Hungry Like the Wolf

Her breath fogged in the chill night air, a vapor cloud dissipating on an errant puff of breeze. Orange flare at the end of a thick blunt as Bonnie Blue inhaled a soothing lungful of Nova's latest offering; it tasted of sage with hints of ginger, lifted her spirits and eased the looming specter of Killing Floor in her mind. Days away, yet, and still there was Hellimination.

How could they manage it? Representing their company as a cohesive unit with the tantalizing promise of gold dangling over their heads. How could they forge a bond to withstand the powers WCF would throw at them, then break those same bonds twenty-four hours later?

Better question -- why am I not leading this team? Spencer shoved me aside at Civil War, making me take a backseat to Kevin Bishop, and he's doing it again, now. I have to play second fiddle to Pestilence and Death. Although that makes me War, an' I reckon I can live with that. Point is, though, I alone have proven myself a true leader.

Where's Kevin's little cult these days? Scattered to the winds. No Brotherhood. No cult for the man who would be king. And Z? Respect, but he's no leader. He ain't even a team player. How long did zWo last? Oh, yeah... right up until me an' Alex took them tag title belts off 'em. Then Kaz Mazy did what a Kazmonstuh does best -- he slunk back to Monster Island and into the comforting arms of his lady-love. Because I guess ol' Z couldn't be bothered to inspire his partner into takin' a rematch with us. One massive humiliation was enough, I suppose.

Maybe I should learn from that example. WCF has humiliated me over an' over again, an' if I ran away with my tail tucked between my legs every time -- well, I wouldn't be facin' a team of the Dub's most elite warriors...

A warmth bubbled up from her chest and burst out in a giggle at the idea of "elite warriors" and the Dub in the same sentence. Bonnie took another draw at the blunt in her fingers and looked up to stars sparkling in the clear, dark sky.

Whatever. The point is, of all the teams to have come and gone in this organization, only the Guardians remain, stronger than ever. Under my leadership. These guys couldn't lead a conga line; it should have been me. Ain't neither of them smart enough to match wits with Rabid -- maybe I'm not, either, but I've got experience on my side and I know what to expect. Honestly, it's pretty easy. Think of the most douchey thing you can -- also a strong point for both Bishop and ZMAC -- multiply it by about a thousand, and that'll give you an accurate idea what kind of underhanded bullshit that bastard will come up with.

.... so why the fuck do I want to earn his respect so badly?

Doesn't matter. Never will. Can't think about that.

.... but what if I took a dive? WCF always treats me like enhancement talent anyway.

Yeah, that worked at Trios, didn't it? Stood back to let Pathe-yawn win, because I promised Rabid I wouldn't get in his way, and what did it get me? A pat on the head and temporary inclusion in #beachkrew. And I had to pretend I was grateful for the "opportunity." Didn't stop Lerch from jobbing me out to some nobody who quit two weeks later.

Who even gives a shit, anyway? We're gonna walk in and lay waste to team WCF, 'cause that's how UCI do. And the next night, we gonna do it to each other; but until then, come what may -- much as it might hurt my pride -- I'm backing my boys in that godforsaken WCF ring. Gonna be a real awkward victory celebration after, though.

Another long drag on the blunt. Bonnie paused to listen to the nighttime sounds: gentle lapping of water against the lakeshore, rustling in the underbrush, soft whisper of an owl's wing as it took flight from the treeline. The young blonde let out a contented sigh as she let the peaceful evening wash away some of the tension she'd been feeling since Sunday night.

Fuck WCF anyway, she thought to herself. Bunch of second-rate hacks who can't stand legit competition. Hide behind their keyboards and throw shade all day long, but what happens when UCI shows up to answer the constant spew of insults? That's right. They sacrifice some random jobber while the rest of them hide behind security, and John Rabid gets to shed crocodile tears for a man he set up to fail; foster the illusion he's some kinda "hero" now. Adrian Archer all over again. It would be funny if it weren't so thoroughly pathetic.

I am so done with that place. I know where I belong, and WCF ain't it. Never was. UCI is the present and the future. And Bonnie Blue is UCI. My name in the main event means a sold-out show. I've held the top three belts in this company -- I'm a triple-crown winner -- I beat ZMAC for my third tag title reign; the only person in United Championship Infinite history to hold tag team gold that many times, with my partner right behind me at two. No one else can make that claim.

Only man on the roster comes close is Zombie McMorris. I like to tell folks I'm the most decorated wrestler in UCI, but between me and him, it's probably fifty-fifty. He got that Grand Slam -- but once I take the World Title off him at Kiling Floor, I'll be a two-time Triple Crown winner; the only two-time Triple Crown winner. Alex gonna have to catch up.

Soft, pink lips curved in a warm smile, imagination building a scenario where Richards finally gets his hands on Sam Kidsgrove and takes that Intercontinental Title back home to the UCI -- and the Guardians -- where it belongs. But slowly, the smile faded, as the Time Witch realized that he, too, would be challenging her for that World Title; and for a shot at Andre. What she'd said back at the cabin notwithstanding, Bonnie didn't expect her fellow Guardians to bypass an opportunity to strike back. If Preecha or Alex got to him first, Bonnie wouldn't be terribly disappointed; the lure of gold, it had gotten into her blood. Being a champion was part of who she was.

And Alex, too, she reminded herself. He was World Champ before me. But I led us to tag team supremacy. I know the last time we met in opposition didn't end so well for me -- because he was right: I held back. I saw him as a friend first, an opponent second. That was a long time ago, and I know better now. My time with #beachkrew, short-lived as it was, wasn't wasted. There were lessons I learned, things I hesitated to put into practice; things that will avail me well at Hellimination, and better at Killing Floor. Yet there's a line I won't cross when it comes to my fellow Guardians.

I know Alex so well -- and vice-versa -- our connection as a tag team is almost telepathic. Maybe it is, I don't know. Either way, the challenge this time is being able to surprise him. What I'm sure of is that he won't hold back. He didn't last time, and he sure as hell won't now, with that World Championship on the line. That means I can't, either.

Much as I hate to admit it, Rabid's dumb allegory about the Serpent and the Wolf -- I'd always heard it as a frog and a scorpion, but the moral of the story is the same: "You knew what I was when you picked me up." -- yeah, it's not entirely inapt. And he's not the only one making the same allusions. Apex predator known for fierce loyalty to her pack; savagery when any of her own are threatened... yeah, that sounds right.

Smoke again filled her lungs. Bonnie dropped the smoldering remnant of the blunt, grinding the embers beneath the sole of a Timberland boot. Shivering, she pulled her Guardians hoodie closer around her shoulders and released her toke to the night. This was as good a time as any, she figured, and so Bonnie slipped her phone from her pocket and held it at arm's length as she switched it to video and began recording.


{Bonnie Blue} Here we are once again, my friends, on the cusp of the most divisive event of sports entertainment history; and then Killin' Floor right after that. I ain't here to talk about that joke of a wrestlin' promotion. I ain't here to hype a match everyone already knows is gonna be the event of the century. Nah. Tonight, my focus is Killin' Floor an' that World Heavyweight Championship ol' Z got strapped around his waist.

The World Championship that belongs around my waist.

I elevated that belt higher than Kevin Bishop ever did; an' now ZMAC is draggin' it down to his level, with his Blood-an'-Soil Jew manager. It don't make no sense, but I guess it don't gotta. It's Zombie McMorris we're talkin' about, an' the less sense he makes, the better folks seem to love it.

That's 'cause they're idiots, but whatever. The Z-Nation is one of those fandoms where the fans don't actually understand the thing -- they understand only that it's a trend, that it's popular and they better jump on it, repeatin' catchphrases like autistic parrots until the words no longer have meanin'; assumin' they ever did to begin with. Which they don't. They're the confused ramblings of a dying brain. Random impulses without conscious thought. An' that is Zombie McMorris in a nutshell.

That's why Seth Lerch never let him near the Dub's top prize. Because in the long run, he's a fuckin' idiot. Just an idiot that's real hard to kill. At the same time -- an' probably thanks to the fact that he's got someone lookin' out for his interests, however dubious Buddy's intentions may be -- he's just smart enough to never step to me one on one. Just like Rabid won't. And for the same reasons.


{Bonnie Blue} Little jumpy tonight. So close to Halloween. Two huge matches looming, one right after the other. An' this settin' -- might be perfect for a man like Kevin Bishop, the ultimate Jason Slasher fan -- to the point where he let the man fuck his wife. But me? Well, I prefer my campin' trips with a hundred percent less serial killers. I mean, Oblivion's runnin' around here somewhere, an' Godnilla knows what all else. There's monsters where you least expect 'em, y'know?

Some are born that way.

Others are shaped by cruel circumstance; or crueler hands.

And some people willingly allow themselves to be possessed by an insane death-god. That's what it took for you to beat me, Kevin, and even then -- the Creeping Plague had to try three times before he got it right. Three, Kevin! That's takin' into consideration the fact that you both have a score to settle with me. I've eluded the icy grasp of Creepin' Death so far. What makes you think Killin' Floor gonna be any diff'rent? 'Cause you beat me once? One time -- out of how many? Four? Five? And what do you do with your second Championship run but immediately turn around, drop your pants, an' bend over for Ol' Z. Which makes the task of regainin' it all the more difficult for me.

But impossible for the rest of y'all.


{Bonnie Blue} Children of the night... heh. Kinda makes ya wonder what they're trackin'.


{Bonnie Blue} Y'know, Alex always said my weakness lay in how I ain't wilin' to go all out on my friends in the ring. When we're trainin', sure. We go at it hard as we can. But it's true -- traditionally, when I get in the ring with a fellow Guardian, I have held back. That weakness, though... I don't suffer from it any longer. This ain't gonna be like last time, Alex.

I've become a Triple-Crown champion since the last time you an' me stood across from each other in that ring. And you could make the same claim -- if you hadn't dropped the ball against Kidsgrove. A fuckin' actor! Not even half as evil as Evil Paul Rudd -- or as talented! If we're bein' brutally honest, here, Alex... you let that asshole take off with UCI property.

No, worse than that -- Guardians property! That Intercontinental belt has been in Guardian hands longer than any individual's! And of the two of us who've held it, I'm the one who made it mean somethin'. I'm the one who made it worth fighting for! Bonnie Blue, the girl who choked at big matches like a prettier, less psychotic David Sanchez! I took that Intercontinental strap to unimagined heights, until it was the prize everyone wanted even above the World Title! You had the opportunity to reclaim it, to restore the rightful lustre to that title.... and you let me down.

Now Kidsgrove is runnin' around, trashin' my legacy by whorin' the United Championship Infinite Intercontinental Title out to the highest bidder. An' if you'd let a man like Sam Kidsgrove take advantage of you the way he did, are you really prepared to be World Champion again?

I mean, Alex, I love ya like a brother -- although we both were that inevitably leads -- but maybe you need to let me handle this one. We're good as tag champs. Hell, we're the best there ever were. Why you wanna mess that up tryin' to focus on that World Title? Right now, anyway. Your day is coming, I promise you that. The spotlight is gonna be yours for the takin'. Soon. Just not today. Let's knock a little more of that ring rust off, make you really shine -- so when it's your turn, you can dominate in the way only a true Guardian can.

Not like that traitor, Andre Holmes.

No, no... this ain't about him. This ain't about you, either, Alex. Ain't about Preecha, neither. Andre may have been my closest friend, but Preecha was the first. So you understand I mean no offense when I say this -- but you're facin' he same problem as Alex. Y'all both been outta action for a while, Preecha, and I can tell by your form how lax your discipline has become. Lazy. Sloppy. I know you been steppin' it up lately, too. But is it enough? Ain't just me an' Alex to contend with. Not just Z an' Bishop. There's Celeste Mallory, who managed to hold onto the World Title for one whole month. Ok, bad example.

Corey Bull, on the other hand... Well, he's just an updated version of Oblivion, ain't he? Physically imposing? Check. Raging psychotic with delusions of grandeur? Check. Wears a mask to be even more scarier? Czech. Oh, and the entourage. Because every antisocial psychotic should have a faithful following. That about sum it up, Corey?

Oh, I know, baby. Bad things happened in your life. That's always the excuse, ain't it? Blame it on past trauma. Well, that, and the obvious fact that it runs in your family. So bad genes and childhood trauma.

Wait, no, that ain't it either. 'Cause you ain't just a psychotic killin' machine. You do it in the name of everythin' Holy -- you're God's own spirit of vengeance. You're the Spectre, and that's the host you've chosen. Maybe judgment ain't really your strongest quality. Might be time to rethink that career choice. Other people might laugh it off, downplay your claims of bein' a millenia-old spiritual entity, outright no-sell the whole idea. Not me, bruh. I've broken into Hell itself to steal from the Devil; I've encountered aliens an' angels an' every damned thing between; I'm in love with a god and I am the Daughter of Time.

No, I won't do you the disservice of denyin' who you are, Bull. But see, I still gotta bone to pick with you. You remember Bolas, don't ya? Disappeared not too long after me an' him had that little -- well, I'm sure it was a big deal to him -- World Title match. An' you're the one who coached him, trained him, helped him prepare. You're the one who put him up to invadin' my innermost, private thoughts. Advised him to go ahead an' let loose the demons I keep locked inside.

And maybe... just maybe... that was the right call.



{Bonnie Blue} Maybe it's time to remove the sheep's clothing, once an' for all.