Kemal Yilmaz vs. Kimberly Williams vs. David Striker vs. Asher Hayes

[Kemal Yilmaz]

SCW Underground Championship

2 RP Limit for singles

3500 Word Per RP

Deadline: 11:59:59 pm ET Saturday, August 8, 2026

[The Matt]

1 of 2
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August 1st, 2026
Baltimore, Maryland
Off Camera
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The hum of the yellow neon sign outside the Waffle House bled through the fogged glass windows, casting a warm, greasy glow over the wet asphalt of the parking lot. Baltimore in the late evening was thick with humidity, the kind of heavy atmosphere that smelled of harbor water, diesel exhaust, and fried onions. Inside, the restaurant was a small sanctuary of sizzling griddles, clinking heavy ceramic mugs, and the familiar, low-decibel hum of late-night chatter. Kimberly Williams, The Woman Scorned, pushed through the glass door, the small brass bell attached to the frame letting out a single, dull chime. She paused just inside the entryway, her scuffed black combat boots bringing her to a halt on the tiled floor. She was dressed in a pair of dark, slightly frayed denim jeans, an oversized flannel shirt with the sleeves pushed up her forearms, and her iconic pink glittery hard hat tucked securely under her arm like a prized possession. Her eyes still carried that unmistakable, unpredictable spark that let anyone in the room know she was navigating the world on her own very specific frequency. Her gaze swept the booth seats lined up along the window until it landed on a familiar figure sitting toward the back, far away from the noisy swinging doors of the kitchen.

Larry Dempsey sat in their usual spot, his lean frame folded into the laminated booth with quiet composure. He was a few years older than Kimberly, sitting squarely in his late nineties-born generation, but his thick brown hair was still dark and kept short, trimmed neatly around his ears without a trace of gray. He wore a plain, dark navy zip-up jacket over a fitted charcoal t-shirt. There was a grounded, reserved stillness to Larry, a sharp, serious demeanor that stood in total contrast to Kimberly’s high-octane energy. They had met years ago in a setting that was about as far from a late-night diner as a person could get, tucked away behind the heavy, reinforced doors of a regional psychiatric facility. In a place defined by strict schedules, paper cups for medication, and rigid observation, the two of them had forged an unlikely, unshakeable bond. While the doctors and staff had struggled to understand Kimberly’s wild, chaotic mind, Larry had been one of the few people who simply listened without judgment, offering a steady, quiet sounding board amidst the noise. Ever since their respective releases, their regular meetups at this specific Waffle House had become a non-negotiable ritual, a safe zone where they could touch base without the rest of the world staring.

As Kimberly approached the booth, Larry looked up from a black coffee mug he had been holding in both hands, taking a slow sip. His dark brown eyes were calm and analytical, scanning her approach with the quiet familiarity of a man who knew every single one of her quirks. Kimberly slid into the vinyl seat across from him, setting her glittery pink helmet down on the table right next to the chrome napkin dispenser. The plastic glitter caught the bright fluorescent light overhead, sparkling aggressively against the dull surface. Larry didn't even flinch at the sight of the headgear. Instead, he simply offered a subtle, genuine nod of greeting and pushed a freshly wiped laminated menu across the table toward her, his expression remaining composed, steady, and entirely unbothered.

“And what, pray tell, is that?” Larry asks, pointing at the pink glittery hat.

“It’s a hard hat!” Kim exclaims happily. “Can’t you see? Or do you need to get your eyes tested?”

“Oh I can see what it is.” He chuckles. “I just want to know why you have it. Or then again, do I really want to know?”

“See, that’s the real question Lawrence of Arabia!”

The two old friends share laughter. They barely notice as a waitress approaches and places two glasses of coffee, one in front of Larry and one in front of Kimberly, made precisely to their specifications. Kim and Larry are regulars, known for meeting at a specific time always. These servers know their patterns and their orders by heart. Kimmy and Larry each nod in appreciation before taking sips of their coffee. Kim leans back in the booth and smiles warmly.

“So, Lawrence of Arabia…what have you been up to since we last met?”

“It has been a mixed bag of both positive and negative.”

“Oh?” Kim arches her brow, a genuine look of concern forms on her face. Larry is one of the few people living on this planet she would quite literally die for, or kill for. That is how strong their bond is.

“Yes, it is all tied into my medication, you see.” Larry sighs. “On the one hand, my doctor believes I have made significantly good progress. In fact, he is so pleased with my progress that he has slowly began weaning me off of risperidone.”

“Well that’s great!” Kim exclaims. “Really solid positive there! So what’s the negative?”

“He is ready to remove the risperidone altogether.”

“Huh?” Kim furrows her brow in confusion. “I, uh, really don’t see a negative there, Lawrence. Doesn’t that mean you’re, uh, better?”

“He THINKS I am better.” Larry sighs and shakes his head. “But I am afraid. You recall what happened the last time he took me off of my medication?”

“Yeah, you started hearing voices again and I got to perform a totally epic exorcism!” Kim smirks knowingly. “I really am expanding my portfolio; real estate guru, death match wrestler, I can sing, and I can perform a pretty mean exorcism!”

“I’m being serious, Kimberly.” Larry says firmly. “The idea of going off of the medication again frightens me so.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it.” She nods her head. “But understand, that was a different medication and a different doctor who might have been a total quack.” She winks playfully. “And trust me, I know a few ducks.”

“So you think I should trust the system?”

“Yes. And when I’m the one saying trust the system, that’s saying something!”

“Very well.” He sighs. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt to try.” Larry sips on his coffee. He sets his cup back down and motions to Kimberly. “And what of you? I have been following your recent SCW exploits so it does no good trying to keep any secrets from me. How are you dealing with this little civil war between your COO and CEO?”

“He is not a COO, he is a CHBK!” Kim points out. “And for your information I am Swiss.”

“What?”

“Switzerland is known for three things; cheese, chocolate, and neutrality! No one ever accused me of being cheesy. And chocolate could ruin my girlish figure. So that just leaves neutrality!”

“Of course.” Larry rolls his eyes. “I had to ask.”

“C’mon, Lawrence of Arabia, it makes perfect sense. Why should I pick a fight with CHBK or Franky Poo? Why should I make an enemy out of either? It just doesn’t make good business sense.”

“If things escalate, you might get drawn into the war whether you want to or not.”

“Nope, not on my watch.” She shakes her head. “I’ve done this song and dance before and, quite frankly, I’m sick of it. The villain of the day comes around and people beg Kimmy to fight it. Well Kimmy isn’t interested. Kimmy is going to sit on the sidelines, let the two sides destroy each other, and I’ll back the winner!”

“Brilliant strategy.” Sarcasm drips from Larry’s voice.

“See? I knew you’d see it from my perspective!”

“I was being sarcastic, Kimberly.”

“Yeah, well I’m not.” She smirks. “I only want one thing right now and that is to become SCW Underground Champion again. I have a chance to accomplish THAT at Rise To Greatness. I just need to maim Asher, Davey Crockett, and Oktoberfest’s European Fiery Friend..”

“And on that point I wish you the best of luck.” Larry smiles warmly.

“Awww, thanks Lawrence!”

“Of course.” He chuckles. “But your professional wrestling exploits aren’t the only thing keeping your interest these days, is it?”

“Huh?”

“Don’t lie to me.” Larry winks. “Remember, social media sees everything, especially when some young person has a camera and records you and you go viral.”

“Going viral?” Kim frowns. She points an accusatory finger at her friend. “You’re not secretly Dexter Grant in disguise are you?”

“No.” Larry chuckles and shakes his head. “But I did see a great deal about your recent business dealings. Something about a penguin sanctuary and a hamster sanctuary. And what is this Community Restoration Initiative?”

“Oh it’s all soooooo wonderful, Lawrence!” Kim exclaims with pride etched across her face. “See, it all boils down to that creepy old mansion I inherited from my former foster mother and part time sociopathic tormentor Emma Floreschu. I wanted to bulldoze it, tear it to the ground, but my real estate agent went batshit crazy over the thought of such a beautiful place being bulldozed.”

“So she persuaded you to keep it?”

“She practically begged me!” She snickers. “She gave me carte blanche to do whatever the hell I liked to it! So yeah, penguin sanctuary…hamster sanctuary…Community Restoration Initiative! It’s great…” she furrows her brow in confusion “...wait, how did you know about this?”

“YouTube.”

“YouTube, eh?” Kim tilts her head to one side. “Ok, you’re definitely not Dexter Grant. Are you Asher Hayes? Or David Striker?” She smirks. “Are you stalking me?”

“Never.” He shakes his head. “But tell me, are you enjoying it?”

“I am.” She grins from ear to ear. “I just don’t want to become a…well…a character.”

“Meaning?”

“I don’t want to be a symbol or any of that crap. You know what I mean?”

“You want to do good deeds and not get the recognition.” Larry smirks. “How noble.”

“Yeah, nobility is my thing of the month. Next month my thing will be pumpkin pie.”

“Though I must ask, what if you are already are a symbol? What if you already are a character, Kimberly?”

“Well…” she shrugs her shoulders “...Caligula thinks I’m just layered.”

“Caligula? As in your hamster?”

“Yep. That one!”

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August 3rd, 2026
Boston, Massachusetts
Off Camera
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The sun beat down mercilessly on the vast, pristine grounds of the Floreschu Estate, illuminating an operational footprint that was expanding at a staggering rate. The estate was a sprawling, surreal domain that somehow managed to house the noisy logistics of the Community Restoration Initiative alongside dedicated sanctuary buildings for both homeless penguins and high-strung hamsters. The hum of construction equipment in the distance mixed with the occasional screech of water birds and the distant, frantic squeak of hamster exercise wheels, creating an atmosphere that felt half-conservation project, half tactical staging ground. Walking along the cobblestone path near the newly erected administrative wing were the two Kimberlys.

Kimberly Lambert, immaculate as always, looked like she had stepped directly out of a high-end architectural magazine. She wore a tailored, cream-colored summer blazer over a sleek dusty rose silk top, paired with crisp white ankle trousers and pointed leather flats. She carried a leather-bound folio tucked under one arm, her eyes scanning the sprawling property lines and newly built structures with the calculating precision of a top-tier real estate broker evaluating a massive commercial asset. Walking a pace ahead of her, gesturing wildly toward a newly laid foundation that was set to house the expanded vocational training center, was Kimberly Williams.

As usual, her choice of attire was a masterclass in targeted hostility and total absurdity. Perched on her head was a dark green tactical ballcap, embroidered across the front in thick, neon-yellow block letters that read: I’M GOING TO MAIM KEMAL. Beneath the hat, she wore an oversized, bright red graphic t-shirt that left zero doubt regarding her wrestling hit list, boldly displaying the phrase I’M GOING TO MAIM ASHER in aggressive white print across her chest. The messaging didn't stop at her waist. Down on her feet, Kimberly had customized a pair of bright white leather cross-trainers with a thick black permanent marker. The outer side of her left shoe read I’M GOING TO MAIM DAVID, while her right shoe completed the warning, spelling out STRIKER in jagged, jagged lettering that wrapped all the way around the rubber heel. Every scuff of her sneakers against the polished cobblestone served as a literal, step-by-step death-match threat to the entire SCW roster.

Kimberly Lambert took a slow, measured breath, pausing beside a manicured hedge to adjust her leather folio. She looked down at her client’s customized footwear, then up at the t-shirt, and finally at the cap, her expression remaining remarkably calm for a woman dealing with a client who wore her hit list like a uniform. She opened the folder, tapped the corner of a newly drafted land zoning agreement against her palm, and prepared to go over the final property lines for the expanded sanctuary.

“Are you excited, Other Kim? Huh? Are ya, are ya, are ya?” Williams asks with a note of hyper joy in her voice. Lambert just laughs, trying to hide the unease. She had promised Kimberly she could redesign any room in the estate. The Woman Scorned has finished with the redesign and Lambert is afraid of what she is about to see.

“Uh, yes, yes I am.” She nods her head. “I mean, your projects thus far have been…unique…” she gulps nervously “...I can imagine that this one will be equally as unique.”

“That’s my middle name! Unique!” She frowns. “Actually, my middle name is Frances. But don’t tell anyone.”

“You already told everyone.” Lambert responds. “Literally, on twitter.”

“No I didn’t.” Kim smirks. “It’s called X now, so I told everyone on X.”

Kimberly Williams gave a sharp, theatrical snap of her fingers, spinning around on her customized "MAIM DAVID STRIKER" sneakers. She marched up the grand stone steps leading into the administrative wing, the oversized red t-shirt swishing around her thighs as she thrust open a pair of heavy, oak double doors. Lambert took a deep, steadying breath, gripped her leather folio tightly against her cream blazer, and followed her inside, steeling herself for whatever fever-dream aesthetic awaited her behind the doorway. The space Kimberly had redesigned was sprawling, high-ceilinged, and utterly bizarre; a seamless, dizzying mashup of a classical gothic library, a high-end Scandinavian therapy lounge, and a high-security tactical debriefing chamber.

Along the far wall, stretching all the way to the vaulted ceiling, stood floor-to-ceiling bookshelves crafted from deep mahogany. They were packed to the brim, but not just with standard real estate or legal texts. Mixed in alongside heavy leather-bound classics were stacks of military tactical manuals, obscure professional wrestling histories, volumes on feline psychology, and an alarming number of books on ancient Roman history. Rolling wooden ladders slid along brass rails, allowing access to the highest shelves where plush penguin figurines sat nestled between the encyclopedias like tiny, silent guardians.

In the center of the room, set upon a plush, forest-green area rug that felt like walking on fresh moss, was the reflection chamber itself. Rather than standard office furniture, Kimberly had arranged a circle of ultra-luxurious, white leather reclining loungers that looked like they belonged in a sci-fi medical bay. Each lounger was equipped with built-in, adjustable neck supports and dimmable overhead reading lamps. Between the loungers sat polished marble side tables, each stocked with a box of tissues, a leather-bound journal, and a small, glass bowl filled entirely with wrapped hot pepper candies.

“Tada!” Kimberly announced, spreading her arms wide as the red t-shirt stretched over her chest. “Part library, part therapy lounge, part strategic reflection chamber! What do you think, Other Kim? It’s designed for high-stress mental recalibration after a death match or a rough contract negotiation!”

Kimberly Lambert stopped dead in her tracks on the mossy green rug, her jaw tightening as her eyes swept from the Roman history books up to the velvet podium and down to the plush penguins staring back at her from the top shelves. She cleared her throat, tapped her manicured nail against her folio, and offered a cautious, polite smile.

“Well, this is certainly…unique…”

“Frances.” Kim states. “My middle name is Frances.”

“I meant the room.” Lambert responds. It is quite unique. But I must admit…” she walks over to a wall where a plaque rests. Lambert reads the plaque out loud. “...Grounded Does Not Mean Small.”

“Like it?”

“I have to admit…I love it.” Lambert admits.

“Came to me in a dream. I may or may not have been drunk.”

“Well, regardless, it is inspirational and I love it. This room may look unique…”

“You say that word a lot, don’t you?”

“BUT…it is definitely you and a library? A therapy room? Reflection room? It’s perfect for meditation. I love it!”

The door to the newly christened reflection chamber clicked shut with a soft, authoritative thud, sealing away the outside world and leaving behind a strange, resonant quiet. In that lingering silence, the contrast of Kimberly Williams’ life hung in sharp relief. The room stood as a bizarre physical map of her internal psyche; part sanctuary, part battle station, equally steeped in trauma, absurd humor, and an absolute, unyielding drive to survive. Beneath the loud graphic tees, the customized death-match footwear, and the wildly eccentric public persona, Kimberly was quietly assembling something far larger than just another wrestling gimmick or temporary distraction.

Outside the estate walls, the wrestling world was careening toward inevitable, chaotic violence. The fractured power dynamics of SCW threatened to pull everyone into the collateral damage, and the upcoming Rise To Greatness match promised a brutal, blood-soaked collision with the likes of Asher, Kemal, and David Striker. Yet, as Kimberly stood amidst the scent of fresh mahogany and polished leather, there was a newfound clarity beneath her erratic spark. She had survived the dark, clinical halls of psychiatric facilities, the manipulative ghosts of her past in the Floreschu family, and every brutal ring war thrown her way. Through it all, her steady anchor with Larry Dempsey, her odd partnership with Kimberly Lambert, and her bizarre philanthropic empire were no longer just random impulses; they were the foundational pillars of her own liberation.

Whatever waited for her inside the ring, Kimberly Williams was no longer playing by anyone else’s script. She was building an empire on her own absurd terms, armed with a glittery pink hard hat, an army of hamsters, and an absolute refusal to be broken. The future was coming for her fast and heavy, but for the first time in a long time, The Woman Scorned was completely ready to tear it down and rebuild it in her own image.

[Asher_Hayes]

Sinful Tragedies, 001

[The Matt]

2 of 2
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August 4th, 2026
Boston, Massachusetts
Off Camera
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The air hung heavy over the cracked pavement of the block, thick with the smell of old asphalt, stale exhaust, and the sharp, vinegar tang radiating from the kitchen counter of Kimberly Williams’s home. Inside the living room, the bare overhead lightbulb buzzed its eternal, low-frequency hum, casting a harsh yellow glare over the peeling wallpaper and the warped hardwood floorboards. Today was special, today was a meeting of the neighborhood watch that Kimberly had joined months ago. And tonight’s meeting promised to be an eventful one, especially with new leadership ready to take the reins of power and guide the neighborhood watch into the future. The room felt crowded, but the attendance was a far cry from the bustling meetings of months past. When Shane Ball had been running the show, the room had been packed with anxious neighbors looking for safety. But ever since Kimberly had personally caught Shane red-handed in a late-night alleyway and handed him over to the local precinct for orchestrating the very rash of burglaries he was supposed to be preventing, the neighborhood watch had suffered a serious identity crisis. Most of the old guard had quietly backed out, thoroughly disillusioned by the betrayal. The handful of locals who remained were either remarkably brave, entirely out of options, or simply fascinated by the brand of chaotic justice Kimberly brought to the table. Now, Kimberly had stepped into the power vacuum, bestowing upon herself the official title of Commander in Chef.

She sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the sunken tweed sofa, looking like a drill instructor who had lost a fight with a craft store. She was wearing a faded woodland camouflage utility vest over a black tank top, her face freshly painted with thick, aggressive streaks of forest green and charcoal face paint. Perched atop her head was her signature pink glittery hard hat, catching the glare of the overhead bulb and throwing tiny, flickering pink sparkles across the cracked ceiling plaster. Sitting on the middle cushion of the sofa directly behind her was Tommy Wasley. The burly, dark-bearded man leaned back against the rickety frame, his heavy work boots resting flat on the floor and a lukewarm mug of black coffee cradled in his thick, calloused hands. He was a quiet, steady presence amidst the madness, wearing his usual faded gray pocket tee and Carhartt pants, offering reassuring nods to the nervous neighbors whenever Kimberly’s speech reached a particularly theatrical crescendo. Resting precisely between Tommy and the arm of the couch was Wasley the penguin.

The oversized plushie sat impeccably straight, his dense core of lead fishing weights causing the couch cushion to indent into a deep, permanent crater. To mark his official promotion to second-in-command of the neighborhood watch, Kimberly had upgraded his headgear. The miniature yellow hard hat was gone, replaced by a dark green military-style beret that sat slightly askew over his left plastic bead eye. A tiny silver star was pinned to the felt fabric of the beret, giving the heavy, potentially lethal stuffed animal the distinct aura of a veteran tactical advisor evaluating the room’s defensive posture. In the far corner of the room, sitting atop the dented metal filing cabinet, Caligula the hamster was conducting his own high-intensity patrol. The golden rodent was throwing his entire weight into his plastic exercise wheel, driving the mechanism with a frantic, rhythmic velocity that made the cabinet vibrate against the floorboards. The loud, metallic squeak of the wheel cut through the room like a tiny siren, providing a restless, energetic beat to the meeting. Caligula would occasionally sprint to a complete halt, press his tiny pink nose against the plastic bars to glare at the gathered neighbors with pure, unadulterated malice, and then instantly launch back into his furious workout.

Kimberly reached down and tapped a heavy framing hammer against a brass candlestick on the floor, the sharp metallic chime ringing out to bring the small circle of attendees to order. She adjusted her glittery helmet, her dark eyes sweeping over the few brave souls who had showed up, her face set in an expression of absolute, unyielding tactical command.

“Listen up, maggots!” Kim exclaims sharply. “I am going to speak once and only once and if any of you maggots speak out of turn you will drop to the floor and give me fifty, do you understand me?!”

There is an awkward silence from the few remaining members of the neighborhood watch. The Woman Scorned looks over at Tommy and furrows her brow in confusion.

“Uh, I did speak clearly, didn’t I?”

“Perfectly.” He chuckles. “I think they just aren’t used to be called ‘maggots’, babe.” He winks. “Not everyone is used to your eccentricities."

“Oh, right!” She clears her throat. “Listen up, you putrescent entomological organisms!” She looks over at Tommy and grins. “Better?”

“Much.”

“Anyway,” she looks back at the crowd gathered around “we know that Baldy really let us down. He was a major dishonor and disappointment to the very name and purpose of this organization.” Kim spots a young woman in her early twenties raising her hand. “You! Janice, right?”

“Jane.” She says, correcting Kim.

“Close enough.” Kim remarks. “What’s your question, Private Janice?”

“What Shane did was awful.” Jane says. “He formed this neighborhood watch so that we could look out for one another and protect one another, something we all agreed was necessary in a rough, crime ridden part of town like this. But then when everyone learned that he created this neighborhood watch just as a cover for his crimes?” She sighs. “It’s a wonder any of us even came back at all.”

“Yeah,” a middle aged man with brown hair, Greg, says “I tried to convince some people to give this place another chance but after Shane’s betrayal?” He shakes his head. “No one trusts it anymore.”

“Don’t worry George…” Kim begins.

“Uh, it’s Greg.”

“Right! Don’t worry, George! I hear you…I hear you, the rest of the world hears you, and the person who broke into your homes will hear all of us soon!”

“Uh, Kimmy?”

“What is it, Tommy?” Kim asks.

“You ripped that off from George Bush.”

“Really?” Kim furrows her brow in confusion. Tommy nods his head. “Hit me over the head with a steel chair after this is done.” The Queen of the Death Match turns her attention back to the crowd gathered in her small house. “But yes, Shane-O Baldy was a big disappointment. I mean, when I tackled him to the ground he wouldn’t even try to fight back. He wouldn’t even try to maim me. I always prefer it when my victims at least try to put up a fight but he folded like a damn circus tent.” She shakes her head. “So disappointing.”

“So who is in charge now?” Another man, this time with black hair and in his thirties, asks. “You?”

“Me!” Kim declares proudly. “I am your new Commander in Chef!

“Commander in Chef?” Jane asks, sounding confused. Kim nods her head.

“That’s right, Janice! Commander in Chef! And if you have a problem with the new hierarchy, take it up with Caligula.” She motions to the hamster. As if reading her mind, Caligula starts squeaking furiously. Kim snickers. “He likes you, Janice!”

“Gee, wonderful…”

“Now with THAT out of the way, let us begin; has anyone noticed any crime lately?” Kim asks. Greg tries to raise his hand and speak but Kim instantly and immediately interrupts him. “Oh! Look there! Wasley has a crime he wants to report!”

“Your boyfriend?” Greg asks.

“No, silly, my penguin!” She picks up the penguin plushie and holds him out for all to see. “Do you know what crime Wasley detected the other night?”

“Do tell.” Jane asks, rolling her eyes.

“PREJUDICE AGAINST PENGUINS!”

“Seriously?!” Greg exclaims. Kim nods her head.

“Prejudice is always serious, George!” Kim hops up and drops Wasley back on the sofa. Then she grabs a bag and gleefully makes her way across the room to each attendee and passes out the contents of the bag…

…penguin plushies. Each attendee of the neighborhood watch is handed a penguin plushie. Once she’s done she tosses the empty bag across the room and flops onto the floor, smirking with mischief on her face.

“Now that the penguin prejudice has been taken care of, does anyone else have any crime they would like to report?”

“Actually, I do.” Greg answers. Kim sighs out of frustration.

“What is it George?”

“I have noticed some of the homes in our neighborhood have been vandalized.” He says as he reaches into his pocket to produce photographs. He passes them around the room, each attendee takes a photograph. Finally Kim gets one herself and she studies it carefully. “You see those strange symbols spray painted on the walls and back entrances?”

“Yes, I do.” She grins from ear to ear. “Probably some youngsters just expressing their artistic genius.”

“Artistic genius?” Greg is stunned by Kim ignoring this, discarding this. “We are the neighborhood watch. We all live in a rough part of town that could be better, that could become a nice neighborhood, and all of it starts small, by how we look. Vandalism like this doesn’t help our cause.”

“Oh it seems harmless to me, George.” Kim remarks. “I think you’re just exaggerating.”

“Uh, Kimmy?” Tommy chimes in.

“What is it Tommy?”

“In fairness, these symbols do look like they could be gang related.” He states. “What if we have a gang moving into the neighborhood?”

“Exactly!” Greg exclaims.

“Yeah, sure, it COULD be gang related.” Kimberly winks playfully. “Or it could be performance art!”

The atmosphere in the cramped living room shifted from profound confusion to a collective, exhausted acceptance. Greg stared down at the photograph of the vandalism in his right hand and the oddly dense plush penguin in his left hand, a look of absolute defeat settling over his middle aged features. Jane simply placed her assigned stuffed bird onto the warped floorboards with a heavy sigh, realizing that attempting to apply logic to a woman wearing military face paint and a pink glittery safety helmet was an entirely futile endeavor. The remaining attendees exchanged bewildered glances, silently acknowledging that their once serious security coalition had officially transformed into a surreal, unpredictable circus act.

Tommy took a slow sip of his lukewarm coffee, his dark eyes studying Kimberly intently from the sunken tweed sofa. He knew her better than anyone in the room. He saw the subtle tightening of her jaw beneath the charcoal camouflage paint and the sharp, calculating gleam that had instantly flashed in her eyes the very moment she examined the spray painted symbols. She was playing the eccentric fool for the crowd, deliberately dismissing the property damage to keep the civilian population entirely out of her way. In her mind, a potential street syndicate encroaching on her residential territory was not a matter for a civilian neighborhood committee; it was a matter for a heavily armed vigilante holding the title of Commander in Chef.

The metallic shrieking of Caligula the hamster suddenly intensified in the corner, echoing off the peeling wallpaper as if the golden rodent could perfectly sense the impending escalation of urban warfare. The frantic sound served as the unspoken conclusion to the gathering. One by one, the neighbors awkwardly gathered their belongings, awkwardly clutching their mandated plush penguins as they shuffled out the front door and out into the humid Boston night.

As the rickety door clicked shut behind the final confused resident, the playful smirk vanished completely from Kimberly’s face. She remained seated on the bare hardwood floor, her intense gaze locked onto the photograph Greg had left behind on the cushions next to Wasley. The eccentric performance was over, and the one true Queen of Chaos was already drawing up her battle plans.

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August 7th, 2026
Detroit, Michigan
On Camera
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Standing on the eastern tip of Belle Isle in Detroit, Michigan, Kimberly Williams pauses in the gentle river breeze with the grand, white marble facade of the Livingstone Memorial Lighthouse looming silently behind her. The Woman Scorned brings a vivid, chaotic energy to the crisp landscape, her brilliant red hair catching the sunlight and cascading in loose waves past her shoulders. Her back is turned to the soaring, Art Deco monolith, choosing instead to gaze out toward the expanse of the Detroit River. Her attire is effortlessly casual and comfortable; a classic crewneck t-shirt paired with well-fitted, worn-in blue jeans and a pair of clean, minimalist sneakers built for a day of walking around the island park. Tucked securely under one arm is Wasley, her well-loved penguin plushie, whose soft black-and-white fabric and charmingly rounded silhouette add a touch of whimsical personality to her relaxed, quiet moment by the water.

“Greetings, Kimmymaniacs!” The Woman Scorned waves playfully at the camera. “I should be standing here as your SCW Underground Champion this very moment. I should be sitting upon my death match throne this very moment with that championship in my clutches. I should be…” she sighs and shakes her head “...alas, the image of me without the Underground Title is becoming an all too familiar sight. Two years ago at Rise To Greatness I should have been Underground Champion but thanks to Jimbo Evans and a four way situation it didn’t come to pass. Then instead of a straight up one on one scenario I had to deal with five other people in a chamber match where Ol’ MacDonald got lucky and won MY title. The Enigmatic Enigma agreed to give me a one on one shot but did anyone in management listen? No!” She shakes her head.

“I did win back the title, twice, all for of about a few minutes each in CHBKLMNOP’s fun little gauntlet extravaganza…once again, no one on one situation, just me and anyone on the roster with a lust for championship gold and no real passion or desire for what the Underground really means.” She smirks knowingly. “Asher Hayes was the lucky little bastard who walked away with MY title in that one. But hey, I give ya credit, at least you have been willing to grant me a one on one opportunity. And let’s face it, that’s how it should be. That’s what these people want to see. You endured a gauntlet of hell, you endured everything Franky Poo and CHBK have thrown at you. But can you survive the Queen of the Death Match? Can you survive the woman who OWNS the Underground Division? Now THAT is a money making match right there. That is easy booking. A blind man could see it.” The Woman Scorned scratches her chin as if deep in thought.

“So that begs the question; why are YOU in this match, Davey Crockett Striker?” She shrugs her shoulders. “Who really knows? I mean, tell me when my facts are off; didn’t Asher already beat you? Didn’t I already beat you? Yet here you are in a four way dance against Asher and myself for the same Underground Championship. Hey, don’t get me wrong, Davey Crockett. There is absolutely zero disrespect intended. You and I have gone to hell and back before. I know how tough you are and I know you will bring the absolute worst violence imagineable in order to win that championship. At least, you will try. But just like you tried years ago when I was champion, you will ultimately fail because when it comes to the Queen of the Death Match and the Underground Division, this is just one obstacle you cannot overcome. So again I ask; why are you here?”

“That brings me to the fourth member of this four way dance; Kemal Yilmaz. Unlike Striker, I know precisely why you are here. You are here at the behest of our beloved CEO…who I love very much, by the way…Franky Poo. Franky hates the Underground and you Kemal, well, you and your European Fiery Friends hate everything. But you are really buddy buddy with Franky. You have done absolutely nothing of worth, you have lost nearly every match you have been in. Hell, you whined and bitched and moaned to get an Ultimate Submissions Match against Glory Braddock and yet you absolutely fell flat on your face. You failed. You have done NOTHING to deserve to be in this match. So again, why are you here? Well it’s obvious, isn’t it? A blind squirrel finds the nut once in awhile. A broken clock is right at least twice a day. Franky Poo is hoping that you will get really damn lucky and win the Underground Title on a fluke so he can convince your dumb ass to hand it over to him and he can retire it.” She shakes her head.

“Nope, not gonna happen. I may be Swiss when it comes to Franky Poo, neutrality and all, but I am not neutral to the Underground Championship. It rightfully belongs to me and I will defend it and this division to my dying breath. You do not belong in this match, Kemal. Neither do you, Davey Crockett.” She points a finger at the camera. “This is about you, Asher. You and that championship you currently possess. I should have received a one on one title shot but instead here I am, at another Rise To Greatness in yet another four way for the Underground Title. Someone is trying to stack the deck against The Queen of the Death Match. Someone is hoping history will repeat itself and the numbers game will work against me.” She throws her head back and laughs nastily.

“Noto this time! Not again! Not ever!” She shakes her head. “In fact, I look forward to this because it gives me the opportunity to right a wrong. Rise To Greatness two years ago should never have happened. That should have been mine. The chamber match? It should have been mine. CHBK’s gauntlet that YOU WON, Asher…it SHOULD! HAVE! BEEN! MINE!” A look of pure evil forms across her face. “And if that means I have to maim all three of you to get what I want and set everything right and reclaim my championship then so be it!”

“I didn’t build the Underground Division just to watch it become a pawn in Franky’s board games or a consolation prize for people who couldn’t cut it in the main event. I bled for that belt when this company was still figuring out what death matches even were. I left pieces of my skin on light tubes, thumbtacks, and barbed wire. So go ahead; stack the deck. Put four bodies in that ring. Add whatever weapon-filled nonsense CHBK and Franky can dream up in their twisted little producer meetings. It doesn’t change the fundamental math of this match.” Kimberly shifts Wasley slightly, securing the plushie higher under her arm while taking a step closer to the lens, her expression cold and calculating.

“You see, Asher, you think holding that gold makes you the man. But holding a belt doesn’t make you a king any more than standing on this island makes you a lighthouse. You’re just keeping my place warm. And Davey Crockett Striker? You can bring all the grit, all the survivalist rage, and all the blunt-force trauma you want. I respect the fight in you, I really do, but you’re a ghost chasing a past that already proved you can’t top me when everything is on the line. As for Kemal…” she snickers “...well, Kemal, you’re just a proxy. A temporary pawn sent by a CEO who’s too afraid to step into the dark himself.” She turns slightly, glancing over her shoulder at the looming white marble behind her, before looking back into the camera with a slow, chilling smile.

“Belle Isle has seen a lot of history. It’s watched ships sink into the river, watched empires rise and fall across the water. At Rise To Greatness, Detroit is going to watch another piece of history get written. Only this time, I’m not leaving my destiny to chance, gauntlets, or bad luck. At Rise To Greatness, I’m not just winning back my Underground Championship. I’m taking back my legacy. Asher, Striker, Kemal...bring whatever you’ve got left to give. Because when the dust settles and the blood dries, the Queen is coming back to her throne.” She winks playfully at the camera, pats Wasley on the head, and turns to walk slowly toward the edge of the Detroit River.

[Thunderhorse]

(Striker) "Iron City Sins"

[Asher_Hayes]

Sinful Tragedies, 002

[Kemal Yilmaz]

Sarajevo, Bosnia and Herzegovina. Wednesday 24th December 2025. (Off-Camera)

Kemal has been around the city for a few days now and he already found a perfect place to call his December/January home, an apartment of having three bedrooms because he was planning for the future of wanting kids so bad to make a family out of things and desperate for a wife. However, before he can even think about that, he knew that he had to talk to an housing management to buy a property he found and he has his new Muslim friends, Zain and Asad to tag along and recommended the property for him. Especially Kemal did need somewhere away from Christian countries to spend his holiday home in.

Zain: “I think this is a really good choice for your holiday home, although most people would want you in a studio or a one bedroom apartment.”

Kemal Yilmaz: “But I want to buy this big apartment now so when I get married and have kids, I don't have to worry about finding a bigger upgraded home. So you think this apartment is a great recommendation to have?”

Asad: “Of course Kemal, I mean we are here to help you since I know you're a lost puppy in the woods and it has all the essentials that you could easily move into right away as well, especially you need that right now when you're away from America and Germany.”

Kemal Yilmaz: “And you guys can come anytime you please as well. Granted, I would bring my other European friends to the home as well because I do want them to come and visit this country, but they are limited here is the problem.”

Zain: “Are these your team wrestlers you're talking about?”

Kemal Yilmaz: “Yes.”

Although Asad and Zain didn't know their names of Kemal's team because they didn't ask as it wasn't important to them, but this whole apartment thing was a good idea of that in premises. That he had a European home to go to which everyone, but Kemal and another European guy had in Europe so it was another good excuse to get this home to him as well.

Asad: “I'm sure we'll like to meet them.”

Kemal Yilmaz: “They are a good bunch of guys, they know about my diet, they know about the prayers I do and they also know I go to a mosque. They understand my religion, but they aren't you know Muslim. They are awesome guys with tons of talent and I have a feeling that Oskar is going to get me to introduce myself to another team he's in in another company pretty soon as well.”

Zain: “And they aren't Muslim I'm guessing.”

Kemal Yilmaz: “Not from what Oskar said, but I'm willing to make new friends and I desperately need them as I don't have anyone apart from European wrestlers and my mentors I consider as my friends, although Konrad Raab, one of the main heads of the European Fiery Nation wrestling school. The other is his twin brother Lord Raab or other known as Markus Raab. Although Konrad is turning the school into more than just professional wrestling. I've seen the secret racing rooms he's built and I heard rumours he's planning a European team the same way as he's done with us wrestlers.”

They all widened their eyes, I mean after all they knew the story of how Kemal got to where he is because of Konrad and it was also Kemal's job to find wrestlers and Zain was aiming to be a professional wrestler which is how they got in contact, the other guy Asad, he was Zain's good friend that was a construction worker, but had been friends with Zain for many years and knew Zain wanted to badly to become a professional wrestler and Kemal being there was already inspiring for him. They still look out the window on the apartment Kemal wanted to buy with everything in the house already to go for someone to move in.

Asad: “From what Zain and you are telling me. Yeah, I do notice that there is a severe lack of Muslim wrestlers and I don't know why, considering they do oil wrestling.”

Kemal Yilmaz: “Most likely because there isn't many opportunities out there to be professional wrestlers compared to MMA, but that's what I'm changing and I'm so thankful for Zain for wanting to be a professional wrestler because you're dreams are not going to waste and it will be nice for me to have Muslim wrestling friends as well.”

Zain: “What my concern is if they will like me because of what religion we are.”

Kemal Yilmaz: “You have no problems at the wrestling school. Admittedly they looked at me funny at first, even afraid because of the known history of us, but they knew I wasn't of any harm and I was accepted, I even lived at the school for a bit and Konrad and Markus took great care of me.”

Asad: “So you had to get a Turkish restaurant job to get a start to run your business?”

Kemal Yilmaz: “It was more that I had to because I needed money on hand. Konrad and Markus weren't going to hand me the money, I had to work for it and then I was taken to FC Koln to work on my stamina which was something I needed that I didn't realise at the time, but now being a wrestler there as a team for a year, I'm now the leader of that team so the pressure is on me.”

Of course that was the big change when it comes to Supreme Championship Wrestling next year that now Konrad has officially retired from wrestling in Supreme Championship Wrestling and the guys didn't really know that Kemal had already done solos wrestling for the team and he did have to earn to get paid.

Zain: “So why are you the leader of European Fiery Nation?”

Kemal Yilmaz: “Because Konrad felt that I needed a lot more money than the rest of the team and being the leader meant I get big money which was what I need. Hence why I know that the money will come back to me and I'm heading inside and getting that house because I believe in what I want to achieve in getting a holiday home where it's business as usual.”

Asad: “Did Konrad retire?”

Kemal Yilmaz: “Retire from wrestling in Supreme Championship Wrestling, yes, retiring from wrestling, no because even he says he still needs to let anger out and he wrestles for three companies. He retired wrestling in Supreme Championship Wrestling because he got way too big for the minor leagues of O'Reilly Series now that he had no choice, but to move up to Cup Series. Cup Series races are usually on Sunday and the SCW PPVs are on a Sunday so it was a schedule problem.”

Zain: “That's a damn shame, but I admire that he was willing to give you the leadership of the team, especially the circumstances you were in as well.”

Which was exactly the reason why that Kemal was given the European Fiery Nation leadership spot because of the circumstances and he would bring more to the team than anybody else would and he needed the money more than other wrestlers and he knew it was a massive challenge to take to lead a team, especially he still didn't know his team very well, especially when one of the wrestlers was joining him.

Kemal Yilmaz: “Well, we already got plans for a new wrestler coming in with an San Marino guy who's pure addiction is bodybuilding. He works non stop as a bodybuilder. He's a powerhouse wrestler that's so young. He was actually told by the Atlanta Wrestling Alliance as we all still wrestle there to team with us and it's been a benefit since. It's going to be wild for damn sure.”

Asad: “Damn, wrestling has always been known for bodybuilders.”

Kemal Yilmaz: “Yes, but they have evolved past that nowadays and that's something Federico always talked about bringing the old school style back. He absolutely hates the state of professional wrestling of being high flyers, although that's already not going down well with Oskar and Ludvig who are mainly high flyer wrestlers. The point is we are all different with different personalities with the same goal in mind.”

Zain: “For European wrestlers to take over the wrestling business?”

Kemal Yilmaz: “Yes and for me one day to be a champion in SCW, but I got a long way to go before that ever happens. I got a long way to go and that I can't deny, but my style is a form of technical and submissions wrestling. Mainly because I was meant to be an MMA fighter, but Konrad gave me an idea to be a professional wrestler instead.”

Asad: “You go from losing everything in the earthquakes to being a wrestler is one hell of a story that nobody in wrestling will ever have. You get the poor wrestlers that live on poverty, but never a story like yours.”

Which it turns out to be true because Kemal didn't know any other wrestlers apart from him that survived a natural disaster to go from being poor not because of his parents abandoning him or because he was born from poverty, although he did come close to being in poverty, but more that it was a major risk to take and more so he was the only non Christian born wrestler in the entire company which only made Kemal even more different from everyone else.

Kemal Yilmaz: “You're indeed right. Now let me go in and talk to the estate agent about this apartment I want to buy and I do have enough American dollars to go and get this beautiful three bedroom apartment for the future of me, my wife whoever she is that's out there and future children we want to bring to the world.”

Zain: “Speaking of that, have you set up a dating account yet?”

Kemal Yilmaz: “As I said to you, I will do that when I go back to America to do all of that.”

Asad: “I mean doing your dating profile before you head home isn't a bad idea as you may set things up now, but you won't be looking for someone until you get home and you may get some hits or even messages from ladies as well.”

Kemal Yilmaz: “Of course, but now I really must go in the estate agent and get that holiday home.”

Kemal did just that without wasting anymore time with his new friends that had much more in common with him in regards to his religion and overall a lot more interests as the friends with European guys he had were more work colleagues that he was hyping up to succeed as he went straight into the estate agents, with Zain and Asad waiting outside for Kemal to finish, even saw the payment in card coming out as well and the hands shaking deal and he was given the keys immediately to his new place he brought, although he knew he had to get a living visa to live in Bosnia and Herzegovina or rather a place for him to get away from Christmas celebrations. Half an hour later he came out with keys in hand.

Kemal Yilmaz: “The deal is done, I'm living in this country now.”

After that, he went back to his hotel to pack up his things before going straight to his new apartment he brought with his own money to spend the entire day there that now, he had his own home to use and was planning for the future,

----------------------

Hardcore injuries will happen to win the Underground championship youtube.com shoot (On-Camera)

“You know, I think the only wrestler that's deemed to be hardcore in this match is of course Kim, but I know she got along with Konrad in the past, even being her friend because of the matches they've had. If only you are able to see what I can do Kim, if only because I might be known for techincal and submissions wrestling, but that makes me more dangerous than you because you can use weapons all you want and sure, I would love to get my hands dirty, but I also won't hesitate to break people's bodies as well, even if it that means you with my submission moves. Sure, you are dangerous to hit opponents with weapons, but no where near as dangerous as me.

You're such an annoying gnat that won't go away, aren't you David Striker, thinking you got the upper hand as usual and being a weak old fool that doesn't seem to quit. You've been in this division for many months now and how have you not captured the title? You know how long it took for Konrad to capture the Underground title, a month when he entered in the division. You really can't catch a big break, can you? It's unfortunate that I don't recall any time of you facing any of the European Fiery Nation members apart from Konrad by yourself.

Also I don't apprachate you calling me well I can't say it because it goes against my religion but something like I'm a butthole which I have to say it in those terms due to my religion being very much against swear words, but it only proves that you are indeed a butthole to a joke of failing to capture the Underground title every single time and you can't seem to move onto other belts. I've never been an Underground title contender before so you can't say I've had lots of shots of it because I haven't. I aim to cripple you as well and not just with weapons, with submissions which only is effective in a match like this.

Asher Hayes is someone who should stay retired. I never understand wrestlers like you, wanting to capture the same title over and over again. I always wonder to myself, what is the actual point of holding the title over and over again. I'm always been a one title man because Konrad was exactly that, he didn't need lots of reigns like you to be a long holder of title or some silly accomplishment. But the fact is you fell onto the title and just like Kim and David before you, you'll never advance. See, I've never fought you with the Underground title and we know once you lose the title, you'll be back at home and then returning.

It's a rinse and repeat cycle with you that you're never consistant enough to be on the main roster all throughout. I recall apart from a few times, Konrad rarely to never had a day off from wrestling and you want to speak about passion. Nothing speaks passion than to wrestle, then go away, then come back again and then go. You've never stayed for the long run of things to make anything work. Of course I will always target you and make attacks from behind to send you a message. David and yourself have gotten too soft for this business. There is no friendships in wrestling, even my European buddies we treat as enemies and at an all out blood for war for each other, that's the kind of wrestling we love, not the good luck and may top man win garbage. Nobody pays to see those matches. Nobody sells tickets for being respect boring rubbish. They pay for personal and hatred rivalries.

They pay to see us all beat the living daylights out of each other because I don't leave a second to chance to beat you all with weapons yes, but also with making you scream like a bunch of babies and make your insides and outside so twisted that you wishy you wouldn't mess with The Turkish Acid because I'm the acid that I'll inflict on everyone and because Frank told me to do a favour to bring it back to Frank's crew and make it a legacy with the title because I will. Someone who won't leave the second they have the titles around them.

A dream that will encourage Dakon and Ludvig to go out there and be hardcore tag team champions because they want that, they want to change the tag team division and I know for damn sure, Oskar wants to change the belt to European Championship because of where he's from. No changes being made here because the underground title name is perfect and I will push you all to the test and ironically, it would've been Konrad's spot if he was able to wrestle and it's funny how it's come at a full circle.

You all can call me a butt head all you want, but it has no factor to this because security guards are used to being in these violent matches and while hardcore matches aren't my first choice, but it certainly a better choice than the other title divisions, that's a fact and it doesn't matter what you guys said about me, apart from one thing, I will every single weapon and body part of your boduies as much as I can to inflict damage, to cause you wrestlers to be impressed by my hardcore ability because that's still hidden to this day what the secret is. But I'm willling to expose it to the world and completely utterly destroy all of you to be the new Underground champion and there's nothing any of you can do about it.”