𝔇𝔦𝔳𝔞 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔇𝔞𝔪𝔫𝔢𝔡

[queenmyst]

𝔈𝔵𝔠𝔲𝔰𝔢 𝔪𝔢 𝔠𝔞𝔫 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔱𝔢𝔩𝔩 𝔪𝔢 𝔴𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲'𝔳𝔢 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔡 𝔞𝔟𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔪𝔶 𝔩𝔦𝔣𝔢

𝔐𝔞𝔶𝔟𝔢 𝔞 𝔡𝔦𝔯𝔱𝔶 𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔩𝔢 𝔣𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔶 𝔱𝔞𝔩𝔢, 𝔞 𝔤𝔦𝔯𝔩 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔫𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱

It was a hot, sweltering day in Las Vegas. Every day in Vegas is hot--but it is a different kind of hot. It is a dry heat. The type of heat that could cook an egg on the sidewalk, even in the winter. But it gets cold at night--being in the desert there is nothing to hold in the heat. Once the sun goes down the hoodies come on. But the daytime---you would probably die of dehydration and heat stroke by even thinking the word "Hoodie".

North Las Vegas isn't what everyone thinks of as "Las Vegas". It is 3 miles north, a straight shot on Civic Center Drive, and doesn't have all the glitz and glamour that "Las Vegas" proper does. There are trailer parks, burnt out apartment complex's, drugs run rampant and half of the population is on some form of government assistance. A far cry from the multi-billion dollar business just a stone's throw to the south. There are some small pockets of North Vegas were the upper class live, usually those who work in Vegas, because the community of Henderson is too far away to deal with daily traffic and still make it in on time (26 miles). The "Vegas Strip", or "Las Vegas Boulevard" is about 60 miles end to end, from dead end to dead end, and Civic Center Drive was just off of that, to the east. CCD connected to "the strip". Jennifer could even see the hotel lights from the nations largest party city from her bedroom window, though they were a bit blurred.

For a city with so much money, it is amazingly difficult to believe how many people live in pure poverty just off the strip. The Las Vegas strip is an island, so to speak, surrounded by a sea of the some of the worst urban decay in the nation.

.....and nobody notices.....

....and if they do notice, they don't seem to care.

At least the North had SOME decent living standards. The east, south and west side of the Vegas "halo" are shockingly and obscenely dilapidated.

It was on Civic Center Drive that freshly turned 15 year old Jennifer Sambuca sat in the passenger seat of the 2003 Chevy Colorado pickup truck as it rumbled down the cement-laden parkway. Strip mall after strip mall and row after row of identical housing complex's rushed by her, seen through the glare in the dirty glass window. Vegas is such a melting pot, and most of the stirred ingredients are shit. The music was low, but could still be heard through a static scratch emanating from the old radio in the dashboard. Reception was never great in the desert.

But then again, what was?

This was the only place young Jennifer ever knew. She was born in a motel bathroom just north of the strip by a young mother who got into a nightclub with a fake ID and wanted to have a little "fun" before her daughter came. This mother, Jennifer never knew. It wasn't until she was old enough to process this information did she find that tidbit of info out.

Her "dad" was in the driver seat. He had on a what was once nice business dress shirt, open at the top with his gold chain laying over his chest hair. He had on dusty black dress pants and his "Gucci" dress shoes were pressed down on the clutch and gas pedal simultaneously.

This man wasn't perfect, but he was the only father she had ever known. She had been placed in foster care at a young age and bounced from trailer park to trailer park until Mark an Penny Sambuca decided to bring this "at risk teen" into their home, just north of the Vegas Strip.

Not only did she bounce around homes, but schools as well, never finishing more than 6 months at a school before being shipped somewhere else to "start over" again. She wasn't even sure what grade she was supposed to be in, but the state told her 10th, but she never technically finished 8th.

ℑ 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 ℑ 𝔤𝔯𝔢𝔴 𝔲𝔭 𝔣𝔦𝔩𝔱𝔥𝔶, 𝔞 𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔦𝔩𝔢𝔯 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔨 𝔮𝔲𝔢𝔢𝔫
𝔇𝔯𝔬𝔭 𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔭𝔯𝔢𝔤𝔫𝔞𝔫𝔱 𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔠𝔞𝔩 𝔱𝔢𝔢𝔫

If only he knew.

Before they left their ranch-style house she had been sitting on the toilet in her less than accommodatingly small bathroom that connected to her bedroom. Tears welled in her eyes. She should have never snuck out to go to that party. But Braden Linfield was so hot. He was the son Hunter Linfield, president and COO of the Golden Nugget Casino, and had more many than any person she'd ever met. He had seen her at the Polaris Store when he was picking up his new ATV (she was there to apply for a cleaning position), and he told her she should come to his house for a raging party he was throwing. Said the boys would get a kick out of a natural platinum blonde. Said too many girls in this area looked too, "plain". He asked her her age and she told him 17 (she always looked a bit older than her age), because she didn't want too spoil her chance by telling him she was only 14.

She had never been opposed to using her body to get what she wanted. She got her period at 9, developed B cups, though low B, by 12, and got "curves" at 13. She could get whatever she wanted in Sin City.

---Now she was regretting that decision. Sitting in her hands on her lap was a small, white stick which came out of a coral pink box that sat on the sink. Her hand covered her mouth, her head spun.

How could she have allowed this to happen? As if her life isn't shitty enough------

"JENNIFER! LET'S GO!" her "father" was crashing around the house, feverishly looking for something. He had called her several times now, but she was too much in shock to move.

He seemed frantic. She didn't understand why. It was 1:30 in the afternoon, on a Wednesday. But she didn't want to anger him. Last thing she needed was to get kicked out of yet another home. A twin sized bed where she could touch the ceiling laying down was better than the grassy patch under the interstate.

She left the bathroom, putting the stick back into the box. The box under her bed.

Walking out into the main room, she saw her dad stuffing a baggie with a white substance into a backpack.

"JENNIFER! Finally....finally...jesus what were you doing in there? Here....take this, we need to go."

He tossed the backpack to her. She looked at it and shook her head.

"Get in the truck, Jen. Don't ask questions."

ℑ 𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔴 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔡 𝔞𝔟𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔟𝔩𝔬𝔬𝔡𝔶 𝔨𝔫𝔦𝔣𝔢

𝔄𝔟𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔪𝔶 𝔡𝔞𝔡𝔡𝔶'𝔰 𝔭𝔢𝔯𝔣𝔢𝔠𝔱 𝔳𝔦𝔯𝔤𝔦𝔫 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔪𝔶 𝔪𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯'𝔰 𝔴𝔦𝔣𝔢

The truck continued to roll. They were getting to a big building at the north side of the strip. The "Strip" everyone knows was still about 3 miles down the road. Something told her they weren't headed there.

Roaring into a parking lot, her dad slammed it into park and pulled the E break.

"Out, get out" he said. He rubbed his nose. There was a bluish aura to it.

She stepped out. Her converse sneakers touched to warm cement. Her short jean shorts barely covred her ass and her tank top was beginning to show sweat stains on the lower back and under her new boobs. Her makeup, though, as usual, was flawless. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail.

She examined herself in the mirror as her "father" hurried around to her side of the car.

-----Her "mother" was never home anymore. When she was, she had a female friend with her. She claimed the two were only friends, but Jennifer had found the drive by wedding chapel brochure in the garbage when she was throwing away a maxi pad. She didn't ask questions, but had suspicions.

She also saw a lot of younger neighborhood girls leaving her house when she was on her way home, when only her father was home. He was "working from home" on those days. Every so often, one of those girls would go missing. She never thought anything of it, and her father said he was helping them with homework. She wasn't one to ask questions. ----

"Come on, let's go. In. In." He pushed her along by the top of the back. His pace was almost tripping her.

𝔗𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔦𝔰 𝔨𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔲𝔰 𝔞𝔩𝔩

ℑ 𝔡𝔬𝔫'𝔱 𝔠𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔦𝔣 ℑ 𝔣𝔞𝔩𝔩

𝔚𝔢'𝔯𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔡𝔶𝔦𝔫𝔤, 𝔴𝔢 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔡𝔞𝔪𝔫𝔢𝔡

When they got inside, they had to go through a dark, dingy back room. Two men came out to meet them. They had suits on, and sunglasses. They didn't talk, just nodded. Jen and her "father" followed, keeping up the same fast pace. Finally they got to an office door.

"You wait here" one of the men said. He opened the door and went inside.

Jen could see out through what she assumed was a 2 way mirror. To those behind it, a mirror. To her, where she was, a window. The people--

--these poor people--

sitting in front of machines with sunken eyes. Many had cups of coffee next to them and she assumed it wasn't their first. They had wristlets on which were attached to cards that sat in the machine. Like robots they pressed the button. Then pressed it again. Then again. Then again. Many of them looked like they hadn't done anything but press buttons and drink coffee for a very long time. Every once and a while, someone would get up, but only to go to another machine. Machine's with levers. Machine's with buttons. Machine's that controlled lives.

Her attention was broken by the door opening. The man who had brought them there came out and stood by the door. He nodded, and her "father" ushered her in. The man stepped in behind them and shut the door.

The room was huge. Behind an equally huge desk was an Italian looking man, also in a suit.

"You are late, Mark." His voice rumbled like a thunder cloud.

"Sorry---sorry, Vic--I had to find the bag. Yeah, bag. I needed to find it."

He signaled, and the man brought the backpack, which Jen was now holding, over to the thunder man.

"And who is this little treat?" he said, looking Jennifer up and down.

"This is Jennifer...my....my daughter". The man chuckled.

"Another one? Seems a bit older.....mmmm".

Jennifer looked at her "dad" with a concerned look.

"Sir, she's good girl. Determined, hard headed, she has a good work ethic."

That was a lie.

"She can maybe do some tasks around here, help to make up more of what I owe."

Jen went to protest but the man behind the desk was up. He put a finger on her lips. Reaching back he undid her ponytail, and he blonde hair fell free. He smiled.

"She will do just fine."

He nodded and she felt big hands on her front behind. The last thing she remembered was screaming for her father.......

"Father".

ℑ'𝔩𝔩 𝔟𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔥𝔞𝔱𝔯𝔢𝔡 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔫

𝔗𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔦𝔰 𝔨𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔲𝔰 𝔞𝔩𝔩

ℑ 𝔡𝔬𝔫'𝔱 𝔠𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔦𝔣 ℑ 𝔣𝔞𝔩𝔩

𝔚𝔢'𝔯𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔡𝔶𝔦𝔫𝔤, 𝔴𝔢 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔡𝔞𝔪𝔫𝔢𝔡



“The two most ‘powerful’ women in wrestling, going head to head, on FREE TV. I get it, champ versus champ and all that jazz, which is fantastic booking for a go home show, but this is smack in the middle of the Pay Per View cycle and really leaves nothing to look forward to next week. After I put Ally in her place this week, I may as well have the week off since there won’t be anyone else worthy of stepping into the ring with me.

I am not sure whose idea it was to incapacitate the “shows top champion” two whole broadcasts before a Pay Per View but clearly they don’t value you as a champion. Hell, when you won that damn thing there were like four people on the roster, and you beat up on our resident Bobo-Clown Brooke Blakely to win it. With the influx of talent we’ve had and the wins so thin you need a tweezer to find them, your days were numbered long before this match was made. Hell if Chris Chaos played by the rules and was able to be controlled, you woulda lost that one, too. You see, Ally, I am on a different level. Everywhere I go, I shine, I change the game. I transform the roster and transcend the standard. You’re in multiple promotions to just…exist. You came here because you saw a new company with no real talent to speak of standing in your way and you took it to the bank because that’s what you do. You bury others to get ahead. You claim you are one of the best to do it and that’s adorable but I’ve faced the biggest and baddest in the industry……I’ve stood toe to toe with giants and I am just hearing your name for the first time. Where was Alexandra Calaway the past decade? Surely, if she was making the waves she tells everyone within earshot that she makes, I would have heard of her by now. Hell, there are people signed to this roster, currently, right now, who have no idea who you are. Brit has booked you to look strong to mask your Everest sized flaws because she likes the idea of having a woman as her top champion who doesn’t cover herself in facepaint and isn’t named Jennifer. Once your real ‘talent’ shines through, she will have no choice but to do what someone should have done 10 fucking years ago…..

Take the old plow horse out behind the barn.

Ally, you’re 40. Hang it up. You should be sipping wine on a beach somewhere telling random tourists war stories from your glory days…..who cares if they were in black and white! You’re the champion now by default. You have no business being in the ring at your tender age. You think what I did to your brother was bad?

This match is a death sentence for you.

You may not look at me the way you look at yourself in the mirror, but maybe you should. If you gave me even half the credit you give yourself, you’d be in far less danger this week. Your underestimation of me is what is going to get you hurt.

You don’t understand just how alone you are, do ya? Your brother is MIA, Strader is basically a eunuch, and you’re stepping into the ring with someone who doesn’t give a shit what happens to you. Do you wanna know why I chose this match? Why I called Brit personally and pitched the idea because she’s too fucking dim to come up with it on her own? Because ‘Belle of the Brawl’ was my match FIRST. Me versus Roxy Cotton way back before covid. It’s dangerous, it’s brutal and to be honest, its fucking sexy. You see, not only do I get to completely embarrass you on national television ... .but it's HOW I get to do it.

I picked it myself, I hope you like it.

Submission. I get to make you tap out, submit, QUIT, in front of a live audience. THEN, its falls count anywhere, and I get to beat your ass all over the building. Then, as if that’s not enough, I get to load your geriatric ass onto a stretcher and put you in the back of an ambulance, where you belong…….

Sissy and Brother, together again, how fitting.

Let me be as frank as possible. I am 4-0. I am the Rebellion Champion, I am going to beat your brother at the Pay Per View, beat you tonight, and further cement that fact that Jenny Myst OWNS the Calaway family……..and always will.

By the way, tell John to stay out of my DM’s.”

She licks her lips and blows a kiss to the camera.........

The screen cuts to black........then flashes a photo of her with running black tar eye liner and a high pitched scream.......


Then blackness. And silence

In the bottom right corner shows a small OCW logo.

ℑ'𝔩𝔩 𝔟𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔟𝔢𝔩𝔩𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔟𝔯𝔞𝔴𝔩, 𝔟𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔩𝔲𝔰𝔱 𝔦𝔫 𝔲𝔰 𝔞𝔩𝔩
ℑ'𝔪 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔡𝔦𝔳𝔞 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔡𝔞𝔪𝔫𝔢𝔡.