Part 1 - To have loved and lost…

Now that I am here standing at the top of the cliff, I’m not exactly sure what to do next. The wind rushes around me, whipping my hair across my face and rippling the surface of the water below. I glance down at the exercise book-turned-journal in my hands. I started writing here, so it makes sense that I destroy it here. A burning would have been preferable if it weren’t for the fire ban in the national park. I could bury the journal, but someone might unearth it. The only way I can think to make it disappear is by tearing it to pieces. It’s a good thing it’s windy. The journal was psychologist-number-three’s idea. Over the last two years, I’ve imprinted my feelings onto its pages. And the simple fact is, I don’t want to be that person anymore. 𝐼 𝒹𝑜𝓃’𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝒷𝑒 𝒷𝓇𝑜𝓀𝑒𝓃 𝒶𝓃𝓎𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒.

At the time when I met Dylan, I managed to cover her in coffee, which was definitely not one of my finest moments. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she screamed at me and walked off, which was pretty much the stock reaction in a big city even for lesser crimes…but she was gracious enough to let me buy her a replacement, and we enjoyed each other’s company enough that we agreed to meet again later for a drink. I had no idea of the weight she carried on her shoulders…

The actual name of this place is Mackenzie Cliff, though I don’t know why. Everyone calls it Peace Rock because of the big peace sign graffitied on the front face of the rock. Considering the graffiti sits about five meters above the water, that’s quite an artistic achievement. I don’t know if the graffiti gave the rock its name or the rock’s name inspired the graffiti. Or it could simply be because this place -was- peaceful. That was before me. I breathe in the familiar eucalyptus smell of the bush that surrounds the pool, and close my eyes, listening to the sound of the waterfall. On some days the waterfall gushes, making it impossible to hear your thoughts. Other times, like today, it trickles into the pool. I can sit here for hours. This is the only place where no one expects anything of me, the only place I can’t disappoint anyone. With a deep breath, I open the journal and grab hold of the first few pages. The binding is tight and I have to wrestle them out. Things would be a lot easier if it was a nice spiral-bound notebook instead of a plain writing book. Dr Hayes said because it was so plain, I’d feel free to write without fear of making a mistake. She didn’t consider the implications of her choice on any future journal-destroying undertakings. I was against the idea of the journal at the beginning like journal-must-die sort of against it. It was the most unoriginal idea I’d heard, not only because Dr Hayes was supposed to be an expert in supporting people with amnesia or memory loss – which at first sounded like a WW2 experiment – but also because the sessions were costing more per hour than dinner at one of those expensive restaurants whose menus are full of words like jus and fondant. So I gave it a go.

It was later that evening, when she told me her story. She’d been found, washed up, no memory of her past life. She’d spent the last three years trying, and failing, to put the missing pages of who she was back together. Most everyone she shared that knowledge with didn’t know how to react, often shying away from the situation entirely, so she’d learned to keep it to herself a lot of the time. With me, it was different. In more ways than one.

The first few journal entries contain the word fuck a lot. I tear them in half, then in half again. The wind carries the squares of paper out of my hands before I even have a chance to outstretch my arm. I watched those weeks of my life get swept away over the water and disappear into the trees.

“You need to make some new memories, then”. The words fell out of my mouth so nonchalantly, as if it seemed the obvious solution. After all, to someone who’d spent as long as I had travelling the world, doing something I loved, exploring, adventuring and tourist-ing along the way? It was. To those she’d spoken to before, those forced to live paycheck to paycheck, it maybe hadn’t seemed quite so straightforward.


July 1st, 1863, midday
Battle of Gettysburg, Day One

It was, without doubt, the calm before the storm. General Lee and his army of Northern Virginia had made good progress on day one of the battle. General Daniel Sickles and his III Corps had been ordered to take up position on Cemetery Ridge. A gathering of Union forces double-checked their equipment, and tested their rifles ready for an onslaught. Had the Confederate forces pushed their advantage into the night, it could have been a different story, but instead the soldiers seemed calm, well-rested, and prepared.

The General approaches one of his officers with a slight change of plan.

Sergeant Cross.

Yes, General Sickles?

I need you to take these men and establish us in the peach orchard up there, we want the high ground.

From a few paces away, the conversation catches the attention of another Union soldier, a young female.

Yes sir.

The Sergeant, with one last check of his pack, prepares to move out with the members of his Corp. A voice from behind stops him in his tracks.

Mark?

Don’t worry, Dylan…I remembered my bulletproof cloak this morning.

As he leans in to kiss her on the cheek, he gives her hand a reassuring squeeze.

You’d better come back to me.

I always will.

With a smirk and an almost ironic salute, young Sergeant Cross slings his pack over his shoulder, setting off in the direction of the slope, and the Sherfy family peach orchard.

I flicked through the next few pages of the journal. A lot of them are tear-stained. I don't believe in wiping tears away, I believe in letting them fall. What's the point of crying otherwise? Looking through these pages, I realised how much I wrote, despite my initial feelings. I wrote almost every day, most of the time here at the cliff. It isn't just words that fill these pages; there are pictures I drew, photos I'd taken, useless things I'd found and kept. Beautiful, painful and tragic. And now, all of it has to go. What would Dr Hayes say if she saw me now? She would ask how I feel. And as much as I love Dr Hayes, I hate this question. All psychologists ask it. The answer is never as simple as they'd like to think. Feelings don't line up in a neat row all nicely categorised, like my shoe collection. They're more chaotic and unorganised. The last time I visited Dr Hayes was at the end of the year before she left for the UK to see her daughter and new grandchild. A colleague is filling in for her while she is away, but I refuse to see anyone else. So until she comes back, I'm on my own. When I first walked into her office I was unrecognisable and I still am. I don’t know myself any more now than I did then. My efforts make me breathless, so I stopped for a moment. The birds chattered noisily in the trees around me. I find the noise peaceful. The birds, like the waterfall, never stop. I turn my attention back to the journal and continue tearing out  the pages until I reach a photo. That's how I know that I've come to the beginning. It's in a news clipping from the day I was found. My fingers gripped a handful of pages and pulled them taut. I wish I could slip into the pages of my journal and rewrite everything that happened that night. But there was nothing I could do. My hold on the journal tightens. It's better to erase that part of my life, pretend that it never happened. I tear the pages, into the smallest pieces possible. The wind carries them away like ashes. As I watched them lift higher and higher, I remember the first thing I saw on that night. The water’s edge lapped at my fingertips. Unable to move, unable to breathe. The sound of laughter makes me freeze. I looked towards the bush track that comes down from the car park, but I don't see anyone. I listened carefully, but when I don't hear it again I figure it must have been a bird. It would be around 9 o'clock now. People will start arriving soon with their towels and picnics. I need to finish this. There are only a few pages left clinging to the spine of the exercise book. There are a few recent entries, followed by a couple of crisp white, lined pages. This year can be different. It has to be different, because if it's not, then what sort of future will I have? I shake my head I don't want to think about it right now. All I want to think about is forgetting the past, starting over. In one chunk, I rip out those final pages, rip them up and, like that, they're gone, dancing through the air. I feel I should say something to mark this moment, but everything I think of sounds stupid in my head. The word that comes out of my mouth surprises me. “Jump.” I stand up and move forward until my toes touch the edge. I look at the still water below. “Don't think, just jump,” I say. But I can't make my feet move any more than I can make myself remember.

After three years of little progress, all it took was that one conversation, and a suggestion. An invite to join me at my home in Florida, to tag along on a mini road-trip out to my next planned show in Orlando, see a few sights along the way. It wasn’t romantic at first, I just wanted to help her, and seeing the state I’d fallen in love with through fresh eyes? It wasn’t exactly tough for me…but we fell hard…I found my partner in crime, my travel buddy…someone who could keep up with my crazy, match me every step of the way-


July 1st, 1863, late evening
Battle of Gettysburg, Day One

With the III Corp spread too thin between the Peach Orchard and Little Round Top, gaps formed in the line, making it impossible to hold the higher ground Sickles had so desperately wanted. Sergeant Cross joined in with the artillery battery in the withdrawal, helping to drag the gun backward with every shot, using the recoil of the weapon to aid in the movement.

Back the way they came, however, General William Barkdale and his men had been closing in on the Union position, and on General Sickles’ base of operation near the Trostle barn.

Seeing the position under siege sent the officer on a frenzy, searching for the girl he’d left behind just a day prior. As he found her-

D-Dylan, no…

The war was of little consequence anymore.

Hi Mark.

The battle had raged long, supplies of ammunition had grown scarce, and at times, the fighting had gotten up close and personal. As the Sergeant finally found his lover, it was on the ground, in a slick pool of her own blood, the puncture wound of a Confederate bayonet in her side.

Medic! S-somebody help her! MEDIC!

Desperate, the young man screamed at the top of his lungs. Weak legs finally collapsed as he fell to his knees by Dylan’s side, desperately pressing down against the wound.

They already tried, Mark.

No…no it can’t…

Only one of us is…bulletproof, remember?

I should…I should have given you the cloak…please…please don’t leave me…

Mark, I need you to listen-

Not wanting to believe it, not wanting to watch the life drain from her face, he remained with his head bowed, tears flung from side to side as he shook his head in a futile attempt at denial.

Please don’t-

Mark!

Even in such dire condition, she carried a kind of authority in her voice, the kind that even someone as stubborn as he he might listen to.

S-sorry…

I need you to know, Mark…you gave me my life back. You gave me more hope for my future in two weeks than two years in therapy ever did. You were fucking exhausting, all the time, but I’m so lucky you chose me.

I love you, Dylan-

I love…you…

With her last, dying breath, Mark leaned in, placing a soft kiss on her lips to send her on her way…and with that, she was gone…

They say it’s better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all. Then someone took my Dylan from me, and trust me, if I ever meet the person who coined that phrase? I’ll be telling them to go fuck themselves.

I can’t tell you why…I don’t know, if maybe she just left, disappeared without a trace, recaptured her old memories and decided I absolutely wasn’t for her. I don’t know if someone from her past life, maybe they recognised her, from my social media, that time she made the highlights for slide tackling me on the SCW tour in Europe…I don’t know…but there was no note, no ransom. Her phone was switched off, never came back on again, not even months later, believe me I’ve tried-

In the end, they stopped returning my calls, the police, that is. In the end I guess they got bored of saying it was in the hands of the FBI, that they’d contact me directly.

They never did. The agent I was given as a contact never called me back, never responded to my emails, my attempt to go down to their field office only resulted in being forcibly removed…it was weird.

It was like…I don’t know…I know Dylan was stabbed, when she was found…and nobody wanted to speak to me?

I don’t know…I keep thinking the FBI either lost one of their own…or re-captured someone they REALLY wanted back…but she didn’t seem the type…not a Field Agent or criminal mastermind, she was just…she was just mine…

After our first trip around Florida? Dylan stopped caring about her past, we both did. We focussed on our lives, our futures, our memories that we’d make together.

Maybe I should have done more…

Part 2 - …or to have never loved at all…

Pennsylvania State Memorial
Gettysburg
Present Day

We are greeted by a bright, sunny day in Pennsylvania, the light streaming through the trees as Mark “The Dragon” Cross walks soberly through the National Military Park, arriving a few moments later at the memorial. The monument stands along Cemetery Ridge, marking the Union battle line, and commemorating the 34,500 soldiers who fought across three vital days in the American Civil War.

Now I’m not one for documenting historical sites like this. You see the tour vlogs, to Auschwitz, to Chernobyl, and while nearly two decades in pro wrestling has taught me there’s nothing better than a little cheap heat…to me it always seemed a little disrespectful, the kind of moment you should experience alone.

This time though…I feel like I want to make an exception, because this one…this one hit me in a way that other site so poignant ever has before…maybe it’s what I’ve been going through the last few months, everything finally coming to a head but…umm…the love of my life, she either…she either left, or she was taken, I don’t know. I’ve struggled with that a lot.

I’m still struggling with it a lot.

In truth, I shouldn’t have signed up for this but yet…it feels more important than ever that I am still here competing. Like I’m honouring her somehow.

The thing was, Dylan loved to watch me wrestle. She said it made me look youthful, energised. It wasn’t like I wasn’t energised on a daily basis of course, driving her crazy with my early alarms to train, my impulse purchases, my next crazy project…but she also got to see me behind closed doors, tweezing out the grey hairs, or helping wipe off the black stains on the top of my ears when I’d been a little too exuberant with my bottle of Just for Men.

When I’m in that ring, and when that bell sounds, I transform into that mythical creature, the moniker I adopted from my first, terrible match in front of maybe 20 people, and carried through multiple World titles and crucially? Two Blast from the Past victories. The Dragon does it again. I may talk about the people I’ve lost…people who supported me on this journey, Dylan, my Dad…but I’m not like that Harris boy. Even when they’re missing, presumed dead I’m still not here for anyone but me.

I don’t keep a journal - This is my therapy.

You can rip whole chunks of my heart away from me outside of that ring, and trust me, life has done that more than a few times over the last forty years - But when I step through those ropes? Trust me, I’m completely whole again, and if anything, just a little bit more pissed off at the world with each passing year.

An anger that only kicking someone hard in the face, over and over again, can quell. At least until the next time.

So, like always, I put my head down, and I focus on the next opponent, and to that end, I’m sorry bird man, you didn’t quite get your wish. Artie falls into the clutches of Sean Parker, and you don’t get to make it to the Final. That’s unfortunate. It’s unfortunate, because I recognise that the potential of this match-up SCREAMS for the fanfare of a Supercard. It’s unfortunate, because I like this new conspiracy-theorist side to you…the veil of deception bullshit is way more spicy than the woe-is-me-how-can-I-buy-a-win version of you I faced in that very ring before. After all - You’re a completely different competitor now, completely transformed.

Your only problem? I’m exactly the same as I was back then.

I’ve done the things you’ve failed to accomplish. World title win. Blast from the Past, twice.

I see your big words, your bravado, how you’re going to tear the fucking world apart, how you’re going to rip a person’s whole life to shreds and with that I say welcome to the club. Welcome to the world where you’re finally willing to do everything in your power to get that victory. I think that may be one of the biggest reasons why you’ve started to turn your career around since we last met in a ring. You’re finally realising that it’s not just about working hard, training hard, and wrestling well. Good at the ol’ graps, you said of Ben Jordan, wasn’t it?

You’re finally starting to realise what needs to be done to reach the very top of the pyramid, no matter what the cost. You’re seeing what sets the likes of me ahead of a lot of those other past champions you’ve name-dropped, and to that end…how are things between you and Luna, lately?

Seriously, Lexi-baby-daddy, how have things been going between you two lately, as I can’t help but notice something of a pattern. This new-found determination of yours, this plan you have to pin the whole world’s shoulders to the mat and count 1-2-3, while you chase some form of higher power and enlightenment or whatever…I mean from the outside looking in…I’d say there’s some cracks appearing in the foundations of your relatiobship, right? Little stress fractures that were nowhere to be found when you were Mr. Unlucky, when you were the butt of everyone’s jokes. There are barriers to success, Raven, something has to be number one and after a while…if you push someone to second place…they won’t wait forever for you to realise your mistake, before they walk away from you,

I’ve loved and I’ve lost in my forty years on this earth. Some of you have seen those moments here on Sin City Wrestling…The gun that was held to my head, unless I revealed where I was hiding Micaela, on the run from her ex-husband…Hadley Wyatt…who I’d probably be living the American Dream with right now if only I’d hung up my wrestling boots and accepted that commentary position, taken my retirement plan early…Chase, the fiery redhead that you’ve never met…scared of running off with me to the middle of nowhere, away from prying eyes, knowing the draw of the ring would eat away at me until I couldn’t take it any longer or most recently, to Dylan…my travel buddy, who cemented herself in SCW history for her two-footed slide tackle when I was clowning around with the soccer ball…who I was too busy making happy memories for that I forgot to protect her.

The truth is, though…they knew. They all knew.

They understood my work came above all else, even them…and sometimes, if you truly love someone, you have to let them go to be at their happiest. Even if that happiness isn’t with you.

I’ve sacrificed a lot, Alex, I’ll tell you that. I’ve sacrificed a lot, because I know, deep down in my heart, that I can’t give myself to someone like they give themselves to me. It’s often the case in a relationship that someone loves the other a little bit more…wants them more…needs them more, but I’ve taken that to extremes. I’ve tried to walk away, it keeps pulling me back. I’ve tried to take a lesser role, my results catapult me right back to the top.

I learned a long time ago, anyone who walks into my life will play second fiddle to my career…and until that stops being the case? All I’m going to bring is suffering at the end. Are you prepared to do the same?

I guess for you, Alex, we’re going to see where the future really lies for you on Sunday. I see you standing at something of a crossroads. You veer to the left, you stop being so angry at everyone and everything for contributing to ‘your downfall’...like the universe is all in some WhatsApp group chat and we’re posting our best Raven memes…you go back to being the man Luna fell in love with, maybe you go on another Internet title run, you can still march around and tell us that you transformed the division or whatever…keep a nice work/life balance, all things considered…or you veer to the right. You set about throwing every cheap shot you can, you pull apart relationships, parenting skills, every shitty thing we ever did while we were young and dumb in college, dig into the vices that some work so hard to keep off-camera, and off the radar of the random drug tests. You can prove that you really are ready to do whatever it takes to keep going.

Then you really can prove you’re on my level.

You see you really are just a year removed from that failure to win the World championship…just a year removed from failing to capture that Internet title belt where you looked so dominant for a while, and really, if we’re totally honest with ourselves, that’s your level, right? That’s the space Aiden Reynolds wanted to be in one day, because he recognised right off the bat that it wasn’t in his wheelhouse, not yet. You could push through that, sure, but growth in wrestling, it’s not like a global pandemic, the graph isn’t exponential. There’s periods of plateau-ing, where you start to hit that ceiling.

Are you at your ceiling, Alex? Are you just riding a wave of momentum, knowing it just takes the right calibre of opponent to stop you in your tracks?

You reel off names of your past victories, your past scalps, the men they used to be, and yet-

You don’t mention my name.

Is that because you’ve yet to cut off my head? Is that because you can’t believe you can?

Your new approach, Raven? I mean you’re more than welcome to try…but when things away from the ring are already seven shades of fucked…when I’m training harder than ever before just to distract myself? You can’t do any damage there, and oh, and for my first love, for wrestling, for the gladiatorial spirit? Trust me, that is one area where you definitely can’t get to me. Wrestling’s been my sole focus, my life blood, for longer than you can even fathom. Before this last year, Raven? This was just a job for you. This was money in your pocket so you wouldn’t cry yourself to sleep every week because you lost again. This is a head of steam, a hot streak, a purple patch…and just as quickly as you turned things in your favour?

It could all flip-reverse back the other way.

After all, a giant snowball starts off as something small enough that it can fit in your hands.

Maybe I just need to start the ball rolling, and another year later? You could be the butt of all our jokes again.

Just like that partner of yours, apparently, although for very different reasons.

I’ve heard Alexandra Calaway has a reputation of sorts…where you only have to breathe the wrong way to find a place on her social media block lists…and I guess while there’s two sides to every story, the truth always ends up falling somewhere in between, right? There’s a pattern emerging, it seems, of people who step into this business, hand out a few sharp words, because that’s what they think has to be done, only to throw their toys out of the pram when someone returns the favour and if that’s the case with you, Alex Callaway? You can add me to that list as well, because I’ve already wasted time on Reynolds and Harris, I don’t have the time to mingle with pretenders.

You have to have a thicker skin if you want to step into the wrestling business. Ability can take you places, sure, can’t deny that, but there are a whole host of people who have built careers around not needing to rely on that asset. You can have all the ability in the world, but the industry is full of opponents who know how to obscure the view just enough that the referee doesn’t see the low blow, the eye gouge. You may be able to out-wrestle someone but what if they keep surging forward, trying to maul you with a seemingly endless tank of gas, and that killer instinct burning in their eyes, never letting you get into a rhythm. Your partner’s started talking about doing the very same thing, you know it exists. You can block an opponent who chirps at you on Twitter, purge them from your timeline…but with it? You tell them that they got to you. You have to walk into the same arena, where they connect a not-so-accidental shoulder bump as they brush past. You’ll have their voice in their ear, talking you down the whole time you’re out there, trying to get under that skin of yours, right out there in the middle of the ring, where you need to be at your best.

To me? All part of the game. I expect to receive it, and I can guarantee I’m ready to give it back with interest. To you? Maybe it affects you a little more than most. Maybe it’s a sign you’re not really cut out for this long-term.

While we may not actually lay hands on each other, Alex…you and your partner are in my way, and I’ll repeat what I’ve said before…as my opponent, I’m not going to be fucking nice to you. You’re not going to be exempt, and if I can get a little edge on you…a few days before…at the arena…just before we’re due to walk out there…while I’m working out of your corner, you can guarantee I’ll be taking it.

Can you handle that? Or will you crumble, because you can’t hide behind your block walls out there.

I may sound like a broken record, recycling old phrases to use again, but look at where we are, look at what we’re doing. There’s an irony to this whole tour. The fact there’s so many battlegrounds we can visit, in different parts of the world, from different points in time…we’re only scratching the surface of how deep this runs, and it’s just one huge example of history repeating.

You’ve talked about changing your fortunes with Raven since your last attempt at this didn’t go so well…but let me tell you what HISTORY says is the more likely, what statistics say is the more likely outcome.

You continue to fall before the last hurdle.

Mark “The Dragon” Cross goes on to win yet another Blast from the Past. Thirty plus wins, three Blast from the Past victories, two World title reigns.

I’m not looking to change history here.

I don’t need to.

I just need to play the role I always play, and you and the bird man will just stay true to form.

My place in the final is inevitable.

As The Dragon moves out of shot, we are left with the image of the monument, the choir of bird song, and a feeling of eerie peace, given the history here. The scene fades to black.

“Alright then. Show me.” Luna said.

Sean nodded sombrely as he handed the device to Luna. Her eyes fixated on the swirling mist within. Her mind felt heavy almost instantly. Transfixed to the spot. She heard Sean say something to her. Instructions. The words to say. It was hard to really tell. Something about it all made her stomach feel sick. A part of her mind screams at her to throw the device back at Sean and leave.

Sean had been only sweet to her. She could trust him, right? He wouldn’t do anything to hurt her, or Alex. This was to protect him. She could feel his hand on her shoulder. His eyes too were locked upon the device. At least if this was going to ruin her mind, he was comforting her. There were small solaces in the smallest of actions. Her stomach twisted, but she repeated the words spoken to her.

“Mater et infans.”

She blinked and she was no longer sitting in that bar in Turkey. No, she was in a familiar place. The home she spent years growing up in. Alex’s family home. That hand-built slightly more than a shack building. There was something different about it though. It felt fresh, renewed. The stagnant air of grief and regret didn’t seem to be there anymore. The walls were freshly painted, the carpet new and clean. Out of the corner of her eye she spied the kitchen. It looked like it had been cleaned and cared for. Idyllic.

It was the home they had once spoken of, all those years ago. What Alex wanted for them. Things had changed since then. Cheating, marriages, dead friends and James. Alex’s parents had long since passed away at this point. Yet here she was, standing in this room. Standing in this place that was only ever a dream. Only ever spoken in warm moments of teenage innocence. She heard it then. The soft gurgling of a small child. Alex stepped out from the kitchen, a tiny little creature wrapped up in his arms.

He looked so much happier. His face wasn’t drawn heavy with fears and stress. Instead his eyes are full of life, full of happiness. His hair was long and grown out, the messy mane she adored. His beard shaved down tightly, but framing his face. As much as her brain was screaming at her that this was all wrong, she could barely move. Barely breathe.

In his arms, a tiny little baby. Ringlets of hair cascading down around its face. He smiled, lifting the sleepy little infant, pointing her face towards Luna. The tiny little balled up hands, the sleepy rubbing of the eyes. The goofy toothless smile as it recognised Luna. Recognised its… mother.

“Is that mama? Mama and her friend Sean are here. Violet, can you say hello?” Alex spoke softly. Even though the words were simple, he didn’t baby them up either. Even in an alternate time, space and world. Alex still talked to everyone the same, be they six months or sixty years old. She could feel the tears welling in her eyes. She could feel Sean’s hand slip from her shoulder. Letting her live in that moment. Letting her step towards Alex and the baby. To the daughter she wished with every part of her soul could be real.

Alex stepped into her, and they awkwardly shuffled Violet out his arms into hers. She so desperately wished right now that her mind wasn’t swimming. That she’d had a couple less drinks, and that she wasn’t on the borderline of being slightly too tipsy. She held the baby all the same, her eyes full of tears. She turned toward Sean, holding the small child.

“Violet, we always said if we had a girl. We’d call her Violet…” Luna managed to squeak out. She knew this couldn’t be real. Her mind was telling her that this was all an illusion. Some magic fuckery from that cultish creature Vita Mors. A distortion of the truth, playing on her deepest desires. Yet as much as she tried to validate it to herself. To try and tear down the scenario in her mind. To tell herself this couldn’t be. Not now, not ever. There was a part of her that wondered if this was something that could occur. What payment could one make to change their reality to that of what they want.

Would she even want to truly do that? This may have been her dream, but she married Alex as he is now. They’d long since deluded themselves into believing they didn’t want children. His vasectomy was a convenient cover. A cover for the truth that Alex had found out long ago with Lauren, that he was sterile. Nobody was more hurt at the idea than Alex. Anybody who asked, he was so certain that he didn’t want kids. That might even be the case now. Adoption didn’t resonate with him, and she was never certain why.

Seeing him in this moment, it made it somewhat clearer in her mind. It wasn’t that he was so against it. It was that he was so destroyed by the idea that he never would be able to have a kid of his own. Seeing his face, the life in him. The happiness in the man she loved. Or at least, a representation of that. She could instantly understand. What she would give to change everything. To fix the wrongs of their own world and universe. To make them a fucking family.

“I don’t want to leave.” Luna mumbled to herself, sitting in a nearby chair. Holding the baby, staring into her tiny gorgeous little face. Her own eyes looking back at her. She had Alex’s features, his nose, his jaw and even his hair. The eyes however? They were like staring into a mirror. Staring into her very own eyes. Her heart panged, and the waterworks fell. Alex had strolled off back to the kitchen. Maybe he was cooking? She didn’t know. She didn’t really care. She didn’t ever want to leave this moment.

She looked at Sean, and did her best to suppress the tears. To stop crying in front of this person she barely knew. This person who was making her see her biggest dreams. Making her live her biggest, most perfect and wonderful dream. The person she thought was her friend, who was showing her something she’d never have. It was then the anger began to bubble. To boil-over. Why did Sean do this to her? Why would he make her see something this impossible?

There was resentment in her eyes.

Her mind was struggling. Struggling to understand everything. It knew this wasn’t real, but the longer she stayed in the moment. The longer she spent sitting there, the quieter that part of her brain became. The harder it became to differentiate. A knock at the door. A shattering of the silence. Another moment in time, another thing to understand.

“I’ve got one of my arms elbow deep in a chicken’s ass in here, the doors open! Come in!” Alex yelled out from the kitchen. The front door opened a few seconds later, not far from them. Her back was to the door, but she broke her eyes away from Sean just for a moment. To see who it was. Her heart broke at that moment.

Leather jacket, skinny jeans, an incredibly out of style black deep cut v-neck, long unwieldy mane of dark brown hair, and the same eyes. The Pasilno eyes. The soul-piercing, water freezing and thousand yard stare of the Pasilno family. She’d buried her brother. She’d seen him slowly fade away into death. Yet here, here in this perfect place. In this world where she had a baby. Baby Violet, with a warm, alive and happy Alex. In this already perfect world, her brother. Her brother had never fucking died.

She was rooted to the spot, but that didn’t matter. The person wearing her brother’s face beamed a flashy smile at her. His eyes met with Sean’s for a moment. An extended smile, as he strolled over. Long gangly steps from the 6’8” man. He placed a kiss to the top of Luna’s head, gave a gentle caress of the cheek to the baby, and nodded at Sean. In this world, everything was perfect. In this world… she was happy, and life hadn’t fucked them over. Life hadn’t stolen their family from them. Life hadn’t dangled baby Violet in their face, and it hadn’t ripped her best friend away.

She looked at Sean once more, and shook her head slowly. The tears were still hanging in her eyes. She was broken. Despite all the happiness and peace, in that moment. She was broken.

“I want to go home now.” Luna mumbled. She looked down at the baby in her arms. Felt her brother’s hand on her shoulder. The gentle squeeze. His strong hands. His comforting hands. She looked at Sean and waited. Waited for them to go home.

“Veni domum.” Sean said.

It felt like only a second. Her head snapped back, tears hanging heavily on her face, her eyes wet. She looked away from the weird little device Sean had and sucked in a deep breath. She could still feel her brother’s hand on her shoulder. Feel the warmness of the kiss on the top of her head. The heaviness of the baby in her arms. Yet, she was sitting at some random bar in Turkey, with a half eaten chicken burger and an array of empty beer bottles and a hardly touched mimosa.

“Why the fuck would you do that to me?” Luna said shakily, her mind struggling to adjust to reality. Her mind was shaken. Her breathing heavy and her body hollow. What she had thought was going to be simple trickery, had done everything it could to taunt her. Taunt her with a world she would never fucking have.


“Might as well call me a psychic at this point. Day one, I said that this was going to be my year. Though it may have started off just a touch rocky, things are all coming up Luna. Ignoring the waste of space and enhancement filler that is Justin Smith, I am the hardest working bitch in all of Sin City. The first bombshell to reach double digits in matches for the year. After this week? I’ll be one step closer to Kayla Richards and that World Bombshell Title, and then. Nobody will be able to question Luna fucking Pasilno.”

“See, I’ve proven, week in and week out. That I am the bitch to watch. That I am the woman who is taking the reigns in Sin City Wrestling and showing everyone what it means to be a true fucking talent. First round it was Kat Jones, and we put her in her fucking place. Out to pasture like any other nobody hack who thinks they can stop me. This was right after ending little miss Marlowe’s goddamn career. Sending her to the glue factory and getting one last iota of use out of her nobody ass. Then, last week. The bad child Roux was put in front of me. The adopted nobody sibling of Courtney Pierce. The woman who was going to tell her story, except… oops. When it came to actually standing on her own two feet?”

“The bright lights were all she could see.”

“But it’s alright, you know? I get it. It’s hard to step up to people who have more experience. She wasn’t confident, she didn’t think this was going to take her places. This was just to shun the naysayers. To quiet those who wiggle and worm their way to the top to keep pretty little kiddies like her and me down here in the mucky muck. The most unfortunate thing for little Roux, was that she had to carry big old Billy boy. Except… Billy boy wasn’t the loser. That’s got to do wonders for her confidence. The late blooming lady, and her rising star partner put the boots to the ungrateful little bitch and the nostalgic bulldog. Which brings us here.”

“To sweet little Artie, and the woman with the ability to actually carry a nobody to the apex, Kallie Reznik. Unfortunately for Artie and Kallie, there weren't any good or safe options for them this week. If it wasn’t Sean and I, it was going to be Calaway and my sweet dear husband, Alexander Raven. Hell, I might not like them, but… Cross and Eiley? They’d have eaten you and Artie alive little miss Reznik. And as much as Artie wants to prove he can stand on his own two feet. As much as Artie wants to take the power of what this opportunity can give him. To be the next J2H of Sin City Wrestling, oh sweet baby angels. The dream ends here.”


“This journey of hope and discovery? Of being good enough in the eyes of your betters? It ends here. It ends with me. It ends with Sean. And I’ve got so many more things to say to you, dear Artie. But first. We need to pay attention to Kallie, don’t we? The other half of the Australian sweetheart, Aiden Reynolds. I actually think I quite like you, Kallie. You seem to be someone who gets tarred with the brush of association. Just like me. People hating on the woman who just wants to prove she can tango with the salsa dancers. Connected in nothing but association of the associated with our world champions, Finn Whelan and Kayla Richards.”

“I feel for you, darling. I feel for you because I know what it feels like. I know how it feels to be considered less than simply because of who you throw your lot in with. Simply because of a short-coming here or there. Oh, lover, I do so understand. I’m Loopy Luna, Alexander Raven’s hanger-on. The transition queen. The bipolar Harley Quinn of Sin City Wrestling. Mind you we’ve got literal fucking nutbags like Juliana DiMaria walking around having weekly mental breaks, but, I’m the crazy one? I’m the crazy one for wanting to stand on my own. To be the one with the eyes on her. To be seen for what I am, and not brought down because of who I am with.”

“So, I see you, Miss Reznik. Oh darling, I know exactly what it is like to be you. Championships? Ignored for the sake of an argument. Victories? Forgotten in the face of a seemingly embarrassing defeat. Acknowledgement? Never, because that would invalidate their vanity, and girl. I am quite fucking familiar with vanity. The sweet vainglorious, masochistic and delusional Luna Pasilno. She’s just fucking full of herself, right? But there’s a world of difference in what you’re stepping into now, compared to what you’ve done.”

“Konrad Raab and Bea Barnhart? That was a shoe-in. Could’ve thrown Artie and a random member of the audience, and they’d have walked their asses from corner to post. Justin and Cordy? The only thing threatening about that was the shrill voice of Cordelia, and the loss of brain cells that come with Justin every time he opens his fucking mouth. Easy street is what you’ve had so far, Kallie. Some easy wins to boost your confidence back up. Now? Now you’ve got some real teeth to contend with. Now you’ve got a real bitch in the fight. Someone who can match you for speed, for athleticism. Someone who doesn’t mind getting a little rough and tumble and messing up a cute little lady’s fucking face.”

“So maybe you go and talk to Finn. Maybe you even go and talk to whoever is trying to get Artie in ship shape for this match. Maybe you get Aiden to show him how to get beaten up and beaten down. Learn a few things, and maybe. Just maybe, you’ll be able to help each other walk out of the ring. Sean may not be the same killer, but he’s a fighter regardless. The fairy tale ends with us. The real future winners of this whole damn shebang. And then you can look at what Kayla and I go on to do. You can look at what we do in order to make sure that the Bombshell Women’s Championship means something.”

“Presumptuous that it’ll be Kayla, I know. I think both of us are of the same opinion though, aren’t we, Kallie? Juliana had her time, and she got shown the fucking door. Fizzle and sizzle, and she’ll fall apart. Lord forbid she actually wrestle from time to time. Outworking and outpacing everyone, not dropping a single mixed tag match this year, being the one to win them over and over. And Juliana thinks she can talk her way through things. Not on our watch, right Kallie?”

“I guess it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter what your stance on it is at all, because at the end of the day. When it comes down to you or me. When it comes down to Sean or Artie. The answer is the same every single time. Here are your winners and advancing to the finals of the Blast from the Past tournament, Luna Pasilno and Sean Parker. The only opinion in the end that counts? Mine.”

“Which is why I need to address our sweet little amateur. Our boy with big dreams, and a heart of gold. The wimpy little stick of a husband to the perpetual gag relief that is Bobbie Dahl. It’s sweet little Artie. The boy who thinks he can. The boy who is going to learn that he most definitely can fucking not. The boy who is going to step to the plate, get knocked for fucking six and hopefully? Never gets back in the ring. Learns his place, learns his ability. Learn from this unfortunate mistake and fluke? It was always going to end poorly. I might like Kallie, but you Artie?”

“I don’t fucking like you.”

“I don’t like you because you don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve to be here. You don’t deserve to pretend like you belong. You didn’t earn anything. You didn’t work, you haven’t done a single fucking thing except sit there and support someone better than you. Hypocrisy I know, but at least in this case its fucking true. If Bobbie couldn’t get there with fucking Peter Vaughn, what chance do you have? Take your whipping, your bumps and your bruises. Take it all, and fucking walk away. Don’t ever disrespect me, Sean or any other person who works themselves to the bone for this business.”

“I end another story this week. Oh, and remember this.”



“Luna… I’m sorry.” Sean had said as she gathered her things. She didn’t want to be there anymore, and she had stormed off.

They had gone on to win that week. Nobody the wiser. Tandem finishers again, another win chalked up to her. An undefeated tear for The Conspiracy. Both herself and Alex hadn’t lost a tag team match all year. But she didn’t want to be there. Not that night. She didn’t want to have to tag with someone who she thought could so callously try and upend her life. The worst part? She thought she was finally making a new friend. Someone who didn’t hate her for simply existing. For simply being who she was.

She’d taken the trek out to see Alex after that. They’d been inseparable since. Post match they had just left. Found out where they were bound for next, and just up and left. She couldn’t push the images from her mind. The happier husband, the living brother and beautiful child. These were all just constant images now. The worst part of it? She knew it wasn’t real. That it couldn’t be. That this was a manipulation to get to Alex. Sean had at least been honest enough to be straight out with the truth.

“Do you think, one day, things will be normal again?” Alex asked. His voice pulled her out of her fugue. Pulling her out of the haze in her head. They’d made a trip home. Stopped off at Adrienne’s to pick up their dog. Half a bottle of whiskey deep each, and a half full of ash tray. It seemed tonight they were both living in their heads. Alex had kept things rather close to his chest lately. She wasn’t entirely sure why, until that day with Sean.

She could understand it now.

“Define normal.” Luna said back with a snort, as she poured herself another shot, and one for Alex. He’d been nursing a mixer for a little while by the looks of it. The ice had all but completely melted. Seems they were both messes this week.

“Say, circa 2015?” Alex said, nodding to himself a little. He knocked back the last little bit of his drink, pouring the shot into the now empty glass. Another coke and whiskey mixer, no ice this time. Probably for the best.

“The year you got your head bashed in so much in a match they thought they were going to have to remove a chunk of your skull?” Luna asked quizzically in response.

“Simpler times, really. That Syco girl was an interesting one. Weird priorities, but I could get behind it. Her girlfriend though? Batshit.” Alex said, placing another coke and whiskey in front of Luna this time. At the very least, they were going to sleep well tonight, tomorrow morning and then be insufferably grumpy for the next couple days.

“I don’t think your definition of normal is what most people would say is normal.” Luna said softly, knocking back the shot she had poured for herself. A fresh cigarette was placed to her lips. The flash of a lighter and a quick lighting. A long, sharp and harsh drag. Blowing it out her nose in a waterfall of smoke.

“Maybe not, but life was a little bit simpler. World champion, seen as a leader, fall, become the True and the False. If anything, there was some real growth. I’d say less magic men, but realistically? We had those wannabe Vampires running about, Corey Bull and Salazar were a bit off-kilter at the best of times. It was a strange time.” Alex rambled on. He was avoiding being in his own mind. Some kind of internal conflict. She could see the worry in his face. The stress in his eyes. The strain in his voice.

“I don’t think I’d go that far back. Maybe just last year. No Sullivan in prison, you and Harrison still butting heads and not somehow weirdly getting along like you do now. Jimmy freshly opening this place. Maybe we’ll keep Adrienne, because she’s good value. I think that’s what I’d define as normal.” Luna said, lowering her head to rest on the bar top.

“You mean you don’t want to be hiding away in Australia helping us run Raven’s? You’d get to meet little Adrienne all over again. I think that could be fun. Though, if I had it my way? I wouldn’t have sold the original bar. I would’ve stuck it out. Normal.” Alex said, and then his phone buzzed. He didn’t instantly recognise the number, but Luna did. She glowered. Why was phone number permanency a thing for her?

“Don’t answer that. It’s Sean.” Luna said, taking a long sip of her drink, and then another long and harsh drag of her cigarette. Alex cocked an eyebrow in response, and let it go to voicemail. They sat there for a moment, before it stopped ringing. The voicemail message coming through. She rolled her eyes as he unlocked it and pressed play.

“Hey, Raven…um it’s Sean, Sean Parker. Look, I know we haven’t talked a lot. Hell, I think the last time we were in the same room, you were trying to cleave my head in two in Cambodia… anyway… look, I really need to talk to you, it’s about Vita Mors… call me back, please.” The message played out. Alex and Luna simply looked at each other.

“You know, it’s funny. I remember going to see him. I remember being in his office. I remember how much he looked like James. But I don’t remember much else. Next thing I knew, I was just standing there. Standing in that ring. Taking Jamie Dean apart. Then we were in Vimy Ridge.” Alex said, lighting his own cigarette. He looked off into the empty bar, his mind working things over. She knew it wasn’t the full story, but he also wasn’t lying. That might be why he was in such a state. His mind was hiding things from him.

“Sean showed me this thing. I don’t know what it was. But it felt so real, you know? I saw us in that house. Like we used to talk about. Jimmy was still alive. Fuck, I can still feel his hand on my shoulder, you know? I could smell my brother again, for just a moment. But now it’s all I can think of. And…” Luna began to trail off.

“And there was a baby.” Alex said, like something clicked in his head. Puzzle pieces falling into place.

“How did you know that?” Luna asked. Alex looked at her, and shook his head a little.

“I put on his mask. I saw everything.”

And then…

A few weeks ago…

Cordelia Clark is having dinner with her husband on the night of her first round Blast from the Past match. Through it all, Cordelia was able to pin Serena Riot to effectively carry Justin Smith of all people to the second round. She’s barely touching her dinner, however, and her husband is realizing that she’s not in the victory mood that one would think that she’d be in.

“Everything good, Cordy?” Brian asks her.

“It’s so weird…” Cordelia mutters in response.

“What’s weird?”

“I didn’t think I’d ever come back to the Sin City Universe or anything. I didn’t think that I would ever have the heart to, not after what happened with SCU and how gutting that was for me. But being in an SCW ring under those circumstances was pretty much a bizarre feeling. I didn’t feel like a fish out of water or anything.”

“I’d say that was Serena…” Brian says with a laugh. “I knew that you were going to find a way to steal a win for your team though. I just knew it. You think you can do that for three more rounds?”

Cordelia scoffs at the very idea.

“No…”

“I didn’t think you would.”

“You can only carry a sack of shit so far, you know?”

“The farther you carry him, the better you look. Honestly.”

Cordelia rolls her eyes at this.

“But this whole thing is bittersweet…”

Brian is caught off guard by Cordelia saying this.

“I felt pretty sad after that match was over. Once all the glory of the victory just faded away, I just couldn’t help but feel for what I don’t have anymore. SCU was my first home in this business and as much as I hate to say it, I was definitely missing it once the bright lights faded.”

“This is the first time you’re actually coming face to face with that…”

“Tell me about it…” Cordelia says with a pause as she begins to reflect on the day after the final SCU show, when she realized it was all but over.”

The day after SCU’s final show… (FLASHBACK)

Cordelia was in no mood to celebrate her massive win over Andrea Hernandez, former SCW Bombshells World and Internet Champion, whatsoever even if that was one of the biggest wins of her career up to that point. Life wasn’t going great for Cordelia at this point. In addition to SCU going down the drain, she wasn’t in the best place with her sister Morgan Clark and she was still dealing with the seemingly never ending sexual harassment from Hayley Halsey.

But she’s not alone. Former SCU wrestler Chelsea LeClair is with her and she’s venting to her more than anything.

“It doesn’t seem fair that the first company that I ever considered home is gone.”

“I know the feeling… kind of…” Chelsea admitted. “GCW, my first company, is still alive, but at the same time, the company that I considered my first home has been overtaken by a virus that would’ve held me and many others down when it comes to making progress up the ladder. I hated when I realized I had to leave that place for good for the sake of my career. But, you have a bright future. I’m not saying that SCU is going to be meaningless in the end, but you’ve got so much of your career to look ahead to.”

“I know…” Cordelia says with a sigh. “I just wish it didn’t have to die. I felt like I was really starting to regain my stride again after I beat Morgan and got my revenge on her for all the shit she put me through. It just doesn’t seem fair. I never imagined my life or my career without the place.”

Chelsea gives Cordelia a sympathetic sigh.

“There’s only so much that you can control…”

“At least you got to go out with the GRIME World Championship…” Cordelia says to Chelsea, who is conflicted in her own right as to whether she should be happy about that or not. “...I on the other hand, ended up with nothing.”

Chelsea suddenly glares at Cordelia, which catches the then-sweetheart off guard.

“Did I say something wrong?” Cordelia asks politely.

“Not really, but beating Andrea Hernandez, my best friend by the way no matter how you feel about her, isn’t ‘nothing’... especially when she was coming off of a big winning streak in SCW. It’s a big deal, Cordelia. It’s going to be a big gain for your career. Nobody knows more than I do the star that SCW missed out on when it comes to Andrea.”

Cordelia doesn’t know how to respond. She is quite confused as to how Chelsea could say such positive things about someone like Andrea who had her massive attitude problem back then. Cordelia rolls her eyes, but unfortunately for her, Chelsea caught her in the act.

“Something that I have learned, Cordy… and this is something that you are going to learn as well someday… is that the business can be extremely cruel at times and the very worst parts of it can turn you into someone you never intended to be or wanted to be… and more often then not, someone who you swore you would never become.”

“Are you saying that’s what happened with Andrea? Because leading up to last night, all she was doing was bullying me and saying I’d never amount to anything. You know how she was for most of her SCW career and in my book, she was like that long enough to prove that’s who she really is as a person.”

“Do you realize the context of what she went through, Cordelia?”

“She lost the world title to Evie Jordan, her dad died, she buckled under all that… that’s about the gist of it.”

“That’s what you heard, but the truth is, that was the tip of the iceberg. She was treated with hatred. People rooted for her to fail. Evie went out of her way to bury her and say all of this horrible shit to her and about her that should’ve gotten her sued. I’m not saying something like this is going to happen to you one day and I sure as hell HOPE that something like this doesn’t happen to you. But the truth is, you might end up going down a path you never thought you’d go down because you experience something horrible and you don’t know how else to handle it…”

“I’m too smart to ever have that happen to me…” Cordelia tells her fellow former SCU alumni. Of course, Cordelia had no idea that a couple of years down the road, Chelsea’s soft prediction ended up coming true.

“Andrea’s not the horrible person that you think she is and beating her IS a big deal. It’s not ‘nothing’. I understand that losing your first home hurts, but you can’t let that cloud your judgment. I understand that you want to sign somewhere as soon as you can to replace SCU and everything but don’t rush into a decision, alright?”

“Sure…” Cordelia says. “I’m sorry if I seem off…”

The SCU memories are starting to flood back, from the undefeated streak that she started out with, to winning the SCU TV Championship for her first mainstream title, to dethroning and silencing Angel Kash and her posse to win “the big one” for the first time at such a young age, to beating her sister and gaining revenge on her and finally, the win over Andrea on SCU’s last show. She’s even crying a little bit at this point and Chelsea wraps an arm around her. Inside, she’s really feeling as if she lost something that really meant a great deal to her.

“No, it’s fine! I totally understand. You’re going to have a great career, I promise you that. You just need to keep your head up and avoid making some big mistake that is going to have you going down the wrong path.”

Chelsea comforts Cordelia a little bit more and she’s starting to feel a little bit better… even if she’s feeling the horrific sting of losing a place that meant so much to her.

Back to the current moment…

“I had to confront those feelings all over again…” Cordelia says to her husband, who nods with understanding.

“Now I get why that wouldn’t be easy.”

“SCU going down is one of my biggest regrets.”

“Why would it be your regret, Cordelia? You’re not the one that made the decision to shut down the place. You didn’t have the power to keep it going. You didn’t have the power to shut it down. You have nothing to regret when it comes to that place closing shop.”

“Remember when HYBRID called me the next day?” Cordelia asks.

“Yeah, I remember.”

Cordelia’s anger is starting to become stronger when she thinks about the company she replaced SCU with. Even though the place has been gone for a few months now, HYBRID Wrestling is still a thorn in Cordelia’s side that she is doing the best that she can to move past and get over. Her sadness over SCU is replaced by the anger she is still carrying toward that company.

“I told you that it would be a bad idea to sign with that company.”

“If SCU never died, I would’ve never had to…” Cordelia says with a scoff that carries a bit of disbelief with it. “I never wanted to go somewhere else. SCU is the place I wanted to stay.”

“But after what happened with your cousin, it was still a terrible idea to go there.”

“You think I don’t know that now? I thought my cousin was the problem and it turns out, it was that fucking company. I wouldn’t be surprised if they aren’t in some way responsible for her eventual death and I hate that stupid bitch. I went there and it seemed okay at first but…”

Cordelia sighs.

“...it was never for me and it wasn’t long before I realized what my role was going to be there.”

February 2023

“Do you really want me to be honest about that company, sis?”

Cordelia, who is still in her sweetheart phase for the most part, is sitting on the living room couch with her sister Morgan Clark as they are talking about the company Cordelia signed with to replace SCU following their closure.

“I want you to be honest, Cordy. Because lately, I don’t know what has gotten into you when it comes to that place, but you are clearly not happy there. You’re definitely lashing out quite a bit and every time the camera comes on you, it seems like you’d rather be somewhere else. You know what happened with our cousin and I just want to tell you that if you don’t want to stay there, you can just leave. It might even be better for your psyche otherwise.

Once again, Cordelia receives a stern warning about her future later on from someone she was trusting in. But once again, Cordelia is too naive and stubborn to see this as a warning.

“I’m not leaving, Morgan…”

“Best I can tell by your body language, you clearly want to.”

“I’m not going to give those idiots what they want.”

Morgan is taken aback by what she just heard. She widens her eyes, not expecting such a statement from someone as sweet as Cordelia was at this point in time.

“Did you just call them idiots?”

“Are you deaf?”

“Cordy, don’t be rude!”

Cordelia is taken aback now and she’s immediately regretful.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to snap at you like that. I’m not going to quit, even if I should. I’m going to prove them wrong. I feel as if they don’t believe in me. SCU? Gosh, they believed in me right out of the gate and gave me every chance they could for me to prove myself. But HYBRID? I’m just canon fodder for their ‘big stars’...”

“Cordy, you know that’s not true…”

“So why is it that it never goes well for me when I go up against a big name? Did you not see what happened in that briefcase match? It’s always some ‘big name’ getting one over on me at my expense. I’m getting tired of it! I’m better than this.”

Neither Cordelia or Morgan are realizing that this was the first instance, and the first sign, of Cordelia’s sweetheart nature beginning to fade away.

“You’re just young and inexperienced and…”

“I don’t WANT to hear that! I HATE hearing that! I’m TIRED of people throwing my youth and inexperience in my face! HYBRID doesn’t see a damn thing in me! They just see me as someone to fill up the card while their big names get all the glory in the end. I’m not supposed to be just as big, if not a bigger star, than those “big names” or their butts that they shove their heads up…”

“CORDY!”

“WHAT?”

“Having this ‘woe is me’ approach to that company isn’t how to go about things.”

“You can’t talk, Morgan. This really is kind of SCU’s fault. I wouldn’t be there if they were still alive. But the real truth is that I hate that company. I hate HYBRID. I don’t fit in with anyone there. There’s no locker room camaraderie. I don’t feel like the guy that runs the place has enough passion for the business. I don’t think he likes me. I think he just offered me a contract just to fill up his roster than see any real value in me. Why did SCU have to close? UGH! I don’t know how much longer I can force myself to wrestle for that place.”

“You should leave…”

“Not before I prove them wrong…” Cordelia says, causing her sister to bite her lower lip and thus, showing her disapproval in the most subtle way she can.

“I hope you know what you’re doing…” Morgan says as she finally leaves Morganna alone.

Back to the present moment…

“I kind of think your sister was right…” Brian says.

“Debatable. I see your point and I think I even see the point she was trying to make. But if I never went through that experience, as much as I hated it, I wouldn’t have become a smarter, stronger wrestler. It’s because of dealing with the bullshit that I did there that I finally snapped out of my ‘sweet and stupid’ phase and started to live in the reality of the business. Still…”

Cordelia has a bit of a sad, sullen look on her face for the moment.

“...I’m not over the heartbreak from SCU’s closure. That’s why I came back…”

Even her own husband seems stunned by the revelation he just heard.

“If by some fucking miracle, I am able to carry the sack of shit through three more rounds, I know in my heart I can beat one of Kayla or Julianna. Hell, I beat Julianna once… before she caught fire when she signed here anyway. I could be the SCW Bombshells World Champion and I can get that closure over what’s been haunting me for a good while now. I’ll get that closure I wanted. Does that explain everything to you?”

“That it does.”

“Brian, I love you but I want you to make me this one promise.”

“Shoot.”

“This conversation never happened. You’re one of the only people I am still willing to be vulnerable to these days.”

“You can pull that miracle, Cordy…”

Cordelia finally smiles through the pain she’s still dealing with.

“I’ll pull as much of a miracle as I can…”

Cordelia can finally relax and bask in the win she was able to pull in the first round of the Blast from the Past tournament.

But the question is?

With the uphill battle carrying someone she would consider the worst male wrestler in SCW?

How many miracles does she have left in her?

May 17, 2024

Cordelia finds herself at a train station somewhere in Turkey that is empty at this point in the night and she’s in a determined mood as the camera is on her. She’s got that angry glare in her eye again as she remembers the win that she got in round one.

“Well, I knew I’d pull at least ONE miracle even though so many people were doubting me. I’m not upset at people doubting me considering who my partner is, but at the end of the day, I beat the SUPPOSED BIG NAME and because of me and me alone, Justin Smith actually got to the quarterfinals of the Blast from the Past tournament. Who the fuck would’ve thunk it right? I might actually be good at this miracle worker thing after all! Hell, why stop there? Why can’t we just win the whole thing? Okay, let’s not get too far into dreamland here. After all, there’s three rounds left to go and there’s no question in my mind that it’s going to get harder with every round. However, when you look at the matchup that is happening on the men’s side… moving on to the final four of the tournament isn’t EXACTLY a pipe dream.

Justin may be the sack of shit that he is, but certainly he can handle Artie, right? Certainly he can match up at least decently with a guy that just barely started with his career… right?

Right?”

Cordelia takes a nervous pause as the expression on her face and the fact that she just bit her lower lip all but proves that she’s not completely buying into the idea that the men’s side of the match just might be closer than one would think.

“But before I get into Reznik, let me say a little something to Justin Smith. You’re fucking welcome, you sack of shit! Because of me, you doubled your victory total and you managed to finally get one over Eddie Lyons even though it was me that ended up getting the pin at the end. I’m the reason we’re here. I’m the reason why we end up in the semifinals if we so happen to advance that far and to think that going into that match, you were whining and bitching up a storm about me. You were talking about how you don’t trust me.

Yet, the woman that you don’t trust is the reason why you won.

But then right after that, you say the one thing that justifies my attitude toward someone like you being my partner for this tournament: talking about how you’d rather be a perennial loser in SCW than a top star in SCU. Are you fucking kidding me? You’d rather be a LOSER in SCW than a WINNER in an equivalent promotion?: Are you one of those idiots that saw SCU as a “developmental territory” top SCW like so many people thought it was back in the day when it was made very clear in company documents and promotional materials that SCU and SCW were equal under the same umbrella? NO WONDER YOU’RE A FUCKING LOSER! You don’t understand a FUCKING THING about how the business works! Let me say it louder for the dumbasses on the roster that share the same line of thinking.

SCU! WAS! NEVER! SCW’S DEVELOPMENTAL!

I completely understand that the likes of Krystal Wolfe and Ariana Angelos have made SCU look god awful with their constant shit on a regular basis in SCW these days, but for fuck’s sake! Anyway Justin, I don’t want to go off into a tangent. The rest of your promo pretty much proved you were hopeless. It’s like you don’t even TRY! Artie, I don’t know who you are. I don’t even know you personally. You’re obviously green as green can come, but all I am going to say to you is that you can very much handle someone like Justin Smith. I don’t know your potential or your talent on the fullest scale, but one on one? You can totally kick his ass.

But here’s the thing Artie…

…here’s where the reality of the situation bites you in the ass…

This isn’t a one on one. It’s a mixed tag.

OBVIOUSLY I’m not beating you in the middle of that ring because I can’t due to the mixed tag rules.

But Justin doesn’t have to beat you in order for me to advance to the semifinals.

I just have to find a way to beat Kallie Reznik and for your sake, Artie, you’re better off staying on the apron and being in the match as little as possible. If I keep Justin out of the fucking ring as much as I can, then we WILL win this match. Now, to those that are watching this… please give me a reason why I can’t beat someone like Kallie Reznik.

Because of her association with Finn Whelan who is one of the biggest names in the men’s division?

If this is your logic for why I can’t beat Kallie, then check yourself. I’m not facing Finn. I’m facing her! Kallie has less experience than I do, even. Her association doesn’t mean a damn thing to me. So tell me why I can’t beat her? What makes her so fucking special that she’s considered one of the rising prospects of the Bombshells division? I want an explanation for that right now.

What makes you so special, Kallie? Losing to fucking Harper Mason? Really?

You lost to Harper fucking Mason on a fucking supercard? Holy shit, you should be ashamed of yourself. Someone like Harper Mason is someone that a Finn Whelan associated wrestler should be eating for breakfast and you couldn’t even beat her on the biggest stage under the brightest lights? I don’t want to hear that you had beaten her prior to that. What matters is what happened in the most recent encounter and you couldn’t even beat Harper Mason. You should be fucking ashamed of yourself for losing to someone like that. In fact, I’m shocked that Finn didn’t drop you like a bad habit after that because by losing to someone like Harper Mason, you embarrass and shame someone like him and I didn’t see someone that seemed to give too much of a damn of what I just talked about and I have to be honest with you here, Kallie.

I didn’t see the fire in you when you were fighting your Blast from the Past first round match. Sure, you got the win. You’re in this match now. But I didn’t see someone that was motivated enough. The only reason why you even advanced to this match here is because the Bombshell you were facing was a sack of shit herself in Bea Barnhart. You face any women’s wrestler worth a fuck, and you’re not advancing. You were so lucky in the draw that you managed to get perhaps one of the five worst Bombshell wrestlers in Sin City Wrestling history.

I didn’t hear that fire in your words going into that match.

Hell, you even said that suffering your first loss… TO FUCKING HARPER MASON… “wasn’t a huge deal”.

It’s a HUGE DEAL!

You know why? Because all of that momentum that you were building up, all of that credibility you were slowly gathering as you won your matches, your mystique, your aura… it’s GONE!

You suddenly don’t seem like such a big deal anymore losing to someone like that! Your performance at Blaze of Glory… I don’t know if you thought you were too good to face her or if you underestimated her or what the fuck… it was pitiful.

It was absolutely pitiful!

But it’s not a “huge deal” that you lost to someone like that? Give me a fucking break, Kallie! If your first loss was to a Kayla Richards or a Julianna DiMaria, that’s one thing. Losing to two main event caliber Bombshells isn’t going to kill you or flush your credibility down the toilet or anything like that.

But FUCKING HARPER MASON?

Are you fucking SERIOUS?

Honestly, had you lost to Bea Barnhart in round one, it really wouldn’t have been as much of a damn surprise as people would’ve made it out to be.

So tell me Kallie…
‘
Why are you suddenly being gifted a spot in the semifinals?

Why are people automatically assuming that you and Artie are going to be there?

Because of my ‘lack of SCW experience’?”

Cordelia rolls her eyes through a brief pause.

“It’s definitely not it.

I know why people are automatically assuming that you’re going to be in the semifinals.

Because my partner is a sack of shit.

Even I can’t deny that logic.

BUT, there’s one whole flaw with that logic and that’s the fact that we got by round one to get to this point and who’s to say that it can’t happen again. I’d have to carry the ball and I’d have to figure out a way to overcome the uphill battle again, but if there is one person in this tournament that can pull it off, you’re looking at her. In the grand scope of this business, Serena Riot, on paper, is a bigger name than you are and I managed to beat her so you definitely cannot be going into this thing thinking that you have an automatic bye to the final four. If someone like FUCKING HARPER MASON can beat you, then so can I: pure, simple fact!

You were exposed as someone that was overrated the whole time and should I win this match and pull yet another miracle, then that’ll expose you even more! Hell, let’s continue to be honest with each other. You and Artie aren’t going much farther if you win.

But I’ll fight like hell to make sure that you don’t. This Sunday I’ll be hopping aboard the miracle train again and I will somehow, someway, continue to do the fucking impossible and when it’s all said and done, because of me and me alone, I will be moving on to the semifinals of the Blast from the Past tournament!

Yes, I said “I”.

Not “we”.

There is no “we”.

It’s literally just ME… because my partner?

Holy hell, he’s so fucking HORRIBLE that he’s barely even HALF a fucking wrestler. This is ultimately the second of what amounts to FOUR handicap matches for me. Justin Smith is just a body that walks around and thinks he’s wrestling, but is nothing more than a big sack of shit that is so big that he’d reverse deforestation in the Amazon in one go with how rotten of fucking ELEPHANT DUNG he is!

I already won round one on my own and I’m going to do it again. Somehow, fucking someway, I am going to singlehandedly win this tournament and basically cement myself as one of the greatest Bombshell competitors in the history of this tournament all in one go.

So if you’re not on the ‘miracle train’, book your fucking tickets. Because I’m riding it all the way to the end… and maybe if I’m lucky, that train will run Justin over and he has to be replaced in the next two rounds by an actual wrestler…

…you know what? Fuck it…”

Cordelia literally folds her hands in prayer.

“God, please let Justin Smith get hit by a train so that I can have a better partner for this tournament. Please, for the love of all that is holy, PLEASE let him get hit by a train. Amen!”

Cordelia lets out a final sigh.

“...fucking sack of shit…”

Cordelia shuts off the camera.