Kaid forced the breath out of his lungs with force. He’d only been here a few minutes, and already he was sick of it. Hell, he’d only been back in the country a few days and he was already sick of that too.

He’d received an offer to come out and have a look at the Asylum, after it was made public that he was training in Jeet Kune Do back in Melbourne. At first, he was unsure of what to make of it. Back in the CWL he’d heard whispers about the Asylum, about the crazy shit that goes on in their shows, about the fucked murderers and rapists that lurk backstage. He’d heard other people refer to the place as a Zoo, as a freak show displaying all kinds of fucked up individuals.

And yet, here he is… right in the middle of it.

He sat on a bench in the middle of a hallway, watching the cartoon characters walk past on their way to fight, either in the cage or outside of it. Even sitting with his back to a concrete wall, Kaid felt as thought there was always someone behind him, waiting to bury an axe in the back of his head the minute he said something that someone would take the wrong way.

Kaid sucked back on a beer, but not a very tasty one at that. He’d picked up a 6 pack of ‘Bud’ on the way in, and almost wished he hadn’t. The bland and almost flavorless taste of American Beer was something Kaid had forgotten about. But that didn’t matter; it all worked the same in the end.

The plan wasn’t to get liquored up before heading out to the cage though. That used to be the way things worked for Kaid, have a few drinks head out to the ring, get cut up and hit people with whatever he could find, and then go home.

‘But this is different. Very fucking different…’ Kaid thought. The dude on the other side of the cage is going to be trying to kill him. Not just make him bleed and do some fancy moves that never hurt anyway. This shit was real. Sure, he’d trained for it, and even had a few free form martial arts fights under his belt…

But this place… the people here, the history, and the violence. It was unsettling to someone used to the glitz and glamour of Professional wrestling. Hell, barely anyone got hurt wrestling, but the aim of this game was to hurt. Or you’ll be hurt.

Kaid could live with that. It seemed now that whenever he lost control, whenever he went red with rage, white with pain, or black with unconsciousness, that he could feel calm, almost peaceful.

But that’s fucked up too when it comes down to it. So who was he kidding with this ‘Holier than thou’ bullshit. He was as fucked up as the rest of the clowns here. He was a dumpster full of shit as much as the next ‘person’ walking around here was.

‘Maybe this is the place where us fucked up people go.’ Kaid thought to himself, as he picked himself up from the bench and tucked the rest of the 6 pack under his arm.

‘I guess this is… home, for now then…’

She was, after all, a businesswoman by day.
Natalie was dressed even more eloquently. A purple satin long-sleeved shirt, equally *tight* pants reflecting a darker shade of purple, and black open-toed high heels. She was carrying something of a laptop bag, and looked as if she was fresh off a meeting of some sort. The two women sure didn't look as if they were in the right frame of mind to fight. Only thing written on their faces was stress.

"What a long day we've had, eh?"

Natalie chuckled wearily as the duo proceeded down the hallway.

"I'm so tired. And hungry. And I can't believe we actually have to show up HERE, even when we have nothing scheduled. Why are we here, again? We could be at the hotel right now, getting some well-deserved rest. Care to explain to me?"

Walking into a clearing, Fejona placed her briefcase down on the ground and cleared the strands of hair that were covering her eyes, looking around for someone, almost half-ignoring her partner's question. Quinston, several paces behind, too placed her luggage on the ground and leaned against the wall, taking a glance at her watch and looking up at Min, expectantly. Waiting for a reply.

Fejona was silently cursing to herself, for some reason. "We are here so that Joe thinks we're making progress on our little crusade to get rid of Karen. Okay, so he gave us a timeframe which extends to the middle of the year. But I rather that we pretend that we're doing his bidding, rather than risk him hauling us back into his office and giving us another lecture.

This way, he'll think we're doing some important work, we get our money, and he's none the wiser. He really shouldn't have given us until June to settle matters, although that'll give us time to pull some strings and ensure that we really do kill Karen off. For good.

Plus, I don't think we want a reprisal of the shocking exposure that happened at pAin, now do we? I have no intention of seeing his... penis again. Ever."

Natalie shrugged, not really caring anymore due to how tired she was. She herself didn't quite see the logic in that, but Quinston wasn't about to argue with Fejona. They'd already argued last week when Fejona declined Campbell's offer of including the untested Quinston into the fight with Salvatore. And another vicious debate occured after the triumphant fight against the Brazilian pitfighter, where Natalie brought Min's injuries sustained from that fight into the light of day.

And there were indeed some injuries picked up by the Cambodian Femme Fatale, following the savage and violent showdown with Santos Salvatore. Neither fighter held back and gave everything they had, but Fejona Min was eventually victorious, after a minor distraction from Natalie. The latter had vehemently brought that valid fact up during the two's bickering, and Min always cautiously evaded it. Knowing that her assistant was indeed crucial to her attaining the victory. Still, The Obstinate Assassin -- as she now liked to call herself -- insisted that her sheer determination was what paved the way for her success.

Min grunted exasperatedly, jolting Natalie out of her trip down memory lane. Looking around, Quinston still didn't see why she and Fejona were standing in the middle of nowhere, instead of being in their locker-room, resting, tending to the aftermath of the meeting earlier in the day. "Okay, so why are we standing here, then?"

"Don't you remember? Joe said there'd be one of his officials to greet us and show us to our exclusive room, with all the fancy decor and whatnot."

Quinston nodded and peeled her back off the wall, picking up her bag and brushing it against Min's left leg. Fejona turned, looking slightly surprised, folding her arms as she did.

"I'll look for Joe and sort this out. You just wait here," Quinston remarked, quickly walking away.

Leaving Fejona there, standing guard over the two pieces of luggages. She took a couple of steps back and leaned against the wall herself, just as Natalie did earlier. Min longed for the night to be over and to return to the hotel, to get some rest. The next day would be better, she told herself. Especially since she'd be able to meet up with her sweetheart, Nigel, and spend some quality time.

Just then, the distinct sound of a woman's shoes were picked up by her ears. And as far as Fejona could see, the clearing she was in was totally deserted, save for the elderly janitor sweeping the floor. Immediately ruling out that Natalie had already procured the neccessary details, Fejona deduced that someone was walking down the corridor that lead to the clearing.

And she was right.

Walking towards the Fejona at that moment was one of the newest fighters to the Asylum - Heather Vergas. She looked happy, as a smile was painted across her face. Her blonde hair was dyed with a few black streaks, which matched her tight black shirt. She had a pair of hip hugger jeans on and black toeless heels. She hadn’t come dressed to fight - that would come later. Tonight, she just wanted to have sit back and fun.

“Oh, hi there!” she said to Fejona as Heather noticed the Cambodian from that distance, continuing to walk towards her.

Fejona just stood there, staring at the approaching woman. She
hadn’t expected a greeting, but all the same she was going to find out the reason why this woman was so cheery and then completely maim her if needed. She wasn’t in the mood to exchange pleasantries and such.

“I’m Heather - I was just signed here,” Heather continued as she too came into the clearing, not paying any mind to Fejona’s cold stare, which was locked directly on to her.

“Hello, I’m Fejona Min.” It was a reply, not the friendliest, but it was to be expected.

“Oh, I’ve heard of you - well sort of just tidbits of information. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Heather giddily said, reaching out a hand.

Fejona reluctantly shook it, hoping that this introduction would be over and she could leave soon. Heather just stood there, her smile beaming. She loved her job already - meeting Karen and the free food and drinks were a major plus. She wasn’t an airhead by any means either, but Heather just had a tendency to believe that no one would dislike her.

“I’m glad you’ve heard of me, but does this have some sort of point? I’m tired and I would prefer not to be here at this current moment. So if we could just move things along, that’d be really great.”

Heather stood there for a moment, a bit taken back by the hint of anger and sarcasm in Fejona’s voice, but she just smiled and nodded. Letting her know there was a point to this.

“I was actually looking for Karen Pembridge. I met her last week and I was hoping I could talk to her again. She was really nice and friendly unlike some people. We’ve become friends, you could say.”

Heather’s words bounced off of Fejona like an outright insult, due to the fact that the name Karen Pembridge was mentioned. Fejona hated her and she hated anything that had to do with her - which meant that she now hated Heather Vergas, but she had an idea.

“Why would you want to find Karen? She’s a talentless slut. Let me give you a little bit of advice. If you want to make it here, you should steer clear of Karen. She’s only out for her own gain and she probably just wants to use you for something - probably sex. She is, after all, a dyke. Some guy proved it a few months ago.”

Heather cocked her head to the side like a lost puppy. She was confused at the reason someone could hate Karen so much. Karen had been so nice to her thus far. Now this woman was just tearing into her it made no sense. Although, Fejona was right; a certain Reggie Harrison-Willis was once on a crusade to prove that Karen Pembridge was indeed an active lesbian. But his masterplan fell short.

“I don’t know about all that, she seems like a very nice person. Did she beat you or something? I mean, you seem to have a lot of anger towards her!” Heather blurted out without thinking. She was going to defend her new friend.

Fejona was completely pissed now. First Heather had insulted her and now she was defending Karen Pembridge. This wasn’t the best way to get off on the right foot with Min.

“No, she didn’t beat me or something. I’m telling you the truth about your little whore of a friend and it’s falling on deaf ears. I’m just trying to look out for your best interests her,” Fejona retorted, putting her hands on her rather slender hips.

Fejona was pissed, but Heather was past that point now. She didn’t understand how someone could be so hostile towards someone so nice. Her powder blue eyes quickly donned an icy glare, as she clenched her fists and stared at Min. She hadn’t come to fight, but she was ready.

“Hold up a second there,” Min quickly spit out seeing the anger in Heather’s stare. “I’m not going to get into a fight with you or anything, but Karen is an attention whore. If you can’t deal with it, I think you need to turn around and get out of my face.”

“I will leave and find Karen on my own. I’m sorry I asked you such a simple question. You didn’t have to be a bitch about it. I was only trying to be nice and you act like a stuck-up bitch. Just make sure not to get to many diseases from sucking off Campbell.”

Heather didn’t wait for a reply or even a look; she quickly turned on her heel and stormed off. Fejona had hit a nerve, but Heather didn’t know that in the same light - she had hit a nerve. Fejona stood watching her walk away extremely bitter and angry. She was going to give that little brat a little lesson. By hook or by crook.

But something else had suddenly caught Fejona's attention, as the sound of shoes clattering against the ground once again greeted her ears. There was something about Heather's eyes, Fejona Min thought, that seemed to suggest that she was conflicted. Like, as if she was hiding some sort of secret. Min had a good sense about things like this, in actual fact. And since she KNEW she had somewhat of a talet, the Cambodian Femme Fatale was now putting the pieces of the puzzle together.

The final piece being... Natalie Quinston.

"Okay, I've got that sorted out. Let's go, Fejona."

A proverbial lightbulb lit in Min's head.

"Hold on, Natalie. That bitch didn't see you. This will be perfect!"

Quinston was confused. "Bitch? And what will be perfect?"

Fejona Min simply grinned at her assistant. She had a plan. A brilliant plan. A brilliant plan that would, in all probability, shake the foundation of theAsylum.

And Natalie Quinston was going to be in the middle of it.

"Uh oh, I don't like the look on your face, Fej."

"Trust me."

Now, what could Fejona Min have planned?

... Stay tuned.

"Hey! Watch it you fucking prick." A female voice said from behind.

Avenger stopped in his tracks.

Yeah, he saw the woman known as Jade bending over to grab a soda out of the vending machine as he walked by. And yeah, he knew he felt some piece of flesh brush against his massive frame as he strolled past. But, he just didn't care.

After all, she is low-born. She should feel honored.

"What did you say to me, whore of Babylon?" Avenger calmly said.

"I called you a fucking prick." Jade said. "I'll let you off with a warning though. Next time, I chop off what the 'roids left of your balls and feed them to your mother."

Avenger's booming laughter echoed through the halls. "Woman, I will crush your peasant-stock skull into a chalky paste if you get anywhere near my lower extremities."

Jade merely chuckled and took another step towards the towering monster. "Right. Why don't you prove it?"

Taking a step back Avenger coughed in such a way to insinuate that he was catching germs just from her presence. "Stay away from me, Jezebel. I don't trifle with fighting the opposite sex."

"I think you protest a little too much there." Jade said. "You scared? You a chicken shit behind that mask?"

Jade began a generous round of gregarious laughter.

Suddenly she was choking, saliva curdling in her throat, her neck feeling bound by fiery iron bars.

Avenger had one hand wrapped around her neck and he looked ready to tighten and then crush her windpipe into bloody fiber and bone mass.

"You will never question my bravado again after his night, woman." He said with wretched mouth and tongue and teeth.

"You may breathe now."

And with that, Avenger allowed her to drop to the tile floor.

Eyeing the surrounding bystanders he took his leave.

"You're fucking dead." Jade said as she rubbed the rawness under her chin.

"You are fucking dead."

Or, if she needed to relieve some pent-up frustration.
Rounding a corner, Karen sighed. The arena seemed like a maze to her, and try as hard as she could, she simply couldn't find the entrance to the arena. Coupled with the fact that she'd carelessly left her cell phone in her bag, and Pembridge was mentally slapping herself. She'd come to the arena early for a reason. Well, many reasons, actually. The couple in the next room of the motel were furiously fucking each other like rabbits, and Karen simply couldn't stand all the moaning and groaning emenating from the room. It was almost as if the walls were paper thin, or even non-existant. When they did stop, the couple insisted in engaging in the fine art of filthy talk.

The person Karen shared her room with and her best friend, Gina, found it funny at first. Then she too got revolted. How could one woman get fucked so much in one day, was her question. The Manucian Girl didn't know the answer, nor had she the desire to investigate and find out. So, Gina left to do some shopping, while Karen proceeded to the arena. Not that she had any intention of fighting. The Lassie considered what her new goal demanded from her, and came to the conclusion that she'd have to keep tabs on everyone who was potentially higher up on the ladder than she was. Strategy; one of the civilised aspects that her brother had taught her.

Turning past another corner, wondering if Heather had attempted to call her cell in the last couple of minutes, Karen finally grinned. She'd managed to find the arena after all, and leaning against a wall, checking out her newly-manicured nails was Gina. Pembridge was very protective of Gina for many reasons. And especially tonight, since theAsylum were crawling with perverts and horny bastards. Joe Campbell being at the very top of that illustrious list.

"Gina! I'm so sorry, this place is like a maze!" Karen yelled out as she inched closer to her friend. Gina looked up and smiled, playfully pointing to her watch to indicate how long she'd been waiting.

"Why didn't you answer your cell?"

"I left it in my bloody bag. I was in the cafeteria, talking to this one official about last week's show, before I realised what time it was. I didn't want to risk rushing back to my locker-room, in the event that you... well, got hassled by some sod with a hankering for arse-rape!"

Gina laughed as the two women hugged.

At about the same time, an official appeared from out of nowhere and slowly walked towards Karen, who was now filling in Gina on some of the aspects that made theAsylum a unique yet dangerous habitat. Especially for women. Gina was the first to notice the official, and her distracted gaze alerted Karen to him.

"Karen, I'm glad I found you!"

"What is it, Aaron?"

The official took one look at Gina and nodded at her, drawing a smile as a response from Gina.

"Joe Campbell just told me you have a fight. A tag team fight; Thurston Aubrey's your partner, and the two of you will be fighting the Brothers Brown. It'll go down in the next couple of minutes, too, so you had better get ready!"

Pembridge growled and nodded her head, displeased that her plans had changed. She'd wanted to show Gina the way theAsylum worked; the operations, the fights, the egos. The whole nine yards, basically. But now, she had a fight to deal with, courtesy of her good friend, Joe Campbell. Having done his job, the official turned on his heels and began to walk away, while Karen turned to Gina and gave her that apologetic look.

Gina held her hands up reassuringly. "Hey, it's alright. You've told me about this Campbell guy. Can't be helped. I'd like my trenchcoat back, though, it's mighty cold in here!"

Shaking her head, acting offended, Karen removed the trenchcoat and threw it to Gina, who mouthed her appreciation as cheekily as she could. Turning around, Karen noticed that the official had not yet disappeared out of sight. A thought popped into her head. If she was scheduled to fight now, Gina would have to put up in her locker-room. Alone. For a while. That was a risk the Lassie wasn't about to take, even if she knew she was acting like a worrysome mother. Something she detested, actually. But this wasn't any ol' place; it was theAsylum.

"Hey Aaron! Come back here!"

Aaron, the official, turned around. Puzzled. Walking back to Karen, nonetheless. Gina, who'd slipped her trenchcoat on, was also confused. Although she wasn't minding the company of Aaron. She thought he looked cute, in that weird stoner-esque sort of way. Not that she'd consider sleeping with him, even if she did long for someone to put the fire out in her. The fire that the next-door neighbours at the motel had instilled into her.

Stupid bitch, Gina thought, referring to the woman who had so much strength as to be willingly fucked all day long.

"Could you do me a favour, Aaron?" Karen asked once he was close enough.

He replied without hestitating, "Anything. What is it?"

The Lassie smiled.

"Keep Gina here company until my fight ends. She thinks you're hot!" Karen responded, turning to wink at the wide-eyed Gina, before she rushed off back towards her locker-room. Not even waiting for Aaron's reply.

Because she knew he was interested. Aaron, being a MANLY MAN, blushed slightly. Gina was incensed but she giggled at Aaron, silently cursing at her friend at the same time. Turning around to look back, Pembridge waved at Gina, noticing that Aaron had wasted no time in introducing himself.

"How cute."

But for now, Karen Pembridge had something else on her mind.

Who the sodding hell is Thurston Aubrey?

But it didn't.

So reluctantly, he picked up a pen and began to read through it until the door to his office slowly opened.

''Is there one cunt in this Hell hole who thinks of knocking first?'' he blurted out before looking up.

Standing in the door way was Fiend.

He grinned at Joe and shrugged...

''Uh... knock knock?'' he joked.

Campbell grew a little wilder as he saw Fiend standing there.

''You! Fucking sit your arse down in that chair. I have a bone to pick with you,'' Campbell explained.

Fiend looked a little taken back by the bluntness of Joe Campbell and was immediately wondering what it was he wanted with him. And nothing was coming to mind so he strolled across and sat in the chair in front of Joe's desk.

Joe folded his arms and looked across at Fiend.

''Where the fuck have you been?'' Campbell asked.

Fiend shrugged.

''Around. Why?'' Fiend asked.

The eyes in Joe Campbell's skull bulged in disbelief as he stared at the ugly man across from him. He slapped a hand on his desk hard, which didn't make Fiend flinch. Just made him grin.

Joe stood up, kicking his chair back against the wall and he threw his hands into the air like he's given up.

''Why? Why? I fucking tell you 'why', you ungrateful little cunt! COZ I PAY YOU TO FIGHT! And where have you been? Fucking 'around' is where. 'Around'. I don't pay you to sit around, pulling your cock. I pay you to fight!'' Campbell informed Fiend.

Fiend shrugged and slouched a little into his chair.

''What's your point, Campbell?'' Fiend asked.

Immediately, Joe's hands began to pull at his hair in frustration. His message didn't seem to be getting through to this great lummox in front of him.

He moved around the desk and stood behind Fiend. He leant down and whispered into his ear...

''You will fight tonight or you will be fired,'' Joe calmly told him.

Joe was trying to contain his anger, which is a little more frightening than when he let it out on his sleeve. Which was the way he usually dealt with his aggression.

Fiend shrugged and stood up, dusting himself off. He patted Joe on the back, who still remained hunched over from whispering into Fiend's ear.

''Right-O, boss. I'll just go and find me a fight then, right?'' Fiend told him.

Joe straightened up and looked at Fiend in complete desperation.

''RIGHT!'' he snapped.

Fiend grinned.

''You know, you oughta switch to decaf,'' Fiend told him.

And with that, he turned and headed out of Campbell's office. He shut the door behind him and leant against the wall.

''Who wants to play with me?'' he said under his breath.

He looked to his left and he then to his right.

Fiend was going to find a play mate.

For tonight.

For inside the Asylum.

Joe Campbell squinted at Ordell Brown, who was standing beside Ritchie Brown, the older brother. The brotherly tandem were known as Brothers Brown for many a year now. And once upon a time, they were employees of theAsylum, and due to get a shot at the Tag Team Champions following Ritchie's sensational victory over their enemies at the time. The Enlightened, current status unknown. Rumoured to be dead. BUT. Unfortunately for the Brothers Brown, injuries coupled with their respective ages meant that they had to rest on the sidelines.

Resting as the world went on its natural course, with Ritchie and Ordell force to observe from a distance. The days slipping through their fingers like sand through a hourglass. They weren't getting any younger, and both men knew that their time on the planet was slowly coming to an end. But both had decided to live each day as if it was their first. Without fear, without regrets, with the knowledge that they had each other to count on.

And now, they had returned to theAsylum. They had to sit by and watch as Fuck The Mind became Asylum Tag Team Champions. Ordell and Ritchie cringed at the sight of FTM holding on to the titles for months, until their consequent defeat to Woman's Intuition at pAin IV. Having sat out for too long, the Brothers Brown now wanted to cash in their promised title shot. Both Ritchie and Ordell had completely recuperated after the strains of their war with The Enlightened, and they were looking to end their careers on a high note. They wanted to be Asylum Tag Team Champions.

Trouble was, Joe didn't even remember who Ritchie and Ordell were.

"I'm Ordell, and my brother Ritchie. We're back from our little time off, and we want to get right back into the action, Sir. There's that little matter of our title shot that Ritchie here earned last September. And we intend to make full use of that opportunity." the younger Brown brother replied calmly, while Ritchie simply nodded at his brother's words.

Joe blinked, stifled his indignant laughter, then wondered if he should get Thanh or Carson to take care of the old-timers. Unbeknowst to the Brothers Brown, Joe had already fired 'em before seVered even transpired, during the famous roster spring-cleaning Show, but figured that he'd give the senior citizens one last hurrah. Dignity of going out in a big way, at the PPV. Losing at the PPV, rather. Somehow, Ritchie defeated Karst and Bandy at seVered, so Campbell -- being drunk and lazy -- simply decided to mail them their pink slips. And did the same to The Enlightened, realising they weren't worthy of receiving his hard earned money.

And that was why it took Campbell so long to finally recall who the Brothers Brown were. With his memory capacity finally working, Campbell snorted and shook his head discontentedly, trying to rack his brains over why so many useless twats from the past were suddenly coming back into the frame and throwing absolutely retarded requests/demands at him. His beloved organisation was once again becoming overrun with fools he could do without. This time, Joe thought to himself, he'd put an end to all the madness.

So, the degenerate owner finally responded the only way he could.

"Listen, you grumblebums. I fired your pathetic arses because the two of you simply aren't bloody worth it. Your last show was seVered, feckers. End of the bloody story.

If I were you, I'd hire some young lass as your servant to open your mail and such. That way, you arses can get yourselves a nice cunt to play with so that you won't die as lonely, unloved pillocks. Get out of my office, you gits, before I get Thanh to remove your limbs out of my office, piece by bloody piece!"

The scruffy-haired Joe Campbell grinned broadly to himself, flashing his stained set of teeth to the Brothers Brown, satisfied that he'd spewed enough verbal insults at the Brothers Brown to keep 'em shaking in their boots. Ritchie looked immensely crushed & disappointed, and he actually began to turn around to leave. Seeing that determined, tight-lipped look on his brother's face, however, told the older Brown brother that there was yet more to be discussed.

One way or another, Ordell was going to get the Brothers Brown their jobs back.

"Mr Campbell, we realise that we may prove to be a liability. But please, we'll do anything. All we want is a chance to prove ourselves and eventually win those Team Titles. I mean, better us than those women, right? We all know that you don't like women to do anything other than... to pleasure you. We can claim the titles back from them!" Ordell fired back, keeping his cool and standing his ground, trying his best to convince Campbell.

Unanticipatedly, for some bizarre reason, a crafty plot formed in the mind of the shrewd businessman.

No, he wasn't counting on the Brothers Brown to be able enough to take care of the two women that now had the Tag Team Titles, Renne and Nikki. But since Ordell had said that he and his brother would do ANYTHING, the Brit realised that he could probably use the Brothers Brown to expunge of this nagging little vexation he'd been having. Two women may be too much for the old-timers.

But...

Maybe, just maybe, they had enough to take care of ONE woman...

Campbell decided to throw caution to the wind, after arriving at the conclusion that he'd have nothing major to lose in this little experiment of his. "I'll tell you what. I've got a little assignment for you. If you can take care of it by the end of the month, then your future here is safe for the next year.

However, if you mess up and you do not get rid of the twat by the time Persecution ends, then the two of you feck off back to the shite retirement home you escaped from, because you sure as bloody hell don't belong in MY company!"

Ritchie and Ordell nodded, while Joe grabbed a piece of scrap paper and began scribbling on it, mouthing to himself as he did so. In his head, this idea sounded interesting, even if his instinct was telling him that it would all turn out to be a waste of time. But, he'd known from previous experience that he should never pass up a chance to experiment. Then again, previous experience also told him that his overall success rate was lower than he'd like it to be.

On this night, though, Joe Campbell decided to be kind. He must have been REALLY drunk.

"Here you go! And you sods better suit up, I've included a fight for tonight. Let's see what you're really made off, eh?" Joe stated crisply as he threw his pen down and slid the paper across the table, for Ordell to pick up and read.

The Brothers Brown were back in business.

Question was, who would they have to take out to ensure their own... future?

"Our opponents are Karen Pembridge & Thurston Aubrey?"

Ah, wily Joe. Killing two birds with one stone. Always the opportunist.

Business as usual, then, in theAsylum.

Citizen vs Kaid Mann

“Just” by Radiohead plays over the loud speakers of the Arena, and while the crowd isn’t familiar with the fighter associated to the tone, they clap the warrior who steps out from behind the curtain. The music fits the Asylum’s newest fighter, a pacifist, quite well. You see this man wasn’t exactly a pacifist of the Thurston vein… no, more a master of redirection. Citizen, still new to the Asylum, continues to stride down towards the cage… a solumn air to him. He is here for his own purpose, whatever that purpose may be.
Even with the respectful clapping for this newcomer… the blood hungry Asylum crowd still looks on at this man in awe. Not so much as an afterthought to any gory victories, no not quite… it was because of this interesting first visual. This man, this Civilian wore… a stark silver helmet. Not just any helmet either because instead of a face, Civilian had a neo-retro styled skull for a head.

The ever present steel grin, smiled back towards the infamous Asylum octagon. Citizen climbed up on the side of the cage and then hopped up and over onto the unforgiving Asylum canvas, for the first time. Underneath the mask… the man gulped… did his own little hail mary… and sucked it up, not daring to let it show. And then the Spotlights turn back to the entranceway, and another new face steps out.

“He had alot to say.
He had alot of nothing to say.
We'll miss him.”

“Eulogy” by Tool starts to fade in as Citizen’s Music fades out. The song is an angry and somber piece of music, one that touches a certain dark and cold place inside this Fighters head. Though he was not always known as a fighter, as some of the crowd remember the young hardcore warrior from the CWL and cheer loudly. But then the cheers are subsided with the realization that this isn’t wrestling. This is reality.

“He’s gonna get murdered!”, one heavily overweight fan yells at the top of his breathe, his popcorn and beer almost spilling from his chubby hands as he moves to the edge of his seat to watch the violence about to occur.

The same thought is echoing through Kaid’s mind as he steps up into the Asylum, looking at the man opposite him. Citizen was taller and more muscular then Kaid, and from what Kaid had heard, was also a better trained fighter… that fuckin steel skull didn’t help matters either. Kaid wasn’t about to be scared by cosmetics though.

Experience and training titled against you however… is a bitch.

Kaid glared at Citizen… and it was assumed that Citizen glared back, the two rookies stood there, trying to stare each other down. Citizen is the first to break, as he slips back from a standing position and raises his hands, taking a Muay Thai fighting stance. Kaid stares back, and tilts his head to the left until a loud crack can be heard. He straightens himself up…

Dives at Citizen, and it’s on!

Kaid lunges at Citizen’s midsection, forcing him back into the cage. Citizen isn’t exactly caught off guard though as he hammers an elbow down into the back of Kaid’s head. The blow is strong enough that Kaid falls down on one knee, though it wasn’t the smartest of moves as Citizen winds back and sends a vicious knee into Kaid’s face.

Citizen lets out a sigh, looking down at the woozy Mann. How far does he have to go with this man if he wants to catch the eye of Joe Campbell? He turns to look at the crowd, their cheering for him to hurt this other fighter more. Should he do it though? The man already seems finished…

“Not likely, buddy” Flies through Kaid’s mind as he dives upward, driving his forehead hard into Citizen’s chin, almost taking Citizen off his feet, as Kaid merely flinches from his hard contact with the mask. Citizen stumbles back for a second, and Kaid takes advantage with two sweeping haymakers into Citizen’s chest. With momentum, Kaid pulls his arm way back for a third massive punch, but it misses it’s mark completely…

Citizen stepping back to avoid the telegraphed punch grabs Kaid’s arm as it flies past, and force Kaid off balance. With the advantage, Citizen lays another knee into the small of Kaid back, wrenches his upper body back, exposing an undefended Midsection, and lays another vicious elbow into Kaid’s rib cage. Releasing his hold on Kaid, Citizen drops his opponent, and limply Kaid falls to the floor.

The count begins as Kaid seems almost out of it on the mat, His hair becoming matted with his own blood, his mouth swollen and teeth loose, his ribs cracked. Citizen once again takes a quick look around towards the crowd, who seem to be cheering his name, eager to see the man, who is dominating the fight, finish off his opponent.

“Three!”

“Four!”

“Five!”

“Six!”

Confusion sets in, as it sometimes does during your first fight in the Asylum, and Citizen only catches out of the corner of his eye, the count being stopped, as Kaid slowly begins to pick himself up off of the floor, forcing the ref to stop his standing ten count.

“Have it your way… you young, misguided, soul.” Citizen spits out under his breath, as he takes a quick step forward, winding his foot high before bringing it down hard across the top of Kaid’s head. The impact of the kick crowned Kaid as he made it to a leaning stance. The final blow being too much, Kaid hit the mat hard, not even attempting to lift his hands to protect his face. The blood is spilling free from his mouth and nose onto the cold hard floor, his head now a mess of tangled bloodied hair, and his eyes… rolling into the back of his head. The referee was already into the midpoint of his count by now...

“Five!”

“Six!”

“Seven!”

“Eight!”

“Nine!”

“Ten!”

Citizen, awarded his first victory in the Asylum by knock-out, stands tall as the crowd cheer, that sinking feeling in his stomach... starting to subside. Though his thoughts disturbed, as he’s not sure whether they cheer for him, or they cheer for the bloodshed that he has brought them. The thought even crosses Citizen’s mind to help lift his defeated opponent onto the stretcher that has been brought out for Kaid. But he doesn’t… and probably never would…

Citizen’s short search for the Asylum’s de facto god, Campbell, continued…

It was silver and it was at the end of the hall just wandering.

It was Citizen.

Fiend grinned and walked up toward Citizen, he already had a plan in mind.

As he gradually came closer to Citizen, he noticed that he had been noticed and he waved to the masked man. Citizen waved back.

''Hello there. The name's Fiend. What's yours?'' he called down the hall.

They came closer and eventually had met up in the middle of the corridor. Citizen seemed a little taken back by the friendliness of Fiend.

''Uh... Citizen,'' he replied.

Fiend grinned.

''Fantastic. Hey, I was wondering something. Do you wanna fight me?'' Fiend asked him.

Citizen looked a little baffled.

''Uh... no,'' he replied.

CLANG!

Fiend punched him hard in the head, causing Citizen to drop to one knee.

''Now? Do you want to fight me now?'' Fiend asked him.

Citizen shook his head.

Fiend reached out and grabbed Citizen's chin and began to wail punches down on his face.

CLANG!

CLANG!

CLANG!

CLANG!

Citizen's head was being held up by Fiend, and one of his eyes seemed to be closing up a little.

''How about now? Will you fight me, Citizen?'' Fiend asked calmly.

Citizen shook his head and managed to cough out a...

''*cough**cough*No.*cough*'' in resposne.

Fiend's knuckles were busted open from punching the steel skull and blood dripped from his knuckles into a puddle on the floor.

CLANG!

CLANG!

CLANG!

''C'mon. Just one little fight,'' Fiend whimpered.

CLANG!

CLANG!

''What's one little fight?'' Fiend asked.

CLANG!

''I'll ask one more time. Will. You. Fight. Me?'' Fiend asked.

CLANG!

Citizen looked up through the eye holes in his steel mask. He coughed and spluttered as Fiend let go of his chin.

Dropping to lean on one hand and one knee, Citizen gave Fiend his answer.

''You're on.''

Fiend had found his fight.

Natalie grimaced at the poster on the door of the vacant locker-room and shook her head. She'd charged thousands of dollars for her field of excellence, but the words FREE THERAPY SESSIONS now stared back at Quinston, mocking her without a care in the world. Natalie felt a cold shiver down her spine, before she dragged herself into the room and watched reluctantly at Fejona, who was decorating the room.

To make sure it looked like a genuine outlet for some good ol'-fashioned psychiatry.

"This is perfect, Natalie. You've got tons of experience in this field because of your previous mission with... well, the enemy. You've actually even got a degree in psychiatry! You're a qualified therapist, and this organisation is overflowing with maniacs and deluded psychos that harbour deep-rooted emotional problems.

More importantly, they have secrets. Secrets we can procure through you and sell through me.

And hence, we rake in enough money for our little project. That IS why we're here in the first place, isn't it? Without money, we can'd do anything. And right now, we aren't doing anything of significance because we don't have the money. I can't count on Nigel to support me all the way. And besides, it's not as if I'm with him because I want to leech off him."

Natalie rolled her eyes. It sounded like a good idea, but she knew from past experience that good ideas always go awry.But once Min had a plan, it was hard to get her to change her mind. That was why Fejona herself coined a nickname that reflected that trait of hers; The Obstinate Assassin.

"I know, I know. You love him so very much!" Quinston cut in, with a tinge of playful sarcasm.

Fejona paid no attention to it, focusing instead on sprucing up the makeshift office. She had this all figured out, and simply knew that it would pay dividends in the long rain. This new side-project of hers made the Cambodian Femme Fatale a literal queen amongst various circles. Secrets were what made people humane; everybody has a secret. Everybody, more importantly, has a secret they'd die for. They'd do anything to protect that secret. And if it somehow fell into the wrong hands, they'd stoop to any depth to ensure their safety. Money was right at the top of their list.

And it was that very thing that was on the top of Fejona's list.

Money.

You can't deny how influential one is due to money. Money equals to power. It's been well-documented. Look at Joe Campbell.

...

Okay, forget the fact that Joe spends all his money on booze and sluts and pornographic materials, and bodyguards to cover his arse in the event that someone who can legitimately threaten his life comes around to fulfilling that potential. Money is what drove Joe Campbell to even give birth to theAsylum. The lure of money was too irresistable for the Brit to turn down. And thanks to lackeys like Borst, Joe Campbell is a very powerful man.

Because of the money.

"Mind you, I'm completely sure of that Heather girl having a secret. I could see it in her eyes. Almost as if the secret was yearning to be revealed. It spoke to me, Natalie. And if this therapy thing means we can gain more income than we already projected from this business venture, then I'm willing to run with it!" Fejona murmured excitedly, finally pleased with the way she'd furnished the room.

Natalie scanned the 'office', admitting to herself that the ambience did project that soothing element that most therapists wished to have in her office. Quinston's old office used to be like that. Until, of course, one brave man somehow uncovered her diabolical scheme and exposed her for the fraud that she was. He was only half-right, though. Natalie WAS a qualified psychiatrist, and the more she thought about it... the more she felt this could actually succeed.

She was worried about the possible ramifications, though. But with Fejona's forward thinking, Quinston pushed those doubts to the back of her head. At least she'd be doing something she earnestly loved doing. Back in the day, Natalie found joy in being able to help people. That was before the landscape of her entire life changed before her very eyes, and her unique gift was being exploited.

"I agree," Natalie suddenly remarked.

Fejona, who'd been admiring her handiwork, turned and looked at her assistant quizically, not quite understanding.

"Pray tell; agree with what?"

Instantaneously feeling refreshed and filled with a sense of newfound purpose, Natalie smiled. Looking around the office one more time, Quinston surrended to the fact that she was no longer the naive young woman she was many a year ago. Time and various circumstances had changed her. It was time to embrace her new way of life, or she'd never be at peace. Always dealing with conflicting thoughts.

"That this experiment will prove to be a smashing success!"

Introducing the first-ever resident Asylum therapist, ladies and gentlemen....

Natalie Quinston.

“Who’s there?”

“A barbershop quartet”.

“A barbershop quarter who?”

“No, seriously, we’ve got a singing telegram for a Scott Holmes a.k.a Slapnutz and we’re here to deliver it. So if you wouldn’t mind opening the door, we’d be eternally grateful.”

“You didn’t sing that.”

“Yeah, we only sing the message.”

“Well that sucks.”

“Are you going to let us in?”

“I sang once. Had a hit single too. Won ‘Asylum Idol’. Fucking gypos.”

“What happened to all that?”

“With what?”

“The storyline.”

“Oh, that. We dropped it. Couldn’t be bothered really. Kinda sucked.”

“Yeah, so, are you letting us in?”

“Sorry, where are my manners?”

“Up your arse,” TMM commented before going back to reading his TinTin comic.

I mean really, a guy his age reading TinTin. It’s sad. In fact, it’s very sad. Sadder than when a puppy east a kitten then dies too. But I digress.

Slapnutz opened up the door to be faced with three men and a woman in red and white outfits. There was a white one, a black one, a Hispanic one and the woman was of Asian origin. See, this was a culturally diverse group. They were ‘new school’. Sure, it would transpire that the woman mostly ironed, cooked and cleaned, but for now, it’s nothing to worry about. Honestly.

“Right, candymen, sing me a song.”

The group cleared their throats. It was a collective sound resembling that of a puppy coughing up a cat. Scary stuff really. Then, after their group wheeze, they burst into a pretty little ditty:

”Slapnutz, you stupid prick
I’ve never touched, your little dick.
It smelt cheesy,
You thought I was easy,
But then you made me siiiiiiick”

“That was shit. TinTin would have done it better,” TMM quipped before retuning to his Belgian hero.

“Yeah, well, we didn’t write it, someone called Naomi Lynch did. Sent this note along too.”

The black member of the quartet handed Slapnutz an envelope before leading his posse out of the Splink locker room.

“I have no idea what that was about,” Slapnutz commented.

“Sorry, wasn’t paying much attention. When I said that was shit, I didn’t really listen to the words, I was commenting on their dancing.”

“They aren’t supposed to dance. It’s not a CanCan-A-Gram.”

“Oh.”

TMM was disappointed. He had wanted to see a CanCan-A-Gram since he first heard about them. When I say, ‘heard’, I mean he dreamt about it one night, woke up with the mother of all erections and now demands to see one before he dies. Probably not going to happen. Seriously, it’s not. Not in this segment at least.

“So, you gonna read that letter, bitch.”

Slapnutz opened up the letter and read it to himself. For all he knew, it could have been a steamy, sexy letter from Naomi asking him to fuck her like he fucked her many a time before. Judging by his reaction, Naomi probably wrote to tell him she’s joined the Swiss Army and plans on making cuckoo clocks in her spare time, as well as eating Toblerones.

For now, the contents of the letter will remain a secret as Slapnutz ate the letter. Right down his throat. He chewed it up. Let it get all soggy and then swallowed. Swallowed hard. Almost threw up. Swallowed some more. Then it was gone.

“Keeping it a secret then?” TMM asked his partner.

Quite possibly the understatement of the show. Well, either that or “Well fuck me, Splink suck.”

Take your pick.

Wait, what? What the fuck?!

*COUGH*

And suddenly, he was awake again. And in the shower too, it would seem.

Kaid coughed loudly again, and then again, and then again. His eyes were still having trouble focusing; the tiles on the wall and the floor seemed to have a strong shade of red on them. It was almost hypnotising.

Wait... why does everything have a strong tinge of red to it...

Another eruption of violent coughing. This time, a thick swab of blood coming up from... somewhere within, slipped its way out of Kaid’s mouth, over his lips and slaps down onto the floor. Needless to say, he wasn't in the pink of health, and was feeling as if he could collapse at any second. His muscles were burning with agony, and his throat itched with a vengeance.

The water seems cool... or is it hot? It must be hot, there’s steam everywhere... red steam.

What the...

Another cough, and suddenly things were becoming clearer. Grasping the showerhead for support, Kaid looked up into the stream of water, washing a good deal of blood off his face, and brushing his long matted hair away from his eyes. He let his mouth fill up with water, and then spat it onto the ground. As he thought, it was almost bright red. Something else was wrong though, as he swirled his tongue around in his mouth, feeling a series of semi-loose teeth.

"This is fucked up!" Kaid mumbled softly to himself, as he let the water bounce off of his back. Breathing was a struggle, and he began to notice the large lump on the side of his chest. It too had a hue of red to it.

"I’ll probably have to get that looked at, heh..." he said out loud with a smirk. He attempted to chuckle to himself, but the pain was too much to even give it a decent effort. His entire body was still trembling.

And then there was a noise inside his locker room.

Or was there? It was hard to hear with his own blood clogging up his ears, and the constant ringing noise running through his head. But he was sure he wasn’t alone in his locker room. He just knew. It was one of those 'gut instinct' or 'sixth sense' things that every other person seems to have nowadays.

"Great. Fuckin' great. All I need now is to get gangraped in my own shower. This place is like fucking prison!" Kaid grumbled bitterly to himself, as he stepped out of the shower in search for a towel, spotting one stacked underneath his clothes.

*** MEANWHILE ***

She opened the door of the locker-room, annoyance written all over her face. She hadn't expected to fight tonight, and only showed up on the odd chance of meeting up with Heather, her new friend, again. As of yet, she hadn't had the luck of running into her, especially with her cell in her bag; but, this wasn't the time for mingling. The Lassie had a fight to get ready for. One where she knew nothing about her partner, and nothing about her opponents.

Nobody ever likes that.

But, KAREN PEMBRIDGE wasn't one to complain and bitch and moan like a typical high-school girl. If she had to fight, she had to fight. No questions about it. The Lassie had shown so far in her stint in theAsylum that she'd fight no matter what. Twice in a night? Wasn't a problem for her. As she started rummaging through her duffel bag, however, Karen Pembridge realised that this fight would be her first EVER team fight in theAsylum, with a man as her partner.

Her previous experience in team fights in theAsylum saw Eddie Scott Poser as her partner.

"What a nightmare that was," she mumbled to herself, half-smiling as memories of days gone by flooded her mind.

The Manucian Girl -- dressed simply in a black t-shirt with blue jeans and blue sneakers -- now frowned as she continued to search her bag for her bottle of water, aware that her fight was coming up shortly. But suddenly, she was also aware of something else. A sound, like as if... the shower in her bathroom was on and in use. It couldn't have been Gina, she thought to herself. She hadn't even told Gina where her locker-room was.

True enough, within a second of looking up, the unmistakable groan of a MAN greeted her ears, before the shower was turned off. Pembridge emitted a low belly growl, incredulous that some MAN had the gall and the audacity to let himself into HER room, daring enough to use HER facilities. Quietly, she picked her duffel bag off the chair and placed it on the ground, before folding up the chair, making her way towards the bathroom, her anger growing by the second.

Then, suddenly, the bathroom door opened.

"What the...?"

Karen's eyes fluttered in surprise. Or was it rage?

"You stupid cockhead, what the bloody hell are you doing in MY room?"

She swung the chair at KAID MANN, one of the newer Asylum fighters who had made his debut on the night, but Kaid somehow ducked and fell to the ground, grunting as his chest hit the carperted surface. Before Pembridge could turn around and proceed to kick the living shit out of him, the shirtless Kaid got to his feet and pulled his pants up, limping out of the room as quickly as his battered body would let him.

The Lassie fumed and threw her chair down, before peering inside the bathroom. Groaning at what she'd found.

"That sod left his shirt here, too!"

Ah, love is in the air.

...

Okay, maybe not. Geez, you're all so antsy!

She looked up from the floor to Fiend and immediately her face changed into a scowl.

''What the...? What are you doing here?'' she queried Fiend as she rose to her feet.

She dusted herself off and then folded her arms, expecting a response from the oaf who knocked her down.

''Me? I work here. More to the point, what the fuck are you doing here? This is no place for a girl,'' Fiend explained to her.

Fiend chuckled as he watched a fire light up in her eyes. Her arms unfolded and her hands turned into fists as she let those words roll around inside her head.

''No place for a girl? What the fuck you know about me to think I couldn't hack it here?'' she asked Fiend.

He shrugged, his hand began to rub the back of his head as though he didn't want to bring something up.

''Uh... hate to remind you, but you probably forgot that I knocked your ass out when we were wrestling. So, I'd hate to see what a fist would do to you,'' he told her.

Her jaw gaped open as he mentioned their past in Action! Wrestling. She shook her head and grabbed the front of his Token Weed shirt, pulling him into her face.

She had a fire in her belly and she would not be afraid to give Fiend a taste.

''That was ANGEL Dawson, not Angelica,'' she informed him.

He grabbed her around her wrist and pulled it off of his shirt, throwing it by her side. He side stepped as though he were about to leave.

''Look, I'd love to stay and reminisce about old times but I've got myself a fight for tonight. So, sweet cheeks, I'll see ya ano-''

Fiend was interrupted.

By a punch from Angelica Dawson. It nailed him right on the cheek bone and pushed his head to one side.

His hand came up and he held his cheek as he turned to face her again. He grinned.

''Why don't we fight then, cowboy?'' she asked Fiend.

He rubbed his cheek as he began to chuckle.

''Sorry, sweet heart,'' Fiend told her. ''I don't hit girls.''

He turned and he made his way up the hall, rubbing his cheek staring blankly ahead. The sting was fresh and his cheek bone was red.

Angelica Dawson turned around with a ''hmpf'' and a ''pfft'' before heading off around the corner.

But at the moment, two names – highlighted with red ink – stared back up at Campbell, burning his eyes and making his blood boil.

Nikki Carlson.

Renee Storm.

Together, they made up Woman’s Intuition. And as much as he didn’t want to believe it, they were the Team Champions. A division Joe took pride in, because no woman had tainted it. Until now, of course. At pain IV, they did the unthinkable and claimed the Team Titles. Joe swore that he’d send wave after wave of challengers, to try and pry the titles from them. But as of yet, he hadn’t even managed to find a team he thought could do the job.

Suddenly, almost as if the Gods were messing with him, the door to his office opened, and in stepped the women of the hour.

“Hello, Joe!” Renee spoke up, smirking knowingly at the Asylum owner. Nikki Carlson was right behind her, also dressed casually.

Definitely not fighting attire, and Joe snarled bitterly, the sight of the Team Champions definitely got under his skin. Especially since he hadn’t been able to torture the newly-crowned champions like he said he would.

Renne & Nikki, on the other hand, were smiling smugly. They had every right to. First EVER women to win the Team Titles. An act that drove a dagger straight through the cold heart of Joe Campbell. In hindsight, maybe the Brit should have never even given Renee & Nikki contracts? He’s been through the problems of having women in a position of power before, in theAsylum. His wife, Michelle, also posed a problem until… she had a little accident.

“So, isn’t it a lovely night, Joe?”

“Yeah, bloody wonderful. A perfect night for you two to be out there, whoring ourselves, I suppose. Have you come to get a taste of my wonderful knobber?”

Joe chortled as he leaned back and put his feet on the table, watching as Nikki’s face told the story of disgust. Renee, however, stayed calm.

“I heard it’s the size of my thumb, Joe.”

Campbell’s smile vanished, just like that, as the two women giggled.

“So, what the hell are you doing here?”

“Oh, we just wanted to see if you found any opponents for us. Since, you know, we’re fighting champions. I remember you saying something about us having to earn our status as champions. But it’s already the second week, and we haven’t had the chance to show the world why we DESERVE these titles. What’s going on, Campbell?”

Pure, unadultered sarcastic arrogance from Renee Storm, as Nikki began staring at her title belt, stealing glances at Campbell to get him further pissed off. Surprisingly enough, Joe kept his cool and stretched his right hand out towards the roster sheet he had on his table.

He actually had an idea all planned out. “Ah, that. No wonder the two of you strutted in here, acting as if you’ve got bollocks the size of footballs – and I don’t mean the YANK football.

I’m not doubting you stupid cunts actually have bollocks, though, considering how shite you look. But anyways, you’ve got somewhat of a bloody lucky break. I’ve got to fucking find some new teams to bring in, to liven this place up. And that pretty much explains why the two of you have been shitting on your arses doing fuck all.”

Renne sniggered. Nikki yawned.

“How does that affect us, Joe?” Carlson snapped back, thoroughly enjoying the way Campbell was lamenting about the lack of competition for the Team Titles.

Little did she know.

“That affects you, twat, because I’ve had to turn to two blokes that I don’t particularly adore.” Joe spat out, looking down at his roster sheet.

At the two names highlighted in blue.

“But hey, SPLINK have been Champions before. I think they fucking deserve another shot, because for some reason, the Yanks demographic seems to like them.

So, next week. Splink versus You Stupid Cunts.

Now fuck off!”

Joe crushed the paper into a small ball and let it drop to the ground, guffawing as he did so. Renee and Nikki were stunned with what they’d just heard, and realised that they were now in serious trouble.

They were one week away from facing one of the best teams ever in the realm of fighting.

… What? No, not LoD!

Splink, baby. Splink.

Thurston Aubrey & Karen Pembridge vs Brothers Brown

And the crowd stood to their feet, waving their hands in the air. The ladies in the crowd took off their tops and compared how big their boobs were. OKAY, so that wasn't true. Instead, majority of the crowd stared blankly at the entrance, murmuring amongst themselves. Those of whom had photographic remembered who it belonged to cheered half-heartedly. Within seconds, Ordell and Ritchie Brown appeared from behind the curtains, ready to embark on a quest to prove their worth to Joe Campbell, and secure permanent status in theAsylum.

How were they supposed to do that? Rather simple, actually.

Eliminate the one they call Karen Pembridge. A victory here, over Karen and the hippie Joe hates -- Thurston Aubrey -- would definitely put the Brothers Brown in Campbell's good graces. In a way, they WERE selling out, to ensure their future, however long of it they had left, in the industry. Ordell didn't quite care about what people thought, however. He and his brother had succeeded without stopping and listening to the comments their critics and their fanbase had to say.

If it ain't broken, why fix it?

Ritchie was unchanged, still donning his sleeveless black tanktop with blue jeans and black sneakers. Ordell had simply done away with his top, and was actually discussing strategy with his older brother as the brotherly tandem climbed the apron and walked through the cage door, into the famed Asylum cage. It'd been a long time for the Brothers Brown, and they were hoping that months of rest and recuperation would have done 'em some good. Ordell especially had garnered an appetite to maim someone, and badly. He was hoping for a quick and easy victory.

But as the Brothers Brown's theme song died down, another song started up.

One you might have thought you'd never EVER hear in theAsylum.

Hello?
Is there anybody in there?

Just nod if you can hear me.
Is there anyone home?

The mellow lyrics of "Comfortably Numb" by Pink Floyd blared over the speakers, and a slightly more vocal response was churned out for the man deemed as The Pacifist. Thurston Aubrey appeared from behind the curtains and slowly walked down the ramp, brandishing the PEACE handsign to the fans. Not many knew what to make of Thurston, who was decked only in his faded blue jeans and black boots, but after seeing him in his fight with Carson Nash the previous week, the verdict on The Pacifist was out.

He could fight, and he had better fight if he was partnering the British Lassie.

Thurston Aubrey stopped short of the apron, choosing to stand outside and look in at his opponents. Ordell Brown sniggered and leaned over to whisper over his brother, as if to indicate that Aubrey was the one they could really pummel and hammer. Thurston gave them the PEACE sign and turned around, directing his gaze to the entrance. He was obviously waiting for his partner before entering the cage. Truth was, he had no idea who she was.

He was about to find out, as the lights dimmed.

Then, "Unreal" by Soil.

The spectators now stood to their feet and began cheering their hearts out. They knew who the Lassie was. They knew what the Lassie could do. Hence, the rapturous response. After her victory the previous week, Karen Pembridge declared that she'd set her sights on attaining the Asylum Championship. One might be inclined to think that Joe Campbell would do anything to ensure Karen didn't do that. He remembered the entire saga with Nerva, and he hated it.

Karen was different from Nerva, though, in many ways. But Campbell was not going to risk it.

He simply couldn't.

Sit back, bare your cross to me.
Oh won't I listen?
God damn, have I burned my hands?
On what's been missing?
I feel... unreal...
Everytime I try and stop to feel.
Pick me up, my friend...
Let me start again.

You fucked with me...
Behind this garden.
Don't fuck with...

MEEEEEE!!

Out she came, to an even bigger chorus of cheering. The Lassie grinned as she strode down the ramp with a purpose. To begin her preparation. After all, not just anybody could go up to the Asylum Champion, challenge him, have the challenge accepted, then go on to beat him. One had to be absolutely prepared, mentally and physically. Pembridge simply saw this fight as a genuine chance to kick-off her preparation, even if she was unsure about what her partner could bring to the dance.

Speaking of whom, Thurston gave Karen the PEACE sign as the Lassie reached the bottom of the ramp, drawing a surprised frown from her. She quickly forgot about that, though, and leaned in towards Thurston. It was their turn to discuss strategy, with the Brothers Brown pacing about impatiently in the cage, wanting to get the fight underway. Thurston nodded, seemingly understanding everything that the Manucian Girl was telling him, which somewhat comforted Karen.

Then, with their little conference over, Thurston and Karen raced forward and jumped into the cage.

* DING DING DING *

Ordell grinned and barked at his brother to charge forward, which Ritchie did. Only to get tackled to the mat by Karen, who then straddled the oldest member of the Asylum roster and began striking him with vicious forearm shots to the throat. Ordell, meanwhile, saw his clothesline ducked by Thurston, who then proceeded to put his hands up as the younger member of the Brothers Brown tandem turned and advanced on him. Obviously, Ordell was confused.

Thurston Aubrey, meanwhile, was acting all calm and cool.

"Hey dude, we don't have to fight, man. We could walk out right now and get some beers, and I could tell you my message. Instead of getting all sweaty here and stuff. What do you say, dude?"

Ordell blinked.

Then he laughed.

Then he lunged forward, taking Thurston by surprise and knocking him down with a tremendous right hook! Aubrey grunted as his head hit the canvas, but he collected his marbles in time to catch the right foot of Ordell Brown's, which the latter was bringing down on the hippie's head. From his grounded position, Thurston could easily strike with a low-blow to Ordell, but he hestitated, that thing called compassion that inside of him rearing its ugly head again.

So, what did Ordell do?

*CRUNCH*

He dropped his left knee down onto Thurston's face! Aubrey yelped out in agony, and Ordell Brown laughed again as he began to unload a barrage of punches on The Pacifist, causing a small laceration underneath Thurston's right eye. The latter tried to get his hands up to block the mountain of fists raining down of him... but alas, to no avail.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the cage, Karen Pembridge had grown wreary of her ground strikes of Ritchie Brown and pulled him up to his feet, only to get a powerful gut punch for her troubles. The former IOW & FZ stalwart managed to deftly sidestep a swift jab from Ritchie, retaliating with a roundhouse into his upper abdominals. One that caused the older Brother Brown to double over, almost dropping to one knee even. This put a smirk on Karen's face and an idea in her head. So much so that the Lassie took a couple of steps backwards and startled fans, effortlessly jumping onto the rim of the cage and balancing herself there for a second.

Before taking flight, driving an elbow into the back of Ritchie Brown's head, knocking him down to the canvas!

"KAREN ROCKS~!"
"KAREN ROCKS~!"
"KAREN ROCKS~!"
"KAREN ROCKS~!"

A simple move to the Lassie, but with quite a devastating effect. Karen cracked her neck as she stared down at Ritchie Brown, who -- to his credit -- was actually trying to scrap his way back up to his feet. Pembridge quickly kicked him in the right shoulder, before getting on her knees and locking in somewhat of a front facelock. Getting her upper-body pushing down on Ritchie's spine, while she began to fire close-range shots to the side of the senior citizen's ribs.

Back on the other side of the cage, Ordell Brown had finally pulled Thurston Aubrey up and was repeatedly kicking him in the shin, retaining his intensity as he did so. Aubrey actually had an opening to retaliate but he was in too much pain as Ordell stopped to take a breather. That allowed the younger Brown Brother to strike Thurston with a wild forearm shot, which knocked the Hippie into the cage wall, his bare back making unprotected contact with the rim of the cage! Ordell saw this as a possible opportunity to eliminate Thurston, thus attaining the victory.

So, he took one step forward, and lashed out with a powerful uppercut.

*POW~!*

Amidst the searing pain, Thurston's tongue rolled around in his mouth, to discover that one of his teeth had actually been lodged loose. Something stirred inside The Pacifist, and suddenly, his eyes burned with rage. Ordell was taken aback by this, and it cost him, for Aubrey's right arm came hurtling at him, crashing into his face with some force, resembling something out of a car wreck! Ordell Brown staggered backwards as the crowd went wild, glad that Thurston had finally gotten in on the act. With a new sense of urgency, Thurston dived forward, gritting his teeth as he unleashed somewhat of a jumping pump kick at Ordell. It connected cleanly, catching Ordell in the chest and sending him to his knees, gasping for air.

And suddenly, that was it.

Thurston's shoulders drooped, and the crazed look in his eyes disappeared. The conflicting and mixed emotions swept into his head again, and he looked down at Ordell Brown, almost ashamed and remorseful of what he'd done. A collective groan from the crowd summed up exactly what they felt of this. Thurston's compassion had gotten the better of him last week, and as a result, the pompous jackass named Carson Nash trounced him.

"I'm so sorr..."

*POW~!*

Thurston didn't even get to finish his apology, as Ordell Brown leapt up and drove his right fist into Aubrey's jaw, sending him to the ground! Aubrey growled as his body came crashing down to the canvas, and purely out of instinct, he lashed out with his left leg, catching Ordell Brown in the shin. That was enough to send the latter down to his knees again, and Thurston took advantage of this, sloppily slamming the side of his right foot into the side of Ordell's head. Sloppy, yet effective, as the younger Brother Brown collapsed to the canvas. Thurston wheezed, trying to get some oxygen into his body as he reached back and used the rim of the cage to pull himself.

Concurrently, across the cage, a striptease was in order.

Well, no. Having brought Ritchie up with the front facelock still in place, Karen stopped her flurry of punches and draped her right arm across Ritchie's spine, trying to overhook the right shoulder of the older Brother Brown for a possible submission move. Ritche was having none of that, though, and he countered by firstly driving his knee into the pelvis of the Lassie, catching her by surprise. That was followed up by wriggling Karen's right arm from off his back, seconds before a punishing uppercut struck the Manucian Girl.

But, the front facelock was still cinched in tight.

So, Ritchie did the next best thing and plowed ahead, eventually crashing Karen into the cage wall, before executing a masterful fallaway northern lights slam! The crowd jeered and hissed at Ritchie Brown, who had somewhat of a goofy smile as he regained his vertical balance. Raising his right arm in the air only brought on more hateful jeering, but Ritchie simply shrugged and waddled towards Karen Pembridge. Who was quietly recovering, and plotting her next move.

In the end, it was rather spontaneous. Once Ritchie got close enough, Karen half-rolled on her back and threw her legs up in the air, wrapping them around Ritche's ribs and making sure she got 'em wrapped tight, before she thrust her legs forward. Lifting poor Ritchie Brown off his feet and somersaulting in mid-air, before crashing down to the canvas in spectacular fashion! A round of applause was generated from the crowd, but Karen Pembridge wasn't quite down. She kipped up to her feet and hopped from foot to foot, waiting for Ritchie Brown to pull himself and face her.

Once he did just that, Karen leaped over his head in a rather astounding dupla which was essentially a capoeria defense tactic. Ritchie was confused, and the crowd were enthralled by the little bit of showboating from the Lassie. The best was yet to come, however; once she landed, the Manucian Girl wasted no time in slapping on a rear waistlock on Ritche Brown, before showing amazing strength to lift him off the ground...

... And planted him down to the canvas face-first, in a back-to-front suplex!

"KAREN ROCKS~!"
"KAREN ROCKS~!"
"KAREN ROCKS~!"
"KAREN ROCKS~!"

Ritchie Brown was pretty much out cold, seeing stars flutter above him. The official, a mere spectator throughout the entire fight thus far, was about to administer the count. But Karen turned to him and commanded him to NOT count. Instead, she turned around and rubbed her neck with her right hand, slowly inching her way towards the other side of the cage.

Where, ad interim, Thurston Aubrey was continuing to reluctantly hammer the recovering Ordell Brown with overhand forearm shots, cringing everytime he did so. Muttering to himself, trying to find it in his heart to forgive himself. The Pacifist soon found Ordell striking back with a gut bunch, before the younger Brother Brown grabbed the Hippie's hair and drove Thurston's head down onto his head! A bonecrushing move, that only got the crowd incensed again. Thurston was officially in la-la land and he staggered backwards, his spine colliding with the cage wall again.

Ordell Brown got to his feet and took a few steps backwards, wanting to end the fight then and there.

But he'd backpedalled a bit too far. Just as he stopped and prepared to charge at Aubrey, Karen spun him around and tried to clock him with a wild swing. Somehow, Ordell Brown ducked and cursed at the sight of his brother laid out on the canvas. Karen was surprised and swiftly turned on her heels, aiming a sweeping roundhouse kick at Ordell. Who again ducked underneath it, and roared as he aimed to blindside the Lassie with a clothesline.

It never materialised.

Karen Pembridge caught his left arm and yanked it down, almost as if she was going for an armbar. But she stopped midway and brought her left knee up, driving it into Ordell's face. His body twisted backwards, and Karen quickly slid from Ordell's left side to his right, cinching in a waistlock and lifting him up into the air, before backpedalling at a furious rate...

... And dropping the younger Brown Brother on his head. ON THE RIM OF THE CAGE!

*CRUNCHHHH*

Sickening, yes. But instead of easily pushing Ordell out of the cage, Karen brought him back down to the canvas, with the waistlock still intact. Thurston Aubrey, who'd slumped down after Karen interjected herself, had arisen and caught Pembridge's eyes. She nodded at him, encouraging the Hippie to also slap on the waistlock, only from the other side. The Pacifist hesitated, before the movement of one Ritchie Brown caught his eye.

So, he did it.

And, with their combined strength... Karen Pembridge & Thurston Aubrey lifted Ordell Brown up in the air, and spilled him out of the cage with a double fallaway backdrop suplex.

The crowd exploded with cheers, and the official rang for the bell. The unlikely pairing of Karen and Aubrey had managed to beat the seasoned veterans. Karen raised her arm in the air, acknowledging the crowd's support and jubilation, while Thurston continued to stare at the beaten lifeform of Ordell Brown. The compassion had crept back into him, and he pursed his lips, somewhat detesting himself for doing what he just did.

"You're a weird one, mate. But, thanks anyways."

With those words, Karen Pembridge exited the cage, greeted by the sight of her friend Gina walking down the ramp and clapping. Grinning, the Lassie met her friend at the bottom of the ramp, and the two women put their arms around one another, returning to the back. Thurston Aubrey quietly exited the cage via the mesh door and shuffled down the aisle, his hands in his pockets, and millions of thoughts swirling about in his head.

As for Ritchie Brown?

He collapsed back down to the canvas, exhausted.

Realising that it'd take more effort to secure the Brothers Brown a future in theAsylum.

I have scars on my body
From using myself
Abusing myself
In sickness and in health
I have bruises on my body
Which go away with time but remain in my mind forever
As a constant reminder
Of the last man I loved

As she turned up "Scars" by My Ruin, she let herself absorb the music and get lost in her own mind. What was her purpose in the Asylum? It wasn't to gain a fan base. She could care less about the fans liking her. Was it to make friends outside of the cage? No, sometimes she preferred being alone. She was there to hurt people. When she was in the tournament last February and faced Venoma Star, she knew that's where she wanted to be. No, not on the opposing end of a Vaginal Claw. But she wanted to stay in the cage. She loved the raw violence. The pure spirit of the fighting. Sle loved influcting pain and, in some sick way, she loved getting hurt.

Angelica had gotten into her little zone when there was a knock at the door.

"Suddenly I heard a tapping, as of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door." Angelica whispered to herself as she made her way to the door. She grabbed the doorknob and turned it, opening the door. As soon as the door opened, she was met with an...interesting sight, to say the least.
Santos Salvatore was standing at the door with a wheelbarrow full of pamphlets.

"Glad I caught you! I have some things for you."

Angelica looked at him as if he had a horn on his head. What the hell was this guy's problem? Santos wheeled the barrow in the door and tipped it, emptying its contents into a pile in the middle of Angelica's locker room.

"What the..." Angelica made her way to the pile and grabbed one of the pamphlets. She looked at the title of it.
Cutting Is Not The Answer
"This isn't what I need right around now."

"Now Angelica, I know you're wondering why I'm here. Well, I'm here to help you out of this depression. Why? because I know what it's like. I've been there. But there's only one thing I don't know about. Why do you have to kill the pain by cutting yourself? In fact, in that pamphlet you have in your hand, there's a mov--"

Smack.

Angelica landed a hard slap right on the side of Santos' face. As he took time to recover, she moved in and started punching at him. He tried to block her, but a well-placed kick to Santos' fun bits gave her a large advantage. She then kicked the one place that hurt more than a shot to the pills. His right shoulder.
Santos howled in pain as Angelica kicked at his shoulder repeatedly.

"I DON'T NEED YOUR HELP! LEAVE ME ALONE!" She yelled at him as her assault on his previously injured shoulder continued. Angelica reached down, grabbing him the arm attached to his injured shoulder, and dragged him out of her locker room. She turned and went back in her locker room, shoving all the pamphlets back into the wheelbarrow. She wheeled it out and dumped the pamphlets right on top of Santos, slightly burying him under them.

"This isn't your battle. Stay out of it."

Slam.

“Come in, come in.” he said, motioning with his hands.

The door creaked open, and in walked the one man Joe had least expected. The newest member of his roster.

Lacey.

“Mr. Campbell. I was, I was just looking at the schedule for tonight, and I noticed you hadn’t listed me in any of the matches.” Joe listened as Lacey spoke, surprised to hear he didn’t sound like such a pussy and sounded much surer of himself.

“Well, I guess, fuck, I guess I didn’t really think you wanted to fight.”

“Why would I join and not fight?”

“I don’t know what you fags do, maybe it’s a metrohomowhateversexual thing and you just wanted to be trendy.” Campbell said with a laugh.

“I told you, I’m not gay. I’m just here to fight. I want to toughen up.” Lacey replied, trying not to be discouraged by Joe’s demeanor.

“Oh oh, sure. Just as long as you know getting worked over here isn’t the same as in your bedroom.” Joe looked at Carson Nash as he said this and smiled.

Nash chuckled, and Thanh said nothing.

“I just need a match Mr. Campbell.”

“Well first you need a proper name. I mean, I can’t really book you without a fucking name eh?” Joe winked at Carson.

“I’ve been thinking about that, how about Poet? I always wanted to be one…”

“What’s that? Faggot? Perfect name.” Joe smirked and Nash gave him a big thumbs up.

“No. I said POET.”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard you. Fine. Whatever…” Joe waved his hand at Poet, “Now just close the door on your way out will you?”

“What about my match?” Poet asked, more annoyed now.

“Oh… Oh right. So sorry about that. You’ll be fighting Carson here, and well, I’m even more sorry about that.”

Carson gave Joe a look of death, “Oh fuck no.”

“Oh come on Nash, you stand around Thanh all day, what’s one more faggot?”

Thanh gave Joe the death look now.

“Oh fuck the both of you. Nash Vs. Poet. Now leave me the fuck alone.”

Poet walked from the office as Carson continued to look pissed at Joe, and Thanh smiled.

Carson crossed his arms, and mumbled to himself, “This sucks…”

Angelica Dawson has that idea. After what happened with Santos earlier that night, she decided to head out before the show ended. Why should she stay around anyways? It's not like she had a match. It's not like she mattered much to what was happening for the rest of the event. In fact, did she even matter in the first place? As she walked down the sidewalk with her duffel bag slung over her shoulder, she was wondering if she'd even be missed in Hell. How much did her co-workers think of her? Did Joe just have her there in hopes of her playing a tune on his skin flute? Whatever the reasoning was, she was pretty convinced she wasn't worth the trouble.

So, being the person she is, she wanted to end everybody's worrying.

She saw a car coming down the street. Pretty fast, she'd say.

She stepped out into the middle of the road and turned to the speeding car. She lowered her head and breathed deeply. This is what she needed.

"Why have you rejected us forever, O God? Why does your anger smolder against the sheep of your pasture?"

The car honked. Tires screeched. A body hit the ground.

Covered by another body.

Angelica slowly opened her eyes, expecting to see a bright white light. Instead, what she saw was Santos Salvatore holding her on the sidewalk. He had tackled her down so the car would not hit her.

How dare he.

"What...the fuck...are you thinking?" Angelica glared at him as he stood up and extended his hand to help her up. She knocked his hand away and stood up, dusting off her black pants.

"You don't want to be doing that." Santos looked at Angelica as she picked her duffel bag back up.

"I want to be with him. I'll do whatever it takes."

Silence.

"You need to move on, Angelica."

What did he say?

"What did you just say?"

Angelica dropped her duffel bag and glared at Santos.

"You have to move on."

Angelica kicked Santos in the stomach and he doubled over. She grabbed him by the head and threw him onto the hood of a car, watching him slide up and through the windshield. Blood stained the broken shards of glass as the car alarm sounded.

"I HAVE TO BE WITH HIM! I HAVE TO! YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT IT'S LIKE, MOTHERFUCKER! You don't know...you don't know."

Angelica fell to the ground and started crying beside the car, its alarm still blaring loudly as Santos remained motionless in a growing pool of his own blood.

“Uhh, didn’t I just give you a match? You’re supposed to be in the ring, twat.”

Carson nodded. “Yeah, but uhm, I thought me and Thanh needed some time together.”

Joe gave a blank stare...the kind of stare that basically expressed ‘WHAT THE FUCK?’

“Uhh, Nash, here’s the thing...I uhm, I said you were bloody TAG TEAM partners...I meant out in the cage...” Joe said and nodded.

The crowd laughed. Carson breathed in hard but he knew not to do anything to the man, because 1. Campbell would fire him. 2. Campbell would kill him...and after reason #2, he wouldn’t be able to give any more reasons.

“Haha, funny, Joe, very.”

“I know, I’m a fuckin’ funny guy.”

Nash nodded his head in agreement.

“Anyways, Thanh, I’m about to go out and fight Poet, and I’ll get another win, just like I did against Thurston Aubrey last week. You saw that ehh, didn’t you my little small penis friend?”

Joe and Carson looked at each other and laughed. Thanh rolled his eyes and shook his head yes.

“Impressive, eh?”

Thanh gave a blank stare...

And he kept staring...

And staring...

And staring...

“WHAT THE FUCK!? Answer me when I talk to you, cock.”

Thanh raised an eyebrow and shook his head no.

“No? What the hell do you mean no? Mother fucker I oughtta...”

But Joe Campbell interrupted.

“Ahh, shut the fuck up, twat. Haven’t you got a match to go to?”

Nash stopped his rambling and turned around. He looked back once more and said “You watch this, Thanh” and walked out the door.

Asylum official, Christopher Wojekins, was shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He was wandering around in the arena, happy that he was getting paid for doing absolutely nothing, although his gut instincts told him that he'd be fired soon. He'd happened to stumble by a room with a door that was slightly ajar. It was rare, in an arena housing an Asylum event, to see any room open like that. And then, he saw the sign on the door. He couldn't believe it. The 28 year old bachelor simply could not believe his awesome luck.

FREE THERAPY SESSIONS was printed on the poster, in bold. With pink fairies underneath. For over 15 years now, Christopher Wojekins was an emotionally unbalanced man, for many various reasons. He found it hard to fit in. One fine day, he decided to go out for a walk, and found himself auditioning to become an Asylum official. The task? To stand perfectly still with an apple on your head, while Joe Campbell aimed a gun at the apple. If you lived to tell the story, the job would be offered. Somehow, Christopher didn't die.

And that's the story of how Wojekins became an Asylum official.

Nevertheless, his life was a disaster. No social life at all, no prospects of advancement. None of the other officials even liked him or greeted him. He was the absolute outcast. Not to mention his awful luck with barbers; they always managed to screw up his haircut, even with specific instructions. Chris had a theory that even the barbers hated him, to the extent of purposefully giving him a retarded cut.

He was correct, actually.

In any case, a chance at being able to disclose how insecure and how unstable he felt without having to pay to get advice in return seemed like a dream come true for Chris. The only reason he wasn't already in therapy was because of the astronomical bills the therapists would send out. Chris knew this, because his MOTHER -- who also hated him -- was in therapy.

Hence, the reason he was sitting across Natalie Quinston, who was biting her lower lip in order to keep from falling asleep. She hadn't envisioned a loser like Wojekins to come in for therapy; according to Fejona, the FIGHTERS were supposed to take a respite from their busy lives and engage in a little soul-searching. Instead, Quinston had to be stuck tending to the messed-up life of one Christopher Wojekins.

"W-Well, I have another problem. Y-Y-You see, I'm a virgin. I tried to ask my mom if I could take a look at her pussy one day because I was s-s-so desperate, and needed to see what a real p--pussy looked like. I've only ever seen videos and pictures on the Internet. S-S-So yeah, my mother kicked me out of the house. I now live under bridges, since I don't actually have m-m-money to buy a real home."

Blinking, Natalie looked over her shoulder, at the clock.

"OKAY, that's all the time I have for you today, Christopher. I'm sorry we can't carry on, but please do visit me tomorrow at... uhh, well, just go to that Chinese restaurant on McDuff Street around six in the evening. I'll be there, and we can talk again. Absolutely free-of-charge!" Natalie quickly rambled, sensing that Wojekins would ask her to show him HER... genitials.

Which wasn't ever going to happen.

Christopher's face lit up like a Christmas tree, and he got up wanting to shake Natalie's hand. Quinston ignored it and went straight for the door, opening it. She forced herself to smile warmly at Wojekins as he waddled out of her 'office', before she slammed the door shut.

That was a complete disaster!

Natalie shook her head in disgust at what the cat had dragged in, before she returned to her seat and plopped herself down. An already long and tiresome day was beginning to look as if it may never end. Quinston was looking forward to the second where her head would hit the bed of her hotel room, resulting in a snorefest that'd result in her waking up many hours later, in the afternoon. It'd been some time, however, since Natalie Quinston's body allowed her to sleep for so many hours. She was usually up by eleven, no matter at what time she turned in.

Then again, she'd never felt more tired in her entire life.

She closed her eyes and thought about the last time she did this. This whole therapy thing. Quinton May was his name, and there was so much at stake with him. That saga didn't end well for Natalie, and was what ultimately led her to the sanctity of obscurity. Which, eventually, led to that fateful meeting with Fejona Min. And the rest, as the saying go, was history. A deal was struck, one that'd see the two beauties work together for some time.

Right about now, Natalie cursed at Fejona, who was in the next room tending to matters of her business. The Obstinate Assassin cared a lot about her work and had undertaken a much more behind-the-scenes role, which gave her more free time. That was devoted to her new sideline gig. A risky business, but it was fresh and profitable. So far, at least, as far as the last point was concerned. Their clientele had soared to frightening numbers over a matter of days, and Fejona knew she'd once again struck gold.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Roused from her little nap, Natalie's eyes fluttered open and she clambered up from her seat, arranging herself to make sure she was presentable looking, purely out of instinct. Then she remembered she wasn't a full-time therapist anymore and grinned, walking to the door to tend to whoever was behind it.

"Yes, do come in!" Natalie remarked cheerily, the sight of a woman surprising her.

The woman, dressed as casually as humanly possible, grinned wryly and cautiously stepped into the office. Almost as if she had doubts of even being there in the first place. But considering that she really had nothing going for her in her tenure thus far in theAsylum, save for the new friend she'd made last week, Heather Vergas decided that she'd engage in a session of self-disclosure. With what was on her mind and the nature of the family she had to live with, Heather figured she could definitely use some.

Not that the couple of chats over the past week weren't fruitful. Vergas, however, simply had the burning desire to spill her guts to someone she didn't know. It was a weird feeling, yes. Completely insane, some might argue. But that was the reason of therapy. To confide in a person you don't even know. Believe it or not, it can be quite... analeptic and overly beneficial in the long run.

Seating herself down, Heather crossed her legs -- right over leg -- and placed her hands below her thighs. Her inquisitive eyes darted around the office, the nervousness still inherent. The notion of theAsylum having a therapist seemed very odd to Vergas, but she figured there had to be a reasonable explanation behind it. Natalie closed the door and took a rather long look at a particular plant as she ambulated back to her seat, picking up her notepad as she sat her rear down on the rather beaten-up couch that Fejona had stolen from some sod's room. She smiled again at Heather, who cleared her throat, wanting to get the session underway.

"So, what's your name?" queried Natalie as she put pen to pad.

Vergas replied confidently, "I'm Heather Vergas. A new Asylum fighter, actually, but I haven't gotten into the swing of things. Just been roaming around."

In the next room, Fejona's ears burned, and she could not believe what she'd just heard. She picked up the earpiece and placed it over her right ear, the Cambodian's eyes dancing with delight and anticipation. She absolutely loved it when she was right about something, and the Obstinate Assassin HAD claimed that Heather was one who was harbouring secrets. A new instant message alerted her focus back to her laptop, but Fejona set herself on away mode and turned the screen off, leaning back in her chair.

Back in the 'office', Natalie made sure she didn't portray herself as being startled and bowed down, nodding her head as she started to scribble on her notepad. Heather Vergas didn't feel reassured by the lack of a response from Natalie, who finally raised her head and locked eyes with her new 'patient'.

"I guess you must be wondering why theAsylum has a therapist, right?"

Heather smiled sheepishly and nodded her head, drawing a highly fake chuckle from Quinston.

"My name's Brittany Stone. Joe Campbell hired me because he felt that morale in this organisation was at an all-time low. True, he doesn't really care about his fighters being emotionally stable, because half of the people he's hired are absolute nutcases. But, he does want his fighters to perform in the cage. Trust me when I say that whatever you tell me stays between the two of us. I will not report anything to Joe Campbell.

I'm simply here to help. That's what I do, help the helpless. Those in need of help."

With those simple yet reassuring words, Heather Vergas felt completely at ease. She was none the wiser. She didn't even know that 'Brittany Stone' was actually Natalie Quinston. Had she stuck around longer, during the earlier confrontation with Fejona Min, Heather wouldn't even be leaning forward, the calm look on her face suggesting that she felt secure enough to get some things off her... rather... appealing chest.

I wonder if I can get nominated for an Oscar...

"Well, I suppose that makes sense.

What isn't, however, is my little problem. You see..."

In the next room, Fejona Min quietly laughed to herself. She clenched the fist and punched the air, jubilant that the experiment was finally taking off. And with the person she wanted to know more about too. Looking at up the ceiling, Fejona started having visions of the amount of money that'd be raked in from conning the fighters within theAsylum. None of them would catch on to this scam. Well, some could, but she'd already been crafting plans to make the experiment foolproof.

For now, there was only one word on Fejona's lips.

"Success!"

Enter Osyrus: After ‘The Personification of Talent’ succumbed to ‘Superstar’ Vince Jacobs in his action-packed ACW swansong, the environment in which he made a name for himself, he joined Joe Campbell’s company and has set about increasing his stock value in a very aggressive manner.

He saw potential in John C. Willis, a former Fighting Zone Champion, and isolated the Indiana native from his cohort in crime, Michael D’Alessandro, so that the ex-Spawned Terror would swear his allegiance to him. The union of both the omnipotent force and maniacal brilliance held to potential to eventually upend the influence of one Joseph Campbell….except for one long-standing discrepancy:

The inability to project fear into the hearts of his fallen brethren

Upon numerous occasions, Osryus and Willis, would ultimately find their appointed missions derailed by the cumbersome presence of these individuals, among others. Failure to eliminate these problems would ultimately lead to dissension and distrust amongst the ranks, leading Willis’s credibility to be attributed more as an ‘unwelcome liability‘…according to Osryus at least, and he’s not the only ally that has infuriated the two-time ACW World Champion.

At pAin, ‘The Anti-social Hero’ tangled with Damon D. Jackson throughout the course of the card. It was clear that Omar was setting his stall out and making an example of Jackson. He demands high standards, not only from himself but those around him, and his highly-fuelled brawl with Damon was an evident example of that. In the end, Osryus would be left unconscious, accompanied by the agony of defeat.

During his disagreement with Eddie Cheno, John appeared to distance himself from the group and has secretly craved that for a while now. He had almost forgotten what it was like to be a loner. It’s not that bad after all…but life goes on…

Momentarily, the mammoth isn’t alone. Damon, who returned a few minutes ago, didn’t acknowledge his supposed colleague in crime and is delving through his bag desperately in search of something or other.

"Damon…"

No answer. Willis wasn’t a hard man to miss, one of the largest on the roster in fact, yet Jackson decided to ignore him in search of the elusive object, whatever it maybe, that he couldn’t locate.

Once again, John attempted to break the ice with DDJ but he wasn’t interested in any small talk at the minute. Willis wondered if he ever would be though. He was trapped in a faction full of people who wanted to tell him what to but who weren’t bothered for one second about what he wanted from them, what he had to say or what he thought about the whole Brittany Spears situation and whether he would have agreed to have it annulled or took the tart for everything she’s got.

"Damon, can I speak to you for…"

"Fuck you, dawg. Go play somewhere else, nigga. I’m busy.”

By this point, Jackson was irritated due to his failure to find his target and the repetitive rambling on the other side of the room and he turned around, confident of closing the Kokomo Colossus’ mouth for a few minutes, he immediately began to wish he hadn’t...

WHAM!!!

One hellacious Head Butt later and DDJ was in two places at once. Not only was he pressed up against the wall, firmly on the back foot, but away with the fairies given the shock and force of the Beast’s ‘noggin’ knocking him for six.

Notwithstanding, he regained his bearings rapidly to say the least as soon as he saw an item, not the one he had hoped to find, in John’s massive paw…

A knife.

A big fuck-off one at that.

Jackson was extremely sober now and the man-mountain moved in to demonstrate his superiority. John squeezed his opposite number’s cheeks with a clenched grip and towered over him with the ominous object pointing down, poised to lacerate DDJ, if he enraged the Indiana native at all. Christ, I can understand his frustration but did John really need to do this just to extract a reply from someone?

"Man, git the fuck off me!"

This was the side that supporters hadn’t really witnessed of Willis. Too many, and probably rightly so, assume that he had deteriorated into a gentle giant. Those presumptions, along with Damon, would be destroyed if he opted to employ the knife though wouldn’t they?

He moved closer, breathing down the neck of the bewildered Jackson, and crouched down in order to gaze directly at Damon. Jackson's trembling wrist would be his saving grace from a severed thyroid.

"Are you going to listen to me now?"

DDJ didn’t answer until John rested his left arm against Jackson’s jaw and positioned the knife so it was hovering ever so closely to the throat and, finally, Willis’ wish was granted:

"What the fuck your ugly ass want with me, man?"

On that note, the knife inched away from the voice box and while it was a sigh of relief Damon’s dilemma was by no means over. He knew, looking at the intensity of his eyes earlier on, that one wrong word could – and probably would – set the ex-Spawned Terror off.

"Good. It’s not just the last few minutes you haven’t been talking to me. It’s the last few months. You and Osryus think you’re above me, don’t you? I bet you don’t think that anymore, huh?"

That had to be a rhetorical question yet John wouldn’t know what one of them was if it bit him on the bum. Nonetheless, DDJ banked on the big man resuming his little rant and thankfully, for him at least, he did…

"I don’t give a fuck about neither one of ya‘ll bitches…."

"…Maybe I should have done this right away. Maybe you would have taken me more seriously. I don’t know. Let’s get John and fuck him over to the point he doesn’t know what he’s doing. Is that it? He doesn’t know any better. Well guess what? I do. Always have done."

Jackson was about to speak but didn’t even get the opportunity to do so as the Colossus covered his mouth with a calloused Forearm Strike to the teeth and sadistically stared at him prior to uttering the following words that would send a cold shiver down an average individual’s spine.

"Don’t struggle. I know what I’m doing. I’ve had sex this way more than once. You see they always try to struggle and they suffer for it. Women, ay? You pin them up against the wall, ready to give them what they want and they scream that they don’t want it.

Gnashing his teeth, Damon aggressively squinted his eyes to prevent the spittle from stinging his pupils.

"I always make them scream, Damon and I always give them what they want. They say that I didn’t listen to them, Damon. Is it any wonder when nobody will listen to me?"

John noticed that Jackson’s eyes, well even he couldn’t have missed it, quite literally bulged out of his head. Let me reiterate the point that he wasn’t drunk, stoned or disorientated. He was heavily breathing though, which is hardly surprising, while Willis was uncharacteristically cool, especially when you consider the circumstances. Perhaps he wasn’t lying when he mentioned that he had been down this avenue before.

"Oh. I get it. You think I’m going to rape you don’t you? That’s typical. We’re employed to fight, not think, yet you do anyway. You all do. My brother Keegan’s like that. He likes Fighting. Don’t get me wrong. But, to him, looking good and fucking women is more fun. Can you believe that? He thinks that the way to a woman’s heart is by telling her all kinds of shit. I say it’s through her fucking ass. I admit Sex isn’t totally different to Fighting. There is one difference though. Fighting’s better."

The friction of the blade, against Damon's neck, summoned a slight trickle of blood to surface.

"I’m not going to rape you Damon. Your ass isn’t ripe enough for a start."

Ordinarily, you would be disturbed to hear another man say that to you and Damon was no different in that sense. Nevertheless, he was also delighted that John, whose sexuality has been questioned on more than one occasion in the past, had no other funny business planned. Contending with a man who stands at 6’7” and tips the scales at over 300 pounds PLUS a knife was bad enough.

Suddenly, he backed off and held his arms out either side with a wry smile as if everything was okay now: "Come here and give me a hug…."

WHAM!

WHAM!

WHAM!

With his face buried underneath a pile of his mangy dreadlocks, Willis felt himself sliding against the concrete wall. Before reaching up to ease the throbbing pain from his busted lip and jaw, Damon began unloading with a number of Boots to the monster’s ribcage until Willis appeared to have stopped moving.

"Hug these, motherfucka…I’m through fucking with you faggot ass niggas."

No, Damon didn’t say that out loud. It’s probably a blessing that he didn’t lay claim to the knife, not to mention, preoccupied with other more pressing matters.

Intoxicated with sheer hostility, DDJ made his way back over toward his locker with the word ‘rape’ still ringing in his ears. If he didn’t proceed to hurry up and find his medication, he’d get cut to pieces anyway. Talk about a Catch 22 situation. From behind, DDJ heard the Kokomo giant stirring behind him. Slamming his locker door shut, Damon swiveled about to face him. His opposition shrugged off the effects of the damage yet remained standing with both arms fully extended outward.

"All I want is to make peace. That‘s it."

Jackson continued to meticulously monitor the heaving behemoth. Willis’s eyes mirrored ones similar to an innocent adolescent. The urge to bury his knuckles into his face continue to ebb silently away.

"All I need is a handshake and I’ll be out of your way…"

"……………………"

*sigh*

Willis’s welcomed the more precautious Jackson’s . He held his hands down at both sides and let John grab him like one might when someone eccentric greets them and they just play along. There was no way now he was going to properly embrace the behemoth now that he thought he’d been let off the hook…

Except he hadn’t. The malicious sneer, smeared across Willis’s lips, left Damon slow to react….

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

Quicker than you can spell ‘mistake’, the matter and mystery of where Willis had put the knife was unveiled as it came crushing down on the exposed palm of Jackson’s right hand and John kept it there despite Damon’s adamant fits of excruciating anguish.

Thereafter, he reverted to gagging Jackson again to erase the understandable agony in his voice while holding the weapon down on DDJ’s strongest mitt, which was bestowed with bucket loads of blood, prior to putting an arm around him and whispering into his left ear:
"Oops. What would you know? It slipped."

Feuled by the innate demand for retaliation, Damon sought to defend himself by converting to a Southpaw. His actions would be met with a staggering Right Hook followed by being grabbed by his neck and rapidity driven face first into the concrete wall. Each hallowed thud would leave their mark with an ever-growing vermilion splash pattern before choke slamming the Midwestern native through the locker room bench..

Eventually, he removed the dangerous article from the lacerated limb and began kicking and stomping his prey before leaving Damon painfully balled up in an awkward fetal position alone. Kneeling down, he used both his index and middle finger to bring forth a sample of Damon’s essence to his lips. Feverishly licking his lips, Willis used the bleeding gash to decorate himself with a crimson streak along his chin and over his right eyelid. His blood soaked mitts trembled with a perverse sense of euphoria.

"I swear on everything I know and…urk!"

DDJ’s words would be silenced with a hefty boot, placed firmly against his trachea. Weakened by the steady loss of blood and shock, Damon’s grip on his attacker’s boot began to diminish. The bulging of his eyes made evident that he was on the losing end of this battle. The pressure continued to mount until Damon peacefully succumbed to the encroaching state of unconsciousness.

There was no telling when the throbbing pain would go but at least the culprit was about to depart.

Either way, it could have been a lot better or worse.

Not for a second would DDJ have envisioned Willis snapping in the manner that he did and methodically, mentally and physically, torturing him. On the other hand, when he reflects on what could have been after the almost unbearable distress disappears, Damon D. Jackson will be grateful that it was his hand rather than the neck, throat or spine.

Ultimately, as Willis walks away without a care in the world, one lesson can be learned from this…

Nobody should ever ignore him again.

Nash vs. Poet

Against tA newcomer...

Poet.

Cursive’s “Driftwood: A Fairy Tale” began to play over the PA at the Jack Breslin Arena. The crowd in attendance cheered as the emo-looking “n00b” to tA, Poet, made his way to the ring. He looked a bit hesitant as he walked down the entrance way, but well, he better get ready because Cursive died down and the lights in the arena dimmed.

The words flashed on the screen and the gold pyro went off. The people sitting in the audience booed and they had all right too. From behind the curtain popped out cocky, arrogant, wrestler turned fighter, and Joe Campbell’s newest bitch...

“Untouchable” Carson Nash.

Nash walked down the isle, taunting fans who jeered him on his way. Nash slowly entered the cage and stared Poet down.

The bell sounded and ladies and gents, we’ve got ourselves a good ol’ fashioned slobber knocker right’chea.

“Untouchable” stared Poet down and circled the ring as Poet stood eyeing Nash, but not moving. Nash jumped at Poet to make the first strike but Poet side stepped him.

Nash caught his momentum and turned around only to be met by Poet’s stairs. Nash looked kind of confused, and some of the crowd booed wondering why Poet had not attacked the blonde-haired badass.

“Awww, what’s the matter? Little pussy doesn’t wanna fight?” Nash mocked Poet. He smirked and taunted the crowd a bit more. The reaction the fans gave was anything but positive but Nash didn’t care. Joe Campbell was paying him the big bucks, probably more than any of the people sitting watching the fight.

Nash had given Poet the perfect opportunity to strike but he didn’t.

“HEY! Poet! Quit being a little bitch.” A man in the crowd yelled.

Poet looked down and was met by a clothesline by Nash. The crowd booed as Nash cheapshotted Poet.

“It’s all fair in the Asylum, fags.”

Nash picked Poet up by the hair and shoved him into the cage. He closed his fist and began throwing punches to the midsection of Poet. Poet dropped to his knee and Nash kneed him in the nose.

“AHHH!” Poet screamed in pain, his nose had become swollen. Nash grabbed him by the hair and kicked him in the midsection. He wrapped his arm around his neck and sent Poet down with a DDT right on his head.

Poet’s head was beating probably faster than his heart. He rolled to the cage and tried pulling himself up but Nash kicked him in the gut again. He kneeled down and held his ribs as Nash taunted him.

“C’mon little fuckin’ emo fag, get the fuck up and fight you pussy bitch.”

Nash stood, waiting for Poet to get up and the crowd began chanting...

“Nash is homo!” *Clap-clap-clapclapclap*
“Nash is homo!” *Clap-clap-clapclapclap*
“Nash is homo!” *Clap-clap-clapclapclap*

Nash began to get irrate, and I mean, who wouldn’t with thousands of people chanting you were homosexual?

“SHUT THE FUCK UP! ALL OF YOU!” Nash screamed.

“Hey, you, mother fuckers, I’d suggest you shut the fuck up before I go out there, grab your girlfriends by the wrist, take her to my car which smells better then anything half of you dirty, poor fucks have ever smelt in your lives, and show her who’s the fag.”

Joe Campbell would have been proud of Nash’s threat...

But not of Nash’s inability to recognize an attack coming his way.

*WHACK*

The crowd popped. Poet had just knocked Nash down with a steel chair to the head. Poet looked disappointed with what he had done, but however, he had to do what he had to do to get the win. He dropped the chair and looked around.

“Crap.”

Poet began stomping away on Nash, who was still dizzy from the chair shot. Poet pulled “Untouchable” back to his feet as Nash staggered around the ring.

Poet could have struck...but...

He didn’t.

“What the hell?” a few people in the crowd yelled.

Nash shook his head and slowly gained his balance. When he could see straight, he saw Poet, standing in front of him, waiting to attack.

Poet went for a clothesline but “Untouchable” ducked under and caught him with a Russian Leg Sweep.

Poet began crawling away but Nash grabbed him by his hair and once more pulled him back up to his feet. He kicked him in the gut and once more connected with a DDT, this time, an Evenflow DDT.

The crowd booed. It was obvious they didn’t like it, but hmm, nothing they could do about it.

Unless someone pulled out a gun and had REALLY good aim...

*BOOM*

...

...

Just kidding. Does this look like the fWo? The Asylum does NOT support murder.

Okay, kidding, again.

Nash, however, shoved his motionless opponent, who’s head had taken a beating in the fight, into the cage. He dropped down and shoved Poet’s face into the cage.

He began kicking...

And this manuever had a special

Bulletproof.

And Poet lay there...the count began.

And on the count of 10, the bell rang.

Carson Nash was victorious, again.

You fight.

With her friend Gina gone off to get some refreshments, Karen rounded a corner and shuffled her feet, eager to get back to her locker-room and plop herself down on the bench to get some rest. Immediately, the recollection of some prick using her bathroom facilities earlier made her seethe with anger, and she clenched her fist. The man had ran out way too quickly for her, and he'd probably gone back home. The Lassie wouldn't find him on this night, but she swore she'd track him down next week, to teach him a couple of things.

One of them being how to break someone's nose.

As she finally dragged herself into the clearing that indicated her locker-room was not too far away, the Lassie set her eyes upon some guy struggling with his duffel bag, walking with a slight limp. He had some sort of faded black shirt on that didn't match with the rest of his clothes, almost as if he'd lost his original shirt and found a replacement in Joe Campbell's rubbish bin.

And suddenly, upon closer inspection...

"By jove, it IS that twat!"

The long, messy hair and the grimace on his face was enough to tell the Manucian Girl that the man she was looking at was indeed the man who she'd chased out of her locker-room earlier. Simpering sinisterly to herself, Karen found new vigour in her stride, and rushed over. Determined to get her share of revenge for the night. She wasn't as much angry as she was startled earlier on, but nevertheless, she was abashed that some uncouth COCKHEAD had stumbled into her room and helped himself to HER facilities.

And that cockhead was so going to pay.

Before long, she was right behind him, and could smell his deodorant. For some reason, she felt that he didn’t smell too bad; not like most men, anyways. But the stray thought didn't last too long, as she swung a harsh kick towards Kaid's right leg, easily taking his feet from under him. Kaid hit the floor with a very audible thud, with whatever air he could squeeze into his damaged lung easily being knocked out of them as he hit the deck.

“Fuck!”

It was all Kaid could muster out, really, before Karen laid another boot into his side. This wasn't exactly how he'd imagined his first night in the Asylum to go down like. Not in his wildest dreams.

"Who the sodding hell do you think you are?" the Lassie growled angrily, just about ready to lift her leg back to strike a third time. Kaid pushed himself long the floor to the closest wall, and managed to prop himself into a sitting position whilst clutching his chest. "I think I'm wasted."

The coughing started up for Kaid again, the taste of blood oozing its way back into his mouth. His reply caught Karen off guard. She was expecting some sort of profanity or something else as obviously stupid and macho. Most of the Asylum guys were like that; absolute wankers. This guy's tone of voice was completely different, though, and she had to admit at least he had a sense of humor.

"That looks bloody obvious from here!" she snarled back, trying to keep her anger flowing. "I'll bet. At least I might look prettier with you re-arranging my face for me all the time, heh!" Kaid fired back quickly before looking up at Karen, their eyes meeting for the first time.

Karen couldn't help it this time, and actually let out a playful chuckle. Wait, what?

What the sodding hell just happened there?

She was seriously confused with her ownself now, as her eyes met Kaid's eyes again. "So what were you doing in MY room anyway, eh?" Karen retorted back sternly, trying really hard now to keep up the angry exterior.

Kaid raised his hands up defensively, somewhat pleased that he finally got the chance to explain himself.

"Hey, I thought I was in my locker room. I had no fucking idea what was going on. Hell, I don't even know how I got there! Last thing I remember was trying to get up in the ring... uuuh, cage, or whatever you call that thing. And then, BAM! It all goes black, and next thing I know I'm covered in my own blood in the shower. Well, your shower actually. Sorry 'bout that, and stuff."

His apology actually seemed genuine, Karen thought. Maybe it all was a bit of a misunderstanding. This guy didn't seem so bad after all.

"Well, try not to let something as foolish happen again. What might your name be, anyway?"

The Manucian Girl spoke up -- rather solemnly, it had to be noted -- after a couple of seconds of silence, extending her hand to Kaid at the same time. He was still half propped on the floor, looking in obvious pain. He reached forward and grabbed her hand, the two shifting weight with Karen helping Kaid to his feet.

"I'm Kaid Mann. I'm... new here. Yourself?"

"Karen. Karen Pembridge. Been in this shitehole for quite a bit. Fighting here isn't as doddle as I thought it'd be, originally, but you'll get used to it. You have to."

Kaid nodded his head and flashed a smile, acknowledging the Lassie's advice.

"Thanks for that. Well, nice to have my ass kicked by you, Karen. I best be on my way!" Kaid replied as he
extended his hand toward her.

Karen had to think about it, but it was possibly one of the first times any man had only tried to shake her hand, and not try and put it where it wasn't wanted. She looked up and their eyes met again. She realised that he had rather attractive green eyes, before concluding she was taking far too long to reply.

"Anytime you need your arse walloped, just let me know!" she leaned forward, finally clasping his hand and shaking it. Kaid smiled, insisting onholding her hand a little longer then most people would for a general introductive hand shake.

Not that Karen minded that much, actually.

*cough*SLUT~~!*cough*

"Well, I think I'm right for ass kicking at the moment, but I'll settle for my shirt back if it's OK with you!" Mann propositioned coyly, much to Karen's amusement.

Hmm. A half-decent fella in theAsylum. Never thought I'd see the bloody day.

"Well, of course. I'll give it back to you next week."

Flashing one of her most flirtatious smiles ever at Kaid, Karen politely withdrew her hand away from Kaid and turned. To think that she was irate over him using her shower a few minutes ago, and now, she was thinking he was quite the regular charmer. Kaid picked up his duffel bag and turned back to look at the Lassie, who was now walking back to her destination at a snal's pace.

Then his gaze fell to Karen Pembridge's... arse. Grinning smugly, he suddenly took two steps towards her, and...

*SMACK*

"What the bloody hell?!"

Turning around in a rage, Karen Pembridge saw Kaid Mann hobbling away, through the exit doors conveniently located nearby. The British Lassie was absolutely apalled, clenching her fists and gritting her teeth. Wondering if Kaid did what she think she just did.

The slight tingle of her arse confirmed her thoughts.

"That wanker!"

Had to admire Kaid's bravery. Now, though, he was definitely in hot soup.

"That sod's going to bloody regret that!"

But as Karen Pembridge stood there, fuming at the sheer guts (and stupidity) that Kaid Mann possessed, for him to do what he did, the Lassie was unaware of a presence. One that had unholy written all over it. With his coarse eys, he undressed Karen. His obsession for her had manifested into something overly perverse and unhealthy. But, that didn't stop him from begin rambling on, like a deranged psycho...

I've missed you so.

Seeing you stand there, in front of me... just a stone's throw away... brings back so many memories. It's been about nine months. Nine long months without you. I've been aching to see you again. I've been aching to stroke your hair. Caress your soft skin. Place my acid-tainted finger on your soft and volatile lips, before we embrace and let our lips do the talking. The passion that burned between us was intoxicating. It was provacative. You tried to fight it. Oh yes, you did. And you wouldn't ever give in.

You're a fiesty one. That just makes me want you even more.

Because I know you wanted to give in. I know you wanted to surrender. Fear, however, made you fight back. Fear made you stronger. But, Karen, you need not fear me. I mean you no harm. I long for the day where we finally connect. Complete the puzzle. The day when you become one, with me. That's been my plan along, Karen. From day one. From the very first day I set my eyes on you, that has been my goal. My objective. The object of my wildest desires.

I will not rest until I have you in my arms. I simply can't. I won't.

You are my aphrodisiac. The antitode. The final and crucial piece of this intricate puzzle. I cannot continue without you. The puzzle will not be complete without you. Without you, I won't be able to proceed with the final phase. THEY won't let me. And if THEY don't let me, I won't let me. I won't be complete without you. I've spent the last year doing THEIR bidding. Planning. Undergoing the trials. Preparing myself for the great wars ahead.

But THEY have mandated that YOU must be with me.

So, you shall.

I sincerely hope that you will see the light, Karen. I sincerely hope that when I'm ready to emerge from these shadows and explain all, you'll be able to understand why this has to happen. I can't afford to let it all crumble, especially since I am so close. MY freedom is at stake, Karen. I truly hope that you can comprehend the complexity of this situation, as it'll enable the process to be absolutely painless. Easy, swift, and painless.

I will not hestitate, however, to take action. If the situation calls for it. I will not be happy, but if that's the way it has to be done, then that's the way it shall be done. I LOVE you, Karen. More than you could ever think. And I will resort to anything to have you in my arms, dancing the night away, as the seconds fade away into the sands of time. I will resort to anything so that we can become one. I will do ANYTHING for us. Our union, of love.

That's right, darling. Turn this way. Oh, forget about that man. He's young, confused. I'd do the same. I've done WORSE, remember? Don't worry. You'll run into him next week, and you'll get the chance to choke the life out of him. You'll make him regret what he did. I know you will. But for now, just cool down. Ahh, that's my girl. Now turn, and return to your locker-room.

That's a good girl.

Until next week, my darling.

Emerging from the door, leading into the north stairwell, DDJ began wondering aimlessly along the hallways. His right eyebrow would be pinned down by the pressure applied by three of Damon's fingers.

The infrequent grip of a tentative memory left him as a partially empty shell of himself. The generational curse, known as Petit Mal seizures, would be his affliction.

Seeking to nullify the effects that have seized him, he sought respite into the foul confides of the Men's restroom. The running cup full of water to his face did little to salvage his train of broken thought.

"Ah, shit...I gotta get the fuck outta here. Where the fuck did I put my medicine?"

To his account, Damon had no reason to wander backstage. He remembered mentioning to Duchess that he was headed somewhere to take care of something. The lines of reality and fiction continued to toy perilously with him as he aggressively shook his head before roaming back out into the public eye.

Blinded by his deadened sense of awareness, he inadvertently knocked over an elderly Caucasian woman. The sound of her cane, sliding against the floor, shook him back in time to realize the severity of his mistake.

"Aw, man. My bad, ma'am..."

As he extended his hand out to the woman to assist her back to her feet, his act of chivalry would be shunned by a single wrinkled erect middle finger. Damon's internal cauldron of hostility began to boil...

"Keep your hands off of me, you fucking monkey!"

Coming to her aid, an elderly man, approached to brush her off. A partial scowl would form across his visage as her life partner would calmly console her.

"It's alright, Maggie. He didn't see us..."

"Simply just no repsect for their elders...Harold, make sure that nothing's stolen out my purse."

The thoughts of literally beating the gray out of her skull joyfully danced thoughtout his psyche yet he eagerly fought to save face and walk away from a bad situation.

*ring*

Retrieving the phone out of his pocket, Damon recognized the identity of the call.

*Hey, Damon. We need to talk.*

*Wha...Huh?*

*It's me, Bennie man...We need to....*

*Bennie...This ain't the time, man. I need that spare bottle I letf with you back in Indianapolis.*

*Yeah. That's cool but this shit is serious. Get somewhere where out from the open, man. I have to be quick on this.*

Ducking stealthfully into a secluded room, DDJ maintained watch through the crack of the door.

*Aight. What's this about that's got you all shook?*

*D: Word around the grapevine is that someone's gunning for ya, dawg.*

*Whatcha mean?*

*Gunning as in 'puttin' a nigga six feet deep'...That's what I am saying...*

*Well, who the fuck is it?*

*That's the problem, man. The shit I set up back in Nap only helped me to get you and Duchess outta there before Joe and company went down during that sting. I was too busy monitoring the channels at the time to notice the extend of the conversation but the wires got wet and fucked up the audio. Joe must of spilled alcohol on the table and fucked it all up.*

*Man, this shit ain't helping me, Bennie....*

*Hey, man. Look, all I can tell ya is it could be fucking body, man. If I were you, I'd lay the fuck low until I can figure something out but this shit ain't going to come cheap, D.*

*sigh...Nigga, how much?*

*15,000*

*Nigga, you a goddamn lie...15,000?!!*

*Aye, man; It's either that or you can play Dick Tracy by yo goddamned self, D. I told you, man; I got a family to worry about and Joe plays for keeps. I just going easy on ya because you're my boy and all. This is money I need to make sure I can get me & mine the fuck outta here, aight?*

*.........*

*Damon?*

*Aight. Whatever, mutherfucka. You just keep your fucking eyes & ears open for anything...but I need that medicine like right fucking now, man.*

*Where ya at right now?*

*Creeping out toward the lot on the east exit. I'm on my way outside now...Oh, and Bennie: I swear on everything...You betta be worth this shit.*

*I'll meet ya in 5...Ah, shit!*

*What now?*

*Man, I put that shit in the locker room, just in case you had to fight tonight. That's my bad, playa.*

*Bennie, you're really starting to piss me the fuck off, man. I ain't got time for you to be fuckin' up right now. Just make sure you do what you're supposed to do...Aight?*

*Yeah. Yeah but when am I expecting I get paid, man?*

*Whevener the fuck you find the asshole I'm looking for. The next time you call this number, you better have what I need, Bennie.*

*click*

Having spent about two weeks in Buffalo, chasing a lead and hopefully wrapping up a overdrawn and tired case in Carnage, Josiah had a right to be annoyed considering he'd come back empty handed, and knowing less than he did before he left. It was a long, cold month, and with the temperature glazing his lungs and breath in the cool air, he knew, it would only get longer.

Now, about this time, the usual unlucky fuck comes up to bother the guy who is pissed off, because the unlucky fuck doesn't know any better. Here we go again, because after turning a corner at the end of the corridor, Josiah came across this unlucky fuck.

Thurston Aubrey.

The man, stood, seemingly aloof to the world around him. Eyes glazed, mouth open in awe staring at the ceiling for no apparent reason. Perhaps he was basking in the glow of his first win in the his Tag Match earlier in the night. Or maybe he was fascinated at how cheap Joe can be when it comes to proper roofing. As he drifted away from reality, he didn't notice Josiah.

That is, he hadn't noticed Josiah until their shoulders slammed. Yeah, Josiah saw him, but he wasn't going to budge for some bumbling moron. Instead, he just picked up speed and stiffened his shoulders. The impact knocked Aubrey back a bit, as Josiah took a still stance.

"The fuck, boy?!"

Aubrey slowly emerged from his day-tripping, confused and disoriented. He wasn't sure where he was, but he knew he was on the floor with a man staring daggers at him. He couldn't think of anything to say to the intimidating figure, so he just decided to play it cool as he dusted himself off from the floor.

"Lovely weather today, don't you think?"

"The fuck, boy? You can't respond to a question with a question, thats not how it fucking works."

Aubrey noticed Josiah's fists clench. His choppily- shaven face, providing shade over the dark tattoo that covered his jaw, added to Josiah's threatening look. His eyes shot, as well, and his obvious irritance towards Aubrey, on- lookers wondered how long it'd be before Pointless stabbed him in the forehead with a spoon.

"Look bro... I'm not looking for any trouble."

Thurston gulped. The thought of fighting made his head throb. His first fight in the Asylum wasn't pretty, and if possible, he would like to avoid fighting at all costs. You see, Thurston is a diplomat of sorts. He uses his language of love to resolve conflicts.

Moreover, if he can talk his way out of a broken nose or a spoon through the skull - he'll do it. Thurston looked at Josiah and smiled.

"Come on bro... make love, not war. You don't want to swing at me."

First mistake: don't give Josiah ideas.

A bare- swing later, Josiah flattened Thurston on the processed floor. Giving the newboy a few moments to recollect his thoughts, Josiah waved the sting from his knuckles and looked down at the fallen boy with a smile.

"Don't tell me what I don't want to do, you understand me?"

Still in shock from the blow, Thurston rubbed the pain away from his jaw, oblivious to Josiah's question.

"You understand me, boy?!"

This was all happening so fast in Thurston's mind. He was back on the floor and mixed with emotions - Fear, Anger, Sadness, Apathy. What should he do? Run? Fight back? Call for help? Cry? He had to think fast. So Thurston stood back up, one hand holding his bruised face, the other clenched in anger.

With the most ominous face he could muster, he firmly spoke:

"Do not touch me again."

That seemed to take Josiah aback... no, not really. His shoulders dropped, and his face fell in to the pit of his right palm as he shook away his frustration.

"Don't tell me what to do, either."

Swiftly, he ran at Thurston, tackling him to the wall directly behind him. The impact of their bodies broke a small hole in the dry wall, but surely, that was the least of Thurston's, or Josiah's concerns.

Josiah, taking Aubrey by the collar, lifted hard and swung him to the floor. He took a seat atop of Thurston's chest, cracking his knuckles, and shedding a smile.

"Looks like you need to learn propper etiquette, and trust me, I will learn you propper."

Thurston was now powerless and helpless. He had that knot in his throat; you know, the kind you get when you know you're in for some serious shit. Finding it now useless to resist, he let Josiah's weight crush him, as he succumb to his defeat. He was definitely in no shape to fight again and was far too tired to even put up any offense.

He did, however, want to at least try and talk some sense, which is rather hard when your lungs are nigh-collapsed. Meekly, he spoke.

"I'm not going to fight you bro. At least not here, not like this."

The wheels were turning in Thurston's head. Anyway to goad Josiah into continuing this fight when he was more prepared to was worth taking a shot at.

"If you really want to fight me, you'll do it fairly; in the cage."

Pondering.

Pondering.

Pondered.

"Fine." Josiah said.

Slamming a fist down in Thurston's face, Josiah lifted himself off of his body. But this wasn't the end of the assault. Instead, he leaned down and lifted Aubrey to his feet. Clutching the young pacifist by the hair, Josiah walked down the hall, dragging the boy along.

"Try and buy yourself some time, hah, I think not."

Slamming another fist back in to Aubrey's face for good measure, Josiah continued.

"You must be a muse, because you keep giving me all these ideas. You want to go to the cage? Fine. Let's go, let's go right now."

Thurston Aubrey vs. Pointless

The technicians struggled to get some music playing throughout the confusion, and they went ahead and decided to play the likely- victor’s music. That means “Autobiography of a Nation” by Thursday was cued in, and quickly back out before anyone really noticed. The fans were cheering on Pointless as he shoved the body over the rim of the cage, then quickly climbed in after him.

With Thurston still on the mat, Pointless fell on top of his body, locking his shoulders down by weight being pressed through Josiah’s weight. In unison with the click each pendulum swing brings, came fist after fist after fist, breaking Aubrey’s skull just that much more.

But hope was not lost. Thurston, finding some strength through each hit, garnered all the life he had, and threw his first punch of the night. And the only hit that has actually mattered in his career in tA, so far, because it may have saved his life. The blow knocked Pointless off of Aubrey’s body. Without taking time to recover, Aubrey quickly scrambled to his feet as his nose bled wildly.

Pointless, too, was now coming to. Aubrey and Josiah, on opposite sides of the cage, locked eyes, and their apparent hatred towards each other was never more visible. Thurston, in a fit of rage, tackled Josiah in to the cage, slamming fists wildly in to Pointless’ chest.

But, just because they’re wild, doesn’t mean they hurt.

Having enough of Thurston’s week blows, Josiah shot his knee up in to Thurston’s stomach. The Pacifist found himself hunched over, crunching his stomach to withstand the pain. This gave Josiah the opening he needed.

Running a hand through Aubrey’s hair, he found an acceptable length and clutched tightly. With the other hand, Josiah positioned his opponent’s head at chest- height.

One deep breath later...

Dirty Deity, what Josiah calls it. Specifically, a knee strike to the face.

Yeah, ten second knockout, and we have the shortest, impromptu fight, probably of all time. Except for that one time...

His 'so close, so far' pursuit had been for nothing, but as was just seen, it wouldn't go unpunished. And there were still a few bad little boys to spank, and with the right bait, they'd just volunteer.

We've been in a situation similar, circa seVered. Think back to the first Show Pointless had appeared on.

Stepping over the limp body that belonged to Thurston, Pointless leaned over the cage wall, asking politely for a microphone, from one of the stage hands. This false security was betrayed, after Josiah slapped the same man in the back of the head, just for good measure.

Now, making his way to the center of the cage, with his music slowly dying out, Josiah raised the receiver to his lips. A deep breath, it followed.

"You just saw this. You just saw what I am capable of. All this-" he motioned with his hand, across the body, across the blood. "-this was all me.

"But, in no way, am I finished."

His tone became hoarse, as his eyes lowered. The brow became creased, and vessels in his eyes became elongated. Josiah, he began to cry. Not cry, but ball.

"PLEASE. Someone, please, I beg of you! Come out here!

"TAKE YOUR PUNISHMENT."

His brash cries grew muffled, as the audience grew confused by his words and actions. But one man, a man that didn't know him at all, aside from one altercation, he knew his type.

"Song for the Dead" by Queens of the Stone Age.

The loud guitar rifts beckoned the audience to slowly rise from a seated position and look to the stage in a puzzled manner. The theme was unfamiliar. Even as the house lights went down and brought out a darkened figure from behind the curtains used somewhat as a barrier, murmuring continued within the stands.

Terry Bollinger.

Upper-body clad in a hooded, gray sweater; lower-body in faded blue jeans- not purchased in that condition, but worn out over the years. His thick, jet black hair curled down over his ears, his face rough and coarse- eyes deep and engaging, dull and comforting at the same time... slightly hidden with the shadows cast over them.

Three months ago he had received a phone call from Joe Campbell stating that he would be given a chance to compete in the Asylum. That chance, as it were, consisted of a single match. Perhaps he didn't impress; perhaps he didn't convey the image that the promotion's primary fan base had become a custom to. He was just a regular guy after all.

In his hand he grasped a microphone. He brought it to his mouth. His forehead held a small number of discolored wounds, scars from his past, only barely noticeable. His jaw was square-shaped, capable of with standing a heavy barrage of strikes. He liked to think his unwillingness to show frailty was part of what made him so popular in Japan.

He then spoke- his voice monotone and un-charismatic.

"Pointless… THREE MONTHS I have been waiting to get another shot at you. Our draw just does not sit well with me. Call me old fashioned, but I don't believe a fight ends until one man is declared victorious. Son, my request is very simple- a rematch between the two of us," Bollinger momentarily lowered the microphone just below chin level, directing a cold stare towards the man who was standing in the middle of the cage. "But this time, a winner must be decided. No ring outs.

"If I wanted to throw you around, I would walk down this aisle and do it. However, what would that prove? Shit all is right. Our match, should you choose to accept it..." Terry stopped and smirked, his mouth becoming crooked. "...will be conducted under knock-outs only.

I hit you, you fall down. YOU STAY DOWN."

He had used that line once or twice before. It always garnered some sort of reaction. He wasn't the most skilled when it came to speaking in front of a large crowd, considering most of what he said was unintentionally in a low, almost humdrum tone... up until that one line. Then raw emotion was conveyed. How could it not get a decent pop? The smirk was quickly washed from his face as he awaited Pointless' answer.

"Three months, Terry." Josiah finally muttered. "For three months, you've plagued me. You are right.

"It's not over."

The tears on Josiah's cheek had long since faded, but if the commotion on his face was any indication, it looked as if we were about to through another tantrum.

"You just had to ask, didn't you? You needed to ask. You need to learn, old man, that you take what you want here. You need to learn that you don't belong. Just like whoever the hell this guy is."

Josiah pointed to the now- crawling body of Thurston Aubrey, as he clawed his way across the mat, the blood stains on his shirt becoming ever- more apparent as he sponged more up with each shuffle. Setting one foot on his back, Pointless' eyes stay locked with Terry's.

"Do you see what I've done? I mean, do you really see? I don't think you fucking get it. But that's a problem soon to be forgotten, because after this, Terry, you will belong in the Asylum. I'll make you belong."

With that, Pointless dropped his microphone, and awaited Terry from the cage.

Terry Bollinger vs. Pointless

Walking in, with 3 of his T.K. silver and black dressed soldiers following behind, was HardCase. A fighter barging into his office unannounced was far from uncommon for Joe. And since posting the PPV card Joe was grudgingly expecting him to stop by for a little chat sooner or later.

HardCase approached Joe’s desk which prompted Thanh Vactor to pounce, he grabbed HardCase by the collar and gripped him menacingly. HardCase’s boyz started to advance and began reaching for the chrome “suprises” tucked into their waistlines. HardCase held up a hand and gestured them to stop.

“Chill out boys.” HardCase said to his soldiers while looking down at the 5’9” bodyguard with a glare that seemed to snicker I-wish-you-would.

“Grown man?” HardCase said to Thanh directly. “You wanna ease off the threads?”

After a tense few seconds Thanh released HardCase.

As satisfying as it would have been to pound HardCase’s face in, the health risk implied wasn’t worth it. Not many recover from a case of 17 hollow tips to the lung. Luckily for all in the room Nash wasn’t present at the moment. Ego’s not a good thing to have when people like HardCase are involved. With Carson’s slick mouth things might’ve gotten “unpleasant”.

HardCase brushed off the wrinkles on his shirt, and sat down in front of Joe.

“Deathmatch eh?” HardCase got right to the point.

“I’m sorry mate, but I had no choice.”

“Explain.”

“It’s simple really. He had me fucked with a list of charges longer then my dick. So I had to deal mate. Hear me?”

“Oh I hear you. You sold me out without even blinking just to save your own ass. I hear that loud and fucking clear.”

“Ay what the fuck did you want me to do? Say pretty please? The wanker had me by the family jewels with a pair of pliers. Don’t fucking act like you wouldn’t do that same thing put in my position.”

“No. No I wouldn’t” HardCase responded.

“Bollocks!! You’re lookin me in the eyes and telling me that YOU of all people would’ve had the integrity to bite the bullet and eat multiple life sentences to save a friend? Ha!! You gotta alotta nerve mate.”

“Exactly why didn’t you come to me when he started applying pressure? Huh? Do you really believe that with your and my resources pooled together we wouldn’t be able to beat what ever fucking case Avenger could manage to put together? Did you even stop to consider that with your boyz and my boyz together the little problem known as Avenger could have been ‘handled’ before any of the paper work on us even reached a judges desk? You think, you and I put together, wouldn’t have had enough pull to make a grand jury toss this case away with us walkin away looking pretty?”

HardCase took a quick look at Joe. “Well…me looking pretty anyways. Fuckin-A Joe did you even stop to think or did you let the big bad Avenger blow smoke up your ass until you caved in like the pathetic shit you are? Fuck integrity. I got sense. Put in your position this situation would’ve been handled already and our friend Avenger would be on the side of milk carton by now.”

Joe opened his mouth as if to protest…but realizing his lack of anything valid to protest with he shut it again.

“Yea. Exactly. You fucking genious. Now I want you to consider this. Avenger let me walk. Everything he had me on was from that night alone, and he let me walk knowing how weak you are and knowing he could just twist the screws on you till you squealed. But there’s a little thing called ‘double jeopardy’ here in the states which means once he let me go he can’t nab me on that charge again. And his lil informant Jamile has…how do I put this…gone on permanent leave. Meaning he has nothing on me. Meaning I have no reason to actually show up to this deathmatch now do I Joey boy?”

Beads of sweat began to steam down Joe’s face as he nervously played with his collar. Suddenly things got very stuffy in this room.

“Not a pleasant thought is it? He can’t touch me. Heh, if you thought he was pissed at you before just wait how hard he comes down on you should all his carefully laid plans go to shit.”

Joe went silent. HardCase couldn’t help but smirk.

“Luckily--for you--I will be showing up at this Deathmatch. I don’t like it, but I’m not one to back down to a challenge like this…and I’m sure you’ll be showing your ‘appreciation’ to me for not hanging your ass out to dry. Am I correct?”

Joe nodded.

“Good. One last question: exactly why the fuck does he want me in a Deathmatch? Not that there’s any shortage of people you want me dead. I’m just curious about this particular one.”

“Shite man. I have no idea. You’ll have to ask him.”

“I think I will.”

HardCase rose form his chair and headed out of the door.

“Just so we’re clear. We have an understanding correct?”

“Aye.”

“Nice.”

Then HardCase left his office.

“Fuck me.” Joe mutter while trying to remember where he stashed his liquor bottle.

Fiend vs Citizen

But apparently, it was so. Fiend had been rather persuasive to Citizen earlier in the night. In fact, if Fiend hadn't of persuaded Citizen to take part in the fisticuffs he would be taking his arse to the social security office and looking for a new job.

Campbell had given Fiend the ultimatum.

So, Fiend turned the ultimatum to Citizen.

Fight or be fucked.

Those were the options each of them had.

Citizen appeared at the top of the ramp to a nice reaction from the fans. there was blood smeared on his silver mask from Fiend's knuckle dusting earlier on. It was Fiend's blood, not Citizen's.

Humbly walking forward, Citizen made his way into the Asylum as the music changed on the P.A. It changed to Aphex Twin's "Come to Daddy" and immediately the fans gave Fiend a mixed reaction.

There were screams of joy. And screams of hate.

Just the way Fiend liked it. A fickle crowd not knowing whether to love him or hate him. Such is life.

He stood at the top of the ramp and bounced his head from one shoulder to the other, letting it crack into place as he prepared to make his way into the Asylum and fight this tin plated warrior before him.

On his left hand, his knuckles were bandaged up with black electrical tape. The ought to hold them things inside his hand.

Fiend entered the Asylum and it was on.

Citizen lunged forward and kicked him square in the chin with a shuffle side kick, causing Fiend to stagger backward into the walls of the Asylum. Citizen wasn't done yet, he lunged forward and hit him with another shuffle side kick that put him on his arse.

Sitting flat on his arse, Fiend grabbed his jaw and moved it from side-to-side as though he were shifting it back into place.

Citizen let Fiend get to his feet, who still rolled his jaw around in his hand. Fiend lunged forward with a right hook, but Citizen brushed it aside and hit Fiend in the chest with a palm strike.

Fiend staggered a little as Citizen lunged forward and punched him in the mid-section, doubling him over. An elbow came next, to the back of the head, which put Fiend flat on his stomach.

Circling his fallen foe, Citizen looked to find his next point of attack. As Fiend got to his hands and knees, Citizen knelt down beside him and wrapped his arm around his throat, tightening around his larynx with the inside of his elbow.

Trying fearfully to unlock this vice Citizen had on him, Fiend yanked at the arm of Citizen, but it appeared to be in vain as Citizen appeared to lock it in tighter as Fiend struggled.

Pushing up onto his knees, Fiend managed to stand up with Citizen still tightly around his neck. Fiend's face was red as he was having some difficulty breathing.

Fiend reached back and grabbed Citizen's right leg, pulling it up beside him. Then Fiend threw his own legs out in front of him and landed on Citizen, crushing him beneath his own two hundred and fifty-five pounds.

Fiend got up as Citizen had released his grip. Citizen got to his own feet and dusted himself off as they stared at each other from across the Asylum. Pulling on his head so his neck might crack, Fiend readied himself for a Citizen attack.

But Citizen just stood there and waited for Fiend to make his move, and being an impatient man, Fiend came forward to Citizen. He faked a punch, which had Citizen already swinging into a blocking action, but instead booted him in the stomach.

Citizen doubled over and Fiend was in control momentarily, so he grabbed Citizen by the shoulders and straightened him up. Using Citizen as leverage, Fiend jumped into the air, pulling his knees up tight to his chest and as he came down he drove them hard into Citizen's knees.

These Sticks Were Made For Walking.

The knees of Citizen buckled and he collapsed down onto them with a loud groan. Fiend landed on his feet and stood before Citizen with a conniving grin of destruction on his face. He grabbed the back of Citizen's helmet and drove his knee into the face of it.

CLANG!

The crowd groaned as Fiend hopped a little to shake the pain from his knee. Citizen shook his head as though there were bells ringing in his ears.

Returning his focus to Citizen, Fiend pulled him to his feet and into a side headlock. He put his leg closest to Citizen across in front of Citizen's body and he yanked in the opposite direction as though he were trying to pull Citizen's head from his body.

Fiend then pushed Citizen's face into his armpit and performed a variation of a side Russian leg sweep. But Fiend calls it...

Coronation Ceremony.

Citizen felt the full brunt of Fiend's move through the metal mask.

Fiend just dusted his hands off as he looked down with Citizen and the count began...

1...

2...

Citizen didn't appear as though he were getting up, he had become a little still.

3...

4...

Fiend just leaned on the side of the cage, half hoping Citizen would get up. He hadn't fought for a while and he was enjoying this. Plus, it was getting rid of a little rust.

5...

Citizen moved his hands to where one might do a push-up.

6...

7...

8...

Citizen pushed up onto his knees and just stared across at Fiend who had his arms folded and leant against the cage wall of the Asylum.

Quickly, Fiend ran forward and began to swing a boot which was aimed directly at Citizen's head. But Citizen managed to catch the leg as he twisted to the side. And rolled across in front of Fiend dragging him down to the ground with a leg drag.

He remained clutching the leg of Fiend, he twisted up into a standing position raising Fiend's leg into the air. He picks up the other leg and he crosses it in front of him as though he might be locking on a Sharpshooter.

He began to attempt to lock Fiend into his Dream of Order move, but Fiend was already onto him. As he reached down to pull Fiend's arms behind him, Fiend grabbed him around the back of the neck and simply pushed his legs to throw him over the top of him.

Citizen somersaulted and stood up as Fiend, not so elegantly, bounced up onto his feet, ready for an attack. But again, Citizen waited.

Fiend charged forward with a punch, but Citizen caught the arm and he pulled Fiend forward for a knee to the guts, then a knee to the chin, still clutching that arm. Fiend was no upright and a little groggy from the knee to the chin. Citizen spun around and kicked Fiend in the face with his heel, knocking him to the ground.

But Citizen continued to hold onto the arm. He pulled Fiend to his feet and using the force he wrapped him up and drove him into the ground with what a wrestling expert might call a power slam.

Citizen stood up, letting the ten count take it's place. The quick attacks took Fiend by surprise and took its toll on him.

1...

2...

3...

Fiend began to stir as his hands came to his head.

4...

5...

Citizen had stepped back to let Fiend get up, if he could.

6...

Fiend sat up and rubbed his lower back, just looking at Citizen trying to figure out what just happened.

Getting to his feet, Fiend grinned. He liked a challenge. And that's what Citizen was proving to be. He'd underestimated Citizen from their altercation in the hall earlier.

Removing his Token Weed shirt, and then wiping the sweat from his brow with it, Fiend prepared to rumble with Citizen. He tossed his shirt over the Asylum wall into the crowd where some fans fought for it.

Fiend went to swing a punch at Citizen, but he simply batted it away again. Citizen went to return the punch, but Fiend grabbed him around the forearm and he began to swing around.

Until finally, he pulled Citizen toward him, he bent down and grabbed him around the waist and hoisted him up into the air.

Some fans in the crowd, who recognised the move began to cheer where others booed.

BUTTERFLY EFFECT!

Citizen lay spread eagle on the canvas. He was knocked the fuck out. All that had be done now was the official to count to 10.

If he could remember.

1...

2...

3...

4...

5...

6...

7...

8...

9...

10.

Fiend wins and keeps his job. He simply wiped the sweat from his brow and made his way out of the Asylum, leaving Citizen there to gather himself together.

When ever it was he came back to consciousness.

Fiend proved to Joe Campbell what he had to.

Now he has a few months up his sleeve before he has to fight again.

A walk to Mr. Campbell’s office, the usual. How the door would go today would be the most interesting, to kick it open? Actually open the fucking thing? Beat the thing down? Or just knock and when Campbell tells him to fuck off he actually leave?

Yeah, funny wasn’t it?

Three knocks at the door later came Joe’s traditional answer: “Fuck off and die!” Token could here the loud mouthed brit from out here. Token reached down and grabbed the handle giving the thing a slight twist and walked right on into the office.

Carson shot up from his chair as Vactor exploded over from the wall as Campbell looked up shocked to see Weed here. “Ya know ya cunt, I figured on you actually havin the bollocks to show up. But to prance on into MY fucking office? Well just fuck off.” Joe said half drunkenly as the two men were about to pounce.

“But I’ll give ya one minute to speak, and after that these two take care of ya for me.” Campbell said as he finally made his way back into his seat.

The drunk-o-meter was at a new high tonight kids.

“Want me to speak my fucking mind Campbell? How about you try this shit on for size. What the fuck was that bust all about you drunk mother fucker. Who the fuck set that shit up, who the fuck was it, and why the fuck did it happen?” Weed shouted before finally hawking a large loogey onto Campbell’s desk.

“Was that fucking necessary? Now you listen, that cunt Avenger arrested me and Hardcase. He gave me an offer I couldn’t refuse, he and Hardcase fight to the death, and I get out scott free.” Campbell stated as I just looked at him and shook my head.

“So you’re going to put Hardcase’s life at risk to save your own ass? Doesn’t surprise me, but what I came here for is simple, John Reynolds, I want him out of the pen. Get him out of the pen.” Token stated his demand as Campbell shrugged. It was the simple shrug that pissed Token Weed the fuck off.

And like lightning two glock 9 mm. were brandished, the chrome on them shined. One gun pointed directly at Campbell the other gun went from Nash to Vactor, a sweeping motion that let them know in the blink of the eye the two could be done.

“Pick up the phone and make the fucking call” Token stated as Joe nodded. It was elementary from here. Campbell reached down and picked up the phone and quickly punched in a series of digits.

“Get John Reynolds out of that fucking jail on a technicality. Right now.” Campbell stated as he nodded his head for a moment. “Do you like your wife sir?” Campbell stated “Because she could be my sex slave for the next, oh say ten years and that mistress of yours too. Because right now I’ll do what it takes to get that man out of a fucking jail cell and into the hands of Mr. Sean Williams.” Campbell stated bluntly, the threat succeeded as Joe hung the phone up.

“Sean, they said when you show up he goes. Now get that fucking gun out of my face!” Joe stated as he moved towards his own gun before rightfully getting a kick in the mouth. Nash and Vactor both flinched forwards before the gun was a swift reminder and the look on Token’s face was not remorseful what so ever.

“Now listen Joe, I’m going to give you a list, and you fucking call the places these cunts are locked up. I want them out, period. If they aren’t, your ass is either going in a cell, or your going in a fucking body bag. And I’ll bet you thirty-thousand dollars that I can pull that one off you fucking fag.” Token said as Joe lowered his head.

It was simple, Token Weed was right. He reached into his back right pocket and tossed a piece of notebook paper at Campbell, quickly picking up the gun he had just put down.

“Enjoy your evening folks, enjoy” Weed stated as he exited the room.

“Fucking wanker” Joe said sighing as he picked up his phone and began to make calls.

Avenger glanced into the mirror and smiled. Washing his razor in the water he called his heckler's name.

"You can have my face, Hardcase. In the end, I will have your life." Avenger said as he applied some aftershave to his jagged face.

Hardcase just shook his head. "Heh. It's nice to dream isn't it? You think you're actually gonna kill me, I want to be a tap dancing ballerina. But enough about absurd occurrences that have about as much chance of happening as me not laughing while watching the Special Olympics...

...why is it you're so eager to put it all on the line right now?"

"Don't you remember?" Avenger said; his face turning into stone. "You killed her...

...and now I'm going to kill you. It's really that simple."

Hardcase sported a cheesy plastic smile. "I killed her, huh?...I don't think you have the slightest clue how little that narrows things down for me.

Elaborate. Please."

Avenger grabbed his mask and pulled it over his face. Turning around to face Hardcase he leaned back against a sink that really couldn't support his mass.

"In Detroit. The old #59 Warehouse in 9 mile.
You stole into the middle of the night, like your people always do and you killed her. You drove an axe into her chest and you watched her blood geyser forth from the wound. Then you stuck her again. You slaughtered her."

Avenger's eyes were dead to the outside world by now. It was as if he was living through those events all over again.

Hardcase calmly thought over what he was told and probed his mind for any recollection of the event.

"Hmm...I'd love to say I remember this. But I honestly don't...though driving an axe through some sluts chest sure sounds like something I'd do." Hardcase snickered at his own joke while beaming yet another mocking grin at Avenger.

Avenger smiled again, keeping up pretenses. There was something behind that smile that even Hardcase couldn't see.

"Your recollection is meaningless. You're a cold blooded killer. A killer that will meet Justice at Persecution. Fitting, don't you think?"

And with that Avenger pushed past Hardcase and made his way for the door.

"Whoa! Me? A killer? Shocking!! Wanna tell me which way is down now, ass?" Hardcase said, call after the self-proclaimed hero of the Asylum.

Avenger showed him which way was down with his middle finger.

"Lousy murder accusing fuckface." HardCase muttered to himself after Avenger left. Not that the accusation pissed him off. It was that he didn't remember the person he's being accused of killing. Considering the person is Hardcase it's probably safe to assume he did kill her and probably raped her...most likely in that order.

But this one. This one. He couldn't quite get it. What the fuck was he doing in Detroit? When? And how did Avenger...

...

...

"Donkey fucking Christ."

Translation: Eureka!

HardCase, as you all must know by now, is a merciless monster devoid of ethics, morals and decency. But like all sociopaths he prefers that his body count reflect the number he's actually killed.

"Fuckers tryna doctor my kill count. Heh. Iight then."

He was shitty.

Mendoza’s information was out of date, because by the time Josiah arrived in Buffalo, Cornelius Corteia was long gone. Carnage’s account had been transferred, probably, more than five times since.

This whole trip was in vain.

He was just hoping Sebastian Thompson hadn’t heard of it, or that’d be a headache not needed.

Instead, give us Joe Campbell.

“Hey, you twat.”

Joe had a cackle in his voice that seemed unrecognized by Josiah, but in his annoyed state, that wasn’t the center of focus.

“Hey, Josiah!”

Pointless stopped in his tracks to wait for the Boss, who was quick to approach from behind. The scowl Pointless gave Joe, he knew well. “The fuck you want?” Basically.

“Easy, mate, I bring good news.

“Last week, your room was raided.”

Josiah wasn’t pleased. In one of his rare weeks off (which he was actually working), he comes back to find his room burglarized. “How is this good news, Joe?” The palms grew red, all within the curl of his hands.

“No, no! Listen. Nothing was taken, but someone, they found something.”

Joe extended his hand, two pieces of paper.

dont fly away
little birdy

xox
carnage

The second piece, well, it only made matters worse. Scanning over, he noticed the writing.

A Greyhound Bus stub. But the name, the ticket holder’s name, that was the stumper.

“Burton?”

Pembridge & Gina, meanwhile, trod down a beaten path that led into a small park. Beyond which, was the night market. And a couple of blocks down from there, was the motel where Karen & Gina had put up in for the last three days. It wasn't the classiest of motels, but it was sufficient for them. The two friends had been through a lot, since their first meeting about an entire year ago. Karen's travels, due to her committments in the IOW and eventually theAsylum meant that she didn't get much time to spend with Gina back in Los Angeles.

But with Campbell firing her last year, Karen duly trekked back to Los Angeles. In time to get Gina out of a major jam, which only made their friendship grow stronger. Shortly after, the two assassins known as Fejona Min & Natalie Quinston came knocking. And what followed was a story not many people know of, but would possibly like some light shed on. Karen wasn't telling, though. She hadn't even told Heather Vergas about Fejona & Natalie. Although in hindsight, considering recent events, the British Lassie really should have.

"So, that was an interesting night. What was the name of that guy who..." Gina held back her laughter, "... spanked your ass? Did you even get it?"

Karen shot her a unholy glare, her cheeks turning a bright hue of red.

"YES, I bloody well did. And come next Sunday, I'll make sure I get my hands on that prat, Kaid Mann. The nerve of that bastard! Although I can't disagree with him for wanting to do what he did so, but still!"

Gina giggled, as the two stepped into the boundaries of the park, the arena now barely visible behind them. Regular women would be spooked and rather sceptical of wanting to walk through a park in the dead of the night. But Gina had nothing to worry about; she had Karen Pembridge by her side. One who could make men twice her size drop to their knees, grunting in pain, and not because they had the shame of having their balls kicked at.

"So, the Asylum Championship is what you're going after, huh?"

As if she wasn't solemn enough, a frown appeared on the Lassie's face, as she stuck her right hand into her jeans pocket, with her other hand in possession of her duffel bag.

"Yes, quite right. Of course, I don't expect Joe to sanction a fight anytime soon. Nor do I expect Token Weed to come up to me and offer me a shot at the bloody title. I'll do the only thing I can do; I shall make myself worthy of a chance, and I'll be sure to leave a trail of bodies in my path. May seem a little uncharacteristic of me, but one needs to be at the top of their game to be ready to hold the Asylum Title."

Gina nodded, somewhat understanding.

"Isn't there some sort of curse attached to the title?"

A chortle escaped Karen's lips, and she turned to look at Gina, surprised that the latter knew of the little things.

"That's a rather long story. The title has had a way of turning its respective holder into something he or she -- in the case of that Nerva woman I've heard quite a bit about -- would have never expected. The title changes people, Gina. Bloody hell, the fact is, theAsylum changes people.

It's changed me, that's for bleeding sure!"

Having made their way halfway through the park, the two women suddenly heard strange noises. Almost as if somebody was getting beaten up; or at the very least, strangled. At the very worst? Raped. And it was most definitely a man's fearful grunting that Karen had picked up on. She grabbed Gina's right arm with her left hand, and the two women suddenly scanned the surroundings. A difficult task, considering it was pitch dark. But Karen had the innate ability to see rather clearly in the dark.

Something she picked up as a kid, believe it or not.

Pembridge couldn't see anything, however. Nothing unusual stood out. Just trees, and flowers, and benches. And the sight of a shirtless young boy running towards her, his hair caked with grime and broken pieces of branches. So, yeah, nothing special. Nope, not at all.

...

Oh, right. The boy. He came from out of NOWHERE, and as he was looking over his shoulder, he ran straight into Karen. Gina let out a scream, and Karen groaned, trying to push the boy off her. The Lassie's duffel bag tumbled away into the bushes, just as several large men came rushing out of thin air, practically. They were big, mean-looking, and with a bloodlust that needed to be quenched by killing the boy.

Also, all four of them had switchblades in their possession.

"Get back!" Karen hollered at Gina, who did the smart thing and ran away as fast as her heels permitted her could. Neither one of the four attackers paid attention to her, even if one did think she had a nice arse.

Meanwhile, the Lassie grabbed hold of the boy by the back of his neck and tossed him aside like he was nothing. He eventually landed hard on the grassy mound a few feet away, his head actually hitting Karen's duffel bag. One of the men saw this and decided to advance on the boy. Karen, on the other hand, rolled on her back just in time to escape the massive stomp of the supposed gang leader. He was naturally surprised and stared wide-eyed at Karen as the Lassie jumped up to her feet. Ready to fight.

And fight she did.

Spinning heel kick to Goon #1, dodge of a blade stab from Goon #2 before striking him with a spinning backfist, a solid roundhouse kick to the jaw of Goon #3 which knocked him out right then & there. The Manucian Girl was cleaning house, but her concern lay with Goon #4, who now cowered over the trembling body of the boy. Noticing a bench nearby, Karen took two steps forward and jumped onto the metal armrest of the bench, before twisting her body and lunging at Goon #4.

Who turned around, upon seeing the boy's eyes veer to something in the air next to him.

*CRUNCH*

Flying knee-smash into the face of Goon #4, knocking him down! Karen somehow landed on her feet and quickly grabbed the switchblade that belonged to Goon #4, before tossing it into the bushes. She turned to take a look at the boy, realising that he seemed oddly familiar to her, then turned around upon the realisation that there were, after all, four goons that she'd just wiped out. That would want to attack her.

Instead, she was greeted with the sight of the goons picking themselves up and running away. Towards the direction of the arena, strangely enough. Karen's confusion grew, and she turned back to look at the boy, who'd clambered up to his knees.

"You look familiar."

Looking up, the boy gasped. Were his eyes deceiving him?

"So... do... you."

Then, it hit the Lassie. Were HER eyes deceiving her?

"I don't believe it."

She was staring at a former Asylum fighter, as well as one-half of a team that had competed in fWo's Survivor 3 competition. One-half of the team that, under Joe Campbell's 'guidance', appeared on a broadcast of Action!Wrestling's and almost left with the company's Dyad Championship following a breathtaking struggle; a trip that eventually turned out to be a test of whether they were worthy of Asylum contracts. That, in which, was a saga that almost tore the team apart. And actually did, in the end. Another story for another day, though.

He was also part of the same team that shamefully lost a Handicapped Fight at the seVered 2003 PPV, due to the rashness and the greed and the absolutely foolish antics of the boy. Some might say that an appropriate nickname for him would be the Angry Young Man.

But if you want to get all technical and whatnot, MATTHEW KARST was his real name.

"K-Karen? Karen Pembridge? H-Holy shit..."

Holy shit indeed. The British Lassie stood there, stunned beyond belief, not immediately aware that Gina was nowhere in sight, even if she did escape before the goons had a chance to try anything funny with her. Needless to say, this was very interesting.

To put it mildly.

Avenger vs Jade

And with it came the all 6 foot and 189 pounds of feminine angst known as Jade.

Looking for fear in her eyes? Keep looking, because there is none. Remorse, mercy, mental weakness?

No. No. And No.

Match that up with the fact that she didn't care if these people were booing or cheering her and you've got a woman who makes the "Psycho Bitch" Poison Ivy look like Shirley Temple in pig tails.

Before climbing over into the cage, Jade was sure to snatch up a steel chair from under the ring.

Avenger was indeed a monster and when it comes to the Asylum there ain't no shame in bludgeoning your opponent with a piece of folded metal.

"Skrying" by Mudvayne

Speak of the devil.

You wouldn't know he was a devil by the reaction he received. In recent weeks he had strangely garnered more respect from the bloodmarks.

Avenger climbed up the steel step, seemingly ignorant of the Jade's chair.

"Well. Here we are then, whore. What do you have to say for yourself?" Avenger said as he crossed his arms.

SMACK!

Chairshot to the face.

Avenger?

Unfazed.

Avenger goes for short-arm lariat which Jade ducks, Avenger turns around...SMACK!...

That one stung.

Smack.

That one too.

Avenger was reeling back now and Jade just kept wailing into him with that dented piece of metal.

"GrrrrrreeENOUGH." Avenger roared as he backhanded the chair.

Jade didn't let up as he retaliated with multiple punches to Avenger's face. The beast took a couple of those blows and then grabbed her wrist - twisting it - POW. Clubbing punch to Jade's face.

That one punch dropped her.

Avenger looked down on her as she held her jaw.

"Now, Jezebel. We conclude this trifle."

Ding.

Punch into the groin.

Ding.

Another.

Ding.

Yeah, and...

Ding.

The behemoth didn't drop to the ground, but he did hop around holding his dick.

With Avenger already in a minor daze, Jade saw her chance.

Wrapping her hands around Avenger's bulging neck, forcing herself to jump up...she sent a knee right into Avenger's nose. Blood began to drip and that was Jade's cue to force Avenger to the ground. This was her signature.

Blood Pool.

Aptly named seeing as how blood began to pool in Avenger's throat and Jade showed no signs of letting up.

"Die. Die." She chanted over and over as he dreadlock provided a dark curtain for Avenger's twisted face.

She kept squeezing and staring into his eyes. "Die. Die." She repeated.

Then she felt the hands on her forearms grip tighter and tighter.

Before she fully understood what was going on, her arms were being torn apart. Her hair still draping darkness over their faces the only thing she could see what the faintest white of a full blown smile.

More light peaked in, shedding illumination onto Avenger's masked face.

He smiled still beamed. Bloody sizzled and bubbled behind his teeth. His pupils grew fierce.

And before Jade knew it, Avenger was standing up, hovering over her trying to pull her arms out of their sockets.

She looked up into his face, still showing no fear.

Avenger saw this...

"ROOOOOOAAAAAAGGGRRRRRRR!!!!!!"

...and let out a bloody roar that showered crimson onto Jade's face.

It was only then that she knew fear.

And it was then that she was saved.

From behind Hardcase sent a baseball bat into the back of Avenger's neck. He didn't let go the first time. But the second and third time got his attention. He turned around and Hardcase jabbed the bat into his face with an audible crunch. That "crunch" was Avenger's nose. Hardcase acted like he didn't hear any crunch and kept jabbing Avenger in what Hardcase would call "the grill".

And blood sprayed the canvas liberally like the contents of a red airbrush.

Avenger stumbled back trying to use the rim as leverage. But that just opened him up to having his knee battered upon Tanya Harding style.

One last full swing to the Avenger's jaw is all it took to hang him out on the rim like an old bloody rag.

It was that moment that Hardcase leaned over the whispered into Avenger's ear.

"You and I are gonna be dancin' like this every night 'till Persecution sweetheart...wear comfortable shoes fucktard."

Hardcase leaned out and wiped his bloody bat on Avenger's chest before hopping out of the Asylum.

About 30 or so seconds later Avenger had recovered and he was looking for blood. He used the rim to pull himself to his feet. The crowd was cheering very unusually; Avenger ignored them and turned around.

SMACK!

Suddenly he found himself on the outside of the cage.

Jade sneered from above, throwing the chair to the canvas having proven herself.

Avenger's mind was on Hardcase.

Strangely enough the thought brought yet another Cheshire grin to his plasma caked mug.