Tuesday February 9, 1999
Thompson Auto- Main Garage
Indianapolis, Indiana
2:51 PM Local Time
“YO, TERRENCE!”
Terrence Thompson looked up from the Buick he was working on and turned to regard his uncle, who was strolling across the floor, a clipboard in his hand. Wiping his hands on a nearby rag, the nineteen year old turned to regard the man who had been his guardian for the past fourteen years. “Steve.”
The middle aged man was heavy set, with bushy salt and pepper hair and a full beard, making him look every bit as gruff as Terrence knew him to be. He glanced at his nephew, then to the Buick. “Any ideas?”
“Not really. I checked the belts and the pistons... he said there was a squeaking?”
“That’s what he said,” Steve replied, shaking his head. “I don’t know. Jerry’s brought that damn thing in... what? Six times the past year? If there’s such a thing as a car hypochondriac, he’d be one. Maybe the squeakings in his ear.”
Terrence shrugged. “I can check the belts again,”
“Nah,” Steve said. “You need to do a quickie first. Tire change on a nine eleven out front.”
“Tire change?” Terrence sighed. “Can’t Phil do it? Or you?”
“Christ, Terrence. You gotta argue about every goddamn thing I ask you to do? If you weren’t my nephew...”
“Yeah, I know. Ass out the door in the gutter,” Terrence mumbled, then sighed. “Alright, I’ll go change the tire. Factory spec?”
“Yeah.” Steve replied. “We should have a good one back there. I’ll take another look at this, see if you missed something or if Jerry’s just an idiot.”
Terrence nodded, .and turned away, heading towards the large room that contained the parts the mechanic shop held. He made a quick check on a reference chart hanging from the wall, then began combing the racks of tires that sat waiting to be used, grumbling to himself all the while.
It wasn’t that he hated working at the garage. Normally, he enjoyed it, despite the fact that his uncle could be an unappreciative asshole who rode him like a race horse. Terrence enjoyed the problem solving aspect of fixing cars, and the rewarding feeling that came when a difficult fix was made. And he loved cars, had always since he was a kid, apparently before his mechanic uncle had taken him in following his parent’s deaths (ironically, in a car crash). And Steve was a great teacher for all things mechanical, even if not the most nurturing father figure one could have.
But dammit all to hell, every menial task that came up in this garage went to him. Tire changes, oil changes. Filter replacements. He supposed it was natural- he was by far the youngest and most inexperienced mechanic in the garage, and thus the bottom of the totem pole. But still, it seemed that Steve went out of the way to make sure that the boring crap fell to his nephew.
“Let’s get this over with,” Terrence mumbled, grabbing the appropriate tire, and beginning to roll it out of the stock room, heading for the office to go out to the front of the building. He glanced forlornly at the Buick his uncle had taken over, which was now running.
“Terry!”
Terrence looked up at his uncles voice, and saw his uncle leaning against the car.
“Do YOU hear any squeaking?”
“Nope. I didn’t the first time I ran it either.”
‘God DAMMIT Jerry,” Steve grumbled, looking up at the sky, as if expecting the heavens themselves to bring a solution to his problemless problem.
Terrence chuckled, and continued rolling the tire out. For all that his uncle was gruff, Terrence had to admit he loved the man. Steve had done his best with him, Terrence could tell that. Just as he could tell that his uncle did value his presence in the garage, even if he did tend to pile on the menial tasks.
“About time,” A middle aged brunette woman scoffed in an Irish accent as Terrence rolled the tire outside. “We’re in a hurry.”
“Sorry, ma’am,” Terrence replied, in his best customer service voice. “Just had to get a few thi.....ings....”
His voice trailed off as he looked up at the woman. For being in her forties, she was attractive enough, but standing next to her, looking on silently, was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. She had long, flowing flame-colored hair, a small, pale face with freckles, and the greenest eyes Terrence had ever seen. He wondered if she was a dance, the way she seemed to have a certain sense of grace about her. He found he couldn’t take his eyes off of her.
“I said we were in a hurry!” snapped the older Irishwoman, drawing Terrence back to reality. He cringed at his faux pas, and grinned sheepishly.
“Sorry. Just... well, I’ll take a look at this and get it redhead- I mean replaced- for you in a jiffy.”
His face burning, Terrence quickly rolled the tire to the side of the car, and crouched down, looking at the flat- or rather what was left of it. He let out a low whistle. “Oh, man. Were you driving on this?”
“Yes,” replied the girl, before her mother could respond. Her voice was very soft and melodious, but unlike her mother’s heavy accent, she only carried the faintest trace of one. It sounded exotic, and Terrence felt his blush deepen. “But only for a couple hundred yards.”
“I didn’t ask you to come out and judge me!” The woman snapped. She then turned towards her daughter. “I want to call your father and tell him that we’ve been delayed, but there’s no signal here. I’m going to walk up the street a bit.”
“Oh, you could use the courtesy phone in our office,” Terrence offered helpfully.
“I’m sorry, did I ask you to eavesdrop on our conversation?” the woman snapped. She then turned back to the girl. “I won’t be but a few minutes. Make sure this... um.. ‘gentleman’ doesn’t sully my car with his greasy hands, okay, Wendy?”
“He’s just trying to help,” the girl replied quietly, but if her mother heard her, she gave no indication, briskly walking away. Terrence bit his tongue, and focused on jacking up the car, then setting to removing the tire.
“Sorry about my mom,” the girl replied after the matron had gone. “She’s a bit... demanding sometimes.”
“Oh, no worries, I’ve had worse,” Terrence replied, unscrewing lugnuts. “So, Wendy is it?”
“Yeah,” the girl replied, but gave no other response.
“Nice car, these Nine-Elevens,” Terrence tried another form of conversation. “Fun to drive too, aren’t they?”
“I wouldn’t know. I don’t have a license,” Wendy replied. “Have you driven one?”
“Yup,” Terrence chuckled, happy to have gotten some form of dialogue going with the girl. “Actually, I OWN one.”
Now it was Wendy’s turn to chuckle, and Terrence smirked as he heard the skepticism in her laugh. “You OWN a Porsche.”
“Yup.” Terrence stood up just a second, pointing across the small lot, to where a few other cars were sitting at the far end. “The red one, right down there.”
Sure enough, there was an older 911 sitting at the end. However, any similarities with the coupe he was working on ended at the style and name on the fender. His Porsche had obviously seen better days. The outer body was badly crumpled on one side, and rust was setting in on the paint. Wendy looked at it, then back at him, her smile frozen. “It’s... very... nice.”
“Nah, its a piece of junk” Terrence laughed. “But I should have it fixed up in time for the season opener in April.”
“Season opener?” he wasn’t sure if she was just killing time or genuinely interested, but he certainly hoped whatever, she kept talking. He loved that voice.
“Yeah, I’m gonna run her down at the Speedrome this summer. Stock car racing.”
“Really? You race cars?”
“Yeah,” Terrence replied, finishing loosening the lug nuts, and removing the tire. “Started last year. Ran hornets... those are little four-cylinders. I’m going to try the street stock division this year. You ever watch it?”
“Can’t say I have.” Wendy replied. “Daddy’s watched some Formula One before. But he says the stuff here in America isn’t real racing.”
“It’s real enough. Trust me,” Terrence responded, slightly annoyed. He grabbed the fresh tire but stopped as he looked at the axel. “Ah, shit.” He cringed again. Who swears in front of an angel?
“What is it?” Wendy asked.
Terrence pointed to the wheel well. “Whatever you hit cracked your axle and brake rotor. That’s bad.”
“Oh no. Can you fix it?”
Terrence shook his head, grimacing. “No. We’ll have to replace it. It’ll probably take two days to get a part in, but once we get it, I can have it done in an hour. But you don’t want to drive with that.” He sighed.
“Two days?” Wendy frowned, looking to where her mom had walked off. “She won’t like that.”
“Yeah. Maybe we can get it overnighted, but...” Terrence paused. “Actually... hang on.”
He left Wendy standing by the car, and ran back into the shop. Steve was at the front desk, on the phone, screaming into it.
“THERE’S NO GODDAMNED SQUEAKING, JERRY! GET YOUR EARS CHECKED!”
Frustrated, he slammed down the phone, muttering under his breath, looking up at his nephew. “Took you long enough.”
“It’s gonna take longer,” Terrence replied. “Rotor’s cracked.”
“Damn,” Steve grunted. “We’ll have to order that.”
“No, we don’t. Do you know where we put my stuff? For my car?”
Steve blinked. “Yeah, it’s in the corner of the shop. Wait.. Terrence. You don’t have to do this.”
“You always said Customer service comes first, Steve.” Terrence rebutted. “They need an rotor, I have one.”
“Yeah, but that’s not standard issue, it’s a high performance part. I’m not going to force them to pay the extra, and you can only get reimbursed what they pay.”
“I don’t care. I can run with a stock part, until I win enough to afford another one. Just, hang on.”
Terrence ran into the shop, and ran to a corner, where several boxes sat- the materials he was going to use on his car. He began digging through the boxes, before coming across the rotors. He grabbed one, and ran back to the front of the store.
“Gimme an hour!” Terrence called, bursting out of the shop.
Wendy was still waiting by the car by herself. She blinked in surprise as Terrence returned.
“Had one after all.” Terrence grinned, before kneeling next to the car, and beginning to remove the old rotor.
“That’s amazing.” Wendy said. “You just happened to have a part for a Porsche 911 lying around your store? I didn’t know you worked on these kind of cars here that much. Doesn’t seem like a sports car place.”
Terrence bit his lip, focusing harder on the wheelwell. He didn’t reply.
Wendy pressed. “This was meant for your car, wasn’t it? That’s why you hesitated before...”
“Don’t worry about it,” Terrence said, feeling his face turning red again. How had she caught onto him like this? And shouldn’t he be happy she had, and realized his generosity?
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“At Thompson Auto, customer service comes first.” Terrence intoned. “Besides, I can just order another one.”
“Well, thank you. You probably won’t hear it from my mom, so you might as well hear it from me.”
“Again, it’s nothing,” Terrence replied. He quickly searched for a way to change the subject. “So... what do you do?”
“Me? Oh, I’m still in school. Senior year,” Wendy replied. “And drama club.”
“Oh, an actress, eh? Gonna be famous in Hollywood one day?” Terrence teased.
There was a slight reluctance on the girl’s part, before she spoke softly. “Broadway. But yeah, that’s the plan.”
“Well then, I better get your last name.” Terrence replied, setting the bolts aside. “This way when you become famous, I can go around screaming ‘I fixed her mom’s tire once!’”
Wendy laughed. “It’s Briese.”
Now it was Terrence’s turn to laugh, and he looked up. “Your name is Windy Breeze?”
He had expected her to laugh, or blush, or make some remark. But instead, she seemed somewhat offended at his remark, her jaw setting. “Yeah, it is,” she replied shortly.
“Sorry,” Terrence said quickly, wanting to beat himself to death with the wrench he was holding. “I just wasn’t expecting it.”
“It’s okay,” Wendy replied, sighing. “I suppose I should be used to the jokes by now.”
“Well, it’s a beautiful name.” It suited her too, he thought. The gracefulness she seemed to possess made her feel almost like she could walk on air. But telling her that would be too cheesy. So he remained silent.
She did too, and for a while, the only sound between them was the sound of his wrench working at the remaining bolts on the axle. Finally, he heard her voice again. “How much is this going to cost?”
“Well...” Terrence thought, quickly adding things in his head. “Seventy for the tire... about two hundred for the rotor. Labor’s probably will work out to one seventy. Add in tax, probably four to four fifty.”
“Yeouch. Mom won’t like that.”
“Sorry. Just an estimate. Might be a little lower.” He paused. A plan had just popped into his mind. It was stupid and desperate and cheesy. But what was the worst that could happen? Other than the girl gettin offended, telling her mom, who would then raise a stink and force Steve to give them everything for free, which would be followed by Steve strangling him to death with an air hose.
Totally worth it.
He took a deep breath, and gave a dramatic sigh. “Well, it’s a shame you’re not eligible for a discount.”
“Oh? How do you get a discount?” Wendy asked.
“Oh, you know. We give them to employee’s moms, dads. Siblings. Best friends. Wives.” He pointedly looked up at her. “Girlfriends.”
There was a long pause, and Terrence waited for the storm. It never came, instead, a slow response. “Do.. you want to give me a discount?”
Terrence shrugged. “I wouldn’t mind. I don’t have anyone else to give discounts too. Unless, of course, you’re getting a discount somewhere else.”
“I’m not.” Wendy replied, quickly. “But... I only just met you.”
“Well, I wouldn’t mind meeting you again,” Terrence said, turning back to the rotor.
“You seem like a nice girl. Maybe Sunday Night... dinner, and a movie? There’s some new one out called She’s All That. I heard its pretty good.”
There was a very long pause. “Sunday’s St. Valentine’s Day.” Wendy replied.
“Well, imagine that.” Terrence remarked, as if it made no difference one way or another. “I’ll give you my number when I’m done here. If you say yes, call me. If not, I’m sure there’s a Hoosiers game or something I can watch. No biggie.”
He waited for Wendy’s response, but before it came, he heard the Irish accent of the older woman again. “You’re not done yet?”
“The brake rotor was cracked, mom.” Wendy said quietly. Terrence thought that she seemed more reserved with her mother around. “He’s fixing it.”
“You’re letting him do that? It could be an excuse to leech more money from us!”
“It’s not. I saw it. It was really cracked.” Wendy replied.
“It’s over there if you want to look at it,” Terrence added. “Don’t worry. This shouldn’t take more than another half hour. I’m fast with these things.”
“Fine. If my daughter says you’re not robbing me, I’ll believe her. How much will this cost, by the way?”
Terrence stopped, and turned around. He thought for a second, and looked at Wendy, flashing a wink. “I think once tax is factored in, you’ll be looking at about two hundred fifty dollars.”
Fortunately for him, the woman didn’t notice the wink, or her daughter blushing beet red. “Well, at least your prices are reasonable. I suppose you keep them low to stay competitive with the better repair shops in the city.”
Terrence grinned. “Yup, ma’am. That’s EXACTLY it,” he said, then turned back to replacing the rotor.
=====================================
Wednesday March 28, 2012
City Streets- Terrence Thompson’s Charger
Indianapolis, Indiana
7:10 PM Local Time
“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Wendy Briese sighed as she looked out the window at the buildings passing by.
“It’s not too late.” Terrence replied. “We could always turn around.”
“No.” Wendy sighed. “Pollaski is right. We HAVE to do this. It may mean nothing, it may mean everything. But right now, it’s the only lead we got.”
“Well, it’s certainly nice of the Reese’s to let us do this,” Terrence replied, referring to the family that now owned the old Briese family lot. “We should get them something nice as a thank you.”
“I know,” Wendy said. “Speaking of getting something... I... I wanted you to know.”
Wendy reached into her purse, and gingerly pulled something out. Terrence glanced to the side, and nearly ran the car off the road when he saw what his wife was holding. “Jesus Christ!”
Wendy sighed sadly, and looked down at the Baretta 9mm she was holding, and slid it back inside her. “I got it this morning, after we got back from Toronto. And a permit. I just felt you should know.”
“You really think you’ll need that?” Terrence said, glancing at his wife.
“I hope not. I hope to God I’ll never need it. But... Yuri’s nearly killed Pollaski. What if he came after me? Or you? Or... God forbid... Theresa? I’m not going to let him hurt my family, Terrence.”
“I know. Just... the whole damn thing scares me.”
Wendy nodded. “It terrifies me. I almost called Cody and quit on the spot when I saw Yuri. But...what would that prove? I can’t run and hide from this, no matter how much I want to. I just... there’s just too much going on, Terry.”
“We’re here.” Terrence remarked, pointing to the house.
Wendy looked up at the house, which was a far cry from what she had lived in as a teenager. After the first deal with her father and brother, she had wanted to put the entire thing behind her, destroy the demons and ghosts of the past. The only way to do that, she felt, had been through purifying fire, and in one memorable afternoon, set the house ablaze. After paying off the $10,000 illegal burning fine, and having the rubble cleared away, she had sold the lot to new developers, happy to be rid of the dwelling, and the memories.
If only it had really been so easy.
“Well, time to find out what my father buried.” Wendy said, getting out of the car. Terrence followed suit, popping the trunk, and pulling out several shovels.
The Reese’s were an older couple, retired, but were more than gracious to receive their odd guests. It wasn’t long before the four of them were standing in the backyard, looking at the plot.
Terrence handed Wendy a shovel. “Honors?”
Wendy sighed, whispered “Here goes nothing,” and grabbed the shovel, heading towards the area that had been marked on the map at the rear of the yard. She dug the shovel in, piling the dirt aside, then digging in again. Luckily, the spring ground was soft, and thus easily movable. Terrence sooned joined her, and soon, the two were making good progress on the work.
It was maybe a half hour later that Terrence hit something that seemed to be made of vinyl, maybe three feet down in the hole. The husband and wife, looked at each other, and bent over, clearing off, trying to get the dirt off whatever it was. The Reece’s, who had been watching passively the whole time, keeping Terrence and Wendy company with idle chatter, moved in for a better view too.
“It’s a bag?” Wendy asked.
“Maybe full of money?” Terrence replied, hopeful.
Wendy shot her husband a skeptical look, “I doubt it. Whatever it is, I guess we’re lucky it was still here, and not churned up when they rebuilt the house.
“I can see why it wasn’t,” Terrence said. “We’re far enough away. Come on. Let’s see what it is.”
Together, the two resumed work. Within ten minutes, the bag was unearthed, although heavy to the point that it took both wrestler and auto racer to haul it out of the hole.
“Well, it ain’t money. Whatever in there is solid and heavy.” Terrence remarked. “Open it.”
Wendy nodded, and knelt down, a musty smell coming into her nostrils, forcing her to wrinkle her nose. “Whatever it is, it stinks,” she remarked. Then she unzipped the bag, looking inside.
And screamed, falling away from the bag, and crawling back on her hands, breathing heavily all the while.
“What? What is it?” Terrence asked, concerned. His wife didn’t respond, only sat on the ground, staring wide-eyed at the bag, visibly trembling. Terrence approached the bag himself, and looked inside, fighting down his own revulsion when he saw the mostly-decomposed human skull staring back at him.
“Holy shit...” He gasped, turning to Wendy. “Any idea who this is?”
Wendy shook her head, her eyes wide and easily visible in the fading light. Mrs. Reece was heading back to the house to call the police, while Mr. Reece was continuing to stare at the corpse in the bag. All she could do was tilt her head back, and look up into the evening sky, sighing.
“Oh dad. What have you done?”
============================================
Thursday March 29, 2012
The Nest- Kitchen
Indianapolis, Indiana
2:35 PM Local Time
Normally, whenever Wendy cuts a promo from the Nest, it’s from her living room sofa, which has become a fairly familiar sight over the past year for the FFW Faithful. Not today, however, as it’s a different part of the suburban dwelling- the kitchen. More specifically, the back door, which leads from the kitchen to the deck at the back of the house. From the looks of things, Wendy was planning to shoot from the deck itself, but a sudden deluge has changed those plans. So here Wendy stands, looking out the window at the rain, giving a heavy sigh.
“Well, they do say, when it rains, it pours, right?”
A small, forlorn smile.
“I’m sure by now everyone has seen what happened Monday night. And I’m sure by now everyone knows just who that big monster who attacked my manager actually is. And I’m sure that there are many people who are tuning into this, expecting some sort of response, or statement from me, concerning what happened.”
“Well, I’m sorry, but you’re going to be disappointed. All I’ll tell you is what I know about Pollaski, and that’s he’s in pretty good shape, considering what happened. He has bruised ribs, a separated shoulder, and a concussion, and they’re going to keep him in Toronto for several more days. Regrettably, he’s not going to be at Chaos Theory, although I hope he’s using the time he has to recover and heal up.”
Wendy takes a deep breath, and continues.
“I’m not letting a bit of rain spoil what should be a huge week for me. Most of you may not know this, but this is the same week that two years ago, Terrence and I decided to return to wrestling. I think more of you are aware that this is also the same week last year that Terrence decided to retire again, and I signed my first contract with FFW. Both years, they’ve had more than their fair share of challenges, that’s for sure. But they’ve also had their successes. Their triumphs. Memories that twenty years from now, I’m going to look back upon with pride, eager to share them with my grandchildren.”
She smiles and leans back against the window.
“I love being here in FFW. It’s the single greatest wrestling company I’ve had the honor of working for. I’ve made some wonderful friends here, and I’ve been in matches that I’ll always be proud of. I hope I’m in FFW for many years to come, and I’m proud to say that with my latest contract signing, I’ll be around for at least one more year. But it’s odd. Because while I love this company... I sure as hell have issues with our ownership.”
Wendy has an absolute “Yeah, I went there” expression on her face.
“I’m not the only one, I’m sure, although most people certainly aren’t readily willing to say it. And even though several of us have been battling against Samantha’s troupe of handpicked goons for the last few months... it never seemed to be about her, just the A-List. No one wants to stand up to her, because it’s never a good thing when you’re on your bosses hit list.”
“Well like it or not, I’m already there, and I’ve been there for at least two months, if not longer. And for what? Because I did exactly what I was supposed to do in a triple-threat submission match, and made someone tap before any of my opponents could? That makes me somehow an undeserving champion?”
Wendy shakes her head in disgust, obviously irritated.
“Yeah, I’ve held this in for two months, and it feels pretty damn good to let it out. How DARE Samantha Star walk down to that ring, when I gave every single thing I had in that match to entertain the fans, fans who lined HER pockets with THEIR money, and say I didn’t deserve this. She never even gave a reason, other than I’m not Starla McCloud, and I apparently lack ‘Star Power’.”
“I don’t even know what Star Power is. Of course I don’t... I don’t have it. I’m sure it has nothing to do with selling out arenas, because I’ve only been in TWO main events since the last Pay-Per-View, and they both looked pretty damn sold out to me. I asked around, and the only thing anyone can think of is that it’s the invincibility you get in Super Mario Brothers after touching a star-shaped power-up.”
Wendy scoffs, and shakes her head, a definite fire in her eyes.
“Well, it obviously can’t be that, because Lord knows that Samantha’s ‘chosen ones’ are hardly invincible. I certainly showed that last week at Breaking Point. Want more proof?We know what happened at Violent Night. Colleen hasn’t been seen on television for a month now, since Desi beat her. Arabella’s on a losing streak. Last we saw Alyssa, she was running screaming from the ring because it turns out Scarlett Kincaid is really scary when she’s angry. Jo’s kicked out. Rose is out injured... they seem terrified to stick Kelly against anyone who might stand a chance of beating her... am I missing anyone?”
“Think about that. These were the women that Samantha heralded as the future of this company back in September, the ones who were just better than all of us. Two months ago, two teenagers damn near killed each other in a cage over the right to be a part of it. Now? Is anyone actually proud to be a part of that faction? Does it even exist anymore?”
Wendy sighs, and looks back out the window.
“God, could you have imagined what would have become of this company if she had gotten her way? The same with the Power Trip, or any of her other so called ‘elite’ factions she’s tried subjugating with over the years? It’s just proof, that this company isn’t great because of Samantha. It’s great in spite of her, thanks to hardworking people like Mr. Kincaid and Mr. Horton and the great women in this company who give 100% every single show to make the fans keep coming back for more. And it would be even greater if she realized this, and gave the people who actually knew what was best for this company even more control.”
“I’m sure by now most people are looking at the television, wondering if I’ve gone the way of the Astrals and am committing career suicide, right here in my own kitchen. I’m not, and I don’t plan on it. I’m not trying to oust Samantha, regardless of my feelings of her. Is she a cancer? Yeah, she is. But she’s also too close to the vital organs of this company. It’s a tumor you cannot remove without a significant risk of killing the body. The best we can do is hold on, and pray we have many more years left before she finally manages to kill us with her self-absorbed decision making.”
“But I’m sure as hell going to defy her. And I can’t think of a better way to do that then to walk out of Chaos Theory still the champion, despite everything she’s thrown at me.”
Wendy moves away from the back door, and sits down in a nearby chair..
“I’m not afraid of Samantha Star. Yeah, she can rain on people’s parades, but they’re storms that can be weathered. Everyone thought she ruined Nicholas Flaherty, but it turns out she didn’t. Not after he realized what really needed to be done. Just as I’ve come to realize what I have to do here.”
“I wonder if Samantha even remembers what happened at this very show last year. I certainly do... it was the first FFW show I ever watched. And I watched a young woman named Gabriella Manning walk down to the ring, and not just whip the tar out of her, but my upcoming opponent as well. Samantha’s seriously like the big bad wolf of nursery rhyme lore. SHe’ll huff. She’ll puff. And she’ll blow your house down.. unless your house is strong enough. Then all she’s doing is blowing the dust off.”
“And that’s why I think she’s going after me here. Samantha’s desperate by now... other than her little parrot Camilla Pazzini, she can’t seem to get a belt around one of her followers. Stacey’s undefeated, too hard for her to bring down. Sophie’s on a tear, and has practically ran through the television division. Tara... well, Tara’s kind of nuts. No, I’m the weak champion. I’m the one who hasn’t proved anything. I’m the one most likely to get dethroned. Or so she thinks.”
Wendy leans forward, glaring into the camera, her eyes burning with determination.
“Miss Star, you’re not getting my belt, and neither is Starla. Not this way. You can make all the speeches and threats you want, but the fact is, I’m not the easy pickings you think I am. You’ve thrown me to the wolves before, against the entire A-List in my own hometown. I survived that, just as I’ll survive this, and anything else you feel fit to throw at me.”
“But just remember one thing, Ms. Star. When you’re watching the end of the match Saturday night, and you realize that I just foiled you, and Starla, and Alex, and anyone else you send in my direction, and ruined ALL of your credibility, just remember that you’re the one who brought this all on yourself.”
Wendy stares into the camera as the scene begins to fade, but before it goes completely dark, we see her take a long, shuddering breath, as if she can’t believe she just said all that.
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