Hard Reboot (Melanie Isabella Andrews [D] vs Spectre)

[DSX93]

***
Match Type: Standard
Victory Conditions: Pinfall, Submission, Knockout, or Disqualification.
***

Melanie Isabella Andrews

Do these people not know who she is, or what? LAW's headquarters may be in Japan, but their operations span the entire globe. You'd figure word would get around about the premier talent they had on their hands. Melanie. Isabella. Andrews. Two time UCW Women's Champion. Held it for two years the first time, and would still be holding it today if she hadn't been screwed.

Yeah, she was making a switch from coordinated to combat wrestling, but she was no rookie. She put in the work and learned the craft. Put blood, sweat, and tears into the game. And if anything, the scripted variant was tougher. You had to put on a show and make sure that whoever was in the ring with you was walking out at the end of it too. Here? You don't have to give a damn.

The conspiracy -- that misrepresentation of her backstage interactions with the weak links -- had followed her here. What other explanation could there be for the deck having been so stacked against her? First, she's put up against a group of doped up opponents, and now they've placed her here. A group locker room for the greenest of the green. The fuckers.

But that's okay. They can't keep her down forever. She'll take the top titles and show all of them exactly who they're fucking with. And when she regains the power that's rightfully hers, they'll be wishing that they were working at X or whatever.

"Ooh, sexy outfit!"

Finally, somebody with some sense! Melanie turned to face

with a grin on her face. She wasn't telling her anything she didn't already know, but she liked the attention nonethele-

She wasn't talking to her. The

Latina a few lockers down from her greeted her with a smile that was admittedly pretty, but nothing that was on her level. The same could be said of that so-called "outfit". Was that...? Yeah, that had to be fake leather. The gold? Likely to leave green marks on her skin. The jewelry? Synthetic.

That she wasn't the best dressed in the room was eating away at Melanie, but good luck getting her to admit that. Even to herself.

The

in the locker room turned to this basic bitch too. There wasn't a single glance her way.

"You're gonna kill it tonight!"

The girl who looked more like she was lost on the way to gym class started speedily typing away at the phone in her hand, showing it to Basic Bitch when she was done.

"Rai Kamiya."

Lost High Schooler's eyes flashed with recognition that led her type something else.

"That works for me. Gives me a chance to use these new moves I've picked up. Hey, speaking of new stuff, take some pictures!" Here we go. Basic Bitch was feeling herself. So much so, she started

Using her arms to squeeze her breasts together and giving a little pout.

"Nice."

If by "nice", you mean "a disgusting sight that makes the eyes roll", sure. Basic Bitch was beaming with pride now. "I thought it looked cute!" After a few flashes, she

Trying her hand at a seductress look. Another picture would be taken of her failure.

The door opened a second later, and a stagehand poked her head into the room. "Melanie Isa..." She trailed off as her eyes glued themselves to a basic butt -- couldn't even call that thing an ass. As they say, there's no accounting for taste.

She was up. Good. Melanie smacked Lost High Schooler's phone out of her hand on the way out the door. Basic Bitch and...She just didn't care to give the other woman a name...had raised some words of protest as she pushed past the stagehand, but they didn't try anything. A smart move on their part.

Her

was played when she closed in on the curtain. The LAW Universe would welcome the two time UCW Women's Champion with hate. Fuck 'em. She didn't let it break her stride, and advanced to the ring with a large measure of a top girl's swagger, but there was purpose in her steps as well.

"M.I.A., I go H-A-M. Who's the HBIC?"

Why, I am. She pointed towards herself with both thumbs, paying the little people who disagreed little mind.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this match is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first, standing at five feet and four inches, and weighing in at one hundred and thirty-eight pounds, from Miami, Florida...! Melanieeee Isabellaaaaaa Annnndrewwws!"

It's like the song says: "Doubting MIA's just nutty". They think that just because she's doing this for real now that she can't hang? They'll see the reality of it real soon.

After entering the ring, she'd climb up to the second rope, giving the crowd -- and the Schadenfreudian fuckwits watching from behind a screen -- a good, long look at her, gesturing towards herself again in time with the lyrics.

"M.I.A., I go H-A-M. Who's the HBIC?"

Why, I am.

After stepping down, the HBIC would lean back into a corner and get settled, waiting for her lesser to enter the ring.

[Monsy]

The crowd could tell it was time by the arrival of purple lights. They looked to the titantron, with the LAW logo warping, glitching and then manifesting the Chrome Skull. Smoke puffed from the machines at the stage lip. A pitiful puff, puff-puff, to punctuate. And then, finally, the track started.

Bell, choir, techno into one bouncing beat. The eyes inside the skull glowed and dimmed to the bass. The crowd bit their inner cheek. Another rookie, they thought. To the Virus that was lowering down from the ceiling, a foot on a metal hook and balancing with her back to a metal cable -- rookies were food. The Mystery Meal. The crowd was back and forth on it. Just who are we with here? Only one of them really gave eye candy, so a large section was already bribed.

As for Spectre, she was in a belly-bearing high-cut leotard. Her chest crossed with straps, a priceless jewel on sat on her neck in a choker. And on her face, most notably, the domino mask and purple facepaint. Then she was finished with black and purple boots that exposed the knees. She already six feet above the corner turnbuckle, with pictures and videos catching her presence. A spotlight beamed at her from above. So she pointed a finger-gun, put her thumb down and pulled the hand back, then sounded, "Pow." And the spotlight flickered, eventually shutting off. She dropped down, landing light on the corner with her ankles together, toes out, knees folded into a squat. Her hands rested between her legs on the pad. Eyes fixed forward.

Pyro jets WHOOSHED from the four corners in tall spires that lasted five seconds once she struck the ring with her boots. It went away, as did her music, leaving only the ambient crowd that started to nauseate and feel their throats clench.

.

“And what do we have here?” She stood up, cape draping down her back. “Someone just wasted a lot of time posing for the worst moment of their lives.” Her head tilted finishing with the line, “And it ain’t me.” Before jumping into the ring with a front-flip, planting her feet, standing in front of them.

Albeit: short.
But with a finger on the trigger to a coalescing idea.

[DSX93]

Melanie crossed her arms underneath her augmented breasts, entirely unimpressed with the theatrics Spectre had on display. First of all was the smoking skull. Who did this bitch think she is, Stone Cold? And then there was the "music" that was really just some badly put-together noise. The needless fancy lighting. The cheap looking outfit. And speaking of cheap, there was that fake shit that the redhead had on her choker.

Her pride wouldn't let her acknowledge anything of Spectre's as anything more than some degree of awful. To hell with the crowd's opinion.

The brown-haired debutante stared the smaller woman down, a smirk forming on her features. "Says the peacocking midget. You're in the ring with a UCW champion, so you're not gonna be pulling that 'fake it 'til you make it' shit tonight. Now, pinfall or submission? How do you wanna go out?"

[Monsy]

The bitch metre in Spectre's head suddenly overflowed. She hit Spectre like a pungent smell.

Her ribs were tickled. "BWA-HAHA... A... Peacocking m-midget? She said while cackling. It was the first time she remembered in a while that someone finally went at her vulgarly.

She crossed one arm under her bust, letting her elbow rest in her palm. Then her second hand cupped a cheek, sighing and letting her face reset. "So. You like low hanging fruit. Figures. Maybe I should make pneumonic jumping shoes to reach the top shelf. I might just do that." Of course, there was that second claim of fake it till' you make it. Not anything she can do about or would. Some bitches just have their head in the sand. For Spectre, it merely meant an open guard and unprotected gut. A champion no doubt. One that sounds like an open book so far. As for their question...

"Alright Champion Titty-saurus. You want to be treated like a big deal? Very -fuckin- well." Her hand extended, thumb and middle finger pressed together.

"I choose Dot."

Then she finger-snapped.

[Malkavia]

Snap went the boss, and Dot descended from the rafters. The crowd made its usual startled noises—part OOOO part AAAAAH part gasps of surprise. Even after all the times Dot had pounced for the boss, the chucklefucks still got caught off guard. Or perhaps they were performing too?

Either way, it was a quick trip. She was but a dark blur streaked with pink lights until she slammed thighs-first on Melanie's shoulders, bouncing as Dot dug her sleek black gloves into Melanie's brunette roots. It was a hell of a bump against her backside, but—if anything, the digital kitten seemed to enjoy the ride, swinging as her neon face gave its usual kitty-cat grin.

"I was sOOOoooOOOoooo disappointed, Melanie-san..." said Dot in an electric whine pitched so high it would have been found a home in Equestria. Her legs locked around the girl's throat. "...When Spectre said it was MY job to play with you tonight. Woulda been so. Much. Fun to watch HER put you down."

—Not that this sentiment stopped her in the very next breath from throwing all her weight backward, wrenching Melanie's head down while they both — so Dot hoped and planned — flipped over into a Frankensteiner that would slam Melanie's melon into the unforgiving blue of the mat.

[DSX93]

She was on her before Melanie knew it. Some crazy bitch with a computer for a head. The brunette had the strength to remain standing as Dot had dropped down from who knows where, however. All the talk -- especially of passing her off to some peon like she was your basic rookie -- made her want to powerbomb the shit out of her, but she waited too long. What a way to help that perception.

Forward, upside down, then a huge crash. The darkness came quick, before the pain of the impact could even register.

[Malkavia]

Down—and—out!

With her back on the mat, Dot streeeeeeetched, pointing her toes and flexing her fingers, before she wrapped her arm around Melanie's neck and hooked both fingers into her lips. Bweh-bweeeegh goes the Melanie. Dot's face flashed a bright pink frown with a tear under one dot of an eye.

"Think I broke her voice module Boss :'("

And the crowd...

...cheered?

Dot's face flickered. A wicked grin replaced the frown as her head swiveled towards the seats. "Hey losers ! How much were those seats, huh? A few thousand yen?" She shivered as her face flashed a quick number—¥14500 / seat!!!—with jagged cracks bursting from the bold numbers. And then it morphed again into a new emoji: ">w<!!! Ooooh, and for this pathetic...what wouldja even call it. Tussle? Tsk. Saaaaaad. I'd say I'm sorry but—dumb shits get what dumb shits pay for :3!"

Dot sighed happily, then unwrapped from ol' Melanie and kicked to her feet. She reached into her utility belt and pulled with a flourish a bright-pink pen as thick as her fingers. Pop went the cap, and then she kneeled down beside Melanie. The nub of the pen was thick and wet, a marker almost like a paintbrush. She pressed it against Melanie's gut, sketching the neon-pink outline of a boot. After she finished, she started on a second, larger bootprint beside it.

Then—brush brush! She patted away any dust from the spot and stood, hands out, presenting with a slight bow Spectre's prize.

"Aaaaaafter you, if you would, ma'am."

[Monsy]

Dot dropping on Melanie pumped some zeal to her capillaries. It made her excited like having received her first honest Christmas Gift. Her face slowly became frozen, eyelids still, peeled and tunnelled directly at Melanie’s pupil, scanning for all that ugly emotion she must be feeling. Her grin told the story, that there was now absolutely nothing Melanie could do. The show was hers. Well—not entirely. What Dot would execute was not known. She had a timing. And she nailed that. Risk had dissolved. Her stature cooled from her features to her shoulders. Her hands grabbed behind her back, resting against her lumbar. She waited, leaning her head in the directions Dot pulled, observing her stir the enemy into a stirring rage that the Virus found beautiful and punch-provoking. KUDOS for staying upright though, she thought.

Right when she thought to be looking at a tomato, Dot executed her enemy into dreamland. Her toes curled and she stiffened. She went to her tip-toes, stretched her calves, closed her eyes, arcing backwards into stiff arms for a good back crack. Her lips formed a small O and she exhaled, lowering herself back down to normal stance. “Hohhh…”

"Think I broke her voice module Boss :'("

‘Boss’ took two steps and leaned, inspecting and getting a good look. “HMHM, yes. You can even see the whites of her--” Spectre tensed at one shoulder as ugly cheers made her lip twist into a scowl, nipping the inside cheek. Her gut turned inside out and she almost retched, scrunching up her nose and frowning as she snapped her gaze to the rebelling masses. Then she watched Dot work them back into their rightful tune, eliciting jeers on the closer ranks who can easily see the number. Her face relaxed. Her foot gave Melanie’s hand a flicking kick. No response.

“Get on with it.” Spectre had ordered, sterner. Dot worked with her marker. She got Melanie all dolled up with foot prints on their belly. And that invite? Did someone like her even need those anymore? She tried to level with it, picturing a red carpet, a golden stool with velvets, a pedestal to which a statue could be forged from. Yes, that was it. Spectre gave Dot the same stern look, stared, then grinned, “Here’s to our new record: the fastest pinfall ever.” She asked, then put her boot where directed, bearing down on Melanie with full weight.