It’s early January of ‘24, and it’s already been as cold a winter as one can remember. The few weary faces seen dragging around these industrial sidewalks are so white they’re nearly blue. Lips chapped and splintered from the frigid, frost-bitten air. The winds twirl, twist and pierce through layers upon layers of ineffective garments with an almost bullying, snide accent. So cruel are these frozen, treacherous elements, that they leave even the strongest, most durable people searching for warmer confines… even in places where they know harm is offered at a premium.

The rusty and worn smokestacks from the factories and foundries paint over the icy skies, like black smudges on a shapeless, gray canvas. They offer a most empty, yet peculiar aesthetic to the already dead scenery with which we’ve been immersed, it’s the visual of a choice: why be beaten and cold, when you can be beaten and warm?

…so back into the factories they trudge. From the cold to the grind.

I guess I had to see it to believe it.

Patel Gagendepp intones, as the lanky Indian immigrant materializes near the end of a tight, concrete hallway.

His dingy, sleepless eyes aren’t flinching, not even under the warmth of this lightless setting in the bowels of some factory. Instead they’re settling upon his subject of curiosity a few feet ahead of him. Patel’s focus sharpens as he walks closer, carrying the brave anxiety of a ghost hunter who’s encountering a banshee for the first time. Though every instinct is tearing through his flesh from the inside out, begging him to run, Patel must see this through. He must know if the rumors are true.

You really are back.

His whisper rattles into the dark of the hallway as he ceases walking, standing just close enough to confirm that he’s looking at more than apparition,   

I guess so…

Sitting in a metal chair against the concrete wall, Dolly Waters turns her head from the floor to face Patel. The man she once employed as her assistant. Patel couldn’t help but notice that his former employer had seen better days. She’s thinner than the last time he saw her, and wearing a pudgy red bruise under her eye. A dirty sock-hat covering her once golden and flowing hair, and baggy sweat clothes leaving her once ripped, and athletic frame as a fleeting memory.

But why? Why do you insist on coming back here? After all of the pain this place has put you through-

Dolly pulls her tired glare away from Patel, and contemplates his words, staring off into the empty and opaque setting ahead of her,

-after all the damage you’ve done-

Closing her lips to hide an annoyed snarl, Dolly’s tongue moves across the gap of her teeth, taking in the indignant monologue,

-after all the times you’ve failed, and embarrassed yourself-

He persists with the sincerity of a concerned, yet deeply disappointed and ashamed parent, 

- and embarrassed your fans, your family, your friends… especially me.

No longer than a year ago, Dolly Waters made her return to the XWF, with her new friend and assistant Patel Gagendepp at her side. Patel, a well studied savant of professional wrestling’s analytics, took great pride in being under the employ of such a prestigious namesake to the sport. Dolly was on a comeback tour, with all of the benefits of youth and talent still at her disposal.

Patel harvested the bounties of helping restore her career deep in his heart. He envisioned himself the great proprietor of her bountiful success. But the harvest never materialized in 3D. The seeds Dolly had planted were ripe with malice intent, and greed, and thus the crops that grew from her return became infested with a rot that no pesticide could cure.

Stealing the XWF Tag Team Championships. Manipulating her teammates. Kidnapping an innocent woman. Practicing black magic. Hexing her opponents. These were just a handful of the abhorrent tactics that Dolly forced Patel into helping her pull off, all as a means to position herself in a prime spot for her main objective: stealing the XWF Universal Championship.

But it all came to a screeching halt.

Embarrassed… you? her brow twisting in retort, with a grinding tone of doubt, How in the hell do you think I felt?

Dolly can still remember counting in her head on that steamy summer evening in Seattle.


One!

Two!

Three!

She had Corey Smith dead to rights, knocked unconscious and pinned in the center of the ring during the triple threat match of the Universal Championship.

Only the bell never rang, and the count didn’t stop at three…

Four!

Five!

She could hear the raucous crowd chanting the count along with her, but never felt the refs hand slapping the canvas in unison. That wouldn’t begin for a full six seconds after Dolly had pinned Corey Smith. But by then it was too late. The former Universal Championship Raion Kido tackled Dolly, and the rest was history.

Much like Patel visualizing Dolly conquering the mountain of professional wrestling in his heart, the entire arena, and the television audiences around the globe watched this play-out in real time- yet it never actually materialized. Instead Dolly would end the night spitting blood through the streams of tears traveling from her eyes and over her lips. Pounding her swollen fists into the canvas, sowing the seeds of greed and malice, as Corey Smith climbed the turnbuckle in celebration of his first Universal Championship win. 

Exactly how you deserved to feel, Dolly!

The words bring Dolly out of her seat, as she coils and moves toward Patel with all of the intimidating mannerisms precursing a confrontation. How dare he? She thought. The gall of this man to turn such a painful, personal moment of defeat, where Dolly saw all of her hard work crumble before her very eyes, into an indignant excuse for his own self pity. It made her sick. Physically ill, yet her strength grew. Her fists clenched in a trembling rage as she came within breathing distance of Patel’s frame. Her ripe green eyes cast a light glow in this dark hallway as she stands just a few inches beneath the man she's prepared to belittle.

I guess nothing really changes, huh? As selfish and whiny as ever- she begins, You know, I tried my damndest to get you on the same page as me last year, but obviously it never worked. After all of my hard work, after everything I accomplished, after each time you doubted, and condescended me, and belittled my plans- Patel stands firm and motionless, numb to the familiar feeling of Dolly’s unhinged rath, -no matter how many times I proved you wrong, and after everything I’ve done fer’ you-

Done FOR me?!

But he’s finally heard enough,

For me?! he repeated the rhetorical, FOR ME!? IS THAT WHAT I HEARD YOU SAY?! again he demands, with an unusual roar from this typically reserved, non-threatening man. While not entirely shaken, or dropping her guard, Dolly does take a step away from her former friend’s fury, Surely you meant to say ‘TO ME’. That’s the one! he turns curtly from Dolly now, pacing in circles in the hallway, throwing his arms around and barking into the darkness like a prosecutor pleading to an invisible jury,

She must’ve meant to say: “Everything I did TO you, Patel” Right, Dolly? settling his focus back into his former employer’s eyes, Like forcing me to sell those fraudulent versions of the Tag Team Championships to line your pockets?

Dolly breaks eye contact from Patel, looking at the ground,

Or making me an accessory in the kidnapping of that ditzy freak Madame Maluna.

Patel stomps toward Dolly, leaning over Dolly and forcing her to make eye contact again, as he very pointedly reminds her,

I was convicted for that, Dolly. I went to jail for that, Dolly! Remember?! without even lifting a finger, Patel, this frail Indian man, has nearly beaten this world renowned combat athlete into submission. A cloud of guilt, and remorse surrounding her, choking out any rebuttal she would deploy to reverse this hold,

What about that Gihadist mafia you bought the map to magic lamp from, Dolly? I guess I should be tripping over my own gratitude that you did that FOR me, huh? They held me at gunpoint. THEY WERE GOING TO KILL ME!

There’s a moment of silence after the tension crescendos. Dolly’s eyes glued to the floor. Patel leaned over, his hands on his knees, speaking down to Dolly with the sincerest of disappointment,

And do you know what was the worst of all? he whispered, finally getting Dolly to make eye contact with him again, her face beaten and twisted by this pummeling of guilt,

You made me- - - he struggles to sputter out these following words, for the ineffable shame of - - -coerce people into buying Limp Bizkit tickets, Dolly. the guilty becomes too heavy, and Dolly finally breaks. Weeping. Shaking. Wrapping her arms around Patel now, and burying her face in his chest.

Yer’ right, yer’ right! I’m so sorry!

Patel is limp, his arms fall to his sides as Dolly grasps tighter, and continues weeping, even louder now. For the first time in knowing her, Patel felt a genuine sense of remorse from Dolly Waters. He knew the characteristics of her frothier apologies, afterall, she had been able to convince him of continuing his allegiance to her, even after atrocities like scamming people with Limp Bizkit tickets.
But still hesitant, a lone arm shakes as he raises it to comfort her.

It’s okay, Dolly. he sighs, But please, you have to answer me, why?

She pulls her head from his chest, the evidence of shame written in the streaks of running eyeliner,

You can have a normal life out there, free from all of this pain, free from the chances of failing, and feeling that shame all over again. So why come back in here?

Dolly contemplates Patel’s words, and for maybe the first time in their relationship, she gives him the most honest answer she can muster,

The opportunity to fail is everywhere, and It’s damn cold out there, Patel. Too damn cold to justify the risk. If I have to fail once and fer’ all, I’d rather it be somewhere I know I have a shot. Somewhere where at least the promise, the potential, and the confidence can keep me warm…

Patel pulls back from Dolly, giving her one last look into her eyes, where he struggles to find even a modicum of disingenuity. Dolly Waters had been a professional wrestler since the age of thirteen. She never experienced highschool, yet she has pinned grown men with a schoolboy roll-up. She never went to prom, yet she’s danced in combat with the world's greatest athletes on the biggest stages. This wrestling business is all she knows, and with that PAtel understood that sometimes it’s-

...better the devil you know, I guess.

...later on

We see Dolly inside of a filthy looking bathroom, she’s still wearing the dirty beanie and sweat suit from earlier, only now she looks even worse for the wear - vomiting inside of a sink. She pulls her head up and takes a long look in the mirror.


Better the devil you know… she tells herself,

She’s interrupted by a heavy knock on the metal door,

Yo? she asks,

You ready, D? They’re all out here waiting.

The familiar voice of Patel asks,
Dolly keeps her eyes squared on her own reflection, before splashing some water in her face and wiping the vomit residue from her lips.

Yeah, yeah, I’m comin.

She leaves the sink and opens the door, where Patel, patiently waiting, nearly gasps at the sight of her condition. She looks even more pale than she did earlier, leaving him with every reason to feel skeptical about his commrad’s chances at success.

What? she spits rhetoric, brushing past Patel and heading down the hall, You sure you good, D? he asks while catching up with her pace and walking alongside her now,

I’m fine. Just feeling a little sick.

Mom’s spaghetti again?

Yeah- she gives a half-hearted smirk, -that’s it.

The further the two move down the hallway, the more prevalent the rumblings of an audience can be heard.

People around the XWF were talking trash again. Talking about that Uni match last summer. Calling you a choke artist, D.

Dolly doesn’t react to what Patel is saying, and keeps walking closer toward the end of the hallway. Patel knows he inadvertently got under Dolly’s skin with that comment, but it wasn’t untrue. Dolly choking under pressure has been the prevailing sentiment of her entire career up until this point. She’s been the runner up at least once in every major tournament that XWF holds: War Games, Lethal Lottery, March Madness. Choking in major contest after major contest. And though Patel worries that it’ll all turn out the same again, Dolly stops just at the end of the hallway, in front of a pair of metal doors and tells him something that leaves him with a bit of hope.

Without making eye contact, and looking through the small glass window of the door, where the sound of the audience is emanating she begins speaking:

I was wrong last year, Patel…

...yeah?

Yeah, I really was.
I thought that because I spent so much of my career taking the high road, and being virtuous and good, and kept coming up short meant that I needed to do the opposite. I went from one extreme to the other, and low and behold, I choked all the same.

Patel nods,

Maybe that’s because you never were either of those things in your heart.

Dolly the good-doer.

Dolly the Gypsy Queen.

It must be hard to swallow down stories like those and not choke, if it’s not what you actually believe.

Dolly looks at Patel and nods back, before refocusing her sights through the window on the metal door,

Well that all changes starting tonight-

Do you really think this can help prepare you for the likes of CRAM on Warfare? The man is-

-woefully untested?

Dolly cuts him off,

-five hundred pounds of every crude and contrived caricature of fake thug life bravado?

A pretend hero of the streets, who gets on national tv and raps misogynistic and homophobic slurs to an audience of impressionable youths? Glorifying drug abuse and gang banging?

There’s a banner hanging from the ceiling in the room on the other side of the door, where an audience’s roars are growing louder. The banner reads:

XWF AMATEUR HOUR

OPEN RING NIGHT

Dolly smiles,

In case beating up the THUGS on the last Warfare wasn’t enough of a tune-up match, then deep diving into amateur hour should be more than enough to prepare for the likes of this rookie.
Dolly walks through the metal doors, which turn out to be the entrance to a small gymnasium. The people packed on bleachers boo as Dolly walks through, making her way to a dilapidated wrestling ring in the center of the floor.

Standing in the ring, waiting for Dolly to enter is none-other than Poppa Dawk, King of the Amateur underground wrestling scene. As Dolly steps through the ropes, Poppa Dawk grabs at his throat, sticking out his tongue and mouthing the word “CHOKE” to Dolly as the fans cheer at Poppa Dawk’s antics.

Dolly is handed a microphone, and goes to cut a tried-and-true wrestling promo to hype up the contest, but she’s immediately cut off by Poppa Dawk:

“This girl ain’t the X-Dub’s Gypsy Queen
I know everything she put inside her chakra tea.”

Dolly rolls her eyes as Poppa Dawk begins spewing a poorly executed acapella rap that no one asked for

“She hella’ broken
cause we found out that it’s Melatonin,
ain’t no spells she knowin’
Dolly’s divine timing is failing in every match she’s thrown in

She’s in a slumber mayne,
chokin’ on those wack raps CRAM slurs
When he’s got hunger pains,
from mixing up his penis with a cheese curd

Can’t fuck with these words,
I fuck up any street nerd
That goes for you too-”

He points at Dolly,

“Cause I’ve been the king since before Robbie went by B. Bourbs”

The crowd goes ballistic, and Dolly is left confused. Obviously, she’s not going to rap at Poppa Dawk. This is wrestling afterall. So she lays down the microphone and moves in for a grapple, but a crowd gasps as Poppa Dawk slides away, stepping partially through the ropes with a terrified look on his face.

He holds his hand out to Dolly trying to stop her,

“Whoa, whoa! Slow ya’ roll, little foe,
This is amateur hour, we ain’t really here to throw blows.
We spit that edgy shit, that racks up all the streaming clicks
You must be dreamin’ if you think we really meaning’ all this g-shit

The crowd goes wild again, and hoists Poppa Dawk off of the apron, as they carry their king of the amateur underground out of the gym.

The look of befuddlement on Dolly’s face is beyond description, she turns and faces an idle camera,

What’s the bother in hyping up a redemption match when there are no real odds to overcome? I’m sorry to say it, but to all the XWF fans who are hoping to hear me talk about the giant obstacle standing in front of me at Weekend Warfare, you might walk away from this promo a little disappointed.

Because the fact of the matter is this: there’s nothing that CRAM can do or say leading up to our contest that’ll change my mind about his abilities in the ring.

I’ve seen the tape, and I’ve studied it up and down, from his rhythmically broken raps, to his bumbling, unathletic maneuvers in the ring. It doesn’t matter he’s got over a foot of a height advantage, and over three hundred pounds of a weight advantage on Dolly Waters, what he doesn’t have, and nor will he be able to replicate is my ring savvy, and my experience. Where he’s the weakest, I thrive. Speed and endurance are the calling cards of Dolly Waters. They’re what’s given me the edge for over eight years in this business, and I’ve got some bad news fer’ CRAM, and any of the dozens of toxic gangster rap loving fans he’s got- I’m not slowing down anytime soon.

But even more important in this contest, are how the immeasurables stack up. Immeasurables like pride and purpose. What purpose does CRAM have in the XWF? What is he seeking to prove outside of stereotyping inner city impoverishment in the most abhorrent and cartoonish ways? You claim to want to buck the trends of gang violence, and drugs in your hometown, and yet you do nothing but recitie poorly executed raps glorifying the disgusting behavior you claim to be above. 

What’s the real drive, CRAM?

What’s the real purpose you have in being the XWF Television Champion?

Yer’ broadcasted every two weeks as the Main Event for millions and millions of wrestling fans all over the world, and the best you can muster is reciting the same two-dollar slur words against everyone you wrestle. I’m using the word “wrestle” there very loosely, because let’s face it, your skill set is beyond amateur. Your power and strength will only take you so far. And hyping up every match with some shitty freestyle, completely devoid of context, well, that’ll just keep the XWF’s ratings trending downward during the main event hour.
But maybe that’s yer’ real purpose for being here…

Dolly rubs her chin, pondering the thought a bit more,

Allow me to help make yer’ schtick a little more viewer worthy:

CRAM

She waves her hand out in front of herself, as if she’s painting his name up in lights

Crappy.Rapper.Always.Mid

The garbage freestyle rapper from the hood who couldn’t get a record deal, so now he’s trying real hard to be a good wrestler. I mean, that’s gotta’ be more entertaining than whatever this nonsensical, edgy gang warfare crap you broadcast on televisions must be. At least there we might get invested. We might want to know if he’ll ever not suck at wrestling as bad as he sucks at rapping.

Now, you wanna hear some REAL purpose? And begin to understand why you haven’t got a chance in hell of walking away at Weekend Warfare still the Television Champion? Let me break it down for you:

Seven months ago, there’s arguably no hotter act in professional wrestling than Dolly Waters.

I was the reigning Televisions Champion, and defended the belt, and performed well enough all year to earn a shot at the Universal Championship.

But I was misguided. I thought I could scheme my way to the top. I thought using trickery, and manipulation would finally guide me to the top of the mountain. But what I found is that I was just as misguided as when I previously viewed the world through rose colored glasses, and in both instances I was consumed by a product of my own perception.

I could’ve been Universal Champion last summer, CRAM. But I stood in my own way.

I’m not letting that happen again, because what I have offered before me now is a unique chance at a do-over. Another overrated, unchallenged Television Champion ready to be beaten by Dolly Waters, and current Universal Champion who I KNOW I can defeat.

I’m going to beat you on Warfare CRAM.

I’m going to take that Television Championship and I’m going to run with it straight to the mountaintop, and when I reach that point, when I’ve defended that championship until there’s nowhere left to go but up, no one will be able to deny me, and no one will be able to stop me.

It’s time to finish the story. It’s time to achieve the goal I set out to accomplish 8 long years ago. And it all starts with you, CRAM, being beaten by Dolly Waters on Weekend Warfare.

Now how’s that fer’ spittin some actual fire?

2x KWA Unified Southern Glory Champion
6x KWA Middleweight Champion
4x KWA Tag Team Champion
1x XWF XTreme Champion


-Dumb Dolly records that no one cares about-

3x XTreme Champion
2x Tag Team Champion (w/ Vita Valenteen, w/ Charlie Nickles)
2x Hart Champion
3x Television Champion

3x Star Of The Month
August ‘21, May ‘17, October ‘16

3x RP Of The Month
What light through sonder... my perception breaks.
Tranquility: For Old Times Sake
Manifest Victory