“Somebody once told me that the only difference between good and evil is perspective… I said that was completely wrong.  I said that good was doing the best you can ‘an it harm none’, and doing evil was when you quit caring who you hurt.”

“Then, that person told me I was naïve.”

“So, Tom, since I know you remember absolutely everything… do you remember who said that?”

[It seems like the closer to the dark side Heidi Christenson grows, the more she looks and acts like a female counterpart to Jeff Andrews.  On her good days, it’s all white ring outfits and martial arts and purity and not threatening to maim anyone who deserves it… and on her bad days it’s denim and John Deere and scotch.  Dewars.]

“That person’s name was Daeriq Damien.”

“He held a few titles in OLW… he dated Gemma Lockhart, you know, my arch-enemy, for a few years and then she dumped him for Python.  He threw Ronnie Long’s wife off a stage once.”

“I don’t know what, exactly, he wanted with me, but it probably had more to do with Jeff than me… he always hated Jeff, always said Jeff was everything wrong with wrestling, called him the Creeping Death.  I’m surprised Jeff didn’t add that to his list of nicknames, but anyway…”

[Instead of lounging in an armchair, Heidi prefers to recline on a couch, having carefully arranged her legs the perfect angle for the camera ahead of time, but the whole furious ennui thing that Jeff tries to do… she’s shooting for it.]

“Daeriq wanted to turn me bad.”

“I refused to let him.”

“You know who else tried to turn me bad?  Kai Scott did.”

“That was recent… you should remember… the kendo stick, the scars it left on my back?”

“He couldn’t do it either, though.  If anything, I turned him back.”

“Not back to good.  We’re all too bitter for that… if we weren’t called The Untouchables we could be The Bitter People.  The Bitter Kingdom.  Hell, The Bittermen, I guess the name wouldn’t have to be gender-neutral.  But back to being one of us instead of working against us for… whatever reason he was, you know he hasn’t told us why yet?  Of course you don’t.”

“You don’t actually care.”

[Heidi stretches her leg out slowly, pointing her toes at the ceiling.  Her languid smile grows just a faint bit sharper as she flexes her leg before crossing it over the other and relaxing again.]

“Tom, there are so many different reasons I can’t stand you, I could list them for months, but you know one of them?  For all your talk about fighting the good fight… for all you talking about what’s wrong and right… You don’t try.”

“You haven’t reached out to anyone who you didn’t think could help you in your mission.  You never talked to The Devil Rippers… you never talked to Curtis Penn and Tyson Burke … no, it was only the guy who won the Grand Champions League, the guy who pinned Bronson Box twice, and the guy who won the most points in Evolution League for you.”

“At least Christian Light tried his hardest to make something out of Michel LaLiberte.”

[She uncrosses her legs, crosses them again in the other direction.]

“Wrestling, so far… it’s all a game to you, Tom.”

“These are real people in the business… real people who have to go home at night and live with what they’ve done, with what might happen to them, to worry about the future.  Whereas you… you’re not even old enough to know what the future is.”

“Lucas Harper sits at home with a messed up back, and every once in a while he hops on youtube to make some speech about how You’re Gonna Be The Guy, and I can’t for the life of me see why he doesn’t want to wring your little neck as badly as I do.”

[Her lips pull back, revealing the tips of her teeth, in the beginning of her fast-becoming-trademark “I Hate You” snarl.]

“You’re probably going to ask me how, after what I did to LaLiberte, to Light and Eric Dane, to and to Sloan, I can sit here and talk about good and evil and criticize you, when you haven’t actually tried to injure anyone… well, Tom, let me explain about that.”

[As she exhales, her breath hisses between her teeth.]

“If you’re going to criticize me… if you’re going to hector me and preach to me and criticize me and ride my career and my every action like you do… then I’m going to make you understand what it’s like to be me.”

“Every time you step into the ring, I’m not going to just try to beat you.”

“I’m going to try to humiliate you.  I’m going to try to prove that you’re nothing, and that you never were anything.”

“And if you’re too good for that, then I’m going to get angry, and I’m going to take it out on you like it’s your fault.  I’m going to kick you so hard that your internal organs liquefy, and I’m going to tie you into knots until you don’t have a single tendon attached to two different bones in your entire body.”

“And when I get done doing all that, then I’ll laugh.  I’ll say how I just proved that you were never anything, I’ll laugh about how you got put in your place.  I’ll do that every time anyone hurts you.”

“And finally… when your very existence is agony, when you’re beset from all sides and scorned by the people you thought you were fighting for…”

[Finally, her lips peel all the way back, and she looks up at the ceiling, her eyes half glazed over.]

“Then, you can come talk to me, and apologize to me, and ask me to hurt someone for you… and then tell me how much you enjoyed watching me do it.”
 

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