I sit alone at the worn poker table, bathed in the dim glow of a single hanging bulb that swings gently overhead. This room, tucked away from prying eyes, feels like it exists in its own secluded world. My hands rest on the table, fingers tapping rhythmically against the worn surface, a habit that clashes with my stoic expression.

I absentmindedly roll the chips between my fingers. The worn edges create a comforting friction against my skin. I don't even realize I'm doing it until the rhythmic clinking sound fills the otherwise quiet space.

My gaze is fixed on the face-down cards before me, but my hands seem to have a mind of their own, engrossed in the repetitive act.

The feel of the chips becomes familiar; each one telling a silent story of victories and losses. My Anarchy debut win. My loss to Pariah. The chips become a tactile connection to my unpredictable journey so far in XWF.

Across the table from me is an empty seat. Two cards face up on the table in front of it as well. At the center, a dealer sits. He looks over to the empty space and back to me.

“Where is your opponent, sir?” he asks. I allow a light smile to cross my face.

“Oh, she’s already played her hand.” I tell him, glancing over at the cards face up and the massive pile of chips already in the middle of the table.

“But it looks like she’s already gone all in?” the dealer states, a look of confusion etched on his face. I nod and smile knowingly.

“Oh, I know.”

A short moment of silence unfolds before I speak again.

“Well,  Madison,” I say,  “you got me, congratulations.”

A slow, mocking applause swiftly follows, the sound of my hands slapping together echoing out in the near-empty room.

“I suppose, after the shit you pulled to beat Centurion, I should have seen it coming but I didn’t and that’s on me. But believe me, that’s the last time you’ll get the drop on me.”

I go back to playing with the poker chips, letting them glide effortlessly between my fingers.

“I should really thank you though, Madison. You’ve opened my eyes properly to the type of person you really are. And the signs were there in your match with Centurion…

..The moment you took that turnbuckle pad off. The moment you used the referee to save you from Centurion’s knee strike. Amongst all that talent you clearly have, you still chose to take the cheap way out. You might call it great ring awareness, maybe even justify it as doing whatever it takes to win, but do you know what I call it?”

I start to stack the chips into smaller piles abstractedly.

“I call it cowardice.”

My voice drips with disdain.

“You are a coward, Madison, unable to get the job done on your own.  There’s always a shortcut to take. For all that talent, you’re still not good enough to get things done with just the skills you bring to the fight…And you know it, Madison, don’t you? It eats away at you, despite all that talent you have, it’s still not good enough. Instead of showing you could beat Centurion on your own, you chose the easy way out, because deep inside, you know you don’t have what it takes. You need to take those shortcuts, you have to take those shortcuts.

And as for that little stunt you pulled at Anarchy…you might think that puts you one step ahead of me,  Madison. But all you did…”

I look over at the upturned cards across the table from me. Two Aces. I can’t help but shake my head knowingly.

“...was overplay your hand. Those aces have blinded you, Madison, and, like I knew you would, you’ve rushed in like a fool.”

I peek at the top corners of the two cards in front of me. The smile is subtle this time.

“But come Free For All, you’re going to learn that sometimes it's best to slow play a good hand, because you just don’t know what cards are going to get dealt and you have no idea what I’m holding close to my chest.

You’re so eager to supplant me from my reign as Anarchy Champion, you’ve seen the cards you’ve been dealt, so sure you’re going to win, you’ve shoved those chips into the middle of the table, going all in without even thinking.

But remember, I’m the champion, Madison, and in that rush to chase me, you’ve overreached. Cheating against Centurion? Coming out during my match? The cracks are appearing, Madison. That mask of confidence is slipping. Your weaknesses are there. Your cards are face up and there’s nothing you can do but let fate work its magic.

Unfortunately for you, Madison, you’re not playing a rookie. I’ve been here before, low-stacked, forced to fold bad hand after bad hand. I’ve bided my time, considered my options and,  like the Assassin I am, waited for the right time to strike.

“What would you like to do, sir?” the dealer asks me.I retrieve the Anarchy Championship belt and place it amongst the sea of chips.

“Call.”

“The champion calls.”

I turn my cards over. The King and 10 of Hearts.

“Flop now being dealt.”

The dealer lays three cards down. The Ace, Queen and Jack of Hearts.

“The champion wins, Royal Flush..”

I ignore the pile of chips. The only thing I take is the Anarchy Championship.

“You can have those chips back, Madison, you’ll need them again the next time you overplay another hand. Consider this a champion’s mercy; the only mercy you’ll get from me.

Whilst you’re obsessing over whatever this Frankenstein shit is, I’m sharpening my weapons. And when you feel the point of my elbow, the Masamune Decapitation, collide with your jaw, you’ll know it was a mistake to fuck with me. See you in Arlington.”

The scene fades out.