Chapter 2: Fight Junkie
Times are looking grim these days
Holding onto everything
Its hard to draw the line
And I'm, I'm hiding in this empty space
Tortured by my memories of what I've left behind
Shut the fuck up! Get up!
Shut the fuck up! Get up!
Shut the fuck up! Get up!
Tristen stalked down the ramp, a sinister smirk on her face. She was facing Evan Bourne tonight, the debut of Hellaena. She felt alive with a sudden rush of adrenaline.
Some are Born to fight
Some are Born to sin
I was born to light the fire
All that you fear
Some are Born to fight
I was Born, I was Born to win!
Evan bounced down the ramp, which reminded Tristen slightly of some of the Divas. She shook her head to focus, then smiled at Evan before shaking his hand.
"Good luck, newbie," he said to her.
"Thanks, Airbourne," she replied as the bell rang.
They locked up, Tristen glaring at Evan in mock anger.
Evan threw a punch that caught her in the temple, causing her to stumble. Haile regained her balance and charged the older wrestler, catching him with a spear.
"Sorry Bourne, I gotta win this."
Tristen put Evan in a sleeper hold, then took it further with a suplex.
"Sleep in Hell, Evan Bourne," she said after the bell rang. A microphone was just within her reach, and she grabbed it.
"Hello, Carson City! My name is Hellaena. I'm from Chicago, and I'm here to shake up the business!"
Look in my eyes, what do ya see? I'm the cult of personality.
"Another Second City Saint, hm?"
Tristen turned to see CM Punk standing on the ramp with his arms crossed.
"Not a saint, Punk, but definitely Second City."
Punk smirked at her as he walked down the ramp, climbed a turnbuckle, and sat on it.
"So you're the fresh meat that everyone's been talking about. What makes you think you have what it takes?
Tristen walked to the turnbuckle across from him and perched on it, mimicking the older man.
"Well Punky, let's see. I just beat Evan Bourne, I was good enough to beat Evan Bourne, and now I know I'm in the WWE."
Punk laughed.
"Doesn't take much skill to beat Airbourne, Rookie. Try beating John Cena, then talk to me."
John Cena's theme began to play as he ran down the ramp, sliding into the ring and throwing his hat to the crowd.
"How we doing, Carson City?"
"Good!"
John smiled at Tristen and laughed.
"Good! Now I don't know who this lovely, amazing girl is, but I say that she's got skill. That sleeper hold and suplex were genius.
So just who are you, new girl?"
Tristen smirked at John and waved.
"Hellaena. I'm from Chicago, Illinois."
"Nice. Second City girl."
Nodding, she backflipped off the turnbuckle and saluted him.
"Wait a minute. Are those straightedge crosses on your wrists?"
"Totally. And I have "Straightedge" tattooed on the back of my neck."
John looked at Punk with a raised eyebrow.
"She's just like you, man."
"Not exactly. I don't shove drug-free down other people's throats. That's his job."
Punk growled at that statement.
"I'm trying to save them."
"From having normal lives? That's funny, Punky. Experimenting is part of life."
"So Jeff Hardy is just going through a part of life?"
Tristen charged him and threw him over the ropes.
"Don't ever insult him again! Jeff Hardy gave his life for the WWE, for these fans. He deserves respect for his career."
Punk slowly sat up, back on fire from hitting the hard floor.
"You think he deserves respect? Ha. Just another fangirl, I see," he said climbing into the ring again.
Tristen nodded.
"Yeah I'm a Hardy fan. So?"
Punk shook his head.
"Sad."
John came and stood by Tristen, an arm around her shoulders. Punk's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Don't talk about her like that, Punk. She can believe in who she wants to believe. Especially if she wants to be a part of the "Chain Gang."
Tristen laughed at Cena's obvious flirting, not noticing as Punk clenched and unclenched his fists.
"Nice try, Cena, but I'd rather be part of a "Society" than a gang."
He perked up at that, lifting his eyes to look at the raven-haired girl.
"Straightedge Society? There could very well be a spot in there for you, Hellaena."
Tristen lifted a brow in mirth.
"I don't know, Punky. Why should I? You've insulted a favorite of mine, told me I can't wrestle, and yet you want me in your little group."
John left the ring, obviously wanting to avoid the sudden confrontation.
Punk stood in front of Tristen, the girl smirking at him.
"I'll make you a deal, Hellaena. Beat me, and you can walk away."
"And if I don't? Can you handle having someone like me in your group? I'm kind of brash and outspoken.
Grinning, Punk lifted off his shirt.
"So am I. Now how about that match?"
Smiling seductively, Tristen slowly walked up to the Chicago native.
"How about not?"
Then she gripped his hair and gave him his own finisher.
"Sleep in Hell, Punkyboy."
Times are looking grim these days
Holding onto everything
Its hard to draw the line
And I'm, I'm hiding in this empty space
Tortured by my memories of what I've left behind
Shut the fuck up! Get up!
Shut the fuck up! Get up!
Shut the fuck up! Get up!
The black-haired teen walked up the ramp with a grin.
"That went well."