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Fresh from his match with Boxer Anarchy, Salem limped his way through the quiet corridor of the arena that led to the backdoor parking lot. Passing lingering fans hoping to catch glimpses of their favorite LWL stars, Salem would stop and thank those who approached him for coming out and showing their support. Dressed in a simple white t-shirt with a faded leather jacket thrown over, Salem still wore the jeans he'd previously sported to the ring less than an hour prior. However, there was a degree of fatigue evident in the young man's face as Salem pushed open the steel door that led outside, withdrawing his keys from the pocket of his coat, clicking his alarm and before making his way through the dimly lit aisles of vehicles.

The wind was stirring a little, prompting Salem to ask the cameraman following him to his car whether or not rain was in the night's forecast. After a brief talk about the upcoming weather, Salem finally reached his car, a 2010 black Ford Mustang. The trendy take on a muscle car had been blacked out, rims matching the paint job that caught the lamplight like a black pearl of the parking lot. Popping the trunk with his automatic remote, Salem would heave his travel bag into the rear compartment, hunching under the lid to arrange some clutter from inside the cargo area.

Salem had thought he'd smelled a noxious odor coming from his exhaust pipe as he hunched into his trunk, but felt the sharp sting of steel pinning his abdomen from both sides as Freak jammed the trunk lid down onto Salem's back, causing the young man to let out a pained groan from inside the trunk. Still lying inside there, Salem hadn't yet realized the identity of his attacker, but as the ache of his previous wounds started to resurface, Salem would reach around his trunk, hoping to find something of use to catch his fresher attacker by surprise.

The sensation of having his hair pulled taut and twisted within was met only by the shock of having heard the voice of his assailant, none other than Freakshow, the decrepit antagonist who'd drawn Salem's ire recently for having wrestled in a dress and used his finishing submission in the lesser-known but increasingly popular LESBO promotion. Though Freak was technically retired, he'd been spending his weekends putting on dresses and groping half-dressed girls who were half his age in jam-packed venues. Guess that was all any retired veteran could hope for at Freak's point in his career, but Salem wasn't about to allow Freak to cut down his own blossoming career because of some personal beef he had with the rising talent.

Wincing as the smoke from Freak's cigar stung Salem's eyes and stained his nostrils, the rookie star continued to fumble around his trunk while his unkempt opponent was preoccupied with posturing. Before he could find something suitable, however, Salem felt his flesh being singed by the glowing ember of Freak's cigar, the pain causing Salem to enter a momentary panic. Feeling something smooth and metallic in his palm, Salem acted without thinking and drew out the object, desperately swinging for the underside of Freak's jaw. The weapon, if successful, would reveal itself to be a tire iron from Salem's spare kit, a formidable piece of steel that made for an excellent makeshift weapon.

Salem braced his ribs with one hand as he swung wildly with the other, finding paydirt with his tire iron as the intoxicated Freakshow stumbled back against the cold, black asphalt. Slamming the trunk lid shut with his spare hand, Salem let out a frustrated, pained huff of air from his lungs before turning to face the cowering Freak. Ordinarily, Salem would have liked his odds in this present situation - having an advantage in size and power, he'd benefit more from a brawl with the more notorious lightweight. No such confidence was seen in Salem's eyes, however, as he took a pained limp towards Freak, bringing the tire iron down against his back as the man crawled away.

"Don't you crawl away from me!" Salem bellowed, face knotted in a furious snarl. He was putting on a brave face, but the truth was Salem was in more dire straits than his anger alluded to. Despite bearing his steely club, Salem was still fresh from his vicious main event bout with Boxer Anarchy, a daunting task that had left him limber enough to stand his ground, but weak enough for Freak to take advantage and capitalize with his sneak attack.

Continuing the approach, Salem would attempt to sink a knee down into the base of Freak's back, should his previous strike meet its mark. Then, using his weight as leverage, Salem would attempt to bear down on the retreating Freakshow by brandishing the tire iron up beneath his chin, looking to rear back on it in painful fashion as a modified submission attempt.

Salem gritted his feeth, jaw clenching shut as a snarl rumbled in his chest. It was best to keep this fight grounded for Salem's sake, as it gave the tired athlete more time to recover his stamina. But it seemed that the parking lot security had caught sight of their scuffling, and the burly grasp of four guards gripped Salem's arms and shoulders as he leaned back with all his might, trying to suffocate Freakshow with the steel bar. The sight of blood had brought a twisted grin to Salem's lips, eager to deal out a bit of torture to the man who'd stolen his signature submission.

"Ugh...ack! NO!" Salem roared, trying best as he could to maintain his death-grip on the tire iron.

Despite his best efforts, the arena attendants were enough opposition to break free one of Salem's hands, causing him and the makeshift weapon to be drug back several feet from Freak into an open area of the lot, huddling around him as Salem continued to resist, fighting against the retainers who blocked his path.

"That b*****d's getting away!" Salem howled, face red from anger and adrenaline after the skirmish with Freak. "I won't let him do it!"

Salem continued to struggle against the four guards who'd detained him, desperately trying to get back at Freakshow, who he'd lost sight of during the present commotion. Salem had a score to settle, a debt to pay, and he intended to see the scales righted before the night was through. With all his struggling and shouting, though, Salem failed to make any headway in getting free from the squad of security.

Then, suddenly, the group of five were bathed in the glow of headlights, and in their collective silence they could hear the acceleration of Freak's engine being pushed towards the red line. Moving at a decent enough speed already, Salem was the only one among the bunch who failed to move out of the car's path in time, his tired body already worn out from his previous match, assault, and restraint. With a sick, metallic thud, Salem would fall shoulder-first into the hood of Freak's car, rolling over the windshield and tumbling to the pavement, hard. Body twisted into a writhing heap of pain, the young man cried out from the collision as two security guards came up to check on Salem, the other pair rushing back to the arena on-foot for first aid.

Freak had stopped the car after sending Salem rag-dolling over the front-end of his speeding vehicle, but the guards' attention were preoccupied with the ailing, injured man who'd just been run over instead of running down Salem's attacker. They'd just managed to get Salem up to his haggard feet when the white lights of Freak's car going into reverse brought a sense of urgency and panic to the trio. Once again, the group sought to get out of the way of the possessed Freakshow as he backed up with haste, but as the two guards helped shoulder Salem out of the way, the young man would break free from the guards' grasp and swing wildly with the tire iron as Freak's car came within inches of him, trying to bust out the glass of the man's driver window as he passed.

Salem was livid with anger, letting out a fierce grunt as he bludgeoned Freakshow's window with enough force to shatter the glass and send it cascading across the interior and exterior of the door. Alarmed, it appeared that Freak was readying for another brutal encounter with Salem by the way he threw the car into park and opened the door, but Salem wasn't having any of it. On his feet and ready, the "Charismatic Calamity" would wait for Freak to step one leg out of the car door before stomping the steel shut with a fierce boot, trying to slam the car door against Freakshow's leg for a surprise attack. If successful, Salem would lean against the door frame with his body while reaching in with the tire iron, looking to try and wail on Freak with the weapon through the hole he'd torn for himself.