[Virginia Dare]

(And now... back to Jenny Dare!)



I know what’s coming. I can sense it.

And the audience warns me. My ally. My secret ally.

I learned how to listen to them a long time ago. My first match taught me how. They’ve never let me down. And I’ll never let them down.

It’s a forearm. Of course it is. Iron Michelle has only one tactic: hit me in the face with her loaded arm brace.

She thinks I can’t see. That’s not true. I can see. Just not well.

I see the black blur of motion coming toward me. Just enough to see that forearm just inches from my face.

I duck under, falling to one knee.

I grab her wrist as it flies by me.

As her body follows through with the swing, I hold that wrist tight... use that momentum to spin her back toward me.

And when she gets within range, I jump up from my knee and send a clothesline at her chin and neck straight from the playbook of The Man.



LVK: THE GO HOME LARIAT!!!

RP: HOLY #$%^! Dare just knocked Blount right out of her boots!

LVK: Spinning head over heels, Blount lands right on her head!

RP: I haven’t seen a lariat like that since that blind coot Hansen was throwing them!



Blount crashes to the mat in an unfortunate heap, her feet straight up in the air, her chin on her chest. She remains that way for a moment, then collapses down to the mat, her eyes shut, her mouth making strange, wet sounds.

I crawl forward quickly, barely able to see, grabbing her leg and cradling her neck, locking my fingers together over her chest.

The referee counts “ONE!”

Then “TWO!”

And then “THREE!”

I hear the bell ring and I roll off Blount. My head starts to ring just then. That damn forearm brace.

Still on the ground, holding my head, the referee raises my hand. I use the ropes to pull myself back up and I hear the crowd cheering me, my eyes still burning.

My secret ally. You’ve never give up on me and I promise, I’ll never give up on you.



While the crowd cheers, Aarón Rodriguez steps into the ring, microphone in hand. Interview time.

He says, “Ms. Dare, that was—if I may say so—a daring show of skill and fortitude.”

I nod my head, sweaty blonde locks falling in front of my eyes.

“First,” I say, gasping a little. “It’s Jenny. And second, may I say that it is an honor to stand in the same ring as the great El Estrello.” And I offer him my hand.

He shakes it and smiles. “Thank you, Ms. Dare—I mean Jenny. I think many in the locker room here may be taken aback by your sense of honor and respect.”

I nod again, still catching my breath. “I know that. Trust me, I know that.” I look out at the hard camera. “FTW. Full Throttle Wrestling. Home of wrestlers like Punky... and Callista Quinn. Not exactly what I’d call women who understand honor or respect.”

I pause for a second and the audience fills in the gap right on cue.

“See, where I come from... honor is something you get from your family. And respect is something you earn the hard way. But the Countdown... they think they can just beat respect out of anyone they choose. That’s not respect, Countdown. That’s just being an old fashioned high school bully.”

The crowd cheers. I’ve got them on a rhythm now.

“Cheat to win. That’s their code of honor. And they’ve gotten away with it.” I look at the legend standing next to me. “I’ve been watching, Estrello,” I tell him. “And I don’t like it.” I point at Michelle Blount, limping away from the ring. “That one there? She thought she could get away with it. Loading up her arm brace. Throwing stuff in my face. Cheat to win! That’s the motto around here. Cheat to win!”

I look back at the hard camera and point at it. “Well it didn’t work! It didn’t work, Countdown! Because I’m more than just a pretty face! More than just long legs! I was trained by men with names like Funk and Hansen! Wrestlers who were so damn tough, they didn’t need to pull cheap tricks like pulling Mag lights from their trunks!”

I pause for a moment, let the audience catch up. They’re cheering their brains out. There’ll be a lot of Jenny Dare t-shirts in the audience next week.

“I’m not going to stand by and let it happen! Not to me and not to anyone else!”

The crowd is so loud now, I can’t even hear myself shouting into the mic. So, I pause. Give them time to cool down, just a touch. I lower my voice. Make them get quiet so they can listen.

“Another woman might stand up here and say something like, ‘There’s a new sheriff in town.’” I shake my head. “But I’m from the Great Lone Star Republic of Texas. So I’m telling you... there’s a new Texas Ranger in town!”

The crowd pops huge. And I smile.

“So you bring your baseball bats and your mag flash lights and your polo sticks or whatever that thing is that Punky carries around with her...”

I pause... and the glare in my eyes darkens. I stare right into the camera, reach up and pull the tie out of my hair, letting my blonde curls fall over my shoulders.

“... you can even bring your Enforcer along.”

The audience’s cheers suddenly morph into a long, prolonged “Oooooooh.”

“... because what you saw tonight is the new Law of the Land. And in case you missed it, my name is Jenny Dare. And if you want to come introduce yourselves... I’ll be in the locker room.”

[Virginia Dare]

A few minutes after the match, I'm backstage, sitting on a metal chair. Still in my ring gear, my hair down my tanned shoulders. One of the agents gets me a wet towel and a bottle of water. I smile and give him a "Thanks." Then, I wipe the towel over my eyes. Damn, this crap stings.

I'm expecting a visit from at least one Countdown representative after that hot promo I gave. I say "hot promo" because every once in a while, the adrenaline and the roar of the crowd get to me. Spouting off like that wasn't smart. I've got no friends backstage. No backup. Nobody I really know. Nobody I can count on. If three or more of them show up, I might be walking out of here with a broken arm or a concussion. I may not be walking out of here at all.

"Dumb, Jenny," I whisper to myself. "Just dumb."

So, I've got my head up. I still can't see too well because of that crap that got shoved into them, but I'm...

... oh no.

I see her through my blurry vision.

When I say "her," I mean... it's her... but not her.

And I remember everything. Even the secret things nobody else knows about. Nobody but Red... and Tantalus...

... and her.

She's just a few feet away. Black, oily hair falling down over her face.

I've never seen her like this. She was always just plain old Rowan Chance. But this...

... this is something different. Something...

I see her standing just a few feet away.

I stand up, the water bottle and the wet rag still in one hand. Through my blurry vision, I see her moving toward me. Under that veil of hair I see that Mask for the first time. And her eyes.

Her eyes are pitch black. Like a shark's eyes.

She gets closer. Close enough to...

... no. Don't think about that. That was a long time ago. And you're stronger now.

Don't think about how she made you...

... STOP. STOP IT.

I look down at Rowan. Not Aika. At Rowan. It's just a mask. A gimmick. Some kind of creepy Great Mutah thing.

I look down at Rowan. She's looking up at me.

I say nothing. Not a word. Don't show her anything. Don't give her anything. I heard what she did to the others. Gemma. Emily.

I look down at her. And I don't say a word.


Aika looks up at you in complete silence. Still as a corpse.

For a long time, both of you say nothing. Unmoving.

Outside, the audience stirs. Waiting for something... anything... to happen.

And slowly... Aika smiles. She reaches up and coils a finger around your long, blonde hair.

"DAAAARE," she whispers.


I hear Aika's voice. Somewhere in that awful wet grave sound I hear Rowan's. Almost like it's fighting to get out.

I feel Aika's fingertips take a lock of my hair and I something inside me speaks for me.

I have to show her. I'm not afraid of her. Not even afraid of Aika.

I return her smile and say, "How's the back?"


Aika's grin turns into a snarl. A sound like a venomous hiss slips through her teeth.

Her fingers curl around your hair. Tight.

"DAAARE," she says, this time through a curled, cruel lip.

And Lord Tantalus rushes up, grabbing Aika around the waist, pulling her away. Aika kicks and screams as he pulls her back into the darkness. But she screams your name over and over again.

"DAAAAARE!"


I shout back, watching Tantalus pull you away.

"I'M NOT AFRAID OF YOU, ROWAN! YOUR CHEAP HALLOWEEN TRICKS DON'T SCARE ME! I'M NOT AFRAID OF YOU!"

As she and Tantalus vanish, I can feel my limbs trembling.

I take a deep breath.

"Jenny," I whisper. "What have you gotten yourself into?"

I can't stop my hands from shaking.

That's the adrenaline leaving my body. Yes, that's what it is.

I sit back down. I can feel my eyes welling up, a tear rolling down my cheek.

It's the crap Michelle shoved into my face, I think to myself. Of course it is.

[Lindsay C]

I'm feeling a little bad after leaving Lisa alone. But I had something to take care of. Something important! At least, it felt important to me! I didn't even tell her about this. I just know that all she would've done is tell me how stupid it is.

And here I arrive. It's just a door, right? Well, it's THE door! The most feared door in FTW! It may not look too special, but...there's this writing on it...”COUNTDOWN”.

I don't think anyone who's not a part of Countdown entered this room and came out of it in one piece. Am I scared? Sure! A bit. More like...tensed, maybe?! Ah, who am I kidding?!

I slowly lift my right hand. I take a deep breath as I hesitate, and then...*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*

My heart races. I hear nothing from the other side of the door. All I hear is my heavy heartbeat and a little voice in my head as I keep telling myself “Not her! Not her! Not her! Please not her!”

And then the door opens...

It's her!

My heart leaps into my throat. It feels like the temperature just took a really really REALLY big dive!

Callista stands in the door, holding it open with one hand as she looks me over with that icy stare of hers. Then her eyes meet mine, and I feel like I'm freezing!! At 5'11'' neither of us is really used to looking straight into someone's eyes. Personally, I don't mind that! But for some reason I think the FTW Champion has a problem with it. She seems to really like looking down at everybody. But oh well...

There's silence between us as I don't really know what to say. Super nervous! I would've been okay with everyone else! But...Callista?? I don't know if my mind's ready for this. But it HAS to be done!! After a few seconds of looking into each others' eyes, she looks further up, over my head and...wait!! Something changed about her face! Is that...is that confusion? I just can't ready this woman! Can anyone?? (I mean, seriously???) But why would she be con...oh right!

I'm standing there with both hands behind my back...and 3 big helium balloons floating just above my head. Holding them in my left hand. A Hello Kitty balloon, one is red and heart-shaped and the other looks like a little blimp. All three of them have “GET WELL SOON” written across them. And in my right hand, held against my lower back is a heart-shaped box of chocolates with the same writing.

It's been a few seconds, and still not a single word has been spoken here. I'm just too nervous, my mind got lost somewhere in the arctic depths of Callista Quinn's eyes, while she's just standing there, staring at me, until she decides to break the silence.

“I have literally no idea what you're doing here, so either explain or sod off.”

Her words wake me up from my little hypnosis and I shake my head. “Oh ehm...I...I'm sorry!” Stumbling over my words a bit. I take another deep breath and then bring my hands around, holding them out in front of me so that the balloons float around between us. Taking another deep breath

“Hello there, Ma'am. Miss...Miss Quinn, Ma'am. I just...ehm. I...I...” I catch a glimpse of the FTW Championship that's resting on a table in the locker room. Looks like...maybe she just polished that thing? “Oh...congratulations on your title win, too! Ehm, but I'm here to...well, I've seen what happened to Gemma and...and I wanted to bring her these little “Get Well Soon”-presents but nobody really wanted to tell me what hospital she's in!! So, so I thought. I....I thought maybe...you as...Ms. Countdown Boss and all. Know where she is? And...and maybe you could...like...bring her those things for me?”

It's kinda possible that my voice became more and more silent at the end of my little speech, my head lowered a bit, so I look upwards and I see...no reaction!! Had I brought those things to Gemma myself, I would've at least gotten something!! Joy, hate, rage...whatever!! Any emotion is better than the heartless, cold silence coming from the Champion. Wait?? Did the corner of her lips curl up? Wait...no, she's just talking

“How...strange. I would have thought you and your silly little friend would have a good deal of antipathy towards us, Gemma included.” I stood there for a second, scrunching up my face in confusion. “Loathing,” Callista added, which didn't change my expression at all. “Hatred?” Callista said.

“Oh no! Don't be silly!” I said, only that produced a fierce glare from her. “Well, I, ehmm” Stumbling over my words, looking left to right a little, before I shake my head and look into Callista's eyes...smiling at her. “I don't hate anybody.” I say, matter-of-factly. “Sure, me and Lisa haven't really seen eye-to-eye with the Countdown. But it's not like we hate you!” pausing for a moment to think, I add with a giggle “Well, maybe Lisa! But not me. I know every person has a reason for what they're doing. You do what you think is right, and...that's okay, I guess. You do your thing, we do our thing, and when we disagree, we step in the ring, right?”

“That's certainly ONE option...”

“And anyways, we're all colleagues here, right? I mean...we travel together and all! FTW is just like one BIIIIIIG family!! And as a colleague, I am really really sorry for what happened to poor Gemma. I mean...that was...that was just brutal and...and scary and...I...” my eyes drift off a bit as those images come back into my mind. That scream, seeing her arm like that...and of course this Monster Aika!! Shaking my head to clear that from my mind “...I'm really sorry! And I want her to get well soon! And...this place isn't the same without Gemma! I mean...it's so quiet. Nobody seems to be cursing around here anymore!”

She looked like she about to offer a solution other than bringing the gifts to Gemma, so I extended my arms a little further, pushing the balloons and the chocolates into Callista. Looking into her eyes, making big puppy eyes and pouting my lips a bit. “Pretty please? I...I feel like I NEED to do this! And...you want Gemma healthy, I want her to be healthy. So....please?”

She looks at me as I almost beg her to take my presents for Gemma. Batting my eyelashes at her as I hold them out towards her. It takes a few seconds before she reaches out and snatches the things out of my hands. Making me put a big smile on. I nod and almost...ALMOST launch myself at her to hug her!! But luckily I was JUST able to remember who this is I'm talking to, and she'd probably knock me out in “self defense”. Or just cuz.

“Anything else? I have a match to get ready for!”

“Oh...no. No, nothing else. I just wanted to get these things to Gemma. Thank you so so SO much!! And...and....”

My eyes grow wide as I remember something. Something I wanted to talk about with another Countdown member. I push up on my tip toes to peek up over Callista's head. Looking around the locker room, which seems to be empty, though. “Hmm...” dropping back flat on my soles, looking Callista in the eyes.

“I wanted to talk with Megan, too. It's kinda important! Do you...know where she” *SMACK*

I gasp and stagger back a few steps as, without any warning, she slammed the door shut! Almost hitting me right in the face with it. “Did I say something wrong?" Then I shrug my shoulders, adding "Ah...whatever!!” to my thoughts as I start grinning and with a happy skip to my step, hop away to find Lisa at the buffet.

[ThePurpleVixen]

The lights snap off, and the fans are treated to some restful darkness after Sadie’s latest assault on good taste. The crowd, an animal as easily spooked as a cage of rhesus monkeys, gets a good howl going, and cellphone LEDs turn the darkness into a thousand stars.

The FTW PanoramaVision™ (patent pending) lights up again, with the stark night-time view of a tall brick building with a columned porch and fine gable windows, seemingly shot from a camera resting at ground level and angled up.  The image is eerily sharp, but jittery, like a GoPro video - which it probably is, since those things are cheap as hell these days and it’s a hassle filling out the paperwork for hauling an FTW cameraman out on these things. Especially since the Commissioner keeps freaking out whenever the camera crews come back banged up.

The history nerds, literature geeks, and local hipsters in the crowd pop as they recognize local landmark Highland Hospital. Then they feel kind of bad about the pop since Highland Hospital is mostly famous for being the mental institution where Zelda Fitzgerald died in a fire. But hey, it’s still a local landmark!

Suddenly, a silver horned skull pops into view, upside-down from above.

RP: EEK!

LVK: … did you just squeak like a tiny cartoon mouse?

RP: No. NO. That was just my … mantra.

LVK: Your mantra is “Eek”.

RP: It keeps me centered.

LVK: Namaste.

RP: Gesundheit.

The skull is quickly recognizable as the original PunkySkull silver horned skull respirator mask (available at ftwshop.com!) last seen at Fury 2, and the Asheville crowd seems torn between joyous fury and nerdy delight.

"Aloha, bitches."

That gets them a bit riled, and at the same time delighted. My voice is all hollow and booming from the mask, the lenses making bright white flares out of my eyes.  I pace around the camera, dropping to my haunches with my hands dangling over my bent knees, my chromed and spiked leather jacket glinting like pirate treasure. I gesture at the hospital behind me and quote Zelda in a ghost’s voice.

"I remember every single spot of light that ever gouged a shadow beside your bones."

I snatch the camera and give a little motion sickness to the sensitive souls in the crowd as I get to my boots and stalk back towards the door, kicking aside a few clinking cans of spray paint. I swing the GoPro away from my skull and swing it towards the front door of Highland Hospital, now a registered National Historic Place maintained by the Parks Department - and more immediately, now tagged with a snarling purple and black tag that reads PUNKY, with the Y made into a snarling mouth with a lolling tongue.

"Time to *BEEP*ing gouge away, Asheville. Punky’s here."

I drop the camera, and the image on the screen cuts into static that cuts to black, and the crowd roars against the darkness once more.

And then the guitar hits.

Rob Zombie’s Sick Bubblegum kicks over the sound system in the US Cellular Center, assuring us that we’re ALL going to crash and burn, and the darkness is ripped with strobes of purple and red and green. As the lights flare back up, the crowd finds me at the head of the stage, crouched down like a gargoyle on my heels, my taped fists dangling over my hands. I’ve got my silver horned skull respirator mask on, purple punkytails secured with grinning silver skulls hanging down my shoulders, and my glossy black leather jacket studded with spikes and loops of chain and clinking chrome bits.

As the beats drive along I rise up and stomp down the aisle to the tune, my head bobbing to the tune.  Rob always gets me, ever since I was in Osaka and using “Living Dead Girl” as my theme. At the head of the aisle I snatch my mask off, letting it dangle, and whip my head to the side, smirking at the cameraman, all shadowed black eyes and glossy dark lips. My jacket peels off my shoulders, baring my ripped up FREE THE MAD HATTER tee and my red joshi skirt over my black boyshorts.  Thigh-high black leggings run down to my blood red Doc Martens, and I drop the mask and jacket for some production rat to scoop up, smacking my black-and-purple taped fists together.

As the chorus slams through a second time, I stomp up the steps in time, and in one fluid motion I wrap my fists around the top rope and pull myself up, left boot on the middle rope and right boot balanced on the top, and at the last repeat of SICK BUBBLEGUM! I spit a cloud of bright green mist, catching a spotlight that lances me just in time.

The house lights come back up as I smoothly drop into the ring, swinging my arms across my chest and shadowboxing. Sadie’s here, and from the doofy confident look on her little-girl face, odds are she still wants to start the match.

Fucking perfect.

Chuckie Guiteau steps up to his mic on the outside.

“HAILING FROM THE CITY OF ROSES, WEIGHING IN TONIGHT AT MORE THAN ENOUGH TO KICK YOUR ASS AND STANDING TALLER THAN YOUR JUKEBOX HEROES - THIS! IS! PUNKY!”

... and now all I gotta do is wait to get my hands on Aika. Just a few more seconds.

A fucking eternity.

But I can make it.

[Lord Tantalus]

LvK: And now, a tentative hush falls over the crowd, uncertain what to expect next. Will they see Aika or Tiffany?

RP: If I was on their team, van Keel, I’d bring Tiffany out first, then Chance.

LvK: As Lord Tantalus has told us, Rip: Aika is not Rowan.

RP: I don’t fall for all that psychological bull $%^&, van Keel! You can’t scare me with a mask and creepy music.

LvK: Is that a rosary you’re wearing?

RP: My mother gave it to me.

LvK: Did she now?

RP: If you say one word about her, we’re going ‘round and ‘round, van Keel.

LvK: I wouldn’t dream of it, Rip. Moms are sacrosanct.

RP: Yours was pretty sacrosanct last night at the Motel 6.

LvK: YOU SONOFA—


The lights go out and a red spot flashes to the entranceway. Stepping through the curtain is me. A man in a red velvet jacket and a red mask. My hair is blond today, falling over my blue eyes.


RP: Sweet Jesus, I thought I was gonna...

LvK: Piss your pants?

RP: NO!


I pause at the top of the entranceway. No music. Just the red spot.

Then, I walk down the ramp, up to the stairs leading to the ring apron. I step up slowly, climbing through the ring ropes. It's been a while.

I step up to Punky. Not close enough for her to strike. I'm smarter than that. I look down at her. I smile and take the microphone from inside my jacket and put it to my lips.

"Pure chaos," I  say with a cocktail mixture of admiration and... pity. "Untamed and untamable."

I pause.

"But not indestructible."

The crowd's reaction is palpable. An equal number of boos and cheers. I don't care. They don't matter. The only thing that matters to me waits in the shadows. Waiting for this...


You can never tell with whom you dance
   at the Vengeance Masquerade.
Is it only lust or true romance
   when the betrayer becomes the betrayed?


I drop the microphone.

Then, the lights go out.

[Rowan Chance]

The video screen above the ramp entrance flickers and crackles. Warped and damaged video does its awkward dance.

The opening strings of Within Temptation's "Angels" aches through the speakers as the screen tries to focus on a coherent image. As Sharon den Adel's voice floats through the air, the images finally coalesce into an image... a faded photograph. Two women, standing in front of a fading sunset, their arms over each other's shoulders. Their foreheads touching. Both obviously drunk. Both smiling. Fingers in each other's hair.

Punky and Rowan. 


Sparkling angel
I believe
You are my saviour
In my time of need

Blinded by faith
I couldn't hear
All the whispers
The warning's so clear


The screen flickers again. This time, it focuses on two women in the ring. The same women. Punky lifts Rowan up—her fingers in Rowan's hair. Rowan can barely stand, her eyes wet and her mouth open with surprise and dread.


I see the angels
I'll lead them to your door
There is no escape now
Now mercy no more


Back to the photograph. The edge of it begins to smolder, fire tasting the edges and finding them sweet. The music is building. Guitars now and drums.

On the screen, quick flashes between the photograph and Rowan and Punky in the ring.

Their faces close together.
Their foreheads touching.


No remorse 'cause I still remember...


The photo bursts into flames and a hand reaches down, grasping the flames between her fingers, crushing it and lifting it up to a masked face, staring out from the screen. A stare so dark, the camera lens shatters.


The smile when you tore me apart


The stage erupts in light. A light so blinding, it's almost impossible to tell a woman stands there, wrapped in a cloak of white feathers.


You took my heart
Deceived me right from the start


She spreads her arms out and the cloak turns into wings.


You showed me dreams
I wished they'd turn to real


She tosses the cloak behind her and it's Aika.
Wearing a skin tight black cat suit. Boots up to her knees. Her wet, almost oily hair falling down over a face covered in a black mask.


You broke the promise
And made me realise
It was all just a lie


She stops there. No movement. Almost as if she isn't even breathing.

The music suddenly stops.

And she stands perfectly still.




LvK: Ladies and gentlemen, these two women have a long and dark history.

RP: You forgot to include "@#$%ing twisted" in there, van Keel. Those two are about as sick as a colostomy bag.

LvK: That's disgusting!

RP: Hey, you want @#$%ed up? Call 1-800-ROWAN.

LVK: Is everything you're going to say have at least one word that needs to be bleeped out?

RP: What the @#$% are you talking about?

LvK: You look scared, Rip.

RP: You look like—


On the stage, Aika screams. A banshee wail. The lost soul of a betrayed woman. And it isn't just a single sound. Her scream invades the speakers, echoing all over the US Cellular Center.

Up above the ring, there's a sudden explosion of sparks.

Aika's scream.

Another explosion.

The lights suddenly drop. All at once.


RP: VAN KEEL! WHERE ARE THE LIGHTS!?!?

LvK: Keep yourself together!

RP: I HATE THAT SCARY @#$%ING BITCH!

LvK: Can anyone hear us? Are we still on?


The lights come back on... and Aika is standing on the announce table. Staring down at Rip Perle.


RP: OH#$%^! OH@#$%! OH@#$%!


Perle clutches at his chest and falls out of his chair.

Van Keel stands up and out of his chair, slowly stepping between her and his fallen broadcast colleague.


LvK: Now listen... he didn't... don't do anything foolish, Ro—Aika.


Looking down at van Keel, Aika's head tilts, as if she's confused.


LvK: He's not a competitor anymore. He's just a foolish old man who..." van Keel pauses. "Aika. He's nothing to you. Remember. Remember Punky."


Aika's head snaps to the side with the speed of a cobra, switching that glare from the announcer to someone else.

Under her oily hair, Aika smiles. And says the name.


"Maaaay-gaaaan...."

[BustyTiffany35]

[Earlier]

"...seriously?"


On a monitor backstage, footage of Ms. Davis' entrance plays, and I could not look more impressed as I stand by and sip on a bottle of cold water. Flash cuts of a video clearly constructed by the newest member of Countdown (using iMovie, no less) plays on screen, displaying a heartwarming sequence of friendship at its most purest to the charming beat of Queen's "You're My Best Friend". It's that moment in the video when Callista and Sadie are staring up at the evening sky one starry night that I find myself wondering how exactly did she ever get the clearance to air this.

She's certainly walking about with an air of confidence that lesser mortals couldn't dream of attaining. The look on her face, the extra spring in her strut, the way she shakes off insults and taunts from the crowd while winking and blowing kisses to whomever, the gal's certainly full of invincibility. I guess that boost in arrogance comes easily when ya join up with the ranks of Countdown..


"..SADIE DAAAAAAAAAVIS!!"


"..well now.."

I take another sip of my water and continue watching as darkness falls across the arena, and a sea of cellphone screens light up instantly, creating a real, hauntingly beautiful scene. The FTW PanoramaVision (I think that's what they're calling it) blasts to life with a video shot from a GoPro camera, and I perk up a bit as I notice this tall brick building with its fine gable windows materializing into view. From the sound of the crowd, it seems this rundown mental hospital seems to be a recognizable local landmark. Then, a silver horned skull turned upside-down appears. My eyes widen somewhat as a hollow voice booms from the confines of the PunkySkull horned skull mask, announcing the appearance of a purple-haired vixen who's every bit as.. pretty, as she is violent..

The monitor displays a purple and black tag that prominently displays a single name: PUNKY. I lick my lips anxiously and continue watching the gal's entrance.

A moment later, Rob Zombie's voice can be heard across the darken Cellular Center, and the purple-haired gal from the City of Roses emerges at the top of the stage in a shower of red, purple and green strobe lights. She stomps and bobs her way down the aisle to the hard beat of Sick Bubblegum and even I have to admit I'm getting a lil anxious. I've seen the video tapes of her previous matches, heard the stories about her. Untamed, chaotic. Sadie's a handful, unpredictable, dangerous. But Punky? Absolutely lethal. I lick my lips as I stare intently at this purple-haired beauty as she shadowboxes in her corner of the ring.


“..THAN ENOUGH TO KICK YOUR ASS AND STANDING TALLER THAN YOUR JUKEBOX HEROES -

THIS!

IS!

PUNKY!”


I take another sip of my water and begin to prep myself for the match, moving past the monitor to wait for my cue to head out there. But then--


"...hmm?"


The lights go out in the arena once more, followed by a red spot that flashes along the entranceway. I stare closely at the darken stage until a man in a red mask and a red velvet jacket appears and almost instantly I feel goosebumps forming along my arms. There is something incredibly unnerving about the arrival of this blond, masked man walking out to no music and a red spotlight. I narrow my eyes as I recognize him almost immediately, the mysterious and damn creepy associate of Aika. The unsettling scene only amplifies once Lord Tantalus enters the ring, moving intently to Punky. His voice is striking, overwhelming. It fills the ears of all who listens. And then, just like that, he drops his mic. Darkness falls again.


"....."


Sparkling angel
I believe
You are my saviour
In my time of need..


I stare at the monitor as a video plays. A video that shows two women against the rays of a fading sun, smiling, enjoying each others company, fingers sinking into each others' hair...it flickers into another scene within the ring, one with glossed eyes and a gaping mouth, a face torn between shock and dread, while the other grips her by her hair...fire emerges and burns the scene while the music builds with guitars and drums, before the burning photograph is crushed into a tight fist, brought up to a masked face that glares into the lens. Then, light, light that's so blinding even I have to squint a lil' to continue to watch the monitor. I can see a woman standing amid all that blinding light, draped in a cloak of white feathers. As she tosses that cloak off her, I take a deep breath and gulp down my water. There's my partner for the match tonight.

No remorse 'cause I still remember...


Aika.


The smile when you tore me apart


So much pain, so much hatred, all that darkness at her disposable to wield. She begins screaming, screaming, like a damn banshee she wails. I shiver intensely as that deafening sound reverberates across the Cellular Center. This gal sure makes my skin crawl. Glad she's on my side for this match.. Then, suddenly, she appears on the announce table. The creepiness just doesn't stop with this one. She scares the crap outta LvK and RP, just flat out mortifies 'em. I find myself just honing in on her, focusing on her intently, it's as if she's the only thing on screen right now as the camera closes up on her tilted head.

Abruptly, she snaps her head to the side, like a fuckin' cobra.

In shock I spit my water out, misting the monitor as the image of my sinisterly smiling partner is imposed across the screen.

"Maaaaayyyy-gaaaaan..."


Well, that's unsettlin'..


A stage hand suddenly moves in to my side, but I pay lil' attention to him. He has to tap me on my shoulder and him doing so causes me to twitch, and I cut him a breathless glance. He holds up two fingers, then points off to the tunnel that leads out to the arena.


"Er, Tiffany? You're up next!"


I sigh warily, and wave my hand and nod. Glancing back at the monitor, I take a deep breath and toss the stage hand my empty bottle, clearing my throat as i move forward.


"..Gawd damn..what a bunch of characters.. I really have to follow all that?"

[Now.]

The camera continues to focus on Aika's malicious grin, a smile that promises worlds of hatred and violence as she cut a sideways glare toward the ring. Then, darkness blankets the arena once more, throwing the crowds into another roaring cheer.


A moment later, the PA unleashes a volley of pumping, familiar guitar riffs. Soon, the intro to Thunderstruck starts to blare, sending the fans into a frenzy as the legendary AC/DC track signals the entrance of the Platinum Queen.


THUNDER!


Cutting away from ringside, a camera from atop the US Cellular Center presents a wide angled view of the darken arena, with the FTW PanoramaVision drawing in all the attention as it lights up brightly. At the moment, the enormous video screen acts as the only source of light within the arena, glowing white as an emblem of a platinum-hued regal crown set between a pair of stylized silver angel wings materializes right in the middle of the PanoramaVision. The scene dissolves into a flash of white that overwhelms the platinum insignia.



THUNDER!


Cut to another camera, this one positioned right in front of the entrance tunnel which is bathed in white light. Soon, a tall, shapely figure emerges in the center of the tunnel as mist begins to rise from the stage. The dark shapely silhouette saunters forward through the white light, right hand resting comfortably on her right hip, her left hand swaying nonchalantly with each confident step. The buxom figure struts to a halt at the front of the entrance way, standing amid rising mist and spotlights that shine down onto her. The fans roar loudly in excitement.


THUNDER!


Spotlights beam down over the Platinum Queen as Tiffany steps into the arena. The fans take note of the gold spandex ring attire that hugs her toned, buxom figure, along with the usual gear that accompanies her outfit of black boots, knee pads, an elbow pad on her right arm, tape wrapped around both wrists, fishnet stockings and a simple black choker. Her platinum mane, as always, flows freely around her grinning face and bare shoulders. Glancing from side to side, basking in the chorus of cheers from the crowds that meld with the pulsing AC/DC track, Tiffany nods to her fans, tilts her head back and thrusts her arms out.


THUNDER!


Like missiles soaring off into the sky, lines of pyro set off from the stage on either side of Tiffany as she poses for the cheering masses. Another set of loud pyrotechnic blasts erupt from sides of the PanoramaVision, but by this time Tiff is already moving forward, sauntering calmly down the aisle while Thunderstruck continues to blare over the PA. Slapping hands with anxious fans leaning over the guardrails, Tiffany makes her way toward the ring and hops effortlessly up onto the apron. Moving to the middle of the apron, Tiff turns around swiftly and leans back onto the ring ropes. Extending her arms outward, she delivers her signature pose to the audiences with a bright smile spread across her glossy lips.


"And the final participant! She stands 5'8'' tall and weighed in at 136 pounds. She is THE PLATINUM QUEEN -- TIFFANY!!"


The ring announcers' voice echoes across the arena as the fans holler and cheer. Winking at the audience, Tiffany turns again and slowly bends over the middle rope to enter the ring in a tantalizingly smooth manner. As the AC/DC track fades in the background, the lights in the arena return to normal and Tiffany stands back in her corner of the ring. Leaning back with her arms propped atop the third rope, Tiff's deep green eyes cross the ring to glare at Sadie and Punky. The grin on her face fades, dissolving into a look of determination. It's somewhat surprising how quickly she can go from all fun and smiles to pure 'Ass-Whippin' mode, but that look on her face proves she's definitely in that state of mind.


Then, slowly, Tiff turns her eyes away from her younger opponents, to look over at her own partner. In that brief moment, Tiff visibly pales, and a look of apprehension crosses the Platinum Queen's face..


LvK: --oh, oh thank GOD! She's focusing on Punky again. Well, fans, we apologize for that, uhm, disturbance, I guess you could call it that..but Tiffany, the Platinum Queen has arrived and she's in the ring! She's looking fantastic, and ready for a fight! Though, you have to admit, even she looks a little hesitant about having to team with Aika. Wouldn't you say so, Rip? Rip? Rip! Will you get UP already?! Fans, we're in for one helluva match coming up! The team of Sadie Davis and Punky square off against the unlikely duo of Tiffany and Aika! It is sure to be one wild fight! And it is coming up, NEXT!

[ThePurpleVixen]

The temptation to just knock that smug little fuck’s teeth down his god-damn throat is so intense that it makes my knees shake, just a little.

But I keep my game face on, my wolf face. Big watchful eyes, just a hint of sharp teeth in a grin. Tantalus goes through his little god-damn song and dance and oh fuck how I just want to clutch his throat in both hands and cross my thumbs over his larynx and squeeze until I hear a soft wet crunch like an apple under a car tire.

But then I wouldn’t get my hands on Aika.

He gives me his little poem and then the mask wearing Rowan makes a slideshow out of my fucking life as her entrance and everything goes a sort of hazy red.  The referee sets a hand on my shoulder and draws back with a hiss like he touched a hot stove when he feels the tension thrumming in me, and I turn on him like a fucking rattlesnake.

I hear the crowd reacting to whatever’s happening on the stage when the mask makes its entrance, and I advance on the referee, my eyes burning, and for a moment I just wanna take his big stupid wobbly head and twist it around with a series of spring ice cracks so he’s looking at his own zebra ass.

But then I wouldn’t get my hands on Aika.

He meets my dark eyes for a moment, and when I bring my fists up, a life of locker room payoffs and carefully ignoring the clatter of steel chairs against skulls behind his back flashes before his eyes. “Check ‘em,” I growl, and open my taped fists, offering my hands. There’s a moment of hesitation, in case I’m just luring him in close so I can grab him by the lower incisors and unhinge his god-damn jaw like I did that one time in Tallahassee, but I don’t.

I let him check me out, punkytails to Docs, and I don’t even threaten grievous bodily harm. I mean, don’t get me wrong. It’d be fun. It’s ALWAYS fun to beat up a zebra, self righteous selectively deaf bastards that they are.

But then I wouldn’t get my hands on Aika.

The ref seems a little surprised - and maybe even a hint disappointed - not to find any brass knuckles, rolls of quarters, handfuls of poison mist caplets, or golden spikes on me. I go and stand in the corner, still facing away from the aisle, looking out at the darkness of the far side of the US Cellular Center, lit with the flares and strobes of Aika’s entrance. I don’t need to see it. I hear the fucking song and I saw the photo she decided to put up front. I know what the fuck she wants. And she’s gonna fucking get it. And so am I. I stretch myself out on the top rope, ignoring Sadie behind me, ignoring Reddy at ringside - poor cockteased sap that he is. Ignoring everything but the sound of the music Aika picked for me.

When the lights come up, the noise of the crowd - and of Rick Perle at ringside at the announce table DOES manage to turn my head, my dark eyes narrowing. Aika’s standing on the table, menacing Rick who’s toppled over backwards like the silly old bastard he is. Perle might have made himself into a running joke - but he’s one of the only true heel commentators working today, and he’s the one who came to Portland convince me to join FTW. A coalition and a national television deal wasn’t my thing - I was happy with my rep as a badass indy darling, and I was happy with the bar I owned over near Voodoo Donuts. Rick Perle came out, stupid-ass pink satin jacket and all, and set me straight on the facts of life: I’d make more money, travel to bigger arenas, get more respect, and have more faces to punch than I ever had in my career. And he was right. FTW was a fucking godsend. And the doofy old man who’d shown me the Chicken Peck eye gouge and had taught me how to use a simple fast food paper salt packet to ruin someone’s career and hopes of 20/20 vision was being menaced by the mask that was wearing Rowan. My fists tighten on the rope and I’m a half-second away from just coming over the top at her right then like a bullet with her fucking name on it - but the match isn’t underway yet. We might wipe out non-combatants, and get pulled apart. Diving over the top and falling onto her like Lucifer from the clear blue heavens would be sweet.

But then I wouldn’t get my hands on Aika.

Not for long enough, anyway. Instead, she turns to look at me with those mad eyes - and I just grin and step ostentatiously out onto the apron in my corner, neatly cleaning my boots with fastidious little scrapes of my waffled Doc Marten Airwalk™ soles. I lean on the top rope, my eyes never leaving Aika’s mad gaze as she singsongs my name like she’s fucking addicted to it, and I wind my left fist in the tag rope, holding it in a regulation grip.

Tiffany comes out, all flash and glamour, flare and pride. She’s got a lot to deal with - I think she might be the most veteran in the company except for Judy Greene and that cast-iron bitch Blount, and she’s seen a lot around the world, but the ring she’s heading towards is a swirl of chaos like nothing outside of HUSTLE or CZW. I actually like Tiff all right - she’s fearless, which I respect, and strong as a god-damn horse. Cute in a hairsprayed 1980s pin-up kinda way, too. But Tiffany doesn’t hold my interest now. Not even for a second. I just stay on the apron, my fist quiveringly tight around the tag rope, holding it taut as garrote, watching Aika as she takes instruction from Tantalus and stands stock-still. All this fucking rage roils inside me. I’m used to being angry all the fucking time, but what I’ve got seething now is some kind of flaming demonic fury - maybe if I just grabbed Sadie by her little blonde head head and thrust my thumbs into her eyes and then superkicked Tiffany in the throat as she stepped into the ring. That might make me feel better, letting that djinn free.

But then I wouldn’t get my hands on Aika.

Sadie talks to me. I don’t really hear it. She sounds a little like a Pomeranian, pompous and yappy and thinking she’s bigger than she is.

I stand on the apron, watching.

The referee gives final instructions, and looks like he wishes he was somewhere else, somewhere with strong booze.

I stand on the apron, watching.

Tiffany steps to the outside as Aika just is IN the ring suddenly, and Sadie tries to get me to face the monster under her bed for her. I just smile my sweetest smile and gesture to the ring. All of this can be yours, my girl.  She turns, reluctantly, to square off with Aika, momentarily impressing the fuck out of me.

I stand on the apron, watching.

The bell rings.

The match is officially underway.

The bell rings, and I know for whom it fucking tolls.

AND NOW I GET MY FUCKING HANDS ON AIKA.

I vault the top rope, leaping over it in one fluid move, and bolt right past Sadie without even really seeing her, and I barrel into Aika like a god-damn freight train, like a bat outta hell, like a really fucking fast simile.  My right arm hooks out, catching across her collarbone and snatching a handful of that catsuit at her shoulder as I rush forward, my boots driving into the canvas and stockinged legs churning, until I slam her back into the steel cables of the ropes, and with a last thrust from both feet I carry her forward, up and over, so we hang in the air in beautiful reversed serenity for a moment before gravity blinks and realizes what we’re doing, and snatches us both down to earth.

I tumble all the way forward, hips slamming the apron and bouncing me forward to a staggeringly graceful landing on my Docs. It took a lot of falling on my god-damn head to learn how to do a Cactus Clothesline properly, but the way Aika hits her head and shoulders on the apron and then tumbles like a ragdoll to the thin black mats over the concrete. She looks beautifully crumpled for a moment, like a hooded angel with a broken neck, but I know she’s going to get up because that mask has made her into a fucking horror movie.

Good. I don’t fucking close my eyes for the scary parts.

She pops up, a fucking jack-in-the-box, but before she can so much as snarl my name I’m on her. I drive into her, slamming my shoulder into that slender belly and lifting her up as I drive her forward up the ramp. My right arm slides out to hook across her lovely breasts snatching a grip under her left arm, my left hand snaking out to grab a handful of that clinging catsuit at the hip - and then I twist around, driving my heels into the ramp to brake us and using my own momentum to bullwhip the masked bitch around, dropping down to my knees to drive her shoulders and back into the steel of the walkway with a SAMBO SUPLEX.

“*BEEP*ing FINALLY,” I snarl, getting a half-mount on her on the ramp and pistoning my right fist into the center of that fucking mask, feeling the sublime joy of knuckles bruising on skull -

- and she comes right back at me, rolling me over against the rough steel grating as we lock together in earnest, two stormfronts piling into each other to make a towering thunderhead, spitting savage forked lightning that destroys everything on the ground.

I grin in manic delight as Aika’s fist crashes into the side of my face. Sadie better send me a fucking fruit basket for the win I just handed her.

[Callista]

Backstage, in the Countdown locker room, I'm working, of course, putting the finishing touches on the upcoming video commemorating my capture of the FTW championship. FTW's staff hadn't done bad, but naturally I could do better. I was keeping the song, which simplified the royalty situation immensely, and it was good, even if I detected a certain snarky irony in the lyrics. That was fine. If FTW's smarter fans (both of them) twigged to it being a dig at me, that still worked. But the video footage told a story of overcoming obstacles and final triumph. The pat triteness alone would irk me, but it certainly didn't suit my plans, and that I would not allow.

A window popped up in the corner of my screen as the introductions to the tag team match began. Sadie's entrance was first. I alt-tabbed back to Final Cut Pro...and then did a literal double-take before alt-tabbing back to the Fury stream. Did I just see...I looked to the tv monitor that was showing Fury and sent the video back 30 seconds, then another 30. Yes, that was a cartoon me drinking out of the same glass as...

My lips curl upward at the corners and I chuckle. Not so much at the video or my portrayal in it as the fact that it exists in the first place. The pay-per-view ended barely eleventy-plot hours ago. The animation wasn't the best, but I still knew how long it took to produce a video like that. Someone had planned ahead.

I turned the tv volume down went back to my work, letting the slight sound of the announcers provide white noise as I kept editing. A rising noise caught my ear again, and I saw Megan and Rowan tumbling onto the floor, brawling like madwomen... "Most unnecessary simile ever," I said to myself, switching the monitor off and putting the last bit of work into the video. "Still, that's sorted, then."

[Rowan Chance]

A dark room, lit only by candles. It’s Tantalus’ office in the Club Taboo. I can barely stand after the beating Countdown put on me, my spine begging me to go back to the hospital. I tell it to shut the fuck up.

I hold the mask in my hands, feeling the ancient leather. I can smell the old blood and sweat.

"I will warn you this time as I've always warned you," Tantalus says, standing behind me, his hand on my shoulder. “It will not be you,” he says. “It will turn you into something else.”

I do not turn. I simply say, "I know."

“Aika is a spirit of pure vengeance.” The simple truth in his voice and the darkness in his eyes make me shudder. "That will be the only emotion you feel. No compassion. No mercy."

"No love?" I ask, the words trembling on my lips.

His hand squeezes my shoulder. We both know the answer to that question.

My hands shake. I try to steady them. I can’t tell if my fingers are quaking from the fear... or a dark anticipation.

“Are you certain?” he asks me.

I nod. “They are many,” I whisper. “And I am alone.”

He says to me, “You are never alone.” But I did not listen.

My hands raise the mask up to my face...

* * *

Aika rolls up on top of Punky, her legs straddling Punky’s hips. Those powerful legs squeeze tight, ankles hooking under her thighs.

Her left hand holds Punky down by the throat—squeezing tight—while her right fist raises up and slams down hard just under Punky’s right eye, aiming for the orbital bone. The shot lands hard, knocking Punky’s head back against the metal of the ramp. Then again. Like a piston in a Machine of Pain. The fist rises up, then slams back down, hitting the same spot over and over again. Punky's face slowly turns a color that clashes with her hair.

Aika’s eyes shine pure black. Her lips curled back, her teeth clenched.

“You betrayed her!” she screams down at Punky, delivering every punch with dangerous precision. “You betrayed her!”

Punky tries to grab at Aika, grabbing her hair, even pulling out strands of it with her taped hands, but Aika’s deliberate strikes do not stop. Same two inches every time: the bone around Punky’s right eye.

Punky’s arms sway around Aika like the mast of a ship caught in a storm. Her grip on the masked woman fails as her hands fall away. But Aika does not stop. Her right fist rises up and falls. Rises up and falls. Rises up and falls. Again and again and again.

But a scream from the darkest parts of Punky's soul fills the room. Her hands reach up and grab Aika’s skin-tight suit and pull, tossing Aika over. The two of them tumble again, this time Punky throwing the fists down on Aika. Not straight blows, but hooked punches, smashing Aika's jaw left and right, sending blood and spit into both their faces. Punky's right eye is swollen and already starting to bruise. She shouts words so blurred with emotion, Punky sounds like she's standing at the altar in a Southern Baptist Church, crying out in tongues.

Under Punky, Aika's hips shift. Her legs twist up like a spider's legs: one under Punky's jaw and the other reaching to hook the ankle. The crowd knows exactly what that is and their already significant roar intensifies. Fans start chanting, "WIDOW'S KISS! WIDOW'S KISS!"

But Punky blocks the move, shifting her arms almost instinctively. Almost as if she knew what Aika was going for the moment Aika tried it. She moves her arms through Aika's legs, keeping the masked woman's shin from getting under her chin.

And that is when Aika smiles.

Under Punky, Aika shifts her weight, tossing the Purple Vixen down, throwing her over to her back, her legs wrapping around Punky’s left arm.

Punky on her belly.

Aika sitting on Punky’s back, her legs straddling Punky’s arm.

And Aika’s hands on Punky’s wrist, holding out the extended limb. Holding it at the exact wrong angle. Aika’s gloved hands twist around Punky's taped wrist...



... Emily Layne has been here. She’s heard the sound of her shoulder snapping...

... Helpless in her hospital bed, Gemma watches, her arm still in a cast...

... Without even knowing it, the Enforcer standing at ringside instinctively reaches for his shoulder, touching a pain that has never healed...

... Backstage, Tantalus watches the monitor. He takes a deep breath... and turns his gaze away...



Aika screams: “ALL MY PAIN FOR YOU!”

Then, her head snaps, throwing her shoulders back, her hips holding Punky's body in place, her grip pulling Punky’s arm back along with her...

[Lord Tantalus]

LvK: FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! SOMEONE STOP AIKA!
RP: Get that Tantalus @55hole. He seems to...
LVK: Wait! Punky’s...

I hear the announcers’ voices and I force myself to look up at the monitor. I see Aika and I see purple punkytails, arms and legs flailing under her.

Yes, Punky is fighting back.

I watch her twist and turn, slipping out from under Aika’s grip. And I watch her throw a stunning left jab straight between Aika’s eyes.

Aika falls back, landing flat on the ramp. But then, she twists her hips and is back on her feet with that malicious marionette dance she does.

But Punky doesn’t stop. She lands another powerful fist to Aika’s jaw, backing the masked woman up toward the entrance, toward the curtain.

And then another one. And another.

Aika’s body twists with every blow like her bones are made of rubber. And each time Punky scores a shot at Aika’s jaw, the masked woman takes another step back. Further up the ramp. Until they finally reach the top.  

Aika’s been fought back. I’ve never seen that before. Never seen Aika take a step back. Let alone fought back.

And I see the look in Punky’s eyes.

No fear.

I want to rush out, but it’s too late to stop them.


It was too late to stop them the very moment they met.

[PrimalNatRobin]

OMFG!!! This is soooo cool! *Finds an empty seat in the audience with a large tub of popcorn and Coke.*

[Wrestlerjunkee]

I take a seat next to the new comer, guarding my own box of plain pop corn and a Vitamin water...looking at this action, keeping my eye on Sadie, knowing she has it out for the Goddess Tiffany...

[Callista]

(Welcome all!)

[Virginia Dare]

I take a seat next to the new comer, guarding my own box of plain pop corn and a Vitamin water...looking at this action, keeping my eye on Sadie, knowing she has it out for the Goddess Tiffany...

Sitting in the stands with my hoodie over my head, I offer Junkee some red hots in exchange for some popcorn and try to decide which is worse: Rowan's deliberate and precise jabs or Punky's overpowering and decimating right hooks.

Eh, it's no good being on the business end of either of them.