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Freakshow didn't like being yelled at. He wasn't sure what Salem was saying, or even of what context to place these incomprehensible words into. But he knew he didn't like getting yelled at. He also knew he didn't like getting thrown face first into a cage, ouch, and tossed into a steel ring post. The businessman goes bumbling and staggering around the corner before flopping onto his face.

The steel steps smash against the floor. While the action was obscured for some, the mere sound, one that implied an ugly demise for Freak, got a rather sizable reaction. The reality was that the slippery New Yorker had taken refuge underneath the ring. Upon hitting the floor the fight or flight instincts kicked in with a favor towards the latter, Freak, while thouroughly rattled for sure, was nowhere to be found.

The fans quickly grow impatient with Freaks Houdini ********. They smelled blood in the water and they wanted the meat on a platter, sooner rather than later. Sooner, rather than later, Freakshow emerged from under the opposite side of the ring. He hadn't gotten any prettier. His wound had just started to leak a little slower, only a marginal improvement. In Freaks hand he clutches a plastic bag with a string attached to it, an unorthodox weapon, if even that. He lays on the floor panting, he scans he nearby environment, noting yet another set of steps. Unable to detect an semblance of Croft, Freak uses his foot to shove over the top of the second, last steps. Upon impact of the steel he would scurry back under the ring.

"..Gotcha," Just as planned Freakshow slips back out from under the ring, right behind Croft. Hoisting himself to an off-center center, the scarred veteran, palm red with his own fresh blood, reaches forward to slide his hand sharply across the eyes of Salem. Then, in one swift motion, he would bring the plastic bag looping over his opponents head. With twitchy but remarkable dexterity he'd quickly work at wrapping the drawstring around the young mans neck to cut off any opportunity at oxygen in addition to digging his forearm into the fan favorites throat to complete the choke.

Freakshow draws the bag tightly around his opponents head. With every passing moment it would grow increasingly difficult for Croft to draw breath. The air in the bag was growing more humid with each recycle. As Salem takes to a knee Freak leans over, taking advantage of his superior leverage and positioning to crank harder on the highly illegal maneuver. Making sure the plastic remained tied, the New Yorker would relinquish the hold before grabbing Crofts arm in a chickenwing, using his free hand to throw several vicious, stiff cross-face blows to the mans bagged head.

Freakshow, after getting his shots in, loops his forearm back around his opponents neck. He hauls the dead weight of his opponent back up, using the momentum to slump the rookie over into the ring. Staying on the grind, Freak slithers under the ropes and ontop of Salem, hooking his legs around the rookies waist like a snake, he'd roll barrel roll himself and his opponent to the center of the ring in a rare display of amateur wrestling skills by the European trained technician. If successful, he would find himself back mounting his opponent in the center of the ring. With one hand grasped around the back of the neck, forcing the man face first into the ground, Freak would attempt to insure complacency by throwing a series of vicious elbows smashes to the back of the head. The Midnight Marauder, more and more a finesse player in recent years, had regressed to the drug-fueled scrappy brutality of his deathmatch days.

"UGH! UGH!"

The smoker wheezes with each clubbing smash to the back of the head. Panting the crimson masked nightclub owner placed both of his hands on the ground, taking a second to collect his breath before he proceeded with his attack. "Ok... Ok..." Blinking through the blood he disengages from the mount, finally sliding the plastic bag from off of his opponents head. Grabbing a handful of Crofts hair he slowly makes his way up to a wobbly base. Standing above Salem he would dangle the slumped over superstars head a few feet above the ground. Then, letting him drop, he would swing his foot forward to meet his temple with a very ugly looking soccer kick!

The audience groans in sympathy. Freak, thrown off balance by the force of his own kick, windmills his arms backwards before falling onto his a** unceremoniously. To worn down to recover from his tumble he tilts back into the ropes, groaning to himself as he linked his arms around the bottom, resting his head, staring up into the lights. The offensive flurry had its price. The new yorker rocks back and forth, trying to regain some kind of energy as the fans began clapping in unison as a means of encouraging both men, or rather just Croft, to resuscitate.

"Stay down you pig s**t.."