PUT YOUR MONEY WHERE YOUR MOUTH IS

SMACKDOWN! JULY 19TH, 2001

“I’m in,” Jericho announced solemnly, adding his money to the pile.

“Fold,” Angel sighed, turning in her cards.

“Hmm, let me think a minute,” Kurt mused. “If I have two eights, am I in or out?”

Bradshaw grinned down at his own hand. “I don’t know, but if I was you, I’d be in for damn certain.”

“You would?” Kurt frowned.

“No denyin’ it,” Bradshaw nodded eagerly.

“Okay.” Kurt pursed his lips together and gave a confident little smile. “I’m in.”

“Assclown,” Jericho muttered, rolling his eyes.

“What was that, Y2J?”

“I said ‘cash down’. You have to meet Faarooq’s bet.”

“Oh, right.” Kurt pulled out his wallet. “You know, I think I’m getting the hang of this.”

Angel slowly shook her head. Obviously Kurt hadn’t noticed he’d lost every round so far. He even made Angel look good. She felt pretty sorry for him, actually. He’d worked his butt off for Team WWF the past few weeks, even fighting with a broken tailbone he’d sustained in one of his King Of The Ring matches, probably the one with Shane McMahon. If only he’d killed Shane when he’d had the chance. It was a pretty awful thought, but it was the truth. If Shane McMahon wasn’t around, the WWF wouldn’t be in the trouble it was. For, while this looked like the average Acolyte-created poker game, it was actually a well-needed tension reliever and a slightly bizarre bonding ritual. While Kurt had been passed over in favor of Stone Cold for the job of Team WWF’s leader, he was still gung ho about the team itself, rallying them together and giving what he thought were inspirational anecdotes about his experiences in the Olympics. So maybe he was a joke at the poker table. He was welcome comic relief before the intensity of SmackDown. The last night of matches before WWF versus Alliance. Vince versus Shane and Steph. There were several Invasion matches signed – Edge and Christian versus Awesome and Storm, the Acolytes versus Palumbo and O’Haire, Earl Hebner versus Nick Patrick, Lita and Trish versus Torrie and Stacy, X-Pac versus Billy Kidman, Jeff Hardy versus Rob Van Dam, Tajiri versus Tazz, and the promise of more to come. And then of course, the brawl itself. The WWF’s best – Stone Cold, Kurt Angle, Undertaker, Kane and Jericho versus the Alliance’s best – Booker T, Diamond Dallas Page, The Dudley Boyz and Rhyno. It really didn’t matter where you fitted in the scheme of things, whether or not you were in a match, whether or not you had a personal vendetta against your opponent or opponents. This time around it was about more than silly feuds. This was about survival. The world could not support three wrestling companies and the Alliance had formed to end the WWF, just as the WWF had driven both WCW and ECW out of business earlier that year. Whether or not Angel got revenge on Gregory Helms was irrelevant. She wanted to do her part. She wanted to fight for the WWF because, if she didn’t, there was a very real chance that, come Monday, she wouldn’t have a job. Not for the first time she wondered if she should have taken Lance Storm’s invitation to join ECW just that little bit more seriously. But no, she couldn’t jump. She believed in her cousin, in her friends and in the WWF. They’d make it through. It wouldn’t be easy, but they’d do it. They had to.

“Hey, honey. You gonna look at your cards anytime soon?”

Angel frowned uncomprehendingly over at Bradshaw before her vision slowly cleared.

“Yeah,” she said, scooping up her cards. “And I’m in.”

She was, too. In all the way.

* * * *

“You wanted to see me, Commissioner Regal…you,” she scowled, narrowing her eyes. “I’m gonna kick your damn ass, you piece of shit trailer trash bastard.”

“Miss Torres, please!” Regal cried as Tajiri leaped forward and got in her way before she could really fly into a rage. He held her by the shoulders, staring deep into her eyes and saying “no” over and over again.
“No. No. No.”

“Miss Torres, please. I know you’re emotional and I don’t like the little toe rag any more than you do, but can we please discuss this like adults?”

Finally, Angel gave up her fight and threw her arms to her sides.

“What the hell do you want?” she demanded furiously.

Gregory Helms gave her an amused little smile, brown eyes sparkling. “Hey, don’t get mad at me. I’m going to make you happy. I’m accepting your challenge to a match at Invasion.”

“So why are you still here?” Angel snapped, eyes flashing dangerously. “Regal could have told me that.”

“I’ll fight you,” Gregory told her. “On a few conditions.”

“They’re called stipulations, genius,” Angel spat.

“I know that,” Gregory frowned. “Number one. No submissions.”

“Why?” Angel challenged, breaking into a sick smirk. “Because you don’t know any or because you’re scared I’ll make you tap to crossface…or chicken wing…or sharpshooter, or any of the other thousands of holds I know?”

Gregory held her gaze. “No submissions.”

“Okay,” Angel nodded thoughtfully. “But in that case, I get to make one, too. You can win by DQ. I’m not letting a damn Alliance run in stop me from kicking your ass, Timberlake.”

Gregory ignored her dig. “Leave your weapons behind. All of them. If you even touch a fighting stick, it’s instant DQ.”

“How about chairs?” Angel asked mockingly. “Are chairs allowed, tough guy?”

“No, Miss Torres,” Regal called out. “A chair is a weapon. There will be no weapons.”

Angel was actually hard-pressed to stop herself from kissing him, but that would have meant breaking eye contact with Gregory and she wasn’t about to do that.

“No count outs,” she said quietly. “There will be a winner.”

“Fine by me,” Gregory nodded. “The ref will be Charles Robinson.”

“No,” Angel argued. “The ref will be chosen on a lottery system. That way there will be no company-based cheating.”

“But you have more refs than we do!” Gregory protested.

“So maybe you should get Shaneo to hire a few more before Sunday,” Angel replied smoothly.

“Fine,” Gregory sighed. “A lottery it is.”

“Anything else?” Angel challenged.

“No, I think that’s it.”

“Good,” Angel smirked. “So, Sugar. Why don’t we make this interesting?”

Gregory gave a puzzled frown. “What do you mean?”

“I’m thinking money,” Angel told him. “The winner gets the loser’s salary for a month.”

“No,” Gregory replied emphatically.

“This isn’t the Olympics, Gregory,” Angel smirked. “We’re allowed to bet on ourselves. And I know how much you like money.”

“No,” Gregory said again.

“What’s the matter?” Angel sneered. “Afraid I might beat you?”

“No,” Gregory insisted. “It’s just…I earn a hell of a lot more than you do and that’s not fair.”

“How do you…?” Angel started before he cut her off.

“I just do, okay? Trust me.”

“Trust you,” Angel repeated mockingly. “Trust you. Well, don’t you worry your pretty little head, Sugar baby. I don’t want your money.”

“You…don’t?”

“No. If you win you get a month of my salary. But if I win, I get what I really want.” She tore her eyes away from his and turned abruptly to Regal. “I want a title shot, the next night on Raw.”

Regal was startled. “Which title?”

“That depends,” Angel told him. “I want the hardcore title, but I have a conflict of interests with the current holder. And so I’m waiting to see what happens in the title match at Invasion. But really, any title is fine. Except European. Conflict of interests, like I said.”

“You won’t fight a Hardy Boy?” Regal noted. “I must say, that speaks very highly of you. You have honor, Miss Torres.”

“Thank you,” Angel nodded. “So, will I get my title shot?”

“I don’t see a problem with that.”

“Great.” She turned back to Gregory. “So, butterfly. Do we have a match?”

“Yeah, but I don’t get it,” Gregory confessed. “You could have a month of my salary, but you’d rather a title shot that you could just as easily ask for and get anyway?”

“No,” Angel replied quietly. “I didn’t expect you to get it. You see, I say I’m better than you, and I’m prepared to put a hell of a lot of money on the line to prove it. This will be the first ever ‘Put Your Money Where Your Mouth Is’ match, as I do just that to prove to you, to prove to everyone that I can kick your ass. But you don’t have to do the same. Because I don’t want your money. All you have to do is prove me wrong.”

Gregory gave her an incredulous glare. “You’re not Chris Benoit.”

“No,” Angel replied quietly. “But when you get in the ring with me, you’re going to wish I was. See you Sunday, Gregory.”

“Hey Angel,” he called after her, stopping her in her tracks. “I thought you should know. My name’s not Gregory anymore. It’s Hurricane.”

Angel turned to him, eyebrows sky high. “It’s what?”

“I’m Hurricane Helms,” he shrugged, hands in the air. “I blow in and out of the ring so fast you don’t even see it coming. Just like you said.”

Angel gave a slow nod. “Well, you’re right about that, Hurricane Helms. You certainly do blow.”

She stood her ground as he ran at her, hands flying round his body before she snap suplexed him into the wall behind her, nearly putting him right through it. She smirked down at him and gave him a quick kick to the head.

“As the leader of Team WWF once said, ‘Bye-Bye, Jackass’.”

And then she was gone.

* * * *

Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam!

“Arrrgh!” Angel screamed. “Die, you piece of shit, die!”

Bam! Bam! Bam!

“You need to calm down.”

Angel all but ignored the voice as she pounded the punching bag relentlessly. Just then there were hands on her shoulders. Angel squirmed in his grasp, turning to face him hurriedly.

“Calm down,” Jericho said again. “You’re gonna break that bag.”

“So I’ll get another one,” she replied breathlessly, trying to wriggle out of his arms.

“No, baby. You gotta cool it. I need you down at ringside for my match with old man Dally and I can’t have you like this. I need a clean win tonight, to shove in the Alliance’s face.”

“So win it clean,” Angel replied, spinning around and catching the bag with a hard right before Jericho struggled with her and pinned her arms. The bag sailed backwards, then forwards, slamming into them both and knocking them off balance. They clutched at each other urgently and somehow managed to keep from falling.

“You know what, baby?” Jericho asked, hands on her shoulders again. “I think you should go take a walk. Get some fresh air. Clear that intense little head of yours. Right now I’ve gotta go talk to Taker and Kane about DDP circa 2001, so maybe we should meet back here in fifteen minutes?”

Angel frowned at him. “Maybe I could stand to calm down a little,” she conceded.

“Okay, so it’s settled,” Jericho enthused, putting an arm around her and leading her to the door. “Back here in fifteen. Remember to watch your back. The jackasses are everywhere.”

“Don’t I know it,” Angel sighed.

The second she reached the hallway, she broke into a run. Her legs felt good, loose; it was a damn shame she wasn’t fighting tonight. But she had what she wanted – her Invasion match was set. And so now she just had to run.

She took the corner extra wide so she wouldn’t have to slow down.

“Whoa, careful.”

She didn’t even have to look in order to find out who she’d almost bowled over. She knew that voice anywhere. And so she stopped.

“Sorry, Jeff. I wasn’t really looking.”

“No harm done,” Jeff smiled, patting her on the arm. “But for a half second there I thought you were RVD. You’re lucky I didn’t dropkick you in the head.”

Angel broke into a little smile. “Well, in that case, thanks for hesitating. Can I ask a question?”

“Of course,” Jeff nodded enthusiastically.

“What’s with you and RVD? I mean, I know you’re giving him a title shot on Sunday…”

“Hey, don’t worry, Angel,” Jeff cut her off. “You’ll get yours too. Just…it can’t be tonight either. Me and X-Pac are taking on RVD and Kidman.”

“You are?” Angel frowned. “X-Pac?”

“I know, weird, huh?” Jeff grinned. “But hey, he’s WWF and right now that’s good enough, you know? Besides, X-Pac wanted a shot at Kidman before Invasion and I wanted the same with RVD.”

“Oh, well that makes sense,” Angel nodded. “But don’t worry, Jeff. I don’t want a title shot.”

Jeff frowned. “You don’t?”

“No. I made a decision over the past few days, that no matter what happens between us, I won’t fight you, Matt or Lita. You’re immune to my wrath.”

“Well, great, Angel. Because you know, that’s a whole lot of wrath.”

“Jeffy babe,” Angel smiled. “You have no idea.”

Jeff found himself lost in her eyes, which right then were a startling shade of green.

“So, does this mean you forgive me? For that crack about girls digging me, I mean?”

“Well.” Angel paused for a moment. “Trish seems to have forgiven you, so who am I to take the moral high ground?” She gave a small meek smile, not willing to let him in on exactly what she meant by those words.

Jeff let out a huge relieved sigh. “Well, I’m glad, Angel. I hate thinking you’re mad at me, you know?”

“I know,” Angel nodded. “So, anyway. This thing with RVD. What is up with that? All of a sudden you’re defending your title to him at Invasion? That’s big, Jeff. What happened?”

Jeff reached out and rested his hands on her shoulders.

“Tell me, Angel,” he said quietly, staring deep into her eyes. “If someone was to randomly attack Lita for no reason, what would you do?”

“After I got pissed off with myself for not being there for her?” Angel asked him. “Simple, Jeff. I’d cut his balls off.”

Jeff drew back, somewhat startled.

“Well, you do it your way, I do it mine,” he replied, giving a nervous little smile. “On Raw, Matt had a Euro title defense against D-Von Dudley. Bubba was there too and I would have gone, only I was in the trainer’s room after my match with you. So, anyway, it was just Matt and Lita. The match was pretty even, but then Matt looked like closing it out with a sunset. Only just then RVD was there, grabbing D-Von’s hands and causing Matt’s shoulders to be pinned. He’d cost my brother the title. So, I wasn’t going to let him get away with that. I raced down there and launched into him, only the Dudleyz surprised me and then held me down while RVD hit that Five Star Frogsplash he does. So, I think I’m fair in saying I’m not very happy with Rob Van Dam right now.”

Angel was absolutely shocked. “Matt lost his title?”

“No,” Jeff shrugged. “Well, he did but he didn’t. Luckily for us, Commissioner Regal was watching and he reversed the decision. He has the power to do that, you know.”

“I know,” Angel replied solemnly. “Chris Benoit had two title wins reversed by Mick Foley.”

“Well, it doesn’t happen very often,” Jeff shrugged, not noticing her change of mood. “But it’s good when it does. Keeps things fair.”

Angel nodded, suddenly eager to go running again.

“Well,” she smiled. “Good luck with RVD. Tonight and at Invasion.”

“Thanks,” Jeff grinned, nodding after her. “Hey, Angel? What are you doing tonight?”

Angel stopped short. Was he asking her out? She decided to play it cool and at least pretend she wasn’t jumping to conclusions. “Not much. Just doing the whole bodyguard thing for Jerky’s match with DDP. I’m still carrying a few minor injuries and I want to be fresh for Sunday. See?” she asked, lifting up her tank top to show the bandage wrapped around her middle. “Dead ribs.”

Jeff’s mouth dropped open. “Did I do that?”

“No,” Angel smiled, shaking her head. “Lance Storm did. Believe me, Jeff. I hurt you a whole lot more than you hurt me. I’ll see you later, okay?”

She touched his arm and then ran off.

Jeff watched her go, still spellbound by her body. She was right. She had hurt him more than he’d hurt her, but not in the way she thought. She hurt him every time she rejected him, every time she ignored the signals he was giving, every time she had a harsh word for him when he could so easily do the same for her, but managed to hold his tongue. She hurt him a lot, all the time. But, fool that he was, he just kept coming back for more. And he knew he always would. He wasn’t going to give up on her. She was far too good for that.

* * * *

“Hey! Where’s your hurry? Slow down before you hurt someone.”

Angel slowed to a stop, scowling nastily. No sooner had she left the arena for a quick ten-minute jog than someone was calling out to her again. So, why had she stopped? She couldn’t say exactly, but stop she did.

“If you cause me to stop, I might hurt you,” she shot back, turning around to see who’d called her.

She was startled by what she saw. A very good-looking man was sitting on a brick fence, dragging deeply from a small cigarette. He wore an ECF’nW T-shirt and denim shorts and had light brown hair that was pulled tightly back into a ponytail. And he was grinning at her response.

“You’re something, you know that?” he nodded, inhaling deeply from his cigarette and exhaling a puff of smoke, not exactly in her face, but close to her nonetheless. The smell of it entered Angel’s nostrils and she was stunned. That wasn’t tobacco he was smoking. She couldn’t speak, so startled was she that someone could be so casual that he was smoking marijuana before a match.

“Don’t blame you, though,” he told her, voice soft but thick with a heavy Midwest accent. “If I was in the WWF I’d run away too. Because on Sunday, the WWF will have their collective asses pounded by the Alliance.”

Angel threw her hands onto her hips. “Maybe you’re into pounding other men’s asses, but I’m a wrestler. And we have the best wrestlers in the world.”

He smirked. “Accusing me of being gay?” he muttered. “Most guys would kill you for less than that.”

“But you’re not most guys?” Angel challenged.

“No, I’m not. I’m Rob Van Dam.” He punctuated each word by holding his hands up and pointing his thumbs at his head, while still holding his joint.

“You know what?” Angel asked, him, her expression cool. She raised her hands to mimic his, fists clenched, thumbs out. “I don’t care.”

He grinned, forming dimples in his cheeks that Angel had to admit were absolutely adorable.

“I like you,” he announced, before holding out his joint. “You want a hit?”

“No,” Angel frowned. “And you know that shit’s even worse for your lungs than cigarettes are?”

Rob shrugged, taking another hit. “You gotta die of something.”

“Still, you better put that out,” Angel warned him. “They’re not cool about drugs around here. Two guys have been fired in the last twelve months and another is on the shelf indefinitely. If they catch you with that, you’re toast.”

“And that,” Rob told her. “Is why I don’t work for the WWF.”

Angel found herself glaring at him. His smugness was just a little bit hard to take.

“We’re going to destroy you, you know,” she told him. “Come Sunday, ECW will be dead, just like it died before.”

“You’re awfully sure of yourself,” Rob noted. “For someone who has no idea what’s going on.”

“What do you mean by that?” Angel demanded, frowning.

Rob just shrugged and inhaled once more before flipping the joint away and jumping down to crush it under his shoe.

“You know,” he told her, ignoring her question. “My buddy Lance has a thing for you.”

Angel’s eyes widened in surprise. “Well, tell him to get in line,” she shot back. “Because he sure as hell won’t be getting a piece of me.”

“Get over yourself,” Rob grinned. “What I meant was he thinks you’re extreme. He wants you to join ECW.”

“I know. He’s already asked me,” Angel replied simply. “And I’ll tell you what I told him. Hell no.”

“Oh well,” Rob shrugged. “That’s a damn shame, because he seems to think you have the qualities of an ECW diva and you know something? I agree with him. You’re far too extreme for WWF.”

“You think I’m an ECW diva?” Angel asked incredulously. “No way, Rob Van Dam. No way. I’ve seen your old divas and I’ll tell you what, I’m better than all of them combined.”

Rob focused his slightly bloodshot hazel eyes on her and blinked a few times. “Okay, how?”

Angel smirked. “Well,” she started. “I’m more talented than Jazz, I’m hotter than Francine, unlike Dawn Marie I don’t have a voice like fingernails on a blackboard and as for Elektra? Well, I might not have all that much self respect, but I sure as hell have a whole lot more than that useless slut.”

Rob was laughing. “Yeah, Dawn was a Jersey girl, wasn’t she?” he nodded, seemingly ignoring all Angel’s other comments.

“You should think about it,” he told her, still nodding. “While you still have a choice.”

Angel frowned. “Is that a threat?”

“I’m Rob Van Dam,” Rob said again. “I never threaten anyone unless I know I can back it up.”
Suddenly, his hi-tech digital watch beeped loudly and he checked it curiously. “Time to go. Say, you don’t know anywhere I can get some chips, do you? Like some Fritos? Fritos’d be real nice.”

“I doubt you’ll find any unless you try the concession stands out front,” Angel replied, her irritation obvious. “Most wrestlers don’t eat Fritos – those things are stacked with fat.”

Rob gave her one more grin, dimples taunting her menacingly.

“I’m not most wrestlers,” he told her, lifting his hands again. “I’m Rob Van Dam.”

She watched him leave, swaggering confidently, and found her eyes inexplicably joined to the curve of his backside. He bothered her in a big way and the trouble was she knew exactly why. He was gorgeous and she was undeniably attracted to him, despite his cockiness, despite his ‘who really gives a damn?’ attitude, despite the fact that he smoked pot before a big show and couldn’t see the problem with that, despite the biggest problem of all. He was ECW. He was from the Alliance. He was of the enemy.

“Why do you always have to be attracted to the wrong guy, Angel?” she asked herself, breaking into a run again.

She wasn’t even out of the parking lot when she took a quick glance at her own watch and immediately turned around. She had about a minute to get back to the locker room before Jericho sent out a search party. So much for a nice relaxing jog.

* * * *

“Nice speech,” Angel scowled, glaring at the figures on the TV as if they could see her. A few moments of the five or so minutes taken up by Shane, Stephanie and Heyman really stuck with her.

Shane had said that no one other than them knew what it was like to lay it all on the line and that a win at Invasion was the Alliance’s destiny. But then, he’d also said that it wasn’t about who was better, so that proved he was full of shit.

Stephanie, looking very fat in a white shirt and black blazer, said a whole lot of bullshit before handing the microphone over to Paul Heyman with the proclamation that, come Sunday, the Alliance would be playing dirty.

It was Heyman who spoke the words that really struck a chord with Angel. He said that the Alliance wasn’t about sports entertainment; that it was about wrestling. He said they wanted to bring an end to sports entertainment, that they wanted to bring back wrestling.

“Don’t listen to the big fat jackass, baby,” Jericho soothed her. “What we in the WWF are about is something those assclowns will never be. We’re wrestlers who can entertain and entertainers who can wrestle. If people really cared about real wrestling, do you think so many of them would be asking Kurt Angle if he really won gold in ’96? Of course they wouldn’t. Because they’d know. And it’s pretty rich for Heyman to say he wants to bring back wrestling when his company has never…ever staged a match where one of the participants didn’t use a chair, table, Singapore cane or the like.”

Angel only half heard him. She was still fixated on the TV.

“Look at him, giving the last rites to sports entertainment and the WWF, in Latin and everything,” she muttered. “I mean, that’s really offensive. He’s not Catholic. He’s Jewish.”

“I know,” Jericho sighed, putting an arm around her. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?” Angel asked, turning to him with a frown.

“To see the boss,” Jericho told her. “Our boss. I wanna clear something up with him.”

“Okay,” Angel nodded. “Let’s go.”

She followed Jericho quickly up the hall, where he knocked on the door to Vince’s office.

“Yeah, come in,” called a voice.

Jericho and Angel entered the room to find Vince just rising from his leather sofa, where he too had been focused on the TV.

“Hey, Chris, Angel,” he greeted them.

“Hi Vince,” Jericho replied, clutching Angel to his side and pointing at the TV. “Did you hear what they just said out there?”

Vince gave a solemn nod. “I heard exactly what they just said, but listen to this…”

“What’d you think of it?” Jericho cut him off.

Vince paused. “Words hurt a little bit, alright?” he admitted. “I’ll grant you that, but you know? Actions speak louder than words.”

Angel gave a cool little nod. “That’s what my Benoit always used to say,” she said quietly.

Vince peered over at her. “That’s right, he did. He’s a fine wrestler and very sorely missed. And I’m sure were he here today, he’d say it again. Actions speak louder than words. And that’s why, that, in terms of actions…that means that when Stone Cold Steve Austin…oh, oh, oh, the old Stone Cold Steve Austin gets here tonight to Boston…”

“The Rattlesnake!” Jericho put in.

“That’s right,” Vince nodded enthusiastically, so Angel decided to try one of her own.

“The Bad Mother Fu…”

“Rogue, no!” Jericho cut her off. “We’re on UPN tonight, remember?”

“Shit, yeah!” Angel cried. “I forgot. Sorry.”

Vince gave her a little frown before continuing. “Stone Cold’s gonna lead Team WWF on to victory this Sunday at Invasion. Just like you, Chris, are gonna lead all of us into victory one on one tonight with Diamond Dallas Page. I’m counting on it.”

Jericho gave a little nod. “Well, I’m not worried about DDP, but I wanted to come in here and ask if you heard what me and Rogue here said about Stephanie last Monday night on Raw?”

“What you said about my daughter?” Vince repeated, sporting a concerned frown.

“Your precious little daughter, yeah,” Jericho nodded. “We kind of…insulted her a bit.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Vince frowned, shaking his head. “I didn’t hear it.”

“You didn’t hear it?” Jericho repeated. “Well, I said, now she owns ECW, I said as far as she’s concerned, ECW now stands for Every Customer Welcome. And then Rogue said…”

“I said I understood why she was so close to Shane again,” Angel put in. “Considering he’s tall, dark and handsome and so well spoken, for her he’s like the perfect pimp.”

“Yeah,” Jericho added, noticing Vince’s startled frown. “And I also said that she considers herself to be the queen of hardcore, but movies don’t really count.”

“Well,” Vince mused. “I’m a little upset with what the two of you had to say. I would have much preferred it if you’d called her a no good, bottom feeding, trashbag disgusting tramp!”

Jericho and Angel had to laugh and even Vince sported a grin.

“Now, go out there and kick DDP’s butt,” Vince finished, shaking Jericho’s hand. “Good luck, junior.”

Jericho smiled. “You got it, j…” He paused, before slapping Vince fondly on the chest. “Senior. Come on, Rogue.”

And with that, the two of them walked away, leaving Vince with a confused expression that spoke volumes. “Senior?”

* * * *

“Yo, it’s me, it’s me, it’s DDP.”

Diamond Dallas Page was out first, holding up his hands in a diamond shape as Angel and Jericho waited for him to move his butt into the ring.

“Like a jackass in the sky,” Angel muttered and Jericho patted her on the back.

“Let’s go.”

“J…J…J…J…J…J…BOOM!”

DDP may have had his own little pyros, but no one exploded into the arena quite like Chris Jericho. He and Angel walked calmly down the ramp, eyes focused on the people in the ring.

“Look who the ref is,” Angel growled.

Jericho switched his gaze away from DDP for just a moment. Sure enough, officiating this match would be Nick Patrick, the corrupt ref from Monday’s title match.

“I’ll deal with him,” Angel suggested. “You just concentrate on Page.”

Jericho nodded and they both climbed into the ring. Angel stormed immediately over to Patrick and tried to stare him down. Few refs were taller than her (that’s why they were refs and not wrestlers), but Nick Patrick was one who was. He stood six one or six two, she guessed, glaring at him furiously. Not that it made one iota of difference when she was pissed off.

“How’s the shoulder and the leg?” she asked smoothly.

“Fine, thank you,” he nodded.

Suddenly, Angel reached out and grabbed the front of his shirt, wrenching him down to her eye level.

“Listen to me, you son of a bitch,” she spat, glaring straight into his eyes. “If you even think about pulling the kind of shit you did Monday night, I will personally kick your pathetic white-boy ass. Do you hear me?”

Patrick nodded frantically.

“Good,” Angel sneered, releasing him with a shove so hard he almost fell over.

He regained his balance and grabbed at his neck where her fist had pushed in, glaring over at her and pointing.

“Get the hell out of my ring!” he boomed.

Angel smirked at him, gave him the finger and climbed through the ropes and onto the apron before uttering three words.

“Suck my dick.”

“That’s it!” Patrick roared. “You’re banned from ringside. I’m kicking your ass out.”

Angel stood her ground, tightly gripping the top rope. “I’d like to see you try it.”

Patrick was flabbergasted, but only for a second. “If you don’t leave right now, you see Jericho? I’m DQing him. I’m calling the match for Page.”

“Why not?” Angel sneered. “You will anyway.”

Just then, Jericho flew in. “What’s going on here?”

Patrick, obviously threatened, turned to him with a scowl. “Your valet is very rude. I’m kicking her out.”

“Well, first of all,” Jericho snapped, stepping right up to Patrick. “She’s not my valet; she’s my bodyguard. And second of all, you wanna kick her out? I’d like to see you try it. Because if you do, you’ll have to deal with me, personally. And you wouldn’t like that, now, would you, Nicky?”

By now, Patrick had been backed right into the corner, but still Jericho advanced.

“Okay,” he conceded. “She can stay.”

“See?” Jericho smirked. “That’s what I thought you’d say.”

“Page!” Angel shrieked.

At that moment, DDP flew in with a right but Jericho heard Angel’s warning and blocked it before catching him with a right of his own, then three more just like it. His momentum was stopped as DDP grabbed his head and shoved his knee into Y2J’s unprotected stomach, then shoved him into the corner and hit the elbow to the head. After another quick shove, the seemingly ambidextrous Page hit a left and a right before going for chops. He went for a first. Bam! Then a second. Bam! Then a third, but Jericho ducked it and he sailed into the corner. Now Jericho was the one with the knife-edges. Bam, bam, bam, three in a row and a whip to the corner, but DDP reversed it and ran after Jericho, only to be caught with a hard clothesline and knocked to the canvas. Jericho quickly flew off the ropes, hitting another clothesline. He hit the ropes again, ducking a clothesline from DDP and flying back with a crossbody into a lateral press.

“One!” counted Patrick. “Two!”

But DDP got his shoulder up, then crawled around the ring until Jericho caught him with a knee to the head. He punched Page in the face and kicked him in the gut, then went for another chop and another whip. Again DDP reversed and again Jericho countered, this time sliding through Page’s legs, then taking him down and trying to turn him over into the Walls of Jericho. He struggled and struggled and then Page reached up and poked him in the eye, sending him stumbling backwards.

“Hey, ref!” Angel screamed. “Wake up! That’s not allowed.”

But Patrick ignored her as Jericho ducked one clothesline, only to be decked by the next. DDP booted him in the back, then offered him a hand.

“Come on, Jericho. I’ll help you up,” he said mockingly. “I’ll help you up.”

Bam! The moment Jericho was on his feet, Page hit him with a headbutt and a couple of heavy shoulders into another devastating clothesline.

Page circled the ring cockily as Angel glared up at him.

“You son of a bitch,” she spat. “You son of a bitch.”

“Hey!” DDP cried, spotting her suddenly. “Aren’t you a pretty young thing? Is this your boyfriend?” He grabbed Jericho into a camel clutch, turning him towards Angel. “Say hello to your boyfriend.”

He slammed Jericho down again before whipping him hard into the corner and catching him on the return with a waistlock. Jericho struggled out of it, but Page grabbed him again and sent him for what started as a belly to belly suplex but finished as a sidewalk slam. Whichever way, it was painful and Page made the cover.

“One! Two!”

But this time, Jericho kicked out.

Page was furious and grabbed Jericho by the hair, right into a headlock.

Angel clucked her tongue. Jericho in a headlock? When would they learn?

“Right now,” she muttered, climbing up top.

Boom! She hit the missile dropkick to Page’s head and was out of the ring before Patrick could notice anything other than the fact that the hold had been broken.

Jericho kneed Page in the abdomen and punched him in the face, then sent him for an Irish whip. Again it was reversed, but this time DDP grabbed Jericho and slammed him down into a huge tornado powerbomb.

“Come on, Jerky!” Angel cried as Patrick began the count.

“One! Two!”

Jericho dug deep and kicked out, just in time. Page leaped to his feet and again made the diamond signal as Angel shook her head.

“You’re a jackass,” she growled.

Somehow Page heard her and turned her way, a psychotic grin on his face.

“Hey!” he called. “You’re a feisty little thing, yeah? Too bad you’re not blonde like my Sara. But hey, maybe me and your boyfriend here can put on a show. I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

He grabbed Jericho and set him up for a backslide, but Jericho countered into a DDT.

“A DDT for DDP,” Angel grinned. “Cool.”

But now both men were down. Patrick began his count as Angel pounded the canvas.

“Come on, Jerky!” she called as he crawled towards her. “Get up!”

At seven, Jericho used the ropes in the corner to pick himself up, but DDP was up first and ran at him, only to be met by an elbow to the throat. Jericho punched him over to the other corner, then tried to Irish whip him, but again had it reversed.

“It’s like watching me,” Angel muttered, but just then Jericho countered with a huge knockdown. He spun around and scored again with the elbow before hitting the bulldog. He made the cover and hooked the leg, but Patrick just stepped back from the action, shaking his head slowly.

“What?” Angel shrieked. “Make the count!”

“No,” Patrick said simply.

At that moment, Jericho leaped to his feet, fury blazing in his eyes. “What’s the matter with you? I had the…whoa!”

Page had grabbed him by the tights and rolled him up. Patrick dove to the canvas and made the fast count.

“One! Two!”

But still Jericho kicked out.

Page picked him up by the hair and sent him for an Irish whip. On the return, Jericho ducks the clothesline and flew across the ring, right into Patrick, slamming him to the deck.

Page tired to hit him, but Jericho again ducked through, bailing him with a standing dropkick and dropping him from the ring.

Patrick got up and turned to the timekeeper, telling him to ring the bell. Jericho was being disqualified.

“No way!” Angel screamed, climbing up top again.

Patrick was backing around the ring and the moment he neared her, bam! Hurricanrana. She stood over him, beckoning him to stand, but when he did she dove out the way as Jericho stepped in, grabbed Patrick’s legs and rolled him over into the Walls of Jericho. Angel darted in there too, leaping on Patrick’s already damaged back and locking on the crossface.

They held it in and held it in, then…whoosh! Whoosh! Two chairs sailed through the air. Jericho ducked DDP’s shot, leaping over, kicking him in the stomach and putting him in the Walls instead. Angel wasn’t so lucky and she fell sideways, grabbing at her head.

“Guess what, Angel?” called a voice. “You just got hit by a Hurricane.”

“Damn Helms!” she hissed as the pain soared through her.

Hurricane, who had thrown his chair away to talk smack with Angel, suddenly saw that his fellow Alliance member was trapped in the Walls of Jericho. He stepped over towards the chair and began to pick it up, only to have it slam back to the canvas. He looked up, right into the furious glare of Chris Jericho.

“Hello, junior,” Jericho sneered. “Surprise.”

Hurricane backed up as Jericho grabbed the chair from him and took a backswing, then slammed it into his stomach. Hurricane doubled over, only to feel the chair crack down over his back. He screamed and tumbled through the ropes, landing on the outride, where Patrick and Page helped him up and all of them escaped up the ramp as Jericho paced the ring, swinging the chair wildly. When they were gone, he crouched next to Angel.

“Are you okay, baby? The assclowns are gone.”

Angel groaned and sat up.

“Bloody Helms!” she screamed. “I’m going to kill that asshole. I’m going to kill him!”

* * * *

“Yes, Miss Torres,” William Regal said as Angel stepped into his office for the second time that night. “What can I do for…?”

“Hurricane Helms!” Angel screamed, cutting him off. “I’m not waiting until Sunday. I want his ass and I want it tonight.”

“Well, that’s entirely poetic of you, as always,” Regal nodded. “And believe me when I tell you that I am on your side, but…”

“But?” Angel echoed furiously. “But?”

“There’s nothing I can do, Miss Torres. I regret to inform you that tonight’s card is overfull as it is. Not to mention the fact that now your match is signed you are obligated to wait for the Pay per View. You can not give this match away for free. I’m sorry, but those are the rules and we must abide by them.”

“You can’t help me out?” Angel asked.

“No, Miss Torres. I’m frightfully sorry, but you will simply have to wait until Sunday. If it appeases you at all, your friend Mr. Helms does not have a match tonight either.”

Angel thought about it for a moment, then finally pounded her hands down on the desk.

“Don’t worry about it,” she murmured, eyes suddenly clear. “I’ll fix this myself. You see this tank top?”
She patted her chest so that Regal’s eyes were immediately drawn to her breasts. “What does it say?”

Regal squinted, not sure whether or not to look away. “It says ‘Vigilante’.”

“That’s right.” Angel gave a cool nod. She stood up straight again. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Miss Torres!” Regal cried after her. “Please don’t do anything reckless that would jeopardize your match.”

But Angel didn’t stop. She simply raised her hand in signal to him and was gone. She hurried down the hallway, ignoring anyone and everyone she passed until she reached a particular locker room and threw the door open. Almost immediately she spotted the person she was looking for and stepped right over to him.

“I need you,” she told him urgently. “I need you right now.”

* * * *

Jeff was absolutely dumbfounded.

“You…need me?” he stuttered.

Angel nodded rapidly. “I want in on your match. Me and Helms. I want you to make it six-man…or rather six-person.”

“Oh,” Jeff sighed, trying not to show his disappointment. “You want to be in my match?”

“Yeah,” Angel nodded. “Come on, Jeff. I thought you’d be thrilled. I want to be your tag partner. Surely that must show I forgive you. I thought that’s what you wanted.”

“It is,” Jeff frowned. “I just…I’m a little surprised. But sure, Angel. I don’t mind. We better ask X-Pac, though, just to be sure. In fact, come along with me now. I’m just headed over there to talk strategy.”

“Okay,” Angel smiled. “Thanks, Jeff.”

“That’s no problem, Angel,” he told her, patting her shoulder and leading her to the door.

They walked together in silence, Jeff cocking his head slightly to watch her out the corner of his eye and Angel moving stiffly, noticing him but pretending not to.

Finally, they reached the X-Factor’s locker room, which, like the Team Xtreme room, was barely bigger than a closet. Now that the Alliance was in on the action, all the bigger rooms were used for non-teams. All except for Angel and Jericho’s, it seemed, since theirs was still listed as a multi-person lowcard room anyway.

Jeff knocked brusquely and confidently before giving Angel a sly little smile. “Here we go.”

Just then, the door opened and six foot eight of Albert glared out at them.

“What?’ he demanded.

“That you, Hardy?” called another, not so imposing voice.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Jeff replied.

“Okay, Albert, back off.”

Albert gave a low growl and stepped back into the room. Angel and Jeff followed him, sharing somewhat puzzled glances.

X-Pac was sitting perched on a table, looking every inch the lord of the manor.

“Hardy,” he greeted Jeff, before spotting Angel. “Whoa, whoa. What’s she doing here?”

Albert stepped forward, pounding one fist into the other hands, but, surprisingly, X-Pac called him back.

“She wants to be in our match,” Jeff explained. “On Sunday she’s fighting Hurricane Helms and she wants a shot at him tonight, too.”

X-Pac frowned. “Who the hell’s Hurricane Helms?”

“You know,” Jeff replied. “Kidman beat him for the cruiserweight title.”

“Oh yeah,” X-Pac nodded. “Gregory Helms. So, you wanna team with us, do you?”

“Yes,” Angel replied simply, meeting his gaze.

X-Pac nodded again. “Okay, you’re in. I always knew you were like Tori. Me and Doggie and her once teamed against the Dudley Boyz, only those sons of bitches put her through a table and busted her shoulder. So, of course I had to lose the bitch, right? She was a nice fuck, but I’ve had better. I bet you’re a pretty good fuck, yourself. How about it, Hardy?”

Jeff went pale and then crimson. “I uh…” he took a deep breath. “Shouldn’t we talk about our match?”

X-Pac gave him an incredulous frown. “Whatever you say, dude. Hey, Albert. Go tell this Hurricane Helms he’s fighting me, Hardy and the woman tonight.”

Albert nodded slowly, never cracking a smile. “With pleasure.”

Then he pounded one fist into the other palm and stepped over to the door.

“Hey, big guy?” X-Pac called after him, a grin on his face. “If you see Justin, be sure to say hi for me.”

“I will,” Albert nodded, continuing on his way.

* * * *

“Well, just call me Angel of the morning, Angel!”

Her song roared from the speakers and Angel felt good. Calm, ready.

She climbed through the ropes and stepped up to Jeff, who was gazing at her lovingly.

She cocked her head slightly. “Let’s kick some ass, okay?”

“You bet, Angel,” Jeff nodded as another entrance song started.

“Yo, you’re dealing with the X-Factor. I’ve got everything I ever wanted and I’m never gonna give that back.”

“Oh, geez,” Angel muttered as X-Pac stepped out onto the stage, arms out. “This song really does suck.”

Jeff grinned and began to sing something by the same artist. “Follow me, everything is all right…”

“Shut up, Jeff,” Angel snapped, but she was smiling.

“Sup, Doggie, sup, Tori,” X-Pac greeted them, jumping onto the apron.

“You okay, man?” Jeff frowned.

“Yeah, you’re right,” X-Pac nodded. “You’re not a part of D-Generation X and you never will be.”

“Right,” Jeff muttered. “Whatever, X. Let’s just win this thing.”

“You got it, Doggie. We’re gonna beat the hell out of their WCW asses. And if they’re not down with that, we got two words for ‘em. Tell us, Tori.”

Angel frowned, then smirked. How often had she wanted to say this to X-Pac? “Suck it!”

“That’s right,” X-Pac nodded, becoming quiet when the next song played.

Billy Kidman, complete with the cruiserweight belt Angel had essentially won for him, strolled down the ramp, locking eyes with X-Pac and talking smack. His eyebrows shot up when he saw Angel, but he soon got over it, pointing at X-Pac again and telling him everything he was going to do at Invasion.

“One of these things is not like the others,” Angel murmured, frowning down at her gold-free waist, still hidden under bandages and her tank top. It didn’t matter, though. They were about to be joined by another beltless wonder.

Hurricane Helms looked very cocky in his ugly black trunks and silver cape.

“So you couldn’t wait, huh, Angel?” he called up to her. “You wanted a taste of Sunday night’s beating?”

Angel and Jeff both chose that moment to rush him but, surprisingly, X-Pac became the voice of reason, dragging them both back into their corner. Besides, Jeff’s direct opponent was only just on his way out.
Angel’s mouth dropped open. There he was – two hundred and thirty-five perfect pounds of Rob Van Dam. In a T-shirt and shorts or the artistic unitard he was wearing now, he was hot as hell. And in just a few minutes, she might be wrestling him. Oh yeah, bring it on.

“I’m going first,” she told her teammates, not even considering two glaring facts – one, that Hurricane Helms was the one she supposedly wanted a piece of and two, who said that RVD would even be starting things out?

“Okay Angel,” Jeff nodded, grinning at her in admiration.

“No,” X-Pac replied emphatically. “I’m the most experienced here. I go first.”

“Haven’t you ever heard of the term ‘ladies first’?” Angel argued.

“Look, just do ‘Rock, Paper, Scissors’,” Jeff suggested.

X-Pac and Angel glared at him, then at each other before reluctantly holding out their hands.

“One…two…three…”

“Ha!” Angel cried triumphantly. “Rock beats scissors. I got two words for ya, X-Pac…”

“Just get your skinny ass in the ring,” X-Pac fumed.

Angel did just that and found herself face to face with…Billy Kidman.

“Hey,” he nodded. “Didn’t think I’d be seeing you in here.”

Angel was decidedly less friendly, setting her gaze and trying to summon herself into the zone. She circled him, shooting the briefest of glances over at Helms before they locked up. Billy was quick and he almost immediately got her in a hammerlock, but she leaped high as if going for a moonsault, then reached her arm back and flipped him over in the snapmare takeover. That was more of a Lita move, but hey, it did the trick.

Billy was up almost immediately, bouncing off the ropes so fast she only just had time to duck before meeting him on the next return with a huge armdrag and then another. She grabbed him by the shoulders and plowed him into the corner, then bam! Knife-edge. Bam! Another. She went for the third, but Billy caught her wrist and whipped her into the opposite corner. She heard him chasing behind her and leaped high, then landed and immediately hit the standing dropkick, pushing him into the turnbuckles. Next, she grabbed him by the arm, twisted his body into hers and snapped him over her head. She tried to grab him by the hair, but he punched out, so she went for momentum off the ropes, only to have Kidman grab her and slam her down in the powerbomb.

Before she knew what was going on, Billy picked her up by the leg and dragged her over to his corner before making the tag. But he wasn’t quite finished with her yet, slingshotting her into the ropes, but still keeping hold of her legs so she came to rest in a modified inverted surfboard.

Bam! The next thing she knew, Hurricane Helms had hit the frogsplash, right to her injured ribs and she was writhing on the canvas in agony.

“Come on, Angel, let’s take a walk,” Helms said, grabbing her by the head and shoving her into the neutral corner, where he began laying into her with hands and feet. She tried for another knife-edge but he jumped back before flying at her and sending her for an Irish whip. She bounced rapidly off the ropes and bam! Helms hit the superkick and Angel hit the deck.

“One!” counted the ref. “Two!”

Angel kicked out. Helms left her laying and went for momentum off the ropes, flying in the crossbody, but Angel saw it coming and ducked it, back dropping him instead.

“Come on, Angel! Tag me!”

Letting the voice guide her, a still somewhat dazed Angel made her way towards the corner. Suddenly, she felt someone grab her leg. She acted on instinct, spinning her body around and thwack! Enziguri.
Slap! Tag in Jeff.

He immediately launched himself up, coming down on top of Helms in the Whisper in the Wind. Next he dragged Helms out into the ring a little way, Irish whipping him into the ropes, ducking the first return and leapfrogging the second before dropping to the canvas and kicking out, catching Helms’s stomach with his boot and sending him hurtling across the ring. Unfortunately, he was close to his own corner and immediately tagged in RVD, who took advantage of the fact that Jeff was only just getting up, leaping up top and hitting the legdrop. He grabbed Jeff by the hair and with one punch, sent him flying into the neutral corner. Bam! He hit the spear, crunching Jeff’s back against the turnbuckles. Bam! Again. Just then, he leaped in the backflip and sprinted forward into another huge spear.

Jeff was reeling as RVD whipped him into the other corner, but he got a little respite from his opponent, who performed his ‘RVD’ thumb routine for the crowd before racing in after Jeff. Suddenly, Jeff caught him and twisted him around, sitting him on the top turnbuckle and hitting two hard rights before leaping up and scoring the huge hurricanrana. He made the cover, but RVD kicked out on two.

Jeff was up quickly, putting the armwringer on RVD and dragging him to the WWF corner, where he tagged in X-Pac, who immediately went up top, crashing down with a karate chop. His work down for now, Jeff climbed through the ropes, glancing over at Angel, who was fixated on the action.

“Wow,” she murmured, voice filled with awe. “That was incredible.”

“Thanks,” Jeff smiled, patting her on the back and looking in at the match.

RVD was just beginning to fight back when X-Pac nailed the martial arts kick and floored him. A cover only brought a nearfall, so X-Pac did what he usually did in that situation. He put RVD in a headlock. He cinched it in tightly as bam! RVD hit the elbow to the gut, then another and another, finally forcing them both into the ropes. They bounced off and X-Pac shoved away, springing forward off the other ropes and decking RVD with a shoulder block. He quickly hit the ropes again, leaping over RVD once, then meeting him and twisting over his body. But, just as his feet hit the ground, RVD grabbed him in the monkey grip and flipped him over, slamming him into the canvas.

“Oh no,” cringed Angel. “Come on, X-Pac.”

RVD was right on him with punches and kicks, and X-Pac reversed the Irish whip, only to be knocked down with a spinning heel kick.

RVD put him in the armwringer, hit a few quick kicks to the gut, then spun around and bam! Huge kick. Goodnight, X-Pac. But still RVD wasn’t done, bouncing off the ropes into a forward roll and an incredible moonsault. Now he made the cover.

“One!” counted the ref. “Two!”

Somehow X-Pac kicked out.

“Yeah!” screamed Angel. “Now, tag me, tag me!”

But it wasn’t to be as RVD forced X-Pac into the Alliance corner and tagged in Kidman. Bam, bam, bam, bam, a few quick shots before a snapmare over. Billy grabbed him by the hair and sent him for the Irish whip, leaping for the hurricanrana, but X-Pac grabbed him and slammed him down in the powerbomb. Now they were both down.

“One!” counted the ref. “Two!”

“Come on, X-Pac!” cried Jeff.

“Come on!” Angel added. “I’m here! Tag me! Tag me!”

At four, X-Pac reached the corner…and tagged in Jeff, who tore across the ring, eluding Kidman all the way and knocked both RVD and Helms off the apron with stinging rights.

Angel turned to X-Pac. “Nice job, but why didn’t you tag me?”

“Because you don’t have a dick,” X-Pac stated.

“Maybe not,” Angel muttered to herself, turning back to the action. “But I’ve got a bigger set of balls than you do. And him, I guess,” she amended as Jeff parted Kidman’s legs and slammed his own down in between them.

RVD ran at him, but Jef simply grabbed him and pulled him down for the jawbreaker. It had provided a good enough distraction, however, as Kidman flew into Jeff’s back.

Angel scowled.

“You get him,” she ordered X-Pac. “And whip him my way. I’ll be waiting.”

X-Pac nodded and raced in there as Angel climbed up top. As soon as the whip occurred, she leaped and bam! Hurricanrana.

X-Pac quickly threw the fallen Kidman into the corner before yelling at Angel and pointing to where Billy lay. “Do that Poetry thing!”

He dropped to his hands and knees, so she’d know what he meant. But Jeff was with him, racing round the ring, springboarding off his back and hitting the Poetry in Motion. Kidman thudded to a seated position, and that gave Jeff a great idea.

“Hey X!” he called, dropping to his own hands and knees. “Take a ride.”

“Yeah!” X-Pac roared, backing up, running in and then…broncobuster.

“Angel!” Jeff cried, still down.

“What the hell’s he want me to do?” she frowned, but hey, when in Rome… So she took a run up, jumped off Jeff’s back, grabbed Kidman’s head and carried him all the way over and all the way down again. Tornado DDT.

She leaped up triumphantly and bam! Hurricane Helms flew from the other corner in the crossbody and she was down. He picked her up and tried to whip her, but she kicked him in the gut and then armdragged him to the canvas. Before he could recover she leaped on top of him. Leg scissors on. Crossface locked in. She leaned back and back.

“I’m gonna snap your fuckin’ spine, Helms,” she hissed. “I’m gonna dislocate your damn shoulder and snap your fuckin’ spine.”

Helms didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t break the hold. And so he tapped. But Angel didn’t care, wrenching him back even harder. She could hear it, feel it, feel the shoulder separation, feel the discs in his spine slide along each other the wrong way. She was gonna cripple him, just like he’d tried to cripple her a week ago with his damn Vertebreaker.

“Hey! Get out of here. You’re not legal. Get out.”

But still Angel didn’t let go. The ref crouched next to her, trying to prize her arms apart and she finally released, shoving Helms forward and bouncing to her feet.

“Get back in your corner!” the ref cried, pushing her a little.

Angel scowled but still climbed through the ropes, turning back to find out what was happening now.
Helms was still flat on his face, while Jeff and Kidman were still legal, although Jeff was battling RVD and X-Pac had just hit the X-Factor on Kidman. Jeff quickly dumped RVD from the ring and went up top for the Swanton on Kidman, but he rolled out of the way just in time, causing Jeff’s back to slam heavily to the mat.

Before Jeff could recover, RVD flew from the other corner in the five-star frogsplash into the lateral press. Naturally, the Alliance-sympathizing ref was okay with this.

“One!” he counted. “Two!”

Just then, Angel nailed the missile dropkick to RVD’s head and completely laid him out. She grabbed him by the tights and dragged him to his feet, ready to grab him tighter and snap him over her head, but as soon as she got her grip he did the splits and slammed his fists into her hands, smashing her hold. Angel squealed and spun around frantically, only to have her head shoved down by Kidman, who trapped her neck between his legs and slammed her down in the Lariat. He hooked both of her legs.

“One!” counted the ref. “Two! Three!”

Angel kicked out, but too late. The bell rang. It was over. She rolled to her side as she heard Howard Finkel’s voice.

“Here are your winners, Billy Kidman, Hurricane Helms and Rob Van Dam.”

“Shit,” she swore, jumping up and getting right in the ref’s face. “What was that? You kick me out for not being legal but they’re allowed to jump in and out whenever they see fit?”

“Hey, I call it like I see it,” the ref replied smoothly.

“You’re corrupt,” she spat, glaring at him ferociously. “I don’t know how you can live with yourself. You and the rest of the damn Alliance.”

She was just considering bringing him down into crossface when someone caught her arm. She spun defensively, but it was only X-Pac.

“Thanks for losing the match,” he muttered.

“Hey!” argued Jeff, coming to her rescue. “She did her best, okay?”

“Yeah?” X-Pac asked. “Well, how good’s her best? Not good enough. I hope you are a good fuck,” he told Angel. “Because you suck as a wrestler.”

Angel scowled and started after him, but Jeff grabbed her tightly. “Don’t worry about him. I thought you did great.”

“Thanks,” Angel replied listlessly. Somehow, praise wasn’t praise when it came from Jeff Hardy.

All she wanted was a little respect from people. She wanted a cool nickname like they gave people in the old ECW (or was that ECF’nW?). RVD was the While F’n Show, Jerry Lynn was the New F’n Show and Rhyno had been the Big F’n Deal. All Angel wanted was a little recognition. She wanted to be…what was that Shane McMahon had called her? The WWF’s newest success story. That’s what she wanted to be. The Next F’n Thing. And if she had to beat everyone in the Alliance, if she had to win every damn title belt there was – theirs included – well, she’d do it. She had to.

* * * *

This was it. The last match before Invasion. The last chance for either side to get their licks in before the Pay Per View. Everyone was here in the backstage area, surrounding the Acolytes’ card table some of them had played at only hours before. Now, none of them were playing, though. They were all focused on the TV monitor, where Kurt Angle and Stone Cold were taking on Booker T and Rhyno.

They knew what was going to happen, of course. Even the slowest amongst them could figure that one out. It had started with the ECW ambush on Raw a week and a half ago, followed by the Alliance formation that same night. SmackDown had been more of the same, with the entire Alliance attacking just five people – Angel and the guys from the brawl, excluding Austin, who’d run away. The next Raw was a little more even. After an inspirational speech by WWF legend Classy Freddie Blassie, people the caliber of the Hardy Boyz had helped out Angel and the brawl men. And, of course, Austin…the old Austin…had returned to lead the WWF into battle. Tonight, Team WWF was ready for just about anything. As soon as the Alliance tried to pull anything, well, they’d find out all about the overpowering strength, skill and numbers that made up the WWF. And so they all watched the TV, waiting for the cue to strike.

Just then they got it, but not how they expected. The scene suddenly changed from the ring to the parking lot. Diamond Dallas Page was there, and he was forcing Debra into the trunk of a car. Stone Cold’s wife was being kidnapped.

Angel gasped.

“We gotta save her!” she cried and, to her surprise, everyone agreed.

They leaped to their feet and raced from the room. Bam! Bam! The first few out the door were knocked down with heavy pieces of scaffolding, but the next ones learned, ducking and weaving, only to spill into the path of the entire Alliance.

The fight was huge, an all-encompassing melee. No one really knew who was fighting whom, although Angel did help Jericho double team Chris Kanyon only to be shoved aside by Mike Awesome as RVD laid into Jericho.

And still they fought on and on as Stone Cold raced past them into the parking lot. He commandeered (read: stole) a car and careered off after his wife’s kidnapper.

Angel slipped through Awesome’s legs and hit the dropkick to RVD, but there was Tommy Dreamer, picking her up and helicoptering her around before slamming her down again.

Her fellow WWF superstars were much the same way. They were overpowered, but fought back, were overpowered, and fought back. But none of them remembered Kurt Angle.

He didn’t have a hope. Joining Booker T and Rhyno in the ring were the Dudley Boyz, meaning the only person missing from the Alliance’s brawl team was DDP, who of course was doing other things. Kurt fought as best he could, but to no avail. That night, our Olympic Hero Kurt Angle was gored, he was axe-kicked and then, finally, he was put through a table. Like all the big fights of his life, he’d fought this one alone. Only this time, the ending was different. This time he’d lost.