AS55: Steven Holmes vs Celeste Crimson

[a0161613]

Ascension's main event will hold Celeste Crimson going against Steven Holmes in singles competition. Both competitors are coming off wins following the results of Apocalypse and will be looking to continue their streak, especially since Celeste has now been relieved of her mentor duties considering what happened with her mentee. Can Celeste look to return running solo with a victory or will Steven Holmes be out for blood?

Deadline is 11:59pm Central Time, Wednesday 24th October. Extensions as per thread.​

 

[FunKay the Inevitable]

Darkness originally rules our screen, but then suddenly, a glimmer of light emerges in circular form, before the circle increases in size, an image inside it. It engulfs the screen. The image is of the nuclear family; two middle aged parents, a young boy, an even younger girl and a baby. The family is dressed in clothing not too dissimilar to that of 50’s fashion. Combine that with the grainy black and white quality of the image, and we appear to have been transported back to a cold war style propaganda video. Then, suddenly, the images begin to move. They are enjoying a nice meal out in their garden, enjoying the apparent sun and life as they know it. Then, suddenly a voice comes from out of the framed shot:

???: A typical American family, doing typical family things.

Enter the source of the voice; Steven Holmes. Holmes is dressed in a suit, as per the norm, but there is a slight, subtle difference to “The Elite”, in that his hair is styled, to match the 50’s style we are being introduced to. Holmes stands towards camera, the family either choosing to ignore him, or unaware of his existence. He holds a pipe delicately in his right hand. A sly grin crosses his smug mug.

Holmes: Hello everyone, my name is Steven Holmes. You may recognise me as the man who brought Big Dave’s career to a screeching halt, or perhaps you recall my bringing John Constantine to his knees, or maybe, just maybe you watched WZCW’s latest pay-per-view offering, Apocalypse, and observed me destroying Chris K.O., shrugging off his so called “Finishing Move” and making him beg for the ring bell and the climax of our match as he learned that Aristocracy Reigns.

A new, more serious expression has formed on Holmes’ face as he tells the story of his previous three PPV opponents. He is “in-the-zone” as the cliché goes, but soon he snaps out of it, returning to his more cheery self, and returning back to his point.

Holmes: But, whatever the case, I want you all to forget about that for the time being, because I want you all to learn a thing or two about the American way. You see, I’ve been in the United States for two years, and in those two years I’ve seen two versions of American family. One, where independence rules, and moral ambiguity is king, and one where there is a designated ruler of the household, usually, and rightfully, the father; the man of the house.

With this, Holmes turns to the father of the family and salutes him with his pipe, the father waves to Holmes a sign of recognition.

Holmes: This is what America prospered with, and this is what America was built on, but in recent years, things have taken a drastic change. Women have gained a stronger foothold in the home. They have more say, more control and more stake in the family now...and how’s that worked out for you America? Huh? The answer? It hasn’t. You’ve let yourself become too concerned about the idea that you are the “home of the free” and bought into your own self-belief as a country where ANYONE can make it.

At this point, Holmes shakes his head, a somewhat serious look of disgust now the expression upon his face.

Holmes: America, you’ve become obsessed with the idea of telling everyone that they’re welcome in a land where only the strong truly survive, and in the grand scheme of things, men are predominantly the strong. This brings me to the relevant point to be made here with WZCW, for you see, I will go one on one with the supposed mother of this company. I go one on one with Celeste Crimson.

Holmes sighs. He hangs his head, almost in shame. It’s as if he regrets what will come next. Then he lifts his head up, and he signals to the woman behind him; the mother of the family.

Holmes: What a “mother” is supposed to do is look after their children. What they are supposed to do is care for everyone within their family. What does Celeste Crimson do? She makes a full out of herself. Every time she steps into that ring, she wears very little. She exposes her body. She makes a fool out of herself. She embarrasses her “child” in WZCW, and I’m sure she embarrasses her true family too. A woman’s body should be covered, only exposed in the privacy of one’s home. It’s how the world lived for years, and because America said it was “okay”, everyone felt obliged to strip, revealing their most personal areas. Many men see a woman walk down the street half naked and praise her with attention and affection. I merely solemnly shake my head and spit on the floor, disgusted by the destruction of a moral society.

Holmes in fact demonstrates that last part, spitting at the side, a physical manifestation of his supposed metaphor.

Holmes: And much like everyone else I have faced in the ring, I will destroy Celeste. Only this time it won’t be some form of personal warfare, or even a business matter I need to address. No this is a side-show attraction I feel obligated to shutdown, and burn to the ground, ceasing it from commencing ever again. Some of you may feel I’m being a prude, but the truth is, I am merely performing a service for all of you. I am cleaning your consciousness, just as I am cleaning my own. You will be guilt free and morally free following our match.

Holmes smiles sadistically, almost loving the tirade he has mentally prepared to unleash. That look will once more rise when he steps foot in the ring and confronts Celeste prior to their match. He will physically unleash that sickening look upon Celeste and she will never be the same.

Holmes: This is the final stage. I will end Celeste Crimson, destroying her career. I will crush her hopes, shatter her dreams and silence her desire, all because she had no right to be in the ring in the first place. And to cap it all off, I will make her demise slow, painful and unnecessarily disturbing to illustrate my point further. The claret will flow, flesh will be torn and he body will lay in the ring, limp, lifeless and broken. It will signal the beginning of the end. But what does that mean? Well that’s the other issue I’ve come to address to you America.

Now, Holmes tosses aside his pipe, not needing it any further. The family behind him leaves, heading inside. The filter of black and white suddenly springs into colour, and the background morphs, like a terrible nightmare. No longer is it America’s beautiful suburbs, but in fact hell itself. A carnage ruled landscape rife with torturous thoughts and screams of everlasting agony.

Holmes: WZCW has dodged the fact for two years. For two years it has refused to give me what I desire, what I deserve. True it has appeased me at times with unions of likeminded individuals, true it has rewarded me with championship gold, and true it has allowed me to make a remarkable statement whilst in this company, but it has also managed to slink away into the dark each and every time, avoiding my true calling, preventing me from seizing my goal and bringing WZCW forth into a new age. But now, the age is upon us and my omnipotence is a mere touch away. I have climbed the mountain; I have reached the natural peak.

All that remains for me to do is climb the steps to the throne that sits atop the mountain. All that remains is for me to crown myself. I am now the unquestionable best in the world. The only thing I need to prove that further, cement the fact and make the event unquestionable is capture the official title, and to do that I must become the World Heavyweight Champion.

Holmes takes in a deep breath, almost like breathing for the first time in a new world. He loves it so. He realises his time has come.

Holmes: For those of you, who did not watch Apocalypse, shame on you. It featured not only a powerful, enigmatic performance by yours truly against Chris K.O., but also a shocking conclusion to the broadcast as I openly mocked my former ally John Constantine and brought fear back into the life of “Showtime” David Cougar. It is the same fear Celeste Crimson will feel running through her as she takes a career ending beating. It is this fear that makes sure that Cougar is fully aware his time is drawing to a conclusion. It is this fear that will signal that I am prepared to blacken the sun and rule supreme. My supremacy has, and once again shall be showcased via this fear. The best part about this though? No one can stop me. Steven Kurtesy, Ricky Runn, John Constantine and Chris K.O. all sought to stop the end, and they have failed.

Now the new dawn is coming, and they will come to try and prevent the rise of my era, and they will all fail miserably. The blood of my enemies will flow freely, staining the path to becoming a deity. The stairs of the heavens will be dyed a horrific crimson as I cast aside those fools who dare not fear me and those morons who dared to rush in and fight me. The slaughter is going to being, and Celeste Crimson will be the first to fall as my holy war begins.

On “holy war”, Holmes bares his fangs. His mouth is ajar is monstrous fashion, beads of sweat dribble down his forehead; he’s in a very unflattering physical position. He looks dead ahead at us, straightens his face up, re-adjusts his tie and smiles, soft almost lying to us all as we know what is to come.

Holmes: America, your choice is coming. You must decide what comes next. Choose wisely, for if you make the wrong choice, then you will suffer.

The soft smile remains despite the venom filled words. Holmes chuckles lightly, the ghoulish background still embezzled behind him. Holmes turns and walks off camera, the laugh growing louder, more warped. The devious and dark nature becomes full once Holmes has exited, his laugh haunting the screen as we fade-to-black.

 

[Bernkastel]

*Apocalypse 2012*​

Celeste exhaled as she lifted her arms into the air. She and her team had just pulled out a victory at Apocalypse. She turned to see Ricky Runn as he played to the crowd; he shot her a curt nod as a sign of respect. She smiled as she took in the moment and the thousands of screaming fans. She waved as she climbed out of the ring and made her way to the top of the ramp. She whipped the curtain aside and walked down the backstage corridor, the whitewashed walls constituted a back drop lined with various pieces of electrical equipment. She turned her head to the side as she felt a hand on her shoulder.

“That was a hell of a match,” said Steven Kurtesy.

They had been opponents purely for the sake of competition; their brief exchange had invigorated the crowd as the two friends put on a show.

“For an opener,” she finished, stopping to stretch her arms and her legs.

“Don’t push yourself too hard, Celeste” he responded. “You’re headed to the evaluation, right?”

She nodded. Her uniqueness as one of the few female competitors in the company was not her only special quality. She had been diagnosed with a disease that made her seem unstoppable to even the most brutal opponents; how do you stop someone that can’t feel the pain of a submission hold? Or the cold steel of a chair bashed into the side of the head?

“I’m always careful, Steven. Don’t worry about me,” she said in a carefree tone.

They separated as Celeste made her way down towards the rear of the arena. She sighed as she passed the hustle and bustle of stagehands, technicians, and other busybodies until she reached the medical unit. There were normally two teams of paramedics on standby; one was responsible for handling any emergencies inside of the ring, while the other kept a close eye on the wellbeing of the audience. There was a third team that few knew about which came complete with a team of doctors; their responsibility was to monitor her wellbeing.

The medical unit was divided into two separate stations located adjacent to the parking lot of the arena. The spaces had to be large enough to house all the different emergency equipment. For Apocalypse these were offices normally used by arena security. They had relocated to tents erected on the perimeters next to the ticket booths. One of the paramedics met her at the station entrance and escorted her towards one of the empty rooms. He led her into a small room with light grey walls outfitted with crude light fixtures which gave it an ominous feel. There was a large x-ray machine mounted on the side, with a gurney close by. There were two sets of aluminum cabinets, which housed a variety of medical equipment and tools, and a table with a portable centrifuge. Celeste hopped up on the gurney as she twiddled her thumbs anxiously. She turned as the door opened and three doctors wearing white coats walked into the room.

“Hello again Celeste,” said one of the physicians.

He was an aging man with grey hair, who wore a serious expression on his face. His two colleagues were a middle aged woman of Indian heritage, and a heavyset man with a receding hair line.

“Let’s just get this over with,” she responded.

The older, more established doctor began to sort through a chart while the woman began to perform a physical on her. She checked her blood pressure, and her vital signs, as well as her pulse.

“Are you experiencing any spotty vision or dizziness?” she asked with a heavy accent. Celeste shook her head as the doctor took a series of blood samples.

Congenital analgesia [HSAN-CIP] was the scientific name for her disease. It was an extremely rare neurological disorder that produced a deficiency in the beta chemicals which allowed proteins to support healthy neuron growth. Even though being pain free had some benefits, HSAN-CIP carried some chilling drawbacks. Celeste often accumulated minor injuries such as cuts, bruises, and sprains without even noticing them and would go for days without any sort of medical attention.

“Open your mouth,” instructed the senior physician. Celeste obliged until the doctor began to examine her teeth.

“Are you even a qualified dentist?” she said disbelievingly waving him off. “My teeth are fine.”

“We do this examination every week, Celeste. Don’t fight me on this,” he said sternly. Celeste opened her mouth as the doctor continued his examination.

“That crown on your molar is broken again,” he deadpanned. “Get that fixed immediately.”

She growled. About a month ago she had been eating a Greek salad and bit into an olive that wasn’t pitted. She didn’t stop until she tasted blood in her saliva. She eyed the Indian doctor as she studied the results from her blood work, while the other gentleman was prepping the x-ray machine. The entire examination was evasive, annoying, and time consuming. What she wouldn’t have given to be anywhere but here; but it was a necessity that couldn’t be ignored. Considering that she had to do this after every match, it was like a ritual at this point.

The senior doctor examined her ears and frowned, “You have an ear infection. How has your hearing been, any difficulties?”

“Fine, I guess-”

“You must have developed it a day or two ago,” he said as he took out a pad had scribbled out a prescription for amoxicillin and handed it to her. She grabbed the note, folded it, and placed it in her sports bra.

Her brother Kenneth had once described the pain of an ear infection to be so severe that after two days he was ready to start head butting people if they interfered with him going to the doctor. Celeste smiled internally and chuckled to herself.

She had always been injuring herself as a child. When she was three years old she had fallen off the jungle gym and snapped her wrist in half. It took nearly six hours for her mother to notice the injury. In kindergarten she had shoved a pencil through her cheek without even realizing it until she tasted the bloodied lead tip in her mouth. And then of course there was that nightmarish incident where the family house had caught fire while she was asleep. Celeste could remember leaping out of bed as the smoke filled her nostrils and began to choke her. She bolted from her room to find the living room engulfed in flames. She tore right through the heart of the blaze, as the flames lit her pajama top up like a Christmas tree. She smashed through one of the Florida room windows before rolling around on the lawn like a deranged mental patient. Unfortunately the damage had been done, and she still had the scars as a reminder of the skin graphs and reconstructive surgeries.

“The blood tests look fine Mrs. Crimson,” said the Indian doctor.

“And your vital signs look normal,” followed the senior doctor.

The doctors instructed her over towards the x-ray machine as she lied down on the metal surface. She closed her eyes as the mechanical arms began to whirl around her, as the heavyset doctor began taking pictures of her arms, legs, torso, and skull. The three physicians were looking for any bruised or torn ligaments, abrasions in the cartilage, broken bones, sliced muscles, or shredded tensions. In 2009 she tore her ACL and wasn’t treated for nearly three days following the incident. The damage had been so severe that she was confined to a wheelchair for six months following the surgery.

“I don’t see any weak spots in the cartilage around the knees,” said the heavyset doctor. It was one of his primary concerns that she’d blow a knee mid match and just keep right on going like a plane that had overshot the runway.

The senior doctor was studying the photos on the monitor of her old ACL injury, “I can see a minimal amount of overstress in the area towards the top, but with rest she’ll be fine.”

“Her torso has some bruising but nothing serious,” said the female doctor. “The rotator cuffs look to be functioning properly with minimal stress levels.”

Celeste did consider herself lucky to have been born to such an overbearing family. Mikayla Romanov had been an OCD hypochondriac with such vibrant and wild paranoia that it was like she was handpicked by fate to become her mother. Celeste was in firm belief that her own paranoia developed from the almost telepathic vibes emanating from Mikayla whenever her daughter did any kind of physical activity. Without her growing up Celeste knew exactly where she’d be… either dead, or crippled for the rest of her life.

The older doctor turned and addressed her, “Your joints and ligaments look healthy, but I’m concerned about your old injury with the ACL-”

“Try to get as much rest as you can,” he said. “And avoid any unnecessary physicality for the next few days.”

“Are we done here?” she asked getting down from the gurney.

The senior doctor shook his head and stopped her, “No, there was another breakthrough regarding the therapy. We have a new medication that we would like to try.”

Celeste raised an eyebrow, “It better not be naloxone. I used to receive regular injections years ago but my condition is resistant to the effects.”

“This is actually a variation of naloxone,” the doctor replied as he pulled out a briefcase.

“It doesn’t have a name yet.”

The type of HSAN-CIP that she carried was so rare that there were only 35 confirmed cases in the entire nation. And aside from another girl that years ago had her own reality show, she was one of the few that were widely known to the media. Celeste eyed the doctor unconvincingly as he removed a vial from the briefcase and filled a syringe.

“So you want to use me as a guinea pig?”

“Think of yourself as test subject. We’ve already distributed the medication to four others; you were chosen as subject number five due to your active lifestyle,” he replied mundanely.

He cleaned her shoulder and stuck the needle into her arm with one swift motion. Celeste looked on as if nothing had happened.

“So what makes this medication different from the normal naloxone?” she asked.

“It’s more aggressive; to explain the effects in layman’s terms the medicine should be able to jump start the manufacture of the proteins that promote healthy neuron growth. With any luck you should be able to feel small amounts of pain.”

Celeste sat in silence and placed her hand in front of her face. She wiggled her fingers back and forth, and got off the gurney.

“How long will it take for the medicine to take affect?”

“You should be able to feel the effects right away,” he responded. Celeste frowned as the female doctor tested her by tapping her elbow with a reflex hammer.

“Do you feel anything?” she asked.

Celeste lowered her arm and walked up to the mirror in front of the sink. She studied her reflection as her eyes darted back and forth. She could sense something click within her body as she harnessed the power of the medication; the surreal feeling traveling all the way up to her brain. She suddenly felt liberated, as if she overdosed and was pulled back from the brink of death. Without warning she thrust her fist forward and punched the mirror as hard as she could; the doctors could only look on in horror as the glass shattered.

“Nope,” Celeste responded as she drew her arm back.

Her fist was covered in shards and was bleeding profusely. The female doctor sprinted to get a towel while the senior doctor reprimanded her furiously. Celeste could only stare forward, not even bothering to look as the heavyset doctor dressed her wounds and wrapped her arm in a bandage and medical tape. Staring forward, she couldn’t hide the cocky grin that plastered her face.

*Two Weeks Later*​

Celeste had been taking the experimental medication for two weeks now. The sensations that it caused were so uplifting that she suddenly felt grandiose. She pulled her rental motorcycle into the VIP section of the parking lot and killed the engine. Even though it was early in morning on the night of Ascension the different technician crews were already hard at work trying to get everything ready. Celeste walked through the front entrance and rode the elevator to the second level of the structure to the executive offices. The main hallway was so wide that it encompassed the entirety of the floor; the double plane windows located along the corridor allowed the viewer to look down into the arena below. Celeste could see the ring crew and the pyro technicians scurrying about on the floor below. She turned and walked towards the executive offices located on the side. She knocked on the door with a sign that read “GM”, turned the knob, and walked inside.

Inside Meltdown General Manager Big Dave sat at his desk going through some documents; looking up he’s greeted by an uncharacteristically bold look on the face of his long time acquaintance.

“This is a surprise,” he said.

“From the looks of things it’s not like you’ve been doing much of anything either.”

“Not to be rude to an old acquaintance but I’m kind of busy here-”

“Right, right” she said cutting him off.

She crossed her legs as Big Dave leaned back in his chair. The tension in the room could be felt as it resonated through the room, bouncing of the beige colored walls. Her heterochromic eyes narrowed has her gaze met his.

“Arashi left the company some days ago, but I don’t particularly feel bad about his departure as it was his decision to make, but it leaves me without anything to do.”

Big Dave nodded in agreement, “Indeed; while his departure was premature, it does present us with a bit of a crisis-”

“What about Sam Smith or Matt Tastic?” she asked.

She felt like she owed Smith from a couple of weeks back, and Tastic was a great performer; a perfect punching bag to enable her to alleviate some of her new found aggression. She watched as the General Manager leaned back in his chair contemplating his decision on where her future would go. Here was a woman that for years now had been booked as a main event competitor and didn’t have a single title to her name; the same woman that defeated his tag partner Ace David years ago while the two of them looked unstoppable. The fact that Chuck Miles and Vance Bateman refused to grant her opportunities was a mistake that had to be rectified. He noticed that fire in her eyes again; that was the Celeste that he wanted to see, the ass kicker and not the babysitter.

He smiled and leaned forward, “I’m going to give you an opportunity Celeste to show us all how diligent you can be. Your next opponent will be Steven Holmes.”

Celeste raised an eyebrow, “Steven Holmes?”

“Are you surprised? This is what you wanted right? An opportunity-”

Celeste rose from her chair like lightning and bolted across the room so quickly that Dave could barely react. Looming over the larger man, Dave could see the intensity behind her stare.

“An opportunity to fight your biggest rival and one of the most maniacal competitors that this company has ever seen?” She pointed her finger towards him as she emphasized each word.

“This isn’t an opportunity Dave; this is fate.”

She inched a little closer to him and Dave could feel a bead of sweat roll down the side of his face. He’d like to have thought that his excitement stemmed from the passion he felt from his past time rival and not the fact that the cleavage of her ample breasts was now right in front of him. Without warning she slammed her fist into his mahogany desk with such force he swore he could see cracks in the surface.

“I will show everyone that has doubted me since SHIT beat me at Redemption that I have not lost my touch, and I deserve every bit of praise that places me in the upper echelon of this company,” Celeste said looking Dave straight into the eyes.

“This week on Ascension I will not only defeat Steven Holmes but I will deliver to you, the person that he despises the most in this world, his pride on a silver platter.”

She finished with a cute, but eerie looking smile that made her seemed almost as deranged as Ty Burna after taking a black mamba bite to the face. He actually felt a second bead of sweet roll down his face as she moved away from the table and left his office. He was left with the image of this beautiful smiling monster about as alien from
the person she had been not one week before. What the Hell happened?

*Later That Evening*​

The night of Ascension was now in full swing as hoards of fans piled into the arena to show that despite the failing economy their love of pro wrestling could not be wavered. Jonny Klamor stood by the giant white wall of the production room adjacent to the arena. There was a large flat screen television hanging on the wall behind him with the WZCW logo on it. He heard footsteps coming closer and closer so he quickly straightened his multicolored pin stripe tie and smoothed his gold colored jacket. A figure appeared behind the corner as Klamor raised an eyebrow. Gone was her usual casual demeanor, this Celeste looked to be driven by some force that he couldn’t quite pinpoint. It wasn’t anger, nor was it determination. She took a step forward and stopped right in front of him; she wore a bemusing smile on her face.

“Ladies and gentlemen, fans of the WZCW universe, Jonny Klamor here with Celeste Crimson,” he said as he trust the microphone at her.

“Celeste?”

Klamor looked a little flustered when the blond didn’t respond. Normally she had the common curtsey to acknowledge the interviewers given her friendships with Stacey Madison and Becky Serra. Instead she just continued to stare at him with predatory eyes. He immediately changed course and began firing off questions.

“I think the biggest question on the minds of all the fans and the guys backstage is what do you plan to now that Arashi is gone?”

“It was his choice to leave,” she said nonchalantly. “Regardless of how he must have felt about having me for a mentor I really couldn’t care less. I’m not a babysitter. I get to go on to newer and better things now; I can do whatever I want!”

She turned an flashed him a maniacal smile that hid that must of hid an ocean of pent up frustration, “I recently rekindled my love for fighting; the feeling of bliss that I get from pounding my fist into my opponents face is indescribable.”

“It’s clear that you’ve been recently frustrated due to your lack of equal opportunity; how could it possibly be fair that a competitor of your caliber has yet to even get a shot at even the mid card titles?”

She continued to smile as she spoke into the microphone, “You’ve gotten me all wrong Jonny; I’m not frustrated at all. Everywhere I’ve been the last two weeks my friends have been asking me about this change.”

She waved her finger at the camera as she addressed the audience, “This isn’t about defending love, nor is it fueled by hate. I merely found my love for fighting again. My old intensity fueled by the fires of chaos then molded into shape crafted by the rigidness of order. I find myself in limbo torn between my desires. What I want now is to have fun.”

“And what exactly is fun for you, Celeste?” he asked.

“Beating my opponents senseless of course,” she answered like it was obvious. “I don’t care about punishing the wicked or defending the weak, and I shouldn’t have to because that’s not who I am.”

“There are only two things that I care about now,” she explained holding up a finger. “The first are my friends and my fans; the ones that stood by me and remained loyal to me. No matter where this train may go, I’ll never be derailed from the track they laid for me.”

She held up a second finger, “The second is furthering my own ambitions. But those dear Jonny Klamor will be answered in due time-”

He opened his mouth to speak but she cut him off, “But don’t get me wrong; there are a select few whom I do want to punish, and if our paths cross I will take great pleasure in taking them out.”

The smile had never left her face; to Klamor she reminded him of a doll, never showing its true feelings even after being mistreated or neglected.

“Your opponent this week, Steven Holmes, is he one of the people that you want to take out?”

She laughed, “I’ve had a week to think about my encounter with Steven Holmes. Before I would have been resigned to take him out just on principle; he’s become a madman.”

She frowned for half a second, before smiling once more. “Now I don’t care what happens. Steven Holmes obviously has something that he needs to prove, if he were to lose I wonder if it would destroy him.”

She turned and glared into the camera and grinned cockily, “How’s it going to feel Steven when I deliver your demolished pride on a platter to Big Dave? How’s it going to feel to have your most hated enemy laughing at you?”

She grabbed the microphone away from Klamor who resisted until Celeste shot him a death glare. She smiled as she paced slightly, “People laugh at you Steven everywhere you go; why? Because no matter how hard you try you can’t escape the fact that deep down you still view yourself as Doug Crashin’s lap dog.”

She began to pace a little faster, “How can the fans take you seriously when you can’t even take yourself seriously? Just this once Steven why don’t you drop your restraints; I’ve been beaten before, but I’ve also beaten many, many others. This idea that you have to bring about a chaotic utopia in order for you to find inner peace is sad and pathetic. Ty Burna tried to do the same thing and he’s gone now; destroyed by the darkness he tried to unleash on others-”

She began talking a little faster and more aggressively, “That’s what you want me to do isn’t Steven? Defeat you so that you can be reviled by you own lack of self worth. Should I destroy all that you’ve attempted to build so that your own dreams fade away like dust? If not then fight me Steven! Show me that your existence matters!”

She calmed down and began speaking almost in hushed tones, “I’ve already accepted my existence, and whether or not I ever win a title doesn’t matter anymore. I can see that I am a legend in this company because I push people beyond their limitations. That is my legacy, what’s yours? To be forever remembered as Doug Crashin’s lackey first, a failed avatar of destruction and mayhem second, and title holder third.”

She shook her head and kept right on smiling, “No matter what Steven Holmes, just remember that you are a loser and you will always be a loser for following what other people feel should be your ambition instead of your own.”

She handed the microphone back to Jonny Klamor who looked a little loss for words. She explained that the biggest problem that she had in 2009 was that she couldn’t connect with people on a personal level. Her friendships with Sandy, Steven Kurtesy, Stacy, and Becky allowed her to feel their emotions in the absence of not being able to feel physical pain.

Walking away she left him with one last piece of information, “I feel like if I continue smiling I can cause as much destruction as I want, because I won’t let anyone get the best of me ever again.”