Ann Thraxx couldn't be bothered to say anything worth combating, so allow me to skip past line after line of her contradicting herself because it's oh so clever to do so. Ann, you do know that sarcasm isn't something you beat someone over the head with right?

Oh yeah, you're one of those hyper aggressive, 'I'm going to spend thirty minutes to describe how I'm going to hurt you' instead of actually doing anything of the sort. The type who condemns anyone for being too intelligent for her. The sort of woman who thinks a pun, a play on Anthrax, is supposed to come across as something more than the obviously apparent cries for attention that they are.

Seriously, you don't have to be as curious as Jessie to understand the gist of why you act the way you do. Right now; you've got my attention, as I'm obligated to talk about you.

Where to start? Do I start with why I do matter; or why you don't? Either way, I could give a long list of reasons.

Ann Thraxx disappears, long gone for who knows, better yet; who cares, how long? When she comes back, she struggles to get a single soul interested aside from the likes of the shipped down the river hack named Jordan Caliban. She then disappears, not content with that reaction and returns now. This time actually involving herself in a match with the girl who won in the main event of Warfare not even four days from when our match is scheduled to take place. There's all the proof I need that I do in fact matter more to the XWF than you. I could go on, but I'm not a bragger.

Now, please indulge me; why do you matter? From what I've gathered, you don't in the slightest. You see, you're incredibly long gone if you think for a moment that card position matters for me, whether or not my opponents are on my level, or whatever else that isn't relevant to whatever my task at hand is. Do you even know what the the task at hand is; seeing as you're way too wrapped up in reputations, and behind the scenes bullshit about why you're condemned to the dreaded midcard, or that I'm not respected?

Oh, don't mind me; I'll just be here thinking about our fucking match. You know, when your reputation, those behind the scenes factors, and the level of respect that I do or don't command will mean about as much as raYne's fucking sexuality. That of course, being not at all.

I feel the need to point that last point out to you, because I don't trust in your ability to interpret information unless it's stated directly.

You see, your lack of intelligence is a factor that'll play into the course of this match. We think on wavelengths so separate; they could best be compared to that of Radio and Gamma waves. Whereas you (the Radio) moves slowly, and possesses the least amount of ambition (in the Radio wave's case, the word would be energy.) I (the Gamma) run circles around you in the capacity of forming thoughts that are not only coherent, but can actually be looked upon as valid statements without contradicting myself in the same breath. Likewise, I'm unmatched in the level of ambition, as you have all these other items that you'd rather worry about.

You'd think they were your opponents.

However; they aren't. Your opponent is the one speaking to you right now. Maybe, if you pulled your head out of your ass, you'd realize that.

Yeah, I don't see that happening any time soon.

***


"I'm so glad you were willing to stay after, Jessica."

Looking up from the mat; I notice two things. One, the arena was empty, aside from Miranda and her entourage of armed guards. Second, I have no recollection of the last few hours. The latter is nothing new, in fact it would be a bigger shock if I did have an idea.

"Jessie."

"Does it matter?"

One of the guards stomps over to where I knelt. Standing over me; he raises his club, ready to drop it with the slightest provocation, I assume. With his free hand, he grabs onto the front of the dress and pulls, bringing me to my feet. She watches on, nodding in approval before approaching.

"That's what I thought."

A man, not dressed like the others, steps into view from behind a wall of the identically dressed guards. Firmly planted on his face was a grin while he reached out and grabbed hold of my arm. I try to pull away, but his grip tightens until I give up.

"Good. Now, stay still. This will only hurt for a moment."

He waves forward two more people from the wall, two young men, dressed in snow white lab coats. One with a vial of a neon purple liquid, the other with a syringe. The man snatches the syringe and fills it halfway with the liquid, a drop rolling off the tip and staining the mat. The guard holds my arm in place while he flicks the syringe to remove any air bubbles. Looking down at my wrist, he marks in silence where it's to go, and stabs the syringe downward. The smile never leaves his face, even while he pumps whatever it is into my veins.

"Let her go."

The guard does as he's told, and removes his grip on my arm. On that note; I drop to my knees, feeling my skin crawling from the site of the injection. My other hand grips it, a drop of crimson blood mixed with the "poison" staining it. I look up at the man; who smiles down at me, holding back a snicker.

"Don't worry; you'll be better than ever in no time!"

Finally, the snicker escapes his mouth. Reaching down, he takes my lower jaw in his thumb and index finger, forcing it upward to face him at eye level.

"Pupils dilated. Shouldn't be too much longer, Miss Tigris."

"Good. She's going to be an asset. I can just sense that much."

My eyelids feel heavy, and fall over my eyes. In pitch black, I try to force them open, to no avail. I hear a sigh, followed by the man talking once more.

"Whatever you say, boss..."

I feel two pairs of hands grab a hold of my arms and force me back up to my feet. They march me forward, to who knows where, as my grip on consciousness begins to fade. Their voices start to fade, my heart rate lowering. The darkness swallows me whole, and I'm powerless to resist.