The camera's already rolling.

Miss Furry stands ringside, studying one of Gravy’s students.

He is young. Early twenties.

He hits the ropes, rebounds, rolls under an imaginary clothesline, pops to one knee, and throws both arms out wide.

He holds the pose with a grin.

Miss Furry stands there, arms folded. No grin.

"Again."

His grin falls.

"What?"

"Again."

"But... I hit it clean..."

"You hit the roll clean."

She points at him.

"Then you stopped wrestling so the invisible crowd could invisibly love you."

He laughs.

Then quickly realizes she isn't joking.

"It's called presence!"

"It's called creating an opening for someone to kick your teeth in."

He rolls his eyes.

"You're not even a trainer. Where's Mr. Graves? He knows that nothing else matters as long as your name's in their mouths. I'd think someone who dresses like a cat would know that as well."

The kid steps through the ropes and grabs his phone off the apron.

"Look. This clip got over two thousand likes."

She takes one look at the screen, then back at him.

"No it didn't."

"Yes it did, it's right there!"

"No, those are bots."

His jaw drops.

"I can't believe that you—"

She sharply cuts him off.

"You've had, what, six Boneyard matches?"

"Seven!"

"Lost five."

He looks away.

"Never been on Anarchy. Never been on Warfare. Just shaky phone video filmed by your mom."

She nods toward the phone.

"So tell me why two thousand real people would know who you are."

"People like my flashy moves and the girls think I'm a stud. I'm building a brand!"

"No, you're buying one."

"Wha—that's not fair! I'll have plenty more once I score a sweet Anarchy contract!"

"Listen."

He doesn't want to.

But he does.

"The best way to be remembered in wrestling is to give people a memory worth holding onto."

The kid scoffs.

"That's what the clips are for, memories!"

"No..."

She shakes her head.

"Clips show something happened.

They don't make it matter."

She points at the mat.

"A memory is what happens in here when somebody wins when they shouldn't. When somebody bleeds and keeps crawling. When somebody gets stretched so bad the crowd stops laughing. When somebody walks in pretty and walks out ugly—head held high.

That's what sticks.

Not the posturing.

Not talking.

Not narratives.

And definitely not the fake army you paid eight dollars to boost engagement while you shadowbox in an old warehouse..."

His pride takes a sick bump.

"I... I didn't pay—"

"Of course you didn't...

Nobody ever does."

The kid goes quiet.

Furry looks straight into the camera for the first time.

There it is.

The reason this was recording.

"Jenny Myst is much the same.

Not about likes, maybe... 

Mmmm?

No, not that exact sad little purchase."

She glances back at the student.

"No offense."

"Kinda felt like offense."

"Good."

Back to the camera.

"Jenny talks about attention. Momentum. Narrative. Who people remember. Who people leave the building talking about.

She got pinned by Dickie Watson and spent the whole week trying to convince everybody that losing somehow makes her bigger.

We all saw the same match, Jenny.

You don't get to limp away from it and tell everybody that you meant to walk like that.

Your mouth doesn't turn losses like that into momentum. You try to talk long enough that people forget what was proven in the ring.

But being talked about and being dangerous are two different things, as you will soon learn."

A slight smirk.

Summer got buried by Jenny. 

XXXVI got robbed for Jenny. 

Funny how she treats both of those as the same thing... proof that 'Jenny Myst is thriving'."

But at Leap of Faith, Inferno matches don't care about marketability.

Fire doesn't care whose name has been spoken more.

Fire doesn't care if you made Summer Page famous by breaking her, or if Marisol made you famous by clearing the ladder."

Her voice gets lower.

"Fire only cares how quickly you burn."

The student shifts uncomfortably behind her.

Furry doesn't look back.

"Jenny wants to be remembered.

Fine.

I'll give her that."

She reaches over and picks up the Anarchy Championship from the apron.

She rests it on her shoulder.

"But memories made in my ring don't come gift wrapped.

They come with bruises. They come with scars. They come with that ugly little moment where the person who thought this was all about being seen realizes everybody is watching...

And all they get to see is you, coming apart."

A small pause as she glances at the championship on her shoulder.

"Jenny, you can have the sharpest tongue in XWF.

You can have the sneakiest allies.

You can have more followers than sense and enough fake momentum to fool people who don't know the difference between background noise and actual impact..."

She leans closer to the camera.

"But when you're alone in there and those ropes catch fire?

If all that talk and hype can't survive one night in the heat?

Then whatever you think you're building burns down to one ugly little fact.

You talked bigger than you fought."

Furry looks back at the student.

"Again! Without the posturing this time."

He swallows hard and climbs back into the ring.

Furry keeps the title on her shoulder.

Still staring into the lens.

"At Leap of Faith, Jenny Myst gets her memory.

She doesn't need the win.

She doesn't need the title.

She needs them to say her name when it's all over.

Oh, and they will.

Not because she shocked the world. 

Not because she was the better wrestler.

Not because she walked through fire and came out stronger.

They'll say her name because of the smell.

Because of the scream.

And because of the exact second that Jenny Myst quit riding a wave of hype, and became the thing left smoking in my ring.

Jenny Myst gets remembered.

I get the win.

And I walk out—STILL—Anarchy Champion."