Post by bennett on May 24, 2022 14:36:49 GMT -5
'F' is for 'FANGIRL'
====================
MAY 15TH, 2022
PHILADELPHIA, PA
PHILADELPHIA, PA
2300 ARENA
The first - and last - Project Underground Pay-Per-View event carries on, after the opening match between the Legacy Champion and the brand’s General Manager. The crowd - having reached a fever pitch during the titanic clash between two of the company’s best - is cooling down and settling in for the remainder of the show, most of them having already gotten their money’s worth in the first half hour.
Sitting in one ofw the many locker rooms backstage is Billy Bennett, cross-legged on a bench as she stares down at the concrete floor of the changing area. Rather than celebrating a hard-fought victory over the Straight Shooter, she looks anything but satisfied with the result.
Why should she be happy with the way things turned out?
Mark Hunter won. He beat her.
Sure, the match itself had ended in her favour; 2-1 after sudden death overtime.
Sure, her official record within Project: Honor would show 15-1 instead of 14-2.
Sure, she could go out and brag about overcoming the former Grand Champion’s near-perfect defense and technical prowess, despite her own lack of skill in the ring.
But none of this soothes her jangled nerves.
Hunter had proved himself to be the better man. For the majority of the match, it seemed as though he had an answer for everything she threw at him, countering her reckless offense as if he were teaching a lesson to a petulant child. If it weren’t for her remarkable ability to absorb punishment and keep getting up, it would have ended in total embarrassment - and defeat - for her.
It was only her relentlessness and tenacity that allowed her to triumph, kicking out of every single one of Hunter’s pin attempts and going right back on the offensive with the manic, indefatigable pace that had become her trademark in combat. He’d hit her with moves that would have ended a match against most other competitors, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of becoming the first person in Project: Honor - or anywhere - to earn a clean three-count on her.
Not that it mattered.
He’d made her tap out... and only minutes into the fight, no less.
Billy knows the truth; and it’s a revelation that leaves her with trembling, shaking limbs as she ponders exactly how close she had come to losing it all.
If Mark Hunter had the slightest desire to take her Legacy Championship, he could have demanded a regular title match and taken it from her. And what’s even worse in her mind, is that he apparently could’ve done it with ease.
Was he right about her? That she was just a fraud? A place-holder champion, keeping the belt warm until someone better came along?
It’s a hard pill to swallow, even for someone with so much experience doing precisely that.
She tells herself that it’s not true. She earned her spot in Project: Honor; she fought, bled and ripped through better men and women than herself, to finally reach the very pinnacle of the company.
How dare anyone look down on her, when only one person in the company - one of the greatest warriors the sport had ever seen - managed to get the better of her... and even he needed assistance from Billy’s enemies to get it done. Not to mention the fact that the next time they met, she’d come within seconds of ending the man’s life; and she didn’t need Syndicate’s help to do it, either.
Closing her eyes tight, she clenches her teeth and shakes her head so hard it sends her tangled hair whipping back and forth. Trying to force all her doubts and insecurities out of her mind, Billy Bennett finds little solace in her dominant record or status as top champion. Despite the front that she presents to her enemies, fans, family and the world at large, she felt uncertain.
But it was to be expected; growing up being told she wasn’t good enough, and never would be... sure, she’d eventually proved her own people wrong, but it was a struggle. No matter what she accomplished, it was likely she would never be totally confident in her own abilities. Never truly aware of her own worth or value.
If she was doing it only for herself, there can be little doubt that Billy would have already broken from the pressure of maintaining her reputation. Little does she know that she already has; even as recently as a few months ago, Mr. Wright and Candi Cain never would have been able to get their hooks so deep into her.
Her façade was crumbling, bit by bit and day by day, like an old brick building fallen into disrepair. Solid and sturdy once, but now showing cracks in the foundation. And if she fell apart completely, at a time when it actually mattered, even Billy Bennett couldn’t begin to guess at what the consequences might be.
“Hey, Bill.”
Another voice in the confines of the locker room; a familiar one. But she still doesn’t react, visibly or otherwise, her eyes remaining fixed on a spot on the floor some distance away as she stares through her messy hair.
There’s a few moments of silence, before the voice returns, louder this time... and closer.
“Bill... Bill... we gotta go, sis.”
Whoever the voice belongs to takes another step towards her.
It's too close for Billy’s liking.
Snapping into action like a striking viper, she leaps off the wooden bench to tackle the source of the voice, taking it to the ground and knocking the air out of the intruder’s lungs as she lands mounted on his chest.
Lifting both hands high into the air, she’s about to begin battering the individual’s face with hammerblows and who knows what else... but then her eyes come into focus, and she sees who she was seconds away from mauling.
Bobby.
Immediately, she scrambles off him, taking several steps back and grabbing at her hair as she stares down at the shocked, vaguely frightened face of her younger brother looking back up at her.
“Oh... oh fuck... bro, I’m sorry, I just...” she says, barely able to find her voice.
She’d been so deep inside her own head, worried about her own petty issues and meandering thoughts, that she nearly unleashed her fury on one of the few people in her life who would kill - and die - for her... and would do so without even questioning it.
“Heh... no worries, these things happen...” says Bobby, chuckling; it’s clear he’s trying to play the whole thing off.
After all, he’d noticed a change in his sister’s behaviour of late. Less joy taken in spilling blood on the streets, more melancholic nights spent alone in her room brooding over her troubles. Less laughing about their precarious position, less enjoyment in living on the edge and staying one step ahead of the reaper... more sullen moods, long silences, and a dark shadow that seemed to follow her everywhere she went.
He would do his best to keep things light when he could, and try to buoy her spirits; no use in making her feel bad about mistaking him for an enemy, particularly since she stopped herself before doing anything they both might regret.
Bobby begins to push himself off the floor, before Billy seems to come to her senses yet again, rushing over and offering him a hand to yank him back to his feet.
“I was sayin’, we gotta go. Boys are waitin’ outside,” he offers, explaining his presence here.
Billy nods absent-mindedly, though she had entirely forgotten what she was even waiting for in this locker room, completely lost in her own concerns and self-doubt.
“Of course,” she mumbles, picking up her backpack - already loaded and ready to go - and following her brother out of the locker room, where they are met by three of her most trusted soldiers. Taking up positions both in her front of and behind her, the five of them begin to walk the hallways towards the exit.
She’d been traveling with an armed escort of gangsters lately. To and from shows, or anywhere it was known she would be at a specific time. Ever since that heist on a Crawford-owned armoured truck up in Kentucky, at least.
Not her idea, of course; it was insisted upon by Baxton and Bobby, as well as a few business partners who had thrown in with her against Bo. Protecting their only sister and their investment respectively.
They’d all expected immediate reciprocation, another assassination attempt on Billy, or a combined Bennett/Crawford strike on their stash houses and known drug spots... something... anything.
But things had remained quiet, and Billy had been allowed to continue putting pieces in place for the inevitable shooting war that was bound to kick off at any moment.
It didn’t make any sense.
None of this was lost on Billy Bennett, despite her apparent lack of concern for her own life. She’d been thumbing her nose at death since she was a kid, it was something she could never unlearn; not without serious effort that she had no interest in expending, anyway.
But her paranoid mind still found it odd that no further attempts on her life had been made since that last try south of the border.
Did Bo lose his nerve? Or was he just biding his time, as well? Bo was impetuous once upon a time, but he learned quickly... and these days, he was more cunning than their father had ever been, even in his best years.
No.
It was only a matter of time.
They finally reach the door that leads out towards the parking lot, and the gangbanger at the front of the group shoves it open as the cool evening air hits Billy in the face. A brief glance around outside to make sure there is no ambush waiting directly outside the door, and the point man beckons the rest to follow.
----------
In a car parked at the far end of the lot, two individuals sit and watch Billy’s escort through binoculars. They are both visibly of Japanese descent, one looking to be in their mid-30’s, and another in their early 20’s.
While the younger of the two seems to be on the edge of her seat - quite literally - leaning forward to peer hungrily through the binoculars, the older woman seems bored, barely paying attention and looking away frequently to glance at her phone.
She’s even lifting a large hamburger to her lips, taking massive bites and chewing noisily while on surveillance duty.
The eldest of the pair speaks Japanese through mouthfuls of ground beef and bread.
“Oh god, this burger is so good... anyway, I told you she wouldn’t be dumb enough to walk to her car alone... mmm... nom nom...”
Glancing at her partner, the younger woman shakes her head in disgust before replying.
“Can’t believe you eat that American trash... you’re going to get as fat as these damn gaijin if you keep it up.”
“Please, Noi. We’re not in Japan anymore. When in Rome, and all that...”
“This isn’t Rome, this is Philadelphia.”
“It’s a saying. People say it. Leave me alone.”
A heavy sigh from Noi, likely lamenting the fact that she’s still stuck in a working relationship with this other woman.
“You’re lucky you’re so good at what you do, or I’d have left you back in Hokkaido.”
“Please, like you could live without me.”
“Shut up.”
A long silence, as they continue to stare through binoculars. Eventually, Noi speaks up again.
“So, Kin, what are we supposed to do? There’s no way we get close enough to finish the job when she’s at one of these stupid wrestling shows.”
“No problem. We follow. We wait. Eventually, we’ll find out when she’s vulnerable... where she lets her guard down... where she thinks nobody can get to her.”
“And then...?”
“...then we kill Billy, of course.”
====================
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THE PROMISED LAND PLAYHOUSE
Back in the Promised Land Playhouse, where old enemies can become new friends!
Where problems can be forgotten in exchange for blissful nothingness!
Where people of all ages and creeds can come together to surrender themselves - heart and soul - to the cheerful, educational teachings of Mr. Wright!
Billy is back where she belongs.
She’s not even bothered by the fact that she can’t remember how she got here, or where Bobby went to, or what she was doing before she came back to the Playhouse.
None of it mattered. Nothing matters, when she’s inside these comforting, peaceful, mind-numbing walls.
This place has become something of a sanctuary to her in the past few weeks. It was a place where her troubles disappeared, and all those raving thoughts and terrible memories that haunted her every waking moment seemed to vanish as soon as she passed through the front door.
Though she can’t recall ever actually entering the house... as far as Billy could tell, she just woke up here, or snapped out of a stupor to find herself on the large, comfy, oversized plush couch in the living room.
Odd.
The contentment she felt here only seemed to grow more all-consuming and all-encompassing every time she ate or drank something offered to her by Candi or Wright... or whenever she got lost staring at those strange pink lights that seemed to follow her through the labyrinthine halls of the Playhouse.
Nobody - and nothing - made her feel as good as her new friends!
But there’s another reason she’s so happy on this glorious day; she has finally received a small crumb of acknowledgement from the target of her schoolgirl-like crush.
Swindle Shelldrake.
A man that Billy had tried for weeks - months, in fact - to get the attention of. Wearing his merch, constantly bringing him up both in and out of the ring, even commentating his match at Disputed Territory II and cheering him on from ringside as he won the Grand Championship.
Sure, he hadn’t exactly appeared to take notice of any of that, let alone reciprocate her feelings...
But that was fine! He was probably a busy man!
But that was fine! He was probably a busy man!
She would make him notice her, by doing what she did best. Taking him apart piece by piece in the middle of the ring, until he had no choice but to thank her for her support.
What could go wrong?
And then, once she had that tall drink of water pinned underneath her, where he couldn’t get away, she could tell him how she really felt. Billy never really thought about getting married to anyone before; her life was too fucked up to try and involve anyone else in it... but maybe Swindle Shelldrake might be the one who can overlook all her flaws, her bad habits, and see her for who she really is?
“Okay, Bill, I think we should get to work! You’ve got this match coming up, right? Time to do your thing!”
Candi’s voice snaps Billy out of her rose-coloured, lovesick fantasies. The Floridian turns her attention to the pigtailed woman, who is holding up a pink, bedazzled video camera, the lens pointed directly at Billy.
“...huh?”
It’s clear that speaking about the upcoming match is the last thing on her mind; she’s far more interested in daydreaming about the romance that would spring forth from her choking Swindle until he was blue in the face, and forcing him to admit that he shares the same feelings she does.
Priorities.
A deep inhalation of breath, before a stream of shouted words suddenly escape Billy’s twitching lips.
“OHMYGODSWINDLEYOU’RESOFUCKIN’COOLDUDEI’MGLADYOUFINALLYGOTYOURGOLDCONGRATULATIONSILOVEYASOMUCH!!!!”
A brief frown crosses Candi’s face, before she returns to her usual bubby, smiling self.
“Ugh... come on, sis! You know what you’ve got to do! Give that lanky boy the Jason Long Treatment!”
“Jason Long Treatment?” she asks quizzically, clearly having no idea what the hell Candi could possibly mean by that.
“Yeah, you remember the time you fucked his head up so bad he started thinking he was some kind of weird, cringey, lame multidimensional entity?”
“Oh... was that my fault?”
Candi smiles and nods to confirm that, yes, it clearly was Billy’s psychological attack that pushed him over the edge into full-blown delusional psychosis.
“Well, uh... I hate Jason, though. I actually like Swindle! I don’t wanna hurt his feelings or nothin’ like that...”
Lowering the video camera, Candi rubs her eyes wearily as she stands there shaking her head. Billy almost feels ashamed at her new friend’s reaction; it feels like she did something wrong...
...but she doesn’t want to give Swindle the usual Bennett smoke; he might have been ignoring her public advances, but that didn’t make him a bad guy!
...or did it?
“This isn’t like you at all, Bill! Sounds like you need to pay a visit to the doctor. Here, come with me!”
She doesn’t even wait for the Legacy Champion to respond, instead grabbing Billy by the hand and yanking her off the couch.
“I don’t like doctors, though...” mumbles Bennett, unable to offer more than a half-hearted protest.
Under normal circumstances, she would have no problem breaking Candi’s grip on her wrist and shoving her away. But the idea of committing violence against one of her friends - and here, of all places - seems abhorrent to the usually feral and bloodthirsty young woman.
So she allows herself to be dragged down hallways, around corners, up stairs and back down again. As they travel the twisting, non-Euclidean paths of the Promised Land Playhouse, Billy thinks back to a rather unpleasant memory.
The first - and last - time she had ever been in a hospital, or to see a doctor, or received any kind of medical treatment.
~~~~~
Seven years ago, or thereabouts.
Some time after Billy had murdered the family patriarch - her father Bray Bennett - paving the way for Bo and her to take over the clan’s business dealings.
On the streets of Chicago, Billy and Bo are exiting a meeting with a group of potential partners. Stepping out into the street, they are accompanied by a number of the family’s hired guns and loyal soldiers.
Bo confidently strides onto the sidewalk, busy bragging to whoever will listen about what he’s managed to accomplish in such a short time frame. Billy moves beside him, never letting her brother out of her sight, scoffing and shaking her head at his boasts.
Her older brother was still learning the trade, particularly the value of subtlety and diplomacy. He wasted no time in expanding the family’s territory, making all sorts of enemies in his reckless grab for power.
There were weeks when it seemed that his lack of tactfulness would be the end of everything their ancestors had built.
If it weren’t for Billy’s efforts in keeping things together and striking fear into their enemies, there can be little doubt that the Bennett business interests would have collapsed before Bo finally learned the proper way of doing things.
She had already saved his life twice in the previous months. A car bomb planted by some Irish mob out of Boston that she spotted; Billy insisted she check out his vehicle prior to him entering it. An attempted stabbing in a crowded Miami nightclub, when they were wrapping up a deal with some of the family’s Cuban contacts; Billy saw the attacker coming a mile away, and turned the blade back around to drive it into the assassin’s throat.
Billy knew this was just the beginning, so she keeps her head on a swivel as Bo and the rest of the soldiers seem too busy prancing and posturing to do the same.
She’s the first to see it, a speeding car swerving around a nearby corner and accelerating drastically as it approaches them. Before she even spots the two Tec-9s pointed out of the front and rear passenger windows, she’s moving to react to the threat...
...and to protect her brother.
...and to protect her brother.
With a sudden burst of movement, she knocks her older sibling to the side, sending Bo collapsing to the street just as the car finishes its approach.
“GET DOWN YA DUMB F-”
Before she’s able to finish shouting, the shots ring out into the afternoon air.
Before she realizes what happened, she’s falling to join her brother on the cement.
Before she can ask someone - anyone - what’s happening, the rest of the assembled gangsters lift up their weapons and begin to fire at the retreating vehicle. The windows are shot out, but nothing hits the tires, and the car makes its escape relatively unscathed.
As she bleeds out on the street, a 9mm round lodged dangerously close to her heart, she reaches one hand up to Bo as one of his guards drags her brother back to his feet.
Looking into the eyes of his dying sister, Bo simply frowns and shakes his head before being ushered into a waiting vehicle and speeding off.
And then, her world is consumed with darkness as her mind slips away into the ether, the shock of taking a bullet hitting her fragile mind like a truck and rendering her unconscious.
*BEEP*
*BEEP*
*BEEP*
An incessant, rhythmic beeping finally wakes her up.
Billy’s mind is groggy and - unbeknownst to her - heavily sedated.
Opening her eyes with great effort, it takes her several moments to actually recognize where she is.
A hospital.
She’s laying in a bed, her back propped up and her body attached to IVs, tubes and heart monitors.
“Wh... what the hell...” she groans, trying to roll out of the bed on instinct.
The stab of pain in her chest prevents her from moving her body more than a millimeter, as a blinding agony tears through her injured body.
"Arghhh... ffffuckkkk... just couldn't let me die, huh?"
She doesn’t realize it now, but the bullet had come within fractions of an inch from striking her in the heart; a killing blow, avoided by luck alone.
But then, that wouldn’t come as a surprise to her when she learned this fact.
Billy Bennett had been born with the Luck of the Devil on her side.
It would take more than some sloppy drive-by to put her in the ground for good.
Anything less than someone getting up close and putting two in the back of her head wouldn’t do the trick. She refused to go out like some common gangbanger, shot dead in the street by a bunch of amateurs who couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn with a machine gun.
If anything, the idea that she was confined here - unable to leave of her own accord - bothered her far more than getting shot did. She hated to be trapped anywhere, part of why she took such care to ensure that she never left witnesses to any of her crimes.
Prison was the worst nightmare she could imagine, but being stuck in a hospital bed and kept alive by machines ranked just below it in terms of pure mental and physical torture, for the young woman who valued freedom above all.
“Well, this fuckin’ sucks...” she groans, before noticing a controller that lay next to her right hand, attached to the IV machine. With a trembling arm, she reaches out and picks it up, pressing the button as a *BEEP* sounds out from somewhere beside her.
And then, the morphine she just unknowingly requested hits her.
She’d never taken IV drugs before. The idea of needles grossed her out; an odd thing for a long-time drug addict, but she never saw reason to pierce her own skin in pursuit of a high... something about being jabbed like that was just too unpleasant for her to consider, even in the deepest depths of addiction.
Even with her aversion to IV drugs, the sudden rush of warmth and comfort that floods her body and mind is almost overwhelmingly pleasant. Letting out a deep, satisfied exhale, Billy’s eyes flutter as she leans back into the pillow resting behind her.
“Mmm... alright, guess I best look on the bright side...”
~~~~~
By the time Billy has finally dragged herself out of the memory, she finds her body being pushed through a door deep in the Playhouse’s basement. Candi follows her into the room, shutting the door tight and locking it behind her.
What she sees is ridiculous enough to actually cause a giggling fit, as her eyes fall upon Mr. Wright standing inside the room. He’s wearing a white Doctor’s coat and black trousers, holding a clipboard as he paces back and forth in front of one of those plastic human skeletons they frequently have displayed in medical offices.
Only it doesn’t really look plastic. Billy has seen enough bleached bones to know the texture and colour on sight alone, and the skeleton hanging from a hook seems very authentic.
Turning around to face her, Dr. Wright, MD doesn’t seem particularly amused by her laughter. If one didn’t know any better, his expression would make someone think this was a matter of life and death.
“Hello, Billy!” he says, doing his best to keep his voice stern and serious; but even still, he sounds awfully jolly considering the grave look on his face, “I heard there was something you needed to see me about?”
Before she can open her mouth to reply, Candi Cain steps out from behind Billy and walks up to Dr. Wright’s side, getting on her tip-toes and whispering in the massive man’s ear.
Strangely, she seems to have changed into a rather skimpy, revealing nurse’s outfit somewhere between the living room and this office. Billy certainly doesn’t remember them stopping anywhere so Candi could get a change of clothes; was she really that lost in her own memories that she missed it?
Something about this place seemed to screw with her perception of time... or perception of anything, really. She had trouble keeping track of when things happened, and where. Which event or conversation led into what. Even the layout of the house remained a hazy mystery to her.
She was fully aware of the effect the Playhouse had on her brain, she just couldn’t bring herself to care or worry about it. In the end, surrendering to the strange, blissful, forgetful mood this bizarre place put her in was the closest thing to peace she had ever known.
Billy didn’t want to lose her one refuge from the stress, anxiety and hatred that defined and consumed her life outside these walls. And so she didn’t question the bizarreness of anything that happened here; she merely accepted it, because it all felt so fitting.
So right.
“Oh my word!” exclaims Dr. Wright, after his nurse Candi finishes explaining the situation to him, “It sounds like you have a Stage 3 case of Fangirl-itis!”
Blushing slightly at the diagnosis, Billy can’t exactly argue with it; she was head over heels for Swindle Shelldrake, despite never actually conversing with the man or meeting him aside from that one time in the ring at The Crowning.
Really, she’s just glad that Candi did the talking for her. Part of the reason Billy hated the idea of going to a Doctor was that she didn’t like to discuss her problems, like even giving voice to the things that bothered her was a show of weakness she could never be comfortable with.
Add to that her distaste for the very idea of being physically examined - she didn’t like to give up control like that, except in one very recent relationship - and her distrust of any medication that didn’t come in a baggie or wrap of foil.
“It’s a good thing you came to see me when you did; if you’d waited any longer you may have,” he pauses to gasp loudly, “started writing erotic fan-fiction!”
Clapping her hands together, Candi jumps up and down before reaching down the front of her decidedly adult Halloween-style nurse costume, pulling out a well-used, dog-eared old notebook from somewhere within her outfit.
“Oh, but she already has, doctor!”
“Hey, where did ya find that...” protests Billy half-heartedly, finding herself unable to stand up and stomp over to snatch her notebook away from Candi.
“You were passed out on the couch and I figured I’d take a look through your pockets, silly!” replies Candi cheerfully, handing the book over to Dr. Wright, who begins to leaf through the sticky, vaguely moist, stained pages until settling on one in particular.
He begins to read it aloud.
“‘She’d always wanted the very thing she never received in childhood. Love. Unconditional. All-consuming. Pure. Billy Bennett was sick of waiting to receive it; she would take what she wanted, just like she always had done with everything else in her life. Grabbing a handful of the lanky man’s hair, she shoves Swindle’s face against the table that rests in front of them, bending his lithe, toned, athletic body over its surface. Lifting one hand to her mouth, the disheveled young woman snorts loudly before spitting into her palm. Taking her moist hand, she reaches down and begins to rub the black tip of the rubber strap-on until it glistens in the dim moonlight of the alley...’”
Dr. Wright swallows hard as Candi tries to stifle an explosion of giggles behind one dainty hand.
“You’re missing a word here, I think. Strap on what? What is it you're supposedly strapping on, Billy?” he asks innocently.
Unable to hold back her laughter, Candi squeals with sadistic delight at Billy’s fantasies being exposed in such a manner.
“Oh my god Bill, you thirsty bitch. Drink some water, why don’t you?”
This outburst causes Dr. Wright even more confusion! What are these dang kids talking about? Some new kind of Twitter slang, no doubt!
Candi leans in to whisper in Wright’s ear once again, his eyes going wide as she explains what was happening in Billy’s perverted little story. When she steps away and returns to smiling happily at Billy’s bashful, ashamed face, Dr. Wright rubs his forehead in despair.
Scribbling away in the clipboard with a purple crayon, he mumbles to himself before finally motioning to Candi. The pigtailed woman steps behind Billy and leads her to an examination table, laying her down and securing her to the bed with handcuffs around her wrists and ankles.
The Floridian doesn't struggle, fight back, or even raise her voice in protest.
The Floridian doesn't struggle, fight back, or even raise her voice in protest.
If any of this is bothering Billy Bennett, she doesn’t argue over it; she’s almost limp as Candi manipulates her body, like resisting it were the very last thing on her mind.
She doesn’t want to upset her new friends! They’ve been nothing but supportive; even if it seemed like there was a streak of cruelty behind their blank stares, toothy grins and vaguely menacing words.
“This is worse than I thought...” says Dr. Wright, his voice darker than it had previously been as he rummages through a cabinet to retrieve a massive bottle of pills. Stepping towards the now-fully secured Billy, he pours a handful of pills into his palm and then shoves them into the Floridian’s mouth, keeping his hand over her lips until she finishes dry-swallowing the medication.
“Now, Nurse Candi is going to handle the treatment today. I’ve got a lot of other patients to look after! Just do as she says, and let her think for you, okay?”
Before Billy can say anything in response, he exits the room quickly, leaving her all alone with Candi Cain.
Stepping over to the light switch, Nurse Candi flicks it off, leaving the room in pitch-blackness... until she flicks another switch, and a bright, pulsating pink strobe light appears on the ceiling above Billy, at the precise spot where her eyes are focused.
“Can’t have the Playhouse’s own Legacy Champion being all lovey-dovey and soft when she gets into that ring, can we, sis? Now just laaaaay back and keep your eyes on that light, and listen to what I’m saying... listen reaaaaalllll carefully, okay?”
What follows could be described as psychological torture by any definition of the term. Candi takes up a spot by Billy’s head, kneeling down on the ground to whisper in her ear as Bennett stares up into the pink light. Every minute or two, the pink is replaced with a deep, bloody red for a second or two, before reverting to a lighter shade.
Candi tells her Swindle doesn’t love her. How could he ever? Nobody would ever love Billy Bennett like she did. It was stupid for her to ever think otherwise. Dumb. Weak. Pathetic. Everyone laughed at her. Everyone thought she was a fake, a fraud, a pretender. They could see right through her confident act, they could see the broken individual underneath her cocky demeanor and constant provocation, the lust to be recognized, to be acknowledged, to be noticed and thought of as worthwhile.
As her new friend continues to slowly break her down mentally, the effects of those pills begin to kick in. Her heart begins to race, drops of sweat forming on her face and arms as a vaguely amphetamine-like high hits her.
Only unlike most typical stimulants, there is no euphoric rush associated with the effects of Dr. Wright’s prescription. No, instead of happy or ecstatic, she feels cold, cruel, and angry... a speed high with a mean streak a mile long settles over her, taking control of her mind and turning her positive, romantic feelings towards Swindle Shelldrake into something hateful; like those of a jilted ex or a spurned lover.
He dared to ignore her?
He dared to overlook her?
He dared to pretend she wasn’t his biggest fan?
Billy would show him what a mistake it was to reject her advances. Swindle Shelldrake would learn that she couldn’t be ignored, not forever...
...not once she got her hands around his throat...
----------
The pink strobe dies out, replaced by the examination room’s usual fluorescent lighting.
With the strange, entrancing light no longer pulsing in front of her, Billy finds her thoughts becoming her own once again. Candi is no longer whispering cruel, hurtful words in her ear, instead working to open the cuffs that keep the Floridian attached to the table.
She couldn’t begin to guess how long she had been laying there. Then again, she hardly gets the opportunity to ponder it, as Candi helps her sit up and wipes a long string of drool off the corner of her mouth.
Before she can ask any questions, or even gather her wits, Candi shoves an audiocassette recorder up to her face.
“Alright, sis. Now do it.”
Depressing the ‘REC’ button, Candi falls into silence as she stares down at Billy with expectant eyes, waiting for her to do what she does best.
Rather than argue or claim she doesn’t want to say anything mean about her favourite wrestler on the roster, Billy simply begins to speak in a low, monotone hiss. All warmth is gone from her voice, replaced with a coldness coming from deep within her newly iced-over heart.
“I’m sorry it’s come to this, Stretch. I truly am.”
“Was a time I thought we coulda been friends, allies, maybe even somethin’ more...”
“A dumpster fire and a grease trap; ain’t that a match made in heaven? Always loved me a lanky boy, ya don’t break as easy as the others. Can go a lot longer than those overcompensatin’ muscular types, too... though those are still plenty fun to watch thrash and squirm in my grip, make no mistake.”
“Used to watch and re-watch your interviews, your matches, your promos, whatever footage I could find of ya; not to study a potential enemy, but because I actually fuckin’ liked ya. Your whole look, the things ya said, the way ya carried yourself.”
“Like ya were too cool for all this; and not just pretendin’ to be like most of these clowns, but really, actually. What did some measly gold belt matter to a man like Swindle Shelldrake, when ya were already twice the wrestler most of the company’s champions were?”
“Turns out it meant a lot more to ya than I would’ve assumed.”
“How can I possibly describe how much it hurt me, seein’ ya lower yourself to the level of these other glory-hungry idiots, becomin’ just another hungry, grubby, pathetic fool chasin’ dreams of glory, tryin’ to cement a legacy in a sport that ain’t ever gonna be much more than a sideshow to most of the world?”
“I still think ‘bout that line sometimes... your press interview, after ya got robbed of the X-Factor strap in Mexico... what was it again...?”
“Oh, right.”
“‘They’re both nothin’ more than piles of sand.’”
“So fuckin’ cool. Ya got style to spare, kid, ain’t no denyin’ that. None of the usual trash talk ya hear ‘round these parts... naw, ya cut deep. Not as deep as Billy, but hey, I’m a special case; ya only gotta look at my record to tell that much.”
“Even better, though, ya did what few manage to: ya backed your talk up with actions, when ya took the Grand Championship off that arrogant son of a bitch who was dead-set on underestimatin’ ya.”
Candi sighs as she temporarily stops the tape, putting her hands on her hips as she looks at Billy with a look of pure disappointment on her face.
‘Maybe you should take a few more of those pills. This is sounding waaayyyyy tooooooo nice! Less Silly Billy, more Killy Billy, okay?!’
Billy’s calm expression dissolves in an instant, the customized amphetamine provided to her by Dr. Wright, MD continuing to play havoc on her thought process, flooding her brain with a cold, overwhelming hate that she is just barely keeping a handle on. Growling and baring her teeth at Candi, it’s clear that she’s playing with fire by interrupting the Floridian in her present state.
“Don’t... interrupt... me...” she hisses, as Candi’s eyes widen slightly with realization.
Despite everything she’s done to welcome Billy Bennett into her new home here in the Playhouse, she wasn’t immune to being on the receiving end of her fury. Lifting her palms into the air in an ‘I surrender’ gesture, she takes a few steps back before pressing the ‘REC’ button again.
“As I was sayin’... you’re good, Swin. Real good. Ya saw what ya wanted, and ya took it, even if it nearly cost ya everythin’.”
“And I guess... that’s where the problem lies, don’t it?”
“You’re all alone now. No Big Drip, no Tetran Kai, not a damn person on the roster who would be dumb enough to shake your hand and show ya their soft underbelly... ‘cause, hoo boy, ya made it real clear that ya ain’t to be trusted.”
“No allies for poor Swindle Shelldrake.”
“I was the same way for a long time, so I know how isolatin’ that can be, how uncomfortable it is knowin’ there ain’t a damn person out there who’d have your back in that ring, how unwelcome it feels to walk ‘round backstage knowin’ every single one of those cowards that are too scared to say shit to your face are prayin’ on your downfall when ya turn your back.”
“Hope it was worth it. Somehow, I doubt it was.”
“‘Cause that prize ya fought so hard for? Well, it didn’t turn out to be as valuable as ya thought it would be, did it?”
“Guess ya just weren’t meant to sit at the top, Swin. Not even a month as Grand Champion, and they announce the mergin’ of the brands. Now ya ain’t gonna be first place in your li’l corner of Project: Honor no more... you’re gonna be tossed into the wild with all us killers from Fallout, and that gold belt might as well be made of bronze, for all it’s fuckin’ worth.”
“Maybe if ya pushed yourself a bit more, fought for your spot a bit harder, ya could’ve reached the heights I did. But maybe not. Maybe third place is the best ya can accomplish, behind me and Havoc; the real apex predators in this company.”
“Guess we’ll find out, now that the walls separating Provin’ Grounds and Fallout are set to be torn down.”
“We’re ‘bout to find out what Swindle Shelldrake is really made of. How much you’re really willin’ to sacrifice to keep what’s yours.”
"The question is simple, boy: now that ya achieved your petty fuckin' dream, what’s next? But I bet I don’t gotta ask ya that. I bet it’s been keepin' ya up at night already."
She laughs; a harsh, barking sound that continues a few seconds before trailing off.
“Ah, well. Don’t bother me none, whatever path ya decide to take goin’ forward.”
“I’m over ya, Swin. Ya missed your chance with Billy.”
“Y’see, I got friends now. Real friends, not fake bitches like Savannah and useless weaklings like True Society. Wright and Candi have helped me understand a lotta things I ain’t ever had the time, or inclination, to ponder.”
“Ain’t gonna bore ya with all the details, since ya made it so fuckin’ clear ya couldn’t give a shit ‘bout your biggest fan... or former biggest fan, since I guess that title belongs to Mark Hunter now or somethin’.”
“If it ain’t ‘bout Swindle, ya just don’t care, do ya? So lemme cut to the chase, then.”
“They helped me see ya for what ya really are, underneath that smug exterior, perfect fashion sense and smoulderin’ sex appeal.”
Candi sighs audibly, shaking her head as Billy seems dead-set on constantly bringing up her weird crush on the man she’s supposed to be getting ready to brutalize on the next episode of Proving Grounds.
“Sorry, sis. I just can’t help myself...”
If she notices that she just called Candi Cain ‘sis’ - a moniker the pigtailed stranger had been using for her since she first came here - then she doesn’t give any sign of it. Most likely just a slip of the tongue... but it feels so correct, so proper, so right to say.
“Ya try so hard to make it seem like you’re above all this, like you’re somehow more clever than these fools, but really... ya ain’t no different than the rest of ‘em, are ya? Not where it counts, anyway.”
“One-track mind, that’s your fuckin’ problem... all ya could see was that glitterin’ gold starin’ ya in the face, tauntin’ ya with dreams of relevance and importance; things ya ain’t ever tasted before.”
“And ya sold everythin’ for it. Threw away everythin' that made ya who ya are.”
"But really, honestly, this ain’t even ‘bout that. When I made the challenge, I just wanted to give ya a chance to shine against the Legacy Champion."
"Then I got to thinkin and... with a li'l help from my friends... I realized that ya don’t deserve my good side. No fun playdate with Billy is in the cards for ya; not no more."
"I cheered ya on every step of the way, Swin. I was in your corner, even when we were enemies on opposite sides of that war a while back. I wanted ya to succeed, and I made it known how highly I thought of ya."
"And ya didn’t say a damn word to me 'bout it. No ‘thanks for your support, Billy’, no handshake, no shared cigarette outside the venues."
"Even goin' into Wargames, ya only mentioned my fuckin' name once in your li'l pre-match spiel, and a throwaway line at that."
"‘Okay’, I said to myself, ‘maybe I just ain’t earn his attention yet... I’ll just have to do better... be better... he’ll notice me once I’m worthy.’"
"So then I won the Legacy Championship, and everyone was forced to acknowledge that my rightful spot was above 'em. The best of the best in Project: Honor... one of the few places in this industry where an achievement like that means somethin', no less."
"But no. Even after all that, the great, hip, cute and yummy Swindle Shelldrake still won’t so much as glance at me."
"Fine. Figured I just had to make my feelings more obvious."
For whatever reason, Billy never actually approached the man one on one and spoke to him as a normal person might. She would never admit to it even under extreme torture, but she could be painfully shy when real feelings were involved; fortunately, less than a handful of people had ever managed to worm their way into her heart to such a degree.
And it never, ever ended well.
And it never, ever ended well.
“But no matter what I did, ya wouldn’t even look at me, wouldn’t so much as mention my name.”
“All ya had to talk 'bout was ‘Myo this, Arata that’... well what about me?!?!”
“WHAT ABOUT BILLY?!?!?!”
"..."
“Fortunately, management dropped an early Birthday present in my lap by announcin’ these Gladiator Games.”
“Never been in such a rush to do anythin’ in this business as I was to put out that challenge to ya. Now, I’m gonna make ya notice me, Swindle. Havin’ your face crushed under my boot is somethin’ ya just won’t be able to ignore, y’know?”
"Used to think we were cut from the same cloth; Swin and Billy, two peas in a pod, two people who really understood the way this world works, who were better than the rest of these puffed-up losers."
"Turns out that was just wishful thinkin’."
"Ya struggled so fuckin’ hard to earn that third place trophy here in Project: Honor, takin' losses the entire time."
"I made it to the very top, laughin' and spittin' as I tore apart everyone they put in front of me... and I made it look easy."
"Ya wanted the Grand Championship so bad ya could taste it; maybe more than ya ever wanted anythin' else in your pathetic life."
"I couldn’t give a single fuck 'bout this Legacy title; it’s just a nice way to remind everyone else that they can’t look down on me no more."
"Ya got your belt with a chair shot and a roll up, when Myo’s back was turned."
"I got mine by nearly killin' the strongest man in the fuckin' company, with my bare hands."
"We ain’t the same, Stretch."
"Let me show ya, in the ring, where everyone can see ya for the fraud ya are."
An odd choice of words for Billy. Ones that Mark Hunter had thrown in her face on Project: Underground. Ones that got deep under her skin.
Is she reusing them intentionally, hoping they have the same effect on Swindle that they did on her? Or have they become a part of her unconscious mind, repeating them without even realizing she was doing so?
“Let everyone in the audience, backstage, and at home watch the Grand Champion, the Hybrid Hunter, the Kraken reduced to fuckin’ calamari by a real hunter.”
"Ya ain’t gonna be able to fight dirtier than li'l ol' me, I think we both know that. Gonna rely on strength instead, then? Mmm, wouldn’t bet on that either; I may be small, but I pack a punch... and I seriously doubt ya got enough raw power in that scrawny body of yours to knock me out for a three-count. Maybe ya plan on outwrestlin’ me. Can’t blame ya, I ain’t no fuckin' wrestler and I ain’t ashamed to admit it.”
“But Mark Hunter tried that already. The best technical wrestler on the fuckin’ roster couldn’t get the job done by takin' me to the mat. Ya can’t be dumb enough to think you’ll succeed where he failed.”
“Ya ain’t the only one who learns their lessons, Swin. I promise ya I don’t make the same mistakes twice.”
She doesn’t elaborate on which lessons, or which mistakes. Her poor start against Mark Hunter, perhaps? Or something deeper, more meaningful to her scattered brain?
----------
After a long silence, Candi realizes that Billy is done speaking. She hits the ‘STOP’ button on the audiocassette recorder and tosses it aside to clatter onto the tile floor.
Snapping back to awareness at the noise of the recorder hitting the ground, Billy glances up at Candi with wet, trembling eyes. When she speaks, she doesn’t sound like the usual unhinged lunatic most people know... neither does she talk with her trademark arrogance or confidence.
Billy Bennett sounds like a young child, wanting to impress a school teacher or an elder authority figure.
“Was... was that good enough...?” she asks, her voice barely above a hushed whisper.
There’s no reply from the pigtailed woman at first, staring back at Billy with eyes that seem to burrow deep into her skin. After a pause, a slow, creeping, sadistic smile crosses Candi Cain’s face.
“Perfect...”
====================
