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Post by Alicia "Atomic" Kitsune on May 27, 2006 14:26:07 GMT -5
ACW Proudly Presents: Spring Into Hell Saturday 27th May 2006
Schedule of Matches: -------------------------------------------------
Street Fight (Ongoing throughout show) Latino vs. Torak
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Jim Rourke vs. Harpo
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XS3 vs. Mystery Opponent
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Ladder Match Elvir vs Logan Locke
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Jake Cheng vs. El Conquistador
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ACW Tag Titles - TLC Match Kings of Satire vs. Flower Power
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The Senator vs. The Great KUDA
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Hell In A Cell RDK vs. Dan White
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Hardcore Match BK London vs. Rattlesnake
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ACW World Title Match - Multi-(Wo)Man Event of FUN Alicia “Atomic” Kitsune vs. The World
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Post by Alicia "Atomic" Kitsune on May 27, 2006 14:26:35 GMT -5
A mild Springtime evening sets the scene for the opening of the event. The tired, retiring sun begins to settle behind the distant horizon as the moon begins it’s shift. The streets are are fairly quiet with the occasional car creeping by as the rare pedestrian stumbles home from a hard days work.The location is shrouded in naivety; unsuspecting and unaware of the chaos and pandemonium about to descend upon it. The increasing volume of a gurgling diesel engine approaches, the doppler effect working it’s magic. Soon, the source of the noise; a large white van with metal fencing on the rear windows passes by before screeching to a halt as it pulls up by the curb. From the opposite direction another van approaches. However, this van is black and that little bit bigger, marginally thicker bodywork and the thin metal fencing is absent in favour of thick steel bars over the front and rear windows. It also screeches to a halt across the road. Two figures emerge from both vans; they have steel rods in their possession and tazers strapped to their belts. Both pairs make their way around to their respective vehicles before glancing across the road to the other pair. One man anxiously checks his watch before looking up and down the road. A car approaches but whizzes by quickly, an inadverdently wise choice. The man checks again, scanning the distant road, anticipating the arrival of something. That something appears to a 1979 Lincoln Continental as it pulls up between the two vans and pauses. One of the men that emerged from the van steps over and opens the rear door. A single foot steps out onto the road then is shortly followed by it’s partner. From the car emerges a very nervous referee. The man slams the door shut and the car speeds away from the scene. He motions towards the men standing near the black van before returning to his own van and giving his partner some instructions. His partner takes a set of keys from his pocket and nervously fumbles for the door. He unlocks the rear door and pulls the door open revealing the van’s contents. A very relaxed but focused looking Victor Laureano sits, psyching himself up for the encounter. He turns to the men and nods before rising to his feet, stooping down slightly to avoid hitting his head on the van roof, finally dropping down onto the pavement below. This can mean only one thing; the other van must surely contain… Latino, the referee and the two men glance across the road to the other van as the two men there struggle to open the door. It’s not that the door is heavy or difficult to move…it’s just the guard is so nervous about opening it that his quivering hand can’t seem to get the key into the lock. With a joint effort by the two men they manage to fit it in and unlock it. That one click is all Torak needs. He bursts through the door, knocking both men down onto the conrete by the force of the door. Torak steps out of the van, hopping down onto the road; the van rising up much higher than it was than when he was contained. You half expect him to lift his head and roar like a dinosaur. Instead, he scans the scene and very soon, spots what he is looking for. He slowly approaches his target. His target being: Latino. The two men from the white van scarper, abandoning Latino as they scurry to the van doors and climb in, swiftly starting the engine and pulling away from the scene. The referee moves out of Torak’s path, not even aware he is standing in the middle of the road. He’s not sure whether he would prefer to git hit by a car or by Torak. Latino braces himself as he also begins to approach his foe. He notices the scene behind Torak; the two men push themselves to their feet and scarper quickly, abandoning everyone including their van as they rush down the street on foot. Leaving just the three, although, there is one person present who would probably rather not be there right now. The referee keeps his distance and watches as the two enemies eye each other up, scanning each other for weaknesses. A light wind carries some discarded litter across their paths, almost taking a glimpse of the scene before getting out of their way. The scene is reminiscent of a gun-fight in a spaghetti western with both men poised to draw and put an end to this grudge. Finally, the moment that they have been preparing for presents itself. They both charge towards each other, running at each other with some speed that the air between them becomes compressed before betting squeezed out as they collide head on. The battle explodes into a raging clash of rights and lefts. Both men striking whatever body part they can and as hard as they possibly can. There is no give. There is no holding back. There is no submission as they battle back and forth in the eerily empty street. It resembles the very last battle of the apocalypse. How very accurate that statement could be as a loss for either man could almost certainly end their lives. Not literally, but end what they consider worth living.
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Post by Alicia "Atomic" Kitsune on May 27, 2006 14:29:01 GMT -5
With neither man looking like losing at this early stage then it is all down to drive. Who has the most drive to not only win, but hold on to what they hold dear to them. For Latino; it’s his well earned title shot that ensures he goes on to grace the Main Event at Omega Effect, challenging for the prestigious prize that is: The ACW World Championship. For Torak it is much more sentimental. He is fighting not only to rid himself of his foe, his great rival and the man that caused him almost as much mental anguish as he himself has dished out over the years, but he is fighting to keep his very identity…or lack of you could say. His mask is more than just a cover-up for his face. It is not designed to make him look scary or become a gimmick. He feels the mask is part of him. It gives him the confidence and the enigma to face the world without having to feel judged. Without having the eyes leering at him, scrutinizing every detail of his appearance. If you can deter people from dwelling on your appearance then he feels you can be taken more seriously and garner more respect.
Torak eventually gains the much needed first advantage. If it were a battle of stamina then Torak would stand no chance. Torak truly is the Butterbean of professional wrestling.
He manages to land a dizzying blow to the temple of Latino, allowing him to sneak a second strike to subdue his opponent. He has to think quickly and determine what will be the best option. He lifts a hard kneecap up into the gut of his rival, rendering him breathless and the breakthough made. A harsh back elbow catches Latino in the face and knocks him teetering back on his heels, unable to defend himself from the on-rushing Torak, who delivers a heart-stopping clothesline across the sternum of Latino, sending him crashing down onto the road which clunks as Latino’s head smacks against it agonizingly.
Torak, who had gone down to his knees by the momentum of the strike, crawls across to the downed and dazed Latino and wraps his large hands around the throat of Latino and begins to choke him. The referee can do nothing but stand idly by as Torak ruthlessly strangles his sworn enemy, extracting every last pocket of oxygen from his lungs. Latino writhes in distress, the grip of the beast is too firm to unclamp and he fears that no bare handed strike would persuade him to release the deadly hold.
To the absolute fortune of Latino there just so happens to be a discarded, half crushed soda can lying just a few inches away from him. He stretches out, desperately trying to reach the container as Torak applies pressure. Latino grabs the can, but he is now fading from the lack of air. He has to act fast and make sure that one strike is enough. He lifts his shoulder off the floor and swipes the can across Torak’s face, the jagged edge of the can slices across the eyelid of his nemesis. Torak recoils as his hands shoot up to meet his wounded eye, allowing Latino to claw some air into his lungs. Torak is distressed but nonetheless angered by the cut but remains on his knees as he notices Latino rising to his feet. Latino looks at Torak before tossing the can at him before following up with a soccer kick (shades of WeDrag), volleying the object into the face of Torak again, sending him down to the ground this time.
Latino’s reprieve is only temporary however as Torak sits up with a fierce look in his cut eye. Latino rushes over to him and begins stomping away at his shoulder in an attempt to keep him grounded. Torak rolls over onto his hands and knees to press himself up but Latino relentless hammers away at him with kicks. However, Torak is gaining in height with every moment and it’s only a matter of time before the odds are firmly in his favour once more, a fact which Latino is more than averagely aware of. He scans the scene for ideas and one presents itself. He delivers another kick, this time to the head of Torak to keep him subdued for a moment as he wanders away from his dazed foe.
Torak eventually pushes himself to his feet as his adversary disappears out of sight. He hears a clunking noise behind him and turns to face menacing looking van that recently contained him for the journey to this location. He tentatively approaches the van door, cautiously peering into the window. He notices the keys are still connected to the ignition. The front seats are empty bar from some litter left by the drivers.
He begins to make his way to the rear of the van, casting a reflective shadow on the dark blue coat of the vehicle. He reaches the rear of the van when he hears a noise that seems to emanate from the other side of the street. He glares across the road to detect the source of the noise. It seems it was a cat loitering amongst a collection of trash cans, looking for a feast. Torak turns his attention back to the van when…
Smack!
The rear door opens right in Torak’s face, knocking him backwards, briefly stunned as sure enough, Latino emerges from the van. He quickly rushes over to Torak to capitalize on this advantage. He delivers a low kick to the knee of Torak then launches him into the open door forcing it to close and lock itself. Torak stumbles away from the van as Latino pounces for more. He wraps his arms around Torak’s waist before somehow lifting him up and over his head with an overhead belly-to-belly suplex into the closed rear doors of the van. Torak drops vertically onto his head and crumples up onto the floor behind the vehicle. Latino quickly makes a cover and the referee drops to the ground… 1…
Torak kicks out. Something gives Latino the feeling that he’ll have to park the van on top of Torak to pin him at the moment. Latino pulls Torak up to his feet, leading him away from the van and out into the open road. He backs away a couple of feet before delivering a single jab to the jaw of Torak. He swiftly follows up with another then another, shuffling as he goes before preparing to wind up for the knock-out blow. Suddenly, he lights up, much to his confusion. He hears a sound of a moving vehicle approaching which is soon accompanied by the sound of an irritated car horn. Latino looks up and it seems too late to avoid the on-coming car as he covers his eyes from the light. Luckily…or unluckily for Latino, Torak wraps his huge arms around Latino’s waist and delivers a sickening german suplex. The hard impact with the road is scant consolation but marginally better than the impact of the moving car which showed no signs of stopping. It whizzes past with it’s horn blaring loudly.
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Post by Alicia "Atomic" Kitsune on May 27, 2006 14:29:20 GMT -5
Latino has no time to thank Torak, even if he wanted to, as he is heaved up from the cold hard ground and dragged off the potentially dangerous road to the sidewalk. Torak throws Latino into the previously mentioned trash cans, startling the cat that rummaged through them into retreat. There is nothing gross or dingy contained in the trash but dry litter; plastic bags, paper, soda cans and bottles, all spill out onto the sidewalk. Now the area is beginning to show signs of conflict. Latino crawls out from the mess but only into the clutches of Torak again. He is pulled to his feet and receives an sharp elbow strike to the face, followed up by an uppercut to the jaw. Latino hits the ground again, Torak stands tall above him. His attention is grabbed by a the bulb of a nearby street light, which is tall, black and sturdy, flickering into life but only dimly lighting the moonlit streets. The idea blub in his head simultaneously flashes and he goes to retrieve Latino from the floor again.
Latino is starting to feel the affects of the elements. The tough, unforgiving concrete floor is something that no wrestler has to endure often, if at all. He’s enduring it a lot so far. Torak hasn’t gone this far unscathed either as he sports a fresh cut above his eye and a throbbing lump on the top of his head.
Torak yanks Latino up onto his feet and leads him toward the street light before launching him into the upright with such a force that it buckles slightly, bending from the impact of Latino who holds his back in pain. It looks set to get worse for him as he realizes Torak is staggering toward him with malevolent intentions and Latino isn’t quite ready to fight back yet.
By sheer luck, from above, a once loose and now disconnected panel of the light guard breaks off and plummets down to the groun striking Torak right on the top of his head, already hosting a bruise or two. It isn’t a hard impact, but the surprise of it stuns Torak and knocks him out of his path. Latino swiftly pushes himself away from the street light and charges at Torak before hitting a dropkick to his knee, sending him down to the ground. Latino rolls over onto his back in pain, taking the time to recover from this brutal match.
The referee can do nothing but wait as both men dazedly recover from their injuries. Torak is the first to his feet, but one too many blows to the head seems to have knocked his navigation offline, ambling dangerously into the road. Another car drives past, slowing down as it goes by, curiously trying to figure out what the hell is going on. It soon disappears just before Latino starts to get to his feet. He notices Torak staggering in the middle of the road as if he’s drunk, an experience Latino has had many a time before, but now is not the time for intoxicated recollection so he stumbles over to his opponent. Torak can almost feel he is approaching but he isn’t sure from which direction. He is given a helpful clue as the rising foot of Latino strikes Torak in the face, an impressive superkick given the circumstances so far. It manages to knock Torak backwards into the side of the parked van but not to the floor, much to Latino’s dismay. He could have done with another breather. But alas, the fight continues without delay.
With Torak seemingly glued to the side of the van, unsure where to go, Latino winds up and surges toward him. He launches himself at him headfirst in a modified Pitbull’s Pounce. However, Torak has finally come to his senses and manages to avoid the move sending Latino crashing into the side of the van and soon after, the road.
Latino holds his head in pain as he begins to push himself to his feet. Torak, using good psychology, places Latino in a front facelock and follows up with the Diverse Morality I (Jumping Sitout DDT), planting Latino in the road. Latino blacks out.
His senses are eventually aroused. His first fear is that he has lost the match, or possibly worse, but he doesn’t want to think about that yet. He opens his eyes and scans the scene. He’s still in the road, next to the van and it is still night time. There is no crowd of people around him or flashing lights of the emergency services. He is convinced that he hasn’t been out for too long.
He recognizes a voice, a familiar one. It is not too far away and he notices it is raised slightly. It seems to be ordering someone…or at least, attempting to. It strikes him that the voice belongs to the referee and he works out, by his positioning, that he is on the other side of the van but he can’t work out why he is there. He listens out, with his head still rested on the concrete, trying to make out what he is shouting.
”God damn it, stop that you son of a bitch! You’ll kill him for god’s sake!”
That doesn’t sound too good for somebody. But who?
Suddenly, he notices the van moving. Not forward on it’s wheels, but shaking side to side, as if…as if somebody were trying to tip it off.
Alarm bells ring in Latino’s head as he fully acknowledges what is going on. The van almost tips over…but the weight brings it back down onto it’s wheels. Latino knows that he has to move soon or else he will certainly be crushed…but he hasn’t fully come round yet. The van tempts again but soon drops back down, giving Latino some time. He looks up and here it comes again, it begins to tip over…and there it comes as it begins crashing down above him.
Latino musters what he has left to roll out of harms way…and he does so by mere millimeters. Any closer and he would been a Latino sandwich. Or a Taco.
At least, it seems, the match isn’t over yet…if that can be considered a good thing. Torak definitely is not pleased by his foe’s reflexes as he storms around the toppled van toward him. Latino tries desperately to push himself to his feet but he is too weak at this moment. Torak pulls him up to his feet before scooping him up, preparing for the deadly MediEvil Driver. He drapes Latino over his shoulder and this match looks done and dusted.
Torak lights up. Not from pleasure of seemingly putting an end to this feud…but from a fast approaching vehicle heading their way. Torak, bracing himself, drops Latino down onto his feet. There is a screech that is almost Jackalope-esque as the brakes desperately try to halt the speeding car.
There is a thud as Torak flies up onto the bonnet and into the windshield before rolling down onto the floor. Latino doesn’t get lucky this time either as the car crashes into his back, knocking him down onto the road. The referee rushes over, overcome with panic as both men lay motionless near the damaged car. The driver steps out, nursing a sore head and bruised ego. He looks down at the two bodies laying in the road, causing sweat to pour down his face. He looks up at the concerned looking referee before fainting, leaving three prone bodies for the referee to deal with.
Which is just as well as the show is officially running late. Back to you in the studio…
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Post by Alicia "Atomic" Kitsune on May 27, 2006 14:30:40 GMT -5
Segment: A tall order
The shot does indeed switch to the arena, but instead of showing the fans, it reveals the interior of Chairman Ginger’s office. Ginger has been watching the goings-on outside on his personal flat-screen, and he wipes his brow, hoping that everything will eventually resolve itself without too high a cost.
A knock on the door rouses himself from his thoughts, and he quickly turns the TV off with the remote.
Ginger: Enter…
The door opens, and Alicia lets herself in. Ginger gives her a nod, as if he were expecting her.
Ginger: Take a seat.
Alicia does so, and looks at Ginger expectantly.
AK: So… do we have a match?
Ginger: Do you think I’d allow a PPV to be broadcast under the ACW name if we didn’t? I’ve gathered in all the responses to the proposal that I sent out, and we have a final list of challengers.
AK: I would assume that you’re not going to tell me who they are…
Ginger: No, I’m not. But I will tell you that there have been nine acceptances.
Alicia’s eyebrows rise for a second.
AK: Nine? That’s more than I expected.
Ginger: That’s as maybe, but you can’t back out now. The only way you’re walking out of here as champion still is if you can defeat all of your opponents in a grand elimination match.
AK: Exactly as I requested, then… and you’ve kept your word that the invitations were given only to those who haven’t had significant previous shots at the World Title? Or should I expect yet another appearance from BK?
Ginger smirks a little.
Ginger: Tempting as that would be from my own personal point of view… you can rest easy, Mr. London has plenty on his plate already this evening.
Alicia looks satisfied, and stands up.
Alicia: That’s all I needed to know, then… I shall go and think about getting ready. Thankyou, Ginger.
Ginger leans back in his chair as Alicia heads to the door. Putting her hand on the doorknob, however, she speaks without turning around.
AK: Oh, and in case you thought I’d somehow forgotten… be well aware that should any permanent harm come to my husband in the sadistic so-called “match” that you’ve placed him into, I’ll take grim satisfaction in replicating those injuries on your well manicured self. So I’d keep an eye on things, if I were you…
The door slams as Alicia exits, and Ginger adjusts his collar nervously as the scene fades out…
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Post by Alicia "Atomic" Kitsune on May 27, 2006 14:32:08 GMT -5
Segment: Proving Yourself #1 (Credit: Tornado)
Tornado is walking down the high street. The sky is dark with even darker clouds building and the rain is pouring down; lightning flashes overhead with the low rumble of the thunder following instantly. It is indeed a miserable night which is why all pedestrians are rushing around in a vain attempt to stay dry. Tornado just walks at a normal pace; he seems unbothered by the water streaming down his face, instead something else washing over him – the enormity of the match he will compete in later this evening. He is so wrapped up in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice a man hurtling his way, the collision is unavoidable, sending the man sprawling and causing Tornado to stop and snap out of his trance-like state. His face emulates the thunder that roars deafeningly above his head.
He strides purposefully across to the cowering figure, apologising so much that it’s pathetic. Tornado ignores the man’s whining pleas and drags him to his feet. The man stands there whimpering for a second before Tornado viciously delivers a Roundhouse Kick to his temple, sending the man, who is instantly knocked unconscious, sprawling into some nearby bins. Tornado smirks before carrying on walking.
We see a view from down one of the many alleys and as Tornado walks past there is another lightning flash, highlighting a mysterious silhouette and, more importantly, the large blade he is clutching in his right hand. Tornado strides past, oblivious to the impending danger. The man grabs him behind and, holding the knife to his throat, drags him into the alleyway. Tornado tenses up, unsure what to do as the man’s hot breath prickles the back of his neck and the knife hovers mortally close to his oesophagus.
After an extremely tense ten seconds Tornado throws an elbow back into his assailants face, connecting directly with the bridge of his nose. This surprising action causes the attacker to drop the knife and clutch his face. As he does this Tornado quickly spins ‘round and grips the back of his head, bringing it sharply down into his rapidly rising knee which he drives into the attacker’s nose. After dispatching this mystery mugger Tornado stands up tall and adjust his jacket.
He turns to leave and his head drops in a physical display of chagrin. The camera spins around and the reason for his vexation is apparent, three men are blocking the only exit and each is holding a Browning 9mm which is pointed directly at his heart. Deciding that whoever it is must really want to talk to him, Tornado caves in and raises his hands in the air, even he’s not stupid enough to take on three guns. From behind him another man emerges, digging the nose of yet another pistol in the small of Tornado’s back – perfect position to sever his spinal cord in one twitch of the mans index finger.
At the exit of the alley a black Mercedes-Benz S-Class with blacked out windows pulls up. One of the men blocking Tornado’s exit opens the door and the three other men direct Tornado towards the door. He reluctantly complies, climbing into the back of the large German saloon as the door shuts after him.
Sitting next to Tornado is a man in his late 30’s with slicked back black hair. His skin is immaculate and he smiles to reveal his surgically enhanced pearly whites. The man wears a deep red shirt, complimented by the black tie tied around his neck; the man wears a clearly expensive black suit with arms just short enough to show off the single-diamond studded gold cufflinks he is wearing. This is a man who emanates power and confidence, a man who is so tremendously sure of himself. He extends his hand, a gesture which Tornado suspiciously accepts.
Man: I am sorry about the excessive force my men were forced to use, but I couldn’t risk anyone overhearing our conversation.
Tornado gives the man a puzzled look.
Man: How rude of me, let me introduce myself…my name is Giorzo Panziati. I am an associate of Tony Cappeli.
Tornado’s eyes widen, a theory forming in his mind about why Panziati wishes to speak to him.
Panziati: I’m sure you are aware of what I am going to say but to remove any doubt I will say it anyway; I am not a man who takes chances.
Tornado: muttering I’d noticed.
Panziati: As you will be aware, your Grandfather was an alumnus of our esteemed organisation.
Tornado nods as Panziati glances across to him.
Panziati: As you are probably also aware, my organisation already employs people within your organisation.
Once again Tornado confirms his knowledge with a slow nod.
Panziati: Our associates are doing very well as it is however, they are not doing well enough. Mr. Cappeli wishes for me to organise a group of like-minded individuals to operate within ACW for all of our…erm…mutual interests. From watching you over the past few months and taking your family history into account it is my, and Mr. Cappeli’s, belief that you would be a perfect candidate to spearhead our new venture.
Tornado smirks, clearly interested in what Mr. Panziati has to offer.
Tornado: Naturally, I could never pass up such an opportunity; I would be more than happy to join forces with Mr. Cappeli and yourself.
Panziati: grinning I expected as much. As you would expect you must first prove your loyalty to Mr. Cappeli’s organisation before you can officially be part of what it.
Tornado: nodding Of course, just tell me what to do.
Panziati: We just require you to deal with a small problem…
Fade to black.
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Post by Alicia "Atomic" Kitsune on May 27, 2006 14:32:40 GMT -5
Segment: A most unexpected visitor… (Credit: Dr. Doom)
We come to Dr. Doom alone in his locker room. It's been awhile since we've heard from him, save his matches. He spends most of his time here, a dank, dark place, with an aura of something unspeakable about it. Doom has been very quite because he has been stewing and planning. Sure he lost two matches, but he won some too. Those losses have driven him almost to the point where he was before the procedure, except instead of depression, he's dropped into madness. He is never seen without his mask, or hood anymore, and the armor is becoming more and more common as well. He's shut himself out from the outside world, and as we approach, he can be heard talking to himself.
Doom: Yes, I know I lost, but please, I know I can do it tonight. I've accomplished everything I've could have ever dreamed of, and it's all because of you. Yes, you know how important you are to me, yes. Tonight's a big night for us, yes, I'll go out their tonight, all for you, yes. Tonight, we'll go out there, and take that belt from Atomic whats her name, yes. That Vlad fellow never got a title shot did he? All because of you, yes.
Elsewhere in the arena, a young female, maybe 24 years of age, comes wandering around a corner, looking for someone to help her. Finally a security officer approaches her and asks for some identification. Once provided with the proper paperwork, the guard asks what she's doing here.
Mystery Girl: I've been looking for someone for awhile, years even, I got a tip some time ago that he became a wrestler. At first I couldn't believe it, I thought he had been dead since I was 12, but the more I searched, the more hope I gained. I was finally able to track this company down, nobody seemed to know where you guys were, and bought a special backstage pass just on a hunch that I could find him here.
Guard: A touching story miss, and I'd be more than glad to help you find him, but I don't know who he is, you haven't given me a name yet.
Mystery Girl: Of course, how silly of me, I'm his sister, from the old country. His name, and mine, is Rasputin, Vladimir. When we found uncle Mikhail, he talkd about this place, and what Vlad did. I couldn't say I approved, but that didn't even pass my mind, I was more concerned with the fact that my brother was alive! Please, tell me you know him, I know he doesn't have a match tonight, but please tellme he's here. I must meet him, I know he hasn't lost hope of finding me!
Guard: M'am, I hate to tell you this, but Vladimir Rasputin is dead. He used to work for this company, but there was a terrible tragedy one night, after he suffered something like his 12th loss in a row.
A look of sheer despondence crosses the face of the mystery girl. Crushed, she can't help but breakdown and begin crying. The guard tries to console her, but she pushes him away. She knows it isn't his fault, but she blames him anyways. The guard knows what he is about to do is wrong, but he has to try something.
Guard: M'am, I may not be able to bring you your brother, but I'll show you the man who killed him.
Fade Out.
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Post by Alicia "Atomic" Kitsune on May 27, 2006 14:33:11 GMT -5
Match 2: Jim Rourke vs. Harpo (Credit: Rourke) A change of announcer for the first in-ring match: Iris Yoon enters and raises the mic.Iris Yoon: the following match is scheduled for one fall. introducing first, from San Francisco, California, weighing in at Two Hundred, Forty Five pounds, standing six feet, zero... “The Marxist” Joseph Harpo. The Internationale played, and Joseph Harpo made his way through the curtains. a chorus of Boos threatened to overtake the music, and Harpo could not care less. he soaked up the Boos as he made his way to the ring, where he paused on the ring steps, yelling at the crowd. he saw one person with a “Rourke’s Disciple” sign, and he hawked a large loogie onto it before wiping his mouth and climbing into the ring. he went to a corner and threw a few punches to the padded cover, awaiting his opponent. Iris Yoon: His opponent, from Boston Massachusetts, weighing in at Three Hundred, Thirty Two pounds, standing Six Foot, Eight Inches... Jim Rourke! the introduction had barely ended when Watch Your Words began to play, and the crowd erupted in cheers. when the guitar and drum rift intro to the song ended, and the real beat began, a towering wall of white flames erupted from the stage. they had just begun to die down when out of the heart of the flames themselves, charged an Irate Rourke. his white robe flew off onto the ramp behind him as the fans got even louder. Harpo had just enough time to register this when Rourke was almost at the ring. Rourke slid under the bottom rope and Harpo immediately put the boots to him. he stomped on Rourkes head a total of three times before he lifted him up by one arm and whipped him into the turnbuckle. he connected with a splash, then began hammering Rourke with lefts and rights. he got in about 11 hits until Rourke got his hands free and shoved Harpo back fifteen feet. the audience, which booed Harpos offense was thrilled by this gigantic shove and cheered loudly. Harpo flipped end over end due to the shove, but got back up and charged at Rourke, who was rushing at him in turn. they collided in the center of the ring, and Rourke managed to pop off a Belly-To-Belly suplex on Harpo, who landed hard. Rourke got to the corner and bent down in a three-point stance as Harpo got up surprisingly quickly. they both charged again, and this time, Harpo connected with a Lou Theiz press. with him on top of Rourke, he began raining fists down upon him as the audience let loose a torrent of boos, jeers and unpleasant remarks until the ref forced him to stop. Harpo got off and Rourke sprang up, surprising Harpo with speed not normal of a man his size. he managed to Knock Harpo down with a Polish Hammer, but Harpo got up again, and was down once more due to a second Polish Hammer from Rourke. Harpo got up a third time, and Rourke aimed another Polish Hammer and swung, but Harp was ready and ducked it. Rourke was turned sideways to Harpo, and he saw his chance. Harpo locked in his Russian Bearhug. Harpo was just able to fit his arms around the rather large frame of Rourke, but it was locked in. Rourke let out a dog-like bark of pain as the move was cinched up and fans booed harpo, but one or two people cheered for the expertly applied hold. Rourke thrashed out as Harpo applied more pressure. Rourke’s cheeks puffed out as he regained hid composure. he bent his am. measuring Harpo for an elbow, and fans stood up, starting to cheer. Harpo was too into it to realize the change. Rourke grabbed the fist of that arm with his other arm. brought it back and pushed it forward, making a sickening smash when the assisted force of the elbow came in contact with the soft flesh and hard bone of Harpo. as Harpo fell, he released Rourke, who stumbled a bit, until he shook off the effects of the side Bearhug. Rourke went to where Harpo was laying, a trickle of blood coming from the point where the elbow made contact. he tried to lift Harpo up, but Harpo sat up and headbutted Rourke. Harpo used the ropes to stand himself up as Rourke checked for blood. Harpo capitalized by bringing a series of clubbing forearms across the back and neck of Rourke, then pulled him by his hair and slammed him back-first onto the mat. Harpo then dropped a massive elbow dead center into Rourke’s Sternum. Rourke doubled up in pain as Harpo attempted a crossface. he locked it in as Rourke stood up. Harpo slid down and tried for a sleeper hold, but Rourke fell back, slamming Harpo to the mat. Rourke got to his corner and as Harpo got up, landed a huge Spear. the two crumpled to the mat and Rourke covered for the pin, amid the audience’s joyous vocalizations. 1 . . . 2. . Kickout. Rourke was sure it wouldn’t do it, so he was not phased. He took Harpo by the arms, but Harpo was able to get leverage in his legs and Harpo latched on to the top of Rourke’s head, and sat down, trapping Rourke’s arms and landing a Jawbreaker. Rourke sprang up, clutching his Jaw in pain, fingering a tooth which may have come loose as the crowd’s distaste grew in intensity while Harpo aimed his elbows and drove them into the small of Rourke’s back, who turned around after the third one, right into a boot to the stomach, which Harpo then used the doubled over position to hit a DDT. Harpo goes for the pin as the audience was screaming for Harpos blood at the top of their lungs. One . . . Two . . KICKOUT! The audience erupted in cheers as Harpo stood in disbelief. he kicked Rourke in the ribs as Rourke rolled to the ropes. Harpo lifted Rourke and placed him on the middle rope and ran to middle ring. He stared at Rourke as he measured the distance as the audience began throwing bits of garbage at him, breaking ACW’s rule. Harpo took off like a bat out of hell as he ran and attempted to knee Rourke in the face, but Rourke rolled out of the way and stood up on his own power as Harpo’s leg slipped through the ropes. the crowd Roared as Rourke Booted Harpo in the face and he fell like a sack of manure. The crowd roared in cheers. All for Rourke. Rourke quickly ascended the turnbuckle. Rourke looked out to the crowd and flipped the Su-Fi before rearing back and hitting his Fenway Flip. Harpo clutched his throat as Rourke stood up and let loose a roar, which was almost lost in the Audience’s cheers. He dropped a knee onto Harpo’s face, opening up the wound further, causing the life-blood to spill forth, coating his hair and tingeing it a deep shade of red. Rourke stood him up and unleashed his rage. he fired off punch after punch, lefts, rights, uppercuts and boxing jabs. this was no longer a wrestling match, it was a beating at three o’ clock by the flag pole, and the fans were loving every blood-soaked second of it. Rourke wound up and shoved Harpo back into the ropes, where he sprung back, and in one smooth, fluid motion, Rourke grasped Harpo by the throat and lifted him high over head. he then brought him back down to earth the D.E.A. Chokeslam before Harpo even realized what had happened. Rourke was not done, and he picked the almost lifeless Harpo up once more and whipped him to the turnbuckle, which he smashed into, headfirst. Harpo slumped forward, only the faintest flicker of life left in his eyes as Rourke Signaled the crowd with two quick slashing motions in the air, one horizontal, one vertical, forming a ‘T’ in the air. The audience stood in Unison. they knew what was coming and clapped, cheered and yelled in one solid block of noise. Rourke brought Harpos legs onto the bottom rope and turned back around, hooking Harpos arms wit his own, causing Harpo to lay across Rourke’s back in a Crucifix Position. Rourke stepped a few steps forward and hit THE EXCOMMUNICATION. Rourke hooked Harpo’s leg and made the pin attempt. 1...2...3. The bell rang and Watch Your Words echoed throughout the arena, fans in an uproar of cheers and stomping. the whole arena shook as Rourke stood up and raised his hands in victory, as the ref was too short to do so. EMTs checked on Harpo as Rourke stepped over the top rope and made his way to the back, greeting the fans seated along the ramp as he made his way backstage, physically tired, yet mentally energized from his hard-fought victory.
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Post by Alicia "Atomic" Kitsune on May 27, 2006 14:34:17 GMT -5
Segment: A Timeline Of Sorts (Credit: Hunter / FSX)
The scene fades in as it always does, because honestly, what else could a scene possibly do besides fade in, be there, and fade out? The life of a scene is quite ordinary, people. IT'S A SCENE. Deal with its fadings, for I am getting sick of detailing them. And yet I always have to start with the fade in, unless I'm talking about a commercial break or a scene that does not take place in the arena or in front of a camera. And unfortunately, since I put off storylines, I'm stuck with writing these damn fade ins until I deem it necessary to continue the story, which at this point will be in a while. And I don't know why I keep wasting my time. The NERVE of you people and your expectations of me and my writing of the words "fade in." Fuck this, no more fading in! Start this over, we're making this all psychedelic and shit!
The scene fades left (originality, bitches) to show the barren hallways of the ACW backstage area. Kevin Anderson is seen holding a microphone rather nonchalantly in this same area, fiddling around with his suit and his hair while waiting for the arrivals of his interviewees. And somehow, they appear when all is calm. And the tale will go on and on while all is calm, and the use of rhyme in this promo is completely unnecessary and yet somehow brings a smile to its writer's face. Fallen Souls is the first person seen on screen alongside Kevin, and he smirks genially, placing his hand in front of his eyes briefly to shade himself. Hunter appears behind him and blinks a few times, making absolutely sure that he is in a safe haven and can carry on with the apparent interview that is about to take place. And speak of the devil, for hear it comes.
Kevin: Ladies and gentlemen, I am now backstage with the Kings of Satire, a brand new tag team that has taken our tag team division by storm. Tonight they face Yoko Satoshi and Sarin Rossi, collectively known as Flower Power, in a Tables, Ladders, and Chairs Match for the ACW Tag Team Championships. The Kings of Satire are, as one can figure out, Hunter and Fallen Souls, together representing the Senatorial Stable. I now have both members of this new team standing by with me, and I hope I can get a cohesive answer out of them.
FSX: I resent that.
Hunter: Why must everything be about you, Kevin?
Kevin: I beg your pardon?
Hunter: Exactly. "I beg your pardon?" That's so egotistical of you.
Kevin: ...okay. Anyways, what how do you two feel about this upcoming match?
FSX: Frankly, we're quite amused. We're mostly amused at the fact that ACW management thinks we can't defeat Flower Power. Hell, EVERYONE thinks we can't defeat Flower Power. But we CAN. Is it truthfully that hard for you people to understand?
Hunter: We cured cancer, abolished Communism, and established world peace.
Together: LESBIANS ARE NOTHING!
Kevin: ...what is that, your slogan?
FSX: Maybe, it's quite catchy.
Hunter: The t-shirts would sell like hotcakes.
FSX: Now then, we don't feel like reiterating why we're the greatest tag team of all time, so just ask another question.
Kevin: Of all time, you say?
Hunter: HELL YEAH!
Kevin: Well...can you prove it? Are you better than, say, Top Draw?
FSX: Oh, look at me, I'm a former Lightweight Champion and have held numerous titles and am more flexible than Jake Cheng!
Hunter: And I'm a former champ, and have less of an ego than BK London. And yes, that's a blessing.
Kevin: Less of an ego? Really?
Hunter: What's that supposed to mean?
Kevin: Umm...moving on...better then G-Unit?
Hunter: G-G-G-G-G-G-G-G-G-Give me a break! Those guys sucked ass!
Kevin: They beat your ass many times, though.
Hunter: ...that was a fluke! Plus, they've never faced the Kings of Satire! And at this rate, they never will. Why?
FSX: Because they're dismantled and won't even THINK about fighting us again.
Hunter: Exactly!
Kevin: Well, are you better than Orange Darkness?
FSX: I can dance in orange pants.
Hunter: And I'm THE PRINCE OF FUCKING DARKNESS, BWAAAAA!
Kevin: And RDK & AK, the longest reigning ACW Tag Team Champions of all time?
FSX: I beat AK, Hunter beat RDK.
Hunter: Twice. Problem solved.
Kevin: Well you said the "entire world". So are you better than...say...the APA?
Hunter takes two beers from out of his pocket and throws one to FSX. Both of them open the beers, slam them together, and chug the beers done into their systems.
FSX: What say you to that?
Kevin: ...Dudleyz?
Hunter: I've been in more tables matches than Yoko has had periods.
Kevin: Hardyz?
FSX: And I've been in more ladder matches than Sarin has had...periods?
Hunter: What, rehashing my joke?
FSX: I'm on a limited time schedule here!
Hunter: Fair enough.
Kevin: Billy and Chuck?
FSX: Oh come on, Hunter and I---
Hunter: SHUT UP, THAT WAS THE BEER!!!
FSX: ...right, sorry.
Kevin: Brothers of Destruction?
Hunter: I've lost my mind before and held the title for longer than a day. So I'm am instantly greater than Kane.
FSX: And I...don't think I'm actually better than the Undertaker. Why did you get to compare yourself to Kane? I could have been better than Kane! God, you're always doing that!
Hunter: Doing what?
FSX: Taking the spo---I'M UNDEFEATED AT OMEGA EFFECT, TAKE THAT TAKER!
Kevin: But you're yet to have a match at Omega Effect...
FSX: ...stop ruining the mood Kevin!
Pause.
Hunter: Oh well, move on anyways.
Kevin: Edge and Christian?
Hunter: They're best known for Five Second Poses, right?
FSX: Five seconds? Pfft, that's for pussies!
Hunter: Yeah, we're going where they never dared: TEN SECOND POSE!
They both strike a pose for the completely confused and even slightly irritated ACW fans, holding these poses for quite a while, it seems.
10...
9...
8...
7...
Hunter briefly loses his balance, but returns momentarily.
6...
5...
4...
FSX's nose itches and he doesn't even dare move.
3...
2...
Hunter's eye twitches, but he refuses to show it.
1...
...and we have blast-off.
Hunter: HA! TAKE THAT E&C!
Kevin: The Godwinns?
FSX: Well, I'd reckon...so...indeed...mmhmm...we both dun did train wrasslin' them pigs! Gettin' little muddy, but makin' good eats!
Hunter and Kevin both stare at Fallen for a moment, before refraining themselves from making any...comments.
Kevin: What about the Outsiders?
Hunter: Pfft, Outsiders? Easy...
Together: Hey yo!
FSX: Hey! I want to be Hall!
Hunter: Forget you! You tear the quad!
FSX: FINE! You be the drug addict...humph...AAAGGHHH! MY QUAD!
Kevin: ...er...impressive. What about the Legion of Doom?
FSX: Well...ummm...
Hunter: They're from ten years ago, they don't count!
FSX: YEAH!
Kevin: And what about the Rockers?
FSX: Oh please, their defining moment was when HBK kicked Jannety through the window!
Hunter: Yeah!
FSX: And we can do that whenever we want!
Hunter takes his cue, and so then he takes a step back and launches his foot, connecting its base to FSX's chin and sending him flying backwards directly through a conveniently placed window, landing hard with a thud on the outside. Kevin and Hunter widen their eyes and quickly run over to the window and look down, though the camera cannot follow their glances.
Hunter: ...are you okay?
FSX: ...been better...
Hunter: ...will you be able to fight tonight?
FSX: After I get this piece of glass out of my ass...sure. Why'd I have to be Jannety again?
Hunter: ...well there you have it, Kevin! We're the best tag team ever!
Kevin: ...thanks for the interview. These are the Kings of Satire---
Hunter grabs the mic from Kevin and holds it to his lips.
Hunter: OUT!
He then throws the mic out of the window and slightly cringes when he hears it smack against human flesh, which is then followed by the sound of loud and pained screaming. Hunter looks at Kevin, and the two exchange worried glances...and then Hunter simply shrugs, mutters, "oh well," and walks off in the opposite direction. His match is ever so rapidly approaching, and when it comes, will he and FSX be able to take advantage of the situation and claim the Tag Team Titles? No, time will not tell. I said no more clichés, damn it! SPACE will tell now, people. And that's how it'll always be.
Fade Around
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Post by Alicia "Atomic" Kitsune on May 27, 2006 14:34:55 GMT -5
Segment: Extreme Sins (Credit: Logan)
The camera goes to the parking lot as a motorcycle is heard approaching. The bike pulls up with it's patent chains wrapped around the front however it isn’t Logan Locke driving the bike, it is the female fan he went home with last meltdown. The valet looks at the bike nervously remembering the spill he took last time. The girl throws him the keys and now he swallows hard.
Valet: Where’s Mr. Locke?
Girl: He is on his way down
Valet: Down? Down to the arena?
Girl: Yup....oh! Here he is now!
The valet looks up as a helicopter approaches above.
Valet: (screaming over the noise) WE CAN’T PARK A HELICOPTER HERE? ARE YOU BOTH MAD???
Girl: WHO SAID ANYTHING ABOUT PARKING?
The camera shoots up to the helicopter as Logan jumps out of it and starts soaring down. He does not one but two flips in the air before pulling his parachute out. He glides to the parking area and towards where the valet is standing. Realizing he is about to be hit by a flying wrestler the valet tries to run away but is too slow as Locke lands right on top of him. Locke stands up and chucks the back pack off and smiles at the valet. He turns to the girl who is laughing. The two start to walk to the locker room.
Logan: I love that guy! Remind me to give him a big tip when he wakes up. I'm glad you got here ok Kelly, I wasn't sure if you could handle my equipment.
Kelly: HEY! After last week you should know I can handle any equipment. (little smirk)
Logan: Well for a 19 year old college student you WERE pretty experienced.
Kelly: I told you I went to a catholic high-school, and catholic school girls do it best! I think it’s because we have to be perfect all week so on the weekends the wild sinner side comes out.
Logan: Now ain't that the Real Deal. (Stops as he opens he locker room door) Speaking about sinners.......
Kelly looks in the room and sees what Locke sees. In the room is a ladder with a black robe covering something next to it. Locke rips the cloak up to reveal a tombstone with Logan Locke on it. Kelly lets out a little scream but Locke just laughs.
Logan: Its ok it's just mind games. Elvir knows that he can't beat me when things get extreme so he is trying to get into my head. He'' regret it when I climb that ladder tonight and stand on the top and the last thing he sees is me flying off the ladder and hitting the Locke Down! The best finisher in the business! This guy is a joke. But you know what? He does have one thing right, he is a bastard. How convenient that his entrance music is by Disturbed cuz that’s exactly what he is. Walking around in the creepy cloak chasing superstars like a paedophile wearing a trench coat looking for children. And what’s the deal with that "leader" who he goes out into dark areas to meet? Maybe "leader" is like a roleplay thing they do at home in night. I mean he DID live with a bunch of monks and I have heard things about monks and little boys. But that doesn’t matter, all that matters is beating his ass tonight. You know what? I'm bringing this tombstone out to the ring tonight, could come in handy. It's too bad he doesn’t believe in God though Kel, cuz tonight, God is the only person who could save him!
Kel: It's so sexy when you talk like that!
Kelly grabs Logan and they start making out passionately and moving to the couch....
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK
Logan: Wow its like the network new what was going to happen and censored it out! COME IN
Anderson: Logan, we haven’t met yet but I'm the back stage reporter here at ACW and I was wondering if I could have a minute to ask you some questions before the match tonight?
Logan: Well you already interrupted so you might as well go ahead and ask away.
Anderson: (looks from kelly to Logan) OOOkkk......First off I just wanted to ask you, why did you pick a match with Elvir, a man you haven’t had an encounter with for tonight’s PPV?
Logan: Well its actually really simple. See I knew tonight was going to be a big night because it is my debut PPV, so I wanted a strong opponent. It had to be someone tough, some one experience, and some one extreme. Elvir is extreme, extremely weird. Watching him makes me feel better about my own life and I decided it was time for him to find out the Real Deal.
Anderson: And the ladder stipulation?
Logan: Like I said, I am having my PPV cherry popped today and I had to make an impact. No body wants to have a boring first. So what better way to show how extreme my career is going to be then by putting a ladder in the ring. Anderson, I'm done with show and tell, there’s no talking anymore, just beating. Tonight I show the Bastard Son of Sin what it feels like to be on LockeDown. And that my friend is the REAL F'N DEAL!
Camera fades as Logan smiles and walks out.
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Post by Alicia "Atomic" Kitsune on May 27, 2006 14:36:04 GMT -5
Segment: I still got it (Credit: BK)
As we come back from the commercial black, the screen fades in from black to a shot of Kevin Anderson standing in the interview area of the arena. Behind him is the min-alphatron that so far consists of the ACW logo, but it shall be used soon enough. But anyways, back to Kevin Anderson who is standling idly by. The camera pulls out and beside ACW's male correspondant is BK London, who over the past month has taken a considerable amount of asskickings and managed to walk through the fire bruised and battered, but still holding onto his pride with a tight grip.
Kevin: Ladies and Gentlemen of ACW, Kevin Anderson here reporting from the backstage area and we are standing by the most accomplished man in ACW History, the only Triple Crown Champion, the only ACW Grand Slam Champion, and the man who has competed in the most Hardcore Matches in ACW as of tonight, B-K London!
As the camera closes in on BK London, who stands by Kevin with his arms folded and a determined look on his face, there is no doubt in his mind that he is very pleased with hearing each of main accomplishments heard throughout the mouth of someone else...instead of singing the tunes of his own praise like a bloody jukebox. He looks down and Kevin awaits the first question.
Kevin: Now BK, ever since the last PPV extravaganza Fallen Heroes, it is obvious you haven't been too much in that "BK" state of mind. You went through half of the month suffering from amnesia in which you thought you were WWE Superstar Kurt Angle, but even more suprising you have gathered the most losses this month than you have at any time in your ACW career, care to comment on that?
BK: What can I say? This month really has been tough on me with everything that has gone down. Several times I have had to come to terms with a harsh reality that, I'm just not the best there is anymore. I had to look back at tapes at me last year, and I long for the days when I bulldozed my way through the roster and could honestly be called "The Best".
Kevin: Very insightful.....could this be the beginning of a new BK?
BK: ......
BK strokes his chin while looking down, contemplating. Could BK's reign of near invincibility be coming to a screeching halt? He looks up and takes a long sigh. Suddenly, he pulls Kevin by his arm, bringing the mic closer to his mouth.
BK: HEEEELLLLLLL NAAAWWWWWW!!!!
BK laughs maniacally, knowing he fooled just about each and every person in the arena with what he just said. He definitely takes pride in fooling each and every one of the dumbasses in the arena tonight.
BK: You see Kevin Anderson, tonight people have this crazy assumptation....ABSOLUTELY IDIOTIC ASSUMPTION...that I am going to lose tonight to Rattlesnake for the third consecutive time. Well those people are sadly mistaken, because tonight I will do what I always do in high-stake matches, and that's not only put on a show that NO ONE will forget, but in the process win the match. And Kevin....go on and tell these fine ladies and gentlemen in the arena tonight, what kind of match I will be participating in tonight.
Kevin: Ha-Hard-
BK: SPEAK UP JUNIOR!
Kevin: HARDCORE MATCH!
BK: A HARDCORE MATCH LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, and exactly how many hardcore matches have I lost over my illustrious ACW career?
Kevin: None?
BK: NONE! Davey Marvel, Skurai, Gingerdude, and the list goes on of the people who have fallen to me in Hardcore Matches. You know what that makes me? That makes me the Undisputed, Without a Shadow of a Doubt, 4REAL Hardcore Legend! Some people say that monicker or title belongs to Ridley or Skurai, but where are they now huh? One's a cake stealing hooker killer and the other finds himself getting pleasure from sniffing coke and stabbing himself. Those two are HISTORY, the present is now and now, BK London is here!
Kevin: If you manage to defeat Rattlesnake tonight, do you think that puts you back in the run for the ACW Heavyweight Championship?
BK: Of course that would. There's no question about it that it would, hell I could be in the run for the ACW Championship right now but it's all about choice Kevin. And right now, I have made the choice to stay away from the ACW Heavyweight Championship, stay away until I have developed the right mindset to get back on track. I can beat Rattlesnake tonight from here to kingdom come, but when I'm ready I'll get ready to beat the champ down and I shall be watching Omega Effect very....very closely.
Kevin: Well....what do you exactly have planned for Rattlesnake tonight?
BK: Oh, that's for me to know, and you to find out. But there is no doubt about it that things will end with a proverbial...BOOM!
It would seem from his last comment this interview has come to a close, BK walks away with a huge menacing kool-aid smile on his face as we fade out.
End.
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Post by Alicia "Atomic" Kitsune on May 27, 2006 14:36:43 GMT -5
Segment: The Letter That Brings Hope (Credit: Scott)
After an epic encounter with Jake Cheng last week, Scott Andrews, unfortunately, came off on the wrong end of the match. But he’s not one to stay down after a loss, especially if it halts his quest to become Light Heavyweight Champion.
So with his head high and a confident smile back on his face, Scott leans against the brick corridor wall, blocking a gorgeous blonde backstage worker from accessing the water cooler. He is dressed in his more formal attire, consisting of his black pinstripe suit with a red tie. The woman doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to get a glass of water as her eyes sparkle when Scott begins talking to her.
Scott: Hey pretty lady. What’s your name?
Worker: Lana. *Giggle*
Scott: That’s a nice name. Do you know what it spells backwards?
Before the lovely lady can even begin thinking about the question at hand, a man in a black business suit, one of the ACW agents, hands Scott a letter. Scott snatches the letter out of the mans hand, none too pleased at the interruption. He stares the agent down until he casually backs away. Lana looks over at the letter as Scott begins to unpeel the back of the envelope. He pulls out a piece of paper. His eyes scan the document momentarily before his eyes nearly explode out of their sockets.
Scott: YEEEEAAAHHH!!!...Oh my God this is too awesome. Haha!
Lana is obviously intrigued by Scotts uncharacteristic gleefulness, and she attempts to have a glance at the letter. Scott puts the letter in his pocket before she can even see what the first word is.
Lana: What did it say?
Scott: Look, screw you bitch! I’m in the freaking MAIN EVENT OF A PPV! FOR THE WORLD FREAKIN’ TITLE! I’m not gonna waste my time hanging around by the water cooler with a ho-bag hooker like yourself. I’m off to get ready for my match…Oh, one last question; where should I leave the dollar bill I owe you for last night?
Lana, unsurprisingly, storms out of frame with a foul look of anger upon her face. All Scott does is chuckle and slide pull his shades out of his jacket pocket. He slides them on as he turns and walks down the hallway, and eventually out of frame.
Hopefully this new found hope will give Scott an extra bit of motivation, and not cause him to lose focus on his goals. But he is an intelligent guy. No matter how much the fans hate him, they know he has the brains to be one of the best ring technicians ACW has ever seen. And after realising his mistake, he claims he will never make the same one again. But as we all know, sometimes temptation overcomes our will, and we submit to making the mistake once again.
End.
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Post by Alicia "Atomic" Kitsune on May 27, 2006 14:37:47 GMT -5
Match 3: XS3 vs. Mystery Opponent (Credit: XS3) We are ready to kick off Spring Into Hell with Philip in the ring, holding the microphone to his mouth.Philip: “The following contest is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first, from Maple Creek, Saskatchewan, Canada, weighing in at 280 lbs, ‘The Destined Demolisher’ XS3!” The crowd cheers as the lights hit blue and “Chop Suey” by System of a Down enters the arena. XS3 appears onstage in his usual ring attire of cargo jeans, taped wrists, elbow pads and sneakers. He carries Petey in his left hand as usual as he looks around at the fans. He grins before going down the ramp, high-fiving as many fans as he can before sliding under the bottom rope into the ring. He steps onto the second rope and raises Petey high in the air with the fans still cheering. He hops down on the ring then gets a mic.XS3: “And thus here we are at Spring Into Hell.”Many fans pop for the PPV name as XS3 continues.XS3: “I asked for this match specifically because I have wanted to work with this guy ever since I got here. We go back a long ways back to our tag team roots. So it is my honor to introduce to you… he hails from Port Aux Basques, Newfoundland and weighs in at 264 lbs… he is the first ever Fallout Television Champion… he is the self-proclaimed master of hardcore… BEN DRINKIN!”Now the fans have seen it all in ACW. “Live Wire” by Motley Crue hits and the fans cheer as Ben drives onto the ramp in a vehicle reminiscent to the General Lee. Ben steps out and high-fives some fans before sliding into the ring and raising his arms on the second turnbuckle. He hops down and, for the first time in a long time, is staring down XS3 inside the ring. The music fades as XS3 and Ben pound fists to signify respect.***Bell rings*** XS3 and Ben circle each other. Ben slaps his chest before locking up with his former partner. XS3 uses his slight height and weight advantage to his favor by shoving Ben into a corner and delivering a knife-edge chop that echoes throughout the arena. The two know each other well so XS3’s next chop is countered with a chop to the neck. Ben watches XS3 goes down and drops an elbow across his temple before covering. Only a two count. Ben picks up his former partner and whips him off the ropes. The instant XS3 comes back, Ben grabs him and applies a Cobra Twist (Abdominal Stretch). The referee asks XS3 if he wants to quit but instead of giving him an answer, XS3 rolls to his side, causing Ben to roll forward and become pinned within a modified inside cradle. The ref makes the count but Ben kicks out mere milliseconds before three. Both fighters get to a vertical base and share a standoff, which the crowd pops for, before they lock up once more. Ben drops down and brings XS3 to the mat with a drop toe hold then spins over and hooks XS3 in for a butterfly lock with body scissors. XS3 looks up at the ref who asks him if he wants to give up. Of course, XS3 responds with ‘no’ as Ben applies a bit more pressure. XS3 is not having any of it as he rises up from this situation and elbows Ben in the side of the head, causing him to break the hold. Both men pause to recollect their thoughts in this contest with the fans slowly cheering both of them on. The fans haven’t really expected this sort of contest knowing Ben’s hardcore tendencies but they are pleased nonetheless. XS3 slowly gets to his feet first followed by Ben, who connects with some right hands to the jaw of his former partner. As Ben whips XS3 off the ropes, he hopes for a back body drop but is left on the mat after taking a brutal clothesline. XS3 leaps up to the canvas as well as Ben (who is a bit slow to get up). Ben charges for a clothesline but to his surprise, he misses and is caught with a reverse neckbreaker. XS3 then picks up Ben and whips him off the ropes. He catches him for the Closing Moment but Ben counters with elbows to the side of XS3’s head. Ben pulls in XS3 for the AOK but just when he is about to complete the move, he is slammed down to the canvas with a half nelson slam. XS3 then ducks down in the corner and waits for Ben to stand. Once Ben is to his feet, XS3 charges at him and connects with the Shadow Step. He hooks Ben’s legs for the 1-2-3. Philip: “Here is your winner, ‘The Destined Demolisher’ XS3!” XS3 has his arm raised by the ref then turns to see Ben starting to get up. The match was quick and not the best they’ve had but it is enough for XS3 to help Ben up and share an embrace with him. Ben leaves the ring while XS3 celebrates.
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Post by Alicia "Atomic" Kitsune on May 27, 2006 14:39:19 GMT -5
Segment: Making a Play (Credit: Red)
A camera fades into Atomic Kitsune’s locker room. At the moment it is empty. AK is nowhere to be found.
Suddenly a door is heard creeping open. The camera turns toward the sound and spots a figure dressed in familiar Cincinnati Reds attire searching the room. After seeing nobody around, Red walks quietly across the room obviously trying not to make any sound. He sneaks over to a bench where the World title is sitting. Red looks around the room again making sure no one is around.
Red sets his baseball bat down against the bench and picks up the World title. He unstraps the Entertainment title from his waist then holds both titles in the air, simulating if he had won the World title.
Red then re-straps the his title back around his waist. Then he looks down at the World title once more.
Red: That would look good around my waist with a Reds logo on it.
Red sets the title back down on the bench. He picks up his bat and turns to leave but finds a female figure that has been standing behind him for a long time. Red lets out a high pitched squeal and nearly jumps out of his skin.
AK: You seem to be somewhat smitten by my dressing room. You have been in here a lot lately.
Red: Heh. Since I have been here a lot we should get something going ourselves.
AK puts her hands on her hips.
AK: I think you’d better leave. You know better than to be in someone’s private room without an invitation. Don’t make me call for security.
Red tenses up with his bat.
AK: You wouldn’t hit a lady like that, would you?
Red lowers his bat.
Red: I have been raised better than that.
AK: Aw. So charming yet so foolish. Now out, please.
Red: Fine. I’m going. But first…..
Red darts in to sucker a smooch from the champion but she leans back with an angry look. Red sees the look, turns, and races from the room; he doesn’t see Alicia arch her eyebrow, and give a slightly sneaky smile…
Fade to black.
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Post by Alicia "Atomic" Kitsune on May 27, 2006 14:40:55 GMT -5
A Senatorial Mocking (Credit: Jake Cheng, BK London)
The fans murmur to themselves, waiting for the next segment, match, part of the show, or just about anything to happen at this PPV extravaganza. In about a few moments they are about to get their wish “Hail to the Chief" sounds throughout the arena from the speakers. Most of the fans in the arena cheer as they are about to be graced by the presence of the Senatorial Stable, and why wouldn't they cheer, they are a wholesome group of wrestlers right? Could be? But soon enough they begin to realize that their dreams of seeing the Senatorial Stable grace them in the ring, aren't exactly as they seem. A group of superstars walk down to the ring together, an odd bunch, who "appear" (and I stress the word appear) to be the Senatorial Stable, trailing behind them is what appears to be Gingerdude in a Senator get up. He mocks the seasoned ACW veteran by coming down to the ring with a walker and with a very strong odor of Bengay. It takes a few minutes for him to reach the ring, but he eventually does with help from the rest of the Senatorial Stable.
“Senator”: Tonight ladies and gentlemen, The Senatorial Stable is about to grace you with a show like no other. The theme tonight will be Senatorial Superiority as each and every one of us will dominate the show tonight, and walk out a winner and that my friend, is nothing but the TRUTH! Tonight I face the Great KUDA and I plan to crush him worse than Bill Clinton to Bob Dole in the ninete....nineteen...ninetennn......*snore*
What has happened now? It appears ol' grandpa Senator has fallen asleep in his attempt to deliver a promo by using political humor. Members of the crowd laugh it up and finally "FSX" steps up to wake up his Senatorial colleague.
“Senator”: -FLIP FLOPPERS! Huh?! What?! What's going on?!
“FSX”(whispering): We're in the middle of a promo!
“Senator”: Oh right! KUDA...stupid......tap........truth.
"Senator" falls back into a slumber and now "FSX" who is being mocked by Jake Cheng steps up to take control of this promo.
“FSX”: Well, its about time Fallen Souls had a chance to run the show.
The crowd boos, the all must want Senator start talking again. FSX reaches into his pocket and pulls out a Ziploc bag, full of crumpled up paper. He opens the bag and takes out one of the pieces of paper, putting into his fingers as if he were smoking a blunt.
“FSX”: Hunter, light me.
Hunter, obviously being played by Dan White, reluctantly gets out a lighter from his back pocket.
“Hunter” (In a whiny voice): You know, X, this stuff is bad for you...
“FSX”: Hunter, if Pink Floyd did it, then is must be ok, right?
“Hunter”: Well, if Floyd did it...but my daddy said...
FSX: LIGHT IT BITCH!
Hunter does so, as he is FSX’s bitch. The normal piece of paper starts to burn. FSX “smokes” it and puts it out so he doesn’t burn down the arena. “FSX” starts to stumble around, and is being held up. He is obviously too high for his own good. What other logical possibilities could there be for the absurdities that occur when FSX is around?
“FSX”: Man, since when was the audience become pink elephants. Hunter, can we sing Another Pane In The Window Part 438795 again? WHERE’S NELSON!
Then “FSX” falls backward and passes out. “Hunter” reaches down, grabs the mic and begins his stab at the partially wounded Senatorial Stable.
“Hunter“: Oh jeez, oh jeez.
“Hunter“ starts to pace back and forth across the ring. He places his hands on his head and breathes quickly.
“Hunter“: O.k.......it’s just a little pinprick...there’ll be no more AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH.
“Hunter“ calms down and looks at “FSX.”
“Hunter”: How I wish, how I wish you were here. We’re just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year.
Then BK London, who is imitating Rattlesnake, puts a hand on his shoulder, but “Hunter” moves away.
“Hunter”: I don't need no arms around me and I don’t need no drugs to calm me. I have seen the writing on the wall. Don't think I need anything at all.
As “Hunter” sighs, “Rattlesnake” grabs him by the shoulder and turns him around, giving him a slap on the face. “Hunter” immediately reacts by putting his hand to his face.
“Hunter”: Snake? SNAAAAAAAAAAAAKE!
Another slap calms “Hunter“ down. He grabs a chair and sits next to “Senator” who is still sleeping.
As "Rattlesnake" receives the mic, he gets a lot of heat from the crowd. Not for being Rattlesnake, oh no, because of course BK is disguised under the suit. BK walks up front with his bland Rattlesnake shirt, with his bland haircut, and his bland pants with a bland snake on the side which looks like it's made out of construction paper and is about to fall off.
"Rattlesnake": Tonight I face BK, the self proclaimed Hardcore Legend, the Sole Survivor, the man who I have defeated twice consecutively. Three weeks ago I defeated him with the Snakebite, five days ago I defeated him with The Constrictor. It seems that any maneuver I use tonight, I will fall to my feat and submit to defeat.
Rattlesnake paces back and forth around the ring.
"Rattlesnake": Behold my greatness for I am the Rattlesnake, BK shall have no chance....no chance..
Rattlesnake stops his promo to look around at the other members of the Senatorial Stable in the ring. To his dismay, everyone else in the ring has either fell asleep by the tediousness of his promo or is doing things on their own accord. He spots Senator, who of course is still asleep due to his prescription drugs, and a giant bubble expands and decreases anime style from his nose. He looks over to Red and Bre McKey, who are playing go fish in the corner of the ring before looking over to FSX who is passed out from the weed. The only person who is remotely awake is Hunter...Rattlesnake decides that rather than bore the people half to death, he choose another option and promo later on in the evening to possibly defeat BK by submitting from boredom. Rattlesnake sits down with Red and Bre and starts to play go fish.
There you have it folks, the Senatorial Stable. The blandest man on the planet, the highest man on the planet, the wimpiest man on the planet, the...senatorialist man on the planet. Then there are Red and Bre. Umm yeah, and to think they are competition to the Corporate Alliance.
Fade Out.
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