They're right.

Until a few weeks ago, the previous statement would have not only sounded ridiculous, but extremely bold and brave as well, before Universal was declared the new percentage shareholder of the Asylum, a number of people on the roster... including Joe Campbell, would have happily smacked him about the head with the nearest heavy object.

The same could be said for Exxa, but he too was now immune... the Stranglehold were free to roam at will, the Asylum was theirs now... it could be whatever they wanted it to be.

"Look at you gay boys, thick as fucking thieves... what are you discussing, who's going to be potting brown tonight?"

Exxa and Universal scowled... standing before them, Joe Campbell... looking scruffy and generally pissed off as usual, they might have been in control... but Joe was as stubborn as anyone.

"Ah Joe." Universal sighed "If only we could spare these unpleasantries... if you must know, my associate and I were actually discussing you, and were on our way to meet you right now."

Joe sneered.

"So what the fuck do you want, you pair of queers?" He shot back, irking them both again.

Exxa stepped forward fists clenched, but Universal placed a hand on his chest and shoved him back.

"We were actually reviewing you as it goes, given your generallu tardy appearence and lackluster effort with your job lately, we were thinking of giving you a week or two off, take a break... chill out, afterall... you can wander around drunk in your underwear at home, and lest we forget... last weeks show was hailed as one of the best in Asylum history, not bad for my first week in the job."

Joe scowled.

"Fuck you prick... this place runs itself, don't even try to form the illusion that you hold any ground here... Asylum is an animal mate, a tame one mind... problem is wanker, I'm the one that tamed it... and it's still vicious, it'll rip you to bits on my command."

Universal smiled.

"Ah Joe, it's nice to see that you still have that optimism about you... however, you forget that Stranglehold too is an animal, but it isn't tamed as the Asylum is... it's still wild, free thinking... and in control, the forces are being added too every week my man... we only get stronger, and with the recent addition of Noah 'Junkie 5403' Hawkins, I think that tha Stranglehold grip only continues to tighten Joe, and considering that you have nothing better to do than walk around with... excrement... trailing from your boot, I'd say that gives us a heavy advantage."

Joe scoffed.

"Just answer me one question prick... what are you breathing right now?" Joe said with a worrying smirk.

Universal raised his eyebrow and looked to Exxa.

"Air." He replied folding his arms "Now what is your point?"

"Can you see it?" Joe laughed.

"What?" Universal replied, puzzled.

"I said... can you see it, cloth ears." Joe chuckled again.

"Well of course not." Universal snarled.

"Exactly faggot... just because you can't see it... doesn't mean that it isn't there, that should answer any questions pertaining to my efforts, don't think that you're the only fucker around here that can build an army." Joe said, the arrogant smile still on his face.

Universal scowled again... Joe turned to walk away, but Universal spun him around by the shoulder.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Universal roared.

"Oh you'll see Chrissy... you and your little arse wrangler here will find out in good time."
Joe threw Chris' arm aside and walked away... but Universal shouted down the corridor at him as he turned the corner.

"No asshole! You'll see... and it won't be in good time... it'll be tonight! Because someone is on their way right now you bastard... and believe me, if we're talking about building armies, it's time for you to meet the general!"

Joe stopped for a second, the brash smile on his face slipped back into a sneer... as he left Universal and Exxa Decimal to continue their discussion.

The voice echoed throughout the dark loading dock. The security guard at the door remained stoic and unmoving. Darren flicked off the large man. He had been denied ene for the third week in a row, and it was getting to him. He spit on the guard, who still didn’t flinch, only laughing at the pathetic nature of the man in front of him. Darren walked away slowly, the streetlamps casting the shadow of the building over him.

The obsidian haired twin looked the same as always. The bloodshot eyes, partially shaven chin, pair of black pants, and the navy hooded sweatshirt. His hair was visible, coming through the hood. His eyes red like the blood that ran through his veins. He pulled a bottle of No-Doz from his pocket. Downing six pills, he continued to walk away from the venue.

His hotel was nearby, but he didn’t enter. Instead he did what he always did. Found a diner and ordered a mug of coffee. It wasn’t even habit anymore. It had surpassed routine. It was more than just a repetitive life; it was a way of life. A method of living, surviving, and fighting the urge to end it all. It had gotten harder lately. Roxy had ventured to New York, leaving Darren for a new job opportunity. She was a musician, she went where work took her, but it didn’t make him happy.

Nothing made him happy anymore. His life was dismal, his existence limited. Cut off from his lover. Cut off from his brother. Cut off from the dream. That which had been his greatest pain was now stripped away. One would expect a happy reaction, maybe relief or joy. Ironically enough it was nothing of the sort. The thing that taunted him most was the thing he found creating the void within his soul.

Darren felt alone in the world. The hot coffee burned his mouth, but he was so numb he didn’t feel it. He didn’t know when he last slept. Sleep wasn’t anything without the dream. It was just wasted time, there was no need for it. So he stayed awake, forever. Unmoving, uncaring, the world betraying him.

Yet soon, Darren would sleep again, and experience something unlike everything else.

But he didn’t know this. All he knew was that he hated everything he was. So Darren fell into his own thoughts, his own mind, and his own emptiness. Feeling it all because he was awake.

Awake. Always Awake.

Miles Blunder walked down the hallway as he approached his locker room door. After you lost and lost and lost again, night in, and night out, there was nothing to dwell upon.

You just went through the motions and took them as is, praying that one day... maybe one day, things could be different.

And after a loss to Steve Christ for the Extreme Championship last week... ‘The Germ Gestapo’ would give anything, anything to have one more shot at a Title again. He knew that was the key, and the only key... to actually getting somewhere in this world.
Blunder walked in the locker room, seeing his roommate in Faith standing there across the way. She looked up and grinned... it was a somewhat evil grin, but she meant it, too. She was happy to see Miles Blunder... and although the kid took out his Windex bottle, ready to shoot her if she came any closer, Faith spoke.

“Miles.”

“Wha- what?”

“I’m giving you a present tonight.”

Blunder looked up and raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah. You see, since Nicole Carson got some revenge on me throughout last week’s Show, I’ve decided to better her.”

Miles set his gym bag down on the floor, not taking his eyes off of Faith.

“I’ve got you a shot at facing her tonight.” Faith grinned, however Blunder did nothing of the sort. “And since you failed to beat Steve Christ last week... -I could tell you were nervous- I got you Nicole Carson for the UK Title too.”

His wish: granted.

Right then, right there... for he had gotten what he wanted.

Another Title Match.

Another shot to prove himself.

And to think he thought he was going to have to wait years upon years for it again.

‘The Germ Gestapo’ smiled weakly, before he actually dropped his arm which pointed the Windex bottle at Faith. He walked over to her... he walked to her close. He stared his colored eyes into hers...

She grinned, evilly again.

Smack.

The Fans booed as Miles Blunder had smashed her in the side of the head.

Then, picking up his left hand, he sprayed her with the Windex. “NO!!” Miles screamed. “NO NO NO NO NO!!”

Throwing Faith into the wall, he backtracked into the table behind him, as he stopped... trying to calm his nervous down.

Give the Match to anyone else, and they would’ve been Faith’s best friend. Give the Match to the subconscious, nervous freak in ‘The Germ Gestapo’... and he’ll hate you even more.

Storming out of the locker room, Blunder couldn’t help but kick the side of the wall. He didn’t want his Title Match. Dammit, he wasn’t ready for it!

And as Faith still laid motionless on the floor, to the dislike from some of the Fans... The Show, went elsewhere.

In this world, it's where anything and everything happened. It's function was as important as breathing is to life. The elixir that was fighting, so to speak. Today would be no different.

Challenges made, fights planned, justice sought. Just like any other Sunday on the Asylum's fabled "Show". To say that this was a place to get away from the world's troubles was a lie. It was somewhere people went go to cause more anguish. As if they didn't do a good enough job of that inside the Asylum, itself. If you were looking to make friends back here, you were better off begging for a job with the FWO. This was as hostile a work environment as one would find anywhere.

And things would only get worse from here.

The security entrance doors to the arena opened as two men; that the fans had become very familiar with; made their way in. Except today they didn't quite look like themselves.

Something about them was... different. Perhaps it was the fact that each man had "hot" property fastened to their waists. Maybe it was the way they were proudly showing them off as if they had held the belts for the past five months instead of the two men that the belts had been stolen from. No, that wasn't it, it was something else. Maybe it was the unusual change in attire?

Bingo.

egg NOG had discarded his usual black, lightning covered shorts for underwear-like tights.

On the crotch a large "G" in old English. He had a knee brace that he didn't even need on his left leg. He hands were taped and he had large black elbow pads. And the kicker: hair that was usual short and unkempt, was now long and pulled back in a pony tail. Needless to say, he looked like a certain WWE Superstar, perhaps...

Triple H?

And if egg NOG wasn't enough, cHEESE would surely rub you the wrong way. Granted he still had the usual ring attire on, he now wore a long white bath robe that had "The Natch" written poorly in sharpie on the back. He, too, was wearing the stolen Team title belt, yet his had "x1" in duct tape on the medallion. He walked in a strut, poorly done as well.

cHEESE and egg NOG walked up to the buffet table set up in the back and looked over the food that lay before them. As they did that, an Asylum staffer walked up to them and tapped egg NOG on the shoulder.

"Excuse me, egg NOG, but you're late. Mr. Universal doesn't like that. He running a tight ship and doesn't like his fighters showing up late." He checked some things off the paper on his clipboard as egg NOG turned to face the staff member. He got right in the face of the man and snarled. Only to stop.

"Oh yeah!" egg NOG said reaching into cHEESE's robe pocket and pulling out a large, plastic nose and putting it on, and slipping back into character.

"Listen here." egg NOG grunted, jabbing his finger into the man's chest. "I don't know who the hell you think you are, but you're not my boss. Got it? If Titan...*"

The man cut in, "Universal."

"Whatever. If he wants to complain to me about being late, tell him that's his problem. I am the Game and I'm that damn good!"

cHEESE whispered into NOG's ear. "Uh, egg NOG, that made no sense." He suddenly smiled and gave egg NOG two thumbs up. "Perfect!"

egg NOG took a step back and patted his title belt. "I'm the DWE World Heavyweight Champion. I make the rules, only so I can break them and them make some more new ones and then I'll just break those on top of that!"

The man scratched his head in confusion. "I, uh... right, So I'm really not sure where I should go with this, other than Mr. Ti... Universal wants to talk to you."

cHEESE moved egg NOG out of the way and got right in the man's face.

"WOO!!! CHRIS!!! WOOOO!!! BY GOD!!! UNIVERSAL!!! WOOOOOO!!! CAN JUST GET IN LINE LIKE THE REST OF 'EM!!! WOOOOOO!!!"

cHEESE shoved the man out of his way and strutted along as he and egg NOG started down the hall, leaving the staffer in a state of total confusion. As they left, egg NOG leaned over toward his partner.

"Dude, get in right in the future, it's not 'egg NOG', it's 'Triple G'."

"Right. Sorry."

Nicole Carson(c) Vs ‘The Germ Gestapo’ Miles Blunder
(U.K. Title)

First played “The Other Man” by Sloan. The Fans booed as the “man that could seemingly backstab anyone with that Windex bottle when they didn’t see it coming, yet couldn’t do a damn thing when he entered the Asylum cage”, walked down the ramp. However, once he took a good step or two out... the Fans stopped their booing.

They changed it with laughter.

Miles Blunder happened to be wearing a big, see-through garbage bag across his entire body. He snarled at the Crowd, as they all just pointed and laughed. His hands shook, in fact, his whole body did. Because as he entered the Asylum cage, he wanted to just drop dead and die.

Another girl he was going to fight.

And this time in Nicole Carson.

DVD was hard enough for him at the Pay-Per-View.

And now...

“The Blood, the Sweat, the Tears” by MachineHead.

This.

Carson came out wearing the UK Championship around her waist. She looked determined.

She looked confident. She looked like a Champion.

Miles looked at his garbage bag that he wore.

Yep... this wasn’t going to last long at all.

Handing the Title to the Referee as she entered, Carson ran at Miles Blunder with a right hand.

Smack. It caught him.

The Fans just stayed silent, really. They hated Nicole Carson, and they hated Miles Blunder.

Any man that could pick on the defenseless like a Referee, Crew Member, or even attack a surprised Faith, wasn’t worthy of any pity.

Carson tossed Blunder into the mesh, as Miles tried to get his arms up to hit something... but wearing that big giant garbage bag... he couldn’t.

‘The Devil’s Due’.

It was already over.

Picking Miles up, she drilled him with the ‘Morality’, as ‘The Germ Gestapo’ screamed frantically to signal he was giving up. Surprised by seeing this, the Referee turned around and called for the bell. Miles Blunder fell to the floor, only to have Nicole pick him back up and throw him out of the cage.

Carson took her Title, as “The Blood, the Sweat, the Tears” began again.

Most of the Fans got up and left their seats just then.

Yep... quick indeed.

Whether that loyalty was forced, bought, or earned, it didn't matter.

"Now, I know I've got a lot on my mind right now." Campbell sneered. "Which means I need you guys to have your eyes and ears open." Hans nodded in agreement as Maxwell simply lit a cigarette in response. Campbell didn't even give either of them a glance, looking directly at Eddie's placement. "What that means young stoner, is that I'm asking you of something."

Cheno tiled his head to his side and raised his eyebrows. "I want you to quit the marijuana."

Cheno's head jerked back and his eyebrows constrained and raised once again. He was taken aback at least.

"You do understand me, right? That stuff hasn't rotted your brain fully?" Campbell waved his hand in front of Eddie's face. "No more hemp, no more ganja, no more happy plant, no more bloody Hershey's smoke-terrific weed, you got me?" Cheno shook his head from side to side, not in refusal but realizing what he had to do.

Cheno tried to make out a few words but nothing came out. It was almost like a dry heave.

Cheno instead just shook his head once up and down in acknowledgement. He needed his job.

"Good boy." Joe said, talking down to the Mexican stoner. You almost expected him to pat his head. "For your reward Eddie, this week you've got Steve Christ in an Extreme title fight."

The crowd popped huge. "Now go make me proud."

Eddie's eyes narrowed before he cracked his fingers and quietly left. Hans Krueger was quick to chime in once the door slammed behind him.

"Ze stoner Joe, how can you trust him?" Hans said. "After all ze zings we did to him. Ze lying and ze deceiving. Ze backstabbin'." Hans rubbed his chin. "Won't ze freak just do ze same zings back?"

Campbell shook his head. "That's what the plan's for Hans. And when the plans finished, he'll be a very powerful ally."

"Powerful?" Hans laughed. "I'll believe it when I zee it."

Hans quietly left the locker room area. Campbell stared at Maxwell.

"And you're looking at what?" Ian said, before Joe simply shrugged and returned to his work.

"Hey Lotus." egg NOG said with a wink and smile.

She glanced at her audience and went back to her kicks.

She grunted as she threw a roundhouse kick that cleared the boxes with ease. "What the hell do you want?"

egg NOG closed in on Lotus as he extended his arms in peace. "I'm just a lowly wisher-well that's come to wish you luck in our match tonight, that's all. Nothing more."

Lotus looked at egg NOG with doubts to his comment as she stopped her practice session and whipped her forehead off with a towel.

"Is that so?" Lotus asked as she walked up to the confident egg NOG, "you and me in a match, huh?"

She threw the towel at him so it landed on his face. He pulled it off and chuckled. "You would be correct. Big man's orders... that big man being me of course, since I just happen to be the franchise player in the company."

Lotus tried to hold back the laughter, covering her face with her hand. "That's... that's great to know." She said, a little laughter escaping with the comment.

"Yeah, I think it is. And it just so happens that you and I we be partaking in a 'title unification' match."

"What?!" Lotus shot out in surprise. "What the hell title have you got?!"

NOG grinned as cHEESE laid his stolen title over his shoulder. egg NOG pulled it off and held it up for Lotus to see.

He replied, "this," pointing to the DWE sticker that was now covering the Asylum Fuckhead logo. "It's the Dairytown Wrestling Entertainment Championship. Bar none, the most coveted title in the business today. Bigger than any piece of hardware you might be showcasing."

Lotus blurted out in laughter. "That's cute. Real cute."

"Laugh all you want," egg NOG said pointing to her title belt laying on top of the production boxes, "fact of the matter is after tonight, that belt is being unified with the DWE Title. Why? Because I am the game, and I am just that damn GOOD."

egg NOG snarled as he stepped past Lotus and continued down the hall. Lotus smirked as she watched him walk off, she turned back to see cHEESE still standing there.

She asked him, "well?"

"WOOO!!!" cHEESE screamed, before strutting after egg NOG.

Lotus stood there as cHEESE disappeared and shook her head in disbelief.

The false happiness in Chris Universal’s voice was condescending in tone. Business relationships were to start on a high note, but this one was pushing below low E. The smile staring back at “Dave” settled uneasily in the pit of his stomach.

Chris extended his hand. Devoid approached the white wooden desk and looked down toward the hand. For a moment, there was an uneasiness between the two. Devoid put out his hand and shook slowly. “My name’s not Dave.”

“What should I call you, then?” Universal asked with a look of confusion. Devoid shook his head and smiled sarcastically. Universal sighed and leaned back in his plush leather chair. Piles of random papers remained before him, scattered across the desk. No one spoke a word, but neither desired the silence.

Universal shifted uneasily in his seat. “I assume you have a general idea as to why you’ve been brought here tonight.”

“Actually, I don’t have a clue. All I know is I received two backstage passes, and now I’m here,” Devoid said.

Universal looked over toward the papers and grabbed one of them. He turned it around so it faced the adjacent man. With a curious look, Devoid pulled the papers toward him and mulled over the contract.

He snickered. “I guess this number is a bit more than the other members of the roster are making. I mean, I hear things about the yearly paychecks.”

“Listen, if you were on the side of Joe Campbell, there’s no way you would have wrecked him the way you did. I’ve seen the way you fight in previous organizations. I saw the way you fought tonight. Come join me and the rest of the Stranglehold.”

Devoid smiled. “This is quite a lot more than Campbell was paying me. I’ll sign.”

The statement seemed very nonchalant. Universal was too excited to notice what was going on. As soon as Devoid outlined his signature on the line, Chris laughed. “Welcome to my Asylum. Welcome to my Stranglehold.”

“This contract states I’m a member of the Asylum. This contract states that I’m making an obscene amount of money to fight no more than one match a week unless I request otherwise. This contract DOES NOT state that I have to listen to some uptight fuckwad with fucked up facial hair.”

Universal fumed. Pale turned red. His face contorted into a previously unseen anger. “You’re fir-“

“Do you read your own contracts? It says I can’t be fired for two years. It’s going to be a fun time working together. Oh, and that whole ‘touch a Stranglehold member, you lose your job’ thing? Yeah, I’m not liking that. Keep your people away from me.”

As Devoid stepped away from the desk, Universal leaned over. “I will kick your ass myself.”

“Listen. I’ll be willing to put my contract on the line. You beat me with no outside interference, I’m gone. I win, you shave off that stupid goatee. Deal?”

Universal was far too angry to agree or disagree. He wiped his forearm across the desk and tried to form words, but the incomprehensible grunts meant nothing. Devoid walked out of the room to a vision of Exxa Decimal and Villam Ender staring each other down.

Eventually, Exxa turned around and bumped shoulders with Devoid. “Nice cross, Jesus freak.”

Before Decimal could swing or retort, Villam Ender and Devoid walked off. “I thought you only cared about the money?”

Devoid looked toward the ceiling. “I’d rather work under the drunken idiot than the stuck-up rich has-been with an army of useless freaks.”

Things were falling into place.

It was a wooden door, not especially very big, not especially that thick. It was the door that led to the parking lot of the arena.

Was being the keyword, before it was kicked down. Right off of its hinges.

"Fucking door." spat a figure clad in a black leather jacket and red leather pants. It was Daniel Phillips, whose mere presence brought about a small amount of cheers from the crowd that watched him from the AsylumTron. "You must learn to open when the King of the Cruiserweights walks the fuck in, you got me?"

Daniel spat upon the door, as one of the backstage attendants decided to get the balls to actually walk up to the bastard that had declared himself as royalty, and bug him about the act that he had just performed.

"Uh, sir... sir? That was arena property you just destroyed, and..."

Daniel interrupted with a wave of his hand in front of the attendant, as well as a sneer on his face. He looked at this short, chubby fellow who had a resemblence to David Crockett, like he was the stupidest motherfucker on the planet.

This motherfucker had just violated two of the many fundamental laws of Daniel Phillips: 1) "Don't fucking piss me off" and 2) "Don't be fucking fat while you're pissing me off."
They say that a book exists, but these are just rumors.

"EXCUSE ME, you stupid bastard, but I don't think you heard about who the fuck I am. I am Daniel Phillips! Daniel goddamned Phillips. Now, I'm sorry if the god-awful size of your belly has gotten in the way of your fucking judgement, but in case you haven't figured out, I'm the big fish in this absurdly small pond they call the Asylum, now." Phillips yelled out, angrilly.

"But..." started the attendant, but Daniel interrupted him with a kick right in the bollocks. Predictably, the man doubled over in pain, getting down on his knees.

"See, now that's what you should've done when you cast your eyes upon me," Daniel said, squatting down next to the man he had just booted, "You should have bowed down. You should have seen my greatness as the King, and bowed the fuck down. That's the problem with you Asylum types."

He stood up, and spat upon the attendant.

"You just don't know when to bow to your superiors."

With that, he turned and walked in another direction.

Lotus (c) Vs Triple G (DWE c)

"Muhahahaha."

The words of "The Game", as sang by Motörhead, rang through the arena as more than forty-thousand Asylum faithful rose to their feet and booed. As the arena went dark, an array of flashing lights consumed the Asylumtron and stage as a lone figure strolled out and paused inside a column of flashing lights. Strapped firmly around his waist was his pride and joy.

Though it wasn't truly his, he loved it all the same. His head was lowered as he placed his hand over the logo of the company he was here to represent.

Dairytown Wrestling Entertainment.

He raised his head as he started for the Asylum. Taking the bottle of water in his left head, he poured most of the contents over his head, soaking the long, blonde wig fixed to head. His head leaned back as some of the water fell into his mouth. He shook his head free of most of the water as he leaped up on the apron of the Asylum and turned back to face the crowd.

Taking one last drink from the bottle, he threw in into the crowd and leaned forward, bringing his tapped hands down into tight fists. He quickly threw his arms into the air as he spit the water into the air. He looked to the crowd and screamed, only to turn and kick the gate of the Asylum open.

"The Game" died. Wu Tang's "Triumph" started in it's place.

Fitting.

Lotus appeared under the Asylumtron. A crowd that would normally boo her felt that cheers were more appropriate in this situation. Her title rest on her right shoulder. Her silk, black hair covered most of her face, but the contempt was still evident on her face.

She had been mocked. She had been insulted. She had been doubted.

She would kill.

The title belt was shifted from her shoulder to her hand as she slowly walked down to the cage. She wouldn't rush into this, no matter how anger she felt towards her opponent. She looked down at her Women's Championship and then to the man in the cage. She smirked as she took the title belt and threw it into the cage, landing several feet away from him. He looked down at the crumpled title belt and smiled. She took her time as she walked up the stairs and stepped into the Asylum. She started to walk towards him, but with each step each she took, he took two more away from her. Lotus stopped in the middle of the Asylum just as egg NOG bumped into the rim of the Asylum. He looked over at the cold, exposed floor below. He turned back to check on Lotus, and he turned just in time...

To be met with a jumping back kick that connected squarely with his jaw.

egg NOG was taken off his feet and almost fell out of the Asylum. Somehow, he managed to control his fall and fell back inside the Asylum.

Much to the pleasure of Lotus. And the dismay of himself.

Lotus wasted little time as she connected on two, firm kicks. One to egg NOG's ribs, that send a loud pop out over the arena, and another to jaw that had egg NOG wincing in pain.

She tried for a second kick to egg NOG's face, but he managed to catch her foot and trip her off her feet. egg NOG started his offensive attack as he mounted Lotus and drove a right hook to her face.

Followed by a left.

Then a right.

And another left.

Once more, a right.

egg NOG tried another left cross, but Lotus blocked the attack, kneed egg NOG in the groin and flipped him off her. She kipped back up to her feet as NOG got to a knee and then back on both feet. The two circled each other, waiting for the other to attack first. Lotus came at egg NOG with a roundhouse that he easily avoided, but Lotus followed with a spin kick that the prone egg NOG couldn't avoid in time. Her foot crashed into the side of his face and he fell hard against the mat, a trail of blood trickled down his face, starting just above his eye.

NOG inspected the cut with his forefinger before wiping the blood off on the mat. He got to a knee, but Lotus was ready and drove her knee into egg NOG's nose, putting him on his back once again.

She screamed for him to get back to his feet. He tried to shake off her attacks as he rolled onto his side and then onto his knee. Lotus was still screaming for him to stand when he exploded from his kneeling position and tackled Lotus to the mat. NOG pulled her off the mat by her hair and elbowed her in the face. He followed with a kick to the stomach that caused her to double over. He shoved her head between he legs and locked her arms behind her back. He was going for a Pedigree.

Blocked.

Lotus managed to slip free before he could pull her second arm up and punched him in the groin. He cried out as he fell to both knees, she smirked as she drop-kicked him in the face.

Tiger Grip.

Lotus had the Sharpshooter variation locked in tight. egg NOG tried to escape, but he had no where to go. Lotus arched back, applying more pressure to egg NOG's spine. Finally egg NOG managed to grab Lotus's foot and tripped her up, forcing her to release the hold. egg NOG hobbled around on one good leg as he charged Lotus and connected on a jumping knee strike. Lotus went down. egg NOG went down, landing on his leg awkwardly. As egg NOG clutched his knee, Lotus was back on her feet and reading another offensive attack.

She grabbed a handful of egg NOG's wig and pulled him back to his feet. Lotus went for a palm strike, but egg NOG managed to duck and hit a neck breaker on the Women's champion.

egg NOG slowed the pace of the match down some by locking a sleeper in on Lotus. She struggled to break the hold, but egg NOG had it locked in tight. As Lotus slipped out of reality, egg NOG broke the hold to allow for a ten count. He got to his feet and celebrated his would-be win. Even turning his back on her in the middle of his celebration.

His mistake.

Blossom.

It happened in the blink of an eye. Before anyone knew it, egg NOG wasn't moving, he was lying in a small pool of his own blood and the ten count had started.

1...

2...

3...

4...

egg NOG stirred.

5...

6...

7...

He pulled himself towards the fencing.

8...

9...

Wanting nothing more to do with Lotus, egg NOG rolled out of the Asylum and fell to onto the floor below. The bell sounded as Lotus was awarded the cheapened win. She became infuriated that egg NOG had taken the easy way out and robbed her of a KO win. He didn't care, he grabbed his title belts and fled up the ramp, looking over his shoulder to make sure Lotus wasn't trying to follow him.

"Triumph" blared as Lotus was handed her Women's title. She looked disgusted as she opened the gate to the Asylum and walked backstage.

“fuUK?”

A distant “fuUK?” was heard from the crowd in attendance watching the opening of the “discussion” between Ty Hughes and Steve Christ. Hughes had walked into Christ’s locker room just to make 100% sure that booking the match with Campbell and Universal and hitting him up side the head with a steel bat had got the match booked for Manhunt.

“I mean, it’s an open fucking challenge match. You say you wanna fight...we fight, I beat the shit out of you. Pretty fucking simple Hughes, but no...you go round, asking for the match backstage, then ya hit me round the head like that’s gonna accomplish anything except pissing me off. Now instead of kicking your ass for the hell of it, I get to enjoy the reven...”

“Shut up.”

This time a ‘Whoo’ rose from the crowd as Hughes had now made an entire conversation out of trademark quotes.

“Christ, I chose you to be my debut fight, cuz at the moment you’re the biggest fucking test. I can’t even say it’s the Inmate any more, cuz I had the guy beaten and tapping out at Immortals..."

Christ began fake coughing and holding his windpipe.

Mock choking. Hughes glared at him, but continued.

"...but you. You’re on one fucker of a winning streak, and extreme rules makes it just that little bit more dangerous.”

“You’re boring me Hughes. What the fuck are you, the disembodied voice of Kevin Arnold's childhood memories?”

“Fuck you Christ, you think you’re so fucking high and mighty, last time we fought you got Knocked the Fuck Out with your dick hanging out your trousers. Remember that Christ? Remember busting your load over Lotus?”

“Your point?”

Hughes was mildly stunned by this, not only were the crowd now cheering that memory, in favour of Steve, but Christ was proud of his actions, truly providing a moment for the 2002 highlight reel.

“My point, is you're’ nothing but a fuckwit who’s gonna be losing that belt at Manhunt.”

“Hughes, I don’t care, and “you’re nothing but a fuckwit” sure as fuck can’t make me.”
The crowd was roaring as the intensity between the two rose, and catchphrases started spilling out of the argument.

“Fuck you Christ, I’ll fucking see you at Manhunt… cunt.”

“Yeah, but Hughes, you got a while to wait and in the meantime I got some friendly advise for you. Get some reading done. More specifically the Book of Extreme's 11th Commandment: thou shalt not fuck with Steve Christ!"

Christ shoved his way past Hughes with the belt in hand and went to meet the next challenger. The last 7 words resounding around the arena as the cult-like crowd cheered on their hero, in the form of the Third Coming. Christ had got the upper hand this week, but then that wasn’t really important. All that mattered was the match at Manhunt. A match that was ready to take it to the next level.

egg NOG looked at cHEESE's reflection over his shoulder in the mirror. Concerned for his safety, he asked, "it's not?"

"BY GOD!!! WOOO!!! NO IT'S NOT, MA BOY!!! WOOO!!! I GOT YA A TV TITLE MATCH TA BOOT!!! WOO!!! YA CAN'T LOSE!!! THE MAN'S A CRACKHEAD!!! WOO!!!"

cHEESE strut around some more, raising four fingers in the air and then strutting even more.
"And you're sure that I can't lose?" egg NOG asked.

"WOOO!!! I'M AS SURE ABOUT THIS AS I AM A LEGEND!!! WOOO!!!"

egg NOG shrugged the comment off as he went back to caring for his eye. cHEESE went back to what he did best.

Strutting.

Well, not completely alone.

“That bitch Nerva is gonna tear you a new one,” grumbled Mr. Bojangles, Dawn’s faceless teddy bear. He sat against the door, light beaming underneath on either side of him. “You couldn’t be more fucked if you tried. What the Hell are you doing over there?”

Dawn was shrouded in darkness. “Nothing.”

“C’mon Dawn,” chided Mr. Bojangles. “If you can’t tell a stuffed toy, who can you tell? You’re not diddling yourself over there, are you?”

“No.”

“Good. I’d hate to have to choke on the stink of your she-funk in this closet.” The bear sighed. “I could use a cigarette.”

“You’re a toy. You can’t smoke.” A light flickered in the corner of the room that Dawn sat in.

“Damn it!”
“Hey, what are you doing?” asked the toy.

The flickering light reappeared. “I’m just burning some hair.”

“For what?”

Dawn yanked a lock of her hair out with a painful tug. She held the strands over the flame of her lighter, letting it sizzle and smolder. “Because I want to smoke. That okay with you?”

“What do I know? I’m just a toy.”

“Good.” The hair glowed and flickered out. Darkness replaced the light, the stench of burned hair filled the small room. The silence was thicker than the smoke. “Do you think she’ll be the one?”

“Hard to say,” Mr. Bojangles told Dawn. “She’s hurt, nowhere near what she used to be.”
Dawn’s hand brushed the cold surface of the mask she wore. “There’s a lot of that going around these days.”

“Bullshit. I say turn your negative into a positive. There’s nothing more dangerous that someone with nothing to lose. You’re a freak now. A disgusting freak. You think anyone cares if you live or die?”

“Nobody.”

Mr. Bojangles sounded pleased. “Well there you go. At worst, you win your match. At best, you get mangled and killed. Win-win.”

The bear was pulled into the darkness. “I’d better put you somewhere safe. There’s no telling if I’ll be able to take you home after the match.”

“Works for me,” Mr. Bojangles said in the blackness. “The less I have to see you, the better.”

That was the sound of the second door being kicked open, though this one wasn't unhinged.

However, the same man that had done the deed of kicking down a door, previously, Daniel Phillips. Obviously, the only person that had been in the room that was behind the door that had just been kicked down, Chris Universal, was quite startled at this turn of events.

Then he got really angry.

"What in the HELL!?"

In walked Daniel Phillips, as he smirked at Chris Universal, took a seat on one of Chris's nice, cushy seats, and put his feet on his desk.

"What is the meaning of this?!" Universal demanded. "What is with you just barging in uninvited!?"

Daniel continued to smirk at Universal, and laughed at him. "I suppose everyone else is asking the same thing of you, Christopher. After all, was it not you that decided to disrupt things around here by marching in on your high horse and your gaggle of sexually deprived half-wits and claim your place as Mister Sixty Per-fucking-cent?"

"I own this place, now, Phillips. Do you have a problem with that?"

Daniel's face formed a frown, and he took his feet off of Universal's desk. He leaned forward at Universal.

"Yes."

Cheering from the crowd could be heard in the background, since the fans were watching this on the AsylumTron.

"Don't get me wrong, Christopher. I don't like the Asylum. Never have. Never will. To me, it's a shithole infested by a bunch of maggots that couldn't make it in wrestling." Phillips said. "But you, no, you're below them. Campbell, as much of a fucking moron he is, he knew what he was doing with this place when he started it.

You?

You're just a rich kid with a hard-on for dangerous toys, Christopher.

There's a saying for people like you, you know.

If you play with fire, you get burned."

Universal looked irate, but Daniel simply smirked at him again, and decided to add something to his statement, "Ah, yes. You aren't that bright, are you? What with your stupid-assed goatee and that horrible, horrible atrocity that is your hair. Richie Rich couldn't buy a decent fucking haircut?

Sorry, perhaps I should've simplified it for you.

Pretty light make big boo-boo."

That did it.

Universal slammed his finger down on the intercom, "SECURI--"

He didn't get too far, because Daniel swept the intercom system off of the desk. Universal jumped to his feet and stared into the hazel eyes of the man that had simply walked into his office and essentially had given him the finger.

"You! How dare you just come in here and act high and mighty! Who the hell do you think you are?"

Daniel's smirk rose to a slight smile.

"Didn't they send a memo or something? I'm the King of the Cruiserweights," Daniel said, "Let me educate you on something, Christopher. Back in the medieval days, before the political bullshit that you are so fond of, the kings were recognized as being of divine mandate. Their power is handed to them by the gods themselves.

Last I checked, you're just a pansy with a green dollar symbol on his chest."

There was a pause.

"Now, Christopher, I'm going to give you the opportunity to pay me back for all I've said."

Universal cocked his head to a side in confusion, "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. I want a match, tonight. Against anyone you damn well want. But I'll only do it if you make it a one-on-one. With no interference of any kind. What do you say?"

Universal would've said "no". He would have. But at this point, Universal was so god damned annoyed by this annoying prick that he'd have done anything to simply get rid of him.

"Ruben. You're facing Ruben." Universal said. "Now, get out of my sight before I have security throw you out."

Phillips threw him a quick smirk, before he finally left Universal's office.

Thank god.

Nerva Vs Dawn Van Dammage

“Unified” by Biohazard hit the speakers. The roar of the crowd came. Nerva took a quick drink from a bottle of water and gave it to a backstage worker. She slipped on her gloves and pushed past the curtains, nearly getting blinded by the cameras flashing. She was fresh off a loss to Nicole Carson last week, but the fans still cheered her. For some reason, they hadn’t given up hope on her. They still believed in her.

Nerva entered the cage and pumped a fist in the air. Her music began to fade out and “Bullets” by Creed replaced it.

The crowd was shocked when Dawn stepped out on the stage. Her once-beautiful face was covered with a skeleton mask and her breasts looked smaller. She walked down the aisle as some fans were cheering. Most of them didn’t know what to do when they saw her. She swung the cage door open and came in. Nerva waited for Dawn with her hands on her knees. The bell sounded.

Both women began circling. Nerva taunted Dawn with a few leg fakes. Dawn came in heavy with an elbow swing, but Nerva leaned back and countered with a roundhouse kick to the ribs. Nerva went for a high roundhouse kick, but Dawn blocked it and kneed Nerva in the gut. Dawn clasped both her hands behind Nerva’s neck and delivered more knees to the rib and chest areas, creating sympathetic groans from the crowd.

Dawn cornered Nerva and kept kneeing. If it kept going this way, the match would be hers. Nerva found the presence of mind to grab hold of Dawn’s legs and take her down with the lift and drop. They rolled around on the mat, jockeying for the mount position. Male fans cheered, as it resembled a toned down version of lesbian sex. Both women got up still grabbing one another, and Nerva scored another lift and drop takedown, this time letting go of Dawn completely.

While on the ground, Dawn delivered a hard kick to Nerva’s thigh. She got to her feet while delivering an uppercut to Nerva’s chin. She delivered two sloppy roundhouse kicks to Nerva’s thighs, keeping her hands down. As she went for a third roundhouse to the body, Nerva leaped in the air and caught Dawn with a jumping back kick to the chin. Dawn staggered back, allowing Nerva to step forward and spin kick her in the mask. Dawn fell.

Nerva bounced about as Dawn looked to the ground shaking her head. Dawn got to one knee at five and got back to a vertical base at seven. She started closing in on Nerva. Nerva held her fists up and sunk into a lower stance. She retreated to the side while roundhouse kicking Dawn in the arm. Dawn immediately responded with a Dragon’s Tail, slamming her shin right into Nerva’s temple. Nerva fell. Dawn kept stomping at Nerva until the referee pulled her off.

At five, Nerva got up, shaking the cobwebs off. She came toward Dawn and aimed a roundhouse to the shin, but quickly brought it up and got her right in the back of the head. The kick was quick and crisp with a stinging snap back. Nerva got behind Dawn quickly and got her in a waist lock. Dawn reversed the situation and then German suplexed Nerva to the mat. Dawn immediately rushed forward and slapped on a cross arm bar.

Nerva kicked around in a circle and managed to escape. As Dawn tried getting up, Nerva drove the heel of her foot into Dawn’s face. Dawn rolled away and got up with help from the cage. Seeing Nerva close in, Dawn extended her arm and smacked her with a back fist. She followed it up with a kick to the thigh, and then smashed her elbow across Nerva’s jaw. The crowd was cheering the violence. Dawn drove a knee into Nerva’s gut, but failed to see a vicious uppercut coming.

Dawn’s head whipped back from the impact. Nerva started taking shots at various parts of Dawn’s body, weakening everything down. She had not taken a shot from Dawn to the kidneys yet, so she felt in pretty good shape. She was ready to take this match. Dawn began to weaken from the body punches and started to double over. She wasn’t even blocking. Nerva front snap kicked Dawn’s head back up, and then hit the Double Touch. The crowd cheered, as they hadn’t seen that move in a while.

The ref was about to start his count until someone came running down the aisle.

Lotus.

The fans started booing the Women’s Champion heavily. Lotus had a red axe in her hand - a symbol that once illustrated Nerva’s dominance in the Asylum. Despite pleas from the referee, Lotus came into the cage and pushed him aside. She smiled at Nerva and then got to one knee, extending the axe to Nerva with her palms up.

“Finish her,” said Lotus. “She’s yours. Be who you were.”

Nerva took the axe out of her hands and jammed the butt end into Lotus’s forehead. Blood began to seep out Lotus’s forehead as she fell back. Nerva whipped the axe up the aisle and threw Lotus out of the cage. The crowd roared loudly in appreciation.

However, Dawn came from behind and kicked her hard in the kidneys. That was the breaking point. Nerva fell to her knees, nearly in tears from the impact. Dawn locked her arms around Nerva’s waist and dropped with the ever-deadly backdrop driver, tagged as the Heaven Opener. The crowd went silent as Nerva fell into a crumpled heap. The ref didn’t even count, instead waving his hands in the air and calling for the end.

Dawn’s music resurfaced over the speakers. The ref raised Dawn’s hand in victory, but she pulled it away and left the cage to the back.

Nerva couldn’t fight anymore. With the throbbing pain in Nerva’s kidneys and the effects of the backdrop driver, Lotus was fighting a dummy. Lotus grabbed Nerva by the hair again and dragged her out of the cage and up the aisle. When they got backstage, Lotus punched and kicked at Nerva. She grabbed Nerva’s top and pulled her into her locker room, nearly tearing the fabric.

Lotus folded up a chair, smacked Nerva in the kidneys with it, unfolded it, and sat Nerva down in it. “You disgust me!” said Lotus. “How much of yourself have you forgotten, Nerva? HOW MUCH?”

Nerva spat in Lotus’s face, causing Lotus to smack her repeatedly. Lotus kicked Nerva in the face to silence her and then pulled out a videocassette from her bag. She popped it into the VCR and hit play.

The small TV showed Nerva dominating Tyler ‘Hypnosis’ Hughes at the Turmoil PPV back in May. She finished him off with a deadly combination of axe kicks and a Double Touch.

From behind Lotus wrapped an arm around Nerva’s throat. “Look at what you were. That very woman was whom I worshiped. I gave my life and soul to her. And you, you’re supposed to be this woman? I am supposed to worship someone as pathetic as you? You didn’t even have the guts to finish Dawn off, and that’s why you lost!”

Fueled by anger, Nerva got up and pushed Lotus back against the lockers. “You are why I lost. I had that fucking match won. You had no business out there!”

Lotus drove her knee into Nerva’s kidney. Nerva arched her back from the impact, allowing Lotus shove Nerva’s face into the ground.

“If you’ve forgotten who you were,” said Lotus, “maybe I should remind you next week. I’m going to fight Dawn Van Dammage and put my Women’s Title on the line. You’d better be watching close, because I’m going to beat her badly. Everything I learned from you, you’ll see next week. You’ll see you.”

As a grand finale, Lotus grabbed Nerva by the hair and sent her headfirst through the TV set.

Daniel Phillips Vs Ruben Ross

The fans were confused, but some recognized the theme. They recognized it as the theme of the self-proclaimed "King of the Cruiserweights". The theme of Daniel Phillips. Normally, his presence would bring about the booing of the crowd. However, he was, oddly enough, met with the cheering of the crowd.

Even Daniel, himself, was taken aback by this.

He walked down to the Asylum cage, with an odd little smirk on his face. He didn't even remember the last time he was welcomed to an arena, but he should have known that a man that was full of hate and anger would be welcomed by Asylum fans. They cherished hate.

They cherished anger. And most importantly, they cherished a man like Daniel Phillips.

"Serve the Servants" by Nirvana.

Green pyro streamed from the celing, as Ruben Ross simply talked out to the ring, looking very hungry for some souls to eat.

The crowd were in a "BOO HISS ANGER DISCONTENT" type of mood.

To Ruben Ross, Daniel's claims as the "King of the Cruiserweights" was, of course, utter bullshit. Daniel Phillips was lucky to be referred to as the "Peasant of the Cruiserweights" and in the same time zone as Ross. He wasn't a former two-time fWo Cruiserweight champion, a former three-time fWo Internet champion, and certainly not a former fWo World champion.

He was a nobody.

And it was Ruben Ross's accepted role to shut him the fuck up.

He entered the Asylum cage.

He stared down Daniel Phillips, and gave him a "I WILL EAT YOUR SOUL, MOTHERFUCKER~!" look. Daniel, on the other hand, shot him a "I WILL FUCK YOU THE FUCK UP, MOTHERFUCKER~!" look.

It's good to see good friends about to kill each other. Except, of course, that the friends part is completely false.

Daniel and Ruben circled each other, not taking their eyes off of one another.

Then something happened to kickstart the fight. Namely, Ross gathered up his saliva and spat it at Phillips. It smattered against Daniel's chest as Ross stood there laughing hysterically at him, pausing only to flip the newcomer the bird. Phillips' was a mask of anger, but he brushed the spittle off, and attacked Ross.

D'oh.

Ross quickly side-stepped Phillips and delivered a drop-toe hold. "DTH, you ignorant fucks! Now THAT'S wrestling!" The Asylum fans were not pleased. And Daniel Phillips was about to reach his breaking point. He ran back for Ross, who quickly snapped him over with a huracanrana. "Can I get some motherfucking competition? Oh, of course I can't, I'm the best in the world." Ross did a little dance in place as Daniel drew himself to his feet. "Just jump out of the ring, you dumb shit!" Ross yelled at him. "It'll be easier!"

Daniel Phillips believed in only one thing: HIS way. He shook his head, and charged Ross again. With a roll of the eyes, Ross sidestepped him and looked out at the crowd, disbeliving his opponent was a fucking BLAM.

He wasn't a fucking BLAM, of course. Ross' overconfidence had merely turned him right into the path of a leg lariat, and the King was ready to fire. He landed a series of right handed punches to the face on Ross, then grabbed Ross' legs. Whatever submission he planned on going for was unsure, as Ruben contorted his body to avoid it.

So Phillips just opted to stop him in the nads. The crowd suddenly, voiciferously, had themselves a new favorite. So Phillips stomped Ross in the nads again. And again. And again again again again. "I'm the motherfucking KING, bitch!" screamed Phillips, turning around to scowl at the people.

Who were ready to anoint him. Phillips couldn't surpress a laugh at this turn of events, but went right back to work, hooking Ross up and dropping him quickly with a Russian legsweep. Lightning legdrop targeted the throat and was successful, then Phillips went for his new Inciter. The crowd began ovating, but it wouldn't last. Ross jerked his head up suddenly, delivering a modifed low blow that dropped Daniel to his knees. Hooking his arms around Phillips' waist, he quickly drove Phillips down with a snap release German suplex. Daniel landed hard, his body temporarily forming a perfect C before unfolding. Ross muttered some curses under his breath, before placing a boot on Phillips' face and spinning around with a boot scrape. He tossed Phillips into the mesh surroundings, and waited for the body to stagger back.

Phillips faced Ross, who hooked him up for a brainbuster. Phillips countered into a small package, and quickly rolled through the useless pinfall and hooked Ross's legs. Ross again tried to counter, so Phillips set to catapult him out of the Asylum. However, he suddenly got a brilliant idea.

He merely lifted Ross off the mat and began spinning.

GIANT SWIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!

Three revolutions beget four became five and then Phillips let go. He fell on his ass, and Ross went rocketing head first into the Asylum's cage rim, jamming verterbrae against the unforgiving lid. Down he fell in a heap to the general merriment of the tA viewer. Daniel threw his hands in the air as a sign of dominance as Ross slowly drew himself up and charged.

Phillips with the DTH.

Ross got up. Daniel hit a jumping enzuigiri on him, then dropkicked him in the side of the head. Ross was down, and Phillips hooked his arms--tiger suplex knocked Ross head-over-heels and out stomach-first. It was only after planning his next move that Phillips recognized the chant that was being yelled out at him:

LET'S GO NEW GUY! LET'S GO NEW GUY!

Phillips decided to go for a brainbuster, to further impact the neck and set up his Perfect Halo, but Ross floated over and delivered a reverse mat slam, leaving both men down. In the history of his career, there were four moves that the mere sight of caused his stomach to churn and his upper lip to automatically sneer. This was probably public enemy #1 on said list. It had ended his career. And Ross had to have known that.

Count: 5.

Count: 6.

Count: 7.

Ross, first up.

Count: broken. Phillips snapped up with a dropkick right to Ross' left knee, sending him back down. "You goddamn fucker!" Phillips brought up Ross, putting his legs over his arms and his arms over Ruben's legs. It was a modified pancake, the second Inciter, and he drove Ross down with it. But that wasn't going to be good enough, Daniel decided.

He rolled over and stood with Ross up on his shoulders. Quickly ejecting him, he put him back down with the old Inciter, the Blue Thunder powerbomb.

Ross' old Paint It Black.

He was down at the count of 4.

Still down at 5.

"It's OVER!" Phillips yelled, and the crowd was quick to back up their new hero whatever-his-name-was. Phil somebody.

Six and seven.

Ross rolled over to his stomach.

Eight.

Ross at his knees.

Nine.

Ross coming up.

Te...

Phillips kicked him in the gut, and hooked him close. Implant Cutter? He'd invented the son of a bitch, and this clown had stolen it from him. He was going to try to beat him with a move that'd retired him? Fuck that noise, he'd beat HIM with HIS move that he stole off him.

Ross went up, and Phillips turned his body.

Fuckbeans.

Ross slipped out of the grasp of Phillips and hit him with the Eye of the Hurricane, pissing off every Asylum fan beyond all recourse. Daniel, shaking off the insult, quickly charged.

Right into Ross thunderous left handed hook delivered directly to his genitalia.

Ross smirked at the audience, and said "NOW....." Brainbuster. He held on and rolled through, then up. Brainbuster. Another roll through, as he kept Phillips in the air British Bulldog-style this time. King of the Cruiserweights his black ass.

"Stranglehold, motherfuckers!"

Spinning. Delayed. Brainbuster.

Ross pantomimed the international "bring me the check" hand motion to the jeers of the audience, as Phillips looked like the newest victim of the Angel of Death, arms at his side, legs spread out, unconscious.

"4! 5! 6!"

Ross went to his side, and pretended sleeping. "7! 8!"

Ruben didn't see Phillips stagger up to his knees, then use the mesh to pull himself up as he heard the count of "9!" The New Guy was still alive, and tA reacted accordingly. Knowing he hadn't suddenly developed a respectful fanbase, Ross kipped up to his feet.

Daniel Phillips was waiting. More specifically, the boot out of nowhere was waiting.

That was one super kick.

Ross went down like he'd been shot in the face. Which he sort of had. Phillips was back down.

"5!"

"6!"

"7!"

He was holding the back of his head. He was groggy, disoriented.

And Daniel Phillips was standing two beats away from the biggest win of his career.

"9!" Ross was dazed and confused. Literally. He hadn't prepared for this level of fighting back at all, and it showed. His arms hung from his sides, completely defenseless. Phillips motioned toward himself as Ross was practically falling into his arms, and did so. Daniel thought about letting him drop but then decided on the sweetest revenge of them all.

He shrugged Ruben Ross on his shoulders, preparing a Tombstone.

Ross' legs kicked frenetically, hoping to avoid the inverted piledriver and deliver it himself. He reversed momentum, and set to dump Daniel Phillips on his head.

Daniel Phillips wasn't going out that easy.

He, too, knew how to avoid the move and moved his legs to the side, performing a psuedo cartwheel and re-establishing his dominance in this reversal tradeoff that had ensued. Ross brought his legs down as far as he could, executing a dropkick to the top of the head that barely hit Phillips enough to cause seperation. It had done it's job. But Phillips, seeing the Halo wasn't ready, was equipped with a backup plan.

He had the back of the head of Ross and prepared for his Spotlighter. An inverted Shiranui, all he needed was momentum and a high place from which to launch his assault upon the head. Phillips ran for the cage.

Ross saw an easy out, and was damn sure not above taking it. He pushed Phillips towards the edge and dropped back down to his knees in the Asylum itself. Phillips ribs smacked into the black leather, and his body tipped over. He held on to the mesh voraciously, his life preserver, once again using his leg strength to attempt to re-enter and finish the job.

Clutching his ribs, he kicked his legs like a little child swimming in a pool, with the hopes enough of his body weight would carry over so that he'd fall back in the Asylum.

Then it did.

The crowd roared with approval. That'd been a close one. Ross charged him with a leg lariat, and Phillips dropped to his knees. Part weakness, part strategy, and all good. Ross smacked into the mesh again, and hit the deck again. Phillips was ready for him now, shoddy ribs and all. Ross stood up, and got a kick to his midsection.

Phillips was going for the Implant Cutter and this time it would hit.

No, it wouldn't.

Ross shoved off and grabbed Phillips in a full nelson, going for his sit-out slam to buy more time. Phillips ran up the mesh, reversing the positioning and leaving Ross with nowhere to go unless he relinquished control. He wouldn't.

Phillips turned him face-down in his arms, and lifted him again.

Ross shoved Phillips into the mesh, smacking him into the black bar up top. The good news was that Ross hadn't pussied his way out into a ringout win. Phillips had hung on, and was prepared.

Except for the superkick. Who could blame him? Ross never threw a superkick a day in his wrestling life, and Daniel knew that. It wasn't exactly a well-kept trade secret.

It just so happened the first one he did sent Daniel Phillips over the black rim, over the mesh cage, and down to the floor.

Oh, fuck him!

"Serve The Servants" rang out once again as Ross fell to his knees, exhausted, spent. "No one can touch me!" screamed Ross as the referee raised his hand, only to fall flat on his face. He'd won. Stranglehold had won. That was all that mattered. Ross crawled out of the Asylum, giving a quick look to the still-groggy Phillips as he slowly staggered backstage, thankful to be done for the night.

As the music faded, the referee checked Daniel Phillips, and offered a helping hand.

Not Daniel's way. He shoved the referee, and with the help of the protective barrier dragged himself up with a look of anger and scorn on his face. "Downfall" resumed, and the crowd gave an appreciative hand to the Asylum newcomer as he, too, headed to the back, head up as much as the fight would allow.

Losses, no losses, Daniel Phillips was still royalty.

And it appeared to an outside observer he suddenly had a realm of willing subjects.

But no… He would handle it himself.

So he slept, and continued to sleep. Living in his world, as his body lacked nourishment and began to deteriorate. Daniel continued to have the visions. He saw the forthcoming evil, but could not identify it. He was too busy to worry about what was forthcoming anyway. He had too much to do. He had to deal with the nightmares, the fantasies, the erotic-thrillers. All the dreams that would come and go, he had to deal with them all.

They gave him answers that nobody else could. He forgot everything else in the world. He had no clue it was Sunday in what the others called “reality.” Time was eternal where he was. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was what was going on, not what wasn’t, or what would.

Havoc. Complete and utter havoc was the state of the dream. Daniel was handling it as it came at him as best he could, but even he had his limits. He was finding them faster and faster each day. He was attempting to maintain the wall, but it grew weaker and weaker with each passing hour. Soon it would be broken, and Daniel would find himself awake, collapsing with exhaustion and paralysis.

He would go to the hospital, and he would leave his world, and at that time it would all break down. Everything he had built would break again. All the rebuilding from the demon would cease. And the vision would occur.

It all would happen, and it would scare him. Scare him into the realization that he would be reunited soon. The vision of the future would be upon him and he would not deny the request of the other.

He would submit to the need, and attempt to take a stand against the evil. He would do these things before it was too late.

But it was already too late.

Providence(c) Vs egg NOG
(T.V. Title)

Of course, as a man dressed suspiciously like Triple H without his well-defined physique walks out, the crowd understands.

Walking down the aisle, egg NOG holds a bottle of water in each hand, alternately pouring water over his face and spitting it back out. As he reaches the cage, he tosses both bottles away and raises his stolen Team Title in the air as he spits up a big fountain of water. Some of the crowd continues booing, but most of them applaud egg NOG for the excellent impression.

A moment later, “Stinkfist” by Tool starts up, and the crowd turns to deafening boos as they look towards the entranceway.

The TV Champion Providence walks out from the back, dangling his title belt from his hand, the edge of which drags along the ground as he heads to the cage. Providence looks out at the crowd, watches the obscene gestures and hears the hated remarks, his eyes looking as dark as night.

As he reaches the cage, Providence hands off his belt to the official and stares over at egg NOG, whose forehead has a small cut just below the edge of his blonde wig. Providence leans back against the cage and watches his opponent for a moment, wondering what he might try first.

The bell rang, and the two men circled each other, neither man wanting to make the first mistake. Finally, Providence jabbed forward to lockup, but egg NOG used a high knee to double over his opponent. egg NOG grabbed Providence by the hair and began slamming him face first against the steel. Providence quickly fought back with a back elbow to the ribs that stunned egg NOG, and then followed that up with a clothesline to take down Trip-..er, egg NOG.

Providence brought egg NOG back up for more, but egg NOG blocked a right hand and followed with one of his own. Providence tried another right, but egg NOG blocked again and connected with a second of his own, then a third, and a fourth. With Providence staggered, egg NOG kicked him hard in the gut and then started to set up for the Pedigree...

But Providence was ready.

Dropping to one knee, Providence swung up with a devastating uppercut to the groin that sent egg NOG down to his knees. Back to his feet, Providence grabbed a steel chair from beside the cage and stood waiting for egg NOG to rise. Just as egg NOG started to get to his feet, Providence swung down, blasting him across the forehead with the chair. Providence repeated the shot two more times for good measure, as egg NOG lay flat in the middle of the cage for the official to count...

But egg NOG slowly managed to get to his feet before the count ended but not without a price. As he lifted his head up, the small cut was now a gash, the blood staining his blonde wig. Providence grabbed egg NOG and pulled him over to the side of the cage, leaning his head against the cage. Measuring him with the chair, Providence swung hard for egg NOG’s head to end it for all.

CRACK!

Unfortunately, that was the sound of chair meeting cage, not chair meeting skull.

egg NOG managed to move out of the way just in time, leaving Providence stunned. As Providence turned around to try for another swing, egg NOG grabbed him by the head and hit a facebuster to his knee that forced Providence to drop the chair. Again, Providence staggered backwards, holding his jaw in pain, as egg NOG stood a few feet away getting ready. As Providence turned around, egg NOG ran forward and hit a running high knee to Providence’s face that put him down.

“PED-I-GREE! PED-I-GREE!”

The crowd was chanting for it, and egg NOG was going to give them what they wanted. He pulled Providence up and started to set up the Pedigree once more.

Alas, Providence escaped a second time.

After backdropping out of the move, Providence quickly pounced on egg NOG, applying the dreaded “Cleansing,” his submission finisher. With nowhere to go and the blood pouring from his forehead, egg NOG tapped out, and the official called for the bell.

Providence surprisingly let go of the hold and quickly grabbed his belt, then took off immediately for the back. The official looked on surprised and then began tending to egg NOG in the cage.

Ah light, he thought. Reflecting off a giant knife.

Wait a second. Reflecting of off a giant knife?

“Shit!” Ruben Ross screamed as Biggs swung it downwards in stabbing motion. “Relax! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Ruben,” Biggs said jolting back as he dropped the knife. “Shit, I didn’t know it was you.“

“Riiight..and which part of me made you want to stab-stab-kill?” Biggs felt embarrassed. He reached over into his duffel bag and pulled out his boots, part of his fighting attire. Ruben walked over and smirked. “No seriously.” Ruben asked, some-what yet not really, concerned.

“What the hell?”

Biggs sighed. “Well, last week I was attacked. I’m a bit nervous.”

”Okay well, you’re six foot nine, three HUNDRED plus pounds? Who in the Asylum has the balls to try to attack you? The brooding Raven clone, ArchAngel? The six foot six stick, Steve ‘I’m a Virgin’ Christ? How about -“

“No, no. It was someone as big as me and he nearly slit my throat,” Biggs cut in. Ruben scratched his head. “I got this weird vibe,” he continued. “Just be careful Ross.”

Ruben laughed, “What’s to worry about? We run this two-bit piece of shit place and no one has the balls to step up against us.” Biggs gave a concerned look. “Don’t worry,” Ruben said as he slapped Stranglehold’s personal enforcer. “We’ll find the guy...and, of course, we’ll give him a good beating too.”

Ruben left but something still haunted Biggs.

“Don’t you think its time you went back to where you belong?” The skull-faced man said last Sunday…

…Biggs had a sinking feeling that he didn’t mean 21wrestling.

As the arena was engulfed once again by a flurry of colored lights, egg NOG came out, this time ignoring the ritual that his counterpart always partook in. He was angry, bitter, and for good reason. Twice he had been given a title shot, a chance for him to unify them with his "DWE Heavyweight Championship", and twice he failed to walk away with anything more than new cuts and bruises.

His blonde wig was now beet red from the blood he spilled in his fight with the addict known as Providence. A band-aid covered the cut over his eyebrow, a "gift" from Lotus. The tape on his hands was starting to come undone, his sweat dissolving any adhesives that might have been holding it against his skin to begin with. In his current state of rage, he stormed down to the cage and threw the gate open. Upon entry, the music had ceased playing and he had a microphone in hand, ready to begin work.

Before he said anything, he looked down at the title belt he held so dear. The sticker that covered the Asylum "fuckhead" logo was beginning to fall off and had spots of egg NOG's blood staining it. He unstrapped the title belt from his waist and threw it down in disgust. As the belt lay plate down on the Asylum floor, egg NOG pointed to it and snarled.

"I refuse to leave until I have unified that title!"

The anger in egg NOG's voice was obviously expected, however, hints of uncertainty and dejection were rearing their little heads with every word that he spoke. He was breaking down before everyone's eyes. It was only a matter of time before tears came out.

"WOOOOOOO!!!"

Before egg NOG even had a chance to continue his tirade. The music of the legendary Ric Flair was playing, signifying that "The Natch" would soon be joining egg NOG in the Asylum.

Sure enough as the fans attention shifted to just under the Asylumtron, cHEESE walked out with a microphone in hand.

"TRIPLE!!! WOOO!!! BY GOD!!! WOOO!!! BY GOD!!! G!!! WOOO!!!"

cHEESE thrust four fingers in the air as he strut around on the stage before turning back toward NOG.

"I FOUND SOMEONE!!! WOOO!!! THAT'S GONNA FIGHT YA!!! WOOO!!! HERE!!! TA-NIGHT!!! WOOOOO!!!"

"That's all good and well," egg NOG started, confused by his friend on stage, "but I don't know what the hell you're talking about."

"THAT'S GREAT!!! WOOO!!! BECAUSE I FOUND SOME TA FIGHT YA!!! WOO!!! FOR THE TITLE!!! WOOO!!! HERE TA-NIGHT!!! WOO!!!"

Fans cheered the stupidity of cHEESE as he strutted around once more.

"WELCOME TA DAIRY COUNTRY!!! WOOO!!!"

egg NOG raised a hand toward cHEESE as a look of concern appeared on his face. "Who am I supposed to be fighting? This wasn't part of the plan."

"WOO!!! IT'S A LONG STORY!!! WOOO!!! BUT I BUMPED INTO THEM AND WAS ALL 'WOOO!!!' AND THEY WERE ALL 'WOO!!!' AND THE REST JUST SORTED ITSELF OUT!!! WOO!!!"

cHEESE threw the microphone down and tore his robe off as he strutted around under the Asylumtron before racing over to the microphone and elbow dropping it several times in succession.

"Well, who is it?" egg NOG asked quizzically.

"O Fortuna".

No, it couldn't be. This had to be like the time they promised Marx and Carter and ended up with midgets instead. They don't have any stroke. No way they got him.

cHEESE disappeared behind the curtains as "O Fortuna" continued playing. Seconds later the curtain rustled as cHEESE walked back out, carrying a large dummy with him. Written across it's chest in large black letters was "The Dummy Boston Strangler... duh. Doesn't it look just like him? ;~)" around it's waist was a large cardboard cutout of a title belt that read: "eef Dubya oh~! Tag Team Championship". cHEESE carried the dummy down to the Asylum, before throwing it down at egg NOG's feet.

cHEESE pulled the microphone from his tights and screamed, "WOOO!!! KICK HIS ASS!!! WOOO!!! TRIPLE!!! WOOO!!! BY GOD!!! G!!! WOOO!!!"

egg NOG pulled the dummy off the canvas and quickly Pedigreed it. He rolled it over and pinned it as cHEESE counted the three. egg NOG ripped the title belt off the dummy's waist and held it high in the air. cHEESE and egg NOG began to celebrate the new title win as egg NOG unstrapped his title from his waist and began to rub his eff Dubya oh~! Tag Team Championship against his DWE World Heavyweight Championship. "The Game" began to play once again as cHEESE and egg NOG continued to celebrate the win.

The Show moved on.

For a moment, Providence just looked at the needle, marveling at the shine it possessed even after so many evil uses. The heroin seemed mystical, a whiteness whose darkness hid underneath only to be released at the perfect moment. He could get in a trance at times looking at it, wondering how it did its duty so well.

“OBJECTION!”

Providence looked to the door and once again saw LLB standing there, his eyes fixed upon Providence and the needle.

“Didn’t we have this discussion last week?” Providence asked with a sneer. “I don’t care what you think you are, but what I do is my own fucking business. You want to go around preaching, you picked the wrong profession.”

“I’m not here to preach,” LLB said sternly before narrowing his eyes. “I’m here to judge, and you, Providence have been found...

“GUILTY!”

Providence angrily set down the needle and headed towards the door, where LLB took a few steps forward as well. The two men stood mere inches apart, their eyes focused on the other, watching like a hawk. Providence remained silent, but LLB had more to say.

“You and I will meet inside that cage,” said ‘The Law’ as he looked into the TV Champion’s eyes and then down to the belt and back, “and you will be punished for your crimes.”

Neither man budged for a moment, each glaring at the other. Then, LLB slowly exited the room, leaving Providence to look back to the bench, where his needle sat next to his title belt.

Once again fans were booing. There were no special lights this time, instead cHEESE came out first, holding egg NOG's DWE Heavyweight title high in the air for all to see. Cardboard had been taped to it to make look even larger than before. He took the title and strummed it like Hulk Hogan as egg NOG followed behind him....

On a Lawn chair with four broom handles tied to it that was being held by four men in cloaks.
egg NOG had a crown slightly off center on his head as he waived to the fans. The group moved at a slow pace toward the Asylum as cHEESE, unknowingly, distanced himself from the pack.

That's when they struck.

As cHEESE started to climb into the Asylum, the two men in front of egg NOG flipped his "throne" over. They discarded their cloaks as they started to attack egg NOG. It was Drake and Clayton. It was obvious why they were here.

They wanted their belts.

Clayton took his cloak and wrapped it around egg NOG's throat as he tried to choke the life out of him. Drake destroyed the throne, smashing it against the ground and egg NOG.

cHEESE was oblivious to the happenings just a few dozen feet from where he was. As he turned to check for egg NOG, he saw them. Charging at him. And he shrieked. He tried to climb out of the Asylum, but it was too little, too late. Drake grabbed him and pulled him back in the Asylum. Grabbing a handful of hair, he threw cHEESE into the fence, as Clayton instructed his partner's actions. Drake raked cHEESE's face against the fence, cutting him wide open.

Clayton pulled his partner off cHEESE as he signaled the "Barely Legal". Drake nodded as he pulled cHEESE to a somewhat standing position and set him up for the powerbomb. As Drake drove cHEESE down with unimagined force, Clayton shot up the cage and leapt off, connecting with a stiff leg drop across the throat of the God of Wrestling/Fighting. Drake picked one of the title belts off the canvas as he ripped the cardboard off the belt and threw it as the semi-conscious cHEESE. Clayton unstrapped the belt off cHEESE as Drake exited the cage and exited the arena. Clayton followed his partner backstage, but not before stopping to spit on the motionless body of egg NOG.

Lonnie and YoGuRt passed Clayton on the stage as they checked on the two injured fighters. As EMTs came down to help, the Show moved on.

Steve Christ(c) Vs Eddie Cheno
(Extreme Title)

I'm gonna let it shine.

And it shined on the cageside entranceway, announcing the arrival. “The Third Coming... has arrived.”

"Heresy" by Nine Inch Nails followed suit to a cheering capacity crowd. Steve Christ walked out from the back holding his Extreme championship high, a smug look on his face and a gleam that would make the Frenchie proud. He was quick to get into the cage, and asked for a microphone just as quickly.

"There's one man in the back that I'm just waiting on to come down that aisle and walk into my motherfucking world. Into MY Heaven." Steve Christ raised his Extreme title back into the air. "Come and get it Cheno." Christ laid the belt on the Asylum canvas. "But to do it, to mother fucken beat me Cheno, You're gonna have to PRAY..."

The crowd tried to finish quickly with "TO YOUR GOD~!," but were cut off by the tune of "Smoke two Joints" by Sublime. Christ was agaffed in the ring at the gall of Cheno but quickly laid his microphone down on the canvas and outstretched his arms in awaiting invitation.

Stepping out from the back was Eddie Cheno, his hands raised and the bandage still cuddling the sore on his cheek. Sore is an understatement.

Cheno ran down to the ring and climbed the cage in showmanship, before dropping down onto the canvas and eyeing the Extreme champion. When exactly a moment had passed without the ringing of that familiar ring bell, each man charged forward.

Cheno went for a large right hook which Christ immediately ducked. Dropping behind Cheno, he reached up for a neck breaker drop. Eddie broke Steve's clutches, and spun himself around only to receive a kick to the crotch from Asylum's own demi-God. Cheno crumpled to the mat, kneeling before Christ in what looked to be a very symbolic position. This even amused Steve a bit, pointing to the fallen Cheno and looking down at his servant. That is, before Cheno retaliated in kind by low blowing Steve Christ.

Christ's face contorted in shock and pain before he himself stumbled to his knees. Both men staring at each other from a level playing field, Eddie was the first to act, thrusting his shoulder forward and tackling Christ to the mat. Immediately on top, Christ shielded himself with his forearms for every right hand Eddie tried to throw. A flurry came Steve's way, but none of them cracked his superb defenses. That is, until a wild punch by Cheno was caught in momentum of being swung. Christ used his momentum and Cheno's carefree desires to connect with something other than bone to wrestle out of his fallen position and tossed Cheno over in a small arm drag. Cheno fell hard to the mat and tried to retract his arm back, but Christ held on firm and caught him with a few stiff shots to the elbow.

He tried to make it bend the wrong way.

Cheno let out a silent cry and a mangled face before he retaliated in plan b. Plan b was a simple swift left hook to Christ's jaw. Steve dropped the bar and stumbled a small bit, shaking his head and clutching at his lip. He also had no balance from his sitting slash kneeling position and had to use a hand to balance himself. Taking this into consideration, Cheno let out for another right hand.

This one was just as wild, Steve ducked behind using the momentum gain his balance back.

While overtop of Eddie, Christ wrapped his arms around Cheno's midsection and literally lifted the stoner to his feet. Still with a waist lock in, Christ ducked his head under Cheno's left side. Steve jerked Cheno up even further, trying to take him over in a belly to back suplex, the fans roaring behind him, but with his head caught between Cheno's arm and Cheno's midsection, you could only expect the vice like position to be utilized to the former stoner's advantage. Cheno began to do just that, wrenching in a side headlock as Christ's face could be shown to be straining in what appeared to be discomfort. That all went away with one moment's worth of adrenaline. Christ fought through the vice and lifted Eddie up before dropping him on his head in his belly to back suplex. Christ didn't hold on for another however, too stunned to cinch his hands properly, rolled onto his stomach and tried to dazedly return to his feet.

1...Christ was pushing up from the canvas and shaking the cobwebs while Eddie was still far off from repeating this process.

2... Christ regained his footing entirely, now standing above the fallen Eddie Cheno and shaking his head from side to side. Eddie clutched the back of his head and neck before rolling onto his stomach.

3...Cheno slowly fought through the pain and slowly began to push himself up off the mat.

Christ saw that his attempts at a victory here were futile, so Steve walked over and gave Cheno one hell of a right hand to his bulls-eyed cheek patch. Cheno clutched at the fresh bandage that he knew would have to be changed after this fight and rolled onto his stomach once again, staring up at the lights.

Christ laid into Cheno's ribs with a swift soccer kick, turning the former stoner onto his stomach once again. Christ dove on top, looking to hook in a half-nelson, possibly setting up to pull Cheno to his feet and nail Save Yourself. Cheno wouldn't put his hands up, effectively blocking the half-nelson attempt, but Christ countered with a flurry of punches to the defenseless Cheno's skull. Right and left, each side of his head being hit like a pair of cymbals. Christ played Eddie's head like a percussionist.

Eddie cringed in pain as he could just feel the hole opening wider than it already was.

Placing his hand up to protect his wound, Christ latched on like a shark to a recently amaturely amputated man in the sea. Christ locked in one side in a half nelson, but Cheno leaned to his side and used his shoulder to toss Christ off his back. Christ landed on his tailbone before quickly getting to his feet. Christ looked for a right hand in a downward arch, but Cheno was quick to block and fire back. Cheno slammed two rights into Christ's gut, doubling him over, and Cheno eyed Christ with a wide glaze.

Clearin' da Funken Table.

Christ rocked backwards in what looked to be a cinematic shot. He landed back first on the Asylum mesh, almost teetering out of the cage walls. That shocked look on his face wasn't from the fact that he was hit with a fierce blow that may have given him a fat lip, but the look of shock was from his almost early departure in his Extreme title defense. Christ took his hand and rubbed it against his bottom lip, seeing if he could taste his own blood. When he realized he was good to go, Eddie was already ramming his shoulder into Christ's midsection and using his free hands to cheap shot him in the ribs. Christ, perched against the cage and sandwich, cringed with each blow and tried to elbow Eddie in the back. Thing was, every time Christ gained enough downward momentum, Cheno would cheap shot Christ in the back or the side with a blow that would send a sharp stabbing pain up his body and force him to slow his pursuit. Instead, Christ hooked Cheno in a side headlock, before kicking him square in the nuts. Eddie doubled over in pain for a second time from the blow, before Christ picked Eddie up onto his shoulders in a double underhook. After a slight delay, Christ dropped with vicious impact, all his weight and the weight of Cheno on the canvas.

Double Underhook Brainbuster.

Not one of Christ's moves that has deserved a name in the past, but still an effective maneuver no matter the situation. Cheno laid face up, the blood slowly dripping past the glue adhesive that once held his bandage so securely. Now, it bubbled with air and red ooze slowly seeped out and onto the Asylum canvas.

1... Christ felt as if he had the fight in hand. Cheno bleed. He didn't. Cheno was down, he wasn't.

2... Cheno wasn't moving, but he thought. He thought mostly about the pain he was in because when you have something shooting up and down your face like an electric shock, it's bound to be on your mind. What he also thought about was how he couldn't hide after the match how he normally did.

3... He couldn't press that sweet pipe against his large red lips and take a deep inhale.

4... He had to face reality. And the reality was, he was losing.

5... Christ stood awestruck as Cheno actually began to stir. Christ's hand touched the bottom of his lip this time in shock, and when he retracted he realized that Cheno's blow had caused him to bleed a small bit from his lip.

6... At the count of six, Cheno pushed himself to his knees and the referee began to believe that the match could continue. Unfortunately for Eddie, so did Steve. Christ called out for a chair and one was immediately handed to him. I mean, it is the Asylum. It is an Extreme match.

7... Cheno regained his footing to a standing/kneeled position. Christ took one look at the bloodied Cheno that stood before him and swung with all his might, the fans in attendance in silent horror/gratification for what was about to happen.

Cheno ducked to the side though, and Christ hit nothing but the Asylum mesh. Cheno turned to his wrestling background and drop toed Christ into the chair and the mesh, letting out a gasp from the crowd. Cheno rocked back to his feet, wobbling from side to side as he waited for Christ to get to his feet. Cheno lined Steve up, and when he turned around, Eddie went for it.

He went for the Needle Jab. Steve was too fresh, and immediately grabbed the foot in mid swing and tossed it to the side. Eddie began to slowly turn back around to face Steve front to front, but as he did, Steve went for his own side kick. Cheno was able to catch it even with some of his blood catching his eyes, and ducked behind the blow and Christ as a whole.

Kneeing Christ in the back, Cheno inverted side headlocked him, before driving him into the mat with an inverted face plant.

"Mother..." Steve cried before being dropped.

Bong Hit.

Right on the steel chair.

Christ's face bounced off the mat as Cheno let out a grunt of exhaustion. He got to his feet, shaking from side to side before grabbing the side of the steel mesh in order to hold himself up.

1... Steve Christ stayed down, the chair still wedged underneath his face and the bottom of the asylum mat. He almost looked like he was sleeping.

2... Eddie began to flair, unable to hold his own weight up anymore from what looks to be too much blood loss. Then again, when an injury like that can't heal itself, blood loss is going to become an issue in this sort of environment.

3... Steve began to regain his senses, and realized that he was down, the crowd was up, and the count was on. He began to push his way back up from the apron, but fell back down onto the chair due to lack of energy. A fan tried to hand him a power bar from the front row, but it fell into the cage and stayed there.

4... Cheno was almost as high as he could be. Lack of blood to the brain will do that. Maybe he could just bleed a lot for the rest of his life instead of using the dope. Maybe...

5... Christ pushed up once again, this time in a push up and placed his knees under his stomach.

6... Cheno used this as a sign. He looked over towards his side and a gleam caught his eye.

It wasn't Steve Christ's lack of a smile, it was the Extreme Championship lying on the cage floor.

7... Christ regained his footing, his eyes straining to the light and to regain their sense. Eddie Cheno had reached down and picked up the Extreme championship title belt and was charging.

Unlike Pro-wrestling, Steve didn't stand there and take it. Steve kicked Cheno square in the nuts once again, and then doubled him over. Steve locked in what looked to be a Dragon Sleeper and began to wrench the hold in further. Cheno gasped for breath as Steve's arm became blood soaked from Cheno's open wound. Steve yelled "MOTHERFUCKERRRRRR~!" before lifting the stoner to the air, and then dropped him onto the Extreme Championship belt.

Into the Void.

1... Christ regained his footing while shaking the blood off his arms. It was as if he had just washed himself in red water and was now shaking off the excess moisture.

2... Christ looked down to the Extreme title and picked it up from below the fallen Cheno's skull. The blood from Cheno's wound had began to drip onto it, but Christ didn't care as he held it up to the fans to a resounding cheer.

3... Eddie was still motionless in the ring. He hadn't moved an inch since the inverted brainbuster.

4... Steve walked to each side of the ring, yelling out "MOTHERFUCKERRRRRRR~!" while raising the title belt above his head.

5... Eddie Cheno began to stir, his chest moving up and down and his hands trying to shake the webs. Even if he could move, he wouldn't know how to at this point.

6... Eddie slowly began to push himself up from the floor but it was futile. Even the attempts seemed to shock both the crowd and even the champion himself, who was having what seemed to become a premature celebration.

7...Cheno fell back down to the mat, and Christ smiled once again, before raising the title up.

8... Christ looked over the fallen Eddie Cheno and seemed to tilt his head to the side in what might have been a sign of pity. It didn't last long as he simply stepped over his foe and turned to the other side of the cage.

9... At the count of nine, Eddie tried one more futile attempt to get to his feet.

And since it was futile, you already know what happened.

10.

Ian Maxwell came out from the backstage area to scoop up his "friend" like a spatula.
Steve Christ simply left. His job was completed. He was still champion. That's all that mattered.

The fans had started to leave, another Asylum Show had been and passed... but unlike most, the final match was not the end of this one.

"I'd sell
my soul
my self esteem a dollar at a time."

Lyrical content from "Magdalena" by A Perfect Circle had the crowd suddenly swiveling on the spot and returning to their seats, a red flashing strobe had already started pulsing through the arena as the rest of the song continued to play.

And that's when he appeared.

"My father wouldn't approve of this... not at all."

The crowd in the arena exploded with shock.

Ace Carter.

"But then... that son of a bitch isn't here to stop me..." he continued... slowly pacing down toward the Asylum with a slight limp in his stride, he certainly looked different to the Ace Carter that'd left 21wrestling a long time ago, the transition from boy to man had certainly been made, rugged stubble covered his chin... piercings looped through his nose and lips, and his hair was blood red in colour.

He slowly clambered up the steps and into the center of the Asylum, pacing around for a couple of seconds to gather his thoughts as the crowd bustled with activity... was this the general of which Universal had spoke?

"I'm the one... I'm the one that Universal was talking about."

Question answered.

"A few weeks ago, I thought I'd never return to this... no amount of money, no amount of benefits could pull me back to this profession, wild horses couldn't have dragged me here... that's what I would have told you." Ace began, brushing the hair from his face.

"But that was three weeks ago... before I recieved an offer that I'd previously put out of my mind because I thought it'd never be possible, never be plausible on my own in this...

... this place." Ace went on, looking disgusted at his surroundings.

"But then I got a call from Chris Universal... the irony was, he didn't promise me what I'm sure most of you expect that he did... there is no six figure sum here, in fact... there are no benefits, you see... I'm here for a greater reason than that, I greater reason than any of you can imagine, more important than my health, more significant than my bank account... and more important...

... than my life." Ace finished, lowering his head... suddenly, he reared it back... eyes wide, teeth clenched.

"REVENGE!" Ace roared at the top of his voice, as the crowd exploded with shock.

"Revenge on those who took it all away from me the first time! Those that came and destroyed my promotion... those that came and shattered my leg... and those that came and tore apart my career, my dreams, my life." Ace snarled... pacing quickly around the ring.

"All that you took Campbell, shall be taken back... I may never be back at 100% following my leg injury, but I can still fight... I can still throw a punch and as long as I can do that, I will never stop plaguing you... the time has come for my revenge Joe, now I'll do the shattering... I'll do the tearing." Ace sneered through clenched teeth, before rattling off one final statement that left the arena stunned.

"On your life be it Campbell... on your life be it!"

"Magdalena" hit again... and Ace Carter left as quickly as he had arrived... leaving an air of uncertainty in the air, something that was becoming a regularity...

... in the Asylum.