The lights flicker on and off, occasionally leaving me stuck in the darkness, alongside my psychotic bitch of a stepsister. Looking up and noticing the same thing I am, she curses under her breath, tightening her already vise like grip on my wrist. Frustratedly, she yanks on my arm, almost forcing it out of the socket, pulling me further down the unsettling hallway.

"You would think," she begins, stopping to lightly hit her fist off the wall next to her. "That with all of the money I put into this fuckin' building, the lighting wouldn't make the place look like we were in a shitty horror movie." Wait a second, am I agreeing with her? Fuck. She starts walking again, letting go of my wrist. I guess she trusts that I won't run, as if I would in the first place...

"Uh, yeah. That's real interesting," I say before the weight of the situation hits me once more. With one phone call, she can end Jessie's life. Oh, fuck.

"Did I ask you to speak?"

Solemnly, I shake my head no before looking down at the ground.

"Better."

Bitch.

She comes to a stop once more, looking up at the door. Turning to me, she nods before placing her palm on the edge and pushing it open. Stepping in first, she holds the door open long enough for me to come in too, barely. The door swings shut behind me, and closes with a loud slamming sound that forces me to jump forward, closer to Miranda.

But also, closer to the woman lying in the bed.

Whoever the fuck she is...

Wait a second...

"Oh come on! Say hello to your fiance, Anna! You look like you've never met her before!"

"You fucking bitch..."

"Now now, that's no way to address family..."

Her left fist shoots out and strikes me in the face, dropping me to the cold, linoleum floor in an instant.

"...Especially the ones who always could kick your ass."


Oh right, I have this match with AJ Powell. I mean, I could spend air time speaking of the finish of my own match at Lethal Lottery, and how the woman I knew would drop the fuckin' ball did, but I won't. You wanna know why?

Because, I'm not an AJ Powell. I don't spend half of my fucking promo time droning on and on about the past, when my opponent wasn't even around for it. The words that come out of my mouth aren't mindnumbing to listen to. I'm not a clinically braindead douchebag who thinks there's any way people can take him remotely seriously after he lost to the resident fuck up, Peter Gilmour. I'm most certainly not an AJ Powell.

I'm a Kea Diaz, thank you very much. What I do, is point out the fucking flaws in logic that my opponents produce in each and every single promo they release.

Let's get to it, shall we?

First and foremost, you feeling the need to remind people (who are much more familiar with me than they are with you) all of what I am. Resident (not residential, you fucking daft cunt,) lesbian? Sure, you could say that, seeing as all it took was the second time coming out of the closet in the workplace (just to get a fucking creep off of us,) to spark a mass coalition of women to come out as well. Yes, I'm the original, kind of. I guess. Whatever. Social awkwardness, sure. I prefer hating the guts of ninety percent of the roster, but I guess that label fits too. One hundred different personalities? Hell, I'll even take this. A little bit of self deprecation never hurt anyone. Now tell me, Asian Junk, where's your point?

The meat of this promo?

What the fuck were you trying to get across here?

I'm legitimately confused, because all you did was spout off exposition like the viewers are as braindead as Christine Nash (bitter? You best fucking believe it.) Now, what was the point of that? To lead into a...

But she is respected argument! Yeah, way to stroke my ego's vagina there. You even went the extra mile and slipped in a finger by saying that you respected me on top of it! Wow, I don't even need to speak myself up when you're doing it for me!

However, here's where things start to fall off the rails of actual logic and start veering dangerously close to idiotic lunacy. Stay with me, Powell!

And I lost him.

Because now, he's ranting about being ruthless, aggressive, and reckless as if him saying those words somehow phases me. No, not really. You really aren't scary, Asshole Jambalaya. Give it the fuck up already. Quite literally zero people believe you.

Then, he talks about how the feeling in the arena will be. That's right, his promo droned on forever, and he managed to say only one hint of attack against me. Me! A woman who hits every single checkmark for things to make fun of, and he couldn't rub together enough brain cells to take advantage of that! Seriously, are they letting anyone back through these doors?

Who's next; Cyren? Those fucking morons that Gilmour always hypes up his victories over?

Oh, and AJ?

I would love to see you try and cut my face off.

Do it, bitch.