THEN

You’re treated to an unusual shot, as it appears we are at a jaunty angle looking up at Madison Dyson’s face from roughly chest level. The scene occurs as though somebody pressed the fast forward button, and we see Madison Dyson, her motions nearly a blur, as she drinks heavily at a bar. Madison pounds them back, surrounded by the belligerent glow of the establishment and headshots of random laughing faces.

Finally, Madison woozily traipses out of that bar and into the street, where she squints against the relentless glow of the various pub signs before stumbling into yet another joint where she once again gets her drink on. It’s shots this time. One shot. Two shot. Red shot. Blue shot. All in dizzying fast forward.

The scene progresses thusly for a time, with Madison getting increasingly sloshed as she ventures from pub to pub, stopping once to puke copiously into the street before heading into one more establishment. Madison goes to the bar and puts her head down on it. Based on the crowd it must be late as the joint seems to be shedding its patrons. Finally, the shot slows down to a normal tempo.

A bartender walks over, cleaning out a glass. He’s an older but distinguished looking gentleman with a familiar mien.



Madison drowsily lifts her head and narrows her eyes at him, before sneering in disgust. Oh fuck off, Doc!

The bartender recoils a bit, and then smirks. Well, my dear, number one I’m no doctor and number two I have no quarrel with you unless you vomit on my bar.

Pausing a bit, Maddy finally relents. Yeah, I guess it’s only an *urp* passin’ ‘zemblance.

Anyway, you seem like you’re in a bit of trouble, and I’ve got a solid ear for listening if you want to unburden yourself. But, do be relatively brief about it. We close in about 40 minutes.

Ehhhh, I don’ talk ‘bout my *urp* pro’lems wit’ nobody. *burp* I jus’ hannel shit on my own, ya know?

LITERALLY A MINUTE LATER

So, like, I dunno. I feel like I don’ know how ta be friends with Dolly if we’re not champs anymore. Like, before there was a….a…..what’s the fuckin’ word for it….

A pretense?

YEAH! A pretense! *belch*

So, in essence, without the tag team championships binding you two together, you don’t know how to have a relationship with Dolly, even though you want one.

Yeah I guesso. Like, whaddo I do? Call the bitch up and ask if she wants to binge Sex and the City with me? I mean, does that sound as gay as I think it does?

The bartender sighs and puts down the glass he was polishing. I’m going to ask you a difficult question. Have you EVER had a real friend? Not just an ally. Or a partner. A REAL friend?

Madison scowls. Hey, fuck *hiccup* you!

I didn’t think so. Look my dear, you need to find it within yourself to….

Oh Jesus, here comes the psycho-psycholology bullshit….Madison gets up off the stool, albeit unsteadily. Look, I need this like I need a goddamned hole in my head. I don’t need nobody to teach me how to *hiccup* have a friend, you got me?!

The bartender puts his hands up defensively. Ok…ok. You don’t need the help. At any rate, I hope you have a good evening. Shall I call you a cab?

I’ll figger somethin’ out. Madison stumbles towards the door.

Stay safe out there! He calls after her, but Madison has already shuffled off into the night.

NOW

We reopen on Steve Sayors seated in front of an empty chair. He turns to look just off camera and converses with the unseen crew.

Where is she? Steve inquires.

Should be coming up now. Heads up, she’s acting weirder than usual.

Steve nods, grimacing a bit. But, his entire countenance changes when Madison Dyson enters the room and sits down.

Madison, good to see you…

Let’s just run down this scum and get going, I got…shit to do….

Steve levels a look at Madison, and for a moment he’s given pause. Madison is wearing sunglasses indoors, but that can’t conceal the dark circles hanging under her eyes or the pallid color of her skin. Nevertheless, Steve presses on.

You’re the boss! So, Madison, you’ve been tasked with a tall order in your second Xtreme championship defense.

Yeah. She responds with an airy distractedness.

And it comes on the heels of your loss of the tag team championships with…

No. Not going there. She responds simply, but with more grit.

Alrighty then. Just the Xtreme championship defense. You’re squaring off against….

Madison waves her hand in annoyance. Look, let’s just cut to the chase, alright? This match is a shit show. An utter shit show. And it comes to you courtesy of Thad Duke’s political maneuverings once again. My second defense and it’s against THREE PEOPLE? By the time my 24/7 briefcase run is over I’m going to have faced half the goddamned roster. But it’s whatever. Because I’ve got this shit on….

Madison stops suddenly, and appears to stare off into space.

…Madison?

I’ve got this shit on lock down. She snaps back to it. Let’s start with this Holly Golightly bitch. And this ties right back to Peter Principle too. You see, he wants us to think he’s fighting the Black Rainbow, but he’s not doing anything of the sort. He’s caving to them. And Holly’s inclusion in this match is proof of it. Why else would some wet behind the ears newbie who’s sole accomplishment was squashing one jabroni be vying for the XTreme Championship? Answer? Because Pete is licking the Black Rainbow’s collective scrotum, that’s why. Because he fears them. But thankfully, yours truly doesn’t have that issue.

Holly, you are this match’s fucking charity case. You don’t belong here. I know it, and hell, Shark and Aurora know it too. You’re way out of your depth. You think I sweat you or your cartoonish clique you frigid cunt? Shut the lights off and see what happens.

Madison coughs, and then clears her throat. She pauses for a moment before proceeding.

News flash, you don’t need to be a surgeon to know how to hurt people. We as a species have been inflicting pain on each other just fine without any biological knowhow since the goddamn stone age, you uppity dork. But that probably won’t stop you from trying to convince us that you’re somehow superior because watching c-section videos gives you a hard on. Oh, and on that note, how very feminist of you to bemeoan not having children or a hubby because you’ve devoted yourself to science. Honey, that doesn’t make you a martyr, it makes you a dried up shrew with zero social skills. You should ask Mark Flynn on a date sometime so you two can awkwardly spew factoids at each other over a fine dinner of chicken tendies shaped like dinosaurs. 

Giving us a run down of all of H.P. Lovecraft’s greatest hits isn’t what makes you scary or threatening in this business. Success does that. Proving yourself in the ring does that. And the only one in this match who hasn’t proven shit is YOU. In fact, the only thing you’ve really got going for you is your cavalcade of cultists who have done just as much or even less than you. And let’s not pretend for a second that the Black Rainbow is something to fear either. After all, your own leadership threw a shit fit after losing to Shark, took her ball and went home. Now that’s inspiring some terror right there!

But please Holly, please do regale us with how the “leg bone connects to the knee bone”. Meanwhile, I’ll be over here plotting how best to dropkick your face into an exposed turnbuckle. Come to think of it, maybe mumsie and daddsy should have sprung for dental school rather than medical school you insipid hack.

Madison coughs again, but this time it’s much more protracted and throatier. Steve looks a bit concerned and leans in.

Madison, are you okay?

Madison clears her throat once more, finally recovering. Yeah Steve. Aside from the fact that I’m probably going to have to listen to this reject from ER spit medical jargon at us for a solid 15 minutes, I’m doing just fuckin’ peachy. Now who’s next? 

THEN

We see Madison perched on the corner of the bed in an upscale hotel room. Her bleary eyes and lilting demeanor would suggest she’s still drunk, but recovering. She has her phone out, and thanks to an over the shoulder view of it we see her finger holding steady over the call button with Dolly Waters’ name splashed on the screen.

Okay bitch, you can do this. Just ask her to hang out. It’s not that hard. She goes silent as she wars inwardly. It’s not weak either! She shouts suddenly, almost as though it’s a retort against a voice only she can hear. Madison sighs. It’s okay to have a friend. It’s okay to…. She trails off. “So Dolly, you want to catch a movie sometime?” No,no, that sounds lame. “Hey bitch, wanna come over and snort some rails?” Wait, does Dolly even DO coke? Is that something friends do together? I…fuck! FUCK, FUCK, FUCK! Madison angrily tosses her phone over her shoulder onto the bed and buries her head in her hands. After a moment, a quiet sniffle, followed by a mild sob can be heard. And it occurs to you that Madison Dyson is….crying?

Why am I so fucking broken? She croaks. What’s….what’s wrong with me? I don’t even know how to have a goddamn friend! Madison rises to her feet, fists clenched tightly in front of her, her eyes glistening with tears. Why do I even want a fucking friend?! I was just fine before! I WAS JUST FINE BEFORE ALL THIS BULLSHIT! She rages impotently at the silence in the room. I was….just fine…right?

With a choked sob, Madison throws herself back on the bed. Then, quietly, I know you’re here. Just do what you’re gonna do.

But nothing happens.

Madison sits up, a streak of rage appearing amidst the despair. I SAID JUST DO WHAT YOU’RE GONNA FUCKING DO, SAMAEL!

And as Madison howls out the invocation, the bathroom door just behind her starts to slowly whine open. Madison closes her eyes, drawing in a deep shuddering breath. Suddenly, the bathroom is alight with an unnatural crimson glow, and standing in the threshold is Samael Dyson. Shadows fall over his body, highlighting the contours of his face and slim musculature, giving him an otherworldly countenance. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of ragged jeans that look to be stained with blood. He holds his hands out, mouth turning upwards into a sick rictus of a grin.

I’m here, mommy.

Madison gets up off the bed, trembling. She casts the back of her hand over her face, seeking to stifle any errant tears on her cheeks.

My you are a sight.

Get it over with.

Get WHAT over with?

Kill me.

Samael looks taken aback. The shadows on his face seem to twist and whorl in reply.

Why so quick to die, mommy dearest?

Madison sneers bitterly. Pick a reason. Any reason. Because I’m a middle aged woman who’s so broke brained I don’t even know how to make a friend. Because my only child, the son I abandoned, is a complete monster. Because my career is going to stagnate because of the many enemies I’ve made over the years. It’s not like I don’t have my reasons.

No, no I suppose not. You ARE rather pathetic.

Yeah. I’m pathetic. Shut the fuck up and kill me.

You keep saying that like that’s what I wanted for you.

Madison cants her head in confusion. You mean it’s not?

Samael laughs, a twinkling perverse thing. Of course not! Oh I have something SO MUCH MORE FUN IN STORE FOR YOU!

NOW

Steve Sayors leans back in his seat. I’m glad you asked. Because aside from you, probably the biggest name on people’s lips as far as this match goes is…

…James Shark. Mister former Universal Champion. Madison completes Steve’s thought. Then, Madison looks askance. It’s fucking freezing in here. Can someone turn up the heat?

Steve looks confused. I think it’s pretty comfortable in here actually. But, yeah, sure. Then, to the crew. Somebody figure out how to adjust the heat, okay? Then, back to Madison. So, James Shark.

So. James Shark. Heh. Madison adjusts her sunglasses and looks directly at the camera. So tell me James, how does it feel to get absolutely ROLLED by the man I beat twice in the last year? I mean, it’s not like we can call that blowout at Rebellion a nail biter, can we? Two back to back falls claimed by Charlie Nickles. The man I’ve made my BITCH since last October. I mean, what’s that mean, right?

Well Shark, by the transitive property of “I’m better than you” it means “I’M FUCKING BETTER THAN YOU.”

You see, normally I don’t like to play these “who beat who” games. Leave that to nerdlord historians like Mark Flynn. But yeah, anyone can have an off night. Just as anyone can have a stellar night. Past outcomes are not always predictive of future outcomes. But in this case? This case is special. Because in this case the conclusions you can draw from the past are so conclusive, so definite! Shark, you got torn to pieces by the same Charlie Nickles that I have bested TWICE. You struggled and failed against the man who, in our last encounter, couldn’t even put up a decent fight against me. I mean, one win against ol’ Chuck? Hey, maybe he had one of those off nights. But two? We’re looking at a guy who just isn’t up to snuff when placed across the ring from yours truly.

The cold hard fact Sharky is that the guys you can’t beat are the guys I scoop up and eat for lunch.  Now, run tell that “trash talk royalty.”

Madison coughs again, this time sounding wet and sickly.

Madison, you want to take a break?

I don’t need a break, Sayors. I need to get on to point number two. Which is this: Shark, my Xtreme championship is not some kind of goddamn consolation prize for you! Yeah, your placement in this match is some bullshit too, just like Holly. Except in this case it’s not Peter pissing his pants over some warmed over cult, but management desperately trying to hold onto YOU, James. You see, they KNOW you’re a primadonna. That much is clear by your insistence on showing us every aspect of your disastrous personal life wrapped up like the world’s dullest episode of Judge Judy. So they know you were likely to skip town just as soon as your Universal title reign went tits up in humiliating fashion. After all, who could weather the indignity of losing to that walking cum sock Charlie Nickles in such a fashion? Certainly not an egomaniac like you!

So what did they do? They tossed you into this match to try to help you save face. They couldn’t make it TOO obvious by sending you back against Chuck right away. Plus, hell, you’d probably just get your shit pushed in again anyway. So why not give Shark a shot at the XTreme?

Well prepare to fuck off, Sharky. Because Madison Dyson is not your also ran. And the XTreme Championship, which is the hardest title to retain in the entire promotion, is not your second place booby prize! That title represents blood, sweat and tears. It represents everything the XWF stands for! What it is NOT is a trinket to help some flash in the pan narcissist out with his fee-fees!

The Xtreme championship is a title for people with BACKBONE, Shark. Not people who are too chicken shit scared to even cut a promo against Charlie Nickles. I-

But Madison is stopped short again by another spasm of coughing, this one even more severe than the last.

Could someone get her some water please?!

THEN

Madison eyes the effigy of her son suspiciously. I have a feeling my definition of fun differs quite a bit from yours.

Samael shrugs. Are beggars being choosers now, mommy dearest? Moments ago you wanted to die. Now you’re splitting hairs. *tsk* *tsk* And all this over not being able to phone a friend?

Madison looks down at the floor, tears threatening again. It’s about more than that! It’s….Jesus, there’s just so much wrong with me. I’ve wasted so much time….so much life….being this bitter, jaded monster that I let it all pass me right by.

Then just give in to the monster, mommy!

What?

You might as well, right? You know you’re not strong enough to be anything more than that monster, so just give up! Give in! Let me make you into a monster you can be proud of! A MOTHER OF MONSTERS!

Madison looked up at Samael, rage in her eyes. NO! THAT’S NOT WHO I-

But Samael flippantly waved a hand in Madison’s direction and suddenly she was falling back, back, back down through the floor, and into…space?

A cacophony of stars swirled around Madison, and when she realized her predicament she panicked, drawing in a gasp of air and flailing in the emptiness of the void. But then reality took hold. She should have been freezing to death. She should be dead already. Experimentally, she took a breath and found that she could breathe.

What the…?

Madison looked ahead and expected to see more stars, but oddly enough there was an absence of them in front of her. Nothing but darkness. An inky opaque void.

But then, the void moved.

Madison gasped and started to pinwheel her arms, trying to back away from whatever THIS was. But her efforts proved futile, and the black mass started to writhe and pulsate, unfurling like a lotus blossom in the depths of space. Madison screamed, and a pseudopod of that darkness shot out and lunged down her throat. Madison’s scream turned into a pained and desperate gurgle…

NOW

One of the crew brought Madison a glass of water, and instead of refusing it she downed it greedily. Steve again wore an expression of concern.

We can finish this another time if you want. It’s okay!

Madison finished off the glass and placed it on the floor at her feet. It’s fine. We’ve still got one more to go, do we not?

Steve shrugged, looking unconvinced by Madison’s declaration. We do.

Then let’s kick this fuckin’ pig. Madison looked squarely at the camera again. There is one positive thing I can say for the Black Rainbow, they sure do know how to pick out weakness. After all, they just rolled out the red carpet for Larry Tact.

And they sure fucked with you good and proper at Rebellion, didn’t they Aurora?

Yeah, they’re some real shot callers when it comes to picking out the runts of the litter. But what does that have to do with you and I?

Everything, bitch. Everything.

Because who actually TOOK something from them? Madison points at herself. Yeah. That would be me. I snatched the XTreme championship from the Black Rainbow’s fitness guru (and why the fuck is THAT a thing?). And you would think that would cause them to attack me en masse. But nope. Not a finger. Not a peep. They just LET me get away with it. And do you know why?

Because they’re smart enough to recognize strength when they see it.

They don’t want to go to war with Madison Dyson because they know it’s a war they’ll lose. Because they know I have the will and the resources to make them EAT SHIT whenever I want.

But you?

Madison laughs.

They see the yellow in you little girl. The lack of fight. Have you broken even yet? Maybe after you became the one millionth person to hand Larry an L. Kudos to you. What an accomplishment!

But yeah, I hear the prattle in the back. How despite Shark’s presence in the match, that YOU’RE the one to beat. But me? I don’t see it.  I mean, just what DO you have to your name, Aurora? Aside from a tag title reign that was the discount bin version of mine and Dolly’s and a blink and you’ll miss it TV title reign that was ended by…..drumroll please!....LARRY TACT.

Bitch, are you telling me you and Larry Tact are just SQUARE now? Oh honey, nobody should be SQUARE with Tact. They should only be drowning in dubya’s when it comes to Larry.

Jesus Aurora, I’m starting to think you’re not very good at this! I’m starting to think you’re ten pounds of hype in a five pound shit sack whose only real claim to fame was being CARRIED by the woman who now possesses YOUR title.
The fact of the matter is that you’ve got nothing on me, Aurora. Nothing! Not talent. Not history. Not titles. Even the dorks who run the ELO have you ranked weeeeellllllll below me. And honestly, you’re right where you should be. Nowhere near the top of the class. Running with the middle of the pack. The mediocre! 

But then, Madison trails off. Her gaze beneath those blackened shades adjusts a bit to look at something behind Steve.

I….I don’t….

Steve looks confused. You don’t what?

And that’s when the screaming starts. Madison abruptly descends into an ear splitting wail. Her hand lunges forth, pointing at something just beyond Steve Sayors. Steve, catching the panic like a virus, turns to look behind him, but nothing is there.

Madison, what’s wrong?! I don’t understand!

But Madison’s wails persist. She climbs out of her seat, going ass over tea kettle over the back of it, landing on the floor where her sunglasses fall off her face, finally giving us a clear view of her eyes. They’re reddened, sleepless, HAUNTED. Something is very, very wrong.

I didn’t think it was real! OH GOD! DON’T LET IT HURT ME!

Steve pulls himself to his feet, looking around at the crew in desperation.

Madison, there’s nothing here! Do you want me to call someone? Should I call 911?!

Madison isn’t even registering his voice. Instead she’s skittering back on her haunches, desperately trying to get away from SOMETHING. But then, her body convulses wildly and she collapses onto her back before rolling onto her front.

OHHHHHH GOOOOOOOD!!!!!!!

Suddenly, Madison starts vomiting up a thick black ichor. Steve recoils in shock and turns once more to the crew.

Somebody call 911! Right now!

The black ichor keeps pouring out of Madison’s mouth like an unstoppered faucet, coming out in thick rivulets. Madison’s body bucks with each purge, tears forcing themselves out of her eyes.

THEN

Madison awakens in a sweat stained tangle of sheets. Her breathing calms as she sits up.

Just a dream. Just a sick dream.

But, as the environs come into focus and sleep loses it’s hold, Madison’s breathing quickens yet again.

Oh no, no, no….

Because written all over the walls of her hotel room, letters reaching into every nook and cranny, are the words….