Time Will Vindicate

[Bonnie Blue]

The scene opens on an entirely nondescript room. Walls and floor are bare concrete. A single LED light bulb shines down from overhead, making everything as bright as day. The Daughter of Time stands beneath the light, blue-green eyes fixed on the camera with an odd combination of anger, contempt, and a hint of melancholy.


Bonnie Blue: Time to lay all the cards on the table. No bullshit. No clever wordplay. No outright insults.


This match -- this opportunity -- this belt -- mean everything to me. At least half the competitors in this match either currently hold, or have held, titles of their own. Dustin Beaver was the Television Champ for months; I once had a chance to wrest it from him, but failed miserably.


Zombie McMorris, distasteful as I may find him, has been a multiple-time Hardcore Champion in his own right; and is currently the Internet Champion, for whatever that's worth.


Kat Phoenix is the current Hardcore Champ -- not that any of us really expect her to even be conscious, let alone show up.


And Andre Holmes? One half of the Tag Team Champions. I'm the only active member of Rebellution without gold of my own. It's a little embarassin'.


Y'all all keep sayin' how borin' I am. How worthless. I'm a joke.


I'm the joke that defeated Lucious Starr and Adam Young for my spot in the Final Destination match at Fifteen.


I'm the joke that took on Oblivion AND Andre Jenson at One, and left the two of them broken and bleeding.


I'm the joke that beats Scathe week after week, takes a post-match beatdown, and comes back for more.


I'm the joke that took on Wade Moor and Oblivion in a handicap match, an' walked away with the W.


Yeah. Ask these guys if they was laughin' at the end.


See, I don't need to make any juvenile displays of force to prove how "hardcore" I am. I'm not gonna go pick fights with random strangers simply to show everyone what I can do. You've seen it, week in and week out. When I get in the ring, I give it my all. Ain't nothin' left afterward.


Week in, week out, no matter what. No matter who assaults me beforehand, or after -- or on nights I'm real lucky, both; no matter who's standin' across that ring from me on any given Sunday; Bonnie Blue doesn't back down. Not ever. When have any of you seen me roll over? Hmm?


Yet you all insist on denigrating me -- or ignoring me completely.


I don't have to see Shadowlove's promos, for example, to know that he has never bothered to watch a single match in which I've ever participated. He's too self-absorbed. Hell, I don't think he even knows who I am. All you see is a name on a list, Shadow; ain't that right? An' ya reckon it's enough to acknowlege your opponents by name -- repeatedly -- without botherin' to know any of their accomplishments. You do us, and yourself, a terrible disservice.


An' I refuse to watch any more of Zombie's promos. The man is clearly insane an' can't tell the difference between fantasy and reality. I had the slightest modicum of respect for him, until this week. Shouldn't have watched the first one. Once I figured it out enough to make sense of it, it made me sad. I wanted to quit, honestly. Just walk away and not come back. But then I understood that's what he wanted.


Because whatever y'all may think about my entertainment value, every single one of you -- except Shadowlove -- knows that I am a threat.


Most of you -- again, except Shadowlove -- know that I am the heir to the legacy of Johnny Reb. Everyone loved Johnny Reb, even when he was dark an' evil; some liked him better that way. That's not the point. Let me tell y'all a little story.


Once upon a time, there was a WAR. And of the many entrants, Johnny Reb was one of the first men in. One by one, opponents fell, until there was only Reb -- and the Allfather, Odin Balfore. The battle was long, arduous, but in the end, it was Johnny Reb who remained, standing tall. Johnny Reb, the man nobody took seriously in that competition; against all the odds, against arguably the finest athlete of the time -- he came out on top.


That is the true legacy of Johnny Reb. And I -- I am his daughter. To do anything but compete with all my heart would be a dishonor, an insult to the man he was.


Now, there are two competitors I have yet to address. I have been remiss in that regard, an' I must apologize, in partic'lar to Vengeance. Honey, it ain't nothin' against you. It's merely a matter of circumstance. You an' me ain't crossed paths yet. I'm sure you've had some perfectly ugly things to say in regards to me, and that's fine. That's your prerogative. You'll pardon me if I don't feel inclined to subject myself to whatever it was -- I prefer to settle any diff'rences we might have in the ring. Honestly, I doubt it was anything but a variation on the same themes -- I'm a boring joke. Maybe you said I'm weak because I'm a woman.


But I don't really care, Vengeance. Aside from the apology for havin' overlooked you thus far, I don't owe you more'n that. And after Sunday night, it really won't matter.


I'm done takin' this shit from everyone. Of all of you, only Scathe and Dre take me seriously. That is all about to change. I tried to take the high road; that didn't work. By the time I'm through, every single one of you will have cause to hate me.


I reckon that'll go double for Dustin, who already does. Not on his own, but because Wade Moor told him to. Don't worry, sweetie -- I'm gonna give you a plethora of reasons all your very own. That I can promise.


Ok, so I've now addressed all but one of y'all, right? We've covered ZMAC, Dustin Beaver, Scathe, Shadowlove, Katherine Phoenix, an' Vengeance. That leaves my friend, my brother, my comrade -- Andre Holmes.


Dre, I love ya. I'm s'posed to say how you can't beat me. But I don't know if that's true. I don't honestly know whether or not I could put your shoulders on that mat for the one-two-three. How far am I willin' to go for gold? You're askin' yourself that same question right now, I know y'are. Because I'm askin' myself the same about you.


The rest of the locker room is gonna be practically salivating come Sunday night. They want to watch us tear into each other, turn on each other like starvin' dogs fightin' over scraps of meat. They want us to destroy one another, and in so doin', bring Rebellution down, too. An' honestly, Dre... I can't say how things will work out. I want that belt -- but do I want it badly enough to risk everything we've been building these last few months?


Unlike the rest of our competition this week, you and I are puttin' more than just our bodies, our lives, on the line. When it's do or die time, Dre, you won't find me easy to deal with. I won't roll over. You'll have to knock me the fuck out. Because what it comes down to is... I need this.


After the last failure with the Television Title, all I've gotten is passed over. Had to watch other people -- newer people, though no less worthy -- get opportunities that might otherwise have been mine. Oh, sure, there was the Final Destination match at Fifteen, which was absolutely rigged. An' then there was the disastrous Trilogy Cup battle royal for that wildcard slot -- where, once more, I got humiliated.


Yes, I have failed... many, many times. Probably will again. That don't make me weak. It don't make me a joke. And it damn sure don't make me boring.


But I am gonna be damned if I let another opportunity slip through my fingers.


Am I a hardcore wrestler?


Fuck no. I can be, when the situation calls for it. Wantonly hurtin' folk simply because I can, though, is far beneath my personal standards.


Do I want this title?


Hell yes. Just 'cause I don't consider myself hardcore, that don't mean I won't try my damnedest to win this time. It ain't just about the belt. It's not only a matter of pride. It's some of each... and more.


Maybe, if I draw enough blood, y'all will start takin' me seriously as a competitor. Maybe crackin' a few skulls will be an adequate display of my determination. Maybe....


Then again, maybe not.


But in the end, when I walk out of Slam this week with my new Hardcore Title, it ain't gonna fuckin' matter.


Tempus vindice.


Abruptly, the scene ends.