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Stephanie was a puppet-master, perpetually pulling strings as she saw fit.

She leaned back in her seat in catering, tapping her chin absently with the eraser-end of her pencil, as her eyes roamed the tables occupied by a familiar sea of faces she saw each week, sometimes even multiple times a day. The people never changed, but their actions and habits surely did, and just like a good little scribe, she was invariably present to record the details of events as they played out. Jotting down sets of keywords to describe what she observed was as familiar to her as breathing, but it wasn't the mundane happenings - - such as people peeling oranges and chugging down ice-cold bottles of water - - that she captured. She dug deeper and studied their every nuance, because knowing who they were for certain was the only way she could decide what should happen in the next chapter of their lives.

The superficial aspects of what the people said or did was hardly a concern of Stephanie's because, in running an entire world, there were more pressing worries than their casual conversations about the latest clothing or music to be released. She opted, instead, to turn her focus to the most compelling subject of all - - human relations. While an impossibly broad topic to focus on, she narrowed it down even further to the fundamentals of emotion and the interactions of people with others. It was a well-known finding that the bulk of everyday communication was nonverbal, so Stephanie sat around studying all the things people were too busy deciphering actual words to pay attention to.

The personal accounts they provided - - without so much as their knowledge or consent - - was a glimpse into people's perceptions of their life experiences, and it gave Stephanie a plentiful amount of raw material to work with. Not a single person in the room met her gaze without receiving a beaming smile in return, because it was paramount they understood how proud she was of them all. Oh, how she loved her precious creations dearly, and there wasn't a single one of them she would give up or allow to fade into the background like a hologram. Each person had been dreamed up from a place of absolute creativity, and Stephanie held not a single regret for making them who they had grown to be.

In essence, they were her babies, and the brainchildren of a woman on a mission to play to the originality of her talents. She scribbled the vivid sights laid out before her for a solid five minutes at least, writing until her hand cramped up badly enough to bring her frenzied activity to a slow. She glanced over the four pages chock-full of her messy handwriting and soaked in the elation of a job well done. While entertaining, observation was typically the most grueling aspect of her job, but once it was over, she could take a pause and have some fun.

After all, what had been the point of formulating her characters and plot if she couldn't occasionally bask in their magnificence?

Like just about any writer who put any significant amount of time or effort into developing their characters, she had her favorites - - oh boy, did she have her favorites. All were special, as they were created in her own unique mind's eye, but she couldn't deny some were made more lovable than others. That brought her to the man across the room, blond hair spiked and standing at attention as he enjoyed a bowl of cereal. Each time he raised his left hand when he spoke, she caught sight of his tattoo, an 'F' for his band Fozzy, and Stephanie pursed her lips, rethinking her choice in saddling him with multiple tattoos.

Chris was one of her more handsome characters, and she didn't want to risk ruining him by inking his entire body. Of course, she probably should have thought of that before making him into a raging rock star who toured, not only the country, but a good portion of the vast world. The tattoos furthered his persona and would supply her readers with a more in-depth glimpse of who he was, so she decided not to change anything. Chris Irvine didn't need any adjusting anyway, because he was her favorite, after all.

Every aspect of who he was had come to fruition in her view of the proper foundation of a real man: that chiseled face, those piercing blue eyes, those kissable lips. Being the flirtatious female she was, Stephanie couldn't help but take special notice of his physical traits, but she was partial to him for his kind heart as well. Chris had a good head on his shoulders, and while his partying could occasionally spiral out of hand, he was a good person who wanted the best for those around him. Chris was also immeasurably intelligent, which would come in great handy for what she was planning on telling him.

Stephanie could only sit around watching for so long before she needed direct interaction with the people inside her special creation. She was itching with excitement to tell someone about the glorious universe she had been able to make unfold right before her very eyes, and she couldn't think of anyone better to lay it all down on than Chris. He was the most appropriate and reasonable choice out of anyone else, and he would make it a point to understand the concept without going off the deep-end. In a single swift motion, Stephanie rose from her seat and picked up her notebook as she swayed her hips and sauntered over to Chris's table.

When she arrived at his side, Chris had his bowl raised to his lips and was tipping it over as he drank the remainder of the milk he hadn't finished with his bites of cereal. Before he consumed his final gulp, Stephanie pulled out the chair across from him and took a seat, smiling so sweetly it was almost enough to give him a cavity on the spot. "Hi."

"Hi," Chris answered, but his face scrunched in confusion as he studied her. Stephanie had become a main fixture at the wrestling shows, but she hadn't ever ventured off to speak with anyone until now. Chris must have recognized her as a face in the crowd, but he probably thought it odd she would make the sudden effort to start up a conversation with him. Her first task was to put him at ease, which was a skill she knew all too well.

"Was the cereal good?" she smirked. Chris raked his tongue over his top row of teeth as he glanced down at the empty bowl, and his face flushed beet red when he realized she must have walked up in the middle of him slurping his milk like a pig.

"Yeah, it was fine, thanks," he spoke softly.

"I need to talk to you."

"Why do you always sit by yourself and write stuff but never talk to anyone?"

"Because I'm always here to do a job, so I don't have much time for socializing," Stephanie explained. "I pause and come up for air when I can, but it's not always possible. I'm a very busy woman."

"What do you do?"

"I'm a writer."

Chris smirked and shook his head playfully, "You are not. I know all of Vince's writers, and you're not one of them. I've seen quite a bit of you around here, but whenever I do, you're always by yourself and writing in that notebook of yours."

"Exactly, because that's what I do—I write."

"For who?"

"For whom."

"Huh?" Chris frowned, and she covered her mouth to suppress a giggle.

"I'm sorry, it's just the writer in me that wants to correct people. I'm a grammar nut, but don't mind me. According to you, I'm not even really a writer, right?" she joked, crossing her arms in front of her chest and sitting back in her seat. Chris, for the most part, was intrigued by the woman, and he felt the urge to find out who she was and where she had come from.

"So, what's your name then?"

"I'm Stephanie."

"How did you get in here without a backstage pass? Did you buy tickets to the show?"

"I let myself in. I belong here."

"I don't mean to be rude, but would you please explain to me who the hell you are? I really want to know," Chris laughed. It had become a game for him, and she was glad he was having fun with it. She chose to single him out for a reason and, just like she envisioned, he was the only one who would have taken to her so effortlessly. She caught Randy Orton's eye as he walked past with a water bottle in hand, and he nodded politely before continuing on his way.

Stephanie watched him go and turned back to find Chris smiling, "Do you like Orton, is that what this is? You snuck back here to get in his pants?"

"What? No," Stephanie shook her head vigorously. "Don't be gross."

"Me?" Chris pointed at himself. "You were the one just checking him out."

"I actually really wasn't. I was just admiring my creation."

"Oh, so that's what you do then? Are you the person who designs his shirts?" Chris inquired.

He had taken her comment about creation completely out of context, but she didn't have wild expectations of him being able to grasp everything she was throwing at him in a single night. It would take plenty of effort to tune him into the facade of a world he lived in, and the potential downfall in Chris having the knowledge she was capable of supplying him with was that it would award him a great deal of power. There was strength in power, but there could also be danger lurking if it so happened to be misused. Stephanie took a deep breath and gave herself a mental boost for what she was about to do before delving into the real subject matter.

"I'm here because I have something very important to tell you," she said. Chris nodded along with her words as she explained, "I could have chosen anyone in this entire building to share this information with, but I'm telling you because I know you'll understand. You're the most level-headed person I've got, Chris."

His eyes widened and he looked taken aback, "How do you know whether I'm like that or not? We're just meeting for the first time."

"Well, I suppose we are, technically speaking, of course. I've known you since the day of your creation, though, and there isn't a single thing I don't understand about you," Stephanie said. Chris was growing wary and she could almost see him physically pulling away from her, but she wouldn't let him go so easily. Reeling him back in would prove to be no easy feat, but if anyone was capable of completing the mission, it would be her.

"You're weirding me out just a little bit," Chris responded as his eyes darted anxiously around the room. "Did one of the guys put you up to this? They're playing a trick on me, aren't they?"

"Nope."

"Then what is this?"

"It's just me talking to you about something serious, because I know you can handle it," Stephanie said. "You've always been the strongest out of this group I assembled, and it's time you know the truth."

"Which is?" Chris asked, scratching his head.

"Which is that you're not a real person. This world you think you know is make-believe. I'm an author, and you are but a mere character I created in my spare time, not that it's a bad thing. I was always a fan of professional wrestling growing up, so I thought, 'how great would it be if I came up with my own little world, where I got to hang out with talented, intelligent, sexy wrestlers all the time?'. That's when you came to pass—you, Randy Orton, John Cena, Kane, The Undertaker, Triple H. You're all characters in my story who I made up to fit the mold of what I thought would be cool."

"This is ridiculous," Chris laughed as he continued looking around the room. "I'm just waiting for one of the guys to run in here and tell me they put you up to this. I can see that I'm actually here, obviously, so there's no way you could fool me," Chris noted, pausing to pinch his skin as proof. "See? I'm really here, and so are you, and this was a nice try at pranking me, but I'm too smart for this one. You go back and tell whichever guy put you up to this that they've failed."

"This is not a prank, Chris."

"I'm sure it isn't," he laughed, nodding his head slowly, in a slightly mocking manner. "Listen, uh, Stephanie...that was your name, right?"

"Yes."

"Okay then, Stephanie, I'm sure whoever is behind this is paying you a lot of money to keep up with the charade, and you're fun to talk to and all, but it's no use. We both know what's going on here, so you can quit with the act and go back to the person who told you to do this. I wouldn't be surprised if it was Randy, actually," Chris admitted, a look of concentration befalling him. "That would explain why he was looking over here and you were staring at him."

"It wasn't Randy."

"Then who?"

"It was me. I am your creator, Chris. You're a main character in my novel."

"Oh yeah?" he rolled his eyes, still not buying the act.

"Yeah," she nodded.

"So, if you're my creator, that would make you, like, a god or something, yes?"

"I suppose you could think of it that way. I don't prefer to, but I'm a generally modest person," she countered, tapping her manicured nails against the tabletop.

"If that's the case, you should have an extreme amount of power. I'm not talking about psychic abilities or crap like that, but if you're truly my creator, you should be able to make anything happen in my life."

"I can. I control you and this entire universe you think you live in."

"You mean to tell me I worked my ass off to make it in this business, and all those years I spent in Mexico, Japan, and Germany were fake? I just dreamed all this shit up or something? I was only imagining waking up each morning and working matches, just to make it to the top and work for Vince McMahon someday?"

"I chose all those things for you. I wrote them," Stephanie replied. "I've been writing since I was a teenager, early teens. I was around 14 when I began this novel, and it was just an idea that came to me after watching wrestling one night with my family. I thought it would be cool to make up my own wrestlers and personalities and meld them all together in one solid story, so here you are."

"You're full of shit."

"Try me," she challenged.

"You really want to go there?"

"Sure, I have nothing to hide."

"If you're the creator of this entire world, why don't you make a cup of coffee magically appear in front of me. Better yet, why don't you get someone to do it? Have Brie Bella over there get up, grab a cup of hot coffee, and set it down in front of me so I can drink it."

"That's all you're wishing for?" Stephanie raised an eyebrow. "You can have anything in this world, it's all at your feet, and you only want me to have a cup of coffee brought to you? I'd be happy to do it if that's all you really need, but I'd say we can do a little better than that."

"No, I just want to ask for something small to prove my point, which is that none of what you're telling me is real," Chris shot back, and now it was his turn to fold his arms over his chest.

His attitude was a mixture of humor and indignation as he tried to piece together what he was being told. Stephanie was already hard at work on his request, knowing it was the only way she could convince him that every word she spoke was true. It wasn't in her nature to turn someone down, and if she had been in Chris's position, she would have requested proof as well, so she picked her pencil up and wrote out the scene as it was intended to happen for Chris. Several seconds passed, and she could already see the satisfied smirk forming on his face at the belief that she had failed what he asked of her.

Then, his mouth dropped open in shock.

There was no need to look over her shoulder, because Stephanie already knew exactly what he was seeing—she had been the one to orchestrate it, after all. She closed her notebook and allowed the events to play out exactly as she had written them, at Chris's request. She felt it all as it was happening, and she closed her eyes as she visualized Brie Bella at the counter. She saw her picking up a cup, walking to the coffee pot, and filling the cup as high as she could without it being prone to spilling. She saw Brie pick up a few packets of sugar and some cream, and felt each step she took that brought her closer, until she was finally standing at their table.

She smiled politely at Chris and slid the cup in front of him, "Hey, I know this probably seems strange, but I just thought you might want this," she announced before strolling away and back to the seat she had been occupying next to her twin sister, Nikki. Chris remained a statue in his chair as he stole shared glances at the cup and Stephanie, repeating the same process over again, until she finally took pity on him and reached out to grab his hand.

"It's okay, there's nothing to fear. This is all just a story, that's all."

"All a story?" Chris repeated, quite obviously still stunned.

"Yes, so there's no reason to go getting upset."

"Why is this happening to me?"

"I'm not doing this to you, I'm doing this for you," Stephanie stated. "I want you to understand it's okay to have fun and be crazy, because, when it comes down to it, there aren't any real repercussions. It's all just a story in the end."

"Why are you telling me this?" Chris wondered. There was more than one way to truthfully answer his question, but Stephanie had already dumped enough unforeseen information on him in a single day and didn't want to go overboard. Instead, she left him with the most simplified answer she was able to produce.

"Because I like this world better than my real one, and I want you to be along for the ride."