Tonight was a big day for Bailey. The odds are against her, but she didn't care. Fixing her black hair into a pony tail, she pondered if it's better to cut it short to make sure no one tries to pull it to gain an advantage. She liked it long to reach her shoulders.
"You okay?" Raven carefully approaches Bailey to not disturb her during her pregame rituals. "Mr. Root wants to see you." She tells her.
"Why?" Raven shrugs. She walked to his office, a dingy, embarrassing place for the boss of a fighting promotion.
"Take a seat, Bailey." He tells her. "Turns out, I have a proposition for you. You're set to enter at number one in this year's Battle Royale. Well, good fortunes has smiled down on you. It seems Hicks wants a chance at the belt and I told him since he's been on a bit of losing streak he'll have to compete in the Royale."
"Okay." Bailey didn't understand where Mr. Root was going with this.
"Hicks wants to enter at No. 30. A simple request. However, that slot will need to be earned. I told him point blank, if he beats you then he will get his wish."
"And what happens when I win?" She asks. Mr. Root never even contemplated such an occurrence. Hicks lost before, but to bigger fighters worth their scrap. Bailey was noticeably shorter. When Mr. Root remained silent, Bailey got up.
"I'm not heading into the Royale number one and doing a match for you in the same night."
"Fine. How about, if you win, you'll enter at number 30?" Bailey liked the sound of that idea and happily accepted. Outside the office, Bailey ran into Hicks who was listening in on the meeting. They stare at each other, waiting for one of them to break the ice. Hicks was older than Bailey. She was a teenager, about to turn 17. Hicks was 23. Insanely decorated in accolades. His southern twang, coupled with his brash arrogance made him a great foil for the "good guys" in the promotion to work against.
"I'll see you out there." Was all Bailey said. Hicks didn't acknowledge her, merely grunting a response. Returning to the locker room, Raven had finished putting on her gear. Bailey usually wore rainbow colored tights and a bright blue shirt to the ring. Her friend dressed up as an aviator, wearing a long black coat to the ring and swim goggles.
"What did Mr. Root want?" She asks.
"I'm working Hicks tonight. Winner gets number 30 in the Royale." Raven couldn't have been more happier for her friend.
"That's great! I can't believe it."
"Don't congratulate new, yet. I still have to win my first match." She reminds Raven.
"Oh, you win. Don't doubt yourself."
"What number did you get?" Bailey asks.
"Two. So I'll either be seeing you at the start or at the end of the Royale." Raven chuckles. "It'll be a repeat of last year."
"You blind sided me, Raven, you still owe me my match." Bailey jokingly says. Raven won last year's Royale in a humongous upset, ultimately coming up short versus Hearst for the title. Bailey was the last one eliminated. Though Bailey did have some bitterness deep down, she was happy for her friend and continued to support her.
"How about I just have your back tonight?" She offered, giving Bailey a cute set of eyes to try to entice her.
"Okay." She smiles. "I'll have yours too." She turns to leave for her match.
"Hey!" Raven calls to Bailey. "Beware of the Electric Raven!" She shows her fake sharp teeth, hissing like a vampire. Bailey couldn't hold in her laughter, making her sound crazy. The gimmicks this promotion makes people come up with. Bailey is lucky to find herself portrayed relatively straight.
"Say So" by Doja Cat blares through the speakers of the gymnasium, the audience wasn't expecting a match this early. Certainly they weren't expecting to see the great Hicks open up the show. Despite the sympathies of those in attendance laying with Hicks, Bailey receives audible cheers. Her lungs filling with adrenaline she bellows out "Let's Go!" before delivering a vicious punch to the air. The funky composition blending perfectly with her colorful attire and personality. Sliding under the ropes she takes in the crowd one more time before their attention is diverted to who she even has to admit is the real star.
The sound of birds crowing in the distance follow, then mad guitar riffs and drums take over. Out comes Hicks, absolutely pumped playing to the faithful fully in his pocket.
"There is nobody - and I mean nobody more deserving of all his accolades than Hicks." The announcer advocates. "But Hicks has gotten many chances, some say too many, at the gold. Today, should be a new day."
Untroubled, Hicks doesn't even glance at Bailey, continuing his showboating and grandstanding to the crowd, the pyro goes off nearly hitting Bailey in the process.
Hicks springs on the attack, though it's clear he doesn't take his opponent seriously. Often smiling to the crowd and making friendly gestures towards them. Seeing an opening after Hicks failed to connect on a slash attempt, Bailey blocks it with her bat, grabbing his wrist, delivered a kick to the back of neck. She wastes little time going for the pin. One... two.. KICK OUT. Hicks scurries to the corner like a rat caught stealing cheese. Bailey shrugs, grinning ear to ear.
Hicks asserted himself, taking over control. Bailey fought back with everything she had, throwing Hicks her best combos, but he proved to fast. After dodging a clothesline from Bailey, Hicks kicks Bailey right under the chin, covering her for the pinfall. If that wasn't enough, Hicks adds insult to injury by crotch chopping over her. She pushes Hicks off and they exchange words until the referee has to step in to prevent a brawl.
Frustrated, Bailey was confronted backstage by an interviewer shoving a microphone into her face. Bailey didn't have much energy left after her bout, in her stomach grew the seeds of doubt.
"Bailey, you fought hard today, but Hicks came out on top. You'll enter the Royale number one. How do you feel?" He asks. Bailey gives the interviewer an icy glare.
"It was set back. I'm not going to cry over spilt milk however. Hicks, you got lucky. But I'll get my revenge when it's just me and you in that ring later tonight. I'm not giving up, I'm not receding into the night. I'm going to send 29 others down there instead. Tonight is my night. I'm going to seize it or die trying!"
Despite the fiery promo, Bailey wasn't sure if she could deliver what she promised. Nobody ever came into the Royale at number one and won the whole thing. Raven was participating in a tag match with Edgar, so she couldn't talk to any of her friends about her doubts. She was alone staring into an empty locker, unwrapping her sweat soaked tap, applying a fresh wrap.
"Hey, Bay!" She turns her head to see a spiky haired kid, a little younger than her. "Remember that street fight a year ago?" He asks. Confused, she nods.
"Yeah, I smashed your face into a dumpster." She recalled.
"I threw you through a plate glass window." He retorts, laughing, finding humor in the sinister stipulation the promoter applied for what reason she did not know.
"Why?"
"We never met or spoken to one another before that match. I knew from that day, you had an edge I never knew someone could possess. No matter what it took, you wasn't going to take no for an answer."
"I wasn't going to kill you, Zayn." She reminds him.
"But I thought you were. And that's the type of person you'll need to be to win the Royale. Go out there and make the smug toy Hicks eat dirt!"