07-29-2026, 09:37 AM
2 of 2
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July 26th, 2026
London, England
Off Camera
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The heavy morning rain had tapered off into a damp, cool mist by the time the dark SUV pulled into the gravel lot behind the Braddock Wrestling School. The building sat on the outskirts of London, an unpretentious two story structure of weathered red brick and corrugated steel that had survived decades of changing neighborhood trends. High above the double metal doors, the painted wooden sign was faded around the edges, its black lettering worn down by years of English weather, but the name still stood out clearly against the brickwork. It was a place built purely for function, devoid of shiny chrome or modern glass facades, carrying the distinct scent of damp earth, wet pavement, and old iron that seemed to cling to the quiet industrial lane. Glory Braddock cut the engine, the sudden quiet filling the vehicle as the wipers gave one final sweep against the windshield. She was dressed for a hard session, wearing a pair of dark gray fleece sweatpants tucked into laced leather athletic boots and a thick charcoal hoodie with the sleeves pushed up past her wrists. Her blonde hair was pulled back tightly into a high braid to keep it out of her face, highlighting the sharp line of her jaw and the focused, measured expression she always wore when stepping onto her home turf. Returning to this gym always brought a subtle shift in her posture, a grounding sense of purpose that left no room for the corporate noise of the past few weeks.
In the passenger seat, Sophie O’Brian unbuckled her seatbelt and leaned forward to check her reflection in the side mirror. She possessed an expressive, strikingly delicate face framed by soft dark brows and rich, wavy hair that fell just past her shoulders. Her dark eyes held a bright, observant light that often gave her a look of quiet amusement, and her soft features contrasted sharply with the intense athletic atmosphere of the school. She wore a fitted navy blue zip jacket over a plain white t-shirt, paired with dark leggings and clean white training shoes. Though she carried herself with a gentle grace that seemed almost out of place in a wrestling facility, there was a steady, resolute quietness about her that made it clear she belonged right alongside her family. From the back seat, Mark O’Brian uncoiled his massive frame and pushed his door open, his boots hitting the wet gravel with a heavy, solid thud. He was an imposing physical presence, standing well over six feet tall with a broad, dense chest and massive shoulders that stretched the fabric of his dark green thermal shirt. A thick, dark beard framed his strong jawline, and long, dark hair fell down past his neck, damp around the edges from the drizzle outside. His deep set eyes swept over the front of the building with the sharp, calculated look of someone who knew every inch of a training ring. He reached back into the trunk, easily slinging two heavy leather kit bags over his shoulder as if they weighed nothing at all, his powerful arms showing the corded muscle of a seasoned athlete.
“Well here we are.” Glory grins from ear to ear. “Just like old times.”
“Indeed, just like old times.” Sophie nods her head. “This was truly our home away from home.”
“I thought our home was in Belfast?” Mark asks. Then Sophie smacks him in the back of his head. “Owwwww!”
“I meant that figuratively you bulbous oaf!”
“Stop it you two.” Glory smirks. “Save all of that aggressive energy for me. I have a busy few weeks ahead of me. Kirsten Scott is my next opponent on Breakdown and this is a must win situation. I cannot afford to go into Rise To Greatness with zero momentum at my back.”
“Ah, the myth of momentum.” Sophie sighs. “You truly believe a victory over Scott will help you?”
“Wins matter.” Glory points out. “You of all people believe this.”
“True but your ultimate goal is Rise To Greatness. Your ultimate goal is defeating La Pequina Luz. She is the one who deserves the full force of your wrath, not Scott. You have tried again and again to prove to her and that dimwit Nevado that you respect them, and those two uneducated morons refuse to believe anything except the propaganda they are told.”
“What are you suggesting then, oh wise one?” Glory asks sarcastically.
“I am saying Kirsten Scott is irrelevant.” Sophie says bluntly. “Don’t risk injury ahead of Rise To Greatness. Save your energy for Luz.”
“I disagree.” Glory shakes her head. “Every match is important, especially if I want another shot at the SCW World Championship. I need both wins. I can’t settle for one and not the other.”
“I agree with Glory.” Mark says. Sophie smacks him in the back of his head. “Owwwww!”
“No one asked your opinion you airheaded waste of space!”
“Do I need to break you two apart?” Glory smirks. “Now come on. We have some sparring to do.”
The three of them walked toward the heavy side entrance, the gravel crunching under their boots in a steady rhythm. Glory pulled a worn brass key from her pocket, unlocked the reinforced door, and pushed it open with a familiar shoulder nudge against the heavy frame.
Inside, the gym was quiet, holding the cool air of the early morning. Sunlight filtered through the high, arched sash windows along the upper walls, cutting dusty beams through the vast open space. At the center of the main floor sat the principal ring, its thick canvas mat bearing the faded blue emblem of the school. The three thick ropes were wrapped tightly in dark red tape, strung between heavy turnbuckles mounted to sturdy steel corner posts. Off to the side stood a secondary warm up ring, surrounded by rows of free weights, heavy rubber matting, leather medicine balls, and thick climbing ropes hanging from the exposed wooden rafters above. A set of iron stairs led up to a mezzanine balcony that overlooked the floor, where old wooden benches sat lined up against the railing.
Mark tossed the heavy gym bags onto a wooden bench near the perimeter wall, the leather slapping against the grain with a loud thud that echoed into the rafters. He rolled his broad shoulders, stretching his neck from side to side until a sharp pop broke the silence of the room. He stepped up onto the wooden ring apron, gripping the top rope with one massive hand and testing its tension with a firm tug before ducking between the strands to step inside. Sophie followed at a more measured pace, setting her smaller bag down carefully and unzipping her track jacket. She leaned back against the apron, resting her elbows on the wood as she watched Mark pace the perimeter of the canvas, her expressive face breaking into a soft, quiet smile at his immediate urgency to get to work. Glory stepped up beside her, resting her hands on her hips as she surveyed the floor, the damp London morning giving way to the heat that would soon fill the historic room.
“So, why don’t you tell us about your other sparring session, Gloria?”
“What do you mean?” Glory responds curiously.
“I think she means the spat you’ve been having with Cat.” Mark grins knowingly. Glory rolls her eyes.
“Oh, her.” She sighs. “It was nothing.”
“Nothing?” Sophie looks on skeptically. “From what I heard it was more than just nothing. You flew her in to give her a good talking to.”
“I did not.” Glory states. “She was flying in for business anyway, I just asked her to stop by. And yes, there was a very minor issue, but we talked it out. No big deal. Everything has been taken care of.”
“Are you certain?” The skepticism in Sophie’s voice is clear. She doesn’t believe it.
“Look, Cat did overstep her bounds. She was doing more than what I asked. I spoke to her about it and she understands her role now.”
“And you are certain that she knows her place now?” Sophie asks. “People like her, from crime families, do not easily learn to obey.”
“It isn’t a matter of her learning her place, Sophie.” Glory remarks. “It’s a matter of her protecting my vision, not creating her own vision. She knows this now.”
The heavy metal side door creaked loudly on its hinges, abruptly cutting through the quiet hum of the gym as a group of nearly a dozen unfamiliar people walked in. They moved as a unit, carrying an array of professional equipment, heavy hard-shell camera cases, rolled-up cables, tall lighting stands, and clipboard-laden binders. A pair of men in matching dark utility jackets lugged a massive rolling trunk over the concrete threshold, the heavy rubber wheels clattering loudly against the floorboards.
Mark froze, his brow furrowed deeply, his dark eyes narrowing, his broad chest rising with a sharp, guarded breath as he glared down at the unexpected crowd invading their space. Beside the apron, Sophie straightened up immediately, her expressive face shifting from relaxed warmth to quiet confusion, her eyes darting between the strangers and her sister.
Glory’s reaction was instant and sharp. She stepped forward, her posture rigid, her chin lifted as she planted herself firmly between the ring and the intruders. Her blonde braid swung over her shoulder as she folded her arms across her chest, her dark gaze tracking the crew as they began setting down gear without a word of explanation, the sudden invasion disrupting the sacred quiet of her father's school.
“Expecting anyone?” Sophie asks. Glory shakes her head.
“No…” she frowns “...but I am going to find out.”
The British Bombshell approaches the group with a fierce determination etched across her face. She seeks out one individual who is giving orders, he is younger but speaks with authority. Glory assumes he must be their leader.
“So, anyone mind telling me what this is all about?” Braddock asks, sounding thoroughly annoyed.
“Yes, we’re here to do some repairs on this place.” The young man remarks. “And from the looks of things, it desperately needs some good repairs and remodeling.”
“Really, eh?” Glory sounds annoyed and deeply offended. “This was my FATHER’S wrestling school and he wouldn’t have it looking any other way.”
“I don’t want to tell you.” He shrugs his shoulders. “We were just paid to do a job; repair the place, remodel it, and even bring in some brand new equipment.”
“New equipment?” Glory is stunned. “I never authorized any of this!”
“And who are you?” He asks. “Because I’m acting on the orders of a Ms. De Luca.”
“Yeah…” Glory furrows her brow in anger “...well De Luca works for me. I am Glory Braddock, I OWN this wrestling school, I am telling you to get the hell out!”
Glory stood firm, her posture rigid as the weight of the foreman’s words settled over the cavernous gym. The name De Luca echoed off the high rafters, turning what should have been a sacred sanctuary into another corporate battleground. Despite the smooth promises and serene assurances exchanged over coffee just hours earlier, Catalina had wasted no time asserting her influence. The boundary line had not merely been crossed; it had been completely redrawn behind Glory’s back, threatening to strip away the weathered, authentic spirit of the legacy her father had built.
Behind her, the sudden shift in atmosphere was immediate. Mark stepped down from the ring apron, his massive boots striking the floor with a heavy, ominous thud, his dark eyes fixed on the intrusion with protective fury. Beside him, Sophie crossed her arms, her delicate features setting into a sharp, knowing expression. There was no need for words between the siblings; the silent, unspoken confirmation was clear; Sophie’s skepticism had been entirely justified.
Glory didn't wait for the crew to pack up their gear. Leaving the stunned production workers in the middle of the floor, she turned on her heel and marched back toward the heavy side exit, pulling her phone from her hoodie pocket with sharp, deliberate movements. Her jaw was set, and her eyes burned with a cold, focused anger. The quiet, grounding peace of her London homecoming was gone, replaced by the relentless friction of a war she was forced to fight on two fronts. As the heavy metal door slammed shut behind her, cutting off the echo of the intruding crew, Glory raised the phone to her ear, ready to demand answers from the one person who thought she could remake the Braddock legacy in her own image.
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On Camera
==========
Glory Braddock stood dead center in the squared circle of Braddock Wrestling School, surrounded by the four worn corners of dark red tape and the faded blue emblem beneath her boots. Sunlight cut through the high, arched windows overhead, illuminating the countless dust motes floating in the cool air around her. Her breathing had slowed, but her chest still rose and fell in a steady, deliberate rhythm. The charcoal hoodie sat draped over her broad shoulders, her high blonde braid trailing down her back, and her leather boots remained planted squarely on the coarse canvas.
“Dreams. They can be good or bad, positive or negative. You could dream that you are falling and wake up in a cold sweat screaming. But you eventually calm down and relax when you realize that none of it happened. It was just a dream. You could dream that you were a billionaire; only to wake up disappointed to realize that you’re still normal like the rest of us, that none of it really happened. It was just a dream. I have a dream to once again become SCW World Champion but I understand and accept the fact that I have to fight to EARN the right to call myself champion.” She shakes her head. “Dreams are fiction, dreams are fantasy, you have to fight like hell to make them reality.”
“Luz, you and Nevado may have this DREAM of competing against each other for the SCW World Championship, and yet your dream keeps getting shattered. Nevado held up her end of the bargain at Taking Hold of the Flame but YOU couldn’t get the job done in the battle royal. Now Rise To Greatness is coming up but do you think Light in the Darkness will do enough to make that dream a reality? It isn’t a guarantee that Nevado can defeat Deanna. Hell, the way Deanna is wrestling my money is on her. And then let’s face facts, the momentum isn’t exactly on your side. You two just LOST the SCW World Tag Team Titles.”
“Dreams don’t just magically happen. They do not come into being. You have to make it happen. You have to reach down into your very heart and soul and earn it through hard work and determination. Especially in this sport. In this sport, no matter how good you are and no matter how popular you are, you cannot take anything for granted. You cannot just assume your dreams will come to pass. You have to fight to make them happen. Almost eight years ago I stepped into SCW and I was told that the competition would be too tough and too unforgiving, and that the politics of it all would kill me. In short, I was told my dream of making it big here would be impossible to achieve. Yet here I stand as a Supreme Champion, having held every single championship this promotion has to offer.” She holds up two fingers. “Two of which came at the expense of Light in the Darkness.” She winks.
“I fought like hell to make my dreams a reality. I fought like hell to earn my spot in SCW. And I am not someone who will just sit by and take things for granted. I am not going to rest comfortably and be content now that I have achieved Supreme Status. I know there is so much more left for me to achieve and that is what makes me one of the best wrestlers in the world today. I know that I can always improve, that I can always get better, that I can always do so much more. I know that you are only good as your last match. And Luz, your last match wasn’t exactly very good.” She snickers.
“Then again, neither was mine. I admit, Asher got one over on me. Good on him. I always respected him, just like I respect you and Nevado, despite the fact that you two can’t get that fact through your thick skulls. I get tired of having to repeat it. But nevertheless, I do respect you. You had a chance to get some much needed momentum and failed. Now it’s my turn. Because yes, you are only as good as your last match and right now my NEXT match is against Kirsten Scott, and it will be my LAST match before Rise To Greatness.” Braddock grins knowingly.
“Much respect, Kirsten. You were impressive in your first run. You have been impressive so far in this run. But apologies if I sound a little conceited when I say you are about to step up in a big way. The European Fiery Nation and Britney Williams are one thing, but facing The British Bombshell is something else entirely. Something else you need to know, Scott, is that you are facing someone who absolutely needs this win. I have goals for myself, I have ambitions. I want another opportunity to compete for the SCW World Championship. And you don’t get there without wins. I had a setback in my last match so if I want to make that dream a reality, I know that I cannot allow any more setbacks to come to pass.”
“I MUST defeat you on Breakdown, Scott. There is no other way around it. If I lose, then my path to Rise To Greatness really doesn’t matter. If I lose, what’s the point? If I lose, I have no path forward. If I lose, then it really isn’t an opportunity for me except to play spoiler for someone else.” Braddock shakes her head. “That’s not who and what I am. I don’t just play spoiler. I am a competitor. I am here to compete against the very best and yes, you are among the best in SCW right now. But I have to win. I need this win because I need Rise To Greatness to matter and if my last two matches before Rise To Greatness are losses, are defeats…” she shakes her head
“...then Rise To Greatness means nothing to me.”
“A deadly fighter is one who has something to gain. Yet here’s the thing; a lethal fighter is one who has everything to lose. Right now, Kirsten, you are facing a very lethal fighter in the form of yours truly. You aren’t merely taking on one of the best in the world, you are standing across the ring from a desperate cornered animal who refuses to let her legacy crumble. I am not here simply looking for a win to put on my resume. I am fighting for survival. I am fighting to keep my world title aspirations and Rise To Greatness aspirations alive. My back is against the wall, Scott, and my momentum is hanging on by a thread. That’s what makes me dangerous. You may be riding high right now, unbeaten and unstoppable since your return, but you are about to collide with The British Bombshell and I am desperate and desperation makes me deadly.”
“I will defeat you, Kirsten. I have to defeat you. There is no other way around it.” She shuts her eyes. “Sic Semper Tyrannis.”
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July 26th, 2026
London, England
Off Camera
==========
The heavy morning rain had tapered off into a damp, cool mist by the time the dark SUV pulled into the gravel lot behind the Braddock Wrestling School. The building sat on the outskirts of London, an unpretentious two story structure of weathered red brick and corrugated steel that had survived decades of changing neighborhood trends. High above the double metal doors, the painted wooden sign was faded around the edges, its black lettering worn down by years of English weather, but the name still stood out clearly against the brickwork. It was a place built purely for function, devoid of shiny chrome or modern glass facades, carrying the distinct scent of damp earth, wet pavement, and old iron that seemed to cling to the quiet industrial lane. Glory Braddock cut the engine, the sudden quiet filling the vehicle as the wipers gave one final sweep against the windshield. She was dressed for a hard session, wearing a pair of dark gray fleece sweatpants tucked into laced leather athletic boots and a thick charcoal hoodie with the sleeves pushed up past her wrists. Her blonde hair was pulled back tightly into a high braid to keep it out of her face, highlighting the sharp line of her jaw and the focused, measured expression she always wore when stepping onto her home turf. Returning to this gym always brought a subtle shift in her posture, a grounding sense of purpose that left no room for the corporate noise of the past few weeks.
In the passenger seat, Sophie O’Brian unbuckled her seatbelt and leaned forward to check her reflection in the side mirror. She possessed an expressive, strikingly delicate face framed by soft dark brows and rich, wavy hair that fell just past her shoulders. Her dark eyes held a bright, observant light that often gave her a look of quiet amusement, and her soft features contrasted sharply with the intense athletic atmosphere of the school. She wore a fitted navy blue zip jacket over a plain white t-shirt, paired with dark leggings and clean white training shoes. Though she carried herself with a gentle grace that seemed almost out of place in a wrestling facility, there was a steady, resolute quietness about her that made it clear she belonged right alongside her family. From the back seat, Mark O’Brian uncoiled his massive frame and pushed his door open, his boots hitting the wet gravel with a heavy, solid thud. He was an imposing physical presence, standing well over six feet tall with a broad, dense chest and massive shoulders that stretched the fabric of his dark green thermal shirt. A thick, dark beard framed his strong jawline, and long, dark hair fell down past his neck, damp around the edges from the drizzle outside. His deep set eyes swept over the front of the building with the sharp, calculated look of someone who knew every inch of a training ring. He reached back into the trunk, easily slinging two heavy leather kit bags over his shoulder as if they weighed nothing at all, his powerful arms showing the corded muscle of a seasoned athlete.
“Well here we are.” Glory grins from ear to ear. “Just like old times.”
“Indeed, just like old times.” Sophie nods her head. “This was truly our home away from home.”
“I thought our home was in Belfast?” Mark asks. Then Sophie smacks him in the back of his head. “Owwwww!”
“I meant that figuratively you bulbous oaf!”
“Stop it you two.” Glory smirks. “Save all of that aggressive energy for me. I have a busy few weeks ahead of me. Kirsten Scott is my next opponent on Breakdown and this is a must win situation. I cannot afford to go into Rise To Greatness with zero momentum at my back.”
“Ah, the myth of momentum.” Sophie sighs. “You truly believe a victory over Scott will help you?”
“Wins matter.” Glory points out. “You of all people believe this.”
“True but your ultimate goal is Rise To Greatness. Your ultimate goal is defeating La Pequina Luz. She is the one who deserves the full force of your wrath, not Scott. You have tried again and again to prove to her and that dimwit Nevado that you respect them, and those two uneducated morons refuse to believe anything except the propaganda they are told.”
“What are you suggesting then, oh wise one?” Glory asks sarcastically.
“I am saying Kirsten Scott is irrelevant.” Sophie says bluntly. “Don’t risk injury ahead of Rise To Greatness. Save your energy for Luz.”
“I disagree.” Glory shakes her head. “Every match is important, especially if I want another shot at the SCW World Championship. I need both wins. I can’t settle for one and not the other.”
“I agree with Glory.” Mark says. Sophie smacks him in the back of his head. “Owwwww!”
“No one asked your opinion you airheaded waste of space!”
“Do I need to break you two apart?” Glory smirks. “Now come on. We have some sparring to do.”
The three of them walked toward the heavy side entrance, the gravel crunching under their boots in a steady rhythm. Glory pulled a worn brass key from her pocket, unlocked the reinforced door, and pushed it open with a familiar shoulder nudge against the heavy frame.
Inside, the gym was quiet, holding the cool air of the early morning. Sunlight filtered through the high, arched sash windows along the upper walls, cutting dusty beams through the vast open space. At the center of the main floor sat the principal ring, its thick canvas mat bearing the faded blue emblem of the school. The three thick ropes were wrapped tightly in dark red tape, strung between heavy turnbuckles mounted to sturdy steel corner posts. Off to the side stood a secondary warm up ring, surrounded by rows of free weights, heavy rubber matting, leather medicine balls, and thick climbing ropes hanging from the exposed wooden rafters above. A set of iron stairs led up to a mezzanine balcony that overlooked the floor, where old wooden benches sat lined up against the railing.
Mark tossed the heavy gym bags onto a wooden bench near the perimeter wall, the leather slapping against the grain with a loud thud that echoed into the rafters. He rolled his broad shoulders, stretching his neck from side to side until a sharp pop broke the silence of the room. He stepped up onto the wooden ring apron, gripping the top rope with one massive hand and testing its tension with a firm tug before ducking between the strands to step inside. Sophie followed at a more measured pace, setting her smaller bag down carefully and unzipping her track jacket. She leaned back against the apron, resting her elbows on the wood as she watched Mark pace the perimeter of the canvas, her expressive face breaking into a soft, quiet smile at his immediate urgency to get to work. Glory stepped up beside her, resting her hands on her hips as she surveyed the floor, the damp London morning giving way to the heat that would soon fill the historic room.
“So, why don’t you tell us about your other sparring session, Gloria?”
“What do you mean?” Glory responds curiously.
“I think she means the spat you’ve been having with Cat.” Mark grins knowingly. Glory rolls her eyes.
“Oh, her.” She sighs. “It was nothing.”
“Nothing?” Sophie looks on skeptically. “From what I heard it was more than just nothing. You flew her in to give her a good talking to.”
“I did not.” Glory states. “She was flying in for business anyway, I just asked her to stop by. And yes, there was a very minor issue, but we talked it out. No big deal. Everything has been taken care of.”
“Are you certain?” The skepticism in Sophie’s voice is clear. She doesn’t believe it.
“Look, Cat did overstep her bounds. She was doing more than what I asked. I spoke to her about it and she understands her role now.”
“And you are certain that she knows her place now?” Sophie asks. “People like her, from crime families, do not easily learn to obey.”
“It isn’t a matter of her learning her place, Sophie.” Glory remarks. “It’s a matter of her protecting my vision, not creating her own vision. She knows this now.”
The heavy metal side door creaked loudly on its hinges, abruptly cutting through the quiet hum of the gym as a group of nearly a dozen unfamiliar people walked in. They moved as a unit, carrying an array of professional equipment, heavy hard-shell camera cases, rolled-up cables, tall lighting stands, and clipboard-laden binders. A pair of men in matching dark utility jackets lugged a massive rolling trunk over the concrete threshold, the heavy rubber wheels clattering loudly against the floorboards.
Mark froze, his brow furrowed deeply, his dark eyes narrowing, his broad chest rising with a sharp, guarded breath as he glared down at the unexpected crowd invading their space. Beside the apron, Sophie straightened up immediately, her expressive face shifting from relaxed warmth to quiet confusion, her eyes darting between the strangers and her sister.
Glory’s reaction was instant and sharp. She stepped forward, her posture rigid, her chin lifted as she planted herself firmly between the ring and the intruders. Her blonde braid swung over her shoulder as she folded her arms across her chest, her dark gaze tracking the crew as they began setting down gear without a word of explanation, the sudden invasion disrupting the sacred quiet of her father's school.
“Expecting anyone?” Sophie asks. Glory shakes her head.
“No…” she frowns “...but I am going to find out.”
The British Bombshell approaches the group with a fierce determination etched across her face. She seeks out one individual who is giving orders, he is younger but speaks with authority. Glory assumes he must be their leader.
“So, anyone mind telling me what this is all about?” Braddock asks, sounding thoroughly annoyed.
“Yes, we’re here to do some repairs on this place.” The young man remarks. “And from the looks of things, it desperately needs some good repairs and remodeling.”
“Really, eh?” Glory sounds annoyed and deeply offended. “This was my FATHER’S wrestling school and he wouldn’t have it looking any other way.”
“I don’t want to tell you.” He shrugs his shoulders. “We were just paid to do a job; repair the place, remodel it, and even bring in some brand new equipment.”
“New equipment?” Glory is stunned. “I never authorized any of this!”
“And who are you?” He asks. “Because I’m acting on the orders of a Ms. De Luca.”
“Yeah…” Glory furrows her brow in anger “...well De Luca works for me. I am Glory Braddock, I OWN this wrestling school, I am telling you to get the hell out!”
Glory stood firm, her posture rigid as the weight of the foreman’s words settled over the cavernous gym. The name De Luca echoed off the high rafters, turning what should have been a sacred sanctuary into another corporate battleground. Despite the smooth promises and serene assurances exchanged over coffee just hours earlier, Catalina had wasted no time asserting her influence. The boundary line had not merely been crossed; it had been completely redrawn behind Glory’s back, threatening to strip away the weathered, authentic spirit of the legacy her father had built.
Behind her, the sudden shift in atmosphere was immediate. Mark stepped down from the ring apron, his massive boots striking the floor with a heavy, ominous thud, his dark eyes fixed on the intrusion with protective fury. Beside him, Sophie crossed her arms, her delicate features setting into a sharp, knowing expression. There was no need for words between the siblings; the silent, unspoken confirmation was clear; Sophie’s skepticism had been entirely justified.
Glory didn't wait for the crew to pack up their gear. Leaving the stunned production workers in the middle of the floor, she turned on her heel and marched back toward the heavy side exit, pulling her phone from her hoodie pocket with sharp, deliberate movements. Her jaw was set, and her eyes burned with a cold, focused anger. The quiet, grounding peace of her London homecoming was gone, replaced by the relentless friction of a war she was forced to fight on two fronts. As the heavy metal door slammed shut behind her, cutting off the echo of the intruding crew, Glory raised the phone to her ear, ready to demand answers from the one person who thought she could remake the Braddock legacy in her own image.
==========
On Camera
==========
Glory Braddock stood dead center in the squared circle of Braddock Wrestling School, surrounded by the four worn corners of dark red tape and the faded blue emblem beneath her boots. Sunlight cut through the high, arched windows overhead, illuminating the countless dust motes floating in the cool air around her. Her breathing had slowed, but her chest still rose and fell in a steady, deliberate rhythm. The charcoal hoodie sat draped over her broad shoulders, her high blonde braid trailing down her back, and her leather boots remained planted squarely on the coarse canvas.
“Dreams. They can be good or bad, positive or negative. You could dream that you are falling and wake up in a cold sweat screaming. But you eventually calm down and relax when you realize that none of it happened. It was just a dream. You could dream that you were a billionaire; only to wake up disappointed to realize that you’re still normal like the rest of us, that none of it really happened. It was just a dream. I have a dream to once again become SCW World Champion but I understand and accept the fact that I have to fight to EARN the right to call myself champion.” She shakes her head. “Dreams are fiction, dreams are fantasy, you have to fight like hell to make them reality.”
“Luz, you and Nevado may have this DREAM of competing against each other for the SCW World Championship, and yet your dream keeps getting shattered. Nevado held up her end of the bargain at Taking Hold of the Flame but YOU couldn’t get the job done in the battle royal. Now Rise To Greatness is coming up but do you think Light in the Darkness will do enough to make that dream a reality? It isn’t a guarantee that Nevado can defeat Deanna. Hell, the way Deanna is wrestling my money is on her. And then let’s face facts, the momentum isn’t exactly on your side. You two just LOST the SCW World Tag Team Titles.”
“Dreams don’t just magically happen. They do not come into being. You have to make it happen. You have to reach down into your very heart and soul and earn it through hard work and determination. Especially in this sport. In this sport, no matter how good you are and no matter how popular you are, you cannot take anything for granted. You cannot just assume your dreams will come to pass. You have to fight to make them happen. Almost eight years ago I stepped into SCW and I was told that the competition would be too tough and too unforgiving, and that the politics of it all would kill me. In short, I was told my dream of making it big here would be impossible to achieve. Yet here I stand as a Supreme Champion, having held every single championship this promotion has to offer.” She holds up two fingers. “Two of which came at the expense of Light in the Darkness.” She winks.
“I fought like hell to make my dreams a reality. I fought like hell to earn my spot in SCW. And I am not someone who will just sit by and take things for granted. I am not going to rest comfortably and be content now that I have achieved Supreme Status. I know there is so much more left for me to achieve and that is what makes me one of the best wrestlers in the world today. I know that I can always improve, that I can always get better, that I can always do so much more. I know that you are only good as your last match. And Luz, your last match wasn’t exactly very good.” She snickers.
“Then again, neither was mine. I admit, Asher got one over on me. Good on him. I always respected him, just like I respect you and Nevado, despite the fact that you two can’t get that fact through your thick skulls. I get tired of having to repeat it. But nevertheless, I do respect you. You had a chance to get some much needed momentum and failed. Now it’s my turn. Because yes, you are only as good as your last match and right now my NEXT match is against Kirsten Scott, and it will be my LAST match before Rise To Greatness.” Braddock grins knowingly.
“Much respect, Kirsten. You were impressive in your first run. You have been impressive so far in this run. But apologies if I sound a little conceited when I say you are about to step up in a big way. The European Fiery Nation and Britney Williams are one thing, but facing The British Bombshell is something else entirely. Something else you need to know, Scott, is that you are facing someone who absolutely needs this win. I have goals for myself, I have ambitions. I want another opportunity to compete for the SCW World Championship. And you don’t get there without wins. I had a setback in my last match so if I want to make that dream a reality, I know that I cannot allow any more setbacks to come to pass.”
“I MUST defeat you on Breakdown, Scott. There is no other way around it. If I lose, then my path to Rise To Greatness really doesn’t matter. If I lose, what’s the point? If I lose, I have no path forward. If I lose, then it really isn’t an opportunity for me except to play spoiler for someone else.” Braddock shakes her head. “That’s not who and what I am. I don’t just play spoiler. I am a competitor. I am here to compete against the very best and yes, you are among the best in SCW right now. But I have to win. I need this win because I need Rise To Greatness to matter and if my last two matches before Rise To Greatness are losses, are defeats…” she shakes her head
“...then Rise To Greatness means nothing to me.”
“A deadly fighter is one who has something to gain. Yet here’s the thing; a lethal fighter is one who has everything to lose. Right now, Kirsten, you are facing a very lethal fighter in the form of yours truly. You aren’t merely taking on one of the best in the world, you are standing across the ring from a desperate cornered animal who refuses to let her legacy crumble. I am not here simply looking for a win to put on my resume. I am fighting for survival. I am fighting to keep my world title aspirations and Rise To Greatness aspirations alive. My back is against the wall, Scott, and my momentum is hanging on by a thread. That’s what makes me dangerous. You may be riding high right now, unbeaten and unstoppable since your return, but you are about to collide with The British Bombshell and I am desperate and desperation makes me deadly.”
“I will defeat you, Kirsten. I have to defeat you. There is no other way around it.” She shuts her eyes. “Sic Semper Tyrannis.”
![[Image: qyA5u6K.png]](https://i.imgur.com/qyA5u6K.png)
SCW World Champion 1x
SCW United States Champion 1x
SCW Adrenaline Champion 1x
SCW Television Champion 1x
SCW Underground Champion 1x
SCW World Tag Team Champion 1x (w/Brittany Lohan)
Supreme Champion
2019 Trios Tournament Winner (w/ Regan Street & Kellen Jeffries)
2020 Trios Tournament Winner (w/ Ace Marshall & David Helms)
SCW Adrenaline Champion 1x
SCW Television Champion 1x
SCW Underground Champion 1x
SCW World Tag Team Champion 1x (w/Brittany Lohan)
Supreme Champion
2019 Trios Tournament Winner (w/ Regan Street & Kellen Jeffries)
2020 Trios Tournament Winner (w/ Ace Marshall & David Helms)