You can fuck yourself.

A very grand entrance indeed.

But of course, marked by the tremendous out pour of hate.

Deservedly so, because Exxa - with Asylum title in hand and Chris Universal by his side - didn't strut down the aisle and step foot into the classic Asylum cage.

No.

He stomped up steel steps and ducked under a pair of ropes. Chris Universal pulled the ropes back and tested them to insure that they would provide hours of wrestling entertainment. Exxa stood up on the nearest turnbuckle and raised the Asylum title to the sky which ignited another fresh rally of boos.

Each man was handed a microphone for their convenience.

Chris was the first part his grinning face and dispatch words of wisdom.

"You are all fags."

Right.

"You heard me. How dare you boo us? We provide you with honorable entertainment and force your shitty "fighters" to do some real work for a change by working in a great (and expensive) wrestling ring like this one here....

And you throw sodas at us?

...

How DARE you?" Chris screamed.

Exxa was quick to chime in.

"He's right. He show you a better path, one that isn't marred with evil...one who's road is true and sure and you jape us? Call us names? And stain this wonderful canvas with your...

'Soft drinks'?

I must say, I am quite disappointed.

After all the trouble we went through."

Chris winked at Exxa and started in...

"Yeah! After we did all that work!

Detaining Joe. Beating the shit out of him until he turned over the contracts of the remaining roster. And we did this all for you.

YOU."

Booing was Chris's only reply from the crowd. Not quite the reaction he was looking for.

"That's fine." Exxa said. "This is to be expected. After all, it's not like you people know what's truly good for you anyway. That's why I'm here. That's why we are you. To show you. To lead you."

Exxa then shook his head.

"But something will need to be done about this mess. I have given you a gift and you have wronged me...

...for that you should punished."

Exxa then folded his arms, thinking of a good punishment...Chris Universal snapped his fingers.

"I KNOW."

"What?" Exxa questioned...

"We'll cancel pAin 3."

And uproar of hate. The canvas was stained with more cups of beer and soda. Chips and popcorn were fired like missiles from some war mongering country. This just made Chris smile more.

"Yeah, it's a shame too...we spend all that money on that banner. We actually paid a professional to cut into his arm. He was meant to be symbolic. Stranglehold...ends the Asylum. Digging away at the sin underneath the skin and giving way to healing."

Exxa laughed. "Oh, poo. Do not sound too downtrodden. Asylum wouldn't have last till pAin anyway. pAin is meant to be nothing more than a celebration of victory. We were going to terminate the roster's contracts and dissolve the shares of the Asylum which would shut the company down itself...permanently. But, I guess we can book all that for the next show, huh?"

The crowd wasn't liking this.

Not one bit.

Chris and Exxa laughed again.

"So, enjoy yourselves!" Chris said.

"Yes, do....

...Enjoy Asylum's last fighting show.

...And first Wrestling Show."

Chris Universal had just stepped through the curtain and into the backstage, he looked at his watch and then at Exxa Decimal.

"Ah, two seconds... a new record, go and arrange what needs to be arranged Exxa, I'll deal with this miscreant."

Universal sighed and looked up as the new extreme champion of the Asylum, Ty Hughes, paced toward him with a snarl on his face.

"Can I help you?" Universal scoffed.

"Err... yeah, you can start by explaining what this wrestling bollocks is about." Hughes demanded, folding his arms.

Universal shook his head.

"It's really very simple, the 'canvas' as we call it is surrounded by four ring posts, attached to these ropes are twelve turnbuckles... threaded through these are ropes, and... hold on, didn't you used to wrestle anyway?"

Hughes narrowed his eyes.

"Uh Uh Uh... no, maybe you'd better explain the finer art of being a black man as well, because I don't have any experience there either, you thick cunt... I know what wrestling is, I want to know what the fuck it's doing here... in my Asylum."

Universal smiled, brushing off the insults.

"Well Ty, you have a match tonight... against Christopher Fox, the man who earned a shot at your belt a few weeks ago at ManHunt." Universal said, sighing again.

"Nope, sorry... I don't do that rope shit anymore... and you can shove your turnbuckles up your arse for what they're worth... this is the Asylum, I'll go and pick a fight wherever I want."

Universal chuckled.

"Fine by me sir, just make sure you leave that belt with me before you do... because should you refuse to take part in this match... I'll be stripping it from around your waist, now if you don't mind... time is money."

Universal paced slowly away, leaving Hughes with an ultimatum.

Ty looked down at his title belt, then back up at Universal.

"I'll give you a wrestling mach you fuck, a wrestling match you'll never forget."

The voice boomed over the speakers, and once more the fans were sent into darkness. From the blurred video wall came the three letters, and upon the lights returning… The Zone were at the top of the ramp.

John C. Willis, the TFZ championship strapped around his waist.

The Freak, bearing a look of sheer indifference on his face and a trenchcoat on his back.

Tapestry, her gown flowing behind her.

TMM and Slapnutz, each with a sledgehammer in their individual hands and a cocky “you can’t touch me” smirk on their faces.

Keegan, clad entirely in a black and white suit.

The Zone. The men that, weeks ago at ManHunt, claimed that they were going to kill Stranglehold. These six, vicious fighters that Joe Campbell had recruited from the Underground were back in person, proving that their deal with Campbell was far from a one-night hit.

Oh no, these people, and the term “people” must be used as loosely as possible, were now on the payroll. Not to The Asylum itself, but as Campbell’s personal, official nasty fucks.

However, despite the fans’ collective roar of approval for the “killers”, they only got halfway down the ramp before they stopped dead in their tracks.

“What… the fuck… is that, may I ask?” Willis hissed through grated teeth, his finger trembling in the direction of the four-turnbuckled monstrosity that lay before him. “I’m not stepping foot in that pile of shit. Where’s my fucking cage!? I’m a fighter!” Willis roared with a fist pounded against his title belt.

“It’s Universal. It has to be… he’s set up a fucking ring. A wrestling ring. No way am I stepping foot in that decorated lump o’ shite.” Slapnutz offered. “I’m here to fight… Universal can kiss my arse. I’m Campbell’s man.”

TMM silently agreed. By now, the fans were practically begging for the fighters to step into the ring, say something, DO ANYTHING, but instead they just mumbled amongst themselves.

“Hello gentlemen, am I the only individual here proficient in judicious and logical thought? We do not HAVE to fight in there, we are not bound by indenture to Universal and therefore we reserve the right to disassociate ourselves from this… garbage.” The Freak rasped, his face still unmoving.

Willis spat in the direction of the roped mess, emblazoned with Stranglehold symbols.

“Then screw it, I’m leaving.”

And with him, followed his troops. Up the ramp… and out of the arena again.

With his Television Title wrapped around his waist - backwards, actually - Providence walked down the aisle, gazing up at the people in the stands, his eyes seemingly a million miles from this place. His steps seemed forced, almost as if some unseen spirit was behind him pushing him down the aisle, because his body apparently didn’t feel like making the journey by its own power.

Reaching the ring, Providence looked around it for a moment, having not really been aware of recent events in the Asylum. He grabbed a microphone from one of the officials and rolled inside, remaining seated on the mat for a few moments before getting to his feet. He looked around at the fans again, a blank look on his face that didn’t really acknowledge the cold reception, almost as if he wasn’t even sure what was surrounding him.

“Still the Television Champion. Still fully functional. Still on a collision course with death,” Providence said wearily, before adding, “Death by my own hand and not anyone else’s.”
The crowd’s booing ceased briefly, as many of them looked around in confusion, wondering what the hell Providence was talking about. For his part, Providence seemed equally perplexed by his statements, standing there in a daze with the mic up to his lips, his mouth open but not speaking. After a few moments, he finally spoke again.

“The lawyer boy thought he could take away this belt, take away my pride, take away my life and everything else,” he said evenly. “He thought because he was some clean-cut professional that he wouldn’t have any trouble taking it all away from some gutter troll like me.

“Well, I taught the lawyer boy a little lesson at ManHunt. I let him have a taste of my world. I let him step into the land of darkness and confusion, where the night mixes with day in a symbiotic disease that doesn’t just surround you but becomes you.

“I let him feel what I feel everyday, what I feel when I lay in bed at night, what I feel when I sit at home and ponder my destiny. He felt it all when I plunged that needle into him, and he couldn’t take it. The lawyer boy failed just like I told you he would. The lawyer boy lost his chance, and now he’s ruined.”

The crowd erupted in more boos, partly because of their disdain for Providence, but also because they were concerned for the being of LLB after the previous events.

“But, I have given the matter a great deal of thought, and I have made a decision to give the lawyer boy a second chance. I will give him another opportunity to do what he said he was going to do. I will give him another opportunity to end me, to take it all away from me and leave me to wither away in the wind. So come on out, lawyer boy. Come on out and take me to the edge and throw me off that cliff.”

Providence’s final few words were drowned out by the cheers of the crowd, expecting to see LLB come running out at any second to get his revenge for what Providence had done to him.

No LLB.

The seconds continued to pass, slowly becoming minutes as the crowd waited.

Still no LLB.

Providence stared blankly at the entranceway, waiting to see any sign of movement.

Still no LLB.

“It looks like the lawyer boy doesn’t quite have the stomach for this line of business that I thought he had,” Providence said with his head cocked to the side. “I guess I must continue then since he’s not going to take it away. I told you it would never end. I am more than what you will ever be. I have seen things you will never see. Lawyer boy couldn’t do it and none of you ever will, because you simply can’t.”

With that, Providence dropped the microphone to the mat and rolled back out of the ring, slowly striding back up the aisle, as the crowd booed loudly and wondered about the whereabouts of LLB.

And then, "Downfall" by TRUSTcompany.

Of all the unusual things to happen at Manhunt, what with Exxa Decimal's title win, Christopher Fox, the Fighting Zone, and everything, one of the most unexpected was the pair that walked down to the Asylum cage. The duo of Daniel Phillips and Ian Maxwell. The 5th and 6th place winners of Manhunt.

The number one contenders to the Asylum Team Championship.

The fans greeted them warmly as they walked down to the ring. The last duo that won Manhunt's team title contendership, Archangel and Inmate, couldn't get along long enough to keep the belts for even a month. Yet, these two men seemed to get along fine, and even rabidly helped each other take the team contendership at Manhunt.

Phillips and Maxwell entered the Asylum, and Phillips immediately took a microphone.

"Friends, fuckers, wifebeaters, and whores, lend me your ears." Daniel Phillips said, soaking up the cheers of the crowd, much to his surprise and dislike.

"You know who I am. I'm Daniel motherfucking Phillips. The King of the Cruiserweights.

Neither hero nor rolemodel. Your DEITY, as proven in the last couple of weeks. You might remember me from such things as 'being the King of the Cruiserweights', 'outwitting Chris "Will Never Be Miss" Universal', 'the guy who carried Ruben fucking Ross to the fight of his life', and 'the 5th place winner of Manhunt'." Phillips said, each accomplishment since appearing in the Asylum sending the crowd into an uproar.

"Yeah, you know who I fucking am. I am the identity that neither Joe fucking Campbell nor Chris fucking Universal wish to acknowledge. I am the very essence that the Asylum is not. Yet, you continue to cheer me. You continue to accept who and what I am. I find that ironic. I find it ironic that I am accepted in a place that finds no acceptance." he said, before he turned to Maxwell.

"Just like Ian over here.

See, Ian... nobody really wanted the guy. Here is a man that gave years into what he loved to do. Here is a man that fought with every ounce of his soul to retain his occupation. Here is a man, whom, up until this time last year, fought in the same three roped, squared circle that I fought in.

Ladies and gentlemen, how could you be so blind?

How could you not see Ian for his true identity?

He is a fucking wrestler.

Just like me."

Daniel stood there and soaked up the mixed reaction. He handed the microphone to Ian.
"Heh," he started, "It's kind of funny how that works. I come here with a new identity, a new name, and what do I try to do?

I try to make a name for myself.

Isn't that just funny? I'm sure it cracked Daniel up when he figured out who I was as soon as he met me. Yet, you were none the wiser, Joe Campbell. I fooled you into believe I was some great warrior from another land or whatever crap you were thinking in your alcohol-addled brain of yours. I asked for one thing out of my stay here in the Asylum. Not money, not acceptance. Just one simple thing.

The return of my livelyhood."

Ian paced around the Asylum cage like a madman, before he tore his leather trenchcoat off.

Then he tore off the shirt underneath, revealing the large angel tattoo on his chest.

"One year ago, I had that stolen from me by circumstances far beyond my control. I was blacklisted from wrestling promotions across the western hemisphere. For one year; one long, agonizing year, I roamed the world.

Then I came here.

I came here, believing that Joe Campbell was the man with all of the answers.

Funny how that one turned out, too, but you all probably didn't want to hear me reminisce about everyone's favorite cockbunnies, Stranglehold."

The Asylum fans roared.

"The point is, my name is not Ian Maxwell. My name is actually Ryan Duncan Maxwell. Or, should this one mean anything to you fucks with short memories...

Duncan Fletcher.

And I am here to serve notice to everyone, that I'm through. I am done being the guy in the background. I am done sitting back and watching these halfwits prance through this place like they own the place. I am done.

Period."

With that, Duncan Fletcher handed the microphone back to Daniel, who spoke only a few more words to the confused crowd.

"Things are going to change, motherfuckers. And we are the winds that make that fucking change. We are the Winds of Change in of itself. Whether it's here, or in any other shitheap in the country, the times are fucking changing.

Now, if you'll excuse us, I hear there's a shindig that's a lot more interesting in this hellhole." Daniel said with a smirk.

With that, "Downfall" began to play again, leaving the crowd confused, but cheering, for the team that can only be described as the Winds of Change.

Standing outside, in the uncharacteristically dark, gloomy and rainy American surroundings with a disgruntled frown on their faces… apart from The Freak who looked rather blank… are The Zone.

“Shut up, you fag. Would you rather fight in that pansy-bullshit ring they’ve set up? If so, then fuck off back inside. I’m going home.” Willis growled loudly, his hair obscuring most of his face and water pounding from his jacket. D’Allesandro nodded in agreement behind his man, arms crossed.

“Ladies, ladies. Calm down. I’m sure that Camp Joebell guy will find out about what Universal’s done and have him hung by his bollocks.” TMM said.

“Yes but, aren’t we the ones supposed to be undertaking the ‘bollocks’-hanging around here? Joe conscripted us to shelter his baby, and that we must.” The Freak offered, in a near monotonous drone. “Before you ask me how we must defend it, please remind yourselves that I am as clueless as you.”

“We can’t just march in there, wielding fucking tire-irons and expect them to run in fear. Until ManHunt, they didn’t even know who the hell we were. In fact, by now, they’ve most likely forgotten about us altogether.” Slapnutz added, with a sigh.

Everyone looked at Tapestry, but she didn’t say anything.

“What about that cunt that ran the Fighting Zone? The bald prick with loads of money. Had a triple-twat of a son.” Oddball wondered aloud. “Wouldn’t he help us, you know, out of respect if nothin’ else?”

More moments of silence. More moments of contemplation.

Having paced around in circles for quite some time, Keegan spoke up… “They can’t have a show without fans, can the turd-tickling wankers? So if we take the fans…” He trailed off into mumbling. “No, that’s a shit idea innit?”

“No, it isn’t. Without their legions of supporters Universal’s show would materialize as pitiable on television. He needs his capacity crowd to simply appear popular. More significantly, he needs his fighters…” The Freak speculated.

“WELL. I want a fight. I came here to fight. And fight I shall. If we draw the fans out here, we can have a show of our own…” Willis was interrupted by Slapnutz.

“A Fighting show. None of those tits in there want to watch wrestling, they want fighting. Let’s give them fighting. TMM and I can go get the fans, you can get the cage…”

Within seconds of the suggestion, the hulking frame of Keegan was crammed into the telephone booth, the receiver held between his ear and his shoulder as he banged in a code from a piece of paper.

“Get the beer lads. We’ll show these Arseylum fans who the where the real show is.

“Right here. With The Zone.”

Which is exactly why Universal sat looking at a computer screen thumbing at his chin.

"Hey, some one get some bastard intern to run down to Weed's locker room, tell him to bring him to me immediatly," Universal said as he took his finger off the button that said "Speaker phone." Universal tapped his foot patiently waiting a moment as finaly the door to his office opened, first walking through came a scrawny little intern, followed by Token Weed who strolled on in grinning cockily.

"So Sean, wanna have a seat?" Universal said looking over at Token who sat down in a chair kicking his feet up on Universal's desk.

"Sorry Sean, not amused. Anyway thanks for coming down, I need you to wrestle a match tonight against Carter. We have to get some work out of you. Anyway I want you to take the job, and dont go out there and give it no effort at all. Just go out there sell some moves for me alright?" Universal said in a very professional tone, as Token just looked up at him grinning.

"Yeah whatever ass wipe, see ya around." Token said as he kicked a coffee cup off Universal's desk letting it fly into the wall breaking before getting up and walking out.

"Stupid son of a bitch, Carter better beat him, and beat him good." Universal said going back to tapping on the keys.

Really.

These people have been soaked in their own blood before and had their faces ruined, do you really think that they’d be bothered about a bit of water?

Um… yeah.

“Fucking BASTARD Yankland. I’ve been here for TWO fucking WEEKS and me clothes are knackered because of their shitty weather. BASTARDS~!” Keegan moaned, trying to squeeze out his sleeve and rearrange his tie.

“I thought you were English.” Tapestry said, without even turning to look at Keegan.

“I AM, but… but… shut up, woman. The weather in England is at least PREDICTABLE. This repugnant hole in the ground won’t even spare me that.”

“Save your mouth…” Tapestry said, with little patience… “For your speech.”

“My speech? MY speech?”

Tapestry pointed to the locker room door they’d spent so long looking for, and smiled smarmily. “Yes, YOUR speech. Don’t think that I’m going to speak to the… rabble that this company houses. If I were to speak, they’d instantly stop listening, think better of it and stare at my breasts.”

“Like I’ve been doing for the past ten minutes?”

With a hard shove, Tapestry pushed Keegan into the locker room and followed him in.

Keegan… was instantly surrounded by fighters, going about their daily business. Getting changed, chatting, arguing… smoking drugs.

Although by the time our Geordie Hero came to his senses, they’d all stopped. And were now staring directly at the Prince of Palermo, awaiting what he was going to do or say.

“Uh… hello there. I…” Keegan stopped himself and stood on a nearby bench, to make himself taller than the masses.

“Right. I am Keegan Carrahar, of The Zone. Most of you don’t know me, and in fact I’d wager that most of you don’t actually give a fuck. But what you DO give a fuck about, is your jobs.

Your jobs, as FIGHTERS.

“As much as Universal wants to tell you otherwise, you ARE fighters. You’re not Namby Pamby wrestlers, you don’t sweat about it in rings. You don’t wear stupid bright yellow costumes and call yourself ridiculous names. We are MEN, aren’t we? Not characters, acting out scripts, but REAL men.

“Universal denies you your very manhood, lads… and ladies, although I’m sure that having manhood would be of no concern to you… but erm… anyway. You know what I’m getting at. You don’t HAVE to wrestle out there, in Universal’s ring. In fact, by wrestling, you are effectively giving Universal what he wants.

“You’re kissing his arse. And I know for a fact, that nobody in this room is a ring-stinging arse-banging buttock-bashing fagmaster. So I’m sure that none of you are getting tremendous jollies from smooching that ugly bastard’s keyster.”

The men in the locker room, for the most part, were riveted to the spot. Keegan knew how to work the rabble for sure… his degree in Media was being well-used in this scenario.

“There is an alternative. Yes, it’s pouring with rain, and aye, it’s absolutely fucking freezing out there… but within the next few minutes, a cage will arrive outside. A rusty one, most probably fucked up into oblivion. But, if we have a cage, we can fight. If we can fight, we can have a show. If we have a show, we can have fans. And if we have fans… Stranglehold can’t.

“Are you with me?”

At first, nobody responded.

Keegan’s head sank to look at his sodden shoes, and Tapestry tutted. His speech had been in vain.

Then, a godsend… in the form of a tap on Keegan’s shoulder.

“I’ll fight.” Came the voice of…

Venoma Star.

Another… Daniel Phillips. “So will I.”

Meh, maybe it was worth it after all…

Ace Carter Vs Token Weed

The former 21w world champion strode confidently down the aisle, before clambering up the steps and stepping through the ropes and into the center of the wrestling ring, the dollar sign logo emblazened across the center and "Asylum Wrestling" written across the apron.

As Carter used the ropes to stretch, a familiar tune had the crowd on their feet.

"Halo" by Soil.

The drumbeats thumped along and the rockin' finally kicked in, as Token Weed paced through the curtain looking generally pissed off, as he made his way down the aisle a "Kick his ass! Kick his ass!" chant exploded... to which Token simply smirked.

He stepped through the ropes, and glared across the ring at Carter, once upon a time... this was commonground for Token Weed, he was an accomplished wrestler, but that was but a memory now, he was a hardened fighter... who'd have more than a little ring rust in wrestling terms.

The bell rang, and Token quickly rushed at Ace, who showed him up sharpish... with a quick and simply drop toe hold.

Carter got to his feet with a cocky smirk on his face as Token pulled himself up with the ropes and snarled at Ace.

"You'll pay for that fucker!" He grunted... once again rushing at Ace only to be quickly tossed over his head with a simple arm drag, frustrated... Token quickly got up, but this time Ace was counting on it... placing a waistlock on the U.K. title number one contender, before tossing him backward with a bread and butter release german suplex.

The crowd were growing irate, as Ace simply outwrestled the fighter.

Token got to his feet, rubbing his head before clenching a fist and...

"Erm... sorry, says here that you can't throw a closed fist punch." The Asylum official uttered, consulting the rulebook.

"For fucks sake." Token uttered, finally getting the better of Ace with a kick to the breadbasket... before locking his hands firmly around the throat of Carter, throttling him.

"Nope... gonna have to let go, says here no blatant chokes... and he's got hold of the ropes."

Token snarled, before releasing his grip and taking a few steps back.

"I thought you used to be a wrestler." Ace said with an arrogant laugh.

"Yeah..." Token began "Wrestle this... fag!"

CRUNCH!

"OOH!" The crowd exclaimed as Token's boot connected firmly with the crotch of Carter, knocking him to the ground gasping for air.

"Eh... I'm supposed to disqualify you for tha-" The official began, before stopping... as Token rolled under the ropes and turned to the crowd, popping them with a quick remark.

"FUCK THIS SHIT!" Token bellowed, before turning and marching up the aisle.

Ace Carter got to his feet with a confused look on his face, as the official looked to him and shrugged.

"Guess you win by countout or something."

Ace was happy, he'd just won a match... but somewhere, Chris Universal was tearing his hair out... the first wrestling exhibition of the night had gone anything but to plan.

Crack.

A door busts open. The room is dark -- a light is flicked on.

Ricky Wasp stands, a blow-up doll under one arm. This is about the weirdest thing ever, isn't it? But there is reason to have a blow-up doll under the arm. Especially a "black" one. In the hand attached to that arm, was a small CD boombox.

Under his other arm, a white sheet. He looks at the ceiling, at the bench, at the lockers -- colored a cool money green. They look to be movable, actually.

Stranglehold's lockers. Gold plates are aligned on the bottom of every grated tiny doorway to a holding space. Some have names on them, some don't. "Universal" is one -- "Exxa", right next to it. It goes down -- Ross, Biggs. The rest must be at a shop, being embossed.
Wasp ignores the rest of the names. He stops right in front of the locker that states, tauntingly, "Biggs Capone".

He drops the sheet to the floor. A bit of rope slips out, along with the sound of a heavy... something weighing the whole thing down.

Biggs had his posse, his entourage. With that entourage to help him, Biggs was barely touchable. One punch would equal a pack of wolves feeding on his flesh.

But to get into the mind... oh, what a sweeter option.

Wasp opened the locker door. And pulled the rope out from under the sheet. It's not a lot -- he won't need a lot.

He begins to tie a noose.

Slapnutz throws open the fire exit doors and marches into the sea of humanity that is gathered around the feeble looking wrestling ring. TMM follows, he’s carrying a microphone and a guitar, Slapnutz is walking like ten-men and parting the crowd so they can get through.

Mostly they get patted on the back and cheered, there are the odd missiles thrown at them but the offenders are beaten down by those fighting fans in attendance.

Splink make it to the ring, before climbing into it then circle it twice, looking to the crowd. Their faces blank of all expression, eyes clouded over and bodies making a little movement as possible.

Slapnutz climbs into the ring first. He stands in the centre and looks up to the roof of the arena. TMM climbs onto the apron, whistles to Slapnutz, who turns to face him. TMM throws the guitar to him, Slapnutz catches it cleanly. TMM then climbs into the ring, walks up to Slapnutz and hands him the microphone. Slapnutz puts the microphone to his chest, stands staring at the exit doors they have just come through on the floor level at the back of the arena. The crowd cheer their support for the fighters who have been thrown out.

Slapnutz flips the microphone in the air, puts the guitar down on the mat and then catches the microphone. He spits onto the mat, this signals TMM to start spitting in the ring, as TMM walks around the ring, spitting on the floor. Those at the front of the crowd start spitting at the ring too.

Slapnutz makes rude hand gestures to certain persons in the crowd who can’t spit properly. Then clears his throat and starts to speak.

“We’ve got an announcement to make, it’s a important announcement so like in any good soap opera we’ve written a song about it. Really we could tell you all you need to know in two words but we figured that whilst we’re no Los Del Rio, everyone loves a good song”.

Slapnutz picks up the guitar and then throws the microphone to TMM. Slapnutz warms up on the guitar as TMM makes his first words in tA: “Me on vocals, Slap on guitar, no dancing ladies because they are all in the bus. Sing along if you know the words and listen carefully or else you’ll miss the announcement. I should also tell you all that I can’t sing and Slap can’t play guitar”.

Slapnutz grads the microphone off TMM, he talks “This is a song about a bunch of guys, could be any of the people in attendance today, who went to watch the Asylum”. Slapnutz hands the microphone back to TMM.

TMM clears his throat and coughs into the microphone. Slapnutz nods he’s ready to TMM.

Slapnutz nods his head once, Twice and after the third time the musical announcement begins.

TMM sings,

Didn’t we have a miserable time, the day we went to the Asylum, An ‘orrible day, got attacked on the way, by homosexual wrestling fans that are in denial. Hour after hour, we spent queuing outside, freezing our bollocks off. They finally opened the doors, Shit we were in the queue to see The Coors, and the rain came down.

Oh.. Do you recollect, the busker we decked, as he insisted on singing status quo songs. We robbed his guitar, hit him with an iron bar, and he went and told the fucking police. We went on the run, met some local shit with a gun, and he tried to rob our money. We managed to get free, we hid behind a tree, and the rain came down.

Oh.. Do you recall, the thrill of it all as we found the tA venue. When finally got in, the action was about to begin, so we stood up to block the view of some wrestling fan. He shouted abuse and spat in my chips, I wasn’t having that, So I called him a twat and then gave him a slap, and the rain came down.

Oh.. Then we found out, the fights had been kicked out, the only action was wrestling. We hate that shit, it’s a puddle of piss and all the wrestling fans are smelly bastards. I knocked back the booze but then came the news, the fighters had gathered outside the venue.
They’ve erected a cage, but the fighters won’t get paid, and the rain came down.

Oh.. Me and my mates, went out of the gates to check this fighting cage out. We couldn’t believe our eyes as to our surprise there stood all of our favourite fighters. It looked like the zone, you could even hear Keegan moan, and the rain came down.

Didn’t we have a fantastic time, the day we went to the Asylum car park, A wonderful day, some people didn’t have to pay and there was even a sex bus parked there. Sat on a stool, with her legs wide apart was a women called Lusty Linda. She gave us a feel, and a free fish meal, and the rain came down… and the rain, came, down.

Splink Take a bow, the crowd looks confused. Slapnutz throws his guitar down; TMM throws the microphone to Slapnutz. Slapnutz walks over to the turnbuckle nearest to the auditorium exits, climbs to the top, puts the microphone to his lips. He points to the exits and says, “There’s the fucking exit, go watch some proper fighting!”

Slapnutz throws the microphone into the crowd, gets down from the turnbuckle and follows TMM out of the ring, and out of the exits as floods of people follow them.

Ty Hughes© Vs Chris Fox
(Extreme Title)

Chris Fox scratched his head.

"Trust me dude... I've been here since the beginning, Ty Hughes is Santa... and if you pull the right strings, he'll give you more toys than you could possibly imagine."

The eyes of Fox grew wide.

"Really!? Boy... this is so cool." Fox said excitedly, clutching his fists and jumping up and down on the spot.

"Yep... you betcha, he loves it... just remember the password Chris, the password will grant you everything you ever dreamt of!"

Fox nodded.

"Oh I will mister... I have a good memory." Fox giggled... making his way toward the curtain before turning back one last time.

"One thing mister... what's an Earminter?"

Enrique Credibleno thought about it.

"Err... in lapland, it means yes... bring me gifts at once!"

Fox smiled to himself again.

"Thanks mister, thanks!"

As "Courage" by Alien Ant Farm could be heard in the arena, Fox pushed through the curtain... as Enrique Credibleno stood silently for a second.

"BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Enrique ran away, as the camera's went to ringside.

Just in time to catch Fox clambering through the ropes and into the ring, he jogged on the spot for a second, as his music slowly faded out.

"It Really Don't Matter" by Confidential, the crowd were on their feet as Asylum's new Extreme champion bust through the curtain wearing a snarl on his face and a barbed wire wrapped title belt around his waist.

His intentions were far from kind, as he clenched his fists and rushed down the aisle, sliding under the bottom rope and preparing to make a quick end of Fox.

Hughes drew back his fist... but suddenly, his ears heard something... as though a demon from the past had risen from the depths of hell to torment him once again.

"EARMINTER!

Hughes suddenly stopped dead, lowering his fists and widening his eyes.

"FUUK?"

"EARMINTER!"

"FUUK!?

"EARMINTER!"

"FUUK NO... YOU DIDN'T JUST... NO."

Fox wore a goofy smile, but suddenly screamed out loud.

"LOOK OUT SANTA, THE BAD MEN!"

Hughes was still in a trance of rage, as Jeff Garvin and Ace Carter rushed the ring... Garvin sliding a table under the ropes and Carter bashing Hughes in the spine with a chair, knocking him to his knees.

It appeared as though Universal wasn't too keen on a none conformist champion, and he was quickly looking to rectify the problem.

Carter drilled a fist into Hughes' face as Jeff Garvin set up the table, they wanted Hughes out of the picture and fast, as Carter slowly scrambled up to the top rope and Garvin looked to subdue Hughes long enough to place him on the table.

"No! Don't hurt the earminter! I want my presents!"

Hughes suddenly jerked up.

"I.

AM.

NOT.

A.

MOTHER.

FUUKING.

MOTHER.

FUUKING.

FUUKING.

FUUKING.

EARFUUKINGMINTER!"

Hughes exploded, kicking Garvin in the gut and hosting him up onto his shoulders... a second later, he whipped him down to the canvas with Knockout... with deadly effect.

CRRRRRRRRRASH!

The sound of Garvin's body shattering through the set up table and laying motionless amongst the wreckage... Carter quickly scrambled, trying to launch from the top rope onto Hughes, but Hughes struck fast... jarring the ropes and crotching Ace on them...

... before picking up the steel chair.

CRACK!

Hughes sent it straight into Carter's skull... knocking him down with a hideous thump to the arena floor... Ty Hughes stepped back, breathing heavily... still filled with adrenaline rage, he dropped the chair to the canvas.

"EARMINTER, EARMINTER, EARMINTER! Do I get my gifts now Santa!?"

Hughes to Christopher Fox.

"Oh yeah... you get your fucking gifts alright."

One kick to the gut later, Fox had been dropped face first onto a steelchair with Knockout.

Hughes hooked the leg.

1!

2!

3!

Really, after calling him that word... Fox wasn't ever going to get anything else.

Hughes snatched up his Extreme belt and rolled under the ropes, not looking back at the carnage behind him, he uttered to himself.

"Won't take me long to find out which cunt brought that one back...

... i'm not a fuUKing earminter."

The rain made the enviroment misty, damp, and cold. Phillips seemed to be geared up for combat, wearing his wrestling gear and one of his old "King of the Cruiserweights" shirts from the IWO, while Fletcher wore the sunglasses and trenchcoat ensemble that he had become quite known for. Now, normally, a fellow like Daniel Phillips wouldn't bother stepping out here with the weather like it was. Not to mention the rabid fighting fans surrounding the cage that had been set up outside, some of whom cast an evil eye toward the self-proclaimed "King of the Cruiserweights" and his former wrestler partner.

"What the fuck?!" yelled out one such member of the Fighting Zone.

"Hey." Phillips said, the single word seemingly dropping a bombshell onto the rest of the crew that surrounded the cage. The snarling, mean-looking Fighting Zone fighters, the rogue Asylum fighters, and the fans had all turned to see both men.

"We don't want you. Get the fuck out of here." one of the fighters had said.

"Aww, darn! And I was just getting used to the rain!" Phillips sarcastically said.

He then gave his trademark smirk toward the man who had said the statement.

"Come on, now. I'm here to fight," Phillips said, holding his smirk while Fletcher took off his sunglasses, "No headlocks. No flying headscissors. And no wristlocks... though I think in your case, shorty, I should probably also say 'no wristwatches'."

That comment nearly got his face knocked off, but lucky for Daniel, the rest of the fighters held him back.

"Ah, did I piss you off? I seem to have that way with people. Specifically those of the dull-witted," Phillips said, before he got just a little more serious than usual, "Now then. As I was saying before, I came here for a fight. So, I ask you, who the fuck wants to be fucked up?"
A lot of yelling and screaming came from the fighters, but one yell caught all of them off guard.

"I'll fight you." came from the back of the crowd. It caught all of the fighters off guard and they soon parted like the Red Sea, so they could take a look at the person who could be heard amongst them all.

Venoma Star.

Daniel Phillips did a double-take.

Duncan Fletcher merely grunted in response.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Phillips said, disbelieving the whole idea of having to fight a woman,

"You? You're joking."

"No, fuck you, Daniel. I'm serious," the woman formerly known as Quinn Morgan said, "Let's see what you're made of."

Daniel sighed, "Fine, bitch."

With a smirk, Phillips brushed past Venoma and clambered into the Asylum cage.

Daniel Phillips Vs Venoma Star

And what of Venoma Star?

Venoma Star. Quinn Morgan. The former girlfriend of Syphon Fission. Someone who had been a good friend of Daniel's most hated enemy, Joey Malone. Someone who was hoping to bring together a fresh new start in the Asylum.

But neverthless, wherever Daniel went, trouble soon followed. The Zone fighters: Willis, the Freak, both members of Splink, Keegan, and Tapestry... well, they all began shaking the cage that surrounded Phillips.

They were screaming for his head.

Daniel Phillips should have felt intimidated. Daniel Phillips should have thought better of this idea. Daniel Phillips should have said to the Zone, "Hey, sorry, maybe I made a mistake here."

But let's face it.

This was Daniel fucking Phillips.

Daniel Phillips didn't know what was good for him. Daniel Phillips didn't give a fuck if it was the cast and crew of Monty Python and the Flying Circus shaking the cage. And Daniel Phillips SURE AS FUCK wasn't afraid of a woman who was now slowly and methodically climbing into the Asylum cage.

Phillips hopped around in the Asylum cage, much in the same way that Shane McMahon hops around as he's doing his stupid little punch combination. Venoma raised an eyebrow at this. She didn't know Phillips that well, but she knew that anyone prancing around like that was either A) someone about to get their ass beaten, or B) someone who had a trick up their sleeve.

THUD.

Definitely A.

A shower of crimson indicated that Venoma's right fist landed squarely into Daniel Phillips' face, and drew blood almost immediately. The Zone fighters around ringside screamed and hollered at this, and didn't want Venoma to let up.

Venoma obliged them.

She straddled the stunned and dazed Phillips and clutched him by his spikey brown hair before she rained down a few more fists. However, Daniel Phillips knew that he would be effectively fucked if he let her continue this, and to this end, he lashed out with a hard punch of his own right to Venoma's face.

THUD.

The blow, while not as effective as Venoma's surprise attack earlier, had been effective enough to surprise and momentarilly stun Venoma. Daniel pulled both of his feet inward and lashed out with them, showing off his greatest strength: his tremendous leg strength. Venoma was sent hurling backward uncontrollably, and landed in only one place.

The mesh.

The Zone didn't take this too well, but they were quite surprised.

Phillips rolled backwards and to his feet, and in prime position for a charging move. He snarled, and charged toward Venoma, who had no time to react, due to the speed that Daniel Phillips can move.

THUD.

Duncan Fletcher smirked at ringside, as he watched Daniel Phillips charge shoulder-first directly into Venoma's abdomen, taking her breath away in a loud gasp. Daniel rose to his feet again, and gave his trademark smirk. Luckilly for him, it was quite unhindered in looks, since the drizzle and the rain had washed a lot of his blood from his nose. He tore off his shirt, which made it clear that he meant business.

Unfortunately, in letting up on Venoma, it had cost him.

CRACK!

A big kick in the form of an au batido caught him unexpectedly to the top of his head. Daniel tumbled around, stunned and surprised and definitely just a little on the fucked up side. The kick should have knocked him down, and if Daniel had it his way, he probably should have stayed down for the moment.

A few rapid fire sidekicks confirmed Daniel's previous wishes, as the left and right sides of his ribs were rocked. Daniel wanted very much so to catch one of these kicks, but they kept coming. Finally, however, Daniel caught one.

Big mistake.

CRAACK!

Enzugiri.

Not one of those lame Jeff Hardy enzugiris, either. We're talking full-on Toshiaki Kawada stiff shit, here. Needless to say, Daniel fell to the canvas in a heap. The referee began his mandatory ten count against the self-proclaimed King of the Cruiserweights.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

Oh, shit no.

Daniel clambered up to his feet. He decided to try something new, and went for a roundhouse kick that would have surely taken off Venoma's head had she not gone into the Negativa stance, anticipated the high kick, and answered with a leg sweep.

Phillips fell to the canvas, laid there for a moment, and realized the one thing that drove him to get back to his feet.

He was being outclassed.

By a fucking woman.

He rose to his feet and saw that Venoma was rearing back from her Negativa into a giant kick that probably would have taken Daniel's head off. However, Daniel sure as hell as not taking that shit from Venoma for another straight time. When the kick lashed out, Daniel dropped down and swept her leg out.

Eye for an eye.

Daniel kipped up. His eye swollen a bit from the enzugiri, his nose stained with blood from the sucker punch at the start of the fight, and his mood just a little more pissy than usual.

Fuck Steve Christ, you want some commandments? Here's some commandments as brought to you by Daniel Phillips.

NUMBER ONE: Thou shalt not FUCK with Daniel Phillips.

NUMBER TWO: Thou shalt not get into a fight with Daniel Phillips.

And the biggie...

NUMBER THREE: Thou shalt not be a woman whilst violating Commandments One and Two.

There's also a few bits within the Phillips Commandments on not being Joey Malone, trusting in the glory of the King of the Cruiserweights, and building shrines to honor the King of the Cruiserweights, but that's rather unnecessary at the moment.

Suffice to say, Venoma Star certainly did not see the flying leg lariat coming until it was too late. Her head cracked back in shock from the impact, and she tumbled to the Asylum canvas in a heap.

The Zone stood in surprise. They certainly didn't expect the arrogant motherfucker of a wrestler, Daniel Phillips, to survive as long as he had in the cage. Yet, there he was, marching around in the Zone's cage like he owned the damn place, and for the moment, he did.

However, Daniel knew that his arrogance would cost him if he continued, and he saw that Venoma got back up, right into the Negativa. Daniel threw a kick at her, and she responded with another leg sweep. However, Venoma had no idea that Daniel had just faked her out. Instead of following the kick, Daniel leapt straight up in the air.

THUD!

Another Kawada-style enzugiri.

Venoma fell to the canvas, stunned. The Negativa tactic couldn't fool a fast-learning Daniel Phillips, and she was becoming increasingly desperate.

She threw a roundhouse kick as she rose, but Daniel ducked it quickly and charged in on her with a hard, stiff elbow smash. This stunned and spun Venoma around, sending her spiralling face-first into the Asylum mesh.

And yet, Daniel didn't feel like letting up at the moment.

Because SOMEBODY pissed in his cornflakes this morning, and running bets are that Venoma might have done it.

The fighters that surrounded the cage stood in surprised silence, as they watched Daniel grab Venoma's hair and started to incessantly ram her face into the top of the cage.

I stress the word incessantly here.

However, on the tenth try of the blow, Venoma kicked her right leg back.

And then the King of the Cruiserweights had offically been demoted to Court Jester of the Underpushed Small People.

For Venoma had caught him right in the testicles, and there wasn't much that Daniel Phillips could do about it except double over and wince in pain.

Venoma took the moment to shake the cobwebs and turned around. She realized that Daniel was in prime position for her finishing blow. Her end blow. The Apex Cosm.

She raised her leg for the blow.

But Daniel Phillips didn't like the previous demotion to Court Jester of the Underpushed Small People. In fact, he was really pissed off about it. It did him good to be pissed about it, because just when Venoma was about to slash her leg into Daniel's skull, Daniel suddenly shot up and grabbed her.

Capture suplex that shit down, motherfucker!

Venoma violently bounced off of the mat, the victim of both hesitation and a man who claimed of royalty who also happened to be really pissed at the moment.

Daniel rose back to his feet.

The rain bounced off of his six foot, two inch frame as he stalked behind Venoma, arms outstretched, begging for her to turn around.

Why?

It was quite simple.

KICK. WHAM. PERFECT HALO.

Daniel's Implant Cutter landed with a sharp velocity, and it was there that even the members of the Fighting Zone standing around ringside knew that it had to be over.

The ten count ended it.

Daniel noticably breathed a sigh of relief.

He turned around to leave, but ended up face to face with six foot, five inches and two hundred and eighty-five pounds of Keegan Carrahar.

Duncan Fletcher slowly reached for the handgun that dwelled in his trenchcoat, but it was unneeded.

For Keegan simply shook the hand of Phillips.

Phillips wouldn't usually allow a handshake, but given the fact that he was around severeal vicious, ruthless fighters, he'll take a break whenever necessary.

Phillips exited the cage, and joined Duncan Fletcher in returning to the arena.

John C. Willis grunted at him as he left, "Loser."

“Zis is fucking bullshit.” Hans pointed out, staring at the monitor lodged into the wall. It displayed a full view of the arena, in all of it’s Wrestling Ring endowed glory.

Cheno nodded in agreement, but didn’t want to risk the spoken word just yet.

“Ve cannot just stand here and fucking watch as our livelihood is butchered. Joe would throw a fit if he saw this…”

Cheno decided to attempt a response this time, but could only get “Joe” and “Where” out. Hans, nonetheless, understood, and shrugged back at his stoner ally.

“I don’t know man, he’s just disappeared. Bullshit. Ve must do something…”

“Rebel… fight… back.” Cheno spluttered.

Hans smiled back at him…

But so did Keegan Carrahar, who had now made his presence known to the pair.

“Sorry lads, but I couldn’t help but overhear what you were saying. Now, now, a two-man rebellion will get nowhere will it? Just think about the facts. There’s how many members of Stranglehold out there… and how many of you?” The Geordie Genius said in a personal tone.

“I don’t give a fuck. Ve vill die for our…”

“No, no, my German friend… ‘German friend’, I never thought I’d say that… you do not need to die. There’s no need for your brash plans. Just follow me outside, and I’ll show you our little plot… yes?”

Hans and Eddie looked at eachother and back at Keegan, warily.

“WELL, yes or no? Shite man, take your time.”

A grunted reply of “Yes” from Cheno.

“Great then. Nice to see all us dedicated fighters are on the same page. Now… follow me.”

But Universal can do whatever he pleases. After all, who's going to stop him?

Lonnie stood outside as the rain beating against his skin. His clothes were filthy as he hadn't changed them since he was released, and he smelled rank. His glasses had fogged over, the rain was starting to dip into freezing temperatures. Lonnie could hear the fights down the alley-way, he wouldn't mind seeing what all the commotion was all about. He didn't though, he wasn't welcome anymore. His only friends were cHEESE and egg NOG and they hated him because he was such a dick to them.

Lonnie sighed as he cast his eyes skyward, it was dark, clouds were everywhere. The rain started to cloud his vision, he lowered his head as he pulled the frames off his face and wiped them off as best he could with his soaked shirt. He placed his glasses back on his face and turned to walk away, putting his hands in his pockets as he did.

"Hey, you."

The voice startled Clark, he wasn't expecting it at all. He slowly turned around to see and Asylum security guard standing with the door open and cast a confused eye Lonnie's way.

"Who're you?" he asked slowly as he noticed the rain pouring down and retreated under cover.

"I'm Luh-luh-lll-Lonnie." Lonnie replied quietly, awkwardly pushing his glasses back up his nose. "I uuu-uuu-used to wuh-wuh-work here."

"One of them, huh?" The security guard said rhetorically. He turned and started back into the building, "wait here," he called over his shoulder to the freezing former intern.

So Lonnie did. For several minutes. Finally the door opened, the guard was now present with a second man beside him. "Mr. Universal is willing to talk about a job. He says he just had an opening and you'd be perfect for it."

Lonnie's jaw dropped. "Rrrr-ruh-really?" He asked surprised, pointing to himself.

The guard nodded and flagged Lonnie in. "Yeah kid, boss doesn't play. Now come on, he's a busy man."

Lonnie smiled quickly as he hurried into the building. He looked to each of the men as he walked past.

"Hhh-hhh-hhh-home," he mumbled to himself with a smile.

Salvatore had told Keegan that the cage would be here inside the next ten minutes, but as Sal was in a totally different state… what more could be asked of him? The man was doing his best for his ex-fighters.

At this point, Willis and The Freak, complete with their respective managers in Michael D’Alessandro and Oddball, had been waiting for fifteen. Whilst The Freak and his partner weren’t too bothered about this, the impatient Willis obviously was.

Not that there was anything to be done about it, short of ringing Sal again and giving him a verbal lashing down the receiver. But that’s hardly a good way of endearing the man to you.
Having gone the entire fifteen minutes without saying anything to eachother, whatsoever, Willis finally broke the silence as a plain, black, truck pulled up outside the back alley.

“Is this it? Thank fuck for that.”

The Freak returned the favour with a nod, as two men, all clad in black, hopped out of either side of the truck and popped open the carrying bay.

Four or five men, who supposedly had spent the entire trip crammed in the back of the truck, quickly moved into position and began to drag out Sal’s gift, as the driver made his way over to the less intimidating of the quartet… Michael D’Alessnadro. Michael brushed off the driver as if it was none of his business, leaving the small man no choice other than to approach the red-haired, face-painted Freak.

“Um… the cage is ready-assembled dude. No need to fuss about with it. We managed to salvage the thing from one of Joe’s old mansions, but it’s been in there some time and…”
The Freak silenced the man with a hand, as he stared in… in horror, at the pile of junk being dragged from the truck.

Rusty. Broken down. Fucked up, pile of scrap metal that vaguely resembled an Asylum cage.
For every part that The Freak was offended, Willis was pleased. A huge, toothless grin emerged on the Champion’s face as he stared in awe of the stack of shit being carried over to him.

“I love it.” He smiled. “It’s a fucking beauty. Look at that rust… those jagged bits of wire… it’s a beauty. The pain I could cause in there…”

Oddball gave Willis a bit of a sideways, odd look, and stepped backwards slowly.

“So um… yeah. It’s the best we could get you on such short notice.” The driver continued to The Freak, with a scratch of his chin. “Sal also told me to give you this. Just read it over, that’s all he asks.”

The man slipped a piece of folded paper into The Freak’s hand, almost totally destroying the paper with rain in the process. Prior to it’s ruin, The Freak still managed to read it over quickly. Generally a load of “Good luck” shit that none of you would really give a fuck about.
“I’ll look forward to ripping open some fucks in that…” Willis smirked, even more disturbingly… prompting Oddball to once again move away on his tiptoes.

“Wait… you’re actually going to fight in that thing? You’re crazy.” The driver said. He would have continued, but the look that Willis shot him soon threw his balls in his mouth.

“Uh… okay. We’re going now. Have fun with your ‘cage’.” The man said, finally, before scrambling back into the truck and driving off.

“Showtime?” The Freak asked.

“Showtime.” Willis replied, as the fans charged around the corner, led by Splink.

Biggs looked at the slightly ajar door to the Stranglehold locker room. There were splinters all along the jamb's area, and a lot of scraped metal. There was also a smell coming from the locker room -- a dirty, used smell. Not unlike rotted chicken.

He pushed open the door, preparing for some fighting freak to jump out and tackle him, attempt to kill him. His hand, subconsciously, reached for the knife tucked into the back of his pants. He brandished it, sticking it forward.

Anyone who tried to tackle him -- well, they'd lose something. A few easy steps forward. He was in -- and he flicked the light on.

There was a sheet in the room. A ghost? A white ghost. Ah ha.

Wasp.

It was definitely not him under the sheet -- unless, in addition to being some psycho huge thing, he could shrink to about five feet tall.

Biggs kept the knife up, and slid towards the sheet. He took his free hand -- looking behind him before -- he pulled the sheet off.

A blow-up doll. One made to be a black man, complete with chocolate-colored dildo on the crotch. Biggs snickered... and then he looked up. A red line had been drawn, and attached to it were pictures -- gruesome ones. An intestine pulled out of some autopsy was taped to the abdomen area. A heart on the left side of the ribcage. An open throat covering the "adam's apple" of this sex toy.

Biggs screamed.

"You FUCKING SON OF A BITCH!" He tossed the blow-up doll aside, where on the back, there were two things attached. One, a picture of a knife. Biggs peered in, and engraved on the handle of this knife was a name... "Williams". Below it, scrawled in red:

THIS IS YOU

Biggs took a step back. Well, shit.

He noticed the smell was coming... was it coming from his locker? He spun around. There was something in there.

He stepped over the bench, opened his locker's door.

And screamed again. Oh no, no words. Just a senseless escape of sound.

A pitbull. Dead. Just in the stages of ending puppydom. Its eyes were blank, cold, and... the same color as Bigg's. No paws, chopped clean off. Flies rested in it's open mouth.

It was tied to the top of his locker. It's hind end was sitting on top of a boombox.

A tiny piece of paper said on the front, "play".

He pushed the button, not fearing what it would say.

And the entire locker room was filled for a few seconds, "The white man marches ONNNNNNNNN..."

Biggs threw the boombox across the room, tearing it apart with the impact.

"WASP! WASP! YOU MOTHERFUCKER! I'LL KILL YOU!" Biggs screamed, rushing from the room.

Leaving the pitbull -- Bigg's favorite animal, a popular dog for the African-American populace -- to stare blankly, the last memory it ever had being that of a huge pale monster wrenching its sight -- and its neck -- sideways.

A smirk graced his pale face as he attempted a cocky strut. Due to the perilous self-torture he’s been putting himself through the last few weeks, he could barely muster a walk, let alone a strut. It would have been a sad sight to behold such a glorious warrior as Providence in the abysmal state he was in now, but, thankfully, he was alone.

As he pushed his hand against the doors to the arena to escape the warmth and step out into the biting air, they swung open of their own accord. And standing before him, was Keegan Carrahar.

“Ah. Providence, my man. Just the bloke I was looking for.”

Providence cringed at the soaking wet mess talking to him, adjusted his belt on his shoulder and turned Keegan to stone.

“Well. What do you want. I’m about to leave, so make it fast.”

“No, no. Don’t leave just yet, mate. Because… I saw your challenge out there in the twatcircle, and I was wondering…” Keegan paused.

“Yes…?” Providence said, with an irritant tone in his voice.

“Why WRESTLE a rump-relegating WRESTLER, when you can FIGHT…” Keegan pointed to himself… “THE… MAYOR of mayhem, ESSENCE of extreme… ME. A FIGHTER.” Keegan finished with a polite smile.

Before Providence could reply… Keegan pointed to the TV title draped over the champion’s arm: “Oh yes, and you can put that on the hook too.”

Perhaps if Keegan was not as obnoxious in his tone towards Providence, maybe the TV Champion would have turned down the challenge and told the Geordie Genius to fuck himself. Instead, Providence was so frustrated with the man that he simply nodded and threw his bags down.

“Fine then. My title, your pride. Let’s make a compromise in fists, yes?”

Keegan smiled broadly and led Providence outside.

You're Daniel Phillips.

Now, obviously, you're going to have to deal with the fact that you're an arrogant son of a bitch who can't keep his mouth shut. You'll also have to deal with the fact that a lot of times, that mouth will eventually get his ass, and the asses of those who follow him, into a hell of a lot of trouble.

Luckilly for the voice of the Winds of Change, while his big mouth did lead him into trouble, yet again... that trouble happened to be with Los Toros.

"Dude! No way! You can't be Elvis Presley!" Avo chavez said, after he heard that Daniel Phillips had refered to himself as the King of... well, hell, that had to have been stated at least eighteen times in this Show so far, and I'm sure as shit not going to bring it up for number nineteen.

"That's the King of Rock and Roll, dumbass. Didn't the border patrol teach you anything?" Daniel said, rolling his eyes.

"BORDER PATROL!?" Avo yelled, before he leapt into Enrique Credibleno's arms, "WHERE?!?!?!"

Daniel smirked as best as someone who had a swollen bruise just above his right eye and a nose which had bled no more than an hour ago.

"Made you look."

Avo Chavez was unceremoniously dumped from Enrique's arms.

"Hey, yo, that ain't cool, man!" Enrique said, balling up his fists, before he put on a police hat, "I'm going to make a citizen's arrest!"

"Um, what?" Fletcher asked.

"You heard me! I'll take your asses to the brig!"

"Did you say ring?" Fletcher asked, with an evil grin.

"Er, yes... I did... didn't I?"

Daniel Phillips smirked a very, very evil smirk.

"Why, there's a ring right there in the middle of the arena! Did you see it?" Phillips said, with fake sincerty in his voice that went virtually unnoticed by both Enrique and Avo.

"You mean, that bad place with the ropes and all of the poopieheads who do big mean things to me?" Avo said with a frown, as he stood up from where Enrique had dropped him.

"No no!" Fletcher said, catching on to Daniel's evil ploy to get them a match. "Not that place. That place is full of stupid... stupid... what was the word you described them with?"

"Poopieheads?" Avo asked.

"Yes, yes... that's the word. In fact, I bet that if you go right to the ring, we can bring you some Doritos or something." Fletcher said.

Avo and Enrique turned to each other.

And they nodded.

"We shall take you up on this offer!" Enrique said.

With that, Avo and Enrique walked away. Once they were out of earshot, Avo turned to Enrique and grinned, before the members of Los Toros high-fived each other. "Suckers!"

The camera panned back over to Phillips and Fletcher, who were nearly in tears just trying to hold back their laughter after duping Los Toros to face them in a match.

"Suckers." Fletcher said, with an evil grin.

Providence© Vs Keegan Carrahar
(T.V. Title)

At Manhunt, led by Ruben Ross and Exxa Decimal, they were decimating everyone and assembled a considerable advantage, one that would lead to the latter being installed as the number one contender to the World Championship.

In addition, his title shot was brought forward to the same evening and Decimal didn’t disappoint. Christmas came early for him and his comrades as he was able to terminate Tyler Burton’s five-month marriage with the company’s most coveted crown.

However, their complete control over the corporation evaporated, albeit momentarily, as the introduction of The Zone, members of the old organization The Fighting Zone, halted Chris Universal’s bandwagon briefly and injected enthusiasm back into the Asylum fans who thought their product was on the verge of becoming just another Wrestling promotion.

Of course, there is a possibility that may still occur, but if tonight’s evidence is anything to go by, it’s not going to be as soon as they thought, or everyone else for that matter, if the new kids in town have anything to do with it.

Already this evening, they’ve ruined Universal’s vision of contesting all clashes inside a Wrestling ring. Instead they’ve offered the audience an alternative by bringing their own steel structure to the arena and although it’s raining outside, some supporters, particularly the loyal ones, have left their seats and gone outside to join the demonstration.

Earlier this evening, Keegan, a former two-time Fighting Zone titleholder, challenged the current TV Champion Providence to a fight in the cell situated outside. Providence had little say in the matter, but probably wouldn’t have turned the offer down out of pride anyway, and now we have a title bout. It’s simple isn’t it?

The fans are freezing and soaked by the constant onslaught of rain. Nevertheless, when this outing commences, you can be sure that all sense of warmth, or lack of it, will be substituted by a rush of adrenaline and excitement.

Carrahar, the challenger, is the first to come out into the cold as he was sent for first and the Geordie Genius rubs his hands, maybe because of the temperature or an urge to compete, and then walks past the observers into an environment he’s only too familiar with due to his year-long stint with The Fighting Zone. He then shakes hands with his fellow Campbell aficionado, the assigned official for the encounter, and retreats to a corner in the cage ready to wage war on his rival for tonight.

A few minutes pass as anxiety sets in, but those outside needn’t have worried. Providence, with his TV strap in tow, makes his way to the dangerous domain as a grin becomes apparent on the Englishman’s face, probably out of relief.

The Champion drops his belt, opens the door of the cell and before the referee can assert any authority on proceedings or lay down the law, and Providence had landed a big-time right to the side of the Briton’s head. Not the dream start that ‘Special K’ was hoping for.

He tries to respond immediately, but a wild swing doesn’t do him any favours at all and Providence effortlessly avoids this attempt before making things worse for the European before they get any better via an exquisitely-executed Side Russian Legsweep.

Providence, a very talented tactician, then makes a beeline for the Briton’s broad back battering it with relentless rights and lefts.

The outspoken Englishman seems to have bitten off more than he can chew by challenging such a versatile individual as Providence to be his first ever opponent as he is treated to a tremendous one-two combination consisting of a gorgeous German Suplex and then an equally delicious Double Arm DDT. Providence is poised to end this early and what makes it even more embarrassing for the debutant is that he is getting his carcass handed to him by the basics of Wrestling.

It’s back to the back, pardon the pun, for Darren as he ushers in a few stiff shots to the spine and then a series of Elbows that exerts a yell of anguish from the conceited Newcastle native.

Thereafter, the in-command Champion confidently moves outside. Remember the Ring out rule is void in this case and he obtains one of the many Trashcans on the outside.

Now back inside, he does some more damage to the ex-Gangster’s spine with repeated doses, around eight in total, with the aforementioned weapon prior to throwing it to one side, seemingly with contempt and confidence oozing out of him.

Don’t be fooled though. While the Television Champion may come across as arrogant, assured is probably a better word for him, and he cements this feeling by not wasting any time at all, just as he didn’t from the outset of this battle, by reverting his focus back to the task in hand and that’s disposing of the newcomer and extending his three-month tenure with the belt that he attained in August.

The official initiates a count, the first of the fight, but Keegan quashes it on six. Providence, who obviously has something in mind if bringing the bin into the centre of the cell, is anything to go by of course buries a boot into the pretender’s midriff and then performs one of his patented manoeuvres, The Schism, onto the bin and drains the air out of the English Exocet’s body as a result.

For some reason, he stands off his rival, but it all becomes clear as he indicates that he’s about to apply a Crossface Chicken Wing, circa Bob Backlund.

But he waits perhaps a tad too long and as Carrahar senses that he’s going to be placed in the excruciating hold, he musters up an offence with a desperate Elbow attempt that finds it mark, right on the jaw, and sends Providence staggering.

This is an ideal opportunity for the Geordie to get on top and he does by nailing Providence with five cracking Knife-edge Chops to the chest and then admirably turning the complexion of the clash on its head with a punt to the gut, which has Bishop on the back foot, as he confirms his comeback with a scintillating Scissors Kick to the spine.

A proportion of the supporters who are in favour of the Prince of Palermo have now found their voice and encourage him to exploit this opening. At this stage, he has to even if not to secure the Television title but in order to survive.

Despite being in control, Carrahar’s original brashness is now non-existent. Obviously, he realises that he can’t mess around against this calibre of competition and they don’t come much better than Darren Bishop either.

He picks up the man he challenged not so long ago and drills him with a couple of devastating blows, but Providence will not go down, well that is until Keegan grabs him by his hair, leading him over to the side of the cell just right of the door, and pulling of a neat reconstruction of his own in the form of a Russian Legsweep.

Bishop looks groggy. Whether or not that has anything to do with Keegan’s newfound energy or that his heroin habit is kicking in or even maybe a combination of both is uncertain. One aspect that is certain though is Carrahar, after being down and out, is in with a chance of capping off a dream debut with the Television title.

He isn’t given any time to recuperate from this whirlwind as the two hundred and eighty two pound hauls him back up to his vertical base prior to dropping him with a Neckbreaker and then complimenting it with a fierce elbow to the back of the prone Providence’s neck.

He is now getting egged on to end it, ironic when you consider that he was easy pickings merely minutes ago, and he takes another step closer to doing so with a very hard headbutt upon picking Providence up, an unnecessary low blow and then rounding off his three-move combination with the Underworld Untouchable - a running Reverse DDT.

A few seconds later and the multi-millionaire has a Knuckleduster on his right hand, devoid of sexual connotations lads, and almost looks odds-on to bring a Championship to The Zone’s camp.

He allows Providence to get up, confident that this is it. One punch later and it’s over. It has to be.

Unfortunately for him, it never lands, as he completely misses as Darren ducks, not for the first time either, and then shows sheet strength in getting the near three-hundred-pound pretender up in the air and silencing the supporters of Special K with an ground-breaking Gutwrench Powerbomb - with emphasis on ‘Power.’

The Champion isn’t content with that though. Oh no. An emphatic exclamation mark follows as he somehow betters his earlier effort with an unbelievable Urunage Slam, otherwise known as The Fall. It is appropriate under the circumstances.

Campbell’s head official looks on with concern as Providence, also woken up by his opponent’s offence, locks in The Cleansing on an already unconscious individual.

He can forget about his aspirations to be crowned Television Champion, well for tonight at least.

The referee, wanting to save face and allow Carrahar to compete another day, calls for the bell to confirm that Providence, who despite getting a scare at one stage, has successfully retained his prized possession.

While Keegan is out like a light on the floor, he can be pleased with his effort after being away for so long. If that’s any consolation to him, well that’s unknown.

And what about Providence?

It could be said at one stage he didn’t know where he was or had been.

But he always knew where he was going.

Oddball looked to The Freak, who by now was also soaked to the bone, and passed him a chair.

“Go on. You haven’t fought alone in months. Get in there and show these losers how to fight.” The manager winked, as The Freak impassively climbed into the rusty piece of junk being used as a cage and ushered the raging fans to calm down. He lowered the hood of his trenchcoat, and drew in a deep breath.

“Oh my, ladies and gentlemen… although I use the idiom loosely. It seems that we are having somewhat the demonstration tonight, does it not?” The Freak bellowed. The fans drunkenly roared back in approval, their cheers stifled by the sound of rain beating on hard concrete.

“Well, I, am not having fun. I apologize for raining on your parade… although Mother Nature has already done that, so to speak… but I am far from contented with tonight’s proceedings.”
The fans died down slightly.

“Because I am only happy, when I am TEARING someone apart… piece… by… piece. In the name of bloodshed.”

…then they approved The Freak with a deafening cheer of commendation.

“WE WANT BLOOD!”

“WE WANT BLOOD!”

“WE WANT BLOOD!”

“WE WANT BLOOD!”

The Freak killed the chant with a whim of his hand, as he once more addressed his audience…

“Ah, Asylum faithful. Blood you shall have. Not because I feel compelled to please you… but because candidly, I’M FUCKING DYING to spill some. So… as I have no set adversary tonight, whoever…

DARES

to face me tonight will get their moon body weight handed to them in their own haemoglobin. So. Who…

DARES

to fight me?”

At first, there was silence, as The Freak paced about the cage. Like a lion trapped in a zoo, he just circled… and circled, beneath the screaming sky.

The crowd grew quiet as people began to look around, back and forth at each other wondering exactly who would clamber into the structure to do battle with the challenger.

Then, a clank signalled that somebody had left the arena via an exit door.

The fans all whipped their heads around quickly to see who their new guest was…

And they were greeted by the grinning, spitting face of

TOKEN

WEED.

"Hmm, ya dared me?" Token smirked, spitefully as he trudged up to the rusty cage and gave it a bit of a shake, prior to hopping over the rim and standing defiant before The Freak.

"Asylum faithful, in steps one of the wrestlers to enter combat with I. Now, now… don’t boo just yet. At least THIS one has the proverbial brass to stand up to me. I’m not questioning his guts. What I’m questioning… is this wrestler’s ability to FIGHT." The Freak shouted… despite the fact that Token seemed content with beaming at him.

"Too bad that wrestling’s for queers, and I sure as hell ain’t a queer, buddy." Token said, his sickening smile spreading from ear to ear. If you asked ANY of the fans watching from the crowd, they’d tell you that he was looking more sadistic than ever.

"So buddy, we gonna dance or just yap?" Token barked as The Freak and Token began pacing in circles around eachother. Token released a jackal-like cackle whilst The Freak remained totally blank-faced.

The fans pressed up against the cage in anticipation. After a few seconds of building up, the fans erupted into a colossal cheer and the fight was on.

The Freak Vs Token Weed

The Freak stumbled backward and propped himself against the cage rim for a moment, before kipping forwards and forward rolling out of harm’s way. Token quickly capitalized on his advantage by extending his leg, looking for a sidekick, but The Freak blocked with his forearm and locked his opposing arm around Token’s leg, whipping him across his body and into the cage with a Dragon Screw.

Token dropped from the cage and onto the mat, the wind knocked out of him from the blow against the steel. He looked up to see The Freak, stooped down and stalking him, as the fans rooted for the Crimson Crusader.

“Eh, you think you’re so fucking funny don’tcha. ‘Look at me, I knocked down Token Weed’. Well it was a one off, you’re not doing it again.” Token snapped as he jumped to his feet.

“Welcome to school, son,” The Freak said, as he lunged at Token and yanked the stoner’s right arm outwards. With Token’s cardiac muscle now exposed, The Freak threw a kick to the chest of Token and connected, once more sending Sean sprawling into the hard, rusty mesh to a roar of endorsement from the fans.

“Strike two, mister Weed?” The Freak said monotonously.

Token once more clawed to his feet, this time with his teeth grating against eachother with rage. “Back to school, fucker. Let’s go back to school.”

Upon Token rising, The Freak turned and jolted a stepping back kick at Token. Luckily for Token, he was able to grab onto the foot as The Original Outcast flipped upwards to attempt a spinning variation of the same kick. Token ducked down and tripped The Freak’s other leg out, before hooking both calves and catapulting the newcomer backwards onto his face.

As The Freak struggled to get to his feet, Token shot a few kicks to the Red Ripper’s ribs and played to the crowd. He was taking so much delight in causing this man pain… it was quite sick. The fans cheered on, still hoping to get a bit of blood involved in the match-up…

indoors, they’d been totally gore-starved.

"WE WANT BLOOD!"

The chant began to pick up speed as Token drew closer towards The Freak, who by now was on one knee. Token instead decided better of it and turned around to once more play to his audience.

By the time he’d finished showboating and he actually TURNED AROUND, The Freak was in his face. They pair stood, facing eachother, nose to nose.

“To quote you? So buddy, we gonna dance or just yap?” The Freak mimicked, a slight sneer flickering on his face.

Token slapped him.

The Freak? Well The Freak grabbed Token's hair and drilled him, multiple times, with repeated headbutts to the stoner’s nose. Token stumbled backwards, blood bubbling from his nostrils like a fountain of red ink. He attempted to steady himself on the cage to little avail.

Upon the sight of blood, the fans were sent into frenzied torrent of cheers and applause.

The Freak sprinted towards his adversary and leapt forwards, spiking the bloodied warrior in his face with a solid right hand and further adding salt to the wounds with three jarring high knees to the chest. Token slumped down to one knee, his hand rested against the ground, trying to shake away cob webs, but The Freak had other things in mind.

He took a step back before leaping high into the air… and delivering a scintillating Shining Wizard knee attack that hammered Token backward, head onto the waterlogged canvas mat.
Another explosion of cheers, as around Token’s head a disgusting puddle of crimson began to mar the rainwater.

Token dragged himself, excruciatingly up to his feet. His nose was streaming with crimson by this point, most probably broken. Token didn't really care, you had to fight through pain once in awhile. But for fuck’s sake, how many times has he broken his nose now?

The Freak saw Token’s hand reach for his nose and knew what the problem was. So, from this point on… The Freak became determined to break his opponent’s face into as many pieces as possible.

Weakness- Targeted.

Strategy- Determined.

The Freak’s first targeted strikes towards Token’s damaged area continued with a pair of open palm thrusts to the nose, causing Token to wobble around aimlessly. A swift clasp saw Weed’s hair locked tightly in The Freak’s grip, which in turn allowed the Blood Red Brutalizer to distort Weed’s face even further with some disgusting slams onto Brian’s knee. The blood continued to flow, heavily and sparingly, from Token’s increasingly split features.

Token slumped down, his energy spent. The crows erupted in further cheers as the referee began the count… reaching only a mid-way five before Token, with the help of several stoned fans, scampered to a vertical base. Trying to regain momentum, Token dragged his carcass around the cage woozily.

The Freak stood back for a moment surveying Token, possibly trying to pinpoint the exact whereabouts of Token’s pain. Token glared at The Freak out of the corner of his eye, blood trickling from his nose and down over his lip, before slipping away into the water drenching the mat.

The Freak charged from Token's side looking to deliver another wicked good right hook, most probably targeting the face once more, but Token would have none of it. Shooting out his left leg, Token pulverised The Freak’s mouth with a stinging boot to the teeth. The Freak quickly drew his arms over his face to avoid further damage and shoulder-rolled back, trying to avoid the now wildly-swinging legs of Token.

Token rushedtowards The Freak with a sickening, sadistic glow in his eyes and pounded him with two jarring blows to the temple.

“Well, well? Got anythin’ left in ya!?” Token screamed, sending two more shots to the ribs and a third to The Freak’s face.

The icing on the cake?

Token drew his leg back and struck a knee to The Freak… square in his pride and joy, causing The Freak to hunch over and cough desperately. Token looked down and let the cocky sneer that made him famous lashed across his lips. He grabbed The Freak's bright red hair and smashed it up against the cage, burning his forehead on the wet rust.

“Come on bitch, welcome to the Asylum, you’re fighting with the big boys now!” Token shrieked, desperately, down at The Freak before grating his face up and down against the cage mesh. The sight was vile to behold, as The Freak’s forehead became more and more lacerated. Token finally let go and spun The Freak around, dragging him upwards and shoving his face into the fans. He pointed down towards The Freak’s tattered skin before roaring out…

"You wanted blood, there’s your fucking blood you fucking dumb asses!"

Token dropped The Freak face first onto the mat, and flicked his tangled, wet locks out of his eyes as the official began counting.

Upon reaching the six count, The Freak was back on his feet thanks to his proximity to the cage. Token saw that The Freak was arisen, and barrelled forwards towards the High-house of Hardcore. Realizing the danger that he was in, The Freak sidestepped… thereby sending Token charging, stomach-first, into the rim of the cage.

“ODDBALL. Chairs. As many as you can throw.” The Freak rasped, throwing the limp body of Token over the rim of the cage to hand, suspended by the mesh. Within moments, Oddball had brought The Freak three chairs and handed them to him.

The Freak set up the first two next to eachother, mid-cage, but kept the other in his hand. He then ran forwards, sprung from the chair and soared through the air towards Token…

CRACK.

…and slammed the chair into Token’s back with a flying legdrop!

Upon impact, Token bounced from the rim of the cage and stumbled back across the two chairs set up previously, whilst The Freak toppled to the outside. Token seemed content with himself, despite the newfound pain in his back… until the referee informed him that the fight was taking place under extreme rules.

“…THE FUCK?” Token wailed, still lying back-first on the two chairs…

But his distraction at the expense of the referee was a bad move on his part. A very bad move indeed… as The Freak catapulted himself over the steel cage and back inside, landing on Token with an elbow directly to his face.

Token writhed and erupted with pain, holding his bloodied face and thrashing about on the mat, as The Freak hauled him to his feet. Three uppercuts later, and Token was dazed enough for The Freak to yank Token, from a gut wrench position, over his shoulder in a hangman’s backbreaker.

“Where do we go from here?” The Freak said, looking for a place to dump Token. “Oh yes…”
The Freak stormed forwards, and dived forwards, bringing Token down and his own legs up…

Before SPIKING Token through both chairs with a vicious, jumping super-piledriver!

The Freak rolled back out of the move whilst Token struggled to get the broken frames of the chairs off of his head. Showing the extreme capacity for pain that he harbours, Weed managed to get to his feet before even a two-count was struck… albeit with a chunk of metal wrapped around his face.

The Freak capitalized on Weed’s rather… uncompromising predicament by hitting a high leg lariat into the chair, knocking it into Token’s mouth, drawing further claret from the blue-haired fighter’s face. Before The Freak could strike again, however, Token turned the tables by spitting the aforementioned blood in The Freak’s eyes and rocking him with a spinning roundhouse kick… all with, much to the fan’s horror, a chair still wrapped around his head in a rather cramping manner.

By the time The Freak had gotten up, Weed had freed himself from his chair-induced purgatory and held one of the broken frames in his hand. Using the lump of metal to his benefit, Token drove it into The Freak’s kidneys several times before cracking it over his head and throwing it out into the fans. Then…

Token reared back, ran forwards…

BAM, PUMPKICK.

To a fan.

What the fuck?

Indeed, The Freak had moved out of the way and Token’s leg had totally cleared the rim of the cage, succeeding in not only blasting a fan in the face but also crotching Token over the rim of the cage. The Freak attempted to exploit this by hopping onto the rim of the cage and using it to propel a kick into Token’s skull, but however…

Token, somehow managed to duck the blow and in the process release himself from the nasty predicament he’d put himself in. The Freak kipped up, and…

BAM, PUMPKICK.

…to the referee.

“FOR FUCK’S SAKE!” Token roared out, blood and spittle flying into the air from his reddened mouth. The Freak had got out of the way just in time, once more.

“Oddball!” The Freak shouted, as Token charged towards the Outcasted One with a look of absolute wrath etched upon his gnarled characteristics. Just as Token was about to collide, The Freak ducked down…

Just in time for Oddball to clock Token with a chain across the face.

Token’s face streamed with blood, temporarily blinding him. The fans, by this point, were worked into a steaming hot riot due to the obscene amount of blood and tangled flesh Weed’s face was bearing. Token’s lack of vision was taken advantage of quickly, as The Freak slammed his foot into Token’s gut and…

THWACK

…drove Token deep into the mat with a resounding double-underhook brainbuster!

Token lay flat out on the mat, not that it mattered, there was no referee to make the count. So The Freak quickly hopped over the rim of the cage, and hurled yanked a table from Oddball’s dumpster. Throwing the household item over the cage, The Freak crept back in and set it up… before yanking on Token’s rain-soaked hair and flinging him onto the object. Both men got to their feet, Token still with his hair held tightly between The Freak’s fingers…

BAM, BAM…

Token fought back with two vicious right hands…

KABLAMMO. If KAMBLAMMO was a sound, then Token Weed’s next move surely would have made it.

He hit a perfect circular sweep kick, clocking The Freak directly on his cheekbone… and knocking The Red Ripper off the table, and back-first onto the rim of the cage.

The cage shook.

The ground shook.

The fans? They went fucking crazy.

With The Freak still lurching over the rim of the cage holding his aching spine, Token took a risk and hurled himself off the table… landing with a sensational kneedrop to the centre of The Freak’s back!

By this point, the referee was back on his feet, so rather than follow up his assault Token allowed the referee to administer his count.

1…

2…

3…

4…

5…

The fans roared for The Freak to get back up and continue fighting, but he wasn’t stirring…

6…

7…

Would he ever get up? Was this the end?

8…

9…?

…

Don’t even THINK about counting the ten, because in one fluid motion, The Freak hopped back onto his feet and put up his fists.

Token smiled and charged towards The Freak, screaming so ferociously that even the FANS shook with fear. As he drew closer though, it became more and more evident that no matter what move he was going to try…

It was going to fail.

Low and behold, Token was backdropped by the rising Freak up and out of the cage, with Token’s own momentum so great that the stoner soared practically three rows into the crowd.
“Fucking… FUCK OFF!” Token wailed, pushing and punching fans out of his way as he got to his feet. The Freak vaulted over the cage in pursuit of his vulgar enemy, Oddball passing him a shovel on the way…

A shovel that he’d never have the opportunity to use, as Token booted it into The Freak’s face, splattering some nearby fans with Fenn-Grail’s blood… much to the punters delight. Token then wrestled the shovel away from The Freak, and brought it thrashing down onto the top of The Freak’s skull.

“Fucking newbie piece of shit… welcome to the motherfuckin’ Asylum.” Token hissed, as he tore off his T-shirt, revealing his soaked flesh. Token spat out a wad of blood and mucus and threw his shirt at a lucky fan, before yanking on The Freak’s hair and dragging him to his feet…

To get a punch in the stomach. Token ignored the pain…

But was given a second punch, this time to the face.

The Freak locked his arms around Token’s waist tightly, drew him back and despite Token’s pleas, did not release him. He then swung Token to one side and turns, leaping onto the rim of the cage once more, with Token still held tightly within his grasp…

And dived off the cage, planting Token not only back in the cage… but through the table set up earlier, with a flying variation of the Side Belly-to-Belly Suplex!

The Freak rolled forwards and jumped to his feet, as the referee administered the count…

1!

2!

3!

4!

5!

6!

7!

8!

…

With a grin plastered across his blood-stained, rain-washed face… Token slowly got to his feet.

The Freak ran forwards, and as Token prepared to defend himself… the Outcast hopped over his enemy and caught an chair that Oddball was holding for him. As Token turned, The Freak swung…

CLANK

Yes, clank. The chair met only cage, as Token dodged the blow just in time. Wasting not even a second, Token hit an upward thrust kick, knocking the chair into The Freak’s face, before smacking the Zone member’s countenance into the rim of the cage with repeated blows.

The Freak was never a quitter, though, and having blocked quite possible the fiftieth face-to-cage blow from his enemy, he shot a leg backwards into Williams’s groin. With Sean doubled over in pain, The Freak flipped Token up onto his shoulders and flipped forwards… with the Schematic Collapse.

Token Weed roared out in agony.

Not just because he’d been planted on his face… but because he’d been planted on his face…

…On the table leg
.
The Freak yanked himself to a fighting stance, using the referee’s shirt for leverage… and awaited the count.

1!

2!

3!

4!

5!

6!

7!

8!

9…!?

10!

NO!

Weed managed to just make it up over the rim prior to the ten… meaning that he was still in the fight. But how much more did he have left in him?

The Freak picked up his chair again, and brought it smashing down onto Token’s head.

Blood sprayed against the wire mesh and all over Token’s head with each shot, as The Freak brought the chair up and down, becoming more brutal with each shot.

Fifteen shots, fifteen skin-tearing, flesh-ripping, skull-denting shots, and the chair was totally spent. The Freak sighed… with any luck, so was Token.

1!

2!

Token was back on his feet.

The Freak growled, and blasted Token’s face with a raucous elbowsmash. Propping Token against the cage, The Freak released punch after punch into Token’s rib cage as the rain pounded down with equal force.

The Freak stepped back to admire his handiwork…

Lightening struck, and Token’s Weed’s blood-stained grin was lit up in a blue hue.

So did his foot… as it flung outwards and smacked The Freak directly in the face. The Freak stumbled, but did not fall; however, a Savate kick later and The Freak was once again on the ground.

1!

2!

3!

As The Freak was already crawling to his feet, Token decided to make sure the job was done. Picking up the semi-snapped and twisted metal table leg, he guffawed insanely…

before bringing shot after shot after shot down into the Freak’s back.

The Freak’s costume began to tear, the jagged lump of metal shredding not just his fabric but the skin beneath.

Token, exhausted, dropped to his knees and stared into the Electric sky, as the count continued…

4!

5!

6!

7!

8…?

And The Freak was up, hanging onto the cage out of desperation.

“ARGH! FUCKING DIE, DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE…” Token screamed, his voice breaking with rage as he continued clocking The Freak with the table leg. The Freak began to ignore the pain, slowly dragging himself to his feet, not even thinking about the damage that Token was inflicting…

And upon reaching his standing position, he turned around and stared Token straight in the eye…

Token swung the table leg, The Freak ducked…

BAM, PUMPKICK

From… The Freak!? The Freak knocked Weed’s weapon into his own face, with his own finisher… all that was left was to watch him fall, and pick up the win.

1!

2!

3!

4!

5!

6!

7!

8…

Token Weed.

Does not quit.

You should know that by now.

With one hand holding onto the rim of the cage, Token got up… desperately… as The Freak circled his antagonist. Token finally, with one eye semi-open and the other dried shut by his own blood… turned to face The Freak.

BAM, PUMPKICK

Who by this time?

Well, judging by the absolute screaming, roaring hallelujah FRENZY from the fans, I’d say that it was a DOUBLE PUMPKICK.

Both men flew backwards, and landed flat on their backs.

The referee’s count reached nine… and both men were up again, although whether or not they knew who they were is disputable. The Freak turned to face Token, but could not remain standing and dropped to his knees. A second later, Token did the same, falling flat on his face.

Both men were down again. A nine-count later, and they’d successfully reassumed their equilibrium… for about two seconds. Token dropped down, breathing heavily, whilst The Freak draped across the cage.

The men stumbled around aimlessly for quite a while, neither man ever going down for the full ten count, but also unable of getting back into the fight.

Under the premise that neither man was capable of continuing the fight, the referee called for the bell.

They stared.

Token had never really experienced respect before, but this was a good place to start. The Freak had just gone for nearly half an hour with Token, and neither man would call it quits. He’d been taken to his limits… both men had.

Token pushed away the men holding him up, and limped towards The Freak. Their eyes still locked…

They got nose-to-nose. The fans went silent, in anticipation of another brawl between the two… but it never came to pass.

“You’re tough, Grail. A tough mother fucker.”

Token’s words caused the crowd to go totally silent. The Freak didn’t even flinch… his expression didn’t change whatsoever.

A few fans began to clap.

Then a few more.

Soon the whole audience applauded the tremendous efforts of the two men that fought so valiantly.

Token clambered, uneasily, onto the rim of the cage and roared a primal scream, not unlike the one that kicks off his entrance theme. The blood streamed down his forehead, down his cheeks and onto his bare chest as the rain beat down on him.

With that, Token scaled out of the cage and walked back towards the arena.

Before he went back inside, he turned to The Freak, and with a touch of venom, he said…

“You’ll get far here. You’ll fit right in…”

After Token walked into the light, and slammed the doors behind him, The Freak replied quietly.

“I know.”

Los Toros Vs the Winds of Change

They were noticably wearing bibs with lobsters on them, and carrying plastic knives and forks, as if they were about to head to a barbeque. They entered the ring and prepared for the feast that they knew that they were in for.

"THEY KNOW WHO YOU ARE!!!!"

Surprised, Credibleno and Chavez dropped their plastic utensils in fright, just as "Downfall" by TRUSTcompany started to blare. However, their mood brightened a bit when Daniel Phillips and Duncan Fletcher, now known collectively as the Winds of Change, made their way to the ring.

With, surprisingly enough, two bags of Doritos.

Now, I know that might make you be all "WTFMF!?", but bear with us, good reader.

Phillips and Fletcher entered the ring, all smiles. They walked toward Los Toros, holding out the Doritos, while Los Toros held out their arms like they were about to embrace a long, lost love.

Then, it happened.

Phillips and Fletcher forcefully tossed the Doritos bags to Los Toros. Los Toros caught them, but since their arms were holding the bags, they couldn't have possibly blocked the attacks that came from Daniel Phillips and Duncan Fletcher.

CRACK.

The sharp sound of Duncan Fletcher's boot connecting solidly with the skull of Avo Chavez was heard throughout the arena, shocking the crowd and actually drawing cheers from the depressed Asylum crowd. Chavez crumbled to the mat in a heap. Meanwhile, Daniel Phillips had offically ejected Enrique from the ring with a running leg lariat.

Pop quiz, Avo: When you're in the ring, alone, against two really, really pissed off individuals who don't really care if you live or die, what do you do?

...

The answer is NOT to try and use a bag of Doritos as a weapon, moron!

Now, obviously, since you've failed the pop quiz, you need to be taken to school.

Wrestling school.

With that, Daniel Phillips kicked Avo in the stomach and hooked his arms, before snapping him over into a tiger driver. Now, this, of course, lent Daniel to do what he did best when he knew he was in control and would remain that way.

He got down on his hands and knees and started using every single insult in the English language, and even some in a couple of foriegn languages.

Enrique Credibleno saw this, and decided to join in.

"You motherfucker!" Phillips yelled at the downed Chavez.

"Ráfaga verde malvada de la alcachofa del panda!!!" Enrique screamed at Chavez.

Phillips turned sharply upward, seeing Enrique screaming something that sounded like random words being translated into Altavista Babelfish.

"Carpeta en cargadores sensacionales del león de la cara!!" Enrique continued.

To which, Daniel had only one thing to respond with.

"What the fuck?"

And to which, Duncan had only thing to respond with.

CRACK.

Another sharp kick, delivered Tajiri-style, found its mark on the head of Enrique Credibleno.

Naturally, Credibleno was a tad fucked.

He was about to be even more fucked.

Fletcher pulled Credibleno to his feet and sent him off of the ropes. When Credibleno came back, Fletcher caught him in what is known in the wrestling world as a spinebuster. The thing was, Fletcher held him aloft. That's because Phillips ran into the opposite ropes when Credibleno came back, and was now on his way back.

He leapt and spun.

And hooked Credibleno's head before both he and Fletcher fell to the canvas at the same time, dumping Credibleno on his skull with a wicked spinebuster and reverse DDT combination.

And that, my friends, was what they refered to as the "Fated Hurricane", way back in the day.
Fletcher nonchalantly put his foot on Credibleno's chest.

One.

Two.

Three.

That was brief.

Nonethless, the Winds of Change soaked up the cheers of the crowd, even though the crowd was still out of it, because of the whole wrestling thing.

They then left the ring, having finally finished off a busy night.

Nerva tore the yellow caution tape and walked straight to the door. A young cop grabbed her arm as she turned the knob.

“You don’t want to see what’s in there,” he said.

Nerva took the young man’s hand and gave it back to him. She headed into the house. She wasn’t ready for what she was going to see. Her sister Rachel was her first sight. A medic was treating her swollen eye. She kneeled in front of Rachel and wrapped both her hands around Rachel’s. “Are you okay?” said Nerva.

Rachel nodded. “Yes. But mom isn’t. Go to the kitchen.”

Nerva stood up and made the trek. When she saw her mother she fell to her knees and cried.

A neck brace was around the old woman’s neck. Paramedics were strapping her to a stretcher. Her clothes were torn. Her body was bruised. There were kiss burns all over her face. The kiss of The Movement.

The same young cop approached Nerva and reached into his back pocket. He pulled an envelope out and handed it to Nerva. “We found this here. It’s got your name on it.”

Already Nerva knew whom it was from. She tore it open.

Don’t feel mad at me, Nerva. Feel mad at yourself. You already did this. I just did it again. By the way, I’m at Smilthy’s.

Lotus?

Fury filled Nerva's eyes. She pushed past the cop and headed straight for her car.

"WASP!" He turned a corner.

And ran into Richard Williams the 2nd.

"Watch it, you dumb nigger!" Richard said. "I swear, all you jungle monkeys are the same --"
Biggs grabbed him -- ignoring the words this man had said -- and pushed him against the wall. "Where's your son?!" he asked.

"Like I'm gonna tell you, or any of your buffalo-shit-born people."

Biggs pulled Richard away from the wall -- and slammed him against it. "Answer me."

"Or what?"

Biggs brandished the knife. "Or I kill you, you racist piece of shit."

"I die, you'll have more Klan members on you than are even worth the trouble."

"I don't give a fuck."

"Well, neither do I."

Biggs slammed the knife into the wall. It tore through several inches of plaster and sheetrock. Richard flinched. "Give a fuck now?" he asked.

"... It don't matter. That's all you damned niggers have ever done -- used all this physical strength -- that we bred you to be, thank you -- to push us around. And then you complain that we don't give you a chance. Who wants to pushed around by niggers all day? This government's a bitch to you because you got freed by a retard in a tallhat. We're trying to right the wrongs. Because nobody should respect a nigger -- nobody needs a nigger in this world -- not anymore."

Biggs let him go.

And knocked three teeth out of the old man's mouth. Blood splattered against the wall, tiny streaks of clean where the teeth rolled out, landing several inches away on the carpet. Down went the white man, and Biggs followed him down. He cracked Richard across the temple with another hook.

He kept on swatting Richard with his fists, blood staining the knuckles, streaking down his knuckles before long. His eyes were afire, glowing, Satanic. He saw nothing but a goal -- the bloody, disembowled head of this ignorant son of a bitch. He took Richard's head, brought the old man's cranium up -- and threw it against the ground. Up again, down again.

Biggs stood up for a split second, tore the knife from the wall, jumped back down, and brought the knife down in between Richard's eyeballs.

Stopping less than an inch from his face.

Whatever had snapped inside him -- it had tied itself together again.

He backed away, on his knees, blood spots on his face, blood dripping from his knuckles, rolling down the knife handle, to the hilt, and dripping from there.

"No."

Richard probably couldn't hear him, but Biggs repeated the word over and over.

"No. No no no no no no..."

He got to his feet, backed away. "You're not worth it. I'm gonna get your son... I'm gonna kill the bastard."

"I'm gonna gut him. And then I'm gonna make him respect me, even if it's with his dying breath... and I'm gonna do it for Nayomi, I'm gonna do it for every single black man, every Jap, every Chinese, every single goddamned minority that your freak mind believes is wrong."

"The sins of the father, you son of a bitch. You've damned your son."

He left Richard Williams lying there, bleeding, broken. Defeated.

He walked away, not even close to fulfilled.

Not until Wasp was before him, on his knees, whimpering.

And showing some fucking respect.

The night wasn’t quite over yet though. As the members of The Zone and their hundreds of supporters chatted amongst themselves, John C. Willis, the largest and most intimidating individual outside of the building, was pondering what to do and then tried to get over to see his mate Michael D’Alessandro. After they showed no signs of getting out of his way, silly cunts, he proceeded to knock three of them out of the way, each with a solitary punch. That’s all it took.

“Do you think I should ask for a fight tonight?”

Michael smiled: “It’s up to you. But there’s no need. It’s been a good night. What is it? You really want to bust someone up that bad?”

“Fucking right.”

He was given the thumbs up: “Go on then. I’m not stopping you. I’m sure nobody else will!”
Willis looked around him. He’d actually had a good night by his standards. TMM and Splink were telling jokes in the crowd and getting more laughs than most stand-up Comedians, The Freak and Oddball were talking, which really meant that Oddball was talking to himself and, in a typical demonstration of what a few bottles of Brown Ale can do to you, Keegan had stripped off half naked, only he can tell you why, and started a chorus of “Drink, Drink, wherever you may be,” which even received a smile from Willis for its sheer stupidity. In the underworld, he had been hated but they were generally small crowds anyway. He felt here he could make a difference and the crowd were probably inclined to agree with him as he wanted to show, there and then.

He walked to the cage, some of the supporters had realised this and started to clap him until everyone was applauding him. Thereafter, he grabbed the microphone from the official and began to address the audience.

“If I can have everyone’s attention.”

That didn’t work.

“If you don’t shut the fuck up now, I’m going to come back out there and kick the fuck out of you all.”

That did.

“Right. To end this evening, which has been a good one, I want a fucking fight right now. And none of us are leaving until I get one. So if anyone in The Asylum has got a dick, which I seriously doubt, get your fucking face out here now so I can give you a facelift - or two - free of charge when you come and visit my right fist.”

Usually, that little speech would have been laughed at. Not with Willis though. There was just something about this man. No matter what he said, how ridiculous it sounded, you wouldn’t dare doubt it out of fear that he may in fact do it to you.

Willis’s sheer guts is unquestionable, and his prowess in the cage equally undeniable. But that isn’t the question that anyone was asking anyway. The real question here was who, in their right minds (So that rules out Venoma Star and Villam Ender for a start) would accept a challenge against this monster?

Willis stood upright, his arms folded across his massive chest. His muscles had a sheen to them in the rain, only further highlighting just how insanely powerful the man was. He stood at least several inches over anyone else in the whole alleyway.

“Hello? Am I fucking talking to myself here?” Willis roared into the crowd.

A man hopped over the rim of the cage, dressed in street clothes. He was slightly bigger than the rest, but the glazed over look in his eyes told Willis that this man was on drugs.

Even if his eyes WEREN’T glazed over, it’d be obvious the guy was high… who would pick a fight with 315lbs of solid muscle!?

“Come on then… put up yer dukes mate… I’ll take yer, ya bigheaded cun…” The man never finished his profanity, as Willis locked his colossal hands around the bystander’s throat and hoisted him into the air.

Willis smirked, as he watched the man’s face turn a deep shade of purple. With a mere flick of the monster’s hand, the fan was hurled backwards and spiked down against the rain-slicked mat, neck-first. Willis couldn’t resist but drag the man to his feet and finish him off, with a right fist that unhinged the man’s jaw, brutally breaking his face in two in an explosion of blood.

The fans gasped, as the man, surely in dire need of medical help, flopped lifelessly onto the mat. His head twisted around, practically 180 degrees, and his jaw a mutilated lump of bone dust.

“I want a FIGHT. That was not a FIGHT, that was an EXECUTION.” Willis screamed, before pounding his chest like a crazed monster from a Japanese B-Movie.

Eddie Cheno watched silently from the crowd. Not by choice; but due to his malicious throat injury. As he had yet to fight at this point… the fans around him beckoned him to take on Willis.

“Come on man!”

“You can take him!”

The encouraging words from the crowd mounted up into a deafening roar for Cheno, who at one point looked almost like he was going to jump over the barrier and assault Willis… but then thought better of it.

“CHEE-NO!”

“CHEE-NO!”

“CHEE-NO!”

“CHEE-NO!”

The fans begin to chant, and Eddie smiled out of their love for him. But despite his urges, he wanted his injury to heal; and thus, he remained out of the fray. Out of frustration from his lack of opposition, Willis yanked another fan over the barrier and began to hurl him from wall to wall.

“I’ll do this to each and every one of you fucking faggots if I have to.” He growled, in a sickeningly calm manner, before twisting the unlucky punter’s head in the opposite direction to his body. Whether he was dead is contentious, but I’m sure we’ll soon find out via the press.

In a more… shadowy area of the crowd, The Freak sat with a bandage wrapped around his ribcage and a plastered, stitched forehead. His fight with Token earlier had been brutal, and it had taken a tremendous toll on his already beaten body. His every movement seemed to be painful, and his every pore seemed like it was going to explode with blood any minute.

But pain never really did bother The Freak. His mind is so far above his body that it’s almost like The Freak is controlling himself, not as a normal person would but as a puppet master would.

The Freak watched Willis through one eye, like a hawk watching it’s prey. Willis was a colossal man… but The Freak had fought him before, and even claimed possession of his title for a brief moment.

“You’re not thinking about fighting him are you?” Oddball sighed, as he applied more bandages to The Freak’s injured hand.

“I’m not thinking about it, Oddball. The deliberation aspect has long left me. Now… I am simply preparing.” The Freak hushed, his eyes still locked on Wilis, as if studying a wild animal.

Willis drew a third bystander from the crowd, and readied his fist for a finishing punch… before he was interrupted.

“Willis.”

John turned around, and was greeted by the slightly leaning to one side, bandaged and generally battered image of The Freak. The Freak began to circle the cage, as he always does, his red eyes locked on Willis.

“You’ve fought once, I want fresh meat.” Willis hissed, before drawing back his fist and crushing his hapless victim’s face against his knuckles. The man’s neck snapped back, and his nose practically disappeared in a shower of gore.

“Willis.”

Willis turned around again, as he shook the blood from his crimson-drenched hand. “What? What the fuck do you want?”

“Would you prefer to just continue your fan-pounding spree, alone, until the whole crowd is drained out and bloodied… or would you desire to face me, the wounded animal that at any rate has a hope in hell of doing some damage to you? I managed to achieve a Knockout on you last time, you know. Even if it was invalid, that’s besides the point…”

“Fine then…” Willis said, throwing the broken fan back over the barricade with one hand…

“Let’s put the record straight, shall we? A friendly fight… right now.”

The Freak Vs John C. Willis

The Freak made the first move, charging and diving towards The Terror’s legs, but a boot to the face rocked Brian back. Willis followed up by squeezing his great hands around The Freak’s head and hurled him, upside-down, across the cage.

The Freak slammed against the wall, and dropped onto the mat face-first. Willis didn’t even budge… he just let out a revolting laugh. A nearby fan laughed with him, so Willis stopped, punched the bastard then carried on.

At a three count, The Freak was back on his feet, albeit slightly dazed. He once again donned his Boxer-like fighting stance and began to circle Willis…

The Original Outcast once again darted for Willis’s legs, this time evading Willis’s colossal fists and crawling between them, and once behind Willis The Freak jumped upwards and struck a dropkick to the back of Willis’s legs.

Willis turned around, completely unfazed, and roared in The Freak’s face.

The Freak soon shut him up by wedging a fist in the Champion’s mouth, and jumping up to twat his face in with a headbutt. A slight groan from Willis was emitted in acknowledgement… before The Terror just picked up The Freak in a bearhug, like a rag doll, and began to pace around the cage.

CRACK

Willis charged The Freak, back-first, into the mesh, slightly bending the rim of the structure. The Freak couldn’t help but growl with pain, as his back was injured earlier in his war against Token Weed. Willis, rather than letting go, then turned around and powered The Freak into the other side of the cage with equal force.

Finally, he released the bearhug… with a mid-cage Spinebuster.

Willis got to his feet, the count began.

1!

2!

3!

4!

The Freak hobbled to one knee, holding his back, only to be sent straight back down to the canvas with a thunderous punch to the temple that knocked the bandage from his head, exposing his fresh stitches.

Willis dragged The Freak to his feet, and lifted him up over one shoulder. The Freak struggled, but it was no use. Willis belted him to the ground with a powerslam-eque attack, then hammered his head a few more times to boot.

1!

2!

3!

4!

5!

6!

Never say die. The Freak hobbled up, his stitches coming lose and bleeding, but he didn’t feel any of that. All he knew is that A) he had blood in his eyes, and B) That Willis was charging straight at him.

The Freak quickly dropped down and readjusted his positioning… managing to drop Willis with a stinging drop toehold, neck-first onto the unforgiving steel rim of the cage!

The fans roared with approval at the offence of their new hero, who was quickly becoming a hit with the fans out of sheer resilience. As John lay, his neck draped over the mesh, The Freak was handed a metal pipe by Oddball.

The Freak noticed, as Willis rolled over grasping at his throat, what needed to be done.

Weakness- Targeted.

Strategy- Determined.

The Freak swung the pipe directly into Willis’s throat, eliciting a splutter from the behemoth. Despite the assault, Willis still somehow managed to get to his feet and push The Freak out of his way whilst he recovered.

“Catch!”

Willis turned, The Freak threw the pipe at Willis, Willis caught it…

BAM, a savate kick sent the bar directly into Willis’s neck.

They fall for it every time.

1!

But Willis, as notified by the shockingly fast count, doesn’t fall for long.

The Freak jumped up, just about balancing, on the rim of the cage. He ran along the edge, and upon reaching Willis, dived off… with a flying back kick to the Man Mountain’s throat.

Willis stumbled around, but a sweeping kick to the back of his legs was sure to drop him and keep him down.

1!

2!

Well, maybe not *that* sure.

Willis and The Freak charged forth, colliding in a rugby scrum of punches, kicks and knee attacks in the middle of the cage. Willis emerged on top, smacking The Freak to the mat with a harsh uppercut, but The Freak had other ideas. Hooking his legs around that of Willis’s, The Freak backward rolled, bringing Willis on his face and ultimately…

Locking in a half crab. The Freak, to add pressure, hoisted The Big Man’s leg as high as possible, putting all of the strain of Willis’s upper back and neck area.

It didn’t last for long, alas, as Willis powered out after around half a minute and The Freak was forced to try and out-power the Terror in a brawl situation. After a few punches, The Freak was against the mesh, but a quick dodge and Willis’s hand met nothing but steel. His elbow, however, was sent backwards and rocked The Freak with such force that The Red Ripper very nearly backflipped on impact.

The Freak, as notified earlier in his blinding brawl with Token, does not stay down for long and after a three count, The Freak managed to forward roll to his feet. Willis instantly went on the offensive, blasting his fellow Zone member with three thunderous punches that would have liquefied most men’s bones. The fourth in line of fists was blocked, mind, and The Freak then twisted the arm of Willis into a type of standing armbar.

Willis muttered a few curse words, but the pain was more than standable… until The Freak kicked Willis’s legs out from beneath him to boot, thereby wrenching the Big Man’s elbow practically out of it’s socket. As Willis got back to his feet, The Freak… still clutching the Champion’s arm, hopped onto the rim of the cage.

…And as Willis reached his feet, The Freak pulled John towards him and leapt from the cage with a stinging flying lariat once again connected with Willis’s throat! The Freak jumped to his feet and then back down again with a legdrop across the neck, and repeated the process three times before standing back and allowing Willis to get to his feet.

The Freak barrelled forwards perhaps looking to deliver a kick to Willis’s targeted area, but this time he was out of luck. Willis clocked The Freak with a vicious uppercut that tore the stitches out of The Freak’s forehead and left him face-down in his own blood.

The Freak kipped up and forward rolled out of harm’s way, before charging at Willis and attempting a spear. The first was unsuccessful, in fact Willis laughed… but the second managed to rush John off of his feet and drill him into the rain-soaked mat.

The Freak got up again, and wiped the blood out of his eyes… and saw that Willis was already back on his feet.

Then, a man leapt over the cage and stood between the two.

Having finally given in to the fans’ cries of his name and his own desire to compete, Eddie Cheno hopped into the cage and started shaking his muscles.

“Fight,” Cheno croaked, and it seemed that this little battle… had become a three-way.

The Freak Vs John C. Willis Vs Eddie Cheno

CRACK

However, so enthralled was Willis in Cheno’s pain that he failed to notice that The Freak had obtained a baseball bat from Oddball…

CRACK

And was now blasting Willis’s legs with it. Willis stumbled down to the mat clutching his joints, finally freeing Cheno of Willis’s own variation of hell. Instantly becoming frenzied with Willis, Cheno laid in the boots to the Champion, with muttered grunts of words that shouldn’t really be repeated on television.

But as this is Asylum, here they are.

“Fuck.”

“Bastard.”

and…

“Bitch.”

Willis struggled upwards, pushing himself up on his hands. However, Cheno gave him no chance to recover as he charged into his nemesis and delivered a scalding upward thrust kick to the stomach. Willis flipped over onto his back and held his abdomen, but a grunt and a spit later and he was back on his feet.

The Freak, after shrugging rather indifferently at the rising Willis, turned his attentions to Cheno and blind-sided the SECOND stoner that he had fought tonight with a baseball bat-assisted blow to the bonce. After a second resounding shot, The Freak then dropped his weapon, opting for a more subtle approach.

The Freak attempted to continue his minor onslaught by getting a handful of Cheno’s blue hair and driving a knee to his face, before hoisting him up to a vertical base. Once he had Cheno where he wanted him, a flurry of punches were soon to follow, mostly targeting the neck area… however, unfortunately for The Freak, Edward dodged the combo-ending uppercut fist and from behind, Willis swung the previously dropped baseball bat with fell accuracy. It connected squarely on the back of The Freak’s head, and sent him onto one knee, holding his now-aching skull.

Cheno breathed a sigh of relief as he realized that he actually had an advantage here. Unlike his two opponents, he was fresh; and he could use that against them.

Willis swung the baseball bat this time in Cheno’s direction, but Cheno was quick to duck and dive. Eddie came back at Willis with a kick aimed at Willis’s head, that stunned the beast… but it wasn’t quite enough, as Willis hammered Cheno down with an EXTREMELY callous right-armed clothesline to the throat.

The Freak crawled around on all fours, still unable to walk just yet. The shock to the spine seemed to have really damaged The Freak’s equilibrium, as he tried and failed to get to his feet.

Willis, looking to further damage his opponent, dragged The Freak up in a rear waistlock… perhaps hoping to take The Freak down in a German Suplex. The Freak managed to squirm enough to keep his feet firmly planted on the floor, luckily…

Just long enough to throw a leg back into Willis’s manhood area, keeling the Man Mountain over. The Freak quickly spun himself around, and despite the aching agony in his back, he knew that this was an opportunity not to be missed. The Freak, perhaps testing his own strength… hooked an arm and a leg and…

Yanked Willis off of his feet, and slammed John against the rim of the cage with an awkward, yet still effective Aeroplane Powerslam! As Willis dropped to the mat, The Freak had no choice but to follow… the deliverance of such a move on such a colossus of a man is far from healthy.

The fans began to clap in appreciation of The Freak’s sheer audacity, not that The Freak actually noticed them… he was too busy trying to remember who he was.

Cheno staggered to his feet at around the same time as The Freak, however Eddie was the one to strike first. Looking for a spear, Cheno rushed forwards. When he saw that The Freak had extended his knee to intercept, Cheno stopped himself in mid-air and swung a foot directly into The Freak’s stomach, before leaping over him and slamming his head down with…

The Bong Hit.

The Freak recoiled from the mat and instantly began dragging himself up the cage wall…

Cheno readied himself to deliver the Needle Jab, flicking his leg into the air…

The move never connected, however, as Willis hoisted Cheno off the ground and onto his shoulders as if the warrior was a mere toy.

After parading around the ring slightly… Willis pressed Cheno high above his head, doing three repetitions… before lobbing him out of the cage, and about three rows into the crowd.

The Freak managed to regain his senses and stumble to his feet… only for Willis to belt him across the face with a brutal double-handed palm strike. The Freak blocked Willis’s second attempt at the move, thankfully, and ran in a perfect circle to wind up behind Willis. Before the slower man could turn around, The Freak locked his arms around the Terror’s waist and…

German suplex. On a 315lb man.

Willis rolled around groggily, evading a four count before getting to his feet. The Freak tried to send him back down again with a few right hands, but it was to no avail…

NEEDLE JAB

Eddie, having crawled back into the cage, rocked Willis’s head forwards with a fierce Needle Jab frontkick. The Freak then attempted to set Willis up for the Anti-Nature… but Willis simple powered out, backdropped the Original Outcast and hurled him onto Cheno.

Cheno and The Freak began to get to their feet… but before they could re-initiate combat, all three men were distracted by the presence… of a fourth.

A dark form of a man confidently made his way through the rain and let the gleam of the Asylum Championship announce his presence. The Freak and Willis ceased their attacks and simultaneously turned their heads towards Exxa Decimal, greeting the Stranglehold leader with respective sneers.

"It would appear that the cockroaches have begun to nest. Obviously you didn't hear what I said at the beginning of the show. Joe's contracts are mine. I own each and everyone of you. That means when you fight, you fight for me and you fight where *I* want you to fight." Exxa simply stated.

"Fuck off." The Freak said.

This set off a round of laughter from the fans and roster members crowded around the little makeshift cage. Exxa was non-plussed and continued on speaking as if what was just displayed was nothing more than baby gibberish.

"Yes, that's nice. Now come inside children...it's bloody cold out. Don't make me tell you again."

Willis stepped foward to remove Exxa, but The Freak was quick to bar his path with a hand.

"I'll handle this." He said as he stepped forward and leaned over the rail. Exxa walked up to Brain Fenn-Grail and they considered each other - Mask to Man.

Exxa crossed his arms...

...he was growing impatient.

The Freak spoke up, interrupting Exxa sharp intake of breath that began his sentences.

"You want us to leave? Make us."

Exxa cocked his head to the side and thought to himself. "Fine. I'll take you all on. One at a time. Is that fair?" Exxa leapt for the rim of the makeshift cage and took off his trench coat.

Rain fell down hard on his body and beaded off in sheets.

The Freak smiled.

"All of us? I find it hard to believe that one who carries himself in such a gentlemanly fashion can be so delusional and devoid of any logic. No, no...I fear you won't be taking all of us on.

No. Because you see, and call me arrogant if it pleases you...but I'm quite sure that'll just take me to show you your place. When I beat you, you can go back inside the arena and tell your friends that The Freak beat the shit into you and that this little 'invasion' is over. Oh, and I'll be taking that belt too."

The Freak then calmly put up his dukes.

"That's fine." Exxa said as he cracked both sides of his neck. "I was thinking the same thing.

However, if I beat you...then you and your buddies pack up your toy and go play inside where it's warm. Understand? The little Fighting Zone rebellion will be over. Is that understood children? After all, these are your rules. This is how your 'honor' works right?

Top dog gets the spoils?

Never let it be said that I never tried to come down to your level and meet you half way.

You sin soaked mongrels."

Exxa buckled the Asylum title around his waist. And fashionably put his dukes.

Exxa Decimal© Vs The Freak
(Asylum Championship)

"Well, are you just going to stand there?" The Freak said.

"Oh, you wanted me to start? ..--Fine!" Exxa said before winding back for a punch...

WHAM!

Head butt from The Freak.

"I can't believe you fucking fell for that." He said as he followed up with rights and lefts. Exxa was being drilled into a corner until the rowdy fight watchers pushed him to the ground. The thought he had an opening, but Exxa being far, far too quick sent him to the concrete with a drop toe hold. Exxa spun on his back and got back to his feet. The Freak got to his and made for another attack...

SLAM!

Freak was sent flying backwards into the guard rail. Roundhouse, followed up by a kung fu punches - each wrapping around Freak's head harder and faster. Knee to the chest. Exxa lowered himself into horse stance...

Freak took the bait and tried to counter but fell victim to an outside crescent kick.

"YAH-TAH!" Exxa screamed as he buried double-palms into The Freak's ribs.

Once again The Freak was sent falling back into the arms of the people cheering him on.

The Freak surprised Exxa and charged into him, quickly lighting Exxa up with punches.

Punch: Blocked

WHAM! - Backfist to the temple from Exxa. Spinning back kick, hook punch and The Freak was on The Ground.

Exxa sneered gleefully under his mask and approached The Zone fighter and...

CRUNCH!

Big mistake.

The Freak leveled Exxa out with an elbow to the Kung Fu Master's groin.

CRUNCH!

Follow up DDT.

Head on concrete? That can't be good.

"Oddball! CHAIR!" The Freak said. And of course his comrade was happy to help. The crowd started cheering The Freak on as Oddball toss him a chair. Exxa slowly got is feet...

WHAM!

Chairshot.

Exxa tried to crawl away.

WHAM!

Another.

WHAM!

And yet another which sent Exxa into a group of folks who started punching away at the Asylum Champion. They cleared out as The Freak approached with his chair gleaming from the moonlight. Exxa's chin rested on the rim of hastily-created cage and The Freak raised the chair high over his head......

CRACK!

And that won the match.

That's to say that it would have. If the cracking wasn't the sound of the chair smacking against the rim of the cage.

Exxa had rolled out of the way and now as quick as his evasion, he kicked the chair upwards into The Freak's face! The Freak tumbled back but still held onto his weapon. But Exxa had enough, with an angry hand he slapped the chair out of his hand and started punching away at Brian's cranium. The Freak was getting pummel over to the other side of the cage and while it looked like Exxa was going to be put into another situation where the crowd would be attacking him....Exxa grabbed The Freak by his neck and pulled him back in...

Right into an elbow in the temple.

Exxa set him.

Suplex on the concrete. Held on. Rolled through...

Snap Suplex. Held on. Rolled through...

Lift.

Stall.

Brainbuster.

Freak's head landed on the pavement with a loud crunch and the crowd wasn't so cheerful now. Exxa circled The Freak...waiting for that precise moment. That moment that always-always showed up...

When the opponent...realized that they were in great pain. And if they were in pain then maybe they could move.

The Freak started to stir.

And if they could move. Then they could get their feet.

The Freak rolled over onto his stomach and started to push himself up.

If they could get to their feet, then that meant that they could take what Exxa was dishing out. That meant that even after a combination like that...

There was hope.

'Now.' Exxa thought.

In a second Exxa had slapped on the Exxa Deathlock. Arm was locked and The Freak could use nothing for leverage...it was raining...the concrete was cold...there were no weapons about.

He was stuck.

And as Exxa wrenched back harder and harder...ever so slightly...playing sick games with The Freak's neck...the pain increased.

He couldn't tap out.

If he did, that would mean the end of this 'rebellion'...maybe even an end to fighting. He reached deep inside...but he began to feeling it.

Exxa was no doubt gritting his teeth and every rain drop produced small psychological pains. People called The Freak.

"Come on! You can do it! - Don't tap! - Don't tap out, man! - Kick his ass! Come on! Get up!"
And soon....everything was numb...

He didn't feel anything at all. And the sound of the cheering energized him. But everything was so black, so dark...

Dark.....

The Freak was unconscious.

Exxa held the hold still. The ref counted to ten...

It was over.

Exxa got to his feet.

"Well, let's not look too sad people." He said.

"Your brother here fought bravely. He did a good thing..." Exxa said as he looked down on The courageous Freak. Exxa then disregarded him and put on his trench coat.

"Look at it this way," he offered. "At least the troublesome little bugger didn't tap out. That would've looked pitiful."

Exxa hopped the rim and started back towards the arena...

"Remove him and tear this monstrosity down." He said.

In his wake the thunder clapped, the people sighed and the air about them got 20 degrees colder.

He was the Asylum champion, but perhaps he'd just put an end to what remained of it.