SCW Underground Championship Breakdown Turmoil (Open to everyone)

[Kemal Yilmaz]

Confirmed entrants include:
Kimberly Williams
Polly Playtime

Otherwise, this match is roleplay and you’re in. ANYONE can enter (including one off characters, returning characters, you want to invite someone from outside of SCW, do it!).

The match is simple – once the bell rings to signify its start, the first fall that an SCW official confirms will determine the new Underground Champion. From then on, until the show goes off the air, the Underground Champion is hunted in a Falls Count Anywhere chaotic night. Think part gauntlet, part old school 24/7 Hardcore title rules.

As for judging – whoever has the best roleplays will LEAVE Breakdown as the Underground Champion. Otherwise, I have a series of secret conditions to help ensure some title changes and hopefully lead to a fun show (and it will even be possible for some people to win the title multiple times during the night). I will share these conditions after the show so you can track it throughout too (of course, some may not be used if no one fits them). I also plan to have a few characters involved in the match in some way for story purposes, even if they aren't roleplaying (I'll do my best to avoid them taking falls and keep that for those who roleplay).

2 RP Limit

3500 Word Per RP

Deadline: 11:59:59 pm ET Thursday, February 19, 2026

[The Matt]

1 of 2
=====

==========
February 14th, 2026
Boston, Massachusetts
Off Camera
==========

The Shot of Adrenaline Tournament came to a frustrated end for Kimberly Williams when Polly Pignotti cost Kimberly Williams her semi-final match against Dexter Grant. The Woman Scorned had hoped to go farther than her mother ever had in Shot of Adrenaline and actually win the whole thing. Instead it was not to be; what’s even more frustrating is the obvious prejudice against her from the new CEO Frank Delatosso. He doesn’t value what Kimberly Williams brings to the table. He doesn’t view her as an asset. Being told that she cannot wrestle doesn’t bother The Woman Scorned. She doesn’t feel as if she needs to prove herself to anyone. But she does enjoy entertaining her fans, her beloved Kimmymaniacs, and the notion that she isn’t valued does bother her, the idea that he would rather see her gone from SCW does bother her.

Still, there is some light at the end of the tunnel. CHBK did work his magic and managed to book a special match to determine a new Underground Champion, a championship now declared vacant with Enigma The Monster Machine leaving the company. Kimberly had hoped to get Enigma one on one but CHBK’s consolation prize is just as good; a massive open invitational gauntlet for the title and, based upon the rules of the match, it seems to be eerily reminiscent of Kimberly’s own Trios Tournament Cash In Match, the same one where she won back the SCW Underground Title a few years ago. Can lightning strike twice and The Woman Scorned win the title again? She certainly hopes so. But, if nothing else, Williams at least feels confident knowing that she has an advantage heading into next week’s war.

One would think, knowing Kimberly, that she would be ecstatic at not only having a shot at the Underground Championship, but having in a match of this type, a match that is certain to guarantee chaos. Yes, she is excited, but it is hard to tell due to her mind being elsewhere. After all, it is Valentine’s Day and The Woman Scorned feels nearly isolated from everyone. Even her relationship with Tommy Wasley has been on the rocks lately due to changes in Kimberly Williams. Changes that have come about due to none other than Lucian Floreschu, brother of the sociopath Emma Floreschu who raised Kimberly. Lucian’s influence has been nothing but negative for Kimmy but there’s little she can do about it. He has evidence of crimes she has committed, crimes that could land her in prison. Kimmy must cooperate with Lucian or risk losing everything.

Thus on this Valentine’s Day she is all alone except for one of the few people who remain by her side; her identical twin sister Marie Jones.

The bar sat on a side street just off one of the busier stretches of Boston, close enough to the city’s pulse to feel alive but tucked away enough to offer a sense of privacy. From the outside it looked unremarkable, brick facade weathered by decades of harsh winters and humid summers, a modest neon sign glowing faintly in the window. Inside, though, it carried the comfortable weight of familiarity. Dark wooden floors bore the scuffs and scratches of countless nights. The air smelled faintly of hops, citrus, and polished wood, layered with the low hum of conversation that never quite faded. Soft amber lights hung over the bar and scattered throughout the room, casting everything in a warm, forgiving glow. Music drifted from overhead speakers, not loud enough to dominate but present enough to soften the silences between groups. Behind the long polished counter, shelves of liquor bottles rose like a colorful skyline, glass catching and refracting light with every movement. Televisions mounted in corners played muted sports highlights while patrons leaned close to one another at small round tables, sharing drinks and fragments of their day.

Kimberly Williams and her identical twin sister, Marie Jones, sat at one of those small tables near the back, partially shielded by a structural column that gave them a modest sense of separation from the rest of the room. The table was just large enough for their glasses and a small bowl of pretzels that had gone mostly untouched. Marie looked entirely at ease in the setting, wearing dark fitted jeans paired with a soft cream blouse that draped elegantly over her frame. The fabric was light and flattering without appearing formal, tucked neatly at the waist and complemented by a thin leather belt. A tailored blazer in a muted gray rested over her shoulders, casual enough for the bar but refined enough to suggest she had come from somewhere more polished earlier in the day. Her makeup was subtle yet deliberate, enhancing her natural features, and her hair fell in smooth waves that looked intentional without appearing overly styled. A delicate necklace rested at her collarbone, catching the candlelight whenever she shifted. Marie’s posture was relaxed but poised, shoulders back, hands loosely wrapped around her glass.

Across from her sat Kimberly Williams, the self-proclaimed Queen of the Death M atch, dressed in a way that felt deliberately uncomplicated. She wore faded black jeans and worn boots that had seen better days, the leather creased and softened from use. A loose simple black t-shirt hung over her frame, partially obscured by an unzipped hoodie that had clearly been thrown on without much thought. The sleeves were pushed up past her wrists, revealing faint marks on her knuckles from training. Her hair was pulled back into a low messy tie, strands escaping around her face in a way that would have annoyed her on any other night but now went largely unnoticed. Kimberly’s glass sat in front of her, condensation sliding slowly down the side. She had not touched it much. Her hands rested flat against the table for long stretches, fingers tapping occasionally in distracted rhythm. The usual spark in her eyes, that restless humor and mischievous curiosity that often defined her, was muted. She stared past Marie at times, gaze unfocused, as if her thoughts were happening somewhere several miles away.

There was a heaviness about her that did not belong to the setting. In a room filled with laughter, clinking glasses, and the easy rise and fall of casual conversation, Kimberly felt slightly removed, like a figure placed into the scene but not fully participating in it. The warm lighting softened the edges of the world around her but did nothing to ease the tension in her jaw or the faint crease between her brows.

And Marie could tell.

“Kimmy, you have been awfully quiet lately…” she motions to her drink “...and you have barely touched your drink.”

“Yeah, well, I have a lot on my mind. People to maim, lots of them, all coming up on Breakdown!” Kim exclaims, trying to feign excitement about her upcoming chane to reclaim the prize she values most of all; the SCW Underground Championship. In doing so she would break the record, she would be a six time Underground Champion. It is the one thing she wants more than anything else, above all else. She has been fighting, scratching, and clawing for this opportunity for a long time now. Yet here it is and her mind seems adrift.

“Yes, and I would think you would be more excited about this opportunity.” Marie says, arching her brow. “Are you worried about what that new CEO might do? If he might get involved or…”

“Of course Franky will likely try to get involved!” Kim snaps angrily. “The Not So Nice Mr. D can’t stand someone like yours truly having happiness and joy! He will move mountains to try and stop me from achieving my goal! So yeah, Marie, I am a little concerned about that little bastard…”

The contrast between the sisters was subtle yet unmistakable. Marie leaned forward at times, attentive and present, her movements fluid and grounded. Kimberly leaned back, shoulders tight, eyes flickering toward the door more often than necessary. Even seated, she carried the posture of someone bracing for interruption. Around them, the bar continued its steady rhythm. A group near the jukebox erupted in brief laughter. Glasses clinked. The bartender polished a surface that had already been polished. Outside, headlights swept past the windows in fleeting streaks of white and red, reminders that the city never truly stopped moving.

At their small table in the back, though, time felt slower. The candle between them burned steadily, its light reflecting in identical eyes that carried very different expressions. One sister seemed composed and quietly curious about the evening ahead. The other appeared caught in something heavier, something she had not yet decided how to name. The noise of the bar wrapped around them, warm and familiar, but it did not quite reach Kimberly Williams. She sat in the center of it all, dressed down and distant, her usual brightness dimmed in a way that even the amber glow could not conceal.

“Kimmy…” Marie’s voice trails off, she can tell something is wrong and she will not let it go “...you are off, something about you is off.”

“What can I say?” Kim shrugs her shoulders. “I have what could be my final chance to become Underground Champion next week and if I want to leave with the title I have to destroy the entire damned locker room. So yeah, I AM a bit off.”

“It’s not that.” Marie shakes her head. “You have never shied away from a fight, especially one like this. This is your wheelhouse. Hell, you practically invented this…remember your Trios Cash In? This is so similar to it. And you exited with the gold then, so you should have the advantage here. There’s no need for you to be this nervous.”

“Hey, there’s a fist time for everything.”

“No, I just think you’re hiding something.” Jones states pointedly. She points a finger at her troubled twin. “You have changed, Kimmy.”

“Please…” Kim scoffs, trying to feign as if nothing is wrong. Yet secretly she is nervous, and yes, she has changed, she has changed ever since Lucian Floreschu entered her life and has tried to dominate it and tried to control her. The Woman Scorned had hoped no one would notice. Yet her sister Marie is onto her…

“Kimmy, you have changed, and I’m not the only one to have noticed.” Marie points out. “Let me help you.”

“You can’t help me.” Kim shakes her head.

“That’s what you said when you were locked up in the mental institution, remember? You tried to run me off, insisting that I couldn’t help, but I kept coming back to visit each and every day.”

“Yeah, I remember…” Kim snickers “...you are stubborn like that…”

“I’m going to be stubborn again until you let me help you.” Marie folds her arms over her chest. “Now spill. What’s wrong with you?”

The Queen of the Death Match pauses for just a brief moment. She could continue to hide the truth from her sister, from her entire family, but the more she thinks about it, the more Kim realizes that she is near her breaking point. Lucian is pushing her to her limits, he is trying to strip her of everything she loves. Kim has kept her family out of this for now but the words Marie stated were strong. The memory shared is forever etched in her mind; Marie was the only person willing to reach out and help her while she was incarcerated. Could Marie help her her now? Does Kim even dare drag her into this problem of hers?

“I just…” Kim’s voice trails off.

“Is it Tommy?” Marie asks curiously. “I mean, it IS Valentine’s Day and yet here you are, spending it with me instead of your boyfriend.”

There it is, an opening. Marie unknowingly provided Kim with an excuse, something else to blame this whole thing on. And she technically wouldn’t be lying. Tommy has noticed the changes in Kim as well, changes that took place ever since Lucian entered into her life, and he has not liked it. Not one bit.

“Yeah, well…I admit, Tommy and I have been going through a bit of a rough patch.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Remember how we recently moved into that nice big house?”

“More like a mansion.” Marie states. “But yes, I remember.”

“He isn’t adjusting to the move very well.” Kim answers. “All of that luxury, having staff, all of it, it just isn’t his style. I suppose it’s created some tension between us.”

“That’s rather surprising.” Marie answers back. “I mean, if anyone would have hated that kind of move, the transition to that kind of lifestyle, I would think it would be you. Yet you jumped right into it feet first without looking back.”

“Oh what can I say? Sometimes change is necessary, y’know what I mean? It is good to have a change of scenery.”

“This isn’t a simple change of scenery, Kimmy, this is an entire change of your lifestyle.” Marie states pointedly. “I remember how you lived for years in a place so dilapidated that it barely is considered liveable. Yet now you’re in a luxurious mansion that me and mom are even jealous of?”

“Marie…”

“Nope, you are not talking your way out of this one.” Jones shakes her head. “It is nearly impossible to hide something from a twin sister. I know something is wrong and you won’t tell me.”

“I already told you. Tommy and I are having a bit of a rough patch.”

“And I don’t buy it.” Marie shakes her head. “This isn’t just Tommy. There’s something else and I am beginning to connect the dots. You have changed, Kimmy, and it all started when that creep, Emma’s brother, came into your life.”

“Lucian.” Kim says quietly.

“Yes, him.” Marie answers back sharply.

“Look, Lucian isn’t like Emma.” Kim is now openly lying. It makes her feel guilty to lie to her twin but she feels as if she has no choice. She doesn’t want to get Marie involved in this. “Emma was a monster. She nearly ruined both of our lives.”

“That’s putting it mildly, considering she tried to take both of us away from our mother at birth.”

“Exactly and all Lucian is doing is trying to make things right.”

“Really? Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” Marie shakes her head. “None of it makes sense, Kim. You went from being this wild, eccentric happy-go-lucky girl who prefers the simpler things in life to…living in a lavish estate. You have staff. Your relationship with Tommy is in danger. All of it happened since Lucian arrived.”

The Woman Scorned looks into Marie’s eyes…those are the same intense eyes she remembers oh so well. Whenever Marie sets her mind to something she never quits, just like she never quit on Kimberly when Kim was put in the mental institution. Williams doesn’t want to bring her twin sister into this but she realizes that she is backed into a corner, Marie already knows too much, and it is highly doubtful Marie will stop.

“Fine…” Kim takes her glass of alcohol, the one she has barely touched, and downs most of it in one big gulp before slamming it onto the table “...but before I say anything, just know that you cannot help me…”

“You’re crazy.” Marie says.

“What else is new?”

“I mean it. You’re crazy if you think I can’t help or that I won’t help.”

“And I mean it when I say that you cannot help me with this problem.”

“What do you mean?” Marie asks.

“Lucian has damning evidence against me, evidence of certain crimes I committed.”

“What crimes?” Marie asks. “You already served your time for kidnapping me.”

“Not that.” Kim shakes her head. “Remember your ex-boyfriend, the abusive one who used to beat you, Damian?”

“Yes, what about him?”

“He didn’t disappear, Marie. I killed him.”

“What?” Marie’s eyes go wide. “How…when…?”

“Remember when he came back around and tried to convince you he had changed and tried to get back together with you?”

“Yes.” Marie nods her head. “I told him to go away.”

“Yes, well, he didn’t go away. He came back, only he ran into me and thought I was you. So I agreed to go on a date with him, just to see if he had changed. He quickly started being abusive again so I found a shard of glass and cut his throat.”

“Kimmy…”

“There’s more.” Kim says. “Emma? We all know she is dead but no one knows how she died. That was me too. I burned her alive in a cabin in the middle of nowhere. I thought she needed to pay for what she did to us, to our mom, so I made her pay with her life.”

“What about Sorinah?” Marie asks. Emma and Lucian’s sister?”

“She wanted to manage my life and career just like Emma did. And like Emma, she was just as manipulative and cold. I quickly realized that she and Emma were the same basic monster, so I poisoned her.”

“And Lucian…” Marie’s voice trails off. Kim nods her head.

“Yes, Lucian has evidence against me. He knows I committed those murders and he has evidence to prove it. As long as I do what he asks he won’t turn me over to the police.” Kim sighs, tears form in her eyes. “That’s why I’m living in that mansion. That’s why I signed over control of my real estate business to Lucian. Everything I have done, he claims is for me, but in reality he is trying to control me. He wants to change me, Marie. He wants to finish the job Emma started. In his sick mind he sees me as Emma’s natural heir.”

There is another long, silence pause between the sisters. Marie watches as Kim takes her drink and finishes it off in another big gulp. Kimberly feels slightly better that she got all of this off of her chest but she still is concerned about how her sister will feel about her now that she knows of the horrible things that she did.

“Kimmy, I won’t pretend that I agree with what you did, because I don’t…” she reaches out and places her hands on Kim’s hands “...but I can help you. I want to help you.”

“You can’t help me.” Kim shakes her head. “My only options are to confess and go to prison or let Lucian continue to run my life.” She sighs. “I didn’t even want to involve you in this, Marie. I’ve been trying to shield you and the rest of my family. So please, if you want to help, truly help, just pretend that I never said anything to you.”

[Braddock]

1 of 2
======

==========
February 12th, 2026
Atlanta, Georgia
Off Camera
==========

Glory Braddock had her second match against Kemal Yilmaz. The last time she choked him out. Braddock had hoped to tap him out this time but unfortunately she had to settle for a pin fall victory. Still, a win is a win and each and every victory The British Bombshell achieves will get her closer to her goal of winning more gold in SCW, and maybe even another shot at the SCW World Championship. Championship gold was certainly the topic of discussion on tonight’s Breakdown; CHBK revealed that a chaotic gauntlet open invitational would be held next week to decide the new SCW Underground Champion after The Enigma vacated the championship. An open invitational for gold is always tempting for The British Bombshell but she is most certainly going to decline this one. The Underground Division just isn’t her style, it isn’t her strength. The Underground Division is the playground of her chaotic cousin Kimberly Williams. Glory Braddock would rather let everyone tear themselves apart in that kind of environment. She will likely pass up on this title opportunity. She knows other opportunities will come her way if she just patient.

The roar of the crowd had finally faded into a dull vibration that seemed to live inside the concrete bones of the building. Hours earlier the arena had trembled beneath chants and camera flashes, but now the corridors beneath the State Farm Arena felt cavernous and tired, like a great animal settling into sleep after being forced to perform. Somewhere down the hall a rolling equipment case rattled over uneven flooring, then went quiet. In her locker room, “The British Bombshell” Glory Braddock sat on the wooden bench beneath a row of metal hooks, her elbows resting on her knees, a white towel draped around her neck. The fluorescent lighting above cast a harsh glare across her shoulders, highlighting the angry red imprint of ropes against her skin. Her victory over Kemal Yilmaz had not been clean in the physical sense. It had been decisive, yes, but not clean. There was a purpling bruise forming high along her collarbone and a shallow scrape along her forearm that the medic had insisted on covering. She had peeled the tape off almost immediately. Her ring gear lay discarded in a heap inside her open duffel bag. The bright colors and glittering accents looked almost theatrical now that they were no longer in motion. In their place she wore a loose charcoal gray T shirt that hung soft and unflattering over her athletic frame and a pair of worn black athletic shorts that had clearly been washed too many times. Thick white crew socks hugged her calves, and she had slipped her feet into old trainers that had once been pristine but now carried the scuffed history of a hundred training sessions. Her hair, still damp from a quick shower, was pulled back into a low, careless ponytail. She did not look like the polished executive who owned her own company. She did not look like the commanding presence who had just pinned a man twice her size in front of thousands during SCW Breakdown. She looked like an athlete who had worked hard and was now bone tired. There was still adrenaline in her blood, though. It hummed under her skin, refusing to settle. Victory had come with its usual rush, that intoxicating swell of control and validation.

Outside, heels clicked against the polished concrete of the corridor. The sound was measured and unhurried, a staccato rhythm that did not belong to trainers or stagehands. It was deliberate. Controlled. Melinda Braddock paused outside the locker room door for only a second before pushing it open. Her blonde hair was styled into smooth waves that framed her face with precision. It was a shade lighter than her mother’s, almost platinum under the hallway lighting. She wore a tailored ivory blouse tucked neatly into high waisted navy trousers that fell in a perfect line to her ankles. The fabric moved elegantly when she walked, structured but soft. A slim leather belt cinched her waist, and a delicate gold watch gleamed at her wrist. Her makeup was subtle but flawless. Every detail had been chosen, curated. She did not belong in the gritty underbelly of an arena. And yet she moved through it with the calm assurance of someone who believed she belonged everywhere. Her posture was impeccable. Shoulders back. Chin slightly raised. There was something in the way she held herself that suggested not just confidence but expectation. As if the world were an arrangement that had not yet been properly organized. When she stepped fully into the room, the contrast between them became almost theatrical. Glory’s broad shoulders, still faintly flushed from exertion, and Melinda’s sleek silhouette. Glory’s old trainers and Melinda’s pointed heels. Glory’s damp hair and Melinda’s immaculate waves.

The air shifted. For a brief moment neither of them moved. The room felt smaller, the fluorescent hum louder. Glory straightened slowly, the towel slipping from her shoulders to her lap. She did not look surprised to see her daughter. There was a guarded quality to her expression, something that hovered between weariness and resignation. Melinda’s eyes swept the room before settling on her mother. They were the same color, a striking clear blue, but where Glory’s often carried warmth even in competition, Melinda’s were cool and assessing. She took in the towel, the bruises, the casual clothing. There was no visible reaction. No admiration. No concern. There had been a time when Melinda would have waited backstage with nervous excitement, clutching a program, eyes shining as she watched her mother’s entrance on the monitor. That time felt distant now, like a photograph left too long in the sun. The tension between them was not explosive. It did not crackle with shouting or dramatic gestures. It was quieter than that. Denser. Years of unspoken grievances compressed into silence.

Glory pushed herself to her feet, her movements stiff from the match. Up close, she seemed even more formidable. She was not overly tall, but there was a solidity to her presence, a grounded weight that came from decades of training. Her arms were thick with muscle, her hands calloused. Even in a loose T shirt she looked like someone who could break through obstacles rather than navigate around them.

“Melinda…what brings you here?”

“What’s wrong? Must I always have an agenda?”

“Usually you do.” Glory states plainly. “Are you going to preach to me about Fate? My Fate is sealed, that’s the motto, right? If that’s it then forget it. I’m not buying what you and Clyde are selling.”

Apologies, mother.” Melinda chuckles. “But I think even Fate cannot help you at this point. Look at you, how the mighty have fallen. You once took on the establishment, earned the right to face the SCW World Champion, and now you are relegated to beating up the European Fiery Nation.”

“I will take on ANYONE who wants to step up and Kemal…”

“Isn’t on your level.” Melinda snaps back sharply. “And yet you’re probably entertaining his ridiculous ultimate submissions match, am I right?”


Melinda did not flinch under that presence. If anything, she squared her shoulders slightly, as if matching it in her own way. Her arrogance was not loud or cartoonish. It was subtle, expressed in the faint upward tilt of her chin, the patience in her gaze. She carried herself like a woman who had already decided she was right. Glory reached for her duffel bag, perhaps as something to do with her hands, perhaps as a shield. Her victory tonight had been hard fought, strategic. She had read her opponent, anticipated his weight shifts, capitalized on his mistakes. Out there she understood the rules. Out there she knew how to win. Facing her daughter was different.

Melinda stepped further into the room, the click of her heels final and certain against the concrete floor. She carried no purse, no visible phone. She had come with purpose, not as a spectator but as someone prepared to address unfinished business. The fluorescent light caught the faintest glimmer of irritation in Glory’s eyes, quickly masked. She had faced hostile crowds, ruthless executives, and opponents who delighted in her pain. None of it unsettled her the way this did.

“Why not?” Glory asks. “It is a challenge and I never back down from a challenge. A Braddock never backs down from a challenge.”

“A Braddock never backs down from a WORTHY challenge.” Melinda says sharply. “This is hardly worthy. “You have beaten these fools time and time again. They are beneath the Braddock name.”

“But I have never competed in an ultimate submissions match before…”

“So what?!” Melinda exclaims. Her usual calm cool exterior is eroding with frustration. “Submission wrestling is your specialty. There IS NO real challenge to it. Not for you.”

Mother and daughter stood in the center of a room that smelled of sweat and soap, surrounded by the remnants of a public triumph. The contrast between them was almost symbolic. One forged in physical battle, dressed for comfort, skin marked by effort. The other polished and pristine, dressed for presentation, untouched by the chaos of the ring.

“What do you want, Melinda?” Glory asks, her own frustration beginning to show. “I mean, I seriously doubt that you came here just to pick a fight with me. And if you did, then you are just wasting your time. I have no desire to argue with you about anything right now.”

“There. That right there.” Melinda states coldly. “You just proved me right.”

“What the bloody hell are you talking about?”

For a long time I questioned if you still had it in you…that heart, that passion, that belief in who you are; and for a brief period last year you had me thinking that maybe there was a flicker of the old Braddock pride still burning deep down inside of you. Remember when you backed out of Taking Hold of the Flame? That made me proud. No one of YOUR stature should be forced to go the distance starting at number one in Taking Hold of the Flame just because that entitled brat Syren stuck her nose in your business. You stuck it to CHBK, to SCW, and every other ingrate who doubted you. You earned the world title match your own way. I had hoped that when you failed to capture the SCW World Title you would stick to that aggressive, ruthlessness that you brought you there. Instead you decided to be the good little girl and promise to earn another title shot the right way. Whoopee doo!” Melinda shakes her head. “It’s pathetic.”

“I didn’t quit Taking Hold of the Flame because I was too good to enter at number one. I quit Taking Hold of the Flame because I really did want to earn my title shot the old fashioned way. I viewed it as a challenge worthy of someone like me. And it was a challenge that I overcame.”

“You know something, mother…” Melinda smirks “... if you really wanted a challenge, you could take up the challenge of repairing this relationship.”

The words hit The British Bombshell lack a mack truck. It does genuinely bother Glory that her daughter seems to despise her. They used to be very close. Melinda looked up to her, she was her hero once upon a time, much like Glory looked up to her own father Glenn Braddock. But something has changed. Something has damaged this relationship in a big way. The British Bombshell wants to lay the blame squarely at the feet of Melinda’s fiance, Clyde Sutter. He was a bad influence upon her the first time they dated. Glory was eternally grateful to see them break up. Yet they are not only back together but engaged to be married. Glory is convinced that Clyde has somehow poisoned her mind.

“I want nothing more than to repair whatever damage has been to us, Mel. Believe me, I want to fix this, I miss what we once had.” She sighs and shakes her head. “But I am helpless to do anything unless you talk to me.”

“Oh I DO talk, I have spoken a great deal about this,” she points a finger at her mother “it’s YOU who won’t listen.”

“I listen to what you have to say, Mel, but none of it makes sense. You talk about how you’re the best Braddock, how you are a Third Generation Goddess.” Glory rolls her eyes. “Great catchphrases to plaster on some t-shirts or lunch boxes but it does me no good in terms of explaining what you think the problem is.”

“Maybe you didn’t spend enough time in England?” Melinda smirks.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I thought you went back to England, to our old homeplace, so you could try and find that old you, so that you could remember who you REALLY are…” Melinda shakes her head “...that was clearly a disaster because you came back the same pathetic person you were before you left.”

“I learned a great deal in my time back in England.” Glory states. “I changed, for the better, and quite frankly I think I did find myself. But if you don’t think so then maybe you should tell me, what am I missing? What do you think it means to be a Braddock?”

“It means we are BETTER than the rest of these idiots!” Melinda exclaims angrily. “You want to stop Syren? Why not do something about it yourself instead of just waiting for your turn? If you want a championship back around your waist, why are you waiting your turn? Do something about it. Make it happen. People of OUR stature should not have to wait in line. We should be HANDED the opportunities based on everything we have done for this business. Even Selena Frost gets it. Why don’t you get it?”

“Oh so that’s it?” Glory chuckles. “Mel, sweetheart, there is a thin line between confidence and arrogance. You have clearly lost track of that. Your grandfather knew how good he was, he knew he could beat anyone, but he was also humble enough to recognize that this sport is always about competition and challenges. Winning the championships are great but it means nothing if you take shortcuts to get there. It means even less if you get them handed to you. That’s why I fought like hell to EARN my title shot instead of taking the shortcut in Taking Hold of the Flame. That’s why I intend to earn another title shot that exact same way. That’s why I will gladly take on Kemal again in an ultimate submission match if he keeps yapping about it like a damn chihuahua. It’s a challenge worth taking. And yes, you have reason to be proud. Your grandfather WAS Britain’s Best wrestler, I AM the best wrestler in the world today, and you just may be a Third Generation Goddess. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Yes…” Melinda says.

“Good. Be proud of your heritage. But don’t let it go to your head because pride always comes before a fall. That is why I went back to London; I got too full of myself, I became too arrogant, and I needed to ground myself. That’s why I continue to seek out new challenges…because I need to keep myself reminded that I am not perfect, that there are still mountains out there worth climbing…”

A tense moment passes between mother and daughter. Glory Braddock hopes that something she said got through to the arrogant Melinda Braddock. A crack in Melinda’s exterior seems to indicate that maybe she did get through to her.

“So you want challenges, mom?”

“Always.”

“How about this one…enter that Underground Title invitational next week.”

“What? Why?”

“Because it is NOT your strength. In fact, it plays to your weaknesses.” Melinda smirks. “It would be THE PERFECT challenge for you, mom.”

“Wait…you called me mom, not mother…” Glory smiles “...so are we good now?”

“Getting there.” Melinda nods her head. “Seriously, though, it would be a serious challenge. You don’t even have to walk away with the title; just test yourself in that environment. And if you can even get just ONE title reign out of this, that would mean you won EVERY championship in the company. True Supreme.” She winks.

“You know something, Mel? I was not even going to show up next week, let alone participate in that, but I think you just sold me. It is a challenge…plus, if Kemal does manage to convince CHBK or the CEO to give him that ultimate submissions match, this Underground Gauntlet would be great prep. ONLY submissions count in an ultimate submissions, thus no disqualifications.”

“Exactly.” Melinda smirks. “See? I do have good ideas every once in awhile.”

Melinda Braddock turns and makes her exit. Glory had hoped that maybe this would end with a hug, but perhaps she and Melinda are not quite there yet. Still, they have made progress. And Glory now knows what she will do next week. She will challenge for the Underground Championship.

[Xander Valentine]

1 of 2: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1nNif...sp=sharing

[Braddock]

2 of 2
======

==========
February 14th, 2026
London, England
Off Camera
==========

The Braddock Wrestling School sat on a narrow London side street that most tourists would never bother walking down. The brick exterior was weathered and slightly darkened from years of rain, the sign above the entrance simple and practical rather than flashy. Inside, the building felt older than the name suggested. The hallway floors creaked in certain spots, and the faint scent of disinfectant mingled permanently with the smell of canvas, metal, and old sweat that had long since seeped into the bones of the place. The main training hall was wide but not polished. Fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, casting an honest white glow that left no shadows to hide in. The walls were painted a plain off white that had dulled over time, scuffed in places where equipment had brushed against them. At the center of the room stood the ring. It was full size, sturdy, and unmistakably built for real work rather than display. The apron bore the school’s name in bold black lettering that had cracked slightly along the folds. The ropes were tightly wound and wrapped in tape that had been replaced countless times. The turnbuckles were padded but worn, their corners softened by years of impact. Beneath the ring, thick black mats stretched outward, functional and slightly faded. The canvas itself carried faint stains and darker patches that told the story of drills, mistakes, victories, and long afternoons that stretched into evenings.

Glory Braddock stood inside the ring near one corner, her boots planted firmly against the canvas as she adjusted the tape around her wrists. She wore a fitted black athletic tank that hugged her frame without ornament, paired with dark wrestling shorts that allowed freedom of movement without distraction. Her boots were a deep charcoal color, laced tightly up her calves, the leather creased from years of use. Her long blonde hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, practical and secure, though a few strands had already loosened and brushed against her neck. Across from her stood Sophie O’Brian, rolling her neck slowly from side to side as she loosened up. She wore a deep forest green sports top that contrasted with her dark brunette hair, which was braided neatly down her back to keep it from interfering once they began. Her leggings were black and form fitting, the fabric matte and unadorned, tucked cleanly into her boots. Her boots were black as well but trimmed subtly in white along the laces, giving them a crisp edge. Her hands were already taped, the white wraps bright against her skin. Mark O’Brian stood a few steps away from them, leaning back briefly against the ropes before stepping forward again. He was taller than both women, his presence filling the ring in a different way. He wore a sleeveless dark gray athletic shirt that revealed broad shoulders and well defined arms, the fabric clinging lightly to his torso. His wrestling tights were black with a simple silver stripe running down the outer seam of each leg, understated but sharp. His boots were solid black, heavier in appearance than Sophie’s, the soles thick and grounded. His long black hair was tied back loosely, though it still brushed against his upper back. The faint beard along his jaw and the defined goatee at his chin gave his face a rugged edge, contrasting with the concentration in his eyes.

“I think you’re crazy.” Mark says.

“Crazy like a fox, you mean?” Glory says with a smirk on her face. “Seriously, this is precisely the kind of thing that my dad would have had me do.”

“For once I agree with The Missing Link over here.” Sophie remarks cooly, motioning to her half-brother Mark. “This sparring session you have cooked up is preposterous.”

“No, it’s perfect.” Glory remarks. “I am going to enter that Underground Title Open Invitational. So I need to be ready for anything. I need to be prepared for complete chaos. So many people will be in this bringing a variety of styles to the table.” She motions to Sophie and then to Mark. “You two represent basically the full spectrum of styles. Speed, technique, intelligence, power…”

“Obviously Mark does not bring intelligence to the table.” Sophie quips.

“...and on top of that, with so many people involved, the possibility of having to take on multiple opponents at once is high. So why not fight the greatest tag team I know? Total War!”

“Well when ya put it that way…” Mark starts to agree but Sophie then smacks him in the back of his head “....OWWW!”

“Your opinion is not needed you evolutionary mistake!” Sophie snaps. Then she turns to Glory. “Look, dear sister, your idea is indeed wise, and yes, if our father were alive he likely would have suggested such a course of action. BUT I also do not think our father would think you voluntarily entering yourself into that melee is a good idea.”

“It actually makes perfect sense.” Glory remarks, nodding her head. “I want to be challenged, what bigger challenge is there than placing myself into an environment where I am at my weakest and seeing if I can prevail? And on top of that, Kemal Yilmaz still wants to fight me in an ultimate submissions match. If that match ever does come to pass, this Underground Division will certainly help me prepare for a match where the ONLY WAY TO WIN is by submissions, hence no disqualifications.”

“You have beaten Kemal twice now.” Sophie holds up two fingers. “Don’t you think that perhaps he has learned his lesson?”

“You don’t follow The European Fiery Nation that much do you?” Glory smirks knowingly.

“I don’t think we’re gonna be able to talk her outta this, Sophie.” Mark says.

“I fear you are right.”

Mark stretched his arms across his chest, then rotated his shoulders, testing the space around him. The ropes dipped slightly under his weight when he leaned into them, then snapped back into place. His movements were slower than the women’s but no less precise, as though he were conserving energy rather than lacking it. When he looked at them, it was not casual. It was the look of someone preparing to collide with family and knowing that restraint would matter as much as strength. The air felt charged with anticipation, not loud or dramatic but steady and real. The ring ropes framed them against the worn walls. In this unpolished space, surrounded by history that did not need embellishment, they prepared to test one another, boots anchored, muscles warm, eyes sharp, ready to let the canvas speak for them.

Mark and Glory come together in a collar and elbow tie up. This doesn’t last very long before Sophie comes from behind and clips her leg, bringing The British Bombshell to her knees. Sophie kicks her in the ribs, stiff but not too stiff, just enough to knock her down. Mark goes for an elbow but Glory rolls out onto the apron.

“Hey! Bloody hell, what was that?!”

“You wanted to face Total War.” Sophie remarks cooly. “Two on one. Be careful what you wish for.”

Glory pokes Mark in the eyes and then grabs him by the head and drops down, hanging him neck first across the ring ropes. Sophie snickers in approval.

“That’s better…this is a no disqualification affair you are preparing for…so to hell with the rules.”

Glory grabs hold of Sophie and goes for a suplex to the outside but Sophie blocks. Mark comes to his sister’s aid and grabs hold of Glory. The half-siblings go for a suplex but Glory, using her great agility, lands on her feet. She chop blocks Mark’s legs, bringing him down to his knees. A knee strike knocks Mark down to the canvas.

“See? You don’t always have to use weapons to get ahead in the Underground.” Glory beams with a sense of pride. She spins around in time to spot her half-sister Sophie with that familiar lighter of hers, the one she uses to shoot her infamous fireball, The Scorched Earth Policy as she calls it. Glory flinches, bracing herself for the worst…

…but the fireball never comes. What does come, however, is laughter from Sophie O’Brian.

“You are correct, dear sister, weapons are not necessary, but LIMITING yourself by not using them is unwise. A cunning warrior will use everything at her disposal. If you limit yourself to just one method of attack, your enemy will know how to prepare for you.”

“So you think I should resort to weapons?” Glory sighs.

“I am suggesting that you learn how to wield them in case it becomes necessary. And considering the complete and utter chaos and anarchy that will be present on Breakdown for the Underground Championship, I imagine you WILL need it at some point.”

“You may be right.” Glory sighs. “Kimberly is in it and I know she will use weapons. The CEO has sent Polly on a mission to win that title and Polly has shown she has no problem using weapons. And that’s just confirmed entrants. Who knows who else might enter this thing?”

“Exactly.” Sophie says.

“So, uh,” Mark slowly and gingerly makes his way over “does this mean Glory wants us to hit her with chairs now?” Sophie smacks him in the back of his head. “OWWW!”

“No, we are NOT going to hit her with chairs, you ambivalent beast of burden!”

The British Bombshell chuckles. She enjoys spending time with Sophie and Mark O’Brian. These three grew up together. They were inseparable, the best of friends. They trained together. They made their professional wrestling debuts together. Little did she know that she and Sophie were sisters. Having them here with her again as support means the world to Glory Braddock.

“You know what’s funny? This isn’t even about the championship for me.”

“Oh?” Sophie arches her brow out of curiosity. “My Gloria, miss best in the world, doesn’t care about a title?”

“Don’t get me wrong, winning the Underground Title, even if just once during this whole debacle, would be incredible, as it would mean I held literally every title available to a wrestler in SCW. Technically I would have gone above and beyond just the Supreme Championship. But honestly? This is more about testing myself. I already know that I can outwrestle anyone. I already know I am one of the best submission wrestlers. I already know that I can survive against any number of wrestling styles as I have had to wrestle them all. But rarely have I voluntarily set foot into this kind of hardcore environment. Can I survive, or maybe even thrive, in an environment against some Underground greats?”

“If anyone can do it, Gloria, it is you.” Sophie smiles warmly. “You are one of the best to do this. You are the best of the three of us. I have no doubt that you will not only pass the test, you will WIN the Underground Championship.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Glory chuckles. “I’m glad someone believes in me.”

==========
On Camera
==========

The training hall at the Braddock Wrestling School was dark except for the lights directly above the ring. They cast a hard white glow downward, leaving the corners of the building in shadow and turning the squared circle into a stark island of brightness in the middle of the room. Inside the ring, the canvas was barely visible beneath what covered it. Steel chairs lay scattered in careless angles, some folded, some twisted open, their legs jutting upward like broken limbs. The metal reflected the overhead light in sharp glints that hurt the eyes if stared at too long. A few chairs bore dents deep enough to tell their own stories, seats warped inward, backs slightly bent from repeated impact. Barbed wire bats rested among them, their wooden handles scuffed and darkened from use. The coils of wire wrapped around each barrel caught the light in cruel, glittering lines. Tiny barbs protruded at irregular intervals, small and wicked, designed to tear rather than bruise. One bat had a faint stain near the tip, dried and brown, impossible to ignore once noticed.

Near the center of the ring, several small piles of thumbtacks had been poured directly onto the canvas. Thousands of tiny silver points faced upward in chaotic clusters, each one no larger than a fingernail, each one capable of turning a single misstep into agony. The light above them made the piles shimmer almost beautifully, like scattered jewelry, until the mind caught up with what they truly were. Closer to the ropes, shards of glass had been spread in uneven patches. Some pieces were jagged and long, others crushed into smaller fragments. They sparkled faintly, translucent and deceptive. A few larger shards still bore the faint green tint of broken bottles. The canvas beneath them was scratched and marked, faint streaks where glass had already been dragged or ground under pressure.

And in the middle of all of it sat “The British Bombshell” Glory Braddock. She was seated cross legged on a relatively clear section of canvas that had been left open, though not by much. Steel chairs surrounded her within arm’s reach. Thumbtacks lay only a foot away from where her boots rested. A barbed wire bat lay diagonally behind her, close enough that she could reach back and touch it without leaning far. She wore her ring gear. Royal purple tights fitted securely against her hips. A matching top that left her arms and shoulders bare under the harsh lights. Her boots were laced tightly, dark leather creased along the ankles, the soles resting flat against the mat. Her wrists were taped, white against her skin, though the tape had already begun to loosen slightly at the edges.Her long blonde hair fell freely around her shoulders and down her back, not tied back this time. Her expression was calm, almost distant. Not angry. Not excited. Focused.

“I know what you’re thinking… ‘Glory Braddock, what the hell are you thinking? Why are you going to risk your body, your well being, and potentially years of your career in one of the most insane matches thought of by Supreme Championship Wrestling? A gauntlet for the SCW Underground Championship?’” Braddock shrugs her shoulders. “Well that’s the million dollar question, isn’t it? And before anyone tries to say it…Polly, you and your gal pals Colleen and Aisling use this same song and dance every time we meet, maybe because you cannot think of anything better to say, and you are in this match so I expect to hear it again…NO, I am NOT doing this just to win a championship.” She motions to herself. “I mean hell, do I look like the kind of girl who wants to be champion if an insane chaotic division like the Underground on a daily basis? That’s my cousin Kimberly’s playground, not mine.” Braddock shakes her head.

“And let me shoot down theory number two while I’m at it…NO, I am NOT doing this to help my family. Kimberly Williams is a big girl and if she wants to be Underground Champion she can win it on her own. Quite frankly, if I know Kim the way I think I do, I know she would NOT want me to help her cheat her way to the title. Kimmy may not want to admit it but she is like me deep down, she is a competitor, she wants to win the right way.”

“So that brings me to the real reason why I am throwing my name into this chaotic match. Once upon a time I called myself the best in the world and to this day I do consider myself to be one of the very best wrestlers walking God’s green earth. But one thing my father taught me is that you can never truly call yourself the best unless you are constantly tested, unless you continue to take on they very best the business has to offer, and you prove you are the best by taking on those challenges and overcoming them. This is what I have been about since last year when I backed out of Taking Hold of the Flame. I wanted to prove I was the best by taking on the best. I wanted to face the greatest of challenges and prove my worth by overcoming them. But after beating Kemal last week on Breakdown I came to realize something disturbing…” she pauses briefly.

“...I had grown content. I was happy thinking that I was the best, thinking that I was taking on the very best wrestlers in the world, when in reality there were challenges I had yet to face. Now our beloved CEO may think that the style of wrestling you find in the Underground isn’t a legitimate style, and some may agree, but they are wrong. That is a legitimate stye, even if it is a style that happens to play to my weaknesses. If I want to truly say that I am one of the best wrestlers in the world, I need to be able to say that I have taken on all challenges from all parts of the wrestling world. I have said that I wanted to take on new challenges and there is no greater challenge than placing myself at risk in an environment where I am at my weakest.” The British Bombshell slowly stands up, carefully so as to avoid stepping on any of the sharp objects surrounding her.

“So if I want to be that person who never backs down from a challenge, then why wouldn’t I take on arguably THE greatest challenge for me personally, a match that I damn sure am not favored, in an environment that is completely and entirely foreign to me?” She laughs. “It actually makes perfect sense when you think about it. And you know what? It may not be about the championship but I may just very well walk out of Cleveland as the new SCW Underground Champion. I may go above and beyond Supreme Championship status by winning literally every title currently available to a SCW wrestler right now. And if I DO become Underground Champion, then I will carry it with pride, I will defend it with honor, and I will bravely take on anyone who wants to take a shot at me.” She points a finger at the camera.

“That includes you, Kemal. You want a piece of me so damn bad. You want me in a submissions match. Well, mate, maybe we’ll meet up one more time in this Underground war? And maybe I will make this thing between us even more interesting by WINNING the Underground Title? You DO love that style, right mate?” She nods her head. “I know you do. In fact, I am willing to bet you will find your way into this match. If we do meet, best of luck, because you will need it. And that goes to anyone else who throws their name into the hat. Good luck, you will need it, because I am Glory Braddock, and I test myself against the very best, I take on the toughest challenges, and this is one challenge I intend to pass…with or without the Underground Title, I GUARANTEE that I will pass this test.” She shuts her eyes.

“Sic Semper Tyrannis.”

[The Matt]

2 of 2
=====

==========
February 15th, 2026
Boston, Massachusetts
Off Camera
==========

The living room of the mansion felt especially large in the late afternoon, when the sun began its slow descent and light filtered through the tall windows in long golden stretches. The ceilings rose high above, crowned with ornate molding that caught shadows in delicate patterns. Pale stone floors reflected the fading daylight, their polished surfaces cool and immaculate. Everything in the room spoke of intention and expense. The sweeping staircase at the far end curved upward with elegant restraint. The massive fireplace stood unlit, its carved mantle heavy with decorative vases and carefully arranged books that no one ever seemed to read. It was a room designed to impress visitors, not to comfort the people who lived inside it.

Kimberly Williams sat alone on one of the oversized sofas near the center of the space. The cushions swallowed her slightly, though she leaned forward instead of relaxing into them, elbows resting on her knees, hands loosely clasped. She wore faded blue jeans and a simple gray t shirt that hung loosely against her frame. The fabric was soft and worn from countless washes. Her feet were bare, tucked slightly beneath the edge of the sofa, toes pressed into the cool marble floor whenever she shifted. She was clutching her beloved plush penguin pal, Wasley, close to her chest as if he were a security blanket. In a way he was; he is one of the few close confidants The Woman Scorned still has. Her red hair was unstyled, falling naturally around her shoulders in uneven waves. The silence pressed in around her. The mansion had its own kind of quiet, heavy and expansive, different from the warmth of a smaller home. Even the faint ticking of a distant clock seemed amplified. Kimberly’s gaze drifted across the room without focus. She had not turned on the television. She had not opened a book. The sunlight crept slowly across the floor, marking time in a way she could not ignore.

There was a tiredness about her that went beyond physical exhaustion. Her shoulders sagged in a way that did not suit her usual restless energy. The spark that typically flickered behind her eyes was dimmed, replaced by something heavier and more distant. She ran a hand through her hair absently, fingers lingering at her scalp as if grounding herself in the sensation. For a long moment, nothing moved except the shifting light. Then she heard it. The unmistakable sound of the front door opening echoed faintly through the entry hall. It was a subtle noise, the quiet turn of a handle followed by the low swing of heavy wood. In such a vast space, even small sounds carried weight. Kimberly’s head lifted immediately. Her body stiffened before her mind had fully processed what it meant. She had not been expecting anyone. Her jaw tightened as footsteps followed, measured and unhurried, echoing against marble and stone. The rhythm was deliberate. Calm. Confident. Anger rose before she even saw him.

Lucian Floreschu stepped into view from the hallway that connected the foyer to the living room. He moved as though he belonged there, as though crossing the threshold required no permission. He was impeccably dressed, as always. A tailored dark suit fit him with precision, the jacket lying perfectly against his shoulders. Beneath it, a crisp white shirt gleamed clean and unwrinkled, collar sharp, cuffs immaculate. A silk tie in a deep muted tone rested neatly at his throat, tied flawlessly. His shoes were polished to a quiet shine, reflecting the faint gold of the setting sun. His dark hair was styled with care, not a strand out of place. His expression was composed, unreadable, almost serene. He carried no visible urgency, no hint of apology for his arrival. The space seemed to bend subtly around him, acknowledging his presence in the same way it acknowledged its own grandeur.

“What the hell are you doing here?!”

Kimberly rose slowly from the sofa, her bare feet pressing firmly against the marble. The simplicity of her attire contrasted sharply with his immaculate presentation. She felt underdressed, but not embarrassed. If anything, the difference only sharpened her irritation. She folded her arms across her chest instinctively, posture rigid, chin lifting just slightly. The warmth of the late afternoon light now felt suffocating instead of comforting. The room that had moments ago seemed too large and too empty suddenly felt tense, charged with something unspoken and volatile.

“What’s wrong, Kimberly? Are you not happy to see your dear uncle?” Lucian says, chuckling. He may finds this humorous but Kim is enraged.

Kimberly’s eyes locked onto his, and the heaviness that had weighed her down only moments before shifted into something hotter and sharper. Whatever quiet sadness had lingered in the room retreated beneath the surge of anger that accompanied his presence.

“You act like this is funny but it isn’t.” Kim shakes her head. “You are doing everything you can to ruin my life.”

“So I take it you don’t like this exquisite mansion I gave you?”

“Don’t play dumb. You are isolating me from my friends and family. Tommy isn’t here, he doesn’t want to be here, because of what you are trying to turn me into. You are trying to turn me into something I’m not.”

“Crying and whining doesn’t really fit your style, Kimberly.” Lucian shakes his head. “You are the type who takes action. I am giving you the opportunity to have unlimited power and resources at your disposal. Wealth unimaginable. You are going to be my heir, Kimberly. I have already written you into my will. Upon my death everything in the Floreschu empire becomes yours. All of the resources and connections, all of that power…” he smirks “...do you really need your so-called friends and family?”

“Stop it.”

“That fat slob of a boyfriend…”

“I said stop.”

“Your bitch of a mother.”

“Stop.”

“That whore of a sister…”

That was the last straw. Kimberly takes Lucian down with a double leg take down, his back hitting hard on the floor. Kim mounts him and begins to rain down right hands until he starts bleeding from the nose. Lucian doesn’t panic; instead he starts laughing. The laughing only further infuriates Kim and she reaches into her pocket and produces a knife that she puts to his neck.

“There she is!” Lucian laughs. “There is the REAL Kimberly Williams! The monster my sister worked so hard to create! My sister’s creation, YOU kept her chained up, YOU pretended that she didn’t exist, but now here she is! Right before my very eyes! Go ahead, Kimberly, my NIECE,” the word niece gets under her skin, but Kim tries hard to restrain herself “do it. Kill me. It will be the final nail in your coffin. There will be no going back, no reforming, and no rehabilitation. You would be proving myself, Emma, and Sorinah right. In killing me you would be admitting that you are nothing more than a monster.”

Williams hesitates. She wants to kill him; and it would be so easy. She killed Emma. She killed Sorinah. She killed Marie’s abusive ex-boyfriend. What’s one more body to the list? But Kim knows that she has tried hard to change, to rehabilitate herself. If she takes Lucian’s life, she would be proving him right. So she reluctantly drops the knife and then slowly gets off of him. Lucian chuckles again as he pulls himself back up to his feet.

“So you don’t have it in you?”

“You’re wrong about me.”

“No, I am absolutely right about you.” He states. “I saw it in your eyes…the hate. The anger. The desire to kill. Do it, Kimberly. Prove me right. Do it!”

“No.”

“DO IT!”

Suddenly a loud gunshot rings out in the house. Lucian falls to the floor, limp, and blood starts coming out of his head, staining the floor. Kimberly is stunned as she watches the life wash away from his body. What the hell just happened? Williams turns around to see her own mother, Angelica Jones, stepping into the living room wielding a gun. Kim’s eyes grow wide with shock.

“Mom…how…”

“You’re not the only one in the family who knows how to sneak around and break into people’s homes.” Angelica says as she places the gun down on a nearby table. Angelica walks over and embraces her daughter in a tight hug. Despite herself and this tense situation, Kim cannot stop herself from crying.

“Did Marie tell you?”

“No, your sister never told me anything.” Angelica says. “I suspected Lucian was up to no good from the beginning. His sister stole you from me. Did you really think I would just take him at his word? I did research of my own.” She shakes her head. “Lucian isn’t as smart as he wants to think. I figured out pretty easily that he was blackmailing you. So I snuck in today so I could hear for myself what was going on.”

“I hate to say it, mom, but…” Kim lowers her head in shame “...he may be right about me. He had pushed me close to the edge. I wanted to kill him. Had he pushed me any further, I probably would have killed him.”

“I know.” Angelica nods her head. “That’s why I’m here…so that you wouldn’t have to bear that burden, so that you wouldn’t have to take another life and have that soul on your conscience.”

Kimberly Williams was nearly broken tonight by Lucian Floreschu. She grimly realizes that had her mother not intervened and killed him herself, then Kimberly may have taken his life, Kimberly may have once again given in to temptation. She may no longer be in fear of blackmail or being exposed by Lucian. She no longer is going to be controlled by him, but the reality is that she knows that Lucian is at least partially right; that dark creation, that monster she once was, it still exists, and The Woman Scorned, if she is not careful, could easily find herself falling back into that side of herself, a side that even scares herself.

==========
February 18th, 2026
Cleveland, Ohio
On Camera
==========

The evening sky over downtown Cleveland had settled into that deep blue hour just before full dark, when the last traces of sunset cling faintly to the horizon and the city lights begin to take over. The bright signage of Rocket Mortgage FieldHouse glowed boldly against the dimming sky, its illuminated panels reflecting off nearby glass and steel. The air carried a crisp edge, cool enough to sting the lungs slightly with each breath. Standing just off to the side of the main entrance plaza was Kimberly Williams, and she looked as though she had been dropped into the scene by pure chaotic energy. She was dressed in the simplest way imaginable, almost aggressively casual against the polished arena backdrop. A loose black t-shirt hung off her frame, slightly oversized, her jeans were well worn, light blue with natural creases at the knees and thighs, hugging her hips comfortably without any effort at style. The hems were frayed just enough to suggest she had owned them forever. On her feet were scuffed sneakers, the laces uneven, one tied tighter than the other as though she had done it while distracted. Her red hair was completely unbothered by vanity. It spilled around her shoulders in unruly waves, catching the glow of the arena lights and turning almost copper in places.

Clutched tightly against her chest was an oversized penguin plushie, soft and slightly lopsided from affection. A small tag near its wing read “Wasley” in thick marker, the name written with enthusiastic imperfection. Kimberly held her beloved and deadly pal with both arms as though it were both a prized possession and an accomplice in whatever mischief she might be planning. Her fingers curled into the plush fabric, squeezing it absentmindedly, occasionally lifting it slightly as if showing it the world. The contrast between her tough, tomboyish presentation and the enormous stuffed penguin was absurd in the most deliberate way.

“June of 2024 was the last time I held the SCW Underground Championship.” Kimberly says in a stoic, calm tone, which is eerily odd for a woman as eccentric and chaotic as Kimmy. “And since then, sure, I have occasionally went after other targets…indulged myself with the Adrenaline Division. Tried to become World Champion. But even during those times when it appeared as if my attention was elsewhere, the fact remains that my focus had never left from my one true goal, my one true passion in life…winning back the SCW Underground Championship.” The stoic calm finally gives way to a manic grin from The Woman Scorned. She looks down at her penguin and starts talking to it, almost half-expecting a response.

“Oh they tried to keep me away, didn’t they Wasley? They tried everything from multiple chamber matches, Colleen’s big butt fifty thousand times, most recently Polly’s dumbass thirty thousand times, they tried distracting me with the Adrenaline Title, they tried distracting me with the World Title, and most recently that Don Corleone reject Franky D is trying everything within his power to keep me away from my one precious prize, my Underground Championship. And y’know, Not So Nice Mr. D, at first I didn’t understand why you hated me so much. I didn’t get the prejudice. I mean, I am the number one merch seller in this company. The fans, or my Kimmymaniacs as I call them, absolutely adore me. Between me selling tickets and my merch selling out, I put money in that stupid ass pocket of yours. Why would you want to get rid of one of your most popular stars?” She taps herself on the head.

“Then it hit me! Last week on Breakdown it finally dawned on me…” she points a finger at the camera “...you hate the Underground Championship, you hate the Underground Division. You would like to see it done away with. So of course you would hate me and want to get rid of me because, let’s face it, I MADE THE UNDERGROUND DIVISION! I MADE THE UNDERGROUND CHAMPIONSHIP!” She cackles manically. “Well, at least this current version. In the past names like Rachel Foxx and Brittany Lohan made this title. Then it was brought back intended for Jordan Majors but I have a habit of upending the best laid plans of mice and men. I took that title meant for Jordan and made it mine. I could have slinked away back into hiding after losing it to Lucas Knight but I refused to die. Instead I kept fighting, I won it back again and again. I revitalized and revolutionized this championship. I did something that no one previously ever did and no one has done since…I got the Underground Championship defended in the main event of a pay per view alongside the World Title. I gave PRESTIGE to a title that most thought was worthless, including you Fatso Franky. I would win that championship FIVE TIMES, tying the record currently held by Rachel Foxx.” Kim motions to the arena behind her.

“Tomorrow night, chaos will reign supreme as the Underground Title is decided and I guarantee that I will do anything and everything within my power and ability to finally break that record, make myself a six time…or more, depending on how many title changes there are…champion. After tomorrow is over there will no longer be any doubt as to who made the Underground Title what it is today and god damn it you are looking at her. And that also happens to be the reason you want to get rid of me. Right, Franky Doo? That’s why you are sending that whore Polly after me? You know, the bitch who is so damned lame that she has to shove her head up your ass to get any opportunities since she cannot earn any on her own merit. The same Polly who cannot read or understand a word of spoken English because despite my explaining it in words so simplistic that a rock could understand, she still somehow thinks that I am a proud Jones using my Jones influence to get ahead. Newsflash, dummy, my last name is Williams. My family actually tried to blacklist me from the business for the first few years of my career. So go ahead with your dumbass narrative because it makes no sense.” Kim smirks nastily.

“THIS is the person you’re sending after me, Franky? Quite honestly you should have backed some other horse because she cannot and will not get the job done. The fact that you are backing her in tomorrow night’s chaos is sad and pathetic. It shows how desperate you are. You know, just like I know, just like everyone else on this roster knows, that the Underground Division NEEDS Kimberly Williams, it NEEDS the Queen of the Death Match, and if I am not around, then it becomes oh so much easier for you to get rid of it, to just nice and easily sweep it under the rug. You want to get rid of the Underground Division because you have to control everything, don’t you Franky? And the Underground Division is something you cannot control.” She laughs.

“If we’re being totally honest, that’s what really pisses you off about the match CHBK booked. You don’t want me to become Underground Champion but the mathematical odds of me leaving with the gold are not very good. You should be thrilled that I have such a high mountain to climb in order to take back what is rightfully mine. Yet you’re pissed off not because I have the opportunity but because you have no control. NO ONE in this match tomorrow night has control because the match itself is steeped in pure and unadulterated chaos. Chaos cannot be reasoned with, you cannot negotiate with it, chaos just happens. There is no such thing as controlled chaos. This match is my wheelhouse, quite literally. Not only is it pure chaos but it is very similar to the match of my creation a couple years ago when I won Trios. We all remember how THAT worked out don’t we?” Williams smirks knowingly.

“I built my career and reputation off of chaos, and I am perfectly content with letting everything ride on the outcome of chaos once again tomorrow night on Breakdown in Cleveland, Ohio. I am content because I am an agent of chaos and I understand that with chaos sometimes you win, sometimes you don’t, but chaos is always fair. You hate it because you cannot control it. All you can do is sit back and hope that your bimbo bitch Polly or ANYONE ELSE on the roster can get the job done and keep the Underground Title away from me!” Williams shakes her finger at the camera.

“Oh but this is the Underground and I THRIVE in this environment. I THRIVE when my back is against the wall but chaos is reigning supreme. So get down on your knees and pray, you and everyone else on the roster should get down and PRAY because the Queen of the Death Match is coming to take her pound of flesh and maim anyone who stands in her way!”

[Corner G]

Introducing...

[Chris Lawler]

The Narrowing Path

[Jay Gold]

Part 1 of 2.



Season 7 / Episode 27 / Too Much (Part 5 - The Workhorse)

[Wisteria Waltz]

OOC: Just want to clarify that I'm only entering Amelia Nevado into this match, so this RP is solely an Amelia effort.
----------------------------------

“Always be ready to compete. What I was taught. What I know I should do.”

A small part of Amelia Nevado was regretting those words.

Another part hated herself for falling back on that in the first place, as if she was back under her parents' thumbs all over again.

And yet, another part couldn't ignore the opportunity that now presented itself to her... and perhaps that one scared her most of all, because this felt like unfamiliar territory.

The setup was nothing new to her. A show-long marathon of pure chaos, operating with Underground Rules and championship gold as the prize. She and Luz had both been through this song and dance before... three years ago, when Kim Williams had used her Trios contract to invoke something similar. Had they succeeded in winning their first set of Tag Titles months earlier than they actually did, they would have had no choice but to participate to defend their newly-won gold. That didn't turn out to be the case, but as much as they had issues with the idea, they gave it their best shot anyway.

'And Luz ended up outshining you on that night, remember?'

Amelia growled at the reminder from that voice in her head that seemed all too eager to embrace the haughty attitude she always despised having to display when she was younger.

It wasn't wrong, though... Amelia had only managed to score two falls on that night while Luz had netted three, and had Kim not intentionally set the rules so that she automatically won the Underground Title by scoring a single fall, Luz would have had her first taste of singles gold so much sooner than she ultimately did.

She shrugged off the trip down memory lane, though, reminding herself of what followed that night. Kim had given Luz a shot at the title and proved, at least to The Light In The Darkness, that she truly did earn the right to be champion, and it wasn't long after that when Amelia found herself in the tournament to decide a brand new U.S. Champion.

That tournament seemed like a lifetime ago now... the last time she had a shot at singles gold until she cashed in her own Trios contract last year and gave her all towards trying to become World Champion.

'The last title opportunity you properly earned,' her 'perfect' self teased her from within.

Amelia huffed, tired of literally having this argument with herself. Yeah, there were semantics about using a contract to get a World Title shot, but she had intentionally waited until the last possible moment so she could feel like she'd earned the opportunity she was using it on, especially when the fact that her Trios win was forever tainted still burned in the pit of her soul.

She knew why that bothered her so much, though... why that nagging voice in her head just wouldn't let it go, why it was even questioning the path she was about to embark on.

It was all a path her parents would have disapproved of, and deep down, she was struggling harder and harder to justify that she'd truly earned the opportunity she was about to take.

This time around, though, there wouldn't be multiple titles up for grabs and she'd only have to finish in a certain place to lay claim to gold for herself at long last. There weren't certain members of the roster that were required to compete and would only cross her path if they chose to do so. It was only the Underground Title... a pin or submission at any point over whoever was holding the title would forever etch her name into the history books as an Underground Champion.

'How pathetic that you could exploit this to technically match Luz in singles title reigns in just one night,' her inner voice taunted her once more.

“That's not the goal and you know it!” she snapped at herself.

It was a couple of days until this Breakdown would emanate from Cleveland, Ohio, and while neither member of The Light In The Darkness was officially booked, Amelia just couldn't sit still and let a chance to step in the ring and finally prove herself pass her by. That was why she had secured permission to step into Huntington Bank Field, the home of the Cleveland Browns, and was currently alternating between full sprints and cooldown jogs up and down the stands.

She wasn't wrong about what she'd told herself: her goal wasn't to simply game the system and rack up a ton of short title reigns in one night just to match Luz in number. Quality over quantity was always what both halves of the couple strived for in the ring... that was why they always pushed themselves to try and have each subsequent title reign top the last, and it was why her one and only singles title reign in SCW still bothered her so much after all these years. A single TV Title reign for Amelia Nevado, ended in only 29 days... compared to Luz's own run with the belt, not to mention her two previous U.S. Title reigns all lasting almost 100 days each...

“I need to keep pushing myself...” she hissed between breaths. “I need to prove I can last a whole show... a true ironwoman feat...”

As Amelia pushed herself into another sprint, she knew what her true goal was by throwing herself into this chaos. It wasn't just about being the last one to hold the Underground Title and finally have singles gold to her name once more in hopes of putting this stupid idea of her being the weak link to rest once and for all. No... in her mind, if she really wanted to make a statement, show the world what she's capable of and prove that she's at least on an equal level to Luz and always has been this whole time, her best bet was to be the first to secure a fall and then prove she could survive the entire show with everyone hunting her, becoming the one and only Underground Champion this night would crown. If she did that, then maybe...

“Woo! Go Ames!”

Amelia faltered only briefly in her sprint down the steps, gaze snapping to the source of the cheering. Sure enough, Luz had claimed one of the seats near the bottom of the steps, right where she'd left her bag and water, and while she could pick up on the wariness hidden in her wife's support, the mere sight of Luz caused her heart to ache in ways that had nothing to do with how long she'd been out here pushing her cardio beyond its limits.

On one hand, it both touched and hurt her to see Luz still excitedly supporting her even after Amelia had been so distant and snippy lately.

On the other, Luz's mere presence only frustrated her more by reminding her of the unintentional gap between them she was struggling to close, even if that was hardly Luz's fault.

'She's only here to pity you,' her inner self claimed.

Amelia tried to shrug it off as she sprinted full speed down every step, attempting to narrow her thoughts down to a single one she'd latched onto ever since CHBK had announced this chaos as a means of motivation: Luz had succeeded where she had failed in becoming United States Champion, so maybe now it was her turn to succeed where Luz had failed and become Underground Champion.

Maybe then, she'd finally earn the same respect and recognition everyone was more than happy to give Luz.

“Looking good, mi amor,” Luz smiled gently as she applauded her wife when Amelia reached the bottom of the steps and grabbed her water bottle to rehydrate.

“What are you doing here, Lulu?” Amelia asked, unable to keep the bitter bite out of her voice that clearly caused Luz to flinch.

“Supporting the woman I love,” Luz pointed out, as if it wasn't already obvious. “Also wanted to make sure you're not pushing yourself too hard...”

“I'm fine,” Amelia bit back.

“And how long have you been out here running without a proper break?” Luz pressed. “And I don't mean quick water breaks, I mean a proper rest period.”

Amelia turned her gaze towards the football field below, knowing that would tell Luz all she needed to know. Pushing herself too hard... she knew it was a terrible habit she still struggled to break, and Luz could sympathize because she shared that issue herself, the both of them notorious for being way too hard on themselves when the setbacks began mounting. In Amelia's case, though, it had only been getting worse lately, and she knew Luz would consider herself a terrible partner if she hadn't noticed it. This wasn't simply a holdover from the days where her parents would push her beyond her breaking point until she either flawlessly succeeded or literally passed out from exhaustion, this was pushing herself exactly as hard as Aleister and Ophelia did for so many years, and she mentally cussed herself out for letting herself fall this far mentally that all of this felt necessary.

“Amelia, I'm sorry if this is getting on your nerves now, but I can't help but worry about you,” Luz said as gently as she could. Out of the corner of her eye, Amelia caught Luz reaching for her hands to try and gently stroke them, like she usually did to help ground her, but she hesitated, as if she was afraid to touch her own wife without explicit permission.

It was an image that twisted her heart in painful ways she hadn't experienced in a very long time.

“I mean it when I say you're the most talented wrestler I know,” Luz continued firmly. “We've gone through these rough patches before, and we've always bounced back. I know you're good enough to turn things around and kick so much butt in that ring. I just... I don't want to see you destroy yourself trying to force it. I mean... wanting to take part in this thing to try and become Underground Champion? I truly don't mean any offense when I say this Ames, but neither one of us is really too well-suited for that kind of environment outside of the occasional big match with such a stipulation.”

'I hate to admit it, but she's got a point,' the inner Amelia couldn't resist adding her own two cents. 'You're a wrestler, born of the most prestigious bloodline this sport has ever seen... not some filthy trash goblin.'

“Piss off...” Amelia growled, nails digging into her palm once she saw the movement that indicated Luz had flinched back once again. She couldn't stop herself from letting out a frustrated sigh. “I'm sorry, querida. I just... I'm just so tired of it all. Not being given the same respect you get when we've both worked ourselves to the bone trying to help carry SCW on our backs, somehow being overlooked for opportunities and being told I'm trying too hard when I attempt anything to carve my own path. Yeah, I know this isn't my usual comfort zone... but it wasn't the last time we did this either, just as it wasn't when you made Kim prove she deserved to hold that title even when you outscored her all those years ago. But it's a challenge I still want to try and overcome, just to keep proving what we both already know: that I'm just as good as you are solo in that ring.”

'You should be better than her-' that arrogant voice in her head tried to ruin the moment, but Amelia harshly bit her bottom lip to immediately distract her brain with the sudden pain she'd inflicted on herself. Thankfully, Luz seemed to have missed this, as Amelia was already uncomfortable at having to resort to such an act, no matter how small, just to get her own thoughts to leave her alone for a moment.

“I just don't want to see you get hurt,” Luz admitted, and the raw fear in her tone seemed to finally wrap itself around Amelia and anchor her in place. She knew exactly what Luz meant... it had nothing to do with the usual risks that came with being a wrestler, heightened in an environment like the one Amelia would soon find herself entering, but rather, the idea of letting all of this consume her to the point where she pushed herself way too hard and physically and mentally destroyed herself, perhaps even beyond repair this time.

'Just as I don't want to keep hurting you...' Amelia thought, trying to open her mouth to put a voice to those words, but for some reason, she couldn't get her jaw to cooperate.

'But you already have the perfect tool to do just that, don't you?' the 'perfect' Amelia felt inclined to chime in, and that intrusive thought ripped through Amelia like a bolt of lightning as she realized exactly what had stopped her from making an admission she knew she needed to make for the sake of her own sanity.

She thought back to when they were in Phoenix, forcing her brain to ignore the frustrating reminder of her unsatisfying 'win' over Clyde Sutter. She still didn't want to fully believe it yet without undeniable proof, but it made her skin crawl how obvious it seemed that Paul, the overenthusiastic fan who had fallen under their protection after being targeted by The Empire, was actually an undercover spy serving the whims of the deranged cult. Too many inconsistencies were lining up now: the fact that these religious zealots were after some seemingly random guy for reasons even he didn't seem to know, the drastic decrease in what little Empire resurgence had emerged in over half a year the moment Paul was being protected by their little found family... it even explained why some of Paul's comments felt like they went beyond just being a very overzealous and slightly misguided fan wanting her and Luz to be the absolute best and felt almost like the gaslighting they'd come to know painfully well from some of The Empire's more dangerous members.

She wanted, more than anything, to put a voice to this information, to tell Luz and everyone else about Paul's true intentions. It would help explain why The Empire's members seemed to stay one step ahead of any efforts to track down their hidden base if Paul had glimpses of Avery, Darius and Evie's tracking plans. It would explain why Caleb's sudden phone call to Luz that set her off seemed so perfectly timed, especially if it gave Paul a window to slip away and insert himself into the conversation Darius had tried to have with her around that same time.

She knew what was holding her back, though... for as much as she struggled against her own frustrations towards her wife in regards to their SCW careers and how things had played out thus far, she knew that revealing this bombshell discovery could cause more harm than good.

On paper, the whole ploy seemed designed to take advantage of Luz's unyielding kindness and ability to try and see the good in everyone. What better way to slip a spy into their ranks than by inventing a scenario where Luz would feel compelled to help someone in need, right? If Luz knew her kindness had been taken advantage of that easily after it had done nothing but mold her into the brilliant light of everyone's lives she tried to be, Amelia feared the kind of emotional damage that would cause.

There was also the fact that she would have to convince everyone that there was truth to this and she wasn't just blowing a gasket at Paul for testing boundaries... normally, such doubt would seem absurd as these were the people closest to her, but not only had she been doing herself no favors lately with how frustrated and moody she'd become while trying to get anything going in her favor in SCW, but this was another issue that relied on how Luz would react to this revelation without solid proof, no matter how much Paul was starting to wear on everyone's patience.

'Pathetic, isn't it?' that nagging voice in her head just had to speak up once more. 'You have the perfect chance to weed out this spy now and actually do something useful for once, and you're hesitating all because you don't want Luz's precious little feelings to get hurt. Even outside the ring, she's so important that you're left to spiral and it's a secondary concern to her feelings. So much for never showing weakness...'

“It's more complicated than that and you know it...” Amelia huffed under her breath in response. Unfortunately, she'd completely forgotten that she'd just been standing there in pure silence for a long minute, not even responding to Luz's raw admission, all because her thoughts had been spiraling over what she knew and was afraid to share purely out of fear for how her wife would react to it.

The conflicted look in Luz's eyes told the story... she was completely unaware that Amelia had seemingly fallen to the point of literally arguing with someone acting like her past self within her own head, so she was left to interpret her concerns for her beloved being 'more complicated' than just admitting that she was genuinely afraid and worried about her.

“Regardless...” Luz tried to carry on anyway, but there was a noticeable crack in her voice, as if she was fighting to hold back tears. “I swear to you, on my mask, that I won't get involved in this, Amelia. I already have a title... this one is yours to earn, on your own, and I really do hope you walk out of this city on Thursday night finally able to call yourself a singles champion too. You've got this...”

The fading enthusiasm that Luz had been clinging to all the way up to this point felt like a knife to the heart, and by the time Amelia fully snapped out of the shock it had left her with, Luz was already leaving the stadium so she could resume her workout alone. Amelia reached out to her, started to call for her, but her mouth once again refused to cooperate... almost as if she were a puppet all over again, only this time, the strings were being pulled by the intrusive thoughts corroding her mind that were clearly winning that war.

'You see that?' the other Amelia prodded from her thoughts. 'You hurt her feelings by keeping things from her, just as you know you're going to hurt everyone keeping such valuable information about The Empire and what they've done to yourself. No matter how many times you claim otherwise to anyone who will listen, you're no hero... you've barely changed at all from the person you were raised to be.'

“I'm a terrible person...” Amelia finally choked out in response after a long moment.

As the Cleveland sky shifted and rain suddenly began pouring down on her, no matter how much the thought made her want to puke... she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it was true.

And perhaps that realization hurt worst of all.