NO TURNING BACK

RAW IS WAR, JULY 23RD, 2001

Knock! Knock! Knock!

Jericho rubbed his eyes and slowly dragged himself to the door. Despite his exhaustion, he’d only just managed to get to sleep and surprise, surprise, here was his wake up call. Still, he suddenly realized this might be news on Rogue. Or better still, Rogue herself. That girl was just tenacious enough to escape from a whole plethora of ECW assclowns.

But when he opened the door, it was only Jeff Hardy.

“Hey junior,” he said solemnly.

Jeff didn’t greet him, instead getting straight to business. “Did she come back last night?”

“No,” Jericho sighed. “Why don’t you come in?”

“Thanks,” Jeff replied edgily. He sat heavily on the bed and then continued speaking. “So, we found out what hotel they’re at.”

“You what?” Jericho cried. “Then why in the hell aren’t we over there kicking the living hell out of ECW and getting her back?”

“Because we don’t know what room number. While you were fighting last night Faarooq and Bradshaw corralled Tommy Dreamer and threatened to beat it out of him. So we found out, but we don’t know where exactly.”

“Well, junior,” Jericho muttered, hands on his hips. “Let’s get off our asses and find out where exactly. Let’s break down the door of every room in that place until we find her.”

“Yeah,” Jeff nodded, forming a sick little smile. “Just one problem. Now Dreamer talked, they’re gonna be waiting for us. If we go in there it can’t be just you and me. They’ll kill us.”

“You’re right,” Jericho agreed. “So we get a vigilante group together. Get your brother, get the Acolytes, Al Snow, Regal, Tajiri, Edge, Christian, anyone else you can think of who wants to kick the living hell out of ECW. Eight AM, we’ll meet in the lobby. Let’s do this, junior. They think they can kidnap Rogue? They can’t. And now that they’ve tried it, we’re not going to get mad. No. We’re going to get…get…get…”

Jeff grinned, a sinister glint in his eyes. “Even,” he finished with absolute surety.

* * * *

“Oh, God,” Angel groaned, rolling over.

Her head felt cloudy and there was a burning pain coming from her torso – similar to what she’d been feeling all week, but more intense.

“Jerky, I think I’ll skip training today,” she murmured painfully as she slowly, stiffly sat up and looked over at her friend. But it wasn’t her friend. It was a sleeping man with a crew cut. It was Lance Storm.

“Oh shit,” Angel breathed, remembering. They’d abducted her. Lance Storm, Mike Awesome and Justin Credible, aided and abetted by their fellow ECW superstars.

She climbed out of bed, still feeling very much the worse for wear. But it didn’t matter. She had to get the hell out of here, and if Lance Storm was her only guard, she had a very good chance right now. And so she crept over to the door and slowly, slowly eased it open. Lance didn’t wake up. She was free. She broke into a joyous run and crash, hurtled across the hallway, her body slamming into the wall on the other side.

“Fuck!” cried a voice as Angel picked herself up, absolutely bewildered. What the hell had just happened?

“Come on,” the voice continued, calmer now. Angel was grabbed and forced to the ground. “You didn’t think you could get away, did you?”

Angel scowled at the attractive features of Rob Van Dam. “What the hell is wrong with you people? This is abduction, it’s unlawful imprisonment, it’s…”

“All part of a greater plan,” Rob grinned. “Which is why we can’t let you go.”

Angel glared right into his hazel eyes. “Why don’t you go smoke some more pot or something?”

“You know, I might just do that,” Rob replied, sinking down onto the floor and releasing his hold on her in the process. “I wouldn’t bother trying to get away, if I were you. I might be Mr. Monday Night, but I’m also pretty damn impressive on Monday morning. I am fast, I am strong. I am the Whole F’n Show. Rob Van Dam.”

“You’re pretty conceited, aren’t you?” Angel muttered, but she didn’t try to get away.

Rob nodded thoughtfully. “Conceited, yes. Arrogant, definitely. But I have to ask you. If you were me, wouldn’t you be? In fact, you’re not all that different to me. You wanna be the Next F’n Thing, Angel? We can do that for you. Actually,” he grinned. “If what I hear is true, we will do it for you, but you’ll have to ask Lance about that. This was all his idea.”

“Oh, it was, was it?” Angel growled. She pushed past Rob and flung the hotel room door open, slamming it shut again once she’d stomped on in. Lance was still silently sleeping, so she leaped on top of him, straddling his body and squeezing his neck between her powerful hands.

“You talk to me,” she hissed as Lance woke with a start, his blue-green eyes wide with surprise. “I want some answers. If you don’t talk, I’ll fucking choke you out, right here, where there aren’t any refs to stop me from killing you, you son of a bitch. Now, talk. Why did you kidnap me?”

Suddenly her body was raised into the air as Lance got her into a surfboard submission.

“Two reasons,” he replied. “First of all, Stephanie McMahon-Helmsley wanted some way of distracting Chris Jericho and…”

Just then, Angel leaped out of the hold, spun over Lance, dumped him on his stomach and locked on the crossface. She leaned back fiercely, gritting her teeth.

“Stephanie’s a stupid slut,” she sneered. “What’s reason number two?”

Lance began moving, bouncing on the bed, and then Angel flew backwards through the air, still with Lance trapped in the hold. They hit the floor, a tangle of bodies. In a second, Lance was up, looking down at her, offering her a hand up.

“Impressive,” he mused, his face unfailingly serious. “You learned all that from Chris Benoit?”

Chris Benoit. The love of Angel’s life. Lance may have been from the same province, they may have spoken with similar accents, but he was a poor imitation. He was no Benoit, that was for sure.

Angel broke into a sick smile and hurtled forward, looking for the takedown. If she could knock Lance down, get past him, RVD probably wasn’t standing guard in the hallway anymore. She’d really be able to escape. But before she knew it, she was the one who was down. Her hands hit the floor and her leg was being hoisted around. He had her in the Half Boston Crab.

Angel gritted her teeth and swung her leg, swung her body. She flipped herself and Lance over, landed on her feet and twisted his legs around, locking on the sharpshooter.

“What’s reason number two?” she cried again.

Letting out a painful roar, Lance bent his body up, catching hold of Angel’s robe and dropping her to the floor. He clambered over her quickly, trapped her arm and locked on the cross armbreaker.

Angel gave a little cry, but raised her free hand and punched him in the face before linking her legs with his and flipping them both over. Now she grabbed his arm and the Fujimora armbar was locked on. But not for long as Lance rolled out of it, jumped on Angel, linked her legs and locked on the STF. Angel screamed as pain roared through her already brutalized abdomen. He’d found it, found her weak body part. And so she tapped. She had no other choice.

Lance got off her immediately, settling himself on the edge of his bed.

“A little word of advice,” he growled. “Never try to defeat a former student of the Hart family with the sharpshooter. We know it too well.”

“Thanks for the tip,” Angel spat crimson-faced as she gathered her robe closely around her body, No way was she letting this ECW pervert get a longer look at her in her underwear than was absolutely necessary.

“Your submissions arsenal is impressive,” Lance went on. “All the more reason for us to choose as we did.”

Angel scowled up at him, eyes blazing. “What do you want from me, Lance Storm?”

“It’s not what I want,” Lance replied quietly. “It’s what you want, only you don’t even know it yet. Last night you joined the ECW family.”

“What?” Angel cried. “I would never do that!”

“Perhaps not officially,” Lance mused. “But that too will come in time. You have our full support, Angel. You are one of us.”

“I don’t want your support,” Angel argued. “I’m in the WWF. I have a family there. Lita, Chris Jericho, Trish Stratus, Jeff and Matt Hardy, Bradshaw, Faarooq, Al Snow, Steve Blackman. Don’t you see? I have a network. I don’t need or even want what you have to offer.”

“But we want you, Angel,” Lance told her. “You were chosen. You should feel proud.”

“Proud?’ Angel echoed incredulously. “Tell me something. Are you proud to be in ECW?”

“More than anything else in the world,” Lance confirmed.

“Are you proud of the fact that you have to cheat to win matches?”

“What you call cheating,” Lance told her. “Is nothing more than ECW rules. That is how it’s always been, how it always will be. I thought you would welcome the chance to join our family. I know that you like to fight in the style known as hardcore, but you see, Angel. In ECW, hardcore is not called hardcore. It’s called wrestling. Last night at Invasion it’s no coincidence that the hardcore title came home to ECW in the hands of ECW for you, too Angel. Last night at Invasion, you came home. You came to ECW.”

Angel waved a hand in front of his unwavering gaze. “Hello? Is anybody in there? You’re a zombie, Lance. Tazz used to be a normal, cool guy, but now you can’t even talk to him…”

“Would you like to talk to Tazz?” Lance asked her.

“Let me finish,” Angel snapped. “No, I don’t want to talk to him. I don’t want to talk to any of you. You’re simply mindless zombies doing the sick demented work of that fat fuck Paul Heyman.”

“Paul Heyman is a fine man,” Lance told her. “He built ECW from the ground up, from the Eastern Championship Wrestling it once was. He made it extreme. He gave the people what they wanted – better wrestlers, sexier divas. He gave them hardcore. And they loved it. Loved it. So much so that the WWF stole his idea. They took the hardcore concept and called it their own. They crowned Mick Foley the King of Hardcore, they made him their first ever hardcore champion. Mick Foley, beloved by the hordes of ECW fans as Cactus Jack. In ECW, we don’t need a hardcore title. Just being a member of the ECW family designates the fact that you are hardcore. But the WWF felt that they could steal the hardcore name, the hardcore way of life, and apply it to a select few who do not come close to warranting it. Crash Holly is the most crowned champion. Crash Holly! And then we have Pat Patterson and Gerald Brisco. These stooges once fought for the hardcore title in an evening gown match! Hardcore used to command a measure of respect, but the WWF turned it into nothing more than a joke. The fans lost interest and, just like that, ECW folded. Paul Heyman’s company, the most innovative in world wrestling, had been sucked dry by the scourge that is the WWF. Our best stars had gone the way of the hardcore name, lured by enough money to guarantee their families’ futures in a business where so much is left to chance. Mick Foley, Crash Holly himself, Perry Saturn, Raven, Bubba Ray, D-Von and Spike Dudley, your own cousin Lita, Chris Jericho, Chris Benoit, Eddie Guerrero, Dean Malenko, Jerry Lynn, Justin Credible, Tazz, Tajiri and Rhyno. All were once members of the ECW family. All were lured to the WWF by the seemingly never-ending checkbook of Vince McMahon. Some have seen the light and have returned home. Others may unfortunately remain lost causes. But you, Angel. You may never have fought in an ECW ring, you may never have experienced the wrath and adulation of an ECW crowd, possibly the best informed in all of wrestling. But you belong with us. I have just told you of the distinguished past of ECW. Now, Angel, won’t you help us to shape our future?”

Angel was staring at him coolly. “Are you finished?”

“Yes, I believe so,” Lance nodded.

“Good. Then I’m going to go take a shower so I can wash away all the bullshit you just fed me.” She gave him a bitchy little smile, jumped to her feet as quickly as her pain would allow and shuffled into the bathroom. She returned a few seconds later. “Where the hell are my clothes?”

Lance rose from the bed and collected them from the chair – pants and tank top, both spotlessly clean and perfectly folded.

“It took me some time to get all the blood out,” he informed her. “But, as with everything. Persistence is the key. Oh, and may I make a suggestion? That you wash your underwear in the shower.”

Angel actually scoffed, her eyebrows shooting higher on her forehead. “You want me to go commando? Well, I guess it’d fit with the rest of my outfit.”

“Of course not,” Lance frowned. “If you’ll just wait a minute while I contact Rob, I’m sure he has a hairdryer.”

Angel watched at Lance pulled out a cell phone and pressed a few numbers. Was there anyone left in wrestling beside herself who wasn’t mobile?

In a minute, he was done. “Rob will be here shortly,” he told Angel, examining her face carefully. “If you need another dressing for your wound, one can be provided.”

Angel put her hand on her stomach. “You...touched me?”

“Just the cut above your eyebrow,” Lance informed her as her hand flew up to check. “Your body is injured too?”

Angel scowled at him. “Yeah, it kinda stung a bit when your friend hit me with a kendo stick. And don’t tell me you didn’t see my bruises when we were rolling around on the floor just now.”

Lance frowned. “It was a Singapore cane,” he told her. “But I suppose that does explain the bandage you left in the bathroom. Do you want me to help you with it?”

“Keep your damn hands away from me,” Angel snapped. “And besides, what they hell good would putting my bandage on now do when I’m about to take a shower anyway?”

Lance blinked at her as they both heard a knock. “That’ll be Rob.”

“Hey,” Rob smiled, stepping inside. “I brought the hairdryer. Plus, I thought you could use this. You know, to show there’s no hard feelings for you tripping over me in the hall.” He handed her the hairdryer and a small tub of styling product. “Don’t use it all, okay?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Angel snapped, snatching the things from his hands and, with her clothes tucked under her arm, storming into the bathroom.

“Well,” Rob commented as the door slammed shut. “She’s a little ray of sunshine, isn’t she?”

“She’s fantastic,” Lance murmured thoughtfully. “We must get this girl, RVD. We need her.”

“Hey,” Rob frowned. “You’re not falling for her, are you, man?”

“Falling for her,” Lance repeated. “This isn’t Beverly Hills 90210. We’re adults now, RVD.”

“And you dig her,” Rob grinned. “Mike and Justin are gonna shit. Justin hates her and Mike wants her. Lucky I don’t have an opinion, huh?”

“Rob,” Lance said slowly. “If I decided that I did want to court her, would that make me the most foolish man alive?”

“Yep,” Rob grinned. “But I’ll be there for you, man, putting in a good word for you, whatever you want.”

“You’d support me?” Lance frowned.

“Of course. Face it, man. We’re all love’s bitch at some stage. You wanna get some? Go get you some.”

“I don’t know,” Lance sighed as he flopped down onto the bed again. “I just don’t know.”

“What’s stopping you?” Rob asked. “The fact that she hates your guts or the fact that she’s exactly what Justin says she is?”

Lance frowned at him. “What, a big-time hootchie mama?”

“No,” Rob grinned, showing off his dimples. “A ball-breaking bitch. Although that’s another good point. You don’t want a girl like Francine, man. A girl who takes otherwise rational men and turns them into blithering idiots.”

“She’s nothing like Francine,” Lance scowled. ‘It’s just…she’s very young.”

“So?” Rob asked. “That’s one of the things that makes her good. Listen to Mike talking about her some time. According to him, she’s a hot piece of ass fresh from the over, just ready to eat.”

“Mike always did have a way with words,” Lance mused.

“Forget the age thing, man,” Rob advised. “Jericho’s what? A year younger than you, and he doesn’t seem to mind.”

“That’s the other thing,” Lance frowned. “Jericho. For both my sake and ECW’s. How will we get her away from Jericho?”

“Well, that’s where Stage 2 comes into play,” Rob replied confidently. “Once we have that rolling, there’ll be nothing standing in your way. She’ll be ours…and yours…for the taking.”

“If all goes to plan, yes,” Lance nodded. “We will have to see what happens.”

* * * *

In the end it was Lita who strode boldly up to the check-in desk, armed with a small collection of photographs.

“Can I help you?” the desk clerk asked.

“I’m looking for my cousin,” she started pointedly, handing him the first photo. “Her name is Angel Torres and I have reason to believe she checked in here last night.”

The clerk typed at his computer. “No one by that name here. Might she be using an alias?”

“I don’t know,” Lita sighed, handing over the rest of the pictures. “She was last seen with these three men. Their names are Lance Storm, Mike Awesome and Justin Credible.”

“Hey, I saw these guys,” the clerk cried suddenly. “And the girl, too. They were with Rob Van Dam.”

Lita heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank God. Can you tell me what room they’re staying in?”

“No can do,” he replied cheerfully. “You can probably catch them in Buffalo. That’s where they’re headed. RVD and the bald guy, Justin Credible, is it? Bad name, real bad, but they were talking about going to Niagara Falls before the show tonight.”

“Thanks,” Lita nodded, suddenly worried all over again. So the ECW boys were taking Angel to Buffalo? That was no real surprise. What worried her was what they were going to do at Niagara Falls. Over the years many people had died tubing down the falls – what would happen if someone was thrown? She quickly raced out of the hotel, meeting the convoy in the parking lot. They were all eyeing her expectantly.

“Buffalo,” she told them. “They’ve got half an hour’s start on us and I think they’re going to the falls. Chris, you drive Edge and Christian; Jeff, you’re driving me, Matt and Trish. And the rest of you? Choose the fastest driver and let’s beat them to Canada.”

They hurried to their respective cars without another word.

* * * *

“Get your damn hand off my leg,” Angel growled, removing Mike’s huge paw from her thigh.

“Come on, baby,” Mike cooed. “We can’t help how cozy it is in here.” To prove it, he swept his arm around her shoulders.

Angel slammed her back against it savagely, jamming it against the seat and making Mike withdraw it in surprise.

“Touch me again and I will fucking castrate you. Do you hear me?”

“Ball-breaker,” Justin murmured from her other side, but he was promptly ignored.

“Of course I hear you,” Mike grinned confidently. “I can’t help hearing you when you talk with that fucking sexy accent.”

Angel glowered at him and turned to face Justin instead.

“So,” she said sweetly. “How’s X-Pac?”

“Shut up,” Justin snapped.

“I heard you broke up,” Angel went on. “That’s gotta be hard.”

“Shut up!” Justin cried, more intensely.

But Angel wasn’t done. Not by a long shot. “It’s a good thing he and Albert are still together, don’t you think? At least it didn’t all fall apart.”

“I swear, you better shut the fuck up,” Justin growled, desperately trying to distract himself by looking out the window. It wasn’t working. Not even close.

“Hey, Justin,” Angel sneered. “You should see them. Me and Jeff had to go meet up with X-Pac before out tag match Thursday night, and we accidentally walked in on the two of them fucking like rabbits. It was quite a sight, I’ll tell you.” She was full of shit, but Justin didn’t know that.

“I am not hearing this,” he hissed, eyelids tightly clenched shut.

“And then, before we went out there,” Angel went on. “Albert gave X-Pac a good luck blowjob. X-Pac enjoyed it, but that goes without saying.”

“I give better head than Albert does,” Justin growled.

“Oh, I beg to differ,” Angel grinned. “I mean, Albert’s got the tongue ring. What do you have?”

“That doesn’t mean shit,” Justin hissed.

“Sorry, fag, but she’s right,” Mike piped up. “I once had this rat, hot little whore she was, not a day over fifteen, but she told me she was eighteen so shit, I’m all clear. Anyway, she’s got this tongue ring and the firmest tits I’ve ever touched. Gave me the best fuckin’ blowjob I’ve had in my entire life. No shit, I think I came twice.”

Justin and Rob both gave good-natured chuckles, but Angel felt sick to her stomach.

“So, you’re a pervert and a pedophile,” she commented. “Nice group of friends you’ve got here, Lance. One’s a pathetic little drama queen, one’s a pothead who’s so into himself his intestines are on the outside and one’s a statutorial rapist. Real nice. But I suppose they all blend well with the delusional anal retentive control freak, right?”

Lance took his time replying and for a moment the car was bathed in silence.

“I sure am glad we’re going to Canada,” he said at last. “It’s the most beautiful country on earth. Have you ever been, Angel?”

“We first met in Calgary, jackass,” Angel scowled.

“That’s right,” Lance nodded thoughtfully. “You wanted to talk to Shane Helms, now known as Hurricane Helms, the man you defeated last night.”

“No, that’s what you assumed,” Angel replied testily. “I actually wanted to talk to Shane McMahon.”

“You did? What would you want to talk to Shane McMahon for?”

“I was in contract negotiations,” Angel said simply.

“Oh, you were?” Lance asked, his tone completely interested. “So you once wanted to join WCW?”

“Yes, but they didn’t want me,” Angel told him simply. “Which makes me wonder why in the hell the Alliance is interested in me now. I guess it’s the classic saying. You always want what you can’t have.”

“I don’t even know what that means,” Mike told her, putting his arm around her again.

Angel turned on him, giving him her most furious look of death. “Get your fucking hand…off my fucking tit…or I will cut…your fucking…nuts off.”

“Well!” Lance cried, suddenly pulling out onto the shoulder and bringing the car to an abrupt stop.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Lance!” Mike shouted.

“No, Mike,” Lance snapped, violently pounding the hazard light button. “You and RVD trade places. Now.”

“You got it, man,” Rob replied good-naturedly, leaping from the car.

“Shotgun?” Mike cried, as if not quite understanding. “I’ve got shotgun?”

“Yes, Mike,” Lance nodded. “Just sometimes, antisocial behavior is rewarded.”

“Hey!” Mike argued. “I was being plenty social. Good luck, RVD. She’s a frigid bitch.”

“Thanks for the advice,” Rob smiled, slipping past him and climbing in next to Angel.

“Thank you,” Angel said quietly as relief surged over her. Not comfort, though. She could never be comfortable sitting next to someone like Rob Van Dam.

“Just so you know,” he said quietly, grinning at her with those adorable dimples of his. “You can put your hands on my tits if you like. I don’t mind. So long as you don’t squeeze too hard. I hate that.”

Angel scowled at him. He was such a funny bugger. Charming, gorgeous. She decided then that she hated him, just as much as she hated these other three bastards. Maybe even more.

* * * *

“Would you like a soda?”

Angel jumped. For a moment there, watching the huge volume of water plunging down into the hazy depths of the river below, she’d forgotten about her situation, forgotten about Rob and Justin standing just a few yards from here, both dressed with curious similarity – T-shirts and belted denim shorts. Forgotten about Mike Awesome, another T-shirt wearer, but with jeans instead of shorts, standing sentinel back near the road. And finally, forgotten about Lance Storm, in jeans and a loose fitting gym singlet, now standing next to her and offering her a soda.

She eyed him skeptically, but she was thirsty so she took it anyway. “How many pills did you put in this one?”

“None.” Lance frowned as if she’d truly hurt him. “They would adversely affect your performance tonight, and we can’t have that.”

Angel decided to not ask what he meant, preferring to ignore him and instead concentrate on the falls. They really were phenomenal. So much water, so much power. It was infectious, that power. It coursed through her, washed away the pain in her abdomen and forehead, made her strong.

“They’re something, aren’t they?” Lance asked suddenly and she turned to him, startled that he’d echoed her thoughts.

“Yeah,” she replied quietly, not knowing really what else to say.

“So much outward beauty,” Lance went on. “Such external grace and yet you can sense the strength bursting from the inside. It’s truly inspirational. I know a few people like that, you know. RVD is one of them and you are another.”

“Me?” Angel asked, startled.

“Does that surprise you?” Lance asked her.

Angel didn’t answer. She didn’t like where this was going. If it wasn’t Mike, it was Lance. She was right. They were all disgusting perverts.

“I think you’re magnificent,” Lance announced. “And I feel I should ask you if you would permit me to court you.”

Angel turned on him. “Court me?” she cried incredulously.

“That’s right. Angel, it would be an honor.”

“Well.” Angel couldn’t hide her smirk. “I don’t see how I can stop you. Court away.”

Lance frowned at her. “You don’t take me seriously.”

“No!” Angel cried, arms in the air, stepping away from him. “You wanna court me? You can court me. But now, shouldn’t we be getting to work? I wouldn’t want to disappoint the Alliance on my first night of proving myself.”

“Angel,” Lance replied solemnly. “You’ve been proving yourself since the moment this invasion began. You’ve paid your dues. It’s time to reap the rewards.”

Once again, Angel didn’t know what he meant. Once again, she probably should have listened just a little more carefully.

* * * *

They were back on US soil, in the back hallways of Buffalo’s HBSC Arena to be exact. Rob had excused himself to smoke his obligatory pre-show joint outside, with Angel commenting tartly that he’d missed four-twenty. Mike was very quiet, disturbingly so, walking on ahead with Justin, the two of them probably decided whether Angel was frigid or a slut. That’d be an interesting debate. Lance moved quietly by her side, making the occasional comment about Canada versus USA, the Alliance versus WWF and the like. She was sick to death of all of them and their inherent predictability. Did they all have to act in character all the time? But then she realized it wasn’t this that bugged her. It was the characters themselves. The four of them so close and yet so different and none of them remotely likeable. Not true. She could like Rob Van Dam. She could like him a lot. Justin she still felt sorry for, but she’d taken him down earlier simply because he was the easy target and she knew his weak spot. Same with Mike. If she could put Mike in his place, even he’d be tolerable.

Lance was the one who worried her. No weak spot to speak of. He was cool, calm and in control. He also held a lot of clout in at least his favored foursome, if not in all of ECW. He had, after all, managed to rally the troops for the abduction last night. Mike and Justin did what he told them to without much argument. Rob was different. Lance didn’t lead Rob; Rob just went along for the ride. Still, Lance had influence and so he had power. If he had a thing for Angel, she could be in a lot of trouble. Maybe even more trouble than Lita with the Dean Malenko era of late 2000, early 2001. Maybe as much trouble as both Stephanie and Tori with their D-Generation X encounters of December ’99. She’d definitely, definitely have to watch out for Lance.

“Well, here we are,” he said, coming to a stop outside a door. “Angel, it has been a pleasure, and I assure you we will be seeing you soon.” He shook her hand firmly and walked away.

“You’re damn straight you will,” Angel muttered. “Or at least Rob will. Tonight, when I relieve him of his hardcore title.”

She turned to the door, when something struck her eye. The ECW/WCW symbols were stuck on the door and beneath them were three names.

‘Keibler, Wilson, Torres’

“What the hell?” Angel screamed, throwing the door open.

She didn’t know exactly what she was expecting – an ambush by the two sluts of WCW, perhaps. But she certainly had not expected what she was faced with. The sight of Torrie Wilson and Stacy Keibler, locked in an extremely heated make-out session.

“Oh my God!” Angel blurted and immediately turned on her heel.

“Oh, you’re here!” called a voice. "Come on in. We’ve been waiting for you.”

“Waiting for me?” Angel cried, turning back in a fury.

“Yeah,” Torrie grinned endearingly. “We really were. Stacy just couldn’t wait any longer.” She got to her feet and adjusted her outfit – tight black leather pants and a black sleeveless top that said ‘Naughty’. Really rather fitting. “Come on in. Join the fun.”

Before Angel could answer, Stacy cocked her head slightly to the side. “Wow, Torrie. You were right. She is gorgeous.”

“Told ya.” Torrie was grinning so widely her dimples were on full display. She approached Angel, who gave her a skeptical glare. “Relax. We won’t hurt you…if you’re good.”

“Don’t attack unless absolutely necessary,” Angel’s inner voice was telling her. “You could beat these two bitches blindfolded and tied to a chair.”

Angel had to smile at that idea, remembering vividly when she’d tied Benoit up and, at some stages, blindfolded him. She’d teased him then, getting him close, so close that he was fit to burst, then calmly climbing off him and letting him cool it for a few moments before returning. That drove him crazy, especially when she did it over and over again. He’d almost cried, he was so painfully horny, so desperate for a release. How frustrating for him. With his hands tied up, he couldn’t even finish himself off. In the end she’d only taken pity on him because of her own need, but even then she’d done it her way, at her pace, despite his frenetic movements beneath her. Good Lord, it had been fantastic that time, and the next, and the one after that… Even now, a good seven or eight weeks after the fact, her body burned for him, ached for him, came alive with every memory. Her secretive little smile spoke volumes.

“See?” Torrie piped up, suddenly bringing her back to reality. “You’re one of us now.”

“I severely doubt that,” Angel spat, uncomfortable with the way Torrie was scrutinizing her.

“Whatever you say,” Torrie smiled, eyes darting up and down her body. “You know, I’m a little disappointed. When I heard you were coming, I decided to use my wardrobe as a tribute to you. That’s why I chose this outfit. Only you’re wearing what you wore last night. That’s a faux pas, right, Stace?”

“Definitely,” Stacy called from the bench where she was looking on with interest as the older girl took charge.

“It’s okay though,” Torrie went on. “Don’t frown, it gives you wrinkles. But it’s okay, because you can borrow one of my outfits. I always bring more than one. And I can see your body’s a lot like mine is. Tall, toned, tantalizingly terrific.”

“Not that tall, Torrie,” Stacy pointed out.

“I know, I know,” Torrie smiled, turning back to Angel. “She thinks she’s so great because she’s a living, breathing Barbie doll. Well…she is pretty good. But anyway, about that outfit. I don’t have any other black leather pants, so you’ll have to wear these and I’ll go with the red. I don’t mind.” She carefully worked the zip and slowly began removing her second skin.

“That’s okay,” Angel cried out. “You don’t need to do that.”

Torrie frowned at her. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. Just…keep your pants on.”

“Oh, okay.” Torrie smiled at her and fixed her pants again before clapping Angel on the shoulder. “Oh, wow. Stace, you’ve gotta come feel this. You think my arms are good? Come check this out.”

Stacy rose gracefully from the bench, all six foot one of her, with about five foot of that being legs. She tentatively touched Angel’s other arm. “Wow, I see what you mean. You’re a very sexy girl, Angel. Nice breasts,” she noted.

“Great breasts,” Torrie echoed, suddenly all dimples.

Stacy was moving around Angel as Torrie had done earlier. Suddenly there was a hand where it definitely shouldn’t have been and an excited female voice rang out.

“Oh my goodness, an ass like a rock! Come see this, Torrie.”

“Soon,” Torrie replied, disturbingly close to Angel’s ear. “You smell incredible, Angel. What perfume do you wear?”

When a hand snaked from behind her to the inside of her thighs, she knew it was time to speak out.

“Could you both please get the hell off me?”

It came out as a growl, fierce and threatening, and both blondes jumped back, Stacy almost slamming straight into the door.

Torrie looked at Angel with a confused frown before reforming her smile. “I’ll go get that top, okay? You’ll love it, I know it’s just perfect for you.” She trotted off and Stacy dutifully took her seat on the bench again.

Angel could do nothing but nod. She suddenly felt very threatened. It was not a good feeling having women coming on to you as though they were men. Not a good feeling at all.

And then Torrie was back, holding out a magenta colored top.

“There you go. It’ll look great.”

Angel took it, then dropped it like a stone. On the front, in big white letters, was written the word ‘Princess’. She felt stunned, choked up, like they were knowingly taking the piss out of her, and she knew she had to get out. And so she bolted, right out of the room and immediately smacked into someone who was walking down the hallway.

He was shocked, grabbing her by the shoulders.

“Angel?” he asked. “Oh, Angel. I’m so glad you’re here.”

And then he was kissing her and she kissed him back, just as exuberantly, because she was so relieved he was a man and also because at that precise moment she wanted Benoit so bad she just didn’t care.

Stacy’s voice, fueled with disappointment, almost snapped her out of it. “Oh, she’s straight? What a waste.”

“I know,” Torrie agreed. “But isn’t that Trish’s boyfriend? That’s interesting.”

At those words, Angel did pull away.

“Hi Jeff,” she said sheepishly as he gave her a doting smile, light green eyes soft and full of love.

“Wow, Angel, it’s good to see you, too,” he replied and she winced. “You know we went all the way up to Canada looking for you because we heard you were going to Niagara Falls?”

“We did go,” Angel replied, letting him hold her hand because he was obviously very worried about her. “Amazing scenery, shame about the company. Who’s we, Jeff?”

“Hmm?” Jeff asked dreamily, stroking her hand with his thumb as they walked.

“You said ‘we’ were looking for me. Who’s we? You, Matt and Lita?”

“Everyone, Angel. Me, Matt, Lita, Chris, Edge, Christian, Bradshaw, Faarooq, Regal, Tajiri, Al Snow, Steve Blackman, the Hollys, even Kurt. Only, he didn’t come on up to Canada because he wanted to get here early and talk to Mr. McMahon.”

“Kurt Angle was searching for me?” Angel asked, completely overwhelmed.

“Well, yeah,” Jeff smiled. “You are WWF and he’s the closest thing to a leader we’ve got, now Austin’s defected.”

“Austin defected?” Angel cried, scarcely able to believe it.

“Yeah. Yeah, he did,” Jeff replied solemnly. “In the dying seconds of the brawl he turned on Kurt and helped Booker T get the pin. Lost us the match and the night. Before the brawl we were tied at six all.”

“That sucks,” Angel scowled, although she’d gotten the feeling from her captors that the Alliance had won. They’d made it seem like something fair, though. Of course. “So now what happens?”

Jeff shrugged. “We all got calls on our cell phones telling us to make sure we were here tonight, injured or not. Apparently Mr. McMahon’s gonna make some big announcement.”

“Sounds intriguing,” Angel commented.

“Hey, that reminds me,” Jeff said suddenly. “We better go tell Mr. McMahon you’re here. If we don’t he’s gonna file a missing person’s report.”

“Serious?” Angel frowned.

“Yeah,” Jeff nodded, smiling at her. “You’re family. We care about you.”

Angel shook her head in disbelief and awe. And Lance Storm wanted her to join the Alliance, where she’d be welcome? What were they thinking?

“So, we better go find Mr. McMahon and tell him you’re back,” Jeff said again.

Just then Angel spotted a sign on a door nearby and promptly dropped Jeff’s hand. “You go, Jeff. Go tell everyone I’m fine and thank them for me. I just have to talk to Regal for a minute.”

Jeff frowned at her for a moment before responding. “Well, okay, Angel. Whatever you want.” Then he gave her a quick hug and set off.

Angel locked loudly on the door.

“Come on!” called Regal and she entered.

“Hi Commissioner Regal.”

“Miss Torres! What once was lost is found. How delightful.”

“Thanks,” Angel smiled. “And thanks for helping look for me, too.”

“We do what we can, my dear girl,” Regal told her. “We do what we can. Now, what can I do for you right now?”

“I’m here about my match tonight,” Angel announced.

“Of course,” Regal nodded. “Your title match. The one that you undeniably earned with your smashing performance last light. It really was impressive. I only wish I could have joined you in putting some runs on the board for the WWF, if you understand my meaning.”

Angel frowned. “You lost?”

“Yes, to that miserable toe rag Raven. That boy needs a good introduction to a shower, he does.”

Angel nodded. Raven did have an odor about him that was distinctly, well, Raven-esque.

“But we must carry on, mustn’t we?” Regal asked with a wry smile. “Which of course brings us to your match tonight.”

Angel nodded again, eyes suddenly focused. “I want Rob Van Dam.”

“I’m afraid that can’t be done,” Regal frowned.

“Why not?” Angel asked, hands on hips. “It’s after Invasion. The Twenty-four seven rule is back in effect.”

“Yes, it is,” Regal agreed. “But tonight, the title shot is already spoken for.”

“By who?” Angel demanded.

“Your dear friend Matthew.”

“Matt Hardy? But he’s already got Euro gold. What does he need with hardcore?”

Regal sighed deeply. “I suppose I should tell you.”

His tone immediately made Angel lose all her anger.

“Tell me what?” she asked, concerned.

“Earlier today, Mr. McMahon received a telephone call from his daughter Stephanie. She demanded two matches, one for Lance Storm and one for Rob Van Dam. As you might have guessed, the Rob Van Dam match was requested as one against dear young Matthew. They wanted non-title for that one, knowing that that greasy specimen Van Dam can only perform under hardcore conditions and so would not have a chance at winning the European championship. But Mr. McMahon, just as you did, brought up the twenty-four seven rule. Young Mr. Van Dam was required to put his title on the line. The other match, which you were probably not aware of, is an intercontinental title match, with Lance Storm to face the current champion Albert. That too was granted.”

“Why?” Angel asked. “Those guys don’t deserve to get what they want.”

“I’m afraid Mr. McMahon’s hands were tied,” Regal informed her. “Stephanie told him that if her father did not grant her requests, you would be the one facing the consequences. And, because no one had seen you since last night, he had to act.”

“Stephanie used me as blackmail?” Angel cried.

“I’m afraid so,” Regal sighed.

“But…but why?” Angel blurted. “Her father doesn’t even like me! Surely she knows that.”

“Mr. McMahon may be a lot of things, Miss Torres, but he is not a monster. And he is very fond of you. He did what he had to do. And now, looking at you safe and sound, it was the right decision.”

“Geez,” Angel breathed. “So I guess I shouldn’t be too pissed with missing out on Euro, IC and hardcore tonight. What’s left? Lightweight?”

“No,” Regal replied. “You had a match against X-Pac once before and you fell short. Mr. McMahon and myself discussed this matter extensively after Invasion last night and we decided to put you in the match you’d have the most chance of winning.”

“Which is…?” Angel frowned, silently cross-checking titles in her mind.

“A women’s title match,” Regal announced, suddenly smiling. “Tonight, Miss Torres, you will be facing Chyna.”

“Chyna?” Angel echoed dumbly. She hadn’t counted on that. Not at all.

“Yes,” Regal grinned. “Chyna. Now, good luck in your match, Miss Torres. I know you can win it.”

“Yeah,” Angel muttered, lacking all conviction. She stepped numbly out of the office, scarcely believing what she’d just been told.

“Chyna. I’m facing Chyna.”

Chyna was her hero. Tonight she’d be facing her hero in a title match. She’d once beaten her mentor in training. Could she beat her hero in front of thousands? Chyna was huge – six foot tall, near enough to two hundred pounds. But then, so was X-Pac. And Jeff Hardy. But wait, she hadn’t beaten them. She needed a better example. Hurricane Helms? He was six-foot and only a little over two hundred himself, and last night she’d beaten him, fair and square. She could beat Chyna. All of a sudden she was sure of it.

* * * *

“Jerky!” Angel cried, throwing the door open.

Jericho broke into a grin and jumped up from where he was putting on his boots.

“Rogue, baby! Thank God you’re back.” He threw his strong arms around her, pulling her into his chest. “I haven’t stopped praying since they took you.”

Angel drew back, giving him a little smile as a few unexpected tears pricked her eyes. “Aw, you missed me?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Jericho nodded, hugging her tightly again. “I guess you’ve grown on me after all.”

“Yeah, like a cancer,” Angel grinned.

Jericho gave a little laugh. “Oh, Rogue baby,” he breathed, still not letting her go. “I love you.”

“Love you too, Jerky,” Angel smiled, moving her hands on his shoulders.

They just stood there for a while, holding each other.

“So, what did those assclowns do to you?” Jericho asked at last.

Angel stepped back, waving it away. “It doesn’t matter. It’s over now.”

“That bad, eh?” Jericho asked her sympathetically.

Angel hesitated. How bad had it been, really? Other than some harsh words, a Singapore cane to the stomach, locking her in the trunk and carrying her in a suitcase, feeding her sleeping tablets and trapping her against her will, what had they really done to her? Given her a place to sleep, allowed her to shower, taken her to Niagara Falls, given her food and drink, driven her to work. For God’s sake, Lance had even cleaned her bloodstained clothes. Still, all those bad things had definitely outweighed the good, or if not good, tolerable. Those ECW bastards were assholes, all of them.

“Jerky,” she said finally. “I had to spend almost twenty-four hours with Lance Storm. What do you think?”

“You poor baby,” Jericho consoled her. “That’s gotta take years of therapy. Years!”

“Don’t I know it,” Angel sighed. “But I just wanna forget about it. We’ve got tonight to think about. I got my title match, you know.”

“Of course you did, baby. You won it. So, which title?”

“Women’s.”

“My old friend Chyna, eh? You want company down there? I’ll come down if you like.”

“Could you?” Angel couldn’t say exactly what was bothering her. She, more than anyone, wanted a fair match tonight, but she had a feeling things weren’t going to turn out that way – that ECW were going to get involved somehow.

“Sure thing, baby,” Jericho enthused. “You know I’ve got your back. I just wish I’d been there last night, too.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Angel shrugged. “So, who’ve you got tonight?”

“Chris Kanyon.”

“Who’s he when he’s at home?”

Jericho smirked. “An ugly assclown with a lisp and an over-inflated ego.”

“Sounds good,” Angel nodded.

“Good…and Chris Kanyon should never…ever be used in the same sentence, baby. Unless what you said was, good grief, Kanyon’s got his ass kicked again. He’s going around tonight wearing a T-shirt that says ‘Invasion MVP’. Which is funny, because I’m willing to lay bets that no one even remembers he was there last night.”

“Well, I sure don’t,” Angel shrugged.

“It was after you were…escorted away,” Jericho explained. “Kanyon teamed with Shawn Stasiak and Hugh Morrus to take on Show, Billy and Albert. The Alliance won, just, and now Kanyon thinks he’s on the damn Titanic or something. King of the world!”

“King of the assclowns,” Angel commented.

“You got it, baby,” Jericho nodded.

“So, you’re sporting the purple tights tonight,” Angel went on. “They’re a good look for you. On Benoit they were hideous, but somehow you pull them off.”

“Baby, you can pull my tights off whenever you like,” Jericho commented. “Oh, but that reminds me. All your luggage is at the hotel, but Lita went through your clothes and got you an outfit for tonight.”

“She did?” Angel asked. “Bless her. Where are they?”

“They’ve got a tiny room somewhere. But Lita doesn’t have your clothes; Jeff does. He’s carting them around in his backpack like they’re a damn trophy or something.”

“Jeff,” Angel repeated. “But I saw him in the hallway and he didn’t say anything.”

Jericho shrugged. “I guess you better go track him down.”

Angel nodded and headed back towards the doorway. “Had he got my weapons? I could have done with those last night.”

“I’ll bet,” Jericho mused. “Are you sure you’re okay, baby?”

“Fine,” Angel smiled meekly, squeezing his hand. “I’ll be back soon. I need those clothes. If I don’t wear them I’ll be breaking diva rule number one. Never wear the same outfit two days in a row.”

“I thought you weren’t a diva, baby,” Jericho teased.

“Hey,” Angel shrugged. “If Chyna can do it, so can I.”

* * * *

“Jeff!”

He turned away from making himself a coffee. “Angel!”

There was that adoring look again. Jeff really was sweet. Like a big cute puppy dog…only without the drool. He left that to people like Mike Awesome. Angel tilted her head at him.

“Jerky said you’ve got some clothes?”

“Oh yeah,” Jeff grinned, undoing his backpack and setting it on the table. “Lita picked them out, so I hope they’re what you wanted. Let’s see here. We’ve got your pants,” he handed them over. “A tank top…hey, cute!”

Angel smiled at the white top with sparkly blue lettering.

“Superstar. That’s me,” she joked.

“It sure is,” Jeff nodded, still searching through the bag. He withdrew with a start, face crimson. “There’s um…uh…some other stuff in here, too.”

“Let’s see, Jeff,” Angel replied, leaning over and taking a look for herself. “Oh! Well, it’s nice to see me and my cousin are so close we can even choose underwear for each other. Yep, Lita definitely chose this.” She held up a burgundy thong for Jeff to see and his face rapidly turned the same color. “Oh, and fantastic, my sticks and nunchukas are in here. I missed those babies.”

“You’re uh…you’re gonna wear that tonight?” Jeff stuttered, pointing tentatively at the thong.

Angel grinned. “Why, you wanna wear it?”

“No!” Jeff cried. “I uh…I uh…”

“I know, Jeff,” Angel teased. “You prefer your panties in neon green.”

Jeff hesitated and regained his composure. “No, just my shirts. Why, you don’t like that color?”

“No, it’s fine,” Angel smiled. “And it goes nicely with Lita’s hot pink she likes.”

“Yeah, she does like that pink, doesn’t she?” Jeff nodded thoughtfully. “I don’t know. It’s a little bright for me.”

“And your green’s not?” Angel cried. “Jeff, you could light the arena with just one of your shirts.”

“Hey Gel,” Jeff shrugged. “Not everyone can be a dark Angel dressed all in black.”

“You call this black?” Angel asked, holding up the thong again and immediately making Jeff flush.

“Angel! You’re okay! Hey, cool thong. I’ve got one just like it.”

Angel was startled. “Trish!” she cried. “Jeff was just…”

“Bringing your clothes, I know,” Trish smiled. “It’s cool. Hi Jeff.”

“Hey Trish,” he replied quickly, before turning back to Angel. “So, listen. You can borrow this backpack to carry them if you don’t feel like flashing your panties to everyone…wait…I mean…so you can carry them,” he finished feebly.

“It’s okay, Jeff,” Angel smiled. “They’re fine like they are. Thanks for bringing them for me.” She leaned over and gave him a quick peck on the cheek before gathering her clothes and weapons together and heading off. “See you guys later.”

“Bye Angel,” Jeff called after her, reaching down to take Trish’s hand in his and letting out a happy sigh.
“That looked friendly,” Trish commented.

“Yeah,” Jeff replied proudly. “She was definitely flirting with me. It’s working, Trish. I didn’t believe it, but it’s true. It’s working.”

“See? Told ya!” Trish grinned, squeezing his hand. She cocked her head to watch Angel walk away, the frown on her pretty face barely noticeable. Or at least Jeff didn’t notice.

* * * *

“Well, Chris Jericho may be better than Kanyon,” Michael Cole announced. “He meets Kanyon one on one a little bit later tonight.”

“Damn straight I’m better than Kanyon, Mitchell,” Jericho muttered from where he was sitting next to Angel and watching Raw on the monitor in their locker room.

“Jerky, he was talking about you, not to you,” Angel smiled, patting his thigh. “Oh great, look.”

“Yep, your friend and mine,” Jericho nodded.

Making his way down the ramp was Lance Storm.

“No, Lilian!” Angel cried. “Don’t give him the mic…oh, dammit.”

“If I can be serious for a minute,” Jericho muttered, right in time with Lance, his imitation almost perfect. “I am an assclown. I was born an assclown, I was an assclown when I roomed with the gorgeous and talented Chris Jericho at the Hart Family Dungeon and remained an assclown throughout our two stints as tag team partners. My assclown-ness increased when I joined ECW and I thought it peaked in WCW, but I was wrong. I am now, without a doubt, the biggest assclown who has ever…e-e-ever…hey, Albert interrupted me.”

Angel grinned. “Serves you right. You made me miss Lance’s speech, which I’m sure was very relevant.”

“Oh, I can see that upsets you,” Jericho replied.

“Jerky, I’m devastated. Let’s go, Albert. Kick his ass.”

They watched quietly as the fight began.

“Ooh!” cried Angel as Albert slammed Lance into the corner. “That had to hurt.”

“Yikes!” Jericho cried moments later. “You know you’re in trouble when even your plancha doesn’t hit.”

“I don’t like planchas so much,” Angel told him. “Why do a crossbody when you can pull a ‘rana or a somersault plancha?”

“And you call yourself a luchador,” Jericho scoffed. “Oh dear! Down you go, Thunder.”

“I’m enjoying this,” Angel grinned, snuggling into her friend.

“Bam! Bam! Bam!” Jericho cried. “Just give it up, Forrest. You’re gone.”

“Can you bench press a two hundred and thirty pound man?” Angel asked him.

“I could probably manage a hundred and fifty pound Rogue,” Jericho told her. “Whoa! Huge splash!”

“One!” they counted together. “Two! Thr…”

“What the hell?” Angel screamed. “How did he kick out?”

“No idea, baby,” Jericho shrugged, equally bewildered. “But Albert’s about to run straight into that boot…oof! Scissors kick. That’s gotta do it.”

“Cover him!” Angel enthused.

“He wants to shut it out,” Jericho muttered. “Can’t blame him.”

“What’s the crowd doing?” Angel puzzled. “Oh shit! That’s Mike Awesome. No fucking way. No fucking way.” She didn’t say anything else, just leaped to her feet and sprinted from the locker room with Jericho in hot pursuit.

They heard the ringbell and Lance’s music as they reached the top of the ramp and discovered that Mike wasn’t the only intruder. X-Pac had come to help his lover while Hugh Morrus was an added presence for the Alliance.

Angel didn’t hesitate, dropkicking Awesome in the back and forcing him into the ring. She slammed into him with her nunchukas as someone else flew in to help.

“Hey girl,” called a deep voice. It was Faarooq.

And then Kane was there too. The three of them worked together, but just the Chuck Palumbo raced in and Kane took him on instead.

“Dominator,” Angel advised Faarooq.

“Girl,” Faarooq replied, never stopping his flurry of punches. “This ain’t no wrasslin’ match. This is a bar room brawl.”

Tommy Dreamer was there now too, as Palumbo turned back to Angel and Kane fought off Tazz. Angel never backed down, not caring that Palumbo and Awesome were both twice her size. She kicked and struck with her weapons, headbutted, even bit. But the two big guys were too much for her.

That’s when Jericho arrived to help. Together they disposed of Palumbo, then got rid of Awesome too. They turned around to see who else needed help and found that nobody did. The WWF was on top, standing tall. Angel, Jericho, Faarooq, Bradshaw, Kane, X-Pac, Albert, Edge, Christian, Crash, Taka, Funaki, Scotty 2 Hotty. There was nothing left of the Alliance…except Mark Jindrak. Bradshaw scooped him up and emphatically powerbombed him down again. And then Kane found Billy Kidman.
Chokeslam! This battle belonged to the WWF. There was just one problem. Lance Storm was the new intercontinental titleholder.

Angel scowled and joined Jericho on the ropes, where they glared over at the retreating forms of the Alliance members. Lance looked like he’d just run into a bus and he was being helped to the back by Mike, Justin and Tommy Dreamer. Jericho was talking trash, but Angel didn’t bother. She just glared – at Mike, at Justin, but most of all at Lance. If only a glare could bring back the IC title, all their worries would be over. Unfortunately, it couldn’t.

* * * *

Angel stood in respectful silence, watching Chyna’s tried and true entrance. She was nervous, but not overly so, and although she hadn’t had time to watch tapes and truly mentally prepare for this match, she knew Chyna well. She was, after all, Angel’s hero.

Angel loved that cannon that Chyna always fired. It was so freaking cool. The little lighting concept Jerky had designed for the Rogue Angel song paled in comparison. Jerky. Angel had nearly forgotten he was here.

“She fights like you do,” Jericho stated, although they’d talked this through earlier in the locker room. “And she has you on size and strength, so I only have one piece of advice for you. Fight like you were trained in the Dungeon.”

Angel gave a little nod. She knew exactly what he meant.

“Do this, baby,” Jericho was saying as Chyna posed on the turnbuckles with her title belt. “Bring home the gold.”

“Don’t worry, Jerky,” Angel replied. “I intend to.”

He patted her on the back and exited through the ropes as Chyna climbed down and handed her title belt to the ref. Angel gave her a respectful nod which, somewhat surprisingly, she returned. Next Angel held out her hand and Chyna shook it, much to the delight of the crowd. Finally the bell rang and the two competitors circled, arms out.

They locked up with Angel trying to exert her strength, only to have Chyna fling her arms away and score first with a few sharp forearms to the head. Chyna sent her for the quick Irish whip and immediately dropped her with a shoulder block. She grabbed Angel off the ground and went for another whip, this time hitting the knee to the abdomen and spinning Angel right around. Next came two hard dropped elbows and a splash. She was just too big, too strong and equally as fast as Angel.

Chyna grabbed a groggy Angel by the head and forced her into the corner, landing a few punches and kicks before Angel put on a burst and immediately reversed their positions. Bam! Knife-edge chop, bam! Another chop and Angel grabbed Chyna’s arms and went for the whip, only to have it reversed by Chyna. Angel’s eyes widened at the approaching ringpost and she pushed down on the middle rope, spinning her body upside down as Chyna hurtled through after her, crashing into the post and tumbling from the ring.

Angel took a deep breath and steadied herself on the apron, waiting for Chyna to stand. Bam! Hurricanrana. Angel took a deep breath and grabbed Chyna by the back of the head, forcing her back into the ring before jumping up onto the apron and hoisting herself onto the top turnbuckle. As soon as Chyna began to stand, Angel flew in the missile dropkick, but somehow Chyna dove out of the way and Angel had to drastically change her course to avoid wrecking her knees, causing her to stumble into the corner. Chyna took a run up and then, cartwheel, back handspring elbow, right into a DDT. She made the cover.

“One!” counted the ref.

“Come on, Rogue!” Jericho shouted. “Kick out, come on!”

“Two!”

Angel kicked savagely and Chyna fell back. Both of them found their feet at about the same time, with Chyna going for an Irish whip. Angel flew off the ropes, right into a powerbomb hold. Chyna lifted her high as the sick thought entered Angel’s mind that this was Chyna’s finisher these days. She went up and up and, just then, Angel hooked her feet under Chyna’s arms, twisted through her legs and rolled her into a pin, just like in the Frankensteiner.

“One! Two!”

Only two. Angel gave a wry smile and jumped up, grabbing Chyna by the bottom part of her bikini and snapping her over. Bam! One snap suplex.

“Let’s go, baby!” Jericho cried and just then his head slammed forward into the apron as Rob Van Dam, Mike Awesome and Justin Credible appeared from nowhere and started gang-bashing him. The ref didn’t notice. He was watching the match in progress.

Bam! Two snap suplexes.

Lance Storm dove in from another part of the crowd, leaped up onto the apron and hurriedly undid the turnbuckle cover, exposing the steel of the turnbuckle.

Bam! Three snap suplexes.

“Now!” Lance cried and his three friends stopped beating Jericho and followed him into the crowd where they crouched in the front row, untouchable by security.

Angel had the cover.

“One!” counted the ref. “Two!”

But Chyna kicked out.

Angel got to her feet and again tried to whip Chyna, who reversed it into a savage clothesline and Angel hit the deck. Before she knew it she was being lifted to her feet and Irish whipped. She cringed, grabbed for the ropes and jumped, propelling herself through the air and taking Chyna down in the Asai moonsault. She got up as quickly as she could, grabbed Chyna and put her over her knee in the backbreaker before letting her drop to the canvas and turning her onto her stomach. Angel got the leg scissors on, slammed her hands into her face and leaned back hard. Crippler crossface.

At that moment, Jericho began picking himself up and immediately noticed the exposed turnbuckle.

“What the hell?” he cried, hoisting himself onto the apron and climbing towards the corner.

The ref spotted him out the corner of his eyes and ran straight over.

“Hey, get down from there!”

“But the turnbuckle!” Jericho argued, trying to point it out.

“I’ll deal with the turnbuckle. You get down,” the ref replied.

Jericho sighed and jumped back, only to have a chair thrown at him and bam! Van Daminator by RVD. Unfortunately for Jericho, the ref had taken his advice and was now fixing the turnbuckle, while behind him, Chyna still floundered in the crossface, ready to tap but trying desperately to crawl to the ropes.

“Hey ref!” called a voice and he spun around, right into a superkick from Lance Storm.

“Justin!” Lance cried. “Right here!”

Justin grinned over at Lilian Garcia and picked up the women’s title belt, handing it to Lance, who turned around and came face to face with two very angry divas. He stayed calm, ducking their double clothesline, just as Mike Awesome grabbed Angel from behind and dragged her back into the corner as she screamed in protest.

“Hello Chyna,” Lance said solemnly, and then he bludgeoned her with the title belt. He peered up at the stage and signaled emphatically.

Sure enough, the corrupt WCW official Nick Patrick came running out. Awesome released Angel and climbed from the ring as she glared viciously over at Lance.

“Now,” he told her, himself climbing down and still clutching the women’s title belt. “Do the Stairway To Heaven and make the cover. You’ve won it.”

Angel glanced down at Chyna, then glared back at Lance. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Nick Patrick was standing behind her. “You gonna make the cover?”

Angel turned on him, eyes cold with fury. “No.”

“You’re not?”

“Didn’t you see the screwjob?” Angel spat.

“No, all I see is one woman down and another who should be making the cover. Now, are you going to do it or not?”

“No.”

“Hey Patrick!” cried a voice from the other side of the ring.

“RVD!” Patrick smiled, heading over there. As soon as he did so, Justin Credible dove into the ring, cracked Angel across the back with his Singapore cane and dove out again. Angel teetered and teetered and fell, right onto Chyna.

“See you later, Nick,” Rob grinned, jumping back down onto the ground.

Nick Patrick turned around, noticing that Angel finally had the cover. He dropped to the canvas and made the count.

“One! Two! Three!”

The ringbell sounded and Lilian Garcia got to her feet.

“Here is your winner and new World Wrestling Federation women’s champion, Angel Torres!”

Patrick grabbed Angel’s had and helped her to her feet, hoisting her arm into the air as Lance handed him the belt. The crowd didn’t know what to do. Should they cheer or boo? It was like at Wrestlemania X-7 when Stone Cold Steve Austin aligned himself with Vince McMahon in his home state of Texas. Had Angel sold out? Had she joined the Alliance?

Angel wrenched her hand away, glaring furiously at Patrick and throwing the belt aside as she dropped down next to Chyna.

“Chyna,” she said, patting the older woman’s cheeks. “Are you okay?”

Chyna groaned and opened her bright blue eyes. “What happened?”

“You don’t want to know,” Angel muttered, offering her hand. “Let’s get you out of here.”

Suddenly, she was ripped away from Chyna and thrown back into the ropes. Before she could move, she heard Rob’s voice and felt him catch her arms.

“Stay awhile, Next F’n Thing.”

And then he trapped her wrists between the top two ropes. She couldn’t get out. She tried to run forward but immediately sprang back. She tried again for the same result. She was stuck.

And then, in front of her, Mike grabbed Chyna and powerbombed her brutally.

Lance gave a clinical nod, turning to Justin. “Tombstone.”

“All right,” Justin grinned, scooping up the fallen woman and holding her vertical, then slamming her down between his legs in the tombstone piledriver.

“No!” Angel shrieked. “Her neck! She’s got a bad neck! You’ll cripple her!”

Lance ignored her. “RVD?”

Rob grinned and went up top. Bam! Five star frog splash. He stood over Chyna and crooked his thumbs towards his head. “Rob Van Dam!”

Angel tried desperately to free herself, but it was just no use.

“Now,” Lance commented. “It’s my turn. Have any of you executed a piledriver since the old ECW?”

“No,” they all replied.

“You get fired for that shit in WWF,” Justin added.

“Well,” Lance nodded. “It’s a good thing we’re in ECW.”

He picked Chyna up and bam, cracked her down in a spike piledriver, the very same move that had broken her neck the first time, back in December.

“You bastards!” Angel cried, still struggling unsuccessfully against the ropes.

Lance caught her eye and nodded at her. “Justin, let’s do the catchphrase.”

“Oh yeah,” Justin grinned, throwing his arms in the air and ducking in front of Lance as if they were still the Impact Players. “That’s not just the coolest, that’s not just the best.”

“That’s from Calgary, Alberta, Canada,” Lance chimed in.

“That my friends, is Justin Credible!” Justin cried.

“You assholes!” Angel shrieked. “Let me the fuck go!”

At that moment, Chris Jericho dove furiously into the ring and all four ECW boys quickly split.

“Come back, you assclowns! Get your jackasses back in this ring so I can beat the living hell out of them!” He paced savagely as Storm, Awesome, Van Dam and Credible talked trash on the ramp.

“Jerky!” Angel screamed. “Jerky!”

Jericho raced over to her, finally freeing her from the ropes. She ran to him, tears pouring out of her eyes. Chyna still hadn’t moved. There were paramedics all around her. They were strapping her into a hard neckbrace.

“Why did they do that, Jericho?” Angel sobbed, clutching him tightly.

“Because they’re jackasses, baby,” Jericho replied solemnly. “Evil, heartless, soulless jackasses. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Wiping desperately at her eyes, Angel followed the cavalcade of paramedics.

“Hey Angel,” called a voice. It was Lilian Garcia.

Angel turned back.

“You forgot your belt.”

“Thanks,” Angel replied bitterly, taking it from her.

She was the women’s champion. She had a belt. But Chyna might not ever walk again, much less wrestle. It wasn’t worth it. No way. She said as much to Jericho.

“I know, baby,” he said quietly. “I know it’s not.”

Angel clutched the belt as if it was a grenade. She didn’t want it anymore. But she had it. And there was no turning back.