Land or death?

Chris Universal paced back and forth before his Stranglehold legion, who stood before him... arms folded defiantly, each of their faces a picture of doubt and uncertainty.

"It's not just losing Exxa." Garvin began "It's you losing ownership, without that we have nothing... Joe is free to book as when and how he pleases... I don't know about everyone else here, but I have contracts in other promotions, a long... illustrious career paved before me, I don't have anything to gain here, but I have plenty to lose... including my life."

Garvin shook his head... as Ross pitched in a "Yeah, fuck dying here... plenty more pleasant ways to go than getting your heart ripped out."

Universal shot him a glare, before rubbing his temples.

"So many doubts... " He began "What's happened to all of you, don't you have faith in anymore? Did you all forget that I am the one whom masterminded this entire uprising, I funded it... I drew up the plans, I took Campbell down and by God... I'll do it again, as long as I still have loyal troops beside me, I'll fight."

"Yep... Custer probably said that too." Ross said with an arrogant smirk.

"Ha! Well Ruben... why don't you just leave right away... bail on the rest of us and head back to the fWo with your tail tucked between your legs I'm sure that'll garner plenty of respect amongst your peers though, I'm sure it'll do wonders for your everlasting campaign to stay in the main event."

Ross rolled his eyes and sneered.

"I'll take that as confirmation that you're staying... you know I struggle to believe this, I really do... the least affected raise the most doubts, look at Noah... he's been cut and stitched up, but he refuses to give up... he'll keep fighting, and Carter... he's never yet complained about or doubted my actions, in fact... Carter is a fine example of how you should all be conducting yourselves, listen top instructions and then carry them out, am I correct?"

Disgruntled sighs and nods followed, as Stranglehold slowly filtered out of the locker room, all but one of them.

Carter remained.

"Now that they're gone Ace... I want to further what we discussed earlier." Universal spoke quietly... pulling shut the locker room door.

"I'm all ears." Carter answered, stepping forth.

"They doubt me Carter... they doubt my ability to make a decision, but all they need is a little confidence boost, someone to instill a little assurance to make them believe again... that's why I want you to go out Ace, set an example as to what we in the Stranglehold can accomplish once again here." Universal said... slowly pacing towards Carter and placing a hand on his shoulder.

"What do you propose?" Carter asked.

Universal narrowed his eyes.

"I want you to beat Villam Ender, and become the Asylum champion."

With that, he stepped back... as Carter nodded his head and slowly made his way out of the locker room, looking back at Universal as he did.

"Don't worry." Carter spoke up "After tonight... any doubts about Stranglehold will be dead and buried... that's a promise."

Universal raised an eyebrow.

"You just make sure it is... champ."

cHEESE stood, nodding at egg NOG.

"Right." egg NOG repeated.

cHEESE scratched his beard. "So... who wants to tell Dead and Perfect they owe us a title shot?"

egg NO was quick to reply, "not me!"

"Yeah, well you have to," cHEESE informed him, "I'm the older one."

"Oh my God, it's by TWENTY-THREE MINUTES!" egg NOG moaned.

cHEESE raised his index figer as he said, "yeah, I'm twenty-three minutes your elder. Thus, you have to te them." Before sticking out his tounge at egg NOG.

NOG threw his hands up. "Dude, no way am I going to do it."

"You have to. I said so."

"No I don't."

"Yes, you do."

"Dude, no I don't."

"Dude, yes you do."

"I don't care what you say, I'm not doing it."

"You know what? Fine, we'll settle this the old fashion watch... with a match!"

egg NOG gulped. "A match?"

"You heard me." cHEESE replied with a nod. "Let's go."

With that said, cHEESE and egg NOG exited the locker room. Next stop, the Asylum?

"Feels like I never left, and thanks to the wonders of modern technology... they got those Universal wankstains out of it too." Joe stopped for a moment to shudder "Dirty bastard, I don't even want to know what the fuck is gonna be in my history folder, that infamous gaping arsehole pic no doubt... not to mention the one of some guy shagging himself up the arse, some people will upload anything."

Joe stopped for another moment, to shudder.

He leant forward and touched the mouse, before recoiling his arm.

"Guh! Fuck this... I feel dirty already, I'll just steal a new one..."

One long and hefty sweep later, his computer lay in a broken pile on the floor beside him.

"Bob Gates, what a cunt... anyway, time to celebrate the return of my Show in a time old fashion!" He smirked to himself, sliding open his desk drawer and reaching in without looking... there was the pistol, there was the whisky... he knew which was which.

So when he pulled out a large dildo, the expression on his face was priceless.

"What the fuck!?" Joe screamed, casting the dildo across the room... it'd been part of the props used during Splink's infamous porno shoot... but he wasn't to know that.

"Takes the fucking piss... I get slated because someone gets arse banged on one of the shows, but Universal... the guy that was in charge of the fuckheadWo at one point... is allowed to keep rubber dicks hanging around... dirty twat, I always knew he was an uphill gardener, can see it in that moustache... anyway..."

Joe pulled his desk further out, this time making sure to look inside... pulling out the whisky, unscrewing the cap.

"See now this is where you and I are different Chris, if I were you and I knew me... I'd have thrown a couple of drops of cyanide in it... Bob's your uncle, Fanny's your aunt... why kill someone when you can accidentally put poison in their drink.

Hmm... maybe he did..." Joe pondered for a moment, squinting and looking at the whisky.

"But fuck it, at least I'll die happy." He said with a grin... chugging back on the whisky before being interrupted.

The doorknob on his office door twisted, and Dez Aragon peered through the opening.

"Visitor for you, says his name is Quaid." Aragon spoke up.

"Yeah... let him in Dez." Joe said shaking his head "Always someone with something."

Aragon promptly moved out of the doorway, as Nicholas Quaid paced into the room, shooting a glare back at Dez as he did.

"Polite guy you got there." Quaid remarked with a grin, sitting in the seat opposing Joe's, before tossing his badge down on the desk... he always did that, just to remind Joe that he could arrest him at any point.

Joe nodded his head "Alright twat..." he grunted "What do you want? Government not feeding you again? Here... have a tenner and piss off you bent cunt, you only ever come around here when you're skint, there are old ladies being mugged and stuff... go and do your job."

Quaid shook his head.

"Nah, you and your boys are all present tonight... muggings on the elderly are probably down 90%, and wrong... I'm not here for your money..." Quaid began, as Joe pitched in with a grunt.

"That makes a change, tight assed prick."

"... I'm actually here to help you out, see Joe... your wife is getting better by the day from those facial injuries, the therapy is improving her condition... and the surgery was a success, pretty soon she's going to be able to stand up in court... and you know what that means..."

"Yeah..." Joe began, taking $100 out of his wallet and tossing it into Quaid's chest "I know what it means you greedy cunt... now go and sort it out."

Quaid collected up the money, but placed it neatly back on Joe's desk.

"Sorry buddy." Quaid replied "No can do... out of my hands I'm afraid, you're on your own with this one, the FBI are looking at it... they see this as the chance to bring you down, they can't touch you for the fighters, we all know they signed away their lives a long time ago, but injuries to fans... or the general public, they'll throw the book at you."

"Oh... I see..." Joe began, stroking his chin "Ah well, looks like I'll have to off her like those other fans that got injured, I love this country... people cause problems, people get killed... problem solved."

"I think a lot of people are probably thinking that about you too Joe, but hey... I guess that explains the ape on the door there." Quaid said, following up with a hearty laugh.

"Shh you dick... if Dez hears you, he'll break all of your fingers... I gave him permission to do that whenever he fancies, regardless of if anyone deserves it, so shut your mouth." Joe said, putting his fingers to his lips.

"So what... you're really gonna kill your wife? That's some fucked up shit man... I'm glad I just have to cover it up." Quaid replied, shifting nervously in his seat.

"You know what they say... the ugly die young." Joe said, thinking hard.

"Isn't it... the good die young?" Quaid replied.

"Yeah whatever, anyway... she's all mangled now ain't she, I don't fancy shagging that again... be like having sex with a patchwork quilt, anyway... no emotional strings, because I'm not going to kill her." Joe said, sitting back in his chair and tapping together his fingers, Mr. Burns style.

"Oh no? Then who?" Quaid questioned, picking up his badge.

"Dez!" Joe exclaimed "Unlike you... he ain't a useless cunt, now get out of my office... your cheque will be in the post, just make sure you get those alibis sorted for me and Dez."

Quaid slowly paced out of the office.

"The pub, right?" He quipped.

"Yeah... worked the last eight times." Joe said, picking up his whisky and taking another glug... the future looked bright for him...

... but not for Michelle Campbell.

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

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

POW!

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

Shoot, shoot, shoot, shoot, shoot, shoot

POW!

Shoot, shoot, shoot, shoot, shoot, shoot

POOOOWWWWWW!!!

"Six Shooter" by Queens of the Stone Age. A new song, a good song, but a song that currently didn't belong to anyone on the roster. So who was going to come out through those curtains? Well, with the very nature of the tune...it should have been obvious.

But it wasn't.

So you can imagine how pissed the crowd was when Nick Oliveri screamed: POW! - the Pyros erupted into the sky like fired gunshots and Villam Ender came nonchalantly strolling through those curtains.

Add to the fact that Villam now wore an iron mask that somewhat looked like his late half-brother's mask only added to the hate.

Not like he cared.

You could almost feel the apathetic grin from inside the mask.

The fans of the Asylum tried to break that grin with words.

Words like:

"Murderer."

"Dog."

"Coward."

"Faggot"

Villam threw his newly won Asylum Championship into the cage and hopped the apron, jumping right in after it. He climbed up onto the mesh and held it in the air by the strap...a paper cup came flying towards him and he swatted it away with the sneering skull plate.

Villam was soon handed a microphone, but he stayed right where he was.

Above the plebian masses.

His music fading out of the PA he placed the belt on his shoulder as he addressed these lesser individuals.

"Right."

Instant upheaval of shit-talk and jeering. No one took too likely to Villam using his half-brother's opening catchphrase. Villam himself responded with pulling that mask back over his head and revealing his new confidence-laced sneer.

"Murderer? Dog? Coward? Faggot? - You know something, I'll let you little shits have that one. Good for you.

Villam - 0

United Sheep Shits of America - 1

But, how about for a change of pace we touch on my good qualities? How about for now we focus on the more admirable and god-like traits, hm?

Like: "Good Problem Solver"

The Asylum had a problem called Stranglehold. I solved it by putting a knife in it's heart. I single-fucking-handedly returned Asylum to the air. I did what even the Asylum Champion himself couldn't do. Where was Nerva and the bitches in heat club to put a shiv in this little takeover, hm? I'll tell you where Nerva was...Nerva was on her way out of the Asylum ready to spend the rest of life south of border serving up her sloppy and stinky pussy to any farm animal who didn't mind a Gonorrhea-Syphilitic cocktail.

She was "too busy" to preserve the Asylum.

She "didn't care enough" about any of you to lift a finger to help out around here.

And to think this was the same bitch who came to me whining to me about help her save her little slut-in-training, Laura.

Well you know what?

Fuck that slut.

Fuck that stupid bitch.

Fuck that Hong Kong, Ching-Chong, Commie Whore.

Fuck her honkey titts.

Fuck that trash can smelling cunt with a turd of her own shit."

Villam paused just long enough to hop down from where he was perched to dodge another cup of soda.

"...And where was Borst?

I'll tell you where Borst was...Borst was snorting lines off of Travis Beaven's cock while taking it up the ass from Matt Panzer. "World Most Dangerous Wrestler"? Now what kind of Limey. Bullshit. Is. THIS? I mean, the Asylum made Borst. And now he's over there helping the very company that Chris Universal ran to make more money?

Well you know what?

Fuck that shit.

Fuck that British twat.

Fuck his Panzer-cock filled ass.

Fuck his little tough guy gimmick.

Fuck that little traitor. I hope his soul chokes on Beaven's dick!

---Can I get an 'Amen'?"

FUCK YOU!! - SHUT THE FUCK UP!! - FAG! - BOOOOOOooo!

"Whatever.

And while I'm on the topic of the fWo, that brings me to another one of my award winning traits.

"Great Leadership Qualities"

While Archasshole was sitting on his fat over-paid ass like our own version of Kevin Nash.

And While Token Weed was sitting back with the ghost of Jerry Garcia and following around the remaining members of the Grateful Dead with his faggot stoner buddies. I...once again single-handedly...waltzed into fWo's Countdown 2 and scored one for the home team.

Kelly Kid Cock didn't look so immortal whilst I was plowing steel upside that lopsided head of his did he? I made him look like the little piece of Jersey Turnpike trash that we all know him to be. And while I was at it, I broke a piece of my foot off in Campbell's ass."

Villam suddenly dropped the Asylum title and his mask on the canvas and walked to center of the ring...

"...Which brings me to my next quality...

"Stick-to-it-iveness"

I still do what a Villam does best despite you people telling me how much I suck, or how pathetic I am, or stupid I sound. When Exxa suddenly decided that he didn't have the balls to kill me and let his guard down. You fags were all like: "Wow, he's like a bad ass with a heart of gold like in that Danny Devito movie." And I guess you thought that meant happy ending, eh?

Fuckin' yeah, right.

I shit on your happy endings.

I stuck to my guns (or in this case my knife) then...and I stick who I am and what I do now, despite your booing and your trash throwing. Because, I know what you people apparently don't...

I'm Great.

I'm great and you people tune in, not for more Borst or Nerva or Token, but it's to live through my greatness. I'mean if you hated me so much, none of you would've shown up here today..." Villam took a look into one of the cameras.."...You people at home would be watching PAX if you really found me and what I did all that evil....

...I mean what choices do you have?

MMA sucks, UFC sucks, Wrestling sucks, You suck.

Flatlined? Hahaha...right. 21W? Sure thing. Reading a book? In America, not fucking likely.

You people enjoyed me as the Mute Avenger, you people were disgusted with the rape, you people were intrigued by my return after that debacle. And all that prime viewer-ship brings us up to this, here and now.

The time Villam Ender literally stuffed Joe Campbell's head up his own ass and made him chew on his own lower intestine.

So, without any further adieu...

MR. CAMPBELL PLEASE REPORT TO THE CAGE FOR YOUR PUBLIC CRIPPLING."

Joe Campbell appeared on the ramp to a bit of a mixed reaction but he wasn't alone and the grin on his face said that there wouldn't be any 'public crippling's tonight. All members of the Zone, the Inmate and Dez Aragon had taken up a flanking position behind the Asylum owner...Joe was soon handed a microphone and looked to open his mouth before Villam stopped him...

"Lemme guess, Joey. Team Campbell version 3.0?" Villam said putting his hands on his hips.

Joe smiled. "Why yes, I was going to ask you to join us after you mercilessly killed your brother, but Countdown 2 made me realize that such a deal would've fell on deaf ears. Ironic seeing as how you were once mute. It would've been like offering you intercourse with a female. Now that you've got that belt, I guess you've got no further use for me, eh?"

Villam frowned.

"Why you little mother fucker....YOU ponied me up for this shithole. Me. A human being. You played with my life like it was a fucking toy. I'm not some commodity or some share in your shitty little stocks. You betrayed ME, Campbell. This is what this is about. Don't try and make this out of be some take the title and run situation. You fucked with Villam King and you are going to fucking pay. Period."

Joe looked to the left...then looked to right...

"Villam, I don't know if you've noticed or not my pontificating friend...but I've got a new army standing behind me...and I'm not just talking about Team Campbell.

I've got a unified Roster, these people here hate you more than I've seen anyone hate an Asylum Champion. And as I look over your shoulder I can't help but notice that no one is standing behind *you*. I can't help but notice...

That you're all alone."

Joe began to chuckle.

"And unless that mask is some kind of special mask that gives you your brother's 'powers', or unless that Asylum title is really the sort of thing that talks to you in your sleep like some have told me...then...."

Joe began to burst into laughter again...but held it just to say: "...then I'm afraid you're fucked, mate."

Villam was silent and seething...because Joe was right.

At the moment it was Him against the world.

"Fuck you." Villam said spitting off to the side.

Joe shook his head. "Oh, I know you want to...but to get to me...you've gotta get through all of them." Joe gestured behind to the newly assembled Team Campbell that looked more than willing to take Villam on.

"You're going to learn what Universal is going to learn.

In the Asylum.

I'm all powerful.

5 men with millions of dollars in Asylum stock can't stop me.

1 man with the Asylum championship can't do it.

No one can.

As a matter of fact, seeing as how I control half of your booking this month...I'll introduce you to your first opponent...your first 'roadblock' if you will."

"Magdalena" by A Perfect Circle

ACE CARTER?

Ace Carter entered much to the surprise of everyone in the arena. Joe Campbell shook Ace's hand and looked over at Villam..."You see, nothing is beyond *my* control. Ace said that instead of us hunting him down and beating the shit into him...that he'd much rather have an Asylum Contract. Can you believe it? AN ASYLUM CONTRACT... and to think that just minutes ago he gave Chris Universal a solumn oath, ah... I think they call that killing two birds with one stone, somewhere right now Chris is pulling out his hair and crying... well, needless to say...Ace here gets that contract and as an added bonus he picks up the Asylum title if he beats you...Tonight!"

Villam laughed, "Whatever, Campy."

Joe Campbell just laughed as well and left with his new army. Leaving Villam...

Alone.

cHEESE Vs egg NOG
(Rock Paper Scissors Challenge, Round One.)

The match?

egg NOG vs. cHEESE, winner take all.

The game?

Rock, Paper, Scissors.

No one can help but tremble at the mere mention of those three words. Combine them with a sudden rift between two brothers, and you have the makings of a tense situation.

"Alright," said egg NOG, coldly, "let's do this."

"Shoot."

BAM.

The first strike of the fists. It shakes the arena with its fury.

BAM.

The second strike of the fists. It shakes the planet with it's force.

SLAP.

egg NOG's right hand cups over his left hand, striking it constantly. cHEESE's laid flat, like paper.

There was no sound. No words could be uttered, Until...

"What is that?"

"Atomic Bomb, mother fucker. Atomic bomb slows the shit out of paper. You are my bitch."
"No way! This isn't paper! Just because it's flat it's paper?"

"Well, what is it?"

"It's... uh... a black hole. YEAH! A BLACK HOLE! BLACK HOLE SUCKS UP EVERYTHING!"

"Wha... but... but I won..."

A slow clap builds up around them as various Asylum members clap for the brilliant tactic. No one could see it coming. cHEESE was like Alexander the Great.

Or something.

“Fucking go and get that prick,” he angrily grunted in the direction of Michael D’Alessandro, his sidekick for the last ten months or so.

2002 hadn’t ended the way he wanted. That was obvious. Last week, at the annual Asylum Pay-Per-View, in spite of The Zone eventually overcoming The Stranglehold by the odd decision out of five, Willis had lost his assigned outing to former FWO World Heavyweight Champion Ruben Ross.

Reputations didn’t bother John though. The fact that it took TWO Ratings Spike’s to effectively end it when one usually did the job didn’t make him feel any better. In his mind, he had it won and nothing could quench his anger.

“Michael, fucking go and get him!”

“Who?”

Usually, the Italian was good in sticking up for himself against the Kokomo Colossus but he certainly didn’t fancy rubbing his comrade up the wrong way in this kind of mood. However, he had no idea of whom Willis wanted him to go and fetch.

“The fucking referee! You remember that cunt who cost me a win over Jim Ross or whatever he’s called.”

“Ruben,” Michael uttered.

“I said whatever! Anyway, get your ass up. We’re going to find that fucking cock-sucking little cunt RIGHT NOW!”

D’Alessandro did as he was told. He didn’t like his acquaintance on this form, for his personal being at least, but he probably wasn’t in any kind of danger.

Unlike last week’s official…

cHEESE Vs egg NOG
(Rock Paper Scissors Challenge, Round Two.)

"We'll see about that!"

Smack.

Smack.

Draw.

egg NOG had scissors.

cHEESE had paper, but he quickly balled his fist up upon seeing egg NOG put up scissors.

"HA! I win!" cHEESE shouted, excitedly.

"Damn you." egg NOG said.

The Geordie Genius, typically, is surrounded by a bevy of beauties as he cracks open the Champagne. They all squeal as instead of drinking it, as he detests the stuff, he pours it all over them.

One of the girls now goes over to a radio in the corner and soon as she switches it on that favourite New Year anthem comes on… Auld Lang Syne(or however the fuck you spell it.)

They all link arms and do the ‘dance’ that involves just standing in the same spot. Carrahar, yet again, is clearly pissed as he starts to sing the song, but gets all of the words wrong.

Seemingly, after celebrating Christmas live - and late - on television, he’s decided to do the same regarding the beginning of a New Year.

After the song had concluded, it quietened down and Keegan started to speak: “I’d just like to thank everyone, even though most of you don’t know me, for coming here. I’ve had a cracking night and I wish you all a Happy New Year.”

Everyone raised their glasses to the Englishman.

“Okay then. Form a line.”

The ladies looked at each other in a bemused fashion.

“Who would you like to fuck first? Me or Warwick?”

Their visitors all picked their jackets up and proceeded to leave, which left Warwick shaking his head and Special K in a state of shock: “What did I say?”

“You said more than enough.”

Start the year as you mean to go on…

cHEESE Vs egg NOG
(Rock Paper Scissors Challenge, Round Three.)

cHEESE sighed. "Idiot, it's already a best of seven."

egg NOG blinked. "Oh. Oh, ok, then."

cHEESE let out a small sigh as the two combatants readied themselves for the third and, probably, most important round of the night. cHEESE held a comfortable 2-0 lead and could easily end things soon with another win here.

egg NOG shook off any tense feelings he might have, staring his brother dead in the eyes he smirked.

"Let's go."

cHEESE nodded.

Smack.

Smack.

Draw.

"Dude, what the heck is that?!" cHEESE questioned.

"Obviously it's Thermo Nuclear Warfare."

egg NOG fingers flicked at his open palm. A sinister grin covered his face.

"Duh."

cHEESE groaned. "It looks like you're getting water off your fingers. And you're already played that card and lost."

egg NOG looked at his fingers and then to cHEESE. "No it doesn't. And I'm going to continue to throw it until it gets me a win, biznatch."

"Sigh. Whatever. Me, two. You, one."

Now he had an eunuch Champion who just wanted to pound him to dust, and a roster still suffering with unrest because of the Stranglehold clusterfuck. Not to mention rebuilding an entire demographic of people that stopped watching because of Universal and Exxa’s antics.

He was staring the wrestling industry in the face now. It wasn’t a total monopoly.

Joe was going to have a lot of work ahead of him. Drifting into a nap, he was woken when a sudden young lady stood before him.

“Who the fuck are you?”

Slightly slurred words coming from the owner. As his vision began to piece this person together, he began to realize who was standing before him.

“Campbell, I want a shot at Kinkade! I WANT IT NOW!”

Lotus stood before him trying to order him around like some sort of errand boy.

“Fuck you. I got plans for Captain One-Eye. They don’t involve twat women who should be fixing my arse a damn sandwich.”

Lotus decided to press her luck even more.

“Joe, get your head straight. I’m the best thing you have. Might as well just give me a shot at him. Son of a bitch is parading with a title he-”

“Lotus, go to hell! You’re lucky I just don’t put a bullet in your damn head.”

Lotus seethed.

“Well, I want to challenge someone-”

“Go to hell! Get out of damn office. I’m starting to smell like slut, and that is hard to get out of expensive clothing.”

Lotus was just pissed in general. Upon reading a column posted by Venoma Star, she just started thinking of a way to prove herself. She was anything but a spectacular champion, but to be questioned by a woman who had done jack shit in her tenure in the Asylum? Something had to be done about that.

That’s when Venoma Star entered the office. Her face was fixed into a smile as she strutted in. She had some new sort of confidence in herself. And unlike many people, she was fresh.

Nothing from Stranglehold’s holy war affected her.

She just didn’t fight.

“Joe, good to see you back in business. Those fucks like Universal don’t understand that people don’t give two shits about wrestling. Now with a competent person making decisions again, I offer myself to go and kick someone’s ass.”

Cocky. Very cocky. Venoma paid no attention to the Women’s Champion standing right to her left at this point. She didn’t matter.

“Well, seeing as how I have one completely retarded and drugged up fuckhead here, and another person just throwing herself in harms way, I should do the noble thing and give you both what you want.”

Lotus couldn’t wait to get her hands on Venoma. She needed to have her ass kicked in rather badly for that column. Venoma just didn’t flinch.

“But, Lotus, you annoy me. The way you walk and talk just pisses me off. Star, since you’re so willing, you got a match with Wasp. Now, toddles.”

Lotus just stood there, her mouth a gap.

“But-”

“Do you understand what the fuck toddles means? It means goodbye. Get the fuck away from me before I send you off to work the night shift at some whore house in Cambodia.”

Lotus just turned around and walked away. She would go on to battle another day.

For Star, things were looking real ugly.

Slapnutz finished off the dregs in his whisky bottle and threw it against the mirror on the wall.

Shards of glass flew in every direction. TMM had to duck for cover begind a copy of AutoTrader.

“Fucking stupid fucking Pay-Per-View. I didn’t even get the fucking chance to shine. I haven’t even had a fucking fight in this shithole,” Slapnutz moans.

“Are you still going on about this? You get paid lots and lots of money for making tramp porn and not getting beaten up. Even students do more than you and all you can do is moan,” TMM replies.

Slapnutz turns to his team partner and if looks could kill, TMM would be rendered semi-unconscious with a bad case of piles. Luckily for him, they can’t so Slapnutz spat at his feet.
"That’s what I think of Asylum right now and that’s what I think of the Zone. I was pulled from Pain and I know why. It’s time to call someone out.”

Slapnutz throw open the door of the locker room and slams it shut behind him.

“Slap, don’t do anything stupid, mind. There’s horse racing on telly later and I have a hot tip.

Slap? Slap? SLAAAAAP? SLAPSLAPSLAPSLAPSLAPSLAP?!?!”

No reply. Sure, TMM didn’t expect one and, in fact, he didn’t really have a hot tip. He just knew that every Scotsman couldn’t resist gambling, especially on a sure thing.

Was Splink finished? Probably. Well, maybe. Ummm…okay, no one knows…yet.

cHEESE Vs egg NOG
(Rock Paper Scissors Challenge, Round Four.)

cHEESE was getting nervous, too, after his defeat in the third round. He needed to win this one to stay on top.

"You will not defeat me again so easilly!" cHEESE said, boldly.

"Your mom!" egg NOG shot back.

cHEESE looked confused, "We have the same mom!"

"Oh yeah? Well, um..."

Smack.

Smack.

"Look!" egg NOG said, pointing his head toward a distance behind cHEESE, "Porn!"
Draw.

"WHERE?!" cHEESE yelled, looking behind him while drawing rock. egg NOG smiled and quickly changed his scissors to paper. cHEESE, disappointed about the fact that there was no porn behind him, turned and looked in shock.

"Paper covers rock! I win! WHOO!" egg NOG shouted, all while members of the Asylum clapped at this brilliant tactic.

Enrique Credibleno wipes away a tear, "I've GOT to try that tactic on Avo whenever I get a chance."

"I'm standing right here!" Avo Chavez objected.

cHEESE frowned, "Cheap, dirty trickster!"

Not exactly the most foul words that had been broadcast in the Asylum. It wasn’t even the most heated message delivered. However, it was the angriest thing to come out the mouth of a Scotsman in the Asylum.

“Fun Lovin’ Crimnals”, and Slapnutz brushed aside the curtains and stamped onto the ramp with a frustrated glare to the fans in attendance from beneath his shades. Aside from the microphone, the livid Scotsman was carrying a baseball bat and swinging it intently, albeit with the finesse of an elephant juggling sixteen bowls of cornflakes, singing ‘We’re in the Money’. Well, let’s just say he wasn’t the next Sammy Sosa then.

Slapnutz drew a thumb across his throat, signalling the abrupt discontinuance of his theme music, and hopped up the steps and into the Asylum cage itself. He hammered his baseball bat against the rim of the cage, almost as if testing it’s worth, then began to pace around his den.

“No more of this ‘The Freak’ bullshit Brian, get out here or it’s over. No ‘gimmicks’ or what have you, I’m sick of your silly little façade. I’ll take my money and walk away from this. Your group of merry men will be useless without me. I mean, who will take my place in Splink? Tapestry? You think Simon could trust a woman that doesn’t even speak? Hell, I doubt he’d even trust Keegan… you know how nasty Geordies can get. Or is he a mackem? I haven’t quite worked it out yet, I’m not up to date on my English nicknames. Now get out here now.

You’ve got five seconds, starting from…now”

The fans were quite bewildered. These men, the members of The Zone, seemed quite tight-knit… dissention in the ranks at such an early stage were unforeseeable.

Some children screaming and the rustling of various foodstuffs only broke the uneasy silence that followed. We’re people seeing the demise of the Zone already? These were men that were allegedly united by violence and divided by death. Petty squabbles aren’t exactly a way of life for any of them.

Slapnutz looked up at the curtains, expectant. One second passed, and nothing. Another second elapsed and there was still no sign of The Freak. The third second passed? …And Slapnutz began to walk back up the ramp. Four, nothing and, as expected, the fifth second elapsed and no one emerged. The end. Well, maybe not quite yet. There was still hate to be spewed out.

“Fuck this,” Slapnutz sighed as he continued up the ramp, making sure that the microphone caught his words. As he reached the top, he turned to the befuddled fans…

“Sorry folks, look like the fag won’t show. You people support him like he’s some kind of God or whatever, but now look. He’s a pussy, do you see?”

The fans began to cheer. Slapnutz raised his arms in the air thinking that it was his words that were arousing them, when in fact it was the appearance of a small man… pushing his way through the entranceway behind Slappy.

“STOP. THINK, WASH RINSE REPEAT.”

The voice wasn’t that of The Freak, but Slapnutz recognized it nonetheless. The Scotsman turned around to see the clad-in-white, ginger haired, raggedy-looking form of…

Oddball.

As Slapnutz began to rush forwards, Oddball extended a single hand and stopped the Splinkster in his tracks. Slapnutz stopped of his own accord, not willing to show any respect to Oddball.

“And what do you want?” Slapnutz asked Oddball with a sneer.

“Hmm. THINKING. Is it something that you’re familiar with fagbreath? Right. So you’re in a nice, high-paying contract with a top fighting promotion. You have a fucking unsackable clause in your contract. All the men think that you’re a super-hard pit fighter and all the women are willing to IGNORE your Scottish scotch chin and fuck you anyway. Your boss think you’re the shit and you live in a land without law.

“HMM. LET ME THINK.

“You. DARE, to pick fault in your fabulous life? Come on you shit, tell me. What IS your problem, exactly? You don’t get airtime? So fuck? You’re getting paid aren’t you?

“It’s not even like you’re working in a DANGEROUS environment. You have FIVE of the TOUGHEST fighters at your side. If you got into any trouble in this place, your friends would help you out and--” Oddball was cut off, much to the fans’ discontent.

“Friends? Friends? You know as well as I do that those men, and yourself, are not my friends. I don’t trust anyone of them. Hell, I don’t even trust Simon any more. So, you get your spastic boyfriend out here or I’ll take you into that cage and kick seven shades of shite out of you.” Slapnutz growled.

“Shite? Sorry fucktard, I’m not familiar with the concept of ‘shite’, thus I’ll ignore it whilst I pick apart your little speech. Now.

“SCOTT BARBARA FUCKING CLINTON HOLMES. I am not your friend. I couldn’t give a fuck about you. I don’t care if Villam Ender comes right out here and fucks you until your shit spews out of your eyeballs with a strap-on. I. Do. Not. Care.

“The Freak. And I speak on behalf of him now. Is NOT your friend. He is your ally. He WILL protect you, he WILL help you, he WILL fight alongside you. But don’t expect the man to be your friend. Because he’s not the kind to make friends, Slap. He would turn around and mutilate you, he would shred you into little pieces at any given opportunity and the same goes for any and every other member of The Zone. But we’re a team now. We operate, as a TEAM.”

Slapnutz pondered a reply for several seconds, then simply said: “I’m going to smash the fuck out of you.”

Oddball turned to the curtain, through intimidation rather than disgruntlement. He was looking for that glint of red that would save him from feeling Slapnutz systematically destroy him. Nothing. No Freak, no Keegan, no chance of survival. Slapnutz grabbed Oddball around the neck, and hoisted him off his feet.

As cocky as ever, Oddball, still being throttled by Slapnutz, raised the microphone to his lips.
“Is that the best you can do? A crappy King Kong Bundy impression I must say. *gurk, splutter* Okay, okay. Maybe you’re not as bad as I said you were. I like you Slapnutz, I like you a lot. So would the inmates at Clinton County pr-- *GURK!*”

Slapnutz pulled back his left hand and as he threw it forward, aiming to silence Oddball once and for all…

OHMYGODTHEFANSARECHEERINGREALLYLOUD!

A pale, scar-littered hand wrapped around the Scotsman’s wrist. Slapnutz dropped Oddball and came face to face with the man he’d been waiting for. Brian Fenn-Grail stood face to-face with Scott Holmes. The Freak looked right through Slapnutz, no blinking and no emotion totally blank.. It was poker face time.

“Wow, Mr Elusive 2003 has finally shown his face. Well done and take a bow,” Slapnutz chuckled. “I’m not surprised though, hell, can’t let the talented one have too much camera time, can we? That’s why I wasn’t fighting at pAin, wasn’t it? Can’t let me show YOU up. Let the scary one have all the spotlight. It was your choice I was pulled, damn it. Fuck you. Fuck you and fuck the Zone,” Slapnutz ranted.

Perhaps it was the drink talking, but the fact is, Scotsmen can handle their alcohol. This was nothing but contempt for the man standing in front of him.

“You can have three matches on your debut night. You can fight the Asylum champion and you can be made to look like the motherfucking hero of the group. All the time I thought it was hatred for wrestlers, now I know it’s something else driving you. It’s your ego. You’re 32 years-old and wanting fame and fortune. 32 years-old and upset because the world dealt you a bad hand. Take the money and take all the fucking plaudits. All I want is you. I want you in the cage and I want you tonight. Brian Fenn-Grail, not The Freak.”

The Freak looked on, unmoved by the speech given by his so-called compatriot. No anger or frustration surfaced, not even a wry smile.

The Freak pulled the microphone, gently away from Slapnutz and brought it to his mouth…

“Would you like to know something? Maybe it’ll enlighten you. You know, maybe it’ll enhance your perception of me and what you’re getting yourself into. BRIAN FENN-GRAIL…

“…IS, The Freak. I do not have nor do I want a gimmick, ‘Slapnutz’. I am quite contented with being… myself. If my persona, my actuality is not to your penchant. Then you can kindly fuck yourself. And as for it being I that disregarded your usage at pAin… you are a Team fighter.

And in spite of what you say, you fight, principally, in team bouts. So WHY would I opt YOU? What would be my reasoning for desiring the likes of YOU to contend in a series that meant so much to us?”

“You know. I once respected you, back in TFZ… I watched your fights, and admired your resilience. Now its’ time for ME to show you’re my worth. For ME to show you MY resilience.

A match. Tonight. DO YOU SEE?” Slapnutz returned…

“Holmes… you have to realize something. I may be capable of intelligible conversation right now, but if I step into that cage with you… I will lose myself, son. I take what I need from that cage then I leave with my sanity intact. If you’re offering yourself as a sacrifice to me… then you must take full responsibility for what you are getting yourself into.” The Freak there the hood on his trenchcoat back from his head, and stared straight into Slapnutz’s eyes with his own red irises.

“You’re putting this on.” Slapnutz scoffed.

“Did you see what I did to Noah Hawkins last week?”

Slapnutz closed his mouth.

“Fine then. You get your match. But. I WARNED you.” The Freak said, robotically, as ‘Faget’ began to play over the speakers to announce his departure.

cHEESE Vs egg NOG
(Rock Paper Scissors Challenge, Round Five.)

A must win for both men. egg NOG messaged his throwing hand as cHEESE sit in his corner getting instructions from his corner man.

"You gotta come at him fast!" YoGuRt barked, "he's a slow one! He'll never be able to keep up with you!"

cHEESE nodded as he locked eyes with his adversary. The two exchanged a mean stare as they walked toward each other. The members of the roster drew dead silent as NOG rocked his head from side-to-side.

"Go time, bitch. I'm so fucking clutch." egg NOG informed cHEESE with a smirk.

cHEESE's eyes narrowed. "We'll see, hoe-ma."

Smack.

Smack.

Draw.

"WHOA!" egg NOG exclaimed on seeing cHEESE with his paper and his rock. "I thought we go one, two, three THEN shoot!"

A "nice save!" came way from one of the members of the crowd.

"Dude, not cool. This is, what, round five?!"

egg NOG shrugged. "I just thought...."

cHEESE cut him off, "save it. Get ready. We go on THREE, not SHOOT!

egg NOG nodded nervously as he ready himself for another go.

Smack.

Smack.

Draw.

Literally.

Both men threw scissors as the crowd gasped.

Smack.

Smack.

Draw.

Again. This time the feared paper reared it's ugly head. A shriek came from the crowd as the sound of a body hitting a floor was echoed.

Smack.

Smack.

Draw.

egg NOG- paper.

cHEESE- scissors.

"HA!" cHEESE cried joyously, "I win! BOO-YAH!"

egg NOG turned and walked back to his corner.

As he turned to sit, he mumbled, "luck."

And that was what Willis, arguably the most intimidating individual out of the group, set about doing. But his objective wasn’t just limited to verbal threats. He was genuinely intent on hurting at least one person this evening but that is subject to change…

As of right now.

Upon searching for trouble, the Kokomo Colossus and his Italian counterpart Michael D’Alessandro ‘bumped’ into another security guard, who is only actually about 5’9, and following a short session of questioning, Willis proceeded to floor him with a solitary shot and now has him in mid-air.

“Don’t fuck around with me. Now you must have seen who this referee was. Just tell me his name and where he is.”

The poor bloke, literally fearing for his life, tries to reason with the unreasonable: “I… I don’t know. Honestly. I would tell… you… I real… I really would. But I don’t know many of the staff that well.”

“Oh come on. You’re going to have to come up with a better excuse than that you prick or I’m going to break your neck.”

Michael asked his out-of-control comrade to release the official: “Come on John. He’s only a stuttering fuck - he knows nothing. We’re wasting our time. Come on. Let’s go.”

“You’re right,” John admitted, letting him go.

It was an unexpected change of heart on the beast’s behalf, but he was still intent on locating the referee he blamed for costing him his tie against Ruben Ross eight days ago.

“So you’re sure you don’t know where he is?”

“I’m sorry Sir.”

Unfortunately, the non-active employee, from a physical standpoint, thought he was safe and began to turn away, which would prove to be a mortal mistake.

Suddenly, the three hundred plus pound behemoth snapped and turned the man round before knocking him to the floor, yet again, but this time with authority. The victim’s nose was now broken but that wasn’t the worst of it…

Like before, he effortlessly elevated him into the air and in spite of D’Alessandro’s pleas to ‘just drop the matter’ Willis executed his patented Lamb To The Slaughter. Certainly aptly-named in this case, as the recipient didn’t have a chance.

Doing it onto canvas was bad enough. Scary even.

Onto an unforgiving concrete floor was fatal…

The victim of Willis’ needless and nasty attack, though even those words didn’t justify his actions, had left the blameless party practically paralysed. For how long wasn’t certain, it could be permanent, but one thing was sure and that was it did look bleak for the blameless bloke who genuinely couldn’t help John C. Willis with his inquest.

Some of the more important officials had gathered outside to see the motionless man carried into the ambulance and escorted to the nearest hospital for emergency treatment.

One of them summed the whole situation up: “This is bad news for The Asylum’s image, as if it wasn’t bad enough as it is.”

cHEESE Vs egg NOG
(Rock Paper Scissors Challenge, Round Six.)

cHEESE stared at egg NOG.

egg NOG stared at cHEESE.

"You must die!" cHEESE shouted, "I alone am best!"

"cHEESE," egg NOG said, "There is something that Obi-Wan YoGuRt did not tell you. cHEESE... I am your father."

There was an awkward, stupifying pause.

YoGuRt "ahem"ed, "Could you have delved any deeper into the climatic cliches?"

"Oh, shut up, YoGuRt." egg NOG said.

Smack.

Smack.

Draw.

egg NOG drew paper.

cHEESE drew scissors.

"Um, this isn't paper!" egg NOG said, trying to save his own ass, "This is... um... a black hole! Yeah! In your face, cHEESE! In your FACE!"

"Oh, too bad... TOO BAD, `CAUSE YOU LOST!" cHEESE said, before he turned his scissors so that the "points" stood on the palm of his hand, "This is a bitchy physics professor! He DISPROVES the black hole! I WIN!"

The Asylum fighters watching were in awe.

"DAMMIT!" egg NOG yelled, defeated, "This can't be! This is best of seven! You just violated a god-given rule to wrestling AND fighting! You big meaniehead!"

No he’s not. He can’t be, he’s my team mate.

“He represents another of the sins. Something that you are not. You agreed with me on Hawkins didn’t you? Didn’t you? You thought that searing his flesh would cure you of your guilt, free you of your suffering by bathing in his innocence. Well do you know what Scott represents?”

The Freak was whispering to himself. Oddball had noticed but hadn’t dared ask why this time. Damien had assumed that The Freak’s desecration of Hawkins at pAin would have cured him, albeit monetarily… put a stop to his bizarre illness. But for some reason The Freak hadn’t quite got over the Tommy Smyth incident yet… he still needed that little bit more.

“Brian… this fight. Scott is a team-mate, you’re not going to hurt him are you?” Oddball said.

Then, with a hint of spite… “Mind you, he IS a bit of a cunt.”

The Freak hesitated momentarily, applying his black paint over one eye.

“I am familiar with what I am doing. I’m not going to hurt him. I shall put him in his place and then abscond him to think about his new viewpoint on life. No longer will prominence be a concern of his.” The Freak said raspily as ever.

“That’s it. Fame. You never wanted fame, you never had the desire like other children and teenagers. Look at you. You’re thirty-three years old in May, you know. Thirty Three! You must be the oldest in this place. But Scott Holmes… he has something that you don’t. He has the DESIRE. Take it. It’s yours for the taking.”

…

No.

No more sacrifices.

“What, Brian?”

“Nothing.”

Slap threw a few punches towards his mirror, hopping from his left foot to right, every so often reaching up to readjust his brand new Pork Pie hat he stole… um… ‘borrowed’ from one of TMM’s Gypsy mates. TMM sat in a rocking chair behind Slapnutz, gently swaying back and forth, watching Slappy psyche himself up.

“He means business you know Slutnutz. I don’t reckon he’s goin’ to go easy on you.” TMM offered knowingly, as he rubbed his fingers in his extremely dodgy blonde facial hair. “Why not just send Gary the Gyppo out there and call it a day?”

“GARY~!” shouted Gary The Gyppo from the corner, with a worried smile.

“Shut up Gary. And TMM… I know he won’t go easy on me, I don’t want him to. I can take him, I’m the man, I’m great. He’s just a wankboy. How many titles did HE hold for TWELVE MONTHS in TFZ, eh?” Slapnutz replied. “None. My point exactly. I am fight GOD.”

At this point Zippy had to step in.

Ah yes, Zippy. I don’t think you’ve been introduced to Zippy yet, have you? Well. A long time ago… about ten months ago in fact, Zippy was shot in the neck by this Russian bitch that wanted Splink dead. She killed TMM many times but TMM lived as he is; of course, indestructible.

Zippy spent many a long night in rehabilitation, trying to regain his voice after the callous attack. But it was no use. So, instead… and in order to return to Splink’s side in action as soon as possible, Zippy selotaped a megaphone to a monotone and attached it to his throat.

Hence…

“SLAPNUTZ, YOU’RE RIGHT, DON’T LISTEN TO THIS DICK OVER HERE MATE. YOU’VE GOT IN YOU. BUT DON’T OVERESTIMATE YOU ABILITIES LAD, OR THE FREAK WILL TAKE ADVANTAGE AND RIP YOUR BOLLOCKS OFF. YOUR BOLLOCKS LAD. ARE YOU LISTENING!!?”

Slapnutz continued to punch the air in front of him, a look of sheer cocky determination on his face.

“I’ve got it in me… I’m the man, I’m the king… WOO, look at me go!” He chanted to himself, as TMM read the latest issue of Woman’s Weekly in the corner.

“You know Slap, the women in this mag are right hard. You should take a leaf out of their book. One of them, this one here,” TMM said, holding up the picture of the woman for added imagery… “Had an emergency colonisation with a bog brush after she found an abscess on her arse.”

“What kind of abscess? I’ve had loads of them in my time. Bit them off with my bare teeth, like my Granddad did in the war… poor bumpy bastard…” Slapnutz was obviously in the zone at this point, totally focused on his reflection dancing in the mirror.

“It was a Woj one. The annoying, unpoppable variety of abscess that froths obnoxious bile.”

“GARY~!”

“Shut up Gary. Right Teem. It’s time to get going.”

And with that, the scene faded out. Well, actually the cameraman fell over. Same thing really.

"Hey, whatcha doin'?"

He failed. Miserably.

While egg NOG had poked his head around a corner to look for the FtfWo, the opposition walked up behind egg NOG and looked at him strangely. Perfect looked to Dead who just shrugged.

"So, uh, whatcha doin'?"

egg NOG was visibly startled as he tried to quickly regain his composure.

"I, uh, nothing. Nothing at all."

"LIAR." Wilson boomed, scaring egg NOG once again.

egg NOG quickly jumped on the defensive, "no I'm not!"

"You bloody are, you tosser!" Perfect retorted.

egg NOG panicked. "I, uh, was just trying to get a cup of water. Yeah, that's it!"

Dead nodded. "Sure, ok. We're... just going to walk away now. In a direction opposite of the one you take, of course."

The members of the FtfWo took two steps back, turned, and started down the hall.

Perfect looked to his partner, "bloody strange, that twat is."

Dead nodded in agreement as he, Perfect, and Wilson turned and walked away. egg NOG stood, dejected that he was actually afraid to talk to FtfWo. Just then, cHEESE walked up behind him.

"Did you tell them?"

egg NOG paused as he looked at cHEESE, "it's on my list of things to do. Gotta size up the champs, can't be too cautious, you know."

"Oh for cry out loud! It's MEGA JOB! We've fought them, like, five times. We know everything there is to know about them!" cHEESE barked at NOG.

NOG frowned. "Ok, so they scared me! Are you happy now?!"

cHEESE smiled. "Very. Now let's go, we have titles to reclaim."

The Freak Vs Slapnutz

Slapnutz didn’t appear at the entranceway as the fans first expected, but soon the big screen flickered on with a jerky picture emulating from backstage, outside a door imprinted with the letters “SPLINK”.

Then… the door opened. And smacked the camera straight in the lens. A muffled “ARGH!” was heard as the cameraman flew across the room and smacked against the wall, cracking the camera lens and screaming.

“ARGH, mah FUCKING EYE!” he roared, as he attempted to stumble back to his feet. By the time the cracked lens had refocused, Slapnutz was mid-screen.

“Listen, fag. I said I wanted a Goldbe… um… a cool entrance and you’ve already fucked it up. Now film this,” Slapnutz said as he began swinging his arms violently, whilst walking down the hallway. TMM, Zippy and Splink Personal Security… AKA, TMM’s Gyppo mates all tagged along behind him.

Slapnutz eventually came to a locker, which he proceeded to headbutt multiple times. A small dot of blood became apparent on his forehead as he drew closer to the curtain.

Then… there he was. At the top of the ramp, breathing heavily as he flexed his muscles and motioned enthusiastically to the fans. TMM appeared slightly behind him… and then the pyros fired, spraying the pair in burning hot flame… but they didn’t flinch. Slapnutz puffed smoke out of his nostrils as he slowly made his way down the ramp. The Gyppos, believing that the pyros were fake, walked forth and were promptly set on fire. The smell of burning flesh and the sounds of tramp screams were heard menacingly throughout the arena as Slap stepped into the cage. TMM and Zippy retained their position at ringside.

After that rather baffling experience…

“UNITED BY VIOLENCE. DIVIDED BY DEATH.”

Okay, so at least HE’S kept the motto, eh?

“Faget” by Korn. Cheers. The Freak, complete with trenchcoat and weapons-cart pushing manager.

The pair stepped out onto the ramp, The Freak spinning in his usual patented manner, before making their way down to the cage. The Freak made sure to get a shovel from the cart, before removing his coat and stepping into the cage to a halo of roars. He shook his head slowly at Slapnutz, before the referee announced the match was underway.

The Freak didn’t budge an inch upon the announcement of the match’s commencement. He readied his shovel for usage as a wepon… but other than that, The Emasculator didn’t shift whatsoever.

“Fuck it,” said Slapnutz, as he charged into The Freak swinging his fists wildly. The Freak evaded Slapnutz’s blows with ease, and…

CLANG!

A shovel blow to the face, and Slapnutz’s nose exploded with blood… it was obviously broken, but not for the first time. A second, metallic shot with the gardening tool and Slapnutz was knocked flat on his arse. Not surprising really… as Slapnutz hadn’t fought in a singles match since seemingly the dawn of time.

The Freak shoved away the referee, who was about to begin a count, and stood over Slapnutz…

SMACK.

SMACK.

SMACK.

Three shovel shots, straight into the downed Scotsman’s face. Slapnutz’s eye instantly began to puff up and his shades were shattered, as the puddle of blood around his head began to increase in size. The Freak dropped the shovel upon the eighth skull-cracking blow with the object, before the shovel head itself was snapped off and flew into the fans… thus relegating his weapon to the floor.

The Freak raised his arms in the air and began to parade around the cage as the referee made his count on Slapnutz… that The Freak was sure, would be the only count of the bout.

1!

2!

3!

4!

5!

6!

7!

8!

9!

Te… no. Slapnutz… was on his feet.

The Freak turned around to the quite bizarre vision of Slapnutz… his face smeared in glistening poly blood sheets and splattered in his gore.

“FUCK OFF, Brian. NO CHANCE. I’m not going down that easily… I’m not a fucking wuss,” Slapnutz said, as he wrapped his hand around his nose and cracked it, sharply back into place. “Come on. Hit me with your best shot.”

The Freak instantly donned his boxer stance, his fists extended in front of him.

“Your funeral.”

Slapnutz growled and bore his teeth at The Freak’s sardonic sentiment, and charged at The Freak once more. As he drew closer, he extended his foot and attempted to deliver a kick to the stomach, but The Freak was quick to grab the leg and spin Slapnutz around… Slapnutz was now facing the opposite direction to The Freak. He braced himself for a high-impact move…

But it never came. Instead…

*Slap*

The Freak just slapped the back of his head.

Slapnutz turned around, enraged and infuriated, ready to smash The Freak into little tiny pieces with his bare hands… only to be knocked backward once more, this time by a full-on front kick to the face, Muay Thai style… delivered with all of his body.

Slapnutz soon regained his equilibrium… but by the time he did, he was already up on The Freak’s shoulder with a Hangman’s Backbreaker position. Without further ado… The Freak charged forwards and planted Slap directly on his head, very nearly snapping his neck with impact with a high-powered piledriver.

It wasn’t looking good for Slapnutz, as he hadn’t even got a hit on The Freak at this point. The Freak didn’t act cockily, he didn’t gloat… he didn’t even look pleased. He was just systematically doing his job. Almost like an automaton, there was no rejoice in what he was doing…

1!

2!

3!

4!

5!

6!

7!

8!

9…!

No ten. Slapnutz was up… AGAIN. He leaned against the cage rim and steadied himself, before feeling the back of his neck to check if the piledriver had done any damage. Upon realizing that it in fact hadn’t, he hopped forth and back into the fray and…

The Freak locked his arms around Slappy’s waist.

Overhead Belly to Belly suplex… sending Slapnutz sprawling into the cage wall, where upon he landed against the mesh and crashed down onto his skull at shocking velocity. Slap’s neck was once again twisted at a vile, sickening angle…

Weakness- Targeted.

Strategy- Determined.

With the accuracy of a surgeon’s scalpel, The Freak leapt, feet-first onto the rim of the cage and came FLYING back down with a textbook Capoeira Drop Sweep Kick, slamming his foot into the still upturned Slappy’s neck. Slapnutz rolled back onto his stomach, grunting with pain… as The Freak kipped up to his feet.

Slapnutz was promptly dragged back onto his vertical base… and The Freak bear-hugged the slightly smaller man. From the outside, Oddball hollered for Slap’s death…

The Freak locked in Slapnutz’s leg under one arm and his head under the other as the man’s cheered desperately, then…

Slapnutz rebelled. A kidney punch later and Slapnutz had managed to relinquish The Freak’s hold on his leg… but The Freak still had a very firm grasp of the lighter man’s bonce. Careful to avoid a DDT of any description, Slapnutz charged forwards, slamming The Freak’s back- and unfortunately, his own head- into the mesh.

Slapnutz leaned back slowly, trying to avoid any punches from The Red Ripper… and planted three solid left hooks into the Emasculator’s chin. The Freak rocked backwards but didn’t quite tip over the edge of the cage… although Slap decided he was going to change all of that.

He leaned over the cage to TMM, who passed him a folding steel chair… and readied himself to swing.

CLANG!

Yes, Clang… as just prior to Slappy rolling the steel into The Freak’s face, the Mr. Switchblade 2003 candidate dodged out of the way and the chair connected with nothing but steel. Slapnutz turned around…

SMACK!!

Sidekick to the chair to Slappy’s face. Slapnutz dropped the chair and staggered backwards… turning and slumping over the cage, only to be given a high heel kick by Oddball from the outside… knocking Slapnutz back into the lion’s den. As Slap staggered towards The Freak, he was taken down with…

The Exxa Deathlock.

Even JPP had to comment on the sheer… strangeness of this. It was almost like The Freak was collecting the moves that he was beaten with… the Exxa Deathlock being the first and last of those, as of yet.

The Freak reared back on the strenuous crossface for quite some time, as the blood oozed from Slapnutz’s tattered forehead. He banged his hands against the mat not out of submission, but out of struggling to escape the lethal hold and while it wasn’t as deadly as Exxa’s own… it was executed with shocking skill and precision.

TMM banged on the cage from the outside, attempting to get the fans worked into a frenzy to try and give Slapnutz strength… but it didn’t work. The fans wanted The Zone to stay together… they just wanted Slap to bang the mat and get this over with.

But he didn’t. The Freak added more and more pressure, adding more and more strain to the supple but surely pained neck of the Scottish Sellout… each wrench back on the hold caused Slap to scream in agony. The Freak’s hands became totally caked in blood as Slap’s forehead dripped claret… yet he still refused to quit.

“Submit. End it.” The Freak said calmly, as he yanked back on the neck once more.

“FUCK… ARGH… YOU!” Slapnutz bellowed.

“Submit. Please. For your own good… for MY own good… tap…”

Slapnutz wouldn’t even contemplate it. He wanted fame, he wanted glory… he wanted to beat The Freak. He couldn’t tap. He wouldn’t. The pain began to build in his eyes… the fans, all looking concerned in their seats… they all turned red. Then dark red. Almost black…

“Tap you fucking arsehole, TAP!” Screamed Oddball into his newly acquired microphone. “WHY won’t you just admit defeat? My man has you beat. You’re done for… why CONTINUE to PISS OFF the FANS, by prolonging the affair? TAP. TAP… TAP TAP TAP FUCKING TAP!”

Slapnutz couldn’t. He could barely see through his own pain, but he wouldn’t tap… not even when the chant began. The fans, wanting this to end… screaming as one.

“TAP!”

“TAP!”

“TAP!”

“TAP!”

“TAP!”

But he wouldn’t… the pain in his neck, the wrenching in his arm, his own blood seeping between his eyelids and staining his pupils. It mattered not. He wanted the fame he came here for… he wouldn’t tap.

“TAP.” The Freak said gruffly, louder than before.

“NO.” Slapnutz moaned, somewhere between a sob and a scream.

“TAP. FOR YOUR OWN SAKE. TAP.”

“Not… a fucking… chance… UGH!” Slapnutz hissed, biting his cheek and tasting his own iron blood on his tongue. The pain started to burn in the back of his neck, then it slowly meandered down his spine. Soon his whole back was alight with agony.

He used his free arm to push himself off the mat… pushing a little bit further away from his own pool of blood with every heave…

“RUAHAHRGH!” Slap screamed animalisticly, as The Freak was finally thrown from him.
The fans were shocked… their mouths were agape. Oddball was livid. Slapnutz was relieved… but he still couldn’t move. The pain that had been bestowed on him was so great that he was all but paralysed… his final act being to throw The Freak from himself.

The Freak stumbled to his feet, his arms completely drenched in Slapnutz’s blood. He took in a deep breath, and stared at the ceiling. His face was still it’s usual picture of vacancy, but now there was something else there…

Slapnutz, meanwhile, managed to somehow drag himself halfway to his feet against the cage, as Zippy and TMM egged him on. But before he knew it.

He was dragged totally to his feet, and spun around to face The Freak.

“I… I presaged you. I tried to get this over with, you know I…”

Slapnutz fired a half-hearted shot with his good hand into The Freak’s face, following it up with a kick to the balls. The Freak coughed in pain and remained stunned just long enough for Slapnutz to hop up onto the cage, flying down and catching The Freak in mid air in a Front Facelock…

The Slappy Driver!?

No.

The Freak totally threw his weight in the opposite direction, smashing Slapnutz into the mat with a Northern Lights Suplex. He rolled through, picked Slapnutz up…

Then hit another one.

And another one.

And another. Another. Another.

Then… as Slap lay on the mat, blood trickling from his bloody gashes. The Freak reached into his pocket, and pulled out his switchblade, the light smacking against it and causing a glare in the cameras’ lenses.

Without further ado, TMM hopped the rim and was in the cage, his arms wrapped around The Freak and attempting to wrestle the blade away from him. The Freak grabbed TMM by his hair and managed to whip him over his shoulder and back out of the cage… but this still gave Slapnutz just enough time to get to his feet and kick the blade from The Freak’s hand.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing!?” Slapnutz wailed at The Freak, who was clearly out of it at this point.

“Greed. That’s what you have seized. It’s your… niche, you want fame don’t you? You think that you… deserve that celebrity status, you think that you really have what it takes, the goods that you must possess in order to… cut it? The messenger arrived with a late package for you, son… you’re naught. Yet you hang onto this ‘fame’ as if it was a tangible thing? I…” The Freak trailed off, rambling rather incoherently. Slapnutz, infuriated, drove his fists into The Freak’s face in one-two combos.

Then, The Freak caught Slap’s arm. He kicked him in the stomach, and nipped behind Slap… planting Mr. Nutz with a Backdrop Driver. Slapnutz, despite the massive damage inflicted on his neck, remained conscious- but the throbbing in his temples and pressure behind his face was so strong…

The Freak grabbed Slapnutz by his hair and hurled him, neck-first, into the mesh. Slapnutz recoiled and landed against the mesh in a seated position, and from there… The Freak yanked on Slapnutz’s hair as he hammered fist, after fist, after fist… into Slapnutz’s face.

SMACK.

SMACK.

SMACK!

SMACK!!

He kept going. The punches kept coming. He couldn’t stop himself…

SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK!!!

Then… “Climbatize” by Prodigy.

As The Freak dropped to his knees, whispering into Slapnutz’s ear in the gore, Stranglehold made their presence known on-stage. Ruben Ross, Biggs, Garvin.

Each armed with a single lead pipe.

They charged down the ramp at a sprint, first decking TMM with the pipe and taking out Oddball to clear the field. They clambered up the steps, and gathered around the still-kneeling, still chameleon-still like Freak.

“Oh, my…” The Freak said as he drew a *second* switchblade from his costume. But Stranglehold didn’t back off… they just drew closer, and closer. “Well, gentlemen, it seems that we are at a stalemate, yes?”

“No.” said Garvin dully, as he swung his pipe… missing his target, as The Freak ducked and side kicked The Original in the back of the head. Biggs swung his pipe but also misconnected, and was gifted with a single switchblade wound to his side… but Ross connected full-on, with The Freak’s face.

The Emasculator stumbled back, allowing the Bear With A Sore Head called Biggs to smack The Freak atop his skull with the end of his pipe. Garvin also received his retribution, dropping his pipe onto the floor and drilling the larger man onto it with the Original Slam.

Slapnutz watched from beneath his own blood as Stranglehold laid into The Freak with pipe attack after pipe attack, beating down on the various body parts of The Original Outcast. The Freak tried to rebel, but he could never quite fight off all three of them… within seconds, he’d be lying flat on his back again.

Slapnutz pondered his next move.

Then, gradually… he rose to his feet, blood splattered over his face, down his neck and across his shirt. And despite the woozy sensation he was experiencing… Slappy’s next act was a testament to the lad’s sheer determination.

He pounced on the members of Stranglehold. At first the men laughed it off and slammed their iron pipes into the face of the Scotsman but, their laughter soon turned to confusion. Slapnutz just wasn’t feeling it. He kept coming.

DDT to Garvin.

Punch combo to Ross.

SLAPPY DRIVER to Biggs.

As the trio began to get up, Slappy picked up a pipe of his own from Oddball’s cart… wielding it at the Strangleholders ferociously. Ross charged in but was dispatched with a pipeshot. Biggs rolled to the outside of the cage… but Garvin stayed, attempting to take Slapnutz down with a clothesline. Slapnutz ducked, turned…

WHAM.

DOUBLE pipeshot. One in each hand. Smell the blood, smell the cheers, smell Jeff Garvin falling to the outside. The Freak watched from his propped up position in the corner of the cage as Slap dispelled the three men.

Then, as Stranglehold departed… came the moment the fans had been waiting for.

Slapnutz extended his hand and helped The Freak to his feet. In the middle of the cage, they stood nose to nose.

“I’m worthy aren’t I?” Slapnutz said, as blood streamed down his face and trickled off of his nose.

“I never said that you weren’t.”

Slapnutz smiled, and clasped The Freak’s hand in his own.

The fans cheered, as the speakers erupted.

“UNITED BY VIOLENCE. DIVIDED BY DEATH.”

"We're out here tonight for one reason and one reason only."

Fans already knew why. cHEESE didn't need to say, but he did anyway.

"The Asylum Team Titles. Our titles. Titles that we should have never lost to begin with. So help me God, we're not leaving without them."

Before cHEESE could even continue with anything similar to a rant, it happened. Their music played.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck the fWo! Fuck the fWo!"

Followed by porno music.

Fans didn't know if they wanted to cheer the champions or boo them. So they did a little of both and it sounded something like "huhzuhruhwoompah" only with more mumbling added to it. Dead and Perfect both appeared under the Asylumtron, the belts resting comfortably on their shoulders. Perfect smirked as Dead checked to make sure his microphone was on. After several minutes of looking, he started to talking.

Not surprising, it was off.

He began to rant on about many a topic, a little about the war on Iraq, his thoughts of George W. Bush as our Nation's leader, dabbed a little with talks of the economy, and even shared a recipe for a mean-tasting steak. Sadly no one heard him, and the world missed out on ultimate enlightenment.

Finally, Perfect pointed out that he wasn't on. Dead looked surprised as he turned his microphone to the "on" position.

"No."

"I'm sorry," cHEESE asked, confused like everyone else, "what was that?"

Dead raised a finger and waved it from side to side. "You don't get a title shot."

"Is that so?" cHEESE said with a chuckle. "And you can deny us the shot because... ?"

"I said so." Dead replied in his most imposing voice, which really wasn't that imposing.

"Champions' discretion."

"Oh really?" cHEESE said with a nod, turning toward egg NOG. "Did you hear that? We don't get a title shot because they said so."

cHEESE passed the microphone to his smirking partner.

"You know, that's actually fine by us. Granted of course, the belts were won via outside interference under wrestling rules, which everyone knows means an instant disqualification. I.E. Mr. cHEESE and I are still champions. Now how's that sound, chief?" NOG chuckled, "you just saved us a match."

egg NOG smiled. "Maybe I should add the little clause that states former champions get the first shot at the belts. Face it... 'blokes' you're going to give us our match."

Dead and Perfect looked confused, then it all shifted toward angered. Perfect reached over and snatched the mic out of Dead's grasp. "Listen here you bloody tosser! These are our belts! You can't have them! So SOD OFF!"

"Fine, just give us what we want and we'll leave."

"You starting to piss me bloody the hell off!" Perfect roared. "I should come down there and beat the lot of you!"

cHEESE smirked. "Please do."

Perfect threw the microphone down, making a loud pop as he did so. He and started made their way toward the Asylum, the fans' excitement starting to build with each step that FtfWo took toward the Asylum.

The two entered the cage, the bell sounded.

The match was under way.

FtfWo Vs Legion of Dairy
(Team Titles)

Ten count.

Goodbye.

The lights turned back to the regular color and fans exploded. Two of the men they knew, “Hardcore Homo” Jamal Wilson, and “Hot Stuff” Chino Hernandez. Jamal Wilson was known from PIW and Action!, and Chino was known for his short stint as Jamal’s partner in Action! Jamal and Chino both had baseball bats.

The third man in the ring, the one the crowd didn’t recognize, was screaming at the top of his lungs.

“GET THEM!” the man screamed.

Jamal and Chino went and attacked egg NOG and cHEESE, the only two men standing in the ring, with their baseball bats. NOG tried to duck, but he got hit in the chest. cHEESE didn’t know what to do, he looked at his fallen tag team partner, then the recovering Dead and Perfect. When he turned back to Jamal and Chino, Jamal hit him in the stomach with the baseball bat. Chino then bashed his bat over cHEESE’s back, sending him down.

Dead got up and screamed "ARRRRMMMMDRRRAAAGGGG!!!!!", but he got hit in shin with the bat as he finished, he grabbed his shin and began leaping up and down, before he fell victim to another Jamal Wilson baseball bat shot.

Perfect got up, and looked down at his partner, he screamed and tried to run, but Chino Hernandez hit him in the back with the bat. The man with Jamal and Chino continued to scream, he screamed for a microphone, and got one thrown to him.

He suddenly calmed down and stomped Dead on the chest twice.

“Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Frank Allen Greenberg, F.A.G for short. I’m the manager of Jamal and Chino, and I’d like to put everybody in the Asylum on notice. The San Francisco Connection is here, and we’re here to stay!”

The crowd didn’t know what to do, they were silent, but shocked.

F.A.G went into his suit pocket and he pulled out two spray paint cans. He handed one to Chino and one to Jamal.

Jamal and Chino began to spray paint everybody in the ring with sparkling pink spray paint.

They sprayed painted “SFC” on the back of all the men, then rubbed the sparkles all over their bodies. They then dropped the spray paint cans and began to wave to the crowd, who decided to jeer them.

“Dancing Queen” by Abba blasted over the PA system as the lights turned a bright shade of pink. F.A.G led “Hot Stuff” Chino Hernandez and “Hardcore Homo” Jamal Wilson out of the ring. Jamal and Chino held hands and skipped away happily waving to the fans.

But at least we have a common cause.

Ricky Wasp Vs Venoma Star

From wherever he was in jail, anyway. Joe Campbell had pulled a swift one on that man, and now, with the Stranglehold dead, dying, with the return to fighting, with TNN preparing to hold down the censor button again and deal with the Soccer Moms Network as they screamed about the vulgarity, the blood, the sex, the evilness that Joe was spreading. The Asylum, now, was back to the basics.

Man-against-woman carnage. Female/male non-sexual devestation. Blood, baby, blood.

"Only in America!" Don King would cry, if he was Joe Campbell's agent.

Of course, with what was about to go down, Don King would have a lot more controversy than a psycho black man with a squeaky voice.

Ricky Wasp stepped over the top of the Asylum's mesh, and prepared for a messy fight.

"Capricorn" by 30 Seconds To Mars. Loners always love being #1, really. Venoma Star was aiming for that special number, the loneliest of all such ones. It was where she would feel right, where she would feel worth living again. There was no stopping her from taking on the bullish racist down thirty feet away from her. There was no stopping her from beating on the bullish racist.

She was Venoma Star. She was going to do what they said she couldn't do.

She hopped over the Asylum's cage, and prepared to do battle.

Ricky charged first, and Venoma easily sidestepped it. Ricky kept on going, hitting his ribs against the cage. Venoma went from behind and began hitting rapid-fire sidekicks to Ricky's temple as he leaned his head onto the rim of the Asylum, knocking him against the chain-link. She backed up, and rushed forward, dropping her feet, cartwheeling forward in a hand-stand and swinging downward against his kidneys. She rolled backwards, pressing from her hands and striking a low stance as the big monster of a man got to his feet.

Ricky took one step towards her. She kicked out his leg, and gave him one solid hook to the temple. His eyes glazed up, his nose began to bleed; and Ricky Wasp fell to his knees.

Venoma watched this, not sure if she could believe it. Here was a seven-foot man, on his knees. She had to jump to hit his temple, almost pushing the force of her punch into a negative zone.

But Ricky was down on his knees.

She shrugged.

And swatted him with an ax kick. Twice.

Ricky hit the ground. The blood trailed from his nose onto the mat.

1,

2,

3,

4,

5,

6,

7,

8,

9,

10.

As simple as that. A man was defeated. A man was gone.

And Venoma had a win under her belt.

As he woke up, got to his feet, he became only a bigger target for the fighting faithful to aim for. Bags of fries, popcorn, soda drinks, they splashed on his chest and shoulders, across the bandage that covered the cross-shaped trench implanted in his chest from pAin.

Finally, something larger than the small projectiles available at a nearby concession stand flew into the Asylum -- it hit Ricky right in the chest. Whoever had tossed this item, big, black, rectangular; a suicase, almost, that person had a hell of an arm. It was a mascara case. An intricate one at that. When Ricky opened it, powder flew every which way from being shook up through its three seconds of travel.

Ricky closed it. Looked towards the sky.

Whispered "Every artist is a cannibal, every artist, a thief," and climbed over the rim of the Asylum, towards the back, still being pelted by food.

What the hell was he doing?

That's just Joe's logic.

"That was nice."

My face was in my hands again without me knowing it, I turned to greet her.

Dounia Nashdeet.

"Ha. That was nice? Well, bitch I can be mean if you want." I said. Dounia took a seat next me and smiled.

"I've gotta say Villam, you've got quite the knack for pissing people off and stirring shit up." She said.

"It's a gift." I said as I set the Asylum title across my lap, marveling at the beauty of something that I once considered useless. I sighed with pride and that started the chain reaction of silence. Dounia looked at the title then back down to the floor where my mask sat on the floor between my legs. I had been staring into it before she came in...I don't know why.

I felt her head turn to my eyes.

"You're hurting."

It was a simple statement. But, one who's truth cut me to the bone of my soul. I wanted to reply with something witty like: 'Not as much as Ace will tonight' or something like that but it just didn't seem right. I wanted even more to set my head in her lap like I would do with Contessa sometimes...but that would've been just wrong. Instead, I put my head in face and sighed.

"Yeah, I am."

Villam just stared at Mike.

Then, he smiled.

"Hi, Mike. Remember that time I beat the shit out of you on National Television?"

Mike gulped, "Er...I-"

"Of course you do, fucky!" Villam said while he violently patted Mike's shoulder. "And I'm sure Ass Crater remembers the last time we got in the cage, as well....

'Neglected to say anything'?

Well, of course he did. What word or sentence can he possibly utter that will lighten the severity of the beating he is set to receive tonight? Mr. Crater didn't say anything because there ain't nothing to fucking say. All pleas of 'Gosh, please go easy on me Mr. King' will be responded with a swift ass kicking. I'mean the guy has had his ass handed to him by every little thug on this roster...what makes him think that he can pose even a remote threat to me?

What? Because he's a former 21W world champion?

So fuckin' what?

I can win the 21W world championship with my legs tied behind my ass. Shit, I'll go do it tomorrow if you want. Yep, I'll waltz right in there in a fucking wheelchair - with my leg tied behind my ass and beat the shit into whatever turd is currently holding the belt.

Or perhaps it's because he's German?

NEWFLASH! You fucking kid. You German's have been pussies every since World War II.

No one is afraid of you anymore. Americans are more afraid of Sweden sending us another crap band like The Hives. 'Hate to say I told you so', my dick.

Tell you what, Ass Crater...you put on a turban, give yourself some stupid name like "cheenu"...and start flying a plane at me...and just maybe...maybe...I'll be afraid of you....

...and by "maybe" I mean: "You're a fucking faggot."

This is fucking crap.

I come here, fresh off of two victories for the Asylum and *I'm* the bad guy? Fuck, I guess I know how Ruben Ross feels. And to top it all off, Joe Campbell doesn't throw someone good at me...like...

...like...

...Well, frankly there isn't anyone good enough to beat me. But, I mean...ASS CRATER?

That's insulting. It's a joke.

Yeah, it's a fucking joke and the punch line is going to be on Ace's fucking face. All kidding aside, currently I am an angry, angry nigger and if anyone is going to stand in the way of me reaming Joe in the ass with the ghost of my cock and slitting his throat with the same knife I killed my brother...then God help that person. Because I'm not going to stop beating your fucking face in until you're good and bloody.

I'm the motherfucker who fucked mothers in the Asylum, way before Miles Blender. I made rape all the rage and I think I saw "Killing people" as one of this years fashion "Do's" in VICE Magazine. Killing my flesh and blood? That should've been no surprise...

You people just forgot who the fuck you were dealing with."

And with that Villam Ender headed to the cage.

Villam Ender© Vs Ace Carter
(Asylum Championship)

POW!

"Six Shooter" by Queens of the Stone Age. Gunfire Pyros. Orgasmic hatred. Villam bursts through the curtains with the Asylum Championship firmly around his waist.

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

Shoot, shoot, shoot, shoot, shoot, shoot

POW!

Shoot, shoot, shoot, shoot, shoot, shoot

POOOOWWWWWW!!!

Villam roughly hands an official the Asylum Championship and hops up onto the apron-

WHIFF!

Villam hops back down.

Whoa. A missed cheap shot from Ace.

Looks like he might fit nicely here in the Asylum.

Ace circles the cage like a shark giving Villam a chance to climb up the steel steps and jump over into the Asylum.

The bell sounds and Ace charges....

BIFF!

Quick and tight hitting left-handed uppercut directly into Ace's jaw. Ace is sent tumbling backwards, Villam this time does the charging and nails him with a running haymaker sending blood spraying from Ace's now-bleeding mouth.

Ace is still on his feet however and he fights back with hook punch of his own...

WHIFF!

Ducked.

And a knee to the gut follows.

Grabbing the back of Carter's head Villam leaps into the air and drops back down to the canvas burying Ace's face into his knee with a loud crunch. Still grabbing the back of his head Villam practically drags Ace over to the rim of the Asylum and beginning ramming young Carter's face into it - over and over.

Villam then laughs a deep and evil laugh as he rake's his face across the rim a few feet. Villam turns Carter over facing him so that the back of his neck presses hard against the rim...Villam held him there by the neck...then....

Ugh.

He rubs his spiked bracelet's into Carter's already bloody and scarred face.

"Fucking kid." Villam says as he throws Ace down to the mat. Villam walks over to the center of the cage, putting some distance between him and the youngster.

"Come on, Colonel Clink. Get the fuck up, you're borin' me..."

As if Villam controlled Carter with a remote control, Ace slowly got to his feet shaking off the effects of Villam's stalwart offense. Ace turns to see Villam nearly standing on the other side of the cage. With a growl Carter, yet again charges Villam...and Villam begins charging towards Carter as well...

Then, Villam leaps up into the air and twists his body to the side......

Dropkick?

Nope.

Heaven crushes Hell

Villam while in mid-air scissors his legs and nails Ace in the chest with a kick from one leg and nails him in the back of the head with the other. The crowd is on their feet in amazement as Ace and Villam tumble to the mat and Villam locks on a very rough looking reverse-arm bar.

Yep, just a normal everyday armbar.

Well, with the addition of Villam violently punching the shit out of Ace's shoulder.

Punch, punch, punch and then every so often Villam would use both hands and try to pull Ace's arm out of his shoulder. Villam let up on Ace and pulled him to his feet by that now fucked up arm. Villam twisted it, and dropped him right about down to the mat...the pain from the hold now doubled as Ace began screaming for his life.

"Don't you fucking tap out, you little bitch."

Wrench.

"You hear that? You fucking tap out and I'll break your fucking arm."

Wrench.

"I'll break your fucking arm and kill you."

WRENCH.

"Good boy."

Villam let up and pulled Ace up by the arm again...only to kicked a stooped over Ace Carter, right in the teeth. Ace fell face first onto the ground and Villam stood on his back.

Rampant booing.

Mounting him on his back, Villam laughed a bit and slapped Ace around in the back of head.

Stretching out Ace's arm Villam...reared his head back...

SMASH!

Iron Mask headbutt right into the shoulder blade.

SMASH!

Booing.

SMASH!

More Booing.

Villam stands up and takes off the mask throwing against the wire mesh...

"Come on, get up! This beating isn't shit, kid. Not compared to what I'm going to give Campbell."

The eunuch's eyes scanned for the first camera and looked right into it. "YOU HEAR THAT CAMPBELL!? You're fucking next."

Full of rage, Villam runs over and kicks Ace in the head. Villam folds him arms and then rolls Ace over onto his back with the his boot. The crowd begins getting more vocal with Villam.

"YOU'RE FUCKING SICK!!" - "YOU'RE GOING TO HELL, YOU SON OF A BITCH." - "FUCKING PUSSY!"

Villam lifted that right arm...

Locked it in a standard armbar.

"AHHHHHHH-FUCK!! I Qu-MPGH"

Villam mounted Ace and started pummeling his face, Beserkergang style. This match was a total squash as it was and now it just turned into a testament to needless and bloody violence.

Welcome back Asylum.

Pulling Ace to his arm Villam walked over to the rim of the Asylum...and jumped over it.

Eliminated? Ring out?

No.

Villam sat on the apron holding Ace's arm and pulling it downward, still wrenching and twisting for all it was worth. Which wasn't much apparently...Villam stood up on the apron and called for a steelchair. An official reluctantly passed him one and Villam hopped by over the railing...and stood over Ace's shoulder which hung over the rim of the Asylum by the arm pit.

And with cold eyes, that looked like the soul had been hollowed out...

Villam delivered.

WHAM!

Chairshot.

WHAM!

WHAM!

After Chairshot.

WHAM!

WHAM!

WHAM!

After motherfucking chairshot.

Ace was now sobbing into the wire mesh.

In mere minutes of the starting bell Villam had reduced a grown man to tears.

And Villam wasn't finished. Casting the chair to the side he stepped back over onto the apron and placed a foot on Ace's rim-attached shoulder...twisting Ace's whole arm by the wrist...Villam straighten it out...

No.

Villam took a couple of breaths...

And quickly yanked the entire arm around and up with a bone cracking *crunch*.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHGGGAAAAAWWWDDDDDD"

In one sickening motion Villam had ripped Ace's arm out of the shoulder socket and had twisted the wrist beyond the breaking point.

The crowd was in quiet awe...

Death was one thing...but for whatever reason...breaking bones was another.

A paper cup missle bounced right off of Villam's cheek. Villam face remained etched in an emotionless stare as he climbed back into the Asylum for the second time. Villam walked over to his mask and put it on...

Then...he walked over to the steel chair.

He still wasn't done.

*CLUNG*

*CLUNG*

*CLUNG*

Villam slammed the steelchair into his mask, and the bell tolled for Ace Carter.

Villam didn't even wait for Ace to get to his feet...he just charged him and lit into the poor kid with chairshots.

Six in rapid percussion.

Then, like Ace was garbage...he picked him up and tossed him unceremoniously out of the cage.

The winner is obvious.

The villain was obvious.

Villam blocked out the calls for his head and cries to help Ace Carter...because only a split second after the decision...Villam was already formulating a strategy to destroy whomever stood in his way. Despite the newborn outpour of hatred in his directon.

Persecution?

Villam Ender will take all of it, thanks.

Joe Campbell lean forward on his desk, his first show back out of the way without incident... well, without too much incident anyway, Carter had broken his wrist but it was injury easily repaired in the modern day... it was an improvement from hearts being torn out, at the least.

"Dez! A word." Joe spoke up, as his door opened and the large frame of "No Way Out" Dez Aragon slowly marched through it.

"Nice job out there tonight Dez, not many occasions have I actually been able to sit here at the end of the night without some kind of head injury, apart from that bint slipping in here for a quick rant, you were quality, and she was quite fit anyway... I reckon I'm in there." Joe chuckled, licking his lips as Dez sat in the seat before him.

"So anyway, with that objective out of the way... I can't be anything but pleased, you haven't failed me yet Dez... there isn't a single streak of piss on the roster that hasn't let me down at some point or other, but you... you're different, I can see it in your eyes, you won't fuck up... which is why I'm going to ask you to do something for me, something that I'd never ask anyone else to do, if you want something doing right... do it yourself, usually I live by that...

... especially when it comes topping folk, but not anymore... I've got total confidence in you being able to pull this off." Joe said, a sly grin creeping across his face.

"Just give me the details, I'll take care of it." Dez answered, folding his arms.

"We'll see about that... I haven't told you what you have to do yet." Joe said, looking Dez in the eye... searching for any sign of doubt.

"I solve problems, Joe." Dez began "You of all people should know that, if the money is there... I don't care, whatever it is... I'll take care of it."

Joe smiled, he admired the confidence of a man who was about to be sent to do the unspeakable.

"Alright then, here's the deal... a couple of months ago my wife turned up around here, at the time she didn't have any part in the promotion, she'd sold her shares... she was not an active roster member and therefore, the fact the one of our sick fuckers carved up here face means that I am totally liable for any charges that she might decide to press, that means that in no uncertain terms, I'm fucked... now the fucking up left her a bit jangled, until lately she's been too screwed up to make a statement but my contacts think that she's back on the road to recovery... which simply won't do.

Lets cut to the chase Dez, my wife needs to have an accident." Joe said, leaning forward in his seat.

"I understand." Dez replied "Where is she?"

"Erm... in a Hospital." Joe replied with a smirk, he was trying to crack a joke but this was not the time... he could tell by the intense expression worn on Aragon's face, that he was already plotting out how he would do the deed, mentally.

"Right." Joe said, shifting nervously as he reached for a pen and started jotting down details "She's at this address... on this ward, I can get you in there nice and easy... like I said, I've got contacts here and there, as far as anyone is concerned you'll be with me on the night things go down, anyway... I was thinking something simple, pillow over and head... couple of quick shots?" Joe said, sliding his gun across the desk.

"You can use that." Joe smiled "It's not registered, I've offed a few with it myself, can't be traced back to me."

Dez examined the weapon, before shaking his head and sliding it back across the desk with a quick "No thanks... I was thinking of something a little more discreet."

"Fair enough..." Joe replied "Should be plenty of surgical tools hanging around, windpipe is a pretty frag-"

"No." Dez cut in "There won't be any blood... no cutting, no shooting... just quick, simple... and effective."

Joe smiled.

"Sorted." He replied "Anyway... just make sure you get in and out nice and quick, there should be a little lapse in their security when the time is right... just give me a call and I'll make it happen."

Dez nodded, taking the jotted down address from Joe before folding it up and slipping it into his pocket, he turned and made his way out of the room... but as he did, expressions and emotions flashed through Joe Campbell... regret, remorse... refusal.

"DEZ!" He cried out... getting to his feet and stopping him at the last minute, maybe this was it... the proof that there was a heart, a soul somewhere deep inside the Asylum owner.

Dez turned his head, as Campbell breathed heavily for a second or two... until a hideous smirk crept across his face.

"Good luck."

Dez Aragon said no more, he closed to door behind him and the deed was done.

They say that death has no face, but as Michelle Campbell would soon see...

... he does.