The Tactical Sacrifice
Since finding the Polaroid on her windshield, Kirsten Scott has been a tangled mess of emotions. On one hand, she doesn't want to care. Her parents had made their decisions about how she would be treated growing up, abandoning her to sit alone in the kids' mini-compound while they were gallivanting sexually with strangers. But at the same time, even though she had been forced to make her parents into the "bad guys" to survive her upbringing against The Prophets, they were still her parents.
This emotional roller coaster has not been lost on the friends and "family" members she lives alongside. They have all noticed a sudden, jarring shift from the quiet normalcy in which they have been living to a more distant, distracted, and paranoid version of Kirsten. Their assumption has been that her behavior is based on the dark timeline of events that concluded their escape from The Compound; they don't realize that it's the exact same people causing it right now. Because everything has been relatively tame recently, the rest of the household elects to simply let Kirsten be, trusting she will come to them when and if she needs the physical or emotional support.
Much to her chagrin, Kirsten knows she won't be able to keep this from everyone much longer. Her emotions are starting to lead her down a dark, strategic path she was not prepared to walk again.
As day falls into night, and night into the suffocating quiet of the overnight hours, Kirsten paces through her kitchen. She moves with a mechanical, restless energy, periodically looking out the window to scan the only entrance and exit to their cul-de-sac. Her eyes flick back and forth, continually taking an obsessive "inventory" of the vehicles parked on the asphalt. She analyzes the shapes in the dark, trying to discern what should and should not be there... Not knowing if they are being watched AGAIN.
Around 4:00 AM, after allowing her mind to race for hours, and now days on end, Kirsten freezes in front of the window. She looks at her faint reflection in the glass. The civilian mask slips completely. Her facial expressions harden into that of a callous, calculated individual—the cold geometry of "The One" returning to the surface.
She immediately turns and walks to her bedroom, heading straight for her closet. She reaches deep toward the back, pulling out her old, tactical Compound gear and throwing it onto the bed with raw malice and force. She begins to grit her teeth, feeling a tide of anger and rage overtake her. The noise of her movements—the sharp zipper clicks, the heavy thuds of tactical nylon—echoes through the quiet house, piercing the silence and forcing Hailey awake.
Hailey slowly slides out of the bed she shares with Ethan, quietly making her way down the hall toward Kirsten's room. As she rounds the corner, she sees Kirsten throw another piece of clothing onto the bed and let out a low, angered growl.
The sight triggers Hailey to step into the room, her posture immediately defensive.
Hailey Brooks: Woah... Woah... Sweetie... What is going on?
Kirsten Scott: I have business to tend to...
Hailey Brooks: That may be, but your first job is to take a breath and talk to me...
Kirsten snaps back, her teeth clenched so hard her jaw aches.
Kirsten Scott: There is no TIME for fucking talking. You will have your marching orders soon enough...
Hailey Brooks: Excuse me?! Marching orders? Well... "Dear Leader," why not tell me what I am to do with your blessing...
Kirsten Scott: Your sarcasm is noted... Now you need to get everyone packed and get the fuck on the road to the cabin.
Hailey stands stunned. She is a woman who has fought too hard for her own freedom to ever take kindly to being ordered around like cattle again.
Hailey Brooks: You're moving us around like chess pieces, now? You're telling me where to go, what to do, where and when to breathe... And you haven't given me one justification for this, minus you being all pissy.
Kirsten turns sharply, marching across the small space until she is inches from Hailey's face. She aggressively forces the heavy linen envelope and the Polaroid into Hailey's chest.
Kirsten Scott: They have them now!
Hailey's fingers grip the edges of the photo. She reads the elegant, terrifying handwriting on the back, her eyes going wide as the scent of old jasmine and kerosene hits her.
Hailey Brooks: The fuck? How?
Kirsten doesn't answer. She turns her back, her breathing short and shallow as she focuses entirely on packing her gear with obsessive, precise symmetry.
Kirsten Scott: I don't know... I don't care... But you, Emma, and Ethan are going to the cabin and staying OFF the damn grid.
Hailey steps forward, refusing to let Kirsten hide behind the logistics of a mission. She pushes back hard.
Hailey Brooks: The FUCK we are. You don't get to move us around like damn chess pieces in your little game, telling us where we get to sleep, when we get to breathe, things like that... And that's EXACTLY what you're doing to us right now. That's exactly what they did to us in the Compound.
Kirsten spins around, her voice a dangerous, low hiss.
Kirsten Scott: Or MAYBE I'm just keeping everyone the FUCK alive, did you think about that?
Hailey Brooks: AND...
Hailey takes a deep, deliberate breath, forcing her own skyrocketing adrenaline down to meet Kirsten's icy stare.
Hailey Brooks: ... And did you ever think that maybe, just maybe, that's what scares the shit out of me? You think that your protection gives you the right to control us and dictate the outcomes. You're becoming a weapon before you even leave the driveway...
Kirsten completely pauses, the words hanging like a heavy fog in the bedroom.
Before she can respond, a small shadow shifts in the doorway. Emma appears from around the corner. Her own quiet, hyper-vigilant "Oracle" instincts have kicked in, alerted by the fractures in the house's energy.
[color=#cc99ff][b]Emma Taylor:[/b][/color] She's right. We need to get to the cabin, and quickly.
Hailey looks at Kirsten, then back at Emma, caught between her anger at the control and the undeniable reality of the threat. She shakes her head.
Hailey Brooks: Fine... You two win...
Hailey storms her way out of the room to wake Ethan. Her movements are sharp as she orders him and his sister to begin packing immediately because they are going completely off the grid. She tells them plainly that this is the exact moment they all feared and planned for, and it's time to run. Ethan tries to press for answers, his voice thick with sleep, but Hailey cuts him off, telling him she'll inform him of everything once they are safely in the car.
While the house chaotically packs around her, Kirsten changes into her old "battle gear" from her days protecting the inner sanctum of the Compound. Her civilian clothes are discarded on the floor like a shedding skin.
Stepping outside into the freezing pre-dawn air, she begins a high-velocity tactical sweep of the neighborhood. She moves through the shadows of the cul-de-sac, checking the tree lines and fence rows, ensuring nobody is physically monitoring the perimeter and that no hidden surveillance equipment has been planted.
Once she confirms the immediate sector is clear, she flashes a silent signal toward the house.
The family evacuates in a tight, disciplined line, moving quickly toward a run-of-the-mill, unmemorable sedan they had stationed a block away for this exact contingency. As everyone piles into the vehicle, the engine turns over with a quiet murmur. They begin driving away into the darkness, the taillights fading down the street. Through the rear glass, Emma stares back at Kirsten the entire time, her eyes filled with an early, haunting sense of abandonment.
Once the vehicle is entirely out of sight, a heavy, vacuum-like silence returns to the property.
Kirsten walks back into the dark, empty garage. She opens a canvas camping chair and sets it precisely in the dead center of the concrete floor. She takes a seat, facing the driveway, staring directly into the dark. She has stripped away the comfort of her civilian identity, leaving her body completely still, her senses wide open. She is ready to turn herself from the "hunted" into the "sacrificial hunter" against whomever the Prophets send next.
The peace is dead. The resurrection of "The One" in her purest, most lethal form has officially begun.
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PROMOEver since making the decision to return to SCW, I've had this voice in the back of my head continually just yapping in my ear. Quite honestly, it's a nagging sensation that I am surprised it has taken this long to incur...
<i>Why now, Kirsten?</i>
And the truth of the matter is, I don't know why, now, of all times, I decided to come back. Sure, there is the obvious idea that I'm coming back to try and get a World Title opportunity on the biggest stage of them all at Rise to Greatness, but in my gut, that isn't jumping out at me as the absolute reason. Some people may think it's just a convenient time to get my name back in the mix of things, a desperate play to bypass all of the grueling "ladder climbing" again... Similar to the first reason.
Again, that just doesn't feel like "it" to me.
Whatever this reason is, it told me when the time was right. It told me that last year, around this time, last Winter, this Spring... None of those were times where I was mentally, physically, and emotionally ready to step back through those ropes. See, I was in a dark place. I was in a place that I put myself in because I was selfish, and I didn't think about how my actions could hurt me. And that's exactly what they did. They hurt me. They damn near killed me, if you want complete honesty. I couldn't justify trying to battle my own internal demons while pretending I could give back to this organization what IT DESERVES from someone who steps in between their ropes.
So I didn't do anything but take the time to focus on me. I did so until there was a moment where it just clicked. It was a moment, a feeling, a fire, a passion... However the hell you want to describe it, that finally led me to call up management and say, "I'm back and I'm in."
Whatever that spark is or was, I couldn't fully explain it to you. Hell, I can't even come up with a fair description of it outside of what I just said. It was why now was just the right moment at the right time for me to make a full-throated return. So while many critics want to point a finger at me and scream "greed" at the top of their lungs—like they do whenever ANYONE shows back up around Rise to Greatness season—I can calmly, safely, and vehemently look them dead in the eye and simply say, "No, you're wrong!"
But let's not beat around the bush. Let's not pretend the bonfire doesn't exist before our eyes. Yes, I am back because I WANT to be back in the thrill of SCW competition, but the irony of when that "fire began to burn" is not lost on me... It shouldn't be lost on anyone else booked in this match, either.
It's called Taking Hold of the Flame for a goddamn reason. It is the most prized, chaotic clusterfuck in all of this business, and it's that way because no matter what you THINK may happen... Nobody knows.
It's the pro wrestling lottery!
People talk about all the noble reasons they have to win this. They talk about it as a desperate need, or a crowning achievement, or the one final missing piece on their legendary resume. Well, my resume is still brand new. Hell, all things considered, I have no right to say any of that. So like I said, it's like I'm buying a ticket to win the lottery. If the Powerball hits, I'm in the main event of Rise to Greatness. If that red ball comes up with someone else's digit, guess what... I'm still back in SCW, and I'm here to do the things I wanted to do since the very beginning.
See, this specific match is where it all began for me...
This match... It introduced the world to "The One."
And now, I get to do it again, and reintroduce myself in a frame of mind that is far less clouded and shrouded in darkness. I get to go out there and introduce the world to Kirsten Scott, FINALLY!
Kirsten pauses. Her eyes drift to the side, narrowing slightly, as if pondering a profound realization that just unveiled itself to her in real time.
Maybe that's the why... Maybe it's been a reason far deeper than an accolade. My mind, my body, my soul... It all picked this exact moment because I truly never was ME.
By nomenclature, sure... SCW knows who Kirsten Scott is on the marquee. But nobody in that locker room ever got to see who I truly am, and who I truly CAN BE.
So maybe that's been my reason all along?
I came into this company introducing the world to "The One."
I never did the same for ME... Because we are not one and the same. We physically may embody the exact same form, but we are vastly different people in the mind. So maybe... Just maybe... "The One" didn't have what it took to shock the world? Maybe she was too focused on her own tunnel-visioned, isolated mind to see everything that laid before her? Maybe she was, no pun intended, the one who needed to bring ME into this place, so then I could begin to come out of my shell, and understand that, while I know how she thinks, I know how she acts, I always hid behind her moniker and never actually made a name for myself.
And if that is the case, God have mercy on the souls of every single man and woman who draws a entry number in this match, because this time there is no expectation you can possibly have. You can remember the past all you want. You can think you know every single card I could POSSIBLY bring to the table. But the reality is simple... I bring far more questions than answers.
I may have just realized "why now," but if you expect me to know "what's next," you have a better chance of finally solving the Collatz Conjecture... Because reality and mathematics aren't on your side. Reasoning isn't on your side. To put it simply... I'm bringing questions that your broken defenses cannot answer...
Actually... I take that back... You'll have one single, absolute inevitability you'll be able to put your money on...
You step into my light... You'll watch your world go DARK!