The Vision vs. The Glimmer Sisters

[Konrad Raab]

SCW World Tag Team Championship

4 RP Limit for tag

3500 Word Per RP

Deadline: WEDNESDAY, December 17, 2025 at 11:59:59 pm ET (NOTE THE DEADLINE – this is for both shows)

[The Assassin]

1 of 2
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December 9th, 2025
London, England
Off Camera
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A few days ago in Dallas, Texas Melinda Braddock and Fiona Logan made their intentions known with a surgical strike against one half of the SCW World Tag Team Champions, Gina Glimmer. The Vision dropped Gina with Vision’s Run and made it abundantly clear what they wanted; they wanted the SCW World Tag Team Titles and they were done waiting. After defeating every tag team placed in front of them since their arrival in SCW, Melinda and Fiona are ready to head into Shattered Reality and put an end to The Glimmer Sisters and an end to their reign atop the tag team division. This has been the goal since day one and now the sister pair of Fiona and Melinda see the light at the end of the tunnel. They see the finish line just up ahead.

Shattered Reality will be a homecoming of sorts for Fiona Logan. Before being adopted into the Braddock family, she spent most of her life in Boston as a model, under the not-so-protective care of a foster father named Todd Osbourne who did not care for her well-being one bit. Boston taught her how to survive. Her circumstances, while not ideal, made her tough. Now she returns to her home of Boston alongside Melinda Braddock where she hopes to show her fans, her people, just how far she has come. It would be her crowning achievement to leave her hometown with the SCW World Tag Team Championships.

Before Fiona and Melinda make the trek to Boston for Shattered Reality, they want to make one pit stop to Melinda’s home of London, England and visit their father, Melinda’s step-father and Fiona’s adoptive father, Glory Braddock’s husband Kurt Logan. Kurt, a retired professional wrestler in his own right, had a hand in training both of the girls. They want to visit him so that he can see for himself how much success they have achieved already and what they are prepared to do at Shattered Reality to add more gold to their resume.

The late afternoon light in early October had that particular quality in London: thin, slanted, and the color of weak tea, slipping between the plane trees and turning every brick a warmer red than it had any right to be. A low sky, the color of wet pavement, pressed down on the narrow street where the two women walked, their footsteps falling out of rhythm with each other the way they always did. Melinda Braddock moved as though the pavement had been laid specifically for her: small, deliberate clicks of low patent heels, the hem of a camel cashmere coat brushing just above her knees, a silk scarf the shade of clotted cream knotted with careless precision at her throat. Her hair, pale and straight and shining like the inside of a shell, was twisted into a low chignon that looked both effortless and expensive. She carried a small structured handbag in dove-grey leather, the kind that cost more than most people’s rent, and every so often she touched the clasp with gloved fingers, as if reassuring herself it was still there. Beside her, Fiona Logan looked as though she had wandered in from an entirely different city, perhaps one with more motorbikes and fewer rules. She wore scuffed engineer boots laced halfway up, black jeans ripped at one knee, and a battered leather jacket whose collar was turned up against the chill. Under the jacket, a faded t-shirt clung to her narrow frame, and a silver chain looped from her belt to her back pocket, swaying with each long stride. She walked with her hands shoved deep in her pockets, shoulders slightly hunched, but there was nothing submissive in the posture; it was the loose, watchful stance of someone who expected trouble and had already decided how to answer it.

The street itself was quietly genteel, a terrace of Victorian houses that had once been grand and were now mostly divided into flats. Ivy climbed the brick in disciplined green sheets, and the front gardens were small but fiercely tidy: hydrangeas gone bronze, the last stubborn roses clinging to their stems, window boxes still defiant with pansies. They found one home that was the plainest of the row, its paintwork a faded sage green, the brass numerals on the door tarnished almost black. A single bay tree in a terracotta pot stood sentinel by the steps, its leaves glossy and dark even in the muted light. The curtains at the ground-floor windows were lace, yellowed with age, and behind them the rooms looked dim and undisturbed, as though no one had opened them to air in years. A faint smell of coal smoke lingered, though no one had burned coal fires in London anymore; it was the ghost of fires, carried down through decades of chimneys. Somewhere nearby a black cab coughed itself to life and pulled away, the sound echoing off the brick like a warning. Leaves skittered along the gutter, propelled by a wind that couldn’t quite decide whether to become rain.

“Ok, wait, correct me if I’m wrong, Mels,” Fiona begins “but I thought you hated your fam? Soooo why are we here?”

“Perhaps ‘hate’ is too strong a term.” Melinda remarks. “Yes, there is some tension between myself and my mother.”

“No argument from me.” Fiona remarks. “Sometimes you gotta do whatever is necessary to get what ya want. Glory…mom…she’s weak, so I get that.”

“It isn’t just a difference in philosophy.” Braddock states. “She has betrayed the Braddock name and legacy.” Melinda’s voice is sharp with venom. “That is why you and I need to step up and reclaim the Braddock legacy. Make it OURS.”

“Right…sir, yes, sir…” Fiona playfully salutes “...but again, if you got this beef, why are we here? Your mom lives here, right?”

“Yes, well, she lives here temporarily.” Melinda rolls her eyes. “She’s trying to rediscover herself, whatever the hell that means. But she didn’t come here alone. Kurt is here and I trust his judgment.”

“Oh yeah!” Fiona’s eyes light up at the mention of her adoptive father. “Kurt!”

Melinda paused at the bottom of the three stone steps that led up to the front door, her gloved hand resting lightly on the wrought-iron railing as she studied the house with the polite wariness of someone who had been raised to notice peeling paint and unmended gates. Fiona came to a halt half a step behind her, boots scuffing deliberately on the pavement. The door itself was painted the same tired green as the trim, its letter box gaping slightly where the screws had worked loose. A small avalanche of unread circulars and bills had accumulated on the mat inside, visible through the frosted glass panel. Above the door, a fanlight of colored glass, red, amber, and bottle green, threw fractured light onto the step whenever the sun found a gap in the clouds. It was doing so now, briefly, unexpectedly, like a secret being whispered. Melinda lifted her chin a fraction, the movement small but decisive, and began to climb the steps. The heels of her shoes made a crisp, authoritative sound against the stone. Fiona followed more slowly. At the top, Melinda raised her hand to the knocker, an old lion’s head whose nose had been rubbed almost smooth by generations of visitors. Melinda’s gloved fingers closed around the knocker. The metal was cold even through the leather. She lifted it, let it fall once, twice, the sound blunt and final against the wood.

The door didn’t open right away. There was a long, dragging pause, long enough for the echo of the knocker to die completely and for the street to settle back into its damp hush. Then came the slow scrape of a chain, the click of a deadlock turning with the reluctance of a joint that hasn’t been asked to move in weeks, and finally the door swung inward on a breath of warm, stale air that smelled of old paper, bergamot, and something faintly medicinal. Kurt Logan filled the doorway the way a man who has spent half his life in wide-open spaces still fills doorways: shoulders first, as though the frame had been built too narrow on purpose. He wore an ancient pair of jeans gone soft at the knees and a pair of battered boots with the laces missing from the top three eyelets. For a moment he simply looked at them, gaze moving from Melinda to Fiona and back again, slow, deliberate, the way a man studies a horizon he isn’t sure he wants to ride toward. Recognition settled over his features the way dust settles on furniture that hasn’t been touched in years: inevitable, but reluctant.

“Well girls, it sure has been awhile…”

“Easy, dad.” Melinda says, placing a tone of care and love in her voice to ease her step-father’s concern. “We come in peace.”

“I’m sure you do.” Kurt chuckles. “Still, can’t blame me for being on edge. You and your mother haven’t exactly been on the best of terms lately.”

“Nooooo and that brings us to another point,” Fiona says “is mom home?”

“No, she’s visiting her sister Julia.”

Kurt stepped back at last, pulling the door wider. The movement revealed more of the hallway: a long, narrow throat of a space with wallpaper the color of nicotine and a staircase that climbed steeply into shadow. A single coat hung on a peg by the door, a woman’s camelhair coat, far too expensive for the house, its belt still knotted the way its owner had left it the last time she walked out.

“Come in, then.”

He turned and walked away from them down the hall without looking back, the mug cradled in both hands now like something he was afraid to set down. His footsteps were soft, deliberate, the sound of a man who had learned to move quietly in hospital corridors and funeral homes.
Melinda glanced once at Fiona. Fiona lifted one shoulder in the smallest shrug imaginable, then followed him in. Melinda came last, closing the door behind her with a soft, final click that sounded, in the sudden hush, exactly like a lock turning. He leads the sisters, The Vision, down a hall and into the quaint living room. Fiona doesn’t wait for an invitation, she makes her way to the sofa and plops down. Melinda smirks as she gracefully walks over and joins her sister on the sofa.

“Make yourselves at home.” Kurt chuckles as he walks over and sits down in a chair resting perpendicular to the sofa. He looks over at his girls with pride. “Well, look at the pair of you, so much success in such a short amount of time. Three times and longest reigning MWCW Tag Team Champions. Two times MWA World Tag Team Champions.”

“And we hold BOTH of those right now!” Fiona holds up two fingers. “Mels and Fiona two belts!”

“Like I said,” Melinda chimes in with an arrogant air about her “I had a Vision and it truly is coming to fruition.”

“Good for you.” Kurt nods his head. “I admit, your mother and I aren’t exactly in alignment with your tactics, but still, we support you and are happy about your success.”

“Thank you, dad.” Melinda remarks. Fiona nods her head in agreement. “It is nice to be appreciated for a change.”

“Your mom told me that you have a shot at the SCW World Tag Team Championship coming up at Shattered Reality?” Kurt asks. “Do you think you are ready for The Glimmer Sisters?”

“Gia and Gina?” Fiona snickers. “Please, we’ll wipe the floor with those twinsie idiots.”

“You sound pretty confident.” Kurt states. “I mean, they beat The Shinigami Foundation, The European Fiery Nation, they’ve embarrassed Selena Frost on multiple occasions…”

“Oh don’t go getting all high and mighty like mom.” Fiona remarks sarcastically. “Fact is that me and Mels are fighters. The Glimmers are glorified adult circus clowns. There is NO comparison.”

“Those glorified adult circus clowns are the reigning SCW World Tag Team Champions.” Kurt points out with a wry grin. “They didn’t get to that point by happenstance.”

“Ignore Fiona.” Melinda chimes in. “Trust me when I say that The Vision is taking nothing for granted. It is Fate that The Vision should rule SCW’s tag team division and I truly believe that our rule will begin at Shattered Reality when we take those championships.”

“Fate, huh?” Kurt chuckles. “You sound like your boyfriend Clyde.”

“Maybe.” She smirks. “But it is true, Fate is on the side of The Vision. We already have two sets of tag team championships. We are ready to add a third.”

“Well I wish you good luck with that.” Kurt says. “I think you’re probably taking them a little lightly but what do I know?” He chuckles. “While you’re here do you want to get some good workout and training in? The Glenn Braddock Wrestling School isn’t far.” He points at Fiona. “I don’t think you’ve even been there, have you?”

“That is part of our plans while we are here in town.” Melinda states.

“Uh, yeah, but there is one other thing I’d like to ask you about…” Fiona remarks quietly. Melinda seems to know what she is talking about, as if she can read her mind. She frowns.

“Not now.”

“Yes, now.”

“What is it, girls?” Kurt asks curiously.

“It’s just that…” Fiona sighs “...I’ve been getting strange fan mail lately.”

“Honestly you’re letting yourself get worked up over nothing.” Melinda remarks. “It’s a creepy fan.”

“Mel is probably right, to be honest.” Kurt says. “I mean, all my career I received stuff from fans, not just mail but even weird and creepy items. Once someone sent me a half-eaten ham sandwich.”

“Ugh, disgusting.” Melinda shakes her head.

“Being in this great sport of ours attracts all types of weirdos at times.” Kurt smiles. “It’s all part of the job.”

“See, Fiona?” Melinda says. “This is normal. Creepy but normal.”

“This is different.” Fiona insists. She turns her attention back to Kurt. “I’ve been getting letters that seem to know detailed stuff about me and my past. I’ve been receiving pictures and not of me in the ring…” she pauses “...deeply personal, private pictures…”

“Oh, well that does change things a little bit.” Kurt points out, his attitude growing more serious.

“What should I do?”

“If I were you, I would go to the authorities.”

“Really?” Melinda sounds shocked at the suggestion. “I doubt they have the resources to track down this stalker.”

“You would be surprised at what the authorities are capable of.” Kurt points out. “Besides, its the best way to stay safe. Let the police handle it while you two focus on Shattered Reality and becoming SCW World Tag Team Champions.”

Melinda and Fiona nod their heads in unison. They may not agree on the approach but they do agree on one thing; they need to remain focused on becoming SCW World Tag Team Champions. They need to have no distractions ahead of their match against The Glimmer Sisters. Perhaps turning this problem over to the police really is the best course of action?

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Vlog 67
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Hello my lovelies! I am your host, Melinda Braddock, I am The Third Generation Goddess, and yes, you should be grateful to get to see me and watch another of my fabulous Vlogs, especially for this the 67th Vlog because you don’t just get The Third Generation Goddess, you get my special guest, my sister, The Boston Badass herself Fiona Logan. This Vlog features The Vision, your next SCW World Tag Team Champions!

And there’s our first hashtag, folks!

#NewTagChamps
#AndNew

Now you hear me and my man Clyde Sutter speak about Fate often. It is true, we believe firmly in Fate. We believe that Fate is on OUR side. There may be bumps in the road, there may be delays, but the endgame, the finish line, the destination is always determined by Fate. The destination is The Vision standing tall as SCW World Tag Team Champions and if you don’t believe me, just look at the fact that we are getting our first crack at the tag team championship in Fiona’s hometown of Boston, Massachusetts. Coincidence or Fate? You tell me.

Since this championship match will be a homecoming for my sister, I will let her take over from here. Tell the people all about it, Fiona.

I have a lot of memories of Boston…not all of them were good…but what I CAN tell you about my time in Boston is that it made me tough. I learned how to fight and how to survive. I learned that, no matter how much the odds were stacked against me, that I could fight, claw, and endure anything life threw my way. Now I am prepared to make my return to Boston, alongside The Third Generation Goddess who took me in and made me her sister. I am ready to march into Boston and unleash all of the rage and fury of my past onto Gia and Gina, kick their clownish asses, and take those SCW World Tag straps and make them mine!

Glimmers, you’ve humbled Selena. You’ve beaten Hollywood. You’ve beaten the European Fiery Nation. You beat The Shinigami Foundation. Hell, you two even managed to snag a Trios Contract. Quite an impressive run so early in your SCW career. But you aint the only pair used to quick and sudden success. Me and Mels have had instantaneous success in every single promotion we have been in. Everywhere we went, we won the tag team championship. And there’s another thing, girls…

…out of all of these people you have put down, you haven’t had to face anyone with the passion of The Vision! You damn sure haven’t had to face someone like me! I am NOT leaving my hometown empty handed! I am leaving either with those tag straps or with a pound of your damn flesh!

I think I just found our next hashtag!

#Passion
#BostonBadass

Speaking of hashtags and trends, there is something that has been trending big time lately that happens to coincide with this, my 67th Vlog. That’s right! 6-7!

That’s it, Gia and Gina. 6-7. It just means nothing which is exactly what you will be when me and Fiona get finished with you at Shattered Reality. You will be 6-7, you will be nothing, and your reign as tag team champions will be over.

Your Fate is sealed.