Post by bennett on Dec 5, 2021 21:14:34 GMT -5
Wings Off Flies
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It's midday in the swamp, and Billy Bennett is still sleeping off the lingering effects of last night's festivities here at the family compound. Making it so far in the Purge - especially for a rookie like herself - was enough reason for Bo to throw his little sister a welcome home celebration, with the entire clan and their countless underlings present.
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It's midday in the swamp, and Billy Bennett is still sleeping off the lingering effects of last night's festivities here at the family compound. Making it so far in the Purge - especially for a rookie like herself - was enough reason for Bo to throw his little sister a welcome home celebration, with the entire clan and their countless underlings present.
Drinking, smoking, snorting, along with all kinds of lascivious and illegal activities that wouldn't fly in any place even remotely close to anything called 'civilization'; a proper party. It went on late into the night, the shouting and dancing bleeding into the morning hours before even the most fervent partiers finally slunk away to get a bit of rest.
Predictably, Billy herself was among the last to call it quits; only retreating back to her rundown old shack - well removed from the main residence Bo and the rest of her brothers stayed in - to crash once it became obvious that everybody else had already thrown in the towel.
And now, her body rests; but her mind remains alive with memories which play out in the dark, disturbed recesses of her drug-addled mind.
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A boat traveling down a murky river; its engine turned off, it moves slowly with what passes for a current. Three people are on board; a much younger Billy Bennett, her eldest brother Bo, and an older man. Tall and wide, he sports a graying goatee and long hair.
Bray Bennett. The former head of the family, and father to the children who have taken up his legacy after death.
Voices travel over the water, echoing through the dreamscape; barely heard through the haze of years which have past since the day in question. A fog hangs heavy, as Bray stands and points accusingly at his oldest son.
"Don't lie to me, boy! I know ya been makin' moves behind my back; talkin' to the Crowders up in Kentucky, tryin' to stick your fingers where they don't belong!"
Bo's response isn't heard in the dream; it's been so long, Billy likely can't remember the specific words past a certain point... but the actions have stuck in her mind, as clear as they were on the day itself.
Suddenly, a scuffle between the patriarch and his son, as Billy watches on from the back of the boat in stunned silence; a look of pure shock, perhaps even a bit of terror, on her face.
A gun is pulled from the holster around Bray's shoulder; an old Colt SAA, a family heirloom which bears a customized handle displaying the state flag of Florida. But his son is too quick, and before the trigger can be fully depressed the weapon is knocked out of the old man's hand.
It falls right at Billy's feet, as her eyes travel down to stare at the weapon. She appears to be in a trance, as though she can't believe the events transpiring directly in front of her. Or maybe she’s just too scared to move; a far cry from the Billy Bennett that most people are familiar with. She’s TREMBLING… and not with her usual manic energy.
A shout from her father seems to snap her awake, eyes moving back up towards her two family members; they grapple with each other at the head of the boat, bodies intertwined as they throw punches and elbows... trying desperately to claw and strangle in an effort to gain the upper hand.
"Goddamnit Billy, grab the gun ya stupid girl!"
Not moving from her spot, she looks back down at the firearm. All she has to do is reach down and take it...
As the shouts and struggling continue, Billy remains frozen to the spot, watching helplessly as her father finally overpowers Bo and begins to hammer down on his face with one fist. His son temporarily disabled, Bray steps back towards Billy's position; obviously looking to grab that gun and finish the job himself.
Only now, the weapon is in the hands of his daughter. She doesn't even remember picking it up, like it was some part of her subconscious that reached down to grasp the old Colt revolver.
"Give it here, ya brat!"
And as her father reaches out to grab it out of her hand, she lifts the barrel of the weapon with one shaking, unsteady hand... and fires.
And in a flash, the entire dream shifts seamlessly into something far more recent.
It's cold. It's dark.
It's Whalan, MN.
After the Purge.
The exact moment that the Makarov pistol - once belonging to Michael Bishop - is fired at the owner of Project: Honor, Rock Johnson.
Billy is there, watching with the rest of True Society... but she takes no notice of the spray of blood exiting Rock, or the reactions of her fellow stablemates. No, she's focused on one thing, and one thing alone.
The man holding the gun. Andrew Holt.
She watches his face, the coldness with which he acts. No hesitation, no second-guessing, seemingly no moral quandary or inner turmoil about taking a life.
Her mouth is agape - her twitchy, drugged-out eyes practically sparkling with something between respect and admiration - as she watches him coldly step over Rock Johnson and speak those final words, before leveling the barrel at him for the second shot.
And as the *CRACK* of the pistol firing echoes out into the cold Minnesotan evening one final time, she has no opportunity to savor the sight that last bullet tearing through Rock Johnson; something drags her out of her dream before she can enjoy the aftermath of the vicious, cold-blooded murder a second time.
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The young woman's eyes snap open as she quickly jolts upright, finding herself on a stained mattress which rests diagonally on the bare wooden floor. Rather than looking disturbed about reliving the murder of an innocent man, she has a smile on her face - like she were reminiscing about a beloved childhood memory - as she takes a moment to stretch her arms lazily. She looks almost blissful - even ecstatic - after playing the event back in her head.
A small part of her can't believe she's lucky enough to be collecting a paycheck from Project: Honor. With all the bloody violence she’s partaken in during her brief time with the company, she really ought to be paying them.
Then she hears it: gunshots, from outside the rickety old shack she calls a home. There's a brief moment on confusion on her face, as she scrambles off of the mattress and to her feet. Billy moves to a rickety old end table, grabbing a revolver - the same old Colt Single Action Army from her dream, customized handle and all - before taking a peek outside the window.
Just a couple of the family's goons firing shots into the air. The average whatever-this-day-is out here at the Bennett Compound... all the substance abuse and lack of sleep over the past few days have clearly left her a bit more rattled than usual.
An exhalation of breath that seems to drain the tenseness from her body, as she places the firearm back onto the table before moving towards the shack's door. Opening it with one shove, she steps out into the muggy swamp air. Without so much as a glance in any other direction, she begins to walk towards the edge of the clearing her family's home has been built in... towards the countless cypress trees which lead further into the wilderness.
She stares straight ahead, bursts of light and fractal shapes exploding in the periphery of her vision; lingering effects of the party favors she'd indulged in. She's headed somewhere far away from the rest of the family... she needs to think.
She stares straight ahead, bursts of light and fractal shapes exploding in the periphery of her vision; lingering effects of the party favors she'd indulged in. She's headed somewhere far away from the rest of the family... she needs to think.
====================
As she stomps through the woods towards her destination, her mind wanders. She contemplates recent events, and one thing in particular:
True Society.
She'd done the exact thing she looked down on others for doing; joining up with a crew outside of the family. Running in a pack of strangers had never held much appeal to her; she didn't even like dealing with the Bennett's business partners. Too much could go wrong, relying on those who weren't blood relatives.
But this wasn't about the rest of the group. It wasn't about securing some spot for herself, or some promised title shot, or making a name on the brand.
Her decision was made with one thing in mind.
Freedom.
Freedom to indulge in her own bad habits.
Freedom to let her worst impulses run wild.
Freedom to practice the very thing she was raised to be so good at: violence for its own sake. The sick enjoyment that came from looking deep into the eyes of someone in indescribable pain. The promise that she would allowed to do as she wished - without limits or reprisals from management - was enough to sway her over to the side of True Society. These alone were enough to win her loyalty, the promise of glory or some greater goal held no sway over her mind.
Though she might be loath to admit any motives other than that, there was one additional consideration that played into her decision.
Arik - no, Andrew - Holt. The man who ran the Fallout brand, and seemed to have molded the entire show into a twisted, bloody playground of his own design. Violence, without reason or restraint. No regard for society’s tiresome boundaries, and no respect for the sport of professional wrestling.
It was beautiful. Perfect, even.
He'd created a place where Billy Bennett felt truly at home.
It was a rare feeling for the perpetual outcast, the only daughter of a clan that valued masculinity - and the strength that came with it - above all else. A place she belonged, a place that accepted her for who she was... and a man who saw the potential in her, and wanted to harness that for his own purposes.
It felt good to be valued; even if it were only for her innate ability to inflict pain.
So, when the man approached her alone during the Purge - another admirable choice, as few would have the bravado to try and discuss business with Billy in the midst of such a bloody event - she didn't need to be sweet talked or bargained with.
She said 'yes'; happily, and without a moment's hesitation.
And why wouldn't she? What was the alternative, throw in with a bunch of do-gooders who sought to return some semblance of sanity and lawfulness to Fallout? To hell with that; they ought to run away to that harmless petting zoo called Proving Grounds, if they feel unsafe or scared out in the wild.
Fallout doesn't need weakness or sentimentality; and she's more than willing to help purge every last bit of it from the brand. For her own enjoyment, more than any noble goal or grand philosophy.
Fuck the rest of them; her fellow members of True Society - with their assorted motives for joining the group - weren't her concern. She would do the bidding of Andrew Holt without question.
And in doing so, she would enforce the bloody status quo that Holt had imposed upon the brand. She would defend the territory she had come to see as home.
Just like her daddy taught her to do all those years ago.
====================
Finally, she steps into a small clearing that buzzes with a mass of black flies. At the far end of the clearing, a wooden pen holds a dozen or so swine. at the more immediate edge, a rickety old picnic table made of splintered and rotting wood. Who knows how long it's been there; generations, at least.
Taking no notice of the swarming insects, she moves towards the table and slumps onto the bench; though she's got plenty of experience with the after-effects of her numerous vices, it's obvious that the indulgences of the past few days are weighing heavy on her. Billy’s body aches with every movement, cold sweat clinging to her skin even in the afternoon heat as the countless substances she's consumed of late slowly leach out of her system.
And if she looks like a mess from the outside, it's nothing compared to the chaotic storm in her brain. Jolts of manic, adrenaline-fueled energy come and go without warning, breaking the mundane depressive state of withdrawal for an instant before receding to let her fall into dark thoughts again; made all the worse for the sharp contrast between highs and lows.
Mentally unstable at the very best of times, days of drug use, drinking and partying are only worsening her already fragile mental state. But considering all that, she's doing a commendable job of holding herself together; the only noticeable sign of the madness unfolding in her head are the twitching, wandering eyes and grinding teeth.
The black flies, detecting a fresh meal, begin to coalesce around Billy Bennett... but strangely, none of them land on her for a bite; as though even they find something bizarrely off-putting about the demented swamp dweller. Instead, they simply swarm in the air around her, a cloud of buzzing black things thick enough to provide some shade against the sweltering mid-day sun.
With a blur of movement - and not the slightest change in her blank expression - she snatches one of them out of the air by a single wing
"She loves me..." she says, in an unsettling sing-song tone while tearing one of the wings off the captive fly, placing it carefully on the table as the insect thrashes between her fingers.
"She loves me not..." are the next words spoken, as she removes the second wing on the unfortunate creature; before crushing the body of it in her palm and smearing the remains on the side of her jeans.
A brief chuckle, before she strikes like lightning once again to grab another of the swarming flies out of the air, bringing it close to her face as her dead eyes stare at the struggling insect.
"She loves meeeee..." - another wing torn off, and deposited onto the splintered, decaying wood of the table's surface.
Rather than continue with whatever game she's playing, Billy pauses to watch the black fly squirming around in her pincer grip. Desperate to escape with one wing intact, she stares at it's struggle for what seems like a full minute...
...before slamming it down onto the table with a sudden, echoing scream of frustration and anger.
"I'M FUCKIN' SICK OF IT!"
With that outburst, Billy buries her face in her hands; body soon shaking with wracking, over-the-top sobs. It sounds phony enough; but considering her state of mind - even at the best of times - who can tell?
Regardless, the crying - real or fake - only lasts for a few moments, before it is slowly replaced with a giggling fit that bears more resemblance to a choking animal than any sort of human laughter. This goes on for some time, as Billy moves her hands to firmly grip the edge of the wooden table she's seated at.
Finally, she manages to steady herself; calming down enough to find her voice once more, as she cuts the laughter off with what seems to be a significant amount of effort and focus on her part.
"I've been tryin' here, Jason. Tryin' to get inside your head a li'l bit. Tryin' to understand what goes on in that brain of yours... but goddamn, it sure seems like a mess in there."
She taps the side of her head with an index finger, as if to emphasize her point.
"Yeah, it's been a rough road for the legend Jason Long lately, hasn't it? Stabbed, beaten, depressed, dejected, plus whatever troubles ya been havin' with your woman."
"Well, spare me the fuckin' drama. Ain't ya supposed to be some kind of King or somethin'? King of what?! I been watchin' ya, lookin' for any signs of a man who deserves that title, but all I've been seein' lately is a broken-down, love-sick ol' mutt. Is that really all ya are?!"
"COME ON," she screams suddenly. The shrillness and volume of her voice is even enough to force the swarming flies back a bit, as the shout echoes through the trees around her.
"Did Arik break your spirit that bad, boy? If not, then ya best act with a bit of fuckin' self-respect. It's sickenin'."
As she breathes heavily, Billy's rational mind - if you could even consider any part of her truly 'rational' - seems to exert some control, steadying her voice which had been shaking with barely restrained frustration.
"Y'know, ya oughta thank me, Jason. I mean that. When Arik told me about our upcomin' match, I got to thinkin'. My mind can sorta... run away with itself these days. I pondered the answer to one question: 'how do I make sure the man that steps into the ring with me is the Emperor he used to be, instead of some castrated, domesticated dog?'"
"Well, eventually I settled on the most obvious way to handle it. 'Why, how about I pay his sweetheart a li'l visit?' Just to impress upon him how badly I wanted to face the old Jason Long, not this de-fanged… thing he's been reduced to."
She holds up her palms, as if to calm the man she's addressing; while the devilish smirk on her face seems to hint at the fact that she wants him to be anything but calm after hearing this.
"Now, now, reeeelax. I wasn't plannin' on doin' anything too permanent to poor Savannah... she's been through enough already, just from bein' close to ya. Was just gonna have a friendly chat, followed by me breakin' a few of her more delicate parts. I figured that'd be juuuuust enough to push ya over the edge. Get ya in a proper fightin' mood, ready to take all that aggression out on me and my new 'pals'..." she spits the last word out in an almost derogatory fashion, as though she considered her new allies anything but ‘pals’.
Threatening Jason’s woman is nothing more than blatant provocation on Billy’s part; but it’s not blind or senseless, every word has been calculated to try and piss the man off prior to their match. While it might seem like a bad idea to try and anger one of the most dangerous and skilled wrestlers on the entire Project: Honor roster, she hardly seems worried.
It is, after all, exactly what she hopes to achieve.
"But I thought better of it, in the end. So... y'know... you're welcome, and all that."
Spreading her arms again, she offers a dramatic bow in response to some imagined expression of gratitude.
"Oh. You might be wonderin' why I decided not to go through with it. Well, it's simple, and it sure as hell wasn't mercy on my part. Y'see, I reckon the man in charge has somethin' in mind for that girl; and if the shit he's pulled so far is any indication, whatever Holt does with your woman is gonna be a damn sight more entertainin' than anythin' I could cook up."
She licks her lips and winks.
"Oughta be a lovely thing to behold, really hopin' I get a front row seat to whatever he's plannin' for her. But I gotta wonder, what's it like knowin' ya ain't able to protect the ones ya love? Oh, sure, ya might argue, say that you'd lay down your own life to save hers... but how are ya gonna protect her, when ya can't even protect yourself?"
"Remember, all it took was a little length of blade to knock ya this far down the totem pole. What do ya think me and the rest of ‘em plan on doin' to ya, now that you're layin' defenseless in the dirt? Gonna be a damn sight worse than a couple stab wounds, ya can bet on that."
Getting off her seat on the bench, she climbs on top of the table's wooden surface and lays down on her back; dilated eyes staring blankly up - through the haze of humidity - at the sun high above. Her voice takes on a tone of mock concern, though her words clearly remain designed to provoke her opponent into anger.
"The really sad part is, ya did it all to yourself, boy. Ya got so wrapped up chasin' glory, tryin' to keep your spot at the top, that ya let everythin' else slip away under your feet. Now you're sinkin', and the friends ya thought would help ya out when the goin' got rough? Well, they might offer ya a hand to grab on to... but do ya really think they'll risk lettin' themselves get dragged down with ya?"
Billy clicks her tongue, *TSK TSK*.
"Don't be so naïve, it ain't a good look on ya, kid. I know how people act when they're backed into a corner, forced to make the hard choices to survive... and lemme tell ya, they're gonna leave ya to sink or swim on your own."
"Ain’t nobody gonna help ya. Ya gotta do this yourself."
Clearing her throat, she lowers her voice to whisper conspiratorially.
"I'll let ya in on a li'l secret. Arik and the rest? They think they've already won. That you're just a dead man walkin', goin' through the motions until the reality of your situation finally hits ya. That all y'all on Fallout are nothin’ but a buncha animals that they managed to lock up in a cage; that there ain't no threat, no fight left in any of ya."
That little secret shared, she raises her voice back to its usual obnoxious, boisterous volume.
"And it ain't just True Society who can smell your blood in the water. Jacob Steele, for instance. Ya really think he'd come for your neck if ya were still on top of your game? Naw, the fact is: when the alpha wolf gets wounded and starts limpin' behind the pack, ya gotta expect all the scavengers to come out and get their fill..."
"Well, I sure hope they're all wrong. What fun is there beatin' on a dead horse? It ain't worth my time puttin' down a sick animal; that's just borin'. I need every last one of y'all who want to challenge Arik Holt to put up a decent fight. I want to see ya thrash around as the trap closes in on your neck. I won't lie, there ain't a damn thing any of y'all can do to change your fate. Some things are just inevitable; that's nature.”
Suddenly sitting up, she opens her arms wide and inclines her head back to look up at the sky. She begins to plead, her voice taking on a disturbingly sincere begging tone.
“But pleeeease, won't ya struggle a bit for li’l Billy first?"
"Forget the man ya were, Jason. Forget the man ya are now, friends and all. Cut the dead weight, and become the man ya need to be to survive what's comin'. Everyone is hopin' your best days are behind ya. Don't let 'em win. Not THAT easily, anyway. I mean, I ain't even had my turn with ya yet!"
"Slip the miserable leash that Savannah's got wrapped around your neck, and let the fuckin' legend come back to life!"
An odd pep talk to give an individual who is - by all definitions - an enemy... but a part of Billy wants nothing more than to see the man back at the top of his game. And she's willing to do whatever is necessary to ensure that he puts up a good, sincere effort in the war to come. The way she sees it, he might be the only one capable of challenging True Society's new order; she sure as hell isn't impressed by the clowns that Lil Petey has gathered under the banner of Big Drip Productions.
By this point, her whole body is trembling with manic energy, eyes wide and wild as her chest heaves with each deep, frantic breath. She's practically pouring sweat, a sizeable pool collecting on the surface of the table underneath her.
Then, as if someone pulled the plug, her shaking suddenly stops, and her eyes become heavily lidded once more. She slumps forward ever-so-slightly, resting her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands as she stares ahead with a thoughtful expression on her face.
"Hmmm."
"Maybe I'm wastin' my time. Maybe ya are done, like they all say. Washed-up, when ya should just now be hittin' your prime."
"But for your own sake - and the sake of the ones ya love - ya better hope there’s still a bit of fight left in ya. Because if ya don't take this advice to heart, if ya show up to our match lookin' or actin' like anything but a killer out for blood, well... maybe I'll have to reconsider payin' your girl a visit, after all."
No sooner are those words out of Billy’s mouth, than something seems to snap inside her brain. Her previously meandering, advising tone is replaced by something vicious and unhinged. Composure completely broken, her expression becomes one of fury and disgust; face turning into something resembling an unrestrained savage, out for blood.
"Naw, you know what, fuck playin' nice. I'll do more than tear Miss Sunshine apart, ya nutless coward. If ya ain't up to snuff on the 9th, I'm gonna consider it open season on every one of 'em. Friends, family, lovers, all fair game to me and mine. So please, if ya ever cared about 'em half as much as ya pretend to, ya best come ready to play... or just lay down in a ditch and die, because ya won't be able to live with yourself after I take my disappointment out on all your people."
"That's a promise, li'l man. And us Bennetts keep our word."
Her lips twitch into a smile, baring her teeth as she takes a moment to bask in the thought of what she's going to do if the King's performance in their match isn't up to her standards. But before she moves on from the disgraced Jason Long, she decides to get one last verbal stab in.
"If ya really care for that girl, ya should tell her to go crawlin' back to Arik and beg... he might just be in a forgivin' mood. If she's lucky, maybe he'll make an honest woman outta her; and that's a damn sight more than ya could ever do for the poor girl, ain't it? At least then, she'll be protected from what's comin'."
And then, as if dropping the entire subject from her mind, her face becomes expressionless once more; moving smoothly to the next topic at hand. The fury that was previously flowing out of her disappears in an instant.
"Now, on to someone a bit more... interestin'."
She shuts her eyes tightly, hot breath pouring out her mouth along with one single word:
"Sawyer."
Chuckling briefly, her eyes snap open once again as she continues to ramble on.
"A man who came into this company without fanfare, without applause, without flash, without any of the tired ol' bullshit most of these people rely on to make a name for themselves. Walkin' into the Purge as an unknown element to all but a few, and proving himself with actions instead of empty words."
"I appreciate a serious man, one who doesn't waste their breath talkin' trash. Focused. A proper hunter among all these overblown braggarts. About damn time, if ya ask me."
"Now, I ain't gonna minimize what he did in takin' out Havoc... some might blame that spot of fan interference, but I ain't about to write it off like that. That's just the way things go in the real world, and bein' ready to capitalize on a split-second of weakness like that... well, that's what separates the professionals from the hobbyists. That's enough for him to get noticed, at least by me..."
"Whatever feelings I might have about the rest of True Society, that Havoc fella ain't no joke. The man is a monster right outta some cheesy fuckin' horror movie; to take him down, no matter how it was done, is an accomplishment."
"One problem, buddy. Bein' top dog at Kingdom Pro like ya keep mentionin’.. it ain't soundin’ as impressive as ya might think, and talkin' about mountin' the heads of the Killjoy Club on your wall don’t scare nobody 'round here. Oh sure, Graham Baker is a big, tough sumbitch.. and Lazarus seems even more ruthless than yours truly..."
"But the rest? Nothin' to write home about. I already fought that girl who was 'Atlantic Champion' over there, and ol' Syndicate and I beat her like the weak li’l brat she is. If that worthless runaway can hold a belt in the Kingdom, then I doubt anythin’ ya done over there is worth puttin' on your resume."
"So ya gotta forgive me if I don't think tearin' through that collection of misfit toys is all that you’re tryin' to make it seem. But hey, everybody's gotta start somewhere, right? Ya cut your teeth on a bunch of edgy kids playin' at bein' dangerous, and now ya done graduated to the big leagues! Congratulations!"
"You’re back stateside now, and ya ain't fightin' no pack of bullies outta some bootleg after-school special. Some of the best in the world are right here in Project: Honor, and Arik's people already made 'em look like they ain't nothin' but mewlin' pups. Now, I ain't so foolish as to pretend we got nothin' to be afraid of; arrogance like that can leave ya on the wrong side of death's door, if ya let it."
"But we ain't playin' games. The boss has big plans, and he's gathered the meanest and toughest in the business, to make sure nobody ruins our good time."
"Y'see, a hunter is defined by their prey. And there ain't nothin' to brag about when you're puttin' down a pack of sick mutts. A group of fakes pretendin' to be predators, who had to band together to do what they couldn't on their own. That's all Killjoy Club was."
"No different than takin' the ol', blind, half-dead family dog behind the shed, or puttin' a bullet in the head of a horse with a busted leg. Child's play."
"So spare me the big talk about slayin' dragons over in Europe. Nobody who knows them clowns is impressed by that, boy. You're here now; in the wild, where the real killers are waitin' for ya. Hope you're ready for a proper hunt, Sawyer, 'cause I live for this... and I just been waitin' for a man like yourself to step up."
Two fingers come up to trace the outline of the mark underneath her eye - left there by the same individual she's about to speak about. It still aches a bit when she touches it, which she does liberally; pressing down on the bruise repeatedly, just to enjoy the small twinge of pain it causes.
"And last - but sure as shit not least - the man who left me with this pretty li'l mark on my face: Julius Fairchild. First off, let me just give ya a round of applause..."
Billy claps sarcastically, as she absent-mindedly gnaws on her bottom lip.
"I mean, shit, I ain't been hit that hard since I was just a young'un. Got the same sorta right hand the old man used to, ain't no doubt about that. 'course, HE never had to use no brass on us kids, but hey... ain't nobody perfect."
"See, I don't mind gettin' hit. I don't even mind ya leavin' this partin' gift on my face. Hell, I kinda enjoy it. Still throbs a li'l first thing in the mornin'. Just the sorta thing that a girl like myself looooves wakin’ up to."
"There is one thing I do mind, though. See, I was just startin' to have fun when ya took me outta the fight... and that's somethin' I ain't willin' to forgive. Not too often I get to partake in bloodlettin' on that kinda scale, and I reaaaally wanted to make it last. I was lookin' forward to squeezin' every last bit of enjoyment outta y'all that I could, and ya had to go and ruin it for me!"
"Ya got one savin' grace in this match, big man; and that's the fact that it ain't gonna be a one on one between the two of us. See, ya got a chance to avoid payin' what's due; if you're lucky, this shit'll be over before the two of us square up with each other. Believe me, you're gonna wanna avoid taggin' in if ya see me in the ring... 'cause while ya seemed all-too-happy to knock my ass out with those brass knuckles, I ain't the type to end things so quick, y'hear me?"
"Naw... that ain't my style. If I get a hold of ya, it's gonna be somethin' different. Ya ain't gettin' off with nothin' as simple as no 1-2-3, match over. See, I wanna get real close, close enough to smell your desperation as ya struggle in my grip... close enough to whisper in your ear, and tell ya what part of your body I'm gonna break juuuust before I do it. I ain't about to let ya off the hook the second ya tap-out... I'm gonna hurt ya bad, Julius. That too-cool-for-the-room bullshit is gonna fade away real fast, once ya realize I ain't got a single bit of restraint - or mercy - in this body of mine."
She runs a hand through her greasy mass of hair, eyes fluttering as her mind runs wild with all the different ways she plans on hurting the one-eyed man.
"There's a look that comes into the eyes of a man like yourself, when they realize they ain't got no way out. It's beautiful, seein' that cockiness turn to worry, then panic, fear, and finally... acceptance. Comin' to terms with knowin' ya ain't go no way to save yourself. That's the kinda thing I was born to do, pal; takin' brave men and snappin' 'em into li'l pieces, one bone at a time."
"Hell, I'd consider me gettin' my hands on ya as an early Christmas present of sorts. After all, I think I been pretty good this year; don't I deserve somethin' nice? Mmmm. Can't think of anythin' sweeter than payin' ya back for spoilin' my good time..."
"But there's a bit of a silver linin' in all this, fella. Ya got two other teammates to take your place in the slaughterhouse... so I got a bit of advice for ya, somethin' ya might wanna take into consideration. If ya see me across that ring, I suggest ya do yourself a favor and tag yourself out. Because I owe ya for takin' me out of the festivities early back in Whalan... and lemme tell ya, ain't nothin' dumber than interruptin' me durin' my play time."
With a heavy sigh, she inches off the surface of the picnic table and begins to walk towards the pigpen. She grabs a bucket of feed and a scoop and begins to toss some into the enclosure; she watches the hogs fight over it, without any hint of interest on her face.
"Ya already made that mistake, robbin' me of a few more notches on my belt in the Purge, so there ain't no goin' back now... all ya can do is hide behind Sawyer and Jason. But y'know, I don't think you’re the type to do somethin' as smart as that. Hell, I bet you’re gonna laugh all this off, 'ain't no way that backwoods hick gonna get the better of me'. And to tell ya the truth, I hope ya are stupid enough to square up with me on even footin'... ya might be bigger, stronger, or whatever other crutch ya wanna lean on."
"But I've made tougher men scream, cry, and grovel at my feet. You're no different than any of 'em. Ya ain't special; and if ya don't believe me, then I'm plenty willin' to teach ya a thing or two about bein' humble and realizin' your place."
Billy lifts one foot off the ground and points at the muddy heel of her boot, showing Julius exactly where she thinks he belongs. Then she lowers it back into the dirt, and continues.
"Because at the end of the day? I ain't lookin' for somethin' as simple as winnin' some wrestlin' match. Fuck my partners; I don't owe 'em nothin', far as I'm concerned. I'm gonna be steppin' into that ring with one thing in mind: showing y'all that no matter how hard ya fight, no matter how many times ya manage to claw your way to a victory, we ain't ever goin' away. Long, hard times are comin' for every one of ya; Fallout, Proving Grounds, it don't matter to me."
The food gone, the hogs begin to disperse around the pen. Dipping her hand into the bucket of slop, she scoops some out and holds her palm towards one of the larger swine. The hog trots over and begins to noisily eat out of her hand, as she crouches down to feed it.
"Your lives ain't gonna be some happy, carefree place no more. Naw, I want y'all scared. I want y'all to know ya ain't safe, in or outta the ring. I want each and every one of y'all laying your heads down on the pillow at night, wonderin' what waits for ya in the dark. Arik Holt is lettin' ol' Billy off the leash; no rules, no holdin' back... finally, I get to do what I want."
"And all I want...? In the whoooole damn world...?"
In a sudden flash of movement, one arm wraps around the thick neck of the hog she had been feeding. She holds it tight in a side headlock, as it attempts to pull away from Billy’s strangling grip.
"Is to see...”
A smooth, expert movement with her free hand, as she unsheathes the Bowie knife held on her belt.
"Ya...”
Bringing the edge of the knife up to the hog’s throat, she drags it across the flesh; the skin parts beneath the sharpened blade without the slightest bit of resistance. In a fraction of a second, the beast’s entire neck has been opened up by the Bowie knife.
"...BLEED."
She releases her hold on the hog. As it slumps to the ground, crimson blood gushing out onto the bare earth until it slows to a trickle, Billy settles onto the earth directly beside it; the scarlet color bleeding into the dirty, faded blue of her threadbare jeans. She pays the mess no mind, even placing her palm down into the puddle of fluid to steady herself.
"But I need y'all to struggle while it's happenin', okay? I didn't join True Society just to find a pack of weak, frightened mongrels scatterin' away from us with every step we take. I NEED ya to stand firm, with whatever strength ya can muster. I need ya to fight back, to try and bloody us, try and hurt us so bad we flee in terror of your righteous fury."
She scoffs at the thought, glassy eyes inspecting the bloody blade she holds in front of her face.
"It ain't gonna happen, but that doesn't mean ya shouldn't try. And y'know what? Even if ya manage to beat us once, or twice, or a thousand times... well, I can't speak for the rest, but that's the kinda thing that only gets me more worked up. Y'all ain't gonna be rid of me so easily..."
She points the tip of the bloodied knife forward, as she clutches it in one shaking hand while stifling a demented giggle.
"So get ready, boys. Billy's gonna be stickin' around for a long while, and this match of ours? Well, let's call it a warm-up; just the opening act, the first course. Ain't no need to rush; I'll have plenty of time to play with y'all. Let's take it niiiice and slow... and for fuck's sakes, try to enjoy yourselves!"
"Because lemme tell y'all, I plan on havin' myself lots of fun."
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