A C W



EVERYTHING OR NOTHING
COURAGE 110
PALAU SANT JORDI, BARCELONA, SPAIN

Mi Oro

   

“Mi sangre, el sudor y las magulladuras, mi oro, pertenece a todos ustedes.”

Cement mixer ground words of reckless intent reverberated throughout Palau Sant Jordi, as the Barcelona crowd went absolutely bananas for the start of the final broadcast of COURAGE before the big pay-per-view: LEGENDS IV! The announce team was doing their best to figure out just who these gnarly sounding Spanish sounds belonged to, but they wouldn’t have to wait for long.

Bongos.

"Owwwww!" sayeth Sir Mick.

The place erupted in cheers, and fans jumped to their feet with the sounds of "Sympathy for the Devil" by Rolling Stones. They were ready to see Alias put up the ACW World Title for the last time before Legends IV on this evening. Or perhaps, for the last time.

Hell, it had happened to Khristain Keller five years ago.

“Please allow me to introduce myself…
I’m a maaan of wealth and taste...”

Alias stomped through the entrance, putting the crowd volume up to what Spinal Tap would call '11'. The Hero de Pulpa seemed to be not just big in Spain, but huge. They hadn’t seen him since last week, and had worried that he hadn't been alright… but then again, Alias had always seemed to be able to comeback. Even from worse then the beating he had taken at the close of last week. Methodically, Alias walked that aisle one more time, climbed the steps, and with a mic in hand he stepped into the ring.

Without saying a word, he jumped to the turnbuckle, roaring out towards the Barcelona crowd. They returned his pumped up energy in kind. After what had happened last week, they where waiting on his every word.

“I know what you want me to talk about,” Alias started with a pent up growl, “And I will tear into Trey Vincent, but I first have ta tell you something. I have always prided myself in being a fighting champion. When I first become World Champion, when I was the Television Champion, and hell, especially when I was the Scorpion Fighting Champion. But it wasn’t until these last few months that I truly found out what being a fighting champion meant. It has been five, nearly six years since I had held a World Title, the same World Title that earned its World status right here in Spain!”

The crowd roared at the acknowledgement to Spain’s part in ACW history. Alias nodded in turn with the flowing cheers of the crowd. Pushing his jacket sleeves up to reveal tattoos and taped wrists, Alias continued.

“But… I’ve been a fighting champ. Always. Bounty or not, I've gone out week after week, if I’ve got a belt around my waist, and honor in my heart, and put my life on the line to earn my position in this world. No one else in ACW has fought in more matches, or defended more championships then I have, and I pride myself in that.” The fire was now really starting to burn within the furnace that was the heart and soul of ACW.

“But I haven’t just proven the FIGHT within my Championship, oh no, Andy Sharp helped prove it at END GAME 2009 and after him Trey Vincent proved it in a steel cage!” The crowd roared in acknowledging the victory that start the whole bounty fiasco that has gripped ACW for months on end now.

“The Heirs of Wrestling proved it, as the Wolf and I chewed ‘em up and spit ‘em out in one of the biggest tag team matches of the year. Omega proved it, by giving me one of the biggest fights of my career, the crazy bastard. Scott Riktor proved it, by doing the impossible… and fighting in ACW with me, even if it were for one night only. Yes, even Shawn Jessica Hart proved it… as much as I don’t want to give that strange motherfucker more then enough rope that he can hang himself with!” Alias’s words had built to the final crescendo of angered wordplay, for the man who was once a seemingly staunch ally for the Pulp Hero.

“All-Star Academy's big dog and current United States Champion, Jack Harris, tough sumbitch that he was an all new problem for me to deal with, and he helped prove the FIGHT for this World Championship,” the Original Pulp Hero held the World title gold aloft, “Jesse Ramey proved it too, by saving my skin against Jade Argent and Khristian Keller. Sharc even helped prove it, by giving me a hell of a match, and making me fight more with the technical acumen that used to be my bread and butter, then I expected. The sadistic fuck surprised me, but he also prepared me…”

Which brought us to last week’s near epic.

“And lastest, but certainly not least, KSZ proved it just LAST WEEK. But what could have gone down as one of the greatest matches in ACW’s history, was ruined by the jealously and hubris of two men: TV and SJH. Keith and I were in a different world, fighting in a different mindset.

But then…” The way Alias was holding the mic, it looked like he was about to snap it in half.

“Every single one of you deserved better,” and what Alias would say next, would surprise even the World Champion.

“Hell, Keith deserved better.” A fuming Alias was nodding his the applause from the crowd.

“Never thought I’d say that either, but fuck it… after last week’s match, I can finally say I respect Keith Scott Zimmerman. What he’s done these last few weeks and what he did to me last week during our match… the man deserves a rematch. I ain’t resting till I can beat a competitor like him, fair and square in the ring. I ain’t afraid to say that either, and you know why?”

Alias pounded at the gold on his shoulder.

“Because this here proves just what I’ve been able to do. What I will continue to do. And it wasn't proven by holding people back, nah, it was made in the heat war... fighting with and against the very best.

So I’m gonna give it to fight Keith again tonight, and I don’t give a damn what Trey Vincent, and his bankrolled near-million has to say.”

Even if the Original Pulp Champion didn’t give a damn about the words of Trey Vincent, those words were going to be heard. Right after this entrance music: "I'm Bad." Last Vegas. And, of course, after the arrival of the self-proclaimed ACW Franchise Player, Trey Vincent, the man bankrolling what is easily the largest bounty in sports entertainment history.

TV was dressed in his ring gear, in addition to a T-shirt featuring a tombstone for Alias' World Championship reign, December 2009 - April 2010. Oh, and "somebody" appears to be taking a piss on the tombstone. Wonder who… And in a new development, Vincent wasn't alone. He was accompanied by three non-descript muscular dudes dressed in black security suits, one of whom was carrying a duffel bag stuffed full of big fat money. More on this in a moment.

"All Keith deserves," started Vincent, so ready to be heard, started talking over his entrance music, forcing the crew to quickly cut off his music, "is to have his throat crushed, preferably with a ring bell, so we can spared of his tired verbal tirades on myself." All the while he ranted, Vincent was walking closer to the ring, and Alias. "OH wait! That already happened, in case you missed it. You're a sick bastard, Alias. Seriously? KSZ isn't even cleared to sports entertain tonight, and you know it, so HOW DARE YOU, sir, come out here and try to look like the hero of the Barcelonian el retardos!"

Boos on parade. Vincent climbed onto the apron and stepped between the ropes followed by the three large men, who formed a semi-circle behind him, no doubt in an attempt to either intimidate Alias, or at least provide backup if Alias was feeling froggy.

"Nine hundred thousand dollars." Vincent pointed to the middle non-descript man in the trio behind him. "This is so real now that Trey Vincent had to hire moneyguards to make sure none of the ACW scumbags in the back try to get all Oceans 11, 12, or even 13 on me and rob tonight's mystery challenger of taking home a huge payday and the most prestigious championship in sports entertainment. No, you don't get KSZ. Tonight you will face a man who will give ACW the main event it deserves at LEGENDS TV," continued Vincent, showing off his giant ego as he once again substituted his initials for the Roman numeral attached to the fourth installment of LEGENDS, as if the show belonged to him rather than ACW.

"Are you fuckin' kidding me?" Alias fumed. "Week after week I've proved you wrong. Ya know, I've heard the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. So I guess if you think somebody will take this title from me tonight, then you really are crazy enough to continue fucking with me like you have!"

ROAR~!

"In fact," Alias continued. "If you're so sure that your mystery man will win that $900,000, then you should have no problem continuing the bounty, and put one million dollars on the line in the main event All-Star Championship Wrestling World Championship match-up at LEGENDS IV!"

As he spoke the words "one million dollars," the volume in the crowd rose louder and louder with every word that followed, to deafening levels by the time he had completed his sentence. Trey heard every word, and his eyes went comically wide at that possibility, while the crowd continued going bonkers for Alias' challenge.

"…" is all Trey could come up with as a response. And the crowd loved it. Alias had just turned the tables on TV and raised the potential stakes for an Alias vs. Trey Vincent World Championship showdown at the pay-per-view, adding a one million dollar payday to the victor.

"What's the matter, Trey? You afraid I'm going to win? Or do you KNOW I'm going to win tonight, go on to LEGENDS, retain this title, scar you, bruise you, break you, make you bleed buckets, take your million dollars, and leave you a shell?"

“PULPA, PULPA, PULPA, PULPA!” roared the crowd.

"NO NO NO NO NO NO NO!" The cool persona of Trey Vincent was gone, replaced by anger and fear. "None of this is happening! You're losing tonight! You won't main event LEGENDS! And you won't get my MONEY!"

"Then put your money where your giant mouth is," Alias demanded.

The ONLY SPORTS ENTERTAINER THAT MATTERS rubbed his face, trying to soak this development in and buy himself a few seconds for the wheels to turn in his brain and find himself an out.

"You know what? You have no shot at winning tonight. As a matter of fact, Ali-ass, you just gave me a great idea. Now, Trey Vincent will admit. There is indeed a .00001 percent chance that you might cheat your way to a victory tonight. So, if indeed you do win, Alias versus Trey Vincent. LEGENDS TV. World Championship. Ladder match."

Another ROAR from the crowd.

"Oh wait, did I say ladder match? I meant, DOUBLE LADDER MATCH!"

ROOOOAR~!

"In addition to hanging the ACW World Championship from a cable above the ring in one duffel bag, we will also hang this duffel bag," he said, grabbing the bag out of the clutches of his security dude, "containing one million dollars!"

"Done!" Alias grunted. After waiting for the cheers to die down just a little bit, Alias continued. "Interesting choice, Vincent. I guess you realize that you can't pin me, or make me submit. At LEGENDS, Vincent, you're going to find out that there is yet another way you can't beat me!"

Alias and Trey Vincent each took two steps toward each other until they were separated by less than a foot of space. The crowd was absolutely electric as both bitter rivals stared into each other's eyes with pure hatred. Slowly, Vincent began to raise his heavy duffel bag full of cash. Alias responded in kind, raising the gold championship strap in his right hand over his head. Flashbulbs on cell phones and cameras in the audience could be seen going off in the background, as every fan wanted to remember this moment in time. And there it was.

At LEGENDS IV (if Alias can defeat one final challenger tonight), the Original Pulp Hero would face off with Trey Vincent in the main event in a double ladder match in which both $1 million and the ACW World Championship would be on the line. In addition to upping the stakes at LEGENDS IV, this just upped the stakes for tonight. Because if Alias succeeds, he'll have the opportunity to not only end TV's dreams of becoming the ACW Champion, but also taking $1 million out of his pocket! And TV? If he doesn't stop Alias tonight, can anybody stop the dominant three-time ACW World Champion?

"One last thing, Ali-ASS!" Vincent said, after exiting the ring, safely now behind his "moneyguard" human wall. "Tonight, the $900,000 World Championship match will happen whenever I say it will happen. It could be in two minutes. It could be in an hour. It could be anytime before this show goes off the air. Hope you're ready. To lose."

Manly relationship troubles.

   

And after all that in-ring mayhem, the next stop on COURAGE 110 was backstage; specifically, in the locker-room of the one they call Air Force One. The Quarantine Boy.

Oh yes, Orlando Grant was in da hizhouse, and he was seen sitting on a bench in his quarters for the evening, with a barbell in his right hand. Orlando had a doozy of a Fatal Four-Way Match coming up, and The OG of ACW was keen on being fully and completely prepared as possible to ensure he'd walk out Barcelona with another win to his name.

However, Orlando had a lot weighing on his mind. His committments and adventures in the All-Star Academy were heating up. Travelling across continents was becoming rather taxing. His good friend, John Sarsgaard, had returned mysteriously to save his butt last week... only to disappear into the night abruptly. And speaking of that, the beast that had been beating up innocent people on the last few editions of COURAGE now had a name -- Mark Weiler. Orlando let out a low guttural growl at the mere thought of Weiler. Unfinished business and all that.

"Hey, Orlando. How's it going?"

Orlando snapped out of his daydream of beating Mark Weiler with a chair and cocked his head towards the door. A sly smile formed on his face as he registered just who his visitor was.

Putting down his barbell, Orlando shifted in his seat and extended his legs. "Man, you ever heard of knockin'? I could have thrown this barbell at ya head!"

"Ha, I would pay good money to see that!" John Sarsgaard responded, amused. "Although, I suspect you'd be better served saving your energy for your match later on. Vince Jacobs, Jesse Ramey and Sepiroth Du Luc... I can only begin to imagine what's running through your mind now."

The OG of ACW felt his own face tighten, and his smile faded away in an instant. "I tell ya what's running though my mind, playa. I keep thinkin' about how ya disappeared suddenly back in February. I keep thinkin' about how ya showed up out of thin air last week, rescuing my keester. I also keep thinkin' about how ya didn't stick around to explain anything to me. Maaaan, I thought we were tight and all."

Sarsgaard blinked. Ooooh, burn of the highest level.

Orlando stood to his feet, fists clenched for some odd reason. That didn't go un-noticed to Sarsgaard, who also took note of Orlando's sullen demeanour. It was obvious that The Quarantine Boy was upset with him.

"I, ah... I deserved that. And I'm going to tell you about everything's that up with me, definitely. I just can't do it right now, however. There're still things that I myself am trying to process!" John spoke up after a few moments of awkward silence.

Orlando raised an eyebrow and unclenched his fists. He opened his mouth to respond, but John waved him off. "Let me finish. What I'm trying to say here is that sometime in the near future, you and I are going to have a talk about what my situation is, because you are indeed very correct: we were tight. And I let our friendship kind of dissolve with my disappearing act.

However, I want to talk to you about something more important now. I'm sure you've noticed that in the past several weeks, a number of the Academy guys that have been given a chance to feature on COURAGE have been purposefully targetted by a beast of a man. And now, this beast has a name.

More importantly? Now, this Mark Weiler character... has to deal with the consequences of his actions. I feel responsible somehow for allowing him to go unchecked, and I'm going to set things right.

Are you in?"

Orlando Grant's eyes peered down, to see Sarsgaard's hand extended out in a handshake. The OG of ACW thought it over for a grand total of four and a half seconds.

Sarsgaard grinned. Orlando went 'awwww yeah' and threw in a 'ya know it' for good measure.

And in an interesting twist, it appeared as if both men -- the two peripheral figures of All-Star Academy's first season of events late last year who were beginning to come across as a teenaged couple going through growing pains -- had something cooking up for the seemingly indestructible and shadowy Mark Weiler.

Business was most certainly picking up.

SINGLES MATCH
'Zen-Zational' Zhang Tao vs. Iceman
REFEREE: TRENT SAVAGE

   

COURAGE 110 was still in its infancy, but already, quite a fair bit has gone down.

What better way to move forward then with a match, yes? Glad you feel that way. Of course, none of the thousands of fans packed within the Palau Sant Jordi expected the Chinese National Anthem blaring over the speakers to signal the start of the opening match of the show.

But that was exactly what happened. And seconds later, a whole bunch of Chinese teenagers bundled out from behind the curtains and took their place on the stage, before launching into what could only be called freestyle gymnastics. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, 'Zen-Zational' Zhang Tao was in the house.

Despite last week's not-so-stellar showing against Orlando Grant, Zhang Tao was back for another chance to impress, and judging by the polite round of cheers he got as he stepped onto the stage, maybe there was a certain charm to Zhang Tao.

Alas, his opponent for the night didn't quite agree.

SMACK!

Whazzah? Zhang Tao yelped in agony and dropped to his knees, with his troupe of teenage gymnasts shrieking and scampering away mid-routine. They weren't going to stick around and--SMACK!

SMACK!

SMACK!

"Cocksucker."

Oooooh, I C E M A N was also in the house. And having a lot of fun with 'Barb', Omega's weapon which he nicked last week after destroying the reigning Scorpion Fighting Champion and Bobby Minio with a sledgehammer. The fans were all up in arms now, jeering loudly at the sight of Iceman standing tall over the downed Zhang Tao.

Snickering, Iceman teased hitting The Beijing Zen Master with 'Barb' once more, but instead tossed 'Barb' down the ramp and grabbed Zhang Tao by his spikey hair. The jeers grew exponentially at the sight of Iceman literally dragging the defenseless Zhang Tao down the ramp and towards ringside. All the while, Iceman's eyes bulged with malicious intent.

"This is a farce! We're supposed to see a WRESTLING MATCH between these two men in the ring right now!" Renaud Cardinal screamed at his announce table.

Jimmy Reid merely shrugged in response. "Yeah, what a shame. In other news, I will be doing a thorough investigation of how you, Renauld, have shed your sexy French accent for a more stereotypical American twang. Did it happen organically? Or were you coached? Join me, folks, in a feature presentation -- THE TRUTH BEHIND RENAUD CARDINAL'S CHANGING SPEECH PATTERNS! Only on SlySports, natch."

... Yeeeaaah, that's going to get huge ratings.

Anyway, back to the story at hand. Iceman had dumped Zhang Tao into the ring, retrieved 'Barb' and threatened to hit a few of the fans in the front-row with the weapon. Naturally, the fans being targetted flinched, which drew sadistic laughter from the former Scorpion Fighting Champion. Some cheers suddenly started to manifest, as referee Trent Savage appeared from the back.

Alas, that only prompted Iceman to dash into the ring and put 'Barb' aside momentarily by the corner of the ring. "Get down here, cocksucker! I've got things to do and speeches to make!"

It appeared as if Trent Savage was not out to save the day, but instead perform his duty as the appointed official of the match. He walked down to ringside and nodded at ring announcer Tommy Vale, who then proceeded to call for the bell to be rung.

DING DING DING!

Would you believe the outpouring of hate from the capacity Catalan crowd almost drowned out the sound of the bell ringing?

In the ring, Iceman didn't give a shit. He'd set his sights on Zhang Tao, trying his hardest to get back up after getting hit by a steel chair wrapped in barbed wire thrice in the back of the head. So, naturally, it was a bit of a struggle. Once he did attain a full vertical standing, however, Zhang Tao found himself spun around and kicked in the gut.

What came next? Do you even need to ask?

RESPECT!

The jeering reached fever pitch by that point. Savage hopped into the ring and immediately assumed the position, but found himself surprised when Iceman didn't go for the immediate cover.

Nope. Iceman instead decided to pick Zhang Tao up, and proceeded to give the Beijing Zen Master investment tips for the future.

... Uhhh, whoops. No, sorry. It was just another execution of RESPECT!

This time, Iceman dropped to his knees, hooked both of Zhang Tao's legs, and screamed at Savage to count. Trent duly obliged;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

The rock stylings of Queens Of The Stone Age immediately blared over the speakers, barely head above the ruckus that the crowd were dishing out. Security enforcers were having a hard time keeping the fans from jumping over the barricade. And all that Iceman could do while all this was going on?

1. A middle-finger to the departing and digusted Trent Savage, who never felt worse to be an ACW referee.

2. Another middle-finger to the not-moving 'Zen-Zational' Zhang Tao.

Yes indeed, Iceman was on top of the world. He was the king of the mountain (screw you Jarrett). And with a date with destiny at LEGENDS IV upcoming. Although, Iceman felt his demolition of Omega the week before probably already secured the LEGENDS victory bonus. Yup, things were going well for ol' Snap Case.

Except, of course, for the arena lights abruptly being cut.

One effin' bloodbath, comin' right up.

Just as suddenly as they had gone out, the lights came back on... and Iceman spun on his heels in the middle of the ring, anticipating some sort of ambush attack.

Thankfully for him, there was none. In fact, his theme song was still playing. Must have been a glitch! Iceman pondered to himself. Shrugging his shoulders and acting as if nothing had happened, Snap Case walked over to the corner of the ring and retrieved 'Barb'. Out of the corner of his right eye, Iceman noticed Zhang Tao was stirring to life.

Well, the good samaritan Iceman decided to offer his assistance, and he did so in the most caring way possible; he used his feet and kicked Zhang Tao in the gonads, sending the Beijing Zen Master rolling out of the ring and collapsing in a heap at ringside.

Just then, the dark clouds of hate that were swirling above the ring raining down droplets of hate on Iceman disappeared. A huge roar of cheers erupted instead, and Iceman quickly snapped his neck towards the stage to find out what was happening, just as his theme music ceased blaring over the speakers.

Omega was alive, bitches! Even with bandages wrapped around his head, Omega was growling and hurtling down the ramp like a madman, his eyes transfixed on Iceman and his precious 'Barb'. In the ring, Iceman's jaw dropped, hitting the canvas. Well, it might as well have. He figured he'd put Omega out of commission last week, and would be rolling into LEGENDS IV without having any surprises.

Well, Iceman? You've severely underestimated what Omega's made of. The reigning ACW Scorpion Fighting Champion dived into the ring, snapping Iceman out of his daze and forcing him to raise 'Barb' high up! A swing followed...

... and a miss was registered! Omega deftly ducked underneath 'Barb' and launched himself into the ropes. A stunned Iceman swiftly turned around, but it wasn't fast enough.

SPEAR~! SPEAR~! SPEAR~! Omega absolutely DEMOLISHED Iceman with a breathtaking spear, and within seconds, was pounding away at the defenseless Iceman! The fans were on their feet, going completely wild at the situation unfolding in the ring. Champion and challenger, threatening to rip each other apart two weeks ahead of schedule.

It was inevitable that Rex Silver and his team of security enforcers would come streaming out, but that didn't stop the fans from brashly expressing their disappointment.

As if almost on cue, the SlyTron fizzled to life, and the handsome mug of ACW's General Manager was visible for all to see, just as Omega and Iceman were separated from each other. And yes, Omega had managed to get 'Barb' back.

"Alright, that's IT!" S i l v e r H A W K roared as he was seated at his desk, spittle flying out of his mouth and onto the camera. "Iceman, you're god-damn lucky you haven't been fired after your stunt last week. Minio's out for good, and I don't know how the HELL Omega's even walking upright now.

Seems to me the two of you desperately want to murder each other over the strap of silver. I can't sign an unsanctioned deathmatch, but I'm going to do something else. The two of you want to make history? Fine.

SCORPION.

CAGE.

MATCH.

XXX."

The fans waited to read the translation at the bottom of the SlyTron, before erupting in cheers. Iceman and Omega shared a look, before returning their gaze to the SlyTron.

SilverHAWK was now standing up. "Lemme elaborate. Take your basic Hell In A Cell structure, with a stockpile of weapons thrown inside the structure and littered around ringside for your convenience. One way in, no way out until the match is done. And to win...

... the words I QUIT gotta come from your opponent's mouth! No pinfalls, no tapping out, no TKO. This is going to be the only way the two of you can settle your rivalry once and for all. And of course, the Scorpion Fighting Title will be on the line.

The two of you got that? Good. Now for something else; there's going to be a tag team match tonight involving Trevor Wilson and Kati facing off against Midnight Cowboy and John Sarsgaard. Consider yourselves drafted for that one, as I'm going to make it a SIX-PERSON TAG TEAM MATCH! You want to tear each other apart, you'll do it on *my terms*.

That's all. Have fun... and don't f**k up my show anymore."

With one final menacing glare directed at Iceman and Omega, SilverHAWK's visage faded away from the SlyTron. Another massive round of cheers enveloped the arena, with the fans ecstatic at the two blockbuster announcements delivered by the General Manager.

As far as Iceman and Omega were concerned? Well, they might have been contained in separate corners of the ring, but their intense staring contest was not over. Hell, if the security enforcers weren't doing a fantastic job of keeping them restrained, there would be another brawl taking place.

Just as well. It seemed rather fitting that after one last chance to beat up each other tonight, one man would finally claim superiority over the other at LEGENDS in a match that already sounded like sweet music to both men.

Iceman. Omega. Scorpion Fighting Title.

LEGENDS IV.

Scorpion Cage Match XXX.

... It's gonna be a effin' bloodbath.

A Moment of Class

   

With the announcement from SilverHAWK regarding the Scorpion Cage Match XXX at LEGENDS, many of the fans were still riled and waiting for action. Tonight was stacked with goodies in the ring, and even moreso; entertainment.

The SlyTron lit up to a nearly empty room where in the center stood Callie Urban and the Spike Saunders, collectively known as ACW’s saviors, the Entourage.

"Pip, pip, Cheerio!" says Callie, in an exaggerated Cockney accent, obviously mocking the Entourage's fellow tag team competitor England's best. "E'llo guvna, fancy a spot o' tea today?"

Spike Saunders crosses his eyes and pretends to stagger around before answering in an equally fake Irish accent. "Me name is Spike, and I be barn ta fight! Poot 'em oop, Englishman! Wait o'minute, where's me ale?"

Callie ducks under a fake swing and pretends to hit her partner in the gut.

"Take that you bloody Irishman! Make fun of the Queen, bless her!"

Spike acts like he's been mortally wounded and grabs a bottle of beer.

"No bloody Irishmen can stop us! We're the bloody English! We like ar fish and chips! There'll be bloody aggro if anyone stands in our way! No Hollywood intellectuals can stand up to ar English might! We'll send them all tumblin' arse over tit! Just after we have ar fish and chips. Maybe a chew of baccy. Least we ain't as daft as the barmy Irish."

Spike pretends to chug his beer, while really pouring it all over the ground.

"Hey now, we're the feckin' Oirish! If you feckin' tarts go telling one more spuff, we'll be be knockin' yer out with a feckin' loaf! Ya English are all a bunch o women anyway! Ya dirty cows have a box on ye like a reasonably priced tent. It barely touches the fecking sides."

Callie curls her lip up in disgust and sidesteps the falling beverage to avoid the splatter hitting her shoes. The two continued caterwauling for a moment, riling the crowd in their obvious mocking of both England's Best and Irish Spring's heritage. Then it was like a flip switch and play time was over.

Spike threw the beer bottle away and he and Callie both put their sunglasses on.

"Listen up, rejects. We don't care what culturally backwards cesspool you all spawned from. We're here on a mission. The Entourage WILL save ACW," growled Spike.

His partner folded her arms across her chest. "And if any of you try to stall this company's salvation, you'll have instantly written your Last Will and Testament. God waits for no man."

The two walk towards the camera and then past to the outside hallway while the feed cuts to another. The lovely bombshell with beauty and brai—easts, stood all duved up in front of the two Irish brothers O’Callaghan, and Darina.

“You’re looking great tonight Darina.” Remarked the gorgeous dove while admiring Darina O’Callaghan’s outfit.

“Thank you.” Was her response in tow.

“Cillian, Cavan. You two requested this match tonight against the Entourage. Many have to question why. Given the last few weeks events surrounding those two. The decimation of the SOB’s, the Abilities, Englands Best, and even the tag team champions Pop Culture Phenoms. So, why would you want to be added to that list?”

“You see,” Cavan began, “it’s not about what Entourage has done while they’ve been in All-Star Championship Wrestling. We’re not a bunch of twits, who constantly drink and fight.”

“Although, we do love to drink and fight,” Cillian butted into his brother’s speech, “but aye. My brother be right in saying that it’s not about what they are doing now. We aren’t dumb in any aspect that people would think. We’ve been around this business for a little while and we’ve been watching. We know about The Entourage’s experience as a team together in past promotions and to us this tandem has the most experience of any of the other teams in this promotion.”

“Aye indeed,” Cavan butted back in, “we feel that if we’re going to be taken seriously as a team we need to go up against established teams like The Entourage. No offense to the other teams in our division, but it just seems that you’re either green behind the ears or have just been thrown together for the sake of having more teams together. We want to fight the best, and that’s why tonight we want a match against The Entourage.”

“What’s better than going up against two accomplished singles competitors that have been able to successfully transition into one of the greatest tandems of this day and time?” Cillian exclaimed, “Me and me brother didn’t come out of the independent circuits to just fight against caliber teams we could have been fighting against on the same circuit. We want competition, and we feel as though The Entourage is that competition.”

“You do realize you could be the next hanging like my bra and panties do, right?”

The brothers O’Callaghan nodded but Darina did not. Instead she shrieked.

*SHRIEK*

A massive boot plowed into the side of Cillian’s skull, causing his head to bounce off the cement backwards to the hard floor below. Cavan was none the luckier as at the same time he found himself driven back first with a spear. His spine possibly shattering upon the impact of the cold brick mortar.

The attackers leaned down across the bodies of Cillian and Cavan. “See you out in the ring.”

Saunders dropped his right boot into Cavan’s chest, causing his legs and arms to flail up from the impact. The two then walked back to Darina. “Sweety, this is when you run.” Spoke Callie as they grew closer.

Darina scooted backwards, possibly in fear, or just minding her own safety. Jenna however, was oblivious.

“Hey you two, I tried to find you last week but I could not.” Jenna rushed up to Callie and grabbed her by the arm. “I told SilverHAWK what you asked, but he seemed rather upset. Even threatened to dock my pay.”

Urban couldn’t help but chuckle, however Saunders wasn’t in the mood and already started heading down the corridor. Callie turned to Jenna and told her she would explain how she can make it up to him later, and then she too walked away from the carnage.

Jenna bent down next to Darina. “So, like my heels?” who simply cast a confused and angered look at her before scurrying over to the brothers O’Callaghan.

A Match Made In… Well, Television, I Guess

       

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!”

Yep. In the center of the ring, none other than Tommy Vale was present at this, the final show before ACW’s fourth installment of its biggest card of the year, LEGENDS.

“PLEASE WELCOME TO THE RING AT THIS TIME… JOHN SARSGAARD AND ORLANDO GRANT!”

“Without a Fight” by Hoobastank blasted over the PA, signaling the arrival of the two standouts of the All-Star Academy, accompanied by a tremendous reception from the Barcelona faithful. Both men -- who patched up their differences earlier in the evening -- still had their respective matches to go tonight, hence why they were still in street clothes, including ACW’s new t-shirt that read “ACW: F*cking Other Feds in the A$$” now on sale at your local t-shirt stands and ACW.com (domain name still being finalised but you get the idea)! Each men had matching stern looks on their faces, but didn’t forget about the fans that paid their paychecks, slapping them with high-fives. Both men hopped onto the apron and leapt over the top rope, then to adjacent turnbuckles, taking in the crowd reception.

Once the pleasantries were done and over with, John Sarsgaard asked for a mic and was given one by Mr. Vale.

“Cut the music.”

Doing as they were told, the production monkeys in the back cut the music of The Hands of Steel as he glanced out to the crowd.

“Now, I’ll get right to the goddamn point… MARK WEILER!”

With a loud chorus of jeers, the fans gave their feelings on the enigmatic assailant of All-Star Academy’s finest and brightest over the last four weeks. Orlando Grant now had a mic, but The Quarantine Boy was in about the same mood as his best friend. He was already booked later on the night, but he was in the mood to skin his knuckles on somebody’s face.

“Big dawg, whateva the hell yo’ name is… get yo’ big bitch-ass out here NOW!”

Both men threw down their mics and paced around the ring like a pair of jackals ready to strike at whatever dared to cross their path. The fans waited with eager anticipation to see if this Mark Weiler guy was just as vicious from the front as he had been from behind, assaulting the students when their backs were turned.

No music played.

But both Sarsgaard and Grant were greeted by none other than…

SilverHAWK?

None other than the General Manager himself made his way out from the back, a slightly perturbed look plastered to his old face. With him was a black leather folder. Standing atop the entrance ramp, he looked John Sarsgaard and Orlando Grant right down as he simply looked at the parchment in hand. Both they and the crowd listened to him intently as he read straight from it.

“Ladies and gentlemen…” he began. “Tonight, SlySports Entertainment LLC is extremely proud to bring to you a match that is being added to the LEGENDS line-up in exactly two weeks from now… it will be a tag team match. In one corner… it will be the youth exuberance and burgeoning talent of our proud All-Star Academy… you’ve got JOHN SARSGAARD AND ORLANDO GRANT!”

The crowd came to life with that announcement. However, they quietened down when SilverHAWK raised a hand.

“There is more, actually. This surprises me as well. Ahem. John Sarsgaard and Orlando Grant… your opponents are not just one… but TWO of ACW’s newest stars as signed by the mega television conglomerate known as SlySports Entertainment LLC. One of them has officially been promoted to a full-time roster from the Academy and the other is a man that you are both familiar with. You will be facing off against ACW’s current and reigning United States Champion Jack Harris… and his tag team partner, and ACW’s newest acquisition from Japan… 'The Alpha Dog' Mark Weiler!”

“Pet” by A Perfect Circle.

Just as SilverHAWK disappeared behind the curtains appearing a bit disgruntled at the news he himself had delivered, out came none other than the source of the All-Star Academy student’s woes. Out from the curtains, decked out in a black leather jacket, red muscle shirt and black jeans was none other than the snarling beast himself. The creature known as Mark Weiler stood tall and proud, snarling and looking ready to strike.

Behind him, looking just as monstrous was none other than a man the fans were already familiar with. Newly-promoted to the full-time ACW roster despite still being the main man of the All-Star Academy. The Pikey Madman himself… the very same man that nearly won the ACW Heavyweight Championship from Alias a few weeks ago. The crowd booed the men as the music played over the PA.

As the four men stood tall, staring one another down until LEGENDS, it was clear that was going to be a fight between two radically different forces.

In one corner, you’d have the youth, the exciting energy and the athleticism of two of ACW’s great standouts.

In the other, two of the biggest and strongest monsters in ACW history, staring down their prey, with the mysterious backing of SlySports Entertainment LLC

Not a word was uttered amongst the four men in the ring, but Orlando and John did exchange looks and half-grins. Harris and Weiler? They too shared a look.

One that was easily interpretable.

Long story short? In two weeks, prepare for one hell of a war.

Potential Matches

   

“You know what it all means.”

Chris Moliano spoke and looked down at his partner Paige Allen with a strange glimmer in his dark brown eyes that would have been foreign to most. Paige was getting to know him well however, and she had seen the look before.

“I know what it means, and we both know the decision you might well be forced into making” Paige replied tentatively, before putting her hands around Chris’ neck and continuing, this time with more assurance in her voice. “Whatever you decide to do about it, you know that I’m with you.”

“I know” Chris smiled. “Perhaps that’s part of the problem. Wilson can try and do whatever he wants to me, but it’s you that I really worry about. We both remember how he had you kidnapped last time roun…”

“I was fine Chris.” Paige interrupted. “I wasn’t hurt, and if he tries anything like that again we’ll have him fired from the company. He’s lucky he’s still around as it is. This is just your job, and you’ve allowed it to become personal.”

Moliano sighed and looked down at the floor for a second. Paige understood him well, far better than any of the countless women he’d been with in the past, but even she didn’t understand. It was more than just a job to him. It was his dream, and Trevor Wilson was the maker of nightmares. Winning the triple threat match last week had put him back on Wilson’s radar once more. Firmly under Wilson’s microscope, with a shot at his cherished title on the horizon.

Perhaps Midnight Cowboy would do him a great favour and take the strap at Legends, an event for which Potential Personified was still without a match.

“I guess we’ll just wait and see what happens at Legends” spoke Chris.

Paige saw an opportunity to change the subject and took it immediately. “I take it you’ve not heard anything from that Z?”

“No. I know he’s here tonight though, and something tells me that by the time the night is through, I’ll have my own match in place for Legends.” Chris’ smile returned as he spoke, until he was beaming back at Paige with his pearly whites on show.

“The guy’s been running from you since day one, what makes you so sure he’ll accept your challenge now?” quizzed the ACW referee.

“Oh I’m almost certain that he won’t accept my challenge dear, but you can be sure that I’ll accept *his*. Now I gotta fly, catch you in a bit.”

With that Moliano planted a kiss atop Paige’s head and walked away still beaming, leaving Paige more than a little curious about what he might have in mind…and whether or not she should be worried.

SCORPION FIGHTING RULES
Sven Avsbern vs. Kristinia Kage
REFEREE: MARK SHIELDS

   

Welcome back from the commercials. You comfortable? Good.

CUE UP: War Machine by AC/DC. And out came The Swedish War Machine himself, more commonly known as Sven Avsbern. The reaction he received? Not all that pleasant, but Sven didn't care. A yellow sleeveless tanktop went nicely with his baggy black jeans and black boots. Reaching into the side-pocket of his jeans, Sven pulled out a small plastic bottle, carefully removed the cap and popped a few pills of some sort into his mouth. He gulped 'em down and smiled at the crowd, walking down to the ring as he did so. Once reaching ringside area, Sven placed his bottle of pills back into the side-pocket of his jeans and rolled into the ring.

Last week, what was supposed to be a friendly fight with a friend from many years ago and the daughter of someone Sven knew deeply on a personal level turned ugly. Why? Because that's the bottomlin... uhhh, because Sven is a tough mofo who decides on his own terms how he wants to do things. Recognise!

The one and only bastard referee Mark Shields was already in the ring for the second match of COURAGE 110 and his first of the evening. He didn't even bother acknowledging Sven, and the latter in kind didn't give a flying fiddlestick about Shields. As far as Sven The Hardcore was concerned, this rematch of sorts was meant to be a quick affair. His opponent would come out, try to avenge last week's loss, but end up being crushed all the same. All in a day's work for Sven.

And THEN... CUE UP: Spay by Velvet Revolver. Out came Kristinia Kage to a rather solid reaction from the Catalans. Maybe they're all fans of the booty. Whoo. Anyways, Kristinia did a little bow for the fans, herself surprised at the most positive crowd response she'd ever gotten at an ACW event. Within moments, the smile and waving to the fans ceased; her eyes had locked with those of Sven's.

Kristinia had demanded a rematch, and she'd gotten it. Last week on COURAGE 109? Not the best performance in the world, but an agreement between two professional soured and the result saw Kristinia got pummelled pretty badly. In a rage of fit, a request was made to SilverHAWK for a second chance. And there she was, walking down to the ring with every intention of making Sven pay for what he did last week. Vengeance would be served.

Stepping through the ropes, Kristinia thought about how she had yet to win a match on a broadcast of COURAGE. Tonight, by hook or by crook, would be a different night. Across the ring, Sven simply smirked. He didn't pay mind to the crowd reaction or to how Kristinia was sizing him up. In his mind, he'd already won based on what happened last week.

Shields lazily ran his eyes over Kristinia, then Sven, then nodded to good ol' Tommy Vale at ringside.

It was fightin' time.

DING DING DING!

Kristinia Kage cracked her knuckles and made a beeline for Sven, but The Swedish War Machine surprised everyone by casually hopping through the ropes and down to ringside. :eaving his opponent and referee Mark Shields in the ring a tad bit confused. Sections of the crowd began to jeer loudly again, but Sven merely shrugged his shoulders.

"I don't need this. I've beaten you already!" the Swedish War Machine shouted to Kristinia, prior to climbing over the security barricade. Yup, looked like Sven The Hardcore was making his exit through the sea of Catalan fans that were now pissed that they were being cheated out of a match.

Kristinia Kage wouldn't accept it, though. She had spent the night in a hospital after COURAGE 109 and the six days thereafter looking forward to the rematch. Sven was NOT going to escape. Narrowing her eyes, Kristinia too jumped out of the ring... and started to give chase! The sudden shift in the crowd reaction alerted Sven to what was happening, and he quickly turn around to spot Kage climbing over the security barricade. With a chuckle, Avsbern decided to hurry up with the getting out of dodge.

In the ring, referee Mark Shields retreated to a corner turnbuckle and lit up a cigarette. Bastard.

But back to the main action; Kristinia made her way through the fans, receiving a couple of 'accidental gropes' along the way. As annoyed as she was at that, Kristinia was more concerned with catching up with Avsbern. And then, she managed to spot the Swedish War Machine, who was approaching the exit doors further up from her.

Kage snarled and cracked her knuckles again. "Bastard's not going to get away from me!"

So, off she went, running as fast as her legs would allow her after the Swedish War Machine. The fans were egging her own, and Kristinia's own pumping adrenaline was giving her a bloodlust that she was sure she'd be able to get rid off in a few short moments. However, upon reaching the exit doors, Kage halted in her tracks.

The exit doors... appeared to be locked. With some big-ass padlocks and chains, too.

How then did Sven Avsbern get ou--LOOK OUT BEHIND YA~!

THWACK!

Kristinia was sent sprawling to the cold concrete ground, the back of her head swelling up in immense pain. Sven Avsbern stepped out of the shadows, once again having jeers rain down upon his shoulders. Fans nearby chucked some rubbish at Sven, but he easily sidestepped it while twirling something resembling a kendo stick in his hands.

"You'd be surprised by how much junk they leave lying around here. My good fortune, I suppose." Sven exclaimed at Kristinia, who was having a bit of trouble getting back up.

THWACK!

Well, that's not very nice! Sven went ahead and broke the kendo stick over Kristinia's head, rendering her unconscious at his feet. With a giant grin, Avsbern tossed aside the smaller broken half of the kendo stick and reached down to grab a handful of Kristinia's hair. Once a tight-enough grip was attained? Why, it was 'drag the bitch back to the ring' time.

"Time to drag this bitch back to the ring and finish her off!" Sven mumbled to himself, wincing as he felt the strain on his shoulders while dragging Kage down the stands and back towards the ring. Along the way, more rubbish got tossed at The Swedish War Machine. A couple of the more rowdy fans took to dumping their glasses of beer and Coke all over Sven's head. Ewww.

Suffice to say, by the time The Swedish War Machine got Kristinia up and over the barricade, he was drenched not in sweat but in a mixture of beverages. And he was not effin' pleased with it.

That feeling of being pissed only got worse as he stepped over the security barricade, for Kristinia suddenly popped up and connected with a left-footed turning kick right into Sven's throat! Seconds later, Sven found himself tasting steel; Kristinia Kage somehow managed to muster enough strength to grab Sven by the collar of his tanktop and sent him flying into the steel steps.

By that time, referee Mark Shields had finished TWO cigarettes and walked over to the opposite side of the ring, catching Kristinia throwing herself on Sven in a cover. Since it was Scorpion Fighting Rules and all, Shields dropped to his knees;

ONE!

TWO!

TH - NO!

Kristinia used the ring apron to help herself up, and aimed a few kicks to the side of Sven's head. Having wrestled with him a little bit way back when, she knew that Sven was one tough man to break down. An idea formed in Kage's head, and she smiled as she lifted herself up onto the ring apron.

King Sven? Oh, he was moving. Using the steel steps to pull himself up to a vertical base, Sven thought how ironic it would have been if he'd been beaten thanks to being tossed into the weapon he'd used to destroy Kristinia the previous week. He didn't have time to think about it further, for out of the corner of his eye, he spied Kristinia jumping off the ring apron...

... and several seconds later, a hurricarana sent Sven flying head-first into the security barricade!

¡MIERDA SANTA!
¡MIERDA SANTA!

The fans in the front rows went apeshit, and Kristinia Kage scurried over to make the cover, with Shields sliding out to get a closer look as he counted the pin;

ONE!

TWO!

THR - NO!

Yet again, Sven survived. And Kristinia was none too happy. She wanted vengeance, and she wanted to win.

Standing back up, Kristinia ran her right hand through her hair. Sven was starting to stir back to life, and the fact that there was now a tiny cut on the bridge of his own was sure to make him mad. Kage decided the best thing she could do... was to head back into the ring? Referee Mark Shields sighed and followed in right behind her, cheering up a little at the sight of Kristinia's arse.

Avsbern, meanwhile, got back to his feet and thought about roaring like a wild animal. Then, he saw Kristinia in the middle of the ring, with her hands raised up in a boxing stance.

"Oh, you've got it!" The Swedish War Machine growled as he slid into the ring and advanced on his opponent. Kristinia grinned.

And as soon as Sven got close enough to let loose with a wild right-handed swing, he felt a tingle in his groinal area. Well, it was more like a sharp shooting pain that so very nearly made him vomit. Kristinia allowed herself to laugh, but her eyes never wavered from the sight of Sven The Hardcore doubling over with his hands now cupping his crotch.

Yep, you got it. Kristinia had kicked Sven right in the balls. It appeared though that one kick wasn't enough for her.

¡MIERDA SANTA!

Two kicks. Sven felt a couple of tears stream down his cheeks, but fought the urge not to fall to the mat.

¡MIERDA SANTA!

¡MIERDA SANTA!

¡MIERDA SANTA!

Three, four, and five. Five kicks to the groin. Sven Avsbern lay on the canvas, howling like a wolf that had just been shot in the ass. Only, worse. I don't know. Anyways, the fans were going insane at the sight of Sven The Hardcore coming close to sobbing his little heart out right there in the middle of the ring.

Despite his crotch feeling as if it'd been ripped apart, however, Avsbern still found the fortitude to will himself up from the canvas and adopt a kneeling position. That didn't faze a Kristinia Kage a single bit. Proud of her five kicks to Sven's groin, Kristinia winked at her adversary before launching herself into the ropes. The fans sort of knew what was coming.

KAGED OUT!

... Which was a Shining Wizard, just FYI. Anyways, Sven was out. Kristinia had the legs hooked. Shields?

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

The fans got to their feet and cheered their nuts off, just as Velvet Revolver's Spay blasted over the speakers once more This had been a short but ultimately dirty fight between two people who seemed to want to hurt each other very badly. Kristinia rolled off of Sven and raised her arms in the air, panting heavily. What she'd just accomplished was not only a small measure of revenge, but her first win on a broadcast of COURAGE since she'd joined ACW.

Bastard referee Mark Shields had long since left the ring, and thus Kristinia did the same. For someone who was freshly victorious, she didn't seem overly enthusiastic. But Kristinia still slapped hands with a few of the fans, some of whom were babbling excitedly in Spanish over how brutal her kicks to Sven's groins were.

And in the ring, The Swedish War Machine finally came to. The small cut on the bridge of his nose? His burning and rather tenderised loins? Compared to the shock of being defeated, it meant nothing.

Except, of course, a certain realisation. "We aren't done."

Ooooh. Interesting.

Time For Gold

   

Location: Locker Room C3
Time: Just after a shitty (says the protagonist of this little ditty) Scorpion Rules Match
Staring: The King Shit of Fuck Mountain of course.

K2 cut a lonely figure as he slowly taped up his wrists and hands in preperation for his upcoming make or break match against Jade Argent.

If he lost, Argent would win the World Series and collect his title shot. If he won however, it would go to a tie, and right now nobody knew what the hell that would entail.

Keller had sat silently for the past thirty minutes pondering his night, and what it was about to become. His attention was soon on the concrete floor, as a large shadow began to encrouch his feet. He lifted his head and took a look at the man standing in the doorway of 'his' locker room which he had claimed for the night.

"What do you want Bishop?"

Joe Bishop. ACW Legend.

"Just came to see you before your latest fuck up Keller, that's all."

K2 snarled as he cut the final piece of tape on his left hand and sat back into a more relaxed manner.

"My latest fuck up? Really? That's what you are here for? You gonna give me a pep talk senior?"

Bishop strolled into the room.

"Yeah Keller. The way I see it is, at one time, years ago. You were someone that had people talking. You were someone who had people thinking. You were the guy who would defeat people before you even set foot in the ring."

Keller wanted to hear more.

"Why was that then?"

"You're were a mindfuck Keller. Pure and simple, but hey those days are long gone now huh? Now you are a stepping stone for every Tom, Dick and Harry who walk through these doors from other promotions and want to get gold."

It was around this time that Keller stood up and began walking towards the ACW staff member.

"Just what are you doing here? Get the fuck out! I don't need you to come in here cunto and talk to me like this."

Bishop laughed.

"Fuck... you take it that hard when someone says a few little things Keller, I thought you were a tough guy? I though you were a guy with a big bad past who didn't want anyone invading his space... and here you are about to lose AGAIN to someone who just walked in the door and wants to try and do what you have already done!"

THUD.

Joe Bishop was now up against the nearest wall as Keller shoved him, forearm connecting to his throat.

Bishop smiled.

"That's it Keller... give me some fucking fire!"

"I'm done."

Keller released the old man and walked out of the locker room pissed as hell. Joe Bishop it seemed had lit a fire under the Bastard King of Ages.

Now he just had to watch the whole thing burn.

A New Assignment

   

“Andrew Fiasco, have a seat.”

SilverHAWK stared directly into the eyes of the veteran. In his eyes, he saw a readiness and a sense of urgency. After all, Andrew Fiasco was about to make his ACW debut. An opportunity he had been waiting for. Andrew Fiasco sat down in the chair across the desk from HAWK.

“I saw your interaction with Matthew Sanchez last week and it got me thinking. We see Matthew Sanchez as one of the cornerstone’s of ACW’s future. We’re expecting big things from him down the line, Andrew. You tried giving him some advice last week and it looked like you might have gotten through. I think I saw a light bulb go off in his head. I think you really touched him.”

Andrew Fiasco raised an eyebrow.

“I want you to take him under your wing, Andrew. I want you to show him the ropes. Travel with him. Show him the ups and downs of the business and keep his head on straight. We’ve got too many guys that have gone bonkers because they got too involved with the rock star lifestyle.”

Fiasco nodded.

“Sure.”

“I knew you would be up to the task. Thank you, Andrew,” HAWK nodded in return.

“Thank you, HAWK.”

Fiasco stood up from his position in his seat. He did not say a word more as he walked out of SilverHAWK’s office.

NON-TITLES TAG TEAM MATCH
Manuel et la Bull vs. Pop Culture Phenoms
REFEREE: TOMAZ HEINREICH

          

"Rabbia e Tarantella" by Ennio Morricone blared over the speakers, and out came the Tag Team Champions themselves; the POP CULTURE PHENOMS! Gold pyro flashed around the entrance way as Ed stepped out, arms outstretched but a nasty scowl planted on his face. Klein came out a few seconds later, clutching his large cardboard box to his chest as usual. After having been granted the previous week off, the team ranked #2 in the WWR Rankings were back.

And judging by how Ed -- carrying the title belts on his shoulders -- was storming down the ramp to the ring, it appeared as if a non-titles match was not a glamourous-enough event for one-half of the Phenoms. Klein nervously waved to the fans, before Ed's barking forced him to scurry down the ramp. Referee Tomaz Heinreich was already in the ring, and watched as Klein won the customary game of 'rock-paper-scissors' that the Phenoms always engaged in before their matches.

Ed rolled his eyes at the fact that Klein had won, and casually tossed the title belts at Heinreich. The latter managed to expertly catch them and turned to pass them to ring announcer Tommy Vale. A grin suddenly crept onto Ed's face, and he quickly turned to face his buddy Klein.

"Oversell like crazy, I'll tell you more in a sec!" Ed muttered, much to Klein's confusion. And then, it happened.

... Well, yes, "Deceit" by Ankla did start to blare over the speakers, heralding the arrival of the second tandem in this non-titles contest. But actually, something far more critical transpired, right in that very ring!

Ed kicked Klein right in the left shin, with the appointed official for the match still trading quips with the rest of the ringside crew. Klein felt genuine pain, but the glare of his tag team partner made him holler out in agony. Ed leaned in and quickly whispered something into Klein's ear, before retreating to a corner of the ring. By that time, Tomaz Heinreich had turned around and noticed Klein grasping his shin, looking like he'd been shot with a rifle.

With Klein having sufficiently distracted referee Tomaz Heinreich in the ring, Ed snaked out of the ring and spied on the homegrown talent edging closer to the ring. They may not have been born and bred Catalans, but Manuel et la Bull were of Spanish descent nonetheless and were being heavily adored by the fans. Bull even got a couple of panties landing on his head, with Manuel looking on in obvious envy.

What kind of panties, you ask? Use your own imagination, bastards.

And speaking of that, just as Manuel and Bull noticed the commotion in the ring, Ed sprung up onto the ring steps and took flight... connecting with a flying double clothesline to his opponents! A thing of beauty, but pity it wasn't done with good intentions. All three men crumbled down to the ground, and there was noticeable jeering from the fans in the front rows aimed at Ed's actions.

"See?! I can play dirty too! It's soooooooo easy!" Ed screamed as he got back to his feet. In the ring, Klein knew Ed was up to no good and as much as he didn't like it, Klein didn't want referee Tomaz to be wise about what was going on.

Hence, Klein flat-out collapsed at the feet of Tomaz, babbling about being besieged with avian flu or something to that extent. That allowed Ed to kick away at the bamboozled Manuel and Bull on the outside; and Ed's idea of 'kick away' was to punt both men right in their respective faces.

Not very nice? Not very becoming of one half of the ACW Tag Team Champions? Wellll, Ed didn't give two hoots. And once he felt both members of the opposing team were wounded enough, Ed turned around and dramatically limped into the ring, drawing the attention of the very confused Tomaz Heinreich. Ed had enough in him to let out a fake shriek at Klein laying supposedly motionless on the canvas, and bent down to 'tend' to his tag team partner.

Amongst all of the commotion Manuel and Bull slowly began to creep back to their feet. Ed grabbed hold of Tomaz and yelled for him to tend to his partner; and as Tomaz knelt down to do so Ed slipped back out of the ring. Grabbing Bull by the ears, he “helped” him back to his feet and tossed him into the ring under the bottom rope. Klein seeing Bull being tossed back into the ring surprisingly sprang back to life slipping out of the ring and onto the apron.

Tomaz took a moment to shake the cobwebs out trying to figure out what hell was going on as Ed pulled Bull back to his feet. Tomaz signaled for the bell and Ed kicked Bull square in the midsection, wrapped him up, and planted him face first against the mat with a reverse Russian leg sweep face plant.

Contractual Obligation

Tomaz due to all of the shock and awe from what he was seeing before his eyes took a moment before falling to the mat to make the pin attempt.

1…

2…

SAVE!

Manuel had managed to slide in under the ring and dive toward Ed pushing him off of Bull to make the save. Manuel grabbed hold of the bulky Bull’s arm and dragged him toward their corner. He slipped back out of the ring, and slapped Bull across the shoulders. Ed thinking he still had the match in the bag this soon hadn’t been paying attention to what Manuel was doing, but as soon as he turned around he was caught with a clothesline of his own. A little retribution for how things went down before the match started, springboard style.

The fans were going crazy seeing the tandem of Manuel and Bull beginning to make a comeback. Manuel sprang back to his feet the best he could still slightly limping he pulled Ed back to his feet and whipped him across the ring. Ed bounced off of the ropes, came back through ducking a clothesline attempt. Back off the ropes and upon returning was caught with a rolling wheel kick to the skull. Ed back down to the mat and Manuel back to his feet darted toward the ropes and delivered an impressive running leg drop across the throat of Ed.

Ed rolled around the ring for a brief second before slipping out of the ring. He collapsed on his knees on the mats below he struggled to make his way around the ring on his knees, finding his way to the time keepers table. He snatched up one of the tag team titles and hid it very closely to his side. Klein noticing what Ed was doing let out a sigh and entered the ring causing another scene as he stepped through the ropes acting like his foot caught the middle rope and smacked face first off of the canvas hard.

Klein rolled around on the mat grabbing at his face as referee Tomaz quickly came to his aide once again. Manuel had exited the ring not knowing what in the world was going on, and as he had made his approach Ed brought the title belt square across the side of his head. He quickly tossed the belt back to the time keeper and Klein noticing Ed picking up the lifeless body of Manuel jumped back to his feet and rushed the corner where Bull was frantically trying to enter the ring after seeing his partner blasted with the championship belt.

Unfortunately for Bull he was met halfway into the ring with a massive boot to the side of the head. Ed shoved Manuel’s body back into the ring, sliding back in along with him. Not taking any chances Ed grabbed hold of Manuel’s leg and arm pulling him to the center of the ring before falling for the pin attempt. Tomaz once again in shock took a brief moment before dropping to the mat.

1…

2…

3!

The bell sounded as "Rabbia e Tarantella" blasted throughout the arena once more. The fans in attendance burst into a massive eruption of disapproval at the actions of the Pop Culture Phenoms, but tonight they stood tall once again.

A plot is afoot!

   

Rory Hayes looked at the duffel bag that had landed at his feet moments ago, and then shifted his gaze upwards.

"You... want me to replace you?" Hayes queried, his eyes firmly locked on the clearly-unstable Iceman. "For starters, I don't even like you. Why the hell would I even give your proposal a rat's ass?

And secondly, get this piece of shit duffel bag away from me. I don't care what you have inside; it could be your tiny balls for all I care, but I don't want it. I don't want you here. I don't even want to hear of you thinking you can buy my services like a f**king prostitute."

Iceman chuckled. He knew getting through to Rory would be tricky, but he had an ace. "Listen, Hayes. You're a joke. You and your gal-pal Johnny Long worked so hard to earn a shot at the Tag Team Titles on the Academy shows, and what happens? The two of you get CRUSHED by those cocksucking Phenoms in under three minutes.

F**king pathetic, if you ask me. So much for your big talk about jumping on the expressway to your due success. If anybody's about to taste sweet success around here, it's ME. I am however man enough to admit that I require a little bit of assistance... and such, I think what I have to offer is more than fair.

In that duffel bag? $50,000. You agree to take my place in this blasted Six-Person Tag Team Match, and you get $50,000 just like that. It's already more than you're making in a god-damn month, Hayes, so don't act like it's a small deal. Deep down, I'm pretty f**king sure you're doing somersaults just at the thought of being in the vicinity of that kind of money!"

The Boston Mangler bit down on his lower lip. Iceman had a point, but Rory refused to let his facial expression reveal that the former Scorpion Fighting Champ had struck a nerve.

Iceman? Not done yet, and he had a massive smirk on his face. "Now, you take over me in the match... I'm going to want you to wail on that cocksucker Omega like I know you can. I'll admit, you're a tough son of a bitch. Not as skilled as me, but then again, nobody is. The point is simple. Omega's already wounded. I took care of that last wee--"

"--Ah, hold on a f**king second there. Scuttlebutt was you were boasting all week about having ended Omega's career. From what I saw earlier, that bastard's doesn't seem to be all that retired!" Rory Hayes cut in with a clever taunt. Iceman growled and put his hands on his hips.

All week long, Iceman had gloated over his incredible beatdown of Bobby Minio and Omega. And while the former was confirmed to be on the shelf, Omega's shocking appearance earlier in the show was a mystery even to ol' Snap Case.

Now, though, was not the time to dwell on old business. "Yeah, what-the-f**k-ever. He must be on steroids or SOMETHING. Clearly. Listen, all you need to do tonight is just beat him senseless. I don't care which team wins the match. Your singular purpose is to soften Omega up even further, and you'll get another $50,000 if you render him unconscious at the end of the match.

And as a further incentive... once I beat that cocksucker for *my* Scorpion Fighting Title, I'll ensure you'll be the first person to challenge me to a title match. One-on-one. None of this multi-person clusterf**k nonsense. You and me, for the title belt. Your chance to prove that you belong in the limelight like ME.

How's that sound, Hayes?"

The Boston Mangler straightened in his chair and thought over the proposal from Iceman.

A total of $100,000 and a guaranteed title shot? It was all contingent on whether the blonde-haired man standing in front of him that had that crazy eyes thing going on could indeed do what he said he was going to do.

For some reason, Rory figured that it would in fact all pan out the way Iceman wanted it to. And as such, his response was short and to the point. More importantly, his response brought a twisted smile to Iceman's face.

"Alright, I'm in."

Point. Counterpoint. II.

   

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. And they weren't very happy about it. After all, it wasn't as if this man with the machine-gun mouth had endeared himself to the fans.

But it didn't matter if they wanted to see him or not; 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 the man, which he gladly acknowledged with a thumbs up. How he loved the sweet melody that was the

This man was none other than The Caped Crusader himself: Z

Adjusting the mask that covered his face, Z walked down to the ring with a microphone already in his hands. He shot a wink at ring announcer Tommy Vale once he reached ringside, and Vale quickly stood up to do his job.

"Señoras y caballeros! Please welcome to the ring at this time, the one and only Caped Crusader of All-Star Championship Wrestling... Z!" Vale announced with much enthusiasm, drawing an approving nod from the Masked Enigma himself.

The fans just continued to dish out the hate at Z, who quickly took his place in the middle of the ring and signalled for the music to be cut. That only accentuated how hostile the crowd reception really was, but in time, the fans did simmer down. Especially when Z raised his microphone to his pasty lips.

It was obvious to everyone in attendance and everyone watching on SlySports (shill!) that Z had a certain agenda on tap, but clearly, they were not very pleased at the prospect of another rambling speech from him. Too bad.

"Well, it has to be said. The quality of the women here in Barcelona is... abysmal. Just shockingly awful!" Z kicked off without much warning, and the reaction was immediate.

If there's one things Catalans hate, it's their women being insulted. Especially when a masked psychopath is the one doing the insulting. And thusly, the fans jeered their hearts out again, showing their utter and overwhelming disapproval at Z's words.

The Caped Crusader simply shrugged his shoulders, unaffected by the boos. "Oh, come on. Now I know why we had three of our last four shows in Madrid. I mean, seriously. Anyways, let's get down to business. In two weeks from now, All-Star Championship Wrestling proudly presents the biggest event on its calendar; LEGENDS IV. The fourth edition. And it promises to be a doozy. With that out of the way, I'd like to invite out a special somebody so that we can have a little bit of a back-and-forth discussion. After all, the last time we did this, it turned out to be quite fun. For me, I mean.

Soooo. Christopher Antonio Moliano -- come on doooooooowwwwwwwnnnnn!"

Near-instantly, Kid Rock's Cocky blared over the speakers.

That brought about a tremendous round of cheers from the crowd, for Christopher Antonio Moliano was in town.

Chris walked down the aisle looking nothing if not focused, kitted out in jeans and a designer shirt. He slapped the outstretched hands of some fans on the way before entering the ring via the steps. He walked over and shook hands with the voice of ACW in Renaud Cardinal; textbook good guy fare. Z simply watched on, eager to verbally greet his nemesis.

Hence the blinding beaming smile he shot Moliano's way once the latter entered the ring; Z was genuinely pleased to see his rival standing mere inches away as the music cut and he finally spoke. "Good to see you, Christopher. You're looking well-rested. You and Paige having a good time in this, the City of Uglies?”

Once again, the fans got all outraged and hissed at Z's words. Chris Moliano's right eyebrow arched upwards, somewhat irked at the Masked Enigma talking about his paramour... but Chris thought nothing of it and simply stared a hole through Z, not choosing to respond just yet. Z's cocky grin remained etched on his face, as he took Moliano's silence as a cue to proceed.

"Hh. I love it when you people get all riled up!" Z exclaimed boisterously. "But let's return to the matter at hand. Christopher, a belated round of congratulations on winning the Triple Threat Match last week. Good stuff, really. I was out there to sneak a peek at you in action, of course, but I also couldn't resist checking out Kati.

And my oh my, is she a firecracker. More than a handful for the normal guy... and, heh, believe me. I've checked."

Z looked down at his gloved right hand and started to giggle like a teenager, thinking back to the previous week's Triple Threat Match. He'd pushed Kati off the top of the turnbuckle which eventually led to Moliano winning the Triple Threat Match, and Z was having a ball of a time recalling how firm Kati's bum was when he did what he did. At ringside, broadcast colleagues Renaud Cardinal and Jimmy Reid began a stirring discussion on where on the hot/crazy scale Kati lay.

The Caped Crusader finally did settle down and looked at Moliano again. "Okay, I have to behave. Right, so, you're now the next person in line to gain a shot at the Spirit Of ACW Title. Judging from what you've said in the past though, I wonder what exactly will you do if Trevor Wilson beats Midnight Cowboy at LEGENDS IV. Are you *actually* considering facing him again?"

For the first time since he stepped into the ring, Christopher Moliano made some sort of physical movement as he reached around his back and pulled out a microphone from the rear pocket of his jeans. Clearing his throat, Potential Personfied raised the microphone to his lips, the fans shushing themselves in anticipation.

"I hear what it is that you’re saying, Z-Man." Chris began, just as Z tilted his heads sideways to listen to his rival. "I understand why you might ask me that question after my recent announcement back in my hometown about how I wanted no part of Trevor Wilson. If I’m being honest, not much has changed since then.

Wilson is a slimy and sadistic man who will do whatever it takes to win with complete disregard for morality. Do I want to fight a man like that again after he tried to decapitate me with a steel chair? After he threatened the well-being of my girl by kidnapping her backstage? No. However, I do now find myself as the number two contender to the Spirit Of ACW Championship, as I know you’re all too aware after your role in my match last week. So, the question is no longer about what I want. It’s more about what I might have to do.

When I signed on the dotted line and became part of ACW, I did not do so with the idea of ducking people. That’s just one of the many differences between you and I. So *if* Wilson gets past Midnight Cowboy with his title or titles as it were still in his possession, will I stand up and fight Trevor Wilson again?

Yes.

I will."

The fans exploded with much aplomb upon hearing Moliano's last few words there. Loudest pop of the night? Indeed.

Z's wicked smile faded just a tiny bit, especially when Potential Personified lowered his microphone and took one step closer to The Caped Crusader. Still, Z figured he was in control. Moliano's response was not something he hadn't anticipated, and being a self-proclaimed master strategist, Z knew what he was going to say next.

With the fans' cheers finally dying down, Z spoke up again. "Interesting. Well then, I suppose the next thing I'd like to kn--"

"--Not so fast! I’m doing what so many people have wanted to do for quite some time, and I’m telling you to shut up…pleeease!" Christopher cut in abruptly, drawing another massive round of cheers. Z's eyes widened in slight anger, the smirk on his face completely disappearing. It was now Moliano's chance to run his mouth. “You know what, Z?

I’ve been thinking a lot whilst travelling my way through Spain, and I’ve figured you out. I know what you are.

You’ve run away, you’ve ducked, you’ve hid, you’ve cheated and you have gone down without a fight. For weeks, I was wondering just what your end game was, until finally it clicked into place and I realised your problem."

And then, Potential Personified lowered his microphone. Z grunted in exasperation at his rival acting all smug in front of him, as the fans -- engrossed by the war of words developing in the ring -- further quietened down.

Realising Moliano was waiting for an invitation, Z indulged him. "Alright. What's your point, Christopher? It seems as if you have a lot more to get off your chest, so why don't you, in all your infinite wisdom, educate me and the rest of these slow Catalans here just what you're driving at. What's my problem, huh?

What exactly is the problem with me? Go on, spill!"

The cheekiest smile quickly formed across the face of Chris Moliano as he raised the microphone to his lips again, eyes locked on Z. Oh, how he was loving this turn of events. " I was hoping you would ask me that very question, Z-Man.

For weeks and weeks you’ve been running around these parts; all throughout England, Madrid and now right here in Barcelona..."

Cheap pop, baby. Eat your heart out, Foley. Ahem.

"... and you have done nothing but stand before all in front of you and claim to be some kind of deity, a wrestling icon the likes of which ACW and this entire industry has never seen before. So if that’s true, where have you been all this time? What’s taken you so long to emerge from behind the curtain with that silly mask hiding your ugly mug and make a name for yourself? Why don’t the fans support your every move in the same way they do a man like Alias? Why don’t they love to hate you and flock to see you entertain they way they do Trey Vincent? Hell, why don’t they want to see you get your head kicked in the way they do Iceman?"

Moliano looked at Z with an intense stare as the crowd popped and jeered accordingly as he spoke for the mention of each ACW star.

Z glared at the fans on his right and raised his microphone up, but Moliano beat him to the punch. "Don’t bother responding, we’re all sick of the sound of your voice. Instead I’ll answer this one on your behalf. The fans don’t respond to you because they don’t care. You still haven’t given anyone a reason to care. You haven’t proven yourself to be a great competitor; in fact you haven’t even proven yourself to be mediocre. In the galaxy of stars in ACW, you are nowhere.

All this time you’ve been stuck at home in your little Halloween mask doing nothing.

You are, in fact... nothing.”

Z looked down at the mat before raising the microphone as if to respond, only for Moliano to once more beat him to the punch.

"Hold on there boy, I’m not even near finished yet!" Moliano spat with intense venom. The fans just went ballistic, and Z's eyes widened in shock again. Had he awoken a sleeping giant in Christopher?

Potential Personified was beyond smiling now. He was going on pure instinct. "You see, the point I am making right now is that the guys I have just name-checked have all proven themselves to be what they say they are. They have backed up their claims inside the ring, where it truly matters. The ONLY place it matters.

As I told you once before, I was once a far better-looking version of you myself. I was once an arrogant individual with a cock-sure attitude too. I was willing to announce my greatness to anyone who was willing to listen and even some who couldn’t give a damn. Challenging all comers and declaring myself the greatest thing since sliced bread. My main problem back then? Well it was the same damn problem that you have right now, my masked friend.

I couldn’t wrestle.

You can’t wrestle.

I sucked.

You suck."

Moliano poked Z in the chest with his finger as he spoke, both to the delight of the crowd and the annoyance of Z in equal measure.

"That’s the reason you’ve been ducking me the past few weeks.” Chris continued. “That’s the reason you feigned injury to score a cheap and meaningless pinfall over me. That’s the reason you supposedly ALLOWED me to defeat you a couple of weeks ago without putting up a fight.

Those weren’t mind games. That wasn’t some kind of mysteriously ingenious strategy. Oh no, Z-Man. I’ve seen through you so easily you might as well be made of glass, you sneaky fraudster.

You didn’t put up a fight... because you can’t.

You.

Can’t.

Wrestle.

I know it, you know it, and everybody here knows it. You can’t wrestle. Barcelona…can you say -- no se puede luchar?"

NO SE PUEDE LUCHAR!

NO SE PUEDE LUCHAR!

NO SE PUEDE LUCHAR!

NO SE PUEDE LUCHAR!

NO SE PUEDE LUCHAR!

Moliano cupped an ear to the Catalan crowd in a way that would make Hulk Hogan blush. Ahem. The Spanish fans in the arena joined him in his chant. Z was visibly fuming as he looked around stunned by both the accusation and the reaction of the people. This was not going quite how he had planned it to say the very least.

Moliano stood smiling his trademark toothy grin as Z stared back at him, infuriated. Finally Moliano raised his hand to silence the chants from the crowd, who duly obliged and allowed him to continue.

"Now I thought about challenging you again, this time to a match at LEGENDS; but the truth is it would be a waste of my time. You’re not a real wrestler, and you do not belong in this ring. So I think it’s about time you packed up the mask and left ACDub for good.

I no longer feel the need to chase you around begging for a fight. I don’t hate or dislike you, Z. I pity you. I pity you because I know how it feels to be in your position.

Difference is that I picked myself up off the floor and made myself into a contender. I made myself into a champion, and I’m still improving with each match. Can you really do the same? Are you truly capable of living up to your own billing?

Truth is that I don’t think you have the natural ability and I sure as hell don’t think you have the courage.

Z, I don’t think you don’t have the guts."

The crowd once again went nuts as Moliano gazed into Z’s eyes, seemingly daring him to prove him wrong. Z shook his head, still incensed as he raised his microphone back to his lips and spoke out in response, his voice lacking its usual cool.

"You have GOT to be smoking some kind of new-age drug that they only make for idiots such as yourself. I can't wrestle? I CAN'T WRESTLE?! I have been a World Champion several times over, Christopher! I won my debut match here in ACW, and it was against your sorry arse. You took so god-damned long to win your debut match in ACW last year, I believe the bookies stopped taking bets.

And you have the BALLS to claim you were going to challenge ME to a match at the pay-per-view coming up?! You piece of shit, you! How dare you?! HOW DARE YOU CLAIM I CAN'T F**KING WRESTLE?! F**K YOU!

Just to refresh your memory, Christopher, the only reason we are where we are now is because *you* stuck your fat nose into *my* business on COURAGE 104! And yet, you have the audacity to justify your shitty performances and general misfortunes on me? You have the gall to call me gutless, and talentless? Jesus Allah Vishnu, I could run circles around you in this f**king ring if I really wanted to! Hell, I'm pretty sure I could pin you at least three or four times in the space of 30 minutes!

... Hh. You know what, Christopher Moliano? Fine. You stick to your guns. You keep on thinking that I can't wrestle. You keep on pitying me, you f**ker. Because I'll lay it all out right here, right now.

I want you, at LEGENDS IV. The grandest f**king stage of all. No games from me. I'm going to prove to you and the rest of these mongrels out there what a f**king wrestling machine I am. And let's make it interesting, ye of suddenly big balls.

30 minutes. As many decisions as possible. Oh, yes, you got me loud and clear.

Iron.

Man.

Challenge.

I'll show you just how talentless I am. All I need from you, Christopher, is one word.

Yes, or no."

Moliano stood face to face with Z. An old-school stare down, neither man blinking until Moliano stepped back and a cheeky self satisfied smile formed across his face. He slowly raised the microphone back to his lips to respond as the fans waited impatiently.

“So now YOU want a match with ME? Well whaddaya know? How the tables have turned all of a sudden. Once again Z-Man, you want something from me. Once again you want an answer, and to be honest this is one I don’t really have to think about. Me and you, one on one, move for move, hold for hold, toe to toe, iron man match. Do I accept your challenge? Will I face you at LEGENDS?

…

Yes.

Oh hell yes, I will.”

New loudest pop of the night? Check.

“You had better bring whatever game you have Z, because I’ll be ready. I’ll be bringing my own patented brand of Moliano Magic, and you’ll be brining your nifty cape and mask combo. You want to prove yourself inside the squared circle? I think you’ve bitten off just a little more than you can chew.

See you in two weeks, punk.”

Moliano tossed his microphone aside as Z stepped towards him and pressed his forehead against Moliano's. Cue another intense stare down as both men locked eyes. The crowd lapped up the action and the promise of the upcoming what was sure to be one heck of a battle to prove who truly was the better man. It was on.

Z.

Chris Moliano.

LEGENDS IV.

30-Minute Iron Man Challenge.

Gonna be awesome, folks.

Next Stop, Emergency Ward

   

The medical room, the one place where nearly every wrestler sets foot on a weekly basis. Be it for a simple cut, a broken bone, or even more severe injuries. They all wind up here. Irish Spring were no different. Cillian and Cavan laid on the high-rise bed slash tables with Darina between the two of them.

“Brothers, I don’t know exactly what spawned that attack, but just remember you’ll be able to exact a little revenge soon. Be strong.”

And of course they were.

“Aye, sis,” Cillian chuckled somewhat as his ribs were being bandaged up, “we’ve definitely been in worse scuffles than this before.”

“Aye,” Cavan chimed in whilst his head was being bandaged up, “it’s going to take a little more than a single run in to take out us.”

“Haaaaai Guiiiyz” called out a voice behind them. Standing in the door way was the seven foot three colossus, and behind him was the FWO Hardcore champion. She brushed her hair from the front of her glasses and grinned.

“Get the hell out of here.” Ordered Darina before yelling, “SECURITY!”

Urban smiled and Saunders stepped inside. “You see, we really have no reason to be afraid of security. Rex? He’s no match for this man. And the security staff here? Well for one, they probably will not even hear what you are saying. And for another, you would be better off yelling ‘Seguridad’. Just sayin.”

She stepped up to Darina and laid a hand across her cheek, grazing it with the tip of her finger from the lower portion of her eyelid down her cheekbone.

“Ya know… there is this nice bar down the street…” she started but Saunders was already standing next to them. “Sorry sweets, it has to be done.”

She yanked herself away from Callie’s finger and looked around. What has to be done? She screamed as she saw the giant’s cold hand wrapped around Cillian’s throat. She rushed over and pulled at his arm, begging for him to let go.

Cavan heard the cries for help and opened his eyes. Seeing the giant next to him he reached up and slugged him in the ribs, followed by another shot to the gut. Saunders released one hand from Cillian’s throat and propelled his arm into Cavan’s face, knocking him back on the gurney.

Callie walked past Darina and pulled Cavan off the table until he was barely leaning against it. She looked back at Darina and smiled with a everything will be okay expression. Then-

GENTRIFICATION~!

Cavan dropped to a slump next to the table. Cillian having seen what just happened shot a fist into Spike’s jaw, and backpedaled off the table. He shoved the raised bed forward into the Colossus’s ribcage, then scurried around the side to clothesline the bigger man.

Staggered, Saunders swung his right arm out and grabbed at Cillians throat again, but this time the Irishman wasn’t going to have any of it. He drove two fingers into the giants eyes and kicked him in the shin, then the right thigh before-REVERSE BULLDOG.

Callie had rode up the backside of her partner while Cillian was chopping the tree, and grabbed this Irishman’s head to bring him reverse tilt headfirst into the gurney. Saunders wound back and clubbed him to the ground before raising him in the air with the gory special until he dropped him with the devastation of a powerbomb.

DREAMKILLER~!

right across one of the beds.

Cillian and Cavan were down and out. Darina found herself between two rocks, and very a hard and dangerous place. She scurried backwards against a wall for refuge but the giant strode towards her.

He reached down and grabbed her by the throat, raising her off her feet.

“Hey,” Callie rushed over and grabbed at his shoulder. “Drop her dude. We made our point.” She watched as Darina continued to slide upwards against the wall, until the tip of her toes was all that felt the concrete below. “Spike, stop!” Callie grabbed Saunders by the arm and pulled at it.

“Damn’t man, let her go. This is not our way!” She called out as she yanked his arm free and Darina dropped back to her feet, then slumped down the wall into a curled up ball. “What the hell?”

Callie shoved him in the chest and looked up at him. His head cocked towards her, his eyes calculating what he had done. “They all have to learn.” Spike shoved her to the side and reached back down to the scared woman. His partner however had different thoughts, as she dove at him and tackled him away from her.

Straddling him she held his two massive arms to the ground. “Get a hold of yourself Spike. We do not cross the line. Innocents stay innocent. Not victims. That is not our way.” She slid off him to the side and walked back over to Darina. No more than a moment passed before she shrieked again. Saunders was standing behind them both, and reached down to Urban’s arm.

He raised her to her feet with her standing in front of him. His grip tightening on her arm. “Dude, let go of my arm. It is starting to hurt.” He continued to squeeze until Callie did the only thing she could think of at the time.

SMACK!

Left hook right in the kisser. Saunders grinned and cocked his head to the right back to the left. He then released his arm. “Thank yo—“ His knee drove into her gut, and he scooped his partner up over his shoulder before charging forward into the wall’s empty space above Darina.

Urban collapsed against her partners frame, and slumped down to her knees. Her reprieve was short as the same knee blasted her in the chest causing her to start coughing up blood.

The Giant pulled back and stood in front of his fellow Entourage partner and Darina O’Callaghan. Without a word he turned and headed towards the door way. Cillian’s worn out body reached out for his boot only to get stomped in the chest as the giant strolled out of the medical room, one person shorter than he had arrived with.

The Entourage were No More.

Payback is a Bitch

   

The scene cut to the locker room area; various gym bags strewn about. One single man sat in a single solitaire metal folding chair. The man was Jesse Ramey, getting ready for his forth coming fatal four way match. The sweat was rolling as he had been prepping for the match, and now sat taping up his hands. The locker room door swung open, but Jesse didn’t flinch; being as low on the ladder as he was meant you shared a room with several other wrestlers. Anyone could have been making their way into that locker room, and Jesse couldn’t take it focus off of a very serious match.

Rhyme.

Reason.

Hearing the clacking of their high heels was enough to make Jesse glance up from his chair, “Is there something I can help you ladies with? Cause if you’re just here to be a distraction then it’s not going to work. I have too much on my…”

A distraction is exactly what the twins were meant to be, and Jesse was oh so wrong. The distraction worked perfectly as Jade Argent smashed the fWo Crusierweight Championship into the back of Jesse’s head. The force from the blow sent Jesse tumbling to the concrete floor below, he was almost face first at the heels of Rhyme and Reason as Argent slowly swaggered over to Ramey’s body.

Argent grabbed Ramey by the back of the hair flipped him over and pulled him close. “You will never be as good as me, Ramey. I’m faster, I’m smarter, and I’m way better looking. Tonight I seal the deal when I beat Keller and then I will go on to beat your buddy Alias.”

Argent let go of Ramey’s head and as he was slowly fell backward Argent drove the title belt into his forehead once again. The blood began to trickle from Ramey’s skull and onto the floor as Argent smirked and before coming back to his feet drove the belt once more into Ramey’s face. Argent stood and grabbed Rhyme and Reason by the arms, they looked as though they were going to exit the room, but Argent quickly turned and darted toward Ramey.

He drove a swift punt kick into the side of Ramey’s skull, the force of the blow nearly causing Argent to fall. He quickly regained composure and dusted himself off. He flung his title belt over his shoulder, swept the hair from his face, and turned back to the twins as the three exited the room. They left Ramey in a bloody mess lying on the cold concrete in a pool of his own blood. Cut to the ring for the fatal four way match? Or would it just be a three way match now?

FATAL FOUR-WAY MATCH
Orlando Grant vs. Sepiroth Du Luc vs.
'Superstar' Vince Jacobs vs. Jesse Ramey
REFEREE: TRENT SAVAGE

           

Time for the Fatal Four-Way Match! How did this match come about? SilverHAWK was drunk one night and hey presto! Random booking of participants for a match. Anyways, Sepiroth Du Luc and Orlando Grant stood in the ring with Trent Savage as ring announcer Tommy Vale stepped forward to the center of the ring. “The following fatal four way match will be conducted under regular rules and will have a twenty minute time limit. Already standing in the ring, to my right is ORLANDO GRANT!”

The OG himself stepped forth from his corner raising his hands in the air and receiving a more than moderate reaction from the crowd. Grant stepped back into his corner, “And to my left, he is SEPIROTH DU LUC!” SDL just cracked his neck and folded his arms waiting for the action to beginning, little reaction from him toward the fans. He just continued to star down Orlando Grant.

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 the two man in the ring with a smirk on his face. He slowly made his way down the ramp as he pointed with both hands extended toward both men in the ring. Vince smirked and waved his hands at the ringside fans. He stood in front of the ring before making his way around the ring steps. The Superstar stood on the steps with arms out in a cross before climbing into the ring. The multi-time World Champion looked across the ring at both SDL and OG sneering before waiting in the corner for the start of the match.

“The third participant in this match standing in his corner, weighing in at two hundred and fifty-five pounds and hailing from Hollywood, California. He is “SUPERSTAR” VINCE JACOBS!”

All three men seemed to be waiting as patiently as possible, but when no other music hit Savage walked to the ring announcer and just asked him to exit the ring. Savage had seen the happenings in the backstage area just before the match and even he wasn’t really expecting Jesse Ramey to make an entrance tonight. The fans began to boo wildly when the music didn’t hit and Savage signaled for the bell to sound.

DING! DING! DING!

SVJ just shrugged his shoulders and rushed toward OG catching him off guard with a massive clothesline. Grant’s head bounced off of the mats, but he jumped right back to his feet. SDL charged in trying to get in on the action, but was caught by Jacobs on his way in. Jacobs managed to leap frog over SDL as he making his way in, and as he did this Orlando was able to catch him with a drop toe hold that sent SDL’s face crashing into the middle turnbuckle of his corner.

Grant rolled back around from his knees to his feet, but as he came back up he was met with a boot to the midsection from SVJ. Jacobs continued by grabbing OG by the arm and whipping him off into the ropes. Upon returning SVJ side stepped OG and sent him off into the ropes once more, but what he wasn’t expecting was the dropkick to the face he received from the recovering SDL. SDL turned and as Orlando was returning once more from the ropes he grabbed him and brought him down to the mat hard with a twisting sidewalk slam SDL wrapped up OG’s leg for the pin attempt.

Before Savage even had a chance to drop to the mats though SVJ dove in breaking up the attempt. SVJ furious at this point grabbed SDL by the head and pulled him up off of OG’s body. SVJ drove a vicious European uppercut into SDL’s chin that sent him staggering backward and then attempted his patented super kick trying to end SDL for the match, but Du Luc ducked under the kick attempt popping up behind SVJ and wrapping his arms around his waist. SDL brought SVJ up and over with a beautiful belly-to-back suplex.

SDL popped back up to his feet smiling until he noticed Orlando rushing him, and by this time it was too late. Grant had the momentum shifting in his direction as he brought SDL down to the mats hard with a running STO slam. OG stayed with SDL floating over his body and pulling his leg up for a pin attempt, but once again before Savage had the chance to fall to the mat for the count SVJ had managed to find the strength to leap toward OG’s body knocking him off of SDL.

However this time SVJ had exerted himself so much just by trying to break up the attempt that he couldn’t find his way back to his feet. The fresh Grant on the other hand managed to get back to his feet, he grabbed SVJ by the hair and yanked him back to his feet as SDL just rolled around on the mat grabbing at the back of his head. As Grant had brought SVJ back to his feet though he was met with a full palm to the face as Jacobs raked his fingers across Orlando’s face.

OG stumbled backward holding his face with one hand and swinging wildly with the other. He came very close to knocking Savage out, but Trent dropped to the mat right under a massive right hand. Savage crawled back into a corner wiping to sweat from his forehead knowing what he had just missed out on. SVJ smirked knowing that he had coaxed the young OG into his trap. He walked up toward Grant who continued swinging and waiting for the perfect moment as Grant turned around Jacobs jumped grabbing Orlando by the back of the head and placing both knees into his skull. SVJ fell back into the mat driving his knees into the back of Grant’s skull.

OWWW!!!!

The fans roared out in pain for Grant at the sight of the move; as Orlando just rolled out of the ring holding the back of his skull and flopping to the mats below. Jacobs jumped back to his feet both arms outstretch and began to shout something toward the fans when SDL came bursting out of nowhere catching him completely off guard with a reverse bulldog. SDL kept the hold locked on as they hit the ground and began driving sharp left hands right into the face of Jacobs before pulling him back to his feet and sending him off to the ropes. SDL followed closely behind SVJ and as his back hit the ropes he landed a clothesline on Jacobs that sent both men toppling over the top rope and spilling out to the ringside area.

It was at this point that the fans roared out with a massive pop, but it wasn’t because of the action going on in the ring. Jesse Ramey had emerged from the backstage area standing at the top of the ramp, limping toward the ring holding the back of his head. The blood from the attack at the hands of Jade Argent still flowing from his open wound across the top of his head. Trent Savage was unaware of what was happening until Jesse rolled into the ring under the bottom rope.

Savage began waving his hands at the sight of Ramey and then walked toward the battered superstar. Savage began verbally yelling at Ramey telling him to get backstage. The blood now beginning to stain the mats, but Ramey shook his head. Savage only shook his head as well as he continued to plead with Ramey to go back to the backstage area and seek medical attention. This was when Ramey smiled as he saw SDL and SVJ pop back up slugging fists at each other on the outside of the ring. He pushed Savage out of the way, bounced off of the rope and in a dead sprint dove over the top rope catching both men with a twisting tope con hilo.

HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!

Savage shook his head and smiled a little bit at the sight of Ramey having to get his fix from the crowd. On the outside of the ring Orlando Grant and finally managed to get back to his feet and ducked back into the ring under the bottom rope. Ramey on the outside of the ring rolled to his knees and clinching his mid section looking at the carnage of SDL and SVJ lying in a crumbled wreck. He smiled and then coughed a little, the impact from the attack earlier and the move must have knocked something loose as a little bit of blood spurt free from his mouth.

Jesse grabbed hold of the ring apron and pulled himself back to his feet, and slowly rolled back into the ring. Orlando was quick to snatch Ramey up by the hair and pulled him back to his feet. Grant whipped Jesse off into the corner and followed behind quickly catching him with a clothesline. Grant stepped away as Jesse took several steps forward and then collapsed face first into the mat. The blood continued to pour from his open wounds surrounding his head like a dead body.

Grant saw this as his opportunity to shine in this match as he went to pick Ramey back up, but the crafty veteran grabbed hold of OG pulling with all of his weight and taking him down to the ground wrapping his legs with his own and tucking his head under his arm. Grant couldn’t move as Jesse held all of his weight down on OG’s shoulders. Savage dropped to the mat for the pin attempt.

1…

2…

3!

The fans erupted in a massive explosion as “Survive” by Sick Puppies blasted throughout the arena for the first time tonight. Jesse quickly rolled toward the ropes, wiping the blood from his forehead. He slowly rose back to his feet with the assistance of the ropes as Savage walked over raising his hand in victory. Grant rolled to his knees his eyes widened; he couldn’t believe what had just happened as he slammed his fists into the mat. Jesse walked over to him still clinching at his rib, and offered a hand to Grant. Jesse helped OG get back to his feet and then offered his one free hand to the young up and comer.

Grant looked at Ramey’s hand for a moment, the crowd had settled down waiting to see what was going to happen. Orlando, despite being frustrated with how the outcome of the match had happened looked down at Ramey’s hand and then back up at the beaten man standing before him. He then viciously grabbed Ramey by the hand and the two men embraced in a hand shake until Ramey pulled Grant’s hand into the air signifying the respect that Ramey had for a young star the caliber of an Orlando Grant. The fans in attendance erupted once more at the showing of respect between the two men, just as COURAGE 110 faded away into the land of commercials.

Legen-- Wait for it...

           

As COURAGE 110 returned from commercials, "I'm Bad" by Last Vegas signaled Trey Vincent's arrival. After mouthing off with some fans, he grabbed a microphone from tech support and headed to mid-ring. Sporting an expensive black suit, a green dress shirt, and a black tie, he was dressed to kill and looked ready to (surprise, surprise) talk as the music faded out.

"Trey Vincent said it at the start of the show, Ali-ass! Any time. And the time is now. Because the following contest is set for one Alias losing the ACW World Championship!"

Vincent's eyes turned toward the entryway. There was no music, but second by second the anticipation was growing.

"al-i-as! Al-i-as! AL-i-as! AL-I-AS! AL-I-AS! AL-I-AS!"

Cue the bongos.

"Owwwww!" sayeth Sir Mick.

The place erupted in cheers, and fans jumped to their feet with the sounds of "Sympathy for the Devil" by Rolling Stones. They were ready to see Alias put up the ACW World Title for the last time before LEGENDS IV. Or perhaps, for the last time.

“Please allow me to introduce myself…
I’m a maaan of wealth and taste...”

Alias stomped through the entrance, putting the crowd volume up to what Spinal Tap would call "11." Before stomping his way down the aisle, Alias stared dead ahead at the smug face of the so-called Sports Entertainment Icon, the man who had put this entire bounty together in an attempt to either dethrone him, or to at least wear him out to the point where Vincent would have a fighting chance at LEGENDS IV.

Methodically, Alias walked that aisle one more time, climbed the steps, and for the second time tonight came face to face with his nemesis. The hate was absolutely mutual before them. "Wow, your music is AWFUL. The Rolling Stones blow," Vincent said with a laugh, off microphone.

Alias raised his right fist. And Vincent raced to the nearest corner.

In Alias' hand was a lit cigarette. Taking a deep inhale off his pre-match smoke, Alias stepped forward and blew the cloud of smoke into Vincent's face, which TV tried to fan it away.

"The hell are you trying to do, give me cancer so you don't have to lose to me at LEGENDS?"

"I thought your boy was going to beat me tonight?" Alias smirked.

"Huh? Right! He is. Still, attempted murder, and I've got it in high-def!"

Annoyed, Alias tossed the lit cigarette at Vincent's face, but TV swatted it away without taking any damage.

"And his opponent!" Vincent bellowed.

“Man, man, look at the sky...
All the stars man the stars is beautiful tonight.
Look at em..”

The gruff vocals of the Ol’ Dirty Bastard hit the PA system, followed in short order by quick, repeating blasts of pyrotechnics.

SHAWN JESSICA HART, PhD!

You know the story by now. The Muff Daddy was (allegedly) screwed out the ACW World Championship at For Queen & Country thanks to some bad refereeing by one Henry Irwonsen, the same man who was patiently waiting for this spectacle to finish up so he could do his job. You know, refereeing this big ACW World Championship Match.

Hart, who is rumored to be an upcoming topic on Jesse Ventura's "Conspiracy Theory" program, appeared atop the entryway, accompanied by Mya's silky smooth chorus, which was nearly drowned out by the booing crowd.

Ghetto superstar, that is what you are..
Comin from afar, reachin for the stars..
Run away with me, to another place..
We can rely on each other, uh-huh..
From one corner, to another, uh-huh..

In the booth, Renaud Cardinal and "The One" Jimmy Reid were losing their minds over the prospect of having Alias vs. Shawn Jessica Hart II right now. They were just as ready as the fans were ready to see an epic rematch tonight.

Hart hopped on the apron and looked at Alias, then, Vincent, before giving the stink eye to Irwonsen and getting into the ring.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Vincent asked.

Music = dead. The crowd looked on, confused that Hart apparently wouldn't be challenging Alias tonight.

Mic snatch!

"WHIIILE it’s a hundred percent clear to me that these people are voicing their obvious displeasure at the fact that their role model, the Bangbino, Pro Wrestling’s SJH, was utterly BAMBOOZLED out of the ACW title, I’m not here to try and squeeze myself into your little scheme, Mr. Vincent. Oh no. Not tonight!”

The Prime Minister of Gettin’ Sinister squeezed through the ropes and sauntered over to the center of the ring.

"Sure, that glorious strap that BEAMS like a spotlight with glimmering GOLD and glooooooooorious...uhhh ....GLORY should absitively POSILUTELY be resting around this sinuous waist of mine, but right now, I’m here to nip an even GREATER problem in the bud. That being what I like to call the Zebra Conspiracy, i.e. Hanky Irwonsen’s insidious plot as senior official to undermine the integrity of that wondrous title belt by RIGGING the championship fights as he sees fit!"

The crowd responded with a boisterous BOO fest.

"Because as long as he’s allowed to remain at his post, the sanctity of the ACW Heavyweight Title will be FOULED! So...with all that being said, and me being the last vestige of all that is fair and JUST in this business, I’m here TONIGHT to rectify the situation and ensure that everything at LEGENDS is on the up and up. Because when I inevitably capture the championship, I need to know that the damn thing is CLEAN! So THIS, friends, is what I propose..."

Quite dramatically, SJH paused to for a beat and paced around the ring, until finally halting before Mr. Irwonsen’s feet.

"Henry, it looks to me like you miss being the Spirit of ACW; you miss the thrill of competition, the action, the CHASE for the championship. Why else would you feel the need to interject yourself so blatantly into the title scene, manipulating the rules as you see fit? So here’s what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna offer you the chance to QUENCH that thirst..... by donning the Captain Ironsides garb ONE MORE TIME..."

Deep breath...

"... and facing ME, the last bastion of HOPE, Shawn Jessica Hart, in the ring at LEGENDS! But if I win, you will be BARRED from officiating in the World Title match... and someone that gives a damn about the belt’s credibility... that someone being ME, the PHENOM of ACW, will take your place!! What’chu say, HANKY?!"

“I could easily decline the offer for a match-up, Shawn, I really could. For one, I haven’t wrestled in almost fifteen years. Now I certainly had iron in my sides, when I did, when I was your age… I’m not that man anymore. I am man enough to admit, that I am not half the man I was when I held the Spirit of ACW… and you, Shawn… you are one of the best in the world at what you do.

"Bar none.

"Except for maybe that guy with the title, over there. As impartial as I am, I’m a student enough of the game to know that much. That much, and more to the point… that the World Championship that he holds needs to be respected by a fair and impartial source, and if you were referee… I don’t know if it would be either of those things.” Irwonsen was obviously wrestling with trying to walk the line of unbiasedness as much as possible, even with all that had happened recently, but Alias had had enough of it and took the mic out of the ref’s hand without trepidation.

“One-on-one is one option, and Ironsides is really proving to be a saint tonight as I would have kicked your head in by now, after all that you’ve done to the man… but that’s only one option, and it’s a shite one, Hart.” TV looked to cut off Alias, but the Pulp Hero barked in the direction of him nemesis.

“You’ve been pulling the leash of this reign for a hundred plus days, but this is ONE thing that you ain’t gettin’ a say in, Vincent!” A fire burnt in the eyes of Alias, “You might be able to talk Ironsides into a slaughter, Hart, but I won’t have any of it. If Ironsides is up to it though… I’ll agree to your idea, the referee position on the line.

"On one condition.” The Champion’s eyes narrowed, as he centered his view on Hart.

“If you want to fight Ironsides. He gets to have a tag team partner to even up the odds.”

Jam Master Jiggy scoffed.

“After aaaaaaaaaall this talk about FAIRNESS, about what’s right... you’re telling me to wrestle two men?! You struggling with your long division or what?! Two and one ain’t the same, brah. It’s not fair!”

“I don’t give a damn what you think is fair, Hart. Your sense of right and wrong turned on a dime the minute you didn’t get your way at For Queen & Country. Ironsides WAS a hell of a wrestler, but he’s a referee now. He should find himself a tag team partner.” Alias took his eyes off Hart for a moment, turning to the cheering Spanish crowd, as a devilish grin etched across his mug, “You know who’d work? The mean bastard who’s throat ya crushed last week, who’s looking for revenge just as much as Ironsides would be… if he had the same lack of forgiveness or compassion as you or I or…"

And that's exactly when the guitar riff to "My Wave" started, and the Spaniards flipped their lids. Marching out to the aisleway in a green shirt that stated in Helvetica Joe and Mick and Paul and Topper, stood the Only Wrestler That Matters. He had a bandage around his neck, but his mile-long evil gaze and sneer were fully at 100%. As Vincent and Hart and Alias looked on, Zimmerman walked to the centerpoint of the aisle.

He stared at Vincent. He opened his mouth and immediately his hand went to clutch his neck. Shaking his head at his own bad luck, Keith pointed at TV. Then he gave him the finger.

The crowd roared as Trey seethed, Alias & Irwonsen smiling at this (in the former's case, quite broadly). Hart immediately got back on the mic. "Hey, Marcel Marceau! Why don't you just--"

The glare fell upon Shawn, striking him silent. Zimmerman stared down Hart for 10 seconds, crowd chanting KSZ before he ran a thumb under his throat, and pointed to the LEGENDS IV banner hanging in the rafters over the announce table.

I'm assuming that's a yes.

“ONCE AGAIN..” cried the Phenom, “I’m out here trying to provide a voice of reason for you jackholes, but you just gotta have it your way, don’t ya! You want a piece of the action, GAY-S-Z?! FINE. Whatever it takes to get the POISON out of the title scene. But if Hanky Panky gets back up, I get some too! Somebody who can handle the scary talent that is KSZ. Somebody that is TWICE the man you are! Somebody like... my sister Felicia!”

Squinting, Vincent scratched his head, confused, upon hearing Hart's plan.

Meanwhile, Alias cracked a grin at Hart's idea.

Ironsides? He was flat out laughing at the thought of Felicia wrestling. It certainly made him better about stepping back into the ring. As Zimmerman backed up the aisle, looking at the four men in the ring, the buzz grew in the crowd. Keith hesitated a second, then wheeled around to see Felicia Hart about to sneak attack him!

The former FWO World Champion's face smushed up, before Felicia held out her hands and gave her dazzling yes-you-WILL-be-buying-me-Verve-Cliquot smile. "Hee! Just heading to the ring! Nothing bad here, nope."

Zimmerman took this sentence in, and then cracked his knuckles around his thumbs.

PIMPSLAP!

No, not really. But he faked it enough to send Felicia on her ass, Alias' laughing audibly heard as she skidded on her back towards the ring while Zimmerman just stood there, mute, continuing to peep out each and every aspect of the sitchoo.

The Bangbino took up before his sister and glared at KSZ. He then turned his attention to his nemesis in stripes.

“You gonna stand there while this degenerate leers at my sister?! You best get ta steppin’ and take your boy toy with ya... before I start LEGENDS right here... RIGHT NOW!!”

Hart stuffs the microphone in his arm put and puts up his dukes.

*SNATCH!* Returning the favor from earlier, Vincent stole the microphone back from SJH.

"Trey Vincent hates to agree with Hart about anything, but I have to in this case about the referee situation. There is no way Alias versus the super mysterious opponent can happen in this very ring at this very moment in this very time with that very referee!" Vincent turned to Alias and cracked a huge smile. "Guess you'll have to wait. Later, douchebag," he said, adding a sarcastic asshole-rific wave.

Vincent dropped the mic and headed to the floor, as did Hart and his sister, leaving Alias alone in the ring with the former Captain Ironsides. Alias shook his head at the stupidity surrounding his life. The Original Pulp Hero sneered in the direction of two of his biggest enemies, who were mugging for the crowd on either side of the ring, and then caught sight of KSZ straight ahead of him in the aisle, a man who's sole purpose in life is to own the ACW World Championship.

Enemies on every side.

And as COURAGE 110 rolled on, still one HUGE question remained: who is Alias' opponent tonight?

Interruptus

           

"Yes indeed, we as everybody else in this arena with the exception of Trey Vincent is wondering who will face Alias tonight, just two weeks away from the biggest show of the year! Will we see Alias battle Trey Vincent? Or will the bounty end tonight?!" Renaud was excited, his voice trembling as he spoke.

"Hey. What are the shrimp stuffs doing here?" Jimmy Reid suddenly asked, twisting on his chair. Standing behind him were the ACW Tag Team Champions, Ed & Klein. Klein had his box by his side. Ed pushed forward, shoving Renaud out of his chair and grabbing his headset in the process.

"Alright, ACW? LEGENDS, the biggest show of the year, we're defending these tag team titles whether it's sanctioned or not." Ed said, adjusting the tag straps that he held over both his shoulders. "I made a kindly donation to Tommy Vale who in turn took part of said donation and gave it to the production guys in the back. At LEGENDS, these wonderful title belts will hang from a hook from the rafters. At some point during the show, probably a lull in action, y'know, the boring part, we'll come out with our ladders, interrupt whatever boringness is going on, and we'll let any and every single member of ACW come out and battle us to reach our Tag Team Titles."

Ed snarled. "That is, if SilverHAWK can't make a decision between now and then. Yeah? Old man, are you listening? Cause your Tag Team Champs, well, we want a pay day. BUT MOST OF ALL, I WANT THE SPOTLIGHT. This could be my big break. DON'T SCREW THIS UP!" Ed shouted, tossing the headset to the floor, just as Renaud had gotten to his feet. Renaud sighed, leaning down and picking up his headset, as the show continued on.

"The nerve of some people..." Renauld trailed off.

TAG TEAM MATCH
The SOBs vs. England's Best
REFEREE: MARK SHIELDS

           

Fittingly enough, just as the Pop Culture Phenoms disappeared into the sea of humanity... it was time for a match between two contending teams.

ACW's tag team division has seen a resurgence as of late. And in recent times, two tag teams have emerged as contenders to the Pop Culture Phenoms. The Entourage won out over Abilities last week on COURAGE 109 to put themselves in a good situation to challenge for the Tag Team Titles. The other team? Ohh, just the somewhat unorthodox pairing of two men that had formed a strong bond over the last couple of months. More on them later, k?

In the ring, Sheamus O'Brien and Selby O'Brien -- The SOBs -- did a little Irish jig to pander to the fans as their theme music faded out. Sheamus and Selby were hoping that Lady Luck would be on their side, for a victory for them would ensure they had a right to challenge for the Tag Team Titles... and a shot at exacting revenge on their former rivals Ed and Klein. Having dragged themselves back into contention with a victory over Malk Al-Haq and Ulf German several weeks ago, Sheamus and Selby came to realise that another strong showing topped off with a win would reap a reward in the form of a golden opportunity.

Once their fanciful jig ended, the lights in the Palau Sant Jordi dimmed. That set the stage for... Common People, by Pulp. One of Xfm's best British songs ever, a label rightfully fitting for the tag team that called themselves ENGLAND'S BEST. Rud Albion and Buddy Saxon marched right out from the back, their bodies looking primed for action. Naturally, the fans gave a rousing reception at the sight of these two friends. Albion had been making waves for his impressive performances; despite defeats to KSZ and Vince Jacobs and a shady count-out victory over Spike Saunders, he'd looked incredibly impressive

And Buddy Saxon? Well, he was bubbly and infectious. His winless streak didn't matter to the fans; Buddy was trying his very best and had won over the crowd simply by being himself. The cookie-lover's eyes glinted with intent as he traded high-fives with his partner and stepped into the ring, feeling that this was the night his winless streak would end. Sure, it would mean that Buddy remained winless in singles competition. But hey, one thing at a time.

All four men were now in the middle of the ring, exchanging looks. The ambition of each individual was clear for everybody else to decipher. Buddy got the ball rolling by extending his hand out to Sheamus in a handshake, and within moments, it was handshake city. Buddy and Rud broke off to have a quick pow-wow, which ended in Rud stepping through the ropes and taking his place on the apron.

As for the SOBs? Sheamus decided he'd start things off, with Selby nodding in complete agreement. The stage was set, referee Mark Shields was in position for yet another match. The mood was in place.

Only one thing left to do, natch.

DING DING DING!

Buddy Saxon and Sheamus O'Brien looked out at the fans at the exact same moment, soaking in the wonderful atmosphere that had been created within the Palau Sant Jordi. With one final nod toward each other, Buddy and Sheamus advanced on each other and settled into a collar-and-elbow tie-up. That lasted all of six seconds, as Sheamus drove his knee upwards into Buddy's ribcage.

And as Buddy doubled over, wrapping his right arm around aforementioned ribcage, Sheamus took the opportunity to strike The Bournemouth Boy with several clubbing blows to the upper-back area. Buddy tried to fight back, but his attempted left hook was blocked and followed up with a forearm smash to the face! That drew some 'ooohs' from the fans, and Albion winced in his corner.

In comparision, Selby applauded his brother's tactics and stuck his hand out for the TAG. Selby was in, Sheamus was out. The former took advantage of Buddy's dazed state and charged right at The Bournemouth Boy... but one-half of England's Best suddenly snapped back to life, ducking underneath the wild swing of Selby's and rushing towards the ropes. Naturally, Buddy's elbow extended outwards as he reached the ropes, catching the unwitting Sheamus right in the kisser! Quite the cheap shot, but hey, Saxon was going to do whatever it took to register a win in a match with a lot on the line.

Buddy looked down at Sheamus who'd fallen off the apron, and felt proud of himself. So proud that he was ignoring the larger threat of Selby turning around and sizing Buddy up. Rud's desperate attempts at a warning fell on deaf ears, as Selby quickly crept up on Buddy Saxon and surprised him with a school-boy pin! Bastard referee Shields did his job;

ONE!

TWO!

TH - NO!

Buddy quickly eased out of Selby's grasp and rushed to his feet, launching himself into the ropes. Selby was a little slow in getting up, but swiftly improvised upon seeing Buddy rush at him and impressively leapfrogged over Buddy's body. Saxon, however, found the ability to slap on the brakes... and as Selby expertly landed on his feet, Buddy quickly reached back and executed a fantastic falling neckbreaker!

The fans cheered big time for that, mainly because it looked cool. Albion nodded encouragingly, and Buddy made the hasty cover;

ONE!

TWO!

TH - NO!

Selby got the shoulder up, drawing a look of relief from his partner Sheamus who had gotten back up on the apron and grabbed hold of the tag rope once more. The Bournemouth Boy got back to his feet and looked over at Albion, who seemed to be signalling some sort of tactical instructions. Buddy nodded several times in acknowledgement before returning back his focus to the recovering Selby, who had a hand around his neck.

Unfortunately for him, Selby didn't have the luxury of time as Buddy spun him around and threw a quick succession of rapid-fire turning kicks into his right thigh. Each blow was incredibly stiff, so it was no surprise to anybody that Buddy was able to buckle Selby and bring him down to one knee without much fuss.

Feeling the adrenaline pump through his veins, Buddy Saxon bounced himself off the ropes and tried to fly in with a big flying kick of some sort, but Selny was able to actually DUCK the move! Buddy landed on his ass, but swiftly picked himself up off the mat where a big lariat was waiting for hi--DUCKED! It was Buddy's turn to show off his evasion techniques, and the Bournemouth Boy quickly got himself in position to launch a roundhouse kick, aimed right at Selby's head.

There was however a sliiiiight problem.

Selby had the wherewithall to actually parry the roundhouse kick with his forearms, before finally connecting with a snap lariat that had the fans just explode with a chorus of cheers due to the ferocious impact! The reactions of the respective partners on the aprons were obviously contrasting, while Selby simply grinned and bent down to pull the ginger-haired Buddy back up. Selby did not stop there, though.

Belfast's Fastest Man, as he was called for being incredibly quick, lifted Buddy up onto his left shoulder and started to gain a head of steam. He was clearly looking for some kind of big slam, but once again Buddy Saxon's wiriness saved him and he slipped out of Selby's grasp after a bit of a striggle.. Once Buddy landed behind Selby, a quick flurry of turning kicks to the lower extremeties brought Selby back down to his knees again. That was followed up with a dropsault that saw Selby collapse backwards on the canvas, and Buddy showcase his agility by landing on his feet without much trouble.

The fans applauded, Rud Albion applauded, and The Bournemouth Boy instantly went for the cover. Shields hit the deck;

ONE!

TWO!

THR - NO!

Again, not close enough. Sheamus, watching on from his vantage point, breathed easy again... but panicked slightly when he witnessed Buddy dragging his brother to the enemy corner. The tag was made, and Rud Albion was in play at last, which saw the crowd reaction go up a couple of notches.

You know what else went up? Rud; he leapt to the top of the corner turnbuckle in a single bound, made sure Buddy held on to Selby's legs... and took flight with a fantastic moonsault! Oooh, how the Catalans loved that.

¡MIERDA SANTA! ¡MIERDA SANTA! ¡MIERDA SANTA!

And so on and so forth. Buddy snaked out of the ring, giddy as a schoolgirl while Sheamus felt his face turn white. Rud Albion quickly adjusted himself to hook Selby's legs, which brought Shields to his knees;

ONE!

TWO

THRE - NOOOOOOOOO!

Selby had just barely gotten the shoulder up, inciting another chorus of 'oooohs' from the fans. Mighty close call, there. Buddy, now on the apron tightly clutching the tag rope, nonetheless cheered on the other and more experienced half of England's Best, who now had Selby back up to his feet. POW~! European uppercut to the face. POW~! Albion followed up with a discus elbow smash, which had Selby completely reeling and in trouble.

Feeling that a victory wasn't far away, Albion launched himself into the ropes. The Bronze Lion was calculating numerous different options of attack as he hurtled back towards Selby... but WAIT! POWERSLAM COUNTER! Selby O'Brien snapped back to reality at precisely the right moment, catching the leaping Albion in mid-air and driving him down to the canvas with authority!

Sheamus screamed for the tag, but Selby groggily dumped himself on top of Rud in a lax cover;

ONE!

TWO!

TH - NO!

Selby rolled away from Rud and dragged himself over to the corner turnbuckle, deciding that he had to tag out. It was thereby unfortunate that when Selby looked up upon reaching the corner, all he saw was Buddy's face.

"Your corner's over on the other side, Selby!" Buddy quipped cheerily, before growling like a rabid dog. Buddy was good-natured at heart, but this was a match after all.

Belfast's Fastest Man was all confused as he stood to his feet, but upon turning around, getting smacked in the face courtesy of a high-leg clothesline by the recovering Brummie Bulldog knocked some sense back into Selby's brain. For about two seconds. Sheamus stomped his feet down on the apron, incensed that his brother had managed to royally screw up the art of tagging out.

Albion? He just rolled over and hooked the legs, confident that Selby was as done as dinner;

ONE!

TWO!

THR - NO!

Selby was NOT as done as dinner, however. Albion leaned back and extended his hand, tagging Buddy in. The Bournemouth Boy squealed as he hopped into the ring, picking up a wounded Selby by the hair and throwing him into the corner turnbuckle. England's Best were firmly in control, and Buddy was hell-bent on making sure that he would be the one to earn the decisive pinfall or submission to secure victory.

Selby O'Brien had other ideas. As Buddy advanced on him, Belfast's Fastest Man lived up to his billing and exploded out of his corner with a spinning wheel kick! Saxon fell down to the canvas holding his face in his hands, which allowed Selby to finally trudge over to his corner and tag in his brother. Sheamus roared as he jumped into the ring, but he made a beeline not for Buddy. Oh no, Sheamus charged right at Rud Albion, catching the latter by surprise and knocking him off the apron with a forearm smash.

In normal circumstances, the appointed official for the match would step in. But considering Mark Shields was the official? He just motioned for Sheamus to hurry up and get on with business.

Pleased with himself, Sheamus ran at the recovering Buddy Saxon and attempted to connect with a simple clothesline. Saxon somehow ducked at the last possible moment and grabbed Sheamus by the throat as the latter turned around, making the crowd quite curious as to what The Bournemouth Boy was going to do. They didn't have to wonder long, for Sheamus regained control by kicking Buddy in the lower abdominals, following up with an utterly wicked and vile double-arm DDT!

Buddy was down, Sheamus had the legs hooked. Over to Shields for the count;

ONE!

TWO!

THR - NO!

Buddy survived, but only because it was Rud Albion that flew in with a timely rescue in the form of an elbow-drop to the back of the head of Sheamus. Shields enforced his authority by doing absolutely fuck-all... which meant Albion could have technically gone ahead and opened a can of whoop-arse.

The Bronze Lion chose instead to return to his corner, not wanting the match to degenerate. Sheamus though rose to his feet and stormed over to the corner of England's Best, getting all up in Rud's grill. A cry from Selby on the apron alterted Sheamus to the impending threat from behind, and Sheamus quickly turned around to see Buddy Saxon charge at him. Sheamus lashed out with a kick to the face, sending Saxon staggering backwards.

Grinning, Sheamus rushed over to the woozy Saxon and slapped on a single-arm front-face chinlock. The Bournemouth Boy was acutely aware of what was in store, one way or the other, and an elbow shot to the back of the head broke up the move. Sheamus O'Brien dropped to his knees and held the back of his head, wincing, as the energy in his tank began to dwindle. Saxon found the sight of Sheamus out of breath to be a good sign; he waited for Sheamus to regain his footing, before he shot himself into the ropes and let loose with something of a high-leg clothesline of his own, mirroring his partner's earlier effort.

BUT HOLD THE PHONE! Sheamus had caught Saxon in mid-air, and promptly retaliated with a brilliant backbreaker! The Catalan fans went insane over the latest twist in the match, and Sheamus quickly made the cover much to Albion's worry;

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

...

NOOOOOOO! KICK-OUT AT THE LAST SECOND!

Sheamus O'Brien was stunned. Shields cursed, realising he probably should have counted a bit faster. Buddy writhed on the canvas, aware of the fact that he needed to tag his partner in. Sheamus wouldn't have that, however, as he grabbed Saxon by the legs and dragged him over to his corner. Sheamus reached out and tagged Selby in, before communicating some sort of plan that saw Selby ascend to the top of the turnbuckle.

Meanwhile, Sheamus pulled Buddy up to his feet and locked in a front facelock. Obviously, The SOBs were lookin' to lay the nail in Buddy's oak coffin. Perhaps they should have told Buddy the plan, for the Bournemouth Boy suddenly drove his knee upwards into Sheamus' ribs. In a blink of an eye, the tables had turned -- and Buddy wasn't done. He pushed Sheamus away from him, turned on his heels and swept Selby's legs from under him. The result?

Belfast's Fastest Man found his crown jewels crashing down onto the top of the corner turnbuckle. Ooooh, not a good thing to happen. The Bournemouth Boy's brain was racing now, and out of the corner of his eyes, saw Sheamus rising to his feet with malicious intent in his eyes. Therefore, Buddy Saxon did the only thing that he could think of. Aided by a quick non-verbal assist from Albion, of course.

Buddy grabbed the stranded Selby, raised him over his head and tossed him right at his brother Sheamus. The twin Irish brothers found their skulls bouncing off of each other, and both men collapsed in a heap in the middle of the ring. With the crowd chanting his name, Saxon used the ropes and pulled himself towards his corner... where Albion was waiting expectantly for one thing and one thing only.

TAG! And once more, The Bronze Lion was back in the equation, buoyed by the eruption of cheers from the fans at what they believed to be the final stretch in what was one heck of a tag team contest.

Sheamus O'Brien? Meet Albion's right boot. You've just been superkicked all the way back to Ireland. Selby O'Brien? Oh, he wasn't spared either. Unfortunately for Belfast's Fastest Man, his final fate would be even more gruesome than his brother's.

STACKED ALBION!

Rud quickly rolled over and hooked the legs, and Shields prayed it was over (he needed his ciggie fix);

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

And that was all she wrote.

Pulp's Common People blared over the speakers, signalling that England's Best had triumped. Albion rose to his feet and turned around, only to get mugged by an ecstatic Buddy Saxon. Buddy might not have been the one to get the pinfall, but he was delighted nonetheless that he and Rud had won their match.

The SOBs? Close but no cigar. Sheamus and Selby regrouped in the ring after recovering from getting owned by Rud, and they stared down the celebrating tandem of Rud and Buddy. It came to pass that all four men were back at square one as they were at the start of the match; a good ol' non-American kind of stand-off, with all four men having their dukes raised.

Of course, what ended up happening was handshakes all around. Sheamus and Selby acknowledged that Rud and Buddy were the better team on the night, and an overzealous Buddy even went so far as to hug the Irish brothers. The fans cheered loudly once more, lapping up the sappy sentimental moment that was unfolding in the ring.

Bottomline was, England's Best had won in their first outing as a proper tag team. And in the process, accomplished something extremely significant.

England's Best ensured that SilverHAWK would have a heck of a time figuring out what to do with the tag team division.

Things Mostly Unspoken

   

Jenna McMullen glanced around a bit and slightly adjusted herself. Assuming the cameras were still spooling up, she went ahead and gave herself an unnecessary "lift" and made sure she was standing at full attention.

Then the cameraman let her do her thing for a moment or two more. Then he finally said the cameras were rolling.

"Ace Interviewer to the stars Jenna McMullen here! At this time I'm going to be speaking with someone who has done a good job at avoiding me until now. He's the Television AND Spirit of ACW Champion, Trevor Wilson!"

ACW's only double champion stood with his trenchcoat buckled, and his black hood firmly in place shadowing his face. Kati stood at his side and briefly posed for the camera before turning her attention to Jenna.

"Tonight you've got a super big tag team match where you will team up for the first time ever with Omega. You yourself agreed to this match. What is your association with the Scorpion Champion?"

Wilson stood still for a moment and then turned his attention to Kati, not Jenna. He gave a slow nod that wasn't entirely useful with most of his face covered.

"The Spirit of this company has a loose association with another champion in this company. It may be ill-advised but it's happening."

Instead of hanging his head low and facing the camera, the Champion turned and raised his head to stare at Kati. There was an awkward silence that followed until she finally continued.

"The association that the champion has with Omega is no one's business. If you were smart you'd drop it and move on. Anything else you need to know you can find out for yourself when they step into the ring tonight."

"Okay. What about your thoughts on getting into the ring with Midnight Cowboy right before your showdown at LEGENDS?"

"Trevor Wilson is going to approach Midnight Cowboy the same way he approaches everything else. He's going to be smarter and better and in the end he's going to win."

Jenna looked great, but she didn't look too pleased with how things were going. She got her responses from Kati but still kept looking to the champion for some kind of reaction.

"How about Chris Moliano? Last week he won a match that puts him in contention for the title after LEGENDS. How do you feel about the po-"

The Apex Predator reached up and pulled his hood back. He put a hand, gently, on Jenna's shoulder until she extended the microphone for the champ to speak.

"I'd like to congratulate Chris Moliano for being so very good at what he does. While it is unfortunate that my closest ally, the lovely girl to my right, didn't win that match, I am very pleased with the outcome. Any time I get to step into the ring with Chris Moliano is a good day. A good day for a decisive victory and a thorough title defense. Bone up, Christopher, because after LEGENDS I look forward to our next encounter.

Of course to get that far I first need to deal with the Cowboy of this company. He took a few shots at me, so I took a few at him. The difference is that mine were better. I'm even lowering myself to his level by ignoring some of the power that MY title gives me. All in an effort to finally rid myself of the proverbial monkey on my back, and I can assure you, that at LEGENDS I will put Midnight Cowboy done."

Wilson gave Jenna a half-smile and removed his arm from her shoulder. He reached back and pulled his hood forward and then stood with his arms crossed.

"Well, those are certainly some powerful words from the champion. Hopefully tonight we'll get a good show in that huge tag team match; Trevor Wilson, Kati and Omega versus Midnight Cowboy, the returning John Sarsgaard, and what was supposed to be Iceman -- but now I've been told Rory Hayes is replacing him. Wow, talk about expect the unexpected!

Now let's get on with the show!"

SINGLES MATCH
Andrew Fiasco vs. Matthew Sanchez
REFEREE: PAIGE ALLEN

   

The bell sounded.

“The following contest is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first from Atlanta, GA, weighing in at 205 pounds…”

The sounds of Kevin Rudolf’s “I Made It” blasted through the speakers. The song couldn’t be more fitting. After over 10 years in the business, the man had finally got his shot at the big leagues.

“ANDREW FIASCOOOOOOO!!!!”

Fiasco appeared atop the stage through the curtain. He got a cheer from the crowd. Not the rousing ovation of a superstar but he’d take it. They didn’t know who he was…yet. Fiasco stared into the audience and

WACK

A cold lead pipe in the back.

The feeling pierced his skin. He dropped to a knee before being struck again. And just like that, his glory was gone and belonged to the man that stood over him...

Matthew Sanchez.

The crowd booed immensely. The music stopped and the lights returned to full bright.

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

“YOU SUCK!”

Matthew Sanchez stood over his fallen foe. He did not give a reason. He did not explain himself. Instead…he smiled. He had got his first win in ACW in his mind.

There would be repercussions.

Why'd ya do it?

   

The cameras returned to the backstage where Jenna McMullen stood ready and willing outside of a closed door. Two knocks and a moment later the door swung open to reveal the Entourage’s colossus, Spike Saunders.

“Spike, got a moment?”

He gestured her inside. Following her past the door frame, he reached back and shut the door behind him. Leaning back against it.

“Heehee. My old boy friend used to do that in college when I went to his place. Then-“ she paused suddenly with a realization of fear on her mind. “Where’s Callie?”

The Colossus rubbed his stomach and pointed to the corner of the room where a towel covered in blood draped over a garbage can. Suddenly Jenna was less interested in pursuing her assigned interview slot and wanted to get the hell out of dodge.

Saunders chuckled as he walked away from the door and sat back on the bench. “Relax, that’s from earlier. And it’s my blood.” With a sigh of relief she too took a seat. “Now, why don’t you tell me why you are in here bothering me?”

“Sure.” Pause. “Oh, the interview!.” Pause. Look of disgust from Spike. “SilverHAWK wants to know what is going on in your mind. The Entourage is one of the teams involved at Legends. Yet, you through that championship match out the window by taking your own partner out. How do you even expect to win, let alone compete against the other teams?”

“Jenna, if you are asking to be my partner, you will have to show me a few things.”

Jenna looked bemused. “Whoa. Really… I have thought of wrestling… but I think I would cream. Or is it be creamed?”

The giant laughed. “Probably both.” He then sighed and his calm demeanor was gone. “Our match tonight was cancelled due to the injuries of Irish Spring. Shame. Even without Callie, I would still have enjoyed tossing them around inside the squared circle. But she made her choice by siding with the enemy.”

He stood to his feet. “I don’t like hurting women. Really, I don’t.” Slowly he stepped towards Jenna. “Darina however is with the wrong people, and thus-like, the wrong place at the wrong time. I know Callie’s mindset. She chose to protect the purpose, rather than go with the plan. And to that I say-“

He stepped up to Jenna whom was still seated, and leaned down into her pretty face. “FUCK CALLIE URBAN.”

He stood upright again and merely an inch from the interviewer, which became awkward rather fast. “Screw her. The Entourage is about being THE BEST and making things right. Jade, he decided it wasn’t his style; that’s fine. But If she is so against that moniker, then so be it. I’ll find myself a new tag team partner, and this time she’ll NOT be interested in fuckin’ women.”

He laid his palm across Jenna’s shoulder.

“Do you know how hard it is to be around a woman like that? Knowing she only thinks as you as ‘friends’ just like the rest of the male human race? Do you?”

Jenna shook her head, afraid to answer as the large man bared down over her.

“Of course you do Jenna. No need to lie. Yours just always have that added ‘with benefits’ attached to it. Callie and I, we’ve been around for years. Down south, up north, back home in the west. Where ever we go, We Dominate. Those-“ he pointed across the room where the FWO Tag Team Championships and FWO Hardcore Championship laid. “are what we acquire. And she wants to throw it away for some Irish lass? What THE HELL.”

His grip tightens on her shoulder. Jenna now in a state of frozen time.

“Relax,” he spoke as his hand released from her shoulder. “Look, I need to grab a bite to eat. You’re welcome to join me; otherwise you might as well leave now.” He stepped away from her and Jenna burst to her feet, nearly knocking the giant over as she sprinted to the door. Slamming the door shut behind her she stood next to the cameraman panting.

“Did you get all that?” Dumb question considering he was in there with her. “I thought he was going to eat me!”

She brushed her skirt and started walking away with the camera in tow.

MATCH #3 OF WORLD SERIES
Khristain Keller vs. Jade Argent
REFEREE: PAIGE ALLEN

   

Rhyme and Reason grabbed Argent by his legs and pulled him outside of the ring to keep Keller from doing any further damage. Keller stood in the center of the ring victorious for the first time in four weeks, and the taste of victory for him tonight although tainted was a very glorious thing.

Dead Beat Dad

   

Backstage, Jenna McMullen was standing by with Sharc and his valet Sarah in the interview area. Sharc stood with his back to the camera, wearing a black Slayer T-shirt adorned with a yellow inverted cross. Since last week, Sarah had dyed her hair black, except for one blood red streak that matched Sharc's hair. In addition to the change of appearance, she had also gone shopping, ditching her usual leather and tank top combo in favor of a black fishnet sleeve top, blood red gloves, a blood red mini-skirt, black fishnet stockings, and black knee-high black and red boots.

"OK, so, Sarah, I'm confused by what's been going on with your man lately," Jenna began. "This all started a few weeks back when 'Superstar' Vince Jacobs--

"Who?" Sharc mumbled to himself, as if he were confused by hearing the name of the man he's been fighting with all these weeks.

"…Uh, he ran you into a doorknob, ouchie. The next week, you went looking for revenge, but got superkicked in the face, and then Jacobs totally kicked Sharc when he came to your rescue. So, one week later, Sharc broke a mirror over his face, put him through a table, and like, probably would've stabbed him with some broken glass. So then, last week, Sharc totally cried like I did after watching 'The Notebook' and then got choked with an electrical cord, and Sharc thought it was, well, his father?"

"Yes, you are confused," Sarah said flatly. "Our father has been tormenting him for these past few weeks, and this abuse must end."

"Excuse me?" Jenna said, interrupting. "But no. I'm pretty sure--"

"Shut up," Sarah said coldly. "This isn't about you, anyway. This is about Sharc finally putting to rest a dark chapter of his life. Rich? Rich, look at me."

Sarah grabbed hold of Sharc's right arm and tugged on it, encouraging him to spin around and face her. Once he turned, a horrific electrical cord-sized deep purple bruise became visible on his throat, from where SVJ had nearly choked the life out of him.

"For years, you've wanted nothing else but to make our father pay for what he did to us."

Jenna stared at the camera and mouthed the question many viewers had to be thinking: Us?

"You remember telling me that one night you hid me under your bed, how you wished that someday you'd be strong enough and big enough to stand up to him and give him a hundred bruises for every time he…did those awful things to me?"

Sharc nodded. Meanwhile, Jenna looked completely baffled by what she was hearing and seeing unfold in the interview area.

"You told me how much you wanted to make him scream out in pain. To make him bleed. Legends IV is the time. Look at you!"

"Yes, look at you," a man's voice said off-camera. The camera quickly panned to the right to reveal the smirking face of Vince Jacobs. He stood there, arms folded, completely amused by the scene. "You think you can hurt me, boy? What I did to you last week is nothing compared to what I'm about to do to you tonight, son."

Jacobs was playing into Sharc's (for lack of a better term) dementia.

"You still haven't grown up, have you? Look at you. You're the same little ugly bastard I remember. Seriously? Wearing your faggy little heavy metal T-shirt. What are you, 12?"

As Sharc dropped his eyes to the floor, Jacobs moved in closer. Sarah shoved Jenna out of her way and stood beside her man.

"You're stronger than he is. He is the prince of lies."

"You're a complete failure. A joke. You want me to accept your apology for bringing shame on this family but you lost to Alias? Why? You will never be the World Champion. You'll never be popular. You'll never be anything in this business."

"He was a god damn mechanic! What the hell did he ever accomplish?" Sarah reminded Sharc, as this twisted play continued.

"Your life is a joke. You know how this all ends, don't you? Everybody's gone. Her. Me. The women who spawned your bastard children. You know those two kids that you love so much that you haven't even seen them in over five years. And…Amy!"

Boom. One word, and down went Sharc to his knees, in a scenario eerily familiar to last week. Sarah looked puzzled by this new name Jacobs had inserted. Apparently, he'd been doing some digging into Sharc's past.

"You are a cancer that grew inside your mother's womb destroying her from the inside out until she became a hollow shell. She went into remission for a few years but she was never the same and eventually you finished her off. And you know how this story ends," Jacobs said pointing at Sarah. "Want to borrow a razor blade?"

"Get up!" Sarah demanded, grabbing hold of Sharc and pulling him with all her strength, as Jacobs continued playing into Sharc's madness.

"You're going to die alone, Rich. Poor. Alone. Drunk. Miserable. Unloved. Dead. In a puddle of your own bloody vomit."

"No you won't!" Sarah shouted toward Sharc, who was unresponsive still. "I'll always be with you! Stop listening to him."

"Oh, he'll listen to me. Because what I say goes. And under this roof, I'm YOUR GOD, son," Jacobs said.

"You're so dead," Sarah snarled in Jacobs' direction.

"Shut up you stupid useless ugly whore!"

Sharc looked up at Jacobs -- or his father…who knows what Sharc was seeing at this point -- though Jacobs didn't notice the slight change in posture.

"This is all your fault," Jacobs continued. "Do you want another black eye to match your ratty hair? Or maybe I need to superkick that lying mouth off your face--"

That's when Sharc charged at the Superstar, grabbed him around the waist and ran him backward into a concrete wall! And then Sharc began unloading with lefts and rights, as he had finally found a reason to fight. Jacobs was no rookie, however, and he was able to block a majority of the wild punches by shielding his face with his forearms.

Jacobs kicked Sharc in the knee, but he didn't even flinch, and the fists continued to fly until Jacobs grabbed a wooden stool and smashed it into Sharc's left leg. He let out a loud roar upon impact, and collapsed. Seizing the opening, Jacobs got on hands and knees and jammed the palm of his hand into Sharc's bruised throat.

"Time to finish what we started last week," Jacobs spat out.

*SMACK*

Kick to the face! Not from Sharc, but from Sarah! Stunned, Jacobs released his vice-like grip on Sharc's throat and checked to see if his nose was bleeding. Jacobs had already competed in a match tonight, but this was going to be something different: a fight without any sort of rules.

Now Sharc was up, and he rammed his knee into Jacobs' face. Quickly, Sharc yanked a dazed Jacobs up by the hair and took off running toward a nearby metal door.

*BOOM!*

Vince's face, meet steel push bar. Whether it was intentional or not, this fight had just ended up where it all began, except this time Jacobs was having his face run into a door instead of Sarah. After taking a step back, Sharc kicked open the door, then yelled for Sarah to help move him. Within moments with Sarah's assistance, Jacobs head was jammed against the doorway, as Sharc headed outside into the night, grabbed hold of the door, and

*WHAM!*

Slammed the door violently, a move that could have crushed Jacobs' skull! Had he not moved in just the nick of time. Now Jacobs kicked the door open, which smashed a surprised Sharc in the face. Jacobs charged, lifted him up by the legs, and crushed him into concrete using a basic, put extremely painful in this instance, double-leg takedown.

While Sharc writhed in pain on the concrete, Jacobs head rubbernecked in every direction, looking for a weapon of some sort to obliterate Sharc with in the small parking lot area. After ramming his boot into Sharc's ribs, the same ribs Jacobs had injured a week ago during his vicious assault, the Superstar dragged Sharc up to a knee, and then took them toward a parked vehicle.

"Let's see how you like having your face sliced to shreds!"

Into the window!

No!

SVJ looked to hurl Sharc's face through a passenger-side window, but both of Sharc's hands landed on the glass and stopped the attempt. A trio of elbows to the ribs set him free, and then Sharc began unloading with five concrete-like punches that got SVJ wobbly. With SVJ dazed, Sharc showed no mercy, grabbing hold of his long brown hair and charging.

*SMASH!*

The momentum was so great, that Jacobs' skull didn't just break the glass -- the Superstar was halfway inside the gaping hole where the window used to be!

"More, more!" Sarah shouted with glee and clapping excitedly from the other side of the car, a wicked smile on her face.

Sharc shrugged in a "sure, why not?" sort of way, then yanked Jacobs out of the window to have a look-see at the damage. It was MASSIVE! It was Japanese death match bad. A crimson mask of blood obscured every bit of skin on his face.

After leaning Jacobs against the side of the car, Sharc hopped onto the hood, then onto the roof. He wrapped both hands around Jacobs' throat and dragged him up to join him.

With SVJ bent over, Sharc lifted the mostly dead weight up into a piledriver position, let Jacobs slide down in his clutches a bit, then stepped through to hook SVJ's arms with his legs, and--

KA-SMASH~!

SHARC CAGE ON THE ROOF OF THE CAR!

The remaining windows EXPLODED outward as the weight of both men crashed down on the crumpled roof of the vehicle. Sharc's belly to back inverted mat slam had driven SVJ's already bloody face down onto the steel. And he wasn't moving at all now.

Though Jacobs couldn't hear it, Sharc had one last message for the Icon tonight: "God is dead. I am alive."

"That was awesome!" Sarah shouted wickedly from the pavement below the scene of the crime.

Sharc crawled forward onto the hood, over bits of broken glass, while kicking his way free of Jacobs, until he came to the edge of the hood. He pushed himself up on shaky arms until he was eye to eye with Sarah.

"You are so good. I told you you could do it."

"It's because of you," Sharc whispered, breathlessly. "It's all for you."

What next?

"Crazy bastard. He's going to ruin everything we've worked for."

Callie Urban, now dressed in "civvies" clutched at her bruised ribs. Her walk was halting, and her body almost seemed to fold in on itself. Hunching over, ever so slightly, she paused and dropped her gym bag with a grimace.

A backstage worker walked by and paused to ask if she needed any help.

She narrowed her eyes and he went scurrying off.

"That bastard. If he thinks he's getting away with this... consequences you giant bastard. Consequences."

Callie grit her teeth and picked her gym bag up again, slinging it over her shoulder with a pained grunt.

Alone, she continue to walk down the now empty hall.

SIX-PERSON TAG TEAM MATCH
Trevor Wilson, Kati and Omega vs.
Midnight Cowboy, John Sarsgaard and Rory Hayes
REFEREE: MARK SHIELDS

       
       

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

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

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

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

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

Kati climbed up the apron and onto the top turnbuckle of the adjacent ring post. She sat there and looked around the crowd as Wilson undid his title belts. He raised one in each hand before passing them off to the Mark Shields.

The arena lights went out as a few strobe lights circulated around the arena. "Redeemer" by Marilyn Manson started to play as Omega slowly made his way from the backstage area.

Accompanying him as always was Barb. He eyed the Spirit of ACW and his partner in the ring cautiously. In recent weeks it would've made sense for Kati to be opposing him, but now they would work as allies.

Wilson and Kati stepped aside in their corner so that Omega could carefully place Barb in just the right spot. Wilson undid his trench coat and dropped it to the floor where his hood soon followed. Kati leaned in and whispered something to Wilson, but the Spirit was keeping his eyes on Omega.

It wasn't long until Rory Hayes came out to join the proceedings. Hayes had run ins with each person in the ring at one time or another. He had recently become a staple of the Scorpion division.

"Without a Fight" by Hoobastank.

A rising star in ACW, John Sarsgaard came out next. He rubbed his wrists slightly and stared down the champions in the ring. He gave Hayes a shifty look, not knowing whether or not he'd actually be able to trust one of his partners for the night.

Sarsgaard slid inside the ring and gave a quick glance at Omega before staring down Wilson. The Spirit smirked slightly and used his hands to gesture a belt around his waist.

Hayes put a hand on Sarsgaard's shoulder to talk strategy, but the men were suddenly caught off guard by a familiar noise.

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

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

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

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

Midnight Cowboy stopped halfway down the ramp and lifted his head. He slowly removed his hat and kept it in his hands for just a moment. He stared ahead at the man he would face at Legends.

The Spirit of ACW returned the look.

MC tossed the hat into the crowd and ran to the ring. He jumped onto the apron and wiped his boots off on the apron before climbing over the ropes and moving to his corner. The whole time he kept an eye on the opposition and made sure his back wasn't completely turned to them.

Shields waited until each corner was set and had a member out and waiting. Then he called for the bell.

DING DING DING

Kati started things off against Sarsgaard. The Toxic Warrior immediately moved in Sarsgaard looking for a leg takedown that Sarsgaard deftly side-stepped.

Spinning around, Kati was able to sweep the leg and then drop an elbow into Sarsgaard. She rolled back and jumped up for a standing splash but Sarsgaard rolled away. She just barely got her hands and knees right to avoid splatting onto the mat.

Sarsgaard lifted her up from behind. He locked his arms around her waist and started to move her but he was met with violent thrashing.

He eventually released the hold, missing an elbow in the process, and waited for her to turn round before levelling her with a clothesline.

Before Sarsgaard could continue Hayes extended his arm and started calling for a tag. After a stare at Kati, Sarsgaard handed duties over to Rory.

The two Scorpion division combatants collided. Kati wasn't prepared to go down at the hands of Hayes and stood her ground. Exchanging hands worked until Hayes locked Kati up and drove her into the ropes.

He practically threw her across the ring instead of an Irish Whip, but he got her across all the same. He ducked down and she rolled off his back and jumped into the ropes. Hayes turned around and got nailed with a Flying Forearm.

Kati rolled away and tagged in Wilson.

The Spirit of ACW stepped over the ropes and grabbed onto Hayes before he could tag anyone in. He tossed the Boston Mangler into a corner and drilled him with hard shoulders. He pulled Hayes out from the corner and took him over with a Northern Lights Suplex.

Wilson rolled over and kept an eye on the opponent's corner.

ONE!

TW-Kickout from Hayes. Wilson lifted Hayes up from the mat and brought him over to his corner. He offered a hand to Omega but was met with silence. Instead he tagged in Kati.

She climbed up to the top rope and awaited Wilson. He lifted Hayes up and held him around his side. He spun around and hit him with a Backbreaker and stayed rested on one knee. Kati leapt off the top rope and landed a near decapitating leg drop.

Kati rolled Hayes away from the corner to keep his legs and arms clear of the ropes.

ONE!

TWO!

Sarsgaard almost came in to make the save, but MC just stood silently on the apron and watched Wilson in the opposite corner. The Spirit of ACW took notice.

Kati grabbed onto Hayes and turned him over with a Neckbreaker. She got to her feet and took her time moving to the ropes before coming back with a knee drop.

She bent down to grab onto him but was suddenly blasted from behind by Midnight Cowboy. He clobbered her from behind with forearm shots until he finally stepped back.

Wilson was through the ropes and running in no time. MC tried to duck or send Wilson over the top rope but ended up getting caught and taken for a ride with him.

Hayes made a move to his corner and tagged in Sarsgaard who grabbed onto Kati and hit an Inverted Atomic Drop. He reached forward and held her up. He got her into position and nailed her with a Russian Legsweep.

ONE!

TWO!

She managed to get a shoulder up. While she looked for a tag from her corner, she didn't see Omega paying much attention to the action in the ring.

Wilson slammed MC up above the barricade. He stood up and reared but MC grabbed him by the back of the head and drove his forehead into the security barrier. Wilson snapped up grabbing his face and suffered a DDT.

Sarsgaard grabbed onto Kati and pulled her over to the corner. He climbed onto the second rope and turned her around. He jumped forward and caught her with a Bulldog.

Just as he was lifting her up, Hayes called from the corner for a tag. Sarsgaard shrugged him off but the Masshole persisted. Sarsgaard blatantly waved him off this time but he lost track of Kati in the scuffle. She bailed to the corner and tagged in Omega. Whether he wanted it or not this time.

Sarsgaard saw this, and then decided to tag Hayes in. Before Rory could retaliate or argue the point, the Hands of Iron left the ring and stood on the outside with his arms crossed.

Hayes turned to face the ring, but in his arguing Omega had decided to come alive.

He was brought over the top rope by Omega and into the ring. Omega grabbed Hayes by the throat and lifted him on his feet. Once he was planted he drilled him with a High Vertical Front Suplex. The Scorpion champion got to his feet and shot a quick look at Barb. He turned back to Hayes and brought him onto his feet. He sent Hayes into the ropes and waited for him to come back. On the rebound he took Hayes off his feet with a High Impact Clothesline.

Rory Hayes wasn't Iceman, but it was a fine substitute at the moment.

Sarsgaard took notice on the other side of the ring where MC was ready to level Wilson with a right hand but was stopped by Kati. A hard kick to the back of MC's knee dropped him. Wilson reached and drove his knee forward. He grabbed onto Midnight Cowboy and brought him up for an Impaler DDT.

Omega waited for Hayes to get up on his feet. As he moved to his knees he could feel the anticipation.

The End!

Sarsgaard took a look at the action in and out of the ring before taking off up the ramp.

Omega dropped down and covered Hayes as he watched Kati and Wilson on the outside

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

The bell rang and Omega looked to Barb. Wilson stood over Midnight Cowboy and waited for Kati to collect his things. He put his coat on and carried his title belts in each hand as he left. He took one last moment to glance back at Omega. There was a mutual understanding between the two that was summed up with a simple nod.

The Spirit and Scorpion.

A New Direction

   

The door to SilverHAWK’s office swung open. Andrew Fiasco stood in his doorway. He had a look on his face similar to a lion ready to pounce.

“Somehow, I knew you’d be in here,” SilverHAWK grinned. Fiasco did not.

“Calm down, Andrew. I know this isn’t the first time this happened to you and I know it won’t be the last, but just calm down.”

Fiasco did not calm down.

“Give him to me, HAWK.”

“I told you I want you to show him the ropes,” HAWK responded.

“Give him to me, HAWK. I’ll teach him a lesson alright.”

SilverHAWK broke out in laughter.

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU LAUGHING ABOUT? THIS IS NOT A LAUGHING MATTER.”

HAWK took a deep breath in an attempt to keep his composure. He smiled as he spoke.

“Let me get this straight. You get jumped from behind. You want to wrestle the guy that jumped you from behind on the biggest show of the year. You want to wrestle him in a match on a show bigger than you can possibly imagine. You’ve waited your entire career to be on this show…

I don’t believe you though, Andrew. I think I know you better than that. I think you want to fight this guy. I think you want to beat him to a bloody pulp. I think you want to rip his head off.”

Andrew Fiasco grinned.

SilverHAWK returned the smile.

“Paperwork’s already in processing since the attack. Scorpion Fighting rules. Andrew Fiasco vs. Matthew Sanchez at LEGENDS IV.”

"Teach the kid a lesson, Andrew.”

The grin never left Fiasco’s face. He nodded and walked away from his position in SilverHAWK’s doorway, leaving the General Manager to his work.

The Cogs Begin To Turn, Part Eight

   

Just as one man had left his office in the shape of Mr. Fiasco, the cameras remained in the domain of a certain Mr. HAWK as he tried to wrap things up so he could watch the main event for tonight.

Last show before Legends equals BUSY AS FUCK... but then again when wasn't SilverHAWK BUSY AS FUCK?

HAWK pulled out his side drawer and popped the cap on a bottle of aspirin to try and relieve the tension in his neck and back. He still ached from his wrestling days.

He still ached from being curb stomped many moons ago. As he downed the white pill he heard a chap at his door and motioned for the person to come in.

He then gulped loudly as the man whom entered was a certain Jeremy Hunt. The SlySports executive had been quietly going about his business of late and he had been staying out of HAWKs way. This was good in his book.

However there was something that told HAWK that he would see Hunt tonight, probably because he had stuff to plan after Legends... and he had no idea where ACW was going.

Hunt did.

"What can I do you for Jeremy?"

Hunt was soon followed by WAR, his giant Russian bodyguard who was posted missing last week on a personal errand. As SilverHAWK looked up, he couldn't help but notice that WAR had a large shiny black eye on his right hand side... and he wondered.

Just who the hell is brave enough to give him that? And where is he currently buried?

"I'll tell you what you can do for me Mr. HAWK, firstly I need a Skybox next week for some very important colleagues from the company and they would like tip top seats, as well as a chance to meet you."

HAWK didn't see that as an insane request.

"That’s fine."

But that didn't mean he needed to be pally with the baldy prick!

"Finally I've just finalised the deal which will have ACW in more arenas following Legends, just wanted you to know that."

After that, Hunt had the fucking audacity to start leaving!

"Hold on a minute! Where the hell are we going then?"

Hunt turned around with a grin on his face.

"See that's what the meeting in the Skybox is for next week HAWK, it's the executives I want to tell first and then you can figure out your plans. Trust me it will be fun!"

SLAM

SilverHAWK slammed his hand down on his desk as papers fell from the sides. WAR was ready to get cracking but Hunt ushered him back as he could tell SilverHAWK was just reacting normally.

"Listen Mr. HAWK, I'm here to help with the process, and let me just tell you that what we have in store will not only help with the product as a whole... but will increase ACWs popularity ten-fold. Oh... another thing. I need access to all the contracts for everyone on the roster."

SilverHAWK was once again in shock, what the fuck was this guy playing at.

"What the hell do you need them for? What happened to you taking a back seat Hunt? Huh? What happened to that deal? And where the fuck are the Roy Boys?"

Hunt looked around the room flabbergasted.

"How the hell am I supposed to know HAWK? Maybe they are trapped from coming to the show because of travel problems? Ever thought of that?"

"That doesn't mean I can't contact them via phone does it?"

Hunt shook his head in agreement.

"Point taken. The contracts? Let's just say that I want to make sure all our bases are covered after Legends... now I really must go, I want to take my seat for the main event!"

As Hunt scurried off WAR lingered, looking at HAWK with a menacing stare that the ACW Architect did not like one bit.

There wasn't anything about this situation that he liked one bit.

...

...

He didn't even know the worst of it.

There'll be Skin and Bones Flying

           

The cameras caught up to Irish Spring whom were finally cleared to leave for the night, after having their mixture of injuries patched up and bodies sewn together. Cillian and Cavan no worse for the wear than expected, while Darina was still somewhat shaken up from what she had seen.

“Are you sure you want to do this sis?” Inquired Cillian to the nod of Darina.

“Aye, I want to thank her for stopping that monster earlier tonight. If you two hadn’t been incapacitated you would have seen what transpired. We owe her a debt for what she did and the punishment she endured because of us.” Darina said with conviction in her voice.

“Sis, you do realize she was in on this just as much as that ogre was? The kicks to me head and the spear that Cillian received. She had just as much of a hand in this thing as anyone else did, what makes ye think this isn’t just some trap we be walking into?” remarked Cavan.

“Cavan,” Darina turned to her oldest brother, “you listen to me. While you were passed out on the floor you didn’t see what happened in that room. I saw a spark in those eyes that I feel I can trust and even if the two of you don’t feel the same way I want to personally thank her.”

Darina pushed the door open with the brothers O’Callaghan behind her. Peering out at the parking lot area she saw the shattered glass and busted up car from earlier in the night with Sharc. Sitting on the hood of another car down the row was the object of her savior, Callie Urban. “There.” She pointed her out. “She’s over there.” The two started to rush towards her but Darina held them back. “Leave this to me boys.”

Approaching her casually Darina saw Callie’s head beneath her legs. “Callie?” Callie briefly raised her head to see Darina and sat up slightly.

“What do you want?”

“To thank you,” stated Darina as sincere as possible. “I know if you hadn’t stepped in as you did that ogre would have done to me what he did to me brothers. So, thank you, I appreciate the fact that you at least looked out for the one person who couldn’t defend herself in that situation.”

Callie shrugged. “It should be me thanking you though, sweetie.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

Callie slid her way down the hood and stood up next to her.

“Changing my ways. Making me a better woman and person. Seeing the light. The usual, right?”

“Glad to be of some help then,” said Darina as Cavan and Cillian stood behind her. “About that drink-“

“But, what I really want to thank you for..." she paused and leaned in close to Darina's ear. “Is falling for our trap.”

Darina stuttered before stating, “Cavan was right…”

BANG!

From off in the distance the seven foot three Colossus charged across the parking lot and speared Cillian right off the ground, straight into the side of a unfortunately parked porche. Cavan swung his arm out at Spike nailing him in the chin, and followed with a boot to the gut. The boot was caught and Cavan was raised in the air before being tossed backwards on his ass.

Urban remained standing by Darina. “Oh my god!” she screamed and rushed towards the brothers aide, “Ouch!” only to get yanked back in place by the firm hold of Callie’s fist wrapped in her hair.

“Stay. Enjoy the show.”

Cillian had started to recover and dove into the back of Saunders’s legs, knocking him down to the ground enough that Cavan could follow up with a knee to the sternum. The Irishmen took turns wailing down on the giant which only seemed to further infuriate the beast. Saunders wailed his arm about and knocked the two off of him so he could stand upright again.

Cavan and Cillian rushed him only to get caught in his grasp, their necks viced within in his hands. Callie smirked at Darina. “Unfortunately, this is where things get rather gruesome sweetie.” Darina started to back off waving her arms in front of her, not understanding what she meant. She was only their val-GENTRIFICATION~!

With Darina down, Callie hopped on the car hood and sprinted across the row until she reached Saunders. Cavan had fought out of the grip and thought he had the upper hand until two legs dropped kicked him backwards into the porsche’s door.

Saunders chuckled at the sight of Cavan crushed against the car door. Callie had already begin to raise him back to his feet, face planted against the glass ready to do something dastardly. He turned back to Cillian with intent to finish things off but suddenly he squirmed free of his hand and THE SHIN-ING~!.

Spike dropped like a boulder to the concrete next to a corvette. Cillian pulled Saunders up by the head and used it as a battering ram into the side of the car. Dents caving in from the impact zone.

CRASH!

The sound of glass breaking echoed through the lot as Cavan’s body laid through the now windowless door. Callie having planted his face up against the door and repeatedly bashing him into the window before landing a dropkick with enough force to blast the glass inwards, along with his upper body. She was completely unaware of her partner's condition and unprepared when Cillian speared her to the ground.

The Irishman saw Darina laying on the ground and knew full well who was the cause. He drove his boot down across the woman’s face and dragged it down her chin, crushing the neck, and then down the chest , applying pressure to the lungs before stomping her in the gut. Callie reached down and grabbed at his boot to force him off, but her strength to his own was little of comparison.

Instead she turned her body as much as she could with each releasing stomp from Cillian. And then finally… rolled off to the side so he missed his target. This allowed her the opportunity to grab onto his ankle, and coil his leg, she then used her other leg to kick out the shin of Cillian’s free leg, which caused him to collapse to the ground. Callie maneuvered her body and his until she held Cillian down on the concrete with a modified Scorpion Deathlock.

“Hold that bastard there,” spoke her partner as he limped up to the car and pulled himself up to the Porsche’s hood. He then walked up the front glass and took a stance on top of the car’s roof. Even Callie was bemused as Saunders stood ready to jump.

WHACK!

Instead of jumping he slumped to the side thanks to Cavan coming at him from behind with The CLAW from the car he was just stuck inside. Repeated shots followed, but four was too many and Spike grabbed the Claw, ripping it from his hands and drove it into his gullet. Cavan gasped for air before his throat was engulfed within the colossus hand. He raised Cavan off the hood, then over to the edge.

CHOKESLAM OFF THE CAR ROOF~!

Callie wrenched back in the pressure before releasing Cillian from her legs. She knew what was left to finish. With a smirk she pulled Cillian away from the car and yanked him back to his feet by his arm. Saunders was now sitting on the side of the car and held his boot out which Cillian’s face was rammed right into. Callie repeated this action a second time and then rested him against the back hood of the car.

Saunders raised his foot in the air and crashed it down on the trunk causing it to unhinge. Callie raised the trunk and stuff Cillian in head fist, and then with the help her of her partner she slammed it down across Cillian's exposed ribs. Saunders adding extra pressure by using both his feet to apply force downwards.

Callie yanked Cillian out from the trunk and rolled him onto the hood where Saunders grabbed him. Ducked between the legs, he raised him for the gory special, and turned towards the front end of the car before driving Cillian down with the powerbomb on the hood. The DREAMKILLER~!

He hopped back off the car, walking next to Cavan who was still out of it. Callie opened the trunk once more and Spike pulled Cavan across the concrete by his arm until he reached the backend. He raised Cavan in the air and drove him down on his knee with a spine tingling backbreaker while Callie pulled herself up onto the Chevy Impala next to them and then jumped off with both boots down across Cavan's chest LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT~!.

They shoved Cavan inside and slammed the trunk down on him, as his legs remained on the outside.

The two walked away from the car and over towards Darina. Callie stopped and walked over to her. “I’m sorry.” She frowned at her and helped her to her feet, then turned and walked back towards Saunders. PELEKICK~!.

The two looked around the lot that had seen it’s share of blood this night. Callie turned towards Spike, wiping the sweat from her forehead and spitting out a spurt of blood as her partner nursed his own wounds.

“So, for dinner, I was thinking Chinese. How ‘bout you?”

The two continued to walk past the damaged cars. The camera taking a large panning swing of the demolished lot.

If one were to walk around, they could have sworn the running of the bulls happened in this spot. This night.

Legends IV, continued to waive that red cape.

The $900,000 Man

   

DING, DING, DING!

Just like that, it was main event time. As the cameras zoomed in from afar on the ring announcer, viewers quickly discovered that Trey Vincent had once again resumed his annoucing role for the evening.

"Tonight, we are going to witness the most anticipated match in the history of professional sports entertainment not involving Trey Vincent. For the ACW Championship of the World! Are you ready?"

ROAR~!!

"Who cares if you're ready!"

BOOO~!

"For the thousands in attendance, and the millions watching on SlySports! Ladies and gentlemen. Leeeeeeeeeeeeeet's get ready to screw Aliasssssssssss!"

Bongos.

"Owwwww!"

Cheers.

Original Pulp Hero time. With the quite familiar sounds of the Rolling Stones' "Sympathy for the Devil" once again playing in the ACW World Champion, the Hall-of-Famer stepped out to more love from crowd.

"Introducing first, from Nowhere In Particular, he weighs in tonight at 242 and eleven-sixteenths, he is the REIGNING and DEFENDING, ACW World Champiooooooon! The Original Pulp Heroooooooooo, Aaaaaaaaaaa-liiiiiiii-asssssssssssss!"

Having completed his best Michael Buffer impersonation, Vincent turned his eyes toward the rapidly approaching Alias. As Alias neared ringside, something in the crowd caught his eye: a fan's home-made sign. Motioning for the teenage fan to hand it over, Alias then displayed it for the whole viewing world to see it as well. It was a checklist of every challenger Alias had defeated in this bounty:

The Heirs of Wrestling, check.
Omega, check.
Scott Riktor, check.
Shawn Jessica Hart, check.
Jack Harris, check.
Jade Argent/Khristian Keller, check.
Sharc, check
Keith Scott Zimmerman, check.

Two names remained underneath unchecked, however: that of tonight's mystery opponent (a series of three question marks on the sign), and Trey Vincent. The teenage fan who made the sign handed Alias a red marker, so that tonight Alias could check off his next opponent. As Alias proudly displayed the fan's sign, Vincent protested from inside the ring, yelling for the cameras to cut away from Alias' propaganda.

Once Alias stepped inside the ring, he got right in Vincent's face. Vincent didn't budge this time. Rather, he simply put the microphone to his lips and smiled.

"And YOUR opponent…"

All eyes turned toward the entryway. As just a few seconds ticked by, to Alias and the crowd, it felt like minutes were quickly stretching into forever. They all wanted to know who would challenge Alias.

"He is a former World Champion…" Vincent said, continuing to tease Alias and the crowd.

"And he's a lunatic."

WHAT?!

"All aboard... HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA..."

The crowd blew up in a total mess of cheers and boos, as Ozzy Osbourne's "Crazy Train" kicked in. Alias stared, a bit in shock, as High Flyer stepped out, jerked his head back, and grinned at the split crowd. These two men had fought to a stalemate while feuding over the number one contendership to the CSWA Heavyweight championship. Back on Courage 100, Alias finally was able to pin a masked High Flyer. The two didn't meet again until July of last year, when Flyer won in controversial fashion, tapping out as Alias' shoulders were simultaneously pinned to the mat. This rivalry was inconclusive, but filled with numerous epic encounters. Tonight would be no exception.

"And the challenger. He hails from Los Angeles, California and weighs in tonight at 222.22 pounds! The Lunnnnnnnnatic. Highhhhhhhhhhh Flyyyyyyyyyyyer!" TV bellowed, completing the ring introduction. His work complete, he retired to the aisle as Flyer approached, but Vincent wouldn't be going backstage. He'd be watching the entire main event take place. TV also made sure to make the "money" motion with his fingers to remind Flyer of the potential huge payday. All he had to do was beat Alias. Now.

ACW WORLD TITLE / $900,000 BOUNTY
High Flyer vs. Alias ©
REFEREE: HENRY IRWONSEN

   

Yes, this WAS happening.

For the first time since Courage 100, Alias and High Flyer were preparing to tear apart each other in the center of an ACW ring. As the insanity that was the multiple-time former FWO World Champion stepped into the ring, Alias met him, slowly handing off his prized ACW World Championship as he did, to Henry Irwonsen.

“I’m just happy we didn’t have to wait another hundred shows, for this match to happen.” The Original Pulp Hero growled, with rumbling ease.

“I was thinking of waiting another ninety show… but hey, $900,000 is a good days work.” High Flyer winked with a sardonically crazy wink.

“Not to mention Legends…”

“I lost one chance for a World Championship at a Legends,” Flyer’s eyes flared, referring to a show for the aforementioned FWO, “So I plan to retain my new World Championship this time around.”

“I’m sure Keith is loving all of this, now that you mentioned it.” Alias intoned, he had grown to respect the Pound-for-Pound Pitbull, but with the history that KSZ had between both Alias and High Flyer… holy shit, was TV putting the screws to Zimmerman pre-Legends.

With the two men standing within arms reach of each other, the crowd began buzzing in anticipation as Henry Irwonsen began to pat down Alias for any illegal item he might be bringing to the ring. Alias did so without complaint, bringing his leg up so that the official could pat the boots down as well. Having found nothing, he turned his attention to High Flyer, who was still bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet getting ready. That look in his eyes. Alias merely rolled his neck as the referee began patting the green jeans of Flyer causing him to stop hopping. He then began patting down the knee braces and asked for the boots, with which High Flyer brought them up.

Sure it would have been funny if Flyer had a pile of weapons at his feet, once the referee had finished searching him… but hey, this wasn’t that might. Shit had gotten serious on this night before Legends. Flyer hadn’t even made mention of just how right he was about his protégés taking the tag title gold from Vox Nihili. Not yet.

With both men searched, senior referee Henry Irwonsen brought them both in closer to the center of the ring.

"Alright guys...let's have a clean contest. No shots below the belt, keep the closed fists to a minimum, if you leave this ring I have no problem counting you out. I will not hesitate to disqualify you if do not break a hold by the time I finish the five count once your opponent grabs the ropes. Any weapon usage and you will be disqualified. If you put me under threat of personal danger, I will push back. Any questions."

Alias nodded in the negative.

Flyer simply stared towards the Original Pulp Hero with malice in his cobalt blue orbs.

“If I get a ladder involved, it’ll only prepare either one of us for Legends IV…” Flyer hissed.

“I’ll allow it.” Alias growled.

Irwonsen looked between the two men.

"Alright...let's get this thing started." And the official quickly waved the hand signifying for the bell to be rung and the match to begin.

Anticipation. All-Star Championship Wrestling was about to see what all the hype was about. ACW was about to learn first hand why these two were two of the world’s most revered wrestlers around.

"VAMONOS PULPA!"

"VAMONOS PULPA!"

"VAMONOS PULPA!"

Spanish it seemed was an unveiled wrestling Mecca. And though Alias didn’t call this place his home, they treated him like a Hero. High Flyer had never wrestled within Spain.

Save for a surprise loss against up and coming superstar, Orlando Grant.

Suffice to say, High Flyer's back was against the wall.

Alias bounced off the ropes behind him, then the two commenced to circle each other. The fans were still on their feet as the two began to circle each other, their hands extended slightly.

Their hands jutted out randomly, both men going for a knuckle lock. Both men were trying to get a hold of the other, but after circling each other three times trying to do this, then the two stopped momentarily, finally meeting in the middle of the ring for a collar and elbow tie up.

High Flyer was able to leverage himself more into the tie up, with less recent mileage he was the fresher of the two, pushing Alias back into the ropes. The official came in quickly, calling for the break as Flyer had Alias pinned against the ropes. The Neighborhood Lunatic relented, but not before he smacked Alias on the side of the stomach, getting the loud sound of skin smacking in the air.

Flyer back pedaled haphazardly, Alias still resting against the ropes. The two staring at each other, Alias emotionless and Flyer with a slight smirk on his face. The fans began to cheer once again at the stand off, with Alias coming off the ropes and nearing High Flyer with his hands extended for a Muay Thai clinch.

The two broke the stand off by meeting once again with a collar and elbow tie up. Alias quickly gained the advantage, lifting Flyer up and over with a hip toss that caused the fans in attendance to explode in cheers. This sent High Flyer across the ring near the ropes on the opposite end of where he was originally. High Flyer had to grab at the top rope to pick himself up quickly. The Pulp Champion stood tall as the two once again stared at each other, getting another good buzz going through the crowd.

High Flyer simply turned his back to Alias, going to the nearest turnbuckle , fixing his elbow pad and waistline. What would Tony Davis be saying from the corner?

“Dude, you think I should get an iPad or just keep playing games on my DS? I think I’m going to just keep my DS… yeah.”

Okay, bad example… WWMLM say, well would Mayfly would probably tell Flyer something like:

"Jack, let it come to you, don't rush. Take your time and limit his offense."

Imaginary Mary-Lynn Mayweather had a good point. The Original Pulp Hero was a tough son of a bitch. His style was not flashy, instead rugged and powerful. Overtime he’d become even more vicious, as opposed to flashy. He also had an almost legendary sort of toughness that the wrestling world appreciated. Flyer was strong too, he had to be as he certainly wasn’t as fast as he once was when he earned the name High Flyer, but if he were to limit the offense of Alias, he could work his mat based style and work on the endurance of the Heart and Soul of ACW. Conditioning wise, Alias was in the best shape of his life. However, he hadn’t taken a week off in the ring since returning from an in-ring stabbing weeks upon weeks ago, so that could play a role.

The two began circling each other once again at a rapid pace, with Alias stopping after almost one full turn on the canvas to a snails pace. Alias rolls his arms as Flyer continued at his normal pace, making up major ground on the opponent. After a full revolution, Flyer stayed pat at where he was, then shoot in on Alias. He was the aggressor of yet another collar and elbow tie up, getting a side headlock on Alias.

Push to the ropes by Alias, only for Flyer to slip free and lean into a thundering shoulder block that sent the Pulp Hero to the ground. Flyer came off the shoulder block and goes to the ropes to his side. With Alias on his back and seeing what the future FWO Hall of Famer was doing, he rolls to his stomach near Flyer as he comes off the ropes, causing High Flyer to have to jump over him thanks to the close proximity. Flyer bounced off the ropes again and Alias quickly got to his feet.

The fans exploded in cheers again.

Why?

Hip toss on High Flyer off the carom.

Flyer quickly shoots to his feet, but Alias was simply there waiting for him and he quickly picked him up and slammed him down with scoop slam. Flyer tried to roll away, but Alias followed in close proximity to Flyer. The Friendly Neighborhood Lunaitc got up and luckily grabbed at the Original Pulp Champion's arm and dragged him into the corner. Alias rested his back against the turnbuckle as Flyer came over top of him, causing the referee to come in a break it up, but High Flyer wasn't stopping.

He swung for a slap.

Alias pulled his head back, avoiding an open handed smack across the face.

SMACK!

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

And responds with a slap of disrespect across the face of High Flyer.

High Flyer stood tall, an insane look of anger consuming his face.

SMACK!

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

And High Flyer returned the disrespect.

CRACK!

The Barcelona audience cheered loudly.

And High Flyer was sent to the canvas thanks to a fist from the Original Pulp Hero.

The referee yelled for the World Champion to unclench his closed fist to no avail. High Flyer sat up, grabbing at his face. And Alias came closer and closer with that closed fist of bad intentions and Flyer could only push away as he drew near. Alias waited for High Flyer to get up, showing the respect that still lay deep down between the two after there years in the business together, and he complied using the ropes to pull himself up near the turnbuckle. Alias brought his arms out for a wrestling stance. Flyer did the same but had to back up into the corner.

The two looked over each other for a moment before High Flyer came out of the corner with another collar and elbow tie up. Flyer acted as the aggressor as the two fight over the tie up. High Flyer pushed Alias backwards across the ring turnbuckle to turnbuckle, pushing Alias into the corner and forcing the official to try and get between the two. However, High Flyer was very reluctant and the official was given no recourse but to go with the count.

At the three, High Flyer broke off and blasted Alias with a hard forearm shot to the midsection, causing the Pulp Hero to slump over and grab the ropes to keep himself standing up. Flyer stepped back and saw the opening of the chest and had to go for it.

TH-WACK!

OOOOOOOOOO~!

HARD knife edge chop. This caused Alias to bring his left leg up and his back to go hard into the corner. The fans began booing as Alias tried to take a deep inhale to gather his breath. That only left him open once again.

TH-WACK!

OOOOOOOOOO~!

Never leave yourself open to a knife edge chop, because IT! WILL! HURT! The head of Alias shot back. The leg shot up as well. The boos rained down as Trey Vincent laughed with absolute glee from the top of the ramp. High Flyer followed up by quickly grabbing at the jaw of the Original Pulp Hero and blasted him across the face with a punch. This forced Alias to come off the turnbuckle and rest his chest on the ropes to the right of him. It looked like the Lunatic had him right now.

TH-WACK!

OOOOOOOOOO~!

He was mistaken.

Alias came off the ropes and blasted Flyer HARD across the chest.

With his clinched right fist.

Flyer replied with a hard forearm.

The force of the forearm sent Alias stumbling back into the corner. At a full sprint, High Flyer charged in and drove another weighted forearm into Alias' head. The Pulp Hero slumped down and took a seat on the second turnbuckle while High Flyer stepped back to admire his handiwork. He touched the warm fluid on his face and wiped it away. That's when he noticed he wasn't wiping away sweat.

It was blood. It wasn't his. The Barcelona crowd was in an uproar.

An insane grin spread across High Flyer's face.

Cardinal was shocked, as the color-man, “Did you see that impact? I thought the Pulp Hero's head was going to come apart there!”

Jimmy Reid responded in kind, “Well he's bleeding already, and probably concussed. Henry Irwonsen better get in there and make sure his meal ticket isn't in any danger.”

But Henry Irwonsen wasn’t quick to clean up the World Champion, instead the senior referee waited to see what the man fighting to stay in the main event of Legends IV, a match that he might still referee thanks to having Keith Scott Zimmerman by his side. He looked at the Pulp Champion's eyes, which had yet to focus on anything. Part of him wanted to call the match. Part of him, the Captain Ironsides part of him, didn't want it to ever end.

Quickly, High Flyer hit the ropes, coming off and catching a stumbling Alias as the Pulp Hero blindly grabbed at his midsection with a LETHAL back brain kick that brought the ACW Hall-of-Famer to the ground. Quickly, Flyer went down going for a side headlock, trying to give himself more time to energize himself. Regain the oomph he earlier in the match, that he had used to split Alias open. Alias, however, quickly grabbed with his legs and locked the legs with a head scissor lock.

Flyer struggled as the fans began to cheer once again. Watching a bloody Alias beating an opponent to the punch was fantastic. But Flyer fought against the adulation for the Pulp Hero before executing a headstand to try and get out of the manuever.

BAM!

Alias quickly exerted his control, causing Flyer's head to be piledriven into the canvas. This forced Flyer back to his knees as Alias sat there, his face getting flushed as he continued to tighten his legs. Flyer once again tried to head stand out of the move.

BAM!

And once again, was denied. His face was becoming white now, the legs acting like a boa constrictor. It was significantly damaging his neck, and he realized it. Flyer picked himself up, headstanding again. Alias's legs had gone numb from all the pressure applied onto the neck of High Flyer. He let go. The fans cheered. THACK~!

"RUUUAAAAAH!”

Until Alias hit the ropes and nailed him right on the neck with a massive dropkick. High Flyer flopped like a fish on the mat. He was being physically dissected (as Ol' JR would say) in a precise manner. The blood it seemed had not weakened Alias, aside from a short bit of concussion, and was now fueling a more centered and vicious form of attack. On his back, High Flyer reached for his neck, which was a good thing as Alias came crashing down onto him with a knee that was meant for his throat. Before High Flyer knew it, he was brought back to his feet and pushed into an adjacent corner, where Alias put his arms on the outsides of the ropes.

CRAAAAAAAAAAACK~!

That is right. Not Th-Wack. We're talking about Kevin Garnett elbowing Anthony Carter riiiight in the mug kinda bone on bone sound. That's the sound the knife edge chop made, a mist spraying into the air after contact as High Flyer collapsed to the mat and grabbed at his chest. Wringing the sting out of his hand, Alias lifted High Flyer up to his feet.

TH-WACK!

High Flyer's chest was already developing welts, but a sudden rush of rage kept him on his feet. He roared out as the fans began to buzz. Alias was returning the favor from earlier on.

TH-WACK!

Forearm strike from High Flyer straight to the head of the Pulp Hero who stumbled a bit but quickly answered to a roar from the Barcelona crowd.

TH-WACK!

High Flyer would not dare go down.

TH-WACK!

And as High Flyer hit Alias with another hard forearm, he refused to as well.

TH-WACK!

A striking face off. The crowd was jeering louder as High Flyer kept raising the ante.

TH-WACK!

Alias wondered what kept the Flyer on his feet.

CRAAAACK~!

The crowd roared. That one from the bloodied fighting Champion brought High Flyer down, but he quickly was back up.

TH-WACK!

TH-WACK!

CRAAAACK~!

Move your feet, lose your seat. High Flyer's smaller frame went down once again, but he shot to his feet again.

Wobbly legs though.

And he fell down.

Sat up.

TH-WACK!

Kick. Right to the face. High Flyer immediately went down and the Pulp Hero quickly hooked the leg for the first time tonight. That’s right, crimson mask before pinfall. It was that kind of night.

ONE!

TWO!

NOOOOO!

The crowd groaned loudly for that one and applauded the valiant effort of the Champion. Alias just simply brought High Flyer to a stand, going for the Irish whip. Reversed. The Pulp Hero came charging, loading up for another shoulder block but High Flyer showed his cards at the right moment. Back body drop. Over the top rope to the floor. The crowd gasped in preparation of the human anatomy getting crunched against the concrete below, but instead were in shock as Alias barely landed on the apron with a foot, grabbing at the ropes. It was an unsteady landing, Alias had to get his other foot on the apron before he could even attempt to hit High Flyer in close quarters with a shoulder to the midsection to set up a sunset flip.

TH-WACK!

High Flyer took the chance to nail the Pulp Champion with what he had with a forearm to the head. Alias tried to stay on the apron as best as he could.

TH-WACK!

Alias lingered out on the apron, his left hand grabbing the top rope the only thing preventing him from falling to the outside. High Flyer ran to the ropes behind him and loaded up to nail the Pulp Hero with everything he had, which would certainly achieve his goal. But Alias loaded himself up, pulling hard and nailing High Flyer between the ropes with a shoulder right into the midsection of the Reckless High Flyer, dropping him to his knees. The Pulp Hero quickly prepared for the sunset flip.

CRAAAACK~!

High Flyer practically launched himself off the canvas, nailing a vicious forearm right below the jaw that stunned Alias to the point of losing his grip and falling to the outside. He managed to land on his feet, but being stunned like he was, he couldn't keep his feet and instantly fell back. High Flyer grabbed the ropes, pulling himself up. The crowd was cheering, sensing something dangerous was on the way. And they would not be disappointed. Desperate times did call for desperate measures, after all. High Flyer ran behind just as an ever-bloodier Alias was picking himself up. High Flyer ran as fast as he could across the ring, launching himself over the top rope with a twisting elbow drop.

TRAVELING THROUGH TIME TO THE OUTSIDE~!

And that noise? That would be people cheering their asses off and clapping as they stood. Some of the people smacked the guardrail for extra effect. Yes, High Flyer had officially won over Barcelona. Alias and Flyer lay prone on the outside as Irwonsen began his ring count. After the count of two, the pair of wrestlers began to move as Alias grabbed at the bridge of his nose, blood freshly oozing down his forehead, and kept his eyes closed tight in obvious pain as High Flyer was just trying to will himself up.

"VAMONOS PULPA VAMONOS!-ClapClap!-"

"VAMONOS PULPA VAMONOS!-ClapClap!-"

"VAMONOS PULPA VAMONOS!-ClapClap!-"

At the count of four, both men were up, and High Flyer was on the offense once again, nailing The Pulp Hero with a mule kick. This bought him the time to get onto the apron quickly, and as the count of five elapsed, he charged and caught The Pulp Hero with a headscissor.

Tried to bring him over.

Couldn't.

Uh. Oh.

SMACK!

Right into the guardrail. High Flyer's legs had remained around The Pulp Hero's neck, but he couldn't bring him over, and instead of letting High Flyer go, Alias decided to use the move to his advantage by torpedoing Flyer into the ring-side banister. Must have seen that one DVD of Joe/Punk.

At the seven count now and Irwonsen was basically demanding the two wrestlers to stop their shenanigans or else.

“Stop the ten count referee!" Trey Vincent screamed from the top of the ramp. Count number eight and Alias put a couple of well placed boots to his downed challenger. The fans began cheering, but yelling for Alias to get back into the ring, thinking that this was going to end up being a damn count out draw pre-Legends IV. And as nine rolled off of Irwonsen's tongue, Alias deftly stopped kicking the crap out of High Flyer, picked him up, and rolled him into the ring. Alias followed with him.

High Flyer did manage to get to his feet but only to have his leg picked and for Alias to float over, grabbing the right arm and locking in a tight chin hold. High Flyer screamed in pain as The Pulp Hero wrenched back, trying to tear at the arm of his opponent, hoping to soften him up. Flyer shook his head, and by luck or by bad luck, Alias’s finger fell into Flyer’s mouth… giving Flyer the chance to chomp down on it. With the Pulp Hero's finger in High Flyer's teeth, Alias roared in pain. Irwonsen began counting for the clean break in a very stringent manner.

And at about four, Flyer spit out the finger as Barcelona once again jeered him. High Flyer didn’t care though, as he rolled on the mat in pain holding his arm in pain. The Pulp Hero got to his feet, shaking his finger out, grabbing High Flyer and lifting him to his feet.

THUD!

High Flyer's chest might have been raw. And High Flyer's body might have been ravaged with pain. But High Flyer went lifeless and dropped. Alias, blood dripping onto his chest had brought High Flyer's head down and blasted him across the skull with a hard knee. After connecting, High Flyer just went down like a brick. Some of the fans gasped at the violent collision, getting to their feet. Alias grabbed at High Flyer's head to follow up, but Irwonsen knew something was wrong.

High Flyer wasn't moving.

"LET ME AT 'EM!" Alias roared, not at all happy at this development. He tried to push his way through, but Irwonsen just grabbed him and pushed him as hard as he could, admonishing the World Champion as the senior referee checked out the veteran challenger. As soon as High Flyer started showing signs of life, he rolled over. A young woman in the front row could be seen throwing up at the sight. Blood had stained the canvas from where his head was at, and High Flyer had his eyes closed. On Alias's face was a firm and focused, his hands on his hips as Irwonsen looked right at High Flyer's cut.

A hushed silence came over the Barcelona crowd as more people got to see High Flyer's face. Right at the bridge of the nose.

Flyer sat there for a second, looking at no one in particular. He knew what this meant. Losing his shot at the ACW Championship by virtue of injury. All that work, dealing with Trey Vincent...and it meant nothing. Irwonsen had the call to make. But he knew that if he called it, that voice in the back of his head might never let him forget it. "Think you can still go?"

High Flyer looked up at him, almost expressionless. "Sure...sure..." he spit up a little blood that had run off. Who gave a shit if his nose was broken? Certainly not High Flyer. If Alias could bleed like a stuck pig, so could he.

Y’see, the one thing many people on the ACW roster wouldn’t understand--COULDN’T understand--was that Alias, and yes, High Flyer had made a career out of getting their ass kicked and coming back to win the big matches.

So when Alias finally managed to make his way around Henry Irwonsen to continue the match, he got kicked in the midsection.

And again.

Again.

Again.

A forearm followed, and another, and another. The crowd looked on in astonishment as High Flyer began pummeling The Pulp Hero with everything he had, before rolling back in the ring. Blood continued to pour down his face, but it seemed that the plasma had only awakened the challenger’s resolve.

“COME ON!” he screamed, to Alias, who seemed ready and able to take that challenge. “THIS ISN’T OVER!”

The Pulp Hero smiled as he stepped back in the ring, fresh blood renewing the dried mess of crimson across his face. Damned right it wasn’t over. Not yet, anyway. Not until one of ‘em was raising that shiny title belt high overhead. Alias went in, fists clenched, to continue his offensive, only to be rattled in the jaw by a High Flyer dropkick. With his foe staggered, High Flyer got up, taking The Pulp Hero to the canvas with a quick Russian legsweep.

He was feeling psyched. And as long as this adrenaline high went, he would ride it.

UP TOP, BITCHES!

Glasgow Kiss?

Good idea. Take from Alias’s handbook for a little what’s up!

SWAAAAAANDIVE HEADBUTT~!

Goo--no, wait, that’s a FUCKING DUMB IDEA!

Well, he was a fuckin’ Lunatic.

See, even though it hit, Flyer went head and face first into The Pulp Hero’s cranium. When you’ve got a fucked up nose, that’s not the best of ideas.

And so Flyer screamed and kicked his feet, and there was much pain. The Pulp Hero was still a bit woozy from the head butt, but he still smiled. The old bastard (who was the same age as Alias) was valiant, sure, but too much damage had been done.

Too much pain inflicted.

Too many muscles torn.

Too much blood lost. By the both of them.

Now, Alias The Pulp Hero could be merciful. He was one or two moves away from defending the ACW World Championship, and the time was now to execute them.

Alias picked up the limp carcass of the former FWO World Champion, his challenger, and shot it into the ropes.

CLICK

Left knee to the gut. Grabbed head.

*THUD* BOOM

Right elbow to the back of the head.

TIGER CRUSH~!

ONE.

TWO.

FUCK. THAT. NOISE.

Flyer got his shoulder up to a round of roars from the crowd. Alias was stunned. Beyond stunned. But the ‘10 model of the Original Pulp Hero wasn’t going to bitch about it. Suffice to say he never would, especially with so much bounty at his back. No, he was going to go earn this match.

Then Alias had that look in his eyes…

The look that Flyer had in his eyes earlier in the night when he had asked Irwonsen about something very specific…

Yeah, I’m talking about the LADDER.

Alias looked at Irwonsen, and growled a single sentence, “I don’t know what you want to do about this… but I’m going for it.”

The senior referee took in what the bloody warrior intoned, and looking at High Flyer he had to realize that things couldn’t get any more violent. If all the bloodshed of the night was naturally going in this direction then maybe he had to let it be. Alias rolled out of the ring, and pointed towards Trey Vincent with evident malice in his eyes.

This was the stipulation that the Sports Entertainment Icon had come up with, after all. As Alias tossed up the ringside apron, the Barcelona crowd was murmuring with a good amount of excitement… was Alias really going to…

That’s when the Original Pulp Hero pulled the ladder from under the ring.

As he held it vertical though, he should have known that High Flyer wasn’t going to stay down forever from the Click, Book, Tiger Crush.

CRACK~!

The Neighborhood Lunatic’s legs rocketed out from under the bottom rope, as High Flyer performed a blood drenched baseball slide into the propped up ladder. The force of the kick made the ladder collide with Alias’s bloody mug, sending the Pulp Hero sprawling against the ringside barrier. The crowd jeered at this violent turn of events, even if the Pulp Hero had more or less brought it on himself for going for the ladder in the first place.

Trey Vincent could only howl with great joy.

Flyer slid out of the ring and grabbed the ladder from Alias, before hefting himself back onto the apron. Breathing for a moment, Flyer then took a few long steps across the apron before taking a leap with the ladder in hand, letting it crash down onto the prone Pulp Hero.

¡MIERDA SANTA! clap clap clapclapclap
¡MIERDA SANTA! clap clap clapclapclap
¡MIERDA SANTA! clap clap clapclapclap
¡MIERDA SANTA! clap clap clapclapclap
¡MIERDA SANTA! clap clap clapclapclap

Was Irwonsen now regretting that he had allowed the ladder to get into play, in the name of inevitability? Well the two warriors where already covered in crimson… but as long as this didn’t get out of control. Alias was tossed into the ring by High Flyer, before the Lunatic propped up the ladder on the side of the ring and hopped up onto the apron so that he could carry the ladder into the ring with him.

The Pulp Hero was up quicker than expected, however, and drove a vicious set of forearms into Flyer’s head. A stiff forearm in the face forced High Flyer’s attention away from the ladder, as he brought his hands to his already busted nose and let the ladder tip from the apron and land on the ringside barrier.

Now the ladder made something of a makeshift bridge between the ring and the barrier and you just KNEW that this wouldn’t go well if it stayed that way for long.

Alias followed the vicious forearms, to the roars of approval from the crowd, with a heavy shoulder block to the mid-section. Alias then lifted Flyer up and over the top rope, but the challenger still had the legs under him, shockingly, to land on his feet instead of tumble. Still Alias was able to slip behind Flyer and synch him up. The crowd roared, seeing the suplex attempt and the ladder where it was, as Irwonsen tried to wave Alias off. Flyer realized what Alias was going for, and attempted to protect himself by locking his leg around Alias’s leg to prevent him from lifting him. However, Alias quickly began lifting High Flyer, preventing him from stopping Alias. Alias, using all of his available strength and stamina, lifted the slightly lighter Snow Salesman into the air, and spiked him onto the canvas with a bridged Dragon Suplex. Yes, not over the top ropes, to the canvas. He wasn’t loco.

A-LI-AS!

ONE!

A-LI-AS!

TWO!

A-LI-AS!

THR—NO!

A-LI-AS!

The fans went absolutely wild as Alias held onto the bridge, and managed to get a two and three-quarters on Flyer. A quarter of a second more, and the Original Pulp Hero would be on his way to Legends IV. Alias held his neck for a moment, hell to tell you the truth his whole body ached, but then preceded to take advantage of Flyer, who was in obvious pain on the mat.

Alias lifted up Flyer, and yanked up his arm, then put his left leg over Flyer’s neck, stretching him out with a modified octopus hold. Alias was nodding his head, teeth bared and blood smeared on his face, as Flyer appeared to be in great pain, and seemed like he would tap out at any minute as blood ran down his face as well. No, no he couldn’t. The referee asked High Flyer if he wished to give up, but Flyer shook his head, refusing to give in to the powerful submission that Alias had locked on.

Instead, Flyer went for the nearest leg Alias had available to grab, and grabbed it, yanking Alias off his feet, and causing him to fall to the mat. Alias grabbed Flyer’s neck as Flyer grabbed his; they stared at each other with a look of pure anger. Finally Irwonsen separated the two men from each other and forced them both to there feet. Alias and Flyer circled each other at half speed, as Alias limped in this semi-circle. Finally they lunged forward in a collar and elbow tie-up…

Alias brought a knee, the bad right knee, into Flyer’s gut… hurting both men actually. Alias bit through the pain however and with his advantage went for the killing blow. Alias straddled Flyer’s head and lifted him up for a…

High-angle powerbomb!

But that’s when Alias’s knee gave out. Alias landed hard on the canvas, dropping Flyer to the ground as he did. High Flyer landed on his feet, a little stunned from what just happened but eager to take advantage of Alias’s missed opportunity for the win. Alias limped back toward Flyer, who was waiting, and hooked the recovered Alias in a twist on a Russian Leg Sweep, set on hitting his opponent with the Super Blizzard. Flyer tried to lift Alias off the canvas, but Alias wasn’t buying it. He couldn’t go down to High Flyer, not after all of this, not if he could help it.

Flyer desperately tried one more lift and toss, but this just played into Alias’s hands. Just as Flyer went with the upward motion, Alias hopped up with it and shrugged himself behind Flyer… Flyer knowing his position, threw an elbow back to fend off the Original Pulp Hero. Alias caught it and latched in the half nelson, his half nelson. Da-da-da-dangerous.

Pulped.

Center of the ring.

Alias landed with Flyer to the side of him, and hooked his legs, wrapping the brightest spoon in the tool shed into a small little ball.

And the count was academic.

One.

Two.

KICKOUT!

Okay, so not so academic. In a move that had played into a surprising number of matches over the last three months, it wouldn’t end the night for Alias and High Flyer. So, a raging Alias brought his similarly bloodied opponent to his feet. Hooking Flyer around the waist Alias wanted to toss Flyer up and over with a German Suplex before he could put his opponent into maybe the most dangerous submission in ACW, the Anarchy’s Lullaby.

Lift and…

High Flyer put his weight into Alias, forcing the Pulp Hero to stop half way through the lift. As Alias struggled to dead-lift Flyer the last forty-five degrees, Flyer kicked his legs, certain that he wasn’t going to eat canvas with the back of his head.

Stumbling forward toward the ropes, Flyer pushed off the top rope with his feet and propelled both men backwards… directly into the senior referee Henry Irwonsen, knocking him out of the ring to the outside. Alias front-body slammed Flyer to the match, finally, though he was exhausted from the failed German suplex attempt.

Though it certainly didn’t help his chances at Legends IV, against Shawn Jessica Hart, bumping like a champ like that from a combined almost 500 pounds colliding with him… it made a large smile creep across Trey Vincent’s face.

Sprinting down to the ring, faster then most people had seen TV move in quite a long time, Vincent detoured to the side of the ring and slid the ladder into the ring from it’s bridged position, following it into the ring. As Alias stood to his feet, TV gripped the ladder in his hands at the middle and raised it over his head.

Oooooh he was going to enjoy doing this as much as possible… hell, it was going to keep him from doing this to Alias at Legends IV if he cracked him across the head just right, anyway.

CRACK!

Ladder headshot from Trey Vincent, as the Barcelona crowd roared with jeers.

CRACK!

And down went the Original Pulp Hero. Vincent threw down the ladder and then brought Alias to his feet, and brought him back down ONTO THE LADDER with…

CLIFFHANGER!

Alias was out, on his back, and lay in utter and complete pain on top of the ladder. Henry Irwonsen could be seen stirring on the other side of the ring, but before Trey Vincent ran back out of the ring he wanted to do one more thing…

Pull High Flyer on top of the bloody and broken Original Pulp Hero.

Then with a few quick motions, out went the ladder out of the ring to the side where it had started, and Trey Vincent hopped out of the front of the ring… watching from the foot of the aisle as Irwonsen slipped into the ring from the outside of the ring. In a perfect position to groggily make the count.

ONE!

There would be no Pulp Champion in Barcelona…

TWO!

Because Alias…

Had been struck down…

THREE!

Ladies and Gentlemen, you’re craziest Champion since Omega.

WAIT, NO, OH MY GOD!

KICKOUT!

KICKOUT! KICKOUT! KICKOUT!

The crowd roared as Alias was able to throw his arm up, propelling his shoulder off the match, with milli-seconds to go before the pin. Sweet jesus, in what was arguably the most dramatic kickout of the bounty run, up to this point… Alias HAD KICKED OUT!

Flyer finally rolled from Alias, as both men lay on the mat, gasping for air… grasping for a concrete semblance of reality to return to them.

Reality had yet to return, all that was… was a world of breathless excitement in Barcelona. One thing was still certain however.

Alias' shoulder was up.

Trey Vincent couldn’t believe it.

Palau Sant Jordi couldn’t believe it.

Hell, even I can’t believe it.

The match AIN’T OVER YET!

High Flyer didn’t know what to do, as he pulled himself to his feet. His hands remained on his hips as the loud, raucous arena were now blasting “PULP-A! PULP-A!” Flyer limped over, covered in blood that was mostly his, and grabbed Alias once more by the hair and dragged him towards the corner. He picked him up and placed the Pulp Hero’s arse on the top turnbuckle, “We’ll see, how he enjoys the ride,” his primary thought.

Forearm blast! Make that two. Both blows staggered Alias, Flyer climbed up delivering two more forearm smashes, then lifting Alias to his feet in another Russian leg sweep position, while climbing to the top rope. Without a moment’s notice, High Flyer let forth a powerful yell and reeled back.

Was High Flyer REALLY crazy enough to try a SUPER Super Blizzard?!

And two things happened.

1) Flyer’s knee buckled slightly as we went for the hold, which completely didn’t help the fact…

2) That Alias all of a sudden was twisting Flyer’s head down between the Pulp Hero’s legs, all too easily…

SUPER A-BOMB~!

Let me just repeat that three more times for OH MY SHIT, effect!

SUPER A-BOMB~!

SUPER A-BOMB~!

SUPER A-BOMB~!

Palau Sant Jordi leapt out of their chairs. High Flyer was DOA, and somehow the competitors landed – Alias still had enough left in him to drape an arm across his fellow bloody and battered legend.

The final legend left between Alias and Legends.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

The crowd erupted as Irwonsen, surrounded by the effects of the war that had just taken place, signaled for the bell. Palau Sant Jordi watched Alias come back from a split open forehead and a Cliffhanger onto a ladder to keep High Flyer OF ALL MEN, from taking away his ACW World Champion… as well as a $900,000 bit o’ cash money from Trey Vincent for added incentive. It took just under 30 minutes, but it was DONE. The crowd applauded Alias as he stood to his feet, Henry Irwonsen raising his hand.

…but Alias slammed it down and started pacing around the ring, his music didn’t start… Mick and the boys wouldn’t be singing for his Sympathy as we headed into Legends IV.

No, Trey Vincent had made his way to the lip of the ring, the duffle bag full of cash resting in his arms.

Slowly Shawn Jessica Hart crept from out of the crowd, looking to sneak attack Henry Irwosen at the corner of the ring, the World title in the referees hand. But Keith Scott Zimmerman was seen to be running out through the opposite end of the crowd, to a healthy ovation from the Barcelona crowd. This sudden development kept both men at bay, on opposite sides of Alias in the ring.

The Original Pulp Hero, tired and torn, and low on actual blood as he was in his punch drunk state, couldn’t separate the friends from the foes and the wolves at the door for his title… from those where there to help… High Flyer had blurred that night enough already… Alias still was wild-eyed, feral and looking around in paranoia…

“C’MON! I KNOW THIS ISN’T IT!” Alias roared at Trey, Shawn and yes, even Keith, waving his arms for them to get into the ring. Irwonsen wasn’t quite sure what to do, but he needed to defuse the situation. Alias looked insane…and that wasn’t a GOOD thing.

The war for the night was supposed to be over, not just begun, as it was in the mind of the Pulp Hero.

Alias kept pacing back and forth as if he’d been trapped for the ‘kill’. High Flyer had sat up against the ropes, a glazed look over his face – but he knew that look in the Pulp Hero’s eyes all too well. Flyer dragged himself out the back of the ring, as Irwonsen got between Alias and everyone else save for maybe High Flyer – looking into his friend’s bloodied face he asked, "What are you doing?"

“Mi sangre, mi alma, mi oro es suyo. Para soy Leyenda.”

These where the words that rumbled in the lungs of the Original Pulp Hero.

He had held the ACW World Championship longer then he had ever held it prior, and faced the consequence for such an action.

Now, less then two weeks until Legends IV…

Shawn Jessica Hart…

And…

Keith Scott Zimmerman.

Trey Vincent…

And…

Alias.

The FOUR who were already, without a doubt, All-Stars and Champions of Wrestling would unquestionably be known as… LEGENDS.