Payment In Full

In hindsight, this was probably a case of Sista A’s ring instincts taking over, tricking her brain into thinking this was an actual match. In a normal match, rolling out of the ring would’ve been the perfect way to gain some respite from Zarya’s onslaught. At the least, it would keep her from doing too much before the ten-count ran out.

Here, it didn’t mean much of anything. If anything, it bought her a couple of seconds, and that wasn’t enough. Not nearly.

She’d just started to gain her bearings when Zarya came up and seized her, grabbing her before she could even hope to escape. She resisted, sure, but it meant little to the titaness, and Sista A quickly found herself wrapped up in a tight hold. She didn’t know the name of the move, and she didn’t need to. The only thing that was relevant was how much it hurt.

She bucked around and tried to shake herself free, not finding any release for her effort. When that failed, she tried to swing her free arm around and catch Zarya with a glancing elbow in the side, but the angle was all wrong for it.

The Russian Ravager barely seemed to notice the elbow to the ribs. It hurt, but not nearly enough to penetrate the wall of rage and adrenaline. The angle wasn't right for inflicting the type of damage Sista A needed to inflict. Zarya didn't give her a chance to do more before answering her struggles with more pressure, her hard bicep and forearm creating a vice around Sista's throat. The feeling of painful stress on her captive arm and shoulder would only increase as Zarya attempted to lift the other woman clear off her feet while trapped in the hold and carry her across the gym making slow progress towards the excercise benches equipped with weight racks for performing bench presses.

"I was wrong about you. Lets not fight anymore." Her flat tone betrayed none of the angry simmering below the surface. "Do you lift? Come on, I'll be your spotter. You trust me with a barbell over your neck. Right?"

She said it so matter of fact that it was impossible to tell how serious she was, whether she were just trying to scare the former pop star or if the threat was genuine. Either way, if she lost consciousness, she would be completely at Zarya's mercy.

When it came to wrestling moves, there was almost always a way to make everything worse, if you just stopped and thought about it long enough. If Sista A ever had any doubts on that, all she needed to do was thinking about Zarya Volkov and this hold.

The hold was torture, but it became excruciating when the beast of a woman lifted her up, held aloft with ease, and turned her arm into a living noose. It would be a brief one, though, and Sista A almost saw that as a plus. She was going out. She was drifting, fast. Fading.

But whatever small relief she had was quick to fade when she saw what she was being dragged towards and heard Zarya’s words. This woman was not done. At all. But whatever ability she had to resist was rapidly dwindling, as her struggles became weaker and weaker...

Zarya wanted her at the razors edge of consciousness, aware enough to maintain at least a vague sense of what was going on while being too weak to do anything about it.

Finally, they were standing in front of a basic workout bench rigged for bench pressing.  The russian finally released Sista A from the excruciating hold, only to spin her around and woman-handle her onto the bench, laying her supine upon it as if she were preparing to use the equipment for its intended purpose. Zarya's true intentions were anything but.

She straddled Sista's hips and the bench itself. There was a barbell on the rack, one that had yet to be equipped with weights on either end, leaving a bar of metal that was still heavy in its own right. Zarya lifted it from the rack, smacking it against her palm like a thug with a baseball bat.

"You have only yourself to blame for this..." The russian spoke, her tone holding an undercurrent as cold as a Siberian winter as she gripped the barbell with both hands and leaned in to press it against Sista's throat, intent on choking her out and looking the mouthy bitch in the eyes while she did so. "Some partner you are. Can't even defend yourself, let alone back up Anesthesia. You'll be lucky if she keeps you around to lick the dirt from her heels."

Sista A was fading in and out of conscious at  a rapid rate, so much so that what happened next seemed to come to her in flash, like a movie with frames removed. With each frame, she grew closer and closer to the bench and whatever crazed fate Zarya was cooking up, until they finally reached it, and-
 
She was dropped down the bench, slammed on it and forced to face up while she sucked in as much air as she could. It was only brief relief, though, as Zarya straddled her waiste and pinned her to the seat, keeping her in place. Even if she’d been at her best, Sista A would’ve been hardpressed to push her off. As it was, she could do little more than feeble push at the massive thighs surrounding her. That, and raise her hands in defense as Zarya lowered the bar to her neck.
 
”Wait, stop-” Her pleas were cut off as the bar was pressed against her throat. She pushed up, tried to alleviate the pressure but at best she was delaying the inevitable. Strength was on Zarya’s side. Leverage was on Zarya’s side. Gravity was on Zarya’s side.
 
Against that, all she could was do was futilely buck around as her eyes began to roll to the back of her head, and wheezing, hacking sounds escaped her lips. ”S...st…”

There were no more taunts, no more insults, just a single word spoken with absolute sincerity.

"Nyet." Her meaning was only too clear. There would be no letting up, no semblence of mercy. Zarya Volkov was going to enjoy her front row seat as Sista A's consciousness was inexorably snuffed out. The russian pressed down harder on the metal bar, seeking to overwhelm Sista's feeble efforts to defend herself. Zarya attempted to press the bar so firmly against Sista's neck that even what little sound she managed would be cut off.

As if that werent bad enough, the exercise bench wasn't wide enough to fully protect Sista A from the crush of Zarya's thighs, thick quad muscles pressing hard against Sista's sides.

As she had her way with Anesthesia's partner, a thought came sudden and unbidden to her mind. Where was the woman herself? What would she think of what Zarya had done to her partner?

Sista A didn’t enjoy this, and it was not over quickly. Her fight for consciousness was a slow, arduous one, sputtering as Zarya mercilessly choked away at her. Part of her wanted to just surrender and let it happen, but instinct was a hard thing to counter. Her body wanted to breath. Her body wanted to escape this hell. Her body wanted to get out of this and bash this crazy Russian in the skull with a hammer.

None of that was happening. Whether her body liked it or not, the fight was over before it began, and the only thing left for it to do was...to...sleep…

The struggling stopped. The kicking ended. Sista A’s eyes closed as her mind flew away, and sweet darkness claimed. She was out, cold, with only her slowly rising chest and the occasional sputter to prove she was alive.

It was quite a sight to see. Anesthesia was glad she’d come in time to enjoy it.

”Hm. That took considerably less time than I thought.” The Dark Nightingale lived up to her name as she stepped in from the shadows, showing impossible stealth for a woman dressed in a hot pink nurse outfit. She strolled over to Zarya’s side and idly looked down at Sista A, with a sigh and a slight smile. ”The weight bench was creative, I’ll give you that.”

Somehow, hearing the Dark Nightingale slink put of a shadowed corner wasn't the least bit surprising. Zarya could be over the top and theatrical, presentation was part of the fun of being involved in an outlaw business like pro wrestling, but Anesthesia could elevate a dramatic entrance into an art form.

It bothered Zarya somewhat, having not heard the other woman enter, but she shoved that vague annoyance aside, taking a moment to look over the world's naughtiest nurse with an openly appreciative gaze.

"I was inspired by that last elbow to the face." A ghost of a grin tugged at the corners of her mouth as the Iron Soldier returned the bar to its rack and dismounted the bench, and a very unconscious Sista A. "Thank you for the... bonus. I take it you enjoyed the show?"

Anesthesia was rarely visibly perturbed by anything, and this was no exception to that rule. If she was in any way annoyed by Zarya’s domination or Sista A’s allowing herself to be dominated, it didn't show on her face. She merely looked down at her ‘partner’ with a mix of curiosity and morbid fascination, as if she were a frog to be dissected later.

”I do enjoy seeing you work. You have a keen mind for brutality that I find…” She bit her lip as she looked Zarya over, trying to decide which word to use. ”...refreshing.”

Anesthesia brushed it off and handed Zarya the payment she’d dropped a moment ago, even dusting off some of the dirt it had picked off from the floor. ”For a job well and creatively done. And for going above and beyond. Please, give my regards to your associate. I trust she wasn’t too off-put by the way it all ended?”

Zarya accepted the dropped payment, having almost forgotten about it in the conflict that so quickly, and violently, escalated. She didn't bother counting it in front of Anesthesia. The woman had been straight with her thus far, and she sensed that so long as the Iron Soldier delivered on her part of the bargin, that would continue. That, and Anesthesia was far too intelligent to deliver the agreed upon payment right down to the last dime.

"Isa? She'll be fine. Gets hung up on her code, that's all. You know the type. The stubborn ones who don't know when to be flexible." Zarya didn't bother motioning to Sista A, as if the defeated woman was already forgotten. Then, her eyes narrowed slightly, regarding Anesthesia with renewed interest. "Why? Do you have a place for her in this plot of yours? I did what you wanted... but I don't think beating Makoto once is your end game."