Deadly consequences.

Unfortunately for Joe Campbell, the last eight hours of rigorous sex with Angelina Jolie had never actually occured... he was asleep again.

"Hold on a minute... fuck off you African cunts, I don't want any wallets...

... no, I don't care that you stitched them just for me, piss off... I'm sorry about this Angelina, these fucking Africans have no respect... Angelina... Angelina?

AMOTHERFUCKINGLION!?"

Joe's head jerked up from his desk.

"Fuck." He groaned, rubbing his head and checking his watch.

"I fucking hate Africa." The Asylum owner grumbled as he searched his desk drawer for alcohol... the last couple of weeks had taken their toll on him, following Villam across the globe, then coming back to Yankland, then going back to find Villam... then coming back to Yankland again.

"Fucking jetlag... this takes the piss, I might as well go back to sleep... I get more boning done there anyway."

Joe checked his watch, The Show was about to get underway but he didn't give a fuck... it wasn't as though anyone was going to interrupt him.

Resting his head back on the table, he smiled... time for Campbell Vs Jolie, round 2... as he drifted off, he expected a deep sleep.

But he was wrong.

Better the Devil you know? Not this time.

For now though, normality... people sat happily, chugging their coca cola and chewing their popcorn, waiting with baited breath for the first sight of breasts being flashed or punches being thrown.

Lesson number one... the second that you step into an Asylum event... normality no longer exists.

"AHAHAHAHAHA... AHAHAHAHAHA... AHAHAHAHAHA!"

Three insane bursts of laughter echoed through the arena as the lights went down, the crowd stirred confused... as a telephone appeared on the video wall, and a red hand promptly dialed three somewhat significant numbers into it.

6.

6.

6.

As soon as the third number was struck, the arena lit up in a furious red glowing light and "The Hell Song" by Sum 41 blazed through the speakers, people looked confused to the top of the aisle for an answer... but the answer waited not at the top of the aisle, but the fiery pits of the underworld.

Without warning, a circle of fire burst into life in the center of the Asylum, and from it... rose the Devil himself...

... yeah, seriously.

And about time too.

"AHAHAHAHAHA!" Satan exclaimed as he stepped out of the fire "Good evening sinners... it is I! I have returned... and none of you can stop me! AHAHAHAHAHA! I control the powers of evil which surround me a-.... AIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

Satan's speech was quickly cut short, as the fire blazing around him caught his sheepskin loins alight... after a few seconds of running around frantically, Satan finally extinguished his legs.

"Now... further to what I was about to say..."

"Smack My Bitch Up" by Prodigy.

Satan stopped in his tracks, as Asylum owner Joe Campbell paced out from behind the curtain with a bemused look upon his face, after a few seconds of just standing with his mouth agape... Joe scratched his head and spoke.

"Alright... who the fuck, are you?" Joe asked, shaking his head.

"AHAHAHAHAHA! I think the answer to your question is quite obvious sinner!" Satan exclaimed.

"Erm... no, now I'll ask again... who the fuck are you?" Joe questioned once more.

Satan looked upset.

"Okay then dude... I will give you a clue... I have sheepskin loins see? Sheepskin... loins."

Joe blinked.

"And I have a pair of armani jeans on... that doesn't mean people automatically know who the fuck I am... so come on, your name please... dick head."

Satan's face screwed up.

"Come on! Sheepskin loins man! What else... well, I have red skin... now come on, you must know."

Joe snarled, and took a few steps further down the ramp.

"Stop right there sinner, or I shall burn thee where... um, thee stand!" Satan roared.

"If you don't tell me who the fuck you are, the only thing burning around here is going to be you... when I kick your pink arse back down that hole that you came out of... now spill the beans before I lose my rag."

Joe stopped and continued to look confused.

"I can't fucking believe this... I mean... AHAHAHAHAHA! Do not be so foolish to think as that you may possibly cast me back to the fiery pits from whence I came! I am the almighty lord of darkness... by the horns on my head I should turn thee into a simple goat before thee could reach me in time, now bow before me sinner... and speak my name!"

Joe scowled.

"By the sounds of things you're the fucking Undertaker... now get the fuck out of the Asylum before I throw you out." Joe sneered, rolling up his sleeves.

"GOD DAMNIT! I HAVE SHEEPSKIN LOINS, RED SKIN, HORNS... I CAME FROM THE UNDERWORLD VIA A FIERY HOLE IN THE GROUND AND MY PHONE NUMBER IS SIX SIX SIX! I AM LUCIFER DAMN YOU! LUCIFER! AND I... AHAHAHAHAHA! HAVE RETURNED TO MY RIGHTFUL PLACE ON EARTH... THIS PLACE RIGHT HERE! THAT'S RIGHT FRIENDS... YOU MAY HAVE NOTICED THAT IN THE PAST THERE HAVE BEEN MANY RELIGIOUS FIGURES HANGING AROUND THESE PARTS BUT I FIND IT QUITE IRONIC THAT NEVER BEFORE HAVE THE FORCES OF EVIL CHOSEN TO RESIDE IN A PLACE OF SUCH... EVIL... WELL I HAVE COME TO CHANGE THAT STATISTIC, I HAVE COME TO CAPTURE THE SOULS OF ALL THEE SINNERS AND SUCH... AHAHAHAHAHA! I AM NOT NOEL DONAHUE WITH HIS IRONIC YET RIDICULOUS BIBLE SESSIONS! I AM NOT STEVE CHRIST... THE SELF PROCLAIMED SON OF GOD WHO DOES NOT EVEN HAVE A BEARD OR LONG HAIR OR EVEN CARPENTRY SKILLS! I AM LUCIFER... PURE EVIL IN HUMAN FORM AND THE TIME HAS COME FOR ME TO TAKE BACK MY THRONE!"

Joe smiled.

"Riiiiiiiiight... I see now, you're Lucifer... well, I guess I'd better get out of here then, I don't want you to stab me with your pitchfork... but wait, you don't even have a pitchfork!" Joe said, following it up with a sarcastic laugh.

"I'll have thee know that I left my pitchfork in my other loins... now be gone, before I unleash all the powers of hell upon thee!" Lucifer bellowed.

"Oh right..." Joe began "I guess you left your tail in your other pants too right? Well... I have to tell you pal, I've been expecting you for a while, so come on... lets see you unleash these powers of hell or whatever, then I can kick you in the ass and throw you out of here." Joe scoffed in reply.

"Erm... alright then... GUZABAGAH... MENTOS... CALUMINOS... STAVROS... ZIM ZA LA BIM... RUAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Lucifer promptly threw his microphone at Joe, who side stepped it and shook his head.

"You know what... fuck this crazy shite, I'm going to go backstage and when I come back out here I'm going to bring Villam with me... you remember Villam don't you Chris? Last time you met him he caved in your bonce... I see now the effects that it had, stay right there... I'll be right back."

Joe walked back up the aisle and through the curtain, leaving Lucifer to look concerned.

"Bah! I know not of any Chris!" Lucifer bellowed in reply, his voice still booming through the speakers despite the loss of a microphone.

Yes... he had a mic concealed in his beard... and yes, his resemblance to Chris Credible was striking.

"So be it fool! Bring thine Villam! For the powers of a single sinner can not defeat the almight Lucifer! You cannot remove me from this arena! God could not remove me from it! Jesus Christ could not remove me from it... not even S-" And then the lights went out on "Lucifer".

It was a sign of things to come.

"dun dun HEY! dun dun HEY! dun dun HEY! dun dun HEY!
dun dun HEY! dun dun HEY! dun dun HEY! dun dun HEY!

Driving guitar kicked in as a wall of 10 white flames appeared at the entryway, virtually blinding Lucifer and everyone else in the arena. The flames died down. The lights came back on. "Antichrist Superstar" rang out.

Bits and pieces of the crowd began standing, then screaming, then cheering. Fists punched the air in unison with the song. The crowd, once bored, now wouldn't miss this for the world. They kept saying the same thing over and over. Christ.

Christ.

CHRIST.

Hi, Steve!

Where'd he been? What'd he done? Why was his hair black now? What was up with the scar running down his right arm? WHO THE MOTHERFUCK CARED?!

prick your finger it is done the moon has now eclipsed the sun the angel has spread its wings the time has come for bitter things

"Lucifer" was busy shitting himself. So busy, he stood there while Steve re-entered the Asylum for the first time in 2003. Steve smiled wanly at the Dark Lord, before outstretching his arms (and more importanty middle fingers) in a crucifix pose. The sinners were appeased. Steve took the mic right out of Lucifer's shaking hands.

"Hello." Big cheer. "PRAY...TO...YOUR...GODDDDDDDDDD."

"I...I..UGH!" The mic was shoved into Lucifer's throat. Next, Steve quickly kicked Lucifer square in the crotch, sending him down to his knees. Steve stood over him, grabbing an arm.

*SNAP* One finger down. *SNAP* Two fingers down. *SNAP SNAP SNAP*. Goodbye, right hand. Lucifer rolled around, crying like a bitch, clutching desperately at his now fucked beyond repair hand He managed to choke out "Why?" between sobs. Christ grabbed the mic back off the ground.

"YOU ARE NOT TO ASK WHY! YOU ARE TO REPENT, BITCH!" Christ grabbed Lucifer by the throat, shaking him like a rag doll, cursing like Chris Rock with Tourette's, before sitting out, spiking Lucifer right on the top of his head. In the olden days it was the Christening.

But now? Lucifer had been... Launched Into Hell. "FUCK HIM UP! FUCK HIM UP!" was the chant. "He has already been fucked up. His own lies. His own misspeak. His own truths. He was born fucked. Now, before you all...he DIES fucked." Lucifer, desperate to get up. Christ, bloodhthirsty and seeking vengeance.

And he hooked the arms verily, and he jumped up while keeping Lucifer hooked, and he smote him with a double-underhook piledriver. "OH~!"

And he smote him again.

And again.

Lucifer hadn't moved. Christ hadn't broken a sweat.

"I am the Hydra. NOW YOU'LL SEE A STAR." Dragon sleeper. Instapop. Lucifer's body jerked back and forth as Steve shook him like an unopened carton of orange juice before making sure the blasphemer had a final resting home.

INTO THE VOID.

Christ looked down, breathing heavily. He rubbed the scar on his right arm. With a mighty yell, he threw his head up and restruck his double-bird crucifix pose. "Antichrist Superstar" played again.

Steve suddenly picked up Lucifer, and hoisted him with ease over his head. A running start, and Steve launched him. This time, not Into Hell, but into the fourth row.

Now he could leave center stage, appeased.

And when Lucifer was suffering, he'd know Steve had betrayed him.

Gacy and Oswald, Joshua Michael and Noah Riley, waltzed through the dungeon of malice. Gacy's mind warped with different thoughts that only a person who didn't believe in a God would think. Oswald's on the other hand was quite peaceful. Funny thing is, it always was. He never succumbed to torchered screams bellowing between his ears. Never experienced complete lack of control inflicted by a tattered childhood. Most importantly, he never showed pity for another man. His soul was basically ... pure.

A tech pointed the duo in the direction of Campbell's office. Unbeknownst to any naked eye, their blood pressure had not risen. No sweat trickled from their brows. It was as if they had been taking a walk to the grocery store. This trip would be just like that actually ... if you consider bleeding a man to death like a visit to the market.

They had arrived at ground zero. These men stood less then three feet away from the gates of hell. Rather then knocking on the door immediately, they chose to gaze into its fiery blaze. Collecting the evil righteousness that would lie within. They were ready to confront death. Until it spoke to them.

"Gacy?"

Both men's breath stopped as the voice of Satan himself tingled their necks. They wanted to flea the inevitable force that awaited them, yet at the same time, wanted nothing more then to turn to him with open arms. The decision was made by both mortals, and they turned to see.

Jimmy Cox, Asylum Fighting Employee. Fully clad in backstage nobody attire, the eccentric staff member looked as worried as any LIVE television porveyor would. Fall of Adam was dissapointed and relieved at the same time. Before either could say a word, Jimmy finished.

"You better change, your match is in less then 30 minutes."

What the hell? Who is this little shit, and what does he mean, match?

"What match?" Gacy asked in a very confused tone.

"With Sebastian Thompson, Campbell booked it."

They couldn't believe their ears. Neither man even thought they were still employed by the company, much less still on the active roster. Before a word could escape Gacy's mouth, the smaller man left swiftly.

"Who the hell is Thompson?"

So, Campbell was a step ahead of them, wasn't he? Did Campbell know they were gonna be there tonight, or does he just book people randomly on the roster? Either way, Gacy was in attendance, and had his first singles match in a half hour.

All other problems aside, it was time to see if Gacy could hold his own in singles competition.

Why wasn't Oswald booked?

“Who gave you this?”

Joe looked up from the paper into the guy’s eyes.

“It was sent to me just this last week.”

Joe had just got his company back not even 2 months ago, he was still trying to get everything straighten and now this had to happen? This of all things? Joe thought that he had seen the last of this fuck. Joe threw his head into his arms, he ran his hands through his hair not believing his own eyes.

He looked at the paper again and then looked at the person again.

“Who sent you this again?”

Joe asked hoping he wouldn’t hear the answer he heard earlier.

“You did sir.”

Joe examined the date that the letter was written.

”January 19th, 2003”

Joe looked up as his eyes grew bigger, he said to himself.

“Chris Universal! It all makes sense now, the fucking yank knew that I would beat him for my own company back and in returned signed someone he knew I hated and wanted to have no part of this company FUCK!”

Ty Hughes.

And fuck me did he look a state.

His back was entirely covered in bandage, with marks where his blood had broken free of the stitches. Why he hadn’t worn any protection in the match was as baffling to the outside world as how much excess skin the fabulous moolah has on her face alone. Ty knew. He had to face The Freak as himself, nothing superficial. He wanted the pain. He needed the pain. It was his punishment for letting his family get dragged into affairs they didn’t need to be a part of.

Ty got to the cell and pulled a microphone from his pocket, wincing as he did, adding stress to his shoulder, which had been torn apart by the barb wire cell.

“I… just did it.”

The crowd roared and started up another “Hughes” chant. Ty stood there looking rather emotionless. No smirk on his face, no arm raised in the air, no gaze into the crowd. He stood there looking at the extreme title belt strapped round his waist. Was it really worth what he’d been through?

“I beat The Freak, and don’t think I’ve forgotten about your little role in this Token… you’ll get yours… but not tonight.”

There was a noted groan of disappointment from the crowd, but to be honest Hughes couldn’t care in the slightest. They weren’t the ones who had their skins ripped from their bodies. They weren’t the ones who had had a family member stolen from them, tortured and brutalised. They’d done nothing but stand there and shout and clap their hands like a bunch of retarded walruses. Hughes looked out into the crowd once again, and as he did so he was sickened. The faceless mass started up yet another “Hughes” chant as he stood there and had done nothing. There faces so full of joy because of all that Ty had sacrificed for them, or at least that’s what they believed. In their hearts they honestly felt he was their champion, he’d battle the evil in their name, and he’d be the one left standing, because of their support.

What a crock of shit.

Hughes had gone through last months punishment simply so that he could try and get his family life back in order, and even that had failed miserably. He was angry, and at none in particular, it was just directed inwards. He hated what he’d become.

The “Hughes” chant died down as Ty raised the microphone to his lips, but he really didn’t have a clue what he was going to say next.

“Freak… I’ve got my eye on you boy. I know you think you can get away with murder in this place… but you can’t, and next time you cross a line… I’ll be on you so fast, you won’t know what hit you.”

The crowd roared in appreciation of their hero’s valiant words, as he hurled the microphone into the crowd in disgust and marched backstage. The crowd were more pumped up than ever. Hughes? He felt like he was gonna vomit if he spent one more second out there.

Sebastian Thompson Vs Gacy

Bouncing in on his feet, Sebastian charged in with a right to the jaw, and a left to the body. He grabbed hold of Gacy’s arm and prepared for an Irish whip and.. Nothing. The powerful Gacy just stood there, Sebastian tried to send Gacy across the ring again, but his attempts were once again found futile. Gacy reached and grabbed a handful of Sebastian’s head and slammed him face first into the cage mesh!

With another grasp of Sebastian’s brunette hair, Gacy had him back to his feet, and he had a rear grapple. He began to lift Sebastian off his feet, but the former Smilthy’s fighter viciously sent his head backwards into Gacy’s nose, causing the big man’s eyes to water and causing him to drop Sebastian to the ring mat.

Sebastian over to the ring side was demanded a chair be thrown in, and it came, and not long into his career move, he was going to use a maneuver his opponent of the past used against him. Gacy was back in fighting condition, and he stalked towards Sebastian, Thompson began to charge and finally he lifted off raising the chair in the air… and SMACK!

The chair shot was so vicious, it left the chair on the head of Gacy, Sebastian stood their admiring his handiwork, but then noticed something, Gacy was still standing. “What the fuck?” While still adorning the chair on his forehead Gacy charged forward and leveled Sebastian with a clothesline! Reaching up the man born as Joshua Michael, removed the chair from his head, and grasped the chair tightly, as he walked towards his downed opponent…

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

The Phoenix tattoo that adorned, Sebastian Thompson’s back was red as the mythical bird itself as he cringed in pain. Gacy held the chair waiting as Sebastian began to fight his way to his feet, and while he kneeled, Gacy swung the chair down.. But it missed as Sebastian rolled out of the way, over to the cage mesh, where he pulled himself back to his feet. Gacy threw the chair across the ring, and watched Thompson struggle to a stand without the crutch of the cage wall.

Gacy charged forward at Sebastian, but the smaller fighter rolled right out of the way, he stopped with his arms hanging over the rim as he fought to catch his breath. Bad move.. Gacy reached and grabbed Sebastian by the head, turned him around and nailed him with a vicious Fisherman’s Buster! Gacy got right back up after the maneuver, and went to bring Sebastian up with him but the ref interjected and began his count.. 1.. 2.. 3... 4...

Sebastian was up on his feet. And he simply shook his head at Gacy, the crowd was showing emotion, but it wasn’t supporting the newcomer, instead they were chanting for the bigger man to kill Sebastian. Somehow the hate motivated Sebastian, double punch to the midsection of Gacy, and he bounced back before he could be grabbed onto. Even though he was slowed down a little by the hits to the head, Sebastian was still faster than the bigger Gacy. Gacy charged forward but was sent down with a dropkick to the knee cap! Sebastian had him down, but he had no idea what to do next.

Sebastian walked over and grabbed onto the bent chair, and started to slowly pull himself up to the Asylum rim, but by the time he was up top, Gacy was up as well. He flew in the air like a bird, but he crashed as Gacy added to his momentum and threw him overhead falling.. Face first into the chair! Blood spewed from Sebastian’s mouth, but he still fought to his feet, only to receive a knee to the back of the head.. Sending his face back down into the chair! The count was initiated again.. 1... 2... 3... 4... 5... 6... 7...

Sebastian wasn’t gone yet. He grabbed the chair again, but instead of using it against Gacy, in a fit of anger he threw it into the crowd. “Fucking weapons!” he yelled. Blood spewed from his mouth like molten lava from a volcano, but he wasn’t prepared to give it up. Sebastian had something to prove. But as he got back to his feet the crowd booed instead of supporting his toughness. Sebastian charged up towards and leapt but the question is, did he even know what he was planning to do? The answer was no, as Gacy sent him back down with a violent uppercut!

POW!

Sebastian’s head rebounded off the mat, only to thud off of it another three times. In a game of dice, his eyes would be snake eyes as they stared straight up towards the ceiling, pupils as large as saucers. Another count ensued… 1... 2... 3... 4... 5... 6.. But Sebastian got up again, he immediately placed his right hand on his injured jaw, and his left hand was placed up to sort of tell Gacy to slow down.

Gacy charged to him, and dizzily Sebastian dodged him, stumbling around the bigger man, he sent a clothesline to the back of Gacy’s knee , but the big man avoided it. Sebastian got back to his feet, but was sent back down with a boot to the chin. Gacy had a tight grasp of Sebastian’s pants and threw the man more than halfway across the Asylum, almost causing Thompson to fall down to the ringside!

There sat the former Smilthy’s fighter hanging out to dry, more than half way out of the ring. Gacy walked from behind and grabbed onto him and yanked him back into the ring. He turned Sebastian around and went to grab him for the T-Bone suplex, but he got a harsh boot down in the nether regions of Gacyland causing the big man to double over. Gacy got a hold of him and nailed a violent DDT! Sebastian stumbled back to this feet, and a count ensued.. 1.. 2.. 3... And the big man was back up. As he was rising back to his feet, Sebastian was preparing his finisher “Cinders,” a 360 Elbow Smash, but as he turned and jumped, Gacy moved out the way, and then locked the T-Bone suplex..

CRASH!

Sebastian was lying upside down, and folded like a the trailers that are annually crunched in Tornado Alley. The count began again 1.. 2.. 3.. 4.. 5.. 6.. 7.. 8.. 9.. 10? No ten! Once against Sebastian was up, this time his feet were like jelly as he could barely hold himself up. But nothing would stop him as he charged forward to Gacy, right into a hip-toss, but Sebastian hovered over landing on his feet behind Gacy, rear grapple, he tried a German suplex but he wasn’t strong enough, he charged forward and rammed Gacy’s midsection into the cage rim. He flipped Gacy around, and had a grasp of his arm, and tried for another Irish Whip, but it was blocked, so he turned to a short arm clothesline.. It was side stepped by Gacy who gripped him up and nailed him with a spinning spine buster!

1.. 2... 3... 4... 5... 6... 7... 8... 9... And once again Sebastian stood on his feet looking into the imposing Gacy’s eyes. In his second fight, it seemed that Sebastian didn’t have as much of a grasp of the ring technique as he thought he did, in Smilthy’s he overpowered people, but here he was just a run-of-the mill guy. It was almost depressing, but the one thing he still had was his toughness. He stumbled while throwing an onslaught of wild punches at Gacy’s direction, but none of them came close to connecting, Gacy finally reached up with both hands and..

XIII!

Double palm thrust to Sebastian’s temples, and the new fighter’s body collapsed to the mat, the count began again.. 1... 2... 3... 4... 5... 6... 7... 8... 9... Sebastian was on his knees, but soon after collapsed… 10! The match was over, Gacy’s first match since his return to the Asylum was a success. “King of Kill 33” played again over the PA system as he exited the ring, leaving another man in one hell of a hole, Sebastian knew now he had a long way to go before he had a chance of being a legitimate threat in the Asylum.

There was that voice again that John had grown to listening to. John stood in front of Joe’s desk repeating those words to himself over and over again. Joe sat at his desk looking at the contract, how could this be? Joe didn’t remember writing a contract out, especially to him

“Who wrote this?”

Joe asked.

“You did sir.”

Replied John.

Joe cuffed his hands and threw his head into his hands, he was tired and didn’t want to deal with this, but he knew he had to and he knew that he had to think of a expert plan. Joe also knew that he wouldn’t be able to get rid of John anytime soon seeing how he was following him for the past 6 years or so.

“John, do you consider me a friend?”

Asked Campbell with a smirk on his face.

”No Campbell is a foe, not a friend!”

The voice was loud and violent in John’s head this time.

“Joe is to a friend, not a foe, he’s my friend!”

Joe looked at John with a weird look on his face not knowing what to do. John had lost his mind a long time ago, he had lost the battle against the voice a long time ago and now he’s just a sitting duck waiting for the hunter to start hunting. Little did John know, Joe was the hunter.

“Yes, I consider you a friend Joe.”

“Ok good, now when my friends need a favor done, I normally do it for them, can you do me a favor John?”

“Sure.”

”Grate, you see there’s this fighter named Tapestry that’s really been growing on my nerves, I need you to take care of her in a extreme rules match tonight.”

“Tonight?!?”

“Yes tonight.”

John’s eyes lit up with joy he couldn’t believe it, finally his chance for stardom was finally happening.

”Her? HER?! Your going to fight a HER?!?!?”

John shook his head trying to disregard the voice. Before John exploded in Campbell’s office, Campbell dismissed John as he didn’t want to see him anymore. Joe reclined back in his chair and started to laugh.

“This is going to be great.”

The fans all united in cheering wildly, screaming frenziedly as the music hit. Then, the cheers reached an absolute peak as the man himself stepped through the curtains with his title slung over his shoulder. He was trussed from head to toe in bandages and plasters, his shades perched on his nose underneath a massive head-balm. But this man was indestructible. He’d proven that last night.

This man was Ty Hughes.

He raised a fist into the air, gripping his red leather Extreme Title between his fingers. The fans roared for him, this would be his second time out of the curtains tonight, the whole arena amass of cheers. The audio was fucking up and the commentators were drowned out in the ovation… but the question was, what did he really have to say?

He strolled down the ramp, smiling at his supportive legions and even shaking hands with a few fans uncharacteristically. One week ago, he had faced one of the biggest adversaries his career had faced him with… and succeeded. He had beaten The Freak in the gruesome, bloody Barbed Wire Cell match, and even though it required the help of The Freak’s ex-ally Token Weed - he had kept his promise. He had rescued Louise from The Freak’s clutches.

Tyler climbed up the ring steps slowly, making sure to milk the fans of their deafening reaction. He stepped over the rim and once more thrust the title that only weeks ago was his bane, was his prized possession, into the air. His smile wasn’t strained anymore; he really did enjoy this moment. He had won the war. He had taken his sister back, beaten The Freak, and proven Campbell wrong, all in one night.

Now, he had bragging rights.

“HUGHES!”
“HUGHES!”
“HUGHES!”
“HUGHES!”
“HUGHES!”
“HUGHES!”
“HUGHES!”

The fans chanted his name, and he leaned back against the cage. His title was strapped back around his bandaged waist, and his shades were slipped into his pocket, revealing two black eyes. He may have paid the price for his win, but it was well worth it. He raised the microphone, and shushed the fans…

“Well look who won World War Three. Token tried to fuck with me. The Freak tried to fuck with me. They tried to screw with my head, they took my sister… they tried to take my title, and they tried to take my mind. But when you fuck with Ty Hughes, HE fucks with YOU.”

Cheers~!

“I’m declaring this battle over now, Freak. This war has come to an end. I won’t bother you, and you won’t fucking bother me. Understood? Oh, and if you need any reason to leave me the fuck alone… here’s a three-hundred and sixteen pound one, you useless piece of shit. I’d like to introduce my new partner, my new protector.

“ALEXANDER. VON. DeTHATT~!!”

DIFFERENT PROBLEM, SAME, SOLUUUTIIIIOOON~~!!!

The fans erupted, as the massive frame of DeThatt strolled out of the entranceway, clapping Hughes’s sentiments. The fans roared wildly, as DeThatt raised a microphone to his lips and echoed Hughes’s sentiments: “Correct. Team Campbell is corrupt and bears no attraction. I am a wholesome man, and I will not align myself with those fuckers. I hereby announce myself Ty Hughes’s new team partner, and protégé. And should The Freak come NEAR Hughes… I’ll tear him apart.”

CHEERS~!

Hughes nodded his head, as DeThatt raised his arms, milking the fans. As the pair welcomed in the reaction, The Show cut to a commercial break.

Cupped in his left arm was the 2003 Action! King of Submission trophy. All three feet of it. Behind them was the other member of Non-Verbal Communication, Bradley Duncan. There was a small rift between the friends, for all of a week or so, but after Max Danger was slightly humbled by Eddie Cheno at Bloody Valentine, they seemed to forget that it ever happened.

Wait... humbled? In regards to Max Danger? HA! That'll never happen. Anyhow, the trio entered the once-empty Asylum. The fans were booing the appearing of the Action! competitor, though there was a sense of likeness for 'The Silent One'. Just like everywhere the team went, the fans couldn't stand 'The Danger Man' and had great affection for Bradley. Strange.

They stood in the center of the steel-enclosed structure. Max had placed the trophy down and had gotten himself a microphone. He walked around for a moment, mulling over what he was going to say while he looked at his navy blue Nike shoes, well, they did compliment his Dallas Mavericks shoot-around shirt and warm-up pants. Finally he looked up and out at all the standing fans.

"You know, ever since by partner and I have arrived inside this hell-hole, not a single one of you have shown us the appreciation that we so greatly deserve. Time and time again I see you people give less-deserving competitors the respect that Bradley Duncan and I should have! Why is that?"

The fans booed. Max shook his head.

"Generally speaking, when one asks a question, you answer it. Booing doesn't answer the question in, um, question." Danger looks off to the left and then back. "Yeah. Anyway, I figure it's because we so overshadow the people who were here before us. You're scared that your favorites are going to be tossed by the wayside as NVC burn our way to the top."

The fans boo some more. They enjoyed that.

"You're not wrong. We will, soon, be atop the Asylum... the company, not the actual ring in which we compete, just figured I would need to clarify that. Anywho, we," he pointed to himself and Duncan, "deserve, NAY... um..." Danger whispers to Jessica, "What's another word for deserve?" She only shook her head. "So, yeah, deserve works. We deserve you're respect. You're admiration. You're... love."

Max looked over at his wife and Duncan and shrugged his shoulders. The fans just kept booing. Lack of anything better to do, one would suppose. But Max continued, he liked to talk apparently.

"We, us, NVC, were the last official PIW World Tag Team Champions. Do you know what that means? We were the best. The very best. We walked into that company and instantly became the team to beat. In our first tag team match we captured the titles. In the snap of the fingers, we were on top, and we remained that way until the placed closed up. We were just that good."

The fans booed heavily. Of course, Danger and Duncan didn't have the titles to show off anymore, what with losing them to Accidie in Action!. But that isn't important. 'The King of Submission' went on.

"All we want is the chance. The chance to prove to you all that, well, we are simply better. All we need is the one shot. Hell, Duncan beat the former team champs, by himself. AND beat, like, one of the guys who held the titles. Some guy named after a dairy product, I think. Dunno."

Duncan nodded, but Max wasn't paying attention. The fans just booed. Really, they need something better to do, don't you think? Perhaps some travel board games under their seats?

"A chance, that's all we ask. Because we can be better. We will be better! Just give us a damned chance! Come on! Bring someone out now! Any team! Send 'em out! We'll fight 'em, won't we Duncan! Won't we!"

Duncan just nodded. Danger's face was going red. Some people have those veins that show up, Max doesn't. But if he did, it would be ready to pop right about now.

"Come on down! Come on! We aren't going anywhere! Let's fight! Fight! COME ON!"

He was clearing going insane. Jessica had grabbed his arm and pulled the microphone down from his face. He kept shouting, of course. Finally the call was answered. "Dancing Queen" by Abba kicked up.

The crowd, whom under normal circumstances boo this music, cheered for the simple fact that it would shut the big mouth of 'The King of Submissions.'

Chino Hernandez, Jamal Wilson, and Frank Allen Greenberg (F.A.G), the San Francisco Connection, stood atop the Asylum's ramp. Jamal Wilson was wearing a neck brace after experiencing a particularly violent encounter in his wrestling fed, aWc, with Rune Winters. He appeared to be in bad shape.

The music stopped as F.A.G pulled a microphone out of his suit coat pocket.

"Max, Brad, Jess, you three have got to be the three biggest pussies in Asylum Fighting today," Frank began, to a raucous pop from the crowd. It wasn't the normal, timid F.A.G that we were used to seeing, this was one with a serious mean streak, perhaps due to the fact that his charges hadn't done much in the Asylum over the course of the past few weeks. "Right now, right here in front of these fans, I'm challenging Bradley and Max to face off with my boys tonight in that very cage."

Chino Hernandez smiled and waved his hand at Frank saying "Jou go white boy!" as Max Danger began to spit out obscenities in the middle of the cage. Max raised the microphone to his lips, before walking over to his 'King of Submissions' trophy and pointing towards it, showing the world, yet again, that he defeated three men in three grueling matches in one night to become king.

"YOU GOT IT!"

Another pop went throughout the crowd as "Dancing Queen" by Abba played over the PA system again and Jamal, Chino, and Frank went towards the locker room area as Max spoke to Jessica.

It was Joe Campbell, with his hair messed and a cigarette lodged between his lips. Smoke poured out of his nostrils, littering the air with his pale blue toxic smog. In front of him were two so-called men in arms, and members of his Team Campbell… his personal Asylum fuck-up squad.

Token Weed and The Freak.

Token started to say something, but Joe quickly cut him off, waving his cigarette in Token’s face and sneering.

“Shut it, not in the mood…”

“Don’t fucking talk to me like that…!” Token piped up, only to be silenced again.

“Okay, the way I see it, you two aren’t fond of eachother anymore. Token fucked up your mission, Brian, and for that he’s going to have to shake your hand. Now do it~!” Joe mused, taking another puff of his cigarette and downing a few gulps of Guinness. He looked at Token and squinted at him. “Are you wearing bandages under that shirt?”

“Yeah… because this FUCKER here almost skewed my guts out with a fucking machete!” Token roared, turning and aiming a fist at The Freak intimidatingly. The Freak replied by sending a hand out to clasp Token’s throat…

“Cease your ramblings you ingrate, and Joseph… I shall NOT shake hands with this man.” The Freak hissed, his expression unchanging.

“Well, fuck it. I can’t be arsed with the pair of you, in fact… I can’t be arsed with dealing with these Team Campbell squabbles, we are united and as united peoples, we should settle our differences in a decent manner. Sean, Brian… I offer you a match in the Fuckpit, it’s a specially designed cage I’ve been working on for months. I could do with a pair of guinea pigs… I mean; willing fighters, to test it out and as you two have disputes… how about you step into the cage at MIND GAMES.” Joe shouted, banging his hand on the desk in pride.

“Fuckpit? Like fuck am I…” Token began.

“Of course I shall face him and this time, Sean… our minor relationship shall finally find itself in permanent limbo. As will your soul after I tear your heart out and watch it pulsate in my palm…” The Freak smirked.

Joe interrupted.

“Ah, Brian… I’ve noticed that you’ve taken a disliking to that DeThatt character, and as he’s now decided to leave Team Campbell for no real or apparent reason, what would you think about taking him on later tonight on an Extreme match? You’re allowed to get rid of him in any way that you wish…” Before Joe could even finish, The Freak gave his reply.

“Yes, certainly. And watch the monitors Sean… I’m sure you’ll be interested in what happens out there; as this is an example…”

With that, The Freak left… leaving token to brood and ponder the ‘Fuckpit’, and Joe to down another Guinness and possibly do a few lines.

The door swung open and in the doorway stood a doctor. He had some sheets of paper in his hands, behind the doctor were Jamal's two best friends, Chino Hernandez and F.A.G. F.A.G didn't appear to be happy one bit.

"How is he, doc? I have a match for him to fight in tonight. Something that I set up, I don't want to be embarrassed now, okay?" Frank said in anger to the doctor as the doctor explained to Jamal what he was looking at in the MRI results.

"I'm afraid that Jamal will not be able to enter the cage tonight. It's too dangerous at the moment," the doctor said to Frank.

"GOD DAMMIT! How are we supposed to win this match?"

"Let me tell jou somethin', Frank, I don't need Jammy out t'ere tonigh', tonigh' I'm fixin' to fuck up some of these white boys like we was in Oz," Chino said confidently while playing with his ample sized stomach.

"We're so screwed..." Frank said as we faded away to another section of the Asylum's Show.

The fans booed as Tapestry walked onto the scene.

In her hand, she carried something… seemingly a black metal object, but the camera couldn’t make it out. She sneered at the camera, and spat on it, forcing the cameras to switch and get a side-on view of her standing next to Mike. Before anything could even be said, Tapestry took a pot shot at the first camera operator and knocked him flat on his arse. As he struggled to get back behind his camera, she made sure to land a boot to his head to keep him down.

“Um… you’re not going to pull any of that shit with me are you, because I’m not in the mood to get my face smashed in…” Mike began, but soon found that the microphone was snatched from him by the rather aggressive Tapestry. She gave the cameraman another kick, to a round of boos from the audience in attendance.

“If you watch your mouth, then maybe you shall escape with your face intact. One word wrong and you shall find that you are no longer capable of talking out of the correct side of your fucking face, you queer fuck. Now, as for the cameraman down there, yes. He offended me due to suffering from a rare syndrome that I like to call…

“Redneckitis. Look at that loser, he has so many stubble burns on his face one would think that he did not know how to operate a razor correctly. Seriously, if women can shave their legs without leaving a mark then surely a man can shave his primal point, his feature, his fucking FACE without making an ass of himself.”

The fans booed as Tapestry once more spit on the downed cameraman, and shoved Mike out of the way. She looked into the camera, and smiled. The fans in the arena began a ‘COCK-SUCK-ER!’ chant as Tapestry tapped a finger against the microphone.

“I am sorry you yokel fucks, did I offend you at all? Oh what a shame, maybe you can go home and cry to your giant mound-like wives about how a little Jap bitch called you names, because that is all that I am to you is it not? A little Japanese nothing girl with a Cali accent and a pretty face, that is it is it not?

“You do not see me for my fighting ability, you see me for my face. My beauty…”

The fans in the arena began laughing, and started an “UG-LY-SLUT” chant… but were ignored.

“Oh shut the fuck up losers, any one of you yank losers would kill yourselves for one night with me and you know it, which is precisely… why I invested in having this little toy custom-made…”

Tapestry raised the black object she was holding earlier to the camera. She then rested the microphone in one of the straps of her costume as she placed it on her face… and it became apparent.

It was a black mask, designed to obscure her features and all that could be seen of her, were her sparkling brown eyes.

“See, now you common losers may not see my beauty. You are not worthy of it. And as this mask is made of solid steel… now no man or woman may take my perfect looks from me!”

BOOS~!

“Haha! Boo all that you fucking like you semi-retarded, drunken cocksuckers. I am not interested. Tonight, Tapestry shall show you what it means to be a FIGHTER… minus, the pretty face.” With that, she winked at the camera through her mask, and hurled the microphone at Westwood… before walking off.

”Uh… ladies and gentlemen, Tapestry!” he said, uneasily, as she merged with the shadows in the distance.

The Kokomo Colossus was clearly disgruntled and snarled at the messenger as a result: “Mister Campbell this and Mister Campbell that. His fucking name is fucking Joe. Get it? Anyway, what is he so bothered about? Can’t it fucking wait? I’ve just got here.”

“Actually, he did say it was urgent.”

D’Alessandro glared at the official with a look of disgust written all over his face: “That was a rhetorical question. You weren’t meant to answer him you cunt. Look we don’t care if it’s Joe Campbell, George Bush or Tony Blair…”

Willis was confused: “Who?”

Michael hadn’t expected to explain it but he did anyway: “Tony Blair is the British leader John. Come on… you must know who he is?”

“Of course.”

Before the European could revert his attention back to what he had initially been saying the Indian native had another thing to say: “But who is George Bush?

The man responsible for multiple killings couldn’t believe that John, an actual American, didn’t even know who his own President was when the entire world knew: “Are you fucking about again? You don’t know who George Bush is?”

He shook his head: “No.”

Nevertheless, in spite of being shocked by the beast’s, well how shall I put this, sheer stupidity? That’ll do. Go on Michael: “What does Joe want?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t say. It was definitely important though.”

D’Alessandro looked at Willis, expecting some sort of answer but given the intelligence(or lack of it) one didn’t arrive: “Okay. Take us to our leader Mister Fucking Joseph Campbell.”

Without further ado, the baffled official escorted the dastardly duo of D’Alessandro and Willis to meet with the man many Britons would rather have as the Prime Minister…

Joe Campbell.

Tapestry Vs Elixir

He strolled down to little fanfare, only raising his arms into the air to garner a few cheers as he headed down to the cage. He was a scruffy man, a newbie in the Asylum… and he went by the name Elixir. The man named after a medicine hopped onto the first step of the Ring steps and rolled over the rim of the Asylum into the cage, athletically… before sliding along the canvas and awaiting his opponent.

Who was?

Sucker love is heaven sent…

The fans reacted with ferocious boos and the off item of garbage hurled at the entranceway, as Tapestry appeared at the top of the ramp with her black, steel mask tied onto her face tightly and a metal baton clasped in her hand. She raised her arms into the air…

You pucker up, our passion spent…

She began to make her way, slowly, to the cage, various junk food wrappers fluttering in the air around her. She was sneering through that steel, shiny mask… even if you couldn’t see it, it was obvious. She twirled the baton like it was an extension of her being as she mounted the first ring step.

My heart’s a tart, your body’s rent…

Tapestry swung her leg over the rim of the cage, and raised her arm into the air. She found that soon after, a can of coke came smashing down on her shoulder, but she ignored it and began to size up Elixir.

The bell rang.

Elixir immediately went on the offensive, attempting to take down Tapestry by her legs; however Tapestry was too quick and slammed her baton down into the centre of Elixir’s spine. Elix stumbled forwards, allowing Tapestry to swing her boot upwards and knock the small male fighter backwards with a solid kick. She then followed up by swinging her baton outwards, connecting with Elixir’s face… and popping his nose. Already blood was drawn.

Tapestry then dropped the baton, and raised a single knee into the air, her arms outstretched in perfect balance. The fans had seen this stance before and knew what came of it… Elixir got to his feet, and was promptly knocked flat on his backside again as Tapestry unleashed a deadly Hook Kick that could well have dislocated Elixir’s jaw.

The referee made the mandatory count, as Tapestry told the fans where to stick it.

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

…

Elixir kipped back up heroically and before Tapestry could even react, he slammed her down with a vicious Lariat! Tapestry flipped onto her face with sheer impact as Elixir hurtled into her, before getting a firm grasp of her hair and yanking her to her feet. Tapestry attempted to retaliate with a powerful upwards chop, but elixir took the blow on his strong jaw and swung Tapestry by her hair, before delivering a knee into her chest and a kick to her shoulder. He was making sure to avoid that steel mask, showing that he was indeed an intelligent fighter.

Elixir continued his assault further by locking his thick arms around Tapestry’s head and swinging her, before knocking her head into the canvas with a brutal Spinning DDT that surely knocked her out for several seconds at least… not that anyone would notice, as Elixir brought her back to her feet immediately and followed up with a jab to the sternum. Tapestry coughed from under her mask as Elixir grappled her, attempting to lift her up in a gutwrench and…

Failing, as Tapestry simply flipped over his shoulder and span around, arcing her leg into a powerful kick to Elixir’s back. Elixir dropped to his knees, allowing Tapestry to turn with such speed that some fans didn’t even notice that she’s moved her leg… and Buzzsaw kicked him in the ear. Elixir wailed as his temple was slammed viciously by Tapestry’s boot a further three times…

Then, she ran into him and once again proved her skill by flipping over him in a DOUBLE somersault, and connected with both feet to Elixir’s already battered face.

The fans booed Tapestry and the trash came pouring into the cage again, but she replied with a stern “SHUT THE FUCK UP~!” and a middle finger, as the referee counted…

Or did he?

Elixir, showing that one of his traits was in fact fast recovery, hopped to his feet and scooped Tapestry up in his arms, turning her and drilling her stomach-first across the rim of the Asylum. Not releasing her grip, he then turned and planted her on her head with a piledriver, to the cheers of the Asylum faithful.

The referee started to count, as Elixir milked the fans…

1!
2!
3!
4!
5!
6!
7!
8…

But Tapestry backward rolled onto her feet and resumed her usual kicking stance. Elixir sneered, then smirked, then charged into her… Tapestry shot out a leg but he was fast enough to catch it, and use her leg to throw her onto his shoulders in a Powerbomb position.

As John Dark paraded around the cage with Tapestry on his shoulders, it became apparent that Tapestry had a plan… she flipped up her mask so that her mouth was exposed, and…

FWOOSH

Sprayed black mist all over Elixir’s face from her lips. She lowered her mask again as Elixir toppled, falling backwards with Tapestry on his shoulders. He landed with her straddling his neck, which she quickly rolled over and hooked his arm up for a Triangle Choke…

But Elixir wouldn’t tap, despite being absolutely unable to see. He fought valiantly, and struggled to release himself from the hold as if it was his last hope, his only chance of succeeding in the Asylum…

He dragged himself to his feet and eventually Tapestry was forced to release him. She quickly followed suit though, and struck Elixir in the stomach with a kick and

BLOCKED

Elixir caught the foot, and swung Tapestry around by it… but Tapestry simply rebounded with a boot to Elixir’s face that drew further blood from his mouth. She followed up swiftly by hammering a double-open palm strike into Elixir’s chest, sending him sprawling against the cage… then as he tried to recover…

Step on his thigh

Step on his shoulder

KICK TO THE FACE

Invictus Fier Capedorium III was struck on the hapless Elixir. But, it wasn’t over. As Tapestry fell from the move, her finisher… she locked her legs around Elixir’s neck once more and drove him into the mat. To a chorus of hate from the fans, she once again hooked the newbie’s arm and locked on the Triangle Choke and Armbar. Realizing that Elixir was out cold, the referee called for the bell.

“Every Me, Every You” cued up again as Tapestry got to her feet, leaning against the cage and tapping her mask to make sure it was in place. The chants and trash rained down as her arm was held high into the air to symbolize her victory…

Surely the start of a winning streak for the newfound Callous Bitch.

The eager Italian interrupted: “Anyway… what are we here for? We’ve just arrived from a long drive and you’re dragging us in here before we can even settle in our dump of a dressing room.”

“Hey. When you’re somebody son, come back and then whinge. What’s your name again? Actually, don’t even go there. I can’t even pronounce it, which means it’s not worth knowing. The only thing I want to know is if everything went according to plan. And don’t fuck about. Yes or no?”

They looked at each other and that didn’t please the impatient chief: “Are you fucking thick or something? Senile perhaps? What fucking happened?”

Michael puts his hands on the desk and looked down at Campbell while Willis with his arms folded merely looked on: “I’m sick of you. You English are all arrogant wankers. Don’t respect anything. But to answer your question…”

“About time too,” the Manchurian muttered.

“We did. All taken care of.”

The relaxed Campbell put his feet on the desk and leaned back in his chair: “Are you sure? Because if you haven’t, like I told you before Pasta Boy, I’ll knock all of your teeth out so that you’ll never be able to kiss your lover over here ever again you fucking queer.”

Once again, D’Alessandro was seething. However, he knew he couldn’t touch the conceited individual the fans loved to hate, well most of the time: “With all due respect, Mr. Campbell, it is you with the name of a queer and before you come back with your supposedly witty insults, let me inform you that I’ve had years of experience in this kind of thing.”

“So fuck?”

“Don’t interrupt me.”

“I just did.”

“Don’t.”

“I’m the fucking Boss. I’ll do what I bloody well want you greasy-haired Gaylord.”

As usual, he had to have the last word opposite the pairing of John and Michael, who following a string of insults, were no longer prepared to be subjected to abuse from their employer, who after complying with his obligatory slanging match with at least one member of the roster got on with another one of his typical traits…

Getting pissed.

And rest assured if D’Alessandro and Willis haven’t concurred with his commands and completed what should have been a straightforward task without the minimum of fuss then the pair will provide the Englishman with even more ammunition to get pissed… but in a different sense of course.

Joe had summoned Team Splink to his office. It was an urgent meeting, which explains why TMM and Slapnutz were running 15 minutes late. It wasn’t down to the fact they had been held up. Oh no, Slapnutz was famous so he was allowed to be fashionably late. Actually, they had stopped to get a beer. Unfortunately, they got their beers in a local tavern and decided to play a game of pool too. TMM won.

Anyway, 15 minutes late, Splink entered the office of Joe Campbell. Joe wasn’t all smiles, but then what’s new? Joe didn’t even look at the face of TMM, he sighed and shook his head in disgust before handing him a sheet of paper.

“Look, you idiots, this is the cost to the Asylum of your idiotic escapades. According to some vox pops, people don’t care about your single. Add to that, you’ve alienated the gypsy community and we have a massive financial disaster on our hands,” Campbell moaned.

TMM scanned the document in his hands before crumpling it up and throwing it at the face of his Scottish partner. He strode up to the desk of Campbell and sat down, ensuring he caught the gaze of his employer.

“Joe, Joe, Joe, Joe…Joe. Don’t worry about the costs. I can break them down for you. There is lots of money going on the pressing of the singles. There is lots of money going on personnel. There’s even more money going on the catering bill,” TMM began, before he was cut off by Campbell.

“But why have you spent over $1,000,000 on promotion? That bandstand didn’t cost anywhere near that amount and those gypos were definitely not being paid anything.”

“Oh yeah, that. Well, promotion consists of touring the country with Slapnutz and also making a music video.”

TMM was lying. He had managed to pocket most of that and buy a pool table for the S-Express. He also bought a round in for him and Splink at the pub last week. It wasn’t a normal round. Far from it, this round cost $4,560.66. They got drunk. Very drunk. He had even thought about buying tickets for a wrestling show, but then he realised it was wrestling and passed on that idea.

“Look, you festering balls of shite. I want to see a return on my investment. I want to see that music video played on the next show. I want this single to get to number one. Most importantly, I want you two fucks to get out of my office. Bastards.”

TMM looked shocked. He hadn’t thought about making a real music video. Hell, he was just going to run clips of Button Moon and throw in some clips of them eating up gypos. He was fucked. Slapnutz, on the other hand, didn’t have anything to worry about. Well, not until they had left the office and TMM started ordering him around.

“Right, Slutnutz, round up the gypsies onto the bus and meet me at the local pond. Oh yeah, if you could find some homeless guys on the way, that would be a help too. We have to keep costs low.”

“Why do the Chilli Peppers get a cool, expensive video and I have to spend my time with people that don’t wash?” Slapnutz asked.

TMM looked hesitant to answer. How do you tell your client that you had spent over $900,000 without pissing him off?

“Because you get to beat them up,” TMM answered.

This cheered the Scotsman up and he set off looking for the gypos that generally hung around with Splink. Don’t get me wrong, Splink didn’t want them to hang about with them. They just seemed to linger like a bad smell.

Gypos: Look out, look out; there’s Tinkers about.

Out walked a broken man.

No seriously, he’s actually broken… broken noise, bruised ribs, split lip… complete with a gimp in his right leg that a would make a 70’s Pimp jealous.

Garvin forced a smile on his face as he reached the ring, a microphone already in hand so to get right to the point. He limped up the steps and stepped in just as the Foo Fighters’ song began to fade to silence.

“Well, Bloody Valentine was an interesting experience to say the least.”

He ruffled the oversized collar on his notoriously cheap suits, the ones you find stuffed away in the ‘for-free’ box at a Salvation Army store because not even the drunken hobos will wear it. Jeff though had an ‘exotic’ taste in clothing. One mans trash was another Original’s treasure.

“Heck, I will tell you people about the Bloody Valentine event from a backstage perspective so I can show you all just how awful the Asylum truly is… I was even lucky enough to have been given a video camera from a nice old lady who wanted to help my cause.

“Just like I said in Action! this past week, Bobbay’ roll the film!”

As Garvin pointed up to the Asylum’s video wall, the screen lit up.

Footage…

Cut To:

A parking lot…

“Hey you old bag, gimme’ the damn camcorder or I’ll bust your skull!”

For some reason, there is a ninety four year old woman lying on the ground and Jeff is running away in the opposite direction.

“HAHA! Stupid old bitch!”

Cut To:

A Hallway…

“Here we are folks, the Asylum backstage!”

From now on, all we see is what Jeff sees… He points the camera in various directions, looking for something.

“And already I spot something! Look at this… THIS is suppose to be catering, this poor excuse for a Bean Dip is what they want to feed a world class athlete like moi?”

A hand reaches out and grabs the bean dip.

“Look at those calories! I’m a professional wrestler for Christ’s sake, not some fat Texan! I can’t be eating this stuff!”

Garvin drops the bean dip in the trash.

“Disposing of the evidence, a real important asset when backstage at an Asylum show. That Token Feed or whatever he calls himself will tell you that, god only knows how many dead bodies that guy has buried in his back yard. Moving on…”

Cut To:

A vending machine…

“I thought I was going to be able to lay of Joe’s lack of preparation food-wise but I just HAD to show you all this…”

Garvin scans the various choices with the camera.

“I see Coca Cola, I see something called Surge, I see fuckin’ tomato juice… but where the hell is Dr. Pepper? Believe me, folks, I’ll be writing a letter of complaint to Joe himself about that one.”

Cut To:

Some chick’s ass?

“Here I am observing the scenery in the Asylum backstage.”

Jeff gave a chuckle.

“As you can plainly see, this looks to be a prostitute that Joe ordered up for the night… How do I know this? Just look at how far apart the ass cheeks are; you just KNOW she’s been up to something!

“Also, look no further than those tight, tight pants… Origin? Most likely an African-American Ghetto. All this chick’s missing is some ‘Bling’ and we could slap a price tag on her and drop near a corner store!”

The girl looks up angrily at Jeff, glaring into the camera. For some reason, this ‘prostitute’ was wearing a name tag that said she was from the New York Times.

Strange.

“WHAT was that!” The girl screams, walking closer and closer.

“Oh shit! An Asylum whore on the loose! It is important not to let them sink there teeth into you as they are most likely carrying a variety of STDs.”

“Oh, you’re FUCKING dead!”

The camera spins around and begins bouncing up and down as Jeff ran down the hallway.

Cut To:

Teeth marks…

“Well, so far I have done away with fattening bean dip, uncovered the truth about the Asylum soda machines, and been attacked by a rabid female… Not a good start, Joe, not a good start.”

Cut To:

A locker room…

The female locker room.

“Welcome back and here I am in the Women’s dressing room… This is where the toothless crack-monkies known as ‘female fighters’ like to put on their trashy leather costumes and spikes and shit. We will more than likely come across a dildo or two, possibly some illegal substances…

“You never can tell really, not when you get to this level of trailer trash-dom; I’m talking below that of those idiots in the Jack Ass videos. No, we are in a whole different ball park.”

Garvin walks through the numerous piles of clothing and bras and panties, holding his breath the whole way through. He heads to the bathroom and looks in the sink...

Hair… So much hair.

Oh no, it Jeff’s cheesy Crocodile hunter voice!

“CRIKEY! I’m done with this part of my experiment- the girls here are just too strange for me.”

Garvin turns the camera to the exit, ready to leave, when Tapestry walks in.

“OH SHITE! This is no time for my fake Australian accent, one of the ‘Breeders’ has come home and she looks, what’s the word? Menstruated! HIDE!”

Garvin jumps and slides under one of the bathroom stalls with cat like reflexes.

Tapestry walks in and Garvin slyly points the camera up to her face.

Sniff. Sniff.

“I smell…” Tapestry squints, “MAN!”

Suddenly, she turns and opens the door to the stall containing the ‘Low Life Hunter’ Jeff Garvin.

“OH SHITE! THE BEAST HAS CORNERED MA’!”

Scene goes black.

Cut To:

Garvin’s bloody nose…

“As I have proved, the Asylum backstage is an awful place, filled with awful people. The one thing this shit hole isn’t filled with is my FUCKING DR. PEPPERS!”

Cut To:

A bum…

Oh wait just a second; that’s one of the Asylum right crew!

Garvin peered around the corner, watching the man take a nap on top of some moving equipment.

“Ssssssssshhhh… The low-life is asleep, we must move in!”

Garvin creeps in on his heels and lunges at the man! The ring crew worker’s eyes fly open, fearing for his life!

“BOY CRIKEY! HE’S A WILD ONE!”

“WHAT THE FUCKING HELL!?” The man cried out as he madly threw punches at Jeff’s face.

SMACK!

SMACK!

THWACK!

“Ow! My fuckin’ nose!”

Garvin falls off and crawls away.

Cut To:

Garvin, again.

“Note to Self: No more using the Crocodile Hunter voice, it just seems to piss the low-lives off more.”

Cut To:

Garvin limping his way towards Joe Cambell’s office.

“The final fuckin’ place on my list… The belly of the beast…”

Suddenly we hear a long string of curse words and two gunshots.

Garvin stops.

“Fuck it, I’m done.”

End of Footage…

Back in the Asylum, Jeff Garvin stood shaking his head in disgust.

“That is the Asylum that none of you ever get to see; the insane women, the poverty, the hookers, and disgruntled crew members… That is the Asylum at it’s core- the lowest of the low.”

Jeff paused, waiting for the crowd to agree with him… or possibly ‘Boo’ him as they always seemed to do. But for some reason, they were proud of the Asylum being that way.

They were… cheering.

“…What are you morons doing!” screamed Garvin. “Don’t you see! You should all boy-cot the Asylum!”

This just prompted more cheering.

“FINE! You fuckers want to be ‘dirty low-lifes’ just like Joe and his band of idiots, than go ahead! Be dirty! BE SCUM!”

The crowd then coined the newest chant…

“WE-R-DIRTY!”

Clap-Clap! Clap-Clap-Clap!

“WE-R-DIRTY!”

Clap-Clap! Clap-Clap-Clap!

Garvin stood shocked and a bit pissed off, “You people… like that? You’re PROUD of that? You’re all stupider than I ever could have imagined!”

Boos.

“GARVIN SUCKS! GARVIN SUCKS!” Chanted the fans.

Jeff stamped his feet on the canvas.

“Garvin does not suck! YOU SUCK! I beat Keegan at Bloody Valentine, that proves just how good I am! I beat Keegan and I made him fucking tap!

"Then again, beating Keegan isn't a terribly big accomplishment. I mean, all he does is talk gibberish and occasionally rapes a goat.

“That’s probably what he’s doing right now in his hospital bed, calling up transportation companies to have a husky old sheep delivered to his room!”

More boos.

“So that’s how it’s going to be? I whoop Keegan and show you all just how GIFTED I am, yet I still get booed? You people are so dumb it’s pathetic! In fact, I’m through giving you all the pleasure of listening to my inspirational words.

“Hit my music. I’m out of here.”

Garvin exited the Asylum cage as “All My Life” once again played over the arena sound system.

NVC Vs Chino Hernandez
(Handicap Match)

Well, he's 'The King of Submission' now, so it won't be happening. Or so he was telling Jessica before the bout. He was continuing to tell his wife that very thing as they walked towards the Asylum for their fight. "Born of a Broken Man", as performed by Rage Against The Machine, blarred overhead, as the fans booed. There they go again, always thinking negatively.

Bradley Duncan took up the duties to carry Danger's trophy this go around. 'The Danger Man' was decked out in some battle-ready gear. If you call his Dallas Mavericks gear battle-ready. He left his wife on the outside, giving her a kiss before he entered. Duncan placed the trophy on the ground next to her and joined his partner inside the steel-surrounded ring. NVC awaited their opponent.

Wasn't long before Chino Hernandez was walking out to Abba's "Dancing Queen". He was joined by his injury-plagued partner Jamal Wilson and their manager, Frank Allen Greenberg. Chino charged the Asylum, screaming, "AAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!" Danger and Duncan looked at each other and Max smirked. Bradley turned and took off to give Chino a warm greeting, in the form of a Yazuka kick right to the mush!

Hernandez went down, but got back up quickly. He took a swing at 'The Silent One', but had it blocked. Duncan kneed 'Hot Stuff' in the stomach and then whipped him towards his partner. Danger drop toe holded(is that a word?). He quickly jumped to the head of Chino and locked in the guillotine choke. Chino used his size advantage to escape. Duncan was there and wrapped his arms around the waist of Hernandez.

Hernandez fired off several elbows, freeing himself of Bradley's grasp. He then put his boot in Duncan's stomach(not so much literally, just, like, against the skin), and then placed his head between his legs. Not the most pleasant of places to be, and thankfully Danger was there to leap off his partner's back and hit Chino with the Shining Wizard!

Chino stumbled backwards and did a backwards roll on the mat. He came to a stop against the mesh fencing, with his back to his own partner. Jamal was shouting encouragement to him, but Chino was a bit out of it. A knee to the fuckin' head tended to hurt a bit. Danger walked over and grabbed Chino's hand. Duncan was over quickly and grabbed ahold of the other one.

Together, NVC pulled their rather large opponent off his ass. The both delivered a hard knee into his gut, doubling him over. Duncan wrapped his arms around the big man's waist and hoisted him off the mat with all his might. 'The Danger Man' dropped to one knee, holding the other out. Duncan then dropped Chino down, driving his head into Danger's knee.

"OOOOOOOH!" went Jamal Wilson as he turned away. The crowd also reacted in a similiar fashion, only wihtout the turning away. They've seen some things in their time and this was nothing to them. Duncan reached down and grabbed Hernandez's head and started to pull him up. Bradley held his head and began to drive his knee viciously into his skull.

Wilson was cringing as he looked through the meshing at his partner's bloody face. Jessica, too, had turned away, but, really, who wants to see a fat man bleed to death? Duncan stopped his assault on Chino and backed away. 'The King of Submission' showed off his submission prowless by cockily kicking Chino in the side of the head. A little tap there, one more over here, and a bit more all over. Jamal was no longer watching.

Frank Allen Greenberg(that's funny, his initials spell "fag", huh, interesting) had had enough. He jumped up onto the side cage and was pulling himself over. Jessica was like, "oh, no you don't bitch" and grabbed his legs. Danger and Duncan watched for a moment, laughing, as Jessica tugged on his pants. Slowly(I would like to put some emphasis on the 'slow' portion of that word) Chino began to fight his way onto his feet.

He staggered up behind NVC, though he was breathing heavily and gave himself away. Duncan and Danger turned about, but was caught off guard by the fingers in the eyes. Fat fingers too, got the whole eye. Duncan and Danger were disoriented, allowing 'Hot Stuff' to slam the partners' heads together. Jamal had seen it and was jumping up and down. Okay, not good for him, was it? Idiot. Just got excited though.

Chino began slugging away at the smaller Danger, thinking it best to pick on the little guy, right? But F.A.G. had fought free of Jessica's grasp and had entered the Asylum. Duncan saw him and was going to cut him off. Not hurt him, but cut him off. But Hernandez had stopped hitting on Max and grabbed 'The Silent One'. He slapped Duncan in the face!

"Uh oh!" would be what Chino should have said. Instead he said "Let me tell jou somethin'", and it didn't exactly register with the DEAF-MUTE! In any event, Jessica had climbed into the Asylum, which caused Max to FREAK THE FUCK OUT! He followed up Duncan's Dangerous III roaring elbow to the face of Chino with one of his own to the back of his head. That would be the Dangerous III².

But he wasn't finished. Chino dropped down to his knees, virtually knocked out at that point, and Max Gokuraku-gatame, or straight-jacket submission. He was choking Hernandez out with his own arms, but of course he was out cold anyhow. Meanwhile, Jessica had dumped Frank out of the ring and was giving him what for. So, well, F.A.G. ran to Jamal, screaming back at 'The Wife of 'The King of Submissions''. Catchy, no?

The referee had no choice but to call the bout. Chino wasn't going to be able to go on any longer. NVC had triumphed... against one man. Still, though, a victory was a victory. Danger released Chino as "Born of a Broken Man" started to play again. 'The King of Submission' and 'The Silent One' exited the Asylum, winners. Danger had to calm down his wife, who was doing all kinds of verbal damage to Frank, which wasn't too nice.

After NVC had disappeared to the back, Jamal and Frank went to Chino's aid inside the Asylum. It wasn't over. Not by a long shot. And I mean LOOOOOOOOONG shot.

“Lads and lasses,” he said in his broad Geordie accent.

Sure enough, he now had the attention of everyone in the arena and they applauded the Englishman, who was ready to entertain them in this brief break: “I’m sorry I couldn’t make it tonight people.”

Lharn laughed: “We’re on tour. But we’d just like to dedicate this award for being the bonniest lads on the face of this planet to all of our bitches out there who make looking handsome every day of our lives so rewarding. It’s a hard job but someone’s got to do it.”

Carrahar continued: “It’s certainly not Jeff Garvin’s job is it? You can tell that he was the unwanted offspring produced by a hermaphrodite and a horse. Just look at those fucking gums man.”

The audience chuckled at Keegan’s less-than-flattering compliment for the Submission Champion, who he had succumbed to at Bloody Valentine: “Jeff, at least getting head off a goat is better than being a him-her with a prick and a clit.”

Huscroft intervened: “Keeg, I think Jeff’s being cheeky you know. He doesn’t know how to treat a lady.”

“I know that like Lharn but what do you mean?”

“Well fancy calling his Wife a goat!”

The majority of those in the arena had been humoured by The Real Deal’s remark but remarkably, or just because he had expected it, Special K managed to maintain a straight face and then come up with a quip of his own: “Aye, that’s right. Still. Julie Goat wasn’t the worst at giving head that I’ve ever had but Jeff wouldn’t know anything about that would he? I mean I know you might be a bit scared of those Bugs Bunny teeth Jeff, but she doesn’t bite down. Honest. Mind you, she wouldn’t be able to get her mouth around his member would she?”

“How’s that like Keeg?”

“Well let’s face it Lharn. When it comes to being big in the bedroom department, you can compare your cock to a country.”

Keegan’s comrade seemed a bit confused by this so The Yardstick explained the concept to everyone, who were in the same boat as Carrahar’s colleague: “Okay. It’s simple really. Comparing Keegan Carrahar to Jeff Garvin in terms of our tackles is like comparing America to Luxembourg in terms of size - I’m at least one hundred times bigger.”

It was a crude comment but they were so commonplace in this neck of the woods and the main thing was that it made people laugh out loud, particularly Lharn, until he composed himself and made an interesting analysis to say the least: “So Villam Ender would be like the U.S.S.R?”

“Eh? How did you figure that one out bonehead? I hope you’ve not been checking other blokes’ bratwursts out in the bogs young man.”

“No. I promised I wouldn’t do that again.”

“So howay then… what do you mean? How is our Asylum Champion’s unmentionable like Boris Yelsin’s billet?”

“Well it no longer exists!”

Once again, it was predictable but again it extracted a laugh at the expense of the most controversial and gifted athlete currently competing in the industry.

“That’s a good one bonny lad. It really is. Just like this other joke I heard last week: Keegan Carrahar tapped out to Jeff Garvin.”
Silence fell over the facility as the former two-time Fighting Zone franchise sighed prior to addressing his humbling at the expense of his newfound nemesis: “Aye. It’s a funny one. Not reckon?

“Jeff, we all know that there are only two ways you could make The Yardstick tap so let me tell you about them for future reference even though I’m sure you’ve already used them both. Number one… pay off a referee to screw me up the posterior good and proper. Number two… hire a patient at Stevie Wonder’s Opticians to rule the roost.

“What a fucking laugh rather like Jeff’s award-winning speech earlier following his victory in the ‘Julie Malone’ category for the best cheater. Aye. And that was rigged as well. But I’m not going to pass judgement on Wor Julie’s sexual prowess and promiscuity, which go hand-in-hand.

“Christ, you do a Boris Becker every time I come near you so it’s just a laugh that you would make me submit when I’ve fought against blokes that would give grizzly bears brown underwear. Wait, they’ve already got that but you know what I mean. Well you probably don’t Jeff since you’ve got an intellect that can relate to your penis in that it’s extremely small and doesn’t get anything at all.

“I think I’ve said enough. I’m sure the fans are getting a bit sick of my rant by now as I’m not telling them that they don’t already know. All I can do is apologise to them and say I’ll see their happy faces sometime in the future. Don’t know when like but I will some sunny day. That’s certain. But will Jeff, Juile Goat and the Submission Championship still be around at that time?

“I doubt it and I’ll tell you something else I doubt before I leave. That Jeff Garvin will accept the little challenge that I have in mind for him next week but him and his bitch will just have to wait for that. So tune in next week to the FWO if you want to be Borst to fuck. If not, I’ll see everyone - and Jeff Garvin - next week for a good night out. Tarah everyone.”

On that note, the faces of Carrahar and Huscroft disappeared from the massive screen but their words, particularly those courtesy of Keegan Carrahar, had probably found a permanent place inside the head of Jeff Garvin and Julie Malone.

By the sound of things, The Yardstick and The Real Deal had something original in mind for The Original himself.

Alexander Von DeThatt Vs The Freak
(Extreme Match)

Campbell had sent Alexander out here not to fight, but to be punished. Joe Campbell had booked this match, The Freak and Alexander Von DeThatt, to punish DeThatt. And Alexander knew it.

On the subject of The Freak…

The Bell Chimed.

“Faget” by Korn cued up, and The Freak appeared at the top of the ramp to mostly jeers. A few of the fans still cheered him, but after the week prior, it seemed The Freak was not the most popular man in the Asylum. The lights flickered red and black, shimmering crimson against the metal of the Asylum cage and the stage. The Freak raised his arms into the air as Oddball appeared behind him, carrying a series of weapons and accessories in a shopping cart. The Emasculator strolled down the ramp, his trenchcoat fluttering as he did so, and his face completely blank and expressionless.

DeThatt hammered his fists against the side of the cage in an effort to intimidate The Freak, but the Red Ripper had long since grown used to this routine and stepped over the rim of the cage coolly. He extended his arms to the fans, mocking them with the crucifix pose that signified Ty Hughes’s Barbed Wire hanging… and turned to DeThatt.

The bell rang.

At this point. The match had just started. The fans cheered for DeThatt, they booed The Freak, and they generally expected your average Asylum Kick-‘em-in, Drag-‘em-out battle. They expected it to be a normal fight. Just another midcard slugfest.

They wouldn’t know it yet, and they wouldn’t know for quite some time, how wrong they would be.

DeThatt made the first strike as The Freak removed his trenchcoat, charging into the Red Ripper and slamming him up against the cage. As The Freak attempted to release himself from DeThatt’s grasp, DeThatt shoulder rammed The Freak twice, driving his muscular arm into his sternum. The Ripper stumbled away, attempting to distance himself from DeThatt… only to be clubbed in the back of the head by a hard forearm from his massive opponent. Oddball cheered The Freak on, prompting him to turn around and attempt to regain the advantage… but DeThatt simply caught The Freak’s arm, and turned him upside down…

Before slamming him down on his head viciously, with a Tombstone Piledriver. The Freak’s neck twisted at a terrible angle as his head connected with the hard canvas, and he rolled away holding his head in pain and attempting to remove his coat. DeThatt followed up with a few stomps to The Freak’s neck and then dropped his massive elbow across the Red Ripper’s throat as he rolled over.

DeThatt pounded his chest frenziedly and roared out to the fans as The Freak hobbled to his feet, managing to whip off his coat and hurl it over the cage. The leather fluttered and landed in a pile of black on the outside, as The Freak turned to face Alexander in his boxing stance…

*THUD*

Only to find DeThatt’s fist grinded into his teeth and a second, powerful uppercut rocketing from the mat and slamming into The Freak’s jaw. The Freak flew into the air and slumped against the cage, his jaw seemingly dislodged and his mouth already trickling blood. The fans cheered feverishly as The Freak was being totally decimated before their eyes… DeThatt was once again proving himself an unstoppable force.

He dragged The Freak to his feet and hauled him into the air again by his throat, gagging the life out of him… his huge hands choking The Freak and crushing his windpipe between his fingers. The Freak gasped for air and attempted to kick Alexander as he hung from the mammoth’s hands, but he failed and Alexander squeezed harder as a punishment. With a gigantic hurl, he swung The Freak upside-down and head-first into the rim of the cage. The Emasculator hunched against the mesh once more, blood trickling from underneath the bandage on his forehead.

DeThatt grabbed The Freak by his costume, and yanked him up to his feet, snarling in his face…

“Come on, you sick fuck! You act like you’re so fucking big and powerful when you’re harassing little girls… ruining lives… well ruin mine!! Fucking try it!” Alexander spat in The Freak’s face, and then backhanded him to the mat. The Freak bounced from DeThatt’s fist and span, spiralling to the mat with a slap of his skin on the canvas. “Well, c’mon… get up. FIGHT me~!”

*Slap*

DeThatt’s palm clouted the back of The Freak’s head and knocked him back down, as he struggled to get to his feet. The Freak was almost totally and utterly trussed from head to toe in bandages, the lacerations he suffered from the Barbed Wire Knockout still evident all over his body and seeping blood through his white bandages. As The Freak managed to get up and lean against the cage, DeThatt charged into him and drove his shoulder into The Freak’s abdomen. He then wrapped his arms around The Freak’s waist, and swung him up into the air…

Overhead Belly to Belly suplex. The Freak flipped over and landed on his back, his spine slamming into the canvas and his impact causing the cage to shake violently. The Freak bounced from the floor and rolled, his fingers clutching the mesh and his teeth grating in pain…

“DO YOU WANT TO SEE ME KILL THIS FUCKER!!?” DeThatt roared, pounding his fists into his chest and screaming out into the fans. The fans cheered back mercilessly, calling for The Freak’s blood… and The Freak staggered to his feet, wiping the blood from his lip and sneering at DeThatt sinisterly.

Alexander charged forwards and headbutted The Freak forcefully in the face, causing the Emasculator to rock backwards over the railing… DeThatt then swung his fists wildly and connected to The Freak’s face with two gigantic punches. The fans cheered as DeThatt continued his assault persistently. Monica cheered her husband from the outside, as the blows continued raining down on The Freak’s head and temples…

BAM~!

Boos.

The Freak fired back with a right fist to DeThatt’s nose, and then arced his leg into the air and crashed it down into Alexander’s face with a Savate kick. As Alexander reeled back from the attack, The Freak planted him down with a devastating Rolling Kick, gifting DeThatt with a double-kick combo. Alexander’s nose popped into a bloody mess as The Freak’s foot connected once more with a Pumpkick, a la Token Weed.

Alexander dropped to his knees, blood streaming down his face… and The Freak span. He almost tripped over his own bandages as he planted two ferocious Buzzsaw kicks to DeThatt’s temple… before dropping to his knees himself. The Freak’s horrible, bloodied gashes and twisted limbs from the gory HIAC match at Bloody Valentine were taking their toll on him.

Still, making the most of his advantage, the Ripper dragged DeThatt to his feet and kicked him in the stomach… doubling him over, and allowing The Freak to lock DeThatt in a standing headscissors. The Freak wrapped his arms around Alexander’s enormous torso… and hoisted him into a vertical position. He staggered over to the rim of the cage…

And smiled.

Then…

Hurled DeThatt head-first over the rim of the cage, dumping him on his skull against the ringsteps. Alexander crumpled, fell, and tumbled down to the concrete floor as The Freak tore some of his bandages off and dabbed his bloody teeth with them… the fans meanwhile, were in total shock as DeThatt lay motionless at ringside.

“HOLY SHIT!!”
“HOLY SHIT!!”
“HOLY SHIT!!”
“HOLY SHIT!!”
“HOLY SHIT!!”
“HOLY SHIT!!”

BOOOOOOOO!!!

The Freak jumped over the rim and landed on his feet awkwardly, his injuries coming into play again. On the concrete floor Monica tended to her husband with a worried expression, but The Freak simply grabbed her hair and hurled her into the guardrail before dragging DeThatt to his feet, removing the safety mats as he did so. He got a firm grip of DeThatt’s waist, and slammed him overhead, neck-first in a German Suplex… straight onto the exposed concrete.

The fans rained boos down as The Freak yanked Alexander upwards again, and threw him up against the announcer’s desk. As DeThatt dawdled around, his blood smearing against the wood, The Freak jabbed him in the stomach, causing him to fold… then sent and upwards kick that sent him into orbit over the commentary desk and onto the abandoned announcer’s chairs. The Freak jumped up onto the commentary desk and looked down on DeThatt, who lay motionless in the wires…

Then he jumped, flipped, and somersaulted onto him, smashing the Mammoth Warrior between his own weight and the cold steel of the chairs. DeThatt roared in pain as The Freak made the collision, and The Freak slumped against the guardrail. Once again he found that his injuries were getting the better of him. But he continued his assault nonetheless, grabbing DeThatt’s neck and pulling him against the guardrail. The Emasculator grabbed DeThatt’s arm and swung it over his own neck, before putting an arm between DeThatt’s legs and another on his shoulder…

Turning him upside down, and…

Emerald Fusion onto the guardrail.

DeThatt’s skull cracked against the solid steel and his body crumpled, before he slithered from the railing and slumped against it holding his head. The Freak extended his arms outwards to a chorus of boos and jeers, but their heckles garnered absolutely no reaction from the Crimson Crippler. He got a form grip on DeThatt’s head and trunks… and span the big man around, launching him head-first into the ringsteps. The steps clattered apart as his cranium was smashed into them harshly, cracking on the steel and splattering blood upon the black.

The Freak continued by dragging DeThatt up through the door of the cage, but not before he ordered Oddball to hand him a few weapons… a chair.

And a pair of wire cutters.

And…

A microphone. The Freak limped into the cage, looking down on the bloodied DeThatt and kicking him in the head mockingly a few times, as DeThatt desperately tried to push himself to his feet.

“You see, son? You don’t play games with me for I am no longer a child. You fighters, you get younger every day. You all come to the Asylum with a shimmer in your eye, testosterone swirling in your veins and a swaggering attitude, assessing your own indestructibility. But you all fail. I have experienced every head game that can be played, every card that can be dealt and I have knocked them all out with aces. Alexander… you’re a nonentity. You have a wife, you have a child. But you in yourself have consummated nothing other than to corrupt the already rotting humanity with…

“Your genes. Well, Alexander. Your child will grow up… without… a daddy…”

The Freak dropped the microphone and threw his pliers to the side of the cage, before gripping the legs of his steel folding chair with two hands and raising it above his head. The fans booed hysterically, as The Freak prepared to hammer the object against DeThatt’s skull…

But when he pulled down on the chair, he found that something was hindering him. A forearm across his throat, attempting to restrain him and failing miserably. A thin, gangly arm, and a pair of legs straddling his waist. Crying and moaning, Monica DeThatt attempted to restrict The Freak, but the Emasculator simply shrugged her off. She flew to the mat, and he turned to her…

He raised the chair into the air above her…

But Alexander stopped The Freak from attacking his defenceless wife by chop-blocking his leg from underneath him and keeping hold of the leg, allowing him to swing The Freak outwards and into the cage. The chair clattered to the floor in front of Alexander, who picked it up and swung it into The Freak frenziedly.

“PICK”

SMACK!

“ON”

SMACK!

“SOMEONE”

SMACK!

“YOUR OWN”

SMACK!

“FUCKING”

SMACK!

“SIZE!!”

SMACK!!

As the chair turned into nothing more than a bloodied, dented lump of metal The Freak curled against the cage, his fingers gripping the mesh as if it were a twig in his teeth to numb the pain. He dragged himself up and over the rim as the chair was thrown to the canvas by DeThatt… and Alexander picked The Freak up, yanking him up by his hair. Monica sat on the ringsteps on the outside holding her neck, as The Freak was manhandled by the furious DeThatt in the cage…

Bearhug.

SLAM.

The Freak found himself spiked on his neck by the brutal slam, knocking him flat on his back with DeThatt standing over him. DeThatt took short, angered breaths and wiped the blood from his lips, his knuckles aching from pounding The Freak and his eyes seething from under his eyelids with fiery rage. The referee counted down the crippled Freak, and Monica prayed that this bitter battle would end soon.

1!

2!

3!

4!

5!

6!

7!

8!

…

Not even nine, as The Freak robotically got to his feet and swung a fist at DeThatt. DeThatt quickly blocked it, but The Freak leapt into the air and ground his feet into Alexander’s face with the Bonesaw. DeThatt rocked backwards and leaned against the cage, his teeth in his palm and crimson splattered up his face from the brutal blow. The Freak followed up with a simple Back Fist Attack and a headbutt… then walked over to the other end of the cage.

He leaned down, and to a chorus of boos… picked up the wire cutters. DeThatt saw The Freak brandishing them and charged in an attempt to disarm the Red Ripper, but was promptly Hook Kicked in the face, taking him down to the mat effortlessly. The Freak then mounted DeThatt, and pounded his right fist into the monster’s face several times until his blood was smeared up his arms…

The fans booed, as The Freak raised the cutter in the air, still mounted on DeThatt.

Then… he lowered the wirecutters…

And inserted them under DeThatt’s nose…

SNIP

The fans gasped.

DeThatt screamed.

The Freak… did nothing.

The wire cutters pressed together, their two deadly-sharp blades meeting and tearing through the soft gristle between DeThatt’s nostrils. His nose was torn into a raggy lump of flesh and fat on his face, his severed philtrum swinging from his nose. Mother covered their children’s eyes as blood spurted from the disgusting wound, covering the canvas and The Freak in DeThatt’s claret. It was a gruesome sight to behold, and Monica couldn’t stand it. Tears running down her face, she stormed back into the ring to attempt to care for her wounded husband.

The Freak rose from DeThatt, who was in a delirious state of crippling pain… allowing his blood to milk across the canvas and his wife to attempt to revive him. The referee attempted to force Monica to leave the cage, but she stayed.

She was in danger.

The Freak reached into the pocket of his costume, and out came the shimmering blue switchblade. Monica looked up, and saw the six feet five inch Ripper walk towards her, his knife in his palm…

“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!” she screamed, as The Freak reached out with his blood-soaked hands and dragged her to her feet by her long, black hair. She tried to fight back but it was no use, he pulled Monica close to his chest and turned her so that she was forced to look at her lover, who’s face was a distorted mess. DeThatt rolled over and saw his wife in The Freak’s grasp, with the Emasculator’s blade pressed against her throat.

“LET HER GO YOU FUCKER!” DeThatt roared, his tattered nose hanging over his upper lip and seeping blood over his face. The Freak walked backwards until his back was against the cage, and grasped Monica close to his chest, his switchblade inching towards her throat…

“Would you die for Monica?” The Freak asked, his eyes wide and vacant, his face expressionless plastic in the spotlights… a small trickle of blood wept from under his blade.

“I…” Alexander stammered, and couldn’t answer. His wife shuddered, her fearful sweat lining her forehead. The fans began to boo, and mothers left the arena with their children in worry of what may or may not happen next. DeThatt stood, like a statue, his nose splattered and blood coating his chest and face.

Then he charged towards The Freak.

As he was about to make impact, The Freak pushed Monica out of the way and hurled her to the floor. That was nothing between The Freak and DeThatt as Alexander hammered body-on-body into the Emasculator and…

Screamed.

The fans gasped in horror, as The Freak reached out and jabbed his switchblade into DeThatt’s cheekbone. The handle stuck out of his cheek, the blade embedded deeply in his flesh and blood spraying like a fountain of perfect reds into the air and all over the grey canvas. The fans were absolutely silent as DeThatt swayed backwards, the switchblade buried deep in his face…

The Freak savate kicked the blade deeper into DeThatt’s face. The blade swerved up, tearing through his flesh like a hot knife through butter and sinking deep into his eye.

Monica screamed as Alexander dropped to his knees, the blade jutting out of his face and melting his features into a red mess. He wept from his single eye, and dropped face-first onto the mat as Monica screamed and wailed, tears streaming down her face and dripping from her chin. She fell, her knees weak, and fainted in a heap.

The Freak raised his blood-soaked arms in the air as Alexander Von DeThatt breathed his last breaths in front of thousands of people.

The fans couldn’t boo, or cheer. They were in eerie silence as the blood-splattered and scared referee called for the bell.

There was no point in counting to ten…

Alexander Vincent DeThatt was dead.

The Freak reached down and clasped the back of DeThatt’s head, dragging him up into a kneeling position by his cold flesh. The heat was already leaving DeThatt’s bloodstained body…

He was lifted, and his bloody death wound was exposed for all of the fans to see. A gaping hole in his eye socket, blood streaming down his face and his jaw hanging open. The blade was barely noticeable through his tattered and split layers of flesh. The Freak reached into DeThatt’s face and tore his blade free of the folds, blood squirting onto the mesh as the handle was wrenched out. DeThatt collapsed again.

It was sick.

The grey mat was slimed in red, thick crimson gleaming in the spotlights. The Freak extended his arms into the mock crucifix as a symbol of his war against Hughes, and licked the blade on one side, the blood lining his tongue and turning his mouth red. The fans were being held back by security in fear of a riot, as The Freak strolled casually around the man that he had just mutilated as if he were nothing but meat.

One of the ring crew warily handed The Freak a microphone, which almost slid out of his blood-slicked grasp. To the hoards of outraged fans, The Freak began to speak.

“Hello?”

BOOOO!!

“You mean to say that you actually care about this man? You think that he is a valid living being? I deviate; Alexander Von DeThatt’s death was just as inconsequential as if had been any of your own lives taken here tonight. You all mean nothing, you all are nothing. You’re meaningless, like ants with no queen, like vagrants never contemplating… never understanding anything, truly. You never question why you are here, why you were put here…

“You all just live, eating up the Earth’s supplies and robbing nature blind of its resources. Animals rely on instinct and wits, like I, yet you filth are dependant on your money and religion. Alexander Von DeThatt didn’t die and go to heaven, he will just rot and become one with the Earth…”

The Freak stopped, basking in the boos that the fans were unleashing upon him and the hatred directed towards him. The fans began to chant…

“MUR-DER-ER!!”
“MUR-DER-ER!!”
“MUR-DER-ER!!”
“MUR-DER-ER!!”
“MUR-DER-ER!!”

On the outside, Oddball looked away from the disgusting scene inside the cage.

“That’s it, fire your hatred towards me in droves. Bray me with your words and unleash your cannons of miracle abhorrence towards me. Because I share and odium for all of you, each and every one of you vile, sickening beings. DeThatt wandered throughout his life, a traveller. He eventually settled down, got married, and had children. Then, he came to the Asylum and the Asylum is my. LAND. Mine. I would have let him be had he not interfered in my affairs, and now he finds himself a… nothing.

“A zero. Naught.

“I’d kill you all, but I don’t have the time.”

The Freak dropped the microphone as the chant continued, the fans hurling trash into the cage and fighting against the security officers. The Freak reached down and put a hand under each of DeThatt’s corpses armpits, dragging him up and onto his shoulders… The Freak then walked out of the ring unsteadily, the weight of the bloodied body bearing down on him.

He dragged the body all the way backstage to the chorus of ‘MURDERER’ from the cage.

Leaving a trail of blood in his wake.

“This is fucking disgusting… he… how can he…”

Hughes dropped onto his backside, slumping into a plastic chair. His elbows rested on his thighs and his head was hung low in his hands. There, he silently thought to himself as the cheers and boos from the arena all mingle to form a sense of nothingness, an endless droning buzz that he had never experienced before. The Freak had just killed a man.

He felt a wave of revulsion sweep over him, and form a dot in the centre of his stomach. He felt his acids bubble and churn, and he glanced back up at the monitor. Parts of DeThatt’s mangled face lay on the mat amongst torrents of blood and gore, gristle and sinew plastered all over the cage. Alexander’s blood left a trail up the ramp, crimson sliding down like a thin river of red hate.

That dot in Hughes’s stomach grew larger, and he felt it rise in his stomach, aching to burst out of his throat… he turned and hunched over the wastepaper basket, spewing vomit into the basket like a stream of mangled, mashed insides. After finishing he looked down, saliva dripping from his lip and down to the tip of his nose, the smell of puke rising.

His throat burned and his eyes were red with rage. He swung his head back and attempted to breathe easily but found that he couldn’t. The taste of his stomach lining was heavy and acidic on his tongue, and the scenes of bloody destruction were still in full view on the monitor.

He sank down again, once more hurling his contents into the bin. He was disgusted, and he could feel his outright revulsion causing his stomach to rupture and grow violent. The acids threw themselves around, the food that his stomach once harboured lay before him…

He decided to end this tonight.

…

He looked at his reflection in the mirror, and looked away. He was growing more and more stranger-like every day. His eyes were black and worn, his skin was tattered and torn, but he would win this war of sin if it meant losing in every way.

In revulsion of what he’d done, or fear of what he may do?

The Freak’s face was like pale plastic, his face paint smeared and mingled with DeThatt’s blood. DeThatt’s corpse weighed heavy, but not as heavy as the dark atmosphere that hung in the air backstage. The Freak kicked a door open to the reception area, and strolled through, walking to Joe Campbell’s office.

The door opened, and Joe Campbell’s pale face made an appearance. He was seated behind his desk, a look of confusion on his features as Alexander DeThatt’s maimed body was dumped in the chair in front of him. The Freak wiped the blood from his arms onto his tape, and leaned his fists on Joe’s desk.

DeThatt’s hollow, pits of eyes, one a bloodied hole in his head and the other rolled back into his skull bearing nothing but white, stared into Campbell from above a dislocated and hanging jaw. DeThatt’s nose was a mauled lump of flesh. Joe Campbell would have thrown up, had he not become so hardened to these atrocities and developments on a regular basis in the Asylum. Joe looked at DeThatt’s body, then The Freak… then back again.

“AHHHHHHHHH!!!”

Once he had finished screaming at the horrid sight…

“Wh… what have you done?” Joe asked aloud, as he stared into the hollow emptiness of DeThatt’s blood.

“I’ve done exactly as you commanded, I have taken care of Alexander Von DeThatt in the way that I saw fit. You gave me no specific orders as to how I should ‘take care’ of him and thus, I have executed him. I found no reason for him to live and take up space in the Asylum, and as with all other enemies I have removed him from the equation altogether.” The Freak said, robotically, to the bewildered Campbell.

“I… I… yeah… well… you just killed him, without batting an eyelid?” Joe pondered aloud.

“Yes. What is there to be concerned about? He was useless. I wasn’t taking anything that wasn’t already obsolete.”

“Okay… well… I may have another job for you, soon, if you have no problems with… oh fuck, I’ll call you, okay? Get that fucking corpse out of my office please.”

The Freak hauled the body out of it’s chair and pulled it over his shoulder.

“Of course… I have something to do with him first. Then, I’ll be taking the rest of him… home.”

Joe gripped the sides of his chair as he watched The Freak drag the sodden, void body out of his office. The blood splattered up his chairs and across his floor watched him as The Freak slammed the door behind him. Joe’s sweaty palms didn’t release the chair grips until The Freak was well out of sight and the body had been removed in tow.

“Wh… what the fuck have I hired…?”

Campbell’s expression changed from distraught to a wicked smile, as he thought of the possibilities.

Frank walked backstage kicking locker room doors in looking for the Asylum's owner, Joe Campbell. Frank barged through the last locker room door in the hallway and saw Joe Campbell. Joe was wearing his trademark suit and had a bottle of Guinness resting on the table. In the corner of the locker room/office stood Dez Aragon, watching intently. He knew that he wouldn't have to move over to intimidate Frank, he could smell the fear emanate off the body of F.A.G as he eyeballed him.

"What the bloody hell do you want, wanker?" Joe said to F.A.G.

"Campbell, did you see that?"

"Oh yeah, you got her silly ass beaten by a female."

"GAH! I DIDN'T GET MY ASS BEAT! Joe, do this for me and I'll never bother you again in my time here in the Asylum."

This really intrigued Joe. Nothing annoyed him more than having his fighter’s storm into his office like they owned the place and demanded something. One less bothersome wanker on the list lessened the pain.

"Next week, I want a match with that conniving little whore, Jessica."

"You got it if you bugger off."

"Deal."

F.A.G reached out to shake hands with Campbell, but Joe swatted his hand away. F.A.G walked out of the locker room/office thoroughly satisfied with what was to come.

OH SHIT! Frank thought to himself, he just realized, he had no formal fighting training at all. He had no prior professional wrestling training either.

He was in for a world of hurt.

Eddie Cheno© Vs Venoma Star
(T.V. Title)

Since winning the Asylum Television Title, Eddie had done his best to take out everyone in his path, making everyone who challenged him eat their words. He was proving to everyone he was worth the gold around his waste.

On the other side of the spectrum, we have Venoma Star. She’d been in and out of the Asylum for some time, but she didn’t become a talked about figure until after Bloody Valentine, where she had a break out show.

After winning the Asylum Women’s tournament, she has been called the most dangerous female on the planet. Some claimed she would become more acclaimed and notorious than Nerva when all was said and done. And while that was a very tall ladder, it was in no means unscaleable.

Cue up “Zero” by the Smashing Pumpkins. Out walked Venoma Star, still slightly bruised from Bloody Valentine, however not deterred. She pumped her fists in the air, getting an adequate rise from the fans in attendance. She power walked to the Asylum cage and entered, stretching out her legs on the mesh.

She was simply waiting.

“Smoke Two Joints” by Sublime and the fans booed. Out came Eddie Cheno with the TV Title draped over his shoulder, stark with a nonchalant stare at his opponent. He entered the Asylum cage, and handed the belt to the official, and began cracking his knuckles and neck.

The referee showed the two the title belt, and gave the mandatory instructions for the fight. Of course, this wasn’t necessary, but what the hell, right? The referee signaled for the match to begin, and with the ring of a bell, the fight was underway.

The two began to circle each other in the Asylum, one looking for the other to initiate combat. The fans were becoming restless. Cheno was becoming tense. He took a swing.

Venoma dodged and sent a massive kick right into his ribs, forcing him to stumble back. Venoma smiled, pouncing on Cheno with a trio of snapping jabs. Venoma then did a one handed front flip at the dazed Cheno and hit a back kick on the rebound.

Cheno’s bottom lip gushed blood as he hit the rim with all his body weight.

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Cheno got up off the ground, and dusted himself off, looking right into Venoma’s eyes. Venoma felt she was in firm control of the fight, so she charged Cheno and leapt into the air.

Cheno punched her so hard she did a flip and landed on her back. Cheno then picked up Venoma by the hair and sent her into the Asylum mesh. Cheno grabbed her face and slammed it into the unforgiving mesh about three times, before getting a foot right to the crotch, causing Cheno to double over in pain.

Venoma spit up a little bit of blood, and she flung her head up to get her hair out of her eyes. She grabbed Cheno by the face and sent a knee right to his jaw, sending him back on the ground. Venoma mounted the down Eddie Cheno and sent a couple fists down, only to have Cheno return fire with some massive swings to her skull. Being as how he had the strength advantage, she simply shoved her off of him.

Cheno picked up Venoma at such time, and hit the dazed women’s fighter with a pair of punches, a knee to the gut, and a vicious front sidekick.

Needle Jab. Venoma went to the ground, needless to say.

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Venoma flipped up, but was met with a clothesline upon getting to her feet. However, she used this time to send a leg sweep the Television Champion, causing him to hit the ground hard. Venoma tried her best to get to her feet, but Cheno returned the leg sweep.

Cheno was now up, and picked Venoma up by the hair, and cradled her for a DDT. Venoma’s speed had been nulled by Cheno’s ploy to slow down the pace of the fight. Cheno picked Venoma up once more, and DDT’ed her. Thinking it was worth milking, he went for a third consecutive DDT.

We call that going to the well too many times.

Venoma used her lower body strength to lift Cheno as she gave him a waistlock. Cheno was caught off guard as Venoma turned his offense into hers. He landed hard from the suplex, sending razor sharp waves of pain into his lower back. Venoma picked herself up off the ground, and jumped onto the mesh. She then ricocheted off that and sent a leg drop right across the neck of Eddie Cheno. The referee made the count as Venoma dusted herself off.

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Cheno had gotten up and bear hugged Star, and threw her for a release german suplex into the Asylum mesh. The thud was sickening. She was thrown like a rag doll, due to Cheno’s strength and her low weight.

The referee, seeing Venoma wasn’t really making a speedy retort, decided it best to begin counting her down.

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Enough. Venoma was now up, her back seemingly on fire. With Cheno charging, she had to think of something.

BAM~!

Drop toehold into the wire mesh. Eddie thought his nose might have been broken from the impact. While it wasn’t, it was bleeding fairly profusely. Venoma picked up Cheno, and measured him up. She sent rapid-fire sidekicks at Cheno, causing his sides to begin to ache. Star sent a major uppercut towards Cheno, only to have him dodge it, and spear tackle her to the ground. With her mounted, he began sending fist after fist towards the downed woman.

Cruel? Yes? Necessary? Damn right it was.

Venoma, however, sent a punch into Cheno’s nuts, causing him to roll off her and to slump to ground, trying to regain some breath. Venoma easily picked him up, and kicked him directly in the face.

Cheno didn’t like the punch to the nuts or kick to the face. So, a punch to the boob did nicely, causing about the same effect as the punch to the nuts. He then corralled her and gave her a belly to belly suplex for her thoughts. Down on the ground, the referee made the count.

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Venoma had, once again, flipped up and sent a massive roundhouse kick towards the face of her opponent, causing him back into the cage. Venoma turned him around, gave him a mock kiss, and punched him as hard as she could to the stomach. With Cheno doubled over, Venoma had a chance.

Venoma leapt into the air and landed a perfect spinning buzzsaw kick, sending Cheno flying to the ground and, presumably, out cold.

Final Heaven.

The fans were cheering, sensing this hot streak for Venoma to land her the Asylum Television title. The referee made his count as Venoma pumped her fists in the air in triumph.

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Cheno got up to his feet, spit out a tooth along with some blood, and sent a massive right towards Venoma, causing her to back pedal. With boxer style jabs flaring, Cheno made Venoma sense her chances were dwindling. Venoma, however, sent a knee into Cheno’s ribs, and then landed a hook kick.

The two were now extremely close to the Asylum cage, meaning both were in very real danger. Venoma sent a kick towards the ribs of Cheno, but he snatched the leg and threw her into the cage, and began punching her with all his might in the ribs and face.

Things weren’t looking good as Venoma slumped to the ground.

However, Venoma picked herself yet again, and sent a fist right at Cheno. Cheno returned with a fist of his own. This went on for a good couple seconds before Cheno simply kicked Venoma in the stomach, causing her to double over. That’s when he went for a massive uppercut.

One problem: Venoma turned her back from being frontwards to backwards, and did a back flip kick that landed right under Cheno’s jaw, sending him back. Venoma grabbed Cheno by the hair and then put his face right on the wire mesh, and rubbed it, cutting Cheno’s face like cheese.

Until, of course, he sent an elbow that hit her in the solar plexus. She doubled over yet again. Cheno punched up with all his might to boot. The uppercut landed.

Clearin’ da funkin table.

Venoma took to the air, and went right out of the Asylum, landing on the outside. Venoma realized this, and punched the ground as Cheno pumped his fist in victory.

The referee handed his Asylum Television title, and he put it over his shoulder as “Smoke Two Joints” blared on above the boos. Cheno had defeated a very credible opponent, and he knew it.

All Venoma could do was shake her head at an opportunity lost. But she had put up a good fight, and was a mere few moves short of being champion.

But, that’s why they fight the fights.

Anywho, cHEESE and egg NOG found themselves in their usual surrounding. Their Asylum locker room which was probably stolen from one of the bigger stars who stepped out to get a cup of coffee or something. cHEESE and egg NOG had their feet propped up, their Asylum Team titles in plain sight, showing them off as usual. egg NOG --feeling something was missing-- called for his personal security guard to join them.

Their peaceful settings were quickly stolen from them when a loud, thudding knock boomed from the door. egg NOG groaned as he instructed them to enter. The door creaked open and a man walked into the room, decked out in a pair of faded jeans and a Big Dog t-shirt. egg NOG looked puzzled at the individual standing before him. He was, at least, six inches shorter and five inches thicker than the man cHEESE and egg NOG had become accustomed to seeing on a week-to-week basis.

egg NOG's eyes narrowed as he asked the man, "who the hell are you?!"

The man gulped in fear. "Fatts McGarron," he mumbled to the duo from Dairytown, "I'm your new personal security guard."

cHEESE and egg NOG exchanged a look that could best be described as WTFMF?!

cHEESE looked at egg NOG, then to Fatts, then back to egg NOG. "Where's MIDOL?!?"

"Uh, he, uh, he had to leave and stuff." McGarron replied as his eyes drifted shyly towards the floor. "He asked me if I could fill in for him for a while."

"Wait," egg NOG interrupted, "he actually spoke to you?!"

Fatts bit his lip and nodded at egg NOG. egg NOG scowled as he shook his fist, mumbling to himself, "bastard never talked to me."

Fatts began to slide his foot across the floor as he followed it's every move.

"Yeah, uh, he was a real chatter box, I tell ya. Didn't think he'd ever shut up."

cHEESE looked concerned as he shot a question at his partner, "NOGgers, what are we going to do? We don't have a freakin' bodyguard anymore!"

"I don't know, man. We're, like, fucked or something."

Fatts quietly raised his hand as cHEESE and egg NOG started going over their options for personal security. He watched the two, hand still in air, as they were about to leave the room. Watching his opportunity slip, he let out a small cough.

"Gu-guys?"

cHEESE and egg NOG stopped at the door and turned back to face Fatts.

"Yes, Lunchbox?" egg NOG asked.

"I thought I was your new security guard. I mean, MIDOL said I was anyway."

NOG retorted in a rather harsh tone, "yeah, well, that was before MIDOL never bothered to tell us he was leaving."

"No, wait," cHEESE said, placing his hand on NOG's shoulder, "maybe he could be our security guard."

"And he'd, what, sit on people to save us?!" egg NOG cried.

Fatts nodded in hopes of improving his position with the two. "I could do that." He added quietly with a smile. "I'm very good at that."

"NO!" egg NOG barked, "No WAY am I letting him guard my life!" he continued screaming, pointing to McGarron.

cHEESE rebutted, "what choice do we have? MIDOL is AWOL, and no one could live up to his talents. He must have seen something in this guy."

egg NOG smirked.

"Yeah, but I think that's only because he accidentally ate it."

cHEESE groaned, "do you know someone else who could do the job?"

"YoGuRt?"

"Dude, he's my manager. No."

NOG sighed, waving his hand in frustration at Fatts. "I guess you get the job." He turned and mumbled to himself, "how is it we always get stuck with losers?"

McGarron smiled as he jumped for joy. A discouraged egg NOG quickly made his way out of the room as Fatts continued to celebrate.

Next?

Lucky for them, Hughes wasn’t thinking about turning on them… not just yet.

All that was on his mind as he strolled down to the cage, his boots thunking on the steel ramp as he did so, was putting the rights wrong. And tonight, The Freak had committed a wrong so unrightable that it may be time to even it out with a wrong of his own.

Alexander DeThatt was dead.

As Hughes paced up the ring steps, he noticed that some of the waves of blood had left small droplets on the mat in their wake, and that cleaners were still mopping up the remnants of the foul crimson. Hughes shuddered as he thought of how distraught Monica must be… more so than his own sister, perhaps. DeThatt’s life hung heavy over Hughes’s head like a cloud of guilt, for had DeThatt not aligned himself with Hughes, he’d still be alive.

Hughes dropped his belt across the mat, and kicked it into position in front of himself. He pulled the microphone from his jeans, and sighed.

“I don’t know how to explain to you what happened tonight, other than… I said this was over. I said that my war with The Freak was over, and that I’d no longer fight against him. Well you know what? I fucking go back on my word. There’s cretin, there’s scum, there’s fucking filth in this world yeah, I agree with you. But you are the biggest fucking filth I have ever seen in my life. You’re not just a bastard, you’re not just playing a part, you are fucking EVIL.

“I… how could you just slaughter a man in the middle of this cage and not feel anything, not think for that man’s child, not think for his wife… not realize that he is a living, breathing human being? He’s alive, he was alive, he was…

“Fenn-Grail. No monikers here. You want to have your little Fuckpit match at Mind Games with Token Weed? Well I’m restarting this war. I am ENTERING MYSELF into that match, and I’ll put this tin-can barbed-wire piece of shit on the line too! But by Jesus fucking H Christ, if you lose… I will execute you in the middle of the fucking cage.”

Hughes lowered the microphone, having poured all of his hate into a single speech. The fans cheered for him, and the arena was up unanimous in thinking that Hughes should fight in the Fuckpit.

Then… boos rocked the arena.

A deafening scream…

“Halo” by Soil.

And at the top of the ramp with a microphone, strolling down the aisle, came the blue-haired bad-ass, Token Weed. Hughes snarled as Token began to speak…

“Wow, look, it’s Ty Hughes the pussy Champion. Why don’t you fuck off back to that English shithole that you came from and take your bald head with you? I mean, The Freak is a fucking cunt if there ever was one, but after all of your time in the Asylum, how can murder offend you? Give me a fucking break you loser. You want to enter yourself into the Fuckpit?

“Whatever, but be warned, asswipe. I am in that match and I do not pull fucking punches, in fact… I may just walk down this ramp and kick your ass right now.”

With that, Token dropped the microphone and began heading down to the cage.

“Fine, you fucking crackhead. I’m not in the mood for your shit, so bring it. Loser.” Hughes growled into the mic.

It seemed, that the match was on.

Token Weed Vs Ty Hughes

Token’s assault was far from over as he pushed Hughes back against the rim of the cage and smacked him callously with two left hands, knocking spittle from Hughes’s mouth and loosening his teeth. Token grabbed one of Hughes’s wrists and swung his whole arm upwards, opening Hughes up for a pair of nasty-looking knee attacks that jabbed into Hughes’s ribs and caused cringe-inducing cracks.

Hughes wouldn’t give up though, especially at this early stage. He fired two punches into Token’s midsection in retaliation, and headbutted Williams. Token stumbled, his face split with rage, before countering with a high kick…

Blocked.

Hughes then stepped over the leg, and brought himself flying into the air and into Token’s face with a tornado calf attack~!

Token slammed against the mat, as Hughes finally began to pick up speed and use the fan support to his advantage. He wrestled token to his feet and locked his arms around Weed’s waist, possible going to attempt the Ringout for the almost certain win and such and early stage in the match…

But Token slammed his knee into Hughes’s groin, causing the Extreme Champion to double over and reach for his crotch. Going for a rare wrestling move, Token grabbed Hughes’s head and slammed him into the canvas cruelly with a snapping DDT. Hughes bounced from the mat with pain etched on his face and his bandages hanging off, and Token awaited the referee’s count.

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

…

Ty Hughes kipped back to his feet, albeit shoddily as his legs were numb and aching from the abuse he’d sustained in recent weeks. Token was like a shark smelling blood, he noticed the injury to Hughes’s legs and shot out a foot to jam into the back of Hughes’s knee joint. However, Hughes was ready for it, and put his wrestling training into use by dropping onto his back and catching the leg, slamming Token down with a drop toehold. Tyler was instantly on top of Token, wrenching at him with a side headlock…

But Token managed to shimmy to his feet, taking Hughes with him and charging forwards, slamming Hughes’s stomach into the cage~!

The fans booed, as Token slapped the back of Hughes’s head and mocked him. Token stepped back, and sneered at Hughes as Tyler turned to face him…

Then, once again.

The unexpected became the expected.

Something… was falling...

Then, it landed against the mat with a soft thud. It bounced once… twice… then stopped, next to Token’s foot. Ty looked down, and his eyes locked on the object. Token looked down and cringed, his eyes wide and uncomprehending. He gawped at the object; it’s crimson splattered against the canvas.

It was… a finger.

A severed finger, the bone peering through the flesh at the base of it. It lay in a puddle of blood at Token’s foot, much to the horror of Hughes and Williams himself. But, as if that wasn’t enough…

Another one fell. A second finger, landing on Hughes’s shoulder and bouncing off to hit the mat, with a soft thud and a droplet of blood.

Droplets of blood… began to rain down from the rafters, claret washing Hughes and Token. Token growled out and began to wipe his eyes, trying to look up through the stream of blood and gore. Then, another finger landed in his face.

And another one.

Hughes screamed with horror as fingers fell from the heavens, leaving trails of blood in their wake. More crimson fell from the rafters, fingers… and then, the exclamation point landed on Token’s forehead, and slithered down in a line of saliva and thick maroon.

A human tongue.

It was raining Alexander Von DeThatt.

Hughes looked up into the rafters and saw DeThatt’s corpse, bent over the railing with The Freak sprinkling his body parts down onto the cage. DeThatt’s throat was cut and his chest rented open, torn to bear his revolting cavity. Blood poured from his open wounds, like a torrent, a tidal wave of rose petals. Hughes was doused in blood and teeth, as was Token as they struggled and slipped.

The fans screamed in horror, at the revolting spectacle that they saw before them. Showering the two men in the ring with corpse parts. The Freak was in the rafters, his red eyes uncaring and his sadistic and insane mind ticking over. What did he want to accomplish? What was all of this for?

Maybe he didn’t know anymore either.

Hughes bailed out of the cage, as the bloody bath continued. Token soon followed and scampered behind the ring steps. Meanwhile, The Freak had something to say.

“Can you see through the red? It’s raining humans in the land of the dead. Alexander DeThatt is nothing but a cadaver now, a mauled sack of gore with no purpose. He never had a purpose. Neither of you have a purpose, you’ve both passed your sell-by date and no longer serve any reason to exist. You’re atrophied has-beens, and washed up criminals. Do you still have faith in humanity or is it wavering yet?

“Sean, you grew tired of my so-called ramblings. Well, was that reason enough to bestow yourself with what you have unleashed? Now that you have been bathed in the blood of a so-called innocent, do you even see what you have brought upon yourself? I’m not just but a man, I am a curse. I am your alpha to your omega, your goodnight and kiss before you sleep. I will make sure that you do not escape my grasp a living, breathing, talking man.

“Tyler… oh, Tyler. Did you ever envision hell as quite this bloody? I have brought hell to the Asylum and I cannot be stopped. You wish to re-engage our war? Well as far as I am concerned, our little war never even ended. If you wish to continue, then fine. If you wish to relinquish your stance in my battle against the sinners of the Earth… humans… then I simply do not care. Hughes… Williams…

“You children don’t realize what you’re dealing with. You’ve knocked on the vampire’s door and asked him to feast. You’ve beckoned to your God that he end your life. I hope you’ve called the funeral parlour and booked your appointments because…

“You’re not leaving this place alive.

“Live? No. Die. And eat what you kill. Goodnight, ladies and gentlemen…”

Token looked down on his blood-soaked clothes, and Hughes reached out over the commentary desk, vomiting once more as he tried to scrape the blood from his skin. It was sticking to him like a thick syrup, an irony aroma filling his nostrils and wouldn’t leave him. He hurled all over the commentary desk, acidic bile mixing with DeThatt’s blood…

The copyright symbol appeared in the corner.

It was over and out, leaving the final frame on the fans’s screen one of mass hysteria and revulsion.

The Government fear you, the Police are under your thumb... and the feds don't want to touch you with a fifty foot pole, your staff members fear you and truth be told, so do your friends.

Add to this the fact that everybody who knows anything about you, is fully aware that you're packing heat... nobody in their right mind is going to fuck with you.

But we learn a lot about the real world, we learn that no matter how famous you are... not everyone knows your name and certainly, not everyone is in their right mind.

It's often when we drop our guard, that we're hit the hardest.

"I'm not fucking flying anywhere else, fuck the fWo... Villam can destroy it on his own... the only thing I'm concerned with invading right now is my bed." Joe uttered as he fumbled with his car keys, staggering into the parking lot half drunk and half asleep.

Reaching his car, he directed his key toward the lock... but his alcoholic induced vision blur gave him no aid in opening the door, and his delay... he was left prone.

THWACK.

"Gah... you'll fucking pay for that next week whoever you are." Joe slurred as he fell to the ground, his head bleeding from a fresh wound which had been inflicted with a simple lead pipe blow to the back of the head.

Unfortunately for the Asylum owner, his threat to make his attacked pay on the next show held no ground, for his attacker was not a member of the Asylum family.

A simple mugger, a man without a face... he didn't care who Joe was and he certainly didn't care about what would be happening next week, his only goal for the night was to steal enough money to buy his next hit, heroin was all that mattered to him... nothing else.

"Shut the fuck up, and give me your money." The mugger snarled, as Joe clutched his bleeding head.

"Fuck you scummer, do you know who I am?" Joe spluttered back in reply, reaching for the gun in his belt.

THUD.

THWACK.

And then the sound of steel glancing across the hard floor.

"Yeah, a dead man if you don't pay up... pull that gun shit again and they'll be scooping what's left of you into a jar, now give me what you've got and I might not bust your brains out." The attacker continued, after delivering a hard kick to Joe's groin, another pipe shot to the head... and then a swift kick to the hand which sent the gun clattering across the concrete.

"Motherfucker." Joe spluttered through the blood running down his face, as the mugger delved into his pockets for a wallet.

As Joe slowly slipped into unconsciousness, he was quickly brought back to Earth... as a shrill whistle filled the silent night air.

The mugger turned, glasping his lead pipe tightly... to be confronted by yet another mysterious figure, clad in a hooded and somewhat baggy nike sweated and a pair of worn jeans, the individual's face was difficult to make out through the whisps of smoke from a cigarette dangling from his lip.

"Keep walking fuck, this doesn't concern you." Joe's attacker snarled, tapping his hand menacingly with the lead pipe.

But heed the warning the mystery figure did not, choosing instead to take a few steps toward the mugger, who drew back the pipe... preparing to strike.

He never did get his swing in.

The mystery man took several rapid draws of his cigarette, before flicking it with great precision straight into the muggers face, casting hot ash into his eyes and forcing out of him a high pitched scream.

"You son of a bitch!" The mugger roared, desperately trying to palm the ash from his face, but they were his last words... as the mystery man swooped forward and planted a firm headbutt straight into his face, shattering his nose and knocking him unconscious with ease.

The indivudual stooped down, exhaling the smoke into the unconscious muggers face just as a bloodied and bruised Joe Campbell pulled himself up beside the car.

THUD.

THUD.

THUD.

THUD.

THUD.

THUD.

THUD.

THUD.

THUD.

"If I wasn't so tired I'd take the time to kill you, smackhead." Joe growled, after kicking the living shit out of the downed attacker.

Content with the booting, Joe turned to the figure who had dragged him out of a sticky situation.

"Cheers mate, I was fucked for a minute or two there." Joe said with a bloody smirk, extending his hand toward his stand in saviour.

"Nae bother pal." A familiar voice replied.

Joe narrowed his eyes, the name was on the tip of his tongue but as the individual accepted his handshake gesture with a firm hand of his own, he pulled down his hood... Joe didn't even need to look twice.

"T... Tommy?" Joe said, his eyes wide with shock.

"Tommy Gunn? But you... you're-" He continued, only to be interrupted.

Tommy made his way past Joe, picking his handgun up from the pavement and handing it back to him.

"Might want tae keep hold a' this pal." Tommy spoke up.

Joe looked down at the gun in his hand, and back at Tommy.

"So... how dae you know ma' name?" Tommmy enquired, a question which puzzled Joe to no end.

A few years apart could do a lot to a friendship, but names were never forgotten... not long ago, Joe Campbell and Tommy Gunn were a force, a pair of friends who'd fought beside one another in the Asylum.

Joe knew exactly who Tommy Gunn was, but Tommy didn't seem to know Joe at all, Joe could see it in his eyes... the lack of familiarity.

Joe slid the key into the passenger door of his car, before pulling it open.

"Get in mate, we've got a lot to discuss." Joe said, as Tommy obliged... nodding his head and stepping into the car.

While their past was certain... for now, their future seemed obscure.