Post by bennett on Dec 19, 2021 8:52:18 GMT -5
Negotiation's Over
====================
Dec 9th, 20th
Chase Center
San Francisco, CA
The immediate aftermath of the main event on Fallout.
Arik Holt addresses the two men in the ring - Steele and Long - while flanked by the victors of the previous match, Billy Bennett and Syndicate.
As the boss drones on - setting up some sort of match at the next PPV - Billy pays zero attention to his words; or anything else for that matter. Although her eyes remain open, she stares off into the distance without truly seeing anything.
Her mind runs through every blissful, satisfying moment of the fight with lightning speed; lips twitch up into a momentary smile as she replays it in her head, trying to hold onto that wonderful feeling coursing through her for as long as she can.
Then, she finds herself moving without any conscious decision on her part; simply following Arik and Syndicate, as though her body were acting of its own accord.
Soon enough, theyâre backstage, out of the view of the crowd and the two men left in the ring. And still, Billyâs mind is entirely consumed with the memory of what just occurred, savoring the sensations that flood her overstimulated body.
It was the kind of rush she had only ever felt when stalking and hunting those that were truly worthy of her time and effort.
No, it was even better than that.
For the first time in her life, Billy Bennett had found some proper competition. The sort of big game that didnât turn and run at the first sign of trouble, or struggle weakly in her grip. Here on Fallout, she was provided with others like her; perhaps not as unstable, but no less dangerous for their comparative sanity.
It was the sort of thing sheâd been looking for her entire life, without even being able to put it into words. Without even knowing that this was exactly what sheâd always needed.
Billy could have played with Sawyer and Jason for hours. She canât even rightly guess how much time passed during that match - so focused on the ebb and flow of violence - but she knew it wasnât enough.
Finally, the trembling limbs - robbed of the sensory overload she had been experiencing in the ring - get the better of her, and sheâs forced to stop. Pressing her back up against the nearest wall, she breathes heavily, fluttering the greasy hair that hangs in front of her face with every exhale.
âArik...?â she says, voice unusually calm and subdued after such an intense match. Notably, sheâs careful to not use the manâs real name; after all, one can never be too sure who is listening.
The GM pauses briefly, turning to face his demented soldier with a quizzical look on his face.
Billy meets her bossâ gaze, eyes wet and glistening with pure, overflowing ecstasy. In one breathy whisper, she offers a single word:
âThanks.â
The manâs curious expression turns to a slightly amused one, and he offers Billy a nod before walking off; leaving the young woman to bask in the afterglow of the match.
The sweating, trembling, wild-eyed young swamp dweller sliiiiides down to the ground - slowly, inch by inch - before coming to rest on the floor, her back propped up against the wall. Billy runs one shaking hand through her messy hair, as she tries to rush fresh oxygen into her waiting lungs; attempting to exert some control over the adrenaline pumping through her bloodstream.
What a lovely night.
====================
Sitting in the driverâs seat of an old GMC pickup truck is Billy Bennett, looking significantly calmer than she did after the most recent episode of Fallout. The vehicle is parked outside a modest road-side restaurant, situated somewhere between Everglades City and the Bennett compound near Deep Lake.
As the engine idles with a low rumble, Billy stares at the entrance of the diner. Sheâs here to pay a visit to the owner, a man who has owed the family protection money going on two months now.
She hadnât even had a chance to kick her boots off back in the rundown shack she calls home, before one of the familyâs goons approached her with orders from her eldest brother, Bo. Though she bristled at the thought of messages being passed to her through anyone other than blood relatives - she never did much like outsiders - she eventually agreed to go do this little spot of work.
After reducing the messenger to a sobbing heap, curled up on the bare wood floor next to her filthy mattress. He really ought to have known better than to interrupt Billy in her private quarters.
So here she was, the truckâs radio jammed between stations to fill her ears with static; something far preferable to any sort of music or inane conversations. The seat reclined slightly, she puffs away on a joint held between index finger and thumb; the smoke filling the interior of the vehicle with a thick, skunky aroma.
Through a pair of heavily-tinted sunglasses, her eyes wander from the diner to scope out the assortment of cars parked in the lot. Seems pretty busy, but she had no doubt that she could clear the place out quick enough.
No problems there.
Even the sheriffâs car - when she finally notices it - doesnât seem to concern her. The law around here has been in the pocket of her people for generations; she could shoot a man in plain sight on the street, and likely not even see the inside of a police station as a result.
Her only concern in the territory claimed by her family was ambushes by rival organizations or dealers who might try to muscle into the familyâs lucrative criminal enterprise. A whole childhood spent with the specter of gang warfare forever hanging in the background - and plenty of actual shootouts with other crews - have left her in a state some might call perpetual paranoia.
As for Billy? Well, sheâd just call it being smart enough to stay alive.
Confident that things will go smoothly - no out-of-state license plates, no idling cars, and no sign of people waiting in their vehicles to shoot up whoever came to collect the familyâs debt - she lets her mind wander a bit. Releasing the tentative hold she has over her unstable psyche, the thoughts crowding her brain wash over her.
Billy thinks back to what people had been saying about her leading up to the last match.
That she was only in True Society to secure herself some hypothetical spot on the roster, or one of those worthless title belts that everyone else seemed to value and desire so much.
Ridiculous.
Evidently they didnât understand the way her mind worked. Was she really so different from the rest of them? While they acted - apparently - only out of lust for glory, accolades and meaningless prizes, her motivation was something simpler.
More natural.
Pain. Not just for her opponents, but herself as well.
Billy didnât need anything more than that.
She wanted to watch all of Project: Honor - not just her own personal corner of it - drown in waves of blood, unleashed by the man pulling the strings on Fallout.
Being in it for anything else would just be greedy.
Why was she seemingly the only one in the group satisfied with suffering inflicted and suffering received? All these supposed killers, and they seem more wrapped up in trinkets than reveling in the very thing they were born for?
As much as it irked her to see Syndicate, Valkyrie, Havoc and Slade tote around those belts like it meant something, she was practical enough to let it go without confronting them. As long as Billy could do what she was here to do, she was able to ignore all the rest.
Focus on the thrill of the hunt. The adrenaline rush of a proper fight. The undiluted excitement that came from overcoming those who were just as dangerous and brutal as she was.
If Arik kept giving her worthy adversaries, ones who could take Billy to the edge and test her limits, then she could put aside her feelings, grit her teeth, and bear being teamed up with a bunch of blowhards.
For as long as it kept her amused, at any rate. Not one second longer.
Taking off her round-lensed sunglasses to reveal tired, bloodshot, lidded eyes, she tosses them onto the dashboard. Opening the driver side door, she hops down onto the pavement below.
Time for a spot of family business.
And maybe something to eat. She canât rightly remember the last time she put anything into her body; something that wasnât snorted or smoked, at least.
====================
The bell above the dinerâs front door jangles, cutting through the assorted conversation - and clinking of cutlery on plates - as several eyes are lifted up to stare at the newcomer.
And almost instantly, the very same people that took a quick glance to see who walked into the diner begin to get up, toss money on their tables to cover the bill, then shuffle towards the exit. Notably, they all take great care to avoid meeting the eyes of Billy Bennett, as she holds the door wide open for them to make their departures.
A few of the patrons still seem oblivious - including the pair of sheriff's deputies sitting in front of the lunch counter - so she takes the still-burning joint out of her mouth, places two fingers between her lips, and whistles.
The noise slices through the small eatery, as everyone remaining look over at the source of the sudden, sharp sound. Just like that, everyone else realizes theyâre not really hungry and probably have something important to do elsewhere, because they soon head towards the door.
The last two to leave are the pair of uniformed deputies, the one in front actually making eye contact with Billy as he moves towards the fresh air outside. Tipping the brim of his hat down, he offers the girl a respectful nod.
âBilly, nice to see you. Give Bo our best.â
âMorninâ. Iâll be sure to do that,â she replies in her thick Everglades drawl, shooting a wink at the officers before gesturing with her head that they - too - should probably hurry the fuck out of here.
They seem more than happy to oblige; the amount of deference they pay to the known criminal would be shocking to an outsider... but around here, thatâs just the way things go.
Nobody touches the Bennetts. Hell, nobody even looks at them cross-eyed.
Men have disappeared into the swamp - never to be seen again - for less.
The diner now empty of customers, only one man - evidently the owner and operator - stands, frozen to a spot near the cash register. Heâs already dripping sweat as Billy begins to stroll in his direction.
He shuts his eyes tightly as she approaches striking distance, no doubt expecting the worst; after all, Bo never sent his only sister out just to talk to people, or even to collect on debts. No, she only made an appearance when the head of the Bennett clan wanted something more permanent done to those who got on the familyâs wrong side.
But no attacks are coming. Not yet.
She suddenly swerves around him, walking behind the counter and grabbing an entire pie from inside a display case. Carrying it to a stool in front of the long lunch counter - covered with half-eaten plates of food and half-empty cups from the recently vacated patrons - she settles in.
Pushing the pie to one side for a moment, she grabs a coffee cup - still close to full with lukewarm black liquid - and lifts it to her lips for a small sip. Wiping her mouth with the back of one hand, she places the cup back onto the table and deposits the last inch of the joint into the coffee.
âWell, Chuck, I'm sure ya know why Iâm here.â
No sooner has she said those words - eyes not even leaving the contents of the cup to look at the shivering owner - then the man tosses an overstuffed envelope onto the counter in front of her. With a flat, uncaring expression she casually picks it up and begins to leaf through the contents with her thumb; full of bills, it looks to be more than $5,000.
Not a large sum to the family that controls all the crime within the borders of Collier County, but itâs the principle of the thing. Debts are debts, and Bo always makes sure his people collect on everything owed to him.
âIâm awfully sorry about being late with this, Billy, I hope Bo knows I wasnât trying to screw yâall around on the payments. Things been slow lately, is all.â
Seemingly satisfied with the count, she tosses the envelope back onto the counter and reaches over to grab a plate of cold, sunny-side up eggs. Dragging it in front of her, she uses her bare hands to pick away at the food; she occasionally deposits a small scrap into her open mouth, but seems to be more interested in ripping them apart than eating.
âIt ainât about the money, and your family been livinâ âround these parts long enough to know it. Itâs about sendinâ a message. Thatâs what Iâm here for. Yâsee, Bo donât want his money no more.â
âPlease, it ainât like that. My people always been friendly with you Bennetts, I donât want no trouble and it... itâll never happen again, ok?â
Pushing the half-eaten eggs away in disgust, Billy rubs her chin as though sheâs honestly considering accepting the debtorâs words at face value. She knows she could convince Bo to accept the late payment; despite him being the one who ran things and gave out orders, sheâd always been the one he relied on to threaten and intimidate their soldiers and business partners.
Her brother commanded respect; she was satisfied with fear alone.
Itâs almost ironic that Billy - the daughter their father never wanted in the first place - ended up becoming the most feared of the manâs numerous offspring. Even Bo himself owes his life to her; and she doesnât hesitate to remind him, when it suits her purposes.
âHeâs gonna be expectin' me to come back with a few pieces of ya, rather than some damn envelope fulla cash... but how about this: ya lemme sit here for a spell, and Iâm sure I can smooth things over between him and yâall, alright?â
The exhale of relief from Chuck is a large, almost comical one. Almost instantly, the anxious energy surrounding the man disappears; although he still doesnât seem entirely at ease.
Few are, when trapped in such close quarters with the twisted sister of the Bennett family. One can never be too sure whatâs going on in that head of hers.
Ignoring the owner of the diner, Billy settles into a silence that stretches over minutes. Her scraggly mess of hair dangles limp, almost touching the messy countertop as she stares down at her faint reflection in the semi-glossy surface.
Finally, she opens her mouth and begins to speak, a low, deliberate croak that barely rises above a whisper as she fidgets with her hands. Looks like sheâs desperately trying to keep her energy focused, so she can actually get out the following words without descending into an unhinged rant.
Letâs see how long she lasts.
âYâall still wanna talk all that mess? Hmmmm?â
ââOh, sheâs nothin but a hick from the backwaters of Florida.ââ
ââLook at the size of her, how tough could she be?ââ
ââThat girl had to join True Society because she couldnât cut it on her own.ââ
âYâknow who believed all that shit? Jason Long and Sawyer, thatâs who. And look how that ended up for them. Beaten clean by some redneck swamp rat, or whatever they wanna call me.â
âMust be embarrassinâ for a couple of strong men to get taken down like that. But I hope everyone backstage was payinâ attention.â
âI donât need True Society on my side to take any of yâall apart, I can do that all on my lonesome. Beinâ with them is just me lookinâ out for the future of Fallout. Holt has a vision for the company; somethinâ beautiful, grand, and gory. I wanna protect him, until he can bring that dream to life.â
âAinât nothinâ more to it than that. Sorry if I donât get all worked up over the idea of winning a title like the rest of yâall, chasin' dreams of relevancy, scramblinâ towards the spotlight like a buncha high school girls lookin to be crowned Prom Queen or some shit like that.â
âWhatâs it like to crave that kinda validation? Canât live with yourselves unless everyone is pattinâ ya on the backs, huh?â
âYâall make me sick, I really do mean that.â
âBut lemme get right to the point. If ya got any sense in any of yâallâs heads, youâll be takinâ me a bit more seriously in the future. Or keep underestimatinâ me, and see what the fuck happens to ya.â
âIâll make an example outta as many of ya as I gotta, to make the point stick. Alright?â
Reaching into the pocket of her frayed jeans, Billy extracts a package of Lucky Strikes; she pulls a single cigarette from the pack before returning the rest to her pocket. An old, rusty Zippo lighter is brought out from within her leather vest to light up the cigarette. She takes a prolonged inhale, smoking rolling out of her mouth as sheâs unable to bring the entirety of it into her lungs. Holding her breath for a moment, she exhales a cloud of tobacco; the smoke pouring down and billowing over the poorly cleaned surface of the counter beneath her face.
Flicking the ash into the same coffee cup she had dumped the joint into, Billy speaks while her hands gesticulate aimlessly; as though she were trying to emphasize certain points hidden deep within her meandering, rambling speech.
âBut I tell ya, I really do feel sorry for that new girl; she ainât got a clue what she walked into the middle of. Shoulda stayed somewhere nice and cozy, if ya ask me; but the thing is, people donât really know whatâs good for âem.â
It seems like thatâs directed at the proprietor, who simply nods, beads of sweat rolling off his forehead. Fortunately he doesnât have to worry about avoiding eye contact with her, as she doesnât so much as turn in his direction.
If she were expecting some affirmative response from the man, she doesnât wait long for one before moving on.
âLotta times, they reach for things they oughta leave alone, or step into places they got no business beinâ.â
Her head suddenly snaps towards the diner owner, who remains standing in the same space he was when Billy first entered. Clearly, heâs too afraid to move without her approval first.
Probably a good move on his part.
"Ain't that right, boy?!" she shouts at the frightened man, who instinctively gulps and blinks like he was just slapped across the face.
Nodding, he begins to reply in an uneasy, quivering voice, âY-yeah, Bil-â
âSHUT UP!â screams Billy, spittle flying out of her mouth as she cuts him off abruptly.
Turning her attention back to the messy counter-top, she takes another drag on her unfiltered cigarette before ashing it - again - into that same cup⌠and then, she picks it up and takes a long sip from it. Doesnât seem like she even realizes that sheâs sucking down a mouthful of cigarette ash with that black coffee.
âAlyssa, ya poor thing, what was goinâ through that red head of yours when ya made up your mind to come join us here? Thought yaâd find a nice, safe place to pad your stats? Maybe another pretty belt to strengthen your legacy?â
âWell, whatever ya thought yaâd be walkinâ into, ya were dead wrong. This ainât OWA, and ya ainât gonna be fightinâ any fellow âGoddessesâ, or no dumb shit like that. There ainât no womenâs division here for delicate princesses to feel safe in; we all get thrown into the same sinkhole, where only the monsters are strong enough to claw their way to the top... and the rest? They get left to choke on the blood and muck under our heel.â
âSo lemme be the first to tell ya it was a big mistake cominâ âround these parts.â
As she finishes that sentence, she digs in the pocket of her jeans; pulling out that âNâ coin she had collected during the bloodshed in Whalan, she holds it up in front of her face and twirls it between her fingers.
âSpeakinâ of mistakes, if ya thought pickinâ up that coin in the Purge was some kinda prize - an opportunity to make a big splash here - then youâre fuckinâ foolinâ yourself. All that coin bought ya was a ticket to the killinâ fields; and one look at ya tells me ya ainât ready for it.â
Dropping the coin onto the counter, she shrugs.
âDominatinâ the womenâs division at that other company donât make ya anythinâ more than the meanest girl at the sleepover, far as Iâm concerned.â
âI ainât even gonna pretend to be impressed with that. I got twelve brothers and I grew up fightinâ âem all, so if ya think Iâm gonna be intimidated by someone who made their name stompinâ on a buncha skirts... prepare to be disappointed.â
âI mean, the last sweet young thing who didnât know her place and stepped into that ring with me got beaten so bad that she ran with her tail between her legs - all the way back down to the developmental brand!â
She laughs at the memory of herself and Syndicate dominating Ellie Quinn; and the idea of her being so humiliated or scared that she had to flee Fallout for the comparative safety of Project Underground.
âIt donât take a keen eye to tell that youâre soft, girl. And it ainât your looks, or your work in the ring, or none of that which gives ya away. Itâs the way ya talk, full of hot air, eager to prove your worth, to have people singinâ your praises.â
âYa oughta reconsider your priorities, Alyssa. Itâs kill or be killed here on Fallout, and ya shouldnât waste your energy worryinâ about nothinâ besides stayinâ alive.â
âBut, yâknow what? I ainât as bad as they say. I got a soft spot or two myself, and I was thinkinâ it would be a real shame to make a mess of someone so pretty.â
âIâm feelinâ generous, so Iâll offer ya somethinâ thatâs awfully rare cominâ from me: a deal. We all know ya ainât winninâ this; best ya can do is come out in one piece, without too many scars to ruin them good looks. So listen, when that bell rings, hereâs what I want ya to do.â
Thereâs a low, dark chuckle that leaves Billyâs lips as her eyes twitch wildly; clearly relishing the mental image floating around her head. Once sheâs collected herself, she proceeds to paint a picture of exactly what Alyssa Grace needs to do to walk out of their match in one piece.
âDrop on your hands and knees, and come crawlinâ across the canvass, right up to olâ Billy... then roll onto your back, and bark like the dog ya are. If ya do all that like ya mean it, then Iâll protect ya from all the big, scary wolves roaminâ âround Project: Honor. Iâll keep ya safe, and there wonât be no need to worry âbout nothinâ...â
As her unsteady voice rises and falls without any discernible reason or rhythm, one hand snakes out across the counter to grab the nearest utensil. Turns out to be a fork, which she clutches in her grip so tight that her knuckles turn white.
âI know I can convince Arik to let me keep a pet backstage; heâs reasonable like that.â
âForget beinâ a champion; becominâ my liâl ginger puppy is the most ya can hope for. Get used to the idea; âcause itâs either that, or I beat ya âtill youâre so broken yâall will do whatever it takes to make the pain stop.â
âA future spent begginâ for scraps off my table, lickinâ my plates clean, and hopinâ I decide to give ya an occasional scratch behind your ear instead of the whippinâ ya deserve. Donât that sound nice, Alyssa?â
âBut hey, it ainât no skin off my hide if ya decide to take your chances in the ring with me. Sure, I may be a liâl bit hurt that ya ainât takinâ my warninâ seriously, but I can handle that. Matter of fact, I welcome the chance to teach ya a lesson or two; just donât come cryinâ when ya realize what sorta mess ya got yourself into, yâhear? I ainât gonna be in no mood to listen to your whininâ at that point. Ya got one chance to save yourself.â
As if to illustrate the point, she holds up one index finger; wagging it back and forth with a friendly, cheerful smile on her face as she verbally rubs her opponentâs face in the dirt.
âAt the end of the day, youâre stuck in the middle. Slade and I both answer to the same man, and Mikey and Sunshine got plenty of history with each other; more than ya got with either of âem, at any rate. So where does that leave ya, huh?â
âWithout a friend.â
âAll. Alone.â
âThink about it, alright? And consider this your only warninâ... youâre either my pet, or youâre a fuckinâ target. Which would ya rather be, really?â
As if noticing it for the first time, her eyes fall upon the fork clutched in her jittery hand. She stares at it blankly, wondering when she picked it up in the first place. Her face scrunches up as she tries to work through the foggy, stoned haze hanging over her brain, before opening her hand and letting the utensil clatter down onto the counter.
Before itâs even come to a stop, sheâs forgotten it; moving onto the next topic.
âNow, we get down to the main fuckinâ course. The Dreadknight himself, the demon of the Octagon, Michael Bishop.â
âMan, lemme tell ya, I was excited when I heard ya were cominâ to play with us on Fallout, Mikey. Real excited. I mean, we knew âbout ya all the way down in my neck of the woods, believe it or not. My brother Bo was a mighty big fan of your early work; hell, he looked happier than I ever seen him, when I said Iâd be facinâ ya at the next PPV.â
Of course, whether thatâs pride in his sister getting put up against such an icon, or some sick desire to see her face pounded into hamburger, who knows? The important part - to Billy - is her brother cares, one way or the other.
âI gotta admit, though, my opinion of ya changed after seeing ya in action.â
âFirst off, the Purge. Whatâs the deal, huh? Bringinâ a gun, big man? Really?!â
She clicks her tongue in genuine disappointment, shaking her head back and forth a single time before carrying on.
âLost a lotta respect for ya with that, boy. Thatâs somethinâ a coward would do... and yâknow, I canât even blame ya for it, when I stop to look at things from your perspective. New company full of unknowns, a brand with a reputation for violence beyond what ya usually find in this sport⌠and of course, ya ainât gettinâ any younger yourself. Lotta hits to the head, lotta miles clocked on that body of yours; even a finely tuned, well-maintained engineâs gotta start knockinâ eventually... and ya ainât exactly given yourself much time for rest and recuperation, right?â
âI understand where youâre cominâ from, though. I see the same love of violence in ya that I got myself. Kindred spirits, maybe... just cominâ at things from two completely different worlds. I wouldnât expect a man like yourself to take a year off from the thing that defines him... that gives him a reason to wake up in the morninâ and go out to face this borinâ, safe, chickenSHIT world.â
âNaw, we need it, people like you and I. Without the promise of inflictinâ pain, what use is livinâ? Take all this away from us, and what the fuck are we? Nothinâ. I can admit it, and I hope ya can too.â
As if suddenly remembering that she was trying to make a point before getting lost on a tangent, Billy blinks hard once, twice, three times as she tries to get her mind back on track.
âHeh. Sorry âbout that. Ainât in the right kinda headspace to think straight, hope yâall will forgive a bit of ramblinâ.â
Lifting her arms and exposing her palms in an apologetic gesture for this little rant, she moves right along.
âNow, I can get over ya packinâ that iron to the Purge: ya didnâ know what ya were walkinâ into, and ya came prepared. Fair enough.â
âWhat I canât forgive, though, is what happened at the last show. Ya had him, Mikey. Ya had Havoc BEAT. It was right there for the takinâ...â
She balls one hand up into a fist and SLAMS it down onto the countertop, rattling salt shakers, sugar dispensers, and empty plates up and down the length of the surface.
âBUT YA JUST HAD TO DROP THE BALL, DIDNâT YA?!?!â
âDonât blame Druscilla, don't blame Havoc, donât blame me, blame yourself YA FUCKINâ IDIOT!!!!â
The diner owner is absolutely shaking as Billy begins to lose her composure completely; itâs a wonder he hasnât pissed himself yet, considering how obvious the fear is on his face.
Whether it was the ranting and rambling about her opponents that knocked something loose in her head, the calming effects of the drugs wearing off, or simply the passage of time since her last violent outburst, the results are the same. The âniceâ, âfriendlyâ, ârestrainedâ Billy Bennet is clearly not in control any longer; replaced by her usual self, complete with a bloodthirsty frenzy brewing just underneath her milky-white skin.
Sheâs still shaking like a junkie looking for their next fix as she begins to speak again, her voice wavering from her attempts to maintain some semblance of self-control in the face of the red tide swelling inside her mind.
The cracks in her mask of sanity are practically visible.
âI was just followinâ orders, so donât ya dare get all pissy at me for distractin' the ref. We all gotta watch out for ourselves, and ya were caught slippinâ when it mattered the MOST. Ya fell for the oldest fuckin' trick in the goddamn book!"
âAll that raw power, all that killinâ potential, wasted on someone who ainât cunninâ enough to use it! It makes me sick!â
âGod must be a fuckinâ joker, givinâ all that skill to a man who wastes it all by not thinkinâ before he acts. What I would DO with even half of the strength he gave ya, boy.â
Burying her face in her hands as she laments natureâs fucked up sense of humor, Billy is on the edge of tears as she thinks about how Michael Bishop is wasting every single gift heâs been given. She finds the idea legitimately frustrating, like an itch she just canât scratch.
Pulling her hands away, there is the slightest hint of moisture running down her cheeks. Either sheâs that bothered by Bishop squandering his natural ability, or just working through the emotional after effects of whatever drugs sheâs been dipping into lately.
She sniffs loudly, rubbing her face with one forearm and composing herself again.
âAll that said, nobody can take away what ya are. A lethal weapon... like a piece of artillery, aim ya at a target and watch âem get torn to fuckinâ pieces. Canât imagine thereâs too many people in the game who can stand up to ya blow-for-blow, and I hope ya take that as a sincere compliment.â
âSee, there is one liâl thing, though... and itâs nothinâ against ya personally, alright? But a manâs gotta know his limitations. And yours? Well, ask yourself: what good is artillery without someone to point it in the right direction? Just a dumb, heavy, useless piece of metal.â
âThatâs all ya are. No imagination, no vision, no finesse. Shit, itâs obvious from the way ya talk.â
The Bennett girl raises her arms in the air, hands twisted into the shape of gnarled claws; like some kind of imaginary childhood monster, lurking under the bed.
âRAAAAAWRRR! Iâm Michael Bishop and Iâm sooooo tough! Iâm gonna- blah BLAH BLAAAAHHHHHH!â
She canât help but break out into a short bout of laughter as she lowers her arms back down to rest on the counterâs surface. No matter how she looks at it, the man is ridiculous; sheâs watched some tapes of him going off on prior opponents, and it never ceases to amuse her how someone can talk at such length about how badly they plan on beating someone up.
Personally, sheâd much rather use all that breath to try and get under their skin a little bit. Unnerve them with her lack of concern for her own wellbeing, or aggravate them into making mistakes in the ring.
âDonât threaten me with a good time, yâhear? Not sure who ya expect to scare, but save your breath âcause I ainât worried much.â
âWant my advice? Worry less about convincinâ everyone what a threat ya are - even if itâs true - and more about how ya can rub together your last two, workinâ brain cells to make sure ya donât get made to look like a fool again.â
Thereâs a pause, followed by a deep, sorrowful sigh from the demented young woman. Like she was mourning something she desperately desired, but would be forever denied.
âReally wish I couldâve met ya in the ring when ya were at your peak, Mikey. But I guess that just wasnât meant to be, âcause itâs obvious ya ainât the man ya once were.â
âBut Iâm hopinâ, all the same. Hopinâ ya still got a couple good fights left in ya before all those knocks to the head really catch with ya. Hopinâ youâre still fast enough to keep up with me and my pal Slade. Hopinâ that triangle choke ya been leaninâ on your whole career is still as inescapable as it used to be.â
Thereâs another pause, as she takes a second to finish the last few inches of that still-burning cigarette. Once finished, she deposits the filter and ash into the coffee cup, where it floats on top of the thick, black liquid.
âBut if it ainât, I gotta wonder.. what are ya gonna do when I soak up every bit of punishment youâre capable of dishinâ out, and then beg ya to hurt me more? Ya gonna be up to the task, or ya gonna fail like so many others?â
âI been beat on by bigger men than yâall, so I ainât scared; after the first few times, I realized that folks like yourself ainât nothinâ to be afraid of. Whatever ya wanna try and have us believe, ya ainât no real killer. Not in your fuckinâ heart and soul, where it matters. All that strength and experience donât mean shit when itâs a gutless man throwinâ the punches. I seen ya up against a real soldier like Slade, and ya didnât make the grade.â
âWanna take your chances with your new friend Billy this time?â
âBoy, I almost hope ya manage to take my pal out the fight early. I want ya to put them bloody mitts on me, Mikey. Really rough me up, yâknow? A proud man like yourself, maybe ya even think ya can make me beg for ya to stop. Well fuckin' try it; because if ya slip, if ya canât finish the job, Iâll make it so youâre forced to hang up your hat for good. Ya better act like this is your fuckinâ retirement fight, âcause it just might be.â
Pausing to catch her breath, her usually pale skin has taken on a rosy red tint; blood pressure rising as it frantically pumps through her veins. To say that the idea of taking on an MMA legend has had some effect on her would be an understatement.
It only takes a few moments before sheâs relaxed enough to drain some of that color out of her skin; similarly, she drains the remaining dregs of lukewarm coffee from the cup - cigarettes butt and all - before tossing it over her shoulder to break on the linoleum floor.
âI ainât gonna give ya no ultimatums like I did with Alyssa. Youâre a big boy, and Iâm sure ya can take care of yourself... and, if ya wanna know the truth, I really donât wanna scare ya off or give ya an out."
âSee, I wanna know what it FEELS like to be on the receiving end of those fists of yours, Mikey. Hell, Iâm awfully tempted to stand there and let ya just pound away a while, I truly am...â
â...if only Sladeâs belt werenât on the line here.â
âYâsee, much as I feel that achinâ need to let ya lay into me until Iâm on my back, bloody, beaten, and satisfied... well, I canât risk it.â
âNot that I care about some championship, or who holds it; that shit donât have no meaninâ to a simple country girl like me. But it does matter to the boss. Iâm sure he wants to keep the gold in True Society, and heâs been so nice to me. He sure does know how to make a lady feel welcomeâ.
âSo for his sake, I canât just let ya beat me to a pulp, even though Iâd love to do just that. Iâm afraid Iâm gonna have to shatter that ego of yours, and show ya that a decade of experience and countless hours in the gym just ainât enough to beat a mean liâl viper like me.â
Suddenly, one hand flashes up, snapping fingers together as though she just remembered something.
âOh, thatâs assuminâ Slade donât want ya for himself, of course. Outta respect for that man, Iâm planninâ on lettinâ him pick his partner at the start of the dance. He gets one of yâall, and the other two are all mine. The question is: whoâs gonna be the lucky one who doesnât have to play with Billy, huh?â
âGuess weâll have to wait and see.â
Now, her face takes on a disturbingly earnest cheerfulness; and her usually harsh, raspy voice similarly takes on an almost bubbly, friendly tone as she begins to - briefly - address her fellow True Society member.
âSpeaking of Castle; I got just one thing to say to that man."
"I donât want your belt, but I ainât gonna make it easy for ya if weâre the last two left in this thing. Oh, donât worry, I wonât be treatinâ ya like the others. I doubt Holt would appreciate me takinâ ya outta commission for any real length of time. After all, we're all friends in True Society, ain't that right?â
âBuuuuut, Iâm still gonna have to test ya, if it comes down to us. Hope ya understand that itâs just... professional courtesy. One killer to another."
"Don't worry, though! If I do take that title off ya, I'll give it back... if ya ask nicely.â
Now, her face takes on a disturbingly earnest cheerfulness; and her usually harsh, raspy voice similarly takes on an almost bubbly, friendly tone as she begins to - briefly - address her fellow True Society member.
âSpeaking of Castle; I got just one thing to say to that man."
"I donât want your belt, but I ainât gonna make it easy for ya if weâre the last two left in this thing. Oh, donât worry, I wonât be treatinâ ya like the others. I doubt Holt would appreciate me takinâ ya outta commission for any real length of time. After all, we're all friends in True Society, ain't that right?â
âBuuuuut, Iâm still gonna have to test ya, if it comes down to us. Hope ya understand that itâs just... professional courtesy. One killer to another."
"Don't worry, though! If I do take that title off ya, I'll give it back... if ya ask nicely.â
With one sweeping gesture, she sends the nearest plate skidding to the ground where it shatters; sending jagged pieces of ceramic skidding across the linoleum floor. Almost like she was clearing the table for the last course, as she reaches out to pull that whole, uneaten pie a few inches closer.
Taking one index finger, she presses the tip of the digit into the center of the pie sitting atop the counter. Her dirty fingernail pierces the crisp pastry shell, sinking down into the warm filling as Billy stares at it hungrily.
âWell, we saved the desert for last; and boy, there ainât a soul in all of Project: Honor more sickeningly sweet than Savannah Sunshine...â
Hooking her finger at the knuckle, she drags it along the underside of the crust before pulling it back out the hole sheâd created. The top half of her index finger now coated in blueberry, she pops it into her mouth to savor the sweet filling.
âSo... good...â she mumbles happily through a full mouth.
Her finger is then stabbed through a previously untouched part of the pieâs crust, Billy swirling her finger around the warm interior of the pastry as she continues to speak. Her voice is surprisingly calm and collected, especially considering all the outbursts during the course of this monologue.
âOr... so sheâd have us all believe, anyway. Yâsee, for someone callinâ herself the Queen of Candyland - whatever the fuck thatâs supposed to mean - she sure seems to be a cruel liâl thing. Just look at what sheâs done to the two men who were silly enough to show her the slightest bit of affection.â
Pulling her finger back, Billy begins to drag it along the surface of the counter; tracing the outline of a cartoonish heart as she seems to fall into a daze. Silent for several minutes, she seems entirely focused on the crude drawing sheâs working on. But despite her cool, unbothered demeanor and the calm delivery of her words, she is giving - and had already given, in fact - serious thought on the best way to get to Savannah.
So many glaring weaknesses in her personal life to poke away at.
So many different routes to try and burrow into her pathetic little head.
Finally, after some consideration, she turns her attention back to the matter at hand.
âAlright, Iâll admit it. Ya got me. I gotta know; how dâya do it? Whatâs your secret? From where I stand, ya ainât nothinâ special at all. Ya sure as hell ainât a good person, considerinâ all the shit youâve pulled. And yet, after everythinâ ya put Jason and Arik through, they still ainât able to slam the door in your stupid, freckled face.â
âAre ya really that sweet, that these men canât help but spend their time sniffinâ âround after ya? Letâs be honest, they could both pull someone a damn sight better; but they still insist on lowerinâ themselves to your level.â
âRollinâ around and sinkinâ down in the filth of your fucked up life, just hopinâ ya notice them and give âem a crumb of attention, or kindness, or anythin'.â
âItâs impressive, Iâm beinâ honest with ya here. I mean, a girl like me can take a man and break âem physically, put the fear of God into their heart, and make âem beg for their lives. What youâve done to those two, though... Iâd give ya a round of applause, if the whole situation werenât so damn depressinâ.â
âBut enough about all that. Iâm sure youâre so fuckinâ dumb and oblivious that ya donât even notice anyone elseâs pain. Naw, itâs all about liâl Miss Sunshine, ainât it? Ya fuckinâ disgust me, not even aware of all the trouble ya been causinâ... too stupid to revel in the trainwreck ya leave in your wake. What a waste, if ya ask me.â
The whole time sheâs been speaking, Billy continues to dip her fingers into the pie, using the dark blue - almost purple - filling to continue her little art project.
âAnd itâs more than just the two boys, yâknow? In a way... all this chaos, this whole crimson twilight thatâs descended onto Fallout, is your fault, ainât it? Ya got poor Arik all frustrated and pent-up, and heâs takinâ it out on the entire fuckinâ roster; everyone is left to suffer âcause of what ya done to him, or didnât do in this case... well, all except those of us who know how to enjoy all that blood and misery.â
âSee, maybe ya expect me to appeal to reason here, and say the obvious: that ya only got one way outta this mess, and thatâs by goinâ up to Holt, kneelinâ down, and apologizinâ to the man for stringinâ him along like ya been doinâ.â
âIf ya did that, I might take care to leave ya with a few movinâ parts.â
Something about the hungry glimmer in her roaming eyes makes one thing plain: she is enjoying herself as she tries to dig a tunnel under her opponentâs skin.
She only wishes she had a captive, live audience. The opportunity to look into that girlâs eyes while jabbing away at the soft spots of her personal life would be a wonderful thing... but she pushes away that disappointment with one thought: âwho knows what the future holds?â
Billy might get her chance yet.
âWe both know ya ainât âbout to do all that, though. Youâre too strong to give up completely, right? Ainât no way Savannah throws away the last shred of dignity in that miserable carcass of hers, huh? And I applaud ya for that, I surely do. Best to go out on your own terms, is what I think.â
âAnyway, I would never press ya to go try and make up with the boss. Because if weâre beinâ truthful here, the last thing I want is a happy, content, satisfied Arik Holt. God, just imagine how borin' that would be!â
âStill, I donât envy your decision here. Sweet girl like yourself, stuck between goinâ back to a man ya want nothinâ to do with, or facinâ off against two of the most dangerous sumbitches heâs got workinâ for him. Shit, thatâs gotta be tough; especially considerinâ how much pride ya manage to pack into that tiny body of yours.â
âFunny thing, pride: it can keep ya outta the gutters, but it can also land ya in the grave if ya ainât careful.â
âI ainât gonna push ya one way or another on this. Youâre a grown woman, time to start makinâ your own decisions, dontcha think?â
âBut ya gotta decide, all the same. Less than a week before we celebrate another night of True Society dominance over yâallâs broken, battered bodies.â
âIf I donât get pulled aside by Arik before I step out into the ring, if he donât tell me to leave ya with enough workinâ pieces to be of some use to him, then I canât promise ya anythinâ.â
âIf ya insist on standinâ alone, then ya best come fired up and ready for a proper fuckinâ fight. I ainât gonna be holdinâ nothinâ back; if the boss donât say otherwise, then all bets are off. Ya might walk outta there when Iâm all through with ya, and ya might need to be wheeled out on a fuckinâ gurney. Canât rightly say myself.â
Taking advantage of the pauses in her speech, she uses those short moments to gnaw harshly on her bottom lip; eventually, she breaks the skin. Noticing the scarlet blood beginning to drip down her chin and onto the countertop below her face, she stops speaking completely to dip her finger in the drops of red.
Lifting the tip of her finger to her face, she sucks the blood off it noisily and hungrily; moving on to lick the blood still dribbling out of her chewed-up lip. Finally, she seems to have stemmed the flow somewhat; enough to continue her raving speech, at least.
âYouâre really willinâ to take that chance, huh?â
âBrave girl.â
âNowâs where I ask ya for a favor, sweet thing. Pleeeeease try to hold on âtill the end, wonâtcha? Yâsee, I been havinâ a dream these past few days. You and me, the last two standinâ in that ring after we get rid of the redhead and them boys... just us girls left. I wanna take my time with ya, Savannah. I donât want no other distractions to get between us... I wanna savor every fuckinâ second without havinâ to worry âbout no one else.â
âI really need to be close when it dawns on ya exactly what I plan to do. Starinâ into your eyes, snortinâ that fear up, watchinâ ya squirm while I tear into ya.â
âI want ya up against the wall, nowhere to go, no place to hide. Iâm gonna make ya face the things ya done, and Iâll be the one collectinâ the bill for all the people ya hurt.â
âIâm gonna show âem all they were wastinâ their time on a lost cause. Show âem all how worthless and weak ya really are. That there ainât a damn thing âbout ya thatâs worth savinâ.â
âI wanna hear ya squeal like the sloppy, filthy pig-faced bi-â
Cutting off her speech before she can finish is a sudden, stabbing sensation that passes through her head. Like a drill through her brain, it puts a sudden stop to her ranting as one hand shoots up to rub her sweating forehead. She only misses a beat or two, but when it passes she has clearly lost interest with whatever she was talking about.
Or she canât even remember.
âNghhhh... forget it, just forget it. Iâm done talkin to yâall. Sick to my fuckin stomach, in fact. Iâll keep it reaaaal simple for ya fine folks.â
âStop focusinâ on talkinâ shit, stop thinkinâ âbout how that Noble championship would look âround your waist.â
âWorry about survivinâ.â
"Negotiation's over."
That final warning delivered, Billy snorts and spits a load of phlegm onto the table.
Her masterpiece is complete at last.
Spirals, crude sketches of dismembered body parts, insane, sprawling rants done in jagged letters, and two stick figures holding hands. One bald, one long-haired; the latter of which seems to have been the target of that disgusting spit.
And above their heads, a cartoonish heart with a set of initials in the middle.
A.H.
+
S.S.
How nice.
What a hopeless romantic she is.
Sucking her teeth absent-mindedly, Billy takes her finger and drags it across her filthy, splotchy off-white shirt, wiping the last bit of blueberry pie onto the fabric.
The sound of the chair legs scraping across linoleum is enough to unnerve the captive diner owner, who swallows nervously as the Bennett girl reaches out to grab the envelope of money off the counter.
But rather than place it in one of her pockets, she slowly meanders around the counter; on a veering, unsteady path towards the owner. Whatever last bit of calmness present in her eyes seems to melt away, as they begin to twitch in the harsh fluorescent light of the restaurant.
Every step towards Chuck she takes is one step that the sweating diner owner takes backwards... until he backs up into the wall, with nowhere left to go.
With his retreat cut off, Chuck has no choice but to try and press as tight against it as he can as Billy continues her slow, deliberate approach.
The only sounds in the deathly quiet of the almost empty diner are the proprietor's labored, frightened breaths and the grinding of Billyâs teeth as she sizes up the much larger man.
âB-Billy, come on, you said youâd take the money back to Bo and weâd be square. You p-p-promised...â
A snort of amusement - and a closed-mouth smile that drips anticipation - is her only response as she presses her body against the front of the trembling man. Staring up at his face, she takes a few moments to savor the terror evident in his expression. The smell of fear pouring off him.
âMmm. I did, didnât I?â
Her tongue peeks out from her mouth, dragging it across her lower lip as she reaches out with one hand to calmly place the envelope of cash back into the pocket of Chuckâs pants.
âYa can keep this, big fella. I think Iâll be takinâ my pound of flesh after all. Wouldnât wanna disappoint my brother, right?â
The owner opens his mouth to scream, but before heâs able to make a sound Billyâs right hand snaps through the air; her iron grip closing around the manâs throat.
âSave your breath. We ainât even get started yet, and Iâm a long way from beinâ through with ya...â
Those are the last words from Billy, as she begins to laugh in short, staccato bursts. A sound that mingles with the choking and gurgling from the captive debtor, as he is dragged off towards the kitchen.
Sheâs sure to find some tools in there.
====================
