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The Vision - The Assassin - 01-02-2026
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December 13th, 2025
Boston, Massachusetts
Off Camera
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The TD Garden had begun its slow exhale, hours earlier the building had been alive with color and sound, with light rigs burning hot and music rattling through concrete and steel. Now it felt cavernous and tired, the echoes of the crowd lingering like a memory that refused to fade. The upper sections were nearly empty, rows of chairs standing at attention beneath dimmed lights. Crew members moved with quiet efficiency, breaking down equipment, rolling cables, dismantling barricades. The air still carried the sharp scent of sweat and smoke, mixed with the faint sweetness of spilled beer soaked into the floor. Somewhere beyond the curtain, in the liminal space between spectacle and reality, Clyde Sutter, Melinda Braddock, and Fiona Logan existed in the aftermath of SCW Shattered Reality. The adrenaline that had driven them through their matches had begun to drain away, replaced by a heavier, more oppressive weight. All three had stepped into the ring with purpose; Melinda and Fiona to become SCW World Tag Team Champions and Clyde Sutter to end Shaun Cruze’s return before it could even begin. All three had left without victory. Loss hung around them not as a single moment, but as a collective presence, something that followed them down the hallway and settled into their shoulders.
Clyde Sutter moved with a measured calm that bordered on numbness. His long black hair, usually tied back with care, now hung loose around his shoulders, damp and clinging to the collar of his jacket. He was well built, the result of years of disciplined training, but tonight that strength felt muted, as if his body had done everything it could and now demanded stillness in return. Raised in Birmingham, England, Clyde carried himself with a reserved intensity that had always been mistaken for confidence. Tonight it read as restraint. His face was composed, jaw set, eyes forward. There was no outward sign of frustration, no visible crack in the armor, only the quiet presence of a man who had already replayed every mistake in his head and found no comfort in doing so. Beside him walked Melinda Braddock, her almost platinum blonde hair pulled back but already beginning to escape its hold, wisps catching the harsh overhead lighting. In her early twenties, she possessed a natural elegance that remained even in exhaustion. London had shaped her in subtle ways, in posture and in the way she held her silence. Her expression mirrored Clyde’s, stoic and controlled, as if emotion were something to be addressed later in private, not here under fluorescent lights and watchful eyes. The loss weighed on her just as heavily, but she wore it like a tailored coat, fitted and precise, refusing to let it show more than she allowed. There was a sense of distance about her, not from Clyde, but from the moment itself, as though she had already begun to compartmentalize the night and file it away for future reckoning.
Fiona Logan was incapable of such restraint. Where Clyde and Melinda moved through the space with controlled detachment, Fiona radiated tension. Her black hair was pulled back hastily, strands sticking to her neck, her hands clenched and unclenched as she walked. She was visibly angry, the kind of anger that burned hot and fast, fueled by frustration rather than shock. Raised in Boston, Massachusetts, this arena was not just another stop on the circuit for her. It was home territory, and the loss felt personal in a way that cut deeper than usual. Her shoulders were tight, her steps sharp, each movement betraying the effort it took not to lash out at the nearest inanimate object. The echoes of the crowd felt louder to her, the memory of cheers and boos alike ringing in her ears long after the last bell had sounded. Tonight was supposed to be Fiona’s glorious hometown return, her big moment of celebration. She was supposed to win the SCW World Tag Team Titles alongside her sister Melinda right in Boston. Yet fate had other plans.
Fate. It is a word that Melinda and Clyde often discuss. They hang their hat on the philosophy of fate. They believe fate is in control of everything and, even in defeat, they are convinced that fate is in control. Perhaps that is their way of coping but it doesn’t help The Boston Badass. Fiona doesn’t like being told to be patient and wait on fate. She wants what she wants and she wants it now. She definitely doesn’t want to be told that fate had decided that The Vision would have to wait a little longer to become tag champions, that fate had decided that they would not be victorious here in Boston at Shattered Reality. What’s worse is that now, the first show of the new year, is Fatal Fortunes. Fiona’s sister and tag team partner Melinda Braddock will eat that one up. The idea of fate controlling their very fortunes will satisfy The Third Generation Goddess to no end. For Fiona it just means more talk of fate, more nonsense, and less control she has over her own destiny.
The hallway they occupied was narrow and utilitarian, lined with concrete walls scuffed by years of foot traffic and equipment cases. Posters from past events clung to bulletin boards, curling at the edges, their bold promises now relics of nights long gone. The lighting was unforgiving, flattening everything it touched, stripping away the glamour that existed just beyond the curtain. In this space, they were not larger than life figures framed by pyrotechnics and entrance music. They were three wrestlers dealing with the immediate reality of defeat. The contrast between them was striking. Clyde and Melinda moved as a unit, their proximity suggesting solidarity without the need for reassurance. They did not look at one another, yet there was an unspoken understanding in the space they shared, a quiet agreement to endure the moment without spectacle. Fiona, walking just a step apart, felt the separation acutely. Her frustration seemed to push outward, filling the corridor, challenging the stillness that Clyde and Melinda maintained. Every loss she had ever carried threatened to resurface, layered atop the fresh sting of tonight. Beyond the walls, Boston continued on, unaware or unconcerned with the emotional wreckage left in the wake of the event. The city lights glowed through distant exits, cold and indifferent. Inside the TD Garden, the night pressed on, stripping the event down to its aftermath. For Clyde Sutter, Melinda Braddock, and Fiona Logan, this was the quiet before whatever came next. The losses were done. The questions had begun. The story waited, heavy and unresolved, in the space between what had just ended and what would inevitably follow.
“Fiona, you seem troubled…” Melinda speaks first, finally breaking a tense silence. Fiona just rolls her eyes.
“No shit, ya think?” Sarcasm drips from her voice. “I mean, we had our best…OUR VERY BEST CHANCE…to become SCW World Tag Team Champions, and we blew it. Nah! Why would I be troubled?”
“Fiona, my dear, it was Fate.” Clyde answers stoically, calmly without any emotion. “We must accept it. Your sister has.”
“I don’t want to hear shit about fate right now!” Fiona exclaims angrily. “Seriously? I get that fate makes you two lovebirds feel all sweet and mushy inside but me? How do you think it makes ME feel when I go out there and LOSE my first crack at the SCW tag straps and I’m told fate decided I would lose?” She shakes her head. “Nuh-uh, if I wanna be pissed at someone I’d rather be pissed at myself for fucking it up, not at some myself being called fate.”
“Fate isn’t…” Clyde begins to speak but Melinda, seeing the anger boiling up inside her sister, holds up a hand to silence him. Sutter instantly obeys with a quiet nod of his head. Melinda steps forward and gently embraces Fiona in a hug. They break the embrace and Melinda keeps one hand rested on her shoulder.
“It’s the fact that we lost in Boston, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” Fiona admits, nodding her head. “I grew up here. I have no real family to speak of but I do have good friends still here and I invited them, I paid for their tickets so they could come watch me, see what I have made for myself. I wanted them to see me win gold.” She shakes her head. “And we lost.”
“All is not lost, dear sister.” Melinda says with a half grin. Fiona looks up into Melinda’s eyes and recognizes that look. She shakes her head instantly.
“No way! If I hear you say ‘fate’ one more time…”
“I hate to say it, Fiona, but there is no way around it. The next two events for SCW are Fatal Fortunes.”
“God damn it!” Fiona exclaims. “Nothing but fate for the next few weeks! I’m sure you and the big guy will be thrilled…”
“Clyde and I will try to tone it down, we promise.” Melinda winks. “However, you should not focus on the negative of Fatal Fortunes. Focus on the positives. We did not leave Shattered Reality with gold. But these next two Fatal Fortunes events, with EVERY championship being on the line against random opposition, we are in a unique scenario where one…or two…or all three of us could win a championship.”
“I see where you’re going…” Fiona smirks knowingly “...Cid, Luz, Deanna, The Glimmers, Enigma…they have everything to lose.”
“While The Vision has EVERYTHING to gain and NOTHING to lose.” After a momentary pause to think on the words, Fiona finally grins from ear to ear.
“Alright, you convinced me, Mels!” Fiona nods her head. “Maybe this Fatal Fortunes deal won’t be so bad after all?”
“Of course it won’t.” Melinda shakes her head. “The last time we had Fatal Fortunes in SCW, Clyde made his grand return and dismantled my mother. It was for the Adrenaline Title. He didn’t leave the championship but he had the opportunity. That is what Fate can gift us at Fatal Fortunes; opportunity.”
“Fine, opportunities, I like the sound of that, and maybe we can get lucky?” Fiona shrugs her shoulders. “I mean, outside of tonight I have felt rather lucky myself. Things have been going my way. Even the mail from that creepy stalker dude has stopped.”
“Oh really?” Melinda asks, arching her brow out of curiosity. Fiona nods her head quickly, excitedly.
“Yup. Maybe the creep dropped off the earth?”
“Maybe he finally gave up?” Melinda suggests. “Many of these stalkers do quit when they realize their attempts are futile.”
“Well let’s not speak it back into existence, eh?” Fiona snickers uneasily. “He or she quit and let that be that.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” Clyde chimes in, stepping in between the two sisters. “But I swear to you, Fiona, if this stalker does happen to resurface…” he makes a fist and pounds it into the palm of his other hand “...I will take care of it personally.” Fiona laughs and pats the intimidating Assassin on the back.
“That’s why I love you big guy!
The transition from the interior of the TD Garden to the outside world was abrupt. The concrete corridors gave way to loading bay doors and service exits, and then suddenly they were stepping into the open air. The night in Boston was cool and restless, the kind of chill that crept through sweat soaked clothing and settled into tired muscles. The parking lot stretched out beneath harsh overhead lights, pools of brightness separated by long shadows that seemed to swallow sound. Trucks and cars were scattered across the asphalt, some belonging to crew members still packing up, others to wrestlers already gone, their engines long since cold. The city loomed just beyond the edges of the lot, its skyline visible in fragments between buildings. Distant traffic hummed like a constant undercurrent, and somewhere a siren wailed briefly before fading away. The crowd from SCW Shattered Reality had dispersed, leaving behind an emptiness that felt heavier than the noise ever had. This was the quiet aftermath, where thoughts grew louder and emotions no longer had the roar of an arena to hide behind.
Clyde walked with the same steady composure, his posture unchanged, his gaze scanning the lot out of habit rather than concern. Melinda remained close, her expression unreadable, her attention turned inward as if she were already replaying the night in her mind. The loss still clung to them, but they carried it with control, each step deliberate, each breath measured. Fiona lagged half a step behind as they moved deeper into the lot. At first her anger still dominated her body language, sharp and coiled, but then something shifted. Her pace slowed, her shoulders stiffening as her eyes caught movement ahead. A lone figure emerged from between two rows of parked vehicles, walking with purpose but without haste. The overhead lights revealed only fragments at first, the outline of a frame, the way the person carried themselves. To Fiona, it was enough.
Recognition struck her instantly, not as a clear image but as a visceral reaction. Her breath caught, shallow and quick, and the heat of her frustration was replaced by a sudden cold that spread through her chest. The tension in her body changed quality, transforming from anger into something far more unsettling. Her hands trembled slightly before she forced them still, fingers curling into her palms as if bracing for impact. The figure drew closer, features still indistinct, but familiarity radiated from every movement. Fiona’s eyes widened despite her effort to keep control, and she instinctively shifted her weight back, as though distance alone might offer protection. The parking lot felt exposed now, too open, the lights too bright, the shadows too deep. Every sound seemed amplified, the crunch of footsteps on asphalt, the faint buzz of the lights overhead, the distant murmur of the city.
“Fiona…”
Melinda’s voice snaps The Boston Badass back to attention. She turns to her sister who looks on with concern. She has rarely seen Fiona, someone so brave, look like this. Fiona quickly shushes her.
“Don’t say my name out loud!”
“Huh?” Melinda is now thoroughly confused but quiets down anyway. “What is wrong?”
“We just need to leave.” Fiona insists. “Now.”
“That was the plan but…” before Melinda can finish her sentence, Fiona ducks behind Melinda and Clyde, shielding herself from the view of the mysterious figure “...Fiona, what on earth…”
“Him!” She exclaims quietly, pointing to the figure in the darkness. “He found me!”
“That guy?” Melinda asks quietly. “Who is he?”
“That’s Todd Osbourne.” She says in a hushed whisper, almost fearful of saying his name. “He’s my foster father.”
“And he happens to be here in Boston for SCW Shattered Reality.” Clyde says stoically. “How convenient. It is obvious he was the stalker all along.”
“You think so?” Melinda asks. She looks down at Fiona who nods her head.
“It all makes perfect sense. The stalker knew so much about me and my past. Todd would have known.”
“It’s still not necessarily a guarantee it was him.” Melinda states. “Still, if you are worried you can just get a restraining order against him.”
“Alternatively I could go over there and end this myself.” Sutter remarks coldly, implying a physical altercation between himself and Fiona’s foster father. Fiona shakes her head vehemently.
“No! I just…I just want to get out of here! I want to leave! Now!”
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Vlog 68
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Hello my social media lovelies! Melinda Braddock here with my sister, my partner, my co-hostess with the mostess, she is The Boston Badass Fiona Logan. Together we are the MWCW Tag Team Champions and MWA World Tag Team Champions. Say hi to the people, Fiona.”
Fuck you, dweebs.
As you can tell, my sister is still upset over what happened at Shattered Reality. The Glimmers managed to find a way to delay their fate yet again. But Gia, Gina, mark my words, your fate IS sealed. You will lose those SCW World Tag Team Championship and if we have anything to say about it, you will lose those championships to The Vision. Fiona and I are not finished with you or with the tag team division, not by a longshot. Our Fate has been written in the stars. Fate is smiling down upon us. It is just a matter of time before we are ruling this division.
Yeah but in the meantime let’s get a few things straight…Mels is right, I am not exactly in the most pleasant of moods right now. I should be holding my first SCW title right now but I’m not and that pisses me off. Ordinarily I would not want to sit here and listen to my girl Mels rant and preach about fate but y’know what? I think right here and now is one time I am willing to make an exception because Fatal Fortunes is next up on the list. Every single dipshit on the roster is up for the draw, you never who you will get booked against.
Hell, Mels and I might get lucky enough to get another crack at those tag straps.
We might get individual tag title shots. I know I am a damn fine brawler. I might enjoy stepping into the Underground and claim that strap. Mels would love to win…well…anything golden that’s NOT the Underground.
You know me so well!
Quite frankly, I don’t care who or what I am up against. I am in a bad mood and I want to beat someone’s ass. So Fate can give me anything it wants at Fatal Fortunes. And I pity the poor bastard who draws ME as an opponent.
Oh, perfect time for hashtags!
#PoorBastard
#FatalFortunes
And yes, anyone who ends up facing myself or Fiona is indeed a poor bastard, because this is Fatal Fortunes. You hear that, darlings? FATE! Fate is what drives us. Fate is what motivates us. We fight on behalf of Fate and Fate rewards our loyalty. Fatal Fortunes was built for The Vision. And seeing as we were unsuccessful in capturing gold at Shattered Reality, that leaves us in what is actually a very good position.
Champions such as Cid Turner…
…La Pequina Luz…
…Deanna Frost…
…Glimmers…
…Enigma…
…Just Some Loser…
You should hashtag that one, Mels.
Good idea!
#JustSomeLoser
In any event, these champions have everything to lose. Nothing to gain. But myself and Fiona? Nothing to lose. EVERYTHING TO GAIN!
#EverythingToGain
And at Fatal Fortunes, we will seize whatever opportunity fate deems fit to reward us with.
RE: The Vision - The Assassin - 01-05-2026
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December 20th, 2025
Miami, Florida
Off Camera
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The house sat tucked behind tall gates and carefully sculpted greenery, its clean modern lines softened by warm exterior lighting that cast a gentle glow against pale stone and glass. Even at night, the Miami air felt alive, heavy with warmth and the distant scent of salt carried inland from the ocean. Palm fronds rustled softly in the breeze, brushing against one another in slow, lazy rhythms that contrasted with the quiet stillness of the property. From the street, the home looked serene and self assured, the kind of place that suggested safety and success without ever needing to announce it. This is the property of Melinda Braddock and her future husband Clyde Sutter. Melinda’s mother, Glory Braddock, gifted it to them as a peace offering and, in hopes, that they would live there and thus be closer to Glory so she can maintain a relationship with her daughter. She and Sutter do not stay here all the time, they bounce between here and Sutter’s home in Birmingham, England. They find themselves here in Miami for a very important reason; safety and protection for one of their own, for Fiona Logan. For months Fiona Logan had been the target of a stalker. Someone who clearly knew a lot about her past. After SCW Shattered Reality, Fiona got a good look at who that stalker may be; her abusive and neglectful foster father Todd Osbourne. She ran away from him, was taken in by the Braddock family as protection. Yet now it seems as if Todd has found her. But what does he want with her?
Inside, the living room opened up in a wide, inviting space where design and comfort met with deliberate intention. Floor to ceiling windows lined one wall, offering a darkened view of the backyard where subtle landscape lighting traced the edges of a pool and reflected faintly off calm water. The glass doors were closed, shutting out the night while still allowing its presence to linger just beyond reach. Soft recessed lighting filled the room, casting warm pools of light that made everything feel calm and lived in rather than staged. A large sectional sofa anchored the space, upholstered in neutral tones that invited relaxation rather than formality. Textured throw pillows were arranged with just enough care to suggest they were actually used. A low coffee table sat in front of it, smooth and solid, holding a few carefully chosen books and a decorative tray that hinted at shared routines and quiet evenings. Art pieces adorned the walls, modern but personal, chosen not for trend but for meaning, each one a small reflection of the lives being built within the home. Melinda Braddock sat curled comfortably on one end of the sofa, her posture relaxed in a way that suggested this was truly her space. The almost platinum blonde of her hair caught the light as she leaned back, one leg tucked beneath her, at ease in surroundings that felt earned. There was an air of quiet confidence about her here, a contrast to the intensity she carried inside wrestling arenas. In this room, she seemed grounded, anchored by familiarity and routine, her presence blending seamlessly with the home around her. Clyde Sutter occupied the opposite end of the couch, stretched out with a casual ease that belied his imposing build. His long black hair was pulled back loosely, a few strands escaping and falling around his face. He looked comfortable in a way that came from ownership and belonging, not just of the house itself but of the life it represented. One arm rested along the back of the sofa, the other relaxed at his side, his attention drifting easily between the room and the people in it. This was a place where he did not need to be guarded, where the constant edge of performance and expectation could finally soften.
Between them sat Fiona Logan, and the difference in her demeanor was impossible to miss. She perched on the couch rather than settling into it, her posture tense, shoulders slightly hunched as if she were bracing herself against an unseen pressure. Her black hair framed her face, but she seemed acutely aware of every sound, every shift of light beyond the windows. Her hands rested in her lap, fingers twisting together in small nervous motions she likely did not even realize she was making. Though the room radiated warmth and safety, Fiona carried her fear with her, unable to fully let the comfort reach her. This was not truly her home, at least not yet, and the temporary nature of her stay weighed on her heavily. She was here because she needed to be, because the alternative felt unbearable. The thought of being found lingered constantly at the back of her mind, an unspoken presence that followed her from room to room. Even within these walls, Todd Osbourne felt too close, his shadow stretching far beyond his actual reach. The house made its usual nighttime sounds around them, the quiet hum of the air conditioning, the faint click of cooling surfaces, the distant rustle of palm leaves outside. Each noise seemed magnified to Fiona, her eyes flicking toward the windows or the hallway at the slightest change. The security of the gated property and the solid walls did little to ease the deep seated anxiety she carried. Fear was not something she could simply reason away, no matter how safe she was told she might be.
“Fiona, you should calm yourself.” Melinda says in a soothing, not scolding tone. “You are safe here.”
“Indeed.” Clyde chimes in. “If your foster father steps foot on our property, I will break him.”
“Thanks for the support guys, I mean it, but it’s just hard to get my mind off of him, y’know?” Fiona sighs and shakes her head. “Sure, he provided a roof to put over my head but that was it. He never gave a damn about me. He used me to collect government paychecks. That was all I was to him; a source of income.” She chuckles. “Then when those government paychecks weren’t enough to satisfy him he forced me to become a model so he could take THAT money too.”
“He couldn’t do that to you.” Melinda states. “You had rights.”
“Tell that to the ignorant naive younger me.” Fiona retorts. “He said he would make sure I was on the streets and homeless if I didn’t do what he said and so I obeyed.” Fiona sighs. “He was abusive too. He beat me…”
“Oh darling.” Melinda hugs Fiona tightly. “I know you had a difficult past but trust me, you are safe here. Clyde and I will not let him get anywhere near you.”
“You are safe here.” Sutter reminds her confidently. “Even when my love and I depart, you will be safe here.”
“Wait a sec…” panic rises in Fiona’s heart as the thought of Melinda and Clyde abandoning her enters her mind “...you’re leaving?!”
“Soon, yes.”
“Oh no! You can’t!” Fiona shakes her head. “Not while Todd is on the loose!”
“Clyde, dear, why did you have to tell her?” Melinda asks. Sutter looks on apologetically.
“My apologies, my love, but she WOULD have found out eventually.”
“True.” Melinda sighs and turns to face Fiona. “Clyde and I have business to take care of in England.”
“Then take me with you!” Fiona insists.
“Absolutely not.” Clyde remarks sternly.
“Clyde is right. This has to do with his sister and she is very dangerous, even more dangerous than your foster father. We don’t want to get you caught up in her mess.”
“But what about…” Fiona continues trying to protest but Melinda cuts her off.
“You’re still going to be safe.” She insists. “Our mother lives within walking distance of here. And you have her number, if you don’t feel comfortable walking there you can call her and she or Kurt will be here immediately.”
“Eh, you make a good point.” Fiona shrugs her shoulders. “Hell, I could just go and stay with them for a while. Y’know? They are back from England, after all.”
“Yes, yes they are.” Melinda nods her head. “And I’m sure mother would enjoy having you back.”
“You wouldn’t mind?” Fiona asks curiously. Melinda smirks and shakes her head.
“Of course not. We are sisters, perhaps not by blood but sisters nonetheless. I would do anything for you and so would our mother.”
Fiona Logan opens her mouth to speak but she is suddenly silenced by a knocking at the front door. Her eyes grow wide with panic; she instantly fears that this might be him. This might be Todd Osbourne. He tracked her all over the world, tracked her to Shattered Reality, it isn’t outside of the realm of possibility that he could have found her here as well.
“Mels…”
“Calm yourself.” Melinda instructs. “It couldn’t be him. How could he possibly know about this place?”
The knocking is heard again. Fiona still hesitates. Melinda rises up off of the sofa and smiles warmly down at Fiona.
“You stay here. I shall answer it.”
“No…” Fiona gets up “...we can answer it together.”
Melinda and Fiona make their way out of the relative safety of the living room and towards the front door. A third round of knocking is heard. Melinda looks over at Fiona, as if subconsciously asking if she’s ready. Fiona nods her head. Melinda then opens the door. The Boston Badass’s eyes grow wide with shock and fear at who stands there in the doorway…
…Todd Osbourne, her foster father.
“Hello.” He says to Melinda. Then he looks at Fiona. “Hello Fiona.”
The Boston Badass doesn’t let him get anymore words out. She pushes Melinda out of the way, takes hold of the door, and tries to shut it. But Todd is quick to put his own hands up to stop the door from shutting completely. Fiona’s fear turns into anger as she glares at Todd, still trying to shut the door in his face.
“Go away!”
“Fiona, please, I understand that you must be angry with me, but I only want to talk.”
Fiona is strong but Todd is relentless. She finally quits trying to shut the door. She remains angry.
“How the hell did you find me?!”
“I can explain everything.” He insists. “Just let me talk.”
“I believe you have said enough.” Fiona recognizes that voice. These are the words of Clyde Sutter as he approaches. He steps in between Fiona and Todd. The Harbinger of Fate is very intimidating with his size and presence. “I understand that you may wish only to talk, Mr. Osbourne, but Fiona does NOT wish to talk to you. I would advise you to leave. Otherwise there will be consequences.”
Todd Osbourne is no small man himself but looking into the cold, steel eyes of The Assassin makes him second guess the notion of choosing to press this issue any further. Reluctantly, Todd backs away slowly.
“It’s ok, I’ll leave…”
“Wise decision.” Sutter remarks coldly.
“Fiona…all I ask is that, at some point, you sit down with me and hear me out. Let me talk to you, let me try to explain myself.”
“There’s nothing you can say that would make me change my opinion of you.” Fiona snaps back angrily.
“Maybe. And if that’s true, then I will leave you alone for good. All I ask if just one time…just the one time…sit down and hear me out.”
==========
December 21st, 2025
Miami, Florida
On Camera
==========
The backdrop was simple and dark, absorbing light rather than reflecting it, allowing every detail in front of it to stand out with clarity. The air carried a faint warmth from the equipment, mixed with the subtle scent of makeup and leather. Melinda Braddock stood closest to the camera, perfectly at ease in the spotlight. She looked as though she had stepped directly out of a high end fashion editorial, every element of her appearance chosen with intention and precision. Her outfit was unapologetically elegant, a statement of control and refinement. She wore a tailored ensemble in a rich, deep tone that caught the light with a muted sheen, the fabric smooth and structured as it draped along her figure. The cut was flattering without being revealing, emphasizing clean lines and balance rather than excess. The top featured a sculpted neckline that framed her collarbone and throat, lending her an air of quiet authority. Her trousers were impeccably fitted, the fabric flowing seamlessly down her legs before breaking softly at the ankle. The tailoring suggested expense without needing to announce it, the kind of craftsmanship that revealed itself in how effortlessly the clothing moved with her. On her feet, she wore elegant heels with a sleek silhouette, their polished surface reflecting just enough light to draw the eye without distracting from the whole. The heels added height and presence, reinforcing the composed confidence she carried so naturally. Fiona Logan stood beside her, a study in deliberate contrast. Where Melinda embodied polish and refinement, Fiona projected raw intensity and defiance. She wore a heavy leather jacket, worn but well cared for, the surface marked with subtle creases that told a story of movement and use. The jacket sat snugly across her shoulders, its weight visible in the way it anchored her posture. Metal hardware caught the light in sharp flashes, zippers and snaps adding a hint of danger to her silhouette. Beneath the jacket, she wore a dark fitted top, simple in design but functional, the fabric hugging close without restricting her movement. The neckline was modest, but the overall effect was powerful, emphasizing strength rather than softness. Her pants were equally practical, thick material built for durability, fitted closely enough to maintain a streamlined look while still allowing freedom. The dark color palette absorbed light rather than reflecting it, creating a visual heaviness that grounded her presence. Her boots completed the look, solid and imposing, their thick soles and scuffed leather suggesting resilience and readiness. They were not ornamental. They were meant to endure. The boots planted her firmly in place, giving her a grounded stance that contrasted sharply with Melinda’s elevated poise.
“We’re back again to deliver yet another message to the fine people of the SCW locker room.” Melinda says. Fiona laughs nastily as she shakes her head.
“Nah, Mels, ‘message’ damn sure isn’t the right word. Let’s try WARNING! We’re here to give a warning to the rest of the poor saps on the SCW roster who think that Fatal Fortunes will be their night. This is a warning for anyone and everyone who decides to step in our way these next two nights, one night in Canada and one night in Japan. This warning is quite simple; if you get in the way of The Vision, we will destroy you.”
“Well spoke, Fiona. Indeed it is a warning because The Vision is now going global. The philosophy of FATE is going global. Our VISION is going global. Whether we are in Canada, the headquarters of SCW itself, or whether we do battle in the land of the rising sun, either way the fact remains that Fatal Fortunes is going to belong to myself and Fiona. Fatal Fortunes will belong to The Vision.” Melinda points to herself and Fiona. “Fate is on our sides, ladies and gentlemen. Not yours.”
“Ordinarily I wouldn’t like a situation like this…I don’t have any control. Me and Mels don’t have any control over what happens at Fatal Fortunes. But you know what I do like? You know what I enjoy?” Fiona smirks devilishly. “I enjoy a good fight! And quite frankly, considering the mood we’re both in after Shattered Reality, I am ready to fight anyone! I don’t give a damn who it is! I just want to punch someone in the mouth, I want an excuse to rough someone up and kick someone’s ass!”
Fiona’s rage is definitely showing. Melinda Braddock enjoys her enthusiasm and nods her head.
“Of course winning some championship gold along the way wouldn’t hurt matters, now would it? Me and Fiona, we came together with a singular purpose; to reshape professional wrestling into OUR Vision. We have had quite a bit of success, we made quite a bit of progress. Yet we have had some disappointments in SCW. Failure to capture Trios Contracts. Failure to become SCW World Tag Team Champions.” Braddock shakes her head. “All of that failure and disappointment very well could come to a halt at Fatal Fortunes if Fate truly does smile upon The Vision like I believe it will.”
“Damn right, Mels!” Fiona exclaims. “See, where the championships are, so is the power, so is the prestige, and so is that glory and fame that goes with it. So we have our sights set on each and every idiot holding championship gold right this very moment. You bastards better hope you don’t get The Vision drawn as opponents because if you do, you better believe me and Mels will cash in and end you.”
“Therefore heed the warning, SCW…” Melinda smirks knowingly “....Fatal Fortunes has arrived and we will take NO prisoners.”