[Callista]

(Point the first, I could be facedown on said concrete, attempting to confess my sins in the believe that the sidewalk was a very scrapey confessional and I'd still be the soberest female member of Countdown, and point the second, what's unusual about you and Gemma double-teaming someone is that Emily didn't pay you each a fiver for the privilege)

[Rowan Chance]

Back in the production truck, the director cuts from A to B and C. A is the hard camera, focused on the ring. B is the guy at ringside. It's what C is doing that's got the director pissed off.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he's shouting at C.

Because C is on the ramp, his camera focused on me. His shot looks like the end of a romantic tragedy: the heroine holding the fallen hero in her arms. Not exactly the kind of shot you want on a wrestling show. At least, that's what the director is thinking right now.

But then, something... changes. The director looks at C's shot. His eyes go wide.

"Holy shit," he says. Then, he hits the controller on the shoulder. "Go to C."

The controller asks, "Are you high? Nothing's going on..." but then he sees it, too.

"Holy shit," he says, echoing what the director said a moment ago.

"Go to C," the controller says and he flips the switch. Now, everyone who's watching sees it, too.



LvK: The devastation in the ring is just brutal, folks. The courage Emily is showing here is something to be remembered, win or lose.
RP: Fuck me.

LvK: What did you just say?
RP: Look at the monitor.

LvK: Are you drunk? I don't...
RP: LOOK AT THE FRIGGIN' MONITOR.


___


My eyes lift from Tantalus and shift down to the ring. Something dark and terrible rips at my insides, screaming to get out. Something I thought I put away a long time ago. I can feel it behind my eyes. It's been chained for so long. Hungry for so long. I see the camera peering at me. I look into it just once.

Just once. The man takes a step back. He's right to do that.

I can't let it out. I can't. But I can feel its rage. I let it flow through me. I use it. I don't let it out of the cage, but I embrace its fury. It's too dangerous to let out. Too dangerous...

I don't walk down the ramp. I prowl. My limbs are like a panther's limbs. It's hunger burns in my blood.

I reach the ring apron and pull myself up. Three women are there. I see Emily, struggling to get back up. I see Gemma, doing the same. And then, there's Punky.

No, not "Punky." Megan.

She pulls Emily up and I slam my shoulder into Megan's back, throwing them both into our corner.

Then, I leap over the top rope, slap Emily's limp shoulder and leap back over the top rope.

Megan is there -- right there. Our eyes meet. Our faces close enough for a kiss.

And so I give it to her. Hard and brutal. And with her head in my hands, my legs split, my body falling down, my back arching, holding her head as I go, pulling down on her neck, snapping it down with me as I go. Megan bends down with me, then her neck snaps back, and she falls back-first to the mat.

Gemma sees that and I can see the thoughts running through her head. "How the fuck did she do that?"

I smile at her. "You're next, doll," I say.


LvK: An amazing move!
RP: I love when these two get in the ring. It's like wrestling plus lesbian porn.



She rushes at me. I roll forward and then slide to the left, one leg catching hers, sending her down to the mat.

But Gemma anticipates that move, rolling forward herself, using that momentum to slam a kick into Emily's chest while she leans against our corner. Emily crumbles into that corner and Gemma spins around. "You're good, baby," she says, "But there's always someone better."

My legs slide me back to a standing position while my hands rise above me, pulling on invisible handles. The crowd goes nuts. It's my version of the Shawn Michaels "kip up."

It's the signal that "shit just got real."

Gemma rushes in and swings a powerful shot straight to my jaw. The crowd "Boos!"

My face slams to the side, sweat flying. I throw a punch back, slamming into Gemma's cheek. The crowd cheers.

Another fist to my face.

Another fist to hers.

"Boo!"

"Yay!"

"Boo!"

"Yay!"

The crowd may love it, but brawling has never been my strongest skill. One blow stuns me hard, and I stumble back. I throw a blind punch and she ducks, catching me around the waist from behind, throwing me up and over her shoulder, slamming my shoulders and back to the mat.


RP: Looks like your girlfriend's come back got cut short.
LvK: It wouldn't even help if I ignored you, would it?
RP: Nope.

LvK: Rowan is still on the mat...
RP: ... and Gemma is signaling for the Roxslide!

LvK: Rowan's starting to move...
RP: ... but it's too late!


I'm crawling up to my knees. I don't know where Gemma is, but being down is never a good place to be. I hear the crowd chanting. Something's about to happen. I can't stop it. All I can do is...

... I feel Mjolnir slam against my chin, knocking my head up and over my ass, landing hard on my neck and shoulders. Everything goes white.

I feel someone rolling me onto my back, lifting my leg. I feel the ref's hand slam down next to my shoulder.

"One..."

"Two..."


LvK: She kicked out!
RP: That was a three! That was a friggin' three!

LvK: The ref is saying it was close..
RP: It was more than close, van Keel! That was THREE!


I feel her lift my body up, my head only now coming back to this world from the other. She lifts me up in a gutwrench... and I SLAM down, my back WRENCHED against her leg. Old pains I thought had gone to sleep... they wake up and scream at me, "We're baaaack!"


LvK: It's Gemma's Hellbound! An amazing mod on her own move!
RP: This is gonna break Rowan Chance in half! After all her back injuries, there's no way she's escaping this move.



She pushes down on my knee and my chin, pushing my back further against her knee. It would be easy to give in here... save my back... all those old injuries, never quite healed...

... no. No. I remember Tantalus on the top of the ramp. These women... these damn women...

I lift the leg she isn't holding down with her hand and put my shin under her neck. Then, I reach up and grab her hair, pulling her face down toward me, my back screaming as I do...


LvK: OH MY GOD! IT'S THE WIDOW'S WEB! THE WIDOW'S WEB!
RP: How the Hell does she do that? She's putting on a submission hold while she's in a submission hold!

I pull down, watching Gemma's eyes widen, my shin against her throat. And the further she pushes against me, the harder my leg pushes against her larynx.

The ref doesn't know what to do. He's asking both of us, asking if either of us wants to quit.

"NO!" I shout at him.

She wants to shout, but I'm cutting off her air, crushing her throat.

I see her eyes starting to fade. I feel her grip on me fading, too. But my back is breaking...

I scream out loud, pain rushing through me. Pain I can't take... Pain I can't... going dark... going...


LvK: Gemma's let go of the hold!
RP: And Rowan can't keep hold of hers!

LvK: Both women fall to the mat, Rowan is grasping at her back. Gemma grasping her throat.
RP: Not a good sign, van Keel. Not a good sign.

LvK: The ref is counting both women... he's up to five!
RP: This match can't end this way! It can't!

LvK: Up to seven... Rowan pulling herself up.
RP: Come on, Gemma! Get up!

LvK: Aren't you supposed to be neutral?
RP: If you aren't, I won't, either!

LvK: Rowan is on her feet! Gemma is on the ropes, pulling herself up.
RP: Look out, Gemma! Look out!

[The Second City Wrestlerette]

I've spent my time in my dressing room after the loss to Callista. Obviously, I've had happier times in my life. I'm angry, disappointed...and all the ice-packs I used only helped to numb the pain a bit. Still feeling that little bump on the back of my head after being hammered with that damn mag-lite. After taking a shower, I've decided to get the hell outta here. There's nothing left for me to do, and to leave while the show's still on is probably the safest way to evade these nosy reporters who want to know what it feels like to lose your debut match!

In a light denim pair of jeans, torn at the knees and across the back of my right thigh. My Chucks thud softly over the floor as I close the zipper of my gray Chicago Blackhawks hoodie over my black t-shirt and pull the hood over my head. Sports bag swung over my right shoulder as I make my way out of my dressing room and towards the parking lot. I didn't even have the TV in my room on, but on my way through the back of the arena, I can't help but look at one of the screens that's crowded by workers. I stop and watch, shaking my head and narrowing my eyes at the screen as I see the bloodied body of Lord Tantalus carried onto stage by the Countdown's Gorilla. „Son of a bitch...“ mumbling under my breath.

While watching, some girl stands next to me, a grin all across her pretty face as she proudly pushes her chest out and hooks her thumbs into the sides of these blue panties that peek out over the waistline of her cutoff jeans. That blue looks a LOT like some sorta Superman outfit would. With my face and body pretty much hidden, no one really has a clue who I am, neither does she as she gives my shoulder a smack and speaks with glee „Pretty cool stuff, huh?“ Not answering, just turning my head towards her a bit for a moment before glaring back at the screen. „Not a talker, are ya?“ she huffs before heading off with a happy hop to her step.

My eyes go back to the screen, seeing the carnage. Bodies flying all over the ring...well, mostly Emily's body, actually! And just as Emily seems to get some time and the chance to make the tag...Callista goes up on the apron! „OH WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT cxnt DOING?!“ I hiss, and the guys and girls watching the same screen seem to recognize my voice and turn to look at me. „What ya staring at?!“ I growl before taking off. Dropping my bag at the door to my room, opening the zipper of my hoodie to reveal a blue t-shirt beneath it.

Just before I get out to the stage, I see another screen and...“Wait, wha?“ stopping for a moment, seeing Rowan and Gemma, locked in stalemate in the middle of the ring. Just staring at the screen for a few seconds. Feeling like a fan right now, engrossed in the match...until my mind comes back. I'm not coming for THEM! I'm coming for Quinn, that beanpole from hell! Running again, just pushing past security.

The crowd sees me come through the curtains and rise, a buzz going through the arena as I hop over the downed Tantalus and keep going for the ring.

RP: Ah what the hell is going on now?
LvK: We got another visitor! Is...is that Lisa Starr?
RP: Hey, she can't be here! What does she think she's doing? The ref should ban her from the building!
LvK: And what about Quinn?
RP: She's...looking out for her teammates...
LvK: She better look out for herself now! Starr's coming right at her!

That's right, I am! Quickly circling the ring before she even knows I'm here. Just launching into her like good ol' Jon Moxley would. Just leaping at her chest to chest, firing away on her body and head with wild, windmilling blows. Having her staggering, and soon pressed back against the ring apron as I cover her face and chest with forearms, elbows and fists. Using some Necessary Roughness on the cursing Brit who'd probably just love to have a Shield right now.

RP: Somebody get that br atoff Callista! This isn't right!!
LvK: The crowd thinks it's right. And we're here for entertainment, so...this IS right!

With four girls down in the ring, the ref has an easy job right now, count to ten! But he can't quite focus on that with me being all over Quinn outside the ring. He turns to the ropes, leaning out and yells at both of us to “GET OUTTA HERE!” Shortly after that, Callista finally shoves me off and I stagger back towards the guardrail. She's looking up at the ref, then into the ring with a hint of a panicked “Do something about this!!” look on her face. And as no one really reacts to it, I guess I'll be the one to do so! Running right back in, grabbing for her right wrist, twisting it, extending the arm out at her side before before throwing my free forearm against the shoulder. Then, with a groaning Callista, I walk to the ring post, wrapping that twisted arm around it before PULLING back hard and let that exposed shoulder smack against the cold steel.

RP: This can't be happening!! Why doesn't anybody do anything!! Where's Red? WHERE IS RED?! The Rockie has gone totally nuts! What a sore loser!
LvK: Oh would you stop?! She's evening the odds, that's all!

With Calli holding her sore shoulder, the pain evident on her face I quickly move in again, trapping that arm on her back with a Hammerlock, head under her other arm, mine around her waist, I quickly snap my back back and take her down with a Belly-to-Back Suplex...just with her landing mostly on that trapped arm. With a loud shriek of pain she flops up and rolls on her belly, clutching that poor, poor shoulder on her. The ref has climbed out on the apron, losing sight of everything inside the ring as I stand over Callista. Bending over, forcing her right arm back again and sliding mine under hers. The hand moves up towards her shoulder as I keep that arm locked back in a Chickenwing as my left arm slides across her  neck. Inching that hand closer and closer towards my right one.

LvK: THE RESTRING! Lisa's going to work on Quinn! I don't think I ever heard her scream like that! This Crossface Chickenwing is getting to her. Wow!
RP: The ref has gotta stop this!! She's gonna knock poor Callista out...AND pop that shoulder! This isn't right!

Gritting my teeth as I roll over in the hold. On my side behind Callista as I work the hold. Hearing some screams, gasps, moans of the trapped leader of the Countdown. She's pulling at my arms with her free hand, my legs wrapped around her body, applying a bodyscissor for added fun to this thing! At least...more fun for me!! “LET GO OF HER, STARR!” I hear from right above me as the ref dropped off the apron. Seeing him stand there, I decide to give Quinn another good wrench in the hold, forcing a loud scream out of her that echoes through the arena.

RP: Enough is enough!! Finally the ref steps in! He should be fired for taking so long! Just like Starr should be fired!! Tat lil brat TOTALLY snapped!! She's gotta be punished!! And even I'd take care of dishing out that punishment...if needed.
LvK: Oh come on! Quinn got what was com...wait a moment...punishment? You're not talkin about...
RP: ...just saying.
LvK: You ARE talkin about it...

The ref finally dragged me off the moaning wreck outside the ring that goes by the name “Callista Quinn”. I'm letting him push me back, my arms raised as the crowd cheers for me after watching me take the devilish Brit down and heard her screams. “Get back in the ring” I growl at the ref as I just keep backing up. Stopping once I'm standing at the side of the ring opposite to Callista's. Leaning back against the guard rail, ass resting against it as I place my hands on my hips, watching the match...but always keeping an eye on that dirty Brit at ringside.

[ThePurpleVixen]

I rolled to the apron and let Gemma snag a tag after Rowan's little kiss.  I think the little bitch split my lip with that ... fucking ... kissing jawbreaker thing.  I dunno.  Whatever it was, I'm more than happy to take a break and massage my jaw and stretch my back on the apron while Rox asserts herself.  Watching Rowan get ragdolled when Gemma's boots crash into her face with the Roxslide paints a bloody grin on my face.

I'm stretching against the ropes still when Starr comes sprinting down and jacks Calli, and for a moment my eyes narrow - but Calli had a specific plan for Gemma and I for this match, and jumping off the apron to stop a maniac little Phil Brooks fangirl wasn't part of the plan.  Quinn can take care of herself, although I wince a little on her behalf when she hits the ringpost.

But then my eyes are back to Gemma and Rowan, locked together in agony in their mutual submission holds.  Fucking Widow's Web.  Crazy bitch can get that on from anywhere.  Emily is barely up to her knees on her side of the ring by this point after the beating we laid on her, and Gemma is pulling herself up on the ropes on our side of the ring by the hard camera.  Rowan is up with the freakish speed of the obsessed and coming after my emerald-haired partner like the monster in a movie ...

... and the referee is still staring at Quinn and Starr.

I tug one of the heavy brass chains that cross my hips, pulling an ornate pocketwatch from my denim shorts.  I click it open, my dark eyes wide and sparkling, and reveal a handful of capsules, bright and glossy as jelly beans.  One drops into the palm of my glove and I brush my hand over my mouth.  Not even the announcers catch it, with everyone watching Lisa's helpful distraction.

The watch drops back into my pocket as I roll a capsule neatly from my cheek with my pierced tongue and bite down on it, flooding my mouth with the burning sweet taste of the Japanese poison whose brewing I learned from Master Tajiri.  They were difficult lessons - the poisons burned, and were unforgiving to imprecise mixtures, and that man had even weirder tastes than one might suspect by looking at him.  But was it worth it?

Ask the opthamologists around the world who consider me a patron saint.

I slither across the apron and push Gemma aside like a fan pushing Gemma aside to get my autograph, pursing my glossy black lips to give Rowan a kiss of my own, snapping my head forward like a cobra with my punkytails whipping to BLAST her in the face with a mist of bright crimson.

It's hard to hurt Rowan - I know this from long and bitter experience.  She soaks up pain like parched ground drinks the rain.  But the red poison hurts like the kiss of fire.  It hurts like having your face pushed into a barbeque grill.  It hurts like something Jigsaw or Bosch would come up with.

She fights it.  I can see her fighting it, and her hands tremble as she fights to resist clutching at her face, staggering back with her nails sinking into her palms.  But her eyes can't stop streaming, and she can't keep them open.  All that fury, all that will, and she can't stop the way her throat closes or her nose sears.  I grin and spit a crimson gob through my forked fingers at her.

My grandma taught me that's how you get rid of demons.

Gemma staggers to the corner, still clutching at her throat, and I tag her shoulder as the referee turns around, a loud smack that draws his attention.  I vault the ropes and run straight for Rowan, catching her by the wrist and twisting us around in a do-si-do, sending her hurtling to the corner where she crashes that aching back into the turnbuckles, making her arch deliciously.  Before the official can get too good of a look at her, I go sprinting in and TWIST from the hip, throwing my right leg up high and straight as a lance, launching the heel of my Doc square between her eyes with a running Yakuza kick that hits with a *CRACK*.

After I hit, I wrap my right leg around the top rope, clutching it with my left hand and leaning forward over the rope, smirking and pointing back at Chance as she crumples bonelessly to the mat.

"YOU SEE THAT?" I grin maniacally at the camera, crowing with glee.  "Busted her the FUCK open!"

LvK: Now hold on a damn minute!

RP: What NOW, van Keel?

LvK: Rowan Chance's face was soaked in crimson BEFORE she hit the corner!

RP: Well, it's obvious, isn't it?

LvK: ... WHAT is obvious?

RP: Punky's Monster Queen-style Yakuza kick hit so hard that Rowan was busted open CHRONOLOGICALLY.  It was so brutal that Chance started bleeding BACKWARDS IN TIME.

LvK: GOD, I hate you.

I move quickly back Rowan, nestling a hand in her hair and one in the back of her tights, yanking her into a curve as I drop a pair of quick, driving knees into her back before dragging her up.  She snarls and goes for me like a mad dog, blinded and burning as she is, and catches my throat in both hands.

Strangling me.  Murderously fucking strangling me, she bulls me back to the corner, snarling to herself in tongues.

Do I fight back, fire with fire, gouging her eye, jabbing her throat?

A nice girl like me?

I hold up my hands, innocent ingenue that I am, and the referee is forced to get between me and the competitor who has clearly been driven mad by the taste of her own blood.

RP: Thank GOD the referee is finally taking this match into hand!

LvK: THIS IS RIDICULOUS!  We SAW the playback!  Punky BLASTED Rowan in the face with that ... that toxic MIST of hers and then almost kicked her head off her shoulders and now she's playing innocent!

RP: Are you saying Chance should be ALLOWED to strangle her in the ring, van Keel?

LvK: Well, of ... of course not ...

RP: Damn right.  Rules are rules.

And the referee regretfully peels Rowan's hands off my throat, letting me get a chance to massage it with my left hand.  He forces her back, and she is just FROTHING to get at me for some reason.  I suddenly take his lapels, turn him around and pull him close, gasping, seemingly barely able to get a breath.

While he's distracted, Gemma slips into the ring and jumps up behind Rowan, wrapping her hands under her chin and planting her folded knees into the center of her back, dropping down to arch the Black Widow over the Roxstar in a brutal Backstabber.  Or so people claim, anyway.  *I* didn't see a thing, since I was only concerned for my health.

LvK: GIVE ME A DAMN BREAK!

RP: Rules are made to be broken.  And so is Rowan's back.

G-Force neatly rolls back to the apron as the referee assures me that I'll live - and sure enough, I feel much better.  Rowan seems to have collapsed but before he can get too much of a chance to investigate I'm on her, pulling her up by the hair and dragging her to the corner again, where I hammer her head against the top buckle a few times - a little out of rhythm to make sure the audience doesn't fucking count along like this is Sesame Street - before I give her a shove into the buckles and then back off a few quick paces and RACE forward, bringing my knees up to cannonball splash into her back with my running GHOST TRAIN in the corner.

Her scream is PIERCING, sweet as a falling angel.

That back must hurt.

I decide to finish it.  Layne's probably still down, Starr's not gonna be able to do anything else without costing her lame new friends the match, and I'm pretty sure I can break the Widow once and for all right fucking now.

I drag her crippled ass to the middle of the ring, twisting her to face me, and I lean close, bloody lips kissing her poisoned ones fleetingly, my body brushing hers with a warm silky sweetness that makes the world fade away for a moment before I jam my knee into her belly, folding her up. I underhook her arms behind her back and snarl, FLEXING both arms to muscle her up and lay her spine over my right shoulder, her agonized crimson face up at the lights and her boots hanging behind me.

RP: THE DOLLBREAKER!  PUNKY'S GOT THE DOLLBREAKER!

LvK: Oh, sweet lord!  She might break Rowan Chance in HALF!  Someone has to stop this!  STOP THIS MATCH, DAMN IT ALL!

But even as I start to hook her up and hang her in the unique torture of my submission hold, I can feel her weight shifting. Even blind and battered and broken, Rowan Chance is as sly as a fucking serpent.  She kicks both legs lithely and rolls her hips, breaking my balance and dropping heavily to her boots, staggering on the mat!

LvK: YES!  SHE ESCAPES!

RP: SHOW SOME FUCKING PROFESSIONALISM!

I stagger myself, my equilibrium thrown off by her sudden roll, and she HAMMERS me with a European uppercut, sending me back to the ropes.  I pride myself on being able to outpunch the Black Widow and almost anyone else I go toe to toe with, but that chick can still hit. Her elbow catches my jaw with a sweet smack and I shake my head to clear it as Chance goes to her corner in a miraculous rush for salvation in the form of Emily Layne.

Of course, that's the funny thing about salvation.

We see through a glass darkly, yeah?

[Callista]

The problem with Pearl Harbouring as a strategy is that it tends to madden the recipients to the point where they go nuclear. Pushing myself up off of the ground, I take a deep breath, trying to recover my bearings. While I'm not sure that kicking I just got was Lisa going nuclear, she definitely worked me over good.

Pulling my head up to the level of the ring, I took a quick look at the situation, Megan and Rowan in the ring, Gemma and Emily in their corners, Lisa on the opposite side of the ring near the announce table. Slumping back down, selling being hurt worse than I was, (albeit not by a great deal,) I lie there for a moment before lifting the ring apron up and rolling under it. I roll over a few more times, scooting around the centre post, before reaching the opposite side.

This had to be done carefully. I lay the side of my head against the concrete, getting my face close to the apron, lifting it a few inches off of the ground, and spotting a pair of revolting American sneakers underneath. Deciding that this must be Lisa as both fans and homeless people would have security hauling them off, I scoot myself into position, knowing I'll only get the one shot at this.

After lifting the apron once more, I reach under it, grabbing hold of two slim ankles, I pulled hard on the both of them. “WHAT THE FUCK?” I heard from outside the ring, followed by a crashing sound.

LvK: OH MY GOD!
RP: JESUS! Lisa Starr just fell over her own feet and conked the back of her head on our announce table! How clumsy can you get?

I rolled out from under the ring, getting quickly in a crouch and reaching for Lisa when I saw that she was lying motionless on the ground, a tiny trickle of blood from the back of her head staining blue hair red. “It was that damned Callista,” I heard Louis saying, exasperation evident in his voice.

“Well that worked,” I said softly to myself, a Cheshire grin poking onto my face. A bit of good fortune is always welcome, after all. Climbing up to my feet, I turned to look back to the ring, seeing a bloodied Rowan lunging for her corner.

[Emily Layne]

Damn Callista!

I finally had escape the brutal two on one beatdown when she showed up at my corner.
That still made me wonder.
"where the hell was Rowan?"
I tried to have some kind of hints from the commentary and realized that she ran to the curtain where Lord was dragged half out cold.

Still, why did she leave me alone?
Where are gone all the good assumptions we settled last week?
Where are gone all the sweet words for each our during the last few days?

We wanted to be a team, a real tag team, working together to kick the bad girls asses and make the REAL wrestling triumph!
It seems that it worked only in the beginning of the match.

At the first chance, Rowan left me alone in the ring, she had better priority it seems.

And now?

Now she stole the tag after that German suplex and shoved me and Punky toward the corner,our corner.

I slowly get on my knees, tryin to recover as much strength and energies I can after all that series of double moves that Gemma and Megan performed on me.
My back hurts, my neck hurts, my head hurts,my belly hurts.
Is there any part of my body that doesn't hurt?

I don't follow the action anymore, inside and outside the ring now as Lisa attacked Calli after her sweet interference to help me out and offering me the tag.

My mind is filled with many thoughts, this tag team failed before it started, and we must admit this.

Rowan wants to do her way, Rowan can't be a real tag team partner, not for me, we are too different.
Plain and simple.
We won't success, we won't move forward, we won't make progresses.

She is the Black Widow, I am Emily Layne, we have the same enemies but we won't work together, it will fail, we just need to deal with it.

As soon as she moves to me,with her hand extended, I step back.

"we are done Rowan, we failed, things can't go on this way" , I simply say and jump off the apron ring,leaving her in the ring alone, just like she did some moments ago.

LVK: WHY?..WHAT?..BUT..BUT..EMILY IS LEAVING THE RING! OH MY GOODNESS NO! THIS IS WRONG!

RP: Larry, chill, that was going to happen, they finally recognized where the strength of FTW is!
They're not The Countdown! No one can be like them!

The crowd is shocked too, they don't know if they have to boo me or what, they're just in silent, still not believing on what is happening there.
I just walk away toward the ramp.

[Callista]

Incredibly, I see Emily jump back off of the apron just like I did earlier. Only difference is that Emily actually IS Rowan's partner. Well, was, I suppose. After a moment's consideration, I realize that this doesn't change the plan. If anything, it makes it MORE necessary, to make sure the spotlight's where it needs to be. It does, however, make execution of that plan rather easier.

I give Lisa a sharp kick in the temple, causing her head to snap to the side and her body to jerk a bit, as much because I've decided I really don't like the little bitch as to make sure she stays unconscious. That done, I start making my way up the ramp, taking a quick look back towards the ring.

The referee is busy trying to keep Gemma from entering the ring and double-teaming Rowan, so that means I'm free and clear. I run up the left side of the ramp before turning to my right, ducking my shoulder low to catch Emily right in the small of the back and sending us crashing off of the ramp down to the floor.

LVK: OH MY GOD! THEY FELL OFF OF THAT RAMP!
RP: THAT MUST BE AN 8 FOOT, NO, 10 FOOT DROP!

We fell the three or four feet, landing roughly on the floor, Emily getting the worst of it underneath me. Pushing forward to seat myself on her lower back, I grabbed hold of her hair with my right hand, pulling it backwards and arching her head upwards as she struggled to try to push herself up off of the floor, before swinging my left arm around, crashing my left forearm into her in a crossface blow.

On the floor where we were, a large bank of seats and fans all standing up out of them blocked the view between us and the ring, so I didn't have to worry about the ref. The pain in my right arm, tugging on Emily's hair, made me wince, but it also pissed me off. I swung my left arm again, again hitting the Italian girl across the face, then again, and again, and again.

My teeth clenched of their own accord, and a guttural growl began to emerge from my throat. My eyes went wide as I struck at her. Eventually, the aching muscles in my right arm gave out and I let go of her hair. But I didn't stop swinging, instead I just slammed my forearm into the back of her head instead, a feral noise somewhere between a snarl and a scream exiting my mouth as I did.

My rage hit a fever pitch and I stood up, shouted at the faces of the fans nearest, some with expressions of anger, some looking at me in fear and shock, others looking away from me towards the ring, and then reached down, grabbing hold of both of Emily's wrists and lifting upwards. I hauled her upper body as high up off of the ground as I could, arching her backwards, and jumped, bringing my knees up towards my chest before sending both of them back down, my boots pressing against Emily's shoulder-blades, driving her face down into the unpadded concrete of the floor.

[Rowan Chance]

I extend my hand and Emily jumps from the apron.

"We are done, Rowan," she says.

My whole body freezes, my eyes are wide. And I realize what she's done.

She's left me in the ring with Gemma and Punky. Alone.

Alone.

I feel a sharp pain in my back and I stumble forward, catching myself on the corner. Then, another. Another. My knees tremble. It's Gemma, throwing elbows into my spine over and over again. I buckle down to my knees. I see Gemma walking away. I try to say something, but then another blow to my spine shuts my mouth up.

On my knees now, my face in the corner, my chin on a turnbuckle. Again and again, strikes to my back. I try to grab a rope to hang on, but I can't even get a grip. I think I hear the referee trying to pull Gemma off me, but all I hear is the thunder of pain. It rings through my head so loud, even my teeth ache.

"Old wounds never heal," Tantalus once told me. "They just show up like unwanted relatives when you are least ready to put them up."

He's up on the stage now. Lying helpless and bloody. I can't...

Another blow. This one, I feel something snap inside of me. A rib, maybe. If I'm lucky. I collapse to the mat, sliding down the turnbuckles, flat on my belly, my arms lying limply off the apron corners.

I hear laughter above me. Then, I hear someone say, "She's finished." I don't know if its Gemma or the ref. If its the ref, all of this is over. If it's Gemma... then there's no stopping it.

I feel cruel hands lifting me from the corner, pulling me to my feet by my hair, and I get my answer.

Gemma smiles in my face. "Time to stomp the little spider," she says. "But first, we're going to pull your eight little legs off. One. By. One."

I try to throw a punch at her, but she pulls back my hair and I fall back, my lower back hitting the hard bone of her knee. I try not to scream. I don't want to give her the satisfaction. It echoes all around the ring anyway. I drop from her knee to my belly again. I try to push myself up, by my legs won't respond. My arms do their best, but all I can do is lift myself an inch off the apron before I collapse back down.

The crowd has gone from heavy boos to near silence. All I hear is Gemma's laughter.

"Pin her already!" the ref shouts at Gemma.

Gemma laughs again. "No," she says. "That isn't my privilege. That's been given to someone else."

I can't lift my face from the mat, but I hear the slap of two hands together.

Goddess, no. Not her. Not now.

I feel hands that have given me so much pleasure... they gently grab me by my black tank top and lift me to my knees. Then, they go under my chin and lift it, my eyes looking up through my sweaty hair.

I see Megan. Her Punky persona in full form. A purple punk rock purple Harley Quinn, just as beautiful and merciless. Mister Jay would dump Harley in a second for her.

"Time's up, Rowan," she says. The red she sprayed into my eyes is still on her lips. She pulls me up by the straps of my tank top. One of them breaks in her hand.

I'm barely able to stand, so Gemma helps me. She's laughing behind me.

I can't do anything. I can't protect myself. I can't see straight. I feel a broken rib moving inside me. I just look at Punky through damp hair.

All the while, I never stop looking at her. Never stop the link between our eyes. And, for a moment, I see something change.

Just for a moment.

"I have to," she says. "To break the spell you have on me. I can't let anyone get to me the way you do."

My lips shudder a moment before they move. "I want you to do it," I tell her.

She looks at me, confused.

I tell her, "Because it will do the same for me."

I see Punky's brow furl. Her eyes fill with anger. She looks at Gemma. "Lift her up," she says.

Gemma does. I feel my body lift up. My legs go over her shoulders, my body hanging limply in the air.

Punky shouts, "STROKE OF MIDNIGHT!"



And I feel her jump into the air as she arcs me down... down... down...


... I feel Gemma grab my neck. I feel her knees fit neatly into my back....


... then, I feel the impact shatter everything inside me.



My body arches so hard and so far, the backs of my hands hit the mat. My breasts push against my black tank top, one strap torn away.

My neck snaps back, then forward, throwing my hair up and down.

My legs tighten around Megan's neck for just a moment, then fall limp around her.

My body snaps like a rubber band and I fall forward into Megan's arms, the side of my face falling against her breast, my left arm thrown over the other, the right arm falling at my side.

Then, my limp, lifeless body slides off Megan, sliding down to the mat, falling into a motionless pile of sweat and pain and defeat.

At Punky and Gemma's feet, my once strong, proud body lies still. Nothing remains. No strength. No pride. No will to carry on. All shattered with the bones in my back.



Beaten...



Defeated...



Broken.

[ThePurpleVixen]

For a long few moments after we hit the Stroke of Midnight, I'm just standing over Rowan, looking down at her.  Something in the way she's laying, twisted and broken and lost in her own hurt ... it reminds me of a painting I've seen somewhere.

Ah, of course.  "Despair", by Maren Jeskanen.  Beautiful piece.

But Rowan is even more lovely than that.

The noise of the crowd, of the referee almost pleading hoarsely for me to end it, of the announcers shouting loud enough to be heard over the fury of the crowd ... it all tunes slowly back in to become a cacophony.

Gemma finally brings me back, caressing my cheek.

"Pin her, love.  She's done."  The Chelsea girl nudges the broken Rowan with one heavy boot.  "We broke her."

I nod slowly, my dark eyes back on my sweet portrait of despair, and lift my own heavy Doc Marten, firmly planting it on Rowan's exquisite breasts. I draw the other pocketwatch from my pocket - the one without the poison capsules, and check it, letting it dangle open-faced from one hand.

"It's time."
 
The referee bites his tongue, knowing that anything he says now will only lead to more pain, and drops, delivering the swiftest 3-count he can legally get away with.

LvK: I ... can't even muster any more outrage at this point.  This is insane.

RP: Rowan Chance and Emily Layne wanted to show the Countdown what they stood for, van Keel.  They asked for this.

LvK: DID they, Rick? Did Rowan Chance ASK to have her mentor beaten, to have her damn BONES broken?  Did Emily Layne ASK to be left alone and MUGGED?  Did Lisa Starr ask to ... oh, my sweet Lord, what are they doing.

RP: *uncorking sound followed by the sound of contemplative sip* Showing us what time it is.  Have some of this, van Keel.

LvK: *flatly* The label is just three X's.

RP: Got it from the Briscoes.

LvK: *sound of drinking*

I stand there with my foot on Rowan's chest, my fist on my hip and the pocketwatch dangling from my gloved hand.  Gemma rolls out and retrieves the bloodied Lisa Starr, sliding her limp body into the ring and dropping a knee across her head for good measure that leaves the Rockie twitching.  Callista Quinn comes out of the shadows of the crowd, dragging Emily Layne behind her by one hand, blood running fresh and hot down Layne's face.  Quinn rolls her into the ring as well, and stands facing the hard camera, a boot planted on either side of the fallen Italian.  I stand on her left, boot propped on Rowan, and Gemma on her right, the heel of her tall boot pressed to Lisa Starr's forehead.

Calli signals imperiously and Red Enforcer comes down to the ring, rolling in to stand behind us.  I turn my head to watch him come, and narrow my eyes at the little flash of blonde and red behind the curtain.  The big gorilla has secrets, does he?

Well.  I guess we all do.

I look down at the broken wreckage of Rowan Chance, and realize there was no other way for this to go.  She couldn't be allowed to get in my head like that.  It's the forbidden zone in there.

There's no final rallying speech from Calli, no threats from me or Gemma.  The lights go down except for the blue and gray lights playing over the bodies that we've claimed in our ring.

The screens light up with the antique pocketwatch.

And the only sound is tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick.

Tempus fugit.

*static*

Thank you for ordering this special iPPV presentation of FTW: First Strike, brought to you by Highspots.com!  Be sure to join us soon for FTW: Victory or Death!

[RedEnforcer]

(Wow..that's an amazing read! Well done everyone!)

[Ewa S]

Beautiful read, thanks for all the amazing minds who took their time to do this. You're all so amazingly talented <3