[DistortedAngel]

 (Note: This is another quick one from me this week, trying to juggle my schedule so its a little more rushed than I would have liked but hopefully it does as its intended to inject some backstory but more importantly- build up the match for the supercard
I promise I have something special lined up for that althoughwhether it works or not is a different story

Anyways, enjoy and all that.)





“She had a habit of putting things in that way, as though she had accidently set your house on fire and had no choice now but to stand back and watch it burn.”
― Vu Tran, Dragonfish


Amber’s Apartment
Atlantic City, NJ
12.07.2020
2:08am



Amber never really considered herself an insomniac.

Insomnia was defined as a habitual sleeplessness, whereas Amber found herself more so just acclimatised to a crappy sleep schedule and a routine of gruelling travel- or at least it's what she told herself time and time again when she found herself wide awake at 2am in Atlantic City.
For years it had been nightmares, the type that left her pulse racing and a sheen of cold sweat drenching the tangle of sheets around her, the type that felt so real it was was as though the rain still pelted against her skin and shattered glass glimmered like cracked diamonds on the bitumen.
The type of nightmare that made her believe she was dying… over and over again.

These days though- the nightmares didn’t hit quite so hard, at least not to the point they used to, the rain no longer reminded her of liquid bullets but instead a low pressure shower drizzling water everywhere except where you wanted it and the glass no longer scattered diamonds reflecting the night back at her but mirror shards almost bleeding into the tarmac.
Maybe her senses had dulled with time and damage, the things that once brought her to her knees now barely taking a breath of air from her lungs, her psyche fractured and strewn like a childs toys during a tantrum.

It would certainly explain a lot about why she cared so much and so little about everything at the same time.

A faint sprinkling of ash from a neglected cigarette dusted across her fingers, she hadn’t even taken a drag of the thing even though it had already burnt a third of the way through- somehow just having something to keep her hands busy was a comfort, a non verbal reinforcement that she wasn’t entirely losing her mind.
Essentially and like pretty much everything else going haywire in her life, she contemplated silently, she had brought all of this upon herself.

2am everywhere looked pretty much the same these days- between hotel rooms in their beige claustrophobia inducing mediocrity and the views of a wishful skyline painted in neon and garish need for validation, she’d seen all the best and worst the world had to offer up in peculiar waking hours. Maybe if she went back to bed now, she might get a couple more hour uninterrupted before her demons roused, whispering regrets and repentance behind fluttering eyelids.

People always talked about drowning their demons, the idea that fighting fire with fire might somehow end up with only one side getting burned and that they were something that needed to be overcome. Amber had long since dismissed the concept, instead allowing this time to be a discourse as though they had anything meaningful to add to the conversation that wasn’t straight up self-destructive.
It was no secret that she’d had her issues, that her state of mind could be considered questionable on the best of days and that the nickname ‘Lady Unstable’ had become more than just another cute moniker to be idly tossed about. Wrestling was all consuming, there was no back up plan nor soft landing should the facade come crumbling down around her.

So many of her peers called their careers ‘do or die’, but she couldn’t help how many would really live up to that claim should the circumstances arise.

More ashes tumbled around her hand, the leaden head standing precariously tall as a gentle breeze chipped away at it's foundation. September 2019 she came back from a year and a half hiatus, all that time swearing on everything she had worth swearing on that she didn’t need wrestling as though it somehow still held a place for her to step back into… Several high profile injuries and surgeries put her on the shelf, but her own addictive personality and tenuous grip with society kept her there.

Now?

World champion in one company- and chasing red tinted shadows, trying to justify her existence in another.

Amber frowned slightly, the lines around her eyes sinking deeper and the curl of her lip a little more pronounced. Roxi walked the walk, talked the talk and danced the proverbial dance when Amber had played her tune- but somehow it all felt strangely hollow, as though she expected more.
Although who she expected it from was what really stung the most.
Roxi wanted to believe she was evil- but the idea of evil was a subjective and murky one. Kicking a puppy was evil, pushing old ladies into traffic was evil- hell, telling someone that you loved them then never speaking to them again was evil.

Amber wasn’t evil, at least not yet.

She could be, she absolutely could be and Roxi would never begin to comprehend it. More than once the Sin City Wrestling icon had brought up Amber’s background complete with an analogy about leopards and their spots. She had spoken at length about the things Amber had done and was known for as though trying to convince everyone that she somehow knew something everyone else didn’t.
It wasn’t a secret though, it wasn’t some thinly veiled threat fallen from loose lips nor derogatory slander. She burned people, maimed them with all manner of hardware, she’d spat everything from mist to goddamn thumbtacks if it gave her an advantage and left a lot of people battered and broken who never deserved their fate for simply stepping into her path.
It was easy to paint with those broad strokes, just looking any closer involved an effort and ability to see past one's own misconceptions.
Despite everything, Amber always owned who the fuck she was.

Most of the time she didn’t like it, but she damn well accepted it cause she’d never have gotten this far without it.

Her frown softened into something contemplative as the acrid smoke drifted listlessly around her face like a sickly fallen halo, could Roxi truly make that claim? Could she look in the mirror and be content with everything that brought her to this point so that she may judge without a fear of repercussion.
Maybe it didn’t really matter, as Amber finally knocked the growing head from the cigarette into the makeshift ashtray beside her as the cherry glowed obscenely in the low light of the balcony.

It seemed like Roxi wouldn’t be convinced until Amber did something unethical, that determination to be proven right becoming the reason for wrongdoing. It was only a matter of time really, Amber had said it from the start after all that time was ticking… If only Roxi knew that it wasn’t to her demise, but until Amber’s nature could no longer be denied, that her efforts to be decent continually being spurned only fuelled that raging hurricane between her ribs.
When that snap came, when the last granules of sand fell through the hourglass- people wouldn’t remember the efforts, the displays of sportsmanship. They’d see red, they’d see destruction and they’d see a heroes plight despite the hero being the reason for the collapsing black hole of humanity threatening to tear down everything they’d created.

Curls of thin smoke danced in the night air before dissipating, wispy and opaque against an inky backdrop dotted with the remnants of stars. Roxi wanted to believe this all a game, but games had endings. A definable and definitive finish under pre-determined conditions- maybe it was simply easier for her to compartmentalize and pigeonhole her life. After all- her wife couldn’t fucking decide one day to the next if she wanted to play good guy for the laughs or act out cause she wasn’t geeting enough attention, her friends seemed to care less and less about her desperate need to be validated as a good person while dismissing her paranoia about ‘the other redhead’.

Two sides of the same coin, only one of them didn’t consider it real currency cause it didn’t fit the narrative she wanted to create within her life, like a chapter of a book written by someone else that changes genre every third sentence.
Amber had said it all along, they were far more similar than Roxi dared to admit… and she was dismissed as though comparing them were an insult, that somehow Amber’s acceptance of just being a terrible person was a slight against the name of Roxi Johnson.

One match. One fucking match to prove a point. That's all she asked, and even then her professionalism was questioned and ability to be trusted undermined despite a flawless track record to date. Bell to bell, there would be no mistakes, no fuck ups or missteps.

After all, dream matches didn’t come along every week and this was one she hoped she wouldn’t have to wake up from before she got to the best part...







******


“Opportunity is a fickle mistress.

She’ll knock on your door politely, maybe with a little jaunty rhythm if she’s feeling fancy. She’ll patiently wipe her feet on your doormat and if you leave her waiting for too long- she’ll move on like she never bothered with you in the first place.
Not like that piece of shit Death, barging in, not even wiping bone dust off his shoes… Yeah, he can go suck a big one.

No, you see Opportunity has far more important things to do and places to be- she won’t wait for you to decide that you want to embrace her and all her baggage. There are ten thousand other plebs just like you who will, so as you can imagine she can afford to pass you over.
Twisted Sister. Iron Maiden. I want you to think back just a couple of weeks- I promise this isn't a memory exercise or lord knows we’ll be here far longer than anticipated. Take a deep breath, and remember- hell I’ll even paint the scene for you…

Roxi Johnson- perennial rival, likely thorn in the side and all round just ‘nice chick’ is in the middle of the ring, shes vulnerable, she’s just gone through a match and most importantly to this case study- she’s alone.
Opportunity came knocking for you ladies, loving arms outstretched and just waiting for that acceptance with the chance to be relevant once more.

Only you left Opportunity waiting.

I just… I cannot.

I mean I’ve been told I’m a real piece of shit, you know? That I’m just the fucking worst person around and I highly doubt my esteemed partner this week will exactly be inclined to disagree. I’ve done some heinous things and I’ll be the first to admit that in this scenario, one you were so luckily presented with, I’ve taken advantage.
Roxi will tell you that I’ve maimed people, I’ve burned them and I’ve left a path of destruction in my wake it's no wonder that they aren’t calling me the littlest Godzilla.

Never though, have I taken such a precious opportunity…

… and just royally fucked it so badly it's a goddamn wonder that you weren’t charged for the privilege. This makes my heart weep, my soul tremble and my insides writhe relentlessly cause you were handed something and did nothing with it.
Hell, if I weren’t trying to do good… I’d have gone out there and showed you both how to really conduct business.

You had her right where you wanted. Two on fucking one.

Twisted Sister. Iron Maiden.

Just… just get fucked. Honestly.

You both should have cake walked this- you were thrown a soft ball by the universe to smack straight out of the park so you could feel like heroes. Now, you’re on the opposite side of the ring to two of the most dominant forces- not only in the Bombshells division but in wrestling as a whole… and you think for a second you stand any better of a chance two vs two when you couldn’t even dispatch a tired, wounded and lonely Roxi Johnson when you had the chance.

Part of me though wonders if I should thank you both- you know, reach down deep inside my chest cavity where I’ve been told my cold, dead heart is supposed to reside and dredge up some insincere form of gratitude for setting up what I’d like to consider a dream tag team match.
See, the thing is times still ticking- and if Roxi were to be believed, I’m just a snake in the grass waiting for a chance to strike, just waiting for an opportunity to show off my dark side like all of them aren’t already the same colour.

What she doesn’t seem to get is that there are plenty of times that I could have done exactly that, slipped 6 inches of steel between her ribs and been done with this whole mess. Innumerable that I’m just out to get her because I’m quite simply the actual incarnation of Satan on a coke binge.
What she doesn’t get is that I’ve been nothing but honest with my intentions, as borderline friendly as I can physically before I start scaring children and frankly just an all round decent person since I walked through the door.

Let's examine facts, shall we?

First night in the company, I walk out in front of Sin City Wresting and challenge Roxi, just like I’m sure a thousand women before me have done, verbatim. I told her that this fight would happen on my terms and that her time would eventually run out leading to a match that could potentially explode the greater multiverse.

I didn’t threaten. I haven't laid a single hand on her in any form of aggressive manner , I haven’t done anything that would give reason to all the derision and spite that seems to be continually levelled at me.

Cordial and polite, but still ambitious.

Just like every other woman who’s stepped through that door wanting to be the best.

If this is what I have to do, the conditions it’ll take for Roxi to believe even the smallest bit in me- then I’ll happily step through those ropes and kick your teeth across the canvas like they’re ghetto marbles.
From bell to bell and start to end- not only can i be trusted, but I’m out to prove that I am the best fucking tag team partner that she might ever have.
No offense Keira, but it's a known fact.

This isn’t just a flight of fancy between us- the roots run proverbially deep. For years, Roxi and I have been little more than parallels, always in each others peripheral while missing head on collisions but hairs breadths and eyelashes just waiting for the day that our paths have no choice but to converge.
So close, for so long and yet so very far away.
Thing is, after you keep passing by someone for so long the idea of that collision becomes more fantastical, you build this level of expectation about what it’ll amount to- the hype, the pomp and the circumstances eventuating in this wild crescendo.

It's kinda funny by now, I used to get stopped alot at shows and airports and poeple would ask- are you Roxi Johnson, when will you finally face Roxi, who is better between you and Roxi… I’m sure you get the idea by now.
Somehow my identity became an analogue for someone elses career, a name I’d never even faced and a face I’d never attached to a name. Maybe some might read that as jealousy but those same people probably get real pissy over dropping their ice cream- truth was, it fuelled the fire and made me realize that I needed to further prove my worth.
For a couple of years, no matter what I did… the comparison stuck.

Ha, maybe I’d have told Roxi this earlier if she weren’t continually acting like I was out to get her and actually engaged in a real conversation with me.

I learned though and more importantly, I moved on. With every title and every big match, the comparisons became less. With every headline and bloodbath I built a legacy in ultraviolence that could only be admired in small doses you’d want to vomit bile across your shoes.
I grew to be more than just another Roxi Johnson.

Time passed and then this opportunity comes up. Newly minted Carnage world title on one shoulder and that ever present chip so heavy it gives me a limp, on the other. I had an itch i couldn’t quite reach, cause accomplishment is nice and all but theres always more out there…
SCW came into the picture, and with it… the coincidence that a ghost of Christmas past came with it.

You gotta figure- why wouldn’t I call out someone who’d been little more than a face on my social media, a name mumbled in my ear, a reflection of the woman staring back at me from the bathroom but in flesh and blood.
Why wouldn’t I step up and step forth to put this chapter to final rest, to do it on terms that prove I was always more than  Roxi Johnson rip off. A clone. A failed mimic of something far less original.

When it comes down to it- Roxi, Twisted Sister, Iron Maiden. I’m a fucking professional first, and a myriad of terrible connotations and curse words after that… I handle my business, win or lose. Step in that ring with me and I promise you won’t emerge the same- it ain’t some shitty cliche, just me waxing poetic again.

So let's just cut through all the crap before we get up to our necks in something less than savory.

What this match is, is a forgone conclusion. Inevitability at it's brilliant best.
I mean, you both could barely bring down Roxi in a two on one after she’d had a match… My poor dead grandmother, bless her everlasting soul, would have a better chance of making more of an impact and she’s been in the ground over a fucking decade.
Roxi is one of the best, everyones said it and I’ll add my shitty fucking voice to that chorus- and if I wanted to be a piece of shit, i could just leave her to fend for herself and I’d not even be concerned cause it wouldn’t be a matter of ‘if’ but ‘when’ she puts you both away.

She’s not alone though.

Whether she likes it or not, whether she believes it or not and whether she’s truly as willing to play professional as she claims or not- she’s got me.
Distorted Angel. Painted Hurricane. Carnage World Champion. I’ve got names out the fucking wazoo… but all you need to know is I’m what you get when Roxi Johnson truly embraces who she is, and Roxi is just Amber Ryan with a conscience and ethical framework.

Determined. Deadly. Two sides of a coin one doesn’t like to admit even exists.

Climax Control beckons and I gave Roxi my word, and realistically it's all I have to give that means anything, I told her that from bell to bloody bell… She could trust me.
Now I give my word to the both of you that, should you even manage to walk out under your own power, should you be gifted one last chance to disappear… to take it, grab ahold of it and grip as tightly as you can cause if you so much as step into my crosshairs again, you’ll wish I ended you five times over.

Do you hear that?

Opportunity comes calling once more, but this time it isn’t your doorstep that she darkens with her presence. It isn’t you that she lingers for- and after all…

Who the fuck am I to keep her waiting?”