With XWF War Games concluded, the air backstage was thick with exhaustion and adrenaline. The sounds of the roaring crowd were bleeding through the walls, echoing triumphs and defeats. The stale smell of sweat and blood lingers in the narrow corridors.
Madison Dyson storms though the backstage area, her perfectly manicured nails clicking against the screen of her phone, texting someone who likely doesn’t exist. Her face is set in a venomous scowl, her lips pursed tightly as if holding back a string of expletives.
She had just been handed an insult on a silver platter. Grouped with a team of halfwits and milquetoasts who bungled the opportunity for her to be crowned the winner of the War Games Finals. That was the real crime of the night. Not the grueling loss. Not the humiliation of being pinned. No, the affront was her being tethered to mediocrity.
Dyson and mediocrity were never meant to coexist.
Her eyes dart around the backstage area, scanning for something… someone… to remedy the situation.
She clenches her phone in frustration. Her team captain had been a whimpering coward who couldn’t strategize their way out of a wet paper bag. The rest? Bland placeholders who never had the juice to accompany her into the Finals.
Not a single go-getter in the bunch. she mutters to herself.
Madison turns a corner, her heels clicking loudly against the tile floor, ignoring the stagehands who scramble to get out of her way. She makes a beeline for the dressing rooms, her mind swirling with the need for a next move. Her thoughts land in a familiar name, a dependable partner in mayhem… Misty Waters.
Of course. Misty. The thought feels like stepping into a hot bath after a cold day. Misty always had a plan, a scheme that was as audacious as it was effective. Misty didn’t concern herself with small minds or inconsequential nonsense like morals. Misty understood the game.
And Misty had that SEERS machine, that brilliant little invention capable of unlocking unimaginable power. With Misty back at her side, Dyson could rewrite the XWF once again.
Where was she anyway? Dyson remembered Misty being drafted in WarGames… but she wan’t out there tonight.
Madison approaches Misty’s dressing room, her face softening into something approximating charm. She doesn’t knock. She never does. She pushes the door open with practiced entitlement.
But the room is empty.
Dyson’s expressions hardens as she steps inside, scanning the space. The room is oddly sterile, stripped of Misty’s usual chaos. No bourbon bottles, or cocaine residue. No bizzarre occult artifacts doubling as fashion statements. No sign of her MAGA Powers sister at all.
Her phone buzzes. An insipid text from one of her grunts asking if she needed a ride. She barely glances at it before stepping back out into the hall, annoyance bubbling in her gut.
And then she sees her.
The buzzed head. The familiar swagger. Misty, just ahead, turning a corner.
Finally,
Hey, Misty!
Her voice carries a bite of desperation, but before the figure can turn, another voice cuts through the air.
Hey, Dolly!
Madison freezes mid-step.
GameGirl is there, still wearing her ring gear, wiping blood from her forehead as she jogs up to the figure Madison thought was Misty.
The figure turns. It’s not Misty. It’s Dolly Waters.
Madison watches from the shadows, her brain scrambling to process what she’s seeing. The resemblance is uncanny, but the there's something different. Misty’s sharp, calculated presence is gone. Dolly’s stance is looser, her expression vulnerable… alive in a way Misty never was.
The conversation between GameGirl and Dolly is mundane, something about teamwork, and
Next time., extolling the wonders of mediocrity. But Madison isn’t listening.
That’s not Misty. Misty’s gone.
Madison steps back into the shadows, her mind racing.
Dolly’s back in control of her body.
It hits her like a slap in the face. Misty is gone. Her closest ally, the one person in this entire cesspool of incompetence who truly understood her, is no longer an option.
But the SEERS machine…
Madison’s lips curl into a grin that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
The machine is still there. And it sure as hell doesn’t belong to Dolly.
Sometime later we see Madison again, she’s no longer storming through the hallways in frustration. She’s moving with purpose. Her expression is cold and calculating as she issues a series of curt commands into her phone.
I don’t care what it costs. Get me a team. Squeeze those dorky engineers at the Think Tank, do whatever it takes! I need the SEERS machine packed up and ready for transport. Now, bitch!
She hangs up before waiting for a response.
As she strides out of the building, she spares one last glance over her shoulder, her mind already formulating the steps to claim what she now considered her rightful inheritance.
Misty may be gone, but Madison’s plans are just beginning.
The impassive face of the tinted glass door swings open ever so slightly. The engineer known as
Tamil, previously a faithful adherent of the departed Misty Waters, peeks his head through the gap. He looked ragged, with dark circles under his eyes, his thinning hair escaping his scalp in wild, erratic directions. But, the sight just beyond the door gives him pause, and then, oddly enough, joy.
Ms. Dyson! Oh, what a surprise! I-ooof!
Tamil is jostled to the side by one of the 8 tac vested grunts Madison has brought along with her. She spares no interaction for Tamil, instead she imperiously commands her minions,
“If it looks sciencey or valuable, or both, secure it and prepare it for transfer.”
Tamil approaches Madison mincingly.
Um, ma’am? What do you mean “transfer”?
Oh, uhhh, you. Which one are you again?
I’m Tamil, ma’am.
I see, I see. Well Tamil, with Misty gone I’m officially confiscating the SEERS machine and the contents of this office. You are no longer needed. You may go.
Tamil blinks twice before raising a hand like a school child waiting on a missive from his teacher.
I think there is something you should know before….
CRACK!
The sound of a shotgun blast reverberates throughout the hall.
Sometime after departing from Game Girl backstage, we see Dolly Waters driving alone.
Down some desolate highway between Nowhere, PA and Nowhere, KY.
The fog of WarGames was over. Her destination was as clear as the chilly moonlight above.
The Think Tank.
The machine she remembered seeing.
Briefly she squeezes her eyes. It flashes across her mind.
The glow of that godforsaken machine.
The clones of her body.
The bloodshed.
The photograph of Patel…
She chokes.
…and the other engineers: Sai, Mamata, Rohan…
Tamil, his horrid face.
Misty’s sinister grip pulling her back under.
It was all she could think about.
What have I done? she whispers to herself.
Dolly exhales sharply, gripping the wheel tighter.
The Think Tank.
That’s where this started. That’s where this ends.
Some hours later and Dolly’s cutting the headlights of her truck off, plunging a desolate parking lot into darkness. She slings a shotgun over her shoulder, and steps out to face it…
The Think Tank standing before her like a specter from the past.
The facade of its harmless appearance warped and battered by the reality of what’s inside. Once a harmless plaything of her reckless teenage years- a whimsical experiment funded by forgotten royalties- it now looms like a tombstone over everything that went wrong.
It was never supposed to matter. Just a silly diversion. A place for bored and clever minds to play.
But having seen what’s inside
The memory of that brief moment, slipping from Misty’s grip, it surges through her,
The machine’s malice… its glow like a heartbeat, the clones of her body standing in eerie stillness, the blood Misty spilled in her name, all of it smeared into her mind.
Her jaw tightens.
Let’s finish this
The door opens and the familiar hum of The SEERS machine washes over her like a wave.
Dolly steps into the heart of The Think Tank.
There's eerie blue shadows along the walls, illuminating the disarray Misty left behind.
Dolly’s boots crunch over broken glass and debris as she moves past the overturned desks to face the SEERS machine.
It’s standing tall and magnificent in the center of the chaos. Its steel casing polished to an unnatural shine. The rhythmic blue glow from its core bouncing shadows on the wreckage.
Dolly exhales deeply and readies her shotgun.
Ms. Waters?
The weak voice startles her. Dolly whirls around and sees him.
Tamil.
Gaunt and leaning over a desk.
Ms. Waters… his voice struggles again, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender.
I didn’t think you’d actually come back.
Dolly keeps the gun on him. Eyes narrowing as she steps closer.
Didn’t think I’d come back to what, Tamil? The mess you helped her make? The people you sacrificed?
He flinches, guilt flashing across his face. His shoulders slump as he struggles for words.
I thought we were doing the right thing, I thought she… Misty…. Was leading us to something better.
You thought wrong
Her voice is cold, sharp and laced with the weight of Patel’s memory. The weight of all the destruction Misty caused.
She steps closer
And now yer’ gonna’ help me end it
[/hr]
CRACK!
One of Madison’s goons stumbles back from the entrance to an office and hits the opposite wall, trailing blood in his wake. He wails in pain as he slides down the wall, leaving a smear of crimson.
That’s about when
Dolly Waters steps out from an office, reloading her shotgun.
Oh for fuck’s sakes! Madison cries out.
Those guys aren’t cheap!
Dolly levels the shotgun at Madison. Her remaining grunts all level their firearms at Dolly. Tamil throws his arms over his head and dives for cover. The tension is cut by Dolly.
Hey Maddy. I’m gonna need you to go ahead and fuck off now. Dolly intones, steely even in the face of so many weapons aimed in her direction.
Listen you little redneck cunt, Misty WILLED this to me should anything happen to her and-
And WHAT? This is and always was MY project. You have no claim to it whatsoever. And I’m destroying it. Now, as I said, I’m gonna need you to fuck off now.
You’re a bit outgunned honey.
That’s nice. I’ll still paste yer brains all over the wall before your goons can drop me.
Madison sours, considering her options.
Okay, can we maybe lower the temperature here a few degrees?
Dolly shrugs.
That depends, do you still want the SEERS?
Madison rolls her eyes.
You can either let it rot like the rest of your potential, or you can give it to someone who knows how to use it. It’s a TOOL, it’s meant to be used!
It’s not a tool. It’s a mistake. Nobody was meant to have that kind of power. Not even me. And sure as shit not you.
The room remains in a state of tense silence for the ensuing seconds, until the goon who was shot groans in pain again. Madison, annoyed, throws her arms in the air.
Would someone take him outside or patch him up or some shit? In fact, why don’t all of you just take a fiver. I got this covered.
One of the hirelings looks at Madison quizzically.
Are you sure that’s a good idea?
I don’t pay you to ask questions, I pay you to listen to orders. Now go blow.
Slowly, and with more than a bit of uncertainty, Madison’s hired goons pick up their fallen comrade and start to file out the way they came. In short order, only Misty, Madison, and Tamil remain. Tamil stammers out a declaration in response to the seeming detente that is flourishing.
D-do you think w-we can put all the g-guns away now?
Madison cants her head at Dolly, and Dolly finally lowers her shotgun, but still maintains a firm grip on it.
Well, I’m glad you-
This ain’t a peace treaty, bitch. I have more than my fair share of issues with you. Number one, your relationship with Misty. Number two, you being here right now. And number three…where the fuck is Corey Smith?
Madison looks sheepish.
Oh, you, uh, know about that one, huh?
Yeah. I know about that one.
Madison sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose.
How about we just “table” Corey for now?
Dolly’s eyes narrow.
I’m not “tabling” one of my best friends.
Ohhhh come oooooooon! Madison gesticulates in frustration.
Okay….okay….I think we can make a deal here. No one needs to die here today. We are partners now after all.
Not by choice.
No, but by Thad’s choice. So you MIGHT want to have a talk with him about that.
Anyway, look, it’s you and me kiddo. And honestly, you’re a real go-getter like your grandma’s ghost or whatever. Just the type of partner I need. But we need to work together if we want to win those tag titles. So I think it behooves us to come to an agreement.
Dolly bristles, but waits for Madison to speak.
Right! So here’s my offer. I get to use the SEERS machine. But only under your supervision.
My ABSOLUTE supervision!
Yes!
And what about Corey?
Look I’ll be straight with you. I can’t give him up or Lux will eat my brain alive. Which doesn’t benefit YOU to have a brain dead tag partner, right? But what I can give you is access to him. So you can check in on him and make sure he’s, ya know, okay-ish.
Dolly cants her head bearing an inscrutible expression.
Well…..?
A SHORT TIME LATER….
The shot opens up on the SEERS machine, in all it’s glistening omnipotent glory. Madison is literally genuflecting in front of it, face written over with awe.
When can we begin?
Calm yourself, Madison. We still have Gorgo and Enigma to get past before I even THINK of letting you have a crack at the SEERS. Dolly walks over to the machine and puts a hand on it. She shakes her head a bit looking…regretful, perhaps? At any rate Madison doesn’t notice. She gets up off the floor, dusting off her knees as she looks gamely at Dolly.
You ready to make these two eat a whole bucket of shit, partner?
Dolly considers Madison, and for the first time in the entire segment the barest hint of a smile can be seen.
Shoot yer shot ya spiteful bitch.
Madison retrains his sight on the all seeing eye of the camera.
So, Yelena Gorgo huh?
Who gives a shit.
No, really. This gussied up pronoun person becomes the, what, hundredth person stepping through those doors touting accolades outside the XWF as if they fucking matter. As if you’ve accomplished anything more than stomping the utterly irrelevant goblins of the wrestling industry on your path to attaining championships that aren’t worth the cheap pleather they’re imprinted on. Case in point, apparently this bitch won the Uprising World Championship right before the company closed. There are not enough LOL’s in the world to fully encapsulate how pathetic it is to win an amateur world championship in a company that can’t even pay its bills.
Ask Serenity Holmes how much those outside championships matter Gorgo. She attained, like 14 of them and it still didn’t stop her from getting pinned by me TWICE IN A ROW. By the way, Gorgo lost to Serenity in their last match up. Plenty of food for thought there.
And the most laughable part? Apparently Gorgo is comprised of two whole Gorgo’s like some budget Jekyl and Hyde shit except with a name reminiscent of the sound a clogged toilet makes. Here’s a question you apparently didn’t consider as your simple mind conjured this painfully generic gimmick: why not just be the more badass Gorgo, like, all the time? Why do you have to go Super Saiyin just to be a more fearsome version of yourself?
Here’s the brass tacks bitch. I’m the more fearsome version of myself ALL THE TIME. I’ve succored on the teat of the most unhinged dangerous wrestling promotion on the planet for seven years. I’ve trafficked with the most psychotic, dangerous Universal Chammpions the XWF has ever seen. I’ve fought wars here and come through unscathed. Hell, I’ve literally DIED and come back to life just so I could kick even more ass all the while you, by your own admission, try to downplay your own ferocity to mimic normies like that’s something to be proud of.
And then there’s the other half of this clusterfuck, Engima. A guy who, just by looking at him, you’d think would be one of the most dominant monsters in pro-wrestling history. But take a closer look under the hood and the cracks begin to show in spades. Because you know what I see when I look at Enigma? A try hard spooky kid who hails from…*snrkt*...”the Abyss” and sees fit to give himself a Dungeons and Dragons alignment to showcase just what a “badass” he is. I see a guy who, despite being built like a brick shithouse, was far from a standout at War Games to the point where he got eliminated by *checks notes*....oh yeah….DOLLY WATERS. I see a man who, throughout the entirety of his career, has been a follower rather than a leader, glomming on to others to talk and think for him because he is comparable to the paint chip eating half in Of Mice and Men.
Honey, I’ve seen plenty of guys like you come and go. Guys who are all gloss and no floss. Guys who think a scary gimmick and some creepy eye contacts are the skeleton key that unlocks success in this industry. But here’s the brutal, honest truth. If you have to try hard YOU’VE ALREADY LOST. You’ve already betrayed the fact that you don’t think you’re enough on your own to get over, to get the job done. So you, like Gorgo, rest on some trumped up lazy scare tactics that people like me, with decades of experience in this business, see right through.
As for us, oh, I’m sure the temptation will be there to brand us a dysfunctional team. Dolly and I’s history is well known. We don’t run in the same circles. I was BFF’s with the malignant identity that took over Dolly’s body….yadda…yadda….
But here’s what you visionless imbeciles who write us off don’t see: that Dolly and I have a combined total of 13 XWF championship reigns. Meaning that even if we don’t particularly like each other, we are both consummate fucking professionals who are here to WIN. What’s more, we don’t need fuzzy feelings to be well aware of what each other is capable of. Unlike you social butterflies who whore yourselves out to five different promotions a year, Dolly and I have been in the same house, under the same roof, for SEVEN YEARS. We KNOW each other. I’ve watched more Dolly Waters matches than I can count and I’m sure the opposite is true. We’ve witnessed each others triumphs and failures, studied each other’s movesets, and when we had to, threw down and kicked the shit out of each other. Can Enigma and Gorgo say that? Or are they nothing more than two ships passing by the same cheap bingo hall promotion in the night?
Dolly’s fingers trail along the glass surface of the SEERS machine, her voice low but brimming with conviction.
Maybe this was all a bad idea.
Her words hang in the air
Everyone knows I’ve had my share of em. This Think Tank, for instance.
But you know what makes the results of a bad idea even worse?
Overlooking it.
Ignoring it.
Pretending it didn’t happen. That’s when the real damage can take root. And that’s why, when it comes to the two of you, Gorgo and Enigma, I’m not going to make the mistake of brushing you off like you don’t matter.
Ignoring you.
Forgetting you.
Because you two are nothing if not a bad idea.
Yer’ nothing if not forgettable.
Like yer’ begging to be overlooked. To be underestimated.
Her hand falls away from the SEERS machine, and she takes a step forward, her expression sharp and cutting.
Hiding behind yer’ mystique.
Blathering inconsequential word salads about darkness.
One day yer’ fire, then a dead tree, or a black cloud, or something vague and chilling. Some attempt to obfuscate what we all should really see.
People trying to make a bad idea even worse.
Yelena Gorgo the charity queen by day, and spooky twitter thot by night. Posting thirst traps in war paint on X begging that MAGA hellscape to notice her playground fundraisers posts.
That’s Yelena’s split personality in a nutshell.
“Corporate” Yelena glad handing to internet oligarchs
“Other Me” Yelena thirsting for attention, but with a dark twist.
Begging to be forgotten.
You think I’m going to fall for that?
You think I’m going to treat you like some afterthought?
Does Enigma think that?
The Monster Machine?
The Abyss as deep as a kiddie pool?
The…what is it this week?
Reaper? Savior?
“Chosen One”?
Madison Lol-s
Chosen fer’ what? To disappoint when the stakes are high? To fail in a contendership match, even when Bacchus was giving it away?
It’s like yer’ begging me to lose track of all yer’ brooding nonsense.
But I won't forget… Sev.
Sev, you spend more time trying to be an enigma than actually backing it up.
I won't forget the lead up to WarGames, how you spared not even a thought for me… you just rambled aimlessly
You talked about other federations, irrelevant rivalries, and a nothing-burger explanation about how what you’re seeking is deeper than any championship. A ton of forgettable things. And what did it get you?
It got you Dolly Whopped at WarGames.
Yer’ not the monster you claim to be, Sev.
Yer’ just a bad idea.
One so easy to overlook.
Muscles wearing creepy contacts, crying about burning down the world down as a cry for attention. A cry for help. The “Chosen One” who questions his own motives. The martyr on twitter, playing monster in the wrestling ring.
Yeah, I’ve had some bad ideas in my career. Plenty.
Dropping 0-2 in the XWF and being paired with a insincere dolt like Gorgo to face the likes of two certified XWF veterans like myself and Madison Dyson wasn’t one of em’
But sure, I’ve had some doozies. And bad ideas have a way of festering when you turn a blind eye..
She tilts her head, catching Madison’s reflection in the SEERS machine behind her.
But I don’t overlook them. I face em head on. And at Warfare, I’ll show why I’m not making that mistake with you two.
Maybe teaming with Maddy is a bad idea. Maybe trustin’ someone with a history as seedy as hers is me tempting fate. But here’s what you don’t get…
It’s the bad ideas that’ll haunt ya’.
They’re the ones that stick.
They’re ones you can’t afford to overlook.
She glances back at Madison, the two share a smirk.
So go ahead.
Write us off as odd bedfellows. Call this a disaster waiting to happen.
Overlook us.
But at Warfare, the only thing yer’ gonna see is why this bad idea?
She turns, standing shoulder to shoulder with Madison, their confident smirks framed by the SEERS machine’s hum behind them.
It’s the one you’ll never forget.
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