The name's Marty. Marty Helmsley.
Well, that's what I'm known as to the fans of the WWE Universe. My real name is Elise Levesque. I'm the daughter of Paul Levesque, better known to the same fans as Triple H. And somehow, you've stumbled across this. So obviously, you're somewhat interested in one of my most recent life predicaments.
So, if you'll allow it, I'd like to tell you my story.
Too many times in my life I have been pushed down and walked over. For some reason I'm still not completely sure of, my time in this world hasn't been the easiest, or the most enjoyable walk in the park. I've got mild autism. I lost CM Punk, the man I once called my best friend and my first crush to a little girl named AJ Lee, who couldn't keep her hormones under control. And my father, the one last person in the wrestling company who was always there for me, is currently in the hospital after a broken arm thanks to a fat, disgusting gorilla who goes by the name of Brock Lesnar.
But I've still managed to fight back and make a name for myself. I have new friends. Better friends. Hopefully a better and brighter future. I'm the WWE Champion once more, so that's obviously a start.
Though, I still feel like there's a little something that's missing. I need excitement. I want to rebel against the norm like I did just a couple years after my debut when I joined D-Generation X. When I became the only woman in history to win the WWE Championship- twice, nonetheless. When I had the honor to fight The Undertaker at last year's Wrestlemania.

However, with everything that's happened so far in the eight years I've been a part of this company, things can change and shake up the situation at any time possible. And I'm sure that something like that is gonna happen soon. Give or take a while, but it's still guaranteed to mix things up. Whether good or bad is still unknown to anyone and everyone.
And this time, I hope it can somehow involve me.

[November 5th, 2012 - Survivor Series: 13 Days Away]

"Of course Punk would do something like that to his team," I drawled out to my good friend and one of my teammates for Survivor Series, Kane. "He's since become the kind of person to turn his tail and run so he doesn't get injured. He can't man up and face a challenge like a man anymore." The Championship had started to slip off my shoulder as I waved my arms around in mid-rant, so I had to hoist it back up so it didn't fall.
The Big Red Monster on my side said nothing at first, just shrugging his shoulders in response. "Well, now who's taken his place?" he asked me.
I scoffed, my lips making a 'pfft' noise. "Hell if I know," I replied. "Probably someone stupid like freakin'... Dolph Ziggler or Lilac Shorts."
Kane couldn't hide the snicker that shot from his lips. 'Lilac Shorts' was the more or less "affectionate" nickname I had given to Damien Sandow, who had, without a doubt, been getting on everyone's nerves as of late. Obviously it was due to his horrid fashion sense. Bright-ass purple trunks and pink boot covers? On a guy? A guy who claimed to be the savior of all things "immature, to the point of probable downfall of society"?
Yeah, he wasn't convincing anyone with that crap.
Though I had a hunch it was Ziggler, since that pig Vickie had not only removed Punk from his team, but took out Ryback from ours. Now we were down one huge piece of muscle.
"Maybe Mick can think of something to even up the playing field," I murmured, walking into my locker room after Kane and I had gone our separate ways. "At this rate, we'll need all the help we can get."

I learned later that night from Kane (who had gone and bugged Mick about the situation regarding our team) that Ziggler was indeed Punk's replacement, and that Ryback's spot would be determined by an online vote the following week.
But between The Miz, Santino Marella, and Zack Ryder, I wasn't sure if any of them could be up to par with what our previous teammate had offered. Still, a body was a body, and it would even us up once again.
"Let's just hope it works out for the best," I thought aloud to no one in particular, hitching a cab to the hotel.
I made a mental note to text my dad before falling asleep that night. Had to make sure he was still doing alright with that arm of his. It'd at least give me some peace of mind.
Because with the Pay-Per-View less than two weeks away, and everything still running through my head, my mind was anything but at peace.
And if we weren't prepared, the shit was gonna hit the fan.