Blaze of Glory

A/N: I feel like I'm running out of the original things to say. This chapter kinda speaks for itself. So, thanks for reviewing, if you have. And if you haven't, but you're enjoying the story - I'm not gonna beg for reviews. I'll just say "thanks" for reading. I don't own any of the proper names, places, or companies mentioned in this story. And, as always, Enjoy!

Two weeks after yet another attack, Trish was supposed to be in Cabo for the weekend, drinking margaritas, sunning herself, and most importantly, fucking Randy until her legs were numb. Instead, she sat in the backseat of Victoria's car, watching the Detroit cityscape as they zipped down the highway toward Joe Louis Arena. She was not sporting a cute little bikini, and sipping from a glass with a little umbrella like she had planned. She, instead, sported a pair of well-worn jeans, the tee shirt Randy had given her, and a thin jacket, while snacking on her middle fingernail as she tried to focus on the task at hand.

Vince and his Board of Ass Kissers had done more than enough to show her who had the power in their less-than-mutual relationship. Each attack, she realized, was just another marketing ploy to them. By having Snitsky, Masters, and Carlito attack the crowd's favorite diva week after week, the Chairman of the Board was not only containing Trish, but also continuing to put the Three Stooges over as major heels. In retrospect, Trish had to admit, if only to herself, that it was pretty damn brilliant.

Of course, their plan contained one tiny flaw. They seemed to have forgotten, while sitting in their plush board room up in Titan Towers, that she was still Trish fuckin' Stratus. She had taken on Triple H to become the first female World Heavyweight Champion, without much preparation at all. At least, not much compared to the work she had done for them.

As Victoria paid the parking lot attendant, Trish smiled to herself. There had been speculation all over RAW and the internet as to where Trish Stratus had gone. She hadn't been seen on television, or at live events, since her attack at Carlito's hands two weeks prior. Some thought she was injured again. Others mused that she was in contract negotiations to move to Smackdown. One report she read stated that she was moving to a part-time schedule while making a movie for WWE Films. But her favorite was the rumor that, growing tired of the countless attacks and inside politics, she had turned in her resignation.

With the car parked near the top of the garage, Trish piled out and smoothed her tee shirt over her tight stomach, before zipping her jacket over the letters. Sharing determined looks with both Lita and Victoria, she tightened her ponytail and stretched her arms. All three jumped up and down a bit, swinging their shoulders and cracking their necks in a modified warm-up routine before heading to the building. It was 10:50 pm. In eighteen minutes, the show would go off the air for the night. In thirteen minutes, the revolution would begin.

Trish opened the door, flanked by her fellow crusaders, and thought about the impact they were about to make. V had been ready to join the army before Trish even asked her. She had known that her recent falling out with Lita would make it harder to convince her old friend, but the red-head had agreed fairly easily. She reasoned that, while she loved spending time in Edge's corner, there was only so much valeting that a real wrestler could take. She explained to Trish that she wanted the Women's title back around her waist sooner, rather than later, but she could only get a shot at it if Vince let Trish defend it again sometime before they all retired. They might not be friends anymore, not like they had once been, but this fight wasn't about that.

They got into the building fairly easily, through an unguarded door, and then found the hallway that would lead them to their marks. Trish checked her watch again. 10:55. Turning to the girls on either side of her, she pulled the baseball hat from her back pocket and slid it over her ponytail. "Last chance at backing out, ladies," she offered.

Victoria pulled her own hat low over her eyes and looked around for the door she would enter. "Not a chance in hell," she growled slightly.

The look in Lita's eyes was a little less convinced and Trish put her hands on her hips. "You don't have to do this, Li. It's my fight. If you don't want to help, or if you think it's gonna fuck things up with Edge," she started to excuse the woman. She did understand – if Randy had said he didn't want her doing it, she wasn't sure she would be going through with this either.

But as quickly as her eyes had filled with doubt, Lita's determination set back in and a dark expression covered her features. She shoved her own black baseball cap over her hair and threaded her ponytail through the hole in the back. "It's not your fight, Stratus," Lita stated, swinging her arms back and forth as she hopped from her right foot to her left and then looked from one of the woman to the other. "It's ours. We're the only ones left. If we don't do this, it dies. And everything we've accomplished dies with it."

In a matter of months, it seemed to Trish that the WWE had changed immensely. There were a lot of new champions, and a lot of new up-and-comers waiting in the wings. Edge was the WWE Champion. The Heartthrobs had somehow managed to win World Tag Team titles, though Trish wasn't exactly sure how that had happened. JBL had somehow come to RAW and taken the World title from Triple H, only to lose it again to Batista on Smackdown the same week. Christian now sported the US title, and Mysterio was once again the Cruiserweight man. She wasn't even sure when Randy had teamed up with Booker T, but they had scored the WWE Tag titles recently. Only Carlito and Trish remained the same.

But Trish wasn't the same. And she wasn't ready to die. She determined, as she headed into the arena and moved toward the stage, that no one would ever, EVER, forget Trish Stratus, or her contributions to the women's division of professional wrestling.

XXX

Edge was standing across the ring, waiting for Carlito to make it to his feet. The IC champion wobbled on spaghetti legs and then turned, somehow sinking his elbow into the champion's gut. Edge stumbled backward, knocking the referee into a previously-exposed turnbuckle. His eyes widened, but he said nothing as the following moments unfolded.

Before Carlito realized what was happening, three figures lept the barricade on three sides of the ring. Simultaneously, they slid under the bottom ropes, Victoria and Lita grabbing the IC champ's arms while Trish delivered a couple of kicks to his mid-section. She then motioned for Lita to join her as Victoria positioned herself behind Carlito's bulkier frame. She wrapped her arms under his and delivered a text-book version of the Widow's Peak.

When his body slumped forward, Trish turned, barely able to hear her own thoughts over the roar of the crowd. She motioned for Lita to go up high, and then stood back as her friend executed the moonsault. Carlito convulsed on the canvas for a moment before the ringleader motioned for her girls to lift the man again. She wasn't sure what she was going to do to him once he was standing, but the Chick Kick suddenly wasn't good enough.

A thought flashed through her mind, and before she could stop herself, she ran toward the opposite ropes, propelled herself forward, and jumped. It was the perfect RKO, and she smiled as Carlito hit the ring, face first, and then bounced all the way off and landed on his back. His leg was twisted in a strange angle, and she wondered if she had done that or if one of the others had.

All three women slid out of the ring again and motioned for Edge to pin the man who lay motionless in the center. He shook his head, smiled that creepy grin of approval, and then shouted for the ref to wake up. When Mike Chioda finally drug himself to the pile in the middle of the ring for the slowest 3-count in history, Edge picked up the victory, and Trish picked up a mic.

When the men were gone, she looked at her watch. 11:02. She had roughly five minutes left to let everyone know what she had come here for. Clearing her throat, she smiled down at medics helping Carlito limp up the ramp. "Hey, Bischoff," she smiled as the General Manager made an angry appearance at the top of the ramp. "You might wanna have someone look at that leg," she pointed to Carlito. "Looks like your IC champ might have broken something."

Bischoff lifted the microphone in his hands to respond, his face red. "What the hell do you think you're doing, Stratus?"

"I'm trying to explain myself," she stated simply, looking at the women around her. They shrugged, as if to ask what the older man's problem was. "Ya see, Eric, a lot of people have been asking me a lot of questions lately. And I thought I would come out here and tell them all face-to-face just what the hell is going on with Trish Stratus. I mean, I've been attacked inside and outside the ring. I've been valeting and working gimmick matches. Hell, even Vince said I don't seem like the old Trish lately.

"And I've heard a lot of theories. Maybe I just don't have that fire anymore because I'm still injured, ya know? Maybe that hit that Triple H gave me back at Unforgiven never quite healed right. Maybe it jostled something in my head." She paced from one side of the ring to the other, weaving in between Lita and Victoria, seemingly talking to herself. "Then again, maybe Trish just isn't the same because Orton's gone. Ya know, she was really in love with that Orton kid, and since he went to Smackdown? Well, the girl just hasn't been the same. Maybe that's why she's not herself anymore." She made her way to the ropes and leaned toward a guy on the floor with a large television camera pointed at her. "Well, I want everyone out there to forget about the old Trish. That girl is gone – she doesn't exist anymore. The old Trish was manipulated by her emotions, and she was crazy because of it.

This," she took a step back and smiled an evil, bone-chilling grin, "is the new Trish Stratus. And she's gonna make that old girl, the one that challenged Triple H for his title back at SummerSlam, look like a terrified school girl."

Eric was screaming something while covering his microphone and Trish looked up, meeting his eye with a cold glare. "Look at me, Bischoff. You tell Vince something for me, okay? You tell your boss that he wanted the fire. He was the one that asked for the passionate Trish – and now he's got her. He's got a whole blazing inferno on his hands, my friend." She held her Women's title over her head and unzipped her jacket. Nodding over her shoulders, Victoria and Lita did likewise. "But she's not alone, and she's not backing down."

The camera guy went straight for a shot of their shirts, and Trish smiled to see the white fabric, with the pink wording Randy had created, blasted across the Titantron. Real Champions Don't Have a Penis. No doubt, the network would have a cow and they would be blurred, but the crowd went crazy at the reveal, and she saw Victoria's and Lita's smiling faces beaming back at her from the enormous screen above their irate manager's head.

11:06. With the belt still raised, she made a final statement. "You know what, Eric? We're not scared, and we're not worried, about who you're gonna send after us next. Because I promise you this – you keep settin' 'em up, and we will keep knocking 'em the fuck down. We're not stopping until each and every person in this room, everyone watching on television, and everyone in that damned board room realizes that the women of the WWE are here for one reason, and only one. It is not for your sexual stimulation. And it's not to sell calendars and dvds. We are here to give these fans what they want, what they bought a ticket to see – real, live wrestling."

The light on the television camera went off and Trish dropped her mic, motioning to the women behind her. Together, they walked back to the barricade and jumped over, finding a security guard to help them toward the back, through the throng of congratulatory shouting and cheers. The only thing that Trish could think, as they entered the hallway and started for the parking garage, was that there was no turning back. She had fired the first shots. Now she just had to pray that she could stay alive to see how it all ended.