Remi couldn’t help but toss another glance over her shoulder as she exits her car, her feet hitting the concrete as she stands up, neck craning as her eyes search the length of the street.

Nothing.

Too bad she didn’t fully trust that.

Despite everything going on, she had decided to come home from New Mexico after Divide for a bit before shuttling off again to Washington for her next match at XWF. Really, she probably should have just gone on ahead to Seattle and spent the time sightseeing to try and keep her mind distracted. Not that much helped with that these days, the only time her mind was clear as a bell was in the damn ring. And, Remi thought to herself, she couldn’t let herself be spooked away from her own home.

Despite someone being murdered right outside it and a flower left on the seat of her broken into car.

No big deal.

She stepped through the door, shutting it behind her with a click that sounded loud in the room. For a moment, she didn’t move as she surveyed her living room. Her hand stayed on the handle, her weight still angled towards the means to escape, just in case. Nothing moved, no sound, nothing out of place.

So why did it still feel wrong?

Her jaw tightens ever so slightly as she forces herself to let go and step forward, pushing the thought to the side before it could take root any deeper. Her bag slips from her shoulder onto the couch, keys landing on the small side table beside it with a clatter. She continues on into the kitchen with steady footfalls, gaze taking in everything. It all looked the same, just as it always did, untouched and neat after she was away. What had she expected? Open cabinets, everything tossed here and there in total disarray?

Well, yes actually.

And clearly she had been an idiot, right?

But still, her body refused to relax.

The feeling refused to wane, crawling up her back, settling like a cold coiled snake around her spine. Unfortunately, a very familiar one. She moved through her house, each step measured, trying to pretend everything was normal. Indeed, it seemed like there was no reason to think otherwise. The laundry area was pristine, as was the small sunroom off the back. Maybe she was that far into her own head, maybe she was driving herself that crazy to the point she couldn’t trust her own senses like she usually was able to. Her path carries her back across the living room, to the small hallway that branched off of it. Closet? Fine. Bathroom? All clear. Her attention drifts down towards the end where the two bedrooms sat across from one another. The spare rooms door was open, while hers was…

Closed?

Her steps falter.

That wasn’t completely unusual. It was a habit ingrained in her since childhood that she had never seemed to let go of. Had she done it before she left to go to the airport though? She racked her brain. She didn’t remember. Her fingers hover over the doorknob for a second before she grasps it and pushes the door open.

Nothing.

Remi relaxes from the involuntary brace against an attack that never came. Her bedroom was… her bedroom. She took in everything without rushing. Bed in place with the pretty pink floral comforter unmarred. Nightstand sitting beside it, lamp perched on top. Curtains pulled back with ties. Dresser against the wall across from the bed.

Nothing was wrong. She really was just batshit fuckin… wait! Her eyes narrow in as she sees it.

The dresser, the top drawer. Open. Not wide, barely a crack, not enough for someone who wasn’t looking to notice…. But she was.

Her pulse spiked as her world centered on that one little defect. She stepped forward carefully, fingers clenching and unclenching as she approaches. She pulls the drawer open the rest of the way. Everything seemed to be in there. Her clothes were even folded the same way. Nothing missing, but not untouched. There was a shift to it, subtle, almost imperceptible unless you knew exactly how it should look.

And she did.

Someone had been in here.

Her stomach dropped slowly. Her eyes lift from the dresser, scanning the room again, sharper now, more focused as fear cradled her heart in its icy grasp. Unease pressed in closer. She pushes the drawer shut harder than necessary. This wasn’t random. It wasn’t all in her head. She couldn’t really pretend anymore. This was deliberate. A cat and mouse game where she was the prey. What the hell did she do next?

Think Remi…

Her feet carry her around her room as her mind flips through her options, her brain so busy she almost doesn’t catch it. It takes a second for it to catch up to what her eyes had just caught on the nightstand. It was small and flat, easy to miss.

A photograph.

She plucks it up. The edges were worn, softened with time, like it had been handled a lot. She flips it over and immediately finds herself reeling yet again.

It was her.

Her as a baby. Wrapped in a blanket, cradled securely in her father’s arms. He was younger, maybe even a little softer, but it was unmistakably him. The same features. The same presence. And beside him… was another man. Standing close. Arm flung over the shoulders of her father, mouth wide in a happy go lucky grin as he looked at her. She tried to place him and nothing came. No memories, no recognition. He could be someone who wasn’t important, but every instinct she had screamed otherwise.

A cold realization settles in her chest. This went even deeper than she had originally guessed.

But how far?

What did it all mean?

Who was this man?

Why wouldn’t her father tell her anything?

And what the fuck was going to happen next?



“Rowan Vance pushed me further than I thought I could go.

I stepped into that match expecting a fight, and that’s exactly what I got. Rowan carried himself like a man who understands what this business is about. Pride. Competition. Pushing somebody to their limit just to see if they can survive standing there with you, even in unexplored arenas. I think we put each other through our paces, even though it got really technical. I walked out of that match a new version of myself, exhausted and still smiling through the pain because I enjoyed it. I enjoyed fighting somebody that made me sharper. Somebody I could look across the ring at and think, yeah… I get why people talk about you the way they do. Someone I applaud all the way around.

Then there's you, Jordan Penn.

Because after standing across from somebody I can admire?

Now I can stand across from somebody I can’t stand looking at.

You.

So let me introduce myself properly, because I don’t think you understand what kind of match you’re walking into.

Hi! I’m Remi.

But you’re not getting the Remi that most people meet first. You’re not getting the version that jokes around, that plays nice, that keeps things professional because the person across from her has earned that respect before the bell has even rung. Rowan got that version. Others have as well.

You?

You’re getting the nasty one.

The one people don’t usually push far enough to meet.

And congratulations Jordan… you managed to do it before we even met.

See, I don’t make connections easily. I don’t trust people easily either. Most people in this business are temporary. They shake your hand while looking for a knife to stick in your back the second your attention slips. So when I actually care about somebody? When I actually decide they matter to me?

I protect them.

And Betsy happens to be one of those people.

Which means every little game you’ve been playing, every manipulation, every ounce of chaos you brought crashing into her life, even through Seb? Yeah. I was watching. And I hated every second of your face while it was happening.

I watched your antics as The Director. I saw the snake in you and already disliked you.

Then you unmasked.

And even though I didn’t think it was possible, you got even more irritating.

You know what the worst part is? I already didn’t like Seb. I tolerate him because Betsy cares about him, but thats where it ends. I look at him and I see enough ego and drama to last a lifetime, and then suddenly here comes the long lost twin brother dragging more problems behind him like the family business is making everyone around you miserable.

And now theres two of you.

Lucky world.

But I think what bothers me most about you Jordan, is how much you seem to enjoy what you do to people. You hide behind masks, snide comments and mind games because somewhere along the line you decided that it made you powerful.

It doesn’t.

It just makes you ugly.

Not on the outside, though I promise I’m hoping on fixing that, but deep into your core.

You’ve got this rot to you. That’s why I’m going to enjoy this so much. This isn’t just some wrestling match to me. This got personal long before it was booked. The second you went after someone I care about.

And now I get you in a two of three falls match.

Do you understand how unfortunate that is for you?

Beating you once isn’t enough for me.

Now I get to hurt you repeatedly.

I get to drag this out.

I get to look down at you after the first fall and know there’s still more left for me to take.

And honestly? I can’t wait!

Maybe I’ll help balance things out a little, make that pretty face match the rest of you, because underneath it all? You’re not complicated. You’re not mysterious. You’re just ugly in ways even a mask couldn’t hide.

And I want you to understand this very clearly… I’m not coming into this nice. I’m not coming into this respectful. I’m not coming into this hoping we shake hands after.

No.

I want to hit you.

I want to wipe that smug look off your face one strike at a time. I want you to realize that this started to become a fight for your life while I’m just getting warmed up.

Because that’s the version of me you earned.

There are two sides to me Jordan.

One is real sweet.

The other one is real vicious.

And you picked the wrong side to bring out.

So when that bell rings, don’t expect sportsmanship. Don’t expect admiration. Don’t expect me to care whether you can stand back up afterward.

You want to play games with people I care about?

Fine.

Now you get to play one with me.

Only this one ends with me standing over you while the crowd watches me peel away every layer of confidence you walked in with.

Two out of three falls.

Multiple chances to leave damage behind.

And trust me…

I plan on making every single one count.”



Remi sat perched on the edge of her sofa, phone still in her hand, staring down at the dark screen. The decision had felt right in the moment, but now doubt was crashing in harder than before. Should she involve Kensi in this? The thought had been circling in her head ever since her younger sister agreed to come over. Who else did she have? She and Cashe weren’t even on speaking terms still, and Betsy was too new of a friendship to foist this kind of burden on her, plus she had a slew of her own problems to worry about. But was she painting a target on Kensi’s back? And would she even believe her?

Despite sometimes venturing with Remi and supporting her antics, Kensi had always looked at their parents differently than Remi did. Where Remi questioned things, Kensi explained them away. Where Remi pushed, Kensi defended. She still believed there were reasonable explanations for most things, still believed that most people usually meant well, especially family.

Maybe that was a good thing.

Maybe one of them deserved to stay that way.

Maybe the last thing Remi should do was drag her into whatever this was becoming, but the sharing the burden was a temptation. It had stopped feeling like an isolated incident long ago and now every strange thing connected to one another, every uneasy feeling leading into something worse, her instincts telling her she hadn’t seen anything yet.

But what if whatever their father had been warning her about, if he really had been acting like there was something out there he couldn;t protect her from… How did she know if Kensi wasn’t already in danger as well?

Her grip tightened around her phone. Maybe she should call her back. Tell her not to come. Tell her that she overreacted and there was nothing important she needed her for. Tell her to stay home where it was… safe? The thought lingered long enough that her thumb actually hovered over Kensi’s contact picture again before the sharp sound of the doorbell cut through the silence.

Too late.

She rose and crossed the living room slowly, opening the door to find Kensi with one hand half raised, ready to knock, concern etched on her features before she even spoke. “You look like shit.”

Remi lets out a sound that could be taken for a bark of laughter. “Good to see you too.” She moved aside so that her sister could enter.

“You sounded weird on the phone.” Kensi says, stepping in and immediately turning around. “Like, weirder than you usually are.”

Remi hesitated a second. This was it, this was the moment she either committed to telling her the truth or backed out and let her remain oblivious. And standing there looking at Kensi, all concern and innocence that didn’t belong anywhere near something like this, she almost backed out.

Almost.

Instead she turned towards the hallway. “Come here.”

Her sister followed her without another question, though Remi could sense her growing worry. They stepped into her bedroom and she went to pick up the photograph, holding it out. Kensi took it, confusion flickering across her face as she looked down at it. For a second, neither of them spoke. “That’s you.” Kensi broke the silence.

Remi nodded.

“And Dad.”

“Yeah.”

Kensi’s eyes lingered before shifting to the second man in the picture. “...Who’s that?” she finally asked.

“I don’t know.”

Kensi looks up. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I mean I’ve never seen him before.”

That answer clearly wasn’t what Kensi expected. Her brows knit as she looked back down, studying it harder now. “Where did you get this?”

Remi hesitates.

“Remi?”

“It was here.” Remi admitted quietly. “In my room.”

“What do you mean it was here?”

“On the nightstand.”

The confusion on Kensi’s face deepens. “Okay, no. What does that mean. You found it, like you had forgotten about it?”

“No.”

“Then how did it get here?”

Remi crosses her arms and glances away from her sisters stare. “I think someone put it there.”

“What?!” Kensi let out an incredulous breath. As Remi stays quiet, she continues, voice cautious. “Remi… you hear how that sounds, right?”

“Yeah” she snaps. “I do.”

“This doesn’t make sense.” Uncertainty mixes with skepticism on her face.

“I know.”

“No, I mean… someone breaking into your house just to leave a picture?" Remi’s expression must have given her away. “Theres… more?” Remi stares at the floor and that was answer enough. Kensi lowers the photo slowly. “Okay, start talking.”

For a second Remi found herself tongue tied, and the the words started coming. Slowly at first. About their father, the way he’d been acting before she was banished, tense and distracted, saying things that hadn’t made sense at the time. How he’d made it seem like there was something out there he couldn’t protect her from. Kensi’s eyes widen in surprise immediately at that.

“Dad said that?”

“Not directly, but close enough.”

“Protect you from what?”

“I don’t know.” Her tone is frustrated. “Then there was the guy…”

“What guy?”

“The guy Dad had watching my house who was killed.”

“..... What?!”

“He was shot. In his car. I don’t know if he got distracted, whoever did it said fuck it… or what.”

“You’re serious…”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t tell me?!”

“What was I supposed to say?” Remi shot back. “I didn’t even understand what was happening.”

Kensi looks shaken now as Remi continues. The flower left in the car after the gym. The feeling of being watched. The figure. By the time she was done, Kensi had paled. “That’s…” she starts but stops.

“Crazy?” Remi offered bitterly.

“No.” She doesn’t sound certain. “I just…” She looks at the photo again and something changes in her expression.

“What?”

“He… kind of looks like us.”

Remi looks with her now. The shape of his jaw. The eyes. It was faint, but it was there... evolving almost right in front of her eyes. Neither of them spoke now. Standing shoulder to shoulder, neither had an answer for what they were looking at.

Only questions.

How deep did this actually go?

How long had all this been there, hidden underneath their lives without either of them noticing? And maybe the worst part of all…

And what else was waiting to be uncovered?

Nothing made sense. Every answer only seemed to lead to another question, another loose thread pulling them further into something neither of them could fully see yet.

And standing there in the quiet of the room, neither Remi nor Kensi knew if the truth would reveal itself in time…

Or if by the time it actually did…

It would already be too late.



“You know Jordan, the more I look at your record, the more I realize something.

You are not nearly as important as you think you are.

That ego of yours is fascinating honestly. You walk around like you’re some kind of dangerous mastermind that everyone should be watching carefully, but the second you strip away the theatrics and look at the numbers? The truth is pathetic.

You’re not a threat.

You’re a guy constantly being dragged across the finish line by everybody standing next to you.

Unlike you, I don’t need smoke and mirrors to make myself look bigger than I actually am. I don’t need masks, fake identities, dramatic reveals, or manipulative games to convince people I matter. I step into that ring and prove it.

Two matches. Two wins.

That’s my record here.

Clean and simple.

And then there’s you.

You won with XXXVI standing beside you. Beat Oz. You won tag matches with Charlie Nickles and Jenny Myst doing the heavy work while you collected credit. Hell, in one of those matches XXXVI literally had to rescue you and shove Thunder Knuckles off the roof himself before gravity got to you. You never secured your own victories. Your partners did.

Again.

And again.

And again.

When I started looking through your matches, I noticed a pattern real quick. Every single time Jordan Penn succeeds, somebody else is standing there keeping him from collapsing. Somebody else always has to clean up after you because the second you’re left standing on your own, things start falling apart.

Cent beat you.

Dyson beat you.

Seb beat you.

Betsy beat you.

Marigold beat you.

And honestly? Seb and Betsy beating you might be my favorite part because I know how badly that had to sting your ego. The brother and woman you spent so much time trying to get under the skin of ended up proving they were better than you anyway.

That’s got to hurt.

But not as much as this is going to.

Because now you don’t get a partner.

Nobody swooping in to save you when things start slipping through your fingers. No one standing beside you to make you look more competent than you actually are.

It’s just you now.

Which, judging by that track record is probably the worst possible position you could be in.

And what kills me is that Betsy already said what I’m saying now… you need someone holding you up. Different is, I’ve got the ugly proof I’m laying out there for everyone to see.

That’s why this whole Director thing suited you so perfectly. You never were the star. You were never the main event compared to XXXVI. You called him your weapon? And he sure was… You needed him to protect you and make you look good. You were the guy hiding while trying to manipulate people stronger than you because deep down you knew you couldn’t do what they did by yourself.

That’s who you are.

A parasite.

You attach yourself to people who can actually accomplish something and then pretend their success belongs to you too.

And now you’ve got absolutely nothing to hide behind.

No mask.

No partner.

No excuse.

So what exactly are you planning to do in this match Jordan?

Heckle me to death?

Actually, you know what… that might genuinely be the one thing you’re good at. Running your mouth. Stirring up drama. Acting like a smug little cockroach while everyone around you actually handles the difficult parts.

So congratulations.

You may have finally found your true calling as a gnat. Obnoxious, but easily swatted away.

You act like you’re some dangerous, scarred villain… but when I look at you, I don’t read intimidating.

I see somebody pitiful.

A guy desperately clawing at relevance because without chaos and manipulation and stronger people standing beside him, there’s nothing underneath.

No substance.

No greatness.

Just insecurity wrapped in arrogance.

And honestly? I think you know it too.

I think that’s why you hide behind all your games and cheap shots, because if you stop creating distractions, people might realize that there’s not much to you once the noise dies down.

But I already saw it.

And now I get to expose it.

Violently.

You wanted attention that bad?

Great job!

You have mine now.

And unlike the people who carried you before, I’m not here to save you when things get ugly.

I’m the thing making them ugly.

You’re walking into this against somebody who already couldn’t stand your face, and now? Now I actively want to hurt you. Not because it makes me look tough. Not because I need to prove anything.

But because I genuinely think company would be a better place without people like you slithering around inside it.

That’s how much I dislike you Jordan.

You are the human equivalent of dead weight pretending it’s dangerous.

And after this match? After the damage is done and that face of yours looks worse than it already does?

The only thing carrying you out of that ring…

Will be the referee after checking to see if you’re still conscious.

Courtesy of the storm who got tired of your very existence.”

Beatable.