You win something back after thinking it was gone forever, and someone else takes it away.

Let the hate begin.

Drums, Two guitars and bass all fought against each other until a singers voice started to breathe heavily into his microphone.

The drums kept the beat until...

Dundun~dundun-dundun.
Dundun~dundun-dundun.

Pyros went boom.

Everyone in attendance went "Boo"

Must have read a thousand faces!
Must have robbed them of their cause
Sickened thirst, sickened thirst, Keeps it together!
Soft white glow in the cranium
A bulls eye made sedated

BEWARE! BEWARE! BEWARE!

"Arcarnsenal" by At the Drive In

Enter the newly re-crowned Asylum Champion, Villam Ender. Bandages wrapped around his left fist, forearm, shoulder and forehead. Around his neck was a layer of bloody gauze. But, newly crowned or not Villam was still heavily hated and was jeered throughout his cocky entrance. Villam demanded a microphone straight away and put the Asylum across the rim of the Asylum as he stepped into the cage.

The music died down. But the expression of hatred, didn't.

Villam just nodded to himself and started to speak...

"First of all, I'd like to congratulate the "Masked Brawler" on winning Mind Games. I'm sorry I couldn't be there, but I was busy being something you will never be...

...a true champeen.

That's right, Mr. MB. Your work was stellar at Mind Games. Because it takes a special kind of fighter to go through an entire roster of drug-addicts, wrestlers and shit breeds.

NOT.

That's right, I said "Not". It's 1993 again, now what bitches?"

Cue: Booing

Villam un-masked face turned serious for a bit...

"Ok, so...

Wazzup, guys?

So, no 'thank you' for the match of the year, Mr. Human Highlights Reel? No, "Thank you, for providing us the most violent form of Asylum entertainment since the last time you stepped into the cage?"..."

Villam just shook his head in mock-disappointment as the crowd continued to boo. Then he picked up the Asylum Championship and put it across his shoulders.

The people started to cheer as Villam seemed to be leaving the cage...

...and they started to boo again when Villam fell just short of the cage and took a long look at the curtains that led to the back.

"And no, "Thank you for showing us how a true champion fights?" No, "Thank you for showing us why you are the Asylum Champion in the first place?" No, "Thank you, for shutting us up and showing us our places in the Asylum and why you and ONLY are called the GOD OF FIGHT?""

Villam took a long look at the belt over his shoulder.

"No, thank you's for the little eunuch that could, eh?

It don't surprise me, none.

You motherfuckers...each and everyone of you. From the fan in Row B, to the guy with a messiah complex called - Steve. From the slack-jawed yokel in Seat 67A. To the red haired, faggity, ass-bitch with a wrestler gimmick who's gay.

Each of you.

Make me sick."

Jeering was the crowds only response. They saved him the Pot, Kettle, Black rebuttal.

Villam spoke on...

"I work, and I work and I work.

I train, and I train and I train.

I fight, and I fight and I fight.

Each and every night.

There hasn't been a Show or PPV that's gone by, where I haven't defended this belt. There hasn't been a time since my return that my name hasn't fallen in the mouth of some hardcore blood mark or some passer-by of our sport. There hasn't been a time since my return that Asylum hasn't been in the fore-thought of some medium because of my actions; be it a New York Times article highlighting the dangers of televised pit fighting due to my raping of Rave Caprino. Or a special news report on the legalities of deathmatches due to the outright slaying of my half brother..."

Villam began to pace the cage a bit.

"It was all me. It was my pain. It was all my struggle.

Token Weed isn't filling these seats. Token Weed doesn't work as hard as I do, he doesn't train as hard as I do. He's out for the quick buck. He doesn't care about being the best through training and suffering. He'd much rather hunker around backstage, wrapped in his false assumptions and pathetic confidences. He'd much, much rather ride someone’s coat tails or use their name to get him to the top. When was the last time...Token Weed has even come close to matching my performance?

That's right. He never has.

And he never will..."

Villam stood tall with pride in his gray eyes. The mask shoved behind his neck, staring upside down at the people behind him.

"But it's not just Mr. Sean Williams.

I remember when the Zone stepped foot into the Asylum. At the time, you people, weren't 100% sure on if you should hate me or not. Even though, I was fighting for the Asylum. I was fighting for *you* people.

Instead of cheering me, saying..."Hey, this guy is fighting for us."...you cheered the first pack of jackals that roamed in here from shit city. You cheered The Freak. You cheered Splink."

Villam shook his head. "...And even after I killed Exxa...

After *I* had single-handedly destroyed the "Wrestling Threat".

After *I* reversed the "Stranglehold" on the Asylum.

You people didn't give me a "Yo, thanks for bringing fighting back." or anything, did you?

No, you people went right on, cheering the get-a-long gang. You people acted like it made a bit of difference that they had cleared out Universal, Rubes and the bunch.

Neverminding the fact that *I* did all the actual work. Neverminding the fact that *I* was the one that pierced the ogre’s heart. The one that...cut the serpent's head off.

No one noted that Freakie-Deek and co were getting recognition off of *my* struggle.

*My* fight.

No, you people were upset because for 5 seconds Exxa became the greatest face in Asylum history and *I* killed him.

I was the killer.

Not the user.

Not the victim.

And thusly, I bore the killer's cross.

The mask of hatred."

With that Villam let the Asylum Champion drop to the canvas and he peeled the mask back over his head, covering his partially bandaged face. The dents Eli had caused had been knocked out. It looked shiny and new.

"So, that's right.

I guess it don't surprise me none, really.

It shouldn't surprise me, that after Inmate screws me that *I'm* the one booed for doing what comes natural to me. And that's defending my fucking championship.

It shouldn't surprise me, that after I beat Eli's fucking ass. After I proved that I was a true champion...that you people...cheered...and hooted...and hollered...and applauded...HIM!? ELI!?

Ha.

And I suppose...that it shouldn't surprise me, that after I put my ass on the line to get this title back from Eli Flair that you people would CHEER when Borst came into this ring and nailed my son with the Asylum Championship.

MY Asylum Championship.

...and you people cheer him?

He gets the praise?

Nevermind the fact that he cost me the title in the first fucking place...oh no. Let's just throw that out of the window. Let forget the time Borst lost to Nerva and brought us one of the shittiest title reigns this side of a turd. No...let's not speak of THAT unpleasantness.

Let's just forget it.

Because the energy we use to remember stupid, unimportant little facts like:

Half of the Asylum's new viewers showed up AFTER the rape. Or that Borst is a total knobhead. Or that Villam stopped the Stranglehold. Or that Villam is a true-blue Asylum Fuckhead and FIGHTING CHAMPION...who hasn't gone off and decided to WORK FOR ANOTHER PROMOTION. Or who tries to "split time working for two" even though most of the WORK is done for the other wrestling promotion who shall remain nameless...

...yes, YES!

The more energy we use to remember those facts...

...the less we have to Boo Villam. The less we have to question him and his motives. The less we have to undermine him at every turn. The less energy we have to understand him as an individual. The less we have to care. The less we have to cherish this time he's with us."

"Boring" chants rocked the arena. Vibrating the walls, resonating with something with in Villam.

Villam smiled.

"You know, I was asked once...why I'm not a "nice guy." Why I don't try to treat everyone with more respect. Why I don't try to avoid conflicts. Why I don't try to use a bit of tact.

Usually before I can offer an honest answer, I'm accused of...

...having parents who didn't love me. Or being the "weird kid" or not having alot of friends in school. More than that, I'm accused of all of this being an act. That deep, deep down inside I'm some fragile little boy who is just waiting to get his ass kicked by some who's an inch taller than him."

Villam knowingly shook his head as the boring chants and the booing continued.

"I act this way. I fight this way. I talk this way.

Because this is who I am.

Hands down. Mask off. Everything stripped away.

And you people...

...you vile, disgusting, read-a-book-by-it's-cover, hovering, cowardly, robotic, materialistic, over-opinionated, sheep of a people.

With your jellied spines, your fragile minds, your weak stomachs and yellow bellies...

...you people.

You people don't deserve my respect.

You people.

The whole mass of you.

Don't deserve my tact."

Villam adjusted his mask.

"You hardly deserve to see my real face."

Jeers were at a fever pitch now. Villam just soaked it all in.

"I need a good reason to respect one of you. Because you people are just so trite and gullible at the same time. Yet, you can't be trusted.

Besides...

...If you don't take the moment to live in my world. I don't see why I should care much for living in yours.

A world where Borst can nail my son with the Asylum title and get away with it.

That's not the world *I* live in.

And through the sheer and near-damning force of my unfathomable will...I will recreate *your* world in *my* image.

Borst.

You got my attention now, mate.

I guess, you just couldn't stand it. Can't stand that I'm the better man...can you, Boris? Can't stand that I'm the man on top. You seem to still think that I'm some mute, frenchie freak. That was a gimmick, Borst.

You're looking at the man behind the act now.

I'm not even going to go through, you being a spotlight stealing, no training, lazy, boring, Steve Austin wanna-be, son of a bitch anymore. I'm not going to bore these people with petty details like your sickening obsession with Hogan and how you want to just like him.

All you need to know is that I'm done ignoring you.

No more "say hello to cock".

It's time for you to kiss your ass good bye."

"Arcarnsenal" by At the Drive In.

Exit Villam, stage left.

“Joe, I’m here to get a contract. I don’t want to be here to long, so I want you to honor the one I signed about a year ago. I don’t need the fuss, so just give it to me..” Carnage patted the TV title which rested on his shoulder.

“Who the fuck do you think you are? You fucken bleeding snatch, you know that you’re holding stolen property! I should have your arse skinned for that..” Joe’s face reddened as he slammed his fist down hard on the desk.

“Hey Joe, you should’ve told your boy not to put it up for grabs.. And you should’ve made sure word didn’t leak about him doing so beforehand. But hey, you play tough Joey, and I’ll be right back out that door, maybe headed towards.. Umm.. fWo? How does that sound to you?”

Joe didn’t respond, he paused and thought for a second, his mind was seven days in the past as he sat in his office, and it suddenly clicked as to what he was thinking about. When Sebastian was in his office at the Mind Games PPV he said the following: “Before you know it, that title will be in the right hands Joe, because we know we don’t want to see our TV title showing up over at fWo, now do we?” Joe finally snapped out of his flashback with Carnage talking to him.

“.. oh you want to test me? You don’t think I’ll do it?! Well Joe, it’s been nice knowing you, but I can definitely get some good coin for this here, and I could get something respectable for myself as well. But go ahead and be an asshole, your loss.” Carnage started towards the door, but Joe’s call stopped him.

“You fucken git, you.. You’re trying to screw me with Sebastian, aren’t you?” Joe stood up from his desk and marched his way across the room, until he got in Carnage’s face, “You want your contract? Fine. You got it, but that title is your life preserver, you don’t got it.. Your merchandise don’t sell, you’re shite out of luck, back on the fucken streets sucking on another fucken crack rock. Buying food with welfare checks.. But if you try to fuck with me, not even Jesus Christ can save you Cornelius.”

Carnage looked Joe directly in the face, before spouting, “Good Joe, because I wasn’t going to ask for his help anyway.” Joe watched as Carnage walked away with the TV title dancing on his shoulder, Campbell knew that he was going to have to settle things, and soon.

'SO YOU WANNA BE A CHAMPION?!'

Oh, yay.

"Champion" by Grinspoon.

KABOOM!

And with that, Jeff Garvin was on the scene, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt with his A! Bantam Championship and Submission title clinging to both shoulders.

He took a stroll down the ramp, up the steps, and into the ring. This time he came prepared with a microphone wedged under his arm pit.

"One week ago, I went through hell to retain my Submission title, taking that oaf Keegan to a draw in his own enviroment. This leads to my next question...

When is this idiot gonna' take a clue? He can't beat me. I'm better than him. His victory at Pain was nothing more than a fluke and he knows it. When the pressures on, the Original ALWAYS delivers. It's that simple.

And despite working a heavy, almost unbearable work schedule between this dung-heap and Action! Wrestling, I still come out smelling like a daisy. 'Cause I have talent, more talent than any of those fighters in the back could ever dream of having.

So, Keegan... I know sooner or later, you're gonna' confront me. You're gonna' talk shit, and you're gonna' expect a rematch.

Well FORGET IT!

You had your chance, bucko. Next in line, please? That's right, I'm DONE with you. We're through- it's over. You couldn't beat me... You couldn't even beat me with Willis in your pocket, for Christ's sake.

Just face it, you're good as far as the Asylum goes...

But that aint sayin' much."

As quickly as he had entered, he left.

The people were once again booing like they always seemed to, giving him the finger as he marched back up the entrance ramp to the back.

STOLEN.

NOG revved the engine one last time, letting the roar of 500 ponies cry out one last time before the engine was shut off and the two removed themselves from their hot car. The duo were all smiles as they strutted across the lot, still boastful over their easy win against Team Splink in a Gypo Camp Fight match only one week ago. In fact, egg NOG was so jovial, that he'd even gone so far as to dressed himself, top-to-bottom, in denim. Or as heard it called in the movie Super Troopers, his "Canadian tuxedo".

cHEESE took a few steps and took in a deep breath of the air, turning to NOG and smiling.

"Great day, don't you think?"

NOG grinned and nodded, "yeah, it's the best."

Around this time, a slender man in a pin stripped suit approached everyone's favorite tag team. In his right hand, a Zero Halliburton briefcase, and in his left, several papers attached by a blue clip. He set the case down by his side and extended his hand toward NOG and cHEESE, cautiously smiling as he did.

"cHEESE and egg NOG, I presume?" He asked as he shook cHEESE's hand.

"Uh, yeah." cHEESE replied as he cast a concerned eye NOG's way.

"Great, just great." He said as he clapped his hands, almost knocking the papers from of his grasp. "Well, I'm sure you're wondering who I am...."

Before the man could continue, egg NOG chimed in. "Yeah, the thought had crossed my mind at one point or another."

The man simply chuckled as he gingerly raised his hands to ease egg NOG. "Well, I'm Nick Lynch, attorney at law. I've been asked to come here today to serve these papers to you and Mr. Um, cHEESE."

cHEESE eyebrow cocked up, caught off guard by Mr. Lynch's statement. "Say what now?"

"Well, a one Mr. Scott Holmes and Mr. Simon Mitchell Simon have brought charges forth against the two of you for theft of private property and also seek damages for said theft."

Lynch extended the papers toward cHEESE and NOG, which egg NOG snatched from him. egg NOG took this chance to read over some of the papers.

He voice was now frantic. "This can't be serious."

Mr. Lynch nodded, "Oh, I'm very much afraid it is. And with the added firepower of attorneys that Mr. Campbell is providing them, you two really won't stand much of a chance. I'm really sorry gentlemen."

egg NOG panicked. "Campbell?! As in JOE Campbell!?"

Lynch nodded. "The one and same."

"What the...?! Why?!" cHEESE asked Lynch.

"Well," Nick began, scratching his chin, "when you stole the item from Mr. Holmes and Mr. Simon, in essence you also stole from Mr. Campbell, since he was the primary financier for their project. Since he had invested so much of his money into this, he obviously doesn't want to see it fail and is going to help them retrieve their belongings."

NOG looked up from the papers for a second, "Who are these two Mr. Simon and Mr. Holmes you keep talking about?!"

"Oh, right," Lynch said with a laugh, "you may know them better as 'Slapnutz' and 'TMM'."

"Oh what the fuck?!" NOG cried out, slapping cHEESE across the chest with the papers. "You mean they're actually sueing us?!"

Once again, Nick Lynch found himself nodding, "Indeed they are. At first they tried to bring a suit against you for ending their eleven month unbeaten streak. Rather comical, I must admit."

cHEESE simply sighed as he continued his inspection of the papers. "Wait..." he mumbled as he brought the papers closer to his face. "It says here we can return the tape and all will be well."

Lynch's finger shot up as if remembering something. "Oh yes, how silly of me to forget." He replied with a bashful smile. "Yes, in the interest of fairness, you've been given one week to return the actual tape to my clients and all charges will be dropped."

NOG groaned as he put his hands on his hips. "This is the biggest load of bullshit I've ever heard. I'm going to talk to Joe about this."

egg NOG started to walk towards the backstage entrance, only to have Lynch step in his path.

"I'm sorry, sir." He said as he looked up to NOG. "I'm afraid you can't do that."

"And just why is that?" egg NOG inquired.

"Well," Lynch started with a gulp, "Mr. Campbell has banned you from all future Asylum Shows until this matter is solved."

"Oh, that's just fucking great!" egg NOG roared, throwing his arms up in disgust. "Just fucking wonderful!"

egg NOG began to back away from Nick, nodding as he did. "That's fine. Ok, whatever, cHEESE and I know what he have to do next." NOG shifted his focus toward cHEESE. "Come on, lets get going. I can tell when we're not wanted."

cHEESE and NOG walked back to their car, jumping in and firing it up. NOG exploded out of his parking spot and almost collided with Lynch as he did. He spun the wheel and he and cHEESE squealed out of the parking lot. As they did, Nick Lynch stood in same spot, never moving, and watched as cHEESE and egg NOG disappeared into the distance.

Of course, there was an underlying intention to that but doesn't everyone need someone else for something? It's a cardinal law, really.

Karen, wearing a black long-sleeved t-shirt with blue jeans and black track shoes, looked somewhat deprived of something. Her duffel bag was there, slung over her shoulder as always. Was it the scowl that always seemed to be on her face? No, it was something far greater.

"Not even supposed to be here tonight, heh."

Turning a corner, The British Lassie now started to wonder what could she expect to witness on the night. A meeting with Lucinda was all that was on her agenda, but the itch to fight was there again. Didn't seem to matter to her that she'd competed in two matches on Wednesday. Didn't seem to bother her that she had a big match the night after. One where more than a shiny title was on the line.

The girl from Manchester, truth be told, didn't care for the title. It simply served as a tool. One that also made it known that she had some sort of power, and was to be taken seriously. Power is something everybody wants, but few people have. Power however can also be the root of one's destruction. One minute, you might have it all in the palm of your hand.

The next, it's gone. Lost forever. Etched in the sands of time, only a memory.

Opening her locker-room door, Pembridge sighed as she dumped her bag on the ground and collapsed onto the leather couch. She was tired, she knew. The demands of competing in two organisations and having a fight on every show thus far for each company meant that she hardly had any rest in between. It seemed that tonight, however, there was no fight scheduled for her.

But she wanted one.

"Takahasi's gonna be bloody furious at me."

That was it. Her agent/trainer, Takahasi Marinaroj, who was always by her side. That was the thing The British Lassie seemed to be lacking. The influence and guidance of Taka.

Leaning back further, Karen lifted her legs and placed in on the small wooden table in front of her. The locker-room was smaller than usual, but it didn't matter to her. She was risking it all to be in an environment that was her true calling.

Maybe Takahasi won't be too angry, then? He did say he rather Karen forget about the IOW and focus her energies on tA. Marinaroj himself felt that the IOW proved to be a major distraction, particularly of one reason. Then again, after the way Karen's night ended on Wednesday, one might be inclined to think that the distraction requires taking care of.

So many decisions, so many conflicting opinions. What next?

…he was still the Extreme Champion, as the red leather wrapped around his waist made evident…

…he was still ready to fight.

Campbell glanced up from his desk, upon which a whole six pack of Guinness remained untouched as of yet… and blinked once or twice, before wincing at The Freak’s nasty, mauled predicament.

“Fucking hell Brian. You look like shit.” Campbell commented, looking at the massive lacerations all over The Freak’s face and body, pulled taut by stitches and held shut by glue. The Freak didn’t even register Campbell’s comment, and instead threw one half of his trenchcoat aside to lean against the wall in a casual manner.

“I may look indignant, damaged und incompetent, but I am far from unable to fight. I came here to this arena, tonight… to defend this title. And I shall not leave without a valid defence. I don’t particularly care who you wish to book me against, as long as I am able to fight. To take what I need in blood. To destroy someone. To do battle, like any Asylum warrior should,” The Freak spoke slowly, with a low growl in his voice from his sore throat. Campbell looked down over his booking sheet, and raised an eyebrow.

“I hadn’t booked you an opponent tonight, everyone seems to be fighting, one way or another… I’d sort of assumed that you’d take the night off after having the shit smashed through you at Mind Games…”

“You should know by now Joe… I don’t feel pain. I don’t feel anything. I just thirst, and thirst, and thirst, and I need to nourish myself with pain. This is what I do, and in that cage I am unsurpassed. I don’t just fight. I fight, and fight, and fight…”

“AHA!” Joe exclaimed, picking up a sheet from his desk. He drew a line through a name, and smiled broadly, taking a swig of Guinness to reward himself. “I’ve got you an opponent, Fu - - I mean Freak. In fact… a rather interesting one…”

“…”

The Freak stood silently and waited for Campbell to reply.

“Keegan.”

The fans back in the arena, who were watching on the Asylumtron screamed cheerfully as Keegan’s name was read out. The Freak on the other hand, seemed somewhat shocked.

“Keegan?”

“Yeah, Keegan… he’s in your Zone stable, I’m sure you remember,” Campbell sneered, leaning back in his chair and unbuttoning the collar of his shirt as he downed a can. “Should be interesting… and as of yet, I don’t think Keegan’s even faced a real fighter.”

“Keegan…” The Freak’s eyes glazed over, and he stepped forwards. “I think I’d better talk to him, for the first time… in a long time.”

Actually, it wasn’t like that but it still wasn’t the ideal start they had wanted given the fact they’d failed to strip Jeff Garvin of the Submission Championship when it was far easier to get the job done.

“Excuse me gentlemen, Joe Campbell wants to see you immediately.”

Michael rolled his eyes while Willis exerted a predictable groan: “What the fuck for?”

“I don’t know I’m afraid. He just told me to keep an eye out for you and for me to tell you to go straight to his office as soon as possible.”

D’Alessandro chipped in: “Can’t we even go to our room first?”

“No. Mister Campbell assured me that had all been taken care of as you’ll find out when you go and see him. I will take you there now.”

They seemingly had no alternative as this stuck-up middle-aged man with a grey suit on led them into the scene of this week’s Show and Michael turned to his acquaintance to express his unhappiness in a rather amusing fashion: “Do you reckon he takes it up the ass as well?”

Joe crossed his hands across his chest, and leaned back in his chair, “Sebastian, the ugly one is John C. Willis, the other one, umm.. I can’t be arsed to remember his name really.” Michael D’Alessandro sighed, as Sebastian and Willis exchanged glances at one another.

“So why the hell am I here?” Sebastian looks back over at the duo of Willis and D’Alessandro, “I mean Joe, I have nothing in common with those two, one’s straight from gay porn, the other is just an ugly fucker..”

"If we were into Gay Porn then we would have something in common but as it stands we haven't," muttered Michael D'Alessandro.

Willis stood there like a rather large child. He didn't object to being called ugly, he had been told that throughout his entire existence, but there was still clear contempt etched on his face. Not because of the derogatory remarks Sebastian had made but just the fact that he was being forced into something that he was against. John was used to getting his own way. However, he, along with Thompson, still had to adjust to the big leagues and there wasn't a more prestigious promotion than The Asylum. That's why Willis and Thompson were so desperate to make their mark. Nevertheless, they wanted to do it alone.

They looked to the expressionless Willis for some input but he still stood there until D'Alessandro nudged him and then he broke his silence: "What the fuck are we here for?"

"Calm down you bloody twats," Joe spoke as he crossed his arms firmly across his chest, "I brought you both here, because frankly, you guys have amounted to shite since you've been here. And that's gonna end. You fucken Yank bastards.. I'm gonna force you to do something, you two are gonna be partners."

D'Alessandro couldn't believe it and challenged it immediately: "No way. We don't even know this fucker."

Joe, as always, had an answer: "I wasn't referring to you Spaghetti Bollocks. It'll be Willis and Thompson who are teaming."

"Joe! Joe! What the fuck man?!" Sebastian scratched his chin, "I'm way too good to be teaming up with Egore and his sidekick Mr. Chippendale over there. If you want me to do something, just tell me, but not this man, not this fucking shit. I'm a fighter, an underrated one too. I'm not going to lower my priorities though, I'm too good for this."

Willis scratched his head: "Who is Mr. Chippendale?"

"Your Mom, you fucking bastard. Who the fuck do you think it is?" Sebastian retorted.

Michael put his hands on the Owner's desk, "We all know you're a bastard and that's why you're doing this isn't it? To be a cunt. Can't you see this won't work? We don't want to work with this twat and he doesn't want to work with us."

"So what do you want me to do?" Joe mused, "Let you two do fuck all, maybe go out and shat the night away, drinking with Keegan? And what's he gonna do?” Joe motioned to Sebastian, “Help Carnage take another title? I fucken think not! Why the hell am I discussing this with you? Matter of fact, you guys will get along. To make sure of that, you'll be in the same locker room."

"Carnage?!" Sebastian begins to yank at his hair, "Joe, I have nothing to do with that guy. As a matter of fact, I was out looking for him before this. And I would've gotten him two if you didn't want me to team with this fuck." Sebastian paused as he thumbed his chin, "That's it, it's all a joke, right Joseph? We start towards that door, and you'll shout.. 'April Fools!', right?"

“Sebastian,” Joe shook his head, “You sodding cunt, you mention him taking the title to fWo, and miraculously Carnage says the same thing tonight? You know, I know you’re working with him, all I need is proof, because I haven’t seen anything that entails you honoring me.” Sebastian opened his mouth but was cut off, “And don’t feed me that ‘I’m gonna get him’ shite either. Now get the fuck out of my office, you guys have a match tonight.”

If only I could have seen through that smile.

Later on I’d find my experience with Lotus to be beneficial, but at the current moment, I wasn’t certain whether I should trust her. Kobrakai begged me to follow Lotus’s advice whilst Winters was detached and simply sat at the back of my consciousness eyeing Lotus nervously.

…

…

…

For a long time Lotus said nothing, she just smiled. Then, she got to her feet… and leaned forwards to my face.

“Time for your first lesson, Lulu.”

“Ready for this Keeg?”

Carrahar glanced at his colleague, who was not trying to be patronising at all: “Weeaye. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Lharn went back into his shell as he thought, for a minute, he’d offended his long-time acquaintance: “No reason.”

They approached the entranceway that would permit their entry for another Show when Keegan stopped and checked his bag: “Wait. I’m missing something.”

Huscroft seemed confused by this: “What do you mean?”

The Yardstick, scurrying around in his bag, then looked Lharn in the eyes before whispering: “The Submission Championship isn’t with me.”

Failure to defeat Jeff Garvin had obviously hit him hard.

"PROVIDENCE!" Token shouted into the microphone as the crowd quieted.

"PROVIDENCE! GET OUT HERE AND FIGHT ME! You fucked with me Providence, I fuck you with, now get the fuck out here and stop being such a fucking pussy." Token shouted as "Stinkfist" by Tool began blaring over the P.A. system.

"What the hell are you talking about Token, you cost me the Mind Games match, I didn't do shit to you in that 'fuckpit' match." Providence stated glaring icily down the ramp towards Token who looked at Providence and began shouting.

"BULLSHIT PROVIDENCE! I saw your ass holding that fucking sign up, big bright and yellow. Good choice of distractful color. I prefer the color blood red a bit better, but ya know how it goes. Now get the fuck down here and fight me!" Token shouted once more as Providence swivled at him grinning.

"Token, Token, Token, you going stupid on me boy? The drugs going to your head? I step in that ring my ass gets jumped. So we fight later on, and stop your swearing constantly, it's getting old Weed," Providence stated, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face.

"Providence, you think I can wait till later? I came out here for a reason, see my ribs? See these cuts across my face, see the stitches that run from my eye brow to my chin. It's all YOUR fucking fault. Trust me Providence, you seen a picture of Steven Douglas lately? You'll look three times as bad," Token stated grinning now as he vaulted over the cage wall and took off at Providence spearing him to the ground. Instantly a flury of punches erupted from the two, Token came out on top flipping Providence over and grabbing him by his throat. Token delivered four stiff rights into Providence's mouth, following it by standing up and delivering a hard heel to his face, causing a huge spray of blood to erupt from Providence. Token picked up the microphone and smiled.

"Later Providence, later I make you a hideous beast that must hide his face from society, for now enjoy your face, even if your nose is a bit crooked now," Token said smiling, as he turned away and left Providence laying on the steel walk way.

“Look. We’re bigger and more important than you so we need more room,” D’Alessandro pointed out to his new but reluctant ally in Thompson.

“Bigger? Not where it matters mate. And who says you’re more important anyway? How can you be more important when you’re the only one who can pronounce your surname?”

Willis decided to intervene: “We are more important. Did he bring you in to get rid of The Stranglehold? Are you on the kind of money I’m on?”

Sebastian was desperate to stand his ground despite being outnumbered by two intimidating individuals - a couple of killers: “But where did that get him? You couldn’t even get rid of them properly and that had nothing to do with you. Garvin’s still here isn’t he? You could have got rid of him then, you could have got rid of him last week but you didn’t and there were four of you. All Joe had to do was ask me and I’d have retired Garvin without any hassle at all but he didn’t. You’ve made a right hash of it and shown not only yourselves but also the entire Asylum up. People like me aren’t happy about it.”

At this point, Willis’ Italian associate was livid: “Who the fuck are you? What the fuck have you done? Anyway, if you’re not happy about it you know what you can do…”

Thompson used the aggressive tone in D’Alessandro’s voice as an excuse to go face-to-face with John’s sidekick: “What’s that then?”

Before Michael could reply, the Kokomo Colossus answered it for him instead, which makes a change: “Fuck off.”

Sebastian turned away from the ex-Gangster and glared at the gigantic specimen that he would have to team up with due to his unimpressive start, according to Campbell at least, to life in the big time: “Make me,” he coolly commented as if he was really daring the dynamic duo to physically remove him from the room.

D’Alessandro then grabbed Sebastian’s face with the palm of his hand and told Thompson what he thought: “Don’t get cocky with us. This is OUR dressing room and, believe us, we don’t want you around here either. We’re only doing this because the fucking Englishman is being a cunt as usual but if you wind us up you little shit, we may forget about our jobs and make you leave.”

Suddenly, the European’s grip on Sebastian disappeared and not because he had released it but because he grabbed Michael’s hand and then pointed the finger in D’Alessandro’s direction: “Touch me again and you’ll be the only leaving, not me. If you don’t believe me then try it. I’m not scared of you or that fucking fudgepacker over there.”

It appeared that they were about to come to blows when Willis, remarkably showing that he did have a brain cell, stepped in and calmed things down: “Leave it. He’s not worth losing our jobs over.”

Thereafter, they left the room, which was a wise move in these scolding surroundings. Yet, even that probably couldn’t prevent the inevitable in everyone’s minds and that is this ploy blowing back up in the face of the evil genius otherwise known as Joseph Campbell.

His match with the man… who was now standing right behind Keegan.

“You should knock, you silly gook,” Keegan said, looking into the mirror before him and over his shoulder at The Freak. The Bulldozer, as net blood-marks had termed him, strode without a word and leaned against Keegan’s wall, before looking Carrahar in the eyes.

“We haven’t spoken in a long time,” The Freak said, the words slipping out of his mouth. His voice was hoarse with the soreness that comes from being systematically destroyed… as the fans saw him but a week ago. Keegan turned and faced the Red Ripper, and replied…

“Aye. Well I tried to phone you a while back but it was dead. I presumed you'd murdered that an'all,” Keegan said, somewhat bitterly, before taking a seat on the bench and looking up at The Freak. Of course, The Yardstick was referring to Brian's brutality as of late, especially in his deadly dissection of Alexander. Fenn-Grail paced Keegan’s room and turned back to him, with perhaps a bemused look on his face.

“I do what I have to do, Keegan. And these people, these termites, don’t really matter in the end do they? Does it matter what I do to one man… whether I hurt him, cripple him… kill him? Wouldn’t you have done exactly the same thing, in my position?” The Freak said in a detached manner, extending his arm almost as if to show Keegan into some kind of new world.

Keegan sighed.

“You're not talking to a novice here bonny lad. I know what murder's about. But there's a time and place for it. Killing some hapless bastard in front of thousands of people and portraying yourself as a complete cunt, which is putting it nicely, isn't hard. Christ, anyone's capable of murder aren't they? I mean he was a big bloke but he didn't stand a chance did he? He had a bairn for fuck's sake. Doesn't that count for anything?”

“You don’t understand Keegan, and you probably never will. You’re one of the better ones… one of the better ones of these people, these scourge that mock our planet and treat it as some kind of playground of killing, suffering and hate. Keegan, animals in the wild fight, and kill, and feed and kill and feed and repeat until it’s an endless blur of blood. How are humans any better than this?

“You don’t understand. But I shall show you, someday and when you see my reasoning… when you comprehend the theories that I propose to you, you shall deem yourself one of the enlightened. I respect you as a fighter son, and I also respect your chances of upending me out there… but don’t overestimate the worth of the common man.” The Freak finished, tilting his head to one side as he did so.

“Christ, I'm back at College but studying Psychology with Charles Manson as my Lecturer. Define the common man to me. I mean you certainly aren't one. Common men don't go through what we do each week. Common men don't fall forty feet and get back up. And common men certainly don't murder innocent men on National television,” Carrahar stated in an assertive manner to try and make Fenn-Grail see that what he had done was wrong but he needn't have bothered. Brian had completely changed from their tenure together in The Fighting Zone and he wasn't exactly Mary Poppins there either.

The Freak drew closer to Keegan, and leaned forwards into his face with no expression evident upon his features. “You know, back in TFZ… I never had a chance to shine, or to prove myself. I was never given the opportunity to show these people, and the punters of The Zone who I really am and what I am capable of. I am capable of murder. I am capable of surviving a forty foot drop. I was capable of winning that TFZ Championship that you held upon my entry into the promotion. I am capable of respect and as far as fighters go… you have my utmost.

“I’m not going to pull punches out there Keegan, but I shall prove that I could, back in our TFZ days… I could have gone out there and beaten you, if ever given the prospect.”

Carrahar glanced at Fenn-Grail for a moment and smirked: “You reckon do you? Christ, how many people did you beat? Fair enough, you're a different Fighter now. But back then, as it is now, it was about beating people and you didn't do that then. To be fair to you though son, you're doing it now and this is where it matters. I mean I know you beat John, something that I didn't do, but that doesn't necessarily mean you could have taken me on.

“Anyway, I suppose we'll find out won't we? When we get out there. And can I just say that you've not seen the best of me yet Brian. If you respected me in The Fighting Zone, then you'll be sucking my dick soon son because you haven't seen a tenth of what I'm capable of. The scary thing is I don't think we've seen the best of you either.”

His concluding comment was chilling. If Keegan was right in his analysis of the new Extreme Champion then what could Asylum fans expect in the future and, perhaps more importantly, could Joe Campbell withstand the complaints that would undoubtedly arrive if The Emasculator surpassed his sensational spell that has only spanned approximately five months.

The Freak let out a long, drawn out sigh and stared at the ceiling, before reaching out his hand. “Do I at least have your respect, son? If not for the acts I’ve committed recently… but for my ability alone, or is not even that worth anything in your fickle eyes?”

Carrahar looked at his hand and seemed to hesitate but it was never in doubt. He extended his hand to indicate there was a mutual respect: “Weeaye. You've got more talent in your big toe than some of these twats have and I mean that. But your conduct as of late means you're lower than them as a person. But if I ever needed any help in The Asylum, you'd be the first person I would call... providing you ever get that phone line sorted.”

The pair shook hands, and Keegan stood to look into The Freak’s despondent eyes. Even though Fenn-Grail wasn’t the man that he used to be, Keegan knew that the man that HE once knew was in there somewhere.

Somewhere.

And he was determined to find him.

Lotus reached down and grasped my hand in her own, before pulling me to my feet. I felt the switch of my brain being turned from Winters to Kobrakai as Lotus reached out and touched my face, stroking my jawline and whispering in my ear of how everything was going to be okay.

“Lulu… would you like to come with me and do something that I haven’t done in a long… long time?” Lotus quizzed playfully. I was worried at first, as Kobrakai was in control… but I asked in return what it could be. Lotus replied, simply, “Manhunting.”

AT first this didn’t register. But Lotus spoke of a man that had once managed to conquer Nerva, a man that had brought her humility and shame. But Nerva had destroyed this man in the end. The man had… he had raped her. Lotus spoke of Nerva as is she, herself, was Sharon… but she wasn’t. It was like some sick sort of amalgamation between two women’s minds. Lotus told me… summoning Winters, that everything would be okay after we met this man and did unto him, what he did unto her. Lotus. Or Nerva? Or Lotus?

Or Nerva?

Which is which?

I found myself becoming teary eyed again as the two voices in my head squabbled over whom was who and why was what and what was why…

But Lotus was there for me.

How did she know so much, about me?

The sounds of NIN's classic "Head Like a Hole", the Clay Remix to be more exact, played throughout the arena, bringing the Asylum fans to their feet to see who was coming out to such a theme.

The few fans who bothered to watch Sunday Night Slaughter already knew, and loudly booed her arrival. And when she came out onto the stage, the rest of the fans apparently agreed with them, joining them in their boos.

Why?

Well, because she's Kali Saturos.

An fWo wrestler.

The boos continued to fill the arena as Kali made her way down to the structure known as the Asylum. Her facial expression was unchanging, a cold look of contempt for every single person that was on their feet and booing her very presence. She entered the cage and immeaditley grabbed a microphone.

"All of you would be wise to quiet down while I am speaking." Kali said quietly, almost in a hushed whisper. "Patience is not known to be one of my virtues."

The crowd didn't respond, instead seemed to be trying to start up a "FUCK YOU WHORE!" chant.

"Fine then, I will just have to talk over you. And for the record, I'm not a whore. A murderous bitch? Yes. A whore? No. Now then, I'm sure all of you would like to know why I'm here. Well, first off, fuck you, because it's really not any of your buisness. But secondly, I suppose you can thank Joe Campbell for that. The fWo suspended me indefinitley for stabbing some giant bastard on one of their shitty TV shows, and thus I was left with nowhere to hurt people. And you don't know what that's like for me. I tried hitting a pillow, putting holes in walls.....none of that shit is as satisfying as making people bleed. So, thanks to the fact that the fWo management are a bunch of incompotent idiots, I made a few calls to different promotions after learning that I could go anywhere I want during the suspension. None of the shitty wrestling orginizations I called gave me a response, so imagine my suprise when I got a call from Joe Campbell. Well, first, I said 'Who?' Then he explained he was from the Asylum, and I was like....'What's the Asylum?'"

As you might expect, the arena full of tA fans erupted into boos.

"Yeah, I'm sorry I never heard of this shitty place, but anyway, he had me on 'You can stab people without losing the match.', and thus here I am. My days have been brightened by coming to this shithole, and I hope all of yours have been brightened too!"

Apparently not.

"But anyway, to make a long-story short- will someone please come to this little cage thing so I can stab you? Anyone?"

And as if almost cue, someone did.

"Faultline" by Saliva. The fans got to their feet, cheering. They knew who it was.

Karen Pembridge. Sure, she could be considered a wrestler too, but after the battle at Mind Games with Vertigo, it was proven that The British Lassie was all about fighting. Stepping out from the back, Karen had a microphone in hand and a bemused smirk on her face. Almost as if she didn't believe someone like Kali Saturos was actually in the cage, rambling on about this and that. Kali herself smirked, and shook her head.

One look at Karen and she knew that her next victim was going to be an easy kill.

"So I'm gonna be murdering a pretty little girl then? Wow, I thought this place this is supposed to be full of extreme fighters. Oh well. If you insist, little girl. Come down here, and let's get the party started."

The crowd jeered at Kali's words, but now, it was time for Karen to shake her head. Right off the bat, she knew this was going to be a challenge she would relish. And on a night when she wasn't even supposed to show up at all?

What else could be better?

"You stupid cunt... I'll show you bloody murder, since you want it so bleeding bad."

With those words, Karen threw the microphone down and began advancing towards the cage, the volume of the roars of approval increasing by the second. Kali Saturos smacked her lips; she was going to taste blood again.

She just knew it.

Kali Saturos Vs Karen Pembridge

Trouble was, psycho-bitch Kali Saturos had begun kissing the knife with a gleaming blade in her hand. However, this wasn't the fWo. Neither was it the IOW. To put it simply, this wasn't a wrestling show.

The knife was perfectly legal. Stepping into the cage, Karen was quickly called into action, as she sidestepped to the right with an attempt at a wild stab from Kali, before the girl from Manchester sent her left forearm smashing squarely into Kali's face. Saturos fell down to the mat, as her knife flew out of her grasp, and Karen quickly capitalised, kicking the suspended fWo competitor in the side of her ribs. Pulling Kali up by her hair, Pembridge slammed her forearm into her spine but Saturos retaliated with a couple of punches to Karen's gut, before an axe-handle smash to The British Lassie's face had her reeling. Kali Saturos ignored the jeers that were raining down upon her shoulders and grabbed Karen's locks, sending her flying into the steel-mesh of the cage.

Upon contact with the metal, Karen Pembridge winced, her spine being subject to more and more damage with each week. Kali now charged at Pembridge, hoping to earn a ring-out win via a clothesline of sorts but Karen took two steps forward and slammed her right foot into her opponent's face, before taking one step back. She waited for Saturos to cease stumbling backwards, before knocking her senseless with a running spinning heel-kick. Cheers filled the arena as Kali stayed down, Karen Pembridge retreating to rest her head on the cage rim to catch a breather.

1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.

The suspended fWo competitor wasn't about to go down so easily, and The British Lassie cracked her neck, realising she could be in for a long fight. Advancing on Kali, Karen lashed out with a wild swing of her right arm, but Saturos evaded it rather easily and brought her right knee up into Pembridge's midsection, following up with a typical play out of her fWo playbook.

A russian leg-sweep.

As expected, a large chorus of boos rang out in the arena, but the crowd got more concerned when Kali Saturos finally retrieved her knife and started chuckling. Noticing that Karen was back to her feet, Kali charged at her, hoping to stab her again. This time, the girl from Manchester took the psycho-bitch down with an armbar, before trying her hardest to wriggle the knife out of her opponent's grasp. It worked, as the knife rolled away from Kali, who now had a problem.

Karen had turned around and grabbed a hold of Kali's left ankle, now twisting it in an Ankle Lock. Approving roars were belted out for the move, but Saturos managed to somehow utilise her free leg and kicked out at Karen, thus relinquishing the hold.

The two women slowly got to their feet, and Kali immediately went back on the offensive, hitting a dropkick on Karen. She was looking a tad bit rusty, for the British Lassie would have normally been able to evade it. Not this time, as it caught her right in the face, forcing Karen to backpedal into the mesh of the cage again. This time, there was no luxury of showing her pain through grimacing or the sort; Kali Saturos was ready to finish Pembridge off.

With the knife, of course.

She picked it up and with a cold stare in her eyes, charged at Karen Pembridge. Who had to think of a solution, fast.

Karen placed her arm around the rim of the cage and lowered her head slightly, the knife whizzing past her ear. Combine the momentum of Kali's charge with a shove to her crotch by Pembridge's knee, and you can understand why Saturos flew over the rim of the cage. However, she was smart enough to yank on The British Lassie's t-shirt, taking her over the rim with her.

*CRASH*

And both ladies tumbled down to the ground, leaving the crowd highly confused as to who the victor was.

Karen Pembridge was furious; the fight WAS right there, in her grasp. But Saturos spoiled the party, hence the decision of a draw. Her rage overflowing, Karen grabbed Saturos and smashed her head against the rim of the cage they were no longer in. Kali cursed loudly as she held her face and stumbled backwards, tripping over her own legs and falling to the ground. She realised that the fight was over, but blood had not been tasted. She simply HAD to stab Karen, before the craving consumed her.

"Where's the fucking knife?!"

"Looking for this, you pissing cunt?"

Looking up, she saw The British Lassie standing over her, with HER knife. Growling, Kali tried to kick out at Karen who simply took a few steps back. Pembridge had no desire to hold on to the knife, however, and simply let it drop to the floor, before walking away. The fight had been declared a no contest, there was no reason to stick around.

For Kali Saturos, however, it was a whole different can of worms. Someone needed to be stabbed. She needed her desires fulfilled.

Looked as if it wasn't going to be on this night, though. Tough.

Usually that’d make Hank Earl happy, but sadly, he ran out of beer and the lower “The Lone Star Brawler’s” blood alcohol level goes down, the more ignorant he gets. With his sister/girlfriend Sarah Sue, Hank Earl Hoskins was looking for more booze, whiskey, scotch, anything.

“GAWD DAMMIT! WEARE THA FUCK IZ SOME BEER! EYE MEAN, SHEIT! HANK EARL CAN’T FIND NO BEER IF IT WUZ UNDAR HIZ NOSE!”

Unknowingly, this stampeding led Hank Earl to collide into the much bigger Daniel Mitchell. Hank Earl’s dirty cowboy hat flied off and Hank Earl scurried to grab it. Standing back up, n instinct kicked in and Hank Earl did what he does best: Be an asshole to those who are different.

“Weeelll lookie haire. Lookie Sarah Sue, look at this thaire faggot wit his whyte hair and black eyez.”

Daniel grew impatient and looked down at the belligerent Texan.

“…can I help you?” Daniel asked.

“Nauw. You lookin’ down at Hank Earl? Wee don’t take kindly to freeeks lyke you whu gotch yo queer hair and faggot eyez? Ar’ you some homersexual? ‘Ell Eyem all mayn, an’ Eye don’t take kindly to faggots lyke you. Eye’d watch yo ass if yew knewe whut wuz gued for ya.”

Hank Earl and Sarah Sue walked away. On his way out, Hank Earl blatantly slammed into Mitchell, giving him the old “Hank Earl’s gonna shove dis here boot up yo ass.”

John C. Willis & Sebastian Thompson Vs Tapestry & Lotus

For a start, they are familiar with one another. Recently, they’ve developed somewhat of an understanding whereas Joe Campbell has thrown their opponents together and already it appears that this will not be an immediate success story - if it is one at all.

As they emerge for this encounter, accompanied by John’s sidekick Michael D’Alessandro, there is evident tension as the reluctant couple, who shame Jeff Garvin and Julie Malone in that respect, continue to bicker about something that is probably irrelevant to this upcoming affair.

Whether it was the plan all along or extremely quick thinking upon seeing their opposition in disarray, Lotus and Tapestry, with steel chairs in tow, took it upon themselves to launch a ‘Pearl Harbour’ job and waylay their assigned opponents with a succession of vile shots that ensured Thompson and Willis’ reign, which didn’t have a sensational start to be kind to them, has gone from bad to worse.

Even the Italian, who tried to thwart Tapestry’s vicious onslaught on Willis, was introduced to the steel on three occasions and their embarrassing week has just became ten times worse as the entire triumvirate, with less than sixty seconds gone, are bleeding relatively badly.

Although the majority of the audience don’t actually find it funny, some do mind, the women are very pleased with the way their plan has worked out and then Tapestry reverted her focus from her so-called stable mate Willis to Thompson and gave him a slap in the face - literally.

Meanwhile, Lotus waited patiently for Willis to return to an upright stance in the aftermath of an unexpected attack prior to delivering a delightful Double Touch, a testament to Nerva, the most influential female Fighter in Asylum history.

Nevertheless, she had seemingly neglected Michael D’Alessandro after going to town on him earlier and it came back to bite her on the behind - LITERALLY - as the Italian sank his teeth into her posterior until Tapestry came to her rescue with a brutal boot to the European’s temple.

Despite being up against it, the ladies had certainly been the superior tandem up until now but they dwelled on what they’d achieved for too long and Sebastian reminded them that they hadn’t sown proceedings up just yet as he nailed them at the same time with a devastating Double Clothesline that allowed the crowd to finally have a chuckle at their expense.

John, as well as Michael, had now regrouped and made his way to Tapestry immediately, obviously annoyed by her betrayal to a degree, and as he grabbed her hair and lifted her high above his head, the audience went ballistic.

Nonetheless, Louts prevented her partner from becoming a permanent part of the concrete floor as she avoided Sebastian’s second Clothesline attempt and levelled John with a delectable Dropkick that forced John to stumble and Tapestry turned it into a modified Crossbody, if that makes any sense at all, by crushing down on his ribs as he fell.

D’Alessandro quickly got her up off his acquaintance and although The Venice Beach Vixen had a mask on it is probably safe to say that she would have been bleeding after Michael connected with what could be described as a peach of a punch that caught her flush on the chin and sent her sprawling to the floor.

On the other side, Lotus was finding her mark with stinging jabs to Sebastian’s face but that was quickly changed as she telegraphed one and left herself open to a Shortarm Clothesline that virtually turned her inside out upon impact.

It was then that Sebastian snapped as Michael went to go and check on the Kokomo Colossus, who if the truth was told, was absolutely fine: “Come on you faggots… I’m doing all of the fucking work here.”

On that note, John, who suddenly recovered and was now smiling, walked past his supposed tag team partner and to the backstage area along with D’Alessandro. This baffled the audience and it appeared that Willis did not have any intentions of returning soon either.

Of course, the women now had the opportunity to exploit this sudden breakthrough and they wasted no time whatsoever in surprising Sebastian, yet again with the aforementioned steel chairs, and battering relentlessly him with the tried and trusted weapon(s) once they had him at their mercy. Thereafter, they left him a bloody mess and after a minute or so, presumably when they became bored and following the loss of some heavy blood on Thompson’s behalf, they left with what had to be not only an upset to various fans but also a triumph secured in easy and emphatic circumstances.

Hughes had no business even being at The Show tonight, but he had to set things straight with the fans… and set some things straight with himself, and he found he could do this easiest, centre stage.

Bring on the speech.

Until the bell chimed.

The fans jumped to their feet and unleashed a torrent of boos and hisses, screaming frenziedly… they despised this man. They despised what he’d done to Ty Hughes, what he’d done to Token Weed, what he’d done to the Asylum. A week ago at Mind Games, The Freak had not only defeated both men… he’d sickly tattooed Ty Hughes’s skin with a switchblade and in the Mind Games match itself, he’d fared well… entering at the fourth spot and only succumbing after it took three other fighters to eliminate him in the final spot.

Because of that… the fans now hated him even more.

“Carpe Diem” by Will Haven.

Time how much have I wasted
I never grasped a clock
'Till he passed away
Greed rules what we make of ourselves
From the beggar to the chooser
Who survives at the end of the trail

THE TRAIL!
THE TRAIL!
THE TRAIL!

And indeed, who does survive at the end of the trail… as The Freak staggered out of the backstage area, his trenchcoat swinging from side to side, as the lights flickered from black to red. A chair was grasped in his hand and alongside him, Oddball appeared, smoking a cigarette. Trash began to rain down as The Freak threw his arms into the air and stalked down the ramp towards the cage, ignoring the despising legions. With a vacant glance to the fans, he jumped up and caught the rim of the Asylum, hauling himself inside. Oddball soon followed.

The lights raised… and the fans gasped.

The Freak was totally covered, practically from head to toe, in bandages from the horrendous beating that he’d suffered at Mind Games. His head, his skin… his entire face was a network of cuts and stitches. A large bandage was wrapped around his neck, and his chest and upper body was lined with gauze.

But, around his waist, was his prize.

A shiny, thick red leather, with silver plating and barbed wire protruding from its plates. The Freak looked down… and back out into the fans with blank, expressionless robotic eyes.

“YOU’RE-AN-ASS-HOLE~!” clap, clap, clapclapclap
“YOU’RE-AN-ASS-HOLE~!” clap, clap, clapclapclap
“YOU’RE-AN-ASS-HOLE~!” clap, clap, clapclapclap
“YOU’RE-AN-ASS-HOLE~!” clap, clap, clapclapclap
“YOU’RE-AN-ASS-HOLE~!” clap, clap, clapclapclap
“YOU’RE-AN-ASS-HOLE~!” clap, clap, clapclapclap

The Freak sighed, and reached behind himself, unbuckling the title. He hauled it up into the air…

BOOOOOO

And draped it over his shoulder. Oddball clapped The Freak, as the Red Ripper drew a microphone from his pocket and brought it to his lips. He tried to speak… but his words were drowned out by boos. He tapped the microphone but it wasn’t working, the fan reaction was just too powerful. After another attempt, the PA crew turned up the volume and at last The Freak was able to speak.

“Hello America.”

BOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooooo

“Well. After all of that effort, that unrelenting support that you put into your hero… your savior, Ty Hughes. After all of that energy you pumped into that rotting entity known more commonly as ‘good’, you’ve realized. You’ve come to the comprehension that good is feeble, and your true champions are those that shaft good and conquer it with… what you people call ‘evil’.

“I won the war. I have subjugated, I have destroyed, and I have ravaged Ty Hughes’s life asunder. And you people hate me for it… you hate the fact that I am a superior warrior and fighter, a superior intelligence to all of you. Everyone in this promotion are at my expense… I could walk past each of them with my knife and gift them with death in a flash. They are meaningless, obsolete. Just like your lives, your metropolis of machines…”

The fans were incensed. Despite hardly understanding a word what The Freak was saying…

“CAMP-BELL’S-COCK-SUCKER!” clap, clap, clapclapclap
“CAMP-BELL’S-COCK-SUCKER!” clap, clap, clapclapclap
“CAMP-BELL’S-COCK-SUCKER!” clap, clap, clapclapclap
“CAMP-BELL’S-COCK-SUCKER!” clap, clap, clapclapclap
“CAMP-BELL’S-COCK-SUCKER!” clap, clap, clapclapclap
“CAMP-BELL’S-COCK-SUCKER!” clap, clap, clapclapclap

Charming.

“Then, after I annihilated Ty Hughes, and immolated Token Weed to proclaim myself the Extreme Champion in one of the most violent matches this establishment hath laid eyes upon… I was faced with the Mind Games match.

“Entrant four.

“And… it took three men to eliminate me. Three men. Having fought to my near-death in that mighty construct of mesh and blood, I emerged victorious. I won this belt with my own flesh and muscle, straining over the defeat of Hughes and Williams. Then in the Mind games match… if it weren’t for the unfair coalition between the three other fighters I would be walking into Fight Hell… the challenger for the World Title against the eunuch. I would be crowned the immortal combatant, the supreme ruler of the Asylum.

“Do you understand? I am the omnipotent. I am the invincible.”

The fans began to boo as The Freak adjusted his belt on his shoulder and tilted his head to one side mechanically, staring out blankly into the audience.

“Noah Hawkins.

“Noah tried to prove himself better than me, he tried to make himself a superior to myself. He was a failure in the end, he couldn’t verify himself anything more than a depressed teenage moron that spurted out cliché after tired cliché. Ty Hughes? He was weak. He proclaimed himself a hero and a powerful man when in fact he was everything but. He was an ill, depraved dog that didn’t know his own weaknesses and how to eliminate them. Token Weed?

“Don’t even get me started on the likes of Sean Williams. What an enormous stack of oblivion if there ever was one. He’s so mediocre and unable to fight, so useless and untalented that he made Tyler look like some kind of God in the cage. A shame that I ever found myself, having to accomplice with him.” The Freak stopped to even more jeers, before turning and handing the microphone to Oddball.

Oddball flicked his ginger scraggy hair out of his eyes, and shot a sneer into the fans. With s spit on the ground and a huff of his cigarette, he began to pace the cage counter-clockwise.

“Well… would you look who the fucking Extreme Champion is? How fitting, that the most Violent Man on Earth is also proven the most Extreme… by beating a bald-headed cunt that seems to be some fucking weird amalgamation of Tupac and Stone Cold, and a blue-haired pile of wank with cross-eyes and skin that’s so red, one has to wonder if he uses a cheesegrater instead of soap. LOOH-ZERZ~!

“And look at the guys that targeted m’man, The Freak, in that shitty Mind Games clusterfuck? Providence. Some Tool-obsessed, wrestler, trashy Brazilian-Bitch-Cunt eating asshole? And what’s that thing you have tattooed on your shoulder? It looks like a scorpion to me… just a shame that you have no sting. Not enough sting to even stay in the ring, after someone as fucking shit as Token Weed attacks you. WOW, the greatest TV Champion in history. Well that means fucking jack shit doesn’t it?

“You were champion, of the little digital box.

“The Freak. Is the champion of being the toughest motherfucker on the planet. And as if you aren’t already ashamed enough that Token Weed eliminated you Prov… The Freak would have run the shit though you anyway, even if you’d stayed in. And as for the Emasculator, the Immolator, The Red Ripper not winning?

“Steve Christ?

“Hi Steve. 0 BC called. They want their gimmick back. Oh, and also. Germany called, they want their native haircut back. Oh, and RVD called. He wants his wrestling tights back. Oh, and God called. He told me, to tell you, that you absolutely fucking suck and stink of shit. Thanks. This infomercial on Steve Christ has been brought to you by Oddball productions~!”

As Oddball finished, the fans began. Chanting, hissing, cussing and jeering. The Freak waved them off with one hand, to chants of “FUCKING ASSHOLE”, as trash began to rain into the cage.

The Freak took the microphone again, and began to speak.

“Ste--”

He was cut off, as his microphone cut out and the lights hit black. Darkness enveloped Oddball and The Emasculator as they stood in the cage… unknowing of what was about to happen.

The fans knew, however.

“dun dun HEY! dun dun HEY! dun dun HEY!
dun dun HEY! dun dun HEY! dun dun HEY!”

Marilyn Manson. Antichrist Superstar.

And as the fans joined in with the catchy chants of “HEY~!”, the darkness lingered in the air. The Freak hissed, but nobody could hear it… his mike had been cut.

Ready for… the Third Coming’s arrival.

POW POW POW POW POW POW POW POW POW POW

Ten blinding white fires shot from the steel entrance ramp, and sizzled the air. The scorched clouds of white smoke left behind practically blinded the fans, and through the burning hot white… his arms extended in a crucifix, came Steve Christ. His black hair was damp, his chin was lined with a five O’clock shadow and he looked kinda like shit. But… who cared.

He was Steve Christ.

“STEVE!!”
“STEVE!!”
“STEVE!!”
“STEVE!!”
“STEVE!!”
“STEVE!!”

As the lights flickered back on, Christ pulled a microphone from his waistband and sneered long and hard. And long and hard. And he kept on sneering. The Freak’s microphone had been switched back on, but he didn’t talk just yet… he was waiting for Steven to make the first move. Steve raised a fist into the air to a roar of approval, and then brought the mike up to his lips…

“Wait a fucking second here. I haven’t been to see Daredevil yet, but what happened in the ending that made him turn into Neanderthal man? Daredevil? Are you in there? CAN-YOU-HEAR-ME? CAN-YOU-SEE-ME? DO-YOU-HAVE-A-HAIRY-ASSHOLE?” Steve smirked, as the fans pointed and laughed at The Freak.

“Oh, charming Christ, fucking charming.” Oddball was back on the mike, and the fans hated it. “Look who’s talking here. You’re Charles Manson V2.0. Why don’t you take your suburban white-trash ass back to Vegas, and gamble whatever money you have left from the few wins you’ve accumulated here in the Asylum away, then go to sleep face-down in a heap of your own vomit? You call yourself a ‘friend of loose women’? Well, now it’s all clear.

“You’re a friend of loose women. Because you ARE a loose woman. So loose in fact, that if you even DARE stepping into this cage The Freak will jam his boot so far up your giant manpussy that his steel toecaps will protrude from your fucking eye sockets. Understand this shit, yeah? I’m talking about life and death here, blondie.”

Christ looked unamused, and raised a single middle finger to Oddball, to a chorus of cheers. “Erm. Since when did you decide to speak for this guy over here? Since he last his voice because his throat got too raw sucking your dick? Oddball, hand the microphone over to Josephine over there, I want a word with him, yeah?” Christ laughed, as the fans laughed with him.

Oddball was about to continue verbally thrashing Christ, until The Freak snatched the mike away.

“Christ, I advise you not to play games with me because, unfortunately… games are lost on me. Friendly competition is lost on me, morals are lost on me, and valid motives are lost on me. If you allow this altercation to escalate, I won’t just beat you. I won’t just bulldoze you and leave you in a crumpled heap in the cage, gasping for life as your blood drips out of your ears and you ask yourself who you are. No… because regrettably Christ, I have a malevolent convention of taking things… one-step further.

“I will kill you. If you step one foot closer to me, I will tear you limb from limb and mail you to your parents with a big pink bow wrapped around your decapitated head. Because just ask Alexander Von DeThatt… and he’ll tell you that I don’t take any shit, son.”

Christ looked confused.

“Wait a minute Shirley Manson, did… did you just say that you were going to *kill* me? Has the hair-dye gone to your head, you fucking psycho-tard? I am the Messiah. I do not die. I just go to hell, go to heaven, go to hell, fuck the demons, fuck the angels, and come back with a new set of balls. You can’t keep me down because I don’t GO down, and you can’t kill what does not die. You wouldn’t DARE to even lay a FINGER on me… let alone kill me.” Christ smiled, as the fans cheered him on.

The Freak tilted his head to one side, his features still stony.

“You… think that I wouldn’t dare to kill you? What makes you think that I would hesitate at all, in any way perchance I had you in position to kill you? And what makes you think that I won’t get you into that position… and, what makes you think that I won’t follow you home after tonight, and shoot you in the base of you spine? Do you honestly think that I’m scared of killing you?” The Freak said monotonously.

Christ shot The Freak a wink.

“You wouldn’t dare even touch me… after the beating that I gave you at Mind Games, Melanie. I guarantee, that if you so much as look at me again… you’ll be leaving the arena with two fucking broken legs and your nose crammed up your ass. Oh yeah: Eleventh commandment. Thou Shalt.

“Not fuck.

“With Steve who?”

The fans chanted back, feverishly: “CHRIST!”

Christ then turned, and departed slowly and methodically. The Freak brought the microphone one last time before he left…

“So Christ, only one question remains as you sign your own Death Warrant. How would you like to be buried?”

The fans booed, and booed even more when The Freak didn’t leave the cage… as he in fact had a match coming up right next.

The Freak© Vs Keegan Carrahar
(Extreme Title)

“Woke Up This Morning” by A3 began to play, setting a methodical mood and bringing the fans to their feet with a chorus of cheers. The fans hollered love towards the rampway as the curtains were brushed aside…

Keegan Carrahar.

The Geordie Genius strolled out onto the stage and threw his arms into the air, and the fans threw them back up in unison… bring a smile to Keegan’s face as he swaggered down the ramp, his open shirt hanging at either side and his fighting boots tapping against the metal ramp. The overhead spotlights shone down on him as he made his way up the ringsteps, eyeing The Freak… and nodding.

He hopped over the mesh, and circled the outskirts of the cage, before throwing his arms into the air once more for another routine response from the fans. He’d certainly warmed himself to these hooligans as of late with his outstanding battles with Jeff Garvin, and his fan base was growing… he was quickly becoming one of the more beloved faces of the Asylum.

The music died down, and Keegan and The Freak were face to face for possible the first time. Oddball left the cage, as the two stood, perfectly still… watching eachother from only inches apart.

The fans cheered Keegan, and they booed The Freak. But neither of these men cared… as they had a mutual respect that defied the love and hate of the fans in attendance, or even the fans spread across the world, laid back on their soft couches and watching The Show with a beer grasped firmly in their palms. These men, back on the Underground scene… in TFZ, these men fought in the same promotion.

Keegan Carrahar was one of the longest reigning TFZ Champions of all time. He was completely unbeatable, and ruled over the promotion with an iron fist. His sheer versatility and craftiness was unmatched, and it was only when the gigantic John C. Willis powered his way to the top that he lost the title.

The Freak’s stint in TFZ was during Keegan’s reign, and later on, that of Willis. The Freak at the time was locked in a downward spiral, trapped between his injuries, his pride and his spinning descent into madness. But from afar, he watched Keegan… and pondered whether he had the fighting prowess to beat the Newcastle Knight.

Now, the bell rung. The Freak and Keegan stood at the same height, and were of a similar build… Keegan maybe having a few pounds advantage on his opponent. They were eye-level. They looked at eachother, long and hard…

And The Freak extended his taped fingers, his trenchcoat swinging from side to side as he looked at Keegan.

Keegan didn’t even glance at the fans… and he reached out and shook The Emasculator’s hand.

The fans began to boo horrendously at the show of respect between the two men, as Keegan and The Freak enjoyed a moment of just, pure, respect. Then, the referee declared the match underway, and the two stepped back.

They’d never fought before… they’d never even struck one another up until now.

That… was about to change.

POW~!!

Keegan made the first move, sending a powerful right set of knuckles cascading into The Freak’s jaw to the delight of the fans. The Freak staggered backwards, leaving himself open to another powerful punch to the chin that rocked The Emasculator back against the mesh. The Freak turned and dumped his title on the outside, before spinning back around… catching Keegan in his eye socket with a scintillating elbow smash.

Keegan ducked an incoming uppercut however, and managed to get a form grip around The Freak’s waist… the English Exocet then charged forwards, his legs driving him in motion and slamming The Red Ripper’s spine up against the rim of the cage, eliciting a wince of agony from The Freak. With a huge haul, Keegan then lifted The Freak up… hurling him overhead with a Belly to Belly suplex.

The Crimson Crippler landed flat on his back, bouncing and ricocheting from the mat as the fans cheered loudly due to The Freak getting his arse handed to him. Keegan followed up with a sharp kick to the back of The Freak’s stitched skull, and then stomped the heel of his boot into his opponent’s face with a primal roar. Keegan threw his arms into the air to a deafening boom…

Then reached over the side of the cage.

Steel chair, handed to him by his accomplice who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere, Lharn. The Freak began to stumbled to his feet, not quite sure where he was or why he was there… he turned to Carrahar and shot out his arm for a fist to the face, but Carrahar was crafty for his size and managaed to duck beneath The Freak’s arm, stepping behind him…

CRACK~!

And slamming the cold, hard steel into The Freak’s trenchcoat clad spine. Keegan followed up with a further two blows, each one drawing more of a response from the raving fans… who were now breaking out in chants of Carrahar’s name.

Keegan shouted out “WHO’S THE CHAMPION!?” to a chorus of cheers, before dropping the chair onto the mat and getting a grip on a bunch of The Freak’s red hair, which was laced with stitches and dried blood. Keegan hauled the Red Ripper to his feet… and drove his head into the threatening steel with a thunderous DDT.

Blood flecked across the mat as The Freak’s stitches began to fall open… and Carrahar stood tall, whilst the referee made an early count.

1!
2!
3!
4!
5…

6?

You’re not even getting that.

The Freak kipped up to his feet and swung his trenchcoat off over his arms, before turning and charging into Keegan with the ferocity of an uncaged animal. Keegan looked rather shocked as The Freak charged into him and slammed his forehead into the Geordie’s face with a sickening headbutt, jarring Keegan’s nose and causing it to swill with blood. The Freak then reached upwards and slammed his palms into Special K’s face with two chilling uppercuts… before leaping into the air and driving his foot into Keegan’s face with a Folha Secca.

Keegan toppled against the rim of the Asylum cage, with blood smeared from his nose over his upper lip. The Freak wiped some of his own claret from the busted stitches on his forehead and pounded a single fist into the air… much to the displeasure of the fans.

“FREAK-MUST-DIE!!”
“FREAK-MUST-DIE!!”
“FREAK-MUST-DIE!!”
“FREAK-MUST-DIE!!”
“FREAK-MUST-DIE!!”
“FREAK-MUST-DIE!!”

…

Yeah, they’re not too fond of The Freak.

As the boos continued, The Bulldozer grabbed each of Keegan’s legs and pulled them from the mat, so that Keegan was hanging by his arms on the rim of the cage. He got a stern grip of Keegan’s thighs, and lifted him up from the railing in a Powerbomb position…

CRACK!

Before slamming Keegan’s back down over the rim of the cage. The Yardstick gasped in pain as his spine connected, and almost snapped over the hard steel… but The Freak wasn’t done. He hauled Keegan back up…

CRACK!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooo

And did it again. Keegan coughed for air as he was almost broken in two over the cage itself… before being brought up onto The Freak’s shoulders for a third time.

CRACK!

Booooo / YOU MOTHERFUCKER / Kick his ass Keegan / Freak sucks dick

Keegan found himself at The Freak’s mercy… as The Freak hauled Keegan onto his shoulders a third and final time, but this time not dropping the Underworld Untouchable across the mesh. Instead The Freak spun around, before charging forwards and quite horrendously jamming Keegan’s head and neck into the chair with a scintillating High Angle Driver.

The Freak didn’t allow a count though… as he knew that that wouldn’t keep the Yardstick down. He dragged Keegan to his feet, and slammed a boot into his sternum before hooking his head…

And finding himself being lifted into the air.

…WTF?

Despite just suffering four brutal spinal impacts, Keegan showed his grit and determination in bringing The Freak up onto one shoulder and throwing him overhead with a perfect Northern Lights suplex… not just onto the canvas though.

But out of the freaking cage.

The pair of them hurtled over the mesh, landing with a BANG. The mats did nothing to cushion their fall, and the two men were slammed down onto the unforgiving floor mercilessly as the fans roared on in the background… their chants for Keegan and calls for The Freak’s head growing louder.

While both warriors were down due to the sheer impact of the move, the crowd initiated a slow and steady round of applause that eventually reached a rapid rhythm in an attempt to encourage these two individuals... who are actually still in the same stable, to regain their bearings and continue as long as they could.

However, that is far easier said than done... as the participants will attest to given that they both encountered gruelling grudge matches just seven days ago.

But, which becomes even clearer, was that The Freak had to literally go through hell in comparison to Carrahar, who was now standing and apparently ready to resume proceedings... opposite the newly crowned Extreme Champion.

Special K, as he’s called by some, helped Fenn-Grail up to his feet... but it was there for all to see that this bout, created by Joe Campbell, was the last thing either man needed right now for various reasons. As Keegan just managed to usher in a sloppy shot that knocked The Freak to his feet though it must be said... Brian seemed imminent to end up there anyway regardless of whether contact was made or not.

Their tumble hadn’t done either of them any good to say the least, and the Newcastle native appeared to be disinterested as he leaned over to haul Hell’s Kitchen’s favourite up for more of the same but both men, irrelevant of what they wanted personally, realised that they had to grin and bear it in order to survive... let alone emerge from the encounter with the prestigious Extreme strap that Brian had valiantly secured a week today. Losing the title so quickly after procuring it would surely be a disaster.

Nevertheless, that didn’t bother the Briton too much as he displayed precision in setting up the man he had operated alongside throughout The Zone/Stranglehold dispute for a Suplex, which he successfully completed on the unexposed concrete floor.

He hadn’t finished there though as he held on and was poised to deliver a variation, possibly one of the Belly-to-Back brand, when Brian caught him unaware with a brisk Elbow to the Geordie’s jaw and took him to the floor with a swift Uki Otoshi.

With Carrahar now on the defensive momentarily, The Freak, undoubtedly intent on keeping this contest as short as possible, levelled the avid Football fan with two callous Buzzsaw kicks to either side of the head. Now it was the inhabitant of the Big Apple, despite his disadvantages, who could claim control over this Championship confrontation.

Thereafter, a tremendous T-Bone Suplex followed, and that had to knock the stuffing out of Keegan. But... if that wasn’t enough then the subsequent Alabamaslam and Somersault combo that led to Fenn-Grail exploiting his considerable frame to pile pressure on the sternum of The Yardstick, surely did the job and put the senior member of The Zone firmly in pole position.

The capacity crowd despised Brian for his recent actions and although they appreciated that he and The Height of Humanity respected one another, they also hoped that the latter would throw that out of the window and sacrifice himself in order to harm his usual associate, albeit on a professional basis.

Notwithstanding, a truly tremendous Capoeira combination comprising of a Two-Hit Rolling Kick, Low Shin Kick, Saut Kick and then a remarkable Roundhouse Kick to round the sensational sequence off even forced the fanatics’ jaws to hit the floor, along with the prone anatomy of The Prince of Palermo, who must have thought he had had a few too many bottles of Brown Ale.

Needless to say, he hadn’t as that would have been more enjoyable than being subjected to the outstanding offensive onslaught of his extraordinary opposition and to make things worse Fenn-Grail was going to introduce some of the artillery around them into the equation, which was never a good sign especially with someone of the calibre and mental state of The Emasculator.

The table was a common characteristic in the industry nowadays but still Brian’s unpredictability meant that he could use the elementary item to amazing effects and nobody, probably even himself, knew what he was going to do as he rested his rival’s body on the aforementioned object.

Fortunately for those who wanted the challenger to halt the momentum of the Crimson Crippler, Carrahar connected with a couple of rigid rights to The Freak’s race and rolled off the table.

From there, the former two-time Fighting Zone titleholder grabbed Fenn-Grail’s cheeks and met him with a hellacious Headbutt that hurt him as well as extinguishing another few brain cells on Brian’s behalf. Not that it’ll trouble him too much.

Anyway, another high-impact move seemed to be on the card for Keegan and some of the spectators stood as they expected the Englishman to use the table to assist whatever he may have in mind. And they weren’t wrong as he pointed to the appliance and set The Freak up for what would definitely be a pulsating Powerbomb providing it came off.

A roar echoed around the arena as he found the strength to elevate The Emasculator into the air seemingly certain to drop him with what would be a devastating move to his opponent’s already delicate equilibrium thanks to Ty Hughes.

Nevertheless, the resilient red-haired rock found it in himself to eradicate the precarious predicament and as Carrahar was about to lower him onto the ominous object beneath, Brian stunned the supporters with a thunderous Tornado DDT that could be heard from the upper tier of the arena but even louder than that was the obligatory chorus that promptly followed Keegan’s ‘car crash…’

"HOLY SHIT~!"

"HOLY SHIT~!"

"HOLY SHIT~!"

"HOLY SHIT~!"

...And Carrahar could be compared to that really given the sticky situation he now found himself in. Mind you, the aggressor was also injured and neither Oddball nor Lharn who were standing at opposite sides of the steel structure knew how far this, The Freak’s first ever title defence, would go.

Unbelievably, well maybe not then as he’s shown time and time again, Brian was up on the assigned official’s count of six and he stopped what may’ve been an early win... which was baffling to be honest, but there had to be a mysterious and malicious motive behind it.

Keegan was ready for him as he approached and an outstretched left leg levelled the callous kingpin and enabled the so-called ‘Essence of Extreme’ to return to his vast vertical base in order to address the Extreme Champion but a boot that buried itself deep into the Geordie Genius’ gut allowed The Emasculator to nip the North East native’s ambitions in the bud before they came to the surface.

Fenn-Grail then charged towards the hopeful pretender to the throne with a tremendous tackle but instead of planting the Prince of Palermo firmly on his backside he showed sheer strength by hoisting him up onto his shoulder afterwards and set up what seemed to be a Sidewalk Slam. Yet, observers who were familiar with The Freak’s extensive arsenal knew there was another step to this and there was as he practically rendered the Englishman unconscious with a magnificent modification of the Kryptonite Krunch.

He was on a roll now and rather than allow the referee to do his job and confirm what would be a formality, he helped Carrahar up to his feet though it should be noted it wasn’t for the good of his health. Oh no... As The Zone’s figurehead had a hold of Keegan’s hair, slowly guiding him back into the cage, everyone knew that although they were meant to be colleagues that The Yardstick wasn’t going to be let off the hook so to speak. That wasn’t in Anti-Nature’s nature.

These battered battlers were now back in the battleground that they were so accustomed to though not against one another. Sentiment couldn’t get in the way of business, not that either individual cared passionately for the other, but they did have a semblance of mutual respect yet that didn’t come into it at this point. It was survival of the fittest and thus far, in their respective tenures as well as this particular tie, Brian had displayed the stamina and staying power of a Marathon runner in comparison to Carrahar who could be a considered as a 100-metre sprinter.

Oddball concurred with his acquaintance’s command of passing him the old-fashioned steel chair, which was introduced to Keegan’s cranium, but the contender wasn’t even allowed to go to ground as Fenn-Grail was getting into his groove and gave The Mayor of Mayhem a gorgeous German Suplex for good measure.

Taking a page from Dan Severn’s book, The Freak then deployed a dangerous Dragon Sleeper. Whether or not he was expecting a submission from Carrahar is questionable but one thing that wasn’t was that Keegan wasn’t going to surrender to this particular manoeuvre this evening as he constantly told the official to ‘Fuck off’ after being asked if he would like to live in order to fight another day.

When it became clear that a tap-out was certainly not on the cards, The Emasculator did not let go and instead inflicted even more damage via a deadly Diamond Dust that put the ex-Gangster on Dream Street.

Brian wasn’t through with trying to make Keegan quit and locked on an Exxa Deathlock, a mocking tribute to the late Exxa Decimal, that resembled the technique used by the ex-Asylum Champion and who was Carrahar to argue?

More importantly, it still could not make the big-mouthed Brit submit and that was the ultimate objective so Fenn-Grail, quick as a cat, changed positions and then went for a Texas Cloverleaf, which certainly softened Special K up even more…

But it still couldn’t claim that elusive submission victory and The Freak’s unusual obsession with trying to obtain blood from a stone gave the Geordie hope that he could turn things around here…

And he did.

After inching towards the far side of the cell in order to hold on to the mesh and make the pain somewhat bearable, Keegan also used it as support to aid his long and lethal legs to turn the tide and muster up enough energy to kick his way to freedom prior to nailing Fenn-Grail, from a sitting position, with a power-packed punch and then a lovely Legsweep to place the boot on the other foot for a change.

No count needed to be made as Carrahar, desperate for a change in fortune, attempted to maintain his momentum and did so with a wicked Irish Whip that sent The Freak face-first into the wiring... before planting The Emasculator with a brilliant Bulldog that suggested Keegan shouldn’t be counted out of this collision just yet.

The Yardstick yelled at Lharn to pass him something, which turned out to be a shovel (like you carry them about) and Huscroft fulfilled his friend’s request by throwing it into the mix.

As it landed at the feet of the former Fighting Zone franchise, who had to bend over to pick it up, The Freak was on his feet again and executed a first-rate Reverse Hurricane Kick that not only conveyed his quick thinking and admirable athleticism for a man of his size... but also handed him the advantage once again as the Briton’s bracket met the shovel, which takes a while to digest for those of you who have never tried one.

It seemed that the handshake at the beginning of this bout had been forgotten about at this critical stage of the contest, which was now back in the hands of the man who held from Hell’s Kitchen. As he lifted the Latin Luminary up, an unexpected Eye Gouge surprised him, which was low but legal and then treated to a phenomenal punt that almost relieved the flame-haired Fighter of his entire supply of oxygen.

Thereafter, as The Freak held his very delicate ribs, Carrahar demonstrated that he also had an ounce of agility in him with a stunning Scissors Kick to the point of the spine that enabled the Englishman’s admirers to get excited to an extent.

It was now The Yardstick’s turn to apply a hold designed to make The Emasculator think about throwing the towel in... and while he didn’t, of course, the Torture Rack was then converted into a ground-shaking Death Valley Driver, which led to an even louder response from the capacity crowd on hand... who were now really beginning to believe that he could dethrone his camp member. And, they lived it up even more as he used his foot to deposit The Freak to the outside as if he was a piece of dirt and, to be brutally honest, it was symbolic of the way the general public perceived the highly-talented talisman of the Extreme Division in this outstanding organization.

Keegan looked out into the fans, and threw a fist into the air.

“KEE-GAN!!”

“KEE-GAN!!”

“KEE-GAN!!”

“KEE-GAN!!”

“KEE-GAN!!”

The Freak crawled across the ringmats on the outside, his face tattered and pouring with blood as he managed to scarper over to the Pakistani Announcer’s table. Until tonight, you never knew that there was a Pakistani announcer’s table, but in fact the Pakistani announcers themselves were being used for the British broadcast of The Show.

…

Keegan was soon seen stomping down the ringsteps, his feet clanging against the hollow steel and his eyes dead set on the Extreme Champion who know leaned up against the table, blood pouring from his face and over the desk. But as Keegan drew closer… it became evident that The Freak had a trick up his sleeve.

A steel chair trick.

CLANG~!!

Keegan found the chair being caved in over his face as he was about to collide with The Freak… and soon after, the chair was used to great effect again with another blistering shot to the skull. The Freak then threw the chair onto the announcer’s desk, and resorted to popping a few punches into Carrahar’s features… left, right, left, right, right… and an uppercut to the nose.

As Keegan flew back and hit the guardrail, The Bulldozer continued his assault by leaping up onto the announcer’s desk and jumping from it in grand fashion, knocking Keegan up and over the railing with a powerful spinning variation of the High Arc Kick~!

It seemed that Keegan’s chances of leaving the cage with the Silver Strap were becoming rather slim, as The Freak hopped the railings nimbly and landed on the other side, snatching up a chair to boot. Keegan crawled over onto another fan’s chair, and inadvertently placed his head on the chair for a rest.

The Freak saw his opportunity.

He raised his own chair over his head, and prepared to slam it down into Keegan’s skull… when he felt something hit his back. And something else.

Fans.

The fans were attacking The Freak. The Emasculator sighed, and took out several of the angry punters at once with a powerful swing of his steel choice of weaponry… causing them to topple in a bloody heap. Another few fans rushed forwards, only to suffer the same fate, but their distraction had proven enough for Keegan to regain his advantage. He wrapped his arms under The Freak’s shoulders and around the back of his neck, disarming his opponent as he did so, then hurled him backwards and onto the chair…

THROUGH the chair…

With a Full Nelson Slam to end all Full Nelson Slams.

The fans around Carrahar began to scream out, jumping to their feet for a standing ovation as Keegan snatched up a random fan’s beer cup and began to swig from it. The referee, now hanging over the guardrail, began to make the count.

1!
2!
3!
4!
5!
6!
7!
8!
9!

…

10!

New EXTREME CHAMPION~!

…

I lied.

The Freak got up at 9, with claret now streaming from the back of his head and beginning to matt in his hair. Keegan sent a frustrated punch to The Freak’s face, and the Emasculator found himself toppling back over the railings. Keegan snatched up another chair, before leaping over the guardrail in hot pursuit, the fans patting him on the back as he went.

The Freak managed to crawl up onto the announcer’s table, but still couldn’t get to his feet due to the extensive injuries suffered the night prior. Keegan followed, climbing up alongside The Freak with his chair… and a gleam in his eyes.

Keegan wasn’t seeing Brian Fenn-Grail anymore, he was seeing the title that he was only inches away from winning.

The Red Ripper attempted to get up, his hands grasping at the announcer’s desk and trying to push himself up to his feet…

Keegan raised that very same chair high above his head, and brought it slamming down into The Freak’s spine, right between his shoulders. The Freak’s head smashed into the desk and knocked spittle from his mouth, as Keegan brought the chair up again and repeated the process, smashing The Freak apart with brutal chairshots.

CRACK!!
CRACK!!
CRACK!!
CRACK!!
CRACK!!
CRACK!!
CRACK!!
CRACK!!
CRACK!!
CRACK!!

…

And ten more. The seat flew from the battered, destroyed chair with the final shot, and the announcer’s table was stained and smeared with thick, oily blood. The fans cheered the sheer brutality as Keegan stood over The Freak, before glaring at the referee… his shoulders arched and his head hung down, a primal killer instinct present in his eyes.

“Count.”

1!

2!

3!

4!

5!

6!

7!

8!

9!

…

10?

…

As if automatically, like a robot acting entirely on function programming, The Freak crawled to his feet and looked at Keegan with blood-red eyes from a blood-soaked face. Keegan roared like a soldier heading out into battle, tearing his shirt off and clamping a hand on either side of The Freak’s face before smashing his nose with a headbutt. The Freak rocked backwards, but didn’t fall… instead rebounding with a fist to Keegan’s face.

Keegan stumbled…

The Freak stepped forwards quickly, and almost in a blue wrapped his arm around Keegan’s throat. He crammed Keegan’s arm behind his back in a hammerlock and kicked out his leg, before flipping Keegan over by his neck… Keegan landed on his feet, on the *next* announcer’s table.

He looked relieved.

Until The Freak finished the move with a high jumping kick to Keegan’s face that sent Keegan slamming back-first onto the table, completing the strange move known as the The Skinstripper. Keegan began to slowly attempt to get back up, as The Freak made the jump between the two desks and got a grip on Keegan’s hair. He picked Keegan’s face up to look him in the eye… and then locked Keegan’s own arm between his legs.

He hooked Keegan up…

Before sending him flying from the commentary desk with a MALEVOLENT Wrist Clutch Exploder suplex, from the table all the way down, neck-first onto the guardrail!

The fans booed continuously as Keegan flopped onto the commentators’ chairs, and rolled under the desk clutching his neck in throbbing misery. The Freak wiped the blood from his eyes and flicked it at the fans, who reacted by hurling trash at the Tormentor, and chanting at him frenziedly… The Freak reached down and grabbed Keegan’s ankle, dragging him out from under the commentary desk and grabbing him by the back of the neck.

The Freak picked Keegan up by the very scruff of his neck and slammed him, face-first, onto the announcer’s table. He banged it several times against the wood, before drawing back Keegan… and grabbing his shorts. With an almighty heave, Keegan was thrown flying over the desk and face-first onto the cold concrete.

“FUCK-THE-FREAK!”

“FUCK-THE-FREAK!”

“FUCK-THE-FREAK!”

“FUCK-THE-FREAK!”

“FUCK-THE-FREAK!”

“FUCK-THE-FREAK!”

The Freak sighed, and hopped over the desk… picking up Keegan and smashing his face into the outer mesh of the cage. Keegan proved that he wasn’t completely out of it yet though with a shocking elbow to the eye that snapped back The Freak’s head, allowing Keegan to capitalize by locking an arm around The Freak’s throat and charging, dragging The Freak by his head… before nailing him into the guardrail with a running Urange Slam~!

Keegan didn’t stop there, locking The Freak in a front facelock and jamming knee after knee into the Red Ripper’s chest and abdomen… before walking backwards, towards the entrance ramp.

Upon hearing the steel tap underneath his boots, Keegan slung The Freak’s arm over his shoulders and hooked a leg… before hoisting him into the air, stalling…

…

And smashing The Freak’s head into the cold, hard steel with a vicious Fisherman Buster that dented the very rampway, with The Freak’s skull~!

Keegan lurched over the guardrail, snatching up a chair from a fan and strolling to the top of the stage with it clasped in his hands tightly. He watched as the referee counted The Freak down, as he lay in a pool of blood at the bottom of the ramp…

1!
2!
3!
4!
5!
6!
7!
8!
…
9!
…

…

The Freak got up, his hand clutching the guardrail like a lifeline. He looked up sluggishly at Keegan, who stood on the stage, poised and ready for a confrontation… and The Freak was most certainly willing to provide one. The Emasculator limped towards Keegan, clutching his ribs and spluttering blood, and upon reaching him…

Keegan swung the chair.

The Freak ducked down, and as Keegan brought the chair back up… The Freak leaped upwards and spin-kicked it straight into the Geordie Genius’s face, hammering the steel into his already grizzled features and in turn slamming the unfortunate ex-TFZ Champion into the video wall. The Freak picked up the chair as Keegan slumped down…

CRACK~!

Boooo!!!

CRACK~!

Boooo!!!

CRACK~!

Boooo!!!

“SHUT YOUR FILTHY MOUTHS, PISSANTS!!”

CRACK~!

Boooo!!!

CRACK~!

Boooo!!!

Keegan slumped down, dropping onto his backside as blood trickled down his face from a bloody opened gash. His eyes were glazed and rolling around in his skull vacantly, whilst his body was slicked with a layer of his own crimson. The Freak didn’t stop however, wanting to make sure that he had his previous promotion’s champion beaten… he dropped the chair with a *clunk*, and hauled Keegan to his feet…

POW

Keegan still wasn’t ready to give up, firing a powerful right fist into The Freak’s teeth and rattling his skull.

“Brian?

“This is why I was TFZ Champion, mate.”

With that, Carrahar sent a massive boot to The Freak’s balls and locked his arms around the Blackblood’s waist, before picking him up, heaving him into the air despite his lack of oxygen that was ever decreasing…

BANG~!

There was a resounding thud on the ramp, as Keegan powerbombed his one-night enemy back-first onto the metal alloy. Not showing any flaws or imperfections in his move, he then brought The Freak back up and repeated the powerful Powerbomb a further two times, completing the Fall From Grace. As The Freak lay, his arms and legs spread out and his forehead doused in red… Keegan fell back against the video wall again.

1!

2!

3!

4!

5!

6!

…

…

The Freak, pushing his arms flat against the ramp and flinging himself upwards, managed to stagger to his feet. Keegan sighed, and sent another boot out to the Red Ripper… but this one was caught. The Freak stepped over Keegan’s leg and spiralled into his face with a leg lariat, spiking the Yardstick’s neck into the steel and splattering blood up the entrance curtains…

The Freak didn’t stop there. He picked Keegan up, and with a handful of hair and a handful of trunks, dragged him upwards. Once Keegan was in front of The Freak in a hunched over position, The Freak swung Keegan around…

…

AND HEAD-FIRST INTO THE VIDEO WALL~!

Keegan’s head smashed through the various monitors and screens contained within, and the glass shattered over his flesh, shredding him to pieces. Not even letting go of Keegan, The Freak continued by dragging Keegan out of the screen and smashing him into another one, repeating this a further three times. Keegan dropped to his knees, a scarlet mask imprinted on his face.

The Freak picked him up…

And the fans booed. And The Freak? He told them where to stick it, before dragging Keegan over to the edge of the stage…

“I could have been the champion, Keegan. And you know it…” The Freak said, limping closer to the edge.

“Sh- show me…” Keegan croaked between coughs.

The Freak hooked Keegan’s head and leg, and twisted his body into position as the fans continued to hurl garbage and scream. And with an almighty heave…

The Freak soared off the stage, and almost fifteen feet down into several tables and wires. The stage collapsed beneath them, as Keegan was drilled through the wood and steel with the Anti-Nature. The pair lay, in a crumpled heap, surrounded by debris and broken wood and gore.

The Freak, slowly, crawled to his feet as the referee made his count on Keegan.

1!

2!

3!

4!

5!

6!

7!

8!

9!

.

.

.

.

.

He’s not getting up.

10!

The fans screamed bloody murder as The Freak’s name was called over the PA System, and “Carpe Diem” hit the speakers once more. The first meeting between the two TFZ pioneers had been a bloody, gore-filled battle that certainly earned the title of Extreme, but the fans seemed quite uncaring of that aspect as The Freak had won.

The Freak looked down on Keegan as he began to get up… and extended his hand. Keegan took it… quite possible taking the hand of the devil himself, and used to aid himself in getting to his feet. Fenn-Grail and Carrahar stared at eachother, looking in the eyes once more… and Keegan nodded.

“You’re a champion Brian. Make *cough* the most of it.”

Then, to torrential boos, they shook hands once more.

Respect, in the Asylum, counts for nothing.

But they cannot deny that if anyone is worthy of the Extreme Title, it is these two men.

RING~!

Unlike normally the phone was snatched off of the cradle, and Joe set the phone to the side of his face, “Who the fuck is this, and what the fuck do you want? I can’t sit on the phone for some git to take the piss out of me trying to sell me a fucken vacation.” Joe quieted up and listened to the voice on the other side.

“Gary Maxwell, you say? The Viper?” Joe continued to listen, “Hold up, you want the Smilthy’s back up in Philadelphia, high scale, and what do I get in return?” Joe paused and listened, nodded, seemingly agreeing to what he heard. “You know what? If you take care of Carnage, I’ll think about funding your little project there.”

The faint sound of the voice on the other end goes on, “Hold on there, I’m not gonna guarantee anything, remember who the fuck I am. You need more help from me than, I need from you..” Joe paused and listen, “Okay, okay.. Sounds good.. Hold up! There’s one thing I’d like to add…” Joe stood from his chair and walked around his desk, “Do you know Sebastian Thompson?”

Campbell stopped in his tracks as he listened, “What the fuck? You lead Carnage to him? Bloody hell! You’re the sodding cunt that was trying to fuck me over? And you want my help?! What.. No, no.. no, why should I fucken believe you now? You’ll kill him, you say?” Joe paused smiling, “Now we’re talking, but since you got this problem started.. I want you to meet with Thompson, scare the piss out of him, I want to see where he really lies. Don’t let him know anything, you understand?” Joe didn’t speak anything else, as he slammed the phone back into the cradle, he knew right now he was going to finally get some answers.

"How? How did that fucking British whore escape with her life? I should have taken her easily.....but I didn't...."

Kali trailed off, suddenly wondering if her decision to come here was the right one. After all, she was under a lot of stress, and wondered if she could keep up with some of the toughest fighters in the world.

But then, as much as she wished for a release, she wasn't going to find one. Not on that night. Perhaps, not ever again.

Because She passed by Kali. Without a single word, She passed right by her, as if Kali meaned nothing to her.

That could not be further from the truth.

"That could not be her." Kali said as she struggled to fill her lungs with air. ".Two? Here? Now?"

She leaned back against the wall again, pounding her head into it. Things were not turning out the way she had planned.

Eddie stood there, motionless, emotionless as well. He had his arms crossed in front of his chest. “Funk you mang.” Eddie said, as Joe stopped in his tracks. “You be makin’ me do all dis funken shiznit mang, and I ain’t be cool wit none o it. And den ya be funken blamin’ me mang when shit be goin’ all wrong. Maybe if ya be funken playin’ fair in da first place, I ain’t be havin’ ta prove myself bein a great fighter and all.”

“Damnit Eddie!” Joe slammed his hands against the desk. “You don’t have to prove fucking shit to those fans, you hear me? You’ve been around the Asylum for a long fucking time, you were a former fucken boxer for Christ’s sake!” Cheno turned around, looking behind him. “What the fuck are you looking at?”

“I be dinkin’ Steve Christ be walkin’ by.” Cheno said, cracking his neck. “Ya know, fur some funken joke or shit.”

“This is no fucking joke Cheno. I told you I don’t enjoy being FUCKED with,” Joe gritted his teeth, and saw something behind Eddie. “No no no. As reward for your FUCKTALITY last week at Mind Games, you’re gonna face the Freak next week.” Cheno turned around, and saw the Freak standing there with his newly aquired Extreme Championship. “And it’ll be an extreme title match. And the Freak won’t be pulling any punches. I just hope you don’t FUCK up like you did at Mind Games Eddie,” Campbell walked closer to Eddie. “Because if you do, you won’t live to see Broken.”

Eddie kept his attention to the Freak, who simply scoffed before walking away. An almost inaudible “Pissant” comment was the only thing anyone could here before Cheno walked out of Joe’s office, slamming the door behind him.

Somewhat ironic, when everything that mattered had just been stolen from him; Hughes was feeling far from apathetic.

Nevertheless, the crowd roared in approval of Hughes even making it to the arena tonight, after the torture he went through at Mind Games. Morally, Hughes felt like a victor… a winner with no prize. The Extreme title rested around The Freak’s waist, and the Asylum title shot? With some guy in a mask.

The hair on Hughes’ head had begun to grow back, as had a full beard, as physical appearances really had meant nothing to Hughes in recent times. Hughes looked out over the crowd who were still standing and cheering “Hughes! Hughes! HUGHES!”, and he couldn’t help but wonder how he was so revered, and yet so weak.

He lifted the mic to his mouth, but was again drowned out by the fans. They didn’t seem to care he wasn’t their champion any more, and few had even noticed the absence of his steel baseball bat, and assorted Nike paraphernalia, and for the first time in a long time Hughes felt good. They were cheering him, the person, and not all his little gimmicks.

“I… I’m here to apologise.”

The crowd were hushes into a silence.

“I let you all down, and I let myself down at Mind Games. I said I would kill the Freak, and he branded me weak. I said I would win Mind Games, and I came up second best. And right now my body has taken all it can…”

The crowd started booing. This sounded far too reminiscent of all the retirement speeches they’d ever heard. Shouts of “fuUK?” rang clear throughout the arena.

“I need a break. However, let me make this clear… I will be back.”

The crowd reaction was mixed. They were more than relieved to know their hero was coming back… but when? How long would he be gone for?

“When? I don’t know. I’m broken now… mentally, physically, I’m drained. I have broken ribs, I’ve had enough concussions to last me a lifetime. I’m scarred for life, and I did this all for the Asylum gold… and it’s been stolen away from me. The Masked Brawler… whoever he is, will pay for this. And he won’t fucking get away with it for long. Mark my words… I will find out who you are…

And you will pay the fucking price, of pissing off Ty Hughes”

The crowd broke out into cheers again as Hughes raised one arm in the air, symbolically, the image somewhat tarnished by the grimace of pain on Hughes’ face. He was a broken man, but he would back…

Far sooner than he would have planned.

Carnage© Vs Fatts McGarron
(T.V. Title)

What can I say to make you see how the fuck I feel
to make me wanna jump off of the edge
I'm charged off of suckers gettin shot up off the ledge
No pain, instead of 'caine I took a blunt off to the head (so tell me what it said)
Retaliate with lethal repercussion
I feel the reefer rushin
to go into thangs, like it's a wicked stick
Took the Benadryl, hot like I'm fin' ta steal
to get the kickin shit
for niggaz and bitches that I kick it with
I was born to get you pumped up
it's like some lead bust cause I give motherfuckers a head rush
Then yo' head bust when you jumped up
Cause what I said must've got you geeked, my eyes red puffed
from smokin shit that niggaz hit on to die
Make me wanna slip the clip on the side
And if you act a bitch on the side, if we have to
then the whole Westside'll let the shit go on and ride
when the trigga bust

That's your adrenaline rush
like when a motherfucker have to go pick up the pump
to make his opposition chest kick up and jump
when you lit up the gun to make your body get up and uhh
That's your adrenaline rush
like when a motherfucker have to go pick up the pump
to make a trigger pick up and dump
so turn the bass, kick up and bump
and let the rhythm hit off the trunk

“Adrenaline Rush,” by Twista. The crowd cheered the arrival of their brand spanking new Television champion, as he marched down the ramp. The TV Title now adorned his waist, as Carnage looked forward to his first opponent, he put his fingers between the cage mesh and propelled himself up and onto the apron, and then over the rim and into the ring. He loosened his neck, and stretched as he looked into the eyes of Fatts McGarron, and someone would ask if the most overweight since Ralphus, still thought he had a chance in this match up. Carnage reached back and yanked the belt so it unbuckled, and he handed it over to the ref, who showed the audience, and Fatts, exactly what was on the line in this one. The bell rang signaling the beginning of the match, and surprising to the audience, neither man moved one inch. Carnage now seeming more calculated then ever before, began his course around the ring measuring up the larger weight of McGarron. The buzz of the crowd excitement to see Carnage was finally dying down. Carnage motioned for Fatts to bring it, and all 245 lbs of McGarron surprisingly charged forward and the two collided into an arm and collar tie up.

What shocked the crowd even more was that due to the, weight advantage, and the leverage advantage Fatts took control and shoved the former Extreme champion into the cage wall. Followed by two successive shoulder blocks into the midsection of the Crazy Corteia. Fatts went for another, but had his head snapped back by a knee to the face from Carnage! Fatts stumbles, and Carnage grabs his hand and aids him back to his feet, Carnage whips him in for the other side of the ring, but he turns Fatts around mid-swing brings him back to him and nails an inverted Ace Crusher to the jaw of Fatts! Carnage stood as alert, as the ref began to make his count..

1...

2...

3...

4...

Fatts was getting back to his feet, Carnage watched, measured charged forward and went for a drop kick to Fatts’ face, but surprisingly the young heavyweight used his guile, and just barely managed to move out of the way. Carnage crashed down at the ringside. Fatts’ skin rumbled under his shirt as he got his footing under control, he looked towards Carnage who was getting back up to his feet, and McGarron did the only thing he could do.. He charged forward..

I DON’T KNOW WHAT SOUND THAT SHOULD MAKE!

“Between Rolls and Rim” was the novel based on where Carnage’s head was after the youngster charged into him. Fatts brought a dazed Carnage to his feet, not knowing that somewhere Joe Campbell was going through an epiphany, he wanted Carnage to lose the title, but did he actually want Fatts to win it? Fatts didn’t care, if he could win it, he would. Fatts grabbed Carnage by the hair on his head and slowly brought him up but it was halted by a low blow… and….

And… and… ………… and….. nothing?! Nope there stood Fatts McGarron, not in fear of being doubled over. Carnage tried again, but replay around the arena showed that Carnage’s arm was nailing the fat between Fatts’ legs. Carnage got up the rest of the way, and shoved Fatts back away from him, showing an aggressive streak Fatts charged forward only to run right into the DTH~! Drop Toe Hold by Carnage, sent Fatts’ face right into the cage which rattled the cage..

Carnage was back onto his feet and sent an armada of boots into the kidney area of his bigger breasted opponent. He stood away for the ref to count, but once he did, Carnage walked in and brought McGarron back to his feet. Carnage measured, and began to nail Fatts in the face with hard shots.. RIGHT, RIGHT, RIGHT… LEFT, WINDUP~~~~ RIGHT!

The bodyguard of the LoD remained on the mat and the ref began to count, but it was quickly distinguished by Carnage who ran in and drove his knee into the throat area of McGarron. And again! Then finally Carnage brought McGarron back to his feet, and threw him in for an Irish Whip..

CRASH!

Carnage charged in and nailed a 360 elbow smash into the face of Fatts rocking back the body of the youngster. Carnage rocketed a boot right into the midsection of McGarron doubling him over, and Carnage took over and PLANTED McGarron with a harsh DDT! Carnage mounted the rim and watched as the ref again began to count this match to a conclusion, but for yet another time the count was disrupted but this time as Carnage nailed a Senton!

Carnage yanked Fatts back up to his feet, and applied a rear waist lock, he gritted his teeth as his face reddened, and then he did it! Overhead snap German suplex! The ring shook as Carnage climbed back to his feet, and almost immediately he jumped up on the rim, and the crowd cheered, the ref stood and began the count yet again..

1...

2...

3...

4...

5...

6...

7...

8...

9...

10!

And the match ended, as “Adrenaline Rush” played, without the completion of Maximum Carnage, Carnage Corteia hopped back down onto the mat, and collected the belt from the referee. This match wasn’t exactly the best challenge for a TV champion, but Carnage knew they weren’t all going to be this easy, he knew Joe wanted that title off his waist, what he didn’t know was what exactly would await him in the upcoming weeks. No matter, Carnage was willing to defend his title just as much as Cheno was when he was champion, maybe even better. But for now? Carnage made his way to the exit through the crowd.

Villam flew into a rage, lifting Joe Campbell from his seat.

Dez's hand went into his jacket.

"Don't. Dez." Joe said in-between breaths...Villam on the other hand, kept staring into Joe's eyes.

"Yeah, Don't Dez. I wouldn't want to have both of you laid out all over this office." Villam said with gritted teeth.

Still, Villam thought it better to put Joe down and sit back down himself. Once seated Villam began to rub his temples.

"Joe.

What the fuck did you do?" he groaned.

Joe shrugged. "I went on and signed an unsanctioned fight between you and Borst."

Villam resisted the urge to slam his fist in Joe's face.

"Why? Why? WHY? Would you do that? I still don't know if I'm going to even fight Borst yet. What I said out there wasn't a fucking challenge, homeslice. It was a fucking warning. On Borst's gravestone it's not going to say: "Died in fight with Villam"...it's going to say: "Got caught slippin'...You know why it's going to say that, Camp?"

Joe scratched his head. "Because he tripped over something?"

(-.-)

"NO MOTHERFUCKER. Because he "GOT CAUGHT SLIPPIN'"...that means, me and him in an alley somewhere with a crowbar lodged into his spine. You've turned an everyday mugging into a main event at the next PPV. Congrats."

Joe shook his head. "Villam, I really don't know why you're so fucking arse-broken over this."

"I'm "arse-broken" over this because...I DIDN'T HAVE ANY INTENTIONS ON FIGHTING BORST, YOU FUCKTARD."

Joe had an angry response all ready for that, but Villam kept going.

"I don't like the fucking idea of you signing me to matches, when you couldn't even swallow your bile-covered pride to ask Ivy nicely for a title shot. I'm not even going to go into what I had to fucking do to get that rematch. I'm sure you know already. My soul is stained."

Joe laughed. "Your "soul" is stained? Villam even if you had a fucking "soul"...it would've been stained after you raped Caprino and killed his girl. Or how about killing your brother?"

Villam shook his head. "Caprino and his "girl" knew what the fuck they were getting into. Caprino thought he was better than me and my cock in his ass proved otherwise. And my half-brother was my blood. MY responsibility. My conscience doesn't kill me over shit like that...

...but Eli's baby. That baby had nothing to do with any of this, did she?"

Joe just shrugged. There was nothing he could say...not like he was going to take blame for anything. "I'm sorry, Villam...but the match is booked. There's nothing I can do. Bor-...I mean."

Villam got to his feet. "Oh, I get it. Borst comes in here and demands a fight and you immediately get on your knees and start suckin' dick, huh? I guess you fuckin' limey's gotta stick together. I bet you guys had a GOOD LAUGH about Thursday didn't you? I'll bet you put my title on the line, didn't you?"

"No, Villam...it's not like..."

"Oh, so maybe it was just you trying to bank off of the "biggest grudge match in Asylum history" or some shit? Right? Neverminding that I've already gone through enough shit in the last 3 months to last me 6 titles reigns."

Villam just shook his head.

"And speaking of just stacking the shit higher...what's this I'm hearing about me having to face Tommy Gunn tonight~!?"

Joe scratched his head..."Ah, well...you see Inmate..."

Villam almost wanted to puke.

"ARGH! DON'T BOTHER EXPLAINING!! I already know what happened. Tyler came in here waving his money around and you gave him a title shot. But, not with me. With Tommy...so if Tommy wins tonight, Inmate get the first title shot. And the Villam verses Borst match is as good as signed so everything just works out doesn't? So, not only do I have to fucking deal with the possibility of Borst coming in and costing me the title...I've got to fucking worry about Inmate as well?"

Joe was silent. Saying anything would've just angered Villam more.

"I've heard enough, slick." Villam said as he got to his feet. "I am so close to being out of here, it isn't even funny anymore."

Villam exited the office and immediately started yelling for people to get out of his way.

Joe just sighed. Then he looked up at Dez...

"I'm going to be rich."

"You're already rich, Joe." Dez said with a chuckle.

"Ah, right. And I'm powerful too...

..

..

..

..Ah, well." Campbell said, downing more scotch.

As he held his head, which was now pounding due to the beating he had been subjected to at the expense of The Emasculator, he turned to The Real Deal and spoke grimly: “I suppose you weren’t surprised by that then?”

Lharn knew what his colleague was trying to imply and appreciated that the Latin Luminary was at a low point but assured him otherwise: “I was actually.”

Special K smirked: “Don’t lie Lharn. Everyone in this arena, including me I guess, expected The Freak to win even though the Extreme Title was there for the taking. In fact, there’s a pattern developing.

“One week, Jeff Garvin is there to be beaten and tonight it was The Freak. Both are title matches. I could have had two belts Lharn but the only thing I’m holding at the minute is a pair of invisible tits.

“Next week, it’ll be bloody Miles Blunder and the week after it’ll be Venoma Star before Brad Douglas retires me after two minutes in a Jobber Championship match.”

Obviously, Lharn didn’t take Keegan’s comments that seriously. It was only understandable that The Yardstick, which was an inappropriate name at this particular point to say the least, was unhappy but one thing Huscroft did take seriously was the tone in his mate’s voice. The remarks may’ve been ridiculous but the disappointment was only too clear to see.

“I would have beaten him in the past you know. I don’t care how resilient he is I’d have snapped the bastard in the past. Aye, he’s tough. But who was the man in The Fighting Zone despite being washed-up?”

Lharn didn’t want to disagree with his comrade any longer. There was no point. He knew Keegan wasn’t past his peak just yet but he certainly couldn’t convince him otherwise at this stage. That was up to Carrahar to eventually unearth and rediscover as time went by.

“Not anymore it seems.”

Alas, it wasn't to be. But as Lucinda Scott stopped by her locker-room, Karen remembered why she'd even showed up in the first place.

Business.

Few weeks ago, Lucy approached Karen with some sort of proposition. To be specific, Lucy wanted to acquire the services of The British Lassie. And it seemed preliminary talks had gone well. The details of their business relationship? Unknown to all. Whatever it entailed, sure must have been appetising for the British Lassie to even consider taking Lucinda Scott up on her offer. Without leting Takahasi in on the loop, too.

Now was the time to confirm the deal, however. As the door to Karen's locker-room opened, out stepped Lucy & Pembridge, both with smiles plastered on their faces. Obviously, it had gone well.

"So, it's confirmed, yes?" Lucy asked, her steely eyes indicating that she wanted one last confirmation.

Karen nodded, before Lucinda stuck her right hand out.

"Shake on it?"

Pembridge looked at the hand and another smile formed on her face, before the two shook hands. Suddenly, they heard weird laughter somewhere near them. Looking over Lucy's shoulder, Karen spotted the source of the laughter. Lucinda turned around, wondering what her new business partner was staring at.

Eddie Scott Poser. Lucy's bellboy. Shaking his, um, booty. Even better than Ricky Martin.

"Is that cunt always going to be accompanying us wherever he goes? Seems like an absolute tosser to me."

Lucy turned to face Karen again, and shrugged her shoulders. A free bellboy is hard to come by, nowadays. And to get one who was the King Of Poland, too? Doesn't get much better than that.

"BOOTY~! WHOO!"

Unless he shakes his booty. Execessively.

Usually filled with the screams of pain, ecstasy, and defeat.

At that moment, it was silent. Between matches and segments. Nothing was happening, no noise was being made.

It wouldn't remain that way for long.

The lights suddenly went out, and the giant tron died off as well. Faced with total darkness, the fans in the arena could only wonder what was going on. Did Joe Campbell forget to pay his power bill?

Alas, that seemed not to be it. Because then, something did start to happen.

A slow, rhtymatic chanting began over the PA system. It seemed to be in Latin.

"Arcus harum acerbus caelestis fas tibi""

That roughly translated to "Bow down, The Dark Goddess commands you." Not like any of the fans in the arena knew what it meant, anyway. They just knew that whatever was going on was weird, even by the Asylum's standards.

And then, a single red light was shined onto the top of the stage, when someone did appear. Seemingly a female figure, in a long, black robe. The robe was held on each end behind her by two men- one obviously much larger than the other. They slowly walked down to the cage as the chanting replayed itself over the PA system, thus annoying the fans, and then entered the cage. The female- who seemed to be very beautiful, her long black hair with a red stripe down the center being one of the most striking things about her- grabbed a microphone. The chanting stopped, but the lights were still completley out besides the red spotlight focusing on the mystery woman, thus supremley annoying the crowd.

"Greetings to all of you. I have many names, but the name you shall all know me by is Cara Dyconin. It is my pleasure to welcome all of you....to your destined purpose. To serve me as my unquestioning, eternally loyal subjects. I am sure you are as pleased as I am at the possiblity."

It didn't seem like it, as the crowd rained down on Cara with boos. But this didn't seem to bother her.

"I expected some resistance at first. Many resist their true destines before they wake up and realize they have no other choice, and someday all of you will come to that revelation. Until then, I introduce you to two others who were once like you."

She turned around, and the spotlight shined onto the two men who had been carrying her long black gown down the rampway. Both were dressed in plain black hooded masks, wore black shirts, and plain blue jeans. One, however, was much larger than the other. The larger man had a big red "A" on his shirt, while the smaller had a big red "B".

"These two men were once like all of you. Resistant to their destines. But now, they understand where their place in this world is. Their names? The only ones that matter anymore are the ones I have given them. Servant A, and Servant B. My servants. You will all soon be just like them."

More boos from the crowd was their only response. The tA fans were obviously getting restless.

"But now, I will-"

"Bow down before the one you serve.....you're going to get what you deserve...."

A mixed reaction- half the crowd booed her for being Kali Saturos, but the other half cheered for at least some kind of interruption to Cara's snoozefest. The lights returned as Kali stepped out onto the stage, grasping a microphone and an angry glare on her face.

"Cara Dyconin, huh?" Kali asked her. "You can't fool me, you fucking whore. You're .Two, the bitch who made my life a living hell for these past eight years. Making up the entire Chaos story. Forcing me to kill my parents. Sending that giant pile of shit .One after me. Cara, you can go by any fucking name you want, but it doesn't keep me from shoving my knife up your fucking ass!"

This time, Kali's speech got a loud reaction of cheers, and seemingly Cara ignored this.

"You're still the same fool you always were, Kali." Cara said in a dismissive tone. "As usual, you think this is about you. You think it's all about Kali Saturos. It's not. I'm not here for you."

"Then why the hell are you here, Cara? To play another little cult game, like you did with me?"

Cara could only grin.

"It's not a game, Kali. I am The Dark Goddess, The Supreme Diety, and if all of these fans don't believe me, oh they will. They will, and you can trust me on that. And I believe the first thing that will prove it to them, is when I defeat you and send you back to the fWo in a bodybag. What do you say, Kali? You and I, one-on-one, next week on The Show?"

A loud reaction of cheers for this possiblity- hoepfully, this new, self-rightous bitch would catch the sharp end of Kali's knife. And that was exactly what Kali had in mind.

"There's nothing more I fucking want than you and me in that cage, Cara." Kali said, nodding her head.

"Head Like a Hole" cued up again as Kali returned to the back. She would have Cara Dyconin, the woman who made her life a constant hell, on next week's Show, and it would be inside the tA cage. No rules. No one to stop her when she stabbed Cara to death.

But in the cage, Cara had a different idea of what would happen next week. And it wasn't anything Kali Saturos was expecting.

The question is, which one of them would be right?

Then the door opened.

Joe glanced up with his eyes wide and wondering who it would be, that would barge into his office so unexpectedly. His eyes turned from wide, to narrow, to frowning.

“GET THE FUCK OUT~!” Joe cried instantly, as Miles Blunder sheepishly strolled up to his desk with his semi-melted UK Title gripped in his palm. His face dropped to a sneer, as Blunder didn’t back off… he just stood there, practically shivering, as Joe glared through him.

“What the fuck do you want!?” Joe hissed at his unlikely United Kingdom Champion. Blunder rubbed a hand on the back of his neck, and opened his mouth to TRY to speak.

“I- I- I- I w-w-w-w-was wondering if I cou… could…”

Joe hung his face in his hands and began to bang his forehead on the desk. Even listening to Blunder was irritating. Joe turned to Dez, who gripped tighter on his automatic, and winked.

Blunder saw the wink, and gulped so loudly that the guys in the toilets next door probably jumped and pissed up the wall in shock.

“I was w-w-wondering if I could j-j-j-join Team Campbell, what w-w-w-with me being c-c-c-c-champion and everything…” Miles stammered out, stressfully. Dez grimaced, and The Freak looked up from whatever he was doing in order to glare at Blunder.

Joe laughed, “Ex-CUSE me!?”

Blunder repeated, this time more legibly… “I want to j-j-join Team C-C-Campbell… I need the p-p-protection, the other f-f-f-f-fighters are…”

Blunder didn’t finish, as Joe simply cut him off.

“No.”

“W-Why?”

The other three men chuckles amongst themselves as Blunder began to slowly step back towards the door… just in case Dez Aragon’s hand should make any drastic movements. Blunder stumbled backwards as Dez blinked at him, and found himself knocking Joe’s coat from a peg on the door.

“Pick up my fucking coat, you cunt… and yeah. I’d rather Eli Flair join Team Campbell, than you. Get out.” Joe sneered, before dropping back down to look over the shit on his desk.

“Wait.”

Joe, Blunder and Dez all turned to look at The Freak, who spoke up. “You know, I’m in the mood for another battle… and despite it not being a battle as you obviously have no chance, how about you face me… one on one, in a UK Title match? I wouldn’t ask you to put that on the line without putting something of my own at stake, of course…

“So. Should you win…” The Freak paused as Dez and Joe burst out in laughter. “I’ll be your bodyguard for a month.”

More laughs. Blunder backed away, completely terrified at the prospect of fighting The Freak, but before he could even speak, Campbell had already scribbled the match down on a piece of paper.

“Oh, this is so going to fucking rule…” Joe sniggered to himself, as Blunder felt tears begin to well under his eyelids and a lump form in his throat.

.....SURFIN' USA!!

What the fuck?

Uh.

"Surfin' U.S.A" by the Beach Boys hit the PA?

The curtains parted and out came...THE MASKED BRAWLER!

A healthy mixture of cheers and boos followed him at he made his way to the cage and received a microphone from an official.

"HI, DUDES!"

His voice sounded like a cross between Darth Vader and Michelangelo of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

"I JUST WANTED TO SAY DUDES! THAT I WON MIND GAMES DUDES! I AM THE NUMBER ONE CONTENDER FOR THE ASYLUM TITLE DUDES! HOW DO YOU LIKE ME NOW, DUDES!?"

Boos.

"OH, YOU DON'T LIKE ME, EH? WELL, I JUST CAME OUT HERE TO SAY THAT I HATE, VILLAM ENDER DUDES!"

Cheers.

Everyone knows that if want a cheap pop, you say you hate Villam.

"YEAH! AND LIKE, HE'S A TOTAL FAGGOT! AND LIKE NOBODY LIKES HIM. WHAT WAS UP WITH ALL THAT BITCHING AT THE BEGINNING OF THE SHOW, HUH? WHY'D HE HAVE TO COME OUT HERE AND DISS FIGHTERS FOR EH? I THINK IT'S BECAUSE HE'S JEALOUS! JEALOUS THAT THOSE OTHER DUDES, LIKE TOTALLY HAVE PENISES AND WHEN HE THINKS ABOUT HOW HE DOESN'T HAVE A PENIS HE STARTS TO CRY AND MOLEST LITTLE CHILDREN BECAUSE HE'S A FAGGOT, DUUUUUDES!"

The Masked Brawler then started to do what was either the Cabbage Patch or an attempt to use the Heimlich maneuver on himself. Whatever it was it caused the crowd to begin an odd mixture of cheering so hard that they masturbated and scratching their heads so hard that their heads fell off.

"YEAH! AND LIKE, THE ONLY REASON I SCREWED JESUS AND TU-PAC WUZ BECAUSE I LIKE, TOTALLY WANTED TO GET AT VILLAM! HIS SHIT TALKING DAYS ARE OVER! HOW DARE HE MAKE FUN OF THE MAN WHO HELPED BUILD THIS PROMOTION, RIGHT GUYS? BESIDES, YOU ALL LOVE HIM, RIGHT? HOLLA BACK YOUNGERINGDUDES!"

The crowd just cheered. Didn't know why...but they did.

"BUT DON'T WORRY! AFTER TONIGHT, THE GAY MAN VILLAM MAN FACE DUDE MAN...WILL BE SINGING A DIFFERENT TUNE!

TONIGHT, DUDES.

YOUR VERY OWN MASKED BRAWLER-DUDE, IS GOING TO SHUT THAT QUEER-VILLAM DUDE UP FOREVER AND FOR GOOD.

YOU CAN COUNT ON THAT!!!"

"Surfin' USA" by the Beach Boys hit the PA again and people...well...they just shrugged precisely one million times.

Miles Blunder© Vs The Freak
(U.K. Title Vs Bodyguard Services)

With it came a whole flurry of boos and ‘YOU SUCK’ chants, and oh yeah… also, here came Miles Blunder. He strolled out of the back with his semi-melted UK Title strapped around his waist and his Windex bottle firmly gripped in his hand, and a look on his face bordering between anger and confusion. Just by the way he carried himself, was it ever likely that the fans hated this guy?

He stepped up into the cage and climbed over the rim of the cage, managing to slip and land flat on his arse as he did so.

How graceful.

He stood up, pretending that he never fell in the first place, and looked at the fans desperately… as this match wasn’t going to be the most easy of battles.

Especially when you’re Miles Blunder.

…

The Bell Chimed.

The fans totally exploded in boos that shook the very fabric of reality, as the lights began to flicker from red to black for the second time in the night. The curtains were pushed aside aggressively, and the Bulldozer himself… the animalistic yet contemplative monstrosity in The Freak powered onto the stage with the same passive, uncaring look in his red eyes. His Extreme Title hung over one shoulder and his trenchcoat hung down to the ground as he paced, slowly, down the ramp… his feet tapping in rhythm with each step.

Miles Blunder dropped his UK Title, and aimed his Windex for The Freak as he began to clunk up the steps, his wounds and bandages still fixed to his face and body from the battle raged earlier in the night with Keegan Carrahar. But he decided that his injuries would not be a factor in this match at all… as after all.

He was facing Miles Blunder.

The lights rose, and The Freak found trash being pelted at him, as per usual. Although an amused smile crept across his face as he stood to one side, his trenchcoat hanging down… eyeing Miles sideways.

“H- H- H--”

What was Miles going to say? Nobody will ever know, as The Freak instantly stepped and sidekicked Miles directly in the teeth, knocking him flat on the mat with blood streaming from his mouth. The Emasculator probably could have picked up the win right there, but decided that playing with Blunder was way too fun… grabbing Blunder by his collar and dragging him to his feet, before smashing his spine into the cage repeatedly. Blunder screamed disturbingly as he was pelted into the metal over and over, before The Freak simply smashed Miles’s face into his knee and kicked him in the throat.

What a nice man.

“FUCK-THE-FREAK!”
“FUCK-THE-FREAK!”
“FUCK-THE-FREAK!”
“FUCK-THE-FREAK!”
“FUCK-THE-FREAK!”
“FUCK-THE-FREAK!”

The Freak raised his arms into the air to another onslaught of boos and jeers, before grabbing Miles’s hair and literally dragging Miles, like a rag doll, across the cage and dumping him neck-first across the mesh. As Blunder hung there like a crash dummy, The Freak stepped back before sending a colossal boot to the back of Blunder’s head, smashing the Germ Gestapo’s Orbital Bone into practically dust.

They don’t call him the Bulldozer for nothing.

The Freak then slapped the back of Blunder’s head and pulled at his hair, as Miles screamed for help with what was left of his vocal cords. But nobody was going to help Blunder… as The Freak reached down and locked his arm around Miles’s throat, before rolling him onto his stomach with the Statistical Dehumanizer. Miles felt his neck snap back and suddenly couldn’t breathe…

He was going to tap.

He was going to tap.

Until Steve Christ charged into the ring, out of nowhere… and smashed a chair into pieces over The Freak’s head. The Freak hit the mat, his skin torn open once more, and Christ spat on the downed warrior to an opus of cheers from his loving fans. He grabbed onto Blunder’s arms… and propped him up against the cage, as he set to work on The Freak with heavy lefts and rights. The Freak tried to fight back with a knee to the stomach but he’d already suffered so much damage tonight, that he was practically unrecognisable.

Christ smashed his boot into The Freak’s stomach, and hooked his arms behind his back… hoisting the Red Ripper into the air and grinding his head six inches deep into the canvas with a vicious Butterfly Brainbuster!

Christ didn’t stop there.

He wanted to show The Freak… who was boss.

He picked up The Freak again, and grabbed at his trenchcoat, mashing his face into the mesh of the Asylum cell with spinning strikes of The Freak’s skull against unforgiving steel. Christ then punched The Freak in the face…

“Kill me? Brother Jesus Fucking H M Christ… you couldn’t kill a fly with a nuke,” Steve mused to himself, as he clotheslined The Freak out of the cage…

Wait.

Out of the cage?

…Doesn’t that mean that Miles Blunder has won?

Miles remained completely unaware of his new bodyguard acquisition as he lay with his neck hanging over the mesh, but Christ certainly wasn’t finished with The Freak. He rolled over the cage mesh, and swung the Asylum door open… before grabbing The Freak, and lodging his head over the doorframe.

…Christ grabbed the door, and smiled.

CRACK

CRACK

CRACK

CRACK

CRACK

A Freak sandwich with steel door bread, five times. Christ watched as The Freak stumbled backwards, away from the cage and into the guardrail, his face smothered with blood and gore. Steve laughed to himself, before kicking apart the ringsteps and placing them flat on the concrete.

“I’ve decided how I want to be buried, Freak…” Steve said, as he grabbed The Freak’s blood-wetted hair and yanked him towards the ringsteps. “In a bed of steel, just like your head.”

With that, Steve turned The Freak around and locked him in a Dragon Sleeper, garrotting him and shaking him like a leaf… before lifting him up, and to the absolute euphoria of the fans…

**CRUNCH**

Into The Void, head-first onto the steel ringsteps.

Steve kicked up to his feet and spat once more on The Freak’s downed body, before heading backstage to cheers. The Freak… was left lying in a puddle of claret pitting underneath his broken brain.

Lucinda stopped in her tracks, and tilted her head to the side. She took her glasses off, narrowed her eyes and rubbed them before pulling a small handkerchief out of her back pocket. “I don’t have a field Eddie.” She shook her head in total disbelief, cleaning the glasses as she talked. “I don’t even own property.” She kept her glasses off, still standing there in disbelief. “And what’s that on your leg?”

“Oh, it’s a pitbull,” Poser said, trying to shake the dog from his shins. “He’s a nasty little bugger. Seems to really love denim.” Poser kneeled down even further, staring the pitbull in the face. “Don’t you love denim, yes you do!” he said, in a baby tone before the pitbull growled. Poser immediately stood erect to avoid any sort of biting the pitbull might do. “I think I’m gonna call him Sally.”

Just at that moment, Karen Pembridge walked into the room. She immediately took a look at the beaten, bloody, and pitbull attached Eddie Poser, and turned directly out of the room, back into the bathroom from whence she came. Poser’s eyes narrowed. “What was that all about?” And before Lucinda could answer, there was a knock on the door. “OH! I’ll get it!” Poser waddled over to the door, with each step the dog growled. He opened the Asylum locker room door, and standing there was something that has never been seen in the Asylum before. Okay, it may have, I don’t have time to check the past.

It was a girl scout, standing there with girl scout cookies and a clipboard. She smiled at Eddie, and Eddie returned the smile. “Hi Mister!” She exclaimed, not noticing the pitbull that was attached to Eddie’s leg. It must be behind the door to her viewpoint. “I’mma selling cookees for my girl scout troup, and id’d be a biwg honwor if ya’d buy some from me!”

Eddie looked down to his feet, and then winced in pain. He returned the glance back to the girl. “Awh, I’m sorry little miss girl scout, but I’m poorer than Marissa Tomai.”

“Awh, dats okay mista.” She said, before placing her clipboard on the ground. She then pulled another object out of her back… Something that has NO place in the Asylum.

The Watchtower Bible, or the book of Jehovah Witnesses.

Poser shrieked in horror as the girl held the book up for him to see. “Den mista, ya really should be a Jehovah witness! Dun wanna burn in hell for all eternity for not bouyin’ any o my cookees!”

“Get it away, get it away!” Poser cried out. The girl scout was not pleased however. “GIRL SCOUT POWERS, ACTIVATE!” She cried out. There was a slight delay, as Poser stood there in terror. He looked to either side of the hallway, and found nothing. But that’s when three girl scouts jumped him. They tackled him to the ground, and began to pound on him with the boxes to their girl scout cookies. Lucinda couldn’t help but laugh, as Poser kept crying “HEART!” over and over. That is…

Until the pitbull released it’s grip on Poser and lounged at the little girl. She went fleeing down the Asylum hallway as the dog chased her, and her friends followed suit, attempting to help their leader. Poser slowly stood up to his feet, and brushed off his kingly robe. He looked over to Lucinda, who couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh yeah, laugh it up. At least the pitbull knows who’s evil.” Poser said, before slamming the door shut. “Girl Scouts and their cookies. You know they’re just trying to take over the world through mind control.”

Providence Vs Token Weed

The drum beats...
The primal scream...
The drum beats...

As "Halo" by Soil continued playing Token Weed stepped out to a massive reaction. Every fan in the arena had respect for this man. In the past two shows, he fought in possibly the most brutal match in Asylum history in the 'Fuckpit' and in the Mind Games battle royal. He and Providence had tied for fifth, this is how the entire rivalry started. The two needed to finish this before complete destruction became imminent.

Token finaly made his way to the cage hopping over the structure. He looked Providence dead in the eye as the two walked up and approached each other, they glared nose to nose. Providence struck first as the bell rang, a solid knee to the stomach, followed by a huge right hand from Providence. Token stumbled back a few feet before Providence was quickly on top of him hooking his arm and delivering a huge suplex. Token let out a yelp as he came down across his injured back and ribs. Providence was quickly back up delivering kick after kick into Token's ribs.

Token grimaced at the pain, realizing the seriousness of the situation, he reached out grabbing Providence by the ankle and tripping him up in the middle of the ring. The two both got to their feet, Token clutching his ribs. Providence charged, trying a spear, he could take Token out of the match with the move, just crush the ribs even more. Token slid to the side as Providence crashed hard into the mesh. Token was quickly on top of him delivering three solid kicks to the back of Providence's head, driving his face into the unforgiving steel. Token then grabbed Providence by his hair and slammed his face a few more times into the cage, then holding his head he pressed up against it, pulling Providence along the cage dragging him against the mesh.

Token pulled Providence up to his feet and swung his leg inside first cracking a huge crescent kick across Providence's jaw, snapping it to towards the crowd, he followed it up with an outside crescent kick, cracking his jaw the other way sending Providence sprawling to the ground. The ref began counting...

1...

2...

Anything to win

3...

Fuck the fans

4...

Remember what he told me

5...

Anything to win

6...

And Providence slowly crawled back to his feet, reaching into his tights looking to re-adjust himself for a moment. Token charged, going for a spinning back kick, Providence ducked and turned swinging a right hand, instantly flooring Token. Providence looked down as Token lay his eyes shut, facing up towards the light, he clutched the brass knuckles in his hand as he looked down at Weed. The ten count was imminent.

But something was different, you see.

The Freak was experiencing another breach of system failure. He couldn’t see straight and everything was seemingly moving in slow motion… as he walked, strolled down the hallways, watching people walk past. He could smell each of them, their salty human flesh and their little odours accumulated throughout the day. He could hear each of their hearts beating. He wanted to kill each of them.

One in particular.

He arrived at a locker room marked with the word “CHRIST” printed in black on the door, and stopped dead outside. His shovel scraped the floor tiles with a grating scratch, and raised his knuckles to rap on the door.

*Knock. Knock.

He heard a mild shuffling from inside the room, then he heard Steve’s voice burst out with “Fuck off. No time.” The Freak didn’t even flinch at the sound of Steve’s voice, instead knocking again.

“Can’t you fucking hear buddy? I’m busy. Screw you.”

The Freak knocked again. And this time, the mumbling and groaning behind the door reached an apex. Christ began to open the door, snarling at whoever would dare to knock on his door…

“Listen you fucking retard, I--”

Christ was cut off, as The Freak slammed his shovel into his face. Steve toppled backwards and into the centre of his locker room floor, blood splashing from his forehead onto the floor tiles, smearing a purple on the pale blue. Christ tried to scuttle away, but the suddenness of the attack provided him with no means of fighting back…

*THUNK*

*THUNK*

*THUNK*

The Freak jammed the shovel into Christ’s forehead, splitting the skin on his nose and in turn, creating a red halo around Steve’s head. Steve slipped into semi-unconsciousness, as The Freak dropped the shovel to the ground with a clatter.

“I could bury you right now, do you know that? I could smash these tiles open and shove you underneath them and nobody would know for days… maybe weeks. And who would care that you died? Nobody? Who do you have Steve, who cares about you?

“That’s what I thought.

“I’m not going to finish you off yet. I can think of far more interesting ways to do that. Watch your back, son. I strike out of nowhere.”

Villam Ender© Vs Tommy Gunn
(Asylum Championship)

Villam Ender verses Tommy Gunn.

Ain't that fucked up?

Villam just came off of what will go down as one of the bloodiest matches in his career with Eli. And before you can jizz into a bag of Amanda Bines' pubic hair. Villam is placed right into another high risk match, where there is more than an 80% chance of Villam losing the Asylum title again.

The only thing that can be going on through Villam's head right now is a long string of cusswords followed by another long string of cusswords followed by many suggestions of what Villam would like to do to one, Joseph Campbell.

Surely, Tommy Gunn has little Asylum titles dancing in his head. From the streets and back into the cage and already getting a shot at the highest prize in the land. And as far as Inmate taking the title from him after he wins tonight?

Not gonna happen.

"Davidian" by Machine Head

Just like Villam is not gonna keep that belt around his waist past tonight.

Tommy Gunn enters to light booing, because he's with Campbell. But, thick cheering because he's taking Villam's belt tonight. See how that works?

Tommy climbed the steps and hopped over into the cage. Shadowboxing and stretching...waiting for his music to die out and for Villam's to start.

chuckachuckachickachickchuckachucka

Let the hate begin.

AGAIN.

Drums, Two guitars and bass all fought against each other until a singers voice started to breathe heavily into his microphone.

The drums kept the beat until...

Dundun~dundun-dundun.
Dundun~dundun-dundun.

Pyros went boom.

Everyone in attendance went "Boo"

Must have read a thousand faces!
Must have robbed them of their cause
Sickened thirst, sickened thirst, Keeps it together!
Soft white glow in the cranium
A bulls eye made sedated

BEWARE! BEWARE! BEWARE!

"Arcarnsenal" by At the Drive In

Enter, mask less, disgruntled Villam Ender, bandages wrapped tighter still.

Brow furrowed in an angry knot.

Villam did not want to be here and he made that clear by spitting at the crowd on the way down the ramp way. Villam threw his title into the cage, nearly hitting Tommy Gunn and walked up the steel steps. Villam turned to the crowd and gave them a lethal pair.

A funny combination of the classic middle finger and the UK 'two-finger hello.

Villam flatly ordered the ref to keep Tommy back as he jumped into the cage and picked up his title...walking past Tommy and holding his belt to the sky.

The crowd pelted him with boos.

Villam threw his belt to an official on the outside.

"You ready to become Asylum Champion, Tom?" Villam said sarcastically as he put his fist up.

"Aye. 'an don'nae call me TOM!"

Gunn lashed out and nailed Villam right in the face with a straight punch. Villam staggered back and as Tommy advanced, Villam shot out and caught the Scotsman with a front kick in the chest. Villam was backing up still...keeping his distance from Tommy's Gunns. Tommy swing a right hook too wide, Villam ducked and took advantage. Three right shots to the kidneys and a simple shoved to put more distance between him and Tommy.

Villam tried to fire off a couple of sidekicks but Tommy caught both with the outside of his forearm and fired back with punches. Left jabs finding a target in Villam's already battered face. Villam tried to fire back with a left...Tommy blocked that, caught the arm and rammed his forehead into Villam's nose.

Glasgow Kiss

Blood trickled out of Villam right nostril.

Tommy backed off, well on guard for any counter attack.

Villam stopped for a second and checked his nose.

Yep.

Blood.

"Thanks." Villam said with a mocking laugh. "You've really made my day."

"No problem." Tommy winked.

Villam sneered.

"OH!!"

The crowd shouted in surprise as Villam danced inward and slammed a palm into the bridge of Tommy's nose.

Now Tommy's nose was dripping crimson.

Villam followed up with left roundhouses.

One...Two...Three!

Villam follow up...lifting his right knee into Gunn's midsection before he could come back with an attack. Gunn's body hunched over, but instead of staying that way...leaving himself open for the Killing Star Kick...Tommy charged into Villam...pushing him and his lower back all the way into the rim of the Asylum.

Villam pounded downwards with angry fist as the crowd lifted into an uproar again. But, Tommy just keep attacking those ribs while he was hunched over into Villam's stomach. Villam kept pounding away, but Tommy lifted Villam onto his shoulders...turned around and slammed him to the canvas with a spinebuster. Tommy tried to jump on top of Villam for some mounted punches, but Villam scurried away shouting curses.

Tommy tried to grab at Villam legs for a submission, but Villam gave him an almost girlie kick in the face! The crowd sympathized as Tommy's nose dripped more blood. Villam kipped up and locked the hunched over Tommy Gunn in a left handed front head lock. Raising a middle finger to the crowd...Villam brought his elbow into Tommy's back while rocketing his right knee into Tommy's chest at the same time.

Villam did this same thing about twelve more times. Now, running on all gears...Villam grabbed the sides of the Gunn's head with both hands and drove Gunn's face into Villam's left knee. Villam lifted Gunn's head up...and did it again...this time letting Gunn's face bounce off of his knee and letting Gunn fall to the canvas.

Villam was ready to put his match away.

He could feel his bones getting weaker and his muscles locking up from over use.

He had only seen 8 minutes of action.

Villam pulled Gunn to his feet.

*slap*

Slap to the back of the head.

Booing, of course.

The eunuch slammed Gunn's face into the rim, then his slammed the Scotsman’s throat into the ring and held it there. Flexible Villam brought his right leg over Tommy's back and pressed it on the back of his neck. Forcing his throat further into the cold unforgiving rim. Villam then twisted Gunn's left wrist into a standard wristlock.

It was more can enough to make Gunn tap out.

That's if Inmate wasn't already making his way down to the ring...steelchair in hand.

"Fuckin' A." Villam cursed. "Come on, Tommy-boy...tap already."

Villam held the hold as long as possible until Inmate stepped into the cage.

Villam let Tommy up and threw him to the canvas.

"Hi." Villam said to the Inmate.

"Hello." Tyler Burton said.

Tyler swung.

And missed...

...pulling a diving roll like he did in his match with Eli, Villam evaded the chairshot altogether.

But, Inmate knew Villam was going to pull this and by the time Villam rolled to his feet...Inmate had already shifted his direction and position and swung the chair.

SMACK~!

Right on the side of Villam's face.

Villam went down.

And worse yet, as he did...Tommy got up.

The ref would've done something but (A) This was Villam and (B) This was the Asylum.

A few more chairshots rang out into the sky as Inmate plowed the metal chair into the back of Villam's head again and again.

Tommy got to his feet rubbing this throat..."Aye?"

Inmate slammed the chair down in frustration. "End it." He said as he exited the cage.

Relentless Villam was already making a failed attempt at getting to his feet...

...and like a shark, Tommy was waiting...

Boot to midsection.

Neck on shoulder.

Sit out.

The Recoil.

Villam falls into a crumpled heap in the center of the canvas.

The ref counts.

1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

7.

8.

9.

10.

Tommy Gunn is the new Asylum Champion.

Villam lost.

It's over.

.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.

Just kidding.

Villam got up at a 7-count, the crowd booing him and generally begging him to stay down.

But as sure as sunshine Villam started to get to his feet.

Inmate watched patiently from the outside as Tommy hovered over the punch drunk eunuch.

Once Villam was up again, it was all elementary for Mr. Gunn.

Left Boot to Midsection.

Neck on shoulder.

Wait.

Scratch that.

Boot to midsection.

Villam grabs Gunn's leg.

Square uppercut into Gunn's balls.

Villam stays crouched...

...and rockets off of the mat...

...fist straight through the jaw...

...One Winged, Angel Kiss...

Gunn was out, but Inmate was back in...

Not if Villam had anything to say about it.

Picking up the discarded chair he charged Inmate swinging it out to the side for a running Life Muted In Utero...

Hit?

No.

Ducked.

Part of the plan all along?

Yes.

Inmate's back was turned to Villam.

Villam's back was turned to Inmate.

Villam didn't even have to look back...and he swung.

Inmate must have spidey-sense or something because he sure as hell ducked that time as well.

Still part of the plan?

You know it.

Villam now faced Inmate...and before the former champion could escape from anymore chairshots....

CRASH!!

Villam crowned him.

The steel chair was crooked and bent and had a dent in it the size of the grand canyon. Inmate lay face down on the mat. And yet again...while one man was down...yet another was getting up...

Tommy got to his feet, just barely missing the 10-count by two seconds.

Tommy lurched closer to Villam...and Villam lurched closer to Tommy until they were face to face.

Tommy bore a hole into Villam face.

Villam bore a hole into Tommy's.

Then Villam kissed Tommy Gunn.

<< Rewind.

Villam kissed Tommy Gunn.

You know what was coming next.

Villam slammed a boot into Gunn's...gun.

Killing Star Kick x3!!

Land.

Crouch.

One Winged, Angel Kiss.

>>> Star Kiss Kiss Kill 606 <<<

Gunn hits the mat.

Ref counts.

1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

But the instant Gunn hits the mat...another man...all clad in black...makes his way through the crowd and jumps into the cage. Villam's too busy making sure Gunn actually stays down this time. Villam does eventually turn around however...but by that time he's caught with a lariat that knocks him right out of his boot and puts him on the mat.

6.

The Masked Brawler stands over a fallen Villam.

7.

He raises a fist to the air.

8.

The crowd raises to a deafening cheer in anticipation.

9.

The Masked Brawler begins to peel the black mask back....to reveal...

10.

Borst.

....

....

....

Holy shit.