The bloodiest valentine in history? Time would tell.

"Cosmonaut" by At the Drive In. Asylum Champion, Villam Ender swaggers onto the scene.

Pyros fire upwards with cannon-like roar, syncing up with At the Drive In's guitar noise and percussion assault.

And like "Cosmonaut" assaults the ears. The Titantron assaults the eyes. Visions of rape, murder and outright violence fire onto the screen with strobe light accuracy. The only difference between this and other entrances was...

...it was Villam Ender committing the acts.

we sample from the shelves
tore a page out of this chapter
deface the essays in the book that you're reading
we are the leaches that stop the bleeding
deficit attention program
by any means necessary
blare sirens to the library
whisper instructions to the book-wormed glossary

is it heavier than air - tell us, is the black box lying?

aeronautics hacked
the spine of paragraphs
prepare to indent, a coma that read-
floating in a soundproof costume
here comes the monolith
brass knuckles for the hissie fit
an abbreviation for the landing of fleets
incoming

is it heavier than air - tell us, is the black box lying?

position the stitches - like miles of torpedoes
permission was hinted
lungs that hollered in a sleeper hold

is it heavier than air - am i supposed to die alone?

Villam was handed a microphone straight away as he made his way up the steel steps and into the cold iron cage of the Asylum. The crowd boo'd him relentlessly as he leapt to the top of wire mesh and held the Asylum title into the sky....Villam then threw the Asylum title to the canvas and peeled his tin mask back behind his neck.

"I'll take it by all of your slack jawed Yankee-yokel reactions that you missed the fuck out of me...."

Booing. Lots. Villam jumped down from the rim and started to pace the cage a bit...

"I'mean let's look at what's happened so far. In January I delivered a fighting performance that had cunt's dripping in hentai "love juices" and cocks rubbing their eyes...talkin' about: 'Whoa, dude I thought I was watchin' Best of the Best or American Kickboxer or somethin'. No, not as such...there was blood and fighting galore, true...true. But what I did to Inmate just a bit over two weeks ago is nothing short of a fucking horror film.

I had Freddie Kruger reaching for a puke pot and shit. Jason threw down his knife in defeat and anime-style tentacle cock monsters held their penis-shaped arms to the sky in praise and advocation. Even Satan himself toyed with the idea of rubbing one of his multi-purpose fully lactating nipples. That's right folks...that's right...let's face it.

I fucked shit up in this motherfucker.

So, like...I go on a bit of a sabbatical...do some promoting and some interviews...you know kick back and really enjoy the fruits of being the strongest fighter in the world.

What magic word should I hear echoing throughout the grapevines of this industry?

Slump.

Now, I can easily point out that this crap has only started as soon as I took my little vacation. I can even point out that this word is being thrown around again while a number of ever-so shitty fighters have made their respective reappearances...

*cough* TokenWeedHypnosis *cough*

I can even point out that certain talents have been recently tryin' to crawl from under whatever mound of shit they were spawned.

*cough* FreakLLB *cough*"

Jeers could be the only reply for such egotistical ranting. A paper cup somehow made it into the cage and Villam kicked aside...

"I love you, too.

Anyfuck...

I can point that out.

But I won't.

Because I'm a nice guy."

ASSHOLE chants fought desperately again FAGGOT chants. Villam just smiled.

"Lemme tell you something about Slump.

THERE IS NO MOTHER FUCKING SLUMP, FUCKS AND FUCKETTES.

You see the only thing that there is...is acid somehow finding it's way back into mainstream culture. It used to be the mainstay among sage-burning faggot hippies...but now I guess any old average twat can get a hold of the stuff and start slumpin' it up like a motherfucker.

But worry not.

Villam Ender greatness is higher than any high and far more entertaining than any hallucination. So, embrace me children~!"

And with that call to...um...embracing...Villam outstretched his arms...and the people hugged him with boos.

Angry, angry boos.

"EMBRACE, I SAID~!"

More jeering.

"Ok, that's fine. You don't have to embrace me...but I'll tell you what...

If I hear any shit again about a "slump" the only slump that there is going to be is youse motherfuckers slumping over in a corner in a fetal position, weeping into the bloody gaping hole where your respective genitalia’s use to be, while I stuff said genitalia’s into your respective ass cracks~!

Respectively.

You fuckers killed it with this slump shit.

Slump? fWo was never in a slump...they always sucked. *snicker* And you people come to tell me that you actually watched the Asylum? Slump? Slump? SLUMP? The promotions around us have been on a year around slump and you're getting your titts in a chain when the Asylum slumps~? Ugh and it's such a PC white nigger spic honkey thing to say. "Slump", heh. I mean at least just come out and say "Shit." It's like when black people invented dancing and then white people had to kill it with the hussle. HA~!

Fags.

FAGS ONE AND ALL."

And as Villam yelled the crowd amassed a steadier flow of hate than usual.

"Yeah, that's right let's boo the fuckin' meal ticket. You know something? If we even are in a slump...you people shouldn't be booing me. Boo everyone else back there circle jerkin' it up with the circle jerks. There ain't a fighter backstage that could stand face to face with the God of Fight. That's what the problem is. The problem is them...not me~! I'm the greatest thing since indoor plumbing....

You people should be on your knees suckin' my phantom dick and rubbing my prostate with fingers in the mere hopes that I may make your plebian lives worth living....you people shou-...."

"SHUT UP."

Villam shot an angry stare towards the stage...

CUT MY LIFE INTO PIECES~~!! THIS IS MY LAST RESORT~~!!!

ONE. (nothing wrong with me)
TWO. (nothing wrong with me)
THREE. (nothing wrong with me)

RUAAAAAHHHH~!

Let the bodies hit the floor!
Let the bodies hit the floor!
Let the bodies hit the floor!

Dun, dun dun.

ARCHANGEL.

"It's funny that you should make a reference to indoor plumbing. You and the invention have much in common...

...you are both full of shit."

Laughs.

Villam's eyes narrowed...

"Izzat...

Hey! You're Erik Kelly~! Wha? No? Oh...KEVIN NASH~! No-BIG SHOW~! Yeah!...

Fuck. Help me out here man, all you wrestlers look alike to me."

Nor Archangel or the crowd were amused.

"Don't pretend that you don't know me. Don't pretend-"

"Ya, ya...I know who you are. But, it's great to pretend isn't it?

It's great to pretend that nothing came before me. It's great to pretend that such pieces of shit like yourself and Borst and Inmate and Nerva and AD...never made it to the top. But, I guess I have to face facts. Before me there were no true fighters. Just sheep in wolf skin."

Archangel slowly shook his head. "The only sheep I see is the one before me. Follow Joe Campbell like a dog on arse. You should know better. Because through experience, I certainly do...but what annoys me is how your continue to run your mouth without being able to back any of it up. You think you're tough because you barely beat Tyler Burton? What you need to learn to respect is the Asylum of past. Before this money machine came into creation."

"Booshittin'-hoo, Grandpa Big-Ums. You came in here powerbombin' folks onto light tubes and shit and now you're out here telling me to respect the Asylum of the past.

Why?

I look back the old tapes and I don't see anything I deem worthy of my precocious respect. All I see is a whole lot of what I'm looking at right now.

A whole lotta nothin'. Paper fold out cookie cutter champion after cookie cutter champion, fallen wrester after fallen wrestler or just some flat out thug tryin' to come up on easy street. Respect?

Respect my fucking shit in your throat, Archie."

Archangel had nothing more to say.

...instead her made his way down the ramp and towards the cage...

"Wha...what the fuck are you doing!? Oh, so you're coming to the cage, eh? That's right step into the badland bitchnuts."

Soon, Archangel and Villam were inches part...

"The reason no one can stand face to face with you is because you're such a little man. A little fucking boychild."

Villam swung----SMACK!-----Angel's head moved to the side...and then he shook his head "no".

No effect.

Villam reared another fist back but was interrupted by Archangel's hand wrapping around his neck, lifting him up...and dropping him - neck first - onto the rim of the Asylum!! The crowd erupted in cheers and Archangel exited the cage leaving Villam there...

...bleeding from the back of his head. Villam got to his feet and smiled...

"Challenge accepted."

Fortunately for him, after Jeff pulled away in the luxurious vehicle, the belt was dropped on the ground nearby and as Keegan parked his car in the parking lot for the pre-Conflict card with a wonderful white suit on and a stylish pair of shades and behind him were the returning Warwick Hunt and Lharn Huscroft, clad in grey and black respectively.

“Honestly, we look like something straight out of a mob movie,” said Lharn.

Keegan glanced at Warwick and grinned: “We do actually. But the best needs to look their best don’t they eh? I wonder if Tapestry will like my present.”

Lharn laughed: “You soppy twat. What have you done like?”

“Well it was Valentine’s Day a couple of days ago wasn’t it? I mean I’ve sent one every year since I was a bloody bairn man even though it is a mere excuse for couples to start shagging like rabbits, nothing wrong with that like, and the cunts in the shops to exploit us. I mean if you look at it these days we get conned all days. First, you get the sales, then this shit, Easter follows after than and then there’s Mother’s and Father’s Day. And to cap it all off, Christmas starts in August. Plus the Yanks have Thanksgiving and Independence Day. You can’t win can you?”

Huscroft chipped in again while Warwick just sat there: “Whatever you say Keeg. What’s the plan tonight then?”

The Yardstick took another breath before he gave the rundown: “Right. Besides bucking some beauties, here goes… First of all, I’m going to ring a Florists to deliver the works to the area, get some little nerd to tell me where her locker room and then Warwick’s your Uncle. Thereafter, we use the Submission title, Warwick, you’ve got it haven’t you? HAVEN’T YOU?”

“Yes. Calm down. You’ll have a heart attack.”

Carrahar chuckled again: “Thank fuck for that. Anyway, you seem to forget that I’ve already had over a hundred attacks this year. I do support Newcastle United after all. Where were we? Aye. That’s it. We’re going to hang Garvin out to dry along with his wet belt, everything will be revealed later, and me and you (pointing at Lharn) are going to see our best mates John and Michael.”

Lharn’s face literally dropped: “AM I FUCK!”

“Yes WE bloody are you little bastard. I need to go and grovel to the twat for getting me out of that arena at Persecution. Although I still despise the prick, he displayed a different side, one that suggested he may even be human.”

“Well what’s that got to do with me?”

Keegan placed his hands on his acquaintance’s shoulders in a reassuring manner: “If they start any funny business, you can back me up. And before you suggest that I take Warwick, we both know that the only thing punch he’s used to do is that alcoholic shit and even then he doesn’t handle that very well either. Plus he’s taking care of the title. Where is it anyway? Briefcase?”

Hunt nodded. “Good lad. I want you to treat that strap like an essential bit of evidence because if it goes missing you’ve had it. Now both of get out the car while I make a fucking phone call.”

They concurred with Carrahar’s wishes and made sure they were at least thirty yards away from Keegan before they plotted a plan of their own: “Have you got those cards as well?”

Warwick answered: “Yes. I managed to get fifty of them yesterday and they were cheap too. How are you going to fill them all out without him knowing? And we don’t even know if Tapestry is here. He said she was injured to me.”

“Don’t worry about it man. He still thinks she’ll be here doesn’t he or he wouldn’t be kicking up a fuss. Well I’ll fuck off right now. So if you just tell him that I’ve gone for a shit or something, I’ll go and fill out a few of them. Then what? Just collar one of the officials and force him into telling me where Tapestry’s dressing room is?”

“Yes. You’ll need to know where ours is too. Just get him to find that for you. That is what they are paid to do.”

The Real Deal, as Lharn called himself, looked over at Keegan’s car and noticed that his comrade was so engrossed in a conversation on his mobile: “Howay then Warwick. While he’s not looking. Give me about ten of them.”

“Ten? But I got fifty.”

It didn’t bother TRD though: “That’s your fault. I’m not going to fill fifty of the bastards out. Plus you can keep them for next year can’t you? Come on. Just give me ten or so.”

Unsurprisingly, Warwick didn’t have a say in this though he was in on the joke and as Lharn took what he needed, Keegan was just about to get out of his car: “Right. You keep Keegan sweet and I’ll see you in what? Half an hour?”

“Okay.”

On that note, the very quick colleague of Carrahar sprinted into the building so that he wouldn’t be seen with a handful of slightly out-of-date Valentine’s Day cards…

cHEESE Vs Bradley Duncan

This week, after a week off, he was going to be facing cHEESE. One-half of the Legion of Dairy, the other half being egg NOG. Oh, and they also happened to the the Asylum Tag Team Champions. So, no big thing for Duncan to be facing cHEESE, eh?

Then again, Bradley had defeated FtfWo all by himself, but again, it only took the Legion of Dairy about eleven seconds to beat the former Champions(it had to take at least a second to knock 'em out, right, before the ten count?). So who was better?

It was time to find out.

Rage Against The Machine's "Born of a Broken Man" began to play throughout the building. The Fans mostly remained on their asses, as they had not yet gotten to really understand and know Bradley Duncan. He was just quiet. He kept to himself. Mostly because of the whole inability to talk thing. But even if he were able to speak like the others, he would be shy, just because he was not yet entirely comfortable with his surroundings.

He was on his own. Neither his partner and bestfriend Max Danger nor Jessica were there with him. He had chosen to go about the whole thing by himself, and it was a major adjustment for him. He had thought, many times, to call his former trainer in Japan, but what with the no talking thing, he was unable to. Write a letter, perhaps? Email? Would the old man even own a computer, much less know how to use it?

It didn't really matter. This was all about Duncan searching inside himself and finding the strength to become something on his own. To rely on himself. Bradley Duncan seemed confident as he walked to the Asylum. The menacing structure that had chased away his partner, 'The Danger Man'. But he looked forward to stepping inside it. When he did, everything calmed itself. He was at peace. He had no other thoughts but to fight.

It was his sanctuary.

He was soon joined by his opponent, cHEESE. "X-Tra Nipple" by the Ass Ponys led him out. The Tag Team Champion was without his partner. No egg NOG for cHEESE. He, too, was all alone. It was to be a one on one affair. But Duncan didn't like cHEESE to be trottering about on his sacred grounds. So when the bell sounded(DING DING DING) he charged at cHEESE.

Duncan far out-weighed his opponent, by nearly seventy-pounds, and stood a good seven inches taller. cHEESE used his smaller size and quicker speed to avoid the rush and kicked Duncan in his back, before the big man had a chance to turn around. Bradley had stumbled near the mesh that surrounded the Asylum. He spun around on his heels in a hurry and cHEESE dove his his legs.

With his arms wrapped around the massive right leg of Bradley Duncan, he was unable to guard against attacks on his back. Duncan thundered down with powerful double ax-handles across the back of cHEESE. The Tag Team Champion was then grabbed by the back of his tights and pulled off his leg. Bradley then kicked cHEESE in the stomach, doubling him over, and nearly knocking him onto his knees.

Duncan placed the head of cHEESE between his legs and powered him up for a powerbomb. With his crotch in Duncan's face, cHEESE began to pound on Bradley's bald head(though there was the beginnings of hair growing back) with closed right and left hands, some called them fists. cHEESE fell onto his feet in front of Duncan and took a big swing.

It obviously wasn't the wisest choice of offense, since Bradley caught the arm. He then pulled it behind cHEESE into a hammerlock, but held it while still standing face to face with the Tag Champion. 'The Silent One' then jumped up and kneed cHEESE directly on the nose, but Duncan did not allow him to fall to the mat. He held the hammerlock and put cHEESE's head back between his legs. He kept his arm bent behind cHEESE's back, and then with one arm powered cHEESE up for a powerbomb.

He didn't drop him onto the mat, though. He instead powerbombed him against the unforgiving steel. It had pinned cHEESE's arm between himself and the mesh. Duncan then held onto the top of the Asylum's walls, and rammed both knees into the face of the Champ. cHEESE slumped to the canvas, as the Referee began to make his count.

1...

2...

3...

4...

5...

6...

7...

cHEESE had fought his way back onto his feet. Duncan was impressed, not to mention the fans. They cheered wildly. Duncan advanced on cHEESE. cHEESE ducked down and tried to give Bradley a fireman's carry. Unfortunately, it was too much weight for cHEESE, and plus he had that bad shoulder. Bradley just planted his feet on the mat and put cHEESE's arm in a chickenwing.

cHEESE used his smallness and slipped between Duncan's legs, and pulled his legs out from underneath him, causing him to fall flat on his face. He then crossed Bradley's legs and segued nicely right into the STF. But the "F" part of the move was rather difficult with his arm issues. But he held for as long as he could before Bradley pried apart cHEESE's hands.

cHEESE then got up from Duncan and kicked at his face while the big man was trying to get up. Bradley finally caught one of the legs and stood up, holding onto the leg. Bradley pulled cHEESE into him and lifted him up, trying to catch him on his shoulders to hit a Death Valley Driver. cHEESE, however, used that momentum to fly over Duncan's head and slammed him down with the diving reverse DDT.

Listeria™, was the name he used for it. Bradley was down and the Referee had begun a new count.

1...

2...

3...

4...

5...

6...

7...

8...

'The Silent One' rose up into a seated position. cHEESE jumped on him at once. He had dropkicked the large man in the face, with both feet, no less. It had knocked him back down onto his back, and cHEESE knew he wasn't going to keep him down for ten, so he grabbed his ears and began to slowly pull him up. The pain shot through his shoulder, but he had to do this. A ring out was really the only way.

He started leading Duncan towards the wall, but Bradley put on the brakes. He grabbed cHEESE by the hair and spun him around. He went for a hard elbow smash, but cHEESE was able to duck underneath it. When Bradley had turned around to face cHEESE again, the Tag Champion went for Windows™!

He had Duncan right where he wanted him, but the pain in the shoulder was just too excruciating to power Bradley over, much less add a spin to the Exploder Suplex. But he still had the advantage on Duncan, as he dropped the big man onto his feet, but instead of tending to his shoulder, he brought him down to the mat with a drop toe hold.

The ring out idea wasn't going to work, he reasoned. He was going to use his specialty, making his opponent tap out. He had every intention of calling forth the power of Government cHEESE aka the scissor-enhanced Rings of Saturn, but his arm was much to weak to locked Duncan's massive arms.

Bradley broke free and reached around with his right arm, the arm that was against the mat, and grabbed cHEESE's injured arm. He brought it underneath his left arm and Duncan yanked him over his body and onto his back in front of him. He then wrapped his legs around the arm of cHEESE.

Dangerous IV!

Cross Armbreaker!

The Fans were stunned by it. It had happened rather quickly. cHEESE fought for as long as he could. But he was all alone. He had no egg NOG. Then again, Duncan had no Max Danger or Jessica. It was one on one, the way it should have been.

Tap! Tap! Tap!

The pain had been too much for cHEESE to take any longer. Bradley Duncan had proven to be the better man on this night, though it hadn't been easy. He had, for the better part of the contest, been on the defensive. But he had found his opening and used it to it's fullest.

He had notched under victory into his belt. He was undefeated without 'The Danger Man'. He stood up as "Born of a Broken Man" played overhead. He smiled. He was overcome with joy. The Fans were applauding his performance. He then helped cHEESE to his feet.

cHEESE held his arm close to his body and Duncan shook his other hand. Bradley then stood around and looked out at all the people. This was his dream come true. He was in heaven.

*KNOCK*

See we told you. And another time that the Asylum owner Joe Campbell is annoyed by said knock, oh wait, he didn’t hear it. Once again the knock repeated, but there was no answer? Why, as you can see Mr. Campbell is involved in very busy work that involves having his legs prepped up on his desk, his head lead back, his mouth open, and a snore emitting from his mouth.. The usual owner of a worldwide fighting organization. Right?

*KNOCK*

Finally the person behind the door opened it, and walked through. He stopped at the head of the desk and waited for Joe to wake up from his.. work. But it didn’t take long for the man to realize that he’d be waiting forever, slowly he walked behind Joe, put his hands on the chair, and slammed it down to the ground.. “What the fuck?!”

Slowly the man walked around to the front of the desk, “Cheno, you’re lucky Dez wasn’t here.. He’d have cut off your bollocks for that.” Eddie Cheno reached into his pocket and pulled out a Polaroid photo and slid it in front of Campbell.. Campbell saw the face and shook his head, “Where the fuck did you see this guy?” Cheno looked at Joe, and sighed before trying his best to signal out where he got the picture from..

“Carnage, that bloody bastard was trying to get this guy as his plan?” Campbell reached up and filtered his hair through the fingers of his left hand while holding the picture in his right, “You know what Cheno, I’m feeling generous, I’m going to give you a chance to prove you are a complete piece of shite in the Asylum, I’ll give you another chance against LLB.” Cheno seemed satisfied as he walked away and shut the door behind him, suddenly a thought struck Joe, wasn’t there someone else with Cheno, what happened to him? Then it hit Joe, “Ah, no one cares about him..” Nope no one cared what happened to Lonnie Clark at all.

Nonetheless, after abducting the official, which seemed obligatory these days when it came to Keegan and his half brother John C. Willis, Lharn had found out where the sole female in The Zone was based and had ordered a special delivery of flowers to arrive in order to supplement the handful or so of cards that he had written out and deposited in Tapestry’s unattended dressing room.

He then decided to phone Warwick, who had been left alone momentarily by Keegan, who was in the toilet. Ironically, where Lharn was meant to be.

Anyway, Hunt soon picked up to hear Huscroft’s voice: “Warwick, I’ve done it. No sign of Tapestry yet though. I’ve ordered the flowers and got the cards into her room so it all seems sorted.”

Warwick whispered: “How did you manage that?”

“The door wasn’t even locked. I’d better not tell Keegan that though! But it was easy. Does he still want me to go and see Willis like?”

“I think so.”

Lharn sighed: “What the fuck for? Is it to punish me or something?”

Keegan, who had left the toilet, overheard his colleague’s question and snatched the mobile away from his Lawyer: “No it’s not to fucking punish you though it’s not a bad idea. Quit talking shit and get your scrawny little sphincter back here before I batter you,” he stated in his distinctive Geordie accent prior to throwing the phone back at Hunt.

Special K certainly didn’t seem to be in the mood for personal pranks at present. Huscroft had better have known what he was letting himself in for…

The fans jumped to their feet and cheered crazily for the man that they were expecting to walk down the ramp. They expected a beaming, smiling man, holding a title over his shoulder and holding a love for fighting in his heart. They expected Ty Hughes, in all of his glory… a few cuts here and there, but a class act. An Asylum icon that they knew and loved, and possibly one of the most well-loved fighters in the promotion.

Well, they didn’t get quite what they were expecting. Ty Hughes ambled from between the curtains, his Extreme title hanging from his left hand… being dragged along the floor, as if it’s a piece of shit. As if he didn’t want it, almost like it was a burden to him… and to look at him, maybe you’d think it was.

His head was bandaged heavily, his forearm was stitched up and sealed with wire. His face was a picture of misery and disdain, his mouth curled downwards, his eyes vengeful and dark and his brow furrowed. He was like a walking shadow of the man they once called Hypnosis. His shades masked his baggy, tired eyes and his jeans were rough and battered, as was his flesh. Bruises, cuts, burns… he was a wreck.

Moving slowly and silently, scraping his belt along the floor, Hughes put one unlaced boot in front of the other on the way down the ramp. He stepped up the ring steps and rolled over the rim of the cage into the centre of the ring…

His microphone was in his alternate hand, but his head was looking at his feet. He looked like a broken man. He dropped his title and kicked it, to which the leather flopped into a heap. The fans cheered around him, screaming support and applauding wildly… but they didn’t know what had happened. What Hughes had been through, what that fucking title had caused him. He looked around at the flocks of envious and supportive fans, but he didn’t want them.

For a moment, he wished that he’d stayed in 21w.

“I… I…”

Hughes couldn’t continue, and he looked to the sky for inspiration. The fans cheered him on, but they didn’t matter anymore.

Nothing mattered, but…

“I fucking. HATE this place, this fucking SHITEHOLE AND what it has DONE to me. Last week I was fucking… trapped in a woods, on my own. I was… dropped off in the middle of nowhere to fend for myself. And you know, I thought it wouldn’t get any worse than that. But sometimes… your work, follows you home…” Hughes sais, pausing as the fans spoke amongst themselves.

“My little sister, my eighteen year old sister, was KIDNAPPED by The Freak and Token Weed. As much as I tried, I couldn’t stop them and… when I called the cops, they said that it was their policy to keep out of Asylum affairs. Which poses me the question… WHY WILL NOBODY OPPOSE THE FUCKING ASYLUM!? My little sister is probably SUFFERING in agony somewhere because of these criminals, fucking scum… but it’s not their business?

“You know. I like fighting, I like beating people, winning and cashing cheques. I think it’s the best line of work I could have got myself into, to be honest. But when your SISTER is taken from your home, in her sleep… and then I’ve got that fuckin’ wacko The Freak sending me letters in her BLOOD… something… something…”

Hughes had to stop.

“My father is in hospital with a gunshot wound through his leg. Do you know, he may not walk again; it shattered his bones and tore off a load of muscle. My sister is at The Freak and Token’s mercy. My body is breaking down and I can’t take it any more, my mother thinks I’m a failure because I couldn’t protect my family… I just want this over. I want it fucking OVER you son of a fucking BITCH. You don’t understand the hell that I’ve been going through. You fucking bastards, give me my sister back…”

Hughes screamed into the microphone, and threw it to the mat, his teeth jammed together and baring between his parted lips. His eyes seethed from underneath the shades and bandages, and it seemed that he was ready to explode in a flash of depression and rage. The fans could see… Ty Hughes was ready to snap.

“GET OUT HERE YOU FUCKING FAAAGGGGGOOOOOOTTTTSSSS!!!!” Hughes screamed, his fingers clawing at his face.

After a few seconds, he got his answer.

The bell chimed.

“Faget” by Korn.

The Freak appeared at the top of the ramp, Oddball by his side. The Freak was still stitched up and generally battered, but by now the fans were certainly used to that. He had a microphone in one hand, and a chair in the other… as usual. Also as usual, The Freak got a mixed reaction… half cheers, half boos, but a large one nonetheless. Oddball had a cocky smile on his face, whilst The Freak was totally vacant… although if you were close enough, you’d see that his mouth was oh-so-slightly raised.

“YOU FUCKING BASTARD, WHERE’S MY SISTER!?” Hughes screamed so loudly, that even the microphone next to his foot picked it up. His fingers gripped the rim of the cage, almost bleeding red as his hand squeezed the mesh. The fans continued their neutral reaction to The Freak, as he raised the microphone to his lips…

“Are you feeling a little bit lost, Tyler? Perhaps you’ve gone to far down the rabbit hole to come back now. You came to the Asylum knowing the risks, trials and tribulations that you would face, yet now that you are in the predicament where you are opposed a great test of strength… you are falling. Your downward spiral will start here, son. With me. Your sister has been entwined into the story that you and I are writing; she has been brought from the fray into the main plot. She is your weakness and I shall exploit it…

“You know, your sister’s blood tastes like irony sweet victory, Hughes. I like that taste so much… I think I’ll keep her. You want her back? Well why don’t you prove yourself worthy of the oxygen that you inhale and TAKE her back? Come on now, young man. You can’t have everything your way…” The Freak smiled.

“You fucking PERVERT, you sick FREAK. Don’t you see what you’re doing? You, kidnapping my sister, isn’t about you being a fucking good fighter. It’s about you… you…” Hughes was lost for words.

“Define sick, and define perverse. I quite like my taste in life, thank you, and you are not learned enough to define my life for me. What I will tell you though, is that this is a game… and like any game, this has rules… and clues, and ways of winning…” The Freak began. “Your sister… is in this arena, TONIGHT.”

Hughes stopped moving. He stopped breathing, and his eyes locked, wide on The Freak. His whole body was statue-like, and the fans were equally frozen.

“These are the rules of the game. Your sister is in this arena, somewhere… and guarding her, is a good friend of mine. I think you know him. If you can beat my friend, and take your sister… then fine, I will allow you to win this game. But if you can’t… then I shall keep her and torture her for a further week. Oh, by the way… here is my friend.” The Freak said, raising a single finger up to the Asylumtron…

And Hughes screamed with anger. For on the screen, a sickly smile like a bloody gash across his cheeks… was Token Weed. The darkness was enveloping him, surrounding him and shrouding his whereabouts… all that could be seen of him was his shining, scruffy blue-blonde hair and the light reflecting from his black eyes. Hughes growled at the sight of him, as Token spoke…

“Heya there, Tyler. How are you doing? Oh, man, you look tired… haven’t you slept well lately? Nah, I bet you’ve been staying up, worrying all night about your little sister. Well, would you like to know where your sister is?” Token smirked.

“WHERE IS SHE YOU SON OF A WHORE!?” Hughes roared, banging his hands against the rim of the cage. He was fuming, he looked ready to *kill* someone…

“She’s safe, Hughes. She’s safe. Here with…” Token dragged his hand up, and in it a wad of thick soft hair was gripped. The hair strained, and brought up a pretty face… battered and bruised, a cut over its eye. It was Louise, her features ravaged, and a tear trickling down her cheek. “ME!”

Token laughed, as Louise’s head was yanked back and her jaw wrenched open. She didn’t scream, possible due to some throat damage, but her eyes were like rivers of tears. Token spat in her eye, and yanked back on her hair again, causing her to cough.

“LOUISE! Bring her to me, now… Are you alright Louise? …I’m going to fucking kill you, Token…” Hughes said, concerned.

Then, he grew more concerned… when a blade became present just underneath her chin. Token’s smile grew broader, as a full commando knife slid softly against Louise’s neck. The Freak began to talk over the microphone again…

“Oh my, my friend seems to be getting rather rowdy, Tyler. It would be a good idea to find your beloved sister before he tears her throat out, would it not? You’ve seen what Williams is capable of… he’d do it, son. He’d tear her little neck wide open so you can watch her lungs flutter. All… at a click… of my fingers. But I’m not going to make it easy for myself. Here is my game, now do you want to play?”

Hughes grunted.

“HOW about, I say…

FUCK

Your game, and you give me my fucking sister back you prick!” Hughes wailed, tearing at his face with his nails. The Freak smiled coolly… then…

“You play my game, or I’ll tell Token to tear out her larynx and fuck the gash.”

Hughes roared like some kind of agitated lion, and yanked at the rim of the cage, before kicking his Extreme Title again. He remained in the middle of the cage, seething… his chest puffing out, then sinking…

“FINE, I’ll PLAY your fucking game!” Hughes screamed, spitting as he spoke. Token Weed grinned, and bit down on Louise’s earlobe as the Asylumtron flickered off. The fans were drowning in eerie silence, as Tyler looked at his feet and his shoulders hunched.

“You may begin.” Said The Freak, monotonously, as he turned to go to the back…

But Ty wasn’t finished.

“WAIT THERE, you fucking son of a bitch…”

Tyler ran forwards, his fists swinging and his face contorted into a feral and twisted angel of death. Even the fans in attendance were frightened by his sheer untamed frenzy, as he barrelled forwards and slammed into the referees surrounding The Freak…

CRACK!

The Freak took out two referees with a chairshot, and Hughes and he were face to face. The Freak swung his chair at the Hypnotic One…

BAM!

FUCKHEAD!

The Freak dropped the chair as Hughes slammed his fist into the steel, smashing it against The Freak’s face. The Freak dropped the chair and stumbled backwards into a referee, who tried to restrain him but got a single elbow to the face to thwart his efforts. Tyler dropped down and tried to pick up the chair, but The Freak kicked the chair upwards into Hughes’s face…

Hughes held his nose momentarily, but he was a fucking uncaged animal. He ran at The Freak…

The Freak jumped, wrapped his arm around Hughes’s head…

CRUNCH

A Jumping DDT onto the chair. Hughes’s head bounced from the steel, his bandages coming untied and flapping around his stitched skull like a talisman. The Freak kipped to his feet, holding onto the railing for support, and dragged Hughes to his feet once more…

A punch from Tyler. Another punch, and The Freak was lurching over the railing. A referee got between them and was promptly dragged into the air and slammed into another three by the unstoppable power of Hughes. The Freak took the distraction as a blessing and sidekicked Hughes straight in the kisser, causing him to fly backwards into another three referees. The Emasculator wrapped his arms around Hughes’s head and…

SMACK!

Into the entrance ramp TV Screen went Hughes’s face, electric flying and glass shards sparkling.

SMACK!

Into the entranceway steel.

WHAM!

Sambo Suplex onto the cold, hard ramp.

The Red Ripper signalled into the air, and the fans reacted with their mixture of boos and cheers. He lifted Hughes up, hooked his arm and leg…

ANTI-NATURE!

Nah.

Hughes pushed The Freak away, and grabbed him by his waist… The Freak struggled, but that only made it worse… Hughes threw The Freak up into the air and FLYING, soaring overhead… and

off the ramp.

The Freak fell, almost fifteen feet from the ramp and splattered into a pair of wooden tables that exploded into splinters and sawdust upon impact. The Freak lay, motionless, in the wires… and Hughes very nearly followed him down to dish out more punishment, but decided that it’s best that he found Louise…

Before it’s too late.

Thoughts.

He won’t find her.

I lay in a pile of shattered table remnants, the arena lights beating down on my legs whilst the steel ramp shadowed my upper body. I was glad that my eyes would not have to face the wrath of the shining glare from the ceiling. I noted that no referees or paramedics had come to help me… why was this? Fear of what I’d do to them? Or was it because they hated me for what I’d done?

At Persecution, I set an arena on fire.

Soon after, I abandoned Ty Hughes in a woods.

Last week? I broke Remy Leroux’s leg, and kidnapped Hughes’s sister.

And this week I was playing head games with him.

They think I’m a sicko, a perverse creature with no heart or soul. Well, maybe they’re right… but what I won’t accept is that they are better than me. We’re all heartless, soulless. We’re all machines. And like a machine, I feel no pain. I grasped the steel pipe above me with a taped fist, and dragged my battered and heavy carcass upwards. My feet adjusted, and whilst I felt something nagging at my back, I stood.

You know, pain is just another feeling. Another feeling that doesn’t exist. Touch, smell, sight. Are you sure that these are real, or are they just another flaw?

My trenchcoat stank of Hughes’s sweat. I felt cool blood seeping from under my old stitches; perhaps it’d get infected. With no further ado, or no motivation from the fans… I walked. Past the destruction that lay around me from my descent, and backstage… and I hoped that my game had already commenced.

Ty Hughes, welcome to the headfuck.

Mike Westwood finally caught up with the bloody Asylum Champion..."Villam, I think we all saw what just happened earlier tonight. I-"

"Blah. Shut the fuck up and listen turdburger.

I have no problem what so ever facing Archangel. I mean come on didn't Steve Christ beat this fucking mule to death already? So one just has to assume that what you saw out there was for show. Come on, I'm the king of the one up. I'm a professional and showmanship is of the utmost importance. But, you see the show doesn't just fucking end when you chokeslam Villam Ender's head into the rim of the Asylum. No, no...no no. No it doesn't.

I've got my own marionettes I'm bringing to this little show. Hell, we can even make it an extreme rules match so that Double-XL Sabu can feel right at home. You want to bring tables? Bring tables...you're going to need somewhere to rest when I run circles around your ass. You wanna bring light bulbs? Bring a fucking gaggle of them, because I HIGHLY doubt that you have any idea about how you're going to beat me.

Let's make this shit quick so that I can get back to being the strongest fighter in the world. And you can get back to your shitty promotional videos where the Asylum's budget is literally raped by your fetish for lightning effects, pupil-less contact lenses, dry wall and dry ice.

You think you were crying about being forgotten before?"

Villam quickly showed something to camera but put back in his pocket.

"You going to get something to cry about now, bitch."

Mike stood with his mouth agape..."-was that...a....

Nah. Couldn't be."

The Newcastle native knocked on the Kokomo Colossus’ dressing room door with friend and fellow Geordie Lharn Huscroft behind him in case an altercation occurred. Unsurprisingly, Huscroft was nervous as he supported John in dethroning The Yardstick for The Fighting Zone Championship and with Lharn now back at the side of Special K, fuck knows how Willis would react. There was only one way to find out though.

They waited patiently until he arrived and opened it: “What the fuck do you want?”

That was what the Englishmen expected: “Can I come in please?”

The behemoth turned away indicating that Carrahar could enter without actually saying it: “D’Alessandro not with you like?”

“No. Not heard from him since last week. Doesn’t fucking matter,” he grunted.

“Good job really,” said Lharn.

“Why? I’m not scared of either of you. If you’re going to jump me, get it done.”

Keegan stepped in: “Lharn, wait outside please.”

Huscroft looked at Carrahar, uncertain of his acquaintance’s intentions, but abided by the request nonetheless as The Geordie Genius sat down on a chair positioned right next to the door: “John, we don’t get along. I’m sweet with that. You’re a cunt. You think I’m a cunt. Simple as. But I’m not here to have a fight with you. Not because I’m scared or anything.”

“So why are you here?”

“I’m here to say thank you. You showed a lot of class at Persecution. I fucked up. I took a chance, rather selfishly, and it didn’t pay off. Whether or not it was personal, you showed class in getting me up. I’m not going to sit here and lie my arse off. I could not have got out a blazing building with my neck practically hanging off, so thank you very much.”

The Prince of Palermo extended his massive hand hoping that his stepbrother, even for a mere second, would stick his paw out in return and acknowledge his appreciation. After contemplating for ten seconds or so, he did.

“Cheers John.”

He didn’t say anything at all even when Keegan departed. He was probably bemused by the whole situation but he had indeed got what he had wanted a few weeks ago and now he didn’t know what to make of it.

Maybe they were making progress…

“Hey there, Hypnosis, can we get an interview before…”

It was Mike Westwood. Hughes turned, his face twisted at Westwood. That really should have been enough to stop the Asylum interviewer in his tracks… but no. Westwood jammed his microphone into Hughes’s face…

Bad move.

“DO I LOOK LIKE I’M IN THE MOOD FOR A FUCKING INTERVIEW!?” Ty roared, his bloodied teeth bared at the much smaller man. Westwood still didn’t back off… so Hughes simply punched him in the face. Westwood flew into the nearest Pepsi dispenser and dropped flat on his arse, whilst Hughes trundled forwards in search of his sister.

He swung every door he came across open, each holding nothing but a few personnel or a few fighters… none of them giving any information as to the whereabouts of his endangered relative. Hughes let out a low and angry growl, as he was trapped in the seemingly endless hallways of the Asylum arena.

Somewhere in here, Token Weed was busting a gut laughing.

With the taste of a Hughes family member’s blood on his lips.

*Ring*

"Welp fuckin christ, bloody fuckin phone fuckin ringing. I ain't answerin the blasted thing." Joe said defiantly as he took another large *sipp* of whiskey.

*Ring*

"Fuckin christ, get the damned point already, ya fuck!" Joe said slamming his bottle down on his desk.

*Ring*

Joe picked up the phone....

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT!" Joe shouted into the phone, then stopped and remembered he actually was expecting some kind of call.... Joe's face quickly changed to a look of anger once more.

"Everybody wants a fuckin shot in the Asylum, you twat. You think your somebody special?" Joe said giving a brief chuckle. "Picture? Oh yeah I got one around here some where, Sebastian Thompson? Oh yeah, look like a big tough guy huh? ....... Yeah, peice of shit fighting industry, yeah, damn shame aint it? ..... Anyway yeah just show up next week end to get your arse stomped in." Joe finished the call off by slamming the phone down.

"That'll teach him for fucking with me and my drink!" Joe said, giving a brief laugh before taking another large swill of the whiskey, before setting it down and going back to staring at some papers on his desk.

Alexander Von DeThatt Vs Eddie Scott Poser

The fans cheered, as whilst he had missed a week of action… the man that would follow this tune would be, UNMISTAKABLY, Alexander Von DeThatt. Standing at six feet and nine inches, his golden elbow pads and trunks gleaming in the light, he flxed his muscles at the top of the ramp… a sight to behold, with his colossal 36” biceps. Behind him, Monica trailed, and closely behind her, Joe Campbell.

“Well well, motherfuckers. Whilst my man DeThatt had to take a week out due to a tour of Japan, he’s back tonight, and twice as strong. Understand? Now, we’re going to have a little display of JUST how powerful this guy is. Sure, whilst he ain’t getting a five-star calibre opponent, I know his ability so why fucking strain myself. People, ALEXANDER VON DeThatt.”

Alexander hopped up the ringsteps nimbly, and stretched in the cage.

“I like cold beverages”.

BOOS.

Out came Eddie Scott Poser, wearing a cape and crown. He refused to enter the cage until the announcer referred to him as the king Of Poland, and then clambered up the steps. He took one look at DeThatt…

Gulp.

DeThatt swung an arm into Poser, and instantly Eddie was sent backflipping, inside-and-out with a despicably awesome clothesline that made the avid supporters in the crowd unleash a round of “oohs” and “aahs”. DeThatt then picked Eddie back up…

And Eddie slipped back out, holding his nose.

“Aaah, Jesus! What ever happened to protecting your opponents in these matches!?”

DeThatt laughed, and picked Poser up with one hand, by his throat.

Chokeslam.

Up, Chokeslam.

Up, Chokeslam.

Up, Chokeslam.

Four chokeslams. DeThatt could have finished Eddie off right there, but instead he hoisted Poser up onto his shoulders…

Span him out of a fireman’s carry, into a neckbreaker.

The DeThatt driver. Thank you and good night.

In Token's hand sat a knife, the knife sat on the outside of the young girl's arm. He slowly brought the blade across her arm causing a small line of crimson to form, the girl let out a slight yelp before Token's hand instantly went across her mouth holding it shut.

"You scream again, I'll duct tape your mouth shut, and cram my dick in your ass until your eyes pop out, got me?" Token said smiling, the young girl nodded her head, as a few tears began to trickle down her face. Token began to slowly nibble on her ear, as he made another slice across her arm.

"If your brother doesn't find us quickly, I may end up doing it anyway. I could make you so loose, that when you have my kid he'd just slide out like going down a sliding board." Token cracked a small grin as he went back to slowly cutting designs in her arms.

"The shows halfway over hun, just a little while longer and I get to cut you open and spill your guts across the steel of my blade, just ponder that thought and it will be your reality in just a little while." Token whispered into the young girls ear, as more tears streamed down her cheeks and onto her half torn shirt.

“Oh my God! What is this?”

She moved into the middle of the room to smell the big bouquet of flowers left for her and picked up the largest card in a pile of them, which had two bears on it and said: “To Tapestry, I know it was Valentine’s Day forty eight hours ago but it’s never too late to show you how much you mean to me, love your favourite Fighting Zone Champion of all time. P.S. My first name isn’t John.

She laughed at Pat Walsh’s audacity prior to picking up another four cards that weren’t as complimentary but what else would you expect from a cheeky little cunt like Lharn Huscroft?

Roses are red
The Grass is green
I would be quite happy
To give your downstairs a clean.

Roses are red
Buttercups are yellow
After I make you ‘Wet Wet Wet’
I’ll sing like Marty Pellow.

Roses are red
Boy George is gay
I would do anything
To roll around in your hay.

Roses are red
You are a Yank
I think of you all day
So it’s hardly surprising I wank.

Even though there were another three greetings on the floor Tapestry had read enough. Any respect she had for Keegan had evaporated but rather than confront him this week, particularly with her still being hurt from last week’s humiliation, she would wait until Conflict to confront Mr. Carrahar about his less-than-flattering poems for a beautiful Poet in her own right.

Well, here’s a few clues.

-“Faget” was playing.

-He was carrying a microphone, and a chair.

-His manager was a skinny runt pushing a shopping cat of weapons.

-His name…

Is The Freak.

The Freak walked, slowly down the ramp, looking either direction as his red and black flashing lights shimmered in the background. The whole audience were plunged into shades of crimson and onyx as The Freak strolled, casually up the ring steps… Oddball not far behind. The Freak did his trademark spin for the fans, who again replied with the most down-the-middle split reaction ever seen. This man was becoming quite the divided phenom, lately.

The lights returned to their usual white haze, and The Freak was left standing in the centre of the cage… trenchcoat hanging from his shoulders, and seemingly damp. The left side of his face was still splattered with caked blood.

“Make your minds up, drones. Ants. Which direction are you going to flock? Are you going to love me or hate me? Come on now, it’s not that hard a decision.

“Well, I imagine that you all know why I am here by now. Once again, I find myself with very little to do and even less to think about, so I am here to relieve my boredom. By doing my job. Sound familiar at all, does that ring a bell with you? I’m here to smite the priest, fuck the rapist and axe the murderer. Now who would like to accept this open challenge? I’ll be sure to put my wages on the line once again… I don’t even have a use for money any more, once in abundance money means so little.

“Who shall accept? Maybe… Remy Leroux? Oh, sorry. I apologize, I broke the poor-English-talking, no-skill-having sack of inadequacy’s leg only last week. Such a shame, he must be sitting in a hospital bed with his leg kicked up, as we speak… his spiteful glare burning my right ear as his hateful eyes burn into the TV set. Well I urge you Remy, it is rude to stare… and after all, stare for too long and the TV might just burn back.

“What about the… Legion of Dairy? Oh, so authoritative are they that they couldn’t even deal with me in a handicap situation. It seems that I wasn’t the handicapped one after all. My absolute fighting prowess had them beaten and their chances aborted like an unwanted foetus before they even stepped into the cage. Oh well, it’s nice to have worthy opponents… not that I’ll ever find any.

“Maybe even Villam fucking Ender can accept! By the way, nice interview, you uneducated, typical wrestling heel… so nice to know that I have fans. Oh, sorry… I apologize for insulting you, after all, your pants are way too tight to harbour the ghost of your cock. Well, let’s see if I can increase that insult-eating phantom penis until it explodes, shall we? I mean, it’s not like you’re going to turn up to shut me up, is it… Let us be serious here. You never show up, PERIOD. You call yourself a fighting champion? Okay, sure. So where are your title defences?

“I notice that you accuse me of being a wrestler. I apologize, I apologize. You see, heel, I thought wrestling was about acting. Well, I’m standing here amongst a crowd of bloodthirsty onlookers and I’m saying what I think. This isn’t a fucking show, so stop playing a role. You can’t act in a pantomime, without a stage and an assumption that the onlookers are devoid of belief that you are a lie.

“You know, every time you cut a promo, I’m half expecting Judy to take a mallet to your head… punch.”

The fans were NOW, cheering. Well, of course they were… they were standing on their feet and hollering approval at the Red Ripper. Why? Because he was verbally thrashing the baddest, most evil and sinister motherfucker in the promotion… the World Champion, Villam King. That gets you brownie points.

“So, bring your legions. I don’t care how many of you I have to face tonight, I’ll kill you all one after the other… if I have to. Even if I don’t have to. Let’s show these people some blood, some gore… let me expose your inner flesh to the legions of viewers at home. Maybe I’ll break you into edible chunks, much like I did with Leroux. I, the lord of agony is calling for another sacrifice… to Joseph Campbell.”

The Freak calmly dropped his trenchcoat from his shoulders to the cheers of the fans, and stretched against the cage.

Oddball set up a table at one end of the cage, and laid a few chairs down for The Freak’s usage… perhaps his weapon of choice, lately.

A song played…

…

The fans cheered.

Every time, I look in the mirror… these lines in my face, gettin’ clearer…

“Dream On” by Aerosmith. Daniel and Darren both appeared at the top of the ramp, the two portrayers of the DreaM character united and stnding just beneath the curtain. Darren looked psyched and ready to fight, his fists raised at either of his sides like the deadly weapons that they were… whilst Daniel seemed more contemplative in nature, leaning against the entranceway almost cynically. The pair didn’t have microphones… perhaps thinking themselves too good to address the masses.

Oddball took the microphone.

“Oh my fucking Jesus Reginald H. Christ, what the fuck are you fags supposed to be? Hey, Morticia Adams, you can take your giant white girlfriend home now. I don’t think my accomplice, The Freak, here asked for QUEER applicants. Who gave you your perms? They’re simply divine, I must say, darling~! Woo hoo wowza wowza you fucking fags, go back to the hairdressers and ask for a fucking refund, you look like a pair of walking Mango trees.”

Oddball laughed.

Dream didn’t give a shit. They slowly, and intently strolled down to the cage… the soft sound of their boots tapping against the ramp way metallically. Neither of them so much as flinched.

“Argh! No! The MOTLE CRUE reunion came early this year! Help, the fucking hair-metal fanatics are coming to get me! Save yourself Brian, they’ll kill us all… ALL, I tell you~!” Oddball laughed, holding his stomach as he coughed out laugh after laugh. Oddball, still chuckling to himself along with quite a few of the fans, rolled backwards out of the cage and went over to do a touch of commentary.

The Freak hopped around the cage in circles, as Dream ambled up the steps. The referee asked who was fighting, and as one… they simply replied…

“Both.”

And dream until your dream comes true…

The music was off.

The fight was on.

DreaM Vs The Freak
(Handicap Match)

Then, Daniel swept The Freak’s legs out with a spinning heel kick, targeting his calf and slamming him out of the equation. The Freak kipped up and rallied on the alternate side of the cage, as Darren resumed his central fighting position whilst Daniel stalked to the outsides of the cage…

The Freak squinted his eyes at the pair… they’d obviously come out here with a plan. And Christ, one look at their measurements would show you just how outnumbered The Freak was here… as both members of the opposing team were taller than him. The Freak reassumed his boxer stance…

And ran towards Darren. As Darren reached out to catch The Freak in his charge, The Freak dropped onto his side and slid between his legs… getting up and charging straight into Daniel, who was situated behind him, and smashing him to the ground with a devastating Flying Scissor Kick. As Daniel toppled like a struck and axed tree, Darren turned around…

Straight into a spinning variation of the Sumi Otoshi. The Freak kept Darren’s arm locked, however… and slapped him straight into a Triangle Armbar, The Freak’s legs folded strainingly over Darren’s elbow joint. Once Daniel got to his feet, he attempted to wrench The Freak out of the hold… but had little effect, after he was nullified with a punch to the jaw.

Nonetheless, Daniel was able to gain the release of his brother with a downwards stomp, striking The Freak in the face and crushing his features beneath his foot. The Freak backward rolled and shoulder-rolled to the opposite side of the cage to evade further attacks, but by this point Daniel had already committed himself and was charging forwards, his arm extended ready to eliminate The Freak with a rolling clothesline. Luckily for the Original Outcast, The Freak was able to duck under Daniel’s elbow and grab his head…

Flying DDT.

Onto the chair. Just like he executed on Ty Hughes earlier in the night. Daniel’s head popped up and he rolled, sideways, into the mesh. The Freak quickly snapped up the chair… as Darren got to his feet, and snarled an animalistic primal growl at Fenn-Grail. Darren ducked down as The Freak swung the chair, but that was quite a mistake…

As The Freak kicked him in the knee, as he ducked. Setting up the Dreamer for one of The Freak stolen trademark moves…

The Freak span 360, and planted the edge of the chair into the side of Darren’s head viciously. The steel impacted from Darren’s temple and sent him rocketing to the mat, his eyes rolling around in his head…

You know what Villam Ender calls that? Life Muted in Utero.

The Freak thought that he’d successfully decimated both members of Dream. He was wrong. Because, like Chaos… when one is fallen, the other… gets back up…

The Freak turned around, his chair gripped firmly in his hands and his lips curled, ready to fight Daniel, who was now dawdling on his feet. Daniel ducked the incoming chairshot, skipped under The Freak’s arm, and slipped behind him. The Freak turned again… and Daniel swung his leg around, with a spinning Roundhouse kick, smashing the chair into The Freak’s face. As if that wasn’t enough, Daniel then went on to drag The Freak over to the opposing cage side… and prop his head against the cage rim.

Darren got to his feet, and asked the timekeeper to pass his chair or he’d quote unquote “kill him whilst he slept”. Thus, Daniel picked up the chair he used earlier and Darren used the red timekeepers chair…

They struck at once, the pressure under the chairs causing an updraft of air as both steel objects impacted with The Freak’s skull. The Freak’s head rebounded from the rim of the cage… blood dribbling down his cheek. Then, Dream took it in turns to smash the chair, repeatedly, into the Zone leader’s head.

CRACK

CRACK

CRACK

CRACK

CRACK

CRACK

The Dream members simultaneously dropped their chairs and stepped back, looking into each other’s negative reflections of their hollow eyes whilst the referee counted.

1!
2!
3!
4!
5!
6!
7!
EIGH…

No eight. With what can only be described as a splitting headache, The Freak staggered to his feet and turned to face the two Dream members…

BAM!

Double clothesline. The Freak was knocked back down, but upon hitting the floor instantly kipped to his feet…

BAM!

Double clothesline, to the back of the head this time. The Freak flopped onto his face, the taste of the sweat soaking the mat in his mouth and irony blood on his tongue… probably from his tongue. Dream hauled The Freak to his feet, and each one grabbed a side of his head.

The fans cheered, for it was time… for Endlessness.

No it -||fucking||- wasn’t.

The Freak swung a hand backwards, clocking Darren in the face and causing him to release the clump of hair he had wedged betwixt his fingers. Daniel alone wasn’t strong enough to slam The Freak’s head down, so The Freak simple turned and kicked him in the stomach. In their agony, they dawdled towards eachother…

Dupla to the face. Of both men. The Freak’s feet connected as one, like a caveman’s club delivered with the skill of a brain surgeon, to Darren’s face followed closely by that of Daniel. As the two men began to fall, The Freak grabbed them both by their hair and yanked them back up to their feet. Darren fired a hard punch into The Freak’s face, and as The Freak shrugged it off Daniel compliemented it with a reverse toe kick…

Caught.

The Freak stepped over Daniel’s leg, spinning in mid-air… and clocked Darren in the face, with a Reverse Hurricane Kick. Darren toppled backwards and landed on the table that Oddball had set up earlier… which thankfully, didn’t break. Daniel now found himself alone in the fray, and The Freak instantly took advantage with a spinning back kick, and a Folha Secca backflip kick. Both men, found themselves at the mercy of The Freak.

But did The Freak have any mercy to lend?

The man known as the Urban Legend saw that Darren was propped up against a table, and gave him a ‘helping hand’, by hooking his leg and dragging him onto the object. The Freak followed Darren onto the top of the table, and hauled him to his feet.

Leg hooked

Head hooked

The fans roared… they knew what to expect. The Freak lifted Darren slightly, perhaps looking to drop him head-first through the table with the Anti-Nature…

Then, came Daniel. Daniel Mitchell had regained the usage of his chair, and used it to hit a knife-like edge-ended blow from the steel to the supple joint of The Freak’s dodgy, braced knee. The Freak toppled down onto the table, and Darren was released from his grasp. Daniel nodded at Darren, and set up his chair alongside the table, opening it up…

Darren hooked The Freak up, locking his arm around the Red Ripper’s neck and…

CRACK

Darren jumped off the table, with The Freak in tow, and slammed him onto the opened chair with a devastating DDT. The Freak was crushed, folded and compacted, ready to be thrown in the trash. Darren was aided in getting to his feet by his brother…

The referee started his count.

1!
2!
3!
4!
5!
6!
7!
8!
9…

10!

No, wait. The Freak was on his feet. So, let me rephrase that.

9!

Darren tried to get back on the offensive as soon as possible, smacking The Freak upside the head with a left cross… jarring his knuckles into the side of The Freak’s bloodied head. The Freak blocked his second attempt at a punch, however… taking the shot with his forearm, and delivering a sock of his own to Darren’s kidneys. Darren keeled over…

And Daniel hopped from his brother’s back. Spinning calf kick… right to The Freak’s face.

The Freak rolled around aimlessly trying to regain his bearings, having been brayed mercilessly with the calf of Daniel’s leg. Darren quickly took the advantage, grabbing The Freak’s leg and applying a kneebar, wrenching back on the joint and bending it much like The Freak did to Remy Leroux the week prior. In order to aid his brother, Daniel dropped an elbow across The Freak’s other knee and locked in another kneebar, this time inverted.

The Freak wiped the blood out of his eyes and screamed out, as he tried to reach out and release himself from this hold somehow… summoning all of his strength, he yanked on Darren’s hair. Darren’s grip was slacked, and finally he yielded as The Freak began to tear clumps of long, black hair from his scalp. Daniel only wrenched harder in the absence of his brother, but The Freak was able to suffice with a knee to Daniel’s face using his now-free leg.

Darren leaned against the cage, holding his scalp. Daniel lay on the mat, his palms clasping his bloody nose…

The Freak kipped up.

The fans cheered, as Darren turned to face The Freak. He ran, he flew… he attempted a clothesline.

He failed.

The Freak grabbed his arm in mid-air, hooked his head and slammed him at a horrible angle, neck-first across the twisted and battered frame of the chair with a head-and-arm suplex. Darren screamed with pain as the jagged metal sliced into his neck and the back of his head, and, as if on cue…

Daniel screamed too.

Most of those in attendance were officially spooked out, as Daniel clutched his neck from the pain that DARREN had suffered. The Freak didn’t seem too disturbed however, maybe the adrenalin had taken over at this point… which would explain the sheer force he executed his successive Sumi Gaeshi on Daniel with. He followed up by dragging Daniel up by the same arm…

Lifting the arm up…

Heartkick.

Daniel was totally winded and dropped to his knees, holding his pectoral muscle. The Freak still held his arm upwards, high in the air… then, using it as leverage, he smacked Daniel in the head with a Buzzsaw kick.

And another.

And another.

And ANOTHER.

Darren staggered to his feet behind The Freak, but quickly found himself being battered again as The Freak swung a boot into his stomach. With Daniel’s arm still clutched in his hand, The Freak jumped upwards and spun in a circle, planting a jumping spin kick straight into Darren’s teeth, and twisting Daniel’s arm in the process. With a further tug of Daniel’s arms, The Freak HURLED him up into the air, from the MAT with a Uki Otoshi.

Onto his brother.

The pair lay, in a crumpled heap, on top of eachother.

1!
2!
3!
4!
5!
6!
7!
8!
9…!

…

.

.

Darren pushed the limp body of his weaker brother from the top of himself, got up, and pounded a single hand into his chest. The Freak smiled with bloodstained teeth, and hopped from one shattered knee to the other. If you asked him, he would have told you the match was over here.

Darren stepped forwards, and shot out a punch. The Freak blocked it, but as he did so Darren sent out a fist to The Freak’s face that caught him off guard. Darren then swung his foot upwards and slammed The Freak with a callous sharp boot to the face, before kneeing him in the stomach with a vomit-inducing shot to the abdomen. With no further ado, Darren ducked behind his opponent…

And clutched him in a sleeper.

Time for an AWAKENING.

Darren attempted to drop to the canvas, but it meant little difference… as The Freak was holding onto the rim of the cage. Darren still had the sleeper locked in, however, and intended to make the most of it. He cut the blood flow off to The Freak’s brain, and The Freak was becoming dizzy. Darren laughed nervously, as he had seemed to have subdued the beast…

The Freak was untameable.

He reached back and tried to elbow Darren, but Mitchell dodged. In order to apply more pressure to his hold, Darren jumped up and locked his legs around The Freak’s waist. It seemed that The Freak had nowhere to go, nowhere to turn…

So he went with the flow. He reached back and grabbed onto Darren’s legs, and began to walk backwards… with Darren still clinging, like a deadly spider, to his back. The Freak kept walking backwards… then, by the time the realization hit Darren, it was too late.

CRUNCH

The Freak fell backwards, driving Darren through the table set up earlier.

The Red Ripper left the pile of splintered wood that he left in his wake, and looked back at Darren, who was motionless at last. Then, he felt another pair of arms wrap around his neck… another sleeper, this time by Daniel. The Freak avoided the awakening by reaching up and locking his arm around Daniel’s head…

FLIP

Daniel was thrown over The Freak’s shoulder, thereby breaking the sleeper. Daniel found himself suspended in a Dragon Sleeper position. The Freak then grabbed Daniel’s arm, used it to spin him around into a chancery, hooked the leg and…

THUD

WHAM

FUCK

THIS

ANTI-NATURE.

The fans popped. Obviously. The Freak got back up, and looked at the two brothers.

This time?

He’d really put Dream to sleep.

1!
2!
3!
4!
5!
6!
7!
8!
9!
10!

Ding Ding, the fans applauded, and the referee tried to raise The Freak’s hand… only to be pushed away. “Faget” by Korn started up over the speakers and somewhere in the arena, Ty Hughes was fuming at a monitor… still trying to find his sister.

His wife, Julie, rolled her eyes, trying to ignore Jeff's constant bitching and moaning about what had taken place last week. For someone who gets beaten up week in and week out yet still able to rack up the wins, he sure could make quite the fuss about such little things.

He rubbed at his wrist tape, grinding his teeth together, his nerves totally shot. Then, placing a hand just below his right shoulder, he frowned. "That's my resting spot- the title belt rests on the shoulder… but what am I to do with NO title belt to rest on it!? HUH? It becomes cold in this December weather, than the Garvinator gets the sniffles, and he can't meet your womanly needs on a nightly basis!"

Julie laid her head back on the arm of the sofa and sighed, "Jeff, why don't you stop being such a fucking pussy then and just go out there and get it back. Or… Are you afraid of Keegan?" She said, sneering as she taunted her husband.

"Yeah, that's right," said Jeff sarcastically, scoffing at the notion, "like I'm afraid of some brainless English dude who couldn't 'rock it old school' if he tried! Whereas, the Original rocks it old school 24/7, baby! Hell, I'm cool when I'm sitting on the toilet in the middle of the Sahara desert…

...I'M cool when I'm like fuckin' standing there in the line at the post office, and it DOESN'T seem to move… I always keep that shit real, as the kids these days say… Keegan? PUH-LEASE… The last time I saw a face like his it was feeding itself a banana!

Seriously though, I'm the coolest cat this side of equator! BUT… I have no belt, and that's the problem."

He panted, sweat running down his face from the long speech he had just given.

God, he sure could be a hand full when he got worked up. Julie stood up and damned her husbands forward with a napkin and sat back down.

"Sure you are, Jeff. I'm not challenging your 'popularity' or your 'coolness factor', I'm just saying. You seem to be ducking this Keegan fellow left and right."

"DUCKING HIM? The Garvinator ducks no one, Jewels! If that bitch Keegan was here, I'd walk right up to him, take these to fingers…" Jeff stuck up only his middle and index fingers and stared at them, "…and WHAM! Give that bitch the '1-2-SHUTTHEHELLUP!" He cried out, snapping his wrist for the full 'slapping' effect.

Julie gave a fake gasp and then broke out in laughter. "Scary."

“Damn straight. Well tonight, I’m getting my property back one way or another… I’ll show these people who’s ‘DUCKING’ who, and who’s the bitch with the extra crotch room- ‘cause the Original aint duckin’ shit, and he sure as hell fills out his pants,” Jeff looked down at his groin and smiled, “So taking care of Keegan shouldn’t be difficult. I’ll just mosey on up to him, look him RIGHT in the eyes, and say…”

“OH MISTAH’ KEEGAN SIR, GIMME BACK MA’ TITLE WITLE, ‘PEASE?” Julie mocked Jeff in a high pitched voice that sounded nothing like him.

The over hyped Jeff Garvin shot the evil eye to his wife. She didn’t know what she was talking about, it was probably her time of the month when woman turn to sinicacle bitches and won’t cook diner like their suppose to.

Damn, did he ever hate that…

Garvin cut in, a little pissed off, “…No. I’d look him RIGHT in the eyes and say: ‘Hey, I’m Jeff Garvin, bow down or FACE THE WRATH OF THE HAMMER JAMMER!’ And, of course, he would cower in fear and give back my belt, cause that’s just the way things work. I got this Asylum shit down pat; what with the casual swearing and what not…”

“You done rambling yet? I stopped listening ten minutes ago, and I’m pretty sure that cameraman has only been here for five.”

“I’m done.”

“Good, because you have a match against Chris Credible up next, for like, rights to your theme song or something. I don’t know, I have cramps so I wasn’t paying attention to Campbell.”

Credible, eh? Garvin had no idea who this guy was, but his name alone made him sound kind of threatening… No doubt Jeff would need to harness all his skill and ability to beat this mystery man…

A.K.A; ‘Which cheating tactic shall I choose?’

Jeff brushed the thoughts off. Whoever this Credible fool was, he was going to get a Grade A ‘Original’ Asskicking, Garvin Style.

“I have theme music? OH YEAH, that Foo Fighters shit… GRR, YOU’RE the one who picked that crap out, I suggested something WAY better…”

Once again, Julie found herself rolling her eyes at Jeff. It seemed to happen quite a bit, due to him being a complete fucking moron and all.

“Jeff, you wanted to use ‘They Don’t Impress Me Much’ by FUCKIN’ Shania Twain! I’m here to help your career, not turn you into the laughing stock of the wrestling and fighting world.”

Garvin blew her off again, “Don’t you EVER speak ill of Miss Twain! That’s step #5 to a happy Garvin Marriage, and you know that!”

“Hun, please… just shut the hell up and go and get your gear on.”

“Fine.”

Jeff hummed his ‘favourite’ song under his breath as he strutted over to the bathroom.

“…They don’t impress me much, dun dun duuuuuuuuuun…”

Locker room door after Locker room door opened, and slammed shut. Each gust of air from every door opened contained a little hope, a little shimmer of desperation that maybe, just maybe, it’d contain his beloved sister. But he had no luck. Every spot was checked, every stone was turned and every janitor’s closet was opened, closed, re-opened, and closed again.

Finally, Hughes came to Joe Campbell’s office. He wondered if he dared enter, in fear that his temper would get the better of him and he’d flip out on the owner…

CLICK

He opened the catch, switching the lock open with a twist of the knob and sliding the door ajar. The lights were off, so with a sharp flick he shut them on. Campbell wasn’t here; he had, however left a half-empty can of Carling on his desk. Hughes wondered whether it was worth taking a drink to calm his nerves, but thought better of it. He looked in the corners of Campbell’s office, and saw no one. A quick glance over Campbell’s desk…

What is that?

Hughes saw a small note, hanging limply from Campbell’s desk. He had noticed it, as it was very similar spidery and disjointed, Victorian-style handwriting as to the notes that he had been receiving all week…

Written in red ink.

He yanked the note from the desk, unfolding it completely and reading it out loud to himself, albeit in hushed tones in case any of Campbell’s bodyguards or… God forbid, Dez Arargon was nearby.

Campbell,

    When Token gets in, tell him to take Louise to the lighting rigging and stay there all night. Be prepared to shield his surroundings ready for an Asylumtron link.

Hughes scrunched the letter up in his hand, his dried blood scraping off in small paint-like peelings against the jagged edges of the mauled paper. Bearing his teeth, he turned and departed the room… dropping the letter on the floor, as he left.

As he did leave, a flash of leather fluttered in the corner. Black leather on black shadows and a heart to match… The Freak stepped out, from the adjacent room. With a sadistic smile, he packed something into his pocket, and slowly walked out of the room… his metal heels tapping on the floor as he went.

Jeff Garvin Vs Chris Credible
(Music Match)

“All My Life” by Foo Fighters. The crowd wasn’t sure exactly who it was though, as both participants in the match happened to have the same song as their entrance music, but tonight, Credible would get his revenge on this ‘theft’.

This wrong doing, and crime against his persona.

The jeers became even louder when ‘the Original’ Jeff Garvin stepped out, a wry smile on his face and Julie by his side, waving to the public. Garvin swatted her hand away, telling her that the fans didn’t deserve to gaze at his woman. The two walked to the Asylum cage and entered without acknowledging the fans anymore.

OH MY GOD~!

It’s…

“All My Life.”

…Again. The fans groaned. Knowing they would soon have to sit through a Chris Credible match. Which, from historical reference, never seemed to last that long- due to his large level of ‘sucktitude’. Out he walked to not much of a response, if you don’t count random coughs as a response.

It didn’t take him long to scramble into the cage as he was furious. Furious that someone would steal ‘his’ song of choice. Really, how DARE he do such a thing?

Garvin stood there while Julie escaped to the outside, and couldn’t muster anything but a smirk as he looked Credible up and down.

“Well, won’t be needing these…” He said and began ditching his different tools of cheating; a bag of powder, a slingshot, a fork, the cable to one of the arena VCRs (great for choking), and three batteries. Alone, they weren’t much of a threat… BUT TOGETHER…

Erm… Well, Jeff hadn’t thought that far ahead.

Garvin exploded from his corner, taking Chris off guard with a right to the face that caused him to stumble back against the cage. Chris scrunched up his face to go into ‘battle mode’, where he would then proceed to whoop some serious ass… And then got it SLAPPED right off with a knife edged chop!

“Ow!” Credible yelped, holding his face. Garvin kicked at his midsection several times, dropping him to the canvas in a seat position. Knee to the face by the Original, followed by another kick to the face.

He pulled Credible to a standing position and, like he had earlier in the night while speaking to his wife, brought up his middle and index fingers. “Hey Keegan… 1…2…SHUTTHEHELLUP!” Jeff screamed and smacked him in the jaw with the two fingered back hand.

And for some reason, Chris fell to the mat and convulsed like he had just been shot. Jeff gave him a strange look, like he didn’t know what to think.

Garvin Stomp, perhaps?

No, this was getting annoying, Jeff thought as Credible squirmed around. He tugged him up by the back of his pants and right into the end of the match…

‘ORIGINAL SLAM!’

The referee didn’t even bother giving the standard ten count, this was after all Chris Credible… Why hold up the Show for him? He waved his arms and called for the bell.

For the third time, “All My Life” by Foo Fighters hit the speakers. Garvin got up and checked Julie’s watch… The entire match had only lasted a couple minutes.

And now he had to keep that God awful Foo Fighters song. Oh well, better than loosing to this Credible chump. Jeff then remembered something.

He called for a microphone.

He wasn’t finished just yet…

The obligatory jeers came soon after the Garvinator’s rant: “The only thing I’m missing is my beautiful Championship belt, which for the life of me I cannot find. I have an idea of who may have it though.”

“Woke Up This Morning.”

Jeff was about to be reunited with his antagonist Keegan Carrahar, who had subjected him to an agonising Ankle Lock applied through the window of a luxurious limousine just seven days ago, and possibly the Submission strap that he also introduced on the same evening.

As the Englishman emerged he was treated with a warm reception that was greeted with a grin that was almost as big as Texas and the sight of The Original’s missing property - The Submission Championship belt.

“Is this what you’re looking for Jeff?”

He went red with rage but indicated the response was yes with a sheepish nod.

“Howay then… come and get it.”

The Action employee wasn’t sure about this. Surely this couldn’t be right. All he had to was walk up the aisle and collect his prestigious prize from the shoulder of Special K?

“Come on Jeff.”

“I don’t trust you Keegan. I know what you English are like. You’re all fucking bastards.”

This was perhaps uncharacteristic of The Walking Wrestling Move Machine who did seem to be genuinely annoyed by the antics of his opposite number: “Okay. You don’t trust me. That’s fine. But it’s your bitch you want to look out for Jeff. And I tell it like it is. She’s a bit promiscuous isn’t she?”

Julie intervened: “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Carrahar laughed: “So you can use a moderate sentence. I’m sorry but I was under the impression that the only words you knew were: Oh, yes, fuck, me and harder. Obviously, I was wrong.” The crowd were in hysterics as Carrahar continued where he left off and started to mock the former 21W starlet.

Jeff was livid: “What are you trying to get at Keegan? Get to the point. You’re boring these people and wasting my precious airtime, which should be the entire show, when I could be entertaining the douche bags. After all, it’s not every day that the greatest technical and Submission Wrestler of all time visits a dump like this.”
The boos ensued once again but the Briton was about to respond: “I wouldn’t know about that like as these people, like myself, don’t watch that shit you and your fellow shirt-lifters call Sports Entertainment but one thing I do know is that Jeff Garvin is a bottler with a Wife who will suck on anything more than two inches, which unfortunately excludes him. Sorry son.”

“Don’t be silly. Julie has never got her teeth into the Grand Canyon.”

Keegan rubbed his chin as he paused for a second: “Well my member has had countless rave reviews from women all over the world but one thing it has never been called is The Grand Canyon - until the other night. That good eh Julie? That good that you had to tell Jeff? Well maybe you’re not a liar after all.”

Malone wasn’t happy about this as the faithful were pointing at her and generally having a good laugh at the expense of her and her husband who wasn’t getting a little bit tired of this: “My Wife is my Wife because she is a lovely lady and is too good for the likes of you. And since I am the man that I am how dare you tell me to come up there and receive my Championship. If anything, you should come down here, kiss my feet and put the belt around my waist.”

Unbelievably, Keegan proceeded to do this, yes even kissing Jeff Garvin’s feet, which extracted a humorous expression from Garvin but before putting the strap around the waist of the Submission kingpin he ushered in a demand of his own: “Jeff, I’ll give you back this piece of shit on one condition. You know that you can’t make me submit, you know that you can’t beat me.”

“Yes I can.”

“I had a feeling you’d say that. So here’s your chance to prove it. If I give you back this belt, you have to give me a match at Conflict with this on the line. Take a minute but take it seriously.”

Almost immediately, Garvin, desperate to be reunited with his creation, nodded and put his arms out as if he wanted to hug it: “Yes. Now can I have it?”

The Yardstick threw it down and then pointed up to the big screen as he left: “See if you want it now,” he chuckled as he saw Jeff kiss it.

And the fans did too as a video showed Carrahar, with his back to the camera earlier on, unzip his pants, rather like Garvin did at Persecution, and urinate on the hardware that The Tennessee Technician had just put his lips on.

Talk about taking the piss…

LLB© Vs Eddie Cheno
(T.V. Title)

Whether it is off days or injuries, conflicts and grudges, life sometimes gets in the way of what we want, and we never get our hands on our desires.

But when you’re working for a guy like Joe Campbell, you get as many shots at glory as you’d like.

And the fans didn’t mind one bit, as “Smoke two Joints” by Sublime came over the pa system to a rather large rush of adrenaline supplied by the capacity crowd. Even though the fans knew Cheno was working for Joe Campbell, a man who’s doesn’t fit the bill as Mr. Popular in the Asylum, even after thwarting the attempted takeover of Chris Universal, they still cheered for the blue afro-ed stoner. And you know that if he could just talk, he’d scream “FUNK YEAH MANG” to each and everyone of them.

He climbed into the cage and cracked his head from side to side. He let out a small smile, which the fans ate up, before “Black and White” by Static-X replaced the cool “jive” tones of Sublime. And in kind, the fans kept their reaction up for the current television champion. Roland Miles Erman, better known as LLB walked out from the back, title raised high in the sky for everyone to see. He strapped the belt back around his waist as he made his way to the ring, slapping the fans hands as he walked down the aisle to the cage. Once there, LLB climbed the cage, much like one Hulk Hogan used to do during cage matches. He took the belt off of his waist and raised it once more to the fans, before dropping down to the canvas.

Eddie Cheno’s eyes never left LLB’s Television championship. Even as they stood face to face, Eddie Cheno looked down at the dangling championship belt that was laid in LLB’s hand. The belt that Cheno was so close to having last week. The belt that he’d been watching and waiting for, ever since the whole Stranglehold business had been taken care of. It was there, just within reaching distance.

But the defiant LLB held it tightly in his grasp. He wasn’t going to let anyone take the belt away from him. He wanted to prove to the world and especially Joe Campbell, that he wasn’t just a wrestler; he was a talented athlete that could win in any game of chess Joe decided to play. And so far, he’s been right.

The referee was the only one to grasp the title belt, taking it out of LLB’s hands without even so much as a look from the champion. We couldn’t say the same for the challenger as Cheno immediately jerked his head behind him to see what was going on to his belt, only for the bell to ring. LLB could have taken the advantage right there.

But he didn’t. Not after last weeks hard fought bout between the two. LLB turned Cheno around with his left hand and extended his right hand to be shook. Something you didn’t see often in the Asylum.

As Cheno was spun around though, almost out of instinct, Eddie caught the surprised champion with a dangerous rising uppercut to the jaw.

Clearin’ da funken table. Mere moments into the match. Cheno stood there a bit dumbfounded as he realized what he had done. LLB stumbled and fell back first into the side of the cage, the only way he was keeping himself standing at that moment. The blow, the surprise, everything worked against the favor of LLB, who stood with a wobble against the steel mesh. A small amount of blood escaped the cut that Cheno’s punch caused in LLB’s lips, and LLB could feel something not being quite right. He reached up to his mouth, and then pulled his hand away, seeing the blood. He recovered from the blow, pushing himself off the cage and immediately went to another face to face confrontation with the former stoner. This however, wasn’t exactly as nice, calm, and polite as the last one. LLB stood face to face, angered about what had just occurred, and warned the stoner to get ready for one hell of a fight, no holds bared. Cheno just nodded his head in agreement. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

Until LLB punched him square in his face. Right into the bullet sized wound that could never heal. A wound that would have made the great Achilles wince. Cheno stumbled backwards, clutching at his face as he bottled in his rage. Yelling would only make matters worse, but the pain didn’t seem to want to ever go away. Every blow just hurt more and more, every time the scab was opened it would seer like he was being poked through his body with a hot poker.

Cheno turned around, still clutching at his face as LLB saw his wide open mid-section. LLB charged, the fans cheering for the Erroneous Conclusion, but Cheno was able to side step. LLB stopped mere inches from the cage, but Cheno twisted his body overtop of him, and punched LLB square in the back of the head. LLB’s head fell forward onto the steel cage, and Cheno looked down at the fallen television champion before stomping the back of his head and neck against the cage wall. He was unrelenting, taking about four or five wide open shots before LLB finally rolled over to his back. The fans weren’t sure how to react to that, and Cheno kept the pressure on, placing his boot over LLB’s throat. LLB coughed and gagged from the move, and with no counting, Cheno could choke LLB out and become the television champion.

LLB desperately hammered away, mostly at the knee of the leg that was choking him. After two blows, Cheno’s knee buckled, and LLB used his wrestling knowledge to dragon screw him out of the move. Cheno landed hard, and clutched at his knee cap. He stumbled, wobbled to his feet, as LLB did the same. Whereas LLB’s wound on his lip had already closed, Cheno’s gash on his cheek had already filled his cotton bandage to a bright crimson red. They took a bit to stare at one another, and LLB charged forward, looking to grab Cheno’s wounded leg. Cheno wasn’t so fast to move out of the way, as LLB drove his shoulder into Cheno’s leg. Eddie’s leg almost bent backwards from the blow, but it sent him down to his knees hard. Once there, LLB caught Cheno with a couple more right hands to that same wound, his knuckles now sprayed just a bit with blood. Cheno was sent in a daze backwards, the blood loss seemingly taking its toll on him.

LLB got to his feet, and grabbed Cheno up as well. Once locked in a beer hug, LLB tried to twist his body and belly to belly the former stoner. Eddie fought out of it, hammering LLB with a couple of blows to the midsection to break the hold. LLB circled around, only for Cheno to kick him in the stomach, twist him around and lock him in a dragon sleeper. Cheno then looked to roll the dice, but LLB pushed him out of the move and into the steel cage. Cheno’s back, specifically his lower spine, curved at the edge of the cage wall as he lay up against there.

And LLB charged forward, catching Eddie Cheno to a sudden rush from the crowd with the big move that might do the stoner in. The crowd, being practically split at this point, were both booing and cheering, but were all on their feet.

1… LLB laid his head against the side of the cage as Cheno’s body laid limp.

2… LLB slowly pulled himself up, realizing he himself hit his head on the cage wall and rebusted open his lips.

3… LLB, standing now, looks down at the fallen and bloodied Eddie Cheno, with a bit of remorse.

4… The crowd in attendance boos as LLB stands overtop of the stoner in the middle of the cage.

5… But it’s not because LLB’s the victor, it’s because two men are each making their respective way down to the ring.

6… Dez Aragon and The Freak, entering the cage from different sides. The Freak carried a foreign object in his hands as well, so it was triple the trouble at the time. LLB didn’t realize what was happening, being cornered in the middle of the ring.

7… LLB ducked underneath a staff shot by the Freak and immediately Erroneously Concluded Dez Aragon, who slammed hard against the mat. This however, left LLB in perfect position. As LLB regained his footing, the Freak SNAPPED the staff over the back of LLB’s head to a chorus of boos.

8… The Freak immediately looked to the backstage area, concerned for his own well being, and then ran over to the aid of Cheno.

9… The Freak lifted up the stoner, and perched him against the side of the cage wall for him to recover, just before the count of ten.

The Freak lifted Dez up next, and they each went forward to LLB. Dez immediately grabbed the lawyer up from the mat, still smarting from the Erroneous Conclusion, and chopped him square in the throat, before t-bone suplexing LLB into the cage wall, head first.

They weren’t done with the Freak, as Cheno stared on in a confused daze. The fans couldn’t believe that Cheno would be in cahoots with these two, but they were seeing it, right now. The Freak lifted up the limp Lawyer, and cradled his legs before nailing the Anti-Nature. At this point, the entire crowd turned on the three men in the ring.

The Freak looked to his side, and picked LLB back up off the mat. He was looking to nail one final Anti-Nature as Dez looked on, but Cheno stopped him to a roar of the crowd. Cheno pulled LLB down and threw him to the mat, as the Freak and Dez immediately got into his face. They each quietly stared, before Cheno nodded. The Freak bailed at this, exiting through the crowd so as not to arouse the anger of one Ty Hughes. Dez Aragon climbed out of the cage as well, leaving to what would probably be the side of Joe Campbell.

That left the stoner, the challenger, in the ring all alone with the champion. The fans weren’t sure how to react right now, as Cheno helped LLB to his feet and even threw LLB’s arm around his shoulder. LLB hobbled, not because of an injury to his leg, but just because his head wasn’t functioning right at the current moment. That’s when the crowd cheered at the honorable motions of Eddie Cheno.

Cheno began to help LLB over to the cage wall, trying to get him to get out of the ring. Cheno climbed up to the top of the cage wall, and pulled LLB alongside of him. In a funk, Cheno helped LLB on top of the cage, and then out of the cage and down to the floor.

The bell rang, and Cheno stood there with a sinister smile on his face. He wasn’t helping LLB to the back, he was quietly eliminating him. The crowd stood in shock as Cheno dropped down off the cage wall and ripped the television title out of the referee’s hands. He raised it for all to see, smiling all the way, before clutching it to his chest. He threw the belt over his shoulder, and quietly exited the ring before the fans were able to realize just exactly what happened. “Smoke two Joint” replayed, but was met with a much less warm reaction than earlier in the night. Once on the outside of the cage, Cheno kicked LLB twice in the head for good luck, before heading to the backstage area.

He was victorious. He was the champion.

At what cost?

She would have whimpered, but she was mute with fear. From her experiences in the past week she was totally dumb from the ultimate and apexual fright that she had been subjected too, and it seemingly wasn’t going to end. Her hair was matted and greased, slicked with her own sweat and that of Token falling onto her from his head. She could sense that the Show was drawing to a climax beneath her, and that her torture would continue for another week because of her brother’s inability to find her.

“It’ll be over soon… the Show is coming to a close, then once it is… we’re taking you back to your room. And I’m going to cut you into little fucking pieces… I think I’ll start with your lips. Then I’ll take off your nose… each of your fingers…”

Token turned Louise, squeezing her cheeks together as he swung her around to face him. Then, with a sickening smile… he licked her cheek, like a reptile tasting it’s prey before it ate it. His black eyes looked almost like two holes in his face in the dim light, but every so often the light would hit them and she’d see his madness shine in them. He was insane… and he scared her. Almost as much as the other one did.

Her eyes closed, and re-opened. She wished that Token would go away, but there seemed to be no chance. She was stuck here with him, with no route of escape. She closed her eyes again. She opened them.

He was still there.

She closed them, she opened them.

He was still there.

She closed them, she opened them.

He was still there… but she wasn’t interested in him this time. As behind him, his face smothered with blood and his entire body laced with strings of thick sweat, his Steel Baseball Bat like a shining sword, like Excalibur in the spotlights…

Was Tyler Hughes, her brother. Her knight in shining armour, come to save the day.

“Leave her the fuck alone, Token.”

Sean released grip on Louise, and she fell back. She hit the rigging platform, and upon turning her head to one side… she realized just how high up she really was. The people, all flocking around the cage, were all just multi-coloured dots from this sickening height…

“Hah, so you think that you’ve won the game, do you, Hughes?” Token chuckled, his lips curling. His commando knife was raised, to point at Hughes, almost as if… as if he was ready for the swordfight, the mythological battle that Louise was envisioning. The shining knight against the source of evil.

“I won your fucking game. Now give me my sister back.”

“Tyler… you talk about her as if she’s a toy. YOUR toy. She’s not. She’s MY toy now. Come and tyake my toy of me, you bully…”

Tyler was growing impatient, and stepped forwards to reclaim his family member. Louise let out a breath of cold air, her lungs relieved as she was certain that her brother would conquer her fears. Tyler would take care of business like he always did. Tyler was the king. Tyler was her protector.

Tyler felt cold quills pressing into his neck. Token laughed out a vampiric and theatrical chortle, as Hughes dropped his baseball bat and gagged, coughing up blood. Louise opened her eyes.

And she saw. All of it.

The Freak, a giant looming red demon floating behind her brother, had splintered metal, barbed wire wrapped around Tyler’s neck. The wire dug deep under Tyler’s chin, sliding into his flesh and puncturing small holes just short of his main arteries.

“I’ll leave this to you,” Token laughed, as he scooped up Louise and escorted her out of the rigging. Hughes’s body went limp as The Freak dragged all of the fight out of him with his murderous wire, the prongs… the spikes…

The blood raining on the fans below in small droplets.

The Freak wrapped the wire around either of Hughes’s arms, and clamped the whole reel that he had brought up here onto a vice joint. With the wire jagged, scraping against his bare skin and tugging his arms across, Hughes screamed… then finally slipped into unconsciousness.

The Freak lowered down the crank, and kicked Hughes from the rafters. Hughes fell maybe, twenty feet… then stopped, the barbed wire wrapped around him straining as his descent was stopped.

Hughes hung from the rafters, his arms extended because of the barbed wire… the fans gasped at the sickening, vile sight of him just hanging, from the rafters, wire sticking into his soft skin…

Hughes was crucified. Hanging and crucified, in barbed wire.

Blood gushed from his open and tattered wounds, splattering on the canvas that he was elevated tens of feet above. His head was hung low, and his arms were spread like the wings of a bloody angel…

Or like Christ, hanging from a cross.

The fans squinted up at the rafters, trying to make out who was behind this… and there they saw The Freak, his arms extended in a crucifix of his own, his eyes closed and sucking in the irony aroma of Hughes’s blood that hung in the air. His trenchcoat flapped in the altitude, and his face was still bloodied from the fight earlier.

The devil himself had crucified the hero.

“The sacrifices that we make, just to earn a living. You people make sacrifices every day, you cut back on luxuries. Well, in order to strive in the Asylum, the luxury that I cut back on happened to be my sanity. My cortex, the heart of my heart and the apex of my brain is climaxing as one as I watch you… you people, unlike me, yet so similar… look on the body of your fallen hero. Like Christ, this man is feeling pain for your sins. Not against the world… but against me.

“Ty Hughes, this isn’t the end. It’s never the end. You can bleed a thousand pints of blood and shed a thousand tattered scraps of skin, but it’ll never be enough. I’ll always need more. You’re just another hanged man. Your sister is next.

“This is not the end. I’m only just getting started here. This is my new home, my new abode, my new country unto myself. The Freak is running the Asylum. You people just don’t know it yet. Until next time… live, die. And eat what you kill. Good night.”

Villam Ender© Vs Archangel
(Asylum Championship)

ONE. (nothing wrong with me)
TWO. (nothing wrong with me)
THREE. (nothing wrong with me)

RUAAAAAHHHH~!

Let the bodies hit the floor!
Let the bodies hit the floor!
Let the bodies hit the floor!

.
.
.

Archangel.

Unbalanced. Angry. Ready.

Make that double ready.

Because out with him came a shopping cart loaded of violent goodies. And this being an extreme match, that could only spell trouble for Villam. The crowd cheered Archangel on as he tossed in barbwire bats and light tubes...Archie grabbed a chair and a trash can lid for himself and got into the cage. Then...

BOOM~!

Pyros.

"Cosmonaut" by At the Drive In.

Villam entering with a steel chair in one hand and a bottle of Jack Daniels in the other.

On his face?

That deathly tin mask.

And around his waist?

The Asylum Championship.

Villam completely ignored Archangel and jumped onto the wire mesh, pulling his mask back - raising the steel chair to the sky in boos and pouring JD down his throat at the same time.

SMACK~!

Turning your back on Archangel will get you nothing but a clean trash can lid shot to the back. The power from the impact brought Villam down from the wire mesh immediately and caused him to drop his steel chair. Archangel threw the completely bent piece of metal to the blood marks and stalked ever closer to the God of Fight....ever so closer...and then....

CRASH!

Glass shattering into the sky like confetti. Villam sacrificed his liquor and flailed his arm backwards slamming the bottle right into Archangel's face!

Villam drew first blood. Archangel just smiled and licked the blood that trickled down from the side of his face. Villam followed his attack up with mui thai kicks to Archangel's right leg. Archie swung out hard and wide with ham fisted fury in retaliation. Villam quickly rolled out of the way and grabbed up one of the light tubes...Archangel came charging...

CRASH!

Glass shards in that right leg.

Too bad that didn't stop the 7'2 monster what-so-ever.

Archangel powered straight through...spearing Villam and lifting him up onto his shoulders...

THUD!

Death Valley Driver.

Archangel then lifts Villam up...and suddenly with a no nonsense toss...

Villam was thrown clear out of the Asylum like a doll.

Archangel grabbed a chair and joined Villam outside as the eunuch crawled to the steel steps and used them as support to get to his feet...

With a roar Archangel charged and - CLANK!

Nothing but stairs.

Villam rolled out of the way, sprung to his feet and caught Archie in the back of the right knee with a standing mule kick. Arch tried for a back hand...Villam just evaded the blow and hit a quick 1-2-3 kick combination on Archie's leg, lower back and that leg again. The damage was now taking it's toll as Archangel now seemed to be some pain with a slight limp. Archangel was unfortunately stuck with fighting someone who was way faster than he is...

Everytime Archangel would take a swipe at him, Villam would evade then punch, kick...do whatever he could to hurt that leg. Archangel was now full of rage and started catching Villam with a couple of counter punches. Archangel pounded downwards as Villam held onto Archangel's shirt and pummeled upwards. Villam must've caught Archie with a punch in the throat because Archangel slowly started to back off, as did Villam...

Villam however walked over and picked up a segmented part of the steel step...

Villam held it above his head like a battering ram...

...charged...

Right in the head!! - NO.

Smashed into that right leg again.

Archangel dropped down to one knee...SMACK!...clean striking roundhouse to the face. Archie goes down. This buys Villam enough time to hop up onto the apron and jump into the Asylum. Archangel lumbered back into the Asylum where Villam wait with chair in hand...SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!...Three consecutive chair shots send Archangel tumbling back out of the cage.

Villam put on his mask and picked up two light tubes. Walked down to the outside where Angel waited...

Pissed off and screaming something about Villam's death and destruction.

In his hand was that shopping cart he brought.

Um.

Except only it was lifted above his head in a rageoholic fit. One angst powered toss later Villam was buried under a steel chair some shatter light tubes and 10 pounds in twisted shopping cart metal. The crowd screamed holy shit...Archangel ripped off his shirt...and removed the shopping cart on top of Villam and threw it into the ring. Grabbing Villam around the neck he drug the eunuch back into the cage and jumped down on top of him...nailing him repeatedly with mounted punches.

Each punch cutting through that tin mask - turning it into nothing more than scrap metal on Villam's face. Archangel smiled fiercely as muffled screams came from behind the beaten mask...

Screams?

Archangel stopped his punching...peeled the mask back...

"HAHAHAHAHAHA....."

Not screams.

Laughter.

"...are....you....done?" Villam said with sudden and bloody grin. Arch reared back and brought a fist down, Villam moved his head and the fist slammed into the canvas. Villam turned his head to the side and bit hard into Archangel's wrist. Villam started slamming punches into Archangel's face from below. Soon Villam hand was coated with Archangel's blood. Blood that still flowed freely from those glass cuts.

Villam got to his feet and continued the pummel Archangel to ground. Fist and Forearms and Elbows and Spiked Bracelets rubbed in the face. Villam was unloading and he didn't seem to be stopping anytime soon. Villam caught him with a couple of knees to the midsection...and slammed an elbow down into the back of Archangel's neck. Archangel was brought down to all fours...and he slowly tried to get to his feet...

...and Villam was waiting....

...waiting...

...POW!...

Killing Star Kick!

Archangel was sent sprawling backwards onto his back and Villam went to go look for the perfect....

AH.

Villam dragged the shopping cart over to Archangel and kicked it over on it's side.

Then, pulling Archangel by the hair the eunuch lay his head on the cart so that it was facing up.

Then he put the boots into Archangel's chest until the cart was bent and was made to look like Archangel was reclined in a Lazy Boy Chair. Archangel's face was bathed in blood...but Villam fixed that...

*gargle-spit*

Using the loogie he spit into his hand, Villam wiped Archangel's face semi-clean.

This of course got the big boo from those in attendance.

Like he cared. Villam hopped out of the Asylum and went rummaging through the crap that Archangel had brought...

"Oh, a staple gun. - wait...STAPLE GUN!?" Villam - making sure to grab another light tube, the barbwire bat and a steel chair - got back into the cage ranting and raving....

"You sick fuck. A staple gun!? You were going to use this on me, weren't you!?"

Of course Archangel had a hard time answering, seeing as how he was damn near bleeding to death.

"Oh, so you're just going to seat there bleeding and shit, huh? Well, I'll fix your fucking ass."

And with that Villam...

-click-

"AHHHH!!"

BOOOOooo....

-click-

"AHHHH!!"

---BOOOOooo....

-click-

"AHHHH!!"

---BOOOOooo....

Well, it's obvious. Villam just went staple city all over Archangel's face.

-click-

"AHHHH!!"

---BOOOOooo....

Villam threw the staple gun away and lay the light tube across Archangel's face...he picked up the barbwire bat...raised it to the air...

"BOOOOOO"

"Oh, you know you love it!"

SMACKRASH!!!

Damn.

Villam discarded the bat and grabbed the steel chair.

SMACK! SMACK! CRASH! SMACK!

Villam erupted into a sudden flurry chair shots. Hitting harder and harder until the chair was all but useless. Blood painted the surface of the chair...Villam turned the chair towards him...

And began to admire himself.

More booing of course...but that was quickly replaced by a huge...EWUGH after what Villam did next.

*Lick*

Villam licked the blood from the chair and spit it back into Archangel's face.

"Get ready to cry, bitch." Villam said.

He dug into his crotch and pulled out...

...

...

.

.

...is that?

...

.

.

...is that a Dildo?

IT IS!!

And it was total pandemonium as Villam pulled that 9 inch dildo out and began beating Archangel about the face with it. Some people couldn't help but laugh as the sounds of a fake penis slapping skin filled the arena. Dildo still in hand, Villam placed a foot on Archie's face and stood up...pressing further into and through the shopping cart...all the day down as far as into the canvas as it would go....

Villam raised the dildo to the sky and proclaimed:

"BY THE POWER OF GREYSKULL!!"

Without any further adieu...

...he jammed the dildo down Archangel's throat...choking him out...causing him to gag and so forth.

"Suck it bitch. Suck it~!"

Soon Archangel passed out...either from the blood loss or from the plastic cock down his throat. It didn't matter. This match was over.

Which is why I'm a bit concerned that Joe wanted to see me after I got all packed up.

I opened the door and walked in.

"Yo."

"Villam~! Hilarious stuff out there tonight. I was almost worried for a second there."

"Yeah, don't sweat it. Did you want me for something because..."

"Oh, right...well...just hold on a second. They should be here any minute."

I frowned. "They?"

"Right. So, hey did you ever figure out if that kid..."

"I don't want to talk about that right now. I'm kinda in a hurry...are these guys going to be beneficial to me? Because if not..."

---*schzzt "Mr. Campbell, they're here...should I send them to the VIP room?"

"Yes."

A few minutes later two men one middle aged, one young...both in suits...came in. Joe's demeanor brightened greatly...

"What's all this?" I said.

"AH, Gentlemen! Do have a seat and mind Villam he's a fierce one." Joe gushed with a smile.

The two men took their seat and I stayed standing. I hadn't even put my bags down yet.

"Good Evening, Mr. Campbell. I do believe you know that Silver Fox sent us..."

I dropped my bag.

"Uh, what? You guys are from the fWo?"

The youngest one nodded. Joe continued the discussion. "Yes, I do know. Apparently Silver wanted us to take care of a little 'problem'? Starts with a K ends with an 'ade?"
The middle aged man spoke up first. "Exactly. Kinkade's behavior...has been...well...unforgivable as of late. That's how Mr. Fox put it...he wants something done about him. Not so much as the kind of thing you're used to. You being who you are. But, what we are prepared to do is to...look the other way...should Villam decide to oh say...

... take his Immortal title."

I smiled.

The younger one bucked up. "Fox feels that Kinkade needs to learn some humility. He needs to lose some of that pride. This is done by snatching away his Immortal title. That way he'll be on the same level as everyone else and basically easier to control. It would really keep things a bit more harmonious in the locker room especially with the whole Shadow and Fl-" *thump*

The middle aged on nudged the younger.

Joe smiled. "Ah, I see. And what is in it for us?"

The younger one looked at the middle aged one. The middle aged one nodded and the younger one spoke up again.

"Well, Should a Pay Per View match come out of this. The profits will be split 20/80. Villam in return, will have a free walk in pass. Meaning he can come onto whatever show he pleases...as long as he doesn't cause a disturbance. Or any disturbances caused are to further progress with the Kinkade problem. And then there is the little matter of the Immortals title."

Joe went to open his mouth...but I beat him to the punch.

"Great! Where do I sign?"