Anarchy has been off the hour for scarcely 30 minutes, when the shot ventures into Clutch Cassidy's dressing room. But there is nothing titilating to be found there. Clutch is sitting on the bench, still clad in her wrestling gear. Her eyes are downcast to the floor, maybe even glistening a little with unspent tears. 

It wasn't supposed to end that way. 

Of course, it never is supposed to end that way, is it? The first major loss. The first feeling of a championship literally slipping through your fingers. 

Clutch sighs and sniffles, grabbing for her bag of gear and resolving to get moving, get back to the hotel, take a nice hot shower and pass the fuck out, leaving this terrible night to the mercy of what dreams may come. 

That was about when Sam entered. No knock, of course, just all bitter swagger and twisted verve.

"I know...I know...." Clutch began. 

"You don't fucking know!" Sam pointed at the door. "That was supposed to be the first of many "fuck yous" I level at Kieran King. And instead it turned into a shit show in which we lost to security guards.....fucking SECURITY GUARDS!" Sam spat venemously. 

Clutch chanced a look at him, face set in a grim countenance. "You know I wasn't the only one out there."

"No, but you were the one on the fucking ladder. You were the one who FAILED. A mistake that won't be repeated."

Just then, the door opened again, and Sam's Rollerwhores entered: Elektra and Violet. Clutch could see where this was headed with a quickness. 

"Didn't our time together mean anything to you?"

"Maybe. If you had sat on my face. Girls, SIC HER!"

Clutch saw the attack coming, and she was determined not to go down like some shrinking violet. She rose to her feet and started throwing wild punches at Elektra and Violet, but their faces were protected by those haunting gas masks. But for a time, with the fierce body shots she was landing, she was fighting them off. Until Sam stepped in, grabbing a heaping helping of her blond locks and pulling her into a vicious headbutt that stunned both of them. 

Clutch faltered backwards into the hands of the Rollerwhores, and it wasn't long until she was met with the perverse bliss of the void. 

LATER....

Clutch came to, and immediately recoiled from the sight in front of her. It was a massive staircase, somewhere deep within the bowels of the arena. A maintenance corridor most likely. And Clutch was poised at the top of it, with a Rollerwhore on each arm restraining her. Sam's voice sounded out behind them. 

"Breaking up is so hard to do, isn't it Clutchykins?"

"Jesus Christ Sam you don't....you don't have to do this...." The toe of Clutch's boot was poised over the lip of the first step. A long, long way down. 

"I'm afraid I do. You see, I like CLEAN endings. No loose ends. No remaining threads. And YOU my dear, are a very big loose end."

Clutch could feel her ire brimming despite the precarious nature of her situation. "Oh grow up."

"....excuse me?"

"You big prattling baby! I ain't gonna pretend this is something it's not. This ain't about the match. It's about CONTROL. And how you couldn't control me. How I wouldn't give in to all your pathetic little awkward advances. It's about you being a stunted little baby man child who ain't used to not getting his way!"

Sam went silent for a moment. And then, with a disarming sigh, "You're right. You couldn't let me in that puss-puss even once? Fuckin' prude." Then, with a detached viciousness, "Dump her."

Clutch gasped as she took flight. And then her world spiralled, topsy tervy intermixed with the agony of bones shattering, splintering into organs as she fell. She tasted copper in her mouth, her ears rang such that they started to drown out the sounds of all the popping and snapping. By the time she stilled, she was a ruination of a human being. 

Sam cast an imperious look down at her broken form. At first, he looked like he was going to speak. But then he shut his mouth, the passing glimmer of something in his eye before he turned away from the carnage he wrought and began walking back down the corridor with his Rollerwhores in tow.

Clutch Cassidy is still at the bottom of the stairs, folded into a shape that doesn't look human. The blood has begun to darken around her.

Then we hear distant footsteps that seem to be coming in our direction.

Graves steps into frame and stops dead like he’s walked into the wrong room at a party.

He looks down the stairwell at Clutch and tilts his head like Michael Myers.

"...Huh?"

He glances back over his shoulder. The corridor is empty. No witnesses.

Graves waits a sec longer like he's just waiting for an adult to show up.

One doesn't.

He rubs his face with a sigh.

"Goddammit."

He then makes his way down the steps and kneels beside of her, checking her neck with two fingers.

He waits.

Nothing.

Graves nods to himself.

"Yeah... that tracks..."

He stands and looks around again. Left. Right. Down the hall. Up the stairs. Still nobody.

Then the realization hits him.

Oh.

Oh no.

The camera catches it on his face, that specific Graves look that says this was not on the menu, but now it’s definitely happening.

He grips Clutch under broken arms and starts dragging her.

Her body is dead weight and does not cooperate.

Graves stops, annoyed.

"Hold on..."

He grabs her feet instead and resumes dragging her.

He stops again and looks back, spotting a camera that he didn't realize was there before now. He then looks down at her, and back again.

There’s a long uncomfortable pause.

Graves exhales.

"...This is gonna be a whole thing."

He looks down the corridor, then back to the camera. He shrugs and finishes dragging Clutch completely out of sight.

The camera is left staring at the blood where she landed and a long smear where she was dragged away.

No body.

No explanation.

No Graves.

Just the horrifying realization that of all the people who could’ve found her... it was him