Halloween Battle
After landing at Chicago O'Hare, we boarded the charter bus WWO had sent and headed for the hotel.
Banners advertising Halloween Battle hung along the road the whole way there.
"This really doesn't happen often."
Dorothy's remark drew every eye on the bus — men and women alike.
Among the wrestlers on this trip, the only ones who'd truly experienced WWO were Dorothy, Heritage, and maybe Luke. A few had been through NEXT, but unless you sat near the top of that roster, you never left Orlando for road shows.
Dorothy kept talking, half to herself, as if no one needed to ask.
"WWO covering plane tickets and booking the hotel? That's rare. Outside of the main eventers among main eventers, you pay for your own travel and your own room. Look at NEXT — everyone gets there on their own."
"Dorothy's right. They only do this for European tours, usually."
Jake from Heritage nodded in agreement, adding his own two cents.
"Jake! Doesn't that just mean they're putting real expectations on us?"
"Michael, WWO doesn't hand out free favors. They're treating us well now, but if tomorrow's matches fall short, next time there won't be any mercy. Hell, we're already on our own for the flight home."
The mood on the bus went cold in an instant.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
"What are you all so worried about?"
Harry Thompson from Talent Development stood in the aisle, clapping his hands.
"You saw the last battle royal. The in-ring work itself wasn't that far off. The gap was promo ability, more than anything — and this time there aren't any special promos. Just do what you prepared. And!"
Harry pointed at someone.
"Look at James and Alf. Rookies, and they're already out cold. That's courage."
"Hahaha."
"Pfft."
"Those two aren't fearless — they just don't know how the world works," Selma muttered beside me, squeezing her eyes shut and shaking her head.
"Anyway! That might actually be better. Forget everything else and just think about the match."
The traffic finally broke, and we pulled up to the hotel near the United Center.
Rooms were two to a suite. My partner, of course, was Selma.
"Rina, are you nervous?"
"Yeah, I am."
"Chinatown's right out front. Want to go out and get some air?"
"No. If we eat something wrong and end up with stomach trouble, what then?"
"Ah. Fair point."
Selma was restless — pacing, then sitting and bouncing her leg.
"Ugh. Let's go."
"Where?"
"The hotel fitness center. We'll hit the treadmill at least."
"Okay."
She pulled out her phone and dialed someone.
"What are you doing?"
"You idiot! If you sleep now, you won't sleep tonight. Shut up and get to the fitness center."
She'd called Alf. Good call.
Morning or evening might have been different, but at this awkward stretch of the afternoon the fitness center was empty. We signed autographs for the manager who recognized us at the door, then started stretching.
"Selma. What are you going to do if you and Alf end up on different brands?"
"That'd be a total blessing. Maybe I'd only have to see his face once or twice a year."
"Are you joking? Are you serious? You're not worried?"
Selma looked at me like I'd said something completely insane.
"Why would I worry about him? He can handle his own life."
Sigh. I'd bickered with my brother in my past life, but never quite like this…
"I'd be happy if you and I landed on the same brand."
"Huh?"
"Dorothy and Olivia are good to me, but honestly, they're a little hard to be around."
"Same here. You're the easiest."
"Pfft! You still talk to Jane, right? Put in a good word for me."
"Ugh. I can't even bring that up. She gets mad and hangs up on the spot. When it comes to business, she's ice cold…"
"Got it."
After stretching, we climbed onto the treadmills. Just as our bodies started to warm, the rest of the roster poured in. Alf wouldn't have called anyone — James must have spread the word.
"Look at these two. Working out alone without telling anyone."
"We're all competitors, is that it?"
"You sneaky bitches!"
They were grinning as they said it.
"Hey, that's why I told Alf to pass it on."
"Don't just look after your little brother — look after us too."
"Why would I look after Alf? I don't care what that guy does!"
"Same here!"
Everyone cracked up at the siblings' exchange. If the brother-and-sister act had to take the hit to lighten the mood, so be it.
The next day we headed to the United Center, home of the Chicago Bulls.
If you were naming the holy sites of pro wrestling, you could point to Connecticut, where WWO headquarters sat; Florida, home of the Performance Center; or Texas, birthplace of Deadman and Iron Cold. But most people, when they said "wrestling holy ground," meant Boston or Chicago.
Boston earned it through the major incidents that seemed to land every time a PLE hit town — and because it was where Iron Cold, ushering in the Negative Era, first spat out his "Chapter 3, Verse 16," and where he became World Champion for the first time in eight years at WrestleMaster.
Chicago was different. Chicago was purely about the crowd.
The Chicago Crowd.
Their reactions were so fierce they were called a litmus test. The saying went that any wrestler who drew the biggest cheers in Chicago was guaranteed to make it — less superstition than industry gospel.
"Whew. A month ago I never dreamed I'd be here…"
"I couldn't even imagine it two weeks ago. Damn. This place is already massive — what would a fifty- or sixty-thousand-seat WrestleMaster feel like?"
"Ugh. Just thinking about it makes me want to throw up."
Listening to that exchange, we stepped inside the arena.
"All right. Rehearsal in one hour. We'll go in order starting from Match One, so get ready. Wrestling gear, makeup, and hair get set after rehearsal."
"Yes, sir."
We followed the staff toward the locker rooms.
"Whoa. You've got a private room."
"I'm in a singles match. You're in a six-person."
"Haaah. I want a singles match next time."
"Next time. Next time… For now, let's just nail tonight."
"Yeah. See you in a bit."
I tossed my bag down and rewatched the footage I'd shot with Charlotte a few times over.
Knock. Knock.
"Yes, come in."
It was Charlotte.
"You're here."
"How's your condition?"
"Good. Slept well, ate well."
"You don't look particularly nervous."
"I'm fine right now. Later, who knows."
Charlotte smiled at that.
"If you can say that much, you're ready. That's enough. See you at rehearsal."
"Yes."
About two hours after we'd arrived at the arena, someone came by to tell me it was time to rehearse.
"Charina. It's time."
"Okay. Heading out."
I followed him to Gorilla Position.
For a major event, Gorilla was a wider space than usual — but wider was all it was. The basic setup never changed. A few more chairs, that was it. Optimized traffic flow, they called it; the layout stayed identical no matter where you went.
Paul and John were already seated, and Jane had claimed a spot as well. Charlotte was there too. Standing beside her was Stacey.
"You made it."
"Yes, ma'am."
I bowed to Jane and greeted the other staff.
"You look good."
Paul, still in his chair, glanced at me once and went back to the monitors.
Stacey slung an arm around my shoulders.
"You've already done hardcore. This should be nothing, right?"
"Of course. Don't worry."
"My girls will be here soon. One photo later, okay?"
"Got it."
Stacey folded her arms and turned back to the monitors. I peeked over too.
Even at a glance, Match Three — our side's Miguel and Conres — looked completely frozen.
"Those two are way too tense."
"What if we swap Match Two and Match Three?"
"No, Louis. That'll just make them worse. Leave it."
"Hmm. All right, Paul."
"Aaron — when the kids come back, tell Mits to hit them with a hard chop early. Something that snaps them awake."
"Okay."
Paul finished with Louis and Aaron and kept watching the screens.
"They're stiff, but the timing's solid. If they just loosen up, it won't be bad."
"Whether that tension actually breaks is the question."
Voices blurred together; I couldn't even tell who was speaking. Match Three's rehearsal wrapped.
"We're skipping the moves and just locking in the traffic. You know that, right?"
"Of course."
Hearing Charlotte's answer, she stood up from her chair.
"Rina! Ready?"
"Absolutely. I'll go first."
"Go."
I left Gorilla Position, stepped onto the entrance board, and made my way out.
I wasn't in wrestling gear yet, but I stood on the stage the way I would for real, scanning the empty seats as if a crowd filled them. Then I walked the roughly thirty-meter ramp in a slow, sweeping S-curve.
At ringside I kicked the board aside with my foot, jumped up onto the apron, and leaned against the ropes.
The judges' table set up on one side caught my eye first. Of the full panel, only Harley Molly, Mick Foley, and Deadman were sitting there. Below them, a scattering of Law talent — men and women — and a few Smash Down wrestlers had come to watch.
"Charina!"
"Ooooh, she's gorgeous!"
"Write a storyline with me sometime."
That last one came from Mickey Mist — son of legend Ray Mist, still running the same degenerate gimmick.
"Married men can stay out of it!"
"Pwahaha!"
"Looking good, Charina. Hahaha!"
"Charina, ura!"
"Charina, ura! Hahaha!"
I turned my back to the ropes and flipped into the ring. Normally I'd have worked each corner and greeted the fans, but I did what I'd been taught — testing the rope give, the slickness of the mat, the condition of every corner, burning the time.
Then Charlotte made her entrance.
She climbed the steel steps and checked the rope bounce herself, reading the ring's condition.
"The rope elasticity is a little better than usual."
"Yeah. Still, nothing that'll get in the way."
"Right."
We moved through it loosely, confirming traffic only.
"Charlotte! Show us something real!"
"Yeah, we came out here on purpose — what is this?"
"Check the actual match."
"Booo! Booo!"
Charlotte immediately locked eyes on the watching wrestlers.
"Who just booed?"
"Stephen Baker!"
"Miyu! Why would you say that?"
Charlotte smirked at them, then finished by only half-selling the moves. Unlike the earlier teams, who'd run every sequence, this was a spots-only rehearsal — and it was over fast.
"I'm going to say a quick hello."
"Mick Foley?"
"Yes."
"I'll come with you."
We walked over to the judges' table.
"It's been a while."
"Hello."
Deadman and Harley Molly greeted Charlotte first — they already knew her — but Mick grabbed my hand right away, clearly delighted.
"Heh heh heh! Already working with Charlotte? You're something else."
"I didn't book it. Charlotte named me."
"Same difference! Thanks to you, Theresa's mood has been a lot better. She doesn't even mind me hanging around WWO anymore. Heh heh heh."
Since he'd started showing up at arenas again, Mick's face looked brighter than it used to.
"She didn't come with you today?"
"Today I'm solo! Heh heh. Mick is free! Free!"
"Sir, please don't drink too much."
"Heh heh heh. You ready to go tonight?"
"Of course. Watch closely."
"I will. Won't even blink. Heh heh."
I formally greeted Harley Molly and Deadman as well.
"I've been keeping an eye on you. Expectations are high."
"Thank you, Mr. Molly."
"You've been using my finish a lot. Ever think about sticking your tongue out on the cover?"
"Pfft. I'll give it some thought."
Me, rolling my eyes white like Deadman and sticking out my tongue? Did I have that kind of presence? It'd probably just look like a kid playing dress-up — pure comedy…
After the hellos, I stopped briefly at Gorilla Position, then headed back to the locker room.
Knock. Knock.
"Yes? Who is it?"
A woman who looked like staff was standing there.
"How would you like to handle makeup and hair?"
If I left it to them, I'd end up with some bizarre American-style makeup job. And hair — I just tied it back. Nothing to do.
"Don't worry about it. I'll take care of it myself."
"Understood."
I locked the door, changed into my wrestling gear, did my makeup K-pop idol style, and retied my hair.
"Whew. Do this right. Do it right."
Ding—
A quest notification chimed inside my head.
A new quest notification has arrived.