vol ii, chapter 2 : hell and consequences

[Brenna Gordon]

♫

"Really, you need to let a trainer--"

"Get the fuck out of my way." That warning wasn't so much spoken as it was snarled as Brenna Gordon stalked right past the trainer's assistant, not even favoring the poor man with a sidelong glance. Perhaps on some level, she knew that the guy was just trying to do his job--that her adrenaline would eventually run out, allowing all of her injuries to catch up to her--but that bit of sense was lost to her, swallowed up by the tides of her fury at its absolute peak. Seromine sticking his nose where it didn't belong after her match against Kelli Star once upon a time had pissed her off but good... but even the cult-leader-turned-mama's-boy had at least been wise enough not to meddle directly in the match itself, choosing after the bell had rung and Brenna's hand raised in victory to make his move. PCW's Best Tag Team of Cheaters had directly robbed her of her chance at winning the Deadly Rumble... and Gerard Angelo hadn't just taken advantage of the attack, but he was probably in on it all along. That trio of arrogant, conniving, cowardly sons of bitches were probably still out there, strutting around like peacocks--but that was fine.

That was perfect, actually.

The need to thump their chests and act like they accomplished something beyond proving to the world how incompetent they were... well, that meant they'd still be out there when she went back down that ramp with whatever weapon she could get her hands on. And once she hit the ring, she'd teach all of them what being the Queen of the Underground truly meant. As dour of a mood as the Hangtown Horror was bound to be, he'd surely lend her his trusty shovel if it meant burying three sentient piles of shit to where they could become fertilizer and actually do some good. Such assumed that they wouldn't poison the crop, but that was a risk she was willing to take--

Her shoulder clipped off of something--or rather, someone--that was resilient enough to make her stumble to a stop. Whirling around on her heel, too-large eyes clapped upon the features of Justin 'Stormm' Michaels--but before she could say a word?

"Oh, hey, whoa, watch... Yeah, you gotta watch where... you're... going. Can I, can I help you?" The newly crowding World Champion questioned, caught off guard and a little confused as he and his family made their way for the exit. It was a good thing that his family was with him, as it turned out, because the feeling of young eyes upon her had her sucking in her breath through her teeth. She knew all too well how it felt to be a child on the receiving end of an outburst they had done nothing to deserve.

"Unless you're willing to help me go out there and dismantle the trio of hyenas laughing it up in the ring, then no." Brenna's tone was still sharp as she glared up at Stormm, the maelstrom of her anger all too clear in the darkness of her gaze. "But then again, why would you care about anyone else getting screwed over? So long as your business is handled, you don't give a damn about anyone else's."

Lowering the World title belt from his shoulder, down to his side, and lowering his now squinted gaze, Lindsay tugged at his free arm to suggest that he leave well enough alone... but Brenna's obviously struck a nerve, and that wasn't something that the Force of Nature was about to take lying down, not after the Hell he went through to finally reclaim the top of the mountain for himself.

"After everything I've been through over the years to get to this moment with nobody else giving a damn about me, and this is the battle you are choosing right now? It's not like you've made many friends around here over the years either." The Force of Nature's tone was matter-of-fact... but there was an undercurrent of something else to his words, something she would only later be able to place as sympathy. That made what he said next all the worse. Condescension, she could've handled--but empathy? From him? Stormm sighed. "Now listen, everyone hates losing, but sometimes you need to learn to pick your battles, and my battle with them is coming."

Brenna opened her mouth to speak, but the champ cut her off--not wholly unkindly, but firmly, leaving no room to speak of for argument. "But for the time being, I'm going to enjoy what I've accomplished tonight with my family, and not force them to scrape me off of the floor by rushing into a losing battle."

Silence reigned as she set her jaw firmly, stepping right up into his personal space--and despite their height difference? The all-consuming ire that flooded her veins and set them ablaze made them seem as if they were on the same level in a way, even if Stormm was clearly on the high ground in multiple ways. That realization would sting, considering her opinion on the man not necessarily being the greatest... but that wouldn't hit her until later, when there was room for sense. Still, though, her wounded pride was incapable of letting him have the last word, of allowing him to scold her as if she were a child when he'd committed his own crimes in the past.

"Coward." That single word was all but spat into his face before Brenna shoved her way past, rocking the Force of Nature to one side to force him to yield and grant her passage. Ignoring how he and his glared after her, she who was Born of Myth stormed her way toward ringside--her search for a weapon forgotten in favor of deciding to just rip her way through the lot of them with her bare hands. Of course, that moment of absolution would be denied of her... leaving those emotions with nowhere to go and nothing to but to fester.

To infect.

And, when the time was right... to explode all over those who had wronged her.

---

Hello again, PCW.

I know, I know... back to the blog again after you actually appeared on camera a couple shows ago? Sorry to disappoint you, but I'll be honest--I did try to record another promotional video, I swear. I got the camera out, set it up on the desk of the hotel room I was in, set the timer so it wouldn't start recording, and I tried to address my opponents. Hell, I tried a good half dozen times before giving up because I was doing nothing but cursing my head off at the trio of cowards that I'm facing on the next episode of Trauma. Was it satisfying to call them every insult I know both in English and in my mother tongue? Absolutely. Was it productive?

No, not really.

I mean, even though it took all three of them to eliminate a woman that's a lot smaller and lighter than they are--a woman who eliminated two of them on her own before they decided they had to gang up on me to get anything done, by the way!--it's obvious that they're dangerous men. And so what if I beat the third of them in one-on-one competition the Trauma before? They're unhinged! They're insane! They're ultraviolent and super duper terrifying and...

...and...

...and I can't keep the facade of being scared of PCW's equivalent of the Three Stooges going anymore.

It's a good thing I'm typing this instead of writing it out by hand. You wouldn't be able to read a word of this, as hard as I've been laughing. I mean, I thought that the whole blood showers and creepy knock-off Disney mascot get-ups and all that other shit Seromine pulled in the name of trying to make it seem like he had magic powers was laughable--you guys make him look credible, and that's saying something! But then again, none of you were around for any of that... so you don't know that it's gonna take more than one three-on-one attack to intimidate me. Hell, there's not a single solitary thing that you can do that'll make me hesitate to kick all of your asses anywhere, any time, any match--but then again, thinking about it?

I'm not the one that should be scared here. Oh, no.

All three of you should terrified that the truth's out in the open where everyone can see it now.

'And what is that truth that they're so scared of, Brenna?' you're probably asking. Well actually, I know my readers aren't asking that since they already know... but let's go ahead and explain things so that David, Holden, and Gerard can follow along. You three will just have to imagine that I'm writing this in crayon so you can understand. By needing to stack the deck so high in order to get a win, you've made it blatantly obvious that you can't win on your own. That's the same truth that's been laid bare with all the sneak attacks, all the desperate attempts to puff yourselves up and talk like you're kings and champions when all the more you are is scared to stand on your own two feet. And sure, in a tag match, you technically don't have to stand on your own... but I just want you all to answer a simple question for me.

If it took all three of you to take down little ol' me, then how in the fuck do you expect to win when the numbers advantage that you needed isn't there anymore?

Stormm's more than a little bit of a self-centered asshole and Rick's still got a lot of ground to make up before I'll consider his debt to me paid, but they've forgotten more than all three of you will ever know about professional wrestling--and as it turns out, they've got their own axes to grind when it comes to you bastards. As much as I dislike tag matches, I can deal with it in this case for one simple reason; the enemy of my enemy is my friend. And after Trauma, no matter how thick your skulls actually wind up being, we will beat some sense into you. And even if you prove to be too dense to understand much after you've scraped yourselves off of the canvas, well, at least you'll learn one thing for sure. You should've chosen someone else to rob, because we'll only accept pounds of flesh as compensation. And if it winds up that we don't leave much behind, well...

That's your own fault for picking fights you can't win on your own.