X-treme Wrestling Federation

Joshua's grip on my arms tightens once her finally grabs me. The blood's already pouring down my face and dripping onto my shirt, pants, and the ground below. Samuel's eyes are widened, though he tries to mask his surprise and new found anxiety with the same callous smile that he's given me this whole time. Unluckily for him, I can see right through it. Joshua doesn't dare putting the gun anywhere near me anymore; not sure whether it's because he's afraid that I'll try to make it go off in my mouth (totally not the best time to be making double entendres) or because whoever's really pulling the strings isn't a fan of threatening hostages with murder.

"So, what's your boss like?" I call out to either, the sudden increase in my control over the situation making me much more confident in my ability to make them feel like the pathetic, spineless maggots they really are. Samuel sighs in frustration. I know that he wants nothing more than to maim me right here, right now, but he can't. He knows he can't. I know he can't.


"He's the only thing keeping you safe right now."

"Is that so?"

"Yes, it is so."

"How's his dick taste?"

"Excuse me?"


"You heard me."

"Well, I'm sorry to inform you that I have no idea. That's something I most certainly do not participate in."

"Bullshit."

"Is that what you call the truth?"

"Okay fine, since you're so unwilling to divulge those details; how does his dick feel jammed in your asshole?"

"Are you going to keep travelling down this vulgar, incorrect route?"

I smile.

"Only if you keep on denying it."

He stops and turns to face me. Joshua stops as well, and no matter how much I struggle to keep going, it ultimately proves worthless as his grip on my arm tightens by the second.

"Ow! You already have my nose to answer for, do you really want to leave more marks on me?"

"That's exactly what I want," Samuel says, cracking his knuckles.

I start to laugh. Uncontrollably. The pain in my nose is nothing compared to the utter glee I find in his threats that I knew he wasn't planning on following through on.

"Do it."

More manic laughter. More disregarding the state of the mass of broken, bloodied cartilage dangling from my face. He steps closer to me and for a split second I feel Joshua let go of my arm.

Then it hits me. Literally.

His fist cuts through the air like a serrated knife and connects square with my jaw.

Cut manic laughter.


Cue falling to the concrete in a heap of semi consciousness.

He rushes forward and kneels over my fallen body, dropping fist after fist with my face as the target.

I can't even begin to count how many he lands before Joshua finally decides that enough is enough and shoves him off of me. I do know however, that other than my nose, I'm bleeding from at least three different parts of my face. My body rolls over onto its side aimlessly, as my bound arms aren't able to direct it in any specific direction.

I spit some blood that filled my mouth onto the ground and call out, as if I had some kind of sick deathwish: "Is that the best you've got?"

He pushes Joshua to the side and charges back to my fallen body once more. Instead of a punch this time however, he stomps me. Right on the temple.

Cut to black.

Cut sound.

Cut life.


My eyes start to force themselves open, basking me in a sea of blurry, bright light that does more for hurting my head than it does for letting me know that I'm alive. Immediately after they open, I pull them back shut once more, letting sweet darkness embrace me once more. It feels like my entire face was reduced to little more than hamburger meat and is lazily laying on the front of my skull because someone left it there. It's official, my head's become a glorified display rack at the meat department of a local grocery store. Around me, I can hear the frantic sounds of footsteps racing all around me, and the hushed whispers of conversations that I can barely piece together. In reality, I hear a bunch of words I recognize, but find myself unable to fit said words with their meanings and then back with the actual sentence they were uttered in. It feels like every third or so word in a given sentence is suddenly missing, which doesn't do much to help my confusion.

"I think, I think she's waking up, boss."


I open my eyes again, only to get drowned in the light once more. Only this time, instead of succumbing to the beating, pounding pressure of the illumination against my ill equipped pupils and shutting them again, I keep them open, silently begging the light to do its worst. Oh, and it does. At least until the shadowy figure leans over where I lay and blocks most of light from entering my eyes. He isn't wearing anything over his face, so I can assume that I'm not in the hospital. Which could only mean I'm still in the clutches of the group that kidnapped me.


"Huh? Good, good..."

Another set of footsteps, this one not as urgent as the other, sound out over the abject silence that fills the room, getting progressively louder as whoever's making them draws nearer and nearer. Until finally, he's standing right beside shadowy figure number one.

"Can you hear me?" the voice asks.

I try to talk, but all that comes out is a groan. Instead of continuing to attempt to speak, I simply nod my head once before I realize just how much it hurts to do even that. I guess he takes that as a yes, but the second figure appears to elbow the first in the ribs, causing said first shadowy figure to jolt in the opposite direction.

"Come on, get her something to write on!"

His voice echoes in my ringing ears, which I try to block out my covering them with my hands before the searing pain in my left forces me to relent on the pressure. It's about that time when the first shadowy figure returns with a whiteboard and a dry erase marker, whose color I can't make out.

The room's starting to get clearer, but not quite enough to allow me to make out everything. I lay the whiteboard down on my stomach and use the thumb o my right hand to pop the cap off the marker. My eyes start to ache and dry out, and that's how I realize that I haven't blinked since reopening them.

Which I take care of immediately thereafter.


Right, I actually need to reopen my eyes after blinking. I do, and almost as if I made no progress just moments prior, the light is once again overbearing and punches me right in the pupils.

"Do you know your name?"


I scribble -- yes, on the white board and shakily hold it up for the pair to see.

"What is it?"

I use my bare hand to wipe off the previous markings before marking something else on the board and holding it up:

Shouldn't you know it?

"Right, I wanna know if you know it, though."

The words form in the back of my throat, and force themselves out before I can even think to record it on paper.

"Kendall Savannah Sawyer--"

I cut myself off there.


"Richardson?"

"No. Kendall Savannah, Sawyer."

"Don't argue with it, Daniel."

The first shadowy figure, Daniel, I presume, nods in agreement.

"Can I go now?"

"Heh. You're funny."

It's just about now when my vision finally clears up, allowing me to see at least one of the shadowy figures. The other one seems to have backed away.



"No, Miss Sawyer. We still have a need for you."

From another point within the room, I can hear the sound of Shadowy Figure Two call out:

"Bring him down now."

I keep prolonged eye contact with Daniel, unwilling (or unable to remember) to blink. He stares right back at me, showing a look of concern I thought incapable of being mustered by the members of this gang. However, our intense staring contest is interrupted by the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. Not just one set, either. Three sets, all marching to different rhythms as if played through a series of long panning echoes. Right foot after right foot after right foot, left foot after right foot after right foot after left foot.

Then, a door opens.

Not so much opens, as flies in the opposite direction of its rest position and crashes against the wall that cuts off it's rotation around the hinges.

Daniel puts his hand on my back and helps me sit up. That's when I come face to face with the man who put me in this very situation.

Samuel.