Dexter Grant vs. Kimberly Williams

[Kemal Yilmaz]

Shot of Adrenaline Tournament Finals

Semifinals and Finals will take place to complete the tournament at this show. Roleplays count for both matches

2 RP Limit for singles

3500 Word Per RP

Deadline: 11:59:59 pm ET Tuesday, February 3, 2026**

[The Matt]

1 of 2
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January 24th, 2026
Boston, Massachusetts
Off Camera
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Motivated by spite and a desire to prove everyone wrong, Kimberly Williams wrestled twice, back to back with no rest periods, including being hit in the head with a steel chair, and managed to fight to a draw with Polly and then defeat Kemal Yilmaz in order to make it to the semi-finals of The Shot of Adrenaline Tournament. Up until now The Woman Scorned had not cared one iota for The Shot of Adrenaline Tournament and it is true, she had pretty much shit on the whole idea of the tournament. Perhaps all The Queen of the Death Match needed was motivation? Her anger has been sparked, she has been offended to the point that she wants to win just to shove it in everyone’s face and prove that she is a valuable asset to the company and that she deserves what she truly wants; an SCW Underground Championship Match. She already proved that by fighting two opponents back to back to make the semi-finals, a feat her own mother accomplished twice in SCW. Now Kimberly has the opportunity to do something even Angelica Jones couldn’t manage to do; win the Shot of Adrenaline Tournament. It will certainly be an uphill climb to say the least. The Woman Scorned must first take on Dexter Grant. They have wrestled twice before and are tied with win one apiece. Their semi-final match will be the rubber match. If she can beat Grant she will have to either take on a much more aggressive Polly who she fought to a draw with on Breakdown or Deanna Frost, the reigning champion who she already lost to in the round robin stage of Shot of Adrenaline. No, it will not be easy, but Kimberly is more motivated than she has ever been. She knows she can win this and she is ready to prove it.

First, before she can turn her focus onto Shot of Adrenaline, Kimberly Williams must deal with a difficult problem surrounding her real estate business. Ever since Lucian Floreschu, older brother of Kim’s foster/guardian Emma Floreschu, returned, he has slowly but surely began to take over her entire life through blackmail. Part of the takeover, obviously, includes the real estate business Kimberly had started up. The Woman Scorned shudders to think of what Lucian has planned. Unfortunately, there is little she can do about it.

The office of Kimberly Lambert sat high above the street. Sunlight filtered through tall windows, softened by sheer curtains that diffused the brightness into something gentle and flattering. The room smelled faintly of fresh paper, lemon polish, and expensive coffee, the kind of neutral cleanliness meant to put clients at ease and inspire confidence in major decisions. A broad desk dominated the center of the office, its surface neatly arranged with leather bound folders, a slim laptop, and a tasteful pen holder that looked more decorative than functional. A pair of modern chairs sat opposite it, upholstered in soft gray fabric that invited comfort without sacrificing restraint. A tall bookcase lined one wall, filled with real estate guides, market reports, and carefully staged personal touches meant to suggest both expertise and warmth. It was an office designed to reassure, to make every interaction feel straightforward and mutually beneficial. Kimberly Williams stood near one of the windows, the light outlining her figure and highlighting just how unnatural her appearance felt to her in that moment. She was dressed in a tailored cream colored blouse tucked neatly into a high waisted pencil skirt of deep navy, the fabric structured and unforgiving. The outfit was completed with understated heels and a fitted jacket draped carefully over her shoulders. Every element was tasteful, expensive, and entirely wrong in her eyes. More difficult than the clothes was the role she was expected to play.

Standing beside her was Lucian Floreschu, utterly at ease within the space and the moment. He wore a dark tailored suit, the cut precise and the fabric rich without being ostentatious. A crisp white shirt lay beneath, open just enough at the collar to suggest confidence rather than formality. His shoes were polished to a soft gleam, and his dark hair was styled neatly, every detail reinforcing an image of control and refinement. He looked like a man accustomed to offices like this one, accustomed to negotiations that unfolded exactly as he intended. Lucian’s posture was relaxed, almost casual, yet carried an unmistakable sense of ownership. He occupied space effortlessly, his presence calm and commanding in equal measure. He appeared perfectly comfortable standing beside Kimberly, as though their cooperation were natural and unremarkable. The ease with which he wore that illusion made her skin prickle.

“I don’t know why we have to keep doing this…”

“Because we are business partners now, Kimberly.” Lucian answers Kim calmly, cooly.

“Partners?” Kim scoffs. “In name only. In reality you’re taking over. You’re running my real estate operations now. It is under the Floreschu family umbrella, right?”

“Yes.”

“So why even bother with this charade?” Kim asks. “Why don’t YOU just go to this meeting with The Other Kimmy and tell her what you want to do since, obviously, it’s no longer my business now.”

“Oh but that’s where you are mistaken.” Lucian answers back. “This is still yours and it always will be. You just need to LEARN how to properly manage it. That is why you are here, to learn.”

“Right, you’re sculpting me into whatever or whoever you want me to be.” Kim rolls her eyes.

“Sculpting, molding, educating, whatever you wish to call it.” He chuckles. “All I ask is that you keep an open mind and learn.”

Kimberly felt the tension coil tight beneath her carefully arranged exterior. She was keenly aware of the proximity between them, of the expectation that she present herself as agreeable, aligned, and professional. Every instinct within her rebelled against it. Beneath the polished blouse and composed expression, resentment simmered, sharp and insistent. She despised the charade, despised the way Lucian could orchestrate situations that forced her into proximity and performance without ever raising his voice or making a scene. She kept her gaze level, her expression neutral, though the effort required to maintain it was exhausting. Standing beside him felt like standing in the shadow of something cold and immovable. She could feel his influence pressing in.

The office itself bore quiet witness to the tension. The sunlight continued to drift across the floor, illuminating dust motes and polished surfaces with indifferent serenity. The city outside moved on, unaware of the carefully constructed façade unfolding above it. To anyone else, the scene would appear ordinary. Two well dressed individuals meeting with a real estate professional to discuss property and plans. But beneath the surface, the moment carried weight. Kimberly Williams stood in borrowed elegance, forced into cooperation with a man she could not stand, trapped between appearances and truth. The office, with all its neutral comfort and professional calm, became a stage for restraint and pretense. Whatever decisions were to be made here would ripple far beyond these walls, and Kimberly felt it deeply, even as she forced herself to stand still, smile when required, and pretend that standing beside Lucian Floreschu was anything close to acceptable.

The quiet balance of the office shifted the moment Kimberly Lambert entered. Kimberly Lambert was impeccably dressed in a tailored charcoal gray dress that fell just below the knee, its clean lines emphasizing professionalism without sacrificing elegance. The fabric hugged her frame with precision, structured yet fluid, designed to flatter without distracting. A thin belt cinched her waist, understated and tasteful, and her shoes were sensible heels polished to a soft sheen. Her hair was styled neatly, pulled back in a low, elegant arrangement that kept her face open and expressive. Subtle makeup highlighted her features without overpowering them, lending her an approachable warmth beneath her composed exterior. She carried a leather portfolio tucked neatly under one arm, its surface worn just enough to suggest frequent use rather than mere decoration.

“Right! Welcome back, Kimberly!” Kim Lambert says pleasantly. The Woman Scorned forces a smile of her own, she just hopes that it isn’t obvious that it is a forced smile.

“Hiya Other Kimmy!” She says playfully. “You are Other Kimmy. I’m Kimmy Prime. Anchor Being Kim.”

“Uh-huh,” Lambert responds before turning her attention to Lucian “and this must be Mr. Florechu?”

“Yes, Lucian Floreschu, but you may call me Lucian.” He says, taking her hand and then kissing it. Kim Williams rolls her eyes at his attempts to charm.

“Uh, yeah, Lucian is kinda, sorta like me…uncle…” Williams hated having to say that but she knows Lucian wanted her to say it; she had no other choice “...I thought you two should meet because he will be taking on a greater role in my real estate transactions going forward. Especially considering the new direction I want to take.”

“A new direction?” Lambert is immediately intrigued. Kim nods her head.

“Yes, I know initially I wanted to buy moderately upscale homes and sell them at a cheap price to people who otherwise couldn’t afford it….but…” the next few words are difficult for Williams to say “...I think I’ve changed my mind. Lucian and I have been talking it over and we think it would be best to sell these upscale homes and properties to generate maximum profit for myself and, of course, for my family.”

Kim Lambert’s face lights up like a Christmas tree. She had always wanted Williams to take this route from the very beginning, she had always thought Kim’s heart was getting in the way of making a good profit. She doesn’t understand Kim’s change of heart, she doesn’t really care, she is just happy to hear that finally she has changed her tune. Meanwhile Williams merely hopes that Lambert can’t tell that she is just putting on a dog and pony show.

“I am so thrilled to hear that you have had a change of heart, Kimmy!” She chuckles. “Excuse me, Kimmy Prime!”

“Well you can thank Lucian for that one.” The Woman Scorned remarks. “He talked sense into me.”

“It appears bringing Lucian on board really was one of your better decisions, Ms. Williams.” Lambert says with an ear to ear grin.

“I merely want to help in whatever way I can.” Lucian chimes in.

“And I cannot wait to work with you.” Lambert says. “Let me go and get some documentation we can sign, and some pictures of homes we can look at buying.”

Kimberly Lambert turns and walks back out of the office, with an eager smile on her face and a bit of happiness in her step. Kim Williams again rolls her eyes because she can tell that Lambert, like Lucian, only cares about maximum profit. This is not why Kimberly Williams got into this and it bothers her. Yet here again, thanks to Lucian’s blackmail, there is little she can do about any of it.

“This is going well.” Lucian remarks.

“No its not.”

“Quite the contrary. You are playing your role perfectly. Emma would be proud.”

“Yeah? Well don’t expect me to keep this act up for SCW.” Kimberly remarks angrily. “Professional wrestling is my escape from all of this. I get my thrills and my enjoyment from competing in front of all of my fans. You can take away everything else from me, you can try to run every other aspect of my life, but you will not run that…wrestling belongs to me.”

“I wouldn’t think of trying to change how you are perceived by the SCW faithful.”

“Bullshit.” Kim snaps back angrily.

“Why would I want to change a successful formula? Crazy Kim is popular and beloved. Your…Kimmymaniacs as you call them…they love you, they adore you, they buy your merchandise. That stupid penguin is a huge marketing ploy.”

“That ‘stupid penguin’ has a name.”

“Yes, Wasley.” Lucian chuckles. My point is that all of it brings in money. I don’t understand what those people see in it, but if it makes us money, then I am all for it.”

“Everything is about money to you?” Kim shakes her head. “You can have the money because for me wrestling isn’t about the money, it’s about entertaining the fans. I love my fans and I will do anything for them.”

“You say that now.” Lucian remarks coldly. “But one day you will change…I promise you, I will make you as cold and callous as I am, as my sisters were.”

“You’re welcome to try.” Kim answers boldly. “But there is nothing you can do to change who I am.”

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January 25th, 2026
Boston, Massachusetts
Off Camera
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Morning light poured into the living room of the mansion in long, deliberate bands, as if the house itself were waking slowly and with intention. The space was exquisite in a way that felt almost excessive for a private home. Tall windows stretched nearly from floor to ceiling, their sheer curtains stirring faintly in the controlled air. Sunlight glimmered across polished marble floors and traced the carved details of dark wood furniture that looked more like museum pieces than anything meant to be used casually. Everything carried a sense of permanence and wealth that did not ask permission to exist. The living room was vast but carefully arranged to avoid feeling hollow. Plush sofas upholstered in soft neutral tones formed a welcoming semicircle around a low glass coffee table, its surface untouched and immaculate. A grand fireplace dominated one wall, its stonework intricate and imposing even in daylight, though no fire burned within it now. Shelves lined with art books and carefully selected sculptures suggested taste that had been curated rather than lived in. The room was beautiful, undeniably so, yet it still carried an undercurrent of watchfulness, as though it remembered who truly owned it.

Kimberly Williams sat perched on the edge of one of the sofas, her body tight with restless energy despite the comfort beneath her. Today she had reclaimed herself as much as she could through clothing. She wore a loose graphic tee faded from years of washing, layered beneath a worn leather jacket that creaked softly when she shifted. Dark jeans hugged her legs comfortably, scuffed boots planted firmly on the marble floor in quiet defiance of the elegance surrounding her. Her red hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail, curls escaping freely, unapologetic and uncontained. It was the version of herself that felt real. And yet the tension in her posture betrayed how little relief it brought. Across from her, Tommy Wasley occupied the space with an entirely different energy. He sat back into the sofa with his broad frame relaxed but attentive, long legs stretched slightly forward, one arm draped along the back cushion. He wore a simple flannel shirt rolled at the sleeves, the fabric soft and familiar, paired with sturdy jeans and worn work boots that looked almost out of place against the pristine floor. His thick beard was untrimmed this morning, his hair slightly rumpled, giving him the appearance of a man who had woken up in a place he did not quite trust but was determined to make sense of anyway.

Tommy looked grounded, solid, real. The mansion did not intimidate him so much as confuse him. He took it in with a quiet skepticism, eyes occasionally drifting to the high ceilings or expensive furnishings as though measuring them against a world he understood better. His attention, however, kept returning to Kimberly. He watched her with concern he did not attempt to disguise, his expression thoughtful, searching for clues in her posture and movements. He knew something was wrong. He just did not know what. Kimberly felt the weight of that unspoken awareness even as she avoided his eyes. The blackmail sat like a stone in her chest, invisible but crushing, tightening every time her thoughts brushed too close to it. The mansion was a gift in name only, its beauty inseparable from the power it represented. Even here, in her own clothes, beside the man she loved, she could not shake the sense of being observed, controlled, tethered to choices she had not freely made.

“Hey Kimmy, you ok?”

“Huh?” Kim asks, for she had briefly spaced out.

“You seem a little out of it. Anything bugging you?”

“Nothing than the obvious.” Kim shrugs her shoulders. “I mean, come on, Shot of Adrenaline Semi-Finals and Finals are coming up. I spent months criticizing that tournament and now suddenly thanks to that DelWhatshisname lighting a fire under my ass I suddenly feel motivated. I suddenly feel like I have to win.”

“That isn’t like you.” Tommy shakes his head. “You never felt like you HAD TO WIN…unless the Underground Title was at stake.”

“Yeah, well things change.” Kim says pointedly. “Situations and circumstances change. Would it be nice to beat that doofus Dexter? Yeah. Would it be nice to finally beat Deanna Frost one on one?”

“It could be Polly.”

“And that would be nice too, after the crap she pulled.” Kim snarls. “I could easily maim the bitch. Point is, I have desire now. I have motivation to win Shot of Adrenaline. And so what if that motivation is SPITE? Spite helped me go through two straight matches in a row on Breakdown. It can work in my favor at A Taste of Things To Come.”

“Honestly? I’m happy to see that you want to win Shot of Adrenaline now.” Tommy says. “I know you really want to win back the Underground Title. I want that for you too. But Shot of Adrenaline is something special in SCW lore.”

“Trust me, I know,” Kim nods her head “my own mom made the semi-finals twice.”

“Now you’ve followed in her footsteps.” Tommy smiles warmly.

“Except she never could get past the semi-finals.” Kim points out. “I intend to win it all. I will beat Dexter Grant half to death. Then if its Polly, I’ll beat her half to death as well. If its Deanna? I respect Deanna enough that we will have a good match but I will finally get one over her too. Shot of Adrenaline will be mine.”

“Out of spite?” Tommy asks.

“Yeah…out of spite.”

“Well that change in attitude towards Shot of Adrenaline is a good thing.” He sighs. “Not every change has been good.”

“What do you mean?”

“To start with, the direction you are taking your real estate business.”

“Oh, well, that was mostly Lucian’s idea.” Kim remarks quickly, trying to come up with an excuse, even if it is a bad one. “And, y’know, he kinda makes sense.”

“But making profit wasn’t the reason you wanted to get into that.” Tommy says. “You wanted to help people. And that isn’t the only change I’ve noticed since you have been hanging out with Lucian.” He motions to the grandiose surroundings. “I mean, the place is great, but it definitely is NOT you. The way you were dressed at the dinner party…”

“You didn’t like my dress?”

“That’s just it…you hate dresses.” Tommy points out. “Kimmy, are you ok?”

“I’m fine.” Kim states cooly. Her frustration is beginning to show despite her best attempts to hide it.

“No, you’re not.”

“I told you I’m fine!” Kim exclaims, anger beginning to escape her lips. “Just drop it!”

“Ok, fine, I’ll drop it.” Tommy says, nodding his head. He stands up from off of the sofa. “But I do know for a fact that you are not ok. You haven’t been ok since you started hanging out with Lucian.”

“Tommy…” her voice trails off.

“When you are ready to talk, and I mean REALLY talk, let me know.”

Kimberly wants to call out to him, to open up about everything. But how can she? How can she tell him that Lucian is blackmailing her? How can she admit that she murdered three people and Lucian has evidence that would destroy her? So she remains quiet and watches painfully as Tommy walks out of the room.

[Digitox]

RP 1: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1oATz...sp=sharing

[The Matt]

2 of 2
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January 26th, 2026
Boston, Massachusetts
Off Camera
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The workout area occupied an entire wing of Angelica Jones’s estate, jokingly nicknamed “Purgatory”; Kimberly had been here before and had used this facility before, so it is nothing new to her. When preparing for the challenge coming up, the Semi-Finals and, hopefully finals, of Shot of Adrenaline, Kimberly trusts her mother’s facility immensely. This place, Purgatory, is a cavernous space that felt less like part of a private home and more like a private training facility built for obsession and endurance. The ceiling soared high overhead, reinforced with exposed steel beams and industrial lighting that cast a bright, uncompromising glow across the room. Large mirrors lined one wall, already fogged and streaked from heat and effort, reflecting movement in sharp, unforgiving detail. The faint hum of climate control blended with the dull rhythmic thud of impact echoing through the space, a sound that had settled into the walls themselves. At the center of the room stood a regulation sized professional wrestling ring, its presence commanding and unmistakable. The canvas was stretched tight and pristine, marked only by the faintest signs of use. Thick black ropes framed the ring, pulled taut and solid, their surfaces slightly dulled from repeated contact. Steel steps rested at one corner, their edges scuffed and worn, while a cluster of folding chairs sat stacked neatly nearby, waiting for a purpose that had not yet arrived. The ring lights above were switched on, bathing the platform in a clean white glow that contrasted with the darker shadows of the surrounding space.

Along one side of the room, heavy bags hung from reinforced mounts, swaying subtly with each blow they absorbed. Their surfaces were cracked and creased from years of punishment, leather darkened by sweat and use. Mats covered sections of the floor, thick and resilient, offering just enough give beneath pounding feet. Racks of weights lined the far wall, organized with meticulous care, while jump ropes, resistance bands, and gloves were arranged in neat rows as if someone insisted on order even in a place built for chaos. Kimberly Williams moved through the space with focused intensity, her body already slick with sweat. She wore a fitted black sports bra and loose training shorts that fell mid thigh, the fabric darkened in places from exertion. Her hands were wrapped tightly in white athletic tape, knuckles protected, wrists supported, the wraps frayed slightly at the edges from repeated use. Scuffed training shoes grounded her, soles squeaking faintly against the mat with each shift of weight. Her red hair was pulled back into a high, messy ponytail, curls escaping freely and sticking to the damp skin of her neck. Her face was flushed, jaw clenched, eyes sharp and fixed on the heavy bag in front of her. Each strike landed with controlled violence, punches and kicks delivered with practiced precision. The bag swung under the force, chains rattling softly overhead before settling again, only to be driven back with another relentless impact. There was something raw and unfiltered in the way Kimberly trained. This was not performance or display. It was release. Her movements were powerful but tense, driven by something deeper than physical conditioning. Sweat traced paths down her arms and spine, muscles flexing and tightening beneath her skin. With every blow, she seemed to carve out a moment of clarity, a brief escape from the pressure that clung to her even here.

The door at the far end of the training area opened quietly. Lucian entered without announcement, the controlled click of the door nearly swallowed by the steady rhythm of Kimberly’s strikes. He stepped inside with measured calm, the bright lights reflecting faintly off the polished floor as he moved forward. He was dressed in dark tailored slacks and a crisp button down shirt, sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms. The absence of a jacket only emphasized his composure, as though even in a space designed for sweat and strain he refused to surrender precision. His shoes were clean and immaculate, an odd contrast against the scuffed mats and industrial equipment. His dark hair was styled as carefully as ever, untouched by the heat of the room. He looked out of place and perfectly in control all at once, a man who did not need to adapt to dominate his surroundings. Lucian paused just inside the training area, watching her in silence. His presence did not disrupt the space immediately, yet it altered it all the same. The air seemed to tighten, the echoes of her strikes growing sharper, more pronounced. He observed the way she moved, the power in her frame, the tension coiled in every muscle. His expression remained unreadable, eyes steady and intent as he took in the scene. Kimberly continued her workout, though something in her posture subtly shifted. Her strikes grew a fraction harder, her breathing more pronounced, as if her body had registered his arrival before her mind fully acknowledged it. Sweat dripped from her chin, splattering dark spots onto the mat below. The heavy bag swung wildly now, chains creaking in protest as she drove into it again and again. The wrestling ring loomed nearby, silent and waiting, its pristine canvas untouched by the chaos unfolding beside it. The mirrors reflected the contrast between them. Kimberly, raw and exerted, stripped of pretense and dressed for combat. Lucian, composed and immaculate, standing apart from the sweat and violence as though he ruled it without ever needing to participate.

Lucian begins applauding, slow and methodically, like a sarcastic golf clap. Kimberly instantly stops going to town on the heavy bag long enough to turn and glare angrily at the man she disdains, the man who is blackmailing her. A sly grin is on Lucian’s face.

“Very good, Kimberly. Very good, indeed.” He chuckles softly. “It appears as if you really are taking Shot of Adrenaline seriously.”

“Of course I am.” Kim snorts. “I go out there and I enjoy myself, I entertain the fans, but I do take my craft very seriously. And after what The Not So Nice Mr. D said about me, after the crap Polly Pancake pulled on Breakdown, and simply because I still want to tear Dexter Grant’s spinal chord from his fucking body, I am fully locked in and ready to win this Shot of Adrenaline Tournament.”

“The good thing about your semi-finals opponent is that you CAN beat him.” Lucian points out. “You beat him at Rise To Greatness. Yes, he beat you at Apocalypse, but that’s not important. You are one of two people who have figured out the formula to defeating him one on one. You can do it again.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know that.” Kim snaps back. “I’ll be ready for him and whoever comes next, whether it’s Polly Pancake or Deanna. That’s why I’m here.” She arches her brow out of curiosity. “Hey, speaking of which, why are YOU here? This is my mom’s private workout area. She could walk in at any time and…”

“...and not think anything of it.” Lucian remarks. “She knows we are working together now. Besides, I’m sure you could come up with a nice excuse if she were to walk in on us having a private meeting.”

“That’s not the point.” Kim shakes her head. “Why are you here? Are you seriously here just to talk shop about SCW?”

“Why not?” Lucian smirks knowingly. “You are a valuable asset to me and I want to make certain you are a success. Speaking of which, there are certain factors in SCW that are impediments to your success, correct? Mr. Delatosso being chief among them.”

“Yeah, The Not So Nice Mr. D…” Kim’s voice trails off “...what are you getting at?”

“I could take care of him for you.”

“Wait, what?” Kim furrows her brow. “You mean…you’re blackmailing me for murder and now you suggest…”

“Oh Kimberly…” he chuckles softly “...not everything is about violence. Do not assume that I am going straight for the murder option like you would. I am a very wealthy and very influential man. When I say I could take care of Mr. Delatosso for you, I am suggesting that, at the very least, I could get him off of your back. In fact, I could even convince him to become a fan of yours. Money, power, and influence speaks volumes, Kimberly.” He approaches Kim and places a hand on her shoulder. “Believe it or not, I AM trying to help you.”

“Bullshit!” She swipes his hand away. “You have been trying to change me and control my life! I dipped my toe into real estate to HELP PEOPLE but now you have taken control of that and turned it into a typical money making scheme. Your mere influence and presence has already begun to damage my relationships. My boyfriend doesn’t trust you and…” she sighs “...I’m not sure he trusts me anymore…”

“Mr. Wasley will come around and even if he doesn’t, a woman like you can definitely do better than that fat slob.”

“I don’t want better!” Kim exclaims. “I want Tommy!”

“Kimberly, my dear, you need to quit being so pessimistic. Try and look at the bright side. You look at this as me blackmailing and controlling you but face it, I am HELPING you. I am going to increase the profit of your real estate business tenfold. I will do my level best to get Mr. Delatosso off your back. And that’s just mere hint of what the Floreschu Family power and influence is capable of.”

“There is nothing you can offer me that I want.” Kim shakes her head in defiance.

“Are you quite certain of that?” Lucian smirks knowingly. “This family is very wealthy and influential. Our money can buy you almost anything. For someone who prides herself on being a psychopath, I have noticed that justice is something you value. Perhaps there is an injustice that you think needs to be taken care of?”

The Woman Scorned is ready to lash out, to once again defiantly tell him that she doesn’t want nor need his help. But then her mind drifts off and she thinks back to someone who did get away with an injustice, something that has bothered Kimberly for months.

“Grant Vito.”

“Who?”

“He is the figurehead of a secret society of sorts. The Athenian Fellowship is what they call themselves. Sorta like a social club for wealthy folks. Turns out its leadership was engaging in drug smuggling, dealing, and the like. Grant Vito is very influential too and managed to throw the rest of the leadership under the bus while he was just as involved, if not moreso, than the rest of them.” She rolls her eyes. “The Athenian Fellowship still operates and Grant Vito is still their leader, the remaining membership all deny knowledge of the crimes that were being committed but they’re lying. I know it. I am certain that entire organization was in on it.”

“So what you are saying is that you would like to see Mr. Vito and The Athenian Fellowship get brought down? Get brought to justice?”

Williams pauses for a moment. She does want to see them brought to justice. But accepting Lucian’s help feels like taking a bite of the forbidden fruit. It feels like betraying herself and her principles. Still, she wants justice to be done.

“Yeah…”

“Say no more.” Lucian remarks. “Consider it done.”

==========
January 31st, 2026
Phoenix, Arizona
On Camera
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The afternoon heat sits heavy over Phoenix, the kind that presses against the skin even in the shade, radiating up from the pavement in a slow shimmering haze. Chase Field rises behind her in sweeping curves of steel and glass, its massive presence both familiar and imposing, a modern coliseum planted firmly in the desert. Sunlight reflects off the stadium’s windows in sharp flashes, catching the eye and then slipping away, as if the building itself is breathing under the relentless Arizona sky.

Kimberly Williams stands out front, her red hair is pulled back loosely, strands escaping to catch the light and frame a face that looks more mischievous than polished. There is nothing delicate about the way she stands. Her posture is casual, feet planted firmly, shoulders easy, like she could stay there all day without a second thought. Her clothing reflects that same no nonsense ease. The fabric of her shirt is soft and worn, clinging just enough to suggest an athletic build shaped by years of physical punishment and discipline. Her jeans sit comfortably on her hips, broken in and practical, with scuffs that hint at real use rather than fashion. Sneakers complete the look, sturdy and familiar, made for movement rather than display. In her hands she holds a large penguin plushy, its black and white body comically oversized against her frame; her beloved pal Wasley. She grips it without tenderness, fingers dug slightly into its side. The penguin’s glassy eyes stare outward, unblinking, adding an odd layer of surreal humor to the scene.

Her face seals the effect. Kimberly wears a grin that does not quite sit right, stretched wide and sharp with a glint of something unhinged behind her eyes. It is the kind of smile that promises chaos, the kind that makes people uneasy without knowing why. There is a flicker of excitement there, almost manic, as if she is savoring the moment before everything explodes into motion. The grin does not waver. It feels practiced but not fake, something she can slip into as easily as breathing, a mask that reveals more than it hides.

“I told you sooooo…” Kim says in a sing song voice, a grin creeping across her face as she gazes down at Wasley “...didn’t I tell them, Wasley? I told them all but they didn’t believe me! Oh but I showed them all! I made them eat crow…not literal crow because that would be disgusting and probably get me in trouble with PETA. But I did make them eat their words that much is sure! Polly and I went to a draw, albeit with some shenanigans involved…I’ll get back to you in a moment, Polly. Then without any break or rest period I turned right back around and took on Kemal Yilmaz, my European Fiery Friend. Shadowblade. One, two, three. Victory and I punched my ticket to the semi-final of Shot of Adrenaline.” Kimberly taps her temple.

“Exactly as predicted.” Williams laughs, then suddenly stops herself. “Now let’s talk about something important, the one thing, other than chaos, that brought me to this dance; SPITE.” Kimberly sighs dreamily. “Yes, spite got me here. I didn’t want Shot of Adrenaline. Didn’t need it. Didn’t lose sleep over it. But the second doubt got involved? The second my name got dragged across a clipboard with a little question mark next to it?” The Woman Scorned snaps her fingers.

“Click. Spite flipped the switch. Spite carried me through Breakdown. Spite dragged me into the semi-finals kicking and screaming and laughing the whole way. And guess what?” She leans forward. “It’s not done.” She straightens up, voice rising with excitement.

“A Taste of Things To Come. Oh I love that! Chase Field! Phoenix, Arizona! Now Wasley here won’t particularly care for the desert environment of Phoenix because, well, he’s a penguin, but I think the big stadium, big lights, the big night where I win this whole tournament out of spite will make it all worth it for both of us. Yeah, it will be yet another double duty night for The Woman Scorned; semi-finals and finals on the same night, but lucky for me spite doesn’t get tired and neither do I.” The Queen of the Death Match cracks her knuckles.

“So let’s talk about the obstacle in front of me. Dexter Grant.” She pauses, squints. “Disconnect to reconnect. I don’t know what that means. I’ve tried. I really have. But I get the vibe. You hate the noise. You hate the scrolling. You hate the fake smiles and the hashtags and the dopamine drip.” She shrugs. “Honestly? I get it. Shot of Adrenaline is everything you hate. Loud. Flashy. Constant motion. Everyone screaming into the void. I understand why you want no part of it. Hell, I didn’t want anything to do with this tournament once upon a time until spite spoke to me and motivated me. Still, there is one big problem for you, Dexy-Poo.” She points a finger at the camera.

“You are standing in my way. We are tied up, one win apiece. I beat you at Rise To Greatness. You beat me at Apocalypse. And now? Rubber match. And Dorkster, I don’t need to reconnect with anything.” She taps her chest. “I’m perfectly in tune with myself…my psychotic, twisted, devilish self…and yeah, I still want to maim you. No philosophy. No symbolism. Just facts. Don’t worry about disconnecting Dorkster. I will disconnect you myself. Permanently.” She pauses. Breathes. Then smiles again, lighter this time.

“And then there’s the finals.” She clasps her hands together. “Polly Pingotti. Respect where it’s earned. You took a chair shot. You played games. You tested me. And I admire that. You’ll probably say that same old boring overused line about my so-called prestigious family. Go ahead, beat a dead horse Polly, no one cares. But you did test me, you showed me you have the guts, and I respect that.” Her smile turns dangerous. “But Polly? You don’t play games with the Queen of Chaos. A receipt is coming, Polly Pancake.” she pulls back, nodding.

“Or…” her expression softens again “..it could be Deanna Frost. Oh Deanna. You and me? We’ve danced this dance a lot. We went to war over the Underground Title. Battles. Wars. Close calls. Near misses. We even went to war together as a team. Remember that one? Revengers Assemble! And we renewed our little rivalry again in the round robin stage of this tournament. We have a lot of history. I can honestly say that I respect the hell out of you. I would gladly stand side by side and fight alongside you anytime.” Kim throws her head back dramatically and sighs.

“Alas there is one thing I have never done. I have never beaten you…just you…one on one, no excuses, no asterisk, no funny business.” She looks almost hopeful. “I want that, Deanna. I need that. So as much fun as it would be to gut Polly Pancake like a fish, it would be equally satisfying to FINALLY get a one on one victory over you. In doing so I would win back the Adrenaline Title. And you, Deanna, are the one and only person who I wouldn’t be fighting out of spite. Taking you on wouldn’t be motivated out of spite. It would be out of professional respect. If spite got me to the finals against you, would it be a mistake to drop that fuel, that motivation, and face you out of respect?” She shrugs her shoulders. “Maybe…but it doesn’t matter…you deserve the very best out of me and I intend to give you my very best if it does come down to you and I. So good luck, Deanna, I mean that, and I hope to see you in the final.”

“So whoever walks out of the finals to meet me…” she spreads her arms. “Polly with her chaos. Deanna with her legacy. Doesn’t matter.” She steps forward, eyes blazing. “Spite got me here. Spite will carry me through the semi-finals. And spite might just crown me at A Taste of Things To Come. And the best part? No one can stop me.”

The camera cuts as she starts laughing, unhinged and delighted, the sound echoing through the empty space.