“Whoever said violence never solved anything doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Violence is the only language some people understand. Not that I’m fluent, but I know enough to get by.”
― Timothy S. Miller
Undisclosed Church
Somewhere in Southern California
01.06.2009
9:41pm
Alistair McCrae was a simple enough man.
Shrewd in his dealings and fiercely devout in his faith, to a man like him money wasn’t worth as much as the allegiance of those willing to stand by their word and alongside their faithful- although it sure as fuck didn’t hurt either.
This particular church, among others in the area had seen recent facelifts and restorations from the depths of McCrae’s pockets- many a newspaper article and online posting had shown the man himself among those pitching in time and effort. He’d told anyone who asked that he was simply giving back to a community that had been so generous with their hearts and their time- that much of this came from the donations of the pious and ardent of his flock.
Of course, the truth had a funny way of being a little twisted in the smaller details.
Despite being arguably a self-made man, much of the money had come from donations- except those ‘donations’ were more akin to payments for services rendered and for exchanges of product. Alistair McCrae himself never handled these transactions of course, for the exchange of money to be seen passing through his hands would surely poison the image he’d cultivated so carefully and sown so thoroughly through the tangled mess of roots called society.
For what and when- there were no traces linking back to the McCrae name, a big enough and more importantly loyal enough congregation could conceal all manner of business dealings. None of which, should they be uncovered accidentally or otherwise could potentially link back harmfully. For all intents and purposes- the man was a fucking saint in the flesh, a modern Mother Theresa if she were the type to throw out the dollars for stonework and stained glass.
Amber, for what little McCrae had led on about his business dealings, couldn’t fault the man- even in the cramped semi-office space he’d from a long unused storage room that the three of them had quietly piled into what felt like hours before. Dominic actively engaged with him at every given opportunity, nodding before sentences were completed and agreeing whole-heartedly despite having told the redhead beside him the complete opposite opinion merely hours before.
First impressions were key, and Del Gado was determined to make his matter… while Amber watched hers in the wrestling community slowly slipping between her fingers.
“... and while this is all fanciful talk, I have to ask just what it is you think you can offer our flock that we may not already receive from another generous donor.”
Glacial, as though impervious to smoke blowing, McCrae leaned across his desk slightly with an intrigued smile.
“Quite simply---”
“I wasn’t asking you.”
Amber wasn’t aware she was being personally addressed until the room fell into an awkward silence- broken only by her racing pulse as it seemed like the temperature had gone up 10 degrees in an instant. Dominic gave her a wary side-eye, both of them intimately aware that this perceived role-reversal hadn’t been accounted for- after all, Dominic had always been the pitch man, his sticky charisma seemingly enough to capture attention long enough to be given a chance to prove more- while Amber… well, her role had become less and less distinct as time had worn on.
“Discretion...”
Coming out more as a croak, she caught a glimpse of Dominic’s eyes narrowing, his brow furrowing slightly with visible indignation of being passed over. McCrae in the meantime, and seemingly oblivious to the display of skin that she continually tried to account for by gently tugging her spaghetti straps occasionally, softened his expression with a curious squint.
“... and loyalty. While I can appreciate that your flock might be strong and devoted, it takes only one bad apple to spoil the bunch. Minimizing the chance of a bad apple greatly increases your ability to trust the whole.”
It was all bullshit spewed on a whim, barely able to stop herself from stuttering Amber straightened up slightly as though trying to correct her hindsight's posture. She’d talked a lot of shit in wrestling- mostly just viciously idle threats and off-color analogies cause that seemed to get her noticed, mostly for the wrong reasons. However this, no, this felt different- lying through her teeth never tingled through her skin, double-dealing never set her nerves alight and misremembering facts never gave her quite the endorphin hit...
Maybe it was simply the electricity that radiated through the room or maybe… just this once… she wasn't actually lying.
“Ah… Luke 16:10: If you are faithful in little things, you will be faithful in large ones. But if you are dishonest in little things, you won’t be honest with greater responsibilities.”
Intimately aware of the shift in the power dynamic, McCrae rattled off the quote with relative fondness.
“You’re an astute young lady Ms Ryan. Given a push in the right direction, you could accomplish some… interesting things.”
A lingering inflection on the word ‘interesting’ left Amber hanging by her fingernails, part of her wanted to tell him that she already had outside interests and that her partnership with Dominic was one purely for each of their own personal gain- that she really was capable of something… anything more than just a sight for sore eyes.
She really could be great, she could be more… just given a chance.
Except the words never came, the sound dying long before it ever touched her lips leaving her only to manage a weakly appreciative smile and glance away in shame that she couldn't bring herself to speak candidly when it mattered.
Just a chance…
She’d do anything…
Hell, she’d already done anything.
Everything.
Just to get… here.
Just to get here and to be in this position right now, scrambling for something remotely significant to add to a conversation that hung like a heavy smog between the trio. Desperation, that's what this was, trying to find a way out from a hole she’d contentedly been digging until a bigger and newer hole was started just a little further along the path…
“Allow me the opportunity to think about it. Expect a call, I’m sure I can find something suitable to you - how can I put this- expertise, shall we say?”
Scraping his chair across the floor, the screech barely even registered with Amber until McCrae was almost half way out the door, with Dominic trailing and excitedly thanking the Reverend for his hospitality and all the such affiliated smoke blowing. To think, Amber brooded while slowly finding her feet as Dominic disappeared like a lost puppy seeking approval from a neglectful master, she’d given up a spot on a show for this… for Dominic… for the guy tripping over himself to get noticed.
If she weren’t so frustrated, she might have laughed.
At least some good came of it though…
Amber emerged into the nave as McCrae broke off a vigorous handshake with an almost reptilian smile, a passing glance of curiosity settled on her for a moment before the Reverend excused himself back to other far more important duties.
“Un-fucking-believable”
Dominic murmured quietly, more so to himself than anyone intended to hear it, as his hands fidgeted nervously. Gears ticked over as Amber cautiously approached, unsure whether to prepare for an explosion or a mental breakdown.
“Can you believe this? Come, now…”
Without even pausing for breath or asking, Dominic grabbed Amber’s wrist firmly before almost dragging her out of the church forcibly ignoring the fact that her stilettos seemed to catch on every carpet snag and her dress hiking up so high she could feel a faint breeze dance just below the crease of her buttocks. Stumbling out onto the front steps, visibly unimpressed, Amber tried to straighten herself up as Dominic seized her face and forcibly laid a kiss on her forehead- long before she could get her hands away from the hem of her dress to defend against the sudden affectionate onslaught.
“Oh, that is such a relief… We actually just did that.”
We.
It wasn’t lost on Amber for a moment that suddenly they were a ‘we’ as in plural, as in more than the singularity that was Dominic Del Gado and whoever he took up with that week. Biting her tongue, Amber swallowed her pride in favor of finding a reason to be excited- after all, maybe it was worth missing just the one show… she’d have other opportunities, even if it meant working a little harder or digging a little deeper.
“Yeah…we… I mean, it's a great opportunity, right? Getting to prove ourselves on that next level…”
Dominic scoffed, cutting off the growing momentum of her train of thought, before placing a hand on her lower back patronizingly.
“Sweet girl, you’re still thinking small time. All that nonsense wrestling stuff might have muddled your wires a little- but we aren’t just in this to be someone's minions. No one does anything with the intention of being second best- my father impressed upon me early that if you aren't the best then you need to do everything in your power to change that. Consequences can be dealt with later, fallout is for those afraid of success- fact is Red, you can’t be the best if you’re sitting beneath someone else's thumb.”
Click. Clack. Stilettos on concrete, her gait wobbled as Dominic pressed his hand into the small of her back a little more firmly as though intentionally creating more distance between them and the place of worship.
“... but I told McCrae---”
“... and it was brilliant. We are moving into position, not to be under his thumb- but to remove it from his hand entirely and cement ourselves as more than just Del Gado Snr’s little boy, more than just another pretty girl trying to play latex-clad badass bitch #4.
We have an opportunity to prove that we belong… you wanna belong, don’t you?”
She’d never heard Dominic speak so earnestly, and if it weren’t for the fact that he was openly planning to exploit possibly the one good thing she might have done in god knows how long- she’d have almost believed every word. Spinning her to face him, his hands firmly gripped at her waist and his eyes locked down on hers- there was a spark in his eyes, one that threatened to burn them both alive and yet somehow, she’d already fallen in love with the heat.
“We could potentially be getting handed the keys to the kingdom, darling… It'd be almost criminal if we didn’t use them.”
******
“What constitutes being ‘good enough’?
Is it something we base solely on achievement and recognition, or perhaps it's simply a state of mind we will ourselves into when the odds start stacking up against us. Believe in yourself and you can achieve anything right? We’re told that all our lives from people we presume know well enough that all we have to do is have faith and to work hard. Trust that the universe will reward you for everything you put out into it…
Some people need to be told this, they need to be constantly validated by everyone around them for fear that house of cards will come tumbling down at the first sign of a stiff breeze, repeating a mantra like their career truly depends on uit working. Others simply have such a confidence naturally- regardless of whether it's true or otherwise, spewing propaganda out into the world in hopes that they might create an infection of concussive arrogance.
Where is that line drawn though- and who gets to make that decision?
You’ve told everyone a lot that you believe you are Myra, and I find that almost as admirable as it is conceited- determined to will something into existence and have that just pay off cause being the World Champion is a result of just being ‘good enough’. ‘Good enough’ to beat me, ‘good enough’ not to disappoint everyone you’ve hyped around you again, ‘good enough’ to force yourself into a title picture that never needed you in it.
Truth is, you just want to belong. Be seen for what you really are, right?
You wanna be at the top of the mountain cause you know the world has no choice but to accept you, but to look up and recognize you as something you aren’t. Talk after talk after fucking talk Myra- layer upon layer of self-aggrandizing absolute bullshit that does nothing but build this fortress of pity for you to retire into once you realize that going on the defensive only means it just takes longer for you to lose.
It doesn’t matter how much you tell yourself otherwise- you think you deserve this, and I’ll be straight up with you, at Summer XXXtreme maybe you did… You made me step my game up another level cause I wasn't ready to be known as a ‘former’, cause I wasn’t prepared to watch my hard work get thrown overboard in favour of someone else's storybook journey.
Yeah, you had my respect. You very well could have won- but you were against me… and that's why you lost.
I mean you obviously have your own opinions on that, which is fine. They’re wrong, but it's fine. I’m never gonna be the one to tell people not to lie to themselves if that's what it takes to close some emotional wounds- after all, our whole industry is built on trying to avoid the truth at all costs.
We lie to our friends and families telling them that we aren’t absolutely terrified of what barbed wire and explosives can do to human flesh, we lie to our doctors that we don't hurt as much as we do cause we know it means standing on the sidelines watching someone else pass us by. We lie to ourselves that we can do things that were never meant for us…
In the end, lying comes as naturally as breathing…
Fact is, the truth sucks. It hurts and it just leaves everyone worse off than where they started.
However, when I walked into this company I made it my damn business to be truthful, to be honest with everyone I matched up against cause I didn’t wanna be the one fuelling fantasies of grandeur or giving people a boost only for their inevitable fall to be from a greater height.
I’ll stand here and tell people what I consider the truth- regardless who I hurt along the way, maybe that makes me a fucking asshole, but in the end it's my goddamn job to expose what makes people tick and dismantle them for their own good.
That's what makes me good enough Myra.
That's what makes me World Bombshells Champion.
And that's what will keep me there.
Maybe that makes me a little sicker than your average, but sweetheart I absolutely had to be to get where I am, I embrace it with all its flaws and consequences. To stand atop that mountain, you have to be a little sadistic- to want this belt you have to accept all the good and the bad that comes with it. That's what everyone seems to forget around here- being the World Champion isn’t about just carrying a belt and taking some nice photos for a glossy magazine- it's about never seeing your friends or family cause you have publicity commitments, about missing important life events cause theres a show or a flight you’ll miss if you stay five minutes too long anywhere.
It's about being the most judged person on that roster, your every move and word criticised cause it's not ‘representative’ of the company, despite the fact the same people applauded the same thing against a different person. It's about being looked at as an outcast, walking around with a fuck off target on your back cause everyone wants what you have- it's not about goals and dreams, it's about all the heartbreaks you’re willing to accept.
I’m where I am cause I’m the one not willing to accept anything less.
Time after time I’ve proven I’m willing to go further than anyone else for this belt, and this match is no exception- I welcome it, not because it's in my proverbial ‘wheelhouse’, but because it's a proving ground. It's an opportunity to show just how badly you really want it- cause you can tell the world what it means, but that means fuck all until you go out there and show it.
You don’t have to beat me Myra, that's the important thing here- you have to outlast me… just to even walk away.
You aren’t the long haul type- you like clean and decisive, you’ve staked your career on being effective with minimal time and effort, you lack my grit and determination. You rarely ever had to scratch and claw in the same way just to be noticed, only having to fight for survival once you were truly established and chasing gold… I had to do the same thing just to get in the fucking door.
Regardless of how much you back yourself Myra- this match isn’t just a decision, this isn’t just some ‘get in, get out scenario. Fact is, the longer this match goes- the more it favours me, not because I’m better, but because I have more I’m willing to give.
Thing is, in all of this- all the talk, all the bluster and bullshit Myra- you still haven’t been able to admit that you’d be willing to sacrifice anything. For you it's about everything you stand to gain rather than what's worth losing to make it there.
To you- I’m just someone to beat, someone standing in the way of your grand tear-jerking celebration that you are just DYING to have, I’m just someone blocking your path on the way to what you feel like you truly DESERVE when all you’ve done along the way is complain that you haven’t got there yet.
I’ll admit I’m tired of hearing about what you think you deserve, cause the truth is… you deserve a reckoning. All you’ve ever done is try to make these matches about you- about everything you have done, everything you want, everything you think you’ve been through…
It's not fucking about you Myra, and that's the lesson you don’t seem to be learning in all of this.
You are not the be-all-end-all of this company, you are not nearly the best and you don’t really deserve this opportunity- yet here you are singing the same song, dancing the dance and expecting literally anyone on this roster to believe that you want this more than I do.
Every week- it's about you. You made that Internet title about you and look what happened to it, you took it's identity and plastered it across your own like some facsimile of a personality- news flash though, being a fucking champion isn’t just a personality trait.
You had your shot at Summer XXXtreme and the first opportunity you got- you told everyone you weren’t going to make excuses, and then you went out and listed every reason why you didn’t win. Now you’re doing it for this match preemptively- claims that your deathmatch experience is limited, that this match favours me… That's never stopped anyone before. No one is just inherently good at these matches.
I’ve lost to Roxi before in a Street Fight, that's the exact type of match that favours me- and with a few cheap shenanigans and the sheer bullish will to win, she managed to do something that was otherwise believed impossible.
Maybe if you stopped the ‘woe is me’ for two minutes Myra, you’d actually realize all you have to do is go out and prove you want this title more than me… I mean you won’t cause you absolutely don’t want it more, but it's nice to consider your options.
I guess that's the difference between us Myra- I can switch gears, I can look inside myself and know that should I need to throw my morals to the wind, I have the capacity to do so and not blink an eye. I can shift from being the straight up striker putting girls down with a sick left hand, to spitting fire and thumbtacks on a fucking dime. I can tell you I respect you one day- then the next put you in the morgue and not shed a tear while they’re identifying whatever remains I let them have.
While I have this title- I’ll be whoever I need to be to keep it, and I won’t apologize for that.
Fact is myra- I’ve got no mercy left to be doling out, no fucks left to give cause you chose this Myra, you chose violence the moment you opened your fucking mouth to come at me again.
… and frankly you gave up your right to respect the second you made this Violent Conduct main event solely about you.”
******
Unnamed Radio Station
Anchorage, AK
09.09.2021
7:14am
Business casual, she’d been told, yet everyone was wearing jeans.
Overdressed to impress Amber deliberated, putting in a damn effort for nobody to see. Typical really, as Amber made a mental note to bring this up next time management wanted her to act more ‘professionally’ as though going out to the ring every time asked and making magic from the mundane wasn’t quite enough to fulfil her obligations. Another publicity event, another cog in the eternal hype machine that was Sin City Wrestling.
In truth she knew it was simply par for the course, there were dues to be paid as champion and the last five and a half months had been no exception- after all, she was representing an entire organization just by carrying the belt slung over her right shoulder. Besides, maybe little smart dressing every once in a while certainly wouldn’t kill her.
Initially Amber had been reluctant to bring the title with her, it was a symbol deserving to be glorified on a grand stage rather than some prop to prove her legitimacy. Validation was for parking tickets and insecurities- she’d long since passed the point of worrying about opinions and trying to please people when in reality no one really knew what they wanted until it was in the rearview.
“Ms Ryan, it is an absolute pleasure.”
Without a moment to comprehend the sudden conversational interlude- assertive yet lively for the time of morning, likely riding the immediate high of a fresh cup of coffee, a young woman brightly offered up a hand, to which Amber reflexively accepted.
“Oh my, you really do have quite the grip. Please, come this way…”
Almost sheepishly, Amber withdrew her hand from the embrace as the woman set off briskly. Shorter than the redhead, even in kitten heels, and with a blonde ponytail swaying with every step- she started pulling away from Amber as windows in doors gave brief glimpses of microphones and mixing tables.
With a fond recall and cheeky smile, Amber remembered a time when she’d been told she had a face for radio by some deadbeat nobody opponent with a lack of originality and less talent between the ropes. At the time she’d been offended, now she couldn’t help but admit he was right- if only because now she was a world beating company woman instead of a part-time grocery bagger with a weekend proclivity for wrestling.
“... I must admit, a lot of us have been eagerly anticipating your arrival. You have quite the preceding reputation if you don’t mind me saying.”
Whether Amber minded was irrelevant as the young woman, who had introduced herself as one of the producers in passing between quick breaths and clacking footsteps. Words like that were always foreboding and expectation was a dangerous thing- hell, before she’d even said a word there had been a value placed on her tongue. Stopping before one of the many doors, Amber could make out a number of people in clustered groups between what appeared to be a split room- half occupied by a table and microphones suspended in front of seats, the other filled with more moving parts than a Stephen King novel. Mixing tables and meters with flashing lights and numbers, it was all quite overwhelming and Amber found herself briefly relieved at the fact she was going to be on the slightly less complicated side of things.
“Just a word before you go in there…”
Hesitation seeped between syllables, the young female producer seemingly measuring her words carefully. Amber readjusted her belt in the midst of the pause, their presence starting to attract the attention of a few of the bodies beyond the door with furtive and excited glances.
“Ollie and Andy are great guys, honestly. They are our most listened to show, bar none…”
“... but…”
There was always a but, always a prerequisite, always something to be guarded against although the faint little smile that curled at the edge of the producers lips betrayed a little more than perhaps she presumed she was letting on.
“... but, Ollie likes to think of himself as edgy and controversial. In reality, he’s just kind of an ass. Andy does a great job of dampening him- the mans practically a saint around here for what he deals with. Ollie is just… he thinks he’s cool and hip, wears a baseball cap backwards unironically if you get my drift. He wants a reaction at any cost- and we’ve had our fair share of issues when guests don’t come to ‘play’.”
Allowing the producer's commentary to hang in the air, Amber contemplated for a moment.
“Are you asking me if I came to play…”
Another small smile, this one more deliberate as the producer idly played with the ends of her ponytail.
“I’m telling you that the audio is going out live and we aren’t stopping the show for anything short of a bloodbath.”
If that wasn’t permission, Amber wasn’t sure what would be. Following closely as the producer entered the table-occupied room- two men joined from the otherside, both casually dressed in jeans and button down shirts. Mid thirties she guessed, one married judging by a gold wedding band while the other ruffled his hair slightly with some of the perspiration that had collected on his brow.
“You know…”
Ollie, with ruffled hair and a shirt too loud for such a confined space, spoke first although chose not to approach.
“I thought you’d be bigger, you know… in person.”
In a voice that sounded an octave higher than it should have, grating slightly with a mid sentence inflection Ollie regarded her curiously, the obvious up and down as though expecting someone more akin to a supermodel instead of whatever the redhead was. Meanwhile, in her peripheral vision, Amber could spot the producer giving her a look- although the redhead couldn’t quite determine if it was an ‘I told you’ or ‘I’m perfectly okay with you murdering this man on the spot’ look yet.
“Like that amazon looking woman, what's her name… I dunno, I saw her on a poster or something.”
With a commiserating look, apologizing in advance, Andy stepped forward for a brief handshake exchange.
“Don’t mind him, we really appreciate you coming by for a chat. It's not often we see events like this, especially given the state of world affairs currently.”
With a vague gesture, Andy offered her a seat as Ollie eyed the Bombshells World title studiously.
“Do you mind if I…”
Graciously, Amber slipped the belt down off her shoulder gently to account for the weight before carefully laying it across Ollie’s outstretched hands, for whatever convoluted reason though he doesn't anticipate the weight and almost immediately drops the belt before Amber intervenes with a scowl.
“Shit, that thing is heavy. I thought you just got like a replica to carry around or is this just a special occasion.”
A tinge of red flooded his cheeks as Ollie quickly backed off to the opposite side of the table while Amber quietly shifted the belt back onto it's favoured resting place, momentarily revelling in its weight and it's supposed surprise factor.
In the next room, the producer made eye contact with the men diligently.
Three fingers.
Two.
Amber inhaled sharply.
One.
“It’s 7:30am and it's another beautiful day in Anchorage- which can only mean one thing- it's Andy and Ollie coming to you live for another breakfast show. Today, we have a highly anticipated guest- everyone around here has been absolutely buzzing about the Sin City Wrestling Supercard show this Sunday, and joining us for a quick chat will be one of the two women headlining that very show…”
Smooth and professional- Andy’s tone changed on the fly from genuinely neighborly yet distant to warm and charismatic, like the crackling of an open fire translated into vocalities.
“Absolutely- and we can confirm she's a beautiful as she is potentially dangerous. I’d hate to run into her in a dark alley, unless that alley was right outside my apartment…”
Asinine and just a little chauvinistic.
Bleh.
Feigning anything but disgust, Amber internally recoiled. Perhaps the warning hadn’t been quite enough, the disclaimer covering the barest minimum of details. Still, she had a reputation to uphold on behalf of people far more professionally inclined. Channeling her inner ‘Mac’, she politely smiled and swallowed the venom collecting at the back of her tongue.
“It is our pleasure to welcome to the show this morning- the Sin City Wrestling World Bombshell's Champion, Ms Amber Ryan!”
At this stage, she expected the canned applause, or some kind of manufactured effect to fill the dead air she'd left lingering between them- the idea of being conversational in such an impersonal way was far more confronting than she’d anticipated.
“A pleasure to be here”
Lying through softly gritted teeth, Amber smiled politely in hopes that they couldn’t tell she was already regretting ever having accepted this interview.
“Now this Sunday, you face arguably one of your biggest challenges to date as champion in the form of now two-time opponent Mary Rivers.”
Perhaps he was trying to be funny, mispronouncing like it was a gimmick or intentionally trying to hype her up as though she needed the help- however she quickly realized that it was simple, deliberate ignorance as Andy whispered feverishly towards Ollie that he’d fucked up the opponents name. Part of her wanted to laugh, the other half almost felt sorry for whoever had to deal with the consequences of the 20 minute rant Myra would no doubt wanna have at the supercard, about being slighted by some douchebag shock jock.
“Yeah, I’ve never really been a big fan of trying to categorize my opponents if I’m honest… Everyone brings their own unique challenge and finding a way to overcome them is what keeps me motivated. Myra has been an exceptional force- but everyone can be stopped, it's just a matter of how.”
Oh god, even as the words left her lips she could feel the tingle through every nerve. A simulation of everything she’d once loathed in paper champions determined to be valiant and moral- in truth she didn’t feel much that way at all, people like Ruby and Jessie hadn’t exactly been threats and Alicia was never the opponent she’d packaged herself as. Trying to compare opponents wasn't like apples and oranges anymore than it was like comparing oranges and straight up trash.
“This match you have coming up is a prime example of that stopping power as well, is it not? I believe it's an exploding barbie doll…”
“It's an exploding barbed wire death match. Barbie dolls were a different match the other week I think, I tend to avoid all the pink and glitter- I find it too hard to get out of my reputation.”
Levity was trickier than anticipated in the face of a certain premeditated ignorance. It didn't stop her trying, but it did make swallowing more of that rising venom harder, more bitter, more potent stinging the back of her throat.
“Yeah, but that's all just fake right? I mean, you don’t actually go out there and… you know”
Amber stifled an acerbic chuckle, the flood of toxic retorts bubbling on the edges of her tongue.
“No, I don’t know. I mean, if you’re aware of some kind of ‘safety’ barbed wire that we could get ahold of- I’d love to hear about it. Would save a lot of people some serious time and hassle…”
Unwilling to reign in her tone, Amber caught sight of some eagerly exchanged glances being shared and whispers murmured under breaths.
“Seriously though- do you know what it's generally used for? Corralling and containing livestock, property security… It's a deterrent as much as it's an effective stopper. It's designed to catch in clothing, it's designed to rip and tear at anything that gets caught in its grasp. I’d have brought some in with me, but apparently walking through downtown Anchorage with a roll of barbed wire tends to make a girl look a little erratic… Explosives are the same, you don’t just fake those things and they sure as fuck… can I say fuck… I suppose I already did… don’t tickle.”
Resting her forearms on the tabletop, Amber gauged both men curiously before continuing when the dead air remained unclaimed between them.
“Let me ask you both a question- what's the most painful thing you’ve ever stepped on, what's the worst pain you’ve ever endured?
Or tell me this, have you ever been hit with a baseball bat, let alone one wrapped with barbed wire… Have you ever fallen 10 plus feet from a ladder- hell, have you ever been on fire?
I’m sure it must be easy to question the legitimacy of what we do when you’re cooped up all safe and warm in a studio watching from a distance- but let me explain this to you… I have basically been shredded alive, I’ve been burned repeatedly and beaten with every blunt object you can fathom, I’ve probably lost more blood than you’ve drank beer…”
Her words trialed with a hiss as they remained silent, perhaps trying to comprehend the sheer destructive effects of such mortifying events.
“I have been cut and stabbed by friend and foe alike. I have had thumbtacks stuck in my tongue, broken teeth and been partially blinded. Hell, I’ve been thrown off a fucking scaffold through glass tables then brushed myself off like a goddamn hellspawn asshole- cause I wasn’t gonna let some asshole say they were better than me. I have lived and I have died between those ropes for titles that meant less than this one, so don’t ever sit there and let me hear you question the legitimacy of what we do… Frankly I’ve been through hell far too many times to be questioned about what the temperature is like there at this time of year.”
Venomously, Amber narrowed her glare as though inviting recourse.
“That's… that's quite a lot. Certainly a storied career, and without question I will likely be having nightmares about all of those things tonight.”
Amber forced a chuckle to lighten the mood, however Ollie had already gone sallow and pale- like the kid debating whether it was worth making a run to the bathroom before they threw up… and always losing the gamble.
“Allow me to be real blunt- we don’t do this cause we like the violence… I don’t enjoy waking up and not being able to walk 20 feet without having to stop for a breather, I don’t like hearing my joints crackle and pop when I try to stand up. I have no doubt lowered my life expectancy by decades just to call myself World Champion, so another exploding barbed wire deathmatch… another storied opponent looking to steal the crown off my head before my body has gone cold… Its just another bloody fucking Sunday”
Drumming her fingers on the tabletop, Amber's smile twitched and the wrinkle in her nose deepened.
“I don’t expect you to understand what we’re going to go out there and do- all I want from you is to watch… Watch and remember this. History is always being written, no one ever likes to mention that it's always in someone else's blood though, everyone skips over the gory bits like they didn’t matter, but the truth is- actions have consequences, you punch upwards and you’re eventually gonna bring the ceiling down on your head. Shoot for the moon and hope your oxygen holds out long enough for someone to find you in the midst of Oblivion…
We are basically walking, living, breathing testaments to residuum and to pretend otherwise is ignorant and obscene…”
Softly, and with the delicacy of a whisper laced with cyanide, Amber cocked her head slightly trying to withhold the tic that wanted to tug at the corner of her eye.
“Lives begin and end every day and no one blinks an eye- but televise it and all of a sudden everyone's last breath has meaning. It's a privilege to see the end of anything, whether we realize it or not. It's monumental… and at Violent Conduct on Sunday- whether it's Myra or whether it's me- something has to give and something has to end…”
******
“What's the worst thing that's ever happened to you, Myra?
Be honest.
Was it someone telling you that they didn’t love you anymore, or maybe getting told that you’d never measure to an unreachable standard despite all your best efforts. Did someone disappoint you in a way you couldn’t recover from or were you betrayed by someone you believed in whole-heartedly only to find it was all a lie...
Let's cut the crap, shall we?
You aren’t nearly the damaged goods you claim to be- you’ve built your career on drifting from minor tragedy to minor tragedy, milking the emotional sustenance from everyone before waiting for someone to sweep you off your feet and tell you that it really did mean something. You’re a damn good wrestler, I can’t fault that for a moment- but to take all the good will you somehow managed to muster and throw that in peoples faces when they don’t buy into your melancholic soap opera of soon-to-be retirement speeches every week… It just makes me wanna punch something.
Everyone loves a good underdog story, the little guy winning out over the big bad forces of evil right… It's just, you aren't the underdog this time, this isn’t David vs Goliath Myra- it's Goliath vs Goliath it's just that one of them really feels sorry for themselves.
I’m not the penultimate challenge of some heroes journey and I’m sick to fucking death of the World Title only being viewed as a representation of their hard works and theirs alone- like no one elses wins and work ever mattered before that.
Carrying a title doesn’t make anyone important, people make this title important- after all, there are far more women on this roster who have held this title and been worse off because of it. Not from the title meaning less, but because they degraded what it stood for to bolster their own failing self-admiration.
This Bombshells World title is a deserved centrepiece of this company- not you.
… and I’ll be upfront with you right now, I’m real fucking sick to death of every sob-story, every starry-eyed impetuous misfortune bound motherfucker thinking that it's their god-given right to get to carry this belt simply because it would be ‘such an honour’ or so that whichever family member who ‘would have loved to see them win’ can be talked about for another few weeks.
No one in this business gets to be the champion cause they’re real special or cause their tragedies are greater than anyone else's- this isn’t some Make-A-Wish for wrestlers who would never get there otherwise. We don’t hold this belt up for a five second flash, we hold it up so every piece of shit crawling out of the woodwork, fancying their shot, gets to see what you’ve made the title worth.
When it comes down to it, you aren’t the only person in the world who has experienced loss and adversity- that has experienced some kind of emotional distress and yet you invalidate the way anyone else has ever felt cause it can’t possibly compare right?
No one in this fucking division has ever suffered the way Myra goddamn fucking Rivers has suffered, huh?
Just cause I don’t bring it up at every given opportunity, doesn’t mean I’ve never hurt.
Fact is, I’ve lost more people than I’ll ever name on camera, I’ve hurt people I cared about wrongly and worked twice as hard to make things better because of it and I’ve fought on behalf of many who never got to see an outcome. I have honoured and represented those who cared about me more than I ever deserved to be- and yet you still try to sit there live from your high horse, telling everyone that it's only your odyssey that matters. That only your loss and heartbreak has any meaning, that you should be the only one who’s feelings need to be put on a pedestal and that the courage you’ve shown to carry on is the only one worth prostrating before.
No, fuck you and fuck all of that.
You are selfish beyond understanding Myra, and nothing I can do in this match will ever change that. See, we are in the fucking main event of one of the biggest shows of the Sin City Wrestling calender and instead of promoting how much that means- you’d rather continue to demi-deify your fears and frustrations instead of promoting what really matters.
I’ll be honest- I find it fucking disgusting and I’m beyond tired of pretending like it doesn’t piss me off endlessly.
I can only hope that your hubris will see you turned to antimatter by the time this match is over.
See, you talk a lot about fear going into this- but you have no understanding of the context. You speak on it like it needs to be conquered before you can achieve your goals, that you can never be world champion with fear in your heart… Truth is though- you actually can’t be world champion cause that's my belt, that's my life and it's fifteen years of my bloodshed and my suffering so delicately entwined with the beat of my pulse that one wrong move would surely sever my connection to any common decency I might have had left.
Fear isn't something to be opposed to, you don’t just win against it like it's a challenge- but you’re saying it is cause you need something to blame, something to define you again. Telling everyone you aren’t scared of this match isn’t something to be proud of and being fearless doesn’t make you great- it makes you fucking stupid, it makes you reckless and irrational. Most importantly though, it lies to your body and tells you that you’re far more capable than what you really are…
You’ve painted yourself into a corner- and instead of offering you a lifeline Myra, I’m going to set the room alight. I’m not here to play games Myra, I’m not gonna go back and forth with you on the intricacies of what it truly means to be scared.
You’ll learn that soon enough and you’ll embrace it cause it's all you’ll have left to hold onto.
Violent Conduct isn't just a buzz phrase, it's what we bring to the table… and it's no secret that I’m unfortunately familiar with this stipulation, that this match technically falls under ‘my terms’ but in truth that changes nothing cause the same woman who won the title from Christina Rose, is the same woman who defended successfully at Summer XXXTreme and is the same person coming to Violent Conduct to do it again.
It's never that I loved the violence Myra- I’ve never woken up in the morning and decided that it was the day I’d just go out and tear myself to shreds in order to prove my name meant something. It's a consequence of the way I came into the industry, and I continue to do it cause sometimes I still have plenty to prove to myself… and since I won this title I never stopped proving myself and I never accepted that I’d done enough.
That's why I accepted this rematch. I still have something to prove.
Every match thrown at me- regardless how inane or barbaric, I have gone out and proven that I’m world class in any and every scenario- food fights and fire fights, to fucking glitter stained ballgown bullshit and violent gore-strewn bloodbaths.
Maybe you’re willing to accept when you’re ‘good enough’ Myra, but for me that's just not going to happen- maybe it's toxic to never believe yourself to be good enough, but I’d rather that than resting on my laurels any day.
Lets just make one thing crystal clear in all of this though- you had your shot at Summer XXTreme, you’re having your shot again now at Violent Conduct… and all you’ve done is bitch and complain about it. Right here, right now is put up or shut the fuck up- there are no more chances, no more politicking your way into your fairytale future.
No, you lose Myra? That's it. You can go stand and watch everyone else get their shot, and maybe think long and hard about how you managed to get to this fateful moment and why all your bullshit and bluster is little more than the last of the residual smoke that's been pumped up your ass for so long.
Come Sunday, karma finally comes calling for you. Come Violent Conduct the ground will shake and mountains will shift- everything you’ve so shoddily built around you crumbles to your feet and when the dust settles you’ll look at what's left and wonder whether it's worth trying to rebuild- and I’ll smile at you a bloody little smile with gold still draped over my shoulder kicking at the stones you so carelessly laid.
I’ll look at you with a moment of pity, the same pity that you’ve scraped the bottom of the barrel for so long for and I’ll explain so very carefully to you as you try and pick up those shattered little pieces of your life- that you did this… That you finally got everything you deserved…
… and that your only remaining tragedy will be that I didn’t end your fucking career sooner.”
******
Bane Hotel Room
Anchorage, AK
09.09.2021
12:49pm
There was that tic again.
Amber tried to ignore it, leaning back into a sofa that she’d already concluded was far too soft. At first it was just a little twitch, a momentary muscle spasm just under her right eye that seemed to dissipate as soon as she recognized it's presence.
It was nothing. It meant nothing. It always meant nothing.
Keep telling yourself that and one day you might believe it.
Maybe she’d overreacted at the radio station, despite the fact she’d received nothing but excitable praise and questionable applause for her blunt force trauma of verbal diarrhea, maybe she’d gone too far and showed a far uglier side to what she represented than intended.
Yeah, that was the issue- she’d always just gone too far without ever questioning if there was a far more amiable middle ground between extremes, hell her whole career had been built on human polarity and her willingness to exploit the dead areas on either side.
Dominic was probably right, she concluded with an aggravated sigh, leopards were far too fond of their spots it seemed.
“Oh hey, I thought you weren’t getting in until later this afternoon.”
Bristling from the cooler air, Mac Bane shrugged off his jacket before tossing it over the edge of the sofa she’d sunk further into the folds of- maybe if she were really lucky she might just disappear long enough for her brain to stop going in circles.
“I messaged you and told you that my schedule had been changed.”
She had messaged, but neglected to mention that she’d forgotten to press send. In truth the schedule hadn’t changed though, her guilt about meeting Dominic at the garage had created that sudden absent-mindedness that she leaned heavily into now as Mac checked against his messages, while she knew he wouldn’t find anything more recent form her than almost a day and a half earlier.
“Hmmm, maybe just some bad reception or something.”
Amber’s stomach sank further than she did, something in her throat tightening painfully as she swallowed her regret. It was wrong, and she knew it was wrong and yet she still had that damn fucking envelope in her gear bag, buried beneath pairs of shoes destined to be worn as odds and a spare pair of pants cause barbed wire had never been kind to clothing.
She hadn’t necessarily lied, yet somehow she could feel the shame of even contemplating doing so scraping at every exposed nerve she had…
“What matters though is that we’re both here now.”
Leaning over the couch edge, Mac planted a soft kiss on her cheek as the scratching of his beard tickled down the side of her neck. Amber returned the gesture with an exhausted smile- the remnants of a tic under her eye lingering just under her skin like a splinter.
“Why don’t we go and check the place out… It's not often that we get to come this far across the country, let alone have any time that's not booked up with publicity nonsense.”
He was right. He was always right.
It seemed rarer and rarer these days that the World Champions saw each other for more than a passing hour or two, their beds were shared less and the coffee normally poured for two always got cold in one cup. Consequences, she reminded herself, by working so hard to be champions they chose this life and as such everything that came with it.
Rubbing her face reflexively, Amber stretched slightly, waiting for her shoulder to make it's distinctive pop before she relented with forearms tucked behind her head.
“As lovely as that sounds…”
“You don’t wanna go”
“I’m just… I’m a little tired from the travel---”
Now that was a lie, she’d been in town long enough to do an interview and sneak in an hour or two's worth of research into Dominic’s grand little scheme she’d somehow managed to get herself dragged into. Not that it had done anything, words on paper blurred into lines that no longer held meaning while photographs melted into a technicolour Rorschach without the sexual innuendos.
“--- besides, this match has got me all sorts of on edge.”
Thoughtfully, Mac dropped in beside her and placed a hand on hers with a small reassuring squeeze.
“I’d have thought you’d be quietly rejoicing.”
It was only partially sarcasm, he knew her career just as well as anyone- if not better than most. He’d been there for some of the worst beatings she’d taken and for some of her greatest bloody triumphs- he’d held her hand when she couldn’t even lift her head and sold his soul alongside her when the times had called for it. Neither of them were strangers to violence and all the baggage that came with it- but few times had ever seemingly had so much on the line.
Somehow fighting for survival seemed to pale in comparison to fighting for the World Title that she’d worked so hard to keep on her shoulder, that she’d given so much just to return some form of prestige to.
“Yeah, I thought I would too… Usually a match like this would see me fighting from underneath though, it's always been that ‘against all odds’ mentality. I’ve never really had anything to lose that I wasn’t already prepared to give up… Whereas this, darling I’d rather be left in fucking pieces than see Myra Rivers walk away with my world title.
This isn’t survival anymore- it's spite. Everything she claims she represents just serves to piss me off, it's all so false and frilly around the edges, you know? A match like this doesn’t just make me wanna keep my title, it makes me wanna end her fucking career just to shut her up for two minutes…”
Mac chuckled pensively, squeezing her hand a little tighter.
“She’s under your skin, sweet girl.”
She wasn't the only one.
“Yeah, and I feel like I’m about to go try to dig her out with a shovel. It's just… it's not what I intended this match to be, you know? I thought I could go out there and prove that in spite of my reputation, I could be controlled and methodical…”
Both of them knew there was little hope of that ever happening, even under the right circumstances- self control and exploding barbed wire just weren’t all that compatible. Besides, she knew Dominic would just say that he told her so… that she was everything she used to be, just with far more incentive to act upon it.
No, get him out of your head.
“It certainly doesn’t hurt to try.”
“You know, you should probably be trying to talk me out of committing unimaginable acts of violence rather than encouraging me…”
Forcing a smile, she nuzzled into Mac’s shoulder and chest in search of the comfort of his heartbeat.
“What can I say, you look good with that world title…”
Silence fell easily between them, just the rhythm of matching pulses and the quiet hum of the breeze outside their window.
“Even if I wanted to Red, I couldn’t sit here and tell you to be anyone, but yourself. If that means you have to go and do some stuff you won’t be proud of later, then I’ll be waiting and if you decide that you have places inside yourself that you need to go- I’ll be here when you come back.”
They both knew what he really meant- everyone had those dark places inside themselves, the ones usually covered in cobwebs where bad intentions sat waiting to be called upon. Manifestations of everything sick and desperate loitered among those shadows- for some a whole lifetime might pass without them ever being disturbed, while others found themselves on a first name basis with the worst of their demons.
More times than she dared to admit, she’d seen people threaten to go to that place- to draw upon something they had no idea how to use, just empty words in the face of things they couldn’t begin to understand.
It sounded threatening, it sounded meaningful- and for most, maybe that was enough.
Amber considered it more like a mine- digging into it before refining what she’d found into something usable. Was there anything left to pull from it though? Each time it seemed she had to dig a little deeper to find the same raw emotion to feed off, was there enough spite and hurt left in her tank to be the person that everyone expected would show up to Violent Conduct.
They wanted the woman who won the world title, the one who’d torn a gaping hole in the Bombshells division and invited anyone who dared to step into the gaping maw of the beast she’d manifested.
In truth, these days she hated that person- before Mac she didn’t care, Amber had happily jumped down the rabbit hole of neurosis and savagery on a whim, but Mac… he made her a better person, he made her want to crawl back out afterwards and face the world as the bloody, macabre mess she’d embraced being.
That was the thing- being a piece of shit was easy, it was comfortable. It required far less effort than being any better than the literal worst.
“You mean that?”
There was a faint tinny quality in her voice, a crack in the vocal facade. Mac paused, still air hanging heavily between them as their pulses roared like thunder in their chests.
“... I do and I’d still love you all the same. There is nothing you can do that would change the way I feel about you Red, never forget that.”
God, why do they mean something so different now then they did from Dominic all those years ago...
Planting a tender kiss on the top of her head, Mac unclasped his hand gently from hers before groaning as he pushed himself out of the sofa- leaving a faintly warm space that smelled like engine grease and sincerity. Amber's chest twinged hard, as though her ribs seized inwards threatening to skewer anything in their path- just the thought of lying to this man filled her with far more dread than potentially losing the World title and yet she sat there with thoughts in a murky haze…
Myra Rivers. Dominic Del Gado. Mac Bane.
Fuck.
She was gambling with absolutely everything she had and for what exactly… putting everything she had to lose in hands she couldn’t trust and yet, sitting on a sofa that threatened to swallow her whole she couldn't help but realize...
Losing everything seemed almost as easy as breathing.