It Shall Not Come To Pass

Regardless of what was on the format, this evening's Friction show was about to take an entirely unexpected turn.

A group of ring technicians were on their way out with an inflatable pool and a fifty-gallon lube drum, presumably setting up for the next match, when the lights started pulsing scarlet to the bass of 'Hate or Glory' and "W.A.R." flickered on the tron.  There was a swell from the crowd - this could really only mean one thing.  She was back.

Having finally been cleared for competition by AFW medical staff after her match with Liberty, Abattoir came storming down the ramp, her coat billowing behind her and her eyes blazing red amid her dark silhouette.  The technicians scattered, abandoning their job (they knew full well she wouldn't be particularly inclined towards stopping if they were in her way), and as Abattoir reached the apron and slid under the ropes, the fans raised a lusty round of boos.  Anything cool she'd accomplished in the ring was overridden, in their eyes, by her association with the nefarious W.A.R., whose deeds she'd been right in the thick of.

But the jeering subsided a bit in favor of concerned murmuring as the nak muay rose to her feet - a microphone was visible in her hand.  This was...unexpected, to say the least.

The music died, and the booing gradually died down with it.  What would motivate Abattoir, of all people, to show up and cut a promo?  What kind of things would she have to say?  Would this finally be a glimpse into her motivations?  An explanation, perhaps, for why she'd cast her lot in with W.A.R. and dishonored herself?  Quite a few fans in the crowd were leaning forward with interest as Abattoir raised the microphone to her lips.

"Wells."  Her usual hoarse rasp was muffled slightly by the mask, but it was clear enough to be unmistakable.  "Out.  Now.  You knew this day would come."

With that, she tossed the microphone over the ropes.  It crashed into the barricade with an explosion of feedback and noise and then, mercifully, went silent as a sound engineer cut it off.

It was probably in the running for the shortest promo in AFW history.

As far as it went, one of the downsides to Friction being a more realistic wrestling show than most of its competition was that – when someone was called out like this – they didn’t just magically appear in response. If they were watching the show and near to the entrance, they might be out pretty quickly.

If not, it might be a few minutes before they found out and got to ringside.

Of course, they might not even be in the building which would have resigned the entire Friction audience at home and in the arena as well as Abattoir herself to a long, fruitless wait for a woman who wasn’t even there.

Awkward, it must be said.

But, after a short wait, the tall figure of Alicia Wells stepped out onto the ramp. Given she wasn’t scheduled to compete tonight, the British amazon wore black leggings and t-shirt rather than her ring gear but the small fanbase she’d started (somehow) to build didn’t seem to care. They could see that her gloves were in place and she had boots on as well.

She might not be there to fight but she was ready for it regardless. And, well, plenty of the crowd who’d seen the triple threat hardcore match were more than ready to see the two women go head to head.

But they could also see that this was destined to be a night of firsts – clamped firmly in the kickboxer’s fist was a microphone of her own.

With no music or video playing, there wasn’t anything else stopping her. Alicia just paused for a moment, playing her gaze across the crowd slowly until it fell on the sole figure awaiting her in the ring.

Only then did she raise the mic to her lips, hold it there for a moment and then-

”Hey Abattoir. What’s up?”

Yes, she did know this was coming and she was looking forward to it. But she was feeling just contrary enough at being ordered out to make the nak muay work for it a little.

It took just long enough that Abattoir was starting to think about taking hostages.  The ol' "for every minute you don't come out here another innocent ringside official is getting broken glass shoved down their throat"-a-roo.  

At no point had it occurred to her that Alicia might simply not be in the building that night; this was not how Abattoir's mind worked.  She was ready to go to war on a moment's notice, therefore everybody else had to be ready to go to war on a moment's notice.  That was the ideal of things.  In fact, she clearly accepted it as such total, obvious fact that before there was even a hint of Alicia appearing, she'd already taken off her coat and started bouncing from foot to foot, rolling her head around lightly on her shoulders.

Luckily, Alicia did appear, and the audience was spared the sight of an Abattoir tantrum (which was not a thing any of them ever wanted to see or experience.  She didn't throw them often, but when she did, it was unpleasant).  The nak muay perked up, dead eyes lighting up a little, as the object of her interest moseyed down to the ring and produced a microphone and a casual greeting to match.

And then stopped on the ramp.

.....Ohhhh, she was going to make her ask.  Hard to get was the name of the game today, apparently.

Abattoir cocked her head to one side, then the other, and then at last she grinned under the mask, not that anybody could see it.  Glancing over to the fallen microphone outside the ring, she motioned to a technician, who approached the ropes with caution, gingerly tossed the mic back up to her waiting hand, and then scampered away.

She smacked a palm against the microphone to make sure it was on.  It squealed in agonizing feedback.  Good.

"Not a lot."  True.  "Bored."  Also true.  "Just got off suspension."  Not true; the medical staff had said they would send her notice of being cleared to compete, but said notice had not actually arrived yet.  Ehhh, better to beg forgiveness than to ask permission.  "They said I gotta tone down the intensity in the ring." True, and accompanied by a lackadaisical smirk.  "I think I'll pass."  Truest of all.

Abattoir leaned back against the ropes.

"Wanna fight?"

Even if their match hadn’t given her a good idea of what Abattoir was like, even if the stuff she’d heard about the nak muay since hadn’t given her a very good idea, it would only have taken one glance at the other fighter to show she was there for a fight.

Coat off, shifting her weight eagerly… She definitely wanted a fight.

And that was absolutely fine with Alicia. She’d already told Valley that a one on one rematch with Abattoir was high on her list of priorities so this? She didn’t have any problems with this whatsoever. Ok, it was a little unusual in her experience – not formal enough for a ring fight but too formal for a simple brawl, both formats she was more experienced with. But, hey, if this was how AFW worked at times, it was something she was more than happy to roll with.

But she wanted to be sure. And, to be honest, Alicia was just mean enough to appreciate the terrified way the tech handed the mic over before running like Abattoir was going to pull him into the ring and use him as a kick bag.

And a punch bag. And a knee bag. And an… You got the picture.

To be equally honest, she wasn’t sure what sort of reaction she’d get. Abattoir’s choice of words actually netted the nak muay a chuckle that the mic picked up.

”Good to have you back,” She slipped in, ”I caught a video of you vs Liberty. That was a doozy.”

And that was putting it very lightly. Hearing that they’d suspended hadn’t surprised Alicia in the slightest.

There was no way she’d class Abattoir as a friend. But she was very glad the nak muay was back for her own reasons.

And she really wasn’t surprised at all that, medical suspension or not, the other wrestler wasn’t planning to tone it down. Ok. She didn’t want this to be a hardcore match, thank you. But she would have been disappointed in the extreme to take on Abattoir Light.

No, she wanted the full flavour version.

The final question brought a chorus of cheers from the fans, at least the majority of the audience that were always up for a good fight.

Alicia waited with a thin grin for the noise to die down, before the kickboxer raised her microphone to her lips.

”I thought you’d never ask. Is now good for you?”

Taking her first step towards the ring, it was pretty clear Alicia had expectations about how Abattoir was going to answer.

Abattoir tipped an imaginary hat at the mention of her match with Liberty - the closest thing she'd come so far to showing a hint of personality, although it probably would have helped if her eyes had taken on literally any expression at all. Oh well. Baby steps.

Despite this, she was eager to throw down. There were few, if any, on the AFW roster who relished the experience of combat the way she did. Win, lose, hardcore rules, regular rules, bizarre niche rules, in the ring, in the backstage, in the wandering desert of Azazel - wherever the hell she could get the rush of battle, she'd take it. Her brief stint against Alicia had been fun, but overcomplicated - too many factors in the way - and ended up getting cut short thanks to Liberty. Now, though, with Liberty sufficiently disposed of, the way to Even More Fun stood clear.

"Yeah, now works."

This would be good. Not a lot of people out there could give her a real thrill (diminishing gratification from increasingly extreme violence necessitating a perpetual pattern of escalation were one of the major downsides of her lifestyle, along with the fact that she would absolutely 100% be dead before she hit age thirty), but Alicia Wells had quite a bit of potential. Abattoir had already decided to forego the weapons this time; given what she'd seen of the other girl, it'd be more interesting to just go at it one-on-one and barehanded. There was a certain purity to it, a way of cutting through to the essence of somebody.

As the object of her considerable interest began to make her way down to the ring, Abattoir stepped back to a corner and made room. Her head rolled around her shoulders once, vertebrae crunching loudly, and she followed it up by popping her knuckles inside their six-ounce gloves. It felt good to be back in the game - like waking up from the dead, really. Security had quite literally barred her from entering the arena while she was on suspension, and if that'd gone on much longer she probably would've needed to find some transient to murder via fistfight in a crowded warehouse.

Life was good, at least as long as Abattoir was ignorant of the fact that she wasn't alone out there. Unfortunately, that ignorance was about to come to an end.

Alicia and Abattoir weren’t exactly what you would call ‘fan favorites’. While they were both excellent wrestlers and had put on some impressive matches, they’d both done things to get the ire of the audience, and the AFW crowd had long memories.

But that worked for them, too. The crowd knew exactly what the two dangerous women were capable off, could feel the energy emanating from the ring, knew full well that they were about to watch some special.

Everyone was behind the idea...save for one.

Styx hadn’t been intending to start anything today. She was actually scheduled for a match, a legit fight against some no-name that she’d probably send home crying after a standard beatdown. It would’ve been a boring but useful way to show what WAR was all about.

But when she heard Abattoir, fresh off her suspension, was coming down to the ring, she knew a better opportunity would present itself. Lo and behold, it so did. Styx’d been wanting to get even with Alicia ever since the little redheaded bitch got involved in her business with Gallium, and now that she’d come out to challenge Abattoir, a more perfect moment couldn’t be asked for.

When Alicia came out, Styx made her move. She had to move quick - as quick as a woman her size could move - and stole a hooded jacket from backstage, using it to move through the crowd while the Abattoir set the stage. From there, it was just a simple matter of making her way to the barricade, waiting for an unknowing Alicia to pass by, and…

Styx leaped over the rail, landed behind Alicia, then charged forward and swung her arm out with a wild lariat, trying to catch her from behind before she could even fathom what was going on.

So. A match it was going to be then.

Presumably, there’d be a ref appearing any time now (possibly out from under the ring). Either that or a suit materialising to tell them that they’d have to wait for a pay per view so that Friction could squeeze as much profit as possible out of this.

Not that she cared and she couldn’t imagine Abattoir cared either. They were doing this.

The big kickboxer sped up, walking quickly towards the ring, stretching her arms out as she went. She was warmed up enough, but wanted to make sure as she ran through what she knew of Abattoir’s fighting style.

Well, the style without weapons, at least. Though that was a serious misnomer, frankly. Neither woman was ever unarmed.

There was a purity to Alicia’s focus in that moment, her world narrowing to fade out all the extraneous things that clouded her mind on a regular basis. There was her, there was Abattoir and there was the rapidly narrowing distance between them. Everything else? Irrelevant.

Of course, unless she’d grown eyes in the back of her head, it really wouldn’t have mattered. But being slightly more attuned to the exact pitch of the crowd’s noise might have at least warned her that something was up.

As it was, the first thing Alicia knew about it was when something smacked her between her shoulders, sending the unprepared redhead into a tumbling sort-of roll. She’d managed to get her arms up to try and shield her head from slamming into the steel of the ramp by instinct as much as anything, and she tried to use the slope of the ramp to put some distance between her and whoever had just hit her.

Despite the shock, the British woman didn’t panic. If she could make that distance, she’d start rapidly pulling herself back to her feet, arms up and looking to see who’d decided to stab her in the back.

Whoever it was, they hit hard.

Picture this.

You've been following the development of an upcoming video game for years.  Three or four, even, since its initial announcement.  You've watched all the trailers, read the dev blogs, gotten more and more excited as the time to launch draws closer.  You preorder as soon as it's an option, preload the game, and are sitting there waiting for the clock to strike midnight.  Just minutes away now.  It's the greatest thing in the world - all this time, all that anticipation, and you're finally going to get to enjoy that experience.  

Then, as soon as you double-click to launch, Steam gives you a popup that says your copy is being loaned out for the next few days and you have to wait until somebody else is done with it, and even then, you can only play on their save file.

If you can envision this scenario, then you can begin to imagine a fraction of the horror Abattoir felt as Styx leaped the barricade and jumped her would-be opponent.

"What are you doing?!?" she exclaimed into the microphone (sounding, for once, like a situation had completely escaped her control) as her stablemate clobbered Alicia.  "What even is---what part of this did you not think I had under control, or--"

Although her shock and frustration were clear, eloquence was escaping her.  Things had suddenly gone from great to thoroughly tainted, and little did the nak muay know, they were about to get even worse.

Oh, wow, was the audience pissed.

Styx was used to that. Prided herself in it. She'd gotten some legendarily bad reactions in her time, and she often rewatched them on YouTube when she needed a chuckle. But this was such a step beyond any hatred she’d garnered before. It was as if she'd personally gone to each and every fan’s home and smashed their favorite childhood toy. Which, in a way, she kind of did.

Regardless, it just added fuel to the fire, made Styx even more determined to cave Alicia’s skull in. She kept up as the bitch rolled moved away, following her down the ramp and closing in as she tried to make it back to her feet. She could hear Abattoir kevetching about the turn of events, but she totally ignored it - this was happening, and she’d fall in line with it like a good goddamn soldier. Period.

”Hey, bitch!” Styx huffed as she raised her boot up and sent it straight towards Alicia’s chest, looking to put her right back down on the floor. ”Catch you at a bad time?”

Rolling away, nursing the pain in her back, didn’t really give Alicia a chance to see who’d hit her. She caught sight of a pair of big, heavy looking boots but that didn’t really nail it down. Ok, maybe she ought to have guessed – she hadn’t made that many enemies and, well, there was an obvious suspect – but a lot of that was her being too busy with other ideas.

Getting away for one.

So it wasn’t until she was half way towards some sort of vertical base that she was able to lay eyes on the woman chasing her down the ramp, right before she felt one of those big heavy boots nail her in the chest. That sent her right back to the cold metal, skidding a few feet further towards the ring as the realisation set in.

River Styx.

Ah.

Alicia would have cursed but she was a bit busy and she didn’t want to waste air that was suddenly in short supply. Ditto why she didn’t bother answering Styx’s rantings.

Vaguely aware of Abattoir shouting behind her somewhere (but not the content) and of the crowd’s loud and viciously expressed outrage, she didn’t bother getting to her feet except for the most basic attempts at appearing to get away.

Instead, she was hoping to get Styx close enough to sweep her legs out from under her. This was a hugely bad place to be – Alicia needed to be on her feet – but she wasn’t going to be able to do that with Styx hounding her. So Styx needed to be off her feet and now.

Then she could make it to her feet and… And… She’d worry about that when it happened.