They say that first impressions mean everything and if you fail to pass the test within the first seven seconds it takes for someone to notice you, judge you or place you in a certain socially acceptable box… that it’s enough to break your career.
And yet as children aren’t we begged not to judge a book by its cover? I’ve been judged my whole life, in those first pesky seven seconds people have called me nice and shy, that soon turned to meek and mild but I’m anything but.
You’ll learn that as we go along, my silence is anything but golden. It shouldn’t be confused for anything else but chaos. The quiet isn’t my safe place, it isn’t where I hide but uneducated people will attach themselves to the motion that my lack of voice means they have rattled me. I only suggest that you don’t rattle cages, that you have no worldly idea what’s locked inside them.
It would be a disservice to yourself to get lost in these baby blue eyes, for I can promise you… they're as cold as the attic ice.
Enough warnings, you’ll learn in time that I don’t need to provoke fear, instead I purely wield it.
This week feels the proverbial ice breaker for my Sin City Wrestling career. All eyes will be on my partner Jaycee MacDonald and me. I get it, we’re the fancy new toys that Mark and Christian signed to help boost the Blast From the Past. We’re currently the unsorted, unprocessed beings that haven’t had the pleasure of being judged and put in our boxes. The world is only a few days away from deciding our fates. Will we disappoint or will we exceed pre made expectations? Only time will tell… and when it all boils down to it, judgements will be made in the first seven seconds.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven…
Seven… It's always fucking seven.
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5 years ago…
The vibrations of unfiltered exhaust pipes rumbled through the rainy Las Vegas Streets, as give, or take fifty Harley motorbikes rode the asphalt. Rubber burning as they crisscrossed the city in anger, brakes flaring red as the Hangman hunted down their prey. Me, I was their prey, laughable really considering I was meant to be this meek, mild teenage girl who realistically posed no threat to their clubhouse.
A legacy prospect, the first ever female prospect… but I was a joke to them. A pity patch was all I wore on my leathers. The black leathers that still covered my shoulders as I ran away from the club.
My family.
My life.
It was madness and if I had a moment to pause and think about what I had just done, maybe just maybe I wouldn’t have attempted to burn them all to ash. I couldn’t help it, their secrets and lies had come to light and I couldn’t help the voices. They mocked me, they tormented me, they whispered sweet little nothings into my ear telling me to make them pay for years’ worth of humiliation.
That’s when I started to count. One, two, three, four, five, six…
I never made it to seven and I ALWAYS had to make it to seven or otherwise things were suddenly out of my control. Chaos coursed through these veins demanding a release and chaos always got what it wanted, it always reached out and took it’s temptation by the throat and it always made sure the outcome was what it desired.
And what she desired was fear, in particular the look of fear in other people’s faces. For years I was told I suffered from an illness, a mental illness that made me appear weak and stupid, but little did they know that silence wasn’t for weakness it was to put a leash on my strength and my strength at full source… was empowering… it was blistering… It was magnificent.
My whole life the Hangman judged me as nothing more than a girl, a small pathetic piece of unobtainable pussy. They didn’t even see my betrayal coming, I mean how could they? I was nothing to them… I was just the President’s daughter who lived with her head in the clouds. They were never going to patch me in as a full-fledged member, and yet they lied about it for YEARS. I had been a live in slave for YEARS. Just a small girl they controlled, they manipulated, and they broke…
And yet, here they were like a pack of wolves ambushing the streets in search of the little girl who could. Well, at least the little girl who tied to get away murder. I would have gotten away with it, if he didn’t stop me, but I didn’t have time to think about my husband right now. I only had time to think about putting one foot in front of the other and high tailing it out of the Hangman’s patch of turf. I only had to run two more blocks without being detected and pray that the Hangman were smart enough to call off the hunt. I’m glad that the darkness of night was going to shadow my movements.
There was no way they would risk moving into London Underground territory without speaking to the Charming Prince first. That’s what the club sluts called Daniel, after all he was a blue-eyed British import who demanded respect and tilted the landscape of Las Vegas the very moment he moved in. My father wouldn’t risk a war, in the middle of another war just to find me. He would call off the fifty bikes and settle for just four of five to try and bring me back.
The adrenaline in me was beginning to dry up as my footing started to slip on the wet sidewalks. I couldn’t stay still in one spot for too long, because I knew I was leaving a trail of blood on my path. It wasn’t raining hard enough to cover my track, it wasn’t raining hard enough to wash away the weakness that was seeping out of my chest like venom. Like Hansel and Gretel, I was leaving breadcrumbs leading them right to me and if I didn’t get to safety soon, I knew it would only be a matter of time before I was caught and brought back to the clubhouse to face my fate. Death no doubt, by the Hangman’s noose. Poetic really. A ritual I used to be in awe of, but with my proverbial neck on the line, I could see how barbaric the practice was. It didn’t matter how pretty my little neck was, my father would wrap his hand around it, squeeze and force the life right out of lungs.
My full strides had turned into a messy shuffle, the blood leaving my blood in waves had my clutching at my side in agony. I didn’t want them to see me like this. I wanted them to remember me as the girl who locked them in the clubhouse and torched it whilst they were inside. I was going to savour their screams, I was going to close my eyes and let my soul fest on their fear. It’s what she demanded, it’s what she deserved. As I made my way across the street, I made sure to shuffle in and out of the cars. I knew experienced Harley riders could weave through traffic, but there was a beauty in Las Vegas traffic jams, they were packed too tight, and Hangman’s handlebars were too wide.
I could barely hear the honking of horns, the revving of engines but I didn’t need to hear the bikes. I lived and breathed them, they were whole life. I could feel them rumble on the road underneath my feet to know that they were coming, they were close, and that freedom was only just one more block away. Approaching a metal fence that protected a rundown electronics store carpark, I leaped, well attempting to gracefully. The harsh wire dug into my stomach, slicing open the wound that was weeping. I can’t believe I let him get a shot on me. I fucking hated him before today, but now the Sargent in Arms was going to pay for the blood that he had split. Rouge fucking Rouge.
With my mind rambling I tried to silence the voice, her voice that caused chaos she didn’t like to run away she didn’t like to be on the defence. We were attack type creatures, she didn’t believe in running. Yet, the sane part of my mind continued to will my feet forward. Even if the pain rippled through my body as if I had met a train head on at a rail crossing. The Las Vegas strip was getting closer and even though my father owned one side of it, I was safe and was going to be in the other neck of the woods in just a few more feet. I didn’t know this part of town well, I wasn’t allowed here. Everything was dark here, all the shops had shut for the night. Apart from one. I was heading towards the dull light I could see glowing from a sign. GO GYM. I didn’t know what a GO gym was, but I was glad to see it within walking distance.
The rumbling had stopped, the bikes had skidded to a halt. The legs taken from underneath them. My body ached, freedom took over and like a limp mule for some reason my feet wouldn’t allow me to continue. The rest is hazy but all I remember is dropping to the ground as I was assured freedom. I mean, I was under false hope that they wouldn’t come into LU territory without asking first and Daniel didn’t grant access easily, he was a smart madman. And right now he was an unknowing evil knight in shining Union Jack armour.
I remember crawling across the concrete making my desperate way towards the Gym doors. In there I would find help, I would find safety. Yet, the doors never came. I found a safe haven as I pulled myself up using the tyre of a blood red car. I remember the colour, it’s my favourite. It speaks to me. But I couldn’t stand, my body wouldn’t allow it. All I could do was hope the owner would come back shortly and lick my wounds. Well, until my friend Harlow could find me. No doubt she had heard what I had done by now. I struggled to keep my eyes open, my eyelids fluttered down not once, not twice, but six times. I needed to get to seven, I could feel the icy fire in my veins. I didn’t nothing happened, I was paralysed. I could only hear the voices, it's just this time they had accents.
“There better be a good fucking reason you’re bleeding all over the side of my Ferrari.” Australian and bitter.
“Eves.. she’s clearly injured.” Cockney and calm.
“Sigh. If she scratches the clear coat, I swear to you… She’ll wish she were dead.” Angry and calculated.
My eyes flicked open one last time, the seventh time in which a small smirk crossed my face. She was satisfied and that meant I could rest. In the seconds that my eyes were open I looked up and saw a sign painted on the side of the GO GYM. “The gateway to Sin City Wrestling.”
And that my friends is how I met your precious Sin City Wrestling.
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Debuts, I hear they can make you or break you. I hear that a loss in your first match can set the course for your career and well if that’s the case you best believe that I will be ensuring a victory this Sunday night at Climate Control.
Loss isn’t something I'm unfamiliar with, I’ve seen many people lose their lives before my eyes… I find it humbling. I find it Rewarding. I find it a necessary evil.
Losing can feel like a ghost, haunting you, crippling you but I can assure you… I won’t be hexed. My first match will play out as it should, with my hand raised in victory standing alongside Jaycee MacDoanld…
A partner fit for a victory, a partner fit for the long haul.
The Blast From the Past… has been a launching pad for many members of SCW before I arrived. It’s built on the legacy that anything can happen… trust me I know that first hand but what you need to understand that ANYTHING can and will happen to Amy Marshall… it just won’t be at her will. Her fate will be sealed by my hands.
I don’t care about her history in this company, I don’t care about the titles she has held, the matches she has won, the records, the hall of fame nod. It’s nothing to me… nothing at all because her legacy doesn’t concern me, her history weighs nothing on my future. She could be the Queen of England for all I care, I will not fall to her feet and I will not pander to her accomplishments. I don’t respect what I don’t know and I can promise you, Amy Marshall’s name has NEVER come across my desk. It has never been mentioned in my life. There’s no weight in all her accomplishments if she refused to make a name for herself.
Your media darling or so she pretends to be on social media is just a vessel harbouring a fluke, a shell of a woman who is trying to reach out and hold onto the last shreds of her career.
I see it’s a pattern in SCW, people refusing to hang up their boots when they have no business being in the ring anymore. The back hallways are filled with wastes of space, Marshall included.
I mean even her adult film industry has failed. Not even a top search on the internet… just another washed up platform in which she believes she dominates. There is no ownership in her career, just a bunch of fleeting moments of luck, she was able to reach out and grab.
I don’t believe in luck. Lady Luck has never poked her face into my life never has never will and with that knowledge I know that all my opportunities have to come to me by my own hands. Very capable hands. Hands that like to ensure punishment, hands that enjoy inflicting pain, hands that enjoy causing injury and bring tyrants to their knees.
Amy Marshall will bow on Sunday and from what I’ve been told it’s a position she is more than familiar with it. So muscle memory alone should brace her impact..
As for Knox I know that my partner Jaycee has the skills to put him in his place… with ease.
We are just days away from becoming the latest threats in Sin City Wrestling… regardless of what the match card write up says… you shouldn’t count us out. You shouldn’t overlook us, because we might not have the names in bright lights… yet… but our time is coming.
And it starts in the opener this week when we stream roll the Punk Princess and drown the fearless Knox.
