The Unwanted

Although a bit tight when three people were converged within the two-bed hotel room, Matt Draven sat in one of the chairs as he watched young Cole Harms lose his proverbial mind as he frantically paced back and forth between the door and the television that sat undisturbed upon the dresser; smugly smirking as the kid completely marked the fuck out. It brought back a lot of memories from when he first started and how he marked out every time he saw an actual name in the business walk by; granted it wasn't an hour-long freak out more akin to a panic attack, but still. Good times. However, the one the kid's raving should have been affecting the most merely sat upon one of the beds as silent as can be as she had her eyes trained on the screen of the laptop that rested upon her cross-legged lap; deep dark bruises still mottling her pale flesh from the brutality that had been the CBS Championship match at Revolution five.

"Are you serious?! Odin Balfore? Odin God Damn Balfore?"

"That would be the guy."

"Are you kidding me?! He's The Nordic Tank! The All-Father! The se7en God! The Unwan="

"The Unwanted?"

Coming to an abrupt stop once that unmistakably sharp tone of Claire's cut through the air, both men looked towards the raven-haired woman; an icy crimson glare awaiting them. Clearly, she hadn't been ignoring Cole's fan fawning nearly as much as either man had hoped.

"Uh....uh....yeah. The Unwanted."

"Spookyboo......."

With a cautionary tone in his voice as he quickly spoke after Cole's thoughtless stammering, Matt eyed his best friend with both worry and expectation. Ever since the go-around with CJ Phoenix she had definitely changed from the excessively hard-assed and cynical woman that Action Wrestling had made her over the years and it was honestly for the better. However, every now and then there were flashes of that old version that would shimmer through and he'd have to play peacekeeper. Yet, much to his relief, all Claire did in response was close her eyes and inhale deeply before slowly exhaling. With the click of the laptop being closed echoing through the silent room, Claire looked to her longtime friend and annoyance; the light of inspiration swirling within those crimson eyes.

"Matt?"

"Yep, that'd be my name."

"Would you be so kind as to dig out that old camera you carry around, still."

"Aaaah, yeah sure, but why?"

"We're going for a walk."

"Ten-four spookyboo!"

Unable to keep the smile off of his face, Matt quickly nabbed the old handheld camera that he always traveled with, a personal memento from the old days, and turned to leave......only to be meant by a very concerned and confused looking Cole; Claire already at the ready by the door.

"Excuse me, but you guys are going for a walk in the middle of the night? When there's reportedly record level low temperatures and snow everywhere? Are you insane?"

"Honestly, yeah, we're a bit off our rocker but kid you ain't see something amazing by sittin' in the hotel room. So are ya in or out?"

"Well....I...."

"Make up your mind, kid, cause this train is headin' out."





"So this is it, huh?"

"After months of listening to this newfound pseudo-philosophical nonsense about you not being able to control your hands and constantly inserting yourself into places that had no need for you by force; or wasting valuable air time for the simpleminded; THIS was the grand reveal awaiting us?"

"A fucking nostalgia act?"

"How very.....Balfore."

"How very pathetic."

Flickering to life, the scene on the screens of every eager Action Wrestling fan was a scene that was seemingly wholly contradictory to everything they had ever seen the Company's resident witch in before. There were no stage-like setups with only simple lighting. There wasn't any grandiose forest that seemed as ageless as it was filled with mystery and mystique. No. This time the scene set before them was that of the cold and harsh reality of an unforgiving winter in the midwestern town of Milwaukee; perhaps colder than normal if the weather reports were to be believed. Even so, the crimson-eyed wretch of Action Wrestling didn't seem to mind that she was standing alone amidst the throng of empty cars that littered the snowy parking lot during the frigid midnight hour; she didn't mind in the slightest.

"Answer me seriously, Balfore, is this REALLY the best your twenty-plus years of being in this business is going to give us? This half-baked concoction of tasteless use of serious neurological problems and the tried and true WCF combination of stupidly asinine publicity acts and the perpetually flaccid ability to actually change when met with the option."

"Are you fucking serious?"

"Of course you're serious. Otherwise, you wouldn't have perpetuated this top tier narcissistic desperate attention whore act that MADE you show your bloated fucking face in the middle of my acceptance speech during the Awards show for, you know, actually being a Television Champion worth watching; the Action Wrestling Television Champion of the year award, in case those twenty-plus years of brain trauma was muddling with your aging mind again. Don't you think it's about time to grow the fuck up? Cease acting like an oversized man-child, resorting to talking about your over-embellished dick and women's quote-unquote "slicks" whenever you come across the reality that none of your Thaddeus Franklin King-like insults end up being as fruitless and devoid of meaning and entertainment as the man himself?"

"Don't you think it's time to act like a professional wrestler and not a complete and total bitch?"

"Oh wait, you're going to struggle to do just that and you are going to put down every single accomplishment I have ever managed to scrape together in the last four years since I made my professional debut in Action Wrestling. Knowing how you operate, it wouldn't be surprising if you tear down what greatness and prominence that I brought to your so-called "cursed idol" while all you ever did was.........well, fuck all; everyone else has already. Sure, you may have world championship reigns and confrontations with the likes of WALTER and Dune, but there were ALWAYS things the people preferred to watch over your laughable attempts to add shine back to your name through flash in the pan matches that fans were interested in for a heartbeat before they were inevitably drawn to matches and competitors that weren't simply rehashed attempts at forgotten glory."

"Just how afraid of moving forward do you have to be to be such a pretentious classless failure of a person?"

"Well, Balfore, can you enlighten me or are you going to give me the same bland contradictory statements of telling me not to show up this Monday Night and that you are going to end my existence in twenty minutes or less?

"Nevermind, I already know the answer despite not being able to see into the future"

"John the No One; Odin the devastatingly Predictable."

Taking a moment to close those fierce crimson eyes, the reigning CBS Champion to a deep breath to visibly steady herself before she ended up going completely off the rails. Yet, the most striking thing she did was remove her winter coat to reveal the simple black tank top that did a terrible job of hiding the various welts that were newly healed as well as the deep dark bruises that still marked her body; courtesy of Max Daemon. Following through with the deep breathing routine one more time, Claire reared back as she always did and let loose a scream; not the familiar and iconic Banshees' wail, but a primal one filled with nothing but pure unbridled power. As a result, the snow surrounding her and the cars that were nearby were flung wilding away from the center; away from her; leaving nothing more than cold blacktop and physically devastated cars strewn about.

Yet, the display was far from over.

Returning to a more straightened posture, and with her eyes still closed, the Metal Witch repeated the breathing exercise for a third time before holding her arms out wide. After a few frigid moments, the pale horsewoman of opportunity brought her hands together in a clap utterly devoid of any sound. However, just as insanely as before, the flung away snow and vehicles returned back to their original positions; any damage erased from physical memory upon the bodies of the cars in question. Her own imperfections included.

"Do you see, Balfore? DO you see how EASY it is to return things back to how they were? Do you see how little meaning there is to returning back to the man you were prior to having your ego battered and bruised? Do you see or are you just THAT afraid of moving forward?"

Finally opening her eyes, the crimson gaze held neither contempt nor fiery anger. Instead, there was only the light of understanding experienced through the lens of what she had been through thus far; of what she had been FORCED to face.

"Fear, Balfore, it a fickle thing. You can either attempt to harness it and make it a part of who you are or you can find yourself ruled by without mercy. Yet, for as fickle as it is, fear is something that can be easily dealt with so long as you're willing to take that step; to move forward into a future unknown and become a person you never knew could be. Now, I'm not going to stand here claim to be that person that has conquered that fear and has fully begun to move forward in her life; I'm not going to say that there was some perverse redemption story hidden away in my failure to capture the United States Championship for CJ Phoenix."

"However, I CAN claim that I am least trying to be more than what I was before; that I'm taking the beginnings of those steps to truly change and evolve who I am."

"Hellscape."

"The CBS Championship.

"Although meaningless to some, these two things already evidence that my choice to do so was the correct one; that I don't have to obsess over something in order to be who I am. There are no cursed idols here, Balfore, only the woman who will forever be your superior as Television Champion. There is only the knowledge and experience in adaptation that has come from nearly five years of relentless work and suffering. There is only the cold cruel confidence that I am going to BEAT you once with finally step into the ring this Monday Night; the confidence that our first meeting will, in fact, be our last."

"This Monday Night Clash, Balfore, it doesn't matter what you call yourself or whichever version you believe yourself to be; I'm going to end this pathetically disappointed nostalgia monster with a Silver Bullet that will be heard around the world."

"I'm going to end the farce called WAR Balfore."

"Quoth the Witch forevermore."

With a violent flash and that ear-splitting iconic Banshees' Wail, the video came to an end.





"W-what the hell was that?!"

"What was what?"

"That!"

"Gotta be more specific here kid, I ain't a mind reader here."

"The thing with the snow and the cars! How in the good Lord's name was she able to do that without some kind of stunt team or....or...."

"CGI?"

"YES! EXACTLY! HOW?"

"Kid, didn't I tell ya that you wouldn't see something amazing by sittin' around in the hotel room?"

"Yes, but-"

"The world is a much larger place than you think it is. Just keep stickin' it out with the two of us and learn more than wrestling holds, my dude. It'll be a grand time havin' your mind blown. I know it was for me."

Unable to respond with anything more, Cole opened and closed his mouth several times before Claire snatched her coat from him.

"Jesus fucking Christ it's cold out here!"