12-16-2025, 04:20 PM
2 of 2
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December 10th, 2025
London, England
Off Camera
==========
The Glenn Braddock Wrestling School sat a little apart from the rest of the street, its brick façade darkened by decades of sun, sweat, and Florida humidity. It was not an imposing building in the modern sense, no polished glass, no bold signage, but it carried weight all the same. The paint on the exterior trim had dulled to a chalky off white, chipped in places where time had taken its small, patient bites. A simple metal sign bearing the school’s name hung above the entrance, the lettering slightly uneven, as though it had been adjusted by hand more than once. The building looked lived in, worked in, and respected, like an old fighter whose scars were worn openly rather than hidden away. When Melinda Braddock and Fiona Logan stepped inside, the familiar scent hit them immediately: a mixture of aged canvas, disinfectant, metal, and the lingering trace of sweat that no amount of cleaning could ever truly erase. The air was cooler than outside, humming softly with the effort of overworked fans mounted high along the walls. The sound of their blades turning was steady and unglamorous, like the breathing of the place itself. Every step they took echoed faintly against the hard floor, a reminder that this was not a gym designed for comfort but for purpose. The main training space opened up before them, wide and unpretentious. At its center stood the ring, its frame solid and heavy, the ropes slightly faded from their original brightness. The canvas bore subtle discolorations, marks left behind by years of drills, bumps, and lessons learned the hard way. It had been repaired more times than either sister could count, but never replaced. Glenn had believed a ring should age alongside the wrestlers who trained in it, accumulating history rather than being scrubbed clean of it.
“So this is your grandfather’s famous wrestling school…” Fiona Logan studies it closely, a bit surprised at what she sees. Melinda can detect it and smirks.
“Disappointed?”
“No, not quite.” Fiona shrugs her shoulders. “It’s just that someone as popular as your dad was would, um…”
“Be more extravagant?” Melinda snickers. “No, you got the wrong Braddock. I’m the extravagant one. Our mother was more like Glenn once upon a time. Popularity and fame changed her much like it changed me. She’s trying to change but…” Melinda shakes her head “...I have my doubts.”
“Doubts or not this is where you learned to wrestle, right?”
“Yes, it was.” Melinda nods her head. “Of course mom tried to stop me at every turn. She was overprotective, couldn’t stand the idea of her little girl following in her footsteps. I often snuck away to get some lessons done in secret.”
“I’m sure she loved that when she found out.” Fiona snickers.
“She was furious. That was the beginning of the fracture of our relationship.”
“But she obviously gave it at some point.” Fiona states. “Because you did graduate from here.”
“Yes, mom finally realized that she could not keep me away from the wrestling ring and let me train here.” Melinda scowls. “This place is my birthright, she had no right to try and keep it from me.”
“Look Mels, I know you and mom have your issues but you might want to at least pretend to get along. I’m sure she’s waiting on us.”
“Of course she is.” Melinda sighs. “Anyway, let’s go.”
The pair, The Vision, walk further into the school. Around the ring, the walls were lined with mirrors that had long since lost their perfection. Thin scratches caught the light at certain angles, and some corners were clouded just enough to distort reflections. Between the mirrors hung framed photographs and yellowing posters, some curling slightly at the edges. They documented eras rather than achievements: Glenn in his prime, Glory in her early days, students whose careers had burned bright or faded quietly. None of the frames matched. None of them needed to. Melinda moved through the space with an ease that came from growing up here. To her, the building was less a school and more a second home, one that demanded discipline but offered certainty in return. Every scuffed corner and patched mat carried a memory, and those memories shaped her as much as any lesson ever had. Fiona followed close behind, her presence subtly different despite the shared surname and shared years under Glory’s roof. Where Melinda moved as though the space belonged to her, Fiona moved with a quiet awareness, always conscious of the room, the exits, the angles. Her dark hair was pulled back neatly, practical and unadorned, and her eyes lingered on details others might overlook: the slight sag in one corner of the ring apron, the duct tape reinforcing a padded turnbuckle, the way one of the heavy bags leaned ever so slightly to the left from years of punishment.
The equipment scattered throughout the gym reflected Glenn Braddock’s philosophy as clearly as the ring did. Nothing was new, but nothing was neglected. Dumbbells bore the dull shine of constant use, their grips smoothed by countless hands. Kettlebells rested in uneven rows, paint chipped, weight numbers half faded. The heavy bags were thick and stubborn, their leather cracked but intact, hanging from chains that rattled faintly when disturbed. This was not a space designed to impress outsiders. It was designed to endure. Toward the far wall, a narrow hallway led to the locker rooms and Glenn’s old office. The doorway still bore a small dent at shoulder height, the result of some long forgotten incident that had never been repaired because Glenn hadn’t seen the point. The office door remained the same dark wood it had always been, its surface worn smooth around the handle. Inside, just barely visible through the frosted glass panel, sat the outline of a desk that had once been buried under papers, notebooks, and half finished cups of coffee. The room felt quieter than the rest of the building, as though it held onto its silence out of respect.
The lighting throughout the school was practical rather than flattering. Fluorescent fixtures buzzed softly overhead, casting a flat, honest glow that left no room for illusion. Shadows gathered in the corners where the light didn’t quite reach, but even those felt intentional, as though the building understood that wrestlers needed to learn how to work in imperfection. Glenn had never trusted places that shined too brightly. He believed struggle lived in the cracks, and so the school had been allowed to keep them. As Melinda and Fiona stood there, the weight of the place pressed in, not oppressively, but insistently. The Glenn Braddock Wrestling School did not welcome anyone gently. It didn’t soften itself for newcomers or apologize for its age. It asked, without words, whether those who entered were ready to meet it on its terms. For Melinda, those terms were ingrained, part of her blood and upbringing. For Fiona, they were hard earned, written into muscle memory and survival. Above everything else, the school felt watched over. Not by cameras or modern security systems, but by legacy. Glenn’s presence lingered in the way the ring stood unyielding at the center of the room, in the refusal to replace what still worked, in the quiet insistence that wrestling was not something to be made comfortable. It was something to be respected.
“Girls!”
The voice is familiar and echoes throughout the building. Melinda and Fiona turn towards the sound. They are not surprised to see The British Bombshell, their mother Glory Braddock, approaching with an ear to ear grin on her face. She knew that there was a strong likelihood of Glory being here, and yet Melinda still had hoped against hope that she might avoid running into her. Unfortunately that failed. Melinda forces a polite smile onto her face, not a warm smile but a polite smile.
“Kurt told me you two were in London!” Glory hugs Melinda first and then Fiona. “It’s so great to see you both!”
“Great seeing you too!” Fiona states, an attempt to be friendly. Melinda just nods her head, again out of politeness, not particularly out of warmth or kindness.
“I assume you two are here because your SCW World Tag Team Championship Match?” Glory asks. Melinda nods her head.
“Yes, those championships…and the division itself…WILL belong to The Vision.”
“Damn right.” Fiona smirks. “And we’re gonna make sure none of Gia and Gina’s tricks will screw us over.”
“You two are a great tag team, there’s no doubting that.” Glory says. “And wanting to prepare for any possible scenario is a sign that you are wise beyond your years.”
“So can you help us?” Melinda asks impatiently.
“Well I have a match of my own to prepare for. Amelia Nevado, remember?” Glory smirks. “But if you want someone who can come up with all sorts of ways to test you…from the downright sadistic methods of my own father to some just plain tricky scenarios that the Glimmers might come up with…I think my best friend Mark can oblige.”
“Mark?” Fiona asks curiously.
“Uncle Mark.” Melinda says. “Well, he’s technically not our Uncle, but he’s been close with mom for so long that they’re practically related.”
“That he’s the head trainer.” Glory winks. The British Bombshell turns and waves for Mark to come over. It isn’t long before a large man, built like a tank and with long stringy black hair, comes lumbering over towards the three women. Melinda smiles upon seeing him, the first genuine smile all day.
“Uncle Mark!” She hugs him tightly.
“Hey there, kiddo.” Mark responds. He looks over at Fiona. “And you must be Fiona?”
“That’s my name.” Fiona winks.
“Mark, Melinda and Fiona are challenging a pair of twins, sisters, for the SCW World Tag Team Championship at Shattered Reality.” Glory points out. “If you can find a way to properly prepare them for what they can expect…” Glory’s voice trails off. Mark nods his head.
“You got it. I’ll put them through the wringer for ya!”
“Great!” Glory exclaims. “I’ll leave them in your care. Mel, Fiona, when you two are done, maybe we can go out for lunch?”
“Maybe.” Melinda responds unconvincingly with a shrug of her shoulders.
“We’ll see if we can change your mind.” Glory winks before turning and walking away. Melinda’s eyes remain cold as steel as she watches her mother walk away. Mark turns to face Melinda and frowns.
“Y’know, kid, you could be a little nicer to your mom.”
“I could.” Melinda shakes her head. “But I’m not.”
“Why not?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“I’ve been in this life a long time, in this business a long time, you’d be surprised at what I understand because I have seen it all.”
“You’re right, Mark. You HAVE been through it all and you have seen it all.” Melinda smirks knowingly. “So before you help us prepare to take down Gina and Gina and take those tag titles, why don’t you use your immense wisdom and experience to solve Fiona’s little problem?”
“Mels!” Fiona exclaims. She wasn’t expecting this to get brought up. She really did not want to discuss it. Melinda shrugs her shoulders.
“What? It is a distraction and we cannot afford to have you distracted at Shattered Reality.”
“I can try to help.” Mark says. “What’s up?”
“It’s nothing.” Fiona insists. “Me and Mels are handling it just fine.”
“Maybe but Mels is right, if this IS a distraction then that could give The Glimmers an edge.” Mark points out. “Trust me, I should know, I am a tag team specialist. Both members of the team need to be on point. Mels seems to be ready, but what about you?”
“I’m fine.” Fiona insists.
“She’s not.” Melinda shakes her head. “She has a creepy stalker who seems to know a great deal about her. Whoever this is, they’re getting awfully close to her.”
Fiona hadn’t wanted to deal with this or talk about it right now but here it is; she sighs and nods her head, confirming Melinda’s statement as true. Mark folds his arms over his chest.
“Is it a distraction?”
“Maybe…yeah…”
“Then ya definitely need to do something about this.” Mark states. “Whether you notify authorities or just ask SCW for additional security, do something so that you know you two are protected heading into Shattered Reality.”
“But do you really think the cops or extra security will be enough?”
“It may not be enough to stop it long term but it should be good enough to temporarily put your mind at ease so that you can focus entirely on The Glimmer Sisters.” Mark states. “This is for a tag team championship. There can be no room for error.”
==========
On Camera
==========
The warehouse is vast and hollow, its scale revealed more by echoes than by sight. Overhead, steel rafters vanish into shadow, broken only by a few dangling industrial lights that hum softly and cast uneven pools of illumination across the concrete floor. Dust drifts lazily through the air, catching the light in brief silver flashes before settling again. The smell is a mix of cold metal, old oil, and something faintly electrical, as if the building itself still remembers the machinery it once housed. Somewhere in the distance, water drips at a steady, patient rhythm. Melinda Braddock, “The Third Generation Goddess”, stands nearer to one of the lights, the glow revealing her with almost painterly clarity. Her pale hair falls straight and loose around her shoulders, strands occasionally shifting as a draft slips through a cracked loading door. She wears a structured, ivory-toned corset that cinches her waist tightly, its fabric subtly patterned and reinforced with vertical boning that gives her posture an elegant, statuesque line. The neckline is restrained yet striking, framed by thin straps that emphasize her collarbones and shoulders. Below the corset, the outfit continues into a fitted skirt of the same pale fabric, hugging her hips before falling straight to just above her knees. The skirt is laced at the sides, the ties neat and deliberate, more ornamental than functional. Her legs are bare, her stance steady and unhurried, and on her feet she wears simple, pale heels, closed-toe, with modest height, practical enough to walk on concrete, yet refined enough to match the severity of her attire. Her hands rest loosely at her sides, fingers relaxed, her expression calm and unreadable, as if she is perfectly comfortable being watched in this stark, echoing space.
A few feet away, partially cloaked in shadow and tinted by a warmer, reddish light, Fiona Logan, “The Boston Badass”, creates a striking contrast. Her dark hair is pulled back from her face, cascading down her back in controlled waves, and her lips dark, giving her a predatory confidence. She wears a fitted top in deep red, its fabric stretching smoothly across her torso, laced at the front and cut to allow ease of movement. Her lower half is clad in black leather pants, snug and flexible, creased slightly at the knees where she shifts her weight. A thin chain hangs from her waistband, glinting as it sways with her movements. Her boots are solid and imposing, black, lace-up, with thick soles designed for traction rather than elegance. They scuff faintly against the concrete as she steps, the sound deliberate, controlled. One arm is relaxed at her side, revealing faint ink along her forearm, while the other rests near the belt, fingers casually hooked as if claiming ownership of both the title and the space around her.
“Shattered Reality.” Melinda Braddock chuckles softly to herself. “Gia, Gina, your reality is about to be shattered into a million pieces by the one and only ultimate truth that is Fate. Reality is that you two are really good, there is no denying how talented you are in tag team wrestling. Reality is that, on any other night facing any other tag team, you would likely retain those SCW World Tag Team Championships. Unfortunately for you, the REALITY is that you are defending those championships against fastest rising tag team in professional wrestling today. You are defending those tag team championships against the living embodiment of Fate itself. You are defending those titles against The Third Generation Goddess and The Boston Badass. You are defending against The Vision and that reality is going to bring an end to your impressive reign as champions in SCW.” Braddock smiles, almost condescendingly, before turning to face Fiona, giving her a nod, a cue to speak up next.
“Mels here is nicer, sweeter, more polite than me.” Fiona snarls. “I aint gonna spout on about what you’ve done inside the ring because, quite frankly, I don’t give a damn. What I DO care about is that you have what WE want! What I DO give a damn about is the fact that you are the one and only, the final obstacle standing between us and complete dominance over the SCW tag team division! Mels can call it Fate, she can call it destiny, I call it the two of us kicking the crap out of you all night long. I call it us stomping you into that mat, stomping you into the pile of garbage that you are, and stomping that fight out of you until you have no choice but to relent, to give in, to give up the fight. For Mels and I this aint about the spirit of competition or bullshit like that. No, we come and we take whatever the hell we want and we want those SCW tag straps. So at Shattered Reality, we’re gonna take them from ya whether you like it or not!”
“Gia and Gina,” Melinda continues “you have both been quite entertaining but now the time for fun and games has come to an end. Shattered Reality is not about entertainment, Shattered Reality is a fight to ensure that the will of Fate itself is done. Fate never loses the battle, Glimmers. Fate always gets what it wants. This is why we have won tag team championships in every single promotion we have been to and this is why we shall add the prestigious SCW tag team championships to our trophy case once we dispose of you, because with all of your skills and all of your trickery, you will still ultimately fall at the feet of Fate itself, because Fate has determined that The Vision’s time is now. Fate WILL grant us victory at Shattered Reality.”
“The pair of you are entertainers, not fighters.” Fiona scoffs. “You have yet to be met with a true test. You have yet to be truly tested. When The Vision puts the pressure on at Shattered Reality, we will expose you two clowns. When me and Mels brings the fight to your asses, you will fold, ironically enough, like a god damn circus tent. I guarantee it.”
“Your Fate, Glimmers, is sealed.” Melinda smirks knowingly.
=====
==========
December 10th, 2025
London, England
Off Camera
==========
The Glenn Braddock Wrestling School sat a little apart from the rest of the street, its brick façade darkened by decades of sun, sweat, and Florida humidity. It was not an imposing building in the modern sense, no polished glass, no bold signage, but it carried weight all the same. The paint on the exterior trim had dulled to a chalky off white, chipped in places where time had taken its small, patient bites. A simple metal sign bearing the school’s name hung above the entrance, the lettering slightly uneven, as though it had been adjusted by hand more than once. The building looked lived in, worked in, and respected, like an old fighter whose scars were worn openly rather than hidden away. When Melinda Braddock and Fiona Logan stepped inside, the familiar scent hit them immediately: a mixture of aged canvas, disinfectant, metal, and the lingering trace of sweat that no amount of cleaning could ever truly erase. The air was cooler than outside, humming softly with the effort of overworked fans mounted high along the walls. The sound of their blades turning was steady and unglamorous, like the breathing of the place itself. Every step they took echoed faintly against the hard floor, a reminder that this was not a gym designed for comfort but for purpose. The main training space opened up before them, wide and unpretentious. At its center stood the ring, its frame solid and heavy, the ropes slightly faded from their original brightness. The canvas bore subtle discolorations, marks left behind by years of drills, bumps, and lessons learned the hard way. It had been repaired more times than either sister could count, but never replaced. Glenn had believed a ring should age alongside the wrestlers who trained in it, accumulating history rather than being scrubbed clean of it.
“So this is your grandfather’s famous wrestling school…” Fiona Logan studies it closely, a bit surprised at what she sees. Melinda can detect it and smirks.
“Disappointed?”
“No, not quite.” Fiona shrugs her shoulders. “It’s just that someone as popular as your dad was would, um…”
“Be more extravagant?” Melinda snickers. “No, you got the wrong Braddock. I’m the extravagant one. Our mother was more like Glenn once upon a time. Popularity and fame changed her much like it changed me. She’s trying to change but…” Melinda shakes her head “...I have my doubts.”
“Doubts or not this is where you learned to wrestle, right?”
“Yes, it was.” Melinda nods her head. “Of course mom tried to stop me at every turn. She was overprotective, couldn’t stand the idea of her little girl following in her footsteps. I often snuck away to get some lessons done in secret.”
“I’m sure she loved that when she found out.” Fiona snickers.
“She was furious. That was the beginning of the fracture of our relationship.”
“But she obviously gave it at some point.” Fiona states. “Because you did graduate from here.”
“Yes, mom finally realized that she could not keep me away from the wrestling ring and let me train here.” Melinda scowls. “This place is my birthright, she had no right to try and keep it from me.”
“Look Mels, I know you and mom have your issues but you might want to at least pretend to get along. I’m sure she’s waiting on us.”
“Of course she is.” Melinda sighs. “Anyway, let’s go.”
The pair, The Vision, walk further into the school. Around the ring, the walls were lined with mirrors that had long since lost their perfection. Thin scratches caught the light at certain angles, and some corners were clouded just enough to distort reflections. Between the mirrors hung framed photographs and yellowing posters, some curling slightly at the edges. They documented eras rather than achievements: Glenn in his prime, Glory in her early days, students whose careers had burned bright or faded quietly. None of the frames matched. None of them needed to. Melinda moved through the space with an ease that came from growing up here. To her, the building was less a school and more a second home, one that demanded discipline but offered certainty in return. Every scuffed corner and patched mat carried a memory, and those memories shaped her as much as any lesson ever had. Fiona followed close behind, her presence subtly different despite the shared surname and shared years under Glory’s roof. Where Melinda moved as though the space belonged to her, Fiona moved with a quiet awareness, always conscious of the room, the exits, the angles. Her dark hair was pulled back neatly, practical and unadorned, and her eyes lingered on details others might overlook: the slight sag in one corner of the ring apron, the duct tape reinforcing a padded turnbuckle, the way one of the heavy bags leaned ever so slightly to the left from years of punishment.
The equipment scattered throughout the gym reflected Glenn Braddock’s philosophy as clearly as the ring did. Nothing was new, but nothing was neglected. Dumbbells bore the dull shine of constant use, their grips smoothed by countless hands. Kettlebells rested in uneven rows, paint chipped, weight numbers half faded. The heavy bags were thick and stubborn, their leather cracked but intact, hanging from chains that rattled faintly when disturbed. This was not a space designed to impress outsiders. It was designed to endure. Toward the far wall, a narrow hallway led to the locker rooms and Glenn’s old office. The doorway still bore a small dent at shoulder height, the result of some long forgotten incident that had never been repaired because Glenn hadn’t seen the point. The office door remained the same dark wood it had always been, its surface worn smooth around the handle. Inside, just barely visible through the frosted glass panel, sat the outline of a desk that had once been buried under papers, notebooks, and half finished cups of coffee. The room felt quieter than the rest of the building, as though it held onto its silence out of respect.
The lighting throughout the school was practical rather than flattering. Fluorescent fixtures buzzed softly overhead, casting a flat, honest glow that left no room for illusion. Shadows gathered in the corners where the light didn’t quite reach, but even those felt intentional, as though the building understood that wrestlers needed to learn how to work in imperfection. Glenn had never trusted places that shined too brightly. He believed struggle lived in the cracks, and so the school had been allowed to keep them. As Melinda and Fiona stood there, the weight of the place pressed in, not oppressively, but insistently. The Glenn Braddock Wrestling School did not welcome anyone gently. It didn’t soften itself for newcomers or apologize for its age. It asked, without words, whether those who entered were ready to meet it on its terms. For Melinda, those terms were ingrained, part of her blood and upbringing. For Fiona, they were hard earned, written into muscle memory and survival. Above everything else, the school felt watched over. Not by cameras or modern security systems, but by legacy. Glenn’s presence lingered in the way the ring stood unyielding at the center of the room, in the refusal to replace what still worked, in the quiet insistence that wrestling was not something to be made comfortable. It was something to be respected.
“Girls!”
The voice is familiar and echoes throughout the building. Melinda and Fiona turn towards the sound. They are not surprised to see The British Bombshell, their mother Glory Braddock, approaching with an ear to ear grin on her face. She knew that there was a strong likelihood of Glory being here, and yet Melinda still had hoped against hope that she might avoid running into her. Unfortunately that failed. Melinda forces a polite smile onto her face, not a warm smile but a polite smile.
“Kurt told me you two were in London!” Glory hugs Melinda first and then Fiona. “It’s so great to see you both!”
“Great seeing you too!” Fiona states, an attempt to be friendly. Melinda just nods her head, again out of politeness, not particularly out of warmth or kindness.
“I assume you two are here because your SCW World Tag Team Championship Match?” Glory asks. Melinda nods her head.
“Yes, those championships…and the division itself…WILL belong to The Vision.”
“Damn right.” Fiona smirks. “And we’re gonna make sure none of Gia and Gina’s tricks will screw us over.”
“You two are a great tag team, there’s no doubting that.” Glory says. “And wanting to prepare for any possible scenario is a sign that you are wise beyond your years.”
“So can you help us?” Melinda asks impatiently.
“Well I have a match of my own to prepare for. Amelia Nevado, remember?” Glory smirks. “But if you want someone who can come up with all sorts of ways to test you…from the downright sadistic methods of my own father to some just plain tricky scenarios that the Glimmers might come up with…I think my best friend Mark can oblige.”
“Mark?” Fiona asks curiously.
“Uncle Mark.” Melinda says. “Well, he’s technically not our Uncle, but he’s been close with mom for so long that they’re practically related.”
“That he’s the head trainer.” Glory winks. The British Bombshell turns and waves for Mark to come over. It isn’t long before a large man, built like a tank and with long stringy black hair, comes lumbering over towards the three women. Melinda smiles upon seeing him, the first genuine smile all day.
“Uncle Mark!” She hugs him tightly.
“Hey there, kiddo.” Mark responds. He looks over at Fiona. “And you must be Fiona?”
“That’s my name.” Fiona winks.
“Mark, Melinda and Fiona are challenging a pair of twins, sisters, for the SCW World Tag Team Championship at Shattered Reality.” Glory points out. “If you can find a way to properly prepare them for what they can expect…” Glory’s voice trails off. Mark nods his head.
“You got it. I’ll put them through the wringer for ya!”
“Great!” Glory exclaims. “I’ll leave them in your care. Mel, Fiona, when you two are done, maybe we can go out for lunch?”
“Maybe.” Melinda responds unconvincingly with a shrug of her shoulders.
“We’ll see if we can change your mind.” Glory winks before turning and walking away. Melinda’s eyes remain cold as steel as she watches her mother walk away. Mark turns to face Melinda and frowns.
“Y’know, kid, you could be a little nicer to your mom.”
“I could.” Melinda shakes her head. “But I’m not.”
“Why not?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“I’ve been in this life a long time, in this business a long time, you’d be surprised at what I understand because I have seen it all.”
“You’re right, Mark. You HAVE been through it all and you have seen it all.” Melinda smirks knowingly. “So before you help us prepare to take down Gina and Gina and take those tag titles, why don’t you use your immense wisdom and experience to solve Fiona’s little problem?”
“Mels!” Fiona exclaims. She wasn’t expecting this to get brought up. She really did not want to discuss it. Melinda shrugs her shoulders.
“What? It is a distraction and we cannot afford to have you distracted at Shattered Reality.”
“I can try to help.” Mark says. “What’s up?”
“It’s nothing.” Fiona insists. “Me and Mels are handling it just fine.”
“Maybe but Mels is right, if this IS a distraction then that could give The Glimmers an edge.” Mark points out. “Trust me, I should know, I am a tag team specialist. Both members of the team need to be on point. Mels seems to be ready, but what about you?”
“I’m fine.” Fiona insists.
“She’s not.” Melinda shakes her head. “She has a creepy stalker who seems to know a great deal about her. Whoever this is, they’re getting awfully close to her.”
Fiona hadn’t wanted to deal with this or talk about it right now but here it is; she sighs and nods her head, confirming Melinda’s statement as true. Mark folds his arms over his chest.
“Is it a distraction?”
“Maybe…yeah…”
“Then ya definitely need to do something about this.” Mark states. “Whether you notify authorities or just ask SCW for additional security, do something so that you know you two are protected heading into Shattered Reality.”
“But do you really think the cops or extra security will be enough?”
“It may not be enough to stop it long term but it should be good enough to temporarily put your mind at ease so that you can focus entirely on The Glimmer Sisters.” Mark states. “This is for a tag team championship. There can be no room for error.”
==========
On Camera
==========
The warehouse is vast and hollow, its scale revealed more by echoes than by sight. Overhead, steel rafters vanish into shadow, broken only by a few dangling industrial lights that hum softly and cast uneven pools of illumination across the concrete floor. Dust drifts lazily through the air, catching the light in brief silver flashes before settling again. The smell is a mix of cold metal, old oil, and something faintly electrical, as if the building itself still remembers the machinery it once housed. Somewhere in the distance, water drips at a steady, patient rhythm. Melinda Braddock, “The Third Generation Goddess”, stands nearer to one of the lights, the glow revealing her with almost painterly clarity. Her pale hair falls straight and loose around her shoulders, strands occasionally shifting as a draft slips through a cracked loading door. She wears a structured, ivory-toned corset that cinches her waist tightly, its fabric subtly patterned and reinforced with vertical boning that gives her posture an elegant, statuesque line. The neckline is restrained yet striking, framed by thin straps that emphasize her collarbones and shoulders. Below the corset, the outfit continues into a fitted skirt of the same pale fabric, hugging her hips before falling straight to just above her knees. The skirt is laced at the sides, the ties neat and deliberate, more ornamental than functional. Her legs are bare, her stance steady and unhurried, and on her feet she wears simple, pale heels, closed-toe, with modest height, practical enough to walk on concrete, yet refined enough to match the severity of her attire. Her hands rest loosely at her sides, fingers relaxed, her expression calm and unreadable, as if she is perfectly comfortable being watched in this stark, echoing space.
A few feet away, partially cloaked in shadow and tinted by a warmer, reddish light, Fiona Logan, “The Boston Badass”, creates a striking contrast. Her dark hair is pulled back from her face, cascading down her back in controlled waves, and her lips dark, giving her a predatory confidence. She wears a fitted top in deep red, its fabric stretching smoothly across her torso, laced at the front and cut to allow ease of movement. Her lower half is clad in black leather pants, snug and flexible, creased slightly at the knees where she shifts her weight. A thin chain hangs from her waistband, glinting as it sways with her movements. Her boots are solid and imposing, black, lace-up, with thick soles designed for traction rather than elegance. They scuff faintly against the concrete as she steps, the sound deliberate, controlled. One arm is relaxed at her side, revealing faint ink along her forearm, while the other rests near the belt, fingers casually hooked as if claiming ownership of both the title and the space around her.
“Shattered Reality.” Melinda Braddock chuckles softly to herself. “Gia, Gina, your reality is about to be shattered into a million pieces by the one and only ultimate truth that is Fate. Reality is that you two are really good, there is no denying how talented you are in tag team wrestling. Reality is that, on any other night facing any other tag team, you would likely retain those SCW World Tag Team Championships. Unfortunately for you, the REALITY is that you are defending those championships against fastest rising tag team in professional wrestling today. You are defending those tag team championships against the living embodiment of Fate itself. You are defending those titles against The Third Generation Goddess and The Boston Badass. You are defending against The Vision and that reality is going to bring an end to your impressive reign as champions in SCW.” Braddock smiles, almost condescendingly, before turning to face Fiona, giving her a nod, a cue to speak up next.
“Mels here is nicer, sweeter, more polite than me.” Fiona snarls. “I aint gonna spout on about what you’ve done inside the ring because, quite frankly, I don’t give a damn. What I DO care about is that you have what WE want! What I DO give a damn about is the fact that you are the one and only, the final obstacle standing between us and complete dominance over the SCW tag team division! Mels can call it Fate, she can call it destiny, I call it the two of us kicking the crap out of you all night long. I call it us stomping you into that mat, stomping you into the pile of garbage that you are, and stomping that fight out of you until you have no choice but to relent, to give in, to give up the fight. For Mels and I this aint about the spirit of competition or bullshit like that. No, we come and we take whatever the hell we want and we want those SCW tag straps. So at Shattered Reality, we’re gonna take them from ya whether you like it or not!”
“Gia and Gina,” Melinda continues “you have both been quite entertaining but now the time for fun and games has come to an end. Shattered Reality is not about entertainment, Shattered Reality is a fight to ensure that the will of Fate itself is done. Fate never loses the battle, Glimmers. Fate always gets what it wants. This is why we have won tag team championships in every single promotion we have been to and this is why we shall add the prestigious SCW tag team championships to our trophy case once we dispose of you, because with all of your skills and all of your trickery, you will still ultimately fall at the feet of Fate itself, because Fate has determined that The Vision’s time is now. Fate WILL grant us victory at Shattered Reality.”
“The pair of you are entertainers, not fighters.” Fiona scoffs. “You have yet to be met with a true test. You have yet to be truly tested. When The Vision puts the pressure on at Shattered Reality, we will expose you two clowns. When me and Mels brings the fight to your asses, you will fold, ironically enough, like a god damn circus tent. I guarantee it.”
“Your Fate, Glimmers, is sealed.” Melinda smirks knowingly.
![[Image: XJiTNy0.png]](https://i.imgur.com/XJiTNy0.png)
Career Achievements
MWE Television Champion 2x
MWE Riot Champion 1x
GCW World Tag Team Champion 1x
SCW Television Champion 1x
MWA World Tag Team Champion 2x