Kimberly Williams vs. Chris Lawler

[Kemal Yilmaz]

Underground Rules

2 RP Limit for singles

3500 word limit

Deadline: 11:59:59 pm ET THURSDAY, June 4, 2026

[The Matt]

1 of 2
=====

==========
May 30th, 2026
Boston, Massachusetts
Off Camera
==========

After sitting around backstage in catering with little to no action during the Fans Choice edition of Breakdown, “The Woman Scorned” Kimberly Williams once again finds herself in a tough situation. The more imminent problem comes from Chris Lawler. After assisting with the beating and battering of COO CHBK, another in a string of attacks on behalf of CEO Frank Delatosso, Kimberly Williams now ends up facing Lawler in an Underground Rules Match. On the one hand, the Underground is Kimberly’s domain. It is her home turf. She is the Queen of the Underground with the record of seven Underground Title victories. Very few can say that they are prolific at the Underground Match as the self-proclaimed Queen of the Death Match. Yet, on the other hand, Kimberly knows full well that with anything goes in an Underground Rules Match, that means Frank’s other stooges and allies will likely be watching Lawler’s back, perhaps even leading to Kimmy having to deal with Polly Wants A Cracker for the millionth time. Still, it is Underground Rules and it is chaos, and the one true Queen of Chaos lives, breathes, and dies chaos. She will not make excuses but she will also not let up until she puts Lawler down and puts him in his place.

The other situation in SCW Kimberly must keep in mind is coming up real soon; The Woman Scorned has officially entered the Taking Hold of the Flame battle royal. Despite never having won the event, Kimberly has always had spectacular showings in the event. Kimberly also knows that a victory in the event could get her a shot at the SCW World Championship. While her primary goal is recapturing the SCW Underground TItle, Kimmy would never look past an opportunity to possibly win her third career world title, her first ever SCW World Title, and be in the main event of Rise To Greatness.

First on the agenda, however, is another matter altogether; the neighborhood watch.

It was ironic, odd that the moment Kimberly Williams moved back into her old, run down, barely liveable home in one of the rougher, crime-ridden parts of Boston, she was approached by a neighbor named Shane Ball. He fit the stereotype of nosey neighbor, wanting to get involved in everyone’s business, and he wanted Kim of all people to join a neighborhood watch he had started. Who in their right minds would want Kimberly to participate in that? Obviously he doesn’t know The Woman Scorned that well. Still, Kimberly figured it might be fun for a good laugh or two and decided to join, declaring its ‘Commander in Chef’.

No, there were no official votes held.

The late May air in Boston’s lower-end neighborhoods didn’t cool things down so much as it just made the humidity heavy and sour, smelling of old asphalt, rotting garbage, and the distinct, metallic tang of industrial exhaust. Night had settled over the block like a damp wool blanket. The streetlamps were mostly dead, victims of either stray rocks or the city’s general reluctance to send maintenance crews into a zone where utility trucks were viewed as mobile hardware stores waiting to be stripped. The few bulbs that still flickered cast a sickly, orange glow over cracked sidewalks and the rusted skeletons of abandoned sedans. Marie adjusted the strap of her canvas crossbody bag, her sneakers crunching softly against a scattering of broken glass. She looked every bit the practical, neighborhood-watch volunteer in her dark jeans and a plain navy blue windbreaker. Next to her, her son, Sean Connor Jones, walked with the slightly awkward, long-limbed stride of a teenager who had recently shot up six inches but hadn't quite figured out where his center of gravity was anymore. He wore a gray hoodie, the hood down, and a pair of worn-out basketball shoes. He looked alert, his eyes darting toward the dark alleyways and the shadows stretching between the triple-deckers, but he also looked like he desperately wished he was anywhere else. Then there was Kimberly.

To anyone looking out a third-story window, the trio would have looked entirely absurd, primarily because Kimberly looked ready to drop out of a Huey helicopter into the Mekong Delta rather than stroll down a residential street in Massachusetts. While her identical twin sister had chosen sensible street clothes, Kimberly had gone full tactical. She wore heavy, olive-drab combat fatigues that looked authentic right down to the reinforced knees, tucked tightly into laced-up, scuffed black combat boots that clicked with an aggressive, rhythmic thud against the pavement. Her face was a masterclass in guerrilla warfare cosmetics: thick, oily streaks of forest green, muddy brown, and charcoal black paint bisected her features, obscuring the identical match to Marie’s face underneath. Even her hair was slicked back and secured tightly, ensuring not a single strand would betray her position in the shadows of this alley. Kimberly was, by any traditional metric, a very wealthy woman. She had the kind of bank account that could easily secure a sprawling estate. Instead, she chose to live right here, in the thick of the squalor, renting a place where the plumbing hissed like an angry cat and the neighbors routinely threw furniture out of the windows. To Kimberly, luxury was a trap that softened the mind and rotted the spirit. She insisted that living among the cracked pavement and the sirens kept her grounded, forcing her to look reality in the eye every single morning. If that meant she had to occasionally dodge a stray shopping cart or a sketchy character on her way to the corner store, she considered it a fair price to pay for maintaining her edge.

Sean shifted his weight, his eyes lingering on the weapon his aunt was currently cradling in her right hand. It wasn't a firearm, nor was it a standard-issue nightstick. It was a heavy-duty, commercial-grade plastic spray bottle, the kind usually filled with window cleaner or industrial degreaser. Inside, however, was a thick, viscous, aggressively red liquid that seemed to cling to the plastic walls of the bottle. Kimberly had spent the previous afternoon cooking down a batch of ghost peppers, straining the seeds, and mixing the volatile capsicum juice with a dash of vinegar and oil to make it stick. The faint, stinging aroma of the concoction actually seemed to radiate through the nozzle, a silent warning of absolute agony for anyone foolish enough to cross her line of sight. The three of them turned the corner onto a particularly grim stretch of the avenue. A neon sign for a long-abandoned dry cleaner buzzed erratically, casting a rhythmic, pale blue light over a pile of discarded mattresses. A stray dog scavenged through an overturned plastic bin a few yards away, its ribs showing through its mangy coat before it caught wind of Kimberly’s ghost pepper blend and quickly trotted off into the darkness. Kimberly slowed her pace, dropping into a slight, knees-bent crouch that she must have seen in a tactical manual. She raised a hand, flat and firm, signaling Marie and Sean to halt behind a rusted chain-link fence. Marie just sighed, putting her hands in her pockets, while Sean looked around nervously, his teenage bravado warring with the very real atmosphere of a Boston neighborhood that did not take kindly to strangers, let alone strangers dressed like commando operatives.

“Follow my lead, maggots!” Kim growls under breath. “The enemy is right up ahead, I can smell their fear…or their deodorant, I’m not sure which…”

“Pretty sure this is just a neighborhood watch, not war games.” Marie says.

“War is NOT a game, maggot!” Kim declares. “Our enemy is real and our enemy fights in the shadows! Our enemy fights in mysterious ways! We must be ready for anything!”

“Whatever you say, Kimmy.” Marie smirks. “I’m just proud of you for being part of a neighborhood watch. This is a great way to give back to the community, to contribute to its safety.”

“That’s me, alright! I’m a damn saint!” Kim winks playfully. “In fact, I hear the Vatican is already planning to canonize me.”

“You can’t be canonized until after you’re dead.”

“Oh.” Kim shrugs her shoulders. “Well after seeing that ol’ Lawler Cutter clearly has the backing of Franky, it is highly possible that I might die on Breakdown.”

“Don’t you dare say that.” Marie states. Kim snickers.

“Don’t worry, this is Underground Rules and I am The Queen of the Death Match. If I go down, I will certainly take Lawler Cutter with me.”

“Normally I don’t condone your kind of violence, Kimmy, but this is different. Give them hell. Give Lawler hell. Send a message to that group of thugs. I may not be CHBK’s biggest fan but he didn’t deserve that.”

“Awwww,” Kim hugs Marie tightly “you are so sweet when you are righteously indignant!”

“And you are so sweet for doing good deeds like like helping Deanna and wanting to avenge CHBK.” Marie points out. “Even this neighborhood watch, such a good deed. Although I have to admit, being a part of a neighborhood watch in such a rough part of the city is rather dangerous. You’re either crazy or seriously brave if you’re not afraid right now.”

“Maybe a little of both?” Kim smirks knowingly. “I mean, I am insane, but c’mon, Marie, you know me better than anyone. I have murdered people before. The criminals out here should be afraid of ME, not the other way around.”

“You make a good point.” Marie laughs. “You’re right, though, I do know you, and I know how you love to come packing with a weapon. Do you have any?”

“Of course!” Kim proudly declares. Marie sighs and rolls here eyes.

“Just try not to kill anyone. This is a neighborhood watch, we don’t need to get involved. If we see something, we report it to the police.”

“Party pooper.” Kim sticks her tongue out at Marie. “But don’t worry your prudish little head off. I did bring a weapon but it’s entirely non-lethal. But they’ll be in serious pain.”

“Oh?” Marie asks. Kim produces the can of ghost pepper hot sauce and waves it in front of Marie’s face.

“Ghost pepper hot sauce!” Kim laughs nastily. “They won’t know what hit them! Right Sean?”

Kim waits for Sean to answer but hears nothing. It is at that moment that Marie starts to panic. Kim looks around for Sean but finds nothing and no one. Kim looks at Marie’s face, which has gone pale.

“He wandered off…” she says quietly “...my son wondered off in this neighborhood…alone…”

“It’ll be fine, Marie.”

“Like hell it will!” Marie exclaims. “You said it yourself, this place is crime ridden! How can he be safe?!”

“Don’t be like our mother right now, all overprotective and shit. We’ll find him and take care of him. Trust me.”

Trust me doesn’t work for the overprotective Marie Jones. Panic hit Marie like a physical blow, a sudden tightness in her chest that made the sour smell of the neighborhood feel suffocating. She spun around, her eyes frantically sweeping the dark recesses between the triple-deckers, but the shadows here were deep and unforgiving. Beside her, Kimberly instantly shifted into high alert. The tactical paint on her face hardened as her jaw set, her eyes narrowing into slits as she scanned the avenue like a hawk hunting in the brush. She didn't waste time with frantic whispers; she simply gripped the handle of her heavy-duty spray bottle a little tighter, her combat boots making zero sound as she pivoted on her heel to track the most likely path a teenager might carelessly wander down.

They moved quickly and silently, cutting through a narrow gap between two apartment buildings where the scent of stale beer and damp brick was overwhelming. Marie’s heart hammered against her ribs, her practical windbreaker swishing softly with every urgent step. She kept her eyes low, looking for the familiar gray hoodie, while Kimberly kept her gaze elevated, watching the corners and the blind spots. It was Kimberly who saw them first.

At the mouth of a dimly lit alleyway half a block ahead, the weak orange glow of a streetlamp cut through the gloom just enough to illuminate two figures. One was undeniably Sean. His tall, lanky frame was tense, his shoulders hunched in a defensive posture that Marie recognized instantly. Standing far too close to him was a shorter, broader man enveloped in an oversized black hoodie, the fabric swallowing his features beneath a deep shadow. Sean was backing away, his hands held up in front of his chest in a universal gesture of rejection. He was trying to create distance, his sneakers twisting on the gravel as he shook his head emphatically, but the man in the hoodie was persistent, stepping forward to match Sean’s retreats and reaching out a hand to grab at the boy's sleeve.

“Hey! Get away from me!” Sean exclaims, fear clearly evident in his voice.

Kimberly didn't hesitate. The eccentric wealth and odd habits vanished, replaced entirely by the fierce protectiveness of an aunt who spent her free time preparing for worst-case scenarios. With a sudden, explosive burst of speed, she launched herself forward. The heavy combat boots struck the asphalt with powerful, rhythmic thuds as she broke into a full sprint, her olive-drab fatigues cutting through the night. The sound of her approach echoed off the brick walls. The man in the hoodie snapped his head around, his eyes widening as he took in the terrifying sight of a woman in full Vietnam-era jungle camouflage and war paint charging directly at him. Sensing an immediate and bizarre threat, the man abandoned his pursuit of Sean, spun on his heel, and bolted down the alleyway.

“Get away from my nephew, creep!” Kim exclaims. “You messed with the wrong psychopath!”

He was fast, but he was wearing baggy clothes and running in the dark. Kimberly, fueled by pure adrenaline and the bizarre thrill of the chase, closed the gap with alarming speed. She didn't yell; she saved her breath for the pavement, her eyes locked onto the retreating back of the oversized black hoodie. The alley ended in a rusted chain-link fence, forcing the man to make a sharp, desperate right turn into a dead-end alcove lined with overflowing industrial dumpsters. Realizing he was trapped, he spun around to face his pursuer, his hands coming up to either fight or push his way past. He never got the chance.

Kimberly planted her left combat boot, skidding slightly on a patch of loose gravel to bring her momentum to a sudden, controlled halt. In one fluid, practiced motion, she raised the commercial spray bottle, aligning the nozzle directly with the open front of the man's hood. Her finger squeezed the heavy trigger twice in rapid succession. A fine, violent mist of pure capsicum devastation erupted from the bottle. The thick, reddish-orange spray caught the man squarely across the eyes, nose, and open mouth just as he gasped in exertion.

The effect was instantaneous. The man let out a strangled, choked shriek that was abruptly cut off as the volatile ghost pepper oils bound to his skin and mucous membranes. He collapsed to his knees, his hands flying to his face as the agonizing, chemical heat took hold. He began to thrash blindly against the brick wall, coughing violently and groaning in absolute defeat, completely incapacitated by a weapon cooked up in a high-end kitchen a few miles away. Marie and Sean quickly rush over to Kimberly.

“He was trying to sell me drugs!” Sean says, pointing an accusatory finger at the hooded man now writhing in pain.

“No drugs for you. Either of you.” Kim smirks. She turns her attention to the hooded man. “But you, you must be the guy who has been selling drugs in the neighborhood, poking around in people’s houses.”

“Just call the police, Kimmy.” Marie insists. “Let them handle this.”

“No way!” She shakes her head. “I have a rare opportunity right now, I can say something I have always wanted to say…to quote that great philosopher scooby do…let’s find out who the monster really is!”

Marie rolls her eyes. Kim grabs hold of the hood and jerks it down off of his face, revealing his identity. Marie and Sean don’t look bothered for they have not seen this man before. Kimberly, however, she is taken by surprise because she has seen him before. This is Shane Ball, the same Shane Ball who had initially created this neighborhood watch and even recruited Kimberly Williams to participate.

“Baldy?!” Kim exclaims. “It’s really you?!”

“Wait, you know this creep Aunt Kim?” Sean asks. Kim nods her head.

“Yup, this guy is the one who started this neighborhood watch in the first place! He is the one who recruited me to join!” She waves her squirt bottle full of hot sauce. “Bet you regret that decision, huh?”

Shane cannot say anything. He is still writhing in pain and agony from the hot sauce to the face. Marie sighs as she pulls out her cell phone.

“I’m going to call the police.”

“Yes, you do that. I’m gonna play with Baldy for a moment.”

Kimberly Williams kneels down next to Shane Ball, who is still in pain. She grins with a hint of mischief on her lovely face.

“Say it, Baldy.”

“Say what?!”

“Say the phrase! The other famous scooby doo phrase…I woulda got away with it too if hadn’t been for you pesky kids!”

“Go to hell!”

[The Matt]

2 of 2
=====

==========
June 1st, 2026
Boston, Massachusetts
Off Camera
==========

The wallpaper in the living room had long since given up its fight against the damp Boston air, peeling away from the plaster in long, brittle curls that resembled shaved cedar. A single overhead bulb, completely bare and coated in a fine layer of gray dust, hummed a low, irritating note that seemed to vibrate right through the floorboards. The room was cold, with rotting sill plates and windows that rattled whenever a heavy truck passed on the avenue below. It was a space that felt less like a home and more like a temporary bunker, which was exactly how Kimberly preferred it. She sat on one end of a sunken tweed sofa, her knees pulled up toward her chest. She was torn loose fitting denim jeans, her feet were bare with flip flops, presumably hers, on the floor, she was wearing a black t-shirt with the image of a penguin embroidered on the front.. On the opposite end of the sofa sat Tommy Wasley. He was a mountain of a man, his burly frame stretching the seams of a faded gray sweatshirt that looked like it had survived multiple decades and at least as many bar fights. A thick, unruly beard, dark and peppered with premature streaks of silver, covered his jaw, blending into a hairline that seemed permanently squished down by the baseball caps he usually wore. Tommy looked entirely out of place in the cramped, decaying room, like a bear that had wandered into a garden shed, yet he leaned back against the rickety frame of the couch with the total relaxation of a man who was thoroughly content with his surroundings. Resting precisely between them on the middle cushion was Wasley, the penguin. Currently, he just sat there, his plastic bead eyes staring blankly at the opposite wall, acting as a bizarre, heavily weighted buffer between the couple.

A sudden, frantic scratching sound broke the heavy silence of the room. In the corner, sitting atop a rusted metal filing cabinet that served as a makeshift end table, was a sprawling plastic hamster cage. Inside, a particularly large, aggressively golden hamster named Caligula was throwing his entire weight into a squeaky plastic exercise wheel. Caligula was a creature of pure, unadulterated malice, possessed of a temperament that perfectly matched his Roman dictator namesake. He didn't run on his wheel for exercise; he ran on it with a frantic, rhythmic desperation that sounded like a miniature factory floor in full production mode, pausing only to glare through the plastic bars with tiny, glinting black eyes before resuming his furious sprint. Tommy shifted his massive weight, the couch springs groaning in protest beneath him. He reached out a thick, calloused hand, his knuckles scarred from a lifetime of manual labor, and absentmindedly patted the top of the penguin’s head. The lead core inside the toy didn't give an inch under his palm, remaining perfectly solid. He looked over at Kimberly, and smiled.

“I still can’t believe that Shane was behind the crime spree, the break-ins, the drugs and the whole lot of it.” Tommy remarks.

“Yeah, the neighborhood watch was his idea of a cover, I guess?” Kim shrugs her shoulders. “He figured he would be able to keep out of trouble if he knew precisely where the neighborhood watch would be at all times. I would compliment him on having a great strategy were it not for one significant error.”

“What’s that?”

“Me!” She grins from ear to ear. “Who in their right minds would give me any serious responsibilities like being part of a neighborhood watch? What’s wrong with him?”

“They say that criminals have to be perfect one hundred percent of the time.” Tommy remarks. “One slip up and they’re done.”

“Who says that?”

“Dunno, to be honest.” He shrugs. “I just heard it on a true crime documentary. But uh, Kimmy?”

“Yeah?”

“Now that the brains behind the crime spree has been locked up, are you going to keep up with the neighborhood watch?”

“I honestly hadn’t thought much about it. I mean, it was created to cover up Shane’s crimes but now? Maybe now it could be put to good use. Besides, I had so much fun blasting Baldy in the face with the hot sauce! I really wanna do it again to another no good criminal! It is a far cry from taking from the community like I used to, am I right?” She winks playfully. Tommy nods his head in agreement.

“I’m glad you want to contribute to the community and all, Kimmy, but I would think you’d want to focus on what’s going down in SCW right now. Taking Hold of the Flame and all…” his voice trails off.

“Oh I will definitely Take Hold of that Flame, Tommy.” Kim says playfully. “They’re gonna have flame resistant socks this time that will make it quite easy! The only thing I gotta worry about is old…and I do mean old…Lawler Cutter himself. But despite whatever allies and buddies he may have, he still stepping into my world, my domain, the Underground, and I intend to maim him!”

The neighborhood outside was beginning its usual afternoon routine. A car sped down the street, its broken muffler roaring like a jet engine before fading into the distance, followed shortly by the distinct, sharp pop of a firecracker, or perhaps something less innocent, a few blocks over. Neither Tommy nor Kimberly even blinked at the sound. They were entirely insulated in their shared, bizarre reality, surrounded by peeling paint, a weaponized stuffed animal, and a tiny rodent harborer of rage, perfectly at peace in the middle of the chaos. But their peace is interrupted by a knocking at the door, an unexpected knocking. Who could be visiting them? The last time they had any visitors it was Shane Ball, the mastermind behind the crime spree in their neighborhood.

“We have guests…”

“Kimmy…” before Tommy can get any further words out, Kimberly has sprung to her feet and bolted towards the front door. She takes the doorknob and yanks on it, pulling it open. Tommy eventually joins her in time to see an overweight man with graying hair. He is wearing khaki pants, nice shoes, and a button up navy blue shirt. He certainly looks out of place for this area of Boston. The Woman Scorned tilts her head to one side and frowns.

“And who might you be?”

“Tim.” He says extending a hand. “I am from Boston’s Central Permitting and Zoning.”

Kimberly studies his hand skeptically, curiously, unwilling to shake it. Something about him seems off. She doesn’t trust this Tim. After all, look at the last random visitor they had? Tommy, always the diplomat, takes the handshake on behalf of them both.

“Tommy.” He says. “And this is my girlfriend Kimberly.”

“Is this your home?” Tim asks curiously.

“Well it’s…”

“Mine!” Kim exclaims with a gleeful grin, interrupting Tommy. “It’s my home. Tommy is just my baby daddy and that penguin over there is the baby.”

Tim looks on befuddled and confused. Tommy chuckles.

“Ignore her, she’s just having fun.” Tommy says. “But, uh, what can we do for you, Tim?”

“Well I hate to be the bearer of bad news but I come on behalf of the city.” Tim begins. “We have found several problems with your property.”

“Nothing is wrong with my property!” Kim folds her arms over her chest, feigning anger. “It’s just misunderstood.”

“The city disagrees.” Tim states. “Severe black mold infestation…”

“Mold has rights!”

“Rat and cockroach infestation…”

“That is not a rat, his name is Caligula and he is a hamster!”

“Accumulation of hazardous junk.”

“Junk, no, hazardous…” Kim sighs “...ok, I’ll grant that it is hazardous. But it was by design! I like having booby traps in my yard. It keeps the human pests away.”

“Lastly, it is an attractive nuisance.”

“Awwww, you think I’m attractive!” Kim winks playfully.

“Uh, Kimmy,” Tommy says quietly “I think he’s being serious.”

“I am being serious.” Tim remarks. “This property needs a serious overhaul. If these issues are not addressed quickly, the city will be forced to condemn it.”

==========
June 2nd, 2026
Boston, Massachusetts
On Camera
==========

The late afternoon chill of Boston bites sharp against the brick facades. Standing in an alleyway just off the street, Kimberly Williams leans casually against a rusted iron fire escape, completely unfazed by the damp breeze rolling in off the harbor. Her vivid red hair is tied back loosely, a few defiant strands framing her face as the fading New England sun catches the copper tones. She is dressed comfortably for the elements in a distressed, oversized denim jacket over a black t shirt with a penguin embroided on the front, dark skinny jeans, and a pair of worn-in combat boots that look like they’ve kicked a few doors down in their time. Tucked securely under her left arm, as if it’s the most natural accessory in the world for the self-proclaimed Queen of the Death Match, is Wasley. The plush penguin looks slightly weathered from travel but sits snug against her side, its bead eyes staring blankly at the camera lens. Kimberly adjusts her grip on the stuffed animal with an easy, almost chilling familiarity before locking her eyes directly onto the camera.

“I have begged and I have pleaded with people that I want just one little itsy bitsy teeny weeny thing. It isn’t a hard wish to grant, and I think it is very reasonable wish to grant considering. Everyone else on this roster wants the world handed to them on a silver platter. Syren and Selena run around concocting plots and evil plans to become World Champion. Then you have Amelia Nevado selling her soul to be World Champion. You even have Polly Wants a Cracker and Lawler Cutter selling their souls just to remain relevant in SCW.” She winks playfully. “I’ll get back to you later, Lawler.” She then motions to herself.

“But what does moi want? What do I need? It’s quite simple really; other than a shot at the SCW Underground Championship, I just want to be left alone. After dealing with the political warfare between Sasha and Katya D, fighting with then commissioner Shaun Cruiserweight, and ultimately trying to behave around CHBKLMNOP, all I have ever wanted is to be left alone. I really am sick and damn tired of getting caught up in the crossfire of an internal civil war over who runs this damn ship. People seem to insist on me taking a side.” The Woman Scorned shakes her head.

“Newsflash, I am an agent of chaos and I do not intend to take a side in this latest of the never ending civil wars that seem to arise in this promotion. I just want to be left alone to pursue what I really want and what I want at the end of the day, more than anything else, is another shot at the SCW Underground Championship.” Williams points a finger at the camera.

“That brings me to you, Lawler Cutter. You have taken a side in this silly little war; you are firmly on the side of Franky. That’s fine, your prerogative. You are free to do that and I really don’t care. I don’t even care that you choose to associate with Polly Wants A Cracker. But let’s be real, Lawler Cutter. The reason you have cast your lot in with Franky is due to desperation. Ever since you returned to SCW you have tried again and again to prove to the world that you can still go at the level you once did, you have tried to make a lasting impact upon this new generation of SCW talent. And each and every single time you have tried you have failed. You have been struggling to the point that you were on the verge of becoming irrelevant. Your return was being looked at as a joke.” She snickers nastily.

“So in order to salvage your return, you are aligning yourself with CEO Franky Poo. Hell, maybe it will work out for you. I mean, look at you! You already helped take out CHBKLMNOP! But he was an old man, a dinosaur, a relic of a forgotten era. And it took two of you to beat him down. Three if you count Gavin Taylor providing the distraction. How impactful of you! But you have to know that everything won’t work out as perfectly as that; you and I both know CHBKLMNOP will be back at some point and if he doesn’t return, someone will step up to take his place. If you think this gives your new buddy CEO Franky Poo unchecked power in the long term then you are sadly mistaken. What you did was win ONE battle. This war you have put YOURSELF into, all just to make yourself relevant again, that war is far from over. And what happens if your side loses that war? What happens if your pal CEO Franky loses that war?” Kimmy shakes her head. “Your career will be practically over. You will be forgotten again. You will be irrelevant again. Back to catering for you, Lawler Cutter!”

“But it’s like I said, I don’t care about this silly little war you have gotten involved with. I really don’t care who wins. I want to be left alone so I can pursue the SCW Underground Championship and, quite honestly, I can see this match at Breakdown as an opportunity to advance my cause. And don’t think your new pals will be able to help; this is the Underground. The Underground is my domain, my turf, my rules. You can bring an army of ass kissers and beat me down but I keep getting back up and coming for more because you just can’t keep a good psychopath down. I have proven over seven reigns that this Underground Division belongs to me regardless of who has the title!” She points a finger at the camera.

“Oh but you, Lawler Cutter, I remember the last time we met in an Underground Rules Match. I remember telling you that were desperate for validation, desperate to prove that you still belonged. After having failed to capture any other gold you thought the Underground Division would be your path to a championship. I told you right then and there that you had to prove you were worthy of being in my Underground Division but that night at Retribution you proved absolutely nothing to me. You proved that, despite everything you have done, you are still an absolute failure. And I look at you and your pathetic attempts now, and I still see a pathetic failure, I see someone completely unworthy of MY Underground.” She holds up four fingers then puts two of them down, leaving just two fingers remaining.

“This time it’s different. It’s not a four way. It’s just me and you, Lawler Cutter. And I am not acting as a gatekeeper to see if you belong in the Underground. I definitely don’t see you as some ridiculous saturday morning cartoon villain that I have to vanquish on behalf of poor CHBKLMNOP. Like I said, I don’t give a damn about any of that. I am acting as your executioner. You are merely an obstacle in my way. I want a shot at the Underground Title and if maiming and crippling you is what I have to do to get to that spot then by God I’ll do it. Hell, it might even prove to be the end of your career.” She snickers and shakes her head.

“I’m not even exaggerating! Think about it, when I beat your ass, even with outside interference from Polly Wants A Cracker or Dawnie or one of your other pals, because face it, there’s no creativity left here, it’s gonna happen. After I bury you six feet under, CEO Franky will realize just how pathetic you are and he will ditch you. He will get rid of you. He will cast you out. Maybe CEO Franky will become my friend? Because I actually can get things done. Unlike you, Lawler Cutter.”

With a final, mocking smirk, Kimberly delivers her parting shot, the camera holding on her face as her sharp words hang in the crisp Boston air. She doesn't wait for the camera to stop rolling; instead, she turns on her heel and begins to walk away, her combat boots clicking rhythmically against the damp cobblestones of the alley. She adjusts Wasley under her arm, pulling the denim jacket tighter against her as the evening shadows stretch across the brickwork.