And this week... the battle raged again, a battle which for him... would never end.

Joe Campbell's office door flung open, and as result... Joe's head shot up from the paperwork that he was doing, as Dez Aragon sprung to his feet... instinctive security never hurt anyone and when the next person through the door could be a mad man with a gun, Joe liked having Dez around.

But this mad man had no gun, just a bottle of vodka and a hooker on his arm...

... Mike Westwood?

"What the fuck is going on ere'?" Joe asked with his eyes widened, as Westwood shot back a gulp of vodka.

"Nothing homie... just chillin, thought I'd drop in on your pad and..." Westwood began, scratching his nuts.

"Woah, since when did I ever let you into my office without knocking gimp? And since when did you have a penis with which to use upon women? And while we're at it... since when did you adopt the voice of a gangster rapper, you dick?" Joe snarled, as Dez cracked his knuckles.

"Want me to get rid of this clown?" Dez enquired.

"Hey yo my niggaz, jus' be chillin out aight? Now last week yall been invitin me to this shit." Westwood replied, feeling the breasts of the woman beside him.

"Yeah, that was last week slim... this week is a different story, now get the fuck out of here... get some decent none fubu clothing on and do your job." Joe sneered.

"Whatup son, you need ta be respecting the Wood a tha' West aight? Don't make me shoot up this matha fack." Mike spoke up, reaching for his belt.

Joe, in the blink of an eye... opened his desk drawer, pulled out a handgun and pointed it straight at Westwood's face.

"You don't have a gun, I do... now start walking before I blow your brains out, I wouldn't want to miss and hit her tits mind... the explosion would kill us all...

... Dez." Joe finished, as Aragon turned toward him.

"Yeah?" Dez answered back.

"Tha question you asked me a few minutes ago, I changed my mind... the answer is yes, make it so and breaks some bones if you like."

Joe put his gun back in the desk drawer, as Dez grasped Westwood by the face, tossing him out of the office door and closing it behind him, as he did so... Joe heard the sound of ribs being broken in the corridor.

"Nice." Joe said, chuckling to himself... as he went back to the vital paperwork he was doing earlier.

The Daily Sport crossword.

"Six across, starts with B and rhymes with vest... aha, I love this paper." Joe smiled to himself, filling in the answer.

Business as usual then.

Plus, you always have to dodge those hazardous paper and styrofoam cups chucked towards you. You don’t want cheap, watered down beer staining your five hundred-dollar suit now, am I right? Of course I am.

All sarcasm aside, Joe was opening a bottle of Guinness as someone walked through his door. Of course old drunky wasn’t paying any attention. And before he knew it, the shadow of Lotus was emanating just above him.

The second he looked up and saw the eyes of Lotus glaring back at him, his day was effectively ruined. The eyes of determined Lotus just caused any good feeling he had to regress. Any shred of a decent somber mood that would carry through the rest of the night had now dissipated thanks to a black haired bitch who just happened to be holding one of his titles.

“Knock.” Joe Campbell grumbled as he poured himself a shot of Guinness, then downing it without any problems. Lotus cocked a quizzical eyebrow, causing Joe to slap himself upside the head.

“Any of you fuckheads ever heard of knocking?” Joe seethed, downing another shot of Guinness. Lotus just stood there stoically, until she opened her mouth.

“The women’s division around here sucks.”

Joe didn’t really care. “Fits the fucking champion accordingly, don’t ya think?”

Burn. Lotus sent her fist into the man’s desk trying to get his attention. However, Joe just yawned as he grabbed the bottle of Guinness and started downing it like a champ.

“What I propose is that we set up a tournament. Women’s fighters competing for a shot at me. I need a person of equal talent to fight. I’m getting bored of these cum guzzling queens you send out there, night after night.” Lotus said, a grin appearing on her lips.

Joe’s response?

The middle finger.

“Look, if you don’t make this happen, then I’m just going to have to do what everyone else has to do to get you to agree with them. I’m going to back you into a corner so you HAVE TO agree with me!” Lotus yelled, thinking she could size up the owner of the Asylum.

And what did he do?

He laughed.

And laughed.

And laughed some more.

“Look, you have two options.” Joe started as he unbuckled his pants, “you either slob my knob, or fuck on out of here. Your choice either way.”

Lotus simply turned around, anger etched on her face, and walked away.

“That’s what I fucking thought, dumb cunt.”

And the Show went elsewhere.

Blue. Blue afro, it was Eddie Cheno. Cornelius charged up as fast as he could as Cheno continued to walk down the hallway, clasping his hand on his shoulder, Cornelius spun the former Marijuana smoker around. In response Cheno batted the Crazy Corteia’s hand away, and they shared a silent glance which bridged what seemed to be minutes. Finally Cornelius spoke, “Cheno, I have a plan. I know you and Campbell don’t get a long too well. So I’m sure I can trust you, you want to talk this over in private?” Cheno maintained his stare not speaking, “What you can’t talk to me? I’m gone for a few months, and you can’t speak.” The glare continued, and Carnage lead Cheno into a restroom.

As he stepped inside, he grabbed two trash cans and stuck them in front of the door making it just a little harder for whoever was trying to get in. Cornelius took a handful of steps forward checking under the stalls to make sure they were empty, as his check concluded, he turned to Cheno with a huge smile on his face. “Look, Campbell fucked me.. He left me to rot in fucking England, I come stateside, and that shitheaded dick sucker gets me in an institution. Fuck him, you know? I have it set.. I know someone who he crossed, it’s a dangerous person, they’ll want to kill him for what Joe did to them. You in?” The same glare was given to Cornelius, he ignored it and continued, “We get Joe out of this, and guys like you, guys like me.. We can get what we deserve.. We can get the championships, the power. Imagine the inmates running the Asylum for a change? What do you think?”

No answer. Cornelius turned his back to him and walked towards the sink, putting his hands on both sides before slowly looking himself in the face. Finally he rose his sights up and looked at Cheno’s reflection. “Just think it over, you, and me.. If we stick together, nothing but good things can happen. Get what I’m saying?” Cheno began to walk towards the doors where he slid the trash cans away. “Cheno!” He slowly turned around, “Keep this between me and you.” Cheno began to walk out of the door, “Cheno! Any idea where Campbell’s office is, I’m going to have to pay him a little visit tonight, I know he’ll be happy to see me.” Cheno simply looked back at Carnage, without any indication, and exited through the bathroom door.

The Extreme Title.

The Extreme Champion.

Ty.

Motherfucking.

Hughes.

The people’s warrior was pissed to say the least. His body was adorned with scratched and nicks, nettle stings and dried-blood caked welts. His chest had a rather violently-delivered looking gash that had been taped back up with butterfly plasters and his jeans, seemingly unchanged, were scuffed.

Usually, Tyler Hughes is a happy-go-lucky man. He’s pretty cool. He keeps his composure and always… acts… collected. That way, it never looks like anything is getting to him. Well today, something WAS getting to him. And you can bet that it’s named The Freak. He slowly, cautiously, stumbled up the steps and hopped into the cage, over the rim with a fell leap. The fans cheered him as he raised a single arm into the air, but there was no elation on his face as he raked in the crowd’s support.

He pulled a microphone from his pocket.

“Well, thank you Joe Campbell for ruining my fucking week. You always have it in you, don’t you? I come back to work, ready to mind my own business and defend this stupid sack of shit of a title, but you’re not happy with that. You sick that fucking tosser The Freak on me. Perhaps, I wouldn’t mind. Perhaps, if he’d just come down here, demanded a match and kicked the shit out of me, I’d be alright.

“But no. Freak. You dumped me in the middle of fucking nowhere, with no eyes or arms. What did you think you’d accomplish, you fag? Do you want to know how long I was stuck there with handcuffs on and tape over my eyes?

“TWO. FUCKING. DAYS. If it wasn’t for a bunch of college kids on a camping expedition finding me, I’d still be there, you twat. I fell in a river. I was bitten by all sorts of nasty fucking yank insects, and scratched to shit on the branches of trees. See this mark on my chest? That’s because I tripped and raked meself on a rock. I was hungry, cold, and well pissed off. And if you wanted to attract my attention, you’ve accomplished it, arsehole.

“Get your big red arse out here now.”

The fans cheered, as Hughes dropped his microphone and from down his trouser leg, he pulled a steel baseball bat. He looked ready for war…

The church bell chimed.

“Faget” by Korn began to play. At first there was no one.

Then there was no one. And a few more minutes of no one.

Then, much to Hughes’s dismay, the music stopped. “fuUK?” was all that he could muster as he was still alone in the arena…

“UNITED BY VIOLENCE. DIVIDED BY DEATH.”

As the ominous entrance chant of the Zone rang through the arenas, Hughes smiled slightly… almost as if he was ready for this encounter. He extended his palm to the entranceway and motioned, a la the Rock, for the Zone to just bring it. The fans screamed…

The Zone didn’t come from the entranceway though.

They came from under the fucking cage.

John C. Willis, Tapestry and Keegan jumped into the cage, and Hughes turned to face them…

CRACK. Chairshot from Willis. Hughes stumbled, but managed to swing his steel bat into the chair, thus knocking it into Willis’s face. Ty was a tough motherfucker, no doubt about it. CRACK. CRACK. Two more chairshots to the skull, this time from Keegan. Hughes turned to face the Geordie Genius, but as he did so…

Tapestry blasted him with a spinning kick from behind. Hughes didn’t know who to deal with first, Keegan or Tapestry… but as it turned out, he didn’t need to ‘deal’ with either. As Keegan swung his chair…

And, so did Willis.

SMACK.

Double chairshot. Hughes’s head was sliced open upon impact with the steel, revealing a torrent of blood that streamed down his face. Hughes dropped to his knees, and tapestry finally put him out of his misery with a vicious pair of Buzzsaw kicks. Hughes was flat-out, obliterated on the mat. But who could blame him, in this three-on-one situation?

Willis grunted, and pulled something into the ring. When the cameras got in view, it was evident what the ‘thing’ was.

A rope.

No, wait…

A noose.

Then, as Willis was forcing Hughes’s head through the noose, a familiar tune hit. For the second time in this night, the bell chimed and “Faget” played… however this time, to a VERY mixed reaction, it brought out The Freak. He was accompanied, as ever, by the crazed and demented Oddball as he made his way down to the cage. He raised his arms to the fans, which garnered a halo of both boos and cheers from the faithful. Once he reached the cage, however. He didn’t get in, oh no… first, he uttered a few words to Willis.

Willis grinned maliciously, as he picked Ty Hughes up… by the NOOSE that was now locked around his neck. He slung Hughes over the rim of the cage and…

Tyler hung. He gasped for air and coughed in agony as Willis yanked back on the rope, tugging his neck apart as he hovered, practically face to face with The Freak, who was now half-way up the ring steps… with a chair in his hand.

“Clap clap. Do you perceive sound Tyler? That’s my round of applause. I have to give you recognition for absconding that forest. I’d planned for that to be your green grave, for you to die there without a sound and rot, amalgamate with nature again. Who would have noticed that you were dead? Let’s be serious here. You’re hardly a popular man, Hughes…”

The fans booed in disagreement.

“Although from what I gathered from the pictures in your wallet, you have quite the family.”

Hughes reached out with one hand for The Freak, but couldn’t quite reach and reverted back to his gasping-for-air state.

“Before you start up on me with your ‘I’ll fuck you up’ hard-man tripe, may I just point out that I have the knowledge and power to ruin your entire life at any time. I’m just, playing it safe at the moment. In all honesty I could have you de-bowelled and in a heap of your own bloodied organs at any minute, any second. I’m an urban legend, Hughes. Killing is my game.

“I’m above the law.

“If I were to kill you, would it even be that much of a ruckus? These people love death, as much as they hate to admit it. Death equals buy rates, murder makes draws. Look at that penis-bereft two-faced fuck Ender, if he hadn’t killed and raped his way to the top, he’d be a nothing. He has no talent or skill. Just a killer instinct. Death makes legends, Hughes.

“Shall I make myself a legend with you, right now?” The Freak said with such a small smirk, it was barely noticeable. Hughes continued to gasp for air as the fans watched with baited breath… The Freak raised his chair.

“Think about a cat, Hughes. It plays with it’s victim, usually a shrewd and weak animal like a mouse, before tearing it to shreds and throwing it away. It satisfies it’s own needs through sadism. What am I doing to you know… and what will it end with?”

CRACK. Chairshot one bounced off of Hughes’s skull with such a sickening thud that the whole first row gasped, mouths agape.

CRACK.

CRACK.

So by the time chairshot three had hit, the whole arena was in shock at the amount of damage Hughes’s head had sustained. Tyler hung, limply now, his body unconscious. At the command of The Freak, Willis dropped Hughes’s body and it fell to the arena floor. The Freak looked down on Hughes, as his skull was slumped against the apron in a puddle of blood.

“When the moon turns from crescent to full I’ll be there. And like when the ancients prayed to the lunar Gods, I’ll be above your dead body licking my knife clean of blood. I’ll sacrifice you to my sanity. I’ll sacrifice you to the hanged man.”

If confusion had a sound, the fans would be screaming it.

With those final words and a final utterance of “Eat what you Kill”, The Freak and his fellow Zone members left the arena. Leaving Hughes in a puddle of blood and unconscious bliss.

He quickly walked down to the Asylum cage and stepped in. He slung it on the grown and paced around for a little while, his fists jammed in the pockets of his jeans. He pulled one out and grabbed a microphone. "Well, I can see that you 'fine' people are happy to see me. I wish I could say the same about you… but, that would just be a blatant lie." Jeff laughed to himself. The crowd booed.

"I said last week that I would bring some class… honour… and respect to the Asylum… but as I thought about it, I realised just how difficult such a task was going to be. This place has rapist for a world champion- how WHACKED is that shit! I see now that all these… championship belts… have been tainted by inferior champions. I will not, I CAN not, bring myself to contend for Villam's sad little belt because, truthfully, it means nothing anything.

Thank you Sir Villam Ender, you sealed the fact on just how PATHETIC this promotion really is. So no, fuck Villam and his World Title. Also, fuck Cleany McClean the Motherfucker, and 'the Law' too… Hey LLB, I 'lawfully' pronounced that you're a dip shit!

Anyway, enough talk about those losers, let's get to the reason I ventured down here in the first place.

My SURPRISE!" Garvin snatched up the big brown sack, the audience had begun chanting the name of LLB. Garvin just smirked. "Hey! None of that! SHUT UP! I've got something HUUUUUUUUGE to reveal…

The one thing that could make the Asylum worth something again… I give to you:

…The SUBMISSION CHAMPIONSHIP!"

Garvin waited for the loud gasp but all he got was boos. Had the Asylum fans not follow 21st Century Wrestling when he first brought in the Submissions title? Or did they just not give a damn?

"This is where you erupt in cheers, you idiots. Come on, erupt! ERUPT, DAMN YOU!"

The seven men in the front row whipped out a middle finger and shined it Jeff's way.

"You're all going to BURN in inbred hell! I try and bring a little class back to the Asylum and all I get is a row of douche bags flipping me the bird? You all have no appreciation for great competition! NONE! Well, I'll show you what a TRUE fighting champion does…

I'll fuckin' show you all!

I'm laying down an open challenge to ANYONE who has the balls to face me tonight for 'my' Submission Championship belt. The rules are simple; the only way to win… make your opponent tap. So come on down, walk THAT isle, if you think you can beat the Original at what he was born to do.

Make the 'crap' tap."

“Woke up This Morning” graced the airwaves. Obviously, one individual had heard enough of Jeff Garvin’s ranting and raving. The concluding comment must have struck a chord with Keegan Carrahar and as he emerged from the back with a disgruntled expression imprinted on his face whilst he walked at a rapid rate(surprising due to his injury, which incidentally was caused by Jeff Garvin at Persecution) from the top of the ramp to going face-to-face with The Garvinator inside the steel structure in a time that would put the average Amsterdam Vice Girl to take money from a client to shame, one could sense that Jeff wasn’t so clever now that Keegan had chosen to confront him: “Right. Let’s get this heterosexual. Did you, the nephew of glorified WWF jobber Ron Garvin, say the words class, honour and respect all in the same sentence?”

Some supporters reacted to this. Jeff, who obviously didn’t expect to be interrupted by Carrahar, took a step back as Keegan continued: “I also believe I heard you, one of the most annoying, irritating and softest puffs to grace this world class company call other people inferior and even dubbed these fans losers! Is that correct?”

The Original wasn’t sure what The Yardstick was trying to get at but he nodded. After all, it was true.

“You know Jeff. Well actually you don’t so let me educate you. In order for a Championship to add something to any organization, let alone the best on the planet, it needs to have a strong division.”

Garvin looked at his Submission Championship and stroked it evidently proud of his creation: “It has got a strong division.”

“Where?”

He’d been waiting for that one: “I AM THE DIVISION!”

Jeff was now grinning from ear to ear seemingly pleased with his verbal prowess in that exchange but the Brit certainly wasn’t finished: “I said you need to have a strong division not a Championship that revolves around a rectum-raiding Rentboy. Anyway, in addition to that, let’s see. You need a title that has been introduced properly say by a Battle Royal or knockout tournament.”

“It has been introduced properly.”

The Geordie Genius shook his head: “How’s that then?”

“Well its first Champion if you haven’t noticed or just happen to be dumb, which is a better explanation, just happens to be the best technical and submission Wrestler of all time. Nobody else even comes close!”

“No I didn’t notice. Then again, I don’t watch the shit you call entertainment. Well. You’re on it for a start. That says it all really.”

Yet again, Jeff seemed to be offended by the Englishman and couldn’t believe that the fans actually agreed with his antagonist.
“Explain the significance of the Submission Championship to me then… Champ. Since I, along with everyone else, is not familiar with this prestigious prize.”

Unsurprisingly, the Memphis Marvel revelled in explaining its self-explanatory concept even though he sighed prior to doing so as he had already explained it to the masses: “Keegan, I appreciate that with you being from England you are inferior, I mean the goes without saying, but these losers out here should know better being born in America. Shame on you. But it’s real simple. In order to win the most, well only, honourable Championship in Fighting today you have to make the Champion submit.”

Apparently, he had got the better of the Newcastle native: “It sounds really easy then.”

The Original agreed: “It is.”

“I didn’t mean the rules Jeff. I was referring to actually making the current Champion submit. It sounds simple.”

Jeff glared at him: “Excuse me? Where’s your Labrador? Did it leave you for a bigger and better man like John Wayne Bobbit?”

“I’ll tell you what then Jeff. Prove it my son. Let’s celebrate the introduction of this blessing, the dawning of a new day, another title that a proper Fighter can take from a slut who will sell rather than receive a dead arm like you. And as I was the last man to annihilate your arse in a one-on-one outing I reckon that makes me the mandatory pretender to the throne. Don’t you agree?”

There was no doubt that the Asylum faithful did but whether or not the titleholder did was another matter but, as always, he had an answer: “Yes. But I… I mean… you can’t compete, as I was the last one to annihilate your ass. Remind me Keegan, why can’t you fight anyway? I mean you’re ‘tough.’ So why aren’t you out here? Wait. Someone injured you? Someone better than you? Someone who has a title, unlike you? Shame. Was he a Wrestler? I should really shake this man’s hand. Where is he?”

After sustaining a verbal berating courtesy of the Walking Wrestling Move Machine, the Prince of Palermo simply stated: “You shake hands with yourself every night anyway you sad bastard.”

“That’s rich coming from a man who calls his finisher The Five Knuckle Shuffle,” The Garvinator so rightly pointed out.

“Garvin, you may’ve injured me. But I say fuck the doctors and what they say. I’ve got a reason to bottle it, but I don’t want to. I want rid of your ugly bracket and your belt to sell it off as toilet roll. What’s your excuse son?”

The Submission kingpin smirked: “I’m not scared of you. I’m not scared of anyone or I wouldn’t issue an open challenge. But when I made it, I’m sure you need to get your hearing checked and it no doubt has something to do with me, I wanted a test not the chance to prove how I can murder a crippled piece of foreign trash to a pulp until he screams for his mommy. Or Mummy if you’re stupid and English like my f…”

Ron Garvin’s nephew didn’t get the chance to complete his sentence as the European removed his neck brace in an attempt to waylay the Action employee but Jeff avoided it and quickly ran out of the cell and back pedaled to up the ramp and to the back."

...to Eddie Cheno. Cheno cracked his fingers and remained expressionless during Campbell's accusation. He cracked his neck to each side, and shrugged his shoulders.

"No matter, it's bloody well that you told me this, and you know what."Campbell walked around the edge of his table and stared at the seated Cheno. "I think you deserve a reward." Campbell smiled, and Cheno's expression finally changed to that of intrigue. "I never liked LLB anyway..."

Cheno smiled, before cracking his knuckles and standing up. He nodded to his boss, before turning around to exit the office.

Cheno reached to open the door, but the door had already been pushed forward.

By Carnage.

It was an uneasy tension between the two, mostly on Cheno's side of thing. Cheno clutched at the non-existent collar of his shirt before simply nodding to Carnage, who nodded back. Cheno regained his stride, walking out, as Carnage kept his into Joe's office.

"This is almost too perfect. It's like a hollywood story, a movie where the pieces just come together." Campbell sneered, before walking back behind his desk. "What can I do for you Carnage?" Carnage spoke up to say something, but that's when Joe interrupted him. "How does a firing do ya?" Carnage's eyes narrowed in confusion, as Joe paced behind his desk. "You see, you can pull the wool over the sheep's eyes, but eventually, that sheep'll get a haircut." Campbell stopped. "Damnit, that was horrible analogy. Nevermind that bloody movie comment from before. No matter, I don't care about you messing up this serenity I'm in right now, so you can take you're masterful plan and get the hell out of my office, get the hell out of my Asylum, and never step into my hell again! You hear me?"

Carnage stood shell-shocked, if he had a shell that is. The anger began to boil underneath his skin as he stood there fuming. All that planning... for nothing. Carnage groaned, before turning to exit the office. "Tata" Joe said, as Carnage reached for the doorknob...

...or to the water cooler on the outside of his office. Because Carnage, in his fit of rage, struck through the wood and created a clear baseball sized hole in the oak finish. Carnage took one last look at Joe Campbell, who was standing there with eyes wide open at the act that was just committed, before he left Joe's office, and... left the Asylum forever.

Tapestry Vs Venoma Star

The fans began to cheer, as the current number one contender for the women’s title made her presence known. She strolled down the ramp casually, her face set in scowl as usual but her air of confidence still present. She didn’t just want to win this upcoming match against her booked opponent Tapestry… oh no. She WAS going to win. No doubt about it, in her mind. Nobody could stop her on her upward descent in the women’s ranks.

As Venoma got into the cage, her opponent came out to the sounds of “Every You, Every Me” By Placebo. Tapestry hadn’t had a good showing yet in the Asylum, although her battle at Persecution in the empty arena was something to behold. She didn’t want to win this fight. She didn’t want to prove herself.

No.

She didn’t care. As apathetic and blank as ever, Tapestry made her way to the cage and up the steps with little fanfare. She still got a mild pop however, purely because 80% of the audience were male and she happened to have tits.

The referee signalled for the bell.

Tapestry, as normal, didn’t move. Instead, she stretched her leg over the rim of the cage.

“Ah, ah ah, sister. You can’t play that fucking Aikido trick on me, I’m not going to commit myself so you can reverse me into some shit. No. You make the first move. I’m not stupid, you dumb bitch.” Venoma said, her words biting.

But Tapestry didn’t even glance at her, she just continued to stretch.

“C’mon, I’m waitin’. Get your cumdrinking whore ass over here and fight me.” Venoma hissed. But garnered no response.

Venoma’s face was turning red with rage, as Tapestry still refused to look at her. The California-raised woman continued to simply stretch. She wouldn’t start the fight, she was leaving that… to Venoma.

“ARGH!” Venoma finally roared out of frustration with her unwilling and scheming opponent, before attempting to spear Tapestry with her lithe shoulder. But, as predicted, Tapestry shifted out of the way at the last minute and grabbed the seat of Venoma’s pants, hurling her face-first into the mesh. Venoma grunted as Tapestry backflipped out of the way of any upcoming offence.

Venoma turned around, and was greeted by the image of Tapestry standing, totally passive, in the centre of the cage. Looking as serene and peaceful as ever.

Venoma let out an animalistic growl and pounced towards Tapestry, her leg extending in an attempt for what would have been a surely splintering Flying Front Kick, but unfortunately it was a little far of it’s target ad Tapestry once again ducked out of the way. Venoma’s leg soared straight past Tapestry’s head…

And managed to get itself caught over the rim of the cage. Before Venoma had a chance to free herself, Tapestry brought her leg up in the air, perfectly parrallell to her alternate leg, and slammed it down onto Venoma’s extended knee. Venoma screamed in pain as Tapestry’s powerful calf slammed into Venoma’s kneecap, practically snapping her leg in half. Tapestry then waited for Venoma to free herself, and as Venoma staggered away holding her knee…

THWACK!

Tapestry sent a foot flying into the back of Venoma’s head with a powerful Flying Pan Kick, a la Savata M’Groch. Venoma, despite almost having her brains forced through her forehead, didn’t go down and found herself being turned around by Tapestry who complimented the kick by chopping Venoma’s nose. Venoma was then softened with a further two chops, one to the cheek and the other to the orbital bone, before Tapestry targeted the same leg with a kick to the thigh.

Venoma fought back with a headbutt that gifted Tapestry’s nose, and with a laugh the Star continued her assault with a knee to Tapestry’s stomach. Venoma unleashed another kick to Tapestry’s stomach in an attempt to make the Fighting Queen lose her breath, before stepping back…

Swinging her leg, and attempting a hook kick. Notice the, attempt. An attempt, that failed. Because tapestry caught the foot just in time and swung her own leg over it, before stepping back out with a scintillating Spinning Heel Kick that knocked Star out of her shoes.

Tapestry then hopped back to her feet, and like a true Kick Fighter, waited for her opponent to get back up…

Once Venoma was up… BUZZSAW KICK!

Nah. Venoma, like Tapestry had done unto her only seconds ago, caught the foot of her opponent and used it to drag Tapestry down to the mat. Tapestry tried to struggle back to her feet, but she couldn’t make it as Venoma pinned her down by her ankles. Despite her leg strength, she was not in the best predicament. Especially once she was locked in Venoma’s next manoeuvre.

Venoma reached her hand up Tapestry’s skirt, despite Tapestry’s struggling, and grasped at her crotch. Venoma then locked her fingers in around Tapestry’s vulva area… and squeezed, and wrenched.

Tapestry screamed and began to try and squirm and kick her way out of the hold, but Venoma had a firm grip up there and didn’t seem to be in the mood to let go. Eventually, after much agony, Tapestry kicked Venoma in the face, which caused Star to release the ‘Vaginal Claw’. Star threw away a torn piece of tapestry’s undergarments, as Tapestry limped to her feet.

Venoma charged in swinging her fists…

Pumpkick!

From Tapestry!

Venoma rocked backwards as Tapestry’s foot connected with her face, almost knocking her head off her shoulders… but that, it soon became apparent, was just a set-up move. As Tapestry leapt into the air, side-on, and executed a bicycle kick known as the Flying Frontal Chasse Kick. Venoma hit the floor like a sack of shit. As the referee counted, Tapestry leaned back against the cage holding her possibly damaged parts.

1!
2!
3!
4!
5!
6!
7…

Venoma was back on her feet.

But not for long, as Tapestry vaulted into the air and came back down with the Spinning Back Palm attack known as Invictus Fier Capedorium I!

1!
2!
3!
4!
5!
6!
7!
8…

But Venoma still wouldn’t go down. She charged into Tapestry with a spear, locking her arms around Tapestry’s waist and smashing her into the mesh cage. Keeping her arms firmly locked around Tapestry’s torso, Venoma leapt up with Tapestry in tow and delivered a belly-to-belly suplex, driving Tapestry’s back into the hard, steel rim of the cage. Keeping it locked on, she once again rammed Tapestry’s exposed kidneys into the steel.

Venoma then slammed Tapestry down onto the mat, and looked at her with frustrated and pissed-off eyes. Without any further ado… Venoma dragged Tapestry to her feet and put her in a front face lock.

BAM. DDT. Up, and…

BAM. DDT. Up, and…

BAM. DDT. Up, and…

BAM. DDT. Up, and…

BAM. DDT.

Five consecutive DDTs, and it seemed that Tapestry was down for the count.

1!
2!
3!
4!
5!
6!
7!
8!
9…

Tapestry got back to her knees, thus stopping the count. Venoma hissed a sigh of sheer anger, and reached for Tapestry’s arm with a cry of: “THIS IS OVER, MOTHERFUCKERS!!”

With a powerful downwards slash of her leg, Venoma slammed her foot into the back of Tapestry’s head and thereby crushed Tapestry’s head into the mat, with the high-impact Apex Cosm.

But she held onto the arm, and brought her leg up again. This… was sick.

Apex Cosm. Apex Cosm. Apex Cosm. Apex Cosm. Apex Cosm. Apex Cosm. Apex Cosm. Apex Cosm. Apex Cosm. Apex Cosm. Apex Cosm. Apex Cosm. Apex Cosm. Apex Cosm. Apex Cosm. Apex Cosm. Apex Cosm. Apex Cosm. Apex Cosm. Apex Cosm. Apex Cosm. Apex Cosm. Apex Cosm.

Tapestry’s head kept bouncing off the mat and back again as Venoma became frenzied at the sight of blood. She wouldn’t stop… Cosm after Cosm, she kept hammering into the back of Tapestry’s skull until she was nothing but a broken doll. The referee had no choice but to stop the match, or risk Tapestry’s death.

The bell sounded, and the referee raised Venoma’s arm.

She wasn’t surprised. She got what she expected.

It is his apparent indifference to countless controversies makes it the organization it is today.

But for some reason, whether it was to avoid further ramifications or just to be a bastard, he wasn’t keen on Keegan Carrahar taking on Jeff Garvin this evening for the latter’s newfound Championship. However, he had to get a few snide remarks in before addressing the area bound to upset The Yardstick more than anything.

“Keegan, while I’m happy that we won, well I fucking expected no less really, when I said that I wanted us not only to win but end careers I wasn’t referring to your own. That doesn’t count.”

Sitting across from his employer, Special K shrugged his shoulders, which hurt in its own right in this state: “That’s very funny for a smackhead. How long did it take for you to come up with that one?”

“What the fuck did you say?”

The former Fighting Zone franchise laughed and then put his hands on Joe’s desk: “What’s that then? Have I hit a nerve?”

“No, but if you can continue on like this I’ll fucking burst a few nerves you Geordie bastard. I ought to put you on your fucking hairy arse for that remark. Another one like that and I fucking will.”

Once again, The Prince of Palermo put his hands up: “Joe, as much as I love having these chats with you and as much as I could go on and on and on about what happened on the Twentieth of October Nineteen Ninety Six, what’s the fucking point of me being here?”

“You’re not having that fucking match with Garvin tonight that’s what. The Doctor told me that you were out for at least a month and I’m not having you fuck up anything.”

“What do you mean? Fuck up? Anyway, since when did they call you Florence fucking Nightingale? Eh?”

Campbell sighed: “This is my fucking show you dickhead. MY SHOW. Have you got that you twat? I’m Joe Campbell for fuck’s sake and I’m telling you that you’re not going to be facing that faggot tonight. I’m not having any kind of Fighter, especially someone on my side; show me up against a punk like him. It’s bad enough that he’s here to begin with but to beat one of my…”

By this point, Joe had turned the tables on his sparring partner and as a result Keegan was absolutely seething: “You fucking what? What did you say you miserable cunt? Employer or not, how dare you. How fucking dare you insinuate that a Sphincter-Spanking Specialist, male at that, such as Jeff Garvin could walk all over me, a class act, whether I’m injured or not. I don’t believe this like. You really are a bastard aren’t you eh? You sit there with your shitty Hawaiian shirts on and rip the piss out of people who would quite gladly kick seven kinds of shit out of you if you weren’t in charge of this place.”

On that note, Keegan stood up but still Joe wasn’t fazed. He didn’t fear Carrahar: “Have you fucking finished?”

“No… I haven’t. Anyway…”

The Chief intervened: “You’ve got your bloody match. I’m fucking sick of you. Get the fuck out.”

“What?”

The Zone member had obviously been taken aback: “You heard what I said. Get the fuck out but Keegan if you fail, just like your namesake has done on plenty of occasions, I’ll bury you like those fucking maggots from Moss Side I really will. Just don’t make me look like a fool out there or I’ll have you cleaning my classy Hawaiian shirts every day for the rest of your life.”

Keegan could no longer be bothered with his Boss. He left after he had resurrected his showdown with the submission specialist, which prompted a sly smile from Manchester’s Master Motivator…

This is the part of the Show where we have dead time. Yeah, how entertaining is that. Just watch the fuckers flock to us for this original concept during a show. Joe Campbell will get an award for his time management greatness.

Wait, there’s never dead time on a Show. There’s always something happening.

The shot of the arena was marred when Lotus came out. No music? No problem. She came with buckets upon buckets of gasoline, making things look all pretty. Fifteen gray buckets in a row, Lotus with the giddiness of a five year old. What’s it all mean?

This was not good.

Remember when Lotus said she’d back Joe into a corner to get what she wanted? Looks like the man didn’t take her seriously. And now, he was going to pay the price.

As her fingers grasped the first bucket, it became very apparent that she planned on burning the place to the ground.

BAM~!

Lethal chair shot. Via? The Freak. Maybe Joe was jolted back to reality when the threat of having his stage and cage incinerated became just too high. With paying Villam seven million dollars, Joe wasn’t looking to pour anymore money into a simple set up so fuckers can flock and watch his product.

“You know, Lotus, this wasn’t one of your choices. Fucking cunt! Only men can pull this trick off! Some old dyke whose claim to fame happens to be finger fucking Nerva isn’t going to burn down this set.” Joe yelled into his microphone. The Freak just folded his arms, having given Lotus a couple vicious boots to the upper body after that chair shot to the head.

“Freak, knock some fucking sense into her!” Joe screamed, and Freak complied, picking up the chair. He sent shot after scintillating shot after shot down onto Lotus. I’d have to say somewhere between twenty and thirty, Joe called for a stoppage of the total ass killing.

“Alright, I'm sick of dealing with crazy ass fuckheads like you. And I'm not gonna deal with it. But because history tends to repeat itself and you're so damn eager, I'll let you have your own separate tournament, Lotus. Ta-ta.” Joe laughed as he and the Freak walked to the back.

Crisis averted.

Goal achieved.

But Lotus had to pay through her ass to get it.

Jeff Garvin Vs Keegan
(Submission Title)

Nevertheless, they quickly cheered up as Keegan Carrahar, who hasn't been cleared to compete since his thunderous fall at the hands of The Original, challenged the Memphis native to immediately put his title on the line, which seemed to worry the Action star somewhat.

Of course, he'd never live it down if he lost HIS creation within the hour of introducing it to the industry and for the second time tonight 'Woke Up This Morning' plays to indicate the arrival of the challenger and a fair share of the Geordie Genius' supporters stand up in anticipation on hearing his anthem. Surely, when the Briton did wake up this morning he couldn't have envisioned another Championship confrontation, the second opportunity he has had in four months.

A mini eruption ensued when the Englishman appeared at the top of the stage and threw his arms up in the air, clearly motivated to ruin The Garvinator's momentum, before breezing past the supporters sitting opposite the aisle en route to stepping into the steel structure, which in itself favours the Prince of Palermo, and retreating to a corner in order to focus for this fight without Warwick and Lharn Huscroft, whose sudden reappearance certainly took him by surprise but this is a break from it all. Whether or not it will be a pleasant one or not depends on the sound strategist of Action and 21W fame, Jeff Garvin.

Speaking of which, "All My Life" then echoed around to imply that the fans were now ready for the stench that hadn't gone with The Stranglehold, an individual intent on annoying Asylum marks everywhere and that was what he was doing right about now, in front of his 'loving' Wife Julie by walking in a pompous manner and blinding the fans with his multi-coloured attire while proudly clutching the Submission Championship throughout, a symbol synonymous with his tenure in 21W, the organization that famously fell to Joe Campbell's company in last year's infamous Immortals Pay-Per-View.

In fact, he was still holding it as he ordered his other half to 'stand there' and entered a domain he would have to adapt to very quickly to in order to survive, let alone be successful and he was starting against a man who had not only beaten him, but someone who had a vast amount experience in this environment.

The bell rang and the sly, sneaky Garvin circled about the Asylum cage in a hunched over position. He eyed the legs of Keegan who happened to be just standing there casually asking Jeff to ‘hurry the fuck up’. Jeff came a little closer and ducked a right hand, Keegan turned and received a barrage of knife edge chops- one after another. Though his chest was now beaming red, he simply brushed himself off and landed a vicious knee strike to the stomach of a smiling Original. The force of the move took Jeff off his feet and dropped him to his knees.

“Ouch.” Garvin grunted, slowly getting back to a vertical position, now holding his mid section as he staggered back to collect his thoughts. Jeff ran and dropped to a kneeling position for a single leg takedown. Jeff wrenched at it, trying to pull the big man down but it was no use. Keegan clubbed Garvin between the shoulder blades with a huge right. Garvin fell to his stomach and again attempted to get to his feet. This time he dodged the fist and rolled back to his feet, backing against the cage.

Keegan began stalking the Original, following him around the cage. When he finally caught up to him and nailed him with a solid left… Followed by the ‘Five Knuckle Shuffle’. But wait, Garvin ducked it! He came up from behind Keegan and locked him in a reverse waist lock, German Suplex! No! Garvin can’t bring Keegan off his feet! “Oh shit,” Garvin muttered right before catching an elbow right to the teeth. Keegan turned to face Garvin, drop kick to the knee cap by Jeff… Garvin knew that if he was going to survive this, he needed to weaken the legs for the Hammer Jammer.

A now pissed off Keegan was coming full force at Jeff, his only option? Another low drop kick to the leg. The Yard Stick went down on one knee. A forearm shot by Garvin, and another! Jeff was pulling out whatever he could to stay alive. When you back a man into a corner, where there is no place to go, that’s when he’s the most dangerous… The most unpredictable. Jeff’s eyes showed an arrogance only he could exceed, as well being quite apprehensive, second guessing every move before he attempted it. With his opponent’s size and weight advantage, while also being tough as nails, he could end the match at any second.

The Submission Champion continued to land countless forearms, not giving ‘Special K’ an inch to move. Keegan ducked his head down and Garvin’s own momentum caused him to fall against Keegan. He lifted Jeff up, showing his brute strength, in a Gorilla Press Slam and dropped him neck-first on the top of the cage. Jeff stumbled back, grasping his Adam’s apple while his face turned a bright shade of red.

A nervous Julie Garvin paced about on the outside of the cage, not wanting to watch what was about to go down. Garvin, still in a daze, walked right into a stiff kick to gut, driving the air from his lunges. Keegan sneered, backing up a few paces before hitting Jeff with perhaps the most brutal, the most sickening, the most perfectly executed Scissors Kicks the fighting world had ever seen.

‘World Class Carcass Kick!’

Say Hello to all the brain dead boxers of the world, Jeff, ‘cause you just got knocked the fuck out! The force of the kick actually caused Jeff to front-flip onto his back. Garvin stared up to the lights, that goofy smile present, his eyes rolling about in his head uncontrollably. He had never felt anything like that during his wrestling career. Keegan casually scraped Jeff off the canvas and jammed his head between his legs.

It was time for that arrogant little fuck to ‘Fall from Grace’. Have a good trip, Jeffster… Keegan bent over to begin the powerbomb sequence but that the Original had over plans. He fell to his knees and drove his fist up into Keegan’s crotch.

It felt so good to be able to low blow someone without getting DQed, that was something wrestling was missing. The ability to hit another man in the nuts without loosing the match. Garvin gave a broad smile, watching Keegan stumble around holding his groin.

The crowd groaned with displeasure. Jeff Garvin pulled another cheap tactic out of his bag of tricks- chop blocking his opponent from behind. The joint could have very well been dislocated. Keegan once again dropped to one knee, nursing the now weakened leg of his while Jeff came up from behind: German Suplex! It wasn’t the prettiest of all the ones he had executed over the years due to Keegan’s size, but it damn sure was effective.

Garvin lifted up his foot as that wide eyed look appeared. He then pointed to his foot and shouted, “GARVIN STOOOOMP!” Before bringing it down on Keegan’s knee and back.

Stomp.

…To the right leg.

Stomp.

…To the lower back.

Stomp.

…Right leg, again.

STOMP! STOMP! STOMP!

RIGHT LEG! RIGHT LEG! RIGHT LEG!

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” The audience responded.

Garvin panted having finished his series of random stomps to his opponent’s body, a move used by his uncle Ronnie to help set up the Hammer Jammer. Jeff walked around to the legs and picked up, yes, the right leg. He landed a toe kick to the thigh and started to apply the Hammer Jamer.

NO! He got shot back on his ass! The crowd popped; Keegan was getting to his feet and he was pissed. Garvin ran in and got flapped jacked in the air. As he fell to the canvas, Garvin attempted to land on his feet…

Bad move.

“AH! AH, FUCK!” Garvin screamed. He was on his back, holding his right ankle. He had rolled it upon landing and he was now in a very, very bad way. Keegan loomed over Jeff. “NO! TIME OUT! I HURT MY ANKLE!” Demanded Garvin, telling the referee to hold Keegan back.

The official just shrugged; there was nothing he could do. Since there was only one way to win in a Submission Championship match, that being to make your opponent tap out or submit, Keegan now had the ball in his court… and all he had to do was run with it.

Keegan flipped Jeff over… Ankle Lock!

Garvin was in trouble, he had no where to go… no ropes to grab, no escape. Tears began streaming down his face as he fought the urge to give up. The Asylum fans cheered as loud as possible. Then… Boos. Julie Garvin was trying to get into the Asylum cage. The referee tried to get her out of there but it was no use. Keegan dropped Jeff’s leg and made his way over to the Original’s wife.

Julie backed off and Keegan turned back to where Jeff was originally lying…

He was gone.

…Hobbling up the isle on one leg with Julie not far behind. By the time Keegan climbed out of the cage, the two were no where to be found, and the Submission Title was missing as well. The referee didn’t know what to do; there were no ring-outs in a Submission Match.

Legally, this match was not through.

Keegan sneered.

The hunt was on.

The sounds of the bell chiming, and “Faget” by Korn. Because with that music, came The Freak. Oddball trailing behind his trenchcoat-clad protégé. He had a chair gripped in his right hand already, and Oddball was pushing a cart of weapons as usual. The fans weren’t aware that The Freak wasn’t actually booked tonight, as the Asylum never releases cards; but, it was certain that he was here to fight.

Or maybe talk, with lots of weapons. As in his alternate hand, he had a microphone. As the Red Ripper scrambled into the cage and twirled, his coat flapping in the air as he span in a circle, his arms outstretched, Oddball set up a table on the outside and tossed another chair into the cage. Then, to another mixed reaction, he raised the microphone to his lips.

“Boredom. If it wasn’t for that, none of you would be here. You come to these Shows, to be entertained… to cure your boredom, the feeling of nothingness that plagues through throughout your entire meaningless, pointless lives. Well, whilst my life has far more point and aim than that of your own… I, too, come here to be entertained. You come here to watch fighting.

“I come here to fight. More importantly, I’m avid about my job. My job is hurting people. I like my job. You people toil away like ants, in factories and warehouses, under strict orders from your superiors. There’s no creativity in what you do, and you accomplish nothing. But my occupation is so much more…

“It’s art. It’s a release. It’s a form of fine splendour so complex and diverse that it’s hard to explain. I don’t paint pictures with blood or make sculptures from bones… although that’d be a fun idea… no. I come here to satisfy my gods and my ghosts. The ones in the back of my head, that make me different from you. You think that I talk too much and I think that I talk to little… ah well.

“I’m bored, and I want to fight. This is an open challenge, as wrestling-orientated as that sounds. I will face whoever DARES to step through those curtains in a match, right now. And as an incentive, hell… if I win, you can take my fucking wage packet for this month. If I win… well, I’ll claim my own wages from your body.”

At first there was nothing. The Freak didn’t look fit to fight anyway; his body was still covered in stitches and bandages. But the fans had to appreciate his attitude and willingness to put his body on the line every week…

Quite some time passed, and still nobody came. It was obvious that The Freak was adamant to get an opponent as he handed Oddball his microphone and threw his trench coat over the rim of the cage.

Then, the fans cheered… almost out of confusion. They weren’t expecting this… in fact, they thought this guy had quit…

Can you remember? Remember my name?

How fitting that was, as the fans could barely remember him. “Perfect Strangers” by Deep Purple.

And at the top of the ramp, appeared the figure of Remy Leroux. Remy had a cigarette lodged between his lips, and a microphone clutched in his palm. He smirked as the fans began to cheer him, surprised by his appearance. He tapped his foot sarcastically, and winked at The Freak… who by this point, was stretching from side to sides in a splits over two chairs.

“Well wha’ duh we have here, mah friend? Ol’ Remy took a ‘lil break from the action, he’s been waitin’ for an oppurtunitah like this. Ah’ve been sittin’ in the back, these past few months, wonduh’rin how I could finallah get my break in the Asylum. Now, you’ve presented me with a perfect chance to show mah talents, and to get back inta tha swing oh thangs. How could Ol’ Remy refuse, eh?” he said in his thick, Cajun accent.

Oddball laughed over the microphone, and wiped a fake tear away from his eyes.

“Oh my fucking God, that was hilarious! Your shitty English, it’s fantastic! You should start up a stand-up comedy act with that shit. Where do you come from, Mars, you fucking Gungy Gingy Goop-eating ‘Oui, Oui’ fucktard? You make ebonics look like Shakespearian English. Is it a disease, some kind of tongue infection? Because if it is, there’s no fucking way you’re getting into this cage, that shit might be air-transmitted. And under no circumstances will I allow myself to talk like a three-year-old child of Dre on CRACK.” Oddball chortled. Remy simply looked bemused, and replied with a little smirk.

“Ah don’ have time for this, mah man. I came here tah kick some New York ass, and I be takin’ a piece oh it all tha way home with me, back tah Louisiana~!” Remy said, as he dropped the microphone, raised an eyebrow and strolled down to the cage.

“LOUISIANA, that’s it. World Capital of inbreds judging by your hair. Who do you think you are you dopey fuck, Gambit out of the freaking X-men? If I piss you off, will you super-charge a few cards and expect them to explode? Is that it? Heh. Welcome to the real world motherfucker… and here’s it’s doorman. I call him THE FREAK.” Oddball said, as he pointed to his client. By this time, Remy was already on the top step and ready to enter the Asylum cage. His face was a picture of coolness and composure as he winked at Oddball and smiled.

Oddball didn’t like that. He swung a first at the Ragin’ Cajun, only to have his fist blocked and… POP!

Oddball went down, and rolled over the rim to the concrete floor beneath, from a single punch from Leroux. Remy hopped over the cage and stood before his opponent…

The Freak Vs Remy Leroux

Remy was the first to land a hit, ducking under a superkick sent towards him by The Freak and flinging his arm back with a sensational spinning back-fist that caught The Freak just under the chin. Remy then unleashed a minor combo, placing a few fists on The Freak’s chin from his left hand then alternating with a killer right-handed uppercut. The Freak rocked back, giving Remy enough time to walk across the cage, cool as a cucumber, and pick up a chair.

He swung it at The Freak with fell accuracy, and The Freak was battered in the face with the steel. Remy continued by swiping it across The Freak’s head a further three times, sending the Emasculator up against the cage and with a re-opened set of stitches on his head to boot. The Freak rolled over against the rim to try and escape Remy’#s brutal offence, but failed as Leroux slammed the chair into The Freak’s spine a further three times.

Remy threw the chair to the mat and waved his hands in the air, rallying fan support. “C’mohn, people, lemme hear yah support Ol’ Remy!”

Remy jogged around the cage, as the fans became more involved, cheering for the Cajun hero more enthusiastically. However, in his state of rallying the fans, Remy let his guard down. For just a little while too long, maybe… as The Freak was able to issue a low kick to his leg and disrupt his premature victory sequence. The Freak followed up by diving down into the very same leg with a chop block attack, a shoulder straight to the knee joint of the gambler’s leg.

Remy hit the mat and wrapped his hand around his knee, in an attempt to protect it from further attack. But as Remy rolled around on the floor, he found that The Freak was setting a chair up in the corner of the cage. The Freak then grabbed one of Remy’s ankles… and dragged him over to the chair, laying the knee flat across the steel.

Remy struggled to free himself, but The Freak simply stomped on his face to keep him down. The Red Ripper then hoisted up a second chair, raised it above Remy’s leg…

CRUNCH.

CRUNCH.

CRUNCH.

Three brutal chairshots, sandwiching Remy’s leg between the steel. The fans cheered at the ferocity of each shot, as Leroux shouted out in agony. The Freak didn’t stop there, as he placed the second chair over Remy’s leg and hopped onto the cage rim…

Before jumping down, sandwiching Remy’s leg between the two steel items of furniture with a senton bomb type move. Remy dragged himself away from the chairs, clutching at his knee and screaming in pain. The fans winced as The Freak once again picked up the chair and…

CRACK!

CRACK!

Delivered two more revolting chairshots to the very same kneecap. The Freak was intent on ending the match as soon as possible seemingly, trying to cripple the Cajun early with these vicious attacks to the limbs. The Freak then dropped the chair, and picked Remy up. Remy shot a fist towards The Freak but the Emasculator was quick to block it, twisting Remy’s arm around his throat and…

Dropping him onto the chair with a O Soto Otoshi. Remy’s head bounced from the steel as The Freak scuttled over to Leroux’s legs, locking one foot between the knee joint he was working on earlier and elevating the legs into a Texas Cloverleaf variation. The Cajun reached for the cage as The Freak wrenched back on his legs, and the referee begged Remy to submit and end this before it was too late. But Remy wasn’t one to give up, he wasn’t a quitter; and he hang in there until The Freak was forced to relinquish the hold.

Remy slowly got to his feet… to get a Buzzsaw kick to the face. The referee started a count on the downed and possible out form of Leroux…

1!
2!
3!
4!
5!
6!
7!
8…

Remy hobbled to his feet on one leg. He limped forwards, almost tripping.

The Freak smirked, and took out Remy’s legs again with a Sweeping kick. As Remy slammed against the mat again, The Freak moved over to Remy’s head and…

*Slap*

Slapped the back of his head. The fans booed, as Remy tried to get to his feet. The Freak slapped him again sarcastically, with a sardonic cry of: “Get up, son. Get up.”

Eventually Remy did get to his feet, but The Freak was waiting for him yet again. This time, The Freak shot forwards and wrapped his arms around both of Leroux’s legs, picking him up over a single shoulder… but Leroux avoided any further move my miraculously slipping out of the Crimson Crippler’s grasp, and landing perfectly on his feet behind him. As The Freak turned with a semi-scowl on his face…

Remy shot out a foot to The Freak’s crotch!

And missed.

So he poked him in the eye!

The Freak spat and reached up for his eye as Remy laughed at his handiwork, which allowed the Baton Rouge native to throw a punch out and land a stiff punch to the temple and a headbutt to The Freak’s already bleeding nose. As if that wasn’t enough in itself to put The Freak in a rather nasty predicament, Leroux then… ignoring the thirty pound weight disadvantage he was faced with… scooped up The Freak on his shoulders, one leg over either shoulder.

The fans cheered as Remy signalled to them from this position, before he dropped The Freak down powerfully, head-first… with the

Aces Ovah Eights.

The Freak landed at a horrible angle, his head totally perpendicular from his neck. Then he lay, in a crumpled heap… seemingly out for the count, as Remy hobbled around on his one-and-a-half legs. Remy wasn’t planning on stopping there though, as he took his good leg and with a look of sheer untamed fury in his eyes…

STOMP

STOMP STOMP STOMP STOMP

STOMP!

Remy battered The Freak into the canvas with the Backwoods stomp.

The fans cheered for it seemed that The Freak had been felled, and the referee registered the count…

1!
2!
3!
4!
5!
6!
7…

Not so fast. The Freak kipped up to his feet and instantly charged into Remy. Luckily for the Ragin’ Cajun, The Freak didn’t connect with his subsequent Big Boot and Leroux was able to duck out of the way just in time. He kicked The Freak in the back of his calf, knocking him forwards, and socked him in the back of the head with a punch of colossal proportions. The Freak turned…

Remy hooked his arm, and forced it behind his head. With one powerful punch to the heart, Remy hammered The Freak with the Blakhart Punch.

The fans cheered, realizing that that thunderous blow was his finisher.

But The Freak didn’t flinch. Okay he did, he stumbled back and held his chest. But he didn’t even THINK about going down, he just stood there with a rather bemused look on his face. Remy, confused that maybe he’d delivered the move wrong, hooked the arm and hit the Blakhart punch again.

And again, The Freak didn’t budge. He rocked backwards on impact, but the heart-disrupting fist still could not finish him off.

Remy hooked the arm…

And hit another Blakhart punch. This time, Remy put all of the effort in his entire body into that fist, and it paid off, as The Freak hit the mat holding his chest. Oddball cheered The Freak on from the outside, as the referee started up a count.

1!
2!
3!
4!
5!
6!
7…

8?

No. The Freak, got back to his feet with his usual kip-up routine and instantly went on the offensive on a bewildered Leroux, with a knee to the gambler’s stomach and an uppercut that knocked him flat on his arse. Remy scrapped back to his feet by clinging onto the rim of the cage, but this only spurred The Freak on more… who took Remy back down by locking his arms around the Cajun’s waist and hurling him overhead with a German suplex. Remy’s neck compacted as he slammed hard against the canvas… closely followed by The Freak.

The Freak once again worked over the bad knee of his opponent, picking up the very same chair from earlier and hammering it into the soft joint area edge-first. He then placed the chair over Remy’s knee…

And executed a Shining Wizard, on Remy’s knee.

The fans, as sick as it was, thoroughly enjoyed the sound of Remy Leroux’s knee cracking. Three guesses would say that that, was the sound of Leroux’s kneecap gristle twisting. The Freak then dragged Leroux to his feet and slammed an elbow into Remy’s knee, before taking one of Remy’s arms and slamming him back down with a Uki Otoshi. Rather than leave it at that, he then dragged Remy back to his feet by the same arm and hoisted him onto his shoulders… in an aeroplane.

The Freak span, and released Remy knee-first over the cage. Remy’s leg twisted horribly as he contacted, as then slumped back into the cage. But it seems that The Freak, wasn’t done.

He sauntered over to Oddball, as Remy slowly got back to his feet, and barked an order to the Insane One. Oddball complied by handing The Freak…

A sledgehammer.

No, not one of those pansy WWE rubber hammers, fuck that shit. We’re talking a real hammer here.

Remy Leroux staggered to his feet and hobbled towards The Freak, but was quickly knocked back down as The Freak leapt into the air and hit a sensational Spinning, Jumping Buzzsaw kick that he refers to as…

The Bonesaw.

Remy rolled out of the way, dragging himself across the cage, his nails digging into the mat… but there was no use. There was no chance of escape, not now. His leg felt like it had been run through a blender, and his knee was numb from pain. The Freak raised his hammer… Remy bit his bottom lip…

The fans gasped.

CRUNCH!!

The hammer came down on Remy’s knee with horrific impact, crushing Remy’s knee. Blood seeped down his leg and out of the hem of his jeans…

CRUNCH!!

The hammer was once again swung into the knee. Remy tried to get up, but he hadn’t got a chance in hell; he was immobilized. He couldn’t move his leg.

CRUNCH!!

The hammer struck again, shattering Remy’s kneecap. The crowd were screaming as The Freak splattered Remy’s knee practically flat against the canvas. Then, with a sadistic smirk, The Freak dropped the hammer… and walked towards his opponent.

The referee was screaming to The Freak, telling him to stop the onslaught. But The Freak was setting an example. He lifted Remy’s leg high into the air and put his knee in the joint of Remy’s own knee… then, he wrapped his thick arms around Remy’s foot and…

He pulled.

Remy screamed in absolute agony as The Freak yanked backwards on the joint then finally…

CRACK.

It was horrible. The fans were almost vomiting at the sight of it, their empathy kicking in for the first time in a long time. Remy Leroux’s leg… his knee… was bent the other way. His leg was totally recoiled on itself, the lumps and splinters underneath his jeans showing the extent of the damage. His knee was shattered and his leg broken by The Freak.

Leroux couldn’t move. He couldn’t fight. His face was red and tears streamed out of his eyes in pain, at the hellacious sensation of his leg being rendered in half. With a slight smile, The Freak threw the Cajun’s leg down against the mat and laid in a few final stomps to the broken bones, before raising his arms in the air as if to dignify his atrocities. The fans sent out a mixture of boos, cheers, and moans as The Freak paraded around the cage proudly.

The referee counted to ten. Remy was out cold, having finally submitted to the pain.

The bell chimed, and The Freak raised his bloody fists in the air, the crimson glistening on his knuckles. But in between them, something else shone a deadly metallic white.

It was the Switchblade.

As if breaking Leroux’s leg wasn’t enough damage inflicted for one day, The Freak… The Emasculator… The Bastard yanked Remy’s head up from the mat and slammed it into the cage, before turning the Cajun around to face him. The Freak pressed the Switchblade in, lightly art first… then he pressed deeper… and the blade tore deep into the soft flesh. The Freak sank the blade deep across Leroux’s nose, and then back again with two diagonal lines…

A giant, gaping red X scrawled onto Leroux’s face. Leroux’s features hung open like an emaciated piece of meat, even more deeply cut than that disgusting wound that was bestowed upon Hawkins over a month ago. The Freak observed his ‘art’, then dropped Remy’s claret-soaked face down against the mat.

“Faget” played. The Freak departed, having once again proven that he is capable…

Of anything.

Remy Leroux, it was nice knowing you. But in the Asylum?

You just can’t cut it.

“Who?”

The official he was talking to had no idea what he wanted to know but still Special K expected him to know instinctively: “Garvin. Jeff Garvin. Yes. Fuck’s sake man. Well?”

“What?”

He had to grit his teeth: “Have you fucking seen him or what?”

Silence was not golden in this case: “Fucking useless. That’s all you are. Honestly, Campbell has more money than sperm and sense.”

As he was about to move on, the official muttered something under his breath, a remark that was certainly not meant to be heard: “Just like your brother,” referring to John C. Willis, who has cemented a reputation as a backstage bully to anyone in a suit or shirt with the notable exception of Joe Campbell.

Very quickly, The Height of Humanity, as he called himself when he was in Italy, turned round and then assumed control of the official’s throat before nailing him up against the wall in a non-sexual way: “Look son. I am fuck all like that dirty bastard. He’s a filthy, unwashed and disgusting rapist and that’s being nice to the shit-faced fuck. I’ve had enough of everyone and everything tonight and I’d say you’re extremely lucky. You might think I’m taking the piss but I could so easily crush your noggin right now. In fact, I would if I wasn’t looking for that twat Garvin. Now fuck off.”

And he claimed that he wasn’t like his notorious stepbrother…

Ty Hughes Vs Enrique Credibleno
(Extreme Title)

Hughes looked down towards the cell… before deciding he couldn’t be bothered to conform this week, and grabbed Credibleno by the hair and throwing him backstage and following him. Hughes picks his steel bat, and places it on the floor, before picking Credibleno up and executing a spine buster on the bat. Enrique rolled over clutching at his back, but as Hughes went to pick him, he poked him in the eye and hit hi below the belt. Two trademark Asylum moves. Credibleno slowly got to his fight, and reached into Hughes’s Nike bag, only to pull out a cap and put it on his head backwards.

“Suckaz gots ta know…

whoa that was weird…”

Before Credibleno could fully appreciate this seeming past life experience, Hughes spun him round and blasted him in the face with a fight hook, sending Credibleno reeling backwards, the cap flying off his head. Hughes reached into the bag and pulled out some American Football pads. He put them on and charged at Credibleno and knocked him a clear 4 feet backwards with one charge. Hughes proceeded to throw the pads down to the floor and decided that an American football charge was a fancy enough move, and he resorted back to the basics, laying football (the real football) kicks in to Credibleno’s ribs.

Credibleno started to crawl back towards the stage area, and since Hughes was getting tired of this beating he let him think he was getting away. Hughes grabbed the ladder that was rather conveniently leaning against the wall and followed Credibleno down to the cell, along the way picking up his abandoned bat. As they reached the cell, Enrique picked himself up and turned round, and once again shrieked in horror to see the Hypnotic one right behind him. Hughes silenced him with a punch to the gut, before executing the “Ringout”… into the cell. Enrique Credibleno decided the best line of offence was defence, and the best defence would be to play dead… however Ty Hughes is not, and never was, a bear, so without any hesitation he scooped up the frame of Credibleno onto his shoulders and landed the “Knockout”.

This time Credibleno was not playing dead.

The referee started to count, but Hughes called him off. Apparently this was personal as well. Hughes dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out… a mint? Hughes bent down beside Credibleno’s head and moved the mint closer and closer to his ear… He sharply drew his hand back and hurled the mint to the ground.

“I AM NOT A FUCKING EARMINTER!!!”

Hughes crushed the mint in one stomp and headed outside the cell and set the ladder up. Hughes climbed the ladder and upon reaching the top, he looked out to the crowd…

“JUST DO IT!!!”

So he did.

Hughes crushed the life out of Credibleno and it was now the simple matter of the ten count. Which went just as planned. Hughes scooped up the barely conscious body of Credible no and hurled it out of the cell, knocking the ladder down in the process. He’d dealt with the ear minter for good this time. Hughes held the steel bat aloft, a symbol of everything he was striving to be.

No nonsense, straight up, beatings.

Just like last week.

He raised his arms in the air, as his music played.

Just like last week.

The bell chimed and “Faget” by Korn hit…

Just like, last, fucking, week.

Ty Hughes turned to face the ramp, his face practically tousled and wrapped in bandages as he faced the ramp to await The Freak. The fans booed mercilessly or cheered feverishly as The Freak methodically made his way out of the entranceway. And again, just like last week, he had a chair with him. Hughes shad nothing but his wits, his title, and the fresh stitches beneath his bandages of his forehead.

Ty had seen the total destruction of Remy Leroux that The Freak had caused earlier in the night, and he was sure that it was an omen. An omen sent by The Freak, to warn Hughes of incoming danger. To warn him, what The Freak was capable of.

The Freak got up the steps, possible the same steps that he had smashed Hughes’s skull between last week… but now they were washed of blood and clean black in the light. The Freak hopped over the cage, and smiled slightly. Hughes didn’t have time for banter, and instantly charged into The Freak…

CRACK!

And was clocked upside the head with the steel chair. However that didn’t stop him from spearing The Freak in the stomach with such force, that both men toppled over the rim and out of the cage. Hughes slid down over the mesh with The Freak underneath him, and both men landed hard against the ringside concrete with only thin mats to shatter their fall.

Hughes was the first to get to his feet, his face contorted in a scowl… but The Freak soon wiped the scowl off of his face with a denting chairshot that tore the bandage from his head. Hughes still didn’t relent, smashing The Freak’s face with fist after fist… and when The Freak was finally subdued?

Ty Hughes reached under the ring, and grabbed his steel baseball bat. The Freak had no chance of fighting back from his cornered position beneath the chair and jammed behind the ring steps, as Hughes hammered the baseball bat into the chair, into The Freak’s face…

Over, and over again. Until The Freak stopped moving.

The fans cheered, and Hughes smiled.

The Freak saw blackness.

Hughes walked to the back, as The Freak lay in a curled heap. And from the monitors backstage, a man watched the whole thing.

Token Weed.

Your guardian angel, Brian.

.

.

.

Fortunately for Garvin, he had a ten yard start on Special K and he used this to his advantage by maintaining that distance until he spotted a luxurious limousine on the horizon: “Hurry up woman. He’ll catch us,” he snapped at his Wife.

“I’m wearing heels you pig. This is your fault anyway. If you were a real man we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

Obviously, the aforementioned vehicle was not reserved for The Garvinator but that didn’t matter in these desperate circumstances as the Geordie closed the gap due to Jeff’s hesitation in order to help Julie, who was having problems with her shoes.
He was so close to the limousine now and he exerted a loud chuckle sensing that he’d put one over The Prince as he opened the door to the bemusement of the chauffeur: “Sir, I might be wrong, but I could swear that this car is not intended for you.”

Jeff quickly replied: “Well it is now. What is wrong with you woman? Get in the fucking car. Can you not even do that? I can see this being a one-sided marriage. Remind me why I married you.”

Julie had a legitimate reason for not being able to open the car’s right-hand door: “I don’t know why I married you and it’s locked you idiot!”

Garvin, who was lying down on the seat and putting all of his effort in to trying to somehow get the door open for his partner, then ordered the driver to open it: “Will you please fucking open the door you douche bag? Can’t you see that we’re being chased by a madman!”

It was too late. An elementary error had undone the Memphis Marvel. As he entered the limo, he had left his window open and although the Chauffeur had allowed Julie into the back seat, Keegan was now standing right outside and through the gap he sensationally seized control of Jeff’s left leg but didn’t have complete control over it as he squirmed: “DRIVE! DRIVE!”

His Wife and the assigned driver could not believe it: “Someone shut the fucking window! Lock his arm in the window! Break it!”

But his sickening instruction could not be carried out as Keegan threatened the driver: “Don’t you fucking dare,” he shouted and then it happened.

Carrahar had grasped Jeff’s right ankle. Yes, the injured one.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHH! FUCKING DRIVE!”

Amazingly, even though the Chauffeur did as Jeff wished and started to drive, Keegan was relentless. Somehow, Special K had managed to apply the Ankle Lock through the gap in the window!

The fans in the arena couldn’t believe it as his limb, which was already severely damaged, was dangling outside of the vehicle and The Zone member put even more pressure on preventing the car from getting away and Julie gave her husband a priceless gaze as she looked down at him, clearly in some distress, as he started to bite the leather in a bid to make the pain seem bearable: “And I thought women were the ones who gave birth.”

“SAY IT JEFF! FUCKING SAY IT YOU BITCH!”

Despite being in discomfort the Walking Wrestling Move Machine managed a quick quip: “Okay. Okay. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. I will make the crap tap, starting with you. Now let me GOOOOOO.”

His voice had reached an all-time high, as had the fans’ laughter as Keegan hadn’t taken to his antagonist’s remark very well at all: “Say it Jeff. Submit now and give me a rematch. That’s all I want.”

Julie looked up at her husband’s attacker and he responded: “What do you think of Wor Jeff now eh? Not only is he bollocks in bed but he also screams like Joe Pasquale on Helium!”

It went without saying that she didn’t like Jeff whatsoever, especially after marrying him and that there was a part of her that wanted to point and laugh at him, rub it in so to speak, but she actually looked really concerned.

The Yardstick gave it one more tug, the ankle lads(I know how dirty minds work you know,) and it brought its rewards as the Tennessee-born technician squealed: “OKAY! YOU WIN! SUBMIT, SUBMIT, SUBMIT, SUMBIT, SUBMIIIIIIIIIIIIT!”

On that note, the Newcastle native instantly released the excruciating hold as Jeff, almost reduced to tears, breathed a big sigh of relief but the agonizing expression was soon back on his face as Julie, quite innocently, put her hand on his ankle to ‘make it better.’

“Sorry. Jesus, I can’t do anything right.”

Meanwhile, The Height of Humanity smiled: “Right son. I guess I’ll see you next week bonny lad. I think we’re even now aren’t we? Next week, you’ve got nowhere to hide. Rest assured, you’ll get the hiding of your life and then I’ll take your lovely little Wife there out for a victory meal and make her scream as well but don’t worry pet. It won’t be your ankle I’ll be tugging,” he brashly commented as he winked in the direction of Garvin’s lady.

Keegan then walked away from the vehicle feeling very pleased with himself but the Briton, in spite of subjecting the Submission titleholder to torture, still wasn’t allowed the last word as Jeff peered out of the window and shouted at him: “Keegan you pussy.”

“Save it Jeff. Your trash talking cannot disguise the fact that I’m going to beat you up and then shag your lass good and proper afterwards.”

“There won’t be any title match though.”

Understandably, the Englishman was irate: “What the fuck do you mean? I made you submit you little shit!”

And then The Saviour of Wrestling dropped a bombshell as he pointed to what seemed to be a diary: “This is the rulebook for the Submission Championship, written by myself and as it’s MY title it’s also MY rules. And would you believe it? The first rule states that all matches, for the title or not, MUST happen inside the ring! Good night.”

It was now, about time too, that the limousine was allowed to get away from the stunned European whose antics had been for nothing. Once again, he’d been outsmarted by Jeff Garvin, who had not only screwed him out of actually winning the title in the first place but the right to a rematch and this was all conveyed by the sly smile and wave that The Host of Wrestling 101 gave The Geordie as he passed through some gates around a hundred yards away and out of harm’s away - well for another week at least: “You’ll get it Garvin. And so will your slut.”

But as Keegan watched as the limo drove off into the night with Jeff Garvin in it, he turned to leave when he spotted something... The Submission Championship. Garvin had dropped it. Special K smirked as he picked up the title and slung it over his shoulder prior to returning to his dressing room.

"Finders Keepers..."

Maybe he would have the last laugh after all…

LLB© Vs Eddie Cheno
(T.V. Title)

“Smoke Two Joints,” by Sublime played and out came fan favorite blue haired fighter, Eddie Cheno stepped out into the arena. Speechless since the day Nicole Carson sent a shot through his face, Cheno walked slowly down to the ring focused on what could be his first chance to ever claim a title within this fighting organization. Slowly he walked up the ring steps, and as he climbed over the cage and in, the music changed immediately. “Black and White,” by Static-X blared over the arena, and the fans stood and cheered loudly yet again, as the Television champion, and resident Asylum black sheep Roland Miles Erman, LLB. Cheno stood at the edge of the cage and stared at the object of his admiration for weeks now, that silver title that seemed to be stapled to LLB’s waist. As LLB got up into the ring, entrapping his title and handing it to the ref, every difference between the two stood out like Joe Campbell at a goodwill event. LLB was a wrestler, LLB’s life so far has been a success, he had many things to live for, he was a champion.. Cheno wasn’t any of the aforementioned things but all he cared about was the latter.. That silver title the ref held in the air as it was announced that it was on the line. The crowd cheered loudly in approval. His eyes remained locked, as the belt was handed to a ringside attendant, and he watched it until it was safely set on the announcer’s table. Slowly Cheno nodded his head, before turning to LLB, who was loosening up. The action hadn’t gotten underway, yet the crowd was already almost split down the middle, nervous noises made as they waited for their heroes to begin to move.

Slowly Cheno and LLB began to walk around the ring, measuring each other Both men lunged forward and locked themselves into an arm and collar tie up, LLB got out, go behind, rear waistlock. LLB began to lift for a German Suplex but.. Cheno kicked out of it causing LLB to drop him down to the mat. Cheno landed on his feet, but grabbed onto LLB’s arm, quickly pulled him towards him with a short-arm clothesline.. But LLB ducked! Another Go Behind, and this time LLB nailed the German suplex! Both men got back up to their feet, LLB charged forward with a dropkick aimed at Cheno’s knee, but the former toker, uses all of his agility to jump over the champion. LLB jumped up to his feet, but received a boot to his midsection dropping him back down, holding his abdomen. Cheno brought him to his feet grabbed onto his head, and began to fall back for a DDT, which he would’ve hit.. If only LLB didn’t trip him up sending him to the ground! LLB grabbed Cheno’s legs, stepped through.. He dropped down and locked the figure four!

Cheno began to flop up and down on the mat pounding in pain, as LLB continued to tighten the hold. Cheno’s head hit the mat as he tried to fight out of the move that Ric Flair made famous. The official stood over him asking if he wanted to quit, he refused, but as Cheno looked back he saw how close the mesh cage was, he wanted to try to make the distance.. All he had to do was fight through the pain, but in here, there was no Asylum from the pain, it was nothing new. Finally he got it! And with his right hand locked in the mesh he began using his strength to pull him up to a sit, making LLB break the maneuver. The Lawyer was on his feet, and watched as Cheno hobbled to a stand, and the two began to circle the ring again. LLB charged forward..

*POW!*

He stumbled back after being hit in the jaw with a right from Cheno. LLB went and charged again, this time with a clothesline, it was ducked by Cheno, by the time LLB turned he was met with a back elbow to his jaw knocking him on his back! Cheno hobbled over to the downed LLB, and he grabbed the small amount of hair on LLB’s head and he brought him to his feet. He grabbed his arm, and whipped him hard into the steel mesh bringing a yell from LLB. The pain from the figure four dulling out, Cheno stood up and began to charge before…

*CRASH!*

LLB moved to the side allowing Cheno to hit ribs first to the Asylum rim, where Cheno hung out to dry. LLB walked tenderly behind Cheno, and dropped into his knees and he began to drive his shoulder into the knee in which Cheno was limping on earlier. Like an insane version of a pendulum, the knee bounced off the mesh and back to the shoulder. LLB was back to his feet, and grabbed onto Cheno and slammed him front side first on the mat, he grabbed onto his legs and sat backwards in a Boston Crab. Finally he dropped the right leg, but LLB still had a hold of the injured left leg, and then in one vicious move LLB went back and wrenched back almost as far as possible! The Single-leg Boston Crab, would’ve caused Cheno to scream in pain if he was able. But what was surprising to everyone was that he wasn’t tapping, as much as the ref asked, he shook his head no to the questions.. He wanted to become a champion. Sweat drenched LLB’s entire body, and finally he dropped the leg and slowly got back to his feet. As he stood the ref began a count..

1..

2...

3...

4...

5...

6...

Finally with his teeth gritted together tightly, Cheno was standing, gingerly at that, but according to the look he gave LLB, he wasn’t anywhere near finished. From his wars with Nicole Carson, he knew that there was a barrier one had to break through to claim the title of a championship, and in the Asylum everyone who ever held a title, aside from Cheno had earned that. Cheno was ready to put his name in stone, as a TV champion… But LLB wasn’t ready to put an end date to his reign.

*SMACK!*

Knife edge chop by LLB.

*SMACK!*

Another knife edge chop, sending Cheno into the cage wall. Smack again! LLB finally reached up and ripped Cheno’s shirt opening his chest and once again..

*SMACK!*

And after each and every chop the crowd like the bunch of morons they are yelled “WHOO!” Finally Cheno struck back with a solid punch to LLB’s midsection. LLB reached for another chop, but he received another punch. This time he reached up and grabbed onto Cheno’s head, but as he did that Cheno reached forward and went in and out with an eye rake! LLB took two steps back holding his face. Hobbling forward Cheno had both fists up he threw one, but it was caught by LLB, he threw another, but that was caught as well. The two were face to face, and LLB used all his pressure he could mount onto Cheno’s arm. But Cheno replied with not one, not two, not three.. Hell we don’t know how many head butts he hit on LLB but it was a lot!

The TV Champ was reeling back, and as best as he could on his hurt leg, Cheno turned in a full circle and..

Clearin Da Funkin Table!

The crowd that supported Cheno were cheering madly, as he held himself up with the cage as his support after one hell of a roundhouse uppercut, problem the most important one he’s landed in his stay at the Asylum, maybe even in his career. Roland Miles Erman after tons of shots to the face by Cheno, seemed to be out of it now.. Cheno was only Ten seconds away from becoming the Television Champion. The ref began to count..

1...

2...

3...

4...

5...

6...

7...

8...

9...

10!

NO! After what seemed to be Cheno’s coup de grace, it took LLB less than 10 seconds to get back on his feet. He clenched his fists constantly, almost like he was trying to see if he could still do it in his current state. And now both men stood on opposite sides of the Asylum cage staring at one another, this was what it was about.. When two men were closed to being counted down, when two men threw some of their best shots at the other.. But their opponent was still standing, and the match was still up for grabs. Somewhere the two men found a second wind, and hobbling they both charged towards each other.. And there they met a standstill.. Both men were trading rights and lefts. Each man rocking back from each one, finally LLB jumped back missing a blow only to dive forward with his second drop kick of the night this one nailed Cheno right in the knee knocking him off balance. LLB locked in…

TESTIFY~!

LLB had it locked, so hard that the veins began to pop out of his neck as he strained holding the maneuver. Emphasizing the force he put into it, LLB screamed out, and the fans whoever they were cheering on in the beginning of the match, were simply cheering as LLB was putting the blue haired fighter through pain, after working on that leg all match now had to be the time, that the match was almost over.. The ref was down and he asked Cheno if he wanted to quit..

*SHAKE* *SHAKE* *SHAKE*

Cheno was shaking his head as no as fast and as fervently as possible. He tried to force himself out of this maneuver but it was locked so hard, and his leg was so hurt that he couldn’t. But time was seemingly being wasted, Cheno wouldn’t quit, and the maneuver was tiring LLB so finally he dropped down Cheno’s legs standing up. LLB stood and he stumbled a little, he stopped as he held his head. Reaching down grabbing Cheno up by the hair, and followed it up with a whip towards the cage that Cheno hit hard! LLB took a few steps away catching his breath, he looked into the crowd looking at the thousands in attendance, as he turned around he saw Cheno slowly moving away from the cage..

ERRONEOUS CONCLUSION!

The roof nearly blew off, but the problem was both men were down, the ref stood beside them with no other choice, he began to count.

1.…

2.…

3.…

4.…

5.….

6.… LLB was up on his feet holding his head and leaned up against the cage.

7.…

8.…

9.…

10!

10!

It was over, the bell rang, and “Black and White” played in the background as LLB retained the Television Title after a hard fought battle with Cheno. The Lawyer walked out of the ring, slowly, accepting the fans cheers silently knowing, that his name was in stone, not just for history’s sake but for today’s as well showing that he is still the TV Champion of the raucous fighting organization. On the other hand, Cheno lied on the mat staring up at the lights overhead, knowing that this was nothing but a missed opportunity. A moment like this made him wonder, was he ever going to be a champion?

San Francisco Connection Vs Splink

“Dancing Queen.” Purple and pink strobe lights. Pretty pyrotechnics. Lots and lots of smoke. Oh, and Jamal Wilson and Chino Hernandez walking down to the ring. Well, walking isn’t descriptive enough to describe that action. A better word would be prancing. Yes, the two men pranced down to the ring and were looking gay. Of course, gay in the happy, old-fashioned sense of the word.

“United by violence, divided by death.” These words preceded the theme, which was slowly gaining a cult following with the fans of the Asylum. ‘Going Underground’ by the Jam drowned out the noise from the crowd and Splink appeared. There were no flashy lights or fireworks. The flashiest thing was Slapnutz pushing a wheelbarrow down to the cage. The wheelbarrow wasn’t empty. Oh no. Splink had filled it to the brim with various playthings to beat the San Francisco Connection with. Rakes, shovels, bricks, cricket bats and a trout.

Chino pointed the wheelbarrow out to Jamal, as they helped each other stretch on the inside of the cage. Their stretching generally consisted of both men groping each other and bending over in various ways. But the stretching stopped as TMM threw the kipper inside the cage. Both members of the SFC recoiled at the sight of the foul smelling fish but Team Splink didn’t seem to care as the put the wheelbarrow into the cage. Both teams were set and the match was underway.

Splink circled the cage. They stalked their prey like experienced fighters. What the experienced fighters didn’t expect was Jamal Wilson and Chino Hernandez leaping on top of them and pinning them onto the floor of the cage. The San Francisco Connection slapped seven shades of shite out of Slapnutz and TMM before the Scotsman and the Pole threw their assailants to the other side of the cage.

Slapnutz brushed himself down and whispered something into the ear of TMM. Both men nodded before methodically moving towards their opponents. Just as Jamal Wilson was about to throw a punch at TMM, the Pole ducked, grabbed the fish that was lying on the floor and smacked Wilson in the face. At the other side of the cage, Slapnutz and Hernandez were trading punches. Neither man was getting the upper hand. It called for drastic measures.

And, drastic measures were what Chino Hernandez had in mind. He grabbed Slapnutz between the legs, and squeezed as hard as he could. Although there seemed to be a smile on his face. It was almost as if he was enjoying feeling the testicles of his Scottish opponents. Nah, he couldn’t be enjoying that. Could he?

Anyway, TMM was busy kicking Jamal Wilson in the ribs. This was the part of the job TMM loved. He didn’t mind travelling with Slapnutz. He hated being around former wrestlers and he also hated being hit by shoes. But, at the end of the day, kicking a man in the ribs made it all worthwhile.

TMM picked his foe up by the hair and threw him into the wall of the cage. He grated the face of Wilson into the mesh surround before hoisting him up over his head. All he needed to do was throw him out of the cage and it would be match over. Over the rim of the cage and Slapnutz had his recording contract. Over the rim of the cage and…Jamal Wilson somehow managed to bite TMM’s face.

“Owww you fucking cunt,” TMM cried out as he released Wilson from his grasp.

Wilson fell behind TMM and dropped the Pole to the floor with a reverse neckbreaker. Wilson then jumped on the face of TMM before turning his attention to his partner. Chino Hernandez was still manhandling Slapnutz. His firm grip on the testicles of his opponent was like a monkey holding a really big banana. Yes a REALLY big banana. Honestly. Jamal Wilson walked over to his partner and slapped him.

“Why are you getting’ all the fun? Let me have a go,” Wilson pleaded with his partner.

Hernandez, oblivious to Wilson’s presence, continued to squeeze the nuts of Slapnutz. Wilson, visibly upset, slapped Hernandez and slapped on a testicular claw of his own. Slapnutz writhed about in pain before falling to his knees in anguish. The head of Jamal Wilson then met him and both members of Splink were left out cold on the canvas.

1…
2…
3…
4…
5…
6…

TMM was on his feet and running towards the SFC. He had been hit by a lot worse than a wrestling move and he wasn’t going to lie down for too long. He ran towards Jamal Wilson and caught him with a knee in the face. The younger member of the SFC went down clutching his face. By now Slapnutz was on his feet and he headbutted Chino Hernandez. He followed that up by sweeping his legs away then dropping an elbow to the groin of the man from California.

The referee started a count on Wilson and Hernandez:

1…
2…
3…
4…
Wilson was back on his feet but he was sporting a bloodied nose. The damage done to his ‘pretty’ face enraged him and he ran at both members of Splink, wailing at the top of his lungs. TMM and Slapnutz stood there, motionless. As Wilson reached them, they both sidestepped and threw their opponent into the wall of the cage. TMM kept a hold of him and wrapped his large forearm around his throat. Slapnutz, in the meantime, focussed on Chino Hernandez. However, he was nowhere to be found. Slapnutz looked all around the cage for his opponent. Then, he heard it. A high-pitched scream and then Chino Hernandez flew from the rim of the cage, hitting Slapnutz with an elbow to the face.

Hernandez got to his feet and brought Slapnutz with him. He bent the Scotsman over and began to slap his arse. Now JUST slap it. Oh no, his punched it and kicked it. He then used the head of Slapnutz as a battering ram into the cage. Hernandez picked Slapnutz up over his head. Yes, he had Slapnutz up in a military slam and his hand was placed on his crotch. Chino held Slapnutz in this position for a moment, and then dropped him into a powerslam. Hernandez made sure to keep his body in full contact with the man he was tossing.

Jamal Wilson and Slapnutz were both down on the floor of the cage. This left TMM to face Chino Hernandez in a brawl. Both men circled the cage, looking for that one opportunity to strike. Chino noticed a good-looking man in the crowd and that gave TMM the moment he needed. Not that Chino is gay or anything. No, he just liked the shirt the guy was wearing.

Anyway, TMM launched an attack on the midsection of Hernandez. Punch followed kick followed headbutt. TMM had his opponent against the wall of the cage. He waved a hand in the air before kicking Chino hard in the balls. POB SHOT Yes, it may have only been a single pob shot, bit it was a pob shot none-the-less. Chino Hernandez fell to the floor in a crumpled heap. The moan that was let out was more Barry White than ABBA. TMM walked over to Slapnutz and picked his partner up. The referee began his count:

1…
2…
3…
4…
5…
6…
7…
8…
9…

Jamal Wilson got back to his feet. He may have taken a beating from TMM but he was a tough bastard. Wilson tried to fight both member of Splink but the size advantage the Europeans had over him was insurmountable. Splink retaliated with punches of their own. They unleashed a mass amount of blows to the body of Wilson before both of them kicked him in the testicles. A PROPER POB SHOT Wilson’s eyes filled with water and he fell to the ground clutching his family jewels. The count would be academic now:

1…
2…
3…
4…
5…

Splink began to pose for the crowd. These men were proper fighters and Slapnutz would now be a famous pop star.

6…
7…

Slapnutz could smell the money. He could feel the fame. All those people wanting his autograph.

8…

TMM knew he would be hated more than ever. His barbed comments made him a hated figure. Still, he would now have bucket-loads of money.

9…

Blindsided. TMM was hit across the back of the head by a shovel. Slapnutz turned around and met the same fate. Chino Hernandez stood above his downed foes and drove the handle of the shovel into both of their faces. He moved round his opponents with a slight limp. Being kicked in the nuts does that to a man. Hernandez picked Wilson up and placed him over his shoulder. Then, he drove his partner down on top of Splink. The air was driven right out of the Scotsman and the Pole. Neither man moved as the referee began his count.

1…
2…
3…
4…

Hernandez had picked Wilson up and started to revive him. After a few slaps, both men were wide-awake and standing above Splink.

5…
6…
7…

Slapnutz began to stir and tried kicking out at Chino Hernandez.

8…

One of his kicks caught the bigger member of the SFC and he lashed out at his foe. This gave Slapnutz the opportunity he needed and he dragged Hernandez to the floor of the cage. Slapnutz got on top of his opponent and starting biting his forehead. Hernandez let out a cry of pain but Slapnutz didn’t flinch. Upon hearing the scream, Wilson kicked Slapnutz in the back of the head, picked him up and planted him on the floor with a Fisherman’s Buster.

However, Splink were resilient buggers and both men struggled to their feet. Slapnutz held his head and TMM was bleeding from the mouth. They both picked up golf clubs, which were still scattered around the cage. Jamal Wilson picked up a lead pipe and Chino Hernandez picked up the trout. Mexican standoff.

TMM swung his 3-wood at the face of Hernandez. Hernandez swung the fish at Slapnutz. Slapnutz went for Jamal Wilson with a putter and Wilson lunged at TMM with a lead pipe. Two men were left standing. TMM and Slapnutz. But they weren’t satisfied. They picked up Chino Hernandez and threw him into the wall of the cage. Slapnutz hit him in the ribs with his putter. TMM smashed him in the face with his 3-wood. Hernandez slumped into the mesh. Slapnutz broke the putter over the shins of Chino. TMM broke the 3-wood over the head of Hernandez. The veteran wrestler slumped into the mesh even further, with blood pouring from every orifice of his head.

By now, Jamal Wilson was on his feet but it was too late to help his partner. He picked up the lead pipe and swung at TMM. He grazed the ear of the Pole and the pipe rattled against the cage. Splink turned around together. Wilson spat in both their faces and hit them both with his pipe. At the same time, TMM his Wilson with an uppercut and all three men had joined Chino Hernandez on the floor of the cage. Double count from the referee:

1…
2…
3…
4…
5…
6…
7…

No one inside the cage was moving except the referee. Chaos. Destruction. Limp bodies.

8…
9…

10? Not quite. Jamal Wilson and TMM were both pulling themselves up with a lot of help from the cage. Slapnutz was quick to follow. Hernandez was still lying in a pool of his own blood but there was some movement.

TMM and Slapnutz charged at Wilson. The youngster evaded the attempted double-clothesline and drove his elbows into the back of the heads of Team Splink. The underground fighters stumbled forward and this allowed Wilson to plant TMM’s face on the floor of the cage. He dragged his face along the floor, leaving a slug-like trail of blood behind him. Slapnutz had regained his balance but was caught in a chokehold by a somewhat recuperated Chino Hernandez. Slapnutz struggled but he was outsized and over powered. He was slowly dragged onto the floor and the darkness began to set in. Slapnutz was going to be unconscious soon. He only had one way out…

Slapnutz grabbed the testicles of Chino Hernandez.

It wasn’t an evil grip, more of an exploratory grip. Hernandez, feeling this loosened the hold ever so slightly. But, this was enough to allow Slapnutz to escape. He lashed his left foot out at Hernandez and the kick caught him in the face. Hernandez staggered back and Slapnutz climbed the wall of the cage. He looked at the crowd then flew off. He caught Hernandez, dead weight and drove his head hard into the floor. SLAPPY DRIVER.

Hernandez didn’t move a muscle after this. Slapnutz loved it. He had hurt his opponent and hurt him with his favourite move. Excellent.

TMM wasn’t enjoying this fight though. Jamal Wilson was still using his face as sandpaper. Each time he caught a rough part of the floor, he would cry out in pain. The blood was drying up and being replaced by dirt and other pieces of crap that were lying on the floor of the Asylum.

Slapnutz had his opponent in the firing line. He let out a roar and ran at Jamal Wilson. He picked up Wilson and threw him into the cage wall. Slapnutz proceeded to punch him in the face and the stamped on his toes. Wilson wasn’t happy and retaliated with a kick in the shins. Slapnutz matched this with a punch in the face. Jamal punched him back. Slapnutz threw another punch and this continued for a few more seconds. Until TMM intervened.

The face of TMM resembled the floor of a stable. Covered in shit. TMM shoved Slapnutz out of the way and used his entire mite to land a right hook into the face of Jamal Wilson. Wilson staggered backwards and TMM fucked him up with a swinging elbow into the face. Wilson had no way to fight back. Slapnutz grabbed the arms of Wilson and TMM grabbed the legs. The singing began.

“A leg and a wing, to see the king. One…two…threeeee,” Splink sang.

Once the word three was released from their lips, Jamal Wilson landed in a heap outside of the Asylum and Splink had won the match.

Jamal Wilson couldn’t believe where he was. One minute, inside the cage, the next minute, lying in a heap outside. However, things were going to get worse as Chino Hernandez was thrown on top of him. The vast weight of his partner gave Wilson little but to let out a yelp of pain as Splink celebrated their win inside of the cage.

The Asylum Idol had begun his ascent to stardom.

"Mister Cheno?" A short, pimply kid most likely to appear in Krusty Burger in an episode of the Simpsons appeared, staggering his words and shaking just enough to be noticed. "Mister... Campbell. He wanted to see you in his office."

Cheno let out a sigh before lifting his head and raising his eyes in a "Why Me" sort of state. The pimply faced kick didn't do anything, standing still, scared at what Cheno could probably and, well, might actually do to him. "Can... Can I go?" he asked, stuttering every word as he went. He pointed to his side, and didn't really await an answer from Cheno before high-tailing it out of there.

Cheno got up from his bench and took the slow walk to Joe Campbell's office. It was slow because he was still nursing his injuries, because fighting doesn't come with cool super healing powers. But that would be awesome, no?

Eddie Cheno stopped in front of the entrance. The office door said Joe Campbell, and Eddie placed his hand on the door knob. He was about to open it when...

*CRACK*

Carnage stood overtop of him, holding the remnants of a long florescent light bulb. Cheno fell to the concrete and clutched at the gash it created in his forehead. Carnage just took a long stare towards the fallen former Stoner, before gritting his teeth and narrowing his eyes. Cheno looked up sympathetically, and Carnage just nodded, before bringing the remnants of said light bulb onto Eddie Cheno's forehead for the second point of impact. Carnage looked to kick the fallen Cheno, but security and referee's and officials and large burly men walked out from the back to stop the onslaught. Quietly, while all this was going on, Eddie crawled into Joe's office, hands and knees.

"Come crawling back, have we?" Joe sneered. Cheno sneered in response. "What? Lighten up. You should be happy with the lack of Universal." Campbell sat up from his chair. "I can see that you might not be so happy with that blood stain on your forehead though." Campbell grabbed a manilla folder, and handed it to the now recovering Cheno. "I want you to do a little seek and recored mission, on Carnage. I know you can handle it, but I want you to have someone there to be with you. Let's just say, I'm not sure if I trust you."

Then, Lonnie Clark walked out from one of the side rooms, holding a megaphone in his hands. "WOW!" he shouted to Eddie. "IT'S JUST LIKE MISSION IMPOSSIBLE!"

It would be now with Lonnie tagging along.

Sadly not.

Enrique Credibleno scowled.

For the first time in months, he scowled... defying the surgery which kept a permanently stupid smile on his face, the rage building within had broken the laws of medical science.

Sure it was a fucked up frown, but it's the thought that counts.

"I'm getting sick of this shut, dude." Enrique said to himself furiously as he paced down the corridor.

"First I get my ass kicked, then I get lost in Mexico and get my ass kicked, then I come back in here in a taco bell box with a masked guy that I'm not allowed to eat and now I'm getting my ass kicked again... this fucking sucks dude, it fucking sucks..." He continued, rounding a corner and moving onto the corridor which contained Joe Campbell's office.

"I've had enough of this crapola, it's time to start laying down the law around here... I've even got the guy with pubic hair on top of his head trying to bogart my theme music... Foo Fighters are my band damnit! Mine! Do you know Dave Grohl, Garvin? Do you... DO YOU? DO DO DO YOU?" He screamed with rage at a posted of Garvin up on the wall.

"No... no you don't, and despite the fact that I don't know him either I am going to hold it against you, you don't know Dave Grohl you ass... therefore he is mine! And so is his music! And I even resemble the drummer which is more than you can say Garvin with your brown hair that looks like some guys crotch!" He snarled with contempt, continuing down the corridor before reaching Joe Campbell's door.

"This is it... the first day of the rest of my life, no more ass kickings... no more music theft and no more stupid name... for the time has come to return to my roots...

I AM CHRIS CREDIBLE! BY GOD KING THEY NEVER KNEW... WHAT DOES THIS MEAN... THIS COULD BE THE END, THE GOVERNMENT MULES BY GOD! DEAR LORD... LIKE HELL FIRE AND BRIMSTONE, WE WILL NEVER BE THE SAME AGAIN... OH MY!"

Enriq... err... Chris, finished his rant and busted open Joe Campbell's door... marching in as Joe looked up from his crossword as Dez Aragon got to his feet and anticipated a little bone breaking.

"Listen here Joe, I am Chris Credible! Aha! I fooled you all! And now the time has come to make some changes... I demand to fight Jeff Garvin for the rights to my music... I demand to not get my ass kicked every week... and I demand tickets to meet Dave Grohl because I have deemed it necessary, in fact... I have also deemed it necessary that from now on whatever I deem necessary is indeed necessary and must be done... so I deem all of the aformentioned necessary, make it so... DUDE!" He roared insanely, stopping only to breathe.

Joe looked down at his crossword.

"Hey Dez... five down and rhymes with lunch." He said with a sinister grin.

Chris Credible smiled insanely.

"BY GOD KING, I know the answer to that... it's p-"

UNCH.

Dez Aragon busted Credible in the face with a wicked right hand, knocking him out on the floor.

"Get him out of here Dez, and try not to get blood on the carpet."

As Dez Aragon grabbed Credible by the hair and dragged him out of the office, Joe went back to his crossword... safe in the knowledge that he wouldn't have to deal with the madness of Chris Credible for a good while.

How wrong he was.

How wrong.