No Mercy

Roberta was tingling all over as she walked into the auditorium. She couldn’t miss the people already lining up to get into a show that wouldn’t start for over an hour, and she was just able to make out a few voices talking about the R.I.P. versus Spice match tonight. Pamela Trent had been so right about the fans being eager to see more of the UWF’s new villainess.

The rookie wrestler could hardly believe the success of her new "evil" persona in the ring. It was a lot bigger than a few fans in line and Pamela giving her a new contract. The very next morning after squashing Sugar, Roberta went to the official UWF web-site and was amazed by what she found. Pamela had obviously gotten a rush job done overnight because the roster gallery had already been updated, removing "Big Bobbi-Jo" and adding "R.I.P." There were even three still-shots with the listing, showing R.I.P. dominating Sugar hanging in the corner, planting her with the liger-bomb, and pinning her with a boot on her face. And that wasn’t the only thing she found on the site. The chatroom page was full of questions and debates about the "Daughter of Death."

Roberta had dreamed about getting this kind of response from the fans, and now that she had it, she was so excited that she hard a hard time sleeping for a few days. She had to add another hour or so to her daily workout regimen to burn off the excess energy. She checked back every day and found more and more "R.I.P." messages in the chats, and then Pamela used the chatroom to announce the R.I.P. Vs Spice match and tripled the messages! Huge debates were being held about whether Spice would win or even had a chance or would survive, period. Pamela gave it another few days and leaked the information that R.I.P. had ordered a stretcher to be put at ringside for Spice. No one talked about anything else! Even SPICE put out messages, make that "threats," about her opponent, the Daughter of Death, being an ambush-artist and promising to "destroy the big, cheating witch!" There was a really good chance that this match was drawing more people than the main event, tag title match for the men’s division.

Walking in the clouds, Roberta walked into the women’s locker room and was shot out of the sky. "There you are, you psycho bitch!" Barely through the door, she was confronted by Spice. The hot-blooded Brazilian and her partner were usually among the first to show up for any show to get their outfits and make-up "just right." Spice, real name Dalia Amaral, wasn’t even dressed. She planted herself in front of the big brunette in nude pantyhose and practically snarled at Roberta. "Who the fuck do you think you are, putting out that shit about a stretcher? You pulled a Pearl Harbor job on Kendra (a.k.a. Sugar) and cheated your fat ass off! You think you’re a bad ass now?"

Roberta was kind of shocked. "I’m doing the heel now. I just acted like one, that’s all. And I wasn’t the person that put out the stretcher information. I just said something to Pamela as a joke, and she liked the idea to work up the fans."

"I’M A JOKE TO YOU? YOU OVERSIZED FREAK OF NATURE! I’LL SHOW YOU A JOKE!" Spice got toe-to-toe with Roberta, tilting her head way back to look the bigger girl in the eyes. She hissed, "Let’s show your fans who the "Daughter of Death" really is. I’m sure they’ll remember the biggest joke to ever hit the women’s division!"

"What makes you think you’ll do any better than your bimbo partner?" Roberta was getting pissed now. After a lot of hard work, she’d done something that got the fans’ attention, and Spice was bitching her out for it! Not to mention, she was obviously threatening to unmask Roberta and ruin her new character! "Sugar never got in a single shot at me, but even if she did, it wouldn’t have changed the outcome! I’d have stomped her into a stain just as easily!" Roberta gave Spice a sneering smile. "Just like I’m going to stomp you!"

"STOMP ME? STOMP ME!" Spice was known for some wing-ding tantrums and she was winding up for one right now. "The only thing that’s gonna happen out there tonight, is that the fans ARE GONNA SEE YOU BEATEN LIKE THE SICK BITCH YOU ARE AND RUN OUT OF THE ARENA! YOU STABBED SUGAR WITH A FUCKING FORK, YOU WHORE! WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU CALL THAT? I’M GONNA RIP YOU’RE TITS OFF FOR THAT!" Spice slammed her hands into Roberta’s breasts to shove her, but didn’t move the big girl.

Roberta snarled back, "I WAS JUST CHECKING IF THE BITCH WAS DONE! AND IN TWO SECONDS, YOU’RE GONNA BE!" Her hands shot out into Dalia’s bare breasts, and the Brazilian crashed into the lockers a couple of steps behind her.

The shouting had drawn a few other wrestlers and some trainers, and they jumped in between Roberta and Dalia before it escalated any more. Sugar ran in and, with help, managed to get her partner moving back toward their lockers and gear. As she was pulled away, Spice yelled, "NO MERCY! Tonight it’s gonna be no mercy in the ring! You’re dead, you bitch!"

Roberta watched them disappear around some lockers, and the trainers let her go. "You all heard her. She said there was no mercy tonight, not me! She’s got no one to blame but herself!" She turned and stomped off toward her own locker.

A few hours later, the show was nearing its end. The UWF put on a show every week, occasionally two, at a dozen or so facilities in the region, and they usually had 8-10 matches in a show. They also had an hour-long, weekly show on late, late-night cable that broadcast the week’s main event, 2 or 3 of the better undercard matches, and highlights from the rest of the card.

Already tonight, the fans had seen seven exciting matches, two of them women’s division. (Typically, there were 2-3 women’s matches per show.) Now, they began to shake the rafters with cheers as two members of the ring crew wheeled out a stretcher to ringside. The ring announcer climbed in the ring and had to shout into his microphone to be heard. "Our next contest is a UWF women’s match to one fall by pin, submission or knockout with a 20-minute time limit. Entering the arena first at 128 pounds, she hails from Rio de Janeiro. Accompanied by her partner Sugar, she is SPICE!"

Sugar stepped out first dressed in a white leather miniskirt with a midriff-baring, pink halter and white suede ankle boots. She looked unbelievably sexy (as usual) and greeted her many cheering fans by waving and blowing kisses to them. Spice stepped out a second or two after her blonde partner, in her usual wrestling outfit but not her usual attitude. She was pissed and everyone could see it in her face. The Brazilian beauty’s lovely smile was replaced by a snarl, and her dark eyes practically flickered with fire. Of course, even enraged she looked fantastically gorgeous. In her familiar skin-tight, red, "wet-look" one-piece, there was no way to miss the high, pert breasts, the firm, flat midriff, and the tight buns, and her long, lovely legs looked spectacular in the silky hose. (The pantyhose also kept the suit from riding up on her.) She rounded out the costume with red vinyl "Supergirl" boots. Those boots made a bee-line for the ring, foregoing the usual meet-and-greet with her fans, but Sugar did her best to pick up the slack for her partner.

Spice shot into the ring and paced around like a tigress on speed. She was mad about the way Sugar had been beaten. She was enraged about the way she had been attacked after that match. She was furious about the little "conversation" with Roberta in the locker room. And she was royally pissed about being brought out FIRST, the spot usually given to the LESSER wrestler, so the damned ROOKIE got the spotlight introduction. (This last one was a last-minute goose from Pamela Trent. Pamela had been told, naturally, about the near-fight in the locker room and the "no mercy" comments from both wrestlers. Knowing Spice’s temper, Pamela figured this slight would put her over the top. She was right.) After a few seconds, it boiled over and she grabbed the mike from the referee. "Bring her out here! Bring out the vicious bitch that ambushed my partner and tried to break her neck! Bring out the psycho that thinks she’s gonna send me out of here on that stretcher! Bring her out so I can put HER on that stretcher! But it won’t be all of her! Her MASK is coming home with ME!" She threw the microphone back to the announcer and stalked around the ring while the fans went insane.

The announcer fumbled the mike between his two hands for a few seconds before getting a good grip on it and then adjusted his collar for a moment to regain his composure. As he raised the mike, the fans seemed to quiet slightly in anticipation. "Her opponent is from the Heart of Darkness and weighs in at a powerful 187 pounds! She is the Daughter of Death, R.I.P.!" There was a moment of surprise as the lights went out and then a spotlight hit the entryway and illuminated R.I.P. She stood there for a moment, draped in her black cape so all you could see was the skull mask and black boots. She threw her arms out, tossing the cape back over her shoulders, and the lights came back up. She was damned impressive. Standing two inches over 6-foot, she was covered in black Lycra that stretched over full breasts, rippled abs, and well-muscled thighs. Her costume had a minor change. The costumers had replaced her black weight-lifting gloves with black leather "gauntlet-style" gloves that had cuffs that came halfway up her forearms. The new gloves seemed to bring out the definition in the muscles of her bare arms. The fans responded to her with the wild screams and catcalls for a true villain at a volume that you could feel in your bones. Beneath the mask, Roberta allowed herself a slight smile as she compared the mild greeting of her last appearance with the deafening response to this entrance.

R.I.P. walked slowly to the ring, watching Spice grow more agitated with each step. God, she was acting like the rookie! Her emotions were in complete control, and it was obvious that she couldn’t wait to attack. Just to make her insane, she put one foot on the ring steps, then turned and started walking slowly around the ring. Spice ran along the ropes just above her screaming, "Get in here! Come on, you coward, get in here!" R.I.P. didn’t even look at here, though she was keeping Spice in sight out of the corner of her eye. She didn’t want to be surprised if Spice lost it and came out of the ring to get her. "Damn it! Get in HERE!" The woman in black sauntered around a ring post and walked to the stretcher, running her hand over it and then looking up at Spice as she patted its surface. "You like that? YOU’RE leaving on it, NOT ME! NOW GET… IN… HERE!" R.I.P. sauntered back to the ring steps, taking her time while Spice fumed.

Outside the ring by Spice’s corner, Sugar didn’t like what she was seeing and called over and over to try to make her partner calm down. She could see that R.I.P. was playing a mind game on Spice, and Spice was getting sucked into it. "Spice, calm down and come over here. She’s not going to get in the ring as long as you’re there!" The Brazilian babe wasn’t listening, walking back and forth and grabbing the top rope repeatedly. The referee finally had to bodily move Spice away from the ropes so R.I.P. would enter.

Even then, she was taking her time, climbing to the ring apron and standing outside the ropes while Spice pushed against the ref. To get things moving, he was forced to call for the bell and start a count-out on the big woman. R.I.P. slipped off her cape and bent down to slip through the ropes.

As expected, Spice charged as soon as she saw the masked woman put her head down. R.I.P. wasn’t surprised; it was too obvious from the way Spice was acting. As soon as the Brazilian hard-body got close, R.I.P. slipped back, straightening up and flipping her cape so it flew over Spice’s head. There was no more slow-motion. R.I.P. streaked through the ropes and smashed her right hand into the side of Spice’s covered head. Then she grabbed the cape tight and pulled Spice down to drive three full-strength knee-lifts into the smaller woman’s ribs, lifting her off of the mat with each shot. The referee jumped in, probably preventing the fourth knee-lift, and shouted, "Break it up! Get the cape out of the ring!" R.I.P. complied before he could start a count. She threw the cape over the top rope to the floor, complete with her opponent. Sugar screamed and ran to her partner as Spice hit the thin matting on the hardwood floor.

The California blonde managed to get the cape off of her partner, but R.I.P. put an end to her help at that point. Leaping down from the ring apron, she smashed a double-ax-handle into the back of Sugar’s neck and sent her down on top of Spice. With two handfuls of blonde hair, she pulled Sugar up and ran her along ringside and threw her head first into the steel security railing, dropping the blonde to the floor in a daze. Except for a few guys trying to answer the panties/no panties question, everyone watched R.I.P. walk back toward Spice.

The raven-haired wrestler was up, a little wobbly but breathing fire. She didn’t wait for R.I.P. to arrive, choosing to charge and hit the big woman with a drop-kick instead. The woman in black was staggered and stumbled back a couple of steps. Spice hit her again with the drop-kick. R.I.P. went stumbling backward again, catching the ring post with her hand to keep up on her feet. Spice flew at her with a third drop-kick, but she got only a glancing blow to the shoulder as R.I.P. used the post to swing back out of the way. Spice landed on her back, and the masked wrestler swung back at her, planting her boot down on the Brazilian’s forehead. R.I.P. got her licks in with a half-dozen stomps to the head and chest of Spice.

She had to stop because the referee had started a count on her and had reached "16." (He’d taken his time starting the count because Pamela Trent had ordered "lenient" officiating in this match.) R.I.P. rolled under the rope and got to her feet, strutting around the ring while Spice struggled to her feet. Seeing her opponent grandstanding in the ring, Spice shrieked and slid into the ring after her. She ran up toe-to-toe with the bigger woman and nailed her with a lightning-quick right hand. R.I.P.’s head was snapped to the side, but she whipped back with a right hand of her own that spun Spice’s head. Spice wound up and delivered another right hand and received another. Blow for blow, the two women exchanged right hands for about a minute, but Spice was forgetting the "exchange" in the locker room. She was up against a woman about 8 inches taller and roughly 60 pounds heavier than she was. Starting to get a bit dizzy, Spice threw a right hand that R.I.P. blocked and was rocked by a right hand that crashed into her temple. She tried another shot, got blocked, and was staggered a couple of steps by R.I.P.’s right. Shaking out the cobwebs, she turned back and raised her hand to throw another punch, but she was dropped by a short lariat, cracking the back of her skull on the mat.

Getting a little sense knocked into her this way made Spice realize that she was fighting like a fool. She had to get some breathing room and rolled over quickly to get to her feet, only to catch a heel-stomp that crushed her forehead into the canvas. Not taking her foot away, R.I.P. stepped over Spice, pushing her face into the mat, and dropped a knee into the Brazilian’s spine. Spice howled as her spine seemed to mold itself around the big woman’s knee, and she was jerked up by the hair into a side-headlock. For the first time, she was getting an inkling of how strong Roberta was and how much the big girl used to hold back in the ring. The muscles in the big arms swelled as crushing pressure was applied to Spice’s skull, but that was nothing compared to the feeling of her throat closing when R.I.P. shifted Spice out of the referee’s sight and slipped the hold to a choke.

Spice was flailing her arms against the woman in black and wheezing in an effort to pull in some air. R.I.P. had her stumbling around in circles as she maneuvered around the ring to keep her body between the ref and Spice. Finally, he managed to side-step around the masked woman as Spice was turning purple and started a count. R.I.P. took it to "8" and ran into a corner to slam Spice’s head into the top turnbuckle. Fuzzy from the lack of air, the dark-haired wrestler’s head bounced off of the turnbuckle, and she staggered in a circle like she was drunk. R.I.P. measured her up for a belly-kick that folded her over and then tucked Spice’s head between her knees to lay the smaller woman out on the canvas with a pedigree face-buster. Standing up quickly, R.I.P. kicked Spice over onto her back. She grabbed the top rope and sprang off of the bottom rope, kicking out her legs and dropping across Spice’s chest in a big splash.

Hooking a leg, she seemed to want the pin, but as soon as the referee dropped into position to count, the skull-masked woman sat up shaking her head and pulled Spice up by the hair. Shifting her hand, R.I.P. locked a choking, one-handed grip on Spice’s throat. The referee gave her a couple of warnings about the blatant choke before starting the count, but R.I.P. suddenly broke into a run, forcing Spice back into the corner with a crash. She pulled her hand away from the Brazilian’s throat, but with a yank of the hair, Spice’s head went back so R.I.P. could bring the hand back with a frightening chop to the windpipe. Spice made something that sounded almost like a bark as the fans gasped at the brutal blow, and R.I.P. let Spice fall to her knees, grasping at her throat with both hands. She couldn’t speak, breathe, or even cough as it felt like her throat had been crushed! Spice collapsed over onto her side and kicked her legs as tears came from her eyes from the pain.

R.I.P. dropped down to her knees next to the young beauty and hauled her up into a sitting position, grasping the Brazilian’s chin and hair to wrench Spice’s head to the side. Leaning in next to Spice’s ear, she hissed, "You said you wanted no mercy tonight! You can blame yourself for what I’m about to do to you!" Unable to resist, Spice was forced to her feet and had her face beaten into the top turnbuckle ten times, with the crowd counting the hits. Stunned and wheezing, she was spun around against the turnbuckles and pummeled with knees and forearms to her stomach, ribs, and breasts. Oxygen was becoming a fond memory for Spice as she struggled desperately to get air past her bruised throat and into her battered chest. Just as Spice’s eyes began to roll back into her head, R.I.P. stopped the bombardment and scooped the smaller woman off of the mat, pressing her overhead in a quick movement. The crowd (and Sugar) had a moment to register the obvious power of the woman in black before Spice was thrown out of the ring at the stretcher.

Unlike the tables in hardcore matches, this was a standard medical stretcher with plenty of braces to support very large people. It didn’t give when Spice hit it, landing across the stretcher with her back and bending into a horseshoe. An instant later, Spice and the stretcher were lying on their sides on the floor. The stretcher was undamaged, but Spice was kicking and twitching in agony.

Sugar screamed and bolted from her spot at the announcers’ table. (They had invited her to join them when she pulled herself together from R.I.P.’s attack.) She shoved the stretcher away and fell to her knees by Spice. The crowd’s yells let the blonde know that R.I.P. had left the ring, and Sugar turned around and pleaded on her knees for the big villain to leave her partner alone. She got kicked in the face. Pulled to her feet by the hair, Sugar was told the same thing as Spice. "Your partner said no mercy! She’s getting what she wanted!" R.I.P. buried her fist in the bare midriff and then grabbed the back of Sugar’s skirt to run her into the security rail a second time. (This time, the panties/no panties question was clearly answered. Sugar’s skirt was yanked halfway up her butt and let everyone see her sexy pink thong.)

Everyone tensed as they expected R.I.P. to tear into the injured Spice immediately, but to their surprise, she went to the stretcher first. She took the time to pick it up and check it over and pat the cushion again. Then, she ran it as fast as she could and clipped Spice in the forehead with one of the wheels, cutting her slightly.

Now, it was Spice’s turn. Wrapping her hand in the thick black tresses, R.I.P. pulled Spice up to her feet and had to hold her to keep her there. The smaller woman didn’t seem to have control of her legs at the moment. That was fine with R.I.P.’s plans. She started walking around the ring, bringing Spice staggering along with her. The referee had exhausted his warnings again and started another count. At "10," R.I.P. picked up speed and rammed Spice’s forehead into the ring post at the ring steps. The small bead of blood on her head became a trickle creeping down toward her left eye. R.I.P. threw Spice’s face downward into the steel steps with a loud crash. Spice’s head bounced about an inch and fell back down on the top step, her chest leaning against the side of the steps. The referee reached "17," and the big woman rolled inside under the ropes and out again, restarting the count.

She pulled up Spice’s head and slammed it down with another crash. Climbing quickly to the ring apron, R.I.P. leaped and stomped down on the back of Spice’s head. There was a crash and a spasm from Spice, and R.I.P. shoved her over onto her back on the floor. Spice’s forehead had the same red "wet look" as her costume. She’d been busted wide open and blood was running all over her face. She was still conscious, sort of, or whatever you call it when someone’s eyes are open but they don’t know what’s happening. She kicked her legs in the air and wheezed loudly when R.I.P. jumped off of the steps and landed on her chest with both feet. The referee was up to "12" in the count, and Spice was picked up by the hair and scoop-slammed onto the ring apron. R.I.P. rolled her into the ring and followed, beating another count-out.

Spice was actually starting to move. (Roberta was amazed, and because Spice put her in a bad mood, she decided to play a little.) Spice was scrabbling on the canvas, apparently trying to stand, and R.I.P. grabbed the shoulder straps of her suit to help her up, slapping her a bit once she was upright to wake her up. Spice was up, staggering and less than coherent, but she tried to attack, throwing some wild punches. The punches had nothing behind them and bounced off of the big woman like raindrops (the ones that hit, that is) as R.I.P. stood there with her hands on her hips. After a few humorous (from R.I.P.’s side) moments of this, Spice grabbed the bigger wrestler and tried to lift her, futilely attempting to get her in the "Spice Rack," Spice’s across-the-shoulders back-breaker finishing move. Even if she knew what she was doing, it was unlikely that Spice would have the strength to hold someone R.I.P.’s size long enough for a submission. In her current condition, well, no one thought R.I.P.’s shaking shoulders were from fatigue or tears. The woman in black was having a good laugh, and then she ended the fun with an elbow to the head that put Spice face-down on the mat.

Lifting Spice and locking in a headlock from in front, R.I.P. sent a half-dozen rib-splintering knee-lifts into her helpless victim. There were some grunts and squeaks from Spice, but no attempt to escape or fight back. The match ended for her several minutes ago. R.I.P. straightened her up and turned Spice around, lowering herself back-to-back with the dazed woman and reaching over her shoulder to grab Spice’s chin. Pulling Spice’s neck onto her shoulder, the big woman straightened her legs and lifted Spice off of the mat in a hangman submission. Of course, Spice wasn’t clear enough to even submit anymore, but the referee moved in to declare her unconscious as soon as he could raise and drop Spice’s arm. R.I.P. wasn’t going to allow that and dropped to her butt, sending a devastating shock through Spice with a neck-breaker. Spice dropped like a dead woman on her back, eyes wide and vacant. R.I.P. leaned across her chest in a casual pin that made the ref quickly slap the mat. The broken Brazilian was pulled up before he could make "3."

Now there were people all over the arena begging R.I.P. to finish the poor girl. Even the referee was asking the masked woman to have mercy. R.I.P. stood quickly and brought Spice up with her, using Spice’s hair to raise the limp victim. Grasping the back of Spice’s neck and under her ass, R.I.P. again pressed her high into the air and shouted, "NO MERCY!" She held the girl up for a few seconds to let it sink in and dropped to one knee, bringing Spice’s spine down across her outstretched knee with a "crack" as the destroyed wrestler folded in half the wrong way.

People were screaming now, Sugar most of all. Even Roberta realized that she couldn’t take this match any further without ending Spice’s career, something she wasn’t prepared to do. She shoved Spice off of her knee and stood, placing a foot on the bloody face and demanding a five-count from the referee. The bell rang and the announcer told everyone what they already knew. R.I.P. raised her arms in victory and then reached down to grab Spice’s ankle. She dragged what was left of the girl to the side of the ring near the stretcher and kicked her out to the floor for the medics to wheel her away. R.I.P. stayed in the ring soaking up the boos and flying trash until Spice was gone, and then she headed back to the locker room.

She had pulled off her mask and was about to go into the locker room when she heard her name called. Pamela Trent walked up from the other direction. "Damn, girl, why did we ever waste your time as a face? We’re holding up the main event for a few minutes to give the fans a chance to calm down. You’ve got them screaming into the rafters after mauling Spice like that! You’re in the show next week. I want you to victimize one more person, and then I’ll give you a week off before matching you up against one of our top girls. Any preferences on victims?"

Roberta ran her fingers through her short, brunette hair and thought about it. "How about Bambi? A good wipe-out would fit!"

Pamela smiled and nodded.