007: Fortune Favours The Fall

LOCATION: Key West, Florida
DATE/TIME: May 14, 2019 || 03:15 AM EST
CAMERA STATUS: ON/OFF

Fortune favours the bold.

There was no joy to be found in that mantra, not now. It seemed like even the wind and the rain were whispering in low voices, talking about her complete and utter failure.

"Shut up." She muttered, moving closer to the roof's edge. Nobody knew she was up here. Talent and staff alike had gone home hours ago. Other than the lone security guard asleep at his post, not a single person had a clue that the former Paradigm Champion, Kitty Petrova was currently standing on the edge of the roof of the OCW Arena. The wind pulled at her, whipping her damp hair in her face where it stuck to the trails of tears that were still running, unchecked, down her cheeks. It felt hollow now that she'd dedicated the match to Dazi's memory, as if losing in such a fashion was the worst sort of middle finger disrespect for the dead.

She took a few wobbly steps along the edge, feeling her balance shift in the worst way – she stopped, holding her arms out to the sides as she breathed shallowly. A part of her, that diseased and broken voice in the back of her mind told her not to bother, that joining Dazi and her brother in the hereafter was the wisest course of action.

Mikhail would have held her, would have told her that one loss would never define her. A five-month winning streak was nothing to be ashamed of. He would have told her that she was still great, still one of the most dangerous and feared wrestlers in the locker room – she might have believed it, too. He had that way of stating things that always simplified the most complicated notions.

Looking down, the lights below had halos around them, doubling and trebling as her vision blurred. The pain was everywhere – her heart, her head, her damned soul.

Lean a little further. Let go. Let the lights catch you. Go out on your terms, in a blaze of glory. You won't have to swallow the bitter pills, won't have to own this failure if you do. Wouldn't that be nice? They'd probably make another video package, another highlight reel featuring all the best moments of your career, set to Foo Fighters or The Tragically Hip – something nice and melancholy. Wouldn't that be nice?

She closed her eyes. She wrapped her arms around her middle, hugging as though she wanted to keep it all locked inside.

Hayley Robinson is still employed and now she has a reason to stay. You handed her that on a platter, you damned fool! You didn't get the job done. No wonder Mike Best wanted nothing to do with your pathetic ass tonight. You've lost everything.

"No." The whisper was filled with agony, with heartache and hurt and self-loathing. She felt nauseated again even though she'd already spent an hour emptying her insides after the match had ended. There was nothing left to bring up. She felt raw and drained now that the adrenaline that had kept her going through the match had faded – usually she'd be euphoric, as addicted as she was to the violence and the rush that came with it. She'd lost championships before but none had ever felt quite as devastating as this one and maybe that had more to do with the voice whispering in her ears than the circumstances surrounding it. Hayley wasn't actually a bad wrestler. She'd been talented enough to overcome Ariel Shadows and take Big Bifford to the limits during the tournament. Admitting she'd been wrong about the girl was irksome, sure, but it wasn't enough to have her up here, considering giving into the urge to fling herself from the highest heights.

Biting her bottom lip, she tasted blood mingling with the salt of her tears and it tasted like damnation. It tasted like every mistake she had ever made and it was sickening to the point where she nearly started to dry-heave again.

"What have I done?" The ragged whisper was pulled from her lips by the wind, carried away in an instant. No answer came and the question changed as she trembled, trying to keep herself in check. "What the hell am I doing?"

The wind kicked up, the clouds overhead thickening to blot out the stars again – the storm, it seemed, wasn't quite done raging. It pulled at her, threatening to throw off her balance again. She didn't think, instead just let herself be pulled, giving in to inevitability. She landed on her ass, gracelessly on the gravel of the rooftop, next to her discarded phone with the now-cracked screen.

A sharp bark of laughter passed her lips as she shook her head, reaching out for the phone. It vibrated at her touch, showing her that she had, in fact, been missed. There were several messages from Ariel and Sativa. As she scrolled through them, the darkness seemed to fade away slightly, that urge that had pulled her up on the ledge all but forgotten now.



"Hayley Robinson beat me. I'm quite aware of that fact and if you're going to try and twist the knife in the wound, drive that in deeper? Don't bother. It's pointless. I know what happened. I was there and as much as you want to think I've been up to a million other things in the last week, the truth is much more disturbing."

The view fades in from darkness to reveal Kitty Petrova standing with her arms spread wide – Jesus Christ pose – and a slightly crooked smile on her lips. There's nothing behind her but the night sky and the smear of light on the horizon. Did the sun just set or was it about to rise? It's not really clear. What is obvious is that she's standing on the roof, up on the concrete ledge with one hell of a fall at her back.

"The more I watched that match, obsessed about every little misstep and mistake made, the more I could feel parts of me atrophying – dying off. I didn't care. I don't care. It happened. It's part of who I am now and the sacrifices made to get me to this point, to bring me into this company and to dominate the way I did… they were worth it. Don't think for a moment that they weren't. As much as you want to vilify me, to act like I went around and claimed I was invincible and untouchable, I didn't. That's not what I meant when I said there were few people in this company on my level. I was stating a damned fact, not ridiculing your existence."

She shakes her head slowly, sighing.

"Once upon a time, I was flawless and perfect – I didn't even have to try and I had the masses eating from my hands."

Rolling her eyes, she folds her arms.

"And if you believe that, I have swamp land in the Gobi desert for sale. You don't get anywhere in this business on a wish and a damned prayer, Chelsea – you know that, right? You have to put in the work, to actually make an attempt to recoup from a loss rather than disappear off the face of the earth. Did you think I wouldn't notice? Ah, to be young and stupid again… how I miss those days when my recklessness was celebrated and nobody gave me any shit. Funny how that goes. Those first two years, I think I lost twice the matches I won, or more. But damn, I looked good doing it. I was happy to bleed, to be broken – I came back for more time and time again. I was so damned stupid."

She glances over her shoulder, her hair whipping around in the sudden gust of wind.

"I thought it was going to last forever, as if the clique was immortal and the ones I looked up to, guys like my brother Robby Mac... my trainers Larry Gowan, Brad Jackson and Shawn Stevens... I thought they were going to be around until wrestling stopped being entertainment. Robby and Shawn are dead. Larry and Brad retired. Everyone I ever loved is six feet under, feeding the worms and I'm still here, this testament to desperation – or is it idiocy now? I don't know what to call that, Chelsea. Is this a legacy? The definition of insanity and obsession? I know it won't last forever. We were all perfect in the beginning. Isn't that how it always goes? So many miles travelled, so many things I've done and you know what's disturbing? What keeps me up at night? I got too smart. I got too old. I got so jaded that now I need bigger thrills to get me off. There's no joy in it if you don't have everything on the line – no safety net."

Again, she looks down, haunted when her eyes move back to fix on the camera lens.

"Realization sucks, doesn't it? We all know how hard you choked, Chelsea. While you might want to draw a line and feign a parallel between us, we both know that's shit. I didn't lose a match for five months. I captured an opportunity from the onset of my tenure here in OCW and I made good on it – I never pretended to be anything else. I could tell you all about how ready I am. How good I am. We both know even with that spectacular loss to Hayley, that I'm still above your level, little girl. I've got ten years on you, kid. Ten whole years. They say age brings wisdom. Not really the case with me. Age does, however, bring experience. It carries with it the knowledge of the hundreds of ways I can destroy you. It allows me to look at you and to know that what happened last week no longer matters. I'm past it. I'm ABOVE it."

Slowly, she spreads her arms out to the sides, closing her eyes.

"I'm not afraid to fall."

And with that, she does. She pitches backwards and drops out of sight, leaving behind nothing but the lingering echo of that proclamation and the empty ledge.