Post by Deleted on Dec 17, 2022 13:35:37 GMT -5
Duncan Ryder was vexed. Even on Benson Estate property, Sonya would always be accompanied by someone, namely security. This time she was alone and even stranger she was carrying a box, blanket, and what's that? A futon? Had her dad finally booted her? Long overdue he thought. Especially after her revolting wish stealing of that precious Make A Wish girl. That fiasco had made Duncan reconsider employment as her trainer.
The unstoppable Level-UP champion was too curious and too cooped up in his “second home” on her estate to stay put though, so he bolted from his lodging and trailed her at a distance. He briefly lost her when she entered a footpath between wooded landscape, so he sped up until the path opened into a clearing dwarfed by a monolith that stood out like a sentinel.
It was a monument of Sonya’s brother, the kid whose death blackened her heart and was the catalyst for her crusade against pro wrestling. No. It was more than that. This was his burial spot. A mausoleum. Duncan swung to nope out, but that familiar honeyed voice rooted him.
“Duncan?”
He spun toward her with gestured apologies.
“My bad. I’ve never seen you alone and wanted to see if things were okay.”
“Aww, my hero.” She bit, rife with sarcasm.
An awkward silence ensued until Sonya motioned to the structure.
“Today’s his birthday. I always celebrate it here.”
Duncan braced as she spieled about how she brings his favorite meal and movie to partake in since he can’t. A tribute of sorts. Symbolic. It almost made her seem human to Duncan. She continued on about how they used to steal their dad’s Porsche for joy-rides and all the pranks they played on their dad’s political friends.
“That’s nice. I’ll leave you to it then.”
“No,” she wagged a finger. “You’re staying.”
She couldn’t make him but he felt compelled. He watched as she emptied the box: a laptop, food, a bottle of wine worth more than a year’s worth of his salary. She grabbed a step ladder next.
“This is my step ladder.”
“Ok???”
“I never knew my real ladder.”
He chuckled.
“Got me.”
She climbed it and adjusted memorabilia atop the upper ledge before hopping down. In quick order she flopped onto the futon and wrapped her delicate frame in the blanket, then she flicked on the laptop to play Benjamin’s favorite movie, Ace Ventura: Pet Detective. Duncan shoved his hands in his pockets and awkwardly loafed until he saw her shift on the futon, an unspoken invitation for him to join, and he did.
“Look, Sonya, uh…”
He was gonna wait for the next training session but since Sonya appeared sociable he spilled the thought.
“While we’re on the topic of Benjamin, have you considered suspending your quota this time to perhaps win the Television Title for him?”
She tore her eyes from the laptop and issued a warning glare.
“I’m just saying, he died doing what he loved and was robbed of gold. You’re the only one who can right that wrong. Fighting for yourself is easy. If you fail, you only have yourself to look at in the mirror. If you fight for someone else or those who can’t fight, there’s more greeting you in the mirror. Nothing motivates you more than fighting for something other than yourself. You’re gonna need that because you’re facing a murderer’s row of opponets, and Emily’s coming for you like you stole her last Pepsi after what you did to her and Buster.”
A frown visited her inherently bratty face.
“Cholo’s old like me, but appears to have never held gold? That makes him hungrier than the average bear. Ace has collected championships like a farmer gathers eggs. He’s tasted it, as has Emily, and I’m telling you it’s addictive, like drugs. They’re feening for it. You’re gonna need more than schemes for this one. You’ll have to find something in your soul.”
If she even has one he thought. Her nostrils flared but no rebuttal came. She gulped alarming portions of wine then offered it to him.
"I don't-", Duncan started.
"Oh, right, more for me I guess," Sonya said and took another gulp. "For the best. You wouldn't appreciate it anyway," she added.
Duncan didn't dispute that and the two fell into a cold but content silence.
Norris removed his hands from Sonya’s eyes to reveal her early Christmas present. Regina Wallis. The European mma fighter he’d found fighting over scraps and convinced to undergo the required surgeries to become Sonya’s doppelganger. Regina was almost ready when Sonya last spoke with her, but a hiccup got in the way. Now though, Sonya squealed and bobbed up and down excitedly.
“Just in time for the title match, Ms. B. Sit back and watch her clean their clocks. She’s gonna Pearl Harbor them baby!”
He slipped his thumbs into his belt loops and postured proudly. Benson’s excitement dissipated. Duncan’s words from days ago followed her like a haunting.
“No. I must compete in the title match.”
Norris’s eyes bulged.
“Uhhhhh??”
”Don’t argue.”
“But she has better chances of winning.”
“Correct. This one’s on me. Mason? Bam?”
“Umm,” he threw his hands up in exasperation. “Charles says Bam will screw over Emily for the amount offered. Mason declined.”
“Punisher?”
“Nada.”
That worried her.
“I’ll wear the electrosuit. If they touch me they’ll zap.”
The specially engineered suit had served her well in a battle royal once. She came in 2nd place and probably would’ve won had she not eliminated herself when the diabolical Havoc barreled down on her.
“It’s banned attire!!!!”
“Only in Project-Honor.”
“Oh come on, lemme in the game, Twinnie-Twin. I really wanna face fuck that chia pet looking dude with my fist.” Regina protested, slamming fist into palm.
Sonya tossed her doppelganger a reassuring smile.
“You’ll get to throw down all you like once this match passes. I must compete in this one though.”
Regina sighed and slumped onto the bed in the secluded guest quarters. Meanwhile, Norris eyed the Rich Bitch with concern and suspicion.
“What’s gotten into you?”
A montage flashes across the screen, traversing WGWF’S yesteryears. The voices of Diamond and Baxter scream excitedly in some parts, ranting in others, as they commentate the final moments of Television Championship matches stretching from Raziel to Sentinel to the greatest TV Champion of them all, Nathan Lucas. They’re shown in their finest hour, hoisting the prestigious championship aloft.
And then..
A screeching pause.
The montage plays backwards at slow speed, frames crumbling inward on fire, black lumps before ash. As the championship lineage is purged, soundbites from Centurion and Tyler surface, lambasting Sonya as she’s declared winner several times over.
And now…
The montage disappears and the deliciously bratty features of Sonya Benson emerge. An orange glow accentuates it, giving the look of someone telling a ghost story around a campfire.
“I’m sure you three are confident right now. You think the broken bones, mental fatigue, emotional damage and adversities you’ve battled through is a trade-in that’ll secure this title. God. Cosmic Justice. Karma. Surely you’ll win. Right?”
The camera pans wider, showing a lit smelting furnace beside her, and in the background vandalized doors to the Hall of Fame wing of WGWF HQ.
“I’ll admit - Cholo, Ace, Emily - any of you would make a great Television Champion. You each have ‘it’ factors. Fun, unique, passionate, beautiful, personable, creative, capable. You each have traits fans identify with. You’re one of them. They’re one of you. They’ll buy your merchandise. They’ll boost your ratings as champion. This, among other reasons, is why I cannot let you win.”
An all knowing expression forms.
“Because for over a year now I’ve been paraded before them, thrown into barbarous matches and made to battle without sword nor shield. I’ve been battered, bruised, injured, bloodied, molested and humiliated. Every step of the way they’ve mocked me, laughed at me, and besmirched me. For over a year I’ve been unable to fight back against the life-sized grease pellets and the mongrels they send after me. Oh sure, I’ve cobbled half the wins needed to attain liberation, but I haven’t drawn true blood from this GOSH DAMN SYSTEM! But now...”
Her countenance hardens.
“I can fight back. Four-way. Level field. I can take away something cherished by the wrestling world. I can deprive you, my dearest foes, of that which you and the wrestling world never thought I could have - a championship.”
A resolute nod follows.
“So I want you all to cheer for Cholo, the man who does things you’d boo if it were anyone else, but not him since he parties with obese fans and kisses your ugly babies. Give your adulation to Ace, the man without a mean streak, who sold illicit drugs to college students and probably does the same to WGWF fans after shows despite his claims of now following some gobbly-goop that frees his spirit. Fangasm over the tramp with the pumpkin-pie hairdo, who endorses over-indulgence of diabetes-in-a-bottle and only got her spot because the referee disqualified Bam for face punching, which is suspicious because that ref watched merrily as Buster murder-punched my face weeks prior.”
Sonya’s face scrunches as if she’s bitten into something sour.
“I want you to give my three adversaries all your love, because when I win I want you and them to feel sudden despair and the feeling of being robbed. In that moment I’ll know you feel what my brother felt when you killed him. You’ll feel what I felt and I’m gonna immerse myself in it like a good book. I’ll win the championship for Benjamin despite my disdain for it, because he wanted to chase gold and I love and miss him, but at the following Brawl I’m gonna hold an immolation ceremony to destroy it. Like so.”
Her entourage surface, carting Television Championships stolen from the HOF displays of Sentinel and Raziel, and begin tossing them into the gold-melting furnace.
”There won’t be a victory fiesta for you, Cholo, because I’m gonna kill your dreams of becoming champ with the same cruel efficiency the murderer slayed your grandparents with. Your aspirations are gonna be orphaned just like those trashballs you send aid to, Estúpido.
“Ace, the sting of defeat won’t be as bad because you’ll be high during the match. At least you’re a genius prodigy guru shaman, so just hoo-doo some liberal troglodytes at the colleges until you get back on your feet, they’ll believe anything - could probably sell them your bottled flatulence.”
“Emily, I ruined your debut, so it pleases me to also ruin your bid for fake gold glued to cheap leather, because you’re the sum of all that I oppose and, honestly, I just flat out hate your gosh damn guts! I relish you having to continue housing the penises of Buster and the referees in your boner garage to get by.
There’s one TV title left, the prominent one, from the reign of Nathan. Sonya breaks from her diatribe and hocks a loogie on it before powerdunking it into the furnace, destroying the last physical trace of the illustrious title’s history, and perhaps foretelling the new Television Championship’s fate. The orange glow enlarges, illuminating her flawless form in a way befitting sheer villany.
”This won’t be a title reign for me. I’m destroying it so nobody will reign again. I’m putting this poop stain division in a chokehold this Monday. Until then, may all the bad things that can happen to someone happen to all of you. May all of you die before the sun comes up and may you all burn in hell!”
Jersey up-yours gesture and fade.