book 1:Hell Everywhere

It's been six months since I started wrestling with this company, and I still can't believe I'm here, in the WWF. Walking through the backstage area on this May day, I call out greetings to those that call at me first, and watch the crews scurry about to prepare for the show. `Could my loser life get any better?' I ask myself as I wander down the winding hallways, hoping to find the women's area.

For half an hour, we stand outside the locker room, talking about our weekend off. Just as I start to tell Joanie about the carnival I went to, I glance up to see a tall man enter the hallway, someone I don't remember seeing around. He wears well-worn boots, solid black jeans, and a halfway buttoned, sleeveless denim shirt. His dark-streaked reddish hair sits in a tail at the back of his head, a blue bandana carefully wrapped around his forehead, and a pair of dark sunglasses cover his eyes. As he walks down the hallway, the ceiling lights bounce off his lightly tanned skin and his reddish beard and moustache, as well as the dark and mysterious tattoos that cover his arms. A tingling overtakes my lower torso area so suddenly that I'm nearly thrown for a loop because of the long-absent feeling.

Suddenly, I realize he's walking toward us, and I stop talking about my first terrifying ride on a roller coaster . "What?" Joanie asks, and turns around. As he approaches, she says, "Hi, Mark. How are ya?"

For a few seconds, silence ensues. During these moments, I check out the height differences. He looks to be close to seven feet tall, maybe an inch or two off. I stop just a half-inch below his shoulder. Finally, Mark snaps me back into reality by motioning toward me, and says, "So, who's your friend?"

As our hands come apart, his perfectly defined lips part, and expose even more perfect, white teeth in a genuine smile. "Ally O'Malley…I like that," he says, and pauses as he looks up the hallway in the direction he was headed before. "If you ladies will excuse me, I've got a few things to do." Joanie and I nod, and he begins to walk away. When he's gone a few paces, he turns around, and calls out, "It was nice to meet you, Ally."

"Same here," I reply. He turns back around, and I watch as he walks away, noting how he carries himself with pride, until he turns a corner. I turn back to a mischievously-grinning Joanie. "What are you grinning at?" I ask, knowing that grin meant she's thinking.

I stare at her in complete disbelief, and sternly return, "Oh, no you don't! Joanie, don't even go there! I've sworn off men, and you know that." Breaking into a grin and laughter, I add, "Besides, what would he want with a shrew-like bitch like me?"

"But the bitch part is right," I insist, and she nods, agreeing just to please me. Shaking off the plaguing memories, I tell her, "C'mon, we've got to get ready for the show." I grab her wrist with one hand, grab my case with the other, and pull them both with me into the women's locker room.

An hour and a half later, as the pyro goes off to signal the beginning of the show, I wait by the curtain that holds the crowd, the ring, and the cameras on the other side. I give myself the once-over. My black wrestling boots are smudged, but very much comfortable; my wrists and lower palms are taped with black tape; my spandex pants (black with blood red Devil Child symbols down the sides) are straightly set; and my top (a black, tight, short thing that stops above my navel, halfway covers my breasts, and is held up by a strap around my neck) reveals my chest a little, but stays within my limits of proper clothing. It also shows off my upper arm tattoos nicely.

Nervousness creeps through me, and am about to run my sweating hands through my hair of the darkest brown color when I remember it's in a single, thick braid down my back, stopping at the middle of my spine. As if being nervous isn't enough, the men that are wandering around this area begin to whistle and shout out catcalls. Trying my hardest to suppress the shivers and to ignore them, I desperately think `Oh, God, please let this thing start already. Get me outta here!'

As if an answer to my prayer, Kid Rock's "Fist of Rage" begins to play through the sound system; it's the entrance theme that I personally picked out. Composing myself into character, I step through the curtain, and onto the steel ramp. In the darkness of my entrance, I walk under the TitanTron, and pause at top of the ramp, surveying the crowd. I slowly begin my walk down the ramp, pacing myself to give the crowd a good glimpse of me.

When I'm halfway down the ramp, the ring announcer, Lillian Garcia, says into a mic, "The match is scheduled for one fall. Approaching the ring, from parts unknown, stand at six feet tall, Devil Child!" By now, I've climbed onto the ring apron, and step between the ropes into the ring. Raising my arms above my head, I walk around the ring. The crowd's cheers are hesitant, not sure what to say; at least it's better than being booed my first night on television.

My entrance theme softens, and is cut off completely by my opponent's theme. A woman, whose outfit consists of a tiny, aqua-sequined top, a matching short shorts bottom, and an aqua hair-wig, bounces her way to the ring. Her moniker is the Kat, and every male in the arena burst out in loud cheers when she bends over to step through the ropes. I look at her, and pretend to stare a hole through her little head.

The ring bells sounds, and I tear into the Kat with stiff punches. She tries to block with her arms, but it doesn't help her any. I grab her arm, and whip her across the ring, forcing her into a turnbuckled-corner. As I'm about to follow up, she runs at me, catching me with a clothesline, and I fall to the mat.

She's behind me as I slowly sit up, and she grabs my braid, wrapping it around my neck. The ref gets up to four before she lets go, and pulls my braid, forcing me to lie down. She bounces off the red ropes, and jumps into the air, bringing a leg down across my chest. Kat lays across me for the cover, but I kick out after a one-count, sending her flying. I get up, as does she, and we lock our arms. I win the tie-up by applying a headlock, but she twists out of it, and pushes me to the ropes.

I bounce off of them, returning to the Kat, who's bent over. I give her a kick to the stomach, forcing her to stand upright. Locking up again, we turn until we're back-to-back. I lift her by her arms, then bring her over my head, and slam her down with a modified power-bomb; my finisher that I call Child's Plaything. Immediately, I cover the Kat's body as the ref counts the 1, 2, 3. The bell rings, signaling the end of the match. The ref lifts my arm in victory as I receive a mixed crowd reaction.

"If you say so," I reply, wiping my forehead with the back of my hand. "I don't like not knowing what people think of me. I just want to know so I can deal with it, and develop around their reaction, ya know?"

We finish our walk in silence, an unusual occurrence between us. When we arrive outside the locker room, I tell Joanie, "I'm just gonna sit out here for a while, `kay?" She nods, and enters the room. I sit on an unfolded steel chair, lean my head back on the wall, and close my eyes.

When my eyes adjust to the light again, I realize it's the man I met earlier, who's still wearing his dark sunglasses. `Damn, what's his name again?' I ask myself; I'm never that great with the names of men. I stand up, and immediately notice our height difference once more. `I'm so short.' "Yeah?" I finally reply.

I can tell he's debating something by the way he shifts his weight, and how his fingers play with the bottom hem of his shirt for a second or two. After finally coming to a decision of some sort, he says to me, "I know we just met and all, but I wanted to ask if you'd like to go out for a couple of drinks later on."

It's a perfectly harmless question to most, but to me, it's almost like a threat. In a word, I become incensed. "You don't know a damn thing about me!" I tell him, my voice rising, poking my finger into his chest. "Don't ever, ever think you can get me `liquored-up' and have your male fantasies with me! You just better find some other female to feast on."

He holds up his hands in a defenseless, defeated sign, and steps a few feet away before turning his back to me. His shoulders slump as he walks away. Beside me, the door to the locker room suddenly opens, and Joanie steps out in one of her many Chyna outfits. "You just made the biggest mistake ever," she tells me.

"Just about every woman in this company would die if Mark talked to them, much less asked them out for drinks," she explains. She grabs my arm, and forces me to face her. "It's a rare opportunity, and you just blew it by telling him off like that."

I sigh, rubbing my temples with my fingers. "Will you please get my stuff for me?" I ask, pleading with my eyes. Joanie goes back into the locker room, and emerges a few seconds later with my black, stand-up, rolling suitcase that I use for my wrestling stuff. I take the pullout handle from her, and gratefully say, "Thanks, Joanie. I'll see you tomorrow."

I opt to take a taxi this night. As soon as I sit on the rough car bench material, I instruct the driver to take me to the nearest gas station. Once there, I change into blue jeans and a baggy T-shirt in the restroom. After a few more directions, the driver takes me to the Marriott hotel that most of the wrestlers are staying at. I pay the driver, enter the front doors, and make my way to the elevators.

As I wait for an elevator to come down to the lobby, a few kids come up to me, and ask for an autograph. I smile, and grant their requests of autographs and pictures. Finally, the elevator arrives, and I leave the small group of fans behind. I press the button for my floor, and wait impatiently. After only seconds, the doors to the elevator open, and I step out of the small space.

I walk only a few doors down before I reach room 404, my resting place for the night. After I walk in and drop my stuff by the dresser, I sit on the bed and take off my shoes. My intent is to take a nice, hot bath, but my body ends up lying down, and I fall fast asleep.

For the next couple of months, I concentrate on learning more complicated moves and on developing on the character of my wrestling persona. Each time I wrestle, once a week at a house show on average, I get a mixed crowd reaction, which unnerves me. At most televised shows, I sit in the locker room, watching the show on the TV monitor, or help some of the other women with their outfits, moves, or whatever they need. Many a time, I've wanted to tell Vince that I need more airtime, but never actually doing for fear of losing my job.

I can't gamble with my job at this point and time. I lost my apartment a few weeks ago, and now live with my mother when not traveling. As if losing my apartment isn't bad enough, it now seems like Mark is just about everywhere I look, as if stalking me. The revolution of it catches me off-guard, and shocks me into a state of paranoia of the male species I've never known before. Not only is the paranoia bad, the women still give me a hard time about turning the guy down, and they won't let me forget it.

Back to the present. Tonight is the night of the Fully Loaded pay-per-view. I sit in an empty locker room, not wanting to deal with the other women again tonight, and bored as hell, almost going outta my mind. The ppv itself is great and all; the fact that I don't get much airtime, and when I do, it's against weak women, is what is boring me.

For the billionth time during these past two months, I again begin to think over what Joanie had said about blowing it with Mark. "Was she right?" I ask aloud, like the walls would give me the answers. "Had I gone too far this time?" The past comes to haunt me again, and I firmly stand my boundaries. "No, I had the right," I reassure myself.

As the European Championship match comes to an end, I sigh, and prop my feet up on the low coffee table. "Only another two hours," I say to myself. "Two more hours, then bedtime." On the monitor, I watch Joanie, in her Chyna character, walk back up the ramp with Eddie Guerrero after another successful title defense.

Ten minutes into the next match, Joanie walks in. As she closes the door behind herself, I spot a white envelope in her hand, and my curiosity perks. "Here," she says, handing me the envelope after seeing my eyebrow rise in curiosity, then heads for the water cooler. "Vince caught up with me after I came back from the match, and told me to give it to you now. He wasn't sure if you'd blow up or whatever after learning what's in there, so he wrote it up."

"Really," I reply, and carefully open the sealed envelope. "Wonder what it's about. I hope it's not like the Fed-Ex kind of termination." I remove a piece of lightly blue-dusted paper within the envelope, and unfold it. I immediately recognize the handwriting of Vince after the header of the paper. It reads:

The smile fades at the thought of working with that particular man. Another thought occurs to me, and I gasp. "Damn, I don't even know anything about this storyline!" I tell her.

Joanie gives me this look that says `You what!' "You're kidding me, right?" she says. I shake my head. "Didn't you ever watch televised wrestling during the last four years?"

I put my hands on my hips, give her an evil stare, and reply, "For your information, the only wrestling I've seen before joining here were the ACW and PWI indy feds that were always in town."

I turn back to the monitor. It's the middle or so of Mark's match. I watch the action until the cameras switch to the entranceway. A light brown-haired, short, chubby man, with the same color moustache, in a gray pinstriped suit walks toward the ring. Something inside my head clicks, and a piece falls into place. "So this is Paul Bearer, huh?" I say to myself. I watch this man distract Mark for a bit.

Joanie comes out, and begins to pack her stuff, and I turn off the monitor. Once we double-check our things, Joanie takes me out to a production truck. "They might be busy, Joanie," I tell her, sounding more like I was nine. "It is the night of the pay-per-view, after all."

"This one isn't active much," she explains. "It has stuff from way back. Now c'mon!" She grabs my wrist, and drags me into the truck. A couple of guys are sitting in chairs, and look up when we come in. "Hi, guys," Joanie says to them. "Ally here needs to catch up on her history. Could you get her everything concerning Taker, Kane, and Bearer?"

It takes them about half an hour to compile eight tapes. Joanie and I thank them, take the tapes, and go to the hotel, where we rent a VCR for the night. I hook the machine up to the TV, and we begin the `history lesson', as Joanie likes to call it.

We watch all the tapes in order, with many questions coming from my mouth, and Joanie being the patient `teacher'. By the time Joanie and I begin to get ready for bed, I've learned tons more than I think I ever have at one sitting. As I lie in my bed, everything comes back in a slideshow; Bearer's betrayal of Taker at SummerSlam '96; Taker winning the belt at WrestleMania 13, and then losing it at SummerSlam '97; Bearer's threats; Kane's arrival at Badd Blood; Kane burning Taker in a casket at Royal Rumble '98; Taker's return, and their matches at WrestleMania 14 and Unforgiven; their alliance, and Bearer's betrayal of Kane at Judgment Day '98; the Ministry and Corporate Ministry; everything that there was until his return at Judgment Day 2000.

Watching those videos before bed was the worst thing I've recently done. All night, my dreams are plagued of Mark, adding more fuel to the already extreme fire of paranoia. I awaken groggy and in a cold sweat at six, and get up. I shower, dress, and repack my things before shaking Joanie awake. While Joanie showers and repacks, I sit at the foot of the bed I had used, and watch the early morning cartoons, the only thing on at this time. We return the VCR when we check out, and get on a bus with some of the other wrestlers. We settle in for a long trip, and before long, we're on out way to Hartford.

As the bus travels down the highway, I tell Joanie of my dreams from the night before, and of the stalking-like appearance of Mark. She just laughs, and tells me, "Ally, please! Get a grip, all right? You're just really, really paranoid. I'm sure he doesn't hold a grudge against you because of your brutal denying his request." I give her an evil glare, and she innocently smiles. "Besides, if he was stalking you, wouldn't he be on this bus?"

I glance around, noticing for the first time who's all on the bus, Mark not among them. "Still," I reply, looking around, "I'm not sure about going through with this storyline anymore." She shakes her head, and opens her book up again. I put my earphones back in my ears, and un-pause my CD player. Wanting to keep myself busy for the rest of the ride, I watch others argue, play travel games, and try to sleep, despite the uncomfortable sitting position. Although I relax somewhat, I can't get rid of this feeling that I'm being watched. I quickly glance around, not seeing anything suspicious, and go back to listening to my CD.

Halfway there, the bus suddenly lurches, flinging everyone forward, awakening many. Curses fly through the air as the driver pulls onto the shoulder of the highway. After the driver goes to inspect the engine of the bus, I put my CD player away, and shake Joanie awake. "I think the bus broke down," I tell her when her eyes open. "We might be here a while."

I snicker at her comment, just as hungry myself. The driver comes back into the bus, and fires up the PA system. "Sorry of for the inconvenience, folks, but the bus can't be fixed right here and now," he informs us. A lot of us begin to swear and complain. He signals for silence. "As soon as I radio the Hartford station, another bus or two will come, but it'll be a while. They will provide food and drinks. Again, I'm sorry, folks." He sits back down in his seat, and begins to call into Hartford.

We play seven rounds of Egyptian Rat Race, with Joanie winning five of them; I'm not that great of a card player anyway. After realizing that I wouldn't win anymore rounds, we begin to talk about just any old subject.

Hours slowly pass by, and we run out of things to talk about. Well, Joanie does; I have everything to talk about, except I refuse to talk about my past before the WWF training camp. Our throats exhausted, we sit in silence. Minutes later, two buses pull up in front of our's. Everyone gathers their things from the overhead compartments, get off the bus, and pick up their luggage.

The driver's to the other buses make us stand in a large group in the shade of the two smaller buses. "One bus can hold only half of the group," one driver tells us. "I'll take the left half."

"And I'll take the other half," the second driver says. Joanie ends up on the first bus, and I on the second. I put my luggage beside the cargo hold, and board the large vehicle, stopping at the window seat in the last row. I stuff my bag in the overhead compartment, then snuggle into the seat, and look out the window to watch the passing cars.

I look up from the window to a tall man standing beside the empty seat between us. `God, everyone's so freakin' tall!' I think to myself. `Say it's taken. You don't want some man sitting next to you.' I look from the man to the seat, and back up. "No," I say to him, my rare kindness getting the better of me. "You can sit here if you want to."

"Thanks," he replies. I watch as he puts his bag in the overhead compartment. He's as tall as Mark, even taller, and has curly, light brown that matches his light brown eyes and light brown moustache and beard ensemble. As he sits down and begins to get comfortable, I realize that I don't recognize this man. Before any other thoughts can form, he turns to me, and says, "I don't believe we've properly met." He holds his large hand out to me. "Glenn Jacobs."

I look back out of the window, and bitterly reply, "So is the rest of the male race." After a few deep breaths to fight off my memories, I turn back to face my new traveling companion. "He can find some other willing female to sacrifice to his erotic male fantasies." I'm surprised at the venom in my voice when I say it.

The driver hands us each a brown paper sack and a twenty-ounce bottled drink, like we're on a field trip to the zoo instead of on our way to Hartford for a live wrestling show. We thank him before he starts his way back to the front of the bus. Finally, the buses pull back onto the highway.

I open my bag, and see a package of Oreo's, two bags of fresh baby carrots, a pear, a yogurt cup, two sandwiches, a spoon, and a paper napkin. I take one sandwich out, see it's label of `Egg Salad', and unwrap it, taking a bite almost immediately.

"I hear you're joining our little `dysfunctional family' storyline," Glenn comments as he unwraps one of his own sandwiches. I nod, my mouth too full to speak. "About time, too. Need to add a little something to that storyline. Will, the guy who's Paul Bearer, he thinks so as well."

As the ride wears on, it seems like Glenn is watching my every move while asking so many questions, like he's trying to figure me out or something. I begin to wish I hadn't let him sit beside me. Finally, the buses reach Hartford, and the hotel we're staying at. The lot of us hurries to check in, drop off our luggage, and get back to the buses. As soon as everyone has returned, we head off to the Civic Center.

Minutes later, the buses pull up into the wrestlers' entrance. Quickly, I get off the bus, and begin to search out Vince. After asking a few people, I find him in the dressing room reserved for the McMahon-Helmsly group. We discuss at length about tonight's show, and some future plans for this storyline. Once the show is out of the way, Vince suddenly asks, "This storyline isn't going to be a problem, is it?"

Vince rubs his chin with his thumb and forefinger. "I talked to Mark yesterday about this storyline," he answers. "He said you two had talked once, a few months back, and that you copped an attitude toward him."

"Well, he used other words, but that's what he meant," Vince answers, and shrugs his shoulders. "It's not a bad thing, but it is the first time a woman has done that to him. I'd like for you to use that venom with this feud. It'll help make you a believable heel."

I enter the women's locker room to shower and change. Tonight, stepping inside, it's different; the room is almost completely quiet. The other women aren't teasing me again, but instead, they speak in hushed tones. A couple even come up to me, saying how lucky I am, and how they wished they were in my shoes. This sort of complimenting puts me on guard. `Are they sincere, or is it a trick, a rib?' I think to myself.

Suddenly, a knock comes to the door. "DC, you're up," a male voice calls from the other side. I walk to the door, open it, and hear the other women shout "Good luck!" and "Have fun!" before I close the door behind myself.

Once more, I anxiously wait by the curtain, hoping, praying that I don't mess this up. I watch the monitor beside me. Will, in another suit, is already in the ring, saying how the `Fat Man' always overcomes problems, and so on. The lights go out, and the entrance theme of Kane's blares all over the arena. When he gets to the ring and does the pyro thing, he gets another mic from the ring announcer.

Before he could speak, the lights go out again, and a single bell toll is heard, followed by "Are you scared?", and a chorus of girls say, "He's here!" Next comes Kid Rock's "American Bad Ass". Mark comes out to a huge pop, with the crowd joining in with the song. When he joins the others in the ring, he gets a third mic, and waits for the cheers to dwindle down.

I grab a mic, and head toward the entranceway. I stop a few feet from the fabric that separates me from the ring. The crowd is still cheering, but begin to quiet down some. This is my cue. "Well, well, well," I say into the mic, hearing my dark, uplifting voice echo through the arena, "looks like we've got a family reunion on our hands." I can just imagine their feigned surprised faces, staring in my direction. "Let's analyze this…we've got the Undertaker, the Taker's half-brother, and the Taker's half-brother's father, who used to manage both Taker and Kane. Alas," I sigh the word, "it seems that someone's missing from this picture, but who could it be? Let me think, let me think." I pause for dramatic effect. "Oh, I know!"

At that, I flick my hand at the lights guy, who turns the lights off. As calmly as possible with mic in hand, I walk quickly and quietly onto the steel ramp, down to the ring, climb through the ropes, and wait for the period of darkness to finish. As soon as the lights come back on, I say into the mic, "The Taker's half-brother's father's niece!"

The crowd erupts with another mixed reaction, but the fact that it's a loud one gives me encouragement. Mark pushes his sunglasses to the top of his head, and gives me a hard look, as if studying me; I notice for the first time that his eyes are a piercing green, and they hold my eyes in place. I tear my gaze away from those pools, and look to the other two men. Will looks surprised and frightened, while Glenn tilts his head to the side, looking at me through his Kane mask.

"Why? Because my father told you so?" I ask with anger, and he slowly nods." "Guess what, Unkie Paul? Your brother lied!" I can feel all eyes of those in the crowd on me, waiting for my little tale. I lean myself on Will's shoulder. "My parents put me in an asylum room with padded walls and had me put in a straightjacket because they couldn't handle me. They staged my death, moved away, and took all the money I had stashed away with them. The staff of the asylum obviously couldn't control me, either, so it was a breeze getting out of there.

"For years, I've wandered through the country, searching for my good-for-nothing parents, Hell bent on revenge. Just last year, I stumbled upon the WWF, and saw my fave cuz, Kane, had managed to get here, and I knew my Unkie Paul wasn't far from him. I weaseled my way in this company, and sat back to wait for you to show up. So here we all are!"

Mark interrupts my last word, holding up his right hand as he's saying, "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" His hard stare turns from me to Will. "You had a niece way back when, and you never told me about it?"

Surprise surfaces on Mark's face again, but vanishes quickly as he replies, with just as much anger, "Since I've known your `Unkie Paul' almost my entire life. That gives me right."

I stand upright again, and put my forefinger square in the middle of his chest, and proclaim, "I really don't give a damn whether you know him or not. He can have all the secrets he feels like having, because it's none of your damn business." I pause to take a breath. "As far as we're all concerned, you can go straight to Hell, and you can start by puttering you `American Stupid Ass' outta here!" I point toward the ramp-way.

The crowd begins to boo at me, which I expected. Mark instantly grabs my throat. "I do not take orders from women, nor do I take too kindly to smart-assed bitches like yourself!"

Mark is about to attack me when Glenn stops him by grabbing Mark's arm with his gloved hand. After much arguing between the two `half-brothers', Mark gives me an angry glare, throws down his mic, and storms out of the ring.

I smile victoriously as he walks up the ramp, and wave, saying, "That's right, run away with your tail between your legs!" At this point, he's at the top of the ramp, and turns to face the ring again. He and I engage in a stare-down before he finally turns, and walks backstage. Will, Glenn, and I follow a few moments later.

I am greeted by Joanie's look of surprise when I step back through the curtain. "That was some great stuff," she tells me, slapping me lightly on the back. "You're pretty good at making it up, on the spot, like that."

A few people begin to pass by, and compliment me on what little mic skills I know I have, despite what others say. I grimace, and say to her, "I don't know. I thought the dissing was kinda weak."

A deep voice behind me replies, "It gets better the more you do it." I look to see Mark standing beside me. I could see a bit of pain in his eyes, and I begin to wonder if he harbors some anger toward me. "Don't worry about it, though. You did good."

For Tuesday's Smackdown tapings, Mark distracts me during my match by taunting me from ringside, which causes me to lose. Later in the evening, I do a run-in during Mark's match, and get a few cheep shots in, causing him to lose as well. A stare-down ensues before the cut-off for the break.

On the following Monday, Vince calls me into his office before the show goes on air. Once I step through the door, I see Mark sitting in a chair on one side of Vince's desk. He sits in his office chair, motioning me to sit in the empty chair beside Mark. I decline, standing a little to the left of the desk. "I've called you two here for an important reason regarding your storyline," he says, looking at us both.

We both nod, and Vince goes on. "At SummerSlam, you will have a unique match. It will be a Hell in the Cell match, but you will decide the outcome. The match will be a test of strength and power, so to speak. You two will battle it out, and it's all up to you."

Vince nods, and responds, "Right, sort of. After SummerSlam, I'm putting you two, Will, and Glenn in charge of your storyline. Unscripted, if you want a word for it. Tonight, though, one will challenge the other to the Cell match. I'll let you two figure out which one. Now, get ready for the show." He waves us out of the room.

I walk out of the door first, followed by Mark. I turn to face him. "I'll come out first and dis you," he tells me before I can get a word out. "Then you come out and challenge."

"Ally," Mark says, and I turn back around. He opens and closes his mouth, trying to decide what to say. Finally, he says, "After first break." I nod, and continue on my way.

Shortly afterward, I'm waiting by the curtain, watching Mark ride a yellow-and-gray flamed motorcycle to the ring on the monitor. He parks the bike, enters the ring, and immediately acquires a mic. "You know, there's nothing I hate more than whining, yellow cowards," he begins, and the crowd erupts into chants of "Taker!" Once they quiet down again, he continues by saying, "And the ruler of these whining, yellow cowards is a short little bitch who calls herself Devil Child."

The crowd boos at the mention of my name. He goes on about how cowardly I've been and so on. "Fist of Rage" hits as I grab a mic. While trying to think of some good lines, I walk out to the top of the ramp. The crowd verbally shows their dislike of me, which gives me a bit of an edge, knowing that I can play off of it. As I wait for them to quiet down, Mark leans on the top rope, facing me. When the booing begins to subside, I bring the mic up to my mouth, and say, "Ya know, Taker, I get this weird feeling that you don't like me!"

I nod, and reply, "Really, but that's okay. I'm not here to talk about dislike." As I am about to continue, the crowd begins to chant "Slut!" I evilly grin, and say to them, "Thanks for the compliment, but back to the business at hand."

"A match at SummerSlam," I simply reply, and the crowd begins to cheer. "Not just any ol' match, oh no! But this match is gonna be a Hell in the Cell match!" Cheers grow louder. "I've heard it said that you are the true King of the Cell. Is this true?" Mark nods, and I continue. "Well then, at SummerSlam, it will be I that dethrones you, and leaves a blemish on your record!"

Mark backs away from the ropes with a smirk, standing in the middle of the ring again, and replies, "DC, the only thing that will be blemished is your ass!" The crowd goes even wilder while the smug little smile I had on my lips melts into a frown. "You and me, Hell in the Cell, SummerSlam, and you, Miss Priss, will succumb to the Last Ride!"

"American Bad Ass" blares through the sound system, but neither of us move. After a few seconds of this staring contest, I turn and walk backstage. Dropping off the mic, I spot Vince coming toward me, a smile on his nodding head. "That was perfect," he says when he reaches me, "and the fans loved the idea of another Hell in the Cell classic."

Mark comes through the curtain just then. "Mark!" Vince calls out, and motions him over to us. When Mark joins us, Vince says to him, "The fans are really into this feud. The anger and resentment seem almost natural, like you two were really enemies." He turns to look at me. "The chemistry and connections between Taker and DC may keep this feud going for a while."

A thought occurs to me. Suppose this feud does go on for a while. It'd mean he could take out whatever anger he has toward me out on me. `Damn, nice timing to get scared,' I think to myself. "Um, no disrespect or anything, but the longer a feud goes on, the more boring it gets."

Vince just smiles at me. "I know, and that's why you four are in charge of the feud after the pay-per-view. Ally, you've got a G-TV segment to tape, so you better get to it." I nod, and walk away from them.

I turn down a few halls, then knock on a door with a `Kane' logo at the top of it. Glenn opens the door, his Kane mask on the top of his head. "I'm here," I announce. Glenn smiles, and steps aside to let me in. "Hi, Will," I greet the short, plump man sitting in a comfy-looking chair.

The cameraman gets everything set. I take my place in front of the mirror. Once the cameraman gives the cue, Will, in his higher, squeaky, Paul Bearer voice, says, "DC, I really don't think challenging Taker to a Hell in the Cell match was a good idea. He could hurt you, and Kane would have to physically tear him apart."

I laugh evilly, and turn from the mirror. "Oh, Unkie Paul, I can take care of myself just fine," I tell him, then turn back to gazing at myself in the glass. "Besides, the match is in the bag, and I've got Taker right where I want him. Ready?" Both men nod, and we start toward the door. "He's kinda cute when he's mad, too," I casually comment. "How come you never told me about him?" I add as we begin to exit. The cameraman calls, "Cut!" He leaves, taking the camera with him.

Will and I accompany Glenn to the ring for his match. Half of the time, I get chants of "Slut!" In response, I just grin. After interfering on Glenn's behalf by smashing his opponent with a steel chair over the head, Glenn gets the win. Once backstage, I change into jeans and a T-shirt, gather my stuff, and wait for Joanie before heading off to the hotel.

Tuesday's tapings aren't much. Glenn accompanies me to the ring for my match against some jobber; at least he's a guy, so it's getting a little better. Mark comes out, and watches from the top of the ramp. Although sighting him distracts me for a little bit, I end up winning the match with Child's Plaything.

Later on in the show, before the last break, they show the G-TV segment we did the day before. After the break is Mark's no-DQ match against Big Bossman. Around the middle of the match, Glenn and I come down to the ring. While Glenn stands ringside with his arms crossed over his chest, I sit on the red-and-black flamed Titan bike Mark rode to the ring, which happens to face the action. A few minutes later, Mark notices me on the bike, and comes to investigate. Heated words are exchanged, and Glenn attacks Mark from behind. Together, Glenn and I assault Mark, then roll him back into the ring, where Bossman gets the pin.

For the next three weeks, the rift between the `half-brothers' grows, and the continuous ambushing assaults and one-upping builds incredible hype for the pay-per-view match. People, especially Vince and those `suit' types, are thinking that this could very well be the match of the year. I just hope I don't let anyone down.

The four of us spend a lot more time together outside of the arenas, with Joanie and Hunter joining along most times. To me, it seems more like some sort of `master plan', forcing me to spend time with these guys. Well, maybe not forcing; I think it's more like giving in to their askings. Should I be giving in so easily?

August 27th comes faster than I'm ready for. As Joanie and I enter the Reunion Arena, I confide in her, "Joanie, I'm so nervous! I'm gonna mess up or something, I just know it."

I nod, and sarcastically reply, "Right, and if I hurt him severely, it's not my fault." A shiver comes to my spine, and I clutch my upper arms. Dropping all sarcasm, I add, "I hope on everything that this works out well."

Joanie just laughs, and says, "I think you're acting this way because it's your first pay-per-view. Since when do you care if you hurt him? I thought you despised him."

For most of the day, I try to psych myself up for this match. I want to take more pain than everyone believes a woman can take, that's for sure. "I'm not gonna make this an easy one," I say to myself through the mirror.

Midway though the pay-per-view, Michael Cole comes to interview Glenn, Will, and me. As soon as the camera is live, Michael asks Glenn, "Kane, tonight, you get to be a part of a three-way dance for the WWF title with the Rock and Triple H. What are your thoughts going into this match?"

"In the second main event, your half-brother, the Undertaker, meets your cousin, Devil Child, in a painful Hell in the Cell match. Who are you going for? How do you feel about this?" Michael asks him next.

Glenn glares at him through his mask, and replies slowly, but angrily, "DC will win, I am sure of it. The Undertaker will finally meet his ultimate match, and lose more than the match itself."

With a look of fear, he continues to Will. "Uh, Paul Bearer, your son, Kane, goes for the title, and your niece, Devil Child, goes into a Cell. Your thoughts?" he asks.

Will's chest swells, as if overcome by how proud he is. In his best Paul Bearer voice, he replies, "This will be our night, I can feel it. Kane will become the next WWF champion, and DC will bury the Undertaker. Oh yes!"

Moving beside me, Michael says, "Well, Devil Child, you've heard what your family had to say. Some around the locker room are saying they aren't sure of your capabilities. I mean, you are going against the Undertaker, probably the best WWF superstar to ever compete in this company."

I glare at him, and he shuts up, making me laugh. "You know, Michael, I like you," I tell him, "so I'm not gonna kill ya for that." I look toward Glenn. "Kane, you will win the title, and no doubt burn some ass." I look back into the camera. "As for my match…Undertaker, beware. You've unleashed the Bitch from Hell, and I will dominate tonight. I'll give you a little relief, though; it will be just you, me, and the ref. I promise you, my family will not be present."

"I must prove myself, Unkie Paul," I reply. "Those that doubt me will be forced to believe." I look back at the camera, and add, "Taker, tonight, you become the Child's Plaything!" The cameraman cuts, and leaves us, lugging his camera with him.

After the tag team title match, Mark gets interviewed, and I sit still long enough to watch. Michael Cole says to him, "Undertaker, I'm sure you heard the words of Kane, Paul Bearer, and your opponent, Devil Child. She said that she promises the Hell in the Cell match will be strictly one-on-one, and that you will become the Child's Plaything."

Michael raises the mic for him as Mark looks down on the interviewer. "You talk too damn much," he simply says to Michael, then faces the camera. "DC, once you step into the Cell, you're in my territory. I'm not gonna go easy on you just because you're a girl, and I do emphasize `girl', so you'll be receiving the beating of your life. You better be true to your word, DC, or you will suffer the consequences." He walks away from the camera as Michael feigns a look of confusion.

After the Intercontinental title match is the Triple Threat WWF title match. I don't know the outcome if this match, so I'm quite interested. Hunter comes out first with Vince's daughter, Stephanie. Glenn comes out next, with Will of course. After the Kane pyro, Hunter and Glenn have a stare-down until the Rock's entrance theme hits. He comes out with the title over his shoulder.

Once he's in the ring, the match starts with Hunter and Glenn double-teaming. That doesn't last long as the Rock overcomes them, knocking Glenn out of the ring. Rock and Hunter battle it out until Hunter gets the upper hand, and covers the Rock. Glenn pulls Hunter outside, breaking the count. This type of stuff continues for another forty minutes, with one person beating another while the third rests outside until someone goes for a pin, then breaks it up. Finishers are applied, but are kicked out of.

As I prepare for my match, Glenn has the upper hand on Hunter. Glenn sends Hunter flying into the ropes across the ring, and Hunter knocks the Rock off the ring apron and into the announce table. Glenn catches Hunter by the throat on his way back, and chokeslams him. He then signals for the end by dragging his thumb across his throat. Glenn puts Hunter over his shoulder, positions him, and delivers the Tombstone. Glenn goes for the pin, and the ref falls to the canvas, slapping it three times. Glenn has become the champion!

I smile as he holds the title about his head. A knock comes to the door. "DC!" the stage manager calls. "You're up!" I exit the locker room, and walk toward the entrance area.

"Thanks," I reply. I look at the little monitor beside me. They're lowering the Cell, a huge steel structure. Once the Cell is completely down, my music hits. Composing myself, I walk through the curtain, and under a seven-foot archway that's covered with purplish Undertaker symbols and blood-red Devil Child symbols.

As I walk into the open, the crowd begins their booing. I don't notice it quite as much; I'm more concerned with the Cell. I pause outside it, examining the steel bars and the steel chain-link fencing that surround the whole thing, and think, `What have I gotten myself into'? Finally, I step inside the Cell, and climb into the ring. I turn to face the entranceway, waiting for Mark to arrive.

His music hits, and the boos turn to cheers. Seconds later, Mark comes through the archway riding a purple and black Titan bike. He parks it right outside the Cell, comes into the ring, and does his fan salute, lifting his fist and arm in the air. The crowd salutes him back. During this exchange, a second ref locks the door with a thick chain and a huge padlock; there's no getting out now. Mark and I finally catch the other's eye, and we stare at each other as he removes his sunglasses and bandana. The timekeeper rings the bell, beginning the match.

We start off in an elbow tie-up, where Mark overpowers me into a headlock. He then Irish-Whips me into a turnbuckle, and follows it up with a vertical body-slam in the corner. He pulls me out of the corner, pushes me off the ropes and sends me to the other side. I bounce off those ropes and duck Mark's swinging arm. Both of us turn around, but I kick him in the gut before he could do anything. He bends over, and I quickly deliver a DDT.

I scramble to me feet quickly, but Mark gets up just as fast. We exchange blows a few times before Mark grabs my arm. He twists it, then pulls it harshly down three times, nearly pulling it out of the socket. To escape, I kick at his knees, and he releases my arm. I continue to kick at his knees until he's down on one.

I kick the back of his other knee, forcing it out from under him, and he falls to his back. Picking up one long leg, I drag him to the ropes, and place the leg on the bottom one. I stand up on the rope, and come down in a sitting position onto the lower leg. I do it once again, then drag him to the corner by the same leg. I slide outside, quickly grabbing his leg, and slam it around the pole. I grab both his legs, but he pulls them back, forcing my body into the pole.

Mark rolls outside, and grabs me by the braid. As soon as I'm on my feet, he pulls me with him, and slams my head into the steel steps a few times, then he pulls me back a few feet. Mark tries to send me into the steps, but I reverse it, using his strength and momentum. He hits the steps with both knees, and flips completely over them. I step up to the top step, see that he's on his back, and drop an elbow into his sternum. I then notice we're in front of the announcers, and smile evilly.

I pick Mark up by his hair, and slam his head into the fencing in front of the announcers. Holding his head there, I look at the one in the black cowboy hat, and yell to him. "Is this yo' boy, JR? This yo' boy? Huh, is it?" I mash Mark's face into the fencing. Turning around and letting go of him, I flip the apron up, and grab a folded steel chair. I turn back around, swinging the chair as I turn, aiming for Mark. He moves away a moment before the chair hits the structure. "Damn you!" I shout.

I turn to see Mark on the floor, and I swing the chair again. He moves out of the way, and I hit the mat. He stands up, and I swing the chair from over my head. He blocks it with his hands, grabs the chair from me, and slams it over my head just as fast. I go down to my knees before he hits me again with a baseball swing, the force of the blow sending me flat to the mat.

I watch him drop the chair within my reach, and go over to the steel steps, pulling at the top half. I grab the chair, and stand halfway upright, resting my arms on my thighs. He gets the top half of the steps off, holds it in front of his body, and he turns toward me. After he takes a few steps, I baseball-swing the chair at the steps, which hit him in the head and makes him fall, the steps falling on top of him. I lift the chair in the air, yelling, "Homerun!" The crowd boos at my action. I point at Mark's fallen body with the chair, and point at JR with my free hand, and yell, "That yo' boy, JR?" I slam the chair into the steps on top of him numerous times, all the while shouting, "This yo' boy? He's a boy, all right, JR. Just a boy."

I toss the chair behind me, and pick up the steps, holding them in front of my body. Mark suddenly kicks the steps, and the steel connects with my face. I drop the steps, and touch my forehead, noting the huge, bloody gash I put my fingers in. I bring my bloody fingers to my mouth, licking at the red life substance slowly. Intensely angered, I try to punch the now-standing Mark. He catches my wrist, and whips me into the cage. He then scrapes my head against the fencing, taking advantage of the open wound.

Mark lets go of me, and I slump to the ground. He tries to land an elbow on me, but I use a drop-toe hold, and his head slams into the structure's wall. I then straddle his lower back, grinding his face in the fencing. Soon, his own forehead is torn open and begins to bleed, and I continue to grind at the wound. Achieving my goal, I pick him up by the hair, and toss him into the ring.

Instead of following my opponent into the ring, I climb up the ropes to perch on the top turnbuckle, and wait. Mark stands up, and turns around. I launch myself, and connect with the Flying Clothesline, both of us falling to the canvas. Both of us breathing hard, we lay on the canvas until the ref gets to six, where Mark sits up, and I roll onto my knees.

We both stand up slowly, and I kick him in the gut, quickly wrapping my arm around his head in a headlock. Mark twists out of it, pushing me to the ropes. After bouncing off of them, he catches me by the throat, and chokeslams me hard. As I lay on the ground trying to regain myself, I hear the crowd chant "Last Ride!" over and over again. Mark then picks me up, and places my head between his thighs; I can already hear the jokes that are gonna be flying around. The crowd cheers louder, and before I know it, Mark's flipped me up and slammed me down to the mat with great force. `There's another joke,' I think to myself through the back pain.

He lays over me, hooking my leg. The ref falls to the ground, and slaps the mat twice before I get a shoulder up. Both Mark and the ref look stunned as I slowly stand back up. Mark gets over his surprise, and climbs up to the top turnbuckle, turning to face the inside of the ring. Quickly, I kick one ankle, and he painfully straddles the turnbuckle. I unhook his legs from the other side of the ropes, climb up in front of him, wrap my legs around his neck, and deliver the Hurricanrana.

I stand him up and turn him so we're back-to-back. Grabbing onto his upper arms and using every ounce of strength I have, I lift him off his feet, quickly bringing him over my head, and into a power-bomb, delivering the Child's Plaything. The fact that I did that move to such a bigger man stuns the crowd into almost complete silence. I hook his leg, and the ref counts two before Mark gets a shoulder up. I get up, bounce off the ropes, and jump into the air, delivering the leg-drop across his upper chest. Covering him once again, the ref only gets up to two before Mark kicks out. I quickly cover him once more, but only one count comes when Mark violently kicks out, sending me flying across the ring.

I slap the canvas in anger, and roll out of the ring. Immediately, I go under the ring in search for more weapons. I'm about to grab a long lead pipe when I spot a sledgehammer, and grab it instead. I bring it back into the ring with me, and stand upright, resting the head of the hammer on the canvas. I wait until Mark is standing, and yell, "Hey, Taker!" He begins to turn around.

When he's halfway turned, I begin to pick up the hammer, and swing. On the upswing, the hammer collides with my leg, taking my swing off-track. Instead of stopping short, the hammer connects with the upper part of his shielding arm and the side of his head, knocking him down. Ricocheting off of him, the hammer shifts its weight, and hits me full force on the hairline. The weapon slips from my hands as I fall to the canvas, my vision fading on the short descent.

I'm not sure how long I'm out, or who even won the match, but I do know that my head aches severely. As I come to, I look up into the lights of the arena, as well as the top of the Cell. At the moment, my body refuses to move. Softly, so no one could hear outside the ring, I call out, "Taker?"

Suddenly, I hear people climbing into the ring. Some appear above me, trying to pick me up. "No," I tell them, waving their help off. I roll onto my side, my body protesting the action, and see ring ropes in front of me. I grab the bottom rope with one hand, pull myself off my other arm, then grab the rope with my other hand. I manage to turn around, and sit myself up, my back being supported by the ropes. I look around the ring; Mark is still on his back.

My leg is pounding, my arms are sore, my head is throbbing, the gash on my forehead is gushing blood again, my back is squirming with pain, and I fear that I'll start coughing up blood from the hard slams to the mat. "No, I'm fine," I reply, then point over to Mark. "Help him. I think he might be hurt pretty bad." Petite nods, and quickly shuffles over to the group around Mark.

I lie down on my side, and gently roll out of the ring. Once my feet find the floor, I stand up. As I take a step, my right leg buckles under me. Catching onto the bottom rope, I slowly stand up again, never letting go. I tightly hold onto the ring apron as I walk toward the now-unlocked door of the Cell.

Slowly, I reach the side of the entrance area of the structure. I let go of the corner-post only to latch on to the side of the Cell. A couple of steps to my right, and I'm hanging onto one of the bars by the door. `Time to blow this Popsicle stand,' I think to myself. I turn to look back at the ring. The officials are helping Mark sit up now. He makes eye contact with me for a few seconds before an official blocks it. I sigh, turn away, and let go of the Cell.

The crowd's cheers are deafening, and they are all on their feet. I pretend not to notice, though. My right leg threatens to give out numerous times on the way, but I force myself to continue. It seems like hours before I walk through the archway and through the curtain. "That was the longest walk I've ever experienced," I call out as I see Joanie running toward me.

Joanie rushes to my right side, puts her arm around my back, and helps me walk. "That was one hell of a match!" she tells me. "When I saw the sledgehammer hit you, I almost killed people to get out there, but they held me back. You okay?"

"I think I lost some brain cells and a few gallons of blood, but other than that, I'll survive," I answer, smiling. She sort of laughs, unsure of the little joke.

Vince proudly walks up, a smile plastered on his face. "That was one helluva match! The fans were on their feet." he says. "It was nothing short of spectacular!"

"I'm not gonna stick around long," I say to him. "As soon as I get stitched up, I'm outta here." I can see the look on Vince's face as I say these words, knowing he won't protest. With that Joanie and I walk off toward the medical area. Another doctor immediately stitches up the gash on my head. Afterward, Joanie helps me to the locker room. I quickly change, gather my stuff, and walk with Joanie to her rental car.

Joanie drives to the hotel, and again, helps me walk to the hotel room. Just as soon as we get into the room, I shower to wash off the blood and sweat, noticing bruises just about everywhere, the biggest one on my leg where the sledgehammer hit. In silence, I dry, dress in PJs, replace the bandage on my head, and step into the bed area. After assuring Joanie that I wouldn't die in my sleep without telling her first, she goes into the bathroom to shower. I take a couple Alieve tablets, and lay down, falling asleep almost instantly.

I remember my mother once telling me that after one's humbled, they know it, and things only get better for them because of it. I decide to let time be the judge of that. I don't sleep well during the night, and am up quite early. I force Joanie up and awake, wanting to leave right away. Once we're in the parking lot after checking out, I say to her, "Let me drive."

"No way! You drive like a woman possessed, going eighty miles an hour in a sixty zone!" Joanie protests. "Besides, you took a few bad headshots. You might black-out."

She looks at me seriously, then replies with a sigh, "All right, but if you begin to black-out, you pull over so I can drive." I nod, and she tosses the keys to me. We put our things in the trunk, and get in the car. I start the engine, and head for the highway.

As I promised, I drive the legal speed limit, easing Joanie's worries. I manage to drive four hours before I let Joanie take over; she wouldn't stop asking me if I felt all right, and I began to feel as if she was asking, "Are we there yet?" instead.

Half an hour after we switch, we reach the Houston off-ramp. Immediately, our hotel comes into sight. I rush us into the hotel, drop off our luggage, and get back to the lobby. "Slow down," Joanie tells me when she finally catches up with me. "You'll hurt yourself."

For the next four hours, we cruise around town, stopping only to eat and to check out a few shops, buying a couple of items. Joanie finally demands we get to the arena. She gets behind the wheel, and drives us to the Astrodome.

We're in the arena an hour when I decide I'm thirsty. "I'm gonna get a soda or something," I tell Joanie as I fish out fifty cents from a pocket in my jeans. "Want anything?"

I nod, and walk out. Trying to be logical, I zoom around the halls, looking for a machine. I turn a corner, expecting to find the machine, but I end up finding Mark leaning against a wall, his arms crossed in front of his chest. Not wanting to disturb him, I begin to backtrack, but my conscience decides to kick in for once. Debating my options, I decide to talk to him. I begin to walk toward him, calling out, "Hey, Mark."

I notice the white patch on his forehead, another one near his temple, and remember my mistake. "I'm sorry `bout the sledgehammer," I apologize. "It was a stupid move. You all right?"

Hesitating slightly at his frankness and shifting my weight, I reply, "You're right. I just wanna say that I'm-I'm-I'm really sorry about the way I've treated you. I never meant to be that way; it just comes that way. I mean, it's not like I have anything against you personally. It's just…"

Suddenly, I begin to feel light-headed and nauseated, and I trail off. My vision blurs as it fades to black. I can feel my eyes roll up into my head, and I crumple at his feet. Before unconsciousness totally overcomes me, I hear Mark yell out, "Ally!"