Post by Tracy Cage on Sept 25, 2024 18:40:19 GMT -5
Tracy Cage, Hollywood’s golden girl and self-proclaimed future wrestling icon, had a mission. A ridiculous, ill-conceived mission, but a mission nonetheless. It landed her in Detroit, Michigan. Or as she would later call it… Detroit, Shitigan.
Her first opponent in All Action Wrestling? Anthony King. A man with a brutal past: an orphan who clawed his way through the streets of Detroit, earning his stripes through street fights, underground brawls, and, a life of crime. Tracy had read his bio on AAW’s official website and the details were the furthest thing from her own world of red carpets, champagne, and photo shoots.
"Research is key," her acting coach had once told her. And that’s what led Tracy Cage, in all her deluded method-acting glory, to the streets of Detroit dressed, of course, like a complete parody of someone she imagined would fit in with the “tough” streets.
She stepped out of her rented Escalade, looking fleek as fuck in her “gangster” attire, a bright purple fur coat that screamed “pimp” more than it did “tough street fighter.” Beneath it, a glittery gold tank top clung to her torso, sparkling with every slight movement. She’d accessorized with gaudy gold chains, oversized sunglasses, and a backward flat-brimmed baseball cap that sat awkwardly over her perfectly styled hair.
Her pants? Utterly absurd. Bright, baggy leopard-print leggings that tucked into neon green sneakers. It was as if a costume designer for a low-budget gangster movie had gotten all their ideas from a 1990s hip-hop music video.
Tracy strutted down the sidewalk, trying her best to mimic what she imagined was a “swagger,” but instead looked more like a wobbly duck trying not to trip over itself. The people who passed by gave her strange looks, and a few laughed under their breath. Tracy, however, didn’t notice. In her mind, she was fully immersed in the role, embracing her method-acting insanity with the same fervor she’d bring to a red carpet event.
“Yo, what up, my... uh... homies?” Tracy called out to a group of teenagers leaning against a graffiti-covered wall.
They exchanged glances, half-bewildered, as they eyed her up and down.
“You’re in the wrong place, lady,” one of them said, barely holding back a laugh. “What are you supposed to be, like a pimp?”
Tracy scoffed, lowering her sunglasses to peer at him. “I’ll have you know that I’m conducting serious research. I’m trying to get inside the head of someone who’s... you know, from the streets.” She stated so matter of factly.
“Uh-huh,” another teen said, raising an eyebrow. “And you thought dressing like that would help?”
“Well, I’ve seen movies,” Tracy replied, placing a hand on her hip. “Isn’t this how you all... blend in?”
The teens exchanged looks again, before one of them burst out laughing. “Yo, she’s for real. She’s like a movie star or something, isn’t she?”
Tracy smiled brightly, clearly proud. “Why, yes, actually, I am a movie star. Tracy Cage, Hollywood icon.” She struck a ridiculous pose, as if expecting them to know exactly who she was.
They didn’t.
“Oh man, lady, you’re trippin’,” one of the teens said, shaking his head. “You don’t need to be down here. You’ll get eaten alive.”
Tracy waved her hand dismissively. “I’m here to learn! I’m going up against a man who grew up in places like this.” She gestured at the rundown buildings around them. “Anthony King. You know him, right? He’s from Detroit.”
The kids stopped laughing. One of them stiffened and looked more serious. “Yeah, we know of him. He’s bad news. You sure you want to get mixed up with a guy like that?”
Tracy’s smile faltered slightly, but she forced her bravado back on. “Of course! I’m an actress turned wrestler. It’s my job to... to understand the character I’m going up against! I need to know what it’s like to be in his shoes.”
The tallest kid crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing. “Anthony King ain’t no character, lady. He’s the real deal. He don’t play. You’re not from around here, are you?”
Tracy blinked behind her oversized sunglasses. “I’m from Beverly Hills, if you must know.”
The group snickered again. “Figured.”
Undeterred, Tracy pressed on. “So, where do I go to... uh... experience what Anthony did? You know, street fighting, gang life, all that... gritty stuff?”
The tallest teen scratched his chin, obviously toying with her. “You want to experience what Anthony did? Go to Westside. There’s an underground fight club in an old warehouse. You’ll see what he’s about.”
“Oh, perfect!” Tracy clapped her hands, beaming. “Thank you so much! You’ve all been so helpful.” She turned, completely oblivious to their mocking expressions, and strutted down the sidewalk in the direction they had pointed.
Tracy arrived at the warehouse, which looked as if it had been abandoned for years, with the windows shattered and graffiti over everything. A few shady figures wandered around outside, but Tracy didn’t seem to notice their suspicious glances. She was on a mission.
Approaching the door, she adjusted her ridiculous outfit and knocked confidently. The door creaked open, and a large, burly man with a tattooed face and arms appeared in the doorway. He gave her one look and immediately frowned.
“You lost, lady?”
Tracy shook her head enthusiastically. “No, I’m here to... like, uh, fight. Yeah, I want to see what it’s like to be in an underground fight club.”
The man stared at her for a moment, then burst out laughing. “You? Fight? Look at you!”
Tracy pouted, offended. “I’ll have you know I’m doing method acting for my next wrestling match. I need to understand the struggle of someone like Anthony King. You know him, right?”
The man’s laughter abruptly stopped. “Anthony King?” he growled. “What’s someone like you got to do with him?”
Tracy crossed her arms. “He’s my opponent in All Action Wrestling. I need to understand his... mentality.”
The man snorted. “You’re in the wrong place, princess, and you’re about to get yourself in trouble.”
Before Tracy could reply, a voice from inside the warehouse called out. “Hey, let her in. Let’s see what she’s got.”
The door opened wider, and the man gestured for her to enter. Tracy, ever the oblivious star, walked inside with her head held high. Inside, the warehouse had a makeshift ring set up in the middle of the floor. A crowd of shady characters circled the ring, shouting, drinking, and placing bets. But that smell! UGH! What was that? Sweat? Smoke? Blood? A mix of it all? Whatever it was it made Tracy dry heave, but she pressed on, determined to “get into character.”
A man in a leather jacket approached her, clearly amused by her presence. “You really think you can hang with us?”
Tracy nodded confidently. “Of course! I’ve trained with the best personal trainers in Los Angeles. I’ve done stunt work. I’m not afraid of a little street fight.”
The man smirked. “Alright, princess. You’re up.”
Without warning, he pushed her toward the ring. Tracy stumbled, but she quickly regained her composure, adjusting her oversized sunglasses as if nothing had happened.
The crowd parted as she approached the ring, their expressions confused and amused. Tracy climbed awkwardly through the ropes, trying to maintain some semblance of grace, but her ridiculous outfit made it nearly impossible.
Inside the ring, a hulking man covered in tattoos and scars stood waiting. He cracked his knuckles menacingly, glaring at Tracy as if she were an alien from another planet.
Tracy looked around, suddenly realizing the gravity of the situation. Her bravado faltered slightly, but she quickly pushed it aside, forcing herself to stay in character.
“I’m ready,” she declared, striking a pose that looked more suited to a Vogue photoshoot than an underground fight.
The bell rang.
The hulking man lunged at her, but Tracy’s instincts kicked in. She dropped to the mat in a clumsy, but effective, duck-and-cover maneuver, rolling out of the way just as the man swung his fist.
The crowd roared with laughter.
Tracy scrambled to her feet, her leopard-print leggings now torn and her sunglasses askew. “Okay, okay,” she muttered to herself. “I can do this. I’m an actress. I’ve done stunts before.”
She charged at the man with all the finesse of a deer trying to run on ice. Her punches were weak and poorly aimed, barely making contact with the man’s chest. He stood there, unimpressed, until finally, with a bored expression, he swatted her away like a fly.
Tracy flew backward, landing in a heap on the mat, her purple fur coat tangled around her legs. The crowd erupted into laughter again, and even the brute cracked a smile.
She pushed herself up, wobbling on her neon-green sneakers, and glared at her opponent. Tracy tore her fur coat off and flung it away along with her oversized shades. “I’m not done yet!” Summoning a burst of speed, she leaped and drilled both feet into his chest with a dropkick that sent her ricocheting to the mat and him still standing with a toothy grin on his ugly mug.
” Oh, come on! For realies?” She slapped the mat in frustration and stood up with a defiant growl.. “Is that all you got?” Apparently she’d forgotten that she was the one who had attacked him with a dropkick. She threw her arms out in a defiant posture to imitate the gestures of a real fighter. “Come at me, bro.”
The crowd burst out with laughter. The lumbering oaf snarled and plodded forward but Tracy evaded his attempts at grabbing her, until finally she went in for the kill, springboarding off the ropes for a completely ill-timed and ill-advised crossbody. The large man easily caught her, heaved her up high, and slammed her to the mat with enough force that it rattled the ring. Tracy yelped like an injured puppy and frantically crawled to the corner, using the buckles to aid her back to her vertical base.
She turned around to see the monster barreling toward her, but she wasn’t quick enough to dip out of the way. The crowd groaned as the princess turned street fighter completely vanished under his massive body, literally pancaked in the corner. Tracy’s vision went dark for a moment, out on her feet. When she came to, the man had her by the arm in preparation for god knows what type of move that would send her straight to the shadow realm.
Her training kicked in, thank God, and she instinctively shot her shin up between his legs like his groin was a football and she was the punter. The crowd belted a collective “OOOOOH!” as her shin met his “beans and frank” leaving him with three Adams apples and no nuts in his sack. He collapsed to the mat in a heap.
Having her first rational thought of the day, Tracy scrambled out of the ring in a clumsy flurry of limbs, nearly tripping over the ropes as she did. She landed on the ground outside with a thud, her leopard-print leggings now completely torn, her neon sneakers scuffed.
The crowd exploded with laughter and applause as Tracy stumbled to her feet, panting and disheveled. Her heart was racing, her face flushed, but in her mind, she’d just pulled off the greatest escape in wrestling history. She looked back at the ring, where her opponent was still nursing his jewels and face beet red. “That’s right!” Tracy shouted, raising her fists in a mock victory pose. “I outsmarted you! That’s what we call strategy, people!”
The crowd continued to howl with laughter as Tracy, still trying to maintain some semblance of dignity, began to strut her way toward the exit. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and waved to the crowd as if they were adoring fans at a movie premiere.
“Thank you, thank you!” she called out. “You’ve all been a wonderful audience!”
As she reached the door of the warehouse, she paused for one last dramatic flourish. “And to my opponent Anthony King, if this is what life in the streets is like, then you’ve got nothing on Tracy Cage!”
With that, she pushed the door open and wobbled her way back into the night, leaving the raucous laughter of the crowd behind her. Outside, Tracy let out a long sigh of relief. “Well,” she muttered to herself, adjusting what remained of her disheveled outfit, “that was... enlightening.”
She glanced around at the grimy streets of Detroit and wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know how Anthony King did it, living like this. Ugh! With that, Tracy pulled out her phone and called for her driver. As she waited for the Escalade to pick her up, she smiled to herself.
“Research complete,” she said smugly, fully convinced she now understood what it was like to be from the streets. As far as she was concerned, she was ready for Anthony King. After all, how hard could it be to beat a guy who grew up in a place like this?
Her phone buzzed with a text from her agent.
“Call me ASAP. Have a great idea for a street-fighting sequel!”
Tracy chuckled to herself. “Of course you do,” she said, slipping her phone into her pocket as the Escalade pulled up.
With one last look at the dark, grimy streets of Detroit, Tracy climbed into the car, adjusting her attire as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
And just like that, Hollywood’s most out-of-touch starlet headed off into the night, utterly convinced she had mastered the art of “being from the streets.”
<--------------------------------------------------------->
{ON}
We open up to a slick-looking man in a business suit. He’s got the styled back hair, the horn-rimmed glasses, the wolfish features of a shrewd man of legalese. He sits behind a polished oakwood desk and steeples his fingers before addressing the camera.
”Hello, ladies and gentlemen, I’m Litigious Larry Livingstone. Ace attorney and PR manager for Hollywodd’s finest actress turned wrestler Tracy Cage. Professional wrestling has obligatory promotional vignettes their talents are supposed to release to promote the matches and etcetera. Ms. Cage is aware of this mandatory “shoot” thing, however she is currently protesting the events that happened after the inaugural Friday Night Impact happened. She has prepared a statement that I shall read now. Thank you."
He clears his throat and begins reading from a sheet on his desk.
”Dearest fans of All Action Wreslting, I’m terribly sorry for not shooting this vignette in person but a woman must stand her ground against wrongdoings. You see, on the debut Friday Night Impact I debuted in a segment that drew a considerable amount of ratings and fanfare. You’d think management would jump on that, promote it, shine the light on me. They’ve done the opposite. They’ve shunned me. On the AAW Recap show they mentioned everyone BUT me. They’ve done nothing on Twitter or other social media outlets regarding me, yet they tout others. Outrageous! Incredulous!”
Larry licks a finger and flips the sheet over to continue.
”If they won’t showcase me then I won’t showcase myself on this vignette. Two can play that game! So, take that, ha! I do have a few things to say to my opponent though. Mr. King, I took a stroll through Detroit, Shitigan. I’m not looking forward to meeting you in the ring. They should’ve book me against another woman of rookie skill set. This is another reason I am protesting by not showing up on camera. Anyway, I digress. I can already smell the stench of brunt bologna sandwiches on you, not to mention your ashtray breath and booze. I’ll basically be fighting a handicap match cause I’ll be facing you and your piss-drenched street gutter stench. UGH!”
Livingstone pauses, chuckling to himself for saying UGH.
”In short, you’re a bum. Not the bum who can get picked on like your average homeless guy. You’re a bum fights type of bum. Your parents bailed on you the moment your trashy ass fell out of momma’s womb cause they took one look at you and knew you’d be a bum. And they were right. The only thing you’ve excelled at in life is fighting, which is the most basic and easiest thing one can do. But I’m smart. I took some hard knox lessons in the streets recently and look forward to unleashing them on you! See ya there!”
And with that, the man puts the papers away and nods politely as the scene fades.