The Glory Braddock RP Spectacular!

[Braddock]

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December 17th, 2025
Belfast, Northern Ireland
Off Camera
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It has been a few days since Shattered Reality and Glory Braddock is still feeling good, riding high off of another hard fought victory over Amelia Nevado. The British Bombshell knew that Nevado would bring her absolute best to the table for numerous reasons; primarily among them, Amelia had never beaten Braddock before and she was desperate for a win. Both women also wanted to earn their way back into championship contention. Glory Braddock managed to keep her streak against Amelia alive and get the inside track towards possibly earning another title match in the near future. Yet while Shattered Reality was a straight forward competition between two fierce grapplers, the next test for The British Bombshell will be the furthest thing from straight forward, and it will be something that Braddock has had to deal with before.

Fatal Fortunes.

Every opponent, every match type, every championship randomly decided by luck of the draw. On the one hand the idea of earning a championship opportunity is, quite literally, thrown out the window. Glory Braddock could end up as the lucky lottery winner and drawn for a world title match or she may get drawn for something she has never participated in, the Underground Division and an Underground Title Match, neither of which she has truly ‘earned’ just yet. Yet at the same time Fatal Fortunes epitomizes Glory Braddock’s fierce competitive nature. It symbolizes the very idea of what she views as the true spirit of competition; she will take on anyone, at any time, and in any type of match. Braddock backs down from no challenge. She is that kind of competitor. Thus Fatal Fortunes provides a unique opportunity for her to truly test her competitiveness. She will not know who or what she is up against until bell time. But it will not matter to her. She must be ready at all times to take on and defeat anyone put in front of her.

Surviving, or even thriving, in an environment like Fatal Fortunes, is just the precise opportunity Glory Braddock has been look forward to; even if she does not lucky enough to get a championship match drawn, she can at least prove yet again that she is worthy of consideration. At the very least she can take a giant step forward, closer to title contention by overcoming whatever challenge she ends up against.

For today she is content with relaxing and enjoying some time with two people who have been as close to her as sibling and, in one case, is in fact her sister. She is in Belfast, Northern Ireland. She has been here in the United Kingdom for quite some time now trying to reconnect with her past and reclaim her old identity. She feels as if she succeeded and therein lies the problem; success brings her to a crossroads. Should she play it safe and stay in the United Kingdom or should she return to her adopted home of Miami, Florida? Her and her husband Kurt Logan came back as a compromise; Glory had initially wanted to sell her company, sell her Miami home, and return to the simplistic lifestyle she was raised in under her father Glenn Braddock. Kurt insisted that she was being rash and needed to take time to think it through. This was the compromise. Returning to the United Kingdom and spending several months here to think about herself and her life before making any rash decisions was the compromise. But now the time has come to make that decision and she still finds the choice just as difficult as before.

The pub sat on a narrow Belfast street that looked older than the traffic markings painted over its stones, its façade darkened by decades of rain and cigarette smoke that no amount of scrubbing had ever truly removed. A modest wooden sign creaked above the door, its lettering worn soft around the edges, as if countless eyes had passed over it without needing to read the name anymore. Warm light spilled through the windows despite the early evening gloom, catching the drifting mist in the air and giving the impression that the place glowed from within rather than being lit at all. Inside, the atmosphere settled around anyone who entered like a familiar weight. The ceiling was low, crossed with heavy beams stained nearly black, and the walls were layered with history. The scent was unmistakable: stale beer soaked deep into wood, fresh pours foaming at the bar, damp wool coats, and the faint, comforting tang of peat and smoke. The floorboards gave a soft groan beneath passing boots, not from weakness but from habit, as though the pub itself acknowledged every step.

Glory Braddock stood just inside the doorway for a moment longer than necessary, letting the space settle her. Her posture was confident without being showy, shoulders squared from years of physical discipline rather than conscious effort. Her blonde hair fell long down her back, a little wild from travel, catching the light in uneven strands that suggested she’d chosen convenience over careful styling. Her clothes reflected that balance as well: sturdy denim jeans, comfortable royal purple t-shirt, with no interest in fashion beyond what allowed her to move easily and remain herself. Belfast felt different from London in ways she couldn’t fully articulate. The noise was lower but denser, conversation layered thick with familiar accents and shared histories. Laughter erupted suddenly at one table, sharp and unrestrained, then dissolved back into murmurs and the clink of glasses. It wasn’t louder than any other pub she’d known, but it felt more rooted, as though every sound carried weight because it belonged there.

Sophie O’Brian was already inside, seated near the bar where the light was strongest. She blended into the room more seamlessly than Glory ever could, not because she tried to disappear, but because the place seemed to recognize her. Her dark hair framed her face naturally, the color echoing the polished wood and shadowed corners around her. There was an ease in how she occupied her space, shoulders relaxed, expression alert but unguarded. Belfast shaped her in subtle ways; her posture carried familiarity rather than challenge, her presence a quiet certainty rather than an assertion. Nearby stood Mark O’Brian, unmistakably Sophie’s brother long before the shared features made sense. He was built solidly, his muscular frame filling his space without apology, the kind of physical presence forged through work rather than deliberate training. His long dark hair was tied back loosely, strands escaping to brush against his shoulders, giving him an appearance that was both rugged and unconcerned. His face bore the marks of age and experience that neither woman yet carried; a heaviness around the eyes, lines earned through years of responsibility and conflict rather than time alone. Mark leaned against the bar with practiced familiarity, one arm resting along its edge as though it belonged there. He looked like someone who had spent a lifetime in places just like this, who knew which boards creaked and which stools wobbled without needing to test them.

The bartender moved with quiet efficiency, pouring drinks without ceremony, nodding in recognition to regulars, sliding glasses across the wood with practiced precision. The amber liquid caught the light as it settled, bubbles rising lazily to the surface. Somewhere deeper in the pub, a low hum of music played; not loud enough to dominate, just enough to fill the spaces between voices. Glory took another step inside, the warmth of the room fully embracing her now. The door closed behind her with a muted thud, sealing off the damp evening air and the city sounds beyond. For a brief moment, everything seemed suspended, the overlapping histories, the half-siblings who shared blood but not childhoods, the weight of unspoken thoughts that hovered just beneath the surface. The pub held it all easily, as it had held countless reunions, reckonings, and quiet understandings before.

The British Bombshell quietly finds a seat next to Sophie. Mark follows suit, sitting on the other side of Sophie. These three have a long and shared history, they were the first three students of Glenn Braddock’s Wrestling School. They were nicknamed “The Trinity” by Glenn himself due to how close they were. Yet Glory herself had no idea that their relationship would evolve and grow into this.

“I am so glad you came…sister.” Sophie remarks with a sly grin. Glory chuckles.

“Ah, yes, that feels so right to hear.” Glory nods her head. “And of course I came, you’d be crazy to think I wouldn’t stop by to see you and Mark while I was staying up in my old stomping grounds.”

“Eh, you know Sophie…” Mark says, his voice trailing off. Glory nods her head.

“I DO know Sophie, and I know she knew DAMN WELL I was coming.” Glory winks playfully. “How long has it been since we had a reunion of The Trinity?”

“Bloody hell, ages!” Sophie exclaims.

“Far too long, that’s for sure.” Glory says. Mark agrees with a simple nod of his head.

Before they can continue their friendly banter, the bartender approaches. “What can I get you?”

“Oh, I’ll handle this,” Glory says before Sophie and Mark can speak up “a pint of Guinness for all three of us. Put it on my tab.” The bartender nods his head and walks off to fill the order.

“You didn’t have to do that, Glory.”

“I wanted to, Mark.”

“And I’m not complaining.” Sophie answers back quickly, bringing laughter from all three.

“Look at you,” Glory says, motioning to Sophie, “all smiles and laughing. This isn’t the cold, distant sociopath I once knew.”

“People can change, Gloria.”

“This is true.” Glory nods her head. “I should know better than anyone. Being back in London, living in a simple flat rather some extravagant luxury apartment in Miami reminded me of my roots and helped bring back the REAL Glory Braddock.”

“And who IS the real Glory Braddock?” Sophie asks.

“A good person.” She answers definitively. “Not obsessed with winning but obsessed with competition. A person obsessed with helping people. And yes, a tomboy with a love of pranking people.”

This instantly draws a look from Mark.

“You didn’t prank us did you?”

“Not today, Mark.”

“Good.” He sighs with relief.

The bartender returns with the three pints of Guinness. He places one in front of Mark, one in front of Sophie, and the third in front of Glory herself. The trio then raise their glasses and Glory speaks up in offer of a toast.

“To The Trinity…”

“...AND to sisters reunited.” Sophie adds.

“Indeed.”

“Sláinte!” They all say in unison before clinking the glasses together and taking their first sips.

“So, Gloria,” Sophie begins, “we already know you and I have both signed Uprising contracts, we will be wrestling together again, and while I DO look forward to that.” She motions to Glory. “What about YOUR own singular quest in SCW?”

“Ah, well, that is interesting isn’t it?” Glory smirks. “Fatal Fortunes is up next.”

“Fatal what?!” Mark exclaims.

“Fatal Fortunes.” Glory repeats. “Every match is randomly drawn, every championship is defended; no one will know their opponent until practically bell time.”

“That sucks.” Mark states.

“For the champions it does.” Glory nods her head. “I was Adrenaline Champion last year for Fatal Fortunes and didn’t know I was defending against Clyde Sutter until bell time. Bloody wanker kicked my ass. I barely escaped with the title.”

“What about this year?” Sophie asks.

“This year will be different in at least one respect.” She smirks. “I am not a champion. So I have everything to gain and nothing to lose as I go into Fatal Fortunes. That isn’t to say I will get a title match, I certainly hope I do, but regardless I will have the chance to prove my worth and improve my stock in SCW by defeating whoever I get put up against.”

“Whoever you face in whatever type of match you are in, I am certain you will be successful.” Sophie says with confidence. “You are the best wrestler in the world.”

“Some say that.” Glory remarks. “It is up to me to prove it.”

“We can help you!” Mark exclaims. “All three of us can stop by the Braddock Wrestling School, work on drills, we can spar, we can work you to death, Glory. Just like old times.”

“Yes, it would be like old times, dear brother,” Sophie remarks, “except we don’t have Glenn Braddock to play the role of Gunnery Sergeant Hartman.”

“Huh?” Mark asks, looking confused. Sophie rolls her eyes.

“Full Metal Jacket, you moron.”

“Give Mark a break.” Glory winks. “He is too busy drilling the next generation at the Braddock School to watch any good movies. He also has a good idea; we should stop by father’s school and get some prep time in. Sparring against each of you individually…or hell, both at once…it would help me prepare for any possible outcome that the randal draw of Fatal Fortunes might produce. Besides, it would be good to see the old place again before I return to Miami.”

“Ah, so your quest of ‘finding yourself’ has finally become complete?” Sophie asks. Glory sighs and shakes her head.

“Not quite. I need to return to Miami so I can get everything moved out of that home and back up here.” She says.

“What?”

“Yeah, I think I’ve decided to sell my home in Miami, sell my company, and move back to England permanently.”

“Hell, that’s great!” Mark exclaims. “It’ll be great to see more of…” Sophie smacks him in the back of his head, “OWWW! What was that for?!”

“For indulging her nonsense, you smelly Neanderthal.”

“Nonsense?” Glory asks curiously.

“Yes, nonsense.” Sophie nods her head. “You’re selling your company. The successful life you built in Miami. You’re quitting all of it.”

“You don’t understand, mate.” Glory shakes her head. “Being around that wealth and luxury, the responsibility of being a corporate big wig, it corrupts me. It has corrupted me several times and only now have I finally managed to regain who I once was; if I return to that, I fear everything I fought for, everything I worked for while staying in England, would be for nothing.”

“Oh I understand your FEAR, Gloria.” Sophie remarks. “That’s what it is, FEAR, and running from a challenge because of FEAR is not the Braddock way. Our father taught us to take on any and all challenges head on. Continuing to run your company, continuing to build upon this life you built for yourself in Miami, while fighting to maintain everything you hold near and dear to your heart, that is a CHALLENGE and it is one you should not run away from. It is almost cowardly.”

Very few people can get away with telling The British Bombshell she is afraid let alone call her a coward. Sophie O’Brian, due to their long history, is one of those people who can get away with it. Glory Braddock sighs and nods her head.

“You’re right…maybe I am afraid. Returning to that luxurious lifestyle might corrupt me and I am afraid. I have only ONCE in my entire life turned away from a challenge and that was last year’s Taking Hold of the Flame and even then I turned away from that challenge and in favor of accepting an even more difficult challenge. So I think I am owed this one time to take the easier, safer route.”

“My dear sister, you are owed and no one blame you for taking the easy route.” Sophie places her hand on Glory’s in a warm gesture that is rare from this usually cold individual. “The truth is that you have always been a complex individual. Your life hasn’’t always been as black and white as you thought. You only recall life after our father left your mother, a very simplistic life where you were raised as if you were the son our father had always secretly wanted. You tend to forget that when our father and your mother were together, happily married, you lived a lavish lifestyle. Just ask Melody and Frances.”

“Yeah, you three were the mean girls of the school.” Mark chimes in. Sophie again smacks him in the back of his head. “HEY!”

“I am handling this you overgrown King Kong reject!”

“Sophie I…” Glory sighs and nods her head “...you’re right. Of course you’re right. My lifestyle and personality took a total 180 degree turn when my parents split up.”

“See? Complexity.”

“So what are you suggesting I do?”

“You are a seventeen time world champion. You are in four professional wrestling halls of fame. If ANYONE can legitimately claim to be the best in the world it’s you. Yet you fear that a life of luxury might corrupt you?” Sophie scoffs. “You are stronger than you give yourself credit for. You lived it once before and you can do it again. All you need to do is find a proper balance. You need to remember that things are never black and white but always shades of gray. Most importantly you should never ever run away from a challenge.”

“And this is a challenge…” Glory’s voice trails off.

“Correct. So do our father proud and do not run away from it.”

There is a tense pause as Glory considers her sister’s words. Finally Braddock takes another big swig of her Guinness and sets it down, she sighs and nods her head.

“Ok, you win.”

“I always wanted to hear you tell me that.” Sophie smirks.

“Don’t get used to it.” Glory snickers. “But yes, I’ll give it a try.”

[Braddock]

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December 29th, 2025
Miami, Florida
Off Camera
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The Miami house greeted them with quiet opulence, the kind that did not announce itself loudly but settled into the senses the moment the front door closed behind them. The air inside was cool and carefully balanced, carrying the faint scent of polished wood and something citrus based that lingered gently rather than overwhelming the space. After months of London’s gray skies and the narrow, understated rooms of Glory’s old home, the openness here felt almost unreal, as if the walls had stepped back to give them room to breathe. Late afternoon light poured through the wide windows of the living room, spilling across pale stone floors and climbing the clean white walls in slow, golden bands. Outside, palm fronds shifted lazily in the breeze, their shadows drifting across the glass in soft, rhythmic patterns. The distant sound of the ocean existed more as a suggestion than a presence, a low reminder that water stretched endlessly beyond the property line. Everything about the house spoke of space and ease, of deliberate choices made to create comfort rather than excess, even though excess was clearly within reach. Glory Braddock stood near the center of the room for a moment, as if reacquainting herself with the place. Her long blonde hair fell loosely down her back, lighter now after weeks away, catching the sun and reflecting it in uneven strands. There was something subtly different about her posture than when she had left. London had stripped her down in quiet ways, had reminded her of narrower streets, smaller rooms, and the version of herself that once existed before wealth and responsibility expanded her world. Standing here now, she carried both versions at once, the grounded familiarity of home layered beneath the confidence she had built since leaving it.

The living room itself felt like an extension of that balance. Plush seating arranged with intention rather than formality, surfaces clear but not sterile, personal touches woven carefully into the design. Framed photographs rested on shelves and side tables, moments captured from different chapters of their lives, victories, family gatherings, candid snapshots that had never been meant for anyone else’s eyes. The room did not feel staged. It felt lived in, even after time away. Kurt Logan moved easily through the space, setting aside luggage and travel remnants that still clung to them despite their return. His presence brought a steady weight to the room, something calm and anchoring. He looked relaxed here in a way that had been harder to find in London, where the smaller house had carried memories and echoes that were not his. Miami suited him. The openness, the light, the quiet luxury that did not demand attention mirrored his own grounded confidence. They settled into the living room together, the act unhurried and natural, as though the house itself encouraged them to slow down. The couch embraced them with familiar softness, the fabric cool against skin still adjusting to the Florida heat. Somewhere in the house, the low hum of climate control blended with the distant sounds of the city beyond the gates, a reminder that life continued outside even as this space remained theirs alone.

The contrast between their recent surroundings and this one lingered in the air. London had been close and restrained, filled with history pressed into every corner. That house had been quieter, simpler, almost deliberately modest, forcing intimacy through its narrowness. Miami, by contrast, offered room for silence without confinement, for closeness without pressure. Here, the space did not push them together, yet they found themselves drawn toward each other anyway. Glory leaned back slightly, letting the familiarity wash over her. The soft light, the muted colors, the subtle gleam of carefully chosen decor all reminded her of how much had changed and how much had stayed the same. This was the life she had built, not abandoned but expanded from where she began. Being back here did not erase London. It simply placed it gently behind her, like a closed door she could open whenever she wished. Kurt’s presence beside her was steady and reassuring, his nearness felt rather than announced. The exhaustion of travel lingered in their movements, but beneath it was relief, the kind that only came from returning to a place that truly belonged to them. The living room held their quiet reunion without intrusion, absorbing the weight of unspoken thoughts and shared understanding. Outside, the sun continued its slow descent, shifting the light in the room from gold to a softer amber. Shadows lengthened across the floor, stretching toward them as if the house itself were settling in for the evening. The moment hung suspended, full of comfort and anticipation, just before words would finally break the stillness.

“Home sweet home, right babe?” Kurt asks, shooting his wife a nervous grin. He knows full well that Glory dreaded the return to Miami. Despite Sophie, Mark, Kurt, and others insisting that they had confidence in her ability to find balance, she did not have confidence in herself. Glory loved being in London. It kept her grounded. Kurt, for his part, is grateful to be back in the United States.

“Home sweet home is where we left.” Glory remarks. “This…” she sighs “...I’ll get used to it again, I suppose.”

“You suppose? Glory, we spent years living here.”

“I know and that’s what I’m afraid of.”

Kurt watches her nervously as she walks slowly to their comfortable leather sofa. A sense of dread is on her face as she plops down suddenly on the sofa unceremoniously. Kurt walks over slowly and joins her on the sofa. He wraps an arm around her to comfort her.

“What’s wrong, babe?”

“You know what’s wrong.” She snaps back. “I am back here in Miami, living in this opulent home, surrounded by wealth, and once again with the responsibility of having to navigate and manage a powerful company. I tried to balance that with my wrestling career once before and it turned me into a monster.”

“You were never a monster.” Kurt insists. “And besides, I thought you weren’t going to be micromanaging your company anymore? Don’t you have people you trust running it?”

“Yeah well that’s another problem. I have been gone from the United States for quite some time, leaving my company in the hands of Frances Taylor. Yes, we were…well, ARE friends…but I can no longer trust her, not after some of the stunts she pulled, the scandals she created that hurt the company’s reputation. I had to save her ass to protect my company. If I continue to just blindly trust her to run things, I will no doubt have to save her again. See, Kurt, the thing is that company isn’t just a potential corruption mechanism, it’s also a distraction.”

“Distraction? What is it distracting you from?”

“Wrestling!” Glory exclaims. “I need to focus on my wrestling! Fatal Fortunes is coming up! I have no bloody clue who or what I will be up against! For all I know I could get drawn for a title shot! I could face a top contender that could put me back on the map instantly! There are so many possibilities and so many opportunities to once again stake my claim in SCW! But this business, this company, is serving as a distraction…” her voice trails off.

“Well it’s obvious to me what the problem here is.” Kurt states.

“Fill me in, genius.”

“You have too much on your plate.” Kurt kisses her on her cheek. “You need someone you trust, someone you trust more than Frances, obviously, who has the time and ability to manage some of these things for you so you can focus on what you really want to do, which is wrestling.”

“What are you suggesting?” Glory asks, her curiosity clearly peaked.

“Hire a Chief of Staff.”

“A what?!”

“A Chief of Staff, not for the company but for your life in general. Many wealthy people have them to keep their lives sorted out, why shouldn’t you have one too? This person would handle things for you, control things for you, but most importantly would control access to you. You would never again have to deal with something you consider a distraction or a potentially corruptible element unless you deemed it absolutely necessary because this ‘Chief of Staff’ would take care of it.”

“Your idea sounds bloody ridiculous, and yet…”

“Yes?”

“...well hell, it might work.” Glory shrugs her shoulders. “My biggest fear is the corporate wealth and responsibility corrupting me again, if I have someone to play the role of a buffer between me and the corporate world, that might help keep me sane.”

“Precisely.” Kurt states. “Just because it is a challenge doesn’t mean you have to face it alone.”

==========
January 1st, 2026
Miami, Florida
On Camera
==========

The front of Glory Braddock’s home caught the afternoon light in a way that made the clean lines and modern angles feel warm rather than stark. Smooth white stone and wide panes of glass reflected the sky above, a soft blend of pale blue and drifting clouds that moved lazily in the Florida heat. Carefully placed greenery framed the structure, tall palms and neatly trimmed hedges creating a sense of privacy without closing the house off from the world around it. Everything about the property suggested intention and ease, a place built not just to impress but to be lived in. The driveway stretched out in a broad, immaculate sweep of pale stone, still warm underfoot. The air carried the familiar coastal mix of salt and sun baked earth, with the faint rustle of palm fronds overhead adding a gentle rhythm to the quiet afternoon. Somewhere nearby, the distant sound of traffic drifted in and out, softened by the space and the surrounding greenery. The world felt unhurried, as if even time itself slowed slightly under the weight of the heat.

Glory stood just beyond the front steps, comfortably grounded in the moment. Her posture was relaxed, shoulders loose, weight shifted easily from one leg to the other. There was a natural confidence in the way she carried herself, not forced or performed, but earned through experience and self knowledge. Her expression was open and calm, touched with the faintest hint of a smile that suggested contentment rather than excitement. The British Bombshell wore a soft fitted tank top in a muted neutral shade, the fabric worn in just enough to drape naturally against her frame without clinging. Over it, an unbuttoned lightweight flannel shirt in faded earth tones hung loosely, sleeves casually rolled up to her forearms as if she had dressed without overthinking a single choice. Her jeans were sturdy and broken in, dark denim, sitting comfortably at her hips without any attempt at trendiness. The cuffs were slightly worn, brushing against a pair of low profile sneakers that showed signs of regular use. The shoes were clean but scuffed in places. Her long blonde hair was pulled back into a loose low ponytail, strands escaping freely to frame her face and catch the light. A pair of simple sunglasses rested on top of her head, pushed back more out of habit than necessity.

The camera focuses in on The British Bombshell as she opens her mouth and begins to sing…

“It's been too long since we took the time…no one's to blame, I know time flies so quickly…but when I see you, darling…it's like we both are falling in love again…it'll be just like starting over, starting over…” her voice trails off as her a cappella rendition of the John Lennon song comes to a close. She chuckles quietly and shakes her head.

“Sorry for the unplanned karaoke, but damn if it didn’t feel appropriate all things considered! I just hope I did a legend like John Lennon proud, God rest his soul. Point is, this song did seem appropriate. I’m not singing to my husband or some other bloke I may or may not be having an affair with…I’m NOT having an affair by the way…” she winks playfully “...I am singing this love song to my other passion in life and that passion is professional wrestling. Let’s face it, did everything go exactly the way I had wanted it to go in 2025? Absolutely not. If it had, I would be SCW World Champion right now. But did I prove that I am one of the very best wrestlers in the world today? Absolutely. Did I prove that I am no quitter, that I never EVER give up? Absolutely. One setback in the defeat to Cid Turner did not stop me, it did not slow me down, my focus and resolve has remained steadfast. I pulled myself back up and picked right up where I left off, ending 2025 on a high not with a victory over a very tough and very game Amelia Nevado.”

“Amelia, you have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. You are one of the best wrestlers I have ever faced. But I warned you, mate. I warned you that you were putting too much pressure on yourself, that you made yourself believe that you NEEDED to overcome me, that you NEEDED to prove something by beating me. You have nothing to prove. You are a damn fine wrestler and anyone who doesn’t believe that is a fool. But you set yourself up for failure by putting that pressure on yourself, by placing yourself in what you believed was a must win scenario. I hope you learned a lesson, mate, because the next big challenge for you, for me, and everyone else on the SCW roster will be even greater…” she smirks knowingly.

“...Fatal Fortunes. Now Fatal Fortunes is a completely different animal altogether because it isn’t about pressure it’s about stress, the stress of not knowing who or what to prepare for because you really have no idea who or what you will be up against. You could be the luckiest person in the world and get chosen for a shot at the SCW World Championship or you could be the poor bastard drawn to be the underdog in a two on one handicap match. Literally anything and everything is possible on a night when fate controls everyone and everything.” Braddock snickers. “Speaking of fate, how was I supposed to know that a little over a year ago I would be defending the Adrenaline Title against my future son-in-law? And I’ll be the first to admit, Clyde Sutter whipped my ass but in the end I found a way to survive.”

“Sometimes that’s what you have to do when you are faced with circumstances outside of your control. When all seems lost that is what the true greats find a way to do; the find a way to survive. That’s what Fatal Fortunes is all about…being ready for anything, being ready for anyone, and being ready to survive what fate has to throw your way. And I hate to sound like my annoying future son-in-law, but on this one singular night he is absolutely right on the money. There is little we can truly do to control our fate…” she holds up one finger.

“HOWEVER, there is ONE thing we can do to control our fate. Despite what some may say, all is not lost on a night as unpredictable as this. We may not have any control over who we face or what kind of challenge it will be, but a true competitor like myself, I have a hell of a lot of control over how I react to what Fatal Fortunes dishes out. Will I sink? Will I shrink from adversity? Will I shy away from whatever challenge is thrown my way?” Braddock shakes her head. “Absolutely NOT! I am Glory Braddock, I am The British Bombshell, and I back down from NO challenge! Every match, every opponent, all of it is just another opportunity to prove myself, to fight closer and closer towards my real goal…championship gold.” She nods her head.

“Yes, I make no bones about it, I am just like most everyone else on this roster, I am hoping and praying, I am on my hands and knees begging for fate to smile upon me this one time and put me into a title match. And if I get lucky enough to have that opportunity you had better believe that I will walk away with gold around my waist. But even if I am not that lucky, I will still look at what Fatal Fortunes has put in front of me as a gift, as a reward, not as a curse. Because any time I am booked, any time I get to compete in front of a sold out crowd, it is an opportunity to remind everyone that I am among the very best to lace up a pair of wrestling boots. It is an opportunity to continue my march back to the top. And when you are someone like me, someone who is itching to make a statement, it is hard to make a bigger statement than to win on a night when you literally had zero preparation time and zero knowledge of what obstacle you would be up against.”

“So to anyone and everyone in Fatal Fortunes, I just have ONE thing to say…BRING IT ON! I will be ready to take on anyone! I will be ready to throw down with anyone! Because at the end of the day that is what this business is about; competition. You compete against anyone, regardless of who it is; you have to be ready at all times to fend off any and all challengers. Me? I stand ready to take on all comers. So bring on Fatal Fortunes. Bring on the challenges. I am Glory Braddock and I am ready to conquer the world.” She shuts her eyes. “Sic Semper Tyrannis.”