By now, your laptop has been set up on a side table, flash drive inserted into one of the USB slots and the contents ready to be played.
You step into view of the camera, having taken the time to shower and change. Your mind is turning over at pace. What’s on the flash drive? Is it what I think it is? What if it’s not?
Finding yourself staring across at the laptop, as if sizing it up, you blow the air out of your lungs, shoulders slumping forward as you do so. The towel held in your left hand is rubbed against your scalp once again, though your hair is dry by now.
You look over at the clean t-shirt laid out over the back of a metal chair and move towards it, dropping the towel onto the chair in its place as you then throw the t-shirt over your head.
Your left hand pats against the pocket of your jeans, checking for the phone within. Of course it’s there.
No sense in putting this off any more.
Moving towards the laptop, you exhale out once more as you compose your thoughts and narrow your focus.
Wisdom gave you this flash drive for a reason. Time to find out why.
The ring finger of your right hand taps the pad on the laptop, triggering the video into life. The speakers aren’t set to full volume but with the room being silent, Hans’ focus honed in on the laptop and barely breathing, it comes through clear as day.
(Gloria): … Mr. von Richtoven took advantage of Ms. Martinez.
Your eyes narrow, a neck muscle twitches and your left hand balls into a fist subconsciously.
(Gloria) During regular training sessions Mr. von Richtoven touched Ms. Martinez inappropriately in her genitals and breasts, creating for her Stockholm Syndrome-like scenario where she devel…
(Hans): Du scheißt mich an!
You find yourself blurting out at the sheer nonsense of it all.
(Gloria): Ms. Martinez did not invite Mr. von Richtoven to touch her in this manner. Her condition developed as a result of his repeated actions and to be clear and specific to the law…
It is utter bullsh*t
(Gloria): … It was without her consent.
To this, your head is turning slowly from side to side in disbelief and repressed anger at the lies being said.
It’s almost a relief for the focus to be taken off the lawyer and onto Erica as she starts to cry. Your eyes roll back into your head, even as it tilts back itself. An anguished and strangled venting of rage scraping its way past your lips as both hands come up to hover inches from the sides of your face.
What comes out next is laughter, forced laughter at just how ridiculous the last few months have been but growing ever stronger as the whole proceedings and the toll it’s taken just break down the final walls.
Your attention isn’t all there as the next words swim into the extremes of your consciousness.
(Rachel Kim): Are you saying that Ms. Martinez stole semen from this facility belonging to Hans von Richtoven and injected herself with it? And that you blame the center itself for allowing her to do so?
(Gloria): That Center has not yet confirmed the validity of my clients claim as it relates to the specimen stolen…
Wait. Stolen?
Your attention snaps back into the here and now.
(Gloria): … and to my knowledge has not reached out to any of the involved parties during their internal investigation until a determination has been made. However, they do carry a measure of the responsibility. Better safeguards should have been in place to prevent my client from gaining the level of access that she did.
(Rachel Kim): But she is claiming this sample that was stolen to be that of Hans von Richtoven?
(Gloria): That is correct. Listen…my client makes no excuses for her criminal actions other than her condition.
By this point, the pit in your stomach has opened up and your hands are gripping the nape of your neck, eyes focused on the screen and yet in a thousand yard stare simultaneously.
Everything goes quiet. Even the sound of your own heartbeat is but a distant murmur.
The scene plays on, Rachel and Erica now getting into a heated back and forth. You can see it. You’re not hearing it.
Over and over in your head is the same thought.
She didn’t do that, surely?
One hand gingerly stretches out, pausing the recording and setting it back a few minutes before returning to its position.
No laughter escapes your lips.
No tears fall.
Your blood boils though.
(Erica): It’s a boy…I can feel it. I can feel him growing inside me by the minute. You’re a part of me, and I’m a part of you now. I told you I could give you what she couldn’t. You’ll see. No one, and I mean no one is going to come between us. I can’t wait to see you at Havoc. I can’t wait to talk to you about this and our future. You chose me for a reason, because I’m better than her, because you want me. Because you’ve been living in an unfulfilled marriage, and I can give you what you’ve always wanted. To hell with Butch and Wisdom, Triple H and Stephanie…we can be the power couple of the wrestling world. Alexis, Sarah, Michelle, you’re all going to bow down to me. I’m coming to Havoc to fulfill my contractual obligation in your stupid little Lumberjill match but after that I’ll be taking my medical leave. I can’t compete pregnant obviously, but after our son is born, I’ll be back in the ring to pick off what’s left of you bitches after Lilianna and Briar and Rose are done with you.
Your teeth are clenched tighter than a vice.
Your eyes bore into the screen like lasers.
You’re not hearing things again, silence.
You snap.
One hand flies out, flinging the laptop across the other side of the room, the other then lashing the other way and flipping the table that it had been sat upon moments before.
Sinking to your knees you scream, arching your back and letting your head droop further as you expel some of the anger.
No, that’s not enough.
You’re livid.
Your eyes catch the still muted flatscreen on the wall. Maniac and Jeremy’s match is still ongoing, albeit now Erica herself has intervened.
A snarl forms and your eyes narrow.
She will pay.
You’re onto your feet and grasping at the door handle, only, it doesn't give.
You throw your weight into it.
Nothing.
NO!
Your eyes flash back to the screen, cameras showing the other lockerrooms just like yours have been blocked. You’re all trapped.
Realization is dawning but that doesn't stop you putting yet more force into your attempts to free yourself.
The sober thing to do would be to contact the Center, ask for Doctor Shaw and in no uncertain terms demand answers.
The sober thing to do would be to wait until backstage staff could free you and the other wrestlers, it surely wouldn’t be long.
No. Your blood is well and truly pumping right now.
She’s gone too far. She’s gone too f*cking far!
The camera zooms out as you continue to throw yourself against the door, focusing on the shattered remains of the laptop strewn across the floor as the scene fades slowly to black.
Message Thread
« Back to index