Post by bennett on Feb 13, 2022 18:57:50 GMT -5
Tampa Bay Bussin'
====================
Chaos reigns at the tail end of the last Proving Ground show, as True Society exerts their dominance over those who are still foolish enough to oppose the will of Andrew Holt.
The only scene of calm in this maelstrom of violence comes from two individuals in the center of the ring. Lil Petey, the brave captain of Big Drig Worldwide - rendered near unconscious by a brick - lay motionless on the mat, his head in the lap of a rather unexpected saviour: Billy Bennett.
Inexplicably - and to the great surprise of everyone present, Lil Petey most of all - Billy leapt to his aid as soon as she noticed his injuries, abandoning her assault on MYOJIN to run over and cradle his head. She’s even running one hand through his thick, luscious hair as she whispers soothing reassurances and words of comfort.
“It’s okay, it’s fine, I promise. Billy’s here now, baby boy. They won’t hurt ya no more.”
As she speaks these words to a man who is likely unable to process them after such a vicious blow to the head, Billy’s eyes move up from Petey’s angelic face to scan the ring. Ratman attempts to rally the KaVengers to come to Big Drip’s aid, as the rest of True Society - minus Billy herself - begin to advance on them.
She hardly pays attention as that scumbag suit Adam Ekaterin comes out to put a damper on their fun; instead, she’s just running one question through her head over and over again:
Why?
What’s the point of all this?
Even combined, Big Drip and the KaVengers are no real threat to the dominance of True Society, so why even fight Holt’s plans? What do they hope to gain? Why hasn’t their spirit been broken already, watching the group tear apart anyone foolish enough to stand up to them?
And why is Billy even involved in this? She didn’t join the group to hurt people like Lil Petey or Percival Burque; she joined to hunt bigger game.
The kind that simply couldn’t be found here on Proving Ground.
She didn’t sign up to beat on comedians, rappers, chefs and fashion icons posing as wrestlers.
This was nothing more than a waste of her time.
While Adam sets up the main event for the upcoming brand-crossover event, Billy is too focused on protecting Lil Petey to hear his words, looking down into the rapper's confused eyes... as a single tear drops off her face to land on his cheek.
‘Jesus,’ she thinks to herself as she fights back further tears, ‘how did it come to this?’
====================
Billy sits in the drivers’ seat of her GMC pickup, the vehicle parked at the end of a trail that leads into Cockroach Bay State Park, just east of Tampa Bay. The vehicle idles, with the usual static blaring over a radio which has been jammed between stations.
Holding one trembling hand palm-down in front of her, she furrows her brow as she tries to force it to remain still, for even a second or two.
But she can’t. Even the line of heroin she snorted up when she arrived here an hour ago has done nothing to calm her nerves. She’d been forcing everything under the surface with narcotics for so long, they simply didn't have the desired effect they once did in terms of keeping her mind clear and focused.
Of course, recent events have hardly helped in that regard: every week that passed since joining the company had piled on an additional layer of confusion and stress onto an already fragile mind.
The growing conflict between True Society and Big Drip Worldwide, which set her at odds with someone she both loved as a man, and respected as an artist: Lil Petey. While her loyalty to Andrew Holt was as close to absolute as a person like Billy Bennett was capable of, a part of her still resented being put in such a position.
Her brother’s expansion into previously untouched territories, and all the added work that brought with it. Security around the Bennett compound had been tripled in recent months due to increased tensions with rival crews, and Billy’s free moments away from wrestling were mostly filled with armed robberies, executions, drug deals, debt collections and other bits of family business.
Adam Ekaterin, the new Director of Operations for Project: Honor. The face of whoever was running things after Rock Johnson’s death, and a man who seemed singularly opposed to Holt, and everything he stood for. Someone who had used their position of power within the company to try and stifle True Society at every turn. Robbing Billy of her Noble Title after she’d knocked out Syndicate, coming to Elena DeDraca’s aid and saving what remained of her reputation by transferring her to a safer space, and stopping True Society’s invasion before they could beat the fight out of Big Drip and the KaVengers after the most recent show.
Not to mention the sudden arrival of Savannah Sunshine into her life, bringing all kinds of emotions she never thought she’d be forced to deal with. Someone friendly, kind and nice, who made Billy reflect on all her own terrible, hateful personality traits for the first time in her life. Someone she felt obliged to protect, which simply added another responsibility to her already overflowing plate.
Hell, she’d even been catching feelings for Lil Petey of all people. Cradling the enemy’s head in her lap while the rest of her teammates were fighting? What the fuck was she thinking?
More than a decade of drug abuse - meant to cover up her underlying psychological issues and childhood trauma - had only succeeded in leaving her confused, emotionally vulnerable, and constantly paranoid.
She had enough to worry about right now, without insane thoughts forcing their way into her brain every second of the day. Without seeing shadow people out of the corner of her eye every waking moment.
To make things even worse, Billy felt that there was something off about this match she was walking into; something was wrong, or something hadn’t been revealed yet. Some trap Adam Ekaterin was laying for Holt’s people, just waiting for True Society to step into that cage before springing it on them all.
Or maybe it was just the effects of all the chemicals floating around her bloodstream which had her on-edge. She couldn’t tell anymore, and rather than push these worries away for even one more day, she decided to face them head-on.
She’d get clean. For now, at least; who knows how long it’ll last? But for the moment, she needed to be clear-headed... or as clear-headed as was possible for someone as mentally and emotionally broken as Billy Bennett.
And the only way such a feat was possible, was to get as far away from temptation as she could. She’d dumped all the drugs out of her truck at the last rest stop, and she was now ready to step out of the vehicle and walk into the middle of the wilderness; the only place she could manage to go through such a painful and miserable withdrawal.
Before she can turn off the engine, her burner flip-phone starts to ring.
There’s only three people who know what number Billy Bennett is using at any time. Before she’d come to Project: Honor, there was only one: her eldest brother - and the clan patriarch - Bo Bennett.
These days, she makes sure to leave her current phone number with Andrew Holt, updating him every few days or whenever she switches SIM cards.
And, of course, her new best friend is also blessed and fortunate enough to possess such information.
Billy hits the green button and lifts the phone up to her ear, just in time to hear Savannah’s frantic voice on the other end. She sounds excited, like there’s some important news she just has to pass along... despite the fact that Billy had explicitly told her that she would be out of contact for a week or so.
“OH MY GOD BILLY, HAVE YOU HEARD YET?!”
The sheer volume of her friend’s voice is enough to make Billy pull the phone away from her ear, wincing at the pain it inflicted on her ear canal.
“Jesus, girl... calm down, take a fuckin’ breath, and tell me what happened.”
There’s a pause as Savannah collects herself; a few deep breaths, before she seems calm enough to carry on at a more acceptable, human volume.
“Well, it’s just... Ozymandias got busted! They nailed him for some murders, or something, and... well... he won’t be in the Wargames match! Isn’t that great?!”
It’s no surprise that Savannah thinks of this as good news; after all, Ozymandias was the only obvious threat present on the side of Big Drip Worldwide. He was the titan of the group, the one who had occupied the majority of Billy’s thoughts since she found out about the match in question.
And now, he wouldn’t be there. To Billy, it looked like the last obstacle to True Society’s continued dominance had been removed.
And yet, she doesn’t seem happy about - or placated by - the news. If anything, the idea of law enforcement putting Project: Honor roster members in cuffs only unnerves her further; and for good reason. The amount of shit she had been involved with could get her put away for multiple life sentences, or even the death penalty in certain states.
Was this the beginning of a sweep, aimed at cleansing the roster of its assorted criminal elements? Was Ozymandias simply the first domino to fall? Would the police be waiting backstage for her, when she arrived at the Wells Fargo Center?
Impossible. She’d been too careful, making sure there were never any witnesses in the first place, or none left alive... or that anyone aware of her crimes would be so scared of what she - and her people - would do to them, that they wouldn’t dare open their mouths.
Not even in a safe, secure police interrogation room or protective custody cell.
The Bennett family’s grasp reached too far in the underworld for anyone to feel safe informing on them, or testifying against any family members.
Clearly Ozymandias was just too sloppy, too wrapped up in his megalomaniacal ego to be as careful as he ought to have been... just like Billy always figured he was.
The man was a dumb, arrogant brute. Nothing more.
“Billy? Billy, are you there? Did you hear what I said?”
Savannah’s voice snaps Bennett out of the trance she had fallen into while considering the implications of this news. Immediately, she gets right to the most crucial question on her mind.
“Sydney’s belt. Are they giving it back to him?!”
Her voice is almost manic as she asks after the fate of the Legacy Championship. If it falls back into Syndicate’s hands as the last non-felonious holder of the title... that means Billy might still be able to goad him into a one-on-one.
The Universal Briefcase up against the Legacy Championship.
IF Sydney was brave enough to take the bait. He’d been conspicuously silent on her offer of a match to win back the briefcase; would he really risk the Legacy belt, when he’s not even man enough to step up to her without the championship on the line?
“Well, uh, I’m not sure! The news just broke, bestie! But they’ve already announced his replacement in the match... and, well... I’m not sure how to tell you...”
Billy had completely passed over that question in her mind; so curious about the fate of Sydney’s stolen belt, that she had completely forgotten Ozy would need to be replaced by someone.
“Just say it, Sav, I ain’t got a ton of time here.”
“Well, it’s Lil Petey, and before you freak o-...”
It’s too late, as Billy slams the heel of her palm into the steering wheel so hard that the impact actually rocks the parked truck forwards, before it rolls back to its original position.
This time it was her turn to shout.
“FUCK!”
Breathing heavily as she clenches her teeth and stares ahead blankly, Billy’s mind burns with anger directed solely at one man: Adam Ekaterin.
True or not, in her head she was sure he was responsible for this bullshit. He doubtlessly noticed how protective Billy was of Lil Petey during the beatdown at the end of Proving Ground. Maybe he thought he could cause a fracture in True Society by inserting the object of Billy Bennett’s affection into this match.
How could she bring herself to hurt such a pure and innocent soul? Or to allow him to be injured by any of her teammates?
Just another reason she had to take this time and sober up, no matter how painful it was for her... and it was sure to be agonizing, considering it’d been years since the last time Billy had detoxed off the countless substances she consumed daily.
But she needed her mind to be clear, focused, able to distance itself from the emotions that were clawing their way to the surface of late.
After a moment spent composing herself - with Savannah’s worried, pleading tone audible on the other end of the call - Billy finally resumes speaking.
“Alright, Sav. It’s okay. Everythin’ else alright over there? I was ‘bout to go take care of some business, so ya won’t be able to reach me for a couple days...”
“Everything’s fine. You do what you’ve got to do, Billy. I’ll miss you, though!”
This small gesture of warmth and friendship is enough to bring a small smile to the exhausted Billy Bennett. Just another reason she has grown so close to the newest member of True Society in so short a time.
She was the only one who ever gave Billy so much as a single kind word, beyond ‘good job killing that person for me’ or ‘nice score from the bank robbery, sis’.
“Miss ya too, babe, I-...”
A momentary pause, as she realizes she just called Savannah ‘babe’ instead of ‘bestie’ or ‘girl’ or literally anything else. She holds her breath for a moment, then exhales deeply to try and move past the burning embarrassment that turns her face red.
Predictably, Savannah is snickering about this little slip of the tongue, but Billy does her best to ignore it.
“I’ll see ya, okay?”
“Heh heh... alright, have a good one, ‘babe’!”
There’s a theatrical kiss blown over the phone, and then the call ends.
Before she even has the chance to slip the battery out of the phone and place it in her pocket - with the phone being deposited in a separate one - her mind is already alight with the implications of this arrest.
Ozymandias. The God of Project: Honor. Taken into police custody; and even more surprisingly, taken alive.
What the fuck was going on?!
This revelation - which some might expect to come as a comfort to the woman who was set to face the unstoppable brute - only accomplished the opposite.
It confirmed the suspicions floating around in her scattered, paranoid brain. It added another layer of anxiety and uncertainty atop the fog that already permeated every corner of her brain.
This wasn’t right at all.
How could PH Management let Big Drip’s heavy hitter go down for his crimes - whatever those were - so close to the confrontation with Holt’s people? Prior to this, Billy would have assumed Adam Ekaterin - or whoever was running the show these days - would have bribed, begged and broken the law to keep Ozymandias safe long enough to tear True Society apart in this match.
Shaking her head to clear her mind, Billy grabs her massive camping pack off the passenger seat and slides out the drivers’ side door.
Time to get this over and done with. No point putting off the suffering of withdrawal any longer.
Every bill comes due, sooner or later. Now just happened to be her time to pay what she owed.
====================
A small clearing among the trees is where Billy Bennett has set up camp. It’s not much; a tent, campfire, and a few assorted traps and alarms rigged around the perimeter. She sits on a stump of wood, staring into the flickering campfire as she finishes choking down the last remnants of a brown, muddy liquid from a dented old tin cup.
She’d been sipping on this brew for an hour or two, as the icy fingers of opiate withdrawal began to wrap around her mind, body and soul. Every single bone in Billy’s body felt like it was in danger of splintering to pieces, and her legs shook uncontrollably as a restless physical energy - combined with a mental exhaustion which made even thinking difficult - descended upon her. Her hair dripped sweat, her stomach churned itself into knots... she knew what to expect, but that didn’t make the actual sensations any easier to deal with.
Every rush of dopamine-fueled satisfaction, every blissful evening nodding off into the depths of pinholed pleasure, every day spent forgetting the trauma she’d lived with since coming into this world... every single one would have to be answered for, before she was free to move forward.
There's no way she’d be able to sit still and soldier through it, with nothing but her thoughts to keep her company. Fortunately, she had planned for the severity of the withdrawals; that’s what the liquid in her cup - poured from a large campfire kettle - was for.
An old Seminole blend of herbs, roots and fungi, passed down through generations in the tribal half of her family, leading back to the years before the French - the other part of the Bennett bloodline - had even stepped foot into the swamps of Florida.
Soon, she wouldn’t be aware of her physical body, let alone be forced to suffer through anything related to it. One less thing to worry about; all she had to do was remain sane throughout the duration of the psychedelic trip. If she managed that, she’d come out clean on the other end.
If.
As if on cue, there was an almost imperceptible shift in her field of vision; like the world were suddenly skewed slightly to one side. Like the angles had changed somehow, or the colours were just a bit off; even the sounds of the woods seemed different to her ears.
Billy’s pupils dilate until her retinas are pools of black, while the effects continue to grow stronger. She lurches forward as a fresh wave of nausea - this time made worse by the effects of that psychedelic drink - hits her. Vomit flies out of her mouth, splattering over the grass and leaves as she collapses to her knees. Even those give out shortly afterwards, as the ground rushes up to meet Billy.
As it does, the world explodes around her.
~~~~~~~~~~
The camp, the trees, the grass, the sky.
They’re all gone.
In place of reality is the most vivid waking dream imaginable; she no longer feels the pain and anxiety of withdrawal. Billy has been plunged into the deepest recesses of her own mind... so deep that she struggles to keep a hold on her ego, to remember her name in the hurricane of shapes and colours that fill her mind.
Gradually, it clears, and she’s looking at the Throne of Blood; sharp, jagged and rusted. Sitting on it, a shadowy version of Billy Bennett. She’s laughing, cackling, choking on spit until a length of barbed wire loops its way from one end of the chair to the other, constricting her throat until it draws blood... and still, it keeps tightening until she begins to gasp and claw at the wire.
It’s no good, there’s no leverage she can use to push back against the wire. In no time at all, her head slumps forward; the barbed crown resting atop it falls, bouncing off her lap and landing on the ground where it comes to a stop several feet away from the throne.
No sooner has the crown ceased its rolling than a snake - a cottonmouth, to be specific - slithers up to it. Coiling around the sharp wire frame, the serpent tenses its body around the barbs until the bits of metal cut into its flesh... trails of blood begin to pour out of the snake, pooling underneath it.
Soon enough, the snake is dead; yet, it’s body remains tightly wound around the crown, as though it remained in a loving embrace with the very same object that brought its death.
A little black rat - with a stark white face - soon comes walking up to the pool of blood which still spreads out underneath the snake. Seemingly taking no notice of Billy Bennett, it dips its nose in the blood as a small pink tongue darts out to lick up the crimson fluid.
And then that single rat is joined by a second. And a third. And a fourth, a fifth, and so on, until there is a veritable swarm of rodents gathered around the spilled blood.
As the rest continue to sip up their meal - or jockey for position to do so - one eventually lifts his head to take notice of Billy Bennett, who watches from a position in the chaotic, shifting, imagined landscape some feet away. There’s a small squeak that escapes from its twitching mouth, barely audible but enough to quickly draw the attention of the entire swarm directly onto Billy.
“Uh...” she mumbles, taking a few hesitant steps backwards as the swarm seems to collapse in on itself, building on a center point as the mass shifts and warps into a singular thing.
In a matter of seconds, the process is complete, and what stands before the woman is a bizarre sight indeed. A massive, looming form, with a cape wrapped around its shoulders and a bare chest emblazoned with glowing tattoos. On its face, black and white face paint; and atop its broad skull, stabbing out from underneath the skin, are two massive, curved horns.
“What the f-f-f-...” Billy starts, but she is cut off as the terrible creature steps forward and opens its mouth. A booming voice that is almost akin to a physical impact washes over the hallucinating Floridian, as her physical body writhes and twitches on some other plane, far away from here.
“BE SILENT, BILLY BENNETT! FOR IT IS I, THE GREAT HORNED RATMAN, SCOURGE OF THE UNDERWORLD AND FUTURE CONQUEROR OF THESE CURSED LANDS!”
“ONE DAY, THIS ENTIRE COMPANY SHALL BOW TO RATMAN! ONE DAY, ALL THAT YOU SEE SHALL BE MINE TO RULE!”
Despite the horrific, frightening visage of the beast, Billy simply laughs in response, practically doubling over as she slaps away at one knee; she points an index finger at the monstrous Ratman as she does so. She really can’t help herself; maybe this act would work on a novice, but she’s been on way too many trips - bad and otherwise - to fall victim to this kind of amateur shit.
And anyway, Billy has seen a few episodes of Proving Ground - against her better judgment, of course - and she’s well aware that Ratman isn’t anything to be afraid of.
“Pfft, I saw that episode of Proving Ground ya booked; ain’t no way in hell management leaves ya in charge of anythin’ after that mess!”
“H-H-HEY! YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE SCARED!” bellows the creature, stomping its gigantic foot and crossing two beefy arms over its chest. There’s even the first glimmers of tears forming in the corner of the thing’s eyes.
“Gimme a break! I ain’t no damn fool, boy; even if ya are eight feet tall here, you’re still fuckin’ Ratman. I could kick your ass with both arms tied behind my back, now get the fuck outta my face so I can get to the good stuff!”
With a dramatic wail of anguish, the demon Ratman begins to shrink as rats scurry away from the central body, each one making the thing smaller and smaller until only a single rodent remains. The first one to arrive at the pool of blood, the black one with the white face.
A cocky, amused smirk on her lips, Billy reaches forward to scoop up the animal. Holding it close to her face, she grins at it before pressing her nose against the rat’s. That done, she takes the creature and shoves it into the hood of her sweater for safe keeping.
As she travels on, the head of the rat can be seen poking out of the hood, whiskers twitching as the trip continues.
Eventually, the pair of brave adventurers find themselves in the midst of a vast cookout that sprawls endlessly into the horizon. Barbecues and smokers are hard at work as a plume of meat smoke hangs over the event, thick enough to blot out the sun.
Hanging above the revelry is a giant banner that reads ‘FLAVORTOWN, U.S.A.’ in tacky red-white-and-blue letters.
Every manner of sauce and condiment imaginable are spread out on long tables that extend into infinity, as a billion copies of Serrano Poblano loudly chow down on meats and sides.
It’s really quite horrifying. Just the sound alone, really. It's a moist sound; like a thousand cows, pigs and chickens drowning in their own viscera. A sound that exemplifies the greed and malice inherent in the human race.
A sound that - despite the allure of the tantalizing smells that hang in the air - is enough to hurry Bennett along, as she desperately seeks an exit to this terrible scene. Eventually, she finds a door labeled ‘FUCK OUTTA HERE’. She is about to open it and flee, when she hears a loud voice from behind her.
Turning, she sees one Serrano that is different from all the rest. At least 6’5”, he is wide and thickly muscled, looking more like a powerlifter on steroids than the douchey, overweight piece of shit that exists in the real world. Wearing sunglasses and an American flag button-up novelty shirt, he points at Billy Bennett as he speaks.
“You! Did you think I would let you escape Flavortown so easily!?”
“I mean... you really gonna try and stop me?” she says, fairly confident that even this jacked version of Poblano isn’t going to be stupid enough to try and put hands on her.
The white-faced rat seems to snicker from its place inside Billy’s hoodie.
“...alright, you may escape Flavortown so easily!”
“Appreciated, big man.”
That small exchange complete, Billy rolls her eyes and opens the door, stepping into darkness as her surroundings swirl and morph, eventually coalescing into a scene involving her and Rapture.
Together.
In bed.
Both of them are puffing away on cigarettes, exhaling smoke in the dim light of some hypothetical bedroom somewhere inside her head. Mercifully, the blankets are pulled up to their chests so as to not reveal anything; and even more mercifully, Rapture is still wearing his mask.
Yes, he’s somehow able to smoke through it. The wonderful world of psychedelic visions doesn’t play by the usual rules of reality.
The white faced rat nuzzles up against Billy’s chest, half its body hidden by the soft sheet that covers the pair.
“Damn, you’re not half bad at all that, huh?” mutters Billy, turning her neck to glance over at Rapture as she winks at the bizarre masked jobber.
He simply breathes heavily in response.
“Y’know, I always did think ya were kinda cute. And such a big knife, too.”
As if disturbed by this particular hallucination on some subconscious, primal level, it soon fades out to be replaced with a scene of Billy Bennett and a normal-looking Noah Hope.
They both hold lead pipes with two hands, as they swing up and bring them crashing down - over and over - onto the cowering, shaking, weeping form of Jason Long (Jay White version!)
While they beat the piss - quite literally, it seems - out of this poor hallucinated man, they stare into each others’ eyes and laugh maniacally.
Even the white-faced rat seems to be getting in on the fun, as it pelts Jason with small chunks of cheese; when it’s not busy shoving them into its mouth, that is.
~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~
"I been watchin’ ya for a while now, Swindle, and I know we could have an awful lot of fun playin’ 'round with each other. I just wanna get to know ya a bit better, and I can't think of no better way than pinnin' ya to the canvas and takin' my time explorin'.”
"Bang, bang, bang..."
~~~~~~~~~~
====================
====================
FEBRUARY 4th, 2022
THE PPG ARENA
PITTSBURG, PA
Chaos reigns at the tail end of the last Proving Ground show, as True Society exerts their dominance over those who are still foolish enough to oppose the will of Andrew Holt.
The only scene of calm in this maelstrom of violence comes from two individuals in the center of the ring. Lil Petey, the brave captain of Big Drig Worldwide - rendered near unconscious by a brick - lay motionless on the mat, his head in the lap of a rather unexpected saviour: Billy Bennett.
Inexplicably - and to the great surprise of everyone present, Lil Petey most of all - Billy leapt to his aid as soon as she noticed his injuries, abandoning her assault on MYOJIN to run over and cradle his head. She’s even running one hand through his thick, luscious hair as she whispers soothing reassurances and words of comfort.
“It’s okay, it’s fine, I promise. Billy’s here now, baby boy. They won’t hurt ya no more.”
As she speaks these words to a man who is likely unable to process them after such a vicious blow to the head, Billy’s eyes move up from Petey’s angelic face to scan the ring. Ratman attempts to rally the KaVengers to come to Big Drip’s aid, as the rest of True Society - minus Billy herself - begin to advance on them.
She hardly pays attention as that scumbag suit Adam Ekaterin comes out to put a damper on their fun; instead, she’s just running one question through her head over and over again:
Why?
What’s the point of all this?
Even combined, Big Drip and the KaVengers are no real threat to the dominance of True Society, so why even fight Holt’s plans? What do they hope to gain? Why hasn’t their spirit been broken already, watching the group tear apart anyone foolish enough to stand up to them?
And why is Billy even involved in this? She didn’t join the group to hurt people like Lil Petey or Percival Burque; she joined to hunt bigger game.
The kind that simply couldn’t be found here on Proving Ground.
She didn’t sign up to beat on comedians, rappers, chefs and fashion icons posing as wrestlers.
This was nothing more than a waste of her time.
While Adam sets up the main event for the upcoming brand-crossover event, Billy is too focused on protecting Lil Petey to hear his words, looking down into the rapper's confused eyes... as a single tear drops off her face to land on his cheek.
‘Jesus,’ she thinks to herself as she fights back further tears, ‘how did it come to this?’
====================
SEVERAL DAYS LATER
COCKROACH BAY STATE PARK
FLORIDA
Billy sits in the drivers’ seat of her GMC pickup, the vehicle parked at the end of a trail that leads into Cockroach Bay State Park, just east of Tampa Bay. The vehicle idles, with the usual static blaring over a radio which has been jammed between stations.
Holding one trembling hand palm-down in front of her, she furrows her brow as she tries to force it to remain still, for even a second or two.
But she can’t. Even the line of heroin she snorted up when she arrived here an hour ago has done nothing to calm her nerves. She’d been forcing everything under the surface with narcotics for so long, they simply didn't have the desired effect they once did in terms of keeping her mind clear and focused.
Of course, recent events have hardly helped in that regard: every week that passed since joining the company had piled on an additional layer of confusion and stress onto an already fragile mind.
The growing conflict between True Society and Big Drip Worldwide, which set her at odds with someone she both loved as a man, and respected as an artist: Lil Petey. While her loyalty to Andrew Holt was as close to absolute as a person like Billy Bennett was capable of, a part of her still resented being put in such a position.
Her brother’s expansion into previously untouched territories, and all the added work that brought with it. Security around the Bennett compound had been tripled in recent months due to increased tensions with rival crews, and Billy’s free moments away from wrestling were mostly filled with armed robberies, executions, drug deals, debt collections and other bits of family business.
Adam Ekaterin, the new Director of Operations for Project: Honor. The face of whoever was running things after Rock Johnson’s death, and a man who seemed singularly opposed to Holt, and everything he stood for. Someone who had used their position of power within the company to try and stifle True Society at every turn. Robbing Billy of her Noble Title after she’d knocked out Syndicate, coming to Elena DeDraca’s aid and saving what remained of her reputation by transferring her to a safer space, and stopping True Society’s invasion before they could beat the fight out of Big Drip and the KaVengers after the most recent show.
Not to mention the sudden arrival of Savannah Sunshine into her life, bringing all kinds of emotions she never thought she’d be forced to deal with. Someone friendly, kind and nice, who made Billy reflect on all her own terrible, hateful personality traits for the first time in her life. Someone she felt obliged to protect, which simply added another responsibility to her already overflowing plate.
Hell, she’d even been catching feelings for Lil Petey of all people. Cradling the enemy’s head in her lap while the rest of her teammates were fighting? What the fuck was she thinking?
More than a decade of drug abuse - meant to cover up her underlying psychological issues and childhood trauma - had only succeeded in leaving her confused, emotionally vulnerable, and constantly paranoid.
She had enough to worry about right now, without insane thoughts forcing their way into her brain every second of the day. Without seeing shadow people out of the corner of her eye every waking moment.
To make things even worse, Billy felt that there was something off about this match she was walking into; something was wrong, or something hadn’t been revealed yet. Some trap Adam Ekaterin was laying for Holt’s people, just waiting for True Society to step into that cage before springing it on them all.
Or maybe it was just the effects of all the chemicals floating around her bloodstream which had her on-edge. She couldn’t tell anymore, and rather than push these worries away for even one more day, she decided to face them head-on.
She’d get clean. For now, at least; who knows how long it’ll last? But for the moment, she needed to be clear-headed... or as clear-headed as was possible for someone as mentally and emotionally broken as Billy Bennett.
And the only way such a feat was possible, was to get as far away from temptation as she could. She’d dumped all the drugs out of her truck at the last rest stop, and she was now ready to step out of the vehicle and walk into the middle of the wilderness; the only place she could manage to go through such a painful and miserable withdrawal.
Before she can turn off the engine, her burner flip-phone starts to ring.
There’s only three people who know what number Billy Bennett is using at any time. Before she’d come to Project: Honor, there was only one: her eldest brother - and the clan patriarch - Bo Bennett.
These days, she makes sure to leave her current phone number with Andrew Holt, updating him every few days or whenever she switches SIM cards.
And, of course, her new best friend is also blessed and fortunate enough to possess such information.
Billy hits the green button and lifts the phone up to her ear, just in time to hear Savannah’s frantic voice on the other end. She sounds excited, like there’s some important news she just has to pass along... despite the fact that Billy had explicitly told her that she would be out of contact for a week or so.
“OH MY GOD BILLY, HAVE YOU HEARD YET?!”
The sheer volume of her friend’s voice is enough to make Billy pull the phone away from her ear, wincing at the pain it inflicted on her ear canal.
“Jesus, girl... calm down, take a fuckin’ breath, and tell me what happened.”
There’s a pause as Savannah collects herself; a few deep breaths, before she seems calm enough to carry on at a more acceptable, human volume.
“Well, it’s just... Ozymandias got busted! They nailed him for some murders, or something, and... well... he won’t be in the Wargames match! Isn’t that great?!”
It’s no surprise that Savannah thinks of this as good news; after all, Ozymandias was the only obvious threat present on the side of Big Drip Worldwide. He was the titan of the group, the one who had occupied the majority of Billy’s thoughts since she found out about the match in question.
And now, he wouldn’t be there. To Billy, it looked like the last obstacle to True Society’s continued dominance had been removed.
And yet, she doesn’t seem happy about - or placated by - the news. If anything, the idea of law enforcement putting Project: Honor roster members in cuffs only unnerves her further; and for good reason. The amount of shit she had been involved with could get her put away for multiple life sentences, or even the death penalty in certain states.
Was this the beginning of a sweep, aimed at cleansing the roster of its assorted criminal elements? Was Ozymandias simply the first domino to fall? Would the police be waiting backstage for her, when she arrived at the Wells Fargo Center?
Impossible. She’d been too careful, making sure there were never any witnesses in the first place, or none left alive... or that anyone aware of her crimes would be so scared of what she - and her people - would do to them, that they wouldn’t dare open their mouths.
Not even in a safe, secure police interrogation room or protective custody cell.
The Bennett family’s grasp reached too far in the underworld for anyone to feel safe informing on them, or testifying against any family members.
Clearly Ozymandias was just too sloppy, too wrapped up in his megalomaniacal ego to be as careful as he ought to have been... just like Billy always figured he was.
The man was a dumb, arrogant brute. Nothing more.
“Billy? Billy, are you there? Did you hear what I said?”
Savannah’s voice snaps Bennett out of the trance she had fallen into while considering the implications of this news. Immediately, she gets right to the most crucial question on her mind.
“Sydney’s belt. Are they giving it back to him?!”
Her voice is almost manic as she asks after the fate of the Legacy Championship. If it falls back into Syndicate’s hands as the last non-felonious holder of the title... that means Billy might still be able to goad him into a one-on-one.
The Universal Briefcase up against the Legacy Championship.
IF Sydney was brave enough to take the bait. He’d been conspicuously silent on her offer of a match to win back the briefcase; would he really risk the Legacy belt, when he’s not even man enough to step up to her without the championship on the line?
“Well, uh, I’m not sure! The news just broke, bestie! But they’ve already announced his replacement in the match... and, well... I’m not sure how to tell you...”
Billy had completely passed over that question in her mind; so curious about the fate of Sydney’s stolen belt, that she had completely forgotten Ozy would need to be replaced by someone.
“Just say it, Sav, I ain’t got a ton of time here.”
“Well, it’s Lil Petey, and before you freak o-...”
It’s too late, as Billy slams the heel of her palm into the steering wheel so hard that the impact actually rocks the parked truck forwards, before it rolls back to its original position.
This time it was her turn to shout.
“FUCK!”
Breathing heavily as she clenches her teeth and stares ahead blankly, Billy’s mind burns with anger directed solely at one man: Adam Ekaterin.
True or not, in her head she was sure he was responsible for this bullshit. He doubtlessly noticed how protective Billy was of Lil Petey during the beatdown at the end of Proving Ground. Maybe he thought he could cause a fracture in True Society by inserting the object of Billy Bennett’s affection into this match.
How could she bring herself to hurt such a pure and innocent soul? Or to allow him to be injured by any of her teammates?
Just another reason she had to take this time and sober up, no matter how painful it was for her... and it was sure to be agonizing, considering it’d been years since the last time Billy had detoxed off the countless substances she consumed daily.
But she needed her mind to be clear, focused, able to distance itself from the emotions that were clawing their way to the surface of late.
After a moment spent composing herself - with Savannah’s worried, pleading tone audible on the other end of the call - Billy finally resumes speaking.
“Alright, Sav. It’s okay. Everythin’ else alright over there? I was ‘bout to go take care of some business, so ya won’t be able to reach me for a couple days...”
“Everything’s fine. You do what you’ve got to do, Billy. I’ll miss you, though!”
This small gesture of warmth and friendship is enough to bring a small smile to the exhausted Billy Bennett. Just another reason she has grown so close to the newest member of True Society in so short a time.
She was the only one who ever gave Billy so much as a single kind word, beyond ‘good job killing that person for me’ or ‘nice score from the bank robbery, sis’.
“Miss ya too, babe, I-...”
A momentary pause, as she realizes she just called Savannah ‘babe’ instead of ‘bestie’ or ‘girl’ or literally anything else. She holds her breath for a moment, then exhales deeply to try and move past the burning embarrassment that turns her face red.
Predictably, Savannah is snickering about this little slip of the tongue, but Billy does her best to ignore it.
“I’ll see ya, okay?”
“Heh heh... alright, have a good one, ‘babe’!”
There’s a theatrical kiss blown over the phone, and then the call ends.
Before she even has the chance to slip the battery out of the phone and place it in her pocket - with the phone being deposited in a separate one - her mind is already alight with the implications of this arrest.
Ozymandias. The God of Project: Honor. Taken into police custody; and even more surprisingly, taken alive.
What the fuck was going on?!
This revelation - which some might expect to come as a comfort to the woman who was set to face the unstoppable brute - only accomplished the opposite.
It confirmed the suspicions floating around in her scattered, paranoid brain. It added another layer of anxiety and uncertainty atop the fog that already permeated every corner of her brain.
This wasn’t right at all.
How could PH Management let Big Drip’s heavy hitter go down for his crimes - whatever those were - so close to the confrontation with Holt’s people? Prior to this, Billy would have assumed Adam Ekaterin - or whoever was running the show these days - would have bribed, begged and broken the law to keep Ozymandias safe long enough to tear True Society apart in this match.
Shaking her head to clear her mind, Billy grabs her massive camping pack off the passenger seat and slides out the drivers’ side door.
Time to get this over and done with. No point putting off the suffering of withdrawal any longer.
Every bill comes due, sooner or later. Now just happened to be her time to pay what she owed.
====================
A small clearing among the trees is where Billy Bennett has set up camp. It’s not much; a tent, campfire, and a few assorted traps and alarms rigged around the perimeter. She sits on a stump of wood, staring into the flickering campfire as she finishes choking down the last remnants of a brown, muddy liquid from a dented old tin cup.
She’d been sipping on this brew for an hour or two, as the icy fingers of opiate withdrawal began to wrap around her mind, body and soul. Every single bone in Billy’s body felt like it was in danger of splintering to pieces, and her legs shook uncontrollably as a restless physical energy - combined with a mental exhaustion which made even thinking difficult - descended upon her. Her hair dripped sweat, her stomach churned itself into knots... she knew what to expect, but that didn’t make the actual sensations any easier to deal with.
Every rush of dopamine-fueled satisfaction, every blissful evening nodding off into the depths of pinholed pleasure, every day spent forgetting the trauma she’d lived with since coming into this world... every single one would have to be answered for, before she was free to move forward.
There's no way she’d be able to sit still and soldier through it, with nothing but her thoughts to keep her company. Fortunately, she had planned for the severity of the withdrawals; that’s what the liquid in her cup - poured from a large campfire kettle - was for.
An old Seminole blend of herbs, roots and fungi, passed down through generations in the tribal half of her family, leading back to the years before the French - the other part of the Bennett bloodline - had even stepped foot into the swamps of Florida.
Soon, she wouldn’t be aware of her physical body, let alone be forced to suffer through anything related to it. One less thing to worry about; all she had to do was remain sane throughout the duration of the psychedelic trip. If she managed that, she’d come out clean on the other end.
If.
As if on cue, there was an almost imperceptible shift in her field of vision; like the world were suddenly skewed slightly to one side. Like the angles had changed somehow, or the colours were just a bit off; even the sounds of the woods seemed different to her ears.
Billy’s pupils dilate until her retinas are pools of black, while the effects continue to grow stronger. She lurches forward as a fresh wave of nausea - this time made worse by the effects of that psychedelic drink - hits her. Vomit flies out of her mouth, splattering over the grass and leaves as she collapses to her knees. Even those give out shortly afterwards, as the ground rushes up to meet Billy.
As it does, the world explodes around her.
~~~~~~~~~~
The camp, the trees, the grass, the sky.
They’re all gone.
In place of reality is the most vivid waking dream imaginable; she no longer feels the pain and anxiety of withdrawal. Billy has been plunged into the deepest recesses of her own mind... so deep that she struggles to keep a hold on her ego, to remember her name in the hurricane of shapes and colours that fill her mind.
Gradually, it clears, and she’s looking at the Throne of Blood; sharp, jagged and rusted. Sitting on it, a shadowy version of Billy Bennett. She’s laughing, cackling, choking on spit until a length of barbed wire loops its way from one end of the chair to the other, constricting her throat until it draws blood... and still, it keeps tightening until she begins to gasp and claw at the wire.
It’s no good, there’s no leverage she can use to push back against the wire. In no time at all, her head slumps forward; the barbed crown resting atop it falls, bouncing off her lap and landing on the ground where it comes to a stop several feet away from the throne.
No sooner has the crown ceased its rolling than a snake - a cottonmouth, to be specific - slithers up to it. Coiling around the sharp wire frame, the serpent tenses its body around the barbs until the bits of metal cut into its flesh... trails of blood begin to pour out of the snake, pooling underneath it.
Soon enough, the snake is dead; yet, it’s body remains tightly wound around the crown, as though it remained in a loving embrace with the very same object that brought its death.
A little black rat - with a stark white face - soon comes walking up to the pool of blood which still spreads out underneath the snake. Seemingly taking no notice of Billy Bennett, it dips its nose in the blood as a small pink tongue darts out to lick up the crimson fluid.
And then that single rat is joined by a second. And a third. And a fourth, a fifth, and so on, until there is a veritable swarm of rodents gathered around the spilled blood.
As the rest continue to sip up their meal - or jockey for position to do so - one eventually lifts his head to take notice of Billy Bennett, who watches from a position in the chaotic, shifting, imagined landscape some feet away. There’s a small squeak that escapes from its twitching mouth, barely audible but enough to quickly draw the attention of the entire swarm directly onto Billy.
“Uh...” she mumbles, taking a few hesitant steps backwards as the swarm seems to collapse in on itself, building on a center point as the mass shifts and warps into a singular thing.
In a matter of seconds, the process is complete, and what stands before the woman is a bizarre sight indeed. A massive, looming form, with a cape wrapped around its shoulders and a bare chest emblazoned with glowing tattoos. On its face, black and white face paint; and atop its broad skull, stabbing out from underneath the skin, are two massive, curved horns.
“What the f-f-f-...” Billy starts, but she is cut off as the terrible creature steps forward and opens its mouth. A booming voice that is almost akin to a physical impact washes over the hallucinating Floridian, as her physical body writhes and twitches on some other plane, far away from here.
“BE SILENT, BILLY BENNETT! FOR IT IS I, THE GREAT HORNED RATMAN, SCOURGE OF THE UNDERWORLD AND FUTURE CONQUEROR OF THESE CURSED LANDS!”
“ONE DAY, THIS ENTIRE COMPANY SHALL BOW TO RATMAN! ONE DAY, ALL THAT YOU SEE SHALL BE MINE TO RULE!”
Despite the horrific, frightening visage of the beast, Billy simply laughs in response, practically doubling over as she slaps away at one knee; she points an index finger at the monstrous Ratman as she does so. She really can’t help herself; maybe this act would work on a novice, but she’s been on way too many trips - bad and otherwise - to fall victim to this kind of amateur shit.
And anyway, Billy has seen a few episodes of Proving Ground - against her better judgment, of course - and she’s well aware that Ratman isn’t anything to be afraid of.
“Pfft, I saw that episode of Proving Ground ya booked; ain’t no way in hell management leaves ya in charge of anythin’ after that mess!”
“H-H-HEY! YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE SCARED!” bellows the creature, stomping its gigantic foot and crossing two beefy arms over its chest. There’s even the first glimmers of tears forming in the corner of the thing’s eyes.
“Gimme a break! I ain’t no damn fool, boy; even if ya are eight feet tall here, you’re still fuckin’ Ratman. I could kick your ass with both arms tied behind my back, now get the fuck outta my face so I can get to the good stuff!”
With a dramatic wail of anguish, the demon Ratman begins to shrink as rats scurry away from the central body, each one making the thing smaller and smaller until only a single rodent remains. The first one to arrive at the pool of blood, the black one with the white face.
A cocky, amused smirk on her lips, Billy reaches forward to scoop up the animal. Holding it close to her face, she grins at it before pressing her nose against the rat’s. That done, she takes the creature and shoves it into the hood of her sweater for safe keeping.
As she travels on, the head of the rat can be seen poking out of the hood, whiskers twitching as the trip continues.
Eventually, the pair of brave adventurers find themselves in the midst of a vast cookout that sprawls endlessly into the horizon. Barbecues and smokers are hard at work as a plume of meat smoke hangs over the event, thick enough to blot out the sun.
Hanging above the revelry is a giant banner that reads ‘FLAVORTOWN, U.S.A.’ in tacky red-white-and-blue letters.
Every manner of sauce and condiment imaginable are spread out on long tables that extend into infinity, as a billion copies of Serrano Poblano loudly chow down on meats and sides.
It’s really quite horrifying. Just the sound alone, really. It's a moist sound; like a thousand cows, pigs and chickens drowning in their own viscera. A sound that exemplifies the greed and malice inherent in the human race.
A sound that - despite the allure of the tantalizing smells that hang in the air - is enough to hurry Bennett along, as she desperately seeks an exit to this terrible scene. Eventually, she finds a door labeled ‘FUCK OUTTA HERE’. She is about to open it and flee, when she hears a loud voice from behind her.
Turning, she sees one Serrano that is different from all the rest. At least 6’5”, he is wide and thickly muscled, looking more like a powerlifter on steroids than the douchey, overweight piece of shit that exists in the real world. Wearing sunglasses and an American flag button-up novelty shirt, he points at Billy Bennett as he speaks.
“You! Did you think I would let you escape Flavortown so easily!?”
“I mean... you really gonna try and stop me?” she says, fairly confident that even this jacked version of Poblano isn’t going to be stupid enough to try and put hands on her.
The white-faced rat seems to snicker from its place inside Billy’s hoodie.
“...alright, you may escape Flavortown so easily!”
“Appreciated, big man.”
That small exchange complete, Billy rolls her eyes and opens the door, stepping into darkness as her surroundings swirl and morph, eventually coalescing into a scene involving her and Rapture.
Together.
In bed.
Both of them are puffing away on cigarettes, exhaling smoke in the dim light of some hypothetical bedroom somewhere inside her head. Mercifully, the blankets are pulled up to their chests so as to not reveal anything; and even more mercifully, Rapture is still wearing his mask.
Yes, he’s somehow able to smoke through it. The wonderful world of psychedelic visions doesn’t play by the usual rules of reality.
The white faced rat nuzzles up against Billy’s chest, half its body hidden by the soft sheet that covers the pair.
“Damn, you’re not half bad at all that, huh?” mutters Billy, turning her neck to glance over at Rapture as she winks at the bizarre masked jobber.
He simply breathes heavily in response.
“Y’know, I always did think ya were kinda cute. And such a big knife, too.”
As if disturbed by this particular hallucination on some subconscious, primal level, it soon fades out to be replaced with a scene of Billy Bennett and a normal-looking Noah Hope.
They both hold lead pipes with two hands, as they swing up and bring them crashing down - over and over - onto the cowering, shaking, weeping form of Jason Long (Jay White version!)
While they beat the piss - quite literally, it seems - out of this poor hallucinated man, they stare into each others’ eyes and laugh maniacally.
Even the white-faced rat seems to be getting in on the fun, as it pelts Jason with small chunks of cheese; when it’s not busy shoving them into its mouth, that is.
~~~~~~~~~~
There’s a vague crackling in the background of the audio tape, as Billy’s voice comes over it after a brief pause. Her tone is clear, determined, without any of its usual fluctuation in emotion or tone; by that fact alone, it’s clear it was recorded after she’d gone through her little ‘adventure’ in the woods.
“I’ll be straight with y’all, I got no problem with any of ya. Ya fill a niche, that’s all; but more important than that, ya stayed outta our way. Safe and sound over there on Provin’ Grounds, where ya could ply your trade and entertain those fuckin’ children dumb enough to watch that shit.”
“Kept your heads down, had your laughs, and didn’t try to set your sights on anythin’ more than that.”
“Until lately, that is.”
“Dunno what changed for y’all boys; maybe it’s just comin’ together as a group that’s got ya feelin’ strong. I can understand that line of thinkin’, my own family wouldn’t be nothin’ without every single member of it.”
“Strength in numbers, and all that.”
“Just... one... problem with that.”
“Ya ain’t jumpin’ us one at a time, where ya might have a chance. Emphasis on might.”
“Five on fi-... wait, I almost forgot about that weird fucker Julius. Well, I wager he’ll take care of... himself?”
“Whatever.”
“Four on four, we’ll say. Ain’t no way ya come out winnin’ this, even if ya do join forces with Petey’s crew. Any two of y’all against any one of us? That’s a losin’ fight, ya can fuckin’ believe that.”
“Man... if only ya minded your own business and stayed comfy and cozy on the undercard. Guess y’all got visions of the main event dancin’ through your head now, though. Well, ya got your wish. The main event of the biggest show all year. Congratulations, ya made it.”
“Now, take a moment to think what ya plan to get outta this. And at what fuckin’ cost? Even if ya get off light, it’s gonna be rougher than anythin’ y’all ever been through.”
“Let me act all diplomatic for a moment, before shit really gets goin’ and it’s too late for y’all to turn back.”
“Holt don’t care ‘bout none of ya, take my word on that. If ya didn’t decide to step up, I doubt he’d have even noticed y’all. No need for ya to put your lives on the line here, ‘cause there ain’t nothin’ for ya to defend!”
“Shit, far as I can tell you’re exactly the sort of people that the boss wants to help. The jokers, the weirdos, the downtrodden. Sure, I couldn’t give a fuck ‘bout none of that; I ain’t gonna pretend that I do. But I can guarantee that y’all would do a damn sight better - and be treated more fairly - if Arik were runnin’ the show.”
“Just think ‘bout it. Don’t even gotta decide before the show; if the match is gettin’ too much for ya... if any one of y’all decide you’d rather be on our side, instead of trapped and bleedin’ under our boots, then all ya gotta do is turn on those idiots in Big Drip.”
“That’s it. That’s all.”
“And if not? Then we make ya pay for thinkin’ a pack of trash-eatin’ scavengers could stand up and stop the inevitable.”
“Don’t make me put down a pack of wounded, snivellin’ animals. I never could find any pleasure in the easy kills.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Billy finds herself in the middle of a scene straight out of Dr. Frankenstein; an old gothic castle built into the side of a cliff. The architecture and geometry of the building is decidedly non-Euclidian, a structure that simply could not exist anywhere in the real world.
Walking up an impossibly long spiral staircase through the middle of the castle, she eventually ascends to the top floor. Even in a hallucination, her spiritual form is still dripping sweat when she finally reaches the 8,018th floor... to find what can only be described as a mad scientist’s lab.
Lightning cracks through the dark clouds overhead, as the form of Julius Foulweather stands in a pristine lab coat, fiddling with knobs on an old piece of machinery that wouldn’t look out of place at a Steampunk convention. There are a variety of wires and tubes leading to a body - covered with a white sheet - strapped down to a metal operating table some distance away.
Without saying a word to the drug-induced vision of Foulweather, Billy confidently steps over to the table and grabs the top of the sheet with one hand. There’s no hesitation, no sense of dread that prevents her from pulling it back; she yanks the entire sheet away in one swift movement, tossing it to the side as she reveals the identity of the corpse that Julius is - she can only guess - attempting to reanimate.
It’s Rock Johnson, his body bearing the same two gunshot wounds that Andrew Holt put in him that night outside Whalan, MN. Right after the Purge, the same evening that Billy Bennett was brought into the fold of True Society by the man who ran the entire brand.
It’s an oddly fond memory in Billy’s mind; the night she saw that Andrew Holt was the sort of man worthy of respect and admiration. The kind who did not balk at doing what must be done, who would allow no disrespect, and had the will necessary to remake the entire company in his image.
That single moment in time opened Bennett’s eyes as to the true nature of the boss, and cemented her loyalty towards him to this very day. She would kill to protect Holt; not just for what he intended to accomplish - that was just background noise to her - but for being a kindred spirit of sorts, one who allowed the Floridian native to indulge in her most savage instincts.
Holt had done the near-impossible; he had put a leash on the previously unchained dog known as Billy Bennett. Where only her brother and father had been able to give her orders in the past, something about the boss had allowed him to join such a rare, select group of individuals; and he wasn’t even blood related like the other two were.
Everything she had done in Holt’s name had been leading to this conflict at The Crowning. Whatever the outcome of Wargames ended up being, it would forever change the landscape - and the balance of power - on both brands.
She is interrupted in the midst of her internal dialogue, as one hand falls upon her shoulder; it’s sudden and unexpected enough to make the usually unflappable killer flinch. She wheels around, knocking the palm off her shoulder and pulling one fist back to floor whoever thought they could put hands on her...
...and she comes face to face with Julius Foulweather, who had walked away from the machinery to greet this new arrival in his dreamscape castle.
“Ah, well if it isn’t the Queen of Fallout, Billy Bennett! A pleasure to have such a storied individual here in my modest dwelling! And I see you’ve found the little ‘project’ I’ve been working on, too.”
“Yea, sure, Jules. What the fuck are ya tryin’ to do with this ol’ dead son of a bitch?”
“Oh, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but since Rock Johnson’s passing the company has been in dire straits. An enemy of Holt he may have been, but he was surely preferable to whoever is pulling the strings now; whoever stands behind Adam Ekaterin, whispering in that man’s ear, is a greater threat to True Society than Mr. Johnson could have ever proved to be.”
“Uh-huh... and...?”
“So, I endeavor to bring Mr. Johnson back to us, so he might seize the reins of power once again. I wager he’ll be so thankful to be brought back to life, that he’ll fall right in line behind the glorious and brilliant Julius Foulweather!”
“Oh? Behind y’all, huh? Not Holt?”
This seems to catch the hallucinatory Foulweather by surprise, as if just realizing he revealed some plan to usurp control of Fallout and True Society from the man currently in charge. His eyes widen in shock for a moment, as he looks at Billy Bennett... before he simply laughs it off.
“A slip of the tongue, I assure you. But enough about my plans; you’re clearly here for a reason. Come, walk with me, as I take you on a brief tour through the hellscape of your own subconscious.”
“So, what we startin’ with?”
“Oh, I’m so glad you asked, my dear, bloody Miss Bennett! I thought we might take a look at your future, to see what fate awaits a wonderfully violent girl such as yourself!”
As Foulweather and Billy stroll through the ether, scenes play out around them. Billy snorting a massive line of some brown powder, then a cut to her laying still, cold and blue - long-dead - a short while later.
Walking to her truck after some deal in what looks to be Chicago, when a car speeds by; two TEC-9s are pointed out the window a split-second before she is sprayed with bullets. Billy collapses, bleeding out on the asphalt as the car swerves away.
“Yeah, sounds fair. I figure it’s somethin’ bad, right? Overdose? Shot dead in the streets? Death penalty for some bullshit?”
“Hmmm. You’re rather good at this; you’re as clever as a snake, and as treacherous! You’re sure to make some lucky man very happy someday!”
This time, they walk through a scene that stands out from the others. A darkened room with a single light shining downing on a kneeling Billy Bennett, whose arms are shackled together in front of her as she stares down at the ground with dead, empty eyes... and a pliant, beaten-down, accepting look on her face.
Around her neck is a collar, with a leash that leads to the left hand of Andrew Holt, standing to one side and glancing disdainfully in her direction. Like she was something that was strictly necessary; something that he merely endured the presence of, rather than having any real affection or respect for.
And less immediately noticeable - but visible all the same - is a collection of strings that lead from her wrists, ankles, and hair through the darkness, held at the end by a massive form standing in the shadows.
It’s Mr. Wright, and he smiles down at Billy, who takes no notice of him standing behind her.
“Eh, they never end up lastin’ with me. Men, that is.”
“Mmm, yes, I understand you have a problem with breaking your toys. Ah well, best to keep it at it, my dear Billy! I’m sure you’ll find Mr. Right one day! Or should I say ‘Mr. Wright’?”
“Fuck ya mean by that?”
Finally, they come to a stop in front of a rather comforting scene; especially considering the violent and disturbing nature of the previous visions. Billy is laying on a bed, curled up in a ball, just waking up in the light of a brand new day as Savannah Sunshine kneels on the ground beside the bed. She rests her head on the mattress directly in front of Billy’s face, smiling at her new friend.
“Good morning!”
“Mmm... hey, Sav. Ya sleep good?”
“Oh, too busy staying up watching you.”
“...huh. What for?”
“Just wondering how anyone could be as stupid as you, that’s all! I mean, thinking that someone like me would ever really want to be around someone as gross and repulsive as Billy fucking Bennett.”
A confused, hurt look on her face, the vision of Billy Bennett sits up in bed as Savannah rises to take a spot beside her.
“Wh... what are ya sayin’, Sav? Why would ya... I don’t... please...”
“Shh, shh, it’s okay Billy. You’re so, so broken; let your girl Sav take the pain away, okay?”
Leaning in for what appears - at first - to be a kiss, there is a flicker as the day outside the window seems to turn to night... and Savannah Sunshine is there no longer; in her place is a pale woman, with black hair that bears a streak of white. As she opens her mouth, a row of sharpened fangs are revealed...
...and she lunges forward to plant them into Billy's throat; who simply allows it to happen without any struggle, or even a sound. Blood pours down her neck, as she falls backwards onto the bed, this strange pale woman mounting her chest to continue the feast.
“What the fuck...?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know any more than I’ve shown you; the nature of these sorts of things are quite complex, but suffice to say I only know what you know, or feel, or can otherwise guess at.”
“Whatever. Let’s keep goin’, this is all bullshit anyway. Sav would never hurt me. We're friends.”
“Hmmm, do you really believe that? We all tell lies to ourselves, Billy, there’s no shame in such subterfuge! Well, anyway, that sounds like a capital idea! Let’s see what fresh horrors await!”
Next scene takes place in a ring, surrounded by a steel cage. The main event at The Crowning. Billy stands in front of a series of shadows arrayed against her. At her back are vague wraiths of Syndicate, Drago, Slade and Foulweather, the latter of which seems to flicker in and out of existence, along with his counterparts on the opposite side.
“Oh dear, I’m afraid we’ve reached the end of our journey, just before things got interesting! What a pity! Alas, we will have to wait to bask in the full bloodshed of Wargames! A celebration of hatred and violence that will surely be worth the wait!”
~~~~~~~~~~
“Alright, fuckers, this goes for all y’all; but Havoc, Sydney and Angelo especially.”
“Lemme make one thing clear right off the bat: keep my girl Sav’s name out your fuckin’ mouths. Next time any one of ya sends a stray in her direction, I’ll rip your fuckin’ nuts off... and that’ll just be me gettin’ started.”
“That’s the only goddamn warnin’ I’m gonna be in any mood to give, so ya best heed it.”
“Now that we got that outta the way, allow me to fuckin’ explain things for y’all, since it’s clear you’re too dumb to understand on your own.”
“Everything I did was to protect this group, to protect Holt’s vision, when y’all were too weak to do it yourselves. Slade, ya like to bitch ‘bout me ‘stealin’ your belt’, but as soon as that bell rang it was clear ya were outmatched.”
“It was either gonna be Billy Bennett as Noble Champion, or Michael Bishop, or Alyssa Grace... but not Slade Castle. Not that night. Would ya rather we have lost the gold entirely, just so precious li’l Slade wouldn’t think he got robbed by his pal Billy?”
“And Syndicate, do me a favour and imagine what it’d be like with Jason Long holdin’ that briefcase, knowin’ he can cash in on any one of us if we managed to win back those titles. Doubt Havoc would be restin’ easy, knowin’ he could be challenged for his belt at any time.”
“Same deal with any one of 'em in that match, who were sharper, faster, hungrier. If it wasn’t me, ya can bet it’d have been one of ‘em.”
“The crown? I never wanted the fuckin’ thing in the first place. I just wanted to make sure none of y’all got your grubby hands on it. I mean, ya boys are so fuckin’ obnoxious in the first place, imagine how bad y’all would be if ya got to add a ‘King’ to the front of your name?”
“Naw, too painful to imagine dealin’ with that till ya got bored of it. So I figured, best if Billy takes it, to spare everyone your gloatin'.”
“Instead of bitchin’ and moanin’ like a fuckin’ woman ‘bout it, maybe y’all oughta reflect on how some sweet, innocent li’l girl like me was able to come in and upstage all of ya. How I was able to take the shit y’all valued most ‘round here, and make it mine.”
“Anyway, I meant to say: we only gotta hold it together for a bit longer. Once we smash this pathetic resistance that Lil Petey has gathered around him, if ya still feel sore ‘bout what Billy did to ya... well, feel free to come have a chat with me ‘bout it.”
“I’m always available... anyone, any time, any place. Just gotta gather up the courage to come and see me, alright? I ain’t hidin’.”
“But hey, let’s do our fuckin’ jobs first; or am I the only goddamn professional left ‘round here?”
“All I ask of ya is one night - one single fuckin’ night - where y’all leave your egos at the door and come ready to work together. Don’t care what happens after The Crownin’, personally... but we owe Holt a victory inside that cage, after all he’s done for us.”
“Don’t fuck this up like ya did everything else, boys.”
“Because if we don’t come out of this on top, y’all will have to answer to me. Ready for that conversation? If ya ain't, best tighten it the fuck up and get your heads in the game.”
“We got a war to win.”
A pause, before she comes back with a sweet tone that drips some vague, undefined sense of accomplishment.
“Oh, and Sydney? Ya did good. Your woman is safe. For now.”
“Lemme make one thing clear right off the bat: keep my girl Sav’s name out your fuckin’ mouths. Next time any one of ya sends a stray in her direction, I’ll rip your fuckin’ nuts off... and that’ll just be me gettin’ started.”
“That’s the only goddamn warnin’ I’m gonna be in any mood to give, so ya best heed it.”
“Now that we got that outta the way, allow me to fuckin’ explain things for y’all, since it’s clear you’re too dumb to understand on your own.”
“Everything I did was to protect this group, to protect Holt’s vision, when y’all were too weak to do it yourselves. Slade, ya like to bitch ‘bout me ‘stealin’ your belt’, but as soon as that bell rang it was clear ya were outmatched.”
“It was either gonna be Billy Bennett as Noble Champion, or Michael Bishop, or Alyssa Grace... but not Slade Castle. Not that night. Would ya rather we have lost the gold entirely, just so precious li’l Slade wouldn’t think he got robbed by his pal Billy?”
“And Syndicate, do me a favour and imagine what it’d be like with Jason Long holdin’ that briefcase, knowin’ he can cash in on any one of us if we managed to win back those titles. Doubt Havoc would be restin’ easy, knowin’ he could be challenged for his belt at any time.”
“Same deal with any one of 'em in that match, who were sharper, faster, hungrier. If it wasn’t me, ya can bet it’d have been one of ‘em.”
“The crown? I never wanted the fuckin’ thing in the first place. I just wanted to make sure none of y’all got your grubby hands on it. I mean, ya boys are so fuckin’ obnoxious in the first place, imagine how bad y’all would be if ya got to add a ‘King’ to the front of your name?”
“Naw, too painful to imagine dealin’ with that till ya got bored of it. So I figured, best if Billy takes it, to spare everyone your gloatin'.”
“Instead of bitchin’ and moanin’ like a fuckin’ woman ‘bout it, maybe y’all oughta reflect on how some sweet, innocent li’l girl like me was able to come in and upstage all of ya. How I was able to take the shit y’all valued most ‘round here, and make it mine.”
“Anyway, I meant to say: we only gotta hold it together for a bit longer. Once we smash this pathetic resistance that Lil Petey has gathered around him, if ya still feel sore ‘bout what Billy did to ya... well, feel free to come have a chat with me ‘bout it.”
“I’m always available... anyone, any time, any place. Just gotta gather up the courage to come and see me, alright? I ain’t hidin’.”
“But hey, let’s do our fuckin’ jobs first; or am I the only goddamn professional left ‘round here?”
“All I ask of ya is one night - one single fuckin’ night - where y’all leave your egos at the door and come ready to work together. Don’t care what happens after The Crownin’, personally... but we owe Holt a victory inside that cage, after all he’s done for us.”
“Don’t fuck this up like ya did everything else, boys.”
“Because if we don’t come out of this on top, y’all will have to answer to me. Ready for that conversation? If ya ain't, best tighten it the fuck up and get your heads in the game.”
“We got a war to win.”
A pause, before she comes back with a sweet tone that drips some vague, undefined sense of accomplishment.
“Oh, and Sydney? Ya did good. Your woman is safe. For now.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Billy and Julius - now Fairweather - stroll through a jungle filled with plants and animals unlike any that exist in reality. Bright, multi-coloured plants as beautiful as anything on earth, but which open up their petals to reveal rows upon rows of razor-sharp, blood-stained teeth. Fluorescent birds that gracefully swoop down from the canopy overhead, only to extend fierce, glistening talons at the last possible second to snatch up creatures from nests hidden within the thick vegetation.
Even the trees themselves seem far prettier than they should; the colours are almost too vibrant, slowly shifting with every second that one keeps them in their sight. Though Billy doesn’t spend enough time watching to find out, she gets the feeling that staring at them for too long might not end well.
Eventually, the pair of intrepid explorers make their way to a small clearing in the jungle; where a long, sleek, fluffy cat rests atop a large, overgrown fly agaric mushroom.
Not just any cat; it’s more majestic, well-groomed and inviting than any feline that has ever lived. So much so that even Billy Bennett - someone who greatly prefers canines, as any sane individual does - finds herself oddly attracted to it. Almost as if it possesses a certain magnetism that the rough-and-tumble career criminal is unable to resist.
Leaving Fairweather standing some distance away, Billy begins to step towards it, her eyes almost twinkling in the sunlight as she remains fixated on the cat.
“Hey, bitch! Where do you think you’re going!? Don't be leaving me back here!”
Ignoring Julius' words, Billy continues to advance on the feline, extending one hand towards it as she approaches. She doesn’t get closer than a foot or two away from it, before the adorable little creature - who had previously been half asleep - suddenly wakes and turns its attention on Billy. In a blur of movement too fast for the human eye, it lashes out with one paw... as claws that shine like stainless steel extend out from under its footpads.
And in a flash, the Billy Bennett is bloodlessly beheaded. Fairweather’s eyes widen in shock as Billy’s head rolls through the grass, coming to rest directly against the tip of his boot. He glances down at her as she stares back up at him, shaking his head in amusement.
“Damn, bitch! MEOWJIN really fucked your ass up, huh? Ain’t that a goddamn pity?!”
It sounds like he thinks it’s anything but. With a sigh, the bodiless head of Billy Bennett scowls and replies in a flat, deadpan tone.
“I fuckin’ hate ya, Jules, I really do.”
“Oh?! Well the feeling is mutual, you dumb motherfu-”
~~~~~~~~~~
“Appearances can be deceivin’, can’t they?”
“Somethin’ I know all too well. Growin’ up with my people... the only girl outta thirteen kids, and not a hair over five feet tall, it was hard to get taken seriously in the family business. Not tough enough, not manly enough, not big or strong enough.”
“I heard that shit all my life, growin’ up how I did. Until I’d finally shut enough of ‘em up, that the talkin’ stopped entirely. Nobody was willin’ to speak up and risk losin’ a fuckin’ eye, or a thumb, or something more valuable than that, just to make their shitty, ignorant-ass opinions about me known.”
“Thought I’d gotten past all that, until I came here. And it started all over again. ‘Look at this shitty li’l redneck girl’, ‘who does she think she is comin’ here and tryin’ to hang with us big, muscular men?’.”
“All that tired ol’ shit, thrown right in my face for the first time in years.”
“So, I did it again. I shut ‘em the fuck up, one by one, until people stopped talkin’. I made ‘em realize I was someone who deserved their respect, otherwise I’d start bendin’ limbs back until bones started breakin’.”
“Sound familiar, Myo? I can call you Myo, right? The whole name just don’t roll off the tongue right, on account of my accent and all that.”
“Seems like the kinda thing you’ve had to deal with every day in this company, right? Too pretty to be a champion, too worried about lookin’ fashionable to roll ‘round the yard with the big dogs, that sorta nonsense?”
“Bet it felt awful good to show ‘em how wrong they were, huh, cutie?”
“Lemme tell ya, sure looks like ya did a fine job of silencin’ your critics. One hell of a title reign you’ve managed for yourself, and I don’t mind lettin’ ya know how impressed I am. Might be on the baby brand, but even Project: Honor’s B-show has more talent packed in it than most other companies got in their whole rosters.”
“Ain’t nobody who can doubt ya now. You’ve shown ‘em what you’re worth. That even though ya take such pride in your appearance, ya take even more pride in your ability. Far as I can tell, there ain’t a better wrestler in your particular style anywhere ‘round these parts. You’ve earned that distinction, and you’ve earned my respect by not lettin’ your detractors keep ya down.”
“But that’s where the pleasantries end, darlin’.”
“Because while I got nothin’ but admiration for what you’re capable of, and how willin’ ya are to be your own person in the face of all these jealous, petty motherfuckers in this business... well, you’ve made some awful poor decisions lately, haven’t ya?”
“What was goin’ through that pretty li’l head of yours, when ya agreed to join up with this li’l crusade Petey had planned? Ain’t no glory in it for ya, no trinkets to add to your growin’ list of accomplishments, nothin’ but pain and bloodshed to be earned for all your efforts.”
“You’re a good hand in a wrestlin’ ring, pal, but this ain’t no simple match. What Casanova put ya through the last time y’all met? Shit, that’s gonna look like a nice vacation weekend compared to what the rest of us will do to ya once we got ya trapped inside that cage.”
“Y’see, English is a tough motherfucker, and plenty ruthless. But in True Society, he’s just the junior division. The only one of us who ain’t hangin’ ‘round the real big game over on Fallout; he’s content with being a big fish in a small pond on Provin’ Ground. And that’s fine; if he can get his kicks snackin' on small fry, more power to him.”
“Ya managed to beat him, but he sure was able to mess ya up before ya eked out the win, wasn’t he? Take that and multiply it, and ya ain’t even gettin' close to what Billy has got planned for ya.”
“This war ain’t gonna be judged on technical prowess, or style points, or how nice your fuckin’ outfit looks. It’s gonna come down to who can dish out - and soak up - the most punishment. And if ya think any one of us is gonna hesitate to bruise that pretty face of yours, think again.”
“Hell, I might take a bit of extra enjoyment in it, if I’m bein’ honest with ya. Yea, I gotta admit that I’m mighty interested in seein’ them good looks of yours twist in pain, as I start to really lay into ya. Hearin’ that beautiful voice of yours howl out in despair and agony as ya start to realize who ya done messed with.”
“Maybe if ya beg and plead pretty enough for Billy, I’ll let ya crawl into a corner and be forgotten while we deal with the rest of your pathetic crew.”
“Maybe.”
“Oh well. Only one way to find out, I suppose. Fortunately, we don’t got to wait much longer to get the answer. Clock’s tickin’, honeypie; soon enough, it’ll be time to find out what you’re really made of.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Traveling through a labyrinthine, impossibly large mansion, Billy and Julius Fairweather find themselves - at last - in a cavernous room. Though the rest of the residence was decidedly opulent and luxurious, this particular area looks like some dollar-a-night motel room writ large.
The floor is covered with clothes and filthy rags, the tacky wallpaper is peeling and bubbling, and half the lightbulbs are burnt out. Every surface appears to be vaguely moist, and sticky to the touch.
“This fucking place stinks worse than your momma! Can we get the fuck out of here before Oscar the Grouch pulls up with his dirty, unwashed ass?”
In the middle of this shoddy lair is an expensive-looking desk and - behind that - a large chair, with a back that rises up to the ceiling. As the pair approach, the chair swivels around, revealing the form of Swindle Shelldrake. He sits half-hidden in shadows, one leg crossed over the other as he clasps his hands in front of his face, staring ahead at a particular item resting on the desk in front of him.
It’s a 3-sided chessboard, and the objects on the board aren’t the usual pawns and rooks and the like. They are made of ebony, ivory and wood, and carved in the shape of the KaVengers, Big Drip Worldwide, and True Society. Stacked in a line alongside the board are several figures, seemingly eliminated from the game already. Among them are Jason Long, Alyssa Grace, Elena DeDraca, and Ozymandias.
He seems to consider the playing field, deep in thought for some time, before he finally scoffs and leans forward in his massive, velvet chair to swat the entire board - pieces and all - off of the table. As it clatters into the ground, he settles back into the plush, cushioned fabric behind him.
Spotting a package of luxury cigarettes on the table, Billy steps forward and gestures at it as she addresses the hazy hallucination of Swindle Shelldrake.
“Mind if I take one of these, pal?”
The boldness and frankness of her question seems to amuse the reclining man, who nods and gestures at the pack as his voice seems to pour out as thick and greasy as crude oil.
“Be my guest, Ms. Bennett.”
She takes a cigarette and places it between her lips, leaning forward to accept a light from Swindle, who seems to produce the flame from an empty, shielded palm. Winking and smirking in thanks - a gesture that is returned in kind as the man pulls back once more - Billy begins to puff on the cigarette... but it tastes oddly rough and toxic; instead of the usual blue-white smoke one might expect, it is as odorous, choking and black as a tire fire.
Swindle begins to chuckle as the smoke spreads, tapping his fingers together as though he were watching a plan come together.
Meanwhile, Fairweather coughs and waves his hand in front of his face to try and clear some of the noxious fumes away.
“Goddamnit Billy, you dumb bitch, blow that shit somewhere else! I swear to fu-”
~~~~~~~~~~
“Don’t cut off your nose to spite your face.”
“One of the first lessons I got taught growin’ up. Don’t let pride get in the way of grabbin’ onto whatever small victories ya can. Don’t look down your nose at opportunities when they present themselves. Don’t let your head get too big for your body, otherwise people are gonna start gunnin’ for it.”
“Never learnt that lesson yourself, huh, Swindle? I mean, ya might say that ya did, but lookin’ at the facts... I think it’s pretty obvious your mama dropped the ball when she raised ya up.”
“I ain't ever gonna understand that shit, personally. Lettin’ ego fuck your whole life up. Y’see, ya coulda had a nice spot here with me and my buddies in True Society. Everythin’ I know ‘bout ya, seems ya woulda made a perfect fit. Lord knows we could use a clever boy like yourself ‘round here. It’s gettin’ awful lonely for your girl Billy with nothin' but dumb fucks to keep me company, lemme tell ya.”
“But I guess that’s the problem. You’re awful clever, but ya ain’t very smart, are ya?”
“You let some old grudge stand in the way of that championship belt ya always wanted.”
“Y’know the one I mean. The one ya ain’t good enough to get on your own. The one Big Drip ain’t done shit to help ya get your mitts on. Arik Holt is good to his people, unlike Lil Petey who probably don’t even remember your name on a good day, never mind a bad one.”
“He lets us do what we want, he doesn’t hold us back, and because we’re the best... we get rewarded. What do you get outta your deal with Petey’s people? Not a goddamn thing, far as I can tell. Pretty fucked up, if ya ask me... considerin’ you’re the most capable of all ‘em. Now that Ozy is outta the way, that is.”
“Oh, ya heard me right. Sure, some might think Myo is the best fighter outta y’all. But we know better, don’t we? A thing like this ain’t ‘bout who can look better in the ring, or land the prettiest flip without a single hair on their head outta place.”
“It’s ‘bout who can fight dirty. Who’s got the will to do what it takes to win.”
“And Swindle Shelldrake is the greasiest, slimiest motherfucker on all of Provin’ Ground, ain’t that right? Well, that makes ya the only goddamn threat I can see in this entire match. Mighty fine compliment comin’ from me, ya oughta take a bit of joy in that.”
“But you’re one man. One man who’s never really proven himself in this company, against a team full of former champions, who’ve torn through the sorta opponents that someone like yourself ain’t ever even been in the ring with.”
“Ya spend so much time complainin’ ‘bout the things ya think you’re owed, it doesn’t seem to occur to ya that it’d be quicker to go out and take ‘em instead of waitin’ to be handed somethin’.”
“Well, ya got one last chance to join the winnin’ side and salvage somethin’ outta this whole mess.”
“So, if you’re even half as clever as ya want everyone to think ya are, ya should give some thought to flippin’ sides durin’ this thing. I think I could convince Holt there's still some use for a man of your skills.”
“Part of me is hopin’ ya ain’t that smart, though. Because I wanna show y’all just how bad ya screwed up when ya threw in with the wrong side. Call it a life lesson, I’m sure you’ll be a better man for it.”
“If ya survive, that is.”
“Ah well. You’ll either listen to me and take my warnin’ to heart, or you’ll laugh it off and assume I’m just talkin’ shit to try and make ya back outta the fight. Don’t really bother me none one way or another.”
"I been watchin’ ya for a while now, Swindle, and I know we could have an awful lot of fun playin’ 'round with each other. I just wanna get to know ya a bit better, and I can't think of no better way than pinnin' ya to the canvas and takin' my time explorin'.”
“It’ll be so nice to have someone willin’ to crawl through the muck with me. Someone cunnin’ and brutal, smarter than any of these other fools swaggerin’ ‘round here... someone more worried about bein’ as cruel and low-down as they need to be, instead of how good they look durin' a match.”
“Someone who values results above appearances, who’ll do whatever it takes to claw their way to victory.”
“Just so happens to be the exact kinda man I love to feel squirm and thrash in my grip the most.”
“Mmm, mmm, mmm. I don’t usually eat seafood, but I think I could make an exception for a Kraken.”
~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~
Billy walks through what can only be described as Hell, Fairweather following beside her as they brave flames, giant, red-eyed bats and horrific images of torture and death on the way to their destination.
The Hip House.
Or a Satanic, nightmarish version of it, at any rate.
The Hip House of HELL, if you will.
As they approach, they can see the front door opening in the distance; and out of it walks Ozymandias, flanked by two police officers who hold his chained hands behind his back as they escort him away.
Standing in the open doorway is a demonic TJ Thompson, decked out in coal-black Air Force 1s made of broken dreams and children’s tears, Amiri jeans woven from the souls of the damned, a Rolex fashioned of human bone and teeth, and other stylish items crafted from assorted horrifying materials.
He shouts after Ozymandias, as the sulking, weeping giant is led away in cuffs; the poor thing looks more pathetic than one might expect a man of his fearsome reputation to be capable of appearing.
“Hey, big man! Don’t be telling stories to 5-0, alright? There’s no room for snitches in Big Drip’s britches!” he yells, before pausing and rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
“Yo, that bar was kind of fire, though. I’ve got to tell my mans Lil Petey ab-...”
TJ stops mid-sentence as he spots Billy and Julius approaching in the distance. He leans forward and squints slightly, looking nervous as he confirms the identity of the two.
“Oh shit, it’s that crazy bitch Billy Bennett... and even worse, Julius! He must be here to collect the money we borrowed for that music video! How are we going to tell him that Petey spent that cash on breast milk and tacos instead?!”
He flees inside, slamming and locking the door behind him. Before Billy can offer to kick it in, Fairweather has already shouldered the door off its hinges as he stomps into the living room of the Hip House of Hell.
Lil Petey is just chilling on the couch in a tracksuit, every inch of fabric covered with a pattern composed of prayer hand emojis, the face of pop superstar ‘Hated R’, fine ass MILFs, and turkey legs. It’s an odd pattern, but he somehow pulls it off... and he makes that shit look good, too.
He’s also wearing a plastic pair of devil horns, half-hanging off his beautiful wavy head of hair. Just to complete the whole ‘Hell’ theme.
“Lil Petey, you broke-ass, welching motherfucker, you! I been waiting to get paid for too long, now I’m about to make you taste this BBC: my Big Black Colt!” shouts Fairweather, as he reaches down the front of his pants and pulls out an old Colt Buntline revolver (with 12-inch barrel).
Petey and TJ share a surprised - and slightly amused - glance between themselves, before turning to look at Fairweather once again.
They shout in unison:
“Ayo!?”
“Ayo!?”
Meanwhile, Billy licks and chews at her bottom lip as she stares lustily at the long, heavy barrel of that Colt revolver. She sidles up next to Fairweather, nuzzling the side of her face against his arm as he continues to point the weapon at Lil Petey.
“Bitch, what the fuck is wrong with you? Shit like this is what gives crack cocaine a bad name! You’re part of the goddamn problem!”
The scene fades out, as darkness fills the interior of the Hip House of Hell.
~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~
The next hallucination fades in from black, as a Southern banjo beat begins to play. In the bottom right corner, the title card for what is apparently a music video appears:
Tampa Bay Bussin’
Lil Petey ft. Bad Bitch Billy
Big Drip Productions
2022
"Bang, bang, bang..."
A speedboat rips through the water, with the quartet aboard and living their best lives as they speed along with TJ at the wheel.
Fairweather is dressed in a white suit and hat like a Kentucky Colonel. Petey is wearing a NASCAR jumpsuit with various takes on the Big Drip logo stitched all over it. TJ looks like a proper country boy in dirty denim overalls, a straw hat and a corncob pipe. Billy is wearing baggy pants, with a blue flannel shirt tied around her waist, a blue bandana, and a plain white shirt with big black letters. They spell:
‘CRACKHEAD’
The scenes carry on, as they party as a large, pimped-out version of the Bennett Compound at Deep Lake. Lil Petey sings the chorus, which goes hard.
Baby, cock the Glock and then I let it spray
Bust it out the Chevrolet
Going fishing for your bitch today
We drunk in Tampa Bay
(yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)
And we gonna hit a lick, we getting rich today
It's so good. Too good, in fact. Such a perfect blend of beats and vocals could never exist in the real world.
As Petey wraps up the chorus, Billy Bennett - who had been crip walking in the back as TJ and Julius line-dance with each other - steps up to the camera, waving two pistols back and forth as she points them at the screen.
I got all these horses, howdy partner
Runnin' through the crib with a stick like Harry Potter
(bang, bang)
Go ahead, run up and we can get it Mary Poppin'
Since I got guap, these bitches can't tell me nothin'
Girl, I'm numb and I ain't feelin' nothin'
(yeeee-haaaw)
Why you got a pistol? You ain't killin' nothiiiin'
Ring-ring, we got the drop, we finna drop every opp
(ayy, ayy, ayy)
Hopped in the 'Rari, and told that bitch giddy up
(ayy)
(grrrrrrt!)
And they seen us pull up
No we ain't slippin', ra ra ra
(fa fa fa)
Hit 'em up
(hit 'em up)
Her verse is completed, as the video transitions to the four of them partying amidst a huge crowd assembled on a racetrack. Race cars speed by along the outskirts of the gathering, while TJ plucks at a banjo and Billy grinds up against Julius, who just looks at her with a mixture of disgust and maybe - just maybe - a touch of enjoyment.
Petey finishes up the chorus again, before sliding seamlessly into his verse as the Drip God spits fire (not literally, of course) onto his followers.
Ayy, baptized in the Chattahoochee
Trailer park coochie, steel-toed Gucci's
(woah, nelly)
F150, whip it like a hooptie
Pull up to the Garth Brooks show for the groupies
Shootin' ducks, bitch, we don't fuck with ducks, bitch
I turned to TJ and I said...
He slips back into the chorus, while the party continues to rage; moonshine is poured out onto the asphalt, blunts are smoked, guns are fired into the air, and so on.
As the music begins to die down and the video fades to black, the last scene is of Billy in a three-way make out session with Petey and Julius, as some dumb, busted looking girl with multi-coloured hair watches from a distance, mascara running down her face as she sobs uncontrollably. TJ attempts to comfort her, but only receives a slap to the face for his troubles.
What a bitch.
The scenes carry on, as they party as a large, pimped-out version of the Bennett Compound at Deep Lake. Lil Petey sings the chorus, which goes hard.
Baby, cock the Glock and then I let it spray
Bust it out the Chevrolet
Going fishing for your bitch today
We drunk in Tampa Bay
(yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)
And we gonna hit a lick, we getting rich today
It's so good. Too good, in fact. Such a perfect blend of beats and vocals could never exist in the real world.
As Petey wraps up the chorus, Billy Bennett - who had been crip walking in the back as TJ and Julius line-dance with each other - steps up to the camera, waving two pistols back and forth as she points them at the screen.
I got all these horses, howdy partner
Runnin' through the crib with a stick like Harry Potter
(bang, bang)
Go ahead, run up and we can get it Mary Poppin'
Since I got guap, these bitches can't tell me nothin'
Girl, I'm numb and I ain't feelin' nothin'
(yeeee-haaaw)
Why you got a pistol? You ain't killin' nothiiiin'
Ring-ring, we got the drop, we finna drop every opp
(ayy, ayy, ayy)
Hopped in the 'Rari, and told that bitch giddy up
(ayy)
(grrrrrrt!)
And they seen us pull up
No we ain't slippin', ra ra ra
(fa fa fa)
Hit 'em up
(hit 'em up)
Her verse is completed, as the video transitions to the four of them partying amidst a huge crowd assembled on a racetrack. Race cars speed by along the outskirts of the gathering, while TJ plucks at a banjo and Billy grinds up against Julius, who just looks at her with a mixture of disgust and maybe - just maybe - a touch of enjoyment.
Petey finishes up the chorus again, before sliding seamlessly into his verse as the Drip God spits fire (not literally, of course) onto his followers.
Ayy, baptized in the Chattahoochee
Trailer park coochie, steel-toed Gucci's
(woah, nelly)
F150, whip it like a hooptie
Pull up to the Garth Brooks show for the groupies
Shootin' ducks, bitch, we don't fuck with ducks, bitch
I turned to TJ and I said...
He slips back into the chorus, while the party continues to rage; moonshine is poured out onto the asphalt, blunts are smoked, guns are fired into the air, and so on.
As the music begins to die down and the video fades to black, the last scene is of Billy in a three-way make out session with Petey and Julius, as some dumb, busted looking girl with multi-coloured hair watches from a distance, mascara running down her face as she sobs uncontrollably. TJ attempts to comfort her, but only receives a slap to the face for his troubles.
What a bitch.
~~~~~~~~~~
As soon as the music ends, they’re back in the Hip House of Hell, still wearing the outfits from the video and staring awkwardly at each other. Almost like they’re embarrassed to have even been a part of that, hallucination or not.
Billy and Petey break the silence at the same time, with a grin on their faces:
“Dope.”
“Dope.”
Their smiles widen, as Billy steps forward to slap Petey’s waiting palm before stepping back and adjusting her new blue bandana.
“Alright, I’ma head out.”
Pressing his palms together in prayer, Petey bends forward in a slight bow as he bids his guest adieu.
“Go in peace, you bad bitch.”
She respectfully returns the gesture, feeling pretty sure that Lil Petey isn’t half as bad as Holt tries to make him seem.
“Go in peace, you sexy motherfucker.”
Billy turns and walks away, with a visibly disgusted Fairweather in tow. TJ and Petey both glance down to watch her ass as she goes, to nobody’s surprise.
“Damn. Billy got that cake tho.”
“For real.”
~~~~~~~~~~
There’s an audible sigh on the tape, followed by a few moments of mumbling and grumbling before Billy finally speaks up; it's clear she's not looking forward to tackling this particular issue.
There’s an audible sigh on the tape, followed by a few moments of mumbling and grumbling before Billy finally speaks up; it's clear she's not looking forward to tackling this particular issue.
“Alright, fuck it. I’ll admit it. Petey, I’m a fan of your work.”
“There, now everyone knows. I bet y’all are fuckin’ laughin’ it up, huh?! ‘Oh, Billy the fuckin’ psychopathic killer meth-head is sittin’ ‘round listenin’ to Lil Petey’s tracks, ain't that funny?!’.”
“Well, I ain’t fuckin’ ashamed to say it, okay? Now let's move on and put this li’l revelation behind us.”
“The reason I had to tell ya, Petey, is to show ya that I mean what I say, when I ask ya... please... don’t fuckin’ show up to this match, my man. You got real, God-given talent on the mic; ya don’t belong in that ring.”
“It’d be like if Picasso stopped painting to go risk his life climbin’ mountains or some shit, I dunno.”
“Man... it just sucks is all, y’know? In a better world, the three of us coulda been friends, hangin’ out at that dope-ass house y’all got, chillin’ with that satanic three-headed giraffe... or fuck, that was probably the drugs... just... nevermind all that.”
“What did Holt ever do to ya? Like, actually? Personally? Let the man do what he wants, and nobody gets hurt... unless the boss wants ‘em hurt, of course. Walk away from this stupid thing you’ve started. ”
“And if ya care about him in the least, take your boy TJ with ya too. Neither of y’all got any business bein’ in this thing. Ya ain’t built like us. Hell, ya ain’t even built like Myo, or Swindle, or Julius.”
“Ain’t no shame in realizin’ ya ain’t meant for somethin’ like this. Stick to what y’all do best, and leave this to the professionals, okay?”
“Imagine how sad Hannah would be if there was an accident, and she lost ya for good? Damn, that girl as a widow? Too depressin’ a thought. Too pathetic to live with, actually.”
“Naw. I’d have no choice but to do the merciful thing and send her along to join ya in the afterlife. Would hate to see y’all separated like that, y’know? Maybe somethin’ to ponder, as the date approaches.”
“Since I’m so fuckin’ nice, I’ll tell ya one more time... naw, I’ll do somethin’ more than that. Billy’s beggin' ya...”
“Please. Please. Don’t make me do this, bro.”
~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~
At some point, Julius has morphed into Fineweather, who follows Billy through a hallucinated tour of her youth. Beatings and whippings inflicted upon her by her father, her mother smashing a ballpeen hammer down on her hand when she was still little, a slightly older girl breaking the leg her brother Byron, countless scenes of torture and execution-style murders carried out by a grinning Billy, her very first line of drugs snorted up in her early teenage years...
It’s not a pleasant thing to experience - even as a second-hand observer - and Fineweather seems positively horrified by what he’s forced to endure on this little trip.
“My word! What did you do to deserve such abuse?”
“Well, it was like that for all us kids...”
“Really? He treated your brothers in this manner, as well? Why, I never! How terrible!”
“Huh... now that ya mention it, I don’t really recall the boys ever gettin’ it so bad... Maybe I...”
The next moment, Billy is sitting at the bottom of a deep pit, as a carpet of vipers slither and writhe underneath her. She’s younger, too; 6 or 7 at the oldest. It’s the same pit she was thrown into one evening, when her father and mother walked in on her in the middle of... something. She just can’t remember what they saw that made them so angry.
“...did somethin’?” she finally mutters, finishing her earlier thought.
A brief wait to soak in the true misery of this particular moment of her childhood, before a ray of light shines down from above. Someone has lifted the wood plank covering the pit, and they stare down with pity, an empathetic, sorrowful look on their face.
It’s Candi Cain, and her sweet, bubbly voice echoes down to Billy.
“Oh golly, poor silly Billy! Or, wait, would you prefer Queen Billy the Broken? Can’t remember what you did, huh? It’s okay, we can make you remember; all you have to do is come play with us, Billy!”
~~~~~~~~~~
“Before I can bury the past, I gotta understand it. I get that now.”
“This message is for Mr. Wright.”
“Hi, hoss. I didn’t forget about ya, don’t worry.”
“Billy’s just been a li’l busy lately, but all that’s almost over with now. When I’m done at the Crownin’, after I’ve buried Petey’s crew and those jobbers that run with Ratman, I’m gonna be turnin’ my attention on ya.”
“Figure I’ll give ya some time to sit and stew for a while, knowin’ that I’m comin’. Might be a week. Might be a month. Might be longer. Can’t rightly say, but I’ll know when the time is right.”
“And when it is, I’m gonna get all the answers I need outta ya, even if I gotta slice your belly open and yank your guts out before ya talk.”
“Maybe I’ll even start with that li’l pigtailed thing that follows ya ‘round everywhere, how’s that sound?”
“I’ll be in touch... real... soon.”
====================
====================
Billy wakes up on the floor of her tent, eyes slowly opening as the psychedelic effect of the brew wears off. The first thing she sees - aside from the puddle of her own vomit that she’s laying face-down in - is a black rat with a white face, that crawls out from inside her hoodie and looks back briefly before escaping the tent.
Pulling herself up and out into the fresh air, she stretches her arms, arching her back as she works out the kinks in her joints. The sudden popping and cracking that runs up and down her skeleton is so intense that it almost brings her to her knees. She turns her head slightly, as if listening for something, her eyes wandering as she waits.
Nothing. She doesn’t even hear the voice of Papa Bray, a constant annoyance in her head since the day she had shot him. There's not even the constant static that served as a background soundtrack to her entire adult life.
The rumbling in her stomach - and the ache in her muscles - tells her that she has been hallucinating for days, writhing and thrashing around the entire time. Aside from that though, her body felt invigorated without all the usual substances wreaking havoc with her system.
And her mind was clear, focused, sharp... and mean. Rather than taking away her violent impulses as one might have expected, the sudden detox had left her feeling cruel, hateful, but more in control of her thoughts and emotions than she would have been a week ago.
She considers this for a moment - what it means for the idiots getting into a cage with her, in only a few days time - and the thought brings a smile to her face. Billy clenches one fist and looks off into the distance, trying to determine which way she came from when she first arrived.
“Alright, boys. Billy’s ready.”
====================
“Well, I guess this was all my way of lettin’ ya know one simple thing.”
“Y’all are too late to stop us now.”
“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news and all, but it’s a fact. There was a brief moment in time when ya coulda snuffed all this out, and been the heroes ya clearly wanna be.”
“That moment has passed, though. It's gone. And no matter how much ya wanna put an end to Holt’s powerplay, it just ain’t possible no more. Which, I guess, leads me to one simple question for every one of ya to consider:”
“The fuck y’all hopin’ to accomplish in this thing?”
“Naw, this ain’t me playin’ dumb to try and poke at ya. This is me honestly askin’, ‘cause I can’t spot no upside for any of y’all. No grand prize for steppin’ into the slaughterhouse against a pack of killers who ya could never hope to beat; so why?”
“The only thing I can think of is glory. Petey and TJ, clout-chasin’ as usual. Myo, just tryin’ to get himself on TV sets across the world, lookin’ pretty and fashionable as always. And Swindle, who - let’s be honest - is probably sittin’ ‘round creamin’ his pants at the thought of his name in the main event on such a historic night.”
“That’s okay. If I can be honest with y’all, my own motives ain’t no grander than any of yours.”
“Fuck the philosophy of True Society. Fuck fightin’ against the injustices of the modern world. Fuck upliftin’ the poor and forgotten outcasts. Hell, while we’re at it... forget ego, forget tryin’ to crawl to the top, forget makin’ a name for yourself. Ain’t none of that meant for me.”
“Y’all ain’t much more than a means to an end. Me, havin’ a good time, no matter how many chunks I gotta tear outta ya.”
“Really, I should be beggin’ y’all to show up, just so I ain’t left all frustrated. But what can I say, this whole thing don't strike me as no proper sport, and I’m tryin’ somethin’ new lately. Offerin’ to show ya a bit of mercy, by forgettin’ all your crimes... if only ya just stand down and get outta our way.”
“Whatever, though. Just ain’t no talkin’ to some people, I guess.”
"I'll make my point to y'all in person."
"I'll make my point to y'all in person."
====================
FEBRUARY 18th, 2022
INTERSTATE 95
FLORIDA
Mid-day, and the newly sober woman is inside a phone booth by the side of the I-95; Billy’s truck is parked on the shoulder, while she leans her back against the glass and cradles the receiver between her shoulder and head.
She whistles some obscure tune - sounding vaguely like the track in the music video she ‘shot’ with Hallucination Petey - as she waits for the party on the other end to pick up.
Finally, there is a click, and Andrew Holt’s calm, collected voice comes down the line.
“Yes?”
Just the sound of the man’s voice is enough to bring a small smile to the otherwise uncharacteristically stoic Billy Bennett's face.
“It’s me, boss.”
“Ah, Billy. Good to finally hear from you. My people have been trying to get in touch; I was worried you might miss the show. There aren’t any problems, I hope?”
The thought alone causes the woman to scoff, loud enough for it to be picked up by the telephone.
“Naw.”
There’s a brief pause, before Holt speaks again; this time, his voice is almost cautious and concerned in tone, as if sensing something was wrong with one of his most valuable soldiers.
“Are you alright?”
This seems to surprise Billy, and she doesn’t immediately respond, even ceasing the incessant chewing of the gum she’s been gnawing on to keep her cravings at bay. It’s only a second or two delay, but the hesitation is surely noticed by the man on the other end of the call; and when she does speak, it’s barely above a mumble.
“...does it matter?”
Holt’s response is immediate, and almost angry - or at the very least demanding - as he snaps back at Bennett.
“What was that?”
After that brief reminder of who she’s speaking to, Billy seems to fall back in line, visibly stiffening her posture against the inner wall of the phone booth as she clears her throat to speak more clearly.
“I’m fine, boss. Don’t worry ‘bout nothin’. But ‘bout that other thing, ya sure you’re fine goin’ through with this? That gothic tramp can’t be too hard to find. Let Billy handle her, ain’t no need to get your hands dirty.”
“Don’t worry about that, Bennett. You’ve got your own concerns at present; I’d hate for all my plans to be ruined by someone as insignificant as Lil Petey. Please make sure that doesn't happen.”
“Sure. Anythin’ ya want. Always.”
There’s a click, as the call is terminated by Holt. She didn’t get so much as a goodbye - or even a reply - from Holt before he hung up on her... there’s the briefest expression that passes over her impassive features, almost like a wince from being wounded, or some unpleasant thought digging its way to the front of her mind.
And then she pushes it out of her thoughts, placing the receiver back down on the payphone and turning to step out of the booth. There was still a fair distance until she got to Pennsylvania, and she didn’t have any time left to waste.
====================
FEBRUARY 20th, 2022
THE WELLS FARGO CENTER
PHILADELPHIA, PA
Backstage at the Wells Fargo Center, crew members and wrestlers mill about waiting for the show to begin. Stomping through the assorted staff is Billy Bennett, who has just made it to the arena.
She was almost late, having to make a last-minute stop in Baltimore to take care of a potential witness in an upcoming trial. But Billy is here now, and her eyes seem to be more alert than usual, but without their typical manic twitching.
As she winds through the backstage area - looking for a quiet, calm place to relax and wait for the main event - she spots someone out of the corner of her eye.
Savannah Sunshine is standing with her back turned, holding court in front of a half-circle of trainees and developmental talent who are here to watch the real stars work... and in case management has to replace anyone last-minute. Billy stops in her tracks and stares, for seconds that drag into minutes, a vaguely sad look in her eyes as she stands there watching.
Bennett glances away for a moment, looking back down the path she was traveling, as if debating carrying on without a word to her new ‘friend’. The hallucination of that strange, pale, razor-toothed woman played out in her head again; was it a warning? A vision of things to come? Or just the psychedelic brew playing around with her already threadbare grasp on sanity?
Was she really willing to turn her back on someone so genuinely nice, so understanding of all Billy’s flaws, just because of some detox-fueled, delirious nightmare?
“Naw,” she mumbles, as if putting that thought to rest. Even if she could never vocalize it to anyone - even herself - she needed Savannah. The one bright spot in her entire life that didn’t come from some sort of bloodshed or illegal activity. The one thing that made her feel like a human being, instead of just an attack dog for Holt and her brother Bo.
Rushing over to Savannah, Billy grabs her from behind in a tight embrace. The newcomer to True Society squeals in surprise and - maybe - a bit of pain, as Billy’s tightly muscled arms wrap around her and squeeze a bit too hard.
Almost like she wanted to make sure Savannah was real, or didn’t want to risk her running off and leaving Billy all alone again.
“Oh my god, you scared me!” shouts her friend, as the small crowd of developmental wrestlers seems to melt away with the arrival of Billy Bennett.
She does have something of a reputation among the talent as someone you really didn't want to be stuck in the same room with.
Billy takes no notice of the trainees’, instead keeping her grip tight around her friend’s midsection. She leans forward to whisper into Savannah’s ear, hot breath pouring out of her mouth.
“I need ya to promise me somethin’. Tell me ya ain’t gonna make me regret all this... please...”
====================
====================
