Glory Braddock vs. Colleen MacDonald

[Kemal Yilmaz]

SCW Television Championship

2 RP Limit for singles

3500 Word Per RP

Deadline: 11:59:59 pm ET SUNDAY, November 1, 2026

[Braddock]

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October 18th, 2026
London, England
Off Camera
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The cool London rain tapped a steady, gentle rhythm against the glass of the bedroom window, casting flickering gray light across the familiar hardwood floor. Inside the modest English home, the atmosphere was quiet and grounded, miles removed from the humid coastal warmth of Miami or the gleaming corporate towers of Charlotte. Now that she put the issue between her and Catalina De Luca in the rearview mirror, The British Bombshell can turn her entire focus back to her real passion: professional wrestling. After bouncing back from Rise To Greatness with a victory over Bree Lancaster, Glory has secured herself a shot at the SCW Television Championship, and she does not intend to squander this opportunity. Glory stood in front of the rustic wooden wardrobe, lacing up a pair of black leather athletic shoes. She was dressed in her usual utilitarian style, wearing a dark gray fitted tank top and durable, flexible black training trousers that were built for hours of hard work on the mat. Her long blonde hair was already pulled tightly back into a neat, high braid, keeping it secured away from her face.

Every movement was crisp and deliberate, driven by a renewed sense of clarity and focus. The road back to championship gold was finally taking shape, and her upcoming bout against Colleen MacDonald at Apocalypse for the SCW Television Title represented a massive opportunity to prove that her momentum was fully restored. She reached into the wardrobe, draped a heavy charcoal hoodie over her shoulders, and grabbed her worn leather kit bag from the corner of the bed, ready to head down the quiet residential street toward the Braddock Wrestling School for an intense afternoon sparring session. Just as she adjusted the strap of her gym bag over her shoulder, a sharp, rhythmic knock echoed from the front entryway downstairs, cutting through the muffled patter of the rain outside. Glory paused, her brow furrowing slightly in surprise. She wasn't expecting any company, especially not at her unassuming London sanctuary. Setting her bag down on the edge of the bed, she turned and walked out of the bedroom, her heavy rubber soles squeaking faintly against the polished floorboards of the hallway as she made her way down the narrow staircase. Passing the small framed black-and-white photos lining the wall, she reached the front foyer, unlocked the heavy wooden door, and pulled it smoothly inward.

Standing on the sheltered stone threshold, framed against the soft drizzle and the pale, overcast sky, was her eldest daughter, Melinda Braddock. The sight of her brought Glory to an absolute standstill. Melinda was a striking, ethereal presence, her luminous, porcelain skin contrasting sharply with the deep dark tones of her eyes and the cascading waves of immaculate, ice-platinum blonde hair resting over her shoulders. She looked as though she had stepped straight off a high-fashion runway, completely unbothered by the damp English weather. She wore an elegant, tailored emerald green midi dress that hugged her figure with sharp precision, paired with a lightweight cream trench coat draped effortlessly over her shoulders. On her feet were pristine, high-heeled pointed pumps that added to her tall, commanding posture, and a delicate designer handbag hung loosely from the crook of her arm. Despite the deep, lingering tension that had stretched thin between mother and daughter over past few years, the unspoken friction, the cold distance, and the quiet ideological wars that had slowly pulled them apart, Melinda wore a bright, radiant smile. Her dark eyes sparkled with a warm, picture-perfect charm, feigning complete ease as if nothing were amiss between them, as if she had simply dropped by for a casual afternoon visit with her mother.

“Oh, uh, hi Melinda.” Glory is doing her best to hide how flustered she sounds right now. Her daughter’s visit definitely took her by surprise. “This is a pleasant surprise.”

“I’m full of surprises, mother.” Melinda smirks knowingly. The Third Generation Goddess looks over her mother’s outfit almost critically. “My guess is you are about to head to grandfather’s wrestling school.”

“I was about to, yeah.” The British Bombshell nods her head.

“Well there’s very wise of you. You haven’t had a championship match of any sort since your World Title Match against Cid Turner almost one year ago. Granted this one at Apocalypse is for the Television Title, the lowest championship on the totem pole, but you take what you can get, am I right?”

This was an obvious jab. Melinda is no longer trying to hide her feelings. Melinda Braddock has long since believed in her heart of hearts that Glory Braddock no longer deserves the right to carry the mantle of the Braddock legacy. Melinda believes that Glory has ruined its legacy and that she alone is destined to restore it to greatness. The problem with that thinking is that the Braddock wrestling legacy is far from tarnished. People respect her and the family all over the world. What makes Melinda believe that she can just usurp her mother? It could simply be arrogance but she didn’t raise her that way. She knows that there are underlying, personal problems that she has with her, problems she refuses to discuss. Nevertheless, The British Bombshell rarely gets a chance nowadays to talk with her daughter. She refuses to let this one slip by.

Glory swallowed down the defensive retort rising in her chest, choosing instead to take a slow, grounding breath. Whatever sharp edge Melinda intended to hone with that barbed comment, Glory was determined not to give her the satisfaction of a reaction. Years of strained phone calls and cold, lingering silences had taught her that fighting fire with fire only pushed her eldest further away into the shadows of her ambition. This was her home, her sanctuary, and for the first time in months, Melinda was actually standing inside the doorway.

“It’s good to see you, Mel,” Glory said softly, her voice smoothing out into a warm, genuine tone as she pushed the heavy oak door open wider. She gestured toward the cozy interior of the foyer. “Come on inside out of the rain. The gym isn't going anywhere.”

Melinda’s bright, practiced smile faltered for just a fraction of a second, caught off guard by the absence of an argument. She gathered the front of her cream trench coat, stepped over the threshold, and let the quiet warmth of the house enclose them both. The subtle click of her pristine pumps echoed softly on the polished hardwood, bringing with it a faint trace of high-end perfume that mingled with the familiar scent of old wood and English rain.

Before her daughter could settle back into her cool, detached posture, Glory stepped forward and pulled Melinda into a firm, loving embrace. For a brief second, Melinda’s frame held rigid, caught in the unexpected friction between her polished armor and her mother’s honest warmth. But as Glory squeezed her tightly, holding on just a moment longer than usual, the tension in Melinda’s shoulders gave way, allowing a faint, genuine breath to escape her lips before she lightly wrapped her arms around her mother in return.

“I really am glad you came by.” Glory murmured into her platinum hair before pulling back, resting her hands gently on Melinda’s shoulders to look her over.

“Thank you, mother.” Melinda replied, her voice regaining its smooth, refined composure as she lightly adjusted her handbag.

“Let me take your coat. Living room’s right down the hall. Go ahead and sit down, I’ll make us some tea.”

“That sounds lovely, but tea won’t be necessary. I don’t plan on staying long.” Melinda said, her posture effortlessly straight as she glided down the short, familiar hallway toward the sunlit space at the back of the house.

The living room welcomed them with its quiet, unpretentious warmth. The soft gray light filtering through the large sash windows cast a gentle glow across the oatmeal fabric of the deep sofa and the faded Persian rug beneath. Outside, the lush garden hydrangeas glistened under the steady drizzle, framing a view that felt completely detached from the intense, bright-lights world both women occupied. Melinda crossed the rug with practiced elegance, smoothing her emerald green dress beneath her as she sank gracefully onto the soft cushions of the sofa. She sat with her ankles crossed, her back straight, looking around the room with dark, observant eyes that seemed to evaluate every detail of the house her grandfather had once frequented.

Glory walked in a moment later, setting her worn leather gym bag by the doorway before pulling herself onto the sage green armchair opposite the sofa. She leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees, her dark eyes locking onto her daughter with a mix of fierce maternal affection and cautious, quiet watchfulness. The gentle ticking of the mantle clock filled the silence between them, marking the beginning of a conversation both women knew was long overdue.

“For what it’s worth, I do hope you win the Television Championship.” Melinda states. “Despite our…differences…we both want the same thing; the Braddock name to be revered and respected. Colleen should be humbled. Taking that championship would do it.”

“Colleen and I may not exactly see eye to eye…but she wants to step up in terms of competition and I respect that. She wants a true test? She wants something bigger and better than the Television Title she currently has?” Glory grins. “I am a Supreme Champion. That means I have done everything that there is to do in SCW. You don’t get much more of a test than me and Colleen will realize that at Apocalypse.”

“Now that is what I need to hear.” Melinda remarks. “Finally you are sounding more like a true Braddock and not the has-been you had been turning into.”

“Has-been?!” Glory rolls her eyes. “Melinda, we may disagree on wrestling philosophy but you cannot sit there and say I am a has-been.”

“I think I just did.” Melinda snickers. “Then again, you ARE in a title match. The lowest of the titles but…”

“And about THAT…” Glory shakes her head “...who cares if it’s the Television Title? Every title is prestigious, Mel. Plus, I just beat a former SCW World Champion. Bree Lancaster, remember her? I beat her. Again. If you think I’m just settling for the Television Title you’re wrong. I will win it, I will proudly defend it, and ultimately I will EARN my way to another shot at the SCW World Championship. I guarantee it. And it all starts with putting down Colleen.”

“Good.” Melinda sighs. “But if you can’t get the job done.” She winks. “I will gladly succeed where you failed.”

“I don’t plan on failing.” Glory states bluntly. “But hey, I don’t doubt what you have to say about your abilities for a second. I watched your and Fiona’s match against Amelia and Luz. I was very impressed.”

“We were going to win were it not for those damned Glimmers.” Melinda scowls. “And that is precisely what I am talking about regarding our differences. You speak so highly of the spirit of competition yet you are the only one who practices what you preach. Everyone else around you has no problem trying to screw you out of what is rightfully yours. And the funny part? Despite your actions, despite your words, no one believes you.”

“I’m not trying to prove that I am a good person.” Glory shakes her head. “I go to the ring to prove that I am the best wrestler.”

“You say that…” Melinda’s voice trails off as a chuckle escapes her lips “...oh but we’re missing the point, aren’t we?”

“What point?”

“Well I didn’t come here to debate our wrestling philosophies. That would be an exercise in futility because you are too stubborn to recognize when you are wrong.”

“You got half of that right, Mel, I AM stubborn.” The British Bombshell smirks. “But if you aren’t here to debate, what ARE you here for?”

“I thought you would never ask.” A look of mischief forms on Melinda’s face. She holds up her hand and displays it proudly. Glory Braddock looks at it closely, expecting to see the engagement ring Clyde Sutter bought. Instead she now sees the wedding band. Glory’s eyes grow wide as she looks up at Melinda, who now nods her head.

“Melinda…is that what I think it is?!”

“That’s right, mother.”

“I thought you were…”

“Oh we had plans, yes.” Melinda smiles devilishly. “But we figured why wait? Why draw out what Fate itself has already decreed? We skipped the elaborate ceremony and got married.”

“Geez, Mel…” Glory shakes her head in frustration, she can no longer contain herself “...Clyde is volatile. He is violent and prone to anger. Have you not forgotten how he physically abused you? The fact that you ran right back to him was shocking enough but this…!”

“Fate decreed it.” Melinda purrs.

“I don’t want to hear about fate!” Glory snaps, her anger boiling over. “All I can remember is him hurting you, him abusing you, and now you are tying yourself to him!”

“Clyde has seen the error of his ways. He has reformed. He looked into the darkness of his past, did not like what he saw, and he changed. He turned away from his past.” She points an accusatory finger at Glory. “Unlike you. Clyde saw what he has done in the past and has worked tirelessly to erase it, to fix it. You embrace your own dark past, a past that put a stain on this family.”

“What is this really about, Mel? Huh?” Glory asks out of frustration. “You know how this entire family feels about him. You know FROM EXPERIENCE how dangerous he is. Yet you choose to marry him.

“I think you know exactly what this is about, mother.” Melinda sneers. “You CHOSE to bring someone into our family who didn’t belong, a cancer that brought humiliation and embarrassment to this family. So why not bring someone into this family whom YOU despise and detest? Because whether you like it or not, Clyde is FAMILY now.”

“You are making a mistake, Mel.” Glory insists. “A big mistake. You are turning your back on your family.”

“No, YOU are the one who turned your back on this family.” Melinda says in an accusatory tone. “Both personally and professionally.”

Glory’s jaw tightened, the sheer audacity of the accusation hanging thick in the cool air between them. Before she could even begin to process the absurd comparison between her storied wrestling career and Clyde Sutter’s documented history of abuse, Melinda was already on her feet. The Third Generation Goddess rose smoothly from the oatmeal sofa, her emerald green dress falling into place without a single wrinkle. The sharp, victorious glint in her dark eyes revealed everything: she hadn't come to share happy news, nor had she come to seek her mother's blessing. The entire visit had been a carefully orchestrated strike, a calculated effort to rattle Glory’s newfound composure right before one of the biggest matches of her season.

“I won't keep you from your training any longer, mother.” Melinda said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. She smoothed her platinum hair over one shoulder and glided back toward the foyer, the crisp click of her pumps sounding like a victory march against the hardwood floor.

Glory stood up slowly, her hands balling into tight fists at her sides as she followed her daughter down the short hallway. The maternal warmth that had welcomed Melinda inside had been replaced by a heavy, hollow ache. She watched in silence as Melinda retrieved her cream trench coat, sliding her arms into the sleeves with practiced elegance and draping her designer bag over her arm. At the front door, Melinda turned back to face her mother. The bright, picture perfect smile was fully back in place, glowing with the satisfaction of a master strategist who had landed a decisive blow.

“Do give my best to the students at the gym.” Melinda added with a subtle, mischievous tilt of her head. “And do try not to let the Television Title slip through your fingers, mother. It would be such a pity if I had to clean up another one of your messes.”

Without waiting for a response, Melinda opened the heavy wooden door and stepped out onto the sheltered stone porch. She didn't glance back as she walked down the stone path, her high heels clicking rhythmically through the soft London rain toward a waiting black towncar at the curb.

Glory stood in the open doorway, the damp chill of the afternoon air biting against her skin. She watched the dark windows of the car roll past before disappearing around the corner of the quiet residential street. Pushing a heavy, exhausted breath through her lungs, Glory slowly closed the door and leaned her forehead against the cool, solid timber of the entrance.

Melinda had gotten exactly what she wanted: she had struck a nerve, exposed a raw wound, and left her mother standing in the quiet house with a spinning mind and a heavy heart. But as Glory looked over at her worn leather kit bag sitting by the living room entrance, her dark eyes hardened with a cold, familiar resolve. She zipped up her heavy charcoal hoodie, grabbed the bag, and stepped back out into the rain, heading straight for the Braddock Wrestling School to turn every ounce of that anger into power.

[Jay Gold]

Colleen's Chronicles: Chapter 37 - Unyielding

[Braddock]

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October 19th, 2026
London, England
Off Camera
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The gray London rain had returned in full force, sweeping across the rooftops of the quiet residential street and drumming a heavy, persistent rhythm against the expansive, spotless glass windows of the renovated Braddock family home. Outside, the neighborhood remained grounded in its traditional, overcast British charm, but inside the three-story Victorian, the transformation was absolute. The modest, lived-in warmth that Glenn Braddock had maintained for decades, the scuffed floorboards, the lingering scent of his old pipe tobacco, and the worn leather furniture cluttering the front parlor, had been systematically erased. In its place stood a showcase of modern luxury. Light oak hardwood floors stretched into an expansive, open-plan living space framed by sleek slate panels, minimalist floating shelving, and a clean, ventless gas fireplace that cast a soft, flickering amber glow over the room. Soft ambient light reflected off polished marble surfaces, and the faint, refined fragrance of white tea and crushed linen hung in the air, creating an atmosphere that felt more like a high-end Mayfair gallery than the house where “The British Bombshell” Glory Braddock and her sister Julia had grown up.

The three sisters were gathered around the low-profile marble coffee table in the center of the living room, surrounded by the tension of what Glory insisted was a very important meeting, but she had yet to notify them of the circumstances. The British Bombshell alone knew that Melinda had secretly married Clyde Sutter. Glory Braddock sat on the edge of the sweeping cream sectional sofa, her posture rigid and her broad shoulders squared against the soft cushions. She was dressed in her typical, uncompromisingly practical style, wearing a fitted charcoal gray crewneck sweater tucked into a pair of dark, tailored denim jeans that broke over her heavy leather boots. Her long blonde hair was pulled back into a neat, functional braid resting over her shoulder, completely free of styling or product. Her arms were folded tightly across her chest, her knuckles pale beneath her skin, and her dark, focused eyes stared intently into the soft flame of the gas insert, her mind clearly replaying every barbed word her eldest daughter had spoken.

To her right, seated gracefully on the opposite end of the sectional, was her younger sister, Julia Braddock. Julia was the picture of tall, polished elegance, her long blonde hair styled into soft, flawless waves that caught the warm light of the room. She looked effortlessly sophisticated, wearing a rich camel-colored cashmere turtleneck tucked into a high-waisted, dark chocolate brown pencil skirt that fell neatly past her knees. On her feet were a pair of immaculate leather pointed-toe heels, and a slender gold chain rested against her sweater. She held a porcelain teacup in her lap, her posture perfectly straight, though her perceptive gaze lingered on Glory with a mix of sharp concern and quiet frustration.

Standing near the edge of the floor-to-ceiling glass doors overlooking the rain-slicked patio was their half-sister, Sophie O’Brian. Though she shared their father’s blood, Sophie carried a distinct, striking appearance, her rich dark hair falling in soft waves around a delicate, highly expressive face. She wore a tailored, slate blue A-line dress with long sleeves, paired with dark tights and neat, low-heeled leather pumps. Her dark eyes were observant and calm as she looked out at the falling rain, holding a crystal glass of water in her hand. Having only discovered her true parentage two years prior, Sophie often approached family matters with a cool, analytical distance, yet the quiet tightness in her jaw made it clear she understood the gravity of the situation unfolding inside the room.

The space between them felt heavy, charged with the unsaid thoughts of three women who carried the weight of the Braddock name in vastly different ways, waiting for the first words to break the silence.

“Julia, Sophie, I am glad we could all meet on such short notice and about such an important matter.” Glory says, her voice carrying the weight and gravity of the situation. Sophie sighs and nods her head.

“Gloria, dear sister, I believe even Julia would agree with me that we would do anything for you. And the opportunity to gather here today in this home where our father was raised, and where he raised the two of you…even if it doesn’t bear any resemblance to his vision…of course we are honored to be here and we would do anything for you.” Sophie frowns. “Although it would be nice if we knew precisely WHY we had to meet with you.”

“Sophie and I don’t agree on much but we agree on this,” Julia reiterates “we would do anything to help you. But she’s also right about the fact that you didn’t tell us anything.” Julia shrugs her shoulders. “I mean, what’s the big deal? What is so bloody important that we couldn’t talk about it over the phone?”

“It’s bad.” Glory says, her voice remaining very serious and grave. “And it involves Clyde.”

“Clyde Sutter?” Julia’s eyes grow wide. “He’s still dating Melinda. Did he hurt her?”

“No.” Glory shakes her head. “They secretly got married. Mel stopped by my place and told me yesterday.”

The entire room goes quiet as the shock of the news settles in. All three sisters have a similar look of skepticism on their faces. None of them have ever got along too well with Clyde Sutter as all three recall too well how he once treated Glory’s oldest child. He insists, and Melinda insists, that he has changed. But believing that and accepting has been difficult for the Braddock family collective, especially The British Bombshell. She does not want to see her daughter hurt.

“I hate this.” Julia shakes her head. “I hate it because there’s nothing we can do, is there? I mean, she’s an adult now, Glory. We cannot force them to break up.”

“So you see why I’m panicking right now?”

“Oh absolutely. Unfortunately our hands are tied. We just have to wait until the inevitable happens. Melinda will just have to learn the hard way about life and when they do eventually break up, we’ll be there to support her.”

“You do not believe their marriage will last?” Sophie asks with an arched brow. Julia and Glory both look at their half-sister with curiosity. “I do not trust Clyde Sutter. I do not like him. But he has been fiercely protective of her ever since they began dating again. There is another fine point I would also add to this that I think you both are overlooking.”

“What’s that?” Glory asks.

“Young Melinda reminds me a lot of myself when I was her age; rebellious, angry at the world, ruthless.” Sophie points a finger at Glory. “You certainly do not approve of MY methods. Still, my methods are practically the same as young Melinda’s. Yet you accept me despite our differences, you forgave me despite our differences.”

“What are you suggesting?” Glory asks.

“Why couldn’t YOU have that same relationship with your daughter?”

The soft hum of the gas fireplace and the relentless patter of the rain against the glass seemed to amplify the sudden silence that settled over the room. Sophie’s words hung in the air like a physical weight, cutting straight through the collective anxiety and forcing Glory to re-examine the very foundation of how she interacted with her eldest child.

Julia shifted slightly on the sleek cream sectional, her fingers tightening around the handle of her porcelain teacup as she looked between her older sister and Sophie. The comparison was uncomfortable, but it struck an undeniable nerve. Sophie had entered their lives as a stranger, carrying a heavy burden of resentment and fighting with a sharp, uncompromising edge that mirrored the worst of the Braddock pride. Yet Glory had eventually opened the door, choosing patience and steady acceptance over constant conflict, ultimately building a bridge across years of separation.

Glory stared at her half-sister, her dark eyes wide with a mix of realization and stubborn resistance. Her jaw tightened as she processed the comparison, her mind racing back to all the fiery arguments, the cold silences, and the barbed comments Melinda had hurled at her just a day earlier. Sophie wasn't wrong, but accepting the truth of it meant admitting her own failings as a mother in the face of her daughter's escalating rebellion.

“It is not the same thing, Sophie.” Glory finally defended, her voice dropping into a low, measured register as she shook her head. “You and I found common ground because we grew up, we talked, and we learned to respect each other’s boundaries. Melinda isn't just rebellious. She is actively trying to tear down everything our father built, everything I stand for, just to prove a point. She married a man who abused her, and she flaunts it like a weapon to hurt me.”

“And yet, she is still your flesh and blood.” Sophie countered smoothly, her dark eyes holding unwavering focus as she stepped away from the glass doors, crossing her arms over her slate blue dress. “She inherited every stubborn, destructive trait of the Braddock family, Gloria. Traits she undoubtedly learned by watching you. You pushed her away because you were terrified of seeing your own flaws reflected back at you through her eyes.”

Julia let out a long, quiet breath, setting her teacup down onto the marble coffee table with a soft clink. She looked over at Glory, her expression softening into a blend of sympathy and hard-earned wisdom.

“She has a point, Glory. We’ve all spent so much time worrying about Melinda’s choices and hating Clyde that we forgot the most basic rule of parenting: the harder you push a Braddock away, the tighter they hold onto their mistakes. If you keep treating her like an enemy who needs to be defeated, she will keep treating you like one.”

Glory leaned back against the cushions of the sofa, the fight suddenly draining out of her broad shoulders. She pressed a hand against her forehead, rubbing her temples as the exhaustion of the past few weeks finally caught up with her. The realization was bitter, but inescapable. In trying to protect her daughter from the world, and protecting herself from the sting of Melinda's ambition, she had built a wall instead of a bridge.

“I will grant that I have made mistakes.” The British Bombshell states. “All three of us sitting here have made mistakes.”

“You remember how dad freaked out when you dated Randall Williams? And later MARRIED Kurt Logan?” Julia asks, a wry grin forming on her face. Glory chuckles and nods her head.

“I remember. Dad hated Americans. He despised them. The fact that my one and only relationship with an Englishman went completely south and that I proceeded to date two Americans, ultimately marrying one of them, drove him bonkers.”

“He learned to love Kurt. He learned to accept him.” Julia states. “Maybe…and I admit that this is out of left field…but maybe we are wrong about Clyde? Maybe he is treating Melinda properly now?”

“I hate the man more than either of you.” Sophie states bluntly. “Even I must admit that he is treating my niece as if she were a princess.”

“Ok, wait a second…” The British Bombshell pauses to collect her thoughts “...let’s just say I give Clyde a chance. Let’s assume I give him a chance, he proves me wrong, he proves that he has changed.” Glory shakes her head. “There’s something else there. Something else is bothering her that she won’t tell me. This isn’t a simple matter of me not liking Clyde, it isn’t as basic as the two of us having conflicting wrestling philosophies. If it were that simple she wouldn’t feel as if she were ‘saving’ the Braddock legacy, that she was somehow restoring it.”

“Maybe she’s just delusional?” Julia suggests.

“No, there’s something more to it.” Glory insists. “I can feel it.”

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October 20th, 2026
London, England
On Camera
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The pale morning light streamed through the tall, multi-paned window of the sunlit room, casting a soft glow against the clean white woodwork. Perched casually upon the deep wooden window sill, Glory Braddock turned her head to look back over her shoulder, her striking blue eyes fixing on the space with an unreadable, watchful intensity. Her long, layered blonde hair framed a sharp, confident face, accented by turquoise earrings that caught the stray glints of daylight. The British Bombshell wore a structured, multi-toned plaid button-down shirt tucked neatly into a flowing, tiered cream-colored skirt that pooled softly around her legs. With one leg drawn up toward her chest, a flash of vibrant blue embroidery peeked from beneath the fold of the rich brown leather over-the-knee boot that stretched high up her leg, matching the sturdy heel of the boot firmly planted lower down the frame. In that quiet, suspended moment against the backdrop of the tall window, she looked entirely untouchable.

“Grit, determination, and heart; those are qualities that define a professional wrestler. When someone steps up to you in the center of the squared circle and punches you in the mouth, how do you respond? Do you fold up like a circus tent or do you fight back, do you punch your opponent in the mouth and show them and the rest of the world that you are not going down without a fight? This business is about challenging yourself. You can coast by, take on easy challenges, avoid all the obstacles, but you will never EVER know if you truly are as good as you think you are. My own closest friends and family warned me about signing with Supreme Championship Wrestling. They warned me that this place has the absolute best, the toughest competition bar none. They warned me my reputation might take a hit if I signed with SCW and I failed to deliver. But did I back down? Did I decide to coast?” Braddock shakes her head.

“Hell no. I fought back. I was relentless. And eventually I proved them all wrong. I won every championship available to a competitor in this company. I became Supreme Champion, proving that I am just as good as I say that I am. That is what competition is; rising to the challenge and meeting the challenge without giving up. I have had my fair share of ups and downs but no matter what obstacles I face, no matter how many times I get knocked down, I will never EVER give up. I will always meet my challenges head on because that is who the hell I am.” Braddock points a finger at the camera.

“What about you, Colleen? What kind of person are you? I give credit where its due. You have certainly grown and matured to become much more than just Polly Playtime’s stooge. For a long time you had the Underground Division on lockdown. Even my brilliant yet unstable cousin Kimmy couldn’t pry it from your cold dead hands. But there always comes along someone who will challenge you unlike anyone else, someone who will give you fits. The Monster Machine Enigma came along and took that Underground Title from you. And despite your best efforts you could not reclaim the Underground. How did you respond? Some might say you went and SETTLED for being Television Champion.” Glory smirks and shakes her head.

“I would never degenerate a championship by saying you are just simply settling. Any championship here in SCW is prestigious and hell, look at what you have done with the Television Title. Did I hear Sharper correct? Did he say you were now the longest reigning Television Champion in company history?” The British Bombshell claps her hands, somewhat sarcastically. “Congratulations, MacDonald. I mean it. You have a record to your name. But let’s peel back the layers on your run as SCW Television Champion, shall we? This most recent defense of your title, against Crystal Zdunich. In fear of diminishing that victory, but Zdunich’s head wasn’t in the game, her heart and soul wasn’t in the game, and hell, I’d question whether ol’ Crystal even showed up at all. And that really defines your run as champion, Colleen; defenses against opponents who DID NOT SHOW UP.” Braddock smirks.

“Now I know you don’t make the matches, you just defend against whoever CHBK or Frank put against you. But even you have to admit that you have NOT been properly tested since your Underground wars against Kimberly Williams and The Monster Machine. Also you went three months without a title defense due to an injury. Now as a fellow competitor I do not wish ill on another competitor, but somewhere along the way I thought the Television Title was supposed to be defended on EVERY BREAKDOWN? Except YOU got a three month reprieve. How convenient for your now record setting longest reign as Television Champion.” The British Bombshell holds up one finger.

“There is ONE THING I will give you credit for; you are willing to defend this championship against me at Apocalypse. In the past, Television Champions GLADLY took the easy way out, because per the rules the Television Title does not have to be defended on pay per views. But you recognize that you need to be challenged, you recognize that you need to be tested, and so not only are you stepping up to The British Bombshell but you are also putting that same championship on the line at Apocalypse. Unfortunately there is one small problem, Colleen.” Her voice trails off.

“You have gone soft. Your last real test was in the Underground against volatile warriors like Kimmy and monsters like Enigma. Ever since you set foot into the Television Title picture you have gladly embraced easier challengers. Your opponents have been fighters, no doubt about it, but not the kind of warriors or monsters that you used to face. Now at Apocalypse you are set to face one of the absolute BEST wrestlers in the world today, right after taking a three month hiatus due to injury.” Braddock grins knowingly.

“The ring rust alone is going to be a nightmare, Colleen. But pair that physical rust with the fact that you’ve gotten comfortable beating fighters who don't have the stomach for deep waters? That is a recipe for disaster. While you’ve been coasting on past glory and resting up on the shelf, I’ve been right here in the thick of it, grinding, sharpening my edge, and tearing through every obstacle put in front of me. I haven't had the luxury of a three-month breather. I haven't been coasting on easy defenses. I’ve been fighting for my life against the absolute elite of Supreme Championship Wrestling every single week.” Glory pauses, letting her strong words sink in.

“So ask yourself: when the bell rings at Apocalypse and the reality of who you’re in there with finally sets in, what happens? When I hit you with everything I've got, when the pressure mounts and the lungs start burning, are you going to dig deep and find that old underground instinct? Or are you going to realize, far too late, that the environment has changed, the bar has been raised, and you’ve been left behind?” Braddock shakes her head.

“You see, holding a record on paper is a lovely little distinction for the history books. It looks great in press releases, and I’m sure it gives you a warm feeling when you strap that belt around your waist in the morning. But paper records don't hit back. History books don't break your momentum or push you to your absolute absolute limit. I do. And at Apocalypse, you aren't fighting a ghost from your past or a competitor who forgot to show up. You are fighting Glory Braddock. So bring that Television Championship to Apocalypse, Colleen. Hold it tight, take a good, long look at it while you walk down that ramp, and savor every single second of being called the champion. Because when that bell rings, I am going to push you into a place you haven't been in a very long time. I am going to test every ounce of your resolve, strip away every excuse you’ve built up over the last three months, and take that title for myself. You wanted a real test? Be careful what you wish for, MacDonald...because class is about to be in session.”

Glory offers one final, icy smile before stepping off the window sill, leaving the quiet light of the room behind as the camera fades to black.

[Jay Gold]

Colleen's Chronicles: Chapter 38 - Undermining



So sayeth Colleen on Halloween:  "Looks like I'm facing SCW's Underminer."