Trap House

Something’s wrong.

Billy could tell the moment she stepped out to walk down the ramp with Havoc. She’s more than just intoxicated - that’s background noise to her, at this point - she’s completely out of her head, and not in her usual, fun way.

It took her longer than it should have to finally find the supply closet she was using to store her stuff backstage. Finally, she locates the door - after many attempts - and stumbles in to begin packing up her things, before heading home.

Her vision is swimming as she tries to fumble with her various belongings, unable to properly grab anything in her usually vise-like grip. Billy shakes her head back and forth, attempting to clear the creeping fog from her brain, to no real effect.

And then, a voice from behind her captures her attention. It sounds familiar.

The words barely register in Billy's ringing ears, but she does have a vague recollection of taking a drink of water from bottle in this very room, right after tossing the intruder out. Just before she started to feel all woozy and off-balance, in fact.

The person speaking is Candi Cain, the bizarre, pink-haired girl who Billy had previously caught using her room to play ‘Die-and-Go-Seek’, before her scheduled match this evening. The same girl whose nose she had broken on the wall, before sending her off with a warning.

Seems like it didn’t stick.

Before her slowed reactions can catch up to what’s happening, before she has any chance to defend herself, Billy has her hair grabbed tightly in the deceptively strong grip of the intruder. She tries to fight back, but the effects of whatever Candi had put in her water earlier are finally reaching peak levels in her system... her muscles simply don’t respond, despite her best efforts. She’s slack, weak, even drooling from the side of her mouth as Candi manhandles her with ease.

“Hi there, Billy! Thanks so much for the gift,” she says, using her other hand to point up at the crusted, dried blood that still covers her lips and chin, “but you know what Mr. Wright always says!”

Pulling Billy’s head back, the pigtailed woman slams her captive’s face into the very same wall she had her own nose busted open on earlier that night.

“Shaaaaaaring,” she says cheerfully - voice dripping with sugar and spice and everything nice - before pulling Billy’s hair back and slamming it forward again.

“Iiiiis,” followed by another impact against that now blood-stained wall.

The Floridian’s body is now completely limp; unconscious from a mixture of the sedatives in her bloodstream, and the head trauma that has just been inflicted upon her. Candi flings her backwards as she lets go of the wrestler’s greasy hair, and before Billy’s body has hit the ground she’s already out like a light.

In the darkness of her unconscious mind, she dreams.

She’s so young - 6 or 7 at the most - and she's being dragged along by her father, unable to dig her heels in deep enough to stop the forward movement. He grips her arm so tightly that it hurts, as he rants and raves at her about something she’s done. She doesn’t understand. What happened? Why was she being punished?

She’s pulled in front of a pit which has been dug deep into the earth a long time ago. It's covered by a large piece of wood, which is lifted up by two of the family’s soldiers to reveal what lay underneath...

...a pit of vipers, hissing and slithering several feet down in the dirt.

When Billy’s eyes catch sight of what awaits her in that hole, they widen, and she begins to scream at the top of her lungs.

The tears and screams of his daughter don't make any difference to Bray; whatever she’s done is enough to earn this final punishment, a tradition passed down through the Bennett family for generations. He easily lifts her off the ground, holding Billy high above the open snake pit... he can’t even meet her gaze, he’s that disgusted with her.

There’s no hesitation in his eyes, as he lets go of his only daughter’s arm, allowing her to fall down into the shadows. She lands in a heap amidst the carpet of snakes just as the wooden panel is put back into place above her, cutting off what little light shone down into this hellish pit. Closing her eyes tight, the young girl sobs weakly as she waits for one of the vipers to latch onto her, and fill her body with poison.

They don’t. Eventually, she gathers enough courage to open her eyes in the dark.

Hours pass. Maybe days. It’s difficult for her to tell how long, without the sun or moon above to estimate the passage of time by. She sits on top of the pile of snakes, almost perfectly still as she feels them writhe and slither around her, coiling around her limbs, but not biting her.

The longer she’s down there, the more she feels some strange kinship with the serpents. Almost as though they were her real family, not the people who’d just left her to die in this hole.

Maybe this was where she belonged?

Eventually, there’s a series of noises from above... and then, a circle of light comes shining down into the pit. She doesn’t recognize who it is exactly, just another one of her father’s many underlings who peeks his head into the pit. He shines a flashlight to reveal the still-living body of Billy Bennett, glaring back up at him with an expressionless look on his face.

“Jesus Christ... the girl is still alive,” he says to someone else, turning to look at them before barking an order, “Go on and get Bray quick, he’s gotta see this!”

At long last, her father’s head appears high above, looking down on her with a look of shock and - perhaps - a bit of respect on his face.

She doesn’t offer any words in reply to this statement. It feels like it's been ages since she’s said anything, down here in this well of misery. All she does is stare coldly up at her father with hateful eyes, before she nods in acceptance of his terms.

========================

It’s early evening on the outskirts of Circleville, Ohio, and in the midst of a largely abandoned neighborhood is a house bigger than the rest. With a full three stories, it’s built in an old architectural style; and it looks like it hasn’t been properly maintained, to say the least.

In fact, it looks positively run-down; the ceiling appears close to collapse in a few spots, the exterior shingles are sun-bleached and peeling, and the windows look to be the same age as the house itself. The only visible improvements to the rotting structure are the heavily reinforced metal door at the front of the house, and bars attached to all the windows.

A single glance from any passerby would give the impression that something shady is going on in that place, particularly if they parked out long enough to notice the almost constant stream of people in and out of the building.

And they’d be right: it’s one of the many Bennett trap houses which dot the continental United States. The clan's new patriarch, Bo Bennett, has spread the family drug business farther north than his father had ever dared, staffing the locations with trusted ‘managers’ who worked with local gangs and paid-off lawmen to operate safely in these areas.

Inside this particular location isn’t some mere soldier, but an actual member of the Bennett family: Baxton Bennett, one of Billy’s numerous younger brothers, and the only member of the clan who can hope to compete with his sister for sheer number of bad habits. Dressed in a raggedy old ‘Pearl Jam’ t-shirt straight out of the 90s, he sits on a tattered couch in the main floor’s massive living room. There are several other individuals milling around, passed out or laying on the floor watching TV.

Then suddenly, a knock. And not the agreed-upon one for customers to use when they wanted to come purchase something... neither is it the heavy-handed banging of Law Enforcement. And anyway, they’ve been paid for the next three months already: if the cops were going to double-cross the Bennetts, they’d be kicking in the door and throwing flashbangs, not knocking politely.

A visible look of confusion passes over Baxton’s face as he reaches under the couch cushion to grab a Beretta pistol. Flipping the safety off and checking to ensure there’s a bullet waiting in the chamber, he inches over towards the front door as the knocks continue, impatient and constant.

The noise only ceases when Baxton steps up to the door, suddenly cutting out after the old hardwood floor underneath his feet creaks. Almost like whoever is on the outside heard that sound, and decided to stop.

Checking the peephole cautiously, the Bennett brother doesn’t see anyone on the porch. After a few moments spent considering his next course of action, he unlatches the door's numerous locks before sloooowly opening it to peek outside.

As soon as his head clears the doorway, he finds himself thrust back into the entryway of the house; tackled straight to the ground, in fact, by a 5’0”, 117lbs wrecking ball of a sibling.

It’s Billy!

Fortunately she’s smart enough to disarm her younger brother immediately, otherwise she might have caught a round from the shocked and surprised Baxton on reflex alone. Tossing the Beretta to the side, she straddles her sibling’s chest as she smiles down at the young man’s confused face.

It’s been so long since they’ve seen each other, but there’s no mistaking his sister for anyone else. Certainly not anyone from a rival outfit; fact of the matter is, women like her aren’t a common sight in the game... probably why her very presence is so effective at unnerving the family’s enemies and business partners.

“Brother! I missed ya!” she screams in his face as she leans down to plant a wet kiss on each of Baxton’s acne-scarred cheeks. Once it becomes clear who it is on top of him, the man visibly calms down. He certainly doesn’t seem as nervous as one ought to be after being pounced on by the crazed Bennett girl.

He had reason to feel more comfortable than anyone else would have. Among all her siblings, Billy felt closest to him; they shared the same vices and nihilistic outlook, for one. A desire to one-up the other had kept the pair in a self-destructive feedback loop, from childhood to this very day.

Probably why Baxton got sent away from their home in Florida in the first place. Someone clearly thought splitting the pair up might do some good.

It didn’t.

“Damn, sis! Ya almost gave me a heart attack!” comes the reply; but despite the shock, he sounds plenty happy to see his sister. It’s been more than a year since they last had the chance to catch up properly.

Clambering off his chest, Billy shrugs the backpack off her shoulders and carries it into the living room; getting a few odd looks from drugged-out customers and ‘employees’ as she stomps in like she owns the place. But why shouldn’t she? Other than her older brother Bo, she carried the most authority within the family hierarchy; everyone who’s anyone in the organization knows - and fears - Billy Bennett.

Pulling himself off the floor, Baxton follows her deeper into the house, one hand scratching idly at the side of his scabbed face. He looks confused, but he’s not about to press the issue with his sister, or demand some explanation for her unannounced arrival here. Growing up around her, he knows - more than most - exactly what she’s capable of when she thinks she's being disrespected.

“So, uh... Nice to see ya, Bill. Whatcha doin’ here in Circleville, though? Thought you’d be headed back down to Florida to relax until your next show, or whatever it is they call them wrestlin' things.”

Unzipping her backpack, she meets her brother’s eyes for a moment, before winking at him as she upends the contents onto the massive, circular table in the middle of the living room. The eyes of the assorted junkies and crackheads that sit around the room widen as they witness what spills out from that pack: a variety of illicit drugs that would make any addict’s mouth water.

Bags of powders, tan, white, and dark brown. Crystalline substances, both opaque and translucent. Pills of every shape and color imaginable, mixed up in the same bags without being sorted. Several pounds of tightly wrapped, compressed marijuana and hashish. Blotter paper, dried mushrooms, and packages of single-use nitrous canisters.

And tumbling out last, onto the pile, is the Noble Championship belt, shining bright even in the dim lighting of the trap house. As much as it serves as an unnecessary burden, Andrew Holt seems to place some value on the damn thing. Even if Billy herself views it as little more than extra weight, she feels obliged - out of respect to the boss - to make sure it doesn’t get stolen out of her truck that she parked down the street.

“Don’tcha worry ‘bout that, little brother,” she says, eyeing up the pile assembled on the table, as the assorted addicts rouse themselves fully awake and start inching closer, “Call up your people and get ‘em over quick, y'hear? We’re celebratin’!”

Celebrating what? If Baxton Bennett is wondering what his sister has to be so happy about, he thinks better of asking. Best to not get her off on a rant when she’s in one of her moods, and the twitchy eyes and restless demeanor point to the fact that she’s already begun the party while en route to the house.

For once, though, she had a reason to indulge her vices, rather than simply an excuse. She just called in to find out who she’d be facing on the next episode of Fallout.

When that voice on the other end of the line listed the competitors going up against True Society, she almost dropped the phone in shock. She couldn’t believe it. She made them repeat it again, before it really sunk in that this was happening.

It was perfect. Just what she’d always dreamed about. The toughest folk on Fallout, and the big dog from the B-show, in the ring opposite her and the best that True Society had to offer. She couldn’t possibly ask for more; she can't even imagine anything better.

She’ll have to do a nice favor for Holt in return. Maybe kill some people for him, or kidnap Savannah Sunshine and lock her up in his basement, or just give him a big hug. She’d give the specifics some thought later.

Billy was sure to think of something.

========================

6:42 PM

The house is already starting to fill up with people from as far away as Columbus; the promise of free drugs - and a safe place to party for a few days - was enough to bring customers from out of town, all the way to the Bennetts’ spot in Circleville. And more than just users; several members of the gangs and outfits that their family did business with have joined the celebration as well. Bloods, bikers, cartel soldiers and unaffiliated street hustlers have all found their way here, with more arriving every passing hour.

In the middle of the chaotic scene unfolding in the house’s main living room is Billy Bennett, kneeling on the floor with her Noble Champion belt sitting - spread out - on the table in front of her. In one hand, a razor blade. In the other, a cut-off piece of plastic straw. She moves deftly with one limb, the edge of that razor expertly dividing a pile of white powder in the middle of the belt’s faceplate into long, thick lines.

It’s almost like she’s in a trance as the music blares in her ears, a heavy bass beat vibrating her whole body as the party starts to pick up. The woman doesn’t seem to notice any of the people dancing around her; even when one bumps into her kneeling frame, she doesn’t so much as flinch or look in their direction.

Complete focus, on the lines she’s divvying up... and that glittering, golden faceplate of the belt she seems to be stuck with.

“Y’know, when they handed ya over to me in the middle of the ring, all I could think was ‘what the fuck am I supposed to do with this piece of trash?’”

Her voice is dull and flat, and she seems to be addressing the belt directly, like it were some kind of sentient thing that could carry on a conversation with her. But then again, given the... unique state of her psyche - even on her rare moments of sobriety - she might honestly believe she’s having a civil discussion with this inanimate object.

“Couldn’t wait to drop ya to the first big, bad motherfucker who stepped up with fire in their eyes, lookin’ to make a name for themselves by takin’ this strap off ol’ Billy. Far as I was concerned, the only use for somethin’ like this is bait. All these fuckin’ glory hounds in this company who are out to make a name for themselves... I can use ya to draw ‘em right to me. Right into the ring. Right into my trap, so I can slip my arms ‘round their neck and choke ‘em out until they go limp.”

“What could be more embarrassin’ for one of these dickless, ego-driven ‘men’ than gettin’ stretched in front of a live, screamin’ audience by a fuckin’ 5-foot-nothin’ girl like yours truly? Ain’t nothin’ more satisfyin’ than watchin’ someone’s whole inflated opinion of themselves start to wither and die, when they come to realize they really ain't as strong as they fooled themselves into believin' they were."

“Mmmm, mmmm. Better than a cup of water to a thirsty man, I tell ya. If only they weren’t too proud to cry; I’d love to watch their tears when it dawns on ‘em that they never had a chance against me. When they realize I shattered the audience’s opinion of their ‘abilities’, without even breakin’ a sweat.”

Her mind wanders, remembering a particular individual who she appears to have driven away from the company, in the course of a single match. What a pity, too; she had such high hopes for him. He seemed to have the right mindset to succeed in a place like Fallout.

But even an expert hunter and trapper like the Bennett girl can occasionally do a poor job of judging their prey. She’d overestimated him, clearly. Just another braggart full of hot air, the type to turn around and run away when they come to find that all their talk doesn’t mean a damn thing.

Not when when they're in the ring with a real predator..

She sighs; deep, genuine and even a bit sad.

Just another broken toy, gone before she really got to enjoy playing with it.

Billy closes her eyes for a moment, the hand that holds the razor blade still scraping along the belt to pile up powder, then re-divide it, over and over again. At this point, she’s just playing with the cocaine, like doing so was somehow soothing to her manic nerves. Perhaps she's keeping her mind focused, so that it doesn’t start to run off down darker paths.

She’s trying to enjoy herself here, after all.

“Then I got to thinkin’. Maybe that’s not all you’re good for. Spot of inspiration struck me, if ya wanna call it that.”

“Ain’t nobody ever managed to hold on to ya through a single defense, right? Curse of the Noble belt, and all that ol’ bullshit. Well, that suits me just fine.”

“Oh, ‘why’, you ask?”

“It’s simple. All these other folk couldn’t hold the strap long enough to leave their mark. That means, if I carry ya outta this next match... well... I’ll be makin’ history in the company, won’t I? That’ll be my chance to make ya mine, to define what ya stand for. Ya won’t just be some generic piece of metal for these dumb mutts to scramble over and claw at.”

“You’ll be Billy's belt, then. I’m gonna turn ya from somethin’ worthless, into a title that actually means somethin’. I’m gonna drag ya down, Mr. Noble Championship. Aaaaalll the way down into the filth and shit and blood and tears, where the real fun happens.”

“And if anyone wants to take ya off me, they’ll have to come down and roll around in the dirt with me. Can’t think of nothin’ sweeter than forcin’ these people to lower themselves to my level, if they want a chance to hold ya tight.”

Tossing the razor blade onto the table, she brings the straw up to her nose as she leans in; already snorting before she’s even reached the white powder. And in seconds, it’s gone. Not just one line but all of them, around three grams of cocaine disappearing up her right nostril in a matter of seconds.

Probably enough to kill the average person. But the Bennett clan - and Billy in particular - are just built different.

Considering that, it’s still enough to cause her head to snap back as she gets lost in a coughing fit, which progresses quickly into gagging and retching. The powder rushes down her sinuses, while the numbing drip turns her mouth and throat into ice.

It definitely hits the spot.

“Ffffffffffuuuuuuuuuuuucckkkkkkkkkkk...” she groans as the dopamine floods her brain, limbs shaking so hard and fast it looks like she’s on the verge of seizure.

Until she takes that overwhelming rush of energy and does something with it, leaping to her feet and grabbing the Noble belt off the table. Holding it in front of her rapidly dilating eyes, she leans forward to drag her tongue across the golden faceplate - licking up the remaining bits of powder that have settled into the grooves of the metal like she were a hungry dog getting the last pieces of meat off a bone.

“...YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!”

That savage, ear-piercing howl is enough to draw the attention of a few partiers close to her. A fresh look at the sweating, trembling, wide-eyed girl is enough to earn her a bit more breathing room from those nearest her, as people inch away out of self-preservation.

She lifts the belt high into the air, before stumbling backwards onto the couch and sprawling out on it. Billy brings the title close to her chest, clutching it against her shirt as she rocks back and forth. Eyes shut tightly, a low, melodic humming escapes her pursed lips.

“Mmmmmmmmmmmmaybe I could get used to luggin’ ya around for a bit longer, buddy. How about it? Wanna break this curse and hang around with Billy for a while? I promise I’ll show ya a good time.”

Bringing the belt up to her face again, she plants a big, sloppy, theatrically noisy kiss on the middle of the faceplate as the party continues to rage around her.

========================

Another room in the sprawling, three-story house. A small collection of people sit on the floor and pass around blunts, as a large flat-screen TV plays in the background. Nobody is really paying attention to it.

On the screen is Unbreakable Resolution II, airing live from Columbus, Ohio. Only a few miles away from where this debauched party is currently unfolding.

Billy occasionally glances at the screen, but she's far from interested in what she sees. She doesn’t rate the other brand very highly; it seems to her like a place for the weak and timid to go play at being warriors. But still, it’s best to keep an eye on the competition, even if she hardly bothers to turn her attention towards what’s happening.

That is, until the next time her eyes happen to pass over the screen. She’s already looking away again, before she realizes which match is currently taking place.

It’s Angelo Caito - the newest member of True Society - up against some random girl; another one of the soft, worthless plush toys that Indy Darling has filled his own brand with. It’s enough to gain her full attention, wanting to see exactly what the Gatekeeper Champion is capable of against the people who populate the other side of the Project: Honor aisle.

She lifts a bottle of bourbon to her lips, taking a long sip... but before she can swallow, Angelo clocks LeeAnn with a brick to the side of the head, as the bell rings out to signal a disqualification.

Spitting out the beverage, she bursts into laughter - long, loud and unrestrained - as her free hand comes up to point at the screen.

“Hahahahaha! Well fuckin’ done, my man! Way to show ‘em how we do things over on Fallout!” she says between laughs, her body seizing up with uncontrollable amusement as she tries not to choke on her own spit.

“Hey, Angelo, no hard feelings ‘bout that screwdriver I done shanked ya with, right? Hell, you’re alright in my books now, boy!”

========================

JANUARY 9th, 2021

10:38 PM

The same room, the same couch, the same TV set playing tonight’s Proving Grounds pay-per-view.

This time, Billy isn’t just half-watching; she’s entirely focused on what’s happening on the television. And for good reason.

It’s the main event.

Ozymandias vs. Syndicate.

Red, bloodshot eyes strain through the smoky haze of the room as she watches intently. The two gods of Project: Honor are butting heads in a match that is bound to leave a mark on the power structure of the company regardless of the outcome.

She looks frantic despite the ridiculous amount of THC in her system, as she watches the pair trade blows that - in her mind - seem to shake the very room she’s seated in.

And then, something happens on the screen. She arrives at ringside.

Elena DeDraca.

In a flash, the joy, anticipation and pleasure on Billy’s face disappears, her expression taking on a darker, more serious appearance. This is the last thing she wanted: Syndicate to be distracted from the match. She wanted to see Ozymandias beat him without any help, without anything else weighing on the current Legacy Champion’s mind.

But it appears the British Raven had other things in mind; some form of payback, no doubt, for the champ taking the title off her in the first place.

And just like that, it happens. Syndicate’s attention is taken away for a split-second... and Ozymandias takes full advantage of this momentary lapse, to begin turning the tide of the match. As she watches it unfold, Billy’s breathing gets heavier and heavier, air rushing in and out of her clogged nostrils as she begins to grind her jaw back and forth in frustration.

“Naw...”

“Don’t do this to me, Syndicate...”

She knows what’s going to happen before it even occurs. He’s going to lose. And it’s not going to be because Ozymandias was better, but because Syndicate let her get in his head. That gothic tramp has gone and ruined the most entertaining match Billy has seen in recent memory.

How’s she going to rub it into her teammate’s face now, knowing that he didn’t lose the belt because he wasn’t good enough to keep it, but because an old rival was out there playing mind games with him.

When the pin happens, the Bennett girl doesn’t even wait to watch the aftermath. In one swift movement, she pulls the Colt SAA from its holster around her shoulder, aiming the revolver directly at the television set and pulling the trigger six times in quick succession, cocking the hammer back with her thumb after each round.

The gunshots are enough to cause the stoners chilling out around her to jump and shout in surprise, quickly rushing out of the room once they realize someone is firing a gun in here. Nobody is going to sit around and enjoy the vibes while Billy is fuming mad with a pistol in her hand, even if it’s out of bullets at the moment.

“Fuckin’ bullshit,” she says, her voice low and dangerous, hissing through clenched teeth as her face twitches in barely-restrained fury.

As if realizing what she’s just done, she manages a brief smirk at the damaged screen, before slipping the revolver back into its holster and standing up. Pacing back and forth in front of the destroyed TV, ranting wildly as she gestures with both hands, tearing and clawing at the air in front of her face.

“Couldn’t fuckin’ do it without help, huh, you fat fuckin' squid?!”

“COWARDS! COWARDS!! COWARDS!!!”

At that last shouted word, she lashes out with one boot to kick over the broken television; it tips over and crashes onto the floor, what remains of the shot-up screen shattering into pieces from the impact. She kneels over the wreckage and begins to scream down at the busted piece of electronics, as if her voice might be able to project through it and into that arena in Columbus.

Oh, if only.

“I HATE IT!” she screams, as filthy, half-chewed fingernails claw at the exposed flesh on her upper chest, hard enough to draw lines of blood on the otherwise pale-white skin, “HE NEEDED TO LOSE CLEAN, ONE-ON-ONE, NOT LIKE THIS! WHAT AM I GONNA SAY TO HIM NOW?!”

Her voice already grown hoarse and gravelly from her rage-filled screams, she just barely manages that last outburst before her voice cracks; a pathetic, mewling sound as she buries her face in her hands. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, she tells herself as the tears begin to flow into her waiting palms.

For someone who seems to view Syndicate as a rival more than a partner, she seems awfully broken up about the results. But she has her reasons; if she were going to speak honestly, she would talk about how she had planned on stabbing him in the back during this next match.

Aside from bloody combat and the pain that came with it, there was only one thing she wanted in the entirety of Project: Honor.

The briefcase that Syndicate carried out of the Purge with a smug grin. The one he seemed to flash about wherever he went, filled with pride at holding both it and the Legacy Championship. She wanted him to know that those things never really belonged to him, he was just holding them until someone better came along.

Billy wanted to be that person. She didn’t want Ozy and Elena to break the man’s spirit.

It should have been her who did that.

Only her.

She wanted to take that briefcase, hold it up to Syndicate, and tell him he could win it back... if he put that Legacy belt up against it in a square fight between them.

Billy had been obsessing over that idea since she heard about this match. And now, that beautiful, sweet, romantic moment had been taken from her, by two weaklings who couldn’t seal the deal on their own.

Even if she did steal his briefcase in the bloody melee - a thought she is still willing to entertain - she’d only be robbing a broken man of his last meaningful possession. At that point, it’d probably be more merciful to just put him down like an old, sick dog.

She wasn’t happy about it, if the tears and gunshots didn’t spell that out perfectly well on their own.

But eventually, the tears and snot running down her face seem to have removed some of the venom running through her. She calms down, slowly removing the hands from her face and wiping it with the back of her arm. When she finds her voice again, it comes out quiet, hardly above a whisper, and holding none of the poisonous hate it did just minutes ago.

“It’s okay, buddy... it’s okay... because this is just what ya needed, Syd. Sure, my plans are all fucked now, but this is good for ya. I promise... I promise...”

“Ya let it get to your head, at the expense of everything else. Ya walked into the lion’s den without any help, thinkin’ you’d find a fair fight.”

“Well now ya know, dontcha? Ain’t no such thing in this game, especially with those pussies on Proving Grounds. Buncha hyenas barkin’ and bitin' at ya, the big, brave lion... and it was enough to cost ya everythin’ ya ever cared about.”

“Do ya understand now, Syndicate? People like us, we ain’t meant to be proud like the others. Slows us down. Makes us weak. Robs us of our edge. Ya ain’t cut out to be some arrogant champion lordin’ it over us peasants, big man. Ya belong in the shadows with me, fightin’ from underneath, tearin’ at the bellies of the people above ya until their guts spill out onto your head.”

“That’s what ya did against Elena back at Bloodbath, and it was so... so... so perfect. Ya got no idea how often I played that fight back and forth through my head in the middle of the night, just wishin’ it coulda been me up against either one of y’all that night.”

“We need that man back, not that thing ya turned into after winnin’ the strap. I get the feelin’ I don’t need to tell ya any of this, though. You’re smart enough to figure that out on your own, pal, now that ya got nothin’ but your own thoughts keepin’ ya company at night.”

Sniffling loudly, she pushes herself back to her feet and stumbles over to a nearby table; grabbing a still-burning joint left by one of the fleeing partiers who occupied the room previously.

She lifts it to her lips and inhales deep, holding the smoke for several seconds before exhaling through her nose. Looking down at the glass table, she stares at the vague outline of her reflection in the surface.

“And don’t worry ‘bout this match comin’ up; ya oughta be lookin’ forward to it, if anything. Your chance for revenge, and this time ya ain’t gonna be steppin’ into the ring alone like ya did tonight. Billy’s got your back now, and we’re gonna show Ozy what happens when he steps foot on our turf.”

“Believe that.”

Of course, even with that pep-talk she just finished delivering into empty air, Billy wasn’t about to let the matter drop and spare Syndicate her mocking, prodding comments next time they met. Even if he didn’t lose the match as cleanly as she might have wished, she’d been waiting months to drag her barbed tongue across his wounds, the moment he dropped that belt.

No way was she letting the opportunity go by without getting a few licks in. She’s not that nice.

And about that briefcase? Hey, who was she to pass up an opportunity if it landed in her lap? She could probably make the man understand afterwards that it was for the best. Not just for him, but for True Society as a whole. At the end of the day, Syndicate was just too nice to serve as a proper ‘insurance policy’.

‘Better let Billy hold it for a while.’

The thought is enough to bring an uneven smile to her face, the anger and frustration of the past few minutes melting away in an instant.

========================


A bathroom, lit only by a row of candles that lay along the wall perpendicular to the giant, ornate claw-foot bathtub. The door has been locked, and for good reason; inside the tub, in a pool of water already opaque from grease and dirt, is Billy Bennet. She’s still wearing her usual jeans, shirt and vest as she lay soaking up to her shoulders, elbows propped up on the edges. Apparently it’s meant to serve as laundry day, as well. At the very least, she managed to kick her boots off before getting in.

There’s a little CD player system set-up on the floor near the bathtub, connected to a set of speakers. And it’s the oddest thing, but the music pouring out is a song by world-renowned Soundcloud rapper and professional wrestler, Lil Petey.

One of his smash hits, in fact.

That modern classic which the hip-hop genius had titled ‘Bussin’ (Respectfully)’.

‘Petey get near, your bitch disappear, you know that shit bussin’’
‘(Respectfully)’
‘She was your B, now she with me, but don’t you be fussin’’
‘Petey get close, you get comatose, my rhymes are concussin’’
‘(Respectfully)’
‘I’m casting spells, you taking Ls, no need for discussion’

And even more unbelievable than the fact that this music is actually playing here and now, is that Billy seems really into it. More than that, she’s absolutely vibing to the smooth, retro beats and brilliant, descriptive lyrics. Of course, the joint secured to the roach clip in her right hand is probably helping with that.

Is she singing along? Possibly. But this is all getting a bit ridiculous for a Fallout promo, so let’s move on.

The song ends, and it just so happens to be the last track on the CD, leaving the room in silence aside for the occasional noise from the hallway outside, and the dull thud of bass from other rooms. Billy’s mind wanders in the quiet, occasionally taking a hit off the joint as she ponders... whatever she ponders in these moments.

“Man... whatever else ya wanna say about that Petey fella, he knows how to make some damn fine music,” she mumbles to herself, still deep in thought.

Eventually, her mind ties the music of Lil Petey - feared and respected leader of Big Drip Productions - to his underling Ozymandias. It’s enough to ruin the perfect mood that the smoke and Lil Petey’s musical stylings had put her in; her happy face turns into a scowl as soon as she remembers the robbery that took place on the Pay-Per-View last night.

Trying to force the frustrating memory out of her head, she begins to hum to herself.

It’s the theme from Jaws.

She glances left and right as she hums the classic tune, as if looking for the source of the noise. Underneath the water, one of her feet moves to grab at something with her toes. The song continues coming out of her pursed lips, until it reaches a crescendo.

When it does, she kicks her leg up, out of the water and into the air above. With it, comes an adorable little squid bath toy; one of those ones you can fill with water and squeeze out. She holds it between her toes, pressing the object against the ceramic wall of the bathtub and glaring across the short distance at the pitiful thing.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the biggest thief in Project: Honor, Ozymandias. The man who had his Grand title taken away in a fair fight, and had to resort to some bullshit in order to snatch the Legacy belt off a better man.”

She tightens her toe-grip on the squeeze toy, the rubber eyes bulging out comically as a stream of water slowly escapes a small hole near its ‘mouth’.

“I ain’t too happy with ya, Ozy. Thought ya were better than this. Thought ya might be up to doin’ the job without any help. Guess I was wrong.”

“But it’s fine, in a way. Only thing y’all managed to prove last night was that neither you or Elena could take care of Syndicate on your own. Y’all took somethin’ that ain’t yours - that ya didn’t earn - and y’know what?”

“I think I’m even takin’ it a bit personal. Y’see, I’ve taken a likin' to that man. He’s just so good at what he does; watchin’ him work is like... watchin’ a great artist paint. He had all his hopes and dreams and self-esteem wrapped up in that stupid piece of metal, and ya went and finessed him for it, instead of beatin’ him straight up and smashin’ his ego properly.”

“Now you’ve surely pissed him off. Which is good for us. Bad for y'all, though. Do ya even realize the shit you’ve started, now? He’s gonna be out for blood somethin’ fierce, I bet. Can’t wait to see what he does to y’all now that he don't have no belt weighin' his ass down.”

“Anyway, I’m just a li’l confused; I wanna get somethin’ straight.”

“We’re supposed to be scared of ya, right? And yet, ya fuckin’ allied yourself with Elena at the drop of a hat to get an edge. Shit, ya were even willin’ to throw your hat in with Lil Petey, just so ya might stand a chance against True Society. Do squids not have balls or somethin’?”

“I just don’t get it.”

“To me, the way you been actin’ lately don’t line up with your fearsome reputation. I been hearin’ stories about ya all the way over on Fallout; your name was damn-near legendary for a while there, wasn’t it?”

“‘Look upon my works and despair.’”

She lowers the bottom half of her face underneath the scummy grey water, blowing a stream of bubbles up to break the surface before she rises above the water-line again.

“Guess that’s over and done with, though. Went ahead and ruined your legacy in a single fuckin’ match. I sure as hell can’t respect ya as a proper champion, not with how ya ended up winnin’.”

“Now, you’re set to walk right into the middle of our territory. Syndicate's territory. And he ain’t gonna be alone for this one, boy. Naw, he’s gonna have all his friends at his side.”

“Y’see, ya might be the big man on Proving Grounds, but ya ain’t gonna be fightin’ us in that small pond y’all call home. Fallout ain’t like nothin’ you’re used to; we’re just built different over here. No bullshit rules, no payin’ lip service to some ol’ concept of ‘honor’ or ‘fairness’... and it ain’t gonna be no wrestlin’ match, I’ll tell ya that right now.”

“So come play with us on the big boy brand, Ozy. Lemme just give ya a warnin’ before ya do; on Arik’s show, ya ain't nothin’...”

As she speaks those words, Billy flicks her ankle to one side and then back again - releasing the grip her toes have on the rubber squid toy as she does - tossing the object out of the tub to land on the dry tiles of the bathroom floor.

“...but a squid outta water.”

There’s hardly a moment’s pause, before she lowers that foot back into the water, fishing about for something else. When she lifts it up again, she’s got a large, matted ball of long black hair wrapped around her toes. She looks down the length of the tub at it, smiling widely and waving cheerfully with her free hand.

“Oh look, it’s your new friend Elena,” she says to the disgusting clump of stringy black hair.

“So nice to finally meet ya. Heard so much about y’all, but I guess Syndicate sent ya packin’ ‘round the same time I got my start here, so we never got to say ‘hi’. Let’s start this off right, then.”

Billy clears her throat, before speaking in a tone that is dangerously close to proper and polite.

“Hello, Elena.”

“‘Hello, Billy!’” she replies to herself in a ridiculously squeaky, high-pitched tone, shaking the ball of hair back and forth as she does so.

“Cute.”

“I got a bit of bad news, though. Hope ya don't mind me spoilin' the introductions.”

“Y'see, Fallout just ain’t the same place ya left behind. I know, ya only been gone a few months, but you’re no spring chicken yourself; and two months is a long time for a woman your age.”

“I’m afraid that... well...” she says, beginning to crack up with laughter that soon wracks her entire body, splashing water up as she twitches about.

“Ya just ain’t relevant no more! We all went ahead and moved on without ya! I think it’s time for ya to do the same, okay?”

“Go find a nice, dark corner to crawl into; someplace where the rest of us won’t have to look at ya. Don’t ya got some cupcakes to bake, or somethin’? That’s probably more your speed these days.”

“Why’d ya even come back here in the first place? Lookin’ for another career-endin’ injury? Ya miss starin’ at Arik’s cute bald head? Or maybe ya just couldn’t live with yourself after Syndicate showed everyone ya weren’t as untouchable as ya wanted us all to think? Got somethin’ to prove now, ain’t that right? Pride fuckin’ with ya a bit?

“Well, that’s mighty petty, if ya ask me.”

“Naw. Ain’t no purpose in y’all bein’ here, far as I’m concerned. That ain’t even me speakin’, alright? It’s the folks in the crowd. The folks backstage. The folks at home. They’re bored of the once-great 'British Raven'.”

"Your story is finished. Nothin' more to write 'bout, 'cept the inevitable funeral chapter."

“But surely this ain’t news to ya, Elena. Ya gotta know ya ain’t as impressive as ya used to be. Hell, would ya ever have given thought to allying with these kinda people back in your prime? Not feeling too confident ‘bout standin’ solo against True Society now, though, right?”

“I mean, ya already got them other women hangin’ ‘round ya. Hydra, or whatever dumb shit ya call ‘em. Just can’t make it alone, huh? I gotta wonder, could ya ever?”

“Now before y’all come in with the tired ol' retort, ‘but Billy, you’re in True Society, that means ya must need their help’, lemme just say I ain’t gonna repeat my reasons for joinin’ up with Holt. I already been down that road with y’all, and I hate wasting my breath on people who ain’t listenin’ the first time.”

“Anyone payin’ attention knows that Billy can handle herself. That I’m with Holt and his people for other reasons.”

“But y’know, Elena? It sure is nice to see ya make friends at long last, beyond them ladies ya got followin’ at your heels. Orphan girl like yourself, probably never known what it’s like to feel wanted, or needed, or any of that sappy emotional garbage.”

“No mother. No father. Might explain why ya dress and act like the edgiest li’l princess at the party. Some kinda... what d’ya call it... copin’ mechanism.”

“So go ahead and join up with Jason Long too, by all means; if ya think that’s what’ll make the difference between winnin’ and losin’. I want ya to feel nice and comfortable before we put our heel on your skinny fuckin’ throat. Might as well go down fightin’, right? Beats dyin’ on your knees like a mongrel.”

“Now you’re feelin’ brave, thinkin’ y’all got a nice li’l team of heroes on your side. Ready to rush in and save the day from us bad guys, hmmm?”

“Probably thinkin’ y’all can finish the job ya started tonight, by double-teaming the best man we got.”

“Well, sorry. If ya think you’re gonna get your hands on Syndicate and use your li’l alliance to take him out the game all permanent-like... ya best rid yourself of that notion right now. He ain’t gonna be separated from us this time, there ain’t gonna be no gettin’ in his head while we’re at his back.”

“Yeah, even me. I’ll stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Syd, if that’s what it takes to put y’all in the ground where ya belong.”

“I might not be friends with anyone in True Society... but ya best believe I hate y’all a lot more than them.”

“It’s gonna be a bad night for every single one of ya. Not that I expect y’all to believe that... yet. You’ve assembled one hell of a team behind ya. Even those two newcomers - Hyde and...” she pauses, eyes shaking in their sockets suddenly, as if the very idea of the other man caused some sort of reaction in her brain, “...Wright. They seem as tough as anyone else on the roster, some real hoss t-…”

Another pause, as an expression of pain crosses her face. She sits up, dropping the roach clip and the attached joint into the water, where they quickly sink down, disappearing into the filthy liquid. The heel of one hand is driven against her head, trying to stem the throbbing headache that threatens to overtake her.

Billy had been getting them more often lately, ever since she had - apparently - caught the attention of that weirdo. It looks like she’s uncomfortable even bringing up the man’s name. Eventually the spell passes, with a groan of relief from the distressed woman, and she slowly settles back in.

“Ugh... Now where was I...?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m sure ya got the highest hopes goin’ into this thing, and why wouldn’t ya? Hell of a crew on your side, I can’t wait to get to know y’all a bit better. But I think you’re gettin’ ahead of yourself, ain’t ya? Y’see, aside from Ozymandias there - and that’s debatable, as far as I’m concerned - none of y’all got a real win against any of our people recently. Ain’t that right?”

The smug smirk confirms that she already knows it is.

“Why the fuck would it be any different just ‘cause y’all are together this one time? Shit, so are we. Six members of True Society, five champions including that boy from Proving Grounds, and one man who was fuckin’ robbed of his belt.”

“And y’all? Ya got a Legacy Champion who has no right to call himself one. Pretty clear that we ain't in the same league.”

“But I’m feelin’ charitable. It’s obvious you’re hungry for gold, settin’ your sights on Havoc as soon as ya returned... but dontcha think your eyes are gettin’ a bit too big for your stomach?”

“Tell ya what I’ll do for y'all, to make things a bit more fair. My Noble Championship is on the line, same as the others. Only with my belt, I’m changin’ the rules a bit. Y’all ain’t even gotta take me out the match to win the strap. It’s enough if ya manage to make me bleed.”

“That’s all I really want. Seems a simple request for a girl to make, don’t it? If ya do that, y’all can take that gold off my hands. Sound agreeable?”

A dismissive wave of her hand, before she spits the next words out contemptuously.

“Anyway, congratulations on the ‘win’, you two; if ya wanna call it that. Can’t fuckin’ wait to show ya how happy I am for y’all, when I meet ya in the ring.”

In one swift moment, Billy stands up and lunges over the edge of the tub onto the tiled floor; the sudden motion causes water to spill out over the bathtub’s high walls. The splash extinguishes the nearby candles, leaving her in complete darkness.

It’s enough to make her laugh, as she stands in the dark with her clothes dripping water.