The nature of the Midway matches were always particularly violent. It was something hugely expected for any participants. As such, there were always EMTs on the outskirts of the park, to tend to the combatants of the match. Of course, per contract negotiations, Nova saw to it that Raike's EMTs were as far away from her own as possible. The last thing she wanted to worry about in a win that she knew deep in the pit of her heart was assured was a bitter little bitch trying to get the better of her in the back of an ambulance. She sucked her teeth, hissing in pain as her completely ruined Sailor Moon uniform top which had been drenched in both of their blood was cut open and exposed her bare skin, littered with cuts from tacks of the kissing boot, were exposed to both cool air and antiseptic. The bleeding from most of the cuts on her skin had stopped, but there were a few gashes that would require some stitching. Still... this wasn't her first instance where she'd been sliced and carved in the name of winning a match - and Nova would be distraught if it were her last.

NOVA WONDER: Easy!

EMT: Probably the first time that you've said that all evening... I'll never understand why you people do this to yourselves on the Midway. Did you ever stop to think that this could require a tetanus shot?

NOVA WONDER: Tremendous bedside... err, stretcher-side manner. I'd ask to switch with DateRaike, but I already pity what his EMT has seen...

Nova scoffed, digging her nails into the cushiony top of the stretcher when she felt the needle beginning to stitch at her wounds. Of course the numbing spray that was used before never truly did its job. It never had. She had always wondered in the back of her mind why this type of match was her calling. It was never fun to leave the arena, or the midway in this instance, sweaty from action and sticky from once-red, now brown blood that was caking its way into her skin. Maybe she loved the attention and the respect and fear it brought. Those moments that would leave "normal" people talking around the water cooler about what they had just witnessed; her variety of "inventive violence." As those glossy eyes opened, after absorbing the pain of her skin being punctured again and again from the stitchwork, the answer became very clear: the Titan of the Midway Championship. The title, sitting perched on a shelf that held up medical supplies, at eye-level with her.

Even with a streak or two of blood on the plate that would need to be cleaned off later, it was still reassuring to the battered and bruised beauty from Seattle. That title would be coming home with her for the foreseeable future. It was hers. The first piece of gold she'd gotten her hands on ever since walking out of Miami, smelting her Hall of Fame ring, and renouncing the ECWF as the protective playground it was for a few handpicked, selected members of the roster. Here? Opportunity was boundless. And that championship coming home with her stood as a testament to that.

EMT: You gotta' let down the meatballs.

She scoffed, utilizing those still cuffed hands to bring them to her hair. Her Sailor Moon-style hair had been done perfectly before this night began... but now? Not so much. They were matted with sweat and the pieces at her scalp were trickled with blood and some splintering from having a photo frame broken over her head. Most of the shards had been shaken out, but others left micro cuts in her head. The clear rubber bands snapped fairly easily with the pluck of her sharp filed fingernails. Her hair fell with ease, heavy from product to achieve that look, as well as blood and sweat. First one, then the other. A few more shards that had been lodged in her thick, multi-colored hair fell to the steel floor of the truck with a slight 'click' noise, before she felt gloved hands going rooting through her hair for any other traces.

EMT: Luckily for you, there's no cuts here deep enough to warrant stitching. Just some vanity marks. There will be some irritation for the next few days when you go to wash your hair. Be aware of that.

NOVA WONDER: It's not going to fuck my hair up, is it? Because I may need to go make sure that Raike's EMT gives him something lethal if that's the case.

EMT: I don't see that happening, and I can't allow the other circumstance to happen. But, I can see about getting you one of the Bad Moon Rising shirts so that way you can change out of those contaminated clothes until you can get to the shower. And, I'll see if I can get a handle on some metal cutters or a blow torch to get those cuffs off your wrists. Be right back.

NOVA WONDER: Hurry up, would ya? Who knows what kind of diseases I'll get from having Raike's blood and jizz on me.

She grit her teeth hard, wriggling her wrists so hard in the fuzzy cuffs that they were turning red and irritated. Of course what her opponent had intended to be her downfall, had actually been what had won the match for her. A true sense of irony. Thankfully, she had enough experience on the wrong side of the law that she could shimmy her arms in front of herself from behind her back, but breaking free of the cuffs without an assist was not a skill she'd acquired.

Alas... it was of no use. Huffing and letting out a pout, she blew a few particularly gross strands of her hair from her face, she took another glance at the championship. It all just hit her like a wave. The time went by so quickly, but it felt like a lifetime of baby steps from Heat Stroke to this moment where she could call herself champion. With the glimmer of gold in her brown gaze, she turned her attention skyward.

We did it, buddy. Just like I knew we would.

Nick Kramer, Zack Lifer, he would be so proud if he were still here. Just days before Heat Stroke, she'd gone to his grave site and made a promise to him to achieve great things. And she did... albeit in an unconventional way. Chalking some of it up to their bond they shared when he was alive, and some to the amount of pain she was in, she giggled - at least it was true to who she was that she won the championship with some unique flavor. He'd be proud. Still fighting to get those cuffs off, we fade to a close.

The kissing booth. That was something of a home away from home for Johnny Raike. And the service shelf of which just happened to be where Nova Wonder was proudly seated after hours, the Titan of the Midway championship on her shoulder. One short leg was crossed over the other - the Seattle-born newly crowned champion glaring daggers over her shoulders at the barely-put together stand. Of course someone as tactless and revolting as Johnny Raike would like this shack of an attraction. She wears a well-fitted Slipknot t-shirt over a pair of black short shorts, fishnet stockings, and black boots. Rolling her eyes visibly, she turned her focus back to the camera.

NOVA WONDER: Arrive. Dominate. Leave. That's been pretty much all that I've done since I arrived in PAW. And after Bad Moon Rising... it officially paid dividends when I did what Nova Wonder does. I slayed your hero and I rose to the top to collect the Titan of the Midway championship title!

Her fingers gently knocked on the plate of the Titan of the Midway Championship on her shoulder. Licking her teeth, a look of pure, unmatched satisfaction is what could best describe the expression written across her face.

NOVA WONDER: Everything I said would happen, happened. What Kassandrah predicted in her fortune telling booth came to fruition. And, to add onto the old adage of I told you so, I literally proved at Bad Moon Rising that I could beat Johnny Raike with both of my hands tied behind my back. So, the next day, after he was stitched together like Frankenstein's monster when nobody wanted him to be... he took to the internet and called me everything from a homophobe to a cunt, and it's really impressive considering I've only ever heard the latter before, and absolutely none of the rest was truthful or justified. This prompted one question... you mad, bro? Really... you absolutely should be, Date-Raike. You should be pissed off that I don't kiss your ass like the rest of those idiots. You should be enraged that you're such a damn embarrassment that you couldn't even make it past the first title defense of a belt that was HANDED to you by Calvin Harris. You should despise me for being absolutely, unequivocally, unabashedly better than you. But... that was the past, and unlike Date-Raike, that's not where I live. I live in the here, and I live in the now, marching towards a GLORIOUS future where this show revolves around yours truly since it's BECAUSE OF ME that there is a television deal in the first place!

She shrugged, before dusting off her other shoulder - as if it were to commemorate a job well done.

NOVA WONDER: Now? It seems like it is out of the frying pan...

Reaching over the back of the booth, she pulled up a red five gallon gas tank by the plastic handle. Placing the heel of her boot on the handle, she planted the sole of her opposite boot onto the seat of the stools in front of it. Truly lax in her seating.

NOVA WONDER: and into the fire, in more ways than one. Because I will be defending my championship in a Flaming Tables match in the Main Event of the first ever live edition of Wicked. And for those of you who aren't aware... my past experiences with fire? They typically have gone pretty well. My prior experience with tables? Not so good. I've been speared through them, Chokeslammed through them, Powerbombed through them... but this is the first time where the stakes have ever been placed in a position where I give a fuck about them. This is about me proving I am what I say I am, and that is the the BEST name that this roster has to offer! Which... isn't too difficult when the people on the other side of the ring from you are creatures like Johnny Raike, and whatever an Adam Wolfe is this week.

Snickering a little bit, the blonde with blue dip dyed ends in her hair placed her title into her lap.

NOVA WONDER: He's the gym with the whole... multiple personalities thing, right? That's right, the other one is named 'Genocide.' I had one of those of my own, back in the day. He was just as much of a douche who thought living in the '90s was cool too. My prior one was a little less creepy, though. He didn't use puppets. And I don't mean 'creepy' in the sense of, 'oh, this guy is clearly badass!' - I mean creepy as in, stay 500 feet away from a school creepy. THAT is the vibe I get when I see Adam Wolfe. And the other little voice in the back of my head assures me that Adam Wolfe KNOWS he doesn't belong in this match. He's done nothing to earn a shot at this championship, he's done nothing to deserve a spot across from me in the ring. Not a damn thing.

Shaking her head, she rolled her eyes. It is what it is, she mouthed, clearly.

NOVA WONDER: Besides coming up short, time and time again, this is a man who cannot take responsibility for his actions. Much like I told Johnny Raike - there are people who are ACTUALLY suffering with the problems that you mock... fucking blatantly... and you treat it like it's something just benign. Something to glaze over and move across. There are people who are actually mentally ill, and they aren't the fucking painted up caricature that Adam Wolfe so badly wants to be for some kind of attention. The Genocide 'personality' for argument's sake is very clever, I'll say... it gives you an out, Adam. It gives you an out to do whatever the hell you want and not have to take responsibility for it. To fuck up royally, and monumentally, and say 'well, it wasn't MY fault, it was the other guy in my head! Pity me!' And pity is the only reason I can even imagine you're the odd man in entered into this match. Nothing you've done professionally merits it! And I assure you, when you go hat in hand for sympathy after I roast your chestnuts on that table... you won't find it here. You're the easy out, Adam. The person that PAW wants me to beat so that way when I win this match, Johnny can still say 'oh, Nova didn't beat ME!' It's a ploy I can see right through. You're the sacrificial lamb... but fortunately for you, I've never been much on lamb and I am nobody's pawn.

Twitching her neck, the Titan of the Midway Champion grinned. Steeping her fingers, she placed her back to the vertical support beam of the stand, clearly setting in for the long ride.

NOVA WONDER: And then there was one... the one who I killed physically, and verbally, earning me the always charming title of the 'Verbal Rapist of PAW,' wasn't it? My old BFF, Date-Raike. How are you, pal? Still mad as all hell? I mean, you have to be to have gone on such a nonsensical rant. I'd give you the pass and say you were just high on painkillers to call me out just one night after I bled you dry and beat you with literally no hands... but, then I remembered you're actually fucking stupid and giving you the benefit of the doubt is a privilege that you are not worthy of in my queenly court... where I am your judge, jury, and as Bad Moon Rising proved... your executioner.

The serious expression is broken with a giggle. Those lips, painted in charcoal black lipstick, forming a rictus grin.

NOVA WONDER: Can I just remind everyone of a simple fact? The man handcuffed me, threw me down the stairs, hit me in the stomach with a cash register, and he still couldn't get the job done! He passed out to a fucking ANKLE LOCK! You don't GET to try and claim any ounce of superiority here, Johnny! Especially not when I won this championship right here on August Eighteenth, and here we are, one show later. Fifteen days removed from the Battle on the Midway and I'm defending this championship. Johnny Raike was handed this Championship by Calvin Harris, graciously at that, at Heat Stroke on June ninth... he never once defended it between then and Bad Moon Rising. That's seventy days that this championship here... sat STAGNANT on a shelf next to the assortment of dildos and anal beads I had to sift through in that whorehouse because ol' Johnny ran from me like the coward he is. THAT is the difference between people like Johnny Raike and myself. I'm a fighting champion, and he wasn't. It doesn't just come down to wins and losses, or the fact that he's a notorious, perpetual bitch and I can back up my words. The difference between Johnny Raike and myself is this...

She shook her head, picking that title up proudly over her head once again. In the evening light with the spotlight of the park falling on her, it was difficult to say that Nova Wonder looked like anything but a proud champion.

NOVA WONDER: I'm not wrapped up and protected in a security blanket... because unlike Johnny Raike? I don't need to be to survive here.

Those dark brown eyes become a bit more deranged in appearance, Nova cutting her eyes into a slit.

NOVA WONDER: I knew from the moment I got here that THIS title was meant to be mine! When people wanted to overlook me at Heat Stroke in favor of the Alexandra Kellys of the world? I sent her packing! When everyone had their bottom dollar set on Lex Collins being the guy that was going to elevate PAW to that next level? He tucked tail and ran the MOMENT new, sparkly doors opened, and he did it SHAMELESSLY! The world looked at me after Heat Stroke like I was just some bitch with a big mouth that got lucky, but what did I do? I won. I outlasted them all! I weathered the storm! I changed the game, and I made your supposed 'top star' of PAW such a desperate man that even he had nothing bad he could factually say about me after the fact. He KNEW he was outclassed! That rant and rave was like the diary of a mad man, and I was his target. It was pretty much throwing a dart at a board with nouns posted on it, and desperately trying to apply them to me. Never fact-checked a damn thing. Made assumptions and swung blindly. But that's the thing when you grasp at straws, Raike. You wind up showing your hand when you reach and the world can see your deck is a buncha' duds. That's why you couldn't get the job done at Bad Moon Rising, and you WON'T get the job done tonight. Somewhere, someone in the board room thinks that Adam Wolfe is going to somehow be a buffer between us to grant you a rubber match? Fuck that. If you're as good as the hype and you're not just a bunch of nicknames that you gave your goddamn self, you wouldn't need that middle man. As far as I'm concerned? You fail here, and you're DONE. The story of you and I is over, because it's not one where you're EVER going to come out on top! The relevancy of this championship needs ME at the helm, not you. Seventy days, Raike. That's a long time to not do a damn thing. In fifteen short days, I've already proven I'm a better wrestler than you, and a better champion than you.

Grinning and cackling a bit, she ruffled a hand through her messy hair.

NOVA WONDER: But me being better than Johnny wasn't ever really headline breaking news, was it? See, let me tell you a little bit about mah'self...

She finally took a more "appropriate" stance, sitting up straight and crossing one leg over the other. Her back was turned to the inside of the booth.

NOVA WONDER: My name is Nova Wonder. I'm a Scorpio. Going to be twenty-nine this year. Started my training to be this when I was nineteen years old, I went across the pond and I learned in Japan. I was engaged, some time ago, to a woman named Aurora. Things didn't work out because I was stupid. That's the closest I've ever been to making that walk down the aisle. I took a year off when I discovered I was pregnant with my daughter. She's going to be three in December, and she's way cuter than any of you ever have been or hope to be, I assure you of that. Her name is VP - Vanellope Pluto, after my love of animation and as an homage to my favorite Sailor Scout. She's absolutely everything to me and all of the motivation I need to NOT leave Wicked Live and head to the burn ward. I've sacrificed more than anyone can even to know and never ONCE did I do it to have some elitist sense of superiority... I did it because I want to be the BEST. And this championship, and the fact that I am heading into this war this early, solidifies that. It's going to take more than Johnny Raike and Adam Wolfe have to pry this from my fingers. Not when they are so expendable to me. And the more I read that backwards ass statement from Raike after he pulled his head out of his ass and the barrel of the loaded gun away from his mouth when he realized he couldn't beat me long enough to actually post his pathetic excuses for losing to a superior athlete online... the more it pissed me off. How dare that fatherfucker deny me?! How dare he assume a damn thing about me, and declare himself leader of the homosexuals, when all he is, is an attention-hungry, pathetic, spotlight-craving, incapable, untalented, sympathy-seeking, miserable FUCKWIT who spent more time looking for a rim job than he did preparing for me. You had SEVENTY DAYS, bitch. Seventy days to plan. Seventy days to strategize. Seventy days to research something about me besides the color of my hair, because that's been overdone as all living fuck. Seventy days to prepare much better excuses for losing to me than what you did. Seventy days to actually fucking STUDY SOMETHING besides motherfucking Pornhub and the Craigslist Casual Encounters section!

Incensed, she slipped off of the kissing booth, placing her hands on her still tender lower back. She gave it a gentle rub, before cocking her head and fixing some of that multi-colored hair.

NOVA WONDER: I didn't come here to Mississippi to burn Wolfe at the stake but that's what I'll do and I'll send Johnny to the blazing infernos of Hell right along with him for the sheer pleasure I'd get out of doing it. Not because he's gay, but just because he's a shitty, amorphous blob that calls himself a person and I take great satisfaction out of ruining the things he loves. Make no mistake... I would douse Johnny in Gasoline then shove him to the flames and I wouldn't lose a minute of sleep at night for it. In fact... this WHOLE outing is a joke to me. And because Johnny-boy wants to try and take something I love and do it in the fire... well... turnabout is fair play, my friend.

Nova placed her championship in the grassy grounds, before taking hold of the gas can. Turning it by the handle, she began to sprinkle the smelly petrol over the Kissing Booth, generously covering the structure in gas. Once it had not even a drop left, she tossed it to the side, launching it a few feet away. Grinning to the camera, her cheshire smile was perhaps the most disarming, as she removed a book of matches from within her boot. Plucking one from the book, she strikes the head the board within it, the red head of the match making a flame.

NOVA WONDER: Send me a bill... I'll get around to it in seventy days or so...

Casually... carelessly, Nova tossed the match over her shoulder. It took to the gasoline and engulfed the booth in a mighty roar. The flames burning and crackling, embers quickly making the Kissing Booth give under the flames. Nova cackled wickedly at her handiwork, taking hold of her championship and standing by the inferno proudly. It is here that we fade to a close.

RECORD: Wins: 04 Losses: 01 Draws: 00

ACCOLADES: Won Heat Stroke's 16 Man Battle Royal // Titans of the Midway Champion [current]

DEFEATED: Bryan Williams // Flaming Youth // Amanda Reynolds [twice] // Alexandra Kelly [twice] // Nirvana // Ava // Johnny Sykes // The French Mime Assassins // Roy Baker // Redrum // S.O.B. // The Lost Boyz // James Radford // Johnny Raike