He arrived at the arena still noticeably fuming over his last appearance. His debut in the world of the Asylum had been a failure at the hands of Eddie Cheno and when things just seemed to be coming together for him. Sure he wore a first class ass whoopin at the hands of Eddie Cheno, but that didn't bother him. Sure Archangel took full advantage of him being on dream street ,but that didn't bother him.

It was her. Chase. The woman he left behind him after debt upon debt had mounted up. After luring him into TheFZ he turned a left still to this day pursued by Phoenix and the Di Maggio clan and they were the least of his problems.

The Asylum was suppose to be his fresh start. His break from his past where it would be on him and him alone of whether he succeeded or failed but last week that was not to be the case.

The arena was alive with the tension of excitement for Retribution. A fitting name to say the least for it was retribution which Remy saught tonight. He wanted her to look him in the eyes one more time where he could finally put his hands around her neck and there would be no one to stop him.

Stopping by the entrance at the doors Leroux snatched an employee by the shirt collar.

"Dis dah only way in an out!"

It was supposed to be a question but came out more like a demand looking into the eyes of the man.

"As far as I know."

Tossing him to the side Remy grabbed a chair planting it by the door. It was only three pm hours before Retribution and he was gonna make damn sure should she arrive he would be there to extract his... Retribution.

"Cheeky gutless fucker, a fucking divorce... that son of a bitch, can't believe he didn't have the balls to come and face me with this."

It'd been a long and winding road, she's been driven away by Joe... brought back by Joe as a rambling lunatic, and then driven away again... from the Asylum, to... well...

An Asylum.

But now it appeared as though she was back, louder and prouder than ever... and with at least most of her mental faculties restored.

"Fucking bastard, I should cut off his balls."

Storming through the front doors of the arena, she clutched in her hand a tattered and torn dirvorce paper... filed quite evidently by Joe, as she paced down the corridors in search of her husband... she did so with ease, it'd been months since her last television appearence, fame it seemed had passed her by.

"Hey... aren't you?"

"No." Michelle scoffed at a fan whom passed by.

She stopped for a moment, before unrolling the paper and tipping her sunglasses, taking a second to scan back over it one more time.

"Give back my twenty five percent? Fuck that... who does that cunt think he is?" Michelle grunted... screwing back up the paper and sighing to herself.

"Certainly not my Husband... but unfortunately, he's not going to shake this ball and chain as easily as he thinks." Michelle said with a sinister smirk, continuing her search for the Asylum owner.

He was back.

And he was booed.

Miles Blunder slowly snuck into the Arena through the doors as he nervously looked around.

He wasn’t sure what happened after he left. If some wrestler’s found the out cold cameraman and were mad... or if Joe Campbell tossed a fit from ‘The Germ Gestapo’ skipping his Match.

Or... well, the thing was that Miles Blunder didn’t even know.

Thus he looked around again, not finding a soul at all. So taking a deep sigh, Blunder stepped forward.

That’s when he heard a noise.

Snapping back, Miles whipped out his Windex bottle and threw it in front of him.

It was the door closing.

Blunder smacked the side of his head. “Idiot.”

And turning around... he walked right into a Staff Member.

Joe didn’t really have many. They were just around to do some bidding that he never wanted to do.

This was one of those times.

“I- I- I- I- I’m so- so- sor- sor- sor- sor- sor- sorry.” He stuttered, as the Staff Member looked down and laughed.

“Joe just sent me to see you. You’ve got a Match tonight.”

Blunder stepped back, crashing himself into the wall. “What!?”

“Yeah. Dawn Van Damage.” The Staff Member began to walk away. “Good luck and this time if you run away... you’re fired.”

‘The Germ Gestapo’ stuck out his Windex bottle again, spraying it in the direction of the Staff Member... however, he had already left.“Great.” Blunder nervously rubbed the back of his neck. “This is just great.”

"I wonder where Joe is dude."

Enrique Credibleno scratched his head in a confused manor... he and Avo had been standing still for several minutes, staring into space.

"I don't know man, this finding people stuff is had work." Avo replied.

"FOR FUCKS FUCKING SAKE YOU IDIOTS, I AM HERE... THIS IS MY OFFICE, YOU JUST WALKED THROUGH MY FUCKING DOOR! HELLO? EARTH TO WANKERS." Joe roared insanely, snapping the two out of their trance.

They were indeed in his office, standing right before him.

"Oh, there you are Camel... where did you come from?" Enrique smiled.

"First of all, I didn't come from anywhere... I've been sitting here for the past ten minutes and we've been over this twice, this is my office... I am Joe, you came here... and secondly, stop fucking skipping letters out of my name, or I'll skip some beats out of your heartrate." Joe snarled, tapping his fingers impatiently on the desk.

"Alrighty." Enrique replied.

"Yep, fine by me." Avo pitched in.

A few seconds of silence passed.

"So Avo, did you watch Sesame Street yesterday?"

"Yeah man... Big Bird totally owns."

"FOR FUCKS SAKE! WILL YOU IDIOTS PLEASE TELL ME WHAT THE FUCK YOU WANT!?" Joe intervened.

"Chill out dude, I don't know who you think you are... coming into our office and throwing around your orders, what did your last servant die of?"

Joe gritted his teeth, reaching into his belt for his gun... Avo saw this and his eyes widened, quickly... he stepped forward and cleared his throat.

"Oh... I remember now, we wanted to ask for jobs." Avo chirped up.

"Yeah!" Enrique agreed "We've been here for like, two weeks... and we haven't kicked a single ass yet... what's the deal?"

Joe sighed.

"Listen, fodder." Joe began... he refused to give them individual names "You don't kick fucking arses... that is not why I pay you, I pay you boys to get the snot whipped out of you... it's very simple... you know, there's a term for you guys..." Joe trailed off, only to be interrupted.

"Enhancement talent!?" Enrique stepped in excitedly.

"No, fucking no talent losers who need the shit kicked out of them." Joe replied in a flat manor, forcing both men to lower their heads."

"Sorry Joe... but that just won't do." Avo bravely stepped in.

Were Los Toros about to stand their ground?

"Yeah... like, that's stealing man... why should we be paid to get beaten up when we can go out on the street and do it for free?" Enrique added.

Standing their ground? They'd already surrendered the flag and left town.

"Eh... so you mean, you'll do it for free?" Joe chuckled, trying to hold back a burst of laughter.

"No... well yes, well no... well, maybe." Avo replied.

"Uh... what he said." Enrique replied as Avo continued to think.

Joe leant back in his chair and cupped his mouth for a second to chortle.

"Okay," Avo began "Here's the deal... I don't like the idea of getting beaten up for money, it's stealing... so here's what I propose... me and Enrique here will do that for free, BUT you have to give us a job doing something else, we do need to eat afterall."

"Yes." Enrique trailed off, his eyes glazing over "Eat is what we must do."

Enrique disturbingly stroked the top of Avo's head, Avo batted him away and looked cross.

Joe smiled.

"You boys sure do strike a hard bargain, but what the hell... I'm a kind man, you have yourselves a deal!"

"SCORE!" Credibleno suddenly roared out.

"Sweet!" Avo added "So Joe... what are our new roles? Commissioners? Head Bookers? VICE PRESIDENTS?" Avo yelped with delight.

"Not quite... but just as important," Joe began "If you care to check the cupboard over there, you'll find your outfits."

Avo and Enrique fought to the cupboard, each man trying to get there first... finally, they dragged the door open to reveal their shiny new outfits.

Small red caps.

One tray of hotdogs.

"Hotdog men!?" Avo screamed with rage.

"I like to think if it as, Head's of Catering Deployment... enjoy yourselves... break a back!" Joe cried with delight, as the two took their outfits and paced out of the room.

Outside, the two stood with their outfits in hand... Avo's furious face screwed up into a ball.

"You know what I'm thinking, right?" Avo said furiously.

"Yep..." Enrique began

"SCORE!"

Miles Blunder paced out. It was a reluctant pace, but it was one at that. Miles Blunder was coming to the cage... however, he did not want to.

A women.

He was fighting a women.

And looking at the Crowd that booed, he wondered just what kind of laughing stock it would make him after he’d lose to that women.

But this wasn’t any women.

It was Dawn Van Dammage.

The one whom beat the giant in KVC at Fight Hell II, when Miles Blunder first appeared.

Let alone Miles’ past with women... he damn well didn’t want to see one again.

Stumbling into the cage, Miles Blunder placed his Windex bottle down, only to have the Referee take it from him and throw it out of the structure.

“Why’d you do that!?” Blunder yelled, once again mad. He walked over to the Referee, about to slam him in the face... however, then came “Bullets” by Creed.

Sudden switch. Mad Miles Blunder... to the terribly nervous one.

DVD stepped out. The Arena cheered. The people stood.

She walked down the ramp.

Blunder tried to exit the cage, but it was already too late. He needed his Windex bottle. He needed it like never before. It was going to be his key to get through this Match... but now, now it was out of the Asylum... thanks to (Miles stared at the Referee)... him.

DVD entered, as the bell rang and the two grappled.

Knee strike: Dammage.

Miles hit the mat hard, as the Crowd cheered and DVD took a running start towards Miles’ head.

She landed the knee.

Blunder got up, finding a roundhouse kick directly into the jaw. He flew at the mesh, trying to regain his composure as he looked up... seeing DVD running directly at him.

He lowered the shoulder... as she...

Went over?

No.

The quick DVD caught Blunder’s neck, flipping him around and smashing a wild neck breaker on him. It was impressive... as nearly everyone with cameras in the Arena that night, flashed them.

Next came a high angle German suplex.

‘The Germ Gestapo’s’ head bounced off the canvas a number of times, as Blunder laid still while DVD got up. Maybe if he played dead... she’d leave him alone.

What do you think she did?

Dammage picked up Miles, hurling him into the mesh as Blunder’s gray “N/S” shirt caught the metal coming off. He walked right into DVD again, whom wrapped her arms around him and belly to belly suplexed him on the mat.

“I can’t keep doing this...” Blunder said to himself, as he actual jumped up, surprising DVD.

But once DVD got that look in her eyes... Miles did a stupid, pathetic thing.

One that made him wish he just would’ve stayed down.

‘The Germ Gestapo’ Miles Blunder sat on the mat... and then laid back down... just like he had never gotten up to begin with.

Dawn thought hard for a second, as she put her finger up... trying to fight two different thoughts inside her head.

A trap?

Or not?

The motionless Miles Blunder didn’t help make her choice any better.

She marched forward.

Picking up Blunder, DVD smacked him across the face with a forearm shot... as Miles fell directly back down. Playing dead was totally not working.

Yet as Blunder reversed an Irish whip into the mesh, but came short with a dropkick to the midsection, is was as if playing alive had no difference in the outcome either.

And it didn’t.

‘Dragon’s Tail’. Miles Blunder sat up... with the boot meeting him square in the jaw... forcing MB to bite his own tongue and cry out in pain. This was maybe... the worst kind of pain he’s felt yet.

The Fans all stood... cheering DVD on, as Dawn nodded into the Crowd, taking Miles a final time... and putting him though the ‘Van Dammager’.

That cradle piledriver made a sickening noise on the canvas flooring, as this time ‘The Germ Gestapo’ wasn’t playing dead.

His body, for now, was dead.

Cue the final move.

‘Heaven Opener’.

Funny, it was sheer hell for the nineteen year old kid for Cleveland, Ohio.

The Referee began the count.

“One!

Two!

Three!

Four!

Five!

Six!

Seven!

Eight!

Nine!

Ten!”

The bell followed, and then “Bullets” did. Dawn Van Dammage had won... and as she exited the Asylum netting she whacked a few hands on her way up the ramp.

In the cage, the Referee just shrugged, letting Miles get up on his own. He didn’t want the post-match rage of some wonderful blue Windex into the face.

Larry sighed to himself as he leaned against the wall, flipping through a magazine. He hated working these long pay per views. They just never seemed to end. He skimmed over various articles, not really bothering to read anything but occasionally glancing at the pictures. The clock wasn’t moving very fast at all. At this rate, the pay per view wouldn’t be over for quite some time. He had plenty of time left to kill on his shift.

That was the problem. There was too much time to kill.

He looked over at the set of metal doors beside him, making sure they were still closed. Most of the fighters used these doors to slip in and out of the arena without attracting attention.

Still, Larry knew that on the other side of the door there’d be a pack of Asylum groupies just waiting for their favorites to come out. The odd fan would try to slip inside; that’s why Larry was there.

“This is bullshit,” Larry grumbled as he straightened up. “Backdoor duty is for rookies. Guess it’s who you know.” He rolled the magazine up and stretched his arms overhead. Yawning loudly, Larry rubbed his eyes and shuffled over to the nearby concession table. Various sandwiches, coffee, juices, and more potent drinks were available for the fighters. After working his bouncer job until four in the morning, and helping his brother-in-law fix his car all day, Larry was exhausted. He slipped a wrapped sandwich into his pocket and poured himself a large cup of coffee.

Beep, beep, beep.

Larry looked at the parking lot doors. “The Hell? That sounds like a garbage truck. It’s a little late for a garbage pick up.” A metallic rumbling started just as the beeping stopped. “What’s he doing with the dumpster? Oh this is bullshit!” Everything was bullshit to Larry right now, and whatever idiot was picking up the trash about twelve hours early was going to hear about it.

Setting his coffee cup on the table, Larry walked over to the doors and pushed the door open. A slouching garbage man, the threats of his coveralls straining to contain his mass, watched the dumpster tip its contents into the garbage truck’s hopper. “Hey buddy!” Larry yelled over the rumbling of the dumpster. “What are you doing?”

The garbage man jiggled the control handle, causing the dumpster to continue its metallic thundering. Larry made sure the doors were unlocked and stepped outside, making sure there was no one nearby to try and rush past him. “You can’t be doing this right now!” Larry yelled again. “There’s a pay per view going on!”

The dumpster slowly came back down to the ground. Larry tapped the garbage man on the shoulder. “Did you hear me dipshit?”

The garbage man turned around, and for the first time Larry noticed that he was wearing a ski mask. It’s not that cold out, Larry thought to himself. “I said, did you hear me?”

In the poorly lit area, Larry didn’t see the punch until it slammed into his face. Stars danced in front of his eyes as his knees buckled. A second punch dropped Larry to the ground. The garbage man looked around for witnesses before scooping the unconscious security guard up and tossing him in the dumpster.

“I heard you just fine,” the masked garbage man said before slipping into the arena.

“Wrong.” A voice boomed in his ear. Token whipped around to confront the voice, and saw both the twins. “So I am gonna have to kick double ass?” Token asked. “No,” Darren spoke “this is my fight.”

As Darren started to step forward, Token smiled. “Perfect.” He said to himself. He started to take a swing, and Daniel grabbed his fist. Token pulled back “What the fuck?” Darren looked quizzically at his brother.

“Don’t. This is my realm. Leave Darren.” Daniel spoke with vigor. “But…” Darren hesitated.

“LEAVE.” And with that Daniel moved his hand and where Darren stood a cloud of sand blew in the wind. “Now… We fight.” Token smiled as Daniel spoke the words, and the world disappeared around them.

There was no music. No crowd. There was nothing, just two men, standing opposite one another in a world of emptiness. There was nothing left. No ruins. No city. Nothing. Just pure emptiness.

Token snapped his fingers. An arena appeared around them. Empty, with the Asylum structure in the center. He smiled as he looked at Daniel. Daniel’s eyes never left Token’s even as the first punch flew. Daniel found himself hitting the side of the Asylum.

“C’mon you fucking baby. No brother here to protect you now. Let’s see if you’ve improved since I kicked your ass last time, little bitch.” Token laughed out loud as Daniel’s arm began to twitch. Token snapped again, and one fist became wrapped in barbed wire. His other fist then had a broken bottle in it. “COME ON BITCH!” Token screamed.

Daniel ran at Token and connected with his forearm to Token’s jaw. Token reeled back then slammed his barbed wire fist into the gut of the white haired devil. Daniel hit the mat. He sprung to his feet as the bat turned to stone, and then rock. Daniel glared at the demon in front of him, and threw out his elbow. Grazing Token in the ribs with his arm, Daniel then jumped to his feet and slammed Token’s head against his knew.

“Not too shabby fucker.” Token said, slightly doubled over catching his breath from the lung shot, “But it will take more than that you weak ass cunt.” Token threw the bottle at Daniel, it sliced him in the arm, and all he saw next was Token’s foot hitting him in the face. Token had Stomp Kicked Daniel, and there was nothing to be done about it now.

“Hahahaha. Weak fuck. GET UP!” Token screamed. Daniel made his way to his feet. Token slammed his fist into Daniel’s gut once more. Daniel hit the mat again, blood coughed up onto the stone. Token snapped his fingers once more and Daniel felt the handle of a bat being slammed into his kidney region. “Now you can piss blood too, woman.” Token laughed again.

“FUCK YOU!” Daniel screamed. He grabbed Token by the waist and threw him against the cage. Daniel threw his knee into the balls of Token. “l.. *cough* ..low blow… cheap fuck.” Token spewed out. Daniel then slammed his fist into Token’s chest. Token coughed louder as Daniel continued to slam him. Daniel then grabbed Token, whipped him around and threw his head into the mat.

Reaching into his own pocket, Daniel pulled a bag of crystals. “RECOGNIZE THIS?” He screamed. “Yeah fucker I do, that’s the shit some genius was selling on the market.” Token said, “Oh wait… That genius was ME!” Token screamed between coughs. He charged Daniel again, throwing his elbow into Daniel’s solar plexus. Both men coughing, Daniel locked his fists together and struck Token with an uppercut to his chin. Blood flew from Token’s mouth.

The tape on Daniel’s hand now further stained.

Daniel picked up the bottle from the mat, and jabbed it into Token’s leg. Blood gushed from the beaten fighter, but Token only smiled. “Oh Daniel… You have such a problem. You think you’ve won, but you forget where we are. You believe what I want you to believe. And that’s just the problem; you always thought small, you never did know how to DREAM.” With the final word Token disappeared into mist.

The arena disappeared quickly. Daniel found himself lying in the middle of a pond of ice, but it wasn’t clear. It was red, it was frozen blood. Standing up, Daniel turned to see Token with gasoline in his hand. Looking at the pond, Daniel realized it wasn’t blood anymore. It was gasoline. Token laughed as he tossed a match to the ice, and the pond exploded into a pit of flames.

“You’re TRIPPING out Daniel. This isn’t real, but it sure as hell is my reality! You were a fool to give it up to me. To TRUST me. I got you into hell as a trade, and now your heaven is hell all over again!” Token laughed at Daniel, “What a misguided fool you are Daniel Mitchell.”

The flames burnt against Daniel’s skin, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except revenge. Darren wasn’t there, it was just Daniel, but he was more than that. He was DREAM. He had never told his brother the truth, but he would one day. He would tell him when he returned, returned victorious from this fight.

The fire burned out, and it was now coals. Token appeared once more. “This time I am real boy, so let’s fight.” Token picked up Daniel by his hair, and slammed his fist into Daniel’s side. Throwing up blood, Daniel hit the coals. They too burned his skin, but his nerves felt dull to pain. His endorphins didn’t give a fuck anymore, his body was numb, but his soul was far from it.

Token kicked Daniel in the stomach. “Get up.” He kicked him now in the face. Blood poured from his nose, and his body was badly burned. “Get up! C’MON FAGGOT BITCH! GET UP!” Token kicked Daniel in the ribs. Daniel finally stood. “You son of a bitch, you should have stayed down.” Token laughed, and he pump kicked Daniel into the coals. Daniel lay, in a pool of vomit, sweat, blood, and burnt flesh. His eyes too were now bleeding, tears of blood for his blessed world.

“Remember Danny boy… I am in charge now. Your power is gone.” Token spoke evilly, and spit in Daniel’s bloody face. That was all it took. Daniel began to laugh out loud. “WHAT’S FUNNY? YOU FUCKIN DICK!” Token picked up Daniel, and went to Pump Kick him once more, but Daniel caught his leg. “Little man… Little demon… You truly believe yourself to be the devil… How wrong mortals can be…” Daniel laughed again.

The flames and the coals and the world disappeared beneath him. Daniel stood now, his wounds healed except his taped fist. Token looked at him in the eye. Daniel laughed as he raised his arms, and the Metropolis was renewed behind them. They stood in the center of the streets, the people of the city dreaming, unaware of the rivals existence.

“This is MY REALM. It was here before you were born, and for all of eternity. You know so little, yet you believed whatever I told you. This isn’t the matrix; it isn’t a world of infinite possibility. It is a world of MY creation. The possibility for you is very FINITE. Just as you take your precious drug, and sleep the precious dream, I make that possible. And as you should well know, one man’s dream is another’s NIGHTMARE.” Daniel was interrupted by Token.

“Stop the speech. Just fight.” Token said, not phased by Daniel’s omnipotent nature. Token then felt a burning on his hand, and with that Daniel struck Token with his fist. Token didn’t even feel the impact. The next thing he knew he was in his Asylum Locker Room. His face was bloody. The white of his eye turned red. Daniel stood over him, laughing, but Token knew it was merely an apparition.

“Never challenge my authority or the power of the dream again. The scar is your reminder.” Daniel disappeared then, and Token was alone. He stared at his hand; it was marked with the bronze eye he had destroyed. He tightened his fist, they had beaten him in their realm, but now they would enter his, and he would NOT lose.

It seemed like ages since Dawn Van Dammage had been on a Pay Per View. That was probably why she was so pumped as she walked down the corridor, anxious to get back to her locker room. There had been plenty of headache and drama in her life until recently. But the last couple of weeks, staying at her Uncle’s house, had rejuvenated the red-headed amazon. Now it looked as if she was back in the swing of things with another PPV victory under her belt.

It was time to celebrate - a quick shower, and back to her hotel room where she’d spoil herself with a little room service. Her Uncle had been feeding her plenty of whey protein and carbohydrate drinks. It was time eat something that wasn’t pre-mixed in a blender. Room service? Screw that!, Dawn decided. This girl’s gonna order out! As Dawn opened the door to her private dressing room, she even toyed with the idea of going out to eat…

… but the only thing going out were her lights, courtesy of the wrecking-ball punch that crashed into her face.

Ian Maxwell stood in the corner of Joe's office, pacing back and forth, just waiting for something to happen. His night was slow... Joe's wasn't.

Joe Campbell and Hans Krueger exchanged words behind their desk near Maxwell but still somewhat away. That's when the door suddenly swung open. Standing there was Eddie Cheno, pipe in one hand and a clipboard in the other.

Maxwell quickly got to his feet and stood in front of Cheno, not allowing him to enter the room. They locked eyes, never taking their gaze off one another, before Joe Campbell said "Let the man in Ian, he is an employee." Maxwell sneered, before Cheno exhaled marijuana smoke into Ian's face. Maxwell went for a right hand but Joe was quick to send Krueger over and calm things down.

"So, what in bloody hell do you want?" Campbell sneered towards Cheno's direction, but he seemed a little uncomfortable doing so. Cheno didn't respond with words, all he did was hold up the clipboard.

"Oh I can't do that Eddie" Campbell was confused. "ArchAngel's not here tonight. He has the night off." Cheno lowered the gray black and white photograph of ArchAngel and sternly turned his gaze to Ian Maxwell. Maxwell cracked his fingers. "Wait, no, this isn't going to happen!" Joe said, quickly getting in between two of his fighters. "You two bloody well aren't going to fight in that cage tonight... unless." Campbell turned to Krueger and whispered something in his ear. Hans let out a gage before turning his attention away from Campbell and slamming the palm of his hand into Joe's desk. "Then it's been decided. You two wanna go? I'm not gonna fucken stop it. But Eddie, if you lose, you have to become a Campbellite.

You have to become my own personal bitch." Campbell let out a sinister smile. "But in the interest of fairness and to steal a line from that whiny fifty year old necrophiliac, if Maxwell loses, you'll get your day in the sun Eddie. You'll get your shot at the gold. You'll get Inmate next week." Cheno let out a smile, as Hans let out another groan from off the screen. Eddie quietly left Joe's office satisfied.

Joe turned his attention to Maxwell and his face turned serious. "And if you lose, you're out of the bloody family."

It all started when Nicole Carson stumbled onto her childhood home. What Carson had no idea about though, was that Faith went back some weeks before. Faith was reliving her childhood memories but instead of cherishing them, she planned to finally put them to rest.

However, that would never happen. What would happen though, was Carson setting the home ablaze on her own personal crusade.

Faith could have looked past it, went on and shrugged her shoulders, calling it an accident that happens. It happens but they wouldn’t look past it. It happens but they wouldn’t let go. They could’ve kept it a coincidence, but they decided to fight fire with fire. Whenever someone was wrong they needed to be corrected. That was where Faith came in.

They said somebody in the house caused the fire. Disturbing sounds frightened the neighbor’s days before the blaze. Faith was the one causing them, but never mind that, it didn’t matter. This was America the land of the free. Where you could do whatever you wanted, at least if it wasn’t breaking a law. There were no laws broken. None that deserved what she had gotten.

Yet, they stereotyped her. She was a bad person. She was violent. She was insane. She set the house on fire. Carson had sentenced her from her own book of “Right and Wrong”. On the scale she was evil and needed to be gone.

Too bad.

Goodbye.

“Sanity remix” and Faith walked through the curtain. With enraged nostrils flaring and teeth clenched she stood at the top of the ramp for a second then took off at a heavy pace to the Asylum. She kept her sights locked forward with angry thoughts brewing and steps quickening.

It wasn’t over yet. The sentence had been given out, but this was a day for revenge. Lucky for Faith, she specialized in it. If one of her quotes was “I may be odd but I always get even” then Nicole Carson had a lot of pain to look forward to. She hopped inside and waited for her enemy, whom she had not even spoken a decent word to. The crazed look in her eyes said she wanted to tear her to pieces.

“The Blood, The Sweat, The Tears” and Nicole Carson walked through the curtain. She sported a navy NYPD hoodie and shorts as she pumped the air. The UK title hung on her shoulder but slipped a couple of times. She then made her way to the Asylum, while cursing Faith from the rampway.

Her callous, gray eyes looked red and cracked. It was clear there was fear and doubt in her eyes while she made her way down. Even as she screamed out at the “Psycho bitch”, inside she could have been pissing her pants.

What Carson thought was she was deranged, psycho, and a danger to society. Anybody who had books on different methods of inflicting pain to a human being was insane. If they had paintings of men stabbing each other with daggers and skulls as decorations, they were endangering other people. So Carson decided to deal her a blow she could never fight back from.

Or so she thought.

Faith connected the pieces of the puzzle somehow. In perfect fashion she had made Carson’s life more of a hell than hers. She had left death threats for her, and she haunted Carson’s nights.

So then Carson wakes up from her nightmare, with a knife to her throat. Faith has her life in her hands, but decides to deal her revenge with impunity. Where everything is allowed and everyone can see. Where she can let her anger rage until it breaks the scale…until her teeth chip from clenching…until her fists long to pound black and blue into her pretty face...until now.

Faith stormed from inside of the Asylum, doing a handspring, and then soared over the top of the cage and crashed onto Carson. Both slammed with a sickening thud, but with hatred on her mind, Faith leapt even faster to her feet.

They aggressively pounded away at each other. Fists flying every which way, most not connecting but some landing wherever they would by chance. Blows were being dealt every second and boots snapped constantly. In a pure form of fighting, where anything went.

Faith took the brunt of the punches, sucking up the pain as it slammed into her skin, and flipped out with a rapid series of punches. Right hands slapped Carson around, and Faith was winning the upperhand until Carson laid her out with the UK title she was clutching behind her.

Carson smiled devilishly while she snapped boots to her ribs. After each one, Faith held the spot they landed, but after taking enough punishment, she rolled far enough away to escape.

When Carson came close, Faith knocked her back with an uppercut. She was shocked but had no time to react as she tackled her much like a football player bulldozing there way through the line, the sound of her back slapping against tough floor echoing through the arena.

She went down hard but Faith didn’t relent. She followed it up with a roundhouse kick, but Carson ducked under and went for her own that wasn’t so accurate. Faith backed off, the kick grazing her chin as it cut through the air. Faith lunged forward, forgetting about the graze and looking to connect, but Carson grabbed her by the arm and pulled.

Before she knew, Carson violently headbutted her with no regard for the pain. Faith stumbled back, but swung her leg around swiftly for another roundhouse kick. Carson didn’t have time to react; the boot spun her head in circles.

Faith grabbed a hold of her hood and yanked back. She was dragged a couple feet and then slammed against the outside floor from Faith dropping. Her head bounced on and off from going down with the momentum.

Faith leaned against the barricade nursing her fresh wounds. She wasn’t even beginning yet, her breathing was slow, plus it looked like her endurance was keeping up. As Carson regained her senses, Faith launched a kick that would hopefully stun so she could bring out the high impact moves. But Carson was too fast and her leg was twisted. She tumbled against the barricade where she leaned against it for support, but Carson thrashed her with kicks that cracked against her skull.

And as if that wasn’t enough, Carson got a handful of her hair and slammed her face against the edge. Faith bounced off and landed near her feet, as she leaned against the barricade to nurse her own wounds.

“THE RIGHT WINS!” Carson shouted, either trying to convince herself or make a point. The point was taken as she launched Faith face first, once again. It was the same aftermath of her head popping back, except this time blood sprayed. And Faith flew farther this time, landing a few feet from Carson’s feet with blood oozing from a fine slice of open skin.

Nicole looked driven and impatient as she paced and circled the downed fighter. It heightened until she couldn’t stand it anymore, picking her up onto her feet and grabbing the back of her neck, then dragging her while she watched in a bloodied haze, not capable of fighting yet.

Faith was still trying to understand where she was, when Carson swung her at the cage. In mid swing she figured her body would meet with the mesh in a second. Faith stopped herself before impact and instinct was to back kick. The crowd edged her on from that one, but they were distant until she wiped bloody matted down hair from her eyes. And even then, she could care less.

The crowd hungered for more carnage and Faith agreed. They were eager to see destruction and she delivered it, by tossing her into the air with incredible force, then slamming Carson on the outside with an awesome back body drop into a ¾ Nelson bulldog. It was a spectacular move that didn’t even seem possible, yet somehow she had pulled it off.

She had pulled it off, but it took its toll on her condition. Both broken bodies laid on impact and nobody could see a twitch from Carson. Faith started to stir and then crawled to a sitting position, looking over to see the wreckage. After a pleasant look at the vengeance branding Nicole, she then made a worn down walk to the other side of the cage.

It was a long, grueling stumble and on the way she had the pleasure of the referee hassling her. He wanted to take the fight into the cage, and for the first time it hit Faith.

It hadn’t even started yet.

Minutes that were everlasting agony were just the beginning. Just one little scribble on a piece of paper with a million scribbles. What you thought ruled all was insignificant. Just a nice happy welcome before the party really started.

It hadn’t even started.

Faith trudged her path to the announce table, as the referee still nagged her to get into the cage, though he was better off screaming to himself, because she paid no attention. She searched around the announce table, tossing anything in her way out of the way.

Then she found what she was looking for. A chair. She rushed the bell ringer out of his seat and folded it quickly. Meanwhile on the other side of the cage, Nicole Carson had finally stood up from the superhuman like “Fall from Grace”. She could barely believe it herself, if it wasn’t for the constant dull pain all over her body.

And that pain was pushed aside, because the need for retribution was longing through her veins. And she was wishing it would, because she hated herself for being so weak. She hated herself for being afraid, but now that hate was all directed at one person.

Carson bolted from the spot. With a rush of adrenaline, she charged toward Faith, who counted down with the chair over her head, waiting for Carson to get close enough so she would be the victim. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be the other way around. She wound back farther so it would be a knockout.

WHACK!

The chair swung down to crush Carson’s skull. Ax kick to the chair and it sprung to life, cementing her face nicely in the middle. The dented chair went limp in Faith’s hands and next was the sound of it rattling against the ground as she fell.

Nicole was contempt, for a moment, and then she grabbed the broken chair that made a fuckhead out of Faith. She wound back for a baseball swing as Faith struggled to get onto her feet and off her knees. There wasn’t time because Carson unleashed a wicked swing, but there was time for her to drop to the ground, at the same time leg sweeping. The chair breezed over her head and then clattered against the outside as Nicole did.

Faith’s visage was poor. Blood leaked from the barricade cut and after the chair to the face, it was slipping down even more. She could care less about it now…revenge was on her mind. She struggled off her knees, at the same time grabbing a hold of the chair, and then slammed it across Carson’s back.

Carson took the punishment but crawled forward after Faith cracked her again. She raised the chair to the sky and then crashed it down until she could feel the sting. She hollered out, the sting of metal on flesh traveling up her vertebrae.

Nicole’s fingers slid across the ground as she tried to escape. She couldn’t get a firm hold so she slipped pathetically with Faith stalking behind her. Faith held the warped chair to the sky again, the middle of it completely curved back and then threw it down with one hand. It bounced off Carson’s back and she rolled over onto her side, the now useless chair lying on top of her.

Faith chest heaved though she still had enough left in her to finish. She wondered how long Carson would keep going. She desperately went for another chair as Carson was recovering from the solid blows to her back. Faith reached down and began unfolding, when she was suddenly knocked back from a front kick that sent her staggering toward the cage.

Quickly another kick followed the other and she twisted into the Asylum, falling onto her back and feeling a sharp stabbing pain in her jaw.

“This isn’t fucking wrestling.” Carson grunted as she hopped inside with Faith pushing off her knees. The fight had officially started. Faith stared at one person in particular while grueling to get onto her feet, and Carson taunted her by telling her to “Just bring it”.

Both clashed in the middle of the cage in an intense fistfight. Rapid strikes flew as they dodged, blocked, dodged, blocked…only to strike again. They had a single mission, to destroy the other person, and they weren’t letting a little blood to get in the way.

A clean swat knocked Carson back. Faith hit her with two more jabs to the face then flung her other fist around for a hook, and Carson stumbled weakly. Faith wasn’t letting up, firing punch after punch into her face in machine gun shots. Leaving Carson’s face painted with Faith’s own blood.

Carson broke free and ax kicked but she evaded easily. As Carson’s leg fell to place, Faith dodged to the right and back fisted her to the back of the head. Following it up with a spinning heel kick to the lower back she continued her onslaught, blasting her neck, back and head with blurred jabs.

“Do you like it George?”

”HOW ABOUT SOME MORE!”

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

She unleashed more hatred on Carson’s back, pummeling every square inch with jabs. It felt her knuckles were making impressions as her elbows pulled back, only to strike like a million pistons. As she aggressively pounded stronger, the crowd cried out louder.

And as each one struck, Carson’s hatred boiled until it exploded. An elbow strike to Faith’s ribs, and another, and another until she stopped her assault. Carson took control and flipped around, pummeling Faith with right and left crosses. Faith tried to come back, but Carson hooked her arm and twirled to the back of her.

At the same time locking her into one of her many arm submissions. She leaned back while digging her boot into Faith’s leg. Her arm pulled farther than any arm should, while Carson yanked back with all her might, wasting most of her energy and not bothering to lock it in for long. It was only a short-term solution for her to pull out her nightstick, trip her, then elbow drop her to the face for a nice finish. Carson reached into her trusty belt to pull out her nightstick. At the same time, Faith clambered around hollering hell from her lungs.

”Well, fuck!”

Robin forgot to pack the nightstick.

Nicole didn’t pull anything out, so she abruptly turned toward the outside, completely forgetting about the submission, while searching for her beloved weapon. It was resting near the announce table where she figured it fell out or something like that.

And completely forgetting about Faith.

Faith leapt up and blasted her face with a fierce knee strike. In mid air, she tossed all her dead weight toward the canvas. As Carson’s limp body fell, Faith slammed her knee into her stomach, folding her in half from the strength. The strike was so intense, spit soared from Carson’s mouth with eyes bulging.

Nicole Carson was pushed off. Then her back hit the mat. The count started.

1….

2….

3…

4…

5…

6…

7.

Carson was on her feet. Blood leaked profusely from her head and mixed with Faith’s blood, as her head whipped around looking for her enemy.

She was nowhere in sight.

Carson’s hair was pulled in both directions. After tiny strands tore from her scalp, it was let loose. Only for Faith to deliver a thunderous blow to her head. Carson went straight down with a thud and laid on the canvas stiff.

1…

2…

3…

4…

5.

Carson climbed into a standing position. Crimson hair was wiped away as she wobbled around. She was nowhere in sight.

Faith couldn’t believe what she saw, because she thought Carson was playing a sick little game. She had never thought that this person, standing before her, had actually really believed her twisted thoughts. But as Carson limped to her feet faster, it became clear who the insane one really was.

Carson’s head spun on her neck and then fell limp. She had no clue if she was out or not.

It was time to end this.

Using every single once of strength left, Faith double black flipped into a handspring…she soared through the air and toward Carson’s back…

Disorder.

Faith was about onto Carson’s shoulders, when she made an unexpected fall.

Morality.

Carson locked her into a triangle choke. Using every single ounce of her strength left, Faith had tapped.

The two of them stared up at the lights with wounds all over. They felt the extreme physical and mental pain and lay broken down and torn to pieces. With both chests rising and falling, rising and falling, finally Faith started to stir. She pushed with drained strength and walked toward the exit.

Nicole Carson pushed off also as the crowd broke into boos. Carson had retained the UK title for another month. She someone got to her feet and limped her way toward the exit.

”Two wrongs don’t make a right.” Nicole said with blood foaming from her lips.

Half of Retribution had been in the books and still he sat there. Knowing full well that he could get vauable experience just watching the vets of the Asylum do their thing inside that cage he could not pull himself from the door. He wanted her and when he finally got her no one would be able to stop him from extracting his revenge.

He had seen many come and go while he sat there but no sign of the one he was looking for. Tyler Burton, Villam Ender and many of the big Asylum stars made their way into the arena to the frenzied cheers of the crowd. They all had what Remy wanted. To have his name mentioned with the legends of Asylum.

The "Pete Borsts", the "ArchAngels" and even Kenny Rock. Men who's names will forever be tied into the promotion that they shed blood, sweat and tears for during their tenures in the promotion that had single handedly taken down all it's wrestling counterparts. Remy knew the history, and knew he wanted his name to be part of that history.

For that to happen he knew he would have to rid himself of Chase and his problems. After The Show he was sure there would be men filling the hotels of LA looking to collect on his pay day. And to think he could have been in Vegas by Tuesday. His check from last week rested easily in his pocket cause he knew they were coming.

"Dis bitch tink she goin goh gettin dah best ah ole Remy she don' gon an lost dat lill mind." Remy said to himself trying to keep his anger built up.

Reaching in his pocket he pulled out a silver flask, taking a long hard swig he gasped for air.

"Hoooo oui!" he said shaking his head. "Dats dah good stuff."

Just as he placed the flask in his jacket the door flew open again. Strolling in, five young women all giggling and looking as though they have done something wrong.

"You sure we're not gonna get caught in here?" the brunette asked the blonde.

As they conversed among each other Remy stood from his seat. Wether he was trying to see if Chase was hidden amongst them or he was just getting ready to make a move well only he knew that for sure. Though the latter was what ended up happeneing.

"Wha can Ah do fah yall?" he asked laying on the creole accent a tad thick for even him.

It had been at least a month since he had five women at once and he was sure tonight was gonna be his time again.

"Hey I saw you last week." one retorted "You got beaten by Eddie Cheno!"

The group laughed. Choking back his pride was something he was becoming familar with since joining the Asylum. First it was Joe Campbell, last week Eddie Cheno. But there was no way in hell these women were gonna take from him what he was loosing peice by peice already.

"SLAP!"

Maxwell took a drag from his cigarette and blew it toward the crowd, just to be a jerk. He then walked into the cage, and blew another cloud of smoke above him, as if he were mocking Triple H's "spew water" entrance. As he took off his trenchcoat, a familiar song began to play.

"Smoke two Joints" by Sublime. The fans changed their indifference to shouts of joy and exuberance as Eddie Cheno walked out from the back, carrying a pipe with him. He made his slow walk down towards the cage, not taking his eyes off of Maxwell, before coming to the edge of the cage. When he did, Cheno turned towards the crowd, took a deep inhale from his pipe and mocked Maxwell's mock of Triple H. Infuriated, Maxwell tried to reach over the cage before he backed away and let the drug addict inside.

The two men walked up to each other and stared into each others' eyes. The intimidating gray eyes of Maxwell met with the hazy brown eyes of Cheno. Neither were willing to back down. Finally, Maxwell shoved Cheno backwards, and in response, Cheno shoved him back.

The normally calm exterior of Ian Maxwell finally snapped and rocked Cheno's jaw with a punch. Stunned, Cheno stumbled backwards, before Cheno came back with a punch of his own. This one knocked down Maxwell.

Maxwell scrambled to his feet, and threw his arms up in front of his face to lessen the effect of what he suddenly realized to be fairly potent punches. Cheno continued to punch in the direction of Maxwell's face, but Maxwell was blocking them as best he could under the circumstances. Finally, Cheno left himself open as he reared back for a stronger punch.

Maxwell saw it coming and ducked it, and at the same time, he spun around in place and thrust his leg out, sweeping Cheno forward, off of his feet, and face first into the Asylum cage.

Advantage: Ian Maxwell.

Maxwell woozilly rose, shaking off the effects of Cheno's punching abilities. He patiently waited for Cheno to rise to his feet, and when Cheno did, Maxwell aimed a stiff kick to Cheno's left leg, followed by a stiff left kick to his ribcage. Fans cringed as the skin around the point of impact in Cheno's ribs rippled and shook. A third kick, similar to the last one, followed on the other side of Cheno's ribs with the same results.

Cheno collapsed on his knees in front of Maxwell. However, Maxwell paused so that he could aim a swift, final kick to Cheno's face. This cost him, as Cheno was able to simply fall forward to avoid the blow. As he did so, he took out Ian's leg from under him, sending him toppling to the mat. Cheno wobbilly got to his feet, favoring his ribs, but in the Asylum, you don't want to show weakness.

As Maxwell rose, Eddie Cheno rapidly began to punch at every single vulnerable part of Maxwell's body, showing a fury not seen in Cheno in a long time. Every time Maxwell would block for his face, Cheno caught him with a few gut shots. Every time Maxwell blocked low, Cheno would box at his ears.

Advantage: Eddie Cheno.

This continued, with Maxwell continuously being rocked by Cheno's punching attacks. Finally, Maxwell was weary and a little bit on the desperate side. He tried to hit Cheno with a roundhouse kick, but Cheno did a bob and weave move to avoid the contact. Maxwell recovered and turned around for another try, but this was the opportunity that Cheno wanted.

THUMP!

Clearin' Da Funken Table!

The fans cheered, as Ian Maxwell was taken off his feet and sent flying backwards. He, luckily for himself, missed going over the rim of the cage. The blow had opened up a gash above Maxwell's left eye, as he laid on the floor of the Asylum cage. The referee slowly began his ten count on Ian.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

At the count of Seven, Maxwell was up, his face now a disgusting mesh of crimson. He seemed enraged, like a bull that just saw red, or Joe Campbell after he just ran out of Guiness. Cheno rushed him with punches, but Maxwell managed to block a punch and answer with a punch of his own. While this didn't seem to phase Eddie Cheno, it bought Maxwell enough time to answer with a stiff front dropkick to the chest. Cheno reeled and hit the cage as a result.

Advantage: Ian Maxwell.

Cheno got up, and was met with another pair of rib-splitting side kicks. This time, however, Ian did not hesitate in following up with a spinning roundhouse kick to finish the set. The heel of Ian's foot managed to create a gash over Cheno's right eye, and sent him to the floor. An eye for an eye. Cheno was down, and the referee found it wise to make the count.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Cheno was up, much to the happiness of the fans. Maxwell went for another kick to Cheno's ribs, but too much repetition led to Cheno preparing for it. With one leg standing, Maxwell went for an enzeguri which caught Cheno right on the side of his face.

The side with the bandage.

Cheno crumpled to the cage floor, huddled in a ball and clutching his now blood soaked cotton patch. Maxwell stood to his feet with a sneer, before turning his attention to the referee to count.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

Cheno got to his feet using the Asylum cage for footing, before Maxwell charged for what he hoped would be a handspring rolling elbow. The crowd chanted Eddie's name to get him to reverse the oncoming assault, and that's exactly what he did. Eddie moved out of the way of the cartwheel backflip elbow, and Maxwell's back caught the steel mesh. Maxwell let out a cry of pain, as Eddie caught him with another blow to his already wounded eye.

Advantage : Eddie Cheno

Maxwell doubled over, using his one hand to grasp the top of the Asylum cage and hold himself up. The other became blood soaked, attempting to apply pressure to the open wound. This however left his midsection wide open, and Eddie took a few choice shots at Maxwell's ribs in retaliation.

A rib for a rib.

Cheno rammed his shoulders into Maxwell's ribs and drove his body back into the cage wall, and let him fall down to the floor in a sitting position, leaning against the fencing. Cheno fell to his knees, the blood starting to overcome him.

There's nothing compared to the high of the lack of oxygen to the brain.

Cheno turned back to the ailing Maxwell and caught him with a right hook to the face. Ian's face twisted to the side and a small bit of blood caught itself on the cage wall. Maxwell dazefully turned back towards Cheno and retaliated with another hook.

But this one caught Eddie's bandage once again. Cheno fell back and rolled to a fetal position as Maxwell looked down at the hand he just threw.

It was covered with blood.

And Ian found his bullseye.

Like a shark to blood or Joe Campbell to a keg, Maxwell fell in with a vicious dropkick to Cheno's gash. Eddie fell backwards again and rolled into another fetal position, this time perched up against the cage wall. Maxwell took the time to get to a standing position and took his "rightful" place over Eddie's limp body, and delivered soccer kick after soccer kick to Cheno's already injured hole.

One kick would have been enough, but Maxwell wouldn't stop. He threw what may have been six kicks to Cheno's jaw before the referee pulled the bloodthirsty Maxwell away. Tending to Cheno, he made sure that Eddie was more or less alive.

But Maxwell wasn't done. Walking over to the time keepers table, Maxwell demanded a steel chair. The referee turned his attention back to Maxwell and saw what was going on, and waved for the outside officials not to comply with Maxwell's demands. The referee grabbed Maxwell and twisted him around, trying to admonish him, before receiving a swift standing spinning roundhouse kick to the jaw. Maxwell turned back around and began screaming for a chair.

With that, the camera's cut backstage. Joe Campbell and Hans Krueger were sitting around a monitor and discussing things inaudibly. Hans didn't seem rather pleased, yelling at Campbell and turning red in the face, before Joe sent Hans out of his office.

Maxwell continued his search for a chair around ringside that he might be able to reach, but was to no avail. Maxwell walked back over to the limp body of Eddie and laid in two more soccer kicks before the crowd let out grimaces of sympathetic pain.

And then a flurry of boos. Hans Krueger walked out from the backstage area...

Steel chair in hand.

He had a scowl on his face and was dragging the chair behind him. When getting to the Asylum cage, Maxwell leaned over the top and demanded the chair from Hans. "GIVE IT TO ME!" was all the normally calm Ian Maxwell yelled, as Hans grasped the chair in both hands.

It was perched behind his shoulders at a forty five degree angle as he hesitated for a slight moment.

That's when it happened.

Hans slowly handed the chair into the psychopaths hands, and he immediately twisted his body and ran at the fallen Eddie Cheno, slamming the chair into the side of his face and sandwiching it in between two pieces of steel bread.

Aneurysm.

The bell rang shortly after that as a puddle of blood had collected under Eddie's skull.

Maxwell held the chair with the Picasso like face print of Eddie's Mexican face up to the jeers, as Krueger turned around and stormed to the back with his eyes narrowed.

Eddie may be under Joe's power now.

But what can Joe even do with him?

"FUCK YOU! YOU WANT MY QUATER? FUCK YOU AGAIN! YOU WANT A DIVORCE? FUCK YOU THRICE... YOU CUNT!"

"PFFFFFFFFFFT!"

Joe Campbell spat a mouthful of tea across the monitor of his screen, his wife... whom he hadn't seen for almost a year... burst through his door screaming at the top of her voice.

She quickly raised her arm.

"You see this you fucker? Well it can burn... just like you!"

One lighter flick later, a flaming divorce document landed in the groin of the Asylum owner.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" Joe screamed, leaping around in his chair before finally palming the blazing paper onto the floor and stamping it out "What the fuck are you doing you crazy slag!?"

Michelle gritted her teeth.

"What the fuck am I doing? I'll tell you what the fuck I'm doing... I'm shoving this divorce up your arse!"

"But babes... I can explain." Joe whispered... holding out his hands and creeping slowly across the room.

"Explain what? Explain how you almost got me killed? Explain how you got me thrown on a fucking psychie ward? Fuck you!" Michelle screamed... making her way out of the room.

"No sweets... this ain't how it looks! I didn't send the divorce because I wanted rid of you... I needed to get you here! I needed to get your attention... I... I...

I LOVE YOU!" Joe screamed at the top of his voice.

Perhaps he didn't know that a camera crew were setup at the doorway... and perhaps he didn't care, regardless... the entire world had just seen and heard him rattle off a sentence that seemed as though it would never escape his lips.

"You don't know the meaning of the word." Michelle fired back.

"But I do! Love love love love motherfucking love! I love you! Come back to me! We can make it work babes... you and me, we'll rule the world... starting here with the Asylum, we can have 100% again!" Joe cried, clasping his hands together and begging.

Michelle raised an eyebrow.

"Hmm." She pondered... stepping towards Joe as his eyes lit up, slowly... she held him by the collar... and pulled him in to a long sloppy kiss, which the crowd didn't seem to enjoy too much.

Until the next part arrived.

"Love that you fuck!" Michelle snarled, driving her knee into Joe's groin and leaving him down on the ground gasping for air, she flicked her hair and walked out of the room.

"Oh... and as for my 25%... you can think again, I sold that a long time ago." Michelle sneered.

"To... who?" Joe groaned.

"You'll see." Michelle said with a sinister grin, turning and pacing out of the room... leaving Joe Campbell to weep on the floor of his office.

Dawn Van Dammage woke up screaming.

It took a second for Dawn to recognize her surroundings. She was sitting in her room, but was unable to see much of it due to the large land mass crammed into a foul, garbage-smelling set of coveralls kneeling in front of her.

Sawing into the side of her face.

Dawn screamed awkwardly, but screamed she did. It felt like he was trying to push a large spike through her cheek, like someone would loop a fishing hook through the side of a minnow’s mouth. She struggled to move, but her arms were bound tightly behind her. Her legs were also solidly fastened to the legs of the chair she was sitting in. Instinctively she pulled her head away, and the pressure stopped. The side of her face was burning, and she could tell there was blood trickling down her neck from the wound in her face.

Panic started filling her, but Dawn struggled for control. She choked back the fear and trembled with effort to shut out the throbbing pain in the side of her face. Pain could be controlled. Emotion could be controlled Those were things she learned as a fighter. She couldn’t, wouldn’t allow someone to rule over her with pain and fear as weapons. Not again.

“Who are you?” she asked as the man stood up. He was wearing a black ski mask, but his pale blue eyes were quite easy to see in contrast to the dark material surrounding them. He raised a horrific looking metal hook, a sickle-like bonesaw, covered in blood. She tried not to flinch as he wiped the blood on her shirt, wanting nothing more to do with the pain that hook brought. He was obviously very skilled with it; a quick twist, a hard yank, and her shirt was torn wide open.

Oh my God, Dawn thought to herself. He’s going to rape me now. The Asylum curse has come true.

Another thought increased her nausea: what if he tries raping me with that hook?

In vain, Dawn looked around the room for something that might help her out of this situation.

Nothing was close, nothing she could use as a weapon. Her bag was across the room, razors and such were by the sink. There was one thing that did catch her eye though. It wasn’t a weapon, but it was something quite odd-looking, and very out of place.

A large jar. Filled with some kind of fluid. With a human head in it.

Gabriel?

Dawn’s eyes widened as she tried struggling again. If she could at least free one limb, she had a chance. The chair started to tip, and Dawn wasn’t sure she wanted to land on her back. The choice was taken out of her hand as a huge boot slammed into her breasts, knocking the air out of her as well as knocking her over. Like a turtle on its back, Dawn was practically helpless with her bound arms pinned to the floor by her own bodyweight

“Help!” Dawn croaked as she sucked in a breath. Before she could draw another, the masked man was standing over her and stomped down hard on her chest again. The pop from her shoulder, and the subsequent javelin of pain which shot through her body, told her it was dislocated. She tried crying out again, but her masked assailant knelt down beside her and grabbed her throat in his huge hand. “Help…” she gurgled as his squeezed her windpipe.

For the first time since the attack started, the man spoke. His voice sounded coarse, as if his voicebox was filled with crushed stone. “You’re too pretty,” was all he said.

Too pretty? Dawn asked herself. I’m being mangled because he thinks I’m too pretty?

She felt his other hand on her breast, examining it. “Scar tissue,” he stated. “Your implants were put in through here.”

Her eyes widened as he pulled what looked like a large knitting needle out of his pocket.

“Saline won’t hurt your body.”

A gagging shriek escaped Dawn’s lips as he thrust the needle upward under her breast, behind and through muscle, into the saline breast implant. Struggling caused her unimaginable pain, with both her weight and his weight resting on her dislocated limb.

Enough air was allowed to pass through her windpipe to keep her breathing, but her tortured screams were little more than whispers. If not for the roaring in her ears, Dawn could probably hear people walking mere feet away from her door.

So close you could spit on them. They might as well have been a world away.

There was no more control over her agony. The pain was overtaking her, assaulting her from every part of her body it seemed. Words could not describe the suffering this torture was inflicting on her. She was being disfigured, brutalized, for no good reason. Her mind no longer able to form a single coherent thought, overwhelmed her. She was losing consciousness, brought back momentarily by a second needle impaling her other breast. Her eyes started rolling back into her head, the last sounds she heard was the sound of his voice as he moved the jagged hook towards her face.

“This will all be over soon.”

Merciful unconsciousness followed.

"ZIP"

Joe Campbell sat there eyes glazed over as Chase made her way out from the side of his desk. She sat on the corner reapplying her lipstick as she admired her handiwork. Men were all the same. They would trade their immortal souls for an hour or so of straight hard fucking no matter how powerful they might be.

Looking at the clock on the wall she saw the time. 10:15 pm.

"Dah ladies should be gettin here." she said sliding her barefoot up the leg of Campbell. "An if Ah got erieeting planned right Remy should be gettin his full ah dah fairer sex righ bout now."

Joe still sat there comatose. Maybe she had broke him, the thought had crossed her mind but with all that was happening in the Asylum ranks tonight he might have just needed the time for simple reflection.

"Ah think it's high time you turned up dah heat on Leroux." she said sliding into his lap.

"Feh, cunt isn't even a blip on my radar... I've got bigger fish to fry, babes." Joe smirked in reply.

"But Joe if'n yall would be inclinded to help lill ole me out... Ah might be inclinded tah see that happy Brit find a home here." Chase said seducing Campbell.

She slid her crotch over his and even with what she had just done for him the warm moistness of her found him becoming more and more aroused. Lightly kissing around his mouth Joe begins to fall back into her charms until he catches a glimpse of the clock.

"Fuck, I have to be somewhere... I forgot about my wife... stick around darling, we'll finish this off later."

Chase fell to the office carpeting as Joe popped up from the seat.

"Joe!" Chase cried out seeing the little man standing at full attention in his trousers.

Without so much as a look back in her direction he bust out of the office on his way to find his wife. Pulling herself up from the floor she slid into Campbell's chair spinning it to where the back is facing the door.

"If you wan a job done right... you gotta do it yourself." Chase said with a devious smile.

"Remy Leroux you gon be sorry you evah meant lill ole meh."

"Who would become the Asylum Team Champions?"

Alright, so maybe the answer to that question wasn't that important, however it needed to be answered no less. Facing the possible dilemma that he would actually have to meet cHEESE and egg NOG, Joe ordered a match to possibly crown new Team Champions. But when?

Tonight. At Retribution. Duh.

The familiar sounds of Biohazard's "Sellout" came into play as the crowd rose to their feet and cheered for their heroes. cHEESE and egg NOG paced out to the sound of befitting cheers as the look of concern was clearly evident on their face. As much as they would want to win the titles, they didn't want to face Pain and Suffering to do so. NOG lead cHEESE into the cage as the gate was slammed shut behind them. As "Sellout" neared it's end, cHEESE and egg NOG waited for "them" to come. It wouldn't be much longer now and the mixed feelings of anxiousness and overall nervousness began to overwhelm them. Soon "Sellout" faded from play as everyone knew what came next.

Dope. "Fuck The Police". The champions were coming. Cower in fear. cHEESE and egg NOG sure were doing a good job of it.

Atop the stage, the Asylum's most dominate Team Champions, Clayton Richler and Drake Kerrigan, came out to a fury of boos, hisses and jeers, and they just soaked it all in. This was what they lived for: the violence, the bloodshed, the pain and the suffering. Drake cast an eye towards the cage as he smirked at the would-be challengers. Around Drake's waist and over Clayton's shoulder rest the prizes. If the Legion of Dairy could out-smart, out-fight and just out-man Pain and Suffering those belts would be theirs for the taking. That was a big "if" and everyone was well aware of it.

Clayton and Drake started for the cage as cHEESE and egg NOG took a step back, preparing themselves for the pending onslaught. Clayton and Drake took their title belts and cast them aside as they walked up the steps and entered the Asylum. Drake entered first followed closely by Richler. A hush fell over the crowd as the members of Pain and Suffering walked right up to the members of the Legion of Dairy.

Go time.

The LoD started with a flurry of lefts and rights, catching the champions off guard. Their attack was only momentary as Kerrigan and Richler started to block any punch thrown by either egg NOG or cHEESE and came back with stiff lefts and rights of their own. cHEESE and egg NOG staggered back with each blow until they bumped into the rim of the Asylum.

Sensing the end was at hand, the Legion of Dairy moved away from the rim as quickly as possible only to be driven into the canvas; first by a spinebuster from Drake to NOG; and second, a hard clothesline from Richler to cHEESE. NOG rolled around in pain as Kerrigan got to a knee and them back to his feet, grinning about egg NOG's current situation. Drake followed by grabbing a handful of egg NOG's hair as he pulled him to his feet and lifted him into the air, only to throw him onto the Asylum's rim with a Gorilla Press Slam. egg NOG fell back into the Asylum, clutching his chest and wincing in obvious pain.

Clayton went to work on cHEESE as he locked in a simple Indian leg lock, only to take it into a variation of the STF. cHEESE screamed out as Clayton applied more pressure on the submission hold. cHEESE looked as if he was about to give in when Clayton released the hold, much to the crowd's surprise. What could be perceived as a moment of kindness really meant that Pain and Suffering were only getting started. They remembered the embarrassment they were put through one week ago by the Legion of Dairy, and cHEESE and egg NOG were going to hell and back if they had any hopes of winning their title belts.

Richler was grinning sadistically as he pulled cHEESE to his feet. cHEESE would only be standing on a vertical base for a few, short seconds as Clayton quickly threw cHEESE to his partner who was ready and waiting. Drake put his massive hand around the smaller throat of cHEESE and lifted him high in the air. cHEESE could be seen choking in Kerrigan's grasp as Drake showcased some power by holding cHEESE in the air for several seconds before driving him into the canvas with utmost authority. cHEESE bounced off the flooring as Drake was back on his feet boasting to the crowd.

Dropkick.

egg NOG was on his feet and trying to mount something similar to an offensive attack. Logically, he aimed for the one advantage that Drake had on everyone. His height. If Drake couldn't stand, he'd no longer pose a threat. egg NOG was using common knowledge for once. Drake cried out as he clutched his knee. NOG looked ready to slam the knee into the ground, but Clayton saw to it that it didn't that happen. A well placed right hook had egg NOG eating canvas as Richler helped his partner to his feet. As soon as Drake was standing under his own power, Clayton started to work on egg NOG. At first he was just stomping away at NOG's midsection, then the anger of last week started to boil to the surface. The kicks got harder and they were being aimed higher.

*CRACK*

egg NOG cried out; "FFFFUUUUCCCCCCKKKKK!!!!"; as blood poured freely from his nose and mouth. He tried to roll away from his aggressor, but Clayton wasn't giving up so easily, egg NOG managed to get on all fours as his blood stained the canvas. Richler took a step back and ran at him.

*THWACK*

egg NOG was lifted off the canvas and landed square on his back by the soccer-style kick from Clayton. He was ready for a second kick to NOG's ribs, but Kerrigan held him back. Richler drew back, ready to punch his partner in the face. Before he had the chance to, Kerrigan pointed to the resurgent 'God of Wrestling and Fighting' and smiled a twisted smile. Clayton, too, smirked as he nodded to his partner and the two went to work. Drake wrapped his arms around cHEESE's legs and lifted him into the air and fell back for a pancake drop.

Clayton quickly wrapped his arm around cHEESE's neck and DDTed him into the mat.

Clayton sat up, content with the damage he and Drake had done. The two stood and waited for the ten count to conclude.

1...

2...

3...

4...

egg NOG started to flail around. Trying to sit himself up.

5...

6...

egg NOG got to a knee and tried to shake off any 'cobwebs' he might have.

7...

egg NOG stood. However, cHEESE still wasn't moving.

8...

9...

... 10?

Not quite. egg NOG pulled cHEESE to his feet just before the count of ten. Drake screamed out in anger as he charged NOG and cHEESE. One double clothesline later and cHEESE and egg NOG were staring at the lights once again. This time, the members of Pain and Suffering weren't satisfied with just letting the ten count come and go. They wanted more.

The actions thus far hadn't been enough. Pain and Suffering wanted to make sure cHEESE and egg NOG weren't going to be leaving under their own accord tonight. Drake shoved a dizzied cHEESE down as he kicked egg NOG in the midsection, causing him to double over and spit up more blood. Drake threw egg NOG's head between his head as NOG fell to a knee. Kerrigan held a fist in the air as the fans booed. He wrapped his arms around NOG's waist and lifted him into the air.

egg NOG blocked.

Drake clubbed egg NOG across the back with his forearm and lifted him in the air once again. Clayton grabbed egg NOG's shoulders as the two drove him into the ground with a force that could kill a man. However, they weren't done with egg NOG just yet. Clayton was standing on the rim of the Asylum as he leapt off and dropped his leg right across the throat of the self-proclaimed "Big Fucking Deal". egg NOG had just been subjected to Barely Legal.

Clayton suddenly felt something around his neck, that would be about all he felt as cHEESE had managed to sneak up behind him and connect with Listeria. That would be as lucky as cHEESE got as Kerrigan was already on top of him, laying into him with hard shots to the back and face. cHEESE tried his best to block as many shots as he could, but his best efforts weren't enough. A gash had formed just above his eye as was already coating his face in a crimson mask. Kerrigan stood, pulling cHEESE up with him, he lifted the smaller cHEESE into the air and slammed him into the mat with an inverted powerslam. Clayton was already on his feet as he continued his attacks on an unconscious egg NOG. He held egg NOG's legs up and quickly locked in a Cloverleaf Leg Lock.

egg NOG didn't scream, he didn't even move, he was out of it. The referee started to come and check on egg NOG, but Kerrigan shoved him away. They weren't finished with cHEESE and egg NOG just yet. Drake demanded Clayton let egg NOG go, but Clayton shrugged his partner off. Finally Kerrigan just threw his partner off NOG and pulled him up. He lifted NOG up on his shoulder and walked over to the rim of the Asylum. He laid egg NOG on the rim, his face looking directly as the fencing, Drake looked at his partner and pointed to egg NOG's head. Richler smiled as he took a running charge at egg NOG and dropkicked his face into the fence. egg NOG fell back into the Asylum, a new cut across his forehead.

cHEESE and egg NOG looked to be dead. Their opponents --on the other hand-- looked to finally be content, so they waited for the ten count to go down by standing next to the rim.

1...

2...

3...

4...

5...

6...

7...

8...

9...

Wha? Drake turned around in a baffled state. He had been boasting to the fans, but he still didn't hear the referee cry out "TEN!", so why the bell? He turned around, looking for Clayton, but he was nowhere to be found. Drake couldn't understand what was going on. He grabbed the referee by the shirt and lifted in into the air. "WHAT THE FUCK?!" Drake screamed to the frightened official. The referee could only shake in fear as he pointed to the fallen egg NOG and then to the outside of the Asylum. Kerrigan threw the official down as he ran over to the rim. He looked over and confirmed his worst fears. There on the outside, was Clayton, just starting to stand again. Kerrigan was in shock, how did this happen? Where was cHEESE? He turned to the Asylumtron as a replay of the conclusion was already playing.

The referee saw cHEESE and Richler laying on the outside and called for the bell. The match, it seemed, would end in a draw.

Kerrigan kicked the fence as "Sellout" began to play, only angering him more. He grabbed his title belt from the time keeper as he stormed out of the Asylum and up the ramp. Once again, cHEESE and egg NOG had gotten the best of Pain and Suffering.

A bloody set of coveralls and a ski mask burned in a nearby garbage can.

A single vehicle pulled out of the parking lot.

In it, a man on a phone. Beside him, a head in a jar.

“It’s done. Paramedics were already on site. They’re probably with her now.” He looked down at the jar. “Yes, I made him watch. Just like you said.”

Inside the arena, two EMT’s walked quickly down the corridor with a Ray, a member of the arena’s staff personnel. “I’m telling you,” Ray said, “nobody called 911. If they did, I’d know about it. We’ve got people all over the place, and if someone was hurt that bad we’d know.

There’s no woman here with -“

He slipped, quickly placing his hand against the nearby door to steady himself. The door swung open as he looked down to see what he slipped on.

A red puddle. Was that blood?

“Oh… my… God…” the first EMT said as he rushed into the room. Ray gaze moved from the puddle under his feet…

… to the small lake of blood in the room…

… to the half naked woman with blood trickling weakly out of several wounds in her chest.

“Her face…” Ray whispered.

Then promptly threw up.

"SCORE!"

Avo rolled his eyes back into his head.

"Enrique... I don't mean to bring you down or anything, but you ARE selling these hotdogs... that means that when someone gives you money, you didn't get it for nothing." Avo sighed.

"Whatever dude... I love this shit... I could reap the rewards of doing this all day long and all night long, beats eating small Mexican people anyday."

"Rewards!? What rewards... there are no financial rewards to this Enrique... judging by what I've made, we might just be able to afford to buy some space from the bums down on bourbon street." Avo said with a grumble.

"Who said anything about financial rewards... the smiling face of a happy customer is all the reward I ask." Enrique said with a happy grin.

"I tell you what we need man... we need what you were talking about earlier, we need some enhancement talent." Avo piped up.

"But dude, I thought that we were the enhancement talent?" Enrique replied, scratching his chin with a hotdog.

"Exactly! We'll get some enhancement talent to enhance the enhancement talent!" Avo squealed with delight.

Silence followed.

"People for us to beat up!" Avo said narrowing his eyes.

"Oh... RIGHT!" Enrique replied.

A few more moments of silence passed.

"Dude..." Enrique said with concern "That's gonna be... hard."

More silence.

"No way! There's tons of people that we can beat up... look around you man, legions of fat people eating hotdogs... we could take everyone here!" Avo added, trying to convince Credibleno.

"Hmm... true, but I don't know man... I don't know how I'd feel about harming an innocent human being."

Enrique handed a hotdog to a small child, who snatched it from him and took a bite.

"WHERE THE FUCK IS MY SMILE MOTHERFUCKER? I WILL DESTROY ALL THAT YOU EVER LOVED... I WILL BE THE COLD SWEAT FROM WHICH YOU..."

Avo leapt, dragging Enrique kicking and screaming away from the small child.

Perhaps enhancement talent was the answer afterall.

Darren Mitchell didn't even know what had hit him... all he felt was the solid thump of bone and knuckle slamming into his temple... he fell to the ground of his locker room with a heavy thud.

"Welcome to the real world, motherfucker." Token Weed sneered... as Darren slumped on the tiled floor... slowly fading.

"No fuck..." Token went on "We aren't slipping off to la la land this time you bitch, we're staying here... with the pain... MY terms." Token sneered again, grabbing a handfull of Darren's hair and pulling his head up, before sending his skull into the tiles with a thud, in a scene reminiscant of Fight Hell... Darren lifted his head and a jet of blood spilt from his eyebrow to the floor, staining it red.

"Not so fun now is it motherfucker? No more shifting the goal posts... no more magical fucking weaponry, just a good old fashioned beating." Token continued, once again snatching a handfull of Darren's hair, this time sitting across his back and into a camel clutch.

As Darren faded into unconsciousness... he heard the faint sound of the door handle shifting up and down, behind it stood his brother Daniel... frantically trying to push through, it'd been jammed however in a sturdy piece of pree planning, trash can under the handle, door impossible to open.

Slowly but surely, Darren slipped away.

And that's when the door opened.

Everything was a haze... light shining all around as Daniel passed through the door... he didn't strike at Token however, he simply made his way to his brother and got in his face.

"Wake up Darren... wake up before it's too late, I can't help you."

Bam, Darren snapped back into consciousness... the door still firmly jammed behind him... mustering strength, he slowly started to get up as Token continued to hold firm his choke... eventually however, Darren was on his feet... staggering back and forth before finally reeling into something which would loosen Token's grip.

A mirror.

The mirror exploded all around the two fighters, but to Darren's disbelief... Token kept his tight grasp around his neck like a pitbull refusing to relinquish it's grip... Darren was fading again... and despite the shattered glass lacerating the skin of Token, he simply wasn't going to let go.

"This isn't fantasy land anymore." Token laughed "You can't just make this go away... you'll remember this for a long time to come when I'm finished with you."

Darren took the words to heart, desperately flailing over his shoulder with fists, catching Tokem marginally in the face, Token continued to keep his firm stranglehold locked in, until Darren went to new lengths.

By clutching a shard of broken glass... and driving it into Token's hand.

"ARHHHHGGGGGGGGH!" Token roared... releasing his grip with the now profusely bleeding hand... Darren once again staggered to his feet... but to his amazement... Token was still clutching on for dear life with one arm... extremely dazed, Darren staggered up and stumbled into the next room...

The showers.

As Token continued to cling on with one arm, a tight squeeze once again sent Darren tumbling to the ground.

Unfortunately on this occasion... there was no ground to tumble too.

Only water.

With a huge splash, the two fell into a huge bath... several meters deep, the likes of which an entire team would pile into following a successful game.

The clear water instantly turned a shade of pink with the blood pouring from both men tainting it... Token's grip was finally released... he attended to more pressing issues... removing the shard of glass from his hand... as he did... a jet of blood streamed into the water... finally rid of the glass, Token floated to the surface.

But didn't quite get there.

The familiar feel of a steel chair bouncing off the top of his head... this time however, different circumstances... for he was submerged, as he'd struggled to pull the glass from his hand... Darren had pulled himself from the water and acquired a chair... and now he was putting it to use.

As Token floated up again... he managed to see the distorted shape of a chair swinging for his skull... reaching out... he snatched onto it and Darren inadvertantly pulled him up to the surface.

Token reached out, grabbing Darren's ankle and yanking hard... the nature of the slippy tiled surface meant that Darren's footing was quickly lost and he soon fell flat on his back to the tiled floor.

Token rose out of the water... dripping, bleeding... and fists clenched.

A kick to the face via one of Token's soggy trainers send Darren stumbling back into a shower stall... he hit it with a stiff thud, as Token closed in, sending several more kicks to his ribs, finally... he finished him off with a solid jab to the mouth.

"Finished off" being a very lightly used term.

Token was far from done... in a fit of rage, he yanked the shower head from the wall... ripping the tiles away and exposing the chord... mercilessly... he whipped Darren about the head and body with the stainless steel shower head, before finally grapping the chord around his neck.

"Time for you to go and dream permanently, you fuck!" Token grunted... tightening the chord around Darren's neck as he struggled for air, he found solace quickly however... kicking Token in the groin, before grabbing him by the belt and pulling him headfirst into the tiled wall, breaking several tiles and busting him open in the process!

Token stumbled out of the shower stall, a blood imprint of his face on the wall as Darren untangled himself from the shower chord... he finally got free just in time to stagger out of the stall and catch Token in the jaw with a solid right hand... as Token doubled over... Darren grabbed him by the belt... and looked to throw him to a grizzly fate.

Another bath.

An empty one.

Not a good prospect, a two meter fall into a tile pit.

But Token never had any intention of taking the tumble.

He slammed on the breaks, sending Darren staggering dangerously close to the bring... Darren was able to slam on the breaks however... narrowly evading the tumble until.

Game over.

Token rushed in with a move that had won him many a match, the Pump Kick... he caught Darren square in the heart... knocking him off his feet and sailing almost picturesquely into the gaping bath... landing with a devastating shatter in the bottom, laying in a bloody, broken heap amongst the cracked tiled.

Token wiped blood from his face and spat more down on the body of his fallen nemesis... with a real world victory under his belt, he scoffed one final remark... one important statement that Darren would do well to remember.

What had he done?! Remy stormed through the halls of the arena. He had never gone this far before he actually hit a woman. Remy stormed through the halls on his way to the office of Joe Campbell. He had to tell him what he had done.

First a loss in his debut, then attacking a woman. Chase's presence had really thrown him off his game and he had no idea how to regain his composure. What was he going to tell Joe?

"Sorry Joe Ah beat down a hookah cause she insulted meh?" he thought to himself.

Slamming through the office he didn't even make eye contact with the receptionist, pressing by into the office of Joe Campbell.

"Joe Ah don' know how tah tell yah dis so Ah'ma juss say.. bout five minutes ago Ah had an incident... Ah knocked out a hookah." he stood in silence waiting for a response.

 "It was ah mistake, dat bitch insulted meh an wit eerieting else goin on round here wit Chase Ah juss lost it."

The back of his leather chair didn't move. Though her lips did, curling with the mention of getting under his skin. Just what Chase wanted to hear. In only one week of being here she had gotten under his skin already. She had pressed the buttons she knew she could and was molding him just the way she wanted him.

"Ah swear Jow dis will nevah happen again." Remy pleaded basically for his job hoping he would not be let go.

Sure Nerva, Carson, Borst the women of Asylum were to be expected to be attacked by men, but the pleasure giving after hours call girls that Joe brings in for the top tier guys to unwind after the events Remy knew he had crossed the line.

"Ah'm sho your upset soh Ah'ma let you alone.. whatevah you decide..." The long period of silence said volumes to Remy.. he knew his days were numbered.

Turning towards the door he caught an updraft a scent... HER SCENT! Obsession! HIS OBSESSION! Whipping himself back around he spun the chair and there she sat. Her hair neatly pulled back, her tight tummy exposed in the midriff shirt.

"CHASE!" Remy shouted with that vein on his forehead popping out.

"Why Mistah Leroux, Ah hear yall been lookin fah lill ole meh." she smiled as though a jackal in the jungle who had stolen a prime kill from a proud lioness. "Now that you found meh, what will yah do wit meh."

That was the question. Finally face to face with the women he had been devoting his night to finding. The rage he felt when insulted by the prostitute wasn't even close to being the rage he felt now. Chase in Joe Campbell's office.

The doors bust open once again. Jumping back from Chase, Remy expected to see Joe Campbell maybe another member of Asylum here to confront Campbell ,but no... it was them... or at least who they sent.

"Remy, Remy, Remy... you fahgot how tah call."

Two seeds came together during a stormy night. The next day, they grew a beautiful rose together. All was light.

Without explanation, the rose died. It did not rot. The death was not slow by any means. It was fast, sudden, and unexpected. One of the seeds no longer wanted to continue. It broke away from the other seed. And so the seeds of hatred began.

Tonight, the seeds of hatred would end.

“Unified” by Biohazard took over the speakers. Nerva walked down the aisle, her face and body waxed with slippery oil. The fans were cheering. She opened the cage door and entered the circle. She looked ready and hungry for a good fight. After all, she was fighting her ex-boyfriend.

“Stinkfist” by Tool replaced her music. The fans booed as Providence pushed past the curtains with his TV Championship belt around his waist. It was on the line, but what mattered equally was his pride. He wouldn’t let a woman - let alone his ex-girlfriend - humiliate him.

Still, Providence wasn’t in the best shape. He took four Tylenol before this match, but it wasn’t helping. His head was weak and he felt like he was walking on air. He entered the cage. The ref asked for the TV belt. He took it off and shoved it in the ref’s face. He walked forward and came close to Nerva - too close for comfort. Nerva pushed him away. The bell sounded.

Providence smiled. “You sure you want to do this?”

Nerva pushed him back. “More sure than you’ll ever know.”

Providence slapped his hand around her throat. Nerva lifted her left arm up and twisted around 180 degrees. After escaping, she planted a back kick right into his stomach. She went high with a roundhouse kick, but Providence was quick to throw his hands up. Nerva swung more shots at his head with her fists, but he blocked them all off. Before she could attempt any more damage to his already-concussed head, Providence drove his knee into her stomach. She doubled over and fell to her knees.

This was where he wanted her. He kicked her in the ribs and followed her to the Asylum cage wall. He trapped her with more kicks and then dropped his elbow down into her gut.

“You want to be a man?” he said. “You want to be a man and fight for my title? Fuck you, you’re a woman and you’re a two-dollar slut. I wish I’d never stuck my dick into you. You’re a waste of my fucking time.”

Nerva held her ribs and breathed heavily. “I think you’re a waste of my time.”

She rolled past him, got to a vertical base and swung another roundhouse kick at his head.

Providence blocked it, but the moment her foot touched the floor, another kick came and planted itself into his rib. She kept on roundhouse kicking at his ribs until he lowered his guard. Right when she went for a high kick, however, Providence locked her up and suplexed her across the cage. He saw her trying to get up and flattened her with a clothesline. The fans booed.

Providence brought her up by the fiery red hair and punched at her face until he saw blood coming down her nose. He wound up and went for another one, but she caught it and elbowed him in the stomach. She kneed him in the crotch next, which staggered him back.

She followed him with a double roundhouse kick to ribs and then a roundhouse kick to the head. He took the double but blocked the high. He grabbed her by the bra and without thinking head butted her in the forehead.

Cliff Note: Nerva crushes beer cans with her forehead.

Providence stumbled back. He was feeling the effects of that concussion all over again. It only got worse when Nerva tornado kicked him in the back of the head - the same place she struck him with that water tank. As Providence kept staggering, Nerva finished him off with a spin kick the same area.

Drop.

The ref started his count. Providence started moving his hands when he heard the “One! Two!” but was slow. He looked up and saw a blur of two Nervas standing over him. He got up and charged at the wrong one, going headfirst into the Asylum cage wall. His hair began to dye red.

Nerva taunted him with a jab to the face and roundhouse kick to the stomach. She tried it again, but Providence grabbed her leg and tripped her to the mat. He got on top of her and started pulling at her bra.

“Why don’t I give the fans their regular PPV dose of your tits?”

Nerva popped a punch to his nose. “I don’t need your hands to do that.”

She reversed the position and locked him into the figure-four arm-bar. But she didn’t have enough leverage over him. Providence rolled overtop of her and immediately locked in a cross arm-breaker. He screamed and urged her to tap out and give in.

“Give in, Nerva! Give in like you did every night, when you’d surrender your wet cunt to me. This is just like any other night, babe.”

Nerva kicked and struggled and then took a moment to calm down. She phased out the voices of the crowd and the voice of the referee. She took time to think about a counter. “Roll with the pressure,” she told herself.

She did just that, and then yanked her arm free. Before Providence could get up, she kicked him the ribs and then stomped him in the shoulder. Getting any closer would have been dangerous. She stayed her distance, bouncing lightly and awaiting him. He tried to kick her, but she blocked it her foot and punched him in the chin. She retreated. She then stayed in place, her body sideways. Providence was wearing, but came forward anyway with a punch.

Big mistake.

Nerva took her front leg and drove a sidekick into his chin, heel pointing to heaven and toes pointing to earth. Providence stumbled back against the cage wall. Nerva saw the opportunity. It was so close. She went for the Double Touch…

The first kick caught Providence across the jaw, but as she swung around with the second, Providence drove his forearm right into her kidneys. Judging by the way Nerva screamed, her kidneys hadn’t healed from last month’s match.

Providence smiled, but then fell to his knee and grabbed his head. He needed the time to regroup. As he saw Nerva getting on her hands and knees, he leapt forward and drove a double axe-handle into her kidneys. She arched her back in pain and then fell flat on the mat.

Providence got on top of her back and locked her into a hammerlock. He grabbed her hair with his other hand and pulled her face up.

“I can make the pain go away,” he said in a soft voice. “Just give in to me. I hate fighting you.

I’ll make you feel like a lady again. Please don’t make me fight you. It’s only going to hurt you even more.”

Nerva took her free arm and elbowed Providence in the jaw. She kept doing it until she could struggle her arm free. As she tried to escape, Providence grabbed her by her thong and pulled her back. He slammed another forearm into her kidney and put her back into the same position. This time when he brought her face up, he slammed it back down into the mat.

He shook his head. “I’m not liking this. I never wanted to hurt you.”

A severe cut on her cheek opened up. “Yeah,” she said. “That’s what Koji Tamura said to me. And he’s never going to fight another day. Kinda like you.”

Angered, Providence brought Nerva up and slammed her breasts-first against the steel rim. He then proceeded to knee her several times in the sore kidneys. “Unlike Koji,” he said, “I’m going to beat you. I’m going to make myself the master. You’re just my bitch.”

Providence scooped her up sidewalk-style and then dropped her onto his knee. He held her in a front waist lock and then charged forward, slamming her kidneys into the cage rim. Still holding her around the waist, Providence picked her up, spun her around, and nailed a spine buster slam. He wasn’t done. He brought his foot up and drove it straight into her abdomen.

When she turned over onto her stomach, he dropped his elbow into her kidney again.

He then stood over her with his hands on his hips. He looked down and smiled. “It hurts me just to watch you.”

He jumped up and sat down on her lower back. Her head snapped up immediately and she screamed. Providence put both her arms on his thighs and sat down with a camel clutch. The pressure was on her lower back. Her kidneys were stretching. The ref dropped down and asked Nerva if she wanted to give up. Blood dripped from her nose and cheek. She kept shaking her head and started struggling. Providence began to twitch as she got one arm off his thigh. Before she could get the other arm off, Providence locked her in a full nelson and brought her to a vertical base.

Nerva tried for an escape, but Providence picked her up and slammed her into the mat. She felt yet another throbbing pain in her kidneys and struggled for breath. In a way, Providence was suffocating her. He brought her up by the hair and gut wrenched her, following it up with a power bomb. He turned her over onto her stomach and started stomping on her lower back.

Each time she screamed, Providence laughed and stomped her again. When she tried to crawl to the cage wall, he grabbed her by the ankle and pulled her to the center.

He was toying with her.

Nerva turned on her back to protect her kidneys. She was still having trouble breathing. She tried moving away on her hands from Providence, but he followed. That’s what she wanted.

“Come on,” she said. “Come to your sugar momma, Providence. Come get some sweet sugar juice. You know how much you miss it and you know how much I miss your tool.”

She spread her legs and he smiled. He came forward and pulled his jock out. He stood over her and started to lower himself, but she immediately rolled backwards and nailed him with a lightning-quick au batido kick. It caught him right in the head. She went for an aerial, but he dodged it and booted her in the gut. He got her in a headlock and side Russian leg swept her to the mat. Nerva rolled away, trying her best to bottle up the pain from her kidneys.

Providence charged, but he walked right into an axe kick to the face. He shook it off and charged again, this time punching her twice in the face and kneeing her in the gut. She fell back against the cage wall. Providence drove his shoulder right into her stomach, gassing the air out of her. He went for it again, but Nerva got her knee up and drove it into his shoulder. She hook kicked him across the face and then tried for a roundhouse kick, but Providence ducked it and then uppercut her in the stomach. He locked her up and delivered the uranage slam onto the steel rim.

The Fall.

Providence set her up for another Fall slam and did it on the rim again, crushing her kidneys. Nerva fell to her knees, almost in tears from her kidneys. Providence pulled her up by the hair and started slapping her over and over again. Now she was helpless. Now she couldn’t fight.

“This is what you get for being a bitch,” he said. “For ruining my life, for hurting my fucking feelings. I wish I never had you in my life. But this makes it all worthwhile.”

He hooked her up again. It caused a roar of boos from the crowd. They started a “NERVA” chant, but it was useless. She was only able to sneak a breath for every ten seconds.

Providence picked her up for the fall, but held her up by the butt. She was lighter than most of his opponents. He then yelled and leapt in the air, spinning around and crashing Nerva into the mat. The crowd went silent. The ref started to count.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

Eight.

Nine.

…

…

…

Ten.

The bell sounded and “Stinkfist” by Tool played over the speakers. The crowd was booing as Providence was awarded his title and announced still as TV Champion. He slung the title over his shoulder as the ref rolled Nerva onto her stomach and checked on her back. He smiled and left.

Feel the warmth of the flame as it burns inside
Burning high and higher pressure starts to climb
Turning passion into sweat
Jekyll into hyde, glossy eyed
Unsatisfied, I can’t help but deny
As my love gets set aside
Magnified by hate inside
Face down upon the ground
Looking down at her you start to frown
Thinking to yourself
‘Am I insane to do the things I do to her in vain?’
--“In Vain” by Biohazard

"Now, Eddie Scott Poser!" a voice shouted towards the body of the pseudo King of Poland. Poser stood there with a microphone of his own in his hands and his kingly attire worn differently than usual. His crown was backwards and his robe was hanging off one of his shoulders awkwardly. "Would, would you stop doing that?" Poser's mouth moved with the voice coming from off of the camera almost at the exact moment in time. "Seriously! That's getting annoying!" And Poser continued his mocking of the interviewer before him.

Well, if you can't do your job, you might as well get your replacement fired.

"Now Eddi- LOOK! Stop talking when I'm..." Poser mimicked the man interviewing him by stopping at the exact moment he did. "I MEAN IT!" Poser's face flared up red in anger just as much as the other man's face must be at that exact moment. "I can't believe..." an audible sigh could be heard, as Poser went along with it. Slowly, the camera rotated to show the edge of a glass reflection along the side. Turning all the way in a one eighty fashion, Eddie Scott Poser stood with a microphone in his hands, interviewing himself. He was just talking into a mirror the entire time.

A mirror.

Poser let out another sigh. "I am so alone."

The crowd rose to their feet as Enrique Credibleno and Avo Chavez aka Los Toros burst through the curtain for what was definately an unsheduled fight... the two hopped down the aisle gleefully, still wearing their hotdog vendor attire.

As they reached the Asylum; being careful not to trip on the many camera cables surrounding it as they both had done so many times before... Enrique grabbed a microphone, wearing a stupid grin on his face as always.

"SO YEAH!" Enrique roared as the crowd quietened down "WE NEED SOME REGULAR PEOPLE ON WHICH TO BEAT... ENHANCEMENT IF YOU WILL... TALENT ENHANCEMENT... AND HAVING OBSERVED CLOSELY THE FICKLE AMONGST THE CROWD... I HAVE DECIDED THAT YOU..." Enrique stopped to point at a fat bald man in the crowd "HE WHO SHALL NOT PAY FOR HIS HOTDOG... AND YOU!" Enrique pointed across to the arena to another fat bald man "HE WHO SHALL NOT WEAR A PLEASANT SMILE UPON PURCHASE... SHALL BOTH BE PUT TO THE TEST IN A BATTLE OF WHITS!"

Avo quickly leant over and whispered into Enrique's ear.

"Err... in a BATTLE to establish the none enhancement talent! Bring it on my friends!" Enrique snarled... tossing the mic to Avo.

"YES!" Avo chirped "From here forth... my associate and I are going to rule the hotdog trade with an iron fist... no longer will people lodge complains about the quality of the mean... never more will people demand more... and more... AND MORE MUSTARD! NEIGH! THE TIME HAS COME FOR QUALITY SERVICE... AT AFFORDABLE PRICES WITH A SMILE!" Avo screamed... as the two fat bald men clambered into the Asylum.

"Speak your names... heathen's!" Avo demanded, placing the microphone in front of the two men's faces.

"Frank." The first snorted.

"Dave." The second replied with disdain.

"OH! I HEAR ENGLISH IN THEIR VOICES... TELL ME FRIENDS... ARE ALL BRITISH PEOPLE DEVOID OF MANORS AND MONEY?" Avo roared, pointing the finger sternly.

Dave leant forward, and burped in Avo's face.

"Yep." Frank concurred.

Enrique snatched the mic.

"THIS WE HAVE SEEN! AND TELL ME... DO ALL BRITISH REFUSE TO SMILE OR ACCEPT SMILES DUE TO THE NATURE OF THEIR POOR DENTAL RECORDS! THE WORLD MUST SMILE MY FRIENDS... LET US FIGHT!" Enrique cried, letting out a scream.

Almost in unison, Frank & Dave struck... first headbutting their unfortunate foes, before sending stern knees to Avo and Enrique's guts... sending them to the canvas with well... a thud.

They proceeded to lift the two men from the canvas... before promptly tossing them over the rim of the Asylum and to the arena floor.

"Stupid yanks." Frank and Dave said in unison, dusting themselves off and claiming a ringout win.

The developmental talent had been beaten by the developmental talent on the developmental talents debut fight.

What next?

Oh... screams.

As Avo and Enrique lay motionless on the arena floor and Frank along with Dave made their way back to their seats... the sudden chilling shrill sound of screams erupted through the arena.

The chilling sound quickly became a shocking visual.

A woman... a woman clutching her face and screaming insanely... blood seeping through the gaps in her fingers like crimson water, the crowd erupted in shock as she staggered further down the aisle and into the light... her clothing and hairstyle quickly revealing her to be...

The wife of Asylum owner Joe Campbell... staggering down the aisle screaming and pouring with blood... just a while after making him look stupid on national television.

She stumbled and collapsed to the steel ramp as the blood from her face started to trickle onto the shining steel surface.

EMT's quickly rushed to the scene... as the first touched her she lashed out in panic scratching him across the face... whatever had happened to her had been something extremely traumatic... the wounds on her face inches deep.

As the Medical team placed her on a stretcher... it didn't take a detective to figure out who was to blame for this act.

"His face... the scar... he did this." She uttered, before slipping into sweet unconsciousness.

Or... maybe a detective was the answer afterall.

Joe Campbell? Innocent? Time would tell.

Alas, the main event was on the way.

Because the sooner Stranglehold hit the road, the sooner he could continue is all important, soul consuming search for Kellen Kinkade. Though no one quite knew what Stranglehold would do if they won, the people in the audience couldn't quite shake the feeling that this was the real deal.

That the proverbial sun was setting on the Asylum.

"Smack my bitch up" by Prodigy.

...and with it came Team Campbell. And with team Campbell came a well needing boost of confidence. Who wouldn't be when you have Ruben Ross, Villam Ender, Devoid and the Asylum champion Inmate all on the same team? The audience was almost starting to feel sorry for Stranglehold. Exxa appeared on be in the top-est of forms on Sunday night, but there was no way that he could beat all three men alone.

"Climbatize" by Prodigy.

...like a mirror reflection the underdogs of this bedlam fight walked through the curtains, heads held extremely high. The three men Exxa had with him shouldn't be ignored either.

They each have their own accomplishments to their names. But, most of all they have passion and drive. Each man had proved to the people in the last month that given even an inch...Stranglehold was more than willing to take the whole mile as far as the destruction of the Asylum was concerned. The real question was...that now they are given this chance...

Would they run with it?

Or would Campbell and team be there to draw the line?

All 8 men stood in the ring face to face to face to face to face to face to face to face. Each man sizing up their opposition. The ringside bell sounded....

"Whoa, whoa, whoa....Hold on a fucking second."

Joe Campbell, microphone in hand and a happy little sneer pasted on his face.

"Alright, just so there isn't any confusion...let's get the rules straight. You're eliminated if you tap out or if you are knocked out. Ring outs? No-fucking-way, that makes it too easy. Plus, how else would else Team Campbell get to use their little 'goodies' that I have cleverly stashed under the cage? Oh, and I'm going to sit right there by JPP and watch the whole thing. I've blocked the entrance to the cage behind me. No one is gettin' in. That's right Exxa, any surprises you had planned are now officially up the twat. Now, get this little titty slapping contest underway."

Joe waved at the bell bearing official and...

*Ding*

It starts. The 8 men tear into each other like a pack of wild beast. All except Exxa that is who's for whatever reason decided to take a seat on the rim of the Asylum while the other 3 Stranglehold members battled it out. Surprisingly...

They were holding their own.

Ruben and Devoid doubled up their arms and charged Biggs Dangsta for a double clothesline only to have it ducked and for Biggs to swiftly turn around and smash both men across the back of their necks with a double forearm lariat that sent both out of the ring. The odds had suddenly shifted.

3 on 2.

The men circled each other...Villam and Inmate nodded to each other and tore into the three with fist flying. The three men shifted momentum and start to take the fight to Team Campbell...The fight soon spread out...Jeff and Marauder taking on Inmate and Biggs looking for some vengeance against Villam for Sunday night.

The action shifts to ringside where Devoid and Ruben are dealing with the Exxa Decimal problem. In the time between them hitting the floor and the 3 on 2 attempt. Exxa had reached under the ring and acquired a steelchair, swinging it Steve Austin-style nearly missing both men with every pass. Exxa swung horizontally at Devoid...Devoid ducks. Ruben pushes Exxa over Devoid...

Oldest trick in the book.

However, Devoid stays on all fours and as Exxa is getting to his feet...still holding the steelchair...Ruben goes flying off of Devoid's back crushes the chair into the face of Exxa with one hell of the flying dropkick. Ruben turns to Devoid and points back up to the cage....

Devoid climbed up stepped back into the cage only to find Inmate suddenly locked in the Hammer Jammer and Marauder stomping away at his back.

A glance at Villam....

Villam was rubbing Biggs’s face in the rim of the Asylum. Villam was fine. So that means...

CRACK

Flying kick connecting hard with Jeff's jaw. Jeff staggers back...

SNAP~!

Reversal by Inmate. Boot to Inmate's face by Marauder, yet another jump kick to Marauder's face by Devoid. Inmate pulls Jeff to his feet and buries the original's face into his knee before burying his head into the canvas with a stiff DDT. Pulling Jeff to his feet again Inmate grabs him by the back of the neck and tosses him out of the cage. Marauder slowly recovers from the boot to the face.

'Oh, Shit!' Marauder thoughts...as he saw the stern faces of Devoid and Inmate closing him like a cornered prey.

"HEY!"

Inmate and Devoid turn around only to have Villam's beaten form thrown into them...Marauder and Biggs proceed to throw them out of the cage into a rather pissed off Garvin holding a baseball bat. Inmate got to his feet and was the first one to be clocked with the bat. Falling into a crumpled heap...Biggs picked Inmate up into a military press position and chucked him into the booing crowd.

Jeff's baseball suddenly came down overhead hard and fast only to fall right into the hand of Villam Ender who pulled Jeff and the bat towards himself firmly smacking Jeff on the chin with a sidekick. Marauder who was bust bludgeoning Devoid with his fists turned to help Jeff only for Villam to drill the bat into his forehead as he came charging in. Biggs came across the railing from just having handled Inmate and caught a beautiful upward swing from the bat which sent Biggs right back over the railing. Villam raised the bloodied shiteball stick to cheers.

Big mistake. Jeff comes from behind with a steelchair!

Jeff raises chair in the air to Boos.

Big mistake. Devoid punches Garvin in the neck. Villam gets up looking for his team mates...Inmate comes from behind the crowd barrier rubbing his head and Devoid picks up the discarded Steelchair....lifts it up over his head....

"WAIT!" Villam screams...he ushers Inmate over and whispers in his ear....Inmate laughs and picks Jeff up lifting him into a standing suplex position. Inmate amazes the fans as he holds him up in the air and turns toward Devoid, who in one motion runs to the apron - bounds off of it and kicks Jeff square in the stomach....causing Inmate to drive Jeff head first into the floor...which led to Villam slamming the steelchair down over Jeff's face. Villam then raised the baseball bat...

And old one. But a good one.

Dancing on the corpses ashes!

As muffled screams came with each blow from the baseball bat connecting with the steelchair...the gleam in Villam's eye was traded for a shiver down everyone's spine as people had seen this very same behavior during the whole Rave/Villam ordeal. No one wanted to see that type of thing break out again....

Particularly Devoid as he reached out and grabbed the bat from Villam. Villam shrugged and stood on Jeff's char-face for a second before grabbed Marauder and attempting to drag him back into the cage. Inmate kicked the chair off of Jeff's face...

Ew.

Blood leaked out of every facial orifice, Inmate chuckled, then quickly turned serious as he stood over Garvin's legs...

SNAP~!

Garvin's third dose.

SMACK~! Inmate took a chair to the cranium...Devoid turned his head...

And there stood a pissed off Biggs throwing paying customers out of their seats and launching steel chairs at Inmate...Biggs apparently didn't notice Devoid run on top of the Barrier and take flight...

CRACK~!

Another flying kick assault...No.

Biggs stiff armed him. Except replace arm with chair and you've got it right. Biggs looked around for Inmate and Jeff but only found a trail of blood...leading all the way up to the stage.....

...where Inmate held Garvin in the head and arm plex....

and....

"NOOOOOOooooo!"

Inmate sent Garvin off the stage crashing into the debris below. Biggs didn't need to follow the ref up the ramp. He knew it already. Jeff was out.

Score?

Asylum: 4

Stranglehold: 3

However, with Devoid struggling to his feet with look none too happy and Inmate already making his way back to cage side...Biggs didn't need to do the math in his head to understand what would soon transpire. Biggs took to made his way back to the Asylum to help Marauder...

Marauder?

8....

9....

10....

'FUCK!'

Marauder was out cold and Villam was rubbing his fist. Marauder obviously fell victim to Villam's signature move. One Winged, Angel Kiss. Villam was looking quite please with himself and that just made Biggs more angry...things were going badly...

Asylum: 4

Stranglehold: 2

Biggs decided against getting into the cage and turned to someone who still had trouble getting to his feet...

Devoid.

'If I can slam him neck first into the barrier before Inmate gets here....I could have him....'

Inmate and Biggs made eye contact. Biggs looked at Devoid. Inmate looked at Devoid and Inmate began quickly limping his way down the ramp. Biggs quick took a chair and pummeled Devoid with it. One chairshot for every step Inmate took. Inmate was now in striking distance....

But it was too late. Biggs had lifted Devoid up to a power bomb position and drove him neck first into the barrier. The began to count and as he just made it to ten Biggs and Inmate started exchanging blows.

Asylum: 3

Stranglehold: 2

"BEAT HIS FUCKING ASS!"

It was Joe at the announcement tables.

Apparently both men had been trading blows back and forth for sometime. Exxa's neck looked red and raw as Ross had apparently tried to choke him out with video cables. Ross's lip was fat swollen and leaking blood and Villam was draped over one of the announce tables breathing heavily the last thing being remembered was Exxa yelling: "This is what you get for interfering" and back flip kicking him (Shaolin style) and sending his body flying onto the table.

Ross now had Exxa pinned in a mounted position and was trying to pummel him about the face with no luck. "COME ON! IT ISN'T ROCKET SCIENCE.....FUCK HIM UP~!" Joe was out of his seat and looked into the Asylum where Biggs and Inmate had decided to take the fight.

Only except they weren't fighting....

Both were sprawled out on the mat. Victims over their respective charging haymakers. Joe jumped into the cage and started shouting at Inmate about causing him to lose the company and such.

"Fuck, Tyler...if you can't take Mr. T's son over here I'll do it my-fucking-self." Joe started to think for a bit, though....

Should he do it? Should he break his own rules?

'FUCK YEAH!' and with that Joe pulled out a wicked looking* pair of brass knuckles...

*wicked looking - see 'sharp and very pointy and encrusted with diamonds

Joe raised a fist....

Fist caught.

Joe turned around.

.

.

.

.

Ruben Ross.

No. Joe refused to believe it. He damn near emptied the petty cash account on this man...he wouldn't....

*PUNCH*

He would.

Joe was sent flying into the wire mesh.

Ruben turned to an approaching Exxa Decimal...

They shook hands. Boos instantly filled the arena. They couldn't fucking believe it. Ruben was a good old fashioned turncoat. Biggs slowly got his feet and went to shake hands with the Black Plague. Exxa slapped Biggs' hand away...Biggs frowned...

Exxa pointed to Villam. Exxa looked at Ross...and pointed to Villam.

Meanwhile just getting out of la-la land...Villam rubbed his head and got to-SLAM~!DING!

Ring bell to head. Thanks to Biggs. Biggs lay Villam face up on the announce tables and point up...

To Ruben Ross.

He leapt off of the rim of the Asylum...Shoot star splash into Frog Splash...Table breaks...the rest is history. Back in the cage Exxa circles Inmate....Inmate pushes himself up...

Exxa Deathlock!

The hold was locked in firmly but Inmate wasn't tapping out. Too much was on the line...he...

SMACK

Biggs' steel chair.

SMACK

Ruben's steel chair.

SMACK

Biggs' steel chair.

SMACK

Ruben's steelchair.

Eventually. Inmate....

Tapped out.

"NOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooo" The second elongated "No" of the night courtesy of Joe Campbell.

The score was three to zero. Ruben joined Stranglehold. Devoid was out. Villam was out.

And now...Inmate. 5.6 million GONE. Rendered useless by betrayal. Joe was on his knee looking up at the Ruben.

"Why?"

Ruben said not a word as he and the rest of his new friends exited the arena.

Long after the people had left and the EMTs came to clear away the bodies. Joe Campbell sat in the ring fully realizing that darker days were ahead.

For on this night...

Retribution belonged to Stranglehold.