Miracle in Hell (TV Title def vs Kim Pain-Riddle)
Aug 11, 2023 5:47:54 GMT -5
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Post by Deleted on Aug 11, 2023 5:47:54 GMT -5
Sonya, age 12, stood bedside and bawled as her mom stared into a future she’d no longer be a part of.
“Closer!” Sonya’s dad forced her inches from the deceased.
“I got her out of wrestling and gave her a great life!” He cried.
It still caught up with her. Too much snorting. Too many head-drops on the pine. The wrestler’s curse. He’d been too late.
He produced a wad of stonewashed jeans and studded leather jacket that his wife, an 80’s fan, would wear to the ring. “Trash this so you and Ben don’t get the idea of following her!”
Ironic how 13 years later he’d force her into the same thing.
Sonya turned but something wasn’t right. At the foot of the bed stood Kim Pain sporting a ghoulish countenance. Sonya snapped awake with a yelp and sat up in bed, pulling covers around her protectively. For minutes the heartbeats pounded in her ears after the “Kimmare” and only subsided when she eyed her phone.
Regina’s text: UNDECIDED. The doppelganger had spent eight months stagnating before usurping their clandestine deal and calling the shots. Regina fought Kim at War Games on a year’s worth of ring rust and gave her all she could handle for thirty minutes. The doppelganger defeated Wilma then participated in the handicap tag unbeknownst to all.
Now? She was UNDECIDED about Summer Madness. Sonya stared at that awful word, tummy roiling at the implication. At least things couldn’t get worse.
Another text.
“It’s your esteemed GM informing you that I’ve added another stipulation to your match at Summer Madness. I noticed during monumental matches you wear engineered attire that punishes opponents who strike you or absorbs damage so you don’t get roughed up. At Summer Madness, you are NOT allowed to wear ring attire of that construct. Your ring attire will be inspected vigorously. No Tony Stark stuff from you, you clever minx you. Too bad, so sad.
Don’t worry. When Kim bleeds you dry, we’ll have advanced medical equipment and highly trained medical staff available to ensure your well being afterwards.
I love hot dog flavored tacos,
Big Daddy Flash Rotten. “
Sonya hurled her phone and stressed her follicles! He’d bested her again!
After another spate of grueling rounds, Sonya and Duncan convalesced in opposite corners.
“You look different without the black hair.” Duncan remarked, hoping to ease her ails. He’d noted the trepidation written in every line of her body and understood why given the HELL awaiting her.
“Compliment?”
“You look… nicer somehow.”
She stood with a nervous posture.
“Guys, leave. I need Duncan alone. Don’t return until I call you.”
Her entourage was confused, but obeyed. Duncan, vexed, motioned for answers.
“I wanna give you a gift.”
Benson marched forward, nearly tripping. Nerves.
“Gift me by winning.”
She batted his remark away.
“You don’t understand. Kim’s gonna disfigure me, Dunkie. Even victorious, my face will never look the same. There’s a reason this match never happens and that bitch is already ugly so she doesn’t care how she looks. It’s a fight I’ll never fully heal from. I’ll never be prettier than I am now.”
His head cocked, unsure how this translated to gifts.
“So I wanna gift you,” she hesitated, wringing hands. “Me. My body. My prime before Kim… you know.”
RED FLAGS WAVED!!!
“WHOA, um, you don-”
She stomped, shushing him.
“Listen! I can’t tell you when or why or how, maybe it was when you saved me on Valentine’s Day or maybe it was you being the only one who defended my honor when Pun mock-raped me, but somehow I developed feelings for you.”
His eyes stretched to their limits.
“There. Oh my god. I said it!”
It was unexpected but also not. He’d seen the signs. The blushing when she mentioned him on TV. The lingering stares. Those “pet” names: Dunkie Roo. Hunkie Dunkie. The Twitter flirts.
“We can't-”
He bent towards the ropes but her hands framed his face and jerked it towards hers. Duncan dared to look into those ocean blues so many got lost at sea in.
“Oh god-”
She crashed her lips into his like a tsunami on the beach sands. Heat shot through his body and despite his manly strength, his knees buckled. Every good sense screamed “FLEE” but he’d done that with Emily Simms, been too cautious and she slipped away.
Besides, Sonya wasn’t that bad when he got to know her. Valentine’s Day. That evening at her brother’s mausoleum. The respect she’d gradually shown him, which by proxy extends to wrestling. She’s not a monster on the hill approaching the city.
Duncan wasn’t gonna make that mistake again, so he matched her kiss and the pair tore their clothes from another, like overzealous kids unwrapping presents. Neither broke from kissing to disrobe properly and before long he took her to the mat.
(BOW CHICKA BOW WOW)
Some time later, drenched in sweat…
Duncan rolled off of her, panting while she squeaked and spasmed from the last life changing orgasm he’d invoked.
“My god, what’ve we done?” The magnitude hit.
“We merged and became one!” She glowed. “We made love!”
“This changes things.”
“Everything.”
“Let’s maybe, keep this a little quiet, for now.”
The respected babyface champion enraptured by the wicked witch of wrestling doesn’t look good on the resume.
“But I wanna sing it from the rooftops!”
When all your fears are being pleasure-pummeled away and your guts are being rearranged by a fleshly polearm, time and responsibilities disappear.
”Ms. Bens-OHMYLAWD!”
Denzel froze. The newly forged couple bolted up and frantically gathered their clothes, what was left of them.
“WHAT THE FUCK PORTER??” She collected enough to hide her unmentionables.
Porter thumbed over shoulder. “Uh, our uh, meeting? Vlog?”
Sonya winced. She hadn’t expected Duncan to maul her womanhood for over an hour.
“NORRIS!"
"He cleared me."
"You're signing an NDA!"
Denzel shot a grin.
"DO NOT REPORT! BRB!"
They quickly changed and reconvened, acting like they didn't just get busted on some hot hanky panky.
"I'm surprised I was given access for this."
“I’m CCPE and this bullshit match is historic, so it’s required of me to allow it. I understand if you harbor resentment since I was a bitch to you in the past.”
Denzel eyed her, but being good-hearted, he forgave her with that iconic smile.
“Water under the bridge. Digging the new look.”
“Thanks!” She beamed.
“We’re gonna hype this to the moon. Duncan, dap it up. We gotta see you in that ring again, champ.”
“Absolutely.” Duncan cool-guy dapped him.
“Well, since you’re gonna be clip collecting for the next few weeks, I’ll tour you.”
The distinguished glory of Denzel Porter graces the screen.
”Summer Madness. Hell in a Cell. Last Blood. It’s never happened before and after the barbarity we’ll see it’ll never happen again. No challenger’s ever humiliated a dominant champion and turned them into a perpetually porn-stacked princess like Kim has. No champion’s ever endured a challenger’s humiliations like Sonya has and somehow gotten stronger. This is historic. It’s why the great Cholo G and Johnny B aren’t main eventing Night 1. These ladies are why a Television Title will main-event a PPV for the first time. It’s why your Summer Madness guest host, Denzie, was granted access to Sonya’s fight camp and I’m honored to share some glimpses with you.”
[ DAY 1 ]
Inside Benson’s gym a Hell in a Cell has been erected around the ring because this is serious business. It’s here, locked inside it, Sonya will eat, sleep, train for three weeks. No frappes. Only water. Limited Twitter. Bed? Nope. Only a blanket and the canvas. Every surface that can support posters is sporting her famous porn stacked memes as an enduring reminder of what she’s up against.
The lens settles on Duncan. “I respect Kim, but she fumbled. You don’t give Sonya any chances, but she’s done that and it’s all Sonya needs.”
In the ring Sonya’s laden with wrist and ankle weights, plus a respiratory restrictor mask - All to simulate fatigue she’ll experience with blood loss. She battles the Show Stealerz and local talent who BLITZ her.
“The less heavily her heart needs to beat means less blood being pumped outta the open wound. I’ve procured extra training partners to make Sonya work continuous rounds with, always going against fresh opponents while she gets more and more tired. High intensity cardio will pay off for her, because she’s gonna need it against that hellcat.”
She fights. She falls. She gets up. It’s ceaseless. She defends. She cries. She collapses.
[ WEEK 1 - 2 ]
Norris, shiny red jacket, wags a rolled up newspaper at the camera.
“Kim’s gotta be the dumbest broad, let me tell ya. It’s hard to beat long standing champions once, but five times and humiliate them on unprecedented levels? Unheard of! Every ham-n-egger knows you play to that. I’d make it an Ironman Match or anything with multiple pins and subs in that cell because I’m smart, but when it was raining intelligence Kim was holding an umbrella.”
He guffaws, shoulders bouncing. The sequence shifts to Sonya covering her head as partners pulverize her torso HARD with assorted items.
”That broad’s gonna try to open the wound up, so defending the head is priority. Leaves her body open though, so we’re conditioning her body to take shots so she won’t leave the dome exposed.”
Even Denzel’s seen walloping her abs with heavy gloves. She endures, whimpering but determined, failing and succeeding.
Another scene shifts to Mark “The Dragon” Cross, who grins through a sweaty face.
”They’re assembling an Avengers team to beat Kim and I’m part of it. Fists and elbows are the best way to split skin and worsen a cut so who better than me to show her the intricacies of it?”
Sonya languishes, bleeding from the elbows and hands under his unorthodox tutelage, as she conditions them against wood and porcelain.
More footage shows him teaching her elbow strikes illegal in most sports, followed by a variety of clips displaying her lifting and struggling to hold heavy objects overhead for long periods of time.
“And that’s not all. Stalling vertical suplexes get the blood rushing to the head the fastest and swoosh outta of the open wound. There’s more than one way to skin a Kim.”
Hard cut to J-Mont sitting in a 600 karat gold porch swing, doting Baby G.
“I’m still dealing with a stalker so I can’t be there, but I hooked Sonya up with yoga and meditation virtuoso Marisol Vilaro.”
A montage emerges of XWF’s fitness mogul contorting Sonya in ways not even Kim’s achieved, plus Tai Chi and classic mediation - which Denzel also joins. All needed for Sonya to keep her calm and heart rate down in the bloodstorm Kim’s created.
[ WEEK 3 ]
A collage of clips show Sonya surging with success...
She holds Denzel in a stalling plex while he screeches “PUT ME DOWN!”
A gauntlet of foes blitz her but she maneuvers, never tiring, always fighting.
She protects her head and taunts them as medicine balls and even a kendo stick bombard her torso.
Her fists and elbows break wood, producing blood. She was squeamish before, but now she licks her crimson vitality and allows Austin to join the feeding, to Toddy's chagrin.
Where once Kim awaited Sonya when she slept, now only those who've prepared her do - people with their own fame and money but still chose to help. People Sonya doesn't deserve, but now, as they surround her cheering, she realizes much like her mother and brother before her, that these are the type of people worth fighting for.
We open to Hell’s Gate parking lot, where a demolition crew is present.
Just kidding.
The scene opens inside Kim’s home where Sonya kidnaps her kitty and throws it into traffic. SPLAT!
Kidding again, but Kim probably shat herself.
The shot opens to the ring inside Madison Square Garden. No crazy nonsense this time. This needs serious one-on-one. A spotlight illuminates the squared-hell where our intrepid villain awaits us. She sits in a chair, the back of which faces the viewer, while she straddles it cool-girl style and faces the lens.
“The Miracle on Ice happened right where I’m sitting. The greatest moment in MSG history.”
Her wardrobe is uncharacteristic: 80s stonewashed jeans and a studded leather jacket. Despite her dad’s orders 13 years ago she never trashed them, and thanks to the “Kimmares” she donned them for strength, metaphoric armor. Her championship is shouldered as it always will be.
“It's poetic because tomorrow MSG will witness the Miracle in Hell. The night Sonya, a Vegas 24-1 betting underdog, defied the odds and left Kim interred in oceans of blood, drowned by waves of her own diabolical creation. A red wedding for the new bride.”
She attunes a forearm to the curve of the chair and we see the reason behind her boldness - recovering bruises and welts - testaments to her dogged preparation.
“Kim, while you were bragging on Twitter about doing nothing all day except hanging out with kitty on your couch, I was training to blast that wound in your caveman forehead. While you’ve been gobbling popcorn in Vegas, announcing your marriage to shit-brain on Twitter, and globetrotting to coat-tail Cass and involve yourself in others’ affairs, I’ve been ACCLIMATING to hell. You actually remind me of that cartoon where the guy saws the wrong end of the tree branch and plummets to his demise. You’ve removed the two things you’re good at, pins and submissions, and given us BOTH a single EXPLOITABLE wound on the forehead you dolt!"
Those vibrant blues shift in disbelief over Kim’s snafu.
“And if you don’t think I have contingency plans, you’re a fool.”
She has several in a marked bag under the ring, placed by a corrupt crewmember. Needles/syringes packed with concoctions that drastically increase or decrease blood flow, gel-sealant to close wounds, a chair with nails and tacks glued to it, so much more!
“Remember, you wanted this. Not me. None of our saga’s my fault.”
A matter-of-fact nod.
“I didn’t put a gun to your head and force you to hide under a mask and humiliate me nor did I force you to spam tweet me into eternal porn stacked meme-hood.”
Nope head-shake.
“How’s it my fault you and Kat don’t understand contingency plans? It’s what you devise BEFORE battle not AFTER. Aren’t you two veterans? I gave you my strategy going into War Games, including sacking it on a DQ. You couldn’t deploy your geriatrics squad to neutralize my entourage? Was Mac masturbating to your pics? Was hubby getting another tattoo so he can cosplay as a shit smeared piece of toilet tissue? The others?”
She questions Kim with a look.
“Why am I blamed for YOU attacking ME before I could declare my match type when Flash delivered me to you on a silver platter?”
Another questioning expression.
“Everything I’ve done was a reaction to you and your crew’s bullshit. You chastise my schemes and alliance with J-Mont, yet your squad’s done similarly. Didn’t Mac and Bam cheap-shot Austin and join a 4-on-1 beatdown after already winning the titles? Kat manages the Flowergate goons. Uh, what? Goth? Do I need to beat that dead horse?”
She pinches the bridge of her nose.
“You even tweeted that I’m unfair.” Dismissive scoff. “Mac benefited from help against Mont TWICE and that’s totes ok but when I did similar to you OH BOY Sonya’s gotta bleed buckets! I gave you an easy out after War Games. You won the battles, I won the war. That was fair. Even Thaddeus Duke, who DESPISES me, acknowledged it.”
Sonya knows she won’t be trusted, so she furnishes proof from her phone.
“But you kept pushing your revenge plot and now we’ll needlessly butcher each other so you can try, once AGAIN, to snatch the vestige of my brother. My Sword of Mars.”
She flaunts the championship.
“Do you even know what comes after if you succeed? You’ll be the joke who lost the contendership match then took six matches and three title shots with advantages in each one to pry this from me. You’ll still be the joke that chokes; who lost half your matches here before leeching my fame-train. The bitch who treats the championship like an accessory because your broom closet sized office is ‘full of titles.’ The creep who tweets about cuddling her brother and taking mountain trips with him.”
Her knuckles, 2x their normal size, bulge with her title grip.
“I treat this like it’s the last molecule of oxygen in a gas chamber. I’ll walk through your hell wearing gasoline jeans to keep it. As long as I have this as my sword and J-Mont as my shield, I’m invincible until my quota fills. I’m a disgraceful, terrible champion; the worst ever and I LOVE it because it discredits WGWF. It’s NOT MY FUCKING FAULT pro-wrestling not only allows my atrocities, but encourages it through ratings. Blame wrestling. Stop portraying the victim. We’ve been playing by the same rules, I’ve just been better at it, so stop spinning the narrative. And remember-”
She stands, punting the chair away.
“Strike three and you’re out. Basketball! My advice? Retire. Have kids and build them a swingset facing a brick wall like your parents did for you. The fertility rate declines at 32 and you’re pushing 40 you old cow, that’s elderly in ‘wrestling years’ for females, so hurry. If hubby and Mac are shooting blanks then tag in Goth. He’d love a vacation to the, ahem, ‘Grand Canyon.’ “
There's that trademark smirk.
“And bring your squad, because I’m bringing one too.”
Her entourage plus the Show Stealerz, Duncan, J-Mont, Mark Cross, and Marisol converge around her.
“You’re a dinosaur, Kim.”
Cocks a finger pistol.
“And tomorrow..”
Aims.
“The comet’s coming.”
BANG!