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Misty Waters · (09-21-2024)

What is truth anymore?

...Truth?

What’s self-evident in a world turned upside down?

We watched Misty Waters, XWF XTreme Champion, struck down in a brutal assassination in Appalachia. We saw her body fall, lifeless. And then, we saw her- seemingly risen from the dead.

Now, the once reverent cathedral where Misty was being mourned, has become a stage for something far more unsettling. Misty stands before her followers, bathed in a divine glow, her arms outstretched like a messiah returned from the tomb. Her face is serene and calm, and could fool anyone into believing this is a miracle.

The crowd is still awestruck, kneeling at her feet, some sobbing, others chanting her name in worship.
But there’s a tension in the air, a subtle shift beneath the holy spectacle, like a gentle crop dusting of sulfur into a field of roses.

Misty’s eyes, glowing with something beyond this world, sweep across the room. Her voice, once filled with thunderous authority, is now softer, calmer… but there’s something unsettling beneath the surface. Each word she speaks carries weight, but not the kind that inspires salvation. It’s a promise of something darker, dressed in the language of providence.

My children… you have witnessed the power of The Lord. You know I cannot be defeated. What was taken from us shall be returned a hundredfold

The crowd is awestruck, hanging on her every word. But her tone is different now- no longer the furious battle cry of the speech she gave just before her death. Instead, it’s a coaxing, hypnotizing cadence, like a mother speaking to her child, lulling them into a sense of safety before something inevitable. The lights are still flickering so slightly, casting faint shadows across her face. It’s subtle, but for those paying attention, the illusion begins to waver.

Thine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of The Lord. Repeating what she said. Her smile widens, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. You’ve seen not even death can defeat me. You’ve seen the path laid before us, the kingdom that we shall build together.

The crowd roars, the chant of her name growing louder. Misty raises her hands, not to quiet them, but to guide their fervor, as though she’s conducting an orchestra of zealots.

But her words are taking a different turn now- though draped in messianic language, it’s laced with subtle hints of the darker ambitions that fueled her XTreme Campaign long before this miraculous resurrection.

We shall cast out the corrupt, the weak, the pretenders, the thieves. We shall rebuild this broken world in our image, and those who stand in our way… well, we know what becomes of them, don’t we?

Her voice is quiet and chilling.

The crowd continues to cheer, oblivious to the sinister undercurrent in her words. But would it matter even if they knew? Just days ago, this figure before them, led these people in a choir of violent, conspiratorial rhetoric, promising a brutal justice be served to the XWF.

Misty paces slowly before them, her hands brushing the air as if she is painting their future. A future built on domination, not redemption.

You have seen what I am capable of. Death holds no power over me.
And soon, neither will the XWF, nor those who seek to steal what is rightfully ours!

Another deafening crack splinters the moment-a sound eerily familiar.

Rightful?

It’s like the gunshot from the rally. But this time, Misty doesn’t collapse in a bloody heap. Instead, her vision goes white, her ears ringing with an oppressive wall of noise, a piercing scream trapped in a vast, empty void.

Her perception shifts into bird’s-eye, distant. She sees herself, fully embodied, yet from outside her own skin. And there, forming in the whiteness, a figure steps forward- an eerie mirror of her own form. The same stature, the same stride. But the eyes, bright green, glow with life. Almost too vibrant, too real.

What have you done to me?

The voice is hers, yet not. It’s Dolly. The real Dolly, trapped here in this mind-bending realm of subconscious prison.

Misty freezes, her body rigid with terror as Dolly steps out from the mist, coming into full form.
Suddenly, reality snaps back, pulling Misty into the present moment- standing before the pulpit, her body trembling with a barely noticeable seizure-like twitch. Her eyes roll back, blood trickling from the corners, streaking down her face.

Paulie, who had been watching from the shadows the entire time, darts to Misty’s side, frantic. He grabs her arm, yanking her away from the pulpit, all while trying to calm the sobbing, confused crowd.

The Lord has spoken… The Lord has spoken! he cries out, desperate to maintain control of the frenzied followers, before hurriedly escorting Misty away, blood still trickling from her eyes as her form stumbles into the shadows once more.

Later… at The SEERS compound, Louisville

So, um- Paulie paces nervously at Misty’s side, his eyes darting between her and the ominous machine before them. The SEERS, a twisted coven of human engineering, hums quietly, its cold steel frame radiating an eerie glow in the dim room. Misty, undeservedly calm, pours herself a glass of bourbon with practiced ease, her attention focused entirely on the machine.

You want to, uh… talk about what happened at the cathedral? Paulie asks, unease creeping into his voice as he watches Misty run her fingers slowly across the machine’s tubular shell, her gaze distant, almost admiring.

Without looking at him, Misty pulls the bourbon glass from her lips, her tone casual, almost dismissive.

At the cathedral? You mean everything going exactly as we planned?

She finally turns to face him, stalking forward with a smirk of self-satisfaction. The air around her seems to thicken, her presence oozing with an unsettling confidence. The marksman you found for the rally- perfect shot. The clone who gave the speech? Uncanny performance. Her voice is smooth, dripping with eerie satisfaction.

She got some of the numbers wrong, though… Paulie interjects, a nervous laugh escaping, as he tries to redirect the conversation,

Misty shrugs, unconcerned, waving off the detail like it was nothing.. Meh. She did and she didn’t. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that the world watched her die. She steps closer to Paulie, her voice lowering as she continues, They watched you point the finger at Adeyemi and the XWF, and then they watched me- she pauses, her smile curling into something dark, -resurrect in her place.

Her words hang in the air, heavy, each syllable brimming with malice. Her eyes gleam with the dangerous satisfaction of someone who knows they've just pulled off the perfect con.

What’s true is self-evident, for everyone to see. No need for anyone to pick apart the finer details- there’s no minuscule thread to unravel. It’s been there all along, staring the world right in the face. Misty Waters and Paulie had staged the assassination, using a clone of Misty created by the SEERS machine, and then, like a pair of megachurch hucksters, they led a legion of gullible zealots to believe they had just witnessed a divine miracle.

It was brilliant in its simplicity- audacious, manipulative, and utterly effective.

The contingency plan, she murmurs with a wicked wink, her voice soaked in sinister glee as she revels in the grand deception.

But the moment is shattered by Paulie’s unimpressed glare. We both know that’s not what I’m talking about. His voice cuts through her self-satisfaction like a blade.

Misty’s eyes roll in annoyance as she turns back to her bourbon, the brief flicker of tension settling in her shoulders.

The first time I saw it happen to you, I figured you were just doing too much blow with Madison, Paulie admits, his voice a mix of concern and irritation, referencing the last time Misty froze in the middle of a public moment—seizing and bleeding from her eyes at an In-N-Out Burger.

It’s nothing, Misty snaps, shutting him down as she moves back to pour herself another glass, dismissing the creeping unease with a wave of her hand.

But Paulie’s voice grows firmer, more direct. It’s her, isn’t it?

Misty stiffens, the glass hovering just above the bottle of bourbon on the lab desk. For a long moment, the only sound in the room is the soft hum of The SEERS, its mechanical heart beating in the shadows. She closes her eyes, her lips pressing into a thin line.

...Dolly.

Paulie’s words looming, as if daring Misty to confirm what they both already suspect. Slowly, Misty turns, her head tilting with a bitter scowl, her eyes alight with a cold, but unmistakable, confidence.

She’s coming back, isn’t she? Paulie’s demeanor shifts- focused, calculating, the tone of a man who knows the business side of darkness far too well.

She’s got nothing on me—just look at what we’ve done.

Misty is swift, defiant. She forces back another triple shot of bourbon with an unsettling grace, grabbing hold of the XTreme Championship like it were her scepter. She strides toward a row of three identical AI clones, each standing in eerie stillness, waiting like soulless vessels to be activated.

Three more are already laying in wait in South Korea.

Her voice is laced with pride, a chilling boast.

And if the XWF tries to stop me from arriving for night two at Relentless, which they will-

Gee, I wonder why they might do that, Paulie interrupts with a sarcastic chuckle, his eyes shifting toward the distant television mounted on the compound wall. It broadcasts live news coverage of the chaos outside the NRG Arena in Houston, where legions of Misty’s enraged followers, encircle the building like a storm waiting to break.

Misty’s expression only darkens, her scowling confidence deepening as she ignores Paulie's rhetorical jab.

-my clones will be there to ambush Sahara Duke. She grins a malevolent smile. And while they handle her, I’ll have all the time I need to make Isaiah Adeyemi’s destruction a spectacle they won’t forget.

She steps closer to Paulie, her confidence unwavering. This time, she doesn’t dodge his earlier concern about Dolly’s looming return- instead, she weaves her next words into the assuredness of their ruthless plan.

When those people in Houston find out who we tricked into pulling the trigger… she says, her voice dripping with smug satisfaction. Paulie’s eyes meet hers, and they share a knowing, smarmy nod.

...the XWF will be ours for the taking. Can you imagine Dolly finding out who really shot her? The two exchange a twisted snicker, the kind that comes only from the depths of cruelty.

Let her try and come back now… LET HER DARE!

But suddenly, that reality-splitting sensation strikes again. A deafening crack, like the snap of the world being torn apart. Misty’s body seizes violently, her eyes rolling back as blood leaks from their creases. This time, a horrific, uncontrolled scream erupts from her. It sounds unnatural, shaking the room with its intensity.

Paulie watches, frozen in shock, his smarmy confidence turning to sheer horror. When Misty’s head finally lifts, the seizure subsides, but something is different. Her once blue eyes now dim, as if the light inside them has been snuffed out- only to be replaced by an unmistakable, radiant green. The green of someone else. The true owner of this body.

...Dolly. Paulie’s voice barely audible, dread clinging to every syllable.

Dolly gasps for air, hyperventilating in a panic as she takes in her surroundings. Her head snaps toward the humming sound of The SEERS machine, her eyes darting around the cold, sterile walls of the compound. Confusion and terror flash across her face, her mind racing to catch up with the nightmare unfolding around her.

Her gaze lands on the lab desk, where a framed photo catches her eye. Dolly reaches for it with trembling hands, her breath hitching as she stares at the image. An image both distant and haunting. It’s a snapshot from years ago: Dolly, standing alongside the original Think Tank Engineers, including Patel Gagendepp, the man whose tragic death had set everything in motion. His loss was the catalyst, the dark turning point that led her to the ritual, the one that had given Misty dominion over her body.

Before she can fully process the weight of it, her eyes catch something far more jarring- her own reflection. Or rather, the image of herself that isn't truly hers, staring back at her from the plexiglass wall of The SEERS machine. Panic surges through her, quickly overtaken by a violent wave of anger.
She screams and hurls the photo at the reflection.

The frame shatters on impact, glass splintering and cascading to the floor. The room falls into an eerie silence, the only sound Dolly’s ragged, uneven breathing. She stares down at the fractured shards of glass, at the broken image of her past. Her reflection, now fragmented, echoes her own broken existence.

This is no longer just a battle for control. Truth is: it’s a war.

She forces herself to breathe, each gasp trembling with rage and terror. Her eyes move upward, through the blue liquid that fills the plexiglass wall of The SEERS machine, and she freezes. Something on the opposite side of the room catches her eye- something too horrific to comprehend. She slowly circles the SEERS machine, her breath catching in her throat as she steps around the towering structure, her vision unobstructed now.

What has she done? she whispers, her voice barely more than a breath, laced with horror and disbelief.

Dolly’s legs give way beneath her, and she collapses to the floor. Before her, three AI clones- exact replicas of her, or rather, of Misty. These are not just faceless machines-they are extensions of Misty’s control, symbols of the prison Dolly’s very soul has been trapped in.

Her eyes begin to close, heavy with the crushing realization of what Misty has done. But as her lids flutter open, the soft glow of radiant green fades away, replaced by the chilling coldness of Misty’s icy blue stare.

The scowl that twists across Misty’s face is unmistakable- calm, cold, and utterly in control. Dolly’s brief moment of freedom, of self-awareness, is gone. Misty is back.

I told you, she murmurs through gritted teeth, the cold satisfaction unmistakable in her voice. Whispering as if she knows Dolly can hear her, You’ll never win.

September 20th…

We’re brought to the outskirts of Houston, Texas, where the chaotic pulse of violence is beginning to beat louder. A full-scale riot is taking shape just outside NRG Stadium, the air thick with tension, the roar of enraged crowds echoing like thunder. Fires crackle in the distance, smoke curling into the darkening sky as the streets turn into a battlefield.

At a safe distance, Misty Waters looms over the scene with a blank expression, her face emotionless yet powerful. Her ski goggles cover her eyes, amplifying her cold, detached presence. Dried blood stains her pale skin, smeared across her face like war paint- a stark reminder of the brutality she has orchestrated.

Misty sits high on a throne, carried by a legion of devoted followers. They march through the streets, undeterred by the escalating violence around them. As they approach the edge of the fray, Misty rises to her feet, her arms slowly lifting toward the heavens, as if commanding the storm to rage on.

September 21st… The Lord is coming she whispers to herself, a sinister grin curling across her lips. She can’t help but chuckle- a dark, satisfied sound- knowing what’s to come.

It’s the night that will bring her one step closer to completing her twisted scheme, the night that’s ironically the namesake for the song that helped spring her XTreme Campaign.

With a casual snap of her fingers, the unexpected, upbeat tune of Earth, Wind & Fire’s September fills the air. The juxtaposition is jarring - clashing with the raw violence unfolding around her. It’s as if Misty revels in the chaos, her twisted sense of humor playing out through every beat of the song.

She stands tall on the throne, her eyes scanning the frenzied crowd, who are already teetering on the edge of anarchy. And then, with a voice that cuts through the madness, she screams out to her followers:

THE LORD WANTS BLOOD!

Threaded Mode \| Linear Mode PlaceMarker The Coming Of The Lord -part 2-
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