Ruby was brushing her hair, making sure the strokes went from root to end. She looked at herself in the mirror, trying to ignore the taunting voice that just didn’t seem to shut up.

She looked over at the corner of her small apartment bathroom. Fresh out of the washing machine, the green mask laid on top of the pile of laundry that she still had to fold up. Even though it was wrinkled and could do with some ironing, the eyeholes seemed to be staring right at her. Ruby threw some quick glances its way.

Ruby: “Come on, put me back on! You know you want to, girl!”

Ruby sighed and put the brush down. She knew that hearing voices wasn’t exactly a sign of terrific mental health, but that could be said for 99% of the people in her line of work.

Ruby: “Forget it. I don’t need you. Just shut up and lay there like a good piece of laundry, eh?”

Ruby: “Booo! Who are you trying to fool? You got one lucky win against John Black since you ditched me, and were too scaredy-scared to face off against Ash and Maxine! Next to that, you’ve lost your colors, Ruby! You’ve lost OUR colors! People wanna see the banana-lime hero, not the boring bland ‘some kinda shade of grey’ overqualified Canadian girl! You’ve been toiling in mediocrity! Put me back on, and we’ll turn this ship around, eh?”

Shaking her head, the Anarchy star put the brush back in a drawer and ran her fingers through her hair before tying it together in a loose tail.

Ruby: “What good did it do? I let myself down. I let the fans down. I had my own hype train, then I lost and the booking team decided to not care about me anymore. It’s a harsh reality, bud. I gotta prove to myself I can get it done. Not us. Just me. And when the time is right, when everything falls in place… I’ll put you back on.”

Ruby: “Oh Ruby, you Super Lame-o! Just do it now! You know you want to. You love me, I know you do. You love the adoration. The power. That feeling you can do ANYTHING. I give you that. Not the fans. They’re just the consequence. Together, you and I, we bring out the best in each other. You need the confidence I give you to be that good old wholesome Super Dear’o, rather than this snarky downer nobody likes anymore. Even Bobbi London is starting to feel sorry for you. Need I say more?”

Ruby: “Yeah, yeah, bla bla bla.”

But Ruby knew the mask had a point. They were better together, but that was exactly why Ruby’s pride was hurt. She’d been defeated at the peak of her powers to a ‘man’ barely worth the term. What did it say about HER, if not even her superhero alter ego could overcome such basic obstacles?

Frustrated, she walked over to the mask and picked it up.

Ruby: “Careful, I still need ironing!”

Ruby: “That’s quite enough! No mask of mine is gonna give me flippin’ lip!”

She stuffed it at the bottom of the laundry pile and walked out of the bathroom.

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Ruby was walking through rows of wooden crates, filled with old comic books. Some of them wrapped in foil and carefully preserved, others jagged at the edges or stained with coffee rings. The smell, undetectable to the camera at the end of her selfie stick, was that of old paper, and there were few smell who could top that. The fingers of Ruby’s free hand traced the top of the comics, as if they were absorbing the stories told on the pages. But she herself had a different story to tell.

Ruby: “Hey there, flippies! Man, I love coming down to places like these. Nerd heaven, some call it, but I call it the fountain of inspiration. All these pages, each of them sprang from an artist’s vision. A concept. A character. A story. An art style. It’s what we wrestlers do as well, isn’t it? From hopes and dreams our own persona’s and wrestling styles spring forth, until we give ourselves the tools we need, and the purpose to fulfil those dreams. At least, that’s how it went for me. I’m sure it went like that for Rebel Star as well. See, my next opponent doesn’t look like she’s a bad girl. She also doesn’t look like she’s a good one. I’m sure the truth is out there. I can’t wait to experience her story firsthand, and like they say in the Matrix, what better way is there to get to know somebody than by fighting them?"

"My own story took a drastic turn not too long ago. Believe me, those are pages I wish I could rip out and burn, but the world doesn’t work like that. I gotta write new ones, in which I overcome my trials. And you, Rebel Star, you’re gonna be featured prominently. Will you be the turning point this hero needs? Or will you be the one to push her further down into the abyss? You certainly look like a comic book character. Coming from me, that’s not a diss. I dig your style. The blue hair, the fierce attitude, the catchy name… It’s unfortunate our first real meeting will be an event where we have to destroy each other so our own stories can be written. We can only hope our pen will be mightier than the other’s sword. I’m going to have to leave my mask at home a little while longer. You’re not getting the Super Dear’o, but instead a woman who wants to regain her title… one that is much more valuable than any kind of leather-and-metal strap. I want my name back, Rebel. My colors. And I’m gonna have to go through you to get them."

Ruby winked, and the camera cut to black.