The LAW of Consequences

[Monsy]

The LAW halls are ripe with malignant cockroaches that fester from corner creases, lockers, weight rooms, bathrooms, and the four-sided stage that the Main Event herself presents. They are faceless monsters that survive amongst the one true human, an omni-figure of money, status and power: Karla Ray Reinhardt. Perhaps the only sentient self; others mere props within reality, to whom she shall mould if there was ever enough time in the universe. She treasures herself in a white fur coat that slung down to her wrists and down to her lower thighs. It’s draped over a button-up black dress top lined with golden buttons and a white undershirt underneath. Her black pants were tight and flexible - the clack of her two heels entrenched echoes onto the hard white tile floors of LAW.

There were passing looks at staff members around her through the glint of her rose-red shades. She gifted them a cherry lipstick smile, sweet and palpable, a divine treat that eroded into a wire-sharp glare and twisted frown as though she’d vomit from their sight. One such producer caught this ire; the two locked eyes, her upper lip twitched. It succeeded in thwarting his stare, but when she looked forward again, she came chest to chest with another woman, dressed in a blue leotard.

“Tch!” She was forced back a step, and the perpetrator as well. Her shades slipped from her visage and shattered underneath the cockroach’s boot as it stepped forward. “I’m sorry!...”

〝Heh…Sorry doesn't cut it.〞Her head twitched, coupled with a crooked smirk as she cocked back a fist and punched clean on its jaw. The surprise nearly knocked the cockroach over until the wall saved them; its stuck knees were bent, low enough for Karla to come forward, press a knee between their exposed legs and pin her forearm across its throat.

“I’m in a bad mood, so I don’t want to hear your sorry excuses. You know what you did, and it was on purpose, wasn’t it?”

Pressure pushed onto their windpipe as Karla pulled back a foot and dug in with her forearm.

“N-No i-it wasn’t! Y-You’re hurting me, stop!”

“I don’t think so - I’m in need of some justice, and who better to judge another pissant than the only human who matters - me, Karla "Ray" Reinhardt. I'll make you repay every glass shard that's on the ground. Every piece. Maybe I’ll just have to beat you, then throw you in a trash bin filled with vomit and wheel you to the ring. We’ll make you tonight’s main event! Hahaha… By the way, which arm is your dominant one? I want to make sure I snap the correct limb.”

“I’m not going to t-take this!”

The cockroach lashed out before she could finish; a fist swung, pounded against Karla’s raised guard of her forearm. A hiss lashed out, but Karla gripped the collar of its leotard and yanked them down, just as she sprang up and bashed the bridge of its nose with a headbutt. Blood oozed in a warm trickle, and the scent revived Karla’s smile as she still held that fistful of their attire. It stood on unhinged legs, trembled like a newborn lamb, its eyes stargazed the ceiling, nigh-empty as blood continued to their upper lip. Karla let go and swung a leg against its knees to have them fall on one side, and then she grabbed a handful of their hair to drag them to the shattered site of her shades.

“You can't run from the consequences of your actions, didn’t your mother teach you anything? I expect you to pick up each piece of glass with your tongue and store it inside your mouth. Refuse... well, we’ll be here a looooong time then. So go on and get it over with or I’ll make you swallow it, just as your mother should have with you.”

[TickTock]

Maybe in Kayla's eyes, the locker room was filled with cockroaches, but to another, it was filled with hyenas.

Hyenas are cowardly creatures, lazy creatures. Rather than hunting for their own prey, they steal what other predators catch, taking away food from others merely because they refuse to chase after prey themselves.

Hyenas are loud creatures, ones that constantly laughed and barked in the open air, both used to call in other hyenas and taunt those weaker than them before an assault.

And right now, there was a certain hyena who was laughing a whole lot, loud enough to enter the ears of someone several rooms away. It was doing what hyenas did, bullying someone weaker than it. Though in this case, it wasn't even for food, for survival. It was to make some dumb point and to please its sadistic tendencies. And that simply wouldn't do to the new locker room defender...

Kahlia Katana.

Spoiler

Her hand grabbed on tight to the back of Karla's luxurious jacket, paying no mind to its value, and yanking hard on it to pull the redhead back and away from the scared rookie, leaving them able to run off and away from the bully. One punch from her had left the rookie bleeding, and thus it was only right that she suffered the same wound, in which Kahlia threw out a hard punch right for Karla's nose, packing just as much power, and maybe even more, behind her strikes.

The locker room wasn't going to tolerate bullies like her anymore, not with Kahlia watching...

[Monsy]

Even when surrounded by nothing but bugs, there lies some fun. She played god as the only human around with an unmovable stature that pressed home any advantage she had. And what wrong was there in that? No one was built the same. No matter what others may think, this industry had a hegemony. No amount of blood, sweat, and tears could tear it all down. And what better proof than the stomp of some girl beneath her boot, almost made to lick glass until someone grabbed her collar.

Their grip torqued on Karla’s collar; the fabric suctioned against her throat and made her gag. She was turned around, where a fist hammered right into her nose, and she saw black. Both knees trembled, pursed together as her head whipped back. Three steps were stumbled, fingernails clawed the walls until her shoulder collapsed against it. Her cheek mushed against the cold white brick, and blood oozed out her nose. There was a delay as her eyes, seeing triple, came to centre on the target. Numbness pulsated inside her nose like a swollen tumour, sentenced to a headache and a river of blood that gushed out her nose and onto her top lip. A hand swiped to clean it off, and she pushed off the wall, stumbled a step until she widened her stance.

“What gives. Are you testing your insolence against the main event?! Tch, shame they ran, I guess I’ll just have to make you lick up their mess!”

Her right fist coiled swelled red and thrust towards their jaw in a jab, then her left followed, cocked back threw her shoulder into it to pack all the Reinhardt might into the strike.

[TickTock]

As she suspected, this bully was someone long, someone arrogant, someone that even after taking a punch that rocked them and sent them spiraling and seeing triple, thought she could puff her chest out and play up being a threat.

And Kahlia suspected this woman was not a threat. At least, not to her. The mere presence of a woman disrupting her assault was enough to send her into a blind flurry, usually because of how pompous they were, that they thought they were untouchable, and a punishment to their vile actions was unforeseeable.

But Kahlia wasn't something unforeseeable, her body was right in front of Karla's, though she may have to tilt her head up to see her face, considering the height difference. And perhaps someone else would've gone for the low-hanging fruit, made fun of the fact that a bully like Karla could still fit into the kid seats at amusement parks, and needed a step ladder to reach the top shelves, but not her. Instead, she'd prefer to let her actions do the talking, and as that double fisted barrage came in, Kahlia sprung into action.

Her head shifted to the side to avoid that first jab, letting it whirl past and eat nothing but air, maybe even brick considering how tight the hallway was. And for that second punch, one that Karla put her entire body into seemingly, Kahlia saw that forward momentum and used it to her advantage. Dodging once more, her arms captured that thrust out limb and, in one swift motion, flipped the redhead overhead, for a judo toss to send her spiraling down to the hard ground.

But that wasn't the end of it. Given her previous reaction, Kahlia suspected that Karla would do something similar to that of a banshee cry, screaming in rage and coming running back for more. And so, the Enforcer twisted the redhead's arm and pulled her back up, just to attempt another judo throw, to send her crashing down to the ground once more. Before, assuming that her toss connected without a hitch, lifted her to her knees, just to shove the bottom of her boot down right onto her face, and drive the back of her head down to the hard ground.

Because sometimes, bullies needed to learn the hard way that they weren't going to have free reign on the backstage area. And, maybe, the print of Kahlia's boot being left on her pretty, smug face would be a harsh reminder of that.

[Monsy]

Short as she may be - she had fire.
All that lovely rage was but a call away. That inability to control herself when things got started. The flood of red that washed over her eyes; the fumes that kicked out of her nose like some poison gas, wired to make those turn away. Those who didn’t reap what’s next. An object-made weapon, though her fists would do. She swung, and it cracked against the brick; swelling infected her hand. It gnawed through half her band, and the shock jolted her wrist. A throb took her whole forearm, but this was all a snap motion, that arm whipped back, and there was no change in expression beyond the twitch in her brow.

The second followed without delay, a thrust that involved almost all one-hundred-thirty-eight pounds of muscle into a chucked throw, though that too ate air and something more. Her hips met theirs, her chest into their back as her feet left the ground and her world turned upside down. A tailbone was a lovely thing to crash cement-first, was it not? That ping of bone as it sandwiches between tissue and skin - like a stab from the inside that turned her lunch into a paste, and she squeezed her features shut to choke on her next scream. “You lesser!”

Her fist clenched until the nails could almost pierce the bone, but one arm now exploded at the shoulder. She followed - if not to see it truly dislocate and her elbow to stop its crying. Once more, flipped, and now, an amusement-ride sickness carried her gaze. She was unable to turn right from left, up and down. Her head rolled like it was unhinged; her eyes peppered towards the ceiling as her other arm reached to grab her own arm. She hissed, her back flat on the ground so the rocks could stew on her coat. The next tug took her to her knees, where she moaned from the sudden movement; then, a boot swallowed her face. It rattled her skull in one shockwave. Her cheeks could shiver, cherry lipstick-clad lips, drooling, made their mark on its print as the brown dirt from the boot scratched her face and the rocks poured into her eyes, nostril and mouth until she choked on it. Blood now came out of her nose, then the back of her skull cracked against the cement. “G-Gah!”

Eyes now wet from tears and melted eyeliner shimmered underneath the boot as she looked into the black, empty as her arms flopped outward, her legs bounced, settled, and her jaw hung loosely open. Her world was black and white, littered in nothing but blur like murky water; her chest was the only thing she had the conscious of moving, to breath against the sole that smothered her mouth and inhaled the next batch of dirt… “Blegh…”

[TickTock]

Oh, she had fire. It was quite fair to compare her to a flame.

A flame at the end of a branch. Not large, and if you held it against your skin, it'd hurt, and that pain would stick with you for a bit. Not quite dangerous, but annoying. The danger came when it left alone, dropped mindlessly into a brush. That fire spread, from the grass to the bushes, from the bushes to the trees, and from the trees to the leaves. Suddenly, you had a forest fire on your hands, one that engulfed acres upon acres, drowned the sky in smoke, devastating the wildlife.

And that was what Karla was to the locker room. A flame. A flame that, if left to her own devices, would bully person after person, until her mark would be on every rookie, every timid-acting person, everyone without a mind to fight back. She'd engulf the backstage with her pompousness and superiority.

And Kahlia had to stomp out that fire. Because, really, that flame on the branch isn't dangerous. Drop it in the dirt and step on it, the flame goes out underneath your boot.

Which was why it was so apt that Kahlia's boot had crunched down onto Karla's face, the sound of her skull bouncing off the ground providing a sickening echo through the hallway. And a lift of her boot would show that the redhead was indeed extinguished. Empty-eyed, gaped maw and limp. If that flame ever were to ignite again, she'd know who'd come to stomp it out.

But, that's what the metaphors end.

It would be illogical to keep stepping on the branch. Its threat was ended. But Kahlia was doing just that, as she gripped the wrists of Karla's once more, to lift her dazed self back up to her knees. What came after that stomp was just brutality, something to beat that reminder into the pompous woman's skull even further that what she was doing, would no longer fly in this locker room. And in this case, it was a bicycle knee strike, a pump of her legs only adding more power to her right knee slamming with all of its might against chin and jaw, like an uppercut.

Yet, the Enforcer did not allow Karla to fall. Merely letting her hang in her hands, giving her moments for her brain to try and even comprehend what had just struck it, before that grip was used to drag in her body. Her head was locked between the thighs of Kahlia's, and soon, her arms were hooked. Same came for her legs soon enough, brute forcing the dazed woman into her arms and cradling her in a modified powerbomb position.

Only, she wasn't going for a powerbomb. Lifting up Karla, she halted as the redhead's waves of hair hung upside down, and her rear was at her attacker's chin. This was the guillotine, the execution, as with the bully packed up nicely, Kahlia dropped into a sitting position, and drove Karla's skull down against the ground in brutal fashion. The Package Piledriver, as a closing statement to the Reinhardt.

[Monsy]

The inner workings of her thoughts were like being trapped inside an abyss-swallowed box with tight invisible walls. Every side was swallowed, bereft of any sense of direction - except that she floated; above others, not one can reach her platform. They were voices that crept, though, people, the kinds that cried, scream and begged, the very same source who scorned her ways, chastised, threatened to punish. All of them were faceless. She couldn’t let them near. They can never get to her throne, to pull her down to their level, accept their morals, humbled ways, and see them more than dogs. The idea was absurd. However, there were always those who could reach her, if not mentally, then by blunt force—a punch to her head, stomps, kicks, slams.

The smell of boot grease smothered her nose, its taste fresh on her lips. Her lipstick smothered onto one cheek like a stroke of paint. Air never felt so painful; the hallway’s cool breath coursed her inflamed head. It throbbed, though she did little more than wince, flinch her head to one side and reach to cloak her face. They were pulled away by two other hands, tugged her upright, so violent that her head spun. Her head rolled forward, eyes halfway into her skull, her knees, spread across the floor that her hips touched the ground, and her hands were a lull in Kahlia’s grip. The momentum drew her head near - as if she presented her chin for that knee to crack off her jaw. Lower jaw slammed into its counterpart, her neck flexed back - as did her head, and she moaned out, the pain, violent from mere movement, nauseating pain like cupped her head-to-toe, now exploded twenty-fold. What brains remained felt like soup, and her mouth felt metallic. The grip pulled her back, and she coughed, lurched and spat blood on their boot. She coughed, wheezed as she peered up with tear-swelled eyes, her reddened teeth gnashed and bore like some rabid animal. “You can’t. Do this. . To me.”

“I’aamm. Karla… Ray… Reinhardt...” She babbled as they pulled her between their legs. Two thighs smothered her cheeks. Her arms, hooked, and Kahlia’s hands also cupped her trembling legs. She could feel that, some powerful yield that brought her body together. That robust flexibility always bites her here. How she folded up without fail, her feet wound up by her head, an ankle for each ear as her hair spilled onto the cement below. “Please-…” Her voice murmured as her eyes welled shut. A soft wisp of wind coaxed her to sleep as the crack of her skull flicked her off switch. All the weight piled on her neck and head. Her rear stayed postured in the air, skin-tight to hug each globe, curve and dip. Those hands would go limp, fold over Kahlia’s hook as her eyes rolled back, and her mouth spilled open, tongue rolled on her bottom lip to drool red. There was a twitch of her finger, then, a last puppyish whimper as the world shut off.

[TickTock]

Kahlia was sure Karla was in pain, in agony. She drooled blood onto her boot, her lips reddened and her nose pouring scarlet. Her eyes were dazed and cloudy with tears, and her words were near incomprehensible. How many times has her brain bounced around in her skull, concussing her and sending her into the deep end? Yet there was no guilt in the mind of the Enforcer. This was the sort of pain that the redhead wished she could inflict onto every defenseless person backstage, hoping that she could vie for dominance through bullying. And it was Kahlia's job to stop villains like her, to crush their spirits and ensure that they couldn't wreck havoc anymore.

Even as Karla pleaded, a one word beg escaping from her lips, Kahlia didn't show her mercy.

Well, in a way, the Package Piledriver was a mercy. In her current state, the redhead was defenseless, only able to blabber and hang limp in her arms. She could do a LOT more to her, to ensure that not only was she humbled, that she stopped her pompous ways, but that her career had its curtain call, her life lived with nothing but pain, and through it all, she'd feel every bit. But at that point, Kahlia would be considered a monster, a savage. And sh'd be no better than her. So, in that case, a piledriver that cracked Karla's skull? That was a mercy. Was it a mercy she'd regret giving? Who knows. All she knew that as she delivered it, it was definitely the last the redhead could take before going into the dark, and a light push put her on her back, left to drool blood all over herself, staining the ground with red.

Security would soon find her, and call for immediate medical attention. But they would not find the Enforcer at the scene. Karla wasn't the only pest that needed dealt with. She was nothing special. LAW needed its heroine, and while she wasn't the most colorful one...

Kahlia was the heroine LAW needed.