Cold open.A hulking figure stood in a white robe stands with his back to us, his long white hair flowing down his back. He’s facing a wall, his hands spread palms down upon it as the cell door unlocks and in walks a menacing figure amongst the darkness.

Warden Johnson.

“How long have you been a prisoner of mine?” The Warden asks, looking through some documentation. “Long enough, wouldn’t you say?”

The man says nothing.

“I’ve offered you opportunity after opportunity to leave my Asylum but you’ve shunned me at every turn.”

He sighs.

“You’ve refused to be put to work. You’ve declined any and all assignments. But I have one that you won’t refuse.”

“What makes you so sure?” A voice growls in return.

“Because should you complete this assignment, you’ll not only be free of my Asylum but you’ll find yourself employed with Old School Wrestling. I’ve worked out an arrangement with The Butcher that’ll see you a free man with work.”

The man turns around, his brow furrowed. “What’s the job?”

The Warden smiles.

“I’m glad you’re on board. The job is very simple and very easy for someone of your talents. All you need to do is…”




Will the Mountain sink the Captain’s ship as Banzan faces off with Scrimshaw inside the Asylum.

Both men are freed of their restraints and let into the ring as the bell sounds. Both Banzan and Scrimshaw eye their surroundings before charging one another. Banzan ducks a clothesline by the Sea Captain, and quickly enters Tiger Stance, throwing several clawed hand towards towards Scrimshaw for TIGER CLAW!

Scrimshaw drops to a knee due to the power of the strike. The former OSW Champion delivers a kick to the chest that puts the Salty Sea Dog to his back, and Banzan drops down with a leg drop. The massive frame misses his intended target as Scrimshaw rolls out of the way.

Scrimshaw gets up to his feet as Banzan meets him. The Captain gets the Mountain as high as he can before slamming him down with the spinebuster. DASHED ON THE ROCKS! The Captain rattles the ring with the manoeuvre before following up with an elbow to the chest.

Scrimshaw grabs onto the neck of Banzan and pummels it, trying to weaken it as much as possible. The Mountain tries to resist by the Captain has the upper hand as he drops a knee to the neck. Scrimshaw wraps his arms around the mountainous neck of Banzan and begins pulling his weight backwards. THE CAPTAIN’S HOOK is in tight as Banzan submits.

The Captain survived his voyage in the Asylum and a battle with the former champ.

“Come and check this one out.”

Doctor Hadley approached the observation window, looking into the cell where his colleague had been standing for the last ten minutes.

Together, they observed him.

“Brought him in last night and he hasn’t stopped at all. We thought he was just high as a kite at first, but it’s a pretty clear cut case of Schizophrenia if ever I saw one.”

Doctor Hadley observed, watching the erratic actions of the individual inside the cell. By now, one of the walls was entirely covered in the rambling scrawls of the schizophrenic mind. That is the first thing that catches the eye. The doctor read out what scrawlings he could make out.

“Boom boom…

Four walls and no explosions make Junkrat go crazy…


Along with the scrawlings were a number of sketches, different designs of contraptions. It was something akin to Wiley E. Coyote’s blueprints. And then, of course, there were several crudely drawn cartoon penises in amongst the ramblings and drawings.

“How long has he been at it?”

The other doctors fussed for a moment, each comparing notes.

“We think about 12 hours now.”

Doctor Hadley let out a long sigh.

“What is the inmate’s name?”

“The warden only told us to call him Junkrat.”

Without a word, Doctor Hadely then took the clipboard from his colleague and began to flip through the notes himself.

“Have you managed to catch any of what he’s rambling about?”

“Just the usual manic ramblings of a Schizophrenic mind. He refers to himself as the ‘Mayor’.

There’s something about numbers he’s obsessing over. Ninety nine seems to be a key number.

He also keeps rambling about something called Spacerats and a Sigil.”

The Doctor’s ears perk up at the name.

“Sigil? Another inmate. Has he said anything else about him.”

“Not really, he just keeps going on about some kind of gun and portals… It’s just ramblings.”

Doctor Hadley then finally asks possibly the most obvious question of all.

“And why in the hell is he stark naked?!”

The group of doctors all look at each other for a moment.

“He disrobed about three hours in, stated something about it being easier to salute the fleet of Spacerats.”

Doctor Hadley balls a fist and bangs on the glass of the observation window.

“Hi… Junkrat, is it? I am Doctor Hadley.”

Junkrat, somewhat unexpectedly stands up, offering a full frontal view of himself to the window.

“Hi Doc! Please… Call me Mayor Junkrat, let’s not forget titles.”

Aaaand, Junkrat proceeds to wave himself at the newcomer in a cheerful salute. The Doctor simply goes right about his job.

“What is all this you’re writing on my walls?”

Junkrat smiles, a spark in his eyes.

“Oh, you noticed that? I was trying to keep it a secret. Couldn’t find any paper, and you wouldn’t believe where I had to keep this magic marker to smuggle it in.

Aren’t they beautiful boomers?”

He stands back, staring at his diagrams, then giggles a little at one particularly graphic cartoon willie.

“I’d kill for a box of matches right about now. I haven’t gone this long without blowing something up since before the Fusion Core exploded back home. One hell of a boom.

Lost me entire family that day. They just vanished into thin air. Too close to the boom, one minute me ma was there… The next, she was nothing but dust.”

The Doctor pauses for a moment to take in what Junkrat is saying.

“What are the ninety nine you keep talking about?”

“Ninety nine Junkrats. There were over a hundred of me, but twenty eight got squished by the replicator. The other ninety nine got blown to smitherines by Sigil. I’m still mad at him about that.”

“There were a hundred of you? Clones?”

Junkrat nods, as if it is the most normal thing in the world.

“Yep. I was the Mayor of Gary… And all the other Junkrats were my people.”

Doctor Hadley turns to the collection of doctors gathered around the window.

“Clear my schedule for the afternoon. I think I’m going to be here for a while.”

His colleague nods, replying in turn with a question.

“Schizophrenia then?”

“Clearly… No doubt about it.”


Every visionary gets called crazy along the way. Telegon’s founder, Mark Gouldern, finds himself in The Asylum – not in a straitjacket, but in the Combat 2.0 suit! Opposite him, trapped between the doors to sanity and insanity, is Monty Straight!

Both combatants are led to the ring by the orderlies. Mark offers a handshake to Monty, who accepts it, ever the gracious host. Monty screams, however, as the TeleGauntlet crushes his fingers! Mark throws him overhead into the mat with one arm, Hulk and Loki-style! One TeleBoot-assisted leap later, he drops a mechanised fist into the heart of Straight—if he even has one! ONE… TWO… MONTY STAYS IN THE GAME!

Gouldern picks Monty up, but the TV personality drags Mark’s legs out. The TeleBoots kick in, but not before Monty slingshots him into the corner – resulting in an even bigger headache as Gouldern’s grey-matter meets the top turnbuckle! Telaris’ creator stumbles back into a Russian leg sweep, which is followed by a crossface – TERMS AND CONDITIONS apply!

Mark is stranded and on the cusp of tapping out… That is, until that damn gauntlet of his fires a grappling hook which wraps around the improvised bottom rope! It retracts like a cord, pulling Mark into a rope break! Monty pulls him back up, only to eat a spinning backfist, followed by some RUTHLESS INSPIRATION! The TeleBoot-powered dropkick knocks Straight out. ONE… TWO… TH—MONTY IS STILL IN IT TO WIN IT!

The Herald of the Future says it’s time to delete Monty. He gets him in a front facelock… PLANNED OBSOLESCENCE – Monty spins out of the DDT. He ducks a knee-jerk DISRUPTION Superman punch, then grabs a headlock from behind and goes for the backbreaker. Before he can land the DEAL BREAKER, however, Mark himself spins out of the inverse headlock – DISRUPTION! The TeleGauntlet KO punch puts Monty to sleep! ONE… TWO… THREE!

Mark gathers more data for the Combat 2.0 suit to analyse!

Tucked away in the “Elderly Patients” ward in the Asylum, secured behind a locked door and an uncaring orderly is Scrimshaw. He sits still, breathing evenly, before taking a deep whiff of the air.

“Sandalwood, hibiscus, and myrrh, mixed with the scents of mountain pine and that all too familiar metallic scent of blood on your hands.”

“I can smell him from here and it makes my blood boil.”

“The thought of the man ‘fated’ to become a roadblock sitting prime for the gutting, and yet so far out of my reach makes me see red. A hunger grows, crawling out from the depths of my soul. It bays like a hellhound, to feed, to rend, to tear apart until there’s nothing left there.”

He leans back from his forward position, sitting up and looking around the room briefly before continuing.

“I can almost understand why they wanted to lock us in here. Hell, given the last few months, this shit’s been getting to me. The time that filthy rat crawled aboard and drug me into his messes, the taste for blood ached in me. When my lines were crossed and discarded, that howling cry called for vengeance. It was a line that shouldn’t have been messed with. Then that space bastard saw through the veil of Scrimshaw. He saw the truth that I had left behind, the one I wanted to not consume me again. And thus I listened.”

“Maybe I have gone a little bit mad.”

“But mad dogs still have rabid bites.”

He leaps to his feet, with an energy that startles the orderly. Flashing a friendly smile, the orderly goes back to flicking through a magazine. He continues, staring straight ahead.

“It’s been a long time since I was the Blood Fang. I didn’t want to join with that damned serpent. Nor did I want to let my men starve, their children and wives suffer. There was a choice to be made, and a price to pay. In saving their lives, and those that they cared about, I gave my humanity to that blasted wyrm. And in turn, they fed, and prospered where others wouldn’t.”

“Am I a monster by taking from some and giving it others? Or is that a quality of man?”

“And the same came for you Banzan. While my people were struggling with starvation, yours faced their demise at the hands of a gilded bastard. And how did you respond? Did you pursue him in the courts of law, or have him restrained? No. You saw the threat, buckled down, and faced it head on. That mountaintop ya preach about, you’d fuckin lay down your life for. It’s your home, your family, your treasure.”

“And if there’s one thing I truly know about, is that there’s always value in treasure.”

“I don’t know why that the Judge warned me, or what his scheme is. But what I do know is that he gave me a heads up, and that’s all I need. While I may lust for your death, while I may be trapped here in this cage for now, they won’t hold me forever.”

The demeanor on his face changes, the false friendly smile replaced with a more sinister one, with pointed teeth. Beneath the layers of straightjacket, his tattoo glows out until it is visible from beneath his constraints. His form seems to warp, almost grow larger.

“And then I’ll find you, and tear your throat out.”

“It’s nothing personal of course.”

“You’re coming after me and my own, and that’s enough to make anyone aggressive. But in here, padded up as we are, it’s just a small barrier. Soon enough they’ll break as all cages do, and then I’m after you.”

Scrimshaw violently thrashes about, the bonds that hold him tight bending and warping as his strength grows, before we cut out at the sound of snapping leather and rushing orderlies.


Looking to rule The Asylum with an iron fist, Obasi Bocamo must silence social media’s loudest voice, Kenny Freeman!

Both men are escorted to the ring by the orderlies. Obasi mauls Kenny from the get-go, a foot taller and one-hundred pounds heavier. The warlord throws him into the turnbuckle and uses him as a punchbag. Hurling him across the makeshift ring, he charges after him with a full head of steam – nearly decapitating him with a running corner big boot! Kenny staggers forwards, right into the waiting arms of Obasi… big-time fallaway slam! ONE… TWO… KENNY SCRAPES HIS SHOULDER UP!

Bocamo drags Kenny up by his hair, but the scrappy influencer winds him with a gut-shot. Obasi doubles over and Kenny runs the ropes… A running dropkick to the temple floors the warmonger! Freeman hits the ropes once more, crashing down on Obasi with some rolling thunder! He then executes a textbook standing moonsault! ONE… TWO… OBASI POWERS OUT!

The Keyboard Warrior looks to take flight. Obasi, however, accidentally knocks into the referee, who falls into the ropes – resulting in Kenny not fathering children anytime soon! Obasi grabs him by the throat and military press slams him from the top rope and almost through the mat! ONE… TWO… THR—KENNY JUST BARELY STAYS IN THIS!

The Blood King calls for the end. He picks Kenny up and propels him into the corner so hard that the whole ring moves! Freeman lulls against the ropes. Obasi thunders across the ring… GREETINGS FROM AFRICA — KENNY EVADES the corner splash! The dictator slams into the turnbuckles and falls back, clutching his sternum. Kenny hits the ropes and nails the dancing emote. Here comes the leg drop… GUILLOTINE CHOKE OUT OF NOWHERE! Obasi traps Kenny, who can’t take THE SUFFERING any longer and taps out!

Obasi adds another victory to his military record!

Luke Storm lays upon the disgusting cold floor. He’s curled up in the fetal position, his body trying to recover from the bloody trauma he endured less than 24 hours before.

“Get up.” A voice calls.

A female voice.

Storm slowly comes to, trying to shake the cobwebs. The strait-jacket holding him makes it difficult for him to sit up, but he does, looking up at the metal slab they called his bed.

His face turns to shock.

His wife, his dead wife, is sat on the bed, clad in a hospital gown. Needles stick out from her arms, relics of the failed treatments for her condition.

“Rachel?” Storm mutters.

“Congratulations.” Rachel sarcastically offers, clapping her hands as blood drips around the needles. “Luke Storm does it again. He refuses to stay down, and finds himself on top of the world. Just like he always does.”

His wife scoffs.

“You laid on the floor and cried in that hospital room.” She says accusingly. “You cried out for me to come back to you. You sobbed that you’d lost your world. But it didn’t take a month before you were back on the red carpet, back in the ring, even trying to go on a date with another woman.”

She shakes her head as Luke seems broken by these accusations.

“Nothing stops you, Luke. No matter how many times life shits on you, you turn around and keep fighting.”

She stands up, barely skin and bone, as Luke looks up at her with horror on his face. A voice calls out from behind Luke, causing him to sit back on the edge of the steel bed.

“You didn’t prove anything, Luke.” Alton Whitlock says, walking forward with the small drug testing cup. “The world still believes you use PEDs. You can kick my ass all you want, but you’re still a phony.”

Rachel kneels beside Luke, reaching out with her rotting arm.

“Yet you keep fighting.”

Whitlock pours the now-full cup of piss onto Storm’s lap, causing him to recoil.

“You’re afraid, Luke.” The Candidate mocks, kneeling beside Storm as well. “You’re afraid of what happens when you stop getting up.”

“You’re afraid of losing everything.” Rachel adds.

A new voice joins the fray.

“You’re afraid of me.”

SeeSaw is stood directly in front of Storm, his voice dripping with childlike malice. He kneels down, reaching out to frame Luke’s face with his slender fingers.

“We’re the same, aren’t we Lukey?” He taunts. “We both live in a world of imagination, where no one can hurt us. But they still hate us, don’t they?”

“I’m nothing like you!” Storm spits at SeeSaw.

Mr. Make Believe’s laugh reverberates through Storm’s skull as the clown mocks him.

“I am you.” SeeSaw replied. “I’m your fear of being exposed for the scared little boy you are. That’s why you keep fighting.”

“I am you.” Alton Whitlock adds in. “I’m your fear of the lies told about you washing away the truth. That’s why you keep fighting.”

Rachel is the last to chime in.

“I am you. I’m your fear of being left alone, of no one left to love you. That’s why you keep fighting.”

They all lean in to whisper in his ears.

“That’s why you keep fighting.”

“LEAVE HIM ALONE!” A voice yells.

All three turn to see that a little girl now stands in the cell.

Luke’s daughter.

The three others recoil in her presence as she pushes SeeSaw aside to sit in her daddy’s lap.

“You’ll always be the bravest man I ever met.”

SeeSaw vanishes.

“I know who you really are, no matter what they say.”

Whitlock vanishes.

“And I’ll always love you, Daddy.”

Rachel doesn’t vanish, but instead her body heals to the woman she was before the sickness took her.

She smiles at the father and daughter.

“That’s why you keep fighting.”

Overcome with emotion, Luke Storm closes his eyes.

As he opens them, he’s alone in the cell, bloody and bruised, covered in his own piss.

But he balances against the wall and stands to his feet, re-energized.

“Keep fighting.” He mutters, pacing back and forth like a caged animal.

He’ll always keep fighting.


A strange setting for a debut, but Aesop finds himself escorted to the makeshift Asylum ring along with Veritas. Will he be able to send a message tonight with a debut win, or will Veritas welcome him with a bloody nose?

Veritas starts with fire, taking the fight to the newcomer with a SPINNING BACK ELBOW that catches Aesop on the chin. Grabbing the Greek by the scruff of his hair, Veritas pulls him in for a DOUBLE KNEE STRIKE! DDT TAKES DOWN AESOP! WELCOME TO OSW!

Veritas lines up a furious fist, aiming to end this one quickly but Aesop grabs his hand as it comes in and pulls him in. THE SERPENT! HE GETS VERITAS IN HIS CLUTCHES BUT CANNOT LOCK HIS LEGS IN PROPERLY! VERITAS ESCAPES! Both men get to their feet at the same time…DOUBLE LEG TAKE DOWN TAKES VERITAS DOWN!

Aesop follows up the take down with an ELBOW DROP before pulling Veritas to his feet and whipping him into the corner. Veritas collides and stumbles away.. RIGHT INTO A POWERBOMB! AESOP BUCKLE BOMBS HIM! VERITAS LANDS IN A FREAKING HEAP!


On debut, inside the Asylum, Aesop wins at Lockdown.

Aesop stands victoriously over Veritas, but with a few stomps to Veritas’ ribcage it becomes clear he is not done!

He grabs Veritas and throws him outside of the makeshift ring to the cold, asylum floor.


Aesop moves in quickly! He grabs Veritas by the head and SLAMS IT AGAINST THE FLOOR! FACE FIRST! ONCE! TWICE!



Jesus Christ, he’s not stopping!

Over and over and over, Veritas’ face collides with that cold ground until blood pools on the floor around his cranium.

Aesop stands up and rolls Veritas over.

His damaged mask reveals the face of a dead man.

Suddenly, The Warden walks into the room with a full host of orderlies.

“Clear the way!” The Warden commands, and the orderlies move in on the body of Veritas.

“He’s dead?” Asks the Warden.

One of the orderlies looks up at the Warden from Veritas’ face. “As a doornail,” he replies.

The Warden smirks. “Get him to the morgue, then.”

The orderlies lift Veritas up and carry him out of the room.

As they clear out, The Warden tosses a glance at Aesop.

“Well done, Aesop.” The Warden exclaims. “Well done indeed. You’re free to go.”

Aesop smiles the kind of smile that presents itself when one gets a taste of freedom.

Veritas is dead.

And Aesop is no longer an inmate.


Alton Whitlock is escorted to the ring by an orderly. He is cordial and appears to (mostly) understand the orderly is just doing his job. The Judge is stoic himself as he is escorted to the ring. Sigil, however, simply appears in the ring–no escort whatsoever.

The bell rings and immediately Sigil and Alton make eye contact. Sigil points at the much larger, looming Judge, and Alton nods. They move in on the Juggernaut of Order! With wild rights and lefts from Whitlock, and measured, accurate, stiff shots from Sigil, they pummel the Judge! The Judge grabs Alton by the throat!

CHOKESLAM!!! Alton plummets to the ground! The Judge grabs Sigil by his throat! He lifts Sigil high in the air!!! But Sigil cosmic leaps! HE NOW STANDS BEHIND THE JUDGE!!! Missile Dropkick to the back of the Judge’s kneecap, and it takes the behemoth down a peg!

ENZIGURI by Sigil to The Judge’s head topples him over! Sigil goes for the cover! ONE… TWO– NO!! WHITLOCK BREAKS IT UP! The Good Guy Politician mounts Sigil and begins to pummel him with right and left hooks to the head! SPARTA KICK TO WHITLOCK BY THE JUDGE!!! WHITLOCK IS OUT!!! THE JUDGE STOMPS SIGIL RELENTLESSLY!!!


Alton Whitlock has his hand raised victoriously before he and the Judge are escorted from the ring. Sigil, however, departs on his own.

Day 1

The sound of maniacal laughter echoes through the halls of the Asylum, accented by the sounds of bodies slamming against plexi-glass and bars as the inmates try to get free. The camera creeps down the hallways as they locate who they’re looking for.


He is sat on the bed in his cell, glaring out at the others in his block. A stoic look in his eyes as he watches his surroundings. Even stoic, you can almost hear the the gears turning in his mind. He now has the name of his family’s killer.

“All it takes to drive the sanest man to lunacy is one bad day. I had that day, and I’ve done a fantastic job keeping it together for years. I took my son’s hero name and made it my own, to honour him. So that he knows he is not forgotten, that I fight to save others from the fate that befell him.”

The sounds of footsteps gets his attention as he sees an Orderly walk by. The man sneers at the Caped Crusader as he walks by.

“Who said you could look at me? Dressed up like a hero, you belong in here.”

Redwing glares as the Orderly slams his fist against the cell door. Redwing stands to his feet as he steps towards the Orderly, a grin on his face. He looks down at the badge that reads “Mayvis”

“There won’t always be a door between us, Mayvis. I’d watch what you have to say.”

Mayvis walks away as he continues his rounds. Redwing just smiles as he begins prying at his cell wall.

Day 2

“Luke Storm is a dead man” carved into the wall as he waits for his release. He knows he’s not supposed to be in there, that he doesn’t belong. But until he is let loose from his cell, he’s going to make the most of it. All he’s dreamed about since he got that video tape declaring that the man (or woman) who murdered his family was walking the halls of OSW, all he’s wanted was revenge.

Redwing’s foot begins to tap as if he’s timing something. Once the commotion settles he relaxes and sits back on his bed as a new Orderly approaches his cell with a tray. The Orderly shouts orders through the door for Redwing to stand facing the wall so that the Orderly can safely enter and places the tray of food on the table and walks out. Redwing turns and sits at the table, his foot tapping again as he eats.

An Orderly passes by, and he makes a mark on a table. He eats his meal as his foot begins tapping. Once again he sees the Orderly, Mayvis, go by. Both lock eyes as Redwing marks the table once again. Mayvis continues his rounds, just glaring at the caged Hero.

Day 3

Redwing is again pacing his cell. Several marks are now carved into the table, marking how many minutes between each patrol. Redwing checks something under his mattress, one of the panels in his wall peeled back a little. Mayvis returns to Redwing’s cell and barks the order to stand against the wall. Redwing complies, but takes something from under his mattress. As his door opens he readies something in his hand.

Once Mayvis enters the cell, Redwing presses a button and the cell door closes. Mayvis drops the tray of food and charges the door and begins slamming his fist against it, but no one is around that can help him, as the other inmates begin to get roused as they can see the captured guard.

“No one can hear you, Mayvis. I’ve re-wired this room, the cameras have a feed from yesterday of me eating.”

“Please, man. I have a family. I’ve got kids!”

“So did I. Until someone took them from me. So now you’re going to give me some answers.”

“Please. I don’t know who you are or who you’re talking about!”

“So you’re no use to me.”

Redwing snaps the man’s neck and takes his keys. He walks to the cell door as the inmates panic.

“Now you know. I’m not locked in here with you. You’re locked in here with me!”


Mez and Redwing have had a heated rivalry in the past, and it’s rekindled here tonight. Orderlies accompany both of them to the makeshift ring. Neither man looks right in the head. The TKO Title is on the line!!!

The bell rings and Redwing charges at Mez like he is the madman! And maybe he is with the way he furiously throws rights and lefts at Mez’s body and face, landing elbows and headbutts as well! But Mez immediately grabs Redwing by both sides of his head and tosses him across the ring!

Redwing lands awkwardly to his feet, and fumes! He charges Mez again! But this time, MEZ MEETS HIM HALFWAY!!! ANARCHY!!! And Mez isn’t using his fists!!! He’s using his helmet!!! Over and over and over again with the headbutts, he decimates Redwing’s forehead!!!

Redwing is stuck!!! He has only one way out of this, and he sends a punch straight the fuck into Mez’s Adam’s apple! Mez grabs his throat and falls away, and Redwing rolls over to try to climb to his feet. He reaches his feet at the same time as Mez!!! He kicks Mez in the gut!!! RETURN TO ARKHAM!!!

The Red Knight can smell the TKO title in his reach. But as he reaches his feet, he finds MEZ IS UP TO HIS FEET ALSO!!! THE SEDATIVE, THAT SPINNING ELBOW!!! REDWING NARROWLY AVOIDS IT!!! HE BOOTS MEZ IN THE GUT AND SETS HIM UP!!! RED JUSTICE!!! MEZ IS OUT COLD!!!

Redwing is our new TKO Champion! He has his arm raised in victory, and perhaps this once heated rivalry is laid to rest!

In an unmarked cell, Darby Sorrow finds himself tied to a wooden chair. Nowhere to go, and nowhere to run.

His face, beaten, bloody, and bruised, suggests that someone’s been going at him for quite a while.

Before him stands his nemesis.


“Hell, Sorrow. I wish I could say I don’t enjoy this any more than you do, but I can’t admit such. I am enjoying myself immensely.”

Sorrow says nothing.

But his eyes tell of rage.

Sigil speaks stoically, “Tell me where it is.”

Darby refuses, shaking his head.

Sigil reaches into his bag and pulls out that beaming sword of his.

“Here’s the thing, Darby. I know it hurts you every, single time you die and come back to life. I know it causes more pain, more suffering, each and every time.”

Darby’s breathing increases, but he still doesn’t speak.

“If you don’t tell me where it’s at… Well, I’m just going to kill you over, and over, and over again. I’ll kill you until you finally just can’t stand being killed one more time, and then I’ll kill you again. Just for good measure.”

Behind his mask, Sigil smirks.

“Unless,” he says. “You tell me where it’s at.”

Darby looks up at Sigil, and down at his sword. He looks up at Sigil once more…

…and spits a mouthful of blood right onto Sigil’s mask.

“Be creative,” Darby says, a bloody grin on his face.



Meathooks hang down into the makeshift ring now, setting up for the House Rulez Title match between Luke Storm and Junkrat. Both men are escorted to the ring by orderlies before the start of the match!

The bell rings and Luke storms across the ring! BICYCLE KICK TO JUNKRAT IN THE CORNER!!! The Mayor of Gary slumps in the turnbuckles, and he catches a knee to the chin for it! Another! Storm isn’t playing any games! He runs to his corner! He charges across the ring!!! MISSILE DROPKICK…

…BUT IT CONNECTS WITH THE TURNBUCKLE! Junkrat narrowly avoided it!!! Storm lands on his back just as Junkrat stands to his feet! Storm tries to reach his feet but Junkrat meets him halfway and nails him with a DDT! Junkrat climbs to the second turnbuckle!!!

BOMBZAI DROP FROM JUNKRAT!!! Luke absorbs the blow and then immediately shoves Junkrat off of him, enraged by his antics! Junkrat frantically pulls his pants up and reaches his feet just in time for the LIGHTNING STRIKE!!! And now its Storm who drags Junkrat by the arm to the nearest dangling meathook.

Storm drags Junkrat to his feet, and Junkrat hits Storm with a surprise left jab! Storm nails Junkrat with a right hook, and a left jab of his own! STORM GRABS THE MEATHOOK AND PUNCHES JUNKRAT WITH IT!!! HE’S OUT ON HIS FEET!!! Storm grabs Junkrat and hooks him in! He pulls the meathook up and Junkrat is suspended in the air!!!!

Luke Storm retains the House Rulez title! His hand is raised in victory and he is escorted away by an orderly, as more orderlies free Junkrat from the meathooks, and escort him away as well.

The one place I swore I’d never end up. Inside the box.

Four walls, confining my body. They’re padded white: dingy, bloodstained. The orderly took my shoes, so my bare feet press upon the damp, cold concrete floor. The ceiling is lined with mold. The threadbare fabric of my inmate uniform hangs off my skin. A sink, a toilet, a metal sheet hanging from the wall that passes as a bed. These are my only companions.

Inside the box. Alone.

Four walls, like an OSW ring. When I was young I realized the greatest battle a man has to fight is with his own mind. The mind is a ring, is a box, is a trap. You will put up walls around your thoughts, so they’re restricted, contained. These walls will build complacency. Comfort, even. They will stop you from changing. They will stop you from seeing beyond your immediate reality. They will cause you to atrophy, to stop evolving. To stop planning and start simply waiting.

Then, when the moment comes, you won’t be ready.

Three times a day a man in a white coat brings me a tray of food. It is disgusting drivel. Tastes like chalk. Hard to stomach. The mind, inside the box, doesn’t want you to eat it. The mind knows they can’t keep us here forever. The mind knows that if you wait, you will get a better meal in time. You’re not supposed to want this food: you’re supposed to take two bites so you don’t die and push it aside. They are trying to make me weak and starved of nutrition.

So I eat every repulsive bite, lick the gray-green gravy off the tray.

The man who brings the food does not speak. Places like this, they use isolation to break you. I hear the other inmates talking to ghosts through the walls: hushed whispers, crazed screams, cries of joy, bursts of misplaced pride. I say nothing.

You hear people say it’s lonely at the top. That’s true: I’m always alone. Not a single person alive knows knows what it’s like to hold the future of humanity in their hands. No one living, at least. But I’m not alone here. Inside my mind I speak with my peers, the only other people to ever live on my level: da Vinci, Plato, Aristotle, Michelangelo, Edison. We play chess, of a kind, a sparring match of ideas and arguments. I always win.

The Asylum staff thinks they’re playing a game with me: the food, the silence, the squalor, all designed to make me weak.

But I am playing a game with the world.

And they’re just part of it.

Four walls, confining my body, but not my mind. The Warden walks past my cell. His footsteps echo in the hall. I see him through the rusty, iron-barred viewhole. He thinks he is powerful. I stare at him. His gaze meets mine. He smiles, but there’s sick fervor in his eyes. My instinct is to scream at him.

The box tells me to rip the door down, to threaten his life.

I do nothing.

Outside the box, there is a space of unlimited possibility.

At night, they blare music so I cannot sleep or focus. They flash the lights to disorient me. It becomes difficult to think. When the man brings food, I ask him for a pen and paper. He says nothing.

I wait until he is gone. I pry a screw from my metal bed. I plunge the screw into my arm.

Red blood spurts out. I dip my finger in it. The box is cold, but my blood is hot.

Others have placed only random bloodstains on the wall. But I use my hands and my mind and my blood to write. A complex system of numbers: a code that only I understand. A plan.

I fill all four of the walls: probabilities, outcome charts, logic sequences.

When they come for me, The Warden and his men will think I’m insane.

They will believe they’ve broken me. They will think they’ve won.

I’ve been placed inside a box. But they’re the ones thinking in it.

And that will make all the difference.

SeeSaw stands in the ring with his eyes on the prize in the referee’s hands! But… Where is X?


We see a dim light swaying over what looks to be an operating room of some sort. A white sheet is pulled over a lifeless body on the table.

Then the rest of the room’s lights flicker on.

And the room we are shown is more than well maintained, it is pristine, unbelievably clean and well kept.

And the dim bulb? An operating light, the likes of which is being adjusted by a technician in a white coat, a set of mechanical tools beside him… as well as a something that appears to be a scan tool.

And finally, with a flourish of his hands, the sheet is gone, and beneath it, powered down, is X.

“Quite an old model, isn’t it?”

The technician muses to himself as he examines the technology in X’s body.

“Well, old, but one of a kind. I suppose I have some analyzing to do…”

We fade out from the operating room…

… and back to the ring.

The referee looks around expectantly before shrugging his shoulders and turning to SeeSaw, the other man looking disappointed that his playdate didn’t show.

But oh so ecstatic as he is handed the Slaughterhouse Title Belt!

Your winner, by default, and NEW Slaughterhouse Champion… is SeeSaw.

The Warden’s Office.

The Warden sits at his desk, perusing some paperwork when the door opens and The Butcher walks in.

“You didn’t knock,” The Warden says. Even though he doesn’t look up from his work, he knows exactly who it is.

“Ah, but we’re past mere pleasantries and false societal notions of respect now, aren’t we, you and I?” The Butcher replies.

The Warden grins and looks up at the Butcher. “So we are.”

“Listen,” The Butcher says. “After this final match, I’m ready for you to release them.”

The Warden lifts an eyebrow. “So you’ve found adequate protection from Sorrow, then?”

The Warden stands up from his desk and grabs a couple of glasses from a nearby table. A bottle of whiskey is pulled out from his bottom desk drawer.

He poors a sip or two in each glass, taking one for himself and offering another to The Butcher.

The Butcher nods. “I have, indeed.”

“Good,” replies the Warden. He smiles, though his facial expression holds a small tinge of regret. He has enjoyed keeping the OSW Roster this week. “May I ask who it is?”

The Warden drinks his whiskey as The Butcher grins.

“We’ll see later tonight.”

The Butcher places his glass on the Warden’s desk and turns to leave. He never drank from it.

“Wasn’t thirsty?” Asks the Warden.

The Butcher shakes his head and exits the office.

He knows that even more than a drink in times like these, he needs his wits.


A rematch long awaited! Can Sorrow reclaim his title? Or will he BEG for mercy?

The match is off and Sorrow is the first one to make a move as he flings himself viciously towards BEG with a leaping headbutt that echoes with a thundering CRACK throughout the arena! BEG gets to his feet but Sorrow doesn’t let him stay there as he leaps with a vicious knee strike to the temple!

The animosity is running high and Sorrow is filled with absolute RAGE from his past few weeks!

He lays into BEG with a boot!




A mudhole get stomped into the champion’s face by the Gravekeeper! He finally steps away leaving bloodied footprints as he moves to a corner, BEG holding his face as he tries to stand!



He violently pulls and yanks at Darby, the sounds of Sorrow’s struggle to breathe almost sickening! But BEG just drinks it in as he flings both him and Sorrow into the turnbuckle! He throws both of their bodies all around the ring and not even giving Darby a chance to tap out!


He slams Darby headfirst into the turnbuckle padding! Over and over again! Sorrow isn’t even fully standing on his own power as he gets let go! He holds onto the turnbuckle to steady himself when-

A kick to the back of the calf!

Sorrow falls to a knee!



Blood pools from Sorrow’s mouth as he falls backwards onto the mat, but BEG isn’t close to finished yet! He mounts the undying Sorrow and lays into him! Left! Right! Left! Right! Each hand lands with the sickening thud of skin smacking skin!

He shoves Darby’s head to the ground and yells at the ref to count!





The world champ lets go of Darby’s head!


BEG lets out a cry of pain as he rubs his eyes, rolling off of Darby who has gotten up and made distance between him and his aggressor! But the suicidal Darby doesn’t stay away for long! He hits the ropes and comes back!


The strike pelts the back of BEG’s head and sends him careening into the ropes in front of himself, sandwiched between Darby’s arm and the rope! He drags BEG forwards and backwards on the rope, burning up his face without a second thought! He goes to pull him away-


BEG plays dirty and Sorrow is left feeling the side effects of it! He stumbles away from the ropes and BEG grabs his hair! IRISH WHIP TO THE OUTSIDE!

The World Champ has tossed Darby out and he’s run to his corner to grab his cane! The referee tries to intervene but a fistful of dollars thrown his way makes him reconsider! The cane is in hand as Darby grabs his shovel from beneath the ring!

Darby doesn’t waste a second running inside! He swings his shovel wildly and BEG dips under the strike only to take off the top of his cane!


Darby yelps in pain and the cane gets wrapped around his throat with BEG’s foot pressing into his back! The World Champ has an impromptu submission move locked in! Can Darby get out!?


Blood drips from his mouth as he drops his shovel! He can’t hold on anymore! The referee picks up his arm and drops it!





BEG’s vileness has done it! Sorrow is out and he has retained his title!

That son of a bitch has retained his Championship.

He gets back to his feet, raising his arms in celebration. The inmates holler and whistle in delight, the sound of bars being shook echoing throughout Mirror Lake.

Darby Sorrow slowly crawls towards Green, reaching up at his legs.

A sister smile fills the face of The Champion. Green looks towards the lobby where Alton Whitlock begrudgingly makes his way towards him.

Suddenly, here comes Mark Gouldern!

The InVasion Winner joins Alton Whitlock!

He casually enters the make shift ring, standing opposite BEG with his case in hand. They trade looks. Oh man, this could explode right here. Whitlock doesn’t quite know what to do with himself.

Darby gets back up.




Green laughs! He knew this was going to happen?

Berkshire violently grabs Sorrow once more, dragging him to his feet and tossing him at Whitlock, who he screams instructions at.

“Better world,” he bellows. “You put him down, Whitlock!”

With a look of utter shame, Alton Whitlock scoops him up.



Whitlock drives Sorrow into the canvas. Green stands there, clapping his hands as Mark Gouldern soaks in the wolf whistles around them with his case held into the air.

Just then, The Butcher appears, holding a briefcase of his own. He slides it into the ring and backs away, watching as Gouldern grabs it, opening it up to show thousands of dollars stacked inside.

Green raises a fist.

Gouldern raises a fist.

Whitlock shakes his head but with one firm stare by BEG, he too reluctantly raises a fist.

And they chant.

“Money, power, glory; IMPERIUM!”

A new faction has been born and boy, they hold all the cards.