THE N WORD

Kellen Kinkade stalked slowly through the assembled crowd, his senses heightened and his reflexes sharp due largely to the fact that last time he'd been in such a crowd he'd managed to get shot twice.

"Watch it bitch!" A figure suddenly spoke up as Kinkade brushed past him "The fuck happened to your eye man... did you get cancer of the face and nearly die? I HOPE YOU DID."

Suddenly the individual found himself hovering a couple of inches off the ground... despite Kinkade looking somewhat more thin and frail than usual he'd managed to grab the man by the collar and easily elevate him off his feet.

"...and who the fuck are you then?" Kinkade snarled angrily at the man.

"I'm Carlos Sheen... you're messing with the wrong guy!" Sheen responded as he tried to free himself from Kinkade's grip.

"No YOU'RE messing with the wrong guy you faggot fuck." Kinkade snapped as he suddenly tossed Sheen through the air... sending him clattering through the floor and disrupting another bunch of fighters "You get in my way again and I'll knock you're greasy sombrero wearing Mexican head off your donkey riding spic body."

"You ain't gonna do none of that shit!" Sheen roared back "You're a coward and a liar and a fucking nigger alright so fuck you!"

"I'm no nigger." Kinkade insisted as he pointed beyond Sheen "There's a nigger for you."

And there stood Villam Ender, 40oz. of stale piss in hand and a cheap ciggarette between his lips. His reply was as blurred as his field of vision.

"Somebody call Jesse Jackson! I'm being oppressed." Villam laughed off the nigger comment and mockingly took a bow. "Why hello 'dere honkey. I'm a negroid." Another drunken bow. "At your service."

"Long time no see, V." Kinkade commented with a wry smile "Heard you got shot."

"Yeah? Well I heard you got a booster shot of protien in prison. How's the butt-baby coming along? How much longer 'till we get to see that shit-streaked, jizz-caked product of your one true joy in life: Being a wack-ass faggot. " Ender replied- shifting and flicking his ciggarette onto the ground.

"That's rich coming from some guy walking around with a scythe... is that for cutting corn?" Kinkade enquired "Oh shit that's right, it's the cotton fields you'll be using it in."

"Actually, I've been using this particular blade to scratch anti-semitic statements into Black Mustangs. By the way, for a white guy coming out of prison that's a *really* gay choice in cars." Villam responded as he raised the scythe to the side of Kinkade's face "Maybe I should scratch an "F-" into your face. You fail at concealing your homosexuality."

"Easy gentlemen." Roderick spoke up as he arrived on the scene with his gun already drawn "What seems to be the problem?"

"This guy right here." Kinkade nodded in Ender's direction "Thinks he can rape some guy in the ass on national television and still coin the term faggot as an insult... rich eh?"

"I wasn't using it as an insult." Villam responded "I was just being observant, you ARE a faggot."

Kinkade stepped forth with his teeth clenched before Roderick suddenly stepped forth with his gun dancing back and forth between both individuals.

"Alright." Roderick spoke up "Both of you back off... The Man says you can solve your problem in the cage later tonight, until then keep yourselves to yourselves unless both of you want to get shot AGAIN."

"See you around." Kinkade scoffed as he backed away.

Villam lowered his scythe and made room for a final comment as Kinkade made his exit.

"...and try not to suck any dicks on the way to the parking lot!"

GUSTO

In the Asylum, sometimes if you squint really hard at the dark spots you can see a small prick of orange burning, you can see smoke curling around a shadow. Sometimes if you put your trust in your ears, you can hear a chuckle or a wheeze when some poor twat gets their life ended in front of a hundred religiously cold eyes.

There’s a man in the shadows, that’s nothing new. What’s unusual is that he’s been left alone for so long. That nobody has even asked who he is yet, but then, maybe they already know.

With his feet up on the chair in front of him, Sebastian Christopher lounges. More like a komodo dragon than a human. Completely still sans the cigarette moving between his hand and his lips, completely quiet besides the sniffling and coughing. Spitting blood into a hanky, big black rancid lumps of lung.

Hayden Ashcroft took a seat next to Sebastian at the back of the balcony, confident and cautious, but quickly found himself roughly yanked to his feet and padded down by the sledgehammer hands of a hulking bodyguard.

“Sorry squire, allow me to apologise. But I’m a more important man than you’ve probably realised… and in a building so fucking jam-packed full of slimy cunts that’ll give your back a good stabbing first opportunity, I have to take me precautions,” Sebastian smiled.

The bodyguard looked at Hayden suspiciously when he was done, probably just to let him know he’s being watched. Hayden took a seat.

“Fucking hilarious when you look at all the weirdos packed into this rathouse tonight innit, Hayden. We’ve got some bitch that’s been cutting up her arms like goth didn’t go out of fashion back in 2000, leading around some bloke that reckons he’s a dog. Got some nazi from my neck of the woods pacin’ around with bits of metal stuck to his body. Now we’ve got an undead cockless nigger to round it all out. Reckon the chances of a TV deal are out of the fucking window, don’t you?”

Hayden didn’t say anything, just narrowed his eyes. Like he was trying to suss out this Southern boy, this cockney bloke that has been dogging him over the past few weeks. Scum turned to him, black circles like coffee-cup stains around his eyes from decades of drug abuse. One of his eyes half-shut like a stray cat with old war wounds, the kind that might stand confidently in front of cars and hiss at them before going under the wheel.

“I don’t even know your name,” Hayden finally said.

“Oh, well of course my real name, much like any other superhero, is not known to the public son. But most people in these here circles, have a penchant for calling me Scum.”

“Scum?”

“That’s right mate.”

“And why are you even here? You’ve just been sitting around in alleyways like a bush wanker the past few weeks, and now you’re back here on your own. You a punter or something?”

“Oh no, squire, not a punter. I’m a fighter.”

Scum flashed two rows of chipped, coffee-stained teeth and Hayden looked speculative. “You’re a fighter. Right.”

“That is correct son, by the virtues of modern science.”

”What do you mean?”

“I mean… these big bleary eyes of mine, they’re not like that because I’m thinking nostalgically of me dear old mam before she died, they’re because I’m doped up on something of me own concoction. Being a chemist and all. I like to call it Gusto. And I had me men call you over here today son because I was wondering if you’d be interested in testing some of it.”

Hayden had been given drugs by Scum before. Something to relax him, something to stop bleeding, something to numb the pain after his fights. In school, they told him not to take sweets from strangers. But Hayden was a man without a country here… alone, terrified of what might happen. A friendly face had taken the form of a fellow Englishman, wearing a black funeral suit held together with duct tape, with a cigarette permanently grafted to his fingers like he needs it to breathe.

“Gusto?” Hayden asked.

“Aye. It improves reaction times, numbs pain… kills fear. Makes you a machine. More than a man. You won’t find this anywhere else squire, and I’m willing to offer it to you for free… considering you’re a lad in need. And us limey fuckers need to stick together, am I right?”

“I don’t believe you. How can I trust you? This shit could be anything mate,” Hayden said.

“You need it though, don’t you? I’ve seen you in your fights… you’re confident, you’re skilled, but the fear is always there isn’t it mate. It’s there in your eyes, it slows you down ‘cause it’s in your blood… you’re like a timid fox in there, you shouldn’t be… a man of your ability should be more like a fucking bulldozer.”

Hayden contemplated. It seemed like his only ally in this place was some cockney faggot that looks like he’s clawed his way out of his own grave. The bodyguard was breathing coffee and peppermints down the back of his neck. Hayden’s brow grew moist; he needed to make a decision.

“No deal.”

Scum shrugged. “I tell you what mate, I’m willing to provide a demonstration. I’ll go down there to that cage, and I’ll take another dose of Gusto… you just fucking watch me change, squire. Watch me become more than a man. I’ll come back here and ask you the same question again afterwards… and I know you’ll make the right decision laddo.”

MEAN MACHINE

"They call me the Mean Machine baby... Mean Machine Carlos Sheen!"

Carlos Sheen was waving his cash about in May 32nd's direction again.

"What the fuck do you want now?" May demanded to know.

"A blowjob." Sheen was quick to reply "You're a hooker right?"

"No." May quickly refuted.

"Oh ok." Sheen responded before reaching into his pocket "Wanna see a polaroid of my erect penis?"

"No... thanks." May replied through gritted teeth... her patience clearly becoming tested.

"That's cool... it's on the internet anyway." Sheen smirked "I'll hook you up with the url later on."

"I think I've already got it." A devious look appeared on May's face "Smallpenis.com right?"

"I'll destroy you bitch!" Sheen raged as he stepped forth and tried to clamber over the guard rail at the side of the cage "I'm gonna climb over this railing and punch you in the face... okay? Dick face... that's what I'm gonna do."

SMACK.

Sheen never made it over the guard rail... largely due to the fact that May 32nd had smacked him directly in the face.

"You fucking bitch!" Sheen raged from the ground as he clutched his bloody nose "Someone get me a flower pot... you're fucking with the wrong guy bitch!"

"Easy people." Roderick arrived on the scene with firearm drawn "What's going on?"

"This fucking coward ass bitch punched me in my nose!" Sheen cried from the ground, still cupping his bloodied nose "I want to fight her... right after I go home and get the shotgun from under my kitchen table."

"You bring a shotgun back here and it'll be the last thing you ever do." Roderick insisted "You've been quite the nuisance tonight Mr. Sheen... go clean you're nose up and I'll speak to The Man about getting you that fight."

Sheen got to his feet and headed to the back... making time for a parting shot at May as he left.

"CUNT."

FUCKING MOTHERFUCKING FUCKED OFF

Miles Blunder sat motionlessly in a corner of the Battle Royale Arena. He held his empty Windex bottle in one hand, and the lid it came with in the other. He stared at them mystically, while the crowd of fighters far away yelled and screamed, calling on the battle at hand.

“Where the fuck you been buying those faulty products?” Metal Mickey stood above Miles with an asshole-like grin. “Tony?”

Blunder shrugged. He just looked through his ski mask back at Metal Mickey. Mickey laughed uncomfortably. He was at least expecting an answer… and seeing Miles Blunder sitting there, on layers upon layers of bounty paper towels, he kept feeling more uncomfortable by the second.

“Well… fuck.” Mickey went on. Blunder just continued to stare at his bottle in disbelief.

That’s when Mickey spotted Miles’ swiffer wet jet. “Hey, chief.” He said, pointing to it. “That fucker shoots spikes out, don’t it?”

‘The Germ Gestapo’ nodded.

“Why didn’t you use that fucker?” Mickey asked.

Blunder only shrugged. He spoke softly. “I couldn’t just drag it into the cage.” Mickey could only pick up a few words Miles said, but he pieced together the rest. “Besides, I wanted to beat Allah with my own two hands.”

“Well…” Mickey grinned, smacking a fly off his shoulder, as the metal sounds of his shoulder plate echoing through the arena. “Maybe you should use THAT fucker next time.”

Blunder nodded.

MANDO DEL LEON VS SCUM

“Gents and bents, lads and slags. I’d like you to put yer fucking hands together for the return of England’s favourite son, the man who has your daughter’s virginity in a trophy case, the owner of the largest cock on record…”

Scum dropped from the balcony into the cage, landing awkwardly on his side but still holding the megaphone in his hands. “I’m naughty but nice, hot as fire but cold as ice… vicious and delicious…”

Somebody from high on up shouted for him to keep his mouth shut and just fight. Scum got to his feet and leaned himself against the cage, still yelling into his megaphone: “the undisputed super-hard son of God, your own personal Jesus, the man with the plan…”

Mando Del Leon climbed into the cage and sat with his back against it, his hands held together in silent prayer. A good precaution to take when this is your first fight.

“See, you act like you’re not interested by me little speech, but I know you are. At the sight of my gorgeous face, there’s more soaked knickers and throbbing cocks in this place than at a party at Kevin Spacey’s house.”

No amusement from any of the spectators.

“On one side of me I’ve got some yank tossers walking around worshipping Satan like some graveyard-hanging teenage Goths – all like ‘we embrace the darkness!’ and all that bollocks – and down in the basement me old mate Mr. C is chilling out with naked men and freaky emo girls. Is this the Asylum, or did I accidentally take a wrong turn at What The Fuck junction and wind up in a David Lynch film?”

Mando got to his feet, crossed himself and removed his jacket. All over his body were gravestones, each one dedicated in loving memory of one of his family members… family members believed to have been slain by a demon known as Mr. Stick. Whether he’s rightfully superstitious or laughably insane, who knows.

“And me opponent, weighing in at who-gives-a-shit pounds… looking like a homosexual Benicio Del Toro, CAPTAIN SPIC! Seriously, who’s fucking idea was it to give me a border-hopping coke monkey as me first challenge. I could think of better ways to spend me night than grappling around with some greasy little pedo.”

Mando remained silent, a bemused look on his face. He looked skywards, and then calmly put up his dukes.

Scum stepped closer to him and started dancing. “Oh, look at me, I may be a little Mexican twat but I have so much heart, look at me, with me queer tattoos and me gay little ringjacket! Honestly… I think you’re in the wrong profession mate, from my experience with yer ma I’d be willing to wager you have no gag reflex… a new career as Peter North’s deep-throating little latin bitch might be preferable. A pretty boy like you could put on a nice curly wig and stick some socks in his bra and no fucker would know the difference anyway.”

Mando had had enough… and threw a lightning quick jab towards Scum. Scum backed up, and responded by lamping Mando over the head with his megaphone… gashing Mando’s eyebrow. The Mexican Lion shook it off and went for a low kick, but Scum stomped on his foot and again smashed the megaphone into his face.

As Mando recovered, Scum took out a little black box from the inside of his suit. “And now, allow me to introduce you to me fucking tag partner of the night… a little sweetie I like to call Gusto. Hayden…”

Scum pointed to the solemn Muay Thai fighter watching from the balcony.

“I hope you’re watching.”

Scum popped open the box and shook an electric pink pill into his hand… then chucked it down the back of his throat and gulped dryly. He closed his eyes, cracked his neck… his body became tense.

Mando, blood in his eyes, took the opening and went for a high kick, but Scum blocked it with his forearm and AGAIN smashed his head with the megaphone. Mando dropped to one knee, and Scum put the megaphone right to the Mexican’s ear…

“OI!”

“ARRRRRGGGGHHHH!”

Del Leon reeled back in pain, holding his ear… Scum chuckled to himself, dropped the megaphone and like lightning, dove straight through Mando with a jumping knee to the gut. He clinched Mando’s head, muay thai style, and started UNLEASHING rock-hard knees into his face… his nose buckling under the blows, his cheekbones denting. Mando fought back, firing off jabs into Scum’s stomach… but they seemed to have no effect, as Scum released the clinch and scored with a vicious uppercut that almost knocked the Cursed One out of the cage.

Mando though managed to duck the right hook that would come afterwards, and rolled under Scum’s arm commando-style and with some serious pizzazz. Scum turned, his eyes wide and glazed over, the smile never leaving his face…

Even as Mando leapt into the air and caught him in the throat with a spinkick.

Scum still stood, gasping yes… but seemingly in no discomfort at all, even though his throat might have been crushed by the precision blow. Mando tried to follow up with a roundhouse kick, but it was ducked and Scum swept his legs out from beneath him.

Scum stood on Mando’s throat, grinding his boot into Del Leon’s neck…

“WATER INTO WINE. FLESH INTO STEEL. This… *cough* is what SAINTS are made of, my friends. This is invincibility… part meth, part morphine… with a few touches of my own.”

Scum spun around on one foot, twisting at Mando’s throat. The Lion coughed and spluttered, blood caking between his teeth… but as Scum ventured to the other side of the cage, parading around like he’s just scored the winning goal in the world cup… Mando pushed himself to his feet, his desire far greater than the sum of his parts.

He ran at Scum from behind… but any spectator would tell you that, just from the look in Scum’s eyes, he knew that would happen.

As Mando ran towards him, Scum turned… took a fistful of his hair, and SMASHED Del Leon’s face into the rim of the cage. But he wasn’t done. With the muscles in his arm tensing and untensing, like an anaconda… he reeled Mando’s face backwards and AGAIN slammed it into the rim of the cage, cutting the Mexican kung-fu artist straight across his eyes. Blood spilled down the cage as Scum did it again, and again, and again…

Mando was done. Roderick was ready to start the count… but then, a lightbulb appeared over Scum’s head.

He dragged Mando to the cage… wrenched open his jaw, and put his open mouth over the rim.

He took a few steps back, and again, started dancing… before taking a little jump and running at Mando from behind, full-pelt.

And connecting with a boot… right to the back of Del Leon’s fucking head. The spectators gasped as Mando’s mouth exploded in a mushroom cloud of blood, the sound of his teeth falling out of the cage and hitting the concrete floor ringing through the building.

Mando fell backwards to the floor… his heart still beating, but his mouth torn open and his face a disgusting mess of hanging gristle and seething gore.

Roderick counted to ten, and it was over.

From the balcony… Hayden Ashcroft watched with wide and hungry eyes, and then sent Scum a subtle nod.

WINNER: SCUM VIA KNOCKOUT

SAVE YOUR SOUL

"Do you think it is too late my friend?"

The voice had Kellen Kinkade spinning with his fists clenched... he'd been high in the stands of the arena watching down over the fights and believed he was alone.

"Ha... you're the guy that believes Ali Baba is protecting you from harm right?" Kinkade sneered as he lowered his fists and turned back to face the fighting arena.

"I am the one who Allah protects... yes." Safiy Allah confirmed as he stepped out of the shadows.

"Word of advice..." The Jersey Devil sighed "...I'd fuck off before you find out exactly how wrong you are about that."

"As you wish." Safiy responded "But if you would answer my question before I go... I would be very grateful."

"Whatever." Kade scoffed "Just make it quick."

"Then I will ask again..." Safiy questioned "...do you think it's too late?"

"Too late for what you fucking shit hand?" Kade snapped as he turned to stare Safiy in the eye "Too late to escape an imminent suicide bombing?"

"Too late to save your soul." Safiy Allah spoke up "Allah did not breathe a pure one into you so that you could damage and blacken it as you have."

"That's nice." Kinkade stepped forth and gave Safiy a quick shove "Any second now you're gonna be able to give Allah my sincerest apologies... because you'll be paying him a visit after I stab you in the neck with your own boxcutter."

"I've come here to tell you that it's not too late to walk a more righteous path and save yourself." Safiy insisted unflinchingly "Despite your murders I-"

"Murders?" The Jersey Devil's voice went from aggressive to concerned "I don't know anything about any murders."

"They are the least of your concerns." Safiy insisted "For those you will pay a price, but it will be a price far less than the one you will pay should you continue to associate yourself with the great evil."

"Haunt?" Kade was quick to enquire.

"Steven Crowley, Mr. Haunt, call him what you will for names are merely aliases the creature adopts in order to appear more like us." Allah stepped towards Kinkade and adopted a more serious tone of voice "But one of us he is not... the creature has no soul... and if you continue to keep his company then I fear you will end up exactly the same."

"Then you got this situation all wrong." Kinkade insisted with a sinister smile "No soul? Free from all the petty emotions that cloud my judgement on a daily basis? Free of being burned by love and burdened by guilt as I have in the past? That's not something I fear amigo... it's something I covet."

"Very well." Safiy sighed as he backed away into the shadows "Just be aware... once I have dealt with him, I shall deal with you just the same."

Kinkade smirked and turned back to look over the arena.

"No you won't."

MUTTLEY VS CARLOS SHEEN

"You're fucking dead bitch." Carlos Sheen sneered at May 32nd from the cage structure as he turned to the surrounding audience "Any of you got a headboard I can punch?"

May 32nd turned to Roderick and rolled her eyes.

"You get the nod off The Man for me to grease this fucker?" She enquired.

"Got the nod." Roderick confirmed "But you're not doing the greasing."

"Shame..." May sighed "...expected as much though, Dez doing the nasty?"

"Nope." Roderick responded "He's off on business."

"Oh christ." May shook her head "Not Inmate? Cause the way that guy fights these days this fucking Sheen idiot could actually win the thing."

"Nope... it isn't Burton." Roderick answered.

"Then who?" May demanded to know.

Roderick smiled... he didn't often smile.

"Muttley."

May 32nd cringed.

"I thought he was saving that surprise for later?" She asked with a devious chuckle.

"Tonight is the night apparently." Roderick raised an eyebrow "Better get ready to clean up some serious mess."

May smiled and turned towards the cage... Muttley was chained up in a crouched position feasting on a piece of rotten burger meat. She grasped Muttley's leash before unhooking it and leading him up into the cage where Carlos Sheen was doing a little shadow boxing.

"Your ass is deader than Chloe Jones!" Sheen sneered as May approached.

"Not tonight pal." May 32nd insisted as she removed Muttley's collar and stepped cautiously out of the cage "Gotta get through poochie here first."

"I eat dogs for breakfast." Sheen remarked confidently "I killed the last one that pissed on my lawn."

Muttley moved slowly on all fours towards the middle of the cage... stopping for a moment so sniff the air before scratching at the back of his ear with his foot.

"Come on then you stupid naked cunt!" Sheen roared as he danced around Muttley in circles "Let's see what you got."

Muttley looked up and sniffed the air for a moment before turning focus back to itching his scratch.

"This is fucking ridiculous." Carlos said with a shake of the head as he moved towards the cage door "I'm not fighting this guy... he stinks like fucking shit."

"Muttley..." May spoke from ringside... causing the beasts ears to stand on end "...sic."

Sheen turned around just in time to catch the feral monster approaching on all fours "Atta boy... now be a good dog and sit." Sheen commented... sending a lazy punch down into the back of Muttley's skull. Muttley's head moved down briefly but the beast popped up like a jack in a box to a standing position.

Sheen looked up at Muttley... towering above him with his teeth bared.

"Oh shit."

CRUNCH.

"AAAAAIAAAAAAAAGHHHHHHH!" Sheen's sickening scream filled the silent arena as those watching were once again reaching for the sick bags... Muttley had lunged forth and latched onto Sheen's jugular with his teeth and didn't appear to have any intention of letting go.

"HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELP... MEEEEEAAAHHHHHH!" Carlos screamed again as the feral monster tackled him down to the canvas with its lock jawed grip still clamped down on his neck... Sheen kicked and struggled but soon a pool of blood had formed around him and started to fill the canvas and not long after that the struggle was over.

"Better give him the shot." Roderick asked May as she prepared a syringe full of sedative "Leave him any longer and you'll never get him off... the last thing we want is the fucking thing turning on us."

May complied and rushed into the cage... jabbing the needle into Muttley and stepping back as the beast continued to savage Sheen's neck.

At ringside... Metal Mickey turned to Jack McCabe.

"We don't have to fight that fucking thing do we?"

McCabe laughed and walked away, leaving Mickey looking deeply concerned.

"...DO WE!?"

WINNER: MUTTLEY VIA DEATH

GRAPEFRUITS

"heyhow'sitgoin?"

The Man's walkie talkie sparked into life.

"Roderick?" The Man removed his finger from the walkie talkie button but there came no reply "Shouldn't you be helping May deal with the mess Muttley made?"

"this isn't roderick." The voice at the other end of the line responded "at least I don't think I'm on the sex offenders list."

"Then who the fuck is this... this is a private frequency!" The Man replied unimpressed before it dawned upon him who he was probably dealing with "Is that you Haunt?"

"...this is not Haunt...pshhhhhhhhhh wheeeeeeeer...this is not Haunt..." The voice responded "...why don't you take a look in your desk drawer."

The Man placed the walkie talkie down and slid open his desk drawer, sure enough there sat an unmarked envelope.

"just a few holiday snaps I thought you might be interested in." The voice continued as The Man opened up the envelope and reached in to remove a handful of polaroids.

The first of which was the grinning bag clad face of Doritos Man.

"Listen to me you stupid fuck." The Man snarled furiously "I thought after Credible's blatant clues the other week I'd seen the fucking last of you... I know who you are you stupid prick, I know we've crossed paths before and I remember your fucking mind games from the last time."

"then you know how serious I am." Doritos Man replied confidently.

"NO... YOU KNOW HOW SERIOUS I AM YOU DICK." The Man hissed furiously as the lenses of his gas mask began to cloud up "I AM A FUCKING CRIME LORD... I AM A FUCKING MURDERER... YOU ARE A FUCKING WASHED UP 21WRESTLING HACK AND IF I FUCKING EVER SEE YOU AGAIN... BAG OR NO BAG... YOU ARE A DEAD MAN."

"big deal... you know who I am." Doritos Man's voice didn't seem even mildly concerned "you obviously haven't looked at the polaroids yet."

The Man slapped the walkie talkie down and began to flick through the polaroids... they appeared to simple be snaps of Doritos Man fooling around in different poses with the same shit eating grin plastered upon his face.

Until it became blatantly obvious to The Man where the photos had been taken.

"that's right friend." Doritos Man's voice crackled over the walkie talkie "your apartment truly is dumbfoundingly shitty."

"YOU... YOU... YOU FUCKING... YOU..." The Man almost broke the walkie talkie with his vice like grip "YOU'VE GOT SOME PRETTY BIG GRAPEFRUITS ON YOU I'LL GIVE YOU THAT."

"thanks." Came a cheerful reply from Doritos Man "i wasn't quite sure how you'd take that particular photo."

The Man paused confused for a moment... he flicked through the photos until the furious heat from within his mask almost caused the lenses on it to shatter, he'd just found a picture of himself without the mask... fast asleep... with a pair of testicles resting on his forehead.

"..." The Man picked up "THE NEXT TIME I TOUCH YOUR BALLS... I'M GOING TO BE JUGGLING THEM."

"haha... sure you are, in your mouth." Doritos Man laughed back before making his final comment before The Man smashed the walkie talkie into the wall "see you next week."

MARCH OF THE MARTYRS

"Hold up," said the muscled man at the door, "No entry."

"I don't have time for this," said the new arrival, "get out of my way."

Big Jim had been working security for this warehouse for years now, and he was good at his job. This former Hell's Angel first met the Black family years ago, and had been the most feared aspect of the Battle Royal project. He decided who would get in, who would stay out, and who - if anyone - would be used as a warm-up for the more depraved fighters.

"I said nobody goes in, freak," he repeated, pulling out a knife, "now get outta here before I put you in a hole. You hear m--"

Dez Aragon never had the patience to suffer fools, or security forces doing their job. He didn't even hesitate, flinch, or give any kind of warning that the knife was coming out of the holster in his back. The blade whipped through the air and embedded in Big Jim's ear.

"Asshole."

He pushed the door open and started to walk through the familar, damp, barely lit hallways. The Black family had thought it gave the people running the show a psychological advantage. Now, Dez didn't know about that for everyone else, but the darkness made him feel right at home.

It was late, and there was no sound in the direction of the arena, but the fact that there was someone on the door meant that the fights weren't over yet. If the setup was anything similar, the people in the crowd placing the bets had all had their photographs taken at least twice.

"Where the fuck were you?"

"Setting up a deal for The Man," replied Dez, not even looking, "why, Tyler? Couldn't handle things without Dez here to hold your hand?"

Inmate grabbed Dez by the arm and spun him around. "Now you listen to me, psycho, and you listen good... your days're numbered. Any fuckhead with a knife can have a run'a luck, and yours is runnin' out."

Dez stepped toward him, and licked the edge of his knife. "Make your move."

"Both of you - knock it off."

May 32nd stepped between them, causing each of the men to step back half a step, but they kept eye contact. "We don't need this shit, tonight sucked enough."

"Least Muttley ate," replied Inmate.

"True," laughed May, "Dez, The Man wanted me to get you soon as you were inside. How was the setup?"

"Perfect," replied Dez, "everything is a go."

May and Dez started to walk toward the basement where the Establishment had set up shop tonight, and Inmate headed for the main arena proper.

"Oh, and Tyler?"

Dez tapped the knife handle on the wall as Inmate turned back toward him. "Yeah?"

"Watch your step."

"You threatenin' me?"

"Course not," laughed Dez, "it's just a game we play... in the dark."

KELLEN KINKADE VS VILLAM ENDER

Two men stood adjacent to one another in a cage.

Once upon a time they were at the top of their respective professions, one had been a wrestling champion of the highest calibre and the other had been the most feared fighter walking planet earth.

Both of them were legends.

But tonight to the assembled audience of unsavoury characters they were merely a visually impaired man and a lunatic carrying a scythe.

"That's it... cut his fucking head off!" One of the gathered crowd roared from the ringside seating area as Villam took a wild swipe at Kinkade with his sharpened blade, most of his other previous employers had required all manor of legal wranglings and wavers in order for him to go about his killing business but with that problem out of the way he would've been more than happy to end the fight with a single blow.

It wasn't to be the case however... a large sigh of disappointment went through the audience as Kinkade dodged the would be fatal blow and shoved Villam toward the mesh structure, forcing him to drop the scythe out of the cage in order to keep himself from tumbling to a ringout defeat. Ender spun rapidly and threw a deadly right hook that an advancing Kinkade only just managed to avoid... the left that followed however nailed Kade directly in the jaw and staggered him backwards and onto the canvas with a thud.

"Fuck me." Kinkade groaned as he rubbed his jaw and struggled back up to his feet groggily... another one of those from Villam and he knew he probably wouldn't be getting back up.

Three rising Villam knees ensured that Kinkade's return to a standing position wasn't to be a pleasant one, each blow lifted the slimmed down Kinkade into the air and knocked the wind out of him before Ender finally saw fit to grab him by the scruff of the neck and the belt of his trousers in order to toss him skull first into the cold mesh of the cage structure... The Jersey Devil slumped to a seated position as blood began to weep from a wound in his forehead.

Villam was quickly on the case once again, raining down on Kinkade with punches and kicks that The Jersey Devil desperately attempted to block and shield himself from... after about a minute of solid battery by Villam he paused to reach down and drag the beaten Kinkade to his feet. Kade however had other plans and in a desperate manoeuvre reached up and grabbed Villam by the collar before throwing all his weight backwards... the result was Kade falling to the canvas and Villam's face connecting directly with the steel rim of the cage on the way down.

Ender's head snapped back with a jet of blood streaming from his eyebrow where the steel rim had made a deep impact, as Villam tried to wipe the blood from his eyes, Kinkade quickly scrambled to his feet in order to try and get on the offensive, but it was once again Villam that was quickest off the mark. Kinkade rushed forth with a wild right hand but Villam was quick to duck it... the momentum of the punch spun Kade away from Villam and the momentum of Ender's vicious kick between the shoulder blades once again send Kellen toppling down to the mat with a hefty thud.

A few seconds later Villam was once again trying to bring matters to a close, driving down more accurate punches that scraped and grazed across Kinkade's face and head as he desperately tried to dodge the blows. Villam reached forth and choked Kade around the throat as he attempted to keep his head still and land a deadly knockout shot... but before Villam could draw back his other fist he found himself in trouble, almost like a boa constrictor The Jersey Devil had tangled himself around Villam's arm and almost locked in a triangle hold, Ender struggled to pull his arm free but suddenly realized Kade's exact motives for locking in such a hold.

CRUNCH.

"MOTHERFUCKER!" Ender roared at the sound of his shoulder being yanked out of place... Kinkade was attempting to dislocate it in a desperate attempt to damage his punching ability and gain the upper hand.

POP.

"YOU FUCKING FAG ASS PIECE OF SHIT!" Villam roared as his shoulder finally popped out at the joint... he swung back using his free hand to smack Kinkade in the mouth twice and bust his lip in a shower of claret. Kinkade released the hold and rolled away as Ender reeled back a few steps clutching his injured shoulder.

CRUNCH.

An accurate kick from a now standing Kinkade was blatantly aimed into the shoulder Villam was nursing... Ender staggered away as Kinkade once again struck, twisting Villam into an armlock before rushing across the canvas to almost bulldog Villam's shoulder into the steel Asylum rim. Without releasing his grip on Villam's arm, Kinkade twisted it into a hammerlock before taking Ender down with a leg sweep that saw his whole bodyweight come crashing down on his injured shoulder and arm.

Kinkade circled around the downed Villam in the same way that a vulture would fly around a prospective prey... as soon as Villam had turned over and attempted to push himself to a vertical base Kinkade swooped down, nailing his shoulder with a hard kick that saw Villam pulling it into his body with a grimace, Kade quickly set about stamping on the hand that Villam had on the canvas and the second both of Villam's hands were off the ground, The Jersey Devil finished of proceedings by catching Ender right in the face with an upwards boot that snapped back his head and sent him clattering backwards to the mat.

Roderick initiated a count from the ringside but it only reached four before a bloodied and angry looking Villam was back on his feet, narrowly avoiding a Killing Spree spear courtesy of Kinkade that appeared a clear attempt to knock Villam out of the cage. Having stepped aside Kinkade's tackle attempt, Villam watched as Kade ran head first into the mesh of the cage before turning dazed right into a One Winged Angel Kiss leaping uppercut that nearly knocked his head clean off his shoulders.

THUD.

Kellen Kinkade hit the canvas.

"FUCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCK."

Villam Ender reeled back... he'd snapped his shoulder back into place prior to hitting Kinkade and the experience hadn't been all that pleasant.

Roderick started a count that reached seven... during that time Kinkade had been staring at the stars and Villam had been reeling back clutching his shoulder in agony, if Villam had caught Kade with a punch from his good arm then The Jersey Devil would certainly have been in no state to defend himself from further attack, but the time Ender had spent grimacing and cursing at the heavens had allowed a groggy Kade to struggle back to his feet and beat the ten count.

"Fuck this shit." Villam sneered as he reached out of the cage... a second later he was winding back a steel chair that he'd acquired, last time Asylum had held an event a very literal vision of life being muted in utero had been witnessed by those present. Villam's intention was to make them witness Life Muted In Utero in a way only he could truly deliver.

Ender knelt down as the still dazed and confused Kinkade approached... as The Jersey Devil came within distance of the killer blow Ender sprung and swiped the chair right at Kade's neck, the surprise however was the fact that he hit nothing but thin air. Kinkade had read the move and taken a couple of steps back and as Villam sprung forth, Kinkade darted forward and caught him around the waist... lifting him clean off his feet and carrying him several strides before driving him spine first into the cold steel Asylum rim with his Killing Spree spear.

Villam's head snapped back sickeningly against the mesh and steel as he slumped down to the canvas... it was unclear whether or not Ender was conscious but it didn't matter because the blow was sufficient enough to allow Kinkade the couple of seconds required to drag Villam up and dump him unceremoniously out of the cage and down onto the cold concrete floor below.

Silence filled the Battle Royale arena.

It was a silence that slowly grew into various disgruntled moans of distress and disgust, eventually the sound of betting slips and tickets being torn apart was deafening as they rained down upon the victorious Kellen Kinkade.

The favourite it seemed certainly hadn't been victorious on this occasion.

"You pieces of shit seem surprised to see me win, but given the company I'm keeping these days..." Kinkade roared above the angry voices of the mob as he clambered out of the cage made his exit "...you'd better get used to it."

WINNER: KELLEN KINKADE VIA RINGOUT

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