Εξέγερση (Casino Battle Royal RP)

Benson Estate - Gym
Atlantic City, NJ
Noon. 2-11-22

On the 30th episode of Proving Grounds Sonya made history. She was the first person to ever cross Tara Fenix in the ring and survive without Tara scoring a single blow. She had deprived the unbeatable talent burier of that which she desired so much - to showcase how amazing she is in the ring. The expression on Tara’s face and the frustration written in every line of her body after the match was a glorious sight to behold. Sure, Sonya didn’t win the match, but it was definitely a “lost the war but won the battle” scenario. Tara had trained hard. She had taken it seriously. And she was trolled for it.

Someone with stroke at Project: Honor was furious over it too. Unleashing a shark like Tara among little fishes like Sonya, Giovanni, and Levy was designed to end their idiocy. In the case of Sonya it was guaranteed punishment unlike anything she could have fathomed. A long overdue comeuppance for her atrocities against professional wrestling. Sonya had flipped the script though.

Their rebuttal? Putting her in the Casino Battle Royal where she has no choice but to face down twenty-one other competitors, all of whom want to rip each other from earhole to butthole, with the exception of her colleague Levy.

How could the deliciously cunning vixen deal with this one?

”God give me some fucking strength to deal with her.” Norris muttered as he rubbed his stressed temples and pushed open the doors to the sprawling gym. He strode past rows of workout machines and a UFC octagon before finally reaching the wrestling ring.

”Dafuq?”

His brows furled with curiosity. Sonya was in the ring surrounded by 15 of her extended detachment of security agents. What really caught his eye was the attire she wore. It was a sleek black body suit that hugged her frame so tight it could pass for body paint. The material accentuated the most virtuous parts of her female form. Norris marveled at how round and well proportioned Sonya’s buttocks were. Those “cakes” were definitely not usually found on a white girl. What a pleasant surprise.

”Norris! Get in here.”

The request caught him off guard, for it was gifted with a swooping smile on her unbelievably beautiful face. He entered and chuckled a little nervously.

”You’re awfully cheerful for someone who’s walking into their first battle royal, especially since your dad stepped in after your last match and put a halt to future shenanigans like that.”

Yep. Her old man was pissed at her too. Her daddy-dearest made it clear afterward, if she ever intentionally got herself counted out of a match to avoid wrestling, he’d boot her from the family thus making her effectively homeless or at the very least penniless.

”Well, true. I should be terrified. But I’ve been working on a few things for the past six months. Contingency plans. Took me this long to get it all up and going. As for those twenty-something sweat lords looking to rip off my limbs in that stupid battle royal, well, ta-da. Electrosuit. I need to get it resized, it’s way too tight. Anyway, stand back and observe.”

Norris tilted his head like a confused puppy and retreated into the nearby corner. Sonya pressed a button on the collarbone and an instant see-through helmet appeared, enveloping her head. Norris’s eyes shot wide. What he just saw was something you’d expect to see in a science fiction film or in Tony Stark's lab in the Avengers movies or in some fictional wrestling promotion where time travel exists and extraterrestrials compete in the ring.

”Okay, gentlemen. Attack me and try to throw me over the top rope.”

All at once the 15 men grabbed her but immediately let go, all of them shrieking. Norris had heard the distinct sound of an electrical current during their attempt to apprehend her. Sonya motioned for them to keep trying. They obliged, but did so in clusters of twos and threes. Each time they touched her, they were zapped by voltage akin a cop’s taser or an electric fence to ward off trespassers. After five minutes of failure the men gave up and were pleased when Sonya dismissed them for the rest of the day.

”What…in….the….actual….fuck?!?!? This is amazing! How did you do it?”

Norris was already thinking about money to be made selling the attire’s formula to other wrestlers.

”Uh-uh. I’m not telling. Also, watch your language.”

”I’m sorry for the language. Look, I understand you not wanting to give this secret up, but you have to realize that once your dad sees this at the Crowning pay per view he’s gonna be irate. He’s gonna ban you from using it again. Project: Honor will probably ban it too.”

”Maybe. Maybe not.”

Norris nodded affirmatively. He knew when to back off.

”Fair enough. I’m glad you’re in such a good mood though, because the trainer situation is still a no-go. Sorry if that ruins your day.”

Sonya shrugged. Such news was expectant at this point.

”About that, I’m working on a temporary solution.”

She bobbed her head toward the other side of the gym and they traveled to the opposite corner of the ring. Sonya pointed to a cordoned area which had engineers swarming a humanoid looking creation that looked human but not quite human. They held electronic devices and monitors and were plugging all manner of cords into the creation.

”That’s Ezra. It’s an advanced AI. I’ve had engineers from Japan, Germany, and the UK programming and downloading the move sets, training methods, and ring strategies of the best meatbag face-punchers in this misbegotten sport. People such as Alias, Dickie Watson, Corey Black, Tara Fenix, even Ozypanda or whatever his stupid name is.”

Norris was speechless. Astonished even. A knot surfaced in his tummy though. He’d seen what Skynet did. The creation of the Terminators. Ultron the murder-bot also popped into his mind. Then he realized how silly those thoughts were. This is real life, not the movies.

”Soooooo??? Wait. Are you telling me you’re gonna train yourself to wrestle using this Ezra thing?”

”Kinda. It had some hiccups. It has limitations. I’m still prioritizing a human trainer over Ezra, but it’ll have to do for now. Oh and I have three wrestle-bots almost ready. Each time I’m booked I’ll be able to download my opponent’s move set and ring habits into one of the wrestle-bots. It’ll be like sparring my upcoming opponent to get a baseline feel of how the match will play out.”

Norris was amazed at all of this. Finally, FUCK, finally things were looking slightly more up. He almost forgot about a proposition he wanted to make.

”Oh, a group of inmates formed a stable down in the Underground brand. They call themselves the Nation of Incarceration. I think we could pay them to clear the house for you in the battle royal.”

Sonya scoffed.

”Are you sure we should?”

”Yes ma’am. They’re looking to make a big statement. It’d be a helluva statement for Underground people to storm a pay per view battle royal and wreck it.”

Truth be told Sonya was envious of Underground. She’d heard they assign trainers to their roster members. Sonya attempted to get on the brand but her cruel old daddy made her go to Proving Ground instead.

”Let me think it over. Meanwhile, keep looking for a trainer.”

He tipped his hat to her and went about his way, chuckling in amazement again.

---

Stockton, California
Midday, 2-16-22

Sonya’s mother once told her that when the world crumbles around you, you have to look at the wreckage around you and then build a new one out of all the pieces that are still here.

For Sonya the only pieces left was wealth. Strong pieces. Versatile pieces. Durable pieces. It was this wealth which allowed her to thwart punishment across multiple promotions, while stealing wins to reduce her “prison sentence” in this god awful sport. It’s also this same wealth that has proved useless to persuade credentialed wrestlers to train her. What a cruel world for the virtuous villain. The one thing she needed the most, was something she couldn’t afford.

The world outside of wrestling was still normal, fortunately. Whoever said money can’t buy happiness in this world didn’t know where to shop. Sonya knew where to shop and she went shopping, not for shoes or purses or accessories, she went shopping for people. Gullible people. California. Renowned bastion of the easily manipulated.

Sonya drew on her expertise in activism to assemble a 100 person team of social media expertise. The team used Craigslist and other hiring sites to employ thousands of folks for the plan Sonya concocted. A plan so audacious that it just might work.

…………

The 60 year old security guard inside Project: Honor’s Headquarters was contemplating devouring the half eaten sandwich in the fridge when faint sounds and chants fell upon his ears. It grew louder and louder at an accelerated rate. He manipulated the joystick of a camera to scan the outside of the building when the ground itself began to rumble, and the walls shook.

Then he saw it on the camera. A sight he couldn’t fathom. An M1 Abrams tank backed by a multitude of people. It lurched onto the steps and careened into the recently erected Rock Johnson memorial statue, bowling it over like a white pin and breaking it into several pieces. The security guard bolted to a stand with speed betraying his age and pressed the emergency evacuation alarm, then screamed over the intercom for occupants to vacate using the south exit. Project: Honor doesn’t pay him enough to deal with this shit, so he fled too.

”STOP!” Sonya yelled at Smith, who was driving the tank.

He obeyed and opened the hatch, then pulled himself up through the turret and pulled Sonya up and out next, followed by Norris. For this daring escapade Sonya wore cute pink and black BDU military camouflage complete with a helmet that had four glittered stars across it. She didn’t carry firearms but she was armed with other weapons - a military walkie talkie for strategic command and a megaphone to spread her word.

”THERE IT IS, CITIZENS!” She boomed into the megaphone while pointing at PH Headquarters ”THE MONOLITH OF GRATUITOUS VIOLENCE, RACISM, CLASSISM, AND ANTI SEMITISM.” She added with conviction heavy in her tone.

She did walkie talkie checks with other teams of protestors she’d posted at every intersection within a two mile radius of PH HQ. These teams were made up of single moms, parents with children, the elderly and pregnant women. Sonya knew cops wouldn’t hurt such folks, thus prolonging their response. Benson grinned when they replied with the all ready.

”Commence mission, cuteness-six over and out!” She decreed then turned toward the nearby multitude of purchased pawns awaiting her command.

She dismounted the tank and balled a fist with theatrics, then punched through the air toward the doors of PH HQ.

”CHARGE!!!!!”

Sonya ran ahead of them, fancying herself the female Alexander the Great leading a charge. Smith and Norris were flanked beside her. They reached the doors and Sonya swung one open, then stepped aside and held it open for the horde of protestors. As the throng barged in, she yelled directives into the megaphone and reminded them to not hurt any occupants left inside.

She waited, and waited, and waited. Finally the last one entered. Sonya and her entourage trailed in their wake and led the chant.

”PROJECT: HONOR HAS NO HONOR!”
“PROJECT: HONOR HAS NO HONOR!”
“PROJECT: HONOR HAS NO HONOR!”

The protestors gutted the interior, destroying valuables and non-valuables alike. The vending machines were raided, and people carted the machines out. Sonya made haste to the elevator with her entourage, while the masses took the stairs. It didn’t take long before Sonya and crew stepped onto the executive floor, while the multitude rampaged the floors below like human tornadoes. A group of protestors poured in from the stairs to join them as they came upon some doors.

”There’s one.. Adam Ekaterin.”

She needn’t say more. They broke the door down and barged in. They went about destroying the office as Sonya assessed things and noticed a picture of Arik on the wall with darts in it. She plucked it off the wall and ripped it to bits. ”Bore-ing.” She whined, then huffed and exited. Unbeknownst to Sonya, some bad apples in the throng opened Adam’s desk drawers and defecated in them, then shut them so he’ll get a stinky surprise next time he opens them.

Indy Darling’s office was next. They smashed it open and commenced trashing it. Only two things were spared. A wall portrait of Indy’s dad, Clive, and a cherished replica of the X-Factor Title which is the only championship Indy won. In an act of desecration, Sonya secured the title around her waist and playfully modeled it, then tucked the portrait to her side as she sat on the edge of his desk. On cue, the professional freelance media crew embedded with them began recording and spliced the feed into the breaking news waves, so that they were doing it live with a buttload of viewers.

The countdown…

3


2


1

Sonya beamed the nastiest Benson Bitchface into the lens, nay, into the soul of Project: Honor’s honchos. For Indy especially, she dared him with her posture, making the wearing of his prestigious championship more pronounced.

”Indy Darling and Adam Ekaterin, I know your people already contacted you about what’s going on, and obviously you’re watching this live now. What’s happening is simple. This is what you reap when you force someone like me to fight fire with fire. This is what happens when you deprive my transcendent artiste friend, Giovanni, of two Warrior Rising title shots that he earned and then give those shots to Betsy, who already blew her shot. I don’t care about fake gold glued onto cheap leather, but Giovanni does, so how dare you! How reprehensible of you to book him against the she-male Lester Gold instead!”

”It’s also what you get for placing me and Johnny Levy in the Casino Battle Royal hoping we’ll get demolished, or praying it’ll drive a wedge between us if we’re the last two. Well, haha! We spoke and agreed to work together to survive, and if we’re the final two we’ll eliminate ourselves at the same time and be co-winners. I’ll then bend the knee and present him with the crown, because only he can make a knock-off Burger King crown into something magnificent.”

She held a single finger aloft, all knowing.

”So, with all that out there, here’s how it’s gonna be. I have control of your HQ. Indy, I have control of your invaluable possessions. You have thirty minutes to call me and agree to some demands I have. Once you’ve agreed and it’s legalized through verbal confirmation with our lawyer, 'Litigious’ Larry Livingstone, all will be released back to you. Oh, and I’m sorry for the tank, but I had to flex and show you what I’m capable of. My demands are relatively easy..

All Fallout wrestlers must be pulled from the Crowning card.
Giovanni must be removed from his bout with Lexi and added to Warrior Title Match
If I win the battle royal, I’ll be credited with 20 wins thus fulfilling my prison term.”

She clapped her hands a single time, so sure of herself.

”That’s it. Easy. I’d demand to be removed from the battle royal but honestly? Indy? I have it on good source that your mother, the esteemed Senator, will be closing Project: Honor after Crowning II. My cruel old daddy would put me in another wrestling promotion, but if I can steal a battle royal win on the way out after the demands I just made, I’m actually game for once. I have some things up my sleeve.”

She stood up and playfully “fumbled” the portrait but managed to retain it. After doing a “whew close call” forehead wipe, Sonya trotted behind the desk and flopped into his chair, then propped her booted feet upon the top and discarded her helmet.

”You know something? You wrestlers in Project: Honor should be thankful I’m me You should be grateful I’m not passionate about wrestling and that I don’t care about your meritless championships. Because if I did? Ooooh man. I would be collecting titles like a farmer gathers eggs. Emmanuelle and Ozyhomunculus would be butt puppets on the ends of my fists. I’d leave your champions as bare as Egypt when the locusts got through with it. I’d be a tyrant incarnate, not a tyrant in title, and I certainly wouldn’t need a crown to declare it. You surely wouldn’t find me lying face down unconscious on a floor trying to gain sympathy and attention from peers and fans, like a certain someone we know.”

She wagged her all knowing finger; something else had crossed her mind.

”And you champions in the battle royal, Mr. Wright and Havoc, you should be thankful I’m not management. If I was, I’d make you defend your titles inside the battle royal. If you got eliminated, the person who eliminated you would be the new champion. Management should have done this anyway, but.. Ooooh wait…. It’s Indy and Adam. One scratches his watch, the other winds his nose.”

She had to laugh at their expense. How couldn’t she? Her phone suddenly buzzed and she sprung to check it. Damn! It was El Puma texting her YET AGAIN about the date she owes him for fast counting her to victory a few weeks ago. She scoffed and slumped back into the chair.

”Actually, Mr. Wright, what are you even doing? You captured a championship that was thrice vacated by slobber-jaws superior to you in the exquisite art of butt-touching and face-punching. You won it by blindsiding someone who was already outnumbered, in a convoluted match, on a show the company limps to the barn with every month. But you’re proud of it? You’re supposed to be teaching kids to stand up to bullies, to fight the good fight against odds, you know the usual formulaic stuff. I guess this is the part where I’m supposed to realize you’re really a creepy man-in-the-van diddling little children?”

She faked a horror realization, then it passed.

’Look, you claim to be something that can’t, or won’t, be ignored. Ok, got it. Congrats, you definitely won’t be ignored in the battle royal, because you’re a champion. This means even on a subconscious level all the non-champions are gonna prioritize you for elimination. You’re gonna have a big bullseye on you. You’re gonna be outnumbered the whole way. They want to be the one to say they ousted a champion. It could even lead to a title match or feud for them. Who knows?”

She thumbed her chin. Hmmm.

”That principle applies to you also, Havoc, the world’s greatest walking contradiction. While Mr. Wright is a champion, you sir are THE champion. You’re the lion in this soiree. A single hyena won’t attack a lion. Five hyenas won’t attack a lion. Not even ten will attack a lion. But fifteen to twenty of them will attack a lion and rip it apart. Mr. Wright has a big bullseye on him, but you, sir, have the biggest bullseye. It's a pack mentality. It’s subconscious. They’re not even aware of it. You’re dominant. You’re nigh unstoppable. Your prowess and champion pedigree will be your undoing. Your greatest strength is your greatest weakness in this sort of barbarity. Too bad, so sad, but man it’s poetic.”

Again her phone buzzed and she sprung to check it, but it was El Puma once more. To put some urgency into Indy, she used a pen to poke out one of the eyes of Clive’s portrait.

”Anyway, while we’re waiting for the dumb-dumbs, I’ll address the battle royal.”

The Aristocrat pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head. She really didn’t want to waste her time on it.

”You’re all looking at this battle royal like it’s the ultimate challenge. You’ve convinced yourselves it’s the grandest test of will, heart, courage, and skill. You all believe that winning this thing will give you the same Legacy championship reign other Tyrants have enjoyed, like there’s some cosmic force which ordains that whoever becomes the Tyrant attains the legacy championship if they seek it.”

Sonya scoffed derisively.

”Nincompoops! This battle royal is a farce. It’s not a collection of the bravest warriors hungry for Tyranny and to cut a swath to greater things. It’s a pit full of monkeys trying to hump a football. It’s blind men traversing a rock quarry. You’re not competitors. You’re statistics. Dummies entered to reach the twenty-one participant quota. Whoever wins this won’t go on to greater things, because look at comparisons to factor it against. At the first Crowning, the Tyrant crown was contested by the creme de la creme of mindless barbarism. People such as Mr. Darling, Mr. Warstein. Ms. Emmanuelle, Ms. Richards, Mr. Long, Mr. Fairweather. Ms. Strader, Mr. Mandy or whatever Bane Lite’s name is, etcetera. Those imbeciles wiped years off their lives throwing themselves and others through flaming glass tables, flying off of ladders, suicide diving.”

She had to stop herself. The Rich Bitch shuddered from recounting what she’d seen from watching last year’s Crowning.

”And do we have any equivalents in this battle royal to those whom I referenced? How about nooooooo. Our battle royal consists of cat-people, anime nerds, obese greaseballs infatuated with kiddie houses, corrupt paladins, and cosplay spell casters who agree to marry doofus butt muffins after only knowing them for a few days. It’s not a battle royal, dearest foes, it’s a Dungeons and Dragons convention. And all you need to do in this idiotic quagmire is tip people over the top rope. It’s so easy that I can even do it. Management needed something to do with the middle of the card so they threw us all into this goat rodeo.”

There was still no call from the owners of Project: Honor, so Sonya poked out the other eye of the portrait.

”Here’s another factoid. Out of the 40 competitors who participated in various matches at last year’s Crowning pay per vomit, only 14 remain in Project: Honor. That’s a 65% loss. This means the majority who compete in this ludacris battle royal won’t be here long, at least not long enough to make something out of holding a crown on their head. It’s also indicative of Project: Honor’s racism, classism, and anti-Semitism. There’s a reason this company holds honor as a project - it’s not a finished product and frankly it never will be. Management can’t retain employees, even in a industry where murder-fights are addictive as drugs.”

Unknown to Sonya, President Biden was holding a conference about an unrelated issue and took a moment to weigh in on the breaking news.

President Biden: Insurrection cannot stand regardless if it’s the White House or a wrestling promotion’s headquarters. We stand with Project: Honor and will aid Stockton law enforcement if needed. It’s a sad… uh… and uh.. It’s.. and…

That confused and clueless disposition Americans have come to know from their President reared its head.

President Biden: There’s a cow in the rose garden. I named her Moo-Moo. Sweet cow. Sometimes in the night I .. uh…uh… I let her lick my leg hairs. Sometimes when I’m thirsty, Moo-Moo lets me suck milk from her teats. I uh…uh… I’m Joe Biden and I’m running for U.S. Senate.

Back at Project: Honor HQ Sonya tapped her fingers impatiently on the desk.

”Alright, you wanna play the waiting game, Indy? I’ll make do. I’m going to literally mention every single remaining person in this battle royal by name. So, to all the miscreants in the battle royal, rejoice and be full of mirth. When you’re 50 years old and already in a nursing home because your brains are oatmeal and you can’t wipe your own butt, you’re gonna see me on TV doing great things. I might even be President. Your eyes will fall upon my face, and you'll remember this exact moment. The moment I breathed relevancy onto your name going into an irrelevant match. I acknowledged you. For that fleeting moment your brain will coagulate from its soupy state, and for those five seconds of remembrance you’ll be relevant once again. So, shall we?”

To goad Indy more, she slashed the portrait’s mouth section open with the pen.

”Nick Danger, it’s a good thing you’re passionate about wrestling and don’t care about winning or losing. It’ll lessen the sting if your Anorexic Andy butt is launched into the fourth row in your hometown. If I were you, though, I’d seek out Yuriko Toyama and eliminate her. She beat you recently. There would be justice there. No ill will from you to her, just a little redemption in front of your hometown crowd, in case you get ousted later.”

Sonya kept tearing into the mouth while side eyeing her phone.

”Yuriko Toyama, if I were you I’d try to eliminate Nick Danger right off the bat. I just planted a seed in his head that may or may not work, but that’s the beauty of it. You don’t know. All the more reason to do it.”

To Sonya, Yuriko and Nick were more psychopaths from Fallout that needed to be taken out ASAP if the demands she’d made weren’t met by Indy. Of course Sonya and Levy weren’t going anywhere near the pair, so one would have to eliminate the other.

”Skylar Ramsey, you’re one of the few wrestlers I respect. You spent seven years turning your brains to mush and causing horrendous damage to your body, but when you reached the big time you were smart enough to realize you didn’t have what it took, and more importantly you realized wrestling wasn’t the life for you. I have nothing but respect for you. I know the only reason you’re listed is because your name was still in the database, so I’m assuming you won’t show up. To make sure though, I’m offering you five thousand dollars to no show. If you do show up. I’ll pay you more per person you eliminate.”

”Archimedes, you’re the type of weirdo who’d have a staring contest against your own reflection in the mirror and lose. Seriously, what are you gonna do with a crown? Dry hump it? Turn it into an item of perversion like you do your furniture? You pretended to be a dog and tried to urinate on me like I was a fire hydrant. How can you even win this when you’ll be spending too much time dry humping peoples legs? I can’t even deal with you.. ugh..”

”Latoya Hi-”

Sonya paused with her mouth open, and she stopped breathing. Ten seconds passed, fifteen seconds… Norris entered the frame and tipped his hat at the camera.

”Apologies, that’s Sonya not wasting any more of her precious breath on you Latoya.”

He eased out of frame.

”John Blade, If your brains were made entirely of dynamite, you wouldn’t be able to blow your nose. I can only deduce that you’re a masochist who finds it orgasmic to be dominated in the ring every week. It’s the only logical conclusion. You’re a sick frrrrreak, John, and I won’t waste more time on you.”

Still no word from Indy or Adam. A speckle of worry surfaced on Sonya’s flawless features. With a flick of the wrist, she motioned at the production crew.

”Commercial break.”

Yes, Sonya had planned so far ahead for this, that she pre-recorded a commercial to air during the live feed. Because, reasons.

The commercial popped up showing Sonya tossing and turning in her lavish bed. She couldn’t sleep. The hours on the clock kept going by faster and faster but Sonya kept tossing and turning, eyes wide awake. Finally, she sat up in bed and turned the light on. Poor Sonya appeared on the verge of tears, but then….

PROFESSIONAL COMMERCIAL VOICE GUY: Suffering from insomnia, Sonya?

Sonya clutched the covers around her and seemed scared for a moment, but then inexplicably relaxed.

Sonya: Yes.I dunno what to do. I’ve tried all the treatments.

PROFESSIONAL COMMERCIAL VOICE GUY: You’re in luck. I have a new experimental cure for you to try if you so desire.

Sonya glowed with hope!

Sonya: YES! Anything!

A hand suddenly appeared in the frame and gave her a DVD case. She looked at it curiously.

Sonya: Brandon Hendrix promo compilation? Hmm.

She pulled the DVD out and began watching it. Within moments she was asleep, snoring beautifully.

PROFESSIONAL COMMERCIAL VOICE GUY: You too can get the instant sleep relief you deserve like Sonya by purchasing this limited time DVD sleep aid. Get it while supplies last.

The hours on Sonya’s clock flew by in a montage and she remained asleep. Then morning came.

PROFESSIONAL COMMERCIAL VOICE GUY: Rise-n-shine, Sonya. How was your night’s rest?

Sonya didn’t wake. She was prompted again. Nothing. The voice attempted more times, but still nothing. The hand came in from out of frame and violently shook her then checked her eyes.

PROFESSIONAL COMMERCIAL VOICE GUY: OH NO! SHE’S SLIPPED INTO A COMA!

The next scene showed Sonya in a hospital bed, still comatose. A doctor played by Johnny Levy stood next to her. Suddenly, Giovani burst through the door followed by his muse. The artiste was beside himself, racked with grief. His muse didn’t seem fussed about Sonya though. Giovanni demanded, with great histrionics, to know what happened to her.

Doctor Levy: She experimented with a Brandon Hendrix promo compilation sleep aid. A lot of people don’t watch him, but when they do it can be dangerous. He puts people to sleep, not just in the ring but outside as well. Bastard has weaponized boringness!

Doctor Levy did an over dramatic stare away, which was broken by Giovanni getting an idea and bolting out of the room. He returned a split-second later with a Venti Chestnut Praline Frappuccino from Starbucks. Sonya’s favorite. He put the straw to her lips and she immediately jolted awake, drinking it like someone dying from thirst. Everyone rejoiced, and then she looked into the camera and mocked Indy with a lazy thumbs up.

PROFESSIONAL COMMERCIAL VOICE GUY: Order our Brandon Hendrix promo compilation sleep aid now and enjoy a twenty percent discount and a free bottle of Stella Jade’s captured flatulence. Get your doctor’s permission before using.

The commercial ended and the feed switched back to live activity. Sonya and the crew were having laughs about the commercial.

”Brandon Hendrix and Stella Jade, listen, please just listen. Stop the lovey dovey crap. I’ve seen some of your tweets and you're treating the battle royal like a dating venue. You’re doing the ‘I’ll try to beat you’ routine. You two should probably, oh I dunno, work together as a team to eliminate as many as possible. That’s what DJ Hunter and Kyle Valentine are gonna do. That’s what Johnny and I are gonna do. We’re not DJ Hunter and Kyle Valentine but at least we’ll follow their lead. Jeez. If anyone has a leg up in this thing, it’s them.”

Her thoughts regarding the remaining foes tumbled in her head, making and breaking alliances like underpants in a dryer without Cling Free.

“Diana, don’t even look at me in there. If you do, I’ll have your rabbit killed, skinned, and I will then have someone fashion earmuffs from its fur.”

“Malachite Minj, you’re not a cat. You’re not a man. You’re not a woman. You’re not a person. You should re-identify yourself as below-nothing then take the one way train to the Shadow Realm, you milk drinking toe-rag.”

“Officer Greyfield, I’ll give you five thousand dollars for everyone you eliminate who isn’t me or Levy. I’ll even buy you a new dual rear wheel drive pick-em-up truck.”

“Michael Bishop, a Snickers bar has 279 calories, 122 calories from fat, and 28 grams of sugar. I bring you these nutritional statistics because I find them more interesting than you. You’re a trash juice maniac who, like so many others, graduated from caged barbarism to this wonderful world owned by kidnappers, rapists, killers, and pedophiles.”

“Logan Burgess, you’re not Public Enemy No. 1. You’re one of many who’re an enemy of the public. You’ve done nothing to separate yourself from other public enemies. You’re not a needle in a haystack, you’re a piece of hay in the haystack. You’re such a disappointment you got pawned off to your teacher in Japan. Take your own advice, sir, and retire.”

“Carny Sinclair, oh look, you’re another maniacal piece of amphibian dookie who got shotgunned to Japan in a bid to rid you from civilized society. Sounds familiar, huh? Are you a Logan Burgess clone, or is it vice versa? At least you monikered yourself accurately; you do belong in a circus as a freakshow attraction.”

“Mikey Hero, you’re lawful good? What? You finish opponents off with a maneuver named Suicidal Tendencies. There’s nothing good about glorifying suicide. I’d label you lawful stupid. After all, every one of your maneuvers involves the top rope or turnbuckle, which is the last place you want to be in something like this.”

The sounds of sirens finally registered with Sonya after she addressed the last participant. She’d been so lost in her diatribe that she missed the radio calls that Norris feverishly tried to deal with. Alarmed and angry that Indy and Adam hadn’t wilted to her demands, the Rich Bitch shot to a stand and threw the portrait on the floor. She screamed and pouted and stomped her feet like a petulant child all over Clive’s face, then ripped it to pieces like a stark raving lunatic.

She wasn’t done either. Seething, she pointed at the window.

”THAT WINDOW NEEDS CEASED!”

Without delay, the enormous Smith picked up the desk like it was nothing and hurled it out the window, shattering the glass wholly and demolishing the desk once it hit the ground. Sonya unbuckled Indy’s X-Factor title from her waist and displayed it to the camera.

”OK.. OK..OK.. INDY.. YOU THOUGHT I WAS BLUFFING HUH? OK BLUFF THIS THEN!”

She stood at the window and waved the championship at the masses gathering below. Using the megaphone, she declared he who claimed it could sell or pawn it for a few bucks, then she tossed it out the window. When it hit the ground a wild brawl erupted as if she’d just thrown a sandwich into a throng of starving men.

One man prevailed and fled with feet so fleet he could’ve been a track star. He held the championship high, and bellowed out a “I’M RICH BIIIIITCH!” as he disappeared from view.

”I’M NOT LEAVING! WE’RE NOT LEAVING! IT’S GONNA TAKE AN ARMY TO TAKE US OUT OF HERE! I AM THE FIRST WORLD HERO!” She boomed into the megaphone.

One hour later… The news feed showed a kicking and screaming Sonya Benson being cuffed and led to a police car. Norris was in the same predicament. Smith, however, was uncuffed and being led to a police wagon by officers who appeared nervous around him. Smith nonchalantly entered the wagon and popped a squat on the bench.

Later that night, after the chaos died down and many arrests were made, a CNN video call interview picked up these remarks by Litigious Larry Livingstone, who wore an “I Survived Cleveland” shirt.

”I spoke with Project: Honor’s legal team and have been informed they will not press criminal charges. However, Ms. Benson will have to pay gargantuan monetary restitution, which sucks because I had a solid temporary insanity defense prepared. Clearly Ms. Benson was insane today, but only temporarily, and it was brought on by Project: Honor’s -”

He was cut off and dismissed.

The question now is, how will Indy and the powers that be react? Find out at Crowning II this Sunday at the Wells Fargo Arena in Smellydelphia, Poopvania, at 8PM, live on pay per view!

End.
OOC: I had permission for all this.