[Rowan Chance]

I'm not exactly sure what happens next. To figure it out, I have to watch the tape afterward. But I remember the pain.

Two booted heels ramming into my breast bone. Knocking all the wind straight out of me. Blowing it from my lungs to my throat to my lips and into the arena. My body jerks back violently, my hair over my head, my arms out wide, my back arched forward. Then, my back hits the canvas with a hard SMACK!

...fuck...that hurt...sonofabitch kicks like Gemma punches...

My hands instinctively come up to guard my chest. I don't like my body reacting that way. Never show them that they hurt you. But goddamn...

I have to get it back together. Get away from this kid. With my arms tucked against my chest, I immediately roll for the ropes. An old heel tactic, I know, but effective. That's why you see it. If it wasn't effective, you'd never see it. Like any move in Al Snow's retinue.

Get out of the ring, Chance. Get your breath back. Then, take this kid apart.

[Vivianne]

This kid is fast…as fast as Rowan. Seems my initial assessment of him as a ‘poor kid’ not knowing what he is in for may have been premature. Seeing Rowan sitting on her ass, with surprise painted across her face, causes me to smirk. Seeing her sensual form FLATTENED to the mat elicits another, more personal response from me…and as the crowd around me cheers their local babyface I simply sit there in the third row and lick my lips.

She’s rolling toward the ropes now. Good! Nice to see Rowan forced to retreat so early in the match. My eyes move from her to the kid, waiting to see what he does now. Careful kid, she’s surprised and hurting now, but this is a marathon, not a spring. You’re fast…as fast as she is, but any woman will tell you the same thing…

…it’s not speed that counts…it’s stamina. Do you have what it takes to go the distance with Rowan? Time will tell, but for now I sit there and watch…licking my lips again.

[Jack Hex]

She’s out of the ring. Rolled right out. Trying to catch a break.

Don’t let her. That’s what my brain tells me. Whenever she looks hurt, keep the attack up. Fly at her. Don’t let her get a second wind. Don’t let her know where the next attack comes from.

I pop up to my feet with a quick kip up and grab the top rope. My throat still hurts and my back is sore, but I’m not going to let a little thing like pain stop me.

Tightening my grip on the top rope, I bend my knees and get ready to pounce. Right over the top. Let my body fly. She’s already getting to her feet. Don’t even wait for her to fully recover. If the timing is right, as soon as she’s up, I’ll be landing. My knees over her shoulders, my arms high above my head, throwing my body backwards so I can toss her over.

It’s not a hurricanrana, it’s a frankensteiner. There’s a difference.

[Rowan Chance]

When I roll out, I manage to land on my hands and knees, my chest still hurting from that kick. I shake my head, my raven blue-black hair falling over my face and shoulders.

Got to get this kid under control. He’s too fa...

No. Stop that. He isn’t. He’s still a rookie. You looked at the tapes. You know his weaknesses. Use them. Dammit, Chance, where’s your head?

I push myself back up to my feet, looking at the ring for where you are. Probably prepping for some big dive thing. All right, Jack. I’m ready for y—

I feel the weight land on my shoulders and then the momentum pulling me forward. My body flips and lands hard on the mats outside the ring. Thin, cheap mats. Must be twenty years old, bough from a judo dojo going out of business. My spine hits the floor and sends a ricochet of electric pain through my body, making every nerve scream and claw at my skin.

I sit up quick, fingers extended, a scream locked behind my teeth.

I wasn’t ready for that. And I landed wrong. Just wrong.

My hands clench into fists. I let the pain rush through me. I don’t ignore it. I embrace it. And when I open my eyes, they just seem a little darker.

[RedEnforcer]

Shit. This kid is...something else. And he's in a world of trouble and doesn't realize it.

I shift about in the dark tunnel and find myself stepping out a bit, as if a foot or two of distance would get me closer.

Rowan's on the outside and she'll get it together unless he keeps on her. What kinda dragon is this kid, the old, wizened dragon who hordes his gold and takes his time or the brash, destructive kind who sees weakness and goes to crush it.

He answers my question with a fluid leap. Yeah he's studied in Mexico that's for damn sure. Holy shit. He spiked her.

Most folks get the idea that any headscissor flip takedown is a hurricanrana. And they'd be wrong. When you come from the side and latch onto someone and flip them over, that's a rana. But Scott Steiner did it differently. Even before he was Big Poppa Pump, Scotty wasn't the most limber person. What he would do is pretty much jump up and flip people right over with a complete up and down rotation. They didn't flip over so much as get aggressively pulled over and spiked down on their head, neck or back.

And this kid just smacked Rowan with a Frankensteiner.

And he's about to learn why the old dragons live long enough to horde all that gold. Take your cheers now, kid. The receipt you're about to get is heavy.

[Jack Hex]

I hear that hard SMACK when you land on the thin pads and I see your body FLINCH when it happens. And that’s when I hesitate. Just for a moment.

Because despite your attacking me before the bell and choking me with my jacket, I admire you Rowan. Ever since I bought the bootleg DVD of your Paris match with Punky, I’ve scoured the internet for your matches. And I know what she did to your back that night and I know you’ve never fully recovered.

So part of me hesitates. I know what I should do. Send a low kick to the small of your back. That’s what I should do. If I want to win this match, that’s exactly what I should do. Your back is to me, arched hard from the impact. Sitting up, still a little stunned from the fall. I should send the hardest kick I can muster straight into your...

...yes. Right there. It’s almost invisible. A tiny scar in your lower back. Just where Punky’s knee hit. The shine of the sweat on your skin shows it off.

Do it. Right now. You know this is more than you expected. She’s more than you expected. Maybe more than you can handle. You should. Do it. Before she gets back up. Do it, Jack. DO IT!

I...

...put my weight on my left leg...

...rear my right leg back and...

...send my padded shin just above where your black and red trunks are. That tiny scar.

But I stop. Right at the last moment.

I can’t do it. That’s not the way to win. I shouldn’t. I won’t.

I missed my chance. Hah. Funny that. I missed it.

Standing on one leg, just behind you.

[Vivianne]

I see the kid looking down at Rowan, just three rows and the barricade between them and me. I know what he is looking at. I feel the conflict within him, just as Luke claimed he could feel it in his Sith Lord father. It’s not hard to do…it’s written all over his face.

Do it!

Do it kid!

He rears his leg back and my whole body tingles with anticipation…until his stops his kick short.

I shake my head in disbelief. Maybe I feel differently, having had Rowan wreck my knee and choke me out in Minneapolis, but when I had the chance to hurt her then I did not hesitate. He did. The question now is not whether it will cost him…but how much.

I just shake my head again and keep watching…

[Rowan Chance]

I expected a kick. That's what should have happened. I was ready for it. But it didn't arrive.

I felt the wind of the kick. The speed of your leg pressing air against my back. And I felt you stop. I also felt and heard the crowd's reaction. Half of them holding their breath, the other half cheering.

You committed three sins, Jack. Three.

First, you hesitated. That's a sin. But I forgive you.

Second, you underestimated me. I can't forgive that one. And you're going to pay for it. But that isn't your greatest sin, Jack. No, no, no, no.

Your greatest sin, Jack? The one I'm never going to forgive?


You pitied me.


And for that, Jack. For that...


I spin around, ignoring red hot spike someone is sticking in my back. Grab at that ankle of yours. My knowing and wicked smile wearing its best. I look you in the eye. Then, I look down at the leg. Then, back at you.

"Oops," I say, tilting my head just a little.

And I dragon screw that bitch into tomorrow.

[Jack Hex]

It's the "Oops" that makes it all that much more terrible.

Knowing you've made a mistake is one thing. Someone who wants to hurt you knowing you've made a mistake is something entirely different.

The dragon screw pulls my body up and over yours, but as I go, I can feel all the pressure on my knee. This isn't a WWE dragon screw. This is Japan. Fast, deliberate and final. All the tendons and muscles in my knee suddenly threat to quit. Just give up. My body spills over, landing hard. Worse than that. My knee--the one you just threatened to rip in half--slams into the metal railing keeping the audience safe from someone like you. And like JR used to say, when metal meets flesh, something's going to give, and it isn't the metal.

I can feel the swelling already. Grasping at my knee, clenching my teeth. It's bent now and I don't know if I can straighten it out. I don't know if I should. Right now, my knee feels like it's full of razor blades.

Rowan, you knew exactly how to take away my best weapon: my speed. And you did it with one move.

[Rowan Chance]

I don't get to see the bump into the railing, but I get to feel all the damage that dragon screw did.

Dragon screw. Heh.

I get back to my feet with slow deliberation. My shoulders back, looking down at you like a conquering hero. Or villain, as the case may be.

"There," I growl through clenched teeth. "That should slow you down a bit."

Then, I look over at the announcer's booth. Sitting right next to them is the time keeper and the ring announcer. The time keeper is an old man. He's seen it all. He's seen worse than this. He's watching the match through coke bottle eye glasses with a blank, expressionless look on his face. But the ring announcer...that little blonde pop tart in the dress that's way too short, her breasts pushed up way too high, her hair just perfect, hired from some modeling agency...she's what I need.

I prowl over, giving her a death stare straight out of a Halloween movie. The poor girl jumps up, her little skirt flittering around her ass. I grab the steel chair she's sitting in, fold it up and prowl right back to you.

The referee tells me to put the chair down. What's he going to do? Disqualify me? Oh, that's right. You wanted this to be a no DQ match, didn't you, little dragon? I look at you, clutching at that knee of yours. I tighten my fists around the steel legs of the chair.

My voice is low and sharp. "You wanted this." And I swing the chair down on that knee, shouting it again.

"YOU WANTED THIS!!!"

[Jack Hex]

The chair slaps down on my knee and I can't help but shout out. The impact makes all the pain I'm feeling go from 8 to 11, breaking the chart. I can feel it surge from my knee down to my toes. The words from a song rush through my brain:


I'll tell you my sins
And you can sharpen your knife


One mistake is all it took. Just one. And now, there's only wrath. Fans reaching through the metal railing, touching my shoulder for just a second, then pulling their hands back again.

I put my hands behind me and try to pull away. Try to get some space between us, and get my eyes on you so when you try to hit me with that chair again, I can at least make an attempt to dodge. Moving my body with my one good leg and my hands. Looking up at you. You're like a dark, angry goddess. I feel like the hero who stole her daughter and now has to face the consequences. Looking up at you, looking at that darkness in your eyes...

...I recognize it. I see it.

I've watched that match so many times, I think I see things most people don't. Not everyone--I know you have friends who even see more than I do--but there are subtle hints and cryptic signs of stories I don't quite know or understand. But I recognize that darkness. I've seen it before. Those old, bootleg FTW tapes. I saw those eyes behind a mask. And then later, in Paris. Right when you were about to use that illegal DDT. Your eyes looked like that.

I shake my head, wet hair in my face. "You aren't talking to me." My voice shakes just a little when I say it. "When you say YOU WANTED THIS. You're not talking to me."

I'll tell you my sins...

I pull back another few inches. Almost a foot. I shake my head again, finally realizing. "Even in Minneapolis. You weren't talking to Vivianne."

I pull back one more time. Now enough space to do something. But my leg won't let me. I don't even know if I can put weight on it.

"You aren't talking to me." I say one more time. "You're talking...to yourself."

[Rowan Chance]

I'm watching you kick and scramble your body away from me, the whole scene looking and feeling like a slasher flick. The wounded Last Girl finally face-to-face with the masked killer, desperately trying to think of a way to escape. But there is no escape for you, Jack. No escape. You wanted this. You wanted me. Came looking for me. Invoked my name.

Don't call forth what you can't put down, Jack. That's the first rule of magic. Mister Hex. Didn't you know that? Or did your esoteric studies of Dungeons & Dragons not instruct you on that little principle? Perhaps you should have gone to the source and not taken a cup from the watered down, filtered, dirty water version.

I'm dragging the chair beside me, it's round metal top dragging on the thin pads, popping when it reaches that dent where the pad folds. I've got a weapon. And you've got a bum leg you can't even stand on.

Look at me, Jack. Just look at me. My skin already wet with sweat. Strands of hair clinging to the sides of my face. The black paint around my eyes beginning to stain. And my lips, shining red. Tall boots stepping on those thin pads. And the chair in my strong fingers.

You wanted this, Jack. You wanted this.

I keep moving forward until your back hits the railing. And you look up at me and start to speak. Your trembling voice, so full of fear and desperation. Are you begging for mercy, Jack? That's something you won't get. No. That is something I'm not willing to give.

You invoke Minneapolis. I remember Vivianne. I remember what happened to me after that. The two queens, one in red and the other in yellow. Just cryptic and occult enough for someone like Me...like SHE would come up with. I remember that, Jack. Yes, I do.

And then you say the last part. You say: "You're talking...to yourself."

And I stop right there. Like someone shot me in the chest.

Talking to...?

What the fuck are you...



You asked for this.


My eyes...blink. My breath stops.


You asked for this.


I remember...remember...Punky's fists pounding down on me until I was almost unconscious. The heart punch. The moment when she...


You asked for this.


..broke my...


You asked for this.

...my...
You asked for this.

...my baYou asked for this.

* * *

Rowan. This is what you wanted. Right here. This boy under you. A victim. You want others to feel the way you felt at that moment. You barely remember it. Being held helpless while she taunted Tom with your life. With your life.

You wanted to know how it felt to do that. To hold someone else's life in your hands. And if you let your grip loose for even a moment, they'd slide through your fingers. Just like she held yours.

Just like she held yours.

This is what you wanted, Rowan. To feel the kind of power she held over you. Feel it yourself. And you've been hurting people ever since.



No. Don't listen to him.

He pitied you. You. Rowan Chance. The Queen of Sexfighting. The woman who beat Megan Punky Dow so hard they had to carry her away to a hospital. Twice. The woman strong enough to wear the Mask. It burned other women who tried. But not you. And Megan was afraid of you. They're all afraid of you. Just like this one. He's afraid. Look at him. Listen to his voice. See his eyes trembling? Fear. He fears you. Just as they all do. Finish him, Rowan. Break his leg. Make him pay for what he did. Make him understand the cost of pitying Rowan Chance.


* * *

My eyes are far away, looking over you. Through you. And you see them water up. A single tear down my cheek.

Then, they refocus. And...darken.

I shake my head, my smile coming back to my lips.

"You know what happened to the last man who tried to teach the world mercy, Jack?"

My fingers grip the chair. That tear rolls over my chin and vanishes. My lips trembling in half a smile and half...something else.

"We nailed the sonofabitch to a goddamn cross so we could watch him die."

That's when I lift the chair with both hands and swing.

[Jack Hex]

The chair hits with a huge CLANG! That's because it hit the railing, not me. I rolled out of the way just in time, my leg burning as I do. I roll to the right, using that momentum to get back up to my feet...well...foot. I'm being careful with the other one.

Okay. She's angry now. Angry people don't make good decisions. I'm not sure if that was my strategy or not, but I guess it got me a positive result. Angry Rowan.

Wait. Maybe that's not a good thing. Maybe that's a dangerous thing.

Well damn.

I start hopping backwards, the sound of the referee counting in my ear. I've got to keep...

...wait. The referee is counting?

No DQ doesn't mean no count out. What's he up to? Eight? EIGHT?

I hop toward the ring and get to the apron, using my arms to roll in. This is gonna leave me vulnerable to another chair shot. Doesn't matter. Got to risk it.

[Rowan Chance]

You manage to get yourself back into the ring, hopping on your wounded leg. The referee counts "NINE!" and I roll back in.

Idiot referee. This is a No DQ match. Why are you trying to count me out? I guess in this little backwater fed, "No DQ" doesn't include count outs.

But there you are, back in the ring. Still off your feet. No more flippy shit, Jack. No more kicks that feel like Gemma's punches. This is the problem with rookies. They don't know the old school tricks. They think playing 2k games makes you a pro wrestler. Well, it doesn't. In this ring, when you don't time hitting "A" at the right moment, you don't lose some health...things HURT.

"You tried using psychology on me, Jack." I step forward as you try to back away, the chair in both hands. "You really shouldn't do that."

I smack the chair at you with poor intention: I don't want to hit you. I just want to hear the sound of the metal hitting the boards. And you roll out of the way.

The crowd's boos fill the building. They want you to make your comeback so badly. But that's not going to happen. Not tonight. "The little blue dragon doesn't fly tonight!" I shout at them. "I've clipped his wings!"

Their jeers intensify. Excellent. That's my job.

You're near the center of the ring now. That's exactly where I want you. I make to hit you with the chair again, but that isn't my intention. It's a feint. As the chair comes down, I know you'll dodge. And the way I move it tells me which way. If I bring it down to the left, you'll dodge to the right. And that's when I've got you.

Because when you dodge, I'll drop the chair and grab that bad leg of yours. And I'll twist. Turn you over with the pain. And with you on your stomach, I'll spin your legs into an inverted figure four. You on your belly, me on my back.

[Vivianne]

This kid is lucky they are still doing count outs. If he has seen Rowan’s match with HER in Paris, and you can’t call yourself a wrestling fan if you haven’t, then he should be aware of the destruction Rowan is capable of calling down on her opponents while outside the ring. Yeah…he’s lucky they are no longer out there.

That is if you can call being in the ring with Rowan Chance and a wrecked knee lucky…and I know from experience it is anything but. I heard him mention my name from my third row seat, so I know he’s seen that match. I know he’s seen what she did to my knee. I wonder…does he realize how much trouble he is in right now? He’s gonna find out.

He’s also gonna find out what happens when you try to play mind games with Rowan Chance, bringing up past matches and trying to turn things around on her. Trips may be known as the Cerebral Assassin, but Rowan is simply Cerebral.

I take it back…this kid isn’t lucky. He’s hurt in a match with Rowan Chance, and he’s trying to play mind games. He’s not lucky…

He’s screwed…