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Jenny Myst · (04-21-2017)

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 machine's 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

[Image: gIvHqW2.jpg]

"A lot of people don't know much about me other than as a manager to Chris Chaos. That is fine, and is expected. For the better part of a year I have been stuck in the shadow of the most chaotic--and most feared--superstar on this roster. It has been good, and I wouldn't still be there if it wasn't. But for the last few months, everywhere I go, people want to know more about Jenny Myst. They want to know about me, and who am I to keep that information from them? I don't mind telling you all just who I am and where I come from. I just needed to wait until the time was right. You see, the women's division here has been decimated. Roxy decided to stay home and keep her tongue firmly in Vinnie Lane's ass, Kandi Washington couldn't keep her mouth or her legs closed, Luna Hightower was a wash-out, Chris put Ginger on the shelf for good, Talia couldn't hack it---the list goes on and on. For weeks, months even, I have been training in the gym, ready to make my debut. But there was nobody to debut against.

So here I am, going up against Isabella Ravenwolf, the XWF's resident witch doctor. The voodoo lady. Someone who I have seen more time's than I would have liked in Vegas. Show after show on the strip, some magic lady did something to blow someone's mind. But like the show's on the strip, she is all an illusion. You see, Chris told me all about her. When he faced her back in the fall, in a 4 way match, and she made them both disappear into the abyss. He told me about the darkness with the weird purple strobes and the silver mist. The nothingness. Real scary stuff, spooky. Fitting for Halloween, but boring and played out the rest of the year. But learning about her isn't all I learned from Chris. You see, I thought I knew everything there was to know about surviving a dangerous situation---lord knows I have been in many---but he showed me that people can be predictable. Instead of run into something with a head of steam and deal with the consequences after, he taught me about plans and plots. He taught me to scout opponents, learn their ins and outs. For weeks and months he has been taking time out of his personal schedule to train me in--and out--of the ring."

She licks her lips and winks.

"Now I feel like I am as ready as I can be. Sure, Ms. Ravenwolf is ten times more experienced than I am in the ring. But now, I have a little insurance policy. My entire life, I had no backup, I had to go into things myself. I had to fight, scratch, claw and kick my way out of rapes, beatings, muggings, groping hands and just overall unhealthy situations."

That's why I am known back home as "The Belle of the Brawl"

But now, I have a little insurance policy known as AX3. It was all part of the plan. If this crazy bitch tries to freeze me in some position so I can't move or what not, I have 4 men who are ready in the snap of a finger to come break her in half. I don't want it to come to that, though. I want to do it myself. I want to show Chris, to show the world, that I am more than just good looks and a little sass. I want to show the world that I am more than just what you see on the outside. I can manage, I can plot, I can fuck, I can fight---and I can look damn good doing it all.

A lot of people think I come from a little rich girl background, but I have had a hard time of things. I know what I want and I know how to get what I want. While my opponent was getting into people's heads with shock value by eating babies and summoning the ghost of a dead gorilla, I was getting into people's heads by being one step ahead. Sure, say I helped Chris to some cheap wins. Sure, say I screwed Steve Davids this week as the ref, but it is all part of the plan. I am going to live up to my name, "The Diva of the Damned". I am damn proud of that name. I am the First Lady of AX3, and they need me just like I need them.

I would be lying to you all if I said I wasn't a tiny bit nervous entering the ring Saturday Night in Boston, but I wouldn't be human if I wasn't. I could get seriously hurt, but I've never been one to back down from a challenge. I have been hurt too many times in too many ways. Call me materialistic, call me a gold digger, call me a gold digging whore---the fact is, I can enjoy nice things now because I have earned nice things. If I see something I want, I go get it. What I want, at this time, is to have a 1-0 record. That's all, it is a simple request. I want to win a match here. Then, I will decide if I want to give it another go. It is just a shame that Ms. Ravenwolf has to be the crash test dummy. But it is going to feel good bashing her brains in.........

.......I've gotten my ass kicked before, Izzy, and I am sure I will again. I know full well what I am walking into. I know that this is different than simply accompanying someone to the ring. You're in this to hurt me, and that is your contractual obligation. Fine. But I think you are in for a surprise, sugar, because I just might be more scrappy than you anticipated."

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.......

[Image: ba9vvEC.jpg]

Then blackness. And silence

In the bottom right corner shows a small AX3 logo.

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