And I intend to keep it that way.

Only Nerva.

Her hair was tied back in a ponytail and showed her battered face. Left eye: swollen and purple. Forehead: bandaged. Lip: swollen. Arms and back: littered with scars.

She was sore all over and could hardly move her limbs. Pain was a vice that could grind the toughest of fighters down.

Nerva walked down the aisle carrying her Women’s Championship belt; the one she won from Lotus back in February. The title hadn’t seen the light of day for a very long time, as Nerva was occupied defending the Asylum Championship against the Asylum’s most hungry and vicious men.

Fans clapped as she entered the cage. It was only eight days removed from the most brutal fight in Asylum history and Nerva was still walking – walking with a heavy limp, but walking nonetheless.

She took the microphone from the announcer and looked to the ground. “Joe Campbell instructed me to come out here with the Women’s Championship belt. I don’t quite know what the reasoning for this is and I really don’t have much to say. My words are pretty much summed up in my actions at Fight Hell II.”

Suddenly, Joe appeared on the AsylumTron. “Well, look what’s left of our favorite little dyke!”

The fans booed.

He was sitting in his office with his arms on his desk, holding a paycheque that read $10,416.67. “Nerva, do you remember that day when you blackmailed me into giving you a ridiculous raise? Well, it’s gone now!”

He tore the cheque up and smiled.

“All the days you cherished of me being your bitch are OVER! Before, you had me by the balls. You took my entire show for fucking hostage a few weeks ago and got away with it. Let me clue you in, dyke: you’re gonna be a good little bitch, because now that you’re no longer champion, you’re MY bitch!

“And tonight – oh to-nite! – you have a match, in which you’ll defend your chick belt that’s been collecting dust. But before I go into that, I want to talk about something else. You know, with Akha almost dead at the hospital, there isn’t much left of The Movement because look who I’ve got here!”

The camera zoomed out to show Lotus sitting on the desk’s edge with her arms crossed.

“That’s right; she turned on you! I’d say that’s a smart move. I mean, what kind of a fucking Movement can you lead now, without me by the balls and without the Asylum Title?”

Nerva brought the microphone up. “After surviving Fight Hell II, I’ve come to realize that I don’t need a Movement.”

A loud roar of cheers went through the crowd.

“Oh really? Then let’s see how you can do without a Movement, when you defend your Women’s Title against LOTUS right about… now.”

Joe nodded to Lotus, who left the locker room and raced toward the entrance.

Nerva (c) Vs Lotus
(Women's Title)

She was in no condition to fight. Only a drunken doctor would have given her medical clearance. Lotus recovered from the hard sidekick that nearly knocked her out. She saw Nerva crawling toward the cage wall for support and smiled. She stomped Nerva in the kidney and then knife-hand chopped her between the shoulder blades. Nerva screamed and buried her elbow into Lotus’s gut. She took Lotus down by both legs and immediately applied a figure-four arm-bar.

Lotus squirmed in position, but finally countered by head butting Nerva in the face. Nerva fell to the ground beside her. Lotus kipped up and continued to kick away at Nerva and then brought her old leader up. She punched Nerva twice in the face and then spin kicked her right in the neck. Nerva fell to the ground, prime for Lotus’s roundhouse kick right to the forehead. The shot opened up Nerva’s forehead wound once again. Lotus aimed another kick at Nerva’s gut, which re-triggered the internal bleeding. Nerva began to puke up blood again.

“And you were my leader,” said Lotus. “Nerva, I loved you like a sister. You were a sister. You were like a mother to me, the one I looked up to. But you disappointed me. You promised you’d win. You didn’t just lose when you tapped out to Inmate; I lost too. I tapped out too. Even Akha, your favourite little soldier. So did Nicole. So did Zoe. We all tapped out, you weak bitch.”

Nerva rolled on her back and looked up at Lotus, blood dripping down the sides of her mouth. “Lotus, we’re human.”

“Bullshit.” Lotus drove her foot in Nerva’s stomach and kept pushing, causing more blood to come out of Nerva’s mouth.

“If it’s the Women’s Title you want, take it. What you’re doing pains me. I can hardly breathe. You’re becoming obsessed. You don’t care about a damn thing other than being recognized. You’re becoming… what I was. Enjoy it while it lasts.”

Nerva tapped out.

Lotus took her foot from Nerva’s stomach. The ref handed her the Women’s Title, but she threw it down and headed out of the cage. She snapped up a steel chair and stepped back in. The ref got in her way, but she flattened him with a shot to the face.

“Get up,” she said, pointing the chair at Nerva.

When Nerva didn’t respond, she drove the end of the chair into her gut. Nerva coughed up more blood and turned on her side. Lotus grew impatient and brought Nerva up by the hair. She reeled the chair back and smacked her former mentor over the head, sending her into the cage wall.

Nerva hooked her arms up on the cage rim and looked up at Lotus with blood dripping down her cheeks and chin. Lotus tore Nerva’s tank top from the center down. She winded the chair up, and then smacked Nerva in the breasts. The chair hit her right in the nipples and she immediately grabbed at them. Lotus reached down Nerva’s pants and locked on Nerva’s own submission: the vaginal claw.

“You always told me to fight dirty,” said Lotus, and then sunk her teeth right into the kiss on Nerva’s left breast.

Officials scurried down to the cage and pried Lotus off of Nerva. But the damage had already been done. A flow of blood poured down Nerva’s breast, soaking into her black bra. Lotus picked up her newly won title belt and left the cage.

Now she was done.

One was a bouncy brunette haired flirt; the other was a black haired girl with faded red highlights.

“Well, so girls, chop to it.” Said Joe, as he unzipped his pants and put his hands on the top of his head. He began whistling a nice tune, his glasses sliding down his face.

He reclined in his chair, bringing the plush red chair on its back two legs.

“I don’t want too much action on my first night, Mr. Campbell.” Said the brunette, a smile across her face.

Joe, suddenly, stopped whistling.

“What are you blokes talking about?” Joe insisted.

“We are the new debuting ladies.” The black and red highlight haired love stated in an authoritative tone.

This caused Joe to zip up his pants, and stand up from his chair. He looked into the eyes of the black haired chick and just sneered.

“Ruin all the fun, you stupid Yank bitch! Like I care! The women here suck at giving head.” Joey roared.

The lady just shrugged it off. “So, who the fuck am I fighting?”

The brunette looked into Quinn’s eyes, and told her to quiet down in a low toned whisper.

“You must be the fuckhead bitch from the “minors”. The one that got the hell beat out herself. The model that doesn’t belong in anything associated with me.” He said with a crooked smile, and a laugh that stung the black haired lady down deep.

Joe was not engrossed with the red highlighted girl’s beauty. Just was angered by her nasty nature. And Joe Campbell can make life real rough on the nasty ones. And this young lass just barked up the wrong tree.

“Quinn Morgan, that lackey for that shit wrestler Syphon Fission. That’s who you are, right?”

Quinn could only nod her head.

“You are bringing Novak’s talents down just by being around her. She crushed people while you got your ass kicked. But she took you in. Like a family taking a dog in from out of the cold.” Joe sneered.

“Well…” the brunette tried to speak, but was cut off by Joe. “One word of advice Kate. I like to trim the fat off my roster. And if this arrogant cunt gets trimmed, well, don’t take it too personal.” He said, looking at her with a smile.

Novak only could give a timid smile as Joe closed his statements.

“The matches will be posted on the backboard, like usual. Welcome to Hell, ladies.”

And with that, the two Asylum newbies left.

“Yep, in case you hadn’t noticed people… things are going pretty damned sweet for Joe Campbell these days, why… lets just observe the sheer facts shall we? FightHell2 rocked the socks off of’ the lot of you, you all paid to watch it… and for once, I bet it didn’t disappoint… you got everything you wanted and a little bit more, and things for me… are as good as it gets.

Tyler finally whipped the shit out of that dumb lezza, and about time too if you ask me… she was like a walking gay pride parade, not that its anything to be proud of, if the gays had their way we’d cease to exist as a race altogether… its like a game of snooker really, you put the brown… the points are never gonna add up, pot the pink… your laughing.

I love being obscene, I bet none of you slow yanks got that one.” Joe said with a smug smile, the crowd continuing to pelt him with boos.

“But alas, I can’t dumb everything down for you, as you can see in plan and simple terms, the next chapter of the Campbell genius plan regime has begun, just now… you watched lezza lose her second title in just over a week… Nerva the bitchslut is really on a role, if she’s completely lucky… she’ll still have a job by the time the next show rolls around.

What else to salute, ah yes… Steven H. Christ, godboy himself went out and did his father proud at FightHell2, he beat Archangel… he won the extreme title and in the process, he damn near killed himself.

But, the doctors tell me young Steve should be resting on his laurels right now, taking a well deserved break from the toil that weekly fighting has taken on his body… get back to relaxing, turning water into wine… walking on water, cumming again… the usual bollocks.

Well, tough shit.

Steve is booked tonight against Providence, why? Because I don’t like him… I never really did like god in the first place, I mean what has he ever done for me apart from grace me with good looks and intelligence? Nothing… he dropped me right in the center of yankland to make a living, a complete insult to my intellect, then he makes me open up this stupid fighting promotion and surrounds me with wankers, I should be composing music… painting pictures like that Van Picasso guy…

But hey, here I am running a ruthless organisation that encourages extreme violence, a foundation that stands by when some weakling isn’t strong enough to defend himself from rape, a company where people get shot left right and center… well here’s to the role that “God” chose for me in life… just remember, when you religious activists are banging down my door…

God made me do it.” Joe said, stopping to smile for the cameras.

“And on the topic of god, it appears as though Fwrestling.com has their own God, the God of talking bullshit… that’s right people, so of you close followers will know that I’ve been having a bit of a verbal disagreement with Mrs. Poison “Tongue” Ivy, of course… she’s going to continue to hide behind her 50 year old 6’10 goon of a boyfriend, but that’s fine by me… you see I have something that she doesn’t, TV time.

You see, just recently I killed the fWo… I know many of you disagree but it’s a known fact, fWo was kicked off NBC because it was losing the ratings war to me, fWo went to USA and of course, closed out of sheer shame at being associated with such a shitbag country.” At this point Joe stopped, he was being pelted with trash.

“Yep, you just can’t beat Joe Campbell… I’m like Vince McMahon except for the fact that he’s discreet… I wanted rid of 21w, I sent some guys to bust their crap and they were out for several weeks, I wanted rid of fWo… I outdid them week, and week… and week again, until they finally accepted defeat.

If only you could accept defeat too, Ivy.

Unfortunately you can’t… so here’s another reminded of why being on TV is fun.”

Joe stops for a moment to drop his pants and wave his arse ceremoniously at the camera.

“See that? I waved my arse at you… what are you gonna do about it?

That’s right… nothing, type another little flame column up for me, because I promise… I’m not finished with you yet.” Joe said with a sly grin.

“But speaking of all talk and no action… lets move onto the next topic of conversation.

21wrestling.” Joe stopped, the crowd suddenly stopping the boos, and resuming them for the wrestling promotion.

“At last, we’re in agreement.” Joe said with a smile, getting a cheap pop.

“Mark Knight…

AAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA, WAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAA HA HA HA.” Joe stopped for a moment to wipe a tear from his eye and cough.

“What to say about you sir, if this were the internet I’d be WTF’ing and LMAO all the way to the bank… before I even contemplate an argument with you, lets just review your choice of attire… what… the fuck… are you wearing?

You’re a wrestling promoter you wanker… you’re not going to watch the horsies race at Ascot, with yer fucking cardigan that your mum probably nitted for you, and your stupid beret… you fucking sad act.

You and me pal, we’re chalk and cheese… I came from the slums, you were born with a silver spoon in your mouth eating a nice bit of Battenberg cage that probably arrived on a silver platter, you toffee nosed twat.” Joe said with a grin, the crowd cheering him… for once.

“Well, since your accustomed to all things silver… lets direct your attention to the end of my boot for a second.” Joe said with a smile, lifting his foot from the ground to reveal a silver toe capped boot.

“See this? Its made of solid silver… and if I see you anywhere at anytime, you’re going to have a silver spoon in your mouth, a silver platter in your hand…

and a silver fucking boot, straight up your arse” Joe remarked, the crowd exploding with cheers.

“I’ll do Villam proud jockey boy, shove my foot so far up your arse you’ll be able to taste what I just walked in… its funny ponce, I don’t remember giving you permission to swear on your little Universal rated show, nor did I give you permission to speak of my promotion in vain, lest we forget wanker… it is I that hold the cards in this little game, it was me… that sent my boys to close down 21wrestling for almost a month and its me, that will do it again… if you keep fucking me about.” Joe said, generating another roar from the crowd.

“Just for the record, Mr. Haunt… your main event devil boy, is coming to the Asylum… he’s fed up of being told what to do by some arse bandit jockey boy, you suspend him for six months for something that I’d give someone a pat on the back for, he knows where home is, right here.” Joe continued, the crowd continuing to cheer.

“You talk a good fight arsehole, but that’s exactly all you do… I however, as has already been proved tonight… let my actions speak much louder than my words, so Knight… you want to talk about bringing it? Oh I’ll bring it all you snotty little twat… lets not beat around the bush, why don’t I put my money where my mouth is.”

“That’s right MOTHERFUCKER.

WAR.

I’m going to go on record right now as the bastard who planted the seeds for this one, you and me Knight… its gone much further than a little verbal spat, it’s a fucking declaration of war, whether you accept it on your feet… or on your knees, the Asylum is coming for you again 21wrestling, and this time its to finish the job that Borst couldn’t… we’re going to kill you for good this time, when… you might ask?

September.

The clock is ticking my dear friends… enjoy your time while it lasts, I’ve got some ideas right now for what we’ll do, but first of all… I’m gonna get a little more acquainted with Mr. Knight so we can iron some shit out.” Joe said with an evil grin, shining his steel toed boot and exiting to the back as “Links 2 3 4” by Rammstein hit the speakers, urging the crowd to a standing ovation.

Joe Campbell had made fighting successful in a world where wrestling was dying in the publics eyes, and fighting leagues were restrained by rules, and mostly fought underground. Ever since the day Asylum opened it's doors, critics were saying when it was going to close. Over a year and a half later, the doomsayers are lessened, as they noticed the Asylum will live as long as Joe Campbell does. As long as he can rob the poor bastards who pay to watch his product, there would be a product. People watched deaths, rapes, hostage, but they still kept coming. They even watched while a woman.. a woman held the most sacred of titles in the realm of fighting, the Asylum championship. The latter had come to an end, but the Asylum still lived, and in the wake of Fight.Hell.2, people who watched knew things could only get better.

Queue the knocking.

Joe dropped his papers down onto the desk, and immediatley thrust his hands onto the top of his head as he grabbed handfuls of hair. Something about his privacy being invaded on a weekly basis drove Joe a little crazy. He ignored it looking back down onto his papers. But whoever it was, had some type of courage as they slowly turned the knob, and pushed the door open, it was just a small angle, just enough room for them to peak their head in.

"Mr. Campbell.. mind if I come in?" Joe looked up, and noticed the youngish face of the man, who gave him the news during Fight.Hell, and he also noticed that the man eased his way into the room, prior to asking if he could come in. Joe shook his head, as he glanced over his ruby red sunglasses.

"Fucken!..." Joe paused trying to find the right word, as his face flustered, "You come in here, and just shat on everything. You Yank bastards don't think for a bloody second, you just do as you please, is that it?" The man's eyes shied away from Joe's as the Asylum owner stood to his feet and crossed the room.

"No sir.. no not at all." The guy paused as he mustered the strength to look Joe in the eyes. "I have something for you, about the arson." Slowly the shade of red that Joe's skin was wearing slowly faded down to his normal tint.

"Now why the hell didn't you tell me that when you came in?" Joe stood pat with his arms folded across his chest, "So come on already, what is it?" The man extended his hand foreward to hand Joe a video cassette, just at that notion, Joe's eyebrows resembled the McDonald's logo.

"I was sure you'd be interested. It involves a guy.. a guy on your roster. I believe... I believe his name is Carnage."

"Carnage? So he was the fucken bastard who did it?" Joe screamed in the face of the man.

"I.. I don't know for certain Joe, I mean Mr. Campbell. But this had to do with the Smilthy's that burned down in March I've said enough, you have to watch." Joe looked at the tape as he rotated it in his hands. Joe inserted the tape into his VCR, and simply watched Carnage violently battering a man much larger then he was, he saw the flames coming from the side of the camera. He watched as Carnage ripped the man who was laying on the ground with his knife, and in a weird way Joe smiled. He had his arsonist right here, fucking Carnage, he was going to pay..

"What's your name, kid? Since you've been so kind to get me this information."

"My name is Michael.. Michael Morton." The guy said less nervous then anything before, he felt the feel of accomplishment rise in his heart.

"Well Matt, you're not finished. I want you to go.." Joe stopped right in mid-thought as he observed the guy, he was nothing more then a soldier boy, not enough to carry out the mission he had planned. He wanted Carnage detained and brought in for questioning, and this wiry thin pencil neck wasn't going to get it done. "Nevermind, go ahead, get the hell out I've got work to do!"

“What… The… Fuck!?!?”

Kate’s comment fitted Quinn’s facial expressions perfectly.

The two young females stood staring through the bulletin board confirming their fate.

“Quinn Morgan Vs. .Desolate” Quinn murmured as she sunk to a squatting position with her tender hands upon her head.

“And… I get that Beef guy?” Kate questioned in a shocked manner.

Quinn confirmed without a breath.

“Yeah. You get the sure-fire win and I get my booty kicked. Joe obviously hates me already…”

Kate put her arm on Quinn’s shoulder lovingly and Quinn got to her feet.

“All I wanted was to show that I can make something of myself, you know? Like really accomplish something here and shut everyone up who says I can’t fight. I want to move out of Rashard’s shadow and show I’m not just some dumb bitch who signed up to fight here to get a hold of some of the hot guys. I’m really working my ass of here and want something to show for it.

And now this happens. Joe fucks me over on my first day. Could my future ~look~ any worse?

Sure, I have the talent and I can back up every word I say, you know that Kate, you know me, but with Joe on my ass it doesn’t matter.

I could be the next Kenny Rock and shape the future on the Asylum and make that English twat billions of dollars.

Kate blurted in.

“Hey, not all us Brits are that way. Leave it out.”

Quinn continued as if she didn’t hear Kate at all.

”…But without him giving me a chance… I don’t even want to think about how I’ll turn out.

I’ll be squashed like Mega Job.”

Kate cut in quickly.

“Don’t say that Quinn, Joe’s got nothing on us. He favours me, so what? Whereas you’re obviously repulsed by the guy and his advances, I let him think I’m interested. I’ll get a few breaks because of this here and there and he’ll be all the happier thinking he’s going to get some pussy, but all the while I’ll be by your side, not his. I won’t desert you honey.”

Quinn smiled her angel like smile and nodded.

“I believe you… And I won’t desert you either. We’ve come through Smilthy’s together and we’ll go through the Asylum together, just you and I, forsaking all others. We’ll be friends till the end, I just know it.”

Quinn smiled at Kate again and then shot another look at the bulletin board.

“You have a match too remember, quit worrying about me. You’ve got Beef…”

Kate sighed.

“That guy in a blue suit you told me about?”

“The one and only…” Quinn said as she rolled her gleaming blue eyes.

“Thank god” Kate quickly shot back.

The two laughed playfully and walked off together as the camera fixed onto the bulletin board.

Kate Vs. Beef.

Haha. That’ll be interesting…

.Desolate Vs. Quinn…

That’s the worrier…

Nerva’s eyes were watering up behind her sunglasses. She gulped once, nodded, and stood up from her seat. “Come on, Zoe. We don’t need this anymore.”

Joe stopped Zoe by the jacket arm. “Hey, no one said you have to leave. Now I know that you’ve been heartbroken by Tyler and all, but there’s always a place for you here in the Asylum… underneath my desk.”

Nerva rolled her eyes and kept walking, thinking Zoe was right behind her. But she wasn’t. She turned around and saw her lover going under Joe’s desk and unzipping his pants.

There was nothing Nerva could do. She lost everything.

"Hans, it's good to see you." Hans nodded at the sentiment, "I didn't tell you when I called, but this search party is for Carnage. And I know the fuckhead didn't exactly leave on exactly the best terms with you."

"Ja." Hans looked in the direction of the security guards, and then back at Joe. "Didn't think zat I could handle him myself, Joe?"

"No, that's not it at all Hans.. the fucken bastard might be hiding out here somewhere. The more people you've got, the more area you can cover. If he's here, and you find him, you bring that Arsonist son of a bitch. Bring that fucken bastard, and I'll show him some fucken carnage alright." Hans broke into a toothed smile, he liked the thought, he nodded towards Joe and walked towards the security guards.

"Zis is gonna be fun guys, zis is gonna be very fun." There was something else Joe wanted to say, but as soon as he opened his mouth the words silently escaped, Joe simply shrugged turned around, and took a seat in his chair as the search party went on their way to find Carnage.

Kate Novak Vs Beef

So carelessly Miles Blunder walked the grounds of the Asylum’s backstage. His dull gray “N/S” t-shirt, cargo pants, and a filled to the brim Windex Bottle in hand, he just strolled around, a little calmer than normal. Miles had gone through hell last week. For he survived the giant Pay-Per-View, even if he looked somewhat like a fool.
This week couldn’t have been as bad, right?

He turned the narrow corner, coming upon Joe Campbell’s office.

“Shit.” He said, as he jumped back in shock. “I gotta get out of here fast!!”

Of course Blunder had never met the Owner of tA in person, but the television had shown him enough. Campbell was an asshole... and Miles didn’t want to go near him at all.

He tried to slid by the door, realizing it was open just a bit.

“Please God... please...” He crouched past the opened crack, seeing Campbell sitting there, doing some paper work. “Wow. He’s very handsome.”

Blunder slapped himself out loud for speaking. However, as he then passed the door, a voice spoke.

“Miles? Is that you?” It was Joe Campbell, talking from inside his office.

“N- n- no it’s not.” Blunder replied, as he started to sneak away...

“Get in here.” Campbell said again, which stopped Blunder dead in his tracks as he turned back around, reluctantly entering the office. “Sit.”

Obeying his orders, ‘The Germ Gestapo’ landed on the chair in front of his desk, awaiting Joe to finish his papers.

“I’ve got you in a Match tonight.” The Owner said, finally looking up, scaring the fuck right out of the newcomer.

“O- O- Oh?”

“Yeah. Talent relations said what you sent in was really impressive, so I’ve got you in a UK Championship Match against Karmyn[Angel].”

Blunder nearly fell over in fear.

A Match? Tonight?

What if he wasn’t ready?

What if Karmyn was 100 times better than he?

“S- si- sir, y- yo- you sure?”

“Yeah. If you’re as good as that wrestling video you gave me, you could be a brilliant star! All those wrestling Fed’s will want you... and then I’ll just tell them to fuck off.”

“Ti- Tit- Title Match?”

“Um... that’s what I said.”

A few blank stares, and Joe Campbell went back to his work.

“Be gone now. See you in the ring.”

“Ri- rig- right.”

"VAT ZE FUCK!" Hans' hand seared right through the wooden door, as he fumed with anger. He turned to the others simply watched him, while he was now struggling to remove his hand from the door. "Vat are you looking at? Worthless shits!" Finally with a kick at the door and a yank of the arm, Hans got his arm out and he stumbled back. What was it that set him off? He looked at the metal tag on the door, and noticed that they had went in full circle.

Problem? It was Joe Campbell's door. But Hans? Hans was far from done, he turned looking at the group of five, and imaginary fumes of smoke rose above his head. One guy piped up, "Well friends, it's sorta late, I promised my wife I'd be home in time for.. ah.. she just wanted me home.. now!" He ran off, and soon after four others mimicked his exit, but one wasn't able to escape..

"Don't think zat you're going anywhere fat boy," Hans held tightly on the back of the man's collar, and he struggled to breathe. To think he came to work, and this is what resulted? In one motion, Hans swiped the man's legs from underneath him sending him face first onto the ground. Hans got on top of him, "You incompentant bastard!" Hard left and right crossfaces busting the man's nose open. "You didn't even look!" Hans got up and sent a hard boot to the man's side causing him to restrict quickly.

Joe finally got out of his office and he saw Hans abusing someone, and he had a smile on his face..

Until he saw it wasn't Carnage getting beat, instead it was one of the security guards, and with that frustration Joe removed his sunglasses, and rubbed his face, trying to ease his stress. "So he wasn't here?" For a few moments Joe didn't get an answer, as Hans wasn't done kicking.. finally the Dresden Powerhouse stopped as he watched the blood being spat out of the man's mouth. Joe walked closer this time his sights on Hans, "Carnage no showed again?"

Hans held his head low, as he slowly turned to Joe, "Ja. Zat sonnuva bitch vasn't anyvere."

"Maybe he's smarter then I thought?" Joe shrugs as he looked his henchmen square in the eyes, "You burn a Smilthy's, it's not exactly smart to come back here the next weekend.. even if you're missing your last couple paycheques." Hans' eyebrows furrowed not sure what Joe was talking about, "But any intelligence he has now, is only temporary, watch.. he'll come right to us.. he needs money.. no matter how bloody it is." Now Hans understood it, and his toothed smile broke out again, for every ounce of evil Joe was, he was also had some right answers mixed in. The worst type of cocktail..

Morgan Vs .desolate

New theme for a new fighter. Great. You might be bored already. This is about the time you go to the concession stand and buy yourself another hotdog and Coke, stuff it down your face, then wonder why you have so much excess weight that nobody wants to sleep with you even if they were drunk.

However, what came from the backstage area gave you a little culture shock. There, before your very eyes, stood one of the hottest women you had ever seen. You thought she was going to strip for you. She got a roar from the crowd, not caring who she was, but just that she was going to give their shafts a little bit of pleasure.

Damn, doesn’t it suck when you are wrong. She walked anxiously towards the steel rim of the Asylum. When she was inside, she raised her arms in victory. Damn, cocky already. That’s always been a trait of Quinn Morgan, where black hair and faded red highlights, her black ADIDAS Tear-aways and her black sports bra with an ADIDAS symbol on the left breast. She looked like a more well developed version of Rachel Leigh Cook, standing near six feet tall. You just smiled.

Not A Hit. Margret Heater.

This caused a mixed reaction from the crowd. Out of the back came .desolate, in his usual attire. His arms were raised in a mock crucifix, his eyes fixated only on the ring. His hair matted against his face, and a cigarette in his mouth, he let it call form around his face like a gray mist form of the creeping death. He just walked confidently down to the Asylum, and entered. He flicked the half smoked cigarette into the crowd. No muss, no fuss.

And that’s when Quinn went for a roundhouse kick. Too bad .desolate grabbed her foot and used his left foot to drop kick her left knee. She hit the Asylum floor. She hit it hard. Just like she did in Smilthy’s. Just like her whole career will be here.

While Quinn was trying to regain some feeling in her left leg, .desolate mounted her. He laughed at the poor girls predicament. The expressionless face of .desolate just stared, as he started punching Quinn Morgan’s face into mess.

After attempts to get her hands up to block some of the punches, .desolate got up and kicked the down woman, getting a couple boos from the crowd. You get that when you’re a woman beater. Morgan tried to move, as the referee started counting.

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6

.desolate didn’t care that Morgan was picking herself up, her right eye socket broken open and her left eye black and blue. He just stared.

Morgan charged .desolate as hard as she could, and went to gore him, but he strifed to the right. She got her head up in time, but her entire upperbody made a sickening thud against the mesh.

Again, she was down.

1

2

3

4

She flipped up. .desolate didn’t care. He wasn’t breaking a sweat.

Morgan however, fell to both knees before him. Before he could react, he was doubled over, grabbing his crotch. Low blow by Quinn Morgan. She stood up and demanded that the son of a bitch get off the ground.

1
2
And .desolate was on his feet. Quinn had a decent opening. She went for a spinning roundhouse kick, connecting hard on the jaw of .desolate. He went to the mat hard, and even had a little bit of blood protruding from his lips.

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3

4

5

Now he cared. .desolate spear tackled Quinn Morgan to the ground, and began punching, elbowing, forearm smashing, and choking Morgan, taking the life and fight right out of her body. This lasted about a full minute.

One full minute of brutal battering of not only an Asylum newbie, but a woman one at that.

She laid there in a pool of blood, damn near gone from this plane of existence. The referee had no choice but to count.

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9

The crowd was amazed, the referee was a amazed, you were amazed. Quinn Morgan stood up, somehow. Maybe it was her stamina. Maybe it was will.

Either way, .desolate didn’t really fucking care.

He walked over to her, and threw her against the Asylum mesh, and leapt on the ledge. He knelt down, spun her around in an inverted DDT position.

He leapt off the edge, bring his body down, slamming Morgan’s head against the ground. Nothing was going to save her.

Graceless Descent.

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8

9

10.

.desolate didn’t care. He just left the mesh, and allowed the fans to soak in the fact that he had just crushed some nobody in their debut match. Man, it sucks to get on Joe’s bad side, doesn’t it Queen.

“Not a Hit” by Margret Heater played on as .desolate walked away. Morgan was barely moving.

“Sorry… wrong number I…” Joe’s eyes widened as the voice at the other end of the line faded.

“Woah woah, who’s this?” Joe enquired.

“I’m Doctor Christenson of the New York correctional facility, who’s this?” The Doctor replied.

“Its err, Joe Campbell… if you remember, I brought a guy in to see you last Sunday morning, severe head trauma?” Joe spoke back.

“Ah yes, Mr. Campbell… I was hoping to get ahold of you, the results of Mr. Burton’s psychiatric evaluation came through today… I got a confirmation on several of the theories I was putting to you last week.” The Doctor continued.

“Excellent!” Joe said clasping his hands together “So Doc, what’s wrong with him?”

“Well, to be perfectly honest… there are no evident signs of any form of psychosis, he’s got a very high IQ as far as we’ve established, perfect sense of reason… he’s fine.” The Doctor was cut off.

“He’s not fine! He’s fucked In the head… surely there’s something.” Joe sneered, worry in his eyes.

“Well, there is… and there isn’t.” The Doctor replied.

“While the psychiatric evaluation was undergoing, we asked him some questions about his past… and he kept referring to this… Borst? Fellow.” The Doctor said inquisitively.

“Yeah… Borst, so what?” Joe replied.

“Well… that’s where it gets odd, you see… this man is convinced that he is Borst, or rather… Borst is he, merely a figment of his imagination, he’s not a schizophrenic… not by a long shot, he merely seems to have convinced himself for whatever reason, that its true.” The Doctor said.

Joe smiled.

“So… Tyler thinks he’s Borst?” Joe questioned, his eyes lighting up.

“Yes, yes sir he does.”

“Thanks, that’ll all I need… get those documents to me asap… bye.”

“But…”

*click*

Before the Doctor could continue, the phone went dead… Joe leant back in his plush chair.

“Tyler, you can come through now.” Joe shouted, the handle on his door twisted and the new Asylum champion Tyler Burton strolled through the door with the title over his shoulder.

“What do you want?” Tyler sneered.

“Oh, nothing Pete… I just wanted to congratulate you on this latest title run… six time Asylum champion is quite an achievement, Borst.” Joe said, leaning back in his chair.

“Six time… but I, wait a minute… Borst?” Tyler said his eyes wide.

“Borst!? I… Tyler, snap the hell out of it, what the hell is with this Borst crap… I thought you told me not to call you that anymore.” Joe said… Tyler opened his mouth but was interrupted.

“Listen Tyler, take the night off… I know that Fight Hell took a lot out of you, go and chill out… I’ll see you next week.” Joe said, as Tyler shook his head and began to exit.

“See you next week then.” Inmate grunted closing the door behind him.

Joe smiled to himself.

“Sure thing…

Borst.”

"God… God… God damnit!"

Kate Novak soon approached her from behind and helped her to her feet once again. Kate passed Quinn one of the Pepsi's she was holding and then opened her own.

She took a big, refreshing gulp down.

Quinn threw hers against the wall and watched it explode just as she felt like doing.

Anyone who has ever thrown a coke or a Pepsi against the wall however will know that it doesn't explode. It hardly even gushes out… It just… Spills out… Pathetic really.

That's exactly what it done.

More disappointment for Quinn, another reason why cola sucks and a great point for Kate to step in and calm her friend down.

"Did you just throw the Pepsi I bought you against the wall?" Kate questioned.

Quinn seemed cautious in answering.

"Yeah… Yeah I did. Sorry."

Kate wasn't as upset as Quinn thought she'd be.

"No matter, it's only cola."

Kate took one last gulp and threw her Pepsi into the wall as well.

Once again, it dribbled.

Stupid thing.

Kate reassured Quinn as much as she could.

"You done great out there tonight. You didn't win, but the loser always gains most. You know where your mistakes lie and how to work on them and in time you'll challenge him again, beat him and that day you'll say to yourself. "I was the winner."

You done yourself proud out there Quinn, you gave all you had so don't feel disappointed. It was your first match, your first of many so just keep your chin up…"

Kate put her index finger softly underneath Quinn's chin and ushered it up.

"…And your smile set because I won't let you give up before your dreams come true.

Tomorrow is a new day and although you couldn't beat .Desolate tonight, maybe tomorrow you could, or the next day, or the day after that.

I'm not giving you false hope here Quinn. You can do this and deep down I think you know you can."

So Kate lied.

Everyone lies.

It doesn't make you a bad person does it?

Well...

Not when you only did it to save hurting someone's feelings.

Kate lied once.

So that one time makes her a liar does it?

Well fine, Kate's a liar.

You happy now?

Kate is a liar.

Honestly though, she doesn't care if it makes her a good person or not, she's just doing what she believes makes a friend.

She's keeping the smile on Quinn's face.

What's so horrific about that?

Nothing.

Yes, nothing.

So she's a liar and Quinn is content.

Small sacrifice wouldn't you say?

All you people who wish you could bring a smile to the face of someone you loved, you'd do it too.

Yes, I said love.

Kate loves Quinn like a sister.

A baby sister if you will.

She's taken her in and although Joe seems to think Quinn will drag Kate down, Kate feels Quinn complements her talents just as she complements Quinn's.

And, as she sat there, wondering what was going through her 'baby sister's mind right now, she too was happy.

One lie that made two people happy.

Like I said.

Small sacrifice.

Morgan took a deep breath, then exhaled. She rested her head against the concrete wall behind her, and savored the bruises and blood on her face. For some reason, she kind of liked the feeling.

“I can’t beat that guy. I can’t beat anyone here. They’re all animals. Soulless machines, dead on the inside and out. That guy? He murdered me. And it’s only going to continue.” Quinn could barely say. She was getting choked up. She thought she had it in herself to be a great fighter.

She wasn’t. At least not yet.

Kate tried to comfort her. However, she just didn’t understand. You live in the shadow of a man. You want that spotlight so badly, that no matter what, you go for it. Syphon Fission was that man, and he was on his own little exodus. She was alone for the first time. Around people she didn’t know. Around people that didn’t care.

“Look…dammit Morgan! You have to care! You haven’t care! Not once! I don’t care if one of those big guys comes around, I am going to fight them as hard as I can. You, you have all these tools. You just don’t use any of them.”

Novak really didn’t know what she was talking about. No need. The Asylum will chew her up and spit her out too. Just like everyone else. Maybe she was just a wuss. Maybe she was a great pretender. But one thing went on in her mind.

She was laughed at by everyone. In the end, she wants to laugh at everyone else.

Actually, Lucasfilm was scratched out, and "Jobfilm" replaced it. To the groans of the crowd.

Then, the AsylumTron showed the following words.

"A long, long time ago... in a galaxy far, far away..."

Then, the Star Was music hits, and two words appeared on the screen.

"MEXICAN WARS".

As that fades away, some letters faded into the picture and scrolled across the screen.

"uisdhfuashfaiushsabgi."

Well, I didn't say that formed words.

Then, two pictures of masked men begin to flash across the Asylum Tron, as they wrestle in numerous matches. A few pure fighting fans boo this, since it's... well, you know. Wrestling. Finally, these images pass, to the relief of the fighting fans.

Their relief lasts about three seconds, before an image of El Janito in a mask is shown.

"Yo, esses!" Janito said, seemingly forgetting that he was acting British just a few days ago.

"It seems to me that a certain Avo Chavez has inserted himself into the evil Asylum thing! I will not stand for this! The Janitos and the Chavez..es have been fighting each other for DECADES!" Janito ranted. "My father fought the great... uh. Mr. Chavez! And my GRANDFATHER fought the High Chief Chavez!"

"So, you see, it is my DESTINY to put on my dad's mask, and FIGHT Avo Chavez for no apparent reason outside of the fact that our fathers didn't like each other!"

That scene faded into a picture of Avo Chavez, who had just watched what Janito had to say. He had a surprised look that contorted his masked face.

"Dude! I didn't know my dad even WRESTLED!"

The Avo shook his bewildered head and wandered away, possibly to get some tacos.

Then, that scene faded into a picture of both Beef and Steve, who have just watched this segment, themselves, and had a look of surprise on their own faces. Beef turned to Steve.

"Dude, Steve. Can you believe that? Janito actually had a DAD?! I thought he was, like, Jesus or something, and his mom was a virgin."

"DISAPPOINTMENT."

"Yeah. That's kind of uncool. Let's go get a Mike's Hard Lemonade."

"SURE."

They leave to get a Mike's Hard Lemonade. Our scene now cuts to Joe Campbell, who just watched the segment on his own TV. He, himself, has a bewildered look on his face, before he spoke.

"That stupid Mexican STILL WORKS HERE?! I gotta see his contract..."

And finally, the picture fades to black.

Karmyn[Angel](c) Vs Miles Blunder
(U.K. Title)

Yet as Miles Blunder walked to the cage, something rubbed off to everyone in the arena. ‘The Germ Gestapo’ would have to grow himself a pair of balls before anything else. The ‘Timid Tiger’ cautiously entered the Asylum door, as he walked around and waited for the Champion to come.

How in the hell was he *already* in a Match like this?

What if he would win?

But what if he would lose?

Christ, what if he messed up a move?

Any move?

Even a right hand?

The possibilities were endless, and luckily for him, he didn’t have to go through many more.

“Testure” by Skinny Puppy had cued up, and the UK Champion was coming down the ramp.

Karmyn[Angel] looked across the Asylum netting as Miles Blunder paced around inside. ‘The Germ Gestapo’ caught Karmyn eyeing him as she entered the cage, as Blunder quickly looked elsewhere, praying that the UK Champion wasn’t pissed off when he had watched her enter.

The bell sounded.

Miles Blunder took one massive, deep breath. He charged in.

Karmyn[Angel] moved, as Miles went face-first into the mesh, only to toss a small fit at himself right after. Blunder took forth again, as Karmyn sidestepped and tripped the newcomer up with the soul of her right boot. Blunder met the mat once more, as Karmyn[Angel] drove her elbow into the edge of his stomach.

Picking the Challenger up, Karmyn then chucked him into the side of the Asylum before lowering her head, and back body dropping Miles to the canvas. The young fighter shook off the cobwebs and rose to his feet... charging at the UK Champion for the third time in the contest.

Hip toss.

Blunder landed against the side of the cage, his feet dangling in the air as he did. Angel laughed, as she smiled... waiting for Blunder to rise... but this time he did not.

The Challenger didn’t want to fight anymore. He just wanted to give up, already.

Karmyn dropped the knee across his chest, as she pulled Miles to his feet one final time and locked him into the ‘Switchblade Symphony’.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

‘The Germ Gestapo’ couldn’t even take another second, as he spun his hand free and slammed it the canvas numerous times. Angel rose, shocked that the battle hadn’t taken too long. Grabbing her Championship Title back she headed up the ramp with a smile on her face, as Miles Blunder just rolled into a ball... in the middle of the Asylum...

No way was he going to show his face in public after a Match like that.

And now?

Ever since “Sir Janito, the Bloody Mexican” held the title for thirteen days, the value of the belt plummeted quicker than Argentine peso.

But it was time to shake things up a little. Karmyn smiled. With a microphone in her hand, and a slight dampness on a forehead that had more to do with the lighting than the match, she motioned for the song “Testure” to be cut short. She leaned leaned up against the far side of the cage.

And took a deep breath.

“Lately,” she started, and then tossed her belt down in front of her. The silver championship belt gleamed in the overbearing lights of the stadium. “Lately this belt has been treated like shit.

“And I can understand that,” she continued. “When you have Janito, whose only title should be that of Jobberweight, as a champion it does a bit to the credibility of the title.

“But that doesn’t excuse me fighting some rookie trash,” she said, referring to Miles Blunder.

“So here’s the deal. I’ve decided to kickstart the division. And it all starts with an open challenge. Anybody who thinks they’re worthy of a shot at the title before me, make your presence known.”

”The Blood, the Sweat, the Tears”.

The song of Nicole Carson got a fairly negative reaction, but the competitor ignored the jeers and simply walked towards the Asylum, stopping halfway. The effects of Fight.Hell were noticable in her. She would normally react to their jeering.

“Nicole Carson,” Karmyn said. “Do you think you deserve a UK Title shot?”

“I think I do,” replied Nicole.

“That’s all well and good,” Karmyn said, “But I honestly don’t think you deserve one. You lost your match at Fight.Hell.II, the biggest event of the year, and your only noteworthy accomplishment thusfar has been being a Movement lackey.” The tension was high and the crowd was hanging on the words of Karmyn. “In fact, I think you aren’t any better than Blunder-Boy.”

“Smoke Two Joints,” by Sublime, the pothead theme of the whole world.

Well, almost the whole world. Two guys in some other promotion tend to think Offspring is better.

But not Eddie Cheno.

He stood at the top of the entrance way, let out a smile before raising his bong to a chorus of cheers.

“Eddie Cheno, do you think you deserve a UK Title shot?”

"Well wo-mang, I ain't be funken losin' at da biggest show of da funken year, dat be for sure. So, yeah, if dis bitch be gettin' in da same funken state as dat funken title, I dink it'd be a funken crime if I ain't be gettin' a crack wo-mang."

”I think you do too,” Karmyn said, and the crowd reacted positively to it. “Last Saturday you put on a marvelous show, and got four words out of Providence that no one expected you to. And let me be the fi- no, second- to say:

“I respect Eddie Cheno.

“As much of an honor it would be to fight you, Eddie, it seems we have a problem. Nicole wants a shot as well.”

Nicole pressed the microphone to her lips. “You respect that pile of shit over there? How can you say that? He constantly puts himself in bad situations. He wouldn’t even have to fight Providence at Fight.Hell, but then he goes around like an abandoned puppy looking for friends. He’s pathetic and worthless.”

"At least dis funken abandoned puppy got a mean streak. He be surviving witout friends, he be fightin' an scrappin' ta funken survive, and he don't be thinkin' twice. He be livin' his life, he be fightin' his fight, and unlike some cunt, he be a funken winner." Cheno paused, which allowed Nicole to attempt to bring the microphone back to her face. However, Cheno cut her off. "And wo-mang? I don't funken know why ya got a right ta call me a funken pile o shit... ya got a funken mirror in dat loser-funken-mobile of yours?"

“I’m the fucking police. I could have you arrested on possesion of illegal drugs. But I won’t, instead I’ll make a symbol out of you. I'll show the rest of the potheads out in the world just how fucked they are when they mess with the law. By the way, think twice? I don't even think you thought once in your whole life. You can't even remember where you came from. Anyway, I maybe slipping…maybe I am, but that’s going to end right now. The losses are cut after this."

"Nicole," Karmyn said, and Nicole turned around quickly. "Why exactly do you think losing to Gwen gives you the right to a title shot?” Karmyn asked.

“Because,” Nicole stated, “My loss at Fight.Hell brought me down to your level.”

Karmyn chuckled a bit. “There was a time, Nicole, when that would warrant a title shot. But I’ve learned, I suppose. Eddie, Nicole, come into the ring.”

They both walked towards the Asylum, with Nicole reaching there first and standing in one of the corners in the near side of the cage. Cheno entered the asylum and stood in the opposite corner.

”Whoever wins this match will get a chance to face me next week.”

Karmyn hopped over the cage, and the match begins.

Eddie Cheno Vs Nicole Carson
(U.K. Title #1 Contendership)

The two circled each other up, each fighter weighing up the other… Cheno definitely fancied his chances against a womang, but as an officer of the law, it was Carson’s duty to put the pot smoking fighter away, for good.

Cheno suddenly decided to make his move, glaring at Nicole… he suddenly crouched into a football stance, before rushing at her in an attempt to tackle her to the canvas.
No go.

Carson caught the oncoming Cheno with a right jab which staggered him, and then went for a crescent kick to Cheno's forehead. Cheno still had the thought to duck, but reached up and grabbed the leg on the way down. He thrusted it upwards, attempting to throw her out of the ring for a quick ring out, but Carson grabbed the bottom of the cage on the way for a flip, landing stomach first on the cage siding before sliding down onto the back of her neck.

What a compromising situation, and Cheno took advantage of this, placing his knee over the back of her neck and rubbing the side of her face against the cage wall. She thought about tapping, raising her hands up in position, but felt something rub against her hair. She grabbed Cheno's afro, and pulled him down off of her and to the cage floor by it. She had a few strains for a present when she was finished.

Carson quickly got to her feet, as did Cheno, as the two fighters began to circle one another. Carson reached into her bag of tricks, pulling out a nightstick and twirling it.

Cheno groaned in disapproval, before he reached out to the outside of the cage and picked up his bong. Cheno tried to twirl it like a bo, but mostly the bong water just spilt. That's when Cheno got the idea...

Cheno threw the bong water up into the face of Nicole, temporarily stunning her before he took her down with a double leg takedown. Nicole was on her back before she knew it, and Cheno threw a couple of right and left hands to her head and upper body. Nicole tried to fight it when she was able to see again, but Cheno stayed firmly on top, even after a few blows to the skull by Carson and her free hand.

Carson looked out onto the asylum cage, and saw that she had dropped her nightstick. She began to reach out for it, attempting to procure it without Cheno noticing, even while being beaten to a pulp by vicious right hands. Talk about letting out your aggression.

Carson finally grabbed a hold of the nightstick, and jammed it into Cheno's face. Eddie was reluctant to let go of his position on top of Carson, then again, who'd want to get off of a malicious beating of a cop? But too many blows, three to be exact, sent Cheno flailing off of Carson and onto his back. Which isn't a place you want to be in the Asylum cage.

Carson quickly rolled Cheno onto his backside, and stood overtop of him. Now, she pulled back on his face, lifting him in a surfboard stretch type maneuver, but the only support she had was the cheek bones. It was almost like an effective Boston crab type move, but focusing on the cheek and jaw structure specifically. Cheno let out a scream of pain, which only let Carson lock the hold further back. Carson then reached back and used the nightstick she had used to get out of Cheno's hold, and placed it into Eddie's mouth, wrenching back this way instead. Either Cheno's jaw would break, or Cheno's back would curve to a point where it wouldn't change back anymore.

Eddie reached around desperately for something, anything, and found a small glass bong in his pants. He fought to get his right hand free after taking possession of it, trying to squeeze it under Nicole's right knee, but it wouldn't budge. Carson had Cheno locked into place, and Eddie didn't seem to have anywhere to go but to tap the canvas. His hand hit it once, and Carson seemed to believe victory was in her grasp. She eased up just a bit, JUST enough for Cheno to reach his hand out from underneath, and put it into a position to smash the small bong into Nicole's face.

And that's exactly what Cheno did, to the reaction of a huge crowd pop. Nicole fell backwards, as Cheno got to his feet, still feeling the effects of the hold. Cheno looked around, and reached down, picking up the nightstick that he had been at the end of so many times in this match. As Nicole got up from the canvas, Cheno lined up, and caught her straight in the throat. Carson flew backwards, landing on the cage, and catching herself only on the mesh support. As she turned around to regroup herself...

Needle Jab(Front side kick).

Sandwiching her between the cage mesh and Eddie's shoe. Carson collapsed in a heap, and the referee quickly made his ten count. The referee raised Eddie's hand in victory, as he climbed out of the Asylum cage. As Nicole regained her senses, she slammed the mat a few times before she herself walked out of the cage as well.

“H- hello.” Miles said, standing to his feet and wiping his hands on his pants. As .desolate turned towards him at the extended hand that Miles offered, Blunder suddenly withdrew his hand nervously.

In .desolate's other hand he had a switchblade which, as he walked, he rolled and twisted in his palm. “hmm, and you are?”

“H- h- hello, A- Azr-ael, u- um, I- I’m M- Miles Blunder. I- I spoke t- t- to you at F- fight H- Hell, remem- member?” Miles ran a hand nervously over his brow, wiping the sweat off.

.desolate growled, a low, feral sound coming from deep within his chest. Before Miles had a chance to blink he found himself pinned against the wall, .desolates free hand clenching his throat. .desolate’s black, blank eyes stared into Miles’ own, sending a shiver down his spine. “U- Um...” he gasped in a strangled tone.

“if i ever,” .desolate hissed in Blunder’s face, “hear that name again . . .” Bringing up the switchblade, he ran it lightly down the profile of Miles, drawing a thin line of blood as it passed. Tilting his head to the side, he brought his lips close to Miles’ ear. “i think you get the picture.”

.desolate walked off, leaving Blunder a quiver just standing there.

He then snapped, kicking the wall.

“FFUUCCKK!! I should’ve nailed him right in the face!”

Hypnosis Vs LLB
(Asylum Championship #1 Contendership)

Signaling to the people with his right hand high in the air, only to drive it back down to the ground, the lawyer marched across the ramp and into the cage as “Brutality” by Urban Voodoo cued up, and the Fans cheered again. This time for Ty Hughes. For Hypnosis. The former two time Television Champion thanked the Arena for their grace as he also entered the Asylum cage, but before the Referee could even call for the bell, the two went at it.

LLB ducked an attempted clothesline as he smacked Ty with a left hand across the face. Then bouncing himself lightly off the mesh, LLB landed a stellar dropkick to the heart of Hughes. Hypnosis fell, while LLB climbed the cage and dove off with a frog splash.

And even though it seemed he had hurt himself too, LLB got off the canvas first, firing a left hand into Hypnosis’ face. Ty flew back, slamming against the Asylum as he shook off the hurt and took forth to LLB again...

‘The Law’ moved, and Hypnosis ran himself right into the mesh. Turning around to realize that his opponent was down, the lawyer rifled his right boot into Hypnosis’ gut. Ty cried out in pain as LLB just smiled and kept the attack going, then using the side of the Asylum for balance as he threw his heels relentlessly into Hughes spine.
Some of the Crowd began to chant “Objection!” after every shot... while others grew loud for Ty Hughes.

After a few more boots to the back, LLB lifted his opponent up and tried to chuck him out of the Asylum, but couldn’t, as Hypnosis latched his hands around LLB’s right knee and tripped him up. The Fans went crazy, as Ty dropped the elbow against LLB’s neck and continued to pummel him on the mat.

Hypnosis rose, waiting on LLB... abetting him...

‘The Law’ finally stood, and was hammered square in the face with a superkick.

Hughes demanded the Referee to count him down.

1...

2...

3...

4...

5...

6...

7...

8...

9...

LLB shot up as Hypnosis stood still in disbelief.

The lawyer could only smile as he rushed towards Hypnosis, connecting with the ‘Erroneous Conclusion’.

“Objection!” He screamed as he plied himself from the mat. “Inmate... here I come...”

1...

2...

3...

4...

5...

6...

7...

8...

9...

But for this time, it was Ty Hughes whom objected. He leaped to his feet in a flash.

The Crowd calmed down, as they were again surprised. The two walked closer... eyeing each other...

Hypnosis smiled. LLB smiled.

‘The Law’ shot Hypnosis a left fist while Hughes’ only reply was a right one to the side of the head. Left hand... right hand... left hand... right hand...

There was seemingly no end to come.

Then, powering two very strong shots to the forehead, Hypnosis had LLB reeling on his heels as he backtracked three steps and charged in, knocking ‘The Law’ down with a clothesline. The lawyer gave it his all though, getting right back up, but being creamed with a sambo suplex.

It was time for Ty Hughes to end LLB right then and there.

And he’d do it, with his dubbed move titled ‘Wrestle Mania’. Countless amounts of WWE signatures waited for ‘The Child Written in Law’ as he rose...

First, a rock bottom.

The Crowd went wild, knowing it would all be over in another second. Hypnosis bent down... reaching for the ankle of LLB...

But that was his mistake.

Hypnosis grabbed the foot, as LLB quickly woke up and kicked him away with his other free leg. Hughes whacked into the mesh, and LLB got a second wind...

Ty grew angry, coming at the lawyer with another hard charge...

‘Black and White’. The boss man slam shook the entire Asylum ring as the Fans replied with enormous amounts of cheers.

1...

2...

3...

4...

5...

6...

7...

8...

9...

10!

The bell sounded and “Black and White” by Static-X began again. LLB slapped Hypnosis lightly on the back as he lay face down, as if to tell him he had done a good job.

Then, exiting the Asylum, the lawyer walked up the ramp... a grin on his face...

This time he’d make no error, and get what he wanted to...

Before it was too late.

”Mr Campbell, there’s someone here to see you.”

”Who?”

”A Mr Borst…” the secretary says with a slight snigger. “Shall I tell him to come on through?”

”NO!” Joe yelps from the other side of the intercom. “No way! Get security and get him out of the building. NOW!”

”Too late Mr Campbell. Three of security are on their way to the hospital and the other two ran away.” There’s a momentary pause before she speaks again. “Mr Borst says he’s going to knock on the door and he demands that you open the door for him.”

”What? No! Wait.”

Knock knock.

”WAIT!”

SMASH.

The door goes flying, falling to the floor and landing on Joe’s right foot. Joe lets out a loud scream and pulls his foot out quickly before hopping over to his desk and parking his arse on his chair.

”Sorry.” Borst says softly. “I wasn’t expecting your foot to be under there, sir. I was kind of hoping that YOUR FUCKING HEAD WOULD BE YOU PIECE OF SHIT! Don’t you fucking move Campbell. Don’t you even THINK about leaving that chair.”

Joe begins to nervously rub his face and is visibly shaking at the sight of a very angry Russian come Englishman. “What… what do you want Pete?” Joe says quietly, his right eye twitching nervously as if he can hardly bear to look in the direction of Borst for fear of what he might do.

”I’ve got a bone to pick with you Campbell.” Borst says as he wanders towards Joe’s desk. “And I think.” he says, grabbing Joe’s right forefinger. “I’ll pick this one first.”

Snap.

Joe lets out a loud scream and dives to the floor away from Borst. “What do you want???” he cries. “I’ll do anything, just leave me alone. What do you want???”

”I’ve always known you’re a cowardly little shit, but I never remember you being this cowardly. You’re on the verge of wetting yourse- ah shit. You’re on the verge of shitting yourself.” Borst says with a smile on his face, and follows it up with a quieter. “Shitting yourself… I’ve not done that one.”

”But yeah, you’re way more cowardly than normal, which suggests to me you know why I’m here, and that you’ve been expecting it for quite sometime.”

Joe pushes himself up from the floor and sits at his desk. He sighs and grabs a handful of tissue to wrap around his broken forefinger. “I know. I have been expecting this.”

Borst leans forward and slams his hands on Joe’s desk, staring into Joe’s eyes. “You ruined me Campbell. You ruined my career. You cost me millions. You completely ruined me. And you know it.”

That statement is acknowledged by a nervy nod of the head.

”You took me off shows. Didn’t show any of my matches or interviews. No segments, no nothing. You cut short every fucking thing.” Borst pauses and looks around the office for a moment. “I made all this.” he says. “If it wasn’t for me, you’d have none of this. If it weren’t for me, you’d never have even had the idea for the Asylum. If it weren’t for me, you would be a multi-fucking-million-fucking-aire. There are Borst influences every fucking where.” he says, pointing at a poster for the Fuckhead Search. “I’m the best in the world at what I do. I’m the biggest superstar in the entire industry. I’ve made you more money. I’ve influenced everything. So why the fuck did you go out of your way to ruin my big return and career?”

Joe scratches his cheek nervously and begins to speak. “Well…”

”Well what? I made the Asylum. I made all of this. And you turn around and throw it back in my face?” Borst has remained relatively calm so far, and continues to keep his composure. “And to top it off, your ‘new big superstar’ that you fucked me over for turns out to be a lunatic that actually thinks he’s me.”

There’s a long silence that Borst inevitably breaks. “You fucking idiot.”

Joe just shrugs. ”I made a mistake alright.” responds Joe. “I made a fucking mistake. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

”I don’t give a fuck what you have to say. I just want you to fix it all. Because if you don’t, I’ll rip your bollocks off with this pocket knife.” snarls Borst as he whips out a knife from his short’s pocket. “FIX IT.”

”What can I do?” Campbell replies. “I don’t know what to do. I fucked up… I fucked up big time. I let my personal grudges get in the way of business… and it was a huge mistake.”

”You fucked up alright…” Borst growls. “Ever since that hugely hyped return that you intentionally fucked up, people have thought I’m a loser. And we know what shit happened the last time I got stuff like that in my head. So fix it.”

”What if I pay you off? I’ll compensate you for loss of earnings. Compensate you for all that and more. Millions.” Joe says enthusiastically, hoping to excite Borst. But he’s not excited. “But…” Joe continues. “I don’t want you to ever show your face in the Asylum again. I messed up once already, and I’m not going to risk doing it again.”

”You think money is going to fix everything?” Borst says. “Well it will. Thank you. And don’t worry, I’ve got no intention of stepping foot near my promotion ever again. But you’ve fucked up enough, and having some psycho wishing he was me should give you enough problems, especially since the fuckhead is your champion. Just think of how many viewers you keep losing every week… they must have given up tuning in for Borst by now. You fucking saw to that you arrogant little shit. But don’t worry, you’ll never see me again.”

Borst sighs and shakes his head before giving Joe a quick two-finger salute. “I’m bored of you. Bye.”

Borst promptly leaves the office, not looking particularly happy still, but possibly content. Joe just leans back in his chair and closes his eyes. “Fuck. I knew this day would come…” he says as he looks at his broken finger and then his aching foot… most likely thinking he got off lightly considering.

Joe leans forward and stares blankly at his desk, shaking his head. “What the fuck have I done? I’ve lot a superstar… for good.” he mutters to himself before suddenly spotting a picture of Inmate brandishing the Asylum Championship on his desk. “I may have lost a superstar… but maybe I can make another…”

Steve Christ(c) Vs Providence
(Extreme Title)

Revenge was well at hand. And so was The Light.

"The Third Coming...has arrived..."

The crowd jumped up and roared in a near-synchronous cheer as nin's "Heresy" played out one of the favorites in the Asylum. Maribelle out first, Contessa right behind, and as usual, coming out last, was Steve Christ. The cheers and applause got louder as Steve threw back his head and struck a crucifix pose: left hand shooting the bird, right hand firmly grasping his newly-won Extreme Title. Readily evident on his chest was a WWSD? shirt with him crucifix posing underneath it that was new to the Shitezone, and some fans had already bought the T-shirt that had a lovely message of "Spread The Truth. Kick some ass. Have some vodka." on the back. What an odd role model these people have chosen. Christ whipped off the shirt and tossed it out into the crowd, causing a small row. He recieved last-minute instruction from the girls that flanked him as Providence focused in on Christ--underneath his black singlet, was a white bandage around the ribs.

Target acquired.

Steve calmly folded the straps underneath the title, and took a good look at it. He jumped in the arena, and Providence charged him with a lariat. The champion side-stepped it, and then delivered a monstrous belt shot right in the face of Providence. And a mighty roar went up from the crowd. Steve's nostrils flared and he spat out some blood over the rim. Steve jumped up and drove a knee into the neck of Providence, then brought him up and began rabbit punching him in the back of the head. Under attack, the Ohioan cut Steve off with a knee right into the gut. Doubled over, Christ immediately began coughing up blood. Providence had been told by Campbell that the rib injury Steve had suffered were major, but now he was getting an extent and a glimpse of how easy it would be.

Providence went back over to the belt, and swung. Steve's hands immediately flew to his head to attempt to block it, and Providence slammed the titleist with his own belt square in the ribs, doubling him over yet again. Smirking out at the audience, Providence hit a gutwrench powerbomb, Christ's head bouncing off of the title. The blood he coughed up this time went straight up, covering his face.

Count has reached 2.

Count has reached 4.

Providence pulled Steve up, and hoisted him up over his head in a military press. He could feel him trying to wriggle out, so he pushed him forward onto his knee into a gutbuster. Christ jumped off the mat on recoil, clutching his bandages, coughing up even bigger globs of blood. Providence was stalking him now, evil smile on his face, kicking Christ in the ribs. Watching him convulse and writhe, rolling over the mat. Christ hadn't hit him with anything besides--Providence got a MARVELOUS idea. Picking up the Extreme championship, Providence calmly folded the straps behind the faceplate, just as he'd seen Steve do. Christ pulled himself to a knee, and got to his feet.

BLAM.

Christ went ass over teakettle, the impact tremendous and firmly imbedding the title in his face. Providence laughed his ass off and merely prepared for the count to be made official.

2.

4.

6.

At 8, Christ was standing, but of course he couldn't see for shit.

Front russian legsweep from Providence.

THAT ought to do it.

2.

4.

6.

Remember to flip off the fans.

Turn around--why the FUCK is he getting up? Christ swung wildly with the right and missed. Providence kicked him in the ribs. And the other side, too. Then, he got a running start and dropkicked Steve into the fetal position. He prepped Steve for the Fall.

Mistake. Christ had to be helped into the position, allowing him to elbow Providence in the face and neck to cause seperation. Steve staggered around, blooded and blinded. Providence staggered around to a lesser extent, disoriented from the elbow shots.

WHOMP.

Both men's heads collided, finally liberating the title off of Steve's face and falling limp to the floor right between the men contesting it. Everyone was down in the Asylum. Everyone was screaming their fool head off outside of it.

Just another day at the office.

2.

4.

6.

Both men staggered up. Providence went for a brainbuster, but Steve slipped out the back and delivered a hard kick to the nuts. Staggered, Providence fell forward. Gathering up his strength, Steve charged and was stopped by a sharp kick to the ribs. Providence gathered him up and drilled a Schism, but this time the emphasis was on the ribs meeting the barrier. The front row was splayed with the blood of Christ, who winced and slumped over the rim. All Providence could hear were the exhortations of Campbell to get the job done.

Another rib-heavy Schism.

And another.

Christ just slumped over the rim and slid out to the floor. Contessa & Maribelle looked on. They wanted to end it. They knew they should end it. But Steve would kill them if they did. Besides, he always seemed to come back. Always. So they bit their tongue.

Providence saw Christ get to a knee and slapped him. Christ made a move towards him and Providence hit the Fall right on the barrier. Steve fell down face-first. Providence merely waited on him, expecting him to get up. Christ had given up clutching at his ribs. Was that a 6? He was broken. He felt Providence loom above him.

Uppercut.

Enzigiuri.

Double-arm DDT bouncing Providence face-first off the barrier.

The crowd loved it. The Truth connected. Providence, hit solidly for the first time in a while, was sent reeling. Christ decided now was the time. A torrent of right hands, as Christ sent Providence on an emphatic tour of ringside, throwing the fists that were a staple of his. Backed up, Providence poked Steve in the eyes and hit another shot to the ribs. He charged in

KICK

WHAM

THIRD

COMING

Christ drilled him with the modified Ace Crusher, and rolled to the steps.

2.

4.

6.

Providence got up, and Steve charged him. Seeing it coming clear at the last second, Providence pushed Steve off into the steps, and then reached into his tights.

Lead pipe.

He cracked Steve with it in the back. Slumped over the steps, Providence saw the end and called for it with a cut-throat gesture.

The Cleansing.

Steve was practically out of it. Providence shook him like a rag doll, waiting to hear him say "I quit", ready for one of his whores to throw in the towel.

Didn't happen.

Steve threw his head back, headbutting Providence in the face. He reached over for him from behind, and lifted him into position.

Before he could fight back, before he could flip out or counter, Providence felt his head being driven into the steps.

Crucifiction.

Steve recoiled from the impact, clutching at his probably broken ribs. Providence wasn't moving at all.

The count began again and the crowd knew Christ had won.

Both men down at 4.

Christ to his knees at 6.

Providence stirring at seven.

Christ cocking back the lead pipe at eight.

Providence up at nine.

"FUCK!" was a common reaction. Steve swung and missed, and Providence double leg tripped him. He hooked his legs.

He was going for a Sharpshooter. Christ wouldn't allow it. Punches dizzied the head of the challenger as he relented on the hold. Steve saw an opportunity, and went for the Christ Driver II. Providence slipped out the back and went for a German suplex. Steve landed on his feet, spun Providence around and kicked him in the ribs. Divine Retribution!

NO!

Providence cut STEVE off with a sharp knee to the groin, then got a running start before drilling Steve with his own fisherman's buster, right into the announce table.
The crowd sat in shock.

The table didn't give.

Arms out to either side, Christ lay a bloodied mess on the table. His bandages were red and dripping at this point, blood had pooled at his mouth. Stitches on his head had come undone and leaked as well. He was a defeated man.

Five arrived; he wasn't moving.

Six came; he still wasn't moving.

Quickly, Providence leapt up the mesh and began to scale it, cursing the whole while on the ascent as blood leaked out the back of his head.

Seven, Christ's legs moved.

Eight, his torso shook with the effort to get up and save his belt.

At nine he began to attempt sitting up. Something cut him off, though.

Providence.

Coming off the Asylum to him.

With a senton bomb.

CRASH

And he connected, smashing the table, delivering his head right into the stomach of Steven H. Christ, and leaving him laid out in the wreckage.

Let's just skip to seven.

Eight.

Providence pulled up onto the barrier. Waiting. If THAT didn't do it...if that didn't do it...

Nine.

Christ sat up. However glazed-eyed, stunned and disoriented, he managed to sit up.

The look on Providence's face could be best and aptly described as utter shock.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" he cried out shrilly. He'd been around the block twice and never seen this shit. "DIE, YOU GODLESS SACK OF CRAP!" Providence grabbed the steps, and slammed them into Christ's head, driving him back down into table shards.

"Fuck YOU!" A desperate, crazed look quickly joined utter frustration as Providence drove the steps into Christ's ribs. Again. Again. Again. WHOMP WHOMP WHOMP WHOMP WHOMP

"Finish the job, lad."

WHOMP WHOMP WHOMP WHOMP WHOMP WHOMP WHOMP

"FINISH THE JOB!"

WHOMP WHOMP WHOMP WHOMP WHOMP WHOMP WHOMP WHOMP WHOMP WHOMP WHOMP WHOMP WHOMP

Breathing heavily, Providence slammed the edge into his head one more time. He was exhausted. He let go of the steps and fell down upon them. He didn't see all the people cringing, or hear Maribelle's cries, or remember the hell of his past.

All he saw and all he heard was a disrespectful punk who wasn't so tough with about 200 pounds hitting him in the chest a few times. A punk who just wouldn't stay...the fuck...down.

6.

He looked over at Christ. His arms were splayed out. A deep red pool of blood surrounded his head and stained the table shards.

8.

9.

Providence knew he was going to do it again. He was going to fling the steps off and keep coming. Was he going to have to shoot this mother

10.

The crowd booed, and Providence slumped down against the steps. Finally, his first Asylum championship. The Extreme Title was handed over to him, but he couldn't even exult. Couldn't even muster a smile. He just clutched the belt to his chest and fell down, exhausted. Looking towards the entryway, he saw Joe Campbell giving a one-man standing ovation, and it was all worth it.

Joe DID care. And he'd gotten the job done.

Christ lay unconscious.

And Joe had gotten back the Extreme Title out of the hands of a shite wrestler.

Change is coming. Now it's my time.

That’s exactly what I was feeling when the fight ended, and I had won the Extreme Title. I looked out at the fans, who were booing loudly. I looked down at Steve Christ, who appeared clinically dead. And then I looked up at Joe Campbell, who was clapping his hands. What a sight. What a beautiful sight.

When I reached the back, Joe was standing there waiting for me. “I knew you could fucking do it. I knew it,” he said with that cocky Campbell grin on his face. “Fuck Steve Christ and fuck those bloody fans for booing you after that performance. That is what I want to see from now on. That is what you can bring to the Asylum.” I looked into Joe’s eyes and smiled, knowing that I had served him well. “That was for you, Joe. That was for you.”

As nodded his head confidently, I slowly walked down the hallway to the locker room that Joe had set up for me. Perhaps he knew that I would respond to his challenge, because he had set up a nice locker room for me this evening. All I wanted now was to get to the room, have myself a drink, and enjoy this victory. After all the disappointments, I could now call myself a champion. That felt pretty good. As I opened the door to my locker room, however, I could see the outline of a person standing in the shadows. Having left only one of the lights on, I couldn’t make out who the person was.

“Whoever you are, you have about ten seconds to get out or else you’ll be leaving on a stretcher.”

The form stepped forward a bit out of the shadows, and I could make out the body, as he spoke. “Hello, Darren. It’s nice to see you.” I thought I recognized the voice, but it couldn’t possibly be who I thought it was. Finally, I flipped on the other light to see who it was. When the man’s face came into view, I was shocked.

“Monte?”