Today, 05:02 AM
2 of 2
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March 14th, 2026
Miami, Florida
Off Camera
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It had been just two days since Breakdown in Panama City Beach and now The Vision had returned to their adopted headquarters of Miami, Florida. Miami wore that polished late morning brightness that made everything look a little too sharp to be accidental. The sky was a broad, almost unreal blue, the kind that seemed to belong more to postcards and tourism ads than to ordinary life, and the sun hung high enough to press heat down over the city without mercy. Even in the shade there was warmth rising from the pavement, trapped in the sidewalks and the low walls and the parked cars along the street. The air had that unmistakable coastal softness to it, heavy with humidity, touched faintly by salt and traffic and espresso and the sweet clean smell of citrus from a nearby planter full of small ornamental trees. Nothing about it was quiet. Miami rarely was. Even in calmer corners of the city there was always motion, always sound, always the feeling that too many people were out in the world at once, each one moving with a destination in mind. The cafe had claimed a section of the sidewalk beneath a line of cream colored umbrellas that cast round pools of shade over the outdoor tables. It was one of those stylish but self conscious places that managed to look effortless only because a great deal of effort had gone into making it seem that way. The tables were small and circular, topped with pale stone that reflected the light around the edges, and the chairs were woven in a glossy natural fiber that looked comfortable from a distance and only passably so once someone sat in them. Planters crowded the perimeter of the dining area, filled with dense tropical greenery that softened the edge of the street without ever truly separating the diners from it. Palm fronds stirred every now and then when the breeze found them, though the air itself remained warm and sticky enough to cling to skin.
The most important part of this setting, this cafe, is that it is a public place with plenty of eyes and ears everywhere. Public enough to feel safe on paper, exposed enough that every expression and pause and shift in posture risked being noticed by somebody. It was the kind of place chosen not for comfort, but for visibility. A place where a meeting could happen in the open air under the eyes of strangers, with enough noise and daylight and witnesses to make anything ugly less likely, or at least less easy.
Fiona Logan and Melinda Braddock sat at one of the outer tables, positioned where they had a clear view of the sidewalk and the street beyond it. Fiona wore a faded charcoal sleeveless muscle tee, the armholes cut low enough to show the definition in her shoulders and the strength in her arms, the fabric soft with wear in a way that suggested it had been washed a hundred times and trusted every one of them. She wore black denim shorts that hit just above the knee, raw hemmed and a little worn at the edges, the kind that favored movement over style but somehow ended up becoming style anyway because they suited her so completely. A thick black belt with a battered silver buckle sat at her waist. On her feet were scuffed lace up boots, dark and solid. Beside her, Melinda Braddock wore a sleeveless sundress in a pale petal pink. The fabric was light and expensive looking, with a fitted bodice and a softly structured waist that opened into a skirt falling just below the knee. It moved gently whenever the breeze reached it, not dramatically, just enough to keep it from seeming too arranged. The neckline was modest but flattering, and a subtle pattern of tiny white blossoms was worked into the fabric closely enough that it revealed itself only when the light hit right. She wore delicate heeled sandals in a nude tone.
On the table in front of them sat two sweating glasses of ice water, already beaded with condensation that had begun to gather into rings on the pale stone surface. Melinda had a carefully arranged coffee drink in a tall glass, something cold and layered and far too pretty to be accidental. Fiona’s drink was simpler, darker, and only half touched. Neither woman appeared especially interested in what they had ordered. Their attention drifted toward the sidewalk often enough to make that clear. It was a beautiful place for an ugly meeting, and maybe that was the point.
“Calm yourself, Fiona.” Melinda says quietly. “There’s nothing to worry about.”
“That’s easy for you to say.” Fiona snaps. “This guy used me. He treated me as an object my entire life. He was verbally and psychologically abusive towards me. I…” she shakes her head “...oh hell, I don’t know what I was thinking…meeting Todd was a mistake.”
“I agree.” Melinda says bluntly. “But we are here now. We are committed. AND we are safe, you have me right here with you and just around the corner, watching from the shadows, is Clyde.”
“Right…” Fiona sighs, showing a little sign of relief “...if Todd makes any moves the big guy will snap his neck.”
“Something like that.” Melinda smirks knowingly. “The point is, don’t worry. We are here for you.”
A few moments later, Todd Osbourne appeared at the far end of the sidewalk with none of the drama the meeting deserved. There was no sudden hush in the cafe, no cinematic shift in the air, no visible sign from the world at large that the person Fiona had been dreading had finally stepped into view. Miami continued around him without pause. Todd, looking painfully like what he was, not a monster out of legend, not some towering figure built to match the damage he had done, but a man. Just a man. And he had finally arrived.
He walked toward them at an even pace, not swaggering, not skulking, not visibly uncertain either. Todd wore a light blue button down shirt with the sleeves rolled to the forearms, the fabric clean and pressed but plainly inexpensive. The shirt was tucked into a pair of dark khaki slacks with a brown belt that had seen real use. The trousers were neat, though not sharply tailored, and they fell over practical brown loafers that had been cleaned before the meeting but still showed faint creasing across the top from wear.
Fiona saw him before he reached the table and changed almost imperceptibly. It was not a large movement. She did not rise, did not recoil, did not make a spectacle of herself. But her body tightened in a way that was impossible to miss once noticed. Whatever small amount of ease Melinda’s reassurance had managed to restore left her again at once. Her shoulders drew a little higher. Her jaw set. One hand, which had been resting near her glass, curled slowly against the tabletop until her fingers pressed into the stone. She looked at Todd with an expression stripped of anything soft or uncertain. Seeing him in the flesh had hardened her. The edgy toughness she wore so naturally now looked less like style and more like armor.
“Hello, Fiona.” Todd says quietly, in a tone that almost seems timid. As if he is afraid of saying the wrong words.
“Todd.” Fiona’s voice is cold. Angry.
“I, uh, thought it would just be you and me.” He says, looking at Melinda. “I didn’t expect you to bring company.”
“This is Melinda.” Fiona says. “My SISTER. And she is going to be here or else this meeting is off. No dice. Capiche?”
“I understand.”
Todd paused for half a beat before sitting, as if taking in the arrangement, the public setting, the placement of the chairs, perhaps even the fact that Fiona had not come alone. Melinda’s presence unsettled him, and there was a faint shift in his face, a tiny recalculation in the eyes. He understood immediately, at least on some level, that this was not a reunion. It was not sentimental. It was not private. It was supervised in every sense that mattered. When he sat down, the chair made a slight scraping sound against the pavement, a small ugly noise that seemed louder than it should have been. He settled across from them with the care of someone aware that every movement was being watched and possibly judged.
“So get on it with it, Todd.” Fiona snaps back harshly. “We don’t have all day. Me and Mels are busy people.”
“I know.” Todd nods his head. “I have followed your career with great interest and pride. You took to professional wrestling so quickly and you are a champion. And you’re competing in London next, right? Wembley Arena.” He smiles. “My girl, traveling the world.”
“Cut the small talk.” Fiona snaps. “I am NOT your little girl anymore. You gave that up a long time ago. So like I said, get on with it, say what you have to say and get this over with, otherwise me and Mels can just leave right now.”
“Right, right, I know, and I don’t want to take up any of your time. The main thing I wanted to say to you is…” he sighs and slumps his shoulders, seeming defeated, seeming grieved “...I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?!” Fiona exclaims. He nods his head.
“I know one apology isn’t enough to make up for a lifetime of screw ups and mistakes and bad treatment.”
“That’s putting it mildly.” She scoffs. “For all intents and purposes I was just an object. You forced me into modeling, taking advantage of my beauty for your own financial gain.”
“I was young and I was financially desperate.” Todd says.
“And did that give you an excuse to abuse me emotionally and mentally? I had other dreams and aspirations too, y’know? I always had been a wrestling fan. Mels’s mother, Glory Braddock, was my hero. And you told me I was too weak and too dumb to make it in that business. But look at me now!”
“I know.” He nods his head. “You proved me wrong.”
“You made me feel like a sex object and not a daughter.”
“All I can say is that I sincerely apologize.” Todd sighs. “I just didn’t know how to be a father.”
“You want to know how to raise a daughter? Talk to Glory Braddock and Kurt Logan. They took me in after I was old enough to leave you. They BELIEVED in my dreams whereas you did not. They made my dreams a reality. Most importantly they gave me the chance to choose my own path, something you never did. Yet here you are, right after I have made a huge success of myself in this business, and now suddenly you are back in my life.” Fiona smirks. “Sounds like you want a piece of the action.”
“I know it looks like that but I assure you that this has nothing to do with money.” Todd shakes his head. “All I want is to be a part of your life again, Fiona.”
“Bullshit.”
“I mean it. No contracts, no money, no strings attached. All I want are…dinners and lunches every now and then. Holidays. I want to get to know you…the real you…not the girl I used and abused.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.” Todd states.
“Unbelievable.” Fiona shakes her head. She has had enough and stands up. Melinda, sensing trouble, stands up as well. “You do not get to come back into my life because it is suddenly convenient for you.”
With that, Fiona turns and storms away. Melinda quickly follows and, thankfully, Todd Osbourne does not follow. He does not even call out after them. He just sits there. Almost as if he expected this; as if he knew he deserved this kind of treatment. Meanwhile Melinda Braddock catches up to Fiona and can tell that The Boston Badass is getting emotional.
“You ok?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“That scene back there…” Melinda says “...is that what I think it means? Are you rejecting him for good?”
“Honestly, Mels, I don’t know.” Fiona sighs. “I can’t say that I can read people but I do get the sense that he was genuinely, sincerely bothered and felt real guilt. But that doesn’t mean I trust him.”
“What does it mean?”
“It means if he wants a relationship with me in the future it will be on MY TERMS not his!”
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On Camera
==========
We open to a gray backdrop. There we spot the duo known as The Vision; “The Third Generation Goddess” Melinda Braddock and “The Boston Badass” Fiona Logan. The Boston Badass is wearing a matching two piece set, her ring ear, consisting of a purple top, short fitted bottoms, thin black straps around her midsection, a cropped black leather jacket, black fishnet tights, and a pair of thigh high boots. The Third Generation Goddess is a drastic contrast of her tag team partner; she is wearing a soft, elegant pale pink silk dress that falls to just below the knee.
“Fate is a fickle mistress.” Melinda grins knowingly. “At least, that’s what they say. I would also like to add that Fate has a sick and twisted sense of humor. Chris and Ryan Hollywood would do well to learn that fact because, let’s face it, that is the only explanation as to why you two are still hanging around this locker room. A couple of airheaded doofuses like you are being kept around for one reason and one reason only…entertainment. The people love watching you make asses of yourselves. I think one thing our CEO and CHBK can actually agree on is that you two getting humiliating is quite humorous. But you know what else finds you extremely entertaining? Fate. I mean, there is no other explanation as to why two people like you who can’t BUY a win are getting opportunities to challenge for the SCW World Tag Team Championship. Fate enjoys watching you get brought down and humbled again and again. Fate had a good time watching what Frost and Valentine did to you on Breakdown.”
“Fate might enjoy you two clowns but I don’t.” Fiona shakes her head. “It still pisses me off that you got a shot at the SCW World Tag Team Championship for doing nothing. Absolutely nothing! Now to be fair, me and Mels haven’t exactly been setting the SCW tag team division on fire, either. But I don’t believe in Fate, Mels knows I hate it when she talks about it, so to hear everyone talk about how Fate isn’t working in The Vision’s favor just pisses me off even more. But when I get angry, I get motivated. When I get pissed off it just makes me want to go out there and prove the doubters wrong by kicking someone’s ass.” The Boston Badass points at the camera.
“And Hollywood you two dweebs have been elected. So in a way, I’m actually kinda glad you two idiots got that shot at the titles ahead of us. Cause the record shows that you WON. You BEAT Selena Frost and Xander Valentine. Sure, it was by disqualification, but a win is a win and you beat the champs. And that opens the door wide open for me and Mels here to step right on through, kick your asses out, and prove our point that WE belong in the conversation, not you.”
“Well said, Fiona.” Melinda nods her head. “Fate does work in mysterious ways. Some might have found it odd that you two would get a championship opportunity, Hollywood, but I am not one to question Fate. I accept its wisdom. I accept its will. Now after seeing you get that ‘great victory’ over the reigning champions, I can truly see that Fate truly does know what it is doing. Now we will be walking into Wembley Arena, MY HOME TURF, to compete against the team that just beat the champions. And just in case you forgot, little boys, you and I have already had this dance before and we won.” Braddock says cooly. Fiona nods her head.
“Damn right we did. October of 2025, right before Under Attack, The Vision kicked Hollywood’s asses. Now at Retribution we get to do it again and trust me, losers, the outcome will be the same. We’re going to stand over your beaten and broken bodies and we will be one step closer to climbing back into title contention.”
“How can one argue that The Vision doesn’t deserve to be considered for a tag title shot when we beat the team that just beat the champions? How can one argue the will of Fate?” Braddock shakes her head. “No one can argue the will of Fate and your Fate, Hollywood, is sealed.”
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March 14th, 2026
Miami, Florida
Off Camera
==========
It had been just two days since Breakdown in Panama City Beach and now The Vision had returned to their adopted headquarters of Miami, Florida. Miami wore that polished late morning brightness that made everything look a little too sharp to be accidental. The sky was a broad, almost unreal blue, the kind that seemed to belong more to postcards and tourism ads than to ordinary life, and the sun hung high enough to press heat down over the city without mercy. Even in the shade there was warmth rising from the pavement, trapped in the sidewalks and the low walls and the parked cars along the street. The air had that unmistakable coastal softness to it, heavy with humidity, touched faintly by salt and traffic and espresso and the sweet clean smell of citrus from a nearby planter full of small ornamental trees. Nothing about it was quiet. Miami rarely was. Even in calmer corners of the city there was always motion, always sound, always the feeling that too many people were out in the world at once, each one moving with a destination in mind. The cafe had claimed a section of the sidewalk beneath a line of cream colored umbrellas that cast round pools of shade over the outdoor tables. It was one of those stylish but self conscious places that managed to look effortless only because a great deal of effort had gone into making it seem that way. The tables were small and circular, topped with pale stone that reflected the light around the edges, and the chairs were woven in a glossy natural fiber that looked comfortable from a distance and only passably so once someone sat in them. Planters crowded the perimeter of the dining area, filled with dense tropical greenery that softened the edge of the street without ever truly separating the diners from it. Palm fronds stirred every now and then when the breeze found them, though the air itself remained warm and sticky enough to cling to skin.
The most important part of this setting, this cafe, is that it is a public place with plenty of eyes and ears everywhere. Public enough to feel safe on paper, exposed enough that every expression and pause and shift in posture risked being noticed by somebody. It was the kind of place chosen not for comfort, but for visibility. A place where a meeting could happen in the open air under the eyes of strangers, with enough noise and daylight and witnesses to make anything ugly less likely, or at least less easy.
Fiona Logan and Melinda Braddock sat at one of the outer tables, positioned where they had a clear view of the sidewalk and the street beyond it. Fiona wore a faded charcoal sleeveless muscle tee, the armholes cut low enough to show the definition in her shoulders and the strength in her arms, the fabric soft with wear in a way that suggested it had been washed a hundred times and trusted every one of them. She wore black denim shorts that hit just above the knee, raw hemmed and a little worn at the edges, the kind that favored movement over style but somehow ended up becoming style anyway because they suited her so completely. A thick black belt with a battered silver buckle sat at her waist. On her feet were scuffed lace up boots, dark and solid. Beside her, Melinda Braddock wore a sleeveless sundress in a pale petal pink. The fabric was light and expensive looking, with a fitted bodice and a softly structured waist that opened into a skirt falling just below the knee. It moved gently whenever the breeze reached it, not dramatically, just enough to keep it from seeming too arranged. The neckline was modest but flattering, and a subtle pattern of tiny white blossoms was worked into the fabric closely enough that it revealed itself only when the light hit right. She wore delicate heeled sandals in a nude tone.
On the table in front of them sat two sweating glasses of ice water, already beaded with condensation that had begun to gather into rings on the pale stone surface. Melinda had a carefully arranged coffee drink in a tall glass, something cold and layered and far too pretty to be accidental. Fiona’s drink was simpler, darker, and only half touched. Neither woman appeared especially interested in what they had ordered. Their attention drifted toward the sidewalk often enough to make that clear. It was a beautiful place for an ugly meeting, and maybe that was the point.
“Calm yourself, Fiona.” Melinda says quietly. “There’s nothing to worry about.”
“That’s easy for you to say.” Fiona snaps. “This guy used me. He treated me as an object my entire life. He was verbally and psychologically abusive towards me. I…” she shakes her head “...oh hell, I don’t know what I was thinking…meeting Todd was a mistake.”
“I agree.” Melinda says bluntly. “But we are here now. We are committed. AND we are safe, you have me right here with you and just around the corner, watching from the shadows, is Clyde.”
“Right…” Fiona sighs, showing a little sign of relief “...if Todd makes any moves the big guy will snap his neck.”
“Something like that.” Melinda smirks knowingly. “The point is, don’t worry. We are here for you.”
A few moments later, Todd Osbourne appeared at the far end of the sidewalk with none of the drama the meeting deserved. There was no sudden hush in the cafe, no cinematic shift in the air, no visible sign from the world at large that the person Fiona had been dreading had finally stepped into view. Miami continued around him without pause. Todd, looking painfully like what he was, not a monster out of legend, not some towering figure built to match the damage he had done, but a man. Just a man. And he had finally arrived.
He walked toward them at an even pace, not swaggering, not skulking, not visibly uncertain either. Todd wore a light blue button down shirt with the sleeves rolled to the forearms, the fabric clean and pressed but plainly inexpensive. The shirt was tucked into a pair of dark khaki slacks with a brown belt that had seen real use. The trousers were neat, though not sharply tailored, and they fell over practical brown loafers that had been cleaned before the meeting but still showed faint creasing across the top from wear.
Fiona saw him before he reached the table and changed almost imperceptibly. It was not a large movement. She did not rise, did not recoil, did not make a spectacle of herself. But her body tightened in a way that was impossible to miss once noticed. Whatever small amount of ease Melinda’s reassurance had managed to restore left her again at once. Her shoulders drew a little higher. Her jaw set. One hand, which had been resting near her glass, curled slowly against the tabletop until her fingers pressed into the stone. She looked at Todd with an expression stripped of anything soft or uncertain. Seeing him in the flesh had hardened her. The edgy toughness she wore so naturally now looked less like style and more like armor.
“Hello, Fiona.” Todd says quietly, in a tone that almost seems timid. As if he is afraid of saying the wrong words.
“Todd.” Fiona’s voice is cold. Angry.
“I, uh, thought it would just be you and me.” He says, looking at Melinda. “I didn’t expect you to bring company.”
“This is Melinda.” Fiona says. “My SISTER. And she is going to be here or else this meeting is off. No dice. Capiche?”
“I understand.”
Todd paused for half a beat before sitting, as if taking in the arrangement, the public setting, the placement of the chairs, perhaps even the fact that Fiona had not come alone. Melinda’s presence unsettled him, and there was a faint shift in his face, a tiny recalculation in the eyes. He understood immediately, at least on some level, that this was not a reunion. It was not sentimental. It was not private. It was supervised in every sense that mattered. When he sat down, the chair made a slight scraping sound against the pavement, a small ugly noise that seemed louder than it should have been. He settled across from them with the care of someone aware that every movement was being watched and possibly judged.
“So get on it with it, Todd.” Fiona snaps back harshly. “We don’t have all day. Me and Mels are busy people.”
“I know.” Todd nods his head. “I have followed your career with great interest and pride. You took to professional wrestling so quickly and you are a champion. And you’re competing in London next, right? Wembley Arena.” He smiles. “My girl, traveling the world.”
“Cut the small talk.” Fiona snaps. “I am NOT your little girl anymore. You gave that up a long time ago. So like I said, get on with it, say what you have to say and get this over with, otherwise me and Mels can just leave right now.”
“Right, right, I know, and I don’t want to take up any of your time. The main thing I wanted to say to you is…” he sighs and slumps his shoulders, seeming defeated, seeming grieved “...I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?!” Fiona exclaims. He nods his head.
“I know one apology isn’t enough to make up for a lifetime of screw ups and mistakes and bad treatment.”
“That’s putting it mildly.” She scoffs. “For all intents and purposes I was just an object. You forced me into modeling, taking advantage of my beauty for your own financial gain.”
“I was young and I was financially desperate.” Todd says.
“And did that give you an excuse to abuse me emotionally and mentally? I had other dreams and aspirations too, y’know? I always had been a wrestling fan. Mels’s mother, Glory Braddock, was my hero. And you told me I was too weak and too dumb to make it in that business. But look at me now!”
“I know.” He nods his head. “You proved me wrong.”
“You made me feel like a sex object and not a daughter.”
“All I can say is that I sincerely apologize.” Todd sighs. “I just didn’t know how to be a father.”
“You want to know how to raise a daughter? Talk to Glory Braddock and Kurt Logan. They took me in after I was old enough to leave you. They BELIEVED in my dreams whereas you did not. They made my dreams a reality. Most importantly they gave me the chance to choose my own path, something you never did. Yet here you are, right after I have made a huge success of myself in this business, and now suddenly you are back in my life.” Fiona smirks. “Sounds like you want a piece of the action.”
“I know it looks like that but I assure you that this has nothing to do with money.” Todd shakes his head. “All I want is to be a part of your life again, Fiona.”
“Bullshit.”
“I mean it. No contracts, no money, no strings attached. All I want are…dinners and lunches every now and then. Holidays. I want to get to know you…the real you…not the girl I used and abused.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.” Todd states.
“Unbelievable.” Fiona shakes her head. She has had enough and stands up. Melinda, sensing trouble, stands up as well. “You do not get to come back into my life because it is suddenly convenient for you.”
With that, Fiona turns and storms away. Melinda quickly follows and, thankfully, Todd Osbourne does not follow. He does not even call out after them. He just sits there. Almost as if he expected this; as if he knew he deserved this kind of treatment. Meanwhile Melinda Braddock catches up to Fiona and can tell that The Boston Badass is getting emotional.
“You ok?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“That scene back there…” Melinda says “...is that what I think it means? Are you rejecting him for good?”
“Honestly, Mels, I don’t know.” Fiona sighs. “I can’t say that I can read people but I do get the sense that he was genuinely, sincerely bothered and felt real guilt. But that doesn’t mean I trust him.”
“What does it mean?”
“It means if he wants a relationship with me in the future it will be on MY TERMS not his!”
==========
On Camera
==========
We open to a gray backdrop. There we spot the duo known as The Vision; “The Third Generation Goddess” Melinda Braddock and “The Boston Badass” Fiona Logan. The Boston Badass is wearing a matching two piece set, her ring ear, consisting of a purple top, short fitted bottoms, thin black straps around her midsection, a cropped black leather jacket, black fishnet tights, and a pair of thigh high boots. The Third Generation Goddess is a drastic contrast of her tag team partner; she is wearing a soft, elegant pale pink silk dress that falls to just below the knee.
“Fate is a fickle mistress.” Melinda grins knowingly. “At least, that’s what they say. I would also like to add that Fate has a sick and twisted sense of humor. Chris and Ryan Hollywood would do well to learn that fact because, let’s face it, that is the only explanation as to why you two are still hanging around this locker room. A couple of airheaded doofuses like you are being kept around for one reason and one reason only…entertainment. The people love watching you make asses of yourselves. I think one thing our CEO and CHBK can actually agree on is that you two getting humiliating is quite humorous. But you know what else finds you extremely entertaining? Fate. I mean, there is no other explanation as to why two people like you who can’t BUY a win are getting opportunities to challenge for the SCW World Tag Team Championship. Fate enjoys watching you get brought down and humbled again and again. Fate had a good time watching what Frost and Valentine did to you on Breakdown.”
“Fate might enjoy you two clowns but I don’t.” Fiona shakes her head. “It still pisses me off that you got a shot at the SCW World Tag Team Championship for doing nothing. Absolutely nothing! Now to be fair, me and Mels haven’t exactly been setting the SCW tag team division on fire, either. But I don’t believe in Fate, Mels knows I hate it when she talks about it, so to hear everyone talk about how Fate isn’t working in The Vision’s favor just pisses me off even more. But when I get angry, I get motivated. When I get pissed off it just makes me want to go out there and prove the doubters wrong by kicking someone’s ass.” The Boston Badass points at the camera.
“And Hollywood you two dweebs have been elected. So in a way, I’m actually kinda glad you two idiots got that shot at the titles ahead of us. Cause the record shows that you WON. You BEAT Selena Frost and Xander Valentine. Sure, it was by disqualification, but a win is a win and you beat the champs. And that opens the door wide open for me and Mels here to step right on through, kick your asses out, and prove our point that WE belong in the conversation, not you.”
“Well said, Fiona.” Melinda nods her head. “Fate does work in mysterious ways. Some might have found it odd that you two would get a championship opportunity, Hollywood, but I am not one to question Fate. I accept its wisdom. I accept its will. Now after seeing you get that ‘great victory’ over the reigning champions, I can truly see that Fate truly does know what it is doing. Now we will be walking into Wembley Arena, MY HOME TURF, to compete against the team that just beat the champions. And just in case you forgot, little boys, you and I have already had this dance before and we won.” Braddock says cooly. Fiona nods her head.
“Damn right we did. October of 2025, right before Under Attack, The Vision kicked Hollywood’s asses. Now at Retribution we get to do it again and trust me, losers, the outcome will be the same. We’re going to stand over your beaten and broken bodies and we will be one step closer to climbing back into title contention.”
“How can one argue that The Vision doesn’t deserve to be considered for a tag title shot when we beat the team that just beat the champions? How can one argue the will of Fate?” Braddock shakes her head. “No one can argue the will of Fate and your Fate, Hollywood, is sealed.”
![[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