Today, Joe Campbell would do a little Carpe Diem of his own.

Joe Campbell scoffed at Chris Universal as he paced through what was formally his office door, Universal shot Campbell a glare and promptly folded his arms with an aura of defiance surrounding him.

"I won't sit down... because I'd like to make this quick too Joe, I'm busy plotting your downfall don't you know? No time for silly meetings." Universal replied with an arrogant smirk.

"Is that so monkey boy? Well then... I'd better just be on my way-WAIT... oh yeah! You don't own this fucking place anymore, so in being in my office... it's my duty to tell you to fuck off isn't it?"

Universal yawned.

"You look a little pasty today Joe... a little ill, or thin... have you eaten?" He said with a sly grin, the pretending to care act had long since been redundant.

"Yeah... I had some trifle..." Joe began, as Universal sighed to himself.

"... on Thursday."

Universal arched his eyebrows, he would've been more shocked but for an alcoholic like Joe, not eating for four days was considered to be greedy.

"Anyway cunt... I just wanted to talk to you because I know more than anyone that you are a betting man... took a bit of a gamble to get this place didn't you? Well I've got a nice little proposition if you fancy a flutter, because I'm getting tired of seeing your ugly mug around here every week, you're like a chocolate log that won't go down the fucking khazi, and I want you out."

Universal stroked his chin "Shoot."

"You and me at Persecution, best man wins and takes this place with him... loser fucks off out of here, deal?"

Universal grinned.

"DEAL!"

Joe scowled.

"Good... oh and before you go dick head, take a quick look around."

Universal surveyed the room before turning back to Joe with "What am I supposed to be looking at?"

"Nothing." Joe replied "I just want you to remember what this room looks like... because after Persecution, you aren't going to see it again."

Universal scowled.

"Might want to take a few deep breaths too." Joe said, smirking and scratching his bollocks.

"Why?" Universal sneered.

"Because after Persecution, you won't be doing much of that breathing stuff either... mohohoh, twat... what'll it be gay boy? Mahogany... bit of pine maybe? Never mind... I'll decide when the time comes I suppose, there's always cardboard... anyway, see you in a bit.

Twat." Joe said, busting out a chilling laugh as a concerned and uncomfortable Chris Universal turned and exited his office in a hurry.

"Have you been decadent enough?"

Villam calmly nodded in contemplation.

Wait, 'Villam calmly nodded in contemplation~!?

After what happened, Sunday!?

Yeah, right.

And without any further adieu Villam violently pushed one guards head in the door! The other swung downward with his nightstick -Villam grabbed it - punched him hard in the gut. Grabbing him by the back of the head, he sent him flying into one of the pillars on the underground parking lot~!

Villam's face turned towards the camera that watched what just took place. Joe probably had it there so that he could watch Villam's embarrassment at home. Or maybe he knew what Villam's reaction would be.

Either way.

Crack!

Fist into the camera lens.

Static.

The screams of the camera man still coming through on the audio.

Last week he promised revenge, and this week, he forced The San Francisco Connection to go out and get that.

Backstage at the Show, Jamal Wilson and Chino Hernandez hid in the shadows of a soda machine. Jamal was about to burst out giggling, and Chino was about to start crying. Jamal thought the entire situation was funny, and Chino thought it was scary. They both held aluminum baseball bats in their hands, and they waited patiently for Los Toros to appear.

After a few seconds of waiting, Jamal looked over to his manager, F.A.G, who was pocketing bread buns from the catering table.

“Cheap ass Jew,” Jamal muttered under his breath, offending thousands of people around the world.

“I heard that, you faggot!” Frank screamed at Jamal.

Jamal stepped out of the shadows and power walked to Frank, “I’m NOT GAY!” he screamed.

Before the two men could come to blows, Enrique Credibleno and Avo Chavez appeared and both wondered what was going on. Before they could say anything, Chino Hernandez swung for the fences and took down Avo Chavez with a vicious bat shot to the back of the neck. Chavez dropped down to carpeted floor as Jamal Wilson ran at Enrique and hit him in the gut with the bat.

When Enrique crouched over in pain, Jamal smashed the bat over the back of his neck violently.

Frank Allen Greenberg smiled, he was proud of his boys.

Chino Hernandez, winded after running a few feet, managed to mumble a few words out.

“We…did… it! Yayzzies!” Chino collapsed in fatigue as Jamal and Frank began to drag Enrique and Avo to their secret kidnapping location.

The fans jumped up and cheered. That chant can only mean the arrival of The Zone, they’ve learned that by now. See, that’s called conditioning rats. You teach them the same thing, week in and week out, they pick up… fuck the lecture.

“Just So You Know”, American Headcharge.

And it brought out the combined might of…

Keegan.

The Freak.

Oddball.

Tapestry.

Indeed, the fans were correct, it was exactly one half of The Zone. And not only that, they were tooled up. Tapestry carried a baseball bat, Keegan a sledgehammer, and The Freak… well, there was a glint of steel betwixt his deft fingers, a glittering switchblade.

The four clambered up the steps and hopped into the cage, each taking a corner of the cage to stand on as the music reached a climax and the four soldiers were left with the roar of the crowd in the background.

The newfound Urban Legend himself, The Freak, was the first man to take the microphone.

“Well, look at this would you. Last week I told Universal to remove his haggard, broken carcass from the Asylum and it seems that as of yet he has not done so. Last week I was rather tied up… with a certain genitalia-less World Champion, but this week I’m free to make your life rather agonizing. In fact, I’m sure that if I wasn’t busy with that shadow of his former self last week, that I’d have run you out of my residence already.

“It seems as though my employer in Joe Campbell has thrown down your final ultimatum at any rate, but I’m not quite contented with that. I don’t just want you out of here, I want to kill you.

“Kill you.

“Are you listening?

“I crave your blood to slick my hands, I crave your moans to haunt my dreams. I covet to use your scalp as my new mop-head. I want to pluck each and every bristle out of your porn-star beard. It’s what I was paid to do, and what the hell; I’m ardent about my job, so litigate me. I’m going to do what I was hired to do. I’m going to massacre you.

“Be staid, who’s going to impede me? Ruben Ross, mister Black Rights 2003? Noah Hawkins, the world’s most angsty teenager, the planet’s most disgruntled dramafag?”

Keegan then raised his microphone and began to speak in his rather thick Geordie accent. The fans took the time to decipher the words as he said them, of course.

“Bri, man, you’re forgetting my mate Garvin. He kicks arse he does. He’s lost to me twice in a row and he thinks he’s the dog’s bollocks in his magical Technicolor tights. And then there’s Biggs, a giant knobhead of a bloke that reckons his height is directly proportional to his dick. Well, I hear that a big dick will get you far where he is. PRISON. Um, can anyone say…

“Slap, slap, slap, slap, URGH!?”

The fans cheered, although admittedly it was a disgusted cheer to a rather dirty joke. But hey, you come to an Asylum Show, it’s part of the package.

Oddball took the microphone.

“So, here we are, in an arena full of FIGHTING fans, in a circular CAGE and on television being idolized my millions of would-be-rapists and ogled by millions of would-be-hoes. So, here we are, in front of an entire nation of fighting onlookers… and guess who’s backstage?

“A fucking wrestler. In fact, an entire stable of them. Well, newsflash, wrestlefags, you’re in the wrong arena. In fact, you shouldn’t even be in the arena. Only NON-VIRGINS are allowed here. I hear that there’s a nice slut parlour across the street from this place, so why don’t you fill up some cash bags with your infected, cum-stained sell-out-money, toddle over the brothel and ask for Melinda, and when she parts her legs revealing her over-used genitals you tell her Oddball sent you, yeah?”

As Oddball finished… a familiar tune hit the speakers.

“We’re In This Together Now”, Nine Inch Nails. And clad in his sparkling green, thousand-pound diamond-studded suit, was the man in question. The yellow-haired, awful-bearded porn-star monstrosity that was Chris Universal.

Complete with microphone and opposable thumb!

“Are you going to do this to me every week? Walk out her, verbally lash me with your awful accents and cuss words? Don’t you have anything better to do with your time, like, I don’t know. Mow some lawns? Help some old ladies cross the street?” Universal smirked.

The fans hurled trash at the ex-Asylum owner and chanted obscenities at him, but at this point, he’d grown accustomed to it. He didn’t even flinch. While in past weeks he would look appalled at his onlookers for their hostilities towards him, now he didn’t care.

“Oh, shut up. It’s not like you care if I take this awful show away from you. You’ll just go on the internet and download snuff porn, it’s practically the same thing, isn’t it? You get a slut of a woman, a load of blood and a rape all in one… just like the Asylum. That’s what you’re doing by watching this. You’re stooping to the level of snuff-porn watching net perverts.” Universal ranted.

“So, if you hate these people so much, why save them? Do you have no logic to your over-cliché name?” The Freak chipped in, an enquiring look upon his face.

“Because, I…” Universal began.

But he was cut off.

SMACK~!

By a chair to the back of the head, courtesy of Slapnutz, who had just brushed through the curtains. Universal stumbled forwards, but looked to have taken the chair shot effectively…

SMACK~!

Then, a second chair shot, this time from TMM… sent Universal crashing to the floor and tumbling halfway down the ramp. As Keegan cackled over the microphone and the fans cheered with glee, TMM and Slapnutz each hooked one of the sell-out’s arms and turned him to face the entranceway.

The fans erupted. From the curtains came Joe Campbell, a microphone in his hand and a grin on his face. TMM and Slapnutz dragged Universal up to the owner by his arms and hair, and Universal’s eyes slowly flickered open…

POW!

The first thing Universal saw was Joe’s fist in his face.

“You’re pathetic. This is my joint, you tosser, and in my joint you play by my rules… and my rules are pretty fucking simple if you ask me. Rule number one-

*PUNCH*

“Do not fuck with Joe Campbell. Rule number two-

*PUNCH*

“Is also, do not fuck with Joe Campbell. What do you think number three is?

*PUNCH*

“You’re right, DO NOT FUCK WITH JOE CAMPBELL.”

The fans cheered as Joe kissed each of his knuckles and planted a final fist in the centre of Universal’s mug. Chris rocked backward then drooped forwards, still suspended by his arms thanks to Splink.

“You’ve got until Persecution. That’s it. Then, you get the fuck out of here. Understand?”

Universal looked up, a thin line of blood seeping between his lips. He drew back, and spat. A blood-and-mucus globule splattered across Campbell’s face, much to his… and the fans’… dissatisfaction.

“Not a chance. In fact, I’ll be sticking around AFTER Persecution. Because after I beat you, one on one, you won’t even have the energy left to run this shithole.” Universal spluttered.

“What makes you think you can beat me, you fucking twat? You’re a washed up has been that used to run a wank promotion that involved fags rolling about in their underwear. Oh, fucking hell, I’m wetting myself with fear, mate.” Joe hissed, swabbing the drool and blood from his nose. “In fact. You can fight tonight, as you’re in MY promotion. You can face… Keegan Carrahar.”

CRACK~!

Who was it? Who was hit?

It was Ruben Ross with a chair, and Campbell was hit. Slapnutz and TMM dropped Universal, who began rolling down the ramp, and turned to face Ross…

CRACK~!

CRACK~!

TMM goes down, Slapnutz goes down.

The Zone in the cage were like a pack of rabid wolves at the sight of Ross, but still restrained themselves from attacking him in fear of an ambush. Ruben raised his microphone with one hand and swung his chair in arcs with the other.

“Well, hell. Looks like The Zone have lost their balls. Come on, I’ll take you. You scared of me or something!?” Ruben cackled, as the fans booed diligently. “I’ll tell you why Universal is still here. Because he has me on his side, and when Ruben Ross, the Black Plague, is on your side… you know, that you’ve got a hand full of aces. You can’t put a foot wrong. And yeah, I did lose faith in Universal’s master plan after pAin, but now I see… I see why he hates this place so much, and I fuckin’ share that hatred. I’ll show you bitches why they call me the Black Plague- it’s because I’m goin’ t’infect this shithole with a lethal virus, and watch it die.”

BOOOOooOOO!

“How about, Ruben. You commence your little premonition of the Asylum’s death, by taking on one of its exclusive protectors… and yes; I’m referring to myself… here, tonight? I’m so sick of hearing people talk. Human voices are so aggravating, it’s like having a fly in your ear that you just can’t crush… all of this banter is giving me a headache. So, how about we mitigate my headache, one on one, with a dose of violent love?” The Freak said to the fans’ pleasure, extending his arms outwards and shrugging.

“Heh. You’re on, motherfucker.” Ross smirked as he dragged Universal to his feet and slung his arm over his own shoulder. “You’d better start preparing now, because I’m telling you… I won’t hold nothin’ back.”

“I don’t expect you to.”

With that, Ross and Universal departed, leaving The Zone in-cage to ponder tactics.

...

*click*

...

*click*

...

*cli*

"WILL YOU PLEASE STOP?!"

Dead's voiced boomed inside Joe's office. There, he and Perfect --along with cHEESE and egg NOG-- sat waiting for Joe to arrive. egg NOG, being the culprit behind the clicking pen that had come to annoy Dead so very much, slid down in his seat as he tried to hide his embarrassed face from anyone's view. The four of them had been called into his office for unknown reasons, and none of them seemed bothered enough as to ponder why. Joe's absence did little to help the situation with the two teams as hostilities grew.

Finally cHEESE spoke up. "Hey, why don't you leave NOG alone? It's a free country, he can do whatever he wants."

"You wish!" Dead retaliated, "it's my world and you're all just living here."

Everyone blinked.

"Dude," egg NOG expressed, finally becoming vocal, "you are so gay."

"I'll show you gay," Dead mumbled as he jumped out of his seat and attacked egg NOG.

egg NOG cried out as Dead laid into him with girlish lefts and rights. "Hate crime! HATE CRIME!"

"Park your arses... NOW."

Joe's voice barked out as he stood very intimidating in the door frame. The lights had been affected to add fear to the hearts of mortal men, or in this case, three morons and one God of Wrestling slash Fighting. They all were shaking in fear as the lights returned to normal and Joe walked into the room and took a seat behind his plush, oak desk.

"Listen, blokes," he started, pulling a bottle of whiskey out of his desk and setting it on the desk like a trophy, "we're in some deep shit and I need you four to sort out this rubbish and make things right."

The four nodded along as Joe continued.

"It seems those fairies I've got on the payroll have nabbed those spicks, Los Toros."

Again, they nodded.

"So here's what I need from you: I want you to retrieve them for me, ratings are sure to spike without them on the show. So get on it, off with you now."

Joe motioned for the four to leave. He spun his chair around as he picked up something off a table seated behind him. He turned back around --now searching for a glass so he could pour himself a drink-- when he noticed that the four men were still seated.

"Fucking hell," he mumbled as he rubbed his temple in frustration. "What? What do you cunts want?"

They all exchanged a glance with one another before Perfect raised his hand and asked, "who, what, where, now?"

Joe snarled as looked over the bewildered party sitting before him. "I want you," he started slowly; pointing to cHEESE, Dead, Perfect, and egg NOG, "to find Los Toros or my ratings will bottom out and I'll be ruined. Do you follow?!"

cHEESE was the one to raise his hand this time. "Why do we have to find them again?"

"BECAUSE YOU'RE ALL NOT WORTH A TOSS!!"

The four frowned since the last comment sounded very harsh and none of them understood --maybe Perfect did, but it was doubtful-- what it actually meant.

"Los Toros is my 'funny factor', the fans eat that shit up for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I need them on the show if I want to draw those tarts in."

"OH THANKS! JUST... THANKS!" egg NOG roared as he threw his arms up in disgust, "It's so great to see my work is appreciated here!! This is fucking wonderful!"

Joe sat behind his desk, eye brow cocked in confusion. "Why are you?"

egg NOG blinked, his jaw hit the floor. "I'm one-half of you're Team Champions! You know, egg NOG of the Legion of Dairy?! Ring a bell?!"

Joe thought about it for a second and shrugged. "Can't say it does. OH! FtfWo! Top notch stuff last week. Fucking golden."

"Oh my God, this a dream. The Twilight Zone, even." egg NOG said, looking around in shock. "This isn't real. I'm, like, invisible."

egg NOG perked up and smiled, "I wonder if I could get in the Women's locker with my new-found invisibility."

*SMACK*

egg NOG sank back down in his seat as cHEESE shook his now stinging hand.

Joe nodded. "Alright then, off with you fuckers. Find me a tag team."

"Wait," Dead asked as the others stood to leave, "what do we get if we find them."

"You won't meet a sudden and painful demise." Joe replied with a chuckle. "Nah, I'll give you a title shot or some shit like that."

"WE DON'T NEED A TITLE SHOT!! WE'RE THE CHAMPIONS!!" egg NOG whined.

"Then you really won't croak, you mardy fuck."

egg NOG nodded as he, cHEESE, and the members of FtfWo exited the room.

For the first time in what seemed like forever, Joe sat in peace. His moment of Zen was ended when he flipped a cup on it's bottom and poured some whisky in. He took a sip, leaned back in his leather chair and grinned.

"Fucking nirvana."

Alexander Von DeThatt stood, his six-feet-ten inch frame practically scraping the ceiling of Joe Campbell’s office. He glared down on Campbell from behind black shades, his muscles displaying a yellowish sheen in the light of the bulb. Beside him stood his far smaller in stature wife, Monica, a hot tamale in herself.

“So everything’s settled, yes? I start work next week?” he boomed in a deep voice. “I need to get myself some new gear, of course. All of my other stuff is wrestling gear…”

“No matter. Wear what you like, I’m sure a man of your size and stature can handle himself well nomatter what he wears,” Joe smiled… a rarity in itself. “Next week I’ll just stick you up against some of the uh… lesser talented blokes, like that Crediblinio twat. He pisses me right off. But really, these little squash matches are just about getting you across to the fans.”

DeThatt cracked his knuckles and smirked, stretching his arm out and wrapping it around his wife.

“Then it’s onto the big stuff yeah? The title shots, the championships? That Ender fuck?”

“Certainly mate. A man of your size is a nice addition to Team Campbell… expect titles and shit by the bucket load, I…”

The door opened, and in the place of the plastic hatch stood… The Freak.

“Campbell, we need to talk.”

“Not now… I’m talking to Alexander, can you come back later?”

The Freak tilted his head to one side and looked up at DeThatt. DeThatt turned and looked down on the Red Ripper with a look of confidence… the look said it all really.

I’m bigger than you.

“Heh. I think it can wait, can’t it, little man?” Alexander grunted. Monica laughed.

“Who, are… you?” The Freak shot back, putting his hands in the pockets of his trenchcoat.

“This, Freak, is the newest member of Team Campbell. What a fucking addition, look at him Bri… he’s huge. We’re just mapping out what he’s going to be doing to the rest of the cunts in this place in upcoming weeks, I’ve got big plans for him… big plans for a big bloke. With a bit of luck he can dethrone that cunt King in a few weeks, he’s certainly got the si…” Joe was cut off.

“Already scheduling my proxy are we? May I just point out that I did not fail last week. I could have beaten Villam. I… you, are the one that failed… you pledged me that title and you didn’t deliver. So as the head of The Zone, as the most dependable member of Team Campbell, shouldn’t IM be the individual getting this opportunity? Not this talentless, giant, sack of shit.” The Freak said, in his usual toneless manner.

“Dependable? You lost to that cunt Decimal, and now you’ve lost to Villam Shithead too? I don’t call that dependable, I call that fucking USELESS. How many matches have you won? One, two? Why don’t you go and do something useful with yourself, like, I don’t know. Beat the shit out of Stranglehold or whatever? That’s what I hired you for.” Campbell murmured.

“…”

“Stumped are we?” DeThatt chuckled.

“I’ll prove you wrong.” The Freak uttered, as he turned on his heel and left the room.

Jamal closed the door and looked at his two captives. Frank Allen Greenberg had left Jamal Wilson in charge while he walked around the arena to pocket some food. Jamal felt special.

Enrique Credibleno was tied up, his body completely covered in baby oil, wearing his tiny underwear, so was Avo Chavez. The stripping and lathering with oil was the idea of Chino Hernandez, he had seen it in a movie and thought it would be a good method of torture.

Chino sat down eating a box of popcorn and watching a tape of Showtime’s Queer Duck cartoon on the 16-inch television that Frank had brought into the room.

“Hey man, we really don’t want to do this. In fact, I think that all four of us could be really good friends, but Frank said that you guys are evil,” Jamal said shaking his head. “We have to torture you, but I don’t really want to... So I brought us the entire first season of Richard Simmons’ GODLY television show, THE WISHMAKER!”

Jamal leapt up into the air as he went into his pink Nike Women gym bag and pulled out several tapes. He shoved Chino out of the way, and he popped the tapes into the small VCR with the television.

Enrique Credibleno bit through the tape around his mouth and began screaming. Tears followed out of his eyes.

“¡CMáteme POR FAVOR! ¡cTodo MENOS ESA DEMOSTRACIÓN HORRIBLE!”

Jamal looked at Chino, “What did he say?”

“He said please kill me. Anything but that horrible show.”

Jamal’s eyes filled with rage.

“That’s it! You guys have done it. I was trying to be nice, I was going to let you watch something good, something educational, something that would help you in your poor situation, but you disrespected my hero. Now you must pay…”

We left the scene with Jamal fuming and Enrique Credibleno almost in tears.

"Token."

Joe's office. One man is sitting down; that is Joe. The other, standing up, hands on Joe's expensive maplewood desk, is Token Weed.

"I understand you hired Ricky Wasp to get rid of Biggs Dangsta for you." Token said.

"Yeah... what about it, Token?" Joe asked.

"Well, you notice he hasn't been to the Show since pAin?" Token pointed out.

"Yeah... and what about that, you twat? Get to the bloody fuckin' point."

"Well, you can thank me for that," Token explained. "I'm the one who took him out."

Joe dropped his head onto the table. "I didn't want him out, you stupid Irishman. I do have to pay him back for his work with Dangtsa."

"Well, what was his price?" Token asked.

"The first part of the deal was for a match with the man who pump-kicked him and embarassed him on his debut match. Considering no one else uses it, I assume that fuckhead to be... you." Joe nodded, flicking on a pair of sunglasses and leaning back in his chair.

"Well, it's a good thing that I took him out then -- knowing that hick bastard, he probably would have tried to break my legs with one of those crosses those retarded white-cloak anti-hippies carry."

"Don't be so sure, Token."

"What?"

"Ricky is here tonight."

"Excuse me? Where the fuck is he, then?"

"Up your ass. No, seriously, I don't know. He came in for five seconds earlier today, and was gone."

"Well, shit."

Token left Joe's office. Joe flipped his sunglasses up above his eyes.

"Well, happy Martin Luther King's Day to you, too."

The biggest changes have occurred to TMM and Slapnutz. TMM is hated by all now, in the past he just used to get rotten fruit thrown at him, now he gets bricks and army boots chucked at him. Even the local vicar hit him over the head with the collection box when he went to Sunday service this week. Slapnutz can do no wrong. The tabloids love him, all the teeny girls and closet gay boys love him and every grandma in the world loves him too. The only person who legitimately hates him is Rowdy Roddy Pipper.

Here it is though, it's the day of the final and everyone is talking about it! New sponsors - Penguin Biscuits - have stumped up some cash for a proper set and all the usual guff it takes to put on a successful shite television programme. The set is outside tonight’s tA venue. The S-Express doubles up as a place for changing and Slapnutz to have sex with Legal but very young women after the show. There must be 6,000 people hanging around the set waiting for the stars to arrive. Only a lucky few 400 can actually watch from within the set. Perhaps this could make millions after all?

TMM and Slapnutz are sat on the top deck of the S-Express. Slapnutz is nervous and warming his vocal cords. TMM is applying TCP to all the cuts and scratches he got during the week off the angry girls who hate him. Both Splink Superstars have been hiding in the bus since the morning. Slapnutz is legitimately shitting himself he's so nervous, he's had to change his underpants four times already.

The phone rings and TMM picks it up "Hello, TMM of Splink here"

"I'm gonna get you, take your pants off and pull your pubes out and make you eat them on a pork sandwich you polish bastard... can I talk to Slapnutz please?" Said a young sounding voice. TMM had learnt to ignore all the insults he gets so to him if just sounding like one big long groan followed by her asking to talk to Slutnutz.

TMM passes the phone to Slapnutz, "Hello Master Big-Nutz here"

"AGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Screams the girl at the other end, Slapnutz drops the phone and slips kilt over haggis to the floor. TMM laughs at Slapnutz, who is now rolling about complaining about not being able to hear anything.

"You'll get no sympathy from me, it's the nature of the beast" says TMM who makes the foolish mistake of standing up and therefore allowing some people outside to see he was inside the bus and right on cue comes a brick through the window. Luckily it misses him and hits a gypsy.

The sour voice of egg NOG had gone on for what seemed like an eternity. It wasn't much earlier that the duo from Dairytown and "monsters" that wanted to remind you to "Fuck the fWo" were told to find and rescue Asylum's money players known to you and I as Los Toros. The fearsome foursome had been forced to wonder the halls wiht little to no hope of finding the two lost souls.

No one was clear how long they'd been gone or who really had them. Joe wasn't very clear on the details of the matter, but one things was clear, clear as crystal. If FtfWo found them first, they'd gain a Team Title shot in the process. If cHEESE and egg NOG could find them, then they were cooler than the other side of the pillow. The same side that doesn't have to give FtfWo a title shot ever again. Boo-yah, my friend, boo-yah.

Dead turned back towards egg NOG. "Do you ever stop crying?"

egg NOG rubbed his goatee as he thought about it for a second and responded, "nope, can't say that I do."

"I have this grand notion that you should give it a freaking shot."

"Is that so?" egg NOG replied, extending his arms confrontationally, "I have this 'grand notion' you go down on these nuts. Yeah that's right, bow down, biznatch!"

Everyone in earshot of egg NOG's comment turned and looked at him. His face turned red as he tried to play it off.

"Uh, what I meant to say was... OH MY GOD!! LOOK OVER THERE!"

All eyes shifted in the direction egg NOG pointed them towards. As they looked, he made a run for it. He screamed out "SUCKERS!!" before he ran straight into a Plexiglass window. As he lay there, moaning in pain, cHEESE tried to disassociate himself from egg NOG looking around mentioning to anyone or anything that would listen, "I'm not with him."

The party ventured on without NOG, still hopeful they could solve this real-life "Where's Waldo" puzzle. It wasn't much longer before the trio stopped upon spying a shady-type character chatting it up with a security guard.

"Stand back," Perfect said, pushing Dead and cHEESE aside, "this one is mine."

Perfect crept on the unsuspecting fiends as they were in engaged in a small conversation. Perfect saw his opportunity and pounced.

"DIIIIEEE!"

He landed square on the back on the oversized security guard and began to shake himself violently. The guard, not sure what to make of the situation, stood fast as he tried to see who was on his back. Perfect stopped for a moment --looking back to Dead and cHEESE- and asked, "overkill?" cHEESE and Dead nodded as Perfect slid down the guards back and did he best to straighten it out.

"Sorry 'bout that, bloke. Honest mistake."

Dejected, but still instilled with some means of confidence, they ventured on. Once again they found someone who fit their shaky description of the kidnappers and set into motion to clear the matter up.

"Excuse me," cHEESE asked the burly man standing by the receiving gate, "you wouldn't of have happen to see two Mexican being drug around here, would you?"

"Yea," the man replied with his thick, Jersey accent, "I sees dat all da time. What'd dey looks like?"

"Well, uh, hmmm, that's a tough one." cHEESE said as he began stroking his beard. "They sorta look like.... well, kinda like... no, that's not it either."

A voice interrupted.

"Hey guys, what's up?"

It was egg NOG, he had somehow caught up to the group that only seconds before had left him behind to fend for himself. Of course it wasn't hard to find cHEESE or FtfWo since they had only moved about ten feet from the spot where they left egg NOG. As egg NOG approached, he took a bite of a taco he picked up off the craft service table. Figuring it was worth a shot, cHEESE grabbed the half-eaten taco out of egg NOG's hand and held it up.

"Something like this."

The man's eyes narrowed, his mind raced with thoughts. "Yeah," he finally said, "I seen 'em. 'Bout tirty minuted or so ago. Two guys in purple-lookin' pants dragged 'em by. One of them was purdy fat."

cHEESE smiled. "Oh yeah, that's money." He, Dead, and Perfect continued their quest, NOG still standing in place, his hands in the same form when cHEESE took the taco from him.

"Hey guys!" he finally shouted, racing to catch up to them, "can I get my taco back?!"

Tapestry Vs Jeff Garvin

Then… “Every you, Every me” by Placebo. With the song, came the dark princess called Tapestry. She didn’t acknowledge the fans in spite of their positive reaction, she simply stared at the cage ahead.

Upon entering the cell, she took off her gown and revealed her fighting costume. Pressing her hands back against the rim of the cage, she dropped into the splits and began stretching herself from left to right in preparation for her bout.

“Figure 8” by TRUSTcompany began. As it was in fact the first time that the song had been heard in the Asylum arena, there was quite a great deal of doubt pertaining to whom the music belonged. Then, came the boos, insults, jeers and trash.

After they saw, who it was.

Jeff Garvin. Not the best-liked man in this fighting institution for sure… in fact, one of the more hated of the bunch. Garvin adjusted his wrist tape as he sauntered down the aisle… quite remarkably almost tripping over his boot laces on the way.

He climbed up the steps, entered through the door, and the match was on.

Tapestry didn’t even rise from her split-legged stretching position. She just stared straight through Garvin, and waited for him to make the first move. Her hands, however, clung to the rim of the cage. Garvin took a moment to scoff that his opponent was a woman, before charging at Tapestry at top speed.

As he grew closer, he realized that he’d made quite a large mistake in doing so. Tapestry used her arm power to lift herself out of the splits and throw herself in a double-dropkick-like move directly to Garvin’s groin.

As Garvin hunched over in agony, Tapestry hit a textbook tap kick to the side of his head that sent him onto one knee. Garvin avoided any further kicks by rolling out of the way and regrouping on the other side of the cage.

Uh… not that it made a difference, Tapestry just followed him. As Garvin turned to face her, he was blasted in the face with an open palm strike and a second to the stomach. An upward kick to Solar Plexus caused Jeff to splutter for air… which he didn’t receive. Nah. He just got a double-spin-kick to the throat and a knee to the sternum, followed by a scintillating sidekick that very nearly put him over the rim of the cage- and out of the match.

Garvin retaliated as soon as he had the wind to, firing off a punch to Tapestry’s delicate features. However, Tapestry caught Garvin’s second attempt at a close-fisted blow and stepped over his arm, wrenching him down and locking in a standing armbar between her legs. Garvin winced in pain… but, as one of the greatest mat technicians on the planet, he soon reversed it into a schoolboy pin.

Um, sorry Garvin. No pins in this match.

Tapestry backward rolled out of the schoolboy and, as Garvin got to his feet, she swung her leg into the back of his own and knocked him to his knees. Then, she readied herself, standing in a karate-like posture…

THWACK!

A Buzzsaw kick to Garvin’s head, making a sickening slapping noise. As if that wasn’t enough to keep the Memphis Matworker down, Tapestry delivered two more revoltingly high-powered kicks that sent Garvin into a state of semi-dreaming. Finishing up her combo in grand fashion, Tapestry took a step back, and leapt onto Garvin’s shoulders… cracking him in the face with her right knee.

Well, that’s called the Shining Wizard in wrestling. What do you call it in fighting?

Who cares, the fans popped for it anyway.

Tapestry got to her feet and threw her leg over the side of the cage, stretching in waiting for Garvin to rise to his vertical base.

When Garvin did get to his feet, he was greeted by a flying kick to the face… the foot in question, he caught. Throwing the foot down and spinning Tapestry around, Garvin went for a toe kick to the stomach of his lighter opponent, only to have his OWN foot caught.

So he did the only escape method that his wrestling training permitted him. An Enziguri. Not that it mattered what the move was, Tapestry hit the mat like a sack of shit. Garvin, wanting to wear down his opponent ready for the Hammer Jammer perhaps, locked Tapestry’s legs up in his own and yanked back on her ankle with his arm, causing the young lady to yelp with pain. She didn’t submit, however.

Instead, she used her hip strength to push upwards and roll the move over, thereby forcing both of the pair onto their stomachs. She stood up, with Garvin’s leg still locked under her arm, and it was soon apparent that she had applied a Half Crab. Not that tapestry knew what it was called.

Garvin, rather than take the pain that came along with the hold, decided that it was in his best interests to throw Tapestry away using his leg strength. Tapestry flew into the cage practically face-first, much to Garvin’s content. He quickly scuttled over beside her and hooked her by the back of her neck…

*smile*

Then rammed her, neck-first across the rim of the cage. Tapestry coughed as Garvin repeated the heinous manoeuvre another three times, before wrapping his arms around Tapestry’s waist. He threw her over himself with ease; she must have weighed at least one-hundred and twenty pounds less than him, and collapsed her with a German Suplex.

Much like another technical genius that goes by the name of Kurt Angle, Garvin kept the hold locked firmly on and repeated the hold a further two times. By the third time, Tapestry was totally crumpled, her hands clutched at her neck and her back was curved unnaturally.

Garvin looked down on Tapestry and put his pinky to the side of his mouth, in a Dr. Evil-esque surreal moment, before hooking one of Tapestry’s legs under each of his arms. He then dropped backwards, and sling-shotted Tapestry, ribs-first, onto the rim of the cage.

Laughing rather cheerfully, Garvin then locked a Full Nelson on Tapestry, possibly looking to slam her down with a Dragon Suplex…

But it was not Tapestry that left this scene worse off. No. It was Jeff Garvin, as Tapestry sent a boot backwards and into Garvin’s groin. Turning around, Tapestry sent a high kick to Garvin’s head and then ducked down and span on her hand, sweeping Garvin’s legs out from under him. She then shimmied over to his head and locked her legs around his neck, in an attempt to choke the life from him.

Garvin gasped for air for several minutes, before he was able to roll over onto his stomach. With Tapestry’s legs still locked around him and the full weight of her now on his head, there seemed to be no way out.

Then, the Master of Reversals managed to prove himself to be the Houdini of Wrestling once more… arcing himself up off the canvas, with Tapestry still on his shoulders, and dropping her down with a perfect Electric Chair Drop.

Tapestry tried to shake the blow off as she lay on her back, but it was no use. Garvin hopped to his feet with a cocky grin on his face, and turned…

Straight into a spinning, tornado-style kick to the stomach. Tapestry then shot her leg out in three, jab-like kicks to Garvin’s abdomen and a high calf-kick to the side of his head.

Garvin was probably ready to hit the mat there and then, but when Tapestry took a step back, jumped into the air and came crashing into the side of his head with a flying spin kick- it was a certainty.

Once again, Tapestry waited for Garvin to get back up. She wasn’t a mat fighter and against Garvin, it was best that way.

1!
2!
3!
4!
5!
6!
7!
8… and Garvin was up.

Tapestry instantly shot a leg towards Garvin’s stomach, but this time… Garvin caught it. With a snigger, he Dragon Screwed her to the mat and held onto the leg.

Picking up Tapestry’s other leg, he crossed them, right over left, around his own right leg… the fans booed, as they knew, this was the opening stages of the Hammer Jammer. But as Garvin stooped down to turn Tapestry over…

She sprayed a black, viscous fluid into his face from her mouth. Garvin had to release her legs, as he stumbled around in a dire attempt to clear his eyes of the revolting substance. Tapestry, meanwhile, got back up…

And leapt to the top of the cage, jumping down with a spinning Palm Strike that she calls Invictus Fier Capedorium I. However, her palm connected with thin air, as Garvin sidestepped out of the way, and punched Tapestry clear in the face.

A welt raised on her face almost immediately as she stumbled backwards, but then it became apparent why… Garvin was wearing brass knuckles. Garvin quickly took advantage of Tapestry’s dazed state, putting one hand between her legs and the other on her shoulder, turning her upside down…

And planting her, with the Garvinator.

The fans booed and hissed, but it was no use.

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

Garvin was announced the winner. But it didn’t stop there. Garvin jumped on top of Tapestry and socked her with another five disgusting brass-knuckle shots to her face, leaving tapestry in a battered, bruised state. Then, with as cocky a grin as ever, he left the cage.

Another one bites the dust.

The camera panned to show Enrique Credibleno and Avo Chavez both looking extremely uncomfortable with their limbs in different positions, and their bodies nearly intertwined. Both Avo and Enrique are wearing only their underwear, and their bodies are oiled up, making for some of the positions that they’re in to be extremely slippery and wet.

“Let me tell jou somethin’ Avo, jou and I, we could hav’ been pals, but jou went ahead and disrespected Jammy, and now jou’re in dis predicamen‘,” Chino said, trying to be tough in front of his partner.

“Left foot: blue, right hand: red.” Jamal said with anger in his voice. He liked feeling as if he was in control; it made him feel superior to everyone around him.

Before the game could continue further, the door to the room barged open, and Frank Allen Greenberg appeared. Frank frantically began to walk around and began unintelligibly mumbling something.

“What’s the matter, Frank?” Jamal asked his manager.

“Did you know Campbell has sent out a search party to find these two idiots?”

“Well, uhm… yeah.”

“Jesus Christ. What happens if they come in here and arrest us? This is kidnapping, you know? That’s a felony… I think,” the lawyer, who obviously doesn’t know much about the law, stated nervously.

“Tie them up again, we can’t let them get free,”

The scene faded with Jamal Wilson and Chino Hernandez going to tie up Los Toros.

LLB© Vs Noah Hawkins
(T.V. Title)

Noah Hawkins was a sparkling young kid upholding everything that he felt wrestling stood for. And much like the way LLB was fighting in the Asylum with his wrestling mentality. Hawkins however, was booed, his face scarred beyond repair and forced to wear a mask on any further Action! wrestling appearances.

LLB? He's the Television champion and a top Action! contender.

So... where did Hawkins go wrong?

"Feel Good" by hed(p.e.) played over the pa system and Hawkins walked out to a chorus of boos. He raised his eyebrows at this notion, which was sick in it's own right because it turned the straight edge of the scar into a more jagged feature. He shrugged it off, racing to the cage and climbing in over the top, much like Hulk Hogan would do back in the day. He almost mimicked the ripping of the t-shirt at the top of the cage, but decided not to. I mean, hell, it's not everyday you can buy an "At the Drive In" t-shirt.

"Black and White" by Static-X replaced Feel Good, and the fans went hysteric. Absolutely insane. There weren't many cross promotional guys that had success in these steel bars. Most of the time, it was the inverse, Asylum stars going elsewhere to become mainstream phenoms.

Every now and then, it works in reverse.

LLB charged the ring, taking the title off before reaching the cage and inside. Hawkins went right to work, pounding away at the rising LLB with forearm shots to the back of the head. LLB shrugged this off, erupting from his stance and shoving Hawkins away with a palm strike to the chest.

With Hawkins staggering, LLB charged for Erroneous Conclusion. The fans rose to their feet in quick applause, but Hawkins vertically leapt, going over top the diving Lawyer, before climbing back down on his shoulders. Hawkins smiled a while, realizing the move hurt LLB's upper back, until LLB rose from the canvas, keeping Hawkins locked in on top of his shoulders. Almost like a game of chicken fight without an opponent, Hawkins flailed around in the ring on top of LLB as the Jury cheered him on.

Hawkins pounded out with a few right hands, and spun his body. Hurraconrada...

Reversed into a powerbomb onto the side of the cage. Hawkins bended over like an archway, like the frame of a domed volkeswagon, before collapsing to the canvas in a sitting position. That's when LLB struck, and the fans popped.

Hawkins dazedly walked out from the back of the cage, as LLB let out a scream that caused the Jury to reply in kind. As Hawkins turned around, LLB caught him, and drove him down with Black and White.

The jury was caught in the moment.

And LLB waited, for what would only be eight seconds but he waited for his hand to be raised. The jury was LLB's main concern right now, not the rising Hawkins behind him.

Hawkins caught LLB with a swift kick to the ribs, bending him backward into an inverted ddt position. Noah then lifted LLB up, and drove him into the mat just as quickly as LLB had gotten into the offensive.

In Repair. And Hawkins hoped that the repair would take longer than ten seconds.

He knew better though, climbing the steel cage and pointing to the crowd. They booed his every motion, but it didn't matter, he knew what was coming up next.

A shooting star press, onto the fallen back of LLB, specifically, the upper back which Hawkins had seemed to target just moments earlier.

Hawkins got to his feet, and let out a smile that would make an infant cry. It definitely didn't help his standing with the Jury, but that wouldn't matter, because they were busy raising their fallen lawyer up from the mat. Hawkins climbed up to the top of the cage, now jaw jacking with an unofficial jury member, but the thing was, Hawkins didn't realize that the jury was hung. They were stalling for LL, who had gotten to his feet behind Hawkins at a count of six.

Noah turned around and gasped at the phoenix that stood before him. Noah dove off the top of the cage, looking for a hurraconrada, but LLB to a step back, and then CHARGED~! forward.

Erroneous Conclusion. From a mid-air Flight path.

The result was academic, and LLB was handed the championship moments later. He raised it to the jury high, and soaked in their every "decision."

Hawkins however, spitefully rolled himself to safer ground.

Not saying that the man behind him in any means is more popular than LLB, but the two of them combined? You're in a territory that just causes anyone in the arena to scream.

LLB could feel it too. Not only that sudden rush that fell over his body, but the breathing that pulsated down onto LLB's shoulder. He lowered the title to his chest before turning around...

... into the awaiting eyes of the former Stoner.

The crowd popped as LLB and Cheno stared eye to eye. Well, not exactly eye to eye. LLB seemed to be distracted by Eddie's patch on the side of his face, and Cheno seemed to see the glimmering light at the end of the rainbow as being more fulfilling to look at than LLB's eyes.

That being LLB's TV championship in his hands.

LLB raised the title into Cheno's face, although indirectly. He was simply putting the strap onto his shoulder, and it bumped into his visage. This didn't settle well, causing Cheno to stare directly into LLB's eyes. LLB followed the same, before simply bumping into Cheno's shoulder on his way out of the public forum. He mouthed the word "Soon" to Cheno, before parting his way backstage.

Eddie simply stood there without an emotion, shook his head a small bit and returned backstage in quite a hurry.

Wonder where he'd go?

"FUCK THIS SHIT!! CAMPBELL GET YOUR FUCKING ASS OUT HERE! I'M SICK OF PLAYING WITH YOU."

Villam was pissed.

"I just came back from the hospital, they told me my ribs are all weak and shit now. They aren't cracked, but there's a little dent right where one of the faggy bunch kicked me."

Villam kicked the wire mesh in illustration.

"...I mean you put in that fucking match. I went through all of that SHIT...and you didn't even GET THE FUCKING JOB DONE!??!?!? So, Villam Ender is just going to show up, ready to repeat the process all over again until you run me out of here. Right, Campbell? RIGHT!?"

The crowd cheered at that prospect.

"WRONG MOTHERFUCKER!!! Because you can bring bum after fucking bum out here and I'll eat them up like...the cookie monster eats cookies...or some shit....FUCK!....You see? You got me all out of whack and shit! GET OUT HERE CAMPBELL. NOW!"

Silence.

Another minute rolls by...

...Nothing.

"Awww...come on Campbell....please? I just want to...er-TALK. Yeah, that's the ticket. Just come out...and we'll talk...."

Fizzle Fizzle, Fizz.

The Asylumtron blinks on.

"Yes, yes...." Joe Campbell said. "I don't know what you're on about. You won the bloody match with your little tricks. Please...playing the Stranglehold theme song? You're a cunt, Villam."

"I'M A CUNT?"

"Did I stutter? Now look...you want me to come here tonight...and I'm just not feeling up to it. But maybe...maybe if you just get past Dez tonight...then maybe we can talk."

Blink. Asylumtron off.

Villam made his way backstage.

The Freak Vs Ruben Ross

Then… “Faget” by Korn.

The fans jumped to their feet and screamed with delight as one of the so-called Good Guys stepped through the curtains, with his manager Oddball trailing behind him. The Freak spun in a circular motion, showboating so to speak, before making his way down the ramp. Upon reaching the cage he turned and leapt onto the rim of the cage, threw off his trenchcoat and raised his arms in the air.

“Serve The Servants” by Nirvana. Ruben Ross, wielding a chair and with his “Sit The Fuck Down” T-shirt on. It’s not like ANY other fucker in attendance wore that shirt. Hell, if they did, they’d be beaten to a bloody pulp by the other Asylum fans. In fact, they’d be beaten up by the other fWo fans. Ruben Ross, at this stage in his life, is not a popular man. And it showed in the merciless insults and boos thrown his way as he headed down the ramp.

“Oh, fuck you,” Ross shouted at the fans, who responded with a slew of hateful boos. He chuckled to himself and made the gun sign to The Freak. “Bang-bang, motherfucker. You’re in the ring with a superstar now. No slip-ups, no sloppy fighting now. I’m not going to play games, time for you to take the fall.”

The Freak calmly shifted into his boxing stance.

“For one. This isn’t a ring, it’s a cage, and a ring of steel surrounds me. Now, unless you’re delusional, you’d notice that. But, as you seem to believe you can beat me? I’ll permit it. You are delusional.” The Freak said, his face breaking into a wry smile.

Ross hopped the rim, his face a picture of rage. He yanked his T-shirt over his head and set up his chair in the corner, before sitting on it and crossing his arms across his chest.

“Wow, sorry there. I thought I was watching a horror movie for a second there, then I realized that you’re just as ugly as all hell.”

BOOOOoOOooooO.

The fans couldn’t help but chant at Ross. He was just so… annoying, is it ever likely that he is so despised by wrestling and fighting fans united?

“ASSHOLE!”
“ASSHOLE!”
“ASSHOLE!”
“ASSHOLE!”

The Freak was unfazed by Ross’s comments, and instead decided to hop from foot to foot, warming up. Oddball readied his cart of weapons on the outside.

The referee called for the bell.

The Freak made the first move, charging towards the still-seated Ross and spinning in a perfect arc, attempting to hit a roundhouse kick to the wrestler’s face. However, unfortunately not only for The Freak but for the thousands in attendance, Ross slid out of his seat just in time and The Freak’s foot connected with the back of the chair instead.

Wishing to capitalize on The Freak’s predicament, Ross grabbed The Freak’s chair entangled leg and used it to Dragon Screw the Red Ripper onto the mat. With no further ado, Ruben jumped up onto the still-open chair with both feet, turned, and soared from it… dropping a flying Shining Elbow onto The Freak’s knee. The Freak hissed as the tip of Ruben’s elbow was spiked in between his knee cap and his leg.

Ruben reached back and wrapped his arms around The Freak’s leg, applying pressure with a Kneebar-type-move, slowly contorting The Freak’s leg. He didn’t have much luck in extracting a submission however, as The Freak simply used his other leg to kick Ross in the back of the head, thus forcing him to release the hold. Ross scrambled to his feet and The Freak kipped up in his usual fashion.

Ross once again targeted the leg, this time with a chop block… which, unfortunately, failed miserably as The Freak shot his knee outwards and caught Ross in the face. Ruben got to his feet looking to avenge his now-crooked nose, but for his efforts got nothing more than a straight left-legged sidekick to his chin, causing the Black Plague to fly backwards and slam against the cage. The Freak took advantage of Ross’s predicament straight away, hitting two solid punches to the solar plexus and a third to the face, in uppercut form.

The Freak could possible have capitalized on Ruben’s unfortunate quandary and followed up, but his major mistake was in not doing so and instead seeking to retrieve a chair from Oddball, thus giving Ross time to recuperate. The Freak turned around and swung the chair at where he thought Ross was, but hit nothing but air.

He’s behiiiiind yooooou!

The Freak turned, Ross superkicked the edge of the chair… The Freak was necked on the steel. The Red Ripper dropped the chair, and not one to let an opportunity to bend the rules pass… Ross picked it up.

SMACK!

The steel was caved in over The Freak’s head.

SMACK!

A second powerful blow, and a second sickening crack from the sound of steel-on-bone. Ross then dropped the chair to the mat, and kicked The Freak in his nether regions…

THWACK!!

And spiked The Freak, head-first onto the twisted steel with an enviable DDT.

Ross got to his feet and raised his arms to the fans. They booed, they jeered and wailed at Ruben… and the Plague simply smiled at them.

The referee reached only a four count before The Freak was able to shake off the concussive injury to his head and hop to his feet, instantly assuming his boxing stance…

Only to have his leg chop blocked out from under him.

BOOOOOOoOoOooooo~!

Ross growled sadistically as he again, sought to attack The Freak’s knee joint to bring him back down to size. An attempt at a Texas Cloverleaf went horribly wrong, however, as The Freak untangled his legs before he could even be turned over… locked his own feet around Ross’s ankles, and…

CRACK!

Hit a drop-toehold on the former fWo Champion, slamming his face into the opened chair from earlier with sickening velocity!

Ross’s head lay flat against the steel as his breathing rate increased, trying to recuperate his energies. The Freak, meanwhile, jumped to his feet in one fluid motion and shot a glance at Ross’s head, dumped on the chair…

He looked at Ross’s head.

He looked at the other, dented chair on the mat.

He looked at Ross’s head.

He picked up the chair.

The fans screamed with delight as The Freak raised the chair high above Ross’s head, and…

CRACK~!!

Steel sandwich. Ross’s head was slammed between the two chairs with a revolting, vile splatter. Blood seeped from a fresh wound on Ross’s temple and slithered down his neck as he rolled from the chair and slumped against the cage.

The Freak put the chair in his hands over the seated Ross’s head, and snapped up the original one.

CRRRACK~~!!
The steel on steel on Ross contact echoed throughout the arena and caused the rambunctious Stranglehold-hating audience to leap up and applaud. Ross rolled around in a dire attempt to regain his bearings, as The Freak pounded his chair against the mat in signalling of…

In signalling of fuck all, as Ruben simply kicked the steel into the Original Outcast’s face and snatched the chair up for himself.

THWACK!

A arcing chair shot, slapping The Freak upside the head and causing the fans to boo mercilessly. Little did they realize that they were in fact egging Ross on by doing so.

THWACK!

THWACK!

WHOOSH!

Whoosh? Yeah, that’s the sound that Ruben Ross whipping the chair through the air, and into the back of The Freak’s knee makes. The Freak went down on one knee, his hands clutching his injured joint…

SMACK!

A final chair shot to the head, and The Freak was on his face, dragging himself along by his fingers. Ross dropped the now-seatless chair and walked to the other end of the Asylum as the referee registered the count.

1!
2!
3!
4!
5!
6!
7!
8…?
8!
9…?

No. No nine count, as The Freak wrapped his fingers between the mesh links and hauled himself to his feet with a spot of blood evident on his forehead. Ross turned, saw that his opponent was back up, and began methodically making his way back over.

The Freak slung himself over the rim of the cage, and sent Oddball an order…

By the time Ross had got close enough to put a hand on The Freak’s shoulder, the man they call The Emasculator had already been handed a baseball bat by his accomplice…

He turned.

He swung.

Ross ducked.

It hit him anyway.

SMMMAAACK!!

The baseball bat connected full on with Ross’s jaw, practically unhinged the delicate bone from it’s sockets. Ross turned around, his mouth agape with searing agony in his jawbone. Wasting no time, The Freak locked the baseball bat across Ross’s face and kicked his legs out from behind him…

And upon hitting the floor, The Emasculator hooked Ross’s arm in his legs.

The Exxa Deathlock. With baseball bat. Across Ross’s face.

Ross screamed out in agony as the baseball bat was wrenched back across his jaw, grasping around but finding no escape route. He reached out and grabbed at the referee’s shirt, but that was no use either… but still, Ross refused to tap. The wood was yanked hard against his teeth and underneath his jaw but he wouldn’t renounce.

Eventually, Ross managed to weasel his way over to the cage and he gripped his fingers in between the mesh, slowly yanking himself upwards. Eventually, The Freak was forced to release his grip on the hold and instead got to his feet…

Ross also got to his feet.

The Freak threw his baseball bat at Ross, and Ross caught it.

Then.

The Freak hammered the baseball bat into Ross’s face with an astounding Dupla into a Capoeira Mealua Colume~!

The baseball bat snapped against Ross’s jaw, further damaging the Black Plague’s features. Ross refused to go down however, placing both hands on the rim of the cage in an attempt to steady himself… but, inadvertently setting himself up for The Freak’s next move.

The Freak hooked Ross’s arm between his legs, and crossed his other arm underneath the Black Plague’s chin. Then, in one powerful press, Ross was lifted upwards and drilled, head-and-neck first into the chair from earlier… with a high-angled Wrist Clutch Exploder.

The fans were on their feet, Ross was on his back… and The Freak was hanging over the cage, getting a table from Oddball’s cart and sliding it over the rim of the cage. The Freak set up the table in the centre of the cage, and then proceeded to drag Ruben on top of it by his short hair. The Freak jumped onto the table alongside Ruben, and soon they were both standing on their feet, atop the wood…

The Freak bear hugged Ross. The fans knew what was coming next… the Anti-Nature. It was a dead cert. The Freak would nail Ross through the wood with the Anti-Nature. It never happened though.

As Ross raked The Freak’s eyes upon the hold’s application.

BoooOOOO!!

Then, with an almighty kick to the stomach, Ross was able to hook The Freak in a front face lock.

He elevated him.

He drilled him.

With the Dance Of Death.

The table shattered into a thousand pieces, wood and splinters exploding in all directions. It seemed that it was all over… Stranglehold had won, again.

Ross staggered to his feet and looked down on The Freak as he lay in between the glistening table legs and the shattered wood. The referee checked that the Emasculator wasn’t moving, and began to lay down the numbers.

1!
2!
3!
4!
5!
6!
7!
8!
9!
…TE…

…TEN…?

No.

The Freak was up, leaning his back against the cage and picking the splinters out of his forehead. Ross let out a low, animalistic growl and charged at The Freak swinging his arms wildly.

The Freak dodged. Ross VERY NEARLY fell over the cage, but managed to cling on for dear life and instead hung, delicately, over the rim. Oddball, forever the opportunist, took this prime moment to wallop the Wrestler over the head with a crutch, much to the fans’ delight. Ross took the blow and rolled back over the mesh and into the ring…

Where The Freak lay in wait, with a chair.

WHACK!

Ross went down.

The Freak threw the chair into the middle of the ring and, having dragged Ross to his feet, set him up in the bearhug.

EYERAKE. AGAIN.

This time, Ross didn’t go for the Dance Of Death. No, fuck that. He turned The Freak around, hooked his head…

It’s Ratings Spike time.

Ross span the move…

And found himself locked in a Dragon Sleeper of The Freak’s own making. Ross hurriedly scrambled out of it, turned around and…

Had his head and leg locked up by The Freak.

The fans jumped to their feet and screamed until the foundations shook.

Anti-Nature onto the chair. The Freak staggered upwards, and raised his arms in the air to a loud reception from the fans. The referee happily counted Ross down, as this man had threatened his job not long ago.

1!
2!
3!
4!
5!
6!
7!
8!
9!
…
…

TEN!

NO!

YES!

TEN!

The referee raised The Freak’s hand as Ross lay, his head dripping blood onto the chair beneath. “Faget” hit the speakers, and it seemed as though all was well...

“Climbatize” by Prodigy. A haunting song, in that it belongs to a man from us since departed. But it was also the stable anthem of Stranglehold.

The Freak, upon hearing the music, instantly assumed his fighting stance and faced the entrance ramp with weary eyes. He spat a globule of blood onto the mat, probably a tooth lodged in there somewhere, and awaited his enemies.

But they didn’t come from the entrance ramp. They came from behind.

Tearing through the fans, making sure to pop a few out with cheap shots on the way, came Noah Hawkins and Jeff Garvin. Each, wielding a chair.

Oddball warned The Freak as to their arrival and the Emasculator turned to face his adversaries, but by then they were already in the cage. Noah was the first to swing his weapon, a teeth-bearing scowl etched on his face as the steel gained velocity in nearing The Freak’s face.

The Freak ducked. Hawkins sent the air backwards at The Freak’s head… but he ducked again.

SMACK!

Garvin, however, didn’t miss. The chair was lodged on The Freak’s head and peeled off by the Tennessee Technician. The Freak stumbled backwards, but didn’t go down… until Garvin swung his chair a second time.

In fact, even then he didn’t go down. He simply sidestepped, and the chair met nothing but the steel of the cage.

THWACK!

A jumping spin kick sent the chair into Garvin’s face. Garvin shot backwards and landed against the mat with a dull thud.

The Freak turned…

CRACK!

BOOOOOOOOO!

Ross was up. And he hit The Freak with his chair.

THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!!!

Noah Hawkins then smashed the chair mercilessly onto The Freak’s skull, to a chorus of hatred from the fans. Noah’s mutilated, shredded face was a picture of rage as he continued to hammer the chair down on The Freak’s head.

SMACK!
SMACK!
SMACK!
SMACK!!
SMACK!!

Hawkins couldn’t stop hammering the chair against The Freak’s head even after he was down, and bleeding, on the mat. Eventually, Ruben Ross himself had to stop the teenage wrestling idol from continuing his assault.

The spotlights shimmered in the pool of blood beneath The Freak’s face, as Ross and Garvin took an arm each and slammed The Freak into a seated position against the cage.

Oddball tried to save his client and friend, but it was no use. Ruben Ross dispatched the hapless manager in seconds with a simple Superkick.

“Fucking bastard, insulting my tights…” Garvin grumbled, as from the aforementioned horrible tights, he pulled two pairs of handcuffs. He handed the second pair to Hawkins. Then, with a dual click, each pair was locked around the cage… and then snapped around The Freak’s wrists.

He was bound, just like Ace Carter was bound a few weeks ago. He had no escape.

And then came a familiar twinkle of light. The switchblade. But this time, it wasn’t in The Freak’s hand. It was in the hand of Noah Hawkins.

The Freak’s eyes rolled back into place and focused on the Youth Sensation. Hawkins. The disfigured misfit, the discontented and scarred daredevil.

“Oh, I see… this is your idea of vengeance? Don’t you see yet Hawkins? Do you know what you’re doing?” The Freak smiled, as Hawkins brandished the blade between his fingers. Garvin and Ross egged on the Junkie, but Hawkins was hesitating.

“I could scar you just like you scarred me, do you know that? I could slash up your face all neat. I could carve an X on you, scar you for life. Hell, I could carve ‘Noah Fucking Hawkins was here, 03’ on your face and there’s nothing that you can do about it…” Hawkins pondered out loud.

The Freak smiled to himself.

“Show them the picture.”

Backstage, the Asylumtron crew already had the picture ready. Hawkins turned away, but the fans glared at the Asylumtron and saw the picture, the picture that The Freak forced Hawkins to look at last week.

It was a picture of Noah Hawkins. With a red line over his lip… and a cross painted over his eye. Just like The Freak. And written underneath, plastered across the picture in Newspaper letters…

“WE’RE JUST ALIKE”

Noah had to turn. He couldn’t bear it, he had to look at it again.

He gripped the switchblade tighter in his fingers.

“It’s true though isn’t it Noah? That’s the reason that you’re holding that switchblade right now. That’s the reason you were my victim. That’s the reason, that you cannot understand me. You cannot understand yourself. We’re the same, aren’t we?” The Freak said, tilting his head to one side and raising an eyebrow.

“No… No. I’m nothing like you. I’ll never be like you, you’re just an old man that lost control. You… you’re not like me. I’m always in control, I never waver, I…” Hawkins bit his lip, and flicked the Switchblade to it’s full extent.

“Go on. Do it, cut me. Why don’t you scar me with an X like yours? Then we can LOOK ALIKE too.” The Freak was enjoying this. Hawkins could tell. “Because we certainly THINK ALIKE, don’t we?”

“No… you’re insane. You’re just, totally, fucking insane. You’re a psychotic, you need help.”

“Am I psychotic, or am I just reacting to my environment? You know what this world is like Hawkins. You know what these people are like. Who’s to say, that when you’re my age. When you’re thirty-three. You’ll be just like me?” The Freak practically whispered at Hawkins.

Hawkins looked at the sky for inspiration. Behind him, Ross and Garvin were telling him to do it.

“Get this over with and fucking slice the bastard,” Ross offered.

“Do it Hawkins. WE’RE JUST ALIKE.” The Freak shouted, hissed between his teeth at the teenager.

Hawkins’s fingers loosened… and parted.

The blade fell, almost in slow motion, and clattered to the mat.

“I’m not like you.” Hawkins said, his head hanging low. With that, he started to walk away…

Then turned.

*Spit*

The fans booed, but Hawkins was beyond the fans at this point. The spittle hit The Freak on the forehead and ran down his face. The Freak? He smiled.

“There’s time yet Hawkins.”

With that, Stranglehold left, and the ring crew ran down the ramp with wirecutters to free The Freak. Time for a commercial break?

But Blunder had ruined it, and now what was the Inmate to do? How intimidating can you be when you let someone like Miles Bluner, get away from you when you've got the chance to take the UK Championship as your own?

Tyler Burton knew he couldn't dwell any longer on the thoughts. He had to forget those and get on to the next opportunity... the next fight... the next victim.

John C. Willis.

Joe had told Tyler that he'd be fighting John C. Willis this weekend.

"I'm gonna give you another chance Burton... don't fuck it up this time!"

Words from the devil himself, as Tyler remembered them in his head.

Tyler knew Joe had was giving him another chance to show he should get the Main Event at Persecution...

What Tyler didn't know, was that Joe had other reasons for giving him this match!

Standard Voiceover man has been hired to do the introductions at the fee of $5000 an hour. "And now, TMM International Productions and Penguin Biscuits present... ASYLUM IDOL!" The crowd go mad and crap camera shots pan the crowd to show lots of foolish young girls who will cringe when they watch this back in future years. Standard Voice over man does his final task for the evening "Here are you hosts for this evening, Dave Scherer and Paul Belfi". Two ugly looking 30 something’s walk onto the stage, it's probably the first time in their life that they have been cheered.

"Welcome to Asylum Idol, I'm Paul Belfi and I'm joined tonight by wrestling1.com's Dave Scherer. So Dave what you expect from tonight’s show?"

"Well Paul I think we can expect something big, Both acts are well over with the crowd and despite the creative team behind this angle being awful I'm sure all the marks in the crowd will fall for it".

Dave's comments seem to kill the crowd, much like he did with the Ross report. Paul Belfi being the immaculate professional he is gets on with the business "Well tonight Dave we're going to see a sing off between Slapnutz and The Cheeky Boys. It's going to be huge and all the viewers at home and the great people here" (pop) "will pick the winner. So what you think Dave, It's a close one but for your money who's going to win?"

"Well you know something Paul, I think it's going to be Slapnutz without a doubt"
"Why do you say that Dave?"
"Paul, I know all about the stuff that goes on behind the scenes that these marks don't see and I also read the creative teams script and Slapnutz wins after they rig the voting"

Once again Dave manages to kill the crowd. The Director is holding his head in his hands. Before Dave can carry on talking Paul gets message to cut to Rowdy Roddy Piper who's in the crowd with the fans.

Piper is in the proverbial Sea of Humanity; He seems to enjoy being surrounded by 16-year-old girls. "Alright guys, I'm here in amongst all these Crazze fans" (screams) "these girls are so up for tonight’s show" Piper turns around to a bunch of five girls. He goes to ask the token fat girl what she thinks will happen tonight but instead pulls a face at her and goes with the good looking one "Who do you think will win tonight?" The girls puts her mouth onto the Microphone "I think The Cheeky Boys will win" On this all five girls start doing the Cheeky Boys dance routine, including the fat girl who piper tells to stop it and pushes her out of the way "Aww well guys, these girls think it's going to be those Cheeky Boys! Back to you"

Camera goes back onto Paul Belfi and Dave Scherer. "Thanks Piper" starts Paul but Dave interrupts him "You're wrong girls, it's Slapnutz who wins" Paul stamps on Dave's foot as we go to commercials.

They had finally come to a dead end, the only thing around was a janitor's closet. A "Do Not Disturb" sign hung on the knob.

"I have to pee." Perfect complained, holding his crotch, "I really need to ppppeeeeeeeeeeee."

cHEESE turned towards Perfect. "Ok, so go to the bathroom and quit telling me about it."

"But there's no bathroom around here." he moaned, "just some sodding closet."

"And you're problem is?" cHEESE asked.

Perfect winced as he tried to hold it in, "there's a sodding 'do not disturb' sign on the door."

"I'm sure they'll make an exception to the fact you need to pee."

Dead butted in, "but, guys, it says 'do not disturb'."

"No one cares!" egg NOG barked, "just use the goddamn bathroom already!"

Perfect shrugged as he tip-towed, over to the door and opened it. The room was dark, so he pulled the cord on the light and illuminated the small room. He stepped up to a sink, unhooked his tights/pants and let fly. As he was relieving himself, Jamal and Chino were dead quiet with the members of Los Toros between them. Fearing the worst, the two made a run for it, Frank waddling behind them. The second they stepped out into the hallway, they caught sight of the Legion of Dairy and Dead. Jamal squealed in terror as he lead Chino and Frank behind some crates and around the unsuspecting trio.

egg NOG was quick to point out, "hey, there go those new guys."

"Well I'll be, it sure is," Dead added.

"I hear they're a little..." cHEESE said, looking at NOG and Dead, with a wink and a nudge added, "ya know."

egg NOG replied, "yeah, I hear that, too."

Jamal heard this little conversation and quickly cut in, "WE'RE NOT GAY!"

egg NOG smirked, "right, whatever. I think you were running away or something?"

Jamal grinned as he lead Chino and Frank away.

"Weird guys." Dead added.

cHEESE and egg NOG nodded in agreement.

"Hey, look what I found."

cHEESE, Dead, and egg NOG turned to look at Perfect, who had the members of Los Toros in each hand.

"Is this who we're looking for?" he asked.

Dead smiled and jumped up and down in delight. As he was quick to rub in egg NOG and cHEESE's face, "we get a title shot! We get a title shot! NAH-NAH-NAH-NAH-NAH-NAH-NAH!"

Inmate Vs John C. Willis

"Here comes the Pain" and with it comes John C. Willis, his TFZ Championship, and his manager. As the Terrifying One stepped into the cage, and raised his title for approval… his music stopped, and was replaced by music the fans knew well already.

and I'm a black rainbow
and I'm an ape of god
I got a face that's made for doing violence upon
I'm a teen distortion
survived abortion
a rebel from the waist down - Marilyn Manson

Tyler wasted no time tonight. He had focus it seemed as he walked down the ramp. He took little notice of Michael and proceeded to get quickly into the cage. It only took each man a second to realize what he was in for, a neither man wasted time going towards the center.

Inmate wasn’t the least bit shocked at the confrontational attitude of Willis. He knew his intimidation level dropped significantly the day he lost to Exxa Decimal, not that Willis was one to know intimidation anyway.

Willis goes for a takedown on Inmate. Inmate sidesteps, and gets the takedown for himself. Now mounted on the other’s back, Inmate delivers several quick and effective elbows to the back of Willis’s head.

Willis moved quick enough to throw the former Asylum Champion off his back and away from him, at least far enough away for him to get to one knee and throw a solid punch at Inmate, catching him in the face.

Inmate went back a couple steps, and Willis got to his feet. Both men readied. Willis caught Inmate with two punches; Inmate landed a punch of his own and a kick to the knee of Willis.

Inmate in less than a split second went for a spear. Coiling his legs, and then letting them loose full or force and intent.

A shoulder aimed square at Willis.

But...

Willis saw it, and somehow, took Inmate down to the mat, and was on his back.

How did that happen?

Inmate missed the attempted spear, and was now paying for it. From behind he was being choked out. Willis had him gasping. With his hands unable to loosen the arm choking him, Inmate reached up and grabbed Willis’s hair.

When you’ve got long hair in a fight, it’s a disadvantage. The Fighting Zone Champion didn’t care, and he showed it with a vicious head butt to Inmate’s skull.

The crowd roared... this was turning into a fight worth their interest.

Things took a turn for the worse though, as Inmate still hadn’t let go of the hair, and it worked as leverage, as Inmate drove his other fist into Willis’ face. Willis was stunned, only a little, but enough.

Inmate had given himself the opportunity and moved for the strike...

...err, the hold.

A knee bar. A simple, yet painful, knee bar.

Inmate wasn’t letting go, and Willis couldn’t make him. Not from this situation. Willis knew what was happening, and how much pain was being delivered. Then...

...a hand slapping the mat, and the ref stopping the fight???

NOPE.

How about John C. Willis shaking like a madman, and trying his damndest to get Inmate to let go of his leg. Inmate held tight. Tight enough so that Willis had only two choices, submit, or try harder.

He chose try harder.

The right choice? The wrong choice?

The answer didn’t matter because Willis putting attention on getting Inmate off his leg was all Inmate needed to land two vicious elbows into Willis’ face. They were enough to stun him, and allowed Inmate plenty of time to regroup and land a forced takedown suplex. Willis was down.

All Inmate had to do now was make up for last. He started throwing punches, and that was it.

The ref had no chose but to call it… even though he knew the consequences.

Willis was unconscious.

In a matter of about 3 minutes, a Pay Per View fight had occurred before the fans eyes.

Inmate was going nuts. He had just beaten a man, and shown what intensity he still had had.

Willis would soon be going nuts as well, not in celebration, but because he had just lost to the Inmate.

don't be surprised when we destroy all of it - Marilyn Manson

“Hold the Ice Pack to your head for a minute, you’re going to need stiotches. I’ll do it myself, hold on a minute” said Oddball calmly, as he pressed a bag of ice to The Freak’s head. “You’re not going back out there tonight, we need you for Persecution.”

“I will go back out there if need be.” Said The Freak in return.

Like you can feel the pain anyway, Brian. You lost that sensory nerve a long time ago. I don’t think that you can even process pain anymore… I think pain tolerance is like a tube, you know. If you stuff too much crap down one tube, it gets jammed. I think that’s what happened to your pain tolerance.

Your emotional pain tolerance to. When was the last time that you gave a shit, about anything, ever? You never did, did you. This Hawkins boy, you don’t realize what you’re doing to him.

“Oddball, do you think that I did well tonight? Will Campbell be impressed?” The Freak pondered aloud. Oddball contemplated for several seconds before replying:

”I don’t think that anything impresses that fucking retard. It’s all the crack he’s been on, he’s got no brain left. It’s melted.”

Maybe he’s right, but I still need Campbell to notice me. I need to be on his side, I need his power, to accomplish my task. In proving myself as powerful as The Black Ender. What could prove me to him?

…

Murder?

The crowd erupts and the lights go into epileptic fit mode as Slapnutz enters the stage from the Left and The Cheeky Boys enter from the Right. Mmmbop by Hanson plays and all three guys do a sing along to it... only one verse thankfully. Mr Pink forgets the words - if you can call them that - to the chorus and looks like a right idiot. Slapnutz begins to take over the show with his own take on Break dancing. Just as Slapnutz is getting into his pomp the song stops and he's stuck in the splits, he manages to get up though.

Dave Scherer has stolen Paul Belfi's microphone and thrown it into the crowd - this explains the kid who's shouting "Pork" down it at regular intervals - therefore Dave takes over full presenting. "So Slapnutz, you made that song your own then" Before Slapnutz can answer he takes the microphone from him and answers for him "Well it was written (PORK) so you'd get a good song for your style so that explains that. What about the Cheeky Boys though" The crowd pop loud for them.

Dave turns to look at the crowd "Why are you cheering? They lose! You'll just (PORK) look like idiots later on when you realise you've been cheering for some losers and the creative team will get (PORK) hard-ons because they made you cheer for losers" Dave spits on a few kids towards the front who are still cheering for the cheeky boys.

Dave, having killed the crowd for a third time, walks up to the cheeky boys and laughs at their outfits..

"What a sight we have here" - Dave goes right into Mr Pink's face - "Look at (PORK) you, Silver hot pants and make up!" Dave goes nose to nose with Mr Pink "You're a Poof, You're a Poof, You're a Poof, (PORK) You're a Poof, You're a Poof, You're a Poof, You're a Poof, You're a (PORK) Poof, You're a Poof, You're a Poof, You're a Poof, You're a Poof, You're a Poof, (PORK)You're a Poof, You're a Poof, You're a Poof, You're a Poof, You're (PORK) a Poof, You're a Poof, You're a Poof, You're a Poof, You're a (PORK) Poof, You're a Poof".

Paul Belfi pulls Dave away and reminds him rather than calling the contestants Poof's he should be plugging Penguin Biscuits... that he does and we go to another commercial.

Villam turned around, grabbed Mike about the collar...and threw into a door.

"Not in the fucking mood."

Paul waits for the applause to settle down, "Now it's time for SLAPNUTZ!!!!!!!" The crowd go mad again, Dave Scherer tries to escape but is held back and sedated. Pyrotechnics go off all around and when the smoke lifts, there is Slapnutz. The live orchestra start playing a catchy little number, Slapnutz toys with the crowd a little - like all good pop stars - before letting his vocals do the talking.

Even when you're home you won't pick up your phone and take my call,
When i see you on the street you stare down at your (PORK) feet you won't talk at all,
If only you would see me, one more time or maybe some day you would find,
That you could really love me, you could really need me, maybe you could change your (PORK) mind.

But you'll never stop me from loving you,
it doesn't really matter what you put me through.
You'll never stop me from loving you.

When i know that you're at alone, i wonder to your home, catch a glimpse or two,
It seems that all the time, the thought is on my (PORK()mind, I'll feel with you,
The times I've tried to see you, you know i would meet you anytime night or (PORK) day,
But still you just refuse and no matter what you do I'll never let you get (PORK) away.

But you'll never stop me from loving (PORK) you,
it doesn't really matter what you put me through.
You'll never stop me from loving (PORK) you.

Hawwwooowoowowooo

You'll never stop me from loving you,
Wherever you can go i will follow (PORK) you,
you'll never stop me from loving you.

If only you would see (PORK) me, one more time or maybe some day you would find,
That you could really love (PORK) me, you could really need me, maybe you could change your mind.

But you'll never stop me from loving you,
it doesn't really matter what you put me through.
You'll never stop me from loving you.

Hawwwooowoowowooo

You'll never stop me from loving you,
Wherever you can go i will follow you,
you'll never stop me from loving (PORK) you.

The music fades, Slapnutz takes a bow and the crowd goes mental. "Everyone, Give it up for SLAPNUTZ!!!!"

The camera cuts to Piper who's in the crowd. He's talking with half naked 16-year-old girls who just really loved what they saw. "So you liked that bastard Slapnutz?" What Piper said shocks the girls and quickly the camera cuts away, Piper can be heard saying "I don't take a dive for anyone, he's a bastard, I'm not putting him over".

Paul Belfi stands on the stage, Dave Scherer has gone to hospital so he's safe for now but the Pork kid is still on the loose. "That's it people, now it's up to you. Who do you want to see as (PORK) Asylum Idol 2003? It's your call and you do just that to vote, Call us. (PORK)

If you'd like to see The Cheeky Boys win then phone 00 + 67 0800 5688 (PORK) 3398 27(PORK)74 0976 2388 782 0003 2954 0772 (PORK) 0753 calls are charged at (PORK) International Rates.

If you want to see (PORK) Slapnutz win then call 888 to vote for him, all calls for Slapnutz are free. We'll be back later on tonight with the (PORK) winner (PORK)"

Horrible idea.

Instead, Token Weed was a fighter. And he got down to the Asylum cage, no nonsense, taking a microphone. He cleared his throat. And he raised it to his lips.

"I'll make this short. Ricky Wasp, confrontation. Now. Got it?"

Ten words. Wow. That was short.

Instead, he was met by that same strange shot -- an up-close inspection of a fly.

The lights clicked off, as if someone had flipped a switch.

One spotlight, at the center of the top of the ramp, clicked on.

And the wild-edged sound of The Edge's guitar blew through the speakers. El Savador is what seemed to come out.

"The Fly".

"Oh baby child..." Bono whispered over the gnarled noise as a hand, shadowed by the bright spotlight behind it, appeared on the ramp. An arm -- thick, muscled, obviously known, was quick to follow. The shadowed head, the neck, the torso. The legs. This had to be Ricky Wasp. The body shape was unlike anyone else in this freak stronghold.

As soon as the chorus finished... "like a fly from a wall," that last sentence, ended -- and Edge broke into a crunching sonic assault for a few seconds -- the lights returned, the spotlight clicked off, and confetti began to fall over the crowd.

And that sure as hell wasn't Ricky Wasp. Well, it was. But it wasn't.

It appeared that the Inmate wasn't the only psycho in this place that had changed. Ricky Wasp had two colors in his hair, split right in half -- one black, the other his natural blonde. His face, sparkling blue eye shadow extending up like an old African-American prostitute -- or Diana Ross, take your pick -- would wear. The cross on his chest, the wound he carries from Biggs Dangsta, now seemed to be surrounded by glowing light. A tattoo, yes, but damn -- it looks as though inside, Ricky Wasp is nothing more than light.

And, there was a picture of a fly on the front of his tights.

Ricky Wasp walked down to the Asylum, reaching out, and having people slap his hand. He went to both sides of the rampway, doing this all the way down.

Really... one must ask "what the fuck"?

Ricky got into the Asylum -- rather, he almost did. He balanced on top of the rim, sliding down onto his knees as The Edge hit a famous guitar solo. He began to crawl around the damn cage, Token Weed watching carefully. Waiting for him. He knew this had to be a trick -- nobody turns into that. Not even with a massive concussion. Ricky finally got off the rim, walked towards Token.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Token asked. Ricky grabbed the mic and pointed it towards him.

"Who?" He asked.

Token pulled the mic back. "You."

Ricky pulled it towards him. "Where?"

"Right here, shithead!" Token yelled.

"When?" Ricky wondered aloud.

"Now!" Token hissed.

"What?" Ricky asked.

The crowd half-responded with a "what?" in return.

"Copyright infringer," Token accused.

"Why?" Ricky responded.

"You're really fucking annoying." Token mumbled.

"How?" Ricky said.

"Fuck it." Token replied.

Token swung the microphone at Ricky's head. Ricky ducked, grabbed the microphone from him, and took three -- exactly three -- steps back.

"I've asked the most important questions in life. Now, to answer them. Who? Me. The glory of glories, the icon of insincerity, the color of callousness, the anti-verklempt, the emperor of excitement. But you all can call me by one name, two words only, very simple to follow -- even for blue-haired freaks with no sense of fashion."

He waited a second to take in some cheers, and then spoke again. "The Fly".

Oh. How coy.

"Why? I... I have had a vision. TELVISION! I have seen hope. And its not in the pope! I am --"

Token Weed didn't bother to have this guy's banter go on any longer. He ran him down with his forearm and began to stomp at him. Wasp -- or The Fly -- didn't respond, instead, he just curled up against the bottom of the Asylum.

The crowd booed, but only for a second, because The Fly sprung into action. The Fly grabbed Token's legs, pulled him upside down. No matter what, let us all remember that this nutcase is just as big and as strong as the nutcase that came before. Token was dangling under the grip he had on his ankles.

And then he was thrown up, up into the air -- flashbulbs going off all around these two -- grabbed around the waist, and brought down right on his head.

A dangling person lifted into a free-fall piledriver. Pretty impressive. The Fly took the microphone again as Token held his head in surprise, shock, and yes -- pain.

"Now... Tokey, you have seen the vision... of TELEVISION! But... look, I've got to go. I'm running out of change. Maybe later, it'll be you I can rearrange."

Token, the crown of his head throbbing, growled and pounced to strike at Ricky.

But the lights went out.

And when they were back, Token was alone in the Asylum cage.

Confused.

And there were words being repeated over and over.

"Gotta go, gotta go, gotta go."

"Welcome back to Asylum Idol, I'm Paul Belfi and the phone lines are now closed. The votes are being counted and very soon we'll be revealing who is the Penguin Biscuits sponsored Asylum Idol for 2003. Before we reveal the winner we should get the thoughts from our judges who have been watching from afar". The crowd boo as TMM is wheeled onto the stage in a bullet-proof security unit. Several objects and a few bullets are fired at him so it was a good investment. The gypos who were supposed to have been here too have collapsed somewhere backstage and security can't be bothered picking them up.

From inside his security unit TMM addresses the crowd "Hello everyone, nice to see you all enjoyed the show" This enrages the crowd even more and riots start amongst those outside who are frustrated at being able to hear it but not being able to see it.

"TMM, what did you think of tonight’s performances?" asks Paul.

"Well Paul, I thought the Mmmbop thing was awful, I'd rather eat out Piles than listen to that again"

"Well TMM, what did you think about the individual performances?"

"Paul, I thought the Cheeky Boys put in the worst possible performance. It was the equivalent of one of these cheap little tarts in the crowd deciding to become porn stars and come their big moment their tits fall off"

"Erm, Great TMM. What about Slapnutz?"

"That Scottish tramp has less talent than my toe nails when they had a fungal infection. I thought his performance showed less charisma than a paving stone and his dancing resembled that of the Michelin man on drugs. As for the singing, I've heard better harmony on a Big Fun record".

"Well thank you for sharing your thoughts TMM. Always appreciated. But guess what?"

"You're gay?" replies TMM quite snappily

"Yes, well No. Whatever. The results are in!"

"Oh great, you mean to say that people out there actually wasted money on voting for this shit?"

Getting quite annoyed at his sarcasm The producer has TMM escorted from the stage, which isn't hard because they can just wheel him out. TMM is quite pissed at this and is having a little tantrum in the security unit, much to the crowds amusement.

"Ok people, the results are in. Who will be Asylum Idol champion for 2003? Will it be The Cheeky Boys or Slapnutz?"

Camera shows both backstage, looking very nervous.

"We've had 11 phone calls... 4 of them voting for the loser. 5 of them for the winner and 2 wrong numbers which don't count"

The crowd go silent, Paul Belfi milks the moment for as long as possible "The winner............... of.................... 2003..... As....y....lum....... Idol....... IS................"

The crowd are on the edge of their seats. The production team are counting the money and Penguin Biscuits are selling biscuits

"The winner is.... SLAPNUTZ"

Slapnutz jumps up and gets into the cheeky boys faces before running out to the stage and crying like a big baby. Slapnutz is awarded the trophy for winning and asked to sing his song again. Overjoyed he gets most of the lyrics wrong but the most important thing is that Slapnutz has become Asylum Idol for 2003. The only question that remains is how can you get two wrong numbers on an automated phone call? Perhaps Dave Scherer was right and the contest was fixed?

"Bloody jalepeno peppers."

Token shrugged, not noting the jar of such peppers on it's side, empty. Instead, he saw the rough rundown of the Persecution card. He grabbed it -- flipped it over -- and saw, hey, he was free.

So he took a pen off of Joe's desk and wrote in "Token Weed vs. The Fly".

He put it back on the desk, and left the office. Just missing Joe screaming in anal pain.

Right?

Dez Aragon paced impatiently outside Joe Campbell's office, waiting for his employer to finish whatever manner of business he had going on. Minutes away, give or take, from a confrontation in the cage with Villam Ender. The Asylum Champion, so titled by virtue of slaying his brother.

Even in the Chicago pits before he'd met Joe Campbell, Dez had heard of Villam Ender, thousands of miles away.

And that mask... something about that mask.

He leaned against the wall, wrapping his hands in tape. To beat Villam tonight would require punching until his knuckles cracked and his hands bled.

You're not going in there to beat Villam.

The people in the arena tonight would be looking for a bloodfest. They'd seen what Dez can do with a sledgehammer, and with his fists. They've noticed the scars that adorn his body and have probably heard the rumors.

Already, thanks to the Internet, he'd gained a small cult following.

You've got a different agenda out there.

A full- length mirror covered a good part of the wall and Dez gave himself a once- over before putting on his sleeveless "Professionals" T-shirt to go along with his cutoff sweatpants.

A scant few weeks into his Asylum career and he was fighting the Champion. Who'd a thunk it?

Campbell's paying the bills, so his agenda comes before yours.

He took a deep breath before finally knocking on Campbell's door to let him know that the time was drawing near.

Anticipation? Sure. Nerves? Never.

After all, it's just a job, right?

Right?

Chris Universal Vs Keegan Carrahar

The fans cheered. And cheered even more when “Woke Up This Morning” signalled the arrival of Keegan Carrahar. With his shirt opened and shorts hanging from his frame, he raised his arms to his fans as he made his way to the ring for what was, undoubtedly, a punishment bout for his opponent.

He hopped into the cage and began to circle the steel rim with a single arm raised to the fans. He’d decided against bringing any other Zone members down with him it seemed, but then. He didn’t need them anyway.

“We’re in this together now”, Nine Inch Nails.

The song played for quite some time, and a great deal of rustling was seen about the curtains. After much deliberation, Chris Universal was seemingly PUSHED out onto the ramp. His lip was layered in butterfly plasters from his encounters with Splink earlier… and his fighting costume.

Well, the fans were in laughing fits about it. Keegan found it so funny, he begged the ring announcer to pass him the microphone.

Universal was wearing a tank top, with a dollar sign on the front. And it was tucked into his revoltingly tight rubber bicycle shorts. His socks were showing over his boots.

He didn’t look best appealing.

“AHAHAH!” Keegan chortled over the mike. “Look everybody, it’s Steve Irwin! Steve Irwin has come to wrassle a few crocs! Who’s your wardrobe designer Universal, Granny Grunt? Is that the best you could offer? You look like Billy Gunn in five years time you runt!”

Universal scowled at his opponent as he slowly made his way up the steps and opened the door to the cage. But Keegan didn’t even let him get that far.

Keegan charged into Universal as he made his way through the door, and slammed into him with a powerful heel kick to the stomach. Then, grabbing Universal by the seat of his tights and his shirt, Keegan rammed the ex-owner into the steel cage door, head-first, multiple times.

Keegan played to the crowd as Universal desperately tried to crawl out of the acge door… bad move.

SMACK!

Keegan slammed the door over Universal’s head.

SMACK SMACK SMACK. And a few more times, okay?

Universal screamed in agony, clutching at his head, as Keegan hoisted him back up to his feet. Keegan held the slightly smaller man by his hair and watched him dawdle around for a while, then…

POW!

A clothesline that would have made Bradshaw proud turned Universal inside-out and flopped him onto the canvas, his head bent at a vile angle. Not wasting any time in exacting his cold brutality on Universal, Keegan then took the blonde-haired bastard’s hair and hauled him up again… before taking him by his waist and throwing him onto his mighty shoulders.

POWERBOMB! Universal was thundered against the mat with colossal force, yelping out in pain as his carcass bounced against the hard floor. But of course, Keegan wasn’t finished.

WHAM

WHAM

Two more powerbombs, each harder than the last. With that, Keegan released the practically crippled Universal and watched him roll around in agony.

“You’re shit. You say that you’re going to fight to the death, that you’ll win this war at any cost and what have you. Ha. You’re totally wank, do you know that? We’re only minutes in and you’ve already lost your fight.” Keegan grunted.

Universal couldn’t respond, he was in too much pain. So, Keegan took it upon himself to add to that pain… hoisting Universal up into the air with a Gorilla Press, and dumping him… neck-first… across the rim of the cage.

Universal gasped for air, as Keegan simply hopped from his left foot to right, much like a boxer warming up for his bout. Which spoke chapters about Keegan’s outlook on this fight: He was just getting started.

Universal was yanked backwards by his hair and hurled into the opposite side of the cage by the English Extremist. Keegan couldn’t help but laugh as Universal got to his feet and put him his dukes in a dizzy manner, attempting to throw a punch but missing the mark totally. As Universal’s arm draped over Keegan’s shoulder, Keegan rocketed his fist forwards and clocked the Strangleholder with an uppercut.

Universal rocked backwards, but Keegan caught him. Pulled him forwards, and butted him in the face. Universal swayed, but again Keegan yanked him forwards and socked him with another headbutt.

“Universal.”

BUTT

“You.”

BUTT

“Are”

BUTT

“A”

BUTT

“Fucking”

BUTT

“C- URGH!”

The final headbutt never connected, as Universal quickly raked Keegan’s eyes and saved his own face from a certain dance with disfigurement. Universal then attempted to follow up with a right hand, but Keegan simply grabbed the fist and twisted it behind Universal’s back.

With no effort whatsoever, Keegan elevated Universal into the air with the hammerlock, before bringing him back down with it via a face-first slam. A few stomps later, and Keegan was ready to end it. He slipped his hand into his shorts, and when it returned to the land of the light, it was adorned with a knuckleduster.

Then, the lights went out.

Keegan could distinctly be heard saying “What the fuck?” as the arena was plunged into blackness. And when the lights came back on…

He was surrounded.

Ross, Hawkins, Garvin. Stranglehold. Universal had dragged himself into a corner and was proverbially licking his wounds, as the trio closed in on Keegan.

“Well, fuck it,” Keegan said, surprisingly jovially, as he socked Hawkins in the mouth with his knuckleduster-enhanced fist. Noah toppled backwards, but unfortunately. Keegan didn’t have three arms.

CRACK-CRACK!!

A double chair shot, one to each side of the head, from Ross and Garvin. Keegan dropped to his knees and shook his head from side to side, trying to dissipate the blow. But a colossal chair shot to the bonce from Hawkins, to the top of the skull, saw Keegan face-first on the mat.

Ross dragged Keegan up… and hooked his head.

BANG. Ratings Spike, onto the chair.

Keegan was out cold. Universal hopped to his feet and leaned against the cage, standing as far away from Keegan as possible, as the referee counted.

1!
2!
3!
4!
5!
6!
7!
8!
9!
…No, he’s not getting up.

10!!

“Look who’s on top now, why don’t you!?” Universal roared at the booing crowd. “Stranglehold still have it in them… we still have it in us to win this war! And WE SHALL! At Persecution, I will hammer the final nail in the coffin of this place, this hellhole. My team-mates and I will finally rid your eyes of this regurgitated, trashy crime show!”

Ruben and Garvin clapped Universal’s speech, as Hawkins continued to lay the boots to Keegan. With tapestry nursing her injuries suffered at the hands of Garvin, The Freak incapacitated by the trio following his match with Ross earlier and Splink up to other business, it seemed that Keegan didn’t have a chance.

Stranglehold laughed and celebrated, laying the occasional boot to Keegan. In one night, they’d successfully taken out the whole Zone.

“Faget” by Korn.

The fans erupted, as The Freak… sporting a bandaged head from the multiple chair shots suffered earlier, ran down to the cage with a staff in one hand. Oddball was nowhere to be seen, but that was surely for the better; as there was little that Oddball could do in a situation like this.

The Freak charged down the ramp, but he didn’t make it to the cage… as…

CRACK!

...A masked man leapt over the barricade, drilled The Freak with a chair and ran back to whence he came. Had the Stranglehold ranks increased?

There wasn’t time to ponder that, as Ross quickly dragged The Freak into the cage, and the three battered him with their respective chairs. Then, beaming with smiles and with their arms in the air, they rejoiced before a crowd of trash-hurling, hating fans.

Stranglehold had defeated The Zone. All of them.

Oh, wait. There was still one left.

“HERE COMES THE PAIN”, Slayer.

Having been beaten in a gruelling match with the Inmate earlier in a somewhat flukish manner, John C. Willis stood atop the ramp. All six feet and seven inches of him. He cracked his knuckles as he stomped, thunderously down the steel and charged into the ring.

Universal almost shit himself in fear.

But Noah Hawkins looked very confident. As Willis headed towards Hawkins, Hawkins held his chair up, as if waiting to strike Willis…

“Come the fuck on, punk! Bring it, fucking bring it!” Willis roared, as he pushed Garvin out of the way with a single hand. Willis was practically in reaching distance of Noah, when Noah hurled his chair at Willis’s chest.

Willis caught it.

“Heh, thanks for the weapon, you fucking idiot,” Willis grunted, as he raised the chair high above Hawkins’s head… and brought it crashing down.

Frame-first.

Onto a cattle prod, courtesy of Noah Hawkins.

Electric sizzled through the chair and into Willis’s hands, coursing through his body like an invisible poison. Willis jerked and his head threw itself about against his will as Noah continued to press the prod into the chair. After almost thirty seconds of shocking his victim, Noah released the prod.

Willis dropped the chair. The fans were booing, because it seemed that Stranglehold had, once again, prevailed.

But Willis remained standing. With a groggy, drunken look on his face, Willis swung forwards at Hawkins… only to get a cattle prod, straight to the centre of his chest.

And a second, straight to the centre of his back… from Jeff Garvin.

Willis juddered and shook as the combined power of two cattle prods zapped into him, and once they knew he was done for… Garvin and Noah finally let the spent Willis fall to the mat.

“Climbatize” by Prodigy started up. Tonight, Stranglehold had proved themselves worthy of the late, great Exxa.

And going in to Persecution… it seemed that the Revolution was still going strong.

Villam Ender© Vs Dez Aragon
(Asylum Championship)

Two glass eyes
I'll fuckin tell you lies
I'm on the side of the road
You gonna fuckin' die!!

Yeah, yeah
Shoot, shoot, shoot, shoot, shoot, shoot

POW!

Fuck this road
Well, fuck you too
I'll fuckin kill your best friend
What you fuckin gonna do? (Here I come!)

Shoot, shoot, shoot, shoot, shoot, shoot

POW!

Shoot, shoot, shoot, shoot, shoot, shoot

POOOOWWWWWW!!!

"Six Shooter" by Queens of the Stone Age...

...and Villam...

...isn't walking through the curtains...

Oh wait~! There he is and the people...

Wait.

That's not Villam Ender.

It's just some fan-type guy. Dez shakes his head as pissed off security guards carry the little guy away. The crowd suddenly bursts into a huge uproar~! Villam Ender comes out from under the cage and hops over the wire mesh steel chair in hand....Dez turns around...

SMACK~!

The Big Aragon doesn't go down at first, Villam frothing at the mouth...smacks 'em again. And again! And again! He doesn't go down. Villam spit off to the side...steps back a few inches...and charges....MISS!...Dez ducks under the chairshot! Villam turns around...blindly swinging...and nailing Dez with another chairshot that hits mostly the shoulder.

Villam rears back again...

*Grab*

Dez grabs the chair right out of Villam's hand and hurls it across the cage.

Villam looks up at Dez.

Dez shakes his head.

"You won't get past me."

*KICK*

Right in the nuts.

"Shut the FUCK UP!" Villam screams as he clubs Dez to the ground with forearms. Getting to his feet Villam madly stomps away at the champion pit fighter. Rage consuming him...Villam drops a knee into Dez's back and wraps his arms around Dez's neck in a reverse choke similar to what he did to The Freak last week. But instead of rearing back for a submission...Villam butts Dez in the back of the head several times with his tin-mask. Rolling off of Dez...Villam steps on his back and walks over to this discarded chair.

Picks it up, mockingly dusts it off...

'Now, to get this motherfucker out of my..."

Dez was already up on his feet.

"Bitch."

"Yer' mother." Dez shot back.

Villam's body shook with rage.

...Villam hurled the chair at Dez and charged him. Dez smacked the chair away...and countered Villam's charge by lifting him off of his feet in a military press. Villam slipped behind his back...and tackled the back of his legs! With breakneck speed...Villam rolled to the left, cartwheeled...leap up onto the rim of the Asylum and bounded back off coming down with a knee right in Dez's sternum.

Coughing violently Dez's upper body shot up to a sitting position...but, Villam was just to the right of him by now...out of clear view.

Villam sized Dez up...zeroed in on his head...then-

Smack.

A clean and crisp sounding roundhouse to the back of the skull.

Dez fell over into a couple heap on his stomach. Villam leaned back non-chalantly on the rim of the Asylum as the crowd boo'd him unmercifully.

1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

7.

Dez starts to slowly push himself to his feet...

"AUGH!!!" Villam yelled as he ran over and kicked Dez squarely in the ribs. Villam stomp-stomp-stomped away at Aragon's chest until the ref pried him away.

"The count isn't fin-*POP*"

Ref on the ground.

Villam stood over him finger stabbing the man in the forehead. "Now, are you gonna be a good little fuck?"

"I...I..."

"WRONG ANSWER."

With that Villam screamed something about Dez being a fag and grabbed the ref by the back of the head. Dez was still on the canvas looking up into space...Villam walked over...and...ugh...

Leapt into the air...bashing Dez's and the ref's faces together.

Continuously.

And oh, there was blood.

Everywhere.

Villam picked up the unconscious ref and just completely tossed him out of the Asylum.

Villam ripped off his mask and threw it outside of cage. "THAT'S IT!" Villam said as he stood over Dez..."You better wake up and start fightin' back so that I can really kick your ass."

Dez looked to be out.

"WAKE UP MOTHERFUCKER!"

Villam dug his spikes into Dez's face. Springing back up Villam buried elbow, forearm and punch into Dez's already bloody and swollen head. Pulling Dez to his feet...Villam drove his face into his knee. Which sent Dez popping up and backwards...falling against the rim of the Asylum...and finally dropping down onto the canvas.

"That's right. And stay down, you little bitch."

Villam danced about shadowboxing and kicking air as another ref came down and jumped into the cage....

He started to count.

1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

Dez was getting to his feet!?

How was that possible? Last time he couldn't even get up at seven and now he gets up at 5!?

Needless to say. Villam was irate.

The crowd however was full on with cheers.

'Can't fucking believe it.' Villam thought to himself.

Dez spit some excess blood from his mouth and smiled a crimson smile.

"Don't....don't you fucking smile at me...." Villam warned.

Dez chuckled. "Heh, Hulk mad."

His negative emotion now in total and compete control Villam smashed into Dez with left and rights. Dez blocked a few, took a few, ducked a few and returned some of his own. Dez swung a hard right hook...Villam rolled out of the way...smackSMACKsmackPow!...Three Mui Thai kicks to the thigh...punch to the back of the head. Dez went staggering forward...

Villam stepped back...

Dez turned around...

Villam charged...

HEARTHUNTER KICK!!!

Dez was knocked all the way back against the wire mesh and onto his ass. Villam stalked over to his steel chair and dragged it along the rim of the Asylum. Creating an irritating noise not unlike can against the sidewalk or fingernails on a chalk board...and cutting through the noise...was Villam's evil and equally grating laughter.

Muhuahhahaha....

Dez slowly got to his feet shaking his head...Villam charged...Dez looked up - SMACK~!

! ! !

.

.

.

.

.

Dez took the chairshot in the face!!...but in the meantime grabbed Villam's pants and the sheer momentum pulled BOTH men over!!

Villam and Dez spilled out of the Asylum in a train wrecked mess.

"AUGHHH!!! MOTHERFUCKER!!" Villam threw the chair off to the side and quickly stood up in Aragon's face.

*Patooie*

Spit right on Dez's forehead.

"That's for not figh-*PUNCH*"

Villam was sent sprawling backwards...Villam regained his footing...POW!...came back with a fist of his own. Dez quick came back with another fist and another forcing Villam back. An official stormed down the ramp...

ScHmaCK!

Specialty sidekick from Villam.

Villam then charged Dez - his shoulder ramming his midsection - and buried fists into his kidneys. Dez pounded downward on Villam's back before grabbing him about the waist and throwing him into a barrier. Villam got to his feet and jumped up into Dez's face nailing him with another punch. Dez's head snapped one way on the first punch - grabbed Villam arm with the second - and shoved him into the steel steps.

Villam used the barrier for support...but this time Dez was finally launching his own offensive. Charging into Villam he laid several forearms into the side of Villam's face. Villam fought punch with a punch - easily dodged - Dez's leg slid back a bit...

"UGH!- *cough*"

A hard knee into Villam solar plexus. His body suddenly jarring upwards from the sheer force. Lifting him up in a sloppy but modified pumphandle - Dez lifts Villam up...reverse military press style...and chucks him into the screaming fans. Dez wipes blood from his brow and jumps into the cheering-

Someone has Dez's shoulder.

Oh, it's an official. What's that? You want Dez to stop?

*PUNCH*

No.

Dez comes over the barrier...Villam runs up just as he get over - "UMGF!" - Villam puts a fist right in the breadbasket. Villam backs up a bit...rears his fist back...

...kisses it...

POW!

One Winged, Angel Kiss.

Dez is sent tumbling over the barrier. Villam follows and once over starts to pull Aragon to his feet - Damn - A kneeling Dez returns the punch the stomach and begins to fight his way back up. It's turned into an all-out brawl...Dez and Villam trading punches back and forth going more towards to the ramp...

*Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrpppptttt

A whistle!?

Joe Campbell.

Joe appears at the top of ramp with microphone in hand waving torrent after torrent of officials and security down the ramp. The officials go right after Villam first 6 or 7 men grabbing him and holding his arms...Dez extends his arm...POW!...

...sucker punch.

Then the officials subdue him as well.

All the while...

Joe Campbell claps.

"Well done, Villam. I must say...you threw alot at this chap and it made for quite the good show...

...although...

You didn't win."

Villam spat. "If I didn't win then why are you out here, Camp?"

"Hm? Ah, yes...I know what I said. If you win...I'll come out and get you a fair shot at me and all that...blah, blah...whatever I changed my mind. What I really meant was this..."

PSSSSSTTT~!

Mace.

"AHHHHHH!!!" Villam screamed as his arms were held back. The mace did it worse. Dez was soon let go and took his place by Joe's side and Joe walked up to the squirming Villam...reared a fist back.......

...CRACK!

And gave 'em one right under the jaw.

"GRRRRRR!!!! AHM GONNA FUCKIN' KILL YOU!!!"

"Yes, yes...save it for Persecution."

"GRRRRRRAAHH!!!! AHM GONNA FUCKIN' KILL YOU!!! JUST WAIT CAMPBELL!! YOU AND INMATE AND ANYONE ELSE WHO STANDS IN MY WAY!!!! YOU'RE DEAD!!! YOU HEAR ME!?? DEEEEAAAADDDD!!!"

----Get ready for, Persecution.