"And Some You Lose" by One Minute Silence

Thanh was located in his normal spot in Joe's office, in the corner next to the door making sure no unwanted guests got a chance at making an entrance and a move on Joe.

"Hey Thanh, why you so down this week you cunt?" Joe said jokingly towards his bodyguard. He knew Thanh was bitter about his loss and decided to have a little fun with it.

"Ahhh, not in the talking mood? I understand. You're still brooding over that loss to Sebastian Thompson a few weeks ago." Joe said, shooting another quick glance at Thanh. Who remained silent and standing in his position.

"Thanh, Thanh, Thanh, you really aren't much fun you know that? I'm just giving you a hard time you little asian fuck." Joe said, this time getting a look from Thanh. Thanh just stared at Joe with a pissed off look on his face but he wasn't going to open his mouth to his boss, his master.

"Alright, fine. How about I make you a happy little silent fucker. I'll give you a shot at Inmate tonight for the Black Title. That way you get your chance for revenge and you get a shot at the title you got screwed out of. What do you think about that?" Joe said, taking a quick swig of whiskey waiting for Thanh's answer.

After a few seconds of standing there silently Thanh finally turned his gaze back toward Joe and looked at him for a second.

"I'd be glad to destroy Inmate tonight, master." Thanh finally let out, just barely loud enough for Joe to hear.

"Well alright then you cunt. We'll make this thing happen and you can get all that aggression out and beat some ass. You know, the job I pay you to do. Sound like a good deal? Good, now get your ass in a better mood and quit pissing about. I'm sick of looking at your pathetic face looking all sad and gloom. Why don't you try acting happy for once for fucks sake." Joe said as he took another swig of the whiskey. Glad that he had booked another match for tonights show. Which was sure to be a bitter battle to the end.

However, upon arrival at the door bearing the name of the boss, a strange looking man met Splink. His name was Phil Daley according to his name badge. This isn’t important because after he does his scene, he’ll be long gone. The bastard wanted a generous pay-off, health insurance and a slap-up meal. We gave his a cabbage and a coupon for a free haircut at Moira’s Salon in Detroit. That got us this fleeting appearance. Greedy bastard.

“I’ve been waiting for weeks to give you this. You are Splink, aren’t you?” Phil asks TMM.

TMM didn’t respond, he grabbed an envelope from the hand of Phil and also a cabbage and a coupon he noticed sticking out from the shirt pocket of the messenger. Phil left the scene, never to grace the scene of Asylum programming. Good. Hated that little bastard.

The member of Splink walked a few paces and noticed the vacant janitor’s closet. The perfect place to read the letter they had received. Well, the whole of Splink didn’t really get into this closet. TMM and Slapnutz led the way and shut the door on the bit-part players of Splink. They flicked the light on, opened up the envelope and began reading.

…

…

“Hmmm, not the best really, is it dickhead? This is all your fault as well. God, I hate you,” TMM shouted at his colleague.

“Yeah, this kinda sucks. You going to do the honours or will I?” Slapnutz replied.

“You can do it. Since it’s your fault, you get the privilege of breaking the news to the masses.”

The look on the face of the Scotsman summed it all up. But, just in case his feeling wasn’t clear, he managed to let a solitary word slip out between his lips:

“Bugger.”

All questions were left unanswered as Sylo’s pounding head drove him mad as he tried to think. The painkillers didn’t seem to want to work and the doctor said it was probably stress. Stress; heh. If stress meant coming off one hell of a fight with Jade and then ending up with her only to be taken to hell and back in the very same night, then yes, Sylo admitted he was under a lot of stress.

For now he would forget about it and just enjoy the nights show. At least that’s what he though he would do until a voice shattered all of his plans for that night.

"You're a crazy fucker, John." Velorium chuckled as he shut the door behind him. "Oh, by the way, you left your door open."

An insane smile trail blazed across Velorium's features as he lifted nine digits to the air. "'Tis been nine days, Skyway. Nine days since we left each other unconscious. And well... I'm itching to do it again."

Sylo turned; his frame now bared the marks from their fight.

“I have just one question for you, you twisted fuck…who in the hell is John Skyway? My name is Sylo, you’ve got the wrong guy,” Sylo snorted and turned back to his locker stall.

"John... do you really think you can fool me you STUPID son of a bitch?" Velorium scoffed. "You know who John Skyway is. Captain of the greatest fleet of ships in Zirah. Nemesis to all of the A.I. kind, and especially to me. The man, no, the MACHINE that you could never kill, despite your countless tirades and attempts. You are John Skyway, 'Lord of the Starbelts' as your human friends called you. A simple change of name won't change history... you can run, motherfucker, but not for long."

Sylo only snorted and turned his back to Velorium…

Big mistake, because at that very moment Velorium removed a stun gun from his jacket and zapped Sylo in the back. The big man dropped to his knees and Velorium continued to electrocute the Superbeast…until everything went black.

The two founding members of Splink looked somewhat serious, which was a new thing for them. They got into the cage and Slapnutz caught the microphone thrown at him by the stagehand. Things were somewhat grim in Camp Splink.

* cough *

Slapnutz cleared his throat as he prepared to speak. The crowd were already silent, it was a Splink promo remember, so he didn’t have to wait before he got the chance to speak.

“Ladies and gentlemen, fans of the Asylum, sponsors, mum, dad, Poland, Scotland…”

“Get on with it,” TMM said as he punched his partner in the ribs.

“We are here tonight to read you a statement from Asylum owner, Joseph Campbell.”

Slapnutz opened up the letter and began to read from it, to a somewhat bored crowd.

“Dearest Splink, wait, who am I kidding, Splink Fuckers, I have good news for you. Since you have been absent without leave for the past few months, you have become number one fuckheads around this place. You have lost me merchandise sales, you haven’t honoured contractual obligations and, in fact, you are cunts.

Now, since I mentioned the word ‘fuckhead’, can you see what I’m getting at? ManHunt is coming up soon and to get us into the spirit, you have become the prime fuckheads up until the PPV. That means your entourage as well. People will now be hunting you. Hunting you like a spare prick hunts cunts in a brothel. You are the cunts and the rest of my roster are the pricks. Prepare to get fucked.”

TMM looked round at the crowd, no sure what was going to happen next. What happened next was nothing special, Slapnutz continued to read.

“But, my roster probably won’t want to waste time on fucking with you so I need to make it more special. This ManHunt will cost me a small fortune so you’d better read this letter out, or I will most definitely have all of you killed before the night is through.

To make it special, read this bit with a bit of fear in your voice bitch, read it with shit in your pants and fear in your voice. Once this is read…”

Slapnutz paused. The crowd were hanging on his every word, you could hear a pin drop in the arena. They wanted to know what Campbell had in store for his new fuckheads. He had fucked with Splink before, but this was serious. They were now ‘fuckheads’ and Slapnutz didn’t seem to like it one bit.

Slapnutz continued.

“Once this is read… … …each member of Splink will have a bounty on their head. Mr Pink, Wincy Willis and Jock each have ten thousand dollars on their head. Not dead or alive, simply dead. You two, TMM and Slapnutz, you both have the princely sum of fifty thousand dollars resting on your fucked up scalps.

Whoever survives past Manhunt will get to live and have their contract renewed. Remember, it will have been one year at ManHunt since you Fighting Zone fuckers arrived at my door. Also, if you don’t show up at any shows up until ManHunt, I will find where you are and kill you in your sleep. At least this way, you have a fighting chance.

So, as ever…bye for now cunts,

Joe Campbell.”

Slapnutz folded the letter and placed it in the pocket of his jeans. TMM looked around, each person in the crowd seemed to be looking at them differently. Looking at them in monetary amounts. Looking at them with bloodlust.

Backstage in the Asylum, guns were being loaded and knives were being sharpened. Splink ran out of the cage and out of the arena. They had done their appearance for this week. All that waited them was a month of hell.

Splink were officially FUCKED

The Hustla he is, he makes sure he gets his very own private locker room at whatever venue he travels to from now on. No more impromptu annoyances. I mean it was getting to the point where HardCase could go to his gym bag and pull out an 8-ball without someone getting in his business. Now I ask you: is that at all fair?

"You aren't a very hard person to find, Threat." Pointless, last week's partner, had just kicked his door in. His wrists were already taped up, tight as ever, and his fists were clinched. Circulation must not matter to him. "But such an attribute or lack there of, is not a luxury. Now that I have found you, it's only a matter of what to fucking do with you." A sly smile crept on his face.

HardCase sighed internally, then he turned around in his seat to confront his current disturbance.

"Look, if this is about Retribution I can explain. What happened was I saw a fly on your back, coulda been a mosquito...so I plastered it with a steel chair...you can thank me later." Compliment complement
HardCase then turned away, as if his inane explanation clarified everything, and bade Pointless farewell.

...Obviously, this didn't happen.

The annoyance grew quick in Josiah's tone. "Your wit is as amusing as those fucking worthless Destiny promos, but now isn't the time for comedy. What I am demanding is not an explanation, not even an apology. What I demand is you. Fucking. Dead."

Pointless was right up in HardCase's face. We haven't seen the irritable side of him before.

"Ha! You want me dead? Get in line fuckhead. It's rare I come across someone who doesn't eventually end up wanting me dead. The thing is...I'm still alive, and I intend on staying that way for a while. You on the other hand..."

HardCase finally rose from his seat, smirking, and eyeing Pointless intensely.

"Well...I don't think I need to finish that sentence. Hopefully you still have enough braincells left in that rattled skull of yours to put 2 and 2 together and get the fuck out of my face...if you kindly would" HardCase added with a patronizing smile.

"You don't fucking get it. Did you see Retribution? Did you watch that fight?" Josiah got close in HardCase's face, to the point where his smile had faded and only stern lips remained. "I can't fucking stay down."

Pointless paused, and his countenance somewhat softened.

"But, what I am here for is not a fight, nor more bickering between the two of us. It seems we have enough done enough of that..." Pointless backed away from HardCase, his words calming both of them down. "It seems we have a common problem in Asher Rollins."

HardCase dropped the smart ass routine ever so slightly. For once this entire conversation-in HardCase's humble opinion-Pointless had a point.

"I'm listening."

"Watch the old shows, he loves to play the common agitator, but lately, he has taken on another role. A slightly more modified approach. I have been getting the feeling that he wants to raise our hatred for each other by furthering his own goal."

Josiah began to stroll around HardCase locker room, examining the surroundings. "And we don't want that, not more than the other..."

"No, we certainly don't want that.” HardCase agreed. “So I'm assuming we’ll chill with other, for now and don't let Asher get the drop on us...agreed?"

Josiah stopped, and a point had to be raised. "Agreed, but let's also ensure we don't get the drop on each other, you know, courtesy of an unprovoked chair shot."

HardCase knew Pointless was implying what went down at Retribution. Pointless' arms were folded, as he waited with expectations of an explanation.

"Heh, I'll do what is necessary friend. As long as you don't cause the ‘necessary’ to occur we'll be fine."

Josiah smirked. "What may be 'necessary,' is for me to look out for my best interests, when it is all said and done. Attacks on my account will not go unpunished, I can assure you that."

"Oh that's fine with me. As long as your…er…'punishment' occurs after we've neutralized the 3rd party in this little dance...it’s all gravy."

"That depends." Pointless began to make for the door. "Your punishment shall come when I feel the time is 'necessary.'"

Pointless turned his back after dropping that oh so subtle threat, and left.

HardCase smirked inwardly. “Whatever” He mumbled to himself.

He wasn’t too worried about Pointless at this juncture. What mattered now was that he saw what was coming and where it was coming from. As long as Rollins was in check, Josiah wasn’t a problem.

Cuz shit, the enemy of your enemy is your friend…

...right?

“Y’know, he just told you all that shit to lull you into a false sense of security. When you’re not looking, he’ll fuck you just like you both tried to fuck me.”

Hardcase rolled his eyes and began looking through his duffle bag. “Heh, Josiah? Shit, he’s a fucking Pop-tart-all sweet in the middle. He won’t be trying shit. Thanks for your concern, though.”

Asher walked directly into the locker room. On this given night, he was decked out in a pinstripe suit with a matching vest with a white dress shirt with light blue stitching up and down hanging from the bottom of his vest and over the edge of his pants. Over his eyelids, a thin layer of glittery dark blue eye shadow. Even Hardcase eyed him up and down, causing Asher to grin a bit.

For a moment, he placed his hand on Hardcase’s shoulder. "You'd think that, wouldn't you? He does seem like his insides are warm and toasty, but I don't know if you're into that kind of thing. Y'gotta look beyond the image--you did viciously hit him with a chair. Not many men take that in stride.”

Hardcase stared at the hand on his shoulder for a second and then slapped it off. "Point taken...and immediately dismissed. Josiah's the least of my worries. If he's dense enough to get at me, he'll be dealt with."

There was a great pause. Asher let out a deep sigh and stood up from the wooden bench. He looked down at Hardcase with laughing eyes. “Just don't forget who warned you when you're wondering where your two front teeth are and taste nothing but your own salty blood."

"Sure, whatever. You'll get your hug and thank you care later. Now, if you wouldn't mind, I'd like some privacy."

Asher nodded and walked toward the doorway. When he reached it, standing half outside, half inside, he stood there. "I won't expect a hug, but the smile I'm sure it'll bring to my face to still see the shock in your eyes when he hits you will be gift enough. Take care."

Hardcase threw one of his arms up in the air in a display of apathy. It wouldn’t matter if Josiah did attack him-he’d deal with it when it came. Asher walked down the concrete corridor and past a bunch of metal black crates. God, this world was so gray and colorless. Such a job, but at least it afforded him some interesting opportunities. For a second, basking in all of this, Asher stopped and smiled.

People in the Asylum certainly had the craft of interrupting Jade while she was back in her locker room, down to a science. This shit happened every week and quite frankly, Jade was getting really sick of it. It didn't help that she was right in the middle of her favorite warm-up ritual.

"Mr. Daniels, I'm sorry, you'll have to wait..." she said through clenched teeth. Her voice sounded more like a rumbling growl than anything.

Jade carefully placed the bottle down on the bench that ran the perimeter of the locker room and went to answer the door. In all honesty, she was expecting it to be Sylo...and was actually somewhat relieved when she opened the door to find a complete stranger.

"Yeah? Are you lost?" Jade inquired in her oh-so-friendly way. Friendly, assuming that the definition includes a ready and more than willing fist at your side.

"No, miss, I think I've found exactly who I am looking for..." Josiah flatly replied. He stared past Jade in her room, examining her in one of her more comfortable states.

"You see, you got involved in something you shouldn't have. You distracted Sylo and I in our last fight, prompting both of us neither to win, nor to lose. And, I assure, had you not shown up, I would have won. But you, you prevented that."

Pointless had a point. Though she was not involved physically, she was enough distraction to take Josiah's win away.

Oh, so it was going to be about some bullshit that happened in the past. Of course. It always was. Jade shot a quick look over her shoulder at the bottle, then back to Pointless. He was, after all, distracting her from some very important business.

"Shit happens." Jade replied, her tone equally as flat as the man confronting her. "I did what I did for my own reasons, not really asking for, nor caring to receive, your approval." She stated very bluntly.

"If you can't cope with little ol' me standing out by the cage, then your problem lies somewhere else." Jade said, relying on the countless pieces of advice offered up by countless shrinks over the years. Who would have thought they'd ever come in handy.

"See, you think this is about you. You being out there, you are a liability. And we cannot have you getting hurt. But, you see, your actions, they do cause reactions." Josiah took a step back and somewhat smirked.

He loved being in this situation. He loved the opening to belittle one's self- esteem, though it didn't always work. Pointless thought that pointing out the fact that they're worthless brings up an enjoyable reaction.

"And you won't like the reaction, that I can assure you."

Josiah stepped back closer, once again in Jade's face.

"Exactly, it wasn't about me. I just happened to be out there." She stated, acquiring a smirk to match Pointless'.

Jade stood there, allowing him to get as close to her as he wanted. If he wanted to feel like the big man and go through this intimidation routine, so be it. Jade didn't care...she knew the truth in this situation, just like all others.

"And...I can guarantee you that I don't give a shit about you, or your reactions. So, if you'll just kindly remove yourself from my doorway, I'll get back to my business, and you can get back to sulking in your own room."

This time, the psychobitch grinned gingerly.

"See, you don't understand," Josiah began. Usually, when his explanations start out like this, they go on for a while. ANYTHING to get anyone to see his point.

"Now, when you decided to sti-"

Jade had heard more than enough. She wasn't, and never had been, a woman of many words, nor did she like them very much. Certain other things spoke volumes more than voices ever could.

And that, my friends, is a nice, stiff right to the jaw. Her fist slammed into Pointless' jaw, knocking his head sideways. That always did the trick to make the long-winded stop. Satisfied with her work, Jade took a step back, gave a little nod and slammed the door shut and locked, before Pointless could really discern what had happened.

Finally, Mr. Daniels, your mistress has returned.

Josiah stroked the feeling back in to his jaw, before leaving the locker room area with a smirk.

"This should be fun, tonight..."

On the screen, a video finally began to play. It appeared to be a hospital of some sort- and a stretcher suddenly burst through the double doors of the hallway. Doctors and nurses surrounded whoever was on the stretcher, so her appearance could not be seen. She was rushed through another set of doors, into an operating room, and the doors were closed behind them.

The camera turned to see a man nearly in tears. He was older-looking, though still appeared well-built and healthy, wearing a plaid sweater and blue jeans. The cameraman walked forward towards him.

"That's my daughter in there." he said, shaking his head and holding back his tears. "Alyssa Harrison. She was supposed to....she wasn't supposed to end up like this. She was supposed to be the greatest female fighter the world has ever known. But she pushed herself too hard.....to try and make me happy, I guess.....and now she has a very rare disease. The doctors tell me there's very little chance that she'll survive the month, let alone live through it."

He lowered his head again, and cried.

The crowd had no idea why they were seeing this, and was silent as the picture faded from the screen. They waited for something else to happen.

And, for now, nothing else did.

Jade Vs Pointless

Seattle wasn’t the biggest fan of the Philly native, but a woman like Jade doesn’t give too much for the public census. The dreads were tightly held behind her head as she stepped in to the cage, soft blemishes and abrasions on her arms, slightly mixing with her tattoos. These all came with the job.

Despite being a woman, Jade wasn’t falling in the normal trend that most in tA do, feeling that she had to prove something. Nope, all crowd- pleasing actions have been made, and now she’s just here to make a buck. But this fight was about something else...

As you read earlier, she doesn’t like when people go in to her locker room and make demands and such. This fight was basically made on assumptions, as most are after a punch in the face. So, she basically had the upper hand.

The cage was set, she was ready, and the lights went out.

write these words back down... inside
we have burned their villages
the people in them... have died
we adopt their customs
and everything they say... we stole
all the dreams they had... we kill
still we all sleep sound inside
is this what you wanted to hear?
we erase the images and dance
and replaced them with borders and flags

at the top of this timeline you'll remember
this is the lipstick on the collar
and in my own life i've seen it in the mirror
sometimes at the cost of others hopes

write these words back down inside

Thursday began to echo as the single spotlight flickered to life, with the lifeless body that is Pointless, head down and arms spread, at the entrance. He lifted his neck, and stared straight in to the eyes of his opponent, despite the handicap in distance. Intimidation, the best first impression. It didn’t work on her, so he had to make up for it.

The lights returned as he stepped inside the cage. With his wrists taped as tight as they were, anatomy tells us that his fingers should be purple. Let’s just say he is too tough for purple fingers, only fagots like purple. Both participants in the fight cracked their knuckles, shifted their shoulders, and began to square off.

The official called for the bell to be rung, and it was. The fight was on, officially, the second that Jade took a deep swing that connected square with Josiah’s nose. It should be broken, it should be bleeding.

Josiah stumbled back, checking for any damage, he then turned back to her. A wild hook from Pointless was found ducked, and she quickly side stepped to avoid another, transitioning in to a Roundhouse Heel Kick. The blow knocked him to the mat, where a count was quickly started.

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4....

Before the halfway mark was reached, Pointless had pushed to his feet. Jade, for a moment, was captivated as he pulled himself up with assistance from the cage. His shoulder- blades extended, here eyes were distracted by symmetrical scars on the peaks of both bones. When he turned to face her, once again hiding them, she was more than ready.

Jade made the offensive strike first, a left hook to Josiah’s jaw, and then a quick shin strike to his side. She tried for a second, but Pointless’ hands were quick. He caught the leg above the thigh, and pulled her in close. After tossing most of her body over his shoulder, he quickly threw his arms out in front. The back of her skull hit the mat in a sick thud, as she moaned an obscenity with the impact.

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3...

Jade was up, rubbing her head as she edged to her feet, but was still ready for Josiah. She once again tried to take him down with a swinging heel kick, but a side shuffle prevented the connection. Pointless kept with his defensive strategy, hooking her exposed side with a left. Two jabs to the chest insured that Pointless was now in control.

In a quick strike, Pointless took a stiff heel kick that hit Jade right on her shoulder.

Another bruise for the morning.

Jade stumbled back a bit, and returned to her opponent in Josiah, who put her on the mat with an uppercut. The impact made a loud sound on the canvas as the count began.

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Six......

Seven.......

Jade had turned over to her stomach, pushing herself up and locking her elbows. This made her vulnerable, prompting Pointless to side a stiff toe in to her collar. The blow knocked her arms out from under her, as the count once again began at the thud her face made with the floor.

One.

Two..

Three...

It had stopped before fans could get their hopes up. The charisma in this girl still had a ways to go, and it showed as she pushed to her feet. Josiah could only smirk at her spirit, which quickly prompted a middle finger.

Let’s just say neither person was amused by each other’s antics.

Pointless’ anger, which has been a rarity in his time here, got the better of him when he quickly tried to dispose of Jade with a lariat. Jade ducked the blow, and quickly retaliated with an elbow to his stomach, followed with a Headlock Takedown. Jade kept with her attack by falling on top of Josiah as he slammed to the mat, propping his head by holding his neck, and slamming away in to his face.

Like the hit earlier tonight, repeated about seven times.

Pointless’ frustration took the better of him, thankfully, and he used his strength to toss Jade off his body. Needless to say, her weight made her a great throwing- object, like a Mr. Potato- Head in an angry four year old’s hands. Jade rolled to the cage wall, where she used its assistance to help herself to her feet.

Jade and Josiah, once again, were on their toes on opposite ends of the cage. Jade tried to gain the upperhand, running at Pointless with full- force. He expected the blow, and quickly dropped to the floor on impact, wrapping his legs tightly around her waste, and then squeezed.

Jade didn’t expect this sort of finisher, but then again, not many people have faced Pointless. As she slammed tight fists in to his chest, he wouldn’t relent. His thick thighs began to force out all the air that she could breathe, by way of smashing the diaphragm upwards. Her useless pounding in the face of panic became null, the agony on her face apparent. She stared in to the eyes of her opponent in Josiah, who stared back, struggling to keep her in the hold and squeeze even tighter.

For moments, their eyes locked, but that was broken when Jade made a move in desperation- slash- realization. She quickly dug her knuckles. Right. In To. Josiah’s. Crotch.

To say the least, Josiah let go. To say much more, he cried like a little girl.

Jade had not succumbed to the Submission maneuver, thankfully, but as she struggled for breath wilts pulling to her feet, the count was administered with Pointless kicking the mat in pain.

Maybe this fight would be over...

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4

5

6... and Pointless finally decided to toughen up and get to his feet. His eyes were still a bit watery, as would yours be if it felt like your testicles were in your throat, and this made Jade a very difficult obstacle to overcome. He didn’t see her behind him.

With Pointless hunched over, stumbling to find Jade, she found the perfect opportunity. With a needle, she could make him a cripple by steeling his spinal fluid. But instead, she just drove her elbow in between two disks. Before he could fall, though, Jade hooked neck under her shoulder, and slammed his face in to the cage.

Through this, however, she was not finished. She tightly gripped his neck with locking her elbow, and slammed again. Instead of leaving Josiah to fall on the mat, though, Jade decided to add on an improv humiliation. She dragged his face along the steel weaving of the Asylum, back and forth, to and fro.

Pointless edged out by sending a fist to her exposed ribs on the opposite side, courtesy of a reach around (wink), then a modified head- butt Uppercut. This looked like he drove his head straight up in to her jaw. As Jade fell to the mat, prompting a count, Josiah looked checked his face to see damage from Jade’s advanced form of the move, Bloodlust.

He was surprised to find no blood, which must have been a first.

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Jade, shifting her jaw around to reassure it was still intact, came to her feet. She found Pointless at a three- point stance, directly in front of her. Before she could react, however, Josiah sprinted and locked her by the waste. The double leg takedown slammed her head directly in to the cage wall behind her. He tried to force his legs around her waste again, but she struggled with a few elbows to the side of her head.

Jade was about to go for another shot to his balls, when Pointless took a precaution and closed his legs, now trying to get away from the ferociously wild punches she was throwing. Both pulled themselves to their feet. Jade was quick to pounce on the scrambling newcomer in Josiah by way of a Swinging Toe Kick that sent him to the mat after connecting with the jaw.

The ten count got no where, however, as Jade quickly lifted Josiah to his knees, punching down in to his face. Josiah was about to fall to his back, but Jade gripped his neck tightly to prevent him from doing so. Another downward punch, and Josiah had no struggle to stay upwards. His weight, and the impact, was too much to prevent Jade from holding him up right.

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But Pointless had pulled himself up by way of the cage. As he turned around, now ready for an assault from Jade, he made a smart choice in ducking, through past experiences, another Roundhouse Kick. He dropped to one knee to dodge the blow, and sent all his waste through his fist, slamming right in to Jade’s abdomen. She stumbled back, after the kick failed, and tried to block the future blows to come.

Pointless quickly charged, unleashing an onslaught of jabs, hooks, and knee strikes. Jade had trouble blocking the first few, but a wild haymaker to the left side of her face caught her off guard. She dropped back a few more steps, but still could not avoid Josiah’s new found fighting energy. A jab to Jade’s nose removed her hands from her stomach area, freeing Pointless to drop her with a carefully planted knee strike.

Jade dropped to her knees, blood pouring from her face, clutching her stomach. These were the reasons why pregnant women don’t normally come to tA shows. The adrenaline that coursed through her heart seemed to stop time, as she effortlessly tried to stop the blood flow from her nose. This didn’t last long, though, when she felt a tight grip by her dreadlocks.

Here eyes drifted up, and landed upon a tiresome, callous, and utterly annoyed Josiah. The pain in his eyes, the bruises on his skin, they said it all. It was time to end. And as Josiah gripped her with his left, his right rose high above her head. She felt it all coming to an end, with the force of two impacts; one to her face, and another to her throat. A move that Pointless calls Fallen Sulfur. Jade fell to the mat.

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Nine.

Ten.

And the bell was rung, “Autobiography of a Nation” played, as Pointless stumbled to the cage wall for assistance in leaving to the back. He exited the cage to a chorus of boos, and would normally react to the crowd, hadn’t his mind been focused on something else. As he cautiously walked down the stage, his eyes never left the person who had just barely began to get to her feet in the cage.

Jada looked straight on to see, possibly, her greatest opponent disappear to the back. This was a battle that had certainly gotten the fans attention, but more importantly, it got each other’s attention.

But this was something Jade would have to discover later, because two losses in a row was, in itself, all too much to bear.

Pointless, on the other hand, was left to revel in his first win, in the Asylum. This should be a sign of things to come.

Eddie Cheno looked over at Frank, standing at attention with a large black bag slung over his shoulder. Frank was staring right at Cheno, but obviously wasn't there to fight, as he had a perfect opening to jump the Television Champ but didn't, for whatever reason.

"Sup mang, wat the funk be yer beef?" Eddie spoke with such beautiful and punctual english. A True scholar.

"I got something for you Eddie."

"Wat mang?"

Frank fished into his bag, pulling out a brocure. He handed it to Cheno, who opened it upside and began trying to read it like it was a bible at sunday school.

"Flip it over Eddie... er. Its for rehab. Its my gift to you, you should be happy I give a shit." Frank grinned, and for the first time, almost looked a bit pompus.

"Yo mang, rehab be fur funken quiters yo. And I ain't be a quiter. So I quit dat funken shiznit yo." Eddie stared off for a moment, and then lowered his head. "Funken A mang. We be havin' a funken condundrum!" He places his hands on his chin to think long and hard.

Frank stared blankly for a second, before zipping the bag back up, slinging it back over his shoulder, and stepping away very slowly. He backed to the door, shook his head, and slipped out, leaving Eddie to mutter.

"Funk that, I quit."

However, Joe Campbell is a cut above or below depending on what you’d prefer to say. In other words, he has played the ‘Evil Boss’ gimmick from the start and sure as hell will not say sorry for it. Simply put, Joe is worse than Vince, Eric, Russo, Kevin Sullivan and - yes even - Cowboy Bill Watts!

Irrelevant of that unnecessary information and analysis, a new face was spotted backstage. He wad destined to become another victim of the Manchester native’s nasty nature and magnificent manipulative skills. You could tell that already by looking at him. He was lost yet this person’s ‘cute’ complexion prompted a few female heads to turn and those that were with partners were put in their place via a nudge or the proclamation of ‘He’s a gayboy.’

Even the blokes couldn’t deny that the man, who was wearing designer shades and a beautiful black shirt with trousers to match, had that aura about him. His hair was tied back in a ponytail and a chunky chain that rested against his chiseled chest signified style.

Could things get better for the female contingent who follows this company?

Apparently.

He tapped an official, one of the suits, on the shoulder and melted their hearts as he whispered in a Spanish accent: “Excuse me. I’m lost. Could you tell me where Senor Joe… Wait. I’ve forgotten his name. Sheet. Sorry about this…”

“Campbell?”

The young man clicked his fingers and nodded his head: “That’s his name.”

A brief silence ensured before the executive, who was seemingly busy or pretended to be at least, glanced at the stranger: “What do you want him for?”

He was taken aback: “Huh? Oh. Oh. Erm… Sorry Senor. My name is Ali Amore.”

Women murmured ‘mm’ whilst the opposite sex groaned at their stupidity in admiring a case who was neither a man nor a boy and getting wet under the skirt because his surname happened to also mean ‘love.’

“And?”

Ali was clearly confused but after a few seconds he realised that he could continue: “Sorry sir. Well this is The Asylum isn’t it? I wrote him, Senor Campbell I mean, a letter a few weeks ago telling him that if he accepted me then I would guarantee him Cocaine for the rest of his life and amazingly he replied the next day. I couldn’t believe it. My application must have been different I guess.”

Everyone smiled or smirked at Amore’s innocence. He had already underlined the reason why Joseph had responded so swiftly yet still actually believed that his letter was revolutionary in its approach. Nonetheless, that was Ali Amore for you. Yes, he could be sweet and sincere but as Asylum supporters would find out soon enough he also has another side to him. It’s not cynical or sinister mind. You’ll soon see anyway.

“He said I should come and see him straightaway if I wanted to be famous. That’s my aim you see. To be famous and I will be you know. It’s just a matter of time. So is this a decent Wrestling promotion unlike that WWE sheet that they show?”

Oh no. Did he just utter the words ‘Wrestling’ and ‘Promotion’ in the same sentence?

“I’m sorry to say you’ve had a wasted journey.”

Ali’s eyes lit up: “What do you mean little man? This isn’t the Asylum or it IS like that WWE sheet?”

“Neither…”

Amore interrupted: “What the hell is it then?”

“It’s a Fighting federation.”

“Fighting? You mean punching, kicking and biting fighting? My friends told me that I should apply here because it’s the perfect place for me.”

Obviously, this was somebody’s idea of a prank though Ali still hadn’t twigged. Amazingly, he wasn’t put off in the slightest: “What do I care anyway? I’m the best at everything I do and if I have to, what would you say; pees on few people then so be it. I don’t give a sheet. You know why…

“I’m the ‘Superstar from Bogotá.’ That’s why.”

That meant fuck all to anyone, least of all this pig-ignorant official, who was either beginning to tire of and/or not understand the Colombian’s comments. Therefore, while still trying to remain polite and decent, he offered to escort the silky South American, who thanked him for ‘being kind’to the relevant place and introduce him to an individual he certainly wouldn’t forget in a hurry…

Goon #4 (The native american one) leans over into the ear of Goon #1 (The one with glasses), "Hey, um...who is he talking to?"

Goon #1 just shakes his head. "Man, I really have no idea. Excuse me, I just remembered that I hate my life. Bye."

Goon #1 leaves. (Because he's emo)

"Are joo huh, huh tuff guy? >:o"

Goon #3 (The black one) rubs his temples, "Uh, sir..."

"Well, joo betta be helly loco eef joo tink dat joo kan fuck wit meeh." Escobar gets 'all up onz' the camera's "face". Doing that thing rappers do when they are so pissed - but like are also totally feelin' the beat at the same. BUT (but!) are also trying to be all hardcore and shit. You know..."bout it bout it". Does anyone know what the fuck I'm talking about here?

"Sir." Goon #3 said again.

"WAT EES EET? DON'T JOO SEE EYE'M BUSY?"

"Sir, what are you doing?" Goon #2 (the girl) said.

"Wat ee'm eye doing, joo ax? I jam addressing the---

Writer's note: *slaps forehead* Oh right, I forgot all of this is on the Asylumtron SORRY!"

---people, mang. Now joo shaddappa you face end let meeh do da talkin' got that?"

Escobar picked up a bag of white stuff (what we're assuming is cocaine) and held it in plain view.

"Joo see dis? 5,000 Ahmedacan you ess dolares.

Why am eye showing you dis? Seemple.

FAK YOU. >:o

Eet ess to say. "Fuck you." Eye don't need joo. Eye don't even need de Asailum. Eye am hear for leisure. Pleasure. All of the tings dat are owed t'me. Dat right, God owes me. A long time ago, there was a war. Eet waas a war of great fabulousness. He eenlisted me as the commander and I lead God's army to really good victory. Well, wat eye mean is...I deeed thees before eye waas born. So, like my soul is fabulous now and now you all have to leesen to me.

LISTEN FREELOADING QWEERS.

Eye am sure dat one of you, at some point has been giviing a free line of coca fron a frien...or fron a relative-I don't know how you ahmedeekan do joo whole coke business but I DO know dat people out dere have been getting free lines...and dat not guud. So, I am here to saye now.

I want my money. ------ [this is the only thing he can say correctly in english.]

And I weel get all my money back bye entertaining and weening matches. AND JOO WILL ALL LOVE ME WITH THE KISSES.

Wy? Beecas, eye am how do you say, secksy?"

Long pause.

"HOLLA BACK YOUNGING!" Escobar exclaims (^_^)!!!

Goon #5 threw some paper on the ground and walked out in disgust. Everyone watched him leave for like 5 minutes only though it look like 3 minutes to for him to walk through the door. Goon #5 is usually the fat goon or the goon used as a parady of some famous person (like -fucking- Ryan Seacrest) so naturally he walks slower AND he causes the most dead air.

Writers note: Stop reading my work.

I nodded my head to production.

I didn't need to give any verbal order.

My strength is obvious.

-------"Skrying" by Mudvayne.

The crowd was didn't know what to make of the overly-muscular 6-foot-7 masked ogre that suddenly plodded away his way down the ramp. Boos and cheering were replaced by mumbling and suspicion. Joe had been dipping into the "freak" file again. Giving the most bestial looking of all applicants’ contracts.

The man stomped up the stairs and stepped into the cage where he was handed a microphone...

...pausing to look over the people in attendance...the ogre spoke.

"Hi." Avenger started...

'Well at least the ape can speak', some thought but none said.

"...I don't want to be known as someone that uses meaningless babble as a form of communication so I'm going to make this quick.

For a long time now you hayseeds have lived like peasant stock. Like your name suggests...you are barely educated masses that exist solely to serve as coal for capitalism and other forms of higher thought. This place...this..."Asylum"...is your roach motel. Your theatre if you will. Now, I am not one who believes in moral posturing...far be it for me to tell people what to do.

However.

In this society we have rules of conduct and proper ways to act, speak and yes...often live. The freedoms that you have, you often take for granted. Instead of feeling grateful to the American systems of law and civility...you mock them and you question them.

Who are you to question the philosophies that shape the modern thinking mind?

Why do you lie, steal and cheat? Why do you break the law?"

Avenger looked down and then eyed the curtains as people just scratched their heads..."Why has no one back there stepped up and stopped this? Are there no heroes left among you? Who is sticking up for democracy or progress? Who is willing to lead by example of strength?"

Avenger turned the other cheek, preparing to answer his own questions..."You have no right to question modernism. No one has stepped up to stop this because they are worse than you surfs. They are warlords and thieves in the night who play their shallow part of clichéd super-villainy in this idiotic play.

But there is one hero left.

Me.

I am that man who is willing to stick up for democracy and progress.

I am that man who is willing to lead by example of strength."

Some conservatives in the audience (yeah, there are some) cheered him on...as liberals just heard a man trying to tell them how to live and booed him accordingly. Avenger fiercely stared them all down.

"Boo.

Cheer.

It doesn't matter.

Just so you know....

...It's over.

That's all.

Nothing more. Nothing less.

Case fucking closed."

That is, until a gentle hand rocked his shoulder from behind. Eddie lifted and twisted his head, to reveal none other than Nicole Carson standing behind him. Eddie rolled his eyes, as Carson swung her body around in front of Cheno, and placed her hands on his shoulders. “Hi Eddie.”

Cheno didn’t respond, and just as Carson slowly drug her fingers over Cheno’s cheek, Eddie jerked his face away. “Wo-Mang.” Eddie sighed, pulling Carson’s hand away fully and shoving them to her side. “Stop.”

Carson lowered her head in shame and turned away. She kept her distance however, not retreating. “I don’t know what you’re so scared of Eddie. We’re made love before.”

Eddie sniffled. He could still smell the blood from whenever the Asylum was here last. That or he was hallucinating. “Times be changin’ yo.” Eddie stood to his feet, pulling out a small gold tin box from his pocket. He pulled out what looked to be a cigarette, but we all knew differently. “I ain’t got time fer dez funken games mang.”

Cheno flickered the lighter he owned, but it wouldn’t light his joint. He shook it a few times, and tried again, but failed. That’s when Carson turned around, grabbed Cheno by his hands and took the lighter away. She put the lighter to her teeth, and ripped something off, before flicking the lighter on. It seemed to work just fine now.

Eddie didn’t lean forward to light up; he just stared at her, his head remaining the same level as it once was. Which leads to a dark shadow forming over his eyes as his head was tilted at an angle. He reached up himself, and took the lighter out of Carson’s hands, before lighting his cigarette.

Carson sighed, her eyes wide and dough like. “Eddie, I’ve tried to give you anything you could want from me…” Carson trailed off. “Anything. I thought after some time you’d reconsider your thoughts, you’d just take me and be done with it, but I can’t live the rest of my life without paying you back somehow. I just don’t know how. Tell me. Please?”

Eddie took a drag; the intoxicating smoke filled his lungs and poured out into his blood. He may get cotton mouth, but it was a small price to pay. “Funken leave me be mang.” Eddie turned his back on Carson as he said it, and lowered his head. “Funken leave.”

Carson touched Eddie’s shoulders slightly, but Cheno shrugged her away. Her eyes looked up at a child, tears slowly started to well up inside of her. “Eddie.”

“GO!” He shouted, pointing toward what was now an open door. And standing in that open doorway was John C. Willis in nothing but his underwear. Carson stared. Eddie stared. And Willis stared at the two of them. Thinking Eddie’s point was meant for him, he quietly tip toed out of the room and shut the door behind him.

HardCase Vs Hank Earl Hoskins

Gun shot. Gun cock. Loop repeat, and “Heat” by 50 Cent played HardCase out to the cage. He sauntered down the ramp with his bravado, and to the usual boos and jeers from the Asylum fans…though they weren’t nearly as hateful enough for HardCase’s taste.

He wouldn’t let that get him down though. He entered the cage and awaited his opponent.

“East Bound and Down" by Jerry Reed played and the surly Texan stomped his way down to the cage beer bottle in hand. Hank Earl Hopkins stepped up to the cage door. He stopped to take a quick swig, but was robbed of this indulgence by HardCase who ripped him into the cage, and threw him to the canvas.

Before Hopkins could get to his feet, HardCase swiped the bottle from Hank’s hand and bashed him in the head with it

…but it didn’t break.

Hopkins was stunned by first blow.

*CRASH*

But it was the second blow that brought him down and smashed the bottle upside his skull. HardCase tossed the shattered end of the bottle aside, and awaited the 10 count.

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

Hopkins brought himself to a knee, and shook his head clear cobwebs and bits of glass. HardCase looked on allowing Hopkins to recover and assume a false sense of security.

Just as Hank is about to rise to a vertical, HardCase charged in pouncing on Hopkins with a charging knee to the face. Hank was flung to the canvas by the impact.

HardCase mounted Hopkins from behind and tore into him with an unorthodox series of bitch slaps to the back of Hank Earl Hopkins head. Using both hands HardCase then reached in and jammed his fingers into Hopkins’ mouth from behind. Hopkins began to choke on them, and HardCase ripped back on Hopkins, pulling his head back by the grips he had on the inside of Hopkins’ cheeks.

“Open wiiiiiiiiide!” chuckled HardCase who was thoroughly enjoying his first legit one-on-one fight in the Asylum. HardCase ripped back mercilessly on Hopkins’ mouth stretching it back farther than what seemed humanly possible, as if he was looking to rip the sides of Hank’s mouth away form his face.

Hank Earl Hopkins was about 5 seconds away from receiving a facial operation that would give him a face only Pac-Man would love when he grabbed hold of something, reached behind himself, and jammed it into HardCase’s face.

HardCase relinquished his grip and grabbed at his bleeding face.

Remember the broken bottle HardCase aimlessly tossed aside earlier? Well let’s just say this will teach him to leave jagged pieces of just glass lying around.

Hopkins got to his feet, and ignored the pains form his aching cheeks…and you degenerate fucks know exactly what cheeks are being discussed here, so get your minds out of the gutter you fucktards.

Being the drunken bastard he is, Hank licked whatever residue was left on the inside of broken glass-which got an applause from the other future liver failure patients in the crowd-then set his attention on HardCase.

Hank Earl Hopkins charged wildly at HardCase who was still nursing the lacerations on just under his eye. But he saw Hopkins coming, and took notice of the jagged implement in his hand.

With a swift blow HardCase kicked the broken bottle out of Hopkins’ hand à la Bruce Lee. The jagged piece of glass flew from Hopkins hands in a high arc which took it up and out of the cage. HardCase then planted a stiff right fist to Hopkins’ eye à la an abusive husband whose wife is giving him sass.

Hopkins reeled back from the blow and HardCase followed his attack with a body shot that keeled Hopkins over. HardCase locked him in a front face-lock and executed an Attitude Adjustment laying Hank out with the implant DDT.

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

Hank began to stir again, and lifted himself up on his elbows, forcing the ref to cease the count. HardCase had thought Hopkins done for and turned his back on him. Only just know noticing the ref stopped the ten count.

He turned around to find Hank Earl Hopkins bearing down on him. HardCase leaped into the air as if for a jumping kick of some kind, but Hopkins was advancing too rapidly and before HardCase could complete any kind of kicking motion he found himself pancaked to the cage mesh by 211 pound of white trash.

Hopkins stepped back allowing HardCase to slump down off the mesh, but before HardCase could regain his composure Hopkins nailed him with a “Texas Hammer” to the back of the neck, sending HardCase smacking into the canvas.

HardCase laid face down, and the ref began counting.

1

2

3

4

5

6

HardCase scurried to his feet, shaking off the effects of the Texas Hammer, and raised his head to find Hank Earl Hopkins charging in on him once again.

This time however HardCase merely dipped his body down into the rushing Hopkins and flipped Hank over his back, leaving Hopkins to land in a heap behind him.

HardCase then laid into Hopkins; first with a brutal shot to base of his spine while Hopkins attempted to get to his feet; then with an equally vicious series of stomps to Hank Earl Hopkins body and face while he was down.

HardCase ripped Hopkins to his feet and flung him into the cage mesh. HardCase planted a knee squarely into Hopkins groin.

As expected, Hank keeled over in obvious pain. HardCase had this match well in hand. The grin he wore as he grappled Hopkins for his final move, suggested he knew that fact quite well.

Looking to end this fight in a somewhat spectacular manner, HardCase hoisted Hopkins up onto the edge of the cage going for a high impact “top-rope” maneuver, which he had to improvise since the cage lacked an actual top-rope. He balanced himself and Hopkins as best he could and went to superplex Hank Earl Hopkins onto the canvas. But…

*SMACK!*

HardCase loosened his grip and gritted in pain due to the chair shot delivered courtesy of Josiah a.k.a Pointless. With HardCase balancing on the edge of the cage with Hopkins in his grasp, Pointless was able to come out to the cage area, grab a steel chair, and enter the cage unnoticed.

Now the chair shot to the back, HardCase was very aware of.

It’s pretty hard not to take notice of things like that.

HardCase slumped a bit, and this is where Hopkins seized a golden opportunity. Hopkins grabbed on to HardCase and in a reversal of moves lifted HardCase up overhead and allowed both of them to drop to the outside of the cage, HardCase hit the ground first so the ref ruled the fight over by ring out and granted Hank Earl Hopkins the victory.

But HardCase’s pain was only beginning.

Pointless climbed over the cage wall and walked over to HardCase’s downed and painfully stirring body. Pointless raised his steel chair high over head.

“This!”

*SMACK*

“Is!”

*SMACK*

“NECESSARY!!”

*SMACK!!*

Pointless let the battered steel weapon drop with a clang by HardCase’s beaten body, as he walked off leaving HardCase thriving in agony.

Oaths, to one Joe Campbell.

Josiah was summoned, just after his fight. Near the end of the Show, Joe is usually too drunk to address certain situations. Maybe this is why he called him now, to avoid further distractions from other hopeless fighters.

So Josiah knocked on the door, he did have manners (like shown earlier with Jade). He heard someone on the other side telling him to ‘come in,’ and when he did, he saw Joe Campbell planted in front of his desk with a Wild Turkey bottle and a small glass, Thanh Vactor completed the scene by standing behind him in the shadows, his hand hidden in his jacked (most likely resting on his glock).

“Ah, Pointless, sit down.”

Josiah obliged, he wasn’t about to turn his boss down.

“Now, I have you hear for a reason.”

“I know, sir.”

“Good,” he said, with a disturbing smile. Joe didn’t necessarily have anything sinister on his mind, his smile was just damn ugly. He was damn ugly. “I know you were trained by Fletcher. And, I assume that you knew what his prior duties were?”

Josiah simply nodded, but already, he was slightly confused.

“Yes, sir, he was to basically watch over the Smilthy’s bars for business, and the like, but I don’t understand... ‘were?’”

Campbell let out a chuckle. “Yes, my friend. You see, Duncan just gave me a call. He has been meaning to follow up on this lead he got back in February. With you here, I can let him go but still maintain some level of security.”

Now it was starting to clear.

“You showed that you are a pretty good asset in the cage, and in the Asylum as a whole, so I am giving you your own project. I’ve seen that you are pretty involved in Smilthy’s, any ways, so...

“From now on, you have Fletcher’s job.”

And soon, kids, we will see why we don’t give a mad- man power.

Then looked at the two men who sat next to each other.

Then back at the paper work.

"*sigh* Alright cunts here's the thing. You see...I hardly expected two guys to actually be from Bogota, Colombia. I thought it was just one guy, who was retarded enough to write out two submission forms." Joe said scratching his head.

Escobar and Ali looked at each other.

Joe downed a shot of Jack Daniels.

"So, here's the thing." Joe continued. "You both seem like two reasonable "dudes" so I think it's best that you work this out like gentlemen. Meaning: Fight for it."

Ali broke into the conversation..."Um, excuse me? I'm a real fighter. Escobar is...well...shit. If you don't mind me saying."

"No, I don't mind at all." Joe said.

"EY MINED." Escobar yelled.

Escobar turned to Ali, "ey, tuff guy - wat mehks you tink that you are better than meeh, eh?"

Joe sighed..."Well, no offense, Juan...but no one is buying this Escobar crap. Any spanish twat with some blow can waltz in here and claim to be apart the famous Escobar cartel. You're shit to be frank. But, I'm a fair man...I really don't care which one of you Bogotans get in here, all I know is that I don't want two."

A bit of a silence.

"Well?" Joe said..."Get on with it then. Out."

Escobar and Ali walked out of Joe office. Juan had his head down and appeared to be crying.

"Dees sucks."

Ali nodded. "Yes, for you. Now...how do you want to do this...a match? Rock-paper-sisscors? What?"

"LEEV ME LONE!!!" Juan screamed.

Escobar ran away weeping into his forearm.

Ali just shook his head.

"Fucking crack baby."

Sylo tried to move his arms but there was no use, they had been bound behind his back. He tried to struggle free, but alas it was no use. His constraints held firm and Sylo knew that he was in trouble.

The noose around Sylo's neck dangled from the wet and mildew covered ceiling, the only thing keeping him from choking to death was a small step ladder. But Sylo knew, deep down, that step ladder would not be there for long.

"So, Skyway... what do you want your epitaph to say?"

“Nothing because I’ll find away out of this…and when I do, I swear to God I’ll kill you,” Sylo snarled as he looked death in the face.

"Oh, what?" Velorium snarled back. "No infamous last words from the notorious John Skyway? C'mon, assjack, this is your final dance. Surely you'd like to give a full novel description of your final battle..."

Velorium stepped uber close to Sylo, his nose a mere half inch from the Superbeast's.

"...And how you lost it?"

Sylo only chuckled.

“You can kill me but I swear to you, even if it’s in another life I will have my revenge, so show what those so called balls you have can do and kick the ladder away, end my life, finish me…but just know I will be back,” Sylo finished and closed his eyes.

"Fuck it, then." Velorium 12 kicked the ladder away beneath him, and was followed with Sylo kicking his feet and choking to death.

Velorium put a CD in Sylo's empty CD player, and pressed play.

As Elliot Pisces shut the door behind him, Beethoven's Ninth played in the background; adding a soundtrack to the death of the Superbeast.

He turned a corner, and stared forward at a man with dark shaggy hair, tight clothes, and a general disposition against enthusiasm.

'The new guy.' Frank muttered to himself. It felt good to look down on someone now, as opposed to constantly having to prove himself as the new comer. There was new meat to pick at.

"Asher! The new kid! Hey man, I uhh, got a gift for you too!" Frank moved his hip, causing the bag to slide against his side, and he began digging through, looking for the gift that he had for Rollins.

"If you don't, it's no trouble. I don't really care."

Frank, continuing to feel around the bag aimlessly shook his head, waving his free hand.

"No no, I would feel TERRIBLE if I didn't give you something after giving that crackhead Cheno a gift!"

"Uh, okay. Whatever, buddy, just hurry up. I don't want to waste my time standing here, listening to you for too long. I could be doing, uh, anything else."

"Here it is!" Frank said as if he knew what he was talking about. Which he did not. The gift he lifted from the bag was the dread, or delight, of every fan watching. Everyone had seen it before. It was an oversized tin with Holiday graphics printed on the outside. One could only guess what was inside, but the Thanksgiving theme of the tin seemed to displace the theory of candy canes.

"Heeeey, I have this great idea," Asher said with a real sarcastic tone. He grabbed the tin from Frank with a feigned smile, walked a couple steps past him with a blank stare, then placed it next to a measure of stacked, folded-up tables. He walked back, the smile still there.

"You grab the tin, put it back in your bag, and I walk away. Isn't that a great plan, fwend? BEST FWEND?"

For some reason, it seemed as if Asher was in a more condescending mood than usual.

Frank glanced around the hallway, looking as is Asher was speaking to someone behind him. He took a step forward, cleared his throat, and dug into his bag again, this time, pulling out the Asylum Championship title.

"Excuse me, Kid, but see this? Yea it means that you're gonna open up that tin, eat the fuckin' caramel WHATEVER is in it, and like it!"

The entire time, Frank was waving the title belt around the air like it was a flag. He really was completely delusion about what a leather strap does in these walls.

"Fwend, you're such a best fwend. I don't like caramel, fwend, so I'm not going to eat it."

Frank turned around, side stepping and then kicking the tin off of the table against the wall, sending caramel corn everywhere, with the exception of, on Rollins or Minio. Frank turned back towards the completely unwavered Asher Rollins and looked very disappointed.

"See what you did, new guy? Now no one gets to eat the goddamned caramel corn!"

"Oh, I'm tearing. Really. The death of the caramel corn is a tragedy. Kind of like your, uuuuuuuh, birth."

"The only Tragedy, Usher, is that ... fuck off!"

"Are you done yet? You seem done, since you're trailing off. You're just making yourself look bad... fwend."

Frank stuffed the title back in the bag in a fit of rage, and in one fluid motion, spun, scooping up the dented tin which was now half empty of its contents, and beaned it at Asher across from him. Without saying another word he grumbled and turned in the opposite direction, stomping off in a hurry.

"What a dumb guy," Asher muttered to himself. Was there a Starbucks in this arena?

It was back in the hospital, and a few words on the bottom of the screen read "Two Months Later". The cameraman was outside one of the patient rooms, zooming in on the door plate that read "Alyssa Harrison". A nurse walked past him, and then she took apart the plate, removing the white slip of paper with the name on it. The cameraman watched her leave, and then entered the room.

Inside, he passed an empty bed and the curtain separating the two halves of the room, to the other side of it. Assorted doctors and nurses surrounded the bed, keeping the patient out of the camera's view. Finally, one of the doctors moved....to reveal.....Alyssa.

Alive.

Sitting up.

And smiling.

She looked beautiful even in a hospital robe and without make-up, her long blonde hair flowing down to her shoulders. More than that, she looked awfully healthy for a person without any hope of survival.

"It's a miracle!" one of the doctors finally yelled out in clichéd fashion.

"There's no other way to explain it." another doctor remarked, tapping the right side of his glasses with his finger.

And Alyssa just kept smiling for the camera.

"Of course I'm alive." she said, finally breaking her silence. "I can't die without first completing my destiny."

And the picture once again faded from the screen, leaving the fans with more questions than answers.

Machine gun fire on the door of none other then Joseph some initial Campbell. Campbell stared at the door, coldly, blankly. His face matched his mood. Flat. He kept his eyes on the door, but made no move, no sound. Nothing.

*RAP RAP RAP RAP RAP*

He finally moved, but not towards the door, towards the inside of his jacket, pulling out a gold flask, removing the cap, taking a long swig...

And then another long swig...

And a third for good measure and fortune.

*RAP RAP RAP RAP! RAPRAPRAPRAPRAP!*

"Joe you rat bastard I know you're in there, the whores are still on the block!"

Joe pondered for a moment and then began to think out loud...

"What a clever fuck... ALRIGHT COME IN!"

The door opened and in walked in none other but tonight's original Santa Claus. Frank fuckin' Minio. Joe looked completely displeased, but realized this was now his poster boy, his crowned King of the shit pit. And he was somewhere happy in his dead black heart that it wasn't a certain Sean Williams, so he feigned interest.

"Minio, to what the fuck do I owe the unrest?"

Frank walked to the desk, his eyes straight at Campbell as he slammed the bag down on the desk infront of Joe. Neither man flinched at the loud *THUD* of the contents. Frank unzipped it, and rested his hands on the edge.

"Joe, I know you know I got that title in this bag. I also know you've probably heard I've been giving out gifts to my fellow fighters tonight..."

Joe slapped his hands together, grinning widely.

"What is it, Coke? Cash? Better yet... BOOZE? Throw something at me Minio, c'mon you greezy fuck, we go way back."

The last comment had struck a small nerve in the back of Frank's head, beyond the total failure of Gifting Asher Rollins, he was now quite pissed off. He reached into the bag, and let out one of the biggest moves of disrespect someone had landed on Joe Campbell inside his own office...

"No you Limey Cockney fuck, but nice try guessing. We do go way back. Backstabbin'!"

The grin on Campbell's face faded quickly, he was reaching for his Nine when Minio interupted his train of thought.

"I got something better for you, Joe."

"Better?" Joe asked, in a low growl.

"Yea Joe... I got right here... a big handful of... GO FUCK YOURSELF! This is my house now. There ain't a goddamn Psycho in this pisspot you call a buisness that you can throw at me now that I won't come out ontop of. I'm a fucking Survivor. That's what counts these days. There is only one person in this place that can come close to taking this gold from me. And don't you goddamn say his name. Fuck you Joe Campbell. Clear the bench on me, I fuckin' dare you."

Joe was nearly speechless, for once. He stared up at Frank with his hand clutching the pistol grip of a nine milimeter below his desk when a small smile grew on his lips.

"Are you challenging me to send challengers at ya, ya cocky cuntbag?"

Joe asked with a certain pleasure, and Frank nodded, lifting his bag over his shoulder, leaving the room in a blur, leaving only his trademark...

"Fuckin' A!"

Joe Campbell watched as the door slammed shut behind the exiting Minio, he lifted his hand, slamming his pistol on the desk, and clicked the safety back on. He grinned, in only a way that a greedy Motherfuck like Joe Campbell could.

"Ya cocky bastard. You're mine."

Anyway, as mentioned earlier, the interference wasn’t welcomed because a big bastard by the name of John C. Willis, who was often deemed gay by fans and Fighters alike since his stint in The Fighting Zone, wandered into Cheno’s locker room with only a pair of boxers to protect his modesty. It was what could be called a sight for sore eyes.

Eddie didn’t have far to travel in order to locate the Indiana native. In fact, all he had to do was take a few steps to his right and he found himself outside of a door that had ‘John C. Willis’ etched on it in navy blue letters.

It was now the Californian who found himself in the doorway though, thankfully, he wasn’t in his underwear even if Carson would care to disagree.

As opposed to knocking, the bemused Cheno stormed in and stared at Willis: “Wat the funk be that all bout yo?”

A clearly embarrassed colossus apologised: “I didn’t mean to do that Eddie. Honest. It’s just that I went to the toilet, got lost on the way back and forgot which dressing room was mine. That’s all.”

“Funken’ hell, knock next time mang Alright bruda? Peace out mang,” Cheno uttered in his cool and casual manner, which had endeared him to so many supporters. Despite being made to feel uncomfortable by the Kokomo-born behemoth, he had settled this in an assertive and authoritative way without having to be aggressive.

Now that John was out of the way, what would Eddie do about Nicole?

I need a hero
I'm holding out for a hero 'til the end of the night
He's gotta be strong
And he's gotta be fast
And he's gotta be fresh from the fight
I need a hero
I'm holding out for a hero 'til the morning light
He's gotta be sure
And it's gotta be soon
And he's gotta be larger than life

Somewhere after midnight
In my wildest fantasy
Somewhere just beyond my reach
There's someone reaching back for me
Racing on the thunder end rising with the heat
It's gonna take a superman to sweep me off my feet

"A super man...boy, Bonnie sure knows what she's talking about." Angelica sighed, shaking her head softly as raven black strands of hair fell in her face. She places her notebook down and stands up, making her way to the door. She continues to hum as she steps into the hall. She turns to go down the hall, but almost bumps into Frank Minio. Frank, carrying his black duffle bag grins at the woman. Its a grin she barely reconizes, but it stirs some emotion. He speaks very smoothly today, he has a confidence that hadn't been seen for a few months now.

"Hello there, Angel. You might be surprised to know that I have something in my bag for you too."

Angelica could barely form words, despite her brain throwing ideas around faster than jugglers swapping bowling pins. After swallowing hard and taking a deep breath, she finally spoke.

"And what's in your bag for me?"

Frank reached deep into the bag, blinking and glancing around the hall as he dug around. He looked as if he knew what he was searching for, but he had no idea where it was. A second passed and finally he brought his arm out, holding a plane ticket.

"Its a ticket. Get outta here, while that pretty face of yours is still intact."

Angelica looked at the plane ticket quickly before dropping it on the ground. She lifted a black heeled boot up and stepped on the ticket, grinding it into the ground for added effect.

"I don't want your sympathy bullshit."

"Its not sympathy... it's a shred of humanity."

"Humanity? Your 'humanity' won't get you anywhere. I'm here for a fight."

Angelica looked him in the eyes and tried to look away, but couldn't. Something about those eyes made her remember a time when she was...normal.

"Alright then Darling. I got another gift for you. But it ain't in the bag. I'll let you take a shot at my brand new Championship title, tonight. If you're feeling inhumane enough to be tough out there."

"Aww, you're so fucking kind. Save your title shot. I'd much rather earn it."

She spat the words at him like a bad taste in her mouth. But why could she not look away?

Frank took a step back, mocking her intensity, waving his arms at her as if begging to stop.

"Are you just accepting a non title match? Whoa now! Fuckin' A we got a live one here! Someone get the rat poison!"

...Fucking A? Where had she heard that before?...

After Angelica finally broke her stare into Frank's eyes, she sighed and smirked a bit.

"I'd much rather know what the hell I'm going up against so I can take your title and NOT have it be called a fluke."

Frank slung the bag over his shoulder, suddenly getting a cold feeling from the woman, something that really displeased him even during this glorious day of celebration for him. He spun away from her and walked down the hall shouting out the words...

"Then its a date. See you shortly!"

Before turning a corner and going into a fit of paranoia and confusion as to the identity of the woman he just had the encounter with.

Angelica stood there in shock, surprised that she couldn't remember who he was. Who here knew her when she was Angel? As she turned back into her locker room, she sang quietly to herself some more.

Up where the mountains meet the heavens above
Out where the lightning splits the sea
I would swear that there's someone somewhere
Watching me...

"I need a hero."

That is until he walked straight into a wall. For a moment, he paused. This was highly unlike him, to just be running into walls. Oh, that wall wasn't actually a wall, though. Six foot seven, three hundred-and-thirty-pound things appeared as walls to him sometimes.

Asher rolled his eyes up from his book and eyed the chiseled, hairy chest up to that mysterious black mask. There was a pause for a moment, Avenger looking down at him with solid, unfazed eyes. "Okay, what the fuck's the mask for? I see steroids have done you well-no need to hide that pretty face."

The silence was so thick between them that you could take it in your hand and mold it to your will with a fist.

An ogre's fist - made hard by meat, muscle and bone.

Taking a deep breath; without saying a word Avenger cocked such a fist back and sent it barreling into young Asher's face.

The walls were made artful by a crimson spray. Onlookers - fighters and spectators - encircled the two as Asher stumbled backwards holding his bloody nose.

"I see those muscles aren't just for show. Too bad they make you out to be a freak. Go ahead, hit me. Unleash all that aggression. Dump out your failure all over me. Excrete the lost life in the form of barreling fists and kicks. It won't matter--you're still gone in the eyes of anyone looking to see."

Still quite unresponsive to Asher's comments or the people around him, Avenger took Asher by the chin --- lined another fist up with his face and let it fly. Asher naturally fell backwards as more people filtered in the hallway. The masked monster was hardly done as he stood with his guard down...waiting for Asher to get to his feet...

"This is it? I'm not going to hit you, if that's what you're expecting. Your chemical imbalances are pushing you over the edge. You're not even in control. You hear this and you snap."

After a slight pause. "This is where you hit me."

The face behind the mask remained completely frozen as he reached down low...and lifted Asher onto his tippy-toes with a devastating uppercut. Before Asher's heels could meet the floor again Avenger cruised a left punch right into the youth's stomach. Even the beast's chest hairs seemed unphased by the sudden rush of air that was expelled from Asher Rollin's mouth.

The people were whoopin' and hollerin' now. Avenger ignored them and grabbed the back of Asher's head as he still hung on his left arm. Slow and deliberate the monster turned his enemies head so that they could look at each other face to face.

"The abiding place is where the mind stops, where it is detained by one thing--one object, person, idea. Ignorance is the absence of enlightenment. Are you right yet, or still just fucked and flawed?"

Avenger used his bear claw of a hand to turn Asher's face to an aligning wall.

SMASH.

No blood yet, but a nice jelly filled welt formed on Asher's forehead.

SMASH

"You must've broke your own heart."

SMASH.

SMASH.

Now the blood started to flow - leaving a red imprint of Asher's face on the makeshift canvas.

"This kind've damage is almost always self-infl----SMASH!

SMASH!

SMASH!

The cheering died down as what was a normal tiff turned into live slaughter. Don't make any assumptions...the Asylum fighters were used to this type of violence. But, to look at this kind of scene was like watching King Kong tear into a 5-year old child. Soon the whoops turned into Oh's and Ugh's.

SMASH!

Now it was silent again.

SMASH!

"And you know that you'll never be right again." Asher said through his own blood curdling in his throat.

SMASH!

SMASH!

SMASH!

Avenger smushed Asher's head against the wall yet again but this time he twisted and turned his hand - juicing the youth's face against the wall for all of the thick liquid. He pulled Asher's face from the wall and looked into the red mass of wrecked flesh...

"Buh... ugh... feh..." Asher mumbled through bloody drool.

Asher hacked and coughed - splashing more blood onto the wall.

Avenger let Asher collapse to the floor in a beaten heap. The other fighters still couldn't believe it.

The beast was far from done as he grabbed Asher by one leg and dragged him down the hall over to a table leaving a trail of red in his wake. Still holding onto the youth's leg Avenger wiped all of the food and drinks off of the table with his free hand. Grabbing Asher's throat the monster pulled the kid to his feet and reared a hand back shaping it into a wolf's head.

Striking like a snake, Avenger stuck the mandible claw into Asher's mouth. His other hand slapped the side of the kid's neck - clawing the whole side of the neck.

Avenger lifted...and sent Asher's destroyed body crashing through the table.

No one knew what to say. So they stood around gawking as Avenger pulled his hand out of the boy's mouth and wiped it on his chest.

Avenger exhaled the breath he took only a while ago.

"You're weak." The beast spat.

He spun on his heels and fled the scene.

No, I'm not talking in Voice over, Frank had been so deep in thought he didn't even realize he had bumped into Sean Williams in his stomp brigade down the hallway. Token looked so unamused at Frank that it almost hurt.

"Got a gift for me... champ?"

Frank huffed. Then puffed. And blew a sentence out.

"Er... ugh. Yea. I got something for you, Weed. Its a noose. Go make an example of yourself for the kids at home ya fuck."

Frank moved to walk past Token but Token sidestepped back infront of Frank, blocking his path. Frank rolled his head back letting out a very deep sigh of annoyance. He leaned back and swung the bag around onto his hip, reaching inside, as it was still open from the stunt he pulled on Campbell.

"That's a boy, Frank."

Token taunted along as Frank pulled the title out of the bag, slinging it over his shoulder.

"Yea, I guess I do have something for you, Token. I won't lie... I got lucky. It was a bullshit win. But I am still better then Ninety Nine point Nine percent of the shit in this building-"

"I'm the Point One Percent." Token said it so quickly, so matter of factly that Frank had to sigh again.

"I know. But I am gonna keep this warm for you, for a while. Eventually, you can try to win it back. But you got lucky too, I wasn't on my game that night, I should have been, and I will be next time. You might have beat me before, and I may have stole a win from you last night, but let me tell you something, Weed, that shit ain't happening again. I have what is mine. A title. Just like in MY world. Just like in MY dreams. Its coming together Weed. Its coming together."

And with that, Frank had brushed past Token Weed, barely escaping. Both Frank and Sean knew a rematch was coming eventually. It was upcoming. And it would be twice as brutal as before. Three times, maybe.

Maybe.

Frank Minio© Vs Angelica Dawson
(Asylum Championship)

But this one would be important. It was one's first fight as a member of the Asylum. For the other, it was routine.

The buzz surrounding this match was reaching a climax as a formiliar song to some played over the P.A. The rolling drums, the techno buzz.

"Check it out. I've been waiting, playing, for a long time, X-Amount of thoughts carried out in my mind. I turn on the TV, I see crime, script written diligently then aired on time."

'Phantom' by Mr. Lif... The Phantom had returned. Frank Minio made his way down to the cage non-challantly. The fans cheered him, though, already blackballing his opponent. As Frank walked up the steps and into the cage, he stretched his arms out a bit as "Phantom" faded out. He made his way to the opposite side of the cage and turned to face the ramp.

As the entrance to "Gunboat" by Vixtrola played, boos flooded the arena. Chants of "FUCK OFF!" filled the arena and, as Angelica Dawson made her way through the curtains once the lyrics began, the odd piece of garbage was making its way towards her. As she looked around at the fans, Angelica scoffed lightly. She was out to prove that she deserved to be in hell. As a foam cup hit her and a trail of amber brew spilled out onto her head, she laughed slightly. She climbed the steps and looked at the door of the cage.

Easy way? That'd be a no.

Angelica jumped off the steps to her side and clung to the wall of the cage from the outside. As she hung over the front row of fans, she scaled the cage slowly. Angelica straddled the top of the cage, looking out at the fans. The boos intensified as she flipped off a group of fans still pelting wrappers at her. She placed her other foot back on the outside of the cage and bent backwards. Flipping over the top of the cage, she landed on her feet on the mat. Angelica turned and glanced at Frank before popping her neck twice with a simple roll of her head. She bounced up and down in spot, never taking her eyes off Frank across the ring. As she came to a standstill, she reached up and put her black hair in a ponytail, fully exposing the "X" scar between her eyebrows. The bell rang as her hands fell to her sides.

Angelica began to advance in the cage a bit, hoping to bring Frank out. He stood there, watching Angelica. She muttered something along the lines of "Fuck this." to herself and lunged forward at him. Frank grabbed her as she lunged and throw her into the cage. The fans cheered as the wrestler's head had a meeting with the steel. She gasped lightly, surprised, before stepping back and straightening up. Angelica ran towards Frank again.

Would she hit him this time?

A still fist to the jaw would say no. Angelica fell backwards as Frank took advantage of the opening. He straddled her and began to bring punches down. She brought her arms up to protect her face, but this led him to deliver shots to her ribs. Angelica groaned in pain as he got up, letting her cringe slightly on the ground.

1!

2!

3!

4!

"GO HOME WRESTLER!"

5!

"GO HOME WRESTLER!"

6!

Angelica popped up to her feet, licking her lips as a trail of crimson stained the path.

"Let's go, fucker."

Angelica cracked her knuckles as she made her way back up to Frank. She moved to punch him, which he blocked, but she jumped up and deliver a quick dropkick to his chest. His grip remained on her hand and she was pulled down with him, landing on his chest with her feet. He let go of her and Angelica began to stomp away at his chest. She took a stop back and delivered a soccer kick to Frank's side. Angelica then mimiced Frank's earlier actions and straddled his stomach. She brought a swift punch down to his right temple, knocking his head to the side. She grabbed both sides of his head and leaned in, biting him in the forehead. He yelled out in pain as Angelica got a Taste For Life. She sat back up, licking her lips as Frank's blood intertwined with her own inside her mouth. She punched him in the forehead, striking the open wound and drawing more blood. She got up and Frank took this time to feel his forehead. Seeing crimson fingers in front of his eyes, he got up and glared at Angelica. He bolted forward and took Angelica down, landing a foot away from the cage. He got in a couple of palm strikes before standing up and stepping back, waving at Angelica to get up. She slowly made it to her feet and, as she does, made her way towards Frank. She lifted a foot to kick him, but he caught it and shoved her against the cage. As Angelica hit the cage, Frank delivered a stiff kick to the temple. Angelica went down in a heap at the bottom of the cage.

1!

2!

3!

4!

5!

6!

7!

8!

9--Angelica grabbed the cage and pulled herself to her feet. She glared at Frank, reaching up to her temple and feeling a trail of blood beginning to crust over. She smirked and stumbled towards him. Angelica brought a fist forward to hit Frank, but he caught it. The crowd buzzed as he dragged Angelica past him and releasing her into a forward whip. As she followed the forced path, he delivered a vicious shot to the back of her skull. Angelica fell face first into the cage and then slumped down onto the mat. A fresh flow of blood oozed from her nostrils as an imaginary birdie floated around in front of her eyes. Don't bother counting, she's down and out. Frank looked down at her as the bell rang, and dusted his hands off over top of her, before kneeling down, kissing her softly, leaving a bloody lipprint over her forehead.

"Welcome to Hell, Angel."

He turned and hopped the side of the Asylum as Angelica laid in a bloody heap. The cheers were fading out as Frank passed through the curtains. The chants of "GO HOME WRESTLER!" lingered in Angelica's spinning brain as her life force stained the mat.

But then she muttered one word to herself before rolling slightly to show signs of life.

"Angel?"

Angelica placed the phone down and pressed "SPEAK" on the side. Flipping it upside down, the voice of one Joey Malone was clear through the room.

"Can you hear me now?"

"Yeah. How've you been? It's been a while since we spoke last."

"It has been a while. I've been surviving. How about yourself?"

Angelica smirked as she said "Well, I can't complain too much. Any new and exciting news to report?"

"New, yes. Exciting, not really. But definitely worth telling you about."

"Let me guess. Keri's pregnant again?"

"No, no. Holly's a handful alone. It concerns somebody you were quite friendly with."

Angelica pondered this before a lightbulb came on in her head.

"Veronica's back?"

"No. It's Rashard."

Angelica's eyed widened and her heart sped up slightly as he mentioned the name.

"Really? What's he up to lately?"

"Angel, I don't know how to tell you this but...he's dead."

Picture an elevator cord being cut with it on the 26th floor. That elevator shooting down is what Angelica's heart did.

"Dead? Oh my god...how?"

"Shot. Multiple gunshot wounds to the chest and stomach. They found 6 guys dead with him too. They're saying Rashard killed them out of self-defense."

"...I have to go, Joey. I'm sorry."

Angelica grabbed the phone and quickly hung up. Her breathing was heavy and laboured as she tried to regain her composure. Her eyes closed tight as she began to sob loudly. Blood-stained tears escaped her eyes, leaving a crimson trail down her face. Bloody tears flowed across her cheeks and landed on the concrete. Angelica fumbled around, finding the blade. She picked it up and placed the tip on her arm, between her wrist and elbow. She dragged the blade along her arm, cutting the skin cleanly. As blood flowed from the cut, she throw the blade across the room. It fell to the ground after bouncing off the wall. Her head shot up and she let out what sounded like a primal scream. Angelica extended her arms to her sides, bloody tears landing on her white muscle shirt. She fell forward and laid on the cold concrete floor, still sobbing. The angel had descended.

"Fuck you - Your Bag - Your World - Your Dreams - And your title"

It was painted around the entire length of the room, on three of the walls, over a few lockers, a mirror, a painting, and a television. This was most definately the work of Sean Williams.

"Token Weed... you motherfucker." were the only words Frank could muster. Regardless, the title was still in his hands... With a sucessful win now, the only thing that had really changed was, confusion. Something about Angel Dawson stuck out to Minio, and that, coupled with the tauntings of Token Weed, were enough to cause him to...

Walk in the room.

Punch the wall.

Slam the door shut.

And sit down and think about things.