[Rowan Chance]

Two announcers stand in front of their table, backs turned to the ring. The words GARDEN STATE GLADIATRICES flash along the bottom of the screen. The tall and well-built African American ex-wrestler who calls himself Malcolm "the Hard Truth" Veracity stands beside the smaller but equally fit Valentia "the Latina Sensation" Rodriguez.

Well, we've had a great show so far tonight on the Garden State Massacre! We've seen two titles change hands and The World's Strangest Battle Royale!

There isn't enough bleach in the world to clean out my eyes from watching that match.

But now it's time for our main event! Becca Blast Martin faces off against Rowan Chance.

This is a fight that's had a long fuse, so let's see what's built up to this dangerous encounter!

* * *

The screen wipes to a montage of Becca on the verge of winning matches, then a woman completely wrapped up in black--including mask--runs in and attacks her. Over and over again. And each time, the woman in black ends the attack with a snap DDT, crashing her head and neck into the mat, leaving Becca flat on the mat.

The biggest part of the montage is when Becca is fighting for the championship. Becca has the match in the bag. The champ is staggering in the center of the ring, eyes glazed, legs buckling. Becca sets up for her finisher...

... and the Woman in Black attacks! Hitting Becca from behind, she lands with her arms and neck over the bottom rope. The WIB sits on Becca's shoulders, throttling her, making her face turn red and her lips turn blue. Drool oozing from her lips. It's only when other wrestlers run out from the back that the WIB leaves the ring.

The speed of the montage slows down to emotional music and Becca laying in a hospital with a tube down her throat. The doctor tells the camera, "Becca was exposed to a prolonged attack that seriously damaged her trachea." And for three weeks, Becca goes unseen on GSG.

And for those three weeks, the Woman in Black wrecks havoc. She demolishes wrestler after wrestler, then after the match, spends her time punishing those who dared challenge her. Anyone who challenges her ends up getting carried from the ring. But the WIB says nothing. When asked for interviews, she walks away.

Then, on the fourth week, as the Woman in Black wrecks a young woman named Andie "the Hope" Williams, BECCA BLAST RETURNS! She runs in, attacking the WIB from behind, smashing her neck and shoulders with a double hammer strike. Then, she gets on the WIB's back and rips the mask away! The WIB throws Becca off her back and stands up to reveal...

"IT'S ROWAN CHANCE! OHMYGOD! THE WOMAN IN BLACK IS ROWAN CHANCE!!!"

* * *

The screen fades back to the arena.

We've got two exclusive interviews with Chance and Martin before the match. First, let's see what Rowan Chance has to say...


* * *

I'm in a dark room, grey bricks behind me. A single light hanging from the ceiling, just below the top of the camera's eye. I'm turned away from the camera. Long shadows cast down on me. I'm wearing my black leather faux-corset, so you can see the slender, strong muscles under my skin. My raven's wing blue-black hair gently tumbles over my shoulders.

"Nothing is sacred," my honey-whiskey voice whispers. "Everything is permitted."

I remain with my back to the camera.

"A very wise man said that. A man who sent his followers into battle with the promise they'd live forever in Paradise if they fell in his name."

My head shakes. Chin tilted toward my chest.

"I...believed that once. Not in a literal way. Not in a religious way. But I understood that if I sacrificed and sacrificed that I'd be rewarded with Paradise...even if it was temporary."

I tease turning...but don't. Just a hint of my profile in the shadows.

"Now I know the truth. I was the follower. I was made promises that could never be kept. And all the while, I was told the same thing over and over again... Nothing is sacred. Everything is permitted."

I make a quarter turn. My face still hidden in shadows.

"Nothing is sacred. Everything is permitted."

Then, a dark, haunting laughter. I run my gloved hands over my face.

"Nothing is sacred!!! Everything is permitted!!!"

A quick motion and the camera smashes to the ground. My trademark black leather dominatrix boots the only thing on the camera. Then, the camera moves and my eyes eclipse the screen. My eyes, so dark. Almost black.

everything...is...permitted...

And the camera cuts out.

[Becca Blast!]

"Becca!   We DON'T KNOW who she is!  We didn't BRING HER IN!"

"Don't GIVE me that crap, Benny!  You know enough people who know enough people to know WHO SHE IS, and what she's doing here!  Hell, even I know who's brought her in!  Just because Stanky is gone, doesn't mean he doesn't have a hand in things!"

"Eddie Stankiewicz is NO LONGER A PART OF THIS PROMOTION!  We paid him off... even brought Red in so he could think he got his pound of flesh.  He's GONE!  Whoever this is, it's not him!"

"MY flesh.  Not YOURS!  He's been pissed ever since I got with the grasp of the title... but after I dust Kara, he can send that bimbo back to HELL for all I care!"

**********************

After that match, I wondered... while lying with a tube in my throat while my crushed trachea rebuilt itself... just how much of this had been planned... Kara didn't know... the damned Shroud (that's what we called her backstage) tore through her... through Mindy... through Tish, Alexia, Red Melanie... all of them.  She wasn't just after me... she was after the whole promotion... the GSG I rebuilt.  She was ordered to kill it.  I had to stop her.

And that's when it hit me.  All those DDT's... any angle, any opportunity, any opening at all.   

It was Rowan.  Lady DDT announcing her presence.  But why?  Who could get her to do this?  Did she need money that badly, that she's work for a skunk like Stanky?   Hard to believe.  But as I look over the tapes... oh, it was her... no doubt about that at all.  Her lithe, lethal, brutal form.  That symphony of destruction and precise, measured demolition.  When she went after Andie... I was ready... no one knew I was there...  had even fed a story I was in the hospital for an infection caused by the original tracheotomy.... breathing a little raspy still, but enough air for this... as the hapless rookie face was getting pummeled... I waited... then came roaring out... under the ropes and swinging down a hammer blow from my knees to stun her and get that mask off... Malcolm and Letitia give great commentary.. as always... and the Hired Assassin is revealed.

I should have gutted her right there... finished her... but I had to help Andie up and to safety... and the last I saw of Rowan, she was heading to the back... through a chorus of boos... and to wherever she crawled out of.  Knowing her... Park Avenue elegance, although her bankroll might mean it's a little shabby around the edges these days.

*********************

Naturally, they insisted I face her one on one.. because this IS a business.  And I watch her video.  Interesting.  The mumbo-jumbo I don't buy.  The only man who ever promised her anything of importance was .. him.  Tantalus.  Whatever deal THEY had, a little promotion across the river from NYC wouldn't mean anything. 

"Nothing is sacred.  EVERYTHING is permitted."  The marks will eat that up.  But the body.   Is lean.  Toned.  Ready.  Fit.  No sign of any back troubles or any worse the wear from her adventures.  Oh, I had been in Paris.  I had seen it.  There were scars, all right.  Mental ones.  THOSE don't go away.  But physically.. it's eerie that she seems unaffected at all.  The wreckage she left across GSG certainly didn't indicate anything at all wrong with her.  Physically.

Or mentally, even.  She's precise, focused, and clinical.  But it's almost... soulless.   What she's doing here.  What she did in the ring.  Like remorse or empathy had been beaten out of her.  She'd kill for money now, for sure.  But why us?  Why me?  One way to find out.  So I sign the contract. And I go to cut a response video.

********************************

The white mists swirl.. and I step out from them, lit from underneath... Navy blue boots with gold fringe... the camera scans up my thick powerful legs... to the polished leather Navy one piece suit a gold sash knotted on my right hip and hanging to mid-thigh... my hands on my hips, just below the white dress jacket with a tapered cut just below my chest and gold brocade and epaulets... then up to my face... the metallic copper manicure and lipstick match, a brown braid with gold thread visible.. and if my fans can't see it, they know it's there... it's been my trademark...

"So you're here.   I had thought you were in Minnesota.  You had been in Paris.  You SHOULD be in traction, or a grave.  I can fix that."

Maybe you don't know where you are.  You're in New Jersey.  When we hear people talking about someone who promises Paradise, we take a look across the river.  We don't have room for that here.

You are not welcome here.

You are not needed here.

You will not STAY here.

I'm Navy.  You might have heard.  We know what to do with people like you.

Burial at sea will be kind.  I don't intend to be ... KIND.

It's Zero Dark Thirty for you, Rowan.  Jersey out."

And with that, I turn and walk into the mists.  When I emerge, Hell will come to Newark. 

And it will break over her head.

[Rowan Chance]

The announcer man stands in the center of the ring wearing a tux. It isn't nice, it isn't bad...it's a Jersey tuxedo. I think that's all I need to say. He speaks into the mic.

"The next match is a GARDEN STATE GRUDGE MATCH. No time limit. No count out. No disqualification. The only way to win is knockout or submission."

That's when the whole place goes dark. Real dark. What did you call it, Bimbo Becca? "Zero Dark Thirty?" That dark. Halestorm's Black Vultures begins blaring over the loudspeakers.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gnrKrFS6L0Y

I spent about a week negotiating for my entrance. This shit hole can certainly afford it for the asses I'm putting in seats. Attendance is up. People want to see me. After Paris...

So fire goes off. Black fire. Well, technically, it's a weird kind of blue flame created by the same chemistry they use to make black candles but...yeah, you don't care.

I step out onto the stage. I'm wearing my standard gear: black leather up and down. Boyshorts, tall dominatrix boots, my faux-corset, opera gloves. But I've got a new addition:

I'm wearing the mask. It's not tied on. Just on my head. Easy to take off.

I head toward the ring, avoiding the groping hands of the sick, pathetic Jersey assholes who came to watch me roll around in small clothes with another woman. I ease up to the ring. Grab the lowest rope and swing myself up and over it, doing my typical full splits. Then, just to show off my flexibility and balance, while I'm on the canvas in the full splits, I slowly...oh so slowly...raise up to my feet...just using my legs. Bringing them together with my arms up above my head, my chin tilted, my back arched.

The cameras turn on. An innumerable number of boys are gonna be using that tonight for nefarious means.

When I get to my feet, I make sure I'm facing the hard camera. I reach up with both hands, making sure I'm using my fingers, stretching them across the leather until I reach the untied ties in the back. Then, I slowly pull it away from my head.

And my face is painted black. Red lips, red across the eyes. I shake my hair so it falls over the paint, some of it sticking. Invoking my quiet mentor/sensei.

I'm ready Becca. More than ready for you.

[Becca Blast!]

I hang out in the back... Mal and company do their usual intro...

Damn straight, this is a grudge match.  Someone, for some reason, sent YOU to wreck my promotion.  That ends TONIGHT.

I watch you come out.  Very impressive.  All black and mysticism and Gothic menace... it's a look that sells, and it's a look that has sold for you for years.  Elegance, menace and something vaguely eldritch.  And you're wearing the mask.  Just to make sure everyone knows it was you... and a pose that makes every adolescent attracted to females throb just a little... damn, the girl knows how to sell it... and you go to pull the mask off.  Good.  Time to get down to business.

"Holy fuck it's MUTAH!"

OK, THAT got my attention.  We're going deep with this one.  I thought you had some sort of game planned for this... you certainly paid for it... but this runs a little cold.  That's a name that doesn't get thrown around carelessly -- or used carelessly.  But I'm Navy, you see, and in the Navy, we tend not to use pop guns.  We use fucking CANNON.  Time to let you have it with both barrels, and I snap my fingers high in the air...

And the searchlights start spinning... all around and flashing up and down and sideways... until they find their target in the ring... YOU.  I've been told this disorients the hell out of people.  Good.  Let's see how you like it, especially since tonight I added a little something.. no expense spared for our visitor.

At each entrance opposite a corner.. save the one I come through, one of them shows up.

Chelsea Joy.  Archy Jay.  Jane Espie. All playing Shipping up to Boston on their bagpipes.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T5w3qzpIv3g

I come down the fourth way... with the lights flashing and the pipes blaring and the crowd roaring.  In my Navy blue one piece with the gold cord across the deep V-neck, backless... gold elbow and knee pads and Navy black boots over white tights... my hair up in a thick brown braid laced with a gold cord entwined in it...I stride down, making time with the pipes... no need to run, it won't impress her, and it will only waste energy... I barely acknowledge the crowd... they know this is business, and they know my business is with you... and I make my way up the steps and slip in... a final snap and my own rockets shoot off... out of the ring posts... skyrockets of blue and gold... I know a bit of chemistry myself, but only you would bother with the details... this is for show.

But this isn't.  I'm Navy, and I'm a fockin' CELT, Rowan.  You want to get all mystical, that's fine.  Let's see whose demons are stronger!

[Rowan Chance]

Watching your entrance, I remember being a little girl, sitting in the living room, watching Irish dancing on the television. My Irish mother tapping her feet, my Japanese father just frowning. When she asked him what was wrong, he said, "Irish music. It's always the same thing."

"What do you mean?" she asked, her Irish eyes not-a-smiling.

"It's the same meter played 8 times, then you play another meter 8 times, then you play the first meter 8 times again, then you play a third meter 8 times, then you play the first meter 8 times..."

That's when she threw the pillow at him. I always think of that moment when I hear Irish music.

But seeing you get into the ring, surrounded by flashing strobe lights trying to confuse and bewilder me, I just maintain my focus and my wicked grin. Eyes locked on you.

As you get into the ring...
As you do your little jig in the corner...
As you look at me from across the canvas...

The referee calls us to the center. I step forward, my white eyes flashing bright against the black makeup on my face. We're supposed to stop within a step of each other. I don't stop. I keep walking. Right up into your precious little space. Keep walking until our foreheads meet. And my eyes are glaring right into yours.

And when the referee starts reading us the instructions, my tongue darts out. Just the tip licking your lips. That wicked smile still there.

[Becca Blast!]

Does she seem bothered?  Not a whit.  Not that I'm exactly surprised.  This is Rowan Freaking Chance.  If a little sound and light - hell, a LOT of sound and light -- would affect her to the point that it shows, she's really off her game.

The crowd, though?  It's roaring for blood.  HER blood.  And I have to feel for Tina in this.  She's the tall redhead in the striped top that with black shorts exposes a tight bare midriff -- which no one looks at unless she blows her job.  She's the ref, and tonight, she really has no job except to ask for a submission.  Which I doubt Rowan will give.  I sure as hell won't. 

And the marks will be disappointed if that's how it ends, anyway.  Hence, the show to whip them into a frenzy.  And we approach each other, her makeup and lithe black form moving like a shadow... as I smile and wait for you... of COURSE, she wants to put on a show... the crowd howling even more as our foreheads meet and your tongue flicks over my coppery lips... smiling.   Everything permitted; nothing sacred.

Nice one, hon.  I smirk as you do that. And Tina steps in to separate us.  Poor girl is trying to ride a cyclone, as that lick is shown on the big screen and the crowd gasps... I step back... and wink.  Tina's forearm on my chest... and as we separate... I snap my right knee up at the open space between your corset and shorts... time to get this underway, now that we understand each other.

Everything permitted, nothing sacred, right?   RIGHT.

[Rowan Chance]

The knee hits me straight in the gut, forcing my torso forward a few inches, making me gasp. My hands instinctively reach to the place I was hurt, the place where the pain started. But there's a growl in my voice.

Yes, it has begun. And the pretty girl wants to play dirty. That's good. The Navy girl who follows all her masters' orders wants to break the rules. Yes. Exactly yes.

Because the way to beat a Navy brat is to get them to go outside where they're comfortable. To do things they don't really understand how to do.

We're going there tonight, Becca. I'm not pushing the envelope. I'm burning it down. I'm going places you could never imagine. And I'm taking you with me.

[Becca Blast!]

She bends... she can break.  Good... but she doesn't bend much, and there's a .. snarl?...

Like I'm fighting a mad dog.  No.  A crafty, clever, vicious dog... an attack animal. 

You've come for me and mine.  My work.  My business.  My livelihood.  MY LIFE.  My throat burns as I rasp a little at the memory.

I'm going to end you.. and your schtick.. I reach for your ears... to hold your head up as you clasp your gut... so I can slam my forehead at your nose.   That's makeup; it will come off... and when it comes off, there will be just you and me.. two women... one for pay, and the other for her existence.

You don't stand a chance, there, Rowan. 

[Rowan Chance]

I manage to duck at the last moment, just before your forehead hits my nose. We bang heads together instead. Better that than a broken nose.

Everything goes foggy. My knees buckle for a moment. The whole world turns sideways. I blink my eyes, trying to regain my focus. You must feel it in your grip, my body swaying for a moment. Or maybe not. You weren't expecting to connect that way. Finally, my vision clears and I see a bit of my black smeared on your forehead. I smile. A long, luxurious, evil smile.

Then, my hands snap up and grab your hair, holding your head still so I can stare into those lovely eyes of yours. I want to see what's behind them when you see what I'm about to do. I want to see your reaction. See the thoughts running through that pretty and obedient Navy head of yours when the thing you expected doesn't happen.

My fingers tight in your hair. My gaze gripped onto yours. I whisper, my voice all dark honey whiskey...


do it again.

[Becca Blast!]

She moves... not enough to avoid me entirely, but enough to make us bang heads rather than me flatten her nose... damn... my head fuzzes, as cranium meets cranium and we short each other out....

My legs wobble as the crowd buzzes...

Malcolm:  "Ooooooo, that's a risky move by Becca, and it doesn't end well... She's going to need Excedrin Self-Inflicted after that!"

Leticia:  "She's going to need more if Rowan takes advantage of this!  That impact was enough to make Becca's forehead look like Ash Wednesday with that makeup!"

And I feel a little greasepaint on my brow... funny what you feel when other nerves don't want to work... which you make come alive with a yank of my braid...my hazel eyes staring into the empty black void behind your eyes...

"do it again"....

"Do it again"... like you weren't affected... like you enjoyed it.  Like this is where you want to have this fight... to see who can take more and keep giving... thinkign what that means... and my hazel shifts to grayer... you won't like what the ice does when it moves into my soul.

"got a good grip?" I give you in way of a response.  "Because I fully intend to."

As I use your grip... to slide my thumb behind the knuckle of my middle finger on my left hand... and drive that fist just below your navel.  I've heard Rown is a little soft there.  Let's find out. 

This ship has all sorts of ordnance.  I will use all of it if I have to.

[Rowan Chance]

Your knuckled fist hits just below my navel and again you knock wind from my lungs, making me buckle forward. This time, my chin falling on your shoulder.

You feel my body shudder, just a little...but then, like a rusty knife cutting through paper, the sound of my laughter, like an autumn wind through dead branches. My body arches back up so I'm face to face with you again. You see my grin. Feel the heat of my breath as I laugh.

As I laugh in your face.

"Little girl," I say, my lips brushing yours, like a brutal kiss. "You'd better bring more than that."

I bite your lower lip. Not hard. Not trying to draw blood. But like a lover. And I let it snap right back into place.

"Becca," I say, just loud enough for the microphones to hear it. "Why don't you hurt me like you mean it."

[Becca Blast!]

I tagged her... I can feel it... the gust of air blowing past my ear... the feel of your chin on my shoulder... that hurt her....

Then.. she LAUGHS.  Not a normal laugh.  A laugh like wind rustling out of a corpse.  A laugh full of dead things.  DAMNED things.

And your lips brush mine as you straighten.. .and bite at my bottom one.

I glare in your eyes.  You WANT me to hurt you.  You NEED me to hurt you.  To show that you can take it.  And I realize just what I'm up against here.  This woman is beyond caring, beyond reason, beyond logic. 

There's no WHY as to why she came after us.  She did because she noticed us.  Wants to toy with us. 

Fuck her.   She's flesh and blood and bone.  She's not some shadow bitch.  I can hurt her.  I WILL hurt her.

My lip tingles.   Something inside tingles too.  But it's not pleasure, or even pleasant...

"What is she doing?  DARING Becca to hurt her?  That makes no SENSE!  This woman can WRECK people!"

"This ref is the most useless person in the ring. Neither of them want her there.. and we're about to see that!"

You want to straighten up, fine... I go to bring up my right elbow as you try your magic act... let's get it under that chin of yours and make you bite your own lip... I will bust you open yet.. as it dawns on me.

She hasn't done anything to attack yet.  What is she waiting for?

[Rowan Chance]

The elbow under the jaw sends my head snapping up. I stagger backward, one hand under my chin, the other reaching for the ropes that I know are there.

I hit the top rope, arm curled over it. I turn away, just a little. Just showing you my side, not my back. Eyes shut as I grit my teeth.

Yeah. That hurt.

The burn in my jaw reaches up right into my skull. I move it to the left...to the right...Yeah. It ain't broken. That's good.

And in that little moment, that little pause, I blink my eyes again. So white against the black make up. And my head turns with the same snap that you gave it a moment ago, except this time, it turns toward you.

I turn the rest of the way so my back is against the top rope, my arms stretched all along it. And as I lounge across the ropes, my hips giving a little curve to my silhouette, I say:

"I thought. I told you. To hurt me!"

[Becca Blast!]

Yeah.   That one hurt.  I hear the audible click on your jaws... and the reeling wraith is going to the ropes...

I don't plan to let her linger there.  I follow... watching you test your jaw.. and turn towards me... you give me your body along the ropes... who am I to resist it...

I step in and aim my left thumb up under your armpit.  You're not the only one who learned a few dirty tricks on the road, hon... there's a nerve cluster under your arm that can deaden an arm if jammed into... so I go for it... I want that arm dead.  So I can use it to pull you off the ropes and send this shroud on a tour of the ring...

"You wanted to be here?  I'm gonna change your MIND, you would-be spectre..."

The women of the mound.. .the Ban Sidhe... what those idiots call banshee... they might know what I'm going to do to you...

But you don't.  You're just a woman.  And you can be broken.

[Rowan Chance]

You thrust your thumb toward my armpit.

And that's the moment I've been waiting for.

My arm snaps shut, catching your wrist.

And there we are. Face-to-face. Your arm trapped under mine. I give you the widest, wickedest, maddest grin you've ever seen. My white lips shining under my black make up.

My other arm snaps up. Fast. Immediate. Wraps up and around your neck. Pulling you into a front face lock. And under your chin, my left hand grabs my right wrist.

I've got you, Becca.

I've got you.

My right leg kicks out behind me, giving my body torque. And then...


I let you go.

Just...let you go.

I even push you away. And lean back on the top rope. My arms spread out wide. My legs crossed at the ankles.

And I smile.