Steve Sayors ran a hand through his hair as he inspected himself in an intern's compact mirror, scrunching his lips as he felt row after row of toothpick-esque hair scrape against his palm. The same thought snaked its way back into his head, as always: this was all overdone. His reflection in the small mirror stared back at him - a grotesque caricature of his facial features buried under what felt like ten pounds of makeup. He was a peacock, he concluded as he flipped the compact shut and handed it back to the unnamed intern who scurried off the faux-talk show set afforded to him by the powers that be, flashing his tail as a last-ditch effort to grasp onto what was left of his dwindling relevance.

This was his life now: a discarded prop, a broken toy, a reminder of the good old days kept around solely because it was more convenient than letting him go. Once, he was a respected interviewer - once he was an essential part of the professional wrestling promotional model. There once was a time when he was needed. Those days had long passed, however, and so did his importance to the company. Now, all he had to look forward to during his increasingly infrequently scheduled interviews was abuse - both verbal and physical. He was a punching bag. A joke. The only solace he had in the world was the fact that he wasn't Thomas Girard.

He was pried out of his own head by a tap on the shoulder and the high-pitched, chirping voice of his beleaguered assistant.

"Mrs. Braddock is here - should I send her in?"

Steve cleared his throat and swallowed down a mouthful of spit as he nodded at the disheveled woman and pondered her situation. After all, she was the assistant to the XWF's second biggest punching bag; where would that fall on the spectrum of patheticness?

He pushed the thought out of his head and forced a hollow, empty smile onto his face that fit about as well as the stained sport coat he feared was cutting off circulation to his trembling hands.

"You're a good person," he reminded himself under his breath as the door at the other end of the small room opened, and he caught his first glimpse of his guest for this segment: Mrs. Meredith Braddock.

"You're a good person," he repeated once more - unsure as to the intention. Was he affirming himself, or convincing himself?


Despite not even being a hair over five feet tall, Meredith carried herself as if she were a giant, Steve noticed as she made her way toward the set. She's overcompensating, he thought, chuckling with his mouth hidden behind the crook of his elbow. He was no stranger to the feeling, being a scrawny, 5'6 man in a business made for tall, muscular men - though he had to admit that the sight of someone even smaller than him carrying herself with such presumed presence was amusing to some extent.

A smile as plastic and empty as Steve's crossed her face as she took her seat next to the desk. Steve eyed her carefully as she settled into the chair, seeming to not acknowledge his very existence, eyes fixed on the camera.

"Mrs. Braddock?"

Steve's words fell on deaf ears as Meredith sat, unflinching, unblinking. He cleared his throat again and drummed his fingers along the edge of the desk, continuing to eye his guest with increasing suspicion. Of course, he sighed, can't ever catch a break.

He pushed his chair out and stood up, straightening his tie and slapping his face a couple times to make sure the cheery expression on his face stayed in place. His finger tips smeared sweat across the polished oak desk as he made his way around it, towards the surefire basket case sharing a set with him.

He dropped to a knee in front of her, waving a finger back and forth in front of her face, eyes on hers, watching as they remained in place, not following his finger for even a second. Cursing under his breath, he clicked his fingers a couple times, flinching at the sight of her finally reacting to something - anything.

"Mrs. Braddock?"

She shook her head and rubbed her eyes, pushing Steve away with her foot. He stumbled back up to his feet, aided by the corner of the desk.

"You okay?"

She clenched her eyes shut for a few seconds - long enough for Steve to make it back to his seat, before opening them again with an exhale.

"Yes, thank you."

The smile never left her face, Steve noted as she turned to look at him. There it was, just as wide and foreign as it was when she walked in, though she seemed to notice that as well, as she scoffed and giggled weakly, covering her mouth with her hand.

"Sorry, please forgive me. Not quite used to this whole... thing? Yeah, thing. Let's go with that."

"And the staring?"

"Habit. Bad, bad habit."

"Alright... um, shall we get this interview started?"

She nodded, lips pursed, wringing her hands. Steve gave the signal to the camera operator and a few seconds later the camera Meredith was staring so intently at was flashing red. She took a deep breath and forced herself to smile again, the time considerably more genuine. If he didn't know any better, Steve would've almost believed it. At least, until he looked into her eyes and saw absolutely nothing. Not excitement or anxiety or fear - absolutely nothing. He'd wondered what a lack of emotion would look like before, but this was it.

He almost missed his cue.

Almost.

"Greetings, XWFans! I'm Steve Sayors, as always, and tonight I'm joined by Meredith Braddock."

She turned and waved to the camera.

"So, tell me Meredith: what inspired you to make the decision to step between the ropes?"

There was a silence between the two for a few seconds as Meredith scrunched her lips and cocked her head, staring off into space as if she were caught in deep thought. Each gesture made with nigh-mechanical precision, like a scripted performance lacking in feeling.

"Simple, really: I'm in the public eye now, Steve. Much more than I was during Felix's boxing days, that's for sure. There, I was just a face in the crowd - maybe with a little overlay signifying my relation to him, but other than that I was a nobody. Here, I am somebody, in some sense of the word and I figure that one of the most important things any public figure can do is set a good example."

Steve scoffed, not bothering to hide his bemusement. Who the fuck does she think she is?

"A good example? Like the goon squad that you and your husband pledge allegiance to? That's a great example."

Something flashed behind her eyes and her smile stretched wider.

"I'm hurt, Steve. I really, really am. And I hope you realize that you're insulting our Uni(on)versal Champion in the very same breath you used to rebuke my intentions. That's, hardly becoming of an interviewer, isn't it? Would you refer to Vinnie Lane as a 'goon'?"

"If he acted like a goon. I mean, if the shoe fits, might as well wear it right?"

He studied her reaction, mimicking her facial expression to a T. Let's see you snap, psycho.

"Right, silly me: I thought this was an interview - not 'try and bury The Union and in the process prove The Union absolutely right' part three-hundred, thirty-three."

She sighed, taking her eyes off Steve's and inspecting her cuticles.

She's good, he conceded as he allowed himself to slink back into cheery interviewer mode and cleared his throat.

"Right, right. Apologies, I was out of line with that bit of questioning."

"You're forgiven."

"So, backing things up a bit, your 'set a good example' thing: am I wrong in assuming that as some sort of feminist statement?"

"Though I'm sure the feminist crowd would disagree with me on this, I'd say it isn't, Steve. I'd say there's a dichotomy, perpetuated by feminism, that there's no middle ground between meek, submissive housewife and the archetype of the 'strong female who doesn't need no man', which in turn alienates those caught in the middle. They think it's a black and white issue but it's really all shades of grey. If anything, I represent those grey areas more than I do the feminist ideology."

"Fair enough. Though, I guess it's time to stop beating around the bush and ask the question that's on everyone's minds: how do you feel about this match - your debut, against Kandi Washington?"

"I'm looking forward to it, Steve. Win, lose, or draw it'll be a hell of a match and I know I'll make a strong first impression - after all, first impressions matter don't they?"

She flashed a knowing smile his way.

"And as for Kandi herself, well, I won't lie to you Steve. I could sit here and regurgitate everything she says to hype herself up: she's a veteran of this business who's honed her craft all over the world. She's a business mogul. She's a champion, crowned as such in her second XWF match and all of this is well and good, but none of it is what jumps out at me.

"No, the biggest thing I see when I look at Kandi Washington is an inversion. Are you a religious man, Steve?"

"Born Catholic."

"Then you're aware of the idea of the wolf in sheep's clothing. Matthew 7:15 and all that good stuff. And it's the truth. Even looking past false prophets, there are wolves masquerading as sheep everywhere on this Earth and the scariest thing about them is that you won't see their true colors until it's too late. Yet, the same can be said in reverse. For every monster behind a human mask there's just as many humans hide their insecurities behind a stone face. Enter our friend Miss Kandi.

"Sure, if you listen to her talk she's an absolute nightmare. She's the most dominant woman on the XWF roster and her little clique is going to run roughshod all over the XWF for years and years and years to come but then you listen to her talk a little closer. You really pay attention to her word choice and her repetition and you realize, she's trying just as hard to convince herself that she's all these things as she is trying to convince you or me or anyone.

"She can talk all she wants about how she's going to hurt me, beat me, do all sorts of awful things to me because she can't allow another woman to come to prominence since that takes shine off her. She can insult my husband. She can talk down to my friends. But what she can't do, is make me fear her because every move she makes is a desperate ploy from a scared little girl trapped in her glory days, acting like a spoiled high-schooler with severe entitlement issues.

"Saying you're the best is like saying you're a good person - if you have to keep repeating it, is it true?"

Her smile widened as she observed Steve's growing discomfort.

"She reminds me of a girl I knew when I was a kid. A vicious, mean, terrible bully who thought she could get away with anything."

"What happened to her?"

"She took an unfortunate tumble down a flight of stairs. Broke her arm. Kept her head down afterwards. Bullies like Kandi are dime-a-dozen: all you have to do is line them up and knock them down.

"Thank you for your time."

As the red light on the camera faded to black, Steve couldn't help but stare at Meredith, the thought of wolves in sheep's clothing running a million miles an hour in his head.