top rope cable that was right behind him, causing the young rookie Saxon to end up flying over and out of the ring.

As the fans got abuzz with that latest twist, Rud swiftly rolled to the outside and caught the recovering Saxon across the chest with a series of hard chops, hitting four in quick succession (WHOOO~!). All Buddy could do was stand there clutching at his reddened chest, which allowed Rud Albion to grab Buddy by the head and force the rookie's face down onto the ring apron!

Irwonsen's count had reached 6 by this time, a fact which was not lost on Albion. The Brummie Bulldog, satisfied with reducing Buddy to a groggy mess, tossed the latter back into the ring and he too went back inside under the bottom rope. The sight of Buddy crawling towards the corner turnbuckle almost brought a smile to Albion's face.

Not because he had a vantage point of Buddy's arse. Again, get yo mind out of the gutter! No, Albion ALMOST smiled because he too had an idea of his own now. As he walked over and grabbed Buddy by the back of the head, though, the still groggy Bournemouth Boy twisted around and lashed out with a two-footed stomp at Albion's knee-caps!

The Bronze Lion hissed, almost being knocked down to his knees. Buddy Saxon grunted, and followed up with a drop toe hold seemingly out of thin air, and Albion found his face making unprotected contact with the canvas! Immediately, Rud rolled over and held his face in his hands. Buddy, panting wildly, crawled over to the opposite corner to get some distance. All the while, both men remained laying on the canvas... which didn't give Irwonsen much choice but to start a count.

The fans didn't want the match to end like that. So, they helped out.

"LET'S GO, SAXON!"
"LET'S GO, ALBION!

Cute, innit? In the ring, in his corner, Buddy's eyes lit up. He had fans that cared now.

"LET'S GO, SAXON!"
"LET'S GO, ALBION!

Rud Albion, still flat on his back, was now using his palm to rub his temple. The Bronze Lion must have also felt good that he had fans in the audience that were rooting so passionately for him.

"LET'S GO, SAXON!"
"LET'S GO, ALBION!

Irwonsen had reached 8 amidst all the chanting, before straightening up and taking a few steps back. Both men, now on opposite sides of the ring, used the ropes to finally pull themselves up. The fans were now clapping their hands loudly and stomping their feet with much vigour, making a lot of noise which only served to heighten the already toasty atmosphere in the Manchester Evening News Arena. The match would continue on as expected, and they were more than pleased.

Saxon was the first to regain his full vertical base, but wasted the advantage by stumbling around for a bit. Albion, on the other hand, never kept his eyes off the Bournemouth Boy, and simply waited until Buddy turned around to face his general direction.

Following which, the Bronze Lion exploded out of his corner and took his adversary down with a house-on-fire clothesline. You know, a normal clothesline... except, that it had a lot of power packed into it? Oh, never mind. The fans went crazy, and Buddy's head bounced off the canvas like a basketball would bounce off a court. To his credit, the Bournemouth Boy quickly scrambled back to his feet, only to find Rud waiting for him.

European uppercut, with authoritay~! Buddy staggered backwards, having no response. Rud shrugged and hit another hard European uppercut. This time, Saxon crumpled down to the canvas, shaking his head and wondering for a moment just what the heck he was doing in a wrestling ring. Albion didn't give his young friend any time to rest, as the Bronze Lion pulled Buddy up by the hair and reared back his hand.

Knife-edged chop? Most likely, except Buddy Saxon got his head back into the game and instinctively lashed out with a kick to Albion's knee. And another. And make that three kicks.

Rud gritted his teeth, half doubled-over and holding on to the nearby rope so that he won't drop to one knee again. Buddy Saxon found the position Albion was in ideal, shrugged his shoulders, and went for glory.

DOUBLE-ARM DDT~! That had to be it!

Although a little bit loopy, Buddy sucked it up and draped his body across Albion's chest. Irwonsen quickly joined the two warriors on the mat and counted;

ONE!

TWO!

THREEEEEEE-HAND ON THE ROPE!

Good news for Albion fans? His ring presence came into play, and the Bronze Lion saved himself by tossing his hand onto the bottom rope cable.

Bad news for Saxon fans? See above.

Buddy slapped both his hands against the canvas in a fit of frustration, before composing himself. He knew he was close to winning, and didn't want his momentum to slide away. So, the Bournemouth Boy grabbed Rud Albion by the legs and dragged him toward the middle of the ring.

A little stompity-stomp to Albion's ribs was delivered for good measure, before Buddy suddenly dashed towards the ropes. Clearly, he already had something in mind.

And that something turned out to be springboarding off the ropes and flipping backwards. Or to describe the whole sequence in two words: Asai Moonsault! Oh yeah! The fans got their cameras out, but didn't bother to take any pictures.

Why? Oh, simple.

The Bronze Lion rolled out of harm's way at the last possible second, and Buddy Saxon connected with nothing but canvas. If he was wrestling the canvas, then Buddy would have definitely been praised for that wonderful move. ANYWHO. Albion sprung up to his feet, watching as the impact of the failed Asai Moonsault saw Buddy shoot back up to a seated position on his knees, clutching his upper body and grunting in agony.

It was about to get much worse, as the One Man Revolution (he has a lot of cool nicknames) raised his leg up and went for a variation of a move than put the Bournemouth Boy down for the count two weeks ago in his match against Brandon Thomas.

SUPERKICK TO THE JAW! Saxon's head jerked backwards and collapsed to the canvas with a sickening thud, mostly thanks to the sheer force behind the superkick. Weary, Rud just flung himself on top of his adversary for a cover, and motioned for Irwonsen to make the count.

The man formerly known as Captain Ironsides was already on his knees;

ONE!

TWO!

THR-NO!

Saxon had kicked out, which brought surprised looks from Irwonsen. He was sure Albion had him that time.

Rud, however, didn't dwell on it too much. He dragged himself back up, completely exhausted by this point. Truthfully, he didn't expect Buddy to be so resilient... yet, here they were. Still going at it tooth and nail, which the Manucian fans absolutely loved.

Albion waited a couple of seconds for Buddy to start moving, before he reached down and grabbed the Bournemouth Boy by the hair. Saxon was waiting, and swatted Albion's hand away before flipping on his back and raising his leg. Albion felt a sharp pain in his lower abdomen, before stumbling backwards, realising that Buddy had kicked him *almost* where the sun didn't shine.

Breathing heavily, Buddy placed the palms of his hand down on the canvas either side of his hand and impressed every single human being watching by kipping up to his feet. Beaming widely, Saxon wiped the the beads of sweat off his forehead and locked eyes with Albion. It was crunch time.

Unfortunately for Buddy, crunch time panned out like this: charge at Rud, get lifted over and slammed down to the canvas in a back body drop, then cough uncontrollably after being pummelled by a standing moonsault.

Surprisingly enough, The Bronze Lion didn't go for the immediate cover following the standing moonsault. No, he stood back up and measured Buddy Saxon up. The Bournemouth Boy continued to gasp for air as he stood up, realising that he may have made a miscalculation just a minute ago.

There was to be no such mistake for Rud Albion, as he spun Buddy around and kicked him in the gut. STUNNER~! Well, no, actually. The Brummie Bulldog went for his own finishing move, which went by the name of... STACKED ALBION!

Which, in case you didn't know, was an utterly devastating Straightjacket Piledriver.

Albion rolled over and hooked the legs, while Irwonsen made what he felt was an academic count;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

... And yes, it was finally over.

Wolf Like Me by TV On The Radio blared over the speakers once more, and Rud Albion rose to his feet, right arm being lifted up by Irwonsen to reiterate to the fans that it was Albion who had triumphed. Rud bobbed his head up and down, scanning the fans for their reception, before shifting his gaze to Buddy Saxon.

The Bournemouth Boy had rolled himself out of the ring, head hung low in shame and defeat. He'd put forth a wonderful effort in this night, which was a marked improvement from his debut match several weeks ago against Jack Harris (not his fault that he was trounced there but moving right along). Still, Buddy was utterly disappointed.

And he walked away, exchanging a rueful glance with his friend Rud, wondering what could have been.

WINNER: Rud Albion via Pinfall

ONE DIVISION

SEVEN COMPETITORS VYING TO BE ON TOP

CRAZIEST BASTARD IN WRESTLING WANTS TO STAY THERE

KRISTINIA KAGE

ORLANDO GRANT

SHARC

ICEMAN

RORY HAYES

BOBBY MINIO

KATI

OMEGA

SCORPION FIGHTINGCHAMPIONSHIP

CHAOS – MAYHEM – DESTRUCTION

FOR QUEEN AND COUNTRY

GUANTLET HELL FOR THE ACW SCORPION FIGHTING CHAMPIONSHIP

instincts versus emotions: a primer.

"Hh. It's just about time to make history."

Z was seated on a chair in his locker-room, massaging his left wrist with his right hand. There wasn't long before Z's official in-ring debut in ACW, and Z himself was rather excited at the opporunity. A stone's throw away, bastard referee Mark Shields was watching on with some interest.

Oh, and he was drinking some whiskey. Bastard. "Indeed, Your Almighty Excellency. I bet you've got something special lined up for that Moliano douche, huh?"

"You could say that!" Z responded quickly, adding a chuckle. "And it will be rather glorious. With you by my side, I will show Christopher Antonio Moliano that it doesn't pay to make false assumptions about me.

I sincerely hope he'll show up to the ring later. The last time he was beaten up like he was last week, Christopher Antonio Moliano followed up with a less-than-rousing speech about how he was not going to seek revenge against the man that beat him up.

Get this; Christopher Antonio Moliano stated that he was a man, with hopes and aspirations of a happy and fruitful outside of this industry. He stated he was not going to sink down to the level of a psychopath.

Well. Let's just see what happens after our match tonight. I'm pretty sure he'll be singing a different tune. And I for one cannot wait for that moment.

That moment... where his eyes flicker wildly at the realisation of it all.

He will have an epiphany. And he will come to know one thing.

We humans are all psychopaths. That's where we're so different from the animal species. True story. A wise man once prophecised that animals are completely untainted and absolutely instinctual in their actions. Us humans, on the other hand, are something completely different. We've decided to forego the concept of instincts.

And we trust our emotions. OUR EMOTIONS! Over instinct. All because we're of the belief that we have nothing to fear, but our own internal combustion engine. We don't have to really fight for our survival.

At the end of the day, we think we'll be the last ones standing when push comes to shove.

Bloody terrific, isn't it?"

Z turned to look at Mark Shields, his eyes demanding a corrobating response. For his part, Shields burped loudly and rubbed the bit of whiskey that had dribbled out of his mouth and soaked his chin. What a catch.

Z sighed loudly, which brought Mark out of his stupor. "Oh, yeah. Tits and all that.

By the way, Your Almighty Excellency. I think you might have skipped over one little detail -- I ain't gonna be the referee for your match. Bishop, HAWK's right-hand man, told me earlier that I only had one match to look after and that's done. They've got some new referee handling the duties for your match.

Works for me, I suppose. I've got things to do and prostitutes to check out. I've heard nothing but good things about the tramps here. Figure I'd give them a look-see."

Z shot right to his feet, hands on his hips. The change of referees was news to him, and judging by the way he was breathing heavily, it was probably not the best of news.

Mark Shields was paying close attention now, gulping at the sight of the masked enigma walking to him. In the time he'd spent shadowing Z, Mark came to not be so fearful of the man giving him piles of money to do his dirty deeds. Hence, Shields figured he was set for a long time and could do as he please.

He thought... wrong. "I would have really liked to have known of this much earlier, you dirty scoundrel."

"I-I'm sorry?" Shields offered, unconvincingly, followed by another gulp. "I-I imagined you had everything under control. And frankly, all this traveling has me quite tired.

W-What can I do to make it up, Your Almighty Excellency?

Z was cowering right over Mark Shields at that point, glaring at the bastard referee, his eyes piercing Shields' own. Was Z about to bitch-smack the snot out of Mark Shields? That was the only thought running through Mark's mind.

Please don't bitch-smack me.

Please don't bitch-smack me.

Please don't bitch-smack me.

"I'm not going to bitch-smack you. Stop thinking about it."

Shields blinked. That was certainly a 10 on the creepy-as-f**k scale. In fact, as he looked up, Shields found that Z wasn't grinding his teeth anymore.

In fact, the masked enigma was... grinning? "And don't worry about anything. The referee change isn't critical to what I'm about to do.

I just thought you would be at ringside to record down a momentous moment. I'll get somebody else to do it.

Must go now. Ciao!"

Z spun on his heels, the back of his trenchcoat slapping Mark Shields in the face. The bastard referee almost fell out of his chair, and more importantly, almost dropped his bottle of whiskey. After recovering his precious bottle of sweet sauce, Mark Shields turned to look at Z.

But, the masked enigma had already left the room. Presumably to begin his final preparations for his match.

Shields only had one last nugget of wisdom to impart. "That masked man is f**king weird."

Oh, if only that was all there was to Z.

Iceman vs. Jesse Ramey

   

Courage 105 returned from the backstage and standing inside of the ring was the former Scorpion Fighting champion, Iceman. “First it Giveth” by Queens of the Stone Age echoed throughout the arena as Iceman stood eyeballing the fans inside the ring. The fans let their feelings be known with the presence of booing filling the arena all the way to the rafters.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is set for one fall and has a fifteen minute time limit. Standing in the ring weighing in at two hundred and twenty pounds, he is the self-proclaimed Constant of the ACW.

He is the man that has defeated your current World Champion before.

He is the man that will ascend to greatness at Legends IV by reclaiming the Scorpion Fighting Title.

He is the... only man here in this building who is not a cocksucker.

And finally, he is the man who will kicketh Jesse Ramey's butt all the way into oblivion.

HE. IS. ICCCCCCCEEEEEEEEEEEEEMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN!”

Iceman threw his arms outstretched, absolutely jubilant at his introduction. Sure, he had to slip the ring announcer fifty sterling pounds, but it was good business. The fans just continued to boo their little hearts out, wishing death upon Iceman. Iceman just smirked, even though deep down on the inside the fact that the fans were booing him was eating him alive.

Then to the astonishment of every man in the ring the fans erupted into a massive uproar of cheering. Iceman was taken aback for a moment until Jesse dived into the ring under the bottom rope and came darting at him. Iceman couldn’t block what was coming at him as Jesse smashed into him with a rolling wheel kick to the center of his head. Trent Savage rang for the bell and Queens of the Stone Age came to a close.

Ding!

Ding!

Jesse bounced back to his feet whipping his trench coat off and then he was right back on the offense. Before Iceman had a chance to get back to his feet he came to one knee. Jesse bounced off the ropes and hit him square in the center of the face once more, only this time he came crashing down into Iceman with a dropkick. The fans continued in their frenzy as Jesse was back up once more bouncing off the ropes landing on Iceman with a rolling senton. Jesse rolled over pulling one of Iceman’s leg up into a pin attempt.

1…

2…

KICKOUT!

Iceman had managed to get a shoulder up as Savage’s arm was half way from falling for the three count. Jesse smiled and wrapped his arm around Iceman’s head snatching him up in a headlock. Jesse synched in the hold grinding his forearm into Iceman’s face, but eventually the bigger Iceman was able to battle his way back to his feet. Iceman forced his way toward the ropes where he was able to break the hold by tossing Jesse off in the opposite direction. Jesse bounced off the ropes and as he was coming back through Iceman lowered his head. Jesse jumped pulling a 180 and rolling across Iceman’s back. Jesse, landing on his feet behind Iceman, grabbed Iceman by the neck and dropped him with a falling reverse DDT. Jesse was on a major roll and the fans were all standing on the tips of their toes from the excitement going on in the ring.

Jesse leaping back to his feet darted toward the ropes once more, but this time he hopped onto the middle rope and with one bounce flipped backward landing on Iceman with a twisting corkscrew senton. Savage dropped to the mats once more as Jesse lay on top of Iceman’s motionless body.

1…

2…

KICKOUT!

Iceman once again found it within himself to get a shoulder up, and it didn’t help that Jesse hadn’t even put much effort into his pin attempt. Jesse grabbed Iceman by the head pulling him back to his feet, but was met with a stiff European uppercut. Jesse staggered backwards and Iceman came in swinging, backing Jesse into the corner. Iceman laid into Jesse with rights and lefts to the head and tossing in body shots. He tried to cover-up, but the way Iceman was mixing his shots up it was almost impossible. Savage was about to step in to break things up, when Iceman pulled Jesse out from the corner and snatched him up driving him into the mats with a belly to belly suplex.

"YOU COCKSUCKER! I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!" Iceman roared at the downed Jesse Ramey.

The fans started up their hate machine again, and this only enraged Iceman more as he lifted Jesse back to his feet and whipped him into the corner. Iceman came running behind him and as soon as Jesse snapped back against the turnbuckles he was met head on with a big splash. Jesse staggered out of the corner taking a few steps and then falling flat on his face close to the ropes. Iceman grabbed his legs and placed him in a Boston crab. Jesse struggled looking for a rope, but Iceman had positioned him perfectly, even though Jesse was close to the ropes his upper body was pointed toward the center of the ring.

Savage dropped to one knee, “Do you want to give it up Jesse?” Jesse shook his head and screamed as if he were drawing energy from somewhere. He planted the palms of his hands into the canvas and lifted his body up off the mat. Iceman leaned back in the hold forcing Jesse halfway down from his press and that’s when the crowd began going crazy, stomping their feet and clapping their hands trying to pump Jesse up. Jesse let out one final cry and managed to muster up enough leg strength to send Iceman through the ropes and crashing outside of the ring.

Jesse rolled to his feet and on the outside Iceman was pulling himself back up with the steel barricade. Jesse glanced over his shoulder seeing Iceman barely making it to his feet and ran toward the ropes, bounced off back toward Iceman, and leapt over the top rope coming crashing outside of the ring and into Iceman with a suicide dive. Iceman once again fell backwards into the steel barricading his body crumpling on the mat; Jesse somehow managed to end up on his knees.

1…

2…

Savage had began his count as the fans were going ballistic; Jesse placed one hand on his knee and forced his way to his feet.

3…

4…

5…

Jesse staggered around for a moment holding his head before he grabbed hold of Iceman and sluggishly shoved him back into the ring breaking Savage’s count. Jesse rolled into the ring and back to his feet; Iceman was beginning to come to; but Jesse signaled to the crowd that he was going to end the match by raising both arms into the air; his left hand wrapped around his right wrist and then bring it down powerfully breaking the grip.

The fans were loving every minute of what they were seeing as Jesse had pulled Iceman back to his feet, grabbed hold of his arms twisted him and brought him down hard with a crossed arms brainbuster suplex, more commonly known as the Darkness Buster, but Jesse liked to call it…

the Attitude Adjustment!

Just as Jesse was about to go for the pin attempt though the unthinkable happened…

”I didn’t have to come to the ACW to become a superstar… I brought my spotlight with me.”

Vince Jacob’s voice echoed throughout the arena and “Ring Superstar” blasted over the loud speakers. Jesse stood forgetting all about Iceman and got ready for what he figured would be an attack because of his actions earlier in the night. Jesse’s first mistake was facing the entrance aisle as he was quickly grabbed by the shoulder and spun around. Jacobs took a quick step back and caught Jesse right on the chin.

Superstar Kick!

The impact from the move sent Jesse tumbling through the ropes and onto the floor mats. Savage began ringing the bell to signal the end of the match, but this brawl was far from over. Jacobs climbed through the ropes and onto the floor. He picked up Ramey’s lifeless body and whipped him into the steel steps. Jesse’s back crashed into the steps with a deafening thud. Jacobs looked blood thirsty as he walked over, grabbed Jesse by the head, and began smashing him face first into the steel steps.

The fans began chanting for Jesse, but this would be a hard thing to come back from. Jacobs picked Jesse lifeless body up and propped him on his shoulder, took a few steps toward the steel barricade, and released him. Jesse’s sternum came crashing down on the barricade and Jacobs rolled him off onto the mats. The show slowly faded to commercial, but what will ensue after the break?

WINNER: Jesse Ramey via DQ

C O M M E R C I A L S

The Battle Ensues

       

And Courage was baaaaa-aaaaack from commercials.

Guess what? The intense brawl between SVJ and Ramey? Still raging on.

As a matter of fact, Jesse Ramey -- who was being dominated by Jacobs prior to commercials -- now had the upper-hand AND a steel chair in possession, deep within the sea of humanity that were the fans of Manchester.

Ramey, now with a noticeable cut above his left eye, violently shoved the chair under Vince Jacobs’ neck and continued to thrust his neck toward the ground. Jacobs flopped around like a fish grabbing his neck in pain, Jesse jumped onto the barricade and came crashing down onto Jacobs’ with a moonsault!

ACW!

ACW!

ACW!

The fans were going crazy as the ongoing battle between Vince Jacobs and Jesse Ramey finally looked like it was coming to a head. Things were beginning to look very dangerous not only for the Ramey and Jacobs, but for the fans as well. Neither man seemed to have any regard for their own well-being; what was there to stop them from harming a fan caught in the middle of all of the carnage?

Jesse was the first back to his feet after struggling for several minutes; he grabbed Jacobs by the hair to pull him to his feet as well. Jacobs countered, though, throwing several stiff elbows into Jesse’s abdomen and then grabbing Jesse’s arm and whipping him back first into the barricade! Several of the surrounding fans winced, feeling Ramey's pain.

Winded but far from done, Jacobs began pushing fans out of his way trying to make enough room for a little speed. Jacobs darted toward Ramey catching him with a clothesline that sent both men barreling over the barricades and back on the mats below the ring.

Suddenly a massive amount of security began to spill out from the backstage area. Finally, eh? Makes you wonder what took them so long (mass gay orgy backstage? perhaps!). The fans began to boo the more security that came running out. The men quickly grabbed Ramey and Jacobs, bringing them back to their feet holding them apart from each other. The two men began fighting with the guards trying to break free to attack the other one last time. Then a booming voice was heard throughout the arena: “You two want to destroy each other that badly?”

SilverHAWK stepped through the entrance curtains, not looking pleased at all. “That’s been obvious enough over the past couple of weeks. So, here is the deal: I’m not going to let you two destroy this arena to settle this. However, we do have a show coming up that would be fitting for this battle. In two weeks, at For Queen and Country, we will see just who the better man is, as Vince Jacobs will do battle with Jesse Ramey. And considering it doesn’t look like just any normal match is going to suffice for either of you, let’s make it a little bit interesting! If you two can’t get this aggression out of your systems in a two out of three falls match then I don’t know what will. So, gentlemen; good luck in your match at For Queen and Country... but until then get out of my arena!”

With that closing comment SilverHAWK disappeared to the bac kstage area, and the security guards began to escort both Ramey and Jacobs from the ringside area. Both men growled at each other, knowing that they probably couldn't wait two weeks to get their hands on one another once more, but that had to suffice for now.

In the ring, meanwhile, there was an irate figure with a microphpne in his hand. Oh yes, Iceman had been watching the brawl unfold ever since the ball rang for the disqualification, and was absolutely livid.

"You COCKSUCKERS!" Iceman screamed, as he kicked the bottom rope in frustration. "That's right, you heard me!

YOU.

F**KING.

COCKSUCKERS!

I had Ramey BEAT. I had that mothercocksucker beat, but you two lovebirds couldn't stay apart from each other long enough for me to give that f**ker another tick in the loss column! And instead, I get the DQ loss!

WHAT. THE. F************K?!"

Clearly, Iceman was delusional. It appeared as if Ramey had Iceman defeated when Jacobs hit the scene. But hey, Iceman wouldn't be Iceman if he glossed over details like that.

Anyway, Iceman continued to seethe and flipped a couple of jeering fans the middle finger. "Oh, shut up, you cocksuckers! Why do you want to see them brawl, huh? THEY SUCK! And they interrupted what was the first match in my Road to Legends Tour! F**kers!"

Iceman continued to stomp around in the ring like a petulant child, but stopped when he heard the fans cheering. Looking around, Iceman got a bit worried. Had the almighty Vince Jacobs come back out to kick his ass?

Or worse... was another attack by the contenders from the Scorpion Fighting Division about to go down?

Iceman dropped his microphone and hissed, looking around the arena for the source of the cheers. Little did he know, Kristinia Kage had limped out from the back moments ago and was now hiding at ringside, bobbing her head above the ring apron level ever so often to see Iceman in a state of confusion.

"WHO IS IT?! SHARC?! THAT WHORE, KATI?!" Iceman yelled, paranoid as the cheers got louder. "WHOOOOO IS IT?!

SHOW YOURSELF, COCKSUCKER!

SHOW YOURSE--OOOOF!"

And down Iceman went, holding his crotch in pure agony.

Kristinia Kage had managed to slide into the ring undetected, and despite looking as if she'd been in a car accident, managed to muster enough strength to creep up on Iceman and deliver a vicious kick to the balls from behind! The fans went ballistic at that, and as Kristinia collapsed to the canvas, exhausted, she smiled at the sight of Iceman writhing in pain.

With the fans taunting Iceman mercilessly, Kristinia rolled out of the ring and limped away with an arm raised, a small measure of revenge gained on Iceman for last week. Tears streamed down the face of Cold Snap, and as he tasted them, the former ACW Scorpion Fighting Champion was surely wishing it had really been Sharc or Kati with a chair to his head.

Guess we won't be seeing any little Icemans running around soon, eh?

Years from now... they will talk about this night.

About the night when men became heroes.

About the night when men became villians.

About the night when men came close to victory

About the night when men gave it their all.

About the night where men became Legends.

Coming to you LIVE! All the way from Barcelona, Spain. Soon.

NOW... the Spirit is Fucked.

       

In the end we're all just chalk lines on the concrete
Drawn only to be washed away

BOOOOOOO!!!

For the time that I've been given
I am what I am

After the muttered words the crowd watched as Kati came out beaming with a chair in her hands. They continued to voice their displeasure as she slammed the chair onto the stage.

"Devoid" by The Devin Townsend Band kicked in, and the audience kicked into high gear, all out, balls to the wall hatred.

Trevor Wilson, the Spirit of ACW. The two-time Spirit of ACW. A man smarter than you.

The champ came out in his trench coat and shook his head slowly. He looked around at the crowd and put his hands together almost pleadingly as he looked from one section to another.

Then he stopped and unbuckled his coat to show off the title around his waist. He didn't seem that concerned anymore.

Kati joined him at his side and the two walked down to the ring. Kati traded barbs with a few fans at ringside but Wilson paid no attention. He let his helper do the dirty work as he climbed to the ring apron so he could lumber over the ropes.

Inside he unstrapped the title and laid it down at his feet so it was in perfect view of most of the Manchester crowd.

He looked around and raised his taped fist into the air to the sound of more taunting from the crowd. Kati retrieved a microphone and handed it to the smiling champion.

"A while back I said there was no one worthy to be considered a contender to my title. I'm paraphrasing here, but the point is I made that statement weeks ago and promised two men they wouldn't get a chance at the title.

Here I am. Your Spirit of ACW champion. All debts paid."

Wilson threw his head back and held his arms out to more booing from the crowd. Kati gave him a slight pat on the back and then made sure to give each portion of the audience their own thumbs-up-into-the-bird combination.

"You see I told Keller and the Cowboy they'd get no title shot from me. They didn't deserve one and they sure as hell didn't deserve a non-title match from me. The difference between then and now is history. Something I believe in deeply is the history and importance of this title.

All the statistics and records won't add up to the prestige this belt holds. Some say it's more valuable than the World title, and its lineage is certainly greater. So of course, being the faithful member I am, it's my duty to make myself the most historically significant Spirit of ACW champion of all time!"

There was no bravado this time, and Wilson wasn't quite done, but the audience was ready to tear him apart all the same.

"You see, beating those two clowns has helped me cement myself deeper into the history of this title and this company. I even paid off a debt I owed to King Fuckhead back there. You are looking at one of the greatest champions to ever set foot in this company."

Wilson bent down to lift his title up in the air at this, and took his time turning to pose for the crowd. Kati climbed to the top of one of the corners and proudly applauded the man calling the shots.

The Spirit looked down at the title and reflected at the piece of silver and leather. His smile faded and the title was strapped back around his waist.

"What's next you might ask? What's in store at For Queen And Country? I'll tell you: a challenge. I'm going to offer a challenge to a member of this roster in a match that is sure to be grueling and could very well end in the removal of this title from my waist. Something I'm sure a few of you are waiting to see happen."

One of the first times in months that Trevor Wilson was cheered for something he said. To the audience. Without being sarcastic.

"In fact, I'll give you a hint right now. This proud warrior is a member of the Scorpion division. Someone I respect deeply. You might even say she's one of my favorite performers to step inside a ring with."

Even though they didn't turn their heads, most of the audience was getting wise to the fact that they were looking at the next challenger for Wilson.

Kati just kind of smiled and looked relaxed.

"And I will give this my best effort. That I can guarantee you. From there I have plans. I have a destiny, and it ends at Legends. It ends when I end the title reign of another of our prominent members. One of the biggest, baddest, two-faced, backstabbing liars this company has ever had the displeasure of hiring."

"HAHAHAHAHA!!"

Seriously?

Apparently.

SilverHAWK bellowed with laughter as he emereged from the crowd. Much to their surprise as he passed by.

"What I find to be the funniest part of your little speech was where you kind of breezed over your next title match. You see if you really think the stunt you pulled last week was going to fly then you have got more confidence than brains. Midnight Cowboy is okay by me, and I've had plenty of run-ins with Keller, but both of those men deserve the title shot that you've slowly been avoiding."

As Hawk continued through the crowd they began to come alive as things started to come together and Hawk's point was coming clearer.

"I don't know what you had planned at Queen and Country but consider it cancelled. You're going to defend your title, one last time, against Keller and Midnight Cowboy. Whatever stipulation you plan on using for the night is up to you of course, but you will defend that title in a straight up, bell-to-bell match."

Wilson no sold the announcement but one could only imagine how devastating it was to have his plans foiled, and done so publicly.

"The amount of ducking and diving you have been doing through this whole run Wilson is a mockery of the title you are currently holding in your hands. The fact is you have a chance to become the greatest Spirit of ACW Champion in history... and you simply aren't taking it."

HAWK looked into the ring at the man with the gold in his hand.

"So I'm going to help you."

As HAWK stared a final time into the ring he lowered his microphone and looked at the angry champion inside the ring. However, if he thought he was angry now... he had yet to meet himself four seconds into the future.

'Dirty Window' by Metallica.

The arena lights flashed as the theme of Khristain Keller played around the arena... with no sign of the former ACW World Champion.

Still nothing.

Wilson looked around as Kati peered out from the top turnbuckle.

Still nothing.

And then a murmur of noise coming from the crowd.

"Hey fuckface..."

The noise came from one side of the arena, but the speech came from the other as both Wilson and Kati took corners of the ring to figure out just what the fuck was going on.

"And that smelly bitch."

That one was for Kati.

"Boo."

Keller was in the ring.

SAY WHAAAAT~!

Having crawled out from under the ring, he carried a steel chair with him and rammed it into the back of Kati as she toppled over the top rope and down onto the floor below clutching her now red raw back. Wilson turned around and immediately went into a defensive stance as he looked on at a hungry Keller, armed with a steel fucking chair. Keller bit his lip as he wielded his steel, and smashed it off the ropes to show Wilson that he meant business... Keller looked possesed as he tried to scare the Champion, but that simply was not going to work.

"You don't fuck with me Wilson... I'm what they call somewhat of a loose-cannon," Keller screamed at Wilson inside the ring but it seemed that a murmur from the crowd was still ongoing, and that’s because Keller wasn't the only person who had something to say, as Midnight Cowboy made his way down to the ring from the crowd.

The big Texan immediately caught the eye of Wilson as he was coming from behind where Keller currently stood inside the ring.

Wilson smiled.

"What the fuck do you have to be so happy about reject?"

Wilson did not reply. Instead he watched Midnight Cowboy jump the guardrail and now stood behind Keller, as he waited for a move to be made. It was now a three man stand off, but only two men knew this was the case.

Until...

MC moved.

To the other side of the ring!

Keller watched his fellow Spirit foe wander to the other side of the ring and block off any route that Wilson could have taken. As it seemed that both men now had an understanding that the fucker in the ring needed to be taught a lesson for what he had been up to. The Champion was now penned in and there was nothing more he could do but wait for someone to make a move.

And wait he did... as flashbulbs went off the entire arena were you could cut the tension with a knife.

Keller stood and looked at the weapon in his hand and decided he wanted the bruises on his hands from Wilsons cheek bones, he lobbed the chair out of the ring with a smile on his face.

"Fuck this for a laugh."

He charged at Wilson and took the Champion down with a spear as Midnight Cowboy watched on, both men flinging left and rights at each other as Wilson was on his back and Keller was in prime position. He thudded Wilson with two hard right hands before Wilson poked him in the eye and allowed him some time to squirm free.

Wilson stepped to go out of the ring until he seen the Cowboy, shaking his head with his arms crossed.

"No way pass bra'."

Wilson turned around and walked straight into a spinebuster which left him on the canvas.

Keller was now on top, again, and pummelling him with right hands as a swarm of referees began to run down to the ring to break things up, but it was Midnight Cowboy who was in first, hoping there was enough of the champion left for him at the upcoming PPV.

"Hey..."

He grabbed a hold of K2s shoulder and then soon felt the top of the King Shits head. Instinct took over as Keller throught Kati was about to attack, and as Midnight Cowboy stumbled back into the ropes Keller looked on at the man he had feuded with for the previous five weeks... only now they both had some things in common.

A hatred for the man who was now scampering out of the ring with a mashed face.

A desire for the title which he held in his grasp.

And a fierce rival now standing in their way.

As Wilson now stood outside the ring, Keller and the Midnight Cowboy now stood nose to nose, snarling and biting at one another as the referees who had previously come to break up Keller and Wilson now had to break up these two.

Two men looking to claim the gold.

One trying to hold on to it.

For Queen and Country could not come quick enough.

Chris Moliano vs. Z

   

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

Mask? In place. Trenchcoat? Looked spiffy as usual. Fingerless glove? Expensive. The fans stood up, already aware of who was coming out. Truth was, they were eagerly anticipating the next match that was coming up, after the events of last week.

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 very distinct chorus of jeers aimed at Z, which he gladly acknowledged with a thumbs up. Z then turned around and motioned for someone, apparently, to come out.

A man dressed in a black hoodie that covered his head and black jeans stepped right out, offering a contrast to Z's otherwise bright and colourful ensemble. But, the largely-Mancunian crowd did not appreciate the fact that Z's company was carrying a Chelsea Football Club in his left hand (and a video camera in his right hand). So, they jeered even louder.

Z simply clapped and turned to make his way down to the ring, with his friend following close behind. Halfway to the ring, Z spotted a young fan that was looking at the masked enigma in something that resembled awe. Z ventured over and stuck his right hand out, gesturing the young fan to high-five him. The young fan got all excited, and leaned forward to do just that...

... only for Z to pull his hand back and cackle loudly. "Too slow! Toooo slooooow!" the masked enigma exclaimed, which triggered the parent of the young fan to curse at him.

Clearly, Z didn't really care about having the crowd on his side. In fact, it seemed he liked having the fans against him. Z resumed his walk to the ring, and as he hopped onto the ring apron, the masked enigma mouthed to his escort to head over to the timekeepers table.

In the ring, Z stood in the middle with his arms up in the air. Soaking in the hostile reception, Z quickly removed his trenchcoat, revealing his heavily-tattoed arms for the first time since his arrival in ACW, and tossed his trenchcoat to his escort. The masked enigma then noticed an unfamiliar face in a striped shirt rolling into the ring with a big smile on his face.

It was undoubtedly the new referee Shields had talked about earlier. "Hi! I'm Tomaz Heinreich, the new ACW referee! I'll be in charge of this match."

"Hmph!" Z grunted back, unimpressed. "You're about to watch history unfold, Tomaz.

Don't let it overwhelm you."

Before Tomaz could even put together a response, Z's theme music was cut. The fans started to cheer.

And then, it happened.

... Oh yeah, Cocky by Kid Rock. Awesome song.

The ovation for Chris Moliano was even more awesome. Despite being beaten up fairly thorougly last week, Chris Moliano stepped out from the back with a lot of spring in his step. No doubt he was still hurting, and also having just recovered from an injury suffered on Courage 101, there was no way Chris was a 100% fit.

But to the former Spirit of ACW Champion, it didn't matter if he was only 80% fit. He was sick and tired of the masked man in the ring wasting everybody's time and making a general nuisance of himself. Chris walked down to the ring with fists already clenched, prepared for battle. He climbed up the steel steps and stepped through the ropes, never once taking his eyes off of Z.

Z didn't shy away, either, but the creepy grin on his face suggested he had an ace in his back pocket. Moliano didn't care. He was here to shake off the ring rust and kick Z's ass.

Tomaz Heinreich walked over to Moliano and introduced himself as the rock stylings of Kid Rock faded into the background. Moliano nodded at the instructions dispensed by the new referee, before allowing himself to be checked for weapons.

Z, who had not moved a muscle ever since Moliano stepped out from the back, snapped his fingers at his friend at ringside... and the man in the black hoodie aimed his video camera at the ring. Obviously, he was recording what was going to happen. Chris shook his head; more games by Z.

Satisfied with his check, Tomaz waddled over to Z and motioned for the masked enigma to raise his arms up. Z complied, and allowed the new referee to feel him up. Ewww, not in that way. Once everything was done, Tomaz looked at both competitors, then glanced at his watch and finally turned to face the timekeeper.

DING DING DING!

At last, after all the talking and glaring and checking for weapons by the new referee, it was on.

Maybe not like Donkey Kong, but ON nontheless.

Chris Moliano shifted about in his spot, unclenching his fists and shaking off the rust he felt in his fingers. It hadn't hit him until the moment the bell rung that this was his first match back from an injury he thought would take much longer to recover from.

Z, across the ring from him, continued to stare down his opponent. Waiting for Chris to make the first move. And after 20 seconds of just looking at each other, the former Spirit of ACW was indeed the first to make a move, as he took a few steps forward. Z reciprocated, and extended his left arm out.

The fans, excited at the prospect of a slobberknocker, were curious. Z was going for a test of strength? Chris Moliano blinked, unsure of what Z's game was. Still, he shrugged his shoulders and snaked out his right arm, agreeing to the test of strength. All the while wary that Z could have something else lined up.

As it were, Z indeed had some sneakery planned. Just as both men's fingers grazed each other, the masked enigma let loose with a swift pushing kick to Moliano's ribcage and backed away from his doubled-over opponent, laughing at him.

"HA! I got ya!" Z shouted, amid the din that was overwhelming disapproval from the fans. "And you said I didn't have any in-ring talent! Pah, I tell you!

PA-AAAAH! How d'ya like that, Christopher Antonio Moliano?"

Z continued to point and snigger at Potential Personified, who was growling with all the anger he could muster up. Referee Tomaz scooted over to check on Chris, who signalled that he was physically fine, if not mentally stirred just a tad bit.

Motioning for the bout to continue, Moliano stood back upright and shot Z a nasty glare, who stuck his tongue out like a petulant child. Chris shook his head in disbelief, wondering just what was going through the head of the masked enigma. The former 21wrestling and OCW superstar (that's right -- somebody remembers OCW!) decided that enough was enough. He was tired of the games.

So, Moliano advanced on Z, eager to inflict some pain. Z snapped back to focus, and ducked right underneath Christopher's attempted short-range surprise clothesline. However, as Z attempted to launch himself into the ropes, tragedy struck.

Z suddenly clutched his chest, let out an agonised groan... and collapsed to the canvas.

Moliano turned around, half-expecting the masked enigma to lash out with a kick or another punch to the throat, or something. He felt a bit slower than usual, and was already cursing himself for such a reckless attempted attack on Z. What he saw instead confused and befuddled him.

By this time, referee Tomaz Heinreich was on his knees, checking on Z's condition. The noise the crowd was making considerably lessened, as they realised something was not right. Even Z's friend on the outside suddenly stood up urgently; the part of his face that wasn't covered by the hoodie appeared to have concern all over it.

"Come on, he has to be faking!" Moliano muttered, but not softly enough. Tomaz turned around to shoot Chris a quizzical stare, dumbfounded by the accusation.

Shaking his head once more, Chris walked over to the downed lifeform of Z, perplexed over how something like that could have happened. Z had said he was ready to compete, yes? Was he lying? Or was this all another game?

The attempts by the new ACW referee to revive Z seemed to be in vain, and he stood up to look at the timekeeper, ready to call the match off.

He should have listened to Moliano. It was indeed all an elaborate act, for Z -- who had been laying face-first on the canvas for a minute -- suddenly rolled over and swung his right leg upwards, catching Moliano right in the kisser as the former Spirit of ACW Champion had leaned over to ascertain Z's condition.

And that was followed by the sweetest-looking small package that anyone had ever seen. Tomaz Heinreich, completely taken aback by the turn in events, dropped to his knees instinctively despite the outpouring of anger from the fans and counted;

ONE!

TWO!

...

THREE!

Son of a bitch~!

Cheating rotten scoundrel~!

F**king @#$%^&~!

Those were just some of the choice words hurled towards Z as he let go of Moliano and rolled right out of the ring, just as his Final Countdown theme song blared over the speakers. Chris Moliano got to his knees, his jaw dropping as the reality of the situation had sunk in.

Z, the masked enigma, had conned him and beaten him. The match was over.

Needless to say, the fans stood up and jeered the holy living hell out of Z, who dropped to his own knees on the outside and raised his arms in the air. His young friend with the video camera and the flag of Chelsea FC walked over to join Z, recording the happenings in the ring.

New referee Tomaz Heinreich was all rueful and shit. He didn't want to admit it, but he too had been duped. And thus, he'd counted Z to his first victory of his ACW career, which was dripping with taint. Chris Moliano, on the other hand, remained completely flabbergasted. He was unable to process what had happened.

On the outside, Z barked to Moliano to get his attention, before tapping his right index finger against his mask-sheltered head. Moliano's nostrils flared and his fists trembled with rage.

He'd been duped. Swindled. Bamboozled.

"I beat you, Christopher Antonio Moliano!" Z hollered jubilantly. "I beat you!

One. Two. Three!

I. BEAT. YOU! And there's no denying it. I have it alllll on tape.

See you when I see you...

... sucker! Ha-ha-ha!"

And with those parting words, Z stood back up to his feet, basking in the glory of his win. He waved goodbye to Moliano and turned around, making a swift exit with his friend in tow.

All that was left for Christopher Antonio Moliano to do was reflect on Z's final word.

Sucker.

WINNER: Z

Open Forum II

This was quickly becoming Jesse Ramey favorite place to be throughout the entire ACW arena set-up. When you didn’t have a nagging interviewer or anyone else like Shawn Jessica Hart in the picture the interview space was a nice place to vent. As far as you were concerned it was like a confessional box, and the only person listen was yourself and the Lord almighty. Only this confessional didn’t come equipped with one of those annoying boy raping priests telling you to drink five fifths of wine and do a hundred Hail Mary’s to save your soul.

Jesse Ramey for the second week in a row found himself alone at the interview section. Tonight he seemed to be worn out, and the obvious effects of his brawl with “Superstar” Vince Jacobs were showing with a black eye that was beginning to show. “Tonight Vince,” Jesse smiled, “you finally came out of that shell enough to accomplish something. Despite the fact that I came out during your match and did nothing, you actually grew a set of balls. Instead of doing the same thing that I would have done, you decided to one up me. You got involved!”

Jesse’s smile began to grow, as did the bruise on his face, “This is how things need to be if you plan on getting anything in this sport. You’ve got to stop letting your brain tell you what do and just go off of gut instinct. Tonight, you did just that, while inside of that head you were battling your own self debating on if what you were doing was the right decision. You gave into your aggressive heart, which was telling you that you needed to rip my head off. That this man standing in the ring was the reason you lost your match tonight, and that you needed to seek some measure of vengeance.”

“I applaud you Vince,” Jesse began to clap his hands; “I know how hard it must have been. Considering how much a cold, calculating, manipulative person that you are; letting your emotions get the best of you must have been very difficult for you.” Jesse smiled as the excitement was coming through in spades, “Now, look what we’ve gotten ourselves into with this whole mess; For Queen and Country!” Jesse’s smile began to widen, “And not only are we going to be able to grace the center of that ring in a singles competition, Vince. We’re being given the chance to shine!”

“Two out of three falls, Vince!” Jesse smiled exuberantly, “You and I are begin given the chance to go out in front of that live audience and give them something to remember. No time limit, just winner takes all! The question lurking on my mind though Vince is will you be able to give the ACW fans another epic match? Will you be able to rise to the occasion and show everyone how you came across the moniker of “Superstar”? Through all of our good and our bad,” Jesse thought for a moment, “well mostly bad. I hope, in all honesty, that you can Vince. I hope that you can put your ego to the side; or just go into this match with nothing but malice and blind rage for all of the things I’ve said to you. And give these fans what they truly deserve.”

Jesse paused a long time, and then smiled once more, “The Vince Jacobs that deserves to be inducted into the ACW Hall of Fame. In closing, I guess this will be the last time you get to see me Vince before Queen and Country; so take it in. Let the fire continue to burn every time you see the image of my face; because in all honesty we all know that you’re not going to put your ego away for any amount of time. So just keep soaking in this face and I will see at For Queen and Country, may the best man win.”

Jesse smiled one final time before exiting the view of the camera. With the animosity that Vince Jacobs and Jesse Ramey shared for one another their next encounter was sure to be an epic.

What would you go to war for?

Money?

Alias can be seen fighting Trey Vincent, then the Heirs of Wrestling and Omega in quick succession.

Power?

Trevor Wilson can be seen entering himself into the #1 contenders match for his Spirit of ACW.

Respect?

Jesse Ramey can be seen standing nose to nose with Superstar Vince Jacobs.

Bloodlust?

The bloody, triumphant face of Omega is shown, before smash cuts of him being attacked by more or less his entire division, follows.

Legacy?

Superstar Vince Jacobs is shown preaching about not being entered into the Hall of Fame.

For Revenge?

John Sarsgaard is seen mouthing, “You’re on, Jack. I’ll see you in London!”

Redemption?

Keith Scott Zimmerman is seen… helping Alias against Trey Vincent’s evil? Before finally being spinebustered by TV.

Lady Gaga?

Shawn Jessica is shown in a myriad of different flashy outfits, we’re talking dozens in a quick succession of still shots.

Go.

Flashes of the rest of the ACW roster are shown, including the SOBs, the PCP, Sharc, Z, Midnight Cowboy, Chris Moliano, new signee Bobby Minio and Khristian Keller, among others.

Go to war.

You want something epic? You got it.

Dear recipient,

If you have received this note and are reading it now -- congratulations!

You have been selected to compete in a very special event at the upcoming Pay-Per-View, For Queen & Country, to be held in London in a fortnight.

The event in question will be one that will require all your skills and know-how, and it will be a spectacle that will be remembered forever and ever and ever. It will be part of history.

It will officially be called:

GAUNTLET HELL FOR THE ACW SCORPION FIGHTING CHAMPIONSHIP!

Omega, the current Champion, has lived up to his tag as the craziest bastard in professional wrestling and has agreed to defend his title belt against seven like-minded individuals as announced earlier on the show. You are one of them.

The full details of the GAUNTLET HELL will only be made known to you on the night of the Pay-Per-View itself. If you don't feel comfortable about that, speak up... and the next better player will be invited in your place.

If this is something you'd like to be part of, you know what to do.

Show up. Get ready.

And fight like you've never fought before in your lives.

Good luck!--

Rory Hayes looked at the letter in his hand and sniggered. He'd been battling the contenders of the division for months now, and while he hadn't gotten a proper one-on-one opportunity to fight for the Scorpion Fighting Title... he figured this was as good a chance as any. He'd been in ACW for so long, unable to break through to the upper echelon of superstardom. This so-called Gauntlet Hell would be just the spark he needed.

And thus, it meant one thing. "F**king about time."

This would be a fight riiiight up his alley.

--

Kristinia Kage smiled, reading over the contents of the letter once more. She couldn't quite believe it.

Two matches, two defeats. Yet she was being given the chance to contest for the Scorpion Fighting Title? Sounded too good to be true.

She only needed to attempt to sit down to be reminded of her battle wounds, however, as her lower back burned in agony. It was even worse than the time she got a tattoo in that area that many people call 'the tramp stamp region'. But that was the price Kristinia was paying for deciding to interject herself into the division.

"What is it?" her friend and ACW backstage correspondent Sally Broxton asked, pointing to the letter in Kage's hands as she stepped into the locker-room with a glass of water.

Kristinia looked up and grinned, accepting the glass of water. "Oh, nothing.

I guess you could call it a once-in-a-lifetime chance.

And for me, personally?

... The chance to put myself back on the winning track."

This meant the world to Kristinia Kage.

--

Orlando Grant blinked, and then started reading from the top again.

Was the letter for real?

Here he was, fresh off the biggest victory of his very young career over Vince effin' Jacobs. Tainted? A wee bit, sure, but that was the nature of the business. More importantly, he rebounded after the humiliating defeats to Shawn Jessica Hart a couple of weeks back.

And now, he had received a letter that could change his life. A shot at the Scorpion Fighting Title. Orlando mused to himself that while he wasn't especially skilled in the hardcore stylings of the business, he wasn't one to rule out the possibility of using the infamous Scorpion Fighting Title as a launching pad.

"This means the whole damn world to me!" Orlando muttered to himself, eyes already dancing with possible scenarios for the Gauntlet Hell.

In fact, The OG of ACW now imagined himself standing over seven bodies, ACW Scorpion Fighting Title in his hand, victorious.

And even if it was a daydream?

... It was effin awesome.

--

Iceman looked at the letter in his right hand, while his left hand was busy pressing an ice-pack to his groin.

Shaking his head, Iceman thought about who else would be in Gauntlet Hell.

Orlando Grant.

"Rookie cocksucker."

Sharc.

"Wannabe hardcore cocksucker."

Kati.

"Whore. Cocksucker. Cocksucking whore."

Kristinia Kage.

"..."

The colour of Iceman's face turned white. Not in fear, but in white-hot rage.

"TITLESS WONDER COCKSUCKER. I'm going to kick her in her vagina until she bleeds!"

Clearing his throat, Iceman went back to thinking.

Bobby Minio.

"Useless cocksucker."

Rory Hayes.

"Bitter cocksucker."

And of course, the king of the division himself, Omega.

"Undeserving cocksucker."

Iceman grinned to himself, as he crushed the letter and let it drop to the floor. His intention was to win the Scorpion Fighting Title at Legends IV. Having been invited to do so at For Queen & Country, however, presented him with a very unique opportunity, and also gave him an idea.

A very, very awesome idea. "Oh yes. I'm going to beat every mothercocksucker to a bloody pulp and win back *my* title.

And it shall be... glorious.

The Iceman COMETH~!"

--

TWO WEEKS. GAUNTLET HELL.

SCORPION FIGHTING TITLE.

Epic, ain't it?

Breach of Contract

   

From behind the door marked ‘SilverHAWK’, heated discussion was taking place.

“Listen, old man, you can puff out your chest and go all Hulkamania on me as much as you like, my client is not and will not return to wrestling for All-Star Championship Wrestling. We will go to court over this, Mr. SilverHAWK, and do you really think your company can stand another embarrassment in the face of the law? Our lawyers-” Ira Cohn’s gesticulating tirade was cut short as the camera, now inside of the office, turned to face the entering Jeremy Hunt.

The SlySports representative for All-Star Championship Wrestling stood in a dominant pose between Ira Cohn, the frantic Jade Argent and SilverHAWK.

“Now,” he began calmly, “lets not get too jumped up about something which you cannot change. Your lawyers, simply put, don’t stand a chance at getting Mr. Argent out of his contract with All-Star Cham-”

“Why don’t you just shuuuut your ug-” Argent interrupted, but was cut off by a raised finger from Jeremy Hunt.

“No, why don’t you shut your mouth for a moment. Whilst the old regime around here may have tolerated your arrogance, insolence and otherwise general rudeness, SlySports is bigger and more powerful than anybody on this planet and we hold all of the cards here, Mr. Argent.” Hunt boasted, taking a moment to step slowly around the office to stand beside SilverHAWK behind the desk.

“You see, Jade, things around here are changing. When you took your leave of absence, old man SilverHAWK here was understanding and that is very noble of him, however as I said, things are changing and you are bound by contract, and as much as you and your so-called agent here would like you bluff your way out of it, it will not happen.

“SlySports is meticulous. We have gone over every contract held by ACW with a fine-tooth comb. There is no way you will beat us in court. Absolutely not. So if you want to go to court over this, Mr. Argent, be our guests.” The executive paused for effect.

Argent looked at Cohn.

Cohn looked gobsmacked at Hunt.

“But take warning, Mr. Argent, if you do decide to go to court with this, the first thing we’re going to take is that penthouse.” An assured grin was now forming upon the lips of Jeremy Hunt.

SilverHAWK continued his disinterested following of the situation from person to person.

Argent’s jaw dropped.

Hunt continued, “And after that, I’m gonna take that title belt you so proudly drag around with you, too. Then? Well, who knows what next.”

Argent was irate, “YOU CAN’T DO THAT!” He turned to Cohn, “He can’t do that, right?”

“I…I…” Ira Cohn stammered.

“Good day, Mr. Argent.” Hunt said dismissively.

C O M M E R C I A L S

$300,000 Bounty & ACW World Title
MYSTERY OPPONENT vs. Alias ©

   

The crowd waited with baited breath to see who the mystery opponent for the Original Pulp Hero would be tonight.

Through out the night it had been made known that it was even someone that Alias, Trey Vincent, and Shawn Jessica Hart all knew quite well.

He had taken the $300,000 bounty on the Pulp Hero’s head… but the thing was, he didn’t need the money. He was doing this because it had been a while since he had stepped inside a wrestling ring. See, he had an itch and he tried to ignore… but it was just so strong.

So it had to be said that this mystery wasn't going to last long.

Circles by Incubus

The crowd roared in recognition of Scott Riktor, The Man Known as Rage. He was an LoC Legend, and while also being the first Legacy Champion, for years he was to Legacy of Champions what Silverhawk has been to All-Star Championship Wrestling.

Its rock. It’s conscious. It’s driving force.

It seemed all he needed to come out of retirement was the right incentive. See, he had been working for “the enemy” for his entire career… but he had stepped a foot inside ACW once before.

APRIL 26th, 1994

“I just want to make sure there wasn’t any misunderstandings.” Rage, or as his friends and family knew him… Scott Riktor, looked at the man ushering down the busy hallway. He had only been wrestling for less then a year but had already become something of a blue chipper commodity, “This is just a visit.”

“Boyd told me we wouldn’t be able to steal to you away, either.” Charles Dunn, the man who was ushering him down the back hallway of ACW’s Memphis house show, replied with a sly grin.

“I—“ Rage started, caught off guard, before Dunn caught him off with a soft chuckle.

“I’m kidding. Don’t worry.” Dunn continued, waving the 20-year old down, “Tom Williams is a friend of mine. Hell, he even let us know when Ironsides had left CWL, you know that?”

Rage was honestly surprised; he had always seen Tom as a real hard-ass. Then again it had really helped up to this point, “Really?”

Then again, Rage was also a big fan of Captain Ironsides. The greatest technical master of the national stage, and the United States Champion. The man, they say, that was pushed out of the CWL World title picture by Angry Angus McGregor… which was a total shame. Dunn’s voice snapped him out of his daydreaming.

“Yeah. So Black Tom is a good guy, no matter what he wants everyone to think.” Dunn said with a wink, he really was the charismatic half of the ACW ownership, “I just wanted to show you the facilities, give you a chance to meet the roster. So if you ever end your contract with WIW, you might come our way. So over there we have—“

Suddenly the pair where caught off by a cadre of individuals who, walking the opposite way down the hallway, also took the entire hallway up. None of them minded they there were pushing aside he man that paid their checqus or the total stranger that was with him.

“Outta the way, Dunder.” The Tin Angel, Chris Phoenix huffed as he puffed up his chest and practically chest-bumped the ACW co-owner out of the way. Chris’s better half, Freefall, could only chuckle as she pushed her purple bangs out of her eyes.

Rage looked to step forward to confront the Tin Angel but the other half of Vintage Advancement, Superstar Vince Jacobs, stepped between the two and hissed at Rage with a chesire grin.

“Whatcha lookin’ at, ya scrub…”

After a moment of tension, the SVJ and Phoenix continued on their way with a laugh. Rage looked to follow them, his infamous temper rising to the surface, but was stopped in his tracks by Charles Dunn.

“Hey, oh woah, don’t worry… they don’t get it. Not yet, anyway.”

Rage glared at the group, as they rounded the corner. Once they did, he shook his head.

“Yeah…” He didn’t care to have met those people, but there was someone that Rage still needed to meet today, “Is he here?”

Dunn grinned, as he noticed that love of wrestling in the young Rage’s eye. But still, he had to ask.

“Who?”

Scott Riktor stepped into the ring, and his mind snapped out of his nostalgia as his eyes caught the man that would be refereeing the night’s main event. Riktor took a double take as he jumped onto the middle turnbuckle to salute the fans. As he jumped back off, he approached the referee… I mean, the man did look something like him. He had to make sure.

“Captain Ironsides?”

Henry Irwonsen, smiled and gave Riktor a nod. He never got tired of hearing the name that belonged so much to his other life.

“Yeah.” The senior referee said as he stuck out his hand. Riktor took a good long while to shake it and take the moment in.

“Nice to finally meet you.”

Alias, however, was thinking of the last time he had seen Scott Riktor. It was NFW Season 2. The Original Pulp Hero had brought Riktor into the fold, as a friendly face. It all came to an end at NFW’s Demolition Derby, an insane match with an insane outcome… but what happened during it was all that the Original Pulp Hero could think of, as Sympathy for the Devil played.

(RIKTOR walks up to the door now connected to the whole fence structure surrounding the dune area. RIKTOR has two choices, 1) turn around and walk across the dune area minefield AGAIN…or knock down the door to get to the ‘pit’.)

RIKTOR: (leaning into ALIAS’ ear) "I never thanked you, Chris… its because of you I wrestle in this hellhole, this suicidal fishtank of psychotics on drugs…so, thanks Chris."

(RIKTOR starts backing up – SFX: BOOOOOOOOOOM! The crowd goes bonkers as an explosion sets off right near RIKTOR, and he doesn’t even flinch! He keeps backing up…BOOOOOOM! He doesn’t flinch again!)

RIKTOR: "…from the bottom…"

O’CONNOR: "Oh no…Riktor’s running at Alias! Is he nuts!?!"

(BOOOOOM! BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!)

RIKTOR: "…of my HEART!"

O’CONNOR: (over HORRIFIED screams!) "SPEAR! SPEARRRRRRRRRRRR! OHMYGOD! HE BROKE THE DOOR DOWN BY IMPALING ALIAS!"

(CUTTO: ALIAS writhing around, free from the wire…but he’s screaming like someone sawed off his leg. His ring pants are tattered, you can see a barb lodged in his leg. His body is lacerated across his chest and stomach, he starts rolling around in the dirt…possibly on the verge of going into shock.) … WATCH CRASH 50!

And as Alias stepped into the center of the ring he locked eyes with the Man Known as Rage. The Pulp Champion’s body was tense. This was a man he never would have expected to face tonight, he was very much like Alias, but certainly very different. Alias could only wait for Riktor to make the first move… instead, Scott Riktor nodded his head towards the ACW World title.

“You finally get it?”

The Original Pulp Hero had a confused look on his face, and held it for a moment but then shook it off. Henry Irwonsen raised a hand to begin to lay down the rules for the two combatants but Alias was quick to the punch. Quite literally. Forcing the bell to be wrung as quickly as possible, as Riktor stumbled back into the ropes.

DING, DING, DING

See Riktor had to have some ring rust. Even if he didn’t Alias was NOT in the best shape after last week. So therefore, the Pulp Hero had to take the fight to an opponent that he respected very deeply, as quick as possible.

Alias began to lay in a series of rights to the face, catching Riktor off-guard and knocking him into the ropes. Alias set to whip him across, but Riktor reversed it. The Man Known as Rage put his head down, and Alias leapfrogged him and kept going into the ropes. Riktor got up and turned, and Alias, coming off, leapt into the air and blasted him with a flying forearm. Alias made the cover, but Riktor kicked out quickly, before the count even reached two.

As the two men made it to their feet, Alias immediately dove for the freshly recovering LoC Legend’s knee, but Riktor was able to back out of it and spin through. They then locked up, and Alias sent Riktor into the corner with his slight size advantage. Before Ironsides could make a count, Alias whipped the long-time LoC superstar cross- corner, and followed through with a hard clothesline. Riktor was rocked, but still on his feet. Another cross- corner whip, and another clothesline.

A third cross- corner whip, but as Alias ran in for the clothesline, Riktor got a leg up and kicked the World Champion in the face. Alias, rocked, was turned around and staggered forward a step. Riktor moved quickly, hoisting himself up to the second turnbuckle and bulldogging Alias to the mat. Alias was quick to his knees, but still held his forehead with one hand. SR kept up the offensive, leaning back into the ropes and coming off quickly - dropped a leg on the back of Alias's neck.

He grabbed him by the arm and pulled him to his feet, and whipped him into the ropes. Alias came off the ropes, and ducked a clothesline. He bounded back, and Riktor leapfrogged over his head. Legend of LoC went for a backdrop, but he dropped his head a moment too soon, and the ACW Hall of Famer was able to put on the brakes and hook his body for a wicked high angle powerbomb, but Riktor fought it valiantly, with his veteran knowledge, hooking his legs behind Alias's neck, and took him down with a headscissors.

Riktor shot to his feet and began to lay the boots to Alias as he stumbled to his feet. The Man Known as Rage carelessly walked in, as Alias gave him a hard knee to the midsection, causing Scott to bend over, setting him up for a tornado implant DDT. Alias jumped to his feet, lifting his arms in the air… he was starting to get pretty damn pumped. He picked the Riktor up and executed a snap suplex... before dropping down for the cover.

One!

Two!

Riktor kicked out! This was an athletic contest between two well-trained and well-conditioned veteran competitors, and both men knew that they couldn’t forget that in spite of all the additional factors… Alias’s gauntlet of insanely tough challengers to his Championship and Riktor’s one night back into the ring, among others, that there was still a man in front of them that they had to defeat. Simple as that in all of its complications. With that in mind, Alias stalked Riktor as he got to his feet, and when the all-around assassin paused momentarily to shake some of the discomfort out of his leg, Alias pounced, tackling Riktor around the waist and driving him to the mat.

Alias began clubbing Riktor with forearm shots to either side of his face. Lesson two, take down the faster man and keep him down. Submissions where just a little ways away from this, no doubt. Alias rose up and off of Riktor and yet, the Man Known as Rage moved with no hesitation, getting surprisingly steadily to his feet. And it was with no thought for his well-being that he moved into a collar-and-elbow tie-up with Alias. The two men struggled briefly for control, but Alias’s superior strength, as they where both around the same size, combined with punishment he had already doled out, proved to be enough to allow him to take control, pulling Riktor towards him and ducking around behind his challenger before locking in a half nelson on Riktor’s right arm.

Turning so that his back was to the nearest corner, Alias launched Riktor through the air, intent on sending his foe crashing into the turnbuckle. However, it wasn’t meant to be, as Riktor had pushed off of the canvas as Alias was suplexing him, which gave him enough momentum that he could flip backwards and land a la Spider-man on the second rope, almost slipping but still luckily keeping his footing. And as a shocked Alias turned, he was met with a hard kick to the stomach.

So much for ring rust, after all.

Scott Riktor, letting go of the top rope that he had used for balance, leapt off of the turnbuckle and drove the Pulp Champion’s head into the ground with a sudden and epic crack of a leaping DDT from the top rope.

Riktor Scale

NEW WORLD CHAMPION?!

Immediately rolling Alias over for the cover, Riktor urged the senior referee to get into position, but he was still only able to get a two-count before Alias draped his foot across the bottom rope.

Irwonsen motioned Riktor off of Alias, and Riktor obliged. Staggering to his feet, Alias turned to find his opponent, only to see his faster and ultimately fresher opponent somehow miraculously on his feet and charging at him. Alias ducked, fearing the worst, but Riktor leap-frogged him. And before the more technical of the two could move, the Riktor’s superlative speed came into play, as he bounced off of the ropes and charged back, leaping into the air and landing on Alias’s neck with a variant on the Thesz press.

Alias tried to brace himself, but the combination of Riktor’s 200-plus pound frame and the momentum of his jump was more than even the weathered fighter’s muscles could stand. Having felled his opponent decisively, Riktor scaled the top rope, hoping perhaps to land the coup de grace that was necessary for him to put Alias away once and for all. When the three-time ACW World Heavyweight champion finally regained his vertical base however, he charged the corner upon which Riktor was perched, only to have the Man Known as Rage sail over his head and catch him with a flipping neckbreaker.

Upon impact, Riktor quickly rolled back to his feet and stalked Alias until he stood back to his feet, only to bring him back down with a scissor kick across the back of his neck. Further hurting his neck. This time, however, Riktor pulled Alias back to his feet and sent a boot into his stomach that kept the Heart and Soul of ACW doubled over. Pushing down on Alias’s head, Riktor placed a knee on the back of the Pulp Hero’s neck, before leaping into the air…and being caught in a cradle for a twisting fisherman’s suplex. However, Alias couldn’t maintain the cradle for a cover, due to size and otherwise stamina restrictions, and both men were forced to lie on the mat and try to regain their wind.

Alias sat up and rubbed at his neck, trying to regain the feeling. Riktor slowly rose up, too, holding his back from the suplex. Alias came to his feet and what he wasn’t expecting was Riktor’s second wind. Alias called for a test of strength, inspired by Riktor’s surely resurgent spirit… and Riktor obliged him. The two men struggled to no avail for several seconds, but then Alias’s slight size advantage once again won out, and he began to force the former member of the Cowboys From Hell to his knees. However, before that could happen, Riktor delivered a hard kick to the side of the Original Pulp Hero’s knee, sending him down instead.

Now enjoying the advantage once more, Riktor wasted no time in leering over Alias, forcing down with all his might and bending the now once again singularly World Champion’s wrists back painfully. He didn’t get this advantage often enough and was taking full advantage. A small smile creased Riktor’s face as he realized that he had this match exactly where he wanted it, but it quickly vanished in the wake of a headbutt to the solar plexus from Alias. Positioning his shoulder in Riktor’s armpit, Alias drove his challenger into the mat with a double-armed Northern Lights suplex. Bridging for the cover, Alias managed the first definite near-fall of the contest, earning a staunch two-count before Riktor could force the bigger man’s bulk off of him.

Both men were quickly back to their feet, and they began to circle one another as the Manchester crowd roared at the clinic that was underway, as each man looked for another opening. Alias quickly shot in for an amateur style takedown, but Riktor sprawled, forcing his entire weight down on Alias’s upper body. Alias powered in through it with a tight latch on waistlock, Alias executed a German suplex, rolling through and executed another one in a breathtaking variation of the traditional sequence.

Before he could execute a third suplex, however, Riktor grabbed his left arm and executed a seated switch, countering directly into an armbar. Wrenching back on Alias’s shoulder, Riktor worked the hold for all it was worth, but due to the weak way the hold was locked in, Alias was able to shift his weight quickly and release himself from the hold.

Alias got to a complete vertical base and Riktor charged and delivered a knee lift to his opponent’s chin, sending Alias back to the mat. Pulling the Pulp Hero back to his feet, Riktor went for a snap suplex, the first of three of what he called The Hat Trick, but Alias blocked with his foot and pushed away, countering with a twisting belly-to-belly suplex of his own. Alias went for the cover from it but didn’t hook the leg of his challenger.

One!

Two!

Th-No!

Yeah, you know he should have hooked that leg. Hindsight is 20/20, I suppose. The crowd was very much behind Alias, but still surprisingly behind Riktor. With Riktor down, Alias had an upper hand. Still clutching his neck, Alias picked the Riktor up, and locked him for a Dragon suplex. He nailed the move, tossing Riktor back quite a few feet in the process on the roll afterwards. Alias lifted his body up and slumped towards the man who had been specifically picked for to make $300,000 from Trey Vincent if he could defeat Alias. He made a cover.

One.

Two.

...

Three!

...

No dice, at least not yet. $300, 000 and a World Championship still in play.

Riktor kicked out, despite what Alias thought was a slow count. Alias voiced his concerns with Irwonsen while he picked up the Riktor. He continued to talk at the senior referee while he tossed Riktor in the corner. Alias laid in some deadly chops into the Riktor's chest. The Manchester crowd yelled "WHOO!" at each chop. Ahem.

Chop.

WHOO!

Chop.

WHOO!

Chop.

WHOO!

Alias, after a few chops, whipped Riktor across the ring. Riktor hit the turnbuckles chest-first, and then stumbled back. Alias was waiting; he locked him for another german suplex. He nailed it, holding Riktor in the move. The two got up, and Alias picked Riktor up. He placed him on the top rope. What you thought he was going for another german? He’s already gone and done that foo! Alias was going to try something dangerous.

Alias climbed to the top second rope, and started locking the Riktor in for a super fall-away slam. However, the Man Known as Rage seemed to have woken up during this time. He began to hit the Original Pulp Hero with various rights. Alias, who didn't like this, began to hit back. However, Riktor got the upper hand, as he pushed Alias off the second rope. Alias fell off, landing on his back. Scott readied himself… then flew off the top with a 360 splash. However, Alias was waiting.

He rotated as Riktor hit him and countered it into a small package.

One!

Two!

Thre-No!

The LoC Legend once again kicked out at the last possible second, sending the electric English crowd into a wall of cheers. The two battered warriors got to their feet and once again sized each other up. Scott Riktor smiled, before growling.

“You finally got it.”

“Thank you.” Alias coughed, in reply.

Tonight had been a rough and tumble 17 straight minutes between the two ring warriors. It was then that Riktor took the quick advantage with a kick to the gut, but Alias countered that by sweeping Riktor’s feet from under him.

Riktor was back up in a flash however, and just in time to duck a hard clothesline from Alias. Now behind Alias, Riktor applied a full nelson and lifted Alias straight up, only to have him fall back forward and throw Riktor over with a well-executed arm drag. Riktor, though, was still not all too far gone, and rolled back to his feet. He rushed Alias once more, and reacted instinctively once again with a side kick, only to have Alias catch it and lock him up for a leg capture suplex.

Riktor went up and over, landing on his back once more tonight. Thinking on his feet, Alias pulled Riktor up and grabbed a hold of his waist. The challenger ran forward, towards the rope trying to break the waistlock but Alias held on and rolled out backwards. He was quick onto his feet, and Riktor charged. He was kicked in the stomach.

A-BOMB!

Reversed!

THE FINISHING TOUCH!

Alias reversed that! Then the Pulp Hero sent another harsh knee in Riktor’s gut, he had just taken away Riktor’s last effort… so Alias had to set up the Anarchy’s Lullaby. How about…

High Angle Powerbomb.

Sit-down with a bit of a spike on the end.

Riktor, however, wasn't going to have any of that. He wanted to go out on top. He hooked his legs around Alias's head when he was lifted up and powered him over with a hurracanrana-type move, only just not as graceful.

Stamina is a bitch.

Especially when she leaves you.

ONE!

TWO!

Wait, a hand reached out from ringside, unseen from the senior referee, but it yanked at Riktor’s hair, giving Alias the momentum to roll through, pinning Riktor’s shoulders down! Catching the Man Known as Rage completely off guard!

One!

Two!

Three!

As then saw the man who had deemed it his job, to assist the Original Pulp Hero in retaining his title.

Shawn Jessica BLEEP’n Hart!

The Original Pulp Hero was shaking his head, yelling towards the man would be facing him in just a matter of days at the For Queen & Country PPV, ACW’s first PPV in several years. Hart rolled into though, and as a shocked Riktor also got to his feet, he turned to confront SJH.

HART ON!

Evidently, Hart still had some bad feelings brewing about what had happened to his LoC Legacy Championship, after the Riktor ran Legacy of Champions closed its doors. Even if he found justice, the crowd different as a jeer slowly started to rumble his way. You know who else didn’t appreciate what he had just done? Alias. The Original Pulp Champion was quick to push the winner of the 2009 End Game away from Riktor, and the Champion and his Challenger, who were once a couple of handguns away from a buddy cop movie, where now face-to-face angrily talking back and forth to each other.

Just in time… For Queen & Country.

And just in time for…

I'm Bad by Last Vegas.

As Trey Vincent had done in opening the show, the Sports Entertainment Icon hot-dogged his way out onto the ramp. A post-main event pep talk was becoming common place from Trey Vincent. Now, the fans could only guess the Vincent would revel in the fact that Alias and Shawn Jessica Hart were at each other’s throats, before upping the bounty to $400,000.

Am I right?

Well who knows…

See, Keith Scott Zimmerman had taken it upon himself to once again interrupt a Trey Vincent talking point by slipping out directly behind the Sports Entertainer. But this time he didn’t even give him the fair warning of impending Keith, with the sweet sound bytes from a certain Seattle grunge band.

HIT MY MUSIC

Trey Vincent wasn’t going to counter Keith’s finisher a SECOND time tonight, and crumpled to the steel grates of the entrance ramp. Keith Scott Zimmerman was quick to get to his feet and stand over Trey Vincent, making that oh so sweet title belt motion with his hands before pointing out to Alias in the ring.

Alias stood face to face with Shawn Jessica Hart.

What could have been one of the most powerful friendships between two of the most divergent personalities, in pro wrestling history, had fractured.

They were both ready to go to war.

For the ACW World Heavyweight Championship.

For Queen & Country.

But would it be for $400, 000?

We would find out, for the battle was now only 14 days away.

WINNER: Alias via Pinfall; STILL ACW World Champion

F I N