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"...." "And you stare at me in your Jesus Christ pose "Sometimes Soundgarden can't keep their nose out..."
The first episode: Dark power rising.
It was a cold and dark Halloween night in British Columbia, and for one man who had managed to make his way to the Asylum, it was a night he would never forget. Tommy Matthews watched the garage area below from an Asylum truck he was standing on top of. His long black cape flowed behind him in the wind, his tuxedo barely keeping him warm against the chilly Canadian weather. From underneath the white mask covering his eyes, he blinked as he watched the man known as Thanh Vactor enter the arena, carrying his bag behind him. Tommy quickly realized that this man was the one the old woman prophecized about. He was one of the reasons Matthews had arrived in the Asylum- a great dark power was about to rise here in this place. And he and his partner were the only ones who can stop it. "That is the enemy the old woman prophecized about!" Tommy stated, his eyes staring into the mood fierecly. "I have to inform Sailor Hikaru!" And with that, Matthews leaped down behind the truck, just as a production assistant angrily yelled that he couldn't be up there. For the tA officials who'd have to deal with him, it'd be a long night.
Of mice, men, and motherfuckers.
Sean Williams patrolled the backstage area, commanding all that he owned. To be honest, these were his stomping grounds. Token Weed carried his Asylum Championship over his shoulder, letting everyone know he was still around, and still the fucking Champ. He had fought from the ground up in the Asylum for this piece of mind, and who could complain about his ability to enjoy it? He had put himself over as a fighting Champion, a man that wasn't afraid to put his belt on the line. A man who wasn't afraid to give any wanna-be a chance to pry it from his cold dead hands. A man who wasn't afraid to put the title up in any match that anyone in the hallway could challenge him on... "Weed, you cock-eyed Motherfucker!" As if right on cue, a voice rang out from behind Token's back, down the hallway. A look of, well, not surprise, but displeasure, played over his eyes as he spun around holding his middle finger high in the air like a Flagpole or a skyscraper. "Who the fuck?" Token blurted out as he spun, only to see Frank Minio standing about fifteen feet down the hall, approaching slow with his arms crossed over his chest. Token let out a sigh of aggravation at the sight of Minio, a man who had been a slight pain in his ass for the past few months. "Oh its you." Weed began with a bitter taste in his mouth, "Didn't you get the hint when I kicked the shit out of you at EON?" Minio leaned back, laughing it up for a minute before abruptly stopping with a flat look across his face. "You may have edged me out, Weed, but the only Ass that got kicked at Eon was... The Inmate, but that's besides the point. You've been busting your ass defending that title, and I've been busting my ass chasing it. Its only fitting..." Token Weed looked as if he had just realized something so obvious, but then he blinked, and looked as it something ELSE had just occurred to him. "Wait... Are you... Asking me to defend my title... Against YOU?" Weed asked with a tinge of a mocking tone riding his vocal chords. "Fuckin' A." Frank replied coldly. "Explain to me WHO THE FUCK YOU THINK YOU ARE, one more time." Weed said commanding the situation as only Sean Williams could. "The man who is gonna fuck you up." Frank said with the same cold detachment as the crowd all let out a collective 'OOOO!!!' from their seats. "Fat fucking Chance, asshole." Token Weed said as he spun around and began walking down his path again. "Are you backing down, Weed?" SKKKKRRRT! Hit the brakes. Token Weed spun again, with way more determination and a scowl on his face. "The day I back down from a Shithead like you is the day I die, Minio!" Weed's voice had thunder in it, it was the kind of shout that made pillar's collapse, and panties fall around ankles. "So its a date?" Minio asked with a smile. "Only if you're man enough to show up, Bitch." And with that, Token Weed had stomped off, with his title, and his attitude, leaving Minio standing there in the middle of the hallway grinning. Token Weed vs. Frank Minio TWO, this time, for the Asylum Championship title... TONIGHT.
Black priorites.
We see the Inmate. Intensity. Under a black t-shirt. Under a black leather coat. As always. No matter what changes, no matter who’s Asylum Champion, no matter who gets killed, Inmate always stays the same. Joe’s chosen fighter. Others have had Joe’s backing, Villam Ender for one. Just not like Inmate. Ender had Joe on his side, because Enders becoming Champion was seemingly inevitable. Of course we all know what Joe’s like with a sure thing... he’s at the ticket window dropping all the cash he’s got in his pocket. So sure, you could say it seemed like other fighters have been Joe’s ‘pets’ so to speak, but Inmate was the one Joe truly wants outside his mansion on a leash. And since we’re comparing Inmate to a dog on a leash, I suppose we should mention that’s exactly what he looks like right now... Teeth not quite touching. Breathing heavily. The hair on his neck oddly standing at ends. He was hodling a cell phone to his ear. “Answer.... answer the fucking phone.” Inmate waited a few seconds later and then snapped the phone shut. “Fuck.” Just then a hand touched his shoulder. It wasn’t who Tyler had hoped it would be. It was Joe Campbell. “Hey Burton. Frustrated?” Joe never was one to let favortism become evident was he? He even tried to get under the skin of his own Team of fighters. “Are you here to punish me for last week?” Burton looked at Joe as though him laying a thrashing on Campbell meant nothing to him. “Not exactly Tyler. I’m here because of something you said last week though.” Joe wiped his face with his hand, like most people do when they’re just getting out of bed. “You know what you said about me telling Thompson, it got me to thinking.” Inmate teeth just clenched shut. “I hope you don’t think I told that pussy about Nurse... Do you?” Inmate just looked at Campbell. Joe had hoped to use this as a lead in to something else, but he could see he wasn’t making much progress with the Interim Black Champion. “Look don’t get upset just because I mentioned it, I just want you to know I didn’t tell anybody about anything. In fact the other reason I’m here telling you this is because I want to let you know that you have my full backing out there tonight Burton.” The evil intensity in Inmate’s face became more evident. “So tonight, don’t hold back out there. Thompson is starting to become a real problem... and we both know how we solve problems in the Asylum.” Joe gave him another short glance, and then walked away. In Tyler’s mind he’d just been given the signal to put ‘Win the Black Title Fight’ on the back burner, and bring ‘Beat Thompson's Ass Beyond Recognition’ up front where it was nice and warm.
"The Other Man" by Sloan. Miles didn't even want to share an entrance theme, because who knows what type of germs he might recieve just walking next to the unkempt Eddie Scott Poser. Miles climbed into the ring ginerly, and rolled his shoulders. Being a former UK champion, you'd think he'd be prepared for something like this, but he's still Miles freakin' Blunder.
An open challenge.
Retribution was off to a great start as the crowd, who weeks earlier had lined up in front of Vancouver’s B.C. Place to purchase tickets for the action packed show that they were now viewing, continued to cheer loudly for the fighters that had just decimated themselves inside of the cage. However, as “Open Your Eyes” by The Guano Apes screeching into a loudspeaker and thus into their ears, the excitement quickly died down. It seemed as if no one, from the littlest child to the most bloodthirsty adult, was remotely interested in who they knew would be strutting through the curtain in mere seconds. The response that Renee’ Storm and Nikki Carlson received once they parted the black cloth with their bodies simply reaffirmed that fact. Yet, the women seemed virtually unaffected by this lack of respect. After all, it was nothing new for them after experiencing it for their entire, adversity plagued lives. It would only fuel them. Unfortunately for the crowd who so obviously hated them, or were at least dreadfully bored by them, the looks that the tandem known as Woman’s Intuition wore on their made-up faces said, rather clearly, that their tanks were on empty. Climbing into the cage, Renee’ Storm, who was immediately followed by the much bigger and stronger Nikki, sauntered to the middle of the canvas. Posing for the photographers who crowded around the area surrounding the cage, Renee’ placed both hands on her hips. It was a Kodak moment indeed and she smiled, knowing full well that it would one day make the pages of some magazine. The fact that it would probably be next to a headlining reading “Asylum’s Biggest Mistakes” didn’t seem to bother her. Nikki placed her feet firmly on the mat; standing behind Nikki with her arms crossed, and watched attentively as her partner and best friend removed her right arm from her hip and extended it to the side. A random attendant, or in simpler terms one of Joe Campbell’s many stooges, caught her drift and tossed into the cage a microphone, which she caught with the ease of a star outfielder. Raising the microphone to her well-glossed lips, Renee’ spoke. “Hello.” Hello? HELLO?! Was that it?! Was that what all that foreshadowing was leading to? HELLO?! No, of course it wasn’t you dumb fucker. Keep reading. “You know,” she said slyly, licking her lips after speaking, “I’m going to be honest with all of you. When I signed on the dotted line to become a member of this poor excuse for a promotion, I was expecting nothing but victory and an endless amount of accolades. I thought that you, the audience, would take one look at Woman’s Intuition and our luscious bodies and allow us to wrap you around our well-manicured fingers. However, even I can be wrong.” She began to pace around the Asylum’s uniquely constructed ring, pausing at each and every single one of its sides in order to get a look at the crowd that she once thought she could manipulate with ease. “Instead of rising to the top, like I had anticipated, Woman’s Intuition fell just as quickly Joe Campbell orgasms, becoming the subject of ridicule backstage and to the viewers at home.” Her blue eyes glared at the crowd as she continued to tell her tale. “Is this our faults? I’m sure you’d all think so.” The whispers of obscenities directed at Woman’s Intuition when she had first started speaking were fading, letting Renee’ Storm know that she had finally received what she had longed for since stepping into the Asylum just two short weeks before – the crowd’s attention. She smiled at this realization, knowing that she was on a roll and that she could now speak without interruption from certain fools in the crowd. “Which is why I’m out here.” She said, getting to a point that most of the audience had been waiting to hear since she picked up the microphone. “I stand before you today to extinguish the fires of propaganda! To right the wrongs that have been thrust upon us since we stepped into what many fighters before us have dubbed Hell! To let all of you, from the rich pricks who were dumb enough to pay for ringside seats to the poor fucks in the nosebleed section, know that it’s YOUR fault that we have been treated the way we have been! YOU are the ones who don’t appreciate us! YOU are the ones who aren’t willing to accept us! And now, YOU will be the ones who will pay for it.” Nikki Carlson smiled sadistically and nodded her head. Evidently she too bought what the angry and shrewd Renee’ Storm was selling. The fans, meanwhile, didn’t look as convinced. Certainly her threats were as empty as most of their brains, right? Wrong. Renee’ opened her mouth once more, no doubt to spit more venom at a packed house that, despite being eerily quiet as she had spoken minutes earlier, didn’t seem to give a flying fuck. “Tonight marks the beginning of a war that you and every other person in the back who has underestimated us will surely lose! Tonight is the night that we will no longer be passed over and laughed at simply because we are women with goals and dreams! TONIGHT!” She screamed. “A male member of a roster that Joe Campbell unnecessarily values will be bloodied by fists that we will soon be raising in victory!” She smirked conceitedly, as if she already knew that her prophecy would be coming true an hour later. “The question is,” she paused; leaving whoever was actually paying attention is suspense, “who will it be?” She dropped the microphone symbolically in the center of the ring, just as her tandem was hoping to drop one of the Asylum’s many male fighters later on in the show. As “Open Your Eyes” began to play once more, leading the two beautiful and very pissed off members of Women’s Intuition to the backstage area of an organization that had done nothing but shun them since they arrived, one thing was for sure. We would soon find out if they could.
The scar of two captains: Bearing arms atop the building.
Everything was somber and peaceful, the night held it's beauty close and displayed it's vast array of stars which hung millions of miles above the earth. At that very moment on a near by building top stood the 7'1" behemoth Sylo. His eyes were closed tight, letting not even the light of the moon peek behind his lids into his icy blue eyes. With a slow inhale, he pushed forward; release the negative energy is what he had been taught. Very soon, he would step into the Asylum with Jade but for now he meditated high above the sea of cars and cement that lay below him like some sort of map. The peaceful slumber of night was comforting but also sent chills down his spine. A breeze passed by blowing him a kiss as he stood on the very edge of the building staring down. Inhale Exhale Embrace the hate and turn it into positive energy. And that's what he was doing, storing all that hate into a massive ball of positive energy he would use to crush Jade with. She needed to be taught a lesson and she would learn that you can only push a man and his good deeds so far before he snaps. Something else seemed to be with him though, that old feeling of being watched from the shadows plagued him like a bad virus. "You know," someone said from behind him, mere breaths away. "I could push you off the edge of this building and you wouldn't know who the hell did it to you, man..." Sylo turned around slow enough to make Christmas come early until he stood face to face with Velorium 12. "Or should I say... Captain John Skyway?" Sylo cocked his head to the side for a brief moment as he took in everything Velorium 12 had just said. "And who in the fuck would you be?" Sylo asked, a sneer creeping across his face as he stared directly at this nuisance. "Ah, don't remember me, do you Skyway?" The delusional Elliot Pisces, a man whom created an entire science-fiction world full of science fiction characters in his head, enquired. "The machine you battled with until you sent my ship to an early grave? Well, I tell you now, Human... you should've killed me when you had the chance." Velorium withdrew a switchblade, and pointed it to the throat of the Superbeast. Sylo stared at Velorium as if he had just sprouted wings and a monkey flew out of his ass. That's when the realism of it all hit, that this nut job was serious and that's when Sylo stepped forward pressing his throat lightly into the sharp point of the switchblade. "Listen you insignificant piece of shit, I don't know who you are, who this John Skyway is, or even what the fuck you want but if it's an ass whooping your looking for then go ahead and stick me with your little knife you sack of shit," Sylo snarled again and pressed a little harder against the blade. "Not that easy you sonofabitch," The extremely dissasociative Elliot replied. "I joined this little gladiator event, the Asylum... not for you. So don't for one minute think I came back for revenge... I came because as not only an Ace Fighter, but an Ace Fighter Pilot it is my duty to show the skill of artificial intelligence, especially of my particular..." Velorium 12 trailed off for a moment, and pulled the knife away. "Brand." That's when he jabbed the knife into the Superbeast's arm. Sylo roared out in pain. Instincts took over. Oh and remember that little ball of energy? It all became targeted on Velorium 12. The knife was withdrawn from his flesh and with a quick slapping motion Sylo grabbed Velorium by the wrist. He twisted it hard as blood ran from his arm and down onto Velorium's hand. "I'll kill you for that!" Sylo yelled out as he lunged forward grabbing Velorium by the neck. V12, smaller by an entire foot, kicked and squirmed. Luckily, one of those kicks happened to be a money shot straight to Sylo's tentacles. Heaving, Velorium pulled away from the Superbeast's grasp. "You see, Captain, not only are you a terrible fighter... you lack, what is it, 'human' instinct? Your fighting skills simply do not match mine." It was at this point when Velorium leaned uber close to Sylo's face, and proved just why A.I. were better than humans. "If you back off now, my statistics and data sheets say that you have a 75% chance of survival. If you continue struggling, that chance of survival dramatically drops to .8%. Pick, motherfucker." Sylo's head stayed lowered for a moment...that's when the sick laughter came that sent even Velorium stepping back. "I like those odds," Sylo hissed and spit in Velorium's face. "Then stand up, coward, and fight me like a man." Velorium dropped the knife to his feet. Big mistake. Sylo lunged forward again and sent Velorium sprawling on his back near the edge of the building's rooftop. He pushed down on his neck and growled as he held the choke hold with so much force it almost crushed Velorium's wind pipe. "I told you I'd kill you mother fucker!" Sylo yelled. "Say something bitch!" But all that came was a gurgling noise. Sylo stood up and picked Velorium up, then with one mighty lift he held Velorium high over his head. And down he went. Off the roof into the unknown. Sylo spit over the side of the building and wiped away some blood before turning and walking toward the ladder on the side which would take him into the Asylum.
You scratch my back... I'll claw yours.
Make way for the bad guy. The most infamous line ever uttered in the history of mankind. Just like in the movie Scarface, the real Tony Montana believed that everyone was bad except for him… because they could hide it better. They were more devious and conniving; only caring about themselves, and he was the one that never lied, always told the truth. One man believed that exact same thing, as a matter of fact. Those beliefs were the backbone and fiber of his being. This courageous man didn’t want to hurt anyone. All he wanted to do was get to the top; but people stood in his way, so he had to defend himself… by trying to run them over with an automobile. He didn’t want to hurt their feelings, when he spoke their names to the masses that watched his every move… It was the every loving truth that he spoke with undying confidence. Our hero just had to make sure that everyone else knew it as well, before they turned against him and his beliefs. Can we really say that he isn’t right? He told Donovan that everyone was against them; and that revelation may empower Donovan to greater height within the steel cage of the Asylum… where god has him captive. Our savior softy whispered into Michael’s ear, that his techniques and training methods were not for everyone… especially one John C. Willis. Who had been on a losing streak for the past few months because of Michael’s leadership skills. He tried to set Willis on the right path; but when John did not heed his warning, failure again reared it’s ugly head… as if our hero already saw what the outcome was going to be. Damon D. Jackson was offered immortality if Damon would join his side, but Damon would not accept the offer due to pride. It was rare that our hero did this for all three men… and who knew when his tremendously generosity would wear out, and his wrath of destruction would be felt? Only he did. But to be on the very top in the Asylum mountain, as history has shown… you have to be aligned with one man that wielded all the mystic power. You would have to give up a little piece of your soul, to the devil himself for the success you sought out for… and truly wanted more than anything else. As our hero, Osyrus walked down the corridor with Isis right behind him... He knew where he could find tA’s very own Satan himself. “I wonder if that fucking scum bag is even in here,” Osyrus stopped at the door that stood in front of him as Joe Campbell’s nameplate shined a beautiful bronze. He kicked the door in without warning as Vactor jumped into fighting position, Joe Campbell sat upright. Reaching for his handy pistol. “You know what Joe; I really should do the one thing I came here to do,” Osyrus walked up to the desk and snatched the pistol from Campbell’s grasp as he tossed it to Isis… who had her sights aimed at Vactor’s heart. “… I should grab you from behind that big expensive looking furniture of yours; and slam your fucking head into it several times, until you bleed all over this office. The next thing I would do is pistol whip you with your own weapons as Vactor would just stand there and watch.. because he doesn’t want me kicking his ass again. Joe, your lousy bodyguard would watch as I tore you limb from limb,… for what you did to me last week.” Campbell smirked as Osyrus became more enraged as he moved the desk out of the way, now standing in front of Campbell. “Don’t you ever do something like that to me again, or I’ll beat you within an inch of your life… like no one has ever done before. Pain that you couldn’t even fathom as I destroyed the whole evil reputation of Joseph Campbell in the middle of the Asylum dome, that you created.” Osyrus leaned down right in front of Campbell’s face, as Vactor tried to advance but was shot in the shoulder by Isis. The wrestler laughed as he grabbed Campbell by the collar. “Stop day dreaming and think of your immediate future. Bleeding, battered and internally bruised in front of all the people that have stuck by you.. through thick and thin. All the disgusting men; women and little children that buy Asylum tickets and keep this organized chaos still breathing. Do you think that they will follow a man that got dissected and crumbled to pieces by tA’s worst enemy? A lousy wrestler in your words most likely; but we both know that I am the best wrestler. Or you won’t have hired me. Why screw the man that will be the answer to all your problems? The Ying to your Yang.. The only extreme possibility alternative, that you haven’t thought of yet.” Joe leaned back in his leather chair; he took gulp of his Guinness beer as the green bottle clanged against the table, when Campbell set it down. He looked in his bodyguard’s direction, laughing out loud while he watched the blood run down his arm. “Can you believe this black mother fucker, Thanh? He says that he is the answer to all my problems. Do you know how many people have said the exact same thing? Now those same twats are nowhere near the Asylum. It’s because they couldn’t back up their words. And believe me, they don’t want to see what happens when I retaliate, for wasting my time. But they will, all in due time. So what makes you think you can succeed, where they failed Osyrus? Especially being a fucking pathetic wrestler.” Osyrus leaned back in the chair across from Joe, before he stood and went back to pacing around the office. “You know what Joe, you’re absolutely right. I can’t follow in their footsteps, because I am too talented for that. They don’t call me ‘ the personification of talent’ because I make losing cool. It’s because I get the job fucking done mate. But you’re wrong about me being some pathetic wrestler… Like I said already; if you were listening, I am the best wrestler in the world. I was trained by the best. And if I wasn’t, then why would you spend the money for another wrestler after what happened with Ruben Ross? Shut the fuck up and think of the possibilities for a change Campbell.” Joe just smirked at Osyrus’ arrogance as he continued to move around his quarters. Osyrus stood in front Vactor as he stared him up and down, the thoughts of their last battle months ago must have resurfaced… but that didn’t stop him from talking one bit. “…A wrestler was destined to come into tA and did what no other man could do before him, succeed where other bare knuckle pit fighters failed.” Joe cocked an eyebrow, as Osyrus now stood right next to him; he looked him right in the eye as Osyrus continued his pitch. “I could erase all your little problems; in the drop of a beer in your case, if I wanted to. I could do the one thing that no one could do thus far… and that is get the one thing that means the most to you back. Spending a year plotting about this perfect plan to kill off the sport you hated most… but ended up getting bent over like a prostitute; your brown eye taken like Rave Caprino. And Kellen Kinkade played the role of Villam Ender. Fake dildo and all. As much as it hurt back them; I could remove that pain, that’s deep in your black heart Campbell. You scratch my back, and maybe I’ll claw the fuck out of yours. But maybe I should keep the Immortal title for myself?” Osyrus smiled and Joe knew what that exactly meant as he flipped off his former bodyguard, while Osyrus commented with… “I hate you too bitch. You know Joe; it takes a wrestler to beat a wrestler. Let’s be honest here Campbell, Kinkade is a shitty wrestler. Compared to me; he’s that New Jersey sewer rat when you found him in 21w. No focus. No drive or determination. And not to mention, terrible promos. But I will say one thing though; Kinkade has gotten a lot better with your help. That’s probably the only reason why he has held the belt for as long as he has.. but you’re probably letting him.” Osyrus must have struck a cord with the Asylum owner as Campbell threw his beer against the wall in anger. “ I have been wondering why for a while now, but I finally realized it’s you that are pulling the strings. Why no could has been able to stop Mr. Immortal… Not that geeky girl AIMZ, not ‘The God of Fight’, The inactive Freak or the worst Asylum champion in history, Token Weed. No one could bring back your stupid little belt; to your grubby mitts.. and I would have that strap on this shoulder right here. Whether you wanted it or not.” He tapped Joe on his left shoulder before Osyrus went back to his seat. “Oh shut your hole mate; we know you’re not here about Kinkade.. enough of the games. I know you want another shot at Inmate; revenge on Thompson for the lose he caused you… which I had no part of.” Campbell quick to announce his innocence. “You got that fucking right, I want a shot at both of those fuckers.” “…And you’ll get it. Not because you demanded, but because I am a fair man and believe in good competition.” Joe waited for Osyrus to like the decision before he took it away. “I changed my mind.” Campbell was infamous and building someone up with bullshit, before he flushed the toilet on their dreams. “Whether you like it or not, you’re going to take me seriously Joe. Before you realize it, this man before you is going to stand in the Asylum triumphantly with all your titles. And then you have to see me as the threat you ignored…But I have other pests that I have to exterminate. Mutual annoyances of both of us in fact. You’ll watch as I take care of the garbage in tA, rather than ignoring it and watch it pile up in some corner. Just wait and see what happens for yourself.” Osyrus directed Isis out of Joe’s office as he followed seconds later. Joe stood as he looked over the mess Osyrus made of his quarters, the paper work scattered all over and thinking about the lack of respect the wrestler showed his boss. “I think it’s about time we reminded everyone who is in charge around here. What do you think Vactor?” Thanh Vactor nodded as he held his right arm on his shoulder… “I thought you would agree.”
We all have one moment to shine, one moment to live, one moment to die. Our time has been chosen and we have no say in the matter but when it comes, all we can do is grin and say hello. Two fighters, one a monster, the other a psycho will meet to settle the most hated feeling of all: Love Swirling lights and the beginning of “Puritania” by Dimmu Borgir followed. Let chaos entwine on defenseless soil Jade stepped from the back; a stone washed face accompanied her. Her attire was a simple combination of a black wife beater, black baggy pants, and a pain of black army like boots. The fans cheered her on as she moved down toward the Asylum or as it would be called on this night...the slaughterhouse. ”Jade rules!” She paid them no attention as she stepped inside the empty Asylum cage. And there she stood, waiting, for that damn beast... BOOM! Blue fire shot off making fans jump back as Mushroomhead’s “Kill Tomorrow” began to blare through the arena. One...two... From the back stepped the 7’1” 380-pound behemoth himself; Sylo. That’s when the all too familiar chants began. ”Go home Wrestler!” Sylo could only sneer as he stepped through the pillars of smoke that surrounded him. He moved with a new purpose and a new demeanor, one new to the Asylum but very familiar to the smarks. In his mind he couldn’t help but think... “I give her my pain as a sign of affection,” He thought this over and over as he gripped his taped hands together. The clanking of the buckles on his boots became a distant ding, lost in the mixture of boo’s and “Go home wrestler” chants. He shook his head, remembering the fight that had taken place earlier in the night against Velorium 12. A fight, or just Sylo shoving the crazy bastard off a building, either way you looked at it, he was just a greasy spot on the road and in Sylo’s mind. The big man finally entered the confines of hell and stared at Jade who only stared back. Her dreads covered her face partially and yet he could still feel that icy green glare. The bell sounded and both circled for a moment just sizing each other up. What an unusual match this had become...Jade who hadn’t even asked for Sylo’s presence in her life was now having to fight him; just because he was fucked up. Jade, being much faster shot in at Sylo’s leg and clipped it with a stiff kick. Sylo bent sideways but didn’t go down. Jade sized him up once more and struck again, this time she nailed his knee with another hard kick which forced him down to one knee. It was obvious Jade had been watching Sylo’s fights, and it was obvious she wasn’t stupid because she knew where Sylo’s strong points and weak points both were. “This is for your own good” she thought to herself as she charged forward. Crack She drove her knee into Sylo’s nose. Blood gushed from his nostrils mixing with mucus as it drained onto the Asylum mat. Jade jumped back quickly and took note of her handy work; A smile was cracked at this point. To Jade’s surprise Sylo stood up. He snarled and motioned for her to come forward. Fool me once shame on you... Fool me twice, ok it’s still your fault... Fool me three times and bitch your going down... She charged forward going for another stiff kick but Sylo quickly grabbed her by the dreadlocks and slammed her face first into the side of the Asylum wall. Sylo yelled to Jade to get up and she did, very very slowly. Sylo moved forward and grabbed Jade by the locks once more, this time he drove his knee into her nose and a loud crunch could be heard. 1... Blood splattered across his pants. 2... Up onto his stomach. 3... And she was down, coughing up blood. Like the animal he was though Sylo didn’t let her stay down for long. He picked her up and went to his wrestling roots locking her up in a suplex position but Jade countered quickly with a stiff kick right between the legs. If that kick had been any harder Sylo would have coughed up two nuts. He fell back, clinching his groin. Jade picked Sylo up by the hair the best she could, her blood dripping down onto his head, and sent him flying into the side of the cage. Jade pounced on top of Sylo and began to lace him with hard lefts and rights. The fans cheered as she threw her lighting fists into the jaw of Sylo. He’d defiantly feel this in the morning. Un-relentless in her attack, Jade kept throwing her fists, and Sylo could do only one thing; Reach up and choke the life out of the psychobitch. She stopped the punches as Sylo squeezed harder, a gurgling noise emitted from her throat as she began to fall backwards. Sylo began to rise, still holding on, and once on his feet he lifted her high in the air. This bastard actually had the balls to bench press Jade like she was nothing. And then with one swift movement of his arms, Jade flew throat first onto the rim of the Asylum. She rolled onto her back, choking, trying her best to let free the scream that wanted to escape but it wouldn’t come. Meanwhile Sylo moved over to the rim of the cage and yelled for a chair, one was tossed to him and he set it up in the middle of the Asylum ring. “Come here cunt,” Sylo yelled as he walked over to Jade. She grabbed him by the pants and tried her best to pull up as Sylo let her. He watched with an evil grin as Jade pulled herself up finally. She wobbled in place and Sylo shook his head, still grinning... But not for long. WHAM Jade had been playing possum all along and just sent a hard right hand into Sylo’s jaw. She picked the chair up and folded it and then did the one thing she could think of... Yep that’s right, smack the mother fucker. Over and over she smacked Sylo upside the head, denting the chair until Sylo went down hard. Jade smiled this time and set the chair up on his throat and had a seat. She stared down at Sylo and pulled a pack of crumpled cigarettes from her pocket. She pulled one of the banged up cancer sticks from the pack and stuck it in her mouth. “Want one?” She asked staring down at Sylo. She then pulled out a lighter, as Sylo was pinned neck first to the Asylum mat. She pulled out a lighter and lit it while closing one eye. “You know these things will kill me one day, but I don’t care really,”. She blew a puff of grayish colored smoke down into Sylo’s face. Sylo roared and with a massive amount of strength shoved the chair, along with Jade, off of him. He stood up and gasped for air. Jade, who was startled, only growled and charged forward...too bad she didn’t see the boot coming for her face. Blood went flying and so did Jade. Sylo picked up the dented chair and began to blast Jade across the back repeatedly. She screamed out in pain as Sylo continued to drive the chair across her back. He tossed the chair out of the Asylum and it probably landed outside in the fans...oh well just another lawsuit for Campbell’s sorry ass. Methodically Sylo moved back over to Jade and pelted her in the ribs with a stiff kick. He rolled her over on her back and dropped to his knees, caressing her cheek softly before punching her in the face. Repeatedly he drove his massive fist into her face and all the while thought to himself, “I’m sorry”. She screamed out and he stopped, he dropped back and just sat there staring at her, watching her bleed. He looked down at his own hands and saw the mixture of blood; it made him feel sick but good. Sylo slowly stood up and looked down at the fallen Jade who coughed up blood and shook his head. “Why am I doing this?” He asked himself as he stared out into the blood thirsty pack of wolves the Asylum called fans. He didn’t have much more time to reflect because at that time a stiff kick caught him in the back of the head. He fell forward, his mouth smacking against the steel of the cage and there was that taste he was familiar with; blood. Jade, who had just delivered one hell of a roundhouse kick, now lied beside Sylo coughing up more blood. She composed herself and looked over to Sylo. “I must prove to him...yes I must!” She screamed inside her own head. With all she had she pushed up the side of the cage and hung there for a moment catching her breath. She called to someone at ringside. “Hey you! Toss me that!” and an object came flying into the Asylum. She tucked it away and moved over to Sylo and began to slice back and forth. In her hand was a cheese grater that she was using to shave the skin on Sylo’s forehead off with. Sylo yelled out in pain as Jade kept maliciously scraping away, blood covered her hands and the grater until Sylo did the only thing he knew to do. He drove his head as hard as he could directly into her stomach. Vomit projected itself out of Jade’s mouth and onto the Asylum mat. With lighting speed Sylo darted straight up, using his head as a weapon once more and drove it directly into Jade’s jaw. He was light headed for a minute but he always had been hard headed. Sylo climbed up to his feet and grabbed a hold of the chain links. It pinned Jade between himself and the Asylum cage and with rapid force he began to drive his shoulder forward into her stomach over and over. More vomit flew from her mouth until it was nothing more than bile. It flew over Sylo’s shoulder and some even landed on him, the stench was horrible but he kept up the pace. Finally he stopped and held Jade up by her dreads. “Do you give up?” He asked her. “Fuck you” she mumbled and coughed up more blood and vomit. Sylo let her go and she fell to the mat. He backed up and went into a squatting position waiting for Jade to stand up. The fight in her wouldn’t let her stay down and she slowly moved up to her feet. Sylo charged forward looking to end things with The Slaughter but Jade moved and Sylo smacked head first into the side of the cage. Jade stood up and at that very moment she saw her father in Sylo. “You son of a bitch!” She yelled out. She charged forward with a newfound energy and slammed her knee in the back of his head causing his face to press further into the side of the cage. Over And Over And over He tasted steel, once again another taste he had become accustomed too, and Jade wouldn’t stop. She picked him up and now it looked at though she would end him but looks can be deceiving. Jade went for another stiff kick but Sylo caught it and punched her in the face. He kicked her in the gut and she doubled over. Sylo grabbed her in a power bomb position but let her slide down his back into a crucifix position... Ruegue para la muerte And Jade crumpled to the mat. Sylo wasn’t done though, oh no hitting one of his finishers wasn’t enough. He walked to Jade and locked her in a dragon sleeper which he called “Tap the fuck out”. She wasn’t moving... Hell she was barley breathing... And with that the official stopped the match. Sylo had done it, he had won his first match in the Asylum. He let Jade slide down into his arms and there he held her, both bleeding heavily, but they were together. He woke her up, she stared up at him, and their lips met. Sylo picked Jade up and carried her out of the Asylum as “Kill Tomorrow” blared...and all the fans had to say was... “What the fuck?!” Winner: Sylo via Stoppage
An order.
Joe Campbell had seen many things in his tenure as the Asylum’s owner and had found ways to use them all to his advantage. When Villiam Ender plowed Rave Caprino’s totally unwilling rectum on live television, he used the event as means to establish his company as one of the most controversial, and thus entertaining, organizations on the planet. When Kenny Rock shot and killed himself after months of feuding with a man who goes by the name of Steve Douglas, he found himself with a marketable figure, or “Forever Champion”, that would always be able to draw a crowd at the slightest mention of his name. To this day, people still rave about what happened on that fateful night and buy T-Shirts to commemorate it. Then there were the things that were slightly less important, but fun for him all the same. Things like feeding an unknown tandem of impressionable, inexperienced wrestlers turned fighters called Woman’s Intuition to established members of a roster that he had worked hard to rebuild. These things were ultimately hilarious for Joe to watch, which is why he was wearing such a wide grin on his face when Reggie Harrison-Willis, or RHW as the ladies like to call him, appeared in his office. “Don’t bother sitting.” Joe said abruptly as Reggie moved his massive body towards one of the cushy leather chairs that sat before his large oak desk. “This will only take a minute.” “A minute?” Willis replied. “That might be just a slight waste of my precious time.” Joe sneered. “Not if it gets you a bloody bonus it won’t.” Now they were talking RHW’s language – money. “What do you need boss?” He said happily, so not to damage his chances of snaking a little extra money from Joe Campbell’s pockets. “Simple.” Joe said. “Since Woman’s Intuition stormed MY ring, declared war on MY promotion, and asked for a fight with one of MY fighters, I’d like you, RHW, to give the lezzies what they want and beat the tar out of them.” Harrison-Willis laughed. “Sounds good to me.” RHW began to walk towards Joe’s office door, but was stopped by more words laced in a thick British accent. “You better make sure that they don’t win Reggie.” Campbell stated proudly. “I will not have the Asylum embarrassed by a pair of Thelma and Louise knock-offs. If anyone is going to embarrass the Asylum, it’ll be me!” “Understood.” RHW nodded before marching out of Joe’s office, leaving the Asylum’s corporate figurehead to himself and his demented thoughts. Thoughts that were now going to be put into action at the expense of Woman’s Intuition.
The first episode: Meet the characters.
Tommy Matthews walked carefully throughout the backstage hallways of the arena, throwing his cape in front of his face whenever someone "suspicious" walked by. Of course, that was almost everyone, who stopped to stare at the masked weirdo. Finally, as Matthews passed up some worker, he actually had the courage to speak up. "Hey....you look like that Tuxedo Mask guy!" he yelled out. "THE NAME OF THE CHARACTER IS TUXEDO KAMEN, YOU BASTARD." Matthews screamed at him, and grabbed him by the neck, shoving him up against the wall and choking him with everything he had. The man screamed to be let go, which Matthews finally did after calming down a bit. "Besides...." Matthews added. "I am not Tuxedo Kamen.....I am TUXEDO MATTHEWS! I've come to help Sailor Hikaru in her quest to promote love and justice!" "And choking me out was justice?!?" "You're damn right it was, DUBBIE." came a feminine voice from behind them. Both Matthews and the recently choked worker turned around....to see a Japanese girl in a Sailor Moon outfit. You know- Japanese sailor suit high schooler outfit. Her hair was blonde this week, in that odango-style hairdo Usagi wears from the series. She had a very stern look on her face and was pointing right at the worker. "Calling him Tuxedo Mask instead of Tuxedo Kamen is promoting DiC's horrible Sailor Moon dub, and for that I can't forgive you!" she proudly yelled out. "I'm the pretty sailor-suited soilder of love and justice, Sailor Hikaru, and in the name of the Moon I'll punish you!" "Wow, you're a good cosplayer." the worker managed to breathe out. "Kissing up to me now won't save you!" she yelled out. She took her tiara off of her forehead and held it in her hand, spinning around to the side just like Sailor Moon. "Moon...Tiara.....ACTION!" she yelled out, and tossed the plastic tiara at the worker person, hitting him right in the head. "Ow!" he yelled. "That hurt!" He walked off all frusturated and to find some ice to put on his head- since he's a little bitch. What other kind of person works backstage at the Asylum anyway? "That will teach him to promote crappy dubs!" Sailor Hikaru said proudly. "That was great, Sailor Hikaru." Tuxedo Matthews said. "But come, that dubbie is not our real enemy!" "He isn't?" Sailor Hikaru sighed, and then began some of Usagi's trademark whining. "But I wanted to go home and watch the third episode of the Sailor Moon live-action show!" She began throwing her arms about in a pathetic display. "There will be time for that later!" Tuxedo Matthews replied. "Come! We must eradicate the evil presence from this place!" Sailor Hikaru nodded and followed Tuxedo Matthews in running down the hallway of the arena, heading towards the entrance.
A beautiful meeting.
The door slammed open. Joe, over the three years, had been smart enough to put a rubber stopper where the knob contacted the wall. Too many holes, too much renovation. On the other side, Joe saw Asher with a content and peaceful look on. Funny, Asher already had already had his debut title shot, stirred all these problems up, and Joe had never even spoken to him. Intermediary contract negotiators and lawyers aren't direct forms of contact. "So you're Joe Campbell, then?" For a second, Joe was a little shocked. This was one of the first times anyone has ever had to make sure who he was. "Of course I am, and you're Asher Rollins." "I see you're a bright one. I'm famous already?" Asher walked across the tile floor and sat at the desk. Joe eyed his black shirt with a gray and glittered bullhead in the middle of it, very quaint. Above and below, the text read "Azure Ray." For a second, his face contorted. "What's 'Azure Ray'?" "A band, but I'm not here to talk over music with you. From what I hear, you're not a man I should care too much about, anyway. I'm just here to ask if you'd make sure that both Josiah and Hardcase keep their respective noses out of my business. They don't understand the difference between verbal and physical confrontation." "There's a difference? One leads to the other." Asher laughed. "Only if you're offended. In Buddhism, there is a state called right-mindedness. If one is in such a state, one is not offended. Hence, one that acts in a violent manner upon such a verbal expression is not of such right-mindedness." A wave of confusion overcame Joe. "What the fuck are you?" "Something new, at least for you and this organization. Something enlightened, and not just because I am in a state of 'right-mindedness'. It's just an ideal in Buddhism that I abide by. So, is my request going to be met or should I expect to see more of these bothersome two?" "Well, if you're so enlightened, you can deal with them yourself." Asher leaned forward a bit, that same content and stoic expression about him. He then allowed for a grin and stared at Joe for a second. "And how do you purpose I deal with this? I am not a violent man, Joe." "Then you're in the wrong fucking place. You'll fight them both in a handicap match tonight, Mr. Enlightenment. Have fun." Asher stood up and nodded. "Not exactly my idea, but I guess it'll have to do." He walked out of the office in the same manner as he did entering it. For a second, Joe wondered why it was that Asher didn't object to the sentencing. Whatever, it didn't matter. He had work that had to be done. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it, taking a long drag and exhaling. This'd be an interesting night.
A tA legend in the making.
“I am the very best that this world of professional wrestlers and fighters has to offer. I am that type of individual that you secretly love with a passion, but tell everyone else that you hate… because you’re ashamed to admit it. I can’t help it that god has blessed me with the gift of excellence; the ability to look fear in the eye,… and watch it be the first one to turn away. I heard it said that ‘Osyrus was a lion, ready to stalk his prey and tear it apart’… but I would have to disagree completely. I am not just a common animal; roaming in the wild. I am a beast. A crazed entity, who’s only purpose is to survive and to be on the top of the food chain called the Asylum. I am talent personified,… Not because I say so; the name was given to me by my peers that tried to test me, and failed miserably in defeat. Battered, bruised and very fucked up as you would expect. That’s the only way you gain respect in this business. Respect is the only way, a person truly moves ahead… to the front of the line. A place where all legends congregate like myself. But lastly and most important; I am very imitated in this world of competitors. All the Sylo’s, the Kodiak Vic Creed’s, the Graphic Violence’s, the Hard Case’s… and the list goes on and on of all the Osyrus pretenders. It’s quite flattering, disgusting and disturbing being the original… knowing that there isn’t a snow ball’s chance in hell that these men, can ever come close to step out of my shadow. Trying to walk in my boots, in the trail I have blazed. Trying to meet the expectations and the bar I have set. But sadly, they couldn’t reach it with a rocket pack,… even if I ignited the flames. Idiocy, plain and simple. Feckers.” “But no matter what the non believers think, there will be another to cause as much damage. Not as good as myself, but that person will be the first student of Osyrus… who will be molded and sculpted in my great vision. His morals and beliefs will be ripped from his body; his mind is an empty void of nothingness… at my total control. Isn’t that right Willis?” The camera panned out as the whole scene was shown, rather than the empty parking lot ground, that had been seen seconds earlier. Osyrus leaned up against a black automobile as Willis did push ups on the ground, while Isis was on his back yawning. Osyrus pulled a cigarette from his pocket; he lit it up and inhaled the nicotine, that Osyrus was yearning for… dropping a few ashes on the back of Willis’ head as he growled. Osyrus couldn’t help but to laugh to himself in amusement. “Did you really think that you could come up to me, and want me to train a piece of shit like you… and not expect to receive some torture in return. Actually, your not crap John. If I called you shit; then everyone else in the Asylum, would be those little corn pieces attached to that piece of shit. And you’re much more than that my dear friend. This is the first day in your extensive training regime; where we will turn you into everyone’s worst nemesis… I will turn you into the one thing, that everyone fears in tA. And that is a proud wrestler.” Willis looked up with a dumbfounded expression on his face, as Osyrus kicked some dirt in his eye,… which also landed on Isis. “This is your life Willis, if you let me control it. Together we will be an unstoppable force. Supreme strength combined with phenomenal intellect that Joe Campbell himself could never image. When I am done with your training, you won’t believe what you have become. It’s like a venomous reptile,… shedding his skin for the first time; and realizing all the tools he had at his disposal, but never used. You will be a proud, talented wrestler amongst worthless fighters. Chest stuck out in beaming pride and confidence, knowing that the world is at your finger tips. And all you have to do is pick what you want,… like a five year old kid in an empty toy store on Christmas eve. Today is December 1st, John.” Osyrus paused as he motioned Willis to stop moving; Isis stood on her feet next to her master. As John slowly stood vertically, Osyrus said nothing as he scratched his head and smoked his cancer stick. He just glanced over Willis’ large frame, something did not look right. Osyrus passed his cigarette to Isis; for her to hold while Osyrus did laps around John. “…I don’t think your ready yet John. I really don’t. You haven’t proven your loyalty to the name of Osyrus. When you do that,… all the knowledge it takes to be a good wrestler will be bestowed upon you. But it’s up to you to be a great wrestler… not just an average one. We only accept greatness John, nothing else.” Osyrus stopped behind Willis as he slapped him in the back of his head, simultaneously calling for his cigarette. “..To be a great wrestler, you have to understand and truly believe you are better than everyone else. You can’t just say it. You have to mean it,… and believe it in your black heart.” Another open hand slap jerked John’s head as he growled under his breath. “You can’t just be like all the dozen of other wrestlers; that have came into the Asylum and looked for success, because they were shunned by the sports entertainment business. Never come into the Asylum and forget about your wrestling roots,… the abilities you learned, that helped you gain your level of stardom… Then turn your back on it because others around you don’t like the word, wrestling. Like the Jade’s, the Marauder’s, and especially the Inmate’s. Inmate is the most disgusting of all the wanna be wrestlers. He even admitted himself, saying that he saw Tazz and started to imitate his suplexes.” Osyrus became enraged as he threw his cigarette down onto the ground as he snarled loudly, which echoed in the silent night air. “How dare he even mention the name of one my favorite wrestlers in the world. Inmate knows nothing of the man. I was trained by Johnny Rodz; who also trained Tazz… so I know what it really means to execute a suplex to perfection, and not just copy it from the TV. Because I really know you don’t have any money to actually go to a live event, Tyler. Do you understand now John? You have to have wrestling in your blood to be a truly great technician,… I know you may not. But I will be the one to give you the transfusion. Osyrus will be the one to guide you down the path, you need to follow.” Footsteps were heard coming from the distance, as the trio turned toward the entrance of the arena. A figure cloaked in black approached Osyrus,… he began to smirk as ‘The Beast’ stepped right up to the mystery person. “Did anyone see you come out here?” The individual nodded no, as Osyrus smiled once again as he continued. “Good, I am pretty sure you remember what you have to do tonight. You only have one purpose tonight, and if you mess that up,… you had better hoped you die before I find you. Because you’re going to wish you were dead. Now leave my fucking sight.” Moments pasted as Osyrus, Willis and Isis were alone again. The duo of Osyrus and Isis had more plans for tonight, and time was running as the freak show carnival continued inside. Willis was left in the cold, damp parking area alone while the couple was had now entered the double doors. It was time that Osyrus reintroduced himself to the fans of the Great White North.
Handicap Fight
The lavish set that Joe Campbell had, in a move not expected from him in the slightest, purchased specifically for Retribution gleamed newly under the B.C. Place’s house lights. The crowd, honestly happy to be in attendance for what was already shaping up to be a historical night for the Asylum, stood up on top of their chairs to admire the scene, which was cut short moments later when those same house lights dimmed. “Open Your Eyes” by the Guano Apes then cranked into the arena’s loudspeakers for the third time that evening. However, this time it was accompanied by an illustration on the set’s giant video screen. “WE ARE STRONG!” The illustration read in large white lettering. “WE ARE INVINCIBLE! WE ARE WOMAN’S INTUITION!” The words, a horribly obvious spin-off of lyrics taken from an equally as horrible song, stuck out in the darkness like a sore thumb, which was the sort of entrance that Renee’ Storm and Nikki Carlson had dreamed of since they got into professional wrestling and were still waiting for upon entering the world of competitive fighting. It was an entrance that commanded attention. As Renee’ stepped through the curtain, it was apparent to her that we she commanded she was getting in a plentiful amount. The fans who had totally rejected her and her partner when they walked out to towards the cage earlier in the show, not even bothering to acknowledge them with a simple cheer or boo, were now responding to them in a slightly louder fashion. She stood atop the entrance stage with a smile on her face. Her speech had worked. She had lit a fire under the crowd’s collective ass and now she heard jeers pulsing through her eardrums. It was like hearing a favorite song that she hadn’t heard in years. It was heaven. As Nikki Carlson, who as usual followed Renee’ like a hawk, climbed into the cage shortly after her partner did so, their music died down, yet the boos kept up. They didn’t mind though, for they were too busy standing in a huddle discussing strategy, despite not knowing who the opponent that would soon be trying to turn their heaven to hell actually was. E-40’s “Rep Your City” pumped into the P.A. system and gave the Canadian crowd, who may or may not have been embarrassed to represent to city of Vancouver, something to groove to. It let the two ladies know exactly who they were going to be facing. Standing at six foot five inches, which was certainly not small, and weighing in at a whopping two hundred and sixty eight pounds, the ball of charisma, conceit, and dirty jokes about lesbians known as Reggie Harrison-Willis plowed through the curtain, announcing his arrival to a crowd that most definitely wasn’t expecting him without even opening his big mouth. He carried his big head on top of an even bigger body towards the cage, where Woman’s Intuition were anxiously waiting to strike. The casual look on his face showed that he wasn’t worried. Hopefully he wasn’t underestimating them. Climbing over the cage’s rim, the man who was handpicked by Joe Campbell to decimate Renee’ Storm and Nikki Carlson took his position across from them, his large feet, which he often said alluded to another large part of his body, planted firmly on the canvas. He was ready. Carlson and Storm were still engaged in a huddle, pausing from their discussion every once in awhile to look at RHW and try to pick out his weaknesses and strengths. Finally, after what seemed like hours, the two women broke the huddle with a primal scream and began to inch their way towards Reggie. Their eyes, caked in eye shadow, glared at him with the hatred and drive of one thousand men. They too were ready. Unfortunately, only one, or possibly two, could win. As Reggie Harrison-Willis wrapped his large hands, which could probably be better described as paws, around the respective necks of both Nikki Carlson and Renee’ Storm, he made it obvious to them and to those who observed that he would stop at nothing until he was that one victor. RHW smiled sickly at them. “Joe told me to take care of you two.” He said eerily, almost like a child molester speaking to his innocent and weak prey. “So I’m ‘gonna take care of you real nice. The RHW way.” Willis released his hold on their necks after leaving them with those words and tossed them back against the cage, which they slumped against after connecting rather painfully. Reggie laughed to himself and muttered. “Too easy.” Nikki’s eyes, which were closed from the pain, shot open. It was like she had just been through a tremendously brutal car accident and an EMT had revived her after she had been within moments of a tragic death. His words, words that she had heard long before she had ever ventured into the Asylum, had been like CPR. If she had her way, he would soon be the one who would need reviving. She rose slowly to her feet and glared at Willis, who chuckled haughtily once more upon seeing her. She ignored it. She didn’t care that he could snap her in half. She didn’t care that her partner was still sitting hurt against the side of the cage. She just wanted to hit him. And so she did. The punch hadn’t been anything that spectacular. It probably would have knocked out even the best of the Asylum’s female fighters, but for a man like RHW, it was just incentive to hit the woman who dared step out of line and strike him. He clenched his teeth, and his fist, and swung at Nikki with power. Being catlike, however, she just missed it. She appeared behind him with a smirk on her face, prompting the massive Reggie to turn around and growl angrily. “Stay … still … you … bitch!” He screamed in between grunts. She didn’t even bother with a sarcastic quip or a witty comeback. It wasn’t her nature. All she needed was her right fist, which she drove once more into the side of Willis’ head after hearing his plea. This time, he reeled a little bit. Almost falling backwards, RHW stomped his foot with authority against the canvas to keep his balance, shaking his head a bit to try and remove the cobwebs that Carlson’s shot had caused. It gave her just enough time to throw her fist at him for a third time. Seconds later, she had fallen into his trap. He was expecting a third punch. The stumbling? It was all an act – an act that Nikki Carlson fell for in a true rookie mistake. He grabbed her hand as it reached toward his head, clutching it tightly with his own. “Now,” he snarled, “you bleed.” He raised his free hand high into the air, the crowd following every move it made through the air around it, and drove it quickly into her face. Her head flew back in pain and she fell to her knees, Harrison-Willis laughing all the while. He knew that somewhere inside of the arena, Joe Campbell was laughing too. Not one to give in easily, Nikki, still being gripped close to RHW by his obscenely large hand, rose to her feet. Reggie, refusing to be upstaged, simply knocked her to her knees again with another punch. However, despite the blood that was beginning to pour from her nose, she stood up and faced her attacker again. Showing no remorse, he clenched his fist even more tightly than the last time and drove it into her face for the third time in a row. She didn’t want to give up. The spirit of a true fighter pulsed through her veins. Yet, it also was quickly exiting through her nose. She tried to stand, but alas, could not. Her eyes began to slowly close. The bright lights and the screaming fans were slowly disappearing. “That’s right baby.” Willis whispered. “Go to sleep.” He released her hand from his and allowed her to fall backwards to the mat, which he stood atop of proudly surveying the damage he had done. Glaring at her broken body, RHW greatly anticipated the start of the ten count, which he hadn’t heard yet. Could it be that the fans’ excessive cheering had simply blocked out the referee’s words? Or could it be that the woman who he had forgotten about minutes ago was standing and ready to attack? The two small feet that moments later flew into the back of his knees let him know the answer. It was the latter. Renee’ Storm, who know one thought could even tie her shoe let alone fight against a true monster like RHW, was up. And Reggie Harrison-Willis, who seconds are being knocked to the ground was introduced to the heel of Storm’s boot via a stiff sidekick to the side of his previously punched head, was down. She didn’t know what to do as she stared at him laying there. He certainly wasn’t knocked out, so that wasn’t an option, but could she escape? She stared at the side of the cage that was closest to her. She would have to try. As RHW stirred next to her, Renee’ dragged her partner towards the cage by the arm and then hoisted the much larger Carlson over her shoulder. She almost collapsed from the weight at that very moment, but knew deep down that she would have to press on, and found strength from somewhere inside of her tiny body, managing to begin the climb over the cage. She grew closer and closer to the cage’s rim, but was having a hard time keeping her balance on the unstable mesh with her partner on her back. Pondering what to do inside of her aching head, Renee’ quickly realized what she had to do. Summoning all of her leftover strength from the first time she picked Nikki up, she somehow managed to place Nikki on the cage’s rim and then push her off. Wincing as Nikki Carlson’s lifeless body hit the protective mats surrounding the cage, Renee’ then continued to climb towards the rim. She could feel the happiness building inside of her. For once she was stepping out from behind Nikki Carlson’s shadow and proving herself to be a true athletic threat. For once she would be responsible for one of Woman’s Intuition’s victories. That is if Reggie Harrison-Willis, who had since risen to his feet and was now angrily charging towards Renee’ and the side of the cage that she was dangling from, didn’t stop her and consequently brutalize her first. Gazing up at her with cruel intentions, RHW locked his fingers around her ankle and began to pull downward, trying to make her release the mesh caging from her blistered hands. “C’mon!” He screamed. “Come to Reggie!” The crowd too was screaming. They were finally getting into a fight that featured Woman’s Intuition. It was just too bad that they, meaning Renee’ and Nikki, were a tad bit too busy to celebrate. Renee’ kept her hands wrapped tightly around the steel, refusing to let go. Beads of sweat fell down her reddened face. It was now or never. “FUCK YOU!” She exclaimed, using her free foot to stiffly kick Reggie on the top of his head and causing him to fall over in pain. Suddenly, as she hopped over the cage and onto the floor where her partner was already laying, never seemed so far away. As “Open Your Eyes” blared for the fourth and final time, it was brutally obvious to the crowd; to Joe Campbell wherever he was, and to whomever else that wrote Woman’s Intuition off that the time was indeed now. Maybe the Asylum should change its clocks… Nuisance.
In one of the more generic pre- fight rituals we have come to seen, Pointless sat in the locker room where he took time in taping his wrists. He had planned on a fight, but only moments earlier had it been decided that he would team up with HardCase to take on Asher Rollins. Most would think that he'd be happy about such a fight, to get back at the scrawny piece of shit that was responsible for his double- booking on the last Show. Josiah, although, didn't care one bit. He doesn't do vengeance. That must mean alot of people will be having fun at his expense, with no expectations of repercussions. That's what is expected in the Asylum. Well, people that think this, well, they don't know Josiah. No one does. He had just finished taping up his right wrist, and was about to work on the left. The room was shrouded in absolute silence, a calm one doesn't often get in the Asylum. And, a calm that he wouldn't have for long. Enter: HardCase. "Ay you look like you're about ready to brawl.” Josiah didn’t turn from his seat as HardCase leant in the doorway. “Good. I'm sure we'll make an oh- so spectacularly terrific tag team. Don't you, friend?" His beaming smile and arrogant tone was more than enough to fill the void, leaving you idiots answered to your questions of sarcasm. Pointless, he still didn’t turn. He kept taping his left wrist, while addressing this... thing. "Your sarcasm betrays your statement that we may be friends... good, because I do not want to dick around with the scum that meth- cooks dismiss as 'disgusting.' As I have said to so many people, so many times... piss off." "...if I actually valued your life or your opinion at all...I'd respond to that. But, I think I'll simply obey your wishes and 'piss off'.” The smile was wiped right off his face. He turned to leave, but not without this piece of advice. “Don't fuck up tonight. It'll only cause health issues. The sorta issues caused by lead pipes, brace knuckles, and guns." HardCase then left Pointless alone, as he finished wrapping the left. “Nuisance...”
The fight.
CRACK! A door that was once was now only splinters and in the frame of what once was stood the monster called Aryen Silens.. "Campbell!" His voice boomed through the plush office as Joe Campbell almost fell over backwards in his chair. Joe sat upright in his chair and stared at the beast in front of him. "Oi ya fuckin lummox! That door will come out of yer fuckin pay!" Aryen smiled and walked casualy over to the desk as Joe fiddled under it pulling at something. Aryen put his fists down on the desk and stared at Campbell sadistically. Under eyes like those even Campbell had to squirm. "Besides ye fuck. I gave you an Gianni the fuckin night off!" Aryen smiled again seemingly taking Campbell's words with a grain of salt and ignoring him. "Ey! Ya big fuckin cunt! Answer me." Suddenly at a speed most men wouldn't even be able to react to Aryen's arm lashed out across the desk and grabbed Joe by the throat lifting him into the air. Joe squirmed in pain swaying back and forth his pants around his ankles and his underwear pulled up sloppily. "Oh.. How cute! I interupted Happy Time didn't I you fuckin maggot." Aryen's voice echoed through the room. "Listen little man, I want a fight. Not as Fuck the Mind but as Aryen Silens!" Joe struggled for air as his face began to change to a light shade of blue. "Now can you handle that you little 'Twat' or am I going to have to come back after your 'Workout'." Aryen laughed under his breath and dropped Campbell back into his seat. "Have a good day little man." Aryen smiled turning back towards the door and making his way out of the office.
An unhealthy obsession.
Jealous is a bitch… Donovan knew what that was all about as he stood off in the shadows of a hallway. It had been two weeks since his fateful meeting with Thanh Vactor but the memories were still fresh in Donovan’s demented mind. However, the memories were not bad ones for Donovan. These were memories that Donovan looked backed on with great feelings of joy. Thanh was an angel sent from God as Donovan put it. Donovan had slowly grown infatuated with the quiet Thanh. An unhealthy obsession had begun to spread through out Donovan. He had become mesmerized by the violence of Thanh Vactor. Donovan waited silently in the shadows of the hallway to see Thanh pass by. He already knew it was certain for Thanh to pass but the suspense was killing him. His obsession was already slowly beginning to eat at him from the inside out but at that fateful moment Thanh appeared from around the corner. His footsteps silent but his body moved with a purpose. Donovan’s eyes locked on to Thanh as he made his way down the hallway oblivious to Donovan’s presence. Donovan’s eyes resembled a kid looking up to his favorite super hero. He was in pure amazement as his eyes followed every single movement of Thanh’s. ‘You body moves with such poetry, it is pure beauty…and your bloodstained hands tell the stories of many great wars. You are a true wonder for all eyes to see but I am lucky enough to be one of those people who see the real you. My dear Thanh if you only knew how I long for another chance for you to paint the canvas red with my blood. I only want to feel your passion for violence once again…’ Donovan slowly whispered this as Thanh began to move out of sight. ‘You may escape me now Thanh but one day fate will take its course and we will meet again in a triumphant meeting. My body will be at your free will. I will be nothing more than your plaything…and this is all I want Thanh. I want you to show me the pains of war that you carry deep inside you soul. I want to be the one you confide in…’ And as Donovan finished Thanh disappeared around the corner as quickly as he had come but for those few seconds Donovan was in pure ecstasy. Donovan rubbed his hands over his face, as he had to let his nerves settle. His unhealthy obsession was just forming a foundation….
The first episode: Meeting the enemy.
"Needless" by Seether played over the speakers of the arena, as Thanh Vactor arrived from the backstage area. He was on his way to the cage for a match against a newcomer- but that was all he was told. Kind of wondering who he was fighting but not really caring much anyway, Thanh entered the cage and awaited the arrival of his opponent. But whatever he was expecting, nothing could have prepared him for what he was about to experience. At first, that was nothing, as after a few minutes still no music began to play, and no one came from the back. Finally, growing annoyed, Thanh went out of the cage and looked around just outside of it, as if to ask what the hell was going on. But then something *did* start to play....a soft violin tune?!? The crowd had no idea what was going on but they were growing increasingly bored and annoyed by the minute as the soft sounds filled the arena. If there was one fan in that arena who was mutually a fan of Sailor Moon and the Asylum, they might have recognized it as the Outer Senshi background theme first introduced in Sailor Moon S- but there probably wasn't anyway, so forget about that. Yeah. Then, someone finally emerged from the back. It was Sailor Hikaru, her Eternal Rod in her right hand and pointed at Thanh with a stern look on her face. The crowd, though, just erupted laughing at the sight of her walking out in her sailor fuku- and Thanh, ever-cold and experienced fighter, could barely hold back his laughter as well. Sailor Hikaru brought the Eternal Rod up to her mouth. "You must be Sailor Vactor!" she yelled into it. The crowd erupted into laughter again when they realized that her Eternal Rod doubled as a wireless microphone, and Vactor nearly broke out in laughter as well. He did, however, give her a "What the fuck are you on?" look. "I knew it! The enemy has transformed you, a normal if violent and smelly human, into a Sailor Soldier! Who is the enemy this time? Has Chaos returned? Has Galaxia gone bad again? Show yourself!" The crowd just kept laughing, and Thanh finally gave in and laughed a bit too. "Then I'll just release this innocent from your control!" Hikaru slowly raised the Eternal Rod up to her face and posed with it, drawing more laughs, before twirling around for a second. "Starlight.....Honeymoon.....Therapy.....KISS!" she yelled out as she continued to twirl. The Eternal Rod kinda glowed yellow and made the same weird noise it made during the Stars season of Sailor Moon. Thanh just watched the little glow that Hikaru was pointing at him, barely containing more laughter. Hikaru looked down and then back at her Eternal Rod, then realized it wasn't working. She threw it back into the curtains, as someone yelled "OW!" from back there. "The Therapy Kiss has no effect on you....you must be a daimon, not a human!" she yelled. "Well, in that case, daimon- people come here to the Asylum for some perverted entertainment! How dare you try and ruin it for them by stealing their pure hearts!" Thanh obviously had no idea what she was talking about, and now was starting to grow annoyed. "I'm the pretty sailor-suited soldier, Sailor Hikaru, and in the name of the Moon I'll punish you!" Thanh finally picked up a microphone lying around the area outside the cage, and watched her run towards him. "So are you my opponent then? Because it's about damn time we start this fi-" But suddenly, a red rose flew down out of nowhere, landing in front of Thanh. He looked down at it as the music changed over to that familiar Tuxedo Mask background song, wondering what the hell it could be now, as Sailor Hikaru stopped as well and looked behind and upwards. Thanh followed her stare- and just shook his head. "No, daimon- I'm your opponent!" The source of the voice was, of course, Tuxedo Matthews, standing on the right side of the entrance, finally walking out of the shadows. "Even strange, perverted people like those in attendance tonight need entertainment, daimon." Tuxedo Matthews said, earning himself some boos rather than laughs in the process. "I won't allow you to take their pure hearts!" Thanh rolled his eyes. "That's all well and good, but CAN WE PLEASE START THE FUCKING FIGHT NOW?!?" Tuxedo Matthews just nodded as Thanh entered the cage, Matthews running down and entering after him.
Sailor Hikaru grabbed something in the front row of the crowd- it looked like some kind of picknic basket. She watched from outside the cage as Thanh kind of stared at Matthews, who was still holding his cape over his face. "Well? Are you going to do anything?" he asked him. "You're not ready to take on the power of my attacks." Matthews grinned. Suddenly, he pulled back the cape to reveal another rose in his right hand, which he tossed at Thanh. Thanh put his right hand up on instinct to protect his face, and the rose hit it. "Hey, that kind of hurt, you annoying bastard!" Matthews smiled. "No one can defeat Tuxedo Matt-UGH!" Matthews was unable to finish his sentance, however, as he was soon the victim of a standing side kick, knocking him out cold. Thanh rolled his eyes as the referee began counting, unable to comprehend the fact that after all this, all it took was one simple kick to knock him unconcious. "If it works on the girl too I just wasted a lot of my time." Thanh muttered. As the referee counted to ten and called for the bell, Thanh exited the cage, leaving Sailor Hikaru to enter it and lean over him. "Sailor.....Hikaru." Tuxedo Matthews said, looking up at her. She looked blurry. Everything looked blurry. "Tuxedo Matthews!" Sailor Hikaru cried out, tears welling up in her eyes. "Don't try and move, you're going to be okay!" She held his head up, hugging it as the tears poured down onto his head. "It's up to you now.....to defeat the daimon.....Sailor Hikaru." Tuxedo Matthews said. "Promise me......you'll do it...." "You know I will!" Sailor Hikaru replied. "No, Tuxedo......TUXEDO MATTHEWS!" Matthews collapsed, unconcious, as Hikaru continued to cry. Yup, this was going to be one long series- especially for the Asylum's fighters, staff, and fans, who'd now have to put up with the melodrama on each and every show. Lucky them.
The scar of two captains: The prize fighter infernos.
He was only going to be a second. After a hellacious fight with Jade, he was bloody, tired, and ready to go home but not before he picked up his new love. Slowly he moved his aching body through the parking garage with the dim lights and over to his big black truck. Keys jingled from his pocket as his bloody hand clinched a hold of them and retrieved them from the depths of his pants. His crimson paint had begun to dry and Sylo could only mumble about how he would be in the shower for days. But then... The feeling came back. From the shadows, Velorium 12 stepped. His clothes was tattered, his body was torn and scabbed. The two story fall left him with nothing more than scratches, bruises, and a large headache. But Velorium was the best at ignoring external damage. "That's twice you couldn't finish me off, Skyway." From a folder labeled: 'Fight' in his memory bank, he brought the file 'Street Fighting' up onto the main menu. This was war, motherfucker. “You should have stayed down mother fucker!” Sylo growled as he lunged forward. The Superbeast did not expect the new Prize Fighter of tA to lunge at him as fast, if not faster despite his hefty size. Sylo was brought down with a heavy spear right into his vehicle door, leaving a dent that would forever remain. Sylo recoiled in pain but he wasn’t about to give up the fight. He took both hands and pressed them together, then with a large amount of strength drove both fists into the back of Velorium’s neck. Every reaction causes an equal and opposite reaction, and that opposite reaction was a wad of mess from Elliot's throat to go straight into the Superbeast's face. Blood and bile among other bodily fluids covered Sylo's face as Velorium 12 reeled in pain on the ground, kicking violently at the hard concrete. “I tried to tell you this was one fight you didn’t want,” He yelled as he kicked Velorium in the ribs. “So what’s my chances of survival now mother fucker?” He kicked him in the ribs once more. “Come on, you and I are going to finish this!” Sylo grunted and picked Velorium up carrying him out of the parking garage and into the fresh scent of night. Velorium though quickly fell from Sylo’s shoulders and mustered up a kick that had the already tired superbeast seeing stars...and not because he was outside. "Man your battlestation, Skyway." Velorium said as he charged at his opponent once again. A tackle followed with punches was delivered, both men tumbling downward until hitting a ditch. “Man this mother fucker!” Sylo roared as he drove a fist into Velorium’s face. Blood sprayed from Velorium's nose as though it came from a windex bottle. But Velorium was tough, tough enough to send a fist of his own into Sylo's throat, followed by another to his face. Elliot didn't stop there, grabbing Sylo by a large, blue spike on his head and slamming his own cranium into the Superbeast's. The blood flowed like wine from Sylo once more. Previous wounds from the night, which were on his face, now opened and gave way to blood running down his face. Sylo stood up and backed up a little trying to wipe the blood from his eyes but all seemed lost; he was virtually blind. As the Superbeast stumbled into the four way traffic, the kamikaze Velorium followed. Oh, shit.
Passing the time.
Eddie Cheno washed his hands inside the lavatory of the Asylum. It was rare to see a camera inside there where NOT poking fun of Joe Campbell(aka, last year during a Planeteers skit involving Eddie himself and heading to footage of Joe in the bathroom), but for whatever reason, pay per view time was allotted to Eddie Cheno washing his hands. I guess that’s the sign that you made it. Spending time washing your hands is more important than the debuting fighters. Not that it should be that way, but it seems it is. Eddie dried his hands and headed toward the door. Opening it revealed none other than John C. Willis, as the fans let out some cheers for the big man. Having not been on the past two shows, he still wasn’t forgotten. Eddie moved to the side, and let John pass, holding the door open for him. He nodded, and exited the bathroom promptly. John was left a bit shocked. A gentleman? In the Asylum? Who’da guessed it? And that’s when we went elsewhere, because I doubt you want to see John C. Willis whip it out for a quick number one.
Handicap Fight
"Oh how we shouted, how we screamed. They're closing our caskets, cold and tight, As the song played, the lights cut short. Nothing but the embrace of pure darkness filled the arena, shy of a few lighters stuck into the air. Asher stood behind the curtain, allowing "Several Ways to Die Trying" by Dashboard Confessional to play for a few moments. When satisfied, the crowd cut their act of silence and screamed as he showed himself. He seemed to be in a different world, mouthing the words of the music as he paced toward the ring. Taking off the black Azure Ray shirt as he entered the ring, he threw it out toward the crowd. Asher leaned back, skinny torso exposed and slightly scared, his eye blackened and a cut underneath his eye where the sharp bone punched through. Tonight was to be his judgement, and this was only his second match in. The calm and soothing melody was cut off. Soon, the air was filled with the much more abrasive tone of "Heat" by 50 Cent. The crowd showed their distaste any way they could, throwing whatever it was they could find near them. Crumpled up paper plates, pieces of hotdogs, half empty cups of beer all somehow found their way to the isle but missed the walking HardCase by just a few inches. He stared at Asher, the two locking eyes. In this moment, Asher smiled. He knew that HardCase wanted to walk in there and destroy him like he had Sunday, but it was different now. It was he and Asher. Well, him, Asher, and Pointless. He had almost forgotten about that. He would have if "Autobiography of a Nation" by Thursday hadn't cut his theme short. HardCase stopped his entrance to the ring and waited outside. Pointless appeared from behind the curtain with a stoic look on his face, perfectly content with the fans' reaction to his presence. Much like every other person they disrespected, he wasn't here for friends. Tonight, he was here for Asher. It doesn't matter how small of a thorn he was in Josiah's side. He'd rip it out. The unsuspected team climbed up together. Asher waited with a content grin on his face-it seemed as if he never was emotionless. The little hammer slammed against the bell and the two men shot forward. Asher watched Josiah shoot down for a shoulder shot at his ankles, so he jumped to avoid it. HardCase's running forearm slammed full force into his stomach area, causing him to flip forward and land on top of Pointless. For a moment, Asher calculated the potential result of his error. Punches, kicks, slams, whatever. HardCase picked him up, too out-of-breath to do much of anything about it. He stepped back and went for an elevated sidekick. Looked as if Asher wasn't too tired to duck down and throw one of his feet into the side of HardCase's knee. The bigger man fell down and clenched his nearly shattered leg. "That could've ruined your career," Asher said before realizing Pointless was still there. He didn't realize this until Pointless dug his elbow into the space between his brain and spine. His body went limp and Asher fell to the floor. HardCase began to stumble up as the referee dropped his arm. Both men stood above their hated ally. It seemed as if this war was already over. "Five," the referee counted. The small shifting movements of Asher were no threat. He was down. This was over. Too fucking easy. And then HardCase reached over the edge of the cage, grabbing a chair. Pointless looked over and smiled. God, Asher just couldn't get a break. "Seven," the referee continued. Asher was standing. Pointless noticed this and went for a clothesline, which Asher ducked and stood up, both men back to back. He saw HardCase. There was a fraction of a second where both stared at each other. They both knew what was about to happen, or at least Asher thought he did. HardCase charged forward. Asher hit the deck. The chair hit Pointless over the top of his skull. And then his back. Asher grabbed the chair from over his head, threw it into the air, and kicked it back in his fucking face. As HardCase stumbled backward, Asher gave chase. He spun his foot around and buried it right in the temple of HardCase. The man fell down and, this time, the referee's count was for the two. Asher realized his true potential in this moment. He saw Pointless shift, so he stuck the chair into the back of his skull. He saw HardCase move, so he slammed it into the back of his knee three times and then placed it atop his skull, stomping on it. Whatever to the world. He didn't give a shit about these two men and two-on-one fights were bullshit, anyway. "One," the referee restarted. The two men were cut and bleeding, none moving even at five. The fans began cheering as Asher kept his place in the ring, seemingly limp with the folded and dented steel chair propped against the ground in his right hand. He dropped the chair and leaned next to HardCase's shifting body. "Eight," the referee said. In the corner of his eye, Asher noticed the bug that wouldn’t stay down in Pointless, as he was now at one knee. The count, with HardCase on the ground, would continue, however. Looks like someone had more fight left than his team mate. “Oh, just fucking die,” he muttered, as he took a running start and took a hard Baseball swing that connected with Josiah’s jaw. The bigger man’s momentum was enough to back him over the cage wall and to the ground. Another cage out. "Ten." The bell rung. The fans cheered, but Asher didn't care. This wasn't his shinning moment. This was a job. This was a paycheck. These, those fallen bodies, were annoyances. Unlike corporate America, you could deal with such things. Whether it was words or with violence, they had decided. For Asher, this little quarrel was over now. He had his final word. Pointless pulled himself to his feet, via the help of the cage. Another victory robbed. For he and HardCase, it was far from over. Winner: Asher Rollins via Ringout & Knockout
Starting over.
The Asylum’s backstage area was filled with many unusual things and characters. Yet, as Renee’ Storm, who was grasping an ice pack in her hand and holding it tightly to her soon to be bruising face, walked through one of the B.C. Place’s many hallowed hallways, she introduced the truly unusual characters and things that were common in a place like the Asylum to something that it had never seen nor heard before… …Lyrics written by a man named Bob Dylan. “Come writers and critics who prophesize with your pens. And keep your eyes wide; the chance won’t come again.” She sang in perfect synchronization with the song, which seemed to be playing inside of her battered head. “For the wheel’s still in spin and there’s no tellin’ who that it’s namin’. For the loser now will be later to win, for the times they are-a changin’.” It was true. The times were indeed-a changing. Just as Renee’ had predicted in a hate-filled speech earlier that night, Woman’s Intuition defied the odds and defeated a rather large male member of the Asylum’s roster that, in a move he thought was a sure thing, Joe Campbell had sent out to the cage himself. Her smile was white and white. And why shouldn’t it be? She had just won the fight for her team! She had the right to celebrate! Little did she know that inside of her locker room, a locker room that was given to Woman’s Intuition before Retribution began to share, Nikki Carlson was already staging her own celebration. Standing in front of a mirror and gazing at her reflection, which was disgustingly bloody and swollen, Nikki whimpered and reached for a nearby bag that was most likely designed to put toiletries inside of. Going through the bag’s contents, Nikki removed many things that most women valued dearly and set them to the side. Shampoo, hairspray, eyeliner, lipstick! You name it, she threw it. And for what? To find what she really wanted, of course. Or perhaps what she really needed? Taking a small blue bottle that read “Scope” on the label out of her bag, Nikki twisted open the cap excitedly. She couldn’t wait to use whatever it was that was inside of the bottle. Chances are it wasn’t mouthwash. Finally opening the bottle, Nikki cupped her right hand and poured out the contents of the bottle with her left. Shaking two small pills into her hand, Nikki whined and muttered softly to herself. “Take away the pain.” It seemed that roles too were-a changin’. Nikki had always been the strongest. She was the fighter. She was the enforcer. Now, she had once more been reduced to a simple addict, hiding the truth from the one person who really cared about her. Meanwhile, that one person was getting stronger by the second. She was not only becoming the most marketable, but the most formidable as well. She was a leader. And now she was leading her tandem to the forefront of the Asylum’s team division. Renee’ Storm was starting over. Nikki Carlson was simply moving backwards.
Aryen Silens is a monster. Plain and simple. He’s probably one of the largest men to ever grace the Asylum’s cage, but that doesn’t mean he’s a tub of fat either. With a sculptured body that would make Mr. T long for the days of the A-Team, Aryen has to be one of the most impressive looking fighters… ever. And that’s one of the reasons why Joseph Campbell has sent him to destroy the Stoner, the fans Television champion. Eddie Cheno has been sent to his destruction. But what Eddie lacked in size and power, he made up for in experience. “The Same” by Dark Tranquility played over the pa system here at Retribution, as the huge tag team champion Aryen Silens walked out from the back, the belt carried over his shoulder like a strap of spaghetti. He took long strides toward the cage, and simply climbed over it in one swift maneuver. He breathed out like a bull, which was odd because the arena was not open to the air and it wasn’t the cold meeting the warm. It was simply Aryen’s desire to rip Eddie apart and take his championship. “Smoke two Joints” by Sublime started, and the fans changed their silent but fearful stance into one of jovial cheers. Eddie Cheno walked out from the backstage area, carrying with him a long glass bong that he promptly took a hit off to even louder cheers. Sure, we seem to say smoking weed is cool, but it’s really what’s behind Eddie’s actions, his pure defiance in everything Joe Campbell has laid down, while still being able to succeed. Eddie climbed up over the cage wall just like he always did, mocking or paying tribute to, we’d never know, Hulk Hogan in the 80’s during all of his previous cage matches. He dropped down off the cage wall, and Aryen charged forward for a vicious clothesline. But Cheno ducked underneath as the bell was rung. And as Aryen turned around, Eddie took his glass bong and shattered it over the head of the tag team champion. This sent him down to one knee, and once there, Eddie reared back with his Television championship title belt, and leapt… Clearin’ da Funken Table, with the Television Championship, square under the jaw of Aryen Silens. Which sent the big man rocketing back, into the cage wall. Stumbling, and with a good three feet or so above it, his center of balance was practically at the top of the wall. And with one FINAL Clearin’ da Funken Table w/ Championship Belt, Aryen flipped over the cage wall, and fell to the ground below. “Smoke two Joints” restarted, and Aryen got up to his feet rather quickly, considering he just lost an Asylum fight. As Eddie celebrated inside the ring with his championship title, Aryen grabbed the side of the cage and began to shake it, trying to rip it off its seams. A bunch of officials raced down from the back and tried to stop him, but Aryen swatted each of them away like flies. He went for one last tug, but came up short, and then simply lowered his head. The officials had recovered, and began to brace themselves for Aryen’s attack, but Silens just walked through them as if he were Moses parting the red seas, without his tag team championship title. There’s no telling what Silens would do next. Winner and STILL T.V. Champion: Eddie Cheno via Ringout
Lessons in getting heel heat from the master.
Lesson number one. Nothing gets more of a reaction, when you expect something to happen.. and you get completely the opposite. "Disposal Teens" by Marilyn Manson hit the speaker system and the fans rose to their feet, and showered the man that was coming to the dome with great admiration. The former multiple Asylum champion's video wall engulfed the Asylumtron as it showed footage of his historic tA battles. Red, white and blue confetti fell from the ceiling as it covered the floor in patriotic colors.. pyro exploded seconds later as the reaction grew. Smoke clouded the entrance wall as a shadowy physique emerged from behind the black skull curtain. That person rose a title belt in the air, and the crowd popped tremendously… that was until the smoke cleared. "I am sorry to inform you that Inmate will not be seen tonight," The voice belonged only to one man as Osyrus stood on the stage; he smirked as the jeers arrived on cue… he waited for them to die down before he continued. "Why would you expect him to show up, in this disgusting excuse of a country. The best thing about Canada stands before you right now. I am Canada's best export and import,.. seeing how I trained here in this terrible place. Hell, I can't even believe I admitted staying here for longer than five minutes… before I wanted to puke my guts out. Standing on the entrance ramp; near all you filthy, disease carrying Canadians,… my chances of getting Sars just went up to 110%. If I had my way with Canada, I would deport all the Canadians to the middle east, and turn Canada into an extension of California… but California would never have weather this shitty." Lesson number two As already shown, picking apart the hometown crowd is an easy way to get hate mail… all year round. "Now as much fun as I am having; making fun of this human toilet bowl, you call a hometown… there is a reason I am out here. There is no way in hell I am going to sit idly by,… while a travesty took place here last week. There is no way in hell, or no way in Canada… I am going to be continually bent over as I get screwed in the ass hole. Much like how Bret Hart got screwed by Shawn Michaels, but unlike Bret.. I am going to do something about it, not just bitch and moan." Ouch and damn. "Whether anyone likes it or not, I am going to get my revenge on everyone. On Inmate, on that pipe tossing bastard Thompson and especially Joe Campbell. I am not a man that should be fucked with. I should be respected and idolized as the superior being amongst bums that have a license to fight. I frown every time I enter this god forsaken building; as it reminds me of the 'bum fights', where men of the lowest form are getting paid to tear each other apart,… for your enjoyment. You disgusting Asylum fans should pride yourselves; knowing that you caused tA's downfall. Not me. It's your fault that Asylum has the champions it does, because you cheer for them. I root for them to quietly die in their sleep, so I never have to hear their voices again... while I pick up their former titles on my way out of the building, like my check on payday." Finally… Lesson number three When all else fails, picking apart the goody goodie faces of your promotion,… will definitely get you flamed backstage. "Someone tell me what I have to do, to get a fair shot at a championship in tA. Do I have to sell my soul to Joe Campbell to be on top? Do I have to actually have to get scarred when idiot members of the audience chance someone's name… who is supposed to be tough, but really isn't? Do I have to smile; slap the shit covered hands of the fans to get a good reaction?" Osyrus paused and stuck his middle finger up, high and proudly. "Well fuck you, because you can wait mother fuckers,… because that shit is never going to happen. The day you see me like the fans; is when I cut someone's dick off and stick it in my own mouth like that dumb, cum crazy slut Nerva. Or sleep in a dumpster for a whole summer and pretend I am dead… like that fag, Token Weed. I bet that I have to be like Inmate,.. then I'll really be over. If I make myself a role model like Inmate; the groupies will be lined up outside, and I can tell them how much of a great wrestler I am. I can wave around a title that doesn't even belong to me… no matter what Campbell says. See Inmate, I have a belt too." Osyrus waved around a black belt; before he whipped one of the fans with it as he smirked. "The fact of the matter is, The Freak is still the champion. And when I defeat the Freak,.. I will really and truly become a champion in tA. But I am starting to feel nauseous. I think that the Sars is finally kicking in. So monkeys in the back, hit my fucking music now." "Creep" performed by Radio Head played on cue, as Osyrus disappeared behind the black skull curtain. The fans could only be so lucky not to see the wrestler any more tonight… but I don't think anyone is that lucky.
The only friend.
SMASH!
The scar of two captains: Disillusioned and swollen-eyed.
Sylo found enough time to shake enough cobwebs off to land a solid punch into Velorium 12 as a car swerved out of the way to make contact, the driver shouting obscenities out the window toward the two gladiators. The four way road was now getting slick with rain, and for the smallest time it was just sprinkling... But it began to pour. And as Elliot Pisces connected with another head butt to Sylo, thunder struck loud enough and close enough to make the bravest men hide. Sylo fell backwards, smacking into the guardrail. His ribs felt like someone had taken a hot iron and pressed them against the inside. But he wasn't going to let this little fucker get the best of him. He waited, playing possum, and right as Velorium 12 came toward Sylo, Sylo sprung forward nailing him in the gut with a hard right hand. It sent Velorium reeling backward, and almost into an oncoming car. He narrowly avoided it and the car honked its horn to show its disapproval. Sylo charged toward his aggressor, but V12 sent his foot out and side-stepped, sending the Superbeast to the concrete. V12 mounted Sylo as he rolled onto his back, and tilting the Superbeast's head upward Elliot pounded away at his features. Drastic times called for drastic measures. Sylo reached up through the field of flying fists and grabbed Velorium by the neck, choking him with everything he had. He got Velorium off but it wasn't long before he was back for more. Sylo couldn't help but to think that this man really WAS a machine. So Sylo did something that not few people could withstand. He grabbed Velorium 12 by the head and rammed it into a guard rail and then with the speed of a bull he charged forward nailing Velorium 12 with The Slaughter. A massive spear which made a loud "crunch" and sent the guard rail tilting back a small bit. Velorium arched his back in pain, and writhed on the ground. Sylo grinned, and chuckled nearly maniacally as he limped over toward his attacker. The Superbeast lifted him up by his blonde hair, and took him back onto the road. Only for Velorium to lift the big man up, if only a couple of feet before forcing him down to the ground with a vicious sidewalk slam. Sylo held his aching back and roared out in pain. The fight in him wouldn't give up though as he pulled up and stared at Velorium 12. "You're one hell of a fighter, I'll give you that," Sylo grinned a little, his breathing was becoming short. Velorium said nothing, opting to run at Sylo with gritting teeth instead. Neither seemed to notice the oncoming Geo metro that was headed toward them. Neither seemed to notice the screeching breaks. Neither seemed to notice they were laying unconscious on the ground, after being plowed through by that very vehicle. Kind of ironic, how a pile-up ensued. Kind of ironic how it happened to encase the two fallen fighters in a circle, delusional and swollen-eyed. Velorium 12... Sylo... Welcome to the mother fucking Asylum.
What if? What if everything in this world was different, for every decision made now wasn’t. What would your life be like? Better, worse, or still the same? Maybe there’s no free will, your decisions made are made in stone, because that’s how it was plotted out before you were born. What if Tyler Burton, the Inmate, had no choice whatsoever in his drive to be the guy to go after Carnage, than is it right for Sebastian to have held him accountable? What if Burton had free will, and decided not to, would he still be stepping forth into this day for a fight as the Interim Black champion? And if he was, would he still be fighting Sebastian Thompson, and Osyrus? The answers are more varying than the true amount of licks it takes to get to the Tootsie Roll center of the Tootsie Pop, and no.. it’s none of the real answers are three. The crowd buzzed in excitement, as the felt that three core members of Team Campbell going toe-to-toe would allow the fabric of the group to slowly tear apart. Three men fighting because the interference of one man, Sebastian Thompson. All would have operated just fine and well, until Thompson meddled in the Black Title Tournament, interfering in first round matches involving both Osyrus and Inmate eliminating them, leaving the tournament championship ripe for the picking. Violently battering Jade with steel chair shots to advance himself to the tournament final, only to see his plan ruined, and his shot at becoming the Black champion ruined. The meddling chef ruins the recipe, and Thompson was forced to eat what came out of the oven. Joe Campbell setup an Interim Black Title match between Osyrus and Inmate, in case the current Black Champion the Freak, never showed up again. History repeated itself, this time, as Thompson interfered in an Inmate match, his involvement allowed Tyler Burton to get the win. Only one step remained, Sebastian Thompson had to defeat Thanh Vactor, underestimating the ability of his opponent, Thompson squeaked out the win with the aid of Inmate, who blindly suplexed Vactor off the top of the Asylumtron. And that all setup, a match where someone will step out as the Black Champion as they gain Retribution… “Jerk-off” by Tool blasted over the speaker system in B.C. Place, as Sebastian Thompson trotted slowly out into the arena, stopping at the top of the ramp as he flipped the hood of his hoody back, letting his hair flip out and the crowd booed, as he raised his hands in the air poking out dual middle fingers to the crowd. He charged to the ring, and mounted the rim, while facing the crowd simply absorbing all their taunts, and chants, in his eyes there was no way that he, the only one in this match who was never a wrestler, could lose. He stripped himself of his sweatshirt, and leatherjacket slamming them down to ringside as his music faded out, only to make way for “Creep” by Radiohead, and the boos didn’t come anywhere near stopping. Omar Christensen, the man known as Osyrus, a symbol of power as well as brutality, stepped out into the arena. No words spoken, as Osyrus walked towards the ring, something that was rarer than Christopher Reeve doing the c-walk. The large man, stepped up the ring steps looking down into the cold eyes of Thompson, as he stepped over the rim and into the cage. The two moved towards one another, with only the frail referee stand between the two. And then, the whole aura surrounding the stadium changed.. “Disposable Teens,” by Marilyn Manson. The Inmate. As much as everything else around the Asylum changed, there was one thing that the fans could identify, Tyler Burton was the Asylum. No matter how many times he was aligned with Campbell, they remember him for his violent wars with Borst, his battle with Nerva, his clash with Villam Ender. He was the never changing man, in an ever changing world. Unlike others who walked through the doors, Tyler could never be labeled, heel, face or tweener, he was simply an Inmate of the Asylum. Inmate charged up the ring steps, and entered the ring, his eyes instantly focused on Thompson, while Thompson was still in the stare down with Osyrus. Inmate charged towards the Phoenix, only to be hammered with a double clothesline by Osyrus and Thompson! The cheers stopped as quickly as the music, and the boos pumped in as Thompson went down after Inmate, only to feel something at the back of his pants. Looking back in panic, all Thompson could do was watch as Osyrus sent him crashing to ringside. Osyrus turned only to feel a stiff shot to his abdomen knocking the wind out of him, as he reeled back into the cage rim, Burton followed with lefts and rights, but he was stopped once Osyrus nailed a knee right into his midsection. Inmate crouched down trying to catch his breath, clutching onto the back of his head, Osyrus nailed him with a knee to the face. Inmate’s head shot backwards, sending his body flailing backwards and into the cage wall. Staying on pursuit, Osyrus stalked towards Inmate. Burton reached back and swung a wild right , Osyrus contorted his body avoiding the blow while grasping onto Inmate’s right hand and jettisoned him across the ring in an Irish whip! Omar Christensen watched as Inmate’s body crashed into the opposite cage wall, he began to approach… *SMACK!* The chair rocked Osyrus forward, Sebastian Thompson geared back and slammed the chair back down on Osyrus back. Taking a step back to observe his handy work, Sebby was witness to Osyrus turning around completely unfazed! Thompson tossed the chair forward into the awaiting hands of Osyrus, he patted his elbow and went for Cinders.. Osyrus swung the chair, but Sebastian ducked at the last second, only to walk right into spear! The crowd went wild as they watched Inmate pile into Thompson with a load of punches to the face. Thompson raised his knees, and used all his leg strength shoving Inmate off of him. Quickly Seb shoved himself to his feet.. Only to get leveled by a chair shot from Osyrus! Thompson stumbled forward right into a belly-to-belly suplex from Inmate! Osyrus still wielding the chair, watched as Inmate jumped up to his feet, Osyrus ran forward and swung another chair, and missed again, Inmate ducked under and locked in a rear waistlock. Inmate attempted to lift once, but couldn’t get the massive frame of Osyrus up, he tried again, this time a mule kick stopped the momentum of the Interim Black champion. Osyrus slammed the chair to the ground, and reached back grabbing onto the head of Inmate, he went for a bulldog, that was blocked by Inmate who shoved himself backwards to the cage wall where he caught a quick breather. Osyrus turned and started heading towards Inmate, leaving himself open to a low blow from Thompson. The Phoenix grasped onto Osyrus’ hand, and Irish whipped him towards Inmate, leaving the Personification of Talent’s jaw prone to injury, as it careened off the rim after a drop toe hold from Inmate! Inmate stands, catches a chair?! FUCKHEAD! Thompson stumbled forward looking at his opponents as he shook his right hand trying to free it of the pain. The crowd booed coarsely as he raised his hand in the air, all he needed was 20 seconds and the Black Title would be his, in this elimination bout. 1... 2... 3... 4... 5.… Osyrus was back up on his feet, Sebastian geared himself as The Beast was getting his bearings. Osyrus was up and the two began circling the ring… 6... 7... 8... Both men lunged forward into an arm and collar tie-up, the test of strength wasn’t much of a battle at all as the larger Osyrus slung Thompson to the side. Osyrus crouched down watching his prey leap back up to his feet, The Beast charged forward Nowhere to Run, Nowhere to hide!.. Thompson barely avoided it sliding off to the side, Omar stopped his momentum by placing his hands up on the cage rim. Thompson backed up a little and nailed a baseball slide hitting the back of Osyrus’ knees. Thompson jumped back to his feet, and was the victim of a rear waistlock from Inmate, Inmate attempted to lift, but Thompson deftly blocked and reversed positions. Inmate easily broke Thompson’s lock around his waist and faced his adversary, Inmate geared back and smacked Sebastian with a right cross, Sebastian fired back with a right hook to the body. Inmate fired a kick right to the midsection of Thompson doubling him over, grasping onto his arm, Inmate hooked in and nailed a fisherman’s suplex. Inmate was back on his feet, and he grasped a hold of Thompson’s hair, and nailed a second fisherman’s suplex! Osyrus was up on his feet, but he stood back watching as Inmate yanked Thompson back to his feet. Inmate dragged Thompson towards the cage wall, and heard the crowd count along with every crash of Thompson’s head on the rim, the count raised to double figures before Inmate stopped. His hands shaking in rage as Thompson dropped to the mat, with blood pouring out of his head. Inmate was no longer in Vancouver, he was somewhere else… but even if he wasn’t here, there was Nowhere to Run, Nowhere to hide as Osyrus decleated him with a spear! Osyrus mounted the body of Inmate, and it was time for Berserkergang as Osyrus sent a multitude of blows to the face of Inmate, each punch harder than the one prior. Osyrus finally relented slamming Inmate’s head down to the mat, as he got off his opponent. Reaching down Osyrus yanked Inmate to his feet and tossed him out to ringside. Blood leaked from Sebastian Thompson’s head as he pulled himself to his feet slowly, Thompson charged towards The Beast but was stopped with a drop toe hold. Osyrus showing his agility, was back on his feet, and yanked Thompson up, moments later.. Omar Christensen nailed Sebastian Thompson with Oblivion! The count began as Osyrus climbed to the outside, approaching Inmate.. 1... 2... 3... 4... 5... 6... The monster of a man stepped right into a rocking uppercut from Inmate! Osyrus stumbled backwards into the cage, and Inmate grasped his hand and Irish whipped him into the announce table. Inmate grasped his hand again and Irish whipped him into the cage, slowly Osyrus recoiled towards Inmate, stepping right into a T-Bone suplex! The table turned to splinters as the 290 lbs man felt the maneuver from Inmate. 10... 11... 12... 13... 14... 15... Inmate applied an ankle lock onto Osyrus, his muscles tightened as he attempted to make walking hard for Osyrus. The Beast rolled over to his back, and fired a left boot to the middle of Inmate’s chest knocking him backwards. 18... 19... 20. Over the PA system, it was announced that Sebastian Thompson was eliminated and the crowd rejoiced. The Black Title was now going to be one of two people. Inmate crashed into JPP, almost knocking the bad accent out of him. Inmate tried to regain his bearings, but he tripped over the announcers falling onto his backside. Osyrus had momentum now, walking gingerly on that right ankle, Inmate saw him coming and pushed him up to his feet and charged forward wrapping both arms around Osyrus legs yanking them from underneath the larger man. Inmate went to mount Osyrus for face shots, but quickly Osyrus forced him over his head with the rise of his legs. Osyrus was up to his feet, and he watched Inmate pull himself up, and Omar Christensen’s momma didn’t raise no fool, he nailed Inmate with a right cross, left hook, and a right uppercut, sending Tyler Burton falling backwards. Osyrus followed up with a leg sweep, knocking Inmate’s leg from underneath him. The crowd cried Inmate’s name as he was at Osyrus’ mercy. Christensen gripped onto the back of Inmate’s head and launched him into the crowd. Osyrus gripped onto the railing, and took a giant step over it as he followed. Inmate stood but was sent crashing back down, this time to the arena’s concrete floor, by a shove to the back of the head by Osyrus. The Beast grasped a chair, and snapped it shut as he followed Inmate as he tried to push himself up to his feet while stumbling further into the crowd… *SMACK!* Inmate dropped onto the concrete floor, Osyrus smiled as he continued to stalk his opponent, he lifted the chair, and nailed one shot, two shots, three shots, blows didn’t stop until Osyrus meant for them to. Osyrus slammed the chair down on the concrete, and he lifted Inmate off of the concrete floor lifted and powerbombed onto the chair. The ref followed up and began his count. 1... 2... 3... 4... 5... 6... 7... 8... 9... 10... 11... 12... 13... 14... 15... 16... Inmate crept to his feet, and the crowd erupted into cheers as Tyler Burton stood before them, as everything the Asylum is. Burton grimaced as his left hand felt at his back, Osyrus charged in with a clothesline, but Inmate ducked, go-behind, and Inmate attempted a suplex but immediately stopped as he grasped at his back. Osyrus shrugged Inmate’s grasp, and nailed him with a double axe handle to the face sending Inmate stumbling backwards. Osyrus sent a right fist, this was caught by Inmate, who wrapped it behind Osyrus’ back, and sent a boot to the back of his right knee dropping him down. Inmate locked a Canadian crossface hold, the ref yelled that there were no submissions, but Inmate continued to yank back harder on the muzzle of Osyrus. Osyrus’ left hand tensed as he attempted to fight the pain, but then something unexpected happened, Osyrus showed his strength as he pushed back with his left hand and got up onto his knees while Inmate still had the move locked. Osyrus then stood causing Inmate to lose control of his hold, Inmate released the grip of his legs and hung on Osyrus’ neck choking the life out of him. Inmate reversed his position nailing a hangman’s neck breaker! Inmate grabbed onto Osyrus’ leg flipping the big man over, and the crowd went crazy knowing what it was.. SNAP! SNAP! But again, voices yelled through the crowd, telling Inmate it was knockouts only. Inmate didn’t show any signs of caring, as he grabbed onto Osyrus’ right leg and yanked back hard in a single-leg Boston crab, Osyrus tried kicking with his right leg, but Inmate put all his strength into holding the leg back. He applied the hold many times, including one time when he almost bled to death in a battle over the Asylum title with Nerva. Finally something failed inside of him and he released the hold, as sweat ran in droves down his face. Inmate stood back and watched waiting for Osyrus to respond, and slowly but surely Omar Christensen was back on his feet, obviously momma didn’t raise a quitter neither. Osyrus placed most of his weight on his left leg and he attempted to charge forward towards Inmate, but Osyrus stumbled and went into the arms of Inmate.. Snap belly-to-belly suplex! Inmate rolled another snap belly-to-belly, and another.. And another! Inmate jumped back up to his feet, but Osyrus didn’t respond. The ref began to count.. 1... 2... 3... 4... 5... 6... 7... 8... 9.… 10... The ref looked over his shoulder, and there was a familiar face ordering him to speed up his count.. 11...12...13...14...15...16...17...18...19... 20! Inmate turned at the sound of the bell, his eyes wide as he looked at Joe Campbell. He was an Asylum champion again, but this wasn’t right, it didn’t feel right as he looked into the smiling face of Campbell. It was wrong, over the PA system it was announced that he was the Black Champion, yet there was no championship belt.. and then something happened… …The lights went out… ….. …. …….And the bell chimed… “Replica,” by Fear Factory blared over the PA system… ..The lights came back on… …And Inmate stood face to face… …..With the Freak, the first thing Burton did was look over at Campbell’s stunned face, then he looked down at Freak’s waist, and right there was where the Black title rested. Just then, Tyler Burton knew that he wasn’t done fighting tonight. Winner: Inmate via Knockout
Campbell finally moved and stood between Inmate and The Freak, and began to try to keep the two apart from one another. With a swing of the fist, The Freak sent Campbell crashing down to the concrete floor. Inmate charged forward shoving Freak in the chest, knocking him backwards a few steps. Inmate geared up and charged forward, Freak grasped onto Inmate’s arm, went behind him, grasping Inmate’s throat and lifted him up and nailed the Skin Stripper. Inmate held his jaw and was falling backwards into the crowd, crashing down to the floor, mentally, not to mention physically, exhausted all Inmate could do was watch as The Freak methodically approached. Inmate shoved himself to his feet, and he nailed Freak with a double axe handle to the midsection slowing the Anhedonic down. Both men braced themselves, and held their fists up, Freak threw a left hook but missed Inmate, who darted behind locking in a rear waistlock. German suplex by Inmate! Freak rolled with the move getting right back onto his feet. Crouching down Freak watched as Inmate got to his feet, Super high kick!. The Freak missed! Inmate grasped onto his leg and nailed a spine tingling T-Bone suplex! Inmate pulled himself up to his feet, and walked over towards Freak getting a grasp of his longer red hair and began to pull him further into the crowd. Skidding the Freak struggled to get up, but finally succeeded in getting to his knees, he charged forward and lunged forward taking Inmate’s knees from underneath him. Inmate dropped down jaw first on the cold hard flooring, Freak reached out and snatched a chair from the audience and snapped it shut. Freak swung the chair down maliciously, but missed as Inmate rolled out of the way. Inmate turned to the crowd and had a chair tossed his way, the two charged towards each other and battled smacking the chairs together, Freak stopped the war of furniture, and dropped his chair to the ground, and leapt into the air with a roundhouse kick, Inmate ducked and loaded the chair, by smacking it hard onto the ground. Turn and leap… *SMACK!* Inmate smacked The Freak right on the head forcing him to drop down. Inmate grasped onto the Freak’s hair and yanked him to his feet, and this time he Irish whipped him across a reasonable sized expanse slamming the Black champion into a steel railing. Inmate caught up and placed the Freak into a headlock and began to lead him onto the concourse. Grasping onto the Freak’s hand, Inmate whipped him forward into the walls of the B.C. Place concourse. Inmate had his fisticuffs up, and swung a right, which barely missed the Freak. Switchover by Freak making distance between himself and Inmate. Turning on his heels, Inmate ran right into a Floating Scissors kick. The Freak reached up and yanked off his trench coat, as well as un-strapping the Black title letting it drop down to the ground. Holding the trench in both hands, Freak began to choke the life out of Inmate by yanking back with it. Freak was back on his feet, dropping the trench coat by the wayside, and bringing Inmate with him. Inmate was Irish whipped inside of the bathroom, and screams of women were heard exciting as some females charged out of the bathroom, Freak waiting for the opening to clear out and he Souples Sear Riere into the bathroom. The landing of his heavy soled boots clapping on the ground, echoed through the melancholy setting of the bathroom. Inmate was yanked to his feet, and slammed hard into the metal outside of the stall, Freak grasped him again and tossed the former Asylum champion against the wall again revealing a huge dent in the metal. Freak gripped onto the black hair of Inmate, and began to slam his head on to the metal stall wall, busting Inmate’s nose open allowing a river of claret to flow down Tyler Burton’s face. The Freak walked over and opened the diaper change station, he pulled Inmate up and placed him between his legs, lifted and powerbombed him on the diaper change table causing the plastic to snap and Inmate to drop down to the tiled floor. Brian Valentine Fenn-Grail sent a hard boot to Inmate’s abdomen, and then repeated the feat, listening as Inmate exhaled with pained breaths. The Freak grasped onto Inmate’s pants, and yanked him to his feet, taking two steps forward Freak launched Inmate head first into the mirror above the porcelain sink. The glass splintered and cracked, lacerating the face of Inmate, crimson residing on the former mirror. Blood coursed down Inmate’s face as he dropped to his back, and placed his hands to his face. Fenn-Grail grasped Inmate by the hand, and tossed him up onto his shoulder, and the Freak began his trek yet no one had a clue of where he was going. Folks getting bear and other things from concession stands got in the way cheering on, but Freak kept walking. Then he stopped and faced forward looking out the glass doors into the public parking lot, watching as snow dropped at a consistent pace. Just then the Inmate began to kick violently. He gripped onto Freak’s head with his left arm, and went for a DDT but Freak tossed Inmate forward sending the door flying open and dropping Inmate to the cold black top on the outside of the arena. Inmate was back up but he was on the receiving end of a heart kick from the Freak, causing Inmate to stumble backwards and fall. The Freak pulled him back to his feet, Inmate connected with a left cross, and then a kick that separated himself from the Freak. Freak returned with a spinning backfist, rear-waistlock by Inmate and Tyler Burton lifted and German suplexed him onto the trunk of a Ford Tempo. Inmate grasped onto Freak’s face and began nailing him with a copious amount of fists to the face, and he watched as the Freak’s head bounced backwards. Inmate climbed up onto the car as well, and stood up on the hood feeling as the weaker metal gave in slightly under his feet. Burton yanked Freak up, only to have to dodge back when he noticed the knife that Fenn-Grail slashed at him. Inmate slid down the front windshield, not fearing the impending dangers, Inmate pulled himself onto the roof again, he took a step and charged with a right hook, and a left cross, but both hit air as Freak used the dupla to bounce from the hood of the Tempo to the near-by Volvo. Inmate leapt across the expanse landing right in front of the Freak, immediately nailing a right to the back of the head, Freak went for a backfist with the knife in the hand that sliced Inmate on his left pectoral. There was no time for being startled.. Inmate smacked the knife out of Freak’s hand, Burton wrapped his arms around Freak’s waist and drove his feet sending both men flying off the hood of the car. Burton stood stumbling slightly as he stood, he looked down and watched a shuttle bus closing in on the two, Inmate yanked Freak to his feet and patiently waited.. Irish Whip!… BAM! Burton watched as his breath floated, he could hear the count now as he watched Freak lie seemingly unconscious on the ground. He saw visions of past wars in the Asylum, and now he was back, just one step away from the mountain top… 1... 2... 3... 4... 5... 6... The shuttle bus driver stepped out of his vehicle with a concerned look on his face… 7... 8... 9... 10... 11... 12... 13.… 14... 15... 16... 17... 18... 19... 20... 20?! 20! NO! Inmate watched in disbelief as his opponent shoved himself up to his feet, watching as a misplaced smile darted across the Freak’s face. Inmate went to pull the Freak up, but he walked right into the Fist from Hell! The Freak ordered the driver to jump back behind the wheel of the shuttle, and without thought, the driver hopped back into the shuttle as a battered Freak tossed Inmate into the front car. He then ordered the driver to go as fast as he possibly could. Inmate attempted to send a fist, but it was easily blocked as Freak rocked him with a right sending Inmate back into a section of plastic seats. Inmate was quickly tossed from the chair by the Freak, who was now on top of Inmate with a heavy knee to the midsection. Freak held Inmate’s head exposed off the edge of the shuttle hanging it over the edge, suddenly everything got colder, and his heart beat faster. Tyler Burton took a glance back and saw pavement passing by fast, looking back he saw the calm look on Freak’s face as he shoved him closer to a possible death. Burton sent his knees up firing the Freak backwards, panicking, Inmate yanked himself back into the shuttle. Inmate took a step towards Freak, only to step right into a jumping uppercut from the Freak! Tyler Burton dropped flat onto his back, and everything went black. Black much like the very title he was fighting for, which many people died for, no one went down easy, everyone who had a shot gave all they had. Everything felt cold, as he tried to reach up out of the dark abyss, it seemed like the light at the top was too far away. They seemed to get further away, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, he was sinking in a pit of quicksand, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, and finally something in Inmate clicked, he held his breath and leapt.. His eyes were open as he sat up, he immediately shot to his feet as he watched Freak coming towards him with a clothesline, Inmate ducked under, Russian Legsweep! Burton slowly got up to his feet, and wiped at the frosted wounds on his face, then he was suddenly crouched down as the Freak nailed him with a low blow. Freak began to nail Inmate with knees to the face, and elbows to the neck, the Freak held back and the Inmate dropped down to the ground in the shuttle bus car. Freak hooked Inmate’s arms, and set him up for the Soulflayer, but Burton responded.. Backbody drop out of the shuttle bus! Tyler Burton breathed heavily before jumping off the shuttle himself, losing his feet underneath himself as he stumbled in the dark Canadian night. Inmate stood and walked down he couldn’t just hope this was over, he had to make sure of it. Quickly, Inmate’s walk turned into a gait, and the gait into a run, and then Inmate arrived at the spot where Freak landed, but he couldn’t find the Black Champion resting anywhere. The Borderline Case! Inmate dropped as the right legged jump kick nailed him right in the face. Freak yanked Inmate up and bear hugged him, setting him up for the Anti-Nature, he hooked his right arm around Inmate’s head, and at the last moment Burton shrugged off Freak’s grasp, lifted and nailed a Northern Lights suplex! Tyler heard the dry thud, when he dropped to his knees and he looked back hearing the count.. 1.. 2... 3.. 4... 5... 6... 7... 8... 9... 10... 11... 12... 13... 14... 15... 16... 17... 18... 19... 20! Inmate stood looking down upon the Freak triumphantly, he was no longer the Interim Black champion, in this dark, cold Canadian night, he was the one and only, at last.
Winner and NEW Black champion: Inmate via Knockout
The child inside.
It had been hours... Hours since Gianni's voice had stiffled and now even the security guards were gone. The door stood strong and firm like a block in ones mind and the block was about to shattered.. Or splintered.. Crack!... CRACK!......... CRACK! The door fell off it's hinges as Aryen Lochleign stood there. His face was covered in blood. The only question was, where was this blood from. Wherever it did come from it now dripped from his face. The beast slowly turned away from the camera and nealt down scooping up the body of Jonathan Gianni. Not the fighter he protrayed on telelvision but the psychotherapist he was away from the glitz and ... nevermind Asylum has no glamour. Now though all he was, all he could be, was helpless in the arms of Aryen Lucien Lochleign. "Jonny, When you wake up I promise.. I will make this up to you... Maybe.. Ice Cream." The words came out tormented with pain as Aryen's make up ran with tears and blood. "Jonny, you promised me you would always wake up.. I don't want to kill anymore.." Aryen murmered the words and walked past the camera holding Gianni's limp body in his arms.
The world owes me something.
Frank Minio finished wrapping his fists up, staring at the cement infront of him. In a few short minutes, he would meet Token Weed in the Asylum for the Championship. This was huge. The second time in his career an Organization Championship would be in his reach, and the last time, he took it, he took what was his. He was looking to relive that moment. He dragged his hand lazily through his hair, taking a deep breath, then began rolling his neck, stretching his back, preparing for the fight of the night, the fight of his life. He sat behind the curtain now, and once he crossed that curtain, he knew, deep down inside his body, his life would change forever. He didn't doubt Token's ability as a fighter, but Frank was positive he was better, it was just a matter of bringing the pain. Being on point, going out there and fighting until he can't lift a fist to throw at that Motherfucker. In a few minutes, Frank was going to march down that entry path with Hell hoisted on his shoulder like a duffle bag or a Huge Dick. He sat harnessing every bit of hate, anger, jealousy, confusion, disarray, contempt, that he had for Token Weed, Joe Campbell, the Asylum, his Sanity, his parents, his doctors, the clouds, the sun, the moon, the heavens, the levels of Hell, everything in between... This world, this dimension, this reality... He felt it. He will bring the pain. Cue Determination... Cue Music, Cue Massacre.
Frank Minio. Token Weed. Now, let's not shit ourselves. PPV match. Main Event. The company's highest prize on the line. A virtual unknown verses an experienced Asylum fighter. The result should be obvious. Then, again...no one should count out the very important "hunger" factor. Oh, and let's not forget "luck". ...and let us not ignore the concept of "fate". When sheer skill and experience fails - it is these three factors that will always be the saving grace for any bright-eyed Asylum hopeful. "Blood" by El-P "Don't look now...they be comin'..." Experimentally Hip-Hop proficient sounds pumped out over the PA. Frank Minio in turn made his way to the cage garnered by a generally mixed reaction. It didn't matter what these people thought of him. Frank was out here for one reason - to fight. He made that fact known by walking straight into the cage, taking the time to do some more pre-match stretching before dead-eyeing the curtains...waiting for... "Halo" by Soil Cheers welcomed the Asylum Champion as Soil's lead singer screamed over the drum beats and guitar riffs. Token wasted no time in charging down the ramp and getting into the cage with Frank Minio. Token considered Frank with very little thought before jumping onto the rim and holding the Asylum Championship to the sky to more cheering. The music finally died out and Token passed off the Asylum title to an official. Token cracked confident smile at Frank Minio. Minio focused gaze never faltered. That is until Token spit into this eye. Token had the immediate upper hand - landing some good healthy shots in on Frank's face. Minio stumbled about like a fool, still in shock that Token would pull something so devious so early in the match. And the fans? Well, the fans ate it up. Token seem right at home in the cage - grabbing the back of Minio's neck and sending several knees into his stomach. Token instantly followed up those blows with a stiff DDT. Token grabbed the back of Frank's head and pulled him to his feet again. Frank was still struggling with the loogie in his eye as Token began slapping him about the face and head. Token gave Minio a strong armed shove and followed that up with a front kick to the face. Not as devastating as the jumping pump kick...but effective enough to send the rookie into the wire mesh. Token capitalized, grabbing Minio's head and repeatedly smashing it into the rim. Beaten as he was, Minio's face still couldn't find itself wanting to bleed. And that's all Token and these people wanted to see in such a main event. Blood. Token had such the thing for that. Token called for a steel chair and it was promptly thrown into the ring by an official. Token winked at his reflection in the shiny metallic face of the chair. Frank was just getting to his feet - regaining energy and balance but completely ignorant of the- CRACK! Chairshot to the fucking face! And Minio is down. CRACK! Chairshot to the back. CRACK! SMACK! Token loved to kick a man while he was down...and the crowd loved it even more. Williams stood over Frank, stomping him in the base of his spine. "Turn over ya' fucken prick." Token said as he sent a bone-cracking kick into Minio's ribs causing him to roll over onto his back. Taking his foot and placing it on the challenger's throat - Token raised the chair high. The people were on their feet now as Token was milking' the moment for all it was worth. POW! "Pow" was an understatement. The chair impacted directly with Minio's face causing his forehead to explode open in a gushing of blood. Token just laughed. POW! This time the chair itself seemed to bleed. Token raised the chair again - Minio's blood dripping down the surface. He was poised for another chairshot. "AGH! FUCK!" Token dropped the chair and went to the ground holding his dick in his hand. The crowd couldn't believe it. Token left himself open and was failed by a sly punch to the dick. Minio struggled to his feet, kicking the steelchair out of reach. Big mistake on his part - should've used that on the enemy - but never let it be said that Frank Minio doesn't believe in fighting fair. Minio saw his chance and jumped on top of Token sending fist after fist into the man's face. Minio wasn't happy with merely getting a couple of mounted blows in. He re-positioned himself and locked Williams in a good old fashioned armbar. The crowd booed the slowed pacing of the match. The ref slid right in - waiting for the off-chance that Token might tap. Tapping didn't come soon at all. A frustrated Minio added a couple of muscle punches to the armbar, causing Token to squeal with pain. Minio wasn't going to waste his time with a hold that wasn't work so he twisted Token's wrist and pulled the Asylum Champion to feet. Holding Token in a standing wrist lock - he twisted the arm and rested his right foot on the Champ's shoulder. Token was forcefully pressed in the canvas; Frank's foot resting on his shoulder. Frank looked like he was straining himself. Pulling with all of his might in order to tear William's arm right out of the damn socket. Token was on the ground screaming - sure - but where was the tapping? This was starting to piss Frank right off. Frank stepped over - causing the arm to twist again. Token's screams were amp'd up...but no signs of tapping. Token did however find it in his heart to send his fingers nails on a trip down Frank's arm - leaving red streaks in his wake. This caused the hold to be broken immediately. Frank was yet again in a state of shock. 'Scratching? Fucking SCRATCHING!?' Frank thought as he stared in disbelief at the bloody rivers on his left forearm. Again. Mistake on his part. Jumping Pump Kick. Quick. Fastly fired. Deadly. And the turning point of this match. Frank went straight to the ground - stunned. The ref was on the count. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. SMACK! Oh, shit. Chairshot via Token. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Token was seething with rage letting the chairshot's fly like he just didn't give a fuck anymore. Which is funny to say, because it can pretty much be said that Token didn't give a fuck in the first place. The sounds of the crowd were raised in a choir-like roar. Token was the man with the weapon, so Token was the one delivering the sermon. SMACK! Don't. SMACK! Fuck with. CRASH! Token Weed. That time Token just hit Minio with the chair and left it on his beaten body. The champ kicked the chair against the wire mesh and fell forward...nailing the downed challenger with his trademark headbutts. Token pulled Minio to his feet - sending some punches into the Italian’s temple. The champ followed that up with a cobra clutch like chokehold. He held it for a few seconds...and then exploded into a cobra clutch suplex sending Minio to the canvas in a crumpled heap. Token rolled through. Shit. Cobra Clutch suplex part two. Rolled through. This time Token switched up and threw Minio backwards with a sloppy released German Suplex. Looked like he was aiming for a ring out - but instead sent Minio neck first into the wire mesh walling. Token called for tacks. Fucking tacks The crowd was on their feet again - cheering on the possibility of another blood letting. Token - looking like a 10 year old from 1987 with a new Nintendo - started spreading tacks all over the middle of the ring. The violence level just got turned up to 11+. Token ran over to the bleeding and punch-drunk Minio pulling him to his feet and dragging him over to the tacks. Token wrapped his arms around Minio's waist and sent him barreling into the tacks with a German Release Suplex!! "AAHHHhhhhghhh" Frank said writhing on the ground. He rolled off of the tacks revealing some of them still being stuck in his back. The crowd whooped and hollered as Frank was basically screaming like a bitch in their eyes. Token apparently agreed as he began screaming too - mocking Frank's pained yells. The Champion pulled Minio up and locked him in a full-nelson. Wasting no more time he sent Frank face first into the tacks - making sure to fall free from the tacks himself. Frank couldn't believe that he was going to lose like this. Embarrassed, crying like a girl, screaming with tacks in his face. The holes in his cheeks were bleeding along with the other facial wounds. The blood looked so thick - so real - that it was almost fake. Puncture wound looked like popped zits. His right eye was swollen shut and blood seem to collect in fine pools around the base of his gum. Looking at this glorious sight - Token laughed and pulled him to this feet only bury Minio's face into the tacks again with a half-nelson bulldog. Token could've ended this match by now, but the people were loving every second of this. And really, so was he. Sean Williams hadn't had this much fun beating up a rookie since Asher Rollins. And that's saying something. "Come on, get up ya fucken poser. Get up, bitch." Token said as he rubbed Frank's face into the tacks with his foot. Token chuckled again pulling Minio to his feet. Frank couldn't even stand on his own. In boxing they would've called the bout by now. But this was the Asylum If your opponent didn't give you mercy - then it's mercy you won't get. Token was show boating now. Connecting with jabs, dancing around his opponent, kicking him in the tights-ribs-and face. Token wound a bloody knuckle back. Kissed it. Pow. Slammed it into Minio sending the challenger stumbling back into the wire mesh. Frank was barely able to hold on against the mesh. Token tapped his leg. Charged. JUMPING PUMP KICK. Minio was kicked out right out of the ring and landed on the outside to loud thud. The crowd jumped out of their seats and cheered Token on as "Halo" by Soil hit over the PA. The Champion retains. This match is over. Or was it? What really happened was the stuff movies are made of. So, of course, to Frank Minio...what actually took place was like some surreal dream. The crowd was hushed. The arena was so quiet that all you could hear was Frank Minio's breathing as he stared down at his hands. The very same hands that caught Token Weed's leg just as the kick was charging forth. The very same hands that twisted Token around so that he had his back against the mesh. The very same hands that rocked Token's face with a punch and sent the Asylum Champion flying completely out of the ring. Sorry. Former Asylum Champion. Frank looked at those hands, but really couldn't believe it. He refused to believe it. Was this another megalomaniacal attack fueled by his schizoid nature? Was this a dream? Was he dead and in heaven living out his most cherished desires? Some booed. Some cheered. But when the ref handed him the Asylum Championship, he knew that this was real. "Blood" by El-P filled the speakers again. Frank shook his head. Hunger. Luck. Fate. With these things on your side, you are capable of anything. Even becoming the Asylum champion. Winner and NEW Asylum Champion: Frank Minio via Ringout
Retribution Credits Authors:
15
Alex:
The Scar of Two Captains: Bearing Arms Atop the Building, The Scar of Two Captains: The Prize Fighter Infernos , The Scar of Two Captains: Disillusioned and Swollen-Eyed.
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