Only Retribution.

Because nothing is predictable in the Show. Anything is conceivable in the Asylum.

The telecast on this particular Sabbath did not open with the more recognizable Champion in Token Weed berating the lack of challenges for his prize, nor with Joe Campbell fighting off this week's invaders who have come to destroy his creation (since it happens so often). No, but it did kick off with some unfamiliar music.

The light guitar rhythm was soon joined by a baseline and a drum beat, and continued for a moment. All the while, the lights slowly dimmed around them. No later, was the arena lunged in complete darkness and silence, the crowd's attention ripped beyond their grasp. The small melody that started the song took a bow of silence, before crashing with the sound of Geoff Rickly's faint screams.

write these words back down... inside
we have burned their villages
the people in them... have died
we adopt their customs
and everything they say... we stole
all the dreams they had... we kill
still we all sleep sound inside
is this what you wanted to hear?
we erase the images and dance
and replaced them with borders and flags

at the top of this timeline you'll remember
this is the lipstick on the collar
and in my own life i've seen it in the mirror
sometimes at the cost of others hopes

write these words back down inside!

The song, by some indie rock/emo fans, would be recognized to be Thursday's "Autobiography of a Nation." The crowd gave a small reaction of cheers, as if it is customary, when a single spotlight opened up, cascading to the stage where a man stood. The focus all drawn to him by the only light in the massive arena.

He wore his black fighting shorts, a black collared T- shirt that buttoned from top- to- bottom, and wrist tape. His bald head created a glare to some fans, but most in the front rows were focused on the appearance of his face; more specific, the tattoo on his chin that had similarities to Gacy's of the former tA team, Fall of Adam.

The man stepped up the cage, where he removed a microphone from the front pocket of his shirt. Awaiting for the lights to return, which they did, as the song died out, he stood silently. One line, though, stuck out among the rest.

everything you say you stole
every dream you dream you bought

The reaction from the crowd was loud as the lights returned, they all stood in marvel of the latest tA fighter, who stood with a blank expression. His patience, though, got the better of him as he decided that he shall no longer continue to wait for their silence, but he shall take it to them.

"My name... is Pointless."

His tone was cold, like most people in tA's. But it was light, and smooth. It was obvious the rugged aspects of the cage hadn't completely taken him.

"My name is Pointless, and I am here, in the Asylum... for you."

The fans in attendance, being the greedy fatheads they are, cheered in mention of them.

"I am here, in the Asylum, to save you from yourselves."

This was expected for tA. Toying with the mind, or mind fucking.

"For three plus years you have all found yourselves glued to your seats, stuck on your TVs, and busy punching your credit numbers for merchandise. All for the sake and glorification of sodomy, shower peeks, castrations, suicide, limbs falling as if it were raining, and murder.

"For three plus years you have all watched these acts fit for the ninth circle, applauding death and hatred, all for your pleasure. You all sit while men and women degrade themselves at your leisure. It does not surprise me, to see you ignorant cretins thirst for more blood, only to snatch the glory from the victor and celebrate it as if it were your own."

Fans don't like this kind of bad talk.

"They die for you, and you forget them not more than a week later. And I... I am no different than my peers, I will die for you. I am here for you all. I am here for your leisure, for your pleasure. I am here to do the same.

"I am here, like everyone else, to waste my existence in the confides of steel and sweat. Why?

"Because I enjoy it. But I as I stand here, I cannot help but feel disgust for this cage and the people that have stepped inside, disgracing such a canvas. Blasphemy is not my forte, but I will say that the entire fighting roster is a joke.

"I can honestly stand here, unafraid of the hacks that claim their greatness with egos and arrogance, and willing to destroy the opposition."

What a hypocrite, most fans thought. Boo!

"For too long, my people, have you watched without the glee and happiness that once ruled this cage in the form of great fighters like Arch Angel, AD, and Borst. For too long, my people, have you been missing the lust that you once had, the fire to believe in a fighter that can shake the foundations we stand on. My people, my friends, I am here to tell you that, once again, you can confide in one man to take this cage to new levels. That man... is me!

"My name is POINTLESS!"

The fans have obviously had enough of this man, with some in the closer sections throwing their trash in to the ring.

"What I propose is one fight. Right here, right now. I plead for one man, or woman, to find the courage in themselves to bring themselves out to this cage, and face me. Please, friends. One man.

"I want to create and complete my first piece. I want to create my art!"

To absolute silence, Terry Bollinger pushed the curtains aside and stepped out onto the stage. The crowd was not sure what to make of him. He was an unfamiliar face. He advanced slowly to cage and entered through the door. He walked over to Josiah, standing only a few feet away and directing his stoic gaze into his eyes in an intimidating fashion.

Josiah, waiting for a word, offered the microphone to Terry.

He only tilted his head towards the receiver.

“Cut the shit.”

It was soon followed by slapping the microphone away. Pointless could only smile, as he took of his shirt, revealing a collage of tattoos. They both squared off, as the opening bell sounded.

Pointless Vs Terry Bollinger
(Debut Fight)

Josiah fell to his shoulders, scissoring his opponent's torso in the guard position. Bollinger lifted his fist from the mat and dropped it across Josiah's jaw line with a dull thud. His head hit the mat, as Terry struck him a second time. Josiah shimmied from his grasp, gradually getting to a standing position.

He shifted his jaw from side to side, smirking at Terry, who walked towards him. Bollinger threw a right fist. Josiah bobbed his head to the left, avoiding the strike that would have landed squarely on his nose, and spun on his heel as Bollinger passed by him, staggering forward thanks to the tremendous momentum backing his failed punch. He extended his elbow, catching Terry in the ear.

The corner of his ear tore open, sending a thin stream of blood down the side of his neck as it seeped out the small lacerations, dizzying Bollinger as he came to a stop, planting his feet into the canvas. He turned to face Josiah. The man known as Pointless struck suddenly with back hand to the mouth, then a left hook to the jaw. The crowd booed, faintly, sensing that Terry was not hurt, more-so insulted that he would let himself be smacked around like that.

Tensing up his jaw, he clenched his teeth together tightly, moving forward with a right to the stomach. Josiah felt the air rush from his lungs and he collapsed to a single-knee, his arm laid across his stomach, he gasped for a breath. Bollinger, revealing his more aggressive side, sunk his taped-hands into Pointless' hair, so to keep his head in place. He forced his knee up into Josiah's skull, snapping his head back. He threw his limp body to the mat.

He dropped to his knees in front of Josiah. He straddled his body and began relentlessly pummeling him with rights until his hand became numb. He stood up, allowing the referee to make the standard ten-count.

At seven, Josiah started to his feet. His face was left unguarded, as was his body, leaving vital organs open for one of Bollinger's powerful body strikes. The crowd became silent, watching intently, Josiah stumbled to Bollinger. Terry had both fists up around eye-level. He measured a punch to the face, but instead was elbow in the stomach. Pointless drove him to the mat with a Side Walk Slam! The momentum instantly shifted.

Josiah kept his motion on top of his opponent, driving a series of fists in to his jaw. Bollinger shoved his way out, after about three hits, and quickly checked for blood.

None.

But still, that was enough to piss a man off.

Bollinger sprinted towards his opponent, going for another Double Leg Takedown. But his position was to his advantage, as he slammed Josiah’s back in to the mesh steel. Pointless’ head jerked back, but he kept an offensive strategy even on the defense. Pointless lifted his elbow, and slammed down in to Bollinger’s head. Once wouldn’t make him loosen the hold, so how about two?

After the second elbow drive, Terry fell somewhat limp. Josiah decided to drive the point home, with a knee right to his gut. Bollinger quickly lifted and stumbled back, heading to the opposite side of the cage for a rest.

This is the Asylum. You get no rests.

Terry knew, from the corner of his eye, that Josiah was quick on the approach. As he turned, he shot a quick hook that connected right in to Josiah’s temple. Terry didn’t relent, another quick jab to the stomach, then a waistlock takedown to put him grounded. The impact on Pointless’ back was enough to knock the wind out of him, but before he could get a deep breath, Terry was on the attack again.

Tossing Pointless to his stomach, Bollinger lifted his arm overhead, bending the elbow back. He locked it in, twisting Pointless’ shoulder and elbow in ways limbs should not bend. Josiah was screaming in pain as Bollinger’s grip tightened. As Pointless’ elbow bent further back, Terry’s teeth grinded down just as much.

With the process of common sense, which most people don’t have when their muscles are being torn, Pointless figured his head was close to Terry’s. And if he wanted to escape and win, one movement is all that is required. Josiah, tilted his head forward, then one swift movement, slammed it back crashing in to Bollinger’s jaw.

The headbut had more than enough force to knock the newcomer off of his fellow newcomer, and Terry struggled to his feet as he spat out a wad of blood to the floor. Bollinger turned to Pointless, who was on his feet as well, massaging some blood back in to his muscle and re- stablizing the joints.

They nodded, and charged. Bollinger dropped quick after Pointless ducked a lariat, then threw a knee to his stomach. With Terry hunched over, Pointless locked his head between his shoulders and dropped. Terry could feel his nose crunch in to the mat, without breaking. Sometimes, that feeling is worse.

Pointless quickly switched his position, flipping on top of Terry, and locking his arms around his forehead. Josiah then lifted, pulling Bollinger’s neck back. The stress on Bollinger’s neck made his Adam’s Apple stick out so far, it could stab you.

Josiah quickly broke the submission, though, and lifted Terry to his feet. A few dazed and wild swings kept Terry busy, though none connected. Josiah drove his fist deep in to his stomach, hunching him backwards, then pushed Bollinger to the cage.

Pointless quickly followed, clamping his hand around Bollinger’s throat and pushing back. With his wind pipe closed back, Terry began to panic. His thoughts quickly traced back to his daughter, her safety. With his eyes racing back and forth, he needed something to bring him back to reality. Josiah leaned in close, his lips so close to Bollinger’s ear.

“She is not of your concern.”

This scared the shit out of Terry Bollinger. But before he could think of a logical, or illogical explanation as to why Pointless just said this to him, he sent a fist to Josiah’s throat that knocked him off. Both took a moment to catch their respected breaths, with Terry crossing over first. Now recuperated and ready to fight, he took on Josiah with a fighting stance.

Pointless blocked the first two blows, but the third uppercut to the gut was too powerful. Terry hunched him over, and drove an elbow straight to his back, knocking him to the mat. Terry spat out more blood, then turned back to his opponent. What he found was Josiah, already struggling to get to his feet.

Bollinger leant over to help him up by the shoulders, out of courtesy, of course, when Josiah wrapped his arms around Terry’s waste and take him down. Before Bollinger could react, Pointless, as they say, went to town. He delivered cross hook after cross hook right in to Terry’s chest.

Each hit softened the muscles on his thorax even more than the last, until they loosened so much so that it seemed Pointless was hitting raw bone. By the seventh hit, be probably broke a rib, and luckily, he decided to stop.

Pointless smiled a sickening smile as he pulled himself to his feet. The audience in attendance could only grimace at the display. But before a count could even be administered, the first count in the whole fight, Josiah leant over and picked Terry up by the shoulders.

Terry, semi- conscious, was propped at his knees, when his eyes fluttered open. He looked up, to see Josiah holding him steady with one hand, then one hand cocked back.

If you would do your history, you would know that this is the set- up for Fallen Sulfur.

Before Pointless could drill his hand in to Bollinger’s face, Terry went to survival mode and shot a quick forearm to the pills.

Ouch.

Josiah let go, as Terry quickly jumped to his feet. Before Josiah could react, however, a hard shove sent him straight to the cage wall. As he regained his composure, he saw Terry Bollinger running straight on, full- force.

His finisher, the Match Ender. A Running Open- Palm Strike.

As he came close, Josiah bent his knees, ducking the blow, and hooked his waist around that of Bollinger’s. In the fatal flaw, the fatal mistake, Pointless used too much of Terry’s weight and flew him over the cage wall.

The mistake? Pointless went as well.

Both men tumbled on to the floor from the Asylum, and the bell immediately rang. Some fans cheered, some fans booed. It was an undecided arena.

Terry slammed his fist on the mat, multiple times. With his anger for his non- win/non- loss in his blood, he cocked his head back to see Josiah, struggling to his feet.

Josiah stumbled up the ramp and to the stage, where he shot a final glance towards Terry Bollinger.

Terry stared on, as Pointless disappeared behind the curtain.

This, surely, was a war for another day.

And you could tell where Miles Blunder had cleaned. The walls sparkled. They were as white as ever. And where Miles hadn’t cleaned yet… well it was an off-white. A very off-white.

Miles scrubbed with both hands as hard as he could. Back and forth the J-Cloth went, oozing out a steady flow of soap bubbles as he did.

Blunder was working very hard for about an hour now… and one wall was almost done. He was not going to take a break though. There was no chance in that. The germs would just crawl over from the infested areas of the locker room… to the brand new, disinfected parts.

Miles couldn’t have that.

Hence he would continue.

However, as Miles did this… he did not notice someone enter through the already opened door.

The dubbed ‘King of Poland’, Eddie Scott Poser.

Eddie entered to some cheers from the Crowd, as he was carrying a poster in his right hand. Then, turning to the clean area of the locker room wall, Eddie unraveled the poster and taped it at the edges.

Blunder suddenly turned, seeing Eddie Scott Poser.

Miles’ eye widened. His jaw dropped. And his face began to boil.

“NO!” Miles screamed, actually not stuttering. He dropped his soapy J-Cloth and ran over to where Eddie was standing.

“W- WHAT IN THE N- NAME IS T- THIS!?” He said.

Poser just smiled. “It’s the new Asylum poser.” He held it up. “Asylum supports Poland!”

Blunder’s eyes almost fell right out of his head. “NO!” He screamed again. “I JUST CLEANED THAT!”

Poser didn’t understand.

“What- what are you- you do- doing here!?”

Smiling, Poser replied. “Seems like the guy in charged put us together as a tag team. You know, that handicap match you had?” Miles didn’t recognize what Poser was saying. “Okay, maybe you didn’t know, but you were booked in a handicap match by Campbellkins, and now it’s not.”

Poser paused and looked at his poster before smiling. “So, hi! I’m your partner, Eddie Scott Poser. I think you might remember me from the ass kicking last week. Sorry about that.” Blunder was still slack jawed. “Okay, maybe you forget last week. That means my ass kicking powers are coming along quite nicely. Anyway, since Campbell teamed us together, he gave me this room. So. HI ROOMIE! I’ll take the bed underneath the window. I also have a refrigerator coming soon.” Poser, once again, looked at his poster. “Doesn’t this poster just RULE!?!?”

Blunder didn’t want to get too close to the germ infested man… but he had to. He did not want Eddie Scott Poser in HIS locker room… and he definitely didn’t want that ugly looking, God-knew-where-it-had-been poster on his disinfected walls.

Using his force, Miles grabbed Eddie and surprisingly shoved him out of his locker room.

“This- this is my place…” Miles Blunder said. “I want your filth out of here!”

With that, Blunder slammed the door in Eddie’s face… before he turned back to the side of the wall where Poser had touched.

“Now I have to clean this all over again.” He said. “God dammit!”

His attire presented more of an broad yet comfortable urban disposition to the surrounding public; A Black Short Sleeve South Pole T-Shirt & a matching Leather Jacket rid him from the looming grip of the bitter elements. A Platinum Necklace with a Customized Scorpio Charm hung proudly around his neck, shimmering in utter defiance. It began swinging aimlessly about amidst his prominent stride.

His eyes feverishly roaming about, on the look out for any hapless shit bird, looking for trouble. Sweeping cautiously across the random sea of faces, along his path, he began tapping the innermost portion of his jacket in forewarning to the ignorant masses. Despite adopting the innate ability of sensing drama from all fronts, customary to all patrons of the dreaded Asylum, he was seemingly in a relatively good mood;

Burberry Cologne: Check

Looking Good: Check

Gold Magnums: Check

With everything seemingly in order, Da H.N.I.C., was in full effect. “Fuck Joe” He uttered to himself as he became more focused on making better use of his time on the sidelines; Duchess was coming to pay Daddy a visit. Arriving at the designated location, he took a moment to check the time on the Jacob.

8:58pm

A mischievous smirk formed against his lips as he visually marveled at the expensive watch’s surface. His newly acquired trinket was but a reminder of Damon’s off the clock activities but that’s another sermon on it’s own time. Running his hand across his cleanly shaven scalp before smoothing out his goatee, he took another look at the scantly roving backstage traffic before observing an approaching security guard heading his way.

“Sup, man?”

“It’s all good, brotha‘…How bout’ you?

“Can’t complain…Can’t complain…But uh…Did you come through with that favor for me?”

The slightly muscular sentry arrogantly turned his head towards the not so distant adjacent exit, where they laid eyes on a luscious Kentucky bred redbone. Noticing that she was wearing a Leather Trench Coat & a pair of Stiletto Boots with 6” heels, the Chicago native began hungrily rubbing his hands together. Reaching into his pocket, withdrew a crisp C-note out and nonchalantly placed the currency into the guard’s welcoming palm. The favor was concluded with a bonafide exchange of pounding fists and handshakes.

“That’s my nigga. Good looking‘ out.…Hit me up this weekend, boy.”

“Fo’ sho’. I’m outta here, playboy.”

A mutual tandem of peace signs were brandished before both men parted ways. Meeting her half way, Damon took a moment to welcome her with a soothing embrace before planting his hand calmly along her supple ass. Running his hand along the leather strap, connected to the Camcorder Carrying case, he loomed forward to graze his nose against her nape of her exposed neck.

Hmmm…I missed you …

“I know. Let’s go somewhere a little more ‘private‘…Oh yeah, I got those handcuffs you wanted me to bring too.”

A devilish smile raced across her lips before her tongue slid deliciously across her moistened lips. Damon responded with a passive smirk before draping his arms around her waist and leading her back towards his makeshift pornographic utopia.

It seemed as if his spirits, despite it, couldn’t go down. ‘Seemed’ is key, folks.

Heading back to the showers, Pointless happened to pass the man whom he’d gotten in to a verbal confrontation with a week prior in Asher Rollins.

Upon walking past each other, Rollins stumbled slightly and snickered. This prompted Josiah to stop dead in his tracks and address his fellow fighter.

"What are you laughing at?"

"You, buddy.” Asher turned to face Pointless. The smile on his face gave no sign of intimidation.

"I am sorry, sir, but I am a joke to you?" More a question than a statement, though Asher would think otherwise.

"In every way possible."

"Most people in my situation would say something like 'Let's see you do better,' but I find taking the higher route and telling you to fuck off is more useful." Josiah turned to leave, but Asher could not bite his tongue.

"You think I'm talking about your skill as a fighter? Sure, it too is a joke, but those are your words--not mine. I was speaking on your personality, your ideals, and how you act."

"So, you know me based on the way I walk? Boy, walk away before you dig yourself a pit of hypocrisy, you ignored shit." Once again, Josiah turned to leave, but Asher wouldn’t let him from doing so.

"I know you based on our prior discussion. People overestimate how long it takes to know a person. It's true what they say--first impressions are everything, but only to those smart enough to pick up every aspect of a person in a matter of seconds. This may not be a talent you've acquired as of yet. It's one I've perfected. And hypocrisy’s a funny thing--it applies to all, yet some consider it an insult."

"It isn't a talent, on my part, to take one look at you and discover that you are a worthless git that deserves no more of my words. That is blatantly obvious. Now, you can keep trying to shove your philosophy of nothingness down my throat, or make the better decision and die. I must rest."

This time, Pointless was determined to leave. But Asher had one last thing to say, the important piece.

"Yeah, you'll need it. Sylo's a big guy, and you're up soon. Even the worthless can use a pencil to sign your name."

As Asher walked down the hall, he gave off that laugh that let you know he thought of you as a joke.

Josiah, now knowing of his SECOND fight of the night against the former PIW Champ, clinched his fists. He could do nothing, but prepare.

Left braced against the cool surface of the elongated hallway, Damon Darnell Jackson, remained subdued by the nuances of random thought. Having to bear the burden of last minute bullshitting and 'mandatory time-wasting', he sought to find something to quell the daunting testing of his patience. As he began fiddling with the leather Camcorder bag, slung against his shoulder, his ears detected the repetitive clacking of 5" heels, smacking the floor from an encroaching distance. Rounding the corner was a black-haired woman, her 5" vinyl boots filling the dead air lingering in the hall. Angelica Dawson looked over at Damon, slowing down as she came closer to him. She quickly shifted her ice blue eyes away from him as she walked. Casting a discerning eye towards the unfamiliar stone hearted Caucasian beauty, Damon offered a curious nod in her direction. Although her physical features remained enticing, her calloused stare would only promote the 6 foot 5 inch powerhouse to uphold a more reserved approach towards her.

"Sup?"

One small word brought Angelica to a halt in front of Damon. She turned slowly and looked slightly up at him, her boots only bringing her to 6'3". She reached up and brushed some of her hair off of her forehead, tucking it behind her ear and exposing her giant "X" scar on her forehead.

"Not much. Looking for somebody, you could say."

The presence of such an uncommon and unsightly scar would be captured by Damon's attentive eyes but he caught himself just in time to prevent being accused of staring.

Taking a moment to stroke his neatly trimmed goatee, Damon exhaled before offering an non-confrontational conversation.

"Well, that depends on who you lookin' fo'..."

Angelica, being the person she is, considered this to be some type of advance.

"Not you, that's for sure. Hate to burst your little bubble, dear."

Another sarcastic expulsion of breath swept from his lips, marred with a miniscule sense of relief. Enemies continue to roam aimless through his new surroundings yet he is unable to dismiss her presence completely. Mentally, he formulated a response within the privacy of subconsciousness

~~~..."This bitch got jokes, I see?~~~

"Ain't shit busted over here but I hope you find what you're looking for real quick...It ain't safe to be roaming around her by your lonesome..."

"I'm never lonesome. But, in a way, I appreciate the concern."

Angelica patted the pocket of her black leather pants, signifying a companion enclosed in her pocket.

Not looking to be outdone, Damon slid both hands into the depths of his Black All NBA Leather Jacket and withdrew his preferred selection of handheld hardware; A Twin Set of Nickle Plated Desert Eagles.

The metallic gleam from both handles were matched by the one, sweeping across his Cinnamon Brown eyes.

"Like they always say; In order to keep the peace, you gotta keep a piece..."

Angelica reached into her pocket and pulled out a switchblade. She flipped it open and pointed the blade at Damon.

"I prefer a more...up-close hardware."

As she brandished her personal choice of lightweight artillery, Damon responded with a prominent smirk.

"I take it you're new here because all that little piece of shit's gonna end up turning you into an unsolved mystery around this motherfucker."

Angelica glared at him and moved her hair out of the way again, showing the scar on her forehead.

"Same blade that gave me this scar. I don't carry this for killing. I carry it for permanence."

"Whatever's clever, I guess. You do whatcha do then but if I were you, I'd keep on movin'. This chick that's in the bathroom, step out and see you & me rappin' out here, she's gonna tattoo her foot in ya ass, aight?"

Angelica looked at Damon before giggling to herself lightly.

"Is this supposed to scare me? I know what the Asylum is like. Being scared will get you killed. I've done much worse to many more than she can do to me."

Shrugging his shoulders, Damon hesitated before speaking.

"Trust me; You ain't gotta be scared because you run across the wrong mothafucka at the wrong time, that shit ain't even gonna matter...Not one bit. I'm just letting you know, that's all."

Angelica moved in close to Damon, being chest-to-chest with him. She inhaled sharply, taking in his scent. She glanced up at him before bringing her blade up, resting it on his cheek gently.

"And would YOU be one of those 'mothafuckas' I have to worry about?"

A timely placed fist clenching her smooth skinned wrist ensured that Damon's manicured visage remained untarnished by the sharpened steel blade. Mentally, Damon began to offer a slight bit of praise for her brazen attitude for he was never one to respect a spineless female but her action led him to assume the role of a internally suppressed asshole.

Using 1/5th of his strength to slowly pull the blade to safety, Damon's eyes began to match the frigid glare directed towards him.

"I'ma be straight up with ya; You better thank GOD that I'm in a real good tonight because I've got some pussy waiting on me. Had it been any other night, you'd have to deal with two hundred & seventy five pounds of pissed off nigga, running all up in ya ass....But I'm gonna be cool...Not because ya packing a little toothpick but for future reference; If you think I ain't above beatin' down a bitch, you come and try that monkey shit again, you feel me?"

Angelica backed up slowly, snatching her blade back from Damon.

"Yeah. I feel you. And I've dealt with more pissed off nigger than you can offer. So until we meet again, adieu."

Angelica closed her switchblade and placed it back in her pocket. She bowed slightly to Damon, smirking sarcastically as she walked away.

“Where the fuck is Nikki?” She asked herself as she continued to wrap tape around her right hand, no doubt in preparation for her upcoming fight against the established Nicole Carson. “She should totally be here by now.”

The white light above her continued to sway back and forth as she readied herself for combat, projecting her thin shadow against a sea of lockers when it moved in her direction and surrounding her in darkness once more when it moved away. Brooding over her left hand, which she was now vigorously taping after finishing the right, she kept talking to herself, almost as if she expected her partner and best friend to hear her pleas and return to the arena as soon as she could.

Renee’ closed her eyes, which were caked in make-up, and rested her head against the locker that her back was currently using as its cushion.

She had been alone her entire life despite being surrounded by family, friends, and a stable of males that she had under her spell. They were always physically there for her, but had never been with her in spirit. Nikki, she thought, was the one person who was.

Yet, it seemed as she sat there alone in a locker room that they were supposed to be sharing together, that she had thought wrong.

“Renee’?” An unidentified male voice said.

It also seemed that the Asylum’s locker rooms weren’t as secure as she had assumed they would be upon signing on the dotted line.

“What?” She yelled, making it apparent that she was angry with whoever this man was for interrupting her train of thought.

“It’s time for your fight against Carson.”

“Oh.” She said surreally, the thought of going out to the cage alone hitting her like a thousand knives. “Thank you.”

Not even bothering with a simple “you’re welcome”, the random Asylum employee exited the locker room quickly, once again leaving Renee’ alone, which was something she obviously dreaded.

Upon standing up, Renee’ began to pace nervously around the room before making her way to a doorway that would lead her to the same place that Fuck the Mind had brutalized her in just a week earlier. Grasping onto the door’s handle strongly, Renee’ opened the door and left her dressing room without her partner for the first time in a long time.

“Please hurry.” She whispered words that disappeared once the door slammed, insuring that they would never reach Nikki Carlson’s ears.

“Hey baby.” A dealer with a strong Puerto Rican accent said to a dolled-up passerby in an incredibly short skirt. “You need some love?”

“I’ll pass, scumbag.” She replied, consequently rejecting the man’s attempt to sell her ecstasy, which is sometimes referred to as love by those who push it to young and impressionable club goers, before walking away.

The dealer smiled stupidly, obviously high on his own supply, as he spoke.

“No need to be rude lady!” He screamed. “No need to be rude!”

The woman kept walking away from the greasy haired dealer as obscenities and catcalls continued to leave his mouth, creating quite a bit of noise. She started to walk faster, finally breaking into a full run before he stopped. Happy with what he had done, the dealer smiled smugly as he walked backwards toward the section of brick wall that he had been using as his place of business for as long as he could possibly remember.

Backing up into the wall, he placed his freezing cold hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and stood there in anticipation for his next customer, a customer who he wasn’t expecting for awhile, but was in truth right around the corner.

Dressed in a tight pair of faded flare-style jeans and a vintage U2 baby T-Shirt with a black wool pea coat overtop, this customer, a female judging by the clothing that anyone who was observing could vaguely see under the surrounding streetlights, approached the seedy building where the dealer stood rather speedily, looking over her shoulder cautiously with each step.

She pulled the collar of her stylish jacket upward so that it covered half of her face, not wanting to be identified for whatever reason…not realizing that her identity didn’t matter to the group of people around her so long as she had money. Stopping in front of the dealer that had heckled a girl just like her moments earlier, the mysterious women spoke quietly.

“Hey,” she said, as if speaking to a high school chum or a casual acquaintance, “are you Carlos J.?”

“Yeah.” The dealer, now revealed as Carlos J., replied. “You the chick I talked to earlier?”

“The very same.” She spoke once more. “You get what I asked for?”

The man wiped a wad of snot from his face before speaking. “Yeah.” He sniffled. “Had to make a few calls and have one of my boys cross the border to NYC, but I got it.”

“Good. Give it here.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” He exclaimed. “No cash, no stuff, understand?”

“Yeah, yeah.” She sighed, reaching into her pockets and riffling through their contents at a fierce speed before pulling out a roll of bills and pushing them excitedly into his chest. “There! Now give it!”

He took off his shoe and shook out a small plastic bag filled with tiny blue capsules into her hand, which she had extended towards him right after giving him the money. Holding the bag up to her eyes, she surveyed the contents and made sure that they weren’t broken or damaged while he eyed her every move.

“Don’t worry darlin’!” He chuckled. “That there is quality shit! All the bodybuilders and athletes use it.”

She nodded, signifying her approval.

He smiled widely, patting her on her shoulder and sending her on her way.

“Pleasure doing business with you!” He screamed as she began walking up the sidewalk towards the brightly lit Stadium.

As she walked, she opened the bag and slid two of her fingers in, grasping onto one of the pills. Pausing just before she hit the doors of the venue that the Asylum was currently inhabiting, she dropped one of the pills into her mouth and swallowed it with a single gulp, her face as clear as day under the Commonwealth Stadium’s box office’s lights.

She stepped inside of the building and was greeted by a security guard, who smiled widely at her.

“Welcome back Ms. Carlson.”

Nikki Carlson beamed back at him, pills that she had supposedly kicked years ago jiggling in her pocket all the while.

“Thank you.”

Renee Storm Vs Nicole Carson

This time, however, it would be at the hands of another woman, which to most of the Campbell-owned promotion’s male fans could never be interesting, even if one was a self-proclaimed slut and the other an ex-police officer who once blew a hole in the current Television Champion’s face.

Renee’ stepped through the curtain to what couldn’t even be considered a chorus of boos due to the amount of people who were jeering, but shrugged off the lukewarm response. After all, she had more important things to think about. Like the whereabouts of her partner and friend or the burning question of how she would be able to clean remnants of her own blood out of the skin-tight shirt she was wearing.

Slapping hands with the few women who were ringside, and probably the only women in the entire audience, Storm climbed into the cage and raised a fist into the air, as if she actually expecting to be using it on the much more experienced Nicole Carson. Bouncing around from side to side as “Electioneering” by Radiohead replaced her music, Renee’ kept her icy blue eyes locked on the curtain that she had just walked through, awaiting her opponent just as she had been awaiting the arrival of her partner during the hours before.

“I will stop…”

A significant amount of fans came back to their seats as Thom Yorke began to sing the lyrics to Carson’s theme song, albeit carrying nachos and beers.

“I will stop at nothing…”

Her badge shimmering as it hung from the buckle of her belt, Nicole stepped through onto the entrance stage just as she had stepped into many asses in fights before. It was nothing knew for her. Hopefully, for her sake, Renee’ was aware of that.

“Say the right things…”

She paced from the middle of the entrance stage to the left side, desperately trying to do her part and get the fans interested in the fight that was about to take place. Then she moved to the left, doing the same thing, just to different fans that all seemed to give the same, cold response.

“When electioneering…”

Her boots slammed against the steel ramp as she stomped intently towards the cage, clanking angrily with every step she made. She took her time while doing this, hoping to intimidate an already scared and broken Storm.

“I trust I can rely on your vote…”

Nicole Carson hopped into the cage to a little bit of fanfare, coming face to face with the much smaller and less experienced Renee’ Storm.

“When I go forwards…you go backwards…and somewhere we will meet!”

It seemed that they would meet courtesy of Nicole Carson’s fist flying widely into Storm’s jaw, prompting the music to quickly die down and the fans who were actually paying attention to let out a triumphant “OOH!”. Renee’ remained standing, however, choosing to simply stumble around the cage instead of accepting her beating like a trooper.

She had lost all sense of consciousness already, not knowing where she was or what she was about to go through. Carson let her know, however, by driving another right hook into her jaw when she stumbled towards her once more.

This time she hit the ground and didn’t move, not even to twitch in pain or attempt to get up. Nicole simply smiled, as if to say “how pathetic”.

1!

She stayed down.

2!

She stayed down.

3!

She stayed down.

4!

She stayed down.

5!

Yeah…still down.

6!

Nothing.

7!

Don’t worry…only three more.

8!

I don’t even know why you’re asking at this point.

9!

Nothing!

10!

“Electioneering” began to play again, despite only ending about two minutes earlier. Nicole Carson had been victorious in a complete blowout, which was good, but not exactly what she wanted. She had at least hoped for a fight, so that she could beat the pulp out of a woman who was totally weak to earn her win. Instead, she got a push-over.

Yet, as her music faded away before she had even left the cage, it became apparent that either Nicole Carson was going to get her wish or that one of the Asylum’s audio technicians was going to be fired. “Open Up Your Eyes” blaring throughout the arena just like it had when Renee’ Storm had confidently and stupidly walked out into the cage let all who were watching know that it was indeed option number one.

Nikki Carlson stood atop the ramp way with a scowl on her face, pointing her well manicured index finger at Carlson, as if challenging her without words.

Carson, not one to turn down a fight against an opponent that was actually competent, simply opened up her arms, inviting Carlson to the cage, which is where she, Nikki, started moving towards right after the invitation was issued.

Nicole Carson Vs Nikki Carlson

Keeping up with the tradition that she had just started, Nicole tossed a left into Carlson’s face, causing her head to fly right in a motion almost equal to whiplash. A small gash on Nikki’s forehead, created by one of the members of Fuck the Mind during last week’s massacre, broke open once more, causing a small line of crimson red to drip from her head to the mat. Laying one more right hook into the side of Carlson’s head for good measure, Carson stared down at the slowly growing puddle of blood with interest.

Pausing to admire the mess that she created, Nicole Carson smiled devilishly, showing the crowd just how much she was enjoying beating one of Joe Campbell’s newly signed fighters, who were supposed to be bringing a certain amount of talent into the Asylum’s lacking roster, into a bloody pulp. She raised her right fist high in the air again, this time slightly covered in fresh, wet blood, and started to bring it down to Nikki’s head slowly and symbolically.

However, Nikki wouldn’t go down that easy. She wasn’t her partner. Maybe Carson should have anticipated that, for before she knew it, Nikki had blocked her epic attempt at a punch and had monkey tossed her into the side of the infamous cage. Carson’s voluptuous body connected sickly with the mesh, which caused some fans to jump up in their seats and take notice of Nikki Carlson, who they had shrugged off just one week ago.

As the few who cheered did so loudly, Nikki managed to get to her feet and soak it in. She was finally getting accepted, by men no less! It was what she always wanted and now, because of her affinity for brawling with anyone that Joe Campbell offered her, she was receiving it in a moderately plentiful amount.

She wanted nothing more then to be lost in that moment forever, but knew that they would eventually give up on her if she completely stopped trying to make Nicole Carson wish that she never stepped into the ring with the woman who once went by the name of “The IT Factor”. At that moment, she realized just what she would have to do.

Win.

It was a concept that no one would have ever thought that Woman’s Intuition would be able to embrace once they began fighting regularly in the Asylum, especially considering their showing against their division’s champions on last week’s Show. Yet, it was also a concept that Nikki knew she could master, so long as she was given the proper opportunity.

That opportunity came in the form of a dazed Nicole Carson stumbling towards her after picking herself up off of the side of the cage. Shaking as she moved, Carson was able to get within inches of Nikki before she was bounced back to where she came from following a stellar crescent kick.

Carson didn’t fall, but instead chose to use the momentum that the dropkick had given her to charge back at a readied Nikki Carlson, who responded to the charge with a stiff kick to the gut of the former police officer. Pushing Carson’s head under the pit of her arm, Nikki grabbed Nicole’s leg and began to pick her up for the modified Fisherman’s Suplex known by those who have received it as The P.M.S. or Pretty Mean Suplex.

However, Nicole Carson wasn’t going to give in that easily either. She had done this a thousand times! What would make this fight any different? Hopefully, it wouldn’t be a loss. Kneeing Carlson in the midsection as she struggled with trying to pick her up for The P.M.S, Carson fought with all her might, eventually making Carlson release the hold and push the former UK Champion away from her.

They were now both on their feet, just as it was when the impromptu fight began. This time around, however, the body of Renee’ Storm wasn’t cluttering up the canvas, as EMTs had pulled it out of the cage when the brawl between Carlson and Carson began. They locked eyes and for a brief moment, everything was peaceful and surreal. There was no violence or hatred between the two women. There was only sisterhood and peace.

Peace that was broken when, almost as if they had planned it out, they both let out primal screams and lunged at each other.

Carson bent forward and ran toward Nikki, trying to spear her, and connected with Carlson’s midsection. Wrapping her arms around Carlson’s body, Nicole reached her head under Nikki’s left arm and continued plowing her towards one of the cage’s many sides. Unfortunately for her, when Nikki’s back slammed against the cage, her exposed head did the same thing, causing Nikki to fall forward with Nicole’s head still locked under her left arm.

Both dazed, they found themselves shuffling around the middle of the ring, Carson’s head now bleeding from its meeting with the cage and trapped between Nikki Carlson’s arm and ribcage. Sensing that the time was right, Nikki reached her free arm over and grabbed Carson’s right leg. She crouched down and used her knees to lift Carson off of the mat, giving those with cameras in the crowd an opportunity to take a great picture.

She had her opponent right where she wanted her and in the perfect position for a loss. Why not use it?

And so she did.

Moments later, Nicole Carson was sprawled across the canvas, her neck having just been crunched after receiving The P.M.S, which didn’t seem to be a suplex at all.

She stood there as the flashes snapped around her. Finally she was getting the attention that she had always deserved.

Finally she was a winner.

He entered the locker room and dug into his bag, pulling out a cellophane sack of crystal white rock.

"Selling coke to little kids, eh?" The voice lingered from behind his shoulder. It was blatant and recognizable. HardCase smiled a bit and turned around. There he was, Asher Rollins. It was obvious to him that this skinny white man was confrontational.

Far be it for him to not deliver. ""How dare you imply such a thing. What makes you my coke is so cheap kids can a afford it? Maybe a pregnant mother here and there, but my shit doesn't cost lunch money, you dumbass."

"A little drug dealer humor, then? Profession-specific jokes suck, buddy. Also, you have to hook them when they're young, like the tobacco industry."

OH, BURN. SOMEONE OPEN A WINDOW, BECAUSE THE TOBACCO INDUSTRY JUST GOT BURNED.

"You could dress up as a clown and hand it out as party favors. You're already a joke, anyway. I'm sure kids could find some humor in you. Some. Maybe."

Hardcase smiled. Even he could appreciate a snide remark about such an industry. "Heh, I actually tried that. Crack Pez-dispensers--didn't go to well, but nevermind that. I know my business, son. Keep your suggestions to yourself. I don't come to your job and tell you how to be asshole, now, do I?"

Asher took a step forward, a streak of seriousness in his face. Despite, the flicker in his eye--that flicker that signified the confidence and antagonist within--was still present. "There's a difference: I can help you. I am smart, capable, complete. You're just... totally random. Why the fuck's everyone here either a crack dealer or some strung-out gothic God freak? Seriously."

He turned around and looked at the floor. Hardcase sighed outwardly and looked at the man as he paced back and forth for a moment. "Not for nothing, do you plan on bitching to me with this judgmental self-righteous pompous bullshit every time I walk into the locker room? I can only stand one man verbally stroking his own dick for so long, then it's just annoying. Shit, I didn't even know you existed before last week, but if its an ass kicking your fiendin' for, you can consider yourself served."

There was a pause. It lingered in the air. After last week, when Asher felt a steel chair rattle against his head numerous times and gave no reply, there were rumors surfacing that he was a pacifist. He stepped forward and approached Hardcase, a big grin plastered straight across.

"I didn't exist here until last week, buddy. Current events are obviously not your priority, I can see. There's a distinct difference between self-righteousness and reality. You fail to see said line, as it's plainly obvious that I am smarter than you could ever hope to be."

"...you know what just heard? 'Yes, HardCase, I am in the pursuit of a beatdown. Would you be ever so kind and provide one for me?' Well, I'll be happy to, son, but if you'll excuse me I have business to attend to."

Asher laughed. "And I have coffee to attend to. I'm sure we'll meet again."

The two turned around and returned to the bench. Asher picked up his copy of Fight Club and peered over the edge of the book. HardCase walked over to his bag and zipped it up. A thought clicked--something flicked, flecked, and signaled. As he walked from the room, Asher sipping at his drink, HardCase smiled.

"Insecure assholes everywhere," Asher affirmed as he continued reading.

Slowly he turned back and tapped perfectly to the inside of his locker was a letter. Must be a letter from that cock sucker Joe Campbell he thought as he went to crumple it up but he thought twice. He couldn’t help but to glance and found the sender to be none other than Jade.

“Sylo, Meet me in the boiler room...we have some things to discuss and we need to discuss them NOW”

He read aloud. She had made the now all uppercase and bold so he figured he was in for another ass kicking...and in a way, it was becoming quite pleasant. So with an aching jaw to match his aching heart he left the locker room...and headed toward hell.

“Yew think so, Mistah Spareo? She hurt Hank Earl bad.”

Hank Earl Hoskins, in full body cast and neck brace along with a golden leather Stetson hat, walked along the outside with his lawyer, Hollister Sparrow. Sparrow was a striking Southern man, white hair and beard, glasses and a white suit, he looked a lot like a combination Colonel Sanders and Mr. Peterman. They continued along the side of the Commonwealth Stadium, looking like they were seeking something, somewhere, or someone.

WHAM!

…That was until Hank Earl tripped over a twig and slammed face first into a steel wall.

“Ah yes, the Church of Latter Day Saints Annex, Shall we enter Hank Earl.”

The Annex was a steel tool shed with the Mormon Crest over the door, the walls were rusted and Hank Earl was bleeding. Uh Oh, some one needs a tetanus shot.

“Hank Earl guesses.”

Hank Earl then kicked open the door.

“WOOO WEEE IF YEW AIN’T GONNA FUCK HANK EARL, YEW GONNA GIT SEWD FOR SECKSUL HAREASSESMINTS!”

Standing with MC McSyphallis and three missionaries was Kaylee Young in her normal Sunday's best! Seminary was just finishing up, as they all returned from their knees and to the door. Kaylee beamed with glee as she approached Hank.

"Hi there, Mister Hoskins! Gee, you look like you're badly hurt! I'll pray for you, everynight, I will!"

Ahem, said Hollister Sparrow. Kaylee turned her attention to him, and she held out her hand.

"Hello! My name is Kaylee Young! We haven't met before, unless I am
mistaken."

Mr. Sparrow looked inside the shed, and taking up about half the space was a steel box. Despite it's outside appearance, the tool shed was pretty big. Sparrow chuckled.

“My name is Hollister Jefferson Davis Demetrius Sparrow the Sixth and I am the legal counsel of one Hank Earl Hoskins the Fourth. This is an issue of filing a civil lawsuit for your actions against my client one week ago. The charges are for public embarrassment and sexual assault. We wish for five million dollars and restraining order.”

Kaylee blushed at the Sexual Assault charges.

“I didn’t do anything, however, do are you familiar with the Good Book?”

”Familiar? I do say Miss Kaylee that I am. My momma would cry if I wouldn’t admit it that I am a book following Baptist man.”

"BAPTIZED!?! That is so GREAT!"

Sparrow smiled as Kaylee did the 'omg.'

"So you must know all about the Book of Mormon!”

It was now time for Sparrow to feel awkward.

“I believe you are mistaken ma’am. I meant Baptist as in Southern Baptist, the Christianity sect, you know, with Rev. Robertson, the man with the television station.”

"Yall can't phase Kaylee Young
messin with her results in you eatin' dung
just playin' fo show, but yall know what I say
sexual harassment? Just no way!
She gets off on Jesus, there no doubt.
We go in, get off, then we out.
But if you gonna sue, it'll be on the telly.
Let me introduce our councel... Miss Liza Minelli."

Within that rap was the most dreaded message of all. MC McSyphallis has just informed us that Kaylee's lawyer is the one and only, Liza Minelli. After a bathroom flush, everyone turned to the back where Liza stumbled out from the hall.

"Heya kiddies, what's shakin' at the ole town pappa shakedy doo?!"

A show- tune soon followed.

“The sun will come out tommor-“

Sparrow interrupted her.

“We really wish that we could settle this out of court, cause if not, we shall pursue criminal actions.”

Bang zippy, captain nair- bomb, yoshiwitz can do in your ear, if ya catch my drift..." Liza interrupted.

...

"I think she said is that we will not be making any settlements, and we will take this all the way to the supreme court if we have to!"

Can you imagine? A Mormon beating a Redneck, with the Queen of Man- Beating herself pulling the defensive strings?

“I do have to say, if it comes down to it, we will beat up in the Supreme Court, as my pappy, and his pappy before has done in the great court battles over spilling milk and “No Shoes, No Shirt, No Service. So we shall see you in court, good day.”

Sparrow walks out the door, leaving the ponderous Hoskins behind him. That’s when he opened back up the door and grabbed him, then pulled him out of the door.

"Well, that was educational."

"Oh fo SHO."

"Quigly in the cheddar with silly sang song billy!"

This should get interesting.

Fuck the Mind© Vs Eddie Scott Poser & Miles Blunder
(Non-title Fight)

Their opponents?

The weak and horrible Miles Blunder… who was now teaming with ‘The King of Poland’, Eddie Scott Poser.

But it wasn’t as though Miles Blunder was that weak. He had the talent… it’s just that he never showed it.

“The Same” by Dark Tranquillity played out the Champions, as Aryen Silens and JJG marched out with the straps around their waists. They slumped down the pathway, the Fans booing them on as they did. Once inside the Asylum cage, did their theme song close… and “The Other Man” by Sloan cued up.

Out walked Miles Blunder to basically no reaction from the Crowd. He nervously shook as he walked down the ramp… realizing the size of the two men he would be facing.

And, for a second, he was actually happy he was going to have a partner.

“Demanufacture” by Fear Factory. Eddie Scott Poser marched out.

Miles Blunder waited for Poser to approach him, but made sure that he still kept an arms-length away. They entered the Asylum structure, as Fuck the Mind dropped their Tag Team Titles and took it to their opponents.

Miles froze in fear as he saw Aryen Silens burst forward… and then took what was coming. A hard clothesline.

Poser on the other hand did not allow JJG to walk all over him. In ducking a right hand, Poser smashed ‘The Good Doctor’ across the face and then whipped him into the mesh. Off the rebound, Poser dropkicked JJG to the canvas… but once he turned around, Eddie was met with a hard uppercut.

Poser flew into the mesh, as Silens marched forward and smacked him in the side of the head. Saliva flew from Eddie’s mouth… as he looked to be in a world of trouble.

Luckily, though, Miles Blunder was just getting up.

Silens’ sixth sense kicked in though. He turned around… and once he saw Blunder, the ‘Germ Gestapo’ froze again. He didn’t know what else to do. And although Aryen was covered in germs… Miles was willing to accept his beating. Hell, he didn’t know what else to do. There was no way he could have taken him.

SMACK!

A boot to the face.

And Miles was down again.

With ‘The Germ Gestapo’ out of the picture, Silens picked him up and tossed him out of the ring. However, as he turned back to Poser, Eddie was able to dropkick one of Silens knees out from under him.

Following a DDT, it was Poser who seemed to be in control of the match. He lifted Silens to his feet again… as he slugged him in the face with a couple of right hands. Then, reaching into his jacket… did Poser take a charged card and throw it at Aryen Silens’ face.

By coincidence (due to the right hands), Aryen Silens fell to the floor.

Poser grinned. He was ‘The King of Poland’ and he was about to single-handedly win the match.

That was until he turned around.

WHAM!

Clothesline from hell, JJG.

‘The Good Doctor’ had given Poland its medicine.

Picking Poser up, JJG waited for Silens to recover. Once Aryen rose… he took Eddie by the face… and threw him into JJG’s boot.

‘Monochrome Death’.

The Referee counted to ten… as the scene changed to outside the cage, where Miles Blunder laid, rolled up in a small little ball. Yes, he was conscious. But he didn’t want anyone else to think that.

Fuck the Mind’s theme song played… as they took their tA Tag Team Titles and exited the cage… walking right past Miles Blunder, both with grins on their faces.

Eddie had resisted a little.

Miles did not.

But even with help, MB was still a failure.

And next week… that wasn’t going to sit well with anybody.

“Joey, Joey, Joey.” Sebastian spat while slapping his hands together, “It’s been too long since we’ve had one of these chats..” Thompson broke off his speech as he looked to the empty area behind Campbell’s seat, “Where’s the immigrant?”

“He’s off preparing for the fight tonight, maybe you should be trying to do the same Thompson.” Thompson walked up and propped himself in the chair in front of Campbell, Sebastian tried not to smile but when he looked back at the face of Campbell he broke out into laughter.

“Haha..! You know Joseph? You should really ponder an acting career, because we both know there’s no fucken way that delivery boy’s got a fucken chance to beat me. But you look so damned convincing when you said that I should train, not just looked.. You sounded convincing too! That’s gold, I tell you, gold.”

“What the fuck do you want?” Joe crisply folded his arms across his chest, disarming the demeanor of Sebby.

“It’s like that? I tell you what the fuck I want Joe, I want my match with Carnage, and I want it soon. This Black tournament thing is great, and I know you want me to be your champion, but I’m not fucken going to let you pull the rug under me on this Carnage shit. If a man can’t stand on stable ground, that what the hell can he stand on Joe? I mean, it isn’t the first time you tried getting me off of this, you wanted Inmate to do it, then back in August you tried pulling me off, it ain’t happening. You got that?” Sebastian slammed his fist on Campbell’s desk.

“You want to bust in my office, and have a tizzy over some trifling shite like that? How bout this you fucken cunt? You fight Carnage when I say you fight him, how do you like that?”

“Joe, isn’t that what I just said?” Sebastian smiled brightly as he scratched his chin hair, “You’re stressing over nothing my friend, first you want me to prepare for fighting Jackie Chan, and now you’re arguing against me the same thing I said to you?” Thompson shook his head, “Know what you need Campbell?”

“What, tell me what I need?”

“You need someone more normal watching your back, first you start off with that white trash Aragon, and now that fucken bus boy watching you. What’s next, are you gonna have a fucken sleeper watching your back, Osama Bin Laden or some shit?!”

Campbell sighed as he let his fingers dance across the finger top, he decided to humor Thompson, “Who do you suggest, I have watch my back?”

“Me,” Thompson smiled as he nodded, “Think it over Joe, I know you’ll come to your senses.”

The door shut after Thompson left the room, and Campbell didn’t answer, with Thompson’s recent actions could he really trust him watching his back? “No, fuck no, not that fucken twat.”

It is... THE BATHROOM! And standing, dick- first in the middle urinal, is none other than our favorite One- Man Abortion Clinic, HardCase.

The door to the men's restroom swings open, and he is joined by another in the form of Pointless. And why not? It’s a bathroom!

After battling Bollinger to a draw in his first fight, then being scheduled to fight ANOTHER against Sylo later tonight (thanks to Asher Rollins), Josiah needed to relieve his blatter.

He listlessly approaches a stall, unzips, and lets it flow.

The stall he choose, however, was the one directly to the left of HardCase, and the Innovator of Wrongness felt offended by his urination comfort zone being encroached upon.

"Ay...What the fuck makes you think you can just walk up and piss right next to me?"

"Excuse me?"

"Look, I need a 2 foot buffer zone when I'm draining the snake. If you're that eager to sneak a cock peek... just gimmie 50 dollars, you faggot."

"Listen, ingrate, you should use the skill that acceptable members of society call 'common sense,' register the fact that there are three stalls and you happened to choose the middle one. Go cry for attention in a more suitable place."

HardCase looked around. Yep, three stalls. But is that going to stop him from making an ass out of himself/someone else?

"Cry for attention? Excuse me if I don't like having another man tugging his prick next to me." HardCase took a moment out for the ole’ took and zip. "The next time you feel like getting so intimate while I'm pissin’, your mouth will be the urinal."

"Threats from a minority? Should I be taking this seriously...?"

HardCase could barely hear Pointless’ final comment, but paid no attention as he left the bathroom... without washing his hands!

Josiah, on the other hand, finished his business, and lathered his hands from all the dirty germs. He doesn’t want to get Sylo sick, now, does he?

It was, as usual, dimly lit inside of the room, just as the two members of Woman’s Intuition had requested it. Thus, it was easy for the ecstatic Nikki, who was whistling to herself as she undressed and got ready to hop in the shower for a celebratory cleansing, to completely ignore her burnt out and battered partner Renee’, who was shrouded in shadows in a nearby corner.

“Where the fuck have you been?” She asked inquisitively.

“I’ll tell you where I’ve been!” She exclaimed happily. “I’ve been out inside of the cage beating the living HELL out of Nicole Carson! That’s where I’ve been!”

Obviously, the win had already gone to her head. It wasn’t that impressive compared to some of the other fights that the Asylum had seen. In fact, most would probably say that Ms. Carlson got relatively lucky against a wily veteran like Carson.

Storm, who moved not one of her muscles as she sat there grilling her partner and friend, seemed to be just as unimpressed with Nikki and her conceit as some of the more educated fans were.

“I’m not talking about just now, Nikki.” Her sneer was barely visible under the one light, but was evident in her tone. “I’m talking about the multitude of hours that led up to what just happened.”

“I was…erm…out.” She said cautiously, her eyes darting towards the Prada bag where she had stashed the pills that she had bought earlier.

“Out, eh?” Renee’ said. “Out where?”

Nikki had trouble with her words. “I-I-I was shopping!” She yelled. “Yeah! Shopping! I saw a store with some furniture that I thought would be great for our new place!”

“Nikki…”

Carlson cringed as her partner began to speak, predicting nothing more than to be caught as the closet addict that she truly was.

“…How many times have I told you not to shop without me?!”

Nikki chuckled. “I’m sorry babe, but this stuff was so cute! I just had to look!”

“I understand darling!” Renee’ laughed. “We are SO going back before we leave though!”

“Sounds like a plan.” Nikki replied, feeling exceptionally girlish and beautiful after getting so much attention inside of the cage moments earlier.

Renee’ stood up and made her way towards the shower, speaking as she walked.

“Oh and Nikki?”

Carlson gulped. “Yeah?”

“Congratulations.”

Her white toothed smile appeared once more, shining through the darkness that enveloped their locker room and the organization as a whole.

“Thanks.”

It had been another night inside of the Asylum. Slowly, but surely, it was starting to feel like home.

This was a completely different situation all together.

Now, waiting on line...waiting to be taken off of hold by the customer service department of Black and Decker for the purposes of giving them a piece of mind for your defective toaster...well, those things required fleeting patience. Hang up. Get out of line and come back later. The lines would be there tomorrow and customer service departments most certainly would not dissolve overnight.

Personal meetings brought about by cordial invitation were different.

One couldn't simply draft a personal invitation and then just up and leave five minutes after the prescribed time had expired. That would just be rude...and besides, Jade was far too stubborn to do so. She had spent all morning scrawling out those very specific words on the least-stained piece of paper that she could scrounge up. Everything had been carefully arranged and crafted - from the choice of words, right down to the time she would drop it off for him to find. Some might have considered her to be acting like a giddy little school girl - but how many giddy school girls brandished a lead pipe while waiting for their "prince charming?"

For the past hour she sat in the dank, overheated boiler room. The air hung so thick and heavy with the waste of spent steam-powered machines that it almost hurt to breathe. Eventually, one got used to it and after a while, it became almost a thing of comfort to Jade. Still, the heat was so intense that she was positive that it alone would light the unlit cigarette dangling from her bottom lip. One boot-clad foot swung over the top of the back-turned chair and the psychobitch straddled the steel in an uncharacteristically suggestive manner. The lead pipe in her hand tapped rythmically on the side of the chair. Amid the hissing and depressurizing of the machines, it constructed some dissonant, but oddly pleasant song.

When the thin stream of light shot across the concrete floor, Jade knew that her invitation had been received...how it had been received was yet to be seen. Reaching into her pocket, Jade drew out a lighter and did the job that the superheated air could not.

"So, there she is...." the deep voice rang out. Jade could feel the echo in her chest.

"In the flesh. Glad you could make it, Sylo."

The huge man stepped somewhat cautiously through the doorway. He was confronted by a picture that he didn't quite know how to react to. Though he had been in her presence a good number of times by now...and had seen her even more in his mind's eye...never had he seen her looking so...comfortable. A trail of smoke snaked its way out of her parted lips.

"You got my letter, of course. Come in, sit down. What kind of host would I be if I didn't offer you a seat?" Jade said as she got out of the chair and slid it towards Sylo.

He, in turn, just eyed it. "I'd rather stand."

Jade responded to that with the simple shrugging of her shoulders. "I can see you're not the kind of person who likes to make anything easy. In fact, I can say that with a lot of confidence by this point...so, I'll give you one last chance to take me up on my hospitality."

Without a moment's hesitation, Jade walked briskly to the folding chair and kicked it over towards Sylo. This time, it skidded to a halt just in front of him. In the process, Jade made no effort to disguise the fact that she was holding a weapon she would be quite happy to use. Sylo was no fool...he could see that. As much fun as it would be to toy with her a little, he resigned to her wishes.

"Alright...but only because you're being so...kind." he said with the slightest condescending touch.

"Good then. I'm glad we're on the same page."

As he sat down, Jade approached him. When she was close enough, she grazed the side of his face with the pipe. Sylo flinched a bit and gnashed his teeth together.

"Oh come on, now. Its just a piece of metal. It can't hurt you on its own. It needs me to do that and trust me, if I had wanted to thrust this thing through your cheek, I would have done it already." Jade drew it back to her side. "Now, if you'll just listen to me..."

No, Sylo didn't appreciate her tone one bit. Quite visibly, he was struggling against his own instinct to just reach out, grab Jade by the hair, toss her aside and be done with this bullshit...but, what the hell. The bitch obviously went to some kind of trouble to put this all together. Besides, he knew that if he did that...she would retailliate with more than what he could honestly estimate. He nodded and motioned for her to go on.

"For two weeks now, you've been hanging around me. Don't protest-" she raised her hand up, pacing back and forth like slick southern lawyer. "You can't dispute clear facts. Two weeks ago, you barged into my locker room for no good reason...interrupting me in the middle of something important. I hit you, yes...but only because YOU deserved it. I came out and fucked you up in front of everyone to prove my point." Jade said, slamming the pipe into her open palm.

Sylo glared at her with his icy eyes. Jade just smirked back.

"And...as I recall, you decided that even after I gave you a clear fucking message to stay the hell away from me, you went right ahead and disobeyed me." The smirk only dug itself deeper into her lips.

Jade prided herself on being able to find an exposed nerve and clamp on with her teeth. Sylo's fists were balled tightly at his sides and he rose from his chair slowly. Even though Jade was extremely tall for a woman, Sylo still had over a foot on her...made her look pretty damn small, in fact. She, in turn, took a step closer to him, brandishing her pipe.

"So...what I want to know is...what the hell do you think you're doing?" she grunted through clenched teeth.

He thought about it for a second. Oh, Sylo had an answer, but it was not one that he was willing to give away...even though it was tempting just for the hopes of seeing Jade completely crumble at his feet. Instead, he just smiled and shook his head.

"I have an idea of what you want me to say...but I wouldn't give you the satisfaction of hearing it." He said, a half-smile coming to him now as he looked down into her bright green eyes.

Jade sneered a little bit, raising the lead pipe at her side ever so slightly. Oh, she wanted to crack him right in the skull...kick him in the balls...hell, maybe toss him into the boiler. But...

"This isn't your own personal expression forum. I suggest you shut the fuck up and answer me as I ask you."

This time, she did hit him with the pipe. Sylo's head whipped to the side and promptly back into place. It hurt him...she could tell...but, like herself, he would never let on to that. It was enough to make Jade smile. And, it was also enough to make Sylo reach out and grab Jade by the throat.

He lifted her clear off the ground and Jade kept her eyes glued to his all the while.

"Listen cunt...the next time you show your face around me when I have a fight...Hell...fuck this explanation bullshit."

And that's when Sylo absolutely flattened Jade. The sound was like a breaking eggshell. Jade fell in a bloodied lump on the floor. Pressing herself up on her hands and knees, she panted through the blood welling inside of her mouth. Strings of bloody snot flew from her nose and lips as she looked up at him. But, it wasn't anger that met Sylo as he glared down at her. Oh no, it was something much different...and all too obvious.

Jade loved it.

It excited her.

Yes...excited her, if you know what I mean.

"Maybe...its because...my daddy...used to fuck me...up...all the time...but god damn it Sylo...you're really...really...turning me on. He was about...your size, too. Weird, huh?" She said with a devious little smile.

And his reaction?

Sylo could see that she was really getting off on this whole thing...so, he walked over to her and kicked her in the ribs. Jade weezed and fell on her side, clutching her bruising ribs. As he walked off, Sylo shook his head in a mixture of amusement and disgust. Jade rolled around on the concrete as he left, giggling the entire time.

“Can you believe that? Joe thinks I need to train for my fight? Can you believe that? ME! The guy who if the ref knew what a fucken ringout was, would’ve beaten Ender. I beat everyone they put in front of me, bar none, you’ve got everyone ducking me. Like that Token Weed, that fucken cunt has fought every newbie he could get his hands on, he’s scared of the Phoenix you hear that?” The worker rolled his eyes, and began to walk away, “Hey, fuck you too. Damnit, I’m getting tired of working in these damned third world countries..”

Thompson turned his head down and started walking back to his locker room, he placed his hand into his sweatshirt’s pouch pocket and pulled out his canister of scraping a good amount of it, and packing his lip. As he sucked on the cancerous mound, but before he could replace the lid and get to his locker room he bumped into someone and his canister was sent flying. Sebastian went down to reach for it, but stopped and eyed up the person who he bumped into, finally when he stood erect he was eye to eye with former Asylum World Champion…

“Burton.”…the Inmate, “Out of all the times we’ve ran into each other, isn’t amazing that right now is the very first time we met at a neutral place, well there was the bathroom. I bet you understand though, that was business, I couldn’t allow you to come in and trod on my territory and go after Carnage. I know if you were in my shoes, you’d probably do the same, because we both know you’re a cowardly fuck who wouldn’t be able to attack me to my face..”

“You want to bet?” Inmate geared his fist back, Sebastian turned his head and spat the excess fluid from the dip to the floor.

“I would, if I was a betting man, but I’m not. I fight the odds, not make brides out of them. Talking about easily fucked wives, how’s Nurse doing? I sure hope everything is okay, at home Tyler. Cause we both know, I care a lot about you, you’re like the brother I never really wanted, but have anyway.” Thompson placed his left hand on Inmate’s shoulder, and that was the straw that broke the camel’s back..

Inmate grasped onto the shoulder’s of Sebastian’s clothing and slammed him into the brick wall, “Don’t fuck with me Thompson, you think that just because people manipulated me before that you can play mind games with me? Fuck you!”

“I wouldn’t harm me if I were you, cause an old man once told me.. Don’t fuck with greatness, because it’ll only leave you flawed.” Inmate unleashed two hard body shots on Thompson dropping him to the floor.

Inmate bent down grasping the collar of Thompson’s sweatshirt and brought him up into his face, “Bring up my personal life again, and you’ll be flawed all right.” Inmate slammed Thompson back on the ground, and went on his way.

Pointless Vs Sylo

write these words back down... inside
we have burned their villages
the people in them... have died
we adopt their customs
and everything they say... we stole
all the dreams they had... we kill
still we all sleep sound inside
is this what you wanted to hear?
we erase the images and dance
and replaced them with borders and flags

at the top of this timeline you'll remember
this is the lipstick on the collar
and in my own life i've seen it in the mirror
sometimes at the cost of others hopes

write these words back down inside

The spotlight lit up the stage, and standing at the top was the new Fighter they call Pointless, still in his fighting pants, his wrists still taped, and all red from the cool shower he took in between the fights.

A look of anger somewhat covered his face as he entered the cage. Bruises and blemishes tainted some of the tattoos on his chest, but those would fade in time.

As the lights returned, and Thursday died out, he clinched his fists and waited for the second opponent to enter, a man who has been having his own troubles as of late.

Enter Sylo.

"Kill Tomorrow" by Mushroomhead began to blare and fire shot across the stage. Through the smoke stepped the 7'1" behemoth himself, Sylo. His hands were tapped up and a solemn look stood firm upon his face. He swung his arms back and forth, grunting as his neck popped, and stared down his opponent.

His record thus far hadn't been anything to brag about, Two matches in and he'd yet to taste victory. Maybe the chants of

"Go Home Wrestler"

Which plagued him at this very moment kept him from concentrating but that wouldn't make sense now would it? He was used to being the bad guy, the one everyone hated but this hatred was different, it was real. They loved to watch him bleed and in return he wished them all nothing but hell.

It didn't strike him until he entered the cage of the Asylum, Jade was his problem. She kept him from concentrating. Pointless stood, ready for his second fight of the night and the opening bell rang. Sylo charged forward swinging a large right hand but Pointless ducked and delivered a few quick jabs to the ribs of the Superbeast (though that name no longer applied it seemed).

Sylo only grunted and shoved Pointless back but Pointless was unrelenting and charged back only to be met with a stiff knee to the gut. Sylo locked Pointless into a suplex position and suplexed him back first into the cage. He fell to the mat with a "thud" and Sylo roared out picking him up immediately, showing signs of his old self.

He held Pointless by the skull and began to ram his face over and over into the steel barrier but yet no blood would come. Sylo growled and backed up, he squatted down waiting for Pointless to turn around but as he charged forward going for The Silence, Pointless kicked Sylo square in the jaw with a sickening "thud".

The big man laid flat on his back, grimacing as Pointless stood up and began to stomp on Sylo's jaw. Blood ran from Sylo's mouth and Pointless lifted him up. With one mighty whip Sylo found himself being flung upside the cage.

He saw nothing but fuckin' lights.

1...

2.....

3.......

4.........

5............

6................

7.....................

Sylo got to his knees as the fans started to chant again.

"GO HOME WRESTLER!"

"GO HOME WRESTLER!"

"GO HOME WRESTLER!"

Sylo stood up and stared at his opponent as he took a deep breath. He closed his eyes for a moment then reopened them with a certain fire burning inside. Pointless wasted no more time and ran forward only to have a wad of blood spit in his eye. He recoiled but soon charged back only to be clocked with a massive right hand.

It was his turn to see lights.

1..

2...

3.....

4.......

5.........

6............

7................

8....................

But Sylo pulled Pointless up and rammed him in the cage over and over. Then like an animal he began to ram left and right kicks in the sternum of Pointless. Over and over the one man wrecking crew laced each kick with power until he became weary of the process.

Sylo looked to the crowd.

"What now you fuckin' twats!" He roared out. It was clear he had become better since his first fight...but he wasn't quite good enough because when he turned around he was lifted (amazingly) in the air and nailed with a spine buster followed by a hard stomp on his groin.

Grace is what Pointless called it.

Pointless wasn't done yet though, He jumped on Sylo and began laying lefts and rights into his forehead cutting it open. Blood rushed over his hands but yet he wouldn't stop. It looked like the end for Sylo but with what power he had left he grabbed Pointless by the throat and tossed him backwards. Pointless hustled up to his feet as did Sylo, both men stared only for a moment and then charged.

Sylo went for a close line but missed, Pointless turned and went for a round house kick but Sylo caught his leg. Pointless’ head hit the mat with force as Sylo twirled him around by the leg. With one mighty roar Sylo threw Pointless against the cage with a "crunch".

Sylo picked Pointless back up only to be nailed with a low blow. Pointless jumped to his feet and nailed the roundhouse kick he'd been searching for and Sylo went down; He went down hard.

1...

2.....

Before anymore numbers could be reached, Joisah leant down and picked up the Superbeast. He used most of his strength to hold the man to his feet, locking arms around his ribs, and squeezed. Sylo screamed in pain, but on instinct, he sent an elbow to Pointless’ head that broke the hold.

Sylo took a step back, then lunged forward for a left hook. Pointless dodged, then came across to Sylo’s chest with his left. The hit knocked him back a bit, but before he could regain his stance, Josiah sent a right to his jaw that kept him on the retreat.

Sylo, now with his back against the cage, needed a moment of rest. Pointless, though, was not one for mercy, especially when he isn’t supposed to be fighting in the first place. Sylo was at a slight hunch when Pointless approached, so it was easy when he grabbed his shoulders and lunged him down. Sylo’s stomach, meet Josiah’s knee.

Jay Edward Sylo would have collapsed on the mat, hadn’t it been for his opponent holding him up by his hair. Swiftly, before Sylo could act, Pointless lunged his head forward, crashing with Sylo’s nose. Sylo fell to the mat as blood began to run.

Josiah stumbled back, recovering from the daze and wiping all blood from his forehead. When he turned, the fighting spirit in Sylo had already began to kick in as he pulled himself to his feet.

Sylo adjusted his feet, clinched his feet, and approached the center of the cage. Pointless smirked as he did the same, and the two came at a stand still.

Shifting in circles for moments, the first move was made when Josiah lunged forward with a tackle. Sylo shifted his moment, being the bigger man, and ended up on top of Pointless after a roll. Sylo took a hard right to the jaw, but retaliated with one of his own. He then clamped his hands around Pointless throat.

Josiah, missing gaps of air, struggled to release the Superbeast’s grip. But for some reason, he didn’t panic, and discovered an area Sylo didn’t have protected: his balls. Kick, Bam, Thanks.

With one steel- toe boot to the scrotum, he was off quicker than Liza Minelli when her husband called the cops.

Josiah leaped to his feet, as if the choke had no affect on him, and took Sylo down with a flying body- smash, landing on top of him and sending a series of fists in to his face. Pointless relented after three cross hooks, and took a moment to step off of Sylo and examine his blood soaked fists, the bandages on his wrists becoming loose as they soak.

Sylo kept on, though, as he slowly pulled himself to his feet with help of the cage. His cold eyes locked on to his prey, being the weaker (from his last fight) fighter. Pointless turned around, to see Sylo already on his feet, somewhat startled.

For a moment, as their eyes locked, neither moved. Then, Josiah ended all that with a simple smirk. A mock. Something Sylo didn’t like.

ARGH, is what Sylo screamed as he charged forward. He nailed Pointless with a spear, but didn’t stop until his back hit the cage wall. The Slaughter. A little bit harder, they could have busted through.

Pointless collapsed to the mat as Sylo backed off. The grid imprint on his back was bright red, as the count began.

One.

Two..

Three...

Four....

Five.....

Six......

Seven.......

Before the eight count could be reached, Pointless pulled himself to his feet with help from the now- loose cage wall, and shuffled his feet as if, once again, the attack had no affect on him.

Both men at a stand still, their attentions were turned as Jade slowly made her way from the back. The fans immediately made their reaction to her entrance, but it proved nothing to her as her face remained desolate.

The fight, however, was still going on, and Pointless took advantage of the distracted state that Sylo seemed to be in, and sent a quick backhand across his face. No one bitch slaps in pro- fighting! So, with that piece of logic, it was no wonder that Sylo was stunned when Pointless did this. He shouldn’t have been, though, because as quickly as he bitchslapped the Superbeast, he just as quickly sent a right uppercut that planted his ass back on the floor.

one.

two.

three.

four.

five.

six.

seven.

eight.

nine.

But Sylo was back at his feet before the final bell could be rung, and rolled a lunging punch from Pointless. As his momentum sent him to the cage wall, Pointless turned to his opponent just in time to get a kick to his stomach, followed by a Faceplant DDT. Before the count could start, however, Sylo lifted Pointless to his feet.

A series of hooks and jabs to his abs sent Pointless back to the cage wall. Sylo may have noticed that going through with he strategy of knocking him out may not work, and he was no good at submissions. With the process of elimination, we come to the conclusion that in order for Sylo to defeat Pointless, he must get him out of the cage.

Pointless held himself at his feet by grabbing the grid, his eyes half closed. When he noticed that it was a still moment, that Sylo hadn’t hit him in a while, ‘uh oh’ was the thought that came to mind as his eyes fluttered open. Goodnight, Sylo muttered as he ran sharply with his arm extended, looking to knock Pointless out of the cage.

Pointless ducked, and Sylo crashed with the cage. As he stumbled around, clutching his red chest in agony, he was caught at his waist and flipped overhead in a heap of strength shown by Pointless.

Sylo crashed to the mat head first, as Pointless rolled to his feet. He smirked, then pointed to the sky with his right index finger, closing his eyes. Pointless then decided it was time to finish.

Pointless approached the fallen body of Sylo, grabbing his hair and pulling him up to his knees. Sylo coughed out a small amount of blood as he hung by his hair. The cackle made Josiah laugh, a move that seemed to bring Sylo to life.

Sylo doesn’t like being laughed at.

In a move of desperation, before Josiah could execute Fallen Sulfur, Sylo lunged his forearm between Pointless’ legs.

Eye for an eye, bitch.

In the moment before Sylo could react, her heard the calling of a woman at ringside.

“FINISH HIM!”

It was Jade.

Sylo nodded, and pulled Pointless over his shoulders. Before he could send him away in a Systematic Shutdown, the fans booed furiously, something that caught Sylo’s attention. He called out to them mocking them, which gave Pointless a moment to react.

As Sylo walked all around the cage, as if he wasn’t carrying another person on his back, Pointless found it very easy to slip back and turn this in to a crucifix maneuver.

If ONLY he wasn’t so close to the cage wall, because when Josiah flipped back, they happened to topple over the cage wall an on to the floor.

The bell rang, resulting in a Double Ring- Out and a Draw. Sylo pulled himself to his feet, with a very mean look on his face. As he walked by Jade, who was sulking, he snarled at her, then headed to the back.

Pointless, on the other hand, tightened his clinched fist, digging the nails in to his skin. The fans gave a great reaction for the outcome, resulting that neither of them won. He took a moment to examine the crowd, before turning around and heading to the lockers.

“Clap”

“Clap”

Faster and faster, the noise picked up in speed. It was the sound of shoes hitting a concrete floor. A warm body moved with haste down the hallways searching like a hawk would for it’s prey. The body belonged to Jade who now searched the empty hallways of the Asylum looking for that certain someone. Ever since Sylo had knocked her senseless with a right hand, she had been thinking. You could say an “alien feeling” had swept over her as well.

“Where the fuck is he?” She mumbled looking around the abandoned halls.

“Clank,” It was the sound of a metal door latching together with it’s counterpart...it’s love. She didn’t have time to think about that now though...she was on a mission to find Sylo. Who knew for what though? Maybe to knock him silly or possibly to kiss him, who knew what the psycho bitch was thinking?

Moving hastily toward the door, Jade herself began to wonder what she would do when she saw him...would she tear his heart out and let him watch it beat before he finally died a painful death? The slamming of the doors could be heard as she pushed it apart with force, making the metal lovers part once more.

“You’re starting to love him aren’t you?” A voice spoke to her from somewhere. She batted it away like an annoying fly as she pushed past the small crowd of people outside. Once past the field of humanity she saw him, standing tall like some Adonis.

“Sylo! Wait!” Jade yelled in a voice which demanded attention. Sylo turned away from his truck and looped his key ring on the belt of his jeans.

“What?” He snarled with a certain tone of disgust.

“I just wanted to tell you...good job out there earlier. You really are starting to come into your own,” She gave a half assed smile and it made him loath her even more at that moment. For many moments, neither moved an inch or said another word. They stood perfectly still like manikins on some display. Finally Sylo spoke up.

“Yeah...you know what? Fuck off,” He hissed and jumped behind the wheel of his truck. He cranked up the radio and began to go but suddenly the jet-black truck came to a halt. Sylo’s window rolled down and he stuck his head through the opening.

“Better yet...how about I just see you inside the Asylum at Retribution?” And with that he squealed tires and flew off like a thief in the night. Possibly a thief of her heart.

Familiarity Breeds Contempt

Immersed within the sadistic confides of such a unholy promotion, he didn’t take long to become attached to such a important credo. Sundays were no longer in regards for upholding the religious significance of the Christ but more of a demonic holiday for the criminally insane & mentally disturbed. Hence his debut, Damon’s sense of spiritual morals, have undertaken a very significant plummet toward the worse. The company of loose women and occasional chronic smoke have cast his mother’s bible, a gift of everlasting life to him, along the wayside. Every temptation became more enticing than the last, creating a visible rift between himself and the old Earth; His mother.

The camera was rolling during the process of a swollen member, methodically laying waste to a virgin rectum. Teeth gnashing. Skin clashing. A faint stream of crimson could barely be seen, escaping from the throbbing orifice. Fighting back the welting tears, she would be comforted with a warm palm, steadily gripping her shoulder. Grabbing a hold of something was the only way should could save face until the barrage of pounding ceased.

“You cool?”

Weakly nodding her head, she dragged herself to a hunched over position. Her legs had given out on her, failing to endure the post rear entry assault. The camera was still rolling so a breather was needed before completing her personal masterpiece of revenge. Damon grabbed the base of his shaft before shaking the remaining flakes of feces and moist blood off himself & unto the floor. One dark colored projectile bounced unnoticeably off her ample gluteus before freefalling to the floor.

With his assistance, she was able to maneuver herself to the floor. Despite feeling as if her spine was torn asunder, she found delight from this controlled form of mistreatment. In the field of sex, men in the position of power, made her moist. Besides, she liked it rough. This was her fetish.

Making the transition swift, Damon quickly knelt her down before him. Instinctively, she engorged herself with him. Tugging at the hemp of his Jeans made her vision more clearer, motivating her to work harder for the reward. The metallic clicking of handcuffs, securing the lithe ebony temptress, momentarily drowned out the indiscriminant ramblings of morality. The sight of a prone Nickel Plated Desert Eagle, aimed towards the door, offered a tantalizing sense of security within him. The intoxicating abundance of saliva, trickling towards his balls only made standing up more of a cumbersome burden as he fell prey to her rhythmic motion. Lazily peering down towards her angelic visage, he noticed that she was taking great delight in serving her master.

Having balled up her ponytail for more leverage, around both his wrist & fist, this would be the time he’d take over. Partaking this moment of complete submissiveness, a forcible piston-like motion would aid him to impose his will unto her. The intensity of the slurping symphony grew louder with each repetition. Desperately fighting the urge to slip into a nullified state while viciously slap boxing her tonsils.

For him, this was only getting better. From watching the swaying trail of saliva from her lips, steadily saturate her chin to casting taunting faces toward the active Camcorder, he was enjoying himself…That’s when it happened…

Tension building within the abs & thighs…Ass Cheeks puckering up as if they were sucking down a whole bucket of lemons…That ever so familiar yet steadily growing tremble…Houston, we have a problem…

His left eye struggled to maintain the ability to remain open as the right eye, feverishly attempted to focus toward the door…

For some unconceivable reason, he could mentally hear Marv Albert’s voice, holding commentary within the waning seconds of climax…

Marv Albert: The ball’s in bounded into play…5 second remaining on the clock…

Feeling the contractions from the vein-ridden rod of flesh, becoming more distinct within her moistened jaws, prompted her to engage at a more provoking speed…

Marv Albert: Jackson desperately looking to break free from the full court press…

“Shit…”

Marv Albert: He breaks loose with 3 seconds….2.…

Shuffling back a few paces, Damon begins jerking himself as if trying to wrestled with a stubborn shotgun, unwilling to fire. Lowering her eyes shut, her lips parted, orally ready to receive her blessing…

Marv Albert: He drives and lets it fly…

SKEET!!

SKEET!!

SKEET!!

Marv Albert: JACKSON WITH THE FACIAL!! A SPECTACULAR MOVE BY THE CHICAGO STANDOUT!!

Weakened by the culmination of man made pyrotechnics, he used his forearm to sustain the brunt of his weight. A pearl white strand of genetics remained splayed from her eyebrow to her chin. Another rope of DNA found solace in the depths of her starving gullet, only to be tucked away with the mere swipe of her tongue. Still no confirmation as to where the third volley of molten heredity landed.

No words were exchange only visual signs of exhaustion and relief as Damon stared back at the miniature camera and smiled weakly. The slow grinding of handcuffs, could be heard scraping the length of the vertical pipe's surface. She laid there. Chest heaving. Her tongue cleaving. Both comfortably numb from an orgasmic high.

Then he collapsed.

Eddie Cheno© Vs Jade
(T.V. Title)

Then again, in the state she seemed in, it wasn’t a position she welcomed.

She climbed into the cage a little uneasy, still feeling the effects from the previous week. She rubbed the back of her head, but as a fighter, wasn’t going to try to show any weakness.

That’s when “Smoke two joints” by Sublime played over the pa system, and out from the back walked Eddie Cheno, holding the Asylum Television title in his hands. Although he fell to Frank Minio last week, Cheno had amassed quite the list of defeats since becoming Television Champion. He’s been able to defeat Max Danger, Token Weed, Tapestry, cHEESE, Venoma Star, Carnage, LLB, Reggie Harrison-Willis, Chester Ramis, and Eddie Scott Poser since the start of the year.

Who knew where he’d go next.

He climbed into the Asylum cage, raising the television title above his head as if he were the Asylum’s version of Hulk Hogan. And he was to a degree, an overwhelming amount of support underneath him, coupled with the fact that the fans were shocked earlier in the year with his “allegiance” with Joe Campbell.

Whatever the case, his mind was here; ready to take on his opponent.

The bell rang, and Cheno dropped the television title out of the ring, not wanting to us it on his opponent. But that was his first mistake, as Jade caught Cheno with a striking right from over his shoulder, sending Cheno’s face into the top of the Asylum cage. Jade went for the quick ring out, lifting Cheno out as if she were in the royal rumble, but Cheno elbowed out of the attempt quite quickly, sending Jade backing up to tend to the wound.

She wasn’t going to slow down though, walking up to Cheno in stride and catching him with a right hook to the chin. Cheno ducked the next one and countered with a body shot, doubling Jade over before looking for Clearin’ da Funken Table.

Jade moved out of the way, and Cheno looked like a dumb Ryu clone.

Jade caught Cheno with a stiff shot to the kidney, and Cheno doubled over in pain, howling as he fell to the mat. The pain stung up his entire spine, and his breath began to shorten. Jade wasn’t finished, grabbing Eddie by his afro and into a headlock before driving him into the asylum cage wall…

Bloodlust.

And Blood was drawn.

Eddie reached up and dabbed his fingers onto the open wound on his forehead. But before he could react to the blood, Jade had begun to drive her knee into the back of Eddie’s head, forcing him up into the steel cage. Someone on the outside might think she was either trying to drive him through it, or curve stomp him. Either one could have been the case, but Eddie powered back, by jabbing from his fallen position at Jade’s shin. This caused her push to be dropped, and Cheno swept her leg off of his head and down to the mat below.

Jade fell like a ton of bricks, and Cheno looked to attack the legs, just as he did before. He punched the knees specifically, and with Jade’s smaller frame, her knees weren’t as strong and big as Cheno’s, so Cheno’s punches were definitely affecting her as she cried out. Cheno didn’t really have a leg submission hold, so what he was trying to do here was anyone’s guess.

After a few blows to Jade’s knee, Cheno pulled himself up by the cage wall. The blood flowed from his forehead, a small trail down his nose and into his mouth. He spat it away, just as Jade limped to her feet, and delivered a knock out blow that sent Cheno’s head whiplashing to the mat.

It was with the use of brash knuckles.

And Cheno was out like a light.

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And Cheno… barely recovered to his knees. Knowing where he was however? That was a whole different thought process that he just didn’t have access to anymore. Jade looked to deliver another blow, but Cheno blocked it instinctively, and caught her with a couple of right jabs, before looking for a left hook. Jade blocked it by crossing her arms, the old three stooges style block, and swatted Cheno’s hand away. She went for a palm strike, but the swatted Cheno fell backwards out of range and chest first into the cage wall. Jade stumbled a bit, expecting to hit something but hitting nothing, and then charged toward Cheno, looking to knock Cheno out.

But the stoner turned around just at the last second and delivered a BEAUTIFUL rising uppercut that rocked Jade underneath her chin, sending her flying back first to the canvas.

Clearin’ da Funken Table.

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Jade fought to her feet, and Cheno looked to end her, the blood loss interfering with his eye sight.

Needle Jab.

Ducked. Cheno’s chest hit the cage hard, and Jade looked to take this opportunity to capitalize on the mistake of Eddie. The Stoner turned around just as Jade looked to clothesline him up and over, but he ducked underneath at the last moment, and spun behind Jade, before Needle Jabbing her in the back of the head, sending her tumbling face first up and over the cage wall and to the outside.

Cheno’s hand was raised in victory, and Jade once again, went back to noticeably looking for Sylo.

Kinda hard not to when she’s been thinking about him all fight.

Even when he’s not here, he still affects things.

That’s when you know you’ve truly been effective.

That didn’t stop the Inmate though, he continued on relentlessly. Thompson’s words had brought him to the point to which he had to vent. He had no choice. If he didn’t, he would explode.

Unfortunately for the Asylum owner too, because that’s who Inmate was now searching out.

As Inmate picked up a chair and throw it viciously at Joe’s head, the boss realized he’d made a grave mistake by sending Thanh on other business tonight.

Joe saw him moving, but he wasn’t quick enough to avoid the Inmate. In less than eight seconds , Joe’s face was stinging from a strike, and his air was being cut short.

“You told didn’t you!”

Inmate choked Joe harder.

“I told you not to say anything!”

Joe grimaced, and barely got out the words. “Jesus, Burton...”

Inmate let go of his grip, and slammed Joe into the oak desk. Joe was then tossed to the floor.

“Fuck the tournament! Fuck the Interim title. I want a piece of Thompson in the cage!”

Joe was rubbing his throat, and quickly getting to his feet. “What? What in the fuck are you doing you crazy bastard? You’re lucky I don’t shot you!”

Inmate was quick to once again get in the face of Joe Campbell. “Say that again. I dare you.”

Inmate was practically foaming at the mouth. Joe thought for a second. He had to say the right thing. Inmate was his fighter, he knew that while Inmate wasn’t the most brilliant, he was one of the most dangerous.

“You know what... fine you can have that fucker Thompson in a fight. Not tonight, not tomorrow, but you‘ll definitely get him, you have my word on it.”

Inmate smiled devilishly. That was his way of saying thanks. He let go of Campbell’s shirt and that was it. The issue of Thompson was settled.

Unfortunately one issue still remained.

“We’ll talk about you telling Thompson about me and Nurse later.”

Inmate walked out of the office, leaving Joe wondering... “What the fuck’s he talking about. I never told Thompson anything.”

Sebastian Thompson Vs Thanh Vactor
(Black Tournament Final)

Somewhere in the demented mind of Sebastian Thompson, he flipped the tables on his supposed teammates by causing first round losses to both Inmate and Osyrus, giving himself what seemed to be an easy road to the tournament victory. His violent attack on Jade, was just a small portion of what he was willing to do to win it all. Yet one man still stood in his way, Thanh Vactor, Joe Campbell’s personal bodyguard, and those familiar with Thanh’s history knew it wasn’t going to be an easy feat for Thompson to win.

“Jerk-Off” by Tool blasted over the PA system, and the crowd booed violently as Sebastian Thompson calmly stepped out to the top of the ramp. A lead pipe, held tight in his right hand as he stalked towards the ring. The “Fake Caprino” chants were out in full force as he shook his head observing the pockets of filth that for some reason paid money to watch people getting beat within a millimeter of their life. Sebastian quickly charged up the ring steps and launched himself over the cage rim, reaching backwards he yanked off his hooded sweatshirt/leatherjacket combination. The camera focused on his right arm adorned with tally marks for each victory in his life, and the fans at home and attendance hoped another wouldn’t be added.

“Needles” by Seether took over the speakers, and the crowd was forced to take Thanh’s side giving a reluctant cheer for the man they wanted to defeat Sebastian Thompson. Vactor took an opposite road than Thompson to get to this point, he took on all comers, and survived. Facing Donovan, as a result of Thompson’s interference, after successfully defeating a wounded Karen Pembridge in the first round. For a man who didn’t spout many words, it was obvious through his creased brow, as he stood outside the ring, that he wanted this win, to not only legitimize himself, but prove to everyone that he’s a player in the Asylum. Thanh climbed into the ring and immediately got into the face of Thompson as the music faded out, letting the crowd noise to raise as the referee separated the two, and just then.. The bell rang.

Simultaneously the two men charged towards one another, Thompson took a wide swing with the lead pipe in his right hand barely missing as Thanh ducked. Dropping down to his hands, legsweep by Thanh Vactor causing Thompson to drop down on his back. Quickly Thompson sprung back up to his feet, unloading another wild swing of the lead pipe missing, Vactor charged and locked in a rear waistlock on Thompson. Vactor tried to lift the Phoenix, but Thompson blocked, and fired backwards with a mule kick doubling over Campbell’s personal bodyguard. Thompson gripped onto the pipe tightly with both hands swung and connected with Thanh’s head sending blood flying in the air and the Thai fighter down to the mat.

Slowly Sebastian circled his opponent, dropping the lead pipe off to the side, prior to reaching down and pulling Thanh up to his feet by his tights. Grabbing him by the arm, Sebastian sent him flying in for an Irish whip, as soon as Thanh’s motion began Thompson charged behind him, only to fall victim to a back elbow from Vactor! Thompson stumbled backwards holding the bridge of his nose, removing his hand, Sebastian charged back towards Vactor ducking the attempt at a clothesline, Thompson stood back up to a vertical base only to get a vicious foot to the face via a super kick! The force of the blow sent Sebastian’s body crashing into the cage, and as quick as the contact took place Thanh was mounted and was in the middle of landing an array of punches to the face, as the crowd counted along with each blow. Thanh backed up a few steps, and then charged back towards Thompson..

Roundhouse kick…!

NO! Sebastian jumped down to the ground grasping the lead pipe, and slamming it across the back of Thanh’s head the moment he got to his feet. Thanh collapsed to the ground, and not letting his prey have anytime to recover, Thompson got down to the mat and began forcing the lead pipe against the windpipe of Vactor cutting off his air supply.

“Don’t talk much eh, Thanh?” Thompson spat as he increased the pressure, “Can’t understand the language you fucken boat bait chink ass motherfucker? How about this? Ching chang cha.. fuck knows, if your language was so great you wouldn’t be here.. Right THANH?!” Thompson finally removed the lead pipe, and again tossed the pipe to the side as Thanh coughed violently grasping at his neck. Gripping his opponent up by the underarm, Thompson brought him to his feet and sent Thanh crashing to the outside. Thompson climbed over the rim, and hopped to the outside..

“America the beautiful, America the brave, yet nothing is true is it Thanh?” Thompson sent an unrelenting boot to the head of Vactor, “Freedom, of speech, of people, of minds, doesn’t exist you know that Thanh?” Thompson stomped on his opponent’s kidney, crouching down he crossed his arm across Thanh’s neck tightening it, “Too bad we ain’t in America, right buddy? See this place Canada, us people in the know call it what it is a Third World Country and…”

Mule kick by Vactor! Sebastian crouched down trying to ease the pain on Homer and the Simpsons, Vactor grasped onto Thompson’s head and charged towards the announce table, only to be shoved abdomen first into the edge of the table! Thompson gingerly walked towards Vactor grabbing onto the back of his head, he went to slam it against the table, but Vactor blocked it, Thompson attempted again only to get a sharp elbow to the side stopping his attack. Turning hastily Vactor fired with a sharp uppercut hitting it’s target right on Thompson’s jaw, dropping him like a dead hooker in an alley, or behind Cimon’s house, you pick.

The ref began his count..

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The count didn’t serve it’s purpose as the crowd booed loudly as Thompson forced his way back to his knees. Thanh got a grip of Sebastian’s brunet locks and set him in front of his right knee, the crowd buzzed as they knew Blackout was coming.. But Thompson shot upwards with an low blow more action packed than a jailhouse shower. Thompson was back up on his feet, and he applied a right, followed by a left, and then another right to the face of Vactor knocking the bodyguard back into the announce table. Pounding his elbow hard, Thompson spun and went for Cinders…

…Only to have his attempt ducked by Vactor, who sent Thompson’s face crashing off the table! Sebby’s body recoiled sending him stumbling backwards, Vactor ran right past him and leapt up on the to announce table only to leap back off to land a roundhouse kick to the prone head of the Phoenix! Like a cat, Thanh Vactor landed on his feet and eyed his opponent and stable mate. Another count started as the crowd began to chant Thanh’s name repeatedly..

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The crowd booed loudly as yet again Sebastian climbed back to his feet, Thanh grasped a hold of Thompson’s hand and Irish whipped him into the steel railing! Taking a deep breath, Thanh gauged the distance between himself and Thompson, and started towards him at full speed, Thanh leapt into the air with a pump kick…

…Notice a trend here?

Thompson drops to the ground, leaving Vactor to crotch himself on the top of the steel railing! Throwing himself amongst the smelly Canadians that resided in the front rows of the crowd, Sebastian shoved a woman out of her chair and pushed it towards Vactor. Thompson stepped up onto the chair, and hooked his arm over the head of Vactor, and vice versa, and he lifted him up in a suplex, but the chair snapped shut sending both men collapsing to the concrete!

“YOU FUCKED UP!”

“YOU FUCKED UP!”

“YOU FUCKED UP!”

The crowd’s chants fell mute on the ears of Vactor and Thompson, as both men lie motionless on the concrete. The referee looked at the predicament and knew there had to be a winner, reluctantly he started a count, but stopped it immediately, there had to be a winner in the tournament. He climbed over the railing and got a closer look at the state of both men, he stood and scratched his black hair and then it came to him, he finally started the count..

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A stray hand went up into the air, as Sebastian slowly yanked himself to his feet as the rhythmic pounding set the beat which his body couldn’t dance to. Sebby leaned heavily on the railing cradling his head in his hands attempting to stop the throbbing, he moved his fingers away from his eyes peaking down at his opponent as the count continued..

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Vactor was up on all fours and pushed himself towards Thompson, only to receive a swift knee to the face. Vactor’s nose burst open sending claret splattering to the concrete flooring of the crowd. Sebastian yanked Thanh to his feet and violently tossed him back over the railing, Thompson turned and spat towards the crowd, he grasped the chair up that he fell on early and followed over the railing himself. Slowly Thanh was getting up to his feet, but he was sent crashing right back down with a hard chair shot to the back, crumpling him back down to the mats. Sebastian wouldn’t stop, repeating the attack he gave Jade last week with repeated shots to the spinal column of Thanh Vactor. Sebby set up the chair, and wrapped his arm around Vactor’s head, leaning back for a DDT… but Vactor shoved him backwards into a harsh sitdown on the chair, stumbling backwards, Thanh got his bearing charging forward and leveling Sebastian with a dropkick to the head!

The crowd rose to it’s feet cheering as Thanh crouched down sucking copious amounts of air, as he watched as Sebastian slowly pushed him back to his feet, the crowd chanting his name repeatedly. For a mere second Thanh turned his attention from Thompson, stealing a brief glance towards the announce table, opening a void that Thompson leapt threw spearing Thanh right into the table! Walking past his opponent, the Phoenix leapt onto the, instantly reaching down and pulling his opponent up with him. Thompson reaching back deep nailed Thanh with a rocking right fist, the diminutive fighter nearly losing his balance off the table. Facing Thanh, Thompson grasped around his waist.. head butt by Vactor! Thompson’s grasp loosened, and Thanh nailed him with another head butt!

Knee to the gut by Thanh, knee to the ribs! Jumping front kick sent Thompson’s body cascading off the railing and back into the crowd! Silently Thanh wiped his hand across his nose watching as the crimson fluid flickered in the camera flashes from across the arena, he looked past his hand and right into the crowd of lunatics who cheered on his every move in this match. Thanh backed up, as he watched Thompson slowly pushing himself back to his feet, there was an opening and Vactor refused to take it slowly, bouncing back on his feet he took off with great speed closing the gap and leaping as he met the end of the table…

*SLASH!*

“ARRGH!”

The crowd gasped as the heard the loud scream of Thanh as he crashed to the concrete holding a laceration across his stomach which bled in a trickling river that traveled northeast to southwest on Vactor’s abdomen. The crowd booed loudly as the viewed Thompson holding a switchblade up in his right hand. He breathed heavily spitting out blood of his own, shaking his head knocking some of the constant flood that charged from his nose. He stalked towards Thanh, who was fighting through the pain much like Sebastian to push himself up to a stand, Sebastian charged with the switchblade but Thanh deftly avoided it grasping Thompson’s arm and placing him in an armbar. Upon impact the switchblade, darted across the floor becoming a souvenir to one of the paying customers. Thanh pulled back hard hyper extending Thompson’s elbow, eliciting the Phoenix’s screams to escape from his jaws as he tried to fight against the force. Switching his position slightly, Thanh turned the armbar into a Canadian crossface hold, clutching his hands tightly under the chin of Thompson and pulling back . Thanh’s hands slipped over the mouth of Thompson, only to get his fingers bit breaking the hold. Thanh was up to his feet, and went for a soccer style kick to the head of Thompson, missing as the Phoenix rolled out of the way leaping up to his feet. Vactor charged forward with a clothesline, only to be backdropped over the railing and onto the ringside mats! Thompson pushed at the railing moving it out towards Vactor, and clutched it propelling himself up and down onto Vactor with an elbow drop!

Sebastian rolled over on his side cursing himself as he clutched his right elbow which Thanh worked on, the same elbow he just used to nail the elbow drop. He cringed in pain, while using both arms to push himself to his feet, and the moment he was up to a half base Thanh grasped on to his arm and Irish whipped him hard into the cage, grasped onto him again and threw him into the announce table, Thanh grabbed onto Thompson for a third time.. But was leveled with a short-arm clothesline! For the umpteenth time Thompson gripped onto Thanh’s tights and tossed him up onto the announce table, breathing heavily, Thompson lifted Thanh up and nailed a sit-out powerbomb! The table instantly was turned into rubble as both men rolled holding their backs, and the ref started yet another count.

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Seb got to his feet fighting the pain in his back, his head, and his elbow and immediately dispensed his left hand into the air as he looked at his opponent. Victory was slithering in the palm of his hand, and everyone in the arena knew it as they booed loudly..

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20?!

…..

20!

….

NO! Thanh got up onto his feet, staggering backwards just before the bell had a chance to think about ringing. The crowd was on their feet applauding as they watched both Thompson and Vactor charge to the other, trading punches like people on NASDAQ trade stocks. Thanh sent a stiff kick to the midsection of Thompson, sending the Phoenix stumbling back, Vactor followed the kick up with a spinning backfist that dropped Sebastian to his back! Vactor walked over to stomping hard on Sebastian’s right elbow, chasing that with a vicious grinding of his foot on the elbow. Thanh gripped on to the brunet hair of Thompson and dragged him up the ramp, finally dropping him face first as they reached the stage.

Thanh motioned to the crowd for a chair, and caught the first chair that was thrown his way, as he turned Sebastian threw a right hand… FUCKHEAD! No! Thanh avoided the blow geared back and leveled Thompson with a chairshot to the skull! Blood coursed down the face of Thompson as he dropped to the steel stage, the ref started the count but Thanh wanted to finish it and shoved the ref out of the way, and started slamming the chair repeatedly over the prone body of the Phoenix. Vactor’s body shook as he breathed deep, as he pulled the chair away from Thompson as a thick coating of blood dripped from the chair. Thanh slammed it down on the ground, and the crowd erupted into cheers, the count started again…

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WHYAREWEDRAGGINGTHISOUTWHENYOUKNOWITSNOTOVERYET!

20?!

Nope, not now, call back later. Sebastian was back onto his feet turned from Thanh, he pulled out his lighter and turned… FIREBALL!~ IT MISSED! Sharp sidekick by Vactor to the right, followed by another to the left, Thompson staggered forward with a clothesline that missed badly as Thanh ducked under.. Legsweep! Thanh stood on guard circling around his opponent. Grimacing in pain, Sebastian shot up to his knees, and made a motion that made the crowd go crazy.. He pointed towards the heavens, as a man who didn’t believe in much of anything, they knew he wasn’t pointing to God, instead he was pointing to the top of the Asylumtron. As he stood, no words were communicated between the two a simply nod in the middle of war was exchanged. Sebastian bumped into Thanh and started towards the left end of the metal support of the big screen, picking up the steel chair on his way placing the open area of the folded chair over his head.. And he began to climb. Watching Thompson’s progress Thanh went to the opposite side and climb, both men’s bodies ached with various pains opened up in the match, and like lions watching their prey the fans salivated as they buzzed over the possibilities. Thompson reached the top first and he looked off the edge at the heights and solemnly nodded to himself as he removed the chair from over his head. Thanh reached the top and the two men looked across at one another, both men bleeding, hurting, having trouble thinking, but they, like everyone else in the arena knew, that this was the final act of this play..

“THANH! THANH! THANH!” The crowd chanted nonstop, pumping their fist as they did so, proving that there were no good guys, no fan favorites in the Asylum, it was always as simple as the lesser of two evils being cheered. Shades of gray, in a night of rain, with no moon in the sky, as easy as a blind man picking out his favorite red shirt from his wardrobe. Those outside the life, will never understand it. No longer thinking, simply acting as slaves to their instincts, Thanh Vactor and Sebastian Thompson charged towards one another, Sebby swung the steel chair at the head of Thanh missing wildly.. The chair flew out of Sebastian’s hand fluttering down to the arena below, the crowd cheered as Sebastian almost tripped off the edge of the screen! A kick to the back of the knee dropped Thompson back onto the support.

Thanh grabbed onto Sebby’s hair, and nailed him with a right knee to the face, but when he went to follow it up with the left, Sebastian yanked the right leg from under Thanh taking him down hard. Thompson mounted Thanh and began throwing a barrage of punches to the face of Vactor. Blood dripped down from Thompson onto Vactor, and he yanked him up towards the edge of the support and hung Vactor’s head off. “You hear that chinky boy? Hold on,” Sebastian paused, “That’s the silence your people heard before Hiroshima was blasted, all those people just like you wiped off of Earth. Since all the kids are into retro jerseys, and music, how about I get a little retro thing going myself, eh you fucken gook?”

Thompson went to shove Thanh off, but the Thai fighter brought his legs up and kicked Thompson backwards! Fearing the near fall, Thanh rolled to his right and quickly pushed himself up to his feet. Pump kick!… No, Sebastian caught his leg, but he didn’t catch the kick on the back end of the enziguiri! Sebastian pushed himself up to his hands and knees and started to hastily crawl away from Thanh, halfway he got up and began to stumble. A figure was caught climbing up the left side of the big screen support but the crowd’s attention went right back to the action, and Thompson held a bag of powder in his bag and began to dispense it into his right hand. The man finished climbing up the ramp, and his image was revealed on the Asylumtron monitor..

Inmate! The crowd went absolutely nuts, Sebastian saw a movement to his right and saw Thanh coming he went to throw the powder but felt a rocking roundhouse kick send the powder flying back into his own face and the bag itself exploding into the face of Inmate! Thompson dropped cold to the ground, as Thanh tripped over his body into the now blinded Inmate..

BELLY-TO-BELLY SUPLEX OFF THE ASYLUMTRON!

The crowd went nuts, as the replay went on repeatedly of Thanh Vactor’s far drop to the spare parts that rested next to the stage. The “Holy shit” chants were out and used often, the world was shaking for Sebastian Thompson as he got to his feet, and he was still blinded with the powder in his face, all he heard was the count..

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20...!

“Jerk-off’ hit the speakers and the crowd let it be known how they felt about the winner and how he won the match, but also it showed that they earned an extra amount of respect for Thanh Vactor who went a long way to show he was more worthy than anyone could imagine to hold his roster spot. Both Thompson and Inmate wiped violently at their eyes trying to get the powder out, and then when their eyes were clear, they saw the other standing. Sebastian smiled evilly, as Inmate just released what happened, both men knew a week from now..

There would be Retribution…

So, to recap, the band of idiots had been in South Africa. Now they are in France and broke. Got it? No? Well, fuck it, who cares anyway? Not like they’re active or anything. See, we would cut back, honestly, but there’s a big gap in the show and no one else was available. We couldn’t even get 5-Star to perform in this gap. Typical pikey bastards. Anyway…

“Do you honestly think this will work?” Slapnutz asked TMM. He liked to ask TMM things, probably because he knew the answers. But yeah, whatever.

“Of course it will work. And when it does, we’ll have plenty of money to spend on air fare for us two.”

“But there’s five of us and one mouse.”

“Hmmm, I see. Well, if you want to stay with them, fine. You can get yourself killed by some goon of Joe Campbell and I’ll be hiding away somewhere nice. Or Blackpool.”

“Right-o, leaving those buggers behind it is.”

Slapnutz walked into view and what he was wearing wasn’t really his usual attire. He was wearing a black beret, sparkling purple shit and wrestling tights. Now, there usually would be an explanation and this was no different. Here’s the ‘Bonus Commentary on this scene’

Slapnutz: “This outfit was ridiculous. Those wrestling things leave nowhere for your balls to go and purple? Purple shirts? Who the hell wears them?

TMM: You know he wears them so we had to do it to make it authentic.

Director: We tried to get the audience to believe the fear and excitement that Scott was feeling in this scene. He didn’t want to put a bratwurst down hi pants though. Bastard.

Slapnutz: Shut it. I’ll be honest, for this to get any better I would turn the commentary off and concentrate on the scene.

So the commentary didn’t add anything useful to your viewing? Well, there’s a surprise. Right, time to cut to the chase. Slapnutz walks behind a ramshackle, wooden stand; on the stand there is a price list:

Autographs 10 Euros
Photographs 20 Euros.

Now, here’s where it falls into place. Above the head of Slapnutz was a sign. The sign read:

FLYING FRENCHIE HERE 2DAY…SUCKAS!

Yes, the 'suckas' bit wasn’t too clever, but it was the only way TMM could convince Slapnutz to get into that ridiculous shirt. TMM motioned to Zippy to start shouting down the megatone.

“ROLL UP, ROLL UP, COME SEE THE EFF-DUBYOU-OH BASTARD, THE FLYING FRENCHIE. ONE HALF OF THE GUYS THAT HAVE THOSE TITLE THINGS TOO. C’MON YA BASTARDS, GET YER FINGERS OOT!” Zippy bellowed to the passers-by.

After several minutes of Zippy shouting abuse at the natives, one obviously French dude stopped at the booth. Being careful not to lose a sale, TMM approached him.

“How can I help you, Sir?” TMM asked his newfound friend.

“Zis is ze Frenchie? ‘E looks so shit in ze flesh.”

A tear formed in Slapnutz’ eye, but he tried to remain in character. Being French was hard and typically of a method actor, Slapnutz got into character by refusing to wash for a week.

“Yes, that’s the Frenchie, the television cameras just make him look that much of a smug git. Plus, he does smell this bad normally.”

“ ‘E doesn’t smell bad. ‘E smells wonderful. Can I ‘ave ‘is autograph then? ‘Ere is my ten Euros. Will ‘e speak too? I loooooove ‘is jokes, dey are soooooo funny.”

Slapnutz scribbled on a piece of paper and handed it to the naive foreigner.

“Excellent. Now, can you tell me a joke?”

Slapnutz worried, he wasn’t used to being funny, it wasn’t in his nature. He realised he couldn’t tell a joke so he tried to get by on witty banter:

“ Hee haw, hee haw, I am ze Frenchie. Aye, that’s right, ze Frying Frenchman. Bollocks, I mean ze Flying Frenchie. Ze putains are below me, zut alor. Cowabunga!”

“Cowabunga?!?!” TMM mouthed to himself. He couldn’t honestly believe how bad this had gone, it was almost time to cut his loses. But he was a bit too late…

“You are not ze Frenchie, you are some Scottish shit. Bah!”

The game was up and it was time to leave. TMM and Mr Pink quickly packed the gear up and Slapnutz dealt with his ‘customer’.

“I’m just not funny, so here, there’s your money back!”

And with that, Splink fled into the bustling streets of Paris, hopefully never to be seen again.

Token Weed© Vs Asher Rollins
(Asylum Championship)

This was the closest thing Asher had to a fight. You'd think that the sight of a crowned champion pacing only a couple hundred feet down the hall would send a chill. You'd think.

A set of lulling, quiet chords echoed slightly against the loud, obnoxious audience. They quieted to whispers, those conversations. This was new. "A Perfect Sonnet" by Bright Eyes continued through. No one expected such a theme for anyone. No one expected such a theme for Asher Rollins.

They cheered, though. Something about his sometimes blind confidence made him the alpha male, the trendsetter, the everyman. The few that sat with their arms crossed remained as such out of jealousy. Everyone yearned for such outward displays of true emotion.

Everyone yearned for freedom.

He clambered into the cage, a bit awkward with his steps. There was no speech to these people. That'd be too general of a thing. Asher waited, that ominous smile foreshadowing something destructive.

Such times of quiet reflection were easily diminished by "Soil". A handful of light caught its reflection on that scuffed golden belt latched around his waist. It symbolized excellence, importance, and the blood spilled in Asylum's name. He owned it. Token Weed owned it.

His entrance to the cage was far more acrobatic, balanced and precise. Asher removed his brown patchwork sport coat two sizes too small for him and untucked the tight, white tee-shirt. He threw them all over the rail and blew a kiss toward Token. All of that time spent trying to instigate fights and this was his.

The faded memory of Token breaking a steel chair over his back and skull the prior week had passed. This was real. As the bell rung, he felt an elbow smash against the side of his thin cheek. Little cushion to soften the blow, the inside of his mouth tore against his teeth as the side of his face slammed into the canvas.

"Oh, this is what they spoke of," he thought to himself. Asher's eyes rolled to the corner, catching the black boots pacing toward him. He shot up from the ground, leaping from his knees and throwing all of his weight into an uppercut.

Throw your pacifism out the window. Chuck away those beliefs and things you hold dear. Swallow your vomit later when you realize that your morals meant nothing, anyway. Also marvel at the way the Asylum champion fell to the ground after the first punch.

The referee threw down his hands. Inside his head, Token could hear the voice and see the fingers, but it all seemed distant. He felt as a passive observer, watching and analyzing. "That guy should get up. Oh, wait."

He rose at five. Just five. "Just five," the referee stated, leaning over the rail to the timekeeper. The crowd was enthralled already. Asher was grinning. Token was smiling--a single mistake had almost cost him the match. It was just five, though. Nothing really important. Nothing really that close.

But then he remembered that it was five away from losing everything. That smile was washed away. He ducked a punch and slammed his knuckles underneath Asher's rib cage. He could feel every organ within him pushing up against his lungs. A rasp spill of air escaped his lips and, for a moment, he reached for his mouth and covered it in hopes of foiling its escape.

Yeah, that didn't work. Instead, he stumbled to the side for a moment under the immense force that came with the punch. Token noticed that momentum and slammed a quick spinning kick to the side of his head. Asher did a half handless cartwheel and slammed down on his left arm.

Immediately, he pushed himself to his hands and knees. That cut in the side of his cheek grew and grew. Each swallow of spit became more and more thick with the salty taste of himself. He spat once and looked up only to catch the rubbery texture of a boot nearing his face.

"Good thing I moved," he thought to himself. Token stumbled back a little bit, momentum urging him to fall flat down. Asher rushed forward and pushed violently. Despite his size, Token flew backward and felt his head catch an exposed corner of the Asylum cage.

His hand searched for the wound, and found it with a sting. An out pour of blood turned some of those strands a mixture of teal and maroon and his hands red. The referee dropped his hand for the seventh time, but the blood was too great of a distraction. Finally, with merely a second left, he rose to his feet.

"Too close," Token muttered. No man his height and fifty pounds lighter was going to do anything to him. Token swung with a roundhouse. The arena went quiet. Asher ducked and rose with such quickness that everyone barely saw him do it. With Token's arm thrown completely over his shoulder, he extended his arm as far as he could, throwing the larger man back.

A mouth full of blood, he stumbled and fell on his back. Asher laughed. He fucking laughed. Maybe he didn't expect such a thing to happen. Maybe he thought it was funny that it was happening. Maybe he didn't want to notice HardCase barreling toward the ring with a steel chair in his hand. These were all valid reasons.

"Five," the referee yelled. HardCase climbed into the ring. The slam of boots on canvas caught Asher's attention, but only long enough for him to get an arm in the way of his face to take the brunt of the swing. The force was enough to knock him down. That was all HardCase needed.

"Six, seven, eight, nine," counted the referee. He wasn't even paying attention to Token anymore. He was listing off the chair shots as Asher rolled around the canvas like a dead fish. Land was nowhere in sight. There was no salvation from this.

Token rose before the count would've ended, anyway. He saw HardCase deliver a final chair shot before walking out. The referee threw down an arm, but Token grabbed Asher by his thick black hair and propped him on his feet. Asher stumbled backward and threw his arms across the top of the cage. He didn't care that little barbs were piercing the white underbelly of his bicep. God, he was tired.

The fans showed their distaste. Token took a couple steps back and leaped into the air. The pump, the kick, the subconscious collapse. Asher could feel each one of those pricks scratch vertical little tears down his arm, but he didn't care. He was tired.

Token lifted his arm off the edge of the cage as fast as he could. He paused for a moment and checked the gushing, gaping holes now formed in his black jeans. Fuck.

"Fuck you," Asher stated. He threw a front kick out and watched Token stumble toward the edge of the cage. He then ran forward and slammed a knee into his chest before violently pushing him toward the canvas.

He sighed. "Fuck all of this."

"How about all of this fucks you, instead."

What? Pointless reeled a led pipe against his chest. That similar exhale escaped his chest, this time his newly bruised ribs aching for a crack, for a puncture, for a rupture. Asher could feel his body wanting to kill itself in this moment. Pointless slammed into the soft side of his stomach, organs covered only by the layers of flesh.

When everyone's out to get you, someone will get you. For a moment, Asher forgot that a led pipe was rendering his organs into a cream, a liquid, and imagined what excuse he could conjure up to a doctor if he had to. Then, a pipe crashed down on his kidney, and he remembered that it hurt.

Pointless noticed Token getting to his feet, the referee only reaching a count of seven. He stepped out of the ring, and even Token smiled in this moment. Two attacks in the same match. While it didn't do anything for his credibility, he didn't care. The little shit was going down, anyway. Might as well make it a big funny joke.

Asher, with all his confidence, was a big fucking joke. Token reeled back and slammed his head into Asher's. Both slammed to the ground, and the referee shrugged indifferently. Whatever--he was getting paid regardless.

"One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six," the counts seemed a bit rushed, as if he had somewhere to be in the next couple of minutes. Token stood up and looked at Asher for a moment.

A small imprint of his face in blood on the canvas, he crawled to his feet. "Why do you even care? You're not here to win. You're here for the money."

"If you're going to do something," he said, face laced with crimson and the fading sarcasm that had become synonymous, "might as well... fuck, I don't care."

He threw his body weight forward and pushed Token down, but was immediately pushed to the side. Token was on top, mounting and ready to ride. Asher's arms were spread, consciously asking for an opinion on his wingspan. He was the new Jesus Christ, sacrificed for the good of absolutely nothing. Stubbornness, maybe.

Hammers fell from the sky and rained into the ring. Asher saw nothing but a white light. The kind that distracted you from all things earthly and took you away. No, not to some sort of afterlife, but to a place that wasn't where you were. Your mind brought you back to your first bike, your first car, your first fuck. I think it depends on what kind of guy you are. I think.

When hammers are leaving their remarks in your face, it's hard to care about that shiny red thing underneath the tree. Or that blonde haired virgin that you shared the experience with.

Oh, yeah, that big guy with weird hair was on top of you. Oh, yeah, he was caving your skull in. He was killing you while you were away. You should be there to experience death, at least. It's a once in a lifetime experience that you can't treasure or recollect.

Asher's hand slammed against the canvas. "Fuck this," he uttered. He couldn't yell. That was his yell, destroyed and finished. The referee called for the bell. Immediately, he felt in his mouth.

At least all his teeth were present. Token rose from the ground and looked at his hands. A measure of blood trickled through the cracks and danced over the scars on his knuckles. He thought nothing of it. "Welcome to Hell," he stated before walking out of the ring.

"Well, that was new," Asher said to the lights. I don't think the lights cared.