For the fighters of the Asylum to unite, produce a warrior… and break free of the God of Fight’s rule.

"Ah! Tommy... do come in, have a seat!" Joe exclaimed as Tommy Gunn pushed through the door of his office.

He shot a quick glance at Dez Aragon who sat in the corner of the room silently, waiting as always to pounce on the next person unfortunate enough to cross Joe.

"How can ah' help ye'?" Tommy asked as he took a seat.

"Well Tommy... it's not so much how you can help me but how I can help you, you know how we talked a little? About filling in those blanks in your mind that you've had since you left here all those years back... well I think I just found a big piece of the puzzle." Joe said as he sat forth in his seat.

"Aye?" Tommy replied "And what might that be?"

"Well... as you know, I know people in high places... I managed to get ahold of some medical records, shed a little light on those nasty scars on your back..." Joe trailed off for a moment as he lifted out the medical documents from his desk drawer.

"Go on..." Tommy pitched in, trying to hurry Joe along.

"... seems that they are as I suspected, bullet wounds... not surprising really when you think about it Tommy. We get a lot of build up tension here and sometimes fists just aren't enough, someone shot you in the back." Joe said as the rage in the eyes of the man sitting opposite him began to grow.

"Now I wasn't going to tell you about this before because to be quite fucking honest, I dont want you going off the deep end and attacking every single person on the roster to find out if they know anything about it..."

"... which ah' fuckin will do." Tommy said as he started to get out of his seat.

"Easy mate... easy, which is why I didn't stop just at the medical records... after giving them a read over, the information was all there about the circumstances of your shooting... apparently you were shot three times in the back at close range and then dumped off an abandoned pier in pretty much... the middle of nowhere. Luckily for you a fishing boat had gone off course that day and they find you floating about in the middle of the deep blue, lucky you weren't fish good really." Joe stopped for a moment to scratch his chin "But anyway... knowing what I then knew, the location... the circumstances of the shooting, I did some more digging. This time in the police records."

"So yer' saying it was ah' damned pig?" Gunn cut in furiously.

"Pretty much." Joe answered "Apparently shortly after leaving the Asylum you were arrested for as a suspect in a kidnapping case, heh... I suppose people do watch The Show's afterall. But they took you in because you fitted the bill... and when they couldn't get any hard evidence on you...

... they tried to throw the book at you in the form of three bullets.

Says right here in this file that you were being transported between two different maximum security prisons when you managed to escape, the cop who filed this report says he fired three shots at you but you managed to get away.

You... I and your spinal colum know that isn't strictly true." Joe said shaking his head.

"Just tell tha' name of that bastard." Tommy snarled, balling up his fists.

"Sure thing... I'll leave you the reports anyway so you can see for yourself... but the name...

... Nicholas Quaid." Joe said with a subtle smirk.

Tommy got to his feet furiously and turned to leave the room, but before he could Joe stopped him again.

"Tommy!" Joe shouted, prompting the Scotsman to turn just in time to see his boss place a silenced handgun on the desk.

"You might be needing this."

The cameras rotated and focused, as the Show logo faded out and the blasting music ceased. The fans burst into a huge ovation as the Show began… but what was certainly perplexing to the viewers at home was the current set up.

There wasn’t just one ramp… there were two. One leading down from the entranceway to the left, and the other leading down to the right; what was even more perplexing however was what the left ramp lead to. A Wrestling ring, three-roped and ready for usage with an Asylum Fuckhead logo emblazoned on the centre.

What was going on, was the question on everyone’s minds as TV sets were flicked on, punters sat down with a hotdog and grew fat… and the fighters mulled around video screens backstage.

Soon, all questions would be answered.

“Smack My Bitch Up”, by Prodigy. Whirring techno-rave pseudo-trance swirls kicked in over the speakers and the fans were on their fucking feet, ready to worship the Asylum Demi-God that was Joe Campbell.

He strolled through the curtains with his usual cocky swagger, Conflict had hit big due to the Borst/Villam encounter even if the punters WERE complaining that the lateness of the main event was deterring, Joe Campbell didn’t care… he cared in £££$$$£££$£$£$£$ and he was getting it.

Upon entering the cage… he raised a hand to shut the fans up, and simultaneously cut his music off.

“Competition.

“That word means a lot in the Asylum I know, all champions need competition… need an enemy, someone to go teeth to teeth, toe to toe with. All fighters need to test their weaknesses and generally show that they can overcome… anyone, from any fighter from any aspect of the game.

“Villam… has no competition. He’s faced everyone, he’s beaten everyone… all in some fucky way but that’s beside the point, the man needs competition. He needs a new fighter to step up and try and take that title away from him…and I, being the cunning, clever bastard I am…” Joe winked at the fans, “have decided to run a tournament.”

The fans were silent.

“Tonight.”

The fans liked that idea - for obvious reasons. It was a well-known fact that tournaments, especially for something as valued as the number one contendership to the World Title, brought out the absolute worst in fighters… causing them to go to Extreme lengths just to reach that pinnacle they always envisioned. And Campbell knew that.

He smiled.

“Yeah, the rat-race has begun but… not without a few of those stipulations that you marks love so much you see… I’m a fair man…”

Campbell paused as the audience laughed at him heartily.

“And as a fair man I am willing to give everyone an equal opportunity, thus, tonight… there will be 12 fighters separated into three different divisions. The first division of four fighters will be, of course, fighting… the second, our old friend *cough* wrestling and the final division, that of boxing. So… those of you that are involved in the tournament should find a slip in your lockers… and for fuck’s sake…

“Don’t get yourselves killed.”

Joe Campbell laughed, as “Smack my Bitch up” once again blasted over the PA.

"Fucking..... Scum..." he sneered, wanting a shower from just being surrounded by the same air as them... Or IT.

Drug addicts, murderers, rapists, criminals, degenerates.

There was no order, Joe may be the boss but there was no SYSTEM here.

"Freaks," Lucas muttered as he just wandered, watching all the faces that turned towards him, the odd one out. "Losers, morons, weirdos."

It was fair to say Lucas didn't like the company he was now keeping. Like the layer of detritus that settles at the bottom of a dirty pond, where no light can penetrate down to... That was who he was surrounded by, and it made him sick.

But then again, what could he do? Not like he can leave, and it's not like Campbell keeps a suggestion box on his desk.

"Someone needs to take some fucking responsibility," rasped from his lips, "Clean this shit-hole up."

Was he serious?

He stood still as the frantic activities of the Show went on around him... In the back where battered and bloody fighters would hobble back to their locker rooms, where their victors would suck the blood from their shredded knuckles, where blatant and uncensored drug use went on, and where some people lurked that not even Lucas wanted to question the motives of....

....He was going to clean up THIS?!?!

With disdain his head shook, realising that they'd never even appreciate what he was going to do for them, but Lucaselli was used to that. That's how it worked outside, you'd bring them in and a week later they'd be back on their same spot, peddling their Class A wares and exploiting technicality after technicality.

In the Asylum he didn't have to bother staying within even the vaguest letter of the law, here he had his dream.

He could dispense the justice with no superiors to go all bleeding heart Liberal on him.

"Yeah, keep it up." Nick smirked, disgust having given way to eagerness, "... Just keep it up."

Rubbing his hands together with glee, Lucas just glided through the dirt and filth, knowing soon would be his time to clean it up...

...And crack some skulls in the process.

"To serve and protect.... Serve Campbell, protect myself."

This wasn't going to be pretty.

At Conflict, Cara Dyconin did not just defeat Kali Saturos.

As one could see by watching fWo's flagship program.....Cara Dyconin killed her.

Kali Saturos is dead, and now another- Jessica- walks in her place. All because of Cara Dyconin.

But do you think she's finished, just because she's succeeded against Kali?

How foolish.

She's not finished yet. She's not even close to being finished yet, as everyone was about to find out.

"Arcus harum acerbus caelestis fas tibi""

"We're In This Together" by NIN blasted after the Latin chant played over the PA, as the crowd immeaditley took that as their notice to get up and start booing. And indeed, out from the back stepped Cara Dyconin, closely followed by her Servants, carrying her long gown from behind her. She smiled a hideous smile at the loudly negative reaction she recieved by the crowd, and then slowly began the long walk down the rampway. Her Servants removed her gown as she climbed into the cage, The Servants following her, and she grabbed a microphone.

"Oh, no!" she yelled out as the fans booed her even louder. "You're not going to pin this on me! When I first arrived here, I told all of you slaves exactly what I am. I told you I'm The Dark Goddess, The Supreme Diety. And of course, this being the race that loves to be skeptical- just ask the bearded man about that- you don't believe me. So then, when I PROVE that I'm everything I say I am by kicking Kali's very-un-godly-ass at Conflict, you act all shocked. And you people think you didn't evolve from monkeys."

Cara laughed as the crowd just booed her louder. She paused for them to quiet down before continuing.

"But that is the road taken. Tonight, we must talk about the road ahead. In just a few moments, Lotus- or Nerva, whoever she is this week- will make her first appearence on an Asylum show in a long, long time, to defend that tA Women's Championship against me. Now, Lotus, I know that the dieties haven't been very kind to you- what with making you a huge idiot and all- but please keep in mind that when I am kicking your head in repeatedly, it's not because I hate you. It's because I want to take your title, to prove your point. And because I also find it fun. So, here tonight, I tell all of my slaves in the crowd who did not see Conflict to watch. Watch.....but not with your eyes. Watch with your SOULS. And realize....that all of you belong as my eternal servants, because I am a superior being. And humans.....are most certainly not."

The crowd booed even louder as Cara dropped her microphone, and awaited the arrival of her opponent.

Lotus © Vs Cara Dyconin
(Women's Title Contest)

She gave a look of intensity towards Cara Dyconin, but Cara did not show any fear. Why would she, when she had Servant A and Servant B there next to her- Servant B having armed himself with a chair during Lotus' entrance- ready to attack?

Servant B ran forward first, attempting to smash the chair into Lotus' face. Lotus, however, ducked the attempted chairshot, and immeaditley gave Servant B a superkick, driving the chair back into his own face and knocking him to the cage floor.

Cara, however, motioned to the seven-foot-tall Servant A, who ran forward and nearly took Lotus' head off with a powerful lariat as she turned around. Servant A picked her up, and began smashing at her body with equally powerful right and left hands. He put her up on his shoulder, and drove her into the canvas with a powerslam. As he went to pick her back up to continue the punishment, Cara motioned to him to back away, and he did as she asked.

She stepped forward with a smile on her face as Lotus came back to her knees, and with amazing speed, gave Lotus a kick to the side of the head. The kick was so stiff, it echoed throughout the arena, causing most of the crowd to gasp in shock. Lotus collapsed onto the cage floor.

One....

Two....

Three....

Four....

Five....

Six....

But Lotus slowly pulled herself back up after the count of six. Woozily, she tried for a quick kick of her own, but Cara ducked it. And immeaditley after, Lotus was taken down by a spear from Servant A.

Servant A dragged Lotus back to her feet, and held her in a full nelson. Cara immeaditley began firing off quick and powerful kicks- into her arms, into her legs, and into her body- that seemed to be battering Lotus. Servant A let go of Lotus, and Cara leaped into the air.....

....and hit the reverse tornado kick.

Follow the Leader.

Lotus collapsed into the cage floor once again, this time not looking like she'd be able to get back to her feet.

One....

Two....

Three....

Four....

Five....

Six....

Seven....

Eight....

Nine....

Ten.

The bell rang. Quicker than Cara defeated Kali Saturos at Conflict.....Cara defeated Lotus.

And capture the Asylum Women's Championship.

A still-woozy Servant B exited the cage and grabbed the Women's Title belt away from the tA official, then re-entered the cage with it. He handed it to Cara....and Cara raised it high into the air, for all to see.

They all had to see that Cara had reached the top of the women's fighting division.

In less than a month of competition in the Asylum.

Now, do you believe?

"I'm going to do you a favour."

With the kind of swagger that could only lead to a proposal of violence, Nick Lucaselli breezed into Joe Campbell's office. Unimpressed, Campbell simply slammed his pistol onto the desk and slid it Nick's way.

"Good, you can use my gun, put a sheet under yourself mind... And I'll send your family an invoice for the bullet."

Needless to say, that wasn't the enthusiastic reply that Lucas had expected... If he even expected one at all.

"That could come in handy," mused Lucaselli, quickly deflecting Joe's apathy and plucking the gun up off the desk, then tucking it into his pants.

Wrong move.

"If you're not going to shoot yourself in the face for my amusement, that gun better be on my fucking desk by the time I count to three."

Not wanting to get on the wrong side of his unlikely savoir, Lucas whipped it back out and placed it carefully on the desk.

"Three." Joe sneered just as the sound of metal on wood had rung out. "Now, what the fuck are you babbling about?"

The pistol made it's way back under the desk as Lucas prepared to deliver his proposal.

"And make it snappy, I haven't got the time to listen to every fucking twat who barges through that door."

Firm in his convictions, Lucas was full of vigour as he divulged his plan.

"All around this place you have the scum of the earth... Losers, addicts, retards, freaks..." the disgust in Lucas' tone said it all about his feelings on the matter, "It's about time someone gave them a little order, taught them a little respect... And I'm that someone.". Proudly, which chest stuck out as if on drill, Lucas waited for a response.

"Whatever," Campbell scoffed, wondering what the hell he's let himself in for by taking in Lucaselli, "But what makes you think I'm just going to let some Yank tosser fuck with my fighters?"

Lucas didn't even have to think about that one.

"Because you probably care less about them than I do."

He was right, and so it began.

Lucas vs. the Asylum

Lucas Vs Token Weed
(Tournament Fighting Division, Round One)

No, not the Sarah McLachlan song... Nor the Delerium version... Not even the DJ Tiesto mix... Just, silence.

Eagerness was clearly on display from the disgraced ex-NY Cop as he hopped down off the cage, who better to begin his "Cleaning up the Asylum" campaign against than the man he'd be facing in the very near future?

Soil's "Halo".

TO-KEN-WEED

The blue-haired one stormed down towards Lucas, he was ready for the fight against a man who symbolised all he hated. Law, authority... Reason. Token could destroy all those things by destroying Lucas. Rather than cleaning up the Asylum, Lucaselli can clean up his own blood and teeth.

Equally, Lucas was waiting with anticipation. Token Weed was scum, a degenerate, a waster... Just the kind of guy he used to make the lives of hell back on the streets. Someone needed to beat some discipline into them, and he was the best choice because, well, he enjoyed it.

Each had their reason to FIGHT.

Each had their reason to HARM.

Each had their reason to BEAT.

But who would WIN?

Both men circled one another, their fists clenched and muscles rippling, trying to get in position for the first strike. Light on his feet, Lucas darted in and out, trying to rile Token into taking a wild swing that he could capitalise on. "Fucking newbie..." was Token's response, not what Lucas was aiming for. Getting closer and closer, the 2 combatants got within striking range, and Lucas darted in to get the first shot in... A DEVASTATING...

...Slap?

Looking pretty pleased with himself, Lucas backed off. He'd just slapped Token Weed in front of everyone... Was that really wise?

Sneering, the 'slapee' just glared back at the cocky Lucaselli, probably plotting his death already.

Then, the retaliation came. Token charged at Lucas who barely managed to avoid the rage-fuelled attack, ducking out behind to restrain Token with a Hammerlock, wrenching the arm up behind his opponent's back. "What're you doing?" Lucas taunted Token with, pushing him towards the Asylum wall, "What're you doing, huh?". While keeping Token's arm up behind his back, Lucas grabbed a handful of blue hair and slammed it down against the cage.

"Thought you were going to hit me, did ya?". Again, Token's head is rammed down against the metal, after each blow the Hammerlock being pulled up tighter, "Scum like you doesn't even deserve to breathe."

Lucas went to ram skull into steel a third time but the taunting enraged Token enough for him to burst out of Lucaselli's hold... This wasn't good.

Spinning Backhand - Fist clenched, Token spun at Lucas who was sent staggering back from the break-out, the tort hand connecting with Lucas' mouth. As blood mixed with saliva and dribbled from his mouth, Lucas stumbled backwards, no sort of guard thrown up to block Token's next move...

Outside Crescent Kick - With Lucas wide open before him, Token arced his right leg up and sent it crashing into the side of Nick's jaw.

The 2 blows had Lucas reeling, and maybe just regretting his antagonistic words. The asylum fans took great pleasure in watching the killjoy taking the shots from Token Weed, a man they may not like, but who represented what the Asylum was. Advancing, Token Weed then snaps a kick out into Lucas' thigh, causing him to grab the muscle that took the blow. Another thigh kick was delivered, Lucaselli's leg started to go dead.

Stunned and soon to be rendered immobile, it seemed the campaign was about to suffer a set-back.

Seeing Lucas looking unsteady on his left leg, Token went for a 3rd, the one that would hopefully buckle the opponent... But Lucaselli predicted it, grabbing the kicking leg in mid-air and quickly knocking the standing leg out from under Token. His support taken out from under him, Token dropped down onto the mat, prone for just long enough for Lucas to drop and, with glee, drive a straight punch into Token Weed's groin.

So the guy wanting to CLEAN this place up was a DIRTY fighter... Was that irony or hypocrisy?

Not the most cultured of fighters, Lucas followed up on the pained Token by putting the toes of his right boot harshly into Token's side, getting a wheeze out of his downed opponent. Liking the playfulness of it, Lucas repeated, another kick crunching into Token's side... But they weren't enough to keep Weed down, however, the sick swing that Lucaselli took at his head was.

Wasn't quite as fun as kicking the shit out of a junkie in a jail cell, but he could get to like it.

Foot to jaw knocked Token down and out, thus ushering in the count.

1...

2...

3...

4...

5...

6...

Should of kicked him harder... About 4/10 harder to be precise.

But the quest to rid the asylum of it's wasters, trash and scum must go on, and so did Lucas, whipping his shiny black boot up into Token Weed's throat, trying to crush the larynx. "It's better when they can't yell for help." Lucas explained as he pulled Token's top half up by the hair and swatted him across the face with a backhand. "Look at you... You make me si-..."

We never got to find out just what Token made Lucas, but he did make him "UGH" thanks to an uppercut plush on Lucaselli's chin. The blow knocked the look of disdain from Nick's face and replaced it with one of shock... His casual attitude towards the degenerate costing him dear.

"Fuck you."

Token's words may have lacked some of the creativity that Lucas' vocal taunting had, but it was straight to the point, and so was what followed.

Outside Crescent Kick to Inside Crescent Kick - Both blows bounced Nick's jaw about inside his head, mouth now blood red. The 1st one slowly toppled Lucas over, only for thee 2nd to swat him back upright.

There, standing with defences down in front of Token Weed, it was the moment that would win or lose the fight for Lucas... It would determine whether he struck the first blow against the Asylum's low morality, or if it would resist his efforts...

...Would he block the Jumping Pump Kick?
.
.
.
.
.

FUCK NO~!

Token leapt up gracefully, one might say Matrix-esque, his body poised and ready... Then, at the top of his jump, out thrust the right foot, catching Lucas square in the face.

Their bodies hit that mat in unison, only Token landed on his feet, while Lucaselli took the 'Flat down unconscious on his back' approach to landing. Token crouched upon touch-down, glaring out of the top of his eyes at the fallen Nick Lucaselli, the 10 count doing all the talking for him.

1...

2...

3...

4...

5...

6...

7...

8...

9...

TEN.

Asylum 1 - 0 Lucas : For those keeping score.

"Halo" by Soil hit just a few seconds after the 10 was counted, and a less than ecstatic Token Weed left the Asylum, not even giving the downed Lucas a 2nd look. He came to the match with the sole purpose of knocking Lucas the fuck out, and it was fair to say he was successful.

Nick Lucaselli's quest to clean up the Asylum was going to be a long and hard task... And after what Token Weed just did to him, it was going to be an uphill one too.

Warwick Hunt had returned to work once again and it wasn’t known when he would be back at the side of Special K but that didn’t really matter at this moment in time. The Newcastle natives had clearly been enjoying themselves for the entire day and several bottles of alcohol had proven to be a suitable replacement for the legal worker (any Manchester United fans reading will understand this with regards to the right flank.)

The Yardstick, with a bottle in his right hand, spotted an official and stopped him with his left arm: “How man. Alright mate. Erm… Sorry to bother you but have you got a daughter?”

“No. Why?”

“I’m just looking for a tasty bit of totty to tickle my tackle if you know what I mean,” he chuckled, which also set his acquaintance off.

“Well sorry. I can’t help you there.”

Carrahar nearly fell over but steadied himself and rocked back and forth for a few seconds prior to addressing the official again: “Oh. Okay. No bother. So… can you show me where my dressing room is?”

“Hang on one moment…”

While the non-active Asylum employee dealt with his request, Huscroft had a query: “Keeg, you still haven’t told me about what happened last week man you little bastard. Did you get your leg over with that lass or what?”

The Geordie Genius giggled: “You should know better by now Lharn. What do I keep telling you eh? A gentleman never tells.”

“Don’t give me that shite man. It’s not as if she’s going to know if you told me what happened so howay. Spill it.”

“Let’s just say… I already have!”

TRD was shocked: “AW AYE! Howay then… tell all. I mean I know you spent the night with her.”

“Aye,” The Height of Humanity mumbled a seemingly disinterested manner.

“Well you did didn’t you? You’re fucking gay if you didn’t. She was a fucking babe man. At least tell me you took her back to your room even if you didn’t get your hole.”

He nodded and it irritated his ally immensely.

“Just fucking tell me man! I mean it’s a simple question you queer!”

The Prince of Palermo pointed his finger at Lharn: “Look bonny lad. You can call me many things but there is one, no, there are two things you can’t call me. One is a Mackem and the other is a queer.”

“Sorry Keeg. You fucking sad Wearside-born Shirt-lifter!”

“HEY!”

At that point, the executive reappeared with news: “Sir, here are your keys and you walk down that long corridor before taking a right and you should find it on your left. The number is already written on the key.”

“It sounds like a fucking roundabout. Oh well. Hand it over you homo. Cheers… Big Ears. For fuck all,” Huscroft snapped.

“I’m sorry…”

Keegan stepped in: “Oh don’t listen to him. He’s pulling your leg. He’s harmless. You’d get more trouble from a drugged-up Shrew than this little shit…”

Despite being dragged away, Lharn still managed to usher in another insult before the pair headed for pastures new: “Aye. I’m pulling your leg and he’s pulling your Wife. Actually, we’re going to go over to yours after this and hump the cow until she shouts: MOO!”

Even The Essence of Extreme appeared to be slightly embarrassed by his buddy’s behaviour: “Don’t be so childish. I’m sorry Sir…”

As the backstage figure turned away Carrahar had to have the final say: “We’re going to make her shout WOOF instead you fucking miserable bastard you. Cheer up mate… just because we beat your lot one-nil it doesn’t mean you should have a face like a box of Hammers man. Mind you, your missus will after I put her through the floorboards!”

The duo, who were a tad drunk we’ll say, started to laugh again like little lasses as they sought out their luxurious locker room for the next few hours…

*BITCHSMACK~!*

*BITCHSMACK~!*

*BITCHSMACK~!*

Karen Pembridge & Lucinda Scott stood there, watching on, in utter disgust. They turned to face each other, and shook their heads disappointedly, before Pembridge dragged herself towards the long leather couch, plopping herself down on it.

It hadn't been a great night for her, in the realm of tA. Firstly, she apparently didn't have anyone to fight. Which was a shame, because The British Lassie always looked forward to a fight. And secondly, due to that, a meeting with Mercy was what Karen had planned.

A plan that was shot down by Lucy. Who said it was far too early in the scheme of theirs for Pembridge to confront her, and make the first move towards absolute carnage unfolding before their very own eyes.

So, she had to settle for training McGarron, the new protege of hers... and also watch as Poser & Fatts carried out their slave duties. Which basically meant Lucinda & Pembridge were being treated like queens.

But now, it seemed Poser had enough of the special treatment towards Fatts McGarron. ESP felt HE was the best servant EEEEEVER, and didn't think fatty deserved all the attention he was getting. And certainly, not the credit.

"I mean, you're fat! What happen if they need tampons, fast?!? You can't run, fatboy!"

Karen smirked, as she closed her eyes, begging for something to happen so that Eddie's head would implode. It seemed the beating he'd received last week at the hands of the Manchester girl wasn't enough to KEEEEL him.

But fortunately, Lucy had a plan.

"Alright, stop it, you two. This is getting stupid. It's obvious the two of you can't co-exist. And to be honest, Karen & I only need one servant. We would like to say it's Fatts... but Eddie's been a long-time slave of ours.

So, I propose a fight, next week.

Eddie & Fatts. Whoever wins is the true servant of ours... the loser, can go back home and cry all night."

Lucinda turned around as she dismissed the two Servants with a motion of her hand, and joined Karen on the couch, grabbing a bottle of water while at hand. Certain things still needed to be discussed, with regards to Lucy's masterplan, and how Karen would help her achieve it.

As for Eddie Scott Poser & Fatts McGarron, they growled at each other and slowly filed out of the room, now knowing that by this time next week, one of them would be out of a job.

Each were scared shitless now.

Providence Vs Mercy
(Tournament Wrestling Division, Round One)

"Stinkfist" by Tool cued up as Providence stepped through the entryway. He began his walk to the ring, never taking his eyes off Mercy. He had the momentum coming into this matchup, after picking up the knockout win at Conflict. Man, woman, it didn't matter who he was facing. A win was a win; an opponent was an opponent.

A fight was a fight.

The bell rang and the two gladiators walked up to each other. They paused for a moment, almost unsure what to do. It came back quickly to Providence, who grabbed Mercy in a collar elbow tie-up and backed her into the ropes. The referee ordered the break, and Providence slowly backed up. They faced off again, Providence locked up again, and backed Mercy into the ropes again.

For the second time, the referee ordered the break. Mercy decided that this would be a good opportunity to kick Providence really, really hard.

The thwack from Mercy's kick to the thigh was so loud it caused the ref to wince. Within seconds, a large red welt began to form just above Providence's knee. He shook his leg and nodded. The ground rules had just been set. Time to kick some ass.

There was no face-off this time. Providence cocked his fist back and let it fly, snapping Mercy's head to the side. Mercy retaliated with a fist of her own. Providence staggered but moved back into position quickly and, after ducking Mercy's next punch, arm dragged her to the mat. Mercy kipped up to her feet, caught a boot to the stomach for her efforts, and was taken back down with a side Russian legsweep.

Providence slapped on an armbar and kept Mercy grounded. He pulled her arm back, twisting it into a hammerlock and drove his knee into her shoulder. Mercy slid into a seated position and used Providence's own body as leverage to get back to her feet. Providence grabbed Mercy around the waist with his free arm and German suplexed her onto her hammerlocked arm. Mercy swore as Providence reapplied the hammerlock and rubbed her face into the mat. Providence clearly had the advantage in the wrestling ring, and wasn't about to give Mercy any breathing room. The faster he won the match, the better off he'd be.

Mercy worked her way to her feet again. This time though, she showed her flexibility and kicked over her head, nailing Providence in the face. She spun around and grabbed his neck, pulling him into her as she drove her knee forward. She started working over Providence's ribs with her knees before snap-maring him over. Providence sat up on the mat and Mercy positioned herself behind him. She kicked him in the back twice and grabbed his arms in a surfboard. Providence clenched his jaw and slowly started pulling his arms forward, muscling his was out of the hold. Sensing herself losing the hold, Mercy dropped her knee into Providence's back and kicked him again.

For a couple of fighters, they were putting on a half-decent wrestling match.

Mercy waited for Providence to get to his knees. She snapped a kick at his head, but Providence ducked out of the way. He hopped to his feet and grabbed Mercy from behind with a release German suplex. Mercy crashed to the mat in a heap and Providence slid over for a pin.

... One.

... Two.

But no more.

Providence pulled Mercy up and whipped her into the turnbuckle. He stepped back and pumped an elbow into the side of her head. A second elbow. A third. Grabbing the second rope on either side of her torso, Providence planted his shoulder into her stomach. Like a piston, he stepped back and drove forward again and again, using his size advantage to crowd Mercy and break her down.

As Mercy struggled for breath, Providence grabbed her around the waist and jerked her off her feet, slamming her down with a gutwrench powerbomb.

Mercy rolled onto her side. Providence reached to pull her up, but Mercy slipped in and hooked him in a small package.

... One.

Providence kicked out quickly but both he and Mercy got to their feet at the same time. Roundhouse Kick by Mercy knocked Providence backward into the ropes. He came off the ropes with a sloppy clothesline, and Mercy slipped behind him and hooked both arms.

Dragon suplex. She rolled over. Second dragon suplex.

Third time's the charm... if it's not blocked.

Providence grapevined Mercy's leg to prevent the suplex then dropped out of the full nelson. He hooked Mercy behind the knee and legscissored her leg. She fell forward and clotheslined herself across the second rope. Providence pulled her up and cinched her up for one helluva ride.

The Fall.

* WHAM *

The pin.

... One.

... Two.

... Thre-

The referee tapped Providence on the shoulder, pointing to Mercy's leg draped across the bottom rope. He pulled her up and she headbutted him. He headbutted her back. She saw stars... and smiled before headbutting him again. Providence blinked hard and fell to the mat. Mercy hopped up to the top rope, waiting for Providence to get to his feet. He looked around, unsure at first where Mercy had gone. He turned and saw her at the last second as she flew off the top rope and scissored his head.

Hurricarana off the top rope -

- reversed by Providence.

The Schism.

The pin.

... One.

... Two.

... Three.

Kickout... but too late.

"Stinkfist" by Tool began as the referee raised Providence's hand in victory. Mercy stood up, frustrated at her loss. Still, she nodded at Providence. He nodded back. The human game of chess had been played, and Providence had one. But there was no time for Providence to celebrate.

There was still work to be done.

D’Alessandro ignored the Englishman’s past request of knocking prior to entry and kicked the door open to give the Boss a fright and a half: “What the fuck have I said? Knock…”

The Italian intervened: “Knock first. Yes, we know. You keep going on and on about it. And where does it get us? Fucking nowhere.”

“Hey. Don’t come in here with a ten-inch dildo stuck up your arse and start shouting the odds with me lad or I’ll send you back to Italy or wherever the fuck you came from in a Pizza box.”

Michael was in a right state: “You and your fucking threats you fucking bastard. I’m still waiting for you to actually do something you motherfucker. All you do all day is sit around in a gay shirt and drool over Child Porn you filthy faggot.”

Campbell was calm: “Actually, I drink too.”

He decided to back that statement up by taking a swig of Guinness prior to unleashing a rather loud burp and reverting to his cope of The Sport: “So what do you fuckers want?”

“John was robbed last week.”

“And? He should watch where he’s going at night. Some fucken terrible people that hang about. You should be careful too. The Yanks don’t like the Eyeties much do they?”

The ex-mobster rolled his eyes: “What are you going to do about Thompson?”

“Well what the fuck do you expect me to do? Those fucken photos you handed me were shite and if it’s a crime to win an illegal fight even by the skin of your fucken arse then I should be at Old Trafford shouldn’t I?”

Michael looked over at his companion who shrugged his shoulders and in the meantime the Manchurian had came up with an idea: “Here’s how I’m going to ‘make’ it up to you. There’s a tournament tonight for the right to face Villam and you could go in either the Fighting or Boxing Divisions but since there are so many Fighters since that’s what we fucken do instead of whining, I’ll put you in the Boxing. What do you say?”

Willis grumbled: “Yeah. Sure. Whatever.”

A smug smile suddenly appeared on the Owner’s face: “So you’ll have no arguments with facing Keegan?”

“Keegan?”

“Are you fucken deaf? That’s what I said. Are you going to cry about that as well?”

“No.”

“Good. I’ll get someone to bring you some fucken gloves later on. Now get the fuck out.”

Case closed apparently…

Sebastian Thompson Vs Eddie Cheno
(Tournament Boxing Division, Round One)

In the world of the Asylum, where people kill, maim, and kidnap, there’s only one thing that can allow a man’s name to be written in stone, and that is to hold the Asylum Championship. And tonight even the lowest fighters on the totem pole had a chance to rocket themselves to the top for a shot at the championship. Some were going to wrestle, some were going to fight.. But there was another area, one where a mix of power and agility was going to be needed, the boxing area..

Four go in, one comes out for the match that throws him into the fire of a match that gives him the number one contender ship for the title, and a shot at the PPV at the end of the month. Now was the time to show everyone who doubted your chances at winning, exactly what you can do.

“Jerk off” by Tool, and Sebastian Thompson planned on being one of those guys who wanted his impact to finally be felt, and somewhat it was, as he was jeered from his entrance into the arena, to his stepping into the ring. All the fans’ taunts ran right off his back as he confidently strode to the ring slapping both red boxing gloves hard into each other as he strode down to the ring. Thompson got in, and began to test his wheels as he bounced around on his feet, showing some form of agility in his 30 year old body..

“Smoke Two Joints,” by Sublime and the crowd simply erupted as Eddie Cheno made his way down to the ring pounding his gloves together very much in the same fashion that Sebastian did prior to entering the ring. The huge advantage Cheno held in this one was his boxing experience, something that Thompson could only mimic with his street fighting experience. Cheno had several advantages including size, and power and those advantages only made the crowd cheer louder. He stepped up into the ring, and as the ref called the two men to the center of the ring, the chants broke out..

CHENO!
CHENO!
CHENO!!~

The rules got across to the two fighters as they touched gloves, and headed to their respective corners. The only rules that were ironclad were that there was 15 rounds that were 3 minutes long, and the 10 count was going to be enforced. The bell rang and the crowd was up on their feet..

CHENO’S GONNA KILL YOU!
CHENO’S GONNA KILL YOU!
CHENO’S GONNA KILL YOU!!~

Sebastian shook the words out of his head as the two combatants circled around the ring, both holding straight faces as they measured each other up. Sebastian charges in and.. pow hits Cheno with a side jab, Cheno gears up and woosh! comes up with nothing but air in an attempt to land an overhead right was barely dodged by Thompson. Thompson staggered back and looked in at Cheno before charging back in sending his shoulder into Cheno’s midsection ramming him into the ropes, Sebastian followed with repeated shoulder blocks which drew loud boos from the crowd until..

CRASH!

Rising knee lift by Cheno sent Thompson stumbling away yet again. Thinking he got his bearings straight, Thompson stalked forward with his fists up around his chin, but he stalked right into .. BAM! right cross, BAM! left hook to the body, BAM! right to the face! And Thompson was down! The crowd began to cheer loudly, only 1:25 into the match and Sebastian Thompson was mopping the mat with his back the count ensued..

1...

2...

3...

4...

5...

BOO!

Thompson got to his feet as the referee stood between the two as he asked Thompson if he was okay to continue. Sebastian began bouncing on his feet and shaking the cobwebs out of his head. As the ref moved out of the way, Sebastian did something that would make Cassius Clay roll over in his grave..

The Ali Shuffle!

With fury Cheno charged forward fists up, wild left SWOOSH! missed, wild right SWOOSH! missed. Thompson darted in and pop nailed a jab to the body, prior to darting back out. The bell rang, the round was over, and both men headed back to their corners.

Both men sat on their stools in the corner as the faux corner men fixed cuts, and sprayed the water in their mouths and on their heads to cool them off. No advice given, this was a battle that was going to be fought by the two men in the ring who mattered. Cheno stood to his feet loosening up for the round, Sebastian got up as well and charged forward and swung..

His STOOL AT CHENO!

Cheno moved out of the way and BAM! nailed with a hard punch right to Sebastian’s midsection doubling him over. Thompson stumbled forward and hit a punch straight on to Cheno’s jewels doubling over the former Television champion as well! Cheno was back up, left arm guarding his midsection but with his right he swung a hard punch that rocked Cheno back into the ropes. He patted his right elbow, as he backed away from Cheno and then he began to spin as he went for..

CINDERS!

But the 360 elbow missed as Cheno back dropped Thompson out of the ring! And right onto the ringside matting with nothing else to break his fall. The crowd exploded, yet again. As the count began..

1...

2...

3...

4...

5...

6...

7...

8...

9...

The bell rang! The crowd exploded! Cheno won?! In two rounds? The ref went and explained to Eddie Cheno that the match wasn’t over, the round was, that Sebastian was saved by the bell. When it slowly crept into the fans what happened as they saw Thompson get helped back into the ring, they began to boo loudly. They wondered if it would come back to haunt their hero Cheno.

Thompson stood with his back against the corner with his eyes rolling back into his head, he tried to shake the feeling out but it seemed like it just wouldn’t go away. Water was sprayed in his face as they hoped to wake him up. Finally the bell rang, it was time for round three. And as he saw Cheno charging forward, there was only two things that Sebastian could do, run… and RUN FAST..

Cheno methodically chased after Thompson as the former Smilthy’s fighter began to take off around the ring..

PUSS-EE!
PUSS-EE!
PUSS-EE!!~

Thompson was a chicken with his head cut off as he ran away from Cheno, Edward cocked his fist back and KA-POW! Thompson hit the mat hard and the crowd erupted, there was a little less than a minute and a half left in the round, he wasn’t going to be saved by the bell this time. The ref’s count ensued as Thompson attempted to bring himself to a stand in the spinning carousel that was the world around him..

1... Why did he agree to do this..

2... He never boxed in his life…

3... He was a fighter..

4... Cheno was a competitor…

5... Cheno was stronger…

6... Everyone wanted Cheno to win..

7... Everyone.. Except him…

8... Right?

9... Sebastian doesn’t want Cheno to win does he?

BOO~~!!

The Cheno backing chants started up, and Sebastian could barely hear them, if Cheno’s head wasn’t full of blue hair, he wouldn’t be able to tell where he was standing. He looked down at his fists, and knew he had to get the gloves off, if they were gone.. He could win, at least that’s what he thought.

He began to pace around the ring eyeing Cheno who didn’t really have to have much offense to have control of this one. The fans continued to chant and something in Sebastian clicked as he charged forward with a fury of punches. But each one was blocked by Cheno, and none of them were strong enough to faze him. Sebastian got into the body, and went up for an upper cut but Cheno dodged backwards, geared up and smacked right cross!

And another one flush on Sebastian’s nose busting it open. Sebastian swung with his right again but caught air, only to be caught with oof a crippling left hook that shoved all the air out of his body. Thompson did all he could do to stop from falling by grabbing onto Cheno’s arm, and he yanked himself up to his feet, before he could imagine to get any offensive from that move..

BANG!

Cheno did his best Evander Holyfield impersonation with a head butt to Sebastian’s face which caused a mouse to blow up under Thompson’s eye, as the blood ran down body and off to the mat. River Phoenix never returned from his death, but could this Phoenix? As he hit the mat like a pile of bricks..

The crowd cheered, but almost instantly Sebastian sluggishly crawled over to the corner, and yanked himself up. His every pore, his every molecule crying for rest, his brain not even focused on the match, but his ego needed it, and his ego was appeased as the bell rang signifying the end of the third round.

He fought through the fogginess of his thoughts, or lack there of, and used the third intermission to bite away at the tape that adhered the gloves to his hands. With much effort the right hand was freed, but the bell rang.. The fourth round was underway.

The crowd knew, Cheno knew, this match was his for the taking as he calmly made his way to the middle of the ring, but his picture of calm was direct contrast to the picture of Thompson’s calamity as he struggled with his back pocket, finally he yanked something out of his back pocket..

And he flicked the blade out of his switchblade, a crazy smile crossed his face as his battered face disagreed with his motives, the rest of his body mourned the loss of his sanity, the loss of his rationale.. As he charged forward with the knife out in front of him. Cheno swung, and hit the right shoulder of Thompson hard, bouncing the Phoenix back into the ropes. He charged back with the knife spread..

SLASH! WOOSH!!

His attempt at slashing Cheno was barely dodged. Eddie jumped to the side, geared up crouched down and nailed Sebastian with an uppercut, that sent the Asylum newbie stumbling backwards into the ropes, but as soon as they touched he bounded forward.

RIGHT!
LEFT!
RIGHT!
LEFT!
RIGHT CROSS TO THE BODY!

Sebastian’s legs turned to jelly as he struggled to stand the knife fell from his grasp, as Cheno watched as Thompson was falling forward, he had to put an end to it as he swung one last blow that nailed Thompson in the back of the neck, sending him crashing down to the mat. The crowd erupted in mass cheers, as Sebastian’s body showed no signs of recovering to win this one.. The count ensued..

1...

2...

3...

4...

5...

6...

7...

8...

9...

10!!

The match was over! “Smoke two joints” played as Cheno marched to the next round of the boxing portion of the tournament. His name was chanted loudly over and over, but that maybe wasn’t what made Cheno feel good, maybe it was the fact that Eddie Cheno was closer to having a shot at fighting for the Asylum Championship at the upcoming PPV? After losing his title to Carnage a few months ago, Cheno finally seemed to be back on his way up.

“Keeg, you wouldn’t have been able to bang that babe anyway would you?”

“How’s that?”

“Well Garvin didn’t exactly help your chances of children in the long term did he?”

The Newcastle native nodded: “Aye. But I’m a big-time player Lharn, emphasis on big, and when I need to, just like I did with Jeff, I reproduce the goods.”

A wink followed that statement, which extracted a giggle from Huscroft: “You did didn’t you? You humped her?”

Carrahar smirked: “What have I told you man? A gentlemen never tells!”

Huscroft didn’t say anything in response but instead adopted a stance where in which he glared at The Geordie Genius and would do until he unearthed the truth, which ultimately paid off: “If she’s watching this mind, I’m going to kill you. Aye. I may have had a little bit of fun with her down Southampton way but so what?”

“You little twat. What was she like then?”

“Well you’ve seen her. She was a little darling wasn’t she?”

“No man. In the sack?”

A thumbs-up from The Yardstick was all that TRD needed: “Fucking hell Keeg.”

“And what was that about me not being able to pull? Eh Mary? She was sensational. Bloody brilliant.”

Huscroft’s jaw had dropped: “How old was she?”

“Twenty. I mean she hasn’t been about like one of your bitches, except Kelly of course, and you can tell that by looking at her plus she told me but she was so good that she could have had more partners than Houston.”

“Best you’ve had then?”

Keegan chuckled: “One of them. Yes.”

“You lucky bastard.”

The Prince Of Palermo patted his pal on the head: “It’s far from luck bonny lad. It’s just the Keegan charm man. She was only there to see me.”

“Aye right,” his comrade sarcastically said.

“Well I must’ve been. I mean she missed the main event didn’t she? For who? Moi. Merci.”

Lharn shook his head: “You’re mad…”

“But brilliant in bed.”

A brief silence ensured before the Submission kingpin lifted the lid on why his strap had not been seen all evening: “Aye. I mean it’s the American lasses who are known for being all forward like planning marriage five minutes before they’ve even remembered your name but I’m telling you. I would not have minded discussing the names of bairns with her you fucker. Anyway, to round off what was a memorable night, I gave her a token of my lust – the Submission title.”

“What the fuck did you do that for? Are you fucking mental? That’s your first title here. You can’t just go throwing it away to some tart you just met man. Howay…”

The Yardstick was annoyed by his acquaintance’s attitude: “How man. She wasn’t a fucking slut and you can fucking talk when you pay for your fix. Jesus. I don’t give a shit about that belt anyway. Not in the long run. I wanted it from Garvin and that’s it, which I did didn’t I? She can sell it at a Car Boot sale for all I care. I thought it would be a nice gesture; one that she’d appreciate and she did since I forced her to miss the matches after mine but I’m sure she’ll admit it was well and truly worth it.

“You’re only pissed because I pulled a pertlet and you ended up wanking Warwick off.”

A knock at the door interrupted their minor misunderstanding and the visitor, who had a box with him, was permitted entry: “Alright mate. Hang on… what’s in there? Have you been listening in to our discussion? I may’ve said the words: Car, boot and sale but don’t take me seriously or up the arse for that matter like Lharn does. You might give me something.”

“No it’s not that all Sir. It’s just that you’ve been entered to compet in a tournament to determined the number one contender to the World title and it includes three brackets: Wrestling. Fighting and Boxing, which is the category you’ve been included in.”

“Boxing?”

“Correct. You must complete two fights first and then you will advance to the final, which will be a three-way dance and that will determine who the number one contender will be to the World is. I am here to offer you a pair of gloves for your fight.”

The official then pulled out a large pair of red gloves but the Briton wasn’t best pleased: “Piss off. Bring that box here. Let me have a look.”

After rummaging around, he unveiled a set that more than fulfilled his criteria: “Aw. Look at these beauties. You probably put these in to try and take the piss you little twat but it didn’t work did it? Lharn man, look at them.”

Small things please small minds. As some of you may be able to guess, the gloves were…

Black and white.

The guest was about to leave but Lharn stopped him for a second: “Hey. Hold on a minute. Who is his opponent?”

“Aw aye. Good thinking Batman. Yes. Not that I’m bothered mind.”

“John C. Willis.”

TRD coughed: “Willis?”

The English Exocet was intrigued by this as he stroked the jagged facial hair that rested on his chin while he licked his lips and produced a trademark smile: “Well cheers mate. Thanks for these.”

Even though he would be reluctant to admit to it, a twinkle in his eye, not be confused with a tear, emerged upon discovering who his initial opponent would be in the World Title tournament.

Yet, it wasn’t due to fear.

Somewhere within Carrahar, regardless of the relationship he had recently forged with his former foe and hated half brother, was itching to attain revenge and settle the score for what had happened this time last year.

It was time for Keegan, for the second time in as many weeks, to repay the belief that his supporters had in him and pull out another top-drawer performance.

A door was opened.

Gacy didn’t bother knocking, instead swinging the door open and plodding inside with his gargantuan beast of a ‘friend’ in tow. The pair ignored the screams and cries of the office’s owner as he moaned and beseeched them to leave. Instead, they stood, like totem poles of destruction, in front of his desk.

“WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN!?” Campbell yelled, as the two blankly stared at him with hollow eyes. “What brings you hear tonight, eh? A fucking contract extension? And why should I rehire you exactly, after you’ve done a grand total of fuck-all over the past few months?”

The two looked at eachother once more, and to Campbell’s horror, smiled.

“What… what the fuck are you smiling at now? I’m not impressed you know… When Dez gets back from the toilet he’ll fucking kill you!” Campbell screamed, as the two mammoths powered forwards and grabbed the edges of the desk, pushing it into Campbell’s stomach. He felt the air squeezed out of him as his chair skidded along his tiled floor and smashed into the wall.

Then, Fall of Adam pinned him there, the giant hunk of wood nailing Joe to the wall and making him their unwitting audience.

“WHAT DO YOU *urk* WANT!?” Joe spluttered. Gacy decided to utter his first words in a while; he didn’t have an affinity for communicating. He believed that verbal interaction made him filthy, talking to sickly humans.

“Contract extension required. Fall of Adam have plans for the Asylum. He is coming and He will show us the way. He will lead us to Armageddon…” JWG spoke, a strange dark twinkle in his eyes. Campbell, seemingly frightened to death, nodded slowly before being released, feeling oxygen burning his lungs once more.

“We thank you,” Gacy grunted, before turning and departing with Oswald beside him. Campbell opened his drawer, and pulled out a contract emblazoned with the Asylum Fuckhead logo… and beneath that, three letters.

FOA

Without further hesitation, Campbell’s hand glanced a pen that was lifted and twizzled into a word, ink splattered neatly upon a dotted line.

“Fucking freaks… for $400,000 per annum apiece they’d better have good fucking ‘plans’,” Campbell coughed.

Oh, if he knew.

Having no more need to stay and do business in the arena, the gruesome twosome departed the same way that they came, step one of their task completed. Now, they just had to play the waiting game. Waiting for Him to give them the go-ahead.

Keegan Vs John C. Willis
(Tournament Boxing Division, Round One)

Almost one year to the day, May 5th to be precise, Keegan Carrahar and the mandatory contender to his Championship, John C. Willis, locked horns in what was one of the most-talked about matches in the long history of the underworld organization known as The Fighting Zone.

Following an hour of action, the Kokomo Colossus departed Dallas having masterminded (you did read that correctly) a cunning conspiracy that led to the downfall of his stepsibling and it was certainly the lowest point of the Latin Luminary’s career. Thereafter, he insisted that he would exact revenge on everyone who had participated in his fall from grace but that never surfaced due to their defection to Joe Campbell’s corporation in November, just over thirty days after they were actually slated to tussle over the trophy for the second time in under six months.

Upon successfully negotiating their contracts with one of the most prestigious promotions anywhere on the planet, the duo buried the hatchet for the sake of their sport, which was under scrutiny because of The Stranglehold.

As of late, they’ve even spent time with one another and whether the older of the two will admit it or not, the Indiana native’s retaliation with regards to Jeff Garvin during the Tennessee Technician’s final fight with The Yardstick was undeniably a pivotal point in the drawn-out proceedings.

So thus far, they have actually managed to sustain a civil, sometimes friendly, stance but tonight is the real test. Will this provoke the immense animosity that was so evident twelve months ago or just be a one-off for the sake and smell of glory that drives the determined duo?

Either way, we were about to find out.

“Here Comes The Pain.”

No, it wasn’t the WWE Heavyweight Champion but rather someone who, in spite of being somewhat of a letdown to those who knew him better in The Fighting Zone, would cause The Prince Of Palermo problems regardless of the result and inflict some serious anguish for his ex-adversary.

Backed by his overseas-born buddy Michael D’Alessandro, who had a bucket and towel in tow, he sauntered towards – and glared at – the ring, which would hold this tie and while Willis had wrestled in his youth it should also be said that John would rather have taken his chances in the dangerous domain they were both familiar with and where he also held a victory over his opposite number too.

Upon entering the squared circle, the gigantic specimen was dried down by his assistant and rotated his neck whilst closing his eyes, seemingly psyched for the impromptu meeting that some would say was seven months overdue.

“Woke Up This Morning” implied that the arrival of the ‘Submission Champion’ was about to occur and as it did, Carrahar was treated to an excellent ovation and as The Geordie Genius jogged for his journey to the battlefield that he also resented, he saluted the supporters by clashing his requested black-and-white gloves together before stepping through the ropes and absorbing another warm applause as he outstretched his arms prior to retreating to his corner directly opposite to Willis’, where he was followed by Lharn Huscroft, who had an identical role to the Italian’s in acting as an entourage providing advice and encouragement for his respective associate for the entirety of this encounter.

The assigned official explained the instructions to the pair, who exchanged a few inaudible words through their gum shields, though he needn’t have bothered and they eventually took their eyes off one another as the bell tolled to begin this bout between the brothers as the anticipation grew for what would have been a grudge match not so long ago.

ROUND 1

They were both cautious as the contest commenced, Keegan more so, as the artist formerly known as Spawned Terror stalked him but he couldn’t match his lighter rival in terms of speed and therefore couldn’t get anywhere near him as the first twenty seconds passed without a hint of a single shot.

However, that all changed when the behemoth cornered the Briton but he missed by a mile and as the Englishman escaped what could have been a precarious predicament he stung his stepsibling with several shots to the jaw, which the audience appreciated, that didn’t hurt him an awful lot though it demonstrated the big man’s shortcomings in the speed department and he still couldn’t get a punch in edgeways as The Yardstick taunted him, to an extent, leaning back and moving away from the monster while still connecting with glancing blows and asserting his authority on this affair in the early portion of proceedings in the process.

A moment of madness saw John snap and actually kick the shins of his quicker correspondent, who just laughed it off, but the referee stepped in: “Hey. Any more of that and I’ll disqualify you.”

Keegan pointed at his fellow Zone member and had a snigger at his expense: “John, it’s Boxing not KICKBOXING, but don’t worry son. Mills Lane over there will keep you right.”

It was a prime example of why the Newcastle native irritated Willis so much but the latter decided to keep his cool, when it was easier not to, and finally ushered in a few fisticuffs that found their mark, on the chin, but before he could inflict further anguish Carrahar merely took a few steps to the right and sneaked in a jab of his own but a subsequent delivery marginally missed and Special K skipped further back so he was now almost in his opposition’s corner, somewhere that he would have preferred not to have been as D’Alessandro was liable to try anything.

The former TLW titleholder trapped him there as he zoomed in and though he got four or five shots in that forced his fellow Fighter to cover up, restricting the damage, the bell sounded to alert everyone that the initial three minutes had expired.

Their trustee sidekicks offered a few pointers, nothing out of Angelo Dundee’s school admittedly, and gave the usual encouragement to fire their friends up and they were now ready for Round 2 of a possible 10.

ROUND 2

The confident Keegan received a wake-up call as he approached the centre of the ring where Willis caught him cold with an outstretched paw, which shocked him, and sent him onto the ropes adjacent to his corner and that saved him as he hung on just when John was poised to unload with the heavy artillery and this prompted the official to step in.

Carrahar shook his head in order to clear the cobwebs but a barrage of blows, six in total, put him back on the back foot and up against the ropes once again but unfortunately, a sentiment even shared by the capacity crowd, the man in the middle untangled the two mini-trucks.

Willis, who stood with his hands on his hips, pleaded with his relative to remove his rectum from the ropes and he obliged as he began dancing again, swiftly circling the one-dimensional beast, and frustrating him by consistently hitting the target but not actually doing any real damage either. The Englishman was being very clever and was well aware that if this contest did go the distance then he would undoubtedly prevail on points.

There was a feeling that the fanatics were a tad dissatisfied that their favourite was more intent on emulating Muhammad Ali than actually land any notable punches and the dying seconds ran out to a few boos from impatient marks seated in the front row.

Meanwhile, Michael was egging his ally on to utilize his vast vertical base and continue to corner Carrahar in order to prevent him using his pace and running rings around Willis. On the other side, Huscroft seemed to be happy with his colleague’s work so far and gave him a pat on the back as the third round was about ready to kick-off.

Immediately, The Essence of Extreme stayed close to those aforementioned ropes but the behemoth had a surprised for him as they were about to be predictably separated for holding – he began to bite him!

Amazingly, this went unnoticed by the referee despite Keegan’s understandable anger and he pointed out what had just happened but it was to no avail and only succeeded in wasting valuable time.

They then opposed one another, back in the middle of the ring, and it was blatant that they had really wound one another up now. As Special K stepped forward to greet the gargantuan he scored with a lethal left to the jaw and then followed it up with a rapid right to the other side of the face and the punters were pumped now that the Prince Of Palermo had finally got his finger out but his combination was cut short as an ‘accidental’ headbutt met his mouth and extracted a trickle of crimson from that particular area as he registered a second complaint in as many minutes, which again was ignored.

Nevertheless, the diehards were enjoying it and almost begging for them to become very violent and that would have happened as they exchanged (un) pleasantries before the official stood between them though he was quickly brushed aside and they collided.

As the referee tried to regain his bearings after John’s shove, the instigator also raised his boot and showed shades of the ex-Boxer Andrew Golota, which meant that The Yardstick went down, and surprisingly he was treated to a round of cheers for his cheap ploy though The Real Deal wasn’t one of them who bestowed him with adulation.

“Fuck’s sake man Ref. Which Optician’s do you go to? It’s obviously not Specsavers though. Jesus Christ. Throw me a fucking bone here.”

Once again, their criticism wasn’t taken on board and the official honestly couldn’t tell how The Height Of Humanity found himself on the floor so he counted anyway!

1
2
3
4
5
6

Thankfully, for him at least, The Latin Luminary did answer the count even though he wasn’t happy: “You dare check to see if I’m alright or not and I’ll fucking put you through the ring. Honestly. Now get out of my way Stevie(Wonder.)”

Notwithstanding, a seething Keegan wasn’t allowed to address his opposite number straightaway as the third round faded and paved the way for the fourth.

In fact, he was so enraged by what had happened that he refused to even sit down while Willis sported a smile, albeit a toothless one, that suggested he felt that he’d turned the corner and it was now him, not Carrahar, who was calling all of the shots in this collision.

ROUND 4

Obviously, he had other ideas and as they reunited in John’s corner, as Keegan came out like lightning, it was the smaller but speedier of the two that assumed the advantage with a fine fisticuff to the forehead before going to work on the ribs, which hadn’t been seen very much in this outing especially, with three stiff shots and then an amazing Uppercut that would have lifted Willis off his feet had he not been in the corner as he was but this didn’t really bother the Briton as he ducked and dived carefully selecting his brutal bullets to the body, landing with five in total, prior to an eye rake in full view of the official, who was about to question it until John removed him(he was standing between the duo) and reverted back to the biting that had served him so well earlier on!

“Hey. Biting isn’t allowed. This is Boxing for Christ’s sake,” the supposed referee stated.

“Tyson did it,” Willis moaned.

Eventually, the enormous specimen relinquished his excruciating grip on The Height Of Humanity’s head, which was clustered with claret, and while this may’ve been perceived as a brief break for Carrahar to ‘get it together’ but he had already done that. Oh boy, he had.

Although he was crouched down when Willis approached him, a brilliant blow to the left side of the body, a right one to the midsection and another couple of crackers to the right-hand side of the rib-cage were weakening Willis up and that much was certain as Carrahar started to go work. And what work it was.

Despite being so physically-gifted and powerful, John didn’t have any answer as his more intelligent adversary stepped up another gear as his focus shifted towards the more delicate areas, the face and head, where three stingers rocked John’s jaw back and forth like a see-saw but he couldn’t do anything as another Uppercut caught him flush on the chin and this staggered him only slightly when most men would have went down though that wasn’t anything he could be chuffed about as a remarkable right to the cheek and a Knuckle Sandwich that nailed him right on the nose wobbled him even more.

Was the tree going down? After another ferocious Uppercut that sent him on his way, Carrahar unleashed three world-class and extremely quick clouts to the septum, jaw and forehead respectively gave us our answer and the audience something to cheer about.

He had fallen.

Keegan slowly walked back towards his corner where Lharn slapped him on the back and applauded his picture-perfect piece of punching that had rendered this redwood to a bloody and unconscious state.

1
2
3
4…

Talk about being saved by the bell.

Thousands groaned in unison and Lharn put his heads behind his head in disbelief but, through his gum shield, The Geordie Genius could be seen grinning. He knew that his younger brother was still begging to be put away as he finally hauled himself and methodically moved back towards his designated corner where D’Alessandro had the sponge and water ready but he would have to work frantically if he was going to get the gargantuan ready for the upcoming round.

ROUND 5

The fifth round commenced where the last one concluded as Willis wandered into the Prince of Palermo’s path and he was only too willing to continue his offensive onslaught as he almost shattered his sibling’s snout with one wallop and then knocked him for six with a tremendous thump to the temple.
John was on the floor again and looking at the ceiling. Fuck knows what was going on in his mind.

1
2
3
4
5

Amazingly, he ignored his agony and had privately agreed with himself that he could come back from this and as he stood up, in spite of sweating like a pig and bleeding like Ric Flair and Hulk Hogan in a Cage match(combined,) some people still believed that the behemoth could repeat the feat he achieved some three hundred and sixty three days ago.

Nevertheless, he was up against it and he just couldn’t find his predecessor who was taunting him with his superior speed and fantastic footwork, entertaining the masses with something that may’ve resembled an Ali Shuffle, prior to moving his head back and forth almost inviting his rival to throw a punch and while he obliged he also inevitably missed…

But Keegan didn’t.

Willis was the victim of the spectacular seven punches, a trick he was famed for in his heyday in Italy, which in fact only amounted to five as the savage was viciously deprived of his vast vertical base for the third time tonight and inside a couple of minutes as Huscroft rejoiced and the fanatics cheered not only Carrahar’s impressive ability in this area but a (rediscovered) sadistic streak that hadn’t been witnessed by Asylum marks until the last month or so.

1
2
3
4
5
6
7

Still, he wouldn’t stay down when it would be far easier to admit that he had been outmatched, well at least in the Boxing department but that was never Willis’ style and the term ‘More guts than brains’ came to mind even though it wouldn’t really take a lot on his behalf.

The official checked to see if he was okay to carry on and gave him the go ahead, momentarily speaking, but he was far from being his normal self and while Special K struck with another four tame jabs it was clear that something would have to be done about Willis, bearing his health in mind, not that The Asylum had turned into an old people’s home.

As D’Alessandro stepped into join John and the concerned referee, who were currently in conversation, an unexpected turn for the worse was on its way.

Sebastian Thompson.

Nobody where it mattered, in the ring, noticed him as he hopped over the barricade nearest to his nemesis’ corner and unveiled what appeared to be a bottle of beach and emptied it into the Kokomo Colossus’ bucket of water before leaving in the more traditional way, up the ramp, presumably to avoid being the recipient of a riot in the sea of humanity. Sebastian had been smart but could he get away with it?

The crowd couldn’t believe that the loser in the other billed bout, courtesy of the experienced Eddie Cheno, had emerged in such a blatant fashion but could still manage to get away with what can only be called Daylight Robbery.

They were warned but neither Michael nor John could have known that the uproar from the spectators was designed to stop them from soaking his face in the substance that would impair his vision even more, which had already been done via Keegan’s hellacious handiwork.

Unfortunately, the bleach rained down on Willis’ anatomy because of an unbeknownst Italian who by trying to genuinely assist him and encourage him to take The Yardstick was instead actually sealing his fate for him.

ROUND 6

As the 315-pound animal stood up the ramifications of the domestic appliance started to kick in and he began to rub his eyes in a bid to regain his sight but luck wasn’t with him as the Englishman darted over to the not-so-dangerous territory at this time known as the Kokomo Colossus’ corner and attempted to finally finish off the job with time to spare in order to prepare for a semi-final fight with former Television Champion Eddie Cheno.

That was on the card as he relentlessly battered his hapless brother with a barrage of blows that made Willis’ head resembled a Rocking Horse with the amount of punishment he was being subjected to before he buckled and Carrahar, who had adopted a stance directly above his falling foe, then kept on braying the beast with around ten or eleven lethal lefts that couldn’t be prevented and eventually The Latin Luminary not only left his stepsibling on his seat, circa Sonny Liston, but left him alone completely as the referee signalled to the judges that they would not be needed anymore. It was all over.

D’Alessandro was understandably disappointed as he stepped back into the ring but not devastated. Ordinarily, failure against Keegan would have been unbearable but Michael seemed to be more worried about Willis’ welfare than getting one over on The Geordie Genius, whose malicious performance wasn’t succeeded by a smile but rather a modest nod to his backers and a wink to his elated assistant Lharn Huscroft.

After the announcement was made that The Yardstick had indeed declared, he rejoined John to shake his hand but D’Alessandro waved him away, which Carrahar actually accepted without any fuss whatsoever.

Instead he was escorted backstage as the artist formerly known as Spawned Terror had had a taste of his own medicine, one that he personally gave to his nemesis nearly one year ago to the day, sat on his stool similar to Sonny Liston when he’d been badly beaten by a certain Cassius Clay.

However, there was one small difference…

While Willis was a bully, he hadn’t thrown the towel in…

And he would never ever surrender.

"YEAH! Scousers, Geordies, Gooners... they're gonna have to try next year. Anyway, I don't remember who the bloody hell you are, but I'm sort of in a good mood now, so... what the feck do you want?"

"You don't remember me, Campbell? I've done business for you in the past. I was in that shitehole, tFZ. Remember?"
"Oh yeah. FZ. That dump. Isn't it officially dead now, or something. That wanker Keith Abela-Wadge... biggest twat alive."

Of course, there was no Keith Abela-Wadge. It was just the alcohol inside of Joe's bloodstream doing the talking now, but he was right; whoever this Keith fellow was, he sounded like the biggest twat alive. In any case, Campbell heard a chuckle on the other line, as he grabbed the half-empty bottle of whiskey and took a swig.

"You mean diMaggio, but bloody same difference. Anyway, I'm a bit of a rush now. I was wondering, however, if your hitman was available for some business. You know, the chap that you sent to destroy IOW."

"Scum? Yeah. This for your plan in that place... thReat, innit? Mister Pembridge, lemme ask ye... why are you wastin' your time with wrestling folk? And more importantly, don't you already have that sod Ty Hughes on your little team?"

Now, it was Joe's time to chuckle. He knew that Vincent Pembridge was starting to think that Ty's life in tA had taken a massive toll on the latter's body, and Hughes was no longer the force he once was. But loaning Scum to his fellow Manucian... it seemed far-fetched. Scum had better things to do, Campbell reckoned.

But if it meant that Ty would get screwed yet again, Joe Campbell was willing to do business. Hell, if there were blowjobs from the female of the species, Joe would do agree to any kind of transaction.

That's the beauty of blowjobs, innit? Anyway, back to the point; Joe was a bit sceptical here, but wanted to see if Vincent could hit the right note.

"Yeah, but to be bloody honest, Joe... Ty doesn't seem stable. And he ain't exactly strong enough to carry the team all the way to the showdown."

Music to his ears. Joe Campbell got his legs off the table and as he planted 'em onto the ground, couldn't help beam from ear to ear.

"Tell ye what. I'll talk to the lad, see when he can make it over. The rest is up in his own hands."

"Cheers, Joe. I have to go now, I'll speak to you another day."

And with that, the phone conversation was over. Joe sniggered as he put the receiver down, and leaned back in his seat, stroking whatever facial hair he had. This was a most interesting development. SO much... conflict.

Vincent procured Ty, Ty disappointed Vincent, Vincent called Campbell, Campbell knows how much Karen hates brother Vincent, Vincent asks for Scum's expertise, Joe hates Ty, Joe knows how much hate is present between Scum & Karen...

The list could have gone on and on. But one thing was certain to the enigmatic Joe Campbell.

"What a cunt," he muttered under his breath, as he took another swig of whiskey.

He was, duh, referring to the Scorpion Of Manchester.

Jeff Garvin Vs LLB
(Tournament Wrestling Division, Round One)

Wait who are we kidding? The guy's ego rivals in size to Stephanie MacMahon's breasts. No, he just wanted to be able to say that he could beat 'the Glass Ceiling'. Then, when he did in fact beat him, he'd strut up and down the isle like the star he is.

Sure, Jeff... Sure, you do that. Now let's get to this. "Champion" by Grinspoon began to play over the arena sound system, giving way to three huge consecutive pyros and his entrance. He walked out, sporting a colorful, flamboyant vest and his usual ring attire. The crowd booed insanely, though half of them were now trying to shield there eyes from... Well... Uh...

Garvin strutted down to the ring with slow, Jericho-like strides. And dear God... What the HELL is that? There was the cause of the fan's utter disgust- no, not Jeff's hair cut or his stupid looking goatee but...

The cameras caught a 'not-so-nice' close up of Jeff Garvin's crotch where two huge bulges were easily visible. It then panned up to his face- he was grinning with more arrogance than ever before, despite the empty space on his shoulder where the Submission title use to sit. He adjusted his...uh... groin, and then entered the ring.

Enough of Jeff's groin please. Let's switch back to the stage. "Innocent" cued up and 'the Law' was greeted with a huge ovation, then power-walked down the ramp to the ring, slapping a few of the fans' hands. The former Asylum TV Champion stepped in and looked across to Jeff.

Garvin bobbed his eyebrows and glanced down to his crotch. "Jealous?"

The bell rang and the two met in the centre of the ring. They stood, staring at each other. LLB just glared coldly into Garvin's eyes, while the 'Tennessee Technician' chuckled a bit. Does he know something we don't? We shall see.

Jeff began to take off his vest when LLB fired punch number one, catching Jeff in the jaw. Garvin staggered back, unable to get his damned vest off and LLB landed four more stiff shots. At last the vest was flung to the canvas and Jeff could block the shots 'the Law' was throwing. After blocking one of LLB's punches, Garvin reared back and...

"WHOO!"

...Chopped him across the chest with a Knife Edge, then applied a standing side headlock and wrenched back with all his Garva-MIGHT! Jeff switched behind him into a reverse belly-to-back lock with a hammer lock applied. Forearm to the back of LLB's head! Jeff tried to power him to the mat but had little luck.

LLB elbowed Jeff in the face, go-behind again... 'the Law' hooked up Garvin and snapped him to the mat with one of Jeff's favourite moves, the Side Russian Leg Sweep. Jeff was quick to his feet, then locked up with LLB- Collar-and-Elbow style. Garvin swept LLB over with a Arm Drag, but this didn't keep him down long. LLB stood, then rushed in.

Garvin with the Drop Toehold, transferred to a laying Side headlock- rolled back to the legs, Jeff started to apply a kneeling Ankle Lock submission. LLB flipped himself over onto his back and forced Jeff to stagger back against the ropes as he pushed out with his legs. Jeff charged back and was clotheslined across the front of the neck and chest.

He began to stumble back but stepped forward and nailed his opponent in the stomach with a hard knee strike, bringing 'the Law' down to both knees. LLB stood up, the wind had been knocked out of him but he wasn't read to give up yet. Once again, the two wrestlers tied-up… LLB broke free, then grabbed Garvin's arm and stood to the side, twisting it violently with a standing arm wringer.

Jeff fell to his knees. He Fireman's Carried LLB over onto his back and scissored the arm of 'the Law' with both legs- bending it back, trying to hyper extend it. With the Side Arm Lock still applied, LLB fought from his stomach to his knees, and then from his knees to his feet. He used all of his strength to spin Jeff over onto his stomach, then stepped over (so one of LLB's feet were on one side of Garvin's body, and his other foot was on the other side of his body). With his free arm, he hooked up one of Jeff's legs and locked in -strange- looking Single Legged Boston Crab.

Over thirty seconds passed as both men tried desperately to make the other tap out- with Garvin attacking the arm and LLB attacking the leg. Finally both men gave up. They were deadlocked. They rolled away from one another. As LLB got up, he clutched his arm to his chest. Then, when Jeff stood, he staggered a bit on his now weakened leg. Jeff managed to limp to the corner and prop himself up against the turnbuckle.

Breather time.

This wasn't LLB's plan, though... he wasn't about to give the submission wrestler time to rethink his next move. LLB stalked Garvin into the corner and reached out to hook him up for a snap suplex. Last ditch effort coming out... Jeff went to the legs of his opponent, driving his shoulder into the knee cap. LLB's leg buckled and he staggered back. Garvin stood.

"WHOO!"

Another Knife Edged chop, followed by a hard toe kick to the stomach. LLB was doubled over and Garvin clubbed him in between the shoulder blades. His head sprung up, almost catching Jeff in the chin. Garvin picked him up sideways and dropped him down onto a bent knee with a Pendulum Backbreaker. Cover.

One!

Two!

Kick Out.

Garvin had his opponent exactly where he wanted him- on the ground. This was where the 'the Original' was at home. Jeff was still feeling the after effects of that modified Boston crab and took his time to get back to where LLB's legs were positioned. He grabbed the leg closest to him, that being the right one, and then dropped to the mat, driving an elbow down into the joint. Jeff stood again and repeated the process another three times- never once letting go of the leg.

With LLB's leg still in his grasp, he bent himself over and hooked it up over the back of his neck and began stretching 'the Law's' thigh and hamstring with the Stretch Muffler submission hold. He dropped it and grabbed LLB by his head, pulling him to his feet.

An Irish Whip sent LLB off to the ropes, Garvin doubled over looking for a Back Body Drop. LLB baseball slid through his legs and popped to his feet. LLB locked him around his waist...

German Suplex!

Jeff rolled off his shoulders and got up groggily. Side headlock applied by LLB. Jeff freed an arm and grappled him around the waist, then elevated him up for a Back Drop suplex, LLB struggled and managed to 'dead-weight' Garvin and land back on his feet. Jeff drove the end of his elbow into his opponent's kidney, freeing him.

He reached over and quickly locked in a Sleeper Hold before LLB could get out of harm's way. The booing intensified and LLB's energy was being drained by the second until he dropped into a seated position.

"He's OUT!" Jeff screamed, wrenching LLB's head from side to side.

It was then that the 'Law' chants arose. LLB pumped his fist and pushed up to his feet, then sat out.

Jawbreaker!

Jeff's head was whip lashed back. He had no idea where he was at that moment, giving LLB time to get to his feet. Garvin shook off the daze and saw LLB coming with a clothesline...

Ducked- Leg sweep, followed by a forearm to the chest! You know what that spells, boys and girls?

S.T.O. Slam!

The crowd couldn't help but let out a deafening groan as they saw their hero's skull hit the canvas. It was entirely possible that he could have a concussion from the serious momentum that went into the move. LLB's eyes were in the back of his head. Jeff hooked the leg and held down LLB's far-wrist with his free hand.

One!

Two!

LLB's shoulder flew off the mat at two and three quarters.

Garvin picked him up right into a Standing Gut Wrench before Suplexing him over onto his back. Though it didn't stop there! Garvin pulled him back up to his feet- the Gut Wrench still applied. This time, LLB blocked it and powered the Original up onto one shoulder, then charged into the corner!

The fans popped madly as LLB ran half way across the ring, with a two hundred and forty-two-pound man on his shoulder, and drove him back first into the turnbuckle! He knew he couldn't out wrestle Jeff on the mat, so he'd have to WHOOP his ass standing up!

With a blank look on his face, LLB grabbed the ropes and began stomping away at Jeff Garvin's mid-section until he had sunk all the way to his ass.

'The Law' rose his foot up and planted one measured kick to Jeff's face. Was he done? Not by a long shot. If it works, roll with it. So that is what LLB did. He reached down, pulled Jeff back up into the corner, and continued the art that is... Corner Stompage! With everyone nicely-placed stomp, the fans howled collectively. Now it was time to do some serious fucking-up of the self proclaimed 'best technical wrestler in the world'.

What to do, what to do? Ah, yes. The Tree of Woe! LLB scooped Jeff's limp body up and hung him upside down against the turnbuckle, making sure his feet were hooked well before sliding to the outside. LLB reached in, grabbing Jeff by his short brown hair, then placed a foot at the side of the ring and began pulling back with all his strength. Shortly there after he let go and rolled back in after high-fiving a few tA fans.

To his surprise, Garvin hadn't un-hooked himself from the corner. LLB glared, then backed up to the opposite corner. He ran in from a crouched position... and... "OH MY GOD!"

Erroneous Conclusion!

Garvin collapsed from the corner onto his head. He couldn't even grab his ribs in anguish because, well, he was knocked out cold from the running spear that sandwiched his upper body between LLB and the turnbuckle padding. If it had not been for Jeff's extinct of 'cowardliness' to roll to the outside, he would have lost the match then and there.

Due to this match being under common 'Wrestling' rules, count-outs were in effect. So if LLB were any less of a competitor, he could have just allowed Jeff to be counted-out and move on to face his next challenger. But that just wasn't his style. If he was going to beat Jeff, it was going to beat him in the centre of the ring- one, two, three, or by having that little bastard tap out.

Not like this. LLB halted the referee's count and slowly, carefully (so not to be ambushed by Jeff if he somehow survived his finishing move) climbed to the outside. LLB looked downward, the Original's stomach was blood red and his breathing was quick and rapid. The Law grabbed him, picking him up into a bear-hug and then drove him back against the side of the ring. Then turned, and repeated this, only to the steel guard-rail! Garvin fell flat on his face.

LLB rolled Jeff under the bottom rope back into the ring, then climbed in himself. He picked him up into a standing front face lock and walked Jeff to the middle of the ring. With his head already tucked under his right arm (still somewhat weakened), LLB hooked up Jeff's arm over his neck and suplexed him up into the air. Normally, he would stall for a moment, but his arm was beginning to give way, thus causing him to stumble back a few paces and drop Jeff not into a suplex, but a DANGEROUS Brainbuster!

"OOOOOOOOOOH!"

There was the crowd again, always waiting to show their appreciation when someone drops Jeff on his head! Yay for LLB!

Tonight, though, LLB didn't even smile. He was through with trying to match mat skills with Jeff- he was pissed. Screw technical wrestling; let's just fight it out!

Garvin rolled over onto his back, clutching his neck with one hand. Having dropped to his knees, LLB stared into Jeff's eyes... and sunk his hand into Jeff’s hair and began throwing punch after punch into Garvin's forehead! These weren't 'wrestling' punches either; these were the REAL things. Knuckles meet flesh!

A large red welt formed on Jeff's forehead and one more closed fisted punch would have busted the 'Tennessee Technician' right open.

LLB's fists ached; one of his middle knuckles had been lacerated on Jeff's face. He got up off his knees, placed the heel of his boot on that welt we just spoke of and SPUN a 360 degree turn! A gasp came from the crowd, followed by the loudest array of cheering yet in the match. That had done it. Jeff was cut wide open and the crimson red blood had begun to flow down in all directions... some escaped to the canvas below, while some streamed down his nose.

Now, with a new bloodied and dazed Jeff to contend with, LLB scraped him off the canvas and brought him to his feet, leaving a pool of blood behind. He whipped him to the ropes. Garvin came back and LLB hit the 'Black and White', a powerful Sidewalk Slam, followed by a cover.

One!

Two!

Kick Out!

Yes, it is possible that Jeff Garvin is still alive. And yes, we are as surprised as the rest of you. LLB didn't even flinch. His mind was else where, and nothing -not even Jeff Garvin- could piss him off anymore than he already was. He picked Jeff up. Lock up- Garvin broke free, belly-to-belly... Overhead Suplex!

The comeback was now.

Quick to his feet, LLB stared back to Garvin. Both men rushed in, Garvin managed to duck the big clothesline and follow up with a Release German Suplex!

"OOOOOOOOOH!"

Back up are both wrestlers... LLB is caught with an Inverted Atomic Drop, stumbling him back... Jeff threw his first real punch of the match and LLB side stepped it and kneed Jeff in the lower back. Garvin fell against the ropes chest-first.

LLB turned his opponent around and landed a few rights and lefts before backing up. Somehow, Garvin got a burst of adrenaline and exploded off the ropes... LLB tried for a hip toss (most likely into a Neckbreaker) but Garvin wouldn't go over. He kneed LLB in the stomach, doubling him over (with their arms still linked) and placed his leg over the back of his head. LLB whipped his head up, flipping Jeff over and landing him back on his feet. Garvin switched over in front of LLB into a Front Face Neck Breaker, but as he brought him down, he bent his knee and drove LLB's face right into it!

"BOO!" Screamed the fans, watching helplessly as Jeff Garvin nailed the innovative move. He didn't waist any time. Garvin had LLB back up... Then would come LLB's 'burst of adrenaline', his second wind...

Right by LLB!

Garvin wasn't going to sit back and let LLB lay an ass kicking on him like he had before, he returned the right with one of his own. The two exchanged blows until LLB saw fit to try and kick Garvin in the stomach.

Bad move, Roland. Jeff caught the leg and... AND…

Boos aplenty!

Dragon Screw!

That is a move that can completely tear your leg apart inside.

Garvin was back to his feet and he didn't look happy. He again adjusted his 'bulge' and shouted, "...Garvin STOMP!"

Things weren't looking good for the former five-time PIW World Heavyweight Champion. Jeff lifted his foot and brought it down across LLB's knee cap (of the leg he had just Dragon Screwed.)

STOMP!

STOMP!

STOMP!

STOMP!

STOMP!

Garvin didn't travel around the body, landing his signature stomps on every limb like he would usually. No, he stood in one place and slowly, methodically kicked away at LLB's bum leg. No doubt, the Hammer Jammer was in the back of his mind. But that could wait for now. He had other things in mind.

He lifted LLB to a standing position and Irish whipped him across the ring towards the turnbuckle. Actually, halfway across LLB came to a sudden stop, then turned around, forgetting about the pain in his right leg, and ran towards the corner in which Garvin was standing in.

The crowd came off their seat. It looked as if he was going to nail the ‘Conclusion’ and finish the match!

"Oh SHIT!"

No. Sorry.

BOOOOOOOOOO~!

Garvin had pulled the referee in front of him, letting the forty-year-old official take the full blunt of LLB's vicious spear. This knocked all three men down but 'the Original' was the first up.

Garvin rolled to the outside, wiping the sweat from his brow. He checked back in the ring- LLB and the referee hadn't stirred. He grinned arrogantly and searched for something under the ring.

Ah, there it was- the great equaliser.

A steel folding chair.

Garvin hugged it to his chest and gave it a kiss. This was his key to winning the match. He rolled back in through the opposite side of the ring and walked towards LLB, who by now was almost to his feet... LLB was up, though still dazed. Garvin raised the chair above his head as his opponent turned.

Swooooosh.

CRUNCH!

Cheers.

LLB hit the 'Erroneous Conclusion' seemingly out of nowhere, and now... Garvin was out cold once again from the spear!

All LLB had to do was make the cover and move onto the next round. Yes! He hooked the leg! But... But... there was no referee. The official in charge of the match was still on the canvas, laid out from the spear LLB had accidentally given him.

'The Law' got up and walked over to the referee and tried to wake him up. When he saw that the referee was coming to, he turned back to Garvin's direction to make the cover. However, Jeff was back up and waiting for him with a kick to the stomach. He pulled his head down between his legs and grabbed the back of his tights.

Memphis Death Certificate!

A signature move Garvin has never used before.

The MDC being a pulling Piledriver in which you jump into the air and land on your knees. A more 'modernised' version of what the great Jerry 'the King' Lawler use to use as a finisher.

In Memphis, the Piledriver is about as effective as a gun shot... and in a lot of ways, it's just as deadly! At least in a wrestling ring, that is/

Oh, and we might add that it was ON A FUCKING STEEL CHAIR~!

Yeah, that's enough to put you out of the game for good. The referee looked over to find Jeff Garvin making the cover.

ONE!

TWO!

...

KICK OUT!

howinthefuckdidhekickout!?!?

It took about half a second for all those words to stream through Garvin's mind, and he still was a little bit confused.

That was the Piledriver! In Memphis, his hometown, NO ONE got up from the Piledriver... but LLB did, and Garvin wasn't happy about that. Jeff escaped to the corner while the referee checked on a now bloodied LLB. The referee kicked the chair out of the ring, but behind his back something disturbing was going on.

Garvin was digging around in the crotch-area of his tights. Oh come on Jeff, save it for behind a locked door!

Oh- OH!

Jeff pulled out BRASS KNUCKLES! And with that, one of the two gigantic bulges was gone. When Garvin started to walk out of the corner, LLB stood up.

Double leg takedown into a...

Hammer FREAKIN' Jammer!

Or in LLB's mind, 'The Testify'.

Whatever you want to call it, LLB was desperately trying to lock it in. All he had to do was turn Garvin over onto his stomach and it would be complete. LLB leaned in, trying to get leverage, and Garvin swung his ‘brass-knuckle’ covered fist...

THWACK!

The brass collided with LLB's skull and he was instantly knocked out. No one, not even LLB, could get up from something like that. And best of all, the referee hadn't seen it, as he had been standing behind LLB the entire time. Nice work, ref!

LLB fell back, sprawled out in the middle of the ring- blood oozing from the laceration on his forehead. Jeff stood up, sneering with utter delight.

"I'll show you how you FUCKING do it, you STUPID bastard!" Garvin screamed at the top of his lungs.

Then would come the Hammer Jammer. It was synched in on LLB. The referee saw that he was in no condition to tap out and had to make a judgement call.

The bell rang.

"Champion" played.

And 'the Original' Jeff Garvin was declared the victor.

"Yes! YES! I shattered the Glass Ceiling! MUAHAHA!

...Oops." Jeff quickly chucked the ‘knucks’ out of the ring before the referee could see them and put two-and-two together.

Garvin continued to celebrate all the way up the ramp to the back. In his mind, after beating LLB, he was bigger than Jesus or 'Steve' Christ, himself. He was GOD!

GOD, I SAY!

God, what a fucking dip-shit.

The Freak Vs Ricky Wasp
(Tournament Fighting Division, Round One)

Ricky Wasp was once a bigoted pig, a hater of all Negroes and a racist warrior hell-bent on the supremacy of whites. His father had led him to become a twisted, hating, monstrosity of a valiant white knight. A One Man Klan.

Now… he was The Fly.

The… Fly?

Yeah.

Cue, “The Fly” by U2. The fans began to cheer as the rockin’ guitar riffs of the ancient band kicked in over the speakers, a twirling tribute to their owner. The lights flickered various colours, and the curtains parted, revealing the gigantic, towering owner of the theme. His face was painted in worship of himself… the Fly.

And you thought that Ricky Wasp the racist KKK warrior was weird?

The fans didn’t seem to care as to what the hell had possessed Ricky, and instead decided to cheer him anyway. Afterall, if a giant beast of a man was heading to a cage to kick some ass on Live TV, you’d be hyped too, right? And going into this tournament, Ricky was certainly one of the favourites to win - third, in fact. The number one favourite being Token Weed.

Ricky stepped into the cage and cracked his knuckles.

Oh, who was the number two favourite you ask?

The bell chimed.

That’s who.

And as the lights dimmed down to a switching, swathing and interchanging red-black, the fans weren’t best pleased at this contender’s appearance. Boos and jeers, check. Bottles and food wrappers thrown at entranceway, check. Curtains parted, check.

‘Carpe Diem’ by Will Haven, check.

The Freak, check.

He limped out onto the stage, causing the arena to become the home of all insults. His face was bandaged, his hand was taped to oblivion… and a finger was missing from the same hand. His trenchcoat swooped out behind him as he flicked his Black Title into the air with one hand, and his chair out with the other.

Behind him, Oddball smoked a cigarette casually, strolling down behind The Freak with the retired UK and Extreme titles slung over each shoulder and a gleam in his blue eyes. His fighter was the Asylum, defined lord of Extreme fighting and that mashed, semi-destroyed piece of metal was proof.

The Freak tapped up the steps and glided over the rim of the cage, dropping his title to the outside and readying his chair…

“I regret having to ask this question young one, but… I fear that you have confused me greatly. What… exactly… are, you?” The Freak quizzed, mockingly, as the fans booed their hearts out. Ricky stepped forwards, his hulking frame growing closer to the Black Champion…

“I. Am. A…”

He never finished that line, instead coming out of nowhere with a devastating right hook to The Freak’s face~! Following up immediately, Wasp slammed his forehead into The Ripper’s already multiply broken nose, and thrust a masterful boot upwards into The Freak’s crotch, doubling him over. The fans were already getting involved with heavy cheers for Wasp, as the One Man K… I mean, uh… One Man Swarm grabbed a handful of Freak’s red locks and clasped onto the hem of his trenchcoat, spinning him around…

CRACK~!

Headfirst into the rim of the cage, went The Freak. The bandages were already coming unravelled from his battered, beaten forehead and as Ricky repeated the headfirst smash several times… his chances weren’t looking too good. Wasp turned the Emasculator around and stared him, looking into his pit-like red irises and bellowed…

Something, about someone. Actually, it was pretty much gibberish. So let’s skip to the next part.

The part where Ricky Wasp picks The Freak up on one shoulder like he was a rag doll, charges at the other end of the cage… and speared him into the hard, unforgiving mesh, squashing him like a gnat~!

Cheers!

Wasp stood back up and looked at the chair that The Freak had dropped, before smirking evilly and picking it up from the mat and swinging it to and fro, as if testing it out… he watched with a sick grin as Grail staggered to his feet dizzily, not quite knowing who he was, where he was or what the hell Ricky Wasp was doing charging at him with that chair…

Oh wait, yeah.

He remembered just in time, quickly sidestepping the almighty swing of the steel from Wasp…

Clatter

And chair connected with nothing but steel cage rim, leaving the large and slightly clumsy giant stranded for an upwards kick to the ribs. The Freak removed his trenchcoat and whipped it to the outside, before hopping up onto Wasp’s back as he keeled over…

And spinning from it, socking the mighty Richard Williams III with a spiral kick to the side of the head. Ricky stumbled backwards, that chair still clasped in his ghostly fingers… and unfortunately he didn’t notice that The Freak had landed perfectly on the rim of the cage and was now balancing there. Wasp turned…

CRACK!!

And Wasp went down, courtesy of a Hurricane Kick from the rim… smashing the chair into his face and knocking a stream of claret from his nose. Wasp stumbled backwards, and as he did so The Freak was ready, ducking down…

Duck n’ Swing, that’s what you do. Wasp wailed with frustration as The Freak’s powerful calf slammed into his own and his knees gave way beneath him, toppling him flat on his back. The Emasculator quickly picked up the chair and once again hopped onto the railings…

Before throwing the chair into the air, and forcing himself down, feet-first onto the steel… driving it into Ricky Wasp’s heart with a brutal foot stomp. Also known as, The Heartbreaker.

The referee started up a count, as The Freak wiped some of the blood from underneath his nose, snarling and hissing at himself for allowing Wasp to get even the slightest advantage.

1!

2!

3!

4!

5!

6!

“COME ON RICKY!” clap clap clapclapclap

“COME ON RICKY!” clap clap clapclapclap

“COME ON RICKY!” clap clap clapclapclap

“COME ON RICKY!” clap clap clapclapclap

“COME ON RICKY!” clap clap clapclapclap

“COME ON RICKY!” clap clap clapclapclap

“COME ON RICKY!” clap clap clapclapclap

“COME ON RICKY!” clap clap clapclapclap

“COME ON RICKY!” clap clap clapclapclap

The chants succeeded in their task, much to The Freak’s disdain… as the Wasp Fly managed to somehow climb to his feet. The Freak didn’t wait for Wasp to turn and smash the fuck out of him as predicted, instead deciding that a far better option would be to spin around and attack those legs again…

Right foot connects.

Left foot connects.

Two-Hit Rolling Kick.

Oh, wait… the left foot didn’t connect - because Ricky caught it and used it to pick all three-hundred and sixty pounds of The Freak into the air. By one leg. The Freak was rather disturbed by this fact, and even more disturbed when he realized what Ricky was going to do with him.

Pick him up…

And dump him out of the cage.

Ricky turned around to an enormous ovation as The Freak fell over the rim and vanished, Ricky had bypassed the first round and now… all he had to do was beat Token Weed to advance into the finals.

And beat The Freak.

What?

BOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! Motherfucker / Stay outta the fucking cage / motherfucking asshole

The Freak had perceived what was coming and was of a good enough state of mind to cling onto the cage rim for dear life, hanging by both hands and gritting his teeth together as he pulled himself back upwards. Ricky wondered why the fans were booing, and turned around… straight into The Freak’s feet. The Bulldozer launched himself over the rim of the cage, propelling himself through the air and slashing his feet in a diagonal arc with a scalding Folha Secca.

Ricky stumbled but he was by far too big a man to go down just yet, instead taking the blow like a man, wiping the blood from his nose and flicking it to the canvas in a crimson splatter. He roared primally and charged into The Freak once more, this time locking his hands around The Freak’s throat and…

Oh… Fuck.

Sorry Brian, you just entered the ‘You Have No Chance In Hell Of Winning’ zone.

As Wasp hurled Freak into the air, clutching and squeezing his windpipe, and letting him dangle there with the Purity. The fans cheered, The Freak gasped for air… and Wasp was in pain-for-pleasure heaven, watching the Black Champion suffer. Soon, however, their roles would be reversed…

Thud.

BOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

Yes, that was The Freak’s steel-toe-capped, size 12 boot slamming into Ricky’s balls. Wasp might claim to be a fly, but unfortunately, fly or not… he’s not Villam Ender, and he still has a plat of meat and two veg. The Freak was released hastily, and he once again targeted Ricky’s legs with a spinning heel kick to Wasp’s thigh. The Emasculator wasn’t done of course… crawling BETWEEN Ricky’s legs…

And punching him in the balls again.

Have some decency, Brian! Leave the guy’s balls alone!

Well, narrator’s aren’t supposed to give suggestions but The Freak obviously took the advice, instead of using any more underhanded tactics he went for a far stupider and generally more outrageous idea. He locked his arms around Ricky’s waist and slipped his head under the big man’s arm…

Hahaha! He was attempting a Backdrop Driver!

Attempting a Backdrop Driver.

SMMMACK!

The fans gasped as Wasp was hauled overhead and drilled, neck-first into the canvas viciously with a perfect Backdrop Driver. The Freak, despite his horrendous injuries at the hands of Christ, was still going strong and was powerful enough to LIFT the three-hundred-pound beast.

Wasp dragged himself upwards… as The Freak was handed a chair by Oddball. He grated his teeth, which were already dripping blood due to a re-opened cut on his tongue, and waited for Ricky to stand…

THWACK- DENT

And Wasp went dow---

Yeah, bullshit. The Freak swung the chair, but Wasp powered forwards and smashed it into Freak’s face with a Fuckhead. HI BORST!!

The Freak stumbled backwards, the chair still clutched tightly in his hands… and Wasp lifted The Freak up over one shoulder, grabbing his legs and flinging him over his mighty collar as if he was a rag doll, nothing more. He spun around, twirling The Freak and squeezing the life out of him with a bearhug… then charged.

…ANNNNNND The Freak’s back hit the steel rim of the cage.

CRACK~!

…ANNNNNNNNNNNNND again. What is this, an episode of Bullseye? I AM NOT BULLY DAMNIT.

CRACK~!

…YOU DO NOT WIN A TOASTER!!

Which was followed directly by Ricky spinning around and thundering The Freak’s spine into the canvas, tearing his body apart at the seams with a spinebuster-type move. What is this, an entire fucking Borst tribute show? Yeah!?

Wasp was back on his feet, the fans were cheering and all was well, as the referee counted The Freak down… as he rolled on the mat, trying to regain some semblance of mind.

1!

2!

3!

And as The Freak was busy in la-la land… Wasp reached over the cage and grabbed a table from Oddball’s specialized cart of weapons - and hey, it’s not like Oddball is going to stand up to the guy.

4!

5!

The Fly sets up the table in the centre of the cage…

6!

7!

EIGH-yeah, 8!

NIN-yeah… wait, no.

The Freak was back up at 8, kipping to his feet and INSTANTLY ducking under a Ricky Wasp clothesline… he rebounded from the steel, bouncing from the rim of the cage and turning at Wasp, knocking him down to the mat with a spiral Leg Lariat. The Freak was getting irate now… his red eyes glowed like fiery embers, painting pictures of the anger burning in his skull.

He picked Wasp up… and growled like an animal.

“Why did you even bother *cough* entering in this contest of the Gods…? This tournament was supposed to be a showcase of immortals, powerful deities among fighters… to vie for the crown, the kingship of the Asylum Title. And YOU… you DARE to… listen to me!”

The Freak slapped Wasp, who was semi-out of it, and continued.

“You dare to step foot in my cage, my cell… my battlefield? No… this is my warzone, and you dared to step foot in it… you are caught in the crossfire.”

*Slap*

“CAMPBELL’S COCKSUCKER!” clap clap clapclapclap

“CAMPBELL’S COCKSUCKER!” clap clap clapclapclap

“CAMPBELL’S COCKSUCKER!” clap clap clapclapclap

“CAMPBELL’S COCKSUCKER!” clap clap clapclapclap

“CAMPBELL’S COCKSUCKER!” clap clap clapclapclap

The fans booed again as The Freak turned Ricky and slammed his head into the table, before locking the big man’s arms behind his head with a Full Nelson…

SOMEHOW lifting him up, spinning…

Dragon Suplex through the table, neck-first. Wasp wasn’t moving… so The Freak just had to add insult to injury. He stepped over Wasp’s back, hooked the head and arm…

Statistical Dehumanizer.

The referee called for the bell to save face, as Ricky wasn’t even moving… but it wasn’t enough, was it? It was never enough.

And… the Statistical Dehumanizer was still locked in tightly. Wasp’s body was being shaken from left to right like a giant rag doll, his muscles tensing with unconscious pain and his neckbone snapping from to and fro. The pit bull had set upon it’s prey, The Freak wasn’t letting go… and blood was rising in Wasp’s throat.

“Nobody… is worthy. Peons, ingrates… fools, why do these fools even dare to step FOOT in my Asylum? This place is a convention; a sophisticated exhibit for the art of belligerency and you ants can’t even endure the slightest of my modus operandi. Villam Ender… he is nothing, a mite, a blip on the psychological radar that emits inklings of ability but not NEARLY enough… to destroy I.

“The Bulldozer. The Dream Crusher. And at this point in time as the seconds hand of the great clock of Ricky’s life draws closer, pushing the minute hand… pushing the hour hand closer to the 25th… you citizens, lout-like and unrefined, must ask yourself.

“Who… can stop Fenn-Grail from decimating all of those in his WAKE!?”

Ricky’s lifeless head was spiked down into the canvas with a fist, finally released from the straining manoeuvre. The fans hurled trash at the cage and hissed but it was no use, The Freak simply extended his arms into a bloody crucifix and stood, his bandages hanging to either side…

“Every time I speak the mythological hell that you people created is becoming more and more apparent, do you not see? The flames will erupt from the Earth and my mission will be complete… you people have no God, you are Godless… what infidel could EVER fashion a race as sordid, as mundane as you? And anyone that opposes me, like a skylark with a broken wing, shall become useless…

“Inefficient. They shall never fly again… because they will never think the same, again.

“Steve Christ. Ty Hughes.

“Your heroes… were brought down to my level and they were sacrificed to my cause. After fighting me they have become like me… you may say that I have dragged them down to my level - that I have brought out the worst in them but I disagree. I believe that these men have been elevated. They are one step closer… to realization.

“You people live in the denial of what you have become.

“You live in the denial that I am unbeatable, indestructible known only unto fighting.

“Pissants.”

The Freak threw down the microphone that was handed to him by Oddball, and began to make his way towards the cage door, bloody footprints in his wake… he had smashed his way through the first round but would the mauled, mutilated monster survive the second?

The fans certainly hoped not.

“KILL THE FREAK!”
“KILL THE FREAK!”
“KILL THE FREAK!”
“KILL THE FREAK!”
“KILL THE FREAK!”

“Cute,” The Freak mused to himself as he turned to look at his onlookers…

Then a voice boomed over the PA.

“Hey… ya gotta give the people what they want!”

The Freak recognized the voice… and froze. His bloodied mouth twisted into a grimace as the fans burst into deafening cheers, an overwhelming ovation that rocked the very foundations of the stadium. And The Freak’s SECOND ROUND opponent, was already here…

The Freak Vs Token Weed
(Tournament Fighting Division, Round Two)

Drum beats…

A deafening scream that drove the fans into a frenzy.

“Halo” by Soil.

The Freak looked at the sky, his arms outstretched as if begging the spotlights for mercy, as the curtains parted and Token Weed rushed down the ramp. His blue-blonde hair swished and fluttered around his face as he darted towards the cage, and quickly hopped up the ringsteps…

The Freak instantly dashed at his former-partner and flung his arm out, attempting a clothesline. Token, however, had other ideas and was able to duck under The Freak’s arm like a snake, as if he knew exactly how The Freak moved and exactly how to fight back. The Emasculator turned…

And Token socked him in the face instantly with a powerful Snap punch. Token reeled back a fist as The Freak stumbled towards the cage… and slammed it into The Freak’s face. And again. And again… and The Bulldozer was almost out of the cage already, but Token didn’t want that just yet.

“Come on, motherfucker… show me watcha GOT!” Token shouted, as he grabbed The Freak’s arm and whipped him… and we’re talking Irish-whip style into the other side of the mesh. The Freak slammed full-on into the cage, slumping over it but still having enough presence of mind to turn as Token came at him once more…

Crescent Kick - Token whipped his leg into the air in a swinging arc and almost ripped The Freak’s head from his shoulders. The self-proclaimed ‘Dream Crusher’ was punch-drunk… or more suitably kick-drunk already and there was seemingly no way out of this rut. Token dropped down onto the mat beside The Freak…

And swept his legs out from beneath him.

The fans were cheering already as Token picked up the chair used by both Ricky AND Freak…

“Tasted steel before, kid?”

SMACK

SMACK

SMACK

“Sure you have… but not TOKEN WEED steel.”

SMACK

SMACK

SMACK

The Freak’s bandages were completely torn from his face, revealing the huge network of scars and cuts lacing his flesh like black stitches on a white sheet. The Freak dragged himself along the canvas, crawling and biting at the mat, sucking his energy up to get across the cage…

“SAY HI TO UNCLE TOKEN!” Token laughed, merrily, down at The Freak before grating his face up and down against the unforgiving cage mesh… slicin’ and a dicin’ that skin even more.

The sight was vile to behold, as The Freak’s forehead became more and more lacerated- but the fans loved every fucking MINUTE of it. Well, they weren’t The Freak’s biggest fans, after all. Token finally let go and spun The Freak around, dragging him upwards and shoving his face into the rim of the cage brutally.

He grabbed some hair…

And played bouncy-bouncy with The Freak’s face on the cage rim.

And with that, The Freak found himself flat on his back once more. Token laughed maniacally, as the fans supported him, practically throwing their knickers at him with glee. Well, they weren’t… but almost.

1!

2!

3!

4!

5!

6!

7!

8!

…

Kip-up!

No, fool, nine comes after eight!

Not any more - The Freak made sure of that, kipping back up to his feet instantly and shooting a prevailing High Arc Kick into Weed’s face~! Token staggered back, allowing The Freak to duck under his arch-nemesis’s arm and hook him under the chin. Token could only scream wildly s he was taken for a ride…

A Urange suplex, SPINNING ride…

Token’s head bounced from the steel like a ping-pong ball from a paddle, with added blood licking his blue-blonde strands. The Freak got back to his feet and asked Oddball for something… anything… that would keep Token down.

Oddball’s a pretty quick thinker.

Because he handed The Freak a barbed wire baseball bat.

“Oh, you need fucking fancy weapons to beat ol’ Sean, right!?” Token hissed, blood spilling over his lips and from between his teeth from the arc kick seconds ago. Token growled… which turned into a primal scream not unlike the one in his theme, as he shot up from the canvas with an uppercut to The Freak’s jaw.

The Freak took the blow like a man.

“AHHHHHH!!” Token screamed, as the disgusting pins on the barbed wire were slammed into his pale flesh, tearing his skin apart. The Freak repeated the gigantic swings of the baseball bat a further two times, shredding Token’s skin and practically cracking his skull… before dropping the baseball bat to the mat.

The Freak looked at Token in the eyes, his sapphire red eyes clashing against Token’s black eyes…

“Fight,” The Freak simply said with a fake, mocking smile.

“RUUUUUAAAHHHHRGH!!”

Token wailed as he smashed forwards, his fist missing Freak’s face by mere inches… then he felt an elbow crack across the back of his neck, and a knee slam into his face. Token tried to stumble back, his teeth splayed in opposite directions, but The Freak locked his arm around Weed’s neck…

And hooked both arms.

He picked Token up… spinned him around and planted him, headfirst into the canvas with a resounding thud… courtesy of Mister Double-Underhook Brainbuster.

The fans booed, as Token lay in a bloodied heap on the mat, and The Freak used the rim of the cage to pull himself back to his feet. He glanced at the ref intimidating, and the official counted… desperately hoping that Token would stay down, as he knew the background between these two men and frankly, it wasn’t pretty.

1!

2!

3!

4!

5!

6!

7!

8!

…

“TEN!? You think that can keep me down for motherfucking TEN!?!” Token screamed, as he jumped up to his feet and speared an ALMIGHTY shoulder into The Freak’s stomach. The Emasculator clattered against the mesh cage, his back practically snapping on the rim…. Before Token pulled him away again…

“COME ON, you PUSSY!” Token shouted, his voice breaking into laughter as he bounced his forehead off The Freak’s nose a few times. And a few more times. And a few more fucking times, Okay? Yes?

Then, he threw the Bulldozer back against the cage… and picked up the barbed wire baseball bat.

“We won’t be needing THIS…” Token smiled, as he pulled the barbed wire from the baseball bat…

And threw away the baseball bat.

The Freak looked extremely worried as Token came towards him, barbed wire outstretched between his palms. He had dabbled in barbed wire at Conflict and it certainly wasn’t pretty… he ducked under Token’s first attack with the wire but weed was far too fast, locking the needle-like barbs around The Freak’s waist and using it to smash him into the cage, tearing up his costume in the process… before pulling the barbed wire upwards…

SHRRRIIIIP

AHHHHHH!!

And using it to further slice and maim The Freak’s face. Freak elbowed Token in the nose and tried to stagger away, but it proved futile as Token simply dropped the wire and chop-blocked The Freak’s legs out from under him, drastically reducing his size o’course. The Bulldozer hit the mat… Token kipped up…

So did The Freak.

“Stay the fuck down, will ya!?” Token wailed, as he swung his leg upwards and socked the Red Ripper in the face with a spinning toe kick. The Freak’s head snapped to one side… and instantly snapped back.

BAM

And that was a headbutt of The Freak’s own. Token staggered backwards, but still kept his eyes open and his feet firmly on the ground, slugging it back and forth with The Freak, the Emasculator hitting right hands to Token’s face and Weed slamming the Bulldozer with lefts…

Then Token took a chance.

He smashed a foot forwards into The Freak’s groin, doubling him over… and attempted a Pumpkick.

His gamble didn’t pay off - at all.

The Freak grabbed Token’s leg as it struck him and slotted it under his arm, using it to drag Token in… Weed knew what was coming next, and he tried to fight but a simple right hook had him where The Ripper wanted him. He locked the front facelock in… he kept the leg hooked…

Anti-Nature.

Onto a chair.

The Freak pulled himself to his feet as the fans jeered infinitely, screaming and hollering abuse as Token lay, face-down on the mat… completely out of it. The Dream Crusher looked at Token… and decided to leave the cage before he awoke, as whilst Freak himself was an honourable fighter in many aspects…

Token was far from it.

1!

2!

3!

4!

5!

6!

7!

8!

9!

…

Boos rocked the stadium as, just like that, The Bulldozer had smashed it’s way into the finals… and as he walked backstage, his arms held aloft in the air, the question was in fact…

If Ricky Wasp and Token Weed can’t stop him… then can the other finalists?

"Token Weed, fell at my hands. A simple punch to the back of the head, nothing more, nothing less." Providence said as he swept his long brown hair out of his eyes, he looked towards the crowd still giving a bit of a smile.

"I beat Weed in this cage, with hardly any effort..." Providence trailed off as the fans began to boo.

Then...

"Halo" by Soil began blaring… Token had only just headed backstage after his match with Freak, and now he was back out already, beaten and bloodied. Providence looked up towards the entry way. "Mr. Williams, get out here and face your worst fear. I didn't end up that bloody mangled mess that you promised." Then Token Weed stepped out from behind the curtain a slight smile across his face. Once again he had a row of stitches across his forehead.

"Oh, I see you got that shit cleaned up Token, that looked so much nicer busted open," Providence said cockily as he looked down the aisle. Token picked up a microphone from one of the stangehands and walked directly down and hopped into the cage. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of brass knuckles. The knuckles still had dried blood on them...

"Hey Providence, remember these?" before Providence could respond Token cocked back and drilled Providence directly in the face with the knuckles. Providence instantly collapsed into a heap on the mat, as Token looked down grinning. He took the knuckles off and dropped them onto Providence's chest.

"You'll get yours Providence, trust me." Token stated as he spun around and hopped the cage and walked up the aisle as "Halo" by Soil began playing again.

The Servants Vs Splink

For the second time that night, "We're In This Together" by NIN followed the Latin chant. Earlier, Cara Dyconin had defeated Lotus for the tA Women's Championship. But now, it was time for The Servants to fight their first match together as a team, against the veteran team of Splink.

Could they pull it off?

Cara Dyconin stepped out onto the stage, once again dressed in her long, flowing gown, with both of The Servants carrying it from behind her. The three slowly walked down the rampway, before reaching the bottom. The Servants removed Cara's gown....and around her waist was the tA Women's Championship belt, seemingly already polished from when Cara had won it earlier that night. She remained on the outside of the cage, walking to the other side, while Servant A entered it. Servant B folded up a steel chair from ringside, and then followed him in as well.

"Going Underground" by The Jam cut off the NIN song, and the crowd's reaction was much more positive for the team comprised of Slapnutz and TMM.

The team known as Splink.

Splink made their way down the rampway, entering the cage. They quickly traded glares inside the cage....before Servant A ran forward and nearly took both members of Splink's heads off with a powerful double lariat. He then picked Slapnutz up, and began wailing away with his powerful right and left hands, while Servant B started slamming the chair into TMM's body.

On the outside, Cara clapped. But before this fight could even start....things were about to go horribly wrong.

Suddenly, everything went white. And then....

.....

All hell broke loose.

The lights turned on the crowd and blinded them, spreading a pitch white over the entire arena. Mass hysteria erupted up and down the sections. People scrambled across seats, shoved one another out of their way, and lost themselves in the pure light. Anything their instincts told them to do first.

The speakers rattled...following that an electric guitar ripped through the roaring.

i will stop
i will stop at nothin.
say the right things.
when electioneering.
i trust i can rely on your vote

whenigoforwardsyougobackwardssomewerewewillmeet

riot shields.
voodoo economicks.
its just business.
cattle prods and the IMF.
i trust i can rely on your vote.

whenigoforwardsyougobackwardssomewerewewillmeet

Then suddenly, the light drew back and people could see again. Leaving everyone frozen where they stood, staring at the Asylum.

Blink.

Servant A collapsed to the ground with half a shattered bat next to him!

Nicole Carson threw the other half onto his fallen body, and then stalked forward holding another bat in her right.

The crowd’s silence quickly turned to a monstrous applause, which gained momentum as she inched closer toward her next victim. He just started to realize what was happening, when it was all too late.

”A...let’s see...what comes after A?”

“Ah, now I remember...B!”

And with that, the bat crashed onto Servant B’s skull. He staggered from the blow, somehow still standing on his feet from impact. Not for long though, because Carson already tossed the shattered bat away, and reeled some rapid jabs into him. As he was blasted back onto stumbling feet, she hooked him with a brutal shot to the jaw. Servant B dropped to the floor spinning.

Cheers multiplied as Carson turned away from the victim...

And saw another...Cara Dyconin.

Cara was completely shocked. So shocked, she had forgotten all about guarding.

But before Carson could act, Servant A was standing, grueling towards her while bleeding profusely from the forehead.

Carson stormed and leapt off her feet...striking him with a 360-degree spin kick.

As her feet touched the ground, Carson exploded into the air, uppercutting Servant A up and over the Asylum wall!

HOLY FUCK! HOLY FUCK! HOLY FUCK!

He tumbled onto the floor and lied there motionless. Nicole stood on the inside, looking back and forth toward the crowd. Then smiled, bounding over the cage wall and landing cat like next to the Servant’s downed form.

Carson mounted and thrashed his face with rapid punches. She sent her own form of cold steel into his face, whipping his head against the floor with the wild punching. After dealing enough, she picked herself off, and stood breathless in place.

Nicole took a look around.

First for Cara, but then saw she had already fled.

Then she saw the crowd.

For the first time, the crowd cheered for her. People stood on their feet and chanted her name. But they were also chanting the same name so hated in the past. The one that raped her boyfriend, shot Eddie Cheno in the jaw, faked her mother’s death to ban alcohol from the Asylum.

Those are just a few examples of some disgusting acts.

Asylum was known for it’s short life expectancy, but could it be the fan’s had an even shorter memory?

Murmuring rose from the crowd and questions were being thrown her way.

At the first sign, the person who was supposedly dead for the past five months, brushed herself off, and headed out the door.

Leaving to cheering...

And leaving many questions unanswered.

Jeff Garvin Vs Providence
(Tournament Wrestling Division, Round Two)

Jeff though, while he too shed some blood in his lengthy match with LLB, was still running on a full set of batteries. His endurance was through the roof and now that he had the medical crew stitch him up and place a bandage over the laceration, he was good to go.

And as we saw in Garvin's last match, what he conceals in his 'crotch' is very dangerous. The Brass Knuckles, fool! Get your mind out of the gutter. But yes, one 'bulge' remained and that could only mean trouble for Providence.

"Stinkfist" by Tool.

Trudging through the curtains was Providence- his face bruised, his lip swollen, and an emotionless expression on his face. He really didn't feel like competing, not after what he went through in his first match.

After he entered the ring, the lights dimmed and the lead singer's voice of Jeff's favourite band, Grinspoon, could be heard screaming the opening line of his entrance theme.

"So you wanna' be a CHAMPION?"

Seconds later, Garvin was on the scene. He patted the final remaining bulge in his groin area and flipped off the Asylum crowd. He called them dirty, sleazy 'fucks' and they responded with boos. Garvin's hair was matted with sweat from before, but overall he looked quite well.

Providence and Garvin were back in their respective corners and the bell rang, signalling the beginning of the match. It looked as if Providence hadn't even heard the bell go as he just stood there as Jeff ran in and clotheslined him against the turnbuckle. He staggered back, hit the corner, and then staggered out again...

In the mean time, Jeff had leapt to the second rope and came down with a HARD double axe-handle! Providence took it right in the back of the head and fell to both knees. Garvin came off the ropes from the other side and ran full force into Providence...

Running Knee Strike!

A somewhat 'Shining Wizard' like move that connected with his face. Providence fell onto his back- his lip was bloodied once again. Jeff was back up to the middle rope, measuring his opponent up before dropping a huge Front Elbow Drop across his forehead. Shades of Bret Hart, no doubt.

Garvin made the cover...

One!

Two!

But he got a shoulder up shortly after the two. Even if he was physically drained and his head was everywhere but in this match, he wasn't about to get beaten by an elbow drop. Jeff pulled him to his feet. He looked as if he was going to scoop him up for a slam but instead drove a knee into his stomach.

Then lifted him up off his feet and dropped him down into a Gut Buster, where you slam your opponent stomach-first down across your knee. Garvin is up quickly, back to the legs... He wishboned them apart and then fell to his knees, driving a headbutt into Providence's abdomen.

No cover though, it was too soon for that.

Garvin lifted him up and grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him into a Short Arm Clothesline. This dropped Providence to the canvas but Jeff quickly dragged him up again... He whipped him in but Providence ducked the clothesline.

Now behind Jeff, he elevated him up for an Atomic Drop (not to be confused with it's Inverted counterpart) and then spun him out into a Blue Thunder Powerbomb! Just like that, Jeff had lost control of the match.

Providence was slow to his feet because of the beating he had just sustained. He placed his foot on Garvin's throat, choking him. The referee began the standard count of 'Five' but he broke at four.

He walked around to Garvin's legs and applied an STF submission hold, attempting to make 'the Original' tap out. Jeff reached out and grabbed the bottom rope. The referee had to forcefully break the hold as Providence just wouldn't listen.

Both men up again, Jeff breathed heavily and raked the eyes of Providence; trying anything to get him back in the driver's seat. He staggered back and Garvin kicked him RIGHT above the groin.

"WHOO!"

"WHOO!"

"WHOO!"

"WHOO!"

Four sickening Knife Edge chops landing on Providence's chest. Garvin had to stop due to hurting his hand on Providence's chest, or he would have kept going. He shook the pain from his hand and went for one more.

Providence caught the chop against his chest and clutched it close. With his free hand he grabbed the back of Garvin's head, swept his legs out from under him, and slammed his skull into the mat with a Front Russian Legsweep! Cover...

One!

Two!

Kick Out!

Still a little too early to expect a three but they would damn sure try. The shorter the match was the better the chance of them winning the final Tournament bout. Providence quickly slapped on a fujiwara armbar but Jeff slipped out and rolled to safety. Garvin was up, as was Providence, and both men charged in.

Garvin ducked the clothesline. Both men came off different sets of ropes and were heading straight for each other. They extended their arms outward and collided head-on with a double clothesline! Jeff flipped himself over in a daze and draped an arm over Providence's chest.

One!

Two!

There's the shoulder.

"Fuck!"

Jeff was becoming angry, and because of this he was becoming verbal. This would no doubt send the fans heading for the hills as no one enjoyed listening to Garvin speak… No one, at all… They both came to at last and met standing.

Ducking under the arm, Providence came up from behind.

German Suplex!

"OOOOOH!" The fans responded.

They rolled back to a standing position but Garvin went behind after blocking second German Suplex attempt. He tried for one of his own but came up short. He dropped down and went for a School Boy roll-up.

But it did not end in a pin; it ended with Garvin locking in a Leg Grapevine. Providence fought free. As Providence was getting to his feet, Jeff kicked him in the head- dropping him to the mat once more. He got up and Garvin shoved him chest-first into the turnbuckle. He staggered back...

ORIGINAL SLAM!

No.

Providence dropped behind.

Cross Face Chickenwing! He had it locked in and Jeff couldn't escape. Garvin forced them both in towards the corner and he kicked out from the middle turnbuckle and rolled himself back onto Providence's chest for a cover.

One!

Two!

Kick Out!

Back to their feet.

Kick to the stomach, Jeff drops his head... Providence spiked it into the canvas with a Double Arm DDT. For a split second, Garvin's entire body was inverted and all of his body weight was pushed down onto his neck.

Providence got to his feet and lead Jeff up- elbow to the face; Jeff stumbled back but is stopped by the ropes. He Irish whips Jeff off into the ropes. He flap jacked Garvin up and then drove him down onto his back! Providence fell in for the lateral press...

One!

Two!

Kick Out!

Garvin stood up. Providence off into the ropes... Shoulder Block! Jeff staggered back but didn't go down. He came off the ropes one more to but Garvin side-stepped and hurled him up and over the top rope, dropping him to the apron. Providence was up again...

They lock up, Garvin on the inside of the ring, Providence on the apron. Jeff attempted to suplex him in; then Providence dropped behind. Belly to Back... Jeff held onto the ropes, not allowing him self to be German Suplexed.

That is about when the camera caught a glimpse of the Original's crotch.

No more bulge!

It then cut to a shot of his right hand... He had the damned Brass Knuckles on, he must have slipped them on when Providence was standing up on the ring apron!

Garvin elbowed him, staggering him back a few steps... Then turned and swung his brass-covered fist.

'Fists OF Stone.'

Nothing fancy about that. Just a straight punch right to the face of your opponents. But when topped off with brass knuckles, it can be quite effective. Garvin, like he had in his match with LLB, hurled the brass to the outside and made the cover...

One!

Two!

Three!

"Champion" by Grinspoon.

Again Garvin had come out on top with a little help from his 'brass knuckle' friends. Jeff rolled from the ring, a broad smile on his face.

Garvin left to the back, knowing that later on tonight he would have his biggest chance in the Asylum since his arrival.

It could be summed up in Jeff's own words.

"I am CHAM-PEEN!"

Yeah. That fits.

Eddie Cheno Vs Keegan
(Tournament Boxing Division, Round Two)

Up for grabs in this upcoming affair is a place to compete for the top honour and to possibly re-write history. But before we get carried away there is the minor matter of resolving this prior to actually thinking of what could possibly happen in the GRAND final.

Keegan Carrahar and Eddie Cheno will square off in a Boxing bout with a 10-round limit. Having already polished off John C. Willis and Sebastian Thompson respectively, they find themselves stranded at the second hurdle.

“Woke Up This Morning” graced the airwaves yet again and when The Yardstick eventually arrived, which was some time after his acquaintance Lharn who they applauded in the meantime, he was treated to another excellent ovation from the capacity crowd who were expecting this tie to better the previous encounters that they’ve seen in this division(Boxing) thus far tonight given that The Geordie Genius and his opponent have considerable experience in this art and as Carrahar entered the noise levels grew again and he nodded his head, just as he had earlier, to acknowledge their applause.
“Smoke two Joints” by Sublime played next, and the crowd simply carried their reaction over. Eddie Cheno walked out from the back, the small holes in his neck providing another lung. He took a step, and strained himself, tending after his injuries, before returning to the backstage area. The fans weren’t sure what was going on, but when Eddie came back out from the back with his former trademark glass bong, they popped huge. Nostalgia was in, remember?

Eddie seemed to have a tough time holding the bong with his boxing gloves on, and cupped it under his arm. Meanwhile, The Prince Of Palermo had paced around the environment like a caged Tiger and extremely eager just to get the encounter underway but Cheno, a wily all-round athlete, would not be rushed for anyone and slowly surveyed his surroundings.

While Carrahar had Huscroft in his corner with all of the usual equipment, there was nobody there for Cheno but his sheer skill and edge in the favouritism stakes more than made up for the lack of an assistant in between rounds.

Therefore, he shrugged his shoulder and outstretched his hands while he waited for Keegan, who quickly followed suit and they touched gloves, as the bell tolled to indicate the initiation of what could be an intriguing affair…

ROUND 1

They stood in the centre of the squared circle and were practically immobile to begin with in terms of footwork as they adopted a cautious approach and sought out an opening.

Carrahar caught Cheno with a jab but the blue-haired Boxer avoided the brunt of it and remained focus in his attempt to unhinge The Height Of Humanity. However, he didn’t have to wait that long as The Latin Luminary looked for another jab that was promptly blocked by the left forearm of Television titleholder who then somehow sneaked in a shot to the body, which barely made contact, but at least it was a start.

Keegan, who had an inch on Cheno in the height department, caught Eddie when he was ducking and diving with a decent delivery to the forehead before following it up with a stern shot to the midsection and suddenly he had built up some momentum, albeit momentarily.

As it happened, it was to be short-lived when Special K tried for a third consecutive connection that went astray only for Eddie to duck and land a body shot of his own and a rigid right that tested The Geordie Genius’ jaw as well as his reactions to being hit hard, which would undoubtedly occur, and he quickly distanced himself from Cheno so they were situated in their initial stance.

At this stage, they were trying to figure one another out and depict any weaknesses but that was proving to be a slow process due to their methodical movement and the differences in their vital statistics such as their speed, height and weight wasn’t anything to undermine either man though Eddie gave away just over three stones to Special K, which could work both way in terms of strength and endurance.

Both men countered one another as Eddie tried a right jab, which was blocked, but as the Briton wanted to punish his opposite number for that he had to settle for a stalemate on this occasion as Cheno stepped back in order to avoid another body shot and then we were back to square one, which actually marked the end of an uneventful but otherwise interesting round that gave the Judges problems with regards to who should claim it.

They trotted off to their respective corners and as the Englishman realised Cheno, who had his back to him, was merely content with standing and regaining his breath he pushed the bucket of water away and returned to his vertical base, surprising his companion in the process but no discussion could take place as the second round was now imminent.

ROUND 2

Nothing had separated the pair in the first three minutes and it was clear that we would have to ready for more of the same as they once again collided in the middle of the ring where Keegan ushered in a jab but the follow-up, intended for the midriff, was blocked by Eddie’s left glove and his right hand almost scored with Carrahar’s chin and everyone, including the Englishman, knew it as a collective sigh ensued.

Unfortunately, Cheno left his guard wide open after coming so close to knocking the Newcastle native out and he was promptly punished with a lovely left jab and another a superb right hook but before he could get into his groove Eddie fought back and brought The Height Of Humanity to a shuddering halt with two rigid rib-ticklers and a terrific Uppercut that did connect on this occasion though it wasn’t quite enough to deprive the former Fighting Zone franchise of his vertical base.

Carrahar tried to clear his head and moved in closer towards Cheno, whether that was wise or not remained to be seen, but it didn’t seem to be a bad decision as he enticed Eddie to duck with a half-hearted attempt prior to levelling his opponent as he stood back up to face Keegan and the supporters went wild as The Zone member forced his fellow finalist onto the ropes with two cracking clouts of the right hand and the referee, for the first time in this fight, was required to step in and break the participants up.

Eddie was okay though and smiled at Carrahar, who must have thought he had gained an edge on that exchange, but as he was about to find out that was far from the case. As he threw another punch, Cheno quickly ducked and it was now The Yardstick’s turn to spend time on the ropes as Eddie negotiated it with a remarkable right hook, forcing Carrahar to immediately cover up upon impact, ad he went to work with stiff shots that were just about getting through to Keegan’s chin but not where they could do serious damage and he held out as the round commenced and, once again, it was another close call.

ROUND 3

In the interim, they’d stood up facing one another and appeared to be too tense not to give anything away to their opponent, which they hadn’t so far, but with the mood they were both in and with what was at stake if they maintained this mental state then one of them would have to surrender something eventually and it would probably be potentially fatal to their chances to overcoming this obstacle and in fact allowing their rival to do that instead.

Anyway, they arrived at the same spot where the previous rounds had been contested, dead in the centre of the squared circle, as they jockeyed for position and Keegan in particular possibly because of his worrying relationship with the ropes for the final few seconds of the second round kept his guard very tight and it served him well as Eddie’s attempted punches were merely bouncing off his gloves but predictably one broke the resistance and Carrahar’s cautious approach was now about to be questioned as Cheno stepped it up a gear like a Lioness closing in on her prey.

Three consecutive connections ensured the Englishman retreated back to the corner, his however, but the present aggressor followed him there and looked to work the body but was only permitted one more crack at the left side of the stomach as the English Exocet extended a massive paw in Cheno’s direction that smacked the septum and this enabled the North East native to explode at the expense of his assigned opposition.

Four tremendous thumps, two each to both sides of the body, rocked Eddie to an extent but not as much as the right hook, which sent him one way, but three power-packed punches via The Latin Luminary’s left hand left his dazed and confused but he still had enough savvy to realised and actually escape from the corner as he sidestepped Special K and began to move away from the scene in order to regroup though Carrahar, just as Cheno would, wasn’t intent on enabling Eddie to regain his bearings and quickly rejoined him not far from the corner adjacent to where TRD was standing.

Cheno had covered up very well meaning that The Essence Of Extreme could only try and work the body, which he had reasonable success with considering the circumstances as Eddie was refusing to give even an inch and that continued until the round was brought to a close but it did seem that The Yardstick had definitely taken that portion of the proceedings though it may be completely irrelevant in the end. However, nobody could hazard a guess at what could - or would - happen at this stage.

ROUND 4

Despite being on the receiving end of an offensive onslaught though he still did handle it brilliantly, Cheno would not sit down at all and on the other hand nor would the Newcastle native as long as his opponent adopted this, presumably not to come across as inferior or exhausted when Eddie was barely out of breath and they’d nearly been battling for ten minutes.

Mind you, Carrahar was also in sensational shape and he jumped up as he was alerted that the rest had expired and now they reverted back to their favoured position and that was meeting one another halfway whilst opposing the other head-on.

Notwithstanding, while he was focused, the ex-Box Office Darling of The Underground started to taunt his highly-decorated rival, circa Muhammad Ali, by rubbing his left glove into the face of Cheno while still trying to probe an opening and one was actually unveiled…

But not in his favour.

As he got a little too close to Eddie for Lharn’s liking, though not in a sexual context you see, his mate’s pleas to back off were unfortunately ignored and as he almost offered Cheno ‘to try one’ with the position of his head, Eddie obliged as Carrahar crouched down in an attempt to weaken the ribcage but instead only served to put himself at risk, which the Television kingpin fully exploited with a lethal left hand that put The Prince Of Palermo on his posterior.

1
2
3
4
5

The fanatics were ecstatic for Eddie even if he wasn’t. He was so psyched up for this tie and did not take too kindly to being insulted by the Englishman, who demonstrated what can happen if you are too over-confident especially with someone of Cheno’s class and calibre who can mix with the best of them as he showed at Manhunt when he secured a fantastic 33 points tally.

Meanwhile, the official was questioning whether Keegan should continue but understandably he was adamant that he was all right and the fact that he recovered after only four certainly backed up the Briton’s argument that he could compete with Cheno. After all, he had taken the third round and maybe this was the wake-up call he needed, just as he received in his meeting with Willis earlier on this evening.

The discussion had eaten up a fair share of the three minute time limit allocated for each instalment and an insignificant exchange, which consisted on the Fighters landing two punches apiece, then transpired as it certainly failed to capitalise on the excitement that Eddie’s out-of-nothing knockdown had provided.

ROUND 5
Lharn was livid at his mate’s performance, concerning the last few minute or so anyway, and let him know that he was: “What the fuck were you playing at? Your head was so far up your own arse that you gave him a two-yard sitter and his name isn’t Craig Bellamy you know.”

“Hey, who’s in there eh? And if you’re calling me arrogant then can you spell the word hypocrisy? Fuck off with the criticism or I’ll knock you out after I’m done with Chino Excel here. Watch this.”

“Watch what?”

It would appear that one blip, which could turn out to be major or minor, had tarnished The Real Deal’s perception of Carrahar’s chances in this contest and now he was out to prove his supposed Manager for this match wrong.

Keegan speedily moved over towards Eddie’s side of the ring and decided to confront him on the ropes that were situated between his corner and the one just a few yards away from it but it still carried the usual method, slowly assessing the other’s movement and mannerisms, before ruthlessly punishing them for the slightest hint of a mistake and Carrahar thought his luck was in when Eddie leaned back a bit too much and left his chin even wider open that Jordan leaves her legs. Funnily enough, he took a gamble and missed, which ironically enabled his opponent to counteract this with a gorgeous Uppercut and a thump to the temple that threatened to put Keegan back on his bottom but thankfully for him Eddie missed what would have been the last action of this affair and gave The Geordie Genius renewed hope and he didn’t waste it with six scintillating shots to the body setting up the infamous seven punches though the seventh was thwarted when Eddie ducked and then threw a spanner into the works with a crunching Kidney shot, which certainly stung Special K to say the least, and also earned him a warning from the official who was aware of the infringement.

In actual fact, Eddie hadn’t meant to do it but rather than argue with the official about it, he wanted to ensure that the potential docking of a point wouldn’t be devastating to his chances and quickly put the bad stroke of luck to bed with a brutal blow to the nose and a jaw-dropping clout that nearly had the Newcastle native on the deck again but whether you put it down to fortune or resolve, Carrahar had made it clear to everyone, especially Eddie, that it would take something special to reunite him with the canvas and that thought rested with Cheno as the participants retreated to their corners having completed half of the fight and now you would have to say Eddie was in front.

ROUND 6

For the former two-time Fighting Zone trophy-bearer it was a far cry from his fight with the stepsibling as he effectively ended the encounter in the sixth but had already punched holes in the behemoth beforehand and that wasn’t the case here. While Willis is an intimidating prospect, he was fairly easy to handle in comparison to Cheno, whose dominance in Rounds 4 and 5 respectively had allowed him to gain the upper hand in the eyes of the Judges just in case this collision did go all of the way.

With that in mind, Special K stalled as the sixth started and invited Eddie to join him in his section of the squared circle, which Cheno did, but as he did so Carrahar sprung into action and caught the coloured combatant cold with a right-hand lead and a fierce left hook before showing shades of Sugar Ray Leonard with a Showboat Punch that the audience loved though it also wound up Eddie to the extent that he repaid his cocky pretender with a slap to the face!

Neither individual was particularly pleased with their actions, which was unexpected, but that was due to the humiliation perpetrated on them by the other and Cheno and Carrahar fans alike wanted to see it turn nasty and their wish was about to come true as they slugged it out trading big-time blows, refusing to acknowledge the agony being inflicted on them in order to save face and also hope that the other would buckle first to let them assume the all-important advantage at a critical time in the contest.

Eventually, the Englishman passed up his turn and the Television Champion took it for him by wailing away with four jabs that had really opened his opponent up like a Melon but still he would not go down though another blow sent him on his way to the canvas, or so it seemed, but somehow Special K kept his footing and as a desperate Eddie sensed the match point yet again Carrahar came up for more than just air – he nailed Cheno with an unbelievable uppercut and the tide was about to well and truly turn in this one.

Thereafter, Keegan worked the chin with two bone-crunching clouts to the chin that sent Eddie towards the ropes and from there three marvellous right hooks supplemented by a further two with the left paw put Cheno on the back foot and there was nothing he, or anyone else, could have done but go to the floor when the incensed European battered him with two poisonous and power-packed punches with the left hand, while Eddie was practically on the middle rope to begin with, that gave him an ‘equaliser’ so to speak and, in the round that he had stopped the Kokomo Colossus, The Height Of Humanity had a way back into this bout as the referee counted Cheno out…

1
2
3
4
5
6

Eddie couldn’t give up and with this being his forte plus the desire and determination to add the World strap to his Television title was overwhelming. Like the Latin Luminary, he wanted this so badly but eventually something would have to give. Maybe points would separate the pair after all.

ROUND 7

Keegan didn’t even look at Lharn as he went back to his corner. He was so wound up by his buddy’s criticism and now it was as if he was rubbing his face in it as he stared at Eddie, who returned the compliment, and the audience weren’t bothered about catching their breath. They wanted the interval to be terminated and just allow these two fan favourites go at it until they stopped and dropped.

Anyway, they came out once again and they were both optimistic that they could nick this tie from underneath the nose of their opponent but it was Carrahar who was now in command and looking more likely, if anyone was, to take this by the scruff of the neck as he dazzled Cheno with another pair of peaches to the side of the head and a five-star right-hand lead that mystified everyone in how Eddie, pouring from his right eye now, did not go down.

Not that it mattered at the minute. Keegan, just inches away from his corner now, wailed away at Cheno’s body with hammer-like hits.

Ironically, Carrahar was boxing his thirteenth round this evening and was now, despite a concern a few rounds ago, in control of this confrontation. Would it be lucky for him and unlucky for Eddie?

The answer was…

No.

After a succession of well-executed fisticuffs to the left hand side of the face, The Yardstick telegraphed one that was then blocked and Eddie took the wind out of his sails with a desperate but deadly delivery to the ribs.

What was about to happen was simply stunning.

Following what many may’ve perceived as a defensive measure proved to be the perfect tonic in terms of turning this around and out of the blue Cheno connected, full-on, with an absolutely flawless left to the bridge of the Briton’s nose and anyone, let alone Carrahar, would have went down from it.

And he did. But how he did was astonishing.

Just seconds ago, Special K had been standing tall and now he found himself not only on the floor but he had got there after a vicious case of whiplash that led to the back of his head smacking the middle rope.

1
2
3

The capacity crowd were on their feet.

4
5
6
7

But so was Keegan.

Although it wasn’t for long. After hauling himself up with assistance, which was against the odds, he fell back down again and the referee resumed the count.

8
9

A recovery?

No chance.

10.

Cheno’s victory was greeted with an outstanding ovation as the referee raised his right arm to indicate that he would now have the opportunity to become a Double Champion or so it would seem.

For Keegan, who had entered the arena under the influence, he found himself very drunk but it couldn’t have been described as ‘pissed’ or ‘smashed.’ No, this was what the insiders of the industry would call being ‘Punch drunk.’ That was how immaculate Eddie’s final nail in the coffin was.

Eventually, the Englishman rose to his feet and clapped the crowd who ensured he left to a prolonged applause that befitted his forty minutes inside the squared circle while also nodding at his conqueror and who had been the better man on the night.

Now Eddie, the reigning Television Champion, had the chance to become the World Champion and on this kind of form he not only had the acumen to do it, which people probably knew anyway, but enough energy still in reserve to do go out and win that 3-way dance.

If you didn’t believe that then…

Funk you Mang’.

Eddie Cheno Vs The Freak Vs Jeff Garvin
(Tournament Finals, First to Three Falls, Extreme Rules)

The Finals.

The fans were on their feet as the Asylumtron prepared for the first entrant…

On their feet…

With boos.

“SO YA WANNA BE A CHAMPION!?”

“Champion” by Grinspoon, and with it, Jeff Garvin. The Original threw his arms into the air as he stumbled through the curtains, his face embalmed in bandages and plasters as he strolled onto the stage with Julie tagging along close behind him. His A! Bantam Championship was strapped mockingly around his waist, as the fans booed and jeered, hissing discontent.

Garvin didn’t care.

“I DON’T CARE!!” he shouted at the fans, raising his middle finger to a nearby punter and launching a loogie into his face. Julie laughed and cackled, as the fan swiped the snot out of his eye. By the time he was able to see again, Garvin was already climbing the steps.

He strolled through the door, leaving Julie on the outside being hollered at endlessly, via the fans.

The music cut, and…

The lights dimmed. And the boos, jeers, and insults amplified by ten. The fans were in a frenzy, screaming and throwing trash towards the entranceway as the lights began to flicker from red to black, red to black, red to black… and then that sparkling waterfall of 1s and 0s appeared on the Asylumtron, in crimson pixelated letters.

‘Till he passed away

The Freak looked a wreck.

Greed rules, what we make of ourselves
From the beggar to the chooser…
Who survives at the end of the trail?

Having come out of an exhausting contest with Steve Christ only a week ago, he was now one finger worse off and he looked… pissed.

THE TRAIL!? THE TRAIL!? THE TRAIL!?

His nailed boots slowly tapped up the steps as he grew closer to Garvin, who remained in the cage, fuming and seething over his opponent. The fans started a resounding “ASSHOLES!” chant at the pair as the Emasculator began to circle Garvin… slowly, one red eye locked on him like a shark, watching it’s prey.

Wait, we’re missing a participant aren’t we?

“Some Two Joints” by Sublime.

Fans: “RUUUUUUUUUUUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!”

Yeah, they fucking love this guy. At first all that was a visible was a blue, furry dot poking through the curtains, but this quickly became Eddie Cheno, his battered fists flung into the air to resounding cheers. As Garvin and The Freak continued to play head games in the cell, Eddie strolled down the ramp to a wave of love. He made his way up the steps, and got into the cage…

And like last week, his eyes were a bleary red… and we know what that means.

He looked at The Freak and hissed, snarling as he touched the bandage on his neck from the brutal barbed wire attack that he suffered but two weeks ago. The Freak sneered back at him, as the referee took a microphone.

“This match… is a THREE WAY bout… a BEST OF THREE WORLDS bout… for the ASYLUM, WORLD TITLE, NUMBER-ONE CONTENDERSHIP! The match will continue until one of these fighters has scored TWO FALLS in total… Ringout is in fact INVALID, this is an EXTREME CONTEST!!”

The fans cheered.

The referee put the microphone down… and the bell rang.

*ding ding*

Like that.

Cheno looked at The Freak with narrow eyes… and hissed ferally: “Vengeance is a dish best served wit’ blood mang, your funkin’ blood.”

Garvin looked at the two grizzled fighters, and shuddered. He knew that he was going to be in this cage for a long time with two very violent people… and it was best to start early. Sniggering, he began to sneak up behind The Freak as he stared down Cheno, a thin, cheeky smile appearing on Garvin’s face as he snuck…

CRACK!!

Not so fast Garvin. The Freak heard Garvin’s footsteps and smelt his sweat, turning around and stinging Garvin with a vicious chairshot that dented the steel furniture over his face. Cheno took the advantage as Freak’s back was turned, shooting forwards and smashing a hand into the Red Ripper’s skull, knocking him forwards. The Freak turned and blocked a second powerful fist with the chair itself, before kicking Cheno in the stomach. Eddie keeled over, and as he did so, The Freak brought the chair upwards…

CRACK!!

Across the back of the skull.

Cheno flopped down onto the mat and lay there, clutching his head, trying to stumble up. However, as soon as he managed to crawl to his knees, The Freak twirled around and slashed the chair diagonally into Cheno’s neck as if it were a sword. Eddie coughed, as his bandages were torn from his skin and knocked to the mat, revealing the sickening stitches on his neck.

The Freak followed up by denting the steel again over Cheno’s head with a harrowingly painful chairshot, then turned back to Garvin as he got to his feet…

“CATCH!”

And what a fucking idiot Jeff Garvin is. As The Freak threw the chair at Garvin, Jeff caught it and the Bulldozer powered it into Garvin’s face with a scintillating Reverse Hurricane Kick, causing the Tennessee Technician to falter backwards and land flat on his back.

“This is too easy, too mediocre… do you have a shred of fighting spirit, pissants!?” The Freak bellowed, as he hopped from side to side, warming himself up.

The fans booed.

The Freak threw his arms into the air!

The fans booed.

The Freak spat on Jeff Garvin!

The fans booed.

Eddie Cheno smashed The Freak’s genitals with a low blow from behind!

The fans boo--- oh no, wait, they cheered.

As The Freak curled over clutching Lil’ Freak, Eddie jumped up and turned, rocketing a nasty crouching uppercut through The Freak’s jaw and sending him staggering backwards. Eddie smashed a left fist into The Freak’s nose, and another… drew back, spat in his right hand…

And jabbed him with his left.

The Freak was thrown off-balance, tumbling back into the cage rim as Eddie unleashed jab after jab into The Freak’s midsection, mumbling garbled lines about revenge and reprisal, but unfortunately for Edward the Ripper managed to fire back with three nasty knee strikes to the chest. Eddie was now the one doing the stumbling and the backwardsing…

Straight into the clutches of Jeff Garvin, who quickly grabbed Eddie and slammed him into the canvas with a side Russian legsweep. Jeff followed up immediately by grabbing Cheno’s blue hair and… rubbing his forearm into Cheno’s face, before socking him with an uppercut.

Then, Garvin felt two powerful hands grab his ankle.

“AHHH, SHIT!!” Garvin screamed, as he was turned around and dragged away by the demonic clutches of the Emasculator. Then, he got lucky. As The Freak lifted him from the mat by one leg, Garvin SOMEHOW managed to shoot his other leg into The Freak’s face with a cracking boot to the jaw.

And… The Freak let go.

“Wait… it worked?”

Garvin got to his feet happily rejoicing, and charged at The Freak aiming for that bandaged, braced right knee of his with a chop block. The Bulldozer toppled to the mat like a sack of shit, as Garvin’s shoulder tore into his soft knee joint, bringing him down like a tree.

CRACK!

Garvin thought… that he had the advantage.

CRACK!

Garvin no longer had that advantage.

CRACK!

Because Eddie Cheno was hitting him with a chair.

“AHH, stop it! I WAS WINNING!”

“Funk you…”

CRACK!

“MANG!!”

CRACK!

When Eddie was done and Garvin was suitably unconscious, Cheno picked up the Best of Wrestling and grabbed his tights and hair, swinging him back and forth… and launching him over the rim of the cage. The fans were on their feet as Garvin’s body soared through the air and slapped against the cageside mats with a dull thud.

“I BE CLEARIN’ THA FUNKIN’ HOUSE MANG!!” Cheno roared to the cheers of the fans, before turning around…

…andthefreakspearedthefuckoutofhim.

What?

And The Freak speared the fuck out of him.

Eddie was slammed against the rim of the cage like a rag doll as The Freak’s massive shoulder ploughed into his ribs, and the biggest man in this bout followed up by swinging Cheno around by his shirt, tearing it from his back. Cheno landed on all fours, his bare, scarred skin exposed to the spotlights. The Freak laughed a madman’s laugh, and leaped onto Cheno’s back, driving his heels into Eddie’s spine, before flipping forwards FROM HIS BACK…

And slamming Eddie’s face into the floor with an axe kick.

The fans were booing. Eddie was being counted down.

1!

2!

3!

4!

5!

And as the count continued, The Freak turned, calmly opened the door, and walked down the ringsteps.

6!

7!

8!

Eddie was clinging onto the cage for dear life, thus evading the count. Upon realizing that The Freak was busy heading over to Garvin, he took a breather and simply rested.

“Get up.”

Garvin looked up from the safe mat that he found himself staring at unwittingly, and realized that the looming shadow of The Freak was stretched across him like an ogre. Garvin’s hand reached up and clung to the cage above him, dragging himself to his feet…

“UFF!!”

And then The Freak kicked him in the abdomen. Garvin spluttered and coughed, walking away holding his stomach… which was of course, a pretty bad move. The Freak ran forwards, throwing his weight behind him and jumped into the air, smashing Garvin’s skull with a brutal Saut Kick that powered Garvin’s unfortunate face into the unforgiving concrete.

“Get up.”

Garvin rolled over and looked up at The Freak.

“What if I don’t want to?”

The fans made an ‘OOOOoOOOOOOooooh!!’ noise.

The Freak just shrugged, and stomped on Jeff’s face a few times. Garvin was gargling his own blood, hissing and screaming as the nailed boots just kept rainin’ on down.

Then, two powerful hands reached down and yanked him from the floor, bringing him to his feet as if he were nothing more than a puppet and throwing him, headfirst, into the commentary desk. Garvin’s head bounced from the desk and he stumbled around aimlessly, like a dog let off it’s leash… before The Freak unleashed a combo of mass proportions.

The first?

A Jumping Front Kick, The Freak’s foot smashing into Garvin’s face and sending him toppling up against the commentary desk. The second?

A pretty nasty Back Fist, slicing through Garvin’s nose and causing it to bleed profusely, and a second Back Fist for good measure. This was instantly followed by…

The Freak running up Garvin’s chest, flipping over, crouching down and…

What the fuck did he just do?

ONE WINGED, ANGEL KISS~!!

Now THAT’S how you send a message to people in the back. Garvin flew through the air as soon as the deadly flying uppercut touched his jaw, screeching through the air like an asteroid and slamming down onto the commentary desk back-first. Okay, so Garvin was out.

Or so the fans hoped.

1!

2!

3!

4!

5!

What’s that?

6!

That thing… soaring over the cage…

7!

8!

Garvin was up on the eight count, standing on the commentary desk… but that’s not what the fans were looking at, oh no.

Eddie Cheno was a fist fighter, no doubt about it. So when the fans saw Eddie Cheno step back, run towards the rim of the cage and soar over it, throwing his entire body towards The Freak and smashing him, brutally into the concrete with an ENORMOUS flying plancha…

The chants were rainin’ on down.

“HOLY FUCK!”
“HOLY FUCK!”
“HOLY FUCK!”
“HOLY FUCK!”
“HOLY FUCK!”
“HOLY FUCK!”
“HOLY FUCK!”

“You wanna funken’ mess wit me mang you not gonna be escapin’ my backlash too easy,” Cheno mumbled, as he slowly got to his feet, leaving The Freak smashed flat against the concrete. The referee made a count as Cheno turned to the commentary desk…

“FOOL~!” Garvin laughed maniacally, as he dived towards Eddie, wrapped an arm around Cheno’s head and spiralled from the commentary desk…

CRUNCH!

And slammed Eddie’s head straight into the concrete with a crushing tornado DDT. The fans gasped, as Cheno’s head was sliced cruelly, gushing blood out onto the protective mats. Garvin got back to his feet, and began to jump up and down.

“DID YOU SEE THAT!!?”

BOOOOO!!

“IT WAS AWESOME! I’M A GENIUS!!”

BOOOOOOOO!!

“SHUT UP!”

Garvin then dragged Cheno to his feet and looked at the milking, spouting with blood gash that he had created. He chuckled to himself, turned Cheno around and grabbed his arm… Irish whip into the railings~!

*rattle*

…REVERSED!

The fans started to cheer again as it seemed that Garvin was on the losing side… but as Cheno charged in looking to drive a lariat into his unsuspecting victim’s face, Garvin ducked out of the way and Cheno’s arm was slammed into nothing but cold, steel guardrail. Garvin then grabbed the same arm, and whipped Cheno to the concrete, locking in a standing armbar between his legs.

“THIS… is a standing ARMBAR! An armbar is designed to WRENCH the elbow joint…” Garvin scolded Cheno, pulling back the arm harder to which Cheno wailed, “and temporarily PARALYZE the victim… but you see, my standing here I am a sitting target as The Freak is… running… at… me…”

Garvin blinked.

SMACK~!!

He tried to duck, but he was too slow, as The Freak took a baseball bat and broke it in HALF over Garvin’s dense skull. The Memphis wrestling master hit the deck with a gusher of his own above his ear, and The Freak set to work on Eddie Cheno, picking him up - - by the same arm that Garvin was working over, NOT by coincidence - - and snapping him onto the commentary desk with a Tsuri Goshi.

He hopped up onto the commentary desk beside Cheno, and locked in a scissored armbar…

“I’ll have you admitting your own inferiority in no time, son… welcome to hell, population - you… and the Dream Crusher.”

Then, The Freak dropped off the commentary desk and bridged across over to the Spanish commentary desk, effectively straining Cheno’s arm across the gap between the two.

“ARRRRRRH, FUNK!!” Cheno shouted, as his arm was practically snapped in the scissored lock… that The Freak continued to yank back on and tug. Cheno’s arm was being ripped apart at the seams, the fans horrified by the sheer angle at which his elbow was being forced backwards.

Cheno’s bad day… was about to get worse.

No it wasn’t, it was about to get better… as Jeff Garvin got to his feet rubbing his sore, bloodied head, and extremely pissed off with a certain person who’s name starts with F and ends in K. No, not Frank, what did he ever do to Jeff? We’re talking about the Freak.

Jeff picked up a chair… and sneered happily, before bringing it down on The Freak’s face.

thunk

The sound of metal on wood, as The Freak rolled out of the way, releasing Cheno’s arm just in time. As Garvin came towards him, swinging that chair, he had to think fast…

He looked at the guardrail.

He looked at Garvin.

He looked at the guardrail.

He looked at Garvin.

Guardrail.

Garvin.

Then… he leaped up, turned in mid air and planted both feet on the guardrail, before shooting himself backwards in a match usually reserved for special occasions- his devastating Asai Moonsault from the railings~!

CRACK!~!~!!!!

Oh, fuck.

Maybe not… as he flipped backwards, STRAIGHT into a Garvin chairshot to his face. Rather than connect with Garvin he instead flew out of orbit and landed headfirst onto the commentary desk. Garvin laughed sadistically as he threw his chair onto the commentary desk, and hopped up besides The Freak…

“You be leaving that motherfunka to me, mang!” Eddie shouted from the other commentary desk besides Garvin as he got back to his feet… but Jeff paid no attention. He knew what he wanted to do and it wasn’t going to be pretty.

“Come on…” Garvin said, picking The Freak up and slapping the back of his head. The Freak grasped onto Garvin’s tights, pulling himself to his feet…

Slap

“Get up, ya fuckin’ LOSER!” Garvin shouted jovially, as The Freak managed to get to his feet. However, he didn’t stay there for long, as Garvin kicked The Freak in the stomach, keeling him over and locking the Ripper’s head between his legs. Jeff wrapped his arms around the Emasculator’s frame, and picked him up, hanging him in an upside-down vertical position…

CRACK

CRUNCH

And then dropped to his knees, slamming the skull of the poor, hapless Bulldozer into the chair with his patented Memphis Death Certificate. But, The Freak’s head didn’t just bend and twist the chair, slicing a bloody cut across his forehead, it also smashed the commentary desk in half. The table totally caved in and debris flew everywhere like an upwards stream of broken wood.

The fans realized that it was Garvin that executed the move.

But they were still pretty fuckin’ impressed.

“HOLY SHIT!”
“HOLY SHIT!”
“HOLY SHIT!”
“HOLY SHIT!”
“HOLY SHIT!”

Repeat. Multiple times.

The Freak was down and out, having been dropped straight on his head through an entire block of metal, wire and wood, plus he had a chair frame now smashed around his skull. Jeff grabbed the guardrail and began to get back to his feet, as Eddie Cheno stumbled upwards elsewhere…

The count on The Freak began with Eddie Cheno smashing a running forearm upside Garvin’s head.

1!

“OW~!” Garvin shouted, before firing back by ducking an incoming punch from Cheno…

2!

…and wrapping an arm under Cheno’s chin, before hoisting him up…

3!

…spinning around, and dunking the Stoner skull-first onto the concrete with a beautiful Urange suplex that caused the fans to erupt in boos.

4!

“Fucking fighters… pathetic,” Garvin mused, slamming a boot into Cheno’s knee.

5!

Then another boot, this time to Cheno’s hip… stomach… arm… leg… back… leg… back…

6!

The fans booed. They realized what Garvin was doing.

7!

8!

As Garvin’s handy, agile feet raged on, smashing Cheno to pieces with random stomping and kicks, he didn’t quite realize that the referee had stopped counting. In fact, he picked up one of Eddie’s legs and taunted the fans by claiming that it was time to lock on the infamous Hammer Jammer…

But the nasty submission never came about. Oh, no… because now, Garvin was about to be Jammed with another Hammer.

One wielded by The Freak.

Fuck knows where The Freak found the enormous sledgehammer that he was now wielding, but Garvin didn’t care… he didn’t care too much about anything, he barely knew who he was as The Freak continued to wail the monstrous slab of metal into Garvin’s skull. Jeff turned around and tried to block the hammer with his hands…

Yeah, like you’re going to block a hammer with your hands. Nice joke, Seinfeld.

Garvin hit the deck once more, and The Freak had a new friend. Mr Mallet. The Freak liked Mr Mallet, but Eddie Cheno didn’t… which is why he dodged the giant hammer as it came hurtling down towards his head, and managed to land a stern kick to The Freak’s already damaged leg. The Freak dropped the hammer, luckily for Cheno… who managed to pick up the same weapon…

SMA-AAA-CK-CK-CK!!

And use it to smash The Freak’s head practically off of his shoulders with a massive sledgehammer uppercut. Freak stumbled backwards, managing to avoid tripping over the cageside mats that were kicked up randomly, but couldn’t avoid Cheno jabbing the hammer into his stomach… then… then…

“DE-MANG-INATOR!!”

What?

Fuck knows. Cheno was stoned. But that strange battle cry was instantly followed by a nasty downwards sledgehammer blow to the back of The Freak’s head, spiking him down onto the concrete at a malevolent angle. The fans cheered as the Emasculator was quickly becoming a mass of blood and tattered flesh, but Cheno wasn’t done by a long shot. He dropped the hammer… and turned around with a stoned, shiteating grin on his face.

What, oh what was Cheno going to do!?

CRACK!!

Nobody will ever know.

Because Jeff Garvin, as Cheno and The Freak were still preoccupied with eachother, decided to pull a ladder put from under the apron, and promptly slammed it into Cheno’s face, splattering his eyebrow open with a nasty laceration. Cheno leaned against the apron, as Garvin stepped back, cackling madly…

“CHAAAARGE!!”

SMACK!!

And with a giant run-up, powered the end of the ladder into Cheno’s chest, smashing him against the cage. Blood splitter-splattered from his forehead up the mesh as the fans uttered a sympathetic ‘OOOOoooh’. Garvin chuckled to himself, before spinning around - smashing Cheno’s eyebrow again, this time with the opposite end of the ladder.

“Fighting. It’s easy,” Garvin smiled broadly, as Cheno collapsed to one knee. Garvin then lodged one end of the ladder on the Spanish commentary desk, and the other on the apron of the cage, creating a platform out of the huge, nine-foot-tall ladder. He turned to The Freak, and crawled under the ladder to get to him… before dragging him up by his hair and randomly slapping him around with backhanders. The Freak was quite out of it, but not totally fucked… not just yet.

Garvin threw The Freak’s arm over his shoulder and hooked his head and leg, pulling his massive frame up vertically as if about to deliver a Fisherman’s Suplex…

Well, he almost did.

Except, he fell back onto the ladder, which clattered and bent as The Freak’s head was ploughed into the bars with a Fisherman Buster onto the ladder. Garvin, proving his worth as a fighter once again as The Freak lay over the ladder, hopped onto the apron… and pointed his fingers at himself in a mocking RVD manner.

“JEFF

“GAR-

“VIN!!”

Then, after a cocky kick out of his leg, he leapt up and came CRASHING down across The Freak’s stomach with an elbow drop to the Red Ripper’s shoulder, rattling that ladder again and causing The Freak to bounce from it and land, hard, against the unforgiving concrete floor. Garvin kipped back up to his feet instantly, showing his peak physical condition… as The Freak got up on the opposite side of the ladder.

Garvin sniggered… Freak started to turn around…

Garvin pulled a pair of brass knuckles out of his tights… Freak looked at Garvin…

POW!!

And Garvin snapped out his fist over the ladder, smashing it into The Freak’s nose and causing blood to fly in all directions! Garvin closed his eyes and smiled, knowing this was the THIRD match he’d won with the Mighty Brass Fist.

He opened his eyes again, and The Freak was still standing. And not only that, he was looking extremely pissed off. He reached up with his fingers, and swiped some blood away from his nose… before bringing it to his lips, and licking it away. Garvin attempted to shoot out another punch!

Caught.

And Garvin screamed, as The Freak slammed the Technical wrestler’s elbow over the hard, harsh rim of the ladder once… twice… and then hopped up onto the ladder itself, keeping the arm hooked and lifted into the air, before propelling a single leg FROM THE LADDER, into Garvin’s chest.

That’s a flying Heart Kick, folks~!

Garvin hit the concrete but unfortunately, so did Freak… his tricky knee playing up again that had actually been irritated by Garvin only weeks prior. This, unfortunately for both Garvin AND Freak, allowed Eddie Cheno to get back up… practically fully recovered from the brutal ladder shots experienced by him earlier. He reached under the apron….

“Chairs… tables… a dildo? What tha fuck mang, I not be wantin’ no dildo… Ah, another ladder, this be my weapon mang!”

Eddie pulled out a second ladder, and dragged it over to the wreckage of the original announcer’s table before carefully, sturdily standing it up, checking that it was secure and wasn’t liable to fall. The fans cheered him on… “EDDIE! EDDIE! EDDIE!!” as he looked at The Freak, who was slowly clambering upwards… and Edward Cheno began to climb up the ladder.

The Freak, upon realizing what Eddie was doing, hopped over the first, horizontal ladder and charged towards Cheno as he reached the top of his own runged staircase. The fans booed as The Freak, snarling, began to climb up the other side… but Cheno was smiling.

Yes, WTF all you like, but Eddie Cheno was fuckin’ smiling. He obviously had something in store.

The Freak and Cheno reached the top of the ladder at a similar time, and Freak was the first to attempt to de-rung his opponent… shooting out a fist at Eddie. Not that it connected, as Cheno simply dodged the fist and struck a SWELTERING uppercut into The Freak’s chin. The Bulldozer stumbled… but Edward grabbed Freak’s arm - he didn’t want The Freak to fall off the ladder JUST yet.

He snapped The Freak’s elbow over the top of the ladder, drew forward, and headbutted The Freak in the face. The ladder wobbled. The Freak winced. Cheno smiled… reached over…

And hooked The Emasculator’s arm over his shoulders. He then grabbed The Freak’s head, and snatched up a handful of Freak’s fighting pants, before heaving him up… with all of the strength in his body…



CRASH!!!



And throwing him forwards, headfirst through the ladder set up between the commentary desk, and the apron with a Sucks To Be You… off a fucking ladder. The Freak’s head knocked out a few random bars here and there, and he collapsed through it, lying motionless… upside-down… on the arena floor.

This chant was now becoming REGULAR.

“HOLY SHIT!”
“HOLY SHIT!”
“HOLY SHIT!”
“HOLY SHIT!”
“HOLY SHIT!”
“HOLY SHIT!”

Cheno leaned over the ladder, gasping for air and trying to work out the strain in his arms, as the referee counted on the downed Freak…

1!

2!

3!

4!

5!

6!

7!

8!

9!

…

…

10!!!

The fans erupted in a standing ovation. They knew that Eddie hadn’t won the match yet - but it took a REAL man to keep The Freak down for ten, and few have accomplished it yet. The Freak still lay, decimated amongst the broken and twisted ladder, his blood spilling all over the concrete. Eddie breathed a sigh of relief…

But the referee was STILL counting on The Freak - beginning a SECOND count.

1!

2!

3!

4!

5!

6!

7!

8!

…

…

…

The Freak was up, although limping around sheepishly and obviously unable to see through the thick coat of blood swathing his eyes. He grabbed around desperately for a fighter, but all he could find was the black and white striped shirt of JPP.

“No! No! LET ZE ANNOUNZER GO!!” he screamed.

The Freak knocked a few of his teeth out with a punch, and kicked him down, before fumbling about some more. Meanwhile… he wasn’t aware of what was going on, as Cheno rested atop the ladder…

“STONER BOY!!” Garvin shouted from behind Cheno. Cheno gasped and tried to turn around, but by this point Jeff’s arms were firmly locked around Cheno’s waist and he was ready to execute his move…

He reared Cheno back up into the air in a perfect bridge, and slung him down… pulling Cheno from the ladder and throwing Cheno down with all of his bodyweight, the two of them fell…

CRACK!!

And Cheno’s neck connected with the steel guardrail, thanks to Jeff Garvin… GERMAN SUPLEXING Cheno, from the ladder, onto the metal railings. The fans once again found themselves in awe, as Garvin got back to his feet - and the referee started a count on Cheno, who lay in the fans dragging himself, clawing at the concrete trying to get back up.

1!

2!

3!

4!

5!

6!

7!

8!

9!

…

…

And Garvin, was now ALSO a point up.

Garvin looked at Cheno as he lay, still bleeding from that disgusting move, on the concrete, and he smiled again - much like he had been doing the entire match, as he had yet to take a proper beating. He looked up at the ladder, and back down at Cheno… and then, with a sadistic wink, began to climb back upwards.

What, a fucking fool.

Because as soon as he reached the top of the ladder, blood dripping down from his nose and onto the guardrail beneath him… he heard footsteps on the other side of the ladder. Garvin very nearly turned around to fight his aggressor, but the now fully-recovered… well, almost… Freak grabbed his arm and leg…

“They say mimicry is merely unoriginality showing it’s roots, Jeff… but I say it is the biggest insult of all.”

The Freak’s cryptic message may look cryptic on paper, but to the fans that watched the match unfold in the arena it was apparent that The Freak was in fact being totally and absolutely serious - and his words had more meaning than they first appeared. Because, with Garvin on his shoulders, he spun from the ladder, kicking it over in the process…

…and swung Garvin all the way down…

…and through the Spanish announcer’s desk with an ORIGINAL SLAM from the LADDER. The desk exploded into the air, shattered wood blasting upwards and splinters flying as Garvin and The Freak lay, motionless, the referee slowly issuing a count on them. The fans erupted with more chants as the three fighters were all, slowly recovering.

1!

2!

The Freak was up, clinging onto the railings, but Garvin was most certainly not.

3!

4!

5!

6!

7!

8!

9!

The Freak turned…

10!!

And as he was awarded his first point of the match, he found himself knocked flying backwards via a vicious, cruel, snapping Needle Jab from Cheno. The Freak rocked backwards and tripped over Garvin, landed in the rubble of the commentary desk… as Cheno reached under the apron of the cage, making sure that he was well-equipped to combat The Freak’s offence.

From under the cage, Cheno grabbed a pair of chairs and quickly threw them into the enclosure over the rim… before grabbing The Freak’s hair as he got back to his feet and slamming his face into the mesh. Cheno grabbed Freak’s arm and…

…and nothing.

Because The Freak was capable of fighting, and he turned with a spinning back-elbow to Cheno’s face, before flicking a leg into the air and sloshing Cheno’s brain about in his skull with an almighty High Kick, then backflipping - smashing both feet into Cheno’s face as he did so - with a Souples Sear Riere…

Then, he kicked Cheno in the stomach, doubling him over… and pinned his arms behind his back.

The fans noticed how dangerously close to the ringsteps Cheno was… but sadly, this only made the sick, twisted Asylum fans cheer more loudly.

“Don’t dance with the devil Cheno, because the devil only wants…” The Freak growled inaudibly, as he lifted Cheno up…

CLUNK!!

And powered him down, BRUTALLY, head-first onto the steel ring steps which were torn free from their hinges on impact. Cheno’s neck twisted disgustingly to one side and he dropped down, rolling under the apron slightly with blood streaming from the agitated cut on his scalp… thanks to the Soul Flayer.

As the referee started a count on Cheno, only yards away Jeff Garvin staggered, swinging open the door to the cage and ambling inside in a half-arsed and tired manner.

1!

2!

“Fuck this… who needs some crappy title anyway,” he mumbled to himself.

3!

As he shut the door behind him, what he didn’t realize is that one of his enemies had already spotted Garvin between the mesh walls… The Freak. And as usual, he wasn’t looking too happy.

4!

5!

6!

“I’d better equip myself,” Garvin mumbled, before picking up a chair from the mat that eddie had thrown in earlier, and turning around.

7!

Turning around.

8!

And as Eddie Cheno stood up on the outside, Jeff Garvin went down.

CRACK!!

Because The Freak had successfully smashed Garvin’s own chair into his face with a Dupla from one side of the cage to the other. Garvin slipped on his own blood, scrambling across the mat as The Freak grabbed his leg and…

CRACK!!

And Eddie Cheno, still dazed by the lethal blow he had taken to the head, managed to crack the Emasculator with a vicious chairshot. The Freak let go of Garvin and turned…

CRACK!!

And another chairshot.

CRACK!!!

And another.

Another.

ANOTHER.

A FEW MORE!!

CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACKKETY CRACK!!

And with blood streaming from his face, The Freak dropped to his knees. Cheno’s face was twisted like a leathery demon, and his eyes showed no remorse as he continued to hammer the shattered steel against Fenn-Grail’s bonce. Then, with a splintering, skull-splitting swing, the chair was literally BROKEN IN HALF on The Freak’s face.

Not done. Nuh-uh.

Cheno grabbed the Bulldozer’s blood matted locks, and squeezed them amply in order to bring him to his feet… watching him dawdle around a little…

POW!

Before swinging his fist in a perfect arc - and Clearing the Funkin’ Table.

The Freak rocketed backwards against the rim of the cage and hung there by his arms, masked and covered in blood… his infected, bloodied and puss-filled balm around his hand started to leak noxious bodily fluids, but the fans were used to such disgustingness.

Slap

The fans booed. Jeff Garvin, having got to his feet, was slapping The Freak’s cheeks.

“THIS IS WHAT YOU GET FOR FIGHTING THE GARVINATOR!”

BOOOOOO

Cheno stepped forwards ready to attack Garvin, but Jeff raised his hand in the air as if to signify he wanted to form a treaty. Cheno, with a wary untrusting stare, eyed Garvin and then slowly nodded… as Garvin set up a chair next to the rim of the cage. He stood on it and swung The Freak around, wrapping his arms around The Freak’s waist… and mustering all of his strength to hold the Ripper upside-down.

“Spike him,” Garvin smiled with bloodied teeth… and as Garvin jumped out of the cage, Eddie obliged, grabbing The Freak’s legs and jamming a boot into his face as they all went down for the ride…

 

…out of the cage…

 

 

 

 

 

CRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!!

 

 

 

 

 

…

Spike Piledriver. Freak’s head… dented straight through the steel ringsteps.

…

“HOLY SHIT!”
“HOLY SHIT!”
“HOLY SHIT!”
“HOLY SHIT!”
“HOLY SHIT!”

And as Cheno and Garvin got to their feet, almost equally bumped by the ride… the referee counted. Garvin dragged himself, rolling back through the cage door whilst Eddie hopped onto the apron and flipped over the rim, showing there was still some energy left in him…

1!

2!

3!

As Cheno went to hit Garvin… Jeff stopped him.

4!

5!

“Wait… who gets the point if he loses!?”

6!

7!

The pair watched, calmly, as the referee made the final counts…

8!

9!

…

…

Then he got up!

…

No he didn’t.

10!!

Eddie and Garvin looked at the Asylumtron with baited breath…

Freak - 1, Garvin - 2, Cheno - 2.

They both scored the point. Jeff smiled, and turned around to give Eddie a wink… which was never winked, as Cheno was devoid of any trust for ANYONE - instead deciding to pound a left hook through Garvin’s jaw. The fans were more exuberant than ever, as The Freak seemed to be out of the match totally.

Garvin replied to Eddie’s calculated fists by ducking an uppercut and dropping to his knees to give Cheno one of the old school favourites - the Greco Roman uppercut to the dick. And you know what they say about black men’s dicks… yeah, they hurt when they’re punched.

Cheno curled over, allowing Garvin, still on his knees to give the stoner a rake to his bloodshot eyes…

Then he grabbed a chair. And jabbed it maliciously into Cheno’s throat, sending Eddie sprawling. Garvin got to his feet and dropped the chair onto the mat, before hooking Cheno’s head…!

CRACK

DDT onto the chair. Cheno was flat-out on the canvas… and Garvin could have a title shot at the most treasured belt in fighting - a sport that he hated.

1!

2!

3!

4!

5!

Cheno was already stirring… he couldn’t be knocked down, he wouldn’t, the stakes were too high. But as he started to push himself up from the canvas… he felt Jeff Garvin’s foot slam into his legs. And his back. And his legs again… he was GARVIN a’STOMPIN’!

“IT’S IN THE BAG, BAY-BAY!!!” Garvin screamed, before picking up Eddie’s legs and crossing them around his own, to a chorus of boos. He turned Eddie over…

the Hammer Jammer was locked in.

“AHHHHHH!!” Eddie wailed, the blood sliding from his forehead and into his eyes… he could feel the pain in his aching legs building as Garvin breathed heavily, muttering curses under his breath. The mat was pressed up against his face, the agony in his back was immeasurable.

“TAAAP!!” Garvin wailed, bellowing with fatigue, but Cheno wasn’t even thinking about it… he was slowly zoning out…

CRACK!!!

RUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUAAAAAAAAHHH!!!

And the number one contendership was saved, as The Freak - not the most liked man in the Asylum, anyway - slammed a chair over Garvin’s head, causing him to release the hold. The Freak’s eyes were blackened, glowing red coals… his rage building as Garvin dropped, face-first onto the canvas…

“Get up Eddie. Don’t die on me, just yet…”

For some reason, the Freak’s words struck a chord in Eddie… a distant memory, déjà vu if you will. But Eddie ignored it, and got back to his feet, his white-red teeth grinding together…

Eddie rocketed up from the canvas and aimed an uppercut for The Freak’s jaw…

The Freak blocked it, groggily but still enough to keep Cheno from hitting him. He kept a hold of Cheno’s arm and swung his left leg into the back of Cheno’s skull, knocking his head forwards and allowing the foot to swing in front of Cheno’s face… and then, The Freak threw his leg back the way it came with a heel kick to Cheno’s chin. He then pulled the arm out as far as possible… and yanked Cheno into his grasping range.

“There’s only room in Team Campbell for one of me…” he said, as he hooked Cheno’s head and leg… “and unfortunately you’re not good enough to sit upon the throne of blood and bones I have crafted.”

The fans booed… but there was no use. The Freak drilled Cheno’s head into the canvas with the Anti-Nature.

As the referee counted on Cheno, who was spread out like a star-fish, face first on the canvas… The Freak turned his attention to Garvin, who was clawing at the rim of the cage. He felt two strong hands grab at his waist…

1!

And pull him down to the mat.

2!

Garvin screamed.

3!

The Freak… The Freak laughed, blood streaming over his lips.

4!

5!

Then he hooked Garvin’s head and arm…

6!

7!

8!

And locked in the Statistical Dehumanizer.

9!

…

10!

Freak - 2, Garvin - 2, Cheno - 2.

Cheno looked into the eyes of Garvin as he crawled up, trying to get to his feet… slipping on his own blood. Garvin’s desperate stare was locked on Eddie as the Emasculator shook him like a rag doll…

“GIVE UP, you CRETIN. The devil himself could not prise my claws from your throat… you’ll die, asphyxiated, your lungs collapsed and your brain rotten… you’ll DIE BY MY HANDS IF YOU DO NOT TAP,” The Freak spat, blood splattering the canvas before him. Garvin’s hand leviated above The Freak’s arm… he was going to tap…

“JEFF… DON’T TAP, FO’ THE FUNKIN’ SAKE OF US BOTH MANG!” Eddie spluttered, clawing across the canvas…

Garvin wasn’t listening.

*tap tap tap tap tap

Freak - 3, Garvin - 2, Cheno - 2.

And the bell rang.

The Freak dropped Garvin to the canvas, the life choked from him and his energy spent. Cheno flopped onto the canvas face-first, and slowly sank into unconsciousness… his chance at the World Title vanquished.

The Freak dropped onto his hands and knees, blood soaked and dizzy with pain, but he had overcome the odds and now… he was the Number One Contender to the World Heavyweight Title.

The fans would have booed… if they weren’t busy clapping.

These three men had shown desire, effort and determination admirable by any man.

A stoner, a wrestler, and a killer. And all three, whether you love them or hate them, deserve your respect, if nothing else.

Winner and NEW Number One contender: The Freak, 3-2-2




Credits
Joe: Scapegoat
Ash: Tournament, The Freak Vs Ricky Wasp, Blood Rites, The Freak Vs Token Weed, We Find a Purpose, Jeff Garvin Vs Eddie Cheno Vs The Freak
Tom & Keegan: Eddie Cheno Vs Keegan
Keegan: Keegan Vs John C Willis, Kiss and Tell, Consolation Prize, Animal Behaviour
Tim: Sebastian Thompson Vs Eddie Cheno
Devin: Jeff Garvin Vs Providence, Jeff Garvin Vs LLB
Reiley: Mother bitch is home kiddies
John "At least I'm better than Kenny" Carroll: Servants Vs Splink, Cara Vs Lotus, The Road Taken and the Road Ahead
Matthew, Mark, Luke and John: The Bible
Mat: Lucas Vs Token Weed, To Serve And Protect, So It Begins
Don: Mercy Vs Providence