shit happens

This is the night, though, where it all begins again. Rivalries commence. Team work is pivotal. And deception is everywhere. All another day in this unholy battleground, for the Uncivil War.

Team Campbell, the powerhouse as of late, was just about to have two of its integral members in a battle to determine who will face against the Asylum Champion, in the cancer known as Token Weed. Villam Ender and Pointless, also facing the independent force that has come to be recognized as Osyrus.

One of those members, Pointless, as well as his new girlfriend and care-taker, Nurse, walked through the halls of the Show with a look of suspense and warning. Josiah held Nurse’s hand tight in his, careful not to let her go or to let her out of his sight. Now that he had her, in a place like this, he knew he could never let anything happen to her.

Brushing a blonde lock out of her eyes, she turned her head to her man and let off a slight smile. As Josiah turned to look at her, she quickly looked away, giggling.

“What?”

“Nothing, I’m just starting to miss this whole “shit happens” break...”

At first, Josiah’s expression read that of a confused man. He didn’t know what she was talking about, until she looked at him with tantalizing eyes.

“Oh..... Ohhhhh.” He said, with a large grin. His pace grew faster, as they hurried towards his locker room for some lovin’, when he turned right in to his Team Campbell partner, a face he hasn’t seen in a while.

Asher Rollins.

“Hello, Ash, long time...”

"Too long, but my psyche's needed this." Asher stroked his chin, soaking in this newly formed... odd couple.

Josiah merely let out a scoff at that comment. "I've been singing that same tune for months."

"Then maybe you just need to get away. All I needed was to sit in my hole of an apartment, write, and rest."

"All I need is right here in front of me. Never said I wanted to leave, I just needed a break. I got mine, we all did. Time to get back to work."

"Well, I'm glad you've got what you needed. There are a few things I must work out before returning, but I hope to come back soon enough."

The two basked for a moment in their small silence, while Nurse took to Josiah’s arm.

"Joe wants to see you, though. He made it sound relatively important."

"Relatively?"

"I don't know what holds relevance here anymore and, to be frank, I'm not ready to, either. I just know that you need to speak with him."

"Alright. Thanks, Ash, I'll see you later."

"I hope so."

With that, Asher continued on his path down the hall, and the duo of Josiah and Nurse continued on theirs, with a slight change of destinations. While Pointless thought about what Joe needed to say to him, Nurse couldn’t help but feel angered. She was getting antsy, and as Josiah has grown to learn, Nurse isn’t very slow and careful when she’s antsy.

In her office, she stared down at her clipboard, a bit wary of the first person to take advantage of the therapy session in weeks. He was no stranger, to be honest, and as Leann peered out of the eyeholes of her ridiculous mask, the larger-than-life Omar Christensen -- more commonly known as OSYRUS -- was gazing down at his shiny prize.

His newly-won Television Championship, to be more specific. It was cradled in his arms, like a baby.

"So, Omar, I'm glad you've come in today. Shall we begin?" Leann spoke up nervously.

Osyrus sat up on the red velvet couch, grunting as he did so. Disparagingly he glanced over Natalia before he smirked to himself. The Asylum wrestler leaned closer as he looked at the psychiatrist, into her intuitive eyes. Piercing them with his own set of eyes that enemated raw animosity.

It's always been the way Osyrus has been.

"Go ahead."

Leann nodded her head slightly, before looking back down at her clipboard. "Now, Omar, you've been in theAsylum for almost a year now, and you've slowly risen through the ranks. May I ask, though, why did you decide to grace theAsylum with your presence? Why did you decide to charter over to untested territory?"

Osyrus sniggered. Then shook his head, not quite believing the question.

"You must have a set underneath that skirt, Leann, to ask me a question like that. But I’ll humour you and myself. The sole reason why I have decided to grace the Asylum with my presence is because I needed a new challenge. Although I am one of the best wrestlers the industry has ever seen; one of the most decorated athletes to come along in the last five years, I have accomplished almost every thing desired in my career.

A multiple time champion in all varied divisions, numerous time award winner and Hall of Fame inductee -- there wasn’t anything I could accomplish on wrestling circuit, nor was there any individual I couldn’t defeat. I needed something to spark my interests; and when Joe Campbell said that he required my services…I told him I would sleep on it." Osyrus replied matter-of-factly, returning his gaze to his TV Title.

Leann opened her mouth to launch right into the next question, but the man known as 'Asar' held his hand up.

He wasn't done. Not by a long shot. "Fact of the matter, Leann, an excellent wrestler could beat a fighter any day of the fucking week -- and it shows since I defeated the undefeated Asher Rollins for the Television Championship rather easily. In addition to that; what better way to prove to the world that I am the fucking greatest wrestler in the universe, than to grapple with fighters where there are no set of laws.

Do you really want to know, though, why this fighting organization repulses me?

It’s because tA’s history is enriched with wrestling; yet Joe Campbell turns his back upon it. Mr Coke-nose encourages English asshole slash yanks to burn down the sport that I love.

It would very easy for me to douse theAsylum in kerosene on a pay per view or on one of their crappy shows... but like a cockroach; I know it would somehow survive.

But tA could never recover if another wrestler stole away another one of their prized championship... and I intend to do that. No matter whom the champion may be at the time; including that dick-less Villam Ender."

Leann Berkovic (aka Natalie Quinston, but nobody else knows that) was intrigued. The gleam in her eyes, although somewhat concealed by her mask, was evident and Osyrus chortled again as he leaned back in the sofa. Leann scribbled down furiously on the clipboard, digesting the arrogance that exuded out of Osyrus.

It ain't arrogance if you can back it up, though, correct?

Biting down on her lower lip, still somewhat shaking due to the massive frame of her 'patient' for the day, Leann crossed her legs. Something which definitely caught Osyrus's eye, even more so than his Television Championship.

"That's very interesting, Omar. And since you mentioned him, I'd like to talk about Villam Ender. You and him have been at each other's throats for quite a while now, and there was even a rather violent showdown between the two of you in February, at the Vicious Cycle event. My question is, what was running through your head days after Villam Ender brutalised you with a staple gun and such? How did you feel about what Villam did to you?" Leann probed, now hopefully wishing for Osyrus to touch on Nicole Carson.

The man known as 'Asar', however, wasn't keen on talking about anybody but himself.

Especially if anybody meant Villam Ender. His eyes visibly widened at the mention of the God of Fight's name, and his fists clenched. Leann gulped, wondering if she'd touched on a potentially sensitive issue.

"How do I feel about what Ender did to me? Do you have a fucking brain in between those weird looking ears of yours?

How would you feel if I shoved that pen your using into one of bodily cavities until it bleed, then got off on it as I enjoyed your pain and suffering. Hopefully you can answer that question for yourself... if not, I’ll be glad to demonstrate. Torture 101 and Villam is the first one on the attendance list.

Just sure to remember that what he did to me will be nothing compared what will I inflict on the ‘God of Fight’ when the chance for revenge crops up TONIGHT. And, you know what, bitch?

Your little inquiries are starting to piss me off."

Beads of sweat trickled down Leann's forehead, in reaction to the harsh and condescending tone Osyrus had just taken up with her. And, the officie was air-conditioned, mind you. In hindsight, Leann now thought that she probably shouldn't have started on Villam Ender, and instead got the ball rolling with Nicole Carson.

Too late for that now, Leann pondered, and she fiddled about with her clipboard, trying to keep her composure.

"I apologise for that, Omar. I'll move on to another topic." Leann stated, her voice unwavering, as Osyrus continued to stre a hole through her. "Now we all know that you have a passion for the wrestling industry, and nowadays, competing in theAsylum. What are some of the other things you are passionate about, though?"

Osyrus stifled his laughter, and placed his TV Title on his shoulder.

The line of questioning had spiraled out of control, as far as he was concerned. He was finding this whole therapy thing to be absolutely absurd, and his negative body language attested to that.

Leaning forward again, 'Asar' fired back: "More of these personal questions, huh? Are you falling in love with me already? So now you want to know everything about me? A body this extraordinary does not come easy, so you can guess what it takes to achieve and maintain it.

Another hobby - so to speak - is crippling people. The lovers Cheno and Carson know that all too well... but I have gone easy on them. If I really wanted to end their Asylum careers; they would have to change their address to their nearest hospital, after ‘the personification of talent’ paralyzes them from head to toe.

And lastly, my favorite thing to do is to win championships. To prove that I really am better than everyone else without a shadow of a doubt."

Leann Berkovic frowned. This wasn't what she was hoping for, as far as answers went.

She desired something more left-field of theAsylum and this industry. Scribbling down notes on her clipboard, Leann felt that the 'Personification of Talent' was too obsessed with wrestling/fighting, and she had an all-new question ready to fire at Osyrus. Trouble was, she didn't know how he'd react.

Which was why she leaned back further, almost burying herself in the chair.

"Alright. I can see that you're a very antagonistic man, Omar. I'm not passing judgment, just so you know, but you do seem like you go out of your way to get yourself into situations where you can use your fists to good effect. This leads me to ask -- have you had a particularly difficult upbringing? For instance, where are you from? Did the neighbourhood you resided in have an effect on shaping and molding you, in your opinion?" the therapist continued, crossing her fingers.

Osyrus was silenced. Stunned. Angered, even.

Then he stood up, sneering down at the therapist, who immediately thought of the worst.

'Asar', however, remained docile. "That’s it. Enough. I have had all that I can stomach. Find another guinea pig for little experiments and sessions, cunt. I'm out."

And without raising his fist, much to Leann's relief, Osyrus stormed out of the office. He knew a therapy session would be tricky, but all he wanted to do was bask in his glory and check if the rumours of the resident therapist being an easy babe was true. To no avail, on the last count.

Removing her mask, Natalie shifted out of her Leann persona and breathed for air, looking down at her clipboard. Shaking her head, a thin smile crept onto her face, reviewing the results of a most interesting therapy session.

"Definitely got to trick him into another session soon."

He lost a wager or two during the last couple weeks, and needs money to pay off some ‘debts’.

“Look you need to get me a fight. I’ve gotta be on this card.”

A woman was standing in front of him holding a pile of papers. She looked busy and nervous at the same time. Almost as though she was intimidated but didn’t want that known.

“Look Inmate, you’ll have to hang on. The Show, well, there’s a lot going down tonight, you shouldn’t have left this until the last minute.”

Inmate looked strung out on some sort of drugs. He looked like shit, as usual. He seemed very fidgety too. “OK, but you’ve gotta try, I need to get out there.”

The woman looked up at him and stopped looking through hers papers. “Well why don’t you just go out there and challenge someone. I’m sure somebody would be up for a PPV fight.”

Then she left the camera shot. Inmate was left standing.

“You know that’s not a bad idea.”

The Cambodian Femme Fatale looked up from the newspaper she was immersed in and smiled at Natalie, who threw her 'therapist mask' down onto the round glass table and plopped down beside Fejona on the black leather couch. The two had reunited after an apparent split due to the loss to Splink at the Uncivil War PPV. Jade clocked Fejona with a chair, seemingly by accident, before deciding she wasn't going to rectify that.

And hence, her allegiance with the Woman's Champion ceased to exist anymore. Along with that, Jada had claimed that Natalie Quinston had also decided to break away from Fejona's side, insisting that she was being held down.

All part of the plan. Jada found that out last week, after having been cheated out of a possible victory in a fight with Fejona Min. With the Women's Title on the line. When it was all said and done, the Enchanting Delinquent and her assistant had once again managed to pull the wool over everyone's eyes.

"First session in weeks and you're already complaining?" Fejona whispered to Natalie, leaning in toward the latter as she did so. Quinston frowned for a moment, wondering why Min was whispering.

Then she took a longer look at the two men that were seated across her, on the other side of the table.

Alan Abel Wade. Keith Anal-Wedged.

Collectively known as... WE IZ SPECIAL.

Sighing, Natalie leaned back and stifled a yawn. "To be honest, having Osyrus as the patient was pretty nerve-wrecking. The man's a psycho, obsessed with violence and such. I think he must have had some sort of incident when he was younger, but, I don't want to talk about that now. Why are these two jokers here?"

Fejona chuckled as Quinston pointed to Keith and Alan, who were playing a Maltese-version of Strip Poker. Where nobody really strips, but has to add on more layers of clothing if they lose a game. First person to get overwhelmed loses the series, winner gets to strip and dance naked.

Ahh, those crazy Maltese people. What WILL they think of next?

"They just came to tell me about their escapades over the last week, and also to confirm plans for the annihilation of Splink. We've got to have a break against them some time soon, and Keith & Alan actually have a plan. Was just waiting for you to return, as a matter of fact." Fejona responded, flicking strads of her ethereal body of hair out of her eyes.

With a raised eyebrow, Natalie Quinston returned her gaze to We Iz Special.

Wondering. Thinking.

Could they really help? They haven't been much assistance thus far, Quinston pondered to herself.

Noticing her assistant's hestitation and lack of confidence in Keith's and Alan's abilities, Fejona Min cleared her throat, catching the attention of the Maltese Falcons. They placed their cards down, Alan taking it upon himself to arrange them back into a neat stack, before they turned to face their 'employers'.

"Okay, so, we can begin?" Keith asked, noticebaly excited.

Fejona and Natalie both nodded, the latter less enthused than her cohort. Keith didn't seem in mind. "Alright, goody. Here's the plan. Splink may have their friends and such protecting them now, but we have a CUNNING plan to finally get those titles off of them. It's great!

Basically, we shall go out and use our power to force Splink to defend the titles at D-Day. Which means that at the PPV, Fejona and Natalie, you two have your chance! And, believe me, there will be no way at all that Splink will beat you two next week. Alan swears on my life, and I think you can take that all the way to the bank!"

The Cambodian Femme Fatale nodded, grinning, obviously enjoying what Keith had to dispense. It was music to her ears, actually, and she turned to Natalie Quinston. Who was less than assured of Keith's ramblings, mainly because she still didn't believe the Maltese Falcons could actually pull this plan off.

"Are you sure it'll work this time? You guaranteed us a victory at Uncivil War."

Taking Natalie's curt tone into stride, Alan now spoke up: "We is positive. We did not factor in the group of swanky gypsies and hobos at the PPV, but this time, we spent THREE DAYS plotting this out. You will win the Team Titles next week, ma'am."

Quinston cocked her head to face Fejona, who continued smiling. Shrugging her shoulders, Natalie threw her hands up, consigning to leave the entire operation in the hands of We Iz Special. Keith and Alan squealed, trading high-fives, while Fejona Min leaned back and put her feet up on the glass table.

Everything was going according to plan, it seemed. Still, she was wary about uncontrollable circumstances.

Circumstances which were pesky, and up to know, had reared its ugly head and ruined her prior attempts to cheat Splink out of their deserved prize. Regardless, Fejona thought dreamily as she stared at Keith, she had a good feeling about this one.

KNOCK
KNOCK
KNOCK

"Wonder who that could be?" Fejona asked, confused, turning to Natalie. Quinston had already gotten up to answer the door, while Keith and Alan began to partake in their Strip Poker game, Maltese-style.

Natalie Quinston frowned as she opened the door. "Yes, what is it?"

The scrawny official who stood on the other side of the door with a clipboard under his arm fidgeted for a while, nervous around the curvacious assistant to Fejona Min. "Umm, I just wanted to inform Ms Fejona that she has an opponent tonight, for her Women's Title. Angelica Dawson has returned, it seems, and she's immediately demanded for a fight against Fejona for the title."

Quinston sniggered, waving the official away with her hand, before closing the door. Turning, she saw Fejona already standing, hands on hips, not looking too pleased.

She hadn't expected to fight at all.

"When we wanted her, she was missing. And now she shows up, just like that?" Min growled, exapserated. Natalie shrugged her shoulders again, not looking all too bothered at the moment. The session with Osyrus, with some reason or another, had really sapped her energy, and she was rather moody now.

Fejona Min, meanwhile, had a bad feeling in the bit of her stomach.

Something about Angelica's mysterious and rather abrupt return irked her...

"Another long night ahead."

When he entered, he saw that Joe, sitting in his desk, was staring in to a small desk mirror, admiring his own mug, with coke resin all over his nose.

“Who’s a pretty princess? You’re a pretty princess!”

“Ugh, Joe?”

“FUCK YOU SANCHO!”

Joe, upon seeing the tattooed menace, threw the mirror at him. Josiah ducked, as the mirror collided with the door behind him, shattering in to various pieces.

“What the fuck, Joe!??”

“Oh, sorry mate. You know how things go around here...”

Josiah pretended to know what his boss was talking about. Over the break, it seemed, Joe didn’t get any sleep. The purple bags under his eyes have been shaded over and over, becoming a collage of his time spent awake.

“Yeah, you wanted to see me?”

“Aye, that I did.”

Almost as if his hand had been on it the whole time, Joe pulled out from under his desk, a large portrait of another superstar here in tA.

Citizen.

“You know this fellow?”

“Of course.” Josiah’s reply was callous.

“Well, take him out. We don’t need him and his gonzo revolutions or his wacked out commie ideas! Take his arse out!”

Josiah was confused with his new found duties.

“...why?”

“Because Villam said so! This is war, soldier, and if you can’t do your duty, then you should be discharged!”

From under his desk, Joe removed what appeared to be a World War I era German Helmet, complete with the spike sticking out the top. Joe put it on his head, then taking out an old German era pistol.

“HEIL, BITCH. AND FUCKING KILL SOMEONE OR BE KILLED!”

Three shots in the air, and Josiah dove out of the room before he could be hurt.

As he tried to get away from his boss, he could only wonder how much Joe had to pay for damages like this in every single arena they went to, and, why he had to kill Citizen.

It wasn’t like he could say no, or anything. This is Josiah’s nature.

You take orders, you do what you’re told.

At any costs, you get the job done.

Angelica Dawson? vs Fejona Min ©

Out came Fejona Min from behind the curtains. Another week, another title defense. She'd laid down the gauntlet -- any female competitor from anywhere in the world was welcome to challenge the Cambodian Femme Fatale for the Asylum's Women's Championship. And with only a short while removed from one of the more intense title defenses against Jada Marie Hunter, Fejona found herself having to put her dukes up again.

This time, against an apparent returning fighter. More of a wrestler, actually.

Fejona -- decked out in a dark red sleeveless tanktop, with tight blue jeans and sans footwear -- quickly plodded down the ramp and climbed into the cage, looking rather flustered. Perhaps she didn't have the desire to fight on the night, as she kissed her Women's Title and handed it to the official. Whatever it was, the crowd were heaping abuse onto the Cambodian Femme Fatale, making their feelings for her known.

Virtually everyone despised her. 'Cept for some of the men, of course.

Cracking her knuckles, Fejona Min kept her eyes transfixed on the curtains, waiting for them to be shoved aside. She was still a bit confused as to why her opponent had chosen this night to return, and more importantly, challenge her. Didn't make much sense to the Enchanting Delinquent.

Like she had any say in this matter anymore.

The lights went out, and the majority of the crowd sqeualed, in excitement. Anybody that was daring to go up against Fejona Min was deemed a saviour in their eyes, but, this was someone that was rather deranged. At least, that was the last impression everyone got when they witnessed her slow descent into insanity a few months ago, before disappearing.

Moments later, the lights came back on.

Fejona Min was puzzled, since no theme music was playing, and nobody came out from the back. Still, the fans cheered.

Then, the Cambodian Femme Fatale caught on.

Turning around, Angelica Dawson half-grinned, her bangs hanging over her eyes. Her slouched posture made Angelica look all the more menancing, and before Fejona could even open her mouth to verbally lash out at her opponent, Dawson struck with a powerful European uppercut, flooring the Women's Champion.

The fight was on.

* DING DING DING *

Angelica Dawson was now mounted atop Fejona Min, alternating between harsh (bitch)slaps with the right palm and forearm strikes with the left arm. Hey, that sorta rhymed. Anyways, Fejona desperately tried to get her hands up to block the onslaught, but Angelica -- who hadn't been seen since Persecution 2004 -- was intently focused on wearing down the champ as quickly as she could.

As she paused and leaned back to bask in her self-induced glory, though, the Cambodian Femme Fatale struck. She raised her legs forward, pulling it towards her body, before thrusting both of them back, striking Angelica's shoulders. This forced Dawson to be forced back, and pinned down to the mat. Fejona instantly rolled forward, now in a mounted position.

Which suited her just fine.

She exploded with a barrage of close-range jabs, raining down on Angelica's face. Dawson couldn't even get her hands to shield her face, but almost as if she was anticipating it, Min changed her gameplan. She grabbed a handful of hair, and began to viciously beat Angelica's head down onto the canvas.

Yanking it up, shoving it down. Yanking it up, shoving it down.

"Where were you when I wanted to build an army, eh?" the Cambodian Femme Fatale mocked her opponent, rising to her feet. Fejona made sure to cup her hands around Angelica Dawson's calfs. Grinning, Fejona leaned backwards, letting herself fall down to the canvas.

And in the process...

... She flung Angelica Dawson over her head. To add to that, Dawson's head came crashing down onto the rim of the cage. Quite coincidental, wouldn't you say? Well, the crowd seemed to think so too, but they jeered nonetheless. Dawson collapsed to the canvas, her face pretty much swelling up at an alarming rate.

Fejona chortled as she swaggered over to Angelica and pulled her up, before immediately driving her knee into the former wrestler's ribs. Angel doubled over in pain, Fejona struck her with a falling roundhouse kick.

The official cringed, looking down at his feet, as his eyes set down upon a tooth of Angelica's. Fejona Min pulled herself up and pushed strands of her her out of her face, ordering the official to start the count.

So, that's what he did;

ONE.

TWO.

THREE.

FOUR.

FIVE.

Na, Dawson was back up.

Fejona was somewhat surprised that Angelica wasn't busted open yet, but regardless, the Women's Champ charged ahead, looking for a shoulder barge. Dawson was back down in a blink of an eye, but swiftly enough, she clambered to her feet, and ducked a spinning heel kick from the Enchanting Delinquent.

With a growl, Angelica Dawson lashed out with a spinning heel kick of her own that knocked Fejona back, and a standing dropkick followed seconds later.

The result?

Fejona Min's lower spine had the chance of meeting the meshing of the cage, and her entire body almost careened over the rim and out of the cage. The Callous Slayer was alert enough to hold on to the rim, and Angelica Dawson as she kipped to her feet, and stomped over to Fejona, eager to end the fight right then and there.

Angelica's face, meet Fejona's right foot.

THWACK

Probably the most wicked front thrust kick. Typical out of someone who's had experience in Muay Thai. With her opposition reeling, Fejona Min caught her breath and hopped forward, taking Angelica Dawson with a gigantic spear takedown. Consider, firstly, that Fejona is a woman, and the fact that Angelica was out cold on the canvas following the impressive spear was just frightening. The Women's Champion wasn't quite done, however.

She pulled Dawson back up and struck with a rapid pair of roundhouse kicks to the side of the ribs, before taking a step back and aiming for a jumping sidekick. Angelica chose the right moment to evade it with a quick duck, blasting Fejona Min with yet another European uppercut as the latter turned around.

Thereafter, a round of straight kicks to Min's lower abdominals was finished off with a jumping swinging roundhouse kick, once again knocking the Enchanting Delinquent into the cage wall, the top of Fejona's head bouncing off the steel meshing.

Seconds later, Angelica Dawson found herself on the end of some scattered jeers. She'd dragged herself over to the Women's Champion and slapped on a rear waistlock, before planting her with a rather sloppy German suplex. Dawson ignored the jeers and as she stood to her foot, brought both her feet down onto the back of Fejona's head in a good ol' fashioned stomp.

That oughtta do it. Angel certainly thought so;

ONE.

TWO.

THREE.

FOUR.

FIVE.

SIX.

SEVEN.

EIGHT.

... No. Not so fast.

Fejona panted as she pressed her palms down onto the canvas and pushed up, struggling to her feet. Angelica Dawson was waiting patiently, and with a thin smirk, she swung her right foot outward, almost chopping Fejona down to her knees. Angel now adopted a karate stance, sending a myriad of kicks to different parts of Min's body, systematically wearing her out.

Spine. Kidney area.

Back of the knees. The arse, even.

Side of the head. Side of ribs.

Upper chest?

Why the hell not, Angelica thought.

Despite all this, Fejona gritted her teeth and forced herself to regain a vertical balance, with Angelica carefully plotting her next move. The Cambodian Femme Fatale groggily turned around and Dawson drove a downward thrust kick to the left knee, causing the Obstinate Assassin down to her knees.

Then, the buzzsaw kick came!

... But, Fejona Min somehow managed to get both her arms up to parry the kick to the side, following up with a swift crunching jab to the lower abdominals of Angelica. This was accompanied with a rising uppercut moments later, and suddenly, Angelica Dawson found herself backpedalling.

Not good news for her.

Fejona, however, remained half-crouched on the mat. Smirking at Angelica Dawson, who finally drew blood; broken nose.

Cursing silently, Angelica stomped forward and swung her arm at a slowly rising Fejona Min, who majestically deployed a somersault backflip to evade the move. The fans gawked as the Cambodian Femme Fatale landed on her feet, then watched as she somersaulted herself forward again.

Dawson was confused, yes. Especially when Fejona curled herself into a ball in midair.

But a mere nanosecond later, Fejona's left leg thrusted out, catching Dawson in the sternum. Her right foot swung upward like a pendulum on the rise, catching Angelica right in the jaw and causing her head to jerk backwards extremely awkwardly due to the sheer force involved.

One word: Avengement.

Fejona landed on her back, but quickly kipped to her feet, arms raised. Angelica was out cold, though.

The count was administered.

ONE.

TWO.

...

TEN.

It was pretty academic. No need for the drama. Fejona Min raised her arms in the air, soaking in the joy of another victory earned, as the official called for the bell. The usual jeering and hissing laced with extreme hatred resumed at full force, but the Cambodian Femme Fatale dismissed it, sneering down at the immobile Angelica Dawson.

The official handed Fejona back her Women's Title, who collected it with a glare, and promptly exited the cage.

Another night, another fight.

Another win for Fejona 'the Cambodian Femme Fatale' Min.

Villam leaned further back in a folding chair and shrugged. "Nothin' man."

Pointless wasn't convinced. “You know what; I've bet you've come in here to fuck with my head. You know, "psyche me out", shit like that. You know you're stuck in-between a rock and a hard, but very stupid space. But face it, Osyrus and I are going to dismantle you and then I'm doing to shit down Osyrus's throat and ride my way to Asylum Championship glory. It's going to fucking happen and you aren't going to be able to stop it. Deal with it."

Ender sat up straight. "Well, no shit....

...and you figure Osyrus is just going to be a pushover? Bitch, Osyrus doesn't need your help to beat me. And you know what? I bet he's thinking the same thing. You know how confused he is...he's the personification of your sexuality."

Ender just watched that one go right over Pointless's head.

"Fuck you, Villam. You're not going to fuck with my head. That attempt was gay." Josiah said waving the joke away. Villam stood up and started to walk around Josiah to leave the locker room.

"Well, Whatever. I really don't care who wins. Just as long as it's somebody from Team Campbell." Villam said.

"Wait. What? After all that shit from before? After screwing me out of the title TWICE?" Pointless countered.

The eunuch turned around and smiled. "The opportunity to smash your dreams into a thousand bloody bits is going to always be there, cumstain. But, I can't have Osyrus and Token pulling some gay fag-fest plan on Campbell, either."

"Then what the point of even coming in here? I'm not going to side with you just to get rid of Osyrus. That would just a trick too." Pointless pointed out.

Villam turned back around. "Maybe. But, the only reason I came in here was to wish you luck. If I get taken out, then you *have* to win. For Team Campbell."...with that he turned the corner and left the echo of his footprints through out the hallway.

Josiah just shook his head.

"Bullshit."

“Look you weasel, it’d better play. That’s the song I want to go out to the cage with!” Inmate was angered. He knocked over a pile of tapes as he spoke.

“OK, OK. It’s done. Take it easy. I can play whatever music you want. Don’t worry.” The man seemed to be complying 100% but that didn’t seem to be getting thru to Inmate.

“You’d better fucking play it. If you don’t, you be my victim out in that cage tonight.”

Inmate turned away. He had made sure that the song would be played, whatever oddball song it would be. And just as he was getting worked up to go through the curtains and the sound guy was ready to start the music, a hand touched Inmate’s shoulder.

“Hold on Inmate,”

Inmate turned swiftly, prepared to send the blunt ends of his fingers into the throat of whoever it was. But that wasn’t necessary. It was a smaller man than he, a much smaller man. With glasses even.

“I heard you’re going to challenge someone tonight.” Was all that the man said. Then he pushed his glasses up a bit further onto his nose.

“I was going to yeah. Why?” the Inmate stood, wondering if this was the man sent to collect the money he owed to the Group.

“Well I have a new fighter to the Asylum, looking for a fight, that’s all. He has no one to compete against, and since you are going to issue a seemingly open ended challenge for anyone, I thought you’d except the fight a bit early.”

Inmate thought for a second. If he knew whom he was fighting, he could wager more money because he’d actually know whether or not he could win.

“Deal. I’ll fight him.” Inmate didn’t even give a second thought a to who the fighter was or whether he was some beast pulled from the depths of hell. All he needed to know was that the fighter was new to the Asylum, and if they were a newbie… Inmate would find a way to beat them.

“Well then, I guess my fighter will see you at D-Day.” Then the man walked away.

“Hey fuckface,” said Inmate to the sound guy, “don’t bother with my music, I ain’t gonna need it tonight.”

And that was that, after all the fuse he’d put up, Inmate let the sound guy off the hook. Good thing though, if something… anything… had gone wrong, no doubt the sound guy would be laid up for at least a couple days after Inmate finished with him.

Asylum fighters…

…such tough guys.

Without a doubt, no debate needed. But...

That doesn't mean that Campbell wasn't a powerful man. And when powerful men call you to their offices to discuss "the future of the Asylum."...you can't help but think there's a juicy deal in it for you somewhere. Osyrus would just use Campbell to extenuate his greatness.

Simple enough. Opportunity was knocking.

knock, knock, knock

He was just knocking back.

"Come in, mate." a muffled voice said.

"What the---Villam!?" Osyrus cursed.

"How'd you like my Campbell impression? It's the shit. You love it." Villam said with a huge confident smile. Osyrus just laughed.

"First of all, you're an idiot." Asar began. "Secondly. What is the meaning of this?"

"Oh, nothing. Just fucking with your head before the match..." -Villam let that bit just roll off of his tongue. Real pointed-like.

"Oh, really? How so?" Osyrus asked, humoring the eunuch.

"I'm just seeing how dedicated to yourself you are. Whatever deal Campbell would've cut with you would've been one shitting on one of us. Pointless and I. But, let's be logical here. I'm Campbell's right hand man and Pointless is the man Campbell wipes his right hand on."

"So?" Osyrus said again, this time rather blankly.

"So, it would've been a deal undercutting Josiah. I just find it funny that you guys think you trust each other enough to even know what to do with me in that cage." Villam said, shaking his head like he encountered an equation that he didn't understand.

"Yeah, yeah. Ok, fucker. I get it. You are trying to confuse me. It doesn't matter, Villam. Josiah and I may not trust each other...we have a good reason not to. But, we trust each other just enough to know that we have to unite against *you*." Osyrus thrust his finger at ever last word in the last sentence.

Villam laughed. "Are you sure?"

Villam let those three words hang in the air for a split-second.

"Just remember Osyrus.....Campbell can cut a deal with anyone."

Osyrus spat. "Shut up, Villam."

With that Osyrus slammed the door.

Villam eyes moved from left to right, listening to the consideration in Osyrus's wake.

It was boring. No more church freaks. No more skitzos. No more bull dykes or Heroine addicts.

Things needed to get interesting. The fight with the JLA was more his style.

Zany, in its art.

But, similar to tradition of pro-wrestling, Dave found himself searching the halls in the back for anyone who could stretch a line.

Dave had money, and would probably give a good two bills for a quad. He’d heard the boss himself had a good supply from a good source. Time to cash in at the source of the grape vein. The root of the rumor.

Dave walked right in to a massive gang locker room, seeing psycho-Rio discussing Zen and the Art of Killing with the only remaining member of his gang, coNNor. He took a drag from his cigarette, as Dave interrupted the book meeting.

“Excuse me, boys. Does anybody know a White Girl?”

Rio looked up, as did coNNor, and set their eyes on Dave. They had no earthly idea who the man standing in the doorway was, but the Sociopath had a feeling he was going to find out more in just a few seconds.

Closing the book, he passed it to coNNor and motioned for his young understudy to remain rooted to the chair, as Rio himself took small steps toward Dave. Who looked bored, with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans.

"Depends, son. What's your name?" the Sociopath asked, paying close attention to every crease on Dave's face. Burkowski cleared his throat, locking eyes with Rio.

"Rick BALLsack."

With a raised eyebrow and a sly grin, psycho-Rio looked back at coNNor, who appeared unamused. Dave didn't even break a sweat. The Sociopath snapped his fingers, forcing coNNor to reach for a black pouch on the table in front of him. The Sociopath turned back to the newb and snapped his fingers again. Burkowski rolled his eyes and turned around.

Before closing the door and sighing, wondering what was taking so long.

"So, you've decided to destroy your body with drugs, eh? Good choice." Rio began on what would be another trademark tirade, as coNNor handed his master the black pouch; the zipper of which, was already open. "Cocaine will make you very happy, as you will appreciate things so much more. You see people being so damn happy... laughing, and you wonder how they can be so happy when we are slowly approaching the Apocalypse. You aren't at fault.

They are just morons who are going to burn in Hell. But if you want to experience what they feel, drop acid. Everything will make sense. All of a sudden, the doorknob you took for granted will fascinate you to no end. Trees and lakes will be beautiful again, at least for twelve hours.

Do a lot of cocaine. You have nothing to lose. You can only gain insight to their 'other' world."

Dave yawned, concretating on the packet of white substance that was now in the right palm of Rio's hand. The Sociopath let the pouch drop to the floor and procured a small blade from inside his trenchcoat, holding it out for Burkowski.

"Yeah, OKAY, Gandhi." Dave retorted, not at all interested in small talk.

Within a matter of seconds, the trade was complete. The packet of cocaine and the blade was in Dave's possession. And Rio? He had a thick wad of money in his hand, but of course, it was only half of the payment. The other half would depend on whether Burkowski was down with the deal.

But since the door had closed, nobody would never know what happened next.

Not for now, at least.

Villam spun around in Campbell's chair to face Hardcase. "Hi"

Hardcase raised an eyebrow at the eunuch sitting in the boss's chair...then cracked a smile. "...oh...that's one helluva tan ya got there Joe."

"Good one." Villam said, slightly chuckling. "Hardcase...I just called you in here to remind you of whom the Asylum Championship rightfully belongs to. I'd be a shame if you had to learn the hard way."

"Don't worry bout me dunny. I'm good and learned." Hardcase said, nodding, almost sarcastically.

"Well, cool. Because Hardcase...I don't think you're half-bad of a guy. But, I don't want you lulled into a false sense of security. You cross me and my title...I'm going to put a jelly-knot on top your head that'll be so big it'll have to get it's own social security number." -Villam smiled and winked.

"heh heh. Oh, we wouldn't want that now would we. I mean we all know how scared I am of you. Wouldn't want boss man to come down on me." Hardcase just kept grinning.

Villam shrugged. "I don't peddle fear. I sell facts. And it's a fact, that I'm next in line for the championship. Not Pointless. Not you. You don't have to be afraid of me. Just as long as we respect each other. Just as long as we have an understanding."

Hardcase just kept nodding along. "I understand. I understand perfectly. You don't peddle fear, you kept it tucked deep down inside like a little secret. For some reason, the prospect of me winning the title worries you. I would never have had you pegged as the insecure type. It's ok though." Hardcase stood up from this seat... "I'll be fighting Weed, and I'll be bringing the tA title to team Campbell. Unlike you, I know what's important here. And that's removing Token Weed of the tA crown. Once I'm done dethroning him, I'll clear my dance card for ya."

Suddenly Villam face turned sour. "Yeah, yeah, ok 'PsYcHo FaGGoT' - I keep fear tucked deep inside. Sure, sure. Whatever you say. Just remember what I said."

Eric Threat clicked his teeth, and winked..."Sure thing boss. Glad we had this little conversation."

With that, Hardcase walked out of Campbell's office whistling a nice little tune.

"Cheers, bitch." Villam said in his best Campbell impression.

Stretching his arms, he got up from his seat and looked at the round clock that hung on the wall. It'd been about five minutes since Rio had left to tend to a 'very important call'. Snorting, coNNor pushed his hair out of his eyes and over his head, knowing full well that his master was probably checking up on the progress of his manhunt on Karen Pembridge. All week long, Rio had talked about Karen Pembridge.

And coNNor was growing ill of the constant fussing over her.

Yawning, coNNor picked up a water bottle and unscrewed the cap, letting it drop down to the table top. As he took a gulp of the water, though, his eyes spotted a piece of paper being slotted underneath the door of the room.

With cat-like quickness, coNNor tossed the bottle away and rolled towards the door, shoving it open. Expecting to see the person who decided to resort to such levels of secrecy. But, coNNor saw no one. The hallway was empty, and the young man frowned, before stepping back into the room and closing the door. Stooping down, he picked up the piece of paper.

Realising that it was more than that -- it was a letter.

"Weird. Must be for Rio." coNNor commented to himself, tearing the envelope open and reading the letter.

Dear coNNor,

I think it's time for a change. In everyone’s life there comes a time; when a woman has to realize that the current path they are on, will only lead to their
current destruction. A fate worse than death when you know your very soul is crumbling and dissolving within your body…and as much as you try to cure yourself of the agony, there is only one thing that you can do. Start over anew.

Even though I have treasured everything Omar has done for me professional and emotionally; its time I moved on, paved my own course to my own personal success instead of vicariously living through someone else. So if it’s okay with your boss; I would really like it if we could talk about me possibly joining your side. Maybe if I joined your gang, I could find the happiness I haven’t felt in almost three years. No more pain and suffering. No more tears to be shed. No more guilt. Please coNNor do whatever you can to help me because I will really appreciate it. Thanks again.

Sincerely,
     Norma Morales

coNNor blinked.

Then stood up and surveyed the mess he made with the water bottle just mere moments ago. Shrugging, he folded the letter up and slid it into the back pocket of his jeans, taking another glance at the wall clock.

"Rio should like this. Free fuck for him, too."

Osyrus vs Villam Ender vs Pointless

Villam Ender.

Osyrus.

Three men, one painfully obvious goal.

THE ASYLUM CHAMPIONSHIP.

Men bleed and die for a mere touch of its steel and leather. These three fools are just few of many in an ongoing quest for the richest prize in all of fighting.

"Failures" by Warsaw (Joy Division)

Villam felt the Asylum championship was his by divine right. In his mind, he has already won this match. Facing the two men behind those curtains was a waste of his time. But that tunnel vision could just lead to an underestimation of the enemies ahead.

"Ice Cold Man" performed by Probot (featuring Lee Dorrian)

Osyrus has very little tolerance for Villam. By the look in his eyes as he walked down the ramp, you'd almost think that this was going to be another one-on-one encounter. Asar knows that he's going to have to get through two men in this contest. There was a desperate twinge of truth to what Villam said about Osyrus and his selfish motives.

"Autobiography Of A Nation" by Thursday
Pointless was just as focused on Villam, but he made sure to spare a glance at Osyrus every now and then. Not only to keep an eye on the sneaky bastard...but to try and read if Osyrus was still apart of this plan of ganging up on Villam. If he was, then this was going to be easy - as Pointless viewed dismantling Osyrus as easy. If not, then this was going to be hard.

The roar of the crowd spurned them on, chanting: "Fight fight fight fight."

Villam looked around and realized that the chants weren't for the three men, they for the two stacked against him. The eunuch started to take a few steps back now...Josiah and Osyrus smiled and started to walk forward...

Suddenly Villam charged!! Shoulder to Shin, Ender speared Osyrus's legs out from under him sending him toppling to the canvas. Josiah was on the eunuch, instantly pelting him with punches. Villam could hardly defend himself while on the mat, so he took a grunt of the blows and tried to get to his feet, but Pointless was relentless and basically trying to force the eunuch out of the ring with pure punching force.

Osyrus must've realized this as he came running from nowhere, crashing into a both men like a freight train. Ender was already bloody and on the mat and Josiah quickly sprung to his feet and got all up in Osyrus's face. Asar pushed, Josiah pushed back. They stopped, looked at Villam and remembered their goal.

The beating that Villam received was a fucking clinic.

Josiah set in fit of crazy stomps and kicks while Osyrus pelted away at Villam with his fist. Eventually Josiah called for a chair and Osyrus put Villam in an elevated Boston Crab. Josiah stepped forwards smiling and lining the chair up with the back of the eunuch's skull.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

A little revenge for the PPV.

Osyrus pulled Villam up onto his shoulders in a reverse torture rack.

One heave later, Villam was driven into the canvas via Oblivion

...Osyrus got to his feet smiling down at his unconscious enemy.

The ref started to count...

...then as if not unexpectedly Pointless sent the end of his steel chair into the ref's face.

Osyrus turned around and of course got some too. The crowd rose into a bloodying roar as Pointless had Osyrus, Villam and a ref on the floor bleeding. Pointless's chair landed with lasting cracks against Osyrus' crimson skull.

"Get a fuckin' ref in here!!!" Josiah screamed.

Osyrus started to stir and so did Villam...by the time a ref got in there Josiah had already walked over to Villam to lay him out again. But as he turned around Osyrus grabbed at the cuff in his pants. Pointless turned around and SMASH SMASH SMASH sent the chair rocking off of Osyrus skull three more times. But that cost him, because now Villam was up on his feet using the rim for support.

"Fucking shit." Pointless muttered walking over to Villam.

The walk turned brisk and the brisk walk turned into an all out run.

He was going to do the exact thing Villam did to him at Uncivil War's main event.

And charging like that, looking as crazy as he did, people believed that Josiah would actually crack Villam's head in and send him flying out of the cage.

They should've known better.

Swift and cat-like, Villam swung his whole right side out and as Pointless was charging, he quickly side stepped and grabbed the back of Josiah's head - smashing it - chair and all against the rim. The chair slid off of the rim and Villam picked Pointless up again and locked him in a wrenching full-nelson hold. -From the full-nelson Villam swept and drove Josiah's face into the rim. Villam hung Pointless out over the rim - the bar stretched along his arm pits....Villam raised a fist for a knockout blow.....

!!!

Osyrus from behind. Villam merely telegraphs and gives Asar the ol' 'over the shoulder'.

And true to wrestling, Osyrus just ended up feet on the rim.

Veteran cage presence.

The great divider in an Asylum fight.

Why do you think Inmate is still around?

Why do think Token knows just what to hit and when to hit it?

Using that presence, Villam grabbed the chair at his feet and brought it up fast...almost to hit himself in the face...but completely over shot and...

CRACK~!

To Osyrus's face.

And Osyrus is out of the cage.

Grabbing both of Josiah's legs Villam hurled him out as well, gaining the definitive victory.

The crowd booed him and cursed his name.

Osyrus looked up at Villam then looked down at Josiah and said. "What the fuck just happend here?"

Villam just became the number one contender.

That's what happened.

Joe Campbell's frail hand sat beside it, tape embraced the tips of some of his fingers as a means of holding his rotting nails in place... some however had fallen out completely. Long unkempt hair swept across a face that seemed more skeletal than living, deep dark eye sockets, a bloodied nose than came with the territory of excessive cocaine abuse and a smile that was beginning to rot and fall apart as part and parcel of heroin addiction.

Campbell's office door swung briefly open and almost instinctively his hand shot up to shield eyes that couldn't handle the light shining in.

"Hey Joe, I have something I need to talk to you about." Tyler Burton entered the room and immediately threw his arm across his own face "Jesus, something die in here?"

"Nothing." Joe's raspy despair laced voice replied "But something will if you don't turn that light off... now say what you have to say and leave me alone."

Burton narrowed his eyes past the drug paraphernalia on Joe's desk to a twitching hand that gripped a gun with all of it's remaining might. Knowing that at the rate of Joe's shakes the gun could go off any second Burton merely uttered "Fuck it." and marched out of the room shaking his head.

Campbell dropped the gun to the desk with a thud; he'd been keeping it closer than usual. As regularly intoxicated as he was he still realized that he hadn't even been strong enough to defend himself against a woman just weeks gone past.

The stark reality of being down from 250lbs to around 130lbs was beginning to hit the owner as he tucked the gun into his belt and caught a quick glimpse of his ribs almost bursting through thinned out flesh "Better than the Atkins diet."

Words of a man who seemed to be accepting his fate...

...as he arranged his drugs for another hit.

Hardcase vs Token Weed ©

And with it, came E tha Hustla AKA Hardcase.

Hardcase was confident and almost aloof as he strode into the cage, surrounded by the cheering masses.

Some of the fans liked Token more than Hardcase and booed him accordingly.

Not that any of that mattered to Eric Threat.

"Halo" by Soil

The fans erupted into half cheers and half jeers.

Token Weed appeared on the ramp, just as confident. Sean Williams actually shined in the limelight with the title around his waist. If he was fazed by Villam becoming the number one contender...he didn't show it here.

Token mocked the fans by waving at them like he really cared about their opinions.

Soon though, those cheers turned into boos.

Lots and lots and LOTS of boos.

Token, almost on instinct, turned around---

OOOooooOOooOOoOoOOooooohhhh!!!!

Villam bore the business end of a sledgehammer into Weed's forehead.

Hardcase smiled wide, and then shook his head.

He should've known that Villam would pull something like this.

Stopping the match, by never letting it start.

Token struggled to his feet, unaware of his surroundings, unaware of the eunuch stalking him from behind.

With little warning Villam then BLASTED Token in the right shoulder blade with the sledgehammer.

Sean Williams was now a crumpled heap at the Villam's feet.

"Remember that, bitch?" Villam spat.

Hardcase yelled. "Aight then Hommie. Good shit."

The Asylum logo faded in as Villam gave Hardcase and the camera the middle finger.

Charming.

He had just lost what chance he had at the tA Championship, and now he had to kill someone.

Intel had told him that the person whom he’d scoped for the night was still sitting in his room, dark and lonely. Josiah had paid the maintenance man; due in two minutes, the lights would go out in this corridor.

Waiting behind the corner of a vending machine, Josiah scanned over his two Rugers. safety off, chamber loaded, clip full, and cocked back.

He often thought about why it was him that had to do these jobs. Why it was him who did all the dirty, grunt work, when HardCase was just as capable.

One minute.

He looked down barrel, loosely estimating the aim and how on-par it was. Clanking the two barrels together, as if to pass the time.

He just hoped the steel Citizen’s mask was created from couldn’t stop a bullet.

This past month had made Pointless grow rusty, but he had to do this. The Uncivil War shed no friends, and there was no good that the Citizen could create with his revolutionary ideals in a locker room full of psychos. The potential threat he posed was enough to neutralize him now, and get it over with.

Lights out, go time.

Josiah quickly ducked out the corner, seeing nothing but darkness in the descending hallway. Knowing Citizen would be no more than feet away, he slowly took a breath then began his stroll.

It was quiet. He’d figure Citizen would have some sort of company, whether it be the returned bombshell in Venoma Star, or the man whom he’s made a seeming alliance with in the weeks, Osyrus.

Stepping behind Josiah, slowly, and not to his knowledge, the man that would come to be known as the Citizen’s insurance followed closely with a gun of his own, being held in a hand with a plaster cast around the wrist.

Oh, how the past comes to haunt us.

Josiah quickly began to jog to the door straight ahead, hoping not to trip on any unforeseen objects in the dark. He came to the Citizen’s door, resting his hand on the knob with one of the Ruger’s tucked in his pants.

Before any movement could be made, he felt a heavy finger tap him on the back. “I think you forgot this.”

Josiah noticed the absence in the back of his pants, and found himself staring down his own gun.

“Leave me in a fucking warehouse-”

CRACK

The but of the gun smashed Pointless in his forehead, and the attacker threw his limp body over his shoulder. Instead of turning down the opposite path, the man proceeded to Josiah’s own destination; Citizen’s locker room.

Kicking it in, the lights shown through the dark hallways leading to the room. The man stepped forward, dropping Josiah to the floor in a loud thud.

“This is him?”

“This is him.”

Citizen, from his steal skull, scoffed at the man who lay at his feet.

“Campbell’s hand. Thank you, Damon, your help is greatly appreciated.”

Damon D. Jackson, the man whom Josiah put out of commission all those months ago, looked down at the man, holding Josiah’s own gun against his temple.

“My fucking pleasure.”

Damon’s rage had been mounting over the years, and in a fit of anger, he shot his foot out, kicking Josiah in the spine.

“Excuse me, but I’d like my potential assassin alive and well. There are a few questions I need from him.”

“And I want his ass dead.”

“Patience. Now, Damon, while I would say this alliance has been most rewarding. I just have to ask you to step outside for a moment.”

Damon was visibly upset, tracing back and forth between Pointless and Citizen, keeping the barrel pressed against his temple.

“What? You want me to leave?”

“Just for a moment, now, calm down. I just need one word with the little intruder before we decide to send him packing to the creator he so desperately loves.”

Damon nodded, releasing his defensive stance, and handing the gun to Citizen. He exited Citizen’s room, while the Skull just kneeled before the fallen Josiah, clicking the gun against his teeth.

“So, this little infiltration didn’t go as planned?”

Pointless squirmed.

“I’m afraid you caught me at a bad time, friend.”

Citizen stood up, casting a heavy shadow over Josie’s eyes.

“Because, despite what I just told my friend out there, I really can’t be bothered by your antics, not now, not ever.”

Citizen went to cock the gun back, but noticed the hammer was already pulled back.

“And because I know you’re here to kill me, which I cannot let you do, I am afraid that you’ve left me no other option...

... but to kill you.”

Josiah’s eyes widened, and to his horror, he saw Citizen pull the trigger.

Again, and again, and again, just releasing bullets in to Josie’s face.

As he finished, blood, skull, and brains splattered on to his steal mask, Citizen scoffed, then dropped the gun at his side.

“Goodbye, Pointless, you’ve more than lived up to your name.”