Alicia Goon 026: Backup plan

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Descriptions of violence and injury

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"Thanks for bringing me all the way back here," Alicia whispered as she sidled up by the curtain. 

The crew member replied with a hurried nod and vanished among the bustle of backstage staff, leaving Alicia by herself. She could feel a dark stare on her from somewhere.

Suddenly, a baker's dozen Japanese cheerleaders, male and female, poured through the curtain in front of her, with the Human Blur at the lead. Connie Rocket. The track star strode tall as she approached, bruised and triumphant. She held up a hand to her entourage, halting the procession.

"Hey. Tonight's your fifth match, isn't it? Big night." Her voice was light and soft, almost musical.

"Hunhhh?" replied Alicia. She talked to me!

"I've been following you since our match. I know you'll do great. For what it's worth, I'll be cheering for you." She pointed to the crowd of boosters behind her. "We all will be! Right, guys?" As if waiting for their cue, the squad assembled themselves into a wall of smiles, pumping fists, and quiet shouts of "ganbare" and "good luck!" matching the Rocket's sincere enthusiasm. 

The rookie was floored at the outpouring of encouragement. She had been wrong earlier; this put an early dismissal from work to shame. Alicia forced words through the stunned silence. "You too! I mean thank you!" A smile spread across her face. She had missed the feeling of actually knowing the name of someone in the building who was rooting for her.

The victorious Connie Rocket slapped the newcomer on the arm. Not a conciliatory slap, but one of encouragement--this one didn't sting. The Rocket smiled through a pained grimace as she clutched her left shoulder. "I'd tell you not to be nervous, but I was. Leave it all out there, and you won't have any regrets." Connie gave the rookie a polite little wave and headed for the production exit with her entourage close behind. 

Alicia took her place behind the curtain. She had a mostly clear view of the live feed on a nearby monitor and watched as the Two-Woman Army made their usual descent from the rafters to the stage. They disconnected their harnesses from the dangling cables, and Alicia realized she now stood less than 10 feet behind her opponents on the other side of the curtain. It would be the perfect opportunity. The thought of turning the tables with an ambush of her own made Alicia's pulse quicken. She fidgeted with the peeling tape on the shaft of the hockey stick. Payback could wait. It wouldn't hurt to have backup, either.

The Two-Woman Army stood at attention in front of the curtain--Jaime Carlyle on the left, Bridget Slaughter on the right--identically dressed in camo pants, combat boots, aviator sunglasses, and black workout crop tops. Both women had matching "2WA" tattoos on their upper-right biceps in solid black letters in front of a pair of crossed machine guns.

Both wore what looked like identical Army-issue rucksacks on their backs, although Jaime’s pack seemed to have the handle of a kendo stick protruding from the top. Bridget Slaughter's long, brown hair had been tied in a ponytail that hung down to her mid-back. Standing comfortably at six-foot-even, The Reinforcements' self-described "Demolitions Specialist" towered over her tag partner and complemented the impressive height with a chiseled physique. 

On the left stood "One Shot" Jaime Carlyle. She kept her blonde hair trimmed just below the ear, and both arms were covered from shoulder to knuckle in tattoos. Alicia figured The Reinforcements' elusive Sharpshooter couldn't have stood taller than five-three and probably weighed a buck-twenty at most. Despite the gap in size and strength, the Army vet made the most of her small stature with explosive aerial offense and a flying elbow strike she called "Death From Afar" that could take the head off the Statue of Liberty. Like mirror images, Bridget and her tag partner both extended one arm out to their sides as two black duffel bags descended into frame from the rafters and into the tag team's waiting hands.

The camera cut to the golden-throated Guy Brody in his usual black tuxedo, microphone in hand, preparing to announce the Two-Woman Army to the ring. "The following no-disqualification tag team street fight is scheduled for one fall-"

"One fall!" echoed the fans.

"-With no time limit. Pinfalls and submissions can only take place inside the ring, but there are no count-outs, no rope breaks, and no rules. Anything goes!"

The Two-Woman Army disconnected the heavy-looking bags from their harnesses and took off at a lock-step P.T. run down the ramp toward the ring. They tossed the two duffels up and over the top rope, removed their rucksacks and threw them into the ring under the bottom rope, and slid into the ring after them. Alicia used to love this part of their ring entrance, having herself been a Two-Woman Army fan from the second Queens of War show she attended right up until the first moment she met them.

"Introducing first, at a combined weight of 292 pounds, the team of 'One Shot' Jaime Carlyle and 'The Demolitions Specialist' Bridget Slaughter. They are two-thirds of The Reinforcements. They are the shock and awe. They are the nuclear option. They are the TWO!! WOMAN!! AAARRRRRMMYYYYYY!!"

Jaime and Bridget knelt by their respective airdropped duffel bags, unzipped them, and reached inside. Bridget got to hers first, extracting a nearly four-foot-long metal tube, circular base plate, and matching set of extendable legs, all Army green. With practiced, effortless precision, she set to work assembling the apparatus. A few feet away, Jaime withdrew a sniper rifle with a cartoonishly oversized barrel, complete with attached bipod and scope, then overturned her duffel bag, spilling a half-dozen tightly rolled black T-shirts onto the canvas. 

Bridget had finished assembling the mortar launcher, dropped a rolled-up camouflage-pattern shirt into the barrel, and covered her ears as the garment soared at least a hundred feet in the air at a high arc and landed a few rows deep in the crowd. She adjusted the sight, checked her trajectory, and launched another article of machine-washable ordinance.

At the other end of the ring, Jaime had taken up a prone position to watch her tag team partner's six. With the bipod extended, the cotton/poly sniper peered through the scope and picked her target. She visibly exhaled as she squeezed the trigger, firing a subsonic cloth tube round into the chest of an elementary schooler, bowling the overjoyed, wheezing youngster over while the cameras rolled. Without taking her eye off the scope, the Sharpshooter reached up and opened the bolt action on the rifle and chambered another shirt from the pile. The sniper racked the bolt and took her shot, doming the child's concerned sibling with a matching souvenir. 

Alicia turned from the monitor as the Two-Woman Army continued to commit wardrobe crimes. Behind the staging area desk sat Allen, the co-owner of Queens of War and full owner of the most violently turquoise suit Alicia had ever seen, and she had seen a bunch.

Allen looked up and noticed Alicia's eyes on him. "Last chance to impress." The rookie suddenly felt ill. Her hopefully future boss seemed to realize how it came out and clarified, "I meant that to be nice, by the way." Alicia forced a smile and nodded, but Allen had already turned his attention back to the monitor at his desk. His eyes remained locked on the screen for several seconds before turning back to Alicia. "You're on."

Less than a foot from the curtain, Alicia gasped. Her eyes went wide. She slapped and then hit herself in the forehead with her good hand. "My equipment bag!" In her haste out the door, she had abandoned it next to her locker. Wait. Did I lock my locker? "Oh no. No no no no no," Alicia whispered to herself. Please stay out of my stuff. 

She pushed through the curtain, stick in hand. Four-thousand pairs of eyeballs poured their heat upon her, but this time, her heart didn't waver. She slammed the butt of the hockey stick down on stage floor as sections of the assembled crowd took the cue to join in.

Bang.

Once again, and again, and again, she slammed the stick against the stage floor, picking up the rhythm as more of the crowd started warming up and stomped along. Not enough to shake the building, but Alicia swore she felt it shiver. She hastened the tempo until the rhythmic stomps and claps turned indistinguishable from applause. Alicia wheeled the stick overhead and slammed the blade down, bringing the crowd to a hush. She readied herself, pulled the stick back, and unloaded a slapshot before moving to the edge of the stage, signaling with her injured right hand to the crowd to keep making noise for Iron Maiden's long overdue in-ring return.

"And their opponents: introducing first, wrestling out of Longstat, Minnesota and weighing 193 pounds, she is ALICIA 'THE GOON' WIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNTHROOOOOOOOP!!"

Alicia checked her footing to ensure she was clear of whatever "gimmick" was about to emerge from the stage. She flashed a smug grin at the Two-Woman Army pacing around the ring. They had piled their rucksacks in their corner. Jaime pointed back with her so-called kendo stick. In reality, the weapon amounted to a half-dozen or so bamboo poles bundled together and taped at the ends in a design that more closely resembled a "Singapore cane"--the type employed in corporal punishment--and the Sharpshooter looked desperate to use it. 

Bridget seemed more laid back–at least as laid back as anyone with several feet of chain wrapped around both fists could look. About a yard of slack hung between the commando's two hands like a steel garrote. Alicia remembered cheering Bridget on as she choked a submission out of Terra Frost with that chain just a couple months ago. Was that irony? Maybe, thought Alicia.

The lights dimmed, and a haunting pipe organ dirge blasted over the speakers. An otherworldly red glow bathed center-stage as Alicia waited. Any second now, her partner would emerge. At any moment, the famous Iron Maiden would appear. Indeed, without any further delay, her backup would arrive, and they would march side-by-side to the ring together. Whenever she wanted to. Anytime now.

Impatience turned to concern. Alicia looked back at her opponents in the ring and watched in horror as the smiles slowly spread across their lips. The lights unceremoniously came back up, and the red glow of the stage now felt quite worldly. A murmur rose among the crowd as the entrance music faded. Above the curtain, the WarMachine video board cut from the words "Iron Maiden" written in CGI blood to a live camera backstage showing paramedics and production crew huddled around a pair of legs and black boots motionless on the floor. 

A dented, bloody folding chair at the edge of the shot implied what had transpired. Medical staff tried to keep the camera operator back, but whoever was holding the camera pushed through the glut of humanity to capture the aftermath. At the center of the urgent crowd lay Sabrina, busted open from ear to ear, her hair and face drenched in claret. 

Then Alicia saw the arm. Her heart plummeted, and she didn't know if there would be a bottom. Half of Sabrina's right forearm pointed one direction while the other half pointed another, indicating what looked like a clean break between the veteran's right elbow and wrist. 

Off-camera, Allen shouted something that sounded like "turn that darn thing off," but worse. Seconds later, the feed cut out, leaving the three wrestlers once again the focus among a sea of concerned fans. 

Alicia's blood flash-boiled as she hefted the wooden hockey stick in both hands and stormed the ring. She didn't care how dearly it would cost her. Even if it meant leaving in an ambulance, Alicia intended to hurt her smirking opponents as badly as she possibly could. And when she got out of the hospital, Jill McKill could have her bed. The crowd cheered the outnumbered goon as she charged down the ramp and slid into the ring under the bottom ropes. She was going to make them respect her.

Ding!

Alicia got to her knees and threw up her weapon just in time to block an incoming kendo stick shot aimed between her eyes. In came Bridget to throw a loaded haymaker, only to stop in her tracks and double over from the butt of a hockey stick thrust into her solar plexus. The former hockey player awarded herself two minutes for slashing as she drove the wooden blade into Jaime's shin, eliciting a miserable yelp from the Sharpshooter and a groan of sympathy from the crowd. Jaime dropped to the canvas and tried to roll to safety, kendo stick still clutched tight in her hand. 

"Where do you think you're going?" hissed Alicia as she raised the weapon above her head and swung again, striking the fleeing Army member flush in her right shoulder before she could roll out of range, causing Jaime to once again cry out.

The goon rose to her feet, saw Bridget Slaughter starting to get her breath back, and fired a back elbow into the larger Army member's mouth before stalking after the retreating Jaime Carlyle. Alicia raised the stick again and swung it full-strength into Jaime's exposed back. The smaller woman's strength failed her as she dropped to the canvas. Alicia had made the nimble high-flier stay put. The former hockey player raisedher weapon again, looking to end the smaller woman's involvement in the match early with one savage blow. With one of them down, maybe she could-

The cold sensation of metal wrapped around her throat as Bridget snared the distracted rookie from behind and tightened her grip on the chain. Alicia snapped the heel of the stick backward into Bridget's forehead, but with that injured hand, there wasn't enough power behind it to dislodge Slaughter's grip. Desperation took over as Alicia dropped her stick and reached up to tug at the restraint, fighting for enough slack to steal one more breath. Cheers and groans poured from the stands in equal measure as Jaime swung an eye-watering free shot with the kendo stick into Alicia’s ribs that left a white-hot streak across her torso.

The crowd's initial swell of excitement at the newcomer's bravery began to fade into a muted acknowledgment of reality as the numbers game caught up. Another sharp crack of bamboo drove the point home turning the remaining cheers into a murmur of concern as the audience settled in and braced for the inevitable. Jaime Carlyle again squared up to her target, raised her kendo stick, and froze as an electronic dance track shattered the resigned silence. 4,000 fans leapt to their feet as a catchphrase filled the arena, sending the crowd into a frenzy.  

"Don't get jealous," Party Girl's voice chirped over the speakers. "Get like me!"

All eyes turned to the curtain as the scourge of a thousand nightclubs flew down the ramp toward the ring. Alicia could see her presumed rescuer fitting a set of hot pink brass knuckles around her right hand as she barreled toward the melee. The music cut off, and into the ring slid the pink and yellow dervish. In a flash of neon, Party Girl popped to her feet and fired a pink and white canvas high-top sneaker into Bridget's chin that turned her body rigid and her limbs to jelly.

Another terrible crack echoed through the arena as Jaime Carlyle rushed in from behind and swatted the wrestler in designer clothes across the back with her kendo stick. Party Girl winced in pain and shot a mule kick behind her, burying the sole of her high-top in Jaime's stomach and doubling over the smaller half of the Two-Woman Army. The pugilist-socialite grabbed Jaime around the neck with both hands and dropped to the canvas in a seated position, driving the Sharpshooter's chin into Party Girl's shoulder with a quick Stunner. Jaime lost her grip on the kendo stick and flopped to the canvas clutching her head and neck while rolling out of the ring and onto the thinly padded floor for a breather.

Amidst the fluorescent chaos, Alicia stood up and took a moment to assess the new situation. A few feet away, Bridget had pushed herself to all-fours while America's favorite brat backed up for a running start. Party Girl took a few quick steps, leapt into the air, and brought the sole of her right sneaker down on the back of the Two-Woman Army soldier's head, driving Bridget face-first to the mat with a running Curb Stomp, better known to fans as "Last Call." 

Party Girl glanced back over her shoulder at the bewildered rookie, tossed her pink-tipped blonde locks. She pointed excitedly at Jaime Carlyle rising to her feet outside of the ring while gesturing for her impromptu partner to follow.

"Come on! Let's have some fun!" Alicia stood in wide-eyed silence, unsure of what just happened. Party Girl put her fists to her hips and cocked her head. "Do you want my help or not?"

"Heck yes, I do!" said Alicia, matching her rescuer's enthusiasm.

"Tight." Party Girl flashed a peace sign and took off at a sprint, launching herself between the top and middle ropes with a Suicide Dive onto Jaime Carlyle that sent both women to the floor. Alicia grabbed her hockey stick and rolled out under the bottom ropes to join her even newer tag partner. It was nice meeting someone with shared interests.