One can only watch and see what will happen now.

When you were here before,
couldn’t look you in the eye.
You’re just like an angel,
your skin makes me cry.
You float like a feather,
In a beautiful world.
I wish I was special,
you’re so fucking special.

[Insert two gritty guitar riffs here]

But I’m a creep, I’m a weirdo.
What the hell am I doing here?
I don’t belong here.

The attention of the Asylum fans changed to the entrance ramp, when he parted the black curtain. His head was ducked low underneath his black hoodie as Osyrus made his way to the Asylum dome with Isis and Willis in tow. At that very moment, he resembled retired and dead fighters of tA’s past… ‘The God of Fight’ who also hide his face as if it was ugly like Medusa’s. Only showing his evil stare, when it was time for business to be taken care of… scaring his opposition to stone. And Exxa Decimal as his muscles ripped under his shirt, like a body builder who’s physique was on the brink of implosion. Osyrus walked slowly up the metal steps that led into the dome. Pausing before he moved to the next level, while he looked out into the sea of Asylum fans. He saw people of all ages; the old, the young and even the tiniest of children… not taking their attention off of him. And they all something in common...

Something very disturbing indeed as Osyrus now entered in the fight structure, and the fearful technician handed him the microphone upon his request. Osyrus just stood there in the heart of the Asylum as a few boring chants broke out. Nothing else than expected as Joe Campbell’s former body guard looked down at the microphone, not even a syllable escaped from his lips yet. “Creep” performed by RadioHead died down in the background; as did the jeers from the fans.. and that must have been what Osyrus waited for, wasting no time as he lifted the mic to his lips.

“A blood thirsty look,” the crowd sat puzzled as Osyrus started to pace around the dome. “That’s what everyone sitting in those audience seats, has in common. Coming to an Asylum show, so you could get your daily dose of violence… served by the keg load from one, Joe Campbell. Even I sat in front of the golden watch; before the master hypnotist and I believed what he was doing was right.. Even I contemplated that I could help Joe resurrect the dying Asylum back to prominence. Then I thought about what prominence meant in the Asylum’s version of Webster’s dictionary. It means raping your fellow human being. Its definition is killing off your adversary for good; because you were scared of the competition, that they brought out of you. Prominence is greed and sin at it’s most extreme extent.. and all of you sinners revel in that fact.” The quiet murmurs was turned into full blown heat for the man that stood in the Asylum dome. Osyrus looked around as even the smallest of kids lifted their middle fingers in his direction, he knew it was almost too late.

“It’s kind of sad that it took me as long as it did to figure out, what I was doing was wrong. Standing next to the man as his shield, protecting him against people that saw what he was doing… with their own, cleansed eyes. Being on the side of Joe Campbell is a contradiction, to everything I believe in and to the ones that have come before me… that have failed miserably, due to their own greed.” Osyrus pushed himself against the dome. He noticeably smirk at the people that threw trash his way. That was an indication of the truth; that hurt tA fans, like a kick to the crotch, with a steel toe boot in the darkness.

“Like one of the best technical wrestlers in the world, Jeff Garvin. Who turned eighteen as did I, and knew that he wanted to become a wrestler… the rest of his life. But unlike the ‘Original’, I was all alone. My family didn’t support me when they knew of my dreams to bounce off of the ropes, and collide into my opponent with a shoulder block. They couldn’t share my vision of grappling on the mat; move for move, hold for hold and counter for counter as I dazzled the audience with tremendous technical ability… But I wouldn’t expect any of you here tonight to understand that. All you know is your bare knuckle pit fighting. And punching someone with a cheap shot, doesn’t take any talent whatsoever.” That last comment hurt like hell. Osyrus stood more proudly as he cut down tA’s beliefs. Opening the preverbal Asylum bible; and ripped out page by page, before throwing them in a flaming trash can… never to be read again by anyone.

“Being on the side of the Asylum is tainting every thing, I have accomplished in my wrestling career. The numerous and prestigious titles that were placed on this shoulder,” Osyrus patted his right shoulder; he nodded as nothing could be more appropriately stated. “I am not just some broke down former wrestler; that made his way to this hell hole, because I couldn’t make it… in even the shittiest of promotions like Jade, Inmate and the other wanna be wrestlers in tA... I am one of the best in the world. And I could go wherever I please, because I know that any fed would welcome ‘the personification of talent’ with open arms… even the fWo. Being ‘the personification of talent’ means that I am better than every one in this building; I am better than everyone on this planet, and especially in this universe. No one is worthy to even be in my presence except for the people in this ring… who will be the leaders of the new revolution, along side me.” Osyrus paused as he back tracked his thoughts, repeating what he said seconds ago.

“The fWo. It’s funny that I would say anything good about that crappy ass place. This promotion filled with wrestlers, that have embarrassed the Asylum’s most accomplished competitors with the greatest of ease. And after they were beaten; tA and Campbell especially, still wondered what the fuck had happened.” Osyrus removed the hood from his head. His pierced eyebrow gleamed in the bright spot light, as the heat from the crowd intensified.

“I’ll tell you what happened Joe…Wrestling is what happened. And if done right, it hurts like hell. But I am sure you knew that well, too well in fact. Fuck, Cheno and Carson definitely know that fact! But it's too bad that the brillant smarks around the world didn't see it. They didn't see how the TV champ and the former Woman's champ were groveling at our collective feet; begging for forgiveness, as they were given the wrestling lesson of their meaningless lives. Thanks to that bastard Campbell cutting off most of the Osyrus Invivtational, it's too bad that you couldn't judge for yourselves. Campbell, you know how much of a threat wrestlers posses in The Asylum. If not… then why would you hold down all the wrestlers that have made their presence felt in the Asylum. Holding down you most valuable stars…

The LLB’s

The Jeff Garvin’s

The Bigg Dangsta’s

The Ruben Ross’s

The Marauder’s

The Chris Universal’s

The Exxa Decimal’s

And we can’t forget about the Kellen Kinkade’s.”

Somewhere Joe just erupted with anger at the mentioning of people that tried to drive the Asylum into an early grave… even one man that still, held his precious immortal title. “Why would I end up like those names that were driven out of the Asylum? I am an intelligent man amongst common barn yard animals; wrestling in the best promotions and creating a legendary legacy, where even the lowest of wrestlers on the card… would pay me respect, like in ACW. Unlike, being in the Asylum.. where the word respect is foreign language, that no one is familiar with. Not even the ring leader himself, Joe Campbell. Ignorance is the Asylum’s bliss. And I plan on making sure; it is the first thing, I will take away. Their new reality will be unforgiving, unrelenting nightmare and stiff like open-hand chops from ‘The Nature Boy’ Ric Flair himself, in his prime. WHOOOOOOOO!”

Osyrus started to get angry as fans looked around to the ceilings, the ground… becoming un interested in what the wrestler had to say. A loud bellow caught their attention again as he snorted and snarled into the microphone. “Do you understand what is happening before you?! This is history taking place right in front of your damn eyes; and you don’t even realize it’s happening. You will remember this day in the Asylum. The day that Osyrus stood before you a wiser man; eyes wide open and un-affected by the haze of smoke called Joe Campbell. The days of blowing smoke up my ass are over, like he continues to do to all of you. I don’t like anything hovering near my ass, but I can’t speak for all the transvestites here tonight.” Osyrus pointed at each and every fan in the audience in a taunting fashion. Jabbing his finger in their chest, if they were close enough.. to feel how serious he was about his rant.

“I am going to do something that has never been done to the Asylum. I am going to succeed, where others have failed miserably. And I am not alone in my beliefs,” Osyrus paused as he exited the dome and stood on the top step, that led into the fight structure. Pointing to the Asylumtron, “I know there are people backstage, that believe in what is right. And I will slowly create an army to take down Joe Campbell with his own fighters, turning them against him… to join me. But why hesitate when sticking it to Mr. Campbell… I am going to hit him where it really hurts, and I am sure that you idiots have no idea what I am talking about. None of you here tonight are imaginative or sly or creative… to look at the big picture. So let me pull out my pictionary from my hoodie; my big bright crayons and I’ll enlighten all you feckers tonight.”

“I will be the first person to enter my name into Asylum’s most prestigious battle. Wait a second, I know what you great tA fans are thinking… ‘What does the word prestigious mean?’ It means very important or valuable fuckers, now shut the hell up with your talk. As I was saying… I am going to enter the contest where tA legends are made; place my body on the line to defeat every man or woman that comes before or after me… so I can be the last man standing, with the most points to win this rumble. In a matter of four weeks; I will destroy whoever it takes, so I am victorious. Whether it is Inmate, The Freak, Token Weed, those pussies, Women’s Intuition or even a returning Golden Glen Miller.. that would roll his crippled ass down that ramp way with a walker, it really doesn’t matter. I am going to be victorious. I am going to be the one at the end with my hands held high. I will be the winner of the Manhunt main event.” Osyrus rose both arms into the air as the crowd let him have it with the usual chants of ‘You suck wrestler’ and ‘I hope Campbell kills you’ and the latter. The former wrestling champion just shrugged off the remarks as he motioned Willis and Isis to leave the tA dome as “Creep” performed by RadioHead played while the trio exited the ringside area.

Could Osyrus really pull it off and win Manhunt?

There was one person that was going to make sure that didn’t happen.

His initials… J.C. I am pretty sure you can figure out, who that is.

In the other direction, an extremely assured and confident gentleman strutted towards them and ‘accidentally’ bumped into an unbeknownst Escobar.

The Drug Dealer was about to confront the responsible individual until he looked up and saw his fellow countryman who spoke first.

“What is your problem? What is wrong with you now huh? You’re wobbly. You’ve been on the Diet stuff again haven’t you? You know what Escgaybar? You’re a disgrace. A disgrace to Mankind. A disgrace to Fighting. A disgrace to Asylum and more importantly than all of that…

“A disgrace to Bogotá and Colombia.”

Ordinarily, Escobar may’ve buckled but isn’t it ironic how hard people can become (no sexual reference intended) when they’re surrounded by others? At present, Escobar may have even fancied his chances against someone such as Mike Tyson.

“Eye wat? Bogota!? EYE AM KENG THERE. Joo don't kno nateng, mang. The only teng joo know how tu do is wraps joo little mouths over transvestite penis.”

However, someone should have told him that Ali certainly wasn’t intimidated by the group of thugs.

“You must have moved onto the tablets if you think you are keeng there. I know everything there is to know about everything even if that does include sucking off Michael Jackson. It's nothing that you don't know anyway.”

His adversary looked at his accomplices, who smiled smugly, and then turned back to address Amore.

“Wat? Wat joo...tallkeng bout mang? Leesen, eye jam done with joo. JOO UNDERSTAND? My first trick deed knot werk but dats O-kaye...I have a better idea.”

Juan, which is his Christian name, paused prior to sharing his latest scheme with everyone.

“Joo want a match? Deen joo fight one of my goons....”

Amore smirked. This appeared to be one opportunity that he could not turn down but his visions of pummeling Escobar within an inch of his life on this evening at least were shattered as the crafty Colombian chose Ali’s opponent for him.

“PIKA-GOON I JOOOSE JOO.”

The ‘Hairy’ Goon as he was also know stepped in front of his master with his arms folded and stared at Amore, who really should have been worried due to the eight inch gap in height and weight disadvantage of around seventy or eighty pounds, but wasn’t for some reason. ‘Hairy’ was what you could call a living image of what an A-Train/Bob Thornton lovechild may actually look like (But who is to say that they didn't HMMMM?)

“eef joo beet heem....deen we kan have our match at dee pee pee vee....DEAL?”

“You never stop thinking about drugs do you? You ask me if I UNDERSTAND? I ask how can anyone understand some sheethead like you. You make Joe Campbell look sober.”

The previous remark was clearly designed to create a cheap pop and it certainly achieved its purpose.

“I want a match. But the question is - does King Kong want a match with me? The last time him and me had a fight I kicked his ass so much that Superman, Spiderman, Batman, the Power Rangers, VR Troopers, SAS and entire U.S. Army - plus Austin Powers and Doctor Evil - had to hold me back and they still all went home with black eyes.

“WHEN I beat him...” The audience applauded Amore's arrogance before he resumed his rant.

“When I beat him you'd better run back to the place where you come from, which I believe is Pluto, in order to get away from me Escgaybar. And you'd better do it quickly because I run quicker than the Speed of Light multiplied by ten and to the power of seven. That's real Math by the way. None of this ounces sheet.”

"Eye see."

Escobar didn't really see.

"Joo want dee match or not?"

He responded: “To put it in simple terms, simple enough for you and your cocaine-smoking slimeballs here and your bozos back in Bogota… We have a DEAL.”

On that note, they went their separate ways and probably started to prepare for what
would be a five-on-one fight when and wherever this proposal transpired.

His eyes slowly rose towards the listless ceiling tiles before allowing a hardened sigh of disapproval, escape from his lips. Bearing witness to the random pools of water, seeping through each crevice, Damon’s fighting spirit continued to stir. It was completely obvious that neither his absent-minded asshole of an employer nor the entire tA consortium was able to take him seriously. The vivid images of Campbell’s acts of complete dismissal, coupled by Osyrus’s random acts of blatant disrespect, made his disposition more calloused with each passing moment.

’Examples has to be made’ Damon uttered to himself before flipping open his Nextel i90. The time, displayed along the miniature color screen, bore no relevance to him at the moment for time was basically all that he had. Seeking to alleviate himself from complete boredom, he began scrolling along the electronic address book…

’Damon.’

The calm Southern Mississippi accent lured Damon’s attention towards the approaching source. The curvaceous form would soon stand before him, brazed with a caramel coated hue and an aura of ebony prestige. Despite her previous cameos throughout their pornographic monologues, her face exhibited a more ‘tainted’ expression at the moment.

’So what did he say?’ He could tell, from within her voice, that it was filled with a valid level of concern towards his future. Usually, at this time, he would be working to put a permanent kink in her spine but his mindset was completely focused on something much greater.

’Haven’t talked to him yet…. I’m just thinking to myself right now’

On her own accord, she assumed her place next to him, comfortably along the wooden locker room bench. Since the Asylum was the last place to expect common locker room etiquette and separation of the sexes, Damon paid it no attention while digging deeper into his leather jacket.

’So what’s on your mind, Duchess? she asked. This is somewhat of a common inquiry when interacting with the female gender. Damon responded with a subtle shaking of his head before putting his phone away.

Retrieving a small plastic canister, tatted with some medical inscriptions, he opened it and swallowed the prescribed dosage of his medication.

’What’s wrong? You sick?

Petit Mal Seizures.

Her facial expression led Damon to educate her briefly about his infliction.

Had this shit since I was a kid. It’s kinda hard to explain it but it’s like my mind tend to lapse sometimes…. You know those times it seems like I stop in the middle of something for a minute or so?

She nodded.

’Well, I have to do that to sorta ‘get my mind right’…This medicine keeps me regular mentally.

Damon casually studied her body movement to better gauge her level of understanding. So far, she seemed to be responding well to it. Usually, he would be able to detect a sense of ‘indifference’ from others when this would be explained to them.

It’s not like I’m gonna flip out on some dumb shit…Just a chemical imbalance, that’s all. Nothing serious.’

’Oh.’

’What’s up with you?’

She didn’t respond to him when asked. Her first action was to solemnly sigh and look towards the floor. Something didn’t feel right. It couldn’t be in regards of the videotapes being displayed for he held sole possession of them…The copies, anyway. Besides, the bachelor party was set to take place tomorrow night. It had to be something else. Right?

I can’t read your mind, girl. If something’s wrong, let me know something…

’……

’…….

’I don’t know how to tell you this…

A look of concern had quickly morphed into a partially hardened scowl.

’Don’t know how to tell me what?

Condensation began to form along both eyes before a singular stand of contained emotion, slid down her ample cheek. Her lip quivered slightly as she bit it gently.

’You’re gonna hate me, Damon. I know it...I just know it.

Keeping his volatile emotions in check, she swallowed his pride and placed his hand over hers. She sought to pull away but he refused to let her suffer alone. Despite her ‘situation’ at home, he was man enough to know when she was in need.

Duchess; Talk to me.

……

……

……

……

……

…’Baby, I’m pregnant…'

"I'm certain you remember me. Who couldn't remember a face as recognizable and memorable as mine? However, if I.Q points were watts, you couldn't light a fridge, so I'll remind you. Fiend's the name."

His grin actually widened, the cockiness of this man was absurd.

"I like the thing that takes the focus off your head, Sylo. Jade is it? How's about giving me a ride? I'm the only one here who hasn't."

Now what do you think happened folks?

Sylo snapped his neck?

Dipped him in acid?

Raked his eyes in glass?

Nope...

Sylo only laughed.

“That’s funny. Really and you know why it’s funny? Because you’re only digging yourself into a hole and I’ll turn that hole into your mother fuckin’ grave. Are we on the same page with this?” Sylo took a step forward.

Fiend just grinned. Again.

"I think so, Sylo. But I don't think I heard the chimes to turn it. I guess on the next page you think the nasty giant stomps Jack and grinds his bones into bread? I'd hate to remind you, Sylo. Jack cuts down the beanstalk. And you're the one who falls," Fiend cleverly replied.

He stood back and folded his arms as if to tell Sylo that he's not afraid of him, that Sylo should be the one who is afraid. Sylo’s eyes danced back and forth through Fiend’s soul and again he only laughed.

“Haven’t you heard or did your mother forget to tell you? Fairy Tails are just that...Fairy tails...so I suggest you step back into the real world and realize you’re only moments away from getting sent to the hospital,” Sylo snarled and stepped even closer.

“Let me give you a little history lesson. I’m a man that you do NOT want to fuck with...ask the likes of KroW, Jamal Wilson, Rune Winters, and Velorium 12. I am not against breaking your fucking legs and leaving you in a gutter to rot. So, what I suggest is this...you turn your ass around, walk your cock loving ass down toward the double doors, and leave before you get seriously...hurt” Sylo stressed the word Hurt as he leaned down becoming face to face with Fiend.

Fiend stood there.

He just stared.

He let those steely grey eyes just pierce at the flesh of Sylo as he looked him up and down.

Just sizing him up.

Fiend did not have a full picnic basket upstairs. He definitely had a few screws loose. What other man would drop 20 ft in the air onto a knife? Definitely not a sane person.

And that's reason why Fiend didn't take the Superbeast's advice. That's the reason why he puffed up his chest and stepped a little closer to Sylo and simply said...

"I'd love to walk away, but I know how sly you are with that cock of yours and there's no chance I'm putting my back to you," he told Sylo.

Sylo grunted in response.

Fiend got right into Sylo's face and whispered.

"Here's my suggestion:

"Fuck...

"You!"

“Well I see only one way of doing this then...you bring your ass down to the Asylum and we’ll see how much cock you really can stand in your ass because you will get fucked!”

Sylo snarled at Fiend.

Fiend stood there a second contemplating what Sylo just said to him.

"Did you just ask me to go down to the Asylum so you can fuck me in the ass in front of thousands of people? On National television? I'm afraid I'll have to decline because this asshole is an exit only. Capische?"

He stepped back a step.

"And brush your teeth. There ain't nothing worse than the smell of cock breath," he remarked to the Superbeast.

Sylo stood up straight and only laughed again.

“So the all mighty Fiend is backing out of a fight with petty insults? Let me get this straight...go with me on this ok? What I’m getting is this: You don’t have the balls to come down there and fight me...Is my assumption correct?”

Sylo laughed a little more, then his expression went cold.

“It’s ok to be scared little boy...if I was in your shoes I’d be scared too because you know as well as I that you’ll only walk out a fucked up cripple...that is IF you ever walk again,”

Fiend shook his head.

"You got it all messed up, Jokey Smurf. I just don't want to have anal sex with you AT ALL! If it's a fight you want, it's a fight you'll get...”

Fiend grinned cheekily at the Superbeast.

"But I gotta see some green before I dirty my knuckles on your syphilitic carcass."

Fiend held out a hand.

Sylo reached in his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash.

“It’s worth it,” He snarled.

“See you later tonight then,” Fiend smirked. He then turned and walked off as Sylo only chuckled.

“You’re God damn right you will.”

Jade Vs Slapnutz

Despite this constant stream of melodramatic bullshit, it felt good to be needed by the insignificant masses. A devilish smirk formed against his gritty visage in light of the numerous lives he’s either pillaged or torn asunder. Partially submerged within his methodical thoughts, he traversed calmly down the hallowed halls of the Arco Arena.

His wry expression of self gratification disappeared momentarily behind the bourbon-laden flask, pressed against his lips. His arrogant swagger was quietly accompanied by a holstered pistol, lain hidden from the eyes of the commoners. A small entourage of security drones remained within arm’s distance behind him during his evening rounds, to ensure that Joe was given his mandatory moments of peace before starting the televised broadcast of malevolent violence and mayhem. Taking a look to his immediate left, the diminutive form of Thanh Vactor, kept pace as Team Campbell’s formidable point man.

To the random bystanders, who were under his thumb, he could be defined by two words:

Virtually Untouchable

The loitering mob visually greeted him as he rounded the corner and approached his office. The listless clambering of voices began to rise but the Thailand native ensured safe passage for Campbell to enter his private domain. He pondered briefly about offering a discerning comment to the masses but shrugged off the notion to stoop to their level at this point of time…

“OOF!”

Campbell’s shades nearly slipped off the bridge of his nose as bounced awkwardly backwards. The silvery tin flask fell aimlessly to the floor as Campbell’s descent was broken by the security team’s awaiting arms. Slightly disheveled, an angry fight promoter scrambled to his feet and shoved away the hands of the hired help.

“GET THE FUCK OFF ME! HEY, YOU SLANTY EYED FUCK?!! WHAT THE HELL IS…”

Looking beyond Thanh’s broad shoulders, Joe witnessed a blasphemous image within the privacy of his inner sanctum; Lazily stretched out in Campbell’s personalized chair, was a face that had been absent for quite sometime.

Campbell’s blood began to boil as he noticed Damon’s boot placed against the lacquered surface of his expensive Mahogany table. The reflection of his darkened sunglasses revealed the Chicago native, ’playing catch’ with a single brick of C-4 with his left hand. A partially thick trail of cigar smoke made it’s way towards Campbell’s already flaring nostrils. The bitter Englishman then violently shoved Vactor out of his path before making his approach towards the disrespectful infidel.

“You’ve either got to be fucking high on crack or half past retarded to sit your hairy black arse in my goddamn chair.” Campbell’s gnarled knuckles tightened with each breath. Thanh motioned forward toward his master’s desk and swept Damon’s foot to the wayside. The action sent papers scattering along the floor. Immediately, a singular red beam began to dance along Campbell’s forehead. The sight of a rising Laser Mounted .45 prompted a ensemble of armed sentries to stand in on Campbell’s behalf. Joe’s arm froze in mid-motion while reaching for his pistol.

“Whoa….whoa….whoa, now. Chill out, Joe. I ain’t here for any bullshit…But you & I need to talk…Man to man. Right now.”

Campbell’s jaw assumed a more rigid posture as Thanh looked to him for his next order. Nobody moved for a number of moments as the ‘innocent bystanders’ had already scattered away from the impending war zone.

“Damon; I’m gonna count to 3 and then you’re gonna get your Watermelon seed spitting arse the fuck out of my office or you’re gonna eat so much goddamn lead, it’ll turn your dick into a Number fucking #2 pencil.”

A puff of smoke trickled out of the side of Damon’s pursed lips in amusement as he leaned forward and lit the tip of the grayish colored brick with the cigar. The sight of the miniature bluish flame, steadily growing, kept Team Campbell at bay. Taking the lit cigar out of his mouth, Damon flicked it at Campbell’s feet. The burning ambers scattered wildly along the semi-clean floor.

“ That’s a good one, Joe. You know it feels good to see that you still have a sense of humor because I’d always assume that you were a motherfuckin’ tight ass or something but to tell ya the truth, I ain’t much of a comedian…But I do know a little something about explosives; You see this burning block of C-4, Joe?”

“Yeah. What of it?”

“You know that if I slap this shit against this raggedy Rent-A-Center desk you got right here, I’m gonna redecorate this entire East wing of the building. Now I don’t wanna have to do that shit but if I can’t have a few minutes of your time, I guess I’ll have to…”

“No. Wait. Wait a fucking minute.”

The eerie shimmer is Damon’s eye invoked Campbell to reconsider his option for violence…for now.

“You’ve got balls, motherfucker. That's bought you at least five minutes. Do whatever the fuck he says. “

"I want everyone's shit cleared out, on the floor and slid on over to the wall behind me. I won't be long.

Slow to lower their weapons, the armed and ready legion, reluctantly disarmed and placed their weapons on the floor before laying prone along the ground. A bevy of steel were slid underneath the desk, impacting against the wall behind Damon. Thanh continued to hold his ground. Joe needed his assistance and he was not about to leave his side now.

“That means you too, ‘Blinky‘…”

“Fuck you. He stays.”

“Aight. Whatever‘s clever, Joe. Take a seat, motherfucka‘. Relax…Chill.’ Um, ‘Blinky‘; Why don‘t you shut that door for me?”

Thanh looked at Joe, who motioned for him to comply. Having sealed the hatch shut, Thanh positioned himself a few feet away from striking distance near the adjacent wall.

Both Thanh & Campbell’s eyes remained transfixed upon the now engulfed brick of dormant hostility as Damon gently placed it near the end of the table. The ebbing flames emitted a putrid stream of smoke and fumes slowly rising towards the ventilation shaft. Campbell gulped angrily as the fire began to ruin the table’s finished surface.

“Oh, don’t worry about this little bit of ‘insurance’ right here. I’m a fuckin’ Jarhead, remember? I know what I’m doing. You see, as long as nothing hits this shit, we’ll be cool but the fumes are my main concern so I am going to be brief…”

“Fair enough. Your black ass is already living on borrowed time so say whatever the fuck you have to say and then get out. I promise you’ll be dead by the end of the night.”

“Now why’s it gotta be like that, Joe? I could give a fuck about all that because you’re talkin’ to a nigga that ain’t got shit to lose, man. Your faggot ass wouldn’t even be in this mess had you let me do what I came here to do but naw; You call yourself ’doing me a favor’ by kickin’ out a few dollars and hoping that a nigga will stay quite…You can’t be fuckin’ serious, Joe. Go ahead and put that little pee-shooter on the table, big man.”

Joe reached up slowly to unfasten his pistol and place it upon the table. The shiny barrel remained aimed towards Damon’s heart as Joe leaned back and crossed both arms across his chest. In the meantime, Damon lowered the red dot in-between Campbell’s eyes before stopping at the base of his Adam’s Apple.

“So what now? Spent all your money on 40’s and Kentucky Fried Chicken and decided to bite the hand that feeds ya? Eh?”

“You’re still playin’ me for cheap, eh Joe? That’s aight…You’ll learn. You and the rest of these sorry ass niggas are gonna learn the hard way. You can breathe easy for now cause’ killin‘ ya ain‘t gonna help my problem, Joe. I wanna know what you’re gonna do to fix this little clusterfuck you made?”

“The fuck you’re talking about, you ungrateful sack of shit? I brought your no good chain snatching arse and teamed you up with Project: Flatlined to help me to get rid of these pole-smoking wrestling geeks and what the fuck did you do? Not a goddamn thing! I even considered giving you a place by my side but you were too busy playing ’Kobe Bryant’ with your little band of hood rats in the maintenance room.“

“Kobe Bryant in the maintenance room?! Whoo-Hooo! You's on a roll, Joe! You’s a funny motherfucka’ but you’ve got enough to worry about keeping this raggedy ass company alive instead of worrying about whatever piece of pussy I’m runnin’ up in. A nigga gotta do somethin’ with his time since I ain’t out there making some real money…”

Look at Minio; That could had been you if you kept your ego in check. I know goddamned well that you wished your illiterate ass was in his place, Don’t ya? Who made him what he is today? ME! That’s who…It goes to show that without me, not a goddamn thing will come your way. Nothing. Just like I shut your black ass out from Retribution, you have no idea who you are fucking with…”

“I. Don’t. Give. A. Fuck! Fuck Joe Campbell! I ain't your bitch. I’m here to mind my own fucking business, do whatever the fuck I need to do to make my cheese and go the fuck home. That’s it. Minio may toss a mean salad but it'll be a cold muthafuckin' day in hell before I ever kiss your ass. You can believe me that shit...”

"You don't fucking get it, do ya; No matter how you put it, I own you."

Thanh and Campbell were beginning to cough because of the rising fumes, starting to culminate within the vast confides of the office. Damon began to fan away the fumes with his free hand before slipping on a small breathing apparatus over his face.

‘…cough…cough…What the fuck do you want already?…cough…cough….’

‘I’m glad you asked. Here; Sign this.’

The coughing was beginning to become more violent with Thanh, leading Joe to scramble for a nearby pen. As Thanh collapsed unto the floor, Jackson’s hand slid the paper over within reach for Joe to scribble his signature along the bottom.

‘…cough…Wha?’

Standing to his feet, Damon leaned forward and grabbed Joe’s gun before dumping the shells out of it and tossing it back in Joe’s drawer. Joe buried his mouth into the depths of his shirt as Damon walked around the table. Flicking the fan on, Damon opened the door to allow a majority of the poisonous fumes out of the room. Given the opportunity, Damon placed a few random kicks to Joe’s hired personnel.

“Move, nigga! Move! Well, since your word ain’t worth a wet Mexican food stamp, I decided to take some initiative of my own…like you said. Now you and I both know that I did your monkey ass a favor on what I did to Osyrus so with that bullshit you’ve been pulling on me lately, we’ll just call it even….But thanks to this signature, all of this ‘sideline bullshit’ is over. See ya at Man Hunt, Joe.”

Left in a room full of teary-eyes soldiers, Campbell stumbled out into the hallway and collapsed along the floor. His search for Damon Jackson was rendered futile before dragging himself to his feet and drowning his eyes with some cool refreshing water at the nearby fountain. His lungs were on fire but, with his vision partially restored, it allowed him to survey the legally binding documents that he was forced to sign.

The sudden gnashing of his teeth foretold of how much of a bitter pill he had just swallowed. Joe

...Always be careful for what you ask for...

Escobar stuck his head out of the locker he *was* hiding in...

"Jeeeeeeeeeeeesss??"

Thanh pulled Escobar out and slammed him against a different locker just next to it.

Escobar frowned and started to struggle. "Wat is dee meeneng of dis!?"

"Oi, listen up you fucking whorebag." Joe said getting into the Bogotans face...

"Your recklessness is going to cause me a lot of trouble. And if I get into any trouble...then *you* get into trouble. And by trouble, I mean that Thanh here will grab a baseball bat and go apeshit on your coke-addicted brain.

We clear?"

"JES, SORRY GEESH." Escobar said...giving up early.

Joe backed off a bit and ordered Thanh to do the same.

"Tonight you keep those Goons away from ringside as punishment."

That was a statement, not an order. A classic Campbell command.

Escobar lowered his head as Campbell and his bodyguard walked away.

GET READY FOR IT.

3

2

1

"DEES SUKS"

Eddie took a cigarette to his lips. Yes, an actual cigarette. He was always told that the cigarette nicotine helped strengthen his high. At this point, he wasn’t sure if it was the truth or if he just believed it so much that it became so. Then again, that’s basically what his life had become. The only reason he remembers Carson’s treason is the scar on the side of his face that he’d never lose.

But that’s when a hand tapped Eddie on the shoulder. Quickly, he spun, grabbing the “assaulter” by their throat and slamming them up against the nearest wall.

“So, you like it rough, don’t you?”

It was Nicole Carson, smirking as she bit her bottom lip and rolled her eyes in mock ectasy. “I hope it’s as good for you as it is for me.” She winked.

He slammed her head into the wall once again. “Woah woah! What’s with all this hostility. Is this because of last week? Because I was just frustrated. Just tried to blow off some steam.”

“Well wo-mang, most funken people don’t hit der funken school-funken-girl crush wen dey get all funken pissed.” Cheno said, tightening his grip slight. This stopped Carson’s seductive glances, as she was worried now about breathing. But she was willing to trust Cheno for at least the next few moments.

”What do you want Eddie? An apology? Some sort of fruit basket? I screwed up, that’s all. But you have to admit, that was fun last week. Changing our element and watching that prick Osyrus get what’s coming to him.” Carson smiled, but gagged a small bit. “And you got the win anyway. What team work was THAT!?” Carson shouted, enthused at their efforts.

“I ain’t be funken signin’ on fer dat shiznit yo.” Cheno said, looking away for a second. “Dat ain’t da way I be playin’.”

“What? Wrestling?”

Cheno returned his gaze to Carson, but his face was rigged, it was almost emotionless. He tossed Carson down to the ground be her throat, as she let out a little oomph. He stared down at her a second, wondering what had gotten into him.

And then turned and walked slowly away.

Thoughts about Duchess being pregnant, often taunted him amidst the tempestuous sea of self-induced mental anguish. Vividly scrolling throughout the depths of his already cluttered mind, he was left to muddle over ill-conceived notions and calculations…

“Well, what‘s a nigga to do? I asked that bitch to ‘swolla my kids‘…She starts talking that ‘Damon, my throat hurts too much right now to swallow‘ type bullshit and look what happens? I know one thing though; She betta not come at me with some ‘monkey shit‘….That’s what the fuck I know…Already got enough drama on my plate as it is…“

Making his approach toward a parked Wine colored Acura Legend, Damon heard the electronic locks, pop upward before he opened the passenger side door. The car in question began to emerge from the vast congregation of parked vehicles. An audible yet awkward silence grew to the point where someone needed to ‘break the ice’. If only she could understand that when a unexpected pregnancy is announced, the news hits with the impact of a sledgehammer to the nut sack.

“….You aight?” was his initial conversation. After a few moments and her merging into traffic, she offered her response.

“I’m gonna tell him the baby is his.”

“Yeah. Aight. You cool with that? ”

It took a minute but she swallowed her pride and nodded ‘Yes’. Damon slowly turned up the radio to listen to the ongoing Power Mix. “Make That Ass Clap (Back Slap)” by Project Pat had been fed into the rhythmic whirlwind of urban beats.

“…AH SHIT! Make dat ass clap make it snap (talk to me now)/Make dat ass smack when I slap (talk to me now)/If you is the baddest, booty the phatest/Let me hear you holla out/I yi yi!”

…..

Damon began Bank Head Bouncin’ along with the beat. Fuck whatever wild hair was hanging off her ass. Damon’s plot to get back into active duty worked perfectly….So far. Besides, she made it up in her mind that her ‘significant other’ was going to play ‘step dad’. Two tears & bucket; Fuck it. Duchess began to sigh heavily in the driver’s seat, leading Damon to turn up the volume a little bit more.

“…Its gold mouth…stackin dollars/where yo sista at cuz she…swallers/big juicy fat I must…hollers/see you in yo pants I may…filcher/wearin tight clothes make yall…scholars/
freaky yung broads that luv…ballers/hesitate to talk nigga…stallers/you can let the steam out yo…collar/luv gettin stuck on 4...hours/ja-cu-zie livin room…showers/nipples on hard some big…knockers/eyes got bigga than blue…blockers/coochie real tight like school… lockers/treat a lame dude like a true…sucka/most gonna pay cuz they luv…her/dog anyway I will knock…her…”

All the while he began singing along with the lyrics, an elderly couple, had driven side by side with her car and was matching its velocity. They offered a unwelcoming stare at the large black man, bouncing haphazardly in the passenger side seat. In mid bounce, Damon extended an middle finger to them before they veered away toward the off ramp.

“Make dat ass clap make it snap (talk to me now)/Make dat ass smack when I slap (talk to me now)/If you is the baddest, booty the phatest/Let me hear you holla out/I yi yi!”

Immediately, the blaring bass laden speakers had ceased jumping. Shaken out of his celebration frenzy, Damon turned his attention back toward the driver’s seat.

“What the fuck you do that for?”

“Your phone’s ringing.

Scrambling to receive the incoming call, Damon leaned back into the leather interior and observed the unlisted phone number along the LCD screen.

“Hello?”

A somewhat familiar voice was transmitted from the other end.

“Where the fuck you been, nigga! What? You trying to act like you don’t wanna call me no more?”

Duchess wasn’t a threat for she was only an occasional ‘cut buddy’. She knew what the situation consisted of but obviously, Tasha refused to know her place in the pecking order. Unlike Duchess, who was of a more ‘middle class’ & halfway decent Apostolic church upbringing, Tasha aka ‘LaTasha LaShae James’ was straight out of the Wild Wild Hundreds in Chicago but was living in Detroit. [ If you’ve never been to the heart of Hundreds, it’s for a good reason….Trust me on this one. ] Granted, Duchess has a fiancée, but this silly ass bitch on the phone, was married….To 2 different dudes, and none of her kids have the same daddy…..You make the call.

“You hear me!?”

“*sigh* I’m busy. Whatcha want? ”

“Oh, so now your black ass is too busy for me now? Huh?”

“I told you from the beginning; I ain‘t gotta punch no clock for your ass. If your pussy was payin‘ me, then it‘d be a different story…But if ‘If‘ was a fifth, we‘d be all fucked up, now wouldn‘t we?”

“You always gotta be a mothafuckin’ smart ass, don’t cha?”

“Tasha, don’t bring that always and never bullshit over here just cause every time you always get that itch but your neither one of your dudes ain’t never able to scratch, Right? Bitch please…."

“Ugh! I fuckin’ knew you another dog ass nigga …?!”

Damon heard Duchess giggling next to him, promoting him to fuck with Tasha even further.

“If ya treat your pussy like a Scooby Snack, what the fuck do you expect?”

“Fuck you, nigga! That‘s o.k. You think I'ma let you clown me like this. Payback is a bitch, muthafucka‘…”

“That’s the problem; You can’t fuck. Your pussy looks tired. It's like fucking a cold Bologna sandwich. You got no walls but here’s some words of advice; Tighten up, Bitch!”

*click*

“Hey, we need to head back. I forgot my medication in the locker. Aight?

“Aight.”

Regardless of the ‘situation’ Duchess was involved in, Damon was beginning to feel a little something for her. His level of concern remained hidden from view but if he had to have a chick to chill with, it’d be her. Just can’t let her know that yet but that didn’t keep him from placing his hand softly against her cheek.

Besides, they had a lot to discuss at the airport tonight.

"Oi, if you've come here to beg for your goons to be included cage-side...then you're shit out of luck."

Escobar entered rubbing his hands together in a miserly way. This didn't freak Joe out too much because he himself was prone to just acts of megalomaniacal acts of expression.

"No no no, eye know dat we got off on de wrung foot. Bat eye teenk we are alike, you and meeh." Escobar said, sitting down.

Joe gave him a sideward glance. "Er. Right."

"Oh and by all means have a seat." Campbell added sarcastically.

"Thanks joo" Escobar said.

Long pause. Joe looked up at Thanh, who stood like a guard next to him. Thanh just shrugged.

"So? Something you wanted, squire?" Joe said.

"Ah, jess. Well, eet 'as bin brat to mye attenshun dat joo would be enteresteed in someteng dat eye have. To even further mye poynt...joo have someteng that belongs to me."

Joe frowned. He didn't feel like beating around the bush.

"You mean your coke"? Joe said.

Campbell obviously didn't know that he was being bugged.

Escobar smiled. "Ah, jess. Well, leesin...joo kan keep dat. Eye have a bigger offer for joo."

Campbell's ears perked up. "Do you now?"

Escobar pulled out a calculator. Suddenly he was fucking professor drug dealer all of a sudden.

"Eye ken have 500 pounds of fine white bogotan powdered coca here by..." Escobar began to think. Now, this is important because Escobar NEVER thinks. "..ahfter thanksgeeveng."

"How much?" Joe said.

Escobar laughed a hearty laugh.

"Well, Meester campingbell. Let's joost say that joo will profit greatly." Escobar said with a cocky smile.

"I like the way you talk, Escobar. I mean, it's not the queens english...but you know just what to say."

Escobar nodded. "Joo stand to make treeple wat joo spend. Dees ess America. Coca ees da new thing with these keeds."

"Tell me more, Escobar...tell me more...." Joe said leaning in, dollar bills gleaming his eyes.

Unbeknowst to them, Avenger was in the adjacent room...

...thinking the same exact thing.

Sylo Vs Fiend

“Come to daddy” by the Aphex Twins blared through the arena and a smug looking Fiend moved from the back. He held his hands high, then lowered them and shot the fans a bird. No, he didn’t go outside with a rifle, you smart ass...

Fiend entered the Asylum and turned to the entrance. His expression changed as the smug smirk left his face and was quickly replaced by a look of determination. Slowly he rolled his neck and jumped up and down; obviously psyching himself out. Sylo was one that liked to keep you waiting...just long enough to get tired and then, that’s when he entered. Fiend was quickly becoming tired...

Cue Sylo...

Boom

Blue fire shot up and “Kill Tomorrow” by Mushroomhead kicked in full force. From the pillars of smoke stepped the Superbeast in all his glory...ready to kill. He snarled down at Fiend and Fiend retorted with a middle finger pointed in Sylo’s direction. Sylo moved down the ramp and stepped inside the Asylum...this was Fiends chance.

He leapt forward and drove a knee into Sylo’s face which sent the big man staggering back a little. Fiend followed up with a perfectly executed drop kick to the knees which sent Sylo down. Not letting up, Fiend pounced onto Sylo and began to drive left and rights into his face while trying his best to draw blood. Sylo, using his power advantage, grabbed Fiend and threw him off. He staggered up to his feet but Fiend was already charging back like a rabid animal going for the kills.

Sylo simply sidestepped Fiend and kicked his feet out from under him making his skull slam into the cage of the Asylum. Fiend stood up holding his mouth and Sylo delivered a stiff right hand that sent him flying back into the cage. Another right, and blood went flying...another right...another right...and finally one massive upper cut had Fiend seeing stars.

1...

2...

3...

But Sylo didn’t let the count continue. He picked Fiend up and threw him into the side of the cage. His body smacked the canvas with a thud and slowly he tried to pull himself up. Sylo snarled and squatted down, waiting for Fiend to get up. Fiend finally pulled himself up and Sylo charged but Fiend nailed Sylo in the face with a hell of a spinning kick.

Fiend laughed as he pulled himself up. Once on his feet he began to kick Sylo in the ribs over and over, still laughing. Finally after he had finished indulging himself, he picked Sylo up. The big man wobbled on his feet and Fiend mocked him by wobbling as well. He laughed and reached back to swing...his momentum said go forward but his body wouldn’t. He looked and Sylo had caught the end of his fist. The beast growled and kicked Fiend in the stomach. Fiend doubled over and that’s when Sylo grabbed him by the throat and drove him to the mat.

He pinned Fiend down and continued to hold on to his throat, choking the life out of him as he did so. Fiend let out a gurgling sound as Sylo clinched harder. He soon became tired of this though and slammed Fiend’s head into the mat and stood up. Fiend rolled around choking as Sylo made a slashing motion with his hand. He lifted Fiend up onto his shoulders, the ending was near...or so that’s what we thought until Fiend slid off of Sylo’s shoulders.

Sylo turned, only to be kicked square in the balls and nailed with one hell of a right hook. He fell back into the cage as blood ran out of the corner of his mouth and the count began.

1...

2....

3...

4...

5...

6...

7...

8...

But Sylo got to his feet somehow. He growled and charged at Fiend throwing various lefts and rights. Fiend dodged most of them but one caught him in the side of the head and sent him staggering back. Fiend, now pissed off as well, charged throwing his own lefts and rights but Sylo just took them and roared out at Fiend nailing him with a hellacious close line.

Fiend’s body crumpled up on the mat as Sylo staggered back and then charged forward kicking the shit out of Fiend. Fiend’s body rolled over as blood ran down his face but Sylo wasn’t finished. He picked Fiend up and shot him a bird, then lifted him in a crucifix powerbomb and ran forward.

Ruegue para la muerte

but no, Fiend once again slipped out and Sylo turned once more, this time to be nailed with a super kick to the jaw. Sylo landed with a thud and Fiend jumped on top of him once more, nailing the big man with rights and lefts of his own. He picked Sylo up and rammed his head into the cage a few times...and then called for the end. He actually tried to pick Sylo up in a suplex but the big man wouldn’t go and reversed the Suplex but in midair he flipped Fiend over onto his shoulders.

A flip,

A high reverse DDT,

The end...

Systematic Shutdown

1...

2...

3...

4...

Fiend wasn’t moving...

5...

6...

7...

He still wasn’t moving

8...

9...

10...

Maybe next time Fiend would pick his fights a little more carefully. But who knows...at least he knew at the end of the night he had came out with some cash...but was it worth the beating? To him...yes...yes it was.

Without knocking, which is a trait synonymous with John from his trips to Joe Campbell’s office in Shows gone by; Nicole wandered into the room only to discover that the intellectually-challenged individual, all 6’7 of him, was nowhere to be seen.

However, as she scratched her head, Willis walked out in front of her and this time was wearing nothing but a towel to protect his possessions…

“What the fuck are YOU doing in here? Get out. Can’t you see I’m getting ready?”

Her eyes lit up as she closely inspected the impressive upper body development of this physical specimen and she became coy as she wondered whether his lower region, Land’s End for instance, would in any way match his granite-chiseled chest.

She stepped forward and used the index finger on her right hand to create a circular movement around his torso and initiated eye contact as the bemused beast groaned, whether it was pleasurable or not, you’d have to ask him that and I’m sure you couldn’t give a shit.

“I can do anything you want. What is it you’re getting ready for anyway? You’re not going anywhere are you?”

John could feel Carson’s lips brush up against his bare body but he opted to push her away.

“You’re not getting round me that way. I don’t know what you’re up to but take your American Football field you call a Pussy and take it somewhere else because you’re wasting your time her bitch,” he bellowed in a rather aggressive manner.

“What’s the matter with you? Is it true then? That you are gay?”

Based on what she’d heard and combine that with her inability to seduce the ex-Zone member too prompted one of the most outstanding female Fighters in recent times to resort to such a remark. Typically, she wasn’t getting her own way and automatically accused him of driving on both sides of the road though she was soon put straight, no pun intended, courtesy of the man she considers to be a ‘rival’ for Eddie’s affection.

“You’d better get out now before I fuck the shit out of you, you whore, and turn your pretty face into a pile of dog’s shit.”

“Is that a promise? I love it rough you know.”

Finally, the former Fighting Zone Champion forcefully grabbed her by the arm and ushered her out into the corridor but not before she issued another offer: “Please hold me – up against the wall.”

Nevertheless, the Indiana native wasn’t to be convinced and he slammed the door behind him and attended to his towel, which had nearly fallen down amongst all of that.

Ali Amore Vs 'Hairy' Goon

In this case, the second term seems to be more appropriate given the circumstances. However, as opposed to accepting responsibility for his basic mistake, Joseph blamed Escobar and Ali Amore over this state of affairs. Surely, two people from the Colombian capital of Bogotá didn’t want to sign for the Asylum in the same month did they? Although it may have been ironic it’s also true and not their fault.

Yet, it appears that only one contract will be awarded after all and that the contrasting Colombians will be forced to fight it out in order to attain full-time employment under the Englishman’s controversial and chaotic regime.

Earlier on, as Ali caught up with his countryman, a challenge was issued to Amore. He would have to see off Hairy Goon, a mammoth of a man, first in order to earn the right to meet Escobar at the much-hyped Manhunt Pay-Per-View next weekend.

What wasn’t explained is what could happen if Ali is unsuccessful in his task tonight. If he loses, does that mean Escobar will sign instead without even having to lock horns with the self-assured teenager? I guess we’ll have to cross that bridge when we come to it eh?

"Holla Back Youngin'" by Fabolous, Escobar’s anthem, played and his designated executioner for the job stepped out and received a round of jeers in return. Standing at 6’8 and weighing 290 lbs, there was no doubt that this specimen certainly looked the part. In fact, due to the tale of tape, the ‘Goon’ would probably be favourite heading into this fight despite the fact that the faithful have never saw either of them compete before.

He was alone – for now. However, you can bet that if proceedings did go pear-shaped that his chief and company would sprint out of the dressing room quicker than you can say ‘Soap Powder.’

Without any warning, Ali Amore appeared and was given a generous reception as he waved to the masses. Clad in bright red tights with yellow and blue stripes, the colours that completes his country’s flag, the ‘Superstar from Bogotá’ tagged hands with several spectators seated around the aisle and at ringside prior to practically bouncing into the cage where the volume of his applause was increased, particularly because of the female contingent that happen to follow this unique organization.

The bell tolled and for Ali it could be the first – and last – time. Needless to say, that didn’t cross his mind at the moment. All he was focused on was the big skyscraper that stood before him. If he had one eye on Escobar then he would probably be punished because this behemoth appeared to be more than capable of throwing a spanner in the works.

Amore rubbed his hands together as he prepared for a tie-up immediately. He was tentative and tense in his approach, which was understandable, whereas his opposite number was more relaxed. After all, he didn’t have anything to lose personally even if he did have a chance to pave the way for his accomplice Escobar to extend his stay in the States and under the Asylum banner.

Ali lured the large quantity into a false sense of security as they battled for supremacy with a quick headbutt to the chin to avoid the actual tie-up itself and he followed it up straightaway with a Headlock, which was countered by a beautiful Back Suplex.

Notwithstanding, the Goon was unable to build upon it as the cruiserweight was soon up on his feet and ensured that his opponent wasn’t with two well-placed dropkicks to the chest and then a sensational Standing Moonsault that, in spite of being associated with Wrestling, warranted applause from the observers.

Thereafter, he began to unload with stiff shots whilst ‘Hairy’ was in a vulnerable position even if, after approximately four fists, the big man halted the lighting-quick offence that Ali had assembled, albeit momentarily.

As the victim attempted to regain his bearings and get into this tie, Amore caught him while he was on one knee with a Dropkick/Baseball Slide to the side of the head and then piled more punishment on with a stern elbow to the back of the head and three thunderous kicks to the temple as he stayed stationary.

1
2
3
4
5
As the official reached halfway, ‘Hairy’ Goon started to show some signs of life and Ali addressed that as soon as he spotted movement by lifting the near 300-pound party up though his overzealousness and inexperience cost him on this occasion as he left himself open to a closed fist and a big boot to the face, a custom-made one at that, which sent the South American sprawling.

Nonetheless, it was the newfound aggressor’s turn to hesitate and he stupidly squandered the advantage instantaneously when missed with a horrible-looking Legdrop that only managed to be a fraction better than Hulk Hogan’s.

Ali exploited this and ignored the cliché of ‘kicking a man when he’s down’ with a sublime Splash and then adopting a dominant stance as he sat over ‘Hairy’ and drove his cranium into the canvas about a dozen times in total.

Encouraged by various sections of the capacity crowd and perhaps sensing a meeting with Escobar was imminent, Amore started to tear considerable amounts of his opponent’s chest hair out.

Realising that it wouldn’t be quite enough, or it would take a while at least to get the decision he wanted, the light heavyweight conserved people’s time and his energy by setting the Goon up for a series of six or sevent scintillating Crescent Kicks that bombarded the ‘Bodyguard’s’ face and forehead, which turned his features black and blue as a result.

1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10.

Just like that, it was over and the referee had raised the promising prodigy’s hand into the air to mark an impressive debut. Hopefully, for him, this would be the maiden in a long list of victories and while we may think he can only take one step at a time he probably now believes that he is already good enough to win the Asylum Championship given the sensational size of the ‘confidence in his own ability.’

Regardless, Ali Amore reiterated that appearances can be deceiving, don’t ever judge a book by its cover and possibly most symbolically…

Size doesn’t always matter.

"Maybe he's already gotten to you. But I'd just like you to carefully consider who you want on your side once shit goes down at Manhunt. If you've seen the Show last week. I'm sure the answers pretty obvious. Don't you think?"

Asher scoffed. Then looked up at HardCase. "Wait, you come to me looking for an alliance? Has my apathy not penetrated your illiteracy in the same manner I penetrate your mother's vaginal wall every night? Christ, man, I don't even care enough to attack you back when you cost me matches. What makes you think I care enough to pick sides in this little contest?"

Can you say…Burn!

"How dare you speak these utter fabrications about my mother...my mother doesn't nearly have enough libido to fuck on a daily basis. Maybe if you said every other day I could see it. But you're a lying fucktard. But that's besides the point."

HardCase smirked at his own wittiness. The shameless bastard. HardCase then continued in vain to reason with Asher.

"I know what you're about. I've seen the shit before. You're a loner. You're badass. You're a self-proclaimed asshole. Blah blah blah. But if you don't look out for yourself in this match homie, you're just fucking stupid."

"I'm not a loner. If there were someone here worth my time or whatever, I'd be talking to them. This is a fucking job to me, but apparently, it's a lot more to you. You come here looking for pride, or something equally unobtainable.”

“Well then why are you here sweetheart?” HardCase asked mockingly.

"I just come for a paycheck. Fuck, I wouldn't show up to that match if I didn't have to and had no real reason not to. I don't have to team up with you and if you and Pointless get together, then great. If that happens, I'll be happy that I played my own little part in you two getting together. I can see the sexual tension there. It's almost like, uuuuh, when your mother and myself are in the same room. Shit, can't miss it. Hot stuff, I tell you."

HardCase awarded Asher's joke with a patronizing snicker

"Pride, or ambition isn't what I'm here for friend. I do this shit for fun. And I came to you cuz getting my asskicked isn't my idea of fun. But apparently for you it is. Fine. I'll leave you alone tough guy. Just know I gonna make sure you have the time of your life come Manhunt."

"Y'know, you're not such a bad guy."

Asher walked closer, right in HardCase's face. His breath smelled like Winterfresh--it always did.

"You just need to get over something, HardCase. Verbal confrontation is verbal confrontation. You made this a physical thing, not me. You know I won't continue it in that manner, either. Your attacks prove one of two things. Either you have so much pride that you cannot take a slight verbal jab without getting all uproarious, or you're deeply insulted. Either way, you're flawed.

"Oh, and I fucked your mother. I know I said it already, but just in case you forgot."

A smile. A pearly, condescending smile.

"Oh yea. I'm a regular fucking insecure powerkeg. Thanks for the input mind reader. I'm appreciate all this oh so insightful commentary you're so pompous and self-righteous to think means anything to me."

HardCase returned Asher's smile with a grin of his own, and turned away.

"I hurt people for shits-and-giggles. And you just keep volunteering youself. You have a nice night." HardCase headed toward the exit seeing as how he had nothing to gain from this interaction.

"I fuck with minds for shits-and-giggles.” Asher said from behind HardCase.

Then added…

“Y'know, Josiah and you have more in common than you think. You both hurt people for fun and both feel the need to seek allies against your opponents."

He never removed that smug smile. Never.

"Heh, well that's just lovely now isn't it?" HardCase said without turning around. He understood the subtle implication. He didn't need to read Asher's face to get what he was being told. HardCase choose to ignore it.

"Tell mom I said hi"

"Not a problem."

HardCase departed from Asher’s company.

Asher walked over to the bench and grabbed another book. Today, The Great Gatsby. He flipped through the pages mindlessly, searching for his last place. Deep down, he thought, HardCase had a lot of redeeming qualities. It's such a shame he was far too violent and oblivious of a guy to be friendly with.

...that, and he wanted to kill him. "Oh, yeah," Asher said to himself with a small laugh.

“Yeah...But…”

“Let’s go.”

Damon’s jaw remained taunt as he would sternly brandish a look of restrained malice towards those within proximity. He got what he came back for so it was time to bounce. Predators always seek to devour the meek & ignorant especially. Where as Duchess was looking to engage in a rational debate, Damon was looking to make a break for daylight. Though it was beyond her understanding, this was for her own protection.

“We gotta get outta here now…”

“Damon; What’s wrong? ”

“Look; This ain’t the time for ‘21 Questions‘. Save that all shit until we’re out of here. Aight?”

A stern kick to the metal door, gave way to allowing both Damon and Duchess out into the cool Californian night. Aggressively assessing the level of safety, within his surroundings, he would soon continue onward. The traffic, rolling in the distance, muffled their hastened footsteps.

“Damn it.”

Damon swiveled about and noticed that Duchess was on the ground, scrambling to collect her spilled belongings. What a fine time to drop a fucking purse. Damon knelt down and helped try to speed up the process when a quartet of large vehicles, abruptly pulled up & enclosed them within a makeshift circle. It seemed as if Duchess recognized the surrounding caravan for she attempted to break away in a dead sprint to safety…That was until the form of a 6’2” 227lb. hoodlum reappeared. She fell backwards unto the concrete while back peddling from harm’s way.

“DAMON! NO! GET OFF OF ME!”…Her pleas became obscured by the overwhelming sense of terror. One form would be accompanied by several more. Some more larger than the rest but all the vehicles had their brights on, making it difficult to fully assess the situation.

“THOUGHT I WOULDN’T FIND YOUR LITTLE TRIFLIN’ ASS, DID YA?! HUH?! HUH?!!

*THWACK!!!*

Goddamn. He hit her like she was a fuckin’ man. Duchess’s head careened off the hood of a Grey 2002 Ford Mountaineer before she collapsed unto the pavement in a battered heap. I guess the ‘Big Man’ had to make himself clear with a trio of kicks to her stomach. Her body weakly registered signs of struggle. This shit must happen on the regular but this feeling of uncertainty, left him feeling helpless. This only pissed Damon off further.

“EH! WHAT’S UP NOW, NIGGA?! STAND YO BITCH ASS UP, NIGGA!”

Rising to his feet, Damon was still assessing his situation. 8 dudes. One carrying a Pipe. Another one assuming a YMCA Karate class stance. Lights are too bright to see if anyone’s carrying heat with em’ right now. This nigga’s talkin’ a little too strong now that he’s got his boys with him.

“YEAH. THAT’S RIGHT! YOU KNOW YOU DONE FUCKED UP NOW, NIGGA!”

“Oh, really?”

“This nigga thinks I‘m playin‘….”

Having stepped further into view, Damon would quickly recognize this mysterious wanksta. It was Duchess’s husband-to-be. How could he have guessed. While ‘30 Cent’ was still bumpin’ his gums, Damon allowed his eyes to assess Duchess’s condition. She was still bleeding out of her mouth and her eye was beginning to swell. Baby girl was a complete mess.

“Fuck all this silly shit, man. Either you’re gonna fuckin' talk about it or be about it? Whatcha gonna do?

This was not what he needed but he was faced with no other alternative. Momma always said that ‘You reap what you sow’…For Damon, that was cool for if it was attention that these niggas wanted, there were only two ways Damon could give it;

Immediate & Medical

Damon D. Jackson Vs The Della Court Cartel
(Handicap "Unsanctioned" Fight)

His head continued to swivel about, looking to see who’s going to make the first move. Other than “We Got” by Ludacris, booming from one of the vehicles, there wasn’t any need for theme music in this highly unconventional setting.

One of the cowards sought to leap from behind and crown Damon with the lead pipe but Damon veered out of the line of fire, allowing him to fall prey to a sucker punch to the kidney’s from the side. A slight grimace formed against his lips before shifting his weight and returning the favor with a Back Elbow to the joker’s jaw. The blow propelled his assailant up against the hood of a Four Taurus before collapsing unto the concrete. Spinning back into position, Damon blasted another foe across the lips with a searing Right Hook before catching the brunt of another Sweeping Hook to the Chin.

“FUCK!”

Rattled by the impact, the blows continued to intensify in numbers. Putting his block up, we was able to partially fend off the more damaging shots to his face and neck. From behind, one of the bigger brawlers, attempted a Full Nelson on Damon. As the 7 foot behemoth lifted Damon into the air, Jackson sought the opportunity to kiss another asshole with a Swift Vertical Boot to the Chin. Turning his body slightly, Damon was able to land soundly unto his Left Thigh.

“GET SOME, NIGGA!!”

“DELLA COURT, GODDAMN IT!!! RECOGNIZE, NIGGA!!”

Fueled by a surge of ruthless aggression, Jackson ignored the stream of incoming cheap shots and concentrated on ramming the clumsy lummox spine first into the Escalade’s finished grill. Having broke free from his captor, he immediately buried two sets of knuckles into the big man’s face before driving a ungodly trinity of Knees through his teeth. The hulk of the truck’s front end captured an imprint of the man’s head before Damon found himself kicked back down to the ground from behind.

One down. Seven to go.

Scrambling to his feet, Jackson put up his guard to parry the hail of volatile fists. As a MMA fighter, pitted against the common mob, Patience is but a virtue. The kicking and wailing continued with a feverish pitch until one living abortion became overzealous and kicked Damon in the stomach.

Bad move, little man.

*CRUNCH!!*

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!”

In one feel swoop, Damon latched onto the appendage and drove his Right Forearm against his exposed Kneecap. The maneuver violently incapacitated his leg in the utmost sickening manner. The snapping of ligaments and sinew was crisp and defined, leaving the 175 pound bastard, screaming uncontrollably along the ground.

Two down. Six remaining.

“GET THAT MUTHAFUCKA!!!”

With the numbers steadily dwindling, desperate acts came into high demand. They realized that this wasn’t any regular pooh butt off the street they were fucking with as Damon humbled another assailant with a punishing Open Palm Strike to the Nuts! Stricken by the equally piercing & mind numbing sensation, the charging attacker, levitated backwards before kissing the pavement.

*WHOOSH!!*

The Pipe Man was back and with a vengeance as he swung the heavy baton into the fragile surface of a Cadillac windshield. The brilliant splash of brittle glass flew into the air and peppered the pavement as another pipe swing, slammed soundly into Damon’s abdomen. An arrant Boot found solace in the confides of Damon’s Left Temple, spinning him over and landing against the warm hood of a raggedy hooptie.

*WHAM!*

Pipe Man was getting pretty close with that thing as Damon was about a cunt hair from having his skull split. Rolling to the side, Damon clutched unto his stomach and knelt down for a slight breather…

*SKISH!*

Credit One fucked up Driver Side Mirror to Pipe Man. Damon could hear the mob, circling around to cut off his main escape route. The guttural screams alerted Damon’s attention of another unexpected intangible; The screaming kids in the car. As if shit wasn’t bad enough, there was a rabid Pit Bull in the front seat, wasn’t making anything better. They couldn’t have been nothing over 8 years old…

*THWACK!*

30 Cent decided to lay a good lick in before backing out of harm’s way. Damon’s lip was split open. That sharpened sting came from a boxer’s hand. Jackson had no time to muddle over who did what as some lowly jack ass, wielded a Box Cutter in front of him.

“Nigga, is you crazy!!?

Some of the surrounding baddies stepped back as both men, measured each other up. These boys weren’t playing around. They were ready to push Damon’s ass 6 feet under the pavement. ’Zorro’ decided he wanted to take a few precision swipes at Damon’s neck & face….

*BLAM!*

*BLAM!*

*BLAM!*

One Chicago Style Philly Fake Out turned his monkey ass out. Toppling over his previously fallen comrade, ‘Zorro’ fell face first into the glass laden pavement. In ’Zorro’s’ defense, Pipe Man jumped back into the fray. He slammed the lead pipe abruptly against Damon’s Left Bicep before looking to go straight for the kill. Using his 6’7” frame, this asshole aggressively pinned the elongated bar across Damon’s throat. His breath reeked of that bin Laden weed. Jackson ignored the muffled taunting and spittle, cascading unto his face. His intentions were to find a way out of this shit and fast; The rest of the boys were closing in on him…

*THUNK!*

Damon slammed his own head into his attacker’s face, loosening the stern grip that held him down. A Stiff Kick to the Nuts, followed by Two Handed Pipe Shot to the Bridge of his Nose, allowed Damon to regain some ground….For a few seconds, that is.

*SMACK!*

*SMACK!*

*SMACK!*

30 Cents and some Rick Fox looking nigga were taking turns, pummeling Damon from each of his flanks. Pipe Man was beginning to pull himself together…Fuck it. Snatching Rick Fox by his LA Clippers Jersey, Damon hurled him away forcibly into the arms of Duchess’s fiancée, clearing some room to rear back and cave in Pipe Man’s Right Collar Bone with an Overhand Right. He screamed horribly in pain as his Right Arm hung aimlessly in a deadened state. He tried to stagger backwards to his feet…

Say ‘Goodnight, Muthafucka’

*WHAM!*

Damon swore he heard Pipe Man’s Left Eye, bounce off the back of his skull as the man went airborne. The good part was that Zorro’s body cushioned his landing. The fucked up part was that Zorro’s face was now grotesquely embedded with glass with a sickening crunch.

That ain’t good.

2 for 1 Special. Four faggots left to go.

Now Da H.N.I.C. was pissed; 30 Cents was still poppin’ shit yet wasn’t man enough to take Damon on like a man. Aight. So be it.

The four remaining hoodlums closed in the broadened circle as Damon whipped off his jacket and flung it unto the concrete. His jaw and Right Eye were feeling tender but nothing major but his Ribs were still burning. The little crack head, who had his kneecap shattered, was too close for comfort. His ceaseless yelling and complaining prompted Damon to do the only humane thing for him….

*WHAM!*

“OOOOOHHHHH! YOU SONOVABITCH!!!

Stomping on an already damaged limb didn’t help matters any but what the fuck? How about another Timberland imprint on a nigga’s Forehead? Egging his attackers on, Damon proceeded to kick and stomp the scrawny punk but no one was budging. Those are some real ‘friends’ for ya.

“What’s up now? Ya’ll gonna let me keep on fuckin’ this little nigga up, huh? Bunch of bitch asses…Fuck Della Court!”

Yeah. That did it. All of them charged in, driven by utter rage and intent to kill. Now just between us, understand that Aikido is a martial art that is designed to use the opposition’s momentum against them. Coupled by Joint Locks and another such various ways to quickly render hostile forces immobile. There’s more to it but these four volunteers, who hopped off back of the short bus, shall help out with the freelance demonstration. Watch closely…

Notice Jackass # 1 charging in with a Running Haymaker. Is he fucking serious?
Solution: Apply the Mukae-Daoshi (Wrist Controlled Throw) on the fucker and watch him slam face first into that 78’ Bonneville’s passenger side mirror.

Now note that Damon’s back is position, facing towards the incoming cheap shot artist. You remember Rick Fox, don’t ya? Yeah. That’s him. Note that he’s pretty fast too. Hell he can run 4.31 on the 40. Gotta give the man his props but there’s one problem. Trying to do one of those Running Yakuza Kicks to the back of an angry Aikido expert’s head is bound to come with some excruciating results.

Application: By trapping the extended limb under you arm, as Damon has promptly demonstrated before quickly releasing your hold of the appendage. Soon, you are able to understand the harsh reality of physics. Watch as the high yellow asshole’s speed has converted him into a human projectile, landing ass first into the front grill of the battered Escalade. Oh my bad, forgot to mention that Fat Boy was still sitting there.

Ohhh. That’s gonna leave a mark.

Now for the other 2, there will be a short recess from this period of instruction as Damon will demonstrate the fine art of ‘Whooping a Nigga Ass 101. 30 Cent deems it high time to represent his wounded pride and repay Damon for fucking his bitch so watch as he tells his main man to run up and start in with a 1,2 combination. Both hits connect, leading Damon to start taking this guy a little seriously. Besides the fact that this dude is sporting a Jheri curl, of all things, I believe that it’s high time that we return from our recess and back to the class.

Another Jab lands squarely against Damon’s face but something’s wrong; Damon should be falling not laughing.

“Come on, Man. You hit like a bitch!”

Now what wasn’t nice. Teasing a man’s best effort will only complicate matters further. Women must understand that the male gender have ego, made of glass. We need praise to help lift us up sometimes for you have no idea what a word from a woman can do to a man. Ask any man. Even ’Drippy’ here has feelings too.

Too bad he’s a bit slow to take a hint. Watch as he attempts to repeat that lame ass combination.

Solution: Instill the Kaiten Nage aka The Wheel Throw Technique onto the ignorant retard and watch as his spine gets bend fuck in half after being slammed along the front of the hooptie‘s hood.

Silly Negro: Tricks are for kids.

Now it’s down to one. Finally, after all of that drama, it’s come to this. The appalling aftermath painted the scene for the impending climax as Damon placed himself in the middle of the barbaric enclosure. His rival had the misfortune to watch a single man, decimate his entire legion of soldiers. Damon’s Red Sleeveless Shirt was now tattered and ripped, rippling with the wind. His battle scars noticeable but nothing to keep him from putting an end to this bullshit.

“So what’s up now? Huh? It’s just me and you, dawg. Now I didn’t appreciate you doing what you did to her. Granted, that’s not my woman but that stunt you pulled was just plain foul, man…So I’m gonna leave you with two choices;

1.) You can either scrape all of these faggot ass niggas off the pavement….

WOOF!!!

WOOF!!!

WOOF!!!

“…Take that fucking dog and those kids back home…”

WOOF!!!

WOOF!!!

Damon heard the car door opening. Bad ass little kids. Now the dog’s scampering out in the street and making a B-line towards Damon.

WOOF!!!

WOOF!!!

WOOF!!!

WOOF!!!

*click*

*click*

BLAM!!!!

BLAM!!!!

Yipe!

BLAM!!!!

BLAM!!!!

BLAM!!!!

“…Take that fucking dead dog and those kids back home…”

“*sigh* You see what the fuck you made me do? And I like dogs, too…Fuck it. As I was saying…”

Or 2.) You can choose to stay here and become another unsolved mystery. So what’s it gonna be?

…….

…….

“Oh, I get it; You think I need this gun? See, I’m unarmed now. You wanna play, let’s play but I can see why you’re all salty about a nigga like me; You out there working’ hard for your woman and all the while, she’s out & about, taking it in the ass like a champ & swallowing my kids…And then you she comes back home to you, I bet she slips you the ol’ tongue, huh? Just to make you feel special, right?"

Now in this last lesson, it would appear that Damon’s rival has been pushed beyond his limits. How belittling it can be to know that your significant other is doing some underhanded shit behind your back? Alright, final lesson: Should you find yourself in danger of catching a knuckle sandwich to the grill, try not to end the situation so quickly. If the attacker is angry, he or she is bound to make mistakes, thus doing all the work for you. Observe…

“You can hit me anytime, nigga! Come on, now. I’m betting bored.”

See that; After missing with a pointless flurry of punches, Damon merely side stepped out of range and kicked this humble bread winner square in the ass. Remember what was said earlier; Grown man? Ego made of Glass?

And just in case, that same wily bastard is still reluctant to stay down, remember this; The next time he tries to be funny by picking up a lead pipe and looking to club you over the head with it, be sure to apply the Tenchi Nage Technique or better known as the ‘Wheel Throw‘; Take note that if you sharply turn your hip, it will add a little more snap to when you send that bastard sailing into the fragile confides of the rear passenger window.

Whoops. Sorry Kids.

Class Dismissed.

Phil pleaded in-between breaths as right behind him was a rageful Avenger. The obese man took a look around him and realized that he was in the parking lot. The air was almost too fresh, as if its sole purpose was to cut into his lungs and make him weak.

Bang.

The door shot open and the ogre known as Roy Gallows lumbered through it. The needle on Phil's internal fear-o-meter jumped from far-left to far-right. His chubby feet only took him a couple more feet to seek refuge behind a mini-van.

"Please stop. Please. I'm sorry. It all Dillon's idea. You have to believe me...."

Thud.

Avenger had jumped up onto the top of the van. Phil looked up to see the monster beaming down at him. Before Phil could motivate his fat body enough to move, the ogre was already upon him.

"DILLON!! DILLON!!" Phil screamed as Avenger pulled the fat man to his feet with graceful ease.

"DILL---*oof!"

Avenger muffled his screaming with punch to his belly. Phil started to cry and whimper but only received another punch to the stomach. Grabbing Phil by the back of his greasy head Avenger slammed the man's face repeatedly against the hood of an adjacent car.

"Come on, get your fat ass up there..." Avenger said as he rolling Phil onto the hood of the car.

"..please! accckkk...." Phil's plea was yet again muffled by Avenger - as the giant choked away at his neck. Tiny pained whimpers escaped the poor man as Avenger mounted him and wailed away at his face with angry fists.

"You fucking..." punch punch punch..."fat faced..."punch punch punch..."fuck."

Avenger stood up on the hood and started pulling the whale to his feet. The car seemed to groan under the heavy load.

The ogre reared his hand back...and shoved it into Phil's mouth. Avenger violently jerked his around like the mouth of a wolf tearing at a throat.

"Fat, weak pigs like you sicken me to my core. You're one of the prime reasons American's are viewed at slobs. You want some meat fat boy? You on the Atkins diet? Huh fatty?"

Tears rolled down Phil's chubby cheeks as drool started to pool around his chins.

"Look at you. Pathetic. You want some meat? I got some meat right here" Avenger said rearing his left hand back...

POW POW POW

Three punches to the face with the mandible claw still locked on.

Avenger didn't even smile as he grabbed the side of Phil's neck with his left hand.

"You're going for a nice long nap, fatty."

Avenger lifted Phil above his head...the fat man's muffled cries showered him like the saliva from his mouth.

A quick STO-like step forward and....

CRASH!

Right through the wind shield.

Final Justice

After a couple of seconds Avenger tore his hand from Phil's mouth and sat up on the hood of car. He seemed to basking in the warm afterglow of a man beatdown beyond an inch of his life.

Grabbing one of Phil's arms...he set upon the task of dragging him back to the arena.

Kicking someone's ass.

But every time someone thinks that they are on the top of the preverbal mountain of success,... some jealous bastard would come along, and push that other person down the mountain side. Damon could empathize with that sentiment, as he stumbled forward... after being struck in the head by a metal tire iron. The perpetrator was obvious at this point as he leaned down next to Damon's recovering body, softly whispering in his ear.

"I don't care if it hurts, I want to have control. I want a perfect body, I want a perfect soul. I want you to notice, when I'm not around. You're so fucking special, I wish I was special... But I'm a creep. I bet you already knew that Damon." Osyrus said with a laughing snarl, as he tried to stomp on the back of Damon's head, but the cagey fighter moved out of the way.... and leg swept Osyrus' feet from underneath him. While both men were on the ground; Damon swung his left boot at Osyrus' head, but he blocked it in time and retaliated with a punch to the groin.

"Can’t have sex now... can you, you dumb bastard?" Osyrus; who was now on his feet, swung down at Jackson's forehead but his attack was blocked and returned with fists of fierce fire into the bread basket as Damon cut Osyrus down to his size. DDJ seemed to get the advantage,... busting up Osyrus' face with each jab he threw, while both men traded punches on their knees. But Damon should have gotten away when he got the chance; because a shadowy figure reared his ugly... and I mean ugly head, then Osyrus would gain the power back once again.

"Ugh!"

Damon moaned as John C. Willis kicked him in the back of his skull with malice intent. The three hundred pounded self proclaimed monster lifted Damon to his feet; before tossing him into the passenger side window of a near by car. Shards of glass were sprinkled across the grimy parking lot floor as Willis continued to stomp away... but Damon saved himself with a low blow and a haymaker to Willis' head. Now DDJ was on his feet; stomping a hole in Willis' chest as blood rolled down his left cheek, but that would stop him from seeking his own version of retribution. "You bitch as mother fuckers never learn do you?" Suddenly, Damon felt that sharp pain in the back of his head again...

CLANG!!

Damon's head was reintroduced to the tire iron harder than before as the bruised and partially battered Osyrus and Willis stomped away at him. Jackson didn't even move a muscle for he was knocked out cold. 'The Beast' leaned down as their assault ceased for a moment. Osyrus loved to add insult to injury, as he bad mouth a foe that crossed him.

"You think that you're so fucking smart Damon, tA's version of Albert fecking Einstein. Except you don't get hit by inspiration; instead your struck by tremendous force, the reality of the stupid choices you have made... manifesting itself into physical pain. Why did it have to end up this way Damon, we could have be a force not to be fucked with in the Asylum. Going around,... doing what we wanted, when we wanted. Kicking the shit out of tA like a crack baby, that stumbled across the stash,... when we told it not to go there." Osyrus kicked Damon in the back, but he didn't budge.

"Let me ask you a question Damon, and if you don't respond... that means that I am right. Ok?" Damon said nothing... "Good. Why don't you want to join forces with us, Damon? Are you afraid of our superiority; the fact that I am centuries more evolved than you and everyone else in the Asylum?" Again silence as Osyrus smirked. This was the best interview he had ever conducted. "That's crazy Damon,... do you have your head up your colo or something? Don't you know that you are no match for us? I told you that this would happen to you Damon. I tried to warn you of the future, which is now your present. You should feel ashamed of yourself; being lead around by your cock by anything with a twat,... And now you lie face down in something wet. But not in the enjoyable way, like you would prefer." Osyrus cupped some of the water from the puddle in his hand, as he poured it on Damon's head.

Willis snatched the weapon from Osyrus' grasp... it made a thud sound when its metal frame smacked against Damon's spine. Who knew what Osyrus and Willis would do, if no one would come to Jackson's aid as 'The Beast' clocked DDJ with the tire iron for good measure... just to make to sure he wouldn't get up, before he dropped it on the ground. Osyrus reached in his back pocket as pulled out a sharp, jagged danger as Willis' and Isis' eyes raised in excitement but he was interrupted by a nearby disturbance...

‘Take that, you high yella heffa! Fucking bitch!’

A bona fide project chick kicked a field goal with Duchess’s abdomen before turning her attention towards the unholy trio. They silently looked at each other as Tasha spit on Damon’s battered body.

“Hold on, where the fuck’s my money at? If you are going to kill this sorry muthafucka, then at least can I get my money first?" Damon's former fuck partner, Tasha, shook her finger angrily as Osyrus just laughed…a maniacal and sinister laugh.

"Do you think that this is about you? This has nothing to do with you bitch! You're just a pawn in this human game of chess, and I just sacrificed you to get to your little fuck buddy. You did good leading Damon here, but now I have no need for you...So thank you, good day and fuck off." Osyrus quickly jabbed the woman in the stomach as she doubled over... then was struck in the face by an devastating knee lift.

"Willis, get rid of them." Osyrus replied as Willis carried the woman and Damon over both shoulders and off into the unknown. Now, only the couple stood victoriously. Much different than how the scene started out minutes ago. Faint footsteps were heard as they walked into the shadows.

...and as always it signaled the arrival of the Avenger.

Booing. Cheering. It was all there.

But he was not alone.

With him was Dillon's jolly buddy, Phil. Quite the broken sight. His bloody and bruised head hung as low as his double chins would allow. Avenger held his cuffed wrists as he pulled the slobbish man to the cage.

Walking up the steps they entered the Asylum. A tech stuck out a microphone...the show seemed to hang on dead air as Phil just continued to stare downwards. Finally Avenger gave him a righteous smack against the back of his fat neck; prompting Phil to take the microphone and hold it against his attacker's lips.

"Alright, Dillon. Get your retarded self out here." Avenger spat.

Long pause.

"Hey! Dillon! What's wrong? Can't protect your friends with that potty-mouth and that pepper spray, huh? Come on...have some heart...I've got your Skipper here, Gilligan."

"Monster In A Parasol" by Queens of the Stone Age

Not-so-"on cue", Dillon stood at the top of the stage.

"Why you fucking faggot-faced, roided out bumsex loving ass-eater. I can't believe the GALL. I'mean first coming out here in that gay-bondage superhero outfit...AND THEN taking Phil. HE'S MY AGENT, MAN. How am I going to get work without him? Hmmm?"

Avenger frowned.

Then laughed.

"I just brought him out here to rope your dumb-self into a match. You and me at Munhunt, plucky."

Dillon looked around. "YOU TALKING TO ME, DIPSHIT? LISTEN HERE, FAGMASTER. You don't fucking "rope" the Dillon into anything unless it has to do with the tightest hottest pussy known to man. Now you fuck off, you hear me? FUCK-FUCKING OFF."

Phil's sad eyes looked at Dillon.

Dillon frowned. "HEY DON'T YOU FUCKING LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT, PHIL!! This is your fucking fault...I send you out to get me some donuts and instead you get your ass kicked? What kind of bizarro....."

Phil continued to look like a sad little bitch.

"GAH!! FINE. Avenger, you can have your fucking match. Especially if by "match" you mean "peppersprayingyoufuckingface!""

Dillon turned to the nearest Camera.

"THE GREAT DILLON

vs.

the avenger.

THIS TIME....

(squinty eyes)

IT'S PERSONAL."

HardCase Vs Pointless
(Main Event)

Beat the shit out of HardCase.

He hasn’t forgotten what HardCase did to him last week. Shit, it pretty hard to forget someone bashing you with a steel chair then electrocuting you with live wires. Pointless climbed into the cage and awaited his opponent.

If there’s beef cock it and dump it
The drama really means nothing to me
I ride by and blow your brains out
There’s no time to cock it
No way you can stop it
When niggaz run up on you with them thangs out
I do what I gotta do, I don’t care if I get caught
The DA can play this motherfuckin tape in court
Catch you slippin I’mma kill you…

The gunshot peppered beat to “Heat” by 50 Cent popped off and out comes HardCase to a decently hateful reaction form the crowd. He stepped out onto the entrance ramp, but not empty handed. In his clutches he held something powerful, destructive, and made of steel.

Go on guess…

Give up?

An aluminum baseball bat!

Yea I know what you were thinking. And shame on you. HardCase is a decent, respectable, human being who would never dream of brandishing a firearm in public

………BHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

But seriously, he’s Desert Eagle is being fixed. I mean you can only fire a gun so many times before it needs a tune up. Considering this is HardCase aka E the Hustla, every gun he owns must have the firearm equivalent of breaking 1,000 miles on your SUN or something. But enough shameless character buildup.

HardCase walks down the ramp with the bat, which he’s affectionately, dubbed the “Aluminum Ass Whooper” aka the “Double A Double U”

Pointless checks with the ref if that’s legal. The ref shrugs and tells him to take it like a man. Pointless tells the ref to fuck off while he bravely prepares to take on the Innovator of Wrongness steel bat and all.

With his lips curled in his perpetual malevolent grin, HardCase storms the cage and leaps over the edge. A move Pointless didn’t quite see coming but adjusted his positioning to keep out of HardCase range.

The two men circle each other, like dangerous animal and a suicidal Crock Hunter would. With HardCase playing the role of crocodile and Pointless playing the part of insane Australian. HardCase swings.

Hits nothing but air.

Pointless takes a hop step backwards avoiding a baseball swing that most likely bust his ribs.

HardCase lets lose with another wild swing.

Pointless ducks, thus avoiding becoming twins with the headless horsemen.

HardCase jabs the bat looking for a groin shot. Pointless blocks with his forearm sending the bat downward, and follows through with high kick to the side of HardCase’s head, thus forcing him to drop the weapon.

Pointless had HardCase on the stumble and didn’t want to lose the momentum by wasting time, so he kept right on assaulting, pelting HardCase backward with a series of lefts and rights until he had HardCase pinned against the fence.

Pointless reared back for a hook, but as he was cocking back his fist HardCase took advantage of the split second pause between attacks and launched one of his own nailing Pointless in the nose with a headbutt.

Pointless reached for his freshly bloodied nose instinctively. HardCase capitalized by lifting him up by the waistline and driving him into the mat with a sloppily executed spine buster.

Pointless nimbly rolled back to his feet before HardCase could pull anything else off. The bleeding form Pointless nosed had adequately clotted up to allow him to ignore it. Pointless dropped his fist into a fighting stance. HardCase completely dropped his guard and mocked Josiah by walking toward him cockily as if he had nothing to fear.

Josiah let lose with a jab. HardCase bobbed and decked him in the side. Pointless doubled over with the blow. HardCase then smashed Pointless’ face into the mat with a fame-ass-er. HardCase got off Pointless and the ref began the count.

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Pointless popped back up to his feet. HardCase arrogantly believed he had Pointless beat, and had his back turned taunting the crowd and saying things about their children. This lasp in concentration allowed Pointless the opportunity needed to gain some momentum.

He charged HardCase and struck with a haymaker. With quick reflexes, HardCase got his hands up in time to block the move, but the blow was still enough to disorient HardCase sufficiently for Pointless to unload on him.

Which he obviously did.

Left-right-jab-jab-sidekick-straight fist to the face.

HardCase’s head snapped back on impact, and he was sent crashing back fist into the mesh.

Pointless bent HardCase over with a knee to the gut, than put him to pastor with a Black Rose (double heeled driving axe kick).

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HardCase pushed himself up on all fours, trying to shake the stars circling his head after that last move. Pointless moved in kicking HardCase in the side flipping him over onto his back, and exposing his chest and face to assault.

Pointless stomped, like HardCase’s face was fire, though its doubtful if Pointless would even go out of his way to step out flame on HardCase’s face under real circumstances. But he’s more than happy to snuff out pretend flames. And he’s doing a hell of a job.

HardCase is somehow able to get a hand up in the middle of the relentless barrage and grabbed Pointless’ foot. With Josiah’s foot held off the ground and in his hands HardCase sweeps Pointless’ leg out from under him bringing Pointless down to his level.

HardCase scrambles to his feet a cunt’s hair before Pointless does and sends Pointless back down to the mat with a knee to the face. HardCase reaches down and grabs Pointless by the neck and rips him up to his feet.

He then slams Pointless into the cage mesh pinning Pointless off the ground with his legs dangling. HardCase lets Pointless drop, but leaves his exposed knee out there for him to drop on thus catching Pointless in what would technically be called an atomic drop.

Pointless keels over in obvious pain. HardCase locks him in a inverted face-lock and takes it upon himself to give Pointless and Adjustment of Attitude planting him hard with an implant DDT.

The ref rushes in to commence the 10 count, but HardCase opts to lifted Pointless off the mat and instill even more punishment.

HardCase lifts Pointless up by the neck and tossed him across the asylum like a bag of body parts.

Pointless laid on the canvas, beaten with his nose re-bleeding profusely. HardCase—being the arrogant prick you’ve grown to know and loath—walks over toward the Pointless chuckling to himself.

HardCase then stood over Pointless’ head and looked down.

“Aww. What’s a matter? Got nothing left? What a fucking sha-”

HardCase was cut off mid sentence by the sound of steel cracking bone…well it wasn’t so much the sound that cut him off, as it was the brutal pouncing uppercut Pointless unleashed on the underside of his jaw. That’s what cut him off if you wanna know the truth.

The 10 count was a given.

Pointless walked toward HardCase who was only just now stirring around painfully, well after the ten count. Pointless stood over his head.

"I'm going to enjoy this."

Pointless raised HardCase's bat high over his head. He was about to go Gallagher on HardCase's head(and thus this fight wins obscure reference of the day).

With the crowd cheering for blood, and HardCase still on the floor unaware of what was going on, it looked like Pointless had the chance to do what stick up men, rival drug lords, the CIA, several deranged hobo's, and a mislabed bottle of whiskey which really help paint thinner couldn't do before him: Kill HardCase.

The fans--being the blood thirsty degenerates they are--roar for Pointless to bash his head in.

Pointless lines HardCase's skull up like he was reading himself to nail a rail road spike. He raised the bat high over his head, then...

Dropped it to the mat.

This illicted a series of disappointed boos from the fans. Pointless ignored them, as “Autobiography Of A Nation” by Thursday hit the PA again playing this fights victor out to his locker room leaving the loser barely concious and unaware how close to he came to haveing his skull caved in.

Lucky for him Pointless apparently takes no pride in the shameless brutalizing of a defensless opponent.

So the score will be settled come Manhunt.

...maybe

Frank had become ignorant to his duties as the Asylum Champion, as many before him had. Joe had to do something. Maybe he could... throw Frank in a title match against Eddie Scott Poser and release the Lions...

Or...

Set the whole building on fire.

Both were drastic but would bring new fans in by the droves.

Joe was so deep in thought that he ignored the fact that a shadow was being cast across his desk, until the clearing of a throat broke the silence in the air.

"Ahem."

campbell looked up to see Frank Minio standing, in jeans and a gray tshirt, with the Asylum Championship slung over his shoulder, a bottle of the Captain in his hand, reasonably dented in ammount, looking as if the show wasn't pretty much over.

"Where in the holy sodding FUCK have you been?" Campbell hollared up in his own drunken swaggard.

"Celebrating my uhh... title defense." Frank replied in a slur of his own.

"Tonight's title defense?"

"Fuckin' A!"

"Frank... you stupid shit, you weren't even HERE TONIGHT!" Campbell was obviously furious. Frank took a step back leaning against the wall furthest from the door and yawned.

"I was busy celebrating... we went over this already. Can I go home?"

"No! No you can't fuckin' go HOME, where ever the piss and shit that is! You fucked up! You can't just show up after the fuckin' show! Ya gotta fight ya cuntrag!" Three knocks on the old door.

"Actually Joe, I can show up whenever the fuck I want. Whenever. WHENEVER. And the day you can get this hunk of shit off of my shoulder, that will change, but until then, you limey bastard, you will have hold your own little pink dick when you piss!" Frank was now pacing the office when the door burst open, and the Asylum's resident Herbal Pig pen strutted in...

Eddie Cheno.

After knocking politely of course.

“Great. Another wanker,” Campbell said, sighing before twisting his head away in disgust. “What the fuck is it now? Cop swine giving you a hard time trying to get on your dick again?”

Cheno however, didn’t let up on a gaze that was directed at Minio for whatever reason. He laughed a small bit to break the tension, as Joe just looked on. “Funk mang, funken funny mang.”

“What the fuck is this?” Minio asked, turning his gaze over to Campbell, who just shrugged.

“Why the fuck are you looking at me Minio? Fuck if I know!” Campbell said, reaching over to his desk and grabbing his bottle of whiskey before taking a swig.

“Frankie mang? Ya gonna be showin’ up at dat funken Manhunt bitch, cuz I be havin’ someding ya ain’t eva be touchin.” Cheno raised his television title from his gym bag. “Dis.”

Minio laughed. “I already beat you once Eddie, don’t make me do it twice. Take your little stand against the power and move it to the mid-card if you would.”

“Nah mang, if ya ain’t funken be dinkin’ I be a challenge yo, den ya got no funken problems puttin’ yer funken gold on pay per funken view, right mang?” Campbell was intrigued, but also angered. Then again, if Cheno did beat Minio, he knew he could at least draw with the bastard defending the belt like crazy.

“Eddie, how many times do I have to beat you before you get it through your cracked skull that you can’t fuckin’ win?” Minio sighed. “I don’t even know why I’m still fucking talking to you.”

“Funken Manhunt bitch. Ya, me mang, title fer funken title.” Eddie smiled, getting closer to Minio then he was before. “And I be promisin’ ya, da last time dat ya beat me, be da LAST time ya gonna beat me.”

“Oh fucking bleeding fucking hell.” Campbell shouted, scouting the situation from the side. “That’s your big line? That’s your fucking comeback? God you’re fucking retarded!”