Post by emmanuelle on Jan 7, 2022 23:58:48 GMT -5
December 20th, 2021
Emmy’s Home- Home Gym Area
Pacific Palisades, California
Losing sucks. Emmy knew that feeling better than most, even as she cobbled together a decent run for herself in Project Honor and elsewhere. Sure, she had recently broken her losing streak in the Lethal League and was working her way back towards the belt she always fancied as a “crown jewel” in a collection of them: the WrestleWorld Shogun Championship. But the setback against the Big Drip team was embarrassing. With the exception of that insane Black Friday event, she typically had success against them. To add injury to insult, she had injured her ankle. When it happened, there was a genuine concern that she may have suffered an injury that would have kept her out of action for a while.
Luckily that was not the case.
She had the ankle looked at as a precaution and MRI came back without confirmation of any lasting injuries. Not even a sprain. After a few days of waiting for the soreness to go away, she was back to taking jogs, doing training, and sparring with her new understudy, Sena. She strongly objected to her mentor shipping off the young man into her care, but she did owe it as a favor to Carlos. She even picked up the lanky Japanese-American at an airport, setting him up at her home until he was able to find a wrestling gig. In exchange for him being on-call twenty-four hours a day for whatever task Emmy was cruel enough to dream up for him to do, she trained with the kid, doing her best to prepare him for life as a professional wrestler. It was during one of those training sessions that she would get a call that would seriously send a shock through her system.
“Hey, easy!”
Emmy was used to sparring and fighting men much larger than her. She was also far more experienced with wrestling than her young protege. Sena Taniguchi was a complete novice compared to her and it showed with his clumsy movement and unconvincing strikes. After one exchange of kicks, Emmy effortlessly captured one of his legs, brought him to the ground, and locked in an STF with precision and grace with such speed that the younger man was instantly asking for mercy. The only thing he got was Emmy clenching the hold tighter.
“You think somebody else is going to play easy with you when you get your first match? You think you can come in a ring and be an absolute slob!? You’re wrong.”
Sena, trapped in the center of the training ring they were using, had no choice but to tap out. Emmy, annoyed that he quit so suddenly, only pulled the hold back tighter. Sena tapped a bit harder and faster at that. Emmy responded by finally relinquishing the hold and quickly getting up to her feet as Sena attended to his neck and knee for a moment, giving her a nasty glance.
“What’s that look for? You’re lucky that this is practice and I decided to let go. What are you going to do when you have your first actual match, huh? Are you going to panic and just give up out of fear? Or are you going to fight through it? I swear I don’t see how the hell you graduated from Red Stick. You fucking suck.”
Okay, maybe saying he sucked was a bit harsh. The kid wasn’t bad, not bad at all! In fact, he completed her usually brutal morning workout without a complaint or without losing any bit of energy. But she knew she was teaching the boy some pretty harsh truths, truths that her trainer and some other figures who helped prepare her for her life as a wrestler were not friendly in sharing. She saw the angry look on the Young Lion’s face and shook her head with a grin. She was starting to understand why he was sent to prepare for his debut with her. He had that similar fire in his eyes, the kind of drive to improve. Smirking, she offered him her hand to help him to his feet, which he accepted.
“Thanks. I’m trying to get better.”
“I know, but here’s the thing: if you’re going to take an action in a match, commit to it. If you’re going to throw a strike, throw it, especially if you’re in close. If you hesitate, someone’s going to immediately take control of the situation.”
As Emmy was about to continue on with more instruction, there was a light tap at the door of the small private gym. A girl, barely out of high school with blonde hair in a ponytail and thick glasses, emerged to say something while holding a phone. She looked a little apprehensive to speak, knowing that Emmy did not like her training sessions disturbed under any circumstances.
“What’s up? You’re already in here so no use being quiet now.”
“Um…you have a phone call from the Project Honor office. I think it's someone from upper management who wants to speak with you?”
She took a glance towards her student and gestured for him to remain in the ring as she leapt out of it, showing off the fact that her ankle was at full strength again by landing on her feet without a bother. Taking the phone from the attendant (who was shooed away with a dismissive wave of the hand), she got down to business immediately.
“Hey, this is Emmanuelle. Who’s calling?”
“Good afternoon. This is James J. Radley from the Project Honor office. I’m sure you’re aware that Indy’s still in the hospital after surgery and we’re sorta running things on Proving Ground by committee right now until further notice?”
“Yes, I’m aware. I’ve been out a couple of weeks but heard about what happened through the grapevine.”
Emmy was already getting annoyed. The guy on the line sounded like some old Southern fop who would drone on and on until he got to the eventual point he wanted to make while Emmy was asleep from boredom. Waving her hand a bit in a “hurry-up” motion, she managed to keep a polite tone on the phone.
“Yeah. I’m calling to ask about your ankle injury. I was told that you’re actually not going to have to take that much time away and will be ready to compete come the start of 2022, correct? I believe that our doctors are already in the process of doing an official confirmation, but I want to check with you and make sure everything is in order.”
“That’s correct. My personal doctor has cleared me and the PH-approved doctors have no concerns.”
“That’s good. Emmy, I just wanted to call you and let you know that the company has decided that you’ll be making your return at Unbreakable Resolution II…and you’ll be challenging for the Grand Championship.”
Emmy looks confused for a moment, thinking about her recent record in her mind before deciding to speak again.
“Miss Emmanuelle, are you there?”
“Yes. Look, I don’t mind this opportunity. That’s the main reason why I came to the brand, after all. But…why me? I haven’t exactly been winning a lot of matches lately and I’m sure Ozymandias has plenty of other challengers.”
“Well, it’s not that hard of a decision for us here on the temporary board overseeing the brand. We know you’ve been on a hard luck trend lately, but we looked at the circumstances of all your losses in that time. You put on a valiant performance in that tournament final. You actually did very well in the Purge and Black Friday events considering the circumstances even though you didn’t collect any of the big prizes or win the match proper. Also, we understood that your losing the six-man tag match and taking the pin may have had more to do with an unfortunate injury than anything else. Arata’s challenging Ozymandias, Tara has decided to exercise her opportunity at a later time, and now you’re healthy. I dare to say, Emmy, that even if Indy hadn’t gotten assaulted he may have put you all in position for this anyway.”
“I understand. I’m assuming you’ll have someone send the contract and such over as soon as my opponent’s confirmed.”
“Of course. That’s already well on the way to being taken care of. Looking forward to seeing you in Columbus.”
“Thanks.”
-CLICK-
With the phone call done, Emmy looked towards Sena, who was still standing in the ring, leaning on the ropes….which he immediately got off of and stood up straight as Emmy glanced in his direction. He couldn’t hear the call but took note of Emmy’s confused, if not completely shocked expression.
“Hey, Emmy? What’s going on?”
“We have some work to do. Take yourself a break for a quick lunch because once we get back in here for training we’re going full-speed, right?”
The younger male eyed Emmanuelle with a skeptical glance before nodding his head in the affirmative.
“Got it.”
December 24, 2021
Emmy’s Home- Living Room
Pacific Palisades, California
Emmy was curled up on her couch, watching the match like a hawk. The lumberjack match was every bit of a titanic struggle as she thought it would be. Ozy and Arata never disappointed and even though she was scouting them, she watched just as eagerly as any fan. That was pretty uncommon for her seeing as she had no real affinity for wrestling until that fateful day at the Rose Bowl when she watched her mentor win his final World Championship. Sena, on the other hand, was frantically shouting and cheering the combatants on with every move and every strike. She had come to know that even though his parents were game designers, Sena had an almost child-like enthusiasm and passion for wrestling ever since he was young. As endearing as it made him to her, it also made him equally annoying. So much so she resorted to smacking him in the head during this main event match with her remote.
“Hey, you old hag! What the hell was that for!?”
“Shut up before you spend Christmas hitchhiking back to Seattle! I’m trying to concentrate.”
That’s when the music hit. She didn’t know him well, but she recognized the face that flashed over the Honor Tron. Syndicate. He had mockingly asked her to pass on his regards to Ozymandias before knocking her unconscious during the purge. She quickly took note as he didn’t appear immediately before gesturing towards the lumberjacks.
“Something’s off…..”
When one of them emerged and started hitting the monster with a baseball bat, Emmy didn’t take long to figure out what had happened. She was certain the masked Rapture guy was actually Syndicate in disguise. She wasn’t particularly concerned about their beef, but it certainly changed the dynamics of the match she was preparing for. Arata had recovered enough to score the win, even using the move that ended their last encounter: his famous Golden Dragon. Arata started to celebrate with the Grand Championship not long after, while her suspicions were confirmed as Syndicate took off the mask and revealed himself as the program went off the air. Having seen enough, she turned off the television.
“Well, at least you don’t have to fight that Ozy guy. He’s a machine. Not even human.”
“Heh. Honestly I might have preferred Ozy strategically speaking. Most big guys like that, the monster types, they don’t take me too seriously until I’m pushing them. Arata knows a lot of my tricks already so he won’t be as easy to fool. Plus, the guy’s an ace. He got lucky here but he’s not “King of the World” by chance.”
“You say he knows your tricks already? Then how are you going to beat him?”
“Hmph….Learn some more.”
Sena couldn’t help but chuckle at the comment before starting to climb up to his feet. It wasn’t particularly late but he did want to go to sleep early. Even on Christmas, Emmy intended to train hard and he was her guinea pig for various things she wanted to try since he was close in size to Arata himself. He was about to march off to bed but let his curiosity get the better of him as he settled into one of the several large recliners in the room.
“What made you want to be a wrestler? Besides the money.”
“Truth?”
“Truth.”
Emmy shuffled a bit in her seat on the couch, a bit uncomfortable with what she was about to share. She didn’t like talking about that time in her life, when she felt especially vulnerable and wasn’t nearly as strong physically as she would become.
“When I was going to UCLA, I worked at a few Japanese-style clubs here. Hostess clubs. It’s a little hard to explain, think of escorting but you’re already at the place the date is going to be and there’s no sex involved. You would just sit around and have conversations with these guys, pour them drinks, have a conversation with them. Most of them were just lonely businessmen, pretty boring. You’d have some who would come in and be annoying, try to grope you, curse you out, things like that.”
“Why did you take that job on!? Isn’t your family, like, loaded?”
“Well, they are. When I left to go to college after getting my scholarship, I told them I wanted to do things on my own. They weren’t thrilled, but they understood. I took up the job just to make some money on the side. My scholarship covered tuition, books, things like that…but anything else I was left to fend for myself. I still don’t know how I was managing. Wake up for practice, go to class, study, workout, study some more, and work at these clubs. It was wild. Sometimes it was fun. But I got a glimpse of how people treat people who they think are below them, how they treat women…..”
Emmy’s fists balled up at her sides a bit. She chose her words carefully. She could still see the faces of some of her friends, bruised up after some encounters with less than savory characters. She saw the pain in their eyes, how it felt like their youth and innocence was being stolen away right before her eyes.
“When I was there, I was making a commitment to myself that nobody was going to walk over me or anyone I cared about ever again. I was able to do alright there. I wasn’t as buff as I am now, but I was athletic and pretty enough to appeal to a lot of them. I also got notorious for my right hook when guys pushed things too far. A lot of the other Hostesses weren’t as strong and didn’t have the kind of opportunities I had…and I really couldn’t help them. That place was an oddity: you could stand up for yourself but if you dared do it for anyone else you wouldn’t last long.”
“So…you wrestle for them?”
“In a way. I don’t let people in and see a lot of the things about my personal life, but even though I behave like a bitch on camera a bit and I’m not the friendliest, I hope when people see me and how hard I work, that even though they may not have the same gifts or money they try to make themselves into something better. If I can’t help someone directly, maybe by seeing me perform they get help from me indirectly by being inspired. Pretty lame, huh?”
“Actually, no…..that’s kinda cool.”
Emmy was tired. She tried not to ever let Sena see her even so much as yawn, but with how she had been preparing for her title match, she couldn't hide it. She started to doze off with a small smile on her face.
“Merry Christmas, Sena….”
January 2nd, 2022
Pacific Palisades, Los Angeles
Emmy’s Home- Her Bedroom
Job done. She had finally made her way back home after that wild contest in Australia. Teaming with one of her most hated enemies was not something ideal, but she did it for Sena, for Shouta, and for a substantial bit of financial compensation. She had felt like she had been in some strange dream, seeing all sorts of fantastical things. She fought a lot of unfamiliar faces, but sadly missed out on one of the encounters she was craving most: Michael Bishop. Even so, The Golden Dawn were victorious. Out of guilt for some of the things that had happened that she had unintentionally allowed to happen, she took her time to set things right with all the brave people she had come across and as a result she all but negated most of the group’s long term plans in one stroke. She was hoping to put even more money on her books or leave with some other tangible bounty…but seeing the look on Arata’s face at the end of it all, the rage and frustration of being completely screwed over and having absolutely no recourse at that moment in time? Damn it, that was a wonderful image that she would remember for a long, long time. Even so, as she tossed her travel bag aside and looked over her massive bed before flopping down unceremoniously in it, the main thing on her mind was rest.
**KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!!**
She was really just trying to get some rest. It was bad enough she had to come back from Australia as fast as she did to get ready for this title match, but now that lanky runt was banging on her door. What on earth could he have possibly wanted!? She was just trying to sleep, for fuck’s sake!
**KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!!!**
“WHAT!?”
“Hey, I was just checking on you, are you alright?”
“..............Sena?”
“Yeah?”
“Happy New Year. Now shut up, I need to sleep.”
On the other side of that massive double door, Sena scoffed and picked up his gym bag. Even while she was away, she monitored his training in some way. Maids spying, video surveillance. He was sure that if he didn’t get to the gym that even in her tired state he’d probably catch an ass-kicking if he slacked at all.
“Well Happy fucking New Year to you too!”
January 7, 2022
Columbus, Ohio
Unknown Hotel
Emmy decided to tape her message from a small hotel dining area. It was as close as what you could pass for “fine dining” in Columbus, but she wasn’t there to eat and socialize to the fullest. She was there with a camera, nursing a bottle of water instead of her usual wine of choice. Instead of her usual dazzling fashion, she decided on a grey sweatsuit and a UCLA winter hat covering her newly braided black and white hair. Before she spoke, she simply looked towards the camera with a thoughtful expression. She had a lot to say to the man, and to her fans in general, before the bout. She had to start with the one thing that was on her mind any time she saw that bastard with the bad hair: Hate.
Hate is a strong word, man. There’s a lot of emotions, a lot of feelings that bubble to the surface when I think of some of the people that I’ve faced. Anger. Desire. Arrogance. Doubt. Respect. But when I look into your face, Arata Asakura, I only feel hate from the deepest parts of my soul for you. I understand that from where you stand in the wrestling world, I’m nothing more than a nuisance to you right now. Just an inconveniently placed roadblock for you to go about being the greatest titleist in Project Honor and Proving Ground history. Everything is set up for you to succeed. I saw the match that you had with Ozy and even though fortune smiled on you, I can’t take away the fact that you ended that reign. You’ve been bullrushing your way through the roster, rampaging against people just because of how you’ve been treated elsewhere. And you know what, you’ve been doing everything that you said you would. You’re King of the World, you’re an OWA World Champion, and now you’re the Grand Champion here. It’s never been a secret of how talented I understand you to be. You’re not someone I take lightly under any circumstances and you are a tremendous athlete.
But, you see, when I signed up to help you win that Dimensional Warfare…I started to see even more of what I thought from the beginning about you. You see, your talent is undeniable, but you, space cowboy, have the one thing that annoys me to no end, especially when it comes to men:
A God Complex. There’s entitlement, then there’s whatever ego trip that you’re on. It’s bad enough that you’ve taken on nicknames like “The Gaijin Killer”, openly displaying how callous and racist you are. But then I saw how you behaved when we worked together. You and Shouta came to me for help and I delivered. I helped occupy the likes of Jeff X and Finnegan Wakefield so you could win your little game. But as I saw how you went about business, how bloodthirsty and disgusting you were…I felt ashamed that I even aligned myself with you, even if it meant that such an alliance could keep Sena safe and make me a fortune. I’m not an angel, not by any means. I remember when I beat you for the Shogun Championship, I rubbed your fucking nose in the fact that you thought you could push me around and failed miserably. I’ve been petty, obsessive, a poor sport, and a bitch. But one thing that I haven’t done that you have done is the major difference between us: I haven’t tried to end people’s careers. I haven’t tried to make people suffer any more than what they need to for me to achieve my goals. I think this business is about competition, about making money, about inspiring people to do more with themselves. You just look at it as something to conquer, something to rule over.
So you want to know the real reason why I screwed you over the way I did? I just don’t fucking like you.
This match, it’s an important one for me in a lot of ways. It’s the first chance I’ve had at the Grand Championship. I don’t pretend to understand the lineage of the belt or anything like that, but I do know it's one of the most prestigious titles here. I know it’s something that I think most people could understand me getting a crack at, having been a former Warrior Rising Champion and nearly winning a trophy the last time I was out in singles competition. Am I just rolling through, crushing everything in my path? No.
But I do remember some of the words that came from Indy as I sat there, watching Tara take in the adulation of the crowd, feeling the confetti that I worked so hard for falling for her instead of me.
“We all fall. We all have our stumbling blocks. You’ll have another opportunity to make your mark. Just be ready for it when it comes.”
Well, I don’t know if I’m ready considering I’m just recovering from an ankle injury and have a four match losing streak, but seeing your face on the other side of the ring gives me all the reason in the world to make sure I’m as close to ready as possible. You are the living embodiment of all the horrible things that make me sick: horrible fashion, shit haircuts, entitlement, misogyny, xenophobia, and just being the biggest self-absorbed fucking prick you can possibly be. Every time I see your face, I see someone who told me no once before. I saw someone who tried to bully me off a basketball court when I was a young teenager. When I see you, I see those assholes with the grabby hands who used to come to the clubs I worked in when I was in college. When I see you, I see every person who told me that my wrestling career would be a joke. Promoters, trainers, fellow wrestlers. Everyone who has told me that I can’t do something, that I’m too weak or feminine or stupid or whatever…I always see your face. And being able to prove all those motherfuckers wrong is infinitely more incentive for me than just taking a championship from around your waist.
I don’t know or care if Ozy’s going to come back for his title. But seeing you stand across the ring is the best present that Proving Ground and Project Honor could have possibly given me this past holiday season. The fact that you’re holding a title this time just sweetens the pot for me. We have both changed over the past year or so. You’re winning more titles than I am, you’re getting more press and are acknowledged the world over as one of the top guys around, and again, you deserve that.
But as far as us growing as people, I have to say that you’re the one who is regressing. You really want to sit around and proclaim yourself a god. No, not a shitty “wrestling god” like so many indy wrestling goofballs talk about. You really think that you’re a literal god! While your success has only exacerbated your ever-increasing lack of humanity, my struggles have only made me hungrier, more understanding of what I can and can’t do, and more aware that people like you only know and respect one thing: getting your ass kicked. The way that you walk around and tote your titles and have your friends kissing your arse, the way that you overlook me, It really does seem to me that you forget you lost our first match and very nearly lost the second as well.
A lot of things have changed since the last time we wrestled. But there’s one thing that hasn’t changed and you know it: I’m under your skin. You like to pass off your problems, your lack of success at a given time on people or things. You don’t have all the success in America you want to start? You blame Gaijin, even though ironically enough YOU are the Gaijin, the outsider, in this country. Whenever I stand across from you in a high-stakes situation? I’m just the one who gets in your way, I follow you around like some sort of puppy. Now, you have everything. You’re expected to win this fight. A challenger mired in a losing streak, giving up dozens of pounds in weight, a height advantage, reach advantage, in every conceivable sense you are the favorite to win this contest. But deep down in places you don’t want to talk about, far removed from the facade you put on for the cameras and for your allies and even most of your enemies, you know that one thing is repeating itself in the back of your mind over and over and over and over again:
Emmy knows me better than anyone else…..and I’m absolutely terrified.
You remember damn well what the result was the last time you and I walked into a ring together and you had gold around your waist. In a lot of ways, I’ve been brought back down to earth since and I’m more than okay with that. That last time, perhaps I wrestled you for all the wrong reasons. This is an opportunity to prove once and for all that I stand toe to toe with anyone that this company can put forward for me to fight. It’s an opportunity to sleep a little easier at night and avenge one loss while putting the exclamation point on our first encounter. I want to finish peeling away the mask of the Golden Dragon, the Self Made Man, the Gaijin Killer….and reveal the weak, sad little man that is Arata Asakura to the rest of the world.
It’s not that often that one gets to mix business and pleasure, but believe me, I’m glad that this is one of those times. I don’t have any plans with you other than taking that title from you. All that you do is drag people down with your behavior, something I saw first-hand at Dimensional Warfare. Hell, you nearly injured me just trying to get rid of one of your enemies without a care in the world even though we had agreed to be teammates! So, no, this is just like that one-shot bid in OWA. This is going to be, if I have my way, the only time I have to look into your stupid face the whole time both of us are in this company. FIght you, beat you, take the Grand Championship and move on to the next. That’s the business deal? The pleasure? Well, that certainly won’t come from touching you. You’re absolutely repulsive to me in every sense. I don’t expect our match to be something easy or comfortable. I can endure punishment and all but I’m no sadist or masochist. Winning the title? Been there, done that, especially with you. But I will tell you one thing that will bring me satisfaction: When this match is over, the King, the Wrestling Star, the God, The Killer….is looking up at someone taking something from him. It’s supposed to be his property, his era, but he’s completely helpless. All he can wonder as he’s laying there is one simple question:
“How the fuck did that bitch Emmanuelle get the best of me….again!?”
I hope you’ve enjoyed the time you’ve had to masquerade as Grand Champion, Arata. Your championship reign is at an end as soon as you stand across from me….and it couldn’t have been short enough for my fucking taste.
Emmy’s Home- Home Gym Area
Pacific Palisades, California
Losing sucks. Emmy knew that feeling better than most, even as she cobbled together a decent run for herself in Project Honor and elsewhere. Sure, she had recently broken her losing streak in the Lethal League and was working her way back towards the belt she always fancied as a “crown jewel” in a collection of them: the WrestleWorld Shogun Championship. But the setback against the Big Drip team was embarrassing. With the exception of that insane Black Friday event, she typically had success against them. To add injury to insult, she had injured her ankle. When it happened, there was a genuine concern that she may have suffered an injury that would have kept her out of action for a while.
Luckily that was not the case.
She had the ankle looked at as a precaution and MRI came back without confirmation of any lasting injuries. Not even a sprain. After a few days of waiting for the soreness to go away, she was back to taking jogs, doing training, and sparring with her new understudy, Sena. She strongly objected to her mentor shipping off the young man into her care, but she did owe it as a favor to Carlos. She even picked up the lanky Japanese-American at an airport, setting him up at her home until he was able to find a wrestling gig. In exchange for him being on-call twenty-four hours a day for whatever task Emmy was cruel enough to dream up for him to do, she trained with the kid, doing her best to prepare him for life as a professional wrestler. It was during one of those training sessions that she would get a call that would seriously send a shock through her system.
“Hey, easy!”
Emmy was used to sparring and fighting men much larger than her. She was also far more experienced with wrestling than her young protege. Sena Taniguchi was a complete novice compared to her and it showed with his clumsy movement and unconvincing strikes. After one exchange of kicks, Emmy effortlessly captured one of his legs, brought him to the ground, and locked in an STF with precision and grace with such speed that the younger man was instantly asking for mercy. The only thing he got was Emmy clenching the hold tighter.
“You think somebody else is going to play easy with you when you get your first match? You think you can come in a ring and be an absolute slob!? You’re wrong.”
Sena, trapped in the center of the training ring they were using, had no choice but to tap out. Emmy, annoyed that he quit so suddenly, only pulled the hold back tighter. Sena tapped a bit harder and faster at that. Emmy responded by finally relinquishing the hold and quickly getting up to her feet as Sena attended to his neck and knee for a moment, giving her a nasty glance.
“What’s that look for? You’re lucky that this is practice and I decided to let go. What are you going to do when you have your first actual match, huh? Are you going to panic and just give up out of fear? Or are you going to fight through it? I swear I don’t see how the hell you graduated from Red Stick. You fucking suck.”
Okay, maybe saying he sucked was a bit harsh. The kid wasn’t bad, not bad at all! In fact, he completed her usually brutal morning workout without a complaint or without losing any bit of energy. But she knew she was teaching the boy some pretty harsh truths, truths that her trainer and some other figures who helped prepare her for her life as a wrestler were not friendly in sharing. She saw the angry look on the Young Lion’s face and shook her head with a grin. She was starting to understand why he was sent to prepare for his debut with her. He had that similar fire in his eyes, the kind of drive to improve. Smirking, she offered him her hand to help him to his feet, which he accepted.
“Thanks. I’m trying to get better.”
“I know, but here’s the thing: if you’re going to take an action in a match, commit to it. If you’re going to throw a strike, throw it, especially if you’re in close. If you hesitate, someone’s going to immediately take control of the situation.”
As Emmy was about to continue on with more instruction, there was a light tap at the door of the small private gym. A girl, barely out of high school with blonde hair in a ponytail and thick glasses, emerged to say something while holding a phone. She looked a little apprehensive to speak, knowing that Emmy did not like her training sessions disturbed under any circumstances.
“What’s up? You’re already in here so no use being quiet now.”
“Um…you have a phone call from the Project Honor office. I think it's someone from upper management who wants to speak with you?”
She took a glance towards her student and gestured for him to remain in the ring as she leapt out of it, showing off the fact that her ankle was at full strength again by landing on her feet without a bother. Taking the phone from the attendant (who was shooed away with a dismissive wave of the hand), she got down to business immediately.
“Hey, this is Emmanuelle. Who’s calling?”
“Good afternoon. This is James J. Radley from the Project Honor office. I’m sure you’re aware that Indy’s still in the hospital after surgery and we’re sorta running things on Proving Ground by committee right now until further notice?”
“Yes, I’m aware. I’ve been out a couple of weeks but heard about what happened through the grapevine.”
Emmy was already getting annoyed. The guy on the line sounded like some old Southern fop who would drone on and on until he got to the eventual point he wanted to make while Emmy was asleep from boredom. Waving her hand a bit in a “hurry-up” motion, she managed to keep a polite tone on the phone.
“Yeah. I’m calling to ask about your ankle injury. I was told that you’re actually not going to have to take that much time away and will be ready to compete come the start of 2022, correct? I believe that our doctors are already in the process of doing an official confirmation, but I want to check with you and make sure everything is in order.”
“That’s correct. My personal doctor has cleared me and the PH-approved doctors have no concerns.”
“That’s good. Emmy, I just wanted to call you and let you know that the company has decided that you’ll be making your return at Unbreakable Resolution II…and you’ll be challenging for the Grand Championship.”
Emmy looks confused for a moment, thinking about her recent record in her mind before deciding to speak again.
“Miss Emmanuelle, are you there?”
“Yes. Look, I don’t mind this opportunity. That’s the main reason why I came to the brand, after all. But…why me? I haven’t exactly been winning a lot of matches lately and I’m sure Ozymandias has plenty of other challengers.”
“Well, it’s not that hard of a decision for us here on the temporary board overseeing the brand. We know you’ve been on a hard luck trend lately, but we looked at the circumstances of all your losses in that time. You put on a valiant performance in that tournament final. You actually did very well in the Purge and Black Friday events considering the circumstances even though you didn’t collect any of the big prizes or win the match proper. Also, we understood that your losing the six-man tag match and taking the pin may have had more to do with an unfortunate injury than anything else. Arata’s challenging Ozymandias, Tara has decided to exercise her opportunity at a later time, and now you’re healthy. I dare to say, Emmy, that even if Indy hadn’t gotten assaulted he may have put you all in position for this anyway.”
“I understand. I’m assuming you’ll have someone send the contract and such over as soon as my opponent’s confirmed.”
“Of course. That’s already well on the way to being taken care of. Looking forward to seeing you in Columbus.”
“Thanks.”
-CLICK-
With the phone call done, Emmy looked towards Sena, who was still standing in the ring, leaning on the ropes….which he immediately got off of and stood up straight as Emmy glanced in his direction. He couldn’t hear the call but took note of Emmy’s confused, if not completely shocked expression.
“Hey, Emmy? What’s going on?”
“We have some work to do. Take yourself a break for a quick lunch because once we get back in here for training we’re going full-speed, right?”
The younger male eyed Emmanuelle with a skeptical glance before nodding his head in the affirmative.
“Got it.”
December 24, 2021
Emmy’s Home- Living Room
Pacific Palisades, California
Emmy was curled up on her couch, watching the match like a hawk. The lumberjack match was every bit of a titanic struggle as she thought it would be. Ozy and Arata never disappointed and even though she was scouting them, she watched just as eagerly as any fan. That was pretty uncommon for her seeing as she had no real affinity for wrestling until that fateful day at the Rose Bowl when she watched her mentor win his final World Championship. Sena, on the other hand, was frantically shouting and cheering the combatants on with every move and every strike. She had come to know that even though his parents were game designers, Sena had an almost child-like enthusiasm and passion for wrestling ever since he was young. As endearing as it made him to her, it also made him equally annoying. So much so she resorted to smacking him in the head during this main event match with her remote.
“Hey, you old hag! What the hell was that for!?”
“Shut up before you spend Christmas hitchhiking back to Seattle! I’m trying to concentrate.”
That’s when the music hit. She didn’t know him well, but she recognized the face that flashed over the Honor Tron. Syndicate. He had mockingly asked her to pass on his regards to Ozymandias before knocking her unconscious during the purge. She quickly took note as he didn’t appear immediately before gesturing towards the lumberjacks.
“Something’s off…..”
When one of them emerged and started hitting the monster with a baseball bat, Emmy didn’t take long to figure out what had happened. She was certain the masked Rapture guy was actually Syndicate in disguise. She wasn’t particularly concerned about their beef, but it certainly changed the dynamics of the match she was preparing for. Arata had recovered enough to score the win, even using the move that ended their last encounter: his famous Golden Dragon. Arata started to celebrate with the Grand Championship not long after, while her suspicions were confirmed as Syndicate took off the mask and revealed himself as the program went off the air. Having seen enough, she turned off the television.
“Well, at least you don’t have to fight that Ozy guy. He’s a machine. Not even human.”
“Heh. Honestly I might have preferred Ozy strategically speaking. Most big guys like that, the monster types, they don’t take me too seriously until I’m pushing them. Arata knows a lot of my tricks already so he won’t be as easy to fool. Plus, the guy’s an ace. He got lucky here but he’s not “King of the World” by chance.”
“You say he knows your tricks already? Then how are you going to beat him?”
“Hmph….Learn some more.”
Sena couldn’t help but chuckle at the comment before starting to climb up to his feet. It wasn’t particularly late but he did want to go to sleep early. Even on Christmas, Emmy intended to train hard and he was her guinea pig for various things she wanted to try since he was close in size to Arata himself. He was about to march off to bed but let his curiosity get the better of him as he settled into one of the several large recliners in the room.
“What made you want to be a wrestler? Besides the money.”
“Truth?”
“Truth.”
Emmy shuffled a bit in her seat on the couch, a bit uncomfortable with what she was about to share. She didn’t like talking about that time in her life, when she felt especially vulnerable and wasn’t nearly as strong physically as she would become.
“When I was going to UCLA, I worked at a few Japanese-style clubs here. Hostess clubs. It’s a little hard to explain, think of escorting but you’re already at the place the date is going to be and there’s no sex involved. You would just sit around and have conversations with these guys, pour them drinks, have a conversation with them. Most of them were just lonely businessmen, pretty boring. You’d have some who would come in and be annoying, try to grope you, curse you out, things like that.”
“Why did you take that job on!? Isn’t your family, like, loaded?”
“Well, they are. When I left to go to college after getting my scholarship, I told them I wanted to do things on my own. They weren’t thrilled, but they understood. I took up the job just to make some money on the side. My scholarship covered tuition, books, things like that…but anything else I was left to fend for myself. I still don’t know how I was managing. Wake up for practice, go to class, study, workout, study some more, and work at these clubs. It was wild. Sometimes it was fun. But I got a glimpse of how people treat people who they think are below them, how they treat women…..”
Emmy’s fists balled up at her sides a bit. She chose her words carefully. She could still see the faces of some of her friends, bruised up after some encounters with less than savory characters. She saw the pain in their eyes, how it felt like their youth and innocence was being stolen away right before her eyes.
“When I was there, I was making a commitment to myself that nobody was going to walk over me or anyone I cared about ever again. I was able to do alright there. I wasn’t as buff as I am now, but I was athletic and pretty enough to appeal to a lot of them. I also got notorious for my right hook when guys pushed things too far. A lot of the other Hostesses weren’t as strong and didn’t have the kind of opportunities I had…and I really couldn’t help them. That place was an oddity: you could stand up for yourself but if you dared do it for anyone else you wouldn’t last long.”
“So…you wrestle for them?”
“In a way. I don’t let people in and see a lot of the things about my personal life, but even though I behave like a bitch on camera a bit and I’m not the friendliest, I hope when people see me and how hard I work, that even though they may not have the same gifts or money they try to make themselves into something better. If I can’t help someone directly, maybe by seeing me perform they get help from me indirectly by being inspired. Pretty lame, huh?”
“Actually, no…..that’s kinda cool.”
Emmy was tired. She tried not to ever let Sena see her even so much as yawn, but with how she had been preparing for her title match, she couldn't hide it. She started to doze off with a small smile on her face.
“Merry Christmas, Sena….”
January 2nd, 2022
Pacific Palisades, Los Angeles
Emmy’s Home- Her Bedroom
Job done. She had finally made her way back home after that wild contest in Australia. Teaming with one of her most hated enemies was not something ideal, but she did it for Sena, for Shouta, and for a substantial bit of financial compensation. She had felt like she had been in some strange dream, seeing all sorts of fantastical things. She fought a lot of unfamiliar faces, but sadly missed out on one of the encounters she was craving most: Michael Bishop. Even so, The Golden Dawn were victorious. Out of guilt for some of the things that had happened that she had unintentionally allowed to happen, she took her time to set things right with all the brave people she had come across and as a result she all but negated most of the group’s long term plans in one stroke. She was hoping to put even more money on her books or leave with some other tangible bounty…but seeing the look on Arata’s face at the end of it all, the rage and frustration of being completely screwed over and having absolutely no recourse at that moment in time? Damn it, that was a wonderful image that she would remember for a long, long time. Even so, as she tossed her travel bag aside and looked over her massive bed before flopping down unceremoniously in it, the main thing on her mind was rest.
**KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!!**
She was really just trying to get some rest. It was bad enough she had to come back from Australia as fast as she did to get ready for this title match, but now that lanky runt was banging on her door. What on earth could he have possibly wanted!? She was just trying to sleep, for fuck’s sake!
**KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!!!**
“WHAT!?”
“Hey, I was just checking on you, are you alright?”
“..............Sena?”
“Yeah?”
“Happy New Year. Now shut up, I need to sleep.”
On the other side of that massive double door, Sena scoffed and picked up his gym bag. Even while she was away, she monitored his training in some way. Maids spying, video surveillance. He was sure that if he didn’t get to the gym that even in her tired state he’d probably catch an ass-kicking if he slacked at all.
“Well Happy fucking New Year to you too!”
January 7, 2022
Columbus, Ohio
Unknown Hotel
Emmy decided to tape her message from a small hotel dining area. It was as close as what you could pass for “fine dining” in Columbus, but she wasn’t there to eat and socialize to the fullest. She was there with a camera, nursing a bottle of water instead of her usual wine of choice. Instead of her usual dazzling fashion, she decided on a grey sweatsuit and a UCLA winter hat covering her newly braided black and white hair. Before she spoke, she simply looked towards the camera with a thoughtful expression. She had a lot to say to the man, and to her fans in general, before the bout. She had to start with the one thing that was on her mind any time she saw that bastard with the bad hair: Hate.
Hate is a strong word, man. There’s a lot of emotions, a lot of feelings that bubble to the surface when I think of some of the people that I’ve faced. Anger. Desire. Arrogance. Doubt. Respect. But when I look into your face, Arata Asakura, I only feel hate from the deepest parts of my soul for you. I understand that from where you stand in the wrestling world, I’m nothing more than a nuisance to you right now. Just an inconveniently placed roadblock for you to go about being the greatest titleist in Project Honor and Proving Ground history. Everything is set up for you to succeed. I saw the match that you had with Ozy and even though fortune smiled on you, I can’t take away the fact that you ended that reign. You’ve been bullrushing your way through the roster, rampaging against people just because of how you’ve been treated elsewhere. And you know what, you’ve been doing everything that you said you would. You’re King of the World, you’re an OWA World Champion, and now you’re the Grand Champion here. It’s never been a secret of how talented I understand you to be. You’re not someone I take lightly under any circumstances and you are a tremendous athlete.
But, you see, when I signed up to help you win that Dimensional Warfare…I started to see even more of what I thought from the beginning about you. You see, your talent is undeniable, but you, space cowboy, have the one thing that annoys me to no end, especially when it comes to men:
A God Complex. There’s entitlement, then there’s whatever ego trip that you’re on. It’s bad enough that you’ve taken on nicknames like “The Gaijin Killer”, openly displaying how callous and racist you are. But then I saw how you behaved when we worked together. You and Shouta came to me for help and I delivered. I helped occupy the likes of Jeff X and Finnegan Wakefield so you could win your little game. But as I saw how you went about business, how bloodthirsty and disgusting you were…I felt ashamed that I even aligned myself with you, even if it meant that such an alliance could keep Sena safe and make me a fortune. I’m not an angel, not by any means. I remember when I beat you for the Shogun Championship, I rubbed your fucking nose in the fact that you thought you could push me around and failed miserably. I’ve been petty, obsessive, a poor sport, and a bitch. But one thing that I haven’t done that you have done is the major difference between us: I haven’t tried to end people’s careers. I haven’t tried to make people suffer any more than what they need to for me to achieve my goals. I think this business is about competition, about making money, about inspiring people to do more with themselves. You just look at it as something to conquer, something to rule over.
So you want to know the real reason why I screwed you over the way I did? I just don’t fucking like you.
This match, it’s an important one for me in a lot of ways. It’s the first chance I’ve had at the Grand Championship. I don’t pretend to understand the lineage of the belt or anything like that, but I do know it's one of the most prestigious titles here. I know it’s something that I think most people could understand me getting a crack at, having been a former Warrior Rising Champion and nearly winning a trophy the last time I was out in singles competition. Am I just rolling through, crushing everything in my path? No.
But I do remember some of the words that came from Indy as I sat there, watching Tara take in the adulation of the crowd, feeling the confetti that I worked so hard for falling for her instead of me.
“We all fall. We all have our stumbling blocks. You’ll have another opportunity to make your mark. Just be ready for it when it comes.”
Well, I don’t know if I’m ready considering I’m just recovering from an ankle injury and have a four match losing streak, but seeing your face on the other side of the ring gives me all the reason in the world to make sure I’m as close to ready as possible. You are the living embodiment of all the horrible things that make me sick: horrible fashion, shit haircuts, entitlement, misogyny, xenophobia, and just being the biggest self-absorbed fucking prick you can possibly be. Every time I see your face, I see someone who told me no once before. I saw someone who tried to bully me off a basketball court when I was a young teenager. When I see you, I see those assholes with the grabby hands who used to come to the clubs I worked in when I was in college. When I see you, I see every person who told me that my wrestling career would be a joke. Promoters, trainers, fellow wrestlers. Everyone who has told me that I can’t do something, that I’m too weak or feminine or stupid or whatever…I always see your face. And being able to prove all those motherfuckers wrong is infinitely more incentive for me than just taking a championship from around your waist.
I don’t know or care if Ozy’s going to come back for his title. But seeing you stand across the ring is the best present that Proving Ground and Project Honor could have possibly given me this past holiday season. The fact that you’re holding a title this time just sweetens the pot for me. We have both changed over the past year or so. You’re winning more titles than I am, you’re getting more press and are acknowledged the world over as one of the top guys around, and again, you deserve that.
But as far as us growing as people, I have to say that you’re the one who is regressing. You really want to sit around and proclaim yourself a god. No, not a shitty “wrestling god” like so many indy wrestling goofballs talk about. You really think that you’re a literal god! While your success has only exacerbated your ever-increasing lack of humanity, my struggles have only made me hungrier, more understanding of what I can and can’t do, and more aware that people like you only know and respect one thing: getting your ass kicked. The way that you walk around and tote your titles and have your friends kissing your arse, the way that you overlook me, It really does seem to me that you forget you lost our first match and very nearly lost the second as well.
A lot of things have changed since the last time we wrestled. But there’s one thing that hasn’t changed and you know it: I’m under your skin. You like to pass off your problems, your lack of success at a given time on people or things. You don’t have all the success in America you want to start? You blame Gaijin, even though ironically enough YOU are the Gaijin, the outsider, in this country. Whenever I stand across from you in a high-stakes situation? I’m just the one who gets in your way, I follow you around like some sort of puppy. Now, you have everything. You’re expected to win this fight. A challenger mired in a losing streak, giving up dozens of pounds in weight, a height advantage, reach advantage, in every conceivable sense you are the favorite to win this contest. But deep down in places you don’t want to talk about, far removed from the facade you put on for the cameras and for your allies and even most of your enemies, you know that one thing is repeating itself in the back of your mind over and over and over and over again:
Emmy knows me better than anyone else…..and I’m absolutely terrified.
You remember damn well what the result was the last time you and I walked into a ring together and you had gold around your waist. In a lot of ways, I’ve been brought back down to earth since and I’m more than okay with that. That last time, perhaps I wrestled you for all the wrong reasons. This is an opportunity to prove once and for all that I stand toe to toe with anyone that this company can put forward for me to fight. It’s an opportunity to sleep a little easier at night and avenge one loss while putting the exclamation point on our first encounter. I want to finish peeling away the mask of the Golden Dragon, the Self Made Man, the Gaijin Killer….and reveal the weak, sad little man that is Arata Asakura to the rest of the world.
It’s not that often that one gets to mix business and pleasure, but believe me, I’m glad that this is one of those times. I don’t have any plans with you other than taking that title from you. All that you do is drag people down with your behavior, something I saw first-hand at Dimensional Warfare. Hell, you nearly injured me just trying to get rid of one of your enemies without a care in the world even though we had agreed to be teammates! So, no, this is just like that one-shot bid in OWA. This is going to be, if I have my way, the only time I have to look into your stupid face the whole time both of us are in this company. FIght you, beat you, take the Grand Championship and move on to the next. That’s the business deal? The pleasure? Well, that certainly won’t come from touching you. You’re absolutely repulsive to me in every sense. I don’t expect our match to be something easy or comfortable. I can endure punishment and all but I’m no sadist or masochist. Winning the title? Been there, done that, especially with you. But I will tell you one thing that will bring me satisfaction: When this match is over, the King, the Wrestling Star, the God, The Killer….is looking up at someone taking something from him. It’s supposed to be his property, his era, but he’s completely helpless. All he can wonder as he’s laying there is one simple question:
“How the fuck did that bitch Emmanuelle get the best of me….again!?”
I hope you’ve enjoyed the time you’ve had to masquerade as Grand Champion, Arata. Your championship reign is at an end as soon as you stand across from me….and it couldn’t have been short enough for my fucking taste.