The only way to determine what was next, was to close your eyes, and walk straight in.

Over the last few months, he had become used to the attention. He knew it was just part of the job. But, tonight, they sounded different. They were still excited, and happy to see him, but for a totally different reason. These fans didn’t want his autograph. They wanted his blood.

It was then that he actually began to pay notice to their signs.

“Down with AD”

“Death to Tyrants”

“For Our Children”

“He Is Not Worthy”

They were throwing things. Rotten fruit and vegetables, garbage. One woman even through a half bucket of pig’s blood at him.

He began running through the crowd. He was punched and kicked and spat on, but he didn’t stop running until he was safely inside the arena.

”I wonder what other surprises tonight holds”, he thought.

For this, was quiet time.

For Joe, quiet time mostly spanned over the period of around thirty seconds, but lately… it seemed to be quiet a regular thing, and Joe had a theory all about it.

It all revolved, around wankers.

You see, if you have one wanker… in one place, that wanker will generally walk around, and hand out a fair share of annoyance to every other individual not of his kind, everyone will receive an equal amount of wankerism… and thus… the wanker will prosper.

Joe however, had come up with a great plan to foil this.

Just put a lot of wankers in one place.

Enough wankers in one place, meant that the wankers would generally walk around, all being wankerish to each other, this would almost be an infinite process, each wankers wankerism cancelling out the other, by the time this process was over, the wankers were all out of wankerism, and would reach Joe in a much more dosile, beaten shitless state.

It was pretty grate, although it didn’t make sense to anything working outside Joe Campbell’s head.

“I suppose I should probably do something.” Joe said to himself, rolling up a newspaper and batting himself in the head with it a few times.

“Go and talk to the twats?” Joe asked himself suggestively.

“Nah, they’re all stupid, only worth the money they pay to watch this shitty show, can’t be arsed with them anymore, if they want to know what’s going to happen on the show, they can just figure it out for themselves.” Joe reassured himself, looking around the room.

“So, what should I do?” Joe said, looking around the room.

Throw darts at Rave Caprino had obviously been a popular pastime, however… the picture that once was Rave Caprino, was now a shredded piece of paper, thus destroying the mental image side of the game, that one was out of the window, as was the “Burn the druggies” game, a smouldering dustbin of pictures, formerly of Token Weed… now off limits after calls to the fire department were previously made, Joe now officially listed as a pyromaniac.

And wiping your arse on pictures of Borst, wasn’t really a game.

Joe was desperately bored, the same sort of bored that would drive most people to poking roadkill with a stick, randomly breaking something, or committing some other form on anti social, somewhat pointless act.

“Bah, nothing ever happens around here anymore.” Joe sighed.

A few knocks on the door later, Joe had to re-evaluate.

About why I left, why I've returned and all that other bullshit. I dunno...it was kind of boring and a bit typical. Don't misunderstand...I wasn't expecting a ticker tape parade or anything. After all, I have no will to make "The News"....Yet.

And it's not like I was a big deal in the Asylum. I don't even remember half of my fights.

But, it was typical of Joe.

"Right. Well, I can't say that at this point...I need you back, Xearo." he said with a smiling face.

"Villam. Please call me Villam, sir." I said.

Reminding people what my actual name is...will get old. Fast. But, I knew what game he was playing. He was kind of holding his cards...and peeking over them to watch my next move. My expression remained emotionless as he opened his mouth to speak.

"I mean, I never signed a hard lined contract with you. I just sort of hired you. You understand that fighters here are now required to have contracts? I could bring you back on...but...why?"

"What's in it for you, you mean?"

"Precisely, I've got a roster that hates me, PTC, TNN executives breathing down my neck, I've got so many fucking shit wrestlers running around trying to take over. Then there's Mike Bear and Borst. Rave, Token and KVC. The whole Asylum Championship situation. Honestly, that's why I haven't been keen on adding more fighters to the roster. Well....besides Hans and Adam...."

Hans and Adam. So obviously under Joe's wing. Like I said...it was typical. I knew things would play out this way when I got here. Joe wants someone that's 'on his side'. Now, of course there are certain ways I could play this. I could play this the Rave Caprino way...or the MUD way...or the KVC way and try and fight my way into the Asylum. Or I could like...not try so fucking hard.

I reached under my trench coat for the hook in my belt. His mouth opened wide.

"Oh....my....is that?"

"Yes. Yes it is, sir."

"But how did you? You didn't?"

"I did, sir. I reached into his grave and took it."

"What!? Why?"

Ok, now I could've said. 'Er, because I kept hearing his voice in my head and I knew it wouldn't stop until I removed Almighty from his coffin'. But, let's face it...that would been fucking stupid. Besides...I already know how Joe perceives me. I know what he thinks of me. Come on, I played the part of a mute to escape my past. Would I not be the slightest bit eccentric?

"Because, sir. I know how much you hated Kenny Rock. It's...a gift of goodwill."

I could feel Almighty growling as I said that. She knew it was a lie.

Quiet, my sweet.

"I'm afraid I don't understand.." he said as he glared at Almighty.

"Well, sir. I imagine Kenny Rock's soul. His remains twisting in his grave. His spirit in a constant state of unrest all because his precious possession is being used in the service of one of his greatest enemies...."

That's right Joe. Bite into my shit. I didn't even have to continue on at that point. I had him. But, I like layering the bullshit...nice and thick.

"I want to assure you...that I'm here solely for our mutual benefit. With Almighty, I can do anything...anything that you need to be done. If you're asking me for help...I'll help you. I think this is proof of my loyalty. I must say, I expected this....and if you'd kindly listen, sir...I'd like to discuss my plans with you. I believe we want the same things for the Asylum. Almighty is proof of the extremes I'm willing to go to in order to get what you...and ultimately...I want."

I kind of felt sorry for him. He's turning into a broken old man and really...I'm just using him. That's not fair. But...I guess that's life. Maybe I'm using him because he was such a bastard in a past life. Or, hell...maybe this life. Joe and I...we do have similar ideologies when it comes to the Asylum.

But, my execution and my motives are as pure as virgin cunt. Joe has been tainted by his way life. Money, Power and Fame. He's in a rut. I’mean look at him...the old "Bring in outside help" trick again. You'd think he'd learn. Though I should probably shut the fuck up. If Joe did learn from his mistakes we wouldn't have Borst or Inmate...shit, even I wouldn't be here. I sat there for about 10 minutes and explained my little plan.

There were moments of confusion and understanding. Again all very typical for dealings such as these. In the end, he had total faith in me.

"Well, this is a nice surprise." He said as he got up and shook my hand. "I have some business to attend to. I've leave you to your duties, then.." he spat out with a smile.

"Thank you, sir."

I got up to leave and...

"And Villam?"

"Yessir?"

"Welcome back."

"It's good to be back, sir."

Almighty purred like a persian cat as she hung on the hook in my belt.

Then again, that really didn't need to be said.

Something else he could stand where people inside his office, when they shouldn't have been. Especially when those people were eating the food that was prepared for him just earlier that evening.

Standing there was a man, dark skin in color, and a blue afro. His back was turned to Campbell, not even knowing that the owner of the top fighting promotion stood directly behind him.

Campbell cleared his throat, coughing to gain this man's attention. "What the fuck are you doing here?" Campbell snarled, directing his stare through him to his food which was being devoured. This was the last thing he needed at a time like this.

This man slowly turned around, revealing the face of a former wrestler. A former IWO wrestler by the name of Eddie Cheno, standing in front of Joe Campbell with a shirt that reads "Funk Authority" on it. His eyes were bloodshot, and it seemed as if he stopped breathing.

"Who da funk are you mang?" Cheno spurted out, breathing a cloud of smoke with each word out into the face of Campbell. Another thing Campbell didn't need, acne.

"Who the fuck let you in, and why the hell are you eating my food?" Campbell snarled once more.
Cheno didn't move, standing there, only to reach behind his back and grab a fry. "Wat mang? I gat da funken munchies mang."

"Does the name on this door," Campbell points to his door, which has the name Joe Campbell on it, "Match your name? I'm guessing not you fucken retard." Forget giving off a good first impression.

"It Funken match yers mang?" Cheno asked, in response. Campbell looked at him, down at the food that Cheno was eating, and back up to him.

"OF COURSE IT DOES!" Campbell screamed, before walking up to Cheno, and smacking a plate out of his hands. Cheno's eyes open in shock, shock that Campbell could do such an atrocity of nature.

"You want to barge into my office like that, I'll make you pay you worthless..." Campbell tried to calm himself down, but it wasn't working really well.

"Just get the hell out of my office, and get out in the cage later tonight. You'll have a surprise waiting..."

Cheno's eye's lit up, sparkling with delight. "A funken surprise mang? Maybe it's a funken present. Funken sweet mang!" Cheno said, before walking out of the room. Campbell just lowered his head...

The fans cheered, but booed as they saw Koji Tamura watching the same footage on a monitor in the backstage hallway.

His flattened palm on top of the TV rolled into a fist as the footage ended.

“That damn Brittany.”

He walked off. He had method in his strides, and he knew where he was going. He turned around the hallway and stopped before Joe Campbell’s office.

Knock-knock.

“Who’s there?”

Koji opened the door to see Campbell busy with a spreadsheet sorter on his laptop, calculating all of his revenues from selling Token Weed’s new t-shirt.

“Mr. Campbell,” said Koji.

“Please, it’s very rude to distract yourself when you have a guest.”

Joe didn’t even know who it was. “Damn it, can’t you see I’m busy?”

Koji approached Joe’s desk and slammed his laptop down with his left palm. Joe looked up. His eyes expanded at the sight of Koji staring down at him, with no smile and no expression.

“Even the busiest people make time for me,” said Koji.

“OK, OK,” said Joe. “Relax a little, Koji. Here, have a seat. I’d offer you some whisky, but it’s gonna be a long night for me.”

Koji sat down. “No need for liquor. I’m simply here to request a match. But it’s not for me. You see… I have this idea, that we have some sort of number one contender’s match for the Women’s Championship.

Evidently, the new champion, Jessica Jenkins, has not received any challengers as of late. My proposal would be to put the two best women fighters up against one another, with the winner receiving a title shot at the Pay-Per-View.”

“And who would those skanks be?”

“Nerva, and her new little friend, Brittany Chambers—god knows how many men this whore married—Bear.”
Joe sat back and nodded.

“You’re not so bad, Koji. I kinda like that. I’ll sign it later, after I get this merchandise sales stuff done.”

He lifted the screen of his laptop up, but Koji slammed it shut again, pulled out a knife, and dug it into the desk, between Joe’s thumb and forefinger.

“No,” said Koji. “You won’t sign it later. You’ll sign it now.”

Joe nodded, with his eyes locked on the knife.

Syndication Vs Eddie Cheno
(Handicap Match)

"What da funk is dis surprise dat Joe was talking about, mang?" asked Eddie to himself, as he spotted Hans Krueger and Adam Nowell stood in the Asylum.

Eddie decided to scream to get their attention, though they knew why they were out there already:

"HEY MANG, YOU DA FUNKIN' SURPRISE?" yelled Eddie towards the two men, who simply smiled, and nodded as the fans, realizing Eddie didn't know it was a handicap match, were yelling at him not to enter the Asylum.

However, he didn't listen.

Once Eddie stepped into the Asylum, Nowell took Eddie down with a swift kick to the head, sending him down to the cold, concrete floor.

"HEY MANG! Dat's funken not cool mang! Wat da funk you doin', mang? Playin' games?" asked Eddie quizzically to Adam, who ignored his question of utter ignorance, and proceeded to punch him repeatedly in the face with his bare hands, knocking him silly.

"Hey, Adam, you vill give me a chance to kick his ass, nein?" asked Hans, smiling as Adam continuously pummeled the defenseless Eddie Cheno with hard rights and lefts. Eddie, however, being in a drug induced daze, didn't feel any real pain.

"Hey mang, dat funken tickles! Funken stop it mang, kay?" asked Eddie, as Adam sighed, and got off of Eddie Cheno. Adam walked over to Hans, and nodded.

As Eddie got up, he received a rather painful surprise (or rather WOULD be a painful surprise, if he wasn't drugged out of his mind) when Hans Krueger executed a crescent kick, sending him once more down to the concrete.

"Let's be nice to him and finish him off. What do you say, Adam?" asked Hans to Adam, who nodded.

"Of course. We proved our point…wait, we didn't." said Adam, who took out a pair of brass knuckles, and proceeded to ram the knuckles into the forehead of Eddie Cheno.

The ref then began a knock out count, but Eddie was flipped over after five.

"Hey…mang…you…gonna…massage…me…or…something?" asked Eddie weakly, as Hans and Adam laughed. Then, they kneeled down, and executed a double Fujiwara Armbar, one of their patented tag team submission manuevers. They laughed as Eddie responded:

"FUNK MANG! I funken quit! I quit!" said Eddie as the ref motioned for the bell, giving the two men the victory in the handicap match, and Eddie Cheno lied there, breathing heavily, as the two fighters headed backstage, giving Syndication its first win as a team.

Then the following week Impetigo had a match with Koji Tamura, Hanna who stayed back in the locker room had been attacked by the masked man.

Like usual, nothing was going right.

Hanna was worried as ever. And Impetigo was constantly provoked by thoughts of the monster Callous, coming back to haunt him. Could the masked man be Callous? Last week we saw Impetigo get his hands on the Masked Man in the Asylum circle, where he had dropped him on his head with the Filth Drop.

Although that fear was present, Impetigo couldn’t wait to get his hands on the masked man again. And maybe this time the coward could show his face.

The shot then cut to the backstage where Impetigo was wandering the halls with a metal chair in hand, he was obviously searching for the Masked Man. Just like 3 months ago when he went after Callous.

Impetigo paced down the hall at an even pace, and then he saw him; the masked man. The man just stood there, staring back into Impetigo’s eyes. Impetigo acted on instinct and charged towards the coward, who was hiding behind a mask, with the metal chair cocked.

He swung violently, the masked man ducked and fired a swift kick to the back of Impetigo’s knee. It didn’t seem to bother Imp’ as he swung back around and cracked the man over the top of the skull with the chair. The man fell to the ground.

All Impetigo now had to do was unmask him.

Impetigo got down on his knees, and began to tear the mask away. But before he could peel it off, he stopped abruptly and it seemed like he saw a ghost. He did.
Because standing in front of him was another man in a mask.

Impetigo’s jaw dropped, and he became overwhelmed. He stopped tearing at the mask and backed away slowly, and then turned it into a full sprint and went out a door, without saying a word.

There was two of them? TWO! Impetigo’s problems just got worse, as the show cut to another segment.

The man whose life expectancy was measured in hours, not years.

“Campbell,” Creed said calmly as he walked into Joe Campbell’s office.

“We need to talk.”

“What now?” Joe asked.

“I thought we talked about this last week. You wanted Token Weed and you’ve got him. What more do you want? Bloody murder?”

“For a start, yeah.” Creed leaned on the desk.

“You’ve got tonight’s match booked as a handicap match. I want Token Weed all to myself. He’s crossed lines that shouldn’t have been crossed, and now I have to beat him to death.”

“Get this straight: I book the fights, not you. I tell you who to fight, you don’t tell me -”
Vic’s wrecking ball fist shot out to the side, punching a hole in the nearby wall. He withdrew his hamhock fist, bloody with fragments of the wall poking out of it.

“Maybe you didn’t hear me,” Creed said in an eerily calm voice. “I said I want Token Week all to myself. All… to… myself”

Joe looked at Creed’s fist, then at the hole in the wall. “Fine. You’ve got him one on one. It’s still non-title though.” Campbell paged through a few slips of paper. “Is that all?”

“For now,’ Creed replied and walked out of the office.

Nerva squeezed her lips together and put her lipstick back into her handbag. “Hi Brittany.”

“You’re in pretty good shape again. I’m glad to see it.”

Nerva looked at herself in the mirror and smiled. “Yeah, thanks.”

They were both geared up for their fight later in the night that was proposed by Koji and booked by Joe.

“I just wanted to say,” said Brittany, “that I hope nothing comes between us because of this match. You know, I think you and me have a lot in common. I think we could be good friends.”

“It’s just a job, Brittany. Just think about it as a job, because that’s what it is.”

Suddenly, a toilet flushed and out came Jessica Jenkins, with the Women’s Title strapped around her shoulder.

“Isn’t this amusing? Two girls trying to be friends before their little match. And notice, Nerva, that I didn’t come out and blindside either one of you. I’ve got more class than that.”

Brittany raised an eyebrow at her. “You bring your championship belt into the toilet stall? Can you say weird any louder?”

Jessica looked at her belt and then straightened her lips into a line. “I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished.”

“She probably uses it as a tampon,” interjected Nerva. “Given the fact that she’s got two bags full of dildos of all sizes at home, I wouldn’t be surprised if her hole’s that big.”

Nerva and Brittany laughed.

“Shut up!” said Jessica.

“The both of you just shut up! Neither of you even deserves a shot at this title. If the two of are all the Asylum can offer me, then I think I’m wasting my time. Nerva, I already stripped you down at pAin, but you probably enjoyed all of those men gang-banging you with their eyes. Yeah, I think you’re that kind of a girl. One who likes it rough. No one’s ever got to ask permission to fuck with you, because everyone knows you’ll like it anyway.”

It struck a chord in her, but Nerva kept her cool. “Well, Jessica, facts well-raised – you did strip me down. But who’s the one that was having an orgasm when she was getting the vaginal claw on a table in front of two horny old men? That’s right, it was you.”

Brittany laughed some more, and Jessica immediately jerked her head towards her.

“You, Brittany. What do you think is so funny? I think it’s pretty funny how you and your has-been husband were once big shot superstars in the fWo. What, you think it makes you tough to be in the Asylum? You haven’t even fought here yet. As much as I hate this bitch beside you, I hope she kicks your ass to teach you a lesson.”

Jessica smiled, washed her hands, and then left the bathroom.

“What’s up her ass?” said Brittany.

Nerva sighed. “A lot of things,” she said, and then left the bathroom.

Kodiak Vic Creed Vs Token Weed

“Snowblind…”

The fans immediately stopped cheering and began to boo furiously as Token Weed stepped out from behind the curtains, wearing his ‘Shitezone’ t-shirt. He carried his United Kingdom championship in his arm, and made his way to the Asylum.

Token tossed the title to the referee and entered the ring as the bell rang and the door was shut. Token motioned for Creed to come to him.

“I got your little whore of a daughter. Why don’t you try and fucking get her back you…” but before Token could complete his sentence, he was cut off with a hard right from Vic Creed. Creed then forearmed Token in the gut, and Double Axehandled him to the concrete.
Vic Creed lifted up Token Weed, and promptly Gorilla Pressed Token Weed.

Token Weed with a sickening crunch as the fans cheered.

Creed lifted up Token Weed, and did it again. He then did it for a third time, before stopping as the ref began the knock out count.

The ref got to six before Token Weed stumbled up as the fans booed Token Weed.

Token grinned his teeth bloodied by the rapid falls.

“Oh, a wise guy?” said Token, who was suddenly kicked in the gut by Creed.

Creed smiled as he hit the Powerdriver 2k1. The ref counted Token Weed out as Creed watched. At nine, however, Creed lifted Token Weed up and…

Tossed him out of the Asylum.

The bell rang as “Walk” hit and the fans cheered.

Creed picked up a chair, and hit Token with it a few times before the refs pulled away the chair, and Creed stormed off, more pissed then ever.

Meanwhile, Token Weed was attended to on site by EMT’s for his many new injuries and his first real loss.

"With who?" Chris said looking slightly annoyed. He held up his hand barring Joe from answering...and took a long drag from a joint.

"I mean seriously, nigga. You don't jumping up in my mix tellin' me to...uh...fight and shit....yo'.
Joe was impatient.

"Ugh. Just get your no money making ass out there. You should be happy you're getting any airtime at all. Just get out there!"

"Sucka...you betta ' RE-COG-NIZE' and 'REPRESENT' Holla wit' me!!!"

Joe stormed out, with his teeth gritted.

He did not like Chris Credible.

Nerva Vs Brittany

The fans continued to cheer as they saw Mike Bear’s wife, Brittany, walk down the aisle with her sights set forward on the cage. She entered, and then the cage door was locked. The bell sounded. Brittany extended her hand, and Nerva quickly shook it.

They circled around each other, feeling each other out and waiting for the right time to commit. Nerva faked a kick and rushed in, but Brittany was well prepared with a fireman’s carry takeover. Nerva bounced off her back and back onto her feet and then nodded at Brittany as if to congratulate her. Nerva swung a right hook, but Brittany ducked it and got behind her with a waist lock. Nerva felt around for an escape, but had no time as Brittany sent her back with a German suplex. Nerva landed on her feet and as Brittany opponent turned around, she planted a tread mark on Brittany’s forehead with a sidekick.

Brittany didn’t have time to react as Nerva hit a double round-kick combo – one to the gut and one to the mouth. She felt her lip to see if she was bleeding, and luckily, she wasn’t.

Nerva shot a middle-section round kick, but Brittany caught it and shortly after hit a dragon-screw leg-whip. She hooked Nerva up for a suplex and lifted her up to dump her out of the Asylum cage, but Nerva dropped behind, turned her around and punched her right below the eye. Nerva followed up with a back fist and then grabbed Brittany’s leg to hurl her out.

However, Brittany would have none of it, as she executed a head scissors on Nerva back to the middle of the ring.

Despite being in her first match in the Asylum, Brittany was focused on taking charge with her vast wrestling knowledge. She pulled Nerva up by the arm and whipped her into the cage.

Nerva’s back bounced off the side and she staggered forward right into a back body drop. Luckily, she was still in the cage, but Brittany was in the middle, which gave her the advantage of being safe from ring-outs. She charged at Brittany, but Brittany booted her in the mid-section and hit a gut-wrench slam.

Nerva was flat on her back, but saw Brittany leaping in the air with a leg drop. She moved out of the way at the last second, and Brittany landed thigh-first onto the canvas. Brittany was quick to get up. Nerva immediately started Charlie-horsing Brittany’s hurt thigh with round kicks, hitting five in succession before Brittany shoved her into the cage. As Brittany tended to her sore leg, Nerva came around with a full-force tornado kick smack on the jaw.

She continued the attack with a back elbow, a back fist, and then a full-nelson lock-up.

With full-force, Nerva dropped Brittany on the ground face-first. The referee started counting as Brittany struggled to get to her feet. Suddenly, Jessica Jenkins appeared at the entryway, staying there and looking on in interest. She smiled, predicting in her mind that it was the end of the match.

But Brittany would prove her wrong.

She got up as the referee reached six, and as she saw Nerva running at her, she locked her up in a breast-to-breast lock and whipped her over her head with a suplex. Nerva got up with her palm on her back and walked into a big boot to the face. Brittany brought Nerva back up, and punched her in the gut. She set her up for a piledriver, but Nerva had the presence of mind to slam Brittany on her back by the legs.

Brittany struggled but still found herself rolled over in a Boston crab. She used her sheer strength advantage to push Nerva off head-first into the cage. Nerva got up, and as Brittany charged, she unleashed a jumping reverse sidekick to the chest. Brittany fell back five feet, and Nerva closed that gap with seemingly another jumping reverse sidekick, but it was only a fake jump. Brittany stalled for a second too much, allowing Nerva to ax kick her on the shoulder, sending her to one knee.

Nerva was ready to deliver a knockout kick, but Brittany grabbed both of her legs before she could move them and muscled her to the mat. They rolled around, with Brittany’s arms locked around Nerva’s thighs and her face pressed against Nerva’s built abdomen. Finally, Brittany stayed on top and started to pound away at Nerva. At this moment, Jessica rubbed her chin while the gold over her shoulder gleamed. Nerva pushed Brittany off of her and locked in a cross arm-breaker.

Brittany grimaced in pain but kept shaking her head at the referee’s question of whether or not she wanted to continue. Brittany managed to kip up and struggle out of the move, but Nerva was right back on her with a Kaja Hajime choke-out. Nerva choked away, not because she hated Brittany, but because it would mean another shot at the Women’s Championship she lost at pAin. Another shot at recognition. Brittany lifted both her legs up, kicked off the rim and flipped behind Nerva.
She locked her into a cobra clutch, turned around, and Chamber Suplexed her over the rim to the outside. The fans cheered at the upset victory, but Jessica Jenkins wasn’t joining them. Instead, she rushed to the cage, stepped in and before the ref could even raise Brittany’s hand, whacked her over the head with the title belt. Jessica began stomping away at her new number one contender, but Nerva made her way back into the cage and went straight after her with a flying punch to the face.

Nerva leapt in the air with the Double Touch, but Jessica avoided it and bailed out of the cage. The kicks only hit air, but the fans cheered anyway. Out of the crowd, however, came a man who only escalated the heat in the cage.

Koji Tamura

And a kendo stick

Brittany made her way up as Koji entered, and received a sickening cane shot to the back of the head.

“To answer your question from last week,” he said, “yes, Brittany, I know enough about kendo to whip an nosy bitch like you.”

Nerva stood, frozen once again. She felt as if there was nothing she could do, as if this man she had defeated before was an unstoppable monster. He whacked away at Brittany’s unconscious body, screaming out against her actions last week. She bailed out of the ring and ran to the back with something in mind. Seconds later, Bear and Fear came out, with Nerva behind them. They rushed to the ring, while she stayed under the AsylumTron.

Looking down at Brittany, Koji felt his task was done and bailed out of the ring. Bear chased him into the crowd as Fear knelt down to check on Brittany. Nerva walked down the aisle and up the steps, staying there with guilt written over her face.

He knew that.

The world knew that.

Joe should have known that as well. But, here he was again...smelling of weed and Nautica cologne...about to jump into another fight. That's right...fight. Chris didn't like that word. There were wrestlers here...hell they outnumber the fighters. It should just be a wrestling federation. He could deal with that.

"Teething" By Deftones began to fill the PA and Chris made his way out of the curtain. But before he could lift a hand to wave to the semi-cheering crowd....

WHAM!

His upper torso buckled hard under the impact of whatever stuck him in the back.

Then "he" stood there.

Draped in all black, a meshed dark mask covering his face and appearing to be some sort of phantasm. He stood there staring down at Credible as he tried to sooth the small of his back with his hand. That's when he raised "it" into the sky...

Almighty.

The crowd made a loud astonishing noise. Almost simultaneous was their surprise.

First Borst and now this? Is it possible?

Has Kenny Rock returned from the grave?

The "phantom" brought the Sledgehammer down into Chris's ribs with a loud crunch! Chris screamed out in agony as the crowd began to roar in horror. Chris managed to get to his knees and tried to desperately crawl away...but the phantom would have none of that as he ran over to Chris and dragged him down the ramp by his hair. The sight of Almighty kept security at bay as the phantom threw Chris - broken ribs and all - into the Asylum. The phantom sprawled up into the ring and sudden fear overtook Credible as he made a poor effort at getting to his.....

CRACK!

The phantom had swung the Sledgehammer upwards into the jaw of Chris Credible. He fell back with a pathetic groan and lay there in a babbling heap. With some help from the phantom Chris managed to get to his knees. Credible's mouth was an ocean of red and his head was absolutely ringing...he looked up....

WHAM!

The phantom simply crowned the hell out of Credible with an overhead swing of Almighty. Blood spurting from the top of his head, Credible lay unconscious and not breathing. At this point security decided it would be best to intervene. But, it was far too late as the phantom leapt out of the Asylum and fled back through the curtains.

EMT's soon headed to the ring afterwards.

But, it was probably far too late to save Chris Credible.

Rave Caprino Vs Adam Nowell

Then, what does he do? Comes back, screws your chance with a huge sponsor, and gets you to sign him to a contract. First of all, what the fuck were you thinking?

Second, what are you going to do?

Easy, book him against a star kick boxer.

A theme is something one is to be associated with.

“One Armed Man” by Project 86 played, and the fans looked toward the entrance in confusion. Adam Nowell, Asylum’s newest acquisition stepped on the stage area. The general audience had no reaction, except a few well placed boos from those who followed him in his “Pride” days.

The reaction to his opponent, however, was quite the opposite. “Surfacing” by Slipknot had become synonymous with hate, violence, and overall disgust.

A hateful, violent, disgusting individual matched this theme. Rave Caprino stepped from the entryway, and the boos only escalated to a deafening level. He walked down the ring, slowly and methodically, taking in ever ounce of hate the fans were harboring for him. He got off on it, and each time he walked from there, he was at his sexual peak.

Figuratively speaking, of course.

Rave stopped at the edge of the caged ring and grabbed a few chairs, throwing them in the ring at his lesser-known opponent. Nowell looked down at the chairs, but did not make a move for one. Stalking around the ring, Rave finally made his way inside. The two circled each other, Nowell in stance and Rave just mocking his technicality. Finally, Nowell advanced. He threw two punches, which Rave ducked followed by an attempted knee to the stomach. Rave caught the leg, hooked under it and reached around Nowell’s waist.

The mesh steel shook as Rave tossed his opponent against it. The punches felt like hammer blows to the face of Nowell as he leaned back against the steel. Rave stepped back and Nowell stood tall, only to receive a stiff side kick to his stomach. He fell to his hands and knees on the ground as Rave stepped back and kicked him in the face.

That plan failed as Nowell moved his head to the side and hugged Rave’s foot to his shoulder with his arms. He then placed his hands on the base of Rave’s foot as he stood up and kicked Rave in the side twice, before taking his right foot back and trust kicking him in the stomach. The frame of Rave Caprino fell to the canvas as Nowell awaited the referee’s count.

1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

Rave was already up to his feet, but Nowell tried to cut him down at his knees with a sliding kick. Rave stepped forward before stomping on the side of his opponent’s head. The fans cringed at the sight as Nowell rolled in pain, grabbing where he had been kicked. Rave smiled before grabbing a chair, waiting for Nowell to stand up.

As expected, he did, but saw Rave coming from the corner of his eye. He jumped in the air with a one hundred and eighty degree spin kick. Of course, it seemed pretty futile, considering Rave had stopped a few steps short to avoid the contact. Nowell’s face cringed, even before contact, like he knew the shot was coming. The sound of steel cracking against bone matter echoed around the arena. Nowell fell to his knees, semi-conscious after the first shot.

Opportunity was knocking.

Rave ran forward and delivered what could be considered one of the most horrific chair shots Asylum had ever seen. A beautiful fountain of blood escaped from every hole in Nowell’s face as the chair made contact. His nose, his mouth, his skull, there was even blood on the chair as his now limp body leaned backward, but then rocked forward.

The referee stepped up to make the count, but realized that would not be possible. Rave rained down chair shot after chair show to the back and head of Nowell, not letting up. The fans watched in awe, receiving what they wanted.

Blood.

A small pool of the red substance formed around Nowell’s head, even before wrapped his head in the chair. The fans had seen this move before, but not in the matter is was about to be done. Rave then propped Nowell up in a sitting position, his face still placed against the back part of the sitting area and the back support stuck between his back and the Asylum cage.

Rave looked at the man and ran forward, delivering a hard kick to the font of the chair. He lifted his foot backward, and delivered three more kicks, causing the chair to dent inward. Nowell slumped downward, once again lying on the canvas and staring at what would be lights, but was only the dark blue steel of the chair covered in his own blood. The count was only epidemic.

1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

7.

8.

9.

10.

The referee called for the bell, but Rave called for a microphone.

“Ambition will get you nowhere. Just because you desire something doesn’t mean you’ll get it. Nowell, you came into this match with the ambition to start off with a dash in the win column.

Little did you know that your first obstacle would be Rave Caprino. Dreams are not reality, little fucker, but I’m not here to talk about you.

“Joe Campbell, you’re still scratching at the bottom of the barrel, aren’t you? First, you couldn’t find any fighters in the promotion, so you hired top tier wrestling talents. After that didn’t work, you tried to hire would-be fighters that turn out to be no talent cuntrags like this one.”

Rave stepped back and kicked the still unconscious Nowell in the gut.

“Voices” by Disturbed. The fans cheered once again for the same reason they had the first time Joe interrupted Rave. Joe did not make his way to the ring, but merely stood on the stage area with a microphone in his hand.

“Diluted Rave Caprino, you want to fucking talk about reality? You make yourself out to be this big, bad fighter against wrestling. When you came here, you were just a fighter lost in a crowd of wrestlers in some small time promotion. I made you what you are. I gave you a gimmick. I-“

“You gave me shit, bitch boy. Why don’t you shut the fuck up before you get hurt? I fought in the wrestling promotions to display my hatred for the industry. I came here before you had the idea of signing me to fight in a match. Before that, I gave a speech about how much I hated wrestling. You’re talking out of your ass again, Joey.”

Joe began to speak, but couldn’t utter a syllable before Rave jumped out of the Asylum and began walking up the ramp at a slow pace.

“You brought this on yourself. You hired me. You signed me. You could have cut your losses and taken another night’s worth of torture, but instead, you gave me a contract. Now, I have clearance to be here. You can’t fire me for two years, Campbell. Two wonderful years, chock full of Rave Caprino. You’re fucked.”

Rave was within five steps of Campbell before the owner of Asylum ducked out behind the curtains. Rave did not chase after; he had the man exactly where he wanted him. He pushed aside the curtains and walked into the hulking mass that was Tyler Burton. Rave kept walking, but Tyler looked behind and eyed the man, harboring unexpressed hatred for the young star.

The burnt locker room.

The segment playing during his match.

And now this.

“So, how are you chaps enjoying you’re first night in business then?” Joe quizzed, Krueger scouling, and Nowell a bloody mess.

“Good, a happy employee is a hard working employee, which will make what I have to tell you next all the more easier, for me.” Joe said with a wry smile.

“Basically boys, I was having another look at these “contracts” that Mike Bear and Fear decided to write up for themselves, and the news wasn’t great… really, apparently… they have to be involved in at least one number one contender match this month, otherwise I’m liable for a lot of bollocks in court that I don’t really need… the I mean, look at them… two scruffy drunken bastards, it wouldn’t surprise me if their entire life plan up to this very point was to execute this plan to nab all of my money while I’m unawares, therefore… they’ll need to face someone for the contendership tonight, and well…”

Joe said, peering over the shoulders of Nowell and Krueger, then directly at them.

“You’re all I’ve got at the moment, so if its not too much trouble… which I know it isn’t for such a kind hearted German… and erm, a nice American “dude”… you can get you’re arses back through that curtain and beat Dissident shiteless, alright?” Joe said once again.

Nowell looked visibly furious, Krueger opened his mouth.

“But…” Krueger began, quickly being cut off.

“EXCELLENT! But eh? Must write that one down… didn’t know it was German for yes, ah well… stupid inferior language anyway.”

Joe roared, clasping his hands together and walking off, as Krueger and Nowell looked at each other, before sighing and making their way back through the curtain and down to the Asylum for another battle.

Dissident Vs Syndication

Krueger had already battled once tonight, and for Nowell, this would be his gruelling third involvement, already taking care of Eddie Cheno, before falling victim to Rave Caprino, Nowell was in a bad way.

And when things can’t get any worse, they always do.

“Testify” by Rage against the machine.

Dissident.

Mike Bear and Fear emerged from behind the curtain to a wall of support ahead, before them stood the two sole reasonings for them not having the team titles strapped around their waists this week, Krueger and Nowell had done Joe’s bidding, and directly pissed off two men they knew nothing about.

How long they knew nothing about them, didn’t last very long.

Krueger quickly learnt what it felt like to have the massive boot of a monster wedged into his face, just as Nowell learnt that Mike Bear could easily deliver an attack which lived up to his name, Krueger quickly feeling a solid boot to the jaw from Fear that snapped his head back, and Nowell being purely mauled by Bear, who simply battered him from a bloody pulp, to a bloody mess on the canvas!

The crowd exploded, Dissident clearly marking their new found territory with style, Bear leaving the down and out Nowell, and turning to stand side by side with Fear, who stumbled back into Bear via a hard right hand from the pit fighter Krueger, who wasted no time in rushing at his foes, and making a crucial mistake!
Krueger rushed at Bear and Fear, who simply ducked, before standing tall, the momentum, added to the differential height of the two men, sent Krueger flying extremely awkwardly in a back body drop style.

CRUNCH!

The crowd grimaced.

As ironically, Bear and Fear did… turning to see that they’d back body dropped Krueger straight onto the downed Nowell, the moment of sympathy from Dissident was rare however, and lasted as long as one would expect, a quarter of a second, Fear grabbing Krueger by the collar and dragging him like a ragdoll across the Asylum, as Mike Bear sent several choice punches straight into Nowell’s head, each accompanied with a word or two about team titles.

The winners would go on to face the champions at the coming pay per view, this was Bear and Fear’s chance, not the best they’d had yet… but with mere weeks to go, it might well be the last, and they signalled out thorough intent to do it, Fear grabbing Krueger by the throat, and legweeping him down into the Asylum rim, his head cracking it with a sickening clang, as Bear dragged Nowell, and locked him into an agonising fujiwara armbar!

Nowell grimaced through the coat of blood on his face, his hand hovering about the canvas is a suggestive manor, the momentum was quickly broken however, a watching Fear sent to his knee’s by a sly Hans Krueger low blow, and Bear quickly forced to relinquish his hold, via a swift boot to the temple from the very same individual, Krueger helped up Nowell, the two men now dirtied with their own blood, and right at home.
Quickly showing to the crowd’s displeasure, that they weren’t being payed for nothing.

Nowell sent several solid shots into the downed Bear’s face, busting open his lip as he tried to catch the punched, Krueger used similar dirty tactics, grabbing a large handful of Fear’s hair, before using it to drag his head into a solid knee which awaited, he repeated this several times before mixing up the smashing of Fear’s head into the mesh, with grating it against the very same surface.

As Nowell caught Bear with a significantly solid punch, they both turned to Fear and took him down with a double team fujiwara armbar!

Fear was in trouble, both men wrenching his arms in different directions, there was no question however, that Fear was no ordinary man, and both members of Syndication quickly found it out, to their own dismay.

They were suddenly elevated from the canvas, like ant’s gripping desperately to the giants arms, Fear had simply got to his feet with both men attached, with one fling, Nowell hurtled into the Asylum mesh and bounced to the canvas with a thud, as Fear grabbed Krueger by the hair and pulled him over his shoulder, simply sitting down and hitting him with a sick looking inverted piledriver, bouncing his head hard off the canvas.

As Krueger tried to shake off the effects of the devastating blow to the head, he soon had other things to worry about.

UnBearable.

Locked in, as Bear had done several times in previous weeks, Krueger was desperately gasping for air, but with every clench, Mike Bear stole it from him, elevating Krueger completely from the mat, his windpipe was being thoroughly crushed, as he prepared to pass into unconsciousness.

And then, just as UnBearable had been a regular occurrence, another arrived.

“And the referee’s to be fired this week are as follows!” Joe Campbell roared, clutching a microphone and a piece of paper, the referee in the Asylum suddenly turned with a shocked expression on his face, as Joe walked up the steps toward him.

“YOU!” Joe roared, the referee watching Bear throw a tapping out Krueger to the canvas, the referee looked towards the timekeeper, gesturing for the bell to ring.

“Ahem, what the fuck? I fired you shitface… you can’t call a match if you aren’t employed, and you? Timekeeper boy!? If you ring that bell, I’ll fucking fire you too… and… ERGH!” Joe suddenly gasped, a vice like grip, executed by Fear, suddenly locking around his throat as he stood on the steps, a second later, Joe had been thrown into the Asylum, as Krueger and Nowell stumbled out, Bear was in the hands of Dissident now.

“Ah, c’mon guys… I was only joking!” Joe said desperately, Bear dragging him up by the collar, and clenching a fist.

CRACK!

The crowd exploded.

With boos?

The crack wasn’t what would’ve been a satisfying break of Joe’s nose by Mike Bear, it was instead the sound of a Hans Krueger influenced chair hitting Bear in the head, the same crack followed as Fear fell victim, Joe got to his feet and gasped for air.

“You… referee… I hired you back, now, lets finish the match shall we?” Joe said, the referee nodding to acknowledfe.

“Onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightninetehereareyourwinnerssyndivationgoodbye!” Joe said in one load roar, before staring at the referee who, after some kind gesturing rang the bell and gave Syndication the win, they would go on to face the champions at the Pay Per View, for Dissident however, the torment of Joe Campbell continued, as he and Syndication fled the Asylum, Bear and Fear getting to their feet unaware of the referee’s actions, giving chase to Joe and his motley crew.

Facing the champions at the pay per view or not, Bear and Fear would have their revenge.

A.D. Vs Joe w/Borst as Special Referee
(Asylum Championship)

As Borst annoyed the fans, they stopped briefly to direct boos back to the aisle, as “Voices” by Disturbed rocked through the arena, and owner of the Asylum, Joe Campbell… made his entrance.

This was clearly some form of mockery, the concept of A.D. Vs Joe alone was far fetched enough, but the sight of Joe wearing a rocky style gown to the ring and throwing in some shadow boxing made it all the more cheesy, as he clambered into the Asylum being pelted with trash, he glared shortly at Borst who just appeared to ignore him.

“Between Angels & Insects” by Papa Roach.

Mass hysteria in the crowd was overwhelming, two hated men entering first, A.D. was arguably the most likeable man in the Asylum, there were however a good amount of boos hitting him, where they were coming from was hard to determine, but he heard them as he made his way down to the Asylum, looking the two individuals inside over and wondering wether this might simply be a set up, alas… nothing like jumping in at the deep end, for A.D. simply leapt into the Asylum.

"DING DING!" shouts Borst, before yelling at A.D. and Joe to go out it. The first thing Joe does is charge towards the cage and tries to climb out, thus losing the match. But it's to no avail. A.D. grabs Joe's waist and hoists him back to the middle of the ring, before clubbing him down with a quick clothesline.

"1!"
"2!"
"3!"
"4!"
"5!"
"You're smiling!"
"Get up!"

Borst grabs Joe, who's obviously not down and OUT, and hoists him to his feet. "Now fight." Borst says to Joe, as he holds Joe by the scruff of his neck. A.D. grabs Joe and spins him around, landing several quick clubbing blows to the back. Joe immediately falls over again, but Borst doesn't even bother counting.

"Get him up. Get that bastard up." A.D. says to Borst. "Don't you dare count him out. Get him up."

Joe knows that won't work, so he grabs A.D.'s ankle, and begins to tap out!

Nope. Borst shakes his head and tells Joe to "Get the fuck up."

Eventually, Joe gets to his own feet, and makes a lunge towards the cage and he manages to get outside! A.D.'s champion via ringout! Well he would be, but Borst has conveniently got something in his eye, and has his back turned to Joe who's on the outside, staggering towards the aisle. Borst calls A.D. over and puts his hand on A.D.'s shoulder. Dalton's immediate reaction is to push Borst's hand off of him, and by doing so, Borst takes a Hebner style dive and holds his head.

A.D. doesn't bother to argue... he just smirks and shakes his head before climbing out of the Asylum and going after Joe, eventually stopping him halfway along the ramp. The fans roar as A.D. smacks Joe across the face with an open hand, and then lands a closed fist right on Joe's nose, causing a nauseating spray of blood to fly from his nostrils. A.D. drags Joe back down the aisle, kneeing him in the mid-section on the way.

A quick Irish whip into the side of the cage on the outside, and Joe's flat on his back again on the outside. A.D. doesn't give Joe time to catch his breath, and sensing he's pretty much got Joe legitimately beaten, tosses Joe back into the Asylum.

"That's it!" A.D. shouts, and in one swift motion, A.D. pulls Joe up and gives him a Fall From Grace in the centre of the ring!

Referee Borst seems to be revived, but he's quite "groggy". He counts!

1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9

...

"He's faking it. Get up Joey." Borst says. "Dalton, kick him or something."

A.D. doesn't look amused, and glares at Borst, before getting right in his face as an argument ensues.

Joe from behind! A battered Joe Campbell jumps A.D. from behind, smacking him across the back! A.D. falls into Borst, knocking them both to the mat, and Borst ain't happy. He quickly gets up to his feet and stares at Joe, eyes open wide.

Whack.

Borst plants a hard right to Joe's jaw, knocking him to the mat, before counting.
"12345678910. Ring the bell. New champion A.D. Bye."

Borst tosses the Asylum Championship to A.D. and clambers out of the ring. The fans seem happy A.D. has the title, and although he's just been whacked in the mouth, Joe seems happy too. But A.D. doesn't.

"I don't want this!" A.D. screams. "I didn't earn this! I don't fucking want this!"

Borst, who's now halfway up the ramp stops and turns around. "OK then. Two weeks time, me and you. My comeback match, your first title defence. Lets see if you can earn it then... fuckhead."

The fans go crazy at the prospect of A.D. vs Borst at the PPV in just two week's time, but A.D. just doesn't seem fussed at all. The Sunday Show comes to a close as A.D. stares at the Asylum Championship for a moment, before throwing it to the mat, stamping on it and then spitting on it.

And as if that wasn’t bad enough.

The same group of protesters from outside the arena had made their way inside, riling up emotions in the fans. And now, as Angel Dalton stood in the ring, the new Asylum champion, emotions reached their boiling point, and the crowd exploded. It started as a small group of people rushing the ring, but soon there were hundreds, then thousands until finally the whole arena pulsated with madness.

Screaming fans everywhere. As far as the eye could see. Tearing the arena to shreds.

Security tried as best they could to calm them down, but the thousands were no match for the undermanned Asylum security team. A.D. and Joe were quickly whisked away as a team of rabid fans broke through the security fence, and into the ring.

Another group of enraged fans stormed the Asylum production table, trashing monitors and sound equipment finally stopping all signals to the outside world.

At home, the screens went black.