Plants or people you just can't get rid of the fuckers.

Ordell was leading his brother Ritchie down to the Cage, and Ordell had a microphone in hand. You could tell that Ordell was a little on edge. He had never cut an in-ring promo before and his facial color gave it away.

As they both stepped into the mesh structure, a feeling of awe ran down Ordell’s spine. He held the microphone tightly in the palm of his hand, and he slowly brought it closer to his mouth. "Last Week," He started "Joe Campbell gave my brother and I a opportunity of a life time." Ordell said.

"Last Week, The Brothers Brown became official members of the Asylum roster, and for that Ritchie and I owe Joe Campbell more than we could ever repay." Ordell said, as the fans in attendance still did not know quite how to react to the forty plus year old men standing in the ring pouring their hearts out.

"Last Week," Ordell started once again "We also got revenge. Karst, my brother and I will not allow ourselves to be victims of your petty crimes!" Ordell firmly yelled. "My Brother and I will not sit back and let you take advantage of your elders. I think last week, you learned that."

"But more importantly, there are two men who are taking advantage of everyone in this building. You see there is this tag team, they have no honor, no respect, and they do and say pretty much whatever they want. They are a goddamn disgrace to this company! If you haven’t figured it out, I’m talking about your Asylum Tag Team Champions…..Splink!"

But before Ordell could finish or continue his rant, Matthew Karst ambushed The Brothers Brown. He quickly entered the cage with a metal baseball bat and struck it across Ritchie’s back quickly sending him to his knees. By the time Ordell turned around, the bat was brandished across his face.

In literally seconds the five foot seven one hundred and forty pound Matthew Karst had laid out two men much larger than he, but he still wasn’t satisfied with the carnage he had just reeked. He gripped the bat tightly in his hand and swung down hitting Ritchie once again across the back, but unlike last time he wouldn’t stop swinging.

Swing after swing he took until finally Banderas is seen running towards the cage. He quickly gets inside the cage and approaches Matthew Karst who has backed off on attacking The Brothers Brown. But before any words are exchanged between Karst and Banderas, Bandy cold cocks Karst with a right hand and the two began to brawl all over the cage.

After wild right and left hands from both men, the fight spills out of the cage and into the floor surrounding the cage. Back and forth they fight until they both end up backstage.

Hell had broken out in theAsylum.

The Phoenix found the door to Campbell’s office, he went to turn the knob with his right hand, but his hand slipped off the knob. The second time, he pushed his weight on the door, and came stumbling in. The movement causing Campbell to jump and drop his can of beer, splashing contents all over himself. He stopped quickly, his jaw grew taut, but the moment he saw the state of Thompson his jaw slackened. Sebastian slumped down in the chair in front of him, running his hands through his brunet hair.

“What the fuck happened to you?!” Joe said, not sure where to draw the connection between the phone call, and Thompson’s current state. Sebastian put up his index finger, he reached down with his left hand and unzipped the bag. “What’s the hell is that?” Sebastian’s index finger remained, and out he took a black King James Bible, and slammed it on the desk in front of Joe.

“That’s…” Sebastian’s voice cracked, and subsequently he cleared his throat, “That’s what I was telling you about, those guys you said had him captive, didn’t stand a chance Campbell. Fucken midgets in the lion’s den… But.. But.. Read that, I can’t make sense of it.”

Joe flicked open the first page and tried to make sense of what was written, he looked and noticed that the shaky writing made some semblance sense, Joe’s eyebrows raised, his hand went for a desk drawer that he yanked open, he went through the files. And he pulled out the wanted poster featuring Gary “Viper” Maxwell, who called with a deal to take out Carnage many months ago. Joe’s finger impatiently tapped on the picture, he pushed it to Thompson, who’s eyes were slowly closing. “You guys threw Viper in the Delaware River.”

“Yeah, but you already knew…” Now it was Joe putting up his hand to silence Thompson.

“That fucken twat wrote this when he was the TV Champion,” Thompson scooted the chair up trying to find where Campbell’s getting this… Joe Campbell, Joseph Campbell, Takeover.. Asylum. This is nothing that cunt wrote this as some weird fucken journal entry, nothing to it. Don’t see why you’re so bugged about this bollocks. Hmmph..” Campbell scratched at his chin, “What the fuck is Ahriman..”

“Joe, it’s not a fucken joke, shit man. I know a bad joke from something real, I’ve seen dead people in my life before. This was different. He.. He.. He.. Fucksakes man, that nigger took these guys and it looked like Incredible Hulk ran through or something. And from what I know he doesn’t have any friends in the fucken universe, at that Earth..” Slowly Campbell nodded his head looking at the text written over the holy text of the Bible, “Read that shit, there’s more in there..”

Campbell’s eyes widened, “Fucken Christ!” Thompson slowly nodded his head as he adjusted his position on the chair, “It was him?! He fucken blew that bank up in Los Angeles? They think it’s the Arabs.”

“What? The news said it was two of those guys, Ali Jahbab-Singh, and some other, you mean.. No, Joe, no.. it wasn’t him, he couldn’t do that. I’ve just been tired, and my tiredness is rubbing off on you, crazy thoughts.. No it’s not possible.”

“He was serious….” Campbell trailed off flipping through the pages, but somewhere the penned words stopped leaving the Biblical verses in their intended nakedness. “Texas, Florida, and New York City..”

“What.. What do you mean?”

“That’s where he’s going., okay, I’m going to send you down to Texas, but I’m going to give you a group Seb. Don’t fuck thi…”

“HOLD UP! Slow down the horse, put down the phone.” Sebastian breathed deep looking at Campbell, “I’m not going in blind again, who knows, if I was in there any earlier Joe, I would’ve gotten slumped. Take one for the team, I know? But not now, not yet, I want to know how hot the stove is before I put my had on it, if you get what I’m saying.”

“Okay, shoot..”

“The Philadelphia Smilthy’s, what happened to it? I’m not the smartest guy, but something inside tells me, that he had something to do with it.” Sebastian watched as a grim smile crossed Campbell’s face.

“I’ll show you, fucken Carnage in action.” Campbell reached back into the drawer, and pulled out a VHS tape setting it on the desk, he rolled over in his chair, after grabbing the tape. He inserted it in the VCR on the TV stand to his right, the tape played, Sebastian watched the shaky film. Sebastian recognized the environment immediately, he could recognize a cage in Smilthy’s from anywhere, even if Philly’s Smilthy’s was more low class. Carnage was holding his own, and the crowd was responding.

“It’s just a fight, I know that guy from somewhere though, can’t put my finger on it.” The action continued in the ring, then there was panic, the camera turned and caught the rush of yelling, someone yelled fire and they began to panic, but the Cameraman was trying his best to keep his cool, scrambling far away to make a safe exit, but close enough to continue taping the fight, neither guy stopped, the big man yelled for Viper to stop but he bumped into the camera man knocking him down.

The camera darted back up catching the shrill laughter of Carnage, who was having a conversation. The film caught the man being crippled by Carnage who then started to run, the Cameraman hightailed it, trying to get his own life saved, but he captured that last image of the big man lying prone as the flames charged down the steps.

“John Henry!” Sebastian snapped his fingers, “So that’s what happened to him, news never traveled up to New York, that was going to be a big money fight, but that bastard killed him? Why?”

“I’ve employed him here for three years now, Thompson, and I don’t know him. The only thing I know, is that I want him dead, no less, and I want proof. I want to know that that worthless shite, is wiped out. And you’re going to help do it,” Joe wiped his mouth off on his arm, “Anything else in that bag?”

“Just clothes, nothing else. I still have seven bullets in that gun you gave me Joe, but you know what? I’m going to need a lot more than that. If he could do that to John Henry, and do that to these people. I’m going to need a fucken army.. This ain’t like in the ring, and I don’t want any of these louses around here.” Joe clapped his hands as Sebastian stood.

“Perfect, I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Sebastian looked back at his boss, his tired eyes even more apparent now then ever, and nodded. He wanted to say something else, but as of now Thompson’s brain couldn’t function enough and Joe didn’t have to tell him about the jet, Thompson just assumed. Closing the door behind him, Joe thumbed through the Bible on his desk looking back over the writing..

“I always knew it was the fucken loons that hid behind this bollocks.”

But, tonight, he seems to be tied up with a lot of things. I shall not bother him, then. Maybe next week. Seems I've got to keep a low profile here, too. Crazy lady by the name of Jada Marie Hunter chasing me around, for God knows what reason. I think it's a case of mistaken identity. Like what happened with me and Sebastian Thompson. Speaking of him, I've still got a bone to pick with that prick!

And speaking of that incident, I still have my mission. My primary mission, of gathering information on Ty Hughes, also known as Hynosis. It's a bit hard to uncover anything about the guy, especially since how it seems he's hardly around here! He's the co-champion, for Scolari's sake! He should be strutting around here, smacking people on the bums and showing off his fake tA Title. It's hard to execute your primary mission when your target isn't making it easy for you, know what I mean?"

Not getting a response from the wall he was leaning on, Santos Salvatore frowned and shook his head as he scanned his surroundings. He had to be completely sure that he wouldn't be blindsided by Jada Marie Hunter, also commonly known as Jade to fans of theAsylum, who -- for some odd reason -- had shortlisted Santos as someone to pick on. In the real world, guys wouldn't be scared of girls.

theAsylum was more real than real life.

And Jade wasn't just any girl. She had proven to be one tough nut to crack in her debut fight against Karen Pembridge a few weeks back. Her only fight, yes, but she'd shone nonetheless. For some reason, Santos found that to be a frightening statistic, and hence, was totally on edge. He had no intentions of getting humiliated whilst on the mission -- should his employer find out, a firing would be in order, followed by a massacre.

Then a burial. Santos didn't particularly care for cremation. Something about the process irked him.

Continuing to frown but aware that the area was all-clear, Sal cautiously began to advance down the hallway. He would have remained cooped up in his locker-room and done some simple research while keeping survillence tabs. But nature called, then the need for self-disclosure -- to a wall, no less -- sprung up. Now, the tricky trek back to his locker-room had begun, and Salvatore had a feeling that danger was right around the corner. Yet, he wasn't compelled to run away and scream like a little girl. He didn't know why, but if it was danger in the form of Jade, Santos definitely wanted to scram.

Instead, his eyes popped out when SHE came around the corner, carrying her duffel bag over her right shoulder. A smile plastered on her face, obviously due to her great showing the previous week by defeated Hoskins & Willis on the same night, a follow-up on the tremendous victory over Mercy. Personal matters were also being taken care off nicely, and hence, the good mood.

Karen Pembridge.

"Whew!" Santos muttered after the two almost collided, and Karen mumbled an apology before proceeding on the way to her locker-room. Of course, Sallie's comment wasn't unheard by the Lassie who turned around, placed her bag down on the ground, and squinted at Santos, as if she remembered him from somewhere.

Somewhere close to heart.

"Hey there. You look awfully familiar."

The Brazilian-born professional lackey froze in his tracks and felt like crying. Why did it seem as if everybody and their grandmother recognised him, he wondered. Turning around, he cleared his throat and formed a fake smile on his face, now also wondering if this lady in front of him was actually Jade in some kind of elaborate disguise.

"Uh, I get that a lot. Maybe because I'm sexy or something. Yeah. Anyways, who are you? I don't recall seeing you around much... wait, you did fight at EoN, right? Against that redhaired babe with those to-die-for thighs?"

Karen smirked rather coyly and folded her arms, contemplating the way to answer. And also, frantically racking her brain with regards to where she had seen Santos Salvatore before. She just knew that she'd seen the Brazilian somewhere before, but the pieces of the puzzle just couldn't fit.

"Right, I'm Karen Pembridge, and I did fight at EoN. Defeated Mercy. Wasn't that big a deal, I just did what I knew I could do. Yourself? I didn't quite catch your name?"

Santos stroked his non-existant goatee, and figured that maybe it really wasn't Jade just impersonating as another chick to get to him. Feeling a bit secure, Salvatore loosened up and smiled, now aiming to act cool. Maybe get a phone number, and later, book a room in a nearby hotel. Whatever worked for her would work from ol' Sallie.

"Santos Salvatore. You can call me Sal, or Sallie. Whichever you feel comfortable with!"

And then, the pieces finally came together.

The smile vanished off Karen's face, and she lunged forward, pinning Salvatore to the wall. Santos was now trembling his fear, and decided that he best simply give up his wallet. This lady wasn't Jade, for sure, but the way she was restraining him right now... she sure seemed like a robber. In actuality, the Lassie's eyes were burning with rage and suspicion. Now, she too looked around her, on the lookout for anybody who might serve as Sal's accomplice.

Seeing how the Brazilian himself was an accomplice.

"Vincent sent you?"

He gulped.

"Um... oh. Oh. Oh mother of crap."

If he could smack himself in the head, Santos would have definitely done it. Karen PEMBRIDGE. Brother to Vincent PEMBRIDGE. He who owns Sal's soul. How could he have completely missed the connection, Santos wondered to himself, angrilly. Gulping again, Santos struggled to blurt out an answer, but he was a coward at heart. And thus, there was no way in hell he had the courage to actually answer. Much less put together a coherent sentence.

"Well, cunt? Answer the bloody question!"

"... Bleh Huzzah?"

Santos figured maybe he'd seep into a state of temporary insanity.

So, Karen seeped into a state of blinding rage, and struck the Brazilian down with a backfist smash. Santos fell to the ground, stunned by the ferociousness of the blow, and felt his lips to see if his beautiful face had been cut open. Thankfully, it hadn't.

But, it appeared as if it might be.

"I'll take that as a YES. And for that, I guess I'll just have to maim you to show Vincent that I'm definitely up for playing games, if that's the direction he wishes to embark on.

You'd better suit up. I'm practically ready to fight."

Picking up her bag again, Karen snorted and stormed down the hallway, suddenly with a purpose. The theme was the same as it was the previous week -- to prove a point. This time, it was to big brother, who must have seen that Karen was quite ready after defeating Willis and decided to get the fun & games underway.

But for Santos Salvatore?

He'd got himself entangled in a mess he knew little about.

Tough luck.

Ramis approached a stall, and quickly found out he wasn't alone. Another member of Asylum was doing his duties, that being Joe Campbell. Chester noisily unzipped his denim pants, and he promptly responded to nature's call. He looked up and stared into cracked cement wall, and tried to ignore the owner's presence as much as possible. He found out he just couldn't do it any longer, and shook his head as looked down.

"Give it some time, Ramis. I'm sure it'll grow to a nice length of 4 inches someday!" Joe Campbell cackled as he backed up and allowed the auto-flush function to initiate. Chester Ramis smirked politely.

"Har dee Har Har," Chester said blandly as he backed up, and zipped up his own trousers. He walked over to the sink and began to wash his hands. In the meantime, he noticed Joe was leaving and he was missing out on a great opportunity for an apology.

"Hey Joe?" Chester said, looking up as he lathered soap on his hands. He looked into the mirror and saw Joe in the reflection as he turned around and wiped his hands off on his pants. Joe stopped, and let the door close behind him. He was paying attention as Ramis continued:

"I'm sorry about last week."

"It is a good rule in life never to apologize. The right sort of people do not want apologies, and the wrong sort take a mean advantage of them." Joe said wistfully, as if he had made up such an insightful adage himself. Chester Ramis knew better.

"Where'd you get that B.S. from?" Chester asked curiously.

"I haven't the slightest," Joe said as he rubbed his head, "Probably off of a matchbook, or porno, or somethin'..."

"Yeah, ok," Chester said in a rush. He was obviously not wanting a speech from an owner who consistantly had nothing to say (of importance, at least).

"Look, I got a little problem with a certain Eddie Cheno..."

"Ah, you'd be the first," Joe said sarcastically, and rolled his eyes for added emphasis. "I don't like the bloke either, and I'd like to see you tear him to bits tonight when you take him on for the title."

"You're giving me a TV title shot?"

"Didn't I just fuckin' say it was for the title?" Joe shot back, angrily. Chester beamed as he ran up to Campbell. He hovered over Joe slightly as he shook his hand viorously, completely ignoring the fact that his hand was all wet and covered in suds. Campbell's frown intensified as he tore away from the clinging Flatlined member.

"Git off me, you queer!," Joe said as he slung open the door and exited. Chester returned to the sink, where he rinsed off his hands. He tugged out some paper towels from their wall-hung confinement, and hastily dried his hands with them. He tossed the crumpled paper wads towards the trash recepticle, but he completely missed as he hurried out.

Rubbing his eyes, mockingly, Joe was looking at the tattered form of Nick Lucaselli, Lucas, as he approached. 2 weeks removed from the Asylum, it seemed he had aged 2 years instead, the harsh realties of life outside tA as a "Wanted" man having hit home.

"Turfed out?" responded Lucas, always relishing a verbal joust with his one-time saviour, "I believe I left under my own steam."

"Yeah, you're still a useless twat though, so it's all trivial."

No-selling Joe's abuse, Lucas stopped a few feet away from the Asylum's owner and adopted a casual, relaxed stance. "It also means, that I'm still a fighter here..."

With a puzzled look, Joe tilted his head, "Yeah, but you fuckin' sucked at that too, rent-boy."

"I'll take that as a 'Yes, Nick, you're free to fight here', shall I?" Lucas enquired, realising his mere presence was always enough to grate at Joe.

"Fight, die, rot.... Sure, go for it," answered Joe, sounding as if the sight of Lucas being beaten to a bloody pulp sounded good to him right then, "Unless 2 weeks of fearing for your life taught you to fight like anything but a little girl, it should be fun to watch."

"Oh, you could say my new style is 'Innovative', Mr. Campbell...

...Just have my fight purse waiting for me, I'm kinda in this for the money rather than the honour, ya know?"

"I thought you were in it because you fitted in?" Joe retorted, puzzled, "You're just like all the other worthless fucks here...

...You belong to me."

Chuckling, Lucas got one last hit in. "No," was his cold reply, "I belong to your money."

But he didn’t expect company to be waiting for him.

Chester Ramis stood there, arms folded as Cheno tossed his gym bag aside. Whatever the reason, Ramis had been looking to seek vengeance on Cheno ever since Everything or Nothing.

Which is odd, since Cheno is the true innocent victim, and he should be the one seeking his vengeance.

“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie,” Chester said, taking a look at his gym bag. He could see something jutting out of the side, a hard metallic object by the looks of the bulge. “I hope you have it.”

“It mang?” Cheno said, confused. He was taken aback by Chester. “Wat da funk be ya smokin’ yo?”

“Oh, nothing,” Ramis said, getting closer to Cheno to look him directly in his eyes. “Except I’ll be smoking your ass later tonight.”

Cheno laughed. “Ya can’t funken roll my ass in funken papers yo!” Cheno continued laughing hysterically, but Ramis’ attention was now fixated on Cheno’s bag.

”Seems I’m not the only one who wants revenge on your stoner ass there Eddie,” Chester said, walking over now to the bag, and kicking it softly. “Ah, I can hear it. The sweet metallic sting of your championship title.” Chester’s eyes turn narrow. “You know, the one that’ll be mine later tonight.”

“Ya gotsa be trippin’!” Cheno shouted, reaching down to his side and lifting the bag up off the ground.

“No Eddie. I’m not ‘Tripping’,” Ramis said, making quotation marks in the air as he said the final word. “Seems like everyone’s favorite british bastard decided to kill two birds with one stone.”

”He be havin’ a stone?”

Ramis sighed. “We’re fighting, tonight, for your television title. And you’re not walking out of here alive.”

Ramis turned pace and began to walk away, as Cheno shouted out toward him. “Yo mang, I can’t be funken walkin’ if I be dead. Dink o da funken logistics mang!”

Jesse Ramey Vs Lucas

In a few seconds, Lucas would walk out to his trademark silence... But how would the fans react?

A man they used to despise, returning to the Asylum so soon just to piss off Campbell.... Cheer or Jeer?

Lucas would make that choice easy for them.

"That twat's kidding, right?"

Ramey's eyes narrowed as he watched his opponent walking from the back... ARMOURED.

"FUCKIN' PUSSY!!!"

They jeered.

With a grin of utter smugness on his face, Lucas walked down to the Asylum... Having to compensate for all the padding he was wearing. A collar protected his neck, shoulder-pads took care of most of his upper-body, an abdominal protector just took the piss even more.

"TAKE 'EM OFF, YA CUNT!"

Tough looking forearm pads and gloves protected his lower arms, and his legs were equally well guarded, with padding to protect against kicks and twists...

...And to cap it off, a Hockey mask was held in his right hand.

"That legal?" questioned one of the better-mannered fans.

The tA official just shrugged his shoulders, never really having had to enforce any rules before.

It took quite an effort for Lucas to navigate himself down into the Cage, his protection being at the sacrifice of speed, seemingly. Ramey went on the attack right away, sending a flurry of punches to Lucas' head, but the mask gave him the cushioning he desired, and none of the blows floored him. Stepping back, Ramey then sent a standing side kick to Lucas' stomach, but once more, the patting did it's role.

"YA YELLOW-BELLIED BASTARD!!!"

It frustrated the fans even more than it did Ramey.

Growling, Jesse lunged forward, taking a wild swing which Lucas just let connect with the side of his head. Despite it's guard, Lucas' head was knocked to the side, stunning him momentarily... But still causing minimal damage...

...The desired result for a man trying to get rich via fighting in the Asylum.

Was fighting safe breaking the rules?

"FUCKIN' POOF!" seemed to denote the fan's answer was 'yes'.

Frustration building up, Ramey tackled Lucas into the Cage, pinning him against it with a forearm over the throat... Which Lucas' protective collar blocked perfectly.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

They actually BOO'd!!!

Not yelled obscenities... Nor threw sharp objects... Nor rioted.

They simply boo'd.

Sensing their annoyance, Ramey rammed his knee up into Lucas' face... But by now, Lucas was just letting the blows hit, as he hardly felt them.

"FUCK THIS SHIT!!! FUCK THIS SHIT!!! FUCK THIS SHIT!!! FUCK THIS SHIT!!! FUCK THIS SHIT!!!"

It was working, Lucas was ruining the Show.

Deciding enough was enough, Ramey went to tear Lucas' mask off, only to find he'd secured it pretty tightly. Struggling with straps and buckles, Jesse left himself open, and....

*THWACK!*

...Lucas blasted him from out of nowhere with an upper-cut to the chin, the knuckles of his gloves being loaded rather than padded.

"DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE!"

They wanted Lucas to go once more, to never insult their beloved Asylum like this ever again... But behind the mask, he was laughing.

In a daze, Ramey staggered up only to walk into a backhand swipe from Lucas, the prominent knuckles of his gloves again making amplified impact. Blood gushed from Ramey's nose, but he wasn't going to let Lucas humiliate him like this... Not in a million years.

*UMPH!*

With all the force he could muster, Jesse launched into a Cartwheel Kick, leaving a trail of blood splatterings to show his path... To where his foot slammed into Lucas' jaw, or at least what was protecting Lucas' jaw.

It worked, sort of.

The impact sent Lucas staggering back, leaving Ramey the chance to make his way onto the Asylum wall, looking down at his padded opponent. His wrestling roots surfacing, Ramey prepared himself...

...And launched off onto Lucas' shoulders, pulling him down with a Huricanrana... And even better, finally ridding Lucas of his mask, the remaining strap coming loose. This was the chance Ramey needed, and he pounced onto the downed Lucas, flailing away with fists.

"KILL THE CUNT!"

They meant it.

With Lucas' head finally exposed, he was hurting, fists were connecting... But his fists were deadlier.

*CRUNCH*

With a sound that screamed "Knuckle Dusters", Lucas slammed his concealed fist into Ramey's nose, beginning the blood flow once more. Holding his burning face, Ramey staggered up only to take a hard knee to the jaw on his way... Knocking him flat down again.

"FUCK YOU!"

As the Asylum crowd continued to hurl abuse at him, Lucas stalked Ramey, who's nose was now a flat and bloody mush.

Padded and protected, Lucas stood over the groggy Ramey, but took a retaliatory fist to the ribs in doing so... A shot his 'armour' absorbed. Smirking victoriously, Lucas grabbed Ramey and hurled him head-long into the Asylum's mesh, Jesse's head bouncing right off...

...And causing him to stumble right into a Front Facelock from Lucas.

"YOU AIN'T WINNIN' LIKE THAT, YA TWAT!!!"

Wishful thinking from the Asylum loyalists.

The forearm protector pushed into Ramey's windpipe... Hastening his drop. With his spare arm, Lucas hammered on Jesse's back, pulling him down flat against the mat.

Finally, Ramey ceased struggling, having passed out.

Then, the count.

1...

2...

3...

4...

5...

6...

7...

8...

9...

...10!!!

Lucas had won one of the most disrespectful, tainted, and down-right disgusting victories in the Asylum's history.

And was he ever chuffed about it.

The expletives were hurled from every seat in the arena, all aimed at the same man, the man now having his arm raised in victory... Nick Lucaselli. With a mocking smile being flashed at the fans, he removed most of his peripheral padding that eased him through the mat and nullified Ramey's fierce attacks...

...Padding he had every intention of wearing next time.

"Now," Lucas quipped, "Time to get my fight purse."

Along with his Italian accomplice, John politely knocked the Owner’s door first before being granted permission to enter by the Briton and he did so to a surprise smile: “Hello John. Welcome back. Did you enjoy your trip to Thailand?”

This was a far cry from the response he received after returning to The Asylum a few weeks ago at the most recent Pay-Per-View, Everything Or Nothing. As you may recall, he was promptly handed the task of risking his career in order to end former teammate Tapestry’s employment with the company. In other words, he came back to a Loser Leaves match and emerged victorious. On that note, despite being sent to Asia with all expenses paid, neither Willis nor D’Alessandro for that matter felt they could trust their brutal Boss. He had already shown shades to them of his infamous reputation and that was enough to convince them of his callous nature even if in retrospect he had been kind to them in comparison to other competitors in the past.

“I did. Thanks.”

The giant was very nervous in his answer. He certainly wasn’t scared of Campbell but he was scared of what he could do. Joe, in Willis’ eyes, was fuck all as a Fighter but he sure as well was a devastating Dictator of sorts, thus why he said thank you.

“Good. I hope you didn’t just treat it as a holiday then.”

John looked at Michael, who stood there with an ice-cold complexion and arms folded as if he didn’t really want to be here or have anything to do with Joe.

“No. I did what you said.”

Campbell opened his hands as if he was expecting something to be passed to him, which he was. It’s just that John didn’t realise until Michael nudged him and whispered in his ear that the Kokomo Colossus understood the Manchurian’s mannerisms: “Sorry Boss. Here we go. There are all the notes and photos we took.”

“Did he suspect you of anything?”

“Well. Yeah,” the ex-Spawned Terror stated.

Although he asked the question, Joe did not want to hear that. Therefore, he was enraged: “What the fuck do you mean? Oh fuck. I can’t fucken’ trust you fuckheads to do anything right can I? You cunts. You fucken’ cunts.”

The Italian intervened: “Now listen here. You’re the cunt. John and I travelled to Thailand for you. You ungrateful bastard. So fuck if Thanh spotted us? Big fucking deal. We’re here and safe. In one piece. Not that you give a fucking shit but then all you care about is yourself. But, so we understand each other, what is there to know? He saw us. Wow. It’s not too hard to see a man who is nearly seven feet if he follows you every day is it? Anyway, there’s fucking nothing to suspect. All you did was send us over there to spy on him. It’s not as if we tried to kill him. You wouldn’t let us would you?”

“It’s a fucken’ good job then isn’t it? I’ll tell you why I didn’t fucken’ want you to kill him besides the fact you would have cocked up it anyway and landed me in deep shit like you always seem to do. You’re two living cocks. I mean cock-ups. Sorry. Not. Anyway, Victor is a skilled killer and someone I need to know more about if I can trust him.”

Understandably, Michael was annoyed: “Look here you fucking leach. If you had given the order, this so-called skilled killer would have been a fucking dead man? Do you understand me you fucking cunt? I am one hundred per cent accurate alone never mind when I’ve got a big bastard like John to help me out. If you want him dead Campbell, pay me now and we’ll go and fucking kill the cunt. Go on, pay me in cash and I’ll splatter the shithead all over the pavement.”

Joe grinned: “You obviously didn’t understand me Pasta Boy so let me break it down for you. I. Do. Not. Want. Him. Killed. Do we understand each other now?”

Amazingly, the Palermo-born prized breadwinner (back in his prime) produced a gun and pointed in straight at the shocked Sheriff: “Get out of line again Mister Campbell and you won’t be able to understand anything.”

Persuaded by his partner to do so, the gun was quickly hidden where it came from, Michael’s inside coat pocket, and they left without exchanging another word.

Joe seemed to be surprised that D’Alessandro had felt so strongly to wave a gun in his face but in the same instance he knew that he wouldn’t shoot. Honestly, he did.

I mean come on. Who could possibly want to shoot Joseph Campbell?

Splink© Vs Fuck The Mind
(Team Titles)

"Let.. These Matters be..."

Slowly Jakob Gianni stepped out from behind the curtain to a chorus of loud boos and angry jeers. Gianni walked down to the cage ignoring the fans with exception to a single finger. Gianni jumped in and stretches out a little as the cameras shot back to the entrance.

Up at the entrance TMM stepped through the curtains as "You're the Best" by Joe Esposito began to play. TMM carried with him a cage containing his "Partner" for the night. The fans reacted with a mixed reaction. TMM jumped into the cage and stared down at his partner in disgust...

TMM turned towards Gianni and laughed slightly. "At least yer man eno.."

"GUIDED BY THE PINBALL MAP! THE DRIVER STILL UNKNOWN TO ME!"

Gianni smiled as TMM turned and looked up the entrance walk way as the massive 6'10" 370 pounder Aryen Silens stepped through the curtains... Aryen stomped down to the ring and lowered his head. As he steped through TMM sprung toward him jumping up and throwing fists to the side of Aryen's skull. the gate closed and Gianni simply watched as TMM swung punch after punch dropping off Aryen's shoulders and sending body blows to Aryen's abdomen. The official in the ring walked over to the cage containing the mouse but as he reached for the switch Gianni's foot came down on his hand. The official squirmed in pain yelping for Jakob to get off his hand Jakob nodded moving his foot as he bent over to pick up the cage.

Across the ring Gianni backed into a corner covering his body as TMM continued to swing. TMM's swings began to slow as he continued to unload everything he had into Aryen. TMM stepped back to catch some breath and looked up as the mouse cage and all went flying over his head and out of the cage. The bell rang as TMM's head drooped down and he dropped to his knees.

TMM turned and looked at the smiling Jakob Gianni as the officials hand himself and Silens the Asylum team titles. The fans erupted in boos as TMM stood up slowly and began to walk toward the cage. Before he reached the door Gianni jumped in front of him and slammed the door shut. TMM shook his head slowly... "It's never enough is it smart ass..." TMM reached back only to have his fist grabbed by the massive hand of Aryen Silens. TMM turned his head and stared at the big man before Aryen grasped the back of TMM's skull and drove his knee into TMM's lower back following that Gianni jumped into the air with a spinning back kick sending TMM over Silens' knee backwards. Before the 6'3" TMM could get vertical again the monster Aryen stepped down on his back and grasped his wrist jerking up as TMM screamed out in pain. The cameras closed in as the arm pulled clean out of the socket. TMM squirmed to get free but failed before the final exclamation point. Gianni stepped back slowly and stomped down sending his size 12 boot straight into TMM's elbow snapping it at the joint. Silens let go as TMM grabbed the damaged limb pulling it in close and rolling onto his back as Gianni and Silens stared down sadistically.

Silens stomped down on the limb one more time before buckling the title around his neck as Gianni slung his over his shoulder...

Before the two left the ring Gianni turned toward the camera and pointed to Silens as he yelled into the camera.. "Who gives a FUCK! If we are Christian Aproved..."

“Listen Eddie, I’m just here because I need to say something,” Cheno wasn’t listening very intently, instead, his mind wandered to his television title defense later in the evening. “I just, I can’t go on wondering why you did what you did. After everything I’ve done to you,” Reveal : Nicole Carson. “Why did you save me?”

Eddie sighed. He wasn’t getting anywhere. But before he could respond, Carson picked up where she had left off.

“I mean, I can’t say thank you enough for everything you’ve done. Helping me live yet another day, taking me to the hospital, keeping me from making a huge mistake by killing someone.” Carson lowered her head in shame. “I was only doing what I believed to be true. I came to this place trying to better it, trying to better myself, and instead, the evil inside rubbed off on me.” Carson looked up, hope in her eyes. “But then I look at you and I see how you’ve turned out. I’m not saying you’re perfect Eddie, no one is. But you virtually haven’t changed since the day I met you. And that’s something coming from this hell-hole.”

Cheno continued pacing back and forth.

“I just…” Carson got to her feet, and walked over to Eddie, stopping him in his tracks. She wrapped her arm around his shoulder, around his neck in what would have been a choke had she squeezed harder. Like it was, it was just a sign of affection. “I want to thank you, for everything,” Cheno eyes suddenly widened, as he crossed his legs just a small bit. He looked down, and then into the nodding and salivating eyes of Nicole Carson. “Just, thank you. I may have thought I was right to ride the world of that waste, but you…”

“Right wo-mang?” Cheno said, pulling himself out of her grip and away from her wandering hands. “It never be right ta funken take a life yo. I ain’t be carin’ da sitch, it ain’t someding dat ya can look at an’ be like, oh funk yeah, dat were somethin’ right yo.” Cheno’s usually calm exterior was replaced by something not. “I ain’t belivin’ ya Cars, cuz dis shiznit, it ain’t be da most funken trusty mang. Ya can’t just be funken willin’ ta murder, and then almost funken die, and then have dat shiznit purged from ya funken system yo.” Cheno continued to pace, although his length was much shorter than original. “Who be funken trustin’ ya Nicole?” Cheno sighed, turning toward his locker room door and opening it. “Cuz I funken can’t.”

Cheno exited, slamming the door behind him as he did. The loud noise turned Carson’s body on ends, shuddering as she lowered her head. She sat down on the bench that was provided once more, and let out a deep and long sigh. “I really did like you Eddie…”

Reggie Harrison-Willis Vs Jesse Ramey

As RHW entered he could see Jesse glaring at him, he still had things to prove. Both competitors were relatively new to the Asylum. But Reggie’s job was still on the line. Never-the-less. Reggie still made a spectacle of himself. He spun round in a shiny silver jacket with his initials "RHW" stitched onto the back in a glittery gold fabric.

Reggie ripped it off his back and entered the Asylum. The bell rang, this is where everything was to play for.

WHAM! Reggie started off good with a high roundhouse kick to the side of Jesse’s skull. It had all started too fast for Jesse, he staggered back, flapping his arms. RHW saw the opportunity to slam a straight right clean in the centre of Jesse’s stomach. Jesse lent forward nursing his stomach, it felt as if he’d just been hit by car and it was reversing back for another shot. But Ramey couldn’t do anything he was stuck in the headlights.

Seeing the perfect opportunity RHW hooked Jesse’s arms over his back and elevated Ramey up in the air flipping him into a Gut Wrench Powerbomb. With a loud crunch Ramey bounced across the floor of the Asylum like a stone skimming the surface of the water.

Willis was intent on keeping his job, he’s never got this much attention before in his life. He could hear the gasps at his ruthless assault on Ramey. He gazed round a bit to make sure all the eyes were on him. Affirmative. Then he jumped on Jesse, he slammed a sequence of ritual like right hands right in the face of Jesse. He had Ramey’s attention, that was for sure.

Reggie Willis hopped up to his feet and started to whip Jesse with strokes of kicks while he was down, Ramey rolled around the ring as Reggie ranted some random bullshit about how great he was.

"Come on, get the fuck up and fight me."

Ramey raised to his feet enraged by this rapid assault. Reggie hurled a hard left hand like a javelin - it was aimed right for the bridge of the nose. Ramey swatted the fist out of the air like it was a fly and grabbed Harrison-Willis’ arm, slamming him down on the floor in an arm lock.

"RAAAAH! GET OFF ME!" Reggie screamed trying to squirm out of the hold. Jesse Ramey was enraged now, Reggie’s struggles just encouraged him to inflict more pain. He got a real sick feeling in his stomach and in an adrenaline rush he slammed the underside of his arm around Reggie’s neck and snapped it back. In a move like a crossface, but instead of the arm going round the back of the neck it went round the front. It was very painful. Bending Reggie’s necks to its limits before it snapping. "Get off me! You fucking maniac!" Reggie muffled under Ramey’s tricep.

Reggie used his free arm to scratch at Jesse’s forearm, drawing blood. Jesse was intent to keep the hold locked on. So Reggie dug his nails into him more, claret started to spew out of Ramey’s forearm.

"Arrgh, you woman." Jesse groaned as he let go of the hold. Reggie grinned as both men got up. Jesse was looking at his arm when Reggie tackled him. Spearing the back of his leg. Jesse tumbled down like a tree that had been hacked down by a lumberjack.

Reggie smirked. Jesse was just about to get up again when Reggie applied a fast ankle lock. This had to finish it for Reggie. He was not willing to let him escape this hold. Wham in one wrench of Ramey’s foot he’d rotated it 80° anti-clockwise.

"RAAAAAAAAH!" Ramey roared raucously in an array of intense suffering. Reggie turned it was far as possible, putting his whole upper body into the simple but pain filled submission hold. Ramey was making an awful fuss. He screamed. He squawked. He howled. Reggie was rather curious why, then he realised. This was the leg Jesse injured before the PPV!

You could tell Reggie Willis just realised, a sick grin flooded his face. He hissed like a cobra and twisted Ramey’s ankle. Ramey had bit his lip so much blood was pouring from that. Reggie made a vow, he HAD to end it. Now. And he vowed he’d end it with that hold. I mean what did Ramey have to lose? Nothing, maybe just the use of his leg. Reggie had his job and reputation on the line! So he tried his hardest. He bit the calf and clawed the ankles.

And with one last scream, Ramey gave up. He tapped like he was trying to cave the floor in! Ramey had lost the match. But Reggie had kept his job!

"I WON! I WON!" Reggie Harrison-Willis screamed romping round the Asylum like a joyous school boy. The crowd started to boo. "I’VE WON! I AM THE GREATEST! I AM THE BEST EVER!"

The boos got louder. Yet Reggie decided to not let this dampen his parade. He wildly skipped round the ring waving his arms around. "I’VE DONE IT! CHEER FOR ME! CHEER FOR ME! I DID IT!"

This went on for a good ten minutes while paramedics attended to Jesse, Reggie didn’t even know Ramey was hurt.

His blood flowing rapidly, Ramis felt an indescribable adrenaline rush; surely one he had never experienced before in his 31 years of life. He found his mind to be racing more quickly than his heart was. Chester honestly didn't know what the hell he was going to do when he encountered Eddie Cheno, but he garunteed Cheno wouldn't be a happy camper with whatever he decided to do.

He finally arrived to the room, and was happy that there was no door screwed into the cement frame; One less obstacle in getting to Eddie. He was starting to become tired of being a part of the Flatlined unit, and he was boundlessly excited with the responsibility of handling this conflict on this own.

"Cheno!" Ramis growled as he walked into the cell. He was taken aback by the echoed reverberance of his voice on the desolate walls; the uncharacteristic hiss seemed to just rise out of the darkest crevices of his soul.

The only person that inhabited the room appeared dually surprised of his voices' potency. The woman sat on the side, on a long bench. Her head was lowered, and her snow-colored strands of hair settled on her pale shoulders. She obviously didn't want Chester to see her in such a morose disposition; either that, or she didn't want to see him altogether.

"Nope...You just missed him," She said firmly.

"Hey, are you all right?" Chester said, as he inched closer to her. Her head lifted and she noticed she couldn't really see; she was completely cloaked in Ramis' shadow.

"I'm fine." She said as her frustrated eyes met Chester's.

"Did you fight with him, Nicole?" Ramis asked curiously as he took a seat on the long bench, right next to her. He folded his legs much like that of a therapist, and patiently waited for a response. After all, he really cared about what she had to say. She was a very attractive woman, and Ramis battled with himself as to how such a knockout ended up with Eddie. She slowly looked up and scoffed with disbelief at his nerve in asking.

"Yes, I did. What's it to you?" Nicole asked flatly. Chester knew she was irritated, but he wanted to seem as genuinely polite as possible. Chester had been thoroughly disillusioned in a matter of moments, and grew a sudden interest in her. Ramis got up, and walked over to her where he clasped her hand gently.

"Well, if you need someone to talk to... I'm around," Chester remarked. Carson first shook her head and smiled at his goofy behavior, but she could help but find the sincerity in his icy blue eyes. She nodded and smirked politely.

"I'll consider it..." Nicole began, snapping her fingers in as she vainly attempted to remember his name.

"Oh--I'm Chester Ramis," He said. "Well, I guess I better be going. I gotta go fight your boyfriend-- "

"He's NOT my boyfriend."

"What a shame," Chester murmured; loud enough so that she could hear him. She couldn't help but smile at the compliment.

"Get out of here," she said with a nervous chuckle as she shoved Ramis halfway across the room. Not expecting such strength, Ramis lost his balance and almost fell over as he stumbled to the doorway. He slapped the smooth, painted cement and looked back at her. She looked at him blankly, not exactly knowing what to say.

"Good Luck?"

Chester was too spellbound in her beauty to realize he was just giving her an idle stare. He snapped out of it, and looked to Carson, who was quite perturbed with his gawking.

"Oh, yeah...Thanks...Thanks alot!" Chester said enthusiastically as he left the room, where his expression promptly turned to dissapoint. He pounded a fist lightly on his forehead as he walked away.

'Looks like I blew that one...'

The Brothers Brown Vs Matthew Karst

The Brothers Brown would let the disappointing crowd reaction get the best of them. Soon enough the Asylum would realize the potential that Ordell and Ritchie possess. As "The Wizard" quickly faded out and "On My Mind" by System of A Down began to play the mixed reactions turned to cheers as Matthew Karst began approaching the cage.

As Karst began to realize that he was much smaller than Ordell and Ritchie, he would have to surprise them. As Karst was within about fifteen feet of the cage, he ran right into the cage and tackled Ordell down to the ground.

*SMACK*

*SMACK*

*SMACK*

Three loud and hard slaps to Ordell’s chest echoed through the arena to the pleasure of the bloodthirsty crowd. But Matthew Karst outburst of offense was quickly put to an end as Ritchie Brown grabbed him off of Ordell. Ritchie had his tree trunk sized arms wrapped around Karst’s one hundred and forty pound body. Ritchie was just squeezing the life right out of Karst as Ordell was screaming "KILL HIM RICH, KILL THAT BASTARD!"

But Karst wasn’t going to let the massive Ritchie squeeze him to death.

"OHHHHHHHHHHH" The crowd moaned, as Matthew Karst’s heel was now enlarged in Ritchie’s scrotum sac. Ritchie quickly let go of Matthew and feel to the ground. Now that Karst was free, he went right after Ordell again.

Another tackle to the ground followed up by three more loud and hard smacks to the chest of Ordell Brown! As Matthew got off of Ordell, he also got Ordell back onto his feet and then tossed him toward the mesh cage.

Matthew now started trying to ring out Ordell, by pushing him over the top. Matthew was pushing with all of his might, but he just wasn’t strong enough to get Ordell up and over the edge of the cage. Ritchie could see Matthew Karst struggling to get his partner over the cage so he quickly went over.

Thinking he was doing a good thing, Ritchie grabbed a hold of Matthew’s legs and began lifting him up, but not realizing that he was taking Ordell with him. Ordell was screaming at Ritchie to let Karst go, but Ritchie wasn’t thinking, nor listening. Karst was able to get Ordell plopped up onto the four-foot high edge and then easily knock him off with a few punches.

Once Ritchie realized that he had just eliminated Ordell, he stopped trying to get Karst ringed out. Once Karst was on the floor of the cage, he was greeted by punches from Ritchie who was literally punching himself out by throwing a barrage of punches.

Each punch landing on Karst’s face, which now looked like raw meat. Blood began to trickle out from underneath his eye, but Ritchie would let up. He had Karst cornered up against the cage, and their was no way that Karst could over power Ritchie who stood six foot five and weighed well over two hundred and fifty pounds.

Once Ritchie was satisfied with the amount of punishment had had given Matthew Karst, he would once again try to ring him out. So Ritchie grabbed Matthew off of the ground and tossed him up over his shoulder. As Ritchie was attempting to slide Karst off of his shoulder, he was hit with a punch harder than any punch that Karst could throw. Ritchie stumbled back leaving Karst hanging on the edge of the cage.

As Ritchie was stumbling back, he whipped his face and found blood. As Matthew Karst jumped down from the edge of the cage, Ritchie saw the brass knuckles. Matthew then charged at Ritchie and hit him with a few more quick jabs with the Brass Knuckles. Ritchie then fell to the ground, and Matthew Karst took a mounted position ontop of Ritchie.

Matthew Karst then began to lay into Ritchie with punch after punch to his face. Blood was flying off of Ritchie’s face and going every where, but Karst wouldn’t stop. Finally, Ritchie’s body went limp and he didn’t move, Karst backed off sensing that he had just won.

1...

2...

3...

4...

5...

6...

7...

As the count neared eight, Banderas was seen running out toward the cage!

8...

9...

The count neared ten and Banderas was inside the ring, and chased after Karst who was trying to avoid his partner.

10...

Matthew Karst had won the match, and he quickly exited the cage as Ordell entered. As Banderas looked around, he realized that his partner Matthew Karst had just left him out to dry. Ordell slowly approached Banderas, until he was in a close enough distance to grapple him. Once locked up, Ordell laid Banderas out with a Belly to Back suplex.

Ritchie was starting to get back on his feet, as Ordell was screaming at him to get up. "RICH GET UP! IT’S BARN BURNER TIME! RICH HIT THE BACK BREAKER!"

Listening to the command of his brother, Ritchie got a hold of Banderas and hit a devastating back breaker on him. After crunching Banderas’ back with his knee, he left Banderas lying across his knee, waiting for Ordell to finish the tag team finisher with a leg drop from the top of the cage.

With in seconds, Ordell was in place and leaped off the top of the cage and came down across Banderas neck with a leg drop! Banderas’ head awkwardly landing on the cage floor and looked to be broken. Ordell spit at Banderas who was lying on the ground barely alive, as Ritchie danced around in celebration.

The British Lassie growled as she turned around and saw Reggie Harrison-Willis prancing towards her, the cheesiest smile imprinted on his face. He had a bouquet of dead roses in his possession, too. But as he was approaching Karen, Reggie tripped -- somehow -- and fell flat on his face.

Karen shook her head and sighed, before turning and continuing to walk down the hallway. Her fight with Santos Salvatore was up next, and it was one she was suddenly very excited and focused about. She came to the arena hoping that Joe Campbell would have thrown her into a fight with someone in the upper tier of the roster, but it turned out that even without any booking, the girl from Manchester had found herself entangled with someone from her past. Not directly, at least.

Santos Salvatore, current lackey of Karen's brother Vincent, was one of the men that trounced the Lassie up when she was under the tutelage of mentor Sikanah. Prior to her arrival on the industry's scene, Karen was being trained by an enigmatic Thai warrior whose sole purpose for living was to gain vengeance. It would be the antitode to all the complexity that had arisen around him. And for revenge to ease the suffering in his soul, a protege was needed to assist him.

Karen Pembridge was that protege. Santos Salvatore was a test that Karen had to pass.

She failed.

But the trouble was, as Karen geared up for her clash with Santos Salvatore, her memory still hadn't successfully registered the gravity of the situation. The reason she was going out there to take on the Brazilian was because she heard on the grapevine that her brother had hired someone to do some of his dirty work outside of thReat & ACW. And the name Santos was the key that jumpstarted the engine.

"Karen! Wait! I've got flowers for you!" Reggie shrieked as he struggled to his feet and hobbled forward, with the bouquet of dead roses still firmly in his grasp. Pembridge tried to ignore the annoying stalker that she'd only JUST come to know.

But, as Reggie grabbed hold of Karen's arm and spun her around, the cold glare of the Manchester girl's eyes almost caused RHW to crumble to pieces. Karen was just THAT pissed off, and certainly didn't appreciate being haggled. She had enough of freaky admirers in the IOW, with Kid Extremo and Tripp Extreme later on.

"Reggie. The flowers are bloody dead. And, also. I DON'T LIKE YOU. SOD OFF."

With that, Karen wriggled her arm away from RHW's tight grasp and stormed down the hallway, getting increasingly frustrated. The fight was about to begin, and she was going to make sure that Santos got whooped bad, to send a message out to big brother. Reggie, however, didn't give chase this time. The smile off his face had quickly vanished, in fact.

And it had been replaced by a scowl.

He looked down at the flowers he'd dug up from the trash outside the arena, and begin to tremble, agitation and pure fury taking over. Looking back up, he gazed at the hallway that his object of desire had walked down, and his eyes appeared as if it was close to popping out of his sockets. Reggie wasn't taking the apparent rejection to loudly.

"Bitches. All women are bitches. Think the world revolves around them. theAsylum's no place for a woman. They should stay at home and do three simple things. Cook, clean, and BEND DOWN. That's fucking all. None of this fighting-to-prove-how-tough-I-am-because-I-like-my-pussy-licked crap.

Sod off, eh? We'll see.

We'll see."

Throwing the flowers down onto the ground, Reggie turned around and slithered away, his fists clenched.

Looks like someone can't handle being turned down.

Santos Salvatore Vs Karen Pembridge

Against apparent team member, Sebastian Thompson. Truth be told, the Brazilian actually did put up quite a fight, but eventually fell to the Phoenix, who had been showing a cutting edge in viciousness as of late. Santos didn't quite care about the almost non-existant crowd reaction, however, as he simply climbed into the cage and flexed his pectorial muscles. He was still trying to figure out how exactly did he get himself into the mess by being so lamebrained and oblivious, while keeping an eye out for Jade at the same time.

Then, the house lights dimmed a little. And the fans arose.

"Unreal" by Soil.

Out came Karen Pembridge, who looked no-nonsense on the night, and she completely ignored the massive burst of cheers that had broken out in her favour. Instead, the Lassie -- wearing a black t-shirt with white taekwondo pants and black shoes -- took large strides towards the cage, mashing her clenched fists together.

She so wanted to trounce Santos, and get the word out to Vincent.

As she flung herself into the premises of the cage, Santos immediately came charging at her, looking to connect with a spin heel kick. Karen ducked and drove her right elbow into the back of Sal's head, almost knocking him over the rim of the cage right then and there. Fortunately enough, he managed to balance himself and remained on two feet, but that simply allowed Karen to explode with a flurry of punches to the Brazilian's face.

And as she came to the end of her barrage, Santos was teetering on the brink of getting bundled out of the cage. Karen grinned and reared back, looking to strike with the knockout blow. Panting and breathing heavily, Sal realised that he was two seconds away from getting made out to look like the biggest fool on the planet. Considering his purpose in theAsylum, this fight should have never even happened -- Karen wasn't going to lead him to Ty, although the two did have many a conversation regarding thReat. So, Salvatore lunged forward and hit a pretty effective spear on the Manchester Girl, who certainly was taken aback by the sudden attack.

The two combatants quickly arose to their feet, with Santos already having a gameplan mapped out. As Karen charged at him, he took her down with a rather exquisite and powerful arm drag, sending her crashing to the ground with immense force. The British Lassie winced as her body made contact with the canvas, but she was smart enough to take advantage of the situation while in pain, yanking on Sal's arm and causing him to sprawl down to the canvas with him. The two of them rolled around like they were trying to get each other's clothes off, before Karen finally emerged the 'victor', almost getting her Brazilian opponent in an grounded armbar submission.

But, Salvatore was a very clever man. He stretched his legs backwards and got them hooked on the rim of the cage. Using the strength in his legs, he lifted himself up and over, crashing down on the canvas a whole 180º from where he originally was. More importantly, he'd managed to also -- somehow -- cinch in a side headlock on Pembridge in the process. It was a brilliant countermove from Santos and it all happened so fast. The fans were pretty mesmerised by the fluency of Sallie's defense measure, but were still solidly behind the Manchester Girl, as she slowly found the power to lift herself off the canvas, and fight the hold she was in.

On her feet, Santos tried his hardest to hold on, even to the extent of tightening the hold. The Lassie was determined to not go down so easily, however, and eventually struck with a jumping front-face neckbreaker type of move, almost beheading Sallie. He stumbled backwards, trance-like, and trying desperately to regain his marbles. The crowd exploded in a chorus of cheers, and watched as Karen kickflipped her way back up, before expertly turning around and letting loose with a hurricane kick, an evil smile forming on her face as she did so.

"HOLY CRAP!"
"HOLY CRAP!"
"HOLY CRAP!"
"HOLY CRAP!"

Santos Salvatore was down, and as done as dinner;

1...

2...

3...

4...

5...

6...

7...

8...

9...

Well, maybe dinner was a little undercooked.

Karen frowned as Santos dragged himself off the canvas and hobbled around a bit, still groggy from the move. The Brazilian had no fucking clue where he was; that was just how much impact the hurricane kick had. The British Lassie was suddenly looking very patient though, quietly waiting for her opponent to turn around while the fans continued to cheer on wildly, wanting Santos to be deep-sixed within the next minute or so.

A standing dropkick to his face sent the man flying backwards, and his spine made tremendous impact with the rim of the cage. So much so that he was suddenly jolted back to reality and the pain rushed to his head, almost paralysing him as he subconsciously staggered forwards, back into the path of danger. Karen had once again coolly rolled up to regain her vertical balance, and cracked her neck. For... it was time.

Yes it was.

Sweeping snap roundhouse kick with right foot.

A deft leg-sweep using the left leg as the right foot came down.

Entanglement of Sal's feet with her left foot, before locking in a unique elevated ankle-lock.

All within a matter of seconds, culminating in a submission hold that was impossible to get out of. Don't believe? Well, ask Mercy. And... a pantheon of other suckers.

Santos wasn't stupid, though. He knew what he had to do.

*TAP*
*TAP*
*TAP*

"Unreal" by Soil started up again, and Karen quickly relinquished the hold, feeling very relieved. With the crowd celebrating maniacally, she quietly left the cage and trodded to the back, nodding her head the whole time. The job had been done, and the message had been delivered.

As for poor Santos Salvatore?

He had someone new on the block to fear.

Pitiful bastard.

Joe Campbell, just for a change, was not happy.

The target of his plethora of F's was Nick Lucaselli, aka, the recently victorious Lucas, and innovator of a new fighting style - the "pad yourself and load your fists" technique.

"What?" snapped Lucas, keeping a cocky edge, "Did I break any rules?"

Knowing there WERE no rules, Joe had hit a road-block right away.

"Yeah, as a matter of fact you have, we call it the 11th commandment," Campbell snarled, "Thou slat not be a fucking faggot."

Self-assured about his methods, Lucas wasn't worried at all, and took the topic right to his sole reason for being here.

"So, do I get the cash now?"

Joe scowled, not only did Lucas piss over his promotion, angered his fans, caused shitty TV... Now he was taking his fuckin' money.

"Yeah, you get your pieces of silver, but you also get a string of people waiting to kick a hole right through that padding and into your face...

...Sucks to be you, money or not."

"Fucking dyke, who the fuck does she think she is?." He muttered under his breath. His eyebrows were flaring in rage and his teeth were grinding in anger. He stumbled across a hallway that was very busy, full of backstage nobodies scurrying around like ants. He stuck his chest out and stood tall so people would notice. They didn’t. He coughed. Still no one noticed. He coughed louder. Nothing. So he held up the air horn high in the air and…

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!

They’d noticed.

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!

They all turned to look at him clutching their ears due to the horrible screeching thrashing their ear drums.

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!

"People! Listen to me!" He hollered down the megaphone "I have an announcement. The Asylum’s very own Karen Pembridge is a lesbian, a dyke, a muff diver, a Dick Van Dyke, lez-be-friends, a girl who likes a bit of a munch! I shit you not! I found out myself. She has confided it in me. I ask you not to gossip this around but to tell every man, woman and child you see. You ask her yourself she’ll say yes. And if she doesn’t. She’s LYING! That’s right. SHE’S A LYING LESBIAN! Now I propose we start a chant… ABOUT ME!"

Everyone looked around, not knowing what this fool was on about.

"R-H-W! R-H-W! R-H-W! R-H-W! R-H-W!" He tried to rally the people. "R-H-W! R-H…"

Clunk

Reggie Harrison-Willis dropped his megaphone at the sight of Karen Pembridge on the opposite end of the hallway. Karen snarled at him scaring Reggie. He ran off flapping his arms like a schoolgirl.

Eddie Cheno© Vs Chester Ramis
(T.V. Title)

Davy Havoc's shrill voice serenaded the blood-thirsty crowd as "This Time Imperfect" struck an emotional climax on the abused loudspeakers. Heads quickly turned as the vibrant, almost fruity, t-shirt caught everyone's attention. Ramis smiled at the gawking faces as he climbed the cage and into the ringed area. The crowd reaction was overall appropriate, but Ramis knew he could have better. And he would have better, eventually.

Chester let a deep breath go in and out of his lungs, as he pondered the forthcoming matchup. He was starting to think he was just gold hungry, as he zealously plotted his plan of attack. Or, perhaps, it was his feelings of inferiority that were getting the best of him. He still felt he had to prove himself to the tA crowd; a smooth-sailing win over Banderas was hardly to boast about.

The Eddie Cheno match truly mattered, and Ramis would approach it accordingly.

Ramis' furrowed brows maintained their lowered state, as "Smoke Two Joints" by Sublime played. Ramis shook his head with disappointment as hepondered Eddie's infatuation with a certain plant, that if anything, would give one the giggles. Ramis couldn't see what would harbor such an obsession with harmless foliage, but hey, different strokes (for different folks. duh.)...

Cheno had his game face on, as well his usual clothing; the TV title strapped loosely onto his left shoulder. The crowd rained down a great positive reaction reaction, one that made Ramis a little hesitant.

"Ya hear that?" Eddie Cheno hollered over the crowd noise as he stood near the top of the cage. He chuckled slightly as he crawled in the ring. "Oooh...I'm gonna funk you up, mang."

Ramis rolled his eyes at Cheno's drab excuse for a catchphrase. Who was he fooling? Everyone knew that he meant to say an obscenity instead of the word "funk." Chester rolled his eyes and backed up quickly, so that the match could finally commence.

Eddie used his forearm to make a shining motion on the belt before handing it over to the ref. Perhaps his showmanship was a tad overdone, as Ramis went straight for the kill as the bell *dinged*. The widening of Cheno's eyes was simply a conditioned reaction that all humankind experienced. Deer in the headlights. Children in a horror movie. Eddie Cheno getting punched. It was pretty much all the same.

Before Eddie could recover from the opening attack, Ramis sent a brutal flurry of kicks and strikes to his body. Asylum's favorite pothead groaned with displeasure as strikes attacked him at every direction, like golf-ball size hail pelting an unsuspecting victim. Ramis gritted his teeth as he continued his onslaught, panting with raw aggression as he constantly reminded himself of the prize; receiving a hearty helping of praise, with a shiny gold belt on the side.

Two more fists subdued Cheno long enough for Ramis to lash out, this time with a Hyper Spin kick that sent Eddie Cheno to the floor. Ramis smirked as he wiped away the beads of sweat that were introducing themselves to his forehead. He looked up the crowd, and noticed they were warming up to him. Ramis looked back at his fallen foe, and listened as the referee neared the middle of his count:

...3

...4

...5

Eddie Cheno squinted in the harsh spotlights as he lay on the canvas. His sides ached, and his mouth throbbed, but he refused to give up this early. The feeling of blood on his lips seemed to invigorate him instantly, and he slapped the mat with frustration.

...6

...7

Cheno sat up and rose to his feet without faltering. He grimaced at Chester intensely, before giving his own ingredients towards a recipe of destruction. If fighting happened to be anything like a county fair, Cheno would have won the blue ribbon. Eddie shrugged off Ramis' reversal attempts, and landed a flurry of boxing punches that would make Oscar De La Hoya shudder.

Ramis folded sharply then like a disregarded accordion that had long since played it's last note.

Cheno was not done, oh no; he was far from it. Eddie reached around Chester's head and spun into an inverted face plant that aroused those in attendance. "The Bong Hit" was a trademark maneuver of his, and he clapped his hands with confidence as the referee shouted out the count.

...1

...2

No way.

Chester Ramis was already getting up after that devastating move. Eddie shook his head in shocked disbelief as Ramis staggered to his feet. Cheno growled with frustration, and sprinted across the ring. The crowd let out a nervous gasp with what happened next.

Eddie rushed Ramis and tackled him into the steel meshing. Chester's upper back and neck slammed roughly into the caging, making his back contort in a very uncomfortable 'L' shape. Ramis, thoroughly dazed, was seeing double. He swung blindly at Eddie Cheno, whom he happened to be seeing two of. The shot barely grazed Eddie's chin, but he was visibly startled by the near miss.

He drug Chester to his feet, where he planned on painting a picture with Ramis' own blood. Chester decided he'd try to fight back, after estimating the pain he was about to undergo. Despite his hazy vision, Chester swung and connected with a kidney punch that made Cheno tremble with pain. Ramis had a lot of heart, and skill, but Eddie thought it better to simply bring a quick end to this threat.

Eddie backed up and "Cleared the Funkin' Table," practically lifting Ramis off the ground with the thunderous uppercut.

Ramis popped up from the canvas as if he had been electrocuted from a hidden current beneath the ring. He somehow managed to sit on his knees, and he bellowed with agony.

He was seeing in thirds, this time around.

The crowd rose to their feet in hushed unison, with a certain reverence that only the religious could match. Chester Ramis had fallen victim to a second Cheno signature with no sign of knocking out, or giving up.

Cheno was visibly amazed as well, but it looked as if he had an idea of what to do next. He faced the crowd, and slapped his thigh; a little hint as to what he planned on doing next.

He was obviously motioning for the "The Needle Jab", which was going to be executed as Chester Ramis rested on his knees. The move could literally decapitate Ramis, but no one there really seemed to care. To what degree of pain the move would cause made the audience quiver with sickening delight. Cheno, hearing the increasing rustle within the crowd, beamed with equal satisfaction.

But that rustle was not the cheering audience, his adoring public, but it was Frank Minio who was the cause, leaping over the protective barricade and then into the Asylum’s cage. Cheno turned his attention as Minio was at the zenith of the cage wall, and that’s when he began to quickly look from side to side to see the situation he was in. If he left the cage, he’d have forfeited his Asylum championship, but it wouldn’t be easy for Cheno to defend his title against two men.

Cheno turned toward Minio and tried to nail him with his uppercut, Clearin’ da Funken Table to cheers, but Minio leaned back to avoid the blow.

Cheno turned around to eat a vicious hyper spin kick to the jaw, sending him down to the asylum canvas quickly. Chester however, began to just kick the fallen Cheno helplessly, as Minio dropped down from the cage wall and joined in on the assult.

Eddie curled up in a fetal position to protect himself, but the kicks were coming from all different directions, and protection was the furthest thing away from possible.

Unless you’d call the police.

Or one who used to be.

Nicole Carson raced down to the cageside area, climbing in with a baton and a shock stick in her hands. Minio turned toward her and rushed forward, without thinking of the fact that she’s a girl, without any sort of hesistation. He knew what she could do. He looked for a right but Carson ducked, and jabbed him in the gut with her nightstick, before slamming the shock stick in his neck, sending him twitching down to the mat. Chester looked up to see Carson standing there before him, shock stick in hand, as there was an awkward moment of tension.

By now, the Asylum bell had begun to ring off the hook, labeling this a no contest.

Ramis quickly backed his way out of the cage, through the door, and dragged Minio out with him. Minio held his neck, his hair standing on end as he tried to shake off the powerful shock. A testament to him even being able to stand after the voltage coursed through his veins.

This wasn’t over.

He ripped his arm away from her, and stumbled back into the asylum wall. This may not have been the most opportune time for the ring announcer to hand him his Asylum television title, but it was the time they chose, as Eddie seemed to be bombarded from both sides. He ripped the title out of their hand, stared from side to side in confusion and then began to depart.

“Wait!” Nicole shouted, lightly touching Eddie’s elbow before reflexively, Cheno twisted his arm away. “Please Eddie, I want to talk to you.”

“Ya already’d said yer funken piece yo.” Eddie turned back toward the Asylum cage wall, and began to climb. “I ain’t got da desire ta funken hear more shit mang.”

“But you helped me!”

Cheno lowered his head, and then dropped off the cage wall before getting closer to Nicole. It wasn’t in a seductive way, but his teeth were grinding like he was on ectasy and his eyebrows pointed down to make a pretty good v. “Gotta be pointin’ dis shiznit out yo, it ain’t be matterin’ who da funk ya be Cars, I woulda funken saved any funken one from dat shiznit yo. Dat’s the funken diff to ya ta me mang.”

“But I’ve changed Eddie,” Nicole said, trying to grab Eddie’s elbow once more, before having it jerked away for yet another time. “I’ve had an epiphany. I’ve been trying to make amends but I’ve been doing things the Asylum way for too long, I don’t know any other way of doing things!”

Eddie sighed, turning his back toward her and heading once again out of the cage. “Den maybe ya funken best be gettin’ outta da asylum.”

And with that, he headed backstage.

“Fuck off. You all think I’m a fucking idiot…”

The Italian interrupted: “That’s because you are one.”

Willis sighed: “You see. And you may all think I’m gay but you of all people should know a bit better than that. I know enough to know that if you’d blown the bastard’s brains out today that we’d have been dead tomorrow. You can fucking fool yourself that we wouldn’t be because you used to be in the Mafia but that means nothing when there are ten, twenty or hundred people after your ass. The Mafia means fuck all then when it won’t get you out of trouble. Not only would we get executed in public but we’d no longer have a job.”

“Well that’s obvious isn’t it? We won’t have a job if we’re dead? John, tell me something I don’t fucking know or shut the fuck up will you. So that means you’ll be a mute for the rest of your life doesn’t it?”

John had just about enough of the insults: “You know what I fucking mean. And if you don’t shut your fucking mouth now you won’t be saying another word for a week.”

His acquaintance shrugged the previous remark off as an idle threat: “Oh. Is that right big man? Is that a promise?”

“Yeah. It is.”

They went face-to-face when the door opened. Not many people would want to walk into a situation like this, particularly when your name is Lharn Huscroft and you’re alone: “Hello. I haven’t interrupted anything have I?”

Typically, The Real Deal was making a reference to sex as opposed to violence but the behemoth convinced him that this was real. Very real: “No. You’re just in time to see me make mince meat of Michael.”

“Eh? Wait a minute. Have I missed something here? What the fuck’s going on?”

“Stay out of the way Huscroft,” Michael murmured in an authoritative manner.

However, as usual, he did not listen and as he tried to step in between the two murderers he caught an excruciating elbow in the eye courtesy of the Kokomo Colossus, which caught him cold.

There was no longer any hindrance or anything holding the two friends back from knocking the nitrogenous waste out of one another but Keegan’s stepsibling decided to help Carrahar’s companion and noticed that the Newcastle native was indeed out for the count.

As the former Fighting Zone Champion stood over Lharn, who had once overcame the intimidating specimen, he growled at his assistant: “Look at what you’ve done. Get me some fucking water now.”

“Excuse me? What I’ve done? You fucking laid the faggot out.”

Anyway, after arguing with Willis, D’Alessandro did have a bottle of water at the ready and handed it to the toothless skyscraper who poured it over the Englishman, who almost produced liquid of his own if you know what I mean after being awoken in an impromptu fashion for him.

John and Michael then helped Huscroft up and gave him a drink of, yes, water to cool off and regain his senses.

In the past, they would never have let Lharn get in their way.

Notwithstanding, a one-time common nemesis of theirs had brought the bickering duo back together again in unusual circumstances.

“Becoming nothing more… than the thing they have feared to be the most. A mirrored image of 21st Wrestling, and what it has become at best… which remarkably came at the hands of the Asylum. That realization is a joke in itself.” The narrator paused as he chuckled to himself… the longer he waited to speak again, the more suspense he built up.

“So who is the blame from what has become of the once all mighty tA? Who could be at fault for the blood splattering; swirling and twisting of air… that the Asylum’s downward spiral has created? I’ll tell you, but not now. Soon enough, just wait. Wait while you think back and ponder with all the honesty in your black heart. Could you ever picture this place, that at one time was the personification of greed, hate and evil intentions? Now is lucky enough, to be a described by any word that even resembles the three previously mentioned. As I opened my eyes and took a good look around; I am disgusted by what has become of the Asylum.. but in that same moment smirking, knew that it was bound to happen.” Laughter broke the silence again, “You brought it on yourself tA.. now it’s time to pay the consequences for your lack of action.”

”Can’t you all feel tA’s lack of a heart beat. How it slowly rises before going back down; and staying there without a fight. Once filled with the greatest fighting competitors the world has ever seen.. I would think that fighting would be the only thing that tA knew. Eager for physical combat rather than preparing for the psychological onslaught.
Raising up a fist for the impending battle at blazing speed, when a tA fighter and I use that term loosely.. would lift his body up at that same quickness, off of the blood stained canvas before the ten count. If fighting was the only thing you knew tA; wouldn’t you fight to preserve the reputation you fought to keep. Killing off a fucking sorry ass wrestling promotion; that couldn’t keep up with other ‘wrestling’ federations… so what would make them think during that moment in time, 21w could destroy the ‘great’ tA?

Better yet, why would you… the Asylum waste your time to face them? Did you need their exposure? Were you tried of killing and raping the pride of your own men… was it time to move onto fresher fuck meat? Spreading their preverbal legs as you stuck in your wicked cock roughly, to get pleasure from their pain. But in the end; weren’t you the one that got really fucked over? I would think that you would learn from your mistakes… but I can’t say that I pay much attention to the past either.” He pulled a cigarette from his pocket; placing it in between his fat lips. Flicking his lighter on seconds later as he inhaled the nicotine.

“Now that I am in the Asylum; you can’t fuck up. I won’t let you ruin the glorious precognitions, that have swam around in this mind… If tA dies. The reoccurring dreams of me standing in the middle the Asylum’s dome structure; raising the tA championship over my head as my victim laid at my feet… their mind, body and soul fluctuating in between warm life and cold, hard death. Their existence meaning nothing until they were chosen by destiny to hand the title over, into my good hands. Like the women of this world; especially in the Asylum… their existence and place is only significant, if it leads to a greater purpose. They should be ridiculed and tortured again; believing that no hiding place is safe enough for them in tA, as they cringe terribly in fear… realizing that their death is the only way out. Especially one woman in particular who has disappointed me to the greatest extent possible; appearing to save the day for Joe Campbell in his darkness hour… but continues to hide in the shadows, while I await for their challenge in the blinding light.” The narrator inhaled the cigarette again; it could be seen burning up in the shadows were he hid… blowing the smoke upward, while his face stayed hidden. But everyone knew who he was.

“Do you really think that you can hide and hold that title forever, without defending it as challengers await for your return? Just because your name describes most of fighters in the Asylum; doesn’t make you their savior or god… especially not mine. Dodging bullets as if you were Superman and arising from your crypt; when most presumed you were a corpse, doesn’t make you special. It doesn’t make you the one to beat in the Asylum. All it does is keep you in the same situation and position, where you have always been held… like a troll under the watery bridge. The taunted outsider; the unwanted enigma… as people pointed their fingers at you, laughing at the big red headed freak. The Asylum should just present me with the strap; so I can be the one to start the new revolution. The Black title in the hands of the best black athlete, in the entire world of competition. But I doubt that would seriously happen. They don’t make good fucking partners; so I doubt that the Asylum makes the right fucking decision either… placing the title where it rightfully belongs. Because this is exactly why the Asylum is in this position; our champions are anything but championship material. But talking about these pieces of garbage, is a waste of time… I don’t need to further mention them; like you need to hear their names, then try to figure out and determine who I am talking about. What makes tA any different from a watered down wrestling promotion? Why do outsiders of the Asylum think it’s so fucking great, that they want to be a part of all this? You should agree with every word I said thus far. People here in tA already do as well... if they admit it or not.”

“Tell me though; why do you want to sell your soul to be inside this version of hell?

Is it all the black guys that fight and look the same?

Is it all the supposed metal case outcasts, that have been accepted back into society by the Asylum?

Is it all the women who suck and fuck their way to the top behind the scenes; and your begging for a piece of them, yourselves?

Or is it the men that work desperately to make you believe; that in your heart… they have the desire and will to win, to be the tA champion? And you think that you can accomplish my goal easily.” He shook his head in disbelief taking another smoke break.

“Those individuals will always fail and stay failures in the end… when it is all said and done. And history again is rewritten in tA. Like our ugly blue and blonde messy haired friend Mr. Token Weed. The biggest failure in tA’s history. Only holding one title during his entire tenure; and you expect him to climb to the very top of tA’s mountain. How foolish and naive your are.”

Our narrator reached to his right side as he pulled up a large chain. It lead into the dark corner of the room as he began to tug on it… seconds later; a women in an all black leather suit, with spiked collar crawled his way. Her erotic body language begged to be caressed. The heaving bosoms wrapped in leather; the luscious dick sucking lips she possessed… and not to mention; the long tightly tied burgundy pony tail, looked liked like a whip that belonged to a dominatrix. The total package for seduction. She licked on his leg as he grabbed her hair; pulling her in close… before pushing her back with excessive force, changing his intentions.

”Don’t you agree with what I said?” He flicked the ashes from his smoke in her direction as it landed on her face. She smiled and rubbed on his leg, “Of course I agree. I agree with everything you say. You know that I belong to you, and will obey your every command…” He rose his hand up; as if he was going to strike, to stop her groveling in mid sentence.

”Of course you agree Isis. You wouldn’t have it any other way. That’s what slaves are for. Just like the Asylum will find out very soon; it will become my playground… That neighborhood rapist that awaits for you to let your guard down… before he quickly strikes down upon you. That unknown, shadowy predator over your shoulder… that you fear will one day, make you his next victim. But I am sorry to inform you; that day is slowly approaching, but why tell you about it… when you can wait and judge for yourselves.

Cuz only god can be the one to judge me of my sins.”

Osyrus pulled Isis in close as he bit her top lip angrily as he kissed her.

"I didn't need your help," Chester spewed matter-of-factly. Minio scoffed and shook his head.

"Are you kidding me? You woulda got murdered if I didn't come out."

"No! There's where you're wrong, Frank! Have you ever heard of 'selling'? It's a wrestling term..."

"Wrestling's for pussies," Frank interjected.

"Agreed, but the point of 'selling' is making your opponent's attacks seem more horrible than they really are. I took some stiff shots, yeah, but I wanted Cheno to think I was dying. It's all about strategy; have you not heard of that term, either?"

"Hey, watch it." Frank commanded firmly.

"I'm sorry, but I really think you screwed up my chance tonight, to be honest."

Frank sighed.

"We're here to clean up the Asylum, Frank. Have we done that yet? Dont--don't answer, because I know you'd be lying if you said yes."

"Just give it time, Chester--"

"I'm running out of time. We're turning into a joke, Frank. Can't you see that? No belts, No impact, and No respect. That just about sums it up for us, wouldn't you think?"

Of course, Minio shook his head.

"Oh well. That's what I think. We're too clustered out there; we're trying all these 2-on-1's when we don't even need it. We're all the cream of the fighting crop. We should be out there spreading out and taking out bigger numbers."

"Maybe so." Frank said as he stood up and smiled. He didn't mind Ramis' input, but he hurt too much to take his words to heart. He patted Ramis on his shoulder, and left the room.

"See you next week."

SCREAM

It was instant as Token Weed emerged from the back. His grimmace was all powering as he continued down to the cage making it a point to get into the cage as quickly as possible. Token stood silently for a moment as he let the chears die down.

"STEVE CHRIST, TY HUGHES, GET THE FUCK OUT HERE!" Token shouted as the curtains rustled for a moment as Hughes and Christ stepped forth. The two stood silently as the title was stretched across. Token glared up.

"Weed, what the fuUK was EON about!" Hughes shouted into a microphone as Token Weed looked directly up at the two. Token sat silently as he stroked his goatee, he looked up at Hughes and Christ and cracked a sick and twisted grin.

"So, you want to know what the fuck that was all about? How about this one for you two ignorant fucks. Who's the one who did all the work to get Kinkade to step into that fucking cage? Who was the one who busted his ass for weeks and in that match beat the fucking hell out of Kinkade only to get screwed out of that piece of gold both of you are holding." Token paused for a moment as Christ brought the microphone to his lips. Token quickly silenced him by talking again.

"Fuck you Steve, I will fuck with Steve Christ all I fucking want. Why? Because YOU cant do shit all about what I do. You cant step up to me in this fucking cage, I'll fucking kill you in here Steve. So shut the fuck up right now." Token once again paused, this time Christ went to take off for the cage but Hughes grabbed Steve and held him back.

"Where were you two at when The Red Army marched on in and tried to change everything about the place we've all worked for, for almost two years? WHAT DID YOU DO? You walked out to that Soviet National Anthem, you didn't get into the cage and make an attempt to fucking stop it! You sat on your fucking asses, you both are fucking pussies, scared of pain.....

YOU TWO DONT EVEN DESERVE TO HOLD THAT FUCKING TITLE!" Weed shouted at the top of his lungs, he stood silently in the cage taunting the two on by waving his arms in the air. Christ and Hughes stood silent still as Weed brought the microphone to his mouth.

"What? The little boys too scared to come into a mans world? Where were you two on the 10th? At home licking your wounds? I had to sit backstage and wait on you two to actually SHOW up to a fucking show. So anyway ya fuckin cunts, here's the deal. Severed, one more round of violence between the two of you.... and myself. In the cage, three way, the Asylum title on the line. We'll make it seem a bit familiar to you two cunts. We'll put it on a fucking hook, and you two cunts can try to climb a ladder." Hughes and Christ nodded their heads to this idea, as Token smiled.

"And Hughes, just for you buddy, lets cover the fucking cage walls in barbwire. Maybe this time crucifying your ass will work, since Brian had to take my idea maybe I'll just crucify you upside down this time. Who knows?" Token said grinning as Hughes and Christ both discussed this at the top of the ramp.

"You got it Weed, you fucking got it" Christ said as he dropped the microphone and walked off behind the curtain as Hughes followed. Token stood silent, his fists clenched as "Halo" by Soil kicked up.

This would be a war.