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Generally speaking the result of spitting at another individual can be easily predicted. Especially when within kicking distance of said individual. Freak, aware of this, crosses his forearms up over his head. The actual protection it provides is minimal. The force of the strike sends the blonde rolling backwards. His momentum directed towards the corner, he leans back against the middle turnbuckle, trying to shake the cobwebs as medical personnel work at the lock.

"Ugh..." Freakshows vision began to unblur itself just in time to see the hazy figure Croft making a beeline straight for him. Operating on a level of cognition simultaneously distorted and sharp the shrewd veteran launches himself forward towards Salem, aiming to grab the rage blinded man by the tights and fall back with the intention of leveraging him face first into the turnbuckles.

Freakshow looks up at Croft only to be met with a swift elbow smash upside the head. The veteran, who was just in the process of getting back up, drops right back down onto his a**, seeing stars. The only logical thing for the mustached semi-retiree was guard his dome and pull his knees up over anything vital. As this happens several paramedics spill in through the door and into the ring, collectively far too concerned with the mortality of their friend to close the linked entrance behind them.

Freakshow, aware of the EMT's presence or not, senses the lack of boots on his face and makes the assumption that something must be amiss. In exploitation of his fact, Freak, knees drawn up to his chest as one would in the womb, places his foot against the solar plexus of Croft and extends hard. Not to kick, but to shove. A shove that if successful would leave one of the paramedics in the line of fire. A perfectly natural reaction made perfectly malicious by the presence of yet another innocent bystander.

Freakshow by nature found himself again outside of the ring. With his back up against the apron he pants, trying to make sense of everything that'd just happened in the past few moments. As he formulates the skeleton of his game plan his eyes dart backwards to the ring, then to the door. Swallowing the elusive veteran unevenly staggers towards the entrance. "Yes.." The Marauder had miraculously cleared the confines of the cage. It had either been all a part of a masterful, spontaneously constructed plan, or dumb luck. Those who knew best assumed the latter. Wanting to insure his safety, Freak turns around to try shutting and locking the door behind him.

As he fiddles frantically with the lock Freak soon finds his cranium inexplicably smacked up against the metal mesh door. Freakshow, in his immense pain, had several questions. How did this happen? Who did it? How did he even get out of the cage in the first place? He couldn't remember. Sprawled out on the bottom of the ramp the Marauder refuses to allow any sort of agony to thwart his escape. In a reduced state of animal confusion, Freak first begins crawling then ambling awkwardly up on his feet in the area of the gorilla position.

On top of the ramp the villain finds himself. Unconsciously he staggers off towards the side, perhaps wanting to use the crew exit instead of the wrestlers exit for reasons having at least something to do with Matt Shanahan. Unable to much control his momentum after getting nailed in the face with a door, Freak stops himself just short at the edge of the stage. He stands there, bleary eyed and confused. It was a bit longer of a drop than he had anticipated. "Aw.. Aw hell.." He slurs, staring down at the electrical equipment. "Uuuuh.." Slowly he turns around.