The Once and Future Champ

[Bonnie Blue]

Part I:
The Vanishing Point

Deep within the Echelon Media studios -- home of Kingdom Pro Wrestling, the brainchild of one Jason Rush (aka John Rabid) -- resides a room typically bustling with the activity of directors, producers, and a variety of technicians. Today, however, the sole occupant of the control booth is Bonnie Blue. Surrounded by a dozen monitors, sea-blue eyes dart from one to the next, observing with detached interest as Noble Savage tears through the likes of Estrella Luiz, Karma Bishop, or Night Rider; while on other screens, she has more difficulty with “Jazzy” John McCarty, Teo Del Sol, or Samuel McPherson before ultimately defeating them. Still another monitor shows Savage falling to Alex Richards at Payback; and her debut loss to Eccentrix plays out on yet another.

But it's the central, and largest, of the playback displays that draws Bonnie's intense scrutiny.

On it, the WAR match -- Noble Savage’s singular defining victory -- is ongoing. Kurt Navarro is laying waste to everything in his path, including Corey Black and Jayson Price. Bonnie pauses, rewinds, and turns the volume up as she watches the scene unfold:

Zach Davis: Kurt Navarro putting the two veterans back into the ring, I don’t even know if he realizes Luke is in there and fresh. This might get interesting!

Freddy Whoa: Navarro and Force nodding at each other, they circle up and then move in for the tie-up. Force shoots Navarro into the ropes and tries for a clothesline, but Navarro ducks it. Navarro with a shot to the chin. Force takes it and then responds with one of his own. Luke with a headbutt.

Zach Davis: Navarro goes to respond when he’s spun around. It’s Price! Downfall!

Freddy Whoa: No! Navarro blocks it. Spins him around and hits the Vanishing Point. Navarro for the pin as Force gets spun around by Black.

Zach Davis: ONE! TWO! THREE! Navarro eliminates Price!

Freddy Whoa: Black with Luke up for the Burning Hammer but Luke is trying to fight out of it. Navarro to his feet and hits a Vanishing Point on Black.

Zach Davis: The big hits just keep coming! But Black able to roll out of the ring and avoid the pin by some stroke of luck. And here comes entrant #21!

It isn't Savage, not yet. Bonnie's interest wavers, her eye drawn now to another monitor, where Brandi delivers a Savage Kick to a hapless Scott Slayer. Blue's mind, however, returns to Navarro. He'd had such a promising career ahead of him, a former TV Champ, and destined for more gold -- only to mysteriously vanish without a word to anyone. The Time Witch wonders vaguely what had happened to him; then wonders why she’s wondering, and tries to put him out of her mind.

Sea-blue eyes continue to scan the action. Another screen shows Bonnie at Hellimination, just as Gravedigger wraps her up from behind -- and is it her imagination, or is Brandi holding back? The Serpentine runs the footage back and plays it again.

Yes. Right there: an instant of hesitation. Suspicion aroused, Bonnie frowns at what seems to be the barest hint of a smirk.

What would the detective make of this? she asks herself. And why am I still thinking about that dude, anyway?

The action on the primary monitor seems to provide a clue:

Freddy Whoa: Noble Savage brawling with Kurt Navarro and holding her own.

Zach Davis: Thumb to the eye! Navarro blinded and Savage suplexes him to the mat.

“Cheatin’-ass cunt. And they all wanna say I'm the bad guy….”

The sounds of raised voices echo down the hall, muffled by the room's soundproof insulation and a locked door. A sense of annoyed irritation ripples along the telepathic bond Bonnie Blue shares with her lover; the negotiations must not be going well, but with a stubborn ass like Hadrian Wall, that was only to be expected.

More or less like cheating and Noble Savage; Bonnie would need to be prepared for that. Shutting out the distractions outside, the young goddess firmly sets her focus on the WAR match once again.

Freddy Whoa: Final 3! Kurt Navarro and Noble Savage in the ring, Joey Flash on the apron. This is going to be interesting!

Zach Davis: Savage goes for the Savage Kick on Navarro but he ducks it! Navarro from behind with a sleeper hold. Savage clawing to get free but Navarro’s got it synched in tight.

Freddy Whoa: The referee is checking but Savage is refusing to submit.

Zach Davis: Here comes Flash! Sudden Flash!

Freddy Whoa: Savage turned! Savage turned her body and Navarro caught the punch to the temple! Savage scrambling out of the way as Flash pins Navarro.

Zach Davis: ONE! TWO! THREE!

Freddy Whoa: And then there were 2!

Scowling, Bonnie Blue shakes her head.

Shoulda been her taking that punch. I coulda been facing Navarro at One instead. He deserved it; Savage just got lucky. That's always the story with her, though. And then she twists the truth to cover it up, hide her own self doubt. Kurt Navarro would have been a much more worthy challenge… so long as he didn't get himself in too deep with one of his cases. Like that girl who disappeared. That's what he was looking into before he went off the grid. I wonder if -- ?

The onscreen action pulls her from her musings again as Noble Savage and Joey Flash trade shot for shot in an explosive in-ring brawl.

Freddy Whoa: This crowd has come unglued as Noble Savage refuses to go down.

Zach Davis: Savage to her feet, she's shaking her head no.

Freddy Whoa: Flash up to his feet.

Zach Davis: SAVAGE KICK!

Freddy Whoa: No! Flash caught it!

Zach Davis: But Savage counters with an enzuigiri! Flash goes down!

Freddy Whoa: TOMB SEEKER! Flash hit with the curb stomp.

Zach Davis: Savage collapsing on top of Flash. Here's the pin!

Freddy Whoa: ONE!

Zach Davis: TWO!

Freddy Whoa: THREE!

Zach Davis: My god!

Freddy Whoa: Savage has pinned Joey Flash!

At last, Bonnie stops the playback in disgust.

“This -- this is what passes for a fucking triumph these days? Number twenty-nine out of forty, stealing eliminations after somebody else done all the work -- sounds familiar -- and she didn't outlast anyone who was actually fresh. That wasn't superior skill or cunning; just blind, stupid luck. All anybody wants to talk about is this stunning WAR victory, and it wasn't even that impressive. Just another indication of how far this company’s standards have fallen. But what can you expect from a company that regards Odin Balfore as a standout champion? If I didn't know better, I might think there was some kind of witchcraft at work, here.

Then again…”

Struck by a sudden burst of intuition, the Serpentine hurries from the control booth. She needs to get to Philadelphia, fast -- the fate of the Wrestling Championship Federation could be at stake.

************************************************

Part II:
The God She Calls

Neon light flickers through wood slat blinds while a chill February rain patters against the window. I pour another belt of Southern Comfort and knock it back like a champ.

Belts. Championships. That’s what's on my mind as I sit at my desk, in the dark. Drowning my sorrows like a sap, cause I dunno up from down in this crazy, mixed-up world anymore.

I used to be a Champ in my own right, y'know. A contender. Number one girl in the number one promotion in the business. THE business. The one that matters. I had it all. Fame and fortune. Glitz and glamour. And the fans… oh, the fans…

And where am I now? I'm a crummy, run-down office on the South Side of Philly, right between a liquor store and a joint that sells nudie books.

Name's Bonnie Blue -- former World Champion of the Dub-Sea-Eff -- and now? Just another gumshoe scrounging for nickels in the gutter.

Right about now, you're probably asking yourself: how'd it come to this? Where'd it all go wrong?

Sugar, that's the same questions I'm asking myself every day, but that ain't the real mystery here.

The real mystery is -- how is Noble Savage the world champ?

Look at her. She don't know wrestling like I do. She ain't a stand-out talent. Noble Savage has a total of five solid tricks in her bag, and the rest is just variations on a theme.

If you're thinking there's some kinda shenanigans at work here, well honey, give yourself a cookie, ‘cause you got it figured out. Not all of it, but more than I did two months ago. Here's how it shakes out:

Noble Savage walks up into the WCF outta nowhere, loses her debut match, and then suddenly goes on an undefeated streak that don't end until Payback; until Alex Richards puts her on the canvas with that Final Enlightenment -- and boy, did she get enlightened! But somewhere in the middle of all that, she pulls off the impossible: she wins WAR. A rookie, still wet behind the ears, and somehow this dizzy dame breezes through the biggest match of the entire year like it's nothing.

Granted, she had the advantage of coming in two-thirds of the way into it. And a majority of the eliminations she scored were on people who never had any business in that ring anyway -- not even trained wrestlers, just jobbers in the right place, at the right time. But hey, a victory is a victory, right?

...Wrong!

Noble Savage ain’t nothing more than a tool in the hands of a skilled craftsman. Or craftswoman, in this case. That manager of hers, Lady Abernathy, she's the one who made out in all this -- and she played the rest of us for chumps. Savage scores herself a free first-class ticket on the train to Champsville and Abernathy reaps the rewards.

But that ain't the part that's hard to get. Wouldn't be the first time the Dub got took by a ringer.

Nah, the thing sticking under my skin is how anybody thought that performance was impressive. Especially when this chick ain't done nothing since.

Ok, so she wins a lot. More than her skill level accounts for, if ya smell what I'm cooking. Now, she ain't got the kinda connections to be paying people off -- which is why she had to cheat her way to a win over Odin Balfore, using a pipe wrench -- so the question remains: how?

And I think I know the answer.

See, our girl Brandi Noble, she calls herself the “Soul Witch”; and it's got nothing to do with her cooking or her taste in music. This witch is into the blackest of magic.

Human sacrifice.

Noble Savage is a murderer, and for no reason but to advance her own career.

And the worst part is how she points her dirty little finger at me, when she's the one with blood on her hands. But then again, that's Brandi's modus operandi and has been from the start. She's been manipulating everyone, from the suits at the office, to the boys and girls in the locker room, and to the whole WCF Galaxy -- all under the guidance of her puppet master.

It's the biggest con job of all time, not to mention the bloodiest, and I'm about to bust it wide open.

************************************************

Part III:
Black Circle

The clues had been there all along, readily apparent for anyone who cared to look. Only nobody had -- until now.

Parked outside the WCF Dojo, a training facility for up-and-coming young superstars somewhere on the outskirts of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania: a gray Dodge Charger, Bonnie Blue behind the wheel. She can't risk using her own car; the emerald-green Ranchero stands out too plainly, and the last thing she needs right now is to be recognized.

The Time Witch opens up her laptop, sifting through open tabs as she keeps half an eye on the building’s back doors. Navarro had done his work diligently before vanishing into thin air. Now the clues are posted to a Reddit subforum, each more intriguing than the last. What had begun as a routine missing girl case had evolved into a dangerous web of murder, cover-ups, and a supernatural power grab involving the WCF World Championship.

She looks over the missing persons report again: Debra Torrence, only child out of Chicago, Illinois; comes to Philly hoping to hit the big time in pro-wrestling; signs with the Dub and assumes the working name “Lacy”; and somewhere along the way, disappears without a trace. Nobody thinks much of it. Rookies drop out all the time. They can't cut it in training, it's not as fake as they thought it was gonna be, they don't get along with the other wrestlers, or any number of other reasons -- they give up, go home.

But not Lacy. According to the last hit on her cell phone, it was still somewhere in the city -- at least, before the signal had died. There hadn't been a single hit on her debit card since she went AWOL: No bus, train, or plane tickets; no rental car; not even a stop at the Taco Bell around the corner. Nothing.

There had been plenty of rumors, though, if you know who to ask -- how to ask -- and Kurt Navarro had. The details varied, but the thread was consistent. Witnesses had seen Lacy involved in a heated confrontation with a woman dressed all in black, face obscured by a hooded sweatshirt. Later that day, an even dozen -- all similarly dressed, all wearing hoodies that hid their features -- had appeared outside the WCF Dojo, chanting in some obscure language that might've been Latin.

The last anyone had seen of Debra “Lacy” Torrence, she'd been fleeing a blind panic. Out the dojo doors, into the Philadelphia night, never to be seen again. Traces of blood had been found on some of her belongings when they'd cleaned out her locker, but that wasn't unusual in the wrestling business.

Bonnie looks up from the computer as the passenger door opens, and Hank Brown slips into the seat beside her.

“Well…?”

Brown passes her a flash drive.

“It's all there. Lacy’s employment records, security footage from the night she disappeared, and the financial info on this Navarro character. You were right: Black cut him a fat check right before he took off.”

Her delicate brow furrows in concentration. A payoff meant that somebody didn't want word of the investigation getting out. But was that just to protect the reputation of a company trying to keep it's doors open in the face of new and determined competition -- or is there more at play behind the scenes?

“What d'ya think, Hank? Did Navarro solve the case? Did he stumble onto something bigger?”

The longtime journalist takes a deep breath, considering his reply as he exhales slowly. In almost eighteen years with the Dub, he's seen it all, and he has a pretty good guess at to what happened. This is cake compared to the shit he's witnessed firsthand.

“Well, since you're asking, my take on it is that something happened to Debra Torrence. By which I mean, don't bother looking for a body; you'll never find one. Kurt tumbled to the truth, and Black paid him to keep his trap shut. A murder at the Dub now, with that other company actively working against us? Bad news for everybody. You want my advice, I'd tell you to drop it -- but you might be the only one who can stop what's coming.”

“What's coming? What d'ya mean by that?”

Hank Brown turns a solemn gaze on the young goddess.

“What I mean, Bonnie, is that it's no coincidence Debra Torrence laid down for her dirt nap right as Noble Savage’s career takes an upswing. Way I see it, she was given an ultimatum -- an ultimatum she refused, and paid the price. They sacrificed her to catapult Savage into the main event. For what reason, I couldn't guess. But they got Black on the ropes, because even if he isn't in on it, he can't exactly interfere, either -- not without bringing the whole WCF down.”

With a sigh, Bonnie closes the laptop again. This is a lot to think over, all at once. Corey Black being complicit in the murder of a fresh, young talent and its subsequent cover up isn't much of a shock; neither is putting Noble Savage and Lady Abernathy square in the middle of it all. What she doesn't get is what a bunch of literal witches want with the WCF World Title -- and what it's got to do with her. Her confusion must read on her face like yesterday's clickbait, because Hank Brown hesitates as he exits the car, leaning down to offer one more comment.

“If you want to save the WCF and restore this company to its former glory, then you have to put an end to Noble Savage. Monday night, at Til Death Do Us Part, you have to reclaim the World Title -- or everything could be lost.”

Cool, Bonnie thinks, watching Hank walk away. So, no pressure, or anything…

And, having gotten what she'd come for -- and then some -- she turns the key in the ignition and drives away.

************************************************

Part IV:
Tomb Seeker

Growing up, they tell you the world is black and white; good and evil, light and dark. Get a little older, and you learn real quick it's all shades of grey, punctuated with a lot of red in congealing pools and wide splatters.

And sometimes, if you're very skilled (like me) -- or very damn lucky (like Savage) -- the World is Gold.

Tonight, though… tonight is different. I pull the collar of my trench coat up against the blowing wind as I step past the bouncer and walk into the Blue Velvet Lounge: a gathering place for the cream of Underworld society. We're talking the big time here -- not number runners and petty thieves, but major racketeers, fixers, sharks, and underbosses. The kinda guys you don't want to rub the wrong way, unless you wanna get rubbed out.

And mine was the last face any of them wanted to see, so I obligingly pull my fedora down a little lower as I saunter toward a row of private booths in the back. I had a message to meet someone here; that they got the evidence I need to make this whole case stick. Smells like a setup to me, but what's a girl to do?

The booth, like I figured, is empty. No sooner do I take a seat, than I feel the iron pressed against my kidneys -- a .38, if I'm not mistaken. A whisper in my ear says to play it cool; don't turn around and don't make a peep. Out through the kitchen, and into an alley, where a 1940 Packard with running boards and white-wall tires sits idling. A black hood is shoved over my head, while rough hands make a hasty search, and turn up the .22 I keep in my shoulder rig. Twine ties my wrists behind my back, and I'm bundled into the back of the waiting car.

A twenty minute ride in relative silence, except for the honking of car horns, the rattle of a train as we drive parallel to the tracks, and the screech of brakes when we finally come to a stop -- probably in front of an old warehouse, somewhere in the industrial district. It'll be deserted this time of night. Perfect place to carry out all kinds of unpleasantness without getting interrupted. By now, I should be worried. But I still got a trick or two up my sleeve they don't seem to know about, and I'm curious where this is going.

After getting frog-marched about fifty more feet, someone shoves me down onto a wooden chair that creaks with every shift in weight. Good. Means I can bust it, if I need to. The hood is whipped off my head, and I squint against the bright light as my eyes adjust. Beyond the pool of luminescent yellow is darkness, where several figures prowl the perimeter. I can sense them, but I can't make out any details. Smart -- if they were dealing with anybody else.

A voice rings out from the shadows, but altered so I can't quite tell if it's a man or a woman.

“It's time to sing, little Bluebird. Tell me everything you know about Noble Savage and the WCF World Championship -- and maybe you walk outta here in one piece.”

“Everything, huh? It gets a little complicated, and bein’ dumb enough to kidnap me -- I'm not sure you can keep up.”

“Indulge me.”

The voice is flat, emotionless. I got a couple of guesses who might want me to spill the beans right about now, but they'd be better off just keeping me outta the ring in tnt first place. Things are in motion either way; things they can't stop, so there's no harm now.

“Ok. I'm feeling pretty talkative tonight, so I'll play your game:

Noble Savage ain’t no champion. She mighta stole my World Title -- but she ain't got the first notion what to do with it. Look at her! Almost two months around her waist and not one person making the slightest noise about takin’ for themselves. Leastways, not aside from me and Odin Balfore. There's one thing me and that big dummy finally got in common -- we both got screwed at One. And now I know why.

See, that WAR win little miss Savage got -- that was s'posed to guarantee her spot at One and we all reckoned on it being one-on-one. But that was while Odin Balfore was Champ. Then I took that belt off him -- fair and square, and all on my own, in spite of what ignorant fuckwits keep saying -- and the whole game changed.

The Circle. They knew they had Odin right where they wanted him, with all those rituals and incantations, all of it meant to bind the Se7en God; to bring him down to Brandi's level so she could maybe score one pinfall on the champ without resorting to a foreign object. Not because they're above such things, but cause they stood to lose that one shot at the WCF Title with their chosen candidate. If Brandi had got herself disqualified, the title woulda stayed around Odin’s waist -- or, more accurately, mine; but I was that wild card factor they never counted on. So when I took the World Championship for myself, well, that threw the whole plan right out the window, didn't it?

And they had to come up with another, real fast -- so what did they do? They used whatever pull they had with Corey Black to get the match changed from one-on-one to a four-way dance -- all to keep me distracted, to make me split my focus when I shoulda had my eye on Noble Savage the whole time.

It worked. She sneaked a pinfall on arguably the weakest link in the match while I had my hands full with Odin. That's why Noble Savage ain’t nothing but a joke as world champ. She ain't never once bested Odin Balfore without cheating, and she damn sure has never beat me! Oh yeah, she plays up that DQ win on some random throwaway Slam like it matters -- ‘cause that's the only time she scored a victory over Bonnie Blue, and the only damn time she ever will!

Now, y'all gonna say: But what about Hellimination?

Yeah? What about it? Bitch claims she won the whole thing, but the truth is -- it came down to me and her in that ring, facing off against Odin Balfore and Gravedigger. While I was going at it with a guy three times my size, Brandi stood back and watched when Gravedigger grabbed me from behind; failed to break up the pin when she had the chance; all so she could go around acting like she done won Hellimination all by herself.

Talking about how she single-handedly secured that World Title shot for me, but we all know that ain't true. What she did was risk certain victory in an effort to make herself look like a better athlete; like her win at WAR was more than just dumb luck. And in the end, she never expected me to overcome the odds and take that World Championship from around Balfore's waist.

Because she didn't bother doing her research. Y'know, like a real champ does. If she had, she'd have known that Payback wasn't my first victory over the Nordic Tank. She'd have known I beat him way back in July, to take his spot in Ultimate Showdown. Or that, before that, I fought my way through three other top competitors in a tournament for World Title contendership, and only barely lost out when I took Odin Balfore to his very limit.

So, you see, that World Title has been in my sights for a very long time. Longer than Noble Savage has even been in this business. What I know about her could fill a thimble, only because there isn't any substance to her. She's a ghost. A wraith, draining away the essence of WCF a little at a time; seeking a power that was never meant to be hers.

Noble Savage can't stand on her own, so she uses others to prop herself up, to make herself appear to have some semblance of meaning. She is neither noble, nor is she savage; only an empty shell, filled with half-dreamt delusions put there by an embittered crone with neither the wit nor the will to to achieve anything of meaning. The hollow puppet, dancing to the whim of an imbecile puppeteer. Both of them about to drown in their own ineptitude.

Monday night, in New Orleans, Noble Savage falls at the hand of Bonnie Blue.

The WCF World Championship is mine again.

And #WrestlingGenocide claims its final victim.”

A slow clap -- arrogant and self assured -- echoes through the darkened warehouse. Then, with unexpected abruptness, it stops; the light shuts off; and I find myself utterly alone.

My guess? Whoever’s behind this, well, they got what they wanted -- for all the good it'll do ‘em. Shoulda plugged me while they had the chance. Noble Savage has a bill coming due, and I'm looking to collect in blood.

************************************************

Epilogue:

Static resolves to a crystal-clear image: Bonnie Blue, seated on a throne built comprised entirely of the twisted remnants of steel chairs. The names of all who have fallen beneath her boot imprinted into the surface: Kyle Kemp, Kevin Bishop, Leon Hayze, Kennedy Matthews, among the obscure. More prominent are Teo Del Sol, Odin Balfore, and a recent addition: Noble Savage.

You must think you're so clever, Brandi. I reckon you didn't think I'd figure it out -- how you manufactured this whole situation; drove the wedge between the Guardians and made Alex Richards believe I'd turned my back on him, just so you could use him to grab a cheap win at my expense?

Did ya think I wouldn't catch on to how you let Gravedigger eliminate me back at Hellimination?

Did ya honestly believe I wouldn't realize that you'd been plotting all this from the start?

Well, not you specifically. We both know you ain't the brains behind your own -- largely accidental -- success. Must be nice to have somebody else do all the thinking for ya; but it might be better if it was someone a little smarter than Abernathy. ‘Cause, see, all she wants to do is use dumb cunts like you to do what she can't. Gotta wonder how many innocent little girls had their lives ruined before you came along; how many there'll be after she's used you up and tossed you away.

Except there won't be any others, Brandi. Your weird little coven -- I'm gonna expose it; and I'm gonna expose you for the fraud you really are. Yeah, you can hide behind this whole mind fucking shtick all you want; blame Abernathy for the atrocities you commit in the name of success. But I see right through you, Brandi. You're a coward, too afraid to admit that you like it. That it gets you off. That you wanted me to be like you.

And when you finally understood that you couldn't have me, you went outta your way trying to destroy me.

But it didn't work -- because like everything else, you botched it. You failed. I'm still breathing, still fighting, and I ain't gonna rest until that World Title is back around my waist, where it belongs.

I got a score to settle with you, Brandi. That tag match a couple of weeks back? That was just a warm up. There's no Odin Balfore to hide behind this time; no John Rabid to blame for your failure. No more excuses.

You've had your time as champion, and wasted it the same way you wasted the currency of that lackluster WAR victory. And now, Noble?

Your Time… is up.

Bonnie Blue flips a backward peace sign at the camera as the scene dissolves into static once again.