Death Fucker

The night is dark and full of… dancing? Contessa stood with her back against the mahogany bar. Oh how she wished that she was in a real bar but no, she was in some idiot’s mansion. And she was criminally underdressed. At least that’s how she felt, with all of the eyes of these bourgeoisie social climbers passing over her every time they wanted a drink. Feeling out of place was the norm for her but the situation that she found herself in tonight had taken that to comically high levels.

How did she get here? That is a wonderful question and it has a very simple answer. Mathias Church. Her dandy boy roommate had secured himself an invitation to this soiree through some kind of grift and Contessa dared not ask questions. His private life was scary and otherworldly to her.

“Just come with me, don’t be a bitch.” He had said, after barging into her room as she sunned herself on her bed not unlike the housecat that she wished she owned. He explained that the party would be at some casino executive’s house and that they could go together, drink for free, and feast on the absurdity of high society. Intriguing to be sure but she was just so tired.

Flying back from Paris was a journey in and of itself but her last match had taken more out of her than she had expected. Mind you that was almost two weeks ago but between training and being an emotional basket case -- she was almost always exhausted. Being roommates with Mathias only exacerbated that feeling.

“How in good Christ can you pass this opportunity up?” Mathias asked. He began dancing around the room as if he was at Gatsby’s mansion in his mind. He took one of her many ballgowns out of her closet and swirled all over the place with a phantom partner. “It’s going to be so gross!” he said in a sing-song fashion.

She contemplated the offer. High society was so foreign to her, not something that she had ever cared to interest herself in or be a part of. The idea of being around cigar smoking, champagne sipping, monocle wearing sycophants made her want to wretch. That is what it would be like, right? Rats. Now here interest was piqued. Anything she had ever seen about these kinds of things came solely from television and movies. What was it really like? Ugh, now she had to know.

“Fine” she said. “But I’m wearing whatever I want.”

Here they were. Or at least, here she was. Mathias did what was in his nature and he abandoned her almost five minutes after they arrived. She was surprised that it took that long. She posted up at the bar and started people watching. The temptation to look at her phone was there but it was tucked into her bra and retrieving it would be quite the public exhibition of struggle. Her long black ball gown made her fit in on the surface but if anyone dared to look closer they would see that it had spent many moons in a thrift store basement.

She sipped her gin and soda. She watched. She was disappointed. These people were all very similar. Nothing all that unique and quite boring. Perhaps she had set her expectations too high. Contessa had expected something out of a Baz Luhrmann film and instead was treated to something more… Aaron Sorkin. White guys doing white guy things. Talking about white guy stuff. It was all so underwhelming. She wanted to leave.

“I’ve gotta say, never in a million years did I expect to see you here.” A voice said. She turned her attention to the left and there stood Steve Rogers in a tuxedo. Perfect hair. Chiseled features. You know the type. He clearly considered himself dashing. Contessa was interested, if only to see if he was a real person.

“And why is that?” she said, turning her attention back to the crowd of penguins and self-styled princesses. She would play his game, only because it was the only interesting thing within spitting’s distance.

“This just doesn’t seem like your kind of thing.” He said. Oh great. A GQ coverboy who is about to tell her everything about herself. Some prospective conquests might find this kind of attitude alluring but not her. She was fighting the temptation to laugh in his face.

“You would know what my kind of thing is...how?” She said, still careful not to meet his eyes. If he wanted to play this game then she would entertain it until boredom returned.

“Because you’re Contessa Floran.” he said smugly.



I have resigned from the presidency of The Loser’s Club. I would like to thank my successor Pyro for taking the oath of office. I know that he will be a far more accurate figure for that roll and I expect that his term will last for… well… ever.

Please do not mistake me, I am not gloating about my victory over him. It was far more competitive than I had envisioned. We provided Fallout with a fun clip to play ad nauseum in future hype packages, where we both decided to spit in one another’s faces. Ah professional wrestling.

I can not deny that it does feel wonderful to have picked up a victory. My first one this year. It could be seen as a clean slate but given the professional wrestling industries talent for bringing up the past, I won’t hold my breath in that regard.

What can be said is that I did what I said I would do. I showed Pyro just exactly how far out of his depth he is and perhaps in the future he will give female wrestlers more credit beyond how we look. I mean if I were to have based his performance on how he resembled a long dead Juggalo then I may have been in a bit of trouble. Probably not, but I may have been.

The other news coming out of Fallout is that I have been selected to enter a multi-person match for the Prime Championship. Myself, Julius Fairweather, and Pyro have all been named to challenge Drago Santiago for the title. But here’s the rub, the fans get to choose the stipulation. It could be an ambulance match, a dumpster match, a fight pit match, a monster’s ball match, or something selected entirely by write in vote.

Hooray.

I suppose that I should be thankful for the opportunity but again the powers-that-be are putting me into a situation that I don’t deserve. That isn’t me being self-deprecating -- that is fact. When I faced Dickie Watson for the Grand Championship it was only because I made him angry enough to demand the match. I didn’t deserve to fight for that championship and that was proven when he disposed of me. Of course it gave me more name recognition but it was also a case of too much, too soon.

Far too soon.

Rather than learn from this mistake, we are doing it again. Drago has already beaten me. I’ve beaten Pyro. Julius beat Drago AND broke his fingers. Oh my what a tangled web we weave. I have to wonder about the leadership here in Project: Honor sometimes. Do not get me started on naming the Legacy Championship a title that is worth more than the already established Grand Championship. I won’t even begin to talk about their obsession with multi-person clusterfucks.

I just want to know why?

Why do they feel that I deserve this opportunity? Every time I start to get my legs underneath me they throw me to the wolves. It’s getting a little tiring. Of course I am going to take this opportunity and make the best of it but I can’t help feeling like cannon fodder. Again. I suppose it falls in my hands to sort these issues out but even I can’t fix this seemingly LSD fueled booking. I suppose that I will just have to cowgirl up and show them exactly who I am.

I will make them understand.



“You still haven’t told me what brings you here.” Kieran said as he sipped a glass of Lagavulin 16. He was a civil engineer who left the profession when he made a fortune in cryptocurrency. He enjoys summering on the French riviera and kite surfs as a hobby.

Puke.

Contessa had accepted his invitation to sit with him in the study. Various other guests were milling about. She had yet to spot Mathias. Kieran sat beside her and was doing his best to inch closer with each passing moment. She felt extremely uncomfortable but his complete obliviousness of her disdain toward him and his ilk was something to behold. She induledged his continued boasting about his lifestyle and elitist qualities because she still couldn’t believe that people like this existed. This was a real person.

“I came here with a friend who has decided to abandon me. His name is Mathias and I currently hate him.” Contessa said. She had slowed down her consumption of the free alcohol and made sure to keep her glass covered with the palm of her hand. “You still haven’t told me how you know who I am.”

“You appear on global television. Do you think that you could hide yourself at a party like this? We have media moguls here of all shapes and sizes. I myself keep my eyes on what makes money. Professional wrestling makes money, despite it’s pedestrian nature.”

Them’s fightin’ words.

“Pedestrian nature huh?” She asked. She was intrigued now, she would love to hear his world shattering insight. He seemed taken aback by her response, as if she should have just accepted that insult and breezily moved past it. He may have known her name but he clearly did not know anything about her.

“Well it’s all just so phoney right? Like you’re all playing characters. Giving the people what they want. You’re all kind of actors in a sense, right, beautiful?” He said. Did he want to die here tonight? She was now convinced that he did.

“I’m not sure that I understand what you mean.” Her voice changed. A little more high pitched than usual. This was her best effort at acting like the airhead that he saw her as and it… it was not good.

“Yeah I mean I get it. It sells tickets. You guys do the fake blood thing and pretend to smack each other around. It appeals to the lowest common denominator and makes people think that you’re actual athletes. It’s really a wonderful business model. Perhaps you could put me in touch with your owner and I could discuss investment with him.” He took a sip from his drink. “Provided that he puts you front and center that is.”

Kieran moved closer to her now. The hate that started as a small sizzle in her soul was now primed to boil over. But she maintained. She composed herself and resigned to continuing this charade. She could use all of the fuel that this would provide in the upcoming weeks.

“You would do that for me?” Contessa said and now she was inching closer to him. Christ, what the hell was she doing? This was all so gross. She felt so filthy even entertaining this walking haircut. “But why?” she asked.

“You know why darling. You’re marketable, they would be fools not to see that! I can tell that even though you’re acting, you’ve got a fire inside you that the world needs to see. You’re special.” He was so confident. It was almost impressive. She was sure of it, Kieran had definitely masturbated while looking in a mirror. I mean so had she but for entirely different reasons.

Before this could go any further, Mathias flopped down between them. Her guardian angel. And also the object of her rage. However, she couldn’t be mad at him now because he would most definitely make this a lot more interesting.

“Hello handsome. I’m Mathias. Is she boring you?” Mathias asked, knocking back the remaining contest of his glass. He was clearly a dozen drinks deep at this point but Contessa didn’t judge him. It would make this a lot more fun.

“Not at all. We were just discussing her fascinating profession. The fake fighting industry is very interesting to a man like me.” Kieran said. As the words “fake fighting” left Kieran’s lips Mathias went white as a sheet. He slowly turned his head toward Contessa, who was wearing an exaggerated smile.

“Oh honey what have you done,” Mathias said as he turned back to Kieran. “You don’t actually believe that do you? Do you know what this warrior woman has done?”

“Yes I know all about her. I mean I have never seen her in the ring but I get the jist of it.” Kieran said, knocking back the remainder of his drink.

“So you know that she once choked another wrestler out with a string of barbed wire then, right?” Mathias said smugly.

Kieran took a moment to register what was said. Contessa could see him working oit out as his eyes dropped to her left arm that was still marked by one of her more violent encounters. It all clicked for him and he looked horrified.

“I was… I just… What I meant was… I was just..” The self-styled smooth operator was failing to get the words out.

“You were just leaving. Nice to meet you Kieran. I’ll be sure to let my boss know just how pretty you think I am.” Contessa said. Kieran went to answer but opted to simply nod and walk off in the other direction. As soon as Kieran left the study, Mathias burst out laughing.

“Tell. Me. Everything.” Mathias said, before calling a waiter to bring over some more drinks.



Fakes and phonies. This industry is riddled with them. Everyone is trying to be something and for a lot of my contemporaries that is something that they just aren’t. The thing is that a lot of them truly believe that they are these grand versions of themselves. They believe that they are “Queens Of Darkness”, “Violence Personified”, and all of that trite nonsense. You kind of have to believe that you are this enlarged version of yourself. But few possess the base substance for it to feel authentic.

But that isn’t you, is it Julius?

You are that motherfucker, you inglorious bastard. While some people do this for glory, others do it for fun, a great many just want to kill their bills with the money that being successful in this industry can afford -- there are a few genuine articles. You and I are both cut from a different cloth aren’t we. What we present to the world is not some character lifted from popular culture. We aren’t trying to be anything that we don’t embody. You’re that motherfucker, I’m that horrible little so-and-so.

We just are.

The similarities between us are numerous. We are both trying to prove our mettle and retain some semblance of self. We are both relatively new to the pro wrestling game. If this were the plains of africa then we would be the top dogs at the reservoir. We have that tenacity, that fight, that desire for violence that makes lesser animals tremble in fear. Right? Are you still with me? I mean you showed me and the entire wrestling world that you have that desire for violence when you broke Drago’s fingers. Clearly the champion is not death proof.

So what happens with us at Fallout III?

You seem to think that Drago instructed me to do what I did at The Crowning. I’ve already explained that I did that because I am a melodramatic jerk and I wanted to do something absurd. I truly did not care who won that match, I just wanted to stir the pot. And stirreth I did. But now we find ourselves pitted against one another. The motherfucker against the death fucker. Seems like it’s going to be the event of the season.

Put on your best outfit.

But knowing what I do about Fallout so far there is bound to be some bullshit during our contest. Be it from you or from our other two dance partners that we’re slated to face off against at Wired Consequences. It is the go-home show after all and we need to sell that event. So let’s skim the pulp, let’s dispense with the fiction and be honest with one another. I am going to try to hurt you Julius. To put it in terms that you can appreciate.

I’m coming for you motherfucker.

Don’t take this as a personal vendetta. I actually find you very amusing. I think that despite the grandiose nature of what you do and how you do it, I don’t see anything false in you. It all rings true. Please expect the same from me because I need to instill some fear in all three of you. I need to be the devious soul destroyer that I sell myself as. If I don’t radiate malicious intent then what the hell am I even doing? Everyone needs to know that Oblivion’s Crush is just as dangerous as the rest of you, of the best of you.

I failed to do that with Drago, he beat the piss out of me. I must have with Pyro but given his obvious intellectual deficiencies that may not be the case. Now, there is you. You and me Mr. Furious. Mr. Blue. Whatever. I’m stuck in the middle of that ring with you but I feel like we can make some magic. Show the people that don’t take Fallout seriously that this truly is the land of the most dangerous in Project: Honor. Win or lose you are going to see me without clouds and without fog. The Girl With The Death Wish will stand across from you...

...my soul laid bare.