Be they Joe Campbell's flames... or the flames of another.

Joe Campbell pushed through the curtains at the top of the aisle... just as he did every week.

This week, unlike the last however... was different, the mood... albeit the phrase of a popular orange man, had changed... Campbell had been shunned and ridiculed, three of well over thirty staff members had shown up for his party, and zero of that number had come to his aid durng the trauma of the Mike Ritz & Kellen Kinkade fiasco.

"You'll think about your... fuck it, Jacoby Shaddix can lick my hairy bollocks because he was wrong... the next line should be.

You motherfuckers try to test my patience." Joe snarled... the crowd were now riled up, this was going to be another of his infamous fury driven speeches.

His shoulders arched up and down as he breathed heavily in rage, clambering up the steps... he made his way into the Asylum and paced around a few times, before finally coming to a halt.

"What is it? What is this constant need to fucking try my nerve? Is it fun to see how far you can bend me before I break? Do you enjoy my ruthless need to see each and every one of you sacks of shit bleed your waste of humanity onto the canvas every week? For once... for FUCKING one I try to do something nice for you... and you do what to acknowledge it?

You fucking crap all over it." Joe snarled, his eyes now glowing red with rage.

"Last week I threw a mother fucking party, The Show was to be funeral and a wake all rolled into one, we killed that fucking cess pool promotion for good... took everything they had and fucked up the rest, we won the war, and we possess everything that remains from it... the Iliad trophy.

And mehelehenemenen."

Joe suddenly stammered to a halt, trying not to mention the Immortal title, which Kellen Kinkade had decided to keep... wherever he'd gone.

"We took all of the spoils, and last Sunday was the be the celebratory piss up, drug up... fuck up... but no, none of you thoughtless fuckers turned up... you left me to do all fucking... all the drinking... and all the fucking crack as well." Joe said, suddenly pausing as the crowd sat silently.

"What? It's... well, I didn't have that much fun.... well maybe a bit... FUCK THIS... I AM STILL PISSED." Joe roared spitting all over the microphone.

"Don't think a bit of fun is going to detract from the fact that none of you motherfuckers were there when I needed you, so it's time to get serious... it's time to take things back to the way they were... no more fucking about, no more playing fucking cards, now... now you pay.

First on the agendy... a new company slogan, I am sick to the back teeth of you fucking bastards coming up to me and interrupting my shit 'Ooh Joe can we do this?' and 'Ooh Joe can we do that.' and lets not forget 'Ooh Joe can we play on the swings?'

From now on, you can go and play on the fucking motorway for all I care.

I've come up with an original slogan, something trendsetting that will make running this shithole a lot easier and less stressful, because you see... I've come to a conclusion." Joe smiled, a rarity in such a heated rant.

"I don't fucking care anymore."

Silence.

"Yep, why should I give a fuck about these dirtbags? You know something... this place would be a lot easier to run if I just let these cockheads do what they want... so you know what?

I will.

Inmate's running the Asylum so to speak... I don't give a shit anymore if I tell you the truth, I've done it all anyway... 21w is dead, fWo is dead... they're all just notches on the bedpost to me, promotions that I've fucked... and besides, I don't have time to run this place.

I have Immortal titles to get back.

So from now on fuckers, don't ask me... don't beg me... don't plead with me.

Just. Do. It."

More silence.

Joe had just, in three short breaths... ripped off one of the biggest corporate slogans in the world.

"But not yet." Joe began again, the crowd still not sure how to react.

"You see, this week... you fuck's won't be "Just doing" anything apart from bleed and pay the price... I'm sick of you fuckers taking me for granted, and I'm sick of you fuckers letting me down when I need you the most... so tonight, for this week only, I declare the Show.

Punishment night." Joe said with a sick grin, the crowd now riled up with intrigue.

"First in the stocks, Tyler Borstington... get your arse out here." Joe sneered, not being let down... "I Disappear" by Metallica instantly hit the speakers... and the Asylum champion paced down the aisle with the title belt slung over his shoulder.

"What the fuck da' you want?" Burton snarled.

"Oh? I'm sorry champ... did I interrupt yet another of your fruitful games of cards? SORRY." Joe groaned.

"Get to the fucking point Joe, I haven't got time for this shit." Burton grunted back.

"Oh, well of course not Tyler... of course you don't... you 'haven't had time' for this shit for about the last 3 months now... when was the last time you bled for me Inmate? When was the last time you defended that title belt? Hmm? You can't remember can you? Oh sure... you might have been on the crack at Immortals, you might have helped me and Kinkade screw 21w... but you still helped him to fuck me over... and you were still playing fucking cards when you should have been whipping that punks arse for me!" Joe roared insanely.

"Shut the fuck up for a minute." Tyler groaned scratching his head "First of all Campbell, you asked me to do the job for Kinkade to get that title back, 'take one for the team' I seem ta' remember you sayin'... so if Kinkade scrammin with the belt is anyone's fault... it's yours." the Inmate grunted, Joe's face screwing up furiously.

"And second... you were the one who gave me the pack of fuckin cards in the first place... so don't even start that beat up Kinkade shit with me, it ain't gonna cut it... you wanted me to party so I did, on your head be it." Inmate sneered once more.

"Fuck you Burton... fuck you." Joe snarled back.

"Oh? Burton now is it? Funny... I thought I was Borst? Fuck you dickhead... do you honestly think I bought that Borst shit for even half a fuckin second? Fuck you. I knew all along who I was, I was never on the edge... as soon as you started mentioning title runs, I was gonna pretend to be whoever the fuck you wanted me to be... now get off my nuts, I got places to be." Burton continued, Joe now pacing the Asylum with rage.

Ah, lovers tiffs.

"No Burton! Fuck you you lazy prick! You wan't to come out here and be smart with me? Fuck you! Fuck you and your fucking lazy arsed ways... you only have one place to be Burton, tonight... on punishment night... you are gonna be standing right where I am...

FACING STEVE CHRIST!" Joe roared... the crowd suddenly popping insanely, while they liked Burton, Christ was a cult hero.

Somewhere in the arena, Steve Christ had suddenly started paying attention to the nearest monitor.

"Oh... and before you get any ideas God boy... I hate your fucking bible bashing guts too... so this will be NON TITLE."

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Somewhere in the arena, Steve Christ's fist had just gone through a monitor.

"Fine." the Inmate sneered shaking his head and pacing to the back... as he did... Campbell's rant continued.

"Yep, get the fuck out of here you louzy excuse for a champion." Joe grunted before walking a few steps "Now onto more pressing issues... punishment night, oh yes... what I night it will be, the sinners will be cleansed of their burdens, the underachievers will be shown the errors of their ways.

One by one, you fuckers will Fall at their hands... you see gentlemen, there's a new sheriff in town... two of them no less, and they aren't just the sherriff... they're the judge, the jury and the executioner all rolled into one.

They're going to shoot you, sentance you... and hang you all in one simple process.

They're coming you fuckers... you'll regret the day you ever let me down.

The weak are about to be punished.

And the none believers tested." Joe said with an evil smile.

"Tonight ladies and gentlemen... three new individuals will enter the fold, they will be embraced by team Campbell, not just to stand as fighters, but to stand as my equals... in dealing out my punishment to the underachivers.

Allow me to introduce the first of these men.

The longest reigning fWo heavyweight champion, in history."

The crowd were in disbelief.

"Ladies and gentlemen... RUBEN ROSS." Joe screamed, as "Serve the Servants" by Nirvana hit... and Ross paced out onto the ramp wearing his trademark retro Chargers jersey, Ross simply stood, arms folder atop the aisle.

"This man will be so much more than my previous brainchilds... he will be my new eyes and ears within the wrestling world... and more importantly, my new guardian angel... Ruben Ross will watch over me not only as my spy, but as my bodyguard... nothing can stop me from inflicting my wrath now." Joe continued, suddenly pausing.

"Oh... and Kellen Kinkade?

I hope you can see this right now... I hope you can hear my words and see my face because, I want you to listen to these next words and understand them not as a threat... but as a promise...

I will find you.

And when I do find you, you will wish that you had never been conceived.

Fuck." Joe grunted, slamming down the microphone as "Smack My Bitch Up" by Prodigy played in the arena, as Joe exited up the aisle and toward Ruben Ross... the opening show pyrotechnics kicked off... while the Show was only just beginning... the fun and games were well underway.

Same band, different song.

Same man, different attitude.

Providence walked down to the cage with the TV Championship around his waist. He didn’t even acknowledge the crowd, the people who had cheered him wildly only a week before.

Things had changed, though, and now he was their enemy once again. It didn’t bother him, because he had been there before. He finally glanced out at the crowd as he grabbed the microphone and this time he actually smiled.

“You know, when I came to the Asylum, I watched all of you people boo the shit out of Nerva and her little ‘movement’ every week,” said Providence with a chuckle. “Now, after I drove her down with The Fall, you people boo me against her? I don’t get it.” The crowd responded with more boos, and he just shook his head before continuing.

“It’s no big deal. I mean, whether you guys boo me or not, I think we would all agree what a dirty skank she is,” he said matter-of-factly. “Supposedly, Joe ‘forced’ her to have sex with me, but when I was fucking her, all she did was beg and moan for more. Hell, everyone saw it when they played the tape. That bitch wanted all the cock she could get. I didn’t even try hard and I had her all over me. She was a fucking little slave to my dick. Whenever she sucked my cock, she was all over it like a lollipop. I can see it in the back all the time. She’s hitting on the rest of the guys, making faces to them. I bet she’d like to have a big Asylum gang bang every fucking week.”

The crowd looked disgusted by Providence’s words. They heard fighters talk like this all the time, but they seemed angry hearing him say these things about Nerva, who had been through so much recently. But Providence had more to say.

“In fact, I’m glad that our little thing is over. I think it’s probably for the best really,” he said, strangely smiling. “Nerva and I both know it: I was just too much man for her. I was wearing her out. She spent all her time getting fucked by me and didn’t have much time or energy for anything else. And it was getting boring for me. She just couldn’t stack up to me. I was too much.”

“Too much?” The crowd cheered as Nerva appeared on the AsylumTron. She was walking around the kitchen area of the arena. “You, Providence, were too much man for me? Let me show you how much of a man you were. First, exhibit A.”

She took a thick, 12-inch sausage from a counter and held it up to the camera. She then slid it all the way down her throat, not choking a single time. Male fans roared and cheered in approval, most noticeably the African American section. “Now,” she continued, “with a swallowing capacity like that, you’d think I’d be getting a mouthful of Providence in bed. Well, let me show you how much I always got.”

Providence dropped his fists and started shaking them. He had a feeling what she was going to do.

She laid the sausage on the counter, grabbed a butcher knife, and chopped an inch off the end. She held the small piece up and nodded her head proudly. “THAT is what I lived with.”

From the front row to the nosebleeds, everybody pointed at Providence and laughed. He kicked the cage door open and walked up the aisle. His face was bottling up more and more anger with every step.

"I never thought I'd see this day... in fact, I never-ever thought that I would feel such, such pride... such joy... such sheer, ecstacy, at signing two former pro-wrestlers." Joe went on, once again... his glee filled words met only with silence.

Through the camera lens, Campbell could be seen sitting in his chair on the video wall, before him stood two huge, dark silhouettes... cascading their shadows upon him.

"But I can see your heart, I can see the good in both of you... the generosity, in a world filled with greed... with gluttony, you two men have shined through and prevailed, to think... that you will fulfil your end of this contractual agreement for no fee whatsoever... to think, the the joy of fighting is all that you each desire.

You two men are what is right with modern day society.

So what do you think gentlemen? Are you in?" Joe whispered... sliding two contracts across his desk.

"We're in." A deep voice replied... as the two figures arched forward, Joe grimaced for a second at what unfolded before him... seconds later... the two signed back.

Joe held up the contracts.

"Signed in blood... nice touch, although I have plenty of pens." Joe said... smiling to himself nervously.

"By the way gentlemen... before you leave, are we still good to go ahead with the arrangement... the...

... the burning?

"Yes." A voice replied.

"Excellent!" Joe squealed as the two men motioned to exit the room.

"Oh... gentlemen!" Joe cried again, the two coming to a half.

"I may require... a few, small favours from you tonight... I won't ask for much, and I ensure you, it'll be enjoyable... I trust that both of you will be able to provide.

"Oh we'll provide." One voice whispered back... before the other chimed in.

"We'll provide."

Suddenly, the two individuals turned to leave the room, their faces finally revealed on the video wall to the shock and amazement of the crowd in attendance.

Gacy.

Oswald.

Fall

of

Adam.

What had Joe Campbell done?

Nerva rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I don’t even want to bother with you, Darren.

According to you, I’m a whore. According to me, you’ve got a small dick. Let’s just get on with our lives already.”

Before she could get her hand on the knob, Providence power walked forward and grabbed her by the arm. He immediately swung her towards him and dragged her like a disobedient animal. As she tried to struggle, he shoved her against a wall. “We’re going to talk,” he said.

“And I’m going to set you straight.”

He then grabbed her by the hair and pulled her into the men’s washroom. As she was recovering from the impact her head made with the wall, Providence pushed her against the bathroom stall and then slapped her. “You’d better behave yourself and learn some common respect. Next time you embarrass me like that, it’s going to be worse. Do you understand me, you little whore?”

She looked him in the eye and smiled. “How worse is it going to be?”

As if to show her, Providence swung his fist at her, but she ducked and it caught nothing but bathroom stall. He cursed and shook his hand from the pain. Nerva kicked him between the legs and then shoulder tackled his lower back into the sink. She roundhouse kicked him in the face, but he absorbed it and knocked her in the stomach with an uppercut.

Referees and officials came in at that point and broke the brawl up. They started pulling Nerva out of the bathroom, but she was resisting. “We’ll finish this later,” she said. “How about at Retribution? With your TV Title on the line?”

Providence had six officials pinning him against the wall. “That’s what I was thinking. But keep in mind that fighting me is gonna be your biggest mistake.”

‘The Germ Gestapo’ turned the first hallway corner with speed, as he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his Windex bottle.

For today, he was a little mad. A little upset. A little pissed off.

Not being noticed only took your sanity so far anyway.

And maybe this was exactly what Miles Blunder needed.

Token Weed. Mike Ritz. Kellen Kinkade.

Where were the posts about MILES BLUNDER!? Maybe if he got a little encouragement, things would change.

Blunder turned another corner, whipping around his Windex bottle... just to make sure the cost was clear.

That’s when he heard...

“ *Cough, cough*. ”

Blunder snapped back as his right arm quivered the Windex in his arm, pointing it right at the man whom stared at him.

Of course... he sooner or later, lowered the bottle.

There was no way he was gonna strike the Owner of the Federation in the face with some cleaner.

Joe Campbell grunted in sight of Miles Blunder.

“H- h- h- hi- hi- hi J- J- J- J- J- J-”

Campbell just got to the point, sparing everyone the pain of a three minute stutter.

“Miles. Great to see you, Miles.” Joe grinned sarcastically at the now, *totally* nervous man.

Funny how every week Blunder seemed to come in with an attitude based on the last, when almost instantly after he went back to his normal self... only to commit the same act all over again.

“Really, it is good to see you.”

‘The Germ Gestapo’ paused his shaking. Joe... actually happy to see him? Maybe he was gonna get a little credit...

“T- t- th- tha- tha- tha- tha- tha- tha- than- than- thank y- y-”

“ *Sighing* Oh, shut the fuck up.”

Blunder gulped heavily.

“You’ve been a big fucking disappointment, Miles.” Campbell went on. “I gave you a shot at getting into the Iliad by facing LLB!... but you blew it.

Then, I told Bill to shove you into that Match during ‘Immortals’ to shut that idiot from that wrestling Fed, 21w up...

But you blew it too.”

Joe grunted again.

“Don’t say I haven’t given you your chances.”

And, Blunder shook more and more which each new word.

“You’ve become fucking pathetic to this roster, Miles. Sometimes you don’t show...

sometimes you do, only to get fucking killed again.

I can’t have these nervous fucks around a fighting Federation. Not with Ender’s and Inmate’s running about.”

Blunder almost shed a tear... repeat, almost.

“So, since you’ve let me down, and tA down as well... I am handing out punishment tonight.”

The Owner grinned while beginning to turn away. “Tonight I’ve acquired the services of Fall of Adam... and you, my fucked up friend, are set to meet them in the Asylum tonight.”

With that, Campbell started to turn the corner, but not before saying one final thought.

“Maybe this will help you get your act together. You have thirty minutes.”

‘The Germ Gestapo’ could only pass out in fear as he smacked his head against the cement floor.

Its last breath cut off when the warnings ticked to empty.

The aggravating beep of the warning ceased, leaving Nicole Carson even more alone. The heartless atmosphere flowed from the boarded house. That was where all the pain centered on, where the source of the minutes wasted were from.

Her hands trembled as she twisted the keys. Only to hear it start up for a few seconds then drop dead once again. Her heart sunk to the floor with the dark seeming even more threatening. It had been her idea for this, so she would finally overcome her fears. She ran the car all night. Now she couldn’t get away.

“This is ridiculous.” Carson said, fingers passing through her hair as she did. Somewhere things had become laughable. A police officer afraid to break into a house was definitely laughable. She did half-heartedly…then tried the keys one more time.

She slammed her fist against the wheel. “Fuck! Fuck me. I can’t stand this any longer.”

There are times in your life when you remember mere moments forever. Ones you’re ashamed of for acting like such an idiot.

Her mind was exhausted from the playing around. She was tired of pretending to be afraid of a harmless house, because in real life it was nothing more than an emotion. It was time to stop exaggerating.

Carson’s fingers slid down the wheel. “Since when did I become such a drama queen?” She asked with nails digging in.

Carson’s badge shone as twin headlights drove by. It was her duty to uphold the law. There were people out there more helpless than she was. The people next to the house were in worse condition, yet she was thinking about herself. That wasn’t the way she wanted it to be.

She kicked open the door.

”Not like I have anything better to do.” Carson said, as she closed the door. There was no turning back past this point. It wasn’t like she could anyway. The gas was completely drained. And as she closed the door, the nightmarish screeches started up again. Right on cue, but they weren’t enough to send her running this time.

“Even a nightmare gets stale after awhile.” She mumbled, while closing in on the porch. The lights flickered on and off with shadows looming behind the curtains, though she could care less what were behind them. She trudged forward with her badge of courage.

That moment was now.

They had arrived ... Gacy ... Oswald ... Fall of Adam.

Those in attendance knew not who these men were. The majority of them had only heard stories about the duo who terrorized the roster of the Alliance Wrestling Corporation. Those who had witnessed the attacks of these two men, could no longer recognize them. Gacy, stripped of the long black locks he had spent so long birthing. A tattoo now coating his face, hiding his true thoughts from the "real" world. Oswald, now a faceless being. Their look had changed, but the aura they had become notorious for was stronger then ever, especially with the company they brought.

Joe "Shit-eating grin" Campbell, in all his glory. The three methodically entered the room, soaking in the hatred from the masses. They carried themselves like soldiers would onto a field of battle. Proud, undaunted by the fear that no doubt overwhelms them. However, unlike the soldiers, fear lost its way in these three men long ago. For the two massive fighters, it decipated as their fear in dying evaporated. For Joe Campbell, it was when he became a national "God."

As they approached, and entered the ring of tortured souls, a wandering spotlight caught a brief flash of light from the waist of both Oswald and Gacy. Their "greatest" posessions in this world. The gift given to them after victory in the squared circle. Two of the most coveted titles in professional wrestling today ... the aWc Tag Team Titles. The promotion had died a horrible death, and these two landmarks were the only remaining souveniers from its reign. They had the life of a mini-dynasty in their grasp.

In the grasp of Joe Campbell, a trash can. With one fluid motion, he carelessly tossed the can over the brim of the cage, and as it smashed against the ring's floor, all in attendance came to the realization this had been seen before.

The men entered the cage, as did a microphone. The music came to a deafening hault, and the lights of the arena once again filled the hearts of all in attendance with a false sense of security. Never before heard by the public ear, all fell silent as J.W. Gacy took the mic to his mouth.

"Three months ago, the life of a representation of all that is wrong with this world, was lost. The doors of the aWc closed forever, and all that were a part of it went down in enphamy. All that is ... except these." Gacy slowly lowered his eyes to his abdomen. The belt had been kept in suprisingly good shape considering the lifestyle of these two men. In fact, it almost looked as if they had been recently polished ... or drenched in lighter fluid.

"These were given to us as a token of appreciation for the ratings we brought to Johnathan Enders. But as far as I am concerned, they are meaningless. Accolades are for the egotistical. They are the proud accomplishments of all those children who were never loved in their youth. They are their grip on reality, and their reason for being. I can speak for my associate, we need not these items of so-called glory. The life of the Alliance Wrestling Corporation is in our hands. So it had risen ... so it shall burn."

The two large men emptied their waist, and heaved the large belt of leather and gold into the bin. From across the ring, Campbell reached into his pocket, and retrieved a single match. Without a spoken word, he lit the fire upon his chin, and landed the final blow upon the life of the aWc. The flames flickered into the already clouded air, and the cries of wrestling tradition nearly made themselves vocal for the last time.

Cut to America's commercialism.

Yet, the only answer that came to her was the sound of feet hitting wood. The patter got softer as the person rushed for their escape. Carson kicked at the door while the sound got even more distant.

Then the sound of a chain pulled. The single light bulb was shut off, leaving Carson blind in the darkness. She could only feel her way around, and grabbed her nightstick from her belt.

She hopped onto a close ledge with the weapon. Then she smashed the window with the end of it.

Carson chipped away the sharp edges left. She then crawled through and landed on the remains. She pushed herself off the ground with jagged pieces stuck into skin. Though they didn’t drag her down, they only fueled her anger. Carson hopped onto her feet.

”Freeze!” she hollered at the top of her lungs. The sound bellowed down the empty hallways.

She quickly halted and listened carefully. Nothing came to her, and if there was anybody inside than she would surely hear it.

She slowed her pace down. Whoever was there was long gone by now. The house was fenced near the back, so there must have been some backyard. And some back exit that they so narrowly escaped from.

Nicole walked back to the main room. The light had been turned off so she had no clue where she was going. Nicole reached around the room, bumping into objects she wished she knew about, and finally grabbed a hold of the chain.

She pulled down and the world lit up. Her first sight was the scattered glass on the floor with red streaks running through. She checked her palms and noticed only minor cuts, so those must have been somebody else’s blood that leaked.

The next sight was the redecorating. The antique like wallpaper was destroyed. Curses and demonic symbols were either scratched into the kiddish sunflowers or the pencil point drove deep into the groves. Carson turned in a half circle to see barbwire, chains, and other things not worth mentioning.

”Fucking sick!” she said rather disgusted. Carson stepped to the other side of the room, watching her footsteps carefully, and then kicked a piece of barbwire across the floor. It skid a distance then halted next to half a skull.

“Eeew.”

She breathed out and leaned against the wall, while pulling spider webs from her hair. In the corner lay more monstrosities and tools for pain. Carson shook her head and breathed in the dusty air. She spit it out onto the mangled couch.

A homely painting rested on top of the torn out insides. She looked past the tears and mounds of fluff ripped out, and could tell it was lovely before the house was occupied.

Instead now in its place, hung a crooked painting of a sickly naked person, being opened up with a dagger. His mouth foamed with the blood as he rested, yet the attacker still struck.

Over and over, he had no mercy.

All of a sudden Carson felt a tingling in her spine.

Whoever escaped from that house was sick in the head. They were psychotic and meant to be in a prison for all she cared.

Whoever escaped was dangerous.

She flicked her wrist and brought out a match. Her eyes sharpened, while she struck the match into a robust flame that wavered in the air. Her ideas were being put in motion right now. And she loved every moment of it.

Carson dropped to her feet. “Not as dangerous than me though.”

“What?”

*Knock Knock*

“Open the fucking door and come inside… idiot.”

*Knock Knock*

“FOR FUCK’S SAKE?!? Do I have to do everything in this company?”

Joe stormed over to the door and opened it, but it was one of those times where it would have served him better to have just sat back and done nothing. All Joe saw was a steel chair heading for his skull.

*CRASH*

Joe was sent to the ground, in a semi-unconscious state. He was able to vaguely make out a silhouette of a man dressed in mostly black, but that wasn’t the most helpful of descriptions.

He placed his hand on his forehead and felt the flood coursing from the open gash, muttered, “Fuck…” and promptly passed out.

But no one was coming out. And his patience was wearing thin.

He turned to face the camera and raised the microphone to his mouth. "Hello, my name is Conrad Voort and in just a few moments I hope to get in an interview with Asylum's Team Champions: Drake Kerrigan and Clayton Richler, better known to the world over as Pain and Suffering." His face was stern, his words were quick and to the point. He wasn't kidding around. He had places to go, people to see. He was, after all, a busy man.

Now it wasn't a surprise that he would be interviewing Pain and Suffering. It seemed that was all his job was in the Asylum. Keeping the world up to date on the actions of their Team Champions. Of course, it was still fresh in everyone's mind that only one week prior Kerrigan and Richler had laid waste to cHEESE and egg NOG, the Legion of Dairy, during the dedication segment of their Mega Job Tribute. And even before that, the two had earned the title of the "greatest Tag Team in wrestling and/or fighting" with their win in the fifth and final match of their best-of-five series with 21w's The Bullies. Now they would finally get their chance to boast to a nation about how great they really were.

And you had two choices about it: change the channel or shut up and listen.

Voort cleared his throat as he shifted some and looked into the camera. "I've been waiting for the champions to join me for a several minutes now and they've still not come out." He started to scratch his chin as he looked off into space. He voice became shaky as he slowly started to speak, "I've decided... I've decided that I'm just going to go in there and get my interview."

Conrad started to turn toward the door but stopped in hesitation. He looked to the camera in concern but sucked it up and started to knock on the door.

He didn't.

His hand was only inches from the door, shaking in fear. Instead he just grabbed the door knob and threw the door open. He wasn't the only one surprised by what he saw.

cHEESE and egg NOG were in two lounge chairs sitting side-by-side. Both were wearing long wigs with polo shirts and cashmere vest shirts. egg NOG had a copy of the Wall Street Journal in his possession and was thumbing through it. cHEESE did a double take as he caught site of Voort and the camera. He could only manage one simple sentence.

"EEEEEEEEEEEEP! QUICK! GET IN CHARACTER, CLAYTON! EEEEEEEEEEEEEEK!"

He threw his arms up in a wild manner as he ran around the room in shock. egg NOG covered himself with the newspaper and shouted at the intruders with a slight lisp.

"GASP! CAN'T YOU SEE WE ARE SO, NOT, READY?! SHOO! SHOO, YOU DIRTY MEN, SHOOO!" he screamed, flicking his wrists at them in a motion to leave. A terrified Conrad Voort darted out of the room and back into the hallway. Resting himself against the wall and door frame as the door slammed shut behind him. He rested one arm on the wall and the other on his leg and he shook he head in disgust. While the "Legion of Suffering" did what they had to do, the Show moved on.

"We alone?" The second man said, now standing directly in front of his hooded companion.

Both men cautiously observed their surroundings for any signs of movement, finding nothing more then a few drops of water, which fell from between the cracked concrete ceiling above them. After the hooded cohorts were certain they were alone, they continued on with their meeting.

"Okay, well we both know why you were called here… and that is to finish what Anthason was unable to do."

The sound of a sliding zipper quietly echoed throughout the parking lot, and a small pistol was removed from within the knapsack which the second cryptic figure had brought.

"Here, you're gonna need this mate…"

Someone.

Some type of answer.

Then it hit him.

Fall of Adam.

Crashing back down to the floor... Miles Blunder shed a tear in pure horror.

He didn’t need this.

Who the fuck was the Fall of Adam anyway?

‘The Germ Gestapo’ then sat up again. For if he didn’t (at least) head to the ring... God knew what Joe and the rest of tA would do to him.

Getting up and walking past an open locker room, Miles looked at the clock, seeing at least twenty minutes had passed.

He then, remembered Joe telling him he had thirty minutes...

And that’s when Miles couldn’t take it anymore.

Turning around, he raced to the exit door...

Until...

Something grabbed him.

Lee Harvey Oswald.

And punched him in the face.

John Wayne Gacy came into play next, as he stood beside Oswald whom looked down at Miles.

The two smiled.

Punishment never looked so fucking good.

Fall of Adam Vs Miles Blunder
(Handicap Punishment Match)

"Shit!" Yelled Miles, as he jumped over the fencing of the Asylum, and the two members of Fall of Adam smiled to themselves. The two men then entered the door of the Asylum as the bell rang.

"Shit, shit, shit!" Was all Miles could say, as Gacy was waved by Oswald to go first. Gacy quickly rammed his fist into Miles' face, causing his lip to bust open, and blood to spew to the side. Gacy connected with several more, and out of desperation, Miles landed a kick on the knee of Gacy.

Gacy sneered, and motioned for Oswald to take over. Blunder quivered in fear, as he swung blindly, missing both members of Fall of Adam by several feet at least. Oswald replied with a stiff roundhouse kick to Miles' face, causing him to stumble around.

"Oh God, please don't let me fucking die..." Blunder whispered as Oswald grabbed him in a waistlock, before he proceeded to execute a German suplex. 'The Germ Gestapo' landed at a high angle, his head bouncing against the concrete surface, and virtually all conciousness was lost. However, unfortunately for him, Oswald had rolled, and lifted him up into the air, performing another German suplex, only this time releasing the hold.

Blunder flew into the air, and crashed outside...

Face-first.

The bell rang.

Thankfully, the massacre was over.

The Fans booed as "King Kill 33" cued up, and Fall of Adam wiped off the non-existant sweat on their foreheads mockingly. However, nothing was funny with Miles, who lied on the ground prone, his face becoming a crimson mask.

Milo Samus Vs Mystery Opponent

A stalker...

With threatening phone calls, blood written letters, and numerous shooting attempts, life had thrown a new obstacle in Milo's way. Unable to cope with both the dangers of the Asylum and this deranged stalker, Milo took to the road and went back to what it is he loves best.

Travelling...

His ventures had taken him back to Canada, where he had left behind something which he had ever longed to see... and that was a beautiful girl by the name of Jill Adams. Things had finally begun to go back to normal for Milo, all the while he had begun vigorous training. For the first time in a long while, he was loving life again.

Until now...

Forced by Joe Campbell to return to action at the Asylum, for fear of losing his job and more importantly the reputation he had gained by fighting with the likes of Token Weed, and Arch Angel.

And so it began...

Milo hadn't exactly been the best at flashy entrances, but he made his way to the Asylum in the same manner as always, looking very confident. Perhaps it was because he was in much better shape then when he had left the Asylum, or maybe it was because of his lengthy absence, but for one reason or another the crowd gave him an array of deafening cheers and chants.

A smirk formed on Milo's face as he stood in the middle of the Asylum, he had almost forgotten how amazing it was to have that many people watching your every move. For the first time since he had begun fighting here, he was overwhelmed by the amount of energy which filled the arena. And although it wasn't a wrestling ring, Milo hoped with every ounce of his heart that he was making his father proud.

For a moment or two, Milo had almost forgotten why it was that he was even there... until he was once again looked into the eyes of his stalker. The hooded man from the parking lot had crept through the audience, and the two now stood nose to nose in the center of the Asylum. The stare down was cut short, as Milo began an unrelenting series of punches and kicks, all of which found their mark. The hooded figure fell to his knees, only to be met with an unmerciful knee to the jaw. Milo latched onto his opponents hood, and lifted the him back to his feet following up with several uppercuts. Blood began to trickle onto the floor, but Milo continued to grip his opponents hood, swinging like a hockey player who had just pulled his opponents jersey over his face.

Showing no signs of mercy, Milo planned on making sure his stalker was unable to commit any more evil acts, even if it meant tearing off his head and throwing it to the fans in attendance.

Several knees followed, before Milo threw his opponent across the ring like a rag doll, finally releasing the death grip he had on his rival's hood.

"Show yourself you son of a bitch!" Milo yelled, allowing his opponent to stand and remove his jacket. And although the man was no longer wearing a hood, the question still remained...

Who the fuck was he?

Milo was in the dark as far as knowing the identity of the man who stood before him, but for the mean time didn't exactly care. He released a loud war cry as both men charged across the Asylum, heads down like two charging moose. A bone jarring him would follow, sending both men to the floor. The sound of Milo screaming out was seemingly non-existent as the crowd erupted. Milo was the first to his feet, and he grabbed his opponent, attempting to lift him up for a gutwrech suplex. His opponent had other things in mind though, and was able to catch Milo with a kick south of the border.

Samus stumbled backwards, gripping his crotch momentarily before being hit with a hard elbow to the temple. Milo remained on his feet, but felt a cut opening up above his left eye as he was nailed with a lightning fast roundhouse. This was enough to send Milo to the tumbling to the ground and a fury of viscous kicks and stomps followed, leaving Milo's face covered in more blood the before. Lucky for Milo, he was able to spot his opponent telegraph a roundhouse in time to grab hold of his ankle, and counter with several hard punches to the face. The man fell backwards, his back now resting against the steel rim of the Asylum. Milo maintained his grip on the ankle of his opponent, and applied an ankle hold while continuing to throw savage punches.

Lost in a sea of blood was the face of the man who had made Milo miserable for the past eight weeks, and Milo grew tired of this fight. It was time to put and end to this match, so Milo lifted his opponents ankle upward, and charged forward sending him over top of the Asylum to the concrete floor.

Milo had won the match... or had he?

Once again Milo had a gun pointing directly towards his face, except this time it was different. In the past, whenever he would stare down the barrel of a gun, he would act instantly, knocking the gun to the ground, narrowly escaping death. This time however, he froze up... able to do nothing but watch and listen.

BANG

Milo's legs became weak, and they buckled beneath him sending him falling to the floor. He felt no pain, but could see only darkness.

"Is this the end?" Milo thought, still able to hear the voices of the frightened fans. "Am I really dying?"

After a few moments had passed, the arena lights once again lit the arena. In a state of disbelief, Milo looked up only to see both the mystery man and Joe Campbell standing side by side. Milo placed a hand on his forehead only to realize things were still intact.

"Blanks?" Milo muttered aloud, still very disoriented from the deafening bang of the gun. The mystery man extended a hand, offering to help Milo back to his feet, but Milo declined and stood on his own.

"Well Milo, you passed the test!" Joe said, extending a hand to offer a handshake.

"Test?" Milo replied, deeply confused with the events which were taking place. "What Test?"

"Well Samus, as you know I've been battling it out with the sport of wrestling, and to be honest I was searching for a right hand man to assist me in this war. Now, you being a former wrestler and all, I thought to myself 'he'd be fucking perfect Joe!'. But the question remained... were you tough enough? So tha..."

Joe's explanation was cut short as Milo had heard enough, and gave him a mouth full of foot. Milo had lost all control, and once again beat the mystery man to a bloody heap, with an array of ruthless maneuvers. Joe on the other hand, fled to the backstage area.

But Milo was far from done with him...

“Fuckin’ queer.” He mumbled to himself as the man’s eyelids closed.

Eyes bloodshot and face relatively unshaven, Token stepped from the limo. Decked out in shorts and an old RATM T-Shirt, Token walked past security, flashing his pass at them. The arena stunk, not literally, but merely from the presence of the whiny bitches who would entertain there that night. The twins were not with Token any longer, remaining in the limo until further notice.

Token took a drag from the lit blunt in his hand, and a quaint smile formed on his face. As he approached the door, a security guard attempted to intercept him.

“Identification.” The guard ordered.

“Oh yeah, one sec…” Token reached into his pocket, looking down at his ID, then turned back and jammed the burning blunt into the eye of the large man.

“AH! THE FUCK?” The man screamed.

“Better go wash that mate.” Token grabbed the large man by the collar, and chucked him into a water fountain opposite the door. The man screamed again, and Token laughed to himself. Picking the remnants of the smoldering blunt from the floor, Token shrugged his shoulders, and burned a hole in the plastic tacked to the door.

It now read “JOE C PBELL” the other letters gone and replaced with a large crater. Token then swung open the doors, a startled Joe Campbell looking up at him through his perpetually tinted glasses.

“Who the… Oh… Yeah I’ll have to call you back…” Joe hung up the phone, “Bloody Hell! The fuck is your problem?”

Token could see that Joe was looking past him at the bleeding, burned security guard. “Nice to see you too, Elton.” Token said, mocking Campbell and his shades.

“Damnit… Always interrupting!” Joe looked at Token, now passive at his appearance.

“I know how 1-800-GAY-FUCKS love your calls, but this interruption is necessary.” The words were uttered as Token edged forward, Joe looking more shaken now.

“It’s FAT-GIR… Hey fuck you! Stupid Cunt. Now either tell me what the fuck you want, or just get the fuck out.” Joe was attempting to be stern, but stared nervously at Token’s feet, which were propped up on his desk as Token sat in a chair opposite Joe.

“I need… a favor.” Token said, hesitating then going on, “I have two guys who are joining theAsylum.” A slight smirk was now apparent on his face, and without care for Joe, he lit another joint in the office.

“Fuck… you know the roster is full you git! I mean who the fuck do you think you are anyway? Making demands of JOE CAMPBELL! OF ME!” Joe was now getting himself angrier and angrier, and with a final yell he stood up, and Token smiled wider.

“Relax bitch boy… Take a hit…” Token passed the joint to Joe. Joe sat down, calming down, and brought the joint to his lips. In a flash Token’s feet dropped from the desk and he stood from his chair, smacking the smoking bud from Joe’s mouth. “Don’t you ever fuck with my drugs…”

Joe looked petrified, then gathered his wits. “FUCK YOU THEN! Fuck you and your games Williams. Joe Campbell is above this shit!”

A laugh bellowed from Token. He lit a third joint, and placed it between the owners lips. “Breathe dickhead… Breathe… Now… Listen…” with that Token pulled out a tape recorder. He pushed the play button and it began to emit sound.

“Z…

Z…Z..

ZIP. Z… ZIP.

THUD.”

The sound was unmistakable. A body bag being zipped and moved. Joe’s face became pale, and the joint fell from his mouth.

“So just have those contracts ready in the morning. Thanks… Fuckhead.” Token finished, and turned to leave the room.

Campbell, his memory now refreshed, looked at Token as he walked past the bloodied guard, slamming the door on the guard’s leg. And he, once more in his life, thanks to the man who had just left the room, was speechless.

Utterly speechless.

Fall of Adam Vs Kent Anthason
(Handicap Punishment Match)

Joe Campbell's voice echoed through the arena as he bellowed down a microphone... not for the first time during his near two year run as the Asylum's owner... he paced up the steps and clambered into the Asylum... continuing to speak.

"Come on down!" Joe roared jovially... Brucey Forsythe couldn't have said it better.

"Ah, Brucey Forsythe has nothing on me..." Joe cracked up "Oh, and for those of you who don't know who Brucey is... fuck you for not being English."

A few cheap heat boos cranked up, but Joe was generally ignored, people were used to the insults.

"Come on Kent... the world is waiting." Joe said looking at his watch... sure enough "No Way Out" by the Stone Temple Pilots cranked up, and Anthason made his way through the curtain to a good reaction from the attending crowd, his eyes hiding behind a pair of sunglasses... Anthason clambered into the Asylum and stood nose to nose with Campbell, before snatching the microphone from him.

"What?" Anthason sneered... poking the microphone back into Joe's face... Joe stepped back for a second to shake his head, before leaning into the talking stick.

"So rude... but alas, I called you here young Kent, because I wanted to talk to you about something..." Joe went on, as Anthason brought the stick back to his own mouth.

"What?" Anthason said once again, more impatiently this time.

"Patience Obi Wan, now... I'd like you to think back a few weeks Kent... to before all of this... I want you to think back to a time where you and I were buddies, a time where you and I made a verbal agreement... that you would kill Milo Samus for me.

Last time I checked, Milo Samus was very much alive and breathing.

Oh, a lot of water has passed beneath the fickle bridge since we were buddies Kenty boy, I'm Joe Campbell, friendship is to me as soap is to a busker... we just don't see each other that often... and I'm sad to see, friendship has passed you by Kent, you failed me.

Milo Samus is still alive.

And even worse.

At Immortals, you embarrassed me and my promotion.

You lost to senor lightning pants Kent, Joey Baloney... how low can you go Kent? What next... do I bring Mega Job back to fight you to the death? Is that where we go from here... you fucking loser, look at you Kent, with your little sunglasses, why do you wear those again? So we can't see you cry? Hmm? Are you going to cry? Prick?" Joe was now well and truly in Anthason's face.

Until Anthason took a grip on his collar, and shoved him to the canvas.

"Listen, ass... first of all... you never wanted me to kill Samus, not really... you were just testing him, and me for that matter... and second, and most importantly of all... I never lost to Malone.

Malone and his buddies screwed me." Anthason snarled, tossing the microphone into Joe's lap and pacing away.

Not far however, before he was stopped.

"Cry me a river little Kenty." Joe sniggered "You know Kent, I always had a feeling that wrestling trash like you was going to let me down... but alas, I present you now with one final opportunity to make things up to me... one last chance to prove yourself.

If I were Eric Bitchoff... I'd probably be telling you that you're three minutes were up right now.

But I'm more realistic.

Your three seconds... have just begun.

Anthason tilted his head curiously... as Joe sinisterly skulked backwards... hopping out over the Asylum rim.

As "King Kill 33" by Manson hit the arena.

And the crowd leapt out of their seats.

It seemed as though Gacy and Oswald were already garnering a sick and twisted following, they burst through the curtain as the combined Fall of Adam, Anthason's eyes widened as he took off his sunglasses and took up a defensive position, Gacy and Oswald were quickly into the Asylum however... extremely agile for men of their size.

They rushed Anthason, who swung wildly as they did... but Fall of Adam were almost predatorial in their attack, they took their prey to the ground, disabling and immobilizing it in the process.

And so, they began.

"Fuck yeah! Fuck him up!" Joe Campbell roared gleefully from the outside, as Gacy and Oswald tore into Anthason with punches, scratches and bites... Kent struggled desperately... blood already pouring from broken skin, he refused to give in however, biting back... directly into the side of Gacy's head with his teeth... Gacy released for a second, giving Kent just enough time to smack Oswald between the eyes with the point of his elbow... Oswald rolled away, as a staggered and shocked Anthason struggled to his feet with hate burning in his eyes... he focused on one man, Joe Campbell... and rushed insanely toward him.

Only to be held back by the ankles.

Both of them.

Oswald clutching one and Gacy clutching the otherm, they swept Kent from his feet, dropping him to the canvaswith a thud face first... as he tried to recover, they stuck the boot in...

Literally.

This time there was no escape, Anthason was face down... the land of nightmares for any aspiring fighter, unable to guard their shots, Anthason was subjected to a brutal number of kicks from Gacy and Oswald... which turned into punched as they dropped to their knees... as Anthason went limp, Joe Campbell cried out.

"Finish him, boys!"

And they did.

By picking up Kent Anthason... and completely drilling him with a move they called the "Lotus Coil".

Standing each to the sides of the limp Kent, both hooking both an arm and a leg on each side of Anthason, before lifting him off the canvas, and sitting down... dropping him unprotected onto his head and neck.

The ten count was mandatory... as "King Kill 33" cranked up once again... Fall of Adam both left satisfied... as Joe Campbell took an opportunity to speak to the unconscious Kent... perhaps drumming something in subliminally.

He knelt down, and leant forward to Kent's ear... whispering through the blood.

"Just remember Kent... this was Malone's fault.

Just Malone."

Campbell got to his feet, and with him... trouble appeared to disappear, but in Kent Anthason's unconscious body... perhaps trouble was only beginning to surface.

egg NOG and cHEESE were changing back into their Gucci and Ralph Lauren when someone knocked at the door. They looked at each other and then at the door and then back at each other. Someone knocked once again as cHEESE started to slide his pants up over his tights.

cHEESE spoke up in a mock voice. "Who's there?"

The voice on the other side was quick to respond, "It's Conrad. I wanted to see if you were ready for your interview now."

NOG and cHEESE looked at each other and then to the door. They shrugged as egg NOG started to respond. "Why, yes! Do come IIIIIINNN...*"

Before NOG could even finish his sentence the door shot open and slammed hard against the wall. The LoD were startled as two men raced into the room.

The real Clayton Richler and Drake Kerrigan.

cHEESE shrieked once again and tried to make a run for it, but his plans were thwarted when his pants fell down to his ankles and he was soon lying flat on his face. NOG was sitting in his chair and the shock from the door being kicked open caused him to fall flat on his back.

Drake and Clayton wasted little time getting to work as the six-foot-seven-inch Drake pulled the much smaller cHEESE off the floor and threw him into the nearby wall, leaving a large crack from his body in the wall. Clayton pulled up one of the metal folding chairs and folded it quickly, hitting egg NOG twice with the chair. Once in the head and once across the body.

He threw the chair down as NOG moaned in pain.

And just as quickly as they had started, they were done. Drake stepped over the downed egg NOG as he looked down at one of the men that had just made fun of him and smirked.

"Now that's fucking funny, bitch."

Token grabbed Darren’s arm. “I gave you what you wanted. I got your asses in… now gimme the score!” his voice was fierce, and unrelenting as Darren gave him a suspicious glare.

“Let go of my arm.” Darren spoke softly, but aggression was apparent in his voice. Token did as he asked, shoving his arm away, the matches falling to the floor. Darren bent down to pick them up, and looked at the corner of the room as he did so.

Daniel stood in the corner, silent, on the brink of dreaming. Sending a glance to his brother, Darren looked into Daniel’s eyes. The white-haired oracle nodded his head in response, and Darren stood, matches still on the floor. Darren reached into the pocket of his duster, and removed a small leather sack and a large metal spoon. Token’s eyes, already dilated, opened wide glaring at the shining silver of the spoon and longing for the bag. A smile formed on his face as Darren scooped out a bit of the powder. Examining it with a watchful eye, Token sifted through it with his finger, then licked his finger as he smiled.

Token reached into his pocket, his hand empty. As the hand emerged from the depths of the dark fabric, it held inside it a shiny object. A needle. The syringe was empty, the plunger pushed down into the housing of the hypodermic, and prepared in his hand. Darren went to light the candle once more, but Token was quick and pulled out his lighter, sparking fire under the spoon and near Darren’s hand. The flame touched the hand of the ebony haired fighter who began to raise a fist, but immediately was calmed as Daniel tossed him a second glare.

The powder began to bubble and liquefy, as Token took the spoon from Darren. Adding the liquid into the hypodermic, Token expertly wrapped his arm. Pushing down on the plunger, Token removed the air from the contents of the syringe. Careful not to let too much of the liquid escape, Token quickly injected himself and felt a rush. His eyes grew again, and he felt a surge within him. Sweat poured down his face.

”That’s right… Nice and easy…” the junkie smiled, letting the syrup under his skin. “Wait… It burns… FUCK!”

“Relax yourself…” Darren spoke softly.

”What the fuck? You fucking bitches!” Token screamed at the brothers. He raised a fist to attack Darren and lunged at him. Darren sidestepped the fist, and watched as Token fell to the floor. The needle crashing down beside him.

Token grabbed onto the table, the spoon and candle sliding to the ground as he attempted to kneel. “…The fuck… the fuck did you do? Wh… what the fuck is this shit?”

“Do not speak.” Darren said calmly.

“I… I do as… I do as I li…” Token grew fainter with his words as he stared at the taller twin.

“Do not fight it. It is your first time.” Daniel now spoke from the shadows.

Token’s eyes were huge as he turned his head to look at the white haired brother, “You… You pr… prick…”

“Relax yourself. We are not your betrayers. Your body betrays you because it is preparing.

Your brain is reaching its potential.” An eerie whisper came from the one with the ebony eyes.

“Yo… Y… You’ll p-p-pay…” Token said as his eyelids grew heavy.

“Silence… Rest… Sleep… Let the exhaustion overwhelm.” Daniel spoke again, and Darren cast his severe look at the fallen one with the blue hair.

“I…” Attempting a final reply, Token drifted away.

“Escape… We too will make ours.” Daniel spoke a final time.

The two twins placed the leather pouch within the right fist of the man who now lay, fallen on the ground. The cement floor below him cold, he could no longer feel it. Token Weed was unconscious. Knocked out. The two men looked at him a final time before they left, closing the door behind them. Leaving the man named Token, also called Sean Williams, in a far away place.

He had injected himself, and submitted himself to the fate he desired. He had gotten his wish, and when he awoke, he would find himself in a new state. But now… He was gone. No longer in the arena. No longer in theAsylum. Token Weed was lost…

Deep within the dream.

Fall of Adam Vs Milo Samus
(Handicap Punishment Match: Loser Leaves)

Uh oh.

It was the Joe Campbell doing Bruce Forsythe impersonation once again... this was not a good thing, it had already been the misery of Kent Anthason on this shocking night.

"Come on down!" Joe cried, the crowd popping insanely for his words... they knew exactly what his statements entailed.

"Ooh... but wait." Joe pondered as he clambered into the Asylum "It just occured to me... maybe this is becoming a bit predictable... perhaps after one episode of this, people are realizing that me calling them down means a horrific shit kicking via Fall of Adam!? My God, Milo Samus must be thanking his lucky stars... why... with this information divulged... he could already be hightailing it out of the arena!

Too fucking bad, that I'm not a fuckhead... and that I thought of this long, long before anyone else.

Bring him down, fellas." Joe uttered, as the crowd erupted at the sound of "King Kill 33" by Manson... this once again, meant the introduction of Fall of Adam.

Who dragged with them... the limp carcas of Milo Samus, already bloodied and bruised.

"Aww, would you look at that... it's just like coursing... if only I'd put a bet on... cause to me, it looks like thee dogs have caught the hare.

Now to tear it apart and go home." Joe said disturbingly as Gacy and Oswald dragged Samus up the steps, and dumped him over and into the Asylum.

"Last chance saloon, eh Milo?" Joe chuckles... as Samus groggily tried to push himself up, only to be sent back to the canvas with a kick to the ribs via Gacy.

"Look where our defiance has got us Milo... look what it's done, you see the morale of this story... as has been the morale of a lot of stories tonight... is that you do not ever FUCK with Joe Campbell, you see... nobody says no to me Samus, especially not you, you and your little faggot wrestling wet dream can rot in hell for all eternity as far as I'm concerned... I gave you a chance boy, a chance to be a part of something special, and just like every single fucker that didn't pull their weight at Immortals, just like every single fucker that didn't turn up for my shindig last week... you let me down.

You threw it back in my face.

And now, now you have to pay." Joe whispered demonically.

"Time up Milo, this is your last chance... you either beat Fall of Adam and prove to me that your worthless arse has some form of purpose being here... or you lose to them, and never fight here again.

Let the games, begin." Joe laughed as he backed out of the Asylum... Milo was now up on his feet, and being circled by the two great white sharks in his company, the blood was already in the water, and now they were in for the kill.

But Milo however, was not dead yet.

He dodged the swing of Gacy, sending him crashing into the steel mesh, and as Oswald rushed him... he caught him in the most effective spot, the crowd jewels... Oswald dropped to his knees and was sent toppling by a stiff Samus punch to the temple.

Joe watched from the outside, mouth agape... as Samus went from man to man, delivering swift kicks.

Perhaps the hare... had actually been playing possum?

Confusing?

Get ready for some more.

Samus made an elementary mistake, he locked in a choke on the huge Oswald... but had far from put the big man away... two seconds later he was in mid air, as Oswald rose to his feet with Samus hanging on line an ant on the back.

An ant which was swiftly squashed.

Oswald fell back, crushing Samus into the Asylum mesh... as Milo roared out, Gacy grabbed his skull, spun him... and drilled him head first into the mesh... knocking him for a home run, but not this alone, as Milo recoiled... Gacy caught him with a devastating blow.

XIII.

Or roughly transtated... a double open palm thrust to Milo's temples... Samus was out on his feet, but sadly, fell squarely into the not so loving arms of Oswald.

Who absolutely nailed him with a tiger suplex.

Asylum 1 - Milo Samus Career - 0

"NO!"

The arena was suddenly silent as the refferee ceased his count.

"Now is the time... gentlemen... your work here is done, take the rest of the night off." Joe uttered, as Gacy and Oswald clambered out of the Asylum and headed out of the arena, to a night of violence which was surely not yet over, Asylum or not.

"I have to do this!" Joe cried "I have to be sure."

Was he taking sympathy? Was Samus to be forgiven?

Never.

"Just a week ago, I was tricked by a wolf in sheepskin clothing... Kellen Kinkade betrayed me, I know not where he or my Immortal title belt are... and now, in light of these events.

Another potential wolf must be tested." Joe snarled.

"Ross... get out here." Joe roared.

"Serve the Servants" by Nirvana cued up, and the former fWo heavyweight champion... Ruben Ross, arrived for the second time.

He wasted no time in coming down the aisle, clambering up into the Asylum and staring Joe in the eye.

"I have to be sure Ruben." Joe sneered "I have to find out whether or not this is simply a game, a revenge act on your part... and what better way... what better way to discover your motives?

Than to ask you to sacrifice one of your own." Joe said with a smile, Ross gazed around the arena at the roaring fans.

"Milo Samus, Ruben... if your fight is with wrestling... then taking this man out of the Asylum would be a huge blow to your cause... so do it Ross, put him down for ten if you can... prove where you stand." Joe asked, stepping back.

As Ross obliged.

By picking up Milo.

And drilling him with the "Ratings Spike"

Inverted facelock swinging neckbreaker, Samus' head snapped to the canvas and he lay motionless as the refferee administered the count, Joe Campbell stood... gazing at Ross in awe and delight, as the official reached ten.

"Serve the Servants" by Nirvana hit once more.

Milo Samus would have to leave forever.

But in his wake... Ruben Ross, had cemented his status.

Perhaps he was staying for good.

Only time would tell, as Joe Campbell raised his hand in the air.

The sound brought an end to all her fears. She rested, warm from the burning house’s heat, while watching in amazement. All it took was one little flame to make all that. To destroy a person’s childhood memories with one flick of a match.

Its power made her feel strong. Whether she didn’t want to think of the house as symbolic or not, she did now. The house was in her way, and now it would be reduced to ashes. It would be nothing soon, except for another accomplishment in her books.

The person inside might find out what happened. It wouldn’t matter, because she had gotten her revenge on them. They inflicted fear on her and she showed that she wasn’t afraid.

Another large chunk of the house fell to the ground and crumbled as it touched.

She could finally sleep at night.

Now Carson knew that the world was all right.

She pushed onto her feet while taking one final look at the end. Then she made her leave, exiting into the cover of night.

But what she didn’t know…

Was she was right when she feared what was lurking inside.

Because truly she had a right to fear. Beneath the inferno lied a lethal mistake she made.

And as the support beam crushed a piece of the photo, we are still able to see past the charred side. There lied a photo of two lovers.

Two dangerous lovers.

ArchAngel and Faith.

“What the fuck do I pay you guys for, you’re a fucking waste of money… you’re a fucking waste of skin!!! I just got attacked in my office by some cunt with a steel chair, and I’ll bet you anything it was that fucking Kinkade!”

The security officer didn’t look as if he believed Campbell on his deductive skills.

“But sir, we’ve had staff at the doors all night. Kinkade hasn’t been anywhere near the arena, never mind your office.”

“You calling me a liar? You fat fuck, are you saying this cut just fucking appeared on my head! GO!!! Find Kinkade NOW!!!”

“But I…”

“JUST DO IT!!!”

And with that the security guard dejectedly turned and started his search for the elusive Kellen Kinkade.

Inmate Vs Steve Christ
(Non Title Punishment Match)

The slightest acceptance of him being the son of God might be far fetched, but add the fact that he’s even here... at the Asylum and you can pretty much reason that it’s solely him who believes he’s the son of God. Well maybe one other person believed him, but that man also supposedly believed that he, all along, had been Pete Borst.

Inmate.

The music of the Asylum Champion started. The fans cheered, but not as loud as usual. Tyler didn’t care. As he made his way to the cage, he could still hear his music, and was still holding his title. And really that’s what this fight was all about. Tyler still holding his title. Joe Campbell had given the champion a job to do at Immortals and Tyler had done it. As for Christ... he was also in this fight because of his part at Immortals. You see.. Christ hadn’t won the Iliad for Joe. Joe had to depend on Token Weed... that’s why this was a fight.. a NON title fight.

Joe was rubbing Christ’s’ face in it. In what? Take a guess.

And just like that the fighting had started. This wasn’t Immortals anymore. No fancy entrances were needed.

In fact all it took was a good swift hook from Christ. Then another, and another followed by a kick in the stomach. Inmate staggered, but he wasn’t the champion for nothing. He didn't get to the top by falling out with one kick to the gut. He fired back and the two were going at it like two psychos arguing over the seat by the window. Christ finally stepped away from a punch and got an opening.

Belly-to-back suplex!

If this were WWE, 21w or any other has-been shitty promotion, Tyler probably would’ve stared in amazement, in complete awe, of Christ's power, while the fans cheered... but this is the Asylum...

...and Tyler didn’t stare in awe, or amazement...

Middle finger.

Vicious punch to the stomach. A fore-arm to the face. A head butt. The fans barely had time to comprehend.

Christ knew he couldn’t allow Tyler to continue. Christ had to do something that Tyler couldn’t use for his advantage, something to save this fight for him. Without a second thought, he shoved his entire body weight at Tyler send the Inmate reeling and leaning on one knee.

Christ had positioned himself so that Inmate was trapped against wire cage the Asylum, and could do nothing but try and block the flurry of punches coming from the Extreme Champion.

Christ was in charge...

...or so he thought.

With a quick arm between the leg and a drop toe hold into the wire mesh...and the fight was almost over. All Christ could do was hang on to the Asylum rim and pray to his father that Inmate didn't have the power, or more importantly, the positioning to force Christ the rest of the way over.

Praying works.

Wait praying works...in the Asylum?

Christ scurried back over the rim just as Inmate got back to his feet and Christ was back in the fight. That was what he had wanted, except now Inmate was furious.

Inmate had thought this would be so much easier.

He punched Christ once. Christ took the punch to the head, and grimaced.

Another punch. Same result.

A third punch, and the Son-of-God went backwards, almost tripping over his own feet.

Christ on the mat.

Inmate standing at his feet.

For both men, it was textbook from here on out. For Tyler Burton, it was a grab of the leg that he’s done so many times, and a simple step-over rotation of the limb. As for Steve Christ, it was any one of the reversals that he’s been practicing all week long.

Textbook is how they saw it. Shame that it was the last thing they "saw".

Lights go out.

Arena suddenly engulfed in darkness... Security utterly and completely blinded. Crowd totally clueless.

Lights turn on?

No.

Fire.

A long jetting stream of the stuff being sprayed onto the Asylumtron from a rather large and dark bellowing figure holding a flamethrower. Asylumtron bursts into flames and small exploding electrical fires, filling the arena up with that crimson glow and that gray foggy mist.

Blinded by the glare of flames, Inmate turns away from Christ to look up the ramp...WHAM!!

Good old fashioned steel chair shot bounces off of his spine sending him to the mat. A sprawled out Inmate turns to meet his attacker...

Marauder.

The belligerent Marauder's face twisted in anger, he continues his attack filling the arena with the sound of metal on flesh. Steve gets to his feet and looks to put an end to Marauders interference when...

SMACK!!

Crowbar to the back of Christ's neck.

Jeff Garvin.

Garvin brutally attacks Christ with the kendo stick, more metal on flesh...the sound of his weapon cutting through the air mixing with Christ's screams of pain. In seconds the object wielding men pummel Christ and Inmate into submission. Garvin and Marauder survey their work and discard their weapons, hopping over the wire mesh and walking up the ramp to jeering from the Asylum fans.

Wrestlers.

Garvin formerly of 21st century wrestling, a federation that took on the Asylum only 2 weeks ago in a mega pay per view event. Now of Action! Wrestling and IOW.

Marauder from Tornado Wrestling and recently just coming off a defeat from his brother only weeks ago.

Marauder and Garvin made their way to just under the Asylumtron joining the third man...

...Biggs Dangsta.

From PCW and 21Wrestling. Husband to former female combatant Nayomi Dangsta. Biggs pointed to another pair of flamethrower backpacks and in seconds Garvin and Marauder had them on and started shooting flames, setting the curtains and the Skull Asylum logo ablaze. The crowd was now out of their seats and rushing for the exits as more explosions rocked the arena. It was only then...with the Asylumtron fully bathed in flames...that he stepped out. Just in the form of a shadow at first. No hair. Strong Muscles. Walked with a purposeful swagger...

...fist raised high in air.

....Could only be one person...

....

....

....

Who?

No one in *this* audience knew. Perhaps if you were a hardcore follower of 21W and enjoyed the lower-card programming...you'd know him. Perhaps if you read the dirt sheets that made a list of all of wrestlers that had been let go over the past few months from their respective promotions...you'd know. This man, clad in black tights with a white cross over the upper groin. His face shrouded in a pitch black mask with a white cross stitched brightly on the front...

This man....was called: Exxa Decimal

He walked center stage and placed his hands on his hips watching the people scurry back to the parking lot looking for safety. Biggs suddenly stopped what he was doing and walked over to Exxa whispering something in his ear. Exxa nodded and Biggs exited through the curtains taking Marauder and Garvin with him. It was then - with the heat at it's hottest point - that Exxa stood with arms outstretched. He reared his head back in silent laughter, the fire taking on a vile life of it's own pulling inwards just above his head consuming the Asylumtron.

He then uttered one phrase...

"Cower in fear sinners! For there will absolutely be no salvation...from the baptismal flames of justice."

And just like that.

They were gone.

...leaving the fires of hell in their wake.