Halter: Being Extra

“You? You want to lecture me?! Hahaha! We are all just waiting for your next trip off the wagon where we have to peel you out of a dumpster! Sucking dick for just a little hit. Get the fuck out of here!”

Melissa Reed was not incorrect.

Difficult to separate what sucked more: the truth or the fantasy that Sybil knew better. Surviving through addiction was never a one time journey. A lesson learned very early on in Sybil’s life. When her career tilted then she did too. Certain substances were like warm hugs before they beat you half to death the next day. Most toxic relationship she ever had was when the world looked heart shaped and literally deformed.

Growing up with your worst critic was an easy route to living the old phrase, “sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.” Sybil ignored little barby comments that weren’t constructive or not backed by facts. Sometimes she’d even laugh because her mom said worse. Could be why being read by Melissa was milder. Regardless, there is something painful about a friend lashing out. Mel had been making any comment just to make Sybil leave. Did not go to plan but it reminded her of the last time she did fall off the wagon…

Music played through the door and drunken co-workers were celebrating being awarded prizes. They were one of the highest grossing circuses! It looked easy on the outside, sure, most things did. Watching a person fly through the air, or pick up a lion, seemed easy. Through endless days of practice and doing something over, and over, and over! Meaning changing your diet, it meant sore muscles, and sometimes it even meant losing some finger or toe nails. Sacrifice for the craft. A motto most of them prided themselves on.

That stress to not be a weak link was terribly heavy in any industry. Falling too far behind meant losing your career in the circus. Sybil let the stress get to her. It snuck up on her. All it took was one weak moment and letting Harrison give her a hit. She didn’t need as many breaks when it came to working off of those familiar highs. She could go like a little energizer bunny!

She hadn’t been expecting Avan to open the bathroom door without knocking. She was hunched over the counter and all the evidence spread across the counter. They were both too aware of what it meant: She fell off again. “Avan, wait!”

He stormed away and never turned to even look at her. “Not now, Sybil!”

“Please? Please?! I’m sorry! Wait, wait, wait!” Sybil failed to catch him that night. “Don’t leave! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Avan!”

She was not proud of it but it strengthened her relationship for sure. After they had put in the effort to mend the issues it assured her that she could accomplish being clean. Thick as thieves really and they took on the world as a pass time. She felt stable which was pretty nice.

Chasing after highs became commonplace. Just another checkbox to add to the list of to-dos. When she had to cut away from wrestling then joining the circus replaced the high. When popping out of boxes, dancing with fire, and tight roping, lost the edge she had to find something else. That’s where Avan came in. Attraction replaced the need and before long; as cheesy as it sounded, being in love replaced the honeymoon phrase.

It felt like everything went full circle in a way. Did she grow bored of Avan? No. It just wasn’t the same adrenaline high so in came wrestling curling its cute finger to lure her back in! The high of damage and risk never got boring. Not once did she ever step into the ring yawning! There were thousands upon thousands of different people to beat the shit out of, and vice versa. She had to go back just to feed her little fatal flaw.

Which she fully blamed on her “Momster”. Don’t do drugs when you’re pregnant, and don’t continue to feed nasty habits with bad people hanging around your kids. Then after you fucked them up, and your boyfriends fuck them up, don’t expect them to be well adjusted individuals that didn’t learn how to fucking survive! Sure explained a lot of her attitude when wrestling. All fun and games until someone hit Sybil just a little too hard… Triggering a fight or flight reflex.

Caring for someone recovering brought up a lot of that fun childhood trauma. Being looked in a fridge was her favorite. So when Nathaniel allowed her a fucking escape away from Melissa? Sybil was gone and all that was left was a smoke outline of her. Did she love her friend? Of course. Was she willing to risk her own mental health? Nope.

So the first chance she got the plane tickets were bought and she was in warmer weather with the boy of her dreams. It was draining taking care of other people. It was distracting when it came to wrestling. So, in order to cleanse, she had to treat herself to some fun. Wrestling was supposed to be fun and thus it would be!

Sybil wrapped her arms around Avan's neck with a big grin. "What do you wanna do first?"

His smirk told her everything.

┊ ┊ ┊ ┊



┊ ┊ ┊ ✧



┊ ┊ ✦



┊ ✧



✦

────────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹────────

Sybil squinted at the camera adjusting on a chair then leaning forward with a frown. She released a soft grumble.



“Okay. Same as last time. I’m not gonna like, set the scene or whatever. Let’s be honest, it sometimes ain’t about that, but what we say… So…”



She sits back with a nod.



“I’ve been watching the happenings going on in this company because I knew I’d be back. Not to mention, I sort of tied myself to a few members of the roster. One just happens to be in this very matter. Shout out to them, but not quite yet, and okay. So this match isn’t just for glory and shit, yeah? It’s for a chance at any fuckin’ title in PWE. Let’s say that most of us are going to shoot straight for the top. For that delicious Excellence Championship. Despite the insults thrown at the current Champion— despite all the newcomers thinking that their shit don’t stink— We all want a chance inside that ring because Damian Ayla has not lost a match. You don’t have to like the guy to have some fucking respect for the way he works in the ring.”



A dismissive shrug.



“Honestly, if you aren’t shooting for the baddest dude in the room then what are you trying?”



And then an eye roll. She leans back with a small head wobble. She nods again.



"Okay, the first time I did this: i was all, doesn’t matter where I came from. It still really doesn’t but I’m going through some shit. So you guys are coming too. Promise it’ll all come full circle at the end. So, started out where everyone else does in this ocean of an industry: At the very bottom. I found myself struggling a lot. I sucked. I was green and I was honestly all over the place mentally. I felt like someone was holding me under water. It sucked. I was actually fighting myself half the time trying to keep it together, trying to be what image the crowd wanted me to be. I wanted to be adored by those faceless people. I’d always hold a mirror up in front of myself trying to practice perfect and smile…”  She sighs.



“Do you know what I found when I shattered those mirrors? Victory. I found in truthfulness, I would finally get somewhere. I found that stepping into a ring with a shred of fucking fear did me a hell of a lot better than trying out some BDE. When you’re staring a veteran of this industry— fully aware that they might tear your fucking arm off— you work on overdrive to walk out of that match. It’s an internal reflex, a survival instinct that has kept us alive since the beginning of man. Yet most of you seem to dismiss it. Morons. I’ve broken bones on falls, I’ve wrestled a match with my shoulder dislocated, and I’ve stepped out the winner. I’ve beaten people with 10 plus years of experience of me because I’m not a fucking moron. I knew what they could do and I fought like I might not be alive tomorrow! I treated them like I brought a knife to a gunfight.”



Now she is leaning forward with a little grin.



“So I’d tell myself, you better get in close and fucking get up every time your ass hits the floor. Doesn’t matter if my mouth is pouring blood, it doesn't matter that they broke two fingers, nope, I better get up. Life or death. Some people might call me mental to take my career seriously but to those people I say: How’s that fucking L taste? If this is my life, and I’m risking my physical health then I’m taking this shit seriously!” Sybil looks a bit disgusted then rolls her eyes again.



“When my passion is somewhere then you best believe you’re getting 100 percent every time. My literal job for several years was being a clown in a circus. I’m a conortionist for fucks sake. (TIP: keep that in mind. Submissions don’t really work on me unless you get it in TIGHT.) I was there to be laughed at and I still took it seriously.”





Sybil is away from the camera hoisting it up then carrying it to a nearby window. She sets it up then leans against the railing.



“30 people await me inside of that ring and depending on what number I pick? I could easily have to work through 29 of them. I know that most of them are going to need a lot of lube for how much self-inducing jacking off will take place in their promos. Dismissing every single other person ‘cause they are the big cock on the walk. Man, I’m ready for it. I truly am. Tell me how pathetic we are. Please. I love using my hurt feelings to hurt other people.”  Her tongue pokes out teasingly.



“Allow me to embarrass half of you— You aren’t special. Sorry. The children’s shows lied to us folks! Half of this battle royales are won through being fucking lucky. Half of them are won through trusting strangers so you can knock at least two or three people as a team, then betraying them when the opportunity strikes. The ridiculousness of this structure is why I actually love Battle Royales. You never know what is going to happen!”



She cackles softly scooting closer then away from the camera. Moving in a little circle, she continues to talk.



“Most of us have been champions at least once or are working their way through. Some don’t have a shit chance in walking out with one elimination. Some are going to walk out with a ton. That’s how the cookie crumbles. When I first went into the Ollie Invitation it was because I missed wrestling. I wanted to return to a world that was stolen from me. It wasn’t for some fucking glory… but now? That has all changed.”



“I’m an addict— A flaw in my DNA unfortunately— so when I strike a high that isn’t gonna kill me, I cling to it like a fucking leech. Wrestling was a high that hit me like a freight train. I’m going to win this battle royale even if I have to take down some people that scare the shit out of me. I saw the beast trying to rip out of Vincent Black. Allen Chaney is a man with nothing to lose; a dangerous philosophy to live on. I’m keeping my eye on him. We all saw what Nathaniel Cartwright did to the current Excellence Champion. I saw it up close. I’m sort of looking forward to both partnering then testing out his skills when it comes down to it. Now that fear doesn’t extend to everyone. LCP is just lucky to be here, huh? I’m sure as shit not losing to Adrien again and it doesn’t matter how much he “believes” or whatever. The rest of us are a cluster of outsiders who smelt blood and are pouncing on carcases before someone else can take it. I seriously keep looking at the list of names and thinking: Aw, fuuuck.”



Sybil groans! She rubs at her face then drops her hands.



“There was a daunting task of having to watch a shit ton of videos. A quick form of research, I guess, but after a while I realized that there was no point. Now lemme explain why. A lot of people in this Battle Royale have come from some company, big names, or whatever, and most of us have never heard of the other. Not uncommon in this industry because it's so fucking HUGE. Now, if I just apply the GOLDEN RULE: Fuck Around and Find Out then I'll be okay. Treat everyone as a threat then you've been be caught with your pants down. 

"That being said... My skin is vibrating with adrenaline even thinking about this behemoth of a match waiting for me at Magnificence. This match, the temptation of a title being mine again, flipped a switch. Now I’m foaming at the mouth. You see, when I was REDACTED, I was manic inside the ring. I’d go from screaming and caving someone’s nose in, to begging for someone to bash my skull in with a chair just so I could knock the stars out of my eyes. That wild wrestler who held titles, who ruled over entire rosters, and brought a reign of CHAOS to companies, IS AWAKE AGAIN.”



Both hands flail in the air while the clown bounces around. She adjusts the camera again.



“I used to fight tooth and nail with management. They were too closed minded

! It gets boring being at the top so I leveled the place to keep myself in fighting shape. They wanted the best of the best so I helped my opponents reach their limits then surpassed them. What the hell is the point if you aren’t going against the best? What is the point if you aren’t pushing someone to improve? I held onto a belt through some of the most gruesome matches. I did it for the crowd’s entertainment and I did it to reach that high… That is what I think this company needs. More people to push them forward; not insult the company who is signing their paychecks. We need righteous battles so the crowd goes wild!”



“Ehem,” She cracks her neck. “Lemme try this another way… Uh.”



Sybil snaps her fingers transporting us to an empty arena. She is now in her gear and does a little spin. In a matter of seconds she is closing in. Getting really close, a whisper spills out, “Now I’m being extra. Hahah!”



Scooting to a suitable distance, she begins again.



“Sybil Halter has stepped out of the box in order to introduce Revenant back into the limelight again. Violence is a common tongue for us, right? We all want to knock someone on the mat so hard that they won’t move again. It’s a drug… That rush of superiority. It’s a marker that no one should fuck with you. Will they always watch the warning signs? No. Don’t come crying to me when I feed someone my entire fist just to watch them vomit outside of the ring. Don’t come for me when I spike someone straight on their neck. It’s all for fun anyways, right? It’s all for that glory and for a chance.”



The painted smile grows.



“Let me make this very clear: I killed my friends, I stabbed them in the front, because I was bored. I did it because I will do *whatever* it takes to win a match. At the end of the day, all we have inside of that ring is ourselves. When we go to sleep, we have to ask ourselves if we are satisfied with what we accomplished. I’ve never hit the pillow without being satisfied.”



Sybil winks.



“So let’s give everyone a little prompt: What are you willing to do for a victory?”



With a wave the feed completely fades.