Anarchy doesn’t mean out of control; it means out of their control. 
 
Anarchy used to be my friend, so why has it betrayed me?
 
Why does it feel like I’ve lost every ounce of my control? Unsettling to think that I was on the straight and narrow path towards the top of Sin City Wrestling and within an unsettling amount of time, all control slipped through my fingers. 
 
Like it was never really mine to begin with. 
 
Now I stand at the edge of the cliff, begging to be pushed. 
 
Pushed towards greatness, pushed towards recapturing control and yet, my hands proceed to fail me. 
 
I know it’s alarming to see a cool and calm woman stand before you. To have the world bow at her feet as they sing out her praises. That’s what I had when I first arrived, I was meant to be the newest dominant force in Sin City Wrestling. 
 
I was meant to bring chaos, and yet… the harmony of the Bombshell division still plagues me. 
 
-------

Athens Greece,
Astir Beach.

The calm waters is what brings many travelers around the world flocking to Greece, that and myths of mythology, rich Olympics and buildings that have stood the test of time throughout the ages. Yet, I can’t help but keep myself from coming back to the sandy beaches and calm oceans. I don’t risk the chance to be seen during the day, so I wait for the flood of darkness of night before I head down the sandy beach before heading into the calm crystal clear waters. The saltiness bites at my skin as I allow the water to travel up my body, I shouldn’t be out here alone I know that. I can’t be trusted but still I couldn’t resist the call of the ocean. I couldn’t resist the call to drown.

As the water laps at my stomach I keep pushing myself into the deep waters, ignoring the pull of the tide I fight against it until my knees feel weak and my muscles tighten against the resistance. That’s the thing about Greek beaches, they look cool and calm on the outside but the change of tides brings turmoil. Unsteadiness that has tipped fisherman boats to multimillion dollar yachts over, with ease, with no regulars for price or importance. That’s the wicked underground of water, it may look calm but at its best it can be worse.

Consuming and unforgiving.

Wadding my way out up until my neck, I egg beat my feet off the bottom of the ocean floor. Desperate to keep myself afloat and the winds pick up and my body starts to be thrown. The fear of death brings me calm. Closing my eyes I tilt backwards and attempt to float on top of the uneasy waves, ignoring the world around me. Adjusting my eyes I look up to the stars and wonder, what would it be like to just let it all go? As the waves roll in, I’m reminded how fragile humans can be as I’m toppled back in towards the shore, racing to find my footing I scramble to make it back to my feet before I’m dumped under a concession of waves that have me barrelling towards dry land. As I toss and turn and try to regain control, I rip my head above the water. A strangled breath screams from my lungs but the sound of the ocean pales in comparison to the humiliation of laughter.

“You know I hear drowning to death can be therapeutic.” Harsh, bold, Australian.

Even with the wind whipping my ears, I can hear her voice above everything else.

“Evie.” I scowl. “I thought you weren’t joining us?” I couldn’t help but sigh.

Evie just looked towards me, offering me my towel with a smile that could only be mirrored by the devil. Making my way out of the water I walked towards her, snatching the towel from her grasp.

“You think, I would let my husband celebrate his birthday without me?” She cooed.

Of course she wasn’t here for me, I wasn’t that stupid to think otherwise, was I? Wrapping the towel around me, I covered my almost bare body, before I started to wring the salt water from my hair.

“Afraid he is going to celebrate with the local cuisine?” I joked, “I hear blondes are all the rage here.” A chuckle escaped my lips.

Evie just glared at me, her emerald eyes were unsettlingly cool and collected for a woman who was plagued with death. I admired that about her but would never let it be known.

“Not all husbands stray my dear.” Her words slapped me. “I mean in your husband’s defence you left him five years ago without a word of warning… it was inevitable he would play the field.” Her voice was sweet but her words were poisonous.

I bit down my teeth, biting so hard I thought at any moment they would crack.

“So, you returned for your husband’s birthday and to remind me of mine, how sweet.” I ached to punch her.

Evie just looked me up and down with amusement in her eyes before she reached out and cut the tension with her right hand that slapped the side of my face.

“Cade, I’m not just here to measure our husband’s dicks… I’m here because you need me.” Her voice was tender but truth be known she was anything but.

Her eyes dragged up my body, a sigh leaving her lips. Evie didn’t have to say a word, I knew what she was thinking. I was lost.

“Come on Cade, we have work to do.” She deadpanned.

Before I could say another word, her hand was in mine as she started dragging me up the beach and away from my deadly thoughts and yet, now I couldn’t stop but wonder what on earth he was doing now.

-------

Candy, Sin City Wrestling’s sweetheart. All that is good in this world, and I have to face her in two weeks’ time at Into the Void. The thought of such a sugar rush, should bring me joy but alas I cannot even pretend to entertain the notion of coming face to face with the goodie two-shoes of Sin City Wrestling. 
 
Sickening, nauseating, revolting. 
 
Candy, sweet to taste, yet it will lead you blindingly into a lifetime of cavities. I can assure you, my darkness is already riddled with enough rotting breaks that I can not afford another. 
 
I was meant to be in charge, after all I am blessed with some of the best wrestling trainers in the history of this sport and yet, be that true I cannot seem to find the balanced footing that my feet require to move forward on my path to becoming one of the best this company has ever seen. Some say it’s because I have burdened myself with too much pressure, some say that my heart just isn’t in it. Others have tried to read me like a book, only to stumble upon blank pages. You cannot recite what you don’t understand nonetheless each and every bombshell that I have faced since the Blast from the Past has claimed to know me. They have claimed to know my story, they can see through it all, they know who I am. 
 
I beg to differ. 
 
For I am a canvas that you cannot paint, I’m a story that you cannot read… I am chaos. A twisted blend of reality and forced being. I was never meant for this life, for I was promised another and whilst the scales of my future hang so dangerously unbalanced it brings me to wonder, why do people feel the need to push me? Why do people feel the need to control me? Why do people think they can check me off into a neat little box that suits their observations of me? You don’t know me… you never fucking will and that is why nice girls like Candy who are offered up before me on a silver platter will be considered, not a snack, not a meal but a sacrifice.
 
An expense that will pay with blood at these two hands. 
 
I thought I had it all figured out. I thought the name of this game was to show you little glimpses of my life and then unleash Infront of a camera and let the world know my dirty little secrets. I thought you wanted to hear about why I was going to rip someone apart, but it dawned on me… you didn’t want to hear my threats because you wanted what I was promising to happen to me instead of my opponents. You wanted my words to be twisted so they could be forced upon myself and not delivered by these hands. So instead of telling you how or why I’m going to unwrap Candy at Into the Void… I’ll forgo the warnings, I’ll just show you. 

It’s time to wipe your eyes, clear them from sleep and witness what I have been promising since the beginning.

The end to the Bombshell’s division as you know it.

The final nail, I require for every last sacrifice that will follow.

It won’t be without its struggles, believe me nothing in my life has come easily to me, so, why should it start now?
 
I’ll show you that even some of the best had to crawl along the ground on their hands and knees. I’ll show you that some of the women in Sin City Wrestling had to overcome the reality of loss after loss before they started to climb. I’ll show you that with each rung of the ladder I climb, the darkness is sure to follow, and then and only then will you understand that my words aren’t threats, they are promises. The day for my redemption is brewing. I can feel it in my bones and once I find myself back within the ranks of Sin City Wrestling I need to make it gruesomely clear to you all… I won’t be stopped. 
 
I can’t be. 
 
I flat out refuse to be. 
 
The life I live, will not allow it. 

There is no room for weakness, there is no room for error.

To fail would mean the end.
 
The glitter bomb that is Candy will learn the hard way that win or lose I’ll leave my mark on this division one bombshell at a time. I’ll crawl up the ranks and ruin each and every single one of them if I need to, just to soothe my chaos. So, bring what you have to Into the Void Candy, and I promise you, no I guarantee that it will not be enough to stop me. For I always end up getting what I deserve and what I’m owed and what I’m owed from this universe is everything… I have sacrificed enough, and I refuse to let go of anything else. 
 
So, the stage is now set for the glittering good girl, versus the soulless unknown. I'd say it’s time to choose a side but I’ll save you the hassle, when I force your hand against me. I never needed fanfare, I never needed support, all I needed was to truly be allowed to be myself…

And for Candy, that alone will be deathly.

Levana Cade has always been a name to be feared around certain circles and now it’s time for me to allow that circumference to grow.

Leaving darkness and pools of blood in my wake.

Sin City Wrestling might be oblivious to the monster that it houses between its six roped walls but every fairytale needs a violent ending.

A story Candy will soon know.

Let me tell you a story using three words,

Chaos often multiplies.

Now what does that mean? It insinuates chaos refuses to stay silent, it refuses to sit still, so it moves, it reformulates, it adapts with one goal in mind...

Turmoil.

So, we tilted the axis, shuffled the deck, and brought chaos to your predictable.

You wanted your favourites to rush through the Blast from the Past tournament, you wanted to see your Queens stay rulers, your Hall of Famers stay untarnished, you wanted predictable, you wanted nice. However, the third impression is here to remind you of the truth.

Kingdoms fall, legends die, and the scenery always changes. 

Tis the season, the season of the unknown that will swarm over Sin City Wrestling like a cloud, a storm brewing to cast doubt over your fabricated legends, your self-proclaimed queens, your happy go lucky cheer girls. You put your money on the wrong victors and so your blind-sidedness will go to spoils.

Your comeback kid, your happy blond will rot beneath our feet, and you’ll only have yourselves to blame. As round three isn’t where Jaycee and I get off the express to the finals, oh no… round three is where we make you see reason and take note. Sleepy heads don’t rise, complacency never builds a shift it just cripples the momentum.

Predictability shouldn’t be a virtue, it’s a blatant disadvantage.

I learnt the hard way that waiting to take what you want never comes, I learnt that through fire, blood, and ash. I’d be foolish to wait again, that’s why I refuse to hold back any longer.

Sunday night you’ll see the demise of another princess, death to another claim and the expiry of a precious regeneration.

I don’t have time to waste entertaining your nostalgia, so instead I’ll force the hands of time and seize your golden opportunity.

- - - - - - -

Climax Control – Three Hundred and Twenty-Three…

We had made it, to round three of the Blast from the Past with Jaycee picking up the victory once more for our team by defeating Hitamashi. I should have felt proud for us, I should have been shouting with joy as I walked backstage towards the bombshell locker room. But I couldn’t bring my lips to even amuse a smile. The burning flames had already started coursing through my veins. Burning me from the inside out. I was a failure. We didn’t win because of me. I was grateful to see Jaycee living out his dream but the voice inside my head couldn’t help but wave its pom poms when it whispered that our victory had nothing to do with me. Once again, I was bystander in our team, once again I had let Jaycee down and he had to do all the heavy lifting. It wasn’t like me. I wasn’t the type of girl to stand back and let the world race on in front of her eyes. I was the type of girl who caught the world as it spun, just to tilt it in my favour. When was I going to have my moment in the sun? When was I going to prove to the world that I’m more than just a pretty face?

These blue eyes were death of me at times.

Maybe it was a good thing I didn’t take the reins, because I’ve never been the one to know when to stop. I couldn’t trust myself to be in the ring when the bell run at the end of the match, because it only tolled three times, when I knew… I knew my chaos would demand seven. However, my rage wasn’t just pointed at myself, it was focused on the snake that was Carter. What gave him the right to interfere in my match? I couldn’t give two shits about his feud with Hitamashi, once false move from Carter could have been catastrophic for Jaycee and I.

I fucking hate selfish pricks, and I hate people who have to use others to make a statement. I was no one’s canvas, I was no ones message to be sent.

Making my way towards the shower I shouldered off my leather jacket and dropped it on the tiled floor. I didn’t even bother to remove my clothing as I stepped into the bathroom that joined onto the Bombshell locker room. I just needed to feel ice cold water on my skin. Turning the cold water on to fall blast, I kicked my shoes off and closed the door. I knew the water would only shimmer the burn, but I knew it wouldn’t stop the urges. Bringing my right first up the tiled wall in front of me I hammered my balled-up fist into the porcelain.

One, for Carter’s fucking face. I saw red. I needed to visualise blood pouring from his nose to try and at least satisfy the rage that was bubbling away in my core. How fucking dare, he? I would never stick my nose in his business what gave him the right to do the opposite to me.

Water poured down my face blurring my vision, but I couldn’t stop the inevitable. The animal inside me needed to be pacified and the only way I knew how to bring her down to a more manageable stated was to let her feel the soothing lashings of pain.

Two, for the way that I had let Amber toss me around the ring for longer than I should have. I shouldn’t have given her and inch of my time, regardless of if she was the current World Bombshell Champion. I knew how to handle men three times size of her and yet, she had treated me like a ragdoll.

I rewrapped my fist upon itself, tightening the ball I had made. My knuckles were white under the skin that was taunt. I wanted to feel it all, I’d break my knuckles if I had to anything to keep the voices at bay. I was a failure to them, and I would do anything I could to reverse that theory.

Three, for letting Jaycee take the reins once again leading us to victory. I knew this would only give anyone who we would face next the power to say he was carrying me in this tournament. I knew how people like Mikah, and Myra worked if they saw a thread of weakness, they would pull it try and unravel you. I didn’t want to be carried, I wanted to hold my own and so far, I’ve bene too far in my own head to direct us to any sort of victory.

The skin over my index and middle knuckle had busted and blood had started to trail down my arm, but I couldn’t see it as I kept my eyes locked on the one tile that was before my eyes. The sting of split skin did nothing to dull the burning that was still within my time frame. It felt as if the flames of hell itself was licking down each one of my veins, it felt as if I had set myself a light and even as I stood under the ice-cold water, the liquid couldn’t extinguish the flames. It wouldn’t soothe the burn. I needed to blister for I had fucked up.

Four, because I knew Evie was just lurking around the next corner to tell me where I had fucked up. I already knew she was angry at me for making a mockery of Amber in my promotional video last week, she told me that words like that would only get so far and that trying to out word play the current Sin City Wrestling World Bombshell Champion was suicide. I wanted to prove Evie wrong, but if anything in the match I had barely held my own against Amber. A Rookie error that I knew Evie was going to eat me alive for, but I couldn’t blame her. I did try and shock the world by bringing the champion to her knees.

I was too focused on the pain that I missed the sound of the bathroom door opening and slamming shut, all I could home in on was slamming my fist into the wall. The crack of my knuckles hitting the tiles had me closing my eyes relishing in the pain. Licking my lips like a crazed person who had just dipped her hand in melted chocolate. I didn’t need sex or drugs to feel a high, I just needed self-inflicted pain and had moans slipping between my glossed lips like a porn star.

Five, was for letting all of the bullshit get under my skin. I was better than this, I had been better than this. I was getting better but since joining Sin City Wrestling, I’ve almost lost my shit a number of times. I had it under control but as soon as I left my comfort zone, I found myself, feeling like that lost little girl all those years ago. I was better than this, but the voices said otherwise.

I smashed my knuckles into the wall, blood spraying the white tiles before the water washed it down the drain. The closer I got to seven the more the rage burned through my veins. It didn’t subside the closer I got to my obsession it only got worse.

Six, was for allowing myself to get this far gone. I had an empire to run, I didn’t need to be losing my shit at the drop of a hat but here I was picturing cold bloody murder. I wanted to wrap my hands around Carter’s neck and squeeze, I wanted to burn down Amber’s title reign, I wanted to slit the throat of anyone who spoke out against me. If anyone dared to say I was being carried through this process, I wouldn’t hesitate. It wouldn’t be the first time.

I didn’t miss the door being slammed inwards, but I couldn’t allow myself to miss the final blow.

Seven, just because... I had to make it to seven or otherwise I was going to rip the head off whom ever had just walked into the shower block and slammed their shoulder into the door busting it open on me.

There I stood clothed, wet and in a daze. My body slumping down at my shoulders as my balled-up fist finally turned back into a hand. All for what? All because I didn’t like the outcome on tonight’s match? Even though my team had won? I’m a complicated creature, one who will always punish myself for failures that other’s refuse to seek within themselves. A tortured little soul, wrapped in a tattooed body and blessed with big beautiful blue eyes. If people thought they could tear me down, they would have to form a nice long line behind my fucking self.

“WHAT THE FUCK, CADE?” Harsh and Australian, Evie’s voice hissed.

Turning to look at my mentor under the blizzard of a shower, I brought my right fist up to my lips and trailed my tongue across my bloody knuckles. My blue eyes not moving away from her emerald ones. Not even as the pin pricks of water slammed against my eyes. My tongue returned into my mouth to savour the taste of my blood, I couldn’t stop the cold fear-provoking smile from crossing my face. If Evie thought she was the only one who was a monster, she was sadly fucking mistaken and now she had just seen glimmer of how deep and dark I truly was.

Unpredictable, unreadable, impulsive.
Broken, battered, blooded.
Autonomous chaos…
My own worst fucking enemy.

- - - - - - -

The scene opens up on the remains of a burnt down home in the West Las Vegas, the horrid side of town, where tourists should stay far, far away from if they wish to keep their wallets firmly in their pockets. Although close to the strip itself, this poverty-stricken part of town is an obvious reminder that not all that glitters in the city of sin is gold. It’s often blood splatters on asphalt roads, the gleam from the blade of a knife or the last little sparkle in a Deadman’s eyes. In 2020 West Las Vegas reported 14,159 acts of crime alone, a high percentage of those crimes no doubt taking part in this very street. You might not think 14,000 isn’t a high count, but considering 20,000 people call this side of town home… I’d say you’ve been corrected.

The darkness of night had just fallen, but there was just enough light from the shimmering moon dangling high above in the sky to cast the shadow of the rubble that was laid out behind me. The only part of this house to survive was the doorframe, so I took a seat where the front porch used to be and pressed my back up against the crispy doorframe. Ripped black jeans cover my legs, whilst my black leathers keep my shoulders covered as my blood red halter neck shirt keep the girls at bay. My long black hair whips around my face from the gentle breeze that howls through this part of the desert. With a lick of my glossed lips, I turn to address the cameraman that is eagerly awaiting to hightail it out of this side of town.

“Lucky number three will be fucking unlucky for some. Those some being Max Burke and Myra Rivers.” I hiss.

I still hate talking in front of a camera, so I grit my teeth and attempt to stuff down the choking feeling that’s riding up my throat.

“Let’s talk about the homecoming kid, shall we? Welcome back Max, did you get the return you desired? Was the roar of the crowd everything you anticipated? Did it cover your skin in bumps because in that very moment you had all eyes on you, you were the comeback kid, the faded memory in everyone’s minds that had finally stepped out of the shadows of obscurity… I hope you held on to that core memory, I hope it filled your heart with joy, I hope it filled your belly with a passionate fire because it’s the last time you’re EVER going to feel that way again. This week your rise to the top will be extinguished, but I’m sure that’s a feeling your already accustomed to.” I smirk, wildly.

Licking my lips, I rub them together before continuing.

“You first graced SCW in 2012, bright eyed and bushy tailed as you promised the world you were going to cause waves in the superstar scene, but did you? Did you ever break out? Did you ever have your moment? I mean, lets be honest the only memory I have of you in Sin City Wrestling, is your whiskey filled nights with Ben Jordan and if were shooting from the hip here Max, that has nothing to do with you being inside the ring. Yet, people speak so highly of you, as if you’re a legend and remind me? What have you done to entertain such a fable? One Roulette Championship run… that’s it. That’s your claim to SCW fame? That’s what your hitching your wagon to and that’s the driving force behind your over inflated head? You think a man that is a third-generation wrester, would hold more weight… but it’s true every family has its own set of dead weight… and that’s you. I wonder, did daddy dearest slap you on the back when he was around you to tell you he was proud? If he did, it would be nothing more than a lie.” A chuckle leaves my lips.

The camera pans in on my clear blue eyes, the reflection of the moon shines brightly.

“I bet your glorified wrestling family wishes you stayed buried alive in 2013, so they wouldn’t have to be constantly reminded of the fucking disappointment you are to the Burke family name. The tarnish to the Burke family crest, the black sheep in the flock of wrestling gods. Yet, once again you popped up and told the world you were coming for the Sin City Wrestling World Heavyweight Championship… how does it feel to make that promise twice now in your career, whilst being fully aware that you’re never going to cash in on such an oath? A lesser man would feel embarrassed but not you Max, you feel entitled and for what reason? You friends? Your fans? Your family? And when it all goes to shit, because it will this Sunday night at Climax Control when Jaycee reminds you, that it’s like to actually wrestle… You’ll just laugh it all off in a glass of whiskey because that’s where you feel the need to fuel your self-worth.” A disappointed sigh escapes my lips.

Moving my right hand up and sweep a long lock of my black hair and tuck it behind my ear as the wind picks up around me.

“You’ve had it pretty cushy since your return Max… Todd Williams, Miles Kasey, two people that have made less of an impact than you in Sin City Wrestling history, so I get why your puffing your chest, I get why you think you stand a chance but let me remind you… you know nothing about Jaycee, so you can’t prepare and even with all the training in the world, your frail failed body will let you down once more on Sunday night. You chase to reach the finals of the BFTP will snap quicker than your tendon. Your journey to the top stops this week Max… and whilst the crowd will be chanting your name like the gladiator you pose to be, I can assure you the silence after the bell after we beat you... will be the reaction you deserve.” I pause, letting my words sink in.

The sound of sirens in the background steals the airways for a moment, whilst the sound of muffled shouting from the side of the camera brings home the pit of the town that I’m sitting in. yet I remain unaffected and unharmed.

“Now Myra, don’t work that pretty little of head of your into overtime… I haven’t forgotten about you, I mean how could anyone forget about you? You run your mouth each and every time you’re in front of a camera and once they stop rolling you jump onto Twitter to let the whole world know your little ramblings. Have you ever stopped to think that no one fucking cares? No one cares that you have finally found your happiness… I find it odd that people still live under the false presumption that you can just find something like an emotion, it’s not like a fucking Where’s Wally and yet, here you are holding your happiness in the palm of your hands telling everyone that your life turned around the moment you decided to let the light back in.” My voice bleeds into a chuckle.

A roll of my clear blue eyes is all that statement is worth. People are fucking foolish, its sickening.

“It’s a beautiful thing, how people fear the dark but refuse to see the light for what it is. The moon doesn’t kill you and yet thousands of people die each year from the sun and yet, people want to bask in the glory that the light brings to them. Foolish, fucking childish. You’ve placed your emotions in a bag and labelled them happy and now because you’ve happened to stumble across this endearing emotion you think that’s going to put your name on the map? You think that just flashing a smile is going to remove the mask that’s evident on your face? You may think you have it all figured out, you may think that your bright eyes and beaming smile is what’s going to lead you towards your second Blast from the Past final and then on to victory, followed by your big moment, where you believe that you’re going to win the World Bombshell Championship… the reality is… it’s not.” A wicked smile crosses my face.

Another chuckle passes my lips as I look down the lens of the camera.

“I get it you’re one of the most successful bombshells in SCW history but what have your failed to do each and every time it’s presented in front of you? Win the big one… walk away with the World Bombshell Championship and do you know what we call that? We call that being a choke. You don’t have the stamina to hold onto the reigns in high pressure moments and that’s why you’ll always be the bridesmaid and never the fucking bride. That’s why you’ll always be the one crawling on your hands and knees to get anywhere near the prized possession that is the World Bombshell Championship, while others will blast straight past you and take what you really wish was yours. Let the truth speak for itself sometimes great things remain out of reach to those who talk too much and refuse to put in the hard work. You tell the world you’re putting in the effort but that’s just the thing, instead of walking the miles, you run your mouth. I can tell you the whole world is sick of it… but please continue to humiliate yourself week in and week out with this new found energy of yours because fabricated happiness isn’t joy and joy isn’t something you can maintain when it’s fictional.” I can’t help but smile.

The wind howls through the door frame that I’m pressed up against, the old wood groans in protest wishing it to was a pile of rubble. Ignoring it I continue.

“Each week you step up to the plate with endless words, your rip apart your opponents promotional videos like your biology class dissecting a frog and for what reason? You feel the need to defend yourself. Because the new found confidence you brag about is superficial, if you truly didn’t care what people thought about you, you wouldn’t pull them apart word by word, twisting them in your favour… no you wouldn’t have to, because words shouldn’t be your downfall Myra and yet every week you let them blister you, you let them bruise you and you THINK by running over them with a fine tooth comb and defending every shred of negativity that is thrown your way that you’re going to outwit them? Look into my eyes when I say this… GROW A FUCKING SPINE.” I growl.

Shaking my head from side to side, I let my anger show. I let the number seven take over me as I count them in my head before I turn my attention back towards the camera.

“You just look like a little girl trapped inside a woman’s body who is begging to be accepted. You want the world to fall to your feet, you want the soft, calm words of the world to protect you and guide you. Sadly, little girl, this world is bitter, its cruel and it’s against everything you stand for. I’m not here to pet your ego, I’m not here to listen to you week in and week out run through the dictionary defending yourself. I’m here to take what is mine and by doing so, I’ll rip the rug out from underneath you, so once again when you hit the floor there will be nothing to cushion the blow. You consider yourself a wordsmith, but when you say things that have no meaning… can you truly hold an audience? Riddle me this Myra… is your actual goal to become the World Bombshell Champion or is your objective just to run through the motions and pray to the high heavens that someone, anyone, will start believing in you?” I say with a cold smile.

I can’t stand fake people and whilst talking about Myra, it makes my skin crawl. After a small pause for dramatics, I continue.

“I’m glad to see you brought your sister along last week, it was refreshing to see that at least someone in your fucked up family has some fucking balls. It just s shame that like you, she too didn’t know when to shut the fuck up.” My words drip like venom.

Drawing my fingers into the palms of my hands I let my knuckles crack, feeling the throb pass through me.

“Last week you had the nerve to talk about the trust you put into your partner, I find that hilarious as you can’t even trust yourself. Since you’ve lost your Internet Championship… you’ve faulted in every way possible. Calling yourself rebellious? What the fuck have you ever done that’s been scandalous? J walking isn’t included. You’re a fake. You’re untrustworthy, you can’t even be true to yourself and yet you believe that you and Max will win this tournament because you flash around the T word like it’s a fucking comma? You don’t just need trust to win a tag team match you fucking idiot… you need purpose, you need reason, you need motivation. Your motivation is trying to silence the rest of us when it should be silencing your fucking self. My motivation is simple I’m going to keep on proving that this tournament is ALL about Jaycee and me, this is our moment, we have faced the pressure of our debuts head on, and we haven’t crumbled, we haven’t slipped and we sure as hell haven’t fallen to our knees because of the pressure… where in your history can you tell me that you’ve done otherwise? Between you and Max, you’re the poster couple for failed dreams and come Sunday night at Climax Control, you’ll notch another glamour shot to hang in your wall of failures.” I hiss out.

Letting out a deep exhale I tilt my head back to look at the moon that’s hanging brightly in the sky. Letting the anger seep out of me with silence before I roll my head forward to look at the camera once again.

“Earlier this week you bragged about being in great spirits, with your motivation, training and psychologically… interesting crow, did you think that would rattle the cage who have put me in? Did you think I would stare at my screen and pray for the same things to happen to me? I don’t need false spirits, I don’t need to speak for my training, I don’t need to let the world know my mind is clear… because once a target becomes a target a trained eye never misses. When are you going to learn that humble bragging, is the same as vocal boasting and both of them are useless when you truly know your worth. I know what I’m worth, I know what I’m capable of. I don’t have to sit at your table and listen to you gab on about how great you are, because I’m too fucking busy building my own.” I chuckle.

Taking a step up, I push off the burnt frame of the house and take two steps towards the camera.

“I don’t need to defend a false promises, I don’t need to shield myself words… I’m here to show the world that when I say I’m going to do something I go through with it… I will end your blast from the past journey this Sunday night Myra, I’ll steal your back-to-back finals away from you… I’ll take the chance to become the World Bombshell Champion out of your reach once more and I’ll do it with every inch of hunger in my body. For I have nothing to lose but everything to fucking gain, while you have everything riding on this, you have everything to lose… your image is everything to you and as of Sunday night it will need some serious damage control. Begin to make peace with the fact that the crown will never fall on your head, for your neck is to weak and frail.” A loud exhale passes my lips.

I bring my right hand up to motion towards the burnt down home behind me, not even bothering to look back. I hate this place. I fucking despise it.

“While you live in a made-up world, let me enlighten you to my reality. This is my castle Myra… burnt and broken. These four walls never provided any sort of security… any sort of protection, it was just a shell that I slept in, where I made big promises and dreamt up wild dreams. I always told myself I was going to get out of this fucking hell hole, but the truth is… you’d have to drag me away kicking and screaming, hell you’d have to haul me away in a body bag before I’d willingly leave.” I hissed.

Pushing a lock of my black hair behind my right ear I continued. I still fucking hate speaking on camera, so a quick game is a good game.

“This is where I come from, this is where I rule…  this isn’t a phoenix form the ashes story, this isn’t when I tell you I’ve been reborn. This is when I tell you I’ve never been one to bow and I’ll be fucking dead before I entertain the idea of doing so to you.”
 
I finally turn my back to the camera, looking at my old family home. Reaching forward I place my right hand on the burnt door frame and give it an almighty push and with that motion the frame comes crashing down around me. Ash spiralling around floating in the wind. The camera then fades to black.

They say that first impressions mean everything and if you fail to pass the test within the first seven seconds it takes for someone to notice you, judge you or place you in a certain socially acceptable box… that it’s enough to break your career.
 
And yet as children aren’t we begged not to judge a book by its cover? I’ve been judged my whole life, in those first pesky seven seconds people have called me nice and shy, that soon turned to meek and mild but I’m anything but.
 
You’ll learn that as we go along, my silence is anything but golden. It shouldn’t be confused for anything else but chaos. The quiet isn’t my safe place, it isn’t where I hide but uneducated people will attach themselves to the motion that my lack of voice means they have rattled me. I only suggest that you don’t rattle cages, that you have no worldly idea what’s locked inside them.
 
It would be a disservice to yourself to get lost in these baby blue eyes, for I can promise you… they're as cold as the attic ice.
 
Enough warnings, you’ll learn in time that I don’t need to provoke fear, instead I purely wield it.
 
This week feels the proverbial ice breaker for my Sin City Wrestling career. All eyes will be on my partner Jaycee MacDonald and me. I get it, we’re the fancy new toys that Mark and Christian signed to help boost the Blast From the Past. We’re currently the unsorted, unprocessed beings that haven’t had the pleasure of being judged and put in our boxes. The world is only a few days away from deciding our fates. Will we disappoint or will we exceed pre made expectations? Only time will tell… and when it all boils down to it, judgements will be made in the first seven seconds.
 
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven…
 
Seven… It's always fucking seven.

--- - - - - -
 
5 years ago…
 
The vibrations of unfiltered exhaust pipes rumbled through the rainy Las Vegas Streets, as give, or take fifty Harley motorbikes rode the asphalt. Rubber burning as they crisscrossed the city in anger, brakes flaring red as the Hangman hunted down their prey. Me, I was their prey, laughable really considering I was meant to be this meek, mild teenage girl who realistically posed no threat to their clubhouse. 
 
A legacy prospect, the first ever female prospect… but I was a joke to them. A pity patch was all I wore on my leathers. The black leathers that still covered my shoulders as I ran away from the club. 
 
My family. 
 
My life. 
 
It was madness and if I had a moment to pause and think about what I had just done, maybe just maybe I wouldn’t have attempted to burn them all to ash. I couldn’t help it, their secrets and lies had come to light and I couldn’t help the voices. They mocked me, they tormented me, they whispered sweet little nothings into my ear telling me to make them pay for years’ worth of humiliation. 
 
That’s when I started to count. One, two, three, four, five, six…
 
I never made it to seven and I ALWAYS had to make it to seven or otherwise things were suddenly out of my control. Chaos coursed through these veins demanding a release and chaos always got what it wanted, it always reached out and took it’s temptation by the throat and it always made sure the outcome was what it desired.
 
And what she desired was fear, in particular the look of fear in other people’s faces. For years I was told I suffered from an illness, a mental illness that made me appear weak and stupid, but little did they know that silence wasn’t for weakness it was to put a leash on my strength and my strength at full source… was empowering… it was blistering… It was magnificent. 
 
My whole life the Hangman judged me as nothing more than a girl, a small pathetic piece of unobtainable pussy. They didn’t even see my betrayal coming, I mean how could they? I was nothing to them… I was just the President’s daughter who lived with her head in the clouds. They were never going to patch me in as a full-fledged member, and yet they lied about it for YEARS. I had been a live in slave for YEARS. Just a small girl they controlled, they manipulated, and they broke…
 
And yet, here they were like a pack of wolves ambushing the streets in search of the little girl who could. Well, at least the little girl who tied to get away murder. I would have gotten away with it, if he didn’t stop me, but I didn’t have time to think about my husband right now. I only had time to think about putting one foot in front of the other and high tailing it out of the Hangman’s patch of turf. I only had to run two more blocks without being detected and pray that the Hangman were smart enough to call off the hunt. I’m glad that the darkness of night was going to shadow my movements.
 
There was no way they would risk moving into London Underground territory without speaking to the Charming Prince first. That’s what the club sluts called Daniel, after all he was a blue-eyed British import who demanded respect and tilted the landscape of Las Vegas the very moment he moved in. My father wouldn’t risk a war, in the middle of another war just to find me. He would call off the fifty bikes and settle for just four of five to try and bring me back.
 
The adrenaline in me was beginning to dry up as my footing started to slip on the wet sidewalks. I couldn’t stay still in one spot for too long, because I knew I was leaving a trail of blood on my path. It wasn’t raining hard enough to cover my track, it wasn’t raining hard enough to wash away the weakness that was seeping out of my chest like venom. Like Hansel and Gretel, I was leaving breadcrumbs leading them right to me and if I didn’t get to safety soon, I knew it would only be a matter of time before I was caught and brought back to the clubhouse to face my fate. Death no doubt, by the Hangman’s noose. Poetic really. A ritual I used to be in awe of, but with my proverbial neck on the line, I could see how barbaric the practice was. It didn’t matter how pretty my little neck was, my father would wrap his hand around it, squeeze and force the life right out of lungs. 
 
My full strides had turned into a messy shuffle, the blood leaving my blood in waves had my clutching at my side in agony. I didn’t want them to see me like this. I wanted them to remember me as the girl who locked them in the clubhouse and torched it whilst they were inside. I was going to savour their screams, I was going to close my eyes and let my soul fest on their fear. It’s what she demanded, it’s what she deserved. As I made my way across the street, I made sure to shuffle in and out of the cars. I knew experienced Harley riders could weave through traffic, but there was a beauty in Las Vegas traffic jams, they were packed too tight, and Hangman’s handlebars were too wide. 
 
I could barely hear the honking of horns, the revving of engines but I didn’t need to hear the bikes. I lived and breathed them, they were whole life. I could feel them rumble on the road underneath my feet to know that they were coming, they were close, and that freedom was only just one more block away. Approaching a metal fence that protected a rundown electronics store carpark, I leaped, well attempting to gracefully. The harsh wire dug into my stomach, slicing open the wound that was weeping. I can’t believe I let him get a shot on me. I fucking hated him before today, but now the Sargent in Arms was going to pay for the blood that he had split. Rouge fucking Rouge. 
 
With my mind rambling I tried to silence the voice, her voice that caused chaos she didn’t like to run away she didn’t like to be on the defence. We were attack type creatures, she didn’t believe in running. Yet, the sane part of my mind continued to will my feet forward. Even if the pain rippled through my body as if I had met a train head on at a rail crossing. The Las Vegas strip was getting closer and even though my father owned one side of it, I was safe and was going to be in the other neck of the woods in just a few more feet. I didn’t know this part of town well, I wasn’t allowed here. Everything was dark here, all the shops had shut for the night. Apart from one. I was heading towards the dull light I could see glowing from a sign. GO GYM. I didn’t know what a GO gym was, but I was glad to see it within walking distance. 
 
The rumbling had stopped, the bikes had skidded to a halt. The legs taken from underneath them. My body ached, freedom took over and like a limp mule for some reason my feet wouldn’t allow me to continue. The rest is hazy but all I remember is dropping to the ground as I was assured freedom. I mean, I was under false hope that they wouldn’t come into LU territory without asking first and Daniel didn’t grant access easily, he was a smart madman. And right now he was an unknowing evil knight in shining Union Jack armour.

I remember crawling across the concrete making my desperate way towards the Gym doors. In there I would find help, I would find safety. Yet, the doors never came. I found a safe haven as I pulled myself up using the tyre of a blood red car. I remember the colour, it’s my favourite. It speaks to me. But I couldn’t stand, my body wouldn’t allow it. All I could do was hope the owner would come back shortly and lick my wounds. Well, until my friend Harlow could find me. No doubt she had heard what I had done by now. I struggled to keep my eyes open, my eyelids fluttered down not once, not twice, but six times. I needed to get to seven, I could feel the icy fire in my veins. I didn’t nothing happened, I was paralysed. I could only hear the voices, it's just this time they had accents. 
 
“There better be a good fucking reason you’re bleeding all over the side of my Ferrari.” Australian and bitter.  
 
“Eves.. she’s clearly injured.” Cockney and calm.
 
“Sigh. If she scratches the clear coat, I swear to you… She’ll wish she were dead.” Angry and calculated.
 
My eyes flicked open one last time, the seventh time in which a small smirk crossed my face. She was satisfied and that meant I could rest. In the seconds that my eyes were open I looked up and saw a sign painted on the side of the GO GYM. “The gateway to Sin City Wrestling.”
 
And that my friends is how I met your precious Sin City Wrestling.  
 
--- - - - - -

Debuts, I hear they can make you or break you. I hear that a loss in your first match can set the course for your career and well if that’s the case you best believe that I will be ensuring a victory this Sunday night at Climate Control.

Loss isn’t something I'm unfamiliar with, I’ve seen many people lose their lives before my eyes… I find it humbling. I find it Rewarding. I find it a necessary evil.

Losing can feel like a ghost, haunting you, crippling you but I can assure you… I won’t be hexed. My first match will play out as it should, with my hand raised in victory standing alongside Jaycee MacDoanld…

A partner fit for a victory, a partner fit for the long haul.

The Blast From the Past… has been a launching pad for many members of SCW before I arrived. It’s built on the legacy that anything can happen… trust me I know that first hand but what you need to understand that ANYTHING can and will happen to Amy Marshall… it just won’t be at her will. Her fate will be sealed by my hands.

I don’t care about her history in this company, I don’t care about the titles she has held, the matches she has won, the records, the hall of fame nod. It’s nothing to me… nothing at all because her legacy doesn’t concern me, her history weighs nothing on my future. She could be the Queen of England for all I care, I will not fall to her feet and I will not pander to her accomplishments. I don’t respect what I don’t know and I can promise you, Amy Marshall’s name has NEVER come across my desk. It has never been mentioned in my life. There’s no weight in all her accomplishments if she refused to make a name for herself.

Your media darling or so she pretends to be on social media is just a vessel harbouring a fluke, a shell of a woman who is trying to reach out and hold onto the last shreds of her career.

I see it’s a pattern in SCW, people refusing to hang up their boots when they have no business being in the ring anymore. The back hallways are filled with wastes of space, Marshall included.

I mean even her adult film industry has failed. Not even a top search on the internet… just another washed up platform in which she believes she dominates. There is no ownership in her career, just a bunch of fleeting moments of luck, she was able to reach out and grab.

I don’t believe in luck. Lady Luck has never poked her face into my life never has never will and with that knowledge I know that all my opportunities have to come to me by my own hands. Very capable hands. Hands that like to ensure punishment, hands that enjoy inflicting pain, hands that enjoy causing injury and bring tyrants to their knees. 

Amy Marshall will bow on Sunday and from what I’ve been told it’s a position she is more than familiar with it. So muscle memory alone should brace her impact..

As for Knox I know that my partner Jaycee has the skills to put him in his place… with ease.

We are just days away from becoming the latest threats in Sin City Wrestling… regardless of what the match card write up says… you shouldn’t count us out. You shouldn’t overlook us, because we might not have the names in bright lights… yet… but our time is coming.

And it starts in the opener this week when we stream roll the Punk Princess and drown the fearless Knox.