Tonopah, NV Sometime between 2/27 & 3/27

There hadn’t been many moments during their time glued at the hip yet where she had questioned her sanity in agreeing to his plan… but now?

Right at this moment?

This was one of those times.

“Why does this even smell like a bad decision?”

Remi’s hand tightens slightly over Jason Cashe’s arm, the blindfold still firmly in place as he leads her forward.

“That’s just because we’re only a couple hours from Vegas.”

“That’s not exactly comforting.” she grumbles, the admonitions from some on Twitter to stay away from that particular place still fresh. As long as they stayed away from chapels though…

“Relax.”

“I’m not at the point where I trust you while I’m blind.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“... that also doesn’t help.”

He halts, bringing her to a stop as well. “Okay, you can take it off.”

She pulls the blindfold off.

Blink.

Blink.

The giant sign flickers above the entrance. Painted eyes stare eerily back at her.

The Clown Motel.

Her eyes slowly slide back to him, standing there with a shit eating grin, room key in his hand.

“Oh hell no!”

“C’mon…”

“Nope.” She takes a step back, shaking her head. “Absolutely not. I don’t do clowns.”

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of clowns.”

“Not scared, I just strongly dislike them. They’re creepy. They don’t blink enough.”

Cashe snorts “That’s oddly specific.”

“I want to punch them all in their stupid painted noses.”

“Okay Killer, just give it a chance.”

“I gave it a look, and I hate it.” Remi mutters but follows him, taking in all the ‘wonderful’ sights the place had to offer.

Room 107. Fear Unlimited room.

Oh that definitely made her feel so much better.

He pushes the door open and steps aside so that she can enter the room first. She blinks in the sudden dimness, but as her eyesight clears, she immediately wishes she had stayed blind.

Murals everywhere.

Every wall, with faces too big, and smiles too wide. Sharp yellowed teeth and leering expressions.

“... You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Cashe walks around her, taking it all in, as he moves towards one of the beds. Remi follows, stepping carefully, her gaze flicking from wall to wall, almost flinching as the door clicks shut behind them. “That one’s planning something.”

Cashe drops his bag, completely unbothered. “You’re dramatic.”

She turns to him slowly. “.... you did this on purpose.”

He blinks. “Me?”

“Yes, you.”

“I would never.” He puts a thick layer of offense in his tone.

“You absolutely would.”

“I’m offended.”

“You should be.” She gestures at the walls. “You brought me to clown hell.”

“I brought you to a unique experience.” Unperturbed, he flops onto the bed. “You act like you’re going to get killed. They wouldn’t have opened it back up if it was going to happen again.”

“...........pardon? Again!?”

“Yeah. It’s been closed because of it. And apparently people in the room next door,” Cashe jerks his thumb towards the wall. “Hear a lot of weird shit at night in this room. Banging on the walls and stuff.”

“You’re joking.” Remi goes still, glancing from the wall he indicated then back to him again. “In this room?”

“Yeah.” Cashe doesn’t look up from rolling his joint. “Couple people, I think. Nothing to worry about.”

“Nothing to worry about he says.” she grouses to herself. “I get the bed furthest from the door, so the killer will get you first.”

Later…

The lights are off and the room is quiet. Cashe was actually trying to sleep in the neighboring bed as Remi lay awake. The murals are even spookier in the dim light that crept in through the curtains. Her gaze skitters from one to the other. “Who the hell pays to have you creepy bastards stare at them?” she whispers to herself.

“You’re talking to paint. Go to sleep.”

“I would love to. Unfortunately, I’m being monitored by clowns.”

Time passes and eventually, Remi drifts off to sleep, finally. Exhaustion drowning out the threat of the clowns. Cashe, unfortunately, is now awake… with an idea.

He slips out of his bed quietly, moves to the bathroom and eases the door shut behind him. A few minutes later, the door creaks open and standing there… is a clown. Unevenly pale face. Red mouth smudged into something resembling a grin. Smears around his eyes.

“Remiiiiiiiiiii…”

She stirs. “Mmm?”

“Remiiiii…”

Her eyes blink open, heavy with sleep and unfocused.

Then she sees him, standing at the foot of the bed, smiling in the dark. Her body goes completely still.

He tilts his head. “Come play…”

THWACK!

Pillow to the face.

“OH HELL NO!” She launches up, grabbing another pillow.

WHACK!

“Rem…!”

“NOPE!” She scrambles off the bed, grabbing whatever is closest…

A shoe!

Throws it…

Direct hit.

He’s trying to dodge now as she snatches and pelts him with random objects. “Wait!”

She charges, bellowing a war cry. They collide, crash onto the bed and over the edge, tangled up, limbs everywhere as she lashes out. She ends up on top of him, arm rearing back midswing when she stops…

Because he’s laughing his ass off.

She peers down at him. “... Jason?”

“.... Boo.”

A moment of stillness, then her grip loosens. “You’re an idiot.”

He grins up at her. “Yeah.”

She exhales and leans back, half annoyed and half relieved.  “I almost took you out.”

“You tried.”

“You’d have deserved it.” She goes to say something else, but her eyes slowly narrow. “.... is that my makeup?”

Cashe freezes. “.... maybe.”

“Oh my…” She grabs his face, tugging it more into the thin sliver of light. “You look like a sad birthday party.”

“Scared the shit out of you.”

“You did.” She agrees, then uses her thumb to smear the makeup all over his face, then finally rolls off to lay next to him on the jumbled blankets on the floor. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

She exhales, softens. Just a little. “No. I don’t hate you…”

A beat.

“... but you’re a jerk.”

He chuckles. “Worth it.”

She gets up and grabs a pillow, chucking it at his face one last time. “Take it off.”

“I will.”

“Now... You look creepier than the damn paintings.”

“Yes ma’am.” He mock salutes as he gets up.

She watches him disappear into the bathroom, then glances at the walls. All the clowns. Still there. Still creepy. “I’ll get you back for this.”

“I heard that!”

“Good!”



___________________________________________________________________________

“You know, I’m sure people joke around about having to face clowns on the roster. Not in XWF, no. They’ll put you in the ring with an actual damn clown.

And the shiny red nose on top?

He’s a Dr Clown. MD no less.

I don’t know if that means he’s going to come down to the ring with a toy stethoscope or a sharp scalpel, but there is one thing for certain…

I’m going to cram his entire bag of tricks up his ass.

I hate clowns.

They don’t scare me. They don’t even entertain me. They irritate me.

I’m not really sure what it is about them that makes me want to annihilate them. Maybe it's the face paint. Maybe it's the overly large shoes. I don’t know. What I do know, is that it puts you in a pretty precarious place dear Dr. You should probably be thanking your lucky stars that you won’t be the only one in the ring with me come Warfare, but even with him there, I’m going to be sure to make you know just how much I don’t like you.

My debut match, I have a lot to prove here, so a double whammy.

Meanwhile, the only thing you’re going to accomplish is making a joke of yourself just like the rest of your crew.

You guys are good at it, I’ll give you that. World class even. You don’t even need a ring. You could headline in a circus parking lot and still disappoint everybody who showed up.

See, I don’t need props. I don’t need thousands of friends to get people talking. I don’t need to convince people to look at me.

I let what I do in the ring do that for me… and this coming Warfare?

It’s not playtime.

It’s not comedy hour.

It’s not your little circus act.

It’s my time to show the XWF just what I am. I already had heads turning in TPW, and was already wearing the gold. Here? I’m starting over, and you just happen to be an extremely obnoxious thing I have to make my first impression with.

Are you that frantic for attention? A grown man, a doctor, smelling of latex and broken dreams, slapping on some face paint coming to dance under the lights so people will look at him. It’s the only thing holding your whole act together. Every moment you make is built around it. Every sound you make is chasing it. Every second you spend in that ring is about keeping it focused on you… because you know exactly what happens if it drifts.

You disappear.

You stop mattering, and that terrifies you and that merry band of lunatics you run with.

Not losing.

Not getting injured.

Not even being outmatched.

Being ignored. That’s the one thing you can’t handle. And that’s why everything about you is so loud. You try to force a reaction from everyone around you. It doesn’t even have to be anything in particular. Respect. Fear. Laughter. It just has to be something. You’ve built your entire identities around that ‘something’.

Why are you even here?

Doctor… clown… wrestler. That’s a lot of titles for one person. And sadly, that’s the most interesting thing about you.

You’re covering multiple angles, hoping something sticks, because none of what you claim to be is strong enough to be stand alone. So you wear that costume stitched together from different ideas, different roles, different masks… and you’re still subpar. So you have to surround yourself with noise, with color, with people. Your crew. The parade of clowns.

You need them to hold that spotlight in place because you can’t on your own.

You know no version of you is enough… So that's why you keep adding. More titles,more people, more everything. Just to reach what most people get all on their own…

A passing acknowledgement.

And even then? It’s not for you.

It’s for the act.

I don’t need to stack identities to feel like I belong or be seen. I don’t need a crowd around me to hold the spotlight in place. I step into it… and it stays.

Now you’re getting in the ring without your safety net… Just you. The one who can’t carry it all alone, because you have nothing underneath all the masks to save you.

You try to be everything at once, and somehow… you still ended up being someone who can’t stand on their own.

I don’t need a thousand versions of myself to prove a point.

I just need one, to end all of yours.

So go ahead Doc… enjoy the time you have, because once I get my hands on you?

There's no encore.

There’s just the end, and I promise…

It’s not going to be funny.”

_________________________________________________________________

Life had a peculiar way of trying to knock the ground out from under you sometimes.

Remi had signed on the dotted line at TPW, won a number one contenders shot at the Prestige title, joined XWF, agreed to go on a chaotic adventure with and found a friend in opponent Jason Cashe, and then had taken the belt from him.

And then?

She found out her father was having her followed, TPW had closed its doors, and Cashe had suddenly gone poof on her once she beat him, all the situations rocking the Earth under her feet a little bit.

But not for long… Remi was, if nothing else, resilient. She focused on situations, gnawing at them in her mind like a dog with a bone, trying to solve the problems.

TPW had closed, but she still had XWF. She had explored the halls a bit, and even joined in the video game play during March Madness. Until Elon had his Grok pull the plug on her screen. Fucking Elon. And now she was booked in her first match with John Blade and a goddamn clown.

She blamed Elon for that.

Clown loving freak.

In any case, she still had a place to test her skills, keep on learning, and was looking forward to meeting all the people.

Except Elon.

Her father… well, that would be handled at a future point.

That had left one last thing… That she had tried to ignore, but couldn’t any longer.

The house had been too damn quiet.

Remi hadn’t noticed it at first.

The first night back from the pay-per-view in Barbados, she was exhausted. The second night she told herself it was just jetlag.

By day four? It was obvious.

There was nobody pacing in the living room. No sarcastic commentary from the kitchen. No arguing over food. No subtle jabs or playful teasing.

Just the hum of the refrigerator.

It didn’t feel like home right now.

It felt too…. Still.

And she hated the fact that she missed the chaos as much as she did.

So she was trying to find things to distract herself.

Iris was the closest thing to a best friend that Remi had. They had met when she had joined up with the training school, and the second year woman had been more than happy to introduce her to eating the canvas. They had often practiced together, remaining in touch when Iris went off to test some promotions, and Remi too unsure to take that final step to follow her. Now, they settled for occasional phone calls and even rarer moments together, like now settled together in a cozy alcove of a local restaurant.

And Remi was struggling to keep her mind from wandering.

After spending a solid four weeks glued to the side of Cashe having chaotic adventures, she was having a bit of a time reacclimating to her mundane life.

“Remi?”

She blinks, bringing herself back to the present, looking across at her friend whose eyes are trained on her, head tilted to the side, looking a little concerned.

“Oh, sorry… I’m a little… distracted lately. What did you say?”

“I asked how things have been since you got home from Barbados?”

“It’s been… quiet.”

Too quiet. Remi prods at her pasta.

“You know what you need?” Iris takes a bite of her salad.

Remi sighs. “If you say therapy…”

“You should think about a dog.”

“I’ve been thinking about one.” Remi mumbles. Nonstop unfortunately.

“That's good! Companionship, noise. Something to take care of.”

“Yeah. I mean he’s loud. Kinda stubborn..”

“Thats why you have to train them. Can’t have them thinking they’re in charge.”

Train him? Ha! “He can be bossy.”

“High energy?”

“Unbelievably.”

“Loyal?”

“Completely.” Remi smiles, looking at the table. “He’s got this… thing. He's tough as hell... but has a softer side only a few see.”

Iris melts immediately. “Oh I love that. He sounds sweet.”

Remi thinks about the time with him. Him letting her prattle on about things. Remembering how she liked her pizza, even if he did jab at her order a little. The little things he did. “....He can be.”

Iris nods approvingly. “That’s good. You might want to jump on him before someone else does.”

Remi blinks. “I… what?.”

“You just described this dog like he’s your soulmate.”

Remi freezes. “What?”

Iris blinks. “We are talking about a dog, right?” Remi just stares at her. Iris lowers her fork. “... Remi.”

Silence. Remi feels her face warm under the scrutiny. Iris squints at her. “Are we talking about a dog… or are we talking about the guy you just spent a month with?”

Remi looks down at her glass of iced tea. Stirs it. Mouth opens and closes with no words coming out. What the hell could she say?

Iris leans back, jaw dropping slightly. “Remi…”

She groans. “Don’t.”

“You are not talking about an actual dog.”

Remi exhales slowly. “No.”

“You’re talking about the DiOGee type.” Iris grins. “Oh my god.”

Remi presses her lips together, trying not to smile. “I didn’t mean to.”

“To catch feelings?”

“To miss him.”

That lands quieter. Iris softens. “Well…”

Remi looks up, reluctantly.

“Do you miss the dog,” Iris says carefully. “Or do you miss the way he made your life feel?”

Remi swallows. “... Both.”

And that's the first time she admits it out loud, and even to herself.

And at that moment, Remi makes a decision. Regardless of the outcome, she was going to book a flight to Houston and get some answers.

_________________________________________________________________

“John Blade…

You know, I almost feel bad that you landed in front of me.

Almost.

Every time someone brings you up, it’s followed by a list of excuses.

He’s trying.

He’s got potential.

He just needs one good night.

See I’ve been watching, I do my homework. What I see when I look at you,isn’t a threat. It’s a pattern hanging on by a thread of hope, a painfully predictable pattern of coming up short.

Match after match, opportunity after opportunity…

So you’re probably walking into this triple threat thinking this is it right? It’s just a clown and the new girl. This is your moment, where everything turns around. This will be the one that breaks the streak and sets you on the path upward…

That’s cute.

This would be the worst possible time to believe in yourself, because while you’re busy chasing redemption…

I’m chasing something a whole lot bigger.

I didn’t come here to turn things around or to find myself. I came here with a purpose, and that purpose doesn’t have room for you to be in my way.

You’re not a stepping stone John, let’s not flatter. You’re a delay. A speed bump on a straight road.

And I don’t slow down.

That’s another difference between you and me. You’re hoping this is your moment.

I make moments.

How many ‘next times’ you got left John? Because now, here you are in the same match with me, thinking this is your chance to rewrite the story.

Nope.

This is where your story stays exactly the same.

You won’t be gaining your comeback at my expense. You won’t be getting your breakthrough moment standing across from me, it won’t be your turning point.

Maybe next time…

You think I don’t see it? That look in your eyes? Distress dressed up as determination?

You’re not dangerous John. You’re desperate. And desperate people? They make mistakes. They take risks that they shouldn’t. They get frantic… and that's exactly where I catch them. I’m a watcher John, I look for weakness. I study. I learn,

So go ahead and come in swinging like your career depends on it, like it’s finally your time. Step up and give it everything you’ve got… It’s still not going to be enough.

I’m going to meet you with something you’re not ready for.

Certainty.

No hesitation, no second guessing, no wondering if this is my time.

I know it is.

So bring your hope, bring whatever it is you’ve been telling yourself to get hyped up for the next one. It’s not going to save you.

You’re not my focus.

But you are in my way.

And just like the clown… I don’t go around problems.

I go straight through them.

This isn’t your moment.

It’s mine.

There are three of us coming to play on Warfare.

One is trying to use chaos as a shield.

The other is waiting for a moment that keeps passing him by.

And right in the middle of all that?

You’ve got me.

I’m here for one reason.

To rattle some cages.

I didn’t walk into XWF to test the waters. I didn’t come here to ‘see how it goes’. I didn’t come here just to start over quietly and hope people notice.

I came here with expectations.

And if you’ve been paying attention to anything I’ve done before I got here… you already know how this goes.

I don’t build slow. I don’t ease in. I don’t ask for permission.

I take space and make it mine.

So this moment where everyone’s trying to figure out who steps up, who moves forward, who breaks through to the next level?

It’s not even a question to me.

One of you gets stripped of all the noise and toys you hide behind.

And the other gets shown exactly how far they still have to go.

And me?

I keep moving up.

Because this is only the start. This is the first step in making my run here just as dominant, just as undeniable, and just as inevitable as everything I ever did before I stepped foot into XWF.

I didn’t come here to match what I’ve done, I came here to exceed it.

To make this place mine.

By force, by presence, by making it really clear… really fast that I’m not someone you adjust to.

I’m someone you get out of the way for.

Until there’s nothing left standing in front of me… right now, the both of you are. So bring me everything you’ve got. Bring whatever version of yourselves you think is enough to stand toe to toe with me. 

It won’t be.

Because when I step in?

There will be a storm… and afterwards, there will be just one standing in the wreckage of the aftermath.

Me.”