Right now it’s too dark for Dolly to see it, but she knows it’s just ahead:

The mountain. And the company town standing between her and it.

The union is a’ coming to liberate the wrestlers.

The camper-van shudders down the dirt road, it feels like some rattling war machine bearing down on the land, shit it jolts her from a distant gaze and twists her injured knee into the rusted floorboard.

Dolly grits her teeth, mashes her eyes shut, a little tear sneaking out of the corner, but forces herself to take a deep breath. 

A million reasons why she wasn’t going to let this knee slow her down flash in her mind:

The union.

The career she’s poured herself into.

The fight with the new boss of the company town, and the path to the mountain top he’s blocking.

But through it all, a single thought stands out, almost otherworldly, as if whispered from the mountain top itself: She’s coming for it all.

Dolly’s eyes reopen and fixate on her crutch.

One way or the other..

Fashioned more like a walking stick, It’s wooden, and worn, and splintered, but sturdy nonetheless, a testament to Dolly’s perseverance in this decade long fight. Her brow furrows looking it over, like she can’t bear the thought of it.

What's the implication here?

That the people would never follow her after all the damage she’s taken? All of the losses she’s incurred over the years? Will they think she’s too weak to lead? Will she believe it herself?

The injured wrestler, going to free the wrestlers…

...we’re getting up that damn mountain.

She sturdies herself upright, on her good leg, while the camper-van continues thrashing down the road to the company town, it sways her off balance, and she grabs the crutch, securing the butt of it in her armpit. A black peacoat swings over the crutch, concealing it as Dolly grabs hold of the handle from inside her coat pocket. She grunts and lifts forward, allowing her lame knee the most weight it can possibly endure, showing only the slightest limp as she moves to the front of the vehicle.

With every grounding of her leg into the vibrating floor, her knee tells her the story. She feels the weight of this fight through every torn muscle, and fractured bone. Every failure on this quest, every sacrifice, the few and far between victories that were sweeter for it. The far off vision of the mountain top, calling down like a whisper from a forgotten dream. She can almost hear it: there’s banjos, and laughter, and…


Just as she takes her final limp into the front of the camper-van, she hears a static reception on an old transistor radio. It’s a choppy old folk song playing. And from the cockpit, Schism whistles and sings along as he slows to a stop. He wears a toothy grin, with a cigarette bitten between his teeth, it pulls the wrinkles at the seams of his eyes beyond the frames of his sunglasses.

Schism: ♫ I’m a’ going to stay, where you sleep all day…♫

 
Schism: ♫ In the big rock candy mountain!♫
     
Dolly allows herself to curl half a grin, yet she doesn’t look down at her comrade, her guide, the sole person who believes in her, instead she stands straight, looking through the large windshield into the dead blackness of night. Not losing focus on the path of revolution he’s led her on.

So this is it, huh?

Schism: It is. End of the road, captain.

The end of the road, indeed. End of the earth, some would say. They’d traveled all the way from central Kentucky, out into the woodlands, and the cliffs of the Appalichan Mountains. To a company town called Elkhorn.

Schism: The only thing between the revolution and The Big Rock Candy Mountain, is that town, and that nickel mine…. And the proprietors of exploitation and death.

Now, Elkhorn wasn’t always a mining town. It was a place where out of work wrestlers from the disintegrating territories were promised new contracts, opportunities to build, and to compete.
The company offered them homes, supplies, and guaranteed work. Afterall, there were no other jobs around, their former employers had grinded these people down to mostly nothing before closing their doors.

But it wasn’t too long before the company town in Elkhorn did the fashionable thing and began exploiting these people, perpetuating that ugly master-servant cycle that all of the wrestling industry was known for.

The work they offered them was anything but wrestling, it was anything but competition, dangerous and tasteless death matches that would leave them maimed, valuing only the powerful, and those would bend-over for the company. Once the spectacle, and the art of wrestling transformed into a cruel banality of company might, the audiences left, and the only thing left for the workers, was a life mining at the mountain for the new boss of the town.

With her attire matching the harsh Appalachian nightfall, the hardened gaze on her pale face is the only thing we can see as Dolly carefully exits the camper-van, knowing full well she’s got her work cut out for her.

So, they’re waitin’ out there?

Referring to the hundred or so desperate workers who snuck out from Elkhorn a few weeks ago,

They’ve been quietly trying, and trying to quietly form a union. So one night, under the shadow of nightfall, and under the threat of prison, or worse, they were led by Schism to a central Kentucky warehouse. There, they were promised to find a revolutionary leader; some mythical figure of liberation Schism referred to as Eroica… but it was Dolly Waters.

She drags her crutch against the dirt and gravel, taking a light limp into the swarming buzz of crickets, and toads, and cicadas. For as dead as this place looked, with only a sparsity of street lanterns illuminating the edges of wooden porches, it sounded as alive as ever.

Schism: waiting on you.

They said the union would be meeting in a safe house… that we’d know it when we see it. But I don’t know how any of them can see a damn thing. It’s so dark out here.

Dolly stands at the threshold of Elkhorn, the weight of the coming battle pressing down on her like a thousand pounds of that nickel out there in the mines.

Schism: No. You’ll know it when you hear it… it’s been calling you for a millenia.

Dolly turns back, to reply to Schism, but he’s gone? Only the faint smell of cigarette smoke lingering in the air, the last trace of his presence.

Schism?

She mutters under her breath, but only the crickets and the frogs, and the cicadas answer. His van is still there, but Schism is gone.

For a moment his absence feels heavy, almost oppressive. But then Dolly straightens her back, and takes a deep breath. She looks out to the mountain, its presence imminent above the town, splitting through the shadows of the moonlight. -

Her face settles as she grabs hold of the crutch.

She’ll do this alone…

And then she hears it. It’s faint, yet unyielding, and it’s cutting through the sounds of nightfall.

Just ahead in the town.

A collective of voices shouting and arguing, it’s:

The Union

There’s a specific and coded knock on the old wooden door of some kind of storage warehouse. The voices on the other side quiet down into nothing. A piece of wood slides open, and a pair of eyes appear. They look out onto Dolly, standing in her black garments and peacoat.

“You’re late”

The door swings open, and closes just as fast as Dolly is pulled inside.

The windows are boarded along the wooden frames of the building. It’s dark, but lit enough by the candlesticks and lanterns to reveal double, maybe triple even the number of faces that met Dolly weeks ago.

Reading the exhausted, scrawny, coal ash covered faces of the room, Dolly knows her presence is met with incredulity. Their eyes follow her as she makes a firm, unbothered limp to a place along the wall, next to the bearded man who let her in the meeting. As the unioneers continue on with their business.

“The company, and that bastard Baron Nicklesworth know we’ve had enough! They know we’ve got the numbers!”

A man shouts out in the room,

What are we deliberating? She whispers over to the bearded man,
They want to bring Baron Nicklesworth to the negotiating table he whispers back,

Mark McCoy. The original organizer of the Elkhorn union. A man who holds a bitter feud with the Elkhorn sheriff.

Well… ain’t’ya gonna’ tell em’ that won't work?

They’re not going to listen to me… I was a company man myself once. Hell, I tried to take over the company. I’ve poisoned their wells one too many times…

“They ain’t gonna’ listen to a damn word we have to say until we make them feel it in their pocket books! We blow the damn mine!”

Another man shouts,

...it’s why we sent for you.

“Blow the damn mine…hm” another man steps to the center of the room “And then what? We lose our jobs, our homes, and they hire a bunch of these damn gladhandin’ SCABS-” he points out select groups of people in the room, “-to dig in our mountain?”

Another man chimes in,

“Yeah!  I don’t know why we let all these damn cultists, and prisoners in here anyway! The bosses only bring them here for one reason, and that’s to fill our boots after they’ve worked us to ash.”

He’s pointing at the groups prisoner wrestlers from PeeWee Valley, and cultist wrestlers from Black Mountain.

They think these people are scabs… I’m not so sure that they’re wrong either.

Oh… I see the problem she grumbles and narrows her eyes, They could care less if these people are scabs.

Excuse me. a young woman named Olga with a Russian accent steps out from the group of Black Mountain wrestlers. Barking back at the unionmen in the center of the room, I’ve been called a lot of names. Disgusting names. But I wrestle… I WORK, I mine nickel as hard as any of you, and I don’t expect a dollar more , and I have never been called a scab!

The room starts simmering with sounds of opposition.

“Well, Olga, we don’t trust you cultists. This here’s a union meeting for the people of Elkhorn!”
There’s some cheers behind him, and another portion of the room looking on like they’re trying to sort out their feelings.

You call yer’selves unioneers?!

Dolly steps forward, her crutch making a loud thud like a judge's gavel. Her voice even louder,

Unioneers my ass… She slowly looks around the room, her tone dripping with disappointment and condemnation. 

You wanna’ be treated like humans? You wanna be treated fair? Well, guess what? Yer’ not humans to that nickel mine disguised as a “wrestling” company.

You’re equipment like a coal pick, like a  shovel, or a hunk of wood brace…

They’ll use you until you wear out, or yer’ buried under a rock slide, and then they’ll get a new one- she points her finger to the people and then at the ground, And they don’t care what color it is, or if it came from some gypsy rainbow camp, or from the prisons.

It doesn’t matter how much nickel you can mine, or how long your family has lived on this land!

If you stand alone, yer’ nothing but shit to the company, nothing but shit to Baron Nicklesworth and his puppeteers.

Dolly’s face grows harder with a scowl, she pulls the black beret from her sweaty forehead, and turns to Olga, the young woman from the cult group of wrestlers, and points at her with the hat,

Y’all think this woman, and her people are yer’ enemies?

She turns back to face the room, scowling harder still,

Huh?!

This is a WORKER!

Any union, who keeps these people out, ain’t a union.

It’s a goddamn club.

Her glare is steely as she stamps around on that crutch, her eyes piercing each person, one by one,

They want you fighting… worker against worker, stable against stable, native against immigrant, holler against holler, when you know there ain’t but two sides of this world.

Folks that work, and folks that don’t.

You work. They don’t.

That’s all you got to know about the enemy.

The workers start shifting around, Dolly notices them clutching at their rifles and pistols,

Now, I know y’allve got guns… and I know yer’ brave people. I know you could shoot it out with the company if you had to. But this wrestling company don’t want this union, and all of em, all the coffers are just waiting for an excuse to come down here and use their money to crush us to nothing.

The people in the room take turns looking at one another,

There’s a whole lotta gas in these mountains, you mess around and cause the wrong type of spark? This whole thing blows up on us. Thats why we’ve got to keep picking away at this, slowly, surely, building support, organizing, and not lighting a single fuse until we know we’ve got the numbers.

If you want a fighter?

Im yer’ fighter.

Y’all dont need to raise a fist.

I’m gonna’ bring this fight right to Baron Nicklesworth’s doorstep.

There’s a heavy silence before one of the competitive workers pipes up,

“You don’t look like you're fighting anything but a gimp knee, comrade.”

Dolly looks down at the crutch, and breathes deep before chuckling a little,

“Yeah, how the hell is she supposed to lead us anywhere with a crutch? And why are we even listening to her?” another shouts,

Dolly looks the room over. She’s nodding her head, with a slight gnaw at her lip. Mark McCoy, has back firmly planted on the wall, arms crossed. Everyone watches her with bated breath. For the faintest moment, Dolly remembers that she's alone here, that Schism vanished, and remembers:

Yer’ listening to me, because I’m the one who listened to you.

Because you came calling me for a revolution.

I heard yer’ calls… I’ve heard 'em for a millennia.

Ok… Mark calls out, prompting Dolly with a question that he hopes she’ll answer correctly How do we shut the nickel mine down if we don’t dynamite?

Dolly nods and commands with her tone as she continues pacing around the room, The workers walk out. All of em! she steps directly in front of Olga now, looking her in the eye, And any worker that walks out, we take into the union.

“Even the cultists, and the Pee Wee Valley people?”

That’s what a union is, folks. All of us. You better get used to it.

BANG BANG BANG

Just then, the door thuds with the same particular code that Dolly used in her knock.

Mark barges the door, and slides back the wooden peep window. He stands there for a moment on his toes before turning back slowly to the room, an annoyed look on his face. He pulls the door open just enough for sheriff Thaddeus Hatfield to slide through.

Thad rotates his shoulders, and stands himself straight, looking out at the faces filling this storage warehouse. His head idly shakes ‘yes’, as his face slowly tells another story. He leans over to Mark, speaking just so he can hear him.

McCoy? I thought I told you to cease and desist from this union stuff. I want these people out of here, out of the back door… now.

[orange]It’s out of my hands, Thadderoono. The company has squeezed them too tight, and you know it.

Thaddeus' face runs flat, he sniffles and pulls up his trousers, showing a gun handle along his waist.

I take it your Dolly Waters. he asks, walking to the center of the room to face her,

That's right… she spots the sheriff badge on his coat, I take it yer’ the lawman around here? 

Sherriff Hatfield, that’s right mam’... and I have a bounty for your arrest.

The room grumbles, and Dolly’s face twists in confusion, as Thad pulls the folded paper from inside of his coat.

For destroying company property, and attacking a company member of management during a traveling event in May, down in Florida.

Issued by who?! The company? And their security thugs?

And Baron Nicklesworth himself. he says firmly, with finality, Now, Miss Waters… if you don’t mind-

-who gives a shit?! Those goons don’t have any jurisdiction here. For something that allegedly happened?

Normally I’d be obliged in agreeing-he says while calmly zip tying Dolly’s wrists and taking her crutch But they’re just outside the door there.

Mark looks back out the slide on the door, and confirms what Thad is telling him.

A posse of them, all shrouded in their dark trenchcoats under the moonlight. Paid security detail for the company.

Preesh-Herchel agents. he swears under his breath and turns back to face Thad who’s leading an oddly calm Dolly to the door, staggering forward and limping on the full weight of her knee.

It’s fine. He knew I was coming.

Mark puts a shove into Thad’s shoulder as he passes him Are you forgetting that you serve these people, and not that company?

I know damn well who I serve, McCoy. And right now I’m serving my people by keeping the company guns pointed away from them.

Funny. You sure don’t seem to mind the machine gun turrets they’ve got guarding the mines being pointed on them every day.

The comment runs through Thad, his face boiling over, with sweat and stiffness

You just get these people the hell out of here, McCoy, and I’ll give these people what they want.

Thad goes to move Dolly onto the front porch, as Mark tries to quietly sneak the union sympathizers through the back, but before any of that can happen, the door pushes open from the outside.

And then walks in

Baron Nicklesworth.

Well, well…

Nicklesworth barges through the doorway, everyone in the room stiffening as he makes his entrance.

He eyes Dolly with a sneer, his gaze quickly drifting to the crutch that Sheriff Thad has put back under her arm. A thin, cruel smile spreads across his face.

If it ain’t the mighty “Eroica” herself, he belts out a laugh , come here to my little old mine to save the wrestlers. Tell me, Dummy Waters, how do you plan to fight me with that ?!

He motions toward the crutch, his voice dripping with mockery.

That’s right. A crutch. Your battle weapon. Hiding behind that, pretending to be a symbol of strength when you couldn’t even protect your own people. What’s your record in these big moments, Dolly, hmm? Do these people know about the “hero” who’s fallen so many times she can’t even stand without help?

He approaches her, towering over her bent form, loving every moment of this, the dominance he feels over an injured woman. A wet dream for Nicklesworth.

How many times has this town seen you fail, Waters? Lose your shot at the big leagues, falling flat on your ass each time, depending on one crutch or the other to pick yourself up, battered and bruised, pretending like you still matter. You’re nothing but a symbol of what happens when the weak try to play in a world that demands strength.

He leans closer, his face inches from Dolly’s, his words a cutting whisper:

You don’t belong here. You never did.

Without warning, he yanks the crutch from her hands,

Let me show you what happens to people who can’t even stand on their own. You think this is a union, your revolution? It’s a joke. You’re nothing but a punching bag to us

With a sick grin, he raises the crutch high and swings it across Dolly’s back with all of his might. The crack of the wood makes the room go silent, followed by a collective gasp from the workers. He kicks inward at Dolly’s bad knee, causing her to fully collapse to the floor now.

This is your message, Waters. This is what happens when you try to stand up against power.

Baron kicks her again. Harder. Dolly’s body throttles from the impact. And as bad as she wants to scream out, Dolly struggles even harder to remain quiet and strong through the beating. She can barely breathe, with each blow a brutal reminder of the years she’s spent enduring failure and humiliation.

Baron lifts the crutch again, his face sick and twisted. As he brings it down for another strike, a voice shouts out from the back of the room.

That’s enough!

Sheriff Hatfield steps forward,

His face is a mixture of disgust and determination as moves toward Baron with heavy steps. The workers exchange nervous glances.

You’ve made your point Nicklesworth His voice booms, his authority well enunciated, though his eyes flicker nervously to the security outside. I don’t care who you think you are. She may be your problem, but she’s under my arrest, and thus under my protection.

Baron turns toward Hatfield, his expression darkening. The room holds its breath, the tension unbearable.

Protection? he lets out a harsh, bitter laugh, You think this is about protection, Sheriff? What about the protection of your town? What about keeping the peace in your little company paradise? If you don’t put these scum in their place, you’ll be out of a job. Think about it… protecting people who stand against everything that keeps this town running. The mine. The company. ME!

He sneers at Dolly one more time before he kicks her in the side, knocking her to the floor, her face twisting in pain, blood spilling from her mouth.

You think you’re making a stand, Dolly? All you’re doing is digging your own grave. He looks up, wild eyed and scanning the faces in the room

I know you people aren’t this dumb, right? You’re not dumb enough to be conspiring with this communist scum here, right? Surely you all have the common sense not to throw your allegiance behind such a consummate failure as Dummy Waters here.

This is just another in the long list of failed revolutions for little miss bimbo here? Only now… her entire career is on the line!

I know you good people would never throw your lot in with a loser of this magnitude! Would you?!

Baron rears back to kick her again, this time aiming for her face, but Hatfield steps forward stopping Baron’s momentum. He leans over into Baron’s ear,

Listen here… you and the company might own the nickel mines up in them mountains, but this is my town, and these are my people. And I’ll remind you-He pulls back his coat, making his pistol fully visible, -I take my job of keeping them safe very seriously. You’re not gonna’ lay another hand on her.

Baron’s face twitches with irritation, voice dripping with sarcasm as he whispers back,

I’ll remember that, Sheriff. But you remember this… if you, or these people you’re protecting try and cross me, I’ll blow a hole in that mountain the size of your ego.

With a final sneer, Baron turns and storms to the door. I want that girl locked up, Sheriff. She’s a trespasser on company property. He turns back just before leaving, The company doesn’t forget slights, and neither do I.

Thad kneels beside Dolly, helping her to her feet before escorting her to…

The Jailhouse

It’s been hours now. Dolly sits back against the wall. Knee so swollen and throbbing, she can’t possibly walk on it, insides bleeding.

Was this it? The revolution over, everything… over.

The thought sits in her gut like a balled fist.

But suddenly, a muffled thump. Then another. The door creaks open, and Dolly’s head snaps up.

Dolly, it’s Thad, Lets go Opening the cell, he helps Dolly to her feet and hands her the crutch beside her. She grits her teeth and leans on it, barely able to support herself. Thad pulls her out with urgency into a hallway where Mark is standing over two of Baron’s downed security agents.

The three of them make an escape from the jailhouse and into streets, but quickly

Thud.

THUD.

They’re ambushed by the Preesh-Herchel agents. Dozen of them.

A fight breaks out. Thad and Mark take on a few of Baron’s men, but there’s too many.

From her blindside, she’s kicked by someone. Her crutch slips from her hand and she stumbles, barely staying on her feet when she’s battered in the skull with the handle of a pistol.

CRACK!

CRACK-CRACK-CRACK!

Gunshots ring out in the dead of night.

Falling to her back, Dolly’s vision starts to fade. She looks over next to her and just makes out Thad having taken a brutal hit to the side, crumpled to the ground. Mark’s back is against the wall, trying to shield Dolly.

And then, everything goes quiet.

Dolly drifts in and out until her eyes flicker open and see nothing but the dark canopy of the stars above.

She’s now alone. Left for dead.

Mark and Thad captured… or worse..,.

The world spinning around her, she climbs to her feet, and stumbles through the alleyways, trying to get away, trying to survive.

Then, she hears it again. The faintest sound of hope. Like a whisper.

It pulls her attention back to:

The Union House

The door swings open, Dolly ain’t going to bother knocking this time.

She stumbles through the doorway, barely able to stand on her crutch, barely alive.

The workers inside remain silent. They look her over, their faces a mix of disbelief and fear. They’ve seen what happened to her. They know that something terrible has befallen Sheriff Hatfield and Mark McCoy.

But they still don’t look ready to follow her anytime soon.

Dolly catches her breath, and steadies herself against the wall. She’s shaking, but does her damndest to not show it. Her voice comes out hoarse, cracking with exhaustion.

Listen, she says, I know what yer’ thinkin’.

A unioneer in the back of the room speaks up, his voice full of doubt.

“Yeah? Then tell us what you think we should do now, ‘Eroica’?”

Dolly’s eyes tighten, her gaze drifting across the room. She knows they're just scared. She sees the doubt in their eyes, the same doubt in herself she’s been fighting for years.

We fight… we have no choice now

Murmurs stir through the room, mixed sounds of confusion and skepticism. They know that Baron’s men won’t stop until they crush this uprising completely.

“We’ve already lost the fight” a woman near the front says, “It’s too late.”

Dolly straightens, and  takes a step forward. No. It ain’t too late.

She ain’t just talking to the people in the room. She’s talking to herself. She’s talking to the part of her that’s been ready to give up, ready to let the revolution die with her.

I’ve been where y’all are. I’ve fallen. I’ve failed. I’ve had every reason to quit. Her voice cracks with the rawness of truth. But we can’t stop now. Not when we’re so close. Not when we’ve got the power to change this.

The room falls silent again, thick with tension. 

“You want us to fight?” another voice asks,  “After everything we’ve already lost?”

Yer’ all afraid, she says, Afraid that if we fight back, we’re gonna’ lose more than we already have. But I promise you… if we do nothin’, they’re just gonna’ bury us even deeper. We’ve been living in this graveyard of the wrestling industry for years, hoping someone else would dig us out.

She pauses, taking a breath. Her hand grips the crutch tighter, knuckles white.

But help ain’t coming, understand?

The only way out is through.

We have to stand up.

Now.

And fight.

The room grows quiet again, just before someone finally steps up. Olga, the cultist Russian woman, steps forward. Her hands are still covered in the dust of the mines, but there’s something burning in her eyes now.

“She’s right,” Olga says. “We’ve got barely nothing left… and if we let the company get away with this, they’re going to take everything else too.”

One by one, the workers begin to speak, murmuring among themselves. Slowly, the room shifts. They sound less uncertain, less fearful. The silence begins to break, replaced by a slow, steady murmuring of agreement.

Dolly nods, but it’s not enough yet. She still has to finish this, still has to make them believe in the fight that’s coming.

We’re gonna’ win she says. And we’re gonna’ to do it together.

A murmur of agreement spreads, quiet but unmistakable. Faint, but unyielding. It’s not victory yet, but it’s something more… They’re listening.

And that’s all she needs for now.

Because tomorrow comes…

The Battle Of Big Rock Candy Mountain

It’s the following morning, and the town is eerily quiet.

The workers are heading for another days work in the mines, heads down. The air is full of dust, and the only sounds we hear are the crunching of boots and the dragging of tools.

Dolly stands alone in the middle of the road.

Just her and her crutch.

She stands tall, but her posture leans some, burdened by the punishment she’s taken, burdened by everything. Her knees still ache, her body battered, but there’s a fire in her eyes. This isn’t the broken woman who had stumbled in yesterday.

This is Dolly. This is the leader she’s been destined to become.

She’s standing in the middle of the road, just before the entrance to the nickel mine. The town feels like it’s holding its breath, the workers walking past her, their eyes not daring to meet hers. But it doesn’t matter. This isn’t just for them. This is for her. This is for everyone who has been crushed under Baron’s boot for too long.

And then he appears.

Baron Nicklesworth strides down the road like a king walking to his throne.

There’s an execution stage behind him with Thad and Mark tied by their necks, ready to be dropped to their death.

Baron is flanked by his security detail, a smug, self-satisfied grin on his face as he eyes Dolly.

Well, well… he sneers, taking slow, deliberate steps toward her. If it isn’t the mighty ‘Eroica’ herself, finally showing up to claim her revolution. I thought we killed you last night. I guess I need to hire better…workers.

You see, Dolly… What I could never make people like Mark and Thad understand is this:

It doesn’t matter who “runs” this town.

It doesn’t matter about the people in this town.

It matters who runs the mines.

It matters who runs the mountain.

So long as that man is me, then the world… hell… the UNIVERSE is run by the company!

Dolly stands her ground. Her arms at her sides, and her lean on the crutch making her look even smaller. But the look in her eyes tells a different story.

Baron stops in front of her, his shadow casting over her like a dark cloud. His eyes flick to the crutch, his mouth widening with a grin.

He laughs, The crutch, Waters? Really? You’re still carrying it? This is your grand plan? This is the symbol of your revolution?

Dolly’s voice is low, but it carries.

You don’t know anything about revolutions, Nicklesworth.

I heard you months ago, rambling on yer’self about how corrupt this company is, but now that you get to be the boss?

Now that *they* tell you yer’ a part of the club? You get to play the role you’ve spent yer’ whole life auditioning for.

Exploiting people like them, like me.

You’ve never known what it means to fight for something bigger than yourself.

Baron’s smile falls for a second. He steps in closer, leaning down to meet her at eye level.

You think you can stand up to me? How many times have you failed? How many times have you fallen, Waters? You’ve built this fantasy that one day, you’d be the hero…. but look where that’s gotten you. A broken knee and a crutch. That’s all you are, a symbol of failure.

The words pack a punch. For a moment, she’s back in that place, the place where she’s always been just short of victory, just a step away from being good enough to win.

But something inside her shifts.

Yer’ wrong. she says, her voice steady. This ain’t a fantasy. This is real. And I ain’t done yet.

Baron scoffs. Not done yet? You see, Dolly, that’s your problem. You think you’re fighting for something you can actually win. The real world is a sick and twisted world where things go to die. The revolution? The union? They’re dead. Because you’re too weak to keep em’ alive.

He reaches down, grabbing the crutch from where it rests at her side. He yanks it from her hands with ease, lifting it above his head with a twisted smile.

I think this says everything I need to know about you he mocks, This is your weapon? This is your revolution?

Dolly doesn’t flinch. She just watches him with cold eyes.

You don’t understand she whispers. This ain’t about me. It’s about them. About every person who’s been broken by men like you, and discarded by the system. You’re not the one in control anymore. We are.

Baron laughs, the sound echoing. You think you can stop me? You’re nothing, Waters. Just another broken piece of equipment to throw away.

He swings the crutch above his head, and everything slows down. Dolly braces herself, but she doesn’t move. She’s not afraid.

He thrashes the crutch down with all of his might, and it cracks against Dolly’s shoulder with a fatal sounding snap. She gasps, the pain is unspeakable, but she stays on her feet. Barely.

Baron strikes her again, and then kicks her to the ground, wearing a big grin as she crumbles over.

Where’s your comrades now, Dolly? See what happens when you challenge real power? he sneers, looking down at her as he beats her repeatedly.

But then something changes. Dolly’s gaze sharpens through the throttling. The world around her sounds quieter.

The workers have stopped.

All of them.

And Dolly realizes something.

They’re watching.

And they’re waiting.

Baron simply laughs, and tosses the mangled crutch  the ground.

Dolly lies in the dirt, her chest heaving as she struggles to breathe. Baron stands above her, his eyes wild with victory.

But then, there’s a sound.

A single shovel hitting the ground. It's Olga.

One by one, the workers follow suit.

One more shovel.

And another.

Each drop of a shovel, each defiant motion, speaks louder than any word ever could.

The workers are done.

Baron’s expression falters for a split second as he looks around, eyes widening in realization.

Dolly forces herself up onto her knees. She grits her teeth, wiping the blood from her mouth.

Hear ‘em now? she calls out, her voice low but carrying. It ain’t just me anymore. It’s all of us.

The workers begin to chant, the sounds of defiance rising like a wave. They shout, they cheer, and the noise fills the town with a power that Baron can’t ignore.

Get them! Baron screams, but his command is already too late, and he dives for cover.

From everywhere at once, dozens of the unioneers emerge, rifles in hand. They open fire.

The crack of gunfire splits the air, echoing like thunder as Baron’s men fall one by one.The security detail is disorganized, their shock turning into panic as the workers charge.

The company’s grip is slipping.

From the chaos, Baron shouts orders, his voice desperate. He’s losing control. He’s realized the workers are stronger than he thought.

But then, the tide turns.

More security emerges from the buildings, weapons raised, firing back. The workers fight on, despite being outnumbered. Dolly’s vision blurs as she watches her comrades fall one by one.

No, no! she yells, climbing to her feet, her hands shaking.

The workers are being overrun.

And then Baron rises from a shield of dead bodies, fixating on Dolly.

He steps into the street and around countless dead bodies, mostly his own men. He walks through the carnage like a tyrant.

This is what happens when you try to defy the system, when you think you can stand up to me. He kicks her in the ribs again. She falls over from her crawl and sucks wind. She’s fading. The pain is too much, the battle too fierce. He kicks again, blood flowing from her side, but her eyes stay on Baron. Leaning right over Dolly now, he produces a pistol from his side, cocks back the hammer and points it at her.

In an instant, Dolly snags the crutch, and thrusts it upward. The broken bit that Baron had splintered off while he mercilessly beat her plunges right into his gut with a mortal blow. He immediately gasps, blood filling his mouth, and drops the pistol. 

The workers surge forward, forcing Baron’s men into retreat, freeing Thad Hatfield and Mark McCoy. The security detail is crumbling, and Baron knows it. Gasping, and dying, he pulls the crutch out of his gut and throws it to the ground. His eyes flick to the mountain in the distance… his only escape.

Dying herself, Dolly collapses over, too weak to chase him down. She watches as Baron turns, limping away from the battle. He’s running, but he ain’t done yet.

Dolly’s vision blurs. The mountain looms just in front of her, but it’s never felt so far away.

The battle is over for her. She’s failed. Everything she’s fought for, all the blood and sweat, all the lost comrades… it’s all slipping through her fingers.

Everything around her goes dark. A hot wind drifts through the trees, and the sounds of the workers become muffled as if they’re a world away.

But then, a soft step in the dirt.

Dolly’s eyes flicker open just barely. She sees boots in her peripheral vision, standing still in the shadows. She struggles to turn her head, to focus.

Schism sits down beside her, cross-legged on the dirt road.

He’s wearing the same stoic expression as always,

She can barely make out his face, but she knows it’s him.

Schism? her voice barely cracking above a whimper.

He turns to her and nods softly, looking at her with a quiet intensity before lighting a cigarette.

I... I lost. A tear slips down her cheek. I can’t win this. It’s over.

Schism looks at her and smiles. His gaze shifting upward, to the entrance of the mines, where the workers’ revolt still echoes in the distance. The revolution isn’t over… it’s still burning, even if she can’t see it.

Schism: You haven’t lost anything,

his voice filled with calm and conviction.

Schism: But now it’s time to win.

Dolly’s heart flutters as she looks at him,

I don’t know how to keep going. Baron... I think he’s gonna’ blow the mountain. I’m too late.

Schism nods, unphased.

Schism: He’s up there, yup. Rigging the last detonator. But here’s the thing... I spent the last days unhooking all of the other detonators. The only one left is the one he’s reaching for. And that’s where you come in.

Dolly’s hands tremble as she looks down at her crutch. It’s bloodied, broken, battered… but it’s all she has left.

Schism watches her, his expression full of quiet faith.

Schism: Take it.

She takes the crutch in her hands and stares at it. She remembers the countless times it’s supported her over the years, through all the pain. But now?

Now it feels like the weight of the past that’s been holding her back all this time.

Without another word, Dolly throws the crutch down onto the ground.

Going to be hard to climb Big Rock Candy Mountain with this She stands tall, a fire inside of her burning.

“Mountains calling," Schism says, his voice fading into the wind as he disappears into the shadows.

Dolly doesn’t look back. She trudges forward to the mountain. She’s not sure if Schism is still there or if she’s imagining him, but it doesn’t matter.

The climb is grueling. Every movement is agony, but with every step, the weight on her chest seems to lift. There’s still a long way to go up the mountain, but it feels like she’s finally climbing toward something she can control. Climbing toward her destiny.


If she can’t stop what's just ahead of her, then it’s all been for naught.

Baron Nicklesworth is going to blow up the mountain.

This isn’t just about the revolution anymore. This is about her redemption. About proving to herself that she can win.

And then, she sees him… Baron standing at the top of the mountain, the detonator in his hand.

He’s muttering to himself, eyes wild with the kind of mania only someone like him could possess. His expensive suit is torn, the wound from the stab bleeding out, his shoes caked with dirt, but his arrogance is as strong as ever.

He hasn’t spotted her yet, so Dolly gathers what little strength she has left and moves on him.

Baron hears the crunch of stones beneath her boots and spins around, eyes flashing with recognition. He sneers, taking in her battered form with an almost amused look.

Cute trick unrigging all of my bombs. he laughs, but clearly gassed as he leans onto the face of the cliff, Even cuter that you really thought you could stop me.

Dolly’s voice is low, I don’t have to stop you. You’ve already lost.

Baron scoffs. Oh, I’ve lost, have I? It’s funny you think that. The revolution ends here, Waters. At the top of this mountain, with me holding all the power. With me stopping you from reaching the tippy-top. With me having the last word.

He presses the button on the detonator, and Dolly’s heart stops. The explosion is imminent.

You’re a failure. Baron says, taking a step toward her. Everything you’ve done, every life you’ve ruined, it all leads to this. You can’t stop me, and you never could.

But then something shifts.

She looks down at the detonator and sees one of the wires is detached.

Baron’s eyes widen, a mix of confusion and anger flashing across his face realizing that the mines haven’t detonated.

Stop! he orders, his voice rising. You’re too late. You can’t save them.

With a final surge of strength, she lunges at him, her body moving with sheer force. Baron can’t react before she tackles him.

Dolly and Baron tumble down the slope, crashing against the jagged stones. Baron recovers quickly, his eyes wild with fury as he draws back a fist.

But Dolly’s already there.

Her fist comes down first, with a sickening crack, hitting him square in the jaw. He staggers back, dazed, blood pouring from a new cut on his cheek.

Baron growls, grabbing at Dolly, pushing her back. They struggle against each other, fists flying, sweat and blood painting their faces, Dolly’s body on the brink of collapse.

Baron grabs at her bad knee, his hands wrapping around it like a vice. You think you can win, Waters? You’ve got no crutch up here to help you now. he growls, his voice filled with venom. You’re nothing but a broken piece of trash.

Struggling, roaring and using every last ounce of her strength, Dolly pries her knee from his hands. Her vision is blurry, her body barely staying upright, but she knows what she has to do.

With a final, desperate push, Dolly shoves Baron off the edge of the cliff.

He screams as he falls, the sound echoing through the air. Dolly watches, her heart in her throat, as he disappears into the rocks far below. His screaming silenced.

It’s over.

She stands at the edge of the mountain, the cold wind whipping through her hair. Her body is beaten, but for just a faint moment, for the first time in years, Dolly feels fully alive.

She looks up, the peak of the mountain, she can’t quite see it, but she knows it’s just ahead.

She hears it calling again, like it’s whispering to her…

When she reaches the top, she looks down off the mountain, to see the town of Elkhorn liberated from the company. Mortal enemies like Thad Hatfield and Mark McCoy embracing one another. Native workers, newcomers and the Cultists all lifting one another in solidarity.

And from behind her, the faintest sound… a melody carried by the wind. It’s familiar: the banjos, the sound of laughter. The sounds of a far-off dream grow louder, clearer, like an ancient song, something that's been waiting for her for a millennia.

And then she sees it.

A brilliant light.

It’s spilling from behind the mountain’s peak, where the land flattens. It’s there that a vision forms before her eyes.

A silhouette of a child.

Dolly smiles, and laughs, almost in a comforting disbelief… as she looks upon her own face fifteen years younger.

Bout’ time you made it up here- the vision of Child Dolly says playfully, -I’ve been calling you for a long, long time.

Dolly nods her head, her smiling lips tremble, tears welling up in her eyes…

Yeah you have- she limps forward and takes the child’s hand -and I’m here now.






Dolly Waters and Charlie Nickles, one on one, for the first time ever.

Ain’t that crazy, Chuck?

Just thinking back on it all?

Five years we’ve spent in this business together. We’ve been allies, we’ve been enemies, and heck let’s get the elephant out of the room shall we: You’ve even pinned me before. Over three years ago in a tag match- and yet- this is the first time we’ve faced off in a singles action, ain’t it?

This match at Leap of Faith?

It’s gonna’ be a “first-time” match for a lot of reasons:

The first time an XWF pay-per-view event has been held in Kentucky, just miles from where I was born. Miles away from where I fell in love with this sport. Miles from where I learned the harsh reality of being broken in the name of legacy for this sport.

I was seven years old, Chuck, the first time Misty locked me in an arm bar. And boy did I cry… I cried even harder than you do every time you’re shown a picture of Doc D’Ville… that’s right, for the first time ever I cried in a wrestling ring, my undeveloped muscles stretching, my tiny bones being bent back just far enough not to break, yet just far enough to feel like it’s breaking over and over and over. I screamed, I tapped, I begged for her to stop. She wouldn’t. Not until I stopped crying.

That was the first time I realized a sobering truth about pro wrestling: it thrives on people being broken from their most basic instincts. It thrives on people willing to shut their mouths and take whatever punishment is handed to them. It thrives on the sociopathic mind, like Charlie’s, people who are resoundingly beaten, and mocked, and defamed, and deplatformed time and time and time again, and still begging for the bosses to pet them on the head.

It’s true… Leap of Faith will be the first time that an out-and-proud “company man” - the former “family man”- walks in defending a Universal Championship in the holy name of the very company he’s condemned for years.

It’ll be the first time Charlie Nickles walks into a title match without an excuse fer’ why he hasn’t lived up to his promise.

The XWF ain’t screwing you over anymore are they, pal?

Is Thad Duke still the warmongering elitist you’ve called him for years, now that yer’ wearing the biggest belt in his company?

Is the XWF still full of corrupt management members who screw you over because yer’ sooo controversial and edgy?

You talk about me “cosplaying” revolution, meanwhile, Charlie is tickling the company ballsack nowadays, and living out his fantasy of pretending to be XWF-daddy while daddy is gone. Funny thing… If he'd just call up his actual kids, Tyler and Emily, the ones he hasn’t murdered yet, I’m sure they could give him some tips on how to be an absent father.

No more excuses for Charlie, for the first time at Leap of Faith he walks into a universal title match on the defense. In the defense of the title he stole, in defense of his questionable record, in defense of his disgusting actions, and in the defense of everything that he stands for… or the lack thereof. Because let’s face it, the man stands for nothing. He doesn’t even know who he is… and he never has.

That’s why I knew my ears weren’t deceiving when I heard him tell me on Warfare:

Quote:I know you don’t mean the things you say.

You never do.

[dolly]Remember that? He then went on to tell me how his journey to winning the Uni was done with me in mind, how he loves me, how I was as important a figure to him as LSM.

Amazing stuff. Truly.

Especially because two weeks before that, Charlie was cursing me out in an in ring promo when I was banned from the building.

That was the first time he’s uttered my name in years, folks. Years.

Its ludicrous, but it’s unsurprising, because Charlie truly never has meant anything he says, he can’t defend any of it because the man speaking it aint real.

Charlie ain’t real.
Corporate Charlie ain’t real.
Family man Charlie for fucking sure ain’t real.

Because just like his therapist told him in his very first vignette all those years ago:

“There never was a Charlie. Only Charles. You made Charlie up”

Now, for the first time ever, at Leap of Faith, you’ll see *Charles* Nickles having to defend… everything. Every heinous comment he’s ever made, every knife he’s stabbed in someone's back, every cowardly and desperate maneuver he’s made to get himself closer to the Universal Title.

For the first time ever, he’s facing someone one-on-one, who knows him as well as anyone. I’ve known as many iterations of Charles Nickles as he’s known defamation suits, and when we get in that ring Sunday I’m going to expose every one of them.

For the first time ever, at Leap of Faith, the Universal Champion is defending against the person that carried his WarGames team to the finals, pinning the likes of Caedus and Bourbon along the way.

For the first time ever, at Leap of Faith, the Universal Champion is defending against a former tag partner, who carried him to a tag team championship win, tapping out John Madison Jr., while Charlie literally sat comatose in a wheelchair the entire time.

For the first time ever, at Leap of Faith, the Universal Champion is walking in with a worse record than the person he’s defending against in the calendar year.

Charlie’s 5-4 to Dolly’s 6-2 in 2025

Wonder if that’s why you started barking my name after you won the Universal Title?

Because the writing was on the wall, huh? As obvious as it could’ve been to anyone in the world who was the next in line for a shot at the belt, and even deep down how obvious it was to Charles, why don’t we listen as he tells you now that I don’t deserve it.

Because I’ve failed one too many times…

Funny though, because this match will be the first time ever that a Universal Champion walks in defending, after having previously lost four Universal Championship matches in a row.

For all the gusto, all the revolting shit that spews from his mouth, all of the lies he tells to make people believe he’s somehow superior, when you boil Charles down yer’ left with a puddle of piss from a man terrified that the world thinks he’s no good at wrestling. When really? The world just knows he’s no good in general.

It’s why the revolution must succeed in the XWF now. It’s why I have no choice but to take that Universal Championship, walk out on my contract, and leverage it for a new contract… a contract for the union. With a man as careless, deluded, and devoid of emotional intelligence at the top of the industry, we’re all beyond cooked.

Charles ain’t toppling and shaping the The Corporation into some benevolent force, and he damn sure didn’t mold it out of anything I believe-in like he claimed. He doesn’t want this company unionized, why would he?

Why would he want better working conditions for the company he now espouses to lead? Broken bodies are dollars in Charles’ pocket. His inclinations embody the worst aspects of professional wrestling. A belief that anyone in that locker room is an obstacle, and Charles wants things to be as miserable for them as it was for him.

Spoiler alert: he lives, and they die.

He wants to see people broken, the same way my grandmother broke me as a child. The same way tens of thousands of aspiring wrestlers break their necks in a school gym before ever even making it to the XWF. Charles wants to keep the train of human carnage rolling in this industry, because in his sick, deluded mind, he’s a man who finally broke even at the casino, he can’t walk away now, and that means no one can walk away.

That’s why I’m going all in. All of my chips pushed to the center of the table. Because this is too important a moment in the history of professional wrestling to fold for the next hand. Leap of Faith is a fork in the road. Will the XWF continue down its path of exploiting the talent, offering X-Bux as scrip for their blood labor? Or will the talent finally have their day, unify, and demand the type of working conditions where they can thrive without the constant demand to be broken from their fundamental human rights? Demand that no one ever has to die in this business again.

And I’m demanding that change now. I’m here to lead this revolution in their names, as someone who’s been on both sides of this blood stained coin. I was 13 when I first debuted in an XWF ring, during a time where women wrestlers were treated with as little regard as Charles’ dental health. Nearly 10 years later, over 100 matches, and my body is on the verge of breaking down at the ripe age of 23. This never needs to happen to anyone else. I fought the “good fight” for years, chased the carrot the bosses dangled in front of me… ‘just take one more chair shot, just maim one more person’ they’d tell me. And after 6 years, they told me I finally earned a shot at a Universal Title in the Cannabis Cup, just months removed from an ACL surgery.

People like Charles? Hell, he got his first shot within 6 months of walking in the door. 

Allow me to drill into yer’ thick head how our struggle has been different, bubby. Weeks ago you said that I was handed opportunity after opportunity, that I cry when I don’t get my way- yet, In the 5 years since you’ve debuted, you’ve been granted more opportunities at the Uni than I have in double the time.

As much as Charles has played the role of some scorned renegade who’s blocked at every turn by the powers that be, in reality, he’s been a fan favorite of XWF management. The perfect lap dog, who has no values, who has no moral compass, who would soon put on a suit and tie and slit the throat of his own children if they told him it might help him win…. And that’s exactly what he’s done.

Charles’ entire quest this year was never about redeeming LSM. The fact is, when he returned to the XWF, Charles was just a hollowed out, overplayed rape joke with no direction. After years of pushing away everyone in his life, literally murdering the only person who believed in him, Charles had nothing. No purpose. A loser who could never hold his own, and always needs something to cling to. Something to lean on.

Whether it was me years ago, or Jim Jimson, or the Bastards, or Marf, or your Demos mask, or the drugs, or Geppettoo, or now his corporate tuxedo he wears… Charles is trying to finally wash his asshole after years of neglect, but not even the XWF has the type of resources to wash away the stench of five years of the crusted-over taint that is Charles Nickles.

I’ve had my dark moments in XWF, and who could blame me? I tried to fight their cruelty with a brand of my own. If they were going to swindle, then so too would I! I’ve made terrible mistakes, and I’ve done my best to atone, and grow. I’ve leaned on my share of crutches over the years too, but at least mine was never my dead daughter. I never had to murder my child to make myself look tough. And for what? Because Charles was being made to look impotent in an OCW tournament? Crying about Twitter banter like some stupid 4chan edgelord?

News flash, Chuck: you didn’t have to kill LSM for saying what the world already knew… that yer’ a despicable man, and a lousy wrestler… you just needed to prove them wrong. And yet, the great irony in all of this, is that by succeeding and capturing the Uni all these years later, you’ve only proven them right. That yer’ a man who will do and say literally anything if he thinks it’ll make him seem brutal and edgy.

You dug her out of the ground, paraded her body around on television, and you did all of this sober -allegedly- in her name, in her honor, only to relapse weeks later after you took another loss. Congrats Chuck, you finally climbed Geppetto's ladder, you cut away the strings… and now I’m gonna’ hang you by them.

At Leap of Faith, for the first time ever, the Universal Champion defends against a woman whose entire career is on the line. a woman who is putting her love for wrestling, and the dream that it can be a thriving and prosperous industry for all its workers and all of its fans to the forefront. A woman who is going to accomplish something never done before. Something that doesn’t involve being perverted, or digging up dead bodies. A woman who's going to unionize professional wrestling, for the first time ever, and who's damn-well capable of doing it.

At Leap of Faith, for the first time ever, The Universal Champion defends against a woman who has defeated nine former Universal Champions, including two of the last three. Names like Raven, Caedus, Bourbon, Lacklan, King, Everette-Bryce… D’Ville… all people that the current Universal Champion has never, and could never defeat… and for the first time, that woman is going to make the current Universal Champion a former one.

In a match full of “first-times” I walk into my hometown, having never won the universal championship. For the first time, Dolly Waters walks into her fourth attempt at making the childhood dream a reality. And for the first time I walk into a universal title match battling not just for myself, but for the future of professional wrestling.

At Leap of Faith, for the first time, the powers of systemic exploitation and rot within the walls of XWF will shudder in the presence of the revolution, in the presence of Dolly Waters. Their absent King be damned! Their absent management be damned!

Because for the first time ever…

I’m going to win the Universal Championship… and I’m going to give its power back to the people.

They say there’s a first time for everything. Charles Nickles knows that better than anyone.

And I say there’s no better a place than Lexington, Kentucky, and no better a time than right now.

4x XTreme Champion    (1x as Misty Waters)
3x Television Champion
3x Tag Team Champion (w/ Vita Valenteen, w/ Charlie Nickles, w/ Madison Dyson)
2x Hart Champion
1x Universal Champion

4x Star Of The Month
August '24(As Misty Waters), August ‘21, May ‘17, October ‘16

3x RP Of The Month
What light through sonder... my perception breaks.
Tranquility: For Old Times Sake
Manifest Victory

2024 Storyline Of The Year (The Misty Waters Takeover)