Maybe for once, he would.

What do you mean no?

Tyler! Fuck this man... what have I ever asked of you?

Ok... well that.

... yeah, and that too.

And that.

Well that's not the point Tyler, the point is... I need you on this one, I'm going to go over there and sort this bollocks out with Action! once and for all... cunts, they think that because I haven't chopped their balls off yet I'm afraid, fuck that... if I weren't busy hammering the last rusty nails into 21wrestling's coffin I would have dealt with those fuckers a long time ago.

Well... I understand that you aren't pleased about the Exxa Decimal stuff last week, but it ain't gonna happen again... trust me." Joe uttered, he stopped for a moment to think about how Austin Davis esque the last line sounded, not to mention the fact that in true Davis form... the sentiment trust me was a contradiction in itself.

"Fine then Tyler! You know what... fuck you! If you want to kick around the arena doing fuck all, all night... then that's fucking fine by me, it won't make much difference to what you usually do will it? You fucking dust gatherer." Joe snarled, slamming the phone down on whom was presumably the current Asylum champion, the Inmate.

"Fucking Dawsons Creek." Joe shuddered to himself "The only Creek that Reed Young is going to be familiar with is Shit Creek when I've finished with him... faggot, who does he think he is... fucking firing shots... stealing my shit, let's see what he steals when I cut his fucking fingers off." Joe snarled, before picking out a key from his pocket and unlocking his desk drawer, he pulled out his pride and joy... the handgun which never left his side.

"You and me as always partner, looks like we're gonna have to waste another couple of bullets on some sack of shit... but don't you worry, it'll be worth it." Joe chuckled to himself, pulling a clip from his pocket and snapping it into place.

Without warning, Joe's door swung open, in a panic he shoved his gun into the belt of his trousers and tried to look inconspicuous.

Mike Westwood.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you to knock, cocksucker?" Joe grunted at Westwood.

"I'm sorry Joe... I'm just, well... you know, people are wondering what's going on with you... you haven't been out there to cut the opening speech yet... you haven't even booked any matches." Westwood quizzed Joe, whilst tapping his fingers on the doorframe nervously.

"Listen you girl, I'll do what I want... I run things around here... no, I'm not going out to make a speech because it makes me an easy target for that fuckhead Exxa Decimal... and no, I'm not booking any matches either, if there is no Show, those wrestling twats can't spoil anything can they?" Joe replied through a sneer.

"Oh, I see... so what are you going to do?" Westwood replied.

"Buy a plane ticket and take care of some business, the Campbell way... now fuck off, I can smell you from here you greasy cunt." Joe snarled, as Mike Westwood promptly left.

"But first, we'll see if those wrestling wankers have taken the bait." Joe whispered to himself, smiling.

Joe picked up his phone.

"Send them in." Joe uttered, before slamming the phone down... seconds later, several security guards were at his door... the leader of what stepped forth.

"What can we do for you, boss?" The Security guard stammered.

"Do exactly what I say." Joe sneered... before pulling out the gun which was tucked neatly into his belt, and pointing it at the sergeant's head.

"Or I'll put you down." He grunted... as the security guards all stood... frozen to the spot.

But not for long.

An empty bottle of guiness hit the closing door of Joe Campbell's office as a sobbing and piss-scared security sergeant made a hasty exit.

Joe was violent. Joe was irate. Joe was mad.

And other words for anger.

As of late Joe Campbell felt himself surrounded by fuckwits. More so than usual. It seemed that Asylum's win at Immortals did nothing more than shed light on the flaws that were inherent in his company of fighters. Virtues that 21W had.

Honesty.

Honor.

Integrity.

Love for the sport.

...and most of all...

Loyalty.

That's what Joe needed most of all right now. A bunch of fighters loyal to him who would work like surgeons and cut out the cancer that's currently trying it's best to eat it's way into the Asylum. Those four men that ran into a "Joe Campbell main event" and set his arena on fire. It not only annoyed Joe that it was a bunch wrestlers that time forgot who had cost him nearly a 500,000 Dollars in damage, but it annoyed him even more that someone would have a outright brass to attack him head on.

Joe had to admit...he respected that brass. The last time Joe had encounter just a brazen and direct disrespect was...

A lightblub.

Joe hit the speakerphone button linking to his secretary.

"Yes. Put me in contact with WR headquarters."

He swaggered alongside the desk of the receptionist, and though she was not his type, he knew he didn't have the time to sit there waiting all day for a chance to speak with Campbell.

Certain measures had to be taken. Planting his ass on the side of the desk he glanced down into the eyes of the woman cracking a coy little smile with a peice of his long brown hair partially covering one of his puppy dog like eyes.

"Remy Leroux tah cee Joe Campbell." his cajun accent was as a thick as the smog in LA.
Glancing over his appointment book she tried to find Leroux. "Ooh Mister Leroux, you were suppose to be here an hour ago." her voice cracked feeling Remy's eyes undressing her.

"Ah juss got into town, seem LA ain't dah only place wit traffic." he joked trying to work his way past the door. "Ah'm sho if you'll juss be tellin Mistah Campbell Ah've arrived he'll be moah dan willin to cee Ole Remy."

He could tell she was buying it, afterall outside of Cajun Country not many women can resist the act. Sure he was creole born and bred but for outsiders the act was always used to assist in any situation that might require it. And by watching this woman squirm he could tell she bought it.

"Mister Leroux if you'll take a seat I will let Mister Campbell know your here." she smiles shying away from eye contact, her pannies were already in need of a changing.

Women, women were always the easiest to figure out, telling them what they wanted to hear, romancing them from their natrual defenses just another benifit of being Cajun. But the receptionist was the least of his problems now. She would do her part to make sure Remy was allowed in to see Joe, but as the old saying goes you can't bullshit a bullshitter and that is exactly the task he had set before him.

"How tah get Joe tah offer meh a contract?"

He didn't usually have to do this, but the last three times his assistants brought him coffee, it either turned out to be too hot, had no sugar in it, or tasted like it came straight out of the gaping asshole of a grizzly bear. Finally, he got fed up with his assistants, fired them, and got his coffee.

He entered the office, and reeled in shock when he was confronted by a man in a leather trenchcoat that stood just in front of the door, spilling the coffee right on the floor. Campbell, of course, was not particularly happy with this. "YOU! What in the FUCK are you doing in my office?!"

The man in the office turned to Campbell, and his striking features were seen in the dim light. His gray eyes were piercing, his bear shined in what little light there was, and the scar showed that he had had his fair share of battles in his own right. He remained emotionless, though the hint of a grin was evident.

"You really need to invest in better security, Joseph." the man said, smiling. He stepped aside to show the slumped, unconscious body of an unfortunate member of security that had managed to find him in Joe's office. "Seems as though your current body isn't up to snuff for the likes of me. Actually, that's why I'm here."

Joe started to turn around to run right out of his office and call for help, but in a lightning-fast move, the man grabbed Joe by the collar of his shirt and tossed him back toward the office.

Joe hit with a resounding thump on the floor, and the man calmly shut the door. He turned toward Campbell who was now standing up and glaring at the man through his sunglasses.

"Let me guess. You're a fucking idiot who thinks he can just manhandle me in an attempt to get a contract? Or maybe you're like Kinkade, just trying to win himself into my favor so you can screw me over? Whatever the reason, fuck you."

The man just laughed. "I get that a lot."

Joe seemed puzzled, but the man simply held out his hand for a handshake. "My name is Maxwell. ...Ian Maxwell." he said, "No job is too dirty for me, and no fight is too bloody for me.

I essentially do what others wouldn't even go near."

Joe scratched his chin in thought of this. Another guy like that couldn't hurt, now could it? Joe shrugged and then shook Maxwell's hand. He grinned a grin that showed off his rather unpleasant teeth.

"Hired."

No sooner had one fuckhead left the realm of Joe Campbell's office... were another one, or two... at the door.

"Dude... maybe this is all just an elaborate trick... maybe there IS no office! You've seen the Matrix and stuff right... THERE IS NO SPOON, BY GOD... THERE IS NO SPOON!"

Joe Campbell rolled his eyes to the heavens.

Whatever was behind his door, was idiotic.

"Maybe you're just pushing when you should be pulling?" Another voice chirped in.

"Maybe if I place the boot like so... and yank the nob like..."

SNAP.

"So..."

Joe rolled his eyes once again, as the sound of crashing and breaking could be heard outside... a couple of seconds later... the door flung in and in walked...

"Chavez!? I thought my message was pretty clear taco boy... go back to Mexico... there's nothing for you here, we don't need any spicy food, we don't need any sombrero's... tequila's... blah blah blah, masked tossers, the works... we need not, a wanker like you, now please... get back in the box... and fuck off home." Joe uttered arrogantly.

"NO." Avo Chavez screamed back... he was dirty, he was tired... he's just battled his way back across the border for about the ten thousandth time in his life, and he was now at breaking point.

"No?" Joe laughed back.

"NO! Me and my friend here did not just fight our way back to the Asylum for you to tell us no!" Avo cried, thumbing over his shoulder... unfortunately, his compatriot was not yet with him.

"And this friend would be whom? Your imaginary spick border jumping friend? Sorry... that is what we Earthlings like to call a mirror, and that Avo... is your reflection." Joe laughed, his laugher was quickly silenced however... as a ghost from the past walked through the door, bleeding from the head and wearing the most feeble attempt at a frown since ever.

"Hey... asshole, you need to get your shit together... these cheap ass doorknobs just won't do... someone could have an accident." Enrique marched through the door.

"Chri... Chris... Chris Credibl..." Joe's face was a complete picture of confusion.

"Not anymore... you can call me by my new... unique, inconspicuous name... Enrique Iglesias, now... I am here to inform you about myself and my amigo here Avo Chavez... we have just battled the elements... the sun, the sand... my desire to eat small Mexicans, just to come back here to ask you for a job... so uh, you better give us a job... mister!" Enrique demanded... folding his arms in a very suggestive manor.

"I... but... the fucking... I... never... well." Joe continued to sit mystified, before finally reaching for the solution to the problem.

The handgun in his belt.

He gripped the handle, and was about to blast both of the idiots before him away... but suddenly, an idea formed in his head.

"You know something... friends... I might have a job for you afterall, you see... there are these bad, bad guys called Fall of Adam... they've been walking around punishing people all the time, and quite frankly... I don't think they're going to cut the mustard... maybe you guys could be my new punishment crew?" Joe questioned.

"NO... TWENTY DOLLARS!" Enrique roared out of the blue, before Avo pulled him over to one side.

"Man, what are you doing?" Avo asked.

"Bartering." Enrique replied.

"For what?" Avo asked again.

"I uh... I don't know... it's always good to barter, don't you watch QVC?" Enrique answered.

"QVC... but they don't... nevermind..." Avo looked up to Joe "You've got a deal... now, if you'll just let us know who needs to be punished, we'll do it." Avo went on.

Joe quickly took a pen and paper, and made a few notes... he handed the paper to Enrique... who read over it... and smiled at Chavez... as the two started to leave.

"Oh..." Joe piped up "What shall I call you two fine specimens?"

Joe physically strained to hold back the laughter.

"Call us... LOS TOROS!" Enrique roared.

"Dude... what does that mean?" Avo asked.

"I don't know... you're the Mexican one..." Enrique went on as the two left the room and closed the door behind them.

"So, how do you think that went?" Avo asked.

"It was awesome dude... I always knew that Joe liked me deep down... and besides, check these opponents... we've gotta take out some Dairy products which will be totally sweet because well, apples kick ass... and then we're got some guy called Adam who's always falling down, how hard can that be?" Enrique squealed with delight.

"Cool." Avo spoke back "By the way Enrique... apples aren't dairy products... that's bananas... did you ever hear of apple milkshake?"

Enrique looked puzzled, as the two walked unbeknownst toward a grizzly fate.

Mike Westwood filling up a paper cone with water. He looked up at Providence, smiled, and took a drink from his cone. “Sure! Fill me in.”

Providence patted Westwood on the shoulder. “Follow me.”

They walked down the hallway and when they reached the exit doors, Providence stopped. “All right, kid, this is your scoop and it’s gonna make you famous. Two nights ago, I fucked Nerva.”

Westwood choked on his water. “You what?”

“That’s right, I fucked her real good. Even though I treated her like shit and she hated my guts, she’s still an equal opportunity whore. Anytime she sees a cock she’s gotta get her pussy over it. So you know what I did to the bitch?”

Nerva heard the talk from around the corner. Her back was flat against the plaster wall. “Go on, you son of a bitch,” she whispered. “Tell him everything.”

Her silent words faded into the air, away from Providence’s ear.

“So yeah,” Providence said, “I gave her exactly what she wanted. Except I put a little exclamation point at the end. She thought we were back together and everything was fine, but I threw it all back in her face. I told her that I wish I’d never met her. That’s how you handle whores like that. Fuck em and then come clean with your feelings. That’s your lesson about women today, kiddo.”

“Jeez, that’s some harsh stuff,” said Westwood. “So are you still gonna fight Nerva at Retribution?”

Providence laughed. “If her pussy’s not so sore from the fucking I gave her, then yeah, I’ll fight her. But I highly doubt she’d-”

His words went through one of her ears and out the other. Nerva didn’t care about what he had to say anymore, because he’d said enough to piss her off. She hugged the transparent blue water tank on the cooler and pulled. A little bit of water spilled out on the floor before Nerva turned it over in her arms.

Westwood placed a hand on Providence’s arm, stopping him in mid-speech. “What was that noise?”

Providence yanked his arm away. “Who cares? So anyway, this slut is just asking for more pain if she fights me at Retribution. If I were her - which I’m not - I’d be begging me to step out of this match.”

Nerva took silent footsteps. She held the thirty-pound tank of water from the bottom grips, determined not to let it drop. Providence kept talking, wound up in his aim to put Nerva down.

He was irrelevant to her turning around the corner and walking in a straight line towards him.

Westwood pointed behind Providence. “Umm, Providence-”

Providence slapped him. “Don’t you interrupt me again, you little-”

Before he could finish that sentence, Nerva screamed and hurled the tank of water. It made a half crescent through the air until it struck Providence in the back of the head. Providence fell to his knees. His eyes rolled into the back of his head. Moments later, his face fell forward and smacked the floor. Nerva took a breath. She looked relieved as she looked down at him, on the floor and knocked out.

“There’s an old cliché,” she said. “Nothing’s worse than a woman scorned.”

Los Toros Vs Legion of Dairy

The backstage area was stunned into silence, even the fans were quiet on this one... never before had such obscenities arrived on a scale as great as this.

"NO, FUCK YOU!"

"FUCK YOU!"

"NO... FUCK YOU!

"FUCK YOU!"

"NO... FUCK YOU!"

"FUCK YOU!"

"FUCK ME!? NO WAY DUDE... FUCK YOU!"

"NO... FUCK YOU, YOU FUCK!"

Avo Chavez and egg NOG stood beside each other, scratching their heads.

"Shall I say something?" egg NOG whispered.

"No man... let nature take it's course." Avo quietly replied.

"FUCK YOU, IT'S MINE."

"I SAW IT FIRST ASSHOLE... GIVE IT!"

Nature definately wasn't going to take it's course on this one.

Enrique Iglesias and cHEESE, stood nose to nose... snarling and dripping with sweat, for the past ten minutes they had yanked back and forth in a tug of war for the final weiner on the backstage buffet table.

"LISTEN, ASS... I CALLED THE WEINER FIRST, DESPITE YOUR FUTILE EFFORTS... IT IS MINE." Enrique sneered.

"LISTEN, TURD... I PICKED IT UP BEFORE YOU DID, CALL OR NO CALL... THAT MAKES IT MINE." cHEESE growled back.

"WELL I... I WAS HERE LONGER THAN YOU, ASS." Enrique shot back.

"OH YEAH?" cHEESE asked.

"YEAH!" Enrique answered.

"WELL I DIDN'T SEE YOU AROUND... SO I GUESS THAT MAKES IT MINE." cHEESE demanded in return.

"LISTEN, FRIEND... IF YOU DO NOT HAND OVER MY WEINER... THERE WILL BE PAIN AND SUFFERING." Enrique barked.

cHEESE dropped the weiner as his eyes widened.

"PAIN AND SUFFERING... WHERE?" cHEESE asked frantically.

"NO... I SAID, THERE WILL BE PAIN AND SUFFERING." Enrique laughed, taking a large bite out of the weiner.

"WHY YOU... BWAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

cHEESE snapped, pulling the weiner from Enrique's hand and smacking him about the head with it several times.

"Ouch, asshole" Enrique cried "Now I know why Joe had you on the punishment list... stupid Dairy products... you will PAY! AIEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" Enrique screamed... leaping at cHEESE with furious rights and lefts.

As Enrique and cHEESE rolled about on the floor enraged... Avo and egg NOG looked at each other.

"So uh... I guess we better fight." egg NOG asked.

"Yep." Avo replied.

THWACK.

Apparently, Avo Chavez had been contemplating it for a little longer than egg NOG, he quickly blasted him about the head with a soup ladle.

The wierdest fight in Asylum history, was breaking out backstage.

Enrique snapped, battering cHEESE about the head with rights and lefts, as Avo continued to pound at egg NOG with the ladle.

Enrique rose to his feet, battered weiner covering the side of his head and a smiling rage across his face... he reached to his side, and in doing so, acquired a dangerous weapon.

The soup bowl, full of soup.

"HUAHAHAHAHA!" Enrique roared, preparing to tip the steaming contents all over cHEESE...

... who simply kicked out a foot.

Hitting the bowl, and throwing it's contents into Enrique's face.

"NYAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Enrique screamed clutching his eyes "I'm blind! Blind... BLIND!"

cHEESE got to his feet and shrugged, before snatching the empty bowl and smashing it across Enrique's forhead... as Enrique collapsed to the floor, cHEESE turned his attentions to Chavez, who was still pounding away at egg NOG with the soup ladle.

cHEESE stepped forth with authority.

And was sent reeling by a vicious kick to the shin.

Straight into Enrique, who furiously pounded him with a sandwich tray!

cHEESE lay motionless on the floor... as Enrique motioned to Chavez... it appeared as though Los Toros were about to attempt something by the way of a finishing move... suffice to say, it would be interesting.

Enrique picked up egg NOG who was totally dazed from the ladle beating... and lifted him onto his shoulders as though he was about to drop him into an atomic drop... this however was not the case, as Avo clambered onto the nearest high object, before screaming at the top of his lungs.

"BURRITOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Enrique concurred.

"BURITOOOOOOOOOOAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Enrique roared with approval, before flipping over egg NOG as Avo leapt spectacularly from the stack of chairs that he was standing on... he was looking to catch egg NOG with a midair bulldog... but unfortunately, he hit nothing.

cHEESE rushed from nowhere... nudging Enrique and egg NOG out of the way at the crucial second, Avo flew right across the corridor and landed with an insane crash onto the backstage buffet, due to his lacking size however, the table didn't break.

Until the Legion of Dairy made sure of it, by hooking a hapless Enrique... and driving him through Avo and the table with the "Sellout".

There didn't need to be a count, Enrique and Avo were both unconscious amongst the mangled dishes and food items.

"You can keep the damned weiner." cHEESE uttered starting to walk away.

"Was all of that really necessary?" egg NOG questioned, following his team partner away from the carnage.

Joe's voice barked through the intercom full of his usual piss and vinger. Looking past the people who had been in the office for what looked like all day the receptionist waves Remy in.

Pulling his hands over his hair Remy put his game face on mouthing "Thank You Sugah" to the receptionist as he passed. Taking a long breath he shoved through the door where he saw Joe Campbell planted behind a desk on the phone with someone, or maybe no one just trying to make himself look important. Remy slid into the seat to the outside of Joe's desk where he overheard Campbell verbally assaulting someone on the other end.

"No, you listen to me fuckers... I don't care if I have to go on my own... I am going to sort this Reed Young twat out on Monday night with or without you.

What?

Fuck you then." Joe narrowed his eyes before uttering "Gotta do everything myself around here."

Staring directly into the eyes of Campbell, Remy decided right then he'd read into what needed to be done for him to get his contract. Kicking his alligator skin boots up on the desk he casually smiled peering out of his eyes with a non-chalant look about him. All the nervous tension, the self doubt was out the window. Remy got a beed on Campbell and thought he knew exactly how to play it.

Slamming the phone to the reciever Joe smiled, not from pleasure, more from the shock of the gaul of the man who was resting his feet on Joe's desk.

"Mistah Campbell." Remy said never breaking eye contact.

Joe begins to turn red from outrage, only to choke the emotion back.

"FEET

DESK

OFF

NOW!"

Remy smiled slowly pulling his feet from the desk of Campbell, it worked sure Joe might be a little off kilter right now but Remy had his undivided attention. Something that he knew if he was to land this contract he had to attain.

"Mistah?" Joe sighed before uttering himself quietly "Looks like another of these bayou boys is after something... fuckers."

Joe looked into the eyes of Leroux, before speaking up.

"What the fuck do you want?"

"It's not what Ah want Joe, it's what Ole Remy can do fah yah." Remy smiled again "Ah saw dah Show last week. Ah saw Immortals an bruddah tings don' look tah be running soo smoothly fah Asylum right now."

"Listen mate, I don't care what you saw or what you think, you're on my time now... and I'm deciding to give exactly five seconds of it to you... so please, lets get to the point." Joe sneered back.

"Soh here what I purpose, you reach into dat checkbook and sign dis Cajun boi, den Ah'll make sho dat anyone cross you, well dey'll be dealin wit me."

Joe burst in a thunderous laugh almost falling from his chair. "That's a rich one! You'll protect me!? I feel safer already!" Joe laughed louder and harder.

Taking a large gulp of his pride Remy saw these negotiations would take a little longer than expected.

One EMT had Providence sitting on a crate while the other was speaking to Westwood.

“You gotta tell me what happened,” said the blonde woman in uniform. “How did he get knocked out? Work with me here!”

Westwood shrugged, looked down, shook his head, looked up, and shrugged again. “His ex-girlfriend, she came here-well, first he was saying bad things about her, and then she came and whipped a tank of water at his head. He just fell down, went unconscious, and then she said something to him and walked away.”

Providence muttered in a slurred speech as the male EMT shined a small flashlight in his eye.

“This doesn’t look good, Carrie,” he said, “his pupils are dilating. He’s got a concussion and it looks to be pretty bad. We’ve got to get him to the hospital as soon as possible.”

Police still haven’t found out what happened. Supposedly, it happened inside of the house. There were reports of strange noises coming from the house a week before. Whether that is connected or not to the fire, the police do not know.

She kept going on her own way, until she caught sight of a police officer directing traffic. She crossed over into the other lane, the person screaming something about a “blinker”, but she kept thinking about her old house. And how much fun it would have been if she were the one to set it ablaze.

But no, it hadn’t been that way. Instead, her memories were destroyed for somebody else’s sick enjoyment. Faith hit whatever was close by out of frustration. She didn’t care what she hit, but water sprayed over the windshield. She wished she could have done that earlier. Her favorite piece of barbwire Angel gave her was lost in the blaze too.

Fast forward.

We have come to the conclusion that whoever was inside of the house set it on fire. There was a match inside that we found that was struck. Whether this was an accident or not, we still do not know. The people who used to live there haven’t come to the authorities. Whoever was making those noises two weeks ago…you can bet that they did it.

The car strolled forward toward the police officer. She tapped the steering wheel, her patience thinning. Now that the woman is in sight, Faith noticed she was woman police officer with long, black hair.

Nicole Carson always patrolled the traffic before the events. It was never her job; she just did it for whatever reason. Faith could tell she had no idea who she was. Carson thought she was some kind of backstage worker, not a fighter. She pushed down on the gas a little harder.

Carson waved for her to go to the backstage area. She really had no clue. Faith slowed down as she came by her, and then she noticed something.

A burn.

On Nicole Carson’s arm.

She signaled her to go to the backstage area again, with the same marked arm. As Faith made a hard right, all of the pieces came together. She hit fast forward again until she the tape hit the spot that she had been at many times. Faith didn’t even need to listen to it.

The rumor that there was a police officer leaving the scene is completely false.

"Well it been a pleasure doin business wit yah." he extended his hand to Joe only to be passed over.

"Yeah, yeah you just make sure your here next week Leroux. I'm gonna make sure I get my monies worth." Joe smiled.

As Remy turned to leave the office there is a small weight removed from his shoulders, sure his first approach wasn't the right one but Joe saw something in him or he would have sent him off on his way. And after he shows what he can do maybe he can go back to Joe about his little problem. As he presses through the waiting room he winked over to the receptionist.

Around the same time that it occured the door that opened directly into Joe's office popped open with out stepping a beautiful blonde with a white midrift Southern Bell shirt and black high cut mini skirt. She strolls around the desk rubbing her hand through Joe's finely cut blonde hair running her fingers along his collar line.

"Ah told how cheap you'd be able to sign him, didn't I?" her accent was every bit as thick as Remy's. "Now he's yours and Ah get to watch you break him." A smile curled across her ruby red lips as she lightly nibbled around Joe's ear.

Huzzah!

Cheers rang out as the familiar soothing dulcet tones of Nine Inch Nails' "Heresy" rang out over the PA system. And out came the Extreme Champion, Steve Christ as expected, to the biggest pop of the night.

But judging by the even-more-sour-than-usual look on his face, he was not going to revel in the adoration of the Asylum faithful. He made a quick march down to the ring and gestured for a microphone to be thrown to him. Once it was...well, look out.

"Hey, people, shut up for a second." The applause and cheers immediately scaled back. Steve was taken aback. This whole "people actually paying attention to him and doing what he said" thing was still something he was getting used to.

"Let's ignore the fact that everyone but you people is against me. Let's ignore the backstabbing cock-munchers who kept me from being the first person to reverse SNAP! and earn a title shot that I'd obviously win. The fact is, this is the toughest place in the world."

He paused and held up the Extreme Title in the grasp of his right hand.

"And this belt, makes me the toughest motherfucker in the world." The fans erupted.

"In fact, I'm such a tough motherfucker, that everyone in the back is scared of me. Everyone saw what I did to Providence at seVered to get my belt back. Everyone saw me beat the monster Grand Slammer ArchAngel to get this in the first place. Everyone saw me help end Glen Miller's career at Immortals and make Mike Ritz decide on a new career path."

"No one DARES dream of fucking with the Anti-Christ Superstar that is I." A malevolent grin spread across his face.

"See, I know what you sports-entertainment fed folk are thinking, "Well, now, someone's going to come out and shut him up to make a fight." News flash, Spanky: this is the Asylum.

And they all live in fear of the day they get within the reach of Steve Christ.

I drop people on their fucking heads.

I end careers.

I change lives."

Christ paced around before facing the entry ramp.

"So, since no one had any balls this week, maybe someone, somewhere will grow some over the next week. 'Cause I'm laying out an open challenge so these people can see me defend the Extreme Title, spread The Truth, and KICK...SOME...ASS!" And a mighty roar went up from the crowd. No, really.

"A fair bit of warning, heathens: be prepared to become part of my highlight reel. And if that thought gives you the sweats at night and makes your heart stop, then you need to pray...to...your....Goooooooooooooddddddddddddddd." Christ dropped the mic with an evil grin on his face, and "Heresy" came back on.

As he walked to the back, Extreme Title slung over his right shoulder, one could only wonder if someone was going to answer the call...

...and if the delusional freak show was right.

Los Toros Vs Fall of Adam

The attending crowd looked up confused, for this was not the theme music of any current Asylum fighter... and they were right, and wrong at the same time... because two current Asylum fighters were the next thing they saw.

Enrique Iglesias.

Or Chris Credible as he was once known, Enrique was still stained red with tomato soup which had been kicked into his face at the hands of cHEESE earlier in the night, both members of Los Toros in fact... were looking a little worse for wear, Avo was covered with lumps of mashed potato and rice... and various lumps of cake which had all been crushed beneath the frames of he and Enrique as they were sent through the buffet table of defeat.

However, this match... they were feeling somewhat better about.

"First of all!" Enrique roared down a microphone "I would just like to say... ARRIBA... ARRIBA... HONDALE... HONDALE! I AM MEXICAN!"

"Yeah... we're Mexican!" Avo chipped in.

"Yes... and secondly... cHEESE... DON'T YOU EVER TOUCH MY WEINER WITHOUT PERRMISSION AGAIN!" Enrique roared, the crowd sat... somewhat befuddled as to the whole point of Los Toros presence.

"We are Los Toros!" Avo exclaimed "And as of tonight... we are hereby appointed the punishers of the Asylum, just ask Joe Campbell!"

"YEAH!" Enrique added "Don't let the mashed potatos and random cake fool you... for we are bad ass assassins, who are here to take out the trash of the Asylum... starting with Adam!"

"YES!" Avo continued "Get out here Falling Adam! We've had enough of your one legged antics! The time has come for you to be beaten and exiled!"

As "All My Life" continued to play, Los Toros made their way down to the Asylum, clambering in and beind careful not to trip as they had both done so many times before.

Following no tripping and falling, a quick high five followed.

Unfortunately, tripping was the least of their worries.

"King Kill 33" by Marilyn Manson.

Pain in three word form.

Fall of Adam.

Enrique swallowed a golfball sized lump, as Avo looked on with concern... the massive Gacy and Oswald slowly paced out onto the ramp, looking nothing less than terrifying, as they stopped at the top of the aisle... Joe Campbell burst through the curtain and swaggered arrogantly between them like an insane ring leader.

"Welcome to the house of fun!" Joe laughed insanely "Roll up roll up, come right in... pain, suffering and anguish... all for free, can't get enough? Need a fix? We can deliver... and don't believe any of this next day delivery crap, me and the boys under here will be sure to have things signed and sealed.

In under three minutes!" Joe laughed insanely... before darting back through the curtain... it was unquestionably a rip of Easy E Bischoff, but the disturbing irony was... Joe Campbell's three minute Fall of Adam warning was rarely wrong.

Gacy and Oswald rushed the Asylum, as Enrique and Avo frantically tried to come up with a game plan or some sort, they had to be quick... because the two beasts were on them in no time at all!

Gacy and Oswald leapt over the rim, rushing at two opponents whom they made look miniature, much to the crowd's delight however... Avo and Enrique quickly leapfrogged their huge adversaries... before rushing to the Asylum rim, vaulting onto it... and coming off with simultaneous asai moonsaults... each one hitting the mark and taking Gacy and Oswald off their feet, astoundingly!

The crowd popped huge for Los Toros, who had done the impossible and taken Gacy and Oswald down, as the two monsters rose menacingly to their feet, Avo quickly leapt onto Enrique's shoulders... Gacy and Oswald stood just in time to hear Avo scream "TOTEM POLE!" Before leaping off the shoulders of his partner and landing squarely across Oswald's chest with a flying cross body... as he did, Enrique leapt up onto the shoulders of Gacy and looked to take him down with a hurricanranna.

Big mistake one and two made, match... over.

Oswald caught Avo Chavez like a sack of feathers... and promptly tossed him... much to the shock of anyone sitting there, straight into the front row! The crowd were stunned at the feat of amazing strength... as Oswald merely tossed Avo out of the Asylum and into the crowd like a ragdoll... as this occured, Enrique's attempts also failed, as Gacy took a few prompt steps forth, before sickeningly powerbombing him out of the Asylum to the cold arena floor with a devastating thud!

Game, set and match.

"King Kill 33" hit again as Fall of Adam made their way out of the Asylum just as they had entered it, without breaking a sweat.

As Avo Chavez and Enrique Iglesias lay motionless on the arena floor, they lay beaten men... their defeats however, had not come without signs of promise.

He hadn’t left his room for days. He sat alone, in the hotel, quiet, reserved, sleeping.

Peacefully. Campbell has left countless messages with the desk, on the phone, but they went unanswered. On the bed, hands behind his head, Sean Williams lay there. Not saying a word. Eyes closed. Dreaming… Dreaming…

“Where the fuck am I?” Token was confused. “Campbell? Is this your shit?”

“You are in our realm.” A familiar voice bellowed, and echoed within the foggy space.

“Who the fuck said that?” Token screamed, disoriented.

“I said it… Now walk through… Enter…” The voice spoke now as music played. It was Token’s Asylum entrance music.

He walked down the cold ramp, not steel like he was used to, but dirt. Needles lay on the ground, the road was almost muddy, but it was too red to be mud. The path led to an Asylum like structure, which only confused Token more. Token entered the steel structure, and it quickly turned to stone under his feet.

“What the FUCK is going on?” Token screamed. “SHOW YOURSELF!”

Just then the voice was in Token’s ear, “Hello pussy boy.”

Token whipped around to come face to face with Joe Campbell, but he wasn’t Joe. He was something more than Joe, but something less at the same time.

“What the hell are you doing here Campbell?” Token asked.

“Oh, I am not Joe. I am just your… well… Your nightmare.” Joe spoke slowly, and smiled. His grin more devilish, and he now had a goatee.

“Why am I here?” Token asked, in all seriousness.

“To do what you do best… To fight.” As Joe finished those words, he disappeared.

Then came the blow to the back of his head. Token went down to a knee on the mat, then turned around, looking up at his shadowy assailant.

“What the hell is this?” Token’s appearance signified his surprise, as he looked into the eyes of the man who attacked him. The eyes that were distinctly familiar. They were his own.

“Don’t you see bitch boy? It’s fucking you! Your rival!” Joe let out a fury of laughter as Token stared into the eyes of himself.

Token stood up, and was now incredibly angry. He charged his “rival,” and slammed his fist into the nightmare’s head. He continued to beat on the being, and hit him with the Pump Kick.

The being hit the now dirt floor of the mat. Token kneeled over him, slamming fist after fist into the head of the being.

“FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU!” he exclaimed repeatedly. He felt more and more energized with each blow. It was almost addictive. Pounding away.

”Stop.” A voice said behind him.

Token did not.

“STOP.” The voice was now stern with its order.

Token continued.

“STOP!” The voice boomed, and a hand grabbed Token’s wrist as he raised his fist to strike again. “There is much to be done. Wake up. WAKE UP. WAKE UP!”

And with that Token’s eyes opened.

Sweat drenched his face and hair. He looked up into the hollow eyes of Darren Mitchell.
“The fuck?” Token asked.

“Come. We have work to do.” Dream spoke.

The two left the room, Token feeling confused, his small bag once more full of the white sand.

Lotus Vs Ruben Ross

Too many people had forgotten about her. Here was her chance to re-emerge as a star.

Her opponent had no such problems.

Teenage angst has paid off well/Now I'm bored and old...

The opening line from Nirvana's "Serve The Servants" and the crowd gave a decent pop as one of the newest sign-ees appeared, "the Black Plague" Ruben Ross. Campbell had hired him last week to what had been reported as the biggest contract in Asylum history and had retired Milo Samus with help from the Fall of Adam. But this was a whole different story: no help, just a straight up one-on-one fight against a champion in the Asylum.

Ross removed his retro Chargers LaDainian Tomlinson jersey and draped it over the rim.

Lotus immediately brandished her title and swung it at him. He ducked out of the way and with a straight kick in the air removed it from her hands. Lotus looked at him in fear, looked up since he had her by three inches and more importantly about 80 pounds. She let out a martial arts yell and proceeded to exhibit her depth of skill in the martial arts thrusting a series of kicks in the air. Ross merely looked on as she ran through a series of kicks, smirking at the audience. He leaned forward and back, Lotus missing a savate kick. He did it again as Lotus went for a pump kick, but then walked into a superkick that drilled him on the chin.

Stumbling backwards, he fell back towards the Asylum and began pitching over it.

No way!

Lotus immediately charged with a jumping back kick to score the quick upset, but her opponent skinned the cat back in and drilled her with a jumping enzuigiri. Sufficiently dazed, she walked right into a Japanese armdrag. Lotus charged at him and he immediately scooped her up. He swung her body out, executing a neckbreaker from the reverse fireman's carry position.

He looked out at the audience smug, hands on his knees. He walked back towards Lotus, who kipped up and delivered a flying kick to the neck. She grabbed her title, and delivered a colossal uppercut that landed Ruben Ross on his ass.

She hooked his legs and crossed over, sitting on his back. Tiger Grip. Ross wasn't unfamiliar with the move as for many years he'd used a Sharpshooter self-dubbed Fade To Black, and merely began using his strength to power out of the hold. A sharp kick to the back and he was out. He hooked her for a pumphandle that would start his last finisher, No Remorse.

Pumphandle.

Cinch.

He went for the run but Lotus countered by delivering a facebuster right on her title. She saw her opportunity and immediately went for it: Blossom.

The counter-clockwise leg sweep executed, she went for the jumping roundhouse that she hoped would put her back on the map as one of the Asylum's true elite.

Ross saw the kick coming and ducked. In transition, he quickly drilled the Chinese woman with a snap release German suplex, Lotus taking the brunt of the impact on the back of the head and the neck. There was the opening.

Brainbuster. He hooked her up, brainbuster. He hooked her up and kept her up there, face exerting signs of strain as five seconds then ten passed. Stalling brainbuster. "the Black Plague" watched her get up disoriented with her back to him. Quickly hooking her head he lifted her up in the air and then spun sharply to the right.

Implant Ratings Spike. The crowd popped as he delivered her to unconsciousness with what would be the final blow of the match. A 10 count later, and Ruben Ross' Asylum debut was a certified success.

"Serve The Servants" played as Ross had his hand raised; somewhere, Joe Campbell was smiling.

But the smile was about to turn to a frown, for no sooner had Ross disappeared through the curtain.

The Devil came a' callin.

Shouting could be heard behind the curtains followed by the sound of physical confrontation. And then...there they were...

The same four men that attacked the Asylum using flamethrowers only a week before.

Biggs Dangsta.

Marauder.

Jeff Garvin.

Exxa Decimal.

The booing commenced.

Biggs frowned. Jeff smiled. Marauder yawned.

Exxa however was handed a microphone by a fearful technician. Exxa put the microphone to his lips...

"Play it."

"Climbatize" by Prodigy. A logo appeared on the Asylumtron. A Wolf, fierce and ferocious held a thug's head in choke lock of some sort. And under that images was this terrorist group's name, written in gray granite.

Stranglehold.

The members of Stranglehold walked down the ramp, all the while slapping away paper cups and odd pieces of trash thrown at them by the audience. All four men got into the cage and the music was cut with a motion of Exxa's hand...

After waiting for some on the booing to die down...Exxa handed Biggs the microphone.

“I hate the Asylum."

Booing back up to 10.

Of course.

"I hate it because it’s something that never should have been. Like an annoying scar that you got as a baby, you were too ignorant to realize what you have done until it marks you for life.
I blame, myself, sure, I blame myself for a lot of things. I blame myself for ever letting Nayomi come in here. I blame myself for ever getting beaten to near-death during my fight against Carnage. I blame myself for ever having the Asylum on its knees, with my hands around its throat to choke it to death…

and letting it go…

to put trust in other people to end it, where it needed to be ended… "

Biggs wondered the ring collecting his thoughts as the crowd shouted several profanities out at the members of Stranglehold...

"You wonder why I left 21wrestling? They were incompetent and useless. I led a war into the brink of victory and they spit on me, they…they…they CHOSE to follow someone else and they fucked him! They stripped me of my pride and tried to push me to the side to fight someone else they thought I had never known in my life…

It’s a damn shame they never realized how much we had in common. None of you ever will. It’s a damn shame they never realized…what they turned me into.

What…you all turned me into…

I’m back Asylum, a familiar face with different intentions. Before I was here to prove a point. Now…I’m here for blood…I’m here for death…I’m here for…

retribution.”

The Stranglehold members clapped and Biggs smiled to himself as the crowd turned the heat up on their jeering...Biggs then passed the microphone to Jeff Garvin. Booing seemed to pick up more at this point. Yeah, Jeff's reputation was that shitty...Jeff however loved the hate...like the ego-charged retard that he his...he jumped up on the wire mesh and waved the crowd on...causing them to jeering more. Then he hopped down and began to speak...

"I guess all you idiots are probably wondering why I would join forces with these three men to attack the Asylum last week… I wish I could give you a long, complex motive but I just don't have one other than I wanted to do what not even 21st Century Wrestling could do…

...I wanted to choke the life out of Asylum.

Ever since I was a child, growing up in Memphis I knew what I wanted to be. My father was a wrestler, my uncle was a wrestler, and as soon as I turned eighteen I became a wrestler too. It's not just a job for me, it's my only reason for living.

I remember going on the road with my Uncle Ron as a child and living the business night in and night out, from the weekly shows right down to bunking with piling in to a piece of crap car just to save an extra dollar.

Wrestling is a way of life for the men and women who do it.

And when someone threatens MY way of life, you better be DAMN sure I'm not going to sit around and watch it happen.

Boris Borst started this war… And it will be the Stranglehold who finish it.

When I look at the four of us, you know what I see?

I see pride…

I see honor…

I see talent.

I see a legacy being born.

Then I look at the Asylum, all I see is a bunch of inbred handicaps running around fucking each other up the asses! Is this what the youth of today deems… entertainment?

Homosexuals winning titles… People committing suicide… Shootings?!

Where the FUCK is the honor in that!

You know, there's really only one thing I hate more than the "sport" of fighting, and the Asylum itself…

And that's all of you."

Jeff Garvin said, pointing out amongst the booing Asylum fans.

"Without you, this shit hole couldn't prosper. You all FEED the machine! If only you half wits would simply not buy the FUCKING tickets this place would not exist!

Back in June, I heard talks about a storm brewing, about a possible 21w/tA collision… I figured I would finally get my chance to take down the place that has caused MY sport so much grief.

Be that tiny little pin prick… That goes STRAIGHT through their heart.

But then I was foolishly forced out of 21st Century Wrestling by Mark Knight and Glen Miller…

And look where it got them…

Nothing.

Now those fucks lay in ruins because they decided to screw over the biggest piece of their puzzle.

Me.

Well fuck 21w, I don't need their two dollar roster to take on a place like the Asylum.

I have all I need right here."

Jeff turned to each side to the rest of the Stranglehold members.

"The Asylum is in our hands now."

More clapping. But not by the crowd. Stranglehold showed their support to Garvin as "The Original" handed Marauder the microphone...

"I guess it's my turn right?

You know, I don't have much to say...

..except that I hate this fucking place just like Biggs, Jeff and Exxa. I mean...after a long absence from wrestling I come back and it's closing it's doors on me. I couldn't get a job in even the shittiest of grassroots’ federations. So, I thought...fine. You know...I'll try fighting. So I came to the Asylum...looking to JOIN you people...and what does this fucking place do?
Try to end my career!

Joe sent my own brother after me and tried destroy me. My leg will never be the same....and you know? The Asylum wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for Joe. Joe runs this shit hole in such a way that it affects the rest of the sports community. Wrestling has to become more about mic work and blood. Wrestling now has to compete with men getting raped, women getting shot in the face. I just have one question...

What the fuck is this shit?

This is the reason why I couldn't get a job in Wrestling? Because I wasn't a psycho? Because I couldn't be up to par with the freaks and geeks of this fuckhole federation? I have to have my life and the way I want to make my living jeopardized by a man and a place that took a sick bastard like Carnage and made him even MORE FUCKED UP?

Fuck that.

Once the Asylum is gone...all of that will change. Wrestling will be about wrestling again.
And I can work again, without fear of Joe Campbell out there destroying the very ideal of professionalism."

Marauder nodded to himself as he passed Exxa the microphone.

Instant booing. These people knew that if anyone was to blame for Stranglehold. It was Exxa. He was the leader. He even acted like it. The way he stood, the way he spoke...the way everything up to this point had went off without a hitch.

That and he's the last the speak.

The leader is always the last to speak.

Before the audience had time to get any insulting chants started Exxa started his version of the "Why I hate Asylum" speech.

"Right.

While I'd love to wow you with stories of the various ways fighting has destroyed wrestling...I won't. Those stories are old and approaching timeless. Every wrestler has that story. I was a wrestler once...and while I wrestled...

I loved it. Yes....tis true.

I love wrestling.

But, my reason for beginning what will certainly be the clinical destruction of this cesspool....isn't merely about wrestling...

No.

I love wrestling, true. But more that anything...

...I love God.

If it is one thing that God hates...it's sin.

And that's what my primary objective is in coming here.

To PURGE SIN.

How many of you are going to go home and get drunk while your children are performing the carnal acts that they viewed here tonight? I'd wager...all of you. All of you are sinners in the eyes of God. And what is angers God even more is that none of you...ask forgiveness. Not the fat yank who has relations with his daughter. Not the female younger who's idea of a good time is snort cocaine off of a priest's backside. Not even Mr. Joe Campbell himself.

And Mr. Campbell is the greatest sinner of all.

Because in this place he provides all of you with the means to sin merely by way of influencing your fragile minds. He blinds you to his evil and sinning ways with words like "realism" and catchy gimmicks like "fighting". In wrestling, there is a resolution. The knowledge that in the end...the bad guy get what he deserves.

That is the way it should be.

But no! He distracts you, his advertisers and the TNN executives with one pithy phrase.

"This show is a reflection of the real world"

No. Mr. Campbell...No.

Or actually.

Yes, yes it is.

Because in a reflection things switch around.

Right becomes left and left becomes right. Sin becomes goodness and goodness becomes sin. Everything is not as it should be. Good ALWAYS wins out over evil. God's power is infinite and infallible. And I am here with my Stranglehold comrades to prove that to you. We are here to shatter those mirror lenses in which you view the world.

Once this show is off the air, people will look forward to nicer and calmer programming that delivers a message of goodness and Godly virtues. People will feel like it is alright be good again."

Exxa paused.

It was almost like he knew.

"I Disappear" by Metallica

Enter Asylum Champion...Tyler Burton.

The Inmate...mic in hand. Looking quite pissed.

"Shut the fuck up will ya?"

Instant cheering.

"You ever think that maybe people WANT to see two guy rape each other? You ever think that maybe people WANT to sin and that people would still be acting the way they do regardless if the Asylum was on the air or not? Exxa, did you ever think that even if you remove Joe Campbell that just some other money grubbing Englishman would take his place? No, of course not. Idiots like you never do."

Exxa put his mouth to microphone to reply...

"Hey! Shut the fuck up! Thank you. I know you're going to reply with more crap about God knowing what people want or about how people don't know what they want or some self righteous, cause serving shit like that. But, you know what? Why bore us? Let's give the people what they want to see...and that's blood. I'mean you seem to think that you can fight fire with fire...but how about fighting blood with blood? Why don't you try that?"

Marauder stepped forward taking the microphone from Exxa. "I'll take you on, dipshit."

Inmate smiled.

"Alright, gentlemen...I'll see you out here in say....10 minutes?"

"I Disappear" by Metallica hits and Inmate exits.

Stranglehold follows soon after.

Inmate Vs Marauder
(Asylum Championship)

Stranglehold logo followed by parted curtains followed by the man with the balls to challenge the Asylum champion.

Marauder.

Marauder stepped through the curtains to boos. Wasn't a thing for Carnage's big brother - he was already used to it. Ignoring the booing he climbed up the steel steps and jumped inside the wire mesh cage for the 2nd time in his career. Hopping about on each foot and testing out that cracked right knee...he waited.

"I Disappear" Metallica.

THE ASYLUM CHAMPION.

Inmate.

Tyler Burton entered to a chorus of cheers. Being the only man that was loyal enough to the Asylum to stop Stranglehold...the fans had become more enamored with this 'hero'. Tyler wasted no time in charging down the ramp and hopping into the cage. Tyler cracked his neck right - then left...then waved Marauder over to him as his entrance theme faded.

The fight was on.

You could tell because Marauder tackled Inmate and started punching him the fucking face.
Inmate ever the technician reached out and grabbed an arm aimed for his face and twisted Marauder over and off of him in an armbar. Not locked in the wrenching hold long. Marauder uses that wrestling know how to roll and flip out of it, then twisting Inmate's arms sending him to the mat with an arm drag.

How wrestling.

WHAM!

Follow up kick to the face.

How not wrestling.

Inmate got to his feet holding his face only to be caught with several jabs and an uppercut into the solar plexus, then a right hook to end the combo. Inmate tried to come back with a shot of his own...blocked...eye gouge! Knee into the sternum, then a Marauder DDT. Inmate's face violently became one with the canvas causing the Asylum champ's head to bounce backwards off of the mat. Now, laying face up Inmate attempted to sit up....but no...Leg drop by Marauder.

Elbow drop by Marauder. Followed by like...15 more.

Yeah, had been a long time since Tyler had to 'wrestle' in the purest sense of the word. So, for now...until Inmate got his shit together...he was going to get schooled. Marauder stood over Inmate and slapped him across the face for some classic heat. Grabbing Inmate by the throat he pulled him off of the ground and buried some elbows into his temple.

The Grapple. The lift.

The pause.

Marauder held Inmate in a Suplex position before....

Inmate fell forward legs first into standing position? Eh?

The Grapple. The Lift.

The pause.

Now Inmate held Marauder in a suplex position.

Using suplexes against Inmate? Big mistake.

Brainbuster!!!

Marauder was now punch drunk on the canvas, sitting up a reaching for air...but what he caught instead was a violent boot to the neck! Inmate pulling Marauder into yet another suplex position nailed him with a standard snap suplex! Pulled him back to his feet....

Snap Suplex part 2.

Followed by part 3 to complete the trilogy.

Pulling Marauder to his feet again Inmate yelled: "YOU WANT TO WRESTLE? FINE FUCKER. WE'LL WRESTLE!"

Head and armplex. T-bone suplex. Full Nelson to Dragon to Tiger to Uranage. You name it. Inmate did it. It was a regular suplex jamboree in the motherfucking joint. And with a rebel yell Inmate dragged his thumb across his neck Chris Benoit style...and the crowd chanted for it.

SNAP~! SNAP~~ SNAP~! SNAP~!

Inmate nodded and went to lock it on.

SNAP~!

Nope.

Not the crowd.

Not the sound of Marauder’s knee.

That was the sound of a bullwhip complete with barbs and the whole nine yards.

A bullwhip...held by Exxa Decimal.

WHAP~! SNAP~! WHAP~!

Each lash slapped harder and harder against Inmate's bare back as the crowd jeers mixed in with his screams. Exxa and Marauder wasted no time in the double team stomping of Inmate's body. The audience then parted like the red sea and out came...Jeff Garvin.

With him four circular metal objects on both arms. Upon entering the Asylum Jeff handed the four objects to Exxa and stood over Inmate locking in his patented move.

Hammer mother fucking Jammer.

Locked in the sharpshooter Marauder and Exxa took to securing the two of the metal shackles to Inmates arms. Then, as quick as Jeff released the Hammer Jammer...Exxa slapped on the Exxa Deathlock. Held in Exxa’s version of a crippler crossface, Jeff and Marauder attached the other two shackles to Inmate's ankles. And then...Booing.

Biggs Dangsta.

Complete with pissed off look of death and action pain-inducing chain wrapped around his massive frame he made his way down the steelramp towards the Asylum.

Then music started to play.

Er. What?

This is out of our reach this is out of our reach this out of our reach and it's grown....I'm a negative creep...I'm a negative creep...

"Negative Creep" by Nirvana.

Villam Ender.

Villam charges down the ramp steelchair in hand planting a shot square across the back of Dangsta's neck. And his charge didn't end there...he went straight through and made a B-line for the ring. Villam hopped in and ducked a Marauder lariat and charged into Jeff Garvin smashing him with the steel chair. Villam turned around...

WHAM~!

A spectacular martial arts kick met the steelchair which met Villam's face. Sponsored by Exxa Decimal.

"So much for being a hero." Biggs said as he stepped into the cage with the chains still collected about him. Jeff pulled Villam up and held him...Biggs handed three sections of chain to Exxa and Marauder as he wrapped the fourth around his right fist. Rubbing the chain fist....and then kissing it....he buried it into Villam's skull sending blood flying across the cage.

Click. Click Click.

Three long chains connect to three body parts. All they needed was the forth. Biggs connected it and each member grabbed a chain.

No.

Sick. Just sick.

As sudden as they had entered they each took off in different directions pulling Inmate apart fours ways. Inmate's screams could be heard from miles away and Stranglehold wasn't letting up. Inmate probably shouted help a few times but no one heard him over the booing and Stranglehold's laughter.

Then the oddest thing happened.

A red dot.

First reflected off a chain then magically appearing on Jeff Garvin's crotch. Jeff dropped his chain and started to scream like a girl. Exxa and the other followed suit and eyed the red laser beam that swept across the canvas...

BLAM!

Jeff hopped out of the ring and took off was gunfire quaked the arena.

BLAM!

Marauder then Biggs....each man took off a different direction...Exxa yelled for them to comeba-BLAM!!...then a bullet whizzed past his ear. He took off too through the already near cleared out audience.

Now what?

The camera panned up into the rafters as the red dot on the rifle gleamed like a star in the sky...

OH SHIT.

D.C Sniper in the mother fuckin' Hizzouse!

Nah.

It was just...

Devoid.