Post by bennett on Mar 16, 2022 15:20:44 GMT -5
Billy’s Bad Week
====================
MARCH 3rd, 2022
PROVIDENCE, RI
THE DUNKIN DONUTS CENTER
“...that motherfucker Petey, stickin' his nose in... next time I see that dickless loser, I ain't gonna be askin’ for no goddamn autograph...
Midway through a rant against the man who was once the object of her devoted fandom, Billy Bennett holds the handle of her Bowie knife in one hand while studying its edge. It's always well-maintained, she finds comfort in examining it all the same.
One of the few reliable constants in her life, it's been with her through thick and thin without failing her.
Her oldest friend, her most loyal companion.
Billy needs that comfort now; she’s troubled, to say the least. The main event at The Crowning only seems to have exacerbated the division within True Society. And now, she was forced to fight Havoc for his most prized possession...
...all because Billy thought it would be funny to ensure Alyssa Grace was the shortest-reigning Ascension Champion in Fallout’s history.
The irony does not escape her.
The irony does not escape her.
Worse than that: Mr. Wright was set to wrestle against someone Billy had allowed herself to grow close to of late.
Shaking off that line of thought, she slips the knife into its sheath and secures it to her belt. Her mind is made up, and she turns around to go about whatever course of action she’s decided on...
...only to come face-to-face with Candi Cain.
She moves instinctually, aiming a slash across the intruder’s throat with her knife. Candi reacts with both hands to expertly disarm Billy; the knife hits the ground and slides away, far out of reach.
A brief melee ensues, with the Floridian throwing strikes to the heart, throat, liver and joints of her opponent; every attack meant to disable... but each of them is reversed or deflected. She grows more frustrated and feral with each failed attempt.
It’s like this woman knows what Billy is going to do the moment she commits her body to acting; like she’s familiar with every single ‘tell’ the Floridian has, no matter how small. What’s more, she seems to have an answer for every attack thrown her way.
As the fight progresses, Billy gets an odd feeling.
She would swear she’s fought this person before.
There’s no other explanation; even studying every available tape of Billy in the ring wouldn’t enable someone to keep up with her like this. And anyway, she’s not wrestling here; she’s fighting full-bore, like she would in a life or death struggle.
Eventually, Candi Cain starts to hit back; the strength and speed of this stranger’s attacks are shocking to Billy, as she’s instantly forced to put all her focus into defending against the sudden assault.
More than being familiar with the family’s style of scrapping, Candi even seems to move like a Bennett. Short, sharp bursts of movement aimed to damage or disable a single vulnerable point on the enemy’s body.
It’s only made more unsettling because her opponent simply smiles sweetly during this vicious, evenly matched brawl.
Eventually, the pair end up in a grapple, each of them struggling to gain the upper hand... but Candi is nearly as strong as Billy herself.
The pigtailed woman leans in to whisper into Billy’s ear.
“Just like old times, right Bill?”
That name.
‘Bill’.
It goes back to her childhood, her refusal to act in any way close to feminine, insisting she was one of the boys, just like her brothers. She can’t remember who gave her that masculine nickname, but it stuck immediately.
And what’s most disturbing is that nobody outside the family had ever had the guts to call her that; at least not to her face.
It was a name used exclusively by her blood.
The effect is profound, and Billy’s muscles immediately slacken as she pulls back, weakening her grip on Candi as she begins to ask a question.
“...what th-...”
Just the opportunity Candi was angling for, as she immediately drives her knee into Billy’s gut. Doubling over, she finds her neck trapped in a guillotine choke that cuts off her air supply.
Though she fights back against the hold, driving the woman back into lockers, shelves and walls, the grip is as iron-clad as Billy’s herself, and she soon finds herself fading...
...before she is rendered fully unconscious, she’s dropped to the floor, her limp body hitting the hard concrete. As Candi gloats sweetly over her beaten opponent, Billy can only think of one thing:
Who?
Who is she?
Still coughing and gasping for air, she’s unable to give voice to this question; by the time Candi skips away, Billy is still trying to get some oxygen into her lungs, clutching at her throat as she tries - and fails - to push herself off the ground.
----------
True Society surrounds the ring, watching Billy Bennett and Havoc who stand inside it. The crowd waits in a hushed, anticipatory silence as the two warriors eye each other up.
It’s a scene that perfectly encapsulates the phrase ‘the calm before the storm’.
There’s a pressure in the air, a tension that seems thick and choking.
And then, Billy does something unexpected; she steps forward, and offers the dreaded Nightmare Tyrant her hand.
Her way of showing Havoc - and, more importantly, everyone at ringside - that there was nothing personal about this.
It was just business.
They may be forced to fight, but there was no hatred or disrespect involved.
They may be forced to fight, but there was no hatred or disrespect involved.
Maybe with this gesture, the stitches keeping True Society together might hold a bit longer. It’s a long shot, but she owes it to the boss to try. Holt may have dropped the ball by letting his enemies out-maneuver him, but she still felt some strange sense of obligation.
After a moment’s pause, Havoc slaps her hand away. With that rejection, the friendly smile on Billy’s face immediately melts away into a furious scowl.
So much for mutual respect.
She knew Havoc was lying when he said he viewed her as an equal. When he said he was interested in doing what’s best for True Society.
It’s all about him; always has been, always will be... until she drags him off his throne once and for all.
‘Fine’, she thinks to herself.
‘Let it all come tumblin’ down.’
They both throw a strike at the same time, and in her twisted mind Billy can hear the sound of collapsing foundations... as the two pillars of True Society begin to clash.
The rest of the fight is a blur of violence as Billy - fully unleashed upon an opponent who is not only her equal, but her superior - slips into a manic fury. Even without drugs coursing through her system, she attacks more viciously than ever before.
The woman realizes early she is outmatched for the first time; Havoc is too strong, and each strike leaves Billy feeling like her body is on the verge of shattering.
And still, she fights on... as she does, it becomes clear to those watching; Billy might not be a match for Havoc in terms of sheer power, but she has an advantage in terms of tenacity and resilience.
No matter what the Prime Champion throws at her, she keeps getting up, shrugging it off, and coming right for his throat; it happens again and again, as something inside her keeps the Floridian moving.
For a second, she is taken back to one of the countless beatings she received as a child; forced to absorb punishment that would have left an adult weeping on the floor.
Only now, Billy can fight back.
This time, she’s not forced to stand there and take it.
These memories make Billy push herself even further, despite the agony and injury that Havoc’s relentless assault has already inflicted upon her.
Most of the fight is a bloody haze; when it clears, she has a rapidly weakening Havoc trapped in her ‘Pit Viper’ compression choke. Squeezing tight, she hisses one word to herself over and over again, barely audible above the roar of the crowd:
“Fall... Fall... Fall...”
Now is her only chance; not to win the match, but to bring down the man who stood head and shoulders above everyone on Fallout... maybe even the entire company. Her chance to show everyone that she wouldn’t allow any kings, queens or tyrants in her backyard.
To show the people watching that nobody was untouchable.
Not with Billy around.
Havoc’s struggling finally dies down, and the Floridian switches her grip. She knows what she has to do, and she doesn’t hesitate to do it. Jumping off the ladder, she brings her opponent down to the canvas head-first.
Billy seems to snap back to consciousness as her body is pushed up the ladder by Savannah.
If it weren’t for her friend at her side, she wouldn’t have made it this far in a match that seems specifically set-up for her to lose. Without the one person who believed in her, she would probably just lay down and let Havoc take the belts for himself. He clearly wants them more.
If it weren’t for her friend at her side, she wouldn’t have made it this far in a match that seems specifically set-up for her to lose. Without the one person who believed in her, she would probably just lay down and let Havoc take the belts for himself. He clearly wants them more.
Slade and Syndicate won’t let her win, she knows that much; they’ve made that clear.
And she can’t bring herself to blame them; if Billy were in either of their shoes - fucked over by some rookie who rubbed it in at every opportunity - she would’ve done a lot worse... and sooner.
She has this coming; she reached too far, too fast, while making nothing but enemies along the way. And now that she’s one step from the peak, those same enemies have grabbed onto her ankle, and won’t let her take those final few steps.
But she can’t give up... she might not believe it can be done, but her friend still does. It’s this that drives her up the last few steps of the ladder, unfocused eyes staring blurrily at the two belts that look more like eight in her concussed state.
She reaches out, grabbing each belt in one hand... so close to dethroning Havoc and throwing Fallout into a chaotic power struggle. So close to turning this entire brand into a bloody playground that mirrored the chaos and madness in her own mind.
And then Syndicate grabs her leg, and she knows it’s over...
Yanked down and cornered, she offers him a small - almost apologetic - smirk, just before he drops her to the mat with his ‘No Signal’ capture suplex.
By the time she knows what’s happening again, the match is over... and Andrew Holt is in the ring with them. He’s speaking to the rest of the team, insisting that they stand down, that True Society is fine, that they’re better than this.
For the first time, Billy realizes something that should have been obvious the entire time: the man is delusional. Pathetic. Grasping to hold onto what little power he has left, after the scheming of Lil Petey and Indy Darling tore him from his position of power.
It only takes seconds for Billy to reach her limit, and she takes a step towards Holt, leveling her index finger at him as she prepares to give their former leader a piece of her mind.
And then, her vision goes black, as Syndicate smashes her in the back of the head with her briefcase. She falls forward, body limp as the canvas rushes up to meet her for one last time.
~~~~~
The soft hiss of an old cassette tape recorder, as Billy’s voice - violent, unrestrained, and angry - cuts through the background noise.
“Finally found your fuckin’ nerve, huh Sydney?! Oh, I'm so glad to hear it! Shame it took Havoc beatin' me half to death before ya finally stepped up; but hey, I’d be lyin’ if I said I was at all surprised by that.”
"I've known for a looooong time that ya ain't up to confrontin' me one on one."
“None of y’all could handle it, huh? Knowin’ that Billy was the boss’ chosen one, knowin’ that he saw the most potential in me. Some li’l drug addicted girl from the swamp was the one he picked to be his right hand.”
“Watchin’ me take everythin’ ya held dear, laughin’ in your faces while I did it... yeah, I guess I had this comin’. Maybe Holt shoulda punished me, or somethin’... but naw, it’s like he wanted me to do it, or just didn’t give a fuck either way.”
“Poor leadership, I suppose, not seein’ the problems I was causin’, bein’ too weak or scared to take me aside and read me the riot act. Or maybe he just liked my style, and enjoyed watchin’ me get under y’all’s skin... can’t really figure him out, even after all this time.”
“Anyway, I don’t blame any of y’all for needin’ to put a stop to that. What I can blame ya for, is waitin’ until I was so close to beatin’ Havoc to finally take a stand. What’s the matter, boys? Too intimidated to come see me backstage and work it out, man to man?”
“Of course, how could I forget? That’s fuckin’ impossible, ain’t it?!”
“‘Cause there ain’t one real man among ya; cryin’ like a pack of fuckin’ women. Says a lot when the girl of the group’s got bigger balls than any of the boys, don’t it?”
“Y'all are so fuckin' petty, I almost expect Sydney to come fuck with me durin’ this next match. Might sting, seein’ me holdin’ that briefcase and his old belt, same as he used to... only this time, holdin' onto both after he fuckin’ failed?”
Seems like this recording was made some time after the announcement on Proving Ground.
“Well, the past is the past, ain’t that right?”
“Wrong.”
“Best stay gone a while, boys... ‘cause I ain’t gonna be forgettin’ anytime soon.”
“If either of ya come back... if I see ya hangin’ ‘round backstage... mmm... best believe that I’ll be needin’ to hear an apology, before I even think of forgivin’ y’all.”
Those words hang alone for a while. After some time spent considering, Billy’s voice comes through again; this time noticeably calmer.
“Alright. So we’re done. Through.”
“Works for me; I’m tired of holdin’ back, knowin’ all the real nice targets were on my side of the trenches.”
“One piece of partin’ advice for y’all, though. I ain’t gonna pretend I got any respect left for Holt, after seein’ him fumble the bag that bad. I think we can all agree he wasn’t half the leader we had him pegged as.”
“That said, I think ya oughta let it go, boys. Let the old boss ride off into the sunset with his prize, and don’t try to fuckin’ ruin things for Savannah, okay?”
“I’m gonna be awfully upset if anyone decides to object to this union. Don’t think ya can roll in and kick Holt while he’s down; he may be pathetic now, but don’t forget what he did for us.”
“Any of y'all got any complaints to sort out with him, feel free to come see me instead. We can work it out, without botherin’ the bride and groom.”
“Just... let that girl have her special day, okay?”
Those last words are spoken almost as an appeal to reason; short of begging, sure, but not far off. And with that, the hissing of the cassette tape cuts out as someone presses the ‘STOP’ button.
~~~~~
When Billy’s senses finally return to her, she finds herself sitting backstage in a private locker room, with her wounds already cleaned and bandaged.
The pain that rushes over her should be debilitating, but Billy has long ago grown accustomed to such extremes; she simply lets it wash over her, as she watches Savannah fawn and fret over Holt’s comparatively minor injuries.
There seems to be little attention paid to the more seriously wounded Billy.
There seems to be little attention paid to the more seriously wounded Billy.
After some time staring gloomily, Billy’s eyes turn to Andrew Holt himself. It’s like she’s seeing him for the first time.
He’s so fucking helpless, utterly harmless without True Society behind him. She realizes that all the power he held came not from Holt himself... but from the people he had convinced to do his bidding.
Her body is tense, every single muscle coiled and ready to strike as a scowl slowly spreads across her features.
“Billy... Billy...? Are you alright?” asks Savannah, her voice snapping Billy out of her train of thought.
Forcing as much of a smile as she can, Billy turns to her friend and nods.
“Yeah. S’all good,” she mumbles, slurring through the pain.
The bottle of painkillers given to her by the medical team sits waiting in her pocket, unopened for now. Despite everything, she’s still feels weird about getting high or fucked-up in front of Savannah.
“Mind doin’ me a favour, though? I left my bag in my locker; think ya can go grab it?”
All too happy to accommodate, she exits the room; leaving Billy and Holt all alone.
Which was exactly what the Floridian had been hoping for.
With a small grunt as she stands up - a fresh stabbing sensation running through body - Billy stomps over to Holt’s position, seated on a chair halfway across the room. He simply watches her approach, nodding sadly as he begins to speak in a subdued tone.
“Don’t worry, Billy, this is just a setback. We won’t let Petey win so ea-”
His words are cut off, as Billy lifts one foot high in the air and stomps down onto the seat of Holt’s chair, her boot crashing into the metal just between the man’s legs. Even in her weakened state, she strikes with enough force to dent the metal under her heel.
The positioning of the stomp is not lost on the former GM of Fallout, eyes widening as he looks up at his former soldier nervously.
“Shut the fuck up,” she hisses, her lips curling up in an expression of disgust.
“It’s my turn to talk now, Andrew.”
That name - Holt’s real one - is spoken aloud for the very first time by Billy Bennett. She’d known his true identity for months and had refused to utter it, even in private.
If there’s one thing she could be relied to do, it’s keep a secret; even from her best friend, a moral quandary that had been causing Billy no small amount of unease and discomfort lately.
Swallowing in response, Holt merely nods; it seems like he finally understands the situation. Not only had Billy never acted aggressively toward him before, but the dangerous edge in her voice seemed to beg him to push back.
Like she wanted an excuse to take it further.
“True Society is dead. It’s over. I ain’t pointin’ no fingers, either; enough blame to go ‘round.”
Leaning forward to rest a forearm across her elevated knee, she brings her own face a foot or two away from Holt’s, unblinking eyes boring holes into his as she grinds her teeth noisily.
“You got one job now. Makin’ that woman happy; do that, and we got no problems. Ya fuck that up, too... and, boy, lemme tell ya... I won’t be missin’ next time,” she warns, glancing down at the tip of her boot with a grin.
Where months ago, she would have threatened Savannah on behalf of Holt, she is now doing the exact opposite. Clearly the other woman’s attempts at winning Billy over to her side have been a resounding success, whether that was her intention or not.
“Got me?” she asks, before removing her foot from its place on the chair and stepping back; she doesn’t even give him a chance to respond, cutting off any reply before he can open his mouth.
“Good. Glad we understand each other.”
The door to the room opens again, as Savannah walks in holding Billy’s backpack to see her friend looming over her seated fiancé. Dropping the bag to the ground, Savannah coughs loudly to capture their attention.
“Uhh... everything alright, you two?”
Turning to face her, both Holt and Billy speak up to play the entire thing off, their voices blending together.
“Sure is, Sav.”
“Of course, my dear.”
“Arik and I were just havin’ a chat, y’know, congratulatin’ him on the comin’ weddin’ and all...”
Another brief, tense glance is exchanged between the two, before Billy snorts loudly and shakes her head to dismiss the situation. She tries to stride away from Holt, but it’s more of a weaving stagger.
When she pauses to try and pick the Universal Briefcase off the floor, the minor weight of the metal case is almost too much to bear. Savannah steps forward to grab her arm and assist her, but Billy quickly jerks her limb away and rights herself through sheer force of will.
“I’m fine,” she snaps, voice harsh and angry.
For a split-second, her friend looks worried, holding both palms up as if to show she meant nothing by it. Instantly regretting her tone, Billy frowns and averts her eyes down towards the ground.
“Sorry.”
“Sure, just... let me know if you need to talk, or anything, okay?”
“Yeah, whatever.”
Without any further words, Billy nods and moves past Savannah, grimacing as she stoops down to pick her backpack up off the ground and exit into the hallway. She’s headed towards the parking lot; to her truck, so she can get as far away from this fucking place as possible.
Rather than her usual confident swagger, she shuffles along with her eyes fixed on the ground. Rather than making way for the feared Billy Bennett - or avoiding looking at her entirely - the crew backstage seem to stare at her as she passes.
And to Billy’s racing, paranoid mind, it seems like they’re snickering behind their hands, or whispering jokes about her in each other’s ears.
Who knows if it’s real or imagined, but the effect on Billy is the same either way, starting to sniffle as she bites down hard on her bottom lip, doing her best to show as little weakness as possible.
She’s too ashamed to meet anyone’s gaze with her own; there’s no hint of the usual unhinged, bloodthirsty stare to frighten them into silence.
Eventually, she shoves her way through a door and out into the parking lot. It’s late, and the parking lot looks mostly empty. She pauses to collect herself for a moment, adjusting the backpack before placing the briefcase on the ground.
The thing suddenly feels like a weight dragging her down, rather than the prize she had desired while Sydney held it.
Maybe she even regrets...
...no.
Impossible.
She shakes off the very thought, a small snort of laughter escaping her lips as she rubs her eyes. She’s so tired, but she needs to put some distance between herself and the arena; the scene of her first wake up call...
...and one so vicious and deflating that it seems on the verge of crushing her spirit.
Billy isn’t outside for more than a few seconds, before she hears some excited whispers from behind her.
“Oh my god, it’s Billy!”
“I told you this was the door!”
Her mind instantly goes to one thing: that she’s about to be gunned down here and now. It's been a long time coming, and it wouldn’t be the first time someone had tried.
This time, though, they really had caught her slipping; she'd wandered outside, completely unaware of her surroundings and dwelling on her brutal defeat.
Snapping around to face the source of the voices, Billy instantly relaxes when she sees something entirely unexpected. Instead of a pair of gunmen, she’s being approached by three younger kids.
They make for an odd-looking group, each of them dressed in a unique style that doesn’t really mesh with the others. There’s a goth girl, a young man in a stereotypical punk get-up, and the youngest - around fifteen - who wears thick, taped-up eyeglasses and plain attire.
There is one unifying factor; they all look like outcasts, weirdos or loners. Like they don’t quite fit in anywhere. At least Billy has her family; she has to wonder if any of these kids are that lucky.
Billy stands rooted on the spot as they approach her. She wears a shocked expression, noticing that the youngest kid is wearing a shirt with her face on it.
Project: Honor certainly doesn’t have any official merchandise for Billy Bennett; hardly surprising, considering her status as a rookie, junkie, and daughter of a semi well-known criminal clan.
In fact, it seems - particularly after the recent changes in management - that the suits running the show were dead-set on ending her little spree of violence. They certainly weren’t about to start putting her face on shirts, booking her for interviews, or any of the stuff the more ‘acceptable’ personas get to enjoy.
Not that she wants any of that, but the very specific way she is handled hasn’t gone unnoticed... even by the stressed-out, mentally preoccupied, recovering addict. Ever since Adam Ekaterin had stripped her of her Noble Championship, she’d felt targeted by some kind of vendetta.
Possibly owing to her status as Holt’s best, most loyal follower; something she could no longer even claim, as she just made it perfectly clear to the man that their little arrangement was over. Something tells her that won’t make much of a difference in how she’s treated by the new bosses, though.
The trio continue to gush over Billy as she takes in the unusual sight, trying to find the right words as they shower her with praise.
“It’s so cool to meet you!”
“Yeah, you’re our favourite!”
“Don’t even worry about Havoc, either! You’ll get him next time!”
“Definitely! You were so close tonight - or, uh... so we hear...”
This seems to snap Billy out of her stupor, as she turns to the goth girl to ask.
“Ya mean ya weren’t inside for the show...?”
“Nah, we couldn't afford tickets. But we thought we might get a chance to see you on your way out, and... well... here you are!”
Her eyes still lingering on that ‘BILLY’ t-shirt worn by the youngest kid, she simply nods along, barely even registering the words. In her present state - emotional and un-sedated - she feels some strange mixture of pride and melancholy at being faced with this bizarre trio.
Apparently, she has fans.
Granted, they’re fans who can’t even afford to go to the shows; but they’re still waiting outside the arena to see her. Considering the way she presents herself on-camera and off, there’s no way they could have come here expecting some kind of lengthy, friendly chat with Billy... but they came anyway, even if all they were likely to get was a quick ‘fuck off’.
And a month or two ago, that’s all they would have received from her; but things change, and Billy has attempted - for the first time - to use the opportunity to change along with them. So she stands there, still looking somewhat dumbfounded by the fact this encounter is taking place.
Finally, after the three of them calm down slightly, she snorts and spits on the ground. Reaching into the pocket of her torn jeans, she begins to speak in a voice that is uncharacteristically subdued.
“Where’d ya get that shirt? Lemme buy it off ya.”
The kid with the glasses visibly perks up, beaming with pride.
“Oh, I made the design and a friend of mine printed it for me! Neat, huh?” he says, happy that Billy said something about the shirt she had been staring at this entire time.
As the kid removes his jacket and lifts the shirt over his head, Billy pulls out a wad of bills. No wallet, no money clip, no order whatsoever; just a handful of crumpled-up $20s, $50s and $100s shoved together.
Noticeably, many of them are sticky with what appears to be streaks and spots of blood.
Weird.
She peels off a few of the more bloodstained bills and shoves them back into her pocket, before extending the rest out to the kid holding out his shirt. The boy looks at the handful of cash being offered to him before his eyes travel back up to meet Billy’s.
“Ummm... that’s an awful lot, are you sure ab-“ he begins to protest with a shy, trembling voice, rather than simply accepting the overpayment as most others might.
Forcing the money into one of his hands, Billy snatches the waiting t-shirt out of the other with a grumble. She grimaces as she takes off her backpack to stuff the shirt inside, pulling out a spare ‘Swindle Shelldrake’ hoodie and handing it off to the now-shirtless kid, so he doesn’t catch a cold in this shitty New England weather.
“Find a better role model, kids,” says Billy definitively, disappointed that these three youths seem to have latched onto her - of all people - to look up to.
It’s the last thing she deserves, and the last thing she wants. It’s still early enough for these three to do whatever they want with their lives. They don’t have to accept the existence they were born into, like Billy was stupid - or lazy - enough to do back when she was younger.
Shouldering the bag again, she lifts the Universal Briefcase off of the ground - doing her best to disguise her pain - and begins to stagger off further into the parking lot. Behind her, the three fans offer her a parting wave before they begin to chatter among themselves, counting the money and excitedly discussing their impromptu meeting with the infamous Billy Bennett.
~~~~~
“I don’t like to judge people before I really get to know ‘em, but I think I’ve seen enough to say somethin’ to ya, Emmy.”
“Pretty sure I fuckin’ hate ya, and I ain’t even met ya yet.”
“Maybe not as an individual - deep down, and all that bullshit - but I’d be lyin’ if I said I didn’t despise every single thing about ya. Wanna hear how I see things?”
She actually stops speaking, as if she were honestly listening for a response from an audience that didn’t exist.
“Oh good, I was hopin’ ya would, ‘cause I was gonna say it all anyway.”
“Ya never struggled for nothin’ in your life.”
“Wait, I misspoke. Ya only struggled when ya wanted to, not ‘cause ya were forced to, ain’t that right? Someone like that, never knowin’ what real pain tastes like, what adversity means, what it feels like to be helpless... well, that’s the sort who’ll break and run when they’re in a real rough spot.”
“Rich girl, nice family, all the opportunities in the world; it makes sense why you’re the way ya are, considerin’ where ya came from.”
“Might explain why ya ain’t so good at holdin’ them belts ya win, huh? Addicted to the glory and celebration, but the moment ya gotta defend your spot it all starts to look like hard work, don’t it?”
“Shit, if ya win the Legacy Championship, we might as well hand it straight over to Arata Asakura instead.”
Billy actually laughs at her own joke; one that surely won’t be appreciated by Emmy.
"Everythin' ya were given in your entire fuckin' life... an easy childhood, countless opportunities, natural ability... wasted, because ya just can't bring yourself to get your hands dirty and sweat a bit."
"What I woulda been able to do with just a bit of all the shit that was handed to ya for free..."
“Anyway, I’m just curious... are ya gonna have it in ya to keep fightin’, when I’m cavin’ your face in... when ya wanna cry to mama, but can’t ‘cause you’re chokin’ on your own fuckin' blood?”
“Gonna be able to push past the pain and get up, after Havoc plants ya skull-first with that brainbuster of his? Take it from Billy, it ain’t as easy as it looks.”
“How about when Hunter has ya stretched nice and proper in the middle of the ring, far away from the ropes; ya gonna keep fightin’, or give up and tap out?”
“I know what I’m bettin’ on; that you’ll decide it’s all too much trouble, not glamorous enough, almost like real work...”
“You’re unfocused, girl. I won’t say lazy, ‘cause that ain’t even close to true, but you’re all over the place, workin’ for all these different companies... Project: Honor deserves better than some part-timer who spreads themselves too fuckin’ thin. It deserves someone who’s dedicated... who wants nothin’ more than to make their mark here, and nowhere else.”
“I hope I’m wrong ‘bout ya, Emmy, ‘cause when ya get goin’ ya might be one of the best this company has... but I fought Proving Ground folks before, and I been disappointed by what I found.”
“Don’t fuckin’ waste my time, and we’ll get along fine.”
“If ya do? If I feel like you’re not takin’ this thing as seriously as ya oughta? Well, hell, I might decide that Havoc ain’t my #1 target, and trust me...”
“Ya ain't ready for that.”
~~~~~
~~~~~
MARCH 4th, 2022
FREDERICKSBURG, VA
MOTEL 6
In a cheap room at a roadside Motel 6, Billy Bennett lays on a narrow bed; compared to her usual dwellings, it’s downright luxurious. Too bad she’s in no mood to appreciate that fact.
She’d driven as far as she could, before her exhaustion nearly got the better of her... and even after nearly drifting off the road, it still took her a few close-calls before she decided to pull into the next motel to rest.
After a brief, nightmare-filled sleep, she dug through her backpack for two things: a full fifth of bourbon she’d picked up across the street, and the bottle of Percocet she’d been given for her injuries the previous evening.
She has both of these objects sitting upright on the bedside table; Billy lay on the mattress, above the covers, resting on her side... her eyes are fixed on the painkillers, as she gnaws at her bottom lip like she were in the midst of some inner debate.
It would be so easy to pop the cap, swallow some pills, and chase them down with that sweet, fermented sour-mash. If nothing else, it might grant her some reprieve from the stress and shame that have consumed her since the aftermath of last night’s Fallout.
With a pained expression, she forces her stiff body into a sitting position, and actually begins to reach for the bottle of pills. Her hand stops just short of grabbing it, when she notices what’s on the television in front of the bed; that evening’s episode of Proving Ground.
Lil Petey is on the TV set, announcing his nomination for the upcoming Legacy Championship match.
The minute she recognizes his face, Billy reaches for something near her armpit... only to realize that her shoulder holster - and, more importantly, her Beretta - is at the bottom of the bed.
"Damnit..."
With a body weak from lingering injuries, and a mind exhausted from working through a fog of depression, moving to grab the gun seems like a monumental, insurmountable task at present.
Easier to just start taking pills; those are within arm’s reach, after all.
She does just that, snatching the pills off the table and popping the cap to dump five, six, twelve or fourteen Percocet into her waiting mouth. Tossing the bottle to the side, she grabs the bourbon and begins to chug it, washing down the pills along with that bitter, alcoholic fluid.
“Guhhhhh... What the fuck am I doin'...” she growls as the burn travels down her throat and into her stomach.
It’s a mistake.
She knows that.
She’d done so well, all things considered. Making some positive changes... or at least putting in the effort to try and do so.
She knows that.
She’d done so well, all things considered. Making some positive changes... or at least putting in the effort to try and do so.
And then Havoc happened.
Easy come, easy go.
She’s about to take another big swig of liquor when Ratman takes the microphone. She tips the bottle up to her lips as he begins to speak...
She’s about to take another big swig of liquor when Ratman takes the microphone. She tips the bottle up to her lips as he begins to speak...
...and when he announces her name as the second Fallout entrant in the Legacy match, she sprays out a mouthful of brown liquid.
Billy's mouth hangs open, completely taken aback. She almost can’t believe it, and it sets her mind to racing immediately.
Holt had never given her a chance like that. He’d kept her waiting in the wings, sniping at midcard belts and terrorizing those who opposed True Society... but never giving her a shot at Havoc’s gold, let alone the top belt in the entire company.
She’d pledged her services to that man, and received fuck all but work in return. And here was Ratman, giving her an opportunity she wasn’t even sure she deserves, asking nothing in return.
Did he actually believe in her? Honestly?
He’d always seemed like a nice guy, so it can’t be that he wanted to see her get put through the wringer by Havoc again.
Just as unlikely that he enjoys watching her brutalize her opponents in the ring; so it can’t be that he wants to see her rip into Proving Ground’s representatives.
He’d always seemed like a nice guy, so it can’t be that he wanted to see her get put through the wringer by Havoc again.
Just as unlikely that he enjoys watching her brutalize her opponents in the ring; so it can’t be that he wants to see her rip into Proving Ground’s representatives.
In Billy's mind, that just left the notion that he saw some potential in her. That he saw what she was capable of, and what she’d already done in her short time here... that he was the only one in a position of power who thought she deserved a shot.
A brief smile crosses her features, as she reminisces on the Wargames match a few weeks ago. Chasing Percival around the ring, running him in circles like a cat going after a delicious mouse... it was kind of fun.
For some reason, this small gesture has a larger effect on her than one might expect. Billy wasn’t exactly used to - or comfortable with - the idea of anyone believing in her. Though she can't pinpoint why she felt this way, she quickly regrets caving in and swallowing all those Percs with a bourbon chaser.
Lurching into motion, she clambers out of the bed and stumbles into the bathroom. Collapsing in front of the toilet, she sticks two fingers down her throat and vomits. Brown, foamy liquid and undigested white tablets splatter against the bowl, splashing back into her own face and hair.
Her stomach - which had apparently contained nothing but alcohol and pills - now empty, she rests her cheek against the cool porcelain of the rim, her hair getting hanging down into the vomit/water mixture.
“Alright, Rats... One... more... shot...” she mumbles to herself, chest heaving as even the exertion of puking has a noticeable effect on her exhausted body.
Before she can fully catch her breath, she feels the buzz of a phone vibrating in her pants pocket. Reaching in to grab it, she blinks hard to clear her eyes and squints at the front display.
The caller ID reads ‘Sav <3’.
A deep sigh, as she contemplates picking it up; but something stops her.
A pang of guilt, perhaps.
After all, that girl was about to be a married woman. Why was she going behind the back of a man she used to respect so much?
A pang of guilt, perhaps.
After all, that girl was about to be a married woman. Why was she going behind the back of a man she used to respect so much?
Anyway, something had felt off about her recent interactions with Savannah... like she wasn’t really interested in Billy as a person, but more what she represented . Almost as if she had found herself in the role of attack dog yet again; sure, this time to an owner who took good care of her, but...
...a pet all the same. Savannah had even said as much.
What really bothered her wasn’t any of that, though. She was fine with feeling used, if she felt appreciated at the same time. What was really making her feel guilty was the fact that she wanted to tell her friend the man she had agreed to marry wasn't Arik Holt.
It was Andrew.
She deserved to know, and as her friend Billy needed to tell her the truth. But as a Bennett, she had a code that ran even deeper, an oath that was as much a part of her as the blood pumping through her veins.
No snitching.
No snitching.
Holt’s true identity had been revealed to True Society’s old guard as a gesture of trust. Even with their arrangement broken, even with the group in ruins, even with her disgust for Holt’s sad attempts to hold onto power, she couldn’t open her mouth and give away his secret.
Sniffling slightly and biting her bottom lip harshly to cut off the moisture welling up in her eyes, Billy tosses the phone to the cold tile floor of the bathroom, as it continues to vibrate.
~~~~~
“I been wrong about a few things lately... and I just wanna go ahead and admit it, y’know?”
“Mark... I misjudged ya, pal. When ya first came back with that belt on your shoulder and the crowd chantin’ your name, ya wouldn’t believe how badly I wanted to get my hands on ya. Was fuckin’ prayin’ for ya to come visit us on Fallout, so we could have a nice li’l chat.”
“Weird how life works, huh? Looks like I’ll be comin’ to see ya on Proving Ground instead; but the end result is the same.”
“I thought ya were just some washed-up ol’ has-been, comin’ back for one last ego-strokin’ session before fadin’ away into retirement, then obscurity, then eventually just bein’... forgotten.”
“I mean, I wasn’t wrong ‘bout all that; that’s precisely what ya are. But you’re somethin’ else, too. Y’see, I saw that match on Proving Ground, and I’m impressed with the way ya think, how ya operate, all that shit. Payin’ Swindle to lay Arata out so ya can get the pin?”
There’s the sound of slow clapping, as Billy makes it known how much she genuinely enjoyed that little turn.
“Clean as fuck. Love to see it, Hunter; I really do.”
“Guess ya ain’t just some borin’ fuck after all; well shit, I’m glad I didn’t come visit ya before I got to see what ya were really about. Might have said some shit I’d regret. But now...? I just want ya to know one thing, old man.”
“Billy understands ya.”
“I know what it’s like to claw out a win by any means necessary; no stoppin’ to think about dumb shit like pride, or other peoples’ opinions, or how it might look to all the losers on the other side of things. Fuck ‘em if they can’t take a joke, right?”
She laughs, warmly and sincerely.
“My man Mark.”
The laughing dies down as she composes herself to carry on.
“Just one problem that I can see. You’re such a good wrestler, y’know all them damn holds and shit, a real old-school stretch-’em-out sorta guy, lotta techni...cal... abi...”
She trails off into an obviously fake snore that continues for an absurdly long amount of time. When she begins to speak again, her voice is dead-serious.
“This ain’t a wrestlin’ match, Mark. Sure, we’ll be over on the baby brand, so it won’t be a proper brawl like we’d have on Fallout, but... with me and Havoc in the ring, ya should know ya ain’t ever been in a fight like this before.”
“Took a li’l look back at your career; it’s my weakness, gotta know my prey before I go off on a hunt. And the only opponent ya ever faced who might come close to us Fallout reps was Elena... the once-great British Raven.”
“And she’s the one who beat ya for that Legacy belt, who killed your dreams of reachin’ the peak. I ain’t lyin’ when I say she's not half as good as the top talent nowadays. If ya couldn't get past her, what makes ya think an older, slower Mark Hunter can hang with Billy? Ya ain't gettin' any younger, after all.”
"Project: Honor has left ya behind, ol' man. Might be time to give it up, go home, and focus on trainin' the next generation. It's your only shot to do somethin' worthwhile with your skills... 'cause there ain't no shakin' the rust off past a certain point, and ya already reached it."
"Project: Honor has left ya behind, ol' man. Might be time to give it up, go home, and focus on trainin' the next generation. It's your only shot to do somethin' worthwhile with your skills... 'cause there ain't no shakin' the rust off past a certain point, and ya already reached it."
“Headlocks and hip tosses ain’t gonna win this one, Mark; which leaves me wonderin’, what the fuck do ya plan on doin’ to take us down for the count? Even Emmanuelle strikes me as the sort who could style on ya for days.”
“Maybe I'm wrong 'bout that, too. But right now, it looks like you’re a classic case of some fucker tryin’ to be clever, without bein’ smart first. Ya finessed your way into this match, without stoppin’ to consider exactly what would be waitin’ for ya.”
“Even if ya somehow come outta this with the gold... fuck that, if ya somehow come outta this in one piece... you're still gonna regret makin' deals with a man like the Kraken. Could probably ask my ol’ True Society pals if they would go into business with a snake again; bet every one of ‘em says ‘fuck no’.”
“Swindle and I are cut from the same cloth, even if our motives don’t exactly align. Only a matter of time before ya get burned, playin’ with fire like that.”
“Take it from me, Mark. Ya ain’t as fuckin’ bright as ya want everyone to believe.”
~~~~~
~~~~~
MARCH 8th, 2022
DEEP LAKE, FL
THE BENNETT COMPOUND
She’d arrived back at the compound around mid-day, determined to get some answers from her brother Bo as soon as possible. Billy had just walked into the single-room shack she called home when she was approached by one of her brothers.
Brodie Bennett, one of her Bo's most loyal soldiers and a man who held a grudge against Billy going back to their childhood. For what exactly, she can’t remember; but considering the way she treated her brothers, it's likely justified.
“Kingsnake needs to see ya, Bill,” he says.
The moment they step into the main meeting room, she can tell something is off. Her brother sits behind the table, half-hidden in shadows; but it’s obvious that he’s upset about something. His usually calm, serene brown eyes are hiding a barely restrained fury.
That alone wouldn’t be enough to put Billy on edge; after all, she’d dealt with her brother in his worst moods before. His violent outbursts - few and far - never bothered her, and she was anything but intimidated by the man.
Far as Billy was concerned, he needed her to keep things running smoothly.
Far as Billy was concerned, he needed her to keep things running smoothly.
None of the other members of the family - and definitely not their hired help - were as capable, competent, or well-versed in street etiquette as she was.
So, she felt safe walking up to the man who was obviously waiting to unload on her. What bothered her more was the fact that it wasn’t the usual guards posted up around the room; her eldest brother is surrounded by family only.
Siblings who were unquestionably loyal to Bo. The ones who had issues with Billy dating back to childhood, or who had thrown in with their brother to support him in past disagreements between the two.
Boyd, Buck, Brodie and Benji.
Billy wouldn’t trust a single one of them to put her out if she were on fire, family or not. The fact that Bo has assembled these four here doesn’t bode well for her; no doubt she’s been called here for a stern talking-to... at best.
They all turn their heads to stare at her as she enters, without the slightest attempt made to disguise the obvious disdain they possess for their only sister.
Not one to be intimidated, Billy doesn’t balk in the face of such stacked odds, stomping past Benji and directly up to the table. She slaps something down onto the wooden surface in front of her brother.
It’s a photograph of Candi Cain, taken from some official 'Promised Land Playhouse' advertising material. Billy jabs one index finger down onto the picture, leaning across the table to get closer to Bo’s face.
“Who the fuck is she?” she asks, her voice hard and demanding.
She needs to know; days spent trying to comb through her memory had resulted in nothing.
She needs to know; days spent trying to comb through her memory had resulted in nothing.
Her brother - a year older than her - might remember who this person was... particularly since Candi seemed so well-versed with the Bennett fighting style, and apparently knew Billy at some point in the past.
She doesn’t get an answer; instead, Bo leans forward in his chair and slams his fist down onto the picture, hard enough to rattle the table. The patriarch’s voice sounds more like a crack of thunder as he tears into his sister.
“I got a better question; who the fuck do you think you are, you dumb fucking cunt?!” he roars, and Billy actually seems taken aback by the sudden outburst. Before she has a chance to speak in her defense, or offer some glib reply to his question, he carries on.
“I tried to let you do your thing, Bill; spread your wings a bit, and all that. What do I get for it? Ain't even talking about you embarrassing the family name by losing to that painted-up clown; who gives a fuck about that?”
“Watch it, brot-“
“But you’ve let this shit distract you. That job out in Los Angeles I sent you to take care of, for starters. Sounds like someone caught you slipping, huh? A shootout in the middle of the street, and even worse... you left a witness.”
Billy opens her mouth to argue, but is cut off before she can say anything.
"Shut your mouth!"
“I swear to God, sis... I put up with all your shit because you're the best shooter this family has seen in generations... but getting ambushed on a job? Getting spotted in public doing work? Letting the witness live?”
“It’s fine. They ain’t gonna say a damn thing if I go down there and let 'em know the score.”
Bo chuckles darkly at this offer, shaking his head before he gestures to Buck, who is leaning against the wall to Billy’s right.
“Buck already took care of it. Permanently.”
This statement seems to hit Billy like a punch to the gut; it takes her a moment to process what she just heard. Sure, she’d hurt - and killed - some innocent people in her time while trying to satisfy her weird appetites...
...but never a woman...
...and definitely never a kid...
...but never a woman...
...and definitely never a kid...
Back in her dad’s day, the Bennetts had a code of honour. She is beginning to realize the true depths of her older brother’s immorality... and his complete disregard for innocent life.
“A FUCKIN’ KID?!?!”
Those words come ripping out of Billy’s mouth, as the outrage she feels breaks through her previously depressed mood. Rather than lunge across the table at Bo, she turns her body to face Buck - the one who apparently did the job - and charges at him.
He moves to defend himself, but his older sister is as strong as her brothers... and much faster. It’s like a big, clumsy bear being set upon by a snarling, clawing wolverine.
Billy is able to break at least one rib, dislocate several fingers, and wrap her arms around Buck's throat before she’s torn away from him.
Billy is able to break at least one rib, dislocate several fingers, and wrap her arms around Buck's throat before she’s torn away from him.
Bo watches calmly, a look of mild interest - and seemingly zero concern - on his face. He knows there’s nothing she can do here, with the boys he’d assembled around him; they were his people, unlike many of the others who seemed to fear - and admire - Billy more than they respected Bo.
Billy’s thrashing body is held firmly, one brother dedicated to securing each limb as they force her forward towards the table. Benji takes his free hand and grabs a palmful of her hair, using the grip to slam the side of her face down onto the wooden surface and hold her there.
“Growing a conscience now, Bill? That’s a damn shame.”
“We keep ya around to solve problems; not to make messes for the rest of us to clean up.”
“You... owe... me...”
“I don’t owe you shit, girl. You saved my ass when you put a bullet in the old man, but that was a long time ago... and you already cashed in those favours, as far as I’m concerned.”
“Wasn't the only time I saved your dumb ass, brother.”
“True. That's why I been so patient with all your bullshit. But those days are done; if you can’t focus on the business like you used to, maybe it’s time for me to start taking things away.”
“Ain't nothin’ ya can do to scare me, cocksucker. What, y’all plan on killin’ me? Good luck runnin’ shit on the streets without me.”
“Well... there’s a bit of good news, sis. We don’t got to kill you to teach you a lesson. You fucked up, making a friend outside the family.”
A chill travels up Billy’s spine, as she feels fear - real fear - for perhaps the first time in her life.
She knows who - and what - he means by that.
She knows who - and what - he means by that.
“No, she... Bo, she didn’t d-...”
Billy’s own voice sounds utterly alien to her. It’s pathetic. She's begging, pleading, whimpering, all but praying to her older brother to leave her friend alone. She did nothing wrong; her only crime was getting close to Billy, and now she’s being used to threaten the unhinged young woman into obedience.
She’d finally shown weakness to the people who had been waiting years for her to do so. It was foolish of her to think they would pass up an opportunity to slap a collar on her neck, and her new friend makes for the perfect leash to control the wild Bennett girl.
“Ssshhhhh. Should’ve known better than to think you could have something nice... because now, that Savannah girl is in the firing line.”
Whatever fight Billy had left in her body leaves her, limbs going limp as she stops struggling. Bo takes this opportunity to lean in, bringing his face inches from his sister’s as his dark eyes gleam.
“That’s right, sis. You fuck up again, you push back one more time, you even look at me the wrong way... and I’ll bring Savannah around here for a nice chat, before I put a knife in your hand and make you carve her up.”
Finished speaking, he spits directly into Billy’s face, the saliva clinging to her pale skin as her four brothers release her simultaneously. Rather than lash out for some revenge against this humiliation, she simply slumps down to her knees, eyes staring ahead blankly.
The four younger Bennett brothers back away after a nod from Bo, leaving their sister and older brother staring at each other in silence. He looks triumphant, elated, like he finally had something he could use to control his unpredictable - but ultimately reliable - sister.
As for Billy herself?
The woman’s gaze is that of a person who has been completely broken by that threat. Billy realizes she was a fool to ever get that close to anyone; to think she could ever have anything nice, even for just a moment.
“One last thing. I hear ya ain’t been using lately...” he says, tossing a baggie filled with white powder across the table. It lands directly in front of Billy's tear-filled eyes.
“Do yourself a favour; being clean just doesn't suit you.”
“Now get out.”
Moving like it was a mindless reaction to her brother's order, Billy pushes herself back to her feet using the table as a crutch. One trembling hand reaches out to collect the baggie of powder, putting it in her pocket before turning away from Bo...
...and without any words - no retorts, sarcastic quips or threats - Billy stumbles out of the room like a zombie, avoiding her brothers' eyes as she slumps through the doorway. She is followed by Boyd, Benji and Buck, while Brodie remains in the room. Once the footsteps recede down the hallway outside, he turns to the family patriarch.
“We really lettin' her walk?”
“Think about it; some of our people are loyal to her, not me. Folks might take issue if she ends up dead here. Mexico, though? Well, that’s an awfully dangerous place. Maybe she doesn’t end up crossing back over the border...”
Nodding in understanding, Brodie claps his seated brother on the shoulder before leaving the room.
Left alone, Bo rubs at his forehead; it’s obvious that the weight of running the family business has taken its toll on him. He looks worn-out, but still better than Billy did when she left room.
His eyes fall on the photograph of Candi Cain, still sitting on the table. It almost looks like her eyes are fixed on his, but that’s surely a coincidence. He reaches out with one hand and grabs the picture, bringing it a closer as he narrows his eyes.
The young woman does look awfully familiar...
“...no. There’s no way...”
~~~~~
“Well, Havoc, here we are again.”
“Sorry; ya ain’t gonna be rid of Billy that fuckin’ easily.”
“Before our match, I asked ya ‘what’s the worst ya could do to me’?”
“Thought the answer would be ‘killin’ me’. Told ya I wasn’t scared of all that... to do your fuckin’ worst.”
“Turns out there was somethin’ worse than dyin’.”
She pauses for a few seconds, to leave the listener wondering what could possibly be worse than death to a psychopath like Billy Bennett.
The answer is simple.
“Losin’.”
Letting that sink in, she takes a deep breath before continuing.
“I gave a bit of thought to comin’ off strong on this tape. Pretendin’ that takin’ my first loss didn’t do shit to me. That even though ya might think ya broke me, ya didn’t.”
“Well... I think I’m done lyin’, y’know? Been puttin’ on a front my entire life, and I’m tired of the entire fuckin’ act. Goin’ ‘bout like nothin’ can touch me, like nothin’ matters, like I’m above carin’ ‘bout anythin’.”
“Truth is, I do. Care, I mean.”
“Took me a while to accept it, sittin’ and wallowin’ in self-pity after ya beat my ass. Part of me wanted to just quit this shit, go back home where I was wanted, where everyone ‘round me wasn't prayin’ on my downfall.”
“I may be good at wrestlin’, but I’m a hell of a lot better at my other line of work. Might as well get back to it, I thought.”
“Then I got a wake-up call.”
“Someone reminded me that I ain’t worthless, like y’all want me to believe. Then, I remembered somethin’ else I’d been too miserable to consider...”
“That I was close, Havoc. So fuckin’ close to tearin’ ya off your throne, to takin' everythin' from ya. Fucked my head up somethin’ fierce, gettin’ knocked around like that, but I know I saw ya sweat, big man.”
“Ya hit me with everythin’ ya had, tryin’ to bury me so deep I’d never be back to threaten your reign again...”
“...and ya failed. In the end, it took Sydney’s petty bullshit to tip the scales in your favour.”
“Now I know, Havoc. That ya ain’t as untouchable as ya want everyone to believe. That ya can bleed just like the rest of us, that you’re just as scared of me as I was of the great Nightmare King, or Tyrant, or whatever.”
“I ain't scared no more. The spell is broken. No puttin’ that genie back in the bottle. I won’t ever be afraid of ya again.”
“At the end of the day, whatever else ya might be... you’re a man, too.”
“I may not be no Demon Slayer... but men? Well, I know how to deal with those.”
There’s a giggle from the cassette tape; a threatening, sadistic sound that goes on for a few moments.
“Shame we couldn’t settle it just the two of us. But who knows what the future holds, huh? I gotta say, though, havin’ Emmy and Hunter in there with us puts this match squarely in my comfort zone, don’tcha think? I mean, last time we were both in the ring with two other losers, I ended up on top.”
“After all, where does Billy do best, if not in the middle of the storm? Chaos. Wild, unrestrained, unpredictable. A home away from home.”
“This is the sorta thing I love... slitherin’ through the grass, strikin’ when and where I want, takin’ advantage of every misstep y’all make without gettin’ pinned down. Might not be sportin’, sure, but who the fuck said anythin’ had to be fair?!”
“Ya weren’t complainin’ ‘bout ‘fair’ when Sydney dragged me off that ladder, were ya? I touched it, Havoc. Felt that gold in my hand. Wasn’t a damn thing ya could do to stop me yourself, even with everythin’ stacked in your favour.”
“Well, good luck catchin’ me this time, fucker. And if ya do, ya better watch your back; ‘cause I bet the other two are just as set on makin’ sure ya don’t take this belt, too.”
“One way or another, we’re endin’ your story.”
“Everyone’s fuckin’ sick of ya, Havoc; and it’s time to teach ya a lesson in humility. Ain’t nobody lettin’ ya win this one; and if it ain’t me, I’ll make damn sure it’s one of the others who gets the gold.”
“I guess ya could call it a fuckin’ suicide mission. Nobody gets that lucky twice. Not with me. I’ll die before I let ya have this... ‘cause if I fail this time...”
“...naw...”
“...I won’t.”
“Anyway, no matter what happens when the four of us get in that ring, I got one request for ya.”
“Hold onto that belt for me, Havoc. I still plan on pryin’ it from your fingers one way or another, and I’d be mighty disappointed if someone else did the job. Y’know me, I gotta be the one to get their hands dirty.”
“Even after I win the Legacy Championship, I ain’t gonna be done with you. Not by a damn sight, boy.”
“I hate to rush a big meal, y’know? Best to savour it.”
~~~~~
~~~~~
“Well, Havoc, here we are again.”
“Sorry; ya ain’t gonna be rid of Billy that fuckin’ easily.”
“Before our match, I asked ya ‘what’s the worst ya could do to me’?”
“Thought the answer would be ‘killin’ me’. Told ya I wasn’t scared of all that... to do your fuckin’ worst.”
“Turns out there was somethin’ worse than dyin’.”
She pauses for a few seconds, to leave the listener wondering what could possibly be worse than death to a psychopath like Billy Bennett.
The answer is simple.
“Losin’.”
Letting that sink in, she takes a deep breath before continuing.
“I gave a bit of thought to comin’ off strong on this tape. Pretendin’ that takin’ my first loss didn’t do shit to me. That even though ya might think ya broke me, ya didn’t.”
“Well... I think I’m done lyin’, y’know? Been puttin’ on a front my entire life, and I’m tired of the entire fuckin’ act. Goin’ ‘bout like nothin’ can touch me, like nothin’ matters, like I’m above carin’ ‘bout anythin’.”
“Truth is, I do. Care, I mean.”
“Took me a while to accept it, sittin’ and wallowin’ in self-pity after ya beat my ass. Part of me wanted to just quit this shit, go back home where I was wanted, where everyone ‘round me wasn't prayin’ on my downfall.”
“I may be good at wrestlin’, but I’m a hell of a lot better at my other line of work. Might as well get back to it, I thought.”
“Then I got a wake-up call.”
“Someone reminded me that I ain’t worthless, like y’all want me to believe. Then, I remembered somethin’ else I’d been too miserable to consider...”
“That I was close, Havoc. So fuckin’ close to tearin’ ya off your throne, to takin' everythin' from ya. Fucked my head up somethin’ fierce, gettin’ knocked around like that, but I know I saw ya sweat, big man.”
“Ya hit me with everythin’ ya had, tryin’ to bury me so deep I’d never be back to threaten your reign again...”
“...and ya failed. In the end, it took Sydney’s petty bullshit to tip the scales in your favour.”
“Now I know, Havoc. That ya ain’t as untouchable as ya want everyone to believe. That ya can bleed just like the rest of us, that you’re just as scared of me as I was of the great Nightmare King, or Tyrant, or whatever.”
“I ain't scared no more. The spell is broken. No puttin’ that genie back in the bottle. I won’t ever be afraid of ya again.”
“At the end of the day, whatever else ya might be... you’re a man, too.”
“I may not be no Demon Slayer... but men? Well, I know how to deal with those.”
There’s a giggle from the cassette tape; a threatening, sadistic sound that goes on for a few moments.
“Shame we couldn’t settle it just the two of us. But who knows what the future holds, huh? I gotta say, though, havin’ Emmy and Hunter in there with us puts this match squarely in my comfort zone, don’tcha think? I mean, last time we were both in the ring with two other losers, I ended up on top.”
“After all, where does Billy do best, if not in the middle of the storm? Chaos. Wild, unrestrained, unpredictable. A home away from home.”
“This is the sorta thing I love... slitherin’ through the grass, strikin’ when and where I want, takin’ advantage of every misstep y’all make without gettin’ pinned down. Might not be sportin’, sure, but who the fuck said anythin’ had to be fair?!”
“Ya weren’t complainin’ ‘bout ‘fair’ when Sydney dragged me off that ladder, were ya? I touched it, Havoc. Felt that gold in my hand. Wasn’t a damn thing ya could do to stop me yourself, even with everythin’ stacked in your favour.”
“Well, good luck catchin’ me this time, fucker. And if ya do, ya better watch your back; ‘cause I bet the other two are just as set on makin’ sure ya don’t take this belt, too.”
“One way or another, we’re endin’ your story.”
“Everyone’s fuckin’ sick of ya, Havoc; and it’s time to teach ya a lesson in humility. Ain’t nobody lettin’ ya win this one; and if it ain’t me, I’ll make damn sure it’s one of the others who gets the gold.”
“I guess ya could call it a fuckin’ suicide mission. Nobody gets that lucky twice. Not with me. I’ll die before I let ya have this... ‘cause if I fail this time...”
“...naw...”
“...I won’t.”
“Anyway, no matter what happens when the four of us get in that ring, I got one request for ya.”
“Hold onto that belt for me, Havoc. I still plan on pryin’ it from your fingers one way or another, and I’d be mighty disappointed if someone else did the job. Y’know me, I gotta be the one to get their hands dirty.”
“Even after I win the Legacy Championship, I ain’t gonna be done with you. Not by a damn sight, boy.”
“I hate to rush a big meal, y’know? Best to savour it.”
~~~~~
Billy leaves the main house in tears, having just endured a level of humiliation she'd never experienced before. It would be painful enough under normal circumstances, but it's made even worse after tasting defeat for the first time only days ago.
As she stomps past guards who eye her curiously, the young woman hides her weeping behind both hands, blindly stumbling towards Deep Lake itself, the largest sinkhole in the entire state.
Collapsing to her knees beside the murky water, she lets out an anguished wail as she claws at her skin in impotent rage. She hasn’t felt this helpless in... maybe ever?
It had been a bad week for Billy Bennett.
She had to admit it. No way to spin any of this as a positive.
Her undefeated record - and her ego with it - had been shattered, because of two men she had spent months tormenting
She had to admit it. No way to spin any of this as a positive.
Her undefeated record - and her ego with it - had been shattered, because of two men she had spent months tormenting
Turns out karma did exist on Fallout.
It’s easy to forgive Billy Bennett for thinking she could avoid any payback, considering she'd gone through her entire life up to that point without a single bit of backlash.
It’s easy to forgive Billy Bennett for thinking she could avoid any payback, considering she'd gone through her entire life up to that point without a single bit of backlash.
She had a good run. That was over and done with now.
All that was left was seeing how she dealt with this wake-up call.
Not well, by all appearances; but having her brothers rub her nose in it sure didn’t help. In a way, she can almost sympathize with what she put Syndicate through, shoving his face in the dirt at every opportunity.
Not well, by all appearances; but having her brothers rub her nose in it sure didn’t help. In a way, she can almost sympathize with what she put Syndicate through, shoving his face in the dirt at every opportunity.
“Nnnhgghhhhh... no... no...” she mumbles to herself.
Wiping away at tears to clear her vision, she pulls the small baggie of crystalline white powder out of her pocket and opens it.
Wiping away at tears to clear her vision, she pulls the small baggie of crystalline white powder out of her pocket and opens it.
She doesn’t want to let her brother win by giving in... but as far as she’s concerned, giving him this victory is a small price to pay to make the pain, stress and shame go away for a few hours. She’d probably do it for a few seconds of reprieve.
“...ah, fuck it...” she says, readying herself to throw away over a month of sobriety in a moment of weakness.
Rolling up a $50 bill, she places one end in her right nostril and dips the other into the baggie. With a snort, she inhales the contents of the entire bag into her nose.
Instantly, she realizes she made a mistake not examining it first.
It’s not crystal meth, which was her assumption based upon the colour, consistency and texture. It’s not cocaine, either. It’s not some obscure powdered psychedelic. It’s not even baking powder.
It’s fucking ketamine.
The giveaway is the sensation of a power drill being inserted up one nostril; a harsh, shredding sensation. Rather than the pleasant drip one might expect from a stimulant, there's a bitter, disgusting chemical taste that hits the back of her throat.
“Ughhh... shit... Bo, you son of a...”
That taste is enough to make her gag; but she’s not suffering the effects of that drip long, as she quickly feels the world around her dissolve into pulsating geometric shapes. Considering the amount of ketamine she snorted in one go, she knows this isn’t going to be some mild high.
“Maaaan...”
She’s headed for the K-Hole.
+++++
Billy’s surroundings reform in a flash of light, finding herself sitting on a large, plush three seat couch.
In front of her, a television tuned to static.
“This is some bullshit. I don’t even fuckin’ like ketamine,” she complains through clenched teeth, “Just gotta figure out how to protect Sav, then Bo and I can have a nice, long talk...”
“Bet ya regret shooting me instead of him, huh? Then again, long-term thinkin’ never was your strong point.”
The voice that suddenly comes from beside her makes Billy jump, practically leaping off of the couch. Her father - looking the same age he was when she killed him - is sitting directly beside her.
It takes her a moment to calm down and remember she’s in the midst of a dissociative trip; when she does, she settles back onto the cushion and sighs in exasperation as she sarcastically quips back.
“Oh, wonderful. Hi papa, so happy to see ya here. Fan-fuckin’-tastic. Just what I needed.”
A chuckle, before the hallucinated form of Bray Bennett points down at a remote control sitting on the couch between them.
“Gonna keep bitchin’, girl, or d’ya wanna see what’s on the TV?”
Without replying, Billy grabs the object and hits the ‘CHANNEL UP’ button.
*CLICK*
The static gives way to a scene from her past. A beating, delivered by her father who shouts incoherently at a much younger version of Billy; probably no older than eight or nine.
As he delivers a backhand that sends the girl sprawling backwards, Billy watches from her spot on the couch and smirks... almost like this wasn’t as bad a memory as it would seem to an outsider.
“Think I remember this one. After I broke Byron’s leg, right?”
Clicking his tongue and smiling, Bray sounds almost impressed that his little girl is able to recall it.
“Good memory. I’m surprised all those drugs and hits to the head haven’t scrambled your brain yet.”
“Yeah, well... y’know how us Bennetts are. Ain’t the average, are we?”
Nodding, Bray turns his attention back to the beating taking place on the screen, chuckling as he watches.
In the memory, Billy doesn’t scream or cry for help; even after her father lands a kick to her ribcage that lifts her off the ground and sends her flying into a wall.
She’s laughing, and begging for more.
“Never could break you, huh, Billy?”
“Nah, I wouldn’t give ya the satisfaction, old man. Great parentin’, by the way. Real nice. And y’all wonder why I’m so fucked up.”
“I was tryin’ to teach ya somethin’. That actions have consequences... seems like ya never really learned that lesson, huh? Still makin’ enemies everywhere ya go...”
For a split-second, the image of her and her father is replaced by Syndicate dragging Billy off the top of a ladder.
“Ugh... alright, I get the fuckin’ point.”
“Then change the channel, you dumb bitch.”
She lifts up the remote to do precisely that.
*CLICK*
As she hits the button, her father disappears from her side, and the scene on the television changes.
Another vision of her as a child, running in circles outside the Bennett compound with a girl about the same age. This stranger is wearing overalls and has her hair done up in pigtails, giggling excitedly as she's chased around.
“Don’t quite recall this one...” she mumbles to herself, with a vague feeling of unease growing in her stomach.
They dance, run and skip about for what seems like minutes, before a voice - her mother’s - comes from the house.
"Bailey! Get over here!"
Turning her head, the pigtailed young girl begins to speak with face hidden from Billy.
“Oh, jeez. Guess I’d better go see what she wants, Bill!”
The mysterious girl - apparently named ‘Bailey’ - begins to skip away... but Billy reaches out to grab her by the shoulder and spin her around...
...revealing a face that is cold and blue, eyes clouded over as the girl’s tongue - drained of its healthy pink colour - hangs limply out of her mouth.
She’s dead.
Billy says nothing, shutting her eyes tight as she tries to force this mental image out of her head.
She changes the channel as quickly as possible.
She changes the channel as quickly as possible.
*CLICK*
It takes her a few moments to open her eyes, still haunted by the bizarre memory of that dead girl’s face.
When she does look at the screen again, what she sees there is enough to get her to press the button on the remote immediately.
Only this time, the channel doesn’t change.
It remains stuck on an episode of ‘The Promised Land Playhouse’, as Mr. Wright holds a doll that looks exactly like Billy Bennett, gently combing the toy’s tangled hair with a miniature brush.
Humming away without a care in the world, it takes the host several minutes before he happens to glance up from the doll. When he does, he smiles wide - almost too wide to be humanly possible - and stares directly at the camera... through it... and into Billy’s eyes.
“Oh hi, Silly Billy! Are you finally ready to come play?!”
“Fuck this creepy shit...” mumbles Billy, voice wavering as she speaks. Lifting the remote again, she is about to hit the ‘CHANNEL UP’ button when something stops her.
Five strings suddenly shoot out from the television; four of them wrap around each of her limbs, with the fifth looping around her neck, tight enough to dig into her skin. Dropping the remote to the ground, she tries to pull them away... to no avail.
It’s like they’ve become a part of her.
It’s like they’ve become a part of her.
“Sorry! We’ve been so patient; it’s time to visit the Playhouse, whether you want to or not!”
As Mr. Wright finishes speaking, he tosses the hairbrush and doll over his shoulder, opening his arms wide in an inviting gesture...
...as the strings wrapped around Billy begin to pull her towards the television.
Her attempts to fight back prove useless, as the strings drag her off the couch - kicking and screaming - and across the carpeted floor... towards the screen... towards Mr. Wright...
...towards the Playhouse, which is now lit by a sinister, foreboding red light.
As she fights for what seems like her life, Mr. Wright nods and grins as Billy is dragged closer.
At the last second, just before one foot disappears into the world beyond the screen, she kicks out with her other leg and hits a button on the side of the television.
*CLICK*
The strings disappear the moment the channel changes; the screen now displays a messy motel room. On the carpet, sitting cross-legged across from each other, are Billy and Savannah.
Pulling herself back to her feet, Billy grabs the remote off the floor before plopping back onto the couch. She focuses on the TV, just in time to see Savannah tighten a collar around the neck of Billy’s doppelgänger.
She starts blushing instantly, averting her eyes away from the memory.
“What’s the matter, Billy? Feeling shy or something?”
Turning her head, she finds herself face-to-face with Savannah Andrews, sitting on the couch next to her and leaning in with a smug, self-satisfied smirk on her face.
“I... don’t think all this is a good idea... I mean, you’re gettin’ married...” she says, her tone low and regretful.
“Bitch please, don’t act like you’re better than me now. You were literally begging me for it, like the dog you are,” snaps back the hallucinated form of her friend, smirk turning into a disgusted scowl as she disdainfully eyes Billy up and down.
“Sav... why would you say somethin’ li-” she starts, but is cut off before she can finish.
“God, I’m so bored of you! Just go, then!”
Savannah snatches the remote control out of Billy’s hand, leaning back to kick her off the couch with one bare foot while hitting a button on the rectangular object.
*CLICK*
Tumbling off the cushion and landing in a heap on the ground, Billy lays there face-down for a few moments; the only noise coming from her is a soft whimpering.
Eventually, she lifts her head off the carpet and looks around.
All alone.
Again.
Getting up, Billy takes up her spot on the couch once more, looking confused and lost as she does so.
“Man... what the fuck did I ever do...”
Glancing back to the screen, she finds herself watching the main event of the upcoming Proving Ground; the fatal four-way between herself, Emmanuelle, Mark Hunter and Havoc plays out in front of her.
It’s obvious that Havoc is the superior force; he tears through the three of them, pinning Billy to win the match. He raises the Legacy Championship high over his head in one hand, with the Ascended Prime belt in the other.
The screen then fast-forwards to his first title defense, as he effortlessly defeats Alyssa Grace... and then Jason Long... then Michael Bishop... and so on.
Nobody can touch him.
“Naw... ain’t happenin’ this time, boy...” she mutters to herself, but there’s none of her usual obnoxious confidence... it’s like she’s trying to convince herself of something she doesn’t truly believe.
*CLICK*
In this iteration, Emmanuelle executes a phoenix splash on Havoc. On the other side of the ring, Billy Bennett has Mark Hunter in her ‘Pit Viper’ choke. She’s racing to get him to go limp, but the man simply won’t give up, fighting to reach the ropes.
It’s all the time Emmanuelle needs to get the pin.
The screen goes through her victory tour, self-congratulatory Twitter posts, and lavish celebrations... all the way to her first defense.
She's unconscious in the center of the ring, as Arata Asakura stands triumphantly above her. In one hand, he holds the Legacy Championship; in the other, the Grand. He looks down at his fallen opponent with a sneer of disgust visible on his face.
“Ah yes, your rightful place... beneath me...”
“Damn, girl... I heard ‘the chase is better than the catch’ before, but ya take that shit to a whole other level...”
*CLICK*
This time Mark Hunter manages to win, getting Emmanuelle to tap out in the middle of the ring while Havoc and Billy Bennett beat each other bloody at ringside.
Speeding through the celebrations and speeches, to his first title defense against a resurgent Elena DeDraca. The referee is knocked out by a wild haymaker from the British Raven, just before Mark manages to plant her to the ground with his ‘Mercy Killer’ Cradle Piledriver.
As Hunter attempts to rouse the referee, Swindle Shelldrake sneaks into the ring, grabbing the champion from behind. Swindle drops him to the mat with a back suplex that bends the champ's neck at a vicious angle. Mark goes limp, laying on his back with blank eyes staring up.
“Sorry, Mark. Someone made a better offer,” says Swindle, pulling Elena’s arm over the seriously injured body of Mark Hunter before sliding out of the ring.
“Boy, who could have seen that comin’...?” she says to herself between short, sharp, loud barks of laughter.
“Ya gotta protect your fuckin’ neck when ya make deals with people like Swindle.”
*CLICK*
This time, a different version of Havoc winning.
*CLICK*
Again, a minor variation on the Nightmare Tyrant coming out victorious.
*CLICK*
Emmanuelle wins again.
*CLICK*
Back to Havoc.
*CLICK*
*CLICK*
*CLICK*
*CLICK*
Billy keeps changing the channel, looking for a version where she comes out on top. Her face looks increasingly morose with every *CLICK*, as she fails to find any iteration of events that ends in victory.
Eventually, after seeing Havoc raise the title above his head for the 348th time, she lowers her head to stare - through tears - at the ground between her legs.
Fully immersed in misery, she weeps while contemplating her fate; knowing - or thinking she does - that there’s no chance for her to win this.
And then, a noise from her side; small and meek.
*SQUEAK! SQUEAK!*
She either doesn’t hear it or simply ignores the sound, too lost in self-pity... until it repeats, louder and closer this time.
*SQUEAK! SQUEAK! SQUEAK!*
“Shut the fuck u-... wait a minute, ‘squeak, squeak’?”
Turning her head, she notices a small black rat atop the couch’s back cushion. It takes her a moment to realize why it looks so familiar... that white face contrasting with the dark fur covering its body...
It's the same rat she’d seen during her psychedelic trip before The Crowning; it had curled inside her hoodie for the duration of her hallucinatory detox adventure, acting as a companion throughout the journey.
“Uhh... hey...?” she offers as greeting, obviously not knowing what else to say.
The adorable rat waves one paw in response, before pointing at the remote control, and then the television set.
*SQUEAK!*
There’s a moment of silence from Billy as she stares, brow furrowed as she tries to figure out why she’s hallucinating this thing for a second time. Does she know any rats or rat-like people...?
Oh.
“Huh. Alright, buddy. I hear ya...” she mumbles, picking up the remote again to hit a button.
*CLICK*
The match again; but this time, she’s faster. More vicious. Every attack is determined and focused, where there was only wild, aimless violence before.
This time, it's obvious that she wants that belt... and even more than that, she knows why she wants it.
It’s not about taking something away from her opponents; not even from Havoc. It’s not about having something to hold over the rest of the roster. It’s not to make her feel good or better than anyone.
It’s about showing them that she was good enough, that she belonged.
That everything she’d done up to this point wasn’t just a fluke.
That the old guard couldn’t keep down the younger generation forever; that one day, a fresh face was going to break the stagnant, corrupt status quo and rise to the very top of the company.
That everything she’d done up to this point wasn’t just a fluke.
That the old guard couldn’t keep down the younger generation forever; that one day, a fresh face was going to break the stagnant, corrupt status quo and rise to the very top of the company.
In this version she wins, knocking Havoc out with a Deadfall DDT... she pins him, and is handed the Legacy Championship belt.
She can’t believe what she’s seeing; even if it’s nothing more than a mental image brought on by dissociative drugs, it's enough to confirm that it was possible.
She could beat them.
And though tears still stream down her face, she watches the screen with a smile as wide and genuine as any she's ever worn.
There’s a wild celebration, a giant party in Mexico where Billy snorts lines, guzzles liquor, and goes wild on the dance floor, the Legacy Championship belt hanging over her shoulder the entire time.
Billy turns to say something to the rat, but it’s gone.
She’s sitting alone in darkness, as she sees what the future might hold if she wins.
She’s sitting alone in darkness, as she sees what the future might hold if she wins.
A dark arena, the only illumination coming from a single spotlight that shines down onto the middle of the ring. On one edge of the light is Billy Bennett, holding the Legacy belt aloft, its glittering faceplate turned towards...
...Syndicate.
Sydney smirks at his rival, before glancing at the belt that he once held so dear.
Returning the smirk, Billy’s on-screen apparition speaks.
Sydney smirks at his rival, before glancing at the belt that he once held so dear.
Returning the smirk, Billy’s on-screen apparition speaks.
“Well... it's just us now ...”
And then the arena, the television, and the room shatter into diamond-shaped pieces. Billy’s ego floats untethered through the ether, as it returns to her physical body back at Deep Lake.
+++++
One eye opens, and it’s no longer the afternoon; her surroundings are almost pitch-black, the moon shining down a faint silvery light from above.
Still groggy from the lingering effects of the ketamine, she slowly opens her second eye. As her blurry vision comes into focus, she spots something only a foot or two in front of her face.
A cottonmouth viper, weaving back and forth as it hisses down at the collapsed form of Billy Bennett.
A cottonmouth viper, weaving back and forth as it hisses down at the collapsed form of Billy Bennett.
“Do it, then,” she hisses back at the snake, while slowly pushing herself up into a seated position in the mud.
The snake hears her voice, and ceases its movement immediately... almost like it's considering her words.
The snake hears her voice, and ceases its movement immediately... almost like it's considering her words.
Bobbing its head down and up, the cottonmouth turns and slithers off in the opposite direction. Billy watches it slither away and disappear into the grass, before reaching into her vest pocket for something.
Her audiocassette recorder.
She turns the object around in her hand, considering if she even wants to bother. Part of her still thinks this whole thing is hopeless...
...but she remembers the trio of fans waiting for her outside the venue in Providence...
...the advocacy by Ratman on her behalf, giving her a second chance at Havoc...
...and the vague, hazy memory of her ketamine hallucination showing her that a victory wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility.
...but she remembers the trio of fans waiting for her outside the venue in Providence...
...the advocacy by Ratman on her behalf, giving her a second chance at Havoc...
...and the vague, hazy memory of her ketamine hallucination showing her that a victory wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility.
“Alright, might as well...”
Deciding to make the most of this undeserved opportunity, she clicks the 'REC' button and begins to speak into the built-in microphone.
Billy discusses Syndicate, Slade, and True Society... Emmanuelle and Mark Hunter... Havoc...
Billy discusses Syndicate, Slade, and True Society... Emmanuelle and Mark Hunter... Havoc...
...and finally...
~~~~~
“Before I finish up, I guess I’d better say somethin’ to the man who made this all possible.”
“I appreciate the vote of confidence, Rats. Ya don’t know it, but I was ‘bout to throw in the towel before ya stepped up on my behalf. We’ve had our differences, opposite sides of the war and all that, but man... I ain’t gonna let ya down. I promise.”
“Now, let’s move the fuck on.”
“I’m sure there’s gonna be a lotta people who say I ain’t got no business bein’ in this match. Like I don’t belong with the big dogs, like I just ain’t good enough.”
“Funny. I’ve heard the same line my entire fuckin’ life. Learned to tune it out a loooong time ago, so if ya think you’re gonna piss me off by undersellin’ my potential, you’re bound to be disappointed.”
“Even my papa Bray didn’t think I’d be able to make it in the family business. Brothers too, though they were always too scared to say that shit to my face; kinda how a lot of the folks backstage talk loud when I ain’t ‘round, but get real quiet when they see me.”
“I shut ‘em up, and I’ll do the same to anyone who thinks I can't hang with the best.”
“Less than six months in this company, and I already done shit that people in the business for years wouldn’t dare to dream of. Beaten people with lists of accomplishments as long as my fuckin’ arm.”
“Jason Long. Sawyer. Michael Bishop. Syndicate. Alyssa Grace. Slade Castle.”
“Not a bad hit list for a rookie, huh?”
“So, yeah, no matter what sorta trash anyone wants to talk, it’s pretty obvious my name belongs in this thing. Just crazy to think it took fuckin’ Ratman to recognize my potential; man has an eye for talent, no doubt.”
“At the end of the day, it comes down to bein’ hungrier... I got a lot to prove in this fight, more than anyone else in this match. Y’all been World Champions before, collectin’ belts everywhere ya go, and nobody is gonna doubt your skill.”
“But y’all have had your time at the top already; it’s Billy’s turn.”
“So what if I’m the fuckin’ underdog? Good. I'm used to fightin' from underneath, and it’ll just make it so much nicer when I raise that Legacy Championship above my head. Too many people thinkin’ they can keep the youngbloods down, that they deserve to hog the spotlight all the way to the old folk's home; I’m here to show ‘em that they can’t, and they don't.”
“Can’t trade the gold ‘round the old boys’ club forever; time for someone to step in and shake things up.”
“It ain’t just that, either. This is do or die for me; I ain’t got no illusions ‘bout the fact that management ain’t my biggest fans... if I fuck up this chance, there ain’t gonna be a million other opportunities for Billy, like the rest of y’all seem to get handed to ya. If I lose this, they’re gonna make sure I get lost in the shuffle, wrestlin’ the likes of Angelo and Earl until I get bored of it and retire.”
“Well I don’t plan on retirin’, or runnin’, or lettin’ any of y’all push me into the shadows.”
“Consider this me layin’ claim, all official-like.”
"Plantin' my flag, whatever y'all wanna call it."
"Plantin' my flag, whatever y'all wanna call it."
“This is my turf, and I ain’t movin’ aside for none of y’all. Not anymore.”
“But please, come try and make me.”
“‘Cause your time is over, far as I’m concerned.”
“It’s a brand new day, boys and girls.”
“Billy Bennett, Legacy Champion.”
“Don’t that sound nice?”
"Yeah, I could get used to it, I think."
"First time in my life I'm fightin' to win somethin', instead of just to hurt someone."
"Feels strange, but maybe I could get used to that, too."
~~~~~
"Feels strange, but maybe I could get used to that, too."
~~~~~
